In addition to my resolutions to lose ten pounds, organize my house, and spend more quality time with my kids, I plan to post more to this blog. I've neglected Sticky Notes and writing in general, and, well, this is not good. It seems that as 2008 began to wane, so did any and all impetus to do anything that is good for me, like writing...oh and eating well and exercising and spending quality time...well, you get the point.
As a person who needs a little kick in the pants at times, I welcome 2009 with open arms. I want to give it a big hug and say thank you for its gift: the chance to start over, the chance to get off my ass and become that person I want to be--that person who writes and eats right and exercises and...well, you get the idea.
More musings to come in 2009. I promise! Happy New Year--I hope it brings you peace and many blessings.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
It's Over
I've taken a break from blogging after my last rant about the annoying pressure so many, including several bloggers in the mommy blogging world, were giving to vote for whom they were voting. I didn't want all my posts to become consumed by the election and my opinions like so many others' blog posts were becoming. Even my favorite bloggers were putting up 'funny' You Tube videos meant to insult a candidate (or, more accurately, their running mate- ahem!) or writing paragraphs in their blogs that made sweeping accusations about a candidate based on news snippets taken out of context. I know we all have a right to our opinions on the matter, but I don't read mommy blogs to get smacked in the face with politics, and I don't think I'm alone in that. Therefore, I decided to lay low and take a break from blogging so as not to add any more negativity and political chatter to the blog-o-sphere (does anyone use that term anymore?).
Now that the election is over, I'm breathing a sigh of relief. I hope we can all make a fresh start -- our country AND the mommy blogging world. I'm hoping, too, that I can finally go back to writing posts about something truly important: me! ;-)
Now that the election is over, I'm breathing a sigh of relief. I hope we can all make a fresh start -- our country AND the mommy blogging world. I'm hoping, too, that I can finally go back to writing posts about something truly important: me! ;-)
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Eye Of The Storm
I have said it before, and now, with the final weeks of this election, I feel I must say it again -- I'm tired of it all. I want this election to be over and done with. I want the next leader of the free world to be decided upon and for our country to be able to move on. I want people to get what they want so that I no longer have to read or hear the desperation anymore. I want people to stop urging me to vote, claiming that they don't want to tell me who to choose but making it pretty darn clear that if I don't vote for their candidate, I'm uninformed, unenlightened and down-right wrong.
I am one of those undecided voters that each candidate wants in their camp come November 4th. Undecided is a difficult spot in which to be right now. I wish I had the passion for a candidate that others have, but being very moderate in my views, I have a hard time choosing. I don't view either side as evil or, conversely, as the savior of our troubled country. I think both candidates care deeply about our country--they just have differing views on what is best for it. (But, lets be honest, both men are deeply ambitious as well --otherwise, neither would be where they are today.) I see both sides as having solutions--some I agree with, some I don't. I'm in limbo, and I wish that was not the case. I wish I felt strongly enough to go canvas my community in an attempt to put my candidate in the White House. I wish I was able to throw caution to the wind and blatantly urge others to vote for someone I want desperately to win. But, that's not where I am. I am simply just trying to make up my mind amid the wind storm of opinions swirling around me.
You see, I feel that no matter who ends up leading, I know our country will recover and prevail because that is who we are. That is what we do. We are strong and smart and ready for change--and believe it or not, no matter who wins, we will have change. It's a universal law that nothing is forever--except change. We are at a low point now, but with the ebb and flow that is part of this world, we will get back our footing and be able to stand strong. I believe our country will strengthen and prevail regardless of the number of 'blue' or 'red' votes on the electoral map at the end of election day.
I hope that in the next couple of weeks, I see more people telling those of us who are undecided why their candidate is best, not why the other guy is so horribly bad. I hope they stop telling me that this is a historic election and that I should vote--all in a veiled attempt to keep me from voting for the one they think is the bad guy. Just give me the straight facts about the guy you like if you're passionate enough to voice your opinion. Give me something positive to chew on while I make my decision, not a mouthful of hatred. Hatred comes from fear-- and believe me, fear is running rampant on both sides of the aisle.
So, for a while longer, here I sit, still undecided, in the eye of the storm, just waiting for it to all be over. I'll try to look past all the fear and negativity outside and make a decision--here in the center of it all--with which I can live peacefully.
I am one of those undecided voters that each candidate wants in their camp come November 4th. Undecided is a difficult spot in which to be right now. I wish I had the passion for a candidate that others have, but being very moderate in my views, I have a hard time choosing. I don't view either side as evil or, conversely, as the savior of our troubled country. I think both candidates care deeply about our country--they just have differing views on what is best for it. (But, lets be honest, both men are deeply ambitious as well --otherwise, neither would be where they are today.) I see both sides as having solutions--some I agree with, some I don't. I'm in limbo, and I wish that was not the case. I wish I felt strongly enough to go canvas my community in an attempt to put my candidate in the White House. I wish I was able to throw caution to the wind and blatantly urge others to vote for someone I want desperately to win. But, that's not where I am. I am simply just trying to make up my mind amid the wind storm of opinions swirling around me.
You see, I feel that no matter who ends up leading, I know our country will recover and prevail because that is who we are. That is what we do. We are strong and smart and ready for change--and believe it or not, no matter who wins, we will have change. It's a universal law that nothing is forever--except change. We are at a low point now, but with the ebb and flow that is part of this world, we will get back our footing and be able to stand strong. I believe our country will strengthen and prevail regardless of the number of 'blue' or 'red' votes on the electoral map at the end of election day.
I hope that in the next couple of weeks, I see more people telling those of us who are undecided why their candidate is best, not why the other guy is so horribly bad. I hope they stop telling me that this is a historic election and that I should vote--all in a veiled attempt to keep me from voting for the one they think is the bad guy. Just give me the straight facts about the guy you like if you're passionate enough to voice your opinion. Give me something positive to chew on while I make my decision, not a mouthful of hatred. Hatred comes from fear-- and believe me, fear is running rampant on both sides of the aisle.
So, for a while longer, here I sit, still undecided, in the eye of the storm, just waiting for it to all be over. I'll try to look past all the fear and negativity outside and make a decision--here in the center of it all--with which I can live peacefully.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Just Do It
Most days I have a never ending To Do List. Whether it's in my head, or I actually write it down, The List is always following me like a needy puppy. I tend to measure my sense of accomplishment (and maybe my self worth) by this list and the number of check marks on it. I go through most of my days with very few tasks completed, and as a result, I don't feel like I measure up very well. Crumbs have set up permanent residence on my kitchen floor; my bathrooms require a HAZMAT suit to use them (which makes showering a bit pointless); I've lost my patience with my kids (yet again); I have no plan for dinner despite my third trip to the grocery store this week; the side porch railings still need to be primed and painted; and that doctor's appointment is not going to schedule itself. What the hell have I done this week? Where are my check marks? Why does everyone else seem to have their sh#@* together so much more than I do?
Or, do they?
If I stop beating myself up for half a second and take a look from a different perspective, I might just find a reason to give myself a check mark or two.
Did I clean a bathroom this week? No, but I did get a part-time job at the mall's customer service center for 8 hours per week while Blue is in preschool. It's not a career (I actually like to think of it as a 'joblette'), but you never know where it could lead, and, more importantly, I took action instead of just thinking about it. Check!
Did I practice perfect patience with my kids? No, but I discovered a better way to entice Boogah to finish his homework. And when he finished it (with a 1/2 hour to spare before dinner I might add), I told him repeatedly how proud I was of him and how much I loved him. Check!
Did I schedule a doctor's appointment today? Actually, I scheduled three -- all for me. Check!
Did I prime and paint the porch railings? No, but I ran 3.25 miles on the treadmill at the gym--the farthest I've run in years, proving to myself that I have more stamina than I thought I did. And when I finished the run, I told myself how proud I was of me and how much I (need to) love me. Check!
My original To Do List still remains somewhat lacking in check marks. I still haven't swept up those damn crumbs from my kitchen floor, but I see that despite a few pesky undone household chores, I do accomplish things. So does that maybe, just maybe, mean that I actually do measure up? Check!
Or, do they?
If I stop beating myself up for half a second and take a look from a different perspective, I might just find a reason to give myself a check mark or two.
Did I clean a bathroom this week? No, but I did get a part-time job at the mall's customer service center for 8 hours per week while Blue is in preschool. It's not a career (I actually like to think of it as a 'joblette'), but you never know where it could lead, and, more importantly, I took action instead of just thinking about it. Check!
Did I practice perfect patience with my kids? No, but I discovered a better way to entice Boogah to finish his homework. And when he finished it (with a 1/2 hour to spare before dinner I might add), I told him repeatedly how proud I was of him and how much I loved him. Check!
Did I schedule a doctor's appointment today? Actually, I scheduled three -- all for me. Check!
Did I prime and paint the porch railings? No, but I ran 3.25 miles on the treadmill at the gym--the farthest I've run in years, proving to myself that I have more stamina than I thought I did. And when I finished the run, I told myself how proud I was of me and how much I (need to) love me. Check!
My original To Do List still remains somewhat lacking in check marks. I still haven't swept up those damn crumbs from my kitchen floor, but I see that despite a few pesky undone household chores, I do accomplish things. So does that maybe, just maybe, mean that I actually do measure up? Check!
