Writing - It's My Thing

Does everything really happen for a reason?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Mon, 20 May 2013 02:37:00 +0000

I'm sure I've written on this topic before, but it begs being revisited because it seems to be my go-to mantra quite a bit lately.

Fate. God's will. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it, some people rely on this ultimate conclusion to every decision they make. But how true is it, really?

I am firm believer in "everything happens for a reason" but at times I question it. My belief is that God has this Grand Plan for all of us - he alone knows where we're going to end up. He's privy to every choice he gives us along the way, and he gives us these "predicaments," for lack of a better word, as learning experiences in order for us to grow, learn, understand and appreciate.

Everyone has a scenario where they can say, "Well, looking back, if I hadn't done (this) then (that) would never have happened." True. I'm divorced, and sometimes I wonder why God put my ex-husband and I together in the first place if that is how things were going to end up. But then I look at my two boys and think, "That's why." God wanted them here. He needed them here. He has a plan for those two boys and the only way he could get them here was to put the two of us together. I'm OK with that.

It's hard to see at the time. I remember standing on a beach in Florida when things were literally going south in my life and thinking, "God, WHY did you put me in this place? WHY did you bring me here and have me do all this and come all this way to have THIS happen? Why would you do this to me?" I still don't have the full answer to that, but I do believe that if we are never faced with the tough times, the tough decisions, then we're not going to be prepared to appreciate when the good ones really come along. We learn from our mistakes. We make what we think are good choices and they fail, but maybe they fail for a reason.

Or is relying on this method of understanding just a crutch? Is it just a way to validate a bad decision in the hopes that God had a hand in it in order to bring something good our way in the future? To me, that's where faith comes in. Because here's the deal. Try explaining heaven to a child. "What will I feel in heaven? Won't I miss my friends and my family? Will I get to eat as much candy as I want and watch as much TV as I like?" It's easy to say, "Sure! In heaven, everyone's happy." But that's too hard to understand. Why? Because like God himself, it's an enigma that is just way beyond our comprehension or understanding or explanation. We are stupid, silly, ignorant people muddling through life making good decisions and bad decisions and hoping for the best. The only recourse we have is to trust that there is a Higher Power looking out for us and guiding us to make those decisions, good or bad, to stay on track with the plan God has for us so we can end up in this magical place and finally say, "AHA! Now I get it!"

Steven Hawking said, "I have noticed even people who claim everything is predestined and that we can do nothing to change it look before they cross the road." OK, I see your point, Steve. It's easy to say that we have this free will, which we have, and that we're regularly screwing up our own lives by the bad choices we make. But I'm not talking about buying the almost-expired steaks that made you sick just to save a little money versus going to the butcher. I'm talking the TOUGH decisions that keep you up at night. The ones you struggle with for days, weeks, or years wondering if you're doing the right thing. The ones that cause many people to FINALLY turn to God for when they have nowhere else to go.

"For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." Jeremiah 29:11

I don't mean to go all holy roller on you - that's not me. But think about a tough decision you made once that, looking back, you realized, "If I hadn't done that, I'd never be here today." Taking that job. Not taking that job. Moving to a new city. Not moving. Ending a relationship or a marriage. Starting a new relationship too soon or to quickly, or taking too long to tell that person how you really feel. Deciding to have a child and losing that child. Deciding not to have a child and becoming pregnant. Everyone asks why at some point but the kicker is, there is no answer. You will never in this life come to a full understanding of it. So you can wallow in your "did I do the right thing" mentality forever, or you can hope that the reason you made that decision was that God was at the helm, guiding you like a mouse through the maze of this crazy thing called life, searching and searching for that cheese. We may not think we'll ever find it, but He does.

And sometimes, that's all we have to hold onto. So why not just hold onto it?

'Just wait until you have kids of your own..."

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 09 May 2013 01:57:00 +0000

When my mother said this to me years and years ago, I wasn't sure if it was a threat, a warning or a premonition. Maybe a little of all three. I didn't get it. I couldn't have gotten it. I was just a kid whose life revolved around me and who couldn't see any further into the future than a psychic with short-term memory loss. And now, here I am decades later, saying the same thing to my kid.

It's not so much a warning or a threat. It's more of a wistful plea that someday, at some point, he'll look at me and say, "I get it, Mom." That someday he'll realize why I am the way I am. Why I worry. Why I nag. Why I persist. Why I pray. Why I drive him crazy and he drives me the same.

This is me. Now you know why Mom encouraged my writing.

It's amazing the circle of life. Not a day goes by that I don't think of my mom with awe at how she got (and still gets) through some of the things we kids put her through - and there are four of us! I remember when it dawned on me why she took baths in the middle of the day. It made NO sense back then - I mean, who lounges in the tub for an hour at 2:00 in the afternoon? An overwhelmed, overextended mom with four kids, that's who. Thirty years later I say, "DUH" as I sit crouched in the laundry room quietly pouring my second glass of wine before dinner hoping my two won't discover me next to the pile of dirty socks and underwear.

"Just wait until you have kids of your own." It's the only recourse moms have. That someday, when their kids are older and procreate they'll have that almighty "aha moment" and realize that mom wasn't the blithering idiot they thought she was all along. But it's not so much the satisfaction we'll gain in finally having our kids understand all of our worries and fears despite their best attempts to reassure us that they "know what they're doing." (We sure as HELL know they don't know what they're doing. But the only way they're going to KNOW what they're doing is NOT know what they're doing and make a mistake so they KNOW how to do it in the future.)

But I digress.

Above and beyond all that "mom knows best" stuff, "Just wait until you have kids of your own" to me means that you will never, ever know how much you can love another human being until you have a child of your own. You cannot ever imagine the amount of joy, pain, pride, frustration, hope and worry that someone can can cause you to have until you are responsible for the rise of this child from innocent infant to tempestuous teen to (hopefully) admirable adult. You can't fathom that for once you will not have all the answers and that you will more often than not question your validity as a parent yet you will still be compelled to tell your child that you do know best even when you're not sure you do.

"Just wait until you have kids of your own" is no different than the quote (paraphrased), "Being a mother is deciding to forever have your heart go walking around outside your body." It's going from being able to completely focus on one task to doing ten things at once and knowing at a drop of a hat that your son is right now giving a presentation in 4th hour and saying a quick prayer that his nerves are calm and he doesn't have toilet paper stuck to his shoe. It's the difference between cheering on your favorite sports team and making a deal with God that you'll never ever say another curse word again if your son connects with the ball just this one time. It's watching him drive down the street and holding yourself back from running alongside the car shouting for him to wear his seat belt, use his turn signal and watch for deer.

No child knows how overwhelming it is to be a mother. And I don't mean overwhelming in just a negative sense, because for every hour of angst there can be sixty seconds of joy that completely negates that other 59 minutes - do you know what I mean? If you're a mother you do.

If not, just wait.

Women’s intuition: Is my sixth sense on the fritz?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 00:08:00 +0000

I do truly believe in women’s intuition. I believe it is inherently a woman thing, and I believe that for the most part we should trust it. Problem is, as we get older, we (read “I”) seem to have so many other issues that cloud our ability to listen to this internal judgment that we often turn a deaf ear and miss the mark completely.

I’ve had some first-class incidents where my sixth sense – or women’s intuition – whatever you want to call it – has kicked in high gear. A part of me attributes those to “guardian angel moments” – you know – like when you make the last-minute decision to go a different way to work and find out there was a horrific accident on your normal route. Is that necessarily women’s intuition or God at play? I don’t know.

Where relationships are concerned, I’ve often mislabeled my intuition as “red flags.” You know, those little things that kind of hit you like a ton of bricks and make you go “Ewww… uh no.” At first, I was the queen of finding red flags. If you chewed your food with your mouth open, that meant you were obviously raised by wolves and had no business having a relationship that could potentially lead to procreation. After my divorce, any man who remotely did anything (read “breathing”) like my ex-husband was automatically put on the “watch” list, because obviously THAT hadn’t worked out so I must try to find something COMPLETELY different that will. (Note: I got over that. Sort of. Still workin’ on it.)

As I mellowed with age and wisdom (haha), I learned to relax what I considered these red flags and rely on this gift that God had apparently given me and all women – this intuition thing. While red flags would give me pause, intuition nagged at me like a cranky child with a wet diaper.

More often than not, I can look back and see where my intuition kicked in and I ignored it until it was too late. Repeatedly making excuses for my behavior or for someone else’s, thinking things like, “It would do me good to change this or that about myself instead of arguing or debating” and “Well, all the other parents let their kids do that, so maybe I’m overreacting” had me backpedaling more than I’d care to admit. I think I was (and still am) lacking confidence in my ability to make the right decisions when my intuition more frequently than not seems to go against the norm.

Parenting is probably the only example where my intuition perhaps goes into overdrive. Maybe it’s because I remember being a teenager; maybe it’s because I’m a control freak, or maybe it’s because I am somehow uncannily (and uncharacteristically)confident that I know my son more than he (or anyone else) thinks I do.

So far, my intuition has been almost dead on in occasions where others thought (and voiced) opposite assessments. Somehow, when it comes to intuition and parenting, I have this subconscious confidence that allows me to listen to what my insides are telling me instead of poo-pooing them as an overreaction. That isn’t to say that I know what to DO about it – believe me – this parenting intuition gives me many a sleepless nights full of worry. Maybe I feel like my intuition is all I have to hang on to in that area sometimes.

That’s where I get confused. If I can be so sure of my inner voice when it comes to parenting, why does it seem so whackadoodle in other parts of my life?

Do I give a potential new relationship a chance or cut my losses early and run? Are the celebrity impressions he does charming or a sign of a deep neurosis? Am I worried about my job security because I have cause to be or am I just overreacting and reading too much into things? Do I need to “let go and let God” where my financial worries are concerned or should I try to pick up more freelance to further ensure a solid financial future for myself and my children? I have surface feelings about each of these things – common sense feelings – then that vexatious pit in my stomach that never quite seems to leave. Maybe women’s intuition is one of the leading causes of ulcers in middle age?

No matter what you call it – women’s intuition, sixth sense, instinct, or just a gut feeling, I’m still learning to fight back the insecurities that keep me from embracing and fine-tuning this powerful tool that may one day cause me to put my head on the pillow and drift off into a peaceful sleep thinking, “Yep - I did the right thing.”

It takes a village to destroy a child - and we're doing a great job

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Fri, 12 Apr 2013 22:09:00 +0000

In the past few weeks, I’ve read an abhorrent number of stories about teenagers doing unspeakable things. From two separate incidents of alleged rape of intoxicated teenage girls – resulting in the suicides of those girls, to beatings, shootings, stabbings, bullying and bomb threats.

I read these stories with horror at the grievous behavior. Disbelief at the lack of decency, humanity, compassion and morality of these young people. Bewilderment at what seemingly makes this OK in this society today and what has changed from 10, 20 or 30 years ago.

Some comments in these articles echo my sentiments. I have to weed through the blatant violent threats against the perpetrators and the sickening rants of idiots who think that whatever was done to these victims was “deserved” in order to get to the incredulous responses from what I can only assume are people my age who say that this kind of behavior would have rarely if ever happened “back in the day.”

And they’re right. It wouldn’t have – or it rarely would have. And though I realize that my parents probably used that same sentiment about my generation, I’m sure they’re all shaking their heads at the state of our teenage society today.

But here’s the rub. Who is to blame? If you read the comments, it’s the parents. It always goes directly to the parents. Sandy Hook Elementary School shooter Adam Lanza? Nancy Lanza’s fault. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, the pair behind the Columbine High School massacre? Parents again blamed. And these teenage boys shaking in their boots as they await Anonymous.com’s threat to publish their names for assault, rape and possibly manslaughter of that now deceased teenage girl? Read the comments. Here’s one: “Parents are what has happened to our kids or more accurately lack of parenting. Some parents are no better than just substandard baby sitters, wrapped up in their own trash too much to notice that something very bad is happening to junior.”

I’m not going to disagree that parents may be part of the problem. Kids live in homes where both parents are working long hours and often stay connected to work via phones and computer long after they leave the office. Kids are home alone way too much and left to their own devices. “Babysitters” like TV, video games and other technology are utilized to keep kids occupied when those technologies are in my opinion one of the BIGGEST contributors to the decline of the family unit.

But I gotta tell ya – I have a teen that is in the throes of this crappy, violent, insolent society. I hate what he is up against and all my attempts to shield him from it feel fruitless. I found a job with a flexible schedule so I can be home shortly after he returns from school. I limit his exposure (at home) to technology and make sure it’s safely tucked away out of his reach at night. I even have a block on our TV so he can’t get into any “inappropriate” shows that are so prevalent on the myriad of channels we’re provide through cable. How many parents of 15 year olds do that?

Does it matter? Nope. Not at all. Have you checked your kid’s Facebook lately? If you’re lucky, he or she is posting pictures of unicorns and rainbows and having discussions about homework problems and play practice. Unfortunately, the teen Facebook scene is really more like a porn site. Seriously, check it out.

Language fit for a sailor, BLATANT drug and sex references, outright bullying and general inappropriateness of epic proportions. Want me to name names? I could – just to see if the parents even have a clue. Oh, and don’t just look at your kid’s Facebook page. Because they can create them under ANY guise they want to. And they can be friends with anyone they want to. And they can be whoever they want to be, and whatever age they want to be. Look at their Facebook messages. Check them out. Again, if you’re lucky, it’s a discussion on the latest “who likes who.” If you’re not, it’s much, much darker.

Do you know what they watch on TV? Have you watched TV lately? Just listen to some of the programs and see if you can go a whole minute without hearing a “bleep this” or “bleep that”. See if you can watch a program without something being blurred out, or something without a sexual innuendo, or violence. Just try it.

And yeah, here I go with the video games again. Too bad. Don’t give me that crap about promoting dexterity and coordination and tactical skills. Math, science, reading and sports do all that. Not first-person shooter games where you can earn points for bigger and better weapons and BONUS you can play with people you’ve NEVER EVEN MET. WHAT A GREAT IDEA.

One of the biggest issues I see in my experience with teens is that for some reason, they seem to think that they are on the same level as adults. Like it’s an even playing field. This astounds me. When I was growing up, no matter how “mature” I thought I was, my parents were in charge. THEY were the adults. They weren’t my buddies. I respected them regardless of how much they pissed me off because I thought I should be able to do something they weren’t letting me do.

