Friday, August 15, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
Appreciate it More
Today after an especially difficult day of being an adult, I was reminiscing about my childhood, and I realized I should have appreciated it more. We don't do that though, because we are always looking at the next step, the next experience, the next phase as the one we will enjoy the most.
When I was a child, I thought being a teenager was the end all. Then I was a teenager and I thought being an adult was the cat's meow. Then I was an adult and I thought marriage and children was where it was at. Then I was married, and had children, and I thought retirement and an empty nest would be perfection, because marriage and children is just some hard stuff.
What I didn't know to appreciate about my childhood was the easiness of what I thought was so hard. I didn't appreciate my three younger cousins who bounded into my house on a Saturday morning. I didn't appreciate their eagerness to spend time with me. I didn't appreciate hearing my mom say, "Go wake her up, she won't mind." I didn't appreciate hearing three sets of pounding feet, and little voices calling, "Dee Da, wake up! Come ride bikes with us." I didn't appreciate the novelty of roller skates, and skate keys around my neck on a string. I didn't appreciate the freedom of hopping on a bike and riding in the big barn. I didn't appreciate the moment of childhood.
I loved skating and riding bikes, and making mud pies. I loved reading Sam the Mouse and Joe the Bear, and Little Miss Suzy, and Professor Diggins Dragon. I loved playing with my cousins, and swimming on hot summer days. I loved all of that, I just didn't appreciate it like I should have, because I didn't know to appreciate it.
I didn't appreciate my childhood, my teenage years, my early years of marriage, and having children as much as I should have, because I didn't know that middle age, and failing health, and aging parents, and aunts and uncles, would mean making very tough decisions. How could I know? They were strong, I was young, and we were all busy living life, not appreciating the moments.
Today, today I am learning to appreciate the moments, and to be thankful for the memories of what was, because those moments that I didn't know how to appreciate are what has made me strong enough for today. I don't feel strong enough for todays moments. In fact, I feel so very weak.
I don't like hearing things like, advanced directives, be prepared, be realistic, home health care, assisted living, nursing homes and hospice. I don't like hearing about them, I don't like thinking about them, I don't like talking about them, I don't like explaining them. I don't like the moments of today! Like it or not, here I am.
I found myself saying, in all selfishness and self pity....why me? I then realized I should be asking, why him? It's not about me. It's not about how weak, or how sad, or how angry, or how unfair I feel it all is. It's about how it is for Uncle Albert. It's about his care, his comfort, his dignity. It's about helping him deal with what is in the moment for him.
So, I thought of roller skates, and skate keys, and bikes, and summer time, and all the joys of childhood, and now after all these years, I can appreciate what my childhood was. Maybe, just maybe, ten years from now I will look back at what this time in my life was, and appreciate the experience, and the lessons learned. Maybe.....
When I was a child, I thought being a teenager was the end all. Then I was a teenager and I thought being an adult was the cat's meow. Then I was an adult and I thought marriage and children was where it was at. Then I was married, and had children, and I thought retirement and an empty nest would be perfection, because marriage and children is just some hard stuff.
What I didn't know to appreciate about my childhood was the easiness of what I thought was so hard. I didn't appreciate my three younger cousins who bounded into my house on a Saturday morning. I didn't appreciate their eagerness to spend time with me. I didn't appreciate hearing my mom say, "Go wake her up, she won't mind." I didn't appreciate hearing three sets of pounding feet, and little voices calling, "Dee Da, wake up! Come ride bikes with us." I didn't appreciate the novelty of roller skates, and skate keys around my neck on a string. I didn't appreciate the freedom of hopping on a bike and riding in the big barn. I didn't appreciate the moment of childhood.
I loved skating and riding bikes, and making mud pies. I loved reading Sam the Mouse and Joe the Bear, and Little Miss Suzy, and Professor Diggins Dragon. I loved playing with my cousins, and swimming on hot summer days. I loved all of that, I just didn't appreciate it like I should have, because I didn't know to appreciate it.
I didn't appreciate my childhood, my teenage years, my early years of marriage, and having children as much as I should have, because I didn't know that middle age, and failing health, and aging parents, and aunts and uncles, would mean making very tough decisions. How could I know? They were strong, I was young, and we were all busy living life, not appreciating the moments.
Today, today I am learning to appreciate the moments, and to be thankful for the memories of what was, because those moments that I didn't know how to appreciate are what has made me strong enough for today. I don't feel strong enough for todays moments. In fact, I feel so very weak.
I don't like hearing things like, advanced directives, be prepared, be realistic, home health care, assisted living, nursing homes and hospice. I don't like hearing about them, I don't like thinking about them, I don't like talking about them, I don't like explaining them. I don't like the moments of today! Like it or not, here I am.
I found myself saying, in all selfishness and self pity....why me? I then realized I should be asking, why him? It's not about me. It's not about how weak, or how sad, or how angry, or how unfair I feel it all is. It's about how it is for Uncle Albert. It's about his care, his comfort, his dignity. It's about helping him deal with what is in the moment for him.
So, I thought of roller skates, and skate keys, and bikes, and summer time, and all the joys of childhood, and now after all these years, I can appreciate what my childhood was. Maybe, just maybe, ten years from now I will look back at what this time in my life was, and appreciate the experience, and the lessons learned. Maybe.....
Friday, February 7, 2014
Bike Ramps
Bike ramps are the best, and all children at some time in their life, must ride their bike over a ramp and experience the thrill of flying through the air. I jumped my bike off a ramp many a times. It's a thrill to fly through the air, bike and child, it's a lift off!
So, when my youngest child, Jacob, asked me to build him a bike ramp, I was all for that. We had the perfect sloped yard, and he could really get up to speed, and fly...fly...fly through the air, him and his bike. Together we found some plywood and a cinder block, and the ramp was made.
He told me he had jumped his bike off a ramp at his cousins house, so I didn't really give much thought to telling him how it was done. After all, he had done it before, so for me to give him instructions would have only made him mad.
He hopped on his bike, peddled up the yard, and prepared for lift off. I stood off to the side waiting for the show. I knew it would be great, I just didn't know how great. Off he goes. Peddling for all he was worth. I thought, "He is really going to fly." He would have, he really would have, and it would have been a great lift off....if only he had known to lift the handle bars when the front wheel cleared the edge of the ramp. I thought he knew!
It was a great flight, just not the flight he had anticipated, or the flight I expected. He flew through the air, and then he plowed the ground with his nose. When his plowing crash was complete, he jumped up and yelled at me, "DO NOT LAUGH!" Hmmm, now why would he say something like that? I said, "I won't." Then I quickly made my way to the house and laughed and laughed and laughed. When I could go back out without laughing, I went back to suggest that the next time he lift the handlebars to prevent the front tire from dropping off the edge of the ramp, which caused him to be propelled across the yard, and land on his face.
Whatever, he was not interested in my, too little, too late advice.
So, when my youngest child, Jacob, asked me to build him a bike ramp, I was all for that. We had the perfect sloped yard, and he could really get up to speed, and fly...fly...fly through the air, him and his bike. Together we found some plywood and a cinder block, and the ramp was made.
He told me he had jumped his bike off a ramp at his cousins house, so I didn't really give much thought to telling him how it was done. After all, he had done it before, so for me to give him instructions would have only made him mad.
He hopped on his bike, peddled up the yard, and prepared for lift off. I stood off to the side waiting for the show. I knew it would be great, I just didn't know how great. Off he goes. Peddling for all he was worth. I thought, "He is really going to fly." He would have, he really would have, and it would have been a great lift off....if only he had known to lift the handle bars when the front wheel cleared the edge of the ramp. I thought he knew!
It was a great flight, just not the flight he had anticipated, or the flight I expected. He flew through the air, and then he plowed the ground with his nose. When his plowing crash was complete, he jumped up and yelled at me, "DO NOT LAUGH!" Hmmm, now why would he say something like that? I said, "I won't." Then I quickly made my way to the house and laughed and laughed and laughed. When I could go back out without laughing, I went back to suggest that the next time he lift the handlebars to prevent the front tire from dropping off the edge of the ramp, which caused him to be propelled across the yard, and land on his face.
Whatever, he was not interested in my, too little, too late advice.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Uncle Carroll
It seems to really appreciate life, we have to live it, experience it, and then look back on it with gratitude for all that was, because it made us who we are. I often think about my life, and feel thankful for every person that has been a part of it. Not all the people that have come into my life, are still a part of it. Some by my choosing, some just by being a casual acquaintance, some by death, and some by simply not caring enough to know me. In some way, each one of them have touched me, helped me to grow, made me thankful for those who are still in my life.
There's a man that has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. He came into my life by marrying my Aunt Mary, and he has been an anchor to me through the storms of life. He has cheered me on, chastened me, guided me, laughed with me, cried with, and stood by me. When I was two years old, my mom became very ill, was in a coma, and as would be obvious, was not able to care for my brother and I. Aunt Mary and Uncle Carroll were newly married, but they took my brother and I into their home. They opened their hearts, they cared for us as if we were there own. Not many men would be willing to do that, but Uncle Carroll did. He has opened his heart, and his home to me many times since, and has been a father to me, when my own chose not to be.