Monday, September 29, 2008
Pony Pride
Yesterday, off-handedly but with sincere enthusiasm, I mentioned to Blue that today was Pony Picture Day at his preschool. I figured he'd be excited to hear what awaited him at school on Monday morning, but I was wrong.
For those who are not aware, Pony Picture Day is, well, just like it sounds: you get your picture taken while sitting on a pony. We have two years worth of pictures of Boogah sitting on a pony donning a cowboy hat and vest (by his third year, we were over the pony and had him just pose with a pumpkin on a hay bail), and we even have a picture of Blue from last year (his first year of preschool) sitting atop of a very docile and friendly pony. Well, he must not remember doing this at all last year because this morning, he was not about to go sit on that damn pony. I should have known something was up when he asked yesterday how big a pony was. Me, being the oh-so attentive mother that I am, said something very non-helpful like, "Not very big." Well, he must have been mulling this over all evening and into the night (his classic, "Mommy? I can't sleep" at bedtime would have been another clue that something was bothering him --to an attentive mother that is!) because as soon as his eyes popped open this morning, he was armed with a mind-numbing "I don't want to go to school" mantra. I did take slight notice of this because he's never been one of those kids you have to pry off your leg or have the teacher rip from your arms to get them to go to school. He loves toys and other kids, so school is the best of all worlds to him. So, why wouldn't he want to go to school today? Then it dawned on me--pretty much during the drive to the school he didn't want to go to-- that he might actually be nervous about the pony. (Yes, I'm a quick one!) When I asked him, I found out that this was indeed the case. So, I told him that he didn't have to sit on the pony if he didn't want to. I told him that it was OK to be scared, but if he went and tried it, it may turn out to not be scary at all. I told him that Mommy gets scared to do certain things, too, but I usually find that I'm happy once I've tried to do whatever it is I think is scary. And I told him I'd let his teachers know that he didn't want to sit on the pony. After all my pep talking, he reluctantly, walked with me into school. But when we got to his classroom, he actually clung to my leg and said that he "just wanted to go home." After many attempts by his teachers and me at cajoling him into staying, I finally had to pull out the 'tough love.' I told him that he could go home, but when we got there, he wouldn't get to watch Power Rangers (uh, watch them again--yes, he'd already watched an episode or two before school. I know, I know, inattentive AND I let him watch t.v.--Power Rangers no less--before school. I, also, let him eat sugar. I'm not winning any awards any time soon, am I?) I said, "You can either stay here and have fun playing with your friends, or you can come home with me and no t.v." Eureka! I'm brilliant! It worked. He said he'd stay at school, and then he was off like a flash, as usual, playing blocks with his best buddy in the class. I believe I actually released an audible sigh of relief at that moment. Ahhh. Crises averted.
The whole incident got me thinking about fear and how it has a tendency to rule, or more so, inhibit our actions. Even in my advancing (ahem!)years, that uncomfortable prickle of fear creeps up on me quite often, making me halt and turn the other way so that I don't have to face whatever it is that scares me. I tell my kids that it's OK to be scared, but that they can't let it stop them from trying new things because I know that pang of regret and that bit of shame that comes with not trying something because I let the fear grip too tightly. This might be why I've been inching my way recently into writing, having avoided it for most of my life. I've avoided trying to write despite the fact that it was the one thing I remember wanting to do 'when I grew up.' Did I push my childhood ambitions aside because I feared not being good enough and failing? Did I fear actually succeeding, thinking that I didn't really deserve success? Or, was I simply fearful of the unknown, the toughest of all fears to overcome? Maybe it's all three or maybe it's more. Only many hours of therapy will uncover the reasons behind the whys, but I don't have the patience for that or for my fear anymore, so I'm trying to write--albeit slowly and cautiously, but I'm still trying.
After all, how can I tell Blue, when he fears the unknown pony, that he needs to face his fear and just try it, if I'm not willing to do the same? How could I have, in good conscience, encouraged Boogah to get past his fear on the first day of Kindergarten or even again on the first day of First Grade when his nerves were so intense he was almost shaking, if I don't ever step out of my own safe zone? I can't. And that is what I try to remember as I write this blog and attempt to write articles for content websites and when--are you ready for this one?-- I actually share my writing with other people! Yikes! The thought of it makes me want to curl up in the fetal position with my hands over my ears and sing, "La, la, la, la, la, la!" until it all goes away...but then moments like this morning with Blue pop into my consciousness, and I take a deep breath, and get a grip, and tell myself that it's OK to be scared and that all I ask of me is that I try.
When I picked Blue up from school today, his teachers all exclaimed that he SAT ON THE PONY! He just went up there and did it. No crying and no more cajoling needed. He simply did it. And he even smiled for the picture! I guess he sized up that pony and discovered that it wasn't half as scary as he thought it would be. He pushed past the fear, and as a result, he enjoyed the experience. I could see the pride on his face as he confirmed his teachers' claims, and I was so very proud of him, too.
Thanks, Blue, for teaching Mommy a little something today. I hope I did the same for you.
For those who are not aware, Pony Picture Day is, well, just like it sounds: you get your picture taken while sitting on a pony. We have two years worth of pictures of Boogah sitting on a pony donning a cowboy hat and vest (by his third year, we were over the pony and had him just pose with a pumpkin on a hay bail), and we even have a picture of Blue from last year (his first year of preschool) sitting atop of a very docile and friendly pony. Well, he must not remember doing this at all last year because this morning, he was not about to go sit on that damn pony. I should have known something was up when he asked yesterday how big a pony was. Me, being the oh-so attentive mother that I am, said something very non-helpful like, "Not very big." Well, he must have been mulling this over all evening and into the night (his classic, "Mommy? I can't sleep" at bedtime would have been another clue that something was bothering him --to an attentive mother that is!) because as soon as his eyes popped open this morning, he was armed with a mind-numbing "I don't want to go to school" mantra. I did take slight notice of this because he's never been one of those kids you have to pry off your leg or have the teacher rip from your arms to get them to go to school. He loves toys and other kids, so school is the best of all worlds to him. So, why wouldn't he want to go to school today? Then it dawned on me--pretty much during the drive to the school he didn't want to go to-- that he might actually be nervous about the pony. (Yes, I'm a quick one!) When I asked him, I found out that this was indeed the case. So, I told him that he didn't have to sit on the pony if he didn't want to. I told him that it was OK to be scared, but if he went and tried it, it may turn out to not be scary at all. I told him that Mommy gets scared to do certain things, too, but I usually find that I'm happy once I've tried to do whatever it is I think is scary. And I told him I'd let his teachers know that he didn't want to sit on the pony. After all my pep talking, he reluctantly, walked with me into school. But when we got to his classroom, he actually clung to my leg and said that he "just wanted to go home." After many attempts by his teachers and me at cajoling him into staying, I finally had to pull out the 'tough love.' I told him that he could go home, but when we got there, he wouldn't get to watch Power Rangers (uh, watch them again--yes, he'd already watched an episode or two before school. I know, I know, inattentive AND I let him watch t.v.--Power Rangers no less--before school. I, also, let him eat sugar. I'm not winning any awards any time soon, am I?) I said, "You can either stay here and have fun playing with your friends, or you can come home with me and no t.v." Eureka! I'm brilliant! It worked. He said he'd stay at school, and then he was off like a flash, as usual, playing blocks with his best buddy in the class. I believe I actually released an audible sigh of relief at that moment. Ahhh. Crises averted.
The whole incident got me thinking about fear and how it has a tendency to rule, or more so, inhibit our actions. Even in my advancing (ahem!)years, that uncomfortable prickle of fear creeps up on me quite often, making me halt and turn the other way so that I don't have to face whatever it is that scares me. I tell my kids that it's OK to be scared, but that they can't let it stop them from trying new things because I know that pang of regret and that bit of shame that comes with not trying something because I let the fear grip too tightly. This might be why I've been inching my way recently into writing, having avoided it for most of my life. I've avoided trying to write despite the fact that it was the one thing I remember wanting to do 'when I grew up.' Did I push my childhood ambitions aside because I feared not being good enough and failing? Did I fear actually succeeding, thinking that I didn't really deserve success? Or, was I simply fearful of the unknown, the toughest of all fears to overcome? Maybe it's all three or maybe it's more. Only many hours of therapy will uncover the reasons behind the whys, but I don't have the patience for that or for my fear anymore, so I'm trying to write--albeit slowly and cautiously, but I'm still trying.
After all, how can I tell Blue, when he fears the unknown pony, that he needs to face his fear and just try it, if I'm not willing to do the same? How could I have, in good conscience, encouraged Boogah to get past his fear on the first day of Kindergarten or even again on the first day of First Grade when his nerves were so intense he was almost shaking, if I don't ever step out of my own safe zone? I can't. And that is what I try to remember as I write this blog and attempt to write articles for content websites and when--are you ready for this one?-- I actually share my writing with other people! Yikes! The thought of it makes me want to curl up in the fetal position with my hands over my ears and sing, "La, la, la, la, la, la!" until it all goes away...but then moments like this morning with Blue pop into my consciousness, and I take a deep breath, and get a grip, and tell myself that it's OK to be scared and that all I ask of me is that I try.
