All I want for santamas
Dean’s daycare provider asked what holiday we celebrate so that she could make sure that they discuss each child’s holiday traditions. Aaah. That’s sweet.
“We celebrate Santa” I answered easily.
So santa came to our house. He brought the children a dollhouse and a workbench (big unwrapped gifts) and many many many more wrapped presents of varying types and enjoyment.
Today when I dropped the kids off at school, the teachers asked Maya what Santa brought her for Christmas. Simple question. Her answer?
“He didn’t bring me a train table…”
“he didn’t bring me a scooter either.”
The teachers gamely tried to find out what he DID bring.
“I don’t know…” was her quiet answer as she wandered off to play.
I have to tell you that Santa did in fact bring her a train table. BUT. Santa had not considered how very small our house is. And how very big a train table is…
Santa may have to get over it though.
Maybe the kids will discover the present from Santa that he didn’t leave out for them this weekend. Maybe they won’t.
What did Santa leave for me?
Not on my list but totally fun!
Sunday morning. 6:15am! That’s right – 6:15am!
I hear “daddy, daddy, daddy” coming from my daughter’s room.
daddy is sleeping.
daddy got up at 6:15am on Saturday morning with this same daughter.
I (shiver)get out of our nice warm bed(shiver), pull on some pants(shiver). And stumble across our clothes strewn floor toward the door.
We live on the third floor of a very old home. Our stairwell is small and old.
And wooden. And apparently, very slippery.
I made it down the straight part okay. But. then. It curves.
Well somehow I ended up in our bathroom (which is to the right of the end of our stairs). To be more exact I landed on the floor of our bathroom. With my right foot in my son’s potty and my left leg in the hallway.
The sound of me tumbling, cursing and crashing did not bring my husband running.
The very sad and pathetic whimper that I heard and apparently produced, is what did it.
I have a black and blue bruise on my ahem “hip” that I feel when I move, well, anything really. And I am pretty sure my little toe has some permanent damage.
Also this little episode confirms something I have been suspecting for a while now.
I am old.
And I do not just ‘rebound’ from things of this nature. I have been eating advil like candy and cursing myself for a fool. A big, fat, very old, fool.
And I have to say ouch.
ouch ouch ouch.
Alright I’m done.
Because I made it for you…
So I find that I am seizing opportunities lately to try and instill the values and beliefs that I feel are important. I am working on concepts with my little girl. The challenge is of course trying to speak in ways that she understands about things she has no real idea about…yet. So here is the latest installment.
She offers me her drawing.
“Is it pretty mommy?”
I look at it. And really…it isn’t.
Just a lot of different squiggles. BUT.
“do you think it’s pretty?” I ask her with a smile.
“what?” is her very confused reply.
So I explain in my “wise mommy” way that my opinion doesn’t matter. That what she draws and makes needs only be pretty to her. “That is the great thing about art” I assure her. “only what you think matters because you made it.”
And she looks at me with her head tilted. and says…
“But I made it for you.”
“It is beautiful. Thank you sweetheart.”
And I wasn’t lying. It was beautiful.
only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-31717769807162003132007-11-13T15:56:00.000-05:002007-11-13T15:56:53.135-05:00yesKodakgallery.com SlideshowKodakgallery.com Slideshowonly mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-43498284508850540992007-11-13T13:02:00.000-05:002007-11-13T14:08:51.296-05:00Just Because you can……doesn’t mean you should.
I started using this term when I was talking (judging) women or men that had SQUEEZED into that pair of jeans, pants, top or shorts. Just because you can wear it, doesn’t mean you should wear it…
But it carries through to a lot of things. I work on the main line (a very “rich” section of the Philadelphia area). And I have to say that I am appalled. APPALLED at the prices in some of these shops.
And so I have to say:
Just because you can charge $100 for a doll made only of cotton doesn’t mean you should.
Just because you can pay $100 for a doll made only of cotton doesn’t mean you should.
And my follow up question is always: Don’t these people have any friends?
Isn’t there someone out there to tell them that the big roll squeezing out of their blue jeans is NOT attractive?
This carries through too.
If your friend tells you that you simply MUST get your daughter the $100 cotton baby doll. They are not really your friend. They are simply trying to make you fall for the same scam they fell for.
I can sew a cotton doll with ‘mohair’ yarn hair for about $12. And I am not buying in bulk…
Okay, I am done venting. But this is one of the primary reasons I will never live on the main line. I do not want to raise my children here. I do not want to create adults in this atmosphere.
I am not sure what made me stand up on this soap box today.
But I have officially stepped back down.
Oh and if you live on the main line… please don’t be offended by my tirade. And don’t spend $100 on that cotton baby doll!
See what a good friend I am???only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-91113633914099265222007-11-12T21:00:00.000-05:002007-11-12T21:06:03.471-05:00Is TV killing marriage?I found myself in the kitchen thinking about Grey’s Anatomy.
I found myself wondering if the writers would ever let the main couple of angst ridden folks get together.
And I started thinking about how all the good shows tank when the main lovers finally do get together.
No wonder we have such a high divorce rate. We are all about the hunt.
And here’s the thing. The couple on Grey’s? Infinitely cuter to me when they are doing well together. So nice to watch the touching moments of happiness and healthiness.
And I have to say that the best year’s of my life have been the six that I have been married to my love.
So I hope Meredith and McDreamy get together. And I hope that they still make good television.
I think my life is interesting enough for prime time. And I don’t even have a writing staff…only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-19682498971496945762007-11-11T08:45:00.000-05:002007-11-11T08:57:07.933-05:00A rose by any other nameWhen I was born I was named
When I was first adopted I was named
Then I got my name. My real name. My true name.
And I don’t like it. Never have really. I am certain that I am nothing like what people expect when they see my name.
In fact for a few years I tried to get everyone to let me go by my middle name. I feel like it suits me more.
While I rarely wonder about my bio parents I do sometimes wonder about their daughter, this Jennifer person.
I also wonder what my life would have been if my mom had decided that Jennifer was a darn good name for me.
Or if my grandma hadn’t mispronounced Aimee-Nichelle so horribly that my mom had left me with it.
I am somehow convinced that the name would effect the end person.
Maya told me yesterday that she would like to change her name. When I asked her what she wanted to change it to she told me to choose. I told her I already had.
I chose Maya.
She’s still a rose right?only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-85375102221162468612007-10-05T09:56:00.001-04:002007-11-11T08:45:50.925-05:00you’ve got to have faithI was a huge WHAM! fan.
But this post is about GOD.
This is a topic I have been thinking about lately. Maya asked me about birds and why they fly and why some birds are bigger than others and etc etc etc.
And I thought. “wouldn’t it be nice if I could just say – because God made it that way.”
So I am formulating my own answers.
I take comfort in the idea that we are all a part of some bigger picture but I am not sure that means I believe in God.
I believe in us.
As a species, a planet, a world.
I believe that we are all are truly connected.
And I don’t think that means that we all have the same “father”. I think that means we all have the same joys, purposes and end results.
We are all striving toward a better world. For ourselves, for our children.
What that perfect, better world is may change from person to person. Happiness afterall is in the yey of the beholder.
I want my children to understand and be confident in their choices. Not because God tells them what is wrong and right. And ultimately, not because I tell them. But because they have decided their own “commandments” and have decided to live by them.
I want to raise thinking, questioning individuals. And so I have to be prepared with some answers.
“Do you believe in God?”
I guess my answer is that I do not believe in the commonly held belief in God. I do not believe in a judging and “all seeing” God. Beyond that – I just don’t know.
And neither does anyone else.
So to my children I say – ask away.
I am still asking.
I will die asking.
I will live asking.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-91087360749542355182007-11-10T20:55:00.001-05:002007-11-10T20:55:55.304-05:00sandcastlesThe woman stood at the window. The water ran quietly down into the sink of dirty dishes before her. She wore a slight smile and stared fixedly at the back of the small head in front of her. A young boy sat Indian-style just on the edge of the concrete patio in the back yard. His butt rested on the concrete, his feet in the grass. He wore jeans and a striped T-shirt. A small yellow Labrador sat next to him. It was cloudy and the grass glistened with a recent rain. The sun was emerging through the storm clouds and the small boy sat directly in it’s first weak attempts of light in a gloomy day. His hair glittered with the casting rays. He made no move, nor did the dog at his side. The two just sat and watched the scene before them.
In the small wood framed sandbox the sand danced and swayed in a rhythmical motion that denied any natural cause. The boy sat entranced, an audience to his own show. The woman tried to stir up an emotion and was denied. She moved her stare past the boy and concentrated on the sand. With a blink the dancing column was gone.
Both boy and dog looked back at her. The boy wore a great smile and giggled. This was a common game. He had the bluest eyes that shone brightly in the sun’s rays. His auburn hair somehow matched his slightly ruddy complexion. He was quite simply a beautiful child. The aunt smiled looking at him and reached forward to turn off the water so she could go join the pair outside. She glanced down for a moment as she reached for the faucet and when she looked up again, the boy had turned back to the box, tuning her out once more. His small body was rigid with a concentration that spoke against any more pranks. The sand before him rose up once again. In the blink of an eye he had created a castle. In the next moment it was made of stone.
The aunt turned the water back on and continued to wash the pile of dishes in the sink.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-30741229136099502392007-11-09T07:44:00.000-05:002007-11-09T15:07:14.579-05:00yes, I am the best mother in the worldOh please don’t be milk
In this mystery cup
‘cause the last one I found
Almost made me throw up
Let it be water or juice
On the ground
What happens to milk
The odor repulsive
The texture grotesque
And the face that I make
When I found out that
This chunky white sludge
Was once milk cold and clean
The nastiest substance that
I’ve ever seen
I pour it out quickly
It clunks down the drain
And I swear I will
Never let it happen again
That is of course until the next time…only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-82100259465683370572007-11-07T09:56:00.000-05:002007-11-07T10:12:28.062-05:00The Perfect KnifeThere were a few things I never thought I would do as a parent. I never made any “I will never do x” proclamations but there were some things I just thought I would somehow avoid.
One of those things was cutting the crusts off of sandwiches.
