I was all set to post a scathing diatribe about my City and their so-called "Water Services" Department after the past two weeks of dealing with a leak in my front yard, but after reading The Wednesday Whine where several members have recently either lost a loved one, or have an ill loved one (one who is pretty much terminal at only 9 years old), I've lost the will to spout off at the mouth about things that are petty in relation. A young man in my community also just died, and while I didn't know him, I see those around me who DID know him locked inside their own grief, and it struck me how fortunate I really am.
What I want to do today is celebrate all that I have. I have the very bad habit of praying only when I want something, or when I wish I'd made a better decision. I've spent the last few years trying to cultivate prayer for prayer's sake alone, and I often don't display that enough.
Dear God --
Thank you. Thank you for giving me life, and bringing me into this world. Even though I have faced hard times, you have blessed me in countless ways. I have my family, who are the joy (and sometimes bane) of my existence. My wonderful husband loves me, and much to my astonishment, still finds me attractive after almost 20 years together. He is supportive, hard-working, and my best friend. My daughter makes me laugh every day, even when she's infuriating me. She has brought joy and light to my life, and to that of all of our family members.
I have my health. When I broke my ankle, I became sorely aware at how much I depend upon my mobility, and how lost I was without it. I have eyes and ears that let me enjoy art and music, and hands that allow me to create and touch my loved ones. And, those loved ones are healthy -- surprisingly so, for such a large extended family. Death has touched us, but we have lived through grief, and it has brought us together. We are stronger as a unit than as disparate individuals.
I have a home. Not all people in our nation can claim that, sadly. There was even a time when *I* couldn't claim that. The hopelessness that comes with not even having a place to call your own is beyond imagining. That we are the most industrialized and wealthy nation on the planet, and not all of our own citizens can lay claim to a home is a travesty of the highest proportions. No, my home isn't perfect, but it's mine. I have the freedom to come and go, and a certain amount of security from the cares of the world once I enter its shelter. It keeps me warm and dry, and safe, and I am grateful for it.
I have a job, which again, many of my fellow countrymen do not. I make a decent living, one that allows me to not only pay the debts that I have incurred, but also allows me things that are not necessary in this life, but help fulfill pieces of me. I don't need an entire room of crafting material, but it's something that I enjoy, and I like to use what I know to make others happy. Likewise, my husband doesn't need all the electronics we have, but it makes him happy. My husband works very hard, and his salary keeps our family afloat. His toil feeds us. I am grateful that he has this job, which allows us to subsist and thrive.
I have friends and hobbies that occupy space in my heart. My friends are generous and give to me in their knowledge and their presence. They feed my soul. My hobbies also feed my soul. Girl Scouting is as much for my benefit as it is for the girls that I shepherd through the program. I learn from them all the time. They teach me humility, and they keep me grounded in a way that very few hobbies do. My crafts feed the artist in my soul. They allow little pieces of me to be experienced by others, and when they travel away from me, I feel as if a piece of me has gone with them, but in a good way. In a sharing sort of way. Some people say that I have talent. If so, then God has given me that talent, and by sharing bits of it with others, I can impact them. And, when I impact them, I give praise to God for bestowing that gift upon me.
I have a mind, which allows me to grown and learn. My mind can take me to wondrous places, and with it, I have the capacity to be anything that I want. My mind is not afflicted with disease, like countless others, who suffer daily. I am whole, and healthy, strong and capable. Within me lies enormous potential -- all I have to do is make myself open to knowledge, and accept that challenge.
Thank you, God -- for all that you have given me, and all that you continue to gift me with daily. Thank you for allowing me to grow and experience, even though some of those lessons were difficult and hard-won. Thank you for loving me as your child, and watching over me. Thank you. I will strive to live my life as a fulfillment of the promise that you put forth for me. I only hope I am worthy of the task.
Showing posts with label The Big Stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Big Stuff. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Thursday, September 03, 2009
They Have Created A Monster!
So, in my new role for this school year, I am leaning sign language. The kids are delighted to be teaching ME, rather than the other way around.
I picked up the REALLY important stuff the first two days: "more", "cookie", "please", "sorry", "Good morning", "bus", "what", "which", "sit", and so forth.
Today, they started teaching me the signs for various foods: potato, bread, hot dog, taco, broccoli, banana, strawberry, spaghetti, oatmeal, blueberry, soup, cereal, lemon, bacon, toast, sandwich, cheese... I did pretty well when quizzed right after the fact, but the real kicker will be when I remember them tomorrow, or even a month from now. I've been told to prepare myself mentally for a "test" tomorrow.
I've been coming home and signing all that I can remember to JF and Offspring, and tonight at the dinner table, the following conversation occurred:
Offspring: (as she's walking to the dining room from her bedroom) "What's for dinner?"
JF: "Food!"
Me: (as she takes her seat) "Chicken, potatoes, and mixed vegetables. I know the signs for chicken and potatoes, and I know carrots and corn, but not peas."
(I proceed to demonstrate the newly-learned signs.)
Offspring: "Mom, you know -- I don't really care. I had enough of learning already today."
Feel the love, people.
-----------------------------
Speaking of school, we had a lock-down today because apparently come carjackers were in the area next to our school, and they were armed. After a harrowing afternoon involving many cops and police dogs and helicopters in the area, the all-clear was finally given. None of our students was harmed, and hopefully, no one got totally freaked by the experience, but stuff like that REALLY makes me nervous as all get-out.
Glad everything worked out.
I picked up the REALLY important stuff the first two days: "more", "cookie", "please", "sorry", "Good morning", "bus", "what", "which", "sit", and so forth.
Today, they started teaching me the signs for various foods: potato, bread, hot dog, taco, broccoli, banana, strawberry, spaghetti, oatmeal, blueberry, soup, cereal, lemon, bacon, toast, sandwich, cheese... I did pretty well when quizzed right after the fact, but the real kicker will be when I remember them tomorrow, or even a month from now. I've been told to prepare myself mentally for a "test" tomorrow.
I've been coming home and signing all that I can remember to JF and Offspring, and tonight at the dinner table, the following conversation occurred:
Offspring: (as she's walking to the dining room from her bedroom) "What's for dinner?"
JF: "Food!"
Me: (as she takes her seat) "Chicken, potatoes, and mixed vegetables. I know the signs for chicken and potatoes, and I know carrots and corn, but not peas."
(I proceed to demonstrate the newly-learned signs.)
Offspring: "Mom, you know -- I don't really care. I had enough of learning already today."
Feel the love, people.
-----------------------------
Speaking of school, we had a lock-down today because apparently come carjackers were in the area next to our school, and they were armed. After a harrowing afternoon involving many cops and police dogs and helicopters in the area, the all-clear was finally given. None of our students was harmed, and hopefully, no one got totally freaked by the experience, but stuff like that REALLY makes me nervous as all get-out.
Glad everything worked out.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Trying Not to Dwell
I've been managing to stay busy this summer, which has been a blessing in itself. Not only does it keep me from becoming so sedentary that I threaten to petrify like a fossil, it has also had the added benefit of giving me very little time to dwell on things.
Those of you who have known me for any decent length of time know a little bit about my backstory; know a little bit about my past. You know that I raped when I was 20 years old. April and June are always hard months for me, because I tend to dwell on the rape and the aftermath. June is especially hard because I tend to give in to "what if"-itis -- that little mind-screw I do to myself where I obsess over the abortion and the child that would have resulted. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would she/he look like me, or like the rapist? Who would I be now? Who would the child be? Could I love it enough? Would I have kept it? Keeping myself from thinking about that child, who now be old enough to graduate from high school.
Probably the worst part of all of this is the guilt that I lay at my own doorstep in the whole sorry situation. I was raped by someone I knew, someone I was dating. And, for some people, "date rape" just doesn't register with them. Generally, these are the same people who don't think a man can rape his wife, simply because there's a history and a marriage certificate there, but that's neither here nor there. There is still a lot of stigma associated with rape, and especially with date rape. There's always an air of "what did you do to deserve it?" when you tell people that you were date raped.
I try not to think about it, but it was a very formative experience, occurring at a time when most young people are moving out of the family home and trying their wings for the first time. When they are beginning to forge their own path in this world, and to let go of their dependence on Mom and Dad and to live as adults themselves. I was in college, working hard. I was taking a full complement of classes, and was working three jobs; two at the college, and every shift I could pick up at the local movie theater. I had plans to move into my own place with a couple of friends, and we were looking forward to freedom. Looking forward to being adults on our own; and on our own terms.
And then, all of a sudden, I wasn't. I was frozen in place by the rape. Time stopped for me. I was scared to go out, scared to walk across the quad by myself. Checking the locks on the windows and doors compulsively, and imagining every shadow was closing in on me. I was never very self-confident to begin with, and after the rape, I had virtually nothing at all. No confidence, no energy, no bravery. It was all gone. He stole so much more than just sex from me. My safety, my sense of wonder, my sex. Never being thin to begin with, I began to hide under multiple layers of clothes until I looked as round as I was tall. Maybe all those layers would protect me, or at least discourage any other would-be attacker. I became asexual, hiding under layers, and behind a curtain of shaggy hair.
During the counseling session I had to attend before the abortion, the therapist postulated that maybe I "stay fat" because it's safe. That I deliberately try to make myself unattractive so that I'm not a target for other men, other predators. This used to make me sad, thinking that my dislike of myself was so strong that I would deliberately choose to alienate myself from the rest of the world through obesity. And then, one day, I thought, "Fuck you! I was fat WHEN I was raped! It didn't seem to matter so much to him!" And that's because rape isn't about attractiveness, it's about power and control. It's about being able to bend someone so totally to your will, whether it's through manipulation or aggression. In my case, it was a sneak attack, but the mind-screw that came with it afterward was sheer power through manipulation. So, not only did I get raped, I also got fucked over by the system, too. Being fat never made me feel safe. It still doesn't. It makes me feel unloveable and undervalued, but that's a whole other kettle of fish.