When I picked Blue up from school today, his teachers all exclaimed that he SAT ON THE PONY! He just went up there and did it. No crying and no more cajoling needed. He simply did it. And he even smiled for the picture! I guess he sized up that pony and discovered that it wasn't half as scary as he thought it would be. He pushed past the fear, and as a result, he enjoyed the experience. I could see the pride on his face as he confirmed his teachers' claims, and I was so very proud of him, too.
Thanks, Blue, for teaching Mommy a little something today. I hope I did the same for you.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Goodness Is As Goodness Does
I witnessed an accident on the highway this evening as I was driving my boys home from tennis lessons. It shook me up, and I'm having a little trouble getting past it and my reaction (or lack there of) to it.
As I drove along, listening to my boys fight over a water bottle (of all things), I noticed in the distance a car that seemed to be taking an exit way too fast. But, the car missed the exit and veered off at full speed into the grass and trees to the left of the exit ramp. Smoke and dust and broken glass billowed out in the car's wake and soon a sea of red tail lights lit up in front of me. I slowed down with the rest of the traffic, and as I approached the dissipating dust cloud, I saw the car. It was a dark blue Corvette, half hidden by tree branches, hood crumpled from the impact with the tree trunk. I grabbed my phone, trying in a blink of a second to remember the cell phone code for the state police. The code wouldn't come, and I was ashamed that I wasn't helping that poor driver. I wasn't even making the critical call for the ambulance and police. I knew I couldn't stop with my kids in the car, and yet I couldn't even think to dial 911. I was frozen in a state of hesitation as I inched my car past the scene. I did nothing. Luckily, not all the passersby were like me. In my rear view mirror, I saw a man, who had immediately pulled his car over as soon as the Corvette veered off the road, approach the damaged car, stooping under the branches, bravely about to face whatever sight he might find. I noticed two other figures running toward the trees and a couple other cars had pulled over, undoubtedly, to see what they could do to help. With a little relief, I moved on towards home. Someone would help that person (or people) in the crumpled Corvette. Not me, but someone. Thank God for people like that man, first on the scene, stooping under the branches to look in the window. Thank God for the people who didn't hesitate. Thank God for those who selflessly take action whenever crisis strikes. I thought about the victims in the car, and I thought about the people who love them, and I thought about how I'd feel if someone I loved was in that car, and I cried.
Tonight I will pray for the driver and passengers. I will have faith that those brave passersby got them help and that the ambulance came screaming down the highway mere seconds after I passed the scene, saving them in time. I'll give thanks for those people who so selflessly stopped to help a fellow being in peril. And I'll ask for the courage to be that type of person, one who doesn't hesitate, but who takes action to help others.
As I drove along, listening to my boys fight over a water bottle (of all things), I noticed in the distance a car that seemed to be taking an exit way too fast. But, the car missed the exit and veered off at full speed into the grass and trees to the left of the exit ramp. Smoke and dust and broken glass billowed out in the car's wake and soon a sea of red tail lights lit up in front of me. I slowed down with the rest of the traffic, and as I approached the dissipating dust cloud, I saw the car. It was a dark blue Corvette, half hidden by tree branches, hood crumpled from the impact with the tree trunk. I grabbed my phone, trying in a blink of a second to remember the cell phone code for the state police. The code wouldn't come, and I was ashamed that I wasn't helping that poor driver. I wasn't even making the critical call for the ambulance and police. I knew I couldn't stop with my kids in the car, and yet I couldn't even think to dial 911. I was frozen in a state of hesitation as I inched my car past the scene. I did nothing. Luckily, not all the passersby were like me. In my rear view mirror, I saw a man, who had immediately pulled his car over as soon as the Corvette veered off the road, approach the damaged car, stooping under the branches, bravely about to face whatever sight he might find. I noticed two other figures running toward the trees and a couple other cars had pulled over, undoubtedly, to see what they could do to help. With a little relief, I moved on towards home. Someone would help that person (or people) in the crumpled Corvette. Not me, but someone. Thank God for people like that man, first on the scene, stooping under the branches to look in the window. Thank God for the people who didn't hesitate. Thank God for those who selflessly take action whenever crisis strikes. I thought about the victims in the car, and I thought about the people who love them, and I thought about how I'd feel if someone I loved was in that car, and I cried.
Tonight I will pray for the driver and passengers. I will have faith that those brave passersby got them help and that the ambulance came screaming down the highway mere seconds after I passed the scene, saving them in time. I'll give thanks for those people who so selflessly stopped to help a fellow being in peril. And I'll ask for the courage to be that type of person, one who doesn't hesitate, but who takes action to help others.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Enough is Enough
I am already so over this whole election thing. Not, necessarily, because it isn't all very interesting and that I'm not concerned about the future of our country or who the next most powerful person(s) in the free world will be, but simply because the zealots (on both sides) are annoying the hell out of me.
Tell me, since when did Facebook become a platform for expressing one's political beliefs? Yeah, yeah, Freedom of Speech and all that. I get it. But isn't Facebook supposed to be, you know, fun? (And only slightly less creepy than MySpace?) Well, I have news: reading someone else's political mini-rants on Facebook is NOT fun.
In past elections, the platform for political expression has been limited (somewhat) to the oh-so-effective bumper sticker tactic. How many bumper stickers have I witnessed in years past, 'screaming' at me from the car ahead, insisting that I see the driver's political point-of-view while I make my way to the grocery store? (I believe it is a proven fact that 97% of political epiphanies occur in the car on the way to the grocery store, so they actually may be onto something.) Bumper stickers are annoying in general and especially when they're political, but I have stickers on my car (on the back window, not the bumper and not of a political nature), so I suppose I can't judge people who express themselves with their car too harshly. However, when I log on to Facebook (yes, I'm almost forty and enjoy a little Facebook socializing from time to time -- judging, are you? I didn't think so), I want to see a witty 'status' message or some recent pictures a friend has posted, or maybe I just want to keep in touch with a long, lost acquaintance or two in a light-hearted, casual manner. I don't, however, want to be forced to believe that Sarah Palin is a She-Devil in glasses or that Barack Obama's lack of experience will be our country's downfall. I don't like some one else trying to make my mind up for me, or make me feel ashamed of the choice I do finally make -- especially on Facebook! I'll watch the debates, listen to the interviews and make my own informed decision based on my own belief systems--not because of Facebook coercion.
Enough is enough people! If you feel that strongly about a candidate, that's great! More power to you--go do some real work for their campaign. Pound the pavement, attend a rally, raise money, heck! even write your own blog and let people CHOOSE to read your opinions. But please, please, lay off the running political commentary on Facebook!
Ahh, I feel better. I've said it. I've expressed my opinion --on MY OWN BLOG--and now I must go (update my status on Facebook).
*************
Another, much more brilliant, blogger expresses some views on the election and how those of us who are not worked up into a frothing, panting frenzy over any particular candidate feel. She expresses it much better than I. Enjoy: http://www.notesfromthetrenches.com/2008/09/09/marco/
Tell me, since when did Facebook become a platform for expressing one's political beliefs? Yeah, yeah, Freedom of Speech and all that. I get it. But isn't Facebook supposed to be, you know, fun? (And only slightly less creepy than MySpace?) Well, I have news: reading someone else's political mini-rants on Facebook is NOT fun.
In past elections, the platform for political expression has been limited (somewhat) to the oh-so-effective bumper sticker tactic. How many bumper stickers have I witnessed in years past, 'screaming' at me from the car ahead, insisting that I see the driver's political point-of-view while I make my way to the grocery store? (I believe it is a proven fact that 97% of political epiphanies occur in the car on the way to the grocery store, so they actually may be onto something.) Bumper stickers are annoying in general and especially when they're political, but I have stickers on my car (on the back window, not the bumper and not of a political nature), so I suppose I can't judge people who express themselves with their car too harshly. However, when I log on to Facebook (yes, I'm almost forty and enjoy a little Facebook socializing from time to time -- judging, are you? I didn't think so), I want to see a witty 'status' message or some recent pictures a friend has posted, or maybe I just want to keep in touch with a long, lost acquaintance or two in a light-hearted, casual manner. I don't, however, want to be forced to believe that Sarah Palin is a She-Devil in glasses or that Barack Obama's lack of experience will be our country's downfall. I don't like some one else trying to make my mind up for me, or make me feel ashamed of the choice I do finally make -- especially on Facebook! I'll watch the debates, listen to the interviews and make my own informed decision based on my own belief systems--not because of Facebook coercion.
Enough is enough people! If you feel that strongly about a candidate, that's great! More power to you--go do some real work for their campaign. Pound the pavement, attend a rally, raise money, heck! even write your own blog and let people CHOOSE to read your opinions. But please, please, lay off the running political commentary on Facebook!
Ahh, I feel better. I've said it. I've expressed my opinion --on MY OWN BLOG--and now I must go (update my status on Facebook).
*************
Another, much more brilliant, blogger expresses some views on the election and how those of us who are not worked up into a frothing, panting frenzy over any particular candidate feel. She expresses it much better than I. Enjoy: http://www.notesfromthetrenches.com/2008/09/09/marco/
Thursday, September 11, 2008
And Now What?
