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When you give the sick a hand gun

June 12, 2014 / Michele Minehart

One of my family members suffers from a significant mental illness. It debilitates him to the point that he cannot work, even at a fast food joint, and the state agreed. He receives a small amount of money for living expenses, namely to pay rent because the state did allow him to live outside of direct monitoring. His parents kept a good eye on him, checked in regularly and felt they had a grasp on his condition and whereabouts.

About a year ago he was taken to jail. He somehow laid hold of a handgun. It made sense to him to practice, so he went into his back yard and shot off several rounds. His neighbors, just a few hundred feet away, freaked out (rightly so) and called the cops (100% justified. We’re thankful!).

Our family was shocked and scared. Everyone was thinking the same thing: How the HELL did he get a gun?

We. Don’t. Know. (He has since been put back into the care of his parents).

He lives in Hardin County, where guns are as common as dogs. Perhaps he picked it up at the lemonade stand on the corner. Or he traded an X-box for it. We really don’t know. If he did go to a legal source for firearms, we’ve got a bigger problem because this individual is legally deemed unable to function as a normal citizen of society.

So, we’re left with: where did the gun come from?

One day I was perusing the Miami County Online Rummage Sale. This is what pops into the feed:

Yes, an online garage sale. And let’s note why the interested party didn’t follow through.

Gun control is a complicated issue, not easily resolved in a single blog post, though several of us have tried. I realize that we have a population of responsible gun-owning citizens (full disclosure: we have guns in our house, in a locked safe). The majority reports to the correct authorities when they buy or sell a weapon and follow proper procedure (or what there is).

Yet the mentally ill can easily navigate their social context – or even Facebook – and find what they’re looking for. Sometimes, it even gets delivered to the newsfeed.

I know little about the last shooting. I don’t have statistics or figures about gun violence or deterrence. I don’t even have solutions. I have a mentally ill family member able to get his hands on a pistol scaring the BeJebus out of the neighborhood.

Some advocate for our right to carry, but no number of gun-carrying citizens stopped him from shooting in his back yard. Praise Jesus, because I can only imagine his response. More guns is not the answer. No guns is not an answer.

Caring for the mentally ill might be an answer. Monitoring the loose methods of buying and selling firearms might be an answer. Really, I think we have an open space of possible answers if we simply decide that the current mode of operation simply isn’t working.

And kids are kids forever

June 9, 2014 / Michele Minehart

I could make a list of a million things that are hard for me about parenting. Cleaning up puke when I already feel queasy. The 23rd question in a row. Having a meaningful discussion with an old (or new) friend while a toddler reminds you she needs to potty at an obnoxious volume. Anything involving the hours 2-5am.

Top on my list of parental challenges is dealing with my kid when s/he is a jerk. Specifically, to me. I can mostly deal with jerkish actions toward others because those are an opportunity for growth and we can talk about how others feel and work through other ways of dealing with the situation.

When my kid speaks rudely or, as seems our new normal, completely ignores instructions to go to bed, my feelings get hurt. Not just the “I’m a bad parent, they never listen, they’ll grow up to become delinquent by age 11” kind of head hanging. It’s not just my pride that hurts but also my feelings.

I realize, and I sometimes I repeat to myself over and over, that “I’m the mommy. I’m the mommy. I’m the mommy.” (If I don’t, I’m tempted to fight back like the 4 year old, to resort to immature and unfavorable methods because she did it first.) Because of my position in the hierarchy (and yes, in this house there is a hierarchy. I’ve mentioned we don’t operate by democracy around here), I don’t see myself as an “equal” to my children. I strongly believe I’m not a friend to my children, I’m first and foremost their parent.

But they sometimes make me cry.

Just because I’m the parent doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. My children and I spend all of the hours of all of the days in close proximity and who wants to spend so much time with jerks? Who enjoys those who give little regard to the people with whom they share space? I don’t. Which is why I take seriously my job to help raise up thoughtful, kind and brave people.

