Until you see this...
Life is short. Pick your choices carefully.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Funny Friday
Is there anything cuter than a little girl and her sleeping puppy?
Until you see this...
Life is short. Pick your choices carefully.
Until you see this...
Life is short. Pick your choices carefully.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
It's a Heart Matter
The biggest challenge for me, as a parent, is to teach my children that it is simply not enough to respond to my commands in a robotic fashion. You know, "do it, because I said so." Additionally, I don't want them to perform because "God says to do it," either. Rather, I want them to develop a heart, a desire, for choosing to do the right thing.
I grew up in a house where I was to be the "seen, not heard" child. Good behavior was not optional. A response of any sort to a verbal command was dealt with severely. Performance was the only road to success. I can remember extreme frustration with never being able to voice an opinion, come to a compromise, or freely talk about my feelings. This is not a slap in the face of my parents, as the above things have situational merit. Additionally, they did a whole heap of things right that I have passed onto my own. With the exception of a rebellious college and young adult life, their parenting produced a relatively decent outcome.
No child struggles with this matter of the heart more than my dear Sadie. She is the pot stirrer, the envelope pusher, the strong-willed, yet, she is my creative genius, my leader and my most responsible. The dichotomy of her personality never fails to puzzle me.
Therefore, with her spirited personality, it was clear from the beginning that using the iron-fist to force her into obedience just wasn't going to work. Instead, I wanted to teach her how to use her words, calmly, maturely into telling me how she was feeling. I had hoped that given this opportunity to express herself, we might decrease fit throwing, flailing, crying, screaming and other non-desirable behaviors. She needed to know how to express herself. And this week, she did.
She told me that she didn't want to put her clothes away. It was too hard. She didn't want to do chores anymore. It makes her angry. And, the key to it all was this statement: I am tired of trying to have self-control. I applauded her efforts at verbalizing, calmly, what she was feeling. I affirmed them as understandable. She still had to finish her job, but her confession opened the door for some great dialogue.
Don't we all feel that way at times - tired of self-control? I'll admit it, I frequently feel constricted by my own vision of self-control. Self-control of my actions, my feelings, my emotions, my relationships, with food. The list goes on and on. We fight this battle independently, even though it isn't expected that we manage this all on our own. The pressure to be always under control, to perform, can be so intense and futile that at times we decide to throw in the towel. Usually that is where God finds us, at the point of no hope. I have totally rambled here. Back to topic...
There is a fine line between the performance mentality and acting from the heart. I think most of us vacillate frequently between the two. As I work through this with Sadie, I have to evaluate my own heart and motives. How much of what I do is performed, but without heart? Finding that pure balance is tough enough in my own life. Trying to teach it? That is a whole other heart matter.
I grew up in a house where I was to be the "seen, not heard" child. Good behavior was not optional. A response of any sort to a verbal command was dealt with severely. Performance was the only road to success. I can remember extreme frustration with never being able to voice an opinion, come to a compromise, or freely talk about my feelings. This is not a slap in the face of my parents, as the above things have situational merit. Additionally, they did a whole heap of things right that I have passed onto my own. With the exception of a rebellious college and young adult life, their parenting produced a relatively decent outcome.
No child struggles with this matter of the heart more than my dear Sadie. She is the pot stirrer, the envelope pusher, the strong-willed, yet, she is my creative genius, my leader and my most responsible. The dichotomy of her personality never fails to puzzle me.
Therefore, with her spirited personality, it was clear from the beginning that using the iron-fist to force her into obedience just wasn't going to work. Instead, I wanted to teach her how to use her words, calmly, maturely into telling me how she was feeling. I had hoped that given this opportunity to express herself, we might decrease fit throwing, flailing, crying, screaming and other non-desirable behaviors. She needed to know how to express herself. And this week, she did.
She told me that she didn't want to put her clothes away. It was too hard. She didn't want to do chores anymore. It makes her angry. And, the key to it all was this statement: I am tired of trying to have self-control. I applauded her efforts at verbalizing, calmly, what she was feeling. I affirmed them as understandable. She still had to finish her job, but her confession opened the door for some great dialogue.
Don't we all feel that way at times - tired of self-control? I'll admit it, I frequently feel constricted by my own vision of self-control. Self-control of my actions, my feelings, my emotions, my relationships, with food. The list goes on and on. We fight this battle independently, even though it isn't expected that we manage this all on our own. The pressure to be always under control, to perform, can be so intense and futile that at times we decide to throw in the towel. Usually that is where God finds us, at the point of no hope. I have totally rambled here. Back to topic...
There is a fine line between the performance mentality and acting from the heart. I think most of us vacillate frequently between the two. As I work through this with Sadie, I have to evaluate my own heart and motives. How much of what I do is performed, but without heart? Finding that pure balance is tough enough in my own life. Trying to teach it? That is a whole other heart matter.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
The Gauntlet Has Been Thrown
Well, there's a new title in town and boy, I just can't wait to start clawing my way for the esteemed honor. Of course, all I have to do is get a little plastic surgery, spend thousands on my wardrobe and have nanny, errand girl, taxi service, cleaning service, hair stylist and most likely anti-depressants and sleeping pills. Tell me, have you heard, we are all supposed to be fighting to be called "momshells." You know, hot mamma bombshells.
Because, let's face it ladies, that is all there is to life. We should be ashamed of ourselves if we are not running on that treadmill, appearing to effortlessly balance our children, husbands, finances, community service, all while looking fab-u-lous. Tightrope artists at the circus are asked to do perform this death-defying feat a mere 20 minutes or less per show, but our society asks us to work it 24/7. The final result of all that hard work is to showcase to the world that we are perfect human beings with no flaws, no problems, no stress and while we are at it...no character, no inward reflection and clearly no reality.
How dare society continue to put this pressure on us to add just one more level of idiocy to the long list of perfections it already has created for us! Don't buy into this or any other ridiculously sinful label society has thrust upon us. And just what does that confirm if someone is labeled as such? Nothing. Not one thing about their parenting, their love, their devotion, their compassion, their patience, their instruction, the volunteerism, their selflessness.
I say...give up that facade, Jessica Denay, author of the "Hot Moms Handbook" and possible lead promoter of this filth. I would love to ask her, "What are you hiding from, Ms. Denay? Do you not want anyone to actually know you? Who are you deep down inside? Do you want anyone to hear your heart or know your, (gasp!) mind? What are you so afraid that people will learn about you if you stepped out of this plastic perfection and let the real you be heard." As a mom, I want to know your fears, your failures, your goals and dreams, not what you have done to become lust-worthy.
A friend and fellow blogger was prompted to write the following to me when I informed her of this garbage: "This new title just kills me-momshell-the key part of the word is the most revealing-"shell". A shell's only purpose is to protect the living, growing creature within. This title implies that we are only interested in the care and upkeep of the surface-the shell. Our society as a whole is guilty of just looking at the surface and making the assumption that if the surface looks good then the inside must be good as well." Amen, sister!
In fact, let this be a challenge to every one of us. When we wake up in the morning, as we choose our clothing for the day, as we speak to our children in public and in the privacy of our home (because how differently we chose our words in these two places), when we are shopping, when we speak to other parents on the soccer field, when we make choices for dinner and when we kiss our children goodnight. Ask yourself, why am I doing this? What is my motivation behind my choice and my words? Defined by the world or defined by love.
Let us fight the world today. Let us not find our identity in it anymore. You may be wondering where then, should you find your strength, your definition of self. Well, my choice today is to find it in Christ alone. Because, ladies, only He gives me the freedom to be.
Because, let's face it ladies, that is all there is to life. We should be ashamed of ourselves if we are not running on that treadmill, appearing to effortlessly balance our children, husbands, finances, community service, all while looking fab-u-lous. Tightrope artists at the circus are asked to do perform this death-defying feat a mere 20 minutes or less per show, but our society asks us to work it 24/7. The final result of all that hard work is to showcase to the world that we are perfect human beings with no flaws, no problems, no stress and while we are at it...no character, no inward reflection and clearly no reality.
How dare society continue to put this pressure on us to add just one more level of idiocy to the long list of perfections it already has created for us! Don't buy into this or any other ridiculously sinful label society has thrust upon us. And just what does that confirm if someone is labeled as such? Nothing. Not one thing about their parenting, their love, their devotion, their compassion, their patience, their instruction, the volunteerism, their selflessness.
I say...give up that facade, Jessica Denay, author of the "Hot Moms Handbook" and possible lead promoter of this filth. I would love to ask her, "What are you hiding from, Ms. Denay? Do you not want anyone to actually know you? Who are you deep down inside? Do you want anyone to hear your heart or know your, (gasp!) mind? What are you so afraid that people will learn about you if you stepped out of this plastic perfection and let the real you be heard." As a mom, I want to know your fears, your failures, your goals and dreams, not what you have done to become lust-worthy.
A friend and fellow blogger was prompted to write the following to me when I informed her of this garbage: "This new title just kills me-momshell-the key part of the word is the most revealing-"shell". A shell's only purpose is to protect the living, growing creature within. This title implies that we are only interested in the care and upkeep of the surface-the shell. Our society as a whole is guilty of just looking at the surface and making the assumption that if the surface looks good then the inside must be good as well." Amen, sister!
In fact, let this be a challenge to every one of us. When we wake up in the morning, as we choose our clothing for the day, as we speak to our children in public and in the privacy of our home (because how differently we chose our words in these two places), when we are shopping, when we speak to other parents on the soccer field, when we make choices for dinner and when we kiss our children goodnight. Ask yourself, why am I doing this? What is my motivation behind my choice and my words? Defined by the world or defined by love.
Let us fight the world today. Let us not find our identity in it anymore. You may be wondering where then, should you find your strength, your definition of self. Well, my choice today is to find it in Christ alone. Because, ladies, only He gives me the freedom to be.
Things That Go Bump in the Night
Whirlwind. Whirlwind. Whirlwind. Borderline tornadic. I don't even think that is a real word (and I think I can write a book). But it feels appropriate in describing my brain the past few days. I have a million little pieces of paper, random words in my journal that I keep in my purse, emails to friends, comments on blogs all wrestling for order and understanding. I figure this will be my life for a while until I understand where this is all headed.
Oh, and if you were looking for "Confessions of a Real Mom," click here. Comments are still welcome and always will be (just click on the word comment after each post). If you are a new reader, feel free to browse, comment, follow or lurk at random.
Yesterday, Ethan, Sadie and I were coming home from soccer practice. Ethan began this conversation about "things that creeped him out." It ended up with each of us making a list of the things that we thought were creepy or scary. I think it was very productive seeing that it occurred in the car, while it was still daylight, rather than right at bedtime when scary things are usually brought to light, thus giving multiple excuses for not going to sleep. Here is a sampling of what brings us much fear:
Ethan, age 8
1. Some character named Cyrus, a lizard-like "slinky serpent" found on "Dragon Tales." My research indicates that he often tries to steal others' eggs to eat. Ethan would be horrified if he knew that I posted this for the world to see, but well, which one of you is going to bring that up to him? I didn't think so. It also says something about how an innocent show on PBS viewed at the age of 3 can linger in the darker areas of your brain. Sure, Ethan can watch Star Wars and Indiana Jones and not bat an eye. But, give him a cartoon lizard and he falls to pieces.
2. The boa constrictors in Riki Tiki Tavi. Or, as he puts it, "Riki Tiki Tacky." The point here is that a) they watched it in class at school (thank you for that well-utilized tuition money) and b) I found it creepy (not scary) as well at that age, in the same exact movie when I was in 3rd grade. Genetically connected in that part of our brain? Maybe.
There was a smattering of other things...including some Naria character, but really, I am beginning to believe that reptiles are just not Ethan's thing.
Sadie, age 7
1. The blame for this one rests solely on my in-laws. Jay took Sadie, then 3, to the Netherlands to visit the in-laws while he was on business there. My in-laws are a bit on the snobbish side, musically, often only listening to classical music. Well, I take that back. My father-in-law has some thing for Tina Turner as most European men his age, but I digress. Anyway, they bought the CD of "Peter and the Wolf" along with a book with graphic illustrations to peruse while listening to the music. I am not sure what my in-laws told Sadie about the book - maybe a mistranslation occurred? That is not clear. What IS clear is that the book and its illustrations and the music nearly make her cry. Sadie could not bear to think about that book being in her room one night and I tore apart her room, looking for the book in order for her to sleep. Keep your judgments to yourself - I know I indulged her.
2. The Hawk in "Seven Brothers." This is actually a movie my mother owns and it stays at her house. Now that I think about it, ALL the grandparents are to blame for the terrifying moments in Sadie's mind. Interesting. In the movie, the hawk swoops down to gather and kill the little baby rabbits. It is an intense moment. I know Sadie was subjected to this movie at least 5 times as my mother thought it was just so cute and sweet to see the relationship between the puppy and his adopted rabbit family. Meanwhile, my daughter won't sleep for days after viewing this movie. Thanks, Mom.
Kelsey, age 37
My main source of terror as a child was none other than Darth Vader. I am sure this was perpetuated by my sister who would hide in my closet at night, mimicking his heavy, labored breathing, causing me to intensely clutch my covers and whimper. I would also conjure up Darth Vader hiding in every corner of our house, just waiting to kill me. At night, I would hold my breath as Vader passed by my room with a "life detector." Why I felt I was so important to Darth Vader is unknown. I certainly didn't have the power to use the Force to bring down the Empire.
When I mentioned my childhood fear to my children in the car, they laughed. Yes, they LAUGHED at me. They just couldn't see it. They saw nothing in the world scary about a man in a dark suit who underneath was "just Luke's dad," as Ethan put it. He is right. When Vader takes off his helmet, he really just looked like Uncle Fester on steroids. To their credit, however, my children have had the benefit of knowing how he evolved into Darth Vader and that he died in the final movie.
I think that is where I am right now. No, not still fearful of Darth Vader (well, maybe a little). Life would be a little less scary if I knew all about this "writing stuff" I am doing - from beginning to end, start to finish. I am not completely clear on what I am writing and it is partly-cloudy as to whom. All I do know is that I am writing. Revelations are coming quickly and yesterday it hit me like a TON of bricks...in writing a book about relationships and transparency, I would have to be totally transparent. And, someone might actually read it! Ack! Am I ready for that? Frankly, this is, as my children put it, creeping me out.
Oh, and if you were looking for "Confessions of a Real Mom," click here. Comments are still welcome and always will be (just click on the word comment after each post). If you are a new reader, feel free to browse, comment, follow or lurk at random.
Yesterday, Ethan, Sadie and I were coming home from soccer practice. Ethan began this conversation about "things that creeped him out." It ended up with each of us making a list of the things that we thought were creepy or scary. I think it was very productive seeing that it occurred in the car, while it was still daylight, rather than right at bedtime when scary things are usually brought to light, thus giving multiple excuses for not going to sleep. Here is a sampling of what brings us much fear:
Ethan, age 8
1. Some character named Cyrus, a lizard-like "slinky serpent" found on "Dragon Tales." My research indicates that he often tries to steal others' eggs to eat. Ethan would be horrified if he knew that I posted this for the world to see, but well, which one of you is going to bring that up to him? I didn't think so. It also says something about how an innocent show on PBS viewed at the age of 3 can linger in the darker areas of your brain. Sure, Ethan can watch Star Wars and Indiana Jones and not bat an eye. But, give him a cartoon lizard and he falls to pieces.
2. The boa constrictors in Riki Tiki Tavi. Or, as he puts it, "Riki Tiki Tacky." The point here is that a) they watched it in class at school (thank you for that well-utilized tuition money) and b) I found it creepy (not scary) as well at that age, in the same exact movie when I was in 3rd grade. Genetically connected in that part of our brain? Maybe.
There was a smattering of other things...including some Naria character, but really, I am beginning to believe that reptiles are just not Ethan's thing.
Sadie, age 7
1. The blame for this one rests solely on my in-laws. Jay took Sadie, then 3, to the Netherlands to visit the in-laws while he was on business there. My in-laws are a bit on the snobbish side, musically, often only listening to classical music. Well, I take that back. My father-in-law has some thing for Tina Turner as most European men his age, but I digress. Anyway, they bought the CD of "Peter and the Wolf" along with a book with graphic illustrations to peruse while listening to the music. I am not sure what my in-laws told Sadie about the book - maybe a mistranslation occurred? That is not clear. What IS clear is that the book and its illustrations and the music nearly make her cry. Sadie could not bear to think about that book being in her room one night and I tore apart her room, looking for the book in order for her to sleep. Keep your judgments to yourself - I know I indulged her.
2. The Hawk in "Seven Brothers." This is actually a movie my mother owns and it stays at her house. Now that I think about it, ALL the grandparents are to blame for the terrifying moments in Sadie's mind. Interesting. In the movie, the hawk swoops down to gather and kill the little baby rabbits. It is an intense moment. I know Sadie was subjected to this movie at least 5 times as my mother thought it was just so cute and sweet to see the relationship between the puppy and his adopted rabbit family. Meanwhile, my daughter won't sleep for days after viewing this movie. Thanks, Mom.
