My Little Piece of Humble Pie

Thank You, and Good Night.

2010-11-03T08:52:00.002-05:00

During the last several months I have attempted to write this entry at least ten times. Nothing ever sounded quite right, so I'm just going to lay it all out there. It's been three months since I have posted anything, and I am debating if I will continue to write on this blog or anywhere publically. It was once something I loved; the one thing I could go to in times of pain or joy, any deep emotion. A place, my zone, to be completely myself, use my own words and explain away my feelings and thoughts. I have always enjoyed sharing what I write for two reasons: 1. Writing provides me an opportunity to say things exactly the way I want, for as long as I want, as I am not the best communicator when I speak. I'm not fortunate enough to be as witty as many other people I know. I need time to formulate my thoughts. I am not a person who can respond impulsively, I have to thoroughly think things through and process those ideas. Ask anyone who has ever been close to me if I have written them a letter, and they will tell you, "At least once." Ask them if I have said something that sounded socially awkward, and again they will respond with, "At least once!" Needless to say, I'm insanely paranoid about my spoken word and constantly second-guessing what I say outloud, despite the fact that my intentions are always pure. 2. It offers the prospect of community and support. I have made friends through my writing and theirs, gotten to know old friends better through their responses, and found a sense of fulfillment when someone expressed they felt better or thought differently after having read something I wrote. Trust me when I say that I know how vain that last sentence sounds, but let's face it: we all feel an energy rush when we've been given accolades for something that is personally important.

There is a quote from one of my favorite authors, David Sedaris, which reads, "Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize that it's just an illusion and that people are going to bring their own stuff into it." Now, I always felt that sense of control, that while my way of saying things is never quite perfect enough in certain situations, my writing was different. How could what I'm writing be misinterpreted? If a writer knows how to write, how can they possibly be misunderstood? I realize I am making an assumption about the quality of my work here, but those were my thoughts. Sadly, however, the last couple of years I have had to come to terms with the general fact that what Mr. Sedaris says is true. And not just in writing, but in life as a whole. It doesn't necessarily matter what any of us does or says as there will always be people who misunderstand, for whatever reason. We all misspeak, misunderstand, misinterpret, or just miss completely because we are human. We have to cut ourselves and others a little slack for this, but the fact is it doesn't always happen. So while I don't necessarily care what other people think of me because I know the kind of person I am, at the same time, I don't want to be a whipping girl for other people's insecurities, either. I don't think I can put myself out on the front lines on purpose. I need my heart intact.

That said I do believe when one writes they have to accept that there will be the inevitable negative feedback, and on the surface I feel I have been able to embrace both kinds of input. However, while I have moments of excitement and flickers of ideas regarding possible topics, for now, I need the comfort of friends, companions who choose to offer the benefits of mutual face-to-face friendship. Life has taken me to a place that is deeply personal, and anything less than honest just doesn't feel right. I don't want to try to find a new way to say the same old clichés about life because it doesn't feel original. It doesn't feel like it's true to me at this point in time. I think (okay, I know) I needed this blog to get through some of the most challenging interpersonal situations I have ever had to deal with such as the loss of life-long friendship, obesity issues, financial strife, personal insecurities and marriage melt-downs. I truly value my friends who have read my words and been there for me through this, but now, honestly, I don't even think I can accurately describe what I'm feeling other than, for now, I'm done. My deepest and sincere love and gratitude goes to you. Thank you for being there for me.

One Seat at a Time

2010-07-24T17:06:00.001-05:00

There are a lot of ways we can improve this world: watch our carbon footprint, raise respectful and kind children, make sure we lead our lives in a manner of service and sacrifice, etc. I'm all for each of these, and I personally try to do the best I can to uphold those missions to the best of my imperfect abilities and sometimes seemingly constant missteps, but today I'm here to advocate for a new cause; one that makes others more comfortable in a situation that is usually less than pleasant. One that promises to leave a mark on the person behind us (so to speak), if not the world as a whole. I am here now to ask for your support and possible compliance as I set forth on this journey.

Public restrooms. Seriously, they are gross enough without having to deal with others "indiscretions" and I would like to send a message: CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELF. Yes, that's right. I don't care about your hurry or your desire to squat and splash, what I care about is not seeing your yellow leftovers. We don't enjoy cleaning our OWN bathrooms, much less the mess of some stranger before us. I really don't want to get down to the nitty-gritty here, but I'm going to provide a few stomach-turning examples. One restroom I have access to frequently tends to have mass amounts of hair on the toilet. And not just a little, I'm talking CHUNKS. Really?! Is that really necessary? And okay girls, we all know what little joy we have in common, but if we leave a little (or often a lot) of our female evidence behind, it's just plain disgusting. In fact, that word doesn't even cut it: it's revolting.

Here is my proposal: let's make an effort to just look before we flush. Just make sure that we leave it as we came. Respect the public throne. The idea of having to share something so personal with hundreds of strangers is disgusting enough without adding to the OCD victim's worst nightmare. With a simple look and quick wipe, we can all be just a tad less grossed out every day and wouldn't that be nice? One less grossed out person in the world can make a difference. And it can start with YOU. I challenge you to be a leader, a toilet-wiping trendsetter. Say it with me: Be Clean! Be Clean! Be Clean! And this concludes my public service for the day.

Talk to Me, Please.

2010-06-20T19:01:00.002-05:00

I know that when I call my sister I do not need to leave a message. She has caller ID and has said that if she sees I called, that's enough for her to know to call back. Then I have a friend who is just the opposite and has said that if I don't leave a message, she'll just assume it wasn't very important and she'll just call me back when time allows. Last week another good friend let me know that texting is really the safest bet for reaching her, while another said she never texts, but please email. I think I need a spreadsheet that outlines the preferred method for being in touch.

With all these modes of corresponding, it would seem logical to conclude it is easier to communicate. However, it just seems to make things more confusing. Like many people, I love reading a good quote; so last week when my Gmail account gave me my daily words of wisdom, one struck a chord. It went something like this: How about we stop trying to communicate, and just have a conversation. If I had thought to write it down, I would be able to give credit where credit is due, but unfortunately all I can say is that I didn't say it, I took it, and now I'm owning up to my lack of originality. In any case, I am completely overwhelmed by the need to decipher which of the five means of getting in touch works best for each and every person I may need to contact. And since I'm not über-connected (no iPhone or texting keypad for me), I'm limited to the house phone, cell phone, email and Facebook, so if a friend doesn't really pay attention to those things, they may never get my message. I guess it's a chance I have to take.

Perhaps I don't really have much of a point here other than I seriously crave simpler times, for lack of a better expression. I liked using the phone, and it feels good when people answered it rather than check the caller ID to see if the person on the other line is worthy of their time at that moment. I liked the long cords that forced you to sit down while you talked and take a break, thus actually focusing on the person with whom you are speaking. I remember the sense of numbness in my pointer finger after trying to call in to a radio station to win some contest while using the rotary phone. Remember how amazing it was when we got the "Redial" button? And, I liked not being totally accessible. Everyone is different, and billions around the world are quite happy with the amazing technology, it's just the expectations that come along with it; that because you can be contacted 10 different ways you should therefore drop everything to answer your text/email/cell/twitter/wall post. Sports Illustrated, I beg you, bring back the football phone; and come on, when those huge red lips start ringing, how can you not want to see who's on the other end? So, please don't text me. Don't ask me to be on Twitter because my minute to minute declarations are simply not that entertaining. Email is great, but seriously, let's have a conversation that includes our human voices in real-time. It's so much easier to have a relationship of substance that way, and frankly, I think we'd all feel a little bit more special to one another.

Give it to me NOW!