So, I've spent my time working this summer, concentrating on the class that I'm taking, and trying not to dwell on the things that usually pull me down into the mire around this time of year. Trying not to pity myself, and play the what-if game. Instead, I thank God for the things that I do have, and feel grateful that I made it through to the other side, rough though the journey was. It has shaped me, both for better and for worse. I try not to think about the child that never will be. And, most of all, I try to forgive myself and let go.
Those of you who have known me for any decent length of time know a little bit about my backstory; know a little bit about my past. You know that I raped when I was 20 years old. April and June are always hard months for me, because I tend to dwell on the rape and the aftermath. June is especially hard because I tend to give in to "what if"-itis -- that little mind-screw I do to myself where I obsess over the abortion and the child that would have resulted. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would she/he look like me, or like the rapist? Who would I be now? Who would the child be? Could I love it enough? Would I have kept it? Keeping myself from thinking about that child, who now be old enough to graduate from high school.
Probably the worst part of all of this is the guilt that I lay at my own doorstep in the whole sorry situation. I was raped by someone I knew, someone I was dating. And, for some people, "date rape" just doesn't register with them. Generally, these are the same people who don't think a man can rape his wife, simply because there's a history and a marriage certificate there, but that's neither here nor there. There is still a lot of stigma associated with rape, and especially with date rape. There's always an air of "what did you do to deserve it?" when you tell people that you were date raped.
I try not to think about it, but it was a very formative experience, occurring at a time when most young people are moving out of the family home and trying their wings for the first time. When they are beginning to forge their own path in this world, and to let go of their dependence on Mom and Dad and to live as adults themselves. I was in college, working hard. I was taking a full complement of classes, and was working three jobs; two at the college, and every shift I could pick up at the local movie theater. I had plans to move into my own place with a couple of friends, and we were looking forward to freedom. Looking forward to being adults on our own; and on our own terms.
And then, all of a sudden, I wasn't. I was frozen in place by the rape. Time stopped for me. I was scared to go out, scared to walk across the quad by myself. Checking the locks on the windows and doors compulsively, and imagining every shadow was closing in on me. I was never very self-confident to begin with, and after the rape, I had virtually nothing at all. No confidence, no energy, no bravery. It was all gone. He stole so much more than just sex from me. My safety, my sense of wonder, my sex. Never being thin to begin with, I began to hide under multiple layers of clothes until I looked as round as I was tall. Maybe all those layers would protect me, or at least discourage any other would-be attacker. I became asexual, hiding under layers, and behind a curtain of shaggy hair.
During the counseling session I had to attend before the abortion, the therapist postulated that maybe I "stay fat" because it's safe. That I deliberately try to make myself unattractive so that I'm not a target for other men, other predators. This used to make me sad, thinking that my dislike of myself was so strong that I would deliberately choose to alienate myself from the rest of the world through obesity. And then, one day, I thought, "Fuck you! I was fat WHEN I was raped! It didn't seem to matter so much to him!" And that's because rape isn't about attractiveness, it's about power and control. It's about being able to bend someone so totally to your will, whether it's through manipulation or aggression. In my case, it was a sneak attack, but the mind-screw that came with it afterward was sheer power through manipulation. So, not only did I get raped, I also got fucked over by the system, too. Being fat never made me feel safe. It still doesn't. It makes me feel unloveable and undervalued, but that's a whole other kettle of fish.
So, I've spent my time working this summer, concentrating on the class that I'm taking, and trying not to dwell on the things that usually pull me down into the mire around this time of year. Trying not to pity myself, and play the what-if game. Instead, I thank God for the things that I do have, and feel grateful that I made it through to the other side, rough though the journey was. It has shaped me, both for better and for worse. I try not to think about the child that never will be. And, most of all, I try to forgive myself and let go.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Whine/Anti-Whine
Some of you lovely people read the Wednesday Whine, a sort of blog-Brigadoon that I've been involved with for quite a while. Some of you are not familiar with the concept, so I'll (briefly) explain:
A long time ago, a delightful bloggy friend named Phantom Scribbler hosted a weekly bitch-fest at her personal blog. It was a place where friends could complain and commiserate with each other over the joys and flops in their lives. It became a task too heavy for lovely PS, who allowed a collection of moderators to take over the idea and give it its own home. WW, as it is familiarly known, has been a great community, and I've greatly enjoyed taking part in it.
But, since I am colossally lazy, I have decided to repost here my submission for the WW, and this will keep all of you three dear readers updated on what's going on here at Chez KLee. Here follows my tale, told in whine/anti-whine format.
--------------------------------------------------
W: I'm in a bad bad BAD situation at work. It hasn't been very much fun for several weeks. Tensions are high, and with only 2 days of school left, we're all testy and short tempered. But, most of the bad bad BAD situation makes me look bad to everyone else, even if that isn't actually the facts.
A/W: Got accepted back to school, so that mitigates some of the bad bad BAD stuff. I'm excited about it. It will allow me to mark off one of those things on my major "To Do" life lists.
W: Was supposed to have a scholarship to cover cost of tuition for Summer Term at said school, only to find a bill for almost 3K (that I seriously DON'T have) in the mail today. Uh.....guys?!? Hello?
A/W: If I am still going to school, it'll get my mom off my back. Plus, President Obama is urging people to further their education in times of economic crisis, so it's almost like I'm *helping!*
W: Am still sick. Not as sick as I was about a month ago, thank God. But, still sick. And, apparently, I now have high cholesterol, too. Thanks for that! Sickness involved almost accidentally overdosing on migraine drugs the other day, and a cyst on my neck that will have to be cut out at some point. Trying to save the day surgery for after school is done so I don't have to work or move during the recovery process.
A/W: At least I DIDN'T overdose, though I had double vision and serious nausea. And, I gotta figure that every day I'm not taking the Great Dirt Nap is a good day. So, yeah -- I'll count being alive among the anti-whines these days.
A long time ago, a delightful bloggy friend named Phantom Scribbler hosted a weekly bitch-fest at her personal blog. It was a place where friends could complain and commiserate with each other over the joys and flops in their lives. It became a task too heavy for lovely PS, who allowed a collection of moderators to take over the idea and give it its own home. WW, as it is familiarly known, has been a great community, and I've greatly enjoyed taking part in it.
But, since I am colossally lazy, I have decided to repost here my submission for the WW, and this will keep all of you three dear readers updated on what's going on here at Chez KLee. Here follows my tale, told in whine/anti-whine format.
--------------------------------------------------
W: I'm in a bad bad BAD situation at work. It hasn't been very much fun for several weeks. Tensions are high, and with only 2 days of school left, we're all testy and short tempered. But, most of the bad bad BAD situation makes me look bad to everyone else, even if that isn't actually the facts.
A/W: Got accepted back to school, so that mitigates some of the bad bad BAD stuff. I'm excited about it. It will allow me to mark off one of those things on my major "To Do" life lists.
W: Was supposed to have a scholarship to cover cost of tuition for Summer Term at said school, only to find a bill for almost 3K (that I seriously DON'T have) in the mail today. Uh.....guys?!? Hello?
A/W: If I am still going to school, it'll get my mom off my back. Plus, President Obama is urging people to further their education in times of economic crisis, so it's almost like I'm *helping!*
W: Am still sick. Not as sick as I was about a month ago, thank God. But, still sick. And, apparently, I now have high cholesterol, too. Thanks for that! Sickness involved almost accidentally overdosing on migraine drugs the other day, and a cyst on my neck that will have to be cut out at some point. Trying to save the day surgery for after school is done so I don't have to work or move during the recovery process.
A/W: At least I DIDN'T overdose, though I had double vision and serious nausea. And, I gotta figure that every day I'm not taking the Great Dirt Nap is a good day. So, yeah -- I'll count being alive among the anti-whines these days.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Sick
I woke up this morning at 4:14am to a raging migraine. While this was distressing, the worst of it is that I had just been to the doctor on Monday to complain about headache pain. I've been having a low-grade chronic headache for about a month, which scares the bejeezus out of me.
The doc has me taking what is actually an anti-seizure medication, but which has been used successfully to minimize migraine symptoms and severity. I've been taking the meds for 2 days now. Not even hardly enough time to get into the bloodstream, much less do me any good.
So, the migraine this morning. It was bad. Really bad. Contemplating going-to-the-hospital sort of bad. I took meds, which didn't help, and I vomited for about three hours straight. Now my throat is raw, and my whole body hurts from heaving.
I called in sick to work, which I'm *sure* earned me brownie points because we are currently undergoing standardized testing, and need every available body. Never mind the fact that I couldn't even function until early this afternoon, much less work and help administer an exam.
I hate being sick. I hate migraines.
The doc has me taking what is actually an anti-seizure medication, but which has been used successfully to minimize migraine symptoms and severity. I've been taking the meds for 2 days now. Not even hardly enough time to get into the bloodstream, much less do me any good.
So, the migraine this morning. It was bad. Really bad. Contemplating going-to-the-hospital sort of bad. I took meds, which didn't help, and I vomited for about three hours straight. Now my throat is raw, and my whole body hurts from heaving.
I called in sick to work, which I'm *sure* earned me brownie points because we are currently undergoing standardized testing, and need every available body. Never mind the fact that I couldn't even function until early this afternoon, much less work and help administer an exam.
I hate being sick. I hate migraines.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Switching Teams
I just read the amazing news that Senator Arlen Specter has switched his allegiance from the Republican to the Democratic party. His reasons for the move, he says, were due to increasing disagreement with viewpoints within his own party. Specter also said that he thought he would find it hard to be reelected, what with all the conservatives that are making up the Republican party these days.