Kelsey, age 37
My main source of terror as a child was none other than Darth Vader. I am sure this was perpetuated by my sister who would hide in my closet at night, mimicking his heavy, labored breathing, causing me to intensely clutch my covers and whimper. I would also conjure up Darth Vader hiding in every corner of our house, just waiting to kill me. At night, I would hold my breath as Vader passed by my room with a "life detector." Why I felt I was so important to Darth Vader is unknown. I certainly didn't have the power to use the Force to bring down the Empire.
When I mentioned my childhood fear to my children in the car, they laughed. Yes, they LAUGHED at me. They just couldn't see it. They saw nothing in the world scary about a man in a dark suit who underneath was "just Luke's dad," as Ethan put it. He is right. When Vader takes off his helmet, he really just looked like Uncle Fester on steroids. To their credit, however, my children have had the benefit of knowing how he evolved into Darth Vader and that he died in the final movie.
I think that is where I am right now. No, not still fearful of Darth Vader (well, maybe a little). Life would be a little less scary if I knew all about this "writing stuff" I am doing - from beginning to end, start to finish. I am not completely clear on what I am writing and it is partly-cloudy as to whom. All I do know is that I am writing. Revelations are coming quickly and yesterday it hit me like a TON of bricks...in writing a book about relationships and transparency, I would have to be totally transparent. And, someone might actually read it! Ack! Am I ready for that? Frankly, this is, as my children put it, creeping me out.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Random Thoughts on a Sunday Morning
Silence is golden. That little phrase sums up my weekend in several ways. I was treated to the most coveted of situations for a mom - a day and night at home ALONE! Yes, the husband gathered up our brood and took them camping with the cub scouts amidst some excitement and protest among the campers. Right when they were leaving Sadie announced that she DID NOT want to go. Here is the conversation that followed:
Me: You are going and that is that.
Jay: Well, I am fine with that. She can stay home.
Me: (Seeing my weekend crumbling before me) No, she is going. No discussion.
Jay: Kelsey, this is not about your weekend alone.
Me: It most certainly is. She is going.
Lily walked around the house for about 30 minutes prior to leaving wearing her backpack. Ethan lugged everything to the car. Sadie, had a fit about which shoes to wear. Despite having three choices, none worked for her. A definite sign of pre-teen years worming their way in to our home a little too early. Everyone in the car, I waved the family off with a little too much exuberance, shut the door and jumped back into bed to plan my day.
I'll go ahead and get the embarrassing part out of the way - I played Rock Band. Only for about 30 minutes as my own behavior actually ended the session. After each song, I would make some comment out loud like, "Wow! That was tough," or "Well, that stunk," or "Oh, that was cool." I began to creep myself out with this "talking to no one blather" and turned it off.
I ventured into the scraproom and worked on quite a few layouts. A friend came to work on her album as well. As usual, we ended up talking more than we got done, but like a modern quilting bee, that is part of the process. Still three years behind in the documenting our lives department as I just completed Lily's first steps. For perspective, she will enter kindergarten next year.
Late in the afternoon my fantabulous stepsister came over to leave for dinner. We shuttled through the city to pick up a couple of more willing "hen party" victims and flew into Greensboro. Dinner and conversation flowed nicely. It was a great dynamic because no one knew each other. I was the only common denominator. Not that I need to be the one in control, but no one came with an agenda or deeply connected past. Well, that is not entirely true. I had an agenda, but will write about that in a moment. I suggest, that throwing together a mix of ladies that are usually not connected can bring a very delightful outcome.
Ok, so my agenda...I have been thinking a lot about my post, "Confessions of a Real Mom." It was my most read and most commented entry. Clearly, it is a topic that deeply resonated with other women. I knew I wasn't finished with this topic, but wasn't sure how to proceed. Then, I had a few ladies comment to me personally or via email about their experiences and they encouraged me to continue along this vein, possibly in a longer format. In my prayer time, I had asked God to make this happen because honestly, I am clueless. I can't work through the details or timing or gather my thoughts in a coherent way.
Hang with me on this, there is a point to this. In the meantime, I found out Wednesday night that I would have Saturday and part of Sunday sans family. I sent out the "girls' night out" flares to see what might transpire. Amazingly, God made it possible for the three ladies who had been the most prolific commenters on that particular post to attend. And one was from out of town. We had a productive conversation about our struggles as moms, the performance and expectation traps that snare us so easily. Clearly, God is giving me the encouragement, the information and support and confirmation that I am, indeed, to write more about this topic, in the form of a... book. There, I wrote it. It is out there. No taking it back now! Here's to a new journey!
I will refer to this project every once in a while, but will keep the majority of the writing on another site. However, I do need help. My short list follows:
1. Will you link to my blog? If you feel comfortable doing so, email this link to your friends, families, whomever. The more, the better. I need a larger audience to whom I can pose some questions and receive feedback. My world is fairly homogeneous and I need it to be more varied in multiple ways (geography, beliefs, seasons of life, culture, race).
2. Be part of my research. I will be hosting several, multiple, maybe hundreds of round table discussions. Would you like to participate, even if in only one discussion? Or, would you be willing to answer some interview questions? Don't worry, I won't make "an good or bad example" out of anyone in the writing. I will respect the privacy of those willing to assist.
3. Would you be a reader? Are you a good proofreader? Do you have editing skills. Nothing professional, but are you easily NOT offended? Let me know.
4. Will you pray with and for me? Above all, I want this book to be what God wants it to be. There are multiple directions I can take and varying audiences I can address. I am easily discouraged and frequently filled with self-doubt.
I need you, the question is...will you join me on path?
Me: You are going and that is that.
Jay: Well, I am fine with that. She can stay home.
Me: (Seeing my weekend crumbling before me) No, she is going. No discussion.
Jay: Kelsey, this is not about your weekend alone.
Me: It most certainly is. She is going.
Lily walked around the house for about 30 minutes prior to leaving wearing her backpack. Ethan lugged everything to the car. Sadie, had a fit about which shoes to wear. Despite having three choices, none worked for her. A definite sign of pre-teen years worming their way in to our home a little too early. Everyone in the car, I waved the family off with a little too much exuberance, shut the door and jumped back into bed to plan my day.
I'll go ahead and get the embarrassing part out of the way - I played Rock Band. Only for about 30 minutes as my own behavior actually ended the session. After each song, I would make some comment out loud like, "Wow! That was tough," or "Well, that stunk," or "Oh, that was cool." I began to creep myself out with this "talking to no one blather" and turned it off.
I ventured into the scraproom and worked on quite a few layouts. A friend came to work on her album as well. As usual, we ended up talking more than we got done, but like a modern quilting bee, that is part of the process. Still three years behind in the documenting our lives department as I just completed Lily's first steps. For perspective, she will enter kindergarten next year.
Late in the afternoon my fantabulous stepsister came over to leave for dinner. We shuttled through the city to pick up a couple of more willing "hen party" victims and flew into Greensboro. Dinner and conversation flowed nicely. It was a great dynamic because no one knew each other. I was the only common denominator. Not that I need to be the one in control, but no one came with an agenda or deeply connected past. Well, that is not entirely true. I had an agenda, but will write about that in a moment. I suggest, that throwing together a mix of ladies that are usually not connected can bring a very delightful outcome.
Ok, so my agenda...I have been thinking a lot about my post, "Confessions of a Real Mom." It was my most read and most commented entry. Clearly, it is a topic that deeply resonated with other women. I knew I wasn't finished with this topic, but wasn't sure how to proceed. Then, I had a few ladies comment to me personally or via email about their experiences and they encouraged me to continue along this vein, possibly in a longer format. In my prayer time, I had asked God to make this happen because honestly, I am clueless. I can't work through the details or timing or gather my thoughts in a coherent way.
Hang with me on this, there is a point to this. In the meantime, I found out Wednesday night that I would have Saturday and part of Sunday sans family. I sent out the "girls' night out" flares to see what might transpire. Amazingly, God made it possible for the three ladies who had been the most prolific commenters on that particular post to attend. And one was from out of town. We had a productive conversation about our struggles as moms, the performance and expectation traps that snare us so easily. Clearly, God is giving me the encouragement, the information and support and confirmation that I am, indeed, to write more about this topic, in the form of a... book. There, I wrote it. It is out there. No taking it back now! Here's to a new journey!
I will refer to this project every once in a while, but will keep the majority of the writing on another site. However, I do need help. My short list follows:
1. Will you link to my blog? If you feel comfortable doing so, email this link to your friends, families, whomever. The more, the better. I need a larger audience to whom I can pose some questions and receive feedback. My world is fairly homogeneous and I need it to be more varied in multiple ways (geography, beliefs, seasons of life, culture, race).
2. Be part of my research. I will be hosting several, multiple, maybe hundreds of round table discussions. Would you like to participate, even if in only one discussion? Or, would you be willing to answer some interview questions? Don't worry, I won't make "an good or bad example" out of anyone in the writing. I will respect the privacy of those willing to assist.
3. Would you be a reader? Are you a good proofreader? Do you have editing skills. Nothing professional, but are you easily NOT offended? Let me know.
4. Will you pray with and for me? Above all, I want this book to be what God wants it to be. There are multiple directions I can take and varying audiences I can address. I am easily discouraged and frequently filled with self-doubt.
I need you, the question is...will you join me on path?
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Nearing the End
Wow! What a response from you readers! Thank you for the hilarious, tear-inducing comments, the votes of support and for forwarding on the link to my blog. It obviously struck a chord with many of you. I have been working on "Confessions of a Real Mom, Part 2" in my mind over the past couple of days. It will be written, but unfortunately, not today.
I had a phone conversation with my father this morning regarding my 89-year old grandfather. He has suffered from Alzheimer's for over 10 years. That is an incredibly long time over which your mind and body to slowly deteriorate. His time on this earth has been prolonged solely because of the complete devotion of his caregiver, my grandmother. You can read about their incredible relationship here, in a post I wrote last April.
Sadly, my grandfather is losing his ability to swallow, his pacemaker the only catalyst keeping his heart beating. And, because of 3 weeks in the hospital, he can no longer sit up on his own. We are nearing the end. He is being moved back to the "home" where he has resided for the last 5 years and Hospice is being called in to make him comfortable. My heart is breaking for my grandmother. Simply breaking.
Some of you have had the privilege to meet my grandfather, Chip Aulbert, when he was still thriving. I have no doubt that you recognized that his small stature vastly contrasted with large volumes of love and laughter that he brought to the world.
He was crazy funny. One time, he hooked the video camera up when no one was home and recorded himself singing several songs. Actually, it was one song, a made-up song, just sung in several different octaves. The name of the song? "Pine Tree." The title being the only words of the song...just repeated over and over. Why did he do this? Simply for entertaining our family, bringing hilarity into our lives and giving us an experience to chat about for years.
This man had no high school diploma, yet became the head of engineering at Thomas Built Buses where he worked his entire life. He could invent and then fabricate anything. He was visionary.
He called me K.T., the only one in the family to do so. It always made me feel extra-special, most loved. He took me and my sister to our first and only circus show. Having an incredible addiction to sugar himself, he would constantly take us for ice cream, often at Swensen's at Friendly Center when we spent time at my grandparent's house. Much to our delight, he would, covertly, slip us candy. He helped me move into and out of college apartments, came to rescue me when I drove my truck into a lake and hugged me fiercely when my parents declared they were divorcing.
He called the light in the refrigerator and the high beam light on the dashboard of the car, the "Hootie." They would "magically" come on because of the mysterious "Hootie" and we believed every word. I can't believe we were so naive, and even as I write it, it doesn't make much sense!
And now, my grandfather, who brought a guaranteed smile to my face with just the mention of his name, is withering, deteriorating away. He is choking on his own saliva and there is nothing we can do, but watch and wait. My mind can only see the cruelty of what he has become and I am struggling with seeing the bigger picture. Lord, please take him home. Take him quickly and painlessly. Prepare my grandmother's heart and mind. And, in doing so, protect my grandmother from all-consuming grief and pain. Hear my heart, Lord, but let Your will be done.
I had a phone conversation with my father this morning regarding my 89-year old grandfather. He has suffered from Alzheimer's for over 10 years. That is an incredibly long time over which your mind and body to slowly deteriorate. His time on this earth has been prolonged solely because of the complete devotion of his caregiver, my grandmother. You can read about their incredible relationship here, in a post I wrote last April.
Sadly, my grandfather is losing his ability to swallow, his pacemaker the only catalyst keeping his heart beating. And, because of 3 weeks in the hospital, he can no longer sit up on his own. We are nearing the end. He is being moved back to the "home" where he has resided for the last 5 years and Hospice is being called in to make him comfortable. My heart is breaking for my grandmother. Simply breaking.
Some of you have had the privilege to meet my grandfather, Chip Aulbert, when he was still thriving. I have no doubt that you recognized that his small stature vastly contrasted with large volumes of love and laughter that he brought to the world.
He was crazy funny. One time, he hooked the video camera up when no one was home and recorded himself singing several songs. Actually, it was one song, a made-up song, just sung in several different octaves. The name of the song? "Pine Tree." The title being the only words of the song...just repeated over and over. Why did he do this? Simply for entertaining our family, bringing hilarity into our lives and giving us an experience to chat about for years.
This man had no high school diploma, yet became the head of engineering at Thomas Built Buses where he worked his entire life. He could invent and then fabricate anything. He was visionary.
He called me K.T., the only one in the family to do so. It always made me feel extra-special, most loved. He took me and my sister to our first and only circus show. Having an incredible addiction to sugar himself, he would constantly take us for ice cream, often at Swensen's at Friendly Center when we spent time at my grandparent's house. Much to our delight, he would, covertly, slip us candy. He helped me move into and out of college apartments, came to rescue me when I drove my truck into a lake and hugged me fiercely when my parents declared they were divorcing.
He called the light in the refrigerator and the high beam light on the dashboard of the car, the "Hootie." They would "magically" come on because of the mysterious "Hootie" and we believed every word. I can't believe we were so naive, and even as I write it, it doesn't make much sense!
And now, my grandfather, who brought a guaranteed smile to my face with just the mention of his name, is withering, deteriorating away. He is choking on his own saliva and there is nothing we can do, but watch and wait. My mind can only see the cruelty of what he has become and I am struggling with seeing the bigger picture. Lord, please take him home. Take him quickly and painlessly. Prepare my grandmother's heart and mind. And, in doing so, protect my grandmother from all-consuming grief and pain. Hear my heart, Lord, but let Your will be done.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Thoughts of Africa
I read this blog today. I suggest you do, too. It tugged at me. It highlighted a little hole in my heart. The hole created by the piece I left in Africa over 14 years ago and made larger by a second trip 6 years ago.
My heart sinks when I read about the calamity that has befallen Zimbabwe. A country of such promise and hope in the early 90s. I wonder what the slums of South Africa have become since the fall of apartheid. And, I dream of holding the little orphan girl in Ghana again in my arms while the harmonic sounds of the orphan choir sing His praises.
I don't know anyone who has ever been to Africa who wasn't deeply moved by the tension between beauty and despair. It is a continent that quickly creates passion and carves a lasting mark in the hearts of every visitor. A place that exists, defying the odds on so many levels. I loved every minute I was there and I long for more of it. I never think about those places without believing one day I might return on a more lengthy basis. How, where and why, I do not know.
Here's to possibilities...
My heart sinks when I read about the calamity that has befallen Zimbabwe. A country of such promise and hope in the early 90s. I wonder what the slums of South Africa have become since the fall of apartheid. And, I dream of holding the little orphan girl in Ghana again in my arms while the harmonic sounds of the orphan choir sing His praises.
I don't know anyone who has ever been to Africa who wasn't deeply moved by the tension between beauty and despair. It is a continent that quickly creates passion and carves a lasting mark in the hearts of every visitor. A place that exists, defying the odds on so many levels. I loved every minute I was there and I long for more of it. I never think about those places without believing one day I might return on a more lengthy basis. How, where and why, I do not know.
Here's to possibilities...
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Confessions of a Real Mom
You know what? I am fed up. I am tired. Ladies, we are all guilty of what I am about to write and it is time for it to stop.
What has gotten me all riled up, ruffled my feathers and helped me onto my soapbox? The comparing of ourselves to each other, the judgments we put forth onto each other...the super-erroneous belief that any one of us truly "has it all together."
I am laying it all on the line, here. I DO NOT have it all together and frankly I am ashamed for all previous attempts to appear as such. Any time I have behaved out of the fear of the rolling eyes of others, made choices because of how pious or holy I might be seen, hidden the dark secrets of the pursuit of self, well, I express my deepest apologies. I stand in defiance of the social pressure and the ridiculous codes that are unspoken but well-understood by wives and moms. We allow the grade of passing to be nothing but 100%, and why? I declare today, I will not do it any more.