But I am sorry. If I leave the crust on then she just barely eats half the sandwich in her overactive avoidance of coming in contact with the dastardly “brown stuff”. Off they come.
So it is not so much that I do this that is the issue. Today I noticed that I have become quite proud of my skill at removing the crust. I can leave almost the entire piece of bread in tact. If I use the right knife…
And this morning I stood admiring my work in the kitchen and realized that I was proud of my crust cutting skill. And I am embracing that which I felt I should not have to do.
And so I started thinking about those other things I thought I would not do. And realized that there is a list of things I swear I will not do.
I will never berate my children.
I will never call my child stupid.
I will never pause when I feel like hugging them.
I will never be abusive.
And there is an even bigger list of things I swear I will do.
I will always say I love you when I think it.
I will snuggle with them every chance I get.
I will let them know how much I love them and their father every chance I get.
I will tell them I am proud whenever I feel it.
I will let them see me struggle.
I will bolster their confidence and downplay their failures.
I will do my best to make them confident that they are as wonderful as I think they are.
I will do my best to leave as much of the great stuff in tact, while removing the “brown stuff” with a skill to be proud of.
I will try my best to be the mom that is perfect for them. Not perfect. Just perfect for them.
Maya and I have a game.
“Maya, guess who I love more than you?”
“Maya, guess who I love more than Dean?”
I am tackling this whole loving your children equally but not the same, thing. Easy as pie.
No crust please.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-47489911790126155782007-11-06T13:14:00.000-05:002007-11-06T13:32:28.135-05:00What? Twice in one day?Hello again. I was tagged. by don’t eat baby so here goes:
Total number of books I own:
Too many. I have BOXES of books waiting for a bookshelf. I have baskets of “just read” books and the empty husks of books long ago “eaten” scattered throughout my home.
I don’t know why I keep them. I rarely read a book more than once. I am a book hoard.
Hello, I am Tiffany and I am a book hoard.
Last book I read:
I am in the process of reading a romance novel by Jayne Ann Krentz. It’s bad. pretty darn bad actually. But I have to finish it. It’s a rule.
Last book I bought:
So as not to have to revisit the whole topic up there I will instead mention Water for Elephants. Which I purchased recently and LOVED! I subsequently purchased the other two that Sara Gruen wrote and they were also good but not nearly as good…
5 Meaningful books:
horses. that’s it. what more is there?
Not Anjali’s version but the African version. I think the author’s last name is Achebe.
Alice Walker. This one is about female castration. ‘nough said.
Judy Blume. Sex. This one was a huge eye opener for me at the delicate age of say 15…
And then not so meaningful but one of my all time favorites is
William Goldman also wrote Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and is (in my humble opinion) a comic genius…
And there you have it.
I am a bibliophile. I love books, even bad books. I admire the work that went into them and often wish I were friends with the authors, and sometimes with the really good ones, the characters.
I am working on a short story. If anyone would like to volunteer to be a sounding board for a sci-fi ish piece, let me know.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-47229775190024596012007-11-06T12:46:00.000-05:002007-11-06T13:00:10.147-05:00Big thoughtsI have been grappling with a lot lately.
And so I have been quiet. While I contemplate.
The big thoughts take some time.
Like when rape is happening to an entire country’s worth of women at the rate of one every 15 seconds can you still call is rape or does it need some other definition?
What answers do I have for my children when they ask me why the bird flies but dogs don’t that don’t involve God?
Why is it that I sometimes feel like I am watching the play of someone else’s life instead of living my own?
How is it that my parents were once as in love as me and my husband but somehow degenerated to where they are now? (and of course, how do I prevent it from happening to us?)
Why does my daughter construct conflict with her imagination?
What will the world be like when my little boy has a voice?
How do I get to a place where I am comfortable loving both my children equally but not the same?
What will I do when my dogs die?
Where will I be living next year?
Should my next child come from my womb or from social services?
How has our country sunk so low so fast?
Big thoughts. And I will work on the answers to them all.
I have been thinking about how my family will be dealing with the question of God and Santa and the myths surrounding them both.
I have been reading Parenting Beyond Belief (thank you Anjali) and have come up with answers that feel comfortable to me. I will share them when they are more solid and can be articulated.
Oh and California was wonderful. My father got angry and stopped talking to everyone on day two and no one seemed to mind. Had some wonderful bonding time with my brother, sister-in-law and my niece.
Here’s another one for you? How is it that the love just comes so easily? I love my niece. In a similar way that I love my children. I would move planets for her. How is that?
But you can’t question everything.
As much as I would like to try…only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-33484738831381253232007-10-08T10:39:00.000-04:002007-10-08T13:22:35.625-04:00Goin back to CaliSo in the wonderful adventure that is my life, I am going to California for work next week. I will be leaving on Saturday and returning the following Sunday. BUT I am taking the family with me!
That’s right the whole famn damily is going to San Diego with me. Because my brother and his family live there and my folks will be meeting us there. A big ‘ol reunion.
So many things can go wrong with the mix of people that I cannot even dwell on that. Something will go wrong, we will fight, we will stop talking to each other and maybe we’ll have enough time to get over it, maybe not.
So… instead I will worry about the flight. And the time change. And my two little dears and what they will do to revolutionize the airline industry as we know it.
Maya had been on several planes by the time she was Dean’s age. He has only flown one other time. And he was SO young that most people didn’t even know he was there.
Now I am sure that the entire plane will be aware of his presence!
We paid the extra for the separate seat, will be packing food and fun galore. Keeping in mind that I will not be giving him Benadryl (at least on the flight out, I may be singing a different song on the way back) do you have any suggestions for long flights and little ones?
After California I am home for three weeks, then off to New Orleans and then I am home for the rest of the year – actually until Spring! I cannot wait for this mess to be over!only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-70209326430858955262007-10-04T09:31:00.000-04:002007-10-05T15:37:24.472-04:00HousecleanersApparently on a few blogs there has been some discussion on the ethics of employing someone else to clean your home. Well I want to chime in here. My house cleaner is my hero.
She makes my house this clean smelling sanctum once every two weeks and has ended the constant arguing that my husband and I had on the subject of what clean really is.
He was under the impression that as long as it was straight, it was clean. And I don’t care what people say about equality, if you walk into a dirty home you look to the woman of the house and wonder how SHE could live like this.
There are two truths about my house keeping situation.
1. I work outside of the home from 8am-6:30pm Mon – Friday
2. I am sloppy by nature
So I pay someone to come in to:
clean my bathrooms
clean my kitchen
and vacuum my stairs
She and her merry band of three do other stuff too but those are the ones I am happiest about when I come home from work and my house smells like lemony goodness.
So my basic feel is this. If you can afford it, do it. And if you can afford it – tip well at the end of the year.
I would probably pay her to come every week if I was making the only one making that decision, but every other week works for me, for her, and for my husband. And he really enjoys how happy I am each cleaning day.
Oh so here is my works for me thursday (which is in fact my cleaning day!). I always point out to my daughter that the cleaning lady has come and we say “thank you cleaning lady” when we notice something neat and clean. I want her to be appreciative of all the things that people do for her and for us.
It has also back fired because Maya has on more than one occasion blamed the cleaning lady for something missing, broken or moved. Oh well. You do what you can.
Oh and my cleaner’s name is Marie and though I have never met her, I love her.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-57013376658291704192007-10-03T12:59:00.000-04:002007-10-03T14:01:02.799-04:00He’s 2.5Dean went for his 18 month check up and he is off the charts in height. 35.5 inches! Which according to my doctor makes him above average height for a two and a half year old.
My little boy amazes me daily. And he is getting the shaft as is only apparent in the second child (speaking from experience). He has less photos, only one page in his scrap book (she broke double digits at least) and less video footage.
So what is he up to?
Well he is SMART. And I hate to compare but there is just no way she was this smart at this age. He will grab my hand and pull me to something when he catches an off handed “where are my…” question. He knows, and he is pleased as punch to show you.
He adores his sister and she delights in making him laugh. Which is not difficult. He is quick to laugh, prolific with hugs and barely pauses for full fledged bodily damage.
What a boy he is. Content to play by himself but so excited to share the world with those around him. He will play with a ball with the dogs and clap proudly when he makes a good throw, then launch himself at you for a hug before plunging right back in again.
The world is fun and filled with laughter with the little boy in it.
Tim is so proud of the little mohawk man that follows him around and will shrug his shoulders with his palms out and ask “dadda?” when he hasn’t seen him for awhile or he thinks he should be home and he isn’t.
But oh he loves mama. Such a snuggler. He curls himself into my shoulder and rests his head in the crook of my neck and he is usually content to stay there for quite a while, just loving me.
And he is a brat.
He kicks the dogs, snags toys out of his sister’s hand and laughs hysterically when she gets upset. He pulls hair, slaps faces and has on one occasion (one occasion) bitten me.
He is hyper, fails to listen and tends to pull all the toys out of the box, all the books off the shelf and all the clothes from the drawer.
And then he will help me clean them up, clutch on to my leg or my hand and settle into my lap for a story before bed.
As I close the door to his room he will watch me with his big blue eyes and suck quietly on his “in bed only” pacifier. When I close the door, he will turn quietly into his pillow and put himself to sleep.
He is adorable, frustrating and very loved.
He will be a teenager tomorrow, but boy am I loving the boy today.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-32007830080561968282007-09-20T19:36:00.000-04:002007-09-20T19:54:17.576-04:00A Pregnant PauseMy friend Anjali is pregnant. She miscarried TWICE last year and now she is 14 weeks and announcing her pregnancy with some trepidation (understandable). She would have been due the same time last year. Same pregnancy timeline – one year later.
Quite a pregnant pause.
She is joined in her pregnancy by my sister in law – now 14 weeks, and my babysitter 13.5 weeks.
They will all have March babies.
March is a wonderful time to have a baby. My little monster boy was born in March.
I begin to feel the pangs.
I waver hopelessly as I try to make the deciscion about another babe. SO may factors at play.
I think that we will have at least one more, maybe two.