When my mom, brother and I needed a place to live, Uncle Carroll provided that for us. When the car wouldn't start, he came over to help. When we were running low on groceries, they often were too, and so along would come Uncle Carroll with a soup bone, and ask mom to make us all soup. It's always good to share the little, so a lot can be made.
We share a love of photography, so we would often discuss cameras, lens, angles, lighting, subjects. He was always much better with landscape, and abstract. He knew the best settings for the best lighting. I loved, and still do love, to take pictures of people. While I envied his ability to capture the perfect landscape shot, he would often tell me he wished he could capture people the way I could.
When I am with him, we talk about all kinds of things. We talk about the bible, what we believe, why we believe it. We talk about our families, raising children, and loving grandchildren. We talk about things we did, things we wish we had done, things we wish we hadn't done, and things we might do. We talk about books we have read, places we have been, and people that we have met along the way. We discuss politics, and world events. We talk about a lot of things, and sometimes we just spend the day being quiet.
Anyone who knows Uncle Carroll, knows and appreciates his wit, his ability to come up with a funny quip, a great story, and make us all laugh. I often regret not keeping a journal of his many funny quips, and awesome stories. Some we will never forget, and some we wish we could remember. His funny jokes, his hilarious speeches, and the all time favorite....the lost patrol.
It is unfortunate that Parkinsons Disease has become an uninvited guest in his life. It's a cruel and unwelcome guest, but even with that, Uncle Carroll has been strong. He has not lost his sense of humor, his gratitude for Aunt Mary, and her care for him. He still tells stories, remembers traveling to foreign lands, thinks of people who have been in his life, and does not whine.
I have the privilege of spending at least one day a week with him, and I look forward to those days. He usually has a story to share about his life, about something that happened, some place he traveled, and it's always interesting. Some days are not good days for him, and so we just get through the day. I feel honored that I get to repay him, though very small in measure, for all the care he has given me through the years. He thanks me for helping him, but I feel like I should be thanking him.
The other day I was there with him, and as I walked through the kitchen I noticed a list on the counter. It was a list of all the things that Aunt Mary does for him throughout the day. A list of all the things he appreciates that she does. I read the list and was reminded that we all need to be thankful for each person in our life, and for all that they do, from the little things that don't seem so important, to big things that are obvious.
Uncle Carroll has taught me many things in my life, but the most important thing he has taught me, is the example of living for others, and being thankful for what I have.
I love him very much, and I'm thankful for each opportunity to be with him.
There's a man that has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. He came into my life by marrying my Aunt Mary, and he has been an anchor to me through the storms of life. He has cheered me on, chastened me, guided me, laughed with me, cried with, and stood by me. When I was two years old, my mom became very ill, was in a coma, and as would be obvious, was not able to care for my brother and I. Aunt Mary and Uncle Carroll were newly married, but they took my brother and I into their home. They opened their hearts, they cared for us as if we were there own. Not many men would be willing to do that, but Uncle Carroll did. He has opened his heart, and his home to me many times since, and has been a father to me, when my own chose not to be.
When my mom, brother and I needed a place to live, Uncle Carroll provided that for us. When the car wouldn't start, he came over to help. When we were running low on groceries, they often were too, and so along would come Uncle Carroll with a soup bone, and ask mom to make us all soup. It's always good to share the little, so a lot can be made.
We share a love of photography, so we would often discuss cameras, lens, angles, lighting, subjects. He was always much better with landscape, and abstract. He knew the best settings for the best lighting. I loved, and still do love, to take pictures of people. While I envied his ability to capture the perfect landscape shot, he would often tell me he wished he could capture people the way I could.
When I am with him, we talk about all kinds of things. We talk about the bible, what we believe, why we believe it. We talk about our families, raising children, and loving grandchildren. We talk about things we did, things we wish we had done, things we wish we hadn't done, and things we might do. We talk about books we have read, places we have been, and people that we have met along the way. We discuss politics, and world events. We talk about a lot of things, and sometimes we just spend the day being quiet.
Anyone who knows Uncle Carroll, knows and appreciates his wit, his ability to come up with a funny quip, a great story, and make us all laugh. I often regret not keeping a journal of his many funny quips, and awesome stories. Some we will never forget, and some we wish we could remember. His funny jokes, his hilarious speeches, and the all time favorite....the lost patrol.
It is unfortunate that Parkinsons Disease has become an uninvited guest in his life. It's a cruel and unwelcome guest, but even with that, Uncle Carroll has been strong. He has not lost his sense of humor, his gratitude for Aunt Mary, and her care for him. He still tells stories, remembers traveling to foreign lands, thinks of people who have been in his life, and does not whine.
I have the privilege of spending at least one day a week with him, and I look forward to those days. He usually has a story to share about his life, about something that happened, some place he traveled, and it's always interesting. Some days are not good days for him, and so we just get through the day. I feel honored that I get to repay him, though very small in measure, for all the care he has given me through the years. He thanks me for helping him, but I feel like I should be thanking him.
The other day I was there with him, and as I walked through the kitchen I noticed a list on the counter. It was a list of all the things that Aunt Mary does for him throughout the day. A list of all the things he appreciates that she does. I read the list and was reminded that we all need to be thankful for each person in our life, and for all that they do, from the little things that don't seem so important, to big things that are obvious.
Uncle Carroll has taught me many things in my life, but the most important thing he has taught me, is the example of living for others, and being thankful for what I have.
I love him very much, and I'm thankful for each opportunity to be with him.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
GRIEF
Grief comes to all of us as we live life, and when it comes, it feels like an unwanted, uninvited guest. We all have to learn how to cope with grief, and each one of us have a different way of coping, none of them right or wrong, just how we cope.
I found this definition of grief, and felt it explained how I have felt since hearing of my friend, Bernice Bassett Trumper's passing.
What is Grief?
Grief is the internal part of loss, how we feel. The internal work of grief is a process, a journey. It does not end on a certain day or date. It is as individual as each of us. Grief is real because loss is real. Each grief has its own imprint, as distinctive and as unique as the person we lost. The pain of loss is so intense, so heartbreaking, because in loving we deeply connect with another human being, and grief is the reflection of the connection that has been lost.
Tomorrow we will all gather to say our goodbyes, and it will not be easy. A life so young, so much ahead for her, for her family. I've felt guilty for the amount of grief that I have felt, because I feel, who am I to feel this much pain in losing her, when her husband and daughters loved her to an extent I will never know. Maybe guilty is not the right word, but I can't think of another word to use. In all the years I've known Bernice, been friends with her, I didn't know her the way her family did. Yes, I will miss her. I will miss our chance meetings here in the community where we both grew up in. I will miss my Facebook chats with her. I will miss her quiet, unassuming, gentle way. I will miss her laugh, I will miss her smile, but I will never miss her like her family will. I think that is where my feelings of guilt, or whatever the appropriate word may be, come from.
I can say this, my grief is real. I will go on with life, and I will often think of her, but for her family, every day, every birthday, anniversary, event and holiday without her, will be a fresh reminder of their loss. So while I feel grief at the loss of a friend, I don't want to forget the magnitude of their loss, a loss they will feel forever. I hope the reflection of my grief, will be a reflection of the love I felt for their wife, mother, and sister.
I found this definition of grief, and felt it explained how I have felt since hearing of my friend, Bernice Bassett Trumper's passing.
What is Grief?
Grief is the internal part of loss, how we feel. The internal work of grief is a process, a journey. It does not end on a certain day or date. It is as individual as each of us. Grief is real because loss is real. Each grief has its own imprint, as distinctive and as unique as the person we lost. The pain of loss is so intense, so heartbreaking, because in loving we deeply connect with another human being, and grief is the reflection of the connection that has been lost.
Tomorrow we will all gather to say our goodbyes, and it will not be easy. A life so young, so much ahead for her, for her family. I've felt guilty for the amount of grief that I have felt, because I feel, who am I to feel this much pain in losing her, when her husband and daughters loved her to an extent I will never know. Maybe guilty is not the right word, but I can't think of another word to use. In all the years I've known Bernice, been friends with her, I didn't know her the way her family did. Yes, I will miss her. I will miss our chance meetings here in the community where we both grew up in. I will miss my Facebook chats with her. I will miss her quiet, unassuming, gentle way. I will miss her laugh, I will miss her smile, but I will never miss her like her family will. I think that is where my feelings of guilt, or whatever the appropriate word may be, come from.
I can say this, my grief is real. I will go on with life, and I will often think of her, but for her family, every day, every birthday, anniversary, event and holiday without her, will be a fresh reminder of their loss. So while I feel grief at the loss of a friend, I don't want to forget the magnitude of their loss, a loss they will feel forever. I hope the reflection of my grief, will be a reflection of the love I felt for their wife, mother, and sister.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Oh Comcast
Yesterday we had no internet service. That's akin to no life line, but we managed until the tech showed up this afternoon to reconnect us to the wide, wide world of internet again. I must say the experience dealing with Comcast was less than pleasant.
When Paul got home yesterday and discovered there was no internet, he did what all married men do....call the wife! I didn't have my magic wand with me, and it wasn't at home, so he had to call Comcast. Needless to say....it didn't go well, because the automated system automatically increases the callers blood pressure, which makes all systems related kick into angry overdrive.
