I've decided that I need a break so I have snuck upstairs to hide from my kids. They are supposed to be doing the dishes (it's 8:45 p.m. and I haven't heard one drop of water run in the sink yet!) but what I hear are 3 kids, all on laptops, watching different versions of the same YouTube video and laughing and comparing notes. I'd almost bet tomorrow morning when I come down to get ready for work, the kitchen will look like it did after dinner. 3 of us will be unhappy. 1 of us will be UBER unhappy. 3 of us will regret watching videos. 1 of us will somewhat regret having children.
I remember when they were really young. I couldn't wait til they were older and would be less of a walking dirt distributor and more of an actual help. Now I am counting the days til they move out into their own homes! I plan on visiting, leaving cups and dishes all over their houses (apartments, after all, who am I kidding) leave my shoes in the middle of the walking areas, spill food on their carpets and leave it for their dog to clean up, misplace their car keys, leave my coat any old place and then whine and drag my feet when they say I'm behaving like a pig.
One of my dearest friends has no children left at home. Hers are all grown, married and moved out long ago. Her house is immaculate. She has time to knit, quilt, spin yarn. I have time to dust my wheel, my loom, my sewing machine. Her fabric is all sorted by color and detailing; mine is sorted by cat, as in whichever one he pushed off my table and onto the floor, I've picked up and shoved wily nily back onto the table. Her fiber is neatly bundled next to her wheel. Mine WAS neatly bundled, now it's a bit frayed round the edges from the cat (yep same cat). Our cat BlackJack just loves fiber. Many is the time we've watched him come trotting down the staircase with his latest prize, in his mouth, and him looking smug about it. Until he sees me. Drop and bolt, that's what we should have named him. He only grabs my expensive yarn (the Japanese yarn at $28/4 ounces) the nice fiber at $18/4 ounces). Never the cheap stuff. EVER. I can bury the good stuff down in a yarn bin, he will find it and dig it up like some sort of four legged, fur covered archaeologist. Her home is beautiful. My home, lived in. We had purchased a new sofa and matching love seat, 3 cats later, one back is shredded wheat (the loveseat) and the seat portion is a bit bowed to the center (#2 son jumped up and landed in the center of the loveseat, just to show us he could and busted out the center support. Couch has two extra cushions under the seats as we've had a rather large number of extra children call our house their home. To get up in the morning and NOT find some child sound asleep on my couch is more scary than if they are there. In fact, lately, we've been known to get up to only 1 child in the house. #1 son is still living at home but has his own floor. He lives in the basement and comes and goes pretty much as he pleases (when he's not at work). #2 son was sleeping over at a buddies' home. #1 daughter was sleeping over at a girlfriends' home. Besides being extra quiet, know what I noticed most? I'd cleaned the kitchen up after supper AND IT WAS STILL CLEAN WHEN I GOT UP THE NEXT MORNING!!!! The sight of a clean kitchen is like a portrait of Heaven to me.
While I do realize I will miss them when they are gone, I won't miss the mess, the clutter, that odd smell that no one will own up to and my car will no longer smell like a combination of every fast food franchise in the state. From the looks of my seat, maybe the next law we should pass should be "no eating in the car"!
Monday, November 4, 2013
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Kids, chores and does it ever end?
It is 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Daughter dearest is at her friends house (sleepover from Friday night that I am assured sleep was the last thing achieved), #2 son is sleeping and hubby and #1 son are up and planning their day. We are finishing up #1 sons bedroom (in our basement). Today, they paint and lay the hardwood flooring. Tomorrow they hang the suspended ceiling. Chris is hanging out his electrical wiring so that it is hidden in the walls, coming out only where needed and not dangling around all over his room. He has a surround sound system and hated seeing the wiring draped here and there. Now it will not be visible. He chose a tan color for the room and with the golden hardwood flooring, it will look fabulous. In a year or so, when he moves out, this room becomes my sewing room. Chris has taken very good care of limiting the number of holes in his walls and has always been an uber neat freak.
What I like about it is the size, roughly 12 by 12. I have a 4 treadle loom (and when the conversion kit arrives, it will become a 6 treadle loom), a spinning wheel, a treadle sewing machine, 4 other sewing machines and I need room to house them. Right now, the wheel and loom are in my den, taking up way too much space. I have enough yarn (and fiber to be spun into yarn) to outfit most of the local school with hats, mittens, socks, sweaters and afghans. I've got enough fabric to make quilts for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and enough fat quarters to make pillowcases to go with them. I refuse to estimate the number of books I have but I've seen libraries that have less. I don't need a room, I need a whole house!
But since I can't afford a house, 1 room will have to do. I've been on Pinterest (mind crack for computer junkies) and found a whole host of ideas on how to store yarn, fabric, sewing room layout......it's obvious to me that a few trips to the ReStore store for cabinets (both wall mount and 6 stand alone cabinets) will be a start. I saw a perfect center island made with 6 stand alone cabinets and a piece of countertop. Perfect. A place to cut fabric that can remain up. And with all the storage under the island, do I smell another shopping expedition? Why yes, I think I do.......
Well, time to start MY day. I've laundry, vacuuming, floor washing, meal making........but as I watch the room take shape, it is fun imagining what I will do to it after he's gone.
What I like about it is the size, roughly 12 by 12. I have a 4 treadle loom (and when the conversion kit arrives, it will become a 6 treadle loom), a spinning wheel, a treadle sewing machine, 4 other sewing machines and I need room to house them. Right now, the wheel and loom are in my den, taking up way too much space. I have enough yarn (and fiber to be spun into yarn) to outfit most of the local school with hats, mittens, socks, sweaters and afghans. I've got enough fabric to make quilts for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and enough fat quarters to make pillowcases to go with them. I refuse to estimate the number of books I have but I've seen libraries that have less. I don't need a room, I need a whole house!
But since I can't afford a house, 1 room will have to do. I've been on Pinterest (mind crack for computer junkies) and found a whole host of ideas on how to store yarn, fabric, sewing room layout......it's obvious to me that a few trips to the ReStore store for cabinets (both wall mount and 6 stand alone cabinets) will be a start. I saw a perfect center island made with 6 stand alone cabinets and a piece of countertop. Perfect. A place to cut fabric that can remain up. And with all the storage under the island, do I smell another shopping expedition? Why yes, I think I do.......
Well, time to start MY day. I've laundry, vacuuming, floor washing, meal making........but as I watch the room take shape, it is fun imagining what I will do to it after he's gone.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Daughters, shopping and can we go home now???
I have always hated clothes shopping. Hated it with a passion. Would consider walking around naked to avoid it. I am the proud parent of a 13, soon to be 14 year old daughter. A beautiful, thin, long red haired daughter. Who happens to be a clothes horse. A serious clothes horse. We got to our first store at 5:15 p.m. tonight. We left (after purchasing 8 shirts and having her try on triple that) at 6:30. We still had stores to go to. We didn't make it. I swung through the local grocery store, the chinese restaurant and home (7:30 p.m.) I am exhausted and all I had to do was pay the bills! I am ready for bed!
She's amazing! She has her own style, nothing cookie cutter about her. She knows what she likes and ain't afraid to say so. She is happy with who she is, she is happy with her looks. She is at home in her skin. She now has braces, which is all she's wanted for 2+ years. That was the only thing she hated about her body, her teeth. Her world is perfect.
I marvel at that. I know grown adults with less than half the confidence she has. You don't rattle her. She doesn't get upset easily. She gets mad, mostly at her brothers, but life just doesn't have that kind of hold on her. After one of my daily whines about this or that, she calmly said to me "oh stop getting upset. You can choose happiness, so do so. Frankly, they aren't worth this. They aren't worth this kind of energy. Why waste your time with them?" This from the mouth of a 13 year old. She reminds me of the old story of the 2 monks. Both monks belonged to a monastery that forbid talking during certain hours and absolutely no touching of females. On their way to town one day, both monks see that a boat had capsized in the river and a woman appeared to be drowning. Without missing a beat, one monk threw off his robes and dove into the water. He saved the woman by getting her to shore. He put his robes back on and joined the other monk, who was standing there with a shocked expression on his face. When the time for talking finally arrived, the older monk turned to his younger monk and said "I don't understand it! You not only broke the silence, you disrobed, and jumped in the water and saved that woman. You know we forbid touching females. I can't believe it!" The older monk went on and on. Finally the younger monk turned to him and said "Of the two of us, I believe you carry the larger burden. It took me 10 minutes to save that woman. I saved her an hour and a half ago. You have been carrying her ever since." My daughter got that story. At 13. My 19 year old son doesn't get it. I don't think my husband truly gets it. But she does. And I stand in awe.