Well, the school year is officially underway. (Say it with me now, "Hallelujah!") Both boys have their first (and second for the older one) week under their belt. Everyone is well acquainted with their teachers, classroom and fellow students. After last year, which was a big year of 'firsts' with Boogah starting Kindergarten and Blue starting preschool, this year, so far, seems pretty manageable. Both boys have good friends from last year in their classes again, which is always comforting, and they have both matured quite a bit (relatively speaking) since this time last year. So, I'm breathing a little sigh of relief. Not only for the few precious hours to myself when they are both in school, but also because I think they will both have great years.
The question I have now is: what am I going to do with myself?
I was hoping to find a fun part time job that would enable me to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE while the boys are in school. A little extra money around here wouldn't hurt either -- I haven't been shoe shopping in forever people! I jest of course (well, for the most part--it HAS been forever since I've had a new pair of shoes). Helping to pay off the credit card or actually save some money each month would be nice, too. Plus, I think after so many years as a stay-at-home mom (7 years and counting), I'm in the midst of an identity crises, or maybe it's a self esteem issue or, more than likely, all of the above and more. When I really take a look at it, I think I'm disappointed in myself that I never tried to be a working mom --or at least a part-time working mom. I see other moms at my boys' schools who are lawyers or doctors, but who have managed to find a good work/family balance by working part-time. I have to admit, I get a little jealous when I see them in their nice clothes heading off to do important things. And I get a little mad at myself because I really don't know if I could actually juggle it all like they do. Hell, I get overwhelmed and bitchy if I have more than one or two things going on in my day. Maybe this is simply because that's what I'm used to. Maybe I could handle more. I'd like to think I could.
Well, what I do know is that the right thing will come a long at the right time. And in the mean time, I'm fixing up this house so that maybe one day I can move to a new one (of course a job is a key factor in that whole fantasy, too). Right now I'm completely obsessed with painting the doors-- I literally had a 'calling' to paint my front door last week. So, I've got the first coat on now and will finish up the second coat tomorrow. It's a bright red (it was a dull, peeling, darker red before). I'll be painting the doors on the side of the house to match it next week. I'm not sure why this project was suddenly so important, but I might as well do it now--you know, since the kids are in school and since I don't have a job and all. Who knows? Maybe I'm just preparing for when my new career opportunity comes a-knocking!
***********************
(Seven years ago today, I, newly returned from the hospital, sat in the safety of my bedroom holding my newborn son. As I began my transition into motherhood, I watched, in horror, as the Twin Towers vaporized into a crumbling heap of rubble. It seemed like the end of the world. I wept in mourning for those who lost their lives and for those who lost their loved ones, but I also wept in fear and gratitude for the new little life I held tightly in my arms. I will never forget that morning--for many reasons. And I hope we, as a nation, will never forget. Let's hope that those new, little lives who have arrived in this mixed up world since 9/11/2001 will never, ever have to experience anything like the events that occurred on that horrible day. Let's hope that something heals the hatred in the world, once and for all.)
The question I have now is: what am I going to do with myself?
I was hoping to find a fun part time job that would enable me to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE while the boys are in school. A little extra money around here wouldn't hurt either -- I haven't been shoe shopping in forever people! I jest of course (well, for the most part--it HAS been forever since I've had a new pair of shoes). Helping to pay off the credit card or actually save some money each month would be nice, too. Plus, I think after so many years as a stay-at-home mom (7 years and counting), I'm in the midst of an identity crises, or maybe it's a self esteem issue or, more than likely, all of the above and more. When I really take a look at it, I think I'm disappointed in myself that I never tried to be a working mom --or at least a part-time working mom. I see other moms at my boys' schools who are lawyers or doctors, but who have managed to find a good work/family balance by working part-time. I have to admit, I get a little jealous when I see them in their nice clothes heading off to do important things. And I get a little mad at myself because I really don't know if I could actually juggle it all like they do. Hell, I get overwhelmed and bitchy if I have more than one or two things going on in my day. Maybe this is simply because that's what I'm used to. Maybe I could handle more. I'd like to think I could.
Well, what I do know is that the right thing will come a long at the right time. And in the mean time, I'm fixing up this house so that maybe one day I can move to a new one (of course a job is a key factor in that whole fantasy, too). Right now I'm completely obsessed with painting the doors-- I literally had a 'calling' to paint my front door last week. So, I've got the first coat on now and will finish up the second coat tomorrow. It's a bright red (it was a dull, peeling, darker red before). I'll be painting the doors on the side of the house to match it next week. I'm not sure why this project was suddenly so important, but I might as well do it now--you know, since the kids are in school and since I don't have a job and all. Who knows? Maybe I'm just preparing for when my new career opportunity comes a-knocking!
***********************
(Seven years ago today, I, newly returned from the hospital, sat in the safety of my bedroom holding my newborn son. As I began my transition into motherhood, I watched, in horror, as the Twin Towers vaporized into a crumbling heap of rubble. It seemed like the end of the world. I wept in mourning for those who lost their lives and for those who lost their loved ones, but I also wept in fear and gratitude for the new little life I held tightly in my arms. I will never forget that morning--for many reasons. And I hope we, as a nation, will never forget. Let's hope that those new, little lives who have arrived in this mixed up world since 9/11/2001 will never, ever have to experience anything like the events that occurred on that horrible day. Let's hope that something heals the hatred in the world, once and for all.)
Monday, August 25, 2008
Birthday Bash
One birthday party down, one more to go this year. Boogah turns 7 this week (I CAN'T believe it), and we had his party at one of those places that has enormous inflatable jumpy things. This type of place is perfect for a 7 year old birthday -- especially when it's all boys. 6 and 7 year old boys need to do a lot of jumping. Boogah goes to an all boys' school, so pretty much all of his friends now are boys. I invited 21 boys to this party --all the boys in his class and then some. Needless to say, I was freaking out a bit at the thought of having to keep track of that many bodies jumping around in inflatables, but, since his birthday always falls on Labor Day weekend or during the week before, we only had 10 guests actually come. I was a little worried that no one would be in town during these last weekends of summer, but thankfully, 10 were and it was the perfect number (total of 12 boys including Boogah and Blue). They seemed to have a great time running from one inflatable to the other jumping and sliding and climbing. Even Blue managed to hang with the big guys and do his fare share of running and jumping and sliding and climbing--whatever big brother can do, I can do better!
The only issue of the day was when Boogah had a collision at the bottom of a slide with some random girl (unfortunately, you can't reserve the whole jumpy place for your party -- you have to actually SHARE it with strangers--you'd think that $240 would get you a little more than communal inflatables, but oh well). Somehow he managed to hurt her hand and being a young girl, she immediately burst into dramatic tears and ran out of the inflatable to her mom. I happened to look up just after the collision occurred as she was climbing out of the inflatable. Boogah took one look at her, then me, then burst into tears himself! I've seen this before when he's inadvertently really hurt his little brother. He feels so bad about doing harm to someone else, that he just breaks apart. Until moments such as these, I seem to forget how sensitive he is. When he's bullying his little brother or trying to push my buttons until I've blown my top, it's hard for me to think of him as a very sensitive child, but he is--very. I motioned for him to come to me and when he got there, he wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his head into my stomach and cried and cried. I was able to get him to calm down long enough to walk over to the girl, who was with her mother by this point, the water works still on full power. The mom, who from her calm almost apathetic demeanor, appeared to be quite used to this type of behavior and was telling her daughter to just put a wet paper towel on it if it still hurt and asking her if she was sure that she "really needed ice?" My poor, sweet little boy and I stood there waiting for what seemed like an eternity to get a word in edgewise through her endless sobbing so that he could apologize. He finally got in a very controlled and brave, "I'm sorry," which of course, the little... ahem.... girl didn't even acknowledge. She was too busy crying and looking at her hand. I wasn't sure what to say myself at this point when I saw her completely ignore the sorry. Boogah tried once more, saying another perfectly acceptable "I'm sorry." Now, maybe the girl misinterpreted his serious tone for insincerity rather than simply trying very hard to hold back his tears and keep his dignity in tact, but that little...ahem...child refused to acknowledge his apology yet again! Even more astounded this time, I stood there wondering what the protocol in this type of situation was and looked at the mother. I was just about to march Boogah away from Little Miss Drama Queen when her mother FINALLY said, "Thank you for apologizing." Jeez! My poor son is torn up inside about bumping your daughter's hand BY ACCIDENT in an inflatable JUMPY place, and it takes you THAT long to acknowledge the very plain fact that he's apologizing when he could have easily not given a rat's ass about her and kept on playing with no remorse?! Do you see his tears and how hard this is for him? Come on people! It was all I could do not to tell Princess Cries A Lot to show me her other hand so I could give her something to really cry about. Mess with the Mama Bear's cubs and you get the claws little missy!
