The start of the school year is the most depressing time for me. Change and transitions are never fluid and calm in my spirit. Instead they are like a thousand rocks crashing and crunching around. Constantly being grounded up and rumbling. Schedules that are on paper, but not yet lived out, completely stress me out. I would love for my nature to be different, but it is not. For example, not fully understanding how my kids should be dressed when they arrive at swim practice verses what they should pack has swirled around in my brain more times than I care to admit. Anyway...
Last week, I was driving to "work." By "work" I mean some very loosely defined hours at the office where I pick and choose the lesser of the evils to accomplish that day. I explained to Jay, my husband, that if I helped out at our business I would have to have tasks that did not significantly impact accounting or inventory. My purpose in doing so was to minimize the level of conflict we have experienced in the past from working together. Of course, what is there to do that doesn't drastically affect these two areas? Human Resources. I have written and distributed the official Employee Handbook and posted two job listings on Monster. com.
The first posted position on monster was for a basic warehouse position. The pay is appropriate for an entry level job and nice benefits are to commence upon completing a 90-day probationary period. There is the possibility of upward mobility with the job, so we were looking for someone willing to work hard and grow with the company.
I believe evidence of our recession can be measured with the following statistic. 120 resumes received within 2 weeks, for an unskilled job listed on monster. I can't imagine what volumes we would have received had we placed a classified in the newspaper. We also posted a position for an IT Manager which, last count, we received over 200 resumes from interested applicants.
Sifting through all of this information, calling prospects on the phone, interviewing applicants, I have gleaned a few tidbits of information over the past several weeks and I thought I might pass along. Let my experiences be to your gain!
1) If you have not worked longer than 3 months at any of the 8 jobs you have had in the last 2 years, it is probably best that you explain why you are unable to pass a 90-day probationary period. Your chances of being hired are pretty low.
2) If I ask what your previous employer might say about you and your answer is, "Well, probably not very good since I just walked out on them." Your chances of being hired are pretty low.
3) On your resume if you say that your reason for leaving is that you had conflicts with new management styles. Your chances of being hired are pretty low.
4) When asked in an interview to tell me about when you were part of a team that worked successfully together and your answer is, redundantly, "It was when they all worked together," thus giving me a simple definition of teamwork, your chance of being hired are pretty low.
5) On your resume if you list under interests, "I have 13 children," it does makes me think twice. I will still interview you, based on your qualifications. If you want your chances of being hired to go up, take that OFF your resume.
6) If you have established your own website to promote your skills and qualifications, it would be to your advantage if you would not have paragraph after paragraph written about your interest in astronomy and star trek.
7) To add to #6 you might also increase your chances of being employed if you would remove the tab from your website marked "donations." Yes, as strange as this sounds, companies may think twice about someone who openly and without shame posts a paypal button on their website to receive funds for themselves rather than a social cause.
8) If you ask if you are going to be drug tested during your interview, "You know, so you won't take some "medication" that shows up on drug tests," your chances of being hired are pretty low.
9) If you ask me to "hold on" while you ask loudly, "Can someone drive me over to High Point for an interview on Wednesday," your chances of being hired are pretty low.
10) If a family member responds to the request for an interview because the applicant does not speak English well enough to speak on the phone themselves, your chances of being hired are pretty low.
11) If you attempt to post a "resume" to the job listing with only your name and phone number, your chances of being hired are pretty low.
12) If you post the following statement, "This is my sister's computer and I can't put my resume on," your chances of being hired are pretty low.
13) If you show up for an interview wearing ragged, dirty shorts and a t-shirt, your chance of being hired are pretty low. It is a warehouse position, but a pride in personal hygiene is still essential.
14) If you live out of state and believe that we might pay for "relocation" expenses for an hourly warehouse position, your chances of being hired are pretty low.
Lastly,
15) Non-working phone numbers supplied will, surprisingly, lessen your chances of being hired.
This is not a complete list of my experiences; I could on with probably 30 more, but you get the picture. Most of these seem to be "common sense" issues really. For example, if you don't have transportation, don't let me believe that you are the mercy of whomever happens to be in the room at the moment.
Sadly, the experience also shed light on a certain population segment that is must be suffering the greatest during this economic downturn. We received multiple resumes from people in their 50s who had worked at one or two places their entire lives. These are people who were employed by the furniture or textiles industries so prevalent in our geographical area, working in a warehouse for their entire careers. With the recession and outsourcing overseas, most of these industries have drastically downsized or ceased to exist altogether. After 15 or 20 years with the same company, these workers were making a nice hourly wage with good benefits. However, these same dedicated and loyal workers did not have positions that required continuous education or training. They have been left without computer skills and experiences now needed by most companies. Where do they find jobs? Who is hiring this segment of the population? Hard working people whose chances at decently paying job are very low.
On the flip side, I was stunned at the presentation either through resumes, over the phone or in interviews of well over 60% of the applicants. I believed that with so few jobs available in this area, with so many people out of work, that the younger generation would step it up a bit, attempt to sell themselves and want to be hired. Most were amazingly clueless or really didn't want to be hired.
In the end, I was able to find 2 strong applicants who we have hired for the warehouse. We are still wading through the IT resumes as those skill sets are more involved. Interviews should begin next week. Wish me luck.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Why Should I Attend My 20th High School Reunion?
With mixed feelings, I am a part of my high school reunion committee. I have more than enjoyed reconnecting with those on the committee, but there is a bit of stress in the planning process and the "what if no one comes" thought is always lingering in the back of my mind.
I enjoyed my high school years, but they were also full of angst, awkwardness and the daily highs and lows of what I imagine are typical for those early pubescent years. While working on this committee, all those good and well, not-so-good memories have been thrust to the front of my brain. Interestingly, when discussing them with my former classmates I have come to the following conclusions:
1. Time has a way of distorting much of what I remember as being factually accurate.
2. Twenty years is a long, long time to retain everything that occurred in high school. Most of us remember with some vivid detail our closest friends, vaguely remember just the names of those on the outside of our circle and those beyond that are simply forgotten.
3. No one, with rare exception, is the same as they were in high school. Every one has ridden the roller coaster that is life since graduation day - life full of elation and devastation, dreams realized and dreams unfulfilled, careers, marriages, divorces, and children, moving away and remaining here. I am not the same person as I was in 1989 - not mentally, emotionally and definitely not physically either.
Despite where life has taken us and the evolution of who we now are, we still have a common bond; We are the class of 1989. Some still say we were the best class to ever pass its hallowed halls. I say we were unique, a class that seemed to be unified despite our friend groups and interests. It comes at no surprise then that I find myself "friends" on facebook with more than 100 people just from my high school, mostly from my graduation class. Technology such as facebook and myspace have reconnected our generation more than any other and so it begs the question, why should I go? I already know what most people are doing, where they are living and visit my closest friends from that age on average once a year. And, frankly, why do I care?
1. Modern computers are great, they do not replace face time. Seeing someone, laughing (and not LOL-ing), telling stories, recounting lives is not the same as instant chatting over facebook. Being able to shake hands, hug, and reconnect in the flesh will never replace sitting behind a screen and keyboard.
2. A chance to gather at one place at the same time. I see my close knit group of high school friends fairly regularly - some weekly, some once a year, but have not been all together at one gathering in at least 4 years. One person I have not seen once in 15 years and she was one of my best friends, filling a spot in nearly every high school photo I have. This reunion gives me the chance to create a collective memory with those that shared in those teenage years.
3. It is one weekend. One night only, if you only choose to attend the main event on Saturday night. One weekend out of the last 1,040 that we have lived since graduation. Seriously, no one can't sacrifice a night with those statistic, right?
4. Reliving the past. I don't think anyone is pining away for their high school days. Yet, every once in a while it is a hoot to laugh it up about the ridiculousness that occurred in the late 80s. Who doesn't look back at those 80s hairstyles and fashions and roll in hysterics? At the time, I remember thinking that I just couldn't look more "in style" than those days with that a-line hairstyle (orange due to the overinduldent use of "sun-in"), acid wash jeans and big earrings (which have revolved back in style, by the way). Reviling in the years of our youth, of little responsibility and lots of drama is a rite of passage.
5. If you still aren't sure about coming, think of it as a last-chance prom, complete with all your favorite tunes from the late 80s. A photographer will be there to capture the memories, too. This time, your date will most likely be someone you wish you had gone with the first time. And hey, this time, if you want to go to that hotel room after, you will be legal!
6. The reunion is a night where all the planning has been done for you. I can't remember the last time I got a night out that I did not have to organize in some way. Of course, I won't get this either as part of the committee, but YOU can.
7. Grandover. The location of our reunion is reason enough to attend. It is beautifully stunning with multiple areas where groups can hang out and reconnect. Additionally, the secured room rate should make every one think twice about going home after this event.
8. Your attendance means more to everyone else than it does you. Instead of thinking, "What do I have to gain from attending," begin thinking, "What do others gain from my attendance?" You may not care to attend, but your classmates DO care if you are there. Personally, I find it utterly fascinating to hear what paths people have traveled in their lifetime. Maybe you think yours is fairly bland, maybe you aren't happy with what you have "accomplished," maybe life didn't pan out as you planned. Not only am I sure this is an innacuracy created by your mind, don't let insecurities prevent you from attending! Adding to that, through facebook, I have found I have quite a bit in common now with people that I didn't have the chance to be friends with in high school. I can't wait to see them at the reunion!
9. Closure. Did you leave something unsaid or undone? Now, I don't mean dredge up that time that someone stole your significant other and view the reunion as your chance at revenge by bringing out the boxing gloves to kick some booty. What I mean is, did you miss that opportunity to tell someone what an impact they made on you during those years? Did you pass up the chance to speak to a classmate because that would have been "uncool" at the time? Is there a classmate who has had a particularly difficult journey since high school who you can encourage?
10. It only happens once in our lives. Who knows if there will be another reunion? Who has the guarantee of life tomorrow? That might sound a bit morbid, but realistically, there is a strong possibility that someone at this reunion will not be around in 10 years. Don't wish that you had attended.
For those reading that aren't a part of my high school graduating class, the song accompanying this post is our class song. "Freebird" by Lynard Skynard. What can I say - we were a southern, rural high school with a lot of pride, a slight redneck feel and a smoking area. To quote the first part of the song:
If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be travelling on, now,
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.
Class of 1989, it is time to reunite, reconnect with old friends and share your life experiences with others. Hope to see you there.
I enjoyed my high school years, but they were also full of angst, awkwardness and the daily highs and lows of what I imagine are typical for those early pubescent years. While working on this committee, all those good and well, not-so-good memories have been thrust to the front of my brain. Interestingly, when discussing them with my former classmates I have come to the following conclusions:
1. Time has a way of distorting much of what I remember as being factually accurate.
2. Twenty years is a long, long time to retain everything that occurred in high school. Most of us remember with some vivid detail our closest friends, vaguely remember just the names of those on the outside of our circle and those beyond that are simply forgotten.
3. No one, with rare exception, is the same as they were in high school. Every one has ridden the roller coaster that is life since graduation day - life full of elation and devastation, dreams realized and dreams unfulfilled, careers, marriages, divorces, and children, moving away and remaining here. I am not the same person as I was in 1989 - not mentally, emotionally and definitely not physically either.
Despite where life has taken us and the evolution of who we now are, we still have a common bond; We are the class of 1989. Some still say we were the best class to ever pass its hallowed halls. I say we were unique, a class that seemed to be unified despite our friend groups and interests. It comes at no surprise then that I find myself "friends" on facebook with more than 100 people just from my high school, mostly from my graduation class. Technology such as facebook and myspace have reconnected our generation more than any other and so it begs the question, why should I go? I already know what most people are doing, where they are living and visit my closest friends from that age on average once a year. And, frankly, why do I care?
1. Modern computers are great, they do not replace face time. Seeing someone, laughing (and not LOL-ing), telling stories, recounting lives is not the same as instant chatting over facebook. Being able to shake hands, hug, and reconnect in the flesh will never replace sitting behind a screen and keyboard.
2. A chance to gather at one place at the same time. I see my close knit group of high school friends fairly regularly - some weekly, some once a year, but have not been all together at one gathering in at least 4 years. One person I have not seen once in 15 years and she was one of my best friends, filling a spot in nearly every high school photo I have. This reunion gives me the chance to create a collective memory with those that shared in those teenage years.
3. It is one weekend. One night only, if you only choose to attend the main event on Saturday night. One weekend out of the last 1,040 that we have lived since graduation. Seriously, no one can't sacrifice a night with those statistic, right?
4. Reliving the past. I don't think anyone is pining away for their high school days. Yet, every once in a while it is a hoot to laugh it up about the ridiculousness that occurred in the late 80s. Who doesn't look back at those 80s hairstyles and fashions and roll in hysterics? At the time, I remember thinking that I just couldn't look more "in style" than those days with that a-line hairstyle (orange due to the overinduldent use of "sun-in"), acid wash jeans and big earrings (which have revolved back in style, by the way). Reviling in the years of our youth, of little responsibility and lots of drama is a rite of passage.
5. If you still aren't sure about coming, think of it as a last-chance prom, complete with all your favorite tunes from the late 80s. A photographer will be there to capture the memories, too. This time, your date will most likely be someone you wish you had gone with the first time. And hey, this time, if you want to go to that hotel room after, you will be legal!
6. The reunion is a night where all the planning has been done for you. I can't remember the last time I got a night out that I did not have to organize in some way. Of course, I won't get this either as part of the committee, but YOU can.
7. Grandover. The location of our reunion is reason enough to attend. It is beautifully stunning with multiple areas where groups can hang out and reconnect. Additionally, the secured room rate should make every one think twice about going home after this event.
8. Your attendance means more to everyone else than it does you. Instead of thinking, "What do I have to gain from attending," begin thinking, "What do others gain from my attendance?" You may not care to attend, but your classmates DO care if you are there. Personally, I find it utterly fascinating to hear what paths people have traveled in their lifetime. Maybe you think yours is fairly bland, maybe you aren't happy with what you have "accomplished," maybe life didn't pan out as you planned. Not only am I sure this is an innacuracy created by your mind, don't let insecurities prevent you from attending! Adding to that, through facebook, I have found I have quite a bit in common now with people that I didn't have the chance to be friends with in high school. I can't wait to see them at the reunion!
9. Closure. Did you leave something unsaid or undone? Now, I don't mean dredge up that time that someone stole your significant other and view the reunion as your chance at revenge by bringing out the boxing gloves to kick some booty. What I mean is, did you miss that opportunity to tell someone what an impact they made on you during those years? Did you pass up the chance to speak to a classmate because that would have been "uncool" at the time? Is there a classmate who has had a particularly difficult journey since high school who you can encourage?
10. It only happens once in our lives. Who knows if there will be another reunion? Who has the guarantee of life tomorrow? That might sound a bit morbid, but realistically, there is a strong possibility that someone at this reunion will not be around in 10 years. Don't wish that you had attended.
For those reading that aren't a part of my high school graduating class, the song accompanying this post is our class song. "Freebird" by Lynard Skynard. What can I say - we were a southern, rural high school with a lot of pride, a slight redneck feel and a smoking area. To quote the first part of the song:
If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be travelling on, now,
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.