She has confidence the size of Mt. Everett. She inspires me to rise above it. She always says that everything is a choice. So choose happiness. She does. I know of no one happier than her.
She's amazing! She has her own style, nothing cookie cutter about her. She knows what she likes and ain't afraid to say so. She is happy with who she is, she is happy with her looks. She is at home in her skin. She now has braces, which is all she's wanted for 2+ years. That was the only thing she hated about her body, her teeth. Her world is perfect.
I marvel at that. I know grown adults with less than half the confidence she has. You don't rattle her. She doesn't get upset easily. She gets mad, mostly at her brothers, but life just doesn't have that kind of hold on her. After one of my daily whines about this or that, she calmly said to me "oh stop getting upset. You can choose happiness, so do so. Frankly, they aren't worth this. They aren't worth this kind of energy. Why waste your time with them?" This from the mouth of a 13 year old. She reminds me of the old story of the 2 monks. Both monks belonged to a monastery that forbid talking during certain hours and absolutely no touching of females. On their way to town one day, both monks see that a boat had capsized in the river and a woman appeared to be drowning. Without missing a beat, one monk threw off his robes and dove into the water. He saved the woman by getting her to shore. He put his robes back on and joined the other monk, who was standing there with a shocked expression on his face. When the time for talking finally arrived, the older monk turned to his younger monk and said "I don't understand it! You not only broke the silence, you disrobed, and jumped in the water and saved that woman. You know we forbid touching females. I can't believe it!" The older monk went on and on. Finally the younger monk turned to him and said "Of the two of us, I believe you carry the larger burden. It took me 10 minutes to save that woman. I saved her an hour and a half ago. You have been carrying her ever since." My daughter got that story. At 13. My 19 year old son doesn't get it. I don't think my husband truly gets it. But she does. And I stand in awe.
She has confidence the size of Mt. Everett. She inspires me to rise above it. She always says that everything is a choice. So choose happiness. She does. I know of no one happier than her.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Sometimes it's so easy..........
I have a private blog that 250 people have signed on to read. Not that they all do, I do know that around 50-70 do, as they comment pretty regularly. It is where I let my hair down (which might not be saying much as I've cut my hair really short) and I can control who gets in. If you work at BIW, the automatic answer is "no". This is my "get out the anger" area. I discuss work, my family (in more intimate details that here) and I don't mince words and I "write it the way I see it". Fair? Probably not. But I have to admit, I have some serious supporters. It's nice to know that when YOU think it's only YOU, and you spend some time venting, then you find out no, many others think it's them and not you, you sleep better. I smile alot more now.
But I learned something this weekend. One of my most active supporters (and critics; she ain't shy about telling me when she thinks I am wrong; sometimes I wish she'd be a bit less honest!) told me "Maya Angelou said that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel".
Wow. We are all a "feeling" group. Women, maybe more so than men, when talking about something, almost always invoke feelings to describe things. They way something felt, smelt, tasted........and yes, how we felt when someone made us indescribably happy or devastatingly sad. I've been both. And I can describe in detail how I felt. Years later. Decades later. As if it were yesterday. If you made me angry and I think about it, I feel positive that a blood pressure cuff would show an increase in the pressure while I recall the instance. I remember how I felt when I saw my husband to be standing down at the alter,waiting for me to make that long walk towards him. That was 22 year ago. I recall the smell of my son when I first held him. After child #2 was born without a pulse, I remember the silence of the delivery room, the fear, the overwhelming sadness and the joy of that soft, quiet cry. I recall playing with my daughter's hair the day she was born, surprised and not surprised by the head full of red hair. The frustration I felt when a mother who had no prior knowledge of the tests we'd already had given our son to find out what exactly his issues were, and the diagnosis we both worried would mean a harder than necessary life for him, decided that she'd make me and our family her own mission to assist and correct. The relief when another mother, who'd been a silent witness to this, came to me later and stood by me, letting me pour out my frustration to her and acting as a buffer between us when she knew I'd be probably needing a lawyer if this person didn't leave me alone and soon. That indescribable feeling holding the hand of a loved one while he died. I've done that twice, with my father in law and with my own dad. The loss this year of a beloved grandmother, whose memories flood me with tears every time I recall something of my childhood in Florida. You never forget the way someone made you feel.
I hold no grudges. It ain't easy and many times I have to remind myself that I hate having someone live rent free in my head so change my thoughts and do so quickly. I've seen Karma return to the perpetrator on more than one occasion and if you turn over all your anger and resentment, then the Karma that could be busy wrecking your life will happily attach itself to those to whom it should. I remember seeing someone get their's and knowing that the only reason they did was because I stepped out of the way. Let go and let God. Not easy that. We are a generation of "right now". We want justice RIGHT NOW. We want equality RIGHT NOW. We want our just rewards RIGHT NOW. Doesn't work that way. You will get what you will get but when Karma feels it's good and ready for you to receive it. God's timetable, not mine. And that is always my stumbling block.
I have that issue loads when it comes to my spinning wheel. I mentally get it (how to spin), I've done my homework, I've seen the videos (I OWN the videos, and books, and fiber, and taken classes and......) and yet it's taking me longer to do it with any sort of reliability. I learned sewing lickity split. I learned knitting, crocheting, quilting, counted cross stitch and needlepoint lickity split. This is my stumbling block. This is my trip zone. This is my "wall". And now, I'm the proud owner of a Harrisville Design loom. The final thing on my bucket list to learn to do. Should I wait till I get the spinning down? Should I get busy on the loom and tackle that right away? Should I just pour a glass of wine (or whine, take your pick) and wait for inspiration to hit me? Should I just hit something myself? I don't know yet.
So, I am going to wait. I am busy doing some serious fall cleaning. I am spending many hours blogging about the insane-ness of my job (I believe the phrase "Disneyland North" has been uttered by me and more than once, I might add). I had 5 notes tonight from people around the country who said that the way I wrote about Bath Iron Works made them feel better about their job. One commented on my analysis of some meetings we've attended and how she laughed so hard her tea came out her nose. She thought she'd forgotten how that could happen. And she felt great.
I sure hope so.
But I learned something this weekend. One of my most active supporters (and critics; she ain't shy about telling me when she thinks I am wrong; sometimes I wish she'd be a bit less honest!) told me "Maya Angelou said that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel".
Wow. We are all a "feeling" group. Women, maybe more so than men, when talking about something, almost always invoke feelings to describe things. They way something felt, smelt, tasted........and yes, how we felt when someone made us indescribably happy or devastatingly sad. I've been both. And I can describe in detail how I felt. Years later. Decades later. As if it were yesterday. If you made me angry and I think about it, I feel positive that a blood pressure cuff would show an increase in the pressure while I recall the instance. I remember how I felt when I saw my husband to be standing down at the alter,waiting for me to make that long walk towards him. That was 22 year ago. I recall the smell of my son when I first held him. After child #2 was born without a pulse, I remember the silence of the delivery room, the fear, the overwhelming sadness and the joy of that soft, quiet cry. I recall playing with my daughter's hair the day she was born, surprised and not surprised by the head full of red hair. The frustration I felt when a mother who had no prior knowledge of the tests we'd already had given our son to find out what exactly his issues were, and the diagnosis we both worried would mean a harder than necessary life for him, decided that she'd make me and our family her own mission to assist and correct. The relief when another mother, who'd been a silent witness to this, came to me later and stood by me, letting me pour out my frustration to her and acting as a buffer between us when she knew I'd be probably needing a lawyer if this person didn't leave me alone and soon. That indescribable feeling holding the hand of a loved one while he died. I've done that twice, with my father in law and with my own dad. The loss this year of a beloved grandmother, whose memories flood me with tears every time I recall something of my childhood in Florida. You never forget the way someone made you feel.
I hold no grudges. It ain't easy and many times I have to remind myself that I hate having someone live rent free in my head so change my thoughts and do so quickly. I've seen Karma return to the perpetrator on more than one occasion and if you turn over all your anger and resentment, then the Karma that could be busy wrecking your life will happily attach itself to those to whom it should. I remember seeing someone get their's and knowing that the only reason they did was because I stepped out of the way. Let go and let God. Not easy that. We are a generation of "right now". We want justice RIGHT NOW. We want equality RIGHT NOW. We want our just rewards RIGHT NOW. Doesn't work that way. You will get what you will get but when Karma feels it's good and ready for you to receive it. God's timetable, not mine. And that is always my stumbling block.
