Daily Specs:
Attainable Goal - Physically get out of the house and walk my kids to the mailbox and back
Grievance - I have not been outside yet today. Eek.
Celebration - I just cooked fish with relative success. It was moist and flaky and flavorful.
A few months ago I wrote a blog asking advice about flying by myself with a toddler and an infant. I would like to thank those who responded. I was well prepared and the trip to Oregon was a success. However, no amount of preparation (short of something blatantly illegal) could have prepared me for the horror that was the trip home.
I had us scheduled on a red eye flight to get from Oregon back Alabama. Originally, we were supposed to embark from PDX at 12:30 a.m. (yes folks...middle of the night), layover in Houston for 4 hours, then arrive in Birmingham in the early afternoon. Long and awful, right? I was expecting it to be very tiring for me, but I was also counting on the fact that the kids would be so tuckered out that they would sleep on the two planes. After the 2nd leg of our flight got changed to an earlier time and our layover was cut to a little over 1 hour, I was a much happier camper. I would not have to find something to do in Houston forever. Not to mention, we would have been home early in the morning and Big Love could pick us up before he went to work. I was so excited!
Game Plan: Boys take an extremely long nap on afternoon prior to flights. I keep boys up as late as humanly possible, therefore instigating a dead drop into an instant REM cycle the moment we get buckled into the plane. I checked in all of the bags except the diaper bag, not forseeing the need for the dvd player or storybooks, and creating more ease in transport from city to terminal to terminal to city. I was confident in my plan. Until my plan unraveled before I even got to the check-in line.
As those of us with toddlers know, it can often be a virtual impossiblity to entertain a cranky 2 year old. If you are to add the late night hour, the shuffling through a winding line of strangers with suitcases, and knowing Gramma/Poppa are about to leave, you have a very VERY sad little Boy Love. As we were waiting in the line to check our bags, it took the combined effort of Gramma and myself to keep him from breaking free from his kid-on-a-leash and run screaming for his life out the giant airport revolving door. No matter what we tried, h was not to be satiated. He would pull on his leash as hard as he could, then fall desperately to the floor, kicking his feet and thrashing his head and screeching "NO! RUN RUN!" at the top of his wee (yet impressively strong) lungs. From the other people in line, we got a combination of oh-bless-their-heart looks and I-better-not-be-sitting-next-to-this-terror-on-the-plane looks. I did not intend to apologize for any of our actions, for I knew that any other parent would sympathize, and any other person who was not a parent yet will be blessed with this type of situation soon enough.
As we approached the lady at the desk, she informed us (with FAR too much cheer) that our plane was delayed 50 minutes. This made my 1 hour layover into 10 minutes. Not nearly enough time to get from the the back of my little plane, through four airplane terminals toting two children, and onto the next plane. My night was going to be just splendid.
After a nearly flawless security experience, I went to the restroom to change both boys and tried to get settled at our gate for the next hour and a half while we wait for our flight. Boy would have none of it. He preferred to try and escape from his stroller by Fred Flinstone-ing his feet as fast as they could grab the floor. After he had run the wheels into at least 4 sleeping strangers I scolded him for trying to escape. The only thing to satisfy him was to ride the moving sidewalk back and forth. So that is what we did. We rode the moving sidewalk non-stop for an hour. As soon as we were allowed to board, he was still not sleeping (1:15 am) and once again screeching. But now Baby Love, attached to my front by way of Baby Bjorn, was also crying as I tried to get us scrunched and setttled into our seats. The first hour of the flight consisted to crying children. Not only mine, but all the other parents who thought kids + red eye was a good idea. We were all kicking ourselves at that point.
Boy and I slept for 2 hours on that flight. 2 of the 4 hours. The rest of the time consisted of screaming, and attempting to stop Boy from kicking the seat in front of him which was holding an irritated old lady who was trying to sleep. Needless to say, she did not sleep much. Unlike Baby Love, who slept through everything. We missed our connecting flight, which not only meant that we had to spend three hours in the Houston Airport, but we would not be back to Alabama by the time Big Love had to go to work. He arranged a ride for us, but we were both terribly upset that we could not see each other until later in the night. I spent the three hours trying to push a very awake and very active 2 year old in the stroller, hold a floppy and sleepy baby on my front, have a 15 lb diaper bag slung over one shoulder, and get us all appropriately changed, fed, and coffee'd. I wanted to give up. I was sitting in the group of identical tables in the middle of the airport food area, and just stared into the distance. It was 8 am local time, we had two hours of sleep, and I had spent all of my expendable energy trying to keep Boy from escaping/screaming/hurting himself or others. And I still had 2.5 hours until my next plane was scheduled to leave.
We begrudgingly made our slow little way to the gate, where I sat next to a mother traveling with her children. Her kids, also both boys, seemed to be no trouble at all. One was sitting delightfully next to her, colouring in a book. The other was sleeping on the floor at her feet. She was reading a romance novel. Neither of her children were on leashes, in strollers, or strapped to her with any sort of straight-jacket style apparatus. They were perfect. They may as well have been wearing little searsucker suits with bow ties combing their perfectly parted hair, singing out of a hymnal. I wanted to throw something at her. I wanted to have my baby throw up on her sleeping child so he would wake up and cause a ruckus. Instead, I asked, "How do your kids do that? How do they behave?" She responded simply. "It gets easier as they get older."
For some reason, this really encouraged me. My children are 2 years and 4 months. No one can expect children of that age to do anything as planned. They are on their own schedule, and they bring everyone else along for the ride. I should have had this in my mind as I embarked, and been thinking less about my plan and more about theirs. Or just not thinking at all. I should have planned for anything, then I would have been far more successful.