We walked away at that point, and Boogah lost it again. He assumed the position with his arms wrapped around me and his head buried in my stomach. My poor baby. It was killing me that this was happening--and at his own birthday party!! I tried to comfort him, telling him to no avail that he'd done the right thing in apologizing, and that I was proud of him for doing it. And I must admit, in desperation, I may have even said that sometimes girls can be a little over dramatic and make a big deal out of nothing and that it's just for attention and that she'll be fine in five minutes and...OK, I know, I know. I really should not have put those kind of judgements about girls into my impressionable 7 year old boy's head, but I know in my heart of hearts that with that particular girl it was oh so true. I didn't want him to think he had caused her so much bodily harm that it truly warranted all those tears and the lack of any acknowledgement of his apology. I wanted him to know that he had done all he could do to remedy the situation and that he'd taken responsibility for his actions. I didn't want her need for attention to ruin his birthday party. I don't know if it was right or not, but I said it nonetheless. I also told him to let it go and not to let it ruin his day. He got himself together again after that and with a sniffle, a quick wipe of the nose, and a kiss for me, he went right back over to where it had all gone down and started to jump again. Whew! That was a sticky wicket! I think I actually let out a sigh of relief once I saw him back to jumping and trying to have fun again. However, after a few minutes, I noticed that he was still in that particular inflatable and had been jumping alone for quite a while--the rest of his party guests in another inflatable across the room. I started to go get him, but then I realized that he needed to have that time to himself to recover--not only from feeling so lousy about what happened but also to put some space between when he may have been seen crying in his mommy's arms from when he was back in the presence of his friends. I gave him this space. I understood. I've been there. I often need moments alone to recover, to save face. After he'd had enough time alone, I suggested he join his friends in the other inflatable. He did, and the rest of the party was a breeze. Not a word was mentioned again of the incident, which I assume, means that he really did let it go. I certainly hope so.
There is a part of me that knows it's a good thing that he got so upset. It shows he truly cares about other people and how his actions affect them. I have to admit that I've wondered a little bit about this at times--like say, oh I don't know, when he's using his little brother's head as a step stool?
The only issue of the day was when Boogah had a collision at the bottom of a slide with some random girl (unfortunately, you can't reserve the whole jumpy place for your party -- you have to actually SHARE it with strangers--you'd think that $240 would get you a little more than communal inflatables, but oh well). Somehow he managed to hurt her hand and being a young girl, she immediately burst into dramatic tears and ran out of the inflatable to her mom. I happened to look up just after the collision occurred as she was climbing out of the inflatable. Boogah took one look at her, then me, then burst into tears himself! I've seen this before when he's inadvertently really hurt his little brother. He feels so bad about doing harm to someone else, that he just breaks apart. Until moments such as these, I seem to forget how sensitive he is. When he's bullying his little brother or trying to push my buttons until I've blown my top, it's hard for me to think of him as a very sensitive child, but he is--very. I motioned for him to come to me and when he got there, he wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his head into my stomach and cried and cried. I was able to get him to calm down long enough to walk over to the girl, who was with her mother by this point, the water works still on full power. The mom, who from her calm almost apathetic demeanor, appeared to be quite used to this type of behavior and was telling her daughter to just put a wet paper towel on it if it still hurt and asking her if she was sure that she "really needed ice?" My poor, sweet little boy and I stood there waiting for what seemed like an eternity to get a word in edgewise through her endless sobbing so that he could apologize. He finally got in a very controlled and brave, "I'm sorry," which of course, the little... ahem.... girl didn't even acknowledge. She was too busy crying and looking at her hand. I wasn't sure what to say myself at this point when I saw her completely ignore the sorry. Boogah tried once more, saying another perfectly acceptable "I'm sorry." Now, maybe the girl misinterpreted his serious tone for insincerity rather than simply trying very hard to hold back his tears and keep his dignity in tact, but that little...ahem...child refused to acknowledge his apology yet again! Even more astounded this time, I stood there wondering what the protocol in this type of situation was and looked at the mother. I was just about to march Boogah away from Little Miss Drama Queen when her mother FINALLY said, "Thank you for apologizing." Jeez! My poor son is torn up inside about bumping your daughter's hand BY ACCIDENT in an inflatable JUMPY place, and it takes you THAT long to acknowledge the very plain fact that he's apologizing when he could have easily not given a rat's ass about her and kept on playing with no remorse?! Do you see his tears and how hard this is for him? Come on people! It was all I could do not to tell Princess Cries A Lot to show me her other hand so I could give her something to really cry about. Mess with the Mama Bear's cubs and you get the claws little missy!
We walked away at that point, and Boogah lost it again. He assumed the position with his arms wrapped around me and his head buried in my stomach. My poor baby. It was killing me that this was happening--and at his own birthday party!! I tried to comfort him, telling him to no avail that he'd done the right thing in apologizing, and that I was proud of him for doing it. And I must admit, in desperation, I may have even said that sometimes girls can be a little over dramatic and make a big deal out of nothing and that it's just for attention and that she'll be fine in five minutes and...OK, I know, I know. I really should not have put those kind of judgements about girls into my impressionable 7 year old boy's head, but I know in my heart of hearts that with that particular girl it was oh so true. I didn't want him to think he had caused her so much bodily harm that it truly warranted all those tears and the lack of any acknowledgement of his apology. I wanted him to know that he had done all he could do to remedy the situation and that he'd taken responsibility for his actions. I didn't want her need for attention to ruin his birthday party. I don't know if it was right or not, but I said it nonetheless. I also told him to let it go and not to let it ruin his day. He got himself together again after that and with a sniffle, a quick wipe of the nose, and a kiss for me, he went right back over to where it had all gone down and started to jump again. Whew! That was a sticky wicket! I think I actually let out a sigh of relief once I saw him back to jumping and trying to have fun again. However, after a few minutes, I noticed that he was still in that particular inflatable and had been jumping alone for quite a while--the rest of his party guests in another inflatable across the room. I started to go get him, but then I realized that he needed to have that time to himself to recover--not only from feeling so lousy about what happened but also to put some space between when he may have been seen crying in his mommy's arms from when he was back in the presence of his friends. I gave him this space. I understood. I've been there. I often need moments alone to recover, to save face. After he'd had enough time alone, I suggested he join his friends in the other inflatable. He did, and the rest of the party was a breeze. Not a word was mentioned again of the incident, which I assume, means that he really did let it go. I certainly hope so.
There is a part of me that knows it's a good thing that he got so upset. It shows he truly cares about other people and how his actions affect them. I have to admit that I've wondered a little bit about this at times--like say, oh I don't know, when he's using his little brother's head as a step stool?
Friday, August 22, 2008
Back to Reality
I'm back! I haven't posted for a while because we were on our last 'vacation' of the season: a trip to my parents' house. They live on a beautiful, enormous lake here in Virginia about three hours from where we live. The Lake is a lovely place. About 8 years ago, after some cruel, hard times, my parents 'left it all behind' and moved there full time (my stepfather had a condo that he used for weekend getaways at The Lake before he and my mother married). Once settled, they created a new life full of possibilities and gorgeous sunsets and haven't regretted it a bit. We are happy they did it, not only because it was the best thing for them, but also because we have a free vacation spot! ;-)
There is something very special about being out on The Lake with the sun sparkling on the water and the wind whipping wildly through your hair as the boat picks up speed. Skin warmed by the sun and cooled by the wind, tingling with the energy of the boat's engine. Eyes captivated by the green mountains that tower above water, by the beautiful houses that dot the shoreline. Some are modest, many are majestic. All of it sets the soul at ease. Sitting on their dock in brightly colored Adirondack chairs as the sun sets and an evening summer breeze ripples the water is heaven. The sound of the lake gently slapping at the rip-rap of the shoreline calms me. It takes away my 'edge,' which is what I call that simmering, under-the-surface anxiety and irritability I seem to wear in my day-to-day existence like an old scratchy wool sweater. Maybe I would become one of those people who meditate and practice yoga if I had a dock on a lake with gentle breezes and lapping water as my only distraction. Who knows?
I do know that I had a good time this visit. I was more relaxed, and I consciously tried to be 'in the moment.' My boys love it there so much. Boogah is becoming a master fisherman under his Pop-pop's tutelage. He got to use the larger fishing rod this time and to take the fish off the hook himself. If possible, he'd fish the entire time we're there--even at 2 a.m. if I'd let him. No need to sleep or eat--just fish. Of course, he didn't fish the whole time. We also went to a local zoo and science museum. We swam at the pool (which was freezing for some reason), and at one point all the boys (Pop-pop and Daddy included) put up Pop-pop's "really cool" tent and spent some time in there talking, playing with flashlights, reading books and eating chocolate chip cookies before they had to come back in the house and sleep in their real beds--much to the little boys' chagrin and the big boys' relief! Though Blue is not truly ready for real fishing (there were some whiny fishing moments), he did get some lessons on casting the rod, and he did it a few times all on his own. He enjoyed playing with his Star Wars figures out on their patio overlooking The Lake a little more to fishing this visit. It will be interesting to see if he eventually takes to fishing as much as his older brother has. They are so different, but they do have one thing in common: an early passion for The Lake.