I have that issue loads when it comes to my spinning wheel. I mentally get it (how to spin), I've done my homework, I've seen the videos (I OWN the videos, and books, and fiber, and taken classes and......) and yet it's taking me longer to do it with any sort of reliability. I learned sewing lickity split. I learned knitting, crocheting, quilting, counted cross stitch and needlepoint lickity split. This is my stumbling block. This is my trip zone. This is my "wall". And now, I'm the proud owner of a Harrisville Design loom. The final thing on my bucket list to learn to do. Should I wait till I get the spinning down? Should I get busy on the loom and tackle that right away? Should I just pour a glass of wine (or whine, take your pick) and wait for inspiration to hit me? Should I just hit something myself? I don't know yet.
So, I am going to wait. I am busy doing some serious fall cleaning. I am spending many hours blogging about the insane-ness of my job (I believe the phrase "Disneyland North" has been uttered by me and more than once, I might add). I had 5 notes tonight from people around the country who said that the way I wrote about Bath Iron Works made them feel better about their job. One commented on my analysis of some meetings we've attended and how she laughed so hard her tea came out her nose. She thought she'd forgotten how that could happen. And she felt great.
I sure hope so.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
My loss, Heaven's gain....
I've not written in awhile. I've been busy living life, cleaning, spinning some yarn, working at my insane job, teen rearing..(also zoo-keeping, animal management, prison warden.......) and by the time I sit down to this computer, I am worn out!
But this past Sunday, my grandmother died. Those are the hardest words to write. My grandmother raised me for about a year when I was a baby. My grandmother had me spend the night at her home on weekends, always taking me to church on Sunday morning, where she was a Sunday School teacher. My brother was always a sickly child and it was a relief for my mom to give me away to her mom, who I am sure sometimes regretted having offered to take me. I was a super hyperactive kid back then and just getting me to sit still long enough to brush my hair was akin to being pecked to death by ducks..
She was my confidante. She was the one I could talk to when my mom was busy with my brother. She was the one who drove me nuts with her constant rules about in-home behavior (no jumping on the couch, no eating anywhere but at the kitchen table (and NOT in the dining room as that was reserved for Sunday dinners only). She worried over me, prayed over me, listened to me babble. She was a neat freak. Back in the 60's just about everyone I knew smoked. My dad would no sooner put out his cigarette in her ashtray when she'd have it dumped, washed and dried before the butt was cold. She liked things "just so". One of my favorite stories about her was her love of Tom Jones. During the 60's, Tom was every woman's dream man. My grandmother, an uber strict Southern Baptist Woman, devoted to her husband in every conceivable way, loved Tom Jones. My grandfather got her tickets to see him in Jacksonville. She got her hair done. She bought a new dress. She put on her favorite perfume "Prince Matchabelli", a name that made me laugh then and still makes me smile now. She got a whole new roll of film for her camera and they went to the concert. I found out later that my grandmother thought Tom to be over 6 feet tall. He is considerably under 6 feet tall. She said she got the shock of her life when this little man walked out on stage. She thought he was there to set up for Tom. Then he picked up the microphone and started singing. It was Tom! She was putting the film in her camera (she'd forgotten to do that at home) and dropped it, exposing the film (no pictures that night), got camera goo (I never really figured out what that meant) all over her new dress and was disgusted by the number of, and I quote, "women who should have known better", who threw their panties up onto the stage! Still, she loved his music.
While she may have had a hard scrabble life, she tried to rise above it. She took "fake it until you make it" to a whole new level. She was utterly devoted to church, spending every single night at church doing something (ladies aid, choir practice, missionary assistance, Bible study, Sunday school, teen relief, was a church secretary) and Sunday's meant Sunday school 9 a.m., 11 a.m. church, adult Bible Study, second service at 6 p.m. I have never met anyone who loved God more.
She was known as a great cook. A typical Thanksgiving dinner included both a ham and a turkey in case someone didn't like one or the other meats. She put on a spread that would feed a ravenous tribe, even though there were only she and my grandfather. You did not ever leave her house hungry and she took hospitality to a whole new level. You could show up unannounced and you'd get 2 or 3 pies, a cake or some other such treat, all with apologies for not being better prepared to receive company. And she knew what you liked to eat and had a memory like an elephant. I can still hear her remark upon someone not clearing their plate after their 3rd plate full "Is there something wrong with the corn? You only had 2 servings!" My dad and grandfather would sit in the den after dinner (women had kitchen duty) and snore after one of her feasts!
A night spent at her home meant sleeping on the fold out couch (I could have had the guest bedroom but preferred the couch!) where she and I would lie side by side and go through picture albums until my grandfather would call out "Mary, you let that child go to sleep and come to bed!".
The women in my family live forever and she was in her 90's when she died. We doubt that a real age is attainable as she was born at home and due to being "southern to the core" she lied about her age so much, we aren't really sure. This we know, she is into her 90's, lost both her legs this year, 1 of which she had removed just recently, she was deaf and blind, with moments of clarity and she so wanted to be home with Jesus and said so on more than one occasion. I know this, He brought the whole clan down to welcome her home and a finer family reunion and potluck dinner can't be found. I know that in Heaven Jesus wipes the tears from your eyes and you receive a perfect, new body. Those tears get received by us,who shed them at your funeral and after as we realize the many ways your loss affects us. She will be missed.....
But this past Sunday, my grandmother died. Those are the hardest words to write. My grandmother raised me for about a year when I was a baby. My grandmother had me spend the night at her home on weekends, always taking me to church on Sunday morning, where she was a Sunday School teacher. My brother was always a sickly child and it was a relief for my mom to give me away to her mom, who I am sure sometimes regretted having offered to take me. I was a super hyperactive kid back then and just getting me to sit still long enough to brush my hair was akin to being pecked to death by ducks..
She was my confidante. She was the one I could talk to when my mom was busy with my brother. She was the one who drove me nuts with her constant rules about in-home behavior (no jumping on the couch, no eating anywhere but at the kitchen table (and NOT in the dining room as that was reserved for Sunday dinners only). She worried over me, prayed over me, listened to me babble. She was a neat freak. Back in the 60's just about everyone I knew smoked. My dad would no sooner put out his cigarette in her ashtray when she'd have it dumped, washed and dried before the butt was cold. She liked things "just so". One of my favorite stories about her was her love of Tom Jones. During the 60's, Tom was every woman's dream man. My grandmother, an uber strict Southern Baptist Woman, devoted to her husband in every conceivable way, loved Tom Jones. My grandfather got her tickets to see him in Jacksonville. She got her hair done. She bought a new dress. She put on her favorite perfume "Prince Matchabelli", a name that made me laugh then and still makes me smile now. She got a whole new roll of film for her camera and they went to the concert. I found out later that my grandmother thought Tom to be over 6 feet tall. He is considerably under 6 feet tall. She said she got the shock of her life when this little man walked out on stage. She thought he was there to set up for Tom. Then he picked up the microphone and started singing. It was Tom! She was putting the film in her camera (she'd forgotten to do that at home) and dropped it, exposing the film (no pictures that night), got camera goo (I never really figured out what that meant) all over her new dress and was disgusted by the number of, and I quote, "women who should have known better", who threw their panties up onto the stage! Still, she loved his music.
While she may have had a hard scrabble life, she tried to rise above it. She took "fake it until you make it" to a whole new level. She was utterly devoted to church, spending every single night at church doing something (ladies aid, choir practice, missionary assistance, Bible study, Sunday school, teen relief, was a church secretary) and Sunday's meant Sunday school 9 a.m., 11 a.m. church, adult Bible Study, second service at 6 p.m. I have never met anyone who loved God more.
She was known as a great cook. A typical Thanksgiving dinner included both a ham and a turkey in case someone didn't like one or the other meats. She put on a spread that would feed a ravenous tribe, even though there were only she and my grandfather. You did not ever leave her house hungry and she took hospitality to a whole new level. You could show up unannounced and you'd get 2 or 3 pies, a cake or some other such treat, all with apologies for not being better prepared to receive company. And she knew what you liked to eat and had a memory like an elephant. I can still hear her remark upon someone not clearing their plate after their 3rd plate full "Is there something wrong with the corn? You only had 2 servings!" My dad and grandfather would sit in the den after dinner (women had kitchen duty) and snore after one of her feasts!