And I think that we will stay in this house until our brood is in College and we will do a lot of camping as a family. And we will be challenged to get them all through school but somehow we will manage ( I hope) and in the end they will look back fondly on a fairly modest childhood experience.
Then I think that we will stick with two, move to Media and vacation in Ireland and other exciting (and expensive) locales. Our children will have no problem attending the school of their choice (if they get in) and they will recall the many glorious and exciting adventures abroad we were able to provide them in their childhood.
But in my soul I want another baby. Another toddler. Another sibling for my children already here. I want another phone call when they are grown and a place setting for the holidays.
I want this in a fundamental, basic way.
The only thing I have ever been sure of is the fact that I wanted to be a mom.
So. I myself am suffering from a kind of pregnant pause as we try to straddle day care bills and the possibility of another infant in full time care.
And I know some people will wonder why I want more children when I am not taking the time to raise the two already have and to them I say
I have done a very good job with the two I have so far, thank you very much. And I have infinite amounts of love and all the good stuff that matters.
So catch me again this time next year. When I have unpaused the baby machine.
And to all the babies on the way in March.
You are incredibly lucky to have such amazing, caring and wonderful women as your mommy.
I can’t wait to meet you!
We will probably start trying in the spring.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-21811978622855501502007-09-10T10:45:00.000-04:002007-09-10T10:48:36.320-04:00HastaSo I got my passport today!
Yippee and will wonders never cease~?~
And I am off to parts both known and unknown on Thursday. The folks arrive on Wednesday. I don’t think they quite understand what they are in for…
My love and I are going on vacation.
We plan to sit still as much as possible.
He is looking forward to the all inclusive alcoholic beverages and I am looking forward to the pillow and the lack of a toddler alarm clock.
vacation.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-69966672257661825862007-09-07T23:06:00.000-04:002007-09-07T23:10:01.915-04:00Passing on the PassportThis is the email I received from the passport office today! Please note the date I should expect my passport.
And then note the delivery option I chose.
What is the date today?
What reality is our government living in?
Now I understand their aversion to a timeline.
They clearly don’t understand the concept.
We have finished processing your passport, and it has been mailed to you.
Your passport application locator number is (omitted from my security)
You paid for overnight delivery. This means you should receive your passport on or about 09/28/2007.
If you have any additional questions, you may contact the National Passport Information Center via e-mail at http://travel.state.gov/passport/about/npic/npic_896.html.
Please include the above locator number. It will enable them to update you on the status of your application. For more information about the National Passport Information Center, please visit us at http://travel.state.gov/passport/about/npic/npic_898.html.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-74196920134902004752007-09-07T11:59:00.000-04:002007-09-07T12:14:39.842-04:00Morning MusingsThis morning I was in that half sleep that comes after you push the snooze button “one last time”.
I was thinking about death. Seems to be around me a lot lately. Not sure why.
So I was thinking about being buried in the earth and that to be buried in anything less than a full wooden box you have to be in Oregon, the only state that allows this. And how expensive would it be to fly my body to Oregon just to avoid the cost of a fancy wooden box. No really, how expensive? Now if I was already there, that would be a different matter.
And then I was thinking that what I would really like is a funeral pyre. Very majestic.
And then I was wondering about the smell involved. And I wondered if native americans found themselves strangely hungry after smelling their loved ones flesh roast.
And then I was a native american princess laying on a funeral pyre. (did I mention I was drowsing?) And as I lay there I looked over and saw a pig roasting and a feast being prepared. And I thought aha! So they cooked a pig at the same time and then had a big feast afterward. That TOTALLY makes sense.
And in my dream (are you following this?) I looked down on my body and thought. This is the way it should be. This is the right way to go.
And then they lit the flame. And I thought WOW. Impressive display.
And then I thought wait. This kind of tickles.
And then I thought. Wait. This kind of itches.
And then my body on the pyre opened her eyes. And I thought.
I’m not dead.
And in my mind I thought of that movie with Michele Pfeifer where her husband gives her that drug that makes it so she can’t move.
And from my funeral pyre I turn my frantic eyes to my father. As he stands beside me mourning the passing of his lovely daughter (for this performance the role of my father will be played by some random native american man) and I beseech him to look up at me using only my eyes.
And for one awful moment it seems like he won’t and then – He does!
He looks up and is startled by the fact that my eyes are open. And I think YES!
He sees me, he sees that I am still alive. I will be saved.
And he does see. And he steps toward me.
And I realize that I will burn alive on this funeral pyre because my father killed me.
And then the alarm went off.
And Good morning to me.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-90112147711445169832007-09-05T11:29:00.000-04:002007-09-05T11:42:07.272-04:00Passport PassionSo I am not sure where this is going but I am feeling a little like all the little children that have in fact been left behind.
The government changed the rules.
You now have to have a valid US Passport to travel to Mexico, Canada and the Caribean. New rules. New day. New security.
Much like everything else this administration has done – they didn’t consider the consequences. Bush’s administration seems to be incapable of forethought.
So summer comes along. THOUSANDS of people would like to travel and THOUSANDS of people apply for passports. No problem right?
They had to see this coming, after all it was THEIR IDEA. So they planned ahead. Temporary staff people were employed to meet the rising demand. Departmentswere streamlined, the process made more efficient. And the world travelers received their passports in a timely manner and went forth to the sunny beaches around the world.
well. um. no.
NO extra staff. NO prepared passport department. NO planning for a program they knew was coming for more than a year.
NO F’ING WAY!
How is this ineptitude acceptable?
SO. I leave for Mexico next Thursday. I don’t have a passport. I have a piece of paper that says I applied for an EXPEDITED (3 day turn around promised) passport over 3 weeks ago.
And apparently that will be enough.
How very well thought out.
This administration seems very capable of taking a bad idea and making it even worse.
I will vent about this as I sit in the room of my resort with my included free alcoholic beverage of choice. I will also vent about it as I lay on the beach or maybe while I am frolicking with the dolphins.
That is of course unless I fall victim to hurricane J or K…not sure where we are in the alphabet at the moment.
Then I will sit at home. Pissed as all hell.
Just wait for that post.
Maybe you should prepare now.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-77353272500801105272007-09-04T13:02:00.000-04:002007-09-04T13:18:38.815-04:00Bad MannersMy little girl picks her nose.
And eats it.
We have tried telling her that this is bad manners. We also told her it’s gross.
It’s not like she does it all the time but when she does – Ewwww.
She also sits on the couch and plays with her (ahem) privates.
We have told her that this is also bad manners.
During her bath the other day she told me that:
“penises go in bums”.
I told her that is not usually true.
I then had to have a talk with my three year old about sex. Ya know, a little talk about inappropriate touching, basically letting her know that no one should be putting their penis (or anything else for that matter) any where near her bum.
I want her to stay young forever. And by young I mean innocent. AND I want to prepare her for this crazy world that we live in without scaring her into hibernating in her room until she’s 20 and a black belt.
And I want to be prepared for this world and not feel tempted to hibernate in my room.
And I hate that this is the world. Where little girls go missing and are found…not little girls anymore, if at all.
It makes me so sad that this is the possibility. That this is what I have to watch out for, prepare for. And that my “family friends” are the prime suspects.
My SIL was molested by the man who basically raised my FIL because his father was too much of an alcoholic to take on the task. My husband bears this man’s middle name in honor of that relationship.
And then this honorable man, molested an eight year-old girl.
But this is not a post about the past. It is a post about the future.
I want to raise my child to be strong and fierce in her determination to protect herself and those she loves. I want her to be confident in her no’s and in her strength or purpose.
I want her to have bad manners when she needs them.
And. I want her to stop picking her nose and eating it.
Oh if only that were my only concern.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-15867803317476417132007-08-21T18:34:00.000-04:002007-08-23T10:13:02.309-04:00Talking to GoddieMy daughter has an imaginary friend. Well, two actually but for now we’ll focus on Goddie (sounds like gawdy). She was just in the bathroom talking to Goddie.
She was telling he/she that he/she could go and stamp while she was in the potty.
“Go ahead” she yelled. As though Goddie were in the dining room with me.
It’s odd really. I don’t particularly care for her pretend friends. They are always telling her she can’t do something or have something and they have on more than one occasion, contradicted me.
And Maya seems to listen to them.
I am not at all sure what to make of this. Tim thinks it’s funny that she chose Goddie as a name.
We don’t talk about God in our home. We don’t pray. Jesus Christ is just a curse I feel okay saying in front of my 3 year old.
Yesterday when I was leaving daycare the new teacher told Maya to be a good girl.
“Go home, eat dinner, have a bath, and pray and go to bed.”
I wasn’t sure what upset me more, her conviction that we pray (because clearly everyone does) or the fact that she assumes that we give our children baths every night…
But Maya is sick. And when I called in to check on her, I got one of the daycare owners on the phone, by chance. And so I mentioned it. Assuring her that I was not at all angry, I just wanted her to mention it to the teacher so that I didn’t have to worry about her talking about God and religion to my child.
And here’s the thing.
I am not at all angry. I am sure that there will be many more instances when people assume things about me, my daughter, and my family (like the common mistake that we are all Italian). I just want to let my daughter make these choices by herself, when she is ready. I want her to go to temple with her jewish friends(one of my favorite religions by the way), and Christmas mass with her Catholic friends, or celebrate with her muslim friends (first she’ll need to make some). I want her to explore and learn on her own.
I want her to realize that I am not making this decision for her. I want to guide her as little as I can while she is still so young that she takes everything I say as gospel (forgive the pun).
I don’t want to say things like “well we don’t believe in praying”.
And I know that I am over analyzing this and that everyone, every person, finds their own path here, in their own way. And I know that I can have high hopes for my daughter and her quest for knowledge. And maybe it won’t matter. And maybe she won’t care.
Or maybe she’ll learn what I did.
No matter what the religion, it is the people that matter. Whether you are a good christian, muslim, jew, or other, you must first be a good person.
That is what I want to raise.
(oh and I would like her to be happy, healthy, well adjusted and like me enough when she is out of the house to call at least once a week…)only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-86480308350324592212007-08-17T09:47:00.000-04:002007-08-17T10:10:11.347-04:00To Do ListsSo I am proud to say that I have been ticking items off of my to-do list like a mad woman lately. And boy am I tired.