After much button pushing, yelling into the phone, etc., we had a tech scheduled to arrive here today between 1 and 5. At midnight last night, my cell phone rang. Now I doubt anyone hears their phone ring at midnight and thinks, "Hmm, that must be Comcast calling to confirm the tech's arrival tomorrow between 1pm and 5pm." NO! The average person hears their phone ring at midnight and wonders what is wrong with one of the kids, or did that ailing relative die, or........something other than COMCAST calling.
I answered the phone to hear the automated system, with instructions to press 1 for something, 2 for something else, and 3 for something else. I hung up the phone. At 6:30 this morning, the phone rang. What now? I wondered if Julie got stuck in a snow drift. NOPE, it's Comcast again! Same automated system, so I punched all the right numbers, and low and behold a living person came on the line. I'm sure she regretted the connection, because I told her what I thought of calls from their automated system at midnight, and again at 6:30, and I had already confirmed the appt three times, not to mention that Paul had confirmed it as well!
Thirty minutes later the phone rang. Yep, you guessed it....the automated system wanting me to confirm the appt. I called back, punched in the many, many buttons, and connected to a person who spoke broken English at best. I told her that they needed to work on their automated system, and make sure it wasn't calling customers at midnight. She said, "Ma'am, I am noting on your account that you do not want the automated system to call you in the wee hours of the morning." I wish I wasn't quoting that word for word, but I am. THEN, then she had the nerve to tell me that I could have signed onto my account at www.comcast.net and confirmed the appointment there. I hung up!
Thirty minutes later.....sure enough, the automated system, and each time you are asked if you would like to complete a brief survey after the call. Oh my! They do not want to hear what I would say. I called again, and once again, I pressed one (if your first born is blond and lives in the USA). I pressed two, (if your middle child has blue eyes), and I pressed three when asked if I had ever considered blowing up an automated phone system, and then I heard........Your call cannot be completed as dialed. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again. KABOOM!
I called back, and after all the button pushing, and frustration, I connected with a live being, and of course, she spoke very broken English as well. I told her that I had already confirmed the appt more than once, and how about 7 times, and surely they had that in their system now, and would she please make sure the tech didn't show up before 1pm, because I would not be home. Of course, it was all noted in my account.
At 11:30 I rec'd a phone call from the Comcast tech, and he would be at my house in ten minutes. Noted on my account, huh? In which language, and which account? I told him I wasn't home, would not be home until 1pm. He graciously said he would come back. Lucky for him, he was a nice guy! He reconnected us, replaced the broken equipment, and went on his way. Happy Thanksgiving, and all that jazz.
Oh wouldn't you know it. Comcast just called wanting to know how I would rate my experience with the service provided. I can't answer that by pushing buttons. I just can't!
I'm thinking about calling the automated system back and seeing if I can wreak havoc with it.
When Paul got home yesterday and discovered there was no internet, he did what all married men do....call the wife! I didn't have my magic wand with me, and it wasn't at home, so he had to call Comcast. Needless to say....it didn't go well, because the automated system automatically increases the callers blood pressure, which makes all systems related kick into angry overdrive.
After much button pushing, yelling into the phone, etc., we had a tech scheduled to arrive here today between 1 and 5. At midnight last night, my cell phone rang. Now I doubt anyone hears their phone ring at midnight and thinks, "Hmm, that must be Comcast calling to confirm the tech's arrival tomorrow between 1pm and 5pm." NO! The average person hears their phone ring at midnight and wonders what is wrong with one of the kids, or did that ailing relative die, or........something other than COMCAST calling.
I answered the phone to hear the automated system, with instructions to press 1 for something, 2 for something else, and 3 for something else. I hung up the phone. At 6:30 this morning, the phone rang. What now? I wondered if Julie got stuck in a snow drift. NOPE, it's Comcast again! Same automated system, so I punched all the right numbers, and low and behold a living person came on the line. I'm sure she regretted the connection, because I told her what I thought of calls from their automated system at midnight, and again at 6:30, and I had already confirmed the appt three times, not to mention that Paul had confirmed it as well!
Thirty minutes later the phone rang. Yep, you guessed it....the automated system wanting me to confirm the appt. I called back, punched in the many, many buttons, and connected to a person who spoke broken English at best. I told her that they needed to work on their automated system, and make sure it wasn't calling customers at midnight. She said, "Ma'am, I am noting on your account that you do not want the automated system to call you in the wee hours of the morning." I wish I wasn't quoting that word for word, but I am. THEN, then she had the nerve to tell me that I could have signed onto my account at www.comcast.net and confirmed the appointment there. I hung up!
Thirty minutes later.....sure enough, the automated system, and each time you are asked if you would like to complete a brief survey after the call. Oh my! They do not want to hear what I would say. I called again, and once again, I pressed one (if your first born is blond and lives in the USA). I pressed two, (if your middle child has blue eyes), and I pressed three when asked if I had ever considered blowing up an automated phone system, and then I heard........Your call cannot be completed as dialed. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again. KABOOM!
I called back, and after all the button pushing, and frustration, I connected with a live being, and of course, she spoke very broken English as well. I told her that I had already confirmed the appt more than once, and how about 7 times, and surely they had that in their system now, and would she please make sure the tech didn't show up before 1pm, because I would not be home. Of course, it was all noted in my account.
At 11:30 I rec'd a phone call from the Comcast tech, and he would be at my house in ten minutes. Noted on my account, huh? In which language, and which account? I told him I wasn't home, would not be home until 1pm. He graciously said he would come back. Lucky for him, he was a nice guy! He reconnected us, replaced the broken equipment, and went on his way. Happy Thanksgiving, and all that jazz.
Oh wouldn't you know it. Comcast just called wanting to know how I would rate my experience with the service provided. I can't answer that by pushing buttons. I just can't!
I'm thinking about calling the automated system back and seeing if I can wreak havoc with it.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Mothers
If there were a way to measure love, think of the explosive measurement that would result from the first time a mother holds her newborn baby. It's a love that is immeasurable. It's also a love that is indescribable. It's just there. It's powerful, it's explosive, and it's forever.
When we hold our babies for the first time, it's a feeling that will stay with us forever. We gaze into those squinty little eyes, and we are lost forever. It doesn't matter if the baby is the ugliest human ever born, it's a beautiful baby to it's mother.
We have no idea of what lies ahead, we just know we love. We know we will always love, and that's all we think of at the time. It's good that's all we can think of at the time. If we could see the future, we could not enjoy the present.
The future often holds things for us, and for that baby, who will become an adult, that we could not cope with, if we knew what was ahead. Life trains us, even though we think it doesn't, it trains us for those moments in time that if we knew were coming, we would just give up. When those days come, and we are living them, we often think we will not survive them, but we do. We survive them because we loved that baby from the moment we first held them, and we will love them until forever. We don't have to like what they do, or the choices that they make, or the trials they put us though, but we will always love them.
The love of a mother is powerful. A mother would rather die herself, than to lose her child in death. A mother would rather take on all of her child's pain, than to see her child suffer. For a mother to practice tough love is costly. Mothers heal, mothers fix, mothers kiss and make things better, and when a mother can't heal, or fix, or kiss away the pain, it's costly to the mother.
A mother's love cannot be measured on any scale made by man. For all those who have a mom, a mom who loves them, just understand, she will always love you, even when she doesn't like you, she will love you. When she makes you furious, or you make her furious, you feel like you can't understand her, or she doesn't understand you, you feel like she is too involved, just know this, she loves you. She loves you without measure, because that's what a mother's love is. A love without measure.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
The Empty of the Nest
Two years ago when my youngest left home, so many of my friends told me that I would not really like the empty nest syndrome. I, of course, said that I had plans, and I would enjoy the peace and quiet. That has been true to a certain extent, but there are the grandsons filling up the space and the quiet, and most of the things I had planned have not come to be.
The empty of the nest is sometimes echoingly empty. I realize that I raised my three kids to leave home. It's the process of life. Being home wasn't always a fun place to be, and having me for a mom was always just a little bit on the crazy side. I admit it, they will tell you it, and so it is. There are times though, when the empty is a cavern that seems too huge to fill.
My oldest, Sarah, is 1476.75 miles from home. If I were to drive to her house, Mapquest tells me that it would take me 22 hours and 11 minutes. In other words, it's a long drive. I go there often, in my mind. I think of what it would be like to visit her, to eat at the restaurant where she works, to see her new home, to meet Sean's parents, and all her friends. I've yet to make the actual trip, but I visit often in my hopes, and dreams, and schemes. She thinks I will never come to visit her, but she is wrong.
Sarah's room was a work of art. She drew on her walls, and even though it was hard to do, I eventually painted over all that work, and teenage emotion, and turned her room into a guest room. It's a guest room, but it's still Sarah's room. It's an empty part of the nest.
Julia lives just about nine miles from me, but there are times when it seems like she is a thousand miles from home as well. Her dad will often say, "She could at least stop in, and she could bring Greyson with her. It's a long time from Friday to Friday." Some of Julie's things are still here, but her room is empty of Julie, and is an empty part of the nest. I have plans to make that room into another guest room, and to paint it something other than shades of green. No matter the color, or that it's another guest room, it's still Julie's room.