My mother has always said that The Lake is a 'magical' place, and I'm beginning to believe this is true. For a few brief moments I saw the magic this trip: through the pride on Boogah's face as he reeled in his sixth Brim of the day; through Blue's laughter as he fed a family of ducks some Pringles Cracker Sticks (it's all we had) off the side of the boat; through the peace I felt as I looked out over that water. Yes, it's magical, and it is what we make it, like anything else in life. During other visits, I've made it something else. I've made it negative at times, focusing on moments like the hassle of a long car ride with small children or my over-sensitivity to well meaning comments from my parents. (Will I ever finally evolve from that over-emotional sixteen year old from ions ago?) I never allowed in the peace or joy that is there for the taking. It rarely registered or stayed in my conscience. This time; however, I think I let it in. This time, I actually saw the magic, welcomed it, believed in it. I hope I was able to bring a little of it home with me, too, so that when that all too familiar scratchy, woolly 'edge' sweater gets to be a bit much, I can slip it off and take a little mental 'dip' in The Lake.
With back-to-school events, Pee Wee soccer and all that the fall brings, our next visit to The Lake probably won't be until Thanksgiving. It is a slightly different experience to be there in a cooler season, but I'm sure it will be just as magical. Hope the fish are still biting!
There is something very special about being out on The Lake with the sun sparkling on the water and the wind whipping wildly through your hair as the boat picks up speed. Skin warmed by the sun and cooled by the wind, tingling with the energy of the boat's engine. Eyes captivated by the green mountains that tower above water, by the beautiful houses that dot the shoreline. Some are modest, many are majestic. All of it sets the soul at ease. Sitting on their dock in brightly colored Adirondack chairs as the sun sets and an evening summer breeze ripples the water is heaven. The sound of the lake gently slapping at the rip-rap of the shoreline calms me. It takes away my 'edge,' which is what I call that simmering, under-the-surface anxiety and irritability I seem to wear in my day-to-day existence like an old scratchy wool sweater. Maybe I would become one of those people who meditate and practice yoga if I had a dock on a lake with gentle breezes and lapping water as my only distraction. Who knows?
I do know that I had a good time this visit. I was more relaxed, and I consciously tried to be 'in the moment.' My boys love it there so much. Boogah is becoming a master fisherman under his Pop-pop's tutelage. He got to use the larger fishing rod this time and to take the fish off the hook himself. If possible, he'd fish the entire time we're there--even at 2 a.m. if I'd let him. No need to sleep or eat--just fish. Of course, he didn't fish the whole time. We also went to a local zoo and science museum. We swam at the pool (which was freezing for some reason), and at one point all the boys (Pop-pop and Daddy included) put up Pop-pop's "really cool" tent and spent some time in there talking, playing with flashlights, reading books and eating chocolate chip cookies before they had to come back in the house and sleep in their real beds--much to the little boys' chagrin and the big boys' relief! Though Blue is not truly ready for real fishing (there were some whiny fishing moments), he did get some lessons on casting the rod, and he did it a few times all on his own. He enjoyed playing with his Star Wars figures out on their patio overlooking The Lake a little more to fishing this visit. It will be interesting to see if he eventually takes to fishing as much as his older brother has. They are so different, but they do have one thing in common: an early passion for The Lake.
My mother has always said that The Lake is a 'magical' place, and I'm beginning to believe this is true. For a few brief moments I saw the magic this trip: through the pride on Boogah's face as he reeled in his sixth Brim of the day; through Blue's laughter as he fed a family of ducks some Pringles Cracker Sticks (it's all we had) off the side of the boat; through the peace I felt as I looked out over that water. Yes, it's magical, and it is what we make it, like anything else in life. During other visits, I've made it something else. I've made it negative at times, focusing on moments like the hassle of a long car ride with small children or my over-sensitivity to well meaning comments from my parents. (Will I ever finally evolve from that over-emotional sixteen year old from ions ago?) I never allowed in the peace or joy that is there for the taking. It rarely registered or stayed in my conscience. This time; however, I think I let it in. This time, I actually saw the magic, welcomed it, believed in it. I hope I was able to bring a little of it home with me, too, so that when that all too familiar scratchy, woolly 'edge' sweater gets to be a bit much, I can slip it off and take a little mental 'dip' in The Lake.
With back-to-school events, Pee Wee soccer and all that the fall brings, our next visit to The Lake probably won't be until Thanksgiving. It is a slightly different experience to be there in a cooler season, but I'm sure it will be just as magical. Hope the fish are still biting!
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Ignorance is bliss
I took my boys to the pool yesterday--I'm a stay-at-home mom. It's summer. We pay a hefty annual membership. 'Nuf said.
After we'd been swimming for a while, had a potty break and were contemplating going home (because my pool tolerance limit is two hours MAX), we took a final dip in one of the pools, which was empty save for three teenage boys. As I tootled around the shallow end with Blue in his swim vest and legs wrapped around my waist (he was tired and required me to do all the work of playing in the pool) and Boogah practiced underwater handstands, I couldn't help but over hear the teenagers' conversation. To my surprise, they were discussing the candidates in the upcoming election and debating whether or not our current president was a success or a failure. Iraq was mentioned, 911 was mentioned (although, I doubt they truly remember too much of that since they were probably still at an age when their parents would have, hopefully, shielded them from the horror of those events). I was impressed to hear these young men discussing such mature topics. I've never been all that politically minded, so I don't know if I would have stood around in a circle at the pool having such a conversation when I was sixteen. Heck, I wouldn't even do that now. Where was the talk of parties or members of the opposite sex that were 'so hot?' I'm no sixteen year old male, but I expected to hear those type of topics being discussed down in the 5 feet part of the pool yesterday--not whether or not the American public is "ignorant" when it comes to the political issues of our time.
"Ignorant? You mean stupid? Americans are stupid?"
"Naw man, ignorant doesn't mean stupid. Well, it means that but it means something else, too."
"No, it's the same thing."
"No, you can be ignorant but that doesn't mean you're stupid."
"Well, then what does ignorant mean then?"
"I know what it means. It's like if you go up to the pool snack bar and you know what they sell, but you still ask them what they have."
"Oh."
Main Entry: ig·no·rant
Pronunciation: \ˈig-n(ə-)rənt\
Function: adjective
1 a: destitute of knowledge or education... also : lacking knowledge or comprehension of the thing specified... b: resulting from or showing lack of knowledge...
www.meriam-webster.com
They may have been a little fuzzy on the definition of ignorant, but these young men were far from stupid. It's comforting to know that the 'youth of today' thinks about more than the location of the next party. They are listening and reading, discussing and debating, and they're ready to tackle this crazy, f'd up world when their time comes. Let's just hope that they bring a dictionary along.
After we'd been swimming for a while, had a potty break and were contemplating going home (because my pool tolerance limit is two hours MAX), we took a final dip in one of the pools, which was empty save for three teenage boys. As I tootled around the shallow end with Blue in his swim vest and legs wrapped around my waist (he was tired and required me to do all the work of playing in the pool) and Boogah practiced underwater handstands, I couldn't help but over hear the teenagers' conversation. To my surprise, they were discussing the candidates in the upcoming election and debating whether or not our current president was a success or a failure. Iraq was mentioned, 911 was mentioned (although, I doubt they truly remember too much of that since they were probably still at an age when their parents would have, hopefully, shielded them from the horror of those events). I was impressed to hear these young men discussing such mature topics. I've never been all that politically minded, so I don't know if I would have stood around in a circle at the pool having such a conversation when I was sixteen. Heck, I wouldn't even do that now. Where was the talk of parties or members of the opposite sex that were 'so hot?' I'm no sixteen year old male, but I expected to hear those type of topics being discussed down in the 5 feet part of the pool yesterday--not whether or not the American public is "ignorant" when it comes to the political issues of our time.
"Ignorant? You mean stupid? Americans are stupid?"
"Naw man, ignorant doesn't mean stupid. Well, it means that but it means something else, too."
"No, it's the same thing."
"No, you can be ignorant but that doesn't mean you're stupid."
"Well, then what does ignorant mean then?"
"I know what it means. It's like if you go up to the pool snack bar and you know what they sell, but you still ask them what they have."
"Oh."
Main Entry: ig·no·rant
Pronunciation: \ˈig-n(ə-)rənt\
Function: adjective
1 a: destitute of knowledge or education... also : lacking knowledge or comprehension of the thing specified... b: resulting from or showing lack of knowledge...
www.meriam-webster.com
They may have been a little fuzzy on the definition of ignorant, but these young men were far from stupid. It's comforting to know that the 'youth of today' thinks about more than the location of the next party. They are listening and reading, discussing and debating, and they're ready to tackle this crazy, f'd up world when their time comes. Let's just hope that they bring a dictionary along.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Wake me when it's over, Spongebob
Is it over? Is summer done? Are the children back in school? Is the temperature back to a comfortable 78 degrees instead a scorching 96? No? Oh great. Well, patience is a virtue, right? I guess Life is trying, yet again, to drum into my hard head that patience is something I need to acquire -- one of my many Life Lessons this time around. I never seem to get it. I'm always itching to move on to the next thing, the next phase--itching for school. to. start!
Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate having time with my boys in the summer. And I don't, necessarily, look forward to getting up at 6:00 (or earlier) every morning to get everyone, including myself, dressed and fed and ready to leave the house for school at exactly 7:30. I don't look forward to making lunches every night after I've already made dinner and cleaned up dinner and picked up toys left behind in the family room and squeezed out half-drunk juice pouches into the sink and put in a last minute load of laundry so the boys will have something clean to wear the next day. I don't look forward to trying to cajole (i.e., beg, plead, threaten) Boogah (the almost 1st grader) to do his homework before dinner--and believe me, the way the 'summer homework' has gone, I know I will be doing a lot of cajoling! I don't look forward to keeping Blue (the three and a half year old) from bugging his brother once I've finally accomplished the dreaded cajoling. And I don't really look forward to the craziness that fall brings with back to school nights to sit through, soccer games to attend (first time for Blue this fall) EVERY Saturday morning, and the holidays looming ominously over my shoulder. No, I'm not jumping for joy in anticipation of all those things, but the summer is getting to that certain stage when I'm just about ready for it to be over, when the fall/back to school chaos seems more appealing, or at least, more interesting than more long summer days at home with the kids. Come August every year, we seem to enter a mind-numbing stage of summer when I think to myself, 'do I really have to go to the pool AGAIN?' (I'm grateful for the pool, but it, like anything else, gets old after a while.)
We have approximately three big things remaining on the calendar of summer fun: a visit to some old friends, who we haven't seen in a while and who I miss so much; a visit to my parents house, which the boys will love (my parents live on a beautiful lake in a beautiful house and are beautiful to their grandchildren); and Boogah's 7th birthday--with a party at one of those huge inflatable jumpy places (oh joy). These are great plans, but in between these plans are long gaps of weekday tedium. We'll have large chunks of time that will be ripe with the possibility for bored children to begin fighting and not stop until they've ripped the flesh from each other's bones--or until their mother's head explodes.
Thank goodness Nickelodeon recently announced "All new episodes of Spongebob" because that small, yellow animated fellow has been my saving grace this summer. (Despite the fact that I swore when Boogah was a toddler that my kids would never watch that 'grown-up kid cartoon' before they were at least ten. Never say never.) He mesmerizes my children into a calm, peaceful, happy state that keeps my head from exploding. This is very nice because I really don't want my head to explode. So, to him I say: "Thank you Spongebob. Thank you, for saving my life 'lo these last couple of months. Without you, I would be headless! I am forever in your debt. I know I'd win the Suckiest Mom award if I let you 'keep' the children for too long on the days when we have (or can think of) nothing better to do, so you won't have to be on duty too much more, but if you could stop by every once in a while over the next four weeks, I and my still intact brain would be most grateful!"
Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate having time with my boys in the summer. And I don't, necessarily, look forward to getting up at 6:00 (or earlier) every morning to get everyone, including myself, dressed and fed and ready to leave the house for school at exactly 7:30. I don't look forward to making lunches every night after I've already made dinner and cleaned up dinner and picked up toys left behind in the family room and squeezed out half-drunk juice pouches into the sink and put in a last minute load of laundry so the boys will have something clean to wear the next day. I don't look forward to trying to cajole (i.e., beg, plead, threaten) Boogah (the almost 1st grader) to do his homework before dinner--and believe me, the way the 'summer homework' has gone, I know I will be doing a lot of cajoling! I don't look forward to keeping Blue (the three and a half year old) from bugging his brother once I've finally accomplished the dreaded cajoling. And I don't really look forward to the craziness that fall brings with back to school nights to sit through, soccer games to attend (first time for Blue this fall) EVERY Saturday morning, and the holidays looming ominously over my shoulder. No, I'm not jumping for joy in anticipation of all those things, but the summer is getting to that certain stage when I'm just about ready for it to be over, when the fall/back to school chaos seems more appealing, or at least, more interesting than more long summer days at home with the kids. Come August every year, we seem to enter a mind-numbing stage of summer when I think to myself, 'do I really have to go to the pool AGAIN?' (I'm grateful for the pool, but it, like anything else, gets old after a while.)
We have approximately three big things remaining on the calendar of summer fun: a visit to some old friends, who we haven't seen in a while and who I miss so much; a visit to my parents house, which the boys will love (my parents live on a beautiful lake in a beautiful house and are beautiful to their grandchildren); and Boogah's 7th birthday--with a party at one of those huge inflatable jumpy places (oh joy). These are great plans, but in between these plans are long gaps of weekday tedium. We'll have large chunks of time that will be ripe with the possibility for bored children to begin fighting and not stop until they've ripped the flesh from each other's bones--or until their mother's head explodes.
Thank goodness Nickelodeon recently announced "All new episodes of Spongebob" because that small, yellow animated fellow has been my saving grace this summer. (Despite the fact that I swore when Boogah was a toddler that my kids would never watch that 'grown-up kid cartoon' before they were at least ten. Never say never.) He mesmerizes my children into a calm, peaceful, happy state that keeps my head from exploding. This is very nice because I really don't want my head to explode. So, to him I say: "Thank you Spongebob. Thank you, for saving my life 'lo these last couple of months. Without you, I would be headless! I am forever in your debt. I know I'd win the Suckiest Mom award if I let you 'keep' the children for too long on the days when we have (or can think of) nothing better to do, so you won't have to be on duty too much more, but if you could stop by every once in a while over the next four weeks, I and my still intact brain would be most grateful!"
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
You know you're loved when...
You know you're loved when your three and a half year old gives you multitudes of spontaneous kisses throughout your day. You know you're REALLY loved when said three and a half year old plants a dozen or so on your backside at the grocery checkout and then exclaims joyfully, "Mommy! I'm kissing your bum-bum!" in between puckers.
You know you're a dork when you say to said three and a half year old in front of the 19 year old bag boy, "You're supposed to kiss Mommy on my cheeks--well,...uh...on my other cheeks."
You know you're a dork when you say to said three and a half year old in front of the 19 year old bag boy, "You're supposed to kiss Mommy on my cheeks--well,...uh...on my other cheeks."
Monday, July 28, 2008
Growing pains--in the neck
I painted a ceiling yesterday. I don't recommend painting a ceiling. It makes you dizzy and covers your face and hair with itty bitty dots of paint. It hurts your neck and your back. It takes a long time. Heed my advice: don't paint a ceiling if you can avoid it. I, unfortunately, could avoid it no more. The ceiling in question is in our sun room that serves as a play room for the boys. This room has not been painted since before Boogah (that's our nickname and the official Internet codename for our oldest son) was born almost 7 years ago. Since that time, we've had a small leak and some subsequent water damage, which culminated in peeling paint. I have artfully managed to ignore that peeling paint for, oh, a mere three years or so. When the peeling paint started to fall on the play room floor about a year ago, I thought to myself, "I really should fix that or get it fixed." However, I had no idea how one fixes that situation, and we don't have the money to hire a painter. (Not to mention my experience with trying to find contractors and handymen--not successful. But that's a rant for another post.) Not having a solution, I just chose to ostrich it (a.k.a. bury my head in the sand and hope it goes away). I've done a lot of ostriching with things in this house, heck, what am I saying? I ostrich most things in my life. Can we say 'repressed anger over dead-beat dad?' Lately, however, I've been trying to overcome my ostriching ways. I've been trying to make some changes. I'm trying to grow. Basically, I'm on a re-decorating kick. Interior decorating is one of my favorite things. I'm a total HGTV junky. Decorating shows are my crack. No one quite understands my addiction. My husband just shakes his head and walks away, leaving me to enjoy whichever flamboyant male designer has me under his spell at the time. However, just watching the shows is not enough. When I'm feeling especially bored with the humdrum, or I'm jumping out of my skin, needing a change, I start to redecorate. I'm like a molting snake, shedding the old environment, starting over again with something (somewhat) new. If I don't molt, if I don't have change, I become quite unhappy. And since I can't, in this hellish real estate market, sell my house for big bucks and buy a bigger, newer, better one, I change what I can in the one I have. I have a limited budget, so most of my decorating projects are a work in progress. And I don't have much patience, so I usually start on the next project before the previous one is complete. This summer I have redecorated my sitting room/office (which, long ago, was once a tiny dining room) and my dining room (which, long ago, used to be a large, unused formal living room). I've repainted both rooms, hung new window treatments, bought new chairs, recovered the seats of old chairs, bought artwork, re-purposed old artwork, spray painted frames and lamps, etc., etc., etc. And I'm still not done with either room. I have too many ideas spinning in my head and not enough time or money to complete them. Plus, I suddenly decided to stop ostriching the playroom ceiling and repaint and redecorate that room, too. The ceiling is somewhat fixed--another word of advice: spackle is NOT what you use repair a 14 inches worth of peeling, cracking, water damaged ceiling--and it is painted. The walls are painted, too. And I am tired and sore, but I feel good. I feel like I'm slowly updating and transforming this place. I feel like I'm slowly lifting my head out of the sand and shedding an old part of me that I really don't need anymore. I feel like I'm preparing for
fresh, new experiences by refreshing my home. Maybe I'm doing more than fixing a peeling
ceiling. Maybe I'm really fixing me, one room at a time.