That sentiment is virtually gone now, and I don’t know why. It seems to start around middle school – this “mistaken maturity.” And it’s evil and deadly because they’re NOT mature. They’re NOT ready. And they MUST be parented. The problem is, as author Jane Cowen-Fletcher said and Hilary Clinton revisited, “It takes a village.” And there’s no village anymore. It seems to be a bunch of tired, overwhelmed parents trying to do the right thing in the midst of a society that could really give a shit about the morals and values of our young people. And since they can’t beat it, many join it. They stoop to their teen’s level and embrace the video games and the inappropriate TV. They allow the excessive technology and access to God knows what on the Internet. The kids are exposed to these poisons LONG before their brains can handle it, and it takes its toll in the form of desensitization. Desensitization to true feelings – to compassion – to morals and values and those incredibly important things that make people GOOD.

How do we get back to GOOD? Can we get back to GOOD? Can we somehow stop the influx of degradation and smut and violence and somehow protect our children from being exposed to this too early – if at all? Who is the “they” who allow these evils to be so readily accessible and how can we make them stop? How do we instill in our children morals and values and more importantly, how do we get them to stick so when they’re faced with the bad in the world they can turn and walk the other way? HOW???

I'm befuddled beyond belief and don’t have the answer. I don’t think I’m a bad parent. I’ve done everything I can to raise my children in a proper, Godly way and I feel as if it is being stripped from me every single day. I feel powerless and hopeless. I feel as if I am on a constant, fruitless and desperate search for the smallest sliver of goodness pie in society that I can go and curl up in with my kids all safe and sound.

That sliver of pie exists for some – I don’t know how, but it does. You families are the lucky ones. For others, even the BEST of parents, the outcome is not as optimistic, especially if your child has been exposed. If he or she has, it’s like a virus that spreads like a flesh-eating bacteria. Unfortunately, this parent with the best of intentions and the defensive nature of a momma grizzly bear can do nothing but stand by with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and some Band-Aids and hope that someone comes up with a cure before it’s too late.

When the kids are away... this mom will play

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Mon, 08 Apr 2013 03:57:00 +0000

I almost entitled this blog, "So THIS is what it's like to not have kids!" but I figured I'd get backlash from those out there who don't have children and probably do NOT spend the past week like I did - that is - doing a lot of playing and reveling in a week (mostly) free of parenting duties. And, as much as I have enjoyed my little "spring break," there's no way in hell I'd trade it for being a mom - good times AND bad.

That aside, I have to say that as my kids readied themselves to embark on a weeklong skiing extravaganza with their dad in Aspen, Colorado, I began to get a little nervous. I mean, right now, I pretty much work and parent. And go out for a few beers every other weekend. Take any of those three duties away from me and I'm a little lost.

But as my kidless week comes to a close, I surprisingly have a feeling of great accomplishment. Not at any one thing that I was able to do, but that I survived a week without my kids and actually took the time to appreciate the things I was able to do without them.

This list may be akin to making you watch a slide show of my vacation photos, or it may give you a little sense of "carpe diem" (or YOLO for all you hipsters readers out there.) Regardless, here goes:

1) I removed all junk food from the house, cleaned out my refrigerator and pantry and hit the Weight Watchers Online Program HARD. I am now a tracking MACHINE, and also one of those annoying people you go to dinner with who says, "Red wine? No thanks. That's four points." or "Wow. You just ate that whole basket of bread. That's like double my total daily points." or "Yes, I will have dessert. I'll just swap out my activity points and dip into my weekly."

2) Speaking of that, I went out for dinner three times. One was to celebrate one of my most wonderful friend's birthday. On her birthday. How often does it happen that you can celebrate your friend's birthday ON her birthday? When the stars align and you don't have kids on a Wednesday night, that's when. Then, I got to have dinner with my most awesome sister, whom I almost NEVER get to do that kind of stuff with. Finally, I dined with the aforementioned birthday girl and her husband at Rizzi's, a great Italian restaurant downtown that I LOVE but never go to (because I have kids), followed by a couple of craft beers at Rhodell Brewery. (For the most part, I ate and drank smart but yes, I probably did use up all my weekly AND activity points.)

3) I cheered on the Peoria Chiefs (or the Wisconsin Timber Rattlers, depending on who you ask) at Opening Night with two fantastic friends from work. Jane is a Cubs fan and she got the tickets, so now that the Chiefs are the farm team of the Cardinals, she chose seats on the opposing side. No matter - I'm a Cards fan, but I also lived in Wisconsin, so whatever. She and Kristin kept me entertained with their funky dance moves and wild antics. I was nursing day two of a three day migraine (I blame lack of carbs) and wasn't up to my usual spunkiness, but it was still a fine time at the ballpark.

4) I played tennis. Badly, but hey, it's the first time of the season. I lost both sets. Boo. I hiked Forest Park Nature Center with an old high school buddy who happened to be in town. I did some majorly long walks with the dog. I did the elliptical for an hour. I did circuit training with Jackie Warner (my new favorite exercise buddy.)

5) I shampooed my carpets. I did my taxes and got a refund. I cleaned both the boys' rooms from top to bottom. I organized my closet. I researched a summer vacation for the boys and me. I looked up new recipes on Skinnytaste.com and new ideas for the kids' lunches so we could all start eating healthier. I spent nearly $200 at the grocery store (healthy is expensive!!) I found some great deals at the local consignment shop (black, strapless flowy top and a pair of sparkly black flats to wear out on the town this summer for less than $15 for both? Yes, please!) I got my hair cut and highlighted by my favorite stylist, Connie Perry (seriously - she's the best. Message me for her number.)

WOW - looking at all that, I can't believe it's only been a week. And the thing is - I didn't take one day of vacation. In fact, since the boys were gone, I worked a bit of a longer day than usual. And other than the daily updates from my ex about how the boys were doing on the slopes, I had very few distractions (i.e. boy calls from school sick; boy needs ride here; boy needs to know if he can go to a friend's house; boy needs to know if he is allowed to make mac and cheese.......)

Though I was apprehensive about my kid-free week, I think I made the most of it. I feel refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready to get back to mom-ing. I have one son sleeping soundly right now in his bed, happy to be home and admitting that he missed his momma. I missed him, too - both of them. I enjoyed my break, but it was just that, a break. Time to get back to my life, which is my boys. I can go to dinners, play tennis, go to sporting events and go out on the town for only so long. My real life right now is bringing up my boys, and after a week free of doing that, I'm ready to get back to it.

Dating Over 40 (aka The Misadventures of Mating)

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 23:26:00 +0000

I am way too old for this. Just like they should have another word for "boyfriend" once you reach the age of 30, they should have another word for "dating" when you hit 40+. I suggest something like "midlife catastrophic event" or "self-inflicted, self-esteem buster." Ya know, something catchy like that.

Let me preface this blog by saying that I am aware that there are bigger problems out there. The thing is, that's not what my blog is about. I'm not intelligent enough to smartly debate the real world issues, like gay marriage or global warming or the political repercussions of Ashley Judd running for U.S. Senate (spoiler alert! She isn't.) If you want that, I can steer you to some of my super-smart friends - just message me.

No, this blog post is to air my mid-life dating woes. It's peeking over the fence and wondering how green the grass would be if I would have been in my 18th year of marriage, raising kids and trying to find time to go out together and fighting over the bedcovers or the TV remote or something dealbreaking like that. It's constantly lamenting what could have been, and wondering what's wrong with me that I am seemingly in the minority of my mid-40 year old friends who have settled into their lives that I outwardly crave but am inwardly terrified of.

Marriage, by definition, is work. Dating, by definition, is drudgery. How people find their soulmates in their 20's, when they are still evolving into adults, is beyond me. Fast forward 20 some years and the odds of finding that better half decrease significantly, with obstacles like exes, kids, betrayal, miscommunications and other negative baggage. The hope has dwindled. The sparkle is gone. Yes, Debbie Downer is reporting for duty.

I'm not even sure how to date anymore. I'm not sure how to meet anyone who could possibly have the basic criteria I'm looking for. Cute guy in the grocery store? Could be married. Could be gay. Could be in a relationship. Could be in his 20s. Could be a psychopath. And let's not forget that I usually go to the grocery store in sweats and no makeup. Same scenario for the gym, only both of us most likely smell. Bad. I'm not one to strike up a conversation, and honestly I'd be ridiculously defensive of any guy who struck up a conversation with me. What does he want? Why is he talking to me? Do I have something in my teeth? I become The Elephant Man. Go away!!!! Don't look at me!!!

Blind dates, whether truly blind or through some dating site that gives you this twisted impression of what they're really like, are akin to diving off a bridge and hoping to God there's not a log that you're going to hit on impact and be paralyzed for the rest of your life. Those gems of relationships usually start up with some witty banter via email or text, followed by some plan to meet somewhere (in public, preferably during the day.) I can tell within 10 seconds whether I want to leave or stay. Unfortunately, so can he, probably. And if the verdict is the former, we're usually both stuck in some uncomfortable, fake-smile scenario that lasts until one of us cracks and says they have to be somewhere.

I've learned a few things about myself since I've been dating. Well, some of them I knew but I guess I was hoping no one would notice. Other characteristics have been blatantly conveyed to me as a reason why they don't want to see me again. Others just stop calling. Funny part is, I'm not interested in ANY of them. Funny part is, it makes me feel even worse when I can't even get someone to like me whom I don't even particularly like in the first place.

So, here's apparently what's wrong with me:
1) I'm intimidating
2) I'm snobby
3) I'm too serious
4) I'm too mature
5) I'm unreadable

The thing is, none of those are necessarily untrue, except for the second one. I don't think I'm snobby. I abhor snobby. I don't try to be intimidating, but I know I come off that way. My seriousness is sometimes misinterpreted because I have a dry sense of humor (which must lead into #5.) And if I'm too mature, I'm not apologizing, unless they mean "senior citizen" mature. But at age 46, I'm thinking "mature" kind of comes with the territory.

So I'm going to work on lightening up a bit. Trying to be a little more approachable, down to earth, less serious, a little immature and a little easier to read. But in return, here's what I want my potential suitors to do:

1) Don't yawn on a date. (If you're trying to give me a clue, I'll take it. If you're not, I'll think you're just being rude. Either way, I'm out.)

2) Don't belch loudly on a date. (Same rationale as #1.)

3) Keep the cursing to a minimum until I know you better. (I can rip the bad words like a sailor, but I don't do it in a job interview. Think about it.)

4) Keep the dirty jokes to a minimum until I know you better. (I can be raunchy when I get to know you, I'm not going to lie. But you don't know that yet, so try to be a freakin' gentleman.)

5) Keep the sexual innuendos to a minimum (think NONE) until I know you better. (Just because I text you "so I'll meet you in the bar?" does not mean you respond with "Sure! Wanna role play?" Because I don't. And that creeps me out, even if you're kidding. So just don't. You're trying to make an impression here, too.)

These are the basics. There are more, which is probably why I'm still single. Don't be emotionally void. Don't be too emotional. Don't be a macho man. Don't be a sissy. Don't be overbearing. Don't be too absent. Don't be controlling. Don't be a pushover. Don't be a comedian. Don't be too serious. Don't be stupid. Don't be pretentious.

Sigh. Someone once told me I'd meet the man of my dreams when I hit him with my car. That would be my luck. I'm convinced it will be movie-worthy - a tale to tell our friends at parties years later - the incredible story of how we met. Right now, I'll have to be content with regaling friends with my dating horror stories and hoping there's someone right around the corner waiting for someone Just. Like. Me.

What kids want from their moms (you'd be surprised)

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Sat, 16 Mar 2013 02:50:00 +0000

A lengthy yet interesting blog was placed in my path this past week that of course begat this one. Lately I've felt less than inspired to write, and I told myself long ago that I would only blog when I had the urge, lest it become a drudgery not unlike folding socks or doing my weekly work time sheets.

The blog was entitled "What a 'Hands Free' Summer Looks Like" by Rachel Macy Stafford. I'm giving it credit because it was the source of my inspiration so go read it when you have time. But it was something else within that blog that moved me - a link to a list of "The Top 10 Things Kids Want From Parents" by Erin Kurt, a sixteen-year teaching veteran who has been asking her class of students each year the same question: "What did your mother or guardian do for or with you that made you feel happy or loved?"

The answers blew me away. Not that I didn't wish for these answers; but in these mid to latter stages of my jaded motherhood experience, I guess I've just lost that hope that it would be anything, well, REAL. And it was just what I needed to read in some of the darkest days of parenting I've experienced to date.

The suspense is killing you, right? OK. Here's the list. Read it through, wipe away your tears, then we'll discuss:

Top ten things students around the world said they remembered and loved most about their mothers:

1. Come into my bedroom at night, tuck me in and sing me a song. Also tell me stories about when you were little.
2. Give me hugs and kisses and sit and talk with me privately.
3. Spend quality time just with me, not with my brothers and sisters around.
4. Give me nutritious food so I can grow up healthy.
5. At dinner talk about what we could do together on the weekend.
6. At night talk to me about about anything; love, school, family etc.
7. Let me play outside a lot.
8. Cuddle under a blanket and watch our favorite TV show together.
9. Discipline me. It makes me feel like you care.
10. Leave special messages in my desk or lunch bag.

Awesome, right? Almost unbelievable? Of course, me being the Nellie Negative that I am I'm thinking, "What are the ages of these kids? Are they toddlers? Elementary school age? They couldn't possibly be high schoolers." I've researched it and can't seem to find the answer. Regardless, this list makes me happy. Why? Because I DO ALL THESE THINGS. Well, except singing a song. I don't do that. And the notes. I used to. But neither of my boys wants special messages in their lunch bags anymore. They told me this specifically. I'm cramping their style with their peeps. I get it.

But overall, if this is truly what they remember, I got it covered. BAM. I'm solid. But I kind of wish I would have figured this out sooner, so I could have done it more. Instead of making sure the house was so picked up. Instead of spending so much time trying to figure out what to have for dinner because we've already rotated the three things they WILL eat, only to prepare it and have them ask for mac and cheese. Again. Instead feeling as if I had to always be taking them places like out to dinner or ice skating or a hockey game or a children's museum. I made all of these "special" outings so commonplace that I've backed myself into a corner now as to what "special" is.

So here's what I did. I took my kids out to dinner (special occasion = Friday night and Mom is tired) and, in carefully measured words, asked them to do me a solid and write down five things they remember about me that makes them happy. OK, I lie. I felt self-serving asking them to write down five things about ME - like I was jonesing for compliments - so I said "your childhood", secretly hoping at least one of them would involve me. I know it's not exactly the same question but at ages 11 and 15, I figured I'd be lucky to get anything out of them.