2010-05-23T21:28:00.004-05:00

I want it now. Right now. If I can't have it, I'm going to get very, very mad. So mad in fact I might not be able to control myself. I might drive too close to the car ahead of me because they are only going 39 miles per hour in a 35 mph zone. I might get agitated by the three second delay at the drive thru window. Then I will continue the short circuit and bring it into my relationships by getting mad when people don't speak the way I think they should, hold grudges because the world is against me, and so on, and so on and so on……

Immediate gratification. I cannot begin to express how frustrated I have been with this era of entitlement and the consequences that often follow when we don't receive things we feel are our "due". It's more evident with children, obviously, because they are young and learning self-control and patience. It's understandable when they are two, versus ten versus eighteen versus thirty-six. What inspired my frustration, you may ask? The iPhone. An amazing piece of technology, I admit. It is pretty awesome to be able to do anything you want; from ordering dinner to writing a dissertation (if you are so inclined). It is so amazing, in fact, that I was able to accept the choice my husband made to get one, regardless of the price tag (gulp). Here's the problem: I started noticing my son wanting a new application every single day. I am not exaggerating when I say that before my eyes, my relatively patient child turned into this crazed maniac at the sheer sight of this thing because he could get what he wanted right away. It quickly seeped into other parts of his day as he began to think that anything he wanted would just magically appear. Let me interrupt with one little fact: we do not have a lot of material things, at least by comparison to others around us, so the big, expensive toys or frequent babysitter date nights are not something my family expects, but does appreciate every so often. Therefore to have my children suddenly expecting things right away really began to bother my sensibilities. I was not raised in a "spoiled" manner, and I certainly am not going to spoil my children with gadgets.

As I thought more about what this little piece of technology can do, it occurred to me that it's not just the iPhone that has created this entitlement phase. This all started a decade or so ago; probably longer. Shortly after moving to Chicago in 1998, I remember riding bikes with a friend and seeing another bike rider talking on a cell phone. I will admit, my judgmental hat came on and my friend and I looked at each other, rolled our eyes and said, "Only a poseur thinks he's that important that he needs to talk right now. Who is so important that they can't just leave a message?"

Getting something the moment we want it doesn't offer happiness, it provides a fix. And once we get it, we want something else. People who think about cheating on their partner can do so with the click of a button. They don't even have to think about the consequences of their actions because it only takes a second to send the message from the brain to the hand, and Bam! They've just gotten themselves two flawed relationships in a matter of seconds. Just as people who are addicted to food (like I was) feel that when they are down they must get something yummy to eat, like say, a Jimmy John's #11 sub sandwich with extra guacamole, to fill the void. Then, sure as sh*#, that void comes right back, along with an extra pound on the hips.

We all have things we like and want, things that make us feel good; manicures, ice cream, a favorite television show, and there is nothing wrong with enjoying those things. It's that "got to have it now or I'm going to be a grumpy jerk" attitude that is the problem. Seriously, what is so important that it has to ruin our mood, our day, our outlook on life? Love, that's pretty important. Air, we got to have air. Yes, the DVR has alleviated more than one argument, and the fact that if I run out of milk I can go through the drive thru at McDonalds and buy some is pretty darn spectacular, but if I couldn't do either, things would be okay. I would survive. My kids would survive. In fact, I'm pretty sure we would survive with a smile. A nice, patient, happy, smile.

Sleepwalking

2010-04-11T23:26:00.002-05:00

There are two things you should know about my soon-to-be five year old son, aside from the fact that he is completely awesome and the best hugger on the planet. First, he loves puzzles. I mean he connects with them. Since he was a tiny baby he has been putting them together and learning. It's how he learned all his letters, numbers, shapes, planets, and, the United States map. He takes good care of them, and finishes them far faster than I ever could. It amazes me. Second, he sleepwalks. This is a scary phenomenon that we have recently been much more in tune with due to a few instances. For example, one night I heard thumping in his room, only to find him running in circles with his eyes closed. There have also been countless times I have found him standing against the wall next to our bathroom door, trying to find his way in to use the potty, only to give up in his sleep and go back to bed. Thus far nothing major has happened, but trust me; when something goes bump in the night, I immediately investigate.

Tonight my little man was sitting on the floor before bedtime putting together his very large United States of America puzzle. It's something like 56 pieces and he cherishes every single state. California reminds him of a banana, New York has the Statue of Liberty, and Texas is "HUGE!" It is hands down his most prized possession, and quite honestly he could tell me more about the map than I ever was required know. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Mommy, it's wet and smells like pee!" I know, too much information, but after a little logical deduction, we came to the conclusion that he had not been able to find his door the night before and went to the bathroom on the floor. He had no memory of it happening, but since nobody was home all day, it was the only thing we could come up with. I then began to put the wet puzzle in a bag and explained we would have to throw it away. This was met with anguish from my baby. "We can dry it off!" He wailed, not understanding why I had to dispose of it. And after he tried to fight the bag from my grip, crying all the while, he let out an excruciating sob, "You have broken my heart!" And in turn, the situation and his sadness broke mine.

I lay with him for an hour. Never have I seen him hurt so deeply. He was wounded at having lost something he really loved in a way he couldn't understand. I realize it is just a puzzle, but to him it was more than a toy, it was something that he wrapped his heart around. His puzzle being taken away would be like someone telling me I can no longer have music. He reminded me of the boy in The Velveteen Rabbit and I had to comfort him and try to help him understand why he had to say goodbye to something he loved. I ended up explaining that I would send an email to Santa, the person who gave him the puzzle, and explain what happened. Then hopefully Santa would write back with an idea of where we could find another. I guess I am trying to work my own magic to ease the pain a little, while he's still young enough to let me. So tomorrow we'll go to one of Santa's hubs and get him a new puzzle. And maybe a new nightlight.

Trimming the Fat

2010-04-07T23:18:00.003-05:00

I got my boobs when I was ten. I will never forget having to be one of the first girls in my class to wear a bra. I was so mortified that regardless of the heat, I wore layers of clothes to cover any indication of a strap. A tee shirt on top of a turtleneck and a hoodie to boot, being shapely was not something me and my soccer loving, kickball fanatic self wanted any part of. Should the boys discover what was underneath my massive amounts of cotton cover-ups, they would never respect me as their equal again. The days of being the first girl (okay, sometimes second) picked at recess for a game would be over.

It is crazy to me that a girl's body image issues start so early in life and it scares me for my daughter because the competition to be perfect seems to be even more intense in this day and age. Anyway, as I grew older, I still played sports, and even found myself on a really good team, with a male coach who liked to refer to my body as a pear that just needed more running to even out. I ate only fruit for four months during training, worked out four hours a day, and finally at the end of the season, received the respect from him that I hoped for; he told me he was proud of my work and that now I looked like a real athlete. It had nothing to do with my performance, mind you. From "kankle" jokes by boyfriends, to dumb blond comparisons by just about anyone and everyone, I never felt good in my own skin. I never felt pretty enough or thin enough and definitely not smart enough, as cliché as that may sound. Through the years that followed, my choices reflected my insecurities, and after finally settling down with a boyfriend even more flawed than I, gained fifty pounds. I still worked out, but I developed some lovely little habits like hoarding food for fear it would be taken away from me. I would eat bags of chocolate and stash the evidence, or down a tub of frosting in one sitting, then wonder why my 40 minute run wouldn't keep the pounds off. Thankfully my husband was not this person, but by the time I did marry a "nice-guy", the damage had been done. We got married, had children and I added on another fifty pounds of Mama-love. It took years of blaming and crying and denial before I realized there was some deep-seeded stuff to work through.

Then, came the light. Seven months ago I actually got to a place to start really focusing on my physical health and have since lost sixty of the one hundred pounds I had gained since college. It's scary to think I had an entire adult person made of fat attached to my already curvy figure. While I never felt confident by the same token, never really thought I was obese. Correction: morbidly obese. I did however feel resentful of others, guilty when eating anything made of something other than leaves, and fixated on the things I couldn't have or do anymore. Life has certainly changed, and since having lost much of the weight, I look at things differently. I mean every smile, enjoy every bite, and run a whole lot farther with my kids. It also seems others notice this change because whether or not it's my imagination, it feels like more people speak to me. Not because I'm thinner per se, but I believe because I feel more human and less ogre. I feel good.

The words diabetes, obesity, high-risk pregnancy, no longer enters conversations at the doctor and it is pretty awesome. If my kids want to race, I can give it to them. Getting up off the ground no longer requires a 10-second action plan followed by a grunt and odd-maneuvering (which of course led to embarrassment, at least it did for me). Then I look at my children, who both carry so much of my genetic makeup and I hope and pray that I can protect them from ever feeling less than good, to make smart choices but not beat themselves up when things don't go as planned, and to take out their stress in healthy ways. I think every parent wants these things and we all hope we do it right with the caveat that our children will inevitably find some shortcoming in our technique. When my daughter has to face the fact that she is my daughter and that means snapping on that boulder holder a little earlier than the rest of the girls at school, I hope I have the right words to assure her that she is beautiful and loved and that there is nothing anyone can do or say to her to change those things.