My tire that I have been putting off taking to the shop did indeed have a nail in it. Fixed. My duvet managed to make it off my bed and to the laundromat. It is now sweet smelling and clean. I sent off the massive amounts of paper I needed to compile to change my name on my passport in time for my trip to Mexico. What a Pain in the Ass (but I am SO sure it will be worth it)!
I am traveling a LOT. And not all for business so I am partially to blame for the state of my home and the fact that I have thrown out more of my CSA vegetables than I have eaten this year…
This week I chaperoned my first school event and got the pleasure of spending two hours in a movie theater with my daughter and her friends. I will chaperon again. I loved the extra time with her. And she was giddy that I was a part of her field trip.
We had an opportunity for some more mom and Maya time last night.
Let me first say that I love musicals. They are a part of my make up. My parents took me to see Annie when I was approx 7 and I have been hooked ever since. I love the fantasy and the production. I marvel at the lyrics, the costumes, the lights. I listen to the soundtracks and sing along when ever no one is listening, and sometimes when they are. So, one of my “first chance I get” things I wanted to do with my daughter (and really so that I will have someone to go with) was to take her to a musical.
So we went to a Summer Stage production of Seussical the Musical last night.
At first she was a little scared. She covered her ears and asked to sit on my lap. And I have to admit that there were A LOT of kids on that stage. It was a little intimidating. But she was clapping after every song and smiling along with the production as it moved on it’s merry way. I am betting that she didn’t understand most of what was going on but she seemed to be having fun.
Because I love musicals I want Maya to like them too. Not with any kind of desperation, but in a wouldn’t it be nice kind of way. Or at least that’s what I thought.
Until about 45 minutes into the play when she tugged on my sleeve, her eyes still fixed on the stage, and whispered:
“mommy can I do that when I get bigger?”
And I got teary.
Such a drama queen.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-57399376231831006002007-08-03T10:35:00.000-04:002007-08-03T12:42:31.801-04:00PowerHere is my boy. The last of the mohicans. Tim is so pleased with himself.
Dean looks more like my sister-in-law than he does me. She could easily have been his mom.
If she were still alive I might be jealous. But as she will never have the chance to have children of her own, Dean is hers, to a certain degree. I see her when I look at him and I love him even more for that (if that’s possible).
My SIL, Vicki, took her own life. She sat down in a chair with a plastic bag and a cannister of helium and never stood back up. She was 27, I think. It was 4 months after my wedding, almost 6 years ago now.
Yesterday my mother in law sent me an email to let me know that the monster that molested her eight year old daughter, died in his sleep on July 17th.
I don’t really believe in afterlife. Heaven or hell.
But I am sure that this man’s soul is burning.
I am not a very vengeful person.
But he got away with so much in life, never having to pay, never having to answer for his crimes. Vicki battled with what happened to her her entire life. And in the end, she lost.
I hope he burns and I hope it hurts.
And I hope that my husband will survive this last reminder without building up so much anger that he explodes, or implodes.
If my little mohican loves his sister only half as much as Tim loves Vicki, she is one lucky girl.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-40524776424061242502007-07-27T14:39:00.000-04:002007-07-27T14:46:59.019-04:00Lost LovesI have been wondering about loss of connection today.
Not sure why.
I have lived in many different places and I have had good friends, great friends even, that I no longer speak to.
And I find it increasingly difficult to make friends.
I am an all or nothing kind of gal. Once I’ve made that connection I intend that it should stay. I try hard to make sure that it does stay.
Not sure why this is so one sided.
I think I’m fun and interesting enough to stay friends with. I have been my own friend for quite some time now.
It makes me wonder about perceptions. How is it that I come across? And for that matter do I read others correctly?
It’s very confusing.
My husband’s friend told me that he thought I was a snob when he first met me. After we talked about it we decided that it was because I was shy.
I am shy.
Most people who know me don’t believe that. But I am a wall flower until I am comfortable with you.
I am also needy.
I am a second child. I crave attention and affirmation.
Anyway, it took me a while to love me, I can wait for the rest of the world to catch up.
One person at a time.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-89525347561831932332007-07-18T11:58:00.001-04:002007-07-18T12:01:26.893-04:00A real vacationMy parents have given their grandkids the best present ever!
They are sending Tim and I away.
My dad called last week to say that he would like to treat us to an Anniversary trip. He is giving us money and he and my mom are flying up to play/stay with the kids while we are gone.
You heard me.
Can you say all inclusive hotel in Xcaret Mexico?
Because I can.
Hasta la vista baby!only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-83584389359106910622007-07-16T09:56:00.000-04:002007-07-16T10:01:51.417-04:00Mustang TimmyMu husband’s girlfriend has been ill.
She has been at the “car doctor” for almost a month.
We had to take out a loan to repair her.
And now she’s back.
And I thought she was all that he talked about while she was ill!
This is Tim’s brain on Mustang.
“Hey babe.” me.
“hey babe…do you know that I have my mustang back?” him.
“yes. Don’t forget to move the laundry okay?” me.
“I won’t. Did you know that the new headers make the car faster (or something like that)” him.
“okay, well I have to go now. Have a good day” me.
“oh I will, I am taking the Mustang over to , blah blah blah…” him.
I think you get the point.
He is absolutely obsessed!
I used to like mustangs.
Now I think I am a Corvette girl.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-44277313923850947192007-06-28T22:33:00.000-04:002007-07-10T09:10:25.823-04:00Growing DesperateSO it’s late and I have to be excused typos.
Maya started a new class week before last. Her brother is still downstairs and starts his day with her old classmates. This morning her two best friends, Hannah and Jordan ran toward her with arms outstretched. They asked if she was staying in their room today.
She was quick to point out that no, she is in the big kids class now. She shrugged them off and asked to go upstairs. I took her.
While several of the children looked up when we entered, no one acknowledged her. No one ran over for hugs, happy for her presence. No one.
And yet she is so happy to be in that room.
It made me think. Not just about the fact that she is indeed getting bigger but about our perpetual movement toward growth.
Even though what we had was good. Great even.
Hugs and kisses missing you good.
But somehow that forward movement is better. Eagerly anticipated.
This is how it will be when she sets off from my arms. And steps into the world of crazy adultness. I will be eager for her and she will be looking forward.
I ache already.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-31063311484417880572007-07-10T08:58:00.000-04:002007-07-10T09:06:01.358-04:00Whose God Do You Kill For?So I received a bunch of Bush bumper stickers via email.
Most of them were pretty funny.
The one in the title was not.
There was another one about Bush creating the terrorists of tomorrow.
I am not sure why I am on a political bent but I can’t seem to shake it.
I had a conversation with Tim last night about the next presidency and I think it was notably one of the only conversations/debates in which Tim was the optimist.
But I still feel only hope for the next administration. It can only get better right?
Tim relayed an NPR interview with Mrs. Obama that he heard yesterday. She sounds like she would make a great first lady. I intend to listen to it later.
Still hoping.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-78878910465763086692007-07-09T16:23:00.000-04:002007-07-09T16:30:52.100-04:00Second Class CitizenI am coming to terms with it.
I try hard not to let it hurt too much.
I suppress my winces and painful twangs when I see evidence of it.
I understand that it is not an intentional slight.
This is not premeditated, nor is it intended to be hurtful.
It just is.
I further understand that I am not the first to feel this way.
I understand that there is a reason the term was created.
I didn’t understand it would hurt quite so much.
I still have one more chance.
Can you say…
Mama’s boy?only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-54577037867941652012007-07-03T15:46:00.000-04:002007-07-03T15:51:02.943-04:00I can’t believe he commuted his sentence!Here is Bush
Here is the law
(see how he is above the law? tricky hey?)
Our forefathers are rolling over in their graves and my blood is boiling.
Don’t get me wrong I knew he was going to pardon the man. (and he will) BUT COME ON!!!!!
You handpicked the F’in prosecutors let them do their jobs! At least pretend you understand the justice system and the system of checks and balances.
and if he was going to commute anyone’s sentence he really should have thought about
Paris.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-57228850746155447402007-06-25T12:43:00.000-04:002007-06-25T12:46:13.227-04:00Because it was too cuteI was riding in the car with the kids minding my own business…
“Mommy, why did Dean come out of your stomach?”
“Well honey babies only stay in the mommies stomach for a little while and then they come out.”
“Like Dean was in my belly for a little while and you, you were in my belly too and now you’re both out here with me.”
Long silent pause while she ponders this.
“Why did you eat us?”only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-56726322697507773372007-06-21T09:58:00.000-04:002007-06-21T10:09:01.828-04:00Point and gruntMy son is getting very adept at making himself quite clearly understood with a simple point and grunt.
Up, food, toys. All at the end of his fingertip and a monosyllabic utterance.
My daughter is now doing it too. She is also mocking his sign language.
“more please” has been replaced with a furious hand flutter. And most of the time I correct her.
“Use your words.” And sometimes it’s just easier to cave.
So the two of them were having oatmeal and strawberries today for breakfast. Dean pointed at the fruit on the table and grunted in my general direction.
Then Maya mimed him and there were these two little ones grunting and pointing and looking beseechingly up at me. And I thought about how easy life would be if I could just point and grunt.
New bathroom for my third floor bedroom. Point. Ugh.
New suit for my upcoming business trip. Point. Ugh.
Brown sandals that are cute and feel good. Point. Ugh.
And while my mind rambled. I thought of how unfair it feels sometimes to be the mommy. Al the while both kids sat pointing and grunting. grunting and pointing. At the strawberry on the table in front of me.
And then had a good twenty minutes to reflect on how nice it would be if I could burst into tears and scream whenever I felt life was unfair too.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-64700357275234786812007-06-20T09:19:00.000-04:002007-06-20T09:27:12.368-04:00Another Lazy Blog Entry – My President
I wrote this right after the last election.