So, on a ripped up Chinese takeout menu, here's what I got. Best memories from my 11 year old:

1. Playing football (My note: when we first moved here and he didn't know anyone, we threw the football up at the park or in the backyard almost every night. I perfected my spiral.)

2. Going to Disneyworld (My note: An expected response. His dad and I took both of the boys after we were divorced because neither of us wanted to miss out on the experience with them. Weirdest thing I've ever done, but tons of fun for them.)

3. Playing Go Fish (My note: This is our new thing. We usually play three games a night and he totally owns me every time.)

4. When we got a trampoline. (My note: This WAS cool. They were stoked and insisted I get on it with them.)

5. Having a mother who loves me. (My note: Is this a set-up? Did he run out of answers and put this? Or is this for real? I think his hamburger arrived shortly after he wrote this, so maybe he was in a rush to finish up. But it makes me happy.)

And from the 15 year old:

1. When mom was pregnant, I was at grandma's and wanted to go home and I called Dad and he took me home and my bed was directly to the left of the door with the plaid sheets. (My note: The kid has an amazing memory. And no, I won't mention that he fails to mention meeting his new brother that same day.)

2. Max and Irma's (My note: This was from when we lived in Chicago when he was two to three years old. They had an ice cream station in an old bathtub and a grape drink with gummy worms sticking out of it.)

3. My 11th birthday when I ate a whole pizza and mom was surprised I knew who the Dead Kennedys were. (My note: I am sad to say that I do vaguely remember being impressed he knew who the Dead Kennedys were.)

4. When I saw Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones with my dad. (My note: Sigh.)

5. Rivermen games with my dad. (My note: Double sigh.)

OK. So the oldest has always been Daddy's boy, and I wasn't Mom-specific, so I guess I got what I asked for. At least they're good memories, right? Not exactly the "you rubbed my back and read me stories when I couldn't sleep" or "gave me a Tupperware container of green beans instead of a Twinkie because you didn't want me to be hyper in 4th hour," but I'll take it.

The best thing about this little exercises is that it was the appetizer for one of the most pleasant dinners we've had in a long time. These memories instigated more, from talking about the time my younger son tried to make bubble art at a class at Lakeview Museum and inhaled the bubbles and we had to leave, to the times when my oldest and our entire cul-de-sac would have nightly baseball games led by one of the parents while I sat on our porch rocking my newborn son. I got to ask some questions about some transitions they had had to make in their lives and what they truly thought about them, and was once again amazed at the resilience and "look on the bright side" attitude of my kids.

I don't know if the stars were aligned or God was on my side or if I just plain lucked out, but I felt truly blessed and happy to have had this moment in time with my boys, when togetherness like this is very few and far between. I'm glad I read and was inspired by that blog. And I encourage parents out there - especially parents of older kids who are in those stages where Mom is kind of "forgotten" - to ask them some of these questions. You may be pleasantly surprised at their answers.

I envy parents of "those kids" more than the parents of the "good kids"

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 26 Feb 2013 03:52:00 +0000

I used to be so envious of the parents of those kids. You know, "those kids." The ones who play high school football. Who are regulars on the honor roll. Who have the lead in the play, or whose team goes to State, or who are recognized for their prolific musical talents. Who are already taking pre-college level courses because they want to get a jump on whatever magnificent thing they want to be at whatever prestigious university so they are studying their asses off in order to get a stellar ACT score.

I see pictures these proud parents post on Facebook - and rightly so. Usually it's a photo of some kid holding a trophy or medal or certificate and smiling, sometimes with his arms around his mom and/or dad. So proud.

I always think to myself, a) What are these parents doing that I'm not doing and b) what is the difference between these kids and my kid and c) does it really matter and d) Why do I assume that these adults are such better parents than I am just because their kids are "successful" and e) am I that shallow that this really bothers me?

I'm beginning to think that the parents I should model myself after are the ones who raise tough kids. Kids who aren't on the sports team, or in the band, or the play. The parents of the kids not on the honor roll, and who don't like having their pictures taken with their parents - anytime. The kids who may test the boundaries of their parents' rules by breaking them on a regular basis. Because I'm one of those parents. And I don't know why. I feel like I have done everything a good parent is supposed to do - I don't know what I've done differently than all the "successful" kids' parents. I have a good kid at the heart; I just wonder what it takes to be like those "other" families.

It's kind of like before you had kids, you'd see that crying toddler in the store and look at his mom and think, "Why can't she quiet that kid?" Same thing now. Sometimes I wonder if people look at my teenager and think, "What didn't she do that made him act the way he acts?" "He's so smart - why doesn't he apply himself?" "He's so good looking - but what's with that hair?" Maybe they don't. Although he doesn't play sports or isn't on the honor roll, he's a nice kid to adults. (And his hair is pretty awesome.) His teachers and others who meet him are generally charmed by him. I've been told he's polite, respectful, insightful and humorous. So I'm doing something right, right?

But what about the rest of it? Will he be that nondescript, long-haired kid in the background of some random lunchroom photo in the yearbook? Will he look back on his teenage years with regret or indifference? What's the ratio of "overachievers" to "underachievers" in high school and the percentage of those who go on to be successful in life? Is he just a late bloomer who's still struggling to find his way? Will he ever turn to the camera, smile and wave and mouth the words, "Hi, Mom!"?

For all the PTOs and room mom meetings and cliques of parents who work concessions at tennis matches and carpool to soccer games and have club parties and whatnot, there should be a mom's group for the kids who are not - or do not. For the moms of kids who are not in sports, or in clubs, or on the honor roll. The moms of good kids who aren't the great kids because they have yet to find their way. For the moms who feel guilty for wanting their kid to be that kid when they should just feel proud of who they are.

For the moms who struggle every day with the decisions their kids continue to make, and the buttons they continue to push. For the moms who lie awake at night worrying about what's going to happen next. Who search their brains for a solution - of how to stop what's going on. How to "fix" things. How to divert him from a muddy path onto a smooth, paved one. How to be that parent whose kid puts their arm around and smiles for a trophy photo.

My son and me - when he let me hold him.

I know it's a lot to ask. I love my son. I love him so very much. But I'm not a supermom. I've left no stone unturned to try to ignite him a passion for something. Sports. Scholastic. Band. Church. Clubs. Hobbies. Volunteerism. Nothing sticks. And it's tough to see the kids cheering each other on the sidelines at the game, or crowding around each other to solve a problem, or coming together to help someone in need, or attending a youth group event. Because I want so much for that to be my kid. I want so much for him to feel a part of a group; like he belongs to something good and real. Not for me. For him.

But he doesn't. Maybe it's his choice. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I didn't push hard enough. I'll never know. Someday he'll probably have some criticism for my parenting (which I'll give more weight than the criticism he deals out now.) Then maybe I'll gain some insight. In the meantime, my proud moments are when we can laugh in the car together. Or watch TV in the same room. Or sit down to a meal he actually finishes. You know, the small stuff that maybe doesn't warrant a shoutout on Facebook, but makes me sleep well at night nonetheless.

I have a good kid. I'm a good parent. God has something special in store for both of us; he's just not picking right now to show it to us. That's OK - I'll be patient. Even if my son doesn't have faith, I do. Enough for the both of us.

The Capacity of Love

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 14 Feb 2013 03:05:00 +0000

I'm never in a very good place at this time of year. Valentine's Day is second only to Christmas as an over-commercialized, too high of expectations, set-up-to-fail kind of day that I just can't wait to be over. But amidst all of the perfect couples exchanging jewelry, flowers, and other nonsensical whatnots to prove to each other that they didn't forget this magical holiday of mushiness, I do have a few things to say on the topic of love. God knows I'm no expert. In fact, I've failed miserably. But there are a few things I've learned along the way that I can share.

Love, in any way, shape or form, is about capacity. Your capacity. His capacity. Her capacity. The love that two people have for each other can be an incredible love, but if one or the other doesn't have the capacity to recognize the other person's needs (after the basic expectations have been met,) then that relationship will never be what it needs to be.

Let me clarify. I mean "after the basic expectations have been met" in the most basic sense. For example, there's a mutual attraction. They're of an acceptable age, height, hair color, body style, or whatever visual criteria you have. You're on the same page with the things that are important to you, such as wanting kids/not wanting kids, religious and political views, career goals, etc. That's what I mean by "the basic expectations."

Capacity is, for all intents and purposes, their ability to "get" you - above and beyond "expectations." To recognize - not necessarily fulfill or even understand - but recognize your innermost needs so important to you that you would rather be without someone than have these needs go unfulfilled. Unfortunately, you can be with someone whom you deeply love, who meets and perhaps exceeds all of your criteria, but who lacks the capacity to recognize what you truly need.

In my opinion, this is when some long-term relationships come to an end. The short-term relationships never have a chance to get to capacity. The long-terms have the potential, and can go one of two ways. You can grow to learn about each other and develop the capacity needed to recognize the needs of your partner, or you can struggle through and just never really "get it." Why? You just don't have the capacity.

See, it's no one's fault. Either you got it, or you don't. For example, everyone has that friend whom they can tell ANYTHING to. ANYTHING. She's always there for you, she understands when you're being stupid, silly, bitchy, depressed or overjoyed. She "gets" you. On the other hand, you can have a very good friend whom you DON'T tell everything to. She might be the friend who tells YOU everything, but tables turned, she just doesn't have the CAPACITY to be that friend YOU can confide in. Make sense?

Love relationships are the same way. I can look back at all of my failed relationships and see where either I or my partner or both of us didn't have the capacity to recognize what the other person wanted or needed. In my marriage, I wanted more than anything to have a stable home life and to raise my kids around family and friends in the town where I was most comfortable. That's what I thought I signed up for. When things changed, I tried to roll with the punches. I really wanted to roll with the punches. Other women did it - why couldn't I? In the end, I just didn't have the capacity. As hard as I tried, I couldn't make that life change successfully, and during the time I was trying, my husband at the time didn't have the capacity to help me through it. In the end, it broke us both.

My most recent relationship lasted four years. I loved him immensely. Actually, I never thought I would ever feel the way about someone the way I felt about him. I truly loved him. I respected him. I admired him. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. And I believe he felt the same way about me. Our ideals seemed to align - we felt the same way on a variety of important topics and issues. But I came to realize his life was very different than mine; his priorities were different. His work was what made him who he was - it certainly defined him.

He told me I was his "island" - his "escape" from the stresses of work and school. He wasn't my "escape." He was a part of my life. I made a huge move to another city to be with him, but in the end, I didn't have the capacity to live in a world away from my friends and family, where I was just his "island." He didn't have the capacity to understand what I truly needed - to be a priority in his life - not just an "escape." I didn't have the capacity to understand the magnitude of his work and how much of his life it required - or that he chose for it to require. He didn't have the capacity to let go a little - to not make life such an afterthought; to know that you can agree to disagree without getting angry; to remember national holidays. In the end, it was hard to let go because of the depth of my love for him. But I knew long before it ended that our capacities were not aligned, and probably never would be.

I sometimes wonder if, like my expectations, my desire for capacity is too high. I look at my parents - married more than 50 years, and wonder if they understand each other's capacities. Obviously, no one person can fulfill your every need; that's why you have family, friends and other relationships. But at the end of the day, the person whom you spend your life with should be the person you can look at and not wish for more. That person should have the capacity to make you have no regrets. That no problem is insurmountable. That the "next thing" isn't going to be the thing that breaks you.

I may never find someone who has the capacity to recognize what's important to me, or have the capacity to recognize what's important to him. Maybe it goes hand in hand with my "too high of expectations." It certainly sucks to find someone who exceeds your expectations but lacks capacity. I've also discovered the opposite, where the person completely recognizes capacities, but doesn't meet basic expectations. That makes me feel like a heel. But, like a hopeless romantic, I won't stop hoping someday I'll have the best of both worlds. Until then, I still believe this quote: “Happiness comes of the capacity to feel deeply, to enjoy simply, to think freely, to risk life, to be needed.” And I won't settle for anything less.

What I WON'T do for a great body

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 03:08:00 +0000

I was skinny once.

Actually, three times. The first time was puberty. Ages 7 to about 13, I was awkwardly lanky, with long legs and a physique more in line what you would consider a boy rather than a girl. In fact, with my curly hair cropped shorter than short by my mother's hand, I was often mistaken for one. I waited with bated breath for my womanhood to appear - it's only a matter of time, I told myself, before I'll be wearing those thin, silky bras like my sister and have a tiny, circular waist that guys will just love to put their arms around.

I'm still waiting.

The only other two times I've ever been "skinny" were event-induced. The second time was post-divorce. You know, that time in your life when you finally look the way you've wanted to look for years but are in absolutely no mood to do anything with it. The third time was also relationship-based. Couldn't eat, looked fabulous, didn't care. Not the best combination.

My BMI is somewhere between Maria Sharapova and Sylvester Stallone.

I've never been grossly overweight. According to my BMI, I'm "normal." But like many women, I have a very poor body image and pretty much always have. I joke that I don't even like to SHOWER naked. I wish my mirrors were only from the neck up, and sometimes even that's too much. I keep waiting for age and time to "make me love and accept my body" but it's just not happening. I seem to have an ample lower body (read BUTT.) Either that or my upper body is ridiculously disproportionate and makes my lower body SEEM ample. In fact, my mother recently told me (kid you not), "You're so lucky that behinds like Beyonce's and JLo's are in style now."

Really? And what happens when they go OUT of style? Am I screwed? Apparently.

Turning 40 was a wonderful thing in many ways. I looked forward to it; I was ready for it. What I wasn't prepared for was that my metabolism would come to a screeching halt, and what I considered before to be a meager diet of basic sustenance would now be considered gluttony. What before was an exercise regimen fit for an Olympian would now be categorized as "sedentary." The ratio of physical exercise to basic nutrition necessary to maintain my optimum weight is so skewed that I have come to hate even looking in the mirror.

My eating habits aren't stellar, but they're not bad, either. I often look a the restaurant commercials for Friday's or Applebee's or Hardees and think, "I would never eat that." And I don't. However, if I do go to a restaurant, I'm probably more inclined to order a burger and fries than the plank salmon and rice. I'm not a cook, nor do I play one on TV. But I also don't eat what my kids eat. Oftentimes, I fix their fried/microwaved/boiled whatever then sit down with a bowl of edamame or a baked potato with spray butter.