Class of 1989, it is time to reunite, reconnect with old friends and share your life experiences with others. Hope to see you there.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The New School Year
Well, it is done. The last one is out of the nest and into "big" school. The first day was fraught with tears and sadness as I adjusted to the end of the "mother of preschoolers" season of life. It is still difficult to fathom that I have an entire day (at least until 2:30) to myself. But, I find it isn't taking long to settle quite nicely into this new life of solitude!
That first morning, however, as I finished fixing Lily's hair, she jumped up, turned around and proudly inquired, "Mommy, how do I look?" I had quickly control my blubbering and weakly attempted enthusiasm with my, "Great!" response. She ran into our bedroom saying with so much exuberance I thought she might just burst, "Daddy, look at me!" There she stood with her plaid, school-girl jumper and little light-yellow, peter pan collared shirt underneath, bobby socks and brown Mary Jane shoes. Her hair, with almost white high-lights from the summer sun was pulled up, away from her face with a ribbon that matched her jumper. Her glasses clean for a change, nearly sparkling from the twinkle in her eyes. Her smile as large as I have ever seen it. My baby...looked so very grown-up.
Seeing all three children dressed in their uniforms with those excited, but slightly nervous smiles on their faces brought such a mixed bag of emotions for me Tuesday morning. I was proud, excited, nervous, slightly stressed, and filled with some snippets of joy, probably the same as what they were experiencing. At this exact moment in time as I type this, I can say what a blessing raising my children has been.
We spent the week before school started at the beach with two other families. There were a total of 8 children ranging in age from 2 to 11. Chaotic at times, yet full of hilarity and relaxation. Observing all the children's behavior and the typical behavior that comes with their varying ages, I realized not only how much my children have grown and adjusted, but just how far I have come in this child rearing journey. I also caught some glimpses of what life can be like as my children grow and mature and this brought some positive anticipation.
Here are some highlights from the first week of school:
Lily:
She was extremely excited on her first day. After several weeks of asking, "How many more days until school?" she was finally able to get on her uniform, pick up her new pink, monogrammed messenger bag and Tinkerbell lunchbox and start kindergarten. Jay and I walked each of the kids to their classrooms, with Lily being last. She went right into the class and found her seat. As I bent down to give her a kiss she told me, "Ok, you can go now." Little Miss Independent! When I picked her up, I learned that she had had a good day, but was not quiet at lunch so did not get a piece of candy. However, they did get doughnuts for a snack that afternoon and for the most part, she did well. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.
The next day, Lily became a bit cantankerous when I insisted on walking her in again instead of dropping her off at the sidewalk. At the same time, however, she requested to stay with me instead of going to school. So, a mixed bag of emotions. She has become quite the planner, declaring her desire to alternate which shoes she wears each day, alternating how she wants her hair done and alternating what uniform combinations she wears. She has never verbalized such plans before school started.
On her third day, she received a green smiley face on her thumb, but did not get candy because she 1) hoarded all the blocks put at her table because she wanted to build something big and became a bit difficult when she had to share 2) Mixed play-do colors together (oh, the horror) and 3) Had a bit of a hard time settling down during their 15 minutes of rest. When I "confronted" her with her transgressions in the car, she broke down crying and asked me, "Are you disappointed with me? Mommy, I am so sorry." It was quite pitiful. But, I assured her that I was not disappointed, all was forgiven and that tomorrow would be a new day when she could try just a bit harder. She is definitely fluctuating between wanting to be at school, being completely exhausted, wanting to stay home with me, wanting my help and wanting to do it all herself. It is a bit tiring for me!
Sadie:
This year brings a new teacher for Sadie after having the same teacher for both kindergarten and first. The adjustment is a bit difficult for her. In the car ride to school this morning, she indicated that having a new teacher was hard and that she wishes she was still with Mrs. Newell. On the other hand, she was thrilled that her most of her closest friends are in her class. 2nd grade brings a lot of change at our school - much more responsibility and more work. She is struggling with controlling her talking. Wonder where she gets that from? Yesterday, she changed her light to yellow after being warned two times. I support the teacher in her efforts to clamp down this early in the year. Sadie, in her usual fashion, tried to blame the problem on others who were talking to her, and yet, again, I turned her right back to one responsible for choosing to open Sadie's mouth. At this point, I don't have a clear sense of how this year will be for Sadie.
Ethan:
Thrilled. Just over the moon. He is in love with his teacher this year. It is a male teacher and he knows just how to reach those boys. He knows exactly what to say to them to touch their hearts. I truly believe this will be Ethan's year to blossom. The teacher actually got on the playground and played kickball with them, talked to Ethan about his favorite band, Skillet, and told the kids that if they are misbehaving, he will talk to them individually, but will not embarrass them in front of the class. Three major points for Mr. B in Ethan's eyes! Every day, Ethan has come home with something exciting that has happened, something that has gotten him jazzed up. I just LOVE it!
Outside school the kids will be involved in a few activities. However, I hope the schedule will actually provide forced study time and one-on-one time with each of the kids and their school work while we wait for the others in their respective commitments. Interestingly, Sadie was not interested in doing scouts as in last year or piano. As she stated this summer, "All I want to do is swim." Here is how our schedule plans out this fall:
Monday - Ethan has guitar lessons and then Sadie and Ethan go to swim practice
Tuesday - Ethan has scouts
Wednesday - Ethan has Bel Canto (the school choir), Lily has piano lessons (at the school as well) and then Sadie and Ethan have swim practice.
I tried to squeeze everything in so that we only have two days of running around, enabling us to be home by 5:20 on Monday and Wednesdays. Wednesdays are no-homework days for us (the beauty of going to a Baptist school) so that will be helpful. I think it is a doable schedule. I just wish I could arrange for swimming for Lily on Mondays while the others are at their swim practice.
Now, as for me...Along with my usual household duties, cleaning out and organizing the house as well as working on several (read a mile long list) home projects are my first order of business. I will schedule some focused writing time, sign-up for a Thursday morning bible study and will probably spend at least a couple of mornings in the office helping Jay with some minor details. That sounds like enough for now.
That first morning, however, as I finished fixing Lily's hair, she jumped up, turned around and proudly inquired, "Mommy, how do I look?" I had quickly control my blubbering and weakly attempted enthusiasm with my, "Great!" response. She ran into our bedroom saying with so much exuberance I thought she might just burst, "Daddy, look at me!" There she stood with her plaid, school-girl jumper and little light-yellow, peter pan collared shirt underneath, bobby socks and brown Mary Jane shoes. Her hair, with almost white high-lights from the summer sun was pulled up, away from her face with a ribbon that matched her jumper. Her glasses clean for a change, nearly sparkling from the twinkle in her eyes. Her smile as large as I have ever seen it. My baby...looked so very grown-up.
Seeing all three children dressed in their uniforms with those excited, but slightly nervous smiles on their faces brought such a mixed bag of emotions for me Tuesday morning. I was proud, excited, nervous, slightly stressed, and filled with some snippets of joy, probably the same as what they were experiencing. At this exact moment in time as I type this, I can say what a blessing raising my children has been.
We spent the week before school started at the beach with two other families. There were a total of 8 children ranging in age from 2 to 11. Chaotic at times, yet full of hilarity and relaxation. Observing all the children's behavior and the typical behavior that comes with their varying ages, I realized not only how much my children have grown and adjusted, but just how far I have come in this child rearing journey. I also caught some glimpses of what life can be like as my children grow and mature and this brought some positive anticipation.
Here are some highlights from the first week of school:
Lily:
She was extremely excited on her first day. After several weeks of asking, "How many more days until school?" she was finally able to get on her uniform, pick up her new pink, monogrammed messenger bag and Tinkerbell lunchbox and start kindergarten. Jay and I walked each of the kids to their classrooms, with Lily being last. She went right into the class and found her seat. As I bent down to give her a kiss she told me, "Ok, you can go now." Little Miss Independent! When I picked her up, I learned that she had had a good day, but was not quiet at lunch so did not get a piece of candy. However, they did get doughnuts for a snack that afternoon and for the most part, she did well. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.
The next day, Lily became a bit cantankerous when I insisted on walking her in again instead of dropping her off at the sidewalk. At the same time, however, she requested to stay with me instead of going to school. So, a mixed bag of emotions. She has become quite the planner, declaring her desire to alternate which shoes she wears each day, alternating how she wants her hair done and alternating what uniform combinations she wears. She has never verbalized such plans before school started.
On her third day, she received a green smiley face on her thumb, but did not get candy because she 1) hoarded all the blocks put at her table because she wanted to build something big and became a bit difficult when she had to share 2) Mixed play-do colors together (oh, the horror) and 3) Had a bit of a hard time settling down during their 15 minutes of rest. When I "confronted" her with her transgressions in the car, she broke down crying and asked me, "Are you disappointed with me? Mommy, I am so sorry." It was quite pitiful. But, I assured her that I was not disappointed, all was forgiven and that tomorrow would be a new day when she could try just a bit harder. She is definitely fluctuating between wanting to be at school, being completely exhausted, wanting to stay home with me, wanting my help and wanting to do it all herself. It is a bit tiring for me!
Sadie:
This year brings a new teacher for Sadie after having the same teacher for both kindergarten and first. The adjustment is a bit difficult for her. In the car ride to school this morning, she indicated that having a new teacher was hard and that she wishes she was still with Mrs. Newell. On the other hand, she was thrilled that her most of her closest friends are in her class. 2nd grade brings a lot of change at our school - much more responsibility and more work. She is struggling with controlling her talking. Wonder where she gets that from? Yesterday, she changed her light to yellow after being warned two times. I support the teacher in her efforts to clamp down this early in the year. Sadie, in her usual fashion, tried to blame the problem on others who were talking to her, and yet, again, I turned her right back to one responsible for choosing to open Sadie's mouth. At this point, I don't have a clear sense of how this year will be for Sadie.
Ethan:
Thrilled. Just over the moon. He is in love with his teacher this year. It is a male teacher and he knows just how to reach those boys. He knows exactly what to say to them to touch their hearts. I truly believe this will be Ethan's year to blossom. The teacher actually got on the playground and played kickball with them, talked to Ethan about his favorite band, Skillet, and told the kids that if they are misbehaving, he will talk to them individually, but will not embarrass them in front of the class. Three major points for Mr. B in Ethan's eyes! Every day, Ethan has come home with something exciting that has happened, something that has gotten him jazzed up. I just LOVE it!
Outside school the kids will be involved in a few activities. However, I hope the schedule will actually provide forced study time and one-on-one time with each of the kids and their school work while we wait for the others in their respective commitments. Interestingly, Sadie was not interested in doing scouts as in last year or piano. As she stated this summer, "All I want to do is swim." Here is how our schedule plans out this fall:
Monday - Ethan has guitar lessons and then Sadie and Ethan go to swim practice
Tuesday - Ethan has scouts
Wednesday - Ethan has Bel Canto (the school choir), Lily has piano lessons (at the school as well) and then Sadie and Ethan have swim practice.
I tried to squeeze everything in so that we only have two days of running around, enabling us to be home by 5:20 on Monday and Wednesdays. Wednesdays are no-homework days for us (the beauty of going to a Baptist school) so that will be helpful. I think it is a doable schedule. I just wish I could arrange for swimming for Lily on Mondays while the others are at their swim practice.
Now, as for me...Along with my usual household duties, cleaning out and organizing the house as well as working on several (read a mile long list) home projects are my first order of business. I will schedule some focused writing time, sign-up for a Thursday morning bible study and will probably spend at least a couple of mornings in the office helping Jay with some minor details. That sounds like enough for now.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Friday, August 07, 2009
Blessed Assurance
What must it be like to lose the person you have lived with, loved with for 67 years? They are here, you are with them, holding their hand and then, they are gone. Sixty-seven years together, sharing it all and now...alone.
This is where I find my grandmother. Alone, in her house for the first time in my lifetime. Due to my grandfather's deteriorating condition over the last 11 years, but specifically the last 3 years, she has barely lived in that house. It must also be a bit strange to her to wake there and not hurry to him.
Over the last 8 months, she never left his side whether in the assisted-living center, the hospital and at his final stop, the Hospice Home. She toiled over him, catering to his every need, cleaning and trimming his beard, feeding him his every meal until he could no longer eat. Now, she is at home, in quiet and solitude, trying to figure out how to start living again.
My heart hurts for her. She is a strong woman, but her heart is shattered. I know how much I miss him and I know it can't compare. The day after his death she asked me through her tears, "Why did he have to leave me here? Why couldn't I have gone with him?"
I took the girls to her house this evening to eat dinner. She is over run with the generosity of friends who have brought her food and it has given me an excuse to hang out in a house with so many of my own warm memories. Not that I need an excuse to come to her house, but I wouldn't want her to feel the need to prepare anything for me.
It was standing in her kitchen that she spoke the words to me that I know now had been brewing in her mind for several days. In almost a whisper, she said to me with the rims of her eyes filling with tears, "I don't know for sure if he is in heaven." I waited to hear more. She continued, "While he was dying, I told him, you are going on a journey to see Jesus, but I never talked to him about it. We never spoke about it, Kelsey. I just don't know." My own sadness for her nearly tore me down.
I imagine it was partly their generation and partly the uniqueness of their relationship that prevented the discussion of this "deep issue." Despite what was clearly the love of a lifetime, full of laughter, fun, devotion and affection, my grandmother could not recall hearing my grandfather speak of his love for our Savior. My grandfather was a member of their church, he was a leader, an usher, and yet, she never talked about Jesus with him. Not growing up in the church, there were zero conversations with my father about religion, let alone Jesus, until after I became a believer. I know many relationships in my own circles that are the same. It is easier to talk to a stranger whom you might never see again than your own family members and closest friends. I think that even though you have this person with whom you share everything, sometimes it still seems too personal.
Back in the kitchen, I pulled my grandmother to me, putting my hands on her shoulders. I remembered why I was so sure that he was in heaven. My precious, dear sister, years before she became ill and before my grandfather's mind no longer functioned in our world, had had a conversation with him. When Ansley became a believer, she was immediately on fire for Him. She spoke to every one she held dear about Him and praise the Lord for that. She had talked to my grandfather about his faith and he told her that yes, he believed in our Savior and what He had done for him.
As I retold this conversation to her, her crying became heavier and a bit louder, and yet, it became the sound of joyous relief. The burden of the past several days was lifted and there was that blessed assurance.
It is strange to be in a place of ministering to someone so much older and wiser that yourself. She has been the teacher and I have been her student our entire lives and now because of life circumstances our roles seem to be reversed. Is this just another reason I had to lose Ansley? So, I could guide my own grandmother through her own grieving process?
Sometimes I wonder if I say too much. Is it better to not know what is around the bend when "around the bend" is not all rosy and pretty? I think she thought that with the assurance of knowing where my grandfather is now that the hole left her in heart would heal. I had to tell her that that hole would always be there - maybe not as painful or large, its edges no longer sharp and jagged, but it would always be there. She would always miss him. The words slipped quickly from my mouth and I worried that it might cause her more sadness. But, they were out and I couldn't shove them back in.
I try to keep my grandmother focused on the future and all the things we can do together. She desires to know her great-grandchildren. She talks about building her strength so she can get rid of her cane. She speaks of trip to the beach, or "to the coast" as she calls it. We talk of cleaning out the house, taking the girls for tea, redecorating her living room. "All in time," We say to each other.