So ladies, here's to the time I allowed my kids to watch the "Transformers Movie," ignorant of the fact that it was rated PG13. Not only did my two oldest watch it, so did 5 other little boys who were spending the night as guests of my oldest, most of whom have not been back to our house. As a direct result of this movie, I was asked by my children while riding in the car home from school what "Master-bathing" was. In my innocence, I thought they had seen a Re-Bath truck. You know the company, the one that can reglaze, reglamorize your bathroom? Oh, but no, after the third time of hearing the word, "Master-Bathing" it dawned on me. My voice went up about 3 octaves and I nearly lost control of the car. Imagine my delight upon hearing the answer to my panic-muttered question, "Where did you hear that word?" Sadie repeated, verbatum the four lines prior to and the four lines post the "word in question." Ethan blurted out...It was in Transformers, Mom, you know, the movie you let us watch at the sleepover? If you really want to know how bad this movie is, click here for the parental guide that I most definitely should have read. I am horrified.
While I am at it, here are some more confessions...Here's to unwanted facial hair and the battle it takes to have it removed. Here's to starving myself a day here or there to maintain a ridiculous weight that I didn't even have in high school. Here's to insane contemplations of getting cosmetic procedures at 37 that didn't exist 10 years ago.
Here's to the time I accidentally left my middle child at home ALONE for at least 30 minutes when she was only 3 years old. She survived. I survived. But it was terrible.
I buy clothes at Wal-Mart, wash my face with regular bath soap about 75% of the time and eat a hot dog, loaded, with fries and a Diet Cheerwine every Tuesday at the Dog House on Main Street. I use harsh chemicals to clean my house because I love the smell and haven't invested the time or money into shopping organic.
I try to recycle but every once in a while just chuck the bag at the main dumpster at the dump. And, I have used the dumpsters at High Point's largest church for my bags of refuse when I realized that the trash dump was closed and I had a car load of stink. Because of regular trash dump runs, I had a mouse living in my van, make that thriving in my van, for over a week. My van is filthy, littered with fast food nibbles and stained in varying shades of muck that I don't even want to know its origins.
I claim to be active on doctor's forms and insurance forms, but I never exercise. Even though my back surgeon gave me the green light to go skiing, I still use my back surgery for many excuses to get out of moving anything remotely heavy or for doing any yard work. Basically, I am lying.
I have been "working" on the same bible study for over a year now, despite the "glowing reviews" that I give to other people about it. It is good, I just haven't finished it. In fact, I have led numerous bible studies, counseled and mentored ladies, but have yet to read the entire bible. Sure, I strongly desire to read all of it, but haven't. I have about 5 scriptures memorized and repeatedly use them with as much authority as I can muster.
I don't volunteer at my kid's school very often and think that is just fine. And, frankly, I don't particularly like watching other people's kids, though the older they get, it is easier.
Pets and plants have a very low survival rate in our house. The stories coming from the house of horrors are disturbing, I'll admit it. Cats, dogs, hermit crabs, love birds...none are immune.
My kids have sat in front of the television ALL afternoon watching junk that should have never been produced under the umbrella of children's television. Additional abominations include their repeated references from infomercials, like "peel and press crown molding," the "snuggly," the mini hamburger "sliders" maker. They have a strange affection for Billy Mayes and complain that he yells through the tv. And, we have interesting conversations that center around the difference between Nationwide, State Farm and how you can save 15% on Geico Insurance. All courtesy of their television viewing.
When they were younger, I let my kids stay in diapers long after they should have been changed, let them eat stuff dropped on the floor, and lied to them about dates for birthday parties that they were not going to attend. My kids occasionally go to bed and to school without their teeth brushed or hair combed. Every morning I give thought to allowing the kids to skip school and for all of us to just sleep in. If not for the fact that we carpool, I might just do it, too. This school year, I struggled with serious, serious pride issues because my oldest got his first B this year, eliminating him from the much publicized all-A honor roll for the 2nd quarter. Pathetic.
I don't like doing crafts with my kids. There, I said it. The idea of created permanent works of collectible art is very utopian. But, in fact, the mess, the chaos and the end results are never worth the effort in my mind. I do it solely out of peer pressure.
I have regifted, parked illegally and not put my shopping cart back into the corral. I rarely separate my lights and darks while doing laundry and feign ignorance when my husband complains that all his undershirts are dingy. I have read only two complete novels in the last year.
I have yelled at, screamed at and berated my children. I have had days where I hated being a mother, hated my children and plotted my get away plan.
Projects? Do I have half-finished projects? There is a set of unfinished chairs in our basement that I have "promised" to polyurethane since before Jay and I even met. Our financial files are a mess despite the purchase of a new filing system in the last couple of months. I have three long years and growing of photos waiting to be archived. I have a room full of scrapbooking supplies which no human could ever possibly consume. Yet, I continue to pick-up a roll of ribbon on sale or a pack of the latest paper designs.
My second to the last spiritual gift, according to every assessment I have ever taken, is mercy. Therefore, if my child comes to me, multiple times with the same issue, chances are, I am tuning him/her out. I just don't have it to give. Most likely, I exhibit the same behavior to the adults in my life.
I sometimes listen to non-Christian music, drink a beer or two on the weekends and enjoy a night out on the town. We have "skipped" church a couple of times in the last several months and I don't think that changes my status with God. I am tired of running that performance race as well. God knows my heart. I talk to Him every day. He knows I love Him.
I ask, where is our confidence, ladies? Just what is the ruler by which we measure ourselves? There are going to be successful days and days of massive failure. But averaging it out, I think I am doing the best I can with what I know. I will strive to improve, gain a little more insight, but always with that knowledge that I will never achieve perfection. I will never again measure my success in my home by the yardstick from another home.
Whew! I feel a lot better. Here's your chance. Get it all out. Post it in the comments section, anonymously if you want. And never, never again feel the guilt of your actions because you didn't do what Miss So-and-so did.
What has gotten me all riled up, ruffled my feathers and helped me onto my soapbox? The comparing of ourselves to each other, the judgments we put forth onto each other...the super-erroneous belief that any one of us truly "has it all together."
I am laying it all on the line, here. I DO NOT have it all together and frankly I am ashamed for all previous attempts to appear as such. Any time I have behaved out of the fear of the rolling eyes of others, made choices because of how pious or holy I might be seen, hidden the dark secrets of the pursuit of self, well, I express my deepest apologies. I stand in defiance of the social pressure and the ridiculous codes that are unspoken but well-understood by wives and moms. We allow the grade of passing to be nothing but 100%, and why? I declare today, I will not do it any more.
So ladies, here's to the time I allowed my kids to watch the "Transformers Movie," ignorant of the fact that it was rated PG13. Not only did my two oldest watch it, so did 5 other little boys who were spending the night as guests of my oldest, most of whom have not been back to our house. As a direct result of this movie, I was asked by my children while riding in the car home from school what "Master-bathing" was. In my innocence, I thought they had seen a Re-Bath truck. You know the company, the one that can reglaze, reglamorize your bathroom? Oh, but no, after the third time of hearing the word, "Master-Bathing" it dawned on me. My voice went up about 3 octaves and I nearly lost control of the car. Imagine my delight upon hearing the answer to my panic-muttered question, "Where did you hear that word?" Sadie repeated, verbatum the four lines prior to and the four lines post the "word in question." Ethan blurted out...It was in Transformers, Mom, you know, the movie you let us watch at the sleepover? If you really want to know how bad this movie is, click here for the parental guide that I most definitely should have read. I am horrified.
While I am at it, here are some more confessions...Here's to unwanted facial hair and the battle it takes to have it removed. Here's to starving myself a day here or there to maintain a ridiculous weight that I didn't even have in high school. Here's to insane contemplations of getting cosmetic procedures at 37 that didn't exist 10 years ago.
Here's to the time I accidentally left my middle child at home ALONE for at least 30 minutes when she was only 3 years old. She survived. I survived. But it was terrible.
I buy clothes at Wal-Mart, wash my face with regular bath soap about 75% of the time and eat a hot dog, loaded, with fries and a Diet Cheerwine every Tuesday at the Dog House on Main Street. I use harsh chemicals to clean my house because I love the smell and haven't invested the time or money into shopping organic.
I try to recycle but every once in a while just chuck the bag at the main dumpster at the dump. And, I have used the dumpsters at High Point's largest church for my bags of refuse when I realized that the trash dump was closed and I had a car load of stink. Because of regular trash dump runs, I had a mouse living in my van, make that thriving in my van, for over a week. My van is filthy, littered with fast food nibbles and stained in varying shades of muck that I don't even want to know its origins.
I claim to be active on doctor's forms and insurance forms, but I never exercise. Even though my back surgeon gave me the green light to go skiing, I still use my back surgery for many excuses to get out of moving anything remotely heavy or for doing any yard work. Basically, I am lying.
I have been "working" on the same bible study for over a year now, despite the "glowing reviews" that I give to other people about it. It is good, I just haven't finished it. In fact, I have led numerous bible studies, counseled and mentored ladies, but have yet to read the entire bible. Sure, I strongly desire to read all of it, but haven't. I have about 5 scriptures memorized and repeatedly use them with as much authority as I can muster.
I don't volunteer at my kid's school very often and think that is just fine. And, frankly, I don't particularly like watching other people's kids, though the older they get, it is easier.
Pets and plants have a very low survival rate in our house. The stories coming from the house of horrors are disturbing, I'll admit it. Cats, dogs, hermit crabs, love birds...none are immune.
My kids have sat in front of the television ALL afternoon watching junk that should have never been produced under the umbrella of children's television. Additional abominations include their repeated references from infomercials, like "peel and press crown molding," the "snuggly," the mini hamburger "sliders" maker. They have a strange affection for Billy Mayes and complain that he yells through the tv. And, we have interesting conversations that center around the difference between Nationwide, State Farm and how you can save 15% on Geico Insurance. All courtesy of their television viewing.
When they were younger, I let my kids stay in diapers long after they should have been changed, let them eat stuff dropped on the floor, and lied to them about dates for birthday parties that they were not going to attend. My kids occasionally go to bed and to school without their teeth brushed or hair combed. Every morning I give thought to allowing the kids to skip school and for all of us to just sleep in. If not for the fact that we carpool, I might just do it, too. This school year, I struggled with serious, serious pride issues because my oldest got his first B this year, eliminating him from the much publicized all-A honor roll for the 2nd quarter. Pathetic.
I don't like doing crafts with my kids. There, I said it. The idea of created permanent works of collectible art is very utopian. But, in fact, the mess, the chaos and the end results are never worth the effort in my mind. I do it solely out of peer pressure.
I have regifted, parked illegally and not put my shopping cart back into the corral. I rarely separate my lights and darks while doing laundry and feign ignorance when my husband complains that all his undershirts are dingy. I have read only two complete novels in the last year.
I have yelled at, screamed at and berated my children. I have had days where I hated being a mother, hated my children and plotted my get away plan.
Projects? Do I have half-finished projects? There is a set of unfinished chairs in our basement that I have "promised" to polyurethane since before Jay and I even met. Our financial files are a mess despite the purchase of a new filing system in the last couple of months. I have three long years and growing of photos waiting to be archived. I have a room full of scrapbooking supplies which no human could ever possibly consume. Yet, I continue to pick-up a roll of ribbon on sale or a pack of the latest paper designs.
My second to the last spiritual gift, according to every assessment I have ever taken, is mercy. Therefore, if my child comes to me, multiple times with the same issue, chances are, I am tuning him/her out. I just don't have it to give. Most likely, I exhibit the same behavior to the adults in my life.
I sometimes listen to non-Christian music, drink a beer or two on the weekends and enjoy a night out on the town. We have "skipped" church a couple of times in the last several months and I don't think that changes my status with God. I am tired of running that performance race as well. God knows my heart. I talk to Him every day. He knows I love Him.
I ask, where is our confidence, ladies? Just what is the ruler by which we measure ourselves? There are going to be successful days and days of massive failure. But averaging it out, I think I am doing the best I can with what I know. I will strive to improve, gain a little more insight, but always with that knowledge that I will never achieve perfection. I will never again measure my success in my home by the yardstick from another home.
Whew! I feel a lot better. Here's your chance. Get it all out. Post it in the comments section, anonymously if you want. And never, never again feel the guilt of your actions because you didn't do what Miss So-and-so did.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Goodnight Sweetheart
The sweetest time for me with each of my children is the brief time I get to spend with them each night when it is time to tuck them in. It is usually just the two of us, alone, in their own beds. Our most precious conversations occur then. These are the chats that remind me that maybe I did something right that day, even if small. They are the exchanges that give me energy to keep going, the encouragement to stay on the parenting track.
Our night time ritual has varied very little since my first was born nearly 9 years ago. Nine, wow, that is a long time for a habit. Early on, I was the one doing all the preparation for bedtime, often in fits of fighting and tears. Getting children dressed, brushing teeth, and doing the last pick-up at that final hour was wearying. By the time we reached the actual reading and tuck-in part, I was done. All I wanted to do was get it over and get downstairs, signaling the hopeful end of my day as a mother. But over the last several months, my youngest child has now transitioned to complete independence in this area. This leaves me with only the most enjoyable parts - reading and the official tuck-in.
The official tuck-in. A time of reassurances, kisses, hugs, love, prayers, and conversation. A time of undivided attention (less the occasional scream of when-are-you-coming-into-my-room-mom from another one). A time of understanding my children and who they are growing to be. A time that they do not have to battle to be heard over the chaotic noise of our home. A time of snippets of spiritual instruction and exchange.
It is a time of deep introspection for Ethan. With the house quieting down, he is finally able to focus on his thoughts which usually lead to spiritual ponderings. Around the time of his aunt's death, these inquiries lingered on her life, her walk with God, and the whys behind it all. Tough questions when the day was winding down, children tired and emotions a bit heightened. He produces a lot of questions in general, but more so when the sun is setting.
My middle girl's heart and words burst forth in plans and goals of the coming days. We often review the day's behavior and her successful attempts at self-control. As a true spirited child, Sadie has been a challenging joy. These moments when all is calm, really bring out the best in her. She shines in explaining all the grandiose inventions she has devised and in verbalizing complex interpretations of the social dynamics of those around her. Even in our most difficult days together, this is the time when I receive her true remorse and heart-felt apologies for her day's transgressions.
Little Lovey's time with me is spent doing her favorite thing, snuggling and whispering words of affirmation and unconditional love. She desires to be as close to me as possible, seemingly crawling under my skin. Her lids blinking more slowly while the tight-fisted hand rubs her eyes fighting the sleep that is coming. Butterfly kisses, deathly tight hugs and the rubbing of her belly are her usual requests. Throughout it all is her need to hear the promise that God is with her, protecting her, keeping her safe through the night.
I used to think of our nighttime ritual a bit begrudgingly, the last chore of the day. During those long, lost days of mothering 3 children, ages 4 and under, I frequently wanted to just crawl back into my bed. The ready for bed routine signaled the end of the day. Relief was near. It was the transition to one of the most sacred and coveted times for me, sleep. Fighting all exhaustion, mentally and physically, I would lean in for that last kiss and my attitude would soften. Something exchanged between me and my children in that moment. The tension simply dissipated. Then, my children would adorn me with the most sincere love and admiration that had been absent, forgotten the previous hours. Their sweet, kind words tumbling forth into undeserved declarations like, "You are the greatest mom, ever." They didn't know the full impact of those words during those darker days. They don't know the impact of them even today. They make me love being a mom. They make me believe I can do it again, if for just one more day.
Goodnight, my sweethearts.
Our night time ritual has varied very little since my first was born nearly 9 years ago. Nine, wow, that is a long time for a habit. Early on, I was the one doing all the preparation for bedtime, often in fits of fighting and tears. Getting children dressed, brushing teeth, and doing the last pick-up at that final hour was wearying. By the time we reached the actual reading and tuck-in part, I was done. All I wanted to do was get it over and get downstairs, signaling the hopeful end of my day as a mother. But over the last several months, my youngest child has now transitioned to complete independence in this area. This leaves me with only the most enjoyable parts - reading and the official tuck-in.
The official tuck-in. A time of reassurances, kisses, hugs, love, prayers, and conversation. A time of undivided attention (less the occasional scream of when-are-you-coming-into-my-room-mom from another one). A time of understanding my children and who they are growing to be. A time that they do not have to battle to be heard over the chaotic noise of our home. A time of snippets of spiritual instruction and exchange.
It is a time of deep introspection for Ethan. With the house quieting down, he is finally able to focus on his thoughts which usually lead to spiritual ponderings. Around the time of his aunt's death, these inquiries lingered on her life, her walk with God, and the whys behind it all. Tough questions when the day was winding down, children tired and emotions a bit heightened. He produces a lot of questions in general, but more so when the sun is setting.
My middle girl's heart and words burst forth in plans and goals of the coming days. We often review the day's behavior and her successful attempts at self-control. As a true spirited child, Sadie has been a challenging joy. These moments when all is calm, really bring out the best in her. She shines in explaining all the grandiose inventions she has devised and in verbalizing complex interpretations of the social dynamics of those around her. Even in our most difficult days together, this is the time when I receive her true remorse and heart-felt apologies for her day's transgressions.
Little Lovey's time with me is spent doing her favorite thing, snuggling and whispering words of affirmation and unconditional love. She desires to be as close to me as possible, seemingly crawling under my skin. Her lids blinking more slowly while the tight-fisted hand rubs her eyes fighting the sleep that is coming. Butterfly kisses, deathly tight hugs and the rubbing of her belly are her usual requests. Throughout it all is her need to hear the promise that God is with her, protecting her, keeping her safe through the night.