fresh, new experiences by refreshing my home. Maybe I'm doing more than fixing a peeling
ceiling. Maybe I'm really fixing me, one room at a time.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Positively Giddy
After walking around in a complete funk for most of Thursday, I did a complete 360, true to my mood swinging M.O., and was positively giddy yesterday. Literally, I walked around with a bounce in my step. Me - a bounce! I usually barely have the energy for a slow, dragging shuffle. The reason for this major shift in demeanor? Great news today via Facebook. Again with the Facebook! What is it with this marvel of modern Internet? Facebook is like my new fairy Godmother, granting me joy with each friend request and message on my 'wall.' Today I received a friend request AND a message from one of my bestest BFF's from high school. I say BFF because in high school I really thought we'd be friends forever. Our senior year, we were inseparable. We did everything together -- partly because I had no dates or boyfriends in high school, but mostly because she was great and one of those people that I just clicked with right away. I've only had a handful of people like that in my life, my husband being one. I remember when I first met this high school BFF. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, she said made me laugh. She couldn't say anything without me doubling over in fits of giggles. I suspect this must have been slightly annoying to her, since she wasn't cracking jokes all the time. If it weren't for this funny friend, I think my high school experience would've been pretty lame (well, I guess I should say slightly more lame - did I mention that I never had a date?!) This friend went to parties, and she actually HAD parties at her house when her parents went out of town. Cool! This friend was a lifeguard at her neighborhood pool during the summer. Score! I got to hang out at a pool all day yet had no pressure to have to save a life! Oh how the memories came flooding back when I heard from her yesterday! Memories of lying to our parents and sneaking out to a party thrown by college kids; memories of running from a party through backyards--in bare feet in winter-- back to her house when the 'cops busted' the party. OK, so when I look back through my mom glasses, I can see that this BFF may not have been the best influence all the time, but I sure did have a hell of a lot of fun for those last couple of years of high school.
After high school, we both went our separate ways. She went to college out of state. I went to college in state. We made new friends and had different experiences, and our contact during winter and summer breaks became less and less frequent. By our senior years of college, we'd pretty much lost touch. We'd become different people with different lives and just didn't 'click' anymore. We tried to stay in touch, but it just didn't seem real anymore, so we accepted it, sadly, and moved on. I mourned the loss of our friendship, but I looked back fondly on her as one of those significant people in my life. One that helped to shape who I am today, and I was grateful for the short time we were friends. As that e-mail that has circulated through cyberspace since the Internet was known as 'cyberspace' states, "some friends are in your life for a season, a reason, or a lifetime." I'd accepted that this friend was for, apparently, just a season, not for a lifetime, but she was definitely in my life for a reason. That I knew for sure.
When my husband and I moved back to my hometown almost nine years ago, it was hard for me. Not only does this town hold a lot of my childhood 'baggage,' but it also held a lot of memories of my crazy antics with this special high school friend, who I still missed every now and then. I ended up moving to the area of town where I went to highschool (though I swore I wouldn't), so during my suburban mom life, I travel around our 'old stomping grounds' on a daily basis. Throughout the years, I'd often see a place that held a memory, and I would wonder what happened to my friend and feel a little sad that we'd let our friendship slip away. But I didn't dwell on it. I would just go about my mini-van driving day. However, yesterday, it all changed. Yesterday I got the Facebook message. I got the message that said, "It's me, do you remember? Sorry I've lost touch." A message that said, "I've moved back to town with my husband and son!" A message that, well, made me positively giddy. A message I didn't think would ever come because I figured I was the only one who ever moved back here. But she. is. back! And I'm blown away by that fact.
We'll see how things go from this point on. I'm sure we'll have a getting reacquainted period, since we have many years and experiences between who we were then and who we are today. I'm sure just because we're living in the same town once more doesn't necessarily mean that we'll be inseparable again. We still lead our own lives, the lives we've been creating since we tossed our caps in the air almost twenty years (ahem! feel free NOT to do the math) ago. But, I'm excited to see how this next, unexpected chapter unfolds. If nothing else, this has shown me that anything is possible. It has shown me that if someone is in your life for a reason, then they are in your life for a lifetime, too. They helped make you. They are the building blocks of who you are, and if they move back to town, too, well then, that's just an added bonus!
After high school, we both went our separate ways. She went to college out of state. I went to college in state. We made new friends and had different experiences, and our contact during winter and summer breaks became less and less frequent. By our senior years of college, we'd pretty much lost touch. We'd become different people with different lives and just didn't 'click' anymore. We tried to stay in touch, but it just didn't seem real anymore, so we accepted it, sadly, and moved on. I mourned the loss of our friendship, but I looked back fondly on her as one of those significant people in my life. One that helped to shape who I am today, and I was grateful for the short time we were friends. As that e-mail that has circulated through cyberspace since the Internet was known as 'cyberspace' states, "some friends are in your life for a season, a reason, or a lifetime." I'd accepted that this friend was for, apparently, just a season, not for a lifetime, but she was definitely in my life for a reason. That I knew for sure.
When my husband and I moved back to my hometown almost nine years ago, it was hard for me. Not only does this town hold a lot of my childhood 'baggage,' but it also held a lot of memories of my crazy antics with this special high school friend, who I still missed every now and then. I ended up moving to the area of town where I went to highschool (though I swore I wouldn't), so during my suburban mom life, I travel around our 'old stomping grounds' on a daily basis. Throughout the years, I'd often see a place that held a memory, and I would wonder what happened to my friend and feel a little sad that we'd let our friendship slip away. But I didn't dwell on it. I would just go about my mini-van driving day. However, yesterday, it all changed. Yesterday I got the Facebook message. I got the message that said, "It's me, do you remember? Sorry I've lost touch." A message that said, "I've moved back to town with my husband and son!" A message that, well, made me positively giddy. A message I didn't think would ever come because I figured I was the only one who ever moved back here. But she. is. back! And I'm blown away by that fact.
We'll see how things go from this point on. I'm sure we'll have a getting reacquainted period, since we have many years and experiences between who we were then and who we are today. I'm sure just because we're living in the same town once more doesn't necessarily mean that we'll be inseparable again. We still lead our own lives, the lives we've been creating since we tossed our caps in the air almost twenty years (ahem! feel free NOT to do the math) ago. But, I'm excited to see how this next, unexpected chapter unfolds. If nothing else, this has shown me that anything is possible. It has shown me that if someone is in your life for a reason, then they are in your life for a lifetime, too. They helped make you. They are the building blocks of who you are, and if they move back to town, too, well then, that's just an added bonus!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Feeling grumpy, think I'll start a blog
I'm writing my first post to my new 'mommy blog' on a day when I am at my most tired and irritable. Probably not the best day to introduce myself to The Internet. So, Internet, please forgive me if I'm not in a 'sparkly butterfly' type of mood today but, rather, what my husband likes to call my 'shit kitten' mood instead. I've tried to bump up the mood with coffee. Didn't work, still tired and even crankier. With a workout at the gym. Didn't work, I yawned my way through 30 minutes on the elliptical and had one of the personal trainers actually ask me if I was ok as I 'pumped some iron' on the weight machine. (Ok, so I was really just sitting there, on the machine, staring and yawning instead of actually lifting any weight.) I even tried to boost the energy level and the mood by taking the boys to the mall to meet a friend for lunch. Didn't work. I marched them home after repeated unsuccessful requests for them to stop tickling and smacking each other at the lunch table and to stop with the plastic sword fights in the middle of the toy store. They got a lovely version of my now (in)famous, "If you'd listen the first time I tell you something, then..." speech, which always seems to come out when I'm at my most impatient.
So nothing I tried popped the grump bubble I've encased myself in today until I heard from an old friend on Facebook who lives nearby but who I don't really see that often. Everything happens for a reason people. I firmly believe that, and hearing from this friend today is no exception. She asked me a question about preschools and then we started to catch up a bit via instant message. I learned that this friend, who by the way is so upbeat and positive and has five, yes that's right I said FIVE boys ranging in age from 16 down to 2, has just received the final paperwork needed in order to adopt a baby girl from Kyrazigstan (ok, I so have no idea how to spell that, but you get the idea-- somewhere far away where there are orphaned babies)! I was blown away and to a certain extent given some perspective on my day and my attitude. Here I am all tired and grumpy and impatient with my TWO children, and here she is adopting a child who needs a loving family and stable home when she is raising FIVE (did I mention there are FIVE) boys already!! Well, I feel like a big ol' meany now. Thank goodness their are people like my friend out there in the world to balance out the whiney lame asses like me. Maybe I'll go read my kids a book or something 'good parent-like' now.
So nothing I tried popped the grump bubble I've encased myself in today until I heard from an old friend on Facebook who lives nearby but who I don't really see that often. Everything happens for a reason people. I firmly believe that, and hearing from this friend today is no exception. She asked me a question about preschools and then we started to catch up a bit via instant message. I learned that this friend, who by the way is so upbeat and positive and has five, yes that's right I said FIVE boys ranging in age from 16 down to 2, has just received the final paperwork needed in order to adopt a baby girl from Kyrazigstan (ok, I so have no idea how to spell that, but you get the idea-- somewhere far away where there are orphaned babies)! I was blown away and to a certain extent given some perspective on my day and my attitude. Here I am all tired and grumpy and impatient with my TWO children, and here she is adopting a child who needs a loving family and stable home when she is raising FIVE (did I mention there are FIVE) boys already!! Well, I feel like a big ol' meany now. Thank goodness their are people like my friend out there in the world to balance out the whiney lame asses like me. Maybe I'll go read my kids a book or something 'good parent-like' now.
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