The second leg of the trip was pretty much the same. It was 10:30 Houston time when we left, Boy had still not slept and was again screaming. However, I was sitting in front of the Perfect Lady and her Perfect Children, and Boy found a friend in the Sleeping Perfect Child. They spoke back and forth for some of the time, which made the rest of the crying times much more bearable. And the most important thing, I stopped myself from jumping off the brink of a complete emotional breakdown.
I have walked away with a few lessons from this experience. Never again will I fly with the kids without Big Love with me. Never again will I attempt the red eye flight, no matter how many adults are there to supervise. But most importantly, my kids are young. They do whatever they feel they need to do with zero regard to my "plan". I need to accept that, learn that people around me will either accept that or not, and move on.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Law and Order: Not-So-Criminal Intent
Daily Specs:
Attainable Goal - Do all the errands I did not get accomplished yesterday.
Grievance - Baby Love is teething terribly
Celebration - Boy Love begins school on Monday!
I recently embarked on a daunting journey to Oregon for two and a half weeks. One of the nice things about both Big Love and I being from the same place is that we never argue about where to take our vacation time. Oregon is a perfect, beautiful place full of people that we love. So from the middle of July to the beginning of August, I was living in a virtual paradise. Who would have guessed that paradise would be a recipe for frantic/helter-skelter-ness and general exhaustion? Actually, a lot of people could guess that. That is the stuff that legendary novels and horror flicks are made on.
One of the most beautiful things about this trip was that I got to see Cheetah. Cheetah is an army medic and my best friend. She is currently serving her sentence overseas, and she was home on leave for the two weeks before I was scheduled to get there. Fortunately for me, I had to appear in court, so the insurance company shipped the boys and I out here three days prior to our original trip plan and covered all airline fares. This meant that I could overlap with Cheetah for two whole days. It was awesome. Except for having to be in court all day.
I was a bit misleading before when I said I had to "appear in court". This would imply that I was merely there as a casual witness, to return to my ordinary life after my 15 minutes on the stand. This is not the case. I was actually the defendant. I was sued a little over a year ago for a car accident I caused. It was one of those deals where the accident itself was pretty ridiculously minimal, but I hit a person that was waiting to be hit. I was sued for over a quarter million dollars from each of the people in the car, and what do you know? It went all the way to trial.
I was assigned a lawyer from my insurance company. An interesting fellow to say the least. He is not what I expected from a lawyer. I was, of course, expecting Sam Waterston to come out of that office building on Broadway. Instead, there was a 30-something slight asian man in a sharp pinstripe suit. Donned in tiny square glasses and a faux-hawk, he met me with a, "Hey wazzup?" This guy was obviously way cooler than I was ever meant to be, and I was somewhat intimidated by that at first. As the days went on, however, I found him to be a much more relatable. He had children about the same age as mine, and was really big on family. He had nervous habits that made me chuckle to myself, like the constant need to poke holes in things with his pen, or obsessively pull off bits of the rubber rims around the tables in the court room. His laugh was more like a single, explosive "MHAH!" that caused the small office supplies around him to vibrate with sound.
In the courtroom he had a kind of boyish, play-it-dumb kind of tactic with the witnesses. You know the movie Philadelphia, and how Denzel always prefaced his questions with "Okay, now explain this to me like I am a 3-year-old"? This was somewhat his mantra for the trial, but in a completely non-aggressive way. He would play like he had no idea what was going on ("I apologize for not being able to read this very well...could you read this passage please? Is this what this is saying? Okay thanks for clarifying.") Then when he had weasled out of the witness what he wanted to get, he would make a surprisingly aggressive point/accusation. He never raised his voice, but you could tell that he was wrapping the witnesses around his little finger. I was proud.
The other guy's attourney took a more southern style approach to his...uh...lawyering? I am quite sure that "lawyering" is not a word. He spoke slowly and respecfully, drawing out his sentences to the point of excruciating boredom for the poor jury. He sat in his chair while questioning witnesses, and was completely relaxed the entire time. Watching my attourney and the prosecuting attourney was very interesting. On Law and Order, all the attourneys take similar approaches in the courtroom, and everyone knows that all court proceedings are exactly like Law and Order. This was more like a Fire vs. Ice kind of experience.
After I had sat behind the defendant's table for an entire day plus the next morning, I was finished with the process. The jury settled my case for 12k, which is much more in my favor than it was in his favor. This made me happy, and I could spend almost the whole of the next day with Cheetah. I thank the Lord for the court experience, and now I know that I do not care to take the time to get sued ever again. Duly noted to self.
New poll on the bottom! Check it out, and weigh in!
Attainable Goal - Do all the errands I did not get accomplished yesterday.
Grievance - Baby Love is teething terribly
Celebration - Boy Love begins school on Monday!
I recently embarked on a daunting journey to Oregon for two and a half weeks. One of the nice things about both Big Love and I being from the same place is that we never argue about where to take our vacation time. Oregon is a perfect, beautiful place full of people that we love. So from the middle of July to the beginning of August, I was living in a virtual paradise. Who would have guessed that paradise would be a recipe for frantic/helter-skelter-ness and general exhaustion? Actually, a lot of people could guess that. That is the stuff that legendary novels and horror flicks are made on.
One of the most beautiful things about this trip was that I got to see Cheetah. Cheetah is an army medic and my best friend. She is currently serving her sentence overseas, and she was home on leave for the two weeks before I was scheduled to get there. Fortunately for me, I had to appear in court, so the insurance company shipped the boys and I out here three days prior to our original trip plan and covered all airline fares. This meant that I could overlap with Cheetah for two whole days. It was awesome. Except for having to be in court all day.
I was a bit misleading before when I said I had to "appear in court". This would imply that I was merely there as a casual witness, to return to my ordinary life after my 15 minutes on the stand. This is not the case. I was actually the defendant. I was sued a little over a year ago for a car accident I caused. It was one of those deals where the accident itself was pretty ridiculously minimal, but I hit a person that was waiting to be hit. I was sued for over a quarter million dollars from each of the people in the car, and what do you know? It went all the way to trial.