A night spent at her home meant sleeping on the fold out couch (I could have had the guest bedroom but preferred the couch!) where she and I would lie side by side and go through picture albums until my grandfather would call out "Mary, you let that child go to sleep and come to bed!".
The women in my family live forever and she was in her 90's when she died. We doubt that a real age is attainable as she was born at home and due to being "southern to the core" she lied about her age so much, we aren't really sure. This we know, she is into her 90's, lost both her legs this year, 1 of which she had removed just recently, she was deaf and blind, with moments of clarity and she so wanted to be home with Jesus and said so on more than one occasion. I know this, He brought the whole clan down to welcome her home and a finer family reunion and potluck dinner can't be found. I know that in Heaven Jesus wipes the tears from your eyes and you receive a perfect, new body. Those tears get received by us,who shed them at your funeral and after as we realize the many ways your loss affects us. She will be missed.....
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Some thoughts on Easter, with a bit of Christmas thrown in.
I heard the other day a radio listener call in and ask "What is more important, Christmas or Easter?" I hadn't considered this question before and thought about it all day. Which is more important? And exactly what do they mean in today's time? The thought occurred to me that it's not which is more important but what they mean in the conversation between God and us.
I think Christmas is our seeking God. I think Christmas is our begging God to reveal himself and to save us from ourselves. It's like a question. Down through the ages man has gone to God, asking him to reveal himself to us. "Send us a savior!" "Save us", "Heal us". People needed someone to save them from themselves. Someone who championed on their behalf. They had people who could perform miracles. They had people who could heal. Yet they had no one who could defeat death, a sentence that was suffered by all people, rich or poor. Romans died. Jews died. Pagans died. They needed someone to address their fears. It is fear that keeps us from God. Fear presents itself as a gulf, a deep divide between us and God. It is fear that makes us cry out to God to save us.
On Easter, one man conquered death. One man, one God, was able to fulfill all their desires. Easter is the answer to Christmas. Christmas is our pleading with God. Easter is God answering our prayers. There is now no death, no life, no breath that will ever separate us from the love of a father who has always been there. It is we who couldn't get to Him until He prepared a way for that to happen.
I hope and pray that Easter is experienced by all, on a deep, personal level. Easter is our hope. Easter is our blessing. Easter is our answer to the question of Christmas.
I think Christmas is our seeking God. I think Christmas is our begging God to reveal himself and to save us from ourselves. It's like a question. Down through the ages man has gone to God, asking him to reveal himself to us. "Send us a savior!" "Save us", "Heal us". People needed someone to save them from themselves. Someone who championed on their behalf. They had people who could perform miracles. They had people who could heal. Yet they had no one who could defeat death, a sentence that was suffered by all people, rich or poor. Romans died. Jews died. Pagans died. They needed someone to address their fears. It is fear that keeps us from God. Fear presents itself as a gulf, a deep divide between us and God. It is fear that makes us cry out to God to save us.
On Easter, one man conquered death. One man, one God, was able to fulfill all their desires. Easter is the answer to Christmas. Christmas is our pleading with God. Easter is God answering our prayers. There is now no death, no life, no breath that will ever separate us from the love of a father who has always been there. It is we who couldn't get to Him until He prepared a way for that to happen.
I hope and pray that Easter is experienced by all, on a deep, personal level. Easter is our hope. Easter is our blessing. Easter is our answer to the question of Christmas.
Monday, March 18, 2013
We need more snow! Said no one EVER!
It is the middle of March. I saw my first robin yesterday on the way to church and that has always been my sign that spring is truly on my doorstep. I love robins and miss their lovely songs when Fall's dropping leaves and Winter's winds blow. My tiger lilies have pushed up through the ground too, only to be nibbled on by my chickens and my dog. My dog Chelsea, part black lab, part border collie, part beaver, part goat and part four legged, fur covered, garbage disposal. At least our chickens make our breakfast for us!
But today they've announced we are going to get some weather. Depending on whom you watch, we are in the 6-12 inch snowfall band. Yeah, just what I need. Snow. I planted my tomato seeds and pepper seeds yesterday. I am "thinking spring". I am planning our veggie garden, trying to decipher from my notes what worked last year, what didn't and how to improve what I did and introduce some new stuff. I looked at my "summer" clothes and am trying to figure out how they all could have shrunk and shrunk so terribly badly! I realize I'd put on some weight, but when your bathing suit starts weeping and you haven't taken off your pants yet, you know this isn't going to end well. I checked out some exercise videos (made specifically for people like me who sit at a desk all day) and have told myself sternly that I must do something before people mistake me for a circus fat lady. I am going on weight watchers and just dusted off my treadmill. I MUST do something and the good Lord knows left to my own devices, I'd just ban all mirrors, make caftans the wardrobe of choice and try to reinstitute the Romanesque period as the new normal.
But snow. This is truly killing me. This is why I gain weight in the winter. I hate all outdoor winter activities (except ice skating and snow tubing, but only if they have a line that pulls you back up to the top of the hill). I hate being cold. All I want to do is curl into the fetal position and hibernate. My hobbies are non athletic, I knit, spin, crochet, weave, quilt, sew, make my own designs for counted cross stitch and then stitch them and read. I am learning how to do "nal-binding", a form of knitting with a rather large sewing needle. But as you can see, none of these things require sweating, getting dirty, co-ordination, or the possibility of getting hurt. Well, I could stab myself with a needle or two and once I almost sewed through my finger, thus curing me of sewing while tired. Many years ago by sisters in law borrowed my husbands and my mountain bikes and went down a trail across the street from our old home in Brunswick. They fell, skinning their knees, bruising themselves up and (since it was 80 degrees outside) getting sweaty. My husband, ever the outdoors type, said to me:
"Doesn't that look like fun?"
"Yeah" I replied, "When I was 10 yrs old, I'd have enjoyed that immensely!" I then went back into the house and poured another glass of iced sweet tea and sat in my air conditioned slice of Heaven.
To say that I have no desire to sweat profusely, unless there is veggies involved, is an understatement. I can plant, weed and water all day long in the hot sun, but suggest anything other than a card or board game to me when the temp is over 70 and I'll suggest to you that you just go lie down and wait for that feeling to pass. Anything over 80 requires me to lie motionless in a pool. I come from a long, long, line of non-exercising, 90 and 100 year old family members. Dying young is not my worry. In fact, I'm more likely to die getting all sweaty than not. That's not to say I "shouldn't" exercise or take infinitely better care of my body than I do now. I should. The slogan "betcha can't eat just one!" really ISN'T a challenge and I shouldn't treat it as one. But I admit, I LOVE to cook and I LOVE to eat and I do both grandly.
I've just reached that stage where even I can't justify the gut, the butt or the thighs. The boobs I'd like to keep, but experience has already shown me that they will be the first thing to go. I wonder, if I stand on my head and allow all my fat rolls to shift to my chest, then tie a rope just under my boobs, would all that blubber stay there? I might not be able to walk upright, but it does make one wonder!
But today they've announced we are going to get some weather. Depending on whom you watch, we are in the 6-12 inch snowfall band. Yeah, just what I need. Snow. I planted my tomato seeds and pepper seeds yesterday. I am "thinking spring". I am planning our veggie garden, trying to decipher from my notes what worked last year, what didn't and how to improve what I did and introduce some new stuff. I looked at my "summer" clothes and am trying to figure out how they all could have shrunk and shrunk so terribly badly! I realize I'd put on some weight, but when your bathing suit starts weeping and you haven't taken off your pants yet, you know this isn't going to end well. I checked out some exercise videos (made specifically for people like me who sit at a desk all day) and have told myself sternly that I must do something before people mistake me for a circus fat lady. I am going on weight watchers and just dusted off my treadmill. I MUST do something and the good Lord knows left to my own devices, I'd just ban all mirrors, make caftans the wardrobe of choice and try to reinstitute the Romanesque period as the new normal.