Snacks for me are usually an apple with peanut butter or carrots and hummus. I rarely go out to lunch during the week and bring in my Lean Cuisine/SmartOnes/Healthy Choice cardboard of the day or a can of soup. And breakfast? Coffee and oatmeal. Or a bagel thin with peanut butter. I pass on the Trefzger's danishes at work, I haven't eaten one Girl Scout cookie, and the snacks at my desk include dry pretzels and maybe some low-fat Cheez-its. On the weekends, I may imbibe in more than my share of beers, which I'm sure doesn't help. But it's not like it's a nightly thing.

I've tried keeping a food diary. I've tried counting calories. Watching my carbs. I'll admit I have a weakness for some of the junk food I allow in my house on occasion for my kids, like potato chips. I've also been known to eat an entire sleeve of saltines in one sitting. I'm definitely not one who can keep a full jar of chocolates at my desk. Occasionally I do. But not for long.

I exercise; sometimes in spurts, but I try for at least 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week. I took up running in September, and have been doing it pretty regularly, running two 5K races and even doing a 10K on my own a couple of weeks ago. My knees hate me - actually, the rest of my body isn't real thrilled with me either. But my beef (which I also rarely eat) is that since I started running, I have not lost ONE POUND. And don't give me that "muscle weights more than fat" bullshit, because the mirror don't lie. Nor do my jeans that I have to squeeze into every day. Not to mention the ones that are at the bottom of the pile until I can "fit into them again".

I'll continue running, but not as regularly. It's just not giving me the results I want. Honestly, walking fast feels a lot more productive, at least in my lower body, and my knees don't scream at me when I'm done. I'm getting back into strength training, which I enjoy, and I may even try to supplement that with a little Pilates. My issue is motivation at home, since I don't belong to a gym, and time. The odds of me consistently getting up early to exercise are slim (I wish) to none, but I do have about a 45 minute window when I get home from work when the kids are off doing their things before dinner that I try to dedicate to getting my sweat on.

It's just frustrating that now, at age 46, I seem to have to work so hard for so little result. It doesn't help that many of my friends have awesome bods. True, some haven't birthed two ginormous babies. Some are fitness instructors and freakin' work out more in a day than I do all week. So not only do I have to try to keep up with the Joneses, I'm single and not getting any younger. The middle age spread isn't going to help my chances out there any, that's for sure. There's only so many guys who will love me for my brain and awesome personality.

I've exhausted all the possibilities except one. Weight Watchers. I never thought it would come to this, but it's come to this. And in researching the myriad of weight loss options out there, WW always comes out on top. So I'm going to try it. No, not going to meetings where I stand up and say, "Hi, I'm Amy and I have a weight problem" and they all say, "Hiiiii, Amy......." but the online version where hopefully they'll tell me how much to put in my piehole and I'll keep track of it, which will in turn motivate me to exercise more and see if I can turn back time and give this metabolism a kick start.

Can I get my 13 year old body back? Definitely not. Would I like my post-divorce/relationship body back? It'd be nice, now that I'd be in a place to enjoy it. But to do that would require me to eat NOTHING and also sleep very little and generally be miserable all the time. I'm over doing that. For now, I'll just keep trying to change things up until I find that magic nutrition and exercise regimen that works for me for the long haul.

Wish me luck, and feel free to share any tips of your own. Remember, we're all in this together (except for you skinny bitches - get out of here and go eat a sandwich.)

How to have a new teenager by Friday ... a follow-up

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Mon, 21 Jan 2013 04:10:00 +0000

So, I didn't really expect to have a new teenager by Friday. Part of it was just my own historical pessimism; the other was that I didn't believe that one book by some well-known Christian psychologist was going to turn my kid around in five days.

However, I was pleasantly surprised at the strides that were made in one short week, and I'd highly recommend the book to anyone in my parenting position.

To recap, "Have a New Teenager by Friday: From Mouthy and Moody to Respectful and Responsible in 5 Days" by Dr. Kevin Leman was alleged to help me:

-communicate with the "whatever" generation
-establish healthy boundaries and workable guidelines
-gain respect--even admiration--from their teenager
-turn selfish behavior around
-navigate the critical years with confidence
-pack their teenager's bags with what they need for life now and in the future
-become the major difference maker in their teenager's life

The chapters were broken down into days of the week, which I didn't really pay attention to since I just wanted to drink it all in and implement his suggestions when the situations came up.

Case in point: new, 2013 school night rules dictate that all electronic devices be charged in Mom's room at bedtime, to prevent any "I can't sleep so I'm going to play Angry Birds until I fall asleep then be really cranky the next day" issues, as well as finding texts back and forth to friends at 3 am. The night before they went back to school for the semester, I woke to find my oldest son surreptitiously seeking out his Nexus. I told at him to go back to bed. That was all. But the next morning, when he asked where it was so he could take it to school (for "note taking"), I said, "You disobeyed me last night, and I don't appreciate you coming into my room in the middle of the night. Therefore you cannot take your Nexus to school today." It was like I had just slapped him. First of all, he wasn't used to me not reading him the riot act about how he had done this stupid thing and how my trust in him had been once again broken. Secondly, he was not used to being disciplined after the fact and in such a, well, justifiable manner. He went to school without the Nexus, and since then, has come into my room before bed every night to charge his devices.

Leman talked about this "after the fact" kind of discipline in his book, but I was still adhering to the tactics I used when they were younger, and that is, punish immediately because if you wait until later, they've forgotten what they've done. I hadn't updated this and they had been playing me for YEARS. They do something wrong, I jump down their throats, they tune me out, I give up. Cycle, cycle, cycle.

I did it again just the other day. My son lied about toast. Just toast. Simply toast. I knew he lied. Later, he asked if he could have a sleepover. I said no. He asked why. I said simply, "Because you lied about the toast." "But Mom! That's so stupid!" was his reply. Said I, "It was a stupid lie."

I've also said no to hanging out with friends during the week, at least until the grades improve. I'm not too thrilled with some of the kids he's chosen to chill with these days, anyway, but have felt somewhat powerless to do anything to change it. Oh, I could forbid him to see them, but I know that will just make him find a way to rebel against me no matter if he wants to see them or not. But you know what? A part of me thinks he's relieved at my new rule. Relieved to have an excuse NOT to hang out with them because he knows they aren't straight up. Because he hasn't fought me on it. In fact, we hang out more now; watching TV, or him showing me YouTube videos or stuff on his Nexus. I know - we're not doing puzzles or playing board games or discussing politics, but still, I'll take it.

And I've started listening more - another Lemanism, so to speak. He encouraged parents of teens such as mine to not try so hard to parent at times, and just listen. So when my son said, "When I grow up, I'm going to be a video game programmer and make a ton of money" I didn't tell him that I think that's a less than wise profession and that he'd better get his grades up and don't expect to make money hand over fist the day after graduation. I simply said, "Cool." And ya know what? He kept talking. And he talked himself through it himself. "Well, I'm probably won't get a video gaming job right out of college, so maybe I should get some sort of computer technology degree..." I was interjecting as needed, but mostly I was just listening. And yes, I have drawn blood by biting the side of my mouth to not say the first thing that comes into my brain.

Oh, and did I mention his grades are up?

So, like I said, I'm not convinced I have a new kid. But I do feel like he maybe has a new parent. A parent who has started to figure out that I can't parent him the way I did when he was seven. A parent who needs to stop trying to control and start trying to communicate. A parent who is starting to once again enjoy her teenager (did I just say that???) more than I ever have. On the flip side, he seems to have a little more respect for me, and sees me less of something he just needs to tune out. Because suddenly I'm showing him that what he says, no matter what I think of it, has value. And I'm doing it quietly. I'm disciplining him quietly - minus the lecture he's heard a thousand times before.

I say this with trepidation. I say this with caution. I say this while knocking on wood. Because I know that these smooth times are often mottled by bumps in the road. In fact, the road itself is not unlike many in Peoria: riddled with potholes and bumps but with a sporadic smooth patch where the workers have recently been out. Eventually, that smooth patch will become bumpy. Cycle, cycle, cycle.

Pray that this continues. Pray that this is a breakthrough and not just God throwing me a bone because he knew I was ready to throw in the towel. Oh, and if you can relate? Buy the book. Better yet, I'll loan it to you. It just might break that cycle and get you closer to where you need to be with your teenager.

50 ways to free your mind

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 16:50:00 +0000

I try not to get too caught up in all those inspirational, über-optimistic blogs that seem to be so prevalent online right now. It seems that everyone has a cute quote or post that is supposed to make all of us think differently about ourselves and our hardships and where we are in our lives. After awhile I find myself exhausted by the incessant encouragement, enthusiasm and motivational mumbo jumbo intended to help me make myself a "better person."

However, there is one site that seems to give me pause time after time, and this week was no exception. I don't know who this couple is - this Marc and Angel Hack. I've never really looked into them (I provided a link but I didn't read it) because I don't want to know that they are some gorgeous, blissfully-happy pair who probably made so much money in their younger years that all they do is sit around and write ass-kicking blog posts. I just like what they say.

Yesterday, I read one of their posts and was so enlightened that I actually looked for more - and I found this gem: 50 Questions That Will Free Your Mind. I liked it because it wasn't preaching to me and telling me what I should be doing or shouldn't be doing. It merely asked me some pointed questions that made me really think about my "true" - not necessarily right - but my true answers.

I'm not going to go through all 50, but here are a few of the questions if you don't feel like clicking over to the article itself - and my subsequent answers.

If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?
Right? I mean, I get that we "have" to do some things we don't like, but I for one am a huge offender of liking things - and being envious of people - who are doing things I'm NOT. Time to change that.

What is the one thing you’d most like to change about the world?
Honestly at this moment? I'm not calling for a debate here, but if I had my druthers we'd eradicate all guns, violent video games and inappropriate television programs from the planet. I see no harm done in that.

If happiness was the national currency, what kind of work would make you rich?
That's easy. Writing what's in my head. Every day. I'd never even have to speak again.

Are you doing what you believe in, or are you settling for what you are doing?
Oh, I'm totally settling. I mean, sometimes I believe in what I do, and I for the most part enjoy what I do, but I don't feel I'm using my capabilities to do what I truly believe in. But I don't know that I can EVER do the things I truly believe in. Money's a bitch and it drives everything we do. If I had it my way I'd be an advice columnist or a psychologist. I'd like to help people more than I'd like to jumble the same 500 words into new and exciting prose each day.

If the average human life span was 40 years, how would you live your life differently?
Doesn't matter - I'd be dead already, so a moot point.

To what degree have you actually controlled the course your life has taken?
That's a laughable questions, because it's impossible. I thought I had my life all planned out 15 years ago, but it took an unexpected turn that changed the course of pretty much everything. Each time I try to gain control of it something goes awry. I try to just give it up to God and go with the flow.

If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?
Go back in. Seriously.

What’s something you know you do differently than most people?
I write down for the world to see what some people only think about in their heads.

Are you holding onto something you need to let go of?
Probably. But unfortunately my past track record of "making the right decisions" sucks so I pretty much second-guess everything I do.

Would you rather be a worried genius or a joyful simpleton?
Joyful simpleton. I remember after watching Forrest Gump how much I wished that the world could be more like him.

What is your happiest childhood memory? What makes it so special?
I can't think of one specific memory, but when I think of my childhood, I think of neighborhood friends, a one-of-a-kind house and parents and family who made me feel very secure. All things I wanted to give to my own kids. I had a great childhood.

What one thing have you not done that you really want to do?
What’s holding you back? OK. More than one thing. Write a real book. Volunteer with my kids. Finish their scrapbooks. Travel out west to see some friends and experience that part of the country. Travel to see my niece in Copenhagen. Take my kids to Mexico or the Caribbean so they can snorkel, scuba, and para-sail. Time; my kids' attitudes; money.

If not now, then when?
When the kids are older. When I have more money. When I lose 10 pounds. When I can run farther and faster. When I have the time to do it. All bad answers, but if you "do whatever it takes" to make something happen, another part of your life is going to suffer in the process. And I'm not prepared to make that tradeoff yet.

If you knew that everyone you know was going to die tomorrow, who would you visit today?
I'm assuming my kids are with me, so that answer would without a doubt be my parents.

What is the difference between being alive and truly living?
The difference is obvious. Being alive involves a greater proportion of doing the things you have to do versus doing the things you want to do. Truly living is just the opposite.

If we learn from our mistakes, why are we always so afraid to make a mistake?
Because the learning process is so freakin' hard.

What would you do differently if you knew nobody would judge you?
1) Speak out more against guns and violence/sex in video games and TV.
2) Dance in public.

Decisions are being made right now. The question is: Are you making them for yourself, or are you letting others make them for you?
I'd love to say I'm making my own decisions, but unfortunately, I'm frightened to make many of them for fear that they'll be the wrong ones, so I tend to let others influence - not make - but influence what I decide to do, rather than what I feel is best.

And here's some I couldn't answer, or had a hard time formulating an answer into words. Can you?

Why are you, you?
Would you rather lose all of your old memories, or never be able to make new ones?
When was the last time you marched into the dark with only the soft glow of an idea you strongly believed in?
What do you love? Have any of your recent actions openly expressed this love?
In 5 years from now, will you remember what you did yesterday? What about the day before that? Or the day before that?
What’s something you know you do differently than most people?
How come the things that make you happy don’t make everyone happy?
At what time in your recent past have you felt most passionate and alive?

How to have a new teenager by Friday

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Sun, 06 Jan 2013 22:08:00 +0000

I'm not a big fan of self-help books. As much as I probably need them, I always find that they tell me what I already know. Not saying I have it all figure out (not by a long shot), but most of the advice seems pretty common sense. It seems like it's more of a "remember this is how you're supposed to do it - DUH" rather than a "here's some enlightening new thoughts that probably never occurred to you."

But this time, I'm desperate. Desperate for guidance. Desperate for answers. Desperate to know that there's still time - that my parenting license has not expired and I'm still qualified to influence my teen and guide him down the right path.

See, I've come to kind of a crossroads over the past couple of weeks. Or maybe it's a roadblock. I'm not really sure. I've said it before that one of the hardest jobs of parenting is realizing that at times, you have NO idea what the answer is. I mean, think about it. Usually when you have a problem at work or in a relationship, deep down you know the answer or the right thing to do. With parenting, it's not that easy, especially where a teenager is concerned. You try one tactic, and it backfires. Another works for like a week. There's no rhyme or reason to it.