I was assigned a lawyer from my insurance company. An interesting fellow to say the least. He is not what I expected from a lawyer. I was, of course, expecting Sam Waterston to come out of that office building on Broadway. Instead, there was a 30-something slight asian man in a sharp pinstripe suit. Donned in tiny square glasses and a faux-hawk, he met me with a, "Hey wazzup?" This guy was obviously way cooler than I was ever meant to be, and I was somewhat intimidated by that at first. As the days went on, however, I found him to be a much more relatable. He had children about the same age as mine, and was really big on family. He had nervous habits that made me chuckle to myself, like the constant need to poke holes in things with his pen, or obsessively pull off bits of the rubber rims around the tables in the court room. His laugh was more like a single, explosive "MHAH!" that caused the small office supplies around him to vibrate with sound.
In the courtroom he had a kind of boyish, play-it-dumb kind of tactic with the witnesses. You know the movie Philadelphia, and how Denzel always prefaced his questions with "Okay, now explain this to me like I am a 3-year-old"? This was somewhat his mantra for the trial, but in a completely non-aggressive way. He would play like he had no idea what was going on ("I apologize for not being able to read this very well...could you read this passage please? Is this what this is saying? Okay thanks for clarifying.") Then when he had weasled out of the witness what he wanted to get, he would make a surprisingly aggressive point/accusation. He never raised his voice, but you could tell that he was wrapping the witnesses around his little finger. I was proud.
The other guy's attourney took a more southern style approach to his...uh...lawyering? I am quite sure that "lawyering" is not a word. He spoke slowly and respecfully, drawing out his sentences to the point of excruciating boredom for the poor jury. He sat in his chair while questioning witnesses, and was completely relaxed the entire time. Watching my attourney and the prosecuting attourney was very interesting. On Law and Order, all the attourneys take similar approaches in the courtroom, and everyone knows that all court proceedings are exactly like Law and Order. This was more like a Fire vs. Ice kind of experience.
After I had sat behind the defendant's table for an entire day plus the next morning, I was finished with the process. The jury settled my case for 12k, which is much more in my favor than it was in his favor. This made me happy, and I could spend almost the whole of the next day with Cheetah. I thank the Lord for the court experience, and now I know that I do not care to take the time to get sued ever again. Duly noted to self.
New poll on the bottom! Check it out, and weigh in!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
My Life on TV
Daily Specs:
Attainable Goal: Get Big Love to come to the Y with me. This may not be attainable, but a goal nonetheless!
Grievance: I am very inspired to make more jewelry, but have run out funds to get supplies :(
Celebration: I got to hang out with Big Love last night and watch House. Nothing like Gregory House to bring two people together.
I am at home a lot during the day, and am therefore more likely to subject myself to truly AWFUL television. One show in particular that I have seen a couple episodes of is "Wife Swap". Now I had heard about this rather disgusting piece of daytime television in the past, and was particularly pleased that I had never seen it. And now that I have seen it, I am saddened. Premise of show: Two families, completely opposite from each other. For example, I saw an episode where one family revolved around their 13 year old motocross loving son, whose champion titles pay all the family's bills and for their extremely expensive way of life, and the other family worshiped fairies. These two families switch mothers for two weeks. In the first week, the swapped wives have to live in the other wife's shoes exactly. The second week, they can change whatever they want and the family has to follow their rules. The producers try to make as much drama as possible in these shows, but this one is really over the top. I feel so terrible for the families.
I suppose every daytime television show has a silver lining. After being subjected to this torture for an hour (and by "subjected", we all know that I am subjecting myself. Like the whole watching a train wreck thing), I walk away thinking about my own family and home. While the show is on, I can make fun of the people in it all I want. I can think they are idiots for doing the things they do, I can mock them for their petty arguments, and I can shake my head at their ridiculous ways of life. But then I stop. What would happen if we were on one of those shows? What would people think about us?
Looking at yourself from a third eye is really hard! I would like to think of myself as an amazing person, with talent and competence that oozes out of my pores. I would like to think that I am the perfect cook, the perfect cleaner, and the perfect mother and wife. I look at the toilet that Big Love and I installed and the chair that I fixed and I think Ha! I am a superb piece of woman and home-maker! When I make a batch of cookies without burning them, I feel like I should have my own cooking show call Super Mom! Amazing Meals in the Time it Takes Your Child to Watch Blue's Clues! But at the end of the day, I have to be able to see what I am really like. Delusions of grandeur never made anyone a better person.
So I begin to look around my home. It is somewhat picked up, the dishes are in almost all in the dishwasher, and there are probably three loads of laundry that needed to be done. My bed is not made, and my jewelry making supplies are out and mid-project. Okay, so I am not the best house cleaner. My cupboards and fridge are full of food, but it is mostly food-out-of-a-box and some basic staples, like baking supplies, potatoes, onions, and chicken. Okay, so I am not the best cook. There is a patch on my wall that my father fixed when he was here and left me to sand and paint. It is sanded, but not painted. Okay, so maybe I am not the best handy-woman. But then I look at my children, who are smiling, running about, and imagining that their spoon is a rocket-ship blasting off into space. They have full tummies, clothes on their backs, and clean pants. I can see Baby Love smiling every time he sees me or Big, and Boy Love has learned how to put on his own shoes, diapers and shirts. Okay, so maybe I am a decent mother.
If there was a film crew in my house for two weeks, what would they see in me? Would they see me as loving? Would they see me as moody? Would they see me as needy or high maintenance? Would they see me as an adequate home-maker? I don't know. I don't know who I would be paired with in Wife Swap, and I don't know what people watching me would make fun of me for. But, really, does it even matter? I know that I love my family, even though I tend to get frustrated. I know that I try to pick up my house, even though I can never seem to keep up. I know that my children are learning every day because I try to teach them. Why should I have to be subjected to scrutiny from the world? I don't need that. I try, and I have succeeded in the world of motherhood far more than I ever thought I would. Shouldn't that be enough?