I used to think of our nighttime ritual a bit begrudgingly, the last chore of the day. During those long, lost days of mothering 3 children, ages 4 and under, I frequently wanted to just crawl back into my bed. The ready for bed routine signaled the end of the day. Relief was near. It was the transition to one of the most sacred and coveted times for me, sleep. Fighting all exhaustion, mentally and physically, I would lean in for that last kiss and my attitude would soften. Something exchanged between me and my children in that moment. The tension simply dissipated. Then, my children would adorn me with the most sincere love and admiration that had been absent, forgotten the previous hours. Their sweet, kind words tumbling forth into undeserved declarations like, "You are the greatest mom, ever." They didn't know the full impact of those words during those darker days. They don't know the impact of them even today. They make me love being a mom. They make me believe I can do it again, if for just one more day.
Goodnight, my sweethearts.
Crafty Saturday
In my hiatus from blogging and writing in general, I have reorganized the bonus room. I de-cluttered the toys which resulted in a trunk full of treasures for goodwill and two drum liner bags of trash. I reorganized all the craft supplies and set up a new area for the kids to make masterpieces. I have just a little more tweaking to do and the space will be complete. In the meantime, I have been searching around for some websites/blogs with easy, yet great craft projects and ideas. I know I was a bit stale in the creativity department so here is what I found inspiring.
Flipflops and Applesauce
I have posted her link in a previous post.
Skip to My Lou
Can't wait to use some of her party ideas and her Teacher Appreciation Ideas.
The Crafty Crow
This is a sorta catch-all for great craft sites from moms.
4 Crazy Kings
I think we might do the life-sized people today. I found a large roll of paper from the local newspaper office in the bonus room when I was cleaning out. Perfect!
Let's pass around the ideas. What are you inspiring sites of late - craft, home, whatever!
Flipflops and Applesauce
I have posted her link in a previous post.
Skip to My Lou
Can't wait to use some of her party ideas and her Teacher Appreciation Ideas.
The Crafty Crow
This is a sorta catch-all for great craft sites from moms.
4 Crazy Kings
I think we might do the life-sized people today. I found a large roll of paper from the local newspaper office in the bonus room when I was cleaning out. Perfect!
Let's pass around the ideas. What are you inspiring sites of late - craft, home, whatever!
Friday, March 13, 2009
His Name is ....
As I tucked Lily into bed I decided to have a little "God" talk. I was going on about how much God loves her, that He is always there for her - even though she can't actually see Him. She can see His work in all of creation, even in her.
Then I said, "And you know God's son. What is his name?"
Now, before I continue, please understand that we attend church regularly and she attends a Christian preschool.
Her answer: Ummmmm, Kevin?
I thought I was going to fall into the floor.
Holding myself together, I asked: "Kevin?"
Lily: Yes, the boy from my class.
Me: Ummmm, no.
At that point, we had a coming to Jesus meeting right there in her bed. I have no idea how she confused our Savior and the boy from her class, Kevin. But, rest assured, she is super clear on that now.
Then I said, "And you know God's son. What is his name?"
Now, before I continue, please understand that we attend church regularly and she attends a Christian preschool.
Her answer: Ummmmm, Kevin?
I thought I was going to fall into the floor.
Holding myself together, I asked: "Kevin?"
Lily: Yes, the boy from my class.
Me: Ummmm, no.
At that point, we had a coming to Jesus meeting right there in her bed. I have no idea how she confused our Savior and the boy from her class, Kevin. But, rest assured, she is super clear on that now.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Definition
"The more you run, the more you are a runner."
I imagine you can insert any hobby, sport, occupation in that quote and feel confident in its accuracy. Definitely, there are varying levels of success in that quote. Some are better runners than others. But what makes someone a runner? Is it because they diligently take a jog every other day? Is it that they can survive a minimum 5K without collapsing? I believe it is all self-defined.
Can the same be said about a writer? The more I write, the more I am a writer? I am doubtful. I went to a party this weekend to celebrate a pending family marriage. Most of the guests were people of my father's generation. People I had not seen in over 10 years, since my own wedding. The natural flow of chit-chatty conversation brought forth the question - so, what do you do? What are you doing now? And you know what? I didn't really have an answer. I mean, I know I am a mom. I know I am a wife, but yet, that didn't really seem to be a satisfying answer.
I am cycling through a period of change. Clearly, I am being asked to relinquish a heavy amount of control I have fought to constantly administer throughout my life. And, it stinks. Really, really stinks. It makes my life undefinable at present. I always had control of that definition and now I don't. I am teetering on this razor sharp edge between two worlds and it seems that I just keep getting little nicks and cuts. For someone who has drawn every bit of her energy and drive from this type of behavior, it has left me dizzy, nauseous and a bit crazed. Doesn't that sound appealing?
In the meantime, you might see me here a little less often. I'll admit that my computer time has taken its toll and I think I am missing out a bit on lessons I need to learn in the environment around me.
I imagine you can insert any hobby, sport, occupation in that quote and feel confident in its accuracy. Definitely, there are varying levels of success in that quote. Some are better runners than others. But what makes someone a runner? Is it because they diligently take a jog every other day? Is it that they can survive a minimum 5K without collapsing? I believe it is all self-defined.
Can the same be said about a writer? The more I write, the more I am a writer? I am doubtful. I went to a party this weekend to celebrate a pending family marriage. Most of the guests were people of my father's generation. People I had not seen in over 10 years, since my own wedding. The natural flow of chit-chatty conversation brought forth the question - so, what do you do? What are you doing now? And you know what? I didn't really have an answer. I mean, I know I am a mom. I know I am a wife, but yet, that didn't really seem to be a satisfying answer.
I am cycling through a period of change. Clearly, I am being asked to relinquish a heavy amount of control I have fought to constantly administer throughout my life. And, it stinks. Really, really stinks. It makes my life undefinable at present. I always had control of that definition and now I don't. I am teetering on this razor sharp edge between two worlds and it seems that I just keep getting little nicks and cuts. For someone who has drawn every bit of her energy and drive from this type of behavior, it has left me dizzy, nauseous and a bit crazed. Doesn't that sound appealing?
In the meantime, you might see me here a little less often. I'll admit that my computer time has taken its toll and I think I am missing out a bit on lessons I need to learn in the environment around me.
Prayer for Sarah and Jon
I was asked to say the prayer at a dinner/dance honoring Sarah and Jon and their pending marriage. Here is what I said.
Father God,
We thank You for the God that You are.
A God who gave the ultimate sacrifice for us,
A God who longs to hear from us and have a personal relationship with us,
A God who delights in creating beauty for us and bringing love into our lives,
The love we experience being only a glimpse into what Your love looks like.
God, we thank you for Sarah and Jon.
We ask that You guide them on their journey together.
Lord, help them to remember to put You first in their lives.
Remind them that love is not a feeling, but a commitment first to You and then to each other.
Bless this union abundantly.
God, for this evening we are thankful.
You have provided abundantly for us.
This place, these people, this food.
We owe it all to You and receive all that You give with thanksgiving.
May we use it to Your service and to Your glory,
That we may be an accurate estimation of who You are.
In Your Son's holy name, Jesus.
Amen
Father God,
We thank You for the God that You are.
A God who gave the ultimate sacrifice for us,
A God who longs to hear from us and have a personal relationship with us,
A God who delights in creating beauty for us and bringing love into our lives,
The love we experience being only a glimpse into what Your love looks like.
God, we thank you for Sarah and Jon.
We ask that You guide them on their journey together.
Lord, help them to remember to put You first in their lives.
Remind them that love is not a feeling, but a commitment first to You and then to each other.
Bless this union abundantly.
God, for this evening we are thankful.
You have provided abundantly for us.
This place, these people, this food.
We owe it all to You and receive all that You give with thanksgiving.
May we use it to Your service and to Your glory,
That we may be an accurate estimation of who You are.
In Your Son's holy name, Jesus.
Amen
Two Quick Takes
Lily
Said this to my stepmother when she spent the night:
Terry, Terry, the stars are sleeping. It is time to get up.
Ethan
Discussion about his first summer camp experience to occur this summer (09). Colby was talking about how they don't make you take a shower until the last night. (!!!) Being the tweens they are, they concurred that this fact was "awesome!" I inquired why this is such a good thing. Ethan said, What's the point of taking a shower anyway, you are just going to get dirty the next day. Colby chimed in with, "Yeah. They have a swimming pool and lake, ya know." I can't imagine what filth will accompany my son home from this "first time away from mom" event. Obviously, I am the only one who cares.
Said this to my stepmother when she spent the night:
Terry, Terry, the stars are sleeping. It is time to get up.
Ethan
Discussion about his first summer camp experience to occur this summer (09). Colby was talking about how they don't make you take a shower until the last night. (!!!) Being the tweens they are, they concurred that this fact was "awesome!" I inquired why this is such a good thing. Ethan said, What's the point of taking a shower anyway, you are just going to get dirty the next day. Colby chimed in with, "Yeah. They have a swimming pool and lake, ya know." I can't imagine what filth will accompany my son home from this "first time away from mom" event. Obviously, I am the only one who cares.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Things That Consume Me
Not trying to be narcistict, but I think a lot. Probably way too much. I mull, consider, meditate, toss, turn, work, brood, analyze, deliberate, reflect, ponder, and stew things until frankly they are all-consuming at times. I would like to believe that it is because I am a "creative" type, but, the more probable reality is that I am obsessive. My brain is constantly putting together connections between the experiences and information that comes into my atmosphere. I thought if I write out this list then maybe I will be able to de-clutter my brain and I become a productive member of society...at least for a day or so. Here is what has been on my mind lately:
1. Really misinterpreted lyrics to songs. When I was little, I thought the song, "Jet Airliner" by Steve Miller really said this: "We Go Jam at the Diner." Never mind the rest of the song makes NO sense in relation to that complete failure on my part to actually hear and interpret correctly. Why was I thinking that this morning? Because I heard the song, "She's a Bad Mamma Jamma" after taking the kids to school. Figuring I had more mistaken lyrics in my head, I came home and googled it. Nope. I have it right. But what in the world is a "Mamma Jamma"? Obviously, in his mind, Carl Carlton sees this as a "good" thing as a mamma jamma has all the things a man likes. Worldly? Yes.
2. Why is it ok to not return phone calls and emails? I need to let this one go. I am fiercely loyal and have learned that throughout my life, I cannot discern healthy and unhealthy relationships unlike most folks who can. Therefore, I tend to stay in relationships that are destructive and unhealthy for me as a result. I always need more closure, to have nothing left unsaid. For once, I need to digest that enough has been said. Time for strength and resolve.
3. Costumes, costumes, costumes. I worked like a woman possessed on Sadie's "Cindy Loo Who" costume for Dr. Seuss day at school. I scored a fiber optic Hannah Montanna wig at WalMart on clearance for $3. Taking a coat hanger I wove the hair into braids and ultimately into that cone shape on top. There are two takes on the Cindy costume - retro cartoon Cindy with those little antenna and pink Mortisha Adams pink dress or Jim Carrey movie Cindy with the funky hair and clothes. We went with the latter. Jay took a pic of me wearing the wig. With my mustard yellow sweater vest, I looked like something slave girl #2 would wear out of Star Trek. Next up...Ethan's costume as... get this...Wilbur Wright of the Wright Brothers. All I can think of is a coat, knickers, bow tie and pipe. I know he won't be caught dead in knickers like I fashioned in 5th grade (thank you, mom), but maybe I can find a bow tie at WalMart on sale.
4. Do I ever want to diligently work on getting a few of my pieces ready to send to publishers? Tough call. My pleasure at the moment is this random, thoughtless writing. Where is my motivation? Where is my muse? Missing for the moment. Or, is this like Rock Band? Just because I play the songs on the Hard level, doesn't mean I can become a drummer.
5. Is everyone on some sort of depression/anxiety medication? I ask this honestly. I think almost every mom I know is taking a pill - Zoloft, Wellbutrin, Xanax, etc. I am not judging anyone as I have partaken at one time, but are we collectively that miserable? What is different from our mothers' lives that makes our emotions totally unpredictable and whacky? Were they just better at hiding it? Can we chalk it up to busy, demanding lives or even simpler, too much hormone in our milk? Please don't think I am judging, as there is certainly a time and place, but the fact that each of these meds have their own websites strikes a dischordant nerve with me.
6. Guilt. Tons and heaps of it. Some misplaced and false and some well-deserved. First and foremost is the RUSH gym membership whose payment is drafted from our checking account each month and with whom I have a ridiculously long contract. In fact, I know I should have run right out the door the minute they presented it to me. But, I didn't because this time it was going to be different. Ha! It has not been utilized since hmmm, October...maybe? I have NO excuses. The kid are in school every morning and even if they weren't they have free childcare. I even have friends that go there. Every month around the 14th (the day the draft takes place), the guilt comes anew. Why don't I just go? Guilt. Definitely a list I should make separately.
7. Food. Particularly Doritos. I haven't purchaed them in years. Yet, yesterday, under the flimsy and thinly veiled excuse of purchasing them for my niece and nephew who are visiting this weekend, I grabbed a bag of Doritos Collision. It combines 2 flavors in 1 bag. In this case Chipotle Ranch and Zesty Taco. Did you know their slogan is, "Prepare to take snacking to a whole new level"? Yeah, I hear ya Frito Lay, a new level of addiction! What do these people put into these chips and cheese dust that draws you in like crack cocaine? Check out the link I included...there is definitely something sinister there. Maybe now I can view them in the light they should be...the predawing of the anticrhist. You have probably guessed by now that my niece and nephew will not be able to partake in the eating of said Doritos, because I finished off the bag this morning.
8. Multiple posts on this topic and it still haunts me. Ironing. Loathsome. But today, necessary. Or is it? What if I just didn't do it?
9. Read this line. Wish I had written it. The worst of our world at the moment: " the celebration of celebrity and novelty over authenticity and seriousness." Marinate on that for a moment.
10. A random selection of other thoughts without detail...Ethan's possible ADD, my weight and healthy eating, picking up Lily on time today, the curious little piles of dirt all throughout the kitchen and dining room, massive colony of ants found in the dining room attracted to Dixie's snacks, calling the lawyer about stock set-up issue for our company, the 10 reasons I need to go to Greensboro for errands, my grandfather's health as he is still in the hospital, how my grandmother will cope if he dies, the "letter" I must read next week to my counselor, wondering how it will go with my niece and nephew this weekend and what they have endured since the last time I saw them, what I would do for a massage and pedicure. I could go on and on and on. Actually, is this anxiety? Let me check out that Xanax again...
What consumes you today?
1. Really misinterpreted lyrics to songs. When I was little, I thought the song, "Jet Airliner" by Steve Miller really said this: "We Go Jam at the Diner." Never mind the rest of the song makes NO sense in relation to that complete failure on my part to actually hear and interpret correctly. Why was I thinking that this morning? Because I heard the song, "She's a Bad Mamma Jamma" after taking the kids to school. Figuring I had more mistaken lyrics in my head, I came home and googled it. Nope. I have it right. But what in the world is a "Mamma Jamma"? Obviously, in his mind, Carl Carlton sees this as a "good" thing as a mamma jamma has all the things a man likes. Worldly? Yes.
2. Why is it ok to not return phone calls and emails? I need to let this one go. I am fiercely loyal and have learned that throughout my life, I cannot discern healthy and unhealthy relationships unlike most folks who can. Therefore, I tend to stay in relationships that are destructive and unhealthy for me as a result. I always need more closure, to have nothing left unsaid. For once, I need to digest that enough has been said. Time for strength and resolve.
3. Costumes, costumes, costumes. I worked like a woman possessed on Sadie's "Cindy Loo Who" costume for Dr. Seuss day at school. I scored a fiber optic Hannah Montanna wig at WalMart on clearance for $3. Taking a coat hanger I wove the hair into braids and ultimately into that cone shape on top. There are two takes on the Cindy costume - retro cartoon Cindy with those little antenna and pink Mortisha Adams pink dress or Jim Carrey movie Cindy with the funky hair and clothes. We went with the latter. Jay took a pic of me wearing the wig. With my mustard yellow sweater vest, I looked like something slave girl #2 would wear out of Star Trek. Next up...Ethan's costume as... get this...Wilbur Wright of the Wright Brothers. All I can think of is a coat, knickers, bow tie and pipe. I know he won't be caught dead in knickers like I fashioned in 5th grade (thank you, mom), but maybe I can find a bow tie at WalMart on sale.
4. Do I ever want to diligently work on getting a few of my pieces ready to send to publishers? Tough call. My pleasure at the moment is this random, thoughtless writing. Where is my motivation? Where is my muse? Missing for the moment. Or, is this like Rock Band? Just because I play the songs on the Hard level, doesn't mean I can become a drummer.