I have to say that looking back I do feel that we have come a long way from here. We seem to have woken up as a people. I still believe whole heartedly when Bush leaves office and the dust clears we will uncover the enormity of the worst administration the Unites States has ever seen. Forget the nation, he is bad for the world on so many levels. He is the president that was so bad for the environment that even people in Arkansas and Idaho are talking about greenhouse gas and emission control. While this side effect is not a bad thing – clearly – what it took to get us here is catastrophic. Kyoto! The problems that the next administration will face are monumental. It is my fear that the next in line cannot truly succeed. They will be to busy cleaning up messes to move forward.
I am hopeful. But I worry for us.
Anyway. Here is the piece I wrote a few weeks after reelection. I did in fact start screaming.
Bush is now my president. I am against all that he stands for. I am opposed to “faith” based programs that exclude and divide.
Bush is a bumper sticker president. Abortion declarations, NRA proclamations, My boss is a jewish carpenter. Bumper stickers, declarations of those views we hold dear and that divide us as a nation, as a people.
Bush is a bumper sticker.
This is my president. The man who says that God has chosen his path, God has declared his way.
This is my president. The Crusader who strikes out at religious zealots from the Middle east even though he is in fact a religious zealot from middle America.
What a country we have developed that we are allowed to voice our opinions and have our own views openly declared.
What a wonderful world we live in where we are open to make our voices heard and speak out strongly for those things we find important.
The will of the people have spoken, my president says. The will of the people are at my back as I plan to push my agenda items forward.
I am the people. And so, just as I must come to terms with the fact that Bush is my president, so must he acknowledge that he is my president. He represents me, and the 5 million other people who do not agree with him.
I will accept four more years because I have to but I will not sit idly by and let this man forget that he is my president too and this is my country as much as it is those who voted for his right wing policies.
I will stand up strong and I will shout my views if necessary. I will cover my car with one bumper sticker: “Practice Random Acts of Kindness” and I will point my car toward Washington and my president.
only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-2202710447426265472007-06-05T08:57:00.000-04:002007-06-05T09:06:30.855-04:00A little reminder
I love this country. And I don’t love it in spite of the conservative right wing front. I love it because of that. I love that different views and different experiences can be expressed, embraced or disregarded. I love that we are a melange of colors, religions and beliefs. I love that we stand up and behind what we feel is right. I love that as a nation we are empowered and we feel responsible for the success of the rest of the world. I love that we elected JFK and I love that we didn’t really elect George W.
The one thing I don’t understand is how he got re-elected.
That sentence just made me sigh. A deep soulful sigh. We were so strong and united and poised for magical wonderful togetherness. We stood tall and united and most of the world was behind us. It makes me sad to think that this is what came of 9/11. It makes me think of the “poem” I wrote in Early November the year of his re-election. So here it is ladies and gentleman, back for one night only –
A nation will be decided
We will move forward
We will fly our colors high
Rich, diverse and beautiful
We will stand together
As we did on Sept 12th – united in our firm resolve
We will stand focused on the goal of protection
Building a world that will be better for our children
We will be the best that we can be
Together, proud and strong
Is a day that will stand tall in the
History of America
All those who have stood apart
Will step up
The greatness that we can be, once were
Will be realized
The past will step to the podium
And accept defeat
All of America will accept their victory
We will be as we should be
Will be the day of light,
celebration and progress will guide our future
on November 3rd
We will be proclaimed the country of idiots
And we will have crowned our king
only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-83005639187910332562007-06-04T09:32:00.000-04:002007-06-04T09:42:49.535-04:00Super MomAs I sat trying to move four items off of the table yesterday at one time while restraining my 14 month old I contemplated the heroic powers given to me by each of my children.
Maya created: The One Armed Wonder
I still marvel at what one is capable of doing with only one hand. I have mastered knitting single handedly. I can crochet, do needlepoint and cook a full course meal, all with only one free hand. I can, of course, hold a 50 pound bag in one arm for HOURS while completing these tasks with the other.
Dean created: Octomom
Octomom is able to use all eight arms at once. Retrieving precariously perched babes from rocking chairs while simultaneously moving glasses, remote controls, scissors and of course dogs out of reach. Octomom is a wonder to watch. She moves with lightning speed around what at first seems like a perfectly safe and habitable home but quickly turns into a hot bed of danger and life-threatening situations.
These powers combined have made me into: Supermom.
Soother of booboos, reader of books, a kissing and hugging machine.
Look down on the floor! It’s a nurse, it’s a maid – It’s SuperMOM.
What’s your superhero power?only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-72388884080265202532007-05-30T16:15:00.000-04:002007-05-30T16:21:14.546-04:00The Great OutdoorsTook the wee ones on their very first camping trip this weekend. The boy child was a symphony of non stop motion but was somehow still happily content in the (new) baby backpack we got for the trip. How have we lasted so long without this little marvel? I am wondering if there are other secrets and gadgets I have missed out on? When we took the first babe for nature walks we always used what we refer to as the all terrain stroller. Pain in the butt really.
Anyway Dean was happily enjoying the scenery and playing with what is left of daddy’s hair. They looked like a monkey family with Dean grooming the papa monkey. I have some very cute photos.
Maya’s highlights of the trip?
“fishing and… going to bed”
We introduced her to bunk beds for the very first time. Need I say more?
I’d love to hear about good camp grounds and or tips for camping with kids if you have them.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-4496970678135274252007-05-22T09:50:00.000-04:002007-05-24T14:18:51.673-04:00Let’s talk about Sex – TMI warningWhy not. Seems like most everyone I know is doing it, has done it, will most likely do it again (Most of the people I know have kids so – duh!).
May as well talk about it.
I realized a couple of things about sex recently:
Sex is more important than I thought
Sex is about much more than a physical connection (let me hear your body talk)
Not having sex is bad
I would also say that I learned that sex is more important to my husband than it is to me, but I already knew that. I think sex is a form of communication and connection that I hadn’t really given much thought to, until recently. I think he does think about it, feel it that way.
You don’t always know what you’ve got – until it’s gone. Or something like that.
Sex left my life for a while. I’m not sure how it left or why. But I barely missed it.
And now it’s back.
And life is better. And love is better. And I feel connected and centered.
It seems odd that this is the truth. It also seems odd that this seems odd. I am surprised. And I am surprised that this is a revelation to me.
I am sure there is a chicken and egg question in there somewhere but I am not delving too deeply into this one. I am just enjoying it for what it is.
And that is all I have to say about sex today.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-44202462318068234462007-05-18T11:29:00.000-04:002007-05-18T11:32:19.462-04:00
I am posting a poem I wrote a few year’s ago because The Book Group I attended last night got me thinking about this again.
I am not black.
I say it with a deep sigh that comes up from my soul and escapes on the wind of my breath.
I am not black.
I carry this secret with me
Even though it rings false on the bells of my heart.
I am not black.
To latinos I am them.
Angry and insistent voices tell me
I do indeed speak Spanish.
“Look” they say, “you are like me.”
I am not Latina.
Many try to see themselves in me.
Others try harder to find the differences.
I am not black.
Made clear in the exclusions of my youth
that mocked my cries of racism.
I am not black.
Made clearer when refused admittance
based on my skin tone. High yellow what?
The only reverse of racism is acceptance.
I am not white.
Once I wished for the sun kiss that would make that statement unnecessary.
I am not white.
My grandmother’s grandfather bought his freedom in the fields of North Carolina.
My mother sat in the colored section despite her light skin of confusion.
I am not white.
I am so many things that no one but me will understand.
“What are you?” Is the frequent question.
I am what we all are.
I am wonderful, beautiful, magical.
I am so much more than a color.
only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-79398190316073287092007-05-16T16:21:00.000-04:002007-05-16T16:36:55.243-04:00Tag, I’m it.I’ve never been tagged before. I believe the topic is eight things most people don’t know about me.
1. I sing, a lot. Not all that well.
2. I write, a little. pretty well.
3. I moved around a lot as a child. I have lived in NJ, MA, NY, CA, GA, PA. I had several residences in NJ, NY and MA.
4. I like cheesy romance novels. (I call them brain candy)
5. I love musicals.
6. I played drums in a heavy metal band in High school.
7. I am biracial by birth.
8. I am adopted.
There you have it. I would tag someone else BUT I don’t know that many bloggers. And the ones I do know Rachel tagged already.
Game over.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-82150978051684147912007-04-30T13:10:00.000-04:002007-04-30T13:21:40.357-04:00Monster LeapsMy youngest took his first steps last week.
Triumphant wobbly steps toward a future of expectation. Such a proud and happy smile as we clapped and praised him. We were so excited!
Shortly thereafter, my 3 yr old daughter made sure that we watched as she took the same path and walked the same walk. She turned to us smiling and waiting to be praised. We were happy to oblige., both of us a little teary as we thought about the same day 2 years ago as she wobbled from my arms to her father’s and back again.
She has sat by cheering on her little brother: “good job Dean” “Yay Dean!”. She is his cheerleader. She also takes his hand and pulls him along, usually faster than he can travel yet. But she will also walk across the room in front of us and wait for her applause. Torn between her role as little girl and big sister.
When Maya was just learning to walk I used to grab her under the armpits and swing her up and then down on the floor as we moved toward the bathroom. This was a fun way to get her to the bathroom to wash her hands. It was a one way ticket, monster leaps were a to the bathroom only event.
Now that she has grown older we had stopped with the monster leaps request and somehow it is not something I picked up with Dean.
The other day, for reasons unknown to me she asked for Monster Leaps again. I was happy to oblige. And as I swung the 35 pound three year old toward the bath room I knew that the time for this game was short.
She is heavy
She is growing
and Monster Leaps is a one-way ticketonly mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-85416026338333479462007-04-30T12:55:00.000-04:002007-04-30T13:10:05.679-04:00Let me introduce myselfI am feeling pretty good about my world , my love, my kids.
I am feeling empowered and rejuvenated.
It is amazing what a change of perspective can do for you.
We had an empowerment coach come to talk to us this past week. It is so interesting when you take the time to THINK about who you are, who you want people to know, etc. Self definition is a challenge.
So my New Year’s resolution this year is to learn something new. I decided last week that the something I learn is going to be me.