Jacob lives 257.81 miles from home, and though he is much closer than Sarah, there are times it seems he is so much farther. Boys just don't call as often, don't share as much of their lives, operate on a need to know basis, and there is so much a mom does not need to know. In his room there are many echoes of Jacob. The hole in the wall, the scuffed up wall from his easy chair, that rubbed across the wall while he swiveled it back and forth while playing his Xbox 360. I stand in there at times, and I hear his sister yelling at him to turn down the stereo, or to stop thunking the golf club on the floor. I think I hear him lumbering down the hall, and am disappointed when it's not him, just my imagination. I have plans for his room too. Plans that involve wall repair, and paint, but no matter the repairs, of the color involved, it's still Jacob's room, and a part of the emptiness of the nest.
As August approaches, and school begins, I think of the parents who will be sending their little ones to kindergarten, and remember the tears, all mine, not theirs, as I left them there at school. School, that new world of adventure, and learning, and growing! I think of the parents who will have children, who think they are grownups, entering into middle school. I think of the parents with children in high school and remember thinking, I'm almost done. Then I think of the college kids, who are adults, but still kids. Ah what a journey.
From that first moment of conception, to the last of the apron string being snipped, it's a journey filled with joy, with sorrow, with aches and pains, the tooth fairy that forgot to show up, the agony of early school mornings, the broken hearts, drivers ed, finals, dances, homecomings, prom, cell phones, forgetting to call home, curfews, moving out, moving on, and so much more. It's a house that becomes a home filled with memories, some good, some bad, some awesome, and with all that, it remains the place called home, though empty of little ones that filled the nest, it's still home.
The empty of the nest is sometimes echoingly empty. I realize that I raised my three kids to leave home. It's the process of life. Being home wasn't always a fun place to be, and having me for a mom was always just a little bit on the crazy side. I admit it, they will tell you it, and so it is. There are times though, when the empty is a cavern that seems too huge to fill.
My oldest, Sarah, is 1476.75 miles from home. If I were to drive to her house, Mapquest tells me that it would take me 22 hours and 11 minutes. In other words, it's a long drive. I go there often, in my mind. I think of what it would be like to visit her, to eat at the restaurant where she works, to see her new home, to meet Sean's parents, and all her friends. I've yet to make the actual trip, but I visit often in my hopes, and dreams, and schemes. She thinks I will never come to visit her, but she is wrong.
Sarah's room was a work of art. She drew on her walls, and even though it was hard to do, I eventually painted over all that work, and teenage emotion, and turned her room into a guest room. It's a guest room, but it's still Sarah's room. It's an empty part of the nest.
Julia lives just about nine miles from me, but there are times when it seems like she is a thousand miles from home as well. Her dad will often say, "She could at least stop in, and she could bring Greyson with her. It's a long time from Friday to Friday." Some of Julie's things are still here, but her room is empty of Julie, and is an empty part of the nest. I have plans to make that room into another guest room, and to paint it something other than shades of green. No matter the color, or that it's another guest room, it's still Julie's room.
Jacob lives 257.81 miles from home, and though he is much closer than Sarah, there are times it seems he is so much farther. Boys just don't call as often, don't share as much of their lives, operate on a need to know basis, and there is so much a mom does not need to know. In his room there are many echoes of Jacob. The hole in the wall, the scuffed up wall from his easy chair, that rubbed across the wall while he swiveled it back and forth while playing his Xbox 360. I stand in there at times, and I hear his sister yelling at him to turn down the stereo, or to stop thunking the golf club on the floor. I think I hear him lumbering down the hall, and am disappointed when it's not him, just my imagination. I have plans for his room too. Plans that involve wall repair, and paint, but no matter the repairs, of the color involved, it's still Jacob's room, and a part of the emptiness of the nest.
As August approaches, and school begins, I think of the parents who will be sending their little ones to kindergarten, and remember the tears, all mine, not theirs, as I left them there at school. School, that new world of adventure, and learning, and growing! I think of the parents who will have children, who think they are grownups, entering into middle school. I think of the parents with children in high school and remember thinking, I'm almost done. Then I think of the college kids, who are adults, but still kids. Ah what a journey.
From that first moment of conception, to the last of the apron string being snipped, it's a journey filled with joy, with sorrow, with aches and pains, the tooth fairy that forgot to show up, the agony of early school mornings, the broken hearts, drivers ed, finals, dances, homecomings, prom, cell phones, forgetting to call home, curfews, moving out, moving on, and so much more. It's a house that becomes a home filled with memories, some good, some bad, some awesome, and with all that, it remains the place called home, though empty of little ones that filled the nest, it's still home.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Goodbye, Sadie Girl
Some goodbyes are just painful, very painful. Even when you know it's best, and the suffering will end, it's still painful. It's painful, and I'm a wuss. The day has come that we must take our faithful old dog, Sadie to be put to sleep. She's 14 years old, she's in pain, she's deaf, and it's so hard to see her suffer.
She was the cutest, fuzziest little puppy. She was a good mama to her litters, and I always marveled that such a pretty dog as she was, could produce such a hilarious offspring as one little pup whom we named Blue.
Sadie was gentle, yet fiercely protective of us. No one got near the kids if Sadie thought they were being a threat. She was a regular Houdini of an escape artist. Countless times we would come home to find her outside the fence and enjoying her freedom. She was as fast as a race dog when she saw us coming, and she was through the fence, and in the pen, sitting there looking so innocent.
She could hear us coming down the road, and if she was in the fence, she met us at the gate. Now she can't hear when we go outside, and as she lays there by the back door, she won't even budge until she sees us. Then she struggles to get up, and she cries in pain. She no longer barks, because her world is quiet.
Goodbye, Sadie girl. You've been a great dog. You loved us unconditionally, even when we were unworthy of your love.
She was the cutest, fuzziest little puppy. She was a good mama to her litters, and I always marveled that such a pretty dog as she was, could produce such a hilarious offspring as one little pup whom we named Blue.
Sadie was gentle, yet fiercely protective of us. No one got near the kids if Sadie thought they were being a threat. She was a regular Houdini of an escape artist. Countless times we would come home to find her outside the fence and enjoying her freedom. She was as fast as a race dog when she saw us coming, and she was through the fence, and in the pen, sitting there looking so innocent.
She could hear us coming down the road, and if she was in the fence, she met us at the gate. Now she can't hear when we go outside, and as she lays there by the back door, she won't even budge until she sees us. Then she struggles to get up, and she cries in pain. She no longer barks, because her world is quiet.
Goodbye, Sadie girl. You've been a great dog. You loved us unconditionally, even when we were unworthy of your love.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Life's Moments
I enjoy watching and listening to young mother's these days. It takes me back to when my three were little, and I was struggling to cope with all that life was throwing at me. There were moments, and sometimes even days, when I thought none of us would survive. I watch these young moms and I know that they will make it, but sometimes they just aren't too sure.
Today I was cleaning out a drawer in the filing cabinet, and I came across my youngest child's graduation cards, and a few keepsakes from school. Among the treasures was a paper he had to write for one of his classes. I think it might have been his senior speech. He wrote of memories from kindergarten through his senior year. How much he enjoyed his friends, and some funny things that had happened through the years, but the ending is what touched my heart, and made me cry. It's also what made me think of all the young moms that I know. It's so worth it to survive the childhood encounters with your children. They do hear what you are saying to them. They are watching you and learning from you, and they do appreciate you.
Here is how he finished up the paper:
My parents are the people who have shown me how to best live in this world, and I thank them for everything they have given me. The one thing I am the most thankful for is the laughter they brought into my life. I couldn't imagine going through life without a sense of humor. My mom's stories about my life, and her own have taught me how to be humble, even though sometimes I forget. My dad taught me how to be a man, and I hope that I can grow to be every bit the man that he is, and has shown me to be. My parents are the greatest influence in my life, and that is what I am most grateful for.
Now it is only fair I mention my sisters, and all the ways they have made my life interesting. I love both of them, and I am glad that they were always there for me. Julie was there for the deep talks, and Sarah was always pushing me to try new things. Now I hope to return the favor to Julie, by being the best uncle to her soon to be born son, Greyson.
It's moments in life like this that make you feel like it was worth it after all. So go change one more diaper, clean up one more spilled drink, put the toys away, and then take the time to snuggle, to laugh, and to enjoy, because sooner than you think, those little ones will be grown and gone from home.
Today I was cleaning out a drawer in the filing cabinet, and I came across my youngest child's graduation cards, and a few keepsakes from school. Among the treasures was a paper he had to write for one of his classes. I think it might have been his senior speech. He wrote of memories from kindergarten through his senior year. How much he enjoyed his friends, and some funny things that had happened through the years, but the ending is what touched my heart, and made me cry. It's also what made me think of all the young moms that I know. It's so worth it to survive the childhood encounters with your children. They do hear what you are saying to them. They are watching you and learning from you, and they do appreciate you.
Here is how he finished up the paper:
My parents are the people who have shown me how to best live in this world, and I thank them for everything they have given me. The one thing I am the most thankful for is the laughter they brought into my life. I couldn't imagine going through life without a sense of humor. My mom's stories about my life, and her own have taught me how to be humble, even though sometimes I forget. My dad taught me how to be a man, and I hope that I can grow to be every bit the man that he is, and has shown me to be. My parents are the greatest influence in my life, and that is what I am most grateful for.