Putting Down the Remote

2010-03-21T10:27:00.002-05:00

I'm not going to lie; people can really get on my nerves. In fact, if I'm not careful, other people's actions can even ruin my mood, my day, my perspective. Why did she do this? What was their point in saying that? How could they not notice something so obvious? What is their major malfunction? These kinds of comments pop in to my head more often than I'd care to admit, and I truly have to be mindful of not letting them take over.

Interpersonal relationships, as wonderful as they can be, have their complications. Why? Because they are interpersonal. Two people, two heads, two ideas of how things should be. And as close as we might be to that other person, odds are that we aren't always going to agree with the things they do or say. As it turns out, I'm about as human as a person can get and I have learned a very important lesson over the last several years. In fact, I haven't just learned it, it has been ingrained in my head and I work nearly every minute of every day to remember this tiny little fact: what other people do and say is completely out of my hands. I have absolutely nothing to do with another person's actions or reactions. The only person I have any power over is myself and the way I respond is the only thing in this entire world of which I have any real control. My marriage, for example: the number of times I have tried to "manage" a situation, force my husband to clean faster, react better, be more efficient, is astronomical. I'm a very "bullet list" type of person; just give me the facts and don't clutter it up with jibber jabber. Just get to the point so we can move on to the next item on the agenda. My husband, on the other hand has spent his life, his career, in the arena of talking. Yes, you guessed correctly, he is an attorney (insert lame lawyer joke here). We have not only driven one another crazy with years of bantering over how we think things should be, but we have made countless others uncomfortable in our presence. We are so different, that I have unfortunately often questioned if he is even the right man for me. These doubts of course then led to years of marriage counseling that has changed us pretty immensely. How? Simply put, I finally get it. I finally know, and practice, the art of putting down the remote control on his behavior. If he leaves behind a mess that drives me crazy, I give him time to remember to pick it up himself (which he does most of the time) and bite my tongue on the comments (most of the time). If he needs to talk about something I personally find less than interesting, I listen because I love him, therefore I must respect his interests. I have learned I must give him the opportunity to succeed rather than jump on him immediately when things aren't going the way I think they should. After countless sessions developed to teach me to accept that there really is no "right" way of doing things, I'm working hard to let these lessons permeate into the outside world. Hiding my opinion is very difficult for me—for many reasons. Ask my mother; I'm about as transparent as they get. I personally prefer people be honest because I find it makes things less complicated in the long run, but I love the people in my life and realize they might be more sensitive to my "feedback". Therefore I am learning when something bothers me I really have to ask myself this question: Is it what they are doing that is the problem? Or is it my reaction that is really getting me (and keeping me) upset. I'm not joking when I say I use nearly every fiber in my body to look at things in a positive light. I'm not successful all of the time, but I do try, and sometimes I have moments where I need to binge and purge the negative thoughts. Thank God I have different friends that allow me different relationships. You can't binge and purge your every thought with just anyone!

Over the last week or so I have struggled more than usual with my own thoughts and reactions. It takes a lot to frustrate me, and when I am I have to sit back and really look hard at what the real issue is and come up with a way to resolve my inner battle. It's not like I'm having a Linda Blair moment or anything, but I have to remember that we are all different and letting go, putting down that remote, is the only real way to start solving the problem. It takes the clutter out of the small things and allows the focus to be on the relationship. I have a long way to go, but I do not plan to just talk the talk here, I want to and vow to walk the walk. The people in my life were put there for a reason and I want to cherish them for all they are, and that is a lot easier when I just let them be themselves.

The Jenny’s

2010-03-11T12:20:00.003-06:00

It's been quite some time since I last wrote. I'll be honest, much of that is because like everyone there is a lot going on in my personal life that is actually so personal I don't want to write about it. Shocking, isn't it? I have started at least ten entries, but they all sounded either too depressing or too cliché and I couldn't stand to read my own words. So instead, like I try to do when the "stuff" is really getting me where it hurts, I start counting my blessings. My healthy children, people who love me, a roof over my head, and friendships. I am fortunate to have had a lot of wonderful people come through my life and there is not enough room on one entry to name them all, so I thought I'd start with a name. In my local life, I joke that my friends are "The Amy's and The Jenny's". Outside of my daily life, the list of Jenny/Jennifers/Jen's extends to my hometown. So to all the Jen's I've loved before, here's to you! (I couldn't help myself.)

Jen: A neighbor who has a heart bigger than the universe. She sees the absolute best in everyone and strives to constantly be a better person. To me, I can't imagine her being any better. She truly strives to make the world a better place by the way she leads her life. I envy her ability to be completely and totally kind, yet honest.

Jenny: Another neighbor of mine, her honesty and candidness are incredibly refreshing. A friend who you can be completely straight forward with, no holds barred, she is a devoted person, through and through. Once you are her friend, she sticks by you no matter what. One of the most giving people I have ever met.

Jennifer: I cannot forget the final neighborhood Jen. We recently began getting to know one another, but her sense of humor is out of this world, as is her devotion to young children. She was meant to teach, and hundreds of children are better because of her.

Jenny: As I extend past the boundaries of my current locale, I think of an old friend who has the best wit of anyone I know. Her ability to be humble, honest, and roaringly hilarious at the same time is something I truly envy. She makes me laugh. Hard. Having reconnected with her is something I think God intended as she has taught me much about forgiveness through our many email conversations, something I have truly needed.

Jen: A friend from way back, she is ridiculously good-looking, but allows her inner goofball to always shine through. She has an inner strength that seems ever-present, and I envy her sense of conviction. She makes no apologies for who she is, yet is humble at the same time. She emits life.

Jen: A friend made in the workplace several years ago, she has an awesome laugh and extends herself to others. I know that even when we don't talk for months, we are friends. She is direct, positive, an amazing mother, and a friend with a wonderful sense of humor. If you want to know what she thinks, she'll tell you, and I'm so thankful for that quality!

As I think about the charateristics of all these women, there seems to be something they all have in common: honesty and humor. Two things I personally value greatly, and something these women all use in their own ways, which works for them all. And as I think about all the other Jen's who aren't listed here, I know they too carry these fabulous personality traits. Thanks for being you, ladies; you bring so much to so many!

Sugar Cookie Inspiration

2009-12-15T22:02:00.002-06:00

Earlier this evening my husband and I were making sugar cookies with the kids. They were picking out which cookie cutter they wanted and helping mix flour into the dough. My son was excited, to say the least, about what we were doing and he was having a great deal of difficulty holding himself back. Can you blame him? After all, we were making one of the best things ever created. Soon my daughter started grabbing at piles of dough and stuffing them in her mouth and my son was officially trying to man the rolling pin. I could hear my husband's voice begin to grow impatient, then frustrated. I asked him what was wrong and he said it's too hard for him to do this and that the kids were making too big a mess; it was stressing him out. I sat there for a second as he walked away to get a grip, and I just said, "You know, if you spend all your time focusing on the mess, you'll never actually have any fun with what we're doing." He gave me one of those, "Hahaha's" and stepped back in to help the kids.

Through all that life throws our way, there is plenty to get frustrated with, angry about, and more. Personally speaking, starting our own business two years ago has tested me in ways I never knew existed. My patience, my acceptance, my understanding, tolerance, trust, faith, you name the virtue, and I have worked through it over the last two years. In the end, it has all boiled down to two things: Did we learn, and are we okay? I have worked excruciatingly hard to look at life's challenges in a positive light. I start with a small period of irritation, head in to mourning about how things will change, and after a day I realize I need to figure out a way to either accept or change. There really is no other option unless I want to just be miserable, which hardly seems like a good idea.

It's no secret that life is one big mess, pretty much all of the time. We all have our own collage of issues we are working through in our own way. If we can see through the mess a bit, find a little spot of laughter here and there, and uncover a lesson, then the chaos doesn't feel quite so mixed up all the time. We've all heard the famous, and yet placating phrase, 'Everything happens for a reason.' Sometimes it pisses us off, and other times it reassures us that things will, in the end, work out for the best if we let it. The cookies we made were jagged, and at least a quarter of the dough ended up in my daughter's belly. Rest assured when we actually add decorating with frosting to the agenda tomorrow my husband will stand by controlling his mini-coronary as red icing drips to the floor and sprinkles find their way up to the bedrooms. But by God, he'll remember that the kids had fun, we had fun, and in the end, does the rest really even matter?

What if?