My husband always wonders at my lack of fulfillment: great job, great kids, great husband, what could be missing? Well there’s the question isn’t it? I don’t know the answer yet but I am working on it not tainting all that I am now and all that I have now.
Gratitude is another aspect of that. Taking the time to be grateful is hugely important. I am SO GRATEFUL!
My children are these amazing wonderful awe-inspiring people and they LOVE me! ME. I am mommy. The smile I get is only for me. The huge hugs and blown kisses. mine. I will give them everything I am and they will be who they are and for that I am forever, always, infinitely grateful.
My husband is the beautifully flawed man who knows me. He sees who I am and respects and loves me anyway. I have never been known before. It is a wonderful feeling. He is my best life coach.
My job has allowed me to build a life that I like living. I am great at what I do, my employees are happy and fulfilled. The office is a good place to be. All of this is because of me. I need to embrace my efforts, I tend to minimize my accomplishments, modesty.
I look forward to delving below the surface in the months and years to come.
We are ever growing, ever evolving.
Here is my “New Day” resolution: I will work on my personal mission statement. I will take the time to think about me.
Hello, It’s great to meet me.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-67831751014887671352007-04-12T11:50:00.000-04:002007-04-12T11:56:02.002-04:00Filling the VoidI do believe that weight and overeating has something to do with unhappiness. It is kind of a catch 22 though. Unhappy so you eat and gain weight or unhappy because you are over weight?
I am exploring this cycle for my mother. She is over weight, she always has been. Even her little girl photos show a pudgy little cutie. She has grown more each year. She is well over 300lbs now.
And she is in the hospital for pneumonia.
It’s a hard one. Because she cannot be active right now but I have to talk to her about getting off of her sizable ass and moving. And I can’t be a hippocrite. I need to move more too. I need to manage my food intake and watch my belt line. I have not gained a pound or a size in over 5 years. An argument could be made that this is my weight. It wouldn’t be a very good argument.
More later. I have to go have lunch…only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-85638125040438149512007-04-05T14:20:00.000-04:002007-04-05T14:28:27.985-04:00That MomI heard “that mom” at the store the other day.
You know the one. That voice that you flinch at as she scolds her child. That mom who seems overwhelmed, cranky and short tempered.
That mom made her three year old ride in the stroller because “apparently you just can’t listen today.”
That mom ignored her one year old as he whined for something to eat because she was in the line to check out and “you’re just going to have to wait.”
That mom snapped at the little girl when she kicked off her shoes with a smile and then whined when she couldn’t walk around the store. “well now you know why I asked you to leave your shoes on.” that mom said with malicious contempt.
That mom was so glad to get her kids back into the car and headed for home that she let out a huge sigh that her daughter heard and asked about.
“Are you a little tired mommy?” the little girl asked as she yanked off her socks and chucked them toward the floor, then whined that she couldn’t reach them.
“yes” the mommy replied with another weary sigh.
I was “that mom”.
I am “that mom”.
I hate that mom.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-6728482838831314702007-04-02T13:40:00.000-04:002007-04-03T12:52:13.307-04:00In the name of the motherMy mom is doing better. We found out that if she had waited another 24 hours to go into the hospital she would most likely have died. The bacteria had spread to her blood stream. There she goes reminding me she is mortal again. My mom is one of the nicest people I know. The sun shines brighter on her somehow.
I met another very nice mom this weekend. She touched my arm while she spoke to me and made me feel comforted and supported even though what she was saying wasn’t particularly comforting of supportive.
I want to me more like that. I am not very touchy by nature.
My father said that my lack of excitement and affection was frustrating for him when I was a child. It is that I am shy. He has never been able to accept this because he sees me as confident. Odd.
Many people have a hard time with this because I seem extroverted. I am not by nature.
My daughter is. When I buy her something special she says “oh sank you mommy! sank you! sank you! sank you!” This is her excited reaction whether it’s a hair band or a doll.
Her father came home last night from a three day business trip. She was so excited to see him that she jumped from my lap and launched herself at him. Hugging him fiercely she declared loudly that “I like you home daddy”. He wiped tears from his eyes he was so touched.
I was pretty touched too. That is a fearless love.
I hope she doesn’t lose that. I hope that she doesn’t learn my reserve. I want her to connect with others openly.
And so I snuggle her and give her kisses. And I force myself to act silly and take the time to show her that I can be that person.
I am that person.
I sang at the top of my lungs to a musical on my way to daycare. When I looked in the mirror, Dean was smiling and bopping along to the music. Maya was involved with some toy but as you know…they are always watching.
I hope that I will show them the fun that I know is a huge part of the world.
I want them to be unafraid to dance and sing and love and laugh.
I want them to face the opportunities that life brings them with open arms, knowing that pain is part of the process and makes the good times that much better.
I want them to connect. To love and be loved.
I want them to touch people.
P.S. For all that I am I just want to say,
“sank you mommy! sank you! sank you! sank you!”only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-82334980127751602312007-03-29T21:36:00.000-04:002007-03-29T21:48:03.841-04:00Our Mother – Full of graceMy mother is in the hospital with pneumonia.
They thought she had some highly contagious disease. They called in the infectious disease crew and my father had to wear a mask near her.
She was just here. She watched my kids on Saturday for my birthday date night out in Philly (wonderful! but sadly, for another post). She was sick when she got here and gradually got so bad that she disapeared into her room and stayed sleeping for almost 48 hours. Then she got on a plane, flew home and the next day was in the hospital.
On a scale (preferrably sliding) how horrible a daughter am I that I had very little concern for my mom and was in an absolute panic over my babies?
I take a great deal of solace in the fact that they were her major concern too.
I love my mom.
I once told her that the sound of her voice on the other end of the line was like a pressure release valve. This is still true.
She is my second best friend in the world (having slid down only after I fell in love with the right man).
And she lies in a hospital bed on oxygen, an IV and antibiotics.
And she is worrying about my babies.
What a gift.
I know she will be fine. I know she will recover.
She is getting older.
She is beginning to seem mortal.
better.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-15585742242295277222007-03-29T09:48:00.000-04:002007-03-29T09:52:17.166-04:00Go go MozillaSo I discovered the problem. Downloaded Mozilla’s Firefox and I am now back in my blog from work.
The last post I sent was actually from home but work access will definitely mean more posts. Yipee.
I feel so liberated and connected.
I also used the fun little touch screen at Wawa to order a hoagie for the first time this week and, even though the 16 year old behind the counter clearly thought I was a cute old lady for having no idea what I was doing, I have to say: technology is so cool!
Change your browser, change the world.
When does Heroes come back on anyway?only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-82483395674473191832007-03-28T22:13:00.000-04:002007-03-29T09:47:42.753-04:00No God but meSo I am having a balancing problem again.
I suffer from this from time to time and I can’t quite work through it enough to move past it. Maybe it’s a constantly moving object and I will never really solve the problem just rearrange the load until it works and then begins to tilt again eventually.
Me time, kid time, husband time, house time, friend time.
I have come to a realization: I am a bit controlling.
I have a hard time letting my husband do a job that I do, differently. Note that I am not saying that he will not do it as well as I do. But, he will do it differently. I have been unwilling to allow for this.
So I moan that the distribution of work is unfair. And I get tired and cranky and overwhelmed. He is happy to help. He is happy to do anything that I want him to. Sometimes it bothers me that this is the way it works. That he is waiting for guidance. But then I realize that I am in control. This is a control that I have chosen to assume and I cannot complain when it works against me occassionally.
We talked about this tonight. I made a point to stress that I am coming to terms with my own short comings and I would like some more help from him. I tried hard to be sure that he understood that this was my problem and I was in no way pointing a finger at him but admittedly even though he tried to understand it he said he still felt like I was calling him a dead beat.
He also said that anything I currently do will require a “transition period”. That I cannot expect that he will all of the sudden know the ages at which the kids need check ups, what bills post to the account on what days, etc. I understand this too. And yet…it annoys me.
I learned this stuff. I wasn’t born with the knowledge of health check ups, tax dates and bill payment.
Such a dilemma. I do not like the lunches he packs for the kids. BUT THEY ARE JUST LUNCHES!!!!! The kids will eat and be healthy and all will be fine in the world. If I want to share the responsibility I have to admit to the fact that he will do things differently. And I think as all good racists will tell you different=bad. I will not be a lunch racist.
I need to practice love and tolerance. I need to delegate and realize that the end result – happy kids, paid bills, Drs. Appts made and kept, meals that I would not have made myself but still satisfy the hunger. Are all the signs of love and balance.
And choose. What do I know I can most easily stay out of? Because I know it is not fair to pass something on to him and then micromanage the task. Not fair to either of us and defeating the point.
I hate bills.
I will create a calendar or when payments post. I will include when pay checks are due to deposit. And I will answer each question with the happy knowledge that the more he knows, the sooner I will no longer have to worry about the bills.
I married this man because he is my best friend and my life partner.
In Him I trust.
So he will make lunches every other day and help with bills.
I can already feel the scales shifting.
Balance.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-81677123010710955922007-03-22T19:06:00.000-04:002007-03-22T19:09:05.235-04:00Naked before GodFirst off.
I have been locked out of my blog from work. I know it is something I have done since I set the IT rules and I haven’t set that one. BUT that is why I haven’t written in so long.
And look at what has happened in my absence. I have been “discovered”. No longer a journal, I now have an audience. hmmmm.
Now that I have confirmed that I can get in here from home, I have to go.
Out.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-30815863788748849972007-02-05T15:39:00.000-05:002007-02-05T15:52:15.530-05:00I can’t hear youArticulate.
One of the many offensive descriptors used by Mr. Biden in his description of Mr. Obama recently. Isn’t it funny how we become so comfortable with common usage that we do not stop to think about what we are saying?
I don’t think Mr. Biden will make a good president. Not because of the content of what he said but because he said it out loud. All of America might have been thinking it. But you don’t say it out loud. Not as a politician anyway.
I read a very interesting article about the use of the word articulate in describing african americans and how what is really being said is actually a racial slur.
Gee Nigger you talk good.