The irony of feeling like you have all the time in the world does not escape me when I have just lost someone dear to me. The reality is that we don't have all the time in the world. We will all die. It is that fact, along with this conversation with my grandmother that has stirred me to throw open the doors to conversations about Him. It is time to have those difficult, deep and possibly "too personal" conversations with some of my closest and share the blessed assurance that is mine.
This is where I find my grandmother. Alone, in her house for the first time in my lifetime. Due to my grandfather's deteriorating condition over the last 11 years, but specifically the last 3 years, she has barely lived in that house. It must also be a bit strange to her to wake there and not hurry to him.
Over the last 8 months, she never left his side whether in the assisted-living center, the hospital and at his final stop, the Hospice Home. She toiled over him, catering to his every need, cleaning and trimming his beard, feeding him his every meal until he could no longer eat. Now, she is at home, in quiet and solitude, trying to figure out how to start living again.
My heart hurts for her. She is a strong woman, but her heart is shattered. I know how much I miss him and I know it can't compare. The day after his death she asked me through her tears, "Why did he have to leave me here? Why couldn't I have gone with him?"
I took the girls to her house this evening to eat dinner. She is over run with the generosity of friends who have brought her food and it has given me an excuse to hang out in a house with so many of my own warm memories. Not that I need an excuse to come to her house, but I wouldn't want her to feel the need to prepare anything for me.
It was standing in her kitchen that she spoke the words to me that I know now had been brewing in her mind for several days. In almost a whisper, she said to me with the rims of her eyes filling with tears, "I don't know for sure if he is in heaven." I waited to hear more. She continued, "While he was dying, I told him, you are going on a journey to see Jesus, but I never talked to him about it. We never spoke about it, Kelsey. I just don't know." My own sadness for her nearly tore me down.
I imagine it was partly their generation and partly the uniqueness of their relationship that prevented the discussion of this "deep issue." Despite what was clearly the love of a lifetime, full of laughter, fun, devotion and affection, my grandmother could not recall hearing my grandfather speak of his love for our Savior. My grandfather was a member of their church, he was a leader, an usher, and yet, she never talked about Jesus with him. Not growing up in the church, there were zero conversations with my father about religion, let alone Jesus, until after I became a believer. I know many relationships in my own circles that are the same. It is easier to talk to a stranger whom you might never see again than your own family members and closest friends. I think that even though you have this person with whom you share everything, sometimes it still seems too personal.
Back in the kitchen, I pulled my grandmother to me, putting my hands on her shoulders. I remembered why I was so sure that he was in heaven. My precious, dear sister, years before she became ill and before my grandfather's mind no longer functioned in our world, had had a conversation with him. When Ansley became a believer, she was immediately on fire for Him. She spoke to every one she held dear about Him and praise the Lord for that. She had talked to my grandfather about his faith and he told her that yes, he believed in our Savior and what He had done for him.
As I retold this conversation to her, her crying became heavier and a bit louder, and yet, it became the sound of joyous relief. The burden of the past several days was lifted and there was that blessed assurance.
It is strange to be in a place of ministering to someone so much older and wiser that yourself. She has been the teacher and I have been her student our entire lives and now because of life circumstances our roles seem to be reversed. Is this just another reason I had to lose Ansley? So, I could guide my own grandmother through her own grieving process?
Sometimes I wonder if I say too much. Is it better to not know what is around the bend when "around the bend" is not all rosy and pretty? I think she thought that with the assurance of knowing where my grandfather is now that the hole left her in heart would heal. I had to tell her that that hole would always be there - maybe not as painful or large, its edges no longer sharp and jagged, but it would always be there. She would always miss him. The words slipped quickly from my mouth and I worried that it might cause her more sadness. But, they were out and I couldn't shove them back in.
I try to keep my grandmother focused on the future and all the things we can do together. She desires to know her great-grandchildren. She talks about building her strength so she can get rid of her cane. She speaks of trip to the beach, or "to the coast" as she calls it. We talk of cleaning out the house, taking the girls for tea, redecorating her living room. "All in time," We say to each other.
The irony of feeling like you have all the time in the world does not escape me when I have just lost someone dear to me. The reality is that we don't have all the time in the world. We will all die. It is that fact, along with this conversation with my grandmother that has stirred me to throw open the doors to conversations about Him. It is time to have those difficult, deep and possibly "too personal" conversations with some of my closest and share the blessed assurance that is mine.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Paw
My grandfather...
Harold "Chip" Ashford Aulbert of Jamestown, passed away on August 2, 2009 at Hospice Place of High Point after an 11-year journey with Alzheimer's.
Chip was born on November 30, 1921 in High Point, NC to Frank and Sudie Aulbert.
Chip attended High Point High School. When Chip was in the 10th grade, he began to work at Thomas Built Bus. Though never formally educated, he worked his way through various departments of the company, retiring as the Plant Engineer after 48 years of service. His tenure at Thomas Built Bus included a stint as the plant manager at their Woodstock, Ontario, Canada location.
When he was 21 years old. Chip and his friends met up with some girls from way over in Thomasville. He took one look at one of those girls, Reba Jean Thomas, and announced she would be coming with him. On Easter Sunday of 1942, the two held hands while they drove to Chesterfield, SC to marry. Sixty-seven years later, they were still holding hands, Reba tending to his every need until his passing.
Chip and Reba were blessed with a son, Van Aulbert in 1943 and a daughter, Sue Aulbert Snipes, 11 years later. They have been members of Oak Hill Friends Meeting for over 55 years. During those years, Chip served as a youth fellowship leader and usher.
There was never a time when laughter was not a part of Chip's life. He was the consummate prankster and joke teller in the family. He would go to great lengths to bring humor to those around him, including taping himself performing and singing for the family when no one else was at home. No one will ever forget his beloved hit song, "Pine Tree."
He was a kid at heart, evidenced by the fact that the neighborhood kids would knock on his door when he was 65 to come sledding with them. He was known to clear the neighborhood lot for the children to play basketball and spend hours in the ocean with his grandchildren.
He had two hole-in-ones on Jamestown Golf Course where he was a long-time member of the Men's Golf Association. That was also the location where he released a multitude of squirrels that he fanatically caught due to their nesting and chewing on his house.
He loved the beach, the outdoors and had the world's largest sweet tooth. He was a traveler, a fisherman, a car aficionado, an inventor and builder, a self-made man who worked hard, but enjoyed life. He was the first one you called when you needed help because there was never a doubt he would be there. He left a place in everyone's heart who knew him. He often thanked his family for his wonderful life not realizing how much a part he played in that for them.
Chip is survived by the love of his life and wife of 67 years, Reba Jean Thomas Aulbert, son Van Aulbert and wife Terry, daughter Sue Aulbert Snipes and husband Danny, granddaughter Kelsey Aulbert Dumoulin and husband Jay, step-granddaughter Sarah Pruitt Byrd and husband Jon, grandson-in-law Todd Wolffis, great-grandchildren Colby and Graylyn Wolffis and Ethan, Sadie and Lily Dumoulin. He was preceded in death by his parents, Frank & Sudie Aulbert, brothers F.A. and Clarence, sister, Iris Riley and granddaughter, Ansley Aulbert Wolffis.
Harold "Chip" Ashford Aulbert of Jamestown, passed away on August 2, 2009 at Hospice Place of High Point after an 11-year journey with Alzheimer's.
Chip was born on November 30, 1921 in High Point, NC to Frank and Sudie Aulbert.
Chip attended High Point High School. When Chip was in the 10th grade, he began to work at Thomas Built Bus. Though never formally educated, he worked his way through various departments of the company, retiring as the Plant Engineer after 48 years of service. His tenure at Thomas Built Bus included a stint as the plant manager at their Woodstock, Ontario, Canada location.
When he was 21 years old. Chip and his friends met up with some girls from way over in Thomasville. He took one look at one of those girls, Reba Jean Thomas, and announced she would be coming with him. On Easter Sunday of 1942, the two held hands while they drove to Chesterfield, SC to marry. Sixty-seven years later, they were still holding hands, Reba tending to his every need until his passing.
Chip and Reba were blessed with a son, Van Aulbert in 1943 and a daughter, Sue Aulbert Snipes, 11 years later. They have been members of Oak Hill Friends Meeting for over 55 years. During those years, Chip served as a youth fellowship leader and usher.
There was never a time when laughter was not a part of Chip's life. He was the consummate prankster and joke teller in the family. He would go to great lengths to bring humor to those around him, including taping himself performing and singing for the family when no one else was at home. No one will ever forget his beloved hit song, "Pine Tree."
He was a kid at heart, evidenced by the fact that the neighborhood kids would knock on his door when he was 65 to come sledding with them. He was known to clear the neighborhood lot for the children to play basketball and spend hours in the ocean with his grandchildren.
He had two hole-in-ones on Jamestown Golf Course where he was a long-time member of the Men's Golf Association. That was also the location where he released a multitude of squirrels that he fanatically caught due to their nesting and chewing on his house.
He loved the beach, the outdoors and had the world's largest sweet tooth. He was a traveler, a fisherman, a car aficionado, an inventor and builder, a self-made man who worked hard, but enjoyed life. He was the first one you called when you needed help because there was never a doubt he would be there. He left a place in everyone's heart who knew him. He often thanked his family for his wonderful life not realizing how much a part he played in that for them.
Chip is survived by the love of his life and wife of 67 years, Reba Jean Thomas Aulbert, son Van Aulbert and wife Terry, daughter Sue Aulbert Snipes and husband Danny, granddaughter Kelsey Aulbert Dumoulin and husband Jay, step-granddaughter Sarah Pruitt Byrd and husband Jon, grandson-in-law Todd Wolffis, great-grandchildren Colby and Graylyn Wolffis and Ethan, Sadie and Lily Dumoulin. He was preceded in death by his parents, Frank & Sudie Aulbert, brothers F.A. and Clarence, sister, Iris Riley and granddaughter, Ansley Aulbert Wolffis.
Monday, August 03, 2009
My frustration
What is my frustration? A life that is not giving me time to write. I am losing ideas, concepts, a way to work through emotions, the ability to document my life. Hang in there. School begins in two weeks.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Random conversations with my children:
Ethan and I were snuggling in one of the office chairs and I noticed a picture of Jay sitting on one of the bookshelves. It was a photo taken about the same age as Ethan is now and I asked Ethan to get it for me. I thought it would be interesting to hold it up to Ethan to compare. As Ethan picked up the photo, he commented about it. "Wow, looks like a kid who farts a lot." Cracked me up.
Lily announced to me at our afternoon tea at a local hotel, "Mommy, I want to be a boy dog."
Me: Why?
Lily: So that I can marry Dixie and have babies.
Me: Ok. (at least she understands some very basic, albeit slightly off, concepts.
We were at the pool last week where Ethan ate a corn dog. He laid the tray and remaining stick on the ground and continued to talk to me. After a while he got up to get back into the pool. I said, "Ethan," and pointed the tray and stick still sitting on the ground, indicating he needed to dispose of it in the trash. His quick and witty response, "Oh, I know, you want to lick the stick, right?"
Sadie went with me to visit my grandfather at the Hospice home. She was very brave and strong in what was a difficult visit. After while, it was time for the nurses to clean him up and rotate him in the bed. We decided to step out and let them do their job. We ventured into the kid's area where there were some toys and coloring supplies. Sadie decided she would like to color and asked me to join her. She said, "I am a little tired of being a grown-up. I think I just want to color for a bit."
One day last week, Sadie found three turtles around our house. She came to announce her discovery and I decided to check them out. I noticed from a distance that their shells seemed awfully shiny. Upon closer inspection, I saw that they had clear scotch tape covering their shells. Of course, the natural question was, "Why, Sadie, why?" Her response, "I need to repair some of the cracks and protect them." I don't know what that will do to the turtles, but she did do a nice job of covering the shells and trimming the tape around the edges.
Ethan and I were snuggling in one of the office chairs and I noticed a picture of Jay sitting on one of the bookshelves. It was a photo taken about the same age as Ethan is now and I asked Ethan to get it for me. I thought it would be interesting to hold it up to Ethan to compare. As Ethan picked up the photo, he commented about it. "Wow, looks like a kid who farts a lot." Cracked me up.
Lily announced to me at our afternoon tea at a local hotel, "Mommy, I want to be a boy dog."
Me: Why?
Lily: So that I can marry Dixie and have babies.
Me: Ok. (at least she understands some very basic, albeit slightly off, concepts.
We were at the pool last week where Ethan ate a corn dog. He laid the tray and remaining stick on the ground and continued to talk to me. After a while he got up to get back into the pool. I said, "Ethan," and pointed the tray and stick still sitting on the ground, indicating he needed to dispose of it in the trash. His quick and witty response, "Oh, I know, you want to lick the stick, right?"
Sadie went with me to visit my grandfather at the Hospice home. She was very brave and strong in what was a difficult visit. After while, it was time for the nurses to clean him up and rotate him in the bed. We decided to step out and let them do their job. We ventured into the kid's area where there were some toys and coloring supplies. Sadie decided she would like to color and asked me to join her. She said, "I am a little tired of being a grown-up. I think I just want to color for a bit."
One day last week, Sadie found three turtles around our house. She came to announce her discovery and I decided to check them out. I noticed from a distance that their shells seemed awfully shiny. Upon closer inspection, I saw that they had clear scotch tape covering their shells. Of course, the natural question was, "Why, Sadie, why?" Her response, "I need to repair some of the cracks and protect them." I don't know what that will do to the turtles, but she did do a nice job of covering the shells and trimming the tape around the edges.
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Numbers Game, part 2
Roller coaster weight. That has been my life. Maybe the numbers don't fluctuate as much as my anxiety over them. I can map out my entire life by numbers on a scale. Every major event, every major day, I can tell you exactly what I weighed. I could probably list to you every comment ever made to me regarding my weight. Well, certainly I could do that with the negative ones.
I thought this was a normal pattern for all women until I spoke honestly with a friend. She said I might have a problem, because no, she really had no idea what she weighed at various points in her life. Therefore, my newly discovered number obsession has been swirling around in my brain lately. What is my fixation on these number? Why have I allowed them to linger and taint the most important memories I have? The battle of the scale.
Sure, I could lie and say it was really a matter of my health. I desired to be "healthy." Nope. I can blame it on society and its ridiculous images of emaciation and perfection. Sure, that played a part. But if I am going to be completely honest, I allowed it to dictate my perception of self. It is how I chose to filter what the world said, what my peers said and most importantly what that blasted scale said. I allowed that bathroom appliance to dictate to me whether I felt good about who was. I allowed a set of numbers to determine whether my memories are positive or negative at any point in time. I allowed the numbers to control me.
I believe that if you bring strongholds into the light, they just don't have the strength they had before. I want to let go of the need to "step up on the scale" every morning. And, so, for exposing myself to the world...here is my life's weight map, and all of its absurd, skewed, mentally warped perceptions:
Age.weight
9.75 Sales lady at the old Tobias clothing store told me that if I didn't watch what I ate, I would have to start shopping in the "pretty plus" department. I was in 5th grade. She should have been fired.