5. Is everyone on some sort of depression/anxiety medication? I ask this honestly. I think almost every mom I know is taking a pill - Zoloft, Wellbutrin, Xanax, etc. I am not judging anyone as I have partaken at one time, but are we collectively that miserable? What is different from our mothers' lives that makes our emotions totally unpredictable and whacky? Were they just better at hiding it? Can we chalk it up to busy, demanding lives or even simpler, too much hormone in our milk? Please don't think I am judging, as there is certainly a time and place, but the fact that each of these meds have their own websites strikes a dischordant nerve with me.
6. Guilt. Tons and heaps of it. Some misplaced and false and some well-deserved. First and foremost is the RUSH gym membership whose payment is drafted from our checking account each month and with whom I have a ridiculously long contract. In fact, I know I should have run right out the door the minute they presented it to me. But, I didn't because this time it was going to be different. Ha! It has not been utilized since hmmm, October...maybe? I have NO excuses. The kid are in school every morning and even if they weren't they have free childcare. I even have friends that go there. Every month around the 14th (the day the draft takes place), the guilt comes anew. Why don't I just go? Guilt. Definitely a list I should make separately.
7. Food. Particularly Doritos. I haven't purchaed them in years. Yet, yesterday, under the flimsy and thinly veiled excuse of purchasing them for my niece and nephew who are visiting this weekend, I grabbed a bag of Doritos Collision. It combines 2 flavors in 1 bag. In this case Chipotle Ranch and Zesty Taco. Did you know their slogan is, "Prepare to take snacking to a whole new level"? Yeah, I hear ya Frito Lay, a new level of addiction! What do these people put into these chips and cheese dust that draws you in like crack cocaine? Check out the link I included...there is definitely something sinister there. Maybe now I can view them in the light they should be...the predawing of the anticrhist. You have probably guessed by now that my niece and nephew will not be able to partake in the eating of said Doritos, because I finished off the bag this morning.
8. Multiple posts on this topic and it still haunts me. Ironing. Loathsome. But today, necessary. Or is it? What if I just didn't do it?
9. Read this line. Wish I had written it. The worst of our world at the moment: " the celebration of celebrity and novelty over authenticity and seriousness." Marinate on that for a moment.
10. A random selection of other thoughts without detail...Ethan's possible ADD, my weight and healthy eating, picking up Lily on time today, the curious little piles of dirt all throughout the kitchen and dining room, massive colony of ants found in the dining room attracted to Dixie's snacks, calling the lawyer about stock set-up issue for our company, the 10 reasons I need to go to Greensboro for errands, my grandfather's health as he is still in the hospital, how my grandmother will cope if he dies, the "letter" I must read next week to my counselor, wondering how it will go with my niece and nephew this weekend and what they have endured since the last time I saw them, what I would do for a massage and pedicure. I could go on and on and on. Actually, is this anxiety? Let me check out that Xanax again...
What consumes you today?
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Life cycle
Have you ever listened to the sound of tennis shoes in the dryer? I mean, really listened? Thump. Tha-thump. Da-da-dump. Banging and thumping around? Slightly unnerving and completely nonrhythmic. At times you think they have hit their mark, creating a steady beat and pace. And then, something trips them up and they go right back to the slamming and clashing against the drum of the dryer.
I listened to this noise for about 30 minutes today and recognized that my life has been a bit like banging around a hot, uncomfortable place lately. Every time I turn around it seems that there is another bump to crash into. As the hot air is forced through me, I am enduring bruises in order to mold me into what I am supposed to be. But that is life, right?
Strangely, it was a comforting sound. I realized that like the dryer cycle, this too shall pass. It won't last forever. The final buzzer of this cycle will sound. It won't last forever. Then, I will be cleaner, better and ready to hit the ground running.
I listened to this noise for about 30 minutes today and recognized that my life has been a bit like banging around a hot, uncomfortable place lately. Every time I turn around it seems that there is another bump to crash into. As the hot air is forced through me, I am enduring bruises in order to mold me into what I am supposed to be. But that is life, right?
Strangely, it was a comforting sound. I realized that like the dryer cycle, this too shall pass. It won't last forever. The final buzzer of this cycle will sound. It won't last forever. Then, I will be cleaner, better and ready to hit the ground running.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
The Death of Words
I read an interesting article here. It is about the oldest words in language and how language evolves. The article, for the most part, is complete bunk, but I became fixated on one part of the piece: Words that are evolving rapidly, and likely to disappear. According to Mark Pagel, a researcher, the following words fall into this category:
Dirty, squeeze, bad, because, guts, push (verb), smell (verb), stab, stick (noun), turn (verb), wipe.
His rationale is that these already differ greatly between related languages, such as English and German, and are good candidates to evolve into new forms. I think the man just randomly picked a group of words that he heard parents say on a daily basis and branded them as such. Well, ok, so maybe not stab and guts - that he got from playing Call of Duty too many times.
I'll throw out that it is the advent of texting that is creating a whole new language and means of communication. "Because" evolves to "cause" evolves to "cuz"? I offer this link of texting abbreviations as some flimsy evidence for my theory (which I am sure is not new or enlightening). I only have a few committed to memory and figure I will never learn to be an extensive texter. Really, when am I ever going to need to know how to text EMRTW (Evil Monkeys Rule The World). Speaking of, I am going phone shopping this week. Since they no longer make a car charger for my phone, I gather my phone is obsolete. I lag behind the technological times.
I have a friend who teaches communications on the college level. She recently posted that she has students who actually answer questions on papers, exams, etc. with texting abbreviations. Clearly, we are regressing. Sad.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Hitting the Slopes
Skiing, in its entirety, goes against every fiber of my being. I blogged about my various fears and quick to panic moments here. Those that heard we were taking a family ski trip this past weekend must have thought about that post and wondered if I had completely lost my mind. It just screams panic for me, doesn't it? And here is why:
1. You must drive into and out of the mountains in order to actually participate in the sport.
2. You must ride a seemingly rickety and ratty chairlift to various drop-off points, high above the ground separated only by a metal bar that is completely controlled by you at any point in time.
3. You must propel yourself down a mountain with little or no control as a beginner.
4. The feeling of being out of control is like nausea, coming out of nowhere, with no warning or preparation. But, you know it is coming with each new decline.
5. You must use muscles you have not used since that one extreme yoga class you swore you would never attend again.
Despite all of this working against me, I remembered how much I love to ski. I know, it makes no sense. I actually drove up to Sugar Mountain (don't you just love that name) while Jay worked on his laptop, via his mobile phone/wireless connection and speaking to his office on my phone. What propelled me over the fear of being in control of a vehicle in the mountains is that I listened to TobyMac on Ethan's mp3 player. I was in the zone with nothing to think about, but the words to his songs. I know it is illegal to have headphones on while driving, but I believe the general population was way safer with me clued into TM than fixated on the steep drop-offs and my ability to drive straight down them.
I have never really thought too much about chairlifts. I remember several years ago Jay and I took the kids to Tweetsie Railroad. You could ride a chairlift up to the top of the mountain where there was a petting zoo and maybe a couple of other rides. We all got into one lift (I don't know how), but guess who starts freaking out? Jay. So much so that he made us all ride the school bus shuttle down the mountain rather than get back on the lift. He couldn't believe we were allowed to bring small children onto that "death trap." I hadn't really given it much thought until this weekend. Jay and I decided to leave the kids back at the condo with the sitter and head out for some night skiing. While in the dark and fog, Jay decides to recount the story which brings rise to panic for me. Finally, when we reach the top of the mountain, my legs are already a little jiggly just from thinking about the stinking chairlift's safety. Then, I had to start skiing down a more challenging slope from the top of the mountain. That was a long, long way down.
I am not an experienced skier. In fact, I took an hour lesson to brush up on what little knowledge I had gained from the last time I went skiing...15 years ago. As a beginner, you teeter between control and out of control constantly. In two days/nights of skiing, I fell. It wasn't a lot - maybe 6 times, but when I did, it wasn't pretty. Face forward falling never is. The best bit of skiing I did was at night, probably because I couldn't really see just how steep the intermediate slope was. And, try as I might, there were times when I knew my arms were flailing, my legs fighting to plow (or make a pizza wedge as they call it now) and I just wanted to let myself go...go right off the side of the mountain rather than fight against my body any more. Despite all of this, I can't wait to go back. The beginner slopes were easy and fun, almost too simple and I can see where as your skills progress the more advanced slopes will be, too.
I do understand the allure of staying in a place with a hot tub. Sunday was a little slow getting out of bed. But by Monday...whoa. Jay and I have hobbled around the house easing out little moans and groans as we traverse the stairs. I still don't get how my arms are as sore as they are...unless the flailing was much worse than I imagine. I know, flailing makes it worse, but sometimes you just can't help it.
The kids did great. Ethan and Sadie were zipping down the intermediate slopes by themselves by the end of the weekend. Sadie liked to know I was behind her. Little did she know I would not have been able to help her if she needed me, but there was comfort for her in that ignorance. I did have an interesting conversation with Sadie on the chairlift:
She said, "Mommy, are you scared about skiing?"
Me: "No, not too bad, why?"
Sadie: "Because Daddy said you were a scaredy-cat."
Me: "He did?" (thinking I have something to say to him)
Sadie: "Yes, but I told him you weren't. You are brave, you know, for a Mommy."
Me: "And, what did he say?"
Sadie: "That maybe you were only a giblet bit scared."
Me: "Well, he is probably right about that one."
Lily was not quite strong enough to make turns, but did manage to stay above her skis. She was a cute little bundled up snow bunny. Next year, she will be old enough to be in ski school. Jay and I agreed that we may finally have found something that the whole family enjoys doing together.
1. You must drive into and out of the mountains in order to actually participate in the sport.
2. You must ride a seemingly rickety and ratty chairlift to various drop-off points, high above the ground separated only by a metal bar that is completely controlled by you at any point in time.
3. You must propel yourself down a mountain with little or no control as a beginner.
4. The feeling of being out of control is like nausea, coming out of nowhere, with no warning or preparation. But, you know it is coming with each new decline.
5. You must use muscles you have not used since that one extreme yoga class you swore you would never attend again.
Despite all of this working against me, I remembered how much I love to ski. I know, it makes no sense. I actually drove up to Sugar Mountain (don't you just love that name) while Jay worked on his laptop, via his mobile phone/wireless connection and speaking to his office on my phone. What propelled me over the fear of being in control of a vehicle in the mountains is that I listened to TobyMac on Ethan's mp3 player. I was in the zone with nothing to think about, but the words to his songs. I know it is illegal to have headphones on while driving, but I believe the general population was way safer with me clued into TM than fixated on the steep drop-offs and my ability to drive straight down them.
I have never really thought too much about chairlifts. I remember several years ago Jay and I took the kids to Tweetsie Railroad. You could ride a chairlift up to the top of the mountain where there was a petting zoo and maybe a couple of other rides. We all got into one lift (I don't know how), but guess who starts freaking out? Jay. So much so that he made us all ride the school bus shuttle down the mountain rather than get back on the lift. He couldn't believe we were allowed to bring small children onto that "death trap." I hadn't really given it much thought until this weekend. Jay and I decided to leave the kids back at the condo with the sitter and head out for some night skiing. While in the dark and fog, Jay decides to recount the story which brings rise to panic for me. Finally, when we reach the top of the mountain, my legs are already a little jiggly just from thinking about the stinking chairlift's safety. Then, I had to start skiing down a more challenging slope from the top of the mountain. That was a long, long way down.
I am not an experienced skier. In fact, I took an hour lesson to brush up on what little knowledge I had gained from the last time I went skiing...15 years ago. As a beginner, you teeter between control and out of control constantly. In two days/nights of skiing, I fell. It wasn't a lot - maybe 6 times, but when I did, it wasn't pretty. Face forward falling never is. The best bit of skiing I did was at night, probably because I couldn't really see just how steep the intermediate slope was. And, try as I might, there were times when I knew my arms were flailing, my legs fighting to plow (or make a pizza wedge as they call it now) and I just wanted to let myself go...go right off the side of the mountain rather than fight against my body any more. Despite all of this, I can't wait to go back. The beginner slopes were easy and fun, almost too simple and I can see where as your skills progress the more advanced slopes will be, too.
I do understand the allure of staying in a place with a hot tub. Sunday was a little slow getting out of bed. But by Monday...whoa. Jay and I have hobbled around the house easing out little moans and groans as we traverse the stairs. I still don't get how my arms are as sore as they are...unless the flailing was much worse than I imagine. I know, flailing makes it worse, but sometimes you just can't help it.
The kids did great. Ethan and Sadie were zipping down the intermediate slopes by themselves by the end of the weekend. Sadie liked to know I was behind her. Little did she know I would not have been able to help her if she needed me, but there was comfort for her in that ignorance. I did have an interesting conversation with Sadie on the chairlift:
She said, "Mommy, are you scared about skiing?"
Me: "No, not too bad, why?"
Sadie: "Because Daddy said you were a scaredy-cat."
Me: "He did?" (thinking I have something to say to him)
Sadie: "Yes, but I told him you weren't. You are brave, you know, for a Mommy."
Me: "And, what did he say?"
Sadie: "That maybe you were only a giblet bit scared."
Me: "Well, he is probably right about that one."
Lily was not quite strong enough to make turns, but did manage to stay above her skis. She was a cute little bundled up snow bunny. Next year, she will be old enough to be in ski school. Jay and I agreed that we may finally have found something that the whole family enjoys doing together.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Give it Away Part 2
And I quote:
"I ask...God forgive me. I am ready and willing, in prayer and meditation, to give it all away for You."
What the heck was I thinking writing that? Not that it was insincere, because I meant every word at the time I wrote it. But, did I really think through the possible ramifications of that statement? Ummmm....no!
As evident in my blog posts and other writings over the last couple of months, I have been put to the fire, tested, drawn out, worked over, revealed, pushed, and I might just go so far as to us the big "s" word. I have suffered. I thought it just couldn't get any worse, and frankly the last couple of weeks I appeared to rebound. I likened it to a faucet that was abruptly turned off. All the gunk coming at me was shut-off like a switch. Life moved back into its routine and rhythm and I had a brief moment of peace. And, then, I had to go write something like that.
Now, I know this hasn't been a physical suffering, at least not at age 37. Only a fraction would even notice that all of this cesspool has been churning inside me. I have learned well and fast that suffering can never compared. And, always, I mean always you can find someone that is "suffering" more more than you. But in my own life, this is the low of lows. The challenge of challenges. The reveal and pain of reveals and pains. And so, to not say it is suffering for me would be denying all that I am dealing with. I am done with denial.
I like to stuff things down. I am a stuffer. Well, maybe not completely, but on the really painful stuff, oh yeah. It is easy as pie to cram it into a box, superglue it and leave in the back recess of your mind. You know, it can sit there for years, not bothering anyone. At least you have yourself convinced it is gone, over with, done. But actually, it is oozing out of that little box and slowly infiltrating other parts of your life. What you don't realize is how that goo starts crawling and creeping until everything in your brain, your experiences, your relationships - ALL of it is tainted by it. In the end, you can't view anything you are connected to without those slime-covered glasses. And, because you have to wear those glasses every day, you have now bought all the lies - hook, line and sinker.
Yeah, I know all the lines. Time will heal. God is with you. He won't give you more than you can handle (which is not in the bible, by the way). He will use this to grow you, etc. etc. etc. Well, at the moment, I think I have had all the growth that I can deal with for a while. Maybe this is blasphemous and I don't mean for it to be. I am just being very honest and true to what I am feeling.
Frankly, I am not finding much comfort in this dark cavern where I find myself residing. It's going to be a long, long road out of this place. At least He has made it very, very clear that the timing is right for all of this. And, I know He is providing the flashlight for the way out. But, it is still very scary. I can't see the end, only what is right in front of me. I keep tripping and stumbling over rocks, groping for something to hold onto and everything seems to covered in that cold slime from my past. Did I really give it all away for this? Oh, I am ready for the end of this journey!
"I ask...God forgive me. I am ready and willing, in prayer and meditation, to give it all away for You."
What the heck was I thinking writing that? Not that it was insincere, because I meant every word at the time I wrote it. But, did I really think through the possible ramifications of that statement? Ummmm....no!
As evident in my blog posts and other writings over the last couple of months, I have been put to the fire, tested, drawn out, worked over, revealed, pushed, and I might just go so far as to us the big "s" word. I have suffered. I thought it just couldn't get any worse, and frankly the last couple of weeks I appeared to rebound. I likened it to a faucet that was abruptly turned off. All the gunk coming at me was shut-off like a switch. Life moved back into its routine and rhythm and I had a brief moment of peace. And, then, I had to go write something like that.
Now, I know this hasn't been a physical suffering, at least not at age 37. Only a fraction would even notice that all of this cesspool has been churning inside me. I have learned well and fast that suffering can never compared. And, always, I mean always you can find someone that is "suffering" more more than you. But in my own life, this is the low of lows. The challenge of challenges. The reveal and pain of reveals and pains. And so, to not say it is suffering for me would be denying all that I am dealing with. I am done with denial.