Now it is only fair I mention my sisters, and all the ways they have made my life interesting. I love both of them, and I am glad that they were always there for me. Julie was there for the deep talks, and Sarah was always pushing me to try new things. Now I hope to return the favor to Julie, by being the best uncle to her soon to be born son, Greyson.
It's moments in life like this that make you feel like it was worth it after all. So go change one more diaper, clean up one more spilled drink, put the toys away, and then take the time to snuggle, to laugh, and to enjoy, because sooner than you think, those little ones will be grown and gone from home.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Don't Bring a Snake in the House
Don't pick up snakes, don't tell me about snakes,don't show me pictures of snakes, don't bring snakes into the house. NO SNAKES ALLOWED!
Those were the strict instructions at our house, still are. Did my kids listen? HA! Julie and Jacob abided by the rules, but Sarah struggled with them. So guess who brought a snake into the house? I think it should be genetically correct that all girls fear snakes.
We once lived next door to an older couple who adopted our three kids as their grandkids. Now that was really nice, at least it was at times. There were those times when Jeff gave them ideas that were less than favorable to their parents. But the snake and Sarah were all Wilma's idea. Unbelievable as that might seem, it was all Wilma's idea, and she enjoyed the outcome of her idea a lot more than I did for sure. She found the snake, gave it to Sarah, and said, "Go show this to your mom."
One fine summer day, the three kids were next door at Jeff and Wilma's. I made use of the free time, and was sitting in the bathroom taking care of business, when in walked Sarah. And with Sarah, came a snake. A SNAKE! A snake in her hands, and there I am on the pot.
Where to go! What to do! How will I get past the snake without touching it? How will I manage to exit the bathroom without killing Sarah, without touching the snake, and leaving all the walls and doors intact? All of these thoughts are running frantically through my mind, while my mouth is open, and I'm screaming a blood curdling scream. Plus, it's kind of hard to run with clothes around your ankles.
Sarah has realized this might not be a good idea to bring a snake to mom after all, especially in such a confined space. In reaction to my reaction, she feels compelled to tell me that it's just a plastic snake. To stress the point, she is waving it at me, and saying...it's plastic...it's plastic. Well guess what, the snake might be plastic, but I'm already spastic.
Once I realize the snake is plastic, and my brain manages to calm down my spastic body, I recover my ability to speak without screaming, I tell her to take the snake and herself out of the bathroom. Wilma is in her yard laughing hysterically, because she heard me screaming even with all the house around me.
Sarah and I both survived, the plastic snake went into the garbage, and I tried to laugh about it all. The rules are still the same. NO SNAKES ALLOWED, of any kind!
Those were the strict instructions at our house, still are. Did my kids listen? HA! Julie and Jacob abided by the rules, but Sarah struggled with them. So guess who brought a snake into the house? I think it should be genetically correct that all girls fear snakes.
We once lived next door to an older couple who adopted our three kids as their grandkids. Now that was really nice, at least it was at times. There were those times when Jeff gave them ideas that were less than favorable to their parents. But the snake and Sarah were all Wilma's idea. Unbelievable as that might seem, it was all Wilma's idea, and she enjoyed the outcome of her idea a lot more than I did for sure. She found the snake, gave it to Sarah, and said, "Go show this to your mom."
One fine summer day, the three kids were next door at Jeff and Wilma's. I made use of the free time, and was sitting in the bathroom taking care of business, when in walked Sarah. And with Sarah, came a snake. A SNAKE! A snake in her hands, and there I am on the pot.
Where to go! What to do! How will I get past the snake without touching it? How will I manage to exit the bathroom without killing Sarah, without touching the snake, and leaving all the walls and doors intact? All of these thoughts are running frantically through my mind, while my mouth is open, and I'm screaming a blood curdling scream. Plus, it's kind of hard to run with clothes around your ankles.
Sarah has realized this might not be a good idea to bring a snake to mom after all, especially in such a confined space. In reaction to my reaction, she feels compelled to tell me that it's just a plastic snake. To stress the point, she is waving it at me, and saying...it's plastic...it's plastic. Well guess what, the snake might be plastic, but I'm already spastic.
Once I realize the snake is plastic, and my brain manages to calm down my spastic body, I recover my ability to speak without screaming, I tell her to take the snake and herself out of the bathroom. Wilma is in her yard laughing hysterically, because she heard me screaming even with all the house around me.
Sarah and I both survived, the plastic snake went into the garbage, and I tried to laugh about it all. The rules are still the same. NO SNAKES ALLOWED, of any kind!
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Interesting: That Would Be Life
I think life is very interesting. There is not a day goes by that there is not something that I find interesting. People, the mainstay of life, are the most interesting beings. I love to observe them, to think about their actions, beliefs, listen to their hopes, share their dreams, laugh at their antics, enjoy the humans in the race of life.
The other night I went out to the side yard to take a picture of the sunset. My neighbor was out in his yard, so we had a little chat. It's so interesting what you find out about people when you take the time to listen. It's also a learning experience. You learn about them, and you learn about yourself in your reactions to their experiences.
I'm thankful for my three kids, for more than one reason, but especially for what they have taught me about acceptance, and looking beyond the surface. Granted, I am often a slow learner, and I have to be reminded, but I think I've made some progress. Often when we take the time to stop, to listen, to observe, our first impression of someone will change, and we will be softer and more generous in our care for them.
The other night I went out to the side yard to take a picture of the sunset. My neighbor was out in his yard, so we had a little chat. It's so interesting what you find out about people when you take the time to listen. It's also a learning experience. You learn about them, and you learn about yourself in your reactions to their experiences.
I'm thankful for my three kids, for more than one reason, but especially for what they have taught me about acceptance, and looking beyond the surface. Granted, I am often a slow learner, and I have to be reminded, but I think I've made some progress. Often when we take the time to stop, to listen, to observe, our first impression of someone will change, and we will be softer and more generous in our care for them.
Let's Go Fly a Kite
Let's go fly a kite, up to the highest height.....and so the song goes from one of my favorite movies, Mary Poppins. Oh to have a carpet bag like she had. Such possibilities came out of that bag.
I was an almost Mary Poppins sort of mom. Sometimes though, I was George Eubanks, and stifled the kid's imagination, not because I wanted to, but because I got caught up in the cares of life, and forgot how fun it is to be a kid. I lost patience with them, and made up rules for the moment, and lost my temper, and so on. There were other times though, the good times, the times when I thought playing in the mud was just the thing, or digging a hole, maybe even digging a hole to China was a good plan. There were the times when I made ramps for bikes, and tents for camping, and drove a van that could morph into a "heckacockter", or a motorcycle, or an airplane....fasten your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for take off. Those were the times I almost had a carpet bag full of possibilities.
I have another opportunity to have a carpet bag. I can be open to the possibilities for fun with Greyson and Aidyn. I can slow down, I can get down on the floor with them and play, I can take them for a flight in the minivan/airplane. I can have water fights with them, I can play in the mud, I can help them find bugs, and slugs, and snails. Well maybe not the snails. Can't think if I've seen a snail here lately. I can teach them the snake dance, and the jumping lizard/skink jump. I can be a fun and loving grammy, and I can enjoy the moments of their childhood, and be thankful they love me.
Don't call me tomorrow. I will be playing in the mud with Greyson, and we might just make up a mess of mud pies! Don't look up in the sky for me. I won't be floating with my umbrella, holding onto my carpet bag. I will on the ground....in the mud....with my bud!
I was an almost Mary Poppins sort of mom. Sometimes though, I was George Eubanks, and stifled the kid's imagination, not because I wanted to, but because I got caught up in the cares of life, and forgot how fun it is to be a kid. I lost patience with them, and made up rules for the moment, and lost my temper, and so on. There were other times though, the good times, the times when I thought playing in the mud was just the thing, or digging a hole, maybe even digging a hole to China was a good plan. There were the times when I made ramps for bikes, and tents for camping, and drove a van that could morph into a "heckacockter", or a motorcycle, or an airplane....fasten your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for take off. Those were the times I almost had a carpet bag full of possibilities.
I have another opportunity to have a carpet bag. I can be open to the possibilities for fun with Greyson and Aidyn. I can slow down, I can get down on the floor with them and play, I can take them for a flight in the minivan/airplane. I can have water fights with them, I can play in the mud, I can help them find bugs, and slugs, and snails. Well maybe not the snails. Can't think if I've seen a snail here lately. I can teach them the snake dance, and the jumping lizard/skink jump. I can be a fun and loving grammy, and I can enjoy the moments of their childhood, and be thankful they love me.
Don't call me tomorrow. I will be playing in the mud with Greyson, and we might just make up a mess of mud pies! Don't look up in the sky for me. I won't be floating with my umbrella, holding onto my carpet bag. I will on the ground....in the mud....with my bud!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Writings from the Kids
Today as I was dusting, I stopped to read Sarah and Jacob's senior speeches from their FFA banquet. They read them to us at their banquets, and then gave them to us on a plaque.