But snow. This is truly killing me. This is why I gain weight in the winter. I hate all outdoor winter activities (except ice skating and snow tubing, but only if they have a line that pulls you back up to the top of the hill). I hate being cold. All I want to do is curl into the fetal position and hibernate. My hobbies are non athletic, I knit, spin, crochet, weave, quilt, sew, make my own designs for counted cross stitch and then stitch them and read. I am learning how to do "nal-binding", a form of knitting with a rather large sewing needle. But as you can see, none of these things require sweating, getting dirty, co-ordination, or the possibility of getting hurt. Well, I could stab myself with a needle or two and once I almost sewed through my finger, thus curing me of sewing while tired. Many years ago by sisters in law borrowed my husbands and my mountain bikes and went down a trail across the street from our old home in Brunswick. They fell, skinning their knees, bruising themselves up and (since it was 80 degrees outside) getting sweaty. My husband, ever the outdoors type, said to me:
"Doesn't that look like fun?"
"Yeah" I replied, "When I was 10 yrs old, I'd have enjoyed that immensely!" I then went back into the house and poured another glass of iced sweet tea and sat in my air conditioned slice of Heaven.
To say that I have no desire to sweat profusely, unless there is veggies involved, is an understatement. I can plant, weed and water all day long in the hot sun, but suggest anything other than a card or board game to me when the temp is over 70 and I'll suggest to you that you just go lie down and wait for that feeling to pass. Anything over 80 requires me to lie motionless in a pool. I come from a long, long, line of non-exercising, 90 and 100 year old family members. Dying young is not my worry. In fact, I'm more likely to die getting all sweaty than not. That's not to say I "shouldn't" exercise or take infinitely better care of my body than I do now. I should. The slogan "betcha can't eat just one!" really ISN'T a challenge and I shouldn't treat it as one. But I admit, I LOVE to cook and I LOVE to eat and I do both grandly.
I've just reached that stage where even I can't justify the gut, the butt or the thighs. The boobs I'd like to keep, but experience has already shown me that they will be the first thing to go. I wonder, if I stand on my head and allow all my fat rolls to shift to my chest, then tie a rope just under my boobs, would all that blubber stay there? I might not be able to walk upright, but it does make one wonder!
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
And to think all I wanted to do was clean kitchen....
They say a kitchen is the heart of the home. Obviously "they" haven't seen mine. And heart isn't the organ I would have thought of to describe this room either. Considering the stench coming from my refrigerator, "fecal holding container" is a better title. My fridge is the absolute last, very last, thing to get cleaned out in my house. I would rather clean the two upstairs baths after the boys have been outside mudding with their dirt-bikes than clean out the fridge. I would rather clean the litter box barehanded than clean the fridge. Which is why it gets into the state it currently is. State, Uhm, yeah, as I wish it or I were in another one.
1st things 1st. I clean out the sink, load the dishwasher up and turn it on. This seems to act as some sort of early warning device to my children, who come from across town at the sound of the dishwasher being started.
"We are hungry."
"You just ate 35 minutes ago."
"Yeah but we are hungry."
Now I have this feeling that the idea of a clean, empty kitchen upsets them. No one in this house can stand the cleanliness of empty counter tops, empty sinks, clean stove, and if my island is devoid of all the usual paraphernalia, my family goes into shock. Even my husband, ever the neat freak when it comes to his stuff, just can't take the kitchen being spotless. If my family were ever to slip into simultaneous comas, just the mere mention that the kitchen is now clean would revive them.
So I stop what I had started to do and make them lunch. Which of course is 3 separate meals as God forbid any two of them would ever eat the same meal. I have tried valiantly over the years to explain that this house is NOT a delicatessen, I was not now nor have ever been a short order cook and really, do you think I want to spend every waking minute cleaning up after your lunches?? Well, yes, they DO think I want to clean up after them. I've made them clean up after themselves (which is how I ended up buying new silverware, they threw out the stuff we used to have), I had to dismantle the toilet on more than one occasion as they were convinced that if whatever they put in the toilet naturally, disappeared, then anything they needed to get rid of would also disappear. I've retrieved a Barbie, more Pokemon balls than I care to think about, a whole bar of soap and a washcloth. And that's just the stuff I can identify. Some other stuff, I think aliens must have put that there and I truly don't want to know what it was.
So now they are fed, again, and I have cleaned up after them. I start again. Hubby dearest comes in.
"I am hungry."
Of course you are. So I feed him, clean up after that meal and start in again. I get half done and the cries of "I'm hungry" start up again. I have come to realize that I didn't give birth to three children, I spawned three walking, talking bottomless pits. Needless to say, by the time I see to their needs, it was time to start dinner.
My fridge? Well, it still isn't clean. But I am putting aside money for it. I thought I detected movement towards the back and I figure in 18 years, whatever that thing is, it will probably want me to send it to college.
1st things 1st. I clean out the sink, load the dishwasher up and turn it on. This seems to act as some sort of early warning device to my children, who come from across town at the sound of the dishwasher being started.
"We are hungry."
"You just ate 35 minutes ago."
"Yeah but we are hungry."
Now I have this feeling that the idea of a clean, empty kitchen upsets them. No one in this house can stand the cleanliness of empty counter tops, empty sinks, clean stove, and if my island is devoid of all the usual paraphernalia, my family goes into shock. Even my husband, ever the neat freak when it comes to his stuff, just can't take the kitchen being spotless. If my family were ever to slip into simultaneous comas, just the mere mention that the kitchen is now clean would revive them.
So I stop what I had started to do and make them lunch. Which of course is 3 separate meals as God forbid any two of them would ever eat the same meal. I have tried valiantly over the years to explain that this house is NOT a delicatessen, I was not now nor have ever been a short order cook and really, do you think I want to spend every waking minute cleaning up after your lunches?? Well, yes, they DO think I want to clean up after them. I've made them clean up after themselves (which is how I ended up buying new silverware, they threw out the stuff we used to have), I had to dismantle the toilet on more than one occasion as they were convinced that if whatever they put in the toilet naturally, disappeared, then anything they needed to get rid of would also disappear. I've retrieved a Barbie, more Pokemon balls than I care to think about, a whole bar of soap and a washcloth. And that's just the stuff I can identify. Some other stuff, I think aliens must have put that there and I truly don't want to know what it was.
So now they are fed, again, and I have cleaned up after them. I start again. Hubby dearest comes in.
"I am hungry."
Of course you are. So I feed him, clean up after that meal and start in again. I get half done and the cries of "I'm hungry" start up again. I have come to realize that I didn't give birth to three children, I spawned three walking, talking bottomless pits. Needless to say, by the time I see to their needs, it was time to start dinner.
My fridge? Well, it still isn't clean. But I am putting aside money for it. I thought I detected movement towards the back and I figure in 18 years, whatever that thing is, it will probably want me to send it to college.
Saturday, February 23, 2013
Who are you and why did you leave this for me?
I got up this morning to find that one of my herd had gotten into the refrigerator. They then proceeded to make a "snack". By snack, I mean something that would feed a family of four, with leftovers. They then left all their mess out, presumably for me to see that they in deed ate something healthy. Well, that's what I am choosing to believe as the only other reason for this mess is that they are lazy. Couldn't possibly be that, right?
My kids believe that I obsess about the cleanliness of this house. So one day last week, I didn't do anything. No dishes, no beds being made (or yelling at, pleading or plain grounding of kids who choose not to), didn't loose my mind over dishes left in the living room (which has been off limits for food consumption since pre-birth, however this hasn't stopped them from eating in there), nothing. When I came home from work, well, let's just say my house had developed a peculiar smell, there were no clean dishes anywhere and the floors were sticky. I didn't inquire about the floors as I admit it, I was afraid to find out why. I have come to believe that there are certain things about which the less knowledge, the better. Here is a portion of the following conversation:
"Hey mom. What's for dinner?" It is 3 p.m. and while I notice the state of my kitchen, it becomes abundantly clear these kids aren't starving
"Nothing. No clean kitchen, no food." I walk upstairs.
"Are you kidding?? We are starving!" Someone explain to me how they can say that with a straight face!
"Oh, so you want food do you?"
"YES!"
"Well, start cleaning up the kitchen. When the kitchen is clean, I will start to cook."