14.110 High school football game. A guy physically picked me up and stated oh, you must be 110 pounds. He was correct, but I was NOT going to admit to what I considered to be a heavy weight. I lied and said, no, and looked shocked.
17.118 High school graduation, beginning of college. Very insecure and described myself as "chunky." Never walked around in a bathing suit, covering myself the minute I stood up from a chair.
19.128 Sophomore year of college. A dorm mate told my friends she was "worried about my health." Went of ridiculous crash diets including the rice diet and the cabbage diet. None were successful. Roommate was bulimic with some serious image issues and I was constantly exposed to her fears and choices.
21.123 College graduation. Heading out to the Netherlands to work. Wishing I had dieted and lost some weight.
22.132 Returned from the Netherlands and although very in shape from all that biking, realized that I was heavier than when I left. A comment made to me after I returned revolved around the "fullness" of my face. It was devastating to me.
26.140 Wedding. Absolutely hated myself for not dieting, not losing weight and being my "best" for my wedding. At the same time decided that enough was enough. I would just have to enjoy this day.
27.146 Weight at first pregnancy appointment with my doctor who informed me that I was already borderline for my weight and I would need to be a little careful about what I ate. I gained 40 pounds during this pregnancy.
29. 198 At birth of second child. Serious weight gain. Painful days prior to delivery as a body that is 5'2" tall is not meant to carry nearly 200 pounds. Yes, 200 pounds.
31.120 Determined to get it off, LA Weightloss brought me back to my high school weight. I ran a 5k. Instead of anxiety and stress about being heavy, I was panicky about gaining the weight back. I discovered that I was pregnant with my third child. I was depressed as I saw all my hard work go down the drain. But, I didn't gain as much during this pregnancy and with Ansley's cancer diagnosis, it was easier to lose the baby weight.
35.113 Ansley's death. Very thin. Many people thought I had "lost too much weight." It was the only thing I could control in the months prior to her death. I just didn't eat often. It was the only thing I felt good about. Over the next three months, I packed on 10 pounds of solid chocolate binging weight.
37.120 Today. Where I am. Always in the back of my mind is the fear that I will begin to gain weight uncontrollably. When the rest of my life is spinning out of control, this is the one area I grasp to control. It seems I am always thinking...I am always happiest when I am just 3 pounds lighter.
There is a lifetime of number addiction here. Mostly it is spurred on by that square, glass digital scale on my bathroom floor. And like an addict, I will need to purge my surroundings of its existence and its temptations. Goodbye daily number check. Goodbye.
I thought this was a normal pattern for all women until I spoke honestly with a friend. She said I might have a problem, because no, she really had no idea what she weighed at various points in her life. Therefore, my newly discovered number obsession has been swirling around in my brain lately. What is my fixation on these number? Why have I allowed them to linger and taint the most important memories I have? The battle of the scale.
Sure, I could lie and say it was really a matter of my health. I desired to be "healthy." Nope. I can blame it on society and its ridiculous images of emaciation and perfection. Sure, that played a part. But if I am going to be completely honest, I allowed it to dictate my perception of self. It is how I chose to filter what the world said, what my peers said and most importantly what that blasted scale said. I allowed that bathroom appliance to dictate to me whether I felt good about who was. I allowed a set of numbers to determine whether my memories are positive or negative at any point in time. I allowed the numbers to control me.
I believe that if you bring strongholds into the light, they just don't have the strength they had before. I want to let go of the need to "step up on the scale" every morning. And, so, for exposing myself to the world...here is my life's weight map, and all of its absurd, skewed, mentally warped perceptions:
Age.weight
9.75 Sales lady at the old Tobias clothing store told me that if I didn't watch what I ate, I would have to start shopping in the "pretty plus" department. I was in 5th grade. She should have been fired.
14.110 High school football game. A guy physically picked me up and stated oh, you must be 110 pounds. He was correct, but I was NOT going to admit to what I considered to be a heavy weight. I lied and said, no, and looked shocked.
17.118 High school graduation, beginning of college. Very insecure and described myself as "chunky." Never walked around in a bathing suit, covering myself the minute I stood up from a chair.
19.128 Sophomore year of college. A dorm mate told my friends she was "worried about my health." Went of ridiculous crash diets including the rice diet and the cabbage diet. None were successful. Roommate was bulimic with some serious image issues and I was constantly exposed to her fears and choices.
21.123 College graduation. Heading out to the Netherlands to work. Wishing I had dieted and lost some weight.
22.132 Returned from the Netherlands and although very in shape from all that biking, realized that I was heavier than when I left. A comment made to me after I returned revolved around the "fullness" of my face. It was devastating to me.
26.140 Wedding. Absolutely hated myself for not dieting, not losing weight and being my "best" for my wedding. At the same time decided that enough was enough. I would just have to enjoy this day.
27.146 Weight at first pregnancy appointment with my doctor who informed me that I was already borderline for my weight and I would need to be a little careful about what I ate. I gained 40 pounds during this pregnancy.
29. 198 At birth of second child. Serious weight gain. Painful days prior to delivery as a body that is 5'2" tall is not meant to carry nearly 200 pounds. Yes, 200 pounds.
31.120 Determined to get it off, LA Weightloss brought me back to my high school weight. I ran a 5k. Instead of anxiety and stress about being heavy, I was panicky about gaining the weight back. I discovered that I was pregnant with my third child. I was depressed as I saw all my hard work go down the drain. But, I didn't gain as much during this pregnancy and with Ansley's cancer diagnosis, it was easier to lose the baby weight.
35.113 Ansley's death. Very thin. Many people thought I had "lost too much weight." It was the only thing I could control in the months prior to her death. I just didn't eat often. It was the only thing I felt good about. Over the next three months, I packed on 10 pounds of solid chocolate binging weight.
37.120 Today. Where I am. Always in the back of my mind is the fear that I will begin to gain weight uncontrollably. When the rest of my life is spinning out of control, this is the one area I grasp to control. It seems I am always thinking...I am always happiest when I am just 3 pounds lighter.
There is a lifetime of number addiction here. Mostly it is spurred on by that square, glass digital scale on my bathroom floor. And like an addict, I will need to purge my surroundings of its existence and its temptations. Goodbye daily number check. Goodbye.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Breast, Back and Free
This year, we joined the local Elk's Lodge. Like many of its members, we did it for one reason: the pool. Prior to this summer, our kids were basic swimmers at best. We joined the YWCA this past winter in order for Jay to teach them how to at least tread water and swim across the pool using any means necessary. Clearly, Jay was not an expert swimming instructor, but he was making attempts to teach our children how not to drown. It has been an intense parenting goal for Jay that our children become strong swimmers, with me sort of lagging along behind in support.
It is no surprise then, to know that when Jay heard about a swim team for the kids at the Elk's, he insisted that our children join. It wasn't that I was opposed, it was that I knew it meant more work and shuttling than I had planned on this summer. Ethan wasn't particularly enthralled with the idea either and I knew that meant much encouragement and cajoling on my part. And so, swim practice began. Every. Day. Sometimes twice a day. Swim meets happen once or twice a week. Meets last at least 4 hours, longer if you count in the warm-up time. For the novice swimmer and parent, these meets are a bit overwhelming, chaotic, exciting and tiring. Overall, it is a hefty time commitment for what are to the be the "lazy days" of summer. I was completely not prepared for this entire venture, but probably not in a way you think. I was completely unprepared for how swimming has changed our lives.
For Sadie, my little crazy wild cat, swimming has become "her thing." Never have I seen her so completely delighted with any activity she has tried. And, we have tried quite a few. She always becomes bored before the season ends, particularly at practices. Not with swimming. At the first meet, Sadie realized that someone was chosen to swim the American flag across the pool while the national anthem was played. Setting her sights on this lofty goal, she set to work at the very next practice. She was very determined and after showing her newly, self-instructed "flag holding while swimming" skills to her coach, Laura, she was allowed to bear the flag at the next meet. She was thrilled.
At times (well, a lot of the time) I have difficulty embracing the confidence, the assertiveness and the zaniness that is Sadie. It was during this flag ordeal that I realized that she is who God created her to be, for a purpose. I doubt her purpose is small in nature because that just doesn't seem to fit her very large personality. Therefore, I realize that I need to sit back and just watch it happen instead of worrying over the details and constantly trying to restrain her.
My best guess as to why swimming appeals to Sadie is that it combines a lot of physical activity, competition and socializing - all essential components to her happiness. After the last meet, I asked her, very casually, if she wanted to continue swimming. Her response, "I want to swim, forever and ever and ever." Therefore, I now find myself inquiring about year-round swimming programs.
For Ethan swimming has not come as easily. His first foray on the swim team comes at a time when most kids have been swimming a couple of years. At the 9-10 age level, you are required, for the first time, to swim the lane down and back, not just down once as in the 8 and under. He barely knew how to do free style, let alone any other strokes. Ethan is also my child who is fiercely afraid of how he looks to others, afraid if someone will laugh at him and or of failing. He resisted the entire idea of the swim team and after the first practice declared that it was too tough. He asked if he could quit. I said no. After the first meet, when he came in last place in the last heat, he was nearly in tears and begged me to take him home. I said no. That was a tough one, but I held firm. During his next event, my heart was in my stomach as he battled out of last place. Again, he came to me trying to be brave though tears welled in his eyes. I mustered every single "word of encouragement" and "rising to the challenge" verbiage I could during the ride home. It was a tough night to be a parent. Later that week, he came down with sickness and then went to Weeblo/scout camp leading him to miss a meet and several practices. Once he returned, he asked to just practice with the team and not have to do the meets. I said no,
again. I did opt to invest in a couple of private lessons with one of the coaches in hopes of improving his strokes a tad, thus building his confidence for the next meet.
And so, the stage was set for our meet this past Tuesday. I told him all he had to do was improve on his time. Actually, that has been our mantra for this entire season. I ask, "Who are you swimming against?" The answer is "me." Or, "What are you swimming for?" The answer is, "To improve my time." To add to the incentive, I offered up the prize of beef jerky for any improved time. And here is where I must give kudos to his coach, Taylor. He heard of this little prize and gave the challenge to Ethan...shave off 2 seconds of his time and Taylor would get him the beef jerky. The time came. Ethan dove in. He gave it his all while Taylor cheered for him down the entire lane. He touched the wall...and had shaved 8 seconds off his time. He was beaming. I was elated. Several of the coaches, including Taylor, were there to pat him on the back. Did he win the race? No, not by a long shot. But, what I saw in Ethan's eyes and in his heart was worth more than that. He didn't care that he hadn't won the race. He was thrilled knowing he had accomplished more than he thought capable. He had learned a fantastic life lesson about perseverance and commitment. And, as we left the meet, Ethan said to me, "Actually, I can't wait to do it again." Yes, I had tears.
It would seem a bit strange that an activity that is geared toward my children would have an impact on me, personally. However, if you have read my blog for any length of time, you know I have been in a bit of a funk. Actually, a 2-year vastly fluctuating, emotional funk. My pleasure in socializing pretty much vanished after Ansley died. Grief, sorrow and bit too much introspection led me to isolate myself. Unfortunately, a little isolation snowballs into more isolation. Before you know it, you are nearly a hermit. Thrust into the swim crowd on a daily basis has reminded me how enjoyable other people can be. It is amazing, really, that I am sad the season is nearly over.
Not to leave Lily out of the mix...she was able to join the Jr. Elk's team. She has evolved from not wanting to get her head wet to diving into the water and swimming a crude little freestyle for about 15 yards. She loves going to the pool and I can see how this has improved her social skills just in time for kindergarten.
Finally, this post about the swim team would not be complete without mention of the young adults that are employed as the swim coaches. They have restored my faith in this next generation. Sure, I know I am not privy to all the behind the scenes. However, I do see dedication, organization, leadership, instruction, compassion, concern and a genuine desire for these young swimmers to succeed. One example is in Ethan's coach, Taylor, who had me write down his mobile number. Taylor will be out of town during the next swim meet and he asked me to have Ethan call him right before his free-style event. Ethan just beamed upon hearing the request. The head coach, Laura, is just beyond her years in her leadership, organizational skills and enthusiasm. And, the other coaches, Chris and Brooke among others, call my children by name, ask about them, request hugs, dole out compliments and encouragement. I doubt they understand, fully, what positive influences they have been on the Dumoulin clan.
In regards to next summer...well, I'll just quote Ethan, "Actually, I can't wait to do it again."
It is no surprise then, to know that when Jay heard about a swim team for the kids at the Elk's, he insisted that our children join. It wasn't that I was opposed, it was that I knew it meant more work and shuttling than I had planned on this summer. Ethan wasn't particularly enthralled with the idea either and I knew that meant much encouragement and cajoling on my part. And so, swim practice began. Every. Day. Sometimes twice a day. Swim meets happen once or twice a week. Meets last at least 4 hours, longer if you count in the warm-up time. For the novice swimmer and parent, these meets are a bit overwhelming, chaotic, exciting and tiring. Overall, it is a hefty time commitment for what are to the be the "lazy days" of summer. I was completely not prepared for this entire venture, but probably not in a way you think. I was completely unprepared for how swimming has changed our lives.
For Sadie, my little crazy wild cat, swimming has become "her thing." Never have I seen her so completely delighted with any activity she has tried. And, we have tried quite a few. She always becomes bored before the season ends, particularly at practices. Not with swimming. At the first meet, Sadie realized that someone was chosen to swim the American flag across the pool while the national anthem was played. Setting her sights on this lofty goal, she set to work at the very next practice. She was very determined and after showing her newly, self-instructed "flag holding while swimming" skills to her coach, Laura, she was allowed to bear the flag at the next meet. She was thrilled.
At times (well, a lot of the time) I have difficulty embracing the confidence, the assertiveness and the zaniness that is Sadie. It was during this flag ordeal that I realized that she is who God created her to be, for a purpose. I doubt her purpose is small in nature because that just doesn't seem to fit her very large personality. Therefore, I realize that I need to sit back and just watch it happen instead of worrying over the details and constantly trying to restrain her.
My best guess as to why swimming appeals to Sadie is that it combines a lot of physical activity, competition and socializing - all essential components to her happiness. After the last meet, I asked her, very casually, if she wanted to continue swimming. Her response, "I want to swim, forever and ever and ever." Therefore, I now find myself inquiring about year-round swimming programs.