I have a tough teen to parent. I know the phrase "tough teen" seems redundant, but in this case it's the truth. I am worried about him. I am scared for him. My heart aches for him and the choices he makes, and the lack of influence I seem to have anymore. It aches because I don't think he has anyone to turn to whom he admires and respects, and I worry that not having someone like that is making him turn to the wrong people. In my darkest hours, I blame myself - for making him the child of divorce. For making him the son of a single working mom. For being the wrong kind of parent for the type of kid he is. For not having the answers and making the wrong parenting decisions.

But beating myself up doesn't change things. And I want to change things. I'm familiar with Dr. Kevin Leman from a video series during Sunday school at our church years ago. I agreed with some of the things he postulated; others not so much. But when a friend pointed me in the direction of some sort of self-help series, I turned to him.

Have a New Teenager by Friday is an intriguing title. Obviously I believe it as much as I believe that I can lose two dress sizes in the next two weeks. But in the synopsis, he described my teen to a "T", then went on to describe how my parenting style (apparently authoritarian) is not conducive to doing much to be of influence to this mass of hormones I have living under my roof. OK, enough to make it the first purchase on my Nook, my New Year's resolution to "read more". Little did I know that the once pshawed self-help book would be number one on my best seller list.

Leman prefaces the book by challenging you to determine what you want to get out of it. Like a house, he says, it might need just a new coat of paint, or maybe just a renovation of one room. Or, you may need a total rebuild including foundation. Unfortunately, I think that's where we're at. Judging from the first few chapters, I have a lot of work to do and very little time to do it. All of those years of "tough parenting" have backfired to the point where I have become nothing but an adversary who lives in the same place where he sleeps.

I want to be more than that. I want to have a relationship with my child - even if it's limited - while he's a teen. What's more, I want him to know that I understand the struggles and challenges and decisions between right and wrong, even though I was a teenager 30+ years ago.

So far I'm at "Monday". And what I've learned so far is to:
1) Shut up and listen. Quit lecturing what he already knows and just listen to him. The more I lecture, the more he withdraws. By listening, I might just open the door for him to tell me a little more without me butting in with my two cents.

2) Change my responses. Leman gives the example of the kid who tells his parents he's getting a Corvette when he grows up. My response would be the typical: "Well I hope you have a good job to afford that kind of car, which of course means you'll need a college education and with those grades you're bringing home now, Buddy, that doesn't look like it's going to happen if you don't start buckling down." WHAT????? Sounds pretty ridiculous now that I rehash it. What I SHOULD say, Leman advises, is "Awesome. What color? Promise you'll take me for a spin." For God's sake - he KNOWS it's a pipe dream to have an expensive car. He's no DUMMY. Don't make him feel like one.

3) Discipline with less words. Instead of laying on the lecture and yelling back at him when he's disrespectful to me, I should simply go back to what I was doing. BUT, the next time he wants to do something or needs something from me, I tell him, "No, because I didn't like how you spoke to me this morning, and you know better." Kind of the "sneak attack" discipline approach - something I thought was unfair when they were younger, but seems fitting now.

4) Stop trying to be my parents, and stop thinking my kid is me. This is my biggest problem. I was (for the most part) a rule follower. My parents pretty much laid out the lay of the land and if I crossed it, I payed the price. I never would have spoken to either of them the way my son speaks to me. And every time he does speak to me with disrespect, I think, "What did I do wrong that I enable this?" other than the fact that I can't smack him. My son is not me - he doesn't think like me or act like me, no matter what mold I try to push him into. Best thing I can do is accept him for who he is and work around it.

5) Pick my battles. I thought I was doing this, until my friend overheard me on the phone telling my son not to drink soda before dinner, which of course made him erupt. "Amy," she said. "You have bigger battles to fight. Quit obsessing over the little stuff." And she's right. As much as I want to micromanage and control him to eat right, wash his hair, dress nicer, stand up straight, etc. etc., what I really need to concentrate on is my overall relationship with him so I can better help HIM fight HIS battles, like grades, peer pressures, and all the horrible aspects that come with being a teenager with access to technology, friends with money and a society with increasingly lax morals and values. THAT'S my battle.

WHEW. That's a lot for a Monday. But so far, I've implemented a few things and have drawn blood with as many times as I've bit my tongue yet today. And it's not even tomorrow yet.

I don't think I'm going to have a new teenager by Friday. But I'm already feeling better than I was a few days and weeks ago, when all I wanted to do was crawl into bed until the phone rang for me to come and pick him up. Then when he got home, I just wanted to crawl back in bed again. Now I feel like I have a tool... a guide... a HELP when I have been screaming for one for so long. Granted, this may not be "it", but it's the only thing I have right now, and I am willing to do anything to save my son and my relationship with him.

I'll keep you posted on the book. I'm looking forward to Friday.

Someone's hand to hold

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Mon, 24 Dec 2012 03:49:00 +0000

I say I hate the holidays... and a part of me really, really does. OK, maybe not "hate". How about "dread". I dread the holidays. I dread the impending stress of trying to keep up with the unending, increasingly-expensive wish lists that my kids come up with every year which does not correlate to an increase in my bank account. I dread lugging all the decorations out of storage - and I seem to put up less and less every year.

I dread Christmas cards, which is probably why I haven't sent them in two years. Since I've moved a year or so ago, I receive very few - no one knows my address. I dread seeing my kids get getting older and no longer want to help decorate the tree or make cookies, and ask if they can "hang with their friends" on Christmas Eve.

I want to love the holidays. I want to get back to pulling out all the stops and making it "the best Christmas EVER!" for my kids and me. I want to see the enchantment in their eyes again that makes me want to do all these things.

But what I really want is someone's hand to hold in church on Christmas Eve.

I mean, it's fine, really. It's the eve of Christmas Eve, and the kids are home (because I told them they have to be - and yes, they're downstairs playing video games.) The Christmas tree is lit, and the football game is on TV. I was lucky enough to spend the evening with friends for some much needed laughs. Tomorrow, I will run. I will prepare dishes to take to my mom and dad's on Christmas Day. I will finish some last-minute wrapping. The boys have been instructed to be home by 3:00 so we can prepare to go to church.

I love church on Christmas Eve, especially since we've outgrown the daytime "Birthday Party for Jesus" service. Now we go to the candelight service, and it's gorgeous and homey and inspiring and beautiful...

...and I just want someone's hand to hold on Christmas Eve.

I used to put my arms around my kids. Now, they shy away. It's embarrassing. I get that. Their faces have lost that enchantment - they're bored and want to know where we're going for dinner. I get it. I was their age once. I remember. I look around at all the other families and try to realize that their picture-perfect holiday attire and arms around each other doesn't mean they're perfect through and through. I tell myself to feel blessed with what I have, and I do. My boys are beautiful. They are my life, even though I am not theirs right now. We're at a weird stage, the boys and me. Too old to hold my hand, but too young to let go.

So I will sit with my handsome boys in a beautiful church and listen to the choir sing "Silent Night" with tears rolling down my face. Tears because I am truly, to-the-end-of-the-moon-and-back grateful for what I do have. Tears because I am so thankful that God is at the helm of this ship. Tears because I struggle to keep the faith that he is steering me in the right direction when I don't know what that direction is.

Tears just because it would be nice to have someone's hand to hold on Christmas Eve.

Pointing fingers

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 18 Dec 2012 00:13:00 +0000

My thoughts are consumed with the unimaginable and impenetrable grief that the parents of those 20 beautiful babies are going through right now and forevermore. Every time I let myself to go that place, I think of one more thing that those moms and dads will come upon that will be like dousing alcohol on an open wound.

I think of the next time they do the laundry and see the dirty play clothes of their precocious kids, still smelling of their familiar little boy and little girl scent. The unmade bed with snuggly blankets and bedroom floor littered with toys. The pantry filled with their favorite foods. Tiny coats, hats and boots sitting by the door, waiting to be donned to go outside and play. The playsets in the backyard; swings motionless if only for the slight breeze. The Christmas presents, either hidden away or wrapped and under the tree – never to be opened by their intended young recipient.

That is what first comes to my mind when I let my thoughts turn to the ramifications of the tragedy that happened at a quiet Connecticut elementary school on Friday.

The stages of reaction are becoming all too familiar. First there is surprise – there is a shooting. No details known. We may say a quick prayer then go on about our day. Then the story unfolds, and the shock, disbelief, grief, sadness, numbness, and general surreal feelings begin to surface. From there, in this day and age of social media, the anger and outrage begins. The debate begins. The struggle to understand and take control of the situation and to find a REASON and a CAUSE and to shout to the world ‘THIS IS WHY THIS HAPPENED’ becomes so powerful that by the end of the day on Friday, heated discussions were taking place all over the Internet.

On the one hand, of course we should first and foremost think of the victims and their families, and yes, perhaps leave the finger pointing for another day. On the other hand, the time has long past to find a way to stop senseless tragedies like this from happening over and over and over again. The problem is; there is not one easy answer.

This is a long blog, but I am not going to fill it full of researched statistics. For every statistic providing evidence of one belief there seems to be a counter-statistic to prove the opposite. Getting into a debate with someone who is adamant about concealed carry is like nailing Jell-O to a tree. Telling the parent of a child with a mental illness that mental illness caused this young man to do this horrendous crime is asking for a fight like no other. But we as a grieving nation struggle to find an answer – to gain control of a situation that we can’t comprehend, can't process and now can’t even prosecute, we need to find a starting point to even begin to figure out how to make this stop.

But at least we’re talking. That’s the first step. And pointing fingers. So let’s point some fingers right now.

Riddle me this. What is so different about our world now than the world 40 years ago? Yes, I understand that we’ve evolved and changed with technology and new discoveries and all that crap like worlds do. But what have we given up over the past 40 years that maybe we should have held onto a little tighter? I’m not just talking about the tragedy of last Friday, so please don’t think that I’m saying that any or all of these factors below were reasons why this happened. That is not for me to judge, and I’m in no place to do so. But I do see quite a few ideals that seem to be missing from the days gone by when the words “school shooting” or “mall shooting” or “theater shooting” were never, ever, ever, ever uttered.

First of all, let’s discuss what we’ve slacked off on and start pointing.

The sacrament of marriage

When I was growing up, I didn’t even know anyone divorced. It never occurred to me that it even happened, and certainly not in my family. My parents both lived at home and they were happy and that’s the way it was in my mind. Adults back then had much more respect for the institute of marriage. Sure, divorced happened. But not like today. Not like today when homes are breaking apart with very little regard for the effects it can have on the child. Parents yell and argue – in front of their kids. They have heated custody battles. They talk badly about each other in front of their kids.

Parents now do not shield their children from adult topics like they did when I was young. My parents were somewhat of an enigma – they were the leaders of the household and you did not cross them without serious repercussions. I knew nothing or very little of their financial issues, relationships, and everyday struggles. Today we don’t seem to have any sort of filter around our kids. We make them extensions of ourselves – our “buddies”. We try to be friends with them instead of raising them to respect us and follow the rules that we have implemented because their little brains are not formed well enough yet to make good decisions on their own.

We need to get back to parenting our children and ensuring that they respect and look up to us by living as role models and setting good examples of how they should be when they are parents themselves. That means them calling us ‘Mr.’ and ‘Mrs.’ again. It means having it be OK if they fear us a little. It's fighting for our marriages and, when all else fails, making sure they get the right sort of guidance and counseling if in fact divorce is unavoidable. It’s knowing that they have enough friends but not enough mentors. It’s NOT taking the easy road and doing what is right to raise our children to be conscientious, respectful adults.

Coping skills

We’re used to getting our way. So are our kids. That’s why you flip off the guy who cuts you off. That’s why you have no patience for the long line at the checkout. That’s why you yell at your neighbor or go ballistic on your co-worker. We seem to think that we are ENTITLED to express every emotion we have. We’ve lost our filters and have no control over our actions. And we’re passing these lack of coping skills onto our kids. They get a bad grade? Well we yell at their teacher. They get yelled at by the coach? Well, we’ll just put you on another team. You wanna quit track? Sure. That’s fine. It was too hard anyway.

We’ve cushioned and babied and sheltered our children so much that when they are faced with a difficult emotion they have no idea what to do with it. So they respond with anger. A child counselor I knew once drew a circle in the middle of a piece of paper, and in the circle wrote the word “anger”. Coming off of that circle she drew lines all around with additional circles, with words such as “disappointment”, “sadness”, “boredom”, “embarrassment”, etc. Her point was, some children respond with anger, when really, they are feeling one of these other emotions and anger is just the easiest one to admit and produce. We try so hard to ensure that our children are not ever disappointed, or sad, or bored, or embarrassed, which is giving them no coping skills for when we aren’t around to diffuse the bomb.

Violence in our media

You know how I feel about violent video games as well as the violence on television – and in music as well. This - above all things – gets me more riled than anything else. Why? Because it is SO easily fixed. SO preventable. There is absolutely NO REASON ON GOD’S EARTH why violent video games have to exist. There is NO REASON why shows depicting killings, sex or rude humor need to be on network TV for my children to come across, no matter how vigilant I am. There is NO REASON that children should be exposed to M-rated video games – even some Teen rated video games.

To me, this part of the world that exists is beyond stupid. Beyond inappropriate. Beyond necessary. And I see NO disadvantage from these things being eradicated from this earth. Like tomorrow. And you tell me there’ll be a violent uprising if suddenly you wake up and these things don’t exist? Thank you - I’ve just proven my point. And if you want to discuss free speech? See “right to bear arms” below.

Right to bear arms

Yes, I’m going there. I’ve already discussed the whole “right to bear arms” argument, and how those that bleed that phrase from our Bill of Rights can’t quite come to grips with the fact that we have for all intents and purposes stretched this statement’s meaning to its limit. To me – TO ME – this statement was not written with the intent that everyone has the right to carry a firearm – IN THIS DAY AND AGE - in order to protect themselves from others who may have firearms. It does not mean that we should – IN THIS DAY AND AGE - arm our teachers in our schools. It does not mean that you have the right to defend yourself with a firearm if you feel threatened – TODAY – IN THIS DAY AND AGE - whether or not you suspect that person has a firearm. And anyone who thinks that that’s what our forefathers meant when they wrote that second amendment is taking the easy way out in a discussion that goes much further.