2009-11-18T22:59:00.003-06:00

What if? We all ask it; we all wonder this tiny, yet undeniably huge question. What if I had gotten the job I applied for? What if I had stayed in my home town? What if I hadn't gone to college? What if I had gone to school? What if I hadn't met him or her? The list goes on.

Most of the people who are in my life on a personal level know this is a question I have been struggling with a lot over the last couple of years. My husband and I have made a lot of decisions, some impulsive, some not, that have led us to where we are now. I don't feel the need to hide the fact that we are facing some challenges. Not in our marriage per se, but other areas that are part of our daily life. So I ask myself quite often questions such as, "What if I hadn't made it to the concert on the night we met? What if I had decided not to sell my home in the city? What if we hadn't rushed into things so quickly? What if I had had more time?" It's natural to wonder, as hindsight is always going to be twenty-twenty. However, it can be dangerous to the soul, to the psyche, if we start to move from, "What if?" to "I wish." There is a fine line surrounded by a lot of gray that leads people to make all kinds of risky, often damaging decisions. For example, over the last couple of years I have witnessed several friends whose husbands (and sometimes wives) moved from white to gray to black, thus leaving the love they once had for their spouse, behind, sometimes leaving confused young children in the wake. More personally, I find myself wondering what my life would have been had I not lost a baby when I was so young, and again, during my marriage? If the first hadn't happened, would I have the children I have now? Would I be living here? Would I have ever met my husband? Would I have had similar experiences? All of which are questions that can never be answered.

Having essentially examined myself quite a bit lately, I have had to dig deep and try to find the reasons why I need to leave that question alone. Wondering won't change anything. It won't help me get through the day, solve any problems; it won't even help me prevent future issues. No matter what happens in life, we made the choices we made, for one reason or another, and here we sit. And some of the things that happen aren't even a matter of choice, they just are. What if cannot change what is, nor can help us to go backwards to change the future because we would, most certainly, only find ourselves asking the same questions in a different scenario. The fact is, if we let the grass look greener on the other side, it will. If we wonder what would have happened had we gone in a different direction, it could very well change what could be a positive outcome. We might miss the good stuff that so often comes from the messy. It's so hard to trust in fate, or, as some would put it, God's plan. It is like tempting fate and while high risks can yield high rewards, they can also create horrible falls from grace. The real question is, am I willing to risk it all just so I can find an answer? If there is happiness, if there is love, why would I want to go back? If it weren't for the path I led, I would not be on my current journey. There are nights I do mourn losses, things that were out of my control, people I loved and lost, decisions I made in haste or out of fear, but then I wake up the next day, hug my children and know that I love them, they love me. There is love; therefore I am where I was meant to be. Life always looks better and easier from the outside looking in, but on the inside, when you are feeling the love and the pain and the ups and the downs, well, that is life. There is no what if. There is just us, moving forward on the path that was meant to be.

Fifty Cents [By, Errin Frank]

2009-10-18T22:34:00.003-05:00

The following essay was written by an old friend of mine. We went through a lot together as friends during high school and college, and recently reconnected. She has always had a very kind heart, and when I read her words it brought me back to a time where she helped me. Errin was there for me during my darkest hour, and in this essay her humanity has shone through again; not that she would want to receive credit for her kindness as that is not who she is, but I find her actions to be a beautiful example of giving, the way God intended. Enjoy.

***

Today was a dreary little day in my mind and heart. A down and out day that needed to be flipped on its head. I had a profound experience that I thought I would share because I think there are multiple lessons, for me, and maybe one's for you too.

The first thing to say is that grandparents and parents are right. You should always have a little extra cash in your pocket for emergencies. Back in the day, it was a quarter so that you could make a phone call when you were in trouble but cell phones have made that obsolete (SP?). Later on it was having cash for a cab fare or to get milk at the store but plastic as over ruled the use of most paper money in my day to day life; always the plastic. Debit or credit, miss? Today I learned why you always need 50, real, cents in your pocket at bare minimum.

Walking in the grocery store toward all the baby food, the first thing I noticed was the most beautiful little face I'd ever seen peaking out of a white, fuzzy, hood from her coat. She couldn't have been more than 1 1/2, sitting in her stroller with big brown eyes and a mop of pretty black hair. Her mother was selecting baby food, the same stuff I was picking out.

I leaned over and was trying to decide between the turkey and noodle dinner and the turkey with vegetable dinner. Wait! Maybe I'll get the lasagna, she loves the lasagna! In my peripheral vision I noticed that the mother of the sweet little girl with big brown eyes wasn't selecting anything. She was studying the food and the price tag. Then she would dig for coins and count them. Then she would study the food again.

I made my choices and walked a couple steps away trying to decide what was going on. I dug and dug in my purse and could only find 50 cents. Look again, damn it! 50 cents! I decided to approach her and very delicately, or as delicately as I could come up with, offered her the 50 cents. I told her I hoped it would make a difference for her. Then she started to cry and said that it would really help her. 50 cents people. I was almost ashamed that I had nothing more in my purse.

I walked away, hoping I hadn't embarrassed her. Then the light bulb. I'm such an ass! If I really wanted to help, I would have bought all her groceries. I could have done it. It wouldn't have hurt us much. I've never had to think twice about buying my baby food because of cost. I had a chance to do the right thing but I only made it half way up the hill! I turned around and in the couple minutes that had passed, she was gone. I missed it. I really could have helped but I missed it. But this isn't about me. It's about a frivolous 50 cents clicking in the bottom of my purse.

Most spoiled children won't pick up their room for 50 cents. Children expect more than that from the tooth fairy. A tip for any service of this amount is laughable. Today, 50 cents made a difference and brought a mother to tears. Ok, two mothers.

I guess the lesson I will take with me today is that sometimes it takes something very small to make a big difference. That and I should always have a few dollars in my pocket so that I can really make a change.

Just my insights on a dreary day.

From Apron Strings to Punch Cards

2009-10-14T21:14:00.002-05:00

I'm going to be completely honest; although I'm sure it may conjure up some harsh judgment. While I always knew I'd be a mother someday, I assumed I would also be working or be involved in something meaningful and beneficial outside the home. I have always been someone who really thrives on outside fulfillment. What I mean is, I always needed a goal such as getting the A, blocking the most goals, running a faster 5K, getting the promotion, etc. I'm not proud of the fact that I always desired this constant external reinforcement in order to feel good about myself, but as I said, I'm being honest.

When my husband and I chose for me to be a stay at home mom I knew it would be a big adjustment for me on many levels; the first being that I had held a job, often more than one at the same time, for twenty years. However, when we made the decision I was at least to the point in my emotional evolvement to know I loved my children more than anything else. Therefore I would figure it out and feel completely satisfied with my new apron strings down the road. How hard could it be? Well, let's just say this experience has been more like a boulevard and less like a quaint cul-de-sac. However, with the need to return to a two income home, (in other words, me working at night so we don't have to pay for childcare), I'm starting to realize the things I will miss. I have never been away from my kids for that many hours at a time. I have nearly always put them to bed at night. I have not missed a milestone, a play date, a new interest. Oh, I know many of my mom friends who work are quite possibly rolling their eyes right now, as I am well-versed in being annoyed with stay at home moms. I, too, worked full time before my second child came along. Here's the crux of that back-patting need of mine: while obviously I love my children to no end, I had to dig deep to finally feel satisfied with being home. I mean really, really deep. I had to figure things out about myself I didn't like, and had to accept things I never knew I could; such as the fact that a stay at home mom doesn't automatically translate into maid, cook, and personal shopper. At least not for me. My husband is a grown man and perfectly capable of running errands and helping with dinner. I refuse to feel guilty because he had a hard day at work and has to come home and empty the diaper pail.

As my "unemployed" status comes to a close I feel such a mix of emotions. I feel happy that I won't have to endure the inevitable daily groans of children who dislike what I made for dinner, and I am excited for the opportunity to meet some new people. I also look forward to taking some of the financial burden off our backs, if only just a little. However, I will miss being able to go to the park on the spur of the moment, or be the one who takes the kids to their activities and gets to see their excited faces when they are done. I will desperately miss their running hugs at bed time. By the same token, I'm excited for my husband to gain more of those experiences as they truly are incredible little moments. So while it took me nearly my entire stint of being home all the time to figure it out and I refuse to completely abandon the notion that hedonism in small doses is perfectly acceptable (wink wink), it's nice to know that my goals stem not from some insecure need to be outwardly appreciated, but from the inside; they are coming from the heart. It seems this road has taught me how to finally feel satisfied on the inside. Thank goodness for big lessons.