What I find most stunning of all, though, was the quote from Republican Senate Party Leader Mitch McConnell. His opinion on the matter? He said, "... the switch posed a 'threat to the country', and "really relates to ... whether or not in the United States of America our people want the majority party to have whatever it wants, without restraint, without a check or balance."
Huh? You mean like what America has suffered under Bush for the last eight years? Including a war that's killing thousands of American lives and costing a mint -- the war that no one WANTS, and that most of the rest of the world's nations condemn us for? Or, maybe you meant floating asinine home loans to every Tom, Dick, and under-qualified Harry in the lower 48? The loans that caused our economy to go "BOOM!" and necessitate an astronomical bailout so company bigwigs can keep their golden parachutes while John Q. Public and his family try to make ends meet with less and just PRAY they don't get sick because they no longer have any health insurance? Man, that would just suck, wouldn't it?
-----------------------------
You know, generally, I'm not a political person. I tend to think most politicians are a bunch of snake-oil salesmen. But, I think we Americans suffered a lot under the tenure of the last eight years' administration, and I'm praying we can paper-clip, rubber band, and chewing gum our proud nation back together. I hold no ill will towards anyone who might be of a Republican bent, or any other persuasion. I have Republican friends and family members who feel very much in the minority these days. It's not so much about dissing you Republicans, and your core values, because most "more liberal" people have them, too. But, it IS time for another generation to have a shot at running the whole ball of wax. And it's okay that it's not just another WASP-y white guy whom most of the nation feels disenfranchised with. We need someone who believes that it's okay if gay people want to be married, or to provide health care for those who are sorely in need of it. Someone who helps pull our economy out of the toilet. Someone who understands that taxing the poor people the MOST, while taxing the wealthy the LEAST make *no sense whatsover.* Someone who can make America a good friend at the world's table again. We certainly need it.
What I find most stunning of all, though, was the quote from Republican Senate Party Leader Mitch McConnell. His opinion on the matter? He said, "... the switch posed a 'threat to the country', and "really relates to ... whether or not in the United States of America our people want the majority party to have whatever it wants, without restraint, without a check or balance."
Huh? You mean like what America has suffered under Bush for the last eight years? Including a war that's killing thousands of American lives and costing a mint -- the war that no one WANTS, and that most of the rest of the world's nations condemn us for? Or, maybe you meant floating asinine home loans to every Tom, Dick, and under-qualified Harry in the lower 48? The loans that caused our economy to go "BOOM!" and necessitate an astronomical bailout so company bigwigs can keep their golden parachutes while John Q. Public and his family try to make ends meet with less and just PRAY they don't get sick because they no longer have any health insurance? Man, that would just suck, wouldn't it?
-----------------------------
You know, generally, I'm not a political person. I tend to think most politicians are a bunch of snake-oil salesmen. But, I think we Americans suffered a lot under the tenure of the last eight years' administration, and I'm praying we can paper-clip, rubber band, and chewing gum our proud nation back together. I hold no ill will towards anyone who might be of a Republican bent, or any other persuasion. I have Republican friends and family members who feel very much in the minority these days. It's not so much about dissing you Republicans, and your core values, because most "more liberal" people have them, too. But, it IS time for another generation to have a shot at running the whole ball of wax. And it's okay that it's not just another WASP-y white guy whom most of the nation feels disenfranchised with. We need someone who believes that it's okay if gay people want to be married, or to provide health care for those who are sorely in need of it. Someone who helps pull our economy out of the toilet. Someone who understands that taxing the poor people the MOST, while taxing the wealthy the LEAST make *no sense whatsover.* Someone who can make America a good friend at the world's table again. We certainly need it.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
A Teenager At Last!
My baby turns 13 at 10:31 tomorrow morning. It seems hard to fathom that 13 years have flown by in what seems like just a blink of an eye. It seems like yesterday that she was a newborn. How fast it has gone!
I've always said that Offspring seems to be ahead of the curve -- she met a lot of milestones early, and she's been early with most things since -- and we started the teen years, attitude-wise, at about 11 and a half. But, now it's really here. 13. Wow.
She's not a baby anymore, and hasn't been for quite some time. We tease her about stuff she used to do back when she "was cute" or back when she "used to love us", but the truth is we still think she's pretty darn cute, and even if she doesn't like us much every now and then, I'm pretty sure she still loves us. Of course, this picture shows that sullen, "WHAT?!?" side of her, but you know what I mean. I chose this picture because it's the most recent that isn't from so far away.
She's changed a lot from the clingy toddler that she used to be. I no longer have to pry myself away from her; instead, I have to beg her to tell me something, ANYTHING, about her life. I have to wheedle more than the standard "nothin' much" out of her when I ask what happened at school. Much like most parents of teenagers, I would assume.
I often bug her, and embarrass her endlessly when I act in a way that is not Offspring-approved in front of her friends. In fact, just to bedevil her, when she says "Don't touch me.", that sparks off a furious round of me touching her as many times as I can before she goes all Norman Bates on me. Usually while I say, "Touch, touch, touch...." in a monotone voice, which irritates the ears as well as all the places I've poked.
She may be moody and tempermental, but she's all mine. Happy birthday, baby! Now go out and get a job before you nickel-and-dime me to death!
Seriously, though -- I love you. Happy Birthday.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Ho Ho Ho!
For those of you that celebrate Christmas, I hope you get everything you are wishing for -- both materially, but more importantly, personally and spiritually. For my friends of other faiths, may you be happy, healthy, and fulfilled.
Thank you for spending time with me here, and thank you for all the love and support that you give me. I appreciate you all more than you can ever know. I send you all the best for the holiday season, and hopes for a joyous and prosperous 2009. May your lives be filled with joy, your hearts with love, and may your burdens be light.
Thank you for spending time with me here, and thank you for all the love and support that you give me. I appreciate you all more than you can ever know. I send you all the best for the holiday season, and hopes for a joyous and prosperous 2009. May your lives be filled with joy, your hearts with love, and may your burdens be light.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Break Out The Peppermint Schnapps-- School's Over!
In honor of the momentous occasion of two paid weeks off from work *and* no rambunctious little charges to herd like a farmer, I give you a Christmas-themed meme.
I don't remember were I got this from. Either I stole it from one of the people I read, or I stole it from one of the people THEY read. Or, maybe I got it as a mass-email and decided it would be good blog fodder. In any case, here you go!
----------------------------------
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
I actually LIKE wrapping presents. However, there are always those oddly-shaped items that you have to resort to a bag for. I typically do NOT use bags for Juggling Freak and Offspring simply because they are peekers. I thought that Hallmark’s motion-activated gift bags this year would be a great solution for the Incredibly Sneaky-Peeky Duo, but the cat would most likely set it off at 3 in the morning, and I’d have to kill her.
2. Real tree or artificial?
Real trees are best, especially for the scent, but they’re so messy. We got an artificial when Offspring was small, and we’ve used an artificial ever since.
3. When do you put up the tree?
Juggling Freak is a total Scrooge who refuses to do one single iota of Christmas decorating until it is actually December. Usually, we do the tree on the first weekend of December.
4. When do you take the tree down?
As soon as I can fully admit to myself that the holiday is once again over. (sigh.)
5. Do you like egg nog?
Blargh! No. I’ll repeat my answer from last year’s meme – drinking eggnog is like saying you want to get a little drunk, but you also want some pancakes.
6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I have a few that I remember quite fondly. I had a plastic cow that drank water and you could then milk a very watery, white “milk” from her plastic udders. It was probably made in China and highly toxic, but it was the 70s, and no one thought about stuff like that then.
7. Hardest person to buy for?
My parents. My mother has absolutely EVERYTHING, and my father gets harder to buy for each year.
8. Easiest person to buy for?
Offspring. I am usually pretty well versed on what is or is not to her taste. Though, as she gets older, she gets harder to buy for. It’s not all toys and dolls anymore.
9. Do you have a nativity scene?
No. The one I used to have was made out of glass, and the blasted cat shattered some of the pieces years back. However, we do have several Playmobil advent calendars, which are lots of fun.
10. Have you ever recycled a Christmas gift?
Yes. Usually stuff that I get from students, because really – how many lotions from Bath and Body Works does one REALLY need?
11. Lights on a Christmas Tree?
Hells, yeah! The more the better, in my opinion! Juggling Freak says that I like so many lights on the tree that you can get a tan by sitting by it.
12. When do you start shopping?
I sort of look around all year long, and will very occasionally pick up the odd gift on vacation somewhere new. I tend to start shopping more in depth in early November.
13. Favorite Christmas song?
Lately, “Breath of Heaven” by Amy Grant, though I am also partial to “The Holly and the Ivy” by Bing Crosby.
14. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Praline cookies, also known locally as “Christmas Crack.” It’s THAT addictive!
15. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Are you seriously asking ME this question?!? Mail, and all handmade cards! Just did 12 cards and a gift card holder on Saturday!
16. Worst Christmas gift you received?
Hm. I don’t think I’ve had a really BAD gift, unless you count the horrid Christmas sweaters I used to get in childhood that looked like they were picked by blind shut-in maiden aunts.
17. Favorite Christmas movie?
A Christmas Story! How can you resist “Fra-gee-lay” and Ralphie eating Lifebouy?
18. Travel at Christmas or stay at home?
I like to stay home, but we usually travel, if only the half-hour all the way across town to my mother’s. We try to go to CityOfMyBirth to see all my father and grandmother, but it’s not always possible.
19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer?
Of course. I have to teach them to my students every year. I’d be in a real pickle if I didn’t know them.
2o. Angel on top of tree, or star?
Neither. We have a replica of Disney World’s Cinderella Castle, complete with Cinderella. We’re Disney slaves.