I like to stuff things down. I am a stuffer. Well, maybe not completely, but on the really painful stuff, oh yeah. It is easy as pie to cram it into a box, superglue it and leave in the back recess of your mind. You know, it can sit there for years, not bothering anyone. At least you have yourself convinced it is gone, over with, done. But actually, it is oozing out of that little box and slowly infiltrating other parts of your life. What you don't realize is how that goo starts crawling and creeping until everything in your brain, your experiences, your relationships - ALL of it is tainted by it. In the end, you can't view anything you are connected to without those slime-covered glasses. And, because you have to wear those glasses every day, you have now bought all the lies - hook, line and sinker.
Yeah, I know all the lines. Time will heal. God is with you. He won't give you more than you can handle (which is not in the bible, by the way). He will use this to grow you, etc. etc. etc. Well, at the moment, I think I have had all the growth that I can deal with for a while. Maybe this is blasphemous and I don't mean for it to be. I am just being very honest and true to what I am feeling.
Frankly, I am not finding much comfort in this dark cavern where I find myself residing. It's going to be a long, long road out of this place. At least He has made it very, very clear that the timing is right for all of this. And, I know He is providing the flashlight for the way out. But, it is still very scary. I can't see the end, only what is right in front of me. I keep tripping and stumbling over rocks, groping for something to hold onto and everything seems to covered in that cold slime from my past. Did I really give it all away for this? Oh, I am ready for the end of this journey!
Blessings
Although it seems like yesterday that I did a "blessings in my life" post, life has thrown me an incredible curve ball and I am inclined to do it again.
1) Our business continues to grow in a year of job loss, economic downturn and dismal news. CNN could take a lesson and NOT go to commercial break with the following line, "Back in a moment with more grim stories." Ours is a niche market that actually does as well in down times as in up. But still, I salute my hard-working, stressed to the max husband, who slaves at this business from the moment he wakes to the moment he goes to sleep.
2) We are striving to play together as a family again. It takes serious planning and effort to do this. We joined the YWCA in town and have made the commitment to go once during the weekend and once during the week, together, all 5 of us, swimming. It has brought laughter and smiles. And, we all love the feeling of getting the blood flowing again in the form of exercise. Slothful weekend living...BE GONE!
3) We are going skiing this weekend. Right now, there are several things that do not bode well for this trip. It is supposed to rain, not snow, most of the weekend. The family that is going with us has sick children - one very sick one, too. And, without going into too many details, I am not quite mentally focused either. But, I will be thankful because of the opportunity and know that whatever happens, well, is supposed to happen. We are going as a family. It will be fun.
4) My little grandfather, in the latter stages of Alzheimer's, is holding his own in the hospital with a bout of pneumonia. I haven't seen him mutter a noise in a while, nor have his eyes open. I am thankful that when I went to visit him this morning, he opened his eyes, looked at me and made the attempt to speak. It was completely unintelligible, but I would like to believe he was saying hello, asking what I had been up to and complimenting little Lily who had accompanied me.
5) A reconnect with a friend of Ansley's in college brought me joy this week.
6) That I have friends far and near who I love and who love me.
7) Despite what I feel is a day of reckoning for me, that I can see glimpses of His mark all over it.
8) Noggin. I know, I am reaching here to put a tv channel in my list of blessings, but when you are mentally preoccupied, at least there is something your child can watch that she loves and you feel ok about. I will declare that their slogan, "It's like preschool on television," is a farce, but hey, it does make it a bit more palatable.
9) Ridiculously large volcano-shaped chocolate brownie (3 packages worth), covered with thick, rich chocolate icing, and snow-white icing peak. We won it at the cub scouts' dessert auction. Each time I walk by it on the kitchen counter, I take a bite with the fork that rests permanently on the side of the platter.
10) TobyMac. He speaks to my heart these days. I took E & S to Winter Jam last Saturday night. It was their first concert. He was the headliner. Some time ago, I think that man walked in a pair of shoes that seem to be perfectly fitted for me these days. I am thankful for his obedience to sing for Him. And thus, he is a blessing me.
Bonus blessing...this is my 200th post! A milestone, I believe, for me.
I could stand to hear how you are thankful for what is in your life - no matter how trivial it may seem. I need some other perspectives, please.
1) Our business continues to grow in a year of job loss, economic downturn and dismal news. CNN could take a lesson and NOT go to commercial break with the following line, "Back in a moment with more grim stories." Ours is a niche market that actually does as well in down times as in up. But still, I salute my hard-working, stressed to the max husband, who slaves at this business from the moment he wakes to the moment he goes to sleep.
2) We are striving to play together as a family again. It takes serious planning and effort to do this. We joined the YWCA in town and have made the commitment to go once during the weekend and once during the week, together, all 5 of us, swimming. It has brought laughter and smiles. And, we all love the feeling of getting the blood flowing again in the form of exercise. Slothful weekend living...BE GONE!
3) We are going skiing this weekend. Right now, there are several things that do not bode well for this trip. It is supposed to rain, not snow, most of the weekend. The family that is going with us has sick children - one very sick one, too. And, without going into too many details, I am not quite mentally focused either. But, I will be thankful because of the opportunity and know that whatever happens, well, is supposed to happen. We are going as a family. It will be fun.
4) My little grandfather, in the latter stages of Alzheimer's, is holding his own in the hospital with a bout of pneumonia. I haven't seen him mutter a noise in a while, nor have his eyes open. I am thankful that when I went to visit him this morning, he opened his eyes, looked at me and made the attempt to speak. It was completely unintelligible, but I would like to believe he was saying hello, asking what I had been up to and complimenting little Lily who had accompanied me.
5) A reconnect with a friend of Ansley's in college brought me joy this week.
6) That I have friends far and near who I love and who love me.
7) Despite what I feel is a day of reckoning for me, that I can see glimpses of His mark all over it.
8) Noggin. I know, I am reaching here to put a tv channel in my list of blessings, but when you are mentally preoccupied, at least there is something your child can watch that she loves and you feel ok about. I will declare that their slogan, "It's like preschool on television," is a farce, but hey, it does make it a bit more palatable.
9) Ridiculously large volcano-shaped chocolate brownie (3 packages worth), covered with thick, rich chocolate icing, and snow-white icing peak. We won it at the cub scouts' dessert auction. Each time I walk by it on the kitchen counter, I take a bite with the fork that rests permanently on the side of the platter.
10) TobyMac. He speaks to my heart these days. I took E & S to Winter Jam last Saturday night. It was their first concert. He was the headliner. Some time ago, I think that man walked in a pair of shoes that seem to be perfectly fitted for me these days. I am thankful for his obedience to sing for Him. And thus, he is a blessing me.
Bonus blessing...this is my 200th post! A milestone, I believe, for me.
I could stand to hear how you are thankful for what is in your life - no matter how trivial it may seem. I need some other perspectives, please.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Songs From My Childhood
Someone created a new "note" on facebook yesterday that completely sucked me into the lost time vortex. I spent entirely too long on answering questions about myself and well, frankly, am a bit embarrassed by my attention to it. The note, you ask? "Music That Shaped My Life."
Unless you have been residing on an Amish farm, you are probably familiar with "notes" on facebook. Maybe you have never completed one, but I know you have been tagged in one or, out of curiosity, have read one. Now, you and I sit here knowing entirely too much about each other and also about people we haven't seen since high school graduation. I think we feel as if completing more of these questionnaires somehow gives us the right to browse others' responses. Honestly, I know your life doesn't hinge upon whether you know if I have ever sat on a roof, caught a snowflake on my tongue or what my "Goth Name" would be. Black Dixie, by the way. And who in their right mind has answered "yes" to the YES/NO survey question "Have you ever used heroine?" We read this information, no, make that, obsess over this newly revealed and utter useless data like somehow all of this dictates whether we will remain friends or dreadfully delete each other in the dark of night. Regardless, we fill them out, pour over others and in our never ending quest to satisfy our own infinite curiosity, forward these suckers on hoping to have others join us in procrastinating on what we don't really want to do each day. For me, it was cleaning the kids room with a garbage bag, goodwill box and chlorox. Ok, so maybe facebook notes aren't so bad after all. I digress.
So, I receive this "facebook note" and immediately begin pouring over it. Seemed simple enough. Answer a few questions about meaningful music throughout my life. But, holy moly, did it make me work and dig into the recesses of my brain. My memory stinks. I had to search google and youtube with bits and pieces of titles and artists. For example, my need to answer the question, "A song that is linked to romance" brought only little snippets of melody and lyrics of an artist that made me swoon in high school, Terence Trent D'Arby. But despite this deep affection for him during my teenage years, I could only muster up the words, "terrence seven and song" in my search engine. And the word "seven" only burst forth because I remember being grounded for a week during my time of D'Arby love. On the first night of the grounding, a boyfriend at the time sneaked a tape of D'Arby's music into my unlocked car, which included the song "Seven More Days" in reference to my grounding. Regardless, the three word search (with misspelled first name Terence) revealed my complete artists' name and opportunity to listen once again. I took the moment to enjoy a brief walk down memory lane. Interesting how the mind connects memories. This also gives validation to why it took me so long to formulate answers to this note.
The first question on the note is: Song from childhood? I thought this was a pretty easy one. My answer: "Rainbow Connection" sung by Kermit the Frog. In fact the entirety that is the Muppets, the shows, movies, board game, stuffed animals, puppets and Christmas special are indelible in my mind. I still have the board game and Kermit in my footlocker of childhood memories in our basement storage room. The first Christmas in what I consider to be my childhood home, I was woken up by the sound of The Muppets Movie album playing on my new, deluxe record player with built-in speakers (pre-jambox days). Many days were spent singing along with my sister, also a Muppets freak. I was only 6, it was understandable. But she was 8, what was her excuse?
Never satisfied with an answer on these questionnaires, I dove into the memory files of those early days and came up with two more headliners. The soundtrack to the movie "Grease" and Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall." The movie "Grease" was released the summer before I entered 2nd grade which was 1978. I saw the movie at the old Town Centre Theater on Parris which is now Fuji Steakhouse. Notice the British spelling choice of the word "Centre" did nothing to deter its demise. This was my first exposure to a musical, even if in the movie form and I was hooked. I played this album until I knew every word, could act out every scene...people, I WAS Sandy. Occasionally, I would venture into the role of "Danny" played by John Travolta in all of his Aqua Velva, black comb and cuffed jean glory. As Danny, I would sing the song, "Sandy," while kicking a used “D” battery in lieu of the tin can that he kicked around after being ditched by Sandy at the drive-in. I know, it makes no sense. My transformation as Sandy was not complete until I donned a pair of pants a least a size too small (short and tight), my mom's high heels, scavenged a straw to use as a cigarette and sang, "Tell me about it, Stud." Wild, rebellious Sandy, a persona I thought was much cooler than goody-two-shoes Sandy. The highlight of my 7th birthday slumber party was a talent show at which every girl present sang or danced, surprise, to the song of their choice off the "Grease" album.
"Off the Wall" came a year later. Michael Jackson's first solo album was released in 1979, which was the year that marked my foray into formal jazz lessons at Lilo Ford's Dance studio. At 21, Michael Jackson was the original-skin, pre-plastic surgery, pre-pedophilia and let’s face it, less scary icon. Michael Jackson, the 1.0 version. In other words, he was still loved by millions across the globe – and not just Asia. This was also the soft spoken Michael Jackson who emitted little woo-hoo’s during his songs, which proceeded the grunting out of frustration “Billy Jean” phase. The entire dance recital that year had a nursery rhyme theme. Because our class had 10 girls in it, we were assigned the 10 Little Indians. Now how this is connected to Michael Jackson, I will never know, but our chosen performance song was to his first single off the album, “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough.” And let me tell you…as a little girl, dressed up in a fringed skirt and feather head piece, capped off with my mother’s inexperience at applying stage make-up, I worked that “seaweed” dance move, the kicks and step-ball-changes until my little body couldn’t work it anymore. Which might be classified as a miracle in itself given the sheer volume of face paint my mother swathed on me out of fear that my face might be lost in the glare of the stage lighting. I guess a “hooker” was better than being “faceless.”
Those are the songs of my childhood. Certainly none of them rank up there as the all-time greatest songs in history. My interpreted singing and dancing didn’t add a thing to them and may have actually lowered their credibility. But, they were my entry into what would become a life-long love of music.
Unless you have been residing on an Amish farm, you are probably familiar with "notes" on facebook. Maybe you have never completed one, but I know you have been tagged in one or, out of curiosity, have read one. Now, you and I sit here knowing entirely too much about each other and also about people we haven't seen since high school graduation. I think we feel as if completing more of these questionnaires somehow gives us the right to browse others' responses. Honestly, I know your life doesn't hinge upon whether you know if I have ever sat on a roof, caught a snowflake on my tongue or what my "Goth Name" would be. Black Dixie, by the way. And who in their right mind has answered "yes" to the YES/NO survey question "Have you ever used heroine?" We read this information, no, make that, obsess over this newly revealed and utter useless data like somehow all of this dictates whether we will remain friends or dreadfully delete each other in the dark of night. Regardless, we fill them out, pour over others and in our never ending quest to satisfy our own infinite curiosity, forward these suckers on hoping to have others join us in procrastinating on what we don't really want to do each day. For me, it was cleaning the kids room with a garbage bag, goodwill box and chlorox. Ok, so maybe facebook notes aren't so bad after all. I digress.
So, I receive this "facebook note" and immediately begin pouring over it. Seemed simple enough. Answer a few questions about meaningful music throughout my life. But, holy moly, did it make me work and dig into the recesses of my brain. My memory stinks. I had to search google and youtube with bits and pieces of titles and artists. For example, my need to answer the question, "A song that is linked to romance" brought only little snippets of melody and lyrics of an artist that made me swoon in high school, Terence Trent D'Arby. But despite this deep affection for him during my teenage years, I could only muster up the words, "terrence seven and song" in my search engine. And the word "seven" only burst forth because I remember being grounded for a week during my time of D'Arby love. On the first night of the grounding, a boyfriend at the time sneaked a tape of D'Arby's music into my unlocked car, which included the song "Seven More Days" in reference to my grounding. Regardless, the three word search (with misspelled first name Terence) revealed my complete artists' name and opportunity to listen once again. I took the moment to enjoy a brief walk down memory lane. Interesting how the mind connects memories. This also gives validation to why it took me so long to formulate answers to this note.
The first question on the note is: Song from childhood? I thought this was a pretty easy one. My answer: "Rainbow Connection" sung by Kermit the Frog. In fact the entirety that is the Muppets, the shows, movies, board game, stuffed animals, puppets and Christmas special are indelible in my mind. I still have the board game and Kermit in my footlocker of childhood memories in our basement storage room. The first Christmas in what I consider to be my childhood home, I was woken up by the sound of The Muppets Movie album playing on my new, deluxe record player with built-in speakers (pre-jambox days). Many days were spent singing along with my sister, also a Muppets freak. I was only 6, it was understandable. But she was 8, what was her excuse?
Never satisfied with an answer on these questionnaires, I dove into the memory files of those early days and came up with two more headliners. The soundtrack to the movie "Grease" and Michael Jackson's "Off the Wall." The movie "Grease" was released the summer before I entered 2nd grade which was 1978. I saw the movie at the old Town Centre Theater on Parris which is now Fuji Steakhouse. Notice the British spelling choice of the word "Centre" did nothing to deter its demise. This was my first exposure to a musical, even if in the movie form and I was hooked. I played this album until I knew every word, could act out every scene...people, I WAS Sandy. Occasionally, I would venture into the role of "Danny" played by John Travolta in all of his Aqua Velva, black comb and cuffed jean glory. As Danny, I would sing the song, "Sandy," while kicking a used “D” battery in lieu of the tin can that he kicked around after being ditched by Sandy at the drive-in. I know, it makes no sense. My transformation as Sandy was not complete until I donned a pair of pants a least a size too small (short and tight), my mom's high heels, scavenged a straw to use as a cigarette and sang, "Tell me about it, Stud." Wild, rebellious Sandy, a persona I thought was much cooler than goody-two-shoes Sandy. The highlight of my 7th birthday slumber party was a talent show at which every girl present sang or danced, surprise, to the song of their choice off the "Grease" album.
"Off the Wall" came a year later. Michael Jackson's first solo album was released in 1979, which was the year that marked my foray into formal jazz lessons at Lilo Ford's Dance studio. At 21, Michael Jackson was the original-skin, pre-plastic surgery, pre-pedophilia and let’s face it, less scary icon. Michael Jackson, the 1.0 version. In other words, he was still loved by millions across the globe – and not just Asia. This was also the soft spoken Michael Jackson who emitted little woo-hoo’s during his songs, which proceeded the grunting out of frustration “Billy Jean” phase. The entire dance recital that year had a nursery rhyme theme. Because our class had 10 girls in it, we were assigned the 10 Little Indians. Now how this is connected to Michael Jackson, I will never know, but our chosen performance song was to his first single off the album, “Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough.” And let me tell you…as a little girl, dressed up in a fringed skirt and feather head piece, capped off with my mother’s inexperience at applying stage make-up, I worked that “seaweed” dance move, the kicks and step-ball-changes until my little body couldn’t work it anymore. Which might be classified as a miracle in itself given the sheer volume of face paint my mother swathed on me out of fear that my face might be lost in the glare of the stage lighting. I guess a “hooker” was better than being “faceless.”