Attainable Goal: Get Big Love to come to the Y with me. This may not be attainable, but a goal nonetheless!
Grievance: I am very inspired to make more jewelry, but have run out funds to get supplies :(
Celebration: I got to hang out with Big Love last night and watch House. Nothing like Gregory House to bring two people together.
I am at home a lot during the day, and am therefore more likely to subject myself to truly AWFUL television. One show in particular that I have seen a couple episodes of is "Wife Swap". Now I had heard about this rather disgusting piece of daytime television in the past, and was particularly pleased that I had never seen it. And now that I have seen it, I am saddened. Premise of show: Two families, completely opposite from each other. For example, I saw an episode where one family revolved around their 13 year old motocross loving son, whose champion titles pay all the family's bills and for their extremely expensive way of life, and the other family worshiped fairies. These two families switch mothers for two weeks. In the first week, the swapped wives have to live in the other wife's shoes exactly. The second week, they can change whatever they want and the family has to follow their rules. The producers try to make as much drama as possible in these shows, but this one is really over the top. I feel so terrible for the families.
I suppose every daytime television show has a silver lining. After being subjected to this torture for an hour (and by "subjected", we all know that I am subjecting myself. Like the whole watching a train wreck thing), I walk away thinking about my own family and home. While the show is on, I can make fun of the people in it all I want. I can think they are idiots for doing the things they do, I can mock them for their petty arguments, and I can shake my head at their ridiculous ways of life. But then I stop. What would happen if we were on one of those shows? What would people think about us?
Looking at yourself from a third eye is really hard! I would like to think of myself as an amazing person, with talent and competence that oozes out of my pores. I would like to think that I am the perfect cook, the perfect cleaner, and the perfect mother and wife. I look at the toilet that Big Love and I installed and the chair that I fixed and I think Ha! I am a superb piece of woman and home-maker! When I make a batch of cookies without burning them, I feel like I should have my own cooking show call Super Mom! Amazing Meals in the Time it Takes Your Child to Watch Blue's Clues! But at the end of the day, I have to be able to see what I am really like. Delusions of grandeur never made anyone a better person.
So I begin to look around my home. It is somewhat picked up, the dishes are in almost all in the dishwasher, and there are probably three loads of laundry that needed to be done. My bed is not made, and my jewelry making supplies are out and mid-project. Okay, so I am not the best house cleaner. My cupboards and fridge are full of food, but it is mostly food-out-of-a-box and some basic staples, like baking supplies, potatoes, onions, and chicken. Okay, so I am not the best cook. There is a patch on my wall that my father fixed when he was here and left me to sand and paint. It is sanded, but not painted. Okay, so maybe I am not the best handy-woman. But then I look at my children, who are smiling, running about, and imagining that their spoon is a rocket-ship blasting off into space. They have full tummies, clothes on their backs, and clean pants. I can see Baby Love smiling every time he sees me or Big, and Boy Love has learned how to put on his own shoes, diapers and shirts. Okay, so maybe I am a decent mother.
If there was a film crew in my house for two weeks, what would they see in me? Would they see me as loving? Would they see me as moody? Would they see me as needy or high maintenance? Would they see me as an adequate home-maker? I don't know. I don't know who I would be paired with in Wife Swap, and I don't know what people watching me would make fun of me for. But, really, does it even matter? I know that I love my family, even though I tend to get frustrated. I know that I try to pick up my house, even though I can never seem to keep up. I know that my children are learning every day because I try to teach them. Why should I have to be subjected to scrutiny from the world? I don't need that. I try, and I have succeeded in the world of motherhood far more than I ever thought I would. Shouldn't that be enough?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
From Childhood to Childhood...
Daily Specs:
Attainable Goal: Figure out what kind of yarn my scarf is made of. And GO TO THE Y!!
Grievance: None yet!
Celebration: Lots of sleep last night for me.
I often reminisce about my childhood. It was a pretty amazing one, as far as childhoods go, I guess. If I were to have a shrink he would probably find something wrong with it, but since I am an pinnacle of psychological perfection, I live with the firm belief that my life has been pretty awesome. I lived with parents who loved each other, loved their children, and loved God. Whenever they worked, I got to spend time with my beloved Great Grandparents, and those years with them have been priceless beyond words. I was geographically close to almost every extended family member, which meant that we were all pretty close.
Cheetah and I almost constantly find things in our adult lives that remind us of our lives as children, which we immediately text/facebook to each other. Example: One night a couple weeks ago I made lamb chops for dinner. That, in turn, reminded me of a little movie we used to watch, "Lambchops Play-A-Long", with a really annoying theme song. So, if the annoying theme song was going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the evening, it stands to reason that Cheetah had to join me in my misery. The two of us have a set of movies, our version of "classics", that we watch together whenever we are feeing sentimental and nostalgic, which is more often than not. Titles in this movie list include Goofy Movie, Muppet Treasure Island, White Squall, and other MORE embarrassing (believe it or not) movies that I shall not list.
We were not like other children we knew, and even in hindsight I think our family was a rarity. Our young years resembled those of Pleasantville, with the little suburban house, tiny conservative church, and role-model "citizen-of-the-year" type parents. We never had much money, but we always had each other, and that was the most important thing of all. Our parents never fought, we spent all of grade school in a private school, and we took our one vacation per year in the same spot in Sunriver. I remember other children talking about their parents, and how they were divorced, or never at home, or generally sporting a cold demeanour. I recall wondering what it was like to have a dysfunctional family, and sometimes even fantasizing about having a home that struggled with big issues. Not to say that I did not struggle. We were quite poor for a while, and it was apparent how much toll this took on my Mom and Dad, but they never stopped loving and making the best of it.