The “I” in Motherhood?

2009-09-24T19:00:00.003-05:00

It happened quickly. The constant kicking and rolling of an actual human under my skin coinciding with the need to pop a Tums every ten minutes made it impossible to avoid. It was, quite simply, hard not to know that motherhood was imminent. I knew it when I was delirious from lack of sleep. I even knew it when we finally stopped having to watch the fruits and vegetables episode of Sesame Street. Today, however, was the first time I felt the odd sensation that while I did create people that I love more intensely than anyone else, I still exist. I am an actual, living person.

Getting caught up in the whirlwind of motherhood isn't just easy, it's the way life is when you care about the people you are molding on a minute to minute basis. Today, however, I actually remembered that there is this whole other person inside me, speaking metaphorically of course. I knew she was there, and yet over the years each time someone said that familiar line, "You can't forget to take care of yourself", I cringed. While I, like many mothers, knew that to be the case, I tended to just go through the motions of caring for myself; such as getting a pedicure once in awhile to relax, or even going out for drinks with girlfriends. All motions. I did it, I liked it, but always in the back of my mind was the agitation of what little thing wouldn't have been completed in my absence that I would have to later handle due to my need to "take care of myself," coupled with the guilt that I was being selfish by existing away from the family my husband and I had created. Let's call this what it is: Martyrdom. Or try this one out for size: Control Freak.

I'm not exactly sure what it was that brought me to the light. Maybe it was a recent weight loss or finding a great organization to volunteer with, or maybe it was the wonderful people that have come into my life recently, but I realized that while I love being a mother, I also like being a person outside of motherhood. Thinking about my children nearly every single second is something that I'll never put down, because that is how I'm wired. But the ability to finally enjoy my time as an adult woman without concerns for what isn't being handled my way while I'm not with my children is pretty great. I trust the people who take care of them when I'm not around, and know they have their best interest at heart. I know my husband is perfectly capable of taking care of the kids while I'm away (even if he hasn't mastered the art of multitasking cleaning/playing/cooking). While I'm still growing and learning, I feel a huge weight has been heaved from my shoulders. A weight that caused undue stress, ridiculous arguments, and a lack of joy. I can finally breathe because I really understand that I, too, exist.

Dork On!

2009-09-17T14:22:00.004-05:00

I knew I was a giant dork very early on. Making dorky faces, stupid jokes, doing things that nobody else would possibly find funny but had me rolling hysterically on the floor are just a few signs that pointed in the direction of positive dorkiness. Oh yes, I'm a dork and proud of it. But, not everyone understands us dorks. They might confuse us for being weird, having a lame sense of humor, or simply just not being cool. Any true dork, however, knows not to let this bother them because the inherent characteristic to owning claim to the big D is that all any dork wants is to have fun in completely innocent and goofy ways.

You might be asking yourself how one might know if they are on the cutting edge of dorkdom? I've tried to come up with a few ideas as I have 35 years of practice and consider myself to be one of the masters of dorkiness. Let's see if any of the following symptoms sounds familiar to you:

You might be a dork if you find something funny that nobody else understands, and you can't stop laughing about it for the rest of the day. Out loud.
You might be a dork if you have a running joke about something totally random, such as a shovel, and just the mere mention of said object to your partner in dorkiness will set off chortles heard round the world.
You might be a dork if you crack a joke and everyone looks at you and kind of smiles just so you don't feel stupid, but you're still laughing anyway.
You might be a dork if you like to make up impromptu stories or songs after being "inspired" by just a tune or a word uttered by some poor unsuspecting stranger.
You might be a dork if you are an adult who occasionally needs to flail their limbs all around just to get the silly's out.
You might be a dork if you know you are just not all that "cool" or "smooth" because something crazy always happens when you try to be either. Such as trying to be super hip for a party and then tripping on the rug as you enter the room.
Finally, you might be a dork if you are laughing at any of these and nodding your head in agreement.

Being a dork is fun. It may not be hip, trendy, cool, or suave, but it's definitely interesting, and definitely something that keeps you grounded, humble, and true to yourself. So dork on, friends, it's good for the soul!

-------

AMENDMENT:

Due to the high amount of fabulous comments on Facebook about this post, I felt the need to share the additions several of my friends offered. They are totally dorky and totally awesome:

You do or say something that has never been done or said before in the history of civilization.
You ever read the book, "I Hate Everything But Boys" as a kid and started your own IHEBB club.
You know how to touch your tongue to your chin or the bottom of your nose and like to routinely show people.
You often feel like a social outcast in front of the "cool" people in your office.
You think just because the windows are rolled up in your vehicle nobody can see what you're doing inside.
You still try to touch your elbow with your tongue thinking that one day it will happen.

Thank you to my friends Heather and Jennifer for providing these fantastic additions to the dork list! You are definitely honorary dorks in my world I like to call Dorkdom.

An Unexpected Gift

2009-09-15T15:41:00.003-05:00

My sister lent me this book a couple months ago that I've just now begun to read. I'm sure most of you have heard of it, as it was pretty popular and one of the writers of the book was also a writer for Sex in the City, which most of us girls watched religiously every Sunday night. It's all about how you can tell that a guy isn't in to you, and that you're worth being into, or worth having someone who is actually interested for the right reasons. While I wish I had had this book ten years ago as it would have saved me many, many nights of pondering and restless sleep, it's been kind of an eye opener for other unexpected reasons.

The older I get, the more I really see what a real friend is, who will be there for you and allow you to be there for them. Those who can laugh with you, tell you the truth, and who are willing to have a friendship that goes both ways. For me personally, I have had a few really good friends in my life, but mostly just a lot of friends who were around for awhile, but when the wind blew, they were gone. Or, likewise, I would flit forward to a new adventure and another group of friends. I see the evidence of this when I look at pictures of them going through major events in their life, and while I may have been around throughout most of it, I wasn't around enough. It makes me sad to know that I was just more of a sidelines kind of friend, and never really knew it. More specifically, about a year ago, someone who I'd known my whole life, someone who, despite distance or life change, always felt like home, let me know she didn't wish to have a friendship with me anymore. No real reason provided in the three sentence email, but nearly 30 years of knowing one another went down the drain and it hurt. It still hurts a great deal, actually. So I ask, were there signs before? How was I so disillusioned to think we had this wonderful life-long friendship, when clearly, the feeling was not mutual? Like with men, were there obvious signs, but I just made excuses because I didn't want to believe that this person I loved dearly, just didn't value our friendship to the same extent? Was my friend just not that into friendship with me?

There have been a lot of entries about relationships and how they change: some grow, some end. But they always challenge us to be a better person; that is if we can figure out how to find the good in a mess of hurt. I recently received an email with this phrase, "God doesn't give you the people you want; He gives you the people you need... to help you, to hurt you, to leave you, to love you and to make you into the person you were meant to be." It's so important to remember there are simply just not a lot of constants in this world, and if there are a few people, a few great friends, great loves, whatever the greats may be, they are great because they are of quality, not quantity. They are true and meaningful, and they celebrate the people we are, they don't pick at the things they would rather we'd be. Since this particular friend walked out so easily from my life, I have had to remind myself on a next to daily basis, that it's okay. I am fortunate to have the greats that I do, and I thank her for being part of this discovery, for unintentionally showing me that I can't be a sidelines kind of friend. One day she and I will sit and have coffee together again, talk about books, and laugh about our adventures, but until then, my eyes have opened to the value in the people that are right in front of me. What a great gift.

Letting Go

2009-09-03T08:05:00.002-05:00

For the greater part of my life I have wondered if there is a right time to stop trying. With friends, that is. You know what I'm talking about, the people you feel you are pretty darn close with until things start to get in the way of regular conversations, then the drifting really happens and you suddenly find yourself pretty much out of that person's life completely. I have written before about how hard it is to let go of a friend, but my question is, when do you know it's time to just stop trying? Is there an okay time to stop casually making phone calls or sending emails their way once in awhile just so they know you are still there when they are ready to return as an active member of the friendship?