21. Open gifts Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?
As a child, we were always allowed to choose one present to open on Christmas Eve, and then all the rest on Christmas morning. As an adult, we have so many relatives to see that we do Christmas Eve at my mother’s house, our own Christmas on Christmas Day morning, and then head over to my mother-in-law’s. My father and my father-in-law are fitted in wherever possible.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
People who knock others over in their haste to get to the best deals. I once saw a woman snatch a Tickle-Me-Elmo out of a little girl’s hands. Sad, really. This year, I saw one woman punch another in the face for stealing her parking place that she was waiting for.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color?
I don’t do the theme or one-color thing. I like to have a multi-colored tree, and I put as many of the special ornaments as I can fit on the tree on there.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
My mother-in-law is FAMOUS for not being able to cook, so we’ve gone to a local Japanese restaurant on Christmas Day for the last 10 years or so. It started off because they were the only thing open, but now it’s become something we look forward to.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year?
Personally, I’d like to lose weight and be healthier. And, I’d like more love for our planet and less war and strife. On a more selfish note, I’ve asked for lots of crafting stuff, and some good books. Otherwise, I want my family to be happy with the things that I’ve gotten them. The giving is the more fun part -- I like watching other people’s reactions more than I like getting things for me.
I don't remember were I got this from. Either I stole it from one of the people I read, or I stole it from one of the people THEY read. Or, maybe I got it as a mass-email and decided it would be good blog fodder. In any case, here you go!
----------------------------------
1. Wrapping paper or gift bags?
I actually LIKE wrapping presents. However, there are always those oddly-shaped items that you have to resort to a bag for. I typically do NOT use bags for Juggling Freak and Offspring simply because they are peekers. I thought that Hallmark’s motion-activated gift bags this year would be a great solution for the Incredibly Sneaky-Peeky Duo, but the cat would most likely set it off at 3 in the morning, and I’d have to kill her.
2. Real tree or artificial?
Real trees are best, especially for the scent, but they’re so messy. We got an artificial when Offspring was small, and we’ve used an artificial ever since.
3. When do you put up the tree?
Juggling Freak is a total Scrooge who refuses to do one single iota of Christmas decorating until it is actually December. Usually, we do the tree on the first weekend of December.
4. When do you take the tree down?
As soon as I can fully admit to myself that the holiday is once again over. (sigh.)
5. Do you like egg nog?
Blargh! No. I’ll repeat my answer from last year’s meme – drinking eggnog is like saying you want to get a little drunk, but you also want some pancakes.
6. Favorite gift received as a child?
I have a few that I remember quite fondly. I had a plastic cow that drank water and you could then milk a very watery, white “milk” from her plastic udders. It was probably made in China and highly toxic, but it was the 70s, and no one thought about stuff like that then.
7. Hardest person to buy for?
My parents. My mother has absolutely EVERYTHING, and my father gets harder to buy for each year.
8. Easiest person to buy for?
Offspring. I am usually pretty well versed on what is or is not to her taste. Though, as she gets older, she gets harder to buy for. It’s not all toys and dolls anymore.
9. Do you have a nativity scene?
No. The one I used to have was made out of glass, and the blasted cat shattered some of the pieces years back. However, we do have several Playmobil advent calendars, which are lots of fun.
10. Have you ever recycled a Christmas gift?
Yes. Usually stuff that I get from students, because really – how many lotions from Bath and Body Works does one REALLY need?
11. Lights on a Christmas Tree?
Hells, yeah! The more the better, in my opinion! Juggling Freak says that I like so many lights on the tree that you can get a tan by sitting by it.
12. When do you start shopping?
I sort of look around all year long, and will very occasionally pick up the odd gift on vacation somewhere new. I tend to start shopping more in depth in early November.
13. Favorite Christmas song?
Lately, “Breath of Heaven” by Amy Grant, though I am also partial to “The Holly and the Ivy” by Bing Crosby.
14. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas?
Praline cookies, also known locally as “Christmas Crack.” It’s THAT addictive!
15. Mail or email Christmas cards?
Are you seriously asking ME this question?!? Mail, and all handmade cards! Just did 12 cards and a gift card holder on Saturday!
16. Worst Christmas gift you received?
Hm. I don’t think I’ve had a really BAD gift, unless you count the horrid Christmas sweaters I used to get in childhood that looked like they were picked by blind shut-in maiden aunts.
17. Favorite Christmas movie?
A Christmas Story! How can you resist “Fra-gee-lay” and Ralphie eating Lifebouy?
18. Travel at Christmas or stay at home?
I like to stay home, but we usually travel, if only the half-hour all the way across town to my mother’s. We try to go to CityOfMyBirth to see all my father and grandmother, but it’s not always possible.
19. Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer?
Of course. I have to teach them to my students every year. I’d be in a real pickle if I didn’t know them.
2o. Angel on top of tree, or star?
Neither. We have a replica of Disney World’s Cinderella Castle, complete with Cinderella. We’re Disney slaves.
21. Open gifts Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?
As a child, we were always allowed to choose one present to open on Christmas Eve, and then all the rest on Christmas morning. As an adult, we have so many relatives to see that we do Christmas Eve at my mother’s house, our own Christmas on Christmas Day morning, and then head over to my mother-in-law’s. My father and my father-in-law are fitted in wherever possible.
22. Most annoying thing about this time of year?
People who knock others over in their haste to get to the best deals. I once saw a woman snatch a Tickle-Me-Elmo out of a little girl’s hands. Sad, really. This year, I saw one woman punch another in the face for stealing her parking place that she was waiting for.
23. Favorite ornament theme or color?
I don’t do the theme or one-color thing. I like to have a multi-colored tree, and I put as many of the special ornaments as I can fit on the tree on there.
24. Favorite for Christmas dinner?
My mother-in-law is FAMOUS for not being able to cook, so we’ve gone to a local Japanese restaurant on Christmas Day for the last 10 years or so. It started off because they were the only thing open, but now it’s become something we look forward to.
25. What do you want for Christmas this year?
Personally, I’d like to lose weight and be healthier. And, I’d like more love for our planet and less war and strife. On a more selfish note, I’ve asked for lots of crafting stuff, and some good books. Otherwise, I want my family to be happy with the things that I’ve gotten them. The giving is the more fun part -- I like watching other people’s reactions more than I like getting things for me.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Should I?
Or, alternately titled: "My Husband Reserves the Right To Say 'I Told You So.'"
I got an interesting proposition that I want to share with you, and in turn, pick your collective brains about. Most of you who've been reading my blog for a while know that I spent 6 years as a Girl Scout Leader. For anyone other than those three loyal, longtime readers, I spent 6 years as a Girl Scout Leader. My troop went kaflooey in a rather spectacular manner two years ago. It was all a lot of histrionic, middle-school bull that got drawn WAAAY out of proportion, with my family cast as the villains. This was, in no way, close to actual fact. My troop folded, and I've continued volunteering as an adult with my local area, and as a parent in the troop I asked for my daughter to be placed in.
At our adult meeting Tuesday evening, I was approached by someone at our local office who told me that there is tremendous interest for a Daisy troop at my school. Daisies are the youngest level of Scouting, the kindergarten (and now, since the big age-level reorganization) first grade girls. Since, this is the age I teach, and at the very school where most of the interest lies, I was approached as possible leadership for this troop.
Now, there are plenty of pros and cons.
Pros:
*I could ease back into leadership this way.
*I already have a possible co-leader lined up.
*It would be very convenient for me, personally, to meet at my workplace.
*It's an age that I'm VERY familiar with, and so is my potential co-leader.
*There are a lot less "woes" working with the younger girls -- pretty much everyone is happy to be part of the program, and there's not the middle-school attitude to contend with.
*My Girl Scouting mentor did Daisy leadership for YEARS, so I have a good source of ideas and tips at the ready.
*I've been a leader for years, so it's not like it would be ALL new to me.
*Daisies is a two-year program, and I have the option to stay where I am, and have the girls move on without me. This would mean new blood every two years at the most.
*Daisies is a more hands-on, crafting, having fun version of Scouting than some of the other levels, where it's go-go-go all the time.
*My principal has given permission to have meetings in our school buildings. (You would not believe how many schools/principals *don't* allow this!) This is already one dilemma off my back.
*Offspring could help me out occasionally, and could even earn her Program Aide status this way.
Cons:
*Parents. You can never predict if you're gonna get the good ones, or the bad ones.
*Still a possibility for not-so-likeable girls, but possibilities for those are lower the younger the girls are.
*Taking over a leadership role would mean more time away from my family, and more training classes.
*Paperwork out the wazoo, on top of the paperwork that I already keep track of for my local area.
*Cookies. It's a hassle when it's my own daughter, but they're letting Daisies sell cookies this year.
*If I decide to do it, can I get it up and rolling before the new year? If I can't, should we still sell cookies? The order-taking starts in January, so it would be cutting it close.
*It's a lot of work, and can be physically exhausting.
*If I don't do it, these girls probably won't get placed until late spring, at the earliest. A more realistic expectation would be that we lose them entirely, because we have no one willing to step up into the leadership role. I would hate for that to happen.
*Little to no parental help is a distinct possibility. Since we work in an economically disadvantaged school, we are more likely to have parents who either cannot afford to help, or just plain don't want to help. This may mean more personal, out-of-pocket expenses for me. Though, I do not mind doing that AT ALL if the girls benefit.
So, what do you think? Should I take the plunge?I had a lot of heartache with my old troop, but they were much older, and all awash with tween angst and hormones galore. There's no guarantees that there would be a repeat of last time, but there's also nothing to indicate that they'll be angels, either. Anytime you undertake a venture like this, you run the risk of having it all not turn out anything like you planned. But, I think with a good friend who has my back as co-leader; and with girls I'm most likely familiar with already -- maybe it wouldn't be a total disaster.