As an adult, there are so few people that I come into contact with that had a great childhood like mine. There are even some that think that my 50's life seems, as they say, "functionally dysfuntional", referring to the idea that my black and white existence somehow lacked any sort of colour. I cannot say that they are entirely in the wrong. I was always very sheltered, and very excited to live life outside my tiny town. I have never done any sort of illegal drug, never had terrible experiences drinking alcohol, and have never broken the law (unless you count speed limit laws). When I hear my friends or husband tell me of their life experiments, and all the things they got to experience and learn from, I feel like maybe I have been a little bit "functionally dysfunctional". My life has lacked the color that theirs has had. Or, perhaps, we just color our worlds differently...
This brings me to today, and the raising of my children. When one gets married, there is always the difficult task of combining "things", getting rid of sentimentalitites to make room for a new life with a new person. What proves to be the most difficult thing about combining lives, however, is combining our pasts. Big Love and I have grown up two completely different ways, and we are trying to bring both of our upbringings together to create a family environment for our children. So then comes the big dicussions. Do we spank our children? Do we want to approach life like something to be experienced on your own, or with the parental controls contantly weeding out anything not rated G? How long do we make them attend church before we let them discover their own spirituality? How do we approach drug use and drinking? These are all big decisions that will become more difficult as the kids will get older. I am not looking forward to this at all. Fortunately, my children are small, and the biggest decisions we have had to make for them is what kind of clothes they will and will not be seen in. So the thought/question of the day is...how do I know what parts of my childhood should be passed on to my children, and what parts should be avoided? I loved my childhood, even though I was antsy to grow up and experience the world. Is that the kind of experience I want my children to have?
Attainable Goal: Figure out what kind of yarn my scarf is made of. And GO TO THE Y!!
Grievance: None yet!
Celebration: Lots of sleep last night for me.
I often reminisce about my childhood. It was a pretty amazing one, as far as childhoods go, I guess. If I were to have a shrink he would probably find something wrong with it, but since I am an pinnacle of psychological perfection, I live with the firm belief that my life has been pretty awesome. I lived with parents who loved each other, loved their children, and loved God. Whenever they worked, I got to spend time with my beloved Great Grandparents, and those years with them have been priceless beyond words. I was geographically close to almost every extended family member, which meant that we were all pretty close.
Cheetah and I almost constantly find things in our adult lives that remind us of our lives as children, which we immediately text/facebook to each other. Example: One night a couple weeks ago I made lamb chops for dinner. That, in turn, reminded me of a little movie we used to watch, "Lambchops Play-A-Long", with a really annoying theme song. So, if the annoying theme song was going to be stuck in my head for the rest of the evening, it stands to reason that Cheetah had to join me in my misery. The two of us have a set of movies, our version of "classics", that we watch together whenever we are feeing sentimental and nostalgic, which is more often than not. Titles in this movie list include Goofy Movie, Muppet Treasure Island, White Squall, and other MORE embarrassing (believe it or not) movies that I shall not list.
We were not like other children we knew, and even in hindsight I think our family was a rarity. Our young years resembled those of Pleasantville, with the little suburban house, tiny conservative church, and role-model "citizen-of-the-year" type parents. We never had much money, but we always had each other, and that was the most important thing of all. Our parents never fought, we spent all of grade school in a private school, and we took our one vacation per year in the same spot in Sunriver. I remember other children talking about their parents, and how they were divorced, or never at home, or generally sporting a cold demeanour. I recall wondering what it was like to have a dysfunctional family, and sometimes even fantasizing about having a home that struggled with big issues. Not to say that I did not struggle. We were quite poor for a while, and it was apparent how much toll this took on my Mom and Dad, but they never stopped loving and making the best of it.
As an adult, there are so few people that I come into contact with that had a great childhood like mine. There are even some that think that my 50's life seems, as they say, "functionally dysfuntional", referring to the idea that my black and white existence somehow lacked any sort of colour. I cannot say that they are entirely in the wrong. I was always very sheltered, and very excited to live life outside my tiny town. I have never done any sort of illegal drug, never had terrible experiences drinking alcohol, and have never broken the law (unless you count speed limit laws). When I hear my friends or husband tell me of their life experiments, and all the things they got to experience and learn from, I feel like maybe I have been a little bit "functionally dysfunctional". My life has lacked the color that theirs has had. Or, perhaps, we just color our worlds differently...
This brings me to today, and the raising of my children. When one gets married, there is always the difficult task of combining "things", getting rid of sentimentalitites to make room for a new life with a new person. What proves to be the most difficult thing about combining lives, however, is combining our pasts. Big Love and I have grown up two completely different ways, and we are trying to bring both of our upbringings together to create a family environment for our children. So then comes the big dicussions. Do we spank our children? Do we want to approach life like something to be experienced on your own, or with the parental controls contantly weeding out anything not rated G? How long do we make them attend church before we let them discover their own spirituality? How do we approach drug use and drinking? These are all big decisions that will become more difficult as the kids will get older. I am not looking forward to this at all. Fortunately, my children are small, and the biggest decisions we have had to make for them is what kind of clothes they will and will not be seen in. So the thought/question of the day is...how do I know what parts of my childhood should be passed on to my children, and what parts should be avoided? I loved my childhood, even though I was antsy to grow up and experience the world. Is that the kind of experience I want my children to have?
Monday, July 6, 2009
Back from the Hiatus
Daily Specs:
Attainable Goal: Finish this blog before Boy Love awakes
Grievance: Have been too busy to go to the Y in a week and a half or blog in 2 and a half weeks.
Celebration: I have a new business!