For Ethan swimming has not come as easily. His first foray on the swim team comes at a time when most kids have been swimming a couple of years. At the 9-10 age level, you are required, for the first time, to swim the lane down and back, not just down once as in the 8 and under. He barely knew how to do free style, let alone any other strokes. Ethan is also my child who is fiercely afraid of how he looks to others, afraid if someone will laugh at him and or of failing. He resisted the entire idea of the swim team and after the first practice declared that it was too tough. He asked if he could quit. I said no. After the first meet, when he came in last place in the last heat, he was nearly in tears and begged me to take him home. I said no. That was a tough one, but I held firm. During his next event, my heart was in my stomach as he battled out of last place. Again, he came to me trying to be brave though tears welled in his eyes. I mustered every single "word of encouragement" and "rising to the challenge" verbiage I could during the ride home. It was a tough night to be a parent. Later that week, he came down with sickness and then went to Weeblo/scout camp leading him to miss a meet and several practices. Once he returned, he asked to just practice with the team and not have to do the meets. I said no,
again. I did opt to invest in a couple of private lessons with one of the coaches in hopes of improving his strokes a tad, thus building his confidence for the next meet.And so, the stage was set for our meet this past Tuesday. I told him all he had to do was improve on his time. Actually, that has been our mantra for this entire season. I ask, "Who are you swimming against?" The answer is "me." Or, "What are you swimming for?" The answer is, "To improve my time." To add to the incentive, I offered up the prize of beef jerky for any improved time. And here is where I must give kudos to his coach, Taylor. He heard of this little prize and gave the challenge to Ethan...shave off 2 seconds of his time and Taylor would get him the beef jerky. The time came. Ethan dove in. He gave it his all while Taylor cheered for him down the entire lane. He touched the wall...and had shaved 8 seconds off his time. He was beaming. I was elated. Several of the coaches, including Taylor, were there to pat him on the back. Did he win the race? No, not by a long shot. But, what I saw in Ethan's eyes and in his heart was worth more than that. He didn't care that he hadn't won the race. He was thrilled knowing he had accomplished more than he thought capable. He had learned a fantastic life lesson about perseverance and commitment. And, as we left the meet, Ethan said to me, "Actually, I can't wait to do it again." Yes, I had tears.
It would seem a bit strange that an activity that is geared toward my children would have an impact on me, personally. However, if you have read my blog for any length of time, you know I have been in a bit of a funk. Actually, a 2-year vastly fluctuating, emotional funk. My pleasure in socializing pretty much vanished after Ansley died. Grief, sorrow and bit too much introspection led me to isolate myself. Unfortunately, a little isolation snowballs into more isolation. Before you know it, you are nearly a hermit. Thrust into the swim crowd on a daily basis has reminded me how enjoyable other people can be. It is amazing, really, that I am sad the season is nearly over.
Not to leave Lily out of the mix...she was able to join the Jr. Elk's team. She has evolved from not wanting to get her head wet to diving into the water and swimming a crude little freestyle for about 15 yards. She loves going to the pool and I can see how this has improved her social skills just in time for kindergarten.
Finally, this post about the swim team would not be complete without mention of the young adults that are employed as the swim coaches. They have restored my faith in this next generation. Sure, I know I am not privy to all the behind the scenes. However, I do see dedication, organization, leadership, instruction, compassion, concern and a genuine desire for these young swimmers to succeed. One example is in Ethan's coach, Taylor, who had me write down his mobile number. Taylor will be out of town during the next swim meet and he asked me to have Ethan call him right before his free-style event. Ethan just beamed upon hearing the request. The head coach, Laura, is just beyond her years in her leadership, organizational skills and enthusiasm. And, the other coaches, Chris and Brooke among others, call my children by name, ask about them, request hugs, dole out compliments and encouragement. I doubt they understand, fully, what positive influences they have been on the Dumoulin clan.In regards to next summer...well, I'll just quote Ethan, "Actually, I can't wait to do it again."
Sunday, June 28, 2009
My absence
It is nearly the end of June and have I really only posted one entry? Lots of reasons why and here they are:
1. The A/C Adapter for my laptop broke. Unfortunately two attempts to get a new one have failed thus leading me to believe it has something to do with the laptop. We still have a plethora of other computers to use at the house, but nothing beats writing in my bed on the laptop. I have discovered that is where I get my best writing done.
2. School ended. I know, it sounds pathetic, but seriously, it has rocked my world. The little straw that broke the camel's back was the decision that the kids should be on the swim team this summer. Being novice aquatic parents we had no idea at the time what this little endeavor would involve. I thought I was being smart by planning all camps, vbs stuff, etc. in June, but didn't know that adding swimming would mean swim practice every day and meets that last a minimum of 4 hours! It has been a "good thing" as Martha would say, but good gravy what a time commitment!
3. Jay has been traveling what is a ridiculous amount for us and for him. He has been home about 7 days in the last 21 it seems. We are out of sorts without him. I am not geared to be a single parent for so long and neither are my kids. We have all suffered with the snippy and snappy and backtalk from a frazzled me. Without him, there is no uninterrupted time to ponder through blog entries, let along type them. I spent the better part of church this morning praying to God to give me more strength and patience with the children during a sermon about trust.
4. Sick kids. Step invaded our house. First, Ethan, then Sadie. Ethan's was never diagnosed, but Sadie's was. Talk about tough on scheduling when 2 have swim practice and VBS and one needs sleep and rest.
5. Funerals...death of a friend's mother. This will be a blog entry in itself, but in an overview, I have relieved a lot of those first weeks after Ansley's death in order to impart what little wisdom I have to my dear friend. My heart hurts for what she is going through and what is to come. But, I praise God for allowing me to use my circumstances to possibly bring comfort to someone else.
6. Wedding of my (step) sister at which I was the matron of honor. A flurry of pre-wedding activities (including that age-defining weekend in Boone) made for a very hectic 2 weeks prior. However, it will go down as the best wedding I have ever attended. Maybe it is age, the music (the band rocked), the food, the family? I don't know, but it was just great!
Regarding the bloggy world...I have about 5 good posts that have been swirling around in my head for weeks now and I have promised myself to get them out this week. I need to clear out the clutter in my brain as it appears these thoughts have infiltrated the part of my brain that holds short-term memory causing quite a bit of damage. It makes me feel very congested with emotions when I don't write, too. It is good for my soul.
1. The A/C Adapter for my laptop broke. Unfortunately two attempts to get a new one have failed thus leading me to believe it has something to do with the laptop. We still have a plethora of other computers to use at the house, but nothing beats writing in my bed on the laptop. I have discovered that is where I get my best writing done.
2. School ended. I know, it sounds pathetic, but seriously, it has rocked my world. The little straw that broke the camel's back was the decision that the kids should be on the swim team this summer. Being novice aquatic parents we had no idea at the time what this little endeavor would involve. I thought I was being smart by planning all camps, vbs stuff, etc. in June, but didn't know that adding swimming would mean swim practice every day and meets that last a minimum of 4 hours! It has been a "good thing" as Martha would say, but good gravy what a time commitment!
3. Jay has been traveling what is a ridiculous amount for us and for him. He has been home about 7 days in the last 21 it seems. We are out of sorts without him. I am not geared to be a single parent for so long and neither are my kids. We have all suffered with the snippy and snappy and backtalk from a frazzled me. Without him, there is no uninterrupted time to ponder through blog entries, let along type them. I spent the better part of church this morning praying to God to give me more strength and patience with the children during a sermon about trust.
4. Sick kids. Step invaded our house. First, Ethan, then Sadie. Ethan's was never diagnosed, but Sadie's was. Talk about tough on scheduling when 2 have swim practice and VBS and one needs sleep and rest.
5. Funerals...death of a friend's mother. This will be a blog entry in itself, but in an overview, I have relieved a lot of those first weeks after Ansley's death in order to impart what little wisdom I have to my dear friend. My heart hurts for what she is going through and what is to come. But, I praise God for allowing me to use my circumstances to possibly bring comfort to someone else.
6. Wedding of my (step) sister at which I was the matron of honor. A flurry of pre-wedding activities (including that age-defining weekend in Boone) made for a very hectic 2 weeks prior. However, it will go down as the best wedding I have ever attended. Maybe it is age, the music (the band rocked), the food, the family? I don't know, but it was just great!
Regarding the bloggy world...I have about 5 good posts that have been swirling around in my head for weeks now and I have promised myself to get them out this week. I need to clear out the clutter in my brain as it appears these thoughts have infiltrated the part of my brain that holds short-term memory causing quite a bit of damage. It makes me feel very congested with emotions when I don't write, too. It is good for my soul.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
The Numbers Game, part 1
We live in a society that defines us by numbers. Social security numbers, driver's license numbers, passport numbers, bank account numbers...all assigned to us, giving us a set of unique identifiers. But, there are two number groups that for women stand out above the rest. They define our roles, they place limits on us, attempt to tell us how we should behave. They even try to control our self-worth and definitely impact our self-confidence.
This weekend, the reality of these two sets of numbers smacked me in the face. One number tells me how many years I have lived on this earth, otherwise known as my age. The other number that tells me how well I have been treating or not treating my body, otherwise known as my weight.
Age and weight. At any point in my life I could tell you these numbers without hesitation. My guess the same is true for most women. Age is obvious, although I did have a friend once whose husband convinced her that she was actually a year old than she was. But in my mind, the two were and continue to be inexplicably linked. I always know exactly what they are. Precisely. In fact, my life and all its experiences are wrapped up in those numbers. It is crushing to recognize now how many times my major moments in life have been impacted by what those numbers were whispering to me. And, more poignantly how they continue to weave themselves into how I view myself, what I am allowed to do and how I present myself to the world.
I have been particularly reflective on the large presence of these digits in my life because of how I spent my weekend. I took my stepsister, 15 years my junior and another bridesmaid to the mountains for a pre-wedding girls' getaway. Not quite a bachelorette party, but still a weekend of bonding and sisterhood. Let me extol upon you a little nugget of wisdom I gleaned over the past couple of days...nothing brings the reality of your age more to the forefront than spending a weekend with "girls" who are a generation younger, recently graduated from college with their whole lives in front of them.
What occured on this weekend to have me suddenly face with the fact that the grim reaper's visit might be closer than I think? Well...I spent a good portion of my weekend trying to figure out my new cell phone, only to have to solicit help from the younglings. Just trying to find the ring tone seemed more perplexing than figuring out the shoes selections on the show, "What Not to Wear." Or, if I really want to date myself, more perplexing than solving a Rubik's Cube (pre-solution publishing). After years of being somewhat technical, I realized that technology sped past me a few years ago, leaving me in the dust. I vowed when I was younger to a) never have this happen to me and b) if it did, to know that it was time to move into a rest home which also dates me as they are known now as "long-term care" facilities.
The girls had a conversation about when they received their first cell phone, as in they got their first one when they were 16, though their brother was able to get one at age 10. Hello? They didn't even have cell phones, the internet on a wide-reaching level, laptops, etc. until I was in my mid-20s.
Continuing on the technology junket, I experienced and survived high school and college without the internet, specifically without myspace, facebook and no cell phone. To complete research on a paper, I actually had to step my foot into a building called the library. I learned how to use a card catalogue rather than a search engine on a computer. Did they ever sift through reams of microfiche for back issues of Newsweek or the WSJ? Nope. None of my weekend companions endured that - do they even know what microfiche is?
Later, we went out on the town and the one semi-bright moment was when I was asked for my I.D.. Yes, I know it was out of pity and more of a pack mentality that led to this request, but it was an official "carding." At another night spot, the waiter asked for the id's of the group, but didn't ask for mine. Instead, he actually said out loud, I don't need to see yours, you look old enough. Fine. No tip for you, my friend.
However, the icing on the cake was the discovery that the father of one of the girls in my group was just ONE year old than ME. I could have dated her father...I could have been in classes with him...heck, I could even be her mother! When we were out, did people think I could be their mother?!?! Smacked, slapped and stunned.
This weekend, the reality of these two sets of numbers smacked me in the face. One number tells me how many years I have lived on this earth, otherwise known as my age. The other number that tells me how well I have been treating or not treating my body, otherwise known as my weight.
Age and weight. At any point in my life I could tell you these numbers without hesitation. My guess the same is true for most women. Age is obvious, although I did have a friend once whose husband convinced her that she was actually a year old than she was. But in my mind, the two were and continue to be inexplicably linked. I always know exactly what they are. Precisely. In fact, my life and all its experiences are wrapped up in those numbers. It is crushing to recognize now how many times my major moments in life have been impacted by what those numbers were whispering to me. And, more poignantly how they continue to weave themselves into how I view myself, what I am allowed to do and how I present myself to the world.
I have been particularly reflective on the large presence of these digits in my life because of how I spent my weekend. I took my stepsister, 15 years my junior and another bridesmaid to the mountains for a pre-wedding girls' getaway. Not quite a bachelorette party, but still a weekend of bonding and sisterhood. Let me extol upon you a little nugget of wisdom I gleaned over the past couple of days...nothing brings the reality of your age more to the forefront than spending a weekend with "girls" who are a generation younger, recently graduated from college with their whole lives in front of them.
What occured on this weekend to have me suddenly face with the fact that the grim reaper's visit might be closer than I think? Well...I spent a good portion of my weekend trying to figure out my new cell phone, only to have to solicit help from the younglings. Just trying to find the ring tone seemed more perplexing than figuring out the shoes selections on the show, "What Not to Wear." Or, if I really want to date myself, more perplexing than solving a Rubik's Cube (pre-solution publishing). After years of being somewhat technical, I realized that technology sped past me a few years ago, leaving me in the dust. I vowed when I was younger to a) never have this happen to me and b) if it did, to know that it was time to move into a rest home which also dates me as they are known now as "long-term care" facilities.
The girls had a conversation about when they received their first cell phone, as in they got their first one when they were 16, though their brother was able to get one at age 10. Hello? They didn't even have cell phones, the internet on a wide-reaching level, laptops, etc. until I was in my mid-20s.
Continuing on the technology junket, I experienced and survived high school and college without the internet, specifically without myspace, facebook and no cell phone. To complete research on a paper, I actually had to step my foot into a building called the library. I learned how to use a card catalogue rather than a search engine on a computer. Did they ever sift through reams of microfiche for back issues of Newsweek or the WSJ? Nope. None of my weekend companions endured that - do they even know what microfiche is?
Later, we went out on the town and the one semi-bright moment was when I was asked for my I.D.. Yes, I know it was out of pity and more of a pack mentality that led to this request, but it was an official "carding." At another night spot, the waiter asked for the id's of the group, but didn't ask for mine. Instead, he actually said out loud, I don't need to see yours, you look old enough. Fine. No tip for you, my friend.
However, the icing on the cake was the discovery that the father of one of the girls in my group was just ONE year old than ME. I could have dated her father...I could have been in classes with him...heck, I could even be her mother! When we were out, did people think I could be their mother?!?! Smacked, slapped and stunned.
Can my perception be that totally skewed to think I have not actually aged in 15 years or so? Well, actually, yes. Of course, I knew that I had aged, but did I consider myself mother hen or a den mother to the college class of 2009? Ummmm, no.
We have all read the articles surmising how your age is all a state of mind. How many gift shops have, "You are only as young as you feel," painted on a piece of chintzy home decor? Not very inspirational. So, for now, I think I'll just continue to flirt with the number 29 while I try to figure out the blue tooth wireless headset my husband gave me tonight.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Why are transitions so incredibly difficult for me? We are on day 5 of summer break and yesterday I thought I was going to go crazy.If I were really honest in my writing each of you would question your friendship with me. That is a bit extreme, but you would at least reconsider any parenting posts I have written. The bottom line is that the transition to summer and three kids at home as not been smooth.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
May 2009
The craziness that is the end of the school year will come to a close today with the celebration of Ethan's birthday party at the Greensboro Grasshopper's. The month of May is strongly competeing with December for the busiest time of year for our family. Actually, this year, I might say it superceded it on the stress meter. Here are a few highlights as well as some updates on where the kids are at this stage of their lives. Alert...blog post documenting my children therefore, parental bragging is inevitable. Proceed with caution.