Am I mental for even considering it? I liked being a leader. I liked teaching girls all about the program, and watching them grow stronger within themselves with the good foundation that Scouting gives them. I like watching them learn, and knowing that I helped them. I did not like all the drama and hurt feelings with my last troop. I really disliked having my daughter exposed to all that: drama, hurt feelings, and maligned and slandered parents. It was almost worse for her, because she not only lost her troop, but she lost her innocence with Scouting as well. She saw people for the manipulative sneaks that they were, and at the cost of her parents' reputations. And it was not pretty.
Should I expose myself, and my family, to all of that again? Is it worth it?
I got an interesting proposition that I want to share with you, and in turn, pick your collective brains about. Most of you who've been reading my blog for a while know that I spent 6 years as a Girl Scout Leader. For anyone other than those three loyal, longtime readers, I spent 6 years as a Girl Scout Leader. My troop went kaflooey in a rather spectacular manner two years ago. It was all a lot of histrionic, middle-school bull that got drawn WAAAY out of proportion, with my family cast as the villains. This was, in no way, close to actual fact. My troop folded, and I've continued volunteering as an adult with my local area, and as a parent in the troop I asked for my daughter to be placed in.
At our adult meeting Tuesday evening, I was approached by someone at our local office who told me that there is tremendous interest for a Daisy troop at my school. Daisies are the youngest level of Scouting, the kindergarten (and now, since the big age-level reorganization) first grade girls. Since, this is the age I teach, and at the very school where most of the interest lies, I was approached as possible leadership for this troop.
Now, there are plenty of pros and cons.
Pros:
*I could ease back into leadership this way.
*I already have a possible co-leader lined up.
*It would be very convenient for me, personally, to meet at my workplace.
*It's an age that I'm VERY familiar with, and so is my potential co-leader.
*There are a lot less "woes" working with the younger girls -- pretty much everyone is happy to be part of the program, and there's not the middle-school attitude to contend with.
*My Girl Scouting mentor did Daisy leadership for YEARS, so I have a good source of ideas and tips at the ready.
*I've been a leader for years, so it's not like it would be ALL new to me.
*Daisies is a two-year program, and I have the option to stay where I am, and have the girls move on without me. This would mean new blood every two years at the most.
*Daisies is a more hands-on, crafting, having fun version of Scouting than some of the other levels, where it's go-go-go all the time.
*My principal has given permission to have meetings in our school buildings. (You would not believe how many schools/principals *don't* allow this!) This is already one dilemma off my back.
*Offspring could help me out occasionally, and could even earn her Program Aide status this way.
Cons:
*Parents. You can never predict if you're gonna get the good ones, or the bad ones.
*Still a possibility for not-so-likeable girls, but possibilities for those are lower the younger the girls are.
*Taking over a leadership role would mean more time away from my family, and more training classes.
*Paperwork out the wazoo, on top of the paperwork that I already keep track of for my local area.
*Cookies. It's a hassle when it's my own daughter, but they're letting Daisies sell cookies this year.
*If I decide to do it, can I get it up and rolling before the new year? If I can't, should we still sell cookies? The order-taking starts in January, so it would be cutting it close.
*It's a lot of work, and can be physically exhausting.
*If I don't do it, these girls probably won't get placed until late spring, at the earliest. A more realistic expectation would be that we lose them entirely, because we have no one willing to step up into the leadership role. I would hate for that to happen.
*Little to no parental help is a distinct possibility. Since we work in an economically disadvantaged school, we are more likely to have parents who either cannot afford to help, or just plain don't want to help. This may mean more personal, out-of-pocket expenses for me. Though, I do not mind doing that AT ALL if the girls benefit.
So, what do you think? Should I take the plunge?I had a lot of heartache with my old troop, but they were much older, and all awash with tween angst and hormones galore. There's no guarantees that there would be a repeat of last time, but there's also nothing to indicate that they'll be angels, either. Anytime you undertake a venture like this, you run the risk of having it all not turn out anything like you planned. But, I think with a good friend who has my back as co-leader; and with girls I'm most likely familiar with already -- maybe it wouldn't be a total disaster.
Am I mental for even considering it? I liked being a leader. I liked teaching girls all about the program, and watching them grow stronger within themselves with the good foundation that Scouting gives them. I like watching them learn, and knowing that I helped them. I did not like all the drama and hurt feelings with my last troop. I really disliked having my daughter exposed to all that: drama, hurt feelings, and maligned and slandered parents. It was almost worse for her, because she not only lost her troop, but she lost her innocence with Scouting as well. She saw people for the manipulative sneaks that they were, and at the cost of her parents' reputations. And it was not pretty.
Should I expose myself, and my family, to all of that again? Is it worth it?
Friday, November 07, 2008
So It Begins
You know, I knew there was always going to be a section of the populace that was going to be unhappy, no matter which way the election turned out. Obama supporters would have been outraged at the thought that America was still stuck in the Dark Ages where a black man wasn't fit to run the nation, and subject to four more years of George Bush-style foreign policy and tanking economy; and McCain supporters are all up in arms, declaring that America is now headed by a "terrorist" and that we're all going to hell in a Muslim handbasket.
I live in a red state. And, not just a *red* red state -- my state is so red that it makes scarlet look like pink. Most of the counties in my state went for McCain. Here and there, there were pockets of seditious blue, but McCain carried my state quite handily. I never really thought Obama would actually WIN the state, but I thought he might do fairly well in large metropolitan areas. This proved so in a few cases, and not everyone was happy about it.
Two guys planned to go on a spree, killing African Americans and culminating in an Obama assassination attempt, all while wearing white tuxedos and top hats? Yeah, this is a real *sensible* way to state that you're a mite unhappy with a black president. Instead of discussing ways to get involved with your community and help make a difference, we'll just kill the guy we don't like because he's different. When has it become an option that *murder* is a viable means of expressing your discontent?
There's also a story that's been circulating, not only in this part of the country, but I happened to see it mentioned on the Daily Kos as well. It seems that a small town pediatrician sent an email to her staff -- she was very unhappy with what she saw as their lack of a proper work ethic -- but in it, she calls Obama "evil incarnate." Man, I didn't know he was THAT powerful as to be the living embodiment of the forces of darkness.
What in hell is *WRONG* with people?!? I mean, I'll admit I wasn't all totally gung-ho about some of Obama's policies and past associations, but I would have not been happy with a McCain assassination plan, either. Marni had a great philosophy that she told her daughter: "I told Bug that we may/may not like who was elected, but we have to look at the bigger picture. He IS our President and we should support him no matter what. We may/may not agree with what he wants to do, but we are all Americans and he is now the leader of this country."
That's the kind of stuff we need. We need people who are willing to go on, and accept change, even though it may not be what you want, and even though it may not have been what you would have chosen for yourself. I'm not saying that you have to become a fan overnight, but at least give the man a chance.
I live in a red state. And, not just a *red* red state -- my state is so red that it makes scarlet look like pink. Most of the counties in my state went for McCain. Here and there, there were pockets of seditious blue, but McCain carried my state quite handily. I never really thought Obama would actually WIN the state, but I thought he might do fairly well in large metropolitan areas. This proved so in a few cases, and not everyone was happy about it.
Two guys planned to go on a spree, killing African Americans and culminating in an Obama assassination attempt, all while wearing white tuxedos and top hats? Yeah, this is a real *sensible* way to state that you're a mite unhappy with a black president. Instead of discussing ways to get involved with your community and help make a difference, we'll just kill the guy we don't like because he's different. When has it become an option that *murder* is a viable means of expressing your discontent?
There's also a story that's been circulating, not only in this part of the country, but I happened to see it mentioned on the Daily Kos as well. It seems that a small town pediatrician sent an email to her staff -- she was very unhappy with what she saw as their lack of a proper work ethic -- but in it, she calls Obama "evil incarnate." Man, I didn't know he was THAT powerful as to be the living embodiment of the forces of darkness.
What in hell is *WRONG* with people?!? I mean, I'll admit I wasn't all totally gung-ho about some of Obama's policies and past associations, but I would have not been happy with a McCain assassination plan, either. Marni had a great philosophy that she told her daughter: "I told Bug that we may/may not like who was elected, but we have to look at the bigger picture. He IS our President and we should support him no matter what. We may/may not agree with what he wants to do, but we are all Americans and he is now the leader of this country."
That's the kind of stuff we need. We need people who are willing to go on, and accept change, even though it may not be what you want, and even though it may not have been what you would have chosen for yourself. I'm not saying that you have to become a fan overnight, but at least give the man a chance.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The Pendulum Swings
Cruising through the TV channels yesterday after work, I noticed that Dr. Phil was doing a show featuring "helicopter parents." The question he asked was: Do we, as parents, let our children have no freedom at all, or do we stand back and let them do everything on their own?
The answer, in my opinion, is neither. You have to walk a fine line between the two. If you let your child have no rules, no boundaries at all, they grow up thinking that they have to follow no rules at all -- either that of adults or of society. That's not a realistic expectation. If you go the other extreme, however, you run the risk of having a child become secretive to hide the "forbidden" behaviors you've driven them into. That's the reason why we have the stereotype of the preacher's daughter -- denied all the fun and taboo things in life, so they rebel and are (a lot of the time) the wildest kids around. Now, for all my preacher friends out there, I'm not talking about YOUR kids. :)
Dr. Phil also had a mother on who has taken a lot of flack in the press recently -- a mother who let her 9 year old son find his way home, alone, from Bloomingdale's. Now, some key points of this particular story (for those of you who don't know of it and live under a rock, or something) are: the child had ASKED to do this sort of activity for a while; the parents discussed it beforehand, and decided it was feasible; the child was not *abandoned* -- he had a city map, a subway Metro card, and $20. As an aside, I would be interested to know whether or not he had a cell phone with him in case of emergency, but we're not told if he has one or not. The mother took the boy to Bloomingdale's, and the child had to find his way home from there. The parents looked at his abilities, and decided that this was something that thought that not only he was CAPABLE of doing, but also SHOULD do so that he would be better able to navigate the city and find his way around.