You can tell me that even if this pathetic young man did not have access to guns in his mother’s house that he would have somehow obtained them and done the same thing. Really? Yes, perhaps he could have. But it would have been much more difficult, and maybe, just maybe, in the time it took for him to acquire what he thought he needed to acquire, something might have changed. School might have been out for the weekend. His mother may not have been home. Whatever rage he felt may have dissipated. Who knows. But I see absolutely no value in the statement that anyone should be allowed to carry a firearm – especially the ridiculous notion that “of course, you need to be trained and safety-conscious.”

And the idea that teachers should be armed? What good would it have done if the teachers had guns on them? What message would it have sent to the kids if the principal was packing heat? They do not have the understanding. I guarantee that the first thing that would happen would be a tragedy involving the misuse of that gun versus the person packing it actually doing something defensive with it. From what I hear, no one but a trained sniper could have anticipated what that gunman was going to do in the split seconds it took him to do what he did. And I also guarantee you, at least 75 percent of the teacher workforce would quit before they'd carry a firearm into a school.

Mental illness awareness and resources

This saddens me more than anything, because mental illness is to me is one of the least understood and misunderstood of any of these factors. Mental illness abounds in our world. Did it 40 years ago? I don’t know. Why does it seem so prevalent now? I don’t know. There is the one discussion that we are over-medicating and over diagnosing our kids, and to some extent I do agree. There are plenty of kids out there who are on medication for ADHD that just simply can’t stay still in their seat.

Yet there are some who are labeled as “introverts” or “weird” that may harbor serious and potential life-threatening mental issues that need to be addressed. You sometimes have vigilant parents who go to the ends of the earth and back to have questions answered, to find a solution, a cure, some hope so that their families can live calm, happy lives. Sometimes they don’t have the money to get the help they need. Sometimes they don’t know where to turn, or they’re embarrassed to admit their child has a problem that they can’t “fix”. Or resources they do need don’t exist. So, they live with it without ever thinking that it could culminate in an explosive display of rage, hatred, violence and death.

We need to stop cutting the money given to these organizations. I know – we need to cut funding in order to balance the budget. I don’t have an answer, but cutting social service programs because they may seem like a luxury is not the answer – they are a necessity. So where’s that money going to come from? I know I’m going out on a limb here, but how many multi-millionaires do we need in this world? How much do these government officials and athletes and movie stars need to make, anyway? How many people really need to live in multi-million dollar homes??? Come ON!!!!! Quit saving yourselves and save the society. Let’s fix what’s broken. Let’s give help to those who need help. Let’s use our money for good, not for evil. Money isn’t going to buy your life when you have a gun pointed at your head by someone who has no business holding a gun.

----------------------------------------------

Herein lie some of the factors – not answers – but factors that need to be looked at in order to even begin to stop these abhorrent acts. It is going to take serious gun legislation, which will mean change, which will mean uprising, because any change causes conflict. But it has to happen. And I mean gun control has to happen. Debate me forever that if people want guns, they’ll get them, but I still think gun control has to happen. At least let’s not make it so damn easy.

It’s going to take funding the resources and services so that these individuals with mental illnesses can be treated and counseled. It’s going to take a stripping away of the taboo mentality and an education to those who poo-poo mental illness that this is as serious as a life-threatening illness (which I think we’ve determined) and should be treated as such. Can we become as aware of it as we are of breast cancer? Can we talk about mental illness at the same comfort level that we talk about boobs???

Most importantly, it’s going to take the embodiment of the family unit. We need to return to the days of a whole family, with two figureheads at the helm, leading our children through life and helping out each other instead of getting on our high horse when someone does us wrong. It’s going to mean turning off the escapism – the violent TV programs and video games and hatred music and living life with your children.

It’s going to be teaching them how to manage their emotions and finding healthy outlets for them. Letting them know what is expected of them and disciplining them when they do wrong. Having them realize there are consequences to their actions, not continually bailing them out of situations that may cause them to feel a negative emotion. And when they do feel that negative emotion, it’s teaching them through example as to how to deal with that emotion in a healthy way.

How is this all accomplished? Well, dialogue is good. Not finger pointing, but honest to goodness communication is good. Writing your congressperson and demanding change is even better. Getting involved in making a change in your own corner of the world is a great start. Looking at your own family and realizing what you’ve let go of and what you need to get back to is a great first step. Do not be afraid to go against the grain and make "unpopular" decisions, no matter what other parents are doing or what they allow their children to do. Do the right thing.

I can’t say that anything positive can come from the events of last Friday at Sandy Hook. To put it that way seems callous and disrespectful to the lives lost and the living who are grieving those losses. But if this heinous tragedy doesn’t start some kind of change in this world, I don’t know what will. It has to stop. And it can only stop when we start. So in the memory of those 20, beautiful children and the six courageous adults who lost their lives so senselessly, let’s try to make this a better world in honor of them. It’s the least we can do to honor the memory of those who should still be here with us today.

Breakup Sex

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 11 Dec 2012 01:01:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I broke up with running. It just didn't seem to be working out. I liked it, but I didn't love it, and I thought the feeling was mutual. It just didn't seem like long-term relationship material. I figured it was best to get out before I really got hurt.

I had signed up for a race last Saturday that was to be my swan song. In talking to a friend, he wished me luck and hoped the "breakup sex" would be great. I laughed. Good way to think about it. Yeah, maybe.

Well, he was right. It was amazing; exhilarating even. It was as if we had just met for the first time (although I usually don't have sex on the first date.) I saw a side of running I hadn't seen before, and I think it saw a new side of me. We decided to give our relationship another chance.

This time, though, I knew I would need reinforcements if this was going to work. Here's where the power of social media comes in. I'm chatting with my friend who is currently in Kuwait, and he hooks me up with a friend of his who is in this group, Sole Sisters. This motivated group is comprised of women of all fitness levels who have one thing in common - they're all in love with running (or at least like it a lot.) I emailed his friend to find out more.

They meet weekly (religiously) and it's easy to find someone looking for a running buddy on their Facebook page throughout the week. Some of them are marathoners who have been running for years; others are in training, and still others (like me) are relative newbies. Their December route (brrrr) was in an area where I used to live and I knew I could do it, so I took a deep breath and walked into the designated meeting place to see if I could hang with this bunch of speedy strangers.

There were a few other newcomers and as they welcomed us they passed around a signup sheet with paces on it (anywhere from an eight to 13 minute mile, etc., even walk/jog and walk). Not sure of my hill running abilities given the course, nor wanting to crap out after two miles, I signed up for a 12 minute pace and was assigned a "running leader" who assured me that I would not be left behind in the dark.

We set off, and were soon joined by a third runner in our group. I was surprised at how much easier it seemed to be to keep going when you had two others running with you. Stop? No such word. Hills? No problem. The conversation, though breathless, was great as I got to know these two motivated mommas. One had already conquered her first marathon (she was my leader, so had slowed down considerably to help me out) and the other a mom who was just getting back in the game after having a child.

OK, so I fit in somewhere between "marathoner" and "just gave birth." I'll take that. We ran four miles, hills and all, in the dark. (They had reflective gear and headlamps - I had nuthin'. Stupid newbie.) At the end of the night, I felt accomplished and rejuvenated with the hope that this running thing might just work.

I'm anxious to run with the Sole Sisters again, and as I see some of their stories and read their running plans, ("I'm doing 10 miles on Saturday - who's with me?" Not me. Yet.), I feel as if this is just what I needed to keep this relationship with running alive.

In fact, we're planning on ringing in the new year together at the 2013 Resolution Run, with my goal for 2013 being to run a quarter marathon (that's half of a half, for all you English majors) in April at the Height Half Marathon & Relay and again in May at Run River City. I'm not going to put the cart too far before the horse, but if this gets serious, you could see me doing a half marathon... someday. Maybe. We're taking it slow. But if I play my cards right, I could log 500 miles in 2013.

Running, I may just be smitten with you. Thanks for giving it another shot. Let's try to stay together this time.

Great Expectations

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Fri, 07 Dec 2012 02:55:00 +0000

Before we get to the meat of this blog, let's review. This Charles Dickens classic tells the story of Pip, an English orphan who rises to wealth, deserts his true friends, and becomes humbled by his own arrogance.The title Great Expectations refers to the 'Great Expectations' Pip has of coming into his benefactor's property upon his disclosure to him and achieving his intended role as a gentleman at that time.

Though I've never been called 'Pip', I have been told by more than one person that I have "too" great of expectations.

Expectations of what, you ask? Apparently everything.

In some respects, I think this may be true. I do think I have high expectations for myself, which is probably why I feel like such a failure for a good percentage of the time. I struggle with doing "what is expected" of me - hey, there's that word again.

I remember feeling the pressures of expectations in college - at the time I felt that they were driven by my parents, but in looking back, they were only a product of what I felt I should be in order to please them. Big difference. I've always been very cognizant of what people might think of me, and it wasn't until a good friend finally shook me and said, "Guess what? They're NOT thinking of you" that I finally realized how silly it was to even worry about that.

It's funny - you would think that my expectations of others are a result of the expectations I put on myself, and to an extent that's true. But I don't want to come across as some prima donna goodie goodie diva-type person who thinks her shit doesn't stink. That's not me. But I do know right from wrong, good person versus bad person, and when I deviate from who I (think) I'm supposed to be, it causes me stress. There's no reason why I can't live up to my own expectations. They're not superhuman. But no matter how much I "improve", I always find someone who absolutely blows me away in one area or another, which makes me realize I really have a long way to go.

Tangible example: Running. I know I've only been running for 10 weeks (yes we got back together), but I feel like I should be running faster and farther and more often and with less pain and with more energy and with better shoes or whatever. I had the awesome opportunity to run with a group of fantastic ladies last night (Sole Sisters.) One of the women with whom I ran (my pacesetter who thankfully slowed down for me) is an avid marathoner. Younger than me, but not by too much. Two kids. No excuse why I can't be doing marathons, other than the fact that I have no desire to.

The other one? Just had a baby and is still nursing. She was wearing two sports bras. Come ON. When I was nursing I couldn't even run down the stairs without leaking something. And here I am, my able-bodied, finished-making-babies self, running like a slug wondering what I've been doing walking my piddly three or four miles a day for the past 10 years. Slacker I am.

Intangible example: Relationships. This is where people have chimed in and said perhaps I should lower my expectations a bit. What, again we're bringing up my failure? Apparently, my expectations for a mate far exceed any actual capabilities. A 50/50 partnership? Um, that doesn't exist, Amy. It's usually 70/30. Or maybe 60/40 on a good day. (Actually, the "good" relationships change percentages based on the need of the mate... not really familiar with that one.)

I fail to understand how, in this day and age, the woman versus man role is still so incredibly stereotyped when we are both working 40 hour weeks. How is it that the male gets off so easily from all the other primary responsibilities simply because his label is "breadwinner"? Because the female is more organized, more emotionally bonded.. blah, blah, blah. I don't buy it. I know there are differences between men and women, but sheesh, guys. Step up to the plate. I'm tired of wearing the pants.

One more: Children. Now, this is tricky, because I don't want to be labeled as some Tiger Mom that has these unrealistic hopes and dreams for her kids and is disappointed when they don't come to fruition. But I do kind of wonder where my kids' drive and ambition is, unless they inherited that gene from their father, who is more of a laid back, "it'll happen" kind of guy. That attitude drives me crazy. I mean, it's fine if I don't have to live with it. And I guess I'd rather have that than the extreme, which I have experienced and it's no fun. Too high of expectations in yourself can often result in workaholicism, which can lead to a fallout of your priorities, which can lead to living your life alone because no one wants to be around you because all you talk about is how to get ahead at work. (Think it's a challenge to try to make me happy? Perhaps.)

But I digress. It's tough to NOT have great expectations for your kids, and though I do, I am truly, truly proud of them no matter WHAT they do. And I'm not lying. BUT, I do sometimes fall into the trap (don't you judge; don't you dare because you know you do it too) of looking at others' kids - you know the ones. They play violin. They're in the school play. They get straight A's and get upset if they get a B. They mow lawns or babysit to save money to buy their own car. They somehow skip that selfish, "all about me" phase that drives me bananas. Of course, the trickle-down effect is that somehow I am not being the parent I should be in order to raise children like this, thus I am not living up to MY expectations, and hurting my children in the process.

Do you see how hard it is to be me? (insert "yes I know I'm being narcissistic" disclaimer here.)

Expectations are great to have, I think. They set the standard for who you truly want to be and what you want out of your life, your career, your parenting and your relationships. However, the problem is that if your expectations are too high, you're NEVER going to be at peace with any of the aforementioned things. No one is ever going to measure up, and frankly, neither are you.

I'm going to try to take my own advice, but I would be interested to figure out the origin of my great expectations and how to temper them so I can enjoy life - and the people in my life - a bit more.

Breaking up is hard to do

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Thu, 29 Nov 2012 23:54:00 +0000

Look. I don't know how to say this. When I first met you, you intrigued me. I was drawn to you like so many others. You were different - a little faster than anything else I'd ever tried. Everyone I knew swore by you and said you changed their life and made them a better person. I wanted to love you as much as they did - I really did.

You seemed great in the beginning. Oh, you made me work for it and you definitely enjoyed the thrill of the chase. But at times you made me ache, and just plain wore me out. I wouldn't have minded if I could see myself becoming a better person in the process, but I saw no change. I began to be frustrated with our relationship - it seemed like such a one-way street. I started making excuses... avoiding you. Saying I was too busy or had other plans. It was becoming clear to me that there was only one solution.

Running, I don't think we should see each other anymore.

It's nothing personal. I mean, I obviously had selfish reasons getting into this in the first place. I wanted to do something out of my comfort zone. I wanted a challenge. I wanted to feel accomplished. I wanted to physically become a better person.

Well, I'm definitely out of my comfort zone. And you are indeed a challenge. But it seems that instead of steadily improving, I am caught in this limbo that is somewhere between a 10:30 and 11:30 mile, with the maximum number of miles EVER being 4.2. Really, I should be better than that, at least after nine weeks seeing you at least every other day.

And let's just say you are a little abusive. My knees no longer enjoy walking down the stairs and I can't twist and turn like I used to. This makes me sad. I tried patching myself up with braces and creams and whatnot, but to no avail. You find new ways to hurt me.

And all this talk of becoming a better person? I kept seeing pictures of those you had been with - before and after pictures. They were so big and lumpy when they first met you, and so slim and trim after you worked your magic on them. I wanted to be like them. Unfortunately, I have seen no change in my appearance after nine weeks of loyalty. My ass is not smaller, my legs are not more muscular, and my waist is still nowhere to be found. My app says I'm burning anywhere from 400 to 800 calories per run - and it's not like I'm coming home and stuffing my face. I could never do that to you.