Henry, my (step)brother, was married two weeks ago. I love his wife, Alana, and am thrilled she is a member of our family. My other (step)borther, John and his family arrived from East Asia for a two-month sabbatical from their lives as missionaries. It is awesome to have the family together agian after two years.
Each of my children had parts in the wedding. Ethan helped to distribute programs while Sadie and Lily were flower girls. All performed their duties well, but there were some very frustrating moments during the wedding ceremony. I was sitting on the front row with the girls waiting for my time as a reader. My girls just couldn't sit still and not talk. Right before I was to stand to read, Lily decided she needed to lay down on my lap and refused to sit up. I began to become frantic, but at the right moment she sat up so I could complete my role. However, as I was standing, Sadie decided to start crawling around on the floor, looking for a crayon. So, I did what every mom would do, start gently kicking her child to get her back up on the pew, all while reading the bible without a pause. After I finished, I sat down, turned to look at Jay who was a pew behind me. He saw the stress on my face and mouthed the words, "I am so sorry. I love you." At least he commiserated with me and my frustration. Thankfully, only those in the very fornt pew, containing family only, could see their constant state of movement and my "satanic-death-mean mommy" looks in their direction. I was the poster mom of how NOT to exhibit love in your facial expressions.
School ended on the 28th, also Ethan's 9th birthday. All the kids had great school years. I know that sentence doesn't really say much, but without a doubt we have been blessed with wonderful teachers every year.
Ethan: We struggled at bit, again, with responsibility this year. The year began with a long lecture about keeping up with his belongings. After the second day of school, Ethan lost his jacket. He did find it a few days later hanging over the stair railing at school. I did see a bit of growth in this area throughout the year, thank goodness. Yet, my little space cadet did lose his lunch box with a week left of school. He found it, however, as he walked by the humongous pile of lost and found on the last day of school. Seriously, that pile of clothing, bags, etc. could outfit another school. Incredible. This summer we will work on controlling our sensitivity and emotions, along with finding our self-confidence in who we are in Christ, rather than how the world defines us.
Academically, Ethan excelled. We never struggled with studying for tests or in homework and I am truly, truly thankful for that. He ended up with all As, and one B throughout the year. Ethan was particularly disappointed with the one B. He missed the A by one point and that one point prevented him from being on all A honor roll for the year. He is motivated for next year. He had a very detail-oriented teacher this year so I know he is very prepared for 4th grade.
At the end of the year, every child at HPCA is given an award. Ethan received the bible award which I assume had something to do with his 100 average in this subject. Maybe he is spouting off some sort of biblical interpretation and encouragment at school, too, I don't know. After receiving his award he announced to me that maybe he will be a preacher, too while serving as our nation's President. You go, Buddy! Ethan is learning how to discern good and bad situations, friends that are making good and not-so-good choices. His teacher told me that Ethan is very funny, sweet and a joy to have in her class.
When asked what he likes to do, Ethan answered playing with legos, playing the playstation and playing with his airsoft gun. He also enjoys reading and playing basketball. That last one is news to me.
Sadie: We saw a lot of progress in Sadie's behavior this year. There were times when she was 3 and 4 that I truly wondered if she would be able to actually exist in a classroom setting. Her choices in relationship to others and herself at those ages sometimes defied logic and were very concerning. Now, I sit here seeing a maturing little girl who still struggles with self-control and self-discipline at times, but more often than not is making good choices. One area in which Sadie seems to have no problems is responsibility. I never have to remind her to do her homework, or get her bags for the car in the morning. She just does it. We will continue to work on self-control this summer - in blurting out mean statements due to her own hurt emotions and in obedience to requests made of her.
Academically, Sadie ended up with all O+'s for the entire year - perfect marks. She received the National Fitness Award which was something I always wanted to receive, but never did achieve while I was in school. And, her end of the year award was for Art. I would say a very well-rounded child.
We went to the library this week. Sadie had ventured over to the paperback books. After a few minutes I checked to make sure she was alright. I was tickled to see her sitting in a chair, engrossed in a book. I so want my children to adore reading. Two down, one to go!
For the second year, Sadie had the same teacher. This teacher moved up from kindergarten to first grade and there were 4 kids who were blessed to have her for a second year. I give most of the credit for Sadie's growth to this amazing teacher. We have been simply blessed. After we left school on the last day, Sadie just cried and cried and cried because Mrs. Newell would no longer be her teacher. The rumor is that she is moving back to kindergarten and my prayer is that Lily will be assigned to her classroom next year!
When asked what she likes to do, Sadie answered playing in the pool, playing with mom, going to the creek to find crayfish and salamanders, drawing pretty pictures.
Lily: She remains the most loving child...constantly asking for snuggle, telling me how much she loves me, asking me to rub her leg, foot, arm, back, etc. Yesterday, after her gymnastics recital, she plopped in my lap and announced, "Mommy, I just can't stop loving you."
Lily has shown a lot of progress, particularly in the last couple of months in her fine motor skills. Her writing skills are now up to par for kindergarten and her coloring is much neater and in the lines. She loves school and was the only one of my children to respond with a "YAY!" when I announced I had purchased summer workbooks. The other two groaned, of course. She just loves school and that was one reason we decided to push her onto kindergarten next year, despite an August birthday. Speaking of birthdays, Lily has been discussing hers since last year. It has been heightened by the advent of Ethan's birthday this week. She has it planned to the last detail, including what she is going to wear.
Lily is working on her response to the word, "no" when stated by anyone other than herself. Right now, we are in a crying loudly phase. I have no doubt that we have indulged her a bit as the baby of the family. Even Ethan shares in the blame for this one as he will do anything to not hear her cry or have her rebuff him. Regardless, it is time to push her to grow up a bit this summer.
When asked what she likes to do, Lily answered doing crafts, go outside to play and swim.
Me: I will begin a new bible study this summer after nearly a two year absence from a formal study. It will be good to be back into the word, consistently after such an absence. The kids are signed up for several camps - soccer, scouts, dance, music camp and lessons, swim team, etc. And, we are all helping to serve at vbs that our church is hosting for a specific disadvantaged neighborhood. Ethan will have his first overnight camps this summer. First is weeblo/scout camp for three nights. In July, he will attend Lurecrest Camp for 5 nights. It makes me nervous for him, but there are two counselors from our church working there and I trust they will keep an eye out for him.
We joined the Elk's pool, finally, and I was thrilled to learn last night that they have wifi by the pool. Is it ridiculous to think I might get some writing done by the pool this summer? I am hoping to reconnect to my love of reading, too.
As far as my main writing project...it is still that, a project. Writing took a back seat for the most part of May. I have four ideas floating around that I want to explore this summer, I am sure none to completion, but I am going to plow forth. 1) Jay's story for our children. From arriving in the U.S. with nothing, working fast-food jobs, to owning his own company 2) Writing about my mixed heritage background. This will require some investigation and interviewing, but there is a definite story here. 3) Ansley's journey from a sister's perspective. This is the one most likely to be completed in a timely manner as much is already written in the form of email updates. 4) Most compelling to me and the most difficult to write - my own journey in the search for authenticity and transparency.
Jay asked me last week, "So, what are you going to do in the fall when all the kids are in school?" That is a great question. I guess I have two months to figure it out!
Henry, my (step)brother, was married two weeks ago. I love his wife, Alana, and am thrilled she is a member of our family. My other (step)borther, John and his family arrived from East Asia for a two-month sabbatical from their lives as missionaries. It is awesome to have the family together agian after two years.
Each of my children had parts in the wedding. Ethan helped to distribute programs while Sadie and Lily were flower girls. All performed their duties well, but there were some very frustrating moments during the wedding ceremony. I was sitting on the front row with the girls waiting for my time as a reader. My girls just couldn't sit still and not talk. Right before I was to stand to read, Lily decided she needed to lay down on my lap and refused to sit up. I began to become frantic, but at the right moment she sat up so I could complete my role. However, as I was standing, Sadie decided to start crawling around on the floor, looking for a crayon. So, I did what every mom would do, start gently kicking her child to get her back up on the pew, all while reading the bible without a pause. After I finished, I sat down, turned to look at Jay who was a pew behind me. He saw the stress on my face and mouthed the words, "I am so sorry. I love you." At least he commiserated with me and my frustration. Thankfully, only those in the very fornt pew, containing family only, could see their constant state of movement and my "satanic-death-mean mommy" looks in their direction. I was the poster mom of how NOT to exhibit love in your facial expressions.
School ended on the 28th, also Ethan's 9th birthday. All the kids had great school years. I know that sentence doesn't really say much, but without a doubt we have been blessed with wonderful teachers every year.
Ethan: We struggled at bit, again, with responsibility this year. The year began with a long lecture about keeping up with his belongings. After the second day of school, Ethan lost his jacket. He did find it a few days later hanging over the stair railing at school. I did see a bit of growth in this area throughout the year, thank goodness. Yet, my little space cadet did lose his lunch box with a week left of school. He found it, however, as he walked by the humongous pile of lost and found on the last day of school. Seriously, that pile of clothing, bags, etc. could outfit another school. Incredible. This summer we will work on controlling our sensitivity and emotions, along with finding our self-confidence in who we are in Christ, rather than how the world defines us.
Academically, Ethan excelled. We never struggled with studying for tests or in homework and I am truly, truly thankful for that. He ended up with all As, and one B throughout the year. Ethan was particularly disappointed with the one B. He missed the A by one point and that one point prevented him from being on all A honor roll for the year. He is motivated for next year. He had a very detail-oriented teacher this year so I know he is very prepared for 4th grade.
At the end of the year, every child at HPCA is given an award. Ethan received the bible award which I assume had something to do with his 100 average in this subject. Maybe he is spouting off some sort of biblical interpretation and encouragment at school, too, I don't know. After receiving his award he announced to me that maybe he will be a preacher, too while serving as our nation's President. You go, Buddy! Ethan is learning how to discern good and bad situations, friends that are making good and not-so-good choices. His teacher told me that Ethan is very funny, sweet and a joy to have in her class.
When asked what he likes to do, Ethan answered playing with legos, playing the playstation and playing with his airsoft gun. He also enjoys reading and playing basketball. That last one is news to me.
Sadie: We saw a lot of progress in Sadie's behavior this year. There were times when she was 3 and 4 that I truly wondered if she would be able to actually exist in a classroom setting. Her choices in relationship to others and herself at those ages sometimes defied logic and were very concerning. Now, I sit here seeing a maturing little girl who still struggles with self-control and self-discipline at times, but more often than not is making good choices. One area in which Sadie seems to have no problems is responsibility. I never have to remind her to do her homework, or get her bags for the car in the morning. She just does it. We will continue to work on self-control this summer - in blurting out mean statements due to her own hurt emotions and in obedience to requests made of her.
Academically, Sadie ended up with all O+'s for the entire year - perfect marks. She received the National Fitness Award which was something I always wanted to receive, but never did achieve while I was in school. And, her end of the year award was for Art. I would say a very well-rounded child.
We went to the library this week. Sadie had ventured over to the paperback books. After a few minutes I checked to make sure she was alright. I was tickled to see her sitting in a chair, engrossed in a book. I so want my children to adore reading. Two down, one to go!
For the second year, Sadie had the same teacher. This teacher moved up from kindergarten to first grade and there were 4 kids who were blessed to have her for a second year. I give most of the credit for Sadie's growth to this amazing teacher. We have been simply blessed. After we left school on the last day, Sadie just cried and cried and cried because Mrs. Newell would no longer be her teacher. The rumor is that she is moving back to kindergarten and my prayer is that Lily will be assigned to her classroom next year!
When asked what she likes to do, Sadie answered playing in the pool, playing with mom, going to the creek to find crayfish and salamanders, drawing pretty pictures.
Lily: She remains the most loving child...constantly asking for snuggle, telling me how much she loves me, asking me to rub her leg, foot, arm, back, etc. Yesterday, after her gymnastics recital, she plopped in my lap and announced, "Mommy, I just can't stop loving you."
Lily has shown a lot of progress, particularly in the last couple of months in her fine motor skills. Her writing skills are now up to par for kindergarten and her coloring is much neater and in the lines. She loves school and was the only one of my children to respond with a "YAY!" when I announced I had purchased summer workbooks. The other two groaned, of course. She just loves school and that was one reason we decided to push her onto kindergarten next year, despite an August birthday. Speaking of birthdays, Lily has been discussing hers since last year. It has been heightened by the advent of Ethan's birthday this week. She has it planned to the last detail, including what she is going to wear.
Lily is working on her response to the word, "no" when stated by anyone other than herself. Right now, we are in a crying loudly phase. I have no doubt that we have indulged her a bit as the baby of the family. Even Ethan shares in the blame for this one as he will do anything to not hear her cry or have her rebuff him. Regardless, it is time to push her to grow up a bit this summer.
When asked what she likes to do, Lily answered doing crafts, go outside to play and swim.
Me: I will begin a new bible study this summer after nearly a two year absence from a formal study. It will be good to be back into the word, consistently after such an absence. The kids are signed up for several camps - soccer, scouts, dance, music camp and lessons, swim team, etc. And, we are all helping to serve at vbs that our church is hosting for a specific disadvantaged neighborhood. Ethan will have his first overnight camps this summer. First is weeblo/scout camp for three nights. In July, he will attend Lurecrest Camp for 5 nights. It makes me nervous for him, but there are two counselors from our church working there and I trust they will keep an eye out for him.
We joined the Elk's pool, finally, and I was thrilled to learn last night that they have wifi by the pool. Is it ridiculous to think I might get some writing done by the pool this summer? I am hoping to reconnect to my love of reading, too.
As far as my main writing project...it is still that, a project. Writing took a back seat for the most part of May. I have four ideas floating around that I want to explore this summer, I am sure none to completion, but I am going to plow forth. 1) Jay's story for our children. From arriving in the U.S. with nothing, working fast-food jobs, to owning his own company 2) Writing about my mixed heritage background. This will require some investigation and interviewing, but there is a definite story here. 3) Ansley's journey from a sister's perspective. This is the one most likely to be completed in a timely manner as much is already written in the form of email updates. 4) Most compelling to me and the most difficult to write - my own journey in the search for authenticity and transparency.
Jay asked me last week, "So, what are you going to do in the fall when all the kids are in school?" That is a great question. I guess I have two months to figure it out!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
For My Lily...
"My Wish"
by Rascall Flatts
I hope that the days come easy and the moments pass slow,
And each road leads you where you want to go,
And if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose,
I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.
And if one door opens to another door closed,
I hope you keep on walkin' till you find the window,
If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile,
But more than anything, more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you're out there getting where you're getting to, I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too, Yeah, this, is my wish.I hope you never look back, but ya never forget,
All the ones who love you, in the place you left,
I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,
And you help somebody every chance you get,
Oh, you find God's grace, in every mistake,
And you always give more than you take.
But more than anything, yeah, and more than anything,
My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,
Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,
You never need to carry more than you can hold,
And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,
I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,
Yeah, this, is my wish.
This is my wish
I hope you know somebody loves you
May all your dreams stay big.
Lily, you are growing too fast for me. Please slow down for just a second and let me breath in all of what you are at this moment. Our days of paling around, you as my little tag along buddy are nearing an end. Did I enjoy every second with you? Did I suck all the kisses and hugs I could manage to wrangle? Did I give you everything you needed? I tried, little Lovey. I did.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Be Still My Beating Heart...