You know the funny part? For three "starving" kids, it took them 45 minutes to start to clean. But the arguing started immediately. It had to be decided who would fetch what and put it where and who would sweep. Apparently I have been lax in showing my kids a broom and how to use it properly, but should you need anyone to show you how to use this tool as a sword, or a Congo stick or pool cue or bat, my oldest will happily oblige. Someone had to find the vacuum cleaner and then figure out how to remove the sock that was now firmly wedged in the roller. My kids are geniuses at "sweeping the room with a glance" and have yet figured out that just because the Dyson company claims their vacuum cleaner won't loose suction, it is not to be considered a challenge. Middle child seems to feel that any vacuum cleaner worth owning should not require one to pre-clean the room prior to use. He's vacuumed over pencils, more change that most banks see in a year, socks (currently his favorite thing to run over) the edge of an afghan my mom made me (tearing the yarn on it), his shirt, food items he's dropped in the room he wasn't supposed to be eating in, a spoon and a rubber balloon. He is now very knowledgeable in how to unstop a vacuum cleaner as I make him fix it every time he screws it up. The sock issue is, like the eating food in the living room, one more rule that all four other members in my home like to break. We have 3 clothes hampers. Yet there's a disconnect with our family in the belief that clothes removed will not walk themselves up to the hamper and jump in. I am happy to report that this issue isn't just a Bedard family occurrence as one of my dearest friends got so fed up with her husband not putting his dirty clothes in the hamper, she started folding them up and placing them back in his drawer. Even then, he didn't notice it for 2 months!! Which is light years away from when my family would notice. Somehow, we've produced children with no sense of smell. I wish I could say the same.
So now I will go clean up the kitchen as I am hungry and want to eat breakfast. They are in bed still and it's just not worth it to wake them up and make them clean. The quiet is refreshing, even if I have to wash, dry, feed livestock and wash the floors....I think it's orange juice.....on the floor...and the counter.....and the refrigerator door handle...and towel.........
My kids believe that I obsess about the cleanliness of this house. So one day last week, I didn't do anything. No dishes, no beds being made (or yelling at, pleading or plain grounding of kids who choose not to), didn't loose my mind over dishes left in the living room (which has been off limits for food consumption since pre-birth, however this hasn't stopped them from eating in there), nothing. When I came home from work, well, let's just say my house had developed a peculiar smell, there were no clean dishes anywhere and the floors were sticky. I didn't inquire about the floors as I admit it, I was afraid to find out why. I have come to believe that there are certain things about which the less knowledge, the better. Here is a portion of the following conversation:
"Hey mom. What's for dinner?" It is 3 p.m. and while I notice the state of my kitchen, it becomes abundantly clear these kids aren't starving
"Nothing. No clean kitchen, no food." I walk upstairs.
"Are you kidding?? We are starving!" Someone explain to me how they can say that with a straight face!
"Oh, so you want food do you?"
"YES!"
"Well, start cleaning up the kitchen. When the kitchen is clean, I will start to cook."
You know the funny part? For three "starving" kids, it took them 45 minutes to start to clean. But the arguing started immediately. It had to be decided who would fetch what and put it where and who would sweep. Apparently I have been lax in showing my kids a broom and how to use it properly, but should you need anyone to show you how to use this tool as a sword, or a Congo stick or pool cue or bat, my oldest will happily oblige. Someone had to find the vacuum cleaner and then figure out how to remove the sock that was now firmly wedged in the roller. My kids are geniuses at "sweeping the room with a glance" and have yet figured out that just because the Dyson company claims their vacuum cleaner won't loose suction, it is not to be considered a challenge. Middle child seems to feel that any vacuum cleaner worth owning should not require one to pre-clean the room prior to use. He's vacuumed over pencils, more change that most banks see in a year, socks (currently his favorite thing to run over) the edge of an afghan my mom made me (tearing the yarn on it), his shirt, food items he's dropped in the room he wasn't supposed to be eating in, a spoon and a rubber balloon. He is now very knowledgeable in how to unstop a vacuum cleaner as I make him fix it every time he screws it up. The sock issue is, like the eating food in the living room, one more rule that all four other members in my home like to break. We have 3 clothes hampers. Yet there's a disconnect with our family in the belief that clothes removed will not walk themselves up to the hamper and jump in. I am happy to report that this issue isn't just a Bedard family occurrence as one of my dearest friends got so fed up with her husband not putting his dirty clothes in the hamper, she started folding them up and placing them back in his drawer. Even then, he didn't notice it for 2 months!! Which is light years away from when my family would notice. Somehow, we've produced children with no sense of smell. I wish I could say the same.
So now I will go clean up the kitchen as I am hungry and want to eat breakfast. They are in bed still and it's just not worth it to wake them up and make them clean. The quiet is refreshing, even if I have to wash, dry, feed livestock and wash the floors....I think it's orange juice.....on the floor...and the counter.....and the refrigerator door handle...and towel.........
Friday, February 22, 2013
Stop arguing with me!.
You know, I always thought when the kids were little that life would get easier when they got older. I was so wrong. It is not only more difficult, it's difficult in so many new ways. I used to think that I'd finally get sleep when they were older. I wouldn't have to worry about SIDS. Mind you, I would nightly check them, all three of them. When my then 8 yr old son complained to his Dr. about me waking him up checking his breathing, the Dr. informed me that SIDS really didn't occur much beyond the first year of life, I started slacking off. Now I lie awake wondering if they really did stay at their friends house and with whom and doing what exactly. I used to say things like "Do it now or we stay home." and that meant something. Now they look at me and respond with "o.k., we stay home." When their friend up the street had a house party (unchaperoned) that included beer, wine and other stuff (as well as pot), and the cops showed up and busted everyone, I was thrilled that my sons were not there. They were at another friends house but I can't swear they were being good kids. I hope so. I pray so. But I know not. Many times my middle son and I have argued over the merits of legalizing marijuana (he is for, I am against), why there must be a drinking age at all, and that it his body to use and abuse (or not) and just because I am his parent, just how much say should I have anyway?
I made you. I felt you stir first. I knew you before anyone else. When you went into fetal distress and your heart stopped, it was I who overcame the odds to get you out of my body so that CPR could begin. It was your blue arm I remember seeing on that table while they worked on you. It was your first cry I heard that all but broke my heart with happiness. It was I that limited your access to sweets, t.v., the odd friend who had more freedoms that you did (and that he should have been allowed to have). It was I that drove you to absolutely every single game, concert, sleepover, Dr.'s appointment, and birthday party. It was I who held you while they set your broken arm. It was I who held you while they stitched you up. More than once. I have been with you almost always. So when you choose to do something that hurts or can potentially hurt your body, it is as if a small piece of me is being hurt as well.
When your kids are small, they argue but eventually bend to your reasoning. When they are older, they try to test your beliefs to see if you will bend and how long it will take and if you will loose your cool (yeah, like you EVER had cool to lose!). And yes, sometimes they try to get you all worked up, just to get you all worked up. My sons love to argue. They live for it. They will argue about anything and if there isn't anything to argue about, they'll make something up. For the longest time this was disturbing to me. When a family friend pointed out that they weren't arguing really, they were just trying out their opinions and learning how to state their beliefs and defend them, I started making them work for it. Being a past member of the debate team, I really started in on them. Give me 5 good reasons you feel this way, I'd say. I am not easy to argue with. I've noticed a decline in the amount of arguing going on in this house. Or maybe it's just volume control. We do loud REALLY, REALLY WELL! We've elevated it to an art form. O.k., some might confuse our conversations with yelling matches, but only the uninitiated. And I guess the hardest part of being a parent to a teen is realizing that your teen, your child, your baby, is pulling away from you and trying out their own wings. And that you have to let them, even if they fall, even if they have to take a bunch of attempts at lift off, you have to let them. And it scares the Hell out of you. My parents make so much sense now. When I was out of high school, I was convinced my parents were "nutcase of the year" recipients. My friends thought my parents were great, strict to the max, but great. I thought they were insane and secretly worried if it was in my DNA. Bad news, it was. Worse news, hey guys, you all have it. And when you have kids, well, let's hope that you wait a good, long time before that happens but believe me, you are going to look back on your dad and I and we are suddenly going to be so much smarter. I hope I am around to see it, although, again, I am in no hurry! Bill Cosby informed his kids that the woman they called Grammy wasn't the same woman that raised him, I can so relate! My mom smiles so much now! She NEVER smiled that much when I was a teen. Her twitching has gone away too. I jump at the slightest sound and twitch almost uncontrollably and she no longer does. She sleeps well at night too. So maybe when my kids are grown, married, and on their own, I will sleep too. Who knew it would take so long?
I made you. I felt you stir first. I knew you before anyone else. When you went into fetal distress and your heart stopped, it was I who overcame the odds to get you out of my body so that CPR could begin. It was your blue arm I remember seeing on that table while they worked on you. It was your first cry I heard that all but broke my heart with happiness. It was I that limited your access to sweets, t.v., the odd friend who had more freedoms that you did (and that he should have been allowed to have). It was I that drove you to absolutely every single game, concert, sleepover, Dr.'s appointment, and birthday party. It was I who held you while they set your broken arm. It was I who held you while they stitched you up. More than once. I have been with you almost always. So when you choose to do something that hurts or can potentially hurt your body, it is as if a small piece of me is being hurt as well.