I just don't know what else to say. I thought we had something, running. I really did. But I should have known that I'm not usually drawn to the same things as everyone else, so why should you be any different?

I hate to say we're finished, so maybe we could just say, "see ya around"? Maybe we could still, like, hang out every once in awhile? I think I would like that. I just can't be exclusive with you. It's not fair to all the other activities I'd like to pursue. I guess I'm just not a one-exercise woman.

Thanks for the great times, running, but I think I need to move on. But I will always cherish the memories of you and me, the wind in our hair, the pavement beneath our feet, the sound of our heavy breathing in my ears.

Godspeed, running. I'll never forget you.

Trapped

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Fri, 23 Nov 2012 22:20:00 +0000

I'm officially a prisoner in my own home.

It's Black Friday, and I'd rather stick a fork in my eye than visit any sort of retail store or even attempt to drive around in the vicinity of one. It's cold and windy and it was everything I could do to walk the dog this morning before treating myself to two huge, steaming mugs of coffee with Rum Chata.

There are definite benefits to downsizing to a smaller home. Today I'm not seeing them. I have three kids playing the PS2. Right. Behind. Me. And I can hear another one downstairs on his Bluetooth playing the PS3 with who knows who. The dog, afraid of the two strangers in the house, is hunkered at my feet growling. I'm surrounded by boxes of Christmas decorations that I am half-heartedly unpacking, wondering with each strand of lights if this is enough to placate the kids.

Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled that my kids are home, in relatively good moods, and not fighting. And I'm thankful to have the day off and to have a roof over my head and clothes on my back and food in my fridge, blah, blah, blah. It just seems that lately I don't know what to DO with myself. I seem so unfocused and scattered and, well, trapped.

I like to plan. However, I'm at this point in my life where the days of planning are kind of thrown under the bus. No longer are my kids asking, "What are we doing today, Mom?" They finally have their own friends and their own activities (again, I'm thankful.) However, I feel as if I still have to kind of "be around" just in case, for instance, the friends show up here, like they have just now. Which is great. I love it. But it's not like I can wake up in the morning and have a plan as to what I'm going to do. I kind of have to roll with it. And I'm not real good at rolling with it.

The holidays don't help much. I feel as if I'm going through the motions every year, and this year is no exception. Put up the decorations. Make the cookies. Buy the gifts. Make sure everyone has the kind of Christmas they're supposed to have. If it weren't for my kids, I would care less about any of it. It makes me sad; it makes me lonely; it enhances my "grass is greener" mentality to new heights. And I don't know what to do about it.

I ran yesterday - farther than I've run since I began (4.27 miles.) During my run, I passed a family playing flag football at the park. Freakin' Norman Rockwell game of flag football. Whatever. While walking the dog last night, I passed a house and heard laughter. The front door was open and there were a bunch of people inside playing charades or Pictionary or something fun like that. Obviously, I have a sincere problem with assuming that everyone out there is having a better time than I am. I mean, right now that wouldn't be too hard to accomplish, but overall, yes, I have a problem. I think it's just exacerbated by the fact that most of my fun in the past has been coordinated activities with my kids. Now those are few and far between, and I haven't exactly found my sea legs in the waters of pre-empty nestedness.

Sigh. The Christmas decorations aren't going to unpack themselves so I'd better get back to it. How to fix this dilemma I'm not entirely sure. Buck up, quit whining, be thankful for what I have, find a new hobby, join a club... I don't know. Right now I think I'll just wrap up in a blanket and see if there's any Rum Chata left.

The Holidays: Putting the woe in my "ho-ho-ho"

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 20 Nov 2012 18:15:00 +0000

It started just after Halloween. You know what I'm talking about. I'm standing there at Kohl's looking for jeans for my string bean of a teen and suddenly the chords of "Jingle Bell Rock" hit my eardrums like an electric shock. Momentarily stunned, I suddenly have the urge to run from the store screaming, "NOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

Let's just define and outline what's going on here. "The Holidays" - and I use that term loosely - is a period of time between mid-October and early January where advertisers, marketers, retail conglomerates, the internet (yes, I'm talking to YOU, Pinterest) and Facebook friends with perfect families turn the positive emotions up a notch that drive the rest of us who are simply trying to muddle our way through to February to the point of insanity and utter despair.

What. Too much?

This is not me.

Come on. You know as well as I do that "every kiss does NOT begin with Kay" unless Kay is some high school slut hell bent on setting a little record of her own. And the fact that "He went to Jared" is a fine marketing technique but NEVER have I had one of those touching moments where I'm lying on a car hood in the snow with my boyfriend and he reaches in his pocket and hands me a box of diamond loveliness. And where do they get those ginormous bows that they put on top of those brand new cars? WHO THE HELL GETS A CAR FOR CHRISTMAS?????

My teenager is not going to bound through the door with his buddies to find me decorating homemade Christmas cookies and wanting to help, nor will we sit around high fiving each other and smiling while enjoying the finished product. You are not going to get four or five kids in headlamps sitting on the couch waiting for Santa without a fight and at least two broken headlamps. I'm lucky my kids agree to sit with me at church on Christmas Eve (one on either side because otherwise they'll poke each other and make me say things that are not so Christian.)

The people who work at the radio stations that play "All Christmas - All the Time" for the 30+ days preceding HAVE to to be highly medicated and/or plugged into Spotify or Pandora. As I would be if I worked in ANY retail store during the holidays, which I would probably do only after repeated failed attempts at slitting my wrists.


I did not take this picture.

And don't get me started on Black Friday, which has now turned into Blacker than Black Thursday. Here's how that sales meeting went. "Look. The families are already together on Thanksgiving, but then they go home, and they might oversleep. So let's get them while they're half-drunk and under the influence of tryptophan and completely sick of each other and open our doors the NIGHT BEFORE so they can stampede each other EVEN EARLIER to spend money they DON'T HAVE on things they DON'T NEED! All in favor?" "Aye."

OK. So I'm a little jaded. And perhaps envious of those who embrace the holidays as a month and a half to be full of good cheer and wonderfulness. But to me, I can do all that without Neil Diamond's Christmas Medley (I love him but the guy is JEWISH, for God's sake!) and not make such a jingly production of it. I can do without the gift-giving expectations or the guilt felt when I don't - or can't - reciprocate what I am given. I can do without the sparkly holiday dress and the endless holiday gluttonies that pack on the pounds right before I settle in for my annual winter slump. And I can certainly do without the commercials and TV shows that remind me that I am so far from a Hallmark moment it's not even funny.

Here's an idea. Let's all go buy a coat for a kid who's REALLY cold. Let's feed someone who's REALLY hungry. Let's spend some extra time with our kids if they'll let us and hug our families even if they may drive us bananas at times. Let's go to church and remember why we're really supposed to celebrate this holiday and know that it has nothing to do with ANY of the crap that we've created today. I can do without the remixed Christmas carols, the Black Friday follies, the sappy commercials that AREN'T REAL and the pressures that I allow myself to be put under to make this "the best Christmas EVAH." I just don't have the money, nor the time, nor the patience or the holly jollies. Just hook me up with some spiked eggnog and let me know when it's over.

M for "Mature" - or "Malevolent"

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Mon, 12 Nov 2012 03:34:00 +0000

For your enjoyment, disconcertment or pure amusement, here is a portion of my 15 year old son's Christmas Wish List:

1. Call of Duty: Black Ops II
2. Grand Theft Auto V
3. Call of Duty: Black Ops
4. Borderlands 2
5. Call of Duty: MW3
6. Battlefield 3
7. Farcry 3

To all of you "gamers" out there, let me apologize in advance. I do not get your world. I see some of you as normal, functioning people who can discern between these cyberworlds and the rest of reality. I wonder if you spent hours and hours of your childhood staring dazedly into a small screen while your thumbs moved with seizure-like motions over a variety of buttons and knobs and you lost all track of time, space and the normal physical world. You seem fine - you really do - but I also wonder what you would be like today if you had spent those hours - say - outside? Or doing something else with this life that God gave you rather than partaking in an animated, role-playing shooter loot fest (that term is taken directly from a game description, by the way).

So you - whom I described above - are going to think I'm a raving lunatic - an old-fashioned, technologically-disadvantaged, middle-aged mom who doesn't "get" the cache of violent video games. So if I were you, I'd stop reading now, or start preparing your rebuttal, much like I received in my critically-acclaimed (*sarcasm*) blog: Shock Rock - What a Crock.

That out of the way, let's just get down to it. I EFFING HATE VIOLENT VIDEO GAMES. And I do NOT allow my children to play Rated M games in my house. Do they play them? Hells yes. Every chance they get. I've made them taboo, so they want them even more. I know that. So they don't hang out at home - they go to their friends' house, whose parents allow such games, and they play them there.

I once thought, when my kids were young, that I would try to have the "cool" house, where their friends would want to come and hang out. I'd have the best snacks, the best TV, the best games, the best environment. It'd be great. That way, I'd know where my kids were, I'd know their friends, and I, of course, would be cool.

That pipe dream has done burst. When I realized what it takes for a parent nowadays to be cool, I folded. I'm out. No thanks. I've compromised enough (of course my kids don't think so). We have a PS2 and a PS3 (they traded in the Wii for the PS3). They have handheld gaming systems. My oldest has a phone and a Droid from his father for music. They both have iPods. I'd say that's enough.

Nope. They want Rated M games. Halo. Call of Duty. Borderlands. Medal of Honor. Kill Zone. Resident Evil. Soldier of Fortune.

I thought I was compromising by letting (some) Teen-rated games in the house. Uncharted came with the PS3, and it looked OK. Now, after hearing endless afternoons of shooting, blasting and screaming, coupled with my kids yelling, "Shoot him in the HEAD, you IDIOT!" I'm about done.

Here's the thing about video games and MY kids. I can't speak for ALL kids. But MY kids don't know when to say when. They become consumed with these stupid, life-obliterating blood and guts scenarios to the point where they become physically agitated during and for a good portion of time after they play them. It bothers me. A lot. And no, we're not even going to do the "one hour a day of violent video games" rule or "only violent video games on the weekend." DO YOU SEE HOW STUPID THAT SOUND?

I know there have been studies done on the effects of video games on children, both pro and con. The pros say it actually helps dexterity, attention span, reaction time, etc. Whatever. So does a game of Scrabble. The cons say it propagates violent behaviors, aggressive thoughts and an overall escapism mentality in our youth. Guess which one I agree with?

Here's my conundrum. It's the "all the other kids have these games, Mom." It's the "all the other parents let their kids play Rated M games, Mom." What's up, parents? Am I sitting here on Planet Amy (which apparently is right next to the hillside where Little House on the Prairie was filmed) all by myself? Am I really wrong here? Because I think I've caved in on a lot of parenting stuff that I don't necessarily believe in.

Such as:
1. I think my kids should go to church every Sunday. They don't. I could make them, but I don't.
2. I think my kids eat too much junk food. But if I don't buy it, the will eat NOTHING. So I buy it, with the stipulation that they eat a piece of fruit before they have the junk. This hardly ever happens.
3. My son has long hair. I do not make him cut it.
4. My son wears his pants low. I don't make a big deal out of it.
5. I'm not wild about sleepovers. Especially now that they are older. It's cute when they're 7 or 8. When they're 15, I tend to think it's less about a sleepover and more about an excuse to do something they shouldn't be doing. But on occasion, I still allow them.

But there are at least two things to which I will not bend. The first one is guns. I hate them. I really do. They make me sick. I don't care if you're hunting or target shooting or paintballing or air-softing or whatever. I hate 'em. We didn't grow up with guns and for those who did, it may be a different story. Mostly I hate them because of the accidents that can happen when kids who don't know any better get their hands on them. That would be my kids. And no, I'm not going to get them guns so they can learn to be safe with them. Sorry. Can't do it; don't want them in my house. And before you judge, you don't know my kids. I do.

OK, back to this Mature-rated crap that is infiltrating my Immature kids. It is causing intense amounts of discord beteween my 15 year old and myself because his opinion is far different than mine (go figure). In fact, he says (in an email), and I quote, "I can't tell you of one kid my age who can't play M games, and I see no reason why I shouldn't be allowed to play them. Because of the increase in violent games, the percent of M games is a majority, thus limiting my game selection. Therefore, I urge you to let me play them. I know 5th through 9th graders that have them, so better late then never."

To which I reiterated my reasons for not allowing such games in my home, one being his younger brother. But in conclusion, I had to default to the "I'm the parent" speech that 15 year olds seem to forget time and time again: "I know you don't understand this but it is something you will just have to accept as a minor. I am your parent and I still make the bulk of the decisions." Just so you don't think that I run my family as a dictatorship, I reminded him that as he gets older I am giving him more freedoms based on the amount of trust he has earned, and he should be happy for that and not be so concerned with these epic-wastes-of-time-on-a-disc.

So that's where I stand. And I'm ready to hear from ALL the parents who allow their kids to have M-rated games. TELL me how they're "not that bad". TELL me that it's just how it is nowadays and I'll just have to change my curmudgedy ways or I will drive my son to buy violent video games on the black market and play them out on the streets. TELL me it's the only way I'll have a decent relationship with my teen. C'mon. Bring it on. Let's hear it.

Better yet, for those parents who don't have a clue but still might give a shit, why don't you check and see what games your kids are playing for hours on end in the basement. Sit down and blow some guys away for a few hours. Watch your kid's face. You might be surprised that you feel the urge to throw the whole thing out the window, grab a football, and tell your kid to come outside and play some catch.

A slice of humble pie (I'll take two)

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 02:25:00 +0000

I finally figured out what this election lacked. OK, it lacked a lot of things, but something kept bugging me since the debate debacle and on into the days preceding the frenzied voting. Not just the presidential race - but ALL races. What was lacking was a quality that I find incredibly important, especially with regards to the amount of respect and admiration and faith I have in a person.

It's humility.

Now, humility is defined as "being modest and respectful", to which some might interpret as "unsure and a pushover". But in even the smallest of doses, humility can be quite effective.