Hello, again! Wow it has been a long time since I blogged. I am on the computer frequently, but have had no opportunity to make a post, due to my NEW BUSINESS VENTURE! I have an online shop on Etsy!
As many of you know, I am inflicted with a hobby addiction. In my opinion there is absolutely nothing wrong with any hobby, except for the distinct possibility that you will become addicted. And, really, is that so terrible? I have made the decision to take my addiction to the streets, selling my wares, hoping to turn my new creative outlet into something that can potentially help my family. If you are interested in seeing what I have done so far, check out my site!
www.mommasmind.etsy.com
or follow my business on Twitter:
www.twitter.com/mommasmind
Okay. Blatant business plug? Check. Moving on.
Many very exciting things have happened in my life over the last few weeks. First of all, Cheetah returns home from the middle east on her leave of absence TODAY! As a matter of fact, she will be arriving at any moment. I am not there to greet her, but, thanks to my awesome insurance company, I will be able to see her off! Quick, painless back story... I was the instigator of a terribly minute accident over three years ago, where I bumped someone's bumper at 5 mph. I hit the wrong guy, for he and his passenger each sued me for ridiculous amounts of money. My insurance company refuses to settle their cases (because they are ridiculous allegations), and so I have to fly back home to partake in a trial. Now, because my insurance rocks, they are paying me to fly home at the same time that Cheetah is home! Hooray! I get to see her on her leave! So that is the exciting things that have happened to me. I am in a very happy place. I have a quasi-business to keep my hands from sitting idly by, and I have a trip home to look forward to!
Over the last few weeks, I have seen been inspired to blog about SO many things. I am surprised daily at the multi-faceted life of a SAHM and wife. How could there possibly be so much richness to such a life? To the layman's eye, the existence of a stay-at-home mother seems somewhat ho-hum, and...dare I say it...bleak? I remember looking at SAHMs and thinking what many people think: Why did they go to college? Why are they wasting their intelligence? What could possibly be rewarding about cleaning all day? Well let me tell you how wrong I was. I find myself using my schooling every day, making decision for the house that require intellect and finesse, and I am able to play with my children, watch their milestones blossom before my eyes, and greet my exhausted husband when he gets home each day.
When I was living at home with Boy Love and my parents, I was a full time student and a night time bartender. I would spend about half of each day with my son, and it broke my heart every single day to take him to whoever was watching him. I did not witness many of his "firsts". I very distinctly recall coming home from work one day to hear my parents had helped Boy take his first steps. I know that their intentions were good, they wanted him to work on it so he could do it for me as a surprise. Even though their intentions were good, I was SO upset that I was not there to see his first steps. I remember crying myself to sleep that night, just holding him next to me. Since then, I have told myself that I want to be there more often. And now that I am married to a man whose job provides for us, I am able to see everything. I can see the laughs, the smiles, teach the songs, and learn the patience that comes with being solely a mother.
I am happy where I am. I still sometimes wonder if I should be working, helping out with the family finances. But now that I am at least trying to make money, I am feeling much better about it. I feel like I am helping. And I am still at home for every moment and every step. What could be better?
Attainable Goal: Finish this blog before Boy Love awakes
Grievance: Have been too busy to go to the Y in a week and a half or blog in 2 and a half weeks.
Celebration: I have a new business!
Hello, again! Wow it has been a long time since I blogged. I am on the computer frequently, but have had no opportunity to make a post, due to my NEW BUSINESS VENTURE! I have an online shop on Etsy!
As many of you know, I am inflicted with a hobby addiction. In my opinion there is absolutely nothing wrong with any hobby, except for the distinct possibility that you will become addicted. And, really, is that so terrible? I have made the decision to take my addiction to the streets, selling my wares, hoping to turn my new creative outlet into something that can potentially help my family. If you are interested in seeing what I have done so far, check out my site!
www.mommasmind.etsy.com
or follow my business on Twitter:
www.twitter.com/mommasmind
Okay. Blatant business plug? Check. Moving on.
Many very exciting things have happened in my life over the last few weeks. First of all, Cheetah returns home from the middle east on her leave of absence TODAY! As a matter of fact, she will be arriving at any moment. I am not there to greet her, but, thanks to my awesome insurance company, I will be able to see her off! Quick, painless back story... I was the instigator of a terribly minute accident over three years ago, where I bumped someone's bumper at 5 mph. I hit the wrong guy, for he and his passenger each sued me for ridiculous amounts of money. My insurance company refuses to settle their cases (because they are ridiculous allegations), and so I have to fly back home to partake in a trial. Now, because my insurance rocks, they are paying me to fly home at the same time that Cheetah is home! Hooray! I get to see her on her leave! So that is the exciting things that have happened to me. I am in a very happy place. I have a quasi-business to keep my hands from sitting idly by, and I have a trip home to look forward to!
Over the last few weeks, I have seen been inspired to blog about SO many things. I am surprised daily at the multi-faceted life of a SAHM and wife. How could there possibly be so much richness to such a life? To the layman's eye, the existence of a stay-at-home mother seems somewhat ho-hum, and...dare I say it...bleak? I remember looking at SAHMs and thinking what many people think: Why did they go to college? Why are they wasting their intelligence? What could possibly be rewarding about cleaning all day? Well let me tell you how wrong I was. I find myself using my schooling every day, making decision for the house that require intellect and finesse, and I am able to play with my children, watch their milestones blossom before my eyes, and greet my exhausted husband when he gets home each day.
When I was living at home with Boy Love and my parents, I was a full time student and a night time bartender. I would spend about half of each day with my son, and it broke my heart every single day to take him to whoever was watching him. I did not witness many of his "firsts". I very distinctly recall coming home from work one day to hear my parents had helped Boy take his first steps. I know that their intentions were good, they wanted him to work on it so he could do it for me as a surprise. Even though their intentions were good, I was SO upset that I was not there to see his first steps. I remember crying myself to sleep that night, just holding him next to me. Since then, I have told myself that I want to be there more often. And now that I am married to a man whose job provides for us, I am able to see everything. I can see the laughs, the smiles, teach the songs, and learn the patience that comes with being solely a mother.