When your kids are small, they argue but eventually bend to your reasoning. When they are older, they try to test your beliefs to see if you will bend and how long it will take and if you will loose your cool (yeah, like you EVER had cool to lose!). And yes, sometimes they try to get you all worked up, just to get you all worked up. My sons love to argue. They live for it. They will argue about anything and if there isn't anything to argue about, they'll make something up. For the longest time this was disturbing to me. When a family friend pointed out that they weren't arguing really, they were just trying out their opinions and learning how to state their beliefs and defend them, I started making them work for it. Being a past member of the debate team, I really started in on them. Give me 5 good reasons you feel this way, I'd say. I am not easy to argue with. I've noticed a decline in the amount of arguing going on in this house. Or maybe it's just volume control. We do loud REALLY, REALLY WELL! We've elevated it to an art form. O.k., some might confuse our conversations with yelling matches, but only the uninitiated. And I guess the hardest part of being a parent to a teen is realizing that your teen, your child, your baby, is pulling away from you and trying out their own wings. And that you have to let them, even if they fall, even if they have to take a bunch of attempts at lift off, you have to let them. And it scares the Hell out of you. My parents make so much sense now. When I was out of high school, I was convinced my parents were "nutcase of the year" recipients. My friends thought my parents were great, strict to the max, but great. I thought they were insane and secretly worried if it was in my DNA. Bad news, it was. Worse news, hey guys, you all have it. And when you have kids, well, let's hope that you wait a good, long time before that happens but believe me, you are going to look back on your dad and I and we are suddenly going to be so much smarter. I hope I am around to see it, although, again, I am in no hurry! Bill Cosby informed his kids that the woman they called Grammy wasn't the same woman that raised him, I can so relate! My mom smiles so much now! She NEVER smiled that much when I was a teen. Her twitching has gone away too. I jump at the slightest sound and twitch almost uncontrollably and she no longer does. She sleeps well at night too. So maybe when my kids are grown, married, and on their own, I will sleep too. Who knew it would take so long?
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Is it the weather, or what?
As I sit here typing this, it's extremely windy outside and snowing and just plain awful. I can't imagine why anyone would want to travel if they didn't have to and yet on my police scanner, there are numerous car accidents, which attest to many people being out and about. Not me. I don't worry about my driving per se, but I do worry about others driving. I am sure some psychologist would explain that I have a "control" issue or some other such problem. Truth is, I can't control the drivers around me and therefore I can (and will) just stay home. I can't get into an accident if I am safely parked in my driveway. Besides, I now have a perfectly good excuse to sit and type, read, knit and snooze. We have plenty of food available, heat, power (and a good generator if it comes to that) and we are together.
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if God uses these moments to reach us. I've have a very hectic 9 weeks with alot of running to and fro and late nights and early mornings. No rest, little rest and most definitely not enough rest. Now, I have the excuse to stop. We are commanded to have one day of rest and I spend that day in two churches, one in Bath, to which my family belongs and one in Brunswick as they have a teen program that my church does not. But with the roads being awful and the wind whipping the snow into blizzard conditions, I found a quiet perch to study this weeks Bible reading and ponder it's meaning. The Psalm for today (Psalm 91, 1-2, 9-16) says in part that because you have made the Lord God your refuge and the most High your habitation, that no evil will happen to you and no plague shall come near your dwelling. Well, if I stay put, that may just be the case. The winds blow around me, the gusts assault my home but I am safe. Better days are coming and I will be able to enjoy them if I hunker down today. I am thankful for so much and the ability to stay home on days like today and really enjoy myself are like jewels, cherished for what they are, both on their own and how my life is impacted by them. I have the love of family, the love of friends, the love of solitude when it suits me and the love of company when I need it. Right now however I have a need (and a little bit of a desire) to clean and reorganize my yarn stash. Just this morning I found I had purchased two counted cross stitch kits that I apparently forgot I had purchased and I felt a little like Christmas morning. Yeah ME!!!! I plan to spend some time spinning some fiber into yarn for a hat pattern that just screams out the name of a friend (who doesn't know that yarn "speaks" to those of us who love it and will be so happy to receive this gift!) and a new book that I've been waiting to start that today seems just the day to do so. So I will now go and rescue my wool yarn from my cat (AGAIN!!) and enjoy my day. Apparently for our male cat Blackjack, yarn screams too. I just wish he'd return it to the bin he snagged it out of when he's done playing with it. He probably feels (rightly so) that I could use the exercise it would give me, going all over my house gathering it up and unwinding it from our dining room table legs and chair legs. So here's to hoping everyone stays put, stays safe, until I write again. Blessings!
Sometimes I can't help but wonder if God uses these moments to reach us. I've have a very hectic 9 weeks with alot of running to and fro and late nights and early mornings. No rest, little rest and most definitely not enough rest. Now, I have the excuse to stop. We are commanded to have one day of rest and I spend that day in two churches, one in Bath, to which my family belongs and one in Brunswick as they have a teen program that my church does not. But with the roads being awful and the wind whipping the snow into blizzard conditions, I found a quiet perch to study this weeks Bible reading and ponder it's meaning. The Psalm for today (Psalm 91, 1-2, 9-16) says in part that because you have made the Lord God your refuge and the most High your habitation, that no evil will happen to you and no plague shall come near your dwelling. Well, if I stay put, that may just be the case. The winds blow around me, the gusts assault my home but I am safe. Better days are coming and I will be able to enjoy them if I hunker down today. I am thankful for so much and the ability to stay home on days like today and really enjoy myself are like jewels, cherished for what they are, both on their own and how my life is impacted by them. I have the love of family, the love of friends, the love of solitude when it suits me and the love of company when I need it. Right now however I have a need (and a little bit of a desire) to clean and reorganize my yarn stash. Just this morning I found I had purchased two counted cross stitch kits that I apparently forgot I had purchased and I felt a little like Christmas morning. Yeah ME!!!! I plan to spend some time spinning some fiber into yarn for a hat pattern that just screams out the name of a friend (who doesn't know that yarn "speaks" to those of us who love it and will be so happy to receive this gift!) and a new book that I've been waiting to start that today seems just the day to do so. So I will now go and rescue my wool yarn from my cat (AGAIN!!) and enjoy my day. Apparently for our male cat Blackjack, yarn screams too. I just wish he'd return it to the bin he snagged it out of when he's done playing with it. He probably feels (rightly so) that I could use the exercise it would give me, going all over my house gathering it up and unwinding it from our dining room table legs and chair legs. So here's to hoping everyone stays put, stays safe, until I write again. Blessings!
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Opinions, opinions.......
I upset someone. I have strong beliefs and I posted my beliefs on my Facebook page. It upset someone and they "unfriended" me. I probably should be upset about this. I'm not, but I probably should be. I am not even sure what exactly prompted them to do this. It was my page, my beliefs and my opinions. The fact that it posted on their page is not my specific problem, just a problem that Facebook has. I call this one of Facebook's little quirks.
The funny thing is THEY had no problem posting their beliefs on MY home page. Now I've long believed that they and I wouldn't necessarily see eye to eye politically but it never would have entered my mind to un-friend them because they felt strongly in favor of something I felt equally in disfavor of. I was raised that every one of us has the right to an opinion and the expressing of them should never be censored. My parents taught my brother and I that our rights were hard won and we should always use them as there are those in this world who would love to be able to use the freedoms we take for granted. Also, the lack of valuing our freedoms can (and will) result in our losing them. Unfortunately, there are many for whom this is a one way street. They feel duty bound to share their beliefs while ignoring or denying us ours. In the end, when you surround yourself with those who feel exactly the same way you do, one of you becomes unnecessary It is through differing opinions and the discussion of them that we are able to grow, learn to express what we believe and more importantly, why we believe what we believe and learn how to express that in coherent statements that some third party can use to develop their beliefs. Those beliefs will then become our life statements. Now these aren't written in stone and can be subject to change. But the free expression thereof is one of the greatest gifts our forefathers gave us.