Sarah's from May 2007:
Mom and Dad, Thanks for the crazy moments. You made life interesting. Mom, I suppose it turned out okay that you don't know how to be boring. It provided tolerance. If there's anything to be said about our life, there was never a dull moment. The things learned at the dinner table have been enlightening. I suppose I love you. Dad, it's been a rough road, but we've made it, and we're all still together in spite of ourselves. Sometimes it didn't look so good for us, but I think we got through the worst of it. I love you.
Four years later, we heard from Jacob, May 2011:
Mom and Dad, I want to thank you guys for all that you have done for me. Mom, for all the times you brought me to school at ridiculous hours of the morning. Also, for all the times you were there with one of your stories that just makes everything just a little bit funnier. Dad, thanks for everything you've taught me, whether it be for Ag Mech, or just life. You have been an amazing role model, and I hope that I can become as good a man as you have shown, and taught me to be. I love you both. Thank you,
Jacob Bittner
In answer to a poem I wrote about me, Julie's answer was this:
SHE
She wanted to be
a child someone would love.
Instead she was just her.
She wanted to be a daughter
her mother would love.
Instead she was just her.
She wanted to be a beautiful woman
a man would love.
Instead she was more than any man could ever deserve.
She wanted to be a mother
that her children would love.
Instead they loved her more than life.
She wanted to be a friend
another could cherish.
Instead she went above and beyond for her friends.
She wanted to be a singer
a voice clear and true.
Instead she sings to me.
She wanted to be an artist
beauty she would capture.
Instead she inspired her daughter.
She wanted to be
and so she was.
She was just beautiful, amazing, talented, and best of all she is my mother.
Julia
I love my three kids, and they have enriched my life in many ways. When I read over these writings, I remember t times that they referenced to, and yes, we had some rough patches, and yes, there were times things looked bleak, but we all pulled together, and we made it through. Sometimes people ask the question: If you had it to do over again, would you? If you could do things over, what would you change?
I would do it all over again, but what I would change, if I had the opportunity and the wisdom, would be the way I reacted to some things, and I would certainly be more loving and kind. I would like to say I would be more patient and less sarcastic, but really, saying I would be more loving and kind is really stretching it. To say I would be more patient and less sarcastic is like saying I could change copper to gold. I would just be me, for what's it's worth, and hopefully be me better than I was the first time around.
There are many things I should have taught my children. Missed opportunities that I can't get back. I feel strongly that they know Paul and I love them. They always knew they were loved. Today while reading these things the three of them wrote, I feel loved by them, and I'm thankful for the written reminder of a strong family, and that I am a part of each of them, as they are a part of Paul and I.
Sarah's from May 2007:
Mom and Dad, Thanks for the crazy moments. You made life interesting. Mom, I suppose it turned out okay that you don't know how to be boring. It provided tolerance. If there's anything to be said about our life, there was never a dull moment. The things learned at the dinner table have been enlightening. I suppose I love you. Dad, it's been a rough road, but we've made it, and we're all still together in spite of ourselves. Sometimes it didn't look so good for us, but I think we got through the worst of it. I love you.
Four years later, we heard from Jacob, May 2011:
Mom and Dad, I want to thank you guys for all that you have done for me. Mom, for all the times you brought me to school at ridiculous hours of the morning. Also, for all the times you were there with one of your stories that just makes everything just a little bit funnier. Dad, thanks for everything you've taught me, whether it be for Ag Mech, or just life. You have been an amazing role model, and I hope that I can become as good a man as you have shown, and taught me to be. I love you both. Thank you,
Jacob Bittner
In answer to a poem I wrote about me, Julie's answer was this:
SHE
She wanted to be
a child someone would love.
Instead she was just her.
She wanted to be a daughter
her mother would love.
Instead she was just her.
She wanted to be a beautiful woman
a man would love.
Instead she was more than any man could ever deserve.
She wanted to be a mother
that her children would love.
Instead they loved her more than life.
She wanted to be a friend
another could cherish.
Instead she went above and beyond for her friends.
She wanted to be a singer
a voice clear and true.
Instead she sings to me.
She wanted to be an artist
beauty she would capture.
Instead she inspired her daughter.
She wanted to be
and so she was.
She was just beautiful, amazing, talented, and best of all she is my mother.
Julia
I love my three kids, and they have enriched my life in many ways. When I read over these writings, I remember t times that they referenced to, and yes, we had some rough patches, and yes, there were times things looked bleak, but we all pulled together, and we made it through. Sometimes people ask the question: If you had it to do over again, would you? If you could do things over, what would you change?
I would do it all over again, but what I would change, if I had the opportunity and the wisdom, would be the way I reacted to some things, and I would certainly be more loving and kind. I would like to say I would be more patient and less sarcastic, but really, saying I would be more loving and kind is really stretching it. To say I would be more patient and less sarcastic is like saying I could change copper to gold. I would just be me, for what's it's worth, and hopefully be me better than I was the first time around.
There are many things I should have taught my children. Missed opportunities that I can't get back. I feel strongly that they know Paul and I love them. They always knew they were loved. Today while reading these things the three of them wrote, I feel loved by them, and I'm thankful for the written reminder of a strong family, and that I am a part of each of them, as they are a part of Paul and I.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
I'm Sick
The other day I was ranting, yes I do rant, periodically....throughout the day....
I told Paul, I'm sick. Don't they know that? To which he replied, "You don't act sick, so they don't think about you being sick." I don't act sick? It's not an act, it's reality. How do you act sick? Visualize me, the back of my hand to my forehead, sighing in a dramatic way, "I'm such a failure! I can't even act sick."
I've thought about that for a few days now, and wondered why I don't act sick. Maybe it's from childhood, after all, most things that are "wrong" in our lives, date back to childhood, right? I do know that we didn't whine, heaven help us if we even thought about whining. We sure didn't cry. Well, I cried, because I'm a rebel that way, but it was a costly rebellion to be sure. STOP CRYING, OR I WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT. WHACK. Really, I thought you just did? I knew not to smart off like that, but I sure thought it.
I remember having a severe case of the measles. So bad that I was hallucinating. That meant a call to the dr, who said...come to the hospital. We had to go in some backroom, didn't want to expose the general population. I remember my dad carrying me, wrapped up in a quilt. When they laid me on the exam table, I can still see all of this in my minds eye, the doctor said they would have to give me a shot. The nurse said that she would go get a few others so they could hold me down. My mom said, "You won't need to hold her down. She won't move, and she won't cry." Yep, mom had spoken, the rules were set forth, and I would not move, and I would not cry. The nurse looked at me, thought about this very sick three year old, and went for reinforcement. The nurse did not know my mother.
I, however, knew the rules. I did not cry, and I did not move. I wonder if somewhere along the way of growing up, Mom told me not to act sick. That's probably the only three rules I ever actually obeyed. Oh there was one more rule I learned it paid to obey. Call home! So, that's four rules I obeyed. Don't whine, don't cry, don't act sick, and call home.
I don't mean to imply mom was mean. She was just strict, and you better listen. What's kind of funny now, she gets frustrated at me, because I don't act sick, even when I'm sick. Life is funny, might as well laugh, and don't whine, don't cry, and don't act sick.
I told Paul, I'm sick. Don't they know that? To which he replied, "You don't act sick, so they don't think about you being sick." I don't act sick? It's not an act, it's reality. How do you act sick? Visualize me, the back of my hand to my forehead, sighing in a dramatic way, "I'm such a failure! I can't even act sick."
I've thought about that for a few days now, and wondered why I don't act sick. Maybe it's from childhood, after all, most things that are "wrong" in our lives, date back to childhood, right? I do know that we didn't whine, heaven help us if we even thought about whining. We sure didn't cry. Well, I cried, because I'm a rebel that way, but it was a costly rebellion to be sure. STOP CRYING, OR I WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT. WHACK. Really, I thought you just did? I knew not to smart off like that, but I sure thought it.
I remember having a severe case of the measles. So bad that I was hallucinating. That meant a call to the dr, who said...come to the hospital. We had to go in some backroom, didn't want to expose the general population. I remember my dad carrying me, wrapped up in a quilt. When they laid me on the exam table, I can still see all of this in my minds eye, the doctor said they would have to give me a shot. The nurse said that she would go get a few others so they could hold me down. My mom said, "You won't need to hold her down. She won't move, and she won't cry." Yep, mom had spoken, the rules were set forth, and I would not move, and I would not cry. The nurse looked at me, thought about this very sick three year old, and went for reinforcement. The nurse did not know my mother.
I, however, knew the rules. I did not cry, and I did not move. I wonder if somewhere along the way of growing up, Mom told me not to act sick. That's probably the only three rules I ever actually obeyed. Oh there was one more rule I learned it paid to obey. Call home! So, that's four rules I obeyed. Don't whine, don't cry, don't act sick, and call home.
I don't mean to imply mom was mean. She was just strict, and you better listen. What's kind of funny now, she gets frustrated at me, because I don't act sick, even when I'm sick. Life is funny, might as well laugh, and don't whine, don't cry, and don't act sick.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Sunflowers Versus Moving Cars
I was talking to my cousin Sarah Bassett, and I said the following to her:
I'm off to the store. Watch for me. I might fly by. The wind is strong enough to blow me clear to Austin.