In the process, it’s hard to lovingly forgive words said out of hunger or tiredness. We serve as the target for all the emotions these teeny-tiny brains are trying to develop. If we don’t, they could be aimed outward where the armor of love doesn’t protect hearts and minds and more damage could result. Part of the responsibility I bear in our relationship includes absorbing and redirecting the hurt that could be thoughtlessly targeted elsewhere.

So I put on my big girl, mommy pants (likely made from a lycra-spandex combo). I set the example. I might shed tears, but I turn to my husband to remember I am valued and loved. I don’t let bedtime get the last word because it’s not the time of day when we’re at our most beautiful. Just because a moment may be the loudest doesn’t mean it holds the strongest voice.

In the words of a wise woman, Carry On, Warrior.

The Best Thing You Can Do For The Kids You Love

June 7, 2014 / Michele Minehart

JJ proposed to me a week before I left for 15 days in India. It’s no surprise, then, that when I went to visit Vanessa on a random day, she hunted through the house to offer me all the handy travel items she had stashed away from one of Anna’s many excursions. While doling over purses to hide under my shirts and airplane pillows she shared with me her thoughts on marriage.

She told me “the best thing a man can do for his children is to love their mother.” It’s stuck with me through the years and I try to apply the same wisdom toward my children’s father.

I think a close cousin to this thinking is wisdom for grandparents: the best way to love your grandchildren is to send their parents out on a date.

We’ve been so blessed to have Carol as the A+ grandma who climbs onto the floor with the kids and excitedly responds to relentless requests for another story. Perhaps she doesn’t do it on purpose, but when she stops down for the night and keeps the kids while we share a precious dinner alone, she’s giving the kids more than her own love, but increasing what we have to offer them as well.

Having 4 (very close in age and still small) children makes date night costly – not just because we enjoy tasty food, but because even a teenage sitter can rack up quite a bill. We usually estimate what we’ll spend for dinner out and double that for the cost of our entire date. We value our time together, so we try to put it into the budget and even follow through, but sometimes it’s hard to live our values.

We’ve had folks offer to keep the kids for us in passing, but how do you ask if someone is free to babysit when you know there’s no intent to pay? Just thinking about the interaction gives me hives.

My heart does a little dance when Carol calls and says, “I’d like to come down for a visit, do you guys want to go out? I’ll keep the kids.” Not only am I catching a breather, but the kids LOVE getting to spend time with someone who LOVES them. Win-win. Win.

One February when I was miserably pregnant and in the midst of transitioning to my SAHM/work-for-myself life we took a trip to the lake with his folks. In February we traditionally celebrate both of JJ’s parents’ birthdays along with their anniversary and Valentine’s day. It’s pretty much a Month O’ Minehart. But that February 15 they sent us to the restaurant with their credit card in hand, anxious for the evening with a house full of minis.

These gifts lift us most when we don’t expect them. Even better, when offerings come from free will, grandma and grandpa often feel like the ones winning in the situation because they “get” to have the kids for a little while. (I’m convinced they believe this because they also get to give them back at a pre-determined time.) Most important to me is opportunity for my kids to have grandparent time; second in line is protecting grandma and grandpa’s ability to say “no.”

Grandparenting takes a different shape for every family – even for individual families within a family, grandparents find their relationships with their grandchildren look unique. Some grandparents thrive on keeping the kids as the day care option; others really prefer a Sunday afternoon visit. There’s no “right” way to navigate a grandparenting relationship. I can only tell you what blesses this house: a blue van rolls up and the kids rush to the door to ask, “are you staying the night?!” Mom and dad put on their going out clothes, have a bite of sushi and come home to a quiet house.

Sometimes, I realize I’m so blessed I fear my heart may explode.

Michele Minehart

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And kids are kids forever

The Best Thing You Can Do For The Kids You Love

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