Those are the songs of my childhood. Certainly none of them rank up there as the all-time greatest songs in history. My interpreted singing and dancing didn’t add a thing to them and may have actually lowered their credibility. But, they were my entry into what would become a life-long love of music.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Because for most of us music is linked to our memories, this should enlighten others to your moods and phases of life. If nothing else, it clearly gives away your age! If your memory is like mine, you may need to list group names rather than song titles. You may not be able to limit to just one song. Take your time, use google and you tube. That is ok with this note. Further commentary as to your choices is appreciated. Delete my answers, fill in your own, and forward to others at will...
1. Song from childhood? Rainbow Connection by Kermit the Frog (Muppets in general)
A little later...Michael Jackson's Off the Wall. My first album.
2. Your high school class song? Free Bird by Lynard Skynard (I know, what were we thinking?) At least it is a considered a classic, right?
3. Your first CD?
The Four Seasons by Vivaldi
4. Song most memorable or favored from your teenage years? I have a few..
What I Am by Edie Brickell
The Cemetery Gates by The Smiths
The entire INXS "Kick"album, played before tennis matches
The English Beat, The Church, The Connells and U2
The Descendants fed my punk/angst side
Something ridiculous by Tone-Loc spurred on by Jennifer
Guns N Roses driving to N.DavidsonHS for classes with Katie and Chip
5. Song most memorable or favored from college or young adult years?
The first year of college - hands down, The Indigo Girls and Jane's Addiction
Later...ABBA Gold, Dillon Fence. Bizarre singles - "Ebeneezer Goode" by the Shamen (I wonder if anyone will know that song) and "Supermodel (You better work) by RuPaul.
Scott J. and Elizabeth S. help me out here.
6. Song linked to any job? And, really, why?
Hmmmm - The soundtrack to the musical RENT (to make me feel like I had not sold out) and Madonna's Ray of Light CD (I was in sales and this got my blood flowing)
7. A song that brings you infinite happiness?
"In Christ Alone" because of Ansley. In her last few months, I remember her standing, bald, both hands in the air singing with all her heart to this song. Sad, but fantastically beautiful. Also "Ill Fly Away" the Jars of Clay song. One of her funeral picks that we had much discussion about.
8. A song linked to sad times?
Paul Simon's "Graceland" which was given to me by my father the first Christmas my parents were divorced. Sad, but I still love the album.
9. What song is linked to some angst/rebellion for you?
"Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana. Will never forget the first time I heard it and what it did to me.
10. A song that is linked to romance? Jeff Buckley (I can barely listen to him), Sade, Barry White (who doesn't think of that with him on?), and Terence Trent D'arby (although he is so cheesy to look at)
11. A song you wish you had never heard? Anything by Slim Whitman because Ansley tormented me with the ridiculous notion that I loved him and wanted to be married to him. Despite the utter impossibility of this idea, she would drive me to tears with this fact. Hate even hearing his name.
12. A song that won't leave your head? "Nah nah nah nah, Hey Hey Hey Good bye"
13. A song that was played at your wedding (or you would like played there)? I Will be Here by Michael W. Smith, but performed by a friend. Nice, but would probably not choose it again. Correction noted below - Steven Curtis Chapman, not MWS.
14. A song that you will admit, for the first time, loving? Barbara Streisand, "A Piece of Sky Actually, I'll just say it - I like most her stuff. While I am at it - Neil Diamond, ok?
15. Your favorite 'wild times/party' song?
In the Netherlands - "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor and a Dutch song "Vlieg Met Me (Naar de Regenboog) by Paul De Leeuw. But, whenever I was going out in the US and heard this song, it was always an awesome night..."Big Country" by Big Country. I know, strange.
16. Your best road trip song? Journey, REM, Boston, Alison Krauss, Bob Marley. Anything I can sing to, or rather warble to.
17. Your favorite sad/quiet times song? "Praise You in the Storm" by Casting Crowns and "Valley of the Vision" CD. Other quiet times...Nina Simone (slightly depressing jazz) and Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers
18. What is in your CD player or the last song on your mp3 player? Car CD player TobyMac, Alvin & the Chipmonks, WOW 2009 and 2 Veggie Tales CD. I have kids.
19. What is your current fav? TOBYMAC! Love him!
20. Your all-time favorite song? I'll come back to this one. Really need to contemplate.
BONUS QUESTION:
Your life's song, ya know, what song best describes your life? "Lifesong" acoustic version by Casting Crowns - to be played at my funeral.
I added this one: Song to my kids: " Lovely Day" by Bill Withers
1. Song from childhood? Rainbow Connection by Kermit the Frog (Muppets in general)
A little later...Michael Jackson's Off the Wall. My first album.
2. Your high school class song? Free Bird by Lynard Skynard (I know, what were we thinking?) At least it is a considered a classic, right?
3. Your first CD?
The Four Seasons by Vivaldi
4. Song most memorable or favored from your teenage years? I have a few..
What I Am by Edie Brickell
The Cemetery Gates by The Smiths
The entire INXS "Kick"album, played before tennis matches
The English Beat, The Church, The Connells and U2
The Descendants fed my punk/angst side
Something ridiculous by Tone-Loc spurred on by Jennifer
Guns N Roses driving to N.DavidsonHS for classes with Katie and Chip
5. Song most memorable or favored from college or young adult years?
The first year of college - hands down, The Indigo Girls and Jane's Addiction
Later...ABBA Gold, Dillon Fence. Bizarre singles - "Ebeneezer Goode" by the Shamen (I wonder if anyone will know that song) and "Supermodel (You better work) by RuPaul.
Scott J. and Elizabeth S. help me out here.
6. Song linked to any job? And, really, why?
Hmmmm - The soundtrack to the musical RENT (to make me feel like I had not sold out) and Madonna's Ray of Light CD (I was in sales and this got my blood flowing)
7. A song that brings you infinite happiness?
"In Christ Alone" because of Ansley. In her last few months, I remember her standing, bald, both hands in the air singing with all her heart to this song. Sad, but fantastically beautiful. Also "Ill Fly Away" the Jars of Clay song. One of her funeral picks that we had much discussion about.
8. A song linked to sad times?
Paul Simon's "Graceland" which was given to me by my father the first Christmas my parents were divorced. Sad, but I still love the album.
9. What song is linked to some angst/rebellion for you?
"Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana. Will never forget the first time I heard it and what it did to me.
10. A song that is linked to romance? Jeff Buckley (I can barely listen to him), Sade, Barry White (who doesn't think of that with him on?), and Terence Trent D'arby (although he is so cheesy to look at)
11. A song you wish you had never heard? Anything by Slim Whitman because Ansley tormented me with the ridiculous notion that I loved him and wanted to be married to him. Despite the utter impossibility of this idea, she would drive me to tears with this fact. Hate even hearing his name.
12. A song that won't leave your head? "Nah nah nah nah, Hey Hey Hey Good bye"
13. A song that was played at your wedding (or you would like played there)? I Will be Here by Michael W. Smith, but performed by a friend. Nice, but would probably not choose it again. Correction noted below - Steven Curtis Chapman, not MWS.
14. A song that you will admit, for the first time, loving? Barbara Streisand, "A Piece of Sky Actually, I'll just say it - I like most her stuff. While I am at it - Neil Diamond, ok?
15. Your favorite 'wild times/party' song?
In the Netherlands - "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor and a Dutch song "Vlieg Met Me (Naar de Regenboog) by Paul De Leeuw. But, whenever I was going out in the US and heard this song, it was always an awesome night..."Big Country" by Big Country. I know, strange.
16. Your best road trip song? Journey, REM, Boston, Alison Krauss, Bob Marley. Anything I can sing to, or rather warble to.
17. Your favorite sad/quiet times song? "Praise You in the Storm" by Casting Crowns and "Valley of the Vision" CD. Other quiet times...Nina Simone (slightly depressing jazz) and Ain't No Sunshine by Bill Withers
18. What is in your CD player or the last song on your mp3 player? Car CD player TobyMac, Alvin & the Chipmonks, WOW 2009 and 2 Veggie Tales CD. I have kids.
19. What is your current fav? TOBYMAC! Love him!
20. Your all-time favorite song? I'll come back to this one. Really need to contemplate.
BONUS QUESTION:
Your life's song, ya know, what song best describes your life? "Lifesong" acoustic version by Casting Crowns - to be played at my funeral.
I added this one: Song to my kids: " Lovely Day" by Bill Withers
Sunday, February 22, 2009
A Fresh Scent
I remember when he came home smelling like cheap perfume. "Hell-oooo," he called as he entered the house after a day at work. He made his way to the bedroom where I was dressing a child after a bath. He bent down to give me a kiss upon the cheek. As he did, my nose sniffed and my back stiffened a bit. There was a different scent surrounding him.
I was used to years of the stale scent of cigarettes, sterile office funk and even sometimes a bit of his greasy lunch. However, for the last several months, he had been fighting the addiction of nicotine. An addiction of 15 years that was a monster with which to be reckoned. But, he was determined and well, was forced to end it because of suffering a mild heart attack at only 34. During our 8 years of knowing each other, I had never known his "normal" scent. It had always been masked by the heaviness of a pack a day habit. But, within the first week of his battle, his natural smell slowly emerged, as years of the toxins slowly released from his pores. But what my nose hinted at this evening was not this newly known scent, this was more floral.
"What is that smell?" I asked.
"What smell?" he immediately responded.
"You smell like cheap perfume." I said with a little bit of indignity.
"I do? No I don't," he said.
Did Tammy (his assistant) wear something new that somehow caught wind of you?" I inquired.
"No," he said as he walked into the closet to change clothes.
The next day, upon entering our house, he leaned to give the "honey, I am home" peck on the cheek.
"AHA! I smell it again!" I exclaimed. "I know I smell something, Jay."
"What?" he said.
"You know exactly what I am talking about!" I began to shout. "What is going on? I want to know." I could feel the bile begin to rise in my throat, my heart beating faster and faster. This couldn't be happening.
He hung his head and I knew this couldn't be good.
He began to mutter, "It is Febreeze."
"Febreeze?" I said, completely flabbergasted. "What are you talking about?"
His words spilling quickly from his mouth, "I have started smoking again and I didn't want you to know. So, to mask the smell, I started spraying myself with Febreeze before getting out of the car. I am sorry."
"Ok, that is THE most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," I said. "Febreeze." I let out a deep breath. With much relief I hugged him and told him to take a shower. I wanted that scent gone!
I was used to years of the stale scent of cigarettes, sterile office funk and even sometimes a bit of his greasy lunch. However, for the last several months, he had been fighting the addiction of nicotine. An addiction of 15 years that was a monster with which to be reckoned. But, he was determined and well, was forced to end it because of suffering a mild heart attack at only 34. During our 8 years of knowing each other, I had never known his "normal" scent. It had always been masked by the heaviness of a pack a day habit. But, within the first week of his battle, his natural smell slowly emerged, as years of the toxins slowly released from his pores. But what my nose hinted at this evening was not this newly known scent, this was more floral.
"What is that smell?" I asked.
"What smell?" he immediately responded.
"You smell like cheap perfume." I said with a little bit of indignity.
"I do? No I don't," he said.
Did Tammy (his assistant) wear something new that somehow caught wind of you?" I inquired.
"No," he said as he walked into the closet to change clothes.
The next day, upon entering our house, he leaned to give the "honey, I am home" peck on the cheek.
"AHA! I smell it again!" I exclaimed. "I know I smell something, Jay."
"What?" he said.
"You know exactly what I am talking about!" I began to shout. "What is going on? I want to know." I could feel the bile begin to rise in my throat, my heart beating faster and faster. This couldn't be happening.
He hung his head and I knew this couldn't be good.
He began to mutter, "It is Febreeze."
"Febreeze?" I said, completely flabbergasted. "What are you talking about?"
His words spilling quickly from his mouth, "I have started smoking again and I didn't want you to know. So, to mask the smell, I started spraying myself with Febreeze before getting out of the car. I am sorry."
"Ok, that is THE most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," I said. "Febreeze." I let out a deep breath. With much relief I hugged him and told him to take a shower. I wanted that scent gone!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
We are all on a journey. Everyone has to figure this out themselves. I don't believe that since I am in a different place than you (notice the word different, not better or worse, just the word different), that somehow I am closer to God than you. God loves us all equally. He desires to have each of us in His fold, close to Him. My "knowledge" doesn't put me in better standing with God, that is for my own pleasure and enjoyment.
Have you ever read the story of the prodigal son in the bible? It was actually a tough one for me at one time. It doesn't matter if I toil every day of my life, have every bit of the bible memorized, etc. and another person only one day, the reward is still the same. Meaning, it doesn't really matter where we are in the journey - early, middle, late, heaven is there for us all. We should be joyous in that fact.
My choices to limit what my kids see and experience is to protect their hearts and minds from the really cruddy influences I had growing up. I don't want Sadie to think that relationships begin, are in crisis and are resolved, all within 30 minutes. Or, that her measure of worth is found in boys and popularity. I could write a number of other accounts for her and Ethan. It is not because I am walking some bizarre line of legalism. It is because they have their whole lives to fill up with the world, so why push it now? Let God be their influence, not the world.
I am not preaching to you, I am just trying to explain myself in light of your statement. With that statement should come an explanation of exactly where you are at the moment. I don't know where you are, so why don't you tell me? What is your relationship with God? Jesus? Tell me. Then, read my blog.
Have you ever read the story of the prodigal son in the bible? It was actually a tough one for me at one time. It doesn't matter if I toil every day of my life, have every bit of the bible memorized, etc. and another person only one day, the reward is still the same. Meaning, it doesn't really matter where we are in the journey - early, middle, late, heaven is there for us all. We should be joyous in that fact.
My choices to limit what my kids see and experience is to protect their hearts and minds from the really cruddy influences I had growing up. I don't want Sadie to think that relationships begin, are in crisis and are resolved, all within 30 minutes. Or, that her measure of worth is found in boys and popularity. I could write a number of other accounts for her and Ethan. It is not because I am walking some bizarre line of legalism. It is because they have their whole lives to fill up with the world, so why push it now? Let God be their influence, not the world.
I am not preaching to you, I am just trying to explain myself in light of your statement. With that statement should come an explanation of exactly where you are at the moment. I don't know where you are, so why don't you tell me? What is your relationship with God? Jesus? Tell me. Then, read my blog.
“It is in the quiet crucible of your personal private sufferings that your noblest dreams are born and that God’s greatest gifts are given in compensation for what you’ve been through.”
A friend shared this quote with me during my time of heavy grieving this year. Although I loved the hope it gave at the time, I had not yet experienced the noblest dream. I feel as if I am in that "noblest dream."
A friend shared this quote with me during my time of heavy grieving this year. Although I loved the hope it gave at the time, I had not yet experienced the noblest dream. I feel as if I am in that "noblest dream."
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Give It Away
A friend's father passed away last summer. It was after a long, drawn-out and painful battle with pancreatic cancer. He spent the last 6 months simply wasting away. Her father remarried many years ago to a lovely woman. And, for the most part the entire family got along quite amicably. That is, until he died.
What seems to be at the heart of the disagreement is that her father left everything to his new wife. Now, let me make this very clear, my friend and her two siblings could care less about money or even the bulk of the possessions. However, they want something, a small trinket of their father to remember him by. Additionally, these items might consist of birthday gifts, possessions that were directly linked to their life before she entered the picture and or even connected to his genealogy which should have no value to her. And yet, she is completely unwilling to part with anything, and certainly not these few pieces requested by my friend and her family.
I pondered this predicament. It makes me very sad for all of them. But it also brought to mind what I am unwilling to let go. What am I holding on to for some misplaced security or simply out of fear that should conjure up the same feelings of sadness about the state of my own soul?
In my early walk with Christianity, part of my hold out on believing in Jesus was that I felt I had to give up my old life. All the things that I held dear were now against the law, or so I thought. And, I wasn't ready to let them go. Life was not going to be enjoyable. I started my walk on some ridiculous tight rope of piety. But, as I grew in my faith, I began to understand how unimportant these things were to God. And, how much more important relationships are. When I recognized the traps of performance I jumped off the tight rope, landed in the net and started walking on solid ground. It was painless and superbly easy. As Paul says in Philippians, "But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things."
My advice to my friend was to just give it more time. She should make a kind request to her father's wife to please not dispose of his things without giving the children a chance to pilfer through. She may not know of a special memory tied to an item. And, for my friend, as time passes, the significance of the clock, the photo, the books, will diminish. I am certain that as the grief is dealt with, it will be easier for his wife to give it away, too.
I encourage each of us to look deeper into ourselves to what we are clutching so desperately to that is of this world. Possibly we are holding onto something that we aren't fully aware of its existence. It is so ingrained and embedded from years of this practice or behavior, we don't know it at all.
Like an onion, the outer layers of ourselves are dry and brittle, easy to peel and discard. In fact, they almost come off themselves. The early years of believing are like that, I think. Easy transformation, little knowledge. But as you get closer and closer to the heart of the onion, the layers are tighter, tougher, more compacted and unified to the core.