Don't try to catch me, I would rip your arm off. Kind of like the time I had the brilliant idea to grab a sunflower as mom was driving down the road. Not a good idea. It's painful when the arm slams into the door frame because the sunflower is stationary, and the speedy little toyota is not. Learn from me, for I am now wise about many things, due to scientific study in idiocy. I've proven many things to be painful in my scientific study in idiocy.
Sarah asked me to post this, because she thinks it's hilarious. She mentioned that I could even post it as an event in someone elses life, but really, I might as well own it. It's who I am, and when you have a Masters in something, you should just say so.
I'm off to the store. Watch for me. I might fly by. The wind is strong enough to blow me clear to Austin.
Don't try to catch me, I would rip your arm off. Kind of like the time I had the brilliant idea to grab a sunflower as mom was driving down the road. Not a good idea. It's painful when the arm slams into the door frame because the sunflower is stationary, and the speedy little toyota is not. Learn from me, for I am now wise about many things, due to scientific study in idiocy. I've proven many things to be painful in my scientific study in idiocy.
Sarah asked me to post this, because she thinks it's hilarious. She mentioned that I could even post it as an event in someone elses life, but really, I might as well own it. It's who I am, and when you have a Masters in something, you should just say so.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
ER: The Entertainment of
I would prefer never to set foot into an Emergency Room, but if I have to be there, I will be entertained. You see it all there. The very sick, the not even sick, the drunk and disorderly, the injured, the lonely, the lost. Let's not forget that significant group of young men who don't know what size clothes they wear. I wanted so bad to act out that cartoon that was recently circulated, the old woman who said to the young man wearing pants with the waist that was cinched at his knees, a shirt that was made for Paul Bunyon, "You must be so proud to have lost so much weight." That's hysterical in a cartoon, but in real life to say that, it's suicidal. I kept my mouth shut, but my brain was frantic with comments.
My favorite group for entertainment was the Italian family who had set up camp in the corner. I mention their ethnic background, not as a slur against them, but as is necessary to define them as the family in the corner. They were obviously ER frequent flyers. They came prepared. Pops, who was the patient, was connected to an IV bag, which was hooked on a pole. The daughter, probably my age, maybe a few years older, had a large bag containing a laptop, a Tablet, and various other items. Her son, I'm sure his name was Joey, named after Papa Joe, was equally prepared with his laptop, iphone, mega headphones, which he wore on his head, but not quite on his ears.
The daughter set Pops up with her laptop and a card game. She set across from him with her Tablet and her flip phone. I had to love that. She must be of the same mindset as me. Not paying for the internet on some smartphone that I don't understand. The grandson, Joey, he was rocking to the music he was hearing through his head, not his ears, and playing a video game. He was probably early to mid twenties.
The card game ended, and Pops didn't know how to start another game, so the daughter puts down her Tablet, gets the laptop from Pops, and starts touching the screen trying to get it to work. She gets frustrated, mutters under her breath, then realizes it's her laptop, not the tablet. Laughs about it, uses the mouse pad, then promptly tries to get things to work by touching the screen. Gets the game started, hands the laptop back to Pops, and picks up her tablet again.
Sets her tablet down, and starts rummaging through her Mary Poppins bag. I really thought she would pull out a floor lamp before the evening was over. Much to my disappointment, she never did. She whips out a fan, flips it open, and starts fanning herself. Her son never notices. Must happen all the time at home, especially if she thinks to keep one in her Mary Poppins bag. Probably has the a/c on all year round while everyone else in the house walks around in arctic temperature rated clothing. She picks up her tablet, flips her hair off her forehead, and fans herself at a steady rate. Pops looks up, watches her, says "What's a madda with you?" She looks up, flips her hair of her forehead again, and says, "I'm having a moment, Pops." To which he replies, "Huh", and back to the card game he goes.
Ah, the circle of life.....
My favorite group for entertainment was the Italian family who had set up camp in the corner. I mention their ethnic background, not as a slur against them, but as is necessary to define them as the family in the corner. They were obviously ER frequent flyers. They came prepared. Pops, who was the patient, was connected to an IV bag, which was hooked on a pole. The daughter, probably my age, maybe a few years older, had a large bag containing a laptop, a Tablet, and various other items. Her son, I'm sure his name was Joey, named after Papa Joe, was equally prepared with his laptop, iphone, mega headphones, which he wore on his head, but not quite on his ears.
The daughter set Pops up with her laptop and a card game. She set across from him with her Tablet and her flip phone. I had to love that. She must be of the same mindset as me. Not paying for the internet on some smartphone that I don't understand. The grandson, Joey, he was rocking to the music he was hearing through his head, not his ears, and playing a video game. He was probably early to mid twenties.
The card game ended, and Pops didn't know how to start another game, so the daughter puts down her Tablet, gets the laptop from Pops, and starts touching the screen trying to get it to work. She gets frustrated, mutters under her breath, then realizes it's her laptop, not the tablet. Laughs about it, uses the mouse pad, then promptly tries to get things to work by touching the screen. Gets the game started, hands the laptop back to Pops, and picks up her tablet again.
Sets her tablet down, and starts rummaging through her Mary Poppins bag. I really thought she would pull out a floor lamp before the evening was over. Much to my disappointment, she never did. She whips out a fan, flips it open, and starts fanning herself. Her son never notices. Must happen all the time at home, especially if she thinks to keep one in her Mary Poppins bag. Probably has the a/c on all year round while everyone else in the house walks around in arctic temperature rated clothing. She picks up her tablet, flips her hair off her forehead, and fans herself at a steady rate. Pops looks up, watches her, says "What's a madda with you?" She looks up, flips her hair of her forehead again, and says, "I'm having a moment, Pops." To which he replies, "Huh", and back to the card game he goes.
Ah, the circle of life.....
Life's Stupid Moments
For lack of anything better to do, I was just remembering some of life's stupid moments. I've tried to forget them, but they just resurface to humiliate me when I'm trying to sleep. It would be very beneficial for me if I could just lie down and go to sleep, but my brain doesn't have an automatic shut off.
I have more stupid moments than I'm willing to write about, but this one is a doosey. This one still shames me when I think of the degree of stupidness it entails. I would like to say that it happened because I was young, naive, nervous, (terrified), whatever. In reality, I was just stupid. I had a doctors appointment with a type of doctor that all women learn to dread seeing, but are resigned to the yearly visit. At my young age of 16ish, I surely was dreading it, but had not yet learned to be resigned about it.
Mom was with me, so that was a small comfort. When my name was called, or as most often happens, mispronounced, I slowly got to my feet and started that nigh unto death and humiliation in my immediate future walk. I was consoling myself with the fact that at least I knew how to pronounce my name. The nurse might have a higher education than me, but she sure didn't know squat about name pronunciation.
We arrived at the exam room, and the already minuscule room shrunk in diameter by at least five feet. There was room for me, the nurse, the exam table, a rolling stool, a sink and cabinet combo, and last, but certainly not least, the SCALES. The scales alone will cause a room to shrink, add fear and humiliation to the factor, and mega shrinkage occurs. The nurse then hands me the designer gown with instructions to change into the lovely garment, to be tied in the front, and she exited the room. What she failed to acknowledge was the fact that the gown is known as a designer gown, due to the fact that it was designed to be worn by a anorexic midget on Prozac. The only thing I can identify with in that sentence is Prozac. An anorexic midget I'm not, and never will be. After this visit I would need Prozac. It hadn't been invented yet, or I would have overdosed on it.
The nurse returned to the room and mentioned that she would need to get my weight. She wouldn't take my word for it, so I had to prove to her that I'm reverse anorexic. Let the humiliation begin. I stood on the scales and took it like the woman that I was to become. Very sober faced the nurse moved the weights around, back and forth, upside down and backwards, just to be sure that the humiliation was complete, (little did she, nor did I, that this was only the beginning). Then she said she would need to get my height.
I know that this should have been the easy part, and the least humiliating part. Let's remember who we're talking about here. It's me! Nothing is ever easy with me. Remember what I said about the shrinkage in the size of the room. It's a very small room. The scale was situated between the exam table and the wall. I don't really remember how much space there was between the scales and the wall, but it wasn't very much. I do know however, that there was enough room for me to stand wedged between the wall and the scale. It took some work, but I managed to get myself, looking so pretty in the "tie in the front" designer gown, wedged between the wall and the scale.
While I am working so diligently at this task, the nurse is standing there watching me with the most bewildered look on her face. I'm thinking she is a nut case, and surely she has seen people get into position to have their height measured. Finally she said, 'What are you doing?" Well DUH!!! I'm stacking B B's in a corner, what does it look like I'm doing?" I didn't say that, but I thought it. I said, 'I'm standing up against the wall so you can get my height." How stupid can this nurse be? Pretty dumb. She can't even pronounce my name. She then very seriously said, "I need you to stand back up on the scales so I can use the measuring device." I knew that! I was 5' 6" when I arrived for my appointment, but by the time I got up on the scales to be measured, humility had caused me to shrink an inch. I was now 5' 5".