When I think about this subject I feel like a child who hasn't gotten enough attention. In my head I know that life simply happens and people move on, meet other people, change jobs, change homes, grow children, and change friends. Most of the time the loss of friendship really has absolutely nothing to do with any specific action, it just happens. Like all things, there are friendships that we are blessed with for just one season of our lives. My heart, however, aches. I wonder things that sound so childish and selfish, such as why this old friend has time to keep in touch with other people but not me? Or, if we had really been good friends, they would make some sort of effort. The heart side of these situations hurts and feels like someone stole a little chunk that I can't get back. I know how it sounds to say these things, yet it seems to happen more than I would like to admit. The bottom line is I hate losing a friend no matter whom or what I'm losing them to. So I ask when is the right time to finally say, for one's own sanity, "I'm done trying. I care, but I have to cut my losses and move forward."

I realize there have may have been people in my past that I have pushed back as life forged ahead, although a bit presumptuous to even think someone might have been hurt by losing me as a friend. I know I suck at this aspect of life; moving forward without the people who were with me during the journey, and I, theirs. If I don't check myself I tend to ride the pity train and let myself believe I'm just very expendable. All very immature feelings that would be better off in the back of my mind. I know I must not worry so much about how I feel, and be happy with the people who are on this journey now, at this time, in this moment. That's okay, right?

Serenity Now!

2009-08-25T23:53:00.002-05:00

It's been quite a month in my little neck of the red woods. From complaints about people baking in their own homes to associations passing rules about little boys playing cars in trees, let me ask, is it really that hard to just walk over to a neighbor and ask about something rather than file a formal complaint, wasting people's money and time? This is what our world is coming to. People have so many ways to "get you" without having to actually speak to you, ever. They get to spew out their thoughts, but never have to bear the displeasure of listening to the other side.

The way I see what might be considered "ordinary disputes" is that if you have a problem with someone, you either talk with them about it in a mature manner, or you don't talk about it at all. You walk over to them and say, "Something has been on my mind. Do you have a minute?" Or here's an idea, use the phone. You don't send anonymous emails of complaint, you don't try to sabotage their interests, you don't try to use what little clout you have to stamp on the little kids. We have become wimps. Yes, that's right. We are wimps. We are so afraid of having any real discomfort whatsoever that we go totally out of our way to avoid said discomfort in the name of "democracy". Now, I rarely speak out because I firmly believe people don't need me lurking around the corner trying to expose them. If they throw out enough rope, sooner or later they'll hang themselves. But enough is enough. It is time to accept that everything in the world is not going to be as we'd like it to be. The only way one can truly create their utopia is by simply being happy with what they have, and by the rest of the worlds standards, most of us have it pretty good here in the old U S of A. You know the prayer, "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference." It's an oldie but a goodie, folks.

What I'm experiencing right now is just one example of how things don't need to be in our country. Things don't have to be so complicated all the time. Rules don't need to be put into effect because of one exception. So many rules, so many opinions, are being thrown so far out there that people can't agree to disagree anymore, they have to form some sort of panel to discuss the matter, vote on the matter, and then use tax dollars to put the matter into "law". It's asinine. Most people, I do believe, are trustworthy enough, responsible enough, and smart enough, to do the right thing. Not without making mistakes here and there, mind you, but hey—that's how we learn. What kind of a country do we want to live in: One that trusts and believes in its citizens or one that thinks we're all too stupid to make any decisions on our own? I do not want my children growing up afraid to run down the street in the middle of the day because some person at the other end might think their laughter is too loud and thus they get fined for breaking a noise ordinance. It's preposterous, and it needs to stop. We're all adults, so for the love of Pete, let's act like it for a change.

Think First, Jump Second

2009-08-23T23:34:00.005-05:00

Recently I was asked what I want to do with the rest of my life. Keep in mind that I am 35, so the "rest of my life" isn't exactly impending. That being said, I have already been fortunate enough to have explored many areas. Some might say I am a bit flighty and unable to commit. Others that I simply get bored easily and need to explore. The fact of the matter is, I have jumped around in my career life quite a bit. I like to say my resume is colorful. You can call it what you wish.

Since being of age to work I have had more than 35 jobs. While I was often times multi-tasking by working two places (sometimes three) at once, this number is still a bit shocking. It started with small jobs such as teaming with friends to clean houses or detassling corn. I am, after all, from Iowa. Enter the world of food: we have pizza places, ice cream parlors, catering for the University, waitressing on a boat on Lake Michigan, and I'm quite certain there is at least one or two other food establishments on the list. Next we take a tour of the marketing world. Selling clothing that is...from tee shirts at the mall in college to hundreds of dollars worth of accessories in Lincoln Park. Next, non-profit. Northwestern Medical School, Hospice Care and public relations, teaching (for which I'm actually certified), in-home care for disabled persons. Oh and wait, there is more. Consulting, working for a record label and traveling around the world, teaching math at a community college, working at a day spa, a book store, a bar. There is not much I haven't done. And yet, I still don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life. Or do I?

After all the jobs, the years and years of school, and the constant need to do something interesting while making just enough money to get by, I never stopped. I never really asked myself what I wanted to be when I grew up. I never gave myself time to consider what seems such an obvious question. That is until I suddenly found myself staying home with my children while simultaneously starting a business with my husband. Suddenly I was working at home with the idea that in five years when the children are in school, I will return to my career; whatever it may be. When I look back on my life and see the things that gave me joy and peace of mind, there are really just a few: children, writing, and baking. I have my children who are undeniably my world. I have been working on honing my writing skills of which I hope you will share your feedback, and finally, returned to an old hobby that allows me to be creative. So what comes next? I guess I'm not completely sure, but for the first time in my life I get to choose while taking time to think. Think first, jump second. Granted I'm not able to go on any shopping sprees while I consider my next venture, but at least the next one will be fulfilling and with fingers crossed, my final destination in the world of employment. It won't be today, nor will it be tomorrow, but I promise it's coming and I'm going to love it.

Making Hate

2009-08-07T18:55:00.003-05:00

One night during my college days, I went out with some girl friends and subsequently ran into a girl who had attended the same high school as I. She graduated a year behind me, and we knew one another through an extracurricular activity we both enjoyed. My memory of this girl was that she got picked on a lot for being kind of, eager, shall we say? Always trying to be part of a group, but trying too hard. She was really only guilty of just wanting to fit in, but some saw fit to tease her for her enthusiasm.

When I saw her that night, I walked over, hugged her, and said hello. I recalled then having felt badly for her during high school and trying to be nice to her regardless of other people's opinions. Her memory, however, was quite different, and I was quick to learn exactly what she thought. She joined me and my friends at an open table, enjoying a drink from our pitcher. Suddenly, she bursts with conversation, as if she'd been waiting for this moment for a long time. She began by telling me what a bitch I was in high school and how she couldn't wait to see me again one day to tell me she knew I never really liked her. I was completely floored as she sat there looking very satisfied with herself for sharing this with me. I, of course, burst into tears apologizing, even though I had absolutely no memory of ever having been mean to her, in any way. It's never really been my nature to pick on people, and the thought of this girl having felt this way for so long, broke my heart—not just for myself, but for her. She then finished her rampage by explaining that she would not ever be able to forgive me.

For a long time I tried to figure out why she had seen things so differently than I. I knew that people hadn't been nice to her, but honestly never considered myself to be one of them. As time went on, I realized her memory, while completely hers and hers to keep, had quite possibly just been jaded by having had such a bad experience. Her heart couldn't see past all the bad things in order to see the bit of positive that had been present, or good people that were in her life. Her memory of me wasn't really about me, but about her. This isn't conceited of me, or delusional, it's true. While it's possible there could have been things I said or did that could easily have been misunderstood, I couldn't be held responsible for the nasty things others had said to her or about her. She was angry, did not enjoy her high school experience, and instead of confronting one of the true bullies, confronted someone who she knew would be hurt by her words. There are studies about kids who are bullied and teased and how they later find ways to do just the same in order to regain some power for themselves. We see evidence of this on the news nearly every night. Some are very passive aggressive and try to use manipulative methods, egging on their prey hoping for a response so they can strike again, and others are more direct. Either way, responding to hurt and pain in a manner that hurts others is nothing more than cowardly. I know when I've been a coward, I write about it all the time. I put my faults right out in public. Not to justify them, but to work through them. I'm saddened by what happened to this girl, and saddened to know there are so many people out there who see something they feel represents their pain, and they strike at it without understanding the repercussions. No good can come from the old phrase, "An eye for an eye", and I wish that kind of fighting, that weakness of the heart, would go away. I wish people could see it in themselves and recognize that feeling hatred towards others can do nothing but lesson one's own self-worth and ability to see things clearly. Yes, it's okay to be angry, to feel things whether they are good or bad, but it's when that pain is misdirected that things can become dangerous. It happens all over the world. A friend of mine refers to this as, "Making hate" and it's such a great phrase because all misguided anger can do is make hate. I pray for clarity for those suffering with these feelings, and hope their souls can work through the pain so that they may not just be happy within themselves, but be able to create a more positive space that surrounds them. There is just so much more to life when we can embrace the good. Peace out, sisters!