But I am still unfriended. I'm not sad. I am praying they will come around (as I'm sure they are praying I will as well). I am more worried about the cowardice of the act of "un-friending" by not calling me up to discuss this, writing me expressing why they feel the way they feel or even what specifically they felt so upset about. That's right, I've no idea why I was unfriended. It could be they disagreed with my politics, my religious beliefs or my choice of friends. Maybe a joke I passed on. See, the assuming of the "why" is left to my imagination. Now those who know me will be only too happy to declare I have a great imagination. Did our friendship mean so little that it was easier to walk away than pursue it? At some point in everyone's life, a friend will just up and leave and you'll be left wondering as to what it was that caused it. It is not that they've chosen to leave but how you respond to this that will define you. Is this one of those moments? Can I choose to "be the bigger person" and let this relationship cease? Am I letting my imagination get the best of me? Maybe it really is "them and not me". I can come up with at least 100 different reasons, from real to imaginary, as to the "why" of this issue. What if they are waiting for me to apologize to them? Until they choose to let me in on the secret, there is little I can do about it.
My daughter asked me how I was going to deal with this. I told her that I would be taking the upper hand by letting this person go on without me. I am not defined by my abundance or lack of friends and also that friends come and go and all this is done in God's good timing. Also, maybe they responded in a knee jerk reaction that time will heal, but only if I stay out of it. Let go and let God. You know the difference between you and God? God doesn't think he's you. I am great at meddling into the problems of others and if they want me to meddle, they should ask me to do so. So, I'll rise above it, continue in my beliefs, talk to those who are brave enough or strong enough in their own beliefs to be able to come into the discussion. We might be able to change others minds, but only through loving kindness and not shutting the door on people who we disagree with. A closed mind gathers no knowledge.
The funny thing is THEY had no problem posting their beliefs on MY home page. Now I've long believed that they and I wouldn't necessarily see eye to eye politically but it never would have entered my mind to un-friend them because they felt strongly in favor of something I felt equally in disfavor of. I was raised that every one of us has the right to an opinion and the expressing of them should never be censored. My parents taught my brother and I that our rights were hard won and we should always use them as there are those in this world who would love to be able to use the freedoms we take for granted. Also, the lack of valuing our freedoms can (and will) result in our losing them. Unfortunately, there are many for whom this is a one way street. They feel duty bound to share their beliefs while ignoring or denying us ours. In the end, when you surround yourself with those who feel exactly the same way you do, one of you becomes unnecessary It is through differing opinions and the discussion of them that we are able to grow, learn to express what we believe and more importantly, why we believe what we believe and learn how to express that in coherent statements that some third party can use to develop their beliefs. Those beliefs will then become our life statements. Now these aren't written in stone and can be subject to change. But the free expression thereof is one of the greatest gifts our forefathers gave us.
But I am still unfriended. I'm not sad. I am praying they will come around (as I'm sure they are praying I will as well). I am more worried about the cowardice of the act of "un-friending" by not calling me up to discuss this, writing me expressing why they feel the way they feel or even what specifically they felt so upset about. That's right, I've no idea why I was unfriended. It could be they disagreed with my politics, my religious beliefs or my choice of friends. Maybe a joke I passed on. See, the assuming of the "why" is left to my imagination. Now those who know me will be only too happy to declare I have a great imagination. Did our friendship mean so little that it was easier to walk away than pursue it? At some point in everyone's life, a friend will just up and leave and you'll be left wondering as to what it was that caused it. It is not that they've chosen to leave but how you respond to this that will define you. Is this one of those moments? Can I choose to "be the bigger person" and let this relationship cease? Am I letting my imagination get the best of me? Maybe it really is "them and not me". I can come up with at least 100 different reasons, from real to imaginary, as to the "why" of this issue. What if they are waiting for me to apologize to them? Until they choose to let me in on the secret, there is little I can do about it.
My daughter asked me how I was going to deal with this. I told her that I would be taking the upper hand by letting this person go on without me. I am not defined by my abundance or lack of friends and also that friends come and go and all this is done in God's good timing. Also, maybe they responded in a knee jerk reaction that time will heal, but only if I stay out of it. Let go and let God. You know the difference between you and God? God doesn't think he's you. I am great at meddling into the problems of others and if they want me to meddle, they should ask me to do so. So, I'll rise above it, continue in my beliefs, talk to those who are brave enough or strong enough in their own beliefs to be able to come into the discussion. We might be able to change others minds, but only through loving kindness and not shutting the door on people who we disagree with. A closed mind gathers no knowledge.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
And then she played Mary.....
My daughter has played Mary (as in mother of Jesus) on three separate occasions. Each time she's either dropped the baby, fumbled the baby or in the latest go round, decapitated the baby. Although, this third time, she had help. While waiting for her cue to walk up to the alter and take her place in front of the manger, she and another player found small swords. They decided to duel. With one swipe, down went baby Jesus's head.
When I asked her what specifically she had against Jesus, she replied "I don't know. It's just every time He's around, stuff happens." Ain't it the truth? While she didn't understand the laughter going on around her, we sure did. Whenever Jesus was around, things did happen. Usually it was to others but things happened. Lame people walked, blind people saw, life was restored. Through all this, faith was established. A new faith. A real faith. People were never the same. Something that rarely is talked about is how Jesus stayed above it all. While his love for humanity caused him to step outside his comfort zone, He didn't change. He didn't succumb to that "look at me, I am great!" mentality. He just kept going out and and doing, with nary a thought to what others thought of him. He just went and did. How many of us can claim the same thing? Doing a good deed is all fine but being seen doing a good deed is even better. I don't know anyone, including myself, who hasn't succumbed to that "hey look what I just did!" moment. Rare is the person who just does and does with no thought to how he's being looked upon by others. I think most of us struggle with it. Yet doesn't Jesus request us to "go and do ye likewise."? If we are supposed to live our lives using Him as our model, then we must need to strive to take ourselves out of the picture. To let God move the universe by doing His will through us. No easy task, this. We aren't alone however. God has promised us to be with us always. We do have someone watching our good deeds. Therefore we no longer have a need for an audience, we've already got one. And He is cheering us on, all the time, even when we fail, even when people laugh at us or ridicule us or mock us. He is there, holding us up. Even when no one else sees, He does.
Encourage someone today. We all expect to see animosity, stupid human tricks, weird human behavior. Actively go search and find each day, someone who is doing something good. Holding a door, smiling, listening, let someone go first. When we purposefully search this out, our opinion of humanity will slowly start to change and we just might find it easier to do what God requires of us as well. We could very well see that the world isn't the totally messed up place we think it is. We might feel led to do something ourselves, outside our comfort zone. We might end up living the life that Jesus wanted us to. Yeah, us!
When I asked her what specifically she had against Jesus, she replied "I don't know. It's just every time He's around, stuff happens." Ain't it the truth? While she didn't understand the laughter going on around her, we sure did. Whenever Jesus was around, things did happen. Usually it was to others but things happened. Lame people walked, blind people saw, life was restored. Through all this, faith was established. A new faith. A real faith. People were never the same. Something that rarely is talked about is how Jesus stayed above it all. While his love for humanity caused him to step outside his comfort zone, He didn't change. He didn't succumb to that "look at me, I am great!" mentality. He just kept going out and and doing, with nary a thought to what others thought of him. He just went and did. How many of us can claim the same thing? Doing a good deed is all fine but being seen doing a good deed is even better. I don't know anyone, including myself, who hasn't succumbed to that "hey look what I just did!" moment. Rare is the person who just does and does with no thought to how he's being looked upon by others. I think most of us struggle with it. Yet doesn't Jesus request us to "go and do ye likewise."? If we are supposed to live our lives using Him as our model, then we must need to strive to take ourselves out of the picture. To let God move the universe by doing His will through us. No easy task, this. We aren't alone however. God has promised us to be with us always. We do have someone watching our good deeds. Therefore we no longer have a need for an audience, we've already got one. And He is cheering us on, all the time, even when we fail, even when people laugh at us or ridicule us or mock us. He is there, holding us up. Even when no one else sees, He does.
Encourage someone today. We all expect to see animosity, stupid human tricks, weird human behavior. Actively go search and find each day, someone who is doing something good. Holding a door, smiling, listening, let someone go first. When we purposefully search this out, our opinion of humanity will slowly start to change and we just might find it easier to do what God requires of us as well. We could very well see that the world isn't the totally messed up place we think it is. We might feel led to do something ourselves, outside our comfort zone. We might end up living the life that Jesus wanted us to. Yeah, us!
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