Now the room had become so small there was barely any room for me to stand on the scales. The temperature in the room had risen to the point of boiling hot. Made so from the heat of embarrassment. The room was not only small, but boiling hot. The nurse hurriedly measured me, wrote my height in the chart and fled the room. The designer gown got tighter, didn't close quite as well in the front, and I was burning up almost to the point of having a heat stroke.
All of this and the exam was yet to happen. Some twenty to thirty minutes later the nurse and doctor came into the room. Needless to say, a tense and dreadful experience (without stupidity added into the equation), was dreadful, tense and beyond humiliating. I was then instructed to get dressed, leave the idiotic, stupid designer gown in the laundry basket, and come to the front desk. The neat and lovely bows that I had tied on the gown, became double knotted scraps of designer threads. May they be overtaken by moths!
Surprisingly enough I managed to get my clothes on without them being wrong side out. I fleetingly thought of kicking the scales just for good measure (no pun intended) and fled to the front desk. I hoped and prayed that the story of the stupid teenager in the exam room hadn't been spread throughout the office. No such luck. The receptionist, who before had been friendly, would now barely talk to me. The nurse and doctor were nowhere to be seen. Mom wondered at the change of behavior from the staff, but I knew the answer. The soberness and the unfriendliness was a front. The entire office staff was making an effort to contain the laughter that was threatening to burst forth the minute I stepped out of the office. Once I told mom what had happened, I thought I would have to carry her to the car. She was laughing so hard she could barely walk. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Needless to say, I never again stepped foot into that doctor's office. I would rot from any female disorder known to womankind before I would be weighed, measured, and fitted with a designer gown in that shrinking, stifling office again.
I have more stupid moments than I'm willing to write about, but this one is a doosey. This one still shames me when I think of the degree of stupidness it entails. I would like to say that it happened because I was young, naive, nervous, (terrified), whatever. In reality, I was just stupid. I had a doctors appointment with a type of doctor that all women learn to dread seeing, but are resigned to the yearly visit. At my young age of 16ish, I surely was dreading it, but had not yet learned to be resigned about it.
Mom was with me, so that was a small comfort. When my name was called, or as most often happens, mispronounced, I slowly got to my feet and started that nigh unto death and humiliation in my immediate future walk. I was consoling myself with the fact that at least I knew how to pronounce my name. The nurse might have a higher education than me, but she sure didn't know squat about name pronunciation.
We arrived at the exam room, and the already minuscule room shrunk in diameter by at least five feet. There was room for me, the nurse, the exam table, a rolling stool, a sink and cabinet combo, and last, but certainly not least, the SCALES. The scales alone will cause a room to shrink, add fear and humiliation to the factor, and mega shrinkage occurs. The nurse then hands me the designer gown with instructions to change into the lovely garment, to be tied in the front, and she exited the room. What she failed to acknowledge was the fact that the gown is known as a designer gown, due to the fact that it was designed to be worn by a anorexic midget on Prozac. The only thing I can identify with in that sentence is Prozac. An anorexic midget I'm not, and never will be. After this visit I would need Prozac. It hadn't been invented yet, or I would have overdosed on it.
The nurse returned to the room and mentioned that she would need to get my weight. She wouldn't take my word for it, so I had to prove to her that I'm reverse anorexic. Let the humiliation begin. I stood on the scales and took it like the woman that I was to become. Very sober faced the nurse moved the weights around, back and forth, upside down and backwards, just to be sure that the humiliation was complete, (little did she, nor did I, that this was only the beginning). Then she said she would need to get my height.
I know that this should have been the easy part, and the least humiliating part. Let's remember who we're talking about here. It's me! Nothing is ever easy with me. Remember what I said about the shrinkage in the size of the room. It's a very small room. The scale was situated between the exam table and the wall. I don't really remember how much space there was between the scales and the wall, but it wasn't very much. I do know however, that there was enough room for me to stand wedged between the wall and the scale. It took some work, but I managed to get myself, looking so pretty in the "tie in the front" designer gown, wedged between the wall and the scale.
While I am working so diligently at this task, the nurse is standing there watching me with the most bewildered look on her face. I'm thinking she is a nut case, and surely she has seen people get into position to have their height measured. Finally she said, 'What are you doing?" Well DUH!!! I'm stacking B B's in a corner, what does it look like I'm doing?" I didn't say that, but I thought it. I said, 'I'm standing up against the wall so you can get my height." How stupid can this nurse be? Pretty dumb. She can't even pronounce my name. She then very seriously said, "I need you to stand back up on the scales so I can use the measuring device." I knew that! I was 5' 6" when I arrived for my appointment, but by the time I got up on the scales to be measured, humility had caused me to shrink an inch. I was now 5' 5".
Now the room had become so small there was barely any room for me to stand on the scales. The temperature in the room had risen to the point of boiling hot. Made so from the heat of embarrassment. The room was not only small, but boiling hot. The nurse hurriedly measured me, wrote my height in the chart and fled the room. The designer gown got tighter, didn't close quite as well in the front, and I was burning up almost to the point of having a heat stroke.
All of this and the exam was yet to happen. Some twenty to thirty minutes later the nurse and doctor came into the room. Needless to say, a tense and dreadful experience (without stupidity added into the equation), was dreadful, tense and beyond humiliating. I was then instructed to get dressed, leave the idiotic, stupid designer gown in the laundry basket, and come to the front desk. The neat and lovely bows that I had tied on the gown, became double knotted scraps of designer threads. May they be overtaken by moths!
Surprisingly enough I managed to get my clothes on without them being wrong side out. I fleetingly thought of kicking the scales just for good measure (no pun intended) and fled to the front desk. I hoped and prayed that the story of the stupid teenager in the exam room hadn't been spread throughout the office. No such luck. The receptionist, who before had been friendly, would now barely talk to me. The nurse and doctor were nowhere to be seen. Mom wondered at the change of behavior from the staff, but I knew the answer. The soberness and the unfriendliness was a front. The entire office staff was making an effort to contain the laughter that was threatening to burst forth the minute I stepped out of the office. Once I told mom what had happened, I thought I would have to carry her to the car. She was laughing so hard she could barely walk. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Needless to say, I never again stepped foot into that doctor's office. I would rot from any female disorder known to womankind before I would be weighed, measured, and fitted with a designer gown in that shrinking, stifling office again.
Hot Wax (2009)
Remember Mel Gibson in the movie: What Women Want? That was very funny. What isn't funny is when you get hot wax in your nose. Well... I guess that depends on who is the waxee and who is the waxer. If you are the waxer, it is indeed very funny.
Julie decided she wanted me to put hot wax on her upper lip. The last time she let me near her with the hot wax I waxed off half of her eyebrow. Oops! isn't a word she wanted to hear at the time. So her eyebrows were off limits, but she thought she could trust me with her upper lip. I thought she could too. I mean, it's not like you have to worry about taking her top lip off with the wax. What could possibly go wrong?
What could go wrong is wax flowing into the nostril. Did you know that your nostril has millions of tiny hairs lurking there? Julie found that out, and she also discovered how painful the removal of those tiny hairs can be. Her eyes were watering, my eyes were watering. She was really crying, and I was really laughing. In her pain and agony, her ability to swallow became hampered and she drooled all over the table.
Poor Jules! She has much to endure having me for a mom. Life is tough sometimes
Julie decided she wanted me to put hot wax on her upper lip. The last time she let me near her with the hot wax I waxed off half of her eyebrow. Oops! isn't a word she wanted to hear at the time. So her eyebrows were off limits, but she thought she could trust me with her upper lip. I thought she could too. I mean, it's not like you have to worry about taking her top lip off with the wax. What could possibly go wrong?
What could go wrong is wax flowing into the nostril. Did you know that your nostril has millions of tiny hairs lurking there? Julie found that out, and she also discovered how painful the removal of those tiny hairs can be. Her eyes were watering, my eyes were watering. She was really crying, and I was really laughing. In her pain and agony, her ability to swallow became hampered and she drooled all over the table.
Poor Jules! She has much to endure having me for a mom. Life is tough sometimes
Wrinkle Free (2010)
I decided yesterday to do what I could to stop the aging process, so I bought some anti-wrinkle cream. I have just enough intelligence roaming around in my thick head to know that only a miracle, and visits to the plastic surgeon, will stop the aging process, but I can dream. I also decided yesterday that I was tired of being awakened at night with pain in my knees, so I bought some Arnica cream to help with the pain.
With great anticipation last night, I began my new and improved beauty and pain free regiment. I opened the tube of Arnica and generously slathered it on both knees. Ahhh, looking forward to a pain free night. I then washed my face and picked up the tube of anti-wrinkle cream. It was open? How did it get opened? I haven't even used it yet. It was obvious that the tube had been tampered with. I then noticed the tube of arnica sitting on the counter, so I picked it up and removed the cap. No tampering here, which means that it had never been opened. Which also means that I had just generously slathered anti-wrinkle cream all over both of my aching knees.
I have never considered the ugliness of wrinkled knees, but now that I thought about it, that would be very unattractive. Especially when I ventured out in public in a very short skirt. Now there's a visual I didn't need. I think I will avoid slathering anti-wrinkle cream on my knees from now on, and continue to wear long skirts that hide a multitude of uglies, and two slightly less wrinkled knees.
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