The mother has gotten bushels of hate mail, saying she's the 'worst Mom in America.' Why would you think she was a terrible mother for giving her child the freedom to explore and learn how to do things on his own? If you never let a child out of your sight, they'll either grow up terribly repressed and run like hell the moment they get any freedom at all, or they will be so stunted as to not know how to deal with other people and with any obstacles that life throws at them. I'm not saying that you should take your kid from East Podunk, Missouri and drop them off in the big city with a ten spot and a map -- that would be completely irresponsible.
What we're talking about here is letting children have some freedoms within reason. How many of you played outside all day when you were younger? People my age ought to remember playing outside without parental supervision -- I remember my mother telling me that I had to be home either by the time the street lights came on, or when she called us for dinner. I was a bookworm as a child (still am, really) and my mother would take away my books and send me outside as *punishment!* I had to go out and find something to do. Ride my bike, go to the playground, find a friend... We've gotten so scared of horrible things happening to our kids that we can't IMAGINE sending them outside all day long. There's something very sad about that. No one wants their kids to be hurt, abducted, or worse, God forbid, but we can't wrap them in Bubble Wrap and closet them away forever. If we never let anything happen to them, nothing will ever happen to them. And, not only will they be totally unprepared to take on obstacles when they're older, they'll also be too frightened to take on new tasks and expect us to bail them out should the slightest thing go wrong.
The answer, in my opinion, is neither. You have to walk a fine line between the two. If you let your child have no rules, no boundaries at all, they grow up thinking that they have to follow no rules at all -- either that of adults or of society. That's not a realistic expectation. If you go the other extreme, however, you run the risk of having a child become secretive to hide the "forbidden" behaviors you've driven them into. That's the reason why we have the stereotype of the preacher's daughter -- denied all the fun and taboo things in life, so they rebel and are (a lot of the time) the wildest kids around. Now, for all my preacher friends out there, I'm not talking about YOUR kids. :)
Dr. Phil also had a mother on who has taken a lot of flack in the press recently -- a mother who let her 9 year old son find his way home, alone, from Bloomingdale's. Now, some key points of this particular story (for those of you who don't know of it and live under a rock, or something) are: the child had ASKED to do this sort of activity for a while; the parents discussed it beforehand, and decided it was feasible; the child was not *abandoned* -- he had a city map, a subway Metro card, and $20. As an aside, I would be interested to know whether or not he had a cell phone with him in case of emergency, but we're not told if he has one or not. The mother took the boy to Bloomingdale's, and the child had to find his way home from there. The parents looked at his abilities, and decided that this was something that thought that not only he was CAPABLE of doing, but also SHOULD do so that he would be better able to navigate the city and find his way around.
The mother has gotten bushels of hate mail, saying she's the 'worst Mom in America.' Why would you think she was a terrible mother for giving her child the freedom to explore and learn how to do things on his own? If you never let a child out of your sight, they'll either grow up terribly repressed and run like hell the moment they get any freedom at all, or they will be so stunted as to not know how to deal with other people and with any obstacles that life throws at them. I'm not saying that you should take your kid from East Podunk, Missouri and drop them off in the big city with a ten spot and a map -- that would be completely irresponsible.
What we're talking about here is letting children have some freedoms within reason. How many of you played outside all day when you were younger? People my age ought to remember playing outside without parental supervision -- I remember my mother telling me that I had to be home either by the time the street lights came on, or when she called us for dinner. I was a bookworm as a child (still am, really) and my mother would take away my books and send me outside as *punishment!* I had to go out and find something to do. Ride my bike, go to the playground, find a friend... We've gotten so scared of horrible things happening to our kids that we can't IMAGINE sending them outside all day long. There's something very sad about that. No one wants their kids to be hurt, abducted, or worse, God forbid, but we can't wrap them in Bubble Wrap and closet them away forever. If we never let anything happen to them, nothing will ever happen to them. And, not only will they be totally unprepared to take on obstacles when they're older, they'll also be too frightened to take on new tasks and expect us to bail them out should the slightest thing go wrong.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Just Gone
We have our actual cat, Lotus, whom we adopted when Offspring was a little over two years old. Then came the extras. Offspring was small, maybe about four when the first extra started showing up. He was this humongous gray cat who was lovable like a teddy bear. Offspring, in her childlike wisdom, named him Grady.
Grady weighed about 25 pounds, but none of it was fat. He was all muscle, and loved to hunt. We marveled at the time we watched him chase some poor hapless creature up the small tree in the neighbor's yard. The blue jays -- who are very territorial -- chased him all over the yard one afternoon, angry because he was too near their area. Grady was obviously just humoring them until he wearied of the game. The blue jays swooped down on him one too many times; two followed him into a nearby bush, but only one came out.
Grady always presented himself when you opened the front door in the mornings, twining around your ankles in search of pettings and food. Our main computer sits in our living room beside the picture window, and he would climb up and stare in at you with baleful eyes, for those pettings and food. He had a sissy-sounding meow for such a large cat.
We figured he'd been someone's pet at some point, since he was neutered, and seemed healthy. He wore no tags; had no collar. He roamed the neighborhood, charming all the residents. We were not the only house that laid a food bowl out for him, and our other extra who joined him a year or so later.
About two months ago, we noticed that Grady had a lump on his left shoulder, right where the leg socket meets the feline torso. At first, we thought it was just a clump of matted fur from where he'd gotten brushed with some pine sap that had hardened. We didn't give it much thought. But, as time went by, that lump got larger. It didn't seem to distress him -- he didn't howl when you touched it, and it didn't seem to pain him or interfere with his walking. We debated on what to do about it. We couldn't afford a trip to the vet. We could probably barely afford it if one of us got sick, much less an expensive vet's bill. The last time we took him to the vet it ended up costing us $580 that we didn't have then, and are still paying off.
By the middle of August, though... that lump was so large that it WAS affecting his walking, and he began squealing when you tried to hold him, something he'd never done before. We began to despair a little more every time we saw him.
We agonized over what to do. Do we put ourselves into further debt, and take him to the vet? Do we try and find a local animal hospital to take him as a charity case? Should we try the local, no-kill rescue group? Do we take him to the Humane Society, who, despite the name, will surely euthanize him? JF cried for days, the hurt for this lovable animal taken in as if it were his own pain. I tried researching animal rescue groups, but there were none near enough, and no one out there who wanted a sick animal for nothing in return. JF called the no-kill place time and time again, begging them to get Grady some help. They hemmed and hawed, but eventually gave him some lip service about "checking with the director" and never called again.
One morning, when Offspring and I went out to some function, JF tearfully, finally bundled Grady up in a towel and drove him to Animal Control. The vets there thought for sure that the lump was some kind of tumor, most likely cancerous. Whatever it was, they said, it wasn't good. You know it's not good when they go get everyone else in the building to come look at it. They took pity on JF, seeing the obvious distress the poor man was in, telling him they'd take care of him. They took our name and phone number, assuring him they'd call. They never did. Grady was just gone.
I step to the front door often, expecting to see him sunning himself on our porch. He's not there. I hear a noise from the picture window, and get a little leap in my heart, thinking he's back. It's not him. It's never him. Passing by the pet aisle at the grocery store, my hands automatically go toward the bag of food I bought for him for so many years. It's like he was never there; he's just gone.
JF beats himself up still, calling himself a monster. I try to reason with him, knowing there's nothing that I can say that will really make it all right. He tortures himself, talking about how Grady howled and tried to run from him -- this sweet animal who never ran from us before. How he looked at him, as JF drove him away from his home. We all cry. We explain to Offspring why we felt we had to take him. The words sound hollow even as I say them. It still hurts, and I still hope to see him sauntering across the street. I don't suppose I'll ever stop hoping that one day, he'll come home, even though my head knows he won't.
I miss you, Grady, every day. I'm so sorry, boy. We wanted so much to help you, but we just couldn't. Love wasn't enough.
Offspring with Grady in happier times.
Friday, September 12, 2008
The Stepford Republicans
As most of you know, I'm rather fond of crafting. When I'm not posting pseudonymously, I am an independent salesperson for a specific company* which is a great source of inspiration, education, and a great big hole in my pocketbook. I truly do love a lot of the things that have come my way since I've started stamping and creating, and I've been lucky enough to share my passion with lots of great people.
I went to a meeting the other day, with a lot of other consultants. The purpose was to discuss our new product lines, and a chance to get together and craft some as well. The ladies were talking about a project that would have normally taken a lot longer to put together, but was greatly assisted by a new die cut machine that we're selling. The hostess mentioned that she cut out all of the elements and assembled them all while watching Sarah Palin at the RNC. Most of the other ladies began to gush about how much they just LOVED her, and wasn't she just fabulous?!
Eeek.
Tense moment. Luckily, I was looking through a catalog, and no one was paying me any attention anyway. Good thing I wasn't making eye contact, or I could have been swept away by the pod people.
You know, I have no qualms with a woman as Vice President. Heck, I was even prepared to vote of Hilary Clinton to run the entire shebang (though it would have killed me a little inside to do so...) but Sarah Palin? No, thank you. She does not get my vote just because she has a vagina.
I know people are very polarized by things like abortion, money, capital punishment, and politics. It is not my wish that I offend anyone with my opinion, but I am allowed to have one. And Sarah Palin is not anyone I really want running this country.