Somewhere over the last year, I reached a point where I thought, well, I have dealt with a lot of those transgressions and the sins that held me hostage. Those chains don't hold me anymore. I am in pretty good shape. And then, God used people and circumstances to force the examination of layers around my heart once again. Those layers that separate me from the fullness of His love and grace.
I have walked a few years as a believer, some 12-13 years. As I journey this road, I have discovered that to relinquish more and more of myself is increasingly difficult. Rather than deal head-on with what God brought into the light, I chose to walk away. I found myself trying to find those old peels, searching through the stinking filth of the wastebasket because it was just a bit more comfortable than facing the truest part of myself.
But there is no walking, skipping, or running away. Those old peels will never feel good again. I ask...God forgive me. I am ready and willing, in prayer and meditation, to give it all away for You.
What seems to be at the heart of the disagreement is that her father left everything to his new wife. Now, let me make this very clear, my friend and her two siblings could care less about money or even the bulk of the possessions. However, they want something, a small trinket of their father to remember him by. Additionally, these items might consist of birthday gifts, possessions that were directly linked to their life before she entered the picture and or even connected to his genealogy which should have no value to her. And yet, she is completely unwilling to part with anything, and certainly not these few pieces requested by my friend and her family.
I pondered this predicament. It makes me very sad for all of them. But it also brought to mind what I am unwilling to let go. What am I holding on to for some misplaced security or simply out of fear that should conjure up the same feelings of sadness about the state of my own soul?
In my early walk with Christianity, part of my hold out on believing in Jesus was that I felt I had to give up my old life. All the things that I held dear were now against the law, or so I thought. And, I wasn't ready to let them go. Life was not going to be enjoyable. I started my walk on some ridiculous tight rope of piety. But, as I grew in my faith, I began to understand how unimportant these things were to God. And, how much more important relationships are. When I recognized the traps of performance I jumped off the tight rope, landed in the net and started walking on solid ground. It was painless and superbly easy. As Paul says in Philippians, "But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things."
My advice to my friend was to just give it more time. She should make a kind request to her father's wife to please not dispose of his things without giving the children a chance to pilfer through. She may not know of a special memory tied to an item. And, for my friend, as time passes, the significance of the clock, the photo, the books, will diminish. I am certain that as the grief is dealt with, it will be easier for his wife to give it away, too.
I encourage each of us to look deeper into ourselves to what we are clutching so desperately to that is of this world. Possibly we are holding onto something that we aren't fully aware of its existence. It is so ingrained and embedded from years of this practice or behavior, we don't know it at all.
Like an onion, the outer layers of ourselves are dry and brittle, easy to peel and discard. In fact, they almost come off themselves. The early years of believing are like that, I think. Easy transformation, little knowledge. But as you get closer and closer to the heart of the onion, the layers are tighter, tougher, more compacted and unified to the core.
Somewhere over the last year, I reached a point where I thought, well, I have dealt with a lot of those transgressions and the sins that held me hostage. Those chains don't hold me anymore. I am in pretty good shape. And then, God used people and circumstances to force the examination of layers around my heart once again. Those layers that separate me from the fullness of His love and grace.
I have walked a few years as a believer, some 12-13 years. As I journey this road, I have discovered that to relinquish more and more of myself is increasingly difficult. Rather than deal head-on with what God brought into the light, I chose to walk away. I found myself trying to find those old peels, searching through the stinking filth of the wastebasket because it was just a bit more comfortable than facing the truest part of myself.
But there is no walking, skipping, or running away. Those old peels will never feel good again. I ask...God forgive me. I am ready and willing, in prayer and meditation, to give it all away for You.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
There is loss and then there is Loss. There is grief and then there is Grief. What differentiates between the two? Is solely the connection between the two people. Or do you factor in the journey to death, the story behind the loss? Is it worse to have the knowledge the you are dying? Or is that fact harder on the ones surrounding you? Is it worse to not have the chance to say goodbye to those that are left?
I have been a bit shocked to have experience levels of sorrow and depression this year that would rival the first month of her passing. It rattled my brain and my body. It has been 2 years, and yet, there were moments this past week when I couldn’t exhale without tears and crying. I can look back at the last year and see very few moments of sadness. I could talk about her without any emotion, no tears, not even watering. I could recollect tough times in our relationship almost from the outside looking in. Those on the receiving end of my verbal recollection would react with tears and sniffles while I stood there unphased by what I was saying.
Death is a crazy thing. It makes people behave to the antithesis of their character. They make terrible choices in grief. They can’t think clearly, the grief masking reality, marring their ability to anticipate consequences. Sometimes they chose to forget all that they knew when their loved one was living. That which brought closeness in the last stage of death or in the birth of the grief is gone.
Grief is cyclical. There is no reasoning to the cycles, when they appear, their order, their presentation. Grief circles are sometimes small and sometimes all encompassing. They arrive in the form of anger, sadness, depression and even antipathy.
I am sure that there are a few in my midst who think that I should be over it by now. Controlled in my sorrow and grief and memories managed.
Is suffering comparable?
Does any one really know the levels of another person’s sorrow?
I have been a bit shocked to have experience levels of sorrow and depression this year that would rival the first month of her passing. It rattled my brain and my body. It has been 2 years, and yet, there were moments this past week when I couldn’t exhale without tears and crying. I can look back at the last year and see very few moments of sadness. I could talk about her without any emotion, no tears, not even watering. I could recollect tough times in our relationship almost from the outside looking in. Those on the receiving end of my verbal recollection would react with tears and sniffles while I stood there unphased by what I was saying.
Death is a crazy thing. It makes people behave to the antithesis of their character. They make terrible choices in grief. They can’t think clearly, the grief masking reality, marring their ability to anticipate consequences. Sometimes they chose to forget all that they knew when their loved one was living. That which brought closeness in the last stage of death or in the birth of the grief is gone.
Grief is cyclical. There is no reasoning to the cycles, when they appear, their order, their presentation. Grief circles are sometimes small and sometimes all encompassing. They arrive in the form of anger, sadness, depression and even antipathy.
I am sure that there are a few in my midst who think that I should be over it by now. Controlled in my sorrow and grief and memories managed.
Is suffering comparable?
Does any one really know the levels of another person’s sorrow?
Signs of a Lighter Heart
A tough week last week. I didn't write much, didn't think much past my own sorrow. I am working on getting back into the groove this week. Much of the sadness is behind me which actually is very interesting. I mean, does a passing day really make that much difference? Topic for future post.
A habit I am trying to establish is to make a list of what brings me happiness and joy on a regular basis. Focusing on the positive, not the negative. Gains instead of losses. God's blessings even if small. And so...here it is:
1. "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor. I recently heard this song on the radio and not only did it pump me up in a major way, it brought back a flood of wonderful memories of my year in the Netherlands with a group of girls (I call all my friend girls) that are still very close to my heart. That song was our mantra while being immersed in a different culture, far from home and families. A remix of the song was very popular in the bars that year and so we belted it out regularly. But, this time I also heard myself singing it in a new light. Instead of singing this to my independent spirit (the original intent by Ms. Gaynor), I sang this song to my grief, loneliness and depression which seemed to appear with such force I was knocked to the ground. Here is a snippet of the lyrics for those that don't remember.
and so you're back
from outer space
I just walked in to find you here
with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed my stupid lock
I should have made you leave your key
If I had known for just one second
you'd be back to bother me
Go on now go walk out the door
just turn around now
'cause you're not welcome anymore
weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
you think I'd crumble
you think I'd lay down and die
Oh no, not I
I will survive
as long as i know how to love
I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
and I'll survive
I will survive
2. Loving little Dixie, our dachshund puppy. She has brought such delight to my day, despite the lack to total house training and even a bout of vomiting. I could let her sleep with me, curled up, every night. I just found her snoozing on top of a laundry basket full of dirty clothes sitting in the sunlight.
3. A scarf. I received this scarf just the other day. It is made from Ansley's clothes. The first Christmas after her death, I had a lady make Colby and Gray quilts of their mother's clothing. Anyone who knew Ansley is well aware of her eclectic and fashion-forward taste in clothing. The quilts were amazing. There was enough material left for 3 more quilts so intended to have more made for my own 3. Last week the quilts arrived along with several surprises - 2 teddy bears and 2 scarves. They are gorgeous and I think my new wardrobe will consist mainly of blues and browns in order to wear the scarf every day.
4. My little Sadie, with her two front teeth missing. I can't look at her without smiling, no matter what is coming out of her mouth. Well, almost.
5. My little Lily's acceptance of a new discipline technique, the marble jars. Thanks, Beth, for that suggestion. She is working so hard at changing her whining, crying and fit throwing. I am amazed at the changes in a mere 4 days. Chuck E. Cheese, here we come. Ok, so that is NOT on my list of happy thoughts, but it is her reward once the jar is full of marbles.
6. My little Ethan's request to snuggle, even at age 8. I went out of town for the night on Valentine's Day. Upon my return, he just wanted to sit close to me with his head on my shoulder and talk.
7. My friends. Yes, you! What an outpouring of thoughts, well-wishes and love on Friday. I felt very, very blessed and loved on a day when I was floundering in the deep. Never underestimate the impact this can have on someone.
8. Peanut Butter pie. Had a divine slice at the beach. Whipped, light, pb mousse with an oreo cookie crust, topped with chocolate morsels. Sinful.
9. The squirrel is OUTTA HERE! A week ago Jay fixed the squirrel cage to a wooden squirrel box he had fastened to a tree. We let the squirrel get acclimated to his new surroundings for a week. On Saturday, Jay removed the bottom of the cage so the squirrel would be able to roam, forage and most likely get eaten at his leisure. I know, I am terrible.
10. And, finally, but not least by any measure, my forgiveness. Over the past several months I have allowed my mind to move away from Him and onto earthly things. It has been more than a struggle. It has been soul wrenching. I brought it to Him over the weekend and well, you guys know. I am back in the fold. Still working out the details, but definitely moving back to where I need to be. God is good!
A habit I am trying to establish is to make a list of what brings me happiness and joy on a regular basis. Focusing on the positive, not the negative. Gains instead of losses. God's blessings even if small. And so...here it is:
1. "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor. I recently heard this song on the radio and not only did it pump me up in a major way, it brought back a flood of wonderful memories of my year in the Netherlands with a group of girls (I call all my friend girls) that are still very close to my heart. That song was our mantra while being immersed in a different culture, far from home and families. A remix of the song was very popular in the bars that year and so we belted it out regularly. But, this time I also heard myself singing it in a new light. Instead of singing this to my independent spirit (the original intent by Ms. Gaynor), I sang this song to my grief, loneliness and depression which seemed to appear with such force I was knocked to the ground. Here is a snippet of the lyrics for those that don't remember.
and so you're back
from outer space
I just walked in to find you here
with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed my stupid lock
I should have made you leave your key
If I had known for just one second
you'd be back to bother me
Go on now go walk out the door
just turn around now
'cause you're not welcome anymore
weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
you think I'd crumble
you think I'd lay down and die
Oh no, not I
I will survive
as long as i know how to love
I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
and I'll survive
I will survive
2. Loving little Dixie, our dachshund puppy. She has brought such delight to my day, despite the lack to total house training and even a bout of vomiting. I could let her sleep with me, curled up, every night. I just found her snoozing on top of a laundry basket full of dirty clothes sitting in the sunlight.
3. A scarf. I received this scarf just the other day. It is made from Ansley's clothes. The first Christmas after her death, I had a lady make Colby and Gray quilts of their mother's clothing. Anyone who knew Ansley is well aware of her eclectic and fashion-forward taste in clothing. The quilts were amazing. There was enough material left for 3 more quilts so intended to have more made for my own 3. Last week the quilts arrived along with several surprises - 2 teddy bears and 2 scarves. They are gorgeous and I think my new wardrobe will consist mainly of blues and browns in order to wear the scarf every day.
4. My little Sadie, with her two front teeth missing. I can't look at her without smiling, no matter what is coming out of her mouth. Well, almost.
5. My little Lily's acceptance of a new discipline technique, the marble jars. Thanks, Beth, for that suggestion. She is working so hard at changing her whining, crying and fit throwing. I am amazed at the changes in a mere 4 days. Chuck E. Cheese, here we come. Ok, so that is NOT on my list of happy thoughts, but it is her reward once the jar is full of marbles.
6. My little Ethan's request to snuggle, even at age 8. I went out of town for the night on Valentine's Day. Upon my return, he just wanted to sit close to me with his head on my shoulder and talk.
7. My friends. Yes, you! What an outpouring of thoughts, well-wishes and love on Friday. I felt very, very blessed and loved on a day when I was floundering in the deep. Never underestimate the impact this can have on someone.
8. Peanut Butter pie. Had a divine slice at the beach. Whipped, light, pb mousse with an oreo cookie crust, topped with chocolate morsels. Sinful.
9. The squirrel is OUTTA HERE! A week ago Jay fixed the squirrel cage to a wooden squirrel box he had fastened to a tree. We let the squirrel get acclimated to his new surroundings for a week. On Saturday, Jay removed the bottom of the cage so the squirrel would be able to roam, forage and most likely get eaten at his leisure. I know, I am terrible.
10. And, finally, but not least by any measure, my forgiveness. Over the past several months I have allowed my mind to move away from Him and onto earthly things. It has been more than a struggle. It has been soul wrenching. I brought it to Him over the weekend and well, you guys know. I am back in the fold. Still working out the details, but definitely moving back to where I need to be. God is good!
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thoughts in grief
Today is ok.
I am going to be ok.
This is not as bad as I thought.
I will keep myself busy.
I hope so-and-so doesn't call.
I hope so-and-so does call.
Only one winner.
Why didn't he say anything?
Who has forgotten her?
What was her smell?
Is she really gone?
Why can't I get anything done.
Why did I make an impossible task?
Why do I cry upon exhaling?
Why is there no laughter?
I want to laugh.
I don't want looks.
I don't want pity.
I want her.
Today is ok.
I am going to be ok.
Maybe.
I am going to be ok.
This is not as bad as I thought.
I will keep myself busy.
I hope so-and-so doesn't call.
I hope so-and-so does call.
Only one winner.
Why didn't he say anything?
Who has forgotten her?
What was her smell?
Is she really gone?
Why can't I get anything done.
Why did I make an impossible task?
Why do I cry upon exhaling?
Why is there no laughter?
I want to laugh.
I don't want looks.
I don't want pity.
I want her.
Today is ok.
I am going to be ok.
Maybe.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
I don't have much to say. At least not here. My writing has taken a definite leap into deeper and some what darker places. One day maybe these private entries will find their way into some sort of novel or article, who knows?
I am gearing up for Friday. Two years she will have been gone. Much more emotional this year. I am not very stable and well, for someone who LOVES control, this is somewhat of a death statement.
I spent this weekend with some ladies from our church at a retreat. It was very relaxing, full of wonderful teaching and as predicted...emotional. I had quite a bit of mental distraction going on so I am not sure that I fully inhaled what was presented. Maybe just a whiff here and there. But, in the midst of it all, I asked my friend, Beth, who I met when we were both pregnant with our second children, nearly 8 years ago if I would be considered a "crier," you know, emotional. Her emphatic answer, "NO! But, you should be."
I concluded that because it seems I cannot walk around these days without a tissue, I am in fact, going through "something." This is not the first something, but a cycle that seems to have started when she was still alive and has become more frequent since her passing.
Another conclusion I have drawn is that I am beyond being able to get this under control using only my abilities. Challenging my independent self to the core. This is extraordinarily painful to admit. I hate myself for all the times I looked at someone "emotional" and thought why can't they just pull it together? Just, "suck it up." Wow. Get a load of that mercy. Think there is an award out there for the most merciless person on the planet. Some things are truly out of one person's control.
Plans are in place to help me, aid and assist me in this journey and for once, I welcome them with arms wide open.
I am gearing up for Friday. Two years she will have been gone. Much more emotional this year. I am not very stable and well, for someone who LOVES control, this is somewhat of a death statement.
I spent this weekend with some ladies from our church at a retreat. It was very relaxing, full of wonderful teaching and as predicted...emotional. I had quite a bit of mental distraction going on so I am not sure that I fully inhaled what was presented. Maybe just a whiff here and there. But, in the midst of it all, I asked my friend, Beth, who I met when we were both pregnant with our second children, nearly 8 years ago if I would be considered a "crier," you know, emotional. Her emphatic answer, "NO! But, you should be."
I concluded that because it seems I cannot walk around these days without a tissue, I am in fact, going through "something." This is not the first something, but a cycle that seems to have started when she was still alive and has become more frequent since her passing.
Another conclusion I have drawn is that I am beyond being able to get this under control using only my abilities. Challenging my independent self to the core. This is extraordinarily painful to admit. I hate myself for all the times I looked at someone "emotional" and thought why can't they just pull it together? Just, "suck it up." Wow. Get a load of that mercy. Think there is an award out there for the most merciless person on the planet. Some things are truly out of one person's control.
Plans are in place to help me, aid and assist me in this journey and for once, I welcome them with arms wide open.
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