I am happy where I am. I still sometimes wonder if I should be working, helping out with the family finances. But now that I am at least trying to make money, I am feeling much better about it. I feel like I am helping. And I am still at home for every moment and every step. What could be better?
Monday, June 22, 2009
Woman in a Man's World
Daily Specs:
Attainable Goal: Uh....um... (frantically searching room for something I could tag as a possible goal)...I don't know.
Grievance: None of my boys slept very well last night, and that means mommy didn't sleep too well either.
Celebration: Perhaps we will get to go play with friends in their new pool today!
Yesterday was Sunday. Sundays are my second favourite day of the week. Wednesdays are my first for the sole purpose that Big Love has the day off of work, but Sundays are awesome in a multitude of ways. First of all, Sunday is Big Love's short day (a mere 8.5 hours), which means he can attend night church and eat dinner with us. But first and foremost, Sunday is church day.
I LOVE church. The kids and I attend "morning church" in a conventional setting while Big Love works, and then in the evening we attend a not-so-conventional "night church" which suits Big perfectly. At both venues I am encouraged, spiritually fed, and constantly learning things about myself and the world that God has created. I have not always loved church, probably for the same reasons that a lot of people don't like it. I found the people there judgmental, fiercely competitive with each other, and nitpicky about pointing out every little thing wrong with the world. I remember attending the class time, which was usually the hour preceding the main worship time, and being floored by the so-called "discussions" that would take place. Everyone in the classes was trying to out-smart each other in a sort of "I-went-to-seminary-longer-than-you-and-therefore-have-far-more-biblical-knowledge" kind of way. This made me feel SO angry. Whenever I felt the need to add to the discussion topic, I was edged out by someone who wanted to prove they knew more about Bible history than me. Needless to say, it was not an environment that I felt myself growing, being pruned, and growing back ten-fold.
I also never liked youth group much. Youth group days, for me, were not that long ago. I changed churches with my parents about halfway through my youth group years, and the church we moved to did not have the kind of setting that catered to someone as reserved as myself. Cliques had already been formed, alliances and enemies had been established, and no one was super excited to invite the shy, freckled thespian into their group. In hindsight, I probably wouldn't have let me in, either.
As an adult, however, I have found my niche in church. I LOVE being involved with ministries. There are many ministries that are better suited for other people, but I have found a place in Worship. I have always been a fan of singing. I am not inflicted with false modesty when I say that my singing voice is only a bit above mediocre on a good day, but I love the act of singing to God. I figure that if I love hearing music so much, then God has to think that it is awesome, especially since a lot of music is about Him. I am a Church of Christ girl through and through, which means two big things for a woman: I have been able to read music since I was 6 (hooray for a cappella singing), and I have to go through oodles of red tape if I want to accomplish anything without the help of a man.
I say this with only the slightest bit of resentment. I understand how many of the restrictions on women's leadership roles in a Church of Christ came to be where they are, and I applaud us a church community for progressing as far as we have. The fact that we have a female Children's Minister at the church I now attend is truly phenomenal. But I find myself wanting to be more than involved in ministries that allow women to be involved. I want to be a leader.
I went to school for theatre, as you probably well know. I wanted to, inevitably, bring the theatre world and church world together. I wanted to be able to have a venue to reach those who, like me, are not always church fans. Since I have been in school and graduated, my directive has changed a bit. I want to be a minister. Not a stand-at-the-pulpit minister, because that requires many talents that I do not possess. I want to be a creative arts minister. What is that? I don't know. I have only heard of one person with that title, and I have no idea what her job description was. If I were to invent a job desription for myself, it would include teaching classes, organizing events that bring the community into a church setting using "art" as a common ground, and most importantly showing people that there are alternate ways to express your spirituality than being a singer or a scholar.
So herein lies the issue. As a rule in the Church of Christ, women have many restrictions as to what they are allowed to do in leadership positions. In most churches, women are not allowed to lead in front of a baptized male. I'm sure there is Biblical ground for this rule, but I am not sure what it is at this moment. If you want to get upset about it, find someone else to explain it to you. I have learned to accept it. So if I am not allowed to lead in front of a baptized male, that means I do not pray out loud, do not lead a song, do not teach a class that men attend, and DO NOT EVER get up behind the pulpit and address the congregation in any capacity. Fine. Whatever. I can deal. What I struggle to deal with, however, is trying to accomplish things behind the scenes.
For example, this week I put together a special Thursday night service for our church. I had asked for a project to help out our over-worked and under-paid worship minister, and he asked me to put together a prayer service for Independence Day. Awesome. That is right up my alley. So I built a service from the ground up. I have never done this before, and do not know exactly what I need to do to get my project up and running, so the worship minister gives me a to-do list. Awesome. What I notice, however, is that when I send an email, I do not get a response. So I become a cyber-bother, emailing again and again. Still no responses. Only after I have told this to the worship minister and HE puts in a good word for me do I get anything back. And even then, it is often a response directly to him, which he has to re-tells to me. This is frustrating, not only because I am trying and not able to do anything on my own, but I am not helping my worship minister at all. He is still doing all the work.
This is merely an example. I want to make my life serving in a church, and I need to learn how to handle the red tape. Are there any suggestions out there? I am willing to be patient and pay my dues, but if I am going to run into gender issues for my whole life, even after my dues are paid, how can I learn to be understanding and loving about it? I am essentially begging to help the church, and it does not seem like people want me to. I hate to say it, but I am getting a little discouraged.
Attainable Goal: Uh....um... (frantically searching room for something I could tag as a possible goal)...I don't know.