I became aware of another truth in our society. There is no other politician out there that we refer to as anything other than, mr. or ms. and their last names. Our only exceptions are Barak Obama, who is usually referred to in the whole or just as Barak but rarely as Mr. Obama. And of course Hilary. How is it that we are so familiar with her? Isn’t she Mrs. Clinton? Shouldn’t she actually garner more respect, being a former first lady.
I wonder about word usage.
Like mulatto. This was a name chosen to describe me on more than one occassion. A term coined in slave times because it was believed that white men and black women could not produce fertile children. Like the horse, the donkey and their child the mule. I am not a mule child.
You need only to view my stretch marks and my children to know this. But even before my reproductive heyday, I was not a mule child.
Some words are better left alone. Articulate is indeed one of them. Never have I heard a white person described as articulate.
I had hoped for a Biden Obama ticket in 2008.
Now I need to scope the presidential hopefuls for the running mate that will most likely claim Mr. Obama’s rightful spot in the oval office and yet walk with the first man of color into the White House. Albeit as Vice President.
One small step for man, one giant leap for man kind.
Damn, that Neil Armstrong sure was an articulate fellow. Wasn’t him?only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1169575081621544632007-01-23T12:44:00.000-05:002007-01-23T12:58:01.636-05:00GratitudeI was taught my please and thank yous early.
I am trying to do the same with my children. I believe that manners and respect for others is imperative.
I was also taught to write a thank you note. I know that not everyone is and somehow I just can’t get past how rude I think it is when I do something for someone and don’t even get acknowledged, much less a thank you. It makes me mad that I am so…classist?
I don’t mean class in the traditional use of the word because I don’t think that good manners are an upper class thing. Actually, I think the opposite is true in many cases. I do think that a “classy lady” is one that is quick and sincere with her please and thank yous.
I wish I were more altruistic. I wish I did good deads simply for the doing of them.
I am not. I want a thank you.
The weird thing here is that I am okay with no thank yous when I do something for someone in crisis. I understand that stress can strip away your please and thank you. I am somehow understanding of the actions I truly do because someone is hurting or in need. I expect no thank you then.
The irony is that this is also when you are most likely to get a thank you or a note.
Hell, an email thank you is more than appropriate in today’s world.
I once sent a thank you note for a birthday present (which I have never actually agreed with) and received a note in return. My father insisted that I write a thank you note back. I refused. Several weeks later the woman asked my father if I had ever received her note.
I know this tactic because I use it myself. The actual question here is – “Don’t you have manners enough to at least ackowledge my kind act?”. In this case I thought a thank you note FOR a thank you note was just a bit much.
I send a card or email when I go to a friend’s for dinner. I think that acknowledging the work they did and the good time we had is worth the time and the stamp.
I have little patience for those who can’t even say thank you when you have done them a favor. While this will certainly not end a friendship, it will stop me from helping next time.
I just needed to vent.
Thank you for listening.
(see? how hard was that?)only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1169219906020507582007-01-19T09:56:00.000-05:002007-01-22T16:30:20.566-05:00One Nation under BlogI went to book group last night. The book was Barak Obama’s first book Dreams from my father. Very interesting book, very interesting discussion. Several key points were discussed last night.
The status of the nation under Bush
The protection of family privacy while still being free to be yourself, honestly (in writing, in blogs, etc)
The next president
The status of Muslims in America
and in the car on the ride home I talked to one of the moms who stays home with her kids and the struggle she faces with that decision.
She is only home while the kids are young and she wants to go back to work in a year or two. She kept talking about how it didn’t feel permanent to her. (that might not be the right word choice there but I have a horrible memory). And it occured to me that stay at home moms that know they want to go back to work one day are in essence on a very long maternity leave.
Let me say this with all the love in my heart for my children, my family and my home.
I hated maternity leave. HATED IT!
I loved my new baby, I loved the cuddle time and the joyous moments of discovery.
I hated the fact that I was suddenly expected to do all of the house work. I hated that the baby was somehow only my responsibility. I hated that my husband left home and met with fun and interesting people and came home to me to tell me fun and intersting stories of his day. I hated that I became jealous of his female coworker and began to wonder about all of the time he spent with her. I began to hate my house for its creaks and moans. I was miserable.
I think limbo does that to you. (think lame duck) When you know that where you are is not where you want to be in the long run. When you are doing the job now even though you know you will be moving on to another job later.
And staying at home with the intention of going back to work some day is even worse than maternity leave because you aren’t sure where the going back to work will be and you worry about your career and your future because you have made the decision to stay home and raise your children.
I was honest. I choose to work. I know that this is the decision that is better for me, my kids, my husband, our life. I love to work, I love my job and I love that my husband and I are partners and the fact that we both work helps to keep that balance and make me feel as though we are equal.
I know that some of that perception is all from me. I know that SAHMs are contributing more to the family life and are therefore, in some ways, the better partner in the family relationship structure.
This mom talked about how she isn’t always loving her role. She struggles with the why of that and the feeling that by 7pm she is so glad to see the end of her kid filled day. She is feeling guilty and confused. She mentioned the curse that haunts all mothers regardless of their work choices, the Perfect Mom complex. She is not the perfect mom. I wanted to ask her who her perfect mom was.
Who is it that we compare ourselves to? Our moms?
I know I don’t.
My perfect mom is this wonderful amazing woman who is filled with fun craft projects, always dances and sings through her day. Has time to work, make nutritious meals, have romantic nights with her husband, all while managing all the household tasks (including the bills) and all of this with a perfect size 8 waist, a perfectly done hairdo and a smile.
I am going to make a doll. I am going to create the perfect mom. She will have a mixing bowl in one hand, a smiling happy baby in one hand, a briefcase in one hand, and a copy of the karma sutra in the other hand. (yes the perfect mom has at least 4 arms and likes to get frisky). She will have shiny perky curls, pretty stylish clothes. Sporty and expensive tennis sneakers and the biggest smile you have ever seen. She will be the perfect mom.
I will sit back and make slight adjustments to this dollf or hours. I will make sure each and every curl is in place. I will smooth her blouse and brush any dirt from her shoes. Then I will remove the doll baby from her arms and
I will burn Perfect Mom to the ground.
The fire will be so bright that moms from all over will come to watch as Perfect Mom burns.
And then we will dance in her ashes.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1169500128935163222007-01-22T16:01:00.000-05:002007-01-22T16:27:10.403-05:00For the love of DogMy daughter and I have entered into a new groove when it comes to the night night routine. For about a year now she has preferred that daddy put her night night. I bravely tried not to be upset by this. I told myself that I get to spend more time with her because I am her taxi service to and from school and we get more quality time then.
I didn’t buy it.
Neither did my husband.
We asked her what daddy does that mommy doesn’t do. She was not forthcoming.
Turns out, daddy talks to her. Each night before he leaves her room, he leans in and tells her thank you for being a good girl and tells her how proud he is to be her daddy and talks about her day.
So I started telling her stories about life before Maya.
I told her the story of how mommy and daddy met. How mommy and Unkie MC celebrated xmas as kids. I told her about daddy and Kikki celebrated theirs. I also told her about her birthday, Dean’s birthday and the days we picked up the dogs and brought them home.
This is by far her favorite story.
She likes to hear about the doggies. She snuggles into bed after we have talked and says goodnight rather happily.
She likes talking. And I like that she doesn’t cry “no I want daddy to do it!” when she’s told that I am taking her upstairs to bed.
Thank dog.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1169140820467070572007-01-18T12:12:00.000-05:002007-01-18T12:20:20.486-05:00Cleanliness is next to GodlinessI developed our environmental policy while playing with my daughter the night before last.
I think that if all the nation’s in the world adopted this policy we could put an end to greenhouse gases and clean up pollution worldwide.
It’s a tough job but I think this will get it done:
everybody do their share
Afterall, everything I need to know I learned in kindegarten.
So simple even Bush should understand it.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1168020192183822702007-01-05T12:59:00.000-05:002007-01-05T13:03:12.200-05:00In God we TrustSo I have a new year’s resolution.
It is that I will not trust a word either of my parents tell me without proof or corroburation from the source.
My brother has not chosen his friend to watch over my niece should something happen to him. He trusts that family will make the decision that will be best for Raya at whatever stage her life is in should anything happen to them.
He assumes that means that between his MIL, my parents and me and Tim we will decide what will happen to Raya together. There was never a question of anything other than family. Never.
I am so relieved that I can’t even be pissed at my folks.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1167788816368416522007-01-02T20:40:00.000-05:002007-01-02T20:46:56.383-05:00ungodly terrorMy daughter is going through a phase. Today.
I am confident that tomorrow she will be through the phase and this will be behind us.
She is pushing pushing pushing.
Today she screamed NO at me for something so small that I told her if she said no to me again she was in time out. Then she kept asking for chocolate or pudding or something like that and she asked and I told her that she might get it if she finished her lunch three times before I told her that if she asked again she was in time out. I made it to 2 with 3 on my lips at least 15 times today.
I threatened time out over and over and every time she changed her behavior just in time to avoid “the chair”.
She said no to my face and smiled. She pitched ugly fits and laughed. She took 2 hours to finally fall asleep at nap time.
She also danced the hokey pokey with me. She hugged me and climbed all over me.
She smiled at me and thanked me for playing with her. And while all of that is terribly cute and terribly sweet it doesn’t change the fact that she was acting terribly today.
I am hopeful that my sweet tender little girl will return soon.
And I know that when she does she will just be visiting until the teen years.
Heaven help us both.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1167403753585127692006-12-29T09:21:00.000-05:002007-01-01T21:15:05.723-05:00God made lightningSo I went to this party last night with the whole family.
The party was fun. Miss M had a great time running around and playing near other kids. Most of the kids were older. D-man and my hub stayed upstairs and watched the game.
There was a young boy there who I would say was about 8ish. I have a hard time with that age range but that will be my guess.
He arrived late and brought with him a mom, dad and sister. All very nice.
About 15 minutes after he got there I was walking down the hall and happened to watch as he snatched a Lightning McQueen doll from my daughter. She started to cry.
Now when kids are evenly matched I try not to step in but he clearly out weighed, aged, everythinged her. So I said “now she was playing with that and you can’t just snatch things away from other people, we are all sharing here.”