She's anti-gay, anti-gay marriage, pro-gun, pro-life, and as far from green as the color spectrum allows. Let's not even talk about the state of education in Alaska, and never mind the lack of experience in running either a town or a state, much less the whole shootin' match.
John McCain, sadly, will win some people over to his side with Palin as a running mate. I just won't be one of them.
------------------------------
*If any of you are interested in this sort of stuff, you can email me for info and/or the company website.
I went to a meeting the other day, with a lot of other consultants. The purpose was to discuss our new product lines, and a chance to get together and craft some as well. The ladies were talking about a project that would have normally taken a lot longer to put together, but was greatly assisted by a new die cut machine that we're selling. The hostess mentioned that she cut out all of the elements and assembled them all while watching Sarah Palin at the RNC. Most of the other ladies began to gush about how much they just LOVED her, and wasn't she just fabulous?!
Eeek.
Tense moment. Luckily, I was looking through a catalog, and no one was paying me any attention anyway. Good thing I wasn't making eye contact, or I could have been swept away by the pod people.
You know, I have no qualms with a woman as Vice President. Heck, I was even prepared to vote of Hilary Clinton to run the entire shebang (though it would have killed me a little inside to do so...) but Sarah Palin? No, thank you. She does not get my vote just because she has a vagina.
I know people are very polarized by things like abortion, money, capital punishment, and politics. It is not my wish that I offend anyone with my opinion, but I am allowed to have one. And Sarah Palin is not anyone I really want running this country.
She's anti-gay, anti-gay marriage, pro-gun, pro-life, and as far from green as the color spectrum allows. Let's not even talk about the state of education in Alaska, and never mind the lack of experience in running either a town or a state, much less the whole shootin' match.
John McCain, sadly, will win some people over to his side with Palin as a running mate. I just won't be one of them.
------------------------------
*If any of you are interested in this sort of stuff, you can email me for info and/or the company website.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
I Finally Meet My (Non-Identical) Twin
CCW and I meet up! (While Offspring hovers in the background.)
CCW and Mr. MFBA at lunch.
CCW and I have long since discovered all the ways that we are alike, and have often joked that we must have been twins separated at birth. (How I got to be four years older than her remains a mystery for the ages.)
She and her family had to travel to a family wedding this weekend in a city only 2 hours from mine. She decided that she was dragging the entire family to HumidityLikeABrickWall for a bloggy meetup since she was within a fairly good driving range.
We met up for lunch and a quick stroll around the touristy area. CCW is just as hilarious in person as she is online. She's bright, funny, and we had no shortage of things to talk about. Mr. MFBA was a good sport, driving two hours out of the way for lunch and being Nonami's nap spot during it. He was, poor man, having to drive 10 hours back home only to get up in the morning and head to work. What fun for him. You truly are a badass, Mr. MFBA.
Kid L and Offspring got on like a house on fire. I actually had to look to make sure that they were eating during lunch, because it seemed like they talked a mile a minute the whole time we were there. They exchanged emails, and will probably be burning up the airwaves as much as their mothers do.
Nonami and NSBH were adorable, and I earned cosmic black marks against my name by showing the two of them the candy store and pointing out the large lollipops they sold. Nonami ate his straight away, and managed to get green lollipop goo all over his forehead. NSBH showed great restraint by not eating hers right away, but bedeviled Mommy for it after lunch. Mommy wasn't so interested in letting her child eat a lollipop as big as said child's head, but I have the feeling NSBH will wear her down on the drive home. CCW spent far too much money on the sugar-crack that we call pralines, and I'm curious to see how many of those make it home. They don't last very long with me.
It was a great visit, if short. I feel that we could have talked all day, but time was of the essence. I hope that CCW and Mr. MFBA are able to make the visit they're planning in October. I also hope they enjoyed the visit as much as we did.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Just For Fun
I got an invitation, rather unexpectedly, the other day from an old Girl Scout friend. The invite was to a "all-day craft event" at her house for this coming Thursday evening. I haven't seen much of this friend this year because I bowed out of leading a troop, so my Girl Scout exposure has been minimal. While our relationship hasn't suffered, it is a change when you're used to being around someone all the time and then that time suddenly just drops off. I was looking forward to an afternoon of food, friends, fun, and fellowship.
My friend and I exchanged a few emails about the upcoming party, which I am excited to attend. The other inhabitants of my house are decidedly NOT as gung-ho about the crafty stuff, so it would be nice to be with other like-minded individuals for a while. Not that I don't love my family, but you all know what I mean, right?!
I finally got tired of trading emails back and forth when we live about ten minutes away from each other, so I picked up the phone. We talked back and forth about the new scrapbook store that opened up here in our town, and about the new stamping and crafting gadgets that are on the market. We speak for a bit about Offspring, who began her Scouting career in this lady's troop. Friend marvels at how far she's come from a shy five-year-old.
Imagine my surprise when later that night, as I'm cleaning up my bedside bookshelf (which was so crammed with books that it exploded when I barely touched it), I find Offspring's Daisy Girl Scout scrapbook. I forget that she was ever than small. Just for fun, I think I'll take it along with me on Thursday, to remind Friend why I'm glad that I know her.
My friend and I exchanged a few emails about the upcoming party, which I am excited to attend. The other inhabitants of my house are decidedly NOT as gung-ho about the crafty stuff, so it would be nice to be with other like-minded individuals for a while. Not that I don't love my family, but you all know what I mean, right?!
I finally got tired of trading emails back and forth when we live about ten minutes away from each other, so I picked up the phone. We talked back and forth about the new scrapbook store that opened up here in our town, and about the new stamping and crafting gadgets that are on the market. We speak for a bit about Offspring, who began her Scouting career in this lady's troop. Friend marvels at how far she's come from a shy five-year-old.
Imagine my surprise when later that night, as I'm cleaning up my bedside bookshelf (which was so crammed with books that it exploded when I barely touched it), I find Offspring's Daisy Girl Scout scrapbook. I forget that she was ever than small. Just for fun, I think I'll take it along with me on Thursday, to remind Friend why I'm glad that I know her.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Hurt
This evening, before the show, we had our vocal warm-up and our director addressed us as he does before every performance. He passed out discs with the promised pictures that had been taken by the photographer on our final dress rehearsal evening.
Most of the pictures were great. The colors were brilliant, and there were often moments of such clarity that they jumped right off the screen. I could hear the songs, bursting from the actors' mouths. I could see the quick dance steps, and feel the hot stage lights on my skin.
I, however, was in none of those shots. Almost every picture of me is terrible. Now, I am my own worst critic -- and I'll be the first to tell you that. I often don't like pictures of myself. I find it an exhausting and demoralizing experience, this taking of pictures. The light is harsh and unforgiving, the artificiality of all the props and backdrops make the whole thing seem pointless and juvenile.
But this -- this was something else entirely. I know I'm fat. I know it in the way that I know I'm female, or that I know I breathe air. I know it the way I know the curve of my daughter's cheek, or the feel of my husband's warm palm nestled within mine. But, there is a big difference in knowing it, and truly grasping it. I grasped it tonight. I was appalled at how bad I look. I am huge.
God, how it hurts to say that. To know that. To see, with my own eyes how much larger I am than everyone else out there. To see the rolls of fat even under my costume, even at a distance. To know that, while under those hot stage lights that are so unforgiving. My multitude of sins there on stage with the rest of us. Taking up so much room; the silent participant.
I lay in bed tonight, tears rolling down my face as I remember the pictures that I saw earlier. Is that how other people see me? Is that really the way I look to them? How I burn with shame to know why people look at me the way they do. To finally, irrevocably, get it. How shameful it is to feel so bad, to look so bad.
I had this mental image of me, and what I feel like inside my own mind does not match up with what I see on the screen. Have I been lying to myself all this time? Has it all been one long self-delusion of massive proportions? How could I let this happen? How can anyone love this?
Most of the pictures were great. The colors were brilliant, and there were often moments of such clarity that they jumped right off the screen. I could hear the songs, bursting from the actors' mouths. I could see the quick dance steps, and feel the hot stage lights on my skin.
I, however, was in none of those shots. Almost every picture of me is terrible. Now, I am my own worst critic -- and I'll be the first to tell you that. I often don't like pictures of myself. I find it an exhausting and demoralizing experience, this taking of pictures. The light is harsh and unforgiving, the artificiality of all the props and backdrops make the whole thing seem pointless and juvenile.
But this -- this was something else entirely. I know I'm fat. I know it in the way that I know I'm female, or that I know I breathe air. I know it the way I know the curve of my daughter's cheek, or the feel of my husband's warm palm nestled within mine. But, there is a big difference in knowing it, and truly grasping it. I grasped it tonight. I was appalled at how bad I look. I am huge.
God, how it hurts to say that. To know that. To see, with my own eyes how much larger I am than everyone else out there. To see the rolls of fat even under my costume, even at a distance. To know that, while under those hot stage lights that are so unforgiving. My multitude of sins there on stage with the rest of us. Taking up so much room; the silent participant.
I lay in bed tonight, tears rolling down my face as I remember the pictures that I saw earlier. Is that how other people see me? Is that really the way I look to them? How I burn with shame to know why people look at me the way they do. To finally, irrevocably, get it. How shameful it is to feel so bad, to look so bad.
I had this mental image of me, and what I feel like inside my own mind does not match up with what I see on the screen. Have I been lying to myself all this time? Has it all been one long self-delusion of massive proportions? How could I let this happen? How can anyone love this?
Monday, April 28, 2008
Back From DC
I spent this weekend in "our Nation's Capitol", but, unlike Forrest Gump, I did not spend any time with anyone named Jenny. Nor, unfortunately, did I get to spend any time with Liz. We were both overwhelmed by obligations, and did not get a chance to get together, much to my dismay.