I have been listening to some long ago forgotten CDs which I discovered while cleaning out for market. One is Field's of Gold, a great one by Sting. I have the warmest, in a literal and figurative sense, memories of this CD, driving in my '87 Honda Civic to Myrtle Beach over Spring Break during my senior year of high school. There is a stretch of back logging roads along that route that during April and May is simply stunning. Both sides of the road are covered with the most ultra bright and fresh green grass fields and wild flowers. There was a heightened sense of freedom during this particular drive and I assume it was youth, the end of high school and unlimited possibilities all coming to a head. Years have passed, 20 to be exact, and I have driven that street to the point where I could nearly do it blindfolded. Everytime though, I think of that one specific trip and my friend, Debi, whenever I hear the CD or drive that route.
As I busied myself around the house this morning trying to recover from the tornado of activity that accompanied a family wedding weekend, one particular song stood out - "Be Still My Beating Heart." As I listened and sang along to the lyrics, a line, much familiar to me, stood out: "And, I wriggle like a fish caught on dry land." I found myself sinking into a bit of a melancholy place. The song continues further..."I sink like a stone that's been thrown in the ocean. My logic has drowned in a sea of emotion." I can't say what Sting meant by those words, but I inserted it into my own life and well, just didn't like the outcome.
Maybe it is mid-life. Maybe it is that my youngest child is leaving for kindergarten in August. Maybe it is that life doesn't seem to hold to have as much...what is the word I am looking for - purpose, meaning, fulfillment? Possibly? Not sure that is it. It does have meaning and purpose, it just lacks focus, lacks a clear path at the moment. My brain holds years of biblical study that gives me the answer to all of this. Yet, I am tired of trying to keep it at the forefront. My emotions are simply drowning me and I think that the life preserver with my name on it lingers just out of sight. If I could only see it, touch it, and thrive because of it.
Maybe this is what happens when you decide to stop working for perfection and give it all up to simply live freely. I mean, while running on that comfortable and well-worn performance treadmill, I was solidly focused. Albeit it was a terribly never-ending and unreachable focus, but a focus nevertheless. Now, I am in limbo between two worlds, not feeling at home in either and certainly not where I currently reside. In fact, I feel a little lost in my freedom. Isn't that interesting. If none of this daily grind (you know, the mundane) really matters, then what in the world am I doing every day? My life seems to be nothing but mundane. Sigh. Not a good day for me and it was particularly punctuated by cleaning the kitchen, folding laundry, dealing with a landscaper, taking a trip to Costco, the dry cleaners, picking the dog up from the vet, taking Jay his suit to work, taking Lily to gymnastics, picking up kids from school while listening to music that makes my skin crawl, checking homework, listening to reading, preparing for scouts, fixing and cleaning up after dinner, hauling kids to scouts, teaching 7 girls about geology (as if), and getting kids baths/ready for bed with a book and snack. When will this discontentment stop?
Lord, be still my anxiously beating heart...
As I busied myself around the house this morning trying to recover from the tornado of activity that accompanied a family wedding weekend, one particular song stood out - "Be Still My Beating Heart." As I listened and sang along to the lyrics, a line, much familiar to me, stood out: "And, I wriggle like a fish caught on dry land." I found myself sinking into a bit of a melancholy place. The song continues further..."I sink like a stone that's been thrown in the ocean. My logic has drowned in a sea of emotion." I can't say what Sting meant by those words, but I inserted it into my own life and well, just didn't like the outcome.
Maybe it is mid-life. Maybe it is that my youngest child is leaving for kindergarten in August. Maybe it is that life doesn't seem to hold to have as much...what is the word I am looking for - purpose, meaning, fulfillment? Possibly? Not sure that is it. It does have meaning and purpose, it just lacks focus, lacks a clear path at the moment. My brain holds years of biblical study that gives me the answer to all of this. Yet, I am tired of trying to keep it at the forefront. My emotions are simply drowning me and I think that the life preserver with my name on it lingers just out of sight. If I could only see it, touch it, and thrive because of it.
Maybe this is what happens when you decide to stop working for perfection and give it all up to simply live freely. I mean, while running on that comfortable and well-worn performance treadmill, I was solidly focused. Albeit it was a terribly never-ending and unreachable focus, but a focus nevertheless. Now, I am in limbo between two worlds, not feeling at home in either and certainly not where I currently reside. In fact, I feel a little lost in my freedom. Isn't that interesting. If none of this daily grind (you know, the mundane) really matters, then what in the world am I doing every day? My life seems to be nothing but mundane. Sigh. Not a good day for me and it was particularly punctuated by cleaning the kitchen, folding laundry, dealing with a landscaper, taking a trip to Costco, the dry cleaners, picking the dog up from the vet, taking Jay his suit to work, taking Lily to gymnastics, picking up kids from school while listening to music that makes my skin crawl, checking homework, listening to reading, preparing for scouts, fixing and cleaning up after dinner, hauling kids to scouts, teaching 7 girls about geology (as if), and getting kids baths/ready for bed with a book and snack. When will this discontentment stop?
Lord, be still my anxiously beating heart...
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
I received an email from a good friend in regards to my post, Forever Young. My friend wrote very clearly what I have been feeling:
Been there, done that, felt the same abandonment - back here, keeping all the plates spinning, making everything "look right" on the outside, being everything to everyone. Can I possibly be the same person now that I was then? Is the same me still inside? There are days when that voice of wanderlust is still and quiet, but many days when she is screaming at me to get up and go. But I remember that I'm the responsible one now, the one with commitments and schedules, the one with too many people dependent on me.
Do I miss that life? - yes. Am I happy with my life now? - yes. But above all, I'm grateful God gave me those years to wander and roam His fabulous world. It gives me depth and perspective now which hopefully makes me a better wife, mom, sister, person, etc ...
I have done a bit of thinking about what I am teaching my kids. Are we enjoying life, amidst the routine and jobs. Or, am I so focused on performance and responsibility that it is completely overshadowed. I mean, does it really matter if the laundry sits on the table for one more day or if their rooms are messy more days than clean? What are we doing every day to enjoy what God has given us?I agree that voice is louder on some days than others. I guess it is screaming at the top of my lungs at the moment. Now, what to do with it....
Been there, done that, felt the same abandonment - back here, keeping all the plates spinning, making everything "look right" on the outside, being everything to everyone. Can I possibly be the same person now that I was then? Is the same me still inside? There are days when that voice of wanderlust is still and quiet, but many days when she is screaming at me to get up and go. But I remember that I'm the responsible one now, the one with commitments and schedules, the one with too many people dependent on me.
Do I miss that life? - yes. Am I happy with my life now? - yes. But above all, I'm grateful God gave me those years to wander and roam His fabulous world. It gives me depth and perspective now which hopefully makes me a better wife, mom, sister, person, etc ...
I have done a bit of thinking about what I am teaching my kids. Are we enjoying life, amidst the routine and jobs. Or, am I so focused on performance and responsibility that it is completely overshadowed. I mean, does it really matter if the laundry sits on the table for one more day or if their rooms are messy more days than clean? What are we doing every day to enjoy what God has given us?I agree that voice is louder on some days than others. I guess it is screaming at the top of my lungs at the moment. Now, what to do with it....
Monday, May 11, 2009
Forever Young
Continuing with the age of innocence theme...I started thinking about a time in my life when I had no cares, no worries, no stress. Did I ever just take off, not worry about plans, tasks undone and responsibilities?
My memories of such a time in my life have been jolted in the last day or so. My dearest friend Niels has shown up on facebook and along with him are the memories of the best trip I have ever taken. Without him, my first trip to Africa would not have happened. I had no business, no rational reasoning to go there. I was 22, had no job, very little money, no concrete plans for the future, and now that I think about it...no home to even call my own. Yet, I took what little money I had, wrapped up my year of living in the Netherlands, packed a suitcase and headed out to Zimbabwe with him and another friend for a month of ridiculous abandonment, choices that would shock even the wild at heart, and enjoyed life in all its hilarity, love, and adventure.
At the beginning of the trip we stayed with Niels' parents who were living in Harare, Zimbabwe. Then we took off, backpacking our way through South Africa, Botswana, Zambia, returning to Zimbabwe. We began the journey on a train still emblazoned with its Rhodesian logos from the colonial days. There were no concrete plans, no reservations made, no tickets purchased. Therefore, the trip included walking, hitchhiking (yes, hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere), school bus-type transportation, a plane (Air Botswana) and the back of a pick-up truck for 7 hours. We mostly tent camped with a brief reprieve at some friends of Niels' parents. We ran out of local currency, yes, money. We opted to eat only a pack of mints
in order to drink a Zambezi, saw elephants from 100 feet, got chased by monkeys, saw the "last Eden on earth," ate impala schnitzel, had some digestive issues, took outdoor showers, went to a few discos, held snakes, drove on the "wrong" side of the road, met a real mercenary, made a missing persons report to the police, saw one of the 7 wonders of the world, visited a country in the midst of enormous change and hope, got lost, laughed, cried (maybe that was just me) and LIVED.
It was during this part of the trip when my eyes were opened to how most of the world lives. It was during this part of the trip that I felt I was truly living, sucking every ounce of emotions and experiences from every day. It was during this trip that I felt the most confidence in my abilities to handle anything that came my way. I am forever indebted to Niels for inviting me to tag along on such a life-altering trip.
My heart sinks when I read about the calamity that has befallen Zimbabwe. A country of such promise in the early 90s, now racked with scandals, political destruction and the AIDS epidemic. I wonder what the slums of South Africa have become since the fall of apartheid, as we saw the hope in the eyes of the people of that country only 6 months after it was abolished. 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 know there is a little hole in my heart created by the piece I left in Africa over 14 years ago and made larger by a second trip 6 years ago.
My second trip was much different - a missions trip to Ghana. I loved every minute I was there and I long for more of it. I dream of once again holding the little orphan girl in Ghana in my arms while the harmonic sounds of the orphan choir sing praises. 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.
Until then, I will think about how life has propelled me to lose some of that spontaneity and become the uber responsible, somewhat fearful, worried, self-doubting mom and wife. I think it is time to reclaim that independent and adventurous girl from 1994. Today, it is never too late to be...Forever Young.
My memories of such a time in my life have been jolted in the last day or so. My dearest friend Niels has shown up on facebook and along with him are the memories of the best trip I have ever taken. Without him, my first trip to Africa would not have happened. I had no business, no rational reasoning to go there. I was 22, had no job, very little money, no concrete plans for the future, and now that I think about it...no home to even call my own. Yet, I took what little money I had, wrapped up my year of living in the Netherlands, packed a suitcase and headed out to Zimbabwe with him and another friend for a month of ridiculous abandonment, choices that would shock even the wild at heart, and enjoyed life in all its hilarity, love, and adventure.
At the beginning of the trip we stayed with Niels' parents who were living in Harare, Zimbabwe. Then we took off, backpacking our way through South Africa, Botswana, Zambia, returning to Zimbabwe. We began the journey on a train still emblazoned with its Rhodesian logos from the colonial days. There were no concrete plans, no reservations made, no tickets purchased. Therefore, the trip included walking, hitchhiking (yes, hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere), school bus-type transportation, a plane (Air Botswana) and the back of a pick-up truck for 7 hours. We mostly tent camped with a brief reprieve at some friends of Niels' parents. We ran out of local currency, yes, money. We opted to eat only a pack of mints
in order to drink a Zambezi, saw elephants from 100 feet, got chased by monkeys, saw the "last Eden on earth," ate impala schnitzel, had some digestive issues, took outdoor showers, went to a few discos, held snakes, drove on the "wrong" side of the road, met a real mercenary, made a missing persons report to the police, saw one of the 7 wonders of the world, visited a country in the midst of enormous change and hope, got lost, laughed, cried (maybe that was just me) and LIVED.It was during this part of the trip when my eyes were opened to how most of the world lives. It was during this part of the trip that I felt I was truly living, sucking every ounce of emotions and experiences from every day. It was during this trip that I felt the most confidence in my abilities to handle anything that came my way. I am forever indebted to Niels for inviting me to tag along on such a life-altering trip.
My heart sinks when I read about the calamity that has befallen Zimbabwe. A country of such promise in the early 90s, now racked with scandals, political destruction and the AIDS epidemic. I wonder what the slums of South Africa have become since the fall of apartheid, as we saw the hope in the eyes of the people of that country only 6 months after it was abolished. 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 know there is a little hole in my heart created by the piece I left in Africa over 14 years ago and made larger by a second trip 6 years ago.
My second trip was much different - a missions trip to Ghana. I loved every minute I was there and I long for more of it. I dream of once again holding the little orphan girl in Ghana in my arms while the harmonic sounds of the orphan choir sing praises. 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.
Until then, I will think about how life has propelled me to lose some of that spontaneity and become the uber responsible, somewhat fearful, worried, self-doubting mom and wife. I think it is time to reclaim that independent and adventurous girl from 1994. Today, it is never too late to be...Forever Young.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The Blue Hour
The term "blue hour" comes from a French expression l'heure bleue, which refers to twilight, the period each morning and evening where there is neither full daylight nor complete darkness. The time is considered special because of the quality of the light at this time of day and because this is often when the smell of the flowers is at their strongest. In literature, this term often symbolizes a period of innocence.
My vision of the blue hour is the very first light of the morning which creeps its way through the windows, the trees outlined starkly in contrast to the cool and yet, comforting blue hues in the sky. I saw the blue hour this morning as my youngest crawled into bed with me. It was a rare night of musical beds. Though everyone began in their own beds, in the morning I found myself in Sadie's bed, Sadie was on her trundle bed and Lily was in my bed, until she sought me out once again this time in Sadie's bed. I remember when the musical beds game was routine for us, over 2 years ago. That is one rite of passage I am glad is pretty much behind us.
As Lily crawled in behind me in Sadie's white sleigh bed, I gazed through the white wooden blinds. I thought about that "period of innocence" so perfectly on display by the azure sky this morning. My Lily will graduate in a couple of weeks from preschool, marking the end of one title I have held for 7 years, "Mom of a Preschooler." But, in the last couple of weeks she has met the world in all of its rudeness head on. Another child laughed at her, remarking that she has crisscrossed eyes, giggling at her glasses. Lily ran to me, crying at the hurt she just experienced. It was her first insight into being different. It was her first introduction that something might be wrong with her. It was her first experience that others can simply be mean. My heart rushed to comfort her. I was stunned at the cruelty of another child at such a young age. But, I remained fixed and focused on healing her hurts. As I wiped away the tears, I wanted to wipe this encounter away from her memory as well. The impact of this moment did not escape me. It was the dwindling of her innocence, the end of the blue hour.
The days go by slowly, but the years are flying by. More times this year than ever, I have had older mothers and grandmothers tell me to cherish these times, each and every day. Their advice is given at random in the grocery store, at the park, at school. Sometimes it seems I am scrambling, a day late in capturing and holding onto those moments. School work comes home in droves, showing the progression with the ages. Lily can now write several words and seems to amble around, paper and pen always toted along with her. Sadie is completely immersed in some serious chapter books, but still devotes energy to catch lizards along the driveway and crayfish in the creek. Ethan is plotting his 9th birthday party and prospective gifts. We spent time today putting together the Mouse Trap contraption in the game with the same name. He never fails to be appreciative of the undivided time I give to him.