Boys Will Be Boys

2009-07-30T23:20:00.004-05:00

Being the mom of a boy is an adventure. Anyone who has a son, or, who IS a son, can probably appreciate this statement. The mind of a boy is basically pure and utter joyful chaos. Every day I learn things about boys that I never even considered. My four year old son is, and has always been what I would consider 100% boy. He likes dirt, car crashes, and silliness to the utmost degree of what I refer to as "sillydom". It doesn't take much to crack him up. He's pretty simple.

My husband often recollects the days when he liked David Letterman's segments of throwing watermelons off a building. Cottage cheese, bottles of ketchup, you name it, he thought it was hilarious. So today when I walked into my house, the scene I found shocked me, but it screamed, "I'm just a boy, Mom" like no other. Here's the story in short: my daughter woke from her nap this afternoon and spent a brief period playing with hers and her brother's train set. After a few minutes, I announced we needed to go outside so I could take the recycling out to the curb. When my son said he'd rather stay inside to play with his trains I didn't think anything of it. Okay, sure, just come out when you're ready, at which point my daughter and I ended up outside talking to a friend for much longer than I had anticipated. After about thirty minutes, I felt I needed to check on him. What I found made my jaw drop to the floor. (I warn you: if you do not have a son, or, are not a boy, you may be quick to jump to conclusions about my son's psychological well-being.) What I found was every single item of furniture he could carry or throw, and every other little toy from his sister's room thrown on the living room floor from the loft upstairs. Broken chairs, a table, 37 barrettes, beads, books, puzzles, legos, dolls, the list goes on. I couldn't breathe. When my son gingerly appeared above, I calmly, albeit loudly asked him, "WHAT DID YOU DO?" His response? "It was an accident, Mommy."

It is a sure-fire bet that if you tell a boy not to do something because of A, B or C, it is going to spark his interest and he will be positively compelled to see what happens. In fact, I venture to say that he might even feel if he does not try to see what will happen, he will somehow stop breathing. My son is a great kid. He is smart, kind, sweet, good to his sister, loving, the works. But, he is also a kid. He is a boy. Every day I discover that there is a force inside him much greater than my need to keep the carpet clean or the laundry done; this force propels him to move, jump, scream, throw, and simply put, be larger than life. I often argue in my head where the line is between stifling his soul, and controlling his impulses. Right now I'm just learning how to embrace his energy and help him focus it for good instead of evil. I would rather have him squishing up apples on the driveway than tearing off his sister's stuffed animal heads, after all. Boys will be boys, and they are in their own right, truly beautiful.

“Just” a Mom

2009-07-21T08:38:00.002-05:00

Over the last two years since my husband and I made the decision for me to end my teaching position in order to stay home, I have done some serious soul searching as to what it means to be a mom, as well as how important it is for people to find the best path for them to make their life complete with their children. Whether that means working full time, part time, or staying home, everyone needs to find what is right for them, and leave the judgment of other people's paths to the big man upstairs.

I've been amazed to discover how people respond when they learn you stay home, but my all time favorite (insert sarcasm) is to listen to someone say, "She 'just' stays home." I cannot tell you how many people, men and women alike make this statement. While I get the point, at the same time, staying home isn't 'just' staying home. It is not a vacation from the "real world" as I have heard some people describe. Let me just talk to this impression, if you don't mind.

For starters, making the choice to stay home (for me) had nothing to do with our financial standing aside from the fact that my salary would just barely cover daycare for both kids. We simply knew we'd have to do without for awhile. Our television is old, carpet stained, walls marked on. We don't have a house, we have a townhome. It's cozy, well-worn, and it's full of love. But no, it is not pristine and you will not find gadgets galore in my house. My children wear used clothing, have used toys, and we live on a very, very tight budget. Oh, and they are perfectly happy. I have always been thrifty, and now I know it was all good training.

Second, staying home does not mean I live in sweats and watch movies all day. Kids need constant stimulation and supervision, as any mother well knows. In the last four years, I have gone to the bathroom in private maybe five times. There is no lunch break. We make things, do things, run errands, clean, cook, cry, laugh, everything. There is no door I can close to get away when I need a break. So while yes, the sweats are certainly a wardrobe staple now, the movies and relaxation are usually reserved for rainy days, and even those days are questionable.

Finally, staying home does not mean you "keep house". The number of times I have heard, and even thought to myself in the past, comments about how lucky it is stay home so I can have time to clean, is astounding. I don't know how other mothers manage to do it, but for me, I have simply had to give up my anal-retentive tendencies in lieu of messy art projects and dirt from the outdoors. If I tried to keep up with it, I wouldn't have time to actually enjoy my children. I do clean my home, but it never really looks clean, or so I've been told.

Here's the deal: being a mom, no matter what you do all day, is important through and through and full of choices that are difficult. Going off to work is exhausting, and staying home as a profession is exhausting. Being a mom is a privilege, and it would be nice if it were just a tad more respected when being discussed. We, as moms, don't expect medals, but at the same time, let's not judge how another mother chooses to raise their children. For its love and affection that matter, not what we decide to do during the day (or night as the case may be). I'm not just a stay at home mom, because there is no "just" in being a mom. I celebrate all my mom friends, no matter what their professional choice, because they are smart, loving, wonderful women, who chose to also be smart, loving, and wonderful moms. Mom is a pretty great title to have if you ask me.

Love and Marriage

2009-07-15T14:28:00.002-05:00

I remember the first time I truly fell in love; well, the only time I fell in love outside of my husband. The memory is vivid in my mind, as the firsts tend to be. The way he told me he loved me for the first time on a warm night in June, and how I responded in kind, was a moment that can't be forgotten: the nervousness, shaking, and tears, all so innocent, so long ago. We were young, and while it was most certainly love, we knew nothing about the work involved in keeping something solid. How hard it is to love and how hard it is to accept love. We tried, back and forth for years, sometimes he tried, and sometimes I tried, but when you don't know how to really love yourself, it is impossible to truly create a relationship, regardless of effort, time, or hope. And believe me when I say I had hope. I think anyone who honestly and deeply loves someone, continues to have hope. For me, it's always the last thing to leave my heart, in any relationship that changes.

It has always amazed me when I meet or know of people who met so young and made it work. I was just not mature enough to give up all the possibilities I felt I had to conquer, and he refused to stand in my way; an action I didn't understand at the time, but have since come to accept. In other words, I was far too insecure with who I was to make that kind of a commitment. How did those people do it? What was different about them and their relationship that allowed them to be "ready"? Anyway, I'm coming to find what it means to work hard. What it requires to make marriage, or any real relationship for that matter, work.

Marriage is hard. Anyone who says it's not must have somehow tapped into a magic fountain of perfect relationship potion. To put it bluntly, there is a lot of good stuff and a lot of ugly stuff, which gets said, done, witnessed, and experienced in a marriage. I have had a few people comment to me that my marriage seems so perfect and I laugh because it is so far from the truth, I just try to keep our imperfections behind closed doors. But why hide it? It's not as if there are people out there who don't struggle in their relationships. I don't know anyone who has it down pat, and if there are people who do, they are the exception and I celebrate them. Marriage by itself is messy. Then add children, and it gets harder. I find loving my children to be the easiest thing in the world. There are no questions; it is completely and totally unconditional. But it's a different relationship. A husband and wife bring to the table a lifetime of stuff to work through, to cooperate with, to fight for, and it's hard. Sometimes, I question what would be easier in my life: working through my marriage to make it better, or walking away. I'm good at walking away, believe me. Just ask my first love.

I was talking to a new friend recently about these very issues, and she told me how much she appreciates knowing that other couples go through these things too and how it helps us to all support one another as we work to stick to the commitments we made. To keep the oaths alive, to hold onto something we believed in enough to enter the marriage in the first place. I guess that's what has brought me here, to my trusty friend the computer this evening. I keep thinking about my past, my mistakes, and the 'what ifs' that seep in and out of my head every now and again, and then I look at my family and know the work has to be worth it. Without them, I could not breathe. We can get through anything. That's the promise I made, and it takes work to honor that promise. Thanks for listening and thank you for the support so many of you offer. I hope I can do the same for you.