I spent most of my time there in the Hyatt, attending a teacher's conference. I walked the few blocks to Union Station for lunch on Friday, and on Saturday to take a "Monuments By Moonlight" tour which began at the famous train station. That was about the extent of my jaunting around Capitol Hill. We drove past: the White House, the Supreme Court, the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, the Museum of the American Indian, the Smithsonian (the Smithsonian castle, the Air and Space Museum, and about five other Smithsonians as well...), some of the House and Senate buildings, the Washington Monument, and even over the river to Arlington. The tour did stop at some locations, where we could get out and walk around for a bit.
Our first stop was the relatively new park dedicated to FDR. The area has lots of statues and fountains, and was awash in golden light from the many fountains and fallen cherry blossoms. We had thirty minutes to explore the park, and we all took advantage of the time to wander through the memorial. The section devoted to the the "Faces of the Depression" was haunting and lovely.
The next stop was across the river, into Virginia: the Iwo Jima Memorial. I had seen pictures of it, including the iconic image of the servicemen raising the flag over Mount Suribachi which the monument depicts, but there's nothing quite like standing in front of it.
After Iwo Jima, we drove past Arlington, and across the river again to the Lincoln Memorial. The Lincoln Memorial has three monuments on its grounds: the Lincoln Memorial (obviously...), the Korean War Memorial, and the Vietnam War Memorial. When we arrived, the sun was fully down, and there was a cool wind blowing. I headed first for the Korean War Memorial. There was something quite unreal about standing alone amidst the life-size statues who looked as if they'd merely been frozen in time. I was the only person around -- all of the others had headed straight for the Lincoln Memorial -- so it was quiet, with only the sound of the skittering cherry blossoms flowing around my ankles on the cooling breeze. The floodlights hit the statues, throwing faces from long ago into eerie shadow. The POW/MIA flag above the site fluttered with the wind. I walked away, feeling humbled; awed.
I walked through the dark paths, reading the names of countries chiseled into the granite as I headed for the Lincoln Memorial. As I reached the top of the monument, I turned to see the Washington Monument across the Reflecting Pool. It was breathtaking. Once inside the memorial, I stood at Lincoln's feet, and looked up at his marbled face, and wondered what he'd think of our country today.
Time was up all too soon, and I headed back for the trolley. The tour didn't stop at very many places, but I was grateful for having what little time I could squeak out for visiting the few I was able to see. I hope I'm able to visit there again one day, and to take my family with me. It really helps you put things into perspective when you can see it for yourself.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Labels
It is the human condition to want to label things. To pigeonhole life into something that we can categorize and understand. And, for the most part, that makes sense. It's a skill you learn early, like how to sort toys, and how all the socks go in one specific drawer. Learning your colors is visual labeling in action-- grass is green, the sky is blue, and the sun is yellow. God's coloring book.
It becomes less sensible when you're talking about people, however. There is the tendency to label people, because that's an easy way to keep track of who is whom in this constant stream of faces that pass before you daily. "Oh, you know who I'm talking about! She's that tall black woman who has the piercing in her nose!" While we don't consciously intend to insult the person we're describing, it does seem sort of callous to codify our mystery lady solely by race, or height, or by what we might think of as her "exotic" jewelry.
Some labels are just darn hurtful: spic, lesbo, retard. Why should ethnicity, sexual orientation, or physical or mental infirmity carry any weight when we think of people? It shouldn't, and yet it does; quite often, in fact. I know I'm even guilty of it, and it's usually innocuous, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. I know that I'm often hurt deeply by the label "fat." It doesn't make it any less true, but it's a hurtful designation. I can imagine that it's also very painful to Latinos, lesbians, and the mentally handicapped. Small wonder.
We even label ourselves. Most of you reading this would happily add "blogger" to your life's CV. We pin on other labels as well: wife, uncle, mother, son, friend, teacher, pharmacist, human. It's the easy way out. We can group other people in with us -- with our likes and hobbies -- with barely a flutter of recognition that we may be putting a limit on what makes us who we are.
We are all so much more than the individual parts. I know that I would not be fully happy with only one label to my name. Is being a daughter more important than being a mother? Is being a wife not as important, somehow just *less*, than being a teacher? Why do we place such emphasis on ways to pin down who and what we are? When will we ever learn to appreciate each other for our diversity and unique talents instead of deriding them? It's far too cliche to say "Can't we all just get along?", but that's essentially what it boils down to. The human race is so competitive that we can rarely ever cheer on the 'other guy' without seeking to devalue him by placing a designation on him. And today, I just find that sad.
It becomes less sensible when you're talking about people, however. There is the tendency to label people, because that's an easy way to keep track of who is whom in this constant stream of faces that pass before you daily. "Oh, you know who I'm talking about! She's that tall black woman who has the piercing in her nose!" While we don't consciously intend to insult the person we're describing, it does seem sort of callous to codify our mystery lady solely by race, or height, or by what we might think of as her "exotic" jewelry.
Some labels are just darn hurtful: spic, lesbo, retard. Why should ethnicity, sexual orientation, or physical or mental infirmity carry any weight when we think of people? It shouldn't, and yet it does; quite often, in fact. I know I'm even guilty of it, and it's usually innocuous, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. I know that I'm often hurt deeply by the label "fat." It doesn't make it any less true, but it's a hurtful designation. I can imagine that it's also very painful to Latinos, lesbians, and the mentally handicapped. Small wonder.
We even label ourselves. Most of you reading this would happily add "blogger" to your life's CV. We pin on other labels as well: wife, uncle, mother, son, friend, teacher, pharmacist, human. It's the easy way out. We can group other people in with us -- with our likes and hobbies -- with barely a flutter of recognition that we may be putting a limit on what makes us who we are.
We are all so much more than the individual parts. I know that I would not be fully happy with only one label to my name. Is being a daughter more important than being a mother? Is being a wife not as important, somehow just *less*, than being a teacher? Why do we place such emphasis on ways to pin down who and what we are? When will we ever learn to appreciate each other for our diversity and unique talents instead of deriding them? It's far too cliche to say "Can't we all just get along?", but that's essentially what it boils down to. The human race is so competitive that we can rarely ever cheer on the 'other guy' without seeking to devalue him by placing a designation on him. And today, I just find that sad.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Proud Of Myself, Sort Of
Offspring and I got into a discussion yesterday about body images. While we were shopping, she asked me if she could have a box of the Girl Scout sugar-free Chocolate Chip cookies. I jokingly asked her why she wanted to bother with sugar-free. She mistook what I was saying, interpreting my comment as me calling her fat. I told her, right there and then that I was NOT trying to convey that to her AT ALL! What I was meaning with my remark is that a lot of people, me included, feel like if you're going to buy a box of Girl Scout cookies, you might as well buy the high-octane stuff! There's no sense in going easy with those babies! They're a once-a-year treat, and you shouldn't feel badly about having an extravagance every now and again.
I told Offspring all about how I promised myself a loooong time ago that I would never call her fat, however tacitly, and that I would do everything in my power to never harp on her or chide her about her weight. I spoke of how I've been made to feel less than beautiful, less than normal, just LESS in general because of my size. About how I never wanted that for her and about how I was made to feel so bad all my life that I could never do that to her. We talked for quite a bit about it, and then I tried to move on before "talk" turned into "lecture." It's a fine line I walk, that talk/lecture thing.... We went on about our day.
Then earlier today, I called my mother. She asked, as she always does, after Offspring, and how she's doing. I mentioned that she seems to be growing taller every day. Mom mentioned that the last time she saw Offspring that she'd gotten taller and lost a good bit of weight as well. I asked Mom not to belabor this too much to Offspring , and began to tell her about Offspring's mistaken assumption about my comment the day before. I told her that I knew what it felt like to be harped on all of your life about your weight. Mom took exception to that, saying that she never harped on me about my weight. I quietly said, "Yes, Mom. You did. Every time you told me that I would be "so pretty" if I'd just lose some weight." She stammered that she didn't mean it like that -- didn't I know what she meant? I told her that I knew she never meant to be hurtful, but that it was like telling me that I *wasn't* pretty. A lot. She got very quiet. We got off the phone shortly afterward.
I don't know what will happen now and if there'll be any fallout, but at least I finally told her how much it bothers me. If nothing else, I can be proud that I finally got that off my chest.
I told Offspring all about how I promised myself a loooong time ago that I would never call her fat, however tacitly, and that I would do everything in my power to never harp on her or chide her about her weight. I spoke of how I've been made to feel less than beautiful, less than normal, just LESS in general because of my size. About how I never wanted that for her and about how I was made to feel so bad all my life that I could never do that to her. We talked for quite a bit about it, and then I tried to move on before "talk" turned into "lecture." It's a fine line I walk, that talk/lecture thing.... We went on about our day.
Then earlier today, I called my mother. She asked, as she always does, after Offspring, and how she's doing. I mentioned that she seems to be growing taller every day. Mom mentioned that the last time she saw Offspring that she'd gotten taller and lost a good bit of weight as well. I asked Mom not to belabor this too much to Offspring , and began to tell her about Offspring's mistaken assumption about my comment the day before. I told her that I knew what it felt like to be harped on all of your life about your weight. Mom took exception to that, saying that she never harped on me about my weight. I quietly said, "Yes, Mom. You did. Every time you told me that I would be "so pretty" if I'd just lose some weight." She stammered that she didn't mean it like that -- didn't I know what she meant? I told her that I knew she never meant to be hurtful, but that it was like telling me that I *wasn't* pretty. A lot. She got very quiet. We got off the phone shortly afterward.
I don't know what will happen now and if there'll be any fallout, but at least I finally told her how much it bothers me. If nothing else, I can be proud that I finally got that off my chest.
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