To me, humility doesn't mean you have an absence of self-confidence. It's knowing your weaknesses as well as your strengths, and owning up to them. It's knowing that you can't possibly be right all the time and deferring to the opposition every once in awhile. It's admitting what you don't know in addition to professing what you do. For instance, he governor of New Jersey, Chris Christie, showed humility (in my opinion) when he, as a Republican close to an election, praised President Obama for his immediate assistance after Hurricane Sandy. Some might say he was a traitor, or that he shot himself and his party in the foot. But it took balls, and was a humble representation that the "other guys" - the ones his party doesn't really get along with - stepped up to the plate when his state needed them most.

I guess I understand where humility might not have a big place in the political arena. Progress in politics is probably not gained by mentioning in a speech that you don't have all the answers, nor do you expect to be right 100% of the time. But it would be nice if the candidates were required to show, say, 10% humility over the course of the campaign just so we'd all see that they're not all totally full of shit.

But aside from politics, humility can go a long way in life - in careers, in relationships, even in passing as you go about your day. Again, humility is not on the same plane as a lack of confidence. If anything, admitting and acknowledging that you're not God can go a long way to gaining respect and a certain camaraderie with the rest of the world.

For instance (disclaimer: these are fictional characters. I'd love to say they are real, but I know better than to even elude to people I know in blogs without despairing repercussions):

The guy in the meeting who is always right and has nothing but criticism for everyone else's idea? Yeah. We don't like you and we talk about you behind your back. We think you're full of crap because you can't possibly be right 100% of the time. And even if you are, we think you're wrong because you're a tool.

Dude on the blind date? OK, maybe you were trying to impress me with how awesome you were but truth be told, you came off like kind of a prick. I could have lived the rest of my life without hearing how you "earned" that big bonus AGAIN this year because all your clients think you're the best thing since sliced bread and how you can do the most chin-ups of any other hardass at your local gym.

New friend? Yes, your kids are smarter, better-disciplined and more ambitions than mine. And yes, your new boob job looks great (no, I don't want to feel them.) And absolutely, I totally did think that guy was checking you out. Why would he not? You haven't opened your mouth yet.

I probably go to the other extreme. Though I try to appear confident, I usually end up apologizing for something or prefacing it with, "I may be full of shit, but..." I will express my opinion, God knows, but I don't think I get all puffed up about the things I do know. If I'm wrong about this, someone please let me know. And I apologize in advance for my stupidity.

Confidence coupled with humility is impressive. It can be as simple as my boss saying, "That's a good idea. I hadn't thought of that," or an endearing, "I went for a 10 mile run today but pooped out after five." Humility makes me like people more. If you're trying to impress me, tell me a story about how you tried to make this fancy dinner for your kids and spent hours gathering the ingredients, chopping vegetables and cooking it up only to burn the final product. You'll get an "A" for effort, as opposed to the "C" you'd have gotten if you would have told me that you're sure you could win Top Chef.

But don't confuse humility with wishy-washiness or weakness. In large doses, humility can come off as timidity, or a lack of self-confidence. That's technically not humility. That's low self-esteem. The person who can be humble is the person who is confident enough in their strengths to publicly admit their faults - and be OK with that.

Is this the hard part?

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 17:01:00 +0000

It started when my son was just a baby. There I sat; bleary-eyed, sleep-deprived and somewhat stunned at the mountain of work I had just made for myself. Among all the comments about how darling he was and how I should cherish this time and how they grow up so fast was one I won’t ever forget:

“This isn’t even the hard part.”

That little gem of information came from my friends and family members who had older children, and the sound of those words reminded me of one of those horror movies where the girl walks downstairs in the dark with like a kitchen soup ladle in her hand to ward off the evil demonic presence below. The audience is screaming at her NOT to go down there, but she’s completely clueless and goes anyway. You know the rest.

When my precocious son entered the terrible two’s and three’s (yes, we had at least two blessed years of this), I thought to myself, “Ah, yes. They were right. That wasn’t the hard part. THIS is the hard part.” To which my sister and others who were so much more experienced than I replied, “Nope. Not yet.”

SERIOUSLY????

Seriously. Now I get it. And I’m not even sure if I’m completely there yet. But now when I see friends or acquaintances frustrated with their small children it’s almost like I feel the need to condescendingly pat them on the head and say, “There, there. Don’t stress yourself so much. This isn’t even the hard part.”

I am in the throes of the teenage years – and I don’t think we’ve even peaked yet. That will probably come in the months following him getting his driver’s license. But we’re close, I think. Wondering if he’s really at where he says he’s at? Check. Finding out that he’s not immune to peer influence? Check. Talking to those closest to you about how to handle the situation? Check. Googling what others have done? Check. Tears and more tears? Check. Sleepless nights? Check. Wondering if you’ve instilled enough values and morals in your son so he makes good choices and doesn’t completely screw up what could be an incredibly bright future? Check.

Ironically, the best advice that I have received on how to attempt to communicate with my teenager has been from my nephew, who has “been there, done that” and turned himself around to become quite a remarkable young man with a good head on his shoulders (though he’s still kinda searching, but hey, who isn’t?)

His mom (my sister), has gone to the ends of the earth and back for this kid and was in tougher places than I’ve been in over the years. She has loved unconditionally, agonized perpetually and most importantly, has never given up on him. That’s not to say that she didn’t let him sink or swim – which you have to do at some point for their own good. You can’t rescue them forever or they’ll never learn how to get themselves out of a jam. But that’s another blog.

While my sister has been instrumental in helping me through a time in my life that she remembers in hers like it was yesterday, here are some gems of advice from “the other side” - my 20-something year old nephew whose words, during the past couple of weeks, have made a great deal of difference in how I handled a tough teenage issue. He says:

“At his age, he is forming his beliefs and they are taking solid foundation but not necessarily a permanent one, so understand that while you may not agree, if you meet him with resistance and disappointment, it will revive the rebel child mentality. Meet him with understanding and a desire to educate with both factual and moral guidance."

So getting mad at him and putting the gauntlet down was not going to be an option, as much as I felt that it was the “right parenting choice.” I could rant and rave all I wanted, but all it was really going to do was make my son even less communicative with me and even more rebellious. Duly noted and it goes back to my philosophy that if you want to get someone to pick up what you’re puttin’ down, it’s all in the presentation.

“As much as you may or may not want to know what he’s doing, you want him to feel that you want to be involved without judgment. Otherwise you’ll be having reactive conversations rather than proactive ones."

A reactive versus a proactive conversation. When did he get so wise? He’s exactly right. Hopefully I’ve instilled in my son enough morals and values that his conscious is coming into play when he’s faced with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. My job right now is to continue to guide and educate; not make charts with stickers for every time he makes a good choice. However, I did offer this to him: “If you are EVER in a situation you want to get out of but don’t know how, CALL ME. I will be the bad guy that ‘makes’ you come home. I will get you out of there so you save face with your buddies. KNOW THIS.”

“The good news is, you’re at the heart of the beast. All your years of parenting have trained you for the next four. Soon he will be a functioning, responsible young adult but not before you go through a few more years of the hardest stuff yet. The best advice I can give is help; don’t control. Guide with hard love and trust your gut.”

So that’s it. The years up until now, as challenging as they have been, were simply training. So in essence, it’s been like getting ready for a marathon. I’ve been running a little farther each day – had setbacks and a few injuries along the way – all in preparation for this 26.2 mile race that will push me to my physical and mental limits and leave me exhausted but hopefully, incredibly proud and feeling like an accomplished parent with a son who hopefully feels the same way not far behind.

Until then, I’m still in training. Hard love. Tough love. I have tried to make that my mantra. I try so diligently to parent with a heart, yet with somewhat of an iron fist. OK, maybe more like aluminum. But I’ve said it over and over again - it is not my job to be his buddy. But I also don’t want to be his adversary. I want to be the one who, when asked about me later in life says, “My mom was tough on me. She had to be. But thank God she was. And she loved me fiercely.”

If that is in fact the outcome, “the hard part” – whenever that ultimately comes – will have been well worth it.

Two Steps Forward... One Step Back (or Halfway to the Finish Line)

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Fri, 19 Oct 2012 01:23:00 +0000

So I'm officially halfway through my training program, "5 Weeks to a 5K" and it's definitely been no walk in the park.

To recap (which rhymes with "knee cap", which I'll get to later), I had an epiphany that I would prove to myself that, at nearly 46 years old, I could do something physical I'd never done before, which is run. Specifically, run a 5K. Because I'm not a runner. I'm an exerciser, but running has never been my "thing".

I was a bit lost at first, I'll admit. Most of the 5K training programs involved running for a couple of minutes, walking for a couple of minutes, repeat. Once I start running, I want to keep running. Stopping to walk to me is only an invitation to fail. Luckily, a friend of mine sent me a customized, five-week training program - in SPREADSHEET form, no less, outlining each day and what it would entail. Always stretching before and after, with miles varying from 1 to 3.5; rest days accounted for.

It was just what I needed. A schedule. I followed it religiously, checking off each day with a red Sharpie and a sense of accomplishment. My endurance was improving, as was my pace. I went from a 12 minute mile to - on a good day running without the dog - a 10 minute mile or better.

Until what I like to call "The Knee Incident".

I have bad knees; this is no secret. When I felt the first twinge behind my left kneecap, I decided to trade in my Payless Champion tennis shoes for some sweet fancy-schmanzy Asics. Truth be told, I could feel no difference between my $29.99 Payless shoes ($24.99 with coupon) and my $60 Asics.

The pain persisted. Walking down stairs was painful; kneeling on it agonizing. So feeling no relief but still adhering to my schedule, I consulted Dr. Google, and based on my symptoms discovered I have what's known as Runner's Knee.

RUNNER'S KNEE??? A part of me swelled with pride. I have a running injury? Cool! That makes me a real runner, right? Once that little ego boost died down, I realized that this could be serious and potentially race-threatening if I didn't address it now. So I did what they said - iced it, elevated it, rested it, and, after thoroughly researching types and brands, bought a knee brace. The hardest part was the resting, since I felt that each day I didn't run according to schedule was one day of improvement lost.

I found a great blog, Running on Empty, with a very informative post on Runner's Knee. Written in 2011, it was still getting comments, so I posted my own and received an immediate response from the author, who said basically, REST IT, FOOL, OR YOU WON'T MAKE THE RACE.

So I have been. And today, halfway through my five week training, I ran 3.87 miles. In the rain. And the wind. My pace wasn't great but the endurance was there. And I think I'll take endurance over speed any day.

Last weekend, I had a lovely visit with my friend Norma. She is for whom I'm running this 5K, as it is to raise money for lung cancer research, which she is living with. She's doing well, and in the hours we talked I gained the inspiration I needed to keep going no matter what setbacks are thrown my way.

And speaking of keeping going, I'm $20 short of my goal to raise $500 for lung cancer research. I am AMAZED at the support I have gotten and I cannot tell you how every donation has helped me put one foot in front of the other to accomplish this goal of mine. Not a lofty one for most, but a pretty big deal to me. So if you're so inclined, throw a couple dollars into the kitty for me - and for Norma.

My Birthday 5K: LUNGevity Foundation

Next stop: My 5K. On my 46th birthday. Wish me luck!

Navigating “The Friend Zone”

noreply@blogger.com (Amy Kennard) — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 00:53:00 +0000

I read a number of blogs and on occasion they hit me with the same reason I write my blogs: that thought that someone else out there thinks EXACTLY the way I do so therefore I can’t be that incredibly screwed up.

Case in point: The Friend Zone – a blog post written by 21-year old college student Jamie Cattanach that recently appeared on the Well Written Woman website. You can read her post HERE and come back or just read on and you’ll get the gist of it.

Still with me? OK. Here goes. Stop me if you’ve heard this one. Guy meets girl (or girl meets guy). For whatever reason – maybe it’s a common interest, mutual friend, parallel careers – they hit it off, but not necessarily in a romantic way. They joke around, share stories, maybe even go to movies or buy each other a few beers. To an outsider, they may look like a couple, but to them, they are of the same gender – allegedly.

So how does this happen, this platonic perpetuation between two people of the opposite sex? What separates a budding relationship from “you’d make a great friend even though you happen to not be a girl/guy like me”? And is it truly possible to have one of these where the man and the woman are both on the same page?

According to Billy Crystal, it’s not possible. This scene from When Harry Met Sally explains it better than I could:

To summarize, “Men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way. No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive. Even if the man finds the woman unattractive, he still wants to bang her.” (That’s Billy talking, not Meg Ryan. She is looking mortified and slightly thunderstruck at the thought that all of her male friends really want to sleep with her.)

I am of the opinion that it is possible to have friends of the opposite sex with no ulterior motives; however, these friendships are probably pretty unique. Most of my friends in high school were male and I liked it that way. Males weren’t gossipy, they liked sports, they had way less drama and I always felt like I was being looked out for. Even when I had a boyfriend, I had male friends (which in some cases didn’t sit well with my boyfriend, which I can understand, since some of his girl “friends” were very attractive and very single and that didn’t sit with ME very well.) But I figured that my male friends were truly my friends because they knew I had a boyfriend yet still wanted to hang out with me. I can’t imagine they were hanging around waiting for me to end my relationship so they could come in and pick up the pieces – especially since I have ended relationships and never saw any of my male buddies rushing in to fill the void.

Conversely, I can look at a few of my friends and CLEARLY see that the guy or girl they are friends with is head over heels for them and they just don’t see it, so maybe I’m missing something on my end. On one hand, I’d hate to wreck a friendship; on the other hand, hey, look how Harry and Sally ended up. And don’t they say the best relationships start as friends?

I know having friends of the opposite sex can get even more taboo if there is a marriage involved. I am friends with one of my best friends’ husbands and I feel lucky to have him as a male friend. She is my primary friend, and I would never tell him something I hadn’t told her, but he does offer another side of things, from business to relationships to just basic male human behavior. Maybe I assume that friendship is “safe” because he is married and his wife is one of my dearest friends. However, I have heard horror stories about married men and “female friends” and married women and “male friends” so I can see the other side. No worries here, though.

As much as I think that having friends of the opposite sex is an extremely rewarding opportunity that can offer an entirely different perspective on things, I understand that of the male/female friendships out there, probably very few are without one side (or perhaps both) wishing it was “more” (I’m talking two single people here). And that to me seems sad. It goes back to my wish that at times people would stop pussyfooting around each other and just say what they feel and get over it – life’s too short to wonder what could have been if we would have just spoken up. That goes for friendships, relationships or marriages.

So what’s your take on this? Is it possible for men and women to be “just friends”? And do you think there’s usually one side that’s more vested in it than the other? Let me know how you navigate the Friend Zone.