Woman in the Mirror

2009-07-12T16:48:00.003-05:00

Being human definitely has its ups and downs. The gross imperfection of life has most of us constantly playing guessing games. What will happen next? Why did this happen? How can I change this? Who would do such a thing? And finally, my personal favorite, why can't we all just get along?

While I was back in my hometown a couple weeks ago, I had to run out to the store to pick up a few items. As I was driving out of the parking lot, a pickup truck was coming towards a stop sign. I had no sign, so I continued to drive and turned in front of this woman. I thought I followed the directions. She clearly didn't see her sign, and yelled out her window, "You stupid f****** B****!" Thankfully for my own personal well-being, I didn't get mad at her for making such a huge mistake and then behaving in such an embarrassing manner, I felt sad for her that she was so angry in general. It's been my experience that people don't typically behave so hatefully if there isn't something else going on in their life to make them angry. I felt myself wanting to chase her down, hug her, and tell her that life isn't out to get her. I wasn't out to get her. People make mistakes, and they usually don't have anything to do with anyone else, they just happen because of all kinds of things. People really are, generally speaking, doing the best they can. She didn't see the sign, so what? Who cares? We were all fine.

This whole business of being human isn't just about accepting ourselves for who we are, insecurities and all, nor is it about giving a pass for poor behavior. It's often times about our reactions to others, our judgments, our perceptions of what we think is happening. The fact is we are all Homo sapiens. Human beings. We are all flawed, flailing, clueless people when it comes to moving along in this world. My father-in-law is always saying, "How can you know?" And it's true. Unless you have super powers, there is no way to know our mistakes until after we make them. (That is, if we make them honestly.) Granted, using the power of our brain, and the faith in our heart, we have a little guidance, but all we can do is the best we can. And it's all we can ask out of anyone else. We just can't make assumptions about what their "best" is, because they have to walk through life being human all on their own.

So therein lays the big question, why can't we all just get along? I guess the answer is pretty simple. We are all people, dealing with other people, in an imperfect world with no absolutes, just the hope that things will all work out. It's a tough perception to really grab hold of, because in the meantime it tends to involve a whole lot of ups and downs, a whole lot of pain we can't explain and joy we just want to relish. It means living our lives and taking the good with the bad, accepting our flaws, trying to be better, loving thy neighbor, and all that jazz. I guess it just starts with you, and me. As much as I hate to quote the recently passed, as the late Michael Jackson once said, "It starts with the man in the mirror."

Ode to Erma

2009-06-14T22:55:00.002-05:00

Erma Bombeck was a great woman: Great mom, talented writer, natural humorist. She spent her life writing down the things so many moms wanted to say, but never could. Mothers across America either loved her for her candid way of explaining the ins and outs of life as a woman, or, they disliked her for saying things they felt "shouldn't be said". This past week I have felt compelled to dedicate a few of our more recent experiences to her, as I believe she would not only have a better story to share, or roll over laughing. I imagine she is resting with her hand on her belly and a smile on her face, chuckling from the heavens. Erma, these are for you.

My almost two year old daughter has become enthralled with watching me get ready in the morning. She brushes her teeth and hair as I apply the little bit of make-up I use at the same time. One morning she was watching me put on eyeliner and kept saying, "Me too, Mommy. I want some, too." I explained it is just for grown-ups, and slathered on a bit more paste on her toothbrush to keep her occupied. When I was done, she looked at me and declared, "Much better, Mommy." Thanks sweetie.

We love Home Depot. The kids love to go run through the massive aisles looking at carpet, tiling, and the row with all the different nails and screws is a favorite. The other night, after running by the bathroom and then a slight water fight by the drinking fountains, we went to check out up front. My son leaned over and told me he had to go to the bathroom. Being the wonderful mother I am, I told him he had to wait because he had just been. He has kind of a weird fascination with going potty in other people's bathrooms. I just laugh it off as being four, and try not to be a sucker to these shenanigans. However, we soon learned he wasn't pretending he needed to go. My husband turned to me in line and asked where our first born child had gone? In slow motion, we notice the display bathroom at the end of the cashier's desk, pants dropping to floor…..there it went. Right there in the porcelain display model. My first instinct was sheer mortification, and my second, was to laugh like a hyena. He's four, what does he know about a toilet other than what it looks like? I commend his initiative.

Finally, a little tale about my kids that sometimes makes me feel I'm one of the people being addressed by Jeff Foxworthy. My husband likes beer. Not a ton of it, but when he gets home from work he cracks one open and sits outside with the kids while they play. This isn't the redneck part. The redneck part is when my one-year-old daughter is taking a bubble bath, fills up the cup we use to wash her hair, and says, "Here Daddy, I made you a beer!" Oh yes, when your toddler tries to serve you up a brewsky during bath time, you know you might be a, well, you know.

I love my kids. They offer the best punch lines, the most hugs, and that ever-important unconditional love. And when they are older and find out I shared some of these stories, I hope they know it is only because my love for them is so great, I simply have to share. Besides, where would we be if we can't laugh at the craziness of it all? Erma Bombeck says that when humor goes, there goes civilization. Cheers to that, sister, with bubble bath on top.

Trying Too Hard

2009-06-08T23:52:00.002-05:00

I used to pride myself of being able to easily adapt to different situations. Whether they were social or professional, I could change myself to fit in to the dynamic in the room. Until recently, I felt this was a good quality to have, however I am finding the constant change to be exhausting, and in some cases, outright painful. The story I'm sharing is one I haven't shared with anyone before, because it's embarrassing. It does, however, adequately explain how far I've gone to fit in, and how far I've fallen when I didn't.

During my mid-twenties, a small group of girls took me in to their very tight group thanks to a mutual friend. It took me awhile to truly feel comfortable, because every joke, every story, every picture on the wall was something shared by the three of them. Yes, I was the newcomer, and my face would make it up on the refrigerator eventually, but in the meantime the only way I felt comfortable letting loose enough to feel I fit in was to drink. It seemed the only way to let down my guard and not care anymore if their jokes made any sense to me. It made things much easier. This tight-knit group of girls would do anything for one another, and really seemed like sisters—they fought like sisters, laughed like sisters, and protected one another like sisters. I was sure I had been accepted by these girls. Then one night everything changed. I made the mistake of kissing one of their brothers. Now, I speak from experience when I say it's pretty uncomfortable to learn your brother made out with one of your friends. I have two brothers, and plenty of cute friends. Need I say more? So to be on the other end of this was not something I planned on, but naturally, I drank too much and thus made a bad choice. The next day the other girls found out that I had done this horrid act of kissing (and truth be told while I had my moments of singlehood sluttiness, this incident was most certainly not one of them), and accused me of all kinds of things, screaming at me over the phone. Anything I thought they knew about me went out the window. That was it, they were through with me. Even our mutual friend and I were no longer the same. She had been friends with the other girls for much longer; me, just since college. The next day, after beating myself up repeatedly for something that to this day I really don't think was worthy of such anger, I joined AA. It was very strange because I never thought I had a problem. Yes, I used alcohol to make me into a different person, but it wasn't like I was breaking into a frenzied sweat if I didn't have any for a week or two. I went to meetings, got a sponsor, and didn't drink for about four months. I thought my little group of friends would see that I had changed, and accept me back with open arms. I wanted them to accept me back. Naturally, that did not happen. Why? Because they didn't really need me, they were happy with who they had, and didn't have room for someone who tried too hard. Let's face it: it wasn't just about them blowing things out of proportion, but also about me not being real with them. I pretended to be something I wasn't, and they called me on my BS, to put it mildly.

Long story short, I allowed insecurity to take over, to change me, to make poor choices, and worst of all, to define who I was, all the while thinking I had a gift for adapting. This is a cycle I tend to spin around every so often, and I am trying to jump off. Thankfully I have a very supportive husband who I know loves me no matter what personality chooses to reveal itself on any given day. He, and my children, see me for who I am. Adapting is good, but I need to learn how to adapt without losing myself in the process. I know I'm not an easy person to be close to because of all the things I write about here, but I'm learning and trying to be better, trying to get to the heart of myself, and I thank you for helping me along the way.