Similar to the incident with Lily on the playground, I see the bits of innocence being chipped away from all three of my children. As they age, their exposure to the world increases, and their sense of security will inevitably decrease. I hope and pray that their hearts will remain full of optimism, courage, creativity, confidence, self-assurance; in the light of l'heure bleue.
My vision of the blue hour is the very first light of the morning which creeps its way through the windows, the trees outlined starkly in contrast to the cool and yet, comforting blue hues in the sky. I saw the blue hour this morning as my youngest crawled into bed with me. It was a rare night of musical beds. Though everyone began in their own beds, in the morning I found myself in Sadie's bed, Sadie was on her trundle bed and Lily was in my bed, until she sought me out once again this time in Sadie's bed. I remember when the musical beds game was routine for us, over 2 years ago. That is one rite of passage I am glad is pretty much behind us.
As Lily crawled in behind me in Sadie's white sleigh bed, I gazed through the white wooden blinds. I thought about that "period of innocence" so perfectly on display by the azure sky this morning. My Lily will graduate in a couple of weeks from preschool, marking the end of one title I have held for 7 years, "Mom of a Preschooler." But, in the last couple of weeks she has met the world in all of its rudeness head on. Another child laughed at her, remarking that she has crisscrossed eyes, giggling at her glasses. Lily ran to me, crying at the hurt she just experienced. It was her first insight into being different. It was her first introduction that something might be wrong with her. It was her first experience that others can simply be mean. My heart rushed to comfort her. I was stunned at the cruelty of another child at such a young age. But, I remained fixed and focused on healing her hurts. As I wiped away the tears, I wanted to wipe this encounter away from her memory as well. The impact of this moment did not escape me. It was the dwindling of her innocence, the end of the blue hour.
The days go by slowly, but the years are flying by. More times this year than ever, I have had older mothers and grandmothers tell me to cherish these times, each and every day. Their advice is given at random in the grocery store, at the park, at school. Sometimes it seems I am scrambling, a day late in capturing and holding onto those moments. School work comes home in droves, showing the progression with the ages. Lily can now write several words and seems to amble around, paper and pen always toted along with her. Sadie is completely immersed in some serious chapter books, but still devotes energy to catch lizards along the driveway and crayfish in the creek. Ethan is plotting his 9th birthday party and prospective gifts. We spent time today putting together the Mouse Trap contraption in the game with the same name. He never fails to be appreciative of the undivided time I give to him.
Similar to the incident with Lily on the playground, I see the bits of innocence being chipped away from all three of my children. As they age, their exposure to the world increases, and their sense of security will inevitably decrease. I hope and pray that their hearts will remain full of optimism, courage, creativity, confidence, self-assurance; in the light of l'heure bleue.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Every Day
A family I am very loosely connected with has had the unthinkable happen...the loss of a child, age 7. To me this is cruelest of circumstances. My own feeble mind cannot wrap itself around this devastation. My own grief at the loss of my sister seems to pale in comparison to what it would be like to lose one of my own brood.
Life was pretty darn easy for me prior to Ansley's illness and passing. Then, very suddenly, everything was turned upside down and I found myself in self-preservation mode. I might add that I failed miserably living in that mode, too. We weren't created to self-preserve.
As a result, I have lived through extreme grief and continue to exist in a milder form of it. I believe that it will be my companion, albeit a little one, for the rest of my life. The ebbs and flows of grief are like the tides. Somewhat rhythmic and predictable like the calendar, yet are not even in their size or timing. Sometimes you feel as if you have just recovered from the last wave only to be blindsided by the next one. To know that this family is at the beginning of this new way of existing, this new family dynamic and to know what suffering is before them brings me to my knees. I am not yet to the point of being able to comfort someone freshly grieving as it is still too fresh in my own heart.
And yet, there is hope. Hope that is infinite and eternal. A hope that never changes, that never fades. In the perfect storm of pain, anguish, grief, evil, God is all we have to cling to. Nothing, I mean nothing in this world is more solid, reliable, comforting, and loving than our God.
I have mentioned in a previous post my dislike for the phrase, "God only gives us what we can handle." It is not biblical scripture and though I understand the intent, it is opposite of one of my favorite verses. "I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me." My belief is that God does bring more to us than we, on our own, can handle because it is Him that gives us the strength to do it. His purpose at all times is to grow us in unbelievable places. It is to pull us and stretch our faith. It is to bring us to a point where they only solution is to turn to Him. It is at that point of complete surrender that we hear His loving words, His wooing us to Him. It is that gentle nudge that leads us to want more of Him and less of this world.
Life on this terra firma is brief, a blink of an eye in relationship to eternity, ending often without warning. Yet, even in times like these, where the worst fears of a parent are realized, I find comfort in knowing God is completely in control of it. He has a plan for each of us, a job if you will. That job is involves both our internal - our spiritual growth and our external - the impact we have on others. For some, that plan is complete in just a few short years. For others, it will continue until we are old and gray. Until that work is completed in us, we remain here as workers for Him.
For this family and their friends...life will go continue forward. It will be painful to watch the lives of others continue, appearing to be unaffected by the the loss they are experiencing. My heart wants to tell them...Don't ever discount your grief. Don't ever compare your grief to others. Don't begin to think that you are not normal in your grief cycle. God knows our sorrows, our tears, our pains, our hurts. He is big enough to carry those burdens and He is big enough to take our anger. Give it to Him. Every day.
Life was pretty darn easy for me prior to Ansley's illness and passing. Then, very suddenly, everything was turned upside down and I found myself in self-preservation mode. I might add that I failed miserably living in that mode, too. We weren't created to self-preserve.
As a result, I have lived through extreme grief and continue to exist in a milder form of it. I believe that it will be my companion, albeit a little one, for the rest of my life. The ebbs and flows of grief are like the tides. Somewhat rhythmic and predictable like the calendar, yet are not even in their size or timing. Sometimes you feel as if you have just recovered from the last wave only to be blindsided by the next one. To know that this family is at the beginning of this new way of existing, this new family dynamic and to know what suffering is before them brings me to my knees. I am not yet to the point of being able to comfort someone freshly grieving as it is still too fresh in my own heart.
And yet, there is hope. Hope that is infinite and eternal. A hope that never changes, that never fades. In the perfect storm of pain, anguish, grief, evil, God is all we have to cling to. Nothing, I mean nothing in this world is more solid, reliable, comforting, and loving than our God.
I have mentioned in a previous post my dislike for the phrase, "God only gives us what we can handle." It is not biblical scripture and though I understand the intent, it is opposite of one of my favorite verses. "I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me." My belief is that God does bring more to us than we, on our own, can handle because it is Him that gives us the strength to do it. His purpose at all times is to grow us in unbelievable places. It is to pull us and stretch our faith. It is to bring us to a point where they only solution is to turn to Him. It is at that point of complete surrender that we hear His loving words, His wooing us to Him. It is that gentle nudge that leads us to want more of Him and less of this world.
Life on this terra firma is brief, a blink of an eye in relationship to eternity, ending often without warning. Yet, even in times like these, where the worst fears of a parent are realized, I find comfort in knowing God is completely in control of it. He has a plan for each of us, a job if you will. That job is involves both our internal - our spiritual growth and our external - the impact we have on others. For some, that plan is complete in just a few short years. For others, it will continue until we are old and gray. Until that work is completed in us, we remain here as workers for Him.
For this family and their friends...life will go continue forward. It will be painful to watch the lives of others continue, appearing to be unaffected by the the loss they are experiencing. My heart wants to tell them...Don't ever discount your grief. Don't ever compare your grief to others. Don't begin to think that you are not normal in your grief cycle. God knows our sorrows, our tears, our pains, our hurts. He is big enough to carry those burdens and He is big enough to take our anger. Give it to Him. Every day.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Count your blessings...once again.
I have been very removed from the blog as shown by the lack of any posts in the previous 3 weeks. I have been writing, but it has been more for the project than the blog. In returning to my normal rhythm of life after market, it seems very appropriate that I begin again with what I should do more often than not - count my blessings! Here we go:
1. First Anniversary of the company! Exciting because a) we are still in business and b) we have employees, good employees and c) I have been able to step away from the company and focus my attention on the children, house and all the comes with it.
2. As I type this, I am sitting on my deck, in the warmth of the sun, with a breeze that is delightful. I can hear my littlest one giggling with a friend with not a care in the world. In 3 short months, she will enter kindergarten. My time is short, so I will soak up every minute with her.
3. My entire family will be together in two weeks. It has been over 2 years since this last occurred. Weddings tend to force these visits. I can't wait to meet my nephew for the first time.
4. The ability to cook meals again. We ate out a lot while living in the basement. Not only is it not healthy, it gets very old, very quickly. It is great to pour over my cookbooks, plan, calculate, and make lists of love for my family.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Home Sweet Home
This is a blog primarily to document and thus provide evidence for my claim that I reside in "Crazytown." Really, though, I know most of what I experience in life is no different that the rest of you. It is just life. Yet, there are times when I think surely this is not "normal." And so, begins another post...
We rent our house to a group of people who are attending the furniture market in our town. It is good, free money for 10 days, 2x a year, yet, I always wonder after it is all said and done if it is truly worth it. Sure, you are forced to get your house completely in order, totally clean. You are displaced for a short period of time and get a very nice check for your trouble. But for us, it is never that simple.
Currently, it is furniture market time which signals chaos in our house. Never have we had an "uneventful" market. Something always goes awry. There was the one year we decided to "camp" in our camper at the local campground. Lily found Jay's heart medication while I was tending to the others in the bathtub. That resulted in 3 days at Brenner's Children's Hospital. In the end, Lily was fine. Ok, so that probably deserves its own post. There is so much fodder in just those 4 sentences. Not all markets have been that potentially catastrophic, but I have come to the conclusion that if something is going to happen, it will usually occur during the two weeks of April and the two weeks in October during which this blessed event takes place.
This year, has been no exception. The two weeks prior to market, I had two sick children. Sadie was first with the stomach virus that lasted 5 days, missing 4 days of school. I had 3 days of reprieve before Ethan started up, lasting 4 days of which 3 were missed school days. Very insignificantly, but still a bump in the road, was the complete breakdown of my beloved mop, only a few short hours prior to my renters' arrival.
Learning the campground was not ideal for our family, we now reside in our basement for the 11 days the renters are here. This is extremely convenient. Quite happily, I can say this is the first maket during which the basement is complete, meaning there are no construction projects being completed while we are down here. One market we did a LOT of painting. Another, we put stone around the gas fireplace and finished the wood flooring. Last market, we installed the hanging ceiling, continuously sending a shower of white specks and dust over the entire area and our belongings.
Sadly, apart from market, we really don't utilize this space as much as we should. Therefore, market tends to justify its existence. However, space that is not used is inviting. Inviting for creatures and varmints. Within the first 24 hours we killed a little field mouse and a ...baby snake. By "we," I mean Jay. I simply stood there and screamed like I was going down with the Titanic. I deplore snakes. And, yes, I know that where there is one, there are others. I can only continue to reside in these living conditions with the idea that it slithered in here when the kids left the basement door open for a couple of hours. Slithered. I am shivering just writing that word.
But, so far the pièce de résistance of April Market 2009 can be summed up with two words - "sprinkler malfunction." I am not at liberty to go into details, so let's just leave it at that. And, there appears to be a silver lining to what could have been a terrible situation.
It is a bit of a déjà vu story for me. When I was very, very young, my father began a furniture company. I only learned of this fact in the last couple of years, which I find interesting. Anyway, he and his partner had multiple orders placed and manufacturing was running smoothly. It was the early stages of the business. The future was very bright. However, next door to their building, construction was occurring. There was some sort of heavy rain/flooding. A deluge of mud and water came crashing down an poorly graded embankment, tearing into the wall of their building and thus destroying the entire operation. In order to cut costs in their initial phase, they had not purchased insurance. They were over. Finished. My dad, realizing the catastrophic impact of losing everything, went back to work doing what he was educated to do - furniture design. He has had quite successful career, but I know he must have always wondered, "what if."
I think I could deal with market being over pretty soon. Enough is enough.
We rent our house to a group of people who are attending the furniture market in our town. It is good, free money for 10 days, 2x a year, yet, I always wonder after it is all said and done if it is truly worth it. Sure, you are forced to get your house completely in order, totally clean. You are displaced for a short period of time and get a very nice check for your trouble. But for us, it is never that simple.
Currently, it is furniture market time which signals chaos in our house. Never have we had an "uneventful" market. Something always goes awry. There was the one year we decided to "camp" in our camper at the local campground. Lily found Jay's heart medication while I was tending to the others in the bathtub. That resulted in 3 days at Brenner's Children's Hospital. In the end, Lily was fine. Ok, so that probably deserves its own post. There is so much fodder in just those 4 sentences. Not all markets have been that potentially catastrophic, but I have come to the conclusion that if something is going to happen, it will usually occur during the two weeks of April and the two weeks in October during which this blessed event takes place.
This year, has been no exception. The two weeks prior to market, I had two sick children. Sadie was first with the stomach virus that lasted 5 days, missing 4 days of school. I had 3 days of reprieve before Ethan started up, lasting 4 days of which 3 were missed school days. Very insignificantly, but still a bump in the road, was the complete breakdown of my beloved mop, only a few short hours prior to my renters' arrival.
Learning the campground was not ideal for our family, we now reside in our basement for the 11 days the renters are here. This is extremely convenient. Quite happily, I can say this is the first maket during which the basement is complete, meaning there are no construction projects being completed while we are down here. One market we did a LOT of painting. Another, we put stone around the gas fireplace and finished the wood flooring. Last market, we installed the hanging ceiling, continuously sending a shower of white specks and dust over the entire area and our belongings.
Sadly, apart from market, we really don't utilize this space as much as we should. Therefore, market tends to justify its existence. However, space that is not used is inviting. Inviting for creatures and varmints. Within the first 24 hours we killed a little field mouse and a ...baby snake. By "we," I mean Jay. I simply stood there and screamed like I was going down with the Titanic. I deplore snakes. And, yes, I know that where there is one, there are others. I can only continue to reside in these living conditions with the idea that it slithered in here when the kids left the basement door open for a couple of hours. Slithered. I am shivering just writing that word.
But, so far the pièce de résistance of April Market 2009 can be summed up with two words - "sprinkler malfunction." I am not at liberty to go into details, so let's just leave it at that. And, there appears to be a silver lining to what could have been a terrible situation.
It is a bit of a déjà vu story for me. When I was very, very young, my father began a furniture company. I only learned of this fact in the last couple of years, which I find interesting. Anyway, he and his partner had multiple orders placed and manufacturing was running smoothly. It was the early stages of the business. The future was very bright. However, next door to their building, construction was occurring. There was some sort of heavy rain/flooding. A deluge of mud and water came crashing down an poorly graded embankment, tearing into the wall of their building and thus destroying the entire operation. In order to cut costs in their initial phase, they had not purchased insurance. They were over. Finished. My dad, realizing the catastrophic impact of losing everything, went back to work doing what he was educated to do - furniture design. He has had quite successful career, but I know he must have always wondered, "what if."
I think I could deal with market being over pretty soon. Enough is enough.
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