His response was that they needed that.
I chuckled and told him that I couldn’t think of anything that they would need the car for.
Maya turned away, toy in hand and declared she needed to go potty. I handed the toy to the boy as we headed for the bathroom and he tossed it on the floor, his need gone.
Later on that night I was looking for Miss M as we were getting ready to go. Again I happened to witness this same boy slam the door in my daughter’s face and tell her that she couldn’t play with them. He actually shooed all the other kids into the room and then told them all “everyone except her”. Now I can’t tell you what he might have against my daughter, but I was almost as hurt as she was.
I knocked on the door and told him he could not talk like that to her and that if didn’t want her playing with him he would have to ask her nicely.
“Please don’t play with us”
I turn to M. “It’s okay honey we have to go home now anyway.”
I hustled my screaming three year old toward the stairs and tried to gather all of our stuff as quickly as I could. As we strapped her in the car she told her father how the boy told her ” no not you, you can’t play.” As we snuggled on the couch watching TV she told me about the boy and how he had very bad manners. As we settled her down for the night she once again told me about the boy.
I have to tell you honestly, I don’t like that boy.
I told Maya that mommy had stepped in and told him that he can’t talk to people like that, next time she told the story, she added in my part.
I then told her that if someone is mean to her again like that she should say “you can’t talk to me like that, that’s bad manners.”
Next time she told the story, she herself told the boy about his bad manners.
I know that she and I will face many more moments of hurt feelings and I am glad that she is the one getting her feelings hurt than the one hurting (at least for now). It’s a tough one, I want her to be strong enough to defend herself but I don’t want to see her hurt. Ah the delicate balance that is a part of everything.
May it be yours in the New Year.
Don’t forget your please and thank yous.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1162998460201131002006-11-08T09:51:00.000-05:002006-12-28T17:00:01.863-05:00One Nation Under GodYipee!
Okay let me repeat that! YIPEE!
I am so hopeful today. I kissed my daughter yesterday as I left to cast my vote and when she asked me where I was going I told her the truth.
“mommy is going to change the world so that you and your brother have a better future.”
I am in Pennsylvania. I am in the land of Santorum. I cannot express my relief that he is no longer representing my vote in Washington. If nothing else had changed with the dawn of this new day, I would have been happy with just that.
But there is more change. And there is hope again for the american people, in the american people.
We have voiced an opinion of dissent. Perhaps we will now be heard.
But I am hopeful we will keep talking.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1162997481182465942006-11-08T09:32:00.000-05:002006-12-28T16:59:41.906-05:00our fatherI have made some life decisions recently that I hope will make a great difference in the way I traverse and view the world. I am trying to release spite. I am trying to embrace my faults and celebrate the fact that they are a large part of who I am and who I am is worth embracing.
I am trying to stop painful cycles that hurt only me. I am trying to see and accept that people can only love me as much as they are capable of and if I want more than they can give then I will be hurt but they will still love me, just as they always did. I am accepting the limitations of others and realizing that all the love I get is good love.
So what does this have to do with my father? Nothing really.
I could expand on the fact that he made me who I am in no small part. And this is a good thing and a bad thing. But mostly I will just say that I love him for who he is and how he treats the people in his life. He is a good man. A man who will always want to be in the center of the spotlight and has a tendency to pout. He is a man, flawed like all men.
My brother is the second father in my life. He too demands the spotlight, he is just not quite as aware of this as a personality trait and so he can actually be a little more of a challenge. He is not as old as my father and so his self awareness may come. He may also have a shift in his personality as time goes by. He has limits and he is the reason that I turn my gaze inward. I love him as I love and he loves me as he loves and that is enough. It has to be. Because that is all there is and I have to stop being hurt by his best efforts.
My husband is my main man. The keeper of my key and the father of my children. He is rash and moody and sweet and loving. He is a good man. He is involved and engaging and he can be selfish and selfless and annoying and endearing all at the same time. He is flawed. Our children do not yet understand their luck.
So as I look around at the fathers in my life I realize that the only thing that I can change in our relationships for the most part is me. I cannot continue to feel unloved by these men that love me with all that they have to give. I need to be satisfied with the love I get.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not talking about spousal abuse or giving up an expectation of respect and understanding. And my relationship with my husband is stellar. He understands what I need because he needs the same things. We are well matched and complement each other in almost all things.
This is a declaration of independence for myself. These fathers are now free to love me as they will and I am free to enjoy that love without expectation and disapointment. Nothing will change for them, and I will be happier.
win win.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1161194614054606262006-10-18T13:24:00.000-04:002006-12-28T16:59:19.590-05:00Umm…God?I had a horrible horrible day yesterday. The kind of day that ended with me curled up in my bed weeping. The kind of crying that comes up from your soul. I call this Soul Sadness and it used to be a more frequent visitor to my life.
Now it strikes at strange times without warning and lays me flat, or curled in a ball, as the case may be.
So yesterday a group of events coincided to knock me on my ass.
An aquaintance, who I adore, found out the sex of the babe she lost at 12 weeks and posted a blog that shredded my heart. In the same blog she announced her intention to move away and I am sad for the lost potential of our friendship.
My boss and friend came in to tell me that the thyroid she had removed due to “nodules” turns out to have been cancerous and she will need follow up radiation treatments.
Her 13 year old son, who is suffering from anxiety related issues, came into our office drenched to the bone from riding his bike in the rain simply to throw himself into his mothers lap and cry, knees on ground, head in lap, sobbing. He doesn’t even know about the cancer, he was reacting to a presentation he has to give at school. He is troubled and has sent his universe spinning.
I had a phone conference scheduled to speak to someone from the national mother’s group I am now co-leader of and I got a message from her that she had to put her 17 year old cat down last night and she couldn’t talk to me. She was crying on the phone. I have never heard her voice before but she made me tear up regardless.
I am reading Little Earthquakes. One of the babes in the book dies at 11 weeks from SIDS. I held my son close last night and just enjoyed snuggling him. I turned the monitor up enough that I could hear him breath.
It is amazing to me how bothered I am by things that don’t truly effect me.
This is one of those things that makes me hopeful for us as a species. Empathy. An amazing thing.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1167342402184505942006-12-28T16:36:00.000-05:002006-12-28T16:46:42.200-05:00The holy trinity I find it amusing and oddly reassuring that one who is so very ungodly would be so tied to what seems to be a very religious post. Today I am going to talk about those things that I hold dear.
My loves, my life, etc.
On the note of my life, I have only one word – hectic.
I am not sure why but 2006 seems determined to end on a bad note. A very loud painful to the ears bad note. Here is what’s happening in my holy trinity.
1. Family (pictured here). On Christmas Day my father decided to drop the bomb that my brother and his wife have chosen some very good friends to be the guardian’s of my niece should anything ever happen to them. Not me and my husband. I am still reeling from that and won’t even go into the depth of the issue.
2. Work. At work we had critical equipment fail, critical vendors fail and an employee or two that are failing as we speak. (even though I am blogging from work I do not count myself among their numbers… odd)
3. Health. My dear boy is having a hard time of it as he still battles a raging ear infection he has had since late October. I have an appointment to meet with a doctor about his tubes next week. On a personal note, my tonsils are so swollen that they are now pressing on my inner ear drum and causing ear infection like pain. My doctor says I should plan on having them removed this year.
And there you have it – my holy trinity. I am just trying to keep it together and hoping that the one in Time’s Square is the only ball to drop in my life any time soon.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1160494810724361442006-10-10T11:30:00.000-04:002006-10-10T11:40:10.863-04:00Good GodI see my children in everything I do and see. They are the reason I sniffle over halmark commercials, get absorbed in Dragon Tales and they are the reason I cannot watch the news.
My children are my tears when I read about the little girls in the little one room school room who were not protected by God but now rest in his hands.
What are we doing to our innocents? These separated few. These passive, quiet, peaceful few. Our innocence rests in them to a certain degree. They are a promise kept. A vision of ourselves that reflects clear and true.
How then do we bring such blood shed to them. How does someone plan a group molestation and murder undetected? How are we so unconnected from each other that this man was married and a member of society and still packed a bag full of lube, guns and rope and set off for an Amish school house on a rampage based on his past indiscretions, that turn out to be false anyway?
My heart bleeds for those little girls as they lay dying on the wood plank floor.
I see my baby there with her little pig tails and little attitude. She is afraid of Elmo costumes and men in uniform. She is innocent in a way only a two year old can be innocent.
And yet she bleeds.only mehttp://firstname.lastname@example.org:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1151337507982014082006-06-26T11:52:00.000-04:002006-06-26T11:58:27.990-04:00My GodI have a little buddha for a God. His smile makes my world.
My children make me realize that there is a power out there. Call it what you will.
They are the smile and the laughter of my life.
They are the reson that I dance when the radio comes on. They are my comfort of a cuddle.
They are the tears I cry when I hear of other babes who have been injured, kidnapped, worse.
They are the reason for the sun and the moon and the sky.Their eyes reflect it all, take it all in and bring it all back out.
They are my empathy. They are our future.
For all the little Gods out there.
My hope is infinite.only mehttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-30162278.post-1151084398237843212006-06-23T13:32:00.000-04:002006-06-23T13:39:58.250-04:00Your GodI got inspired on my way home from work yesterday. I am forever frustrated by the lack of compassion and understanding that masks itself behind religion.
All the major religions share the same basic principles and beliefs:
Love each other
Take care of each other
Respect each other
God loves you
So I am not religious. Nor am I “god-fearing” but I say this with complete openeness and understanding.
If you believe in God, whatever name your God goes by…
Your God loves me too.
I think it bears repeating and I think we all need reminding.
Do you know what happens when both sides of a battle pray to God for protection and to help them win?
I view it like two children fighting over a toy with God as the parent.
Do parent’s have favorites? Maybe. But good parents never show it and I believe that God is a good parent. So what do parents do when children compete with each other? They root for both sides. They cheer as loudly for the victor as they do for the loser. And they admonish anyone not playing fairly.
A parent loves all their children equally.
Your God loves me too.