Grievance: None of my boys slept very well last night, and that means mommy didn't sleep too well either.
Celebration: Perhaps we will get to go play with friends in their new pool today!
Yesterday was Sunday. Sundays are my second favourite day of the week. Wednesdays are my first for the sole purpose that Big Love has the day off of work, but Sundays are awesome in a multitude of ways. First of all, Sunday is Big Love's short day (a mere 8.5 hours), which means he can attend night church and eat dinner with us. But first and foremost, Sunday is church day.
I LOVE church. The kids and I attend "morning church" in a conventional setting while Big Love works, and then in the evening we attend a not-so-conventional "night church" which suits Big perfectly. At both venues I am encouraged, spiritually fed, and constantly learning things about myself and the world that God has created. I have not always loved church, probably for the same reasons that a lot of people don't like it. I found the people there judgmental, fiercely competitive with each other, and nitpicky about pointing out every little thing wrong with the world. I remember attending the class time, which was usually the hour preceding the main worship time, and being floored by the so-called "discussions" that would take place. Everyone in the classes was trying to out-smart each other in a sort of "I-went-to-seminary-longer-than-you-and-therefore-have-far-more-biblical-knowledge" kind of way. This made me feel SO angry. Whenever I felt the need to add to the discussion topic, I was edged out by someone who wanted to prove they knew more about Bible history than me. Needless to say, it was not an environment that I felt myself growing, being pruned, and growing back ten-fold.
I also never liked youth group much. Youth group days, for me, were not that long ago. I changed churches with my parents about halfway through my youth group years, and the church we moved to did not have the kind of setting that catered to someone as reserved as myself. Cliques had already been formed, alliances and enemies had been established, and no one was super excited to invite the shy, freckled thespian into their group. In hindsight, I probably wouldn't have let me in, either.
As an adult, however, I have found my niche in church. I LOVE being involved with ministries. There are many ministries that are better suited for other people, but I have found a place in Worship. I have always been a fan of singing. I am not inflicted with false modesty when I say that my singing voice is only a bit above mediocre on a good day, but I love the act of singing to God. I figure that if I love hearing music so much, then God has to think that it is awesome, especially since a lot of music is about Him. I am a Church of Christ girl through and through, which means two big things for a woman: I have been able to read music since I was 6 (hooray for a cappella singing), and I have to go through oodles of red tape if I want to accomplish anything without the help of a man.
I say this with only the slightest bit of resentment. I understand how many of the restrictions on women's leadership roles in a Church of Christ came to be where they are, and I applaud us a church community for progressing as far as we have. The fact that we have a female Children's Minister at the church I now attend is truly phenomenal. But I find myself wanting to be more than involved in ministries that allow women to be involved. I want to be a leader.
I went to school for theatre, as you probably well know. I wanted to, inevitably, bring the theatre world and church world together. I wanted to be able to have a venue to reach those who, like me, are not always church fans. Since I have been in school and graduated, my directive has changed a bit. I want to be a minister. Not a stand-at-the-pulpit minister, because that requires many talents that I do not possess. I want to be a creative arts minister. What is that? I don't know. I have only heard of one person with that title, and I have no idea what her job description was. If I were to invent a job desription for myself, it would include teaching classes, organizing events that bring the community into a church setting using "art" as a common ground, and most importantly showing people that there are alternate ways to express your spirituality than being a singer or a scholar.
So herein lies the issue. As a rule in the Church of Christ, women have many restrictions as to what they are allowed to do in leadership positions. In most churches, women are not allowed to lead in front of a baptized male. I'm sure there is Biblical ground for this rule, but I am not sure what it is at this moment. If you want to get upset about it, find someone else to explain it to you. I have learned to accept it. So if I am not allowed to lead in front of a baptized male, that means I do not pray out loud, do not lead a song, do not teach a class that men attend, and DO NOT EVER get up behind the pulpit and address the congregation in any capacity. Fine. Whatever. I can deal. What I struggle to deal with, however, is trying to accomplish things behind the scenes.
For example, this week I put together a special Thursday night service for our church. I had asked for a project to help out our over-worked and under-paid worship minister, and he asked me to put together a prayer service for Independence Day. Awesome. That is right up my alley. So I built a service from the ground up. I have never done this before, and do not know exactly what I need to do to get my project up and running, so the worship minister gives me a to-do list. Awesome. What I notice, however, is that when I send an email, I do not get a response. So I become a cyber-bother, emailing again and again. Still no responses. Only after I have told this to the worship minister and HE puts in a good word for me do I get anything back. And even then, it is often a response directly to him, which he has to re-tells to me. This is frustrating, not only because I am trying and not able to do anything on my own, but I am not helping my worship minister at all. He is still doing all the work.
This is merely an example. I want to make my life serving in a church, and I need to learn how to handle the red tape. Are there any suggestions out there? I am willing to be patient and pay my dues, but if I am going to run into gender issues for my whole life, even after my dues are paid, how can I learn to be understanding and loving about it? I am essentially begging to help the church, and it does not seem like people want me to. I hate to say it, but I am getting a little discouraged.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Happy Anniversary
Daily Specs:
Attainable Goal: Make Father's Day presents. I really must do this today, seeing as tomorrow is Father's Day.
Grievance: None yet
Celebration: Today is my 1st anniversary.
I have been married for one year today. It is phenomenal how quickly a year can fly by. When I look back, however, so much has happened in the last year that I could probably account for all 365 days if I needed to.
Big Love and I got married under some rather interesting circumstances. For those of you that know this story, sorry. I am telling it again. Last year at this time, Boy Love and I were residing in a teeny studio apartment in Atlanta. I had moved there in September of 2007 to get my first out-of-college job in a theatre department at a high-falutin' private school. Big Love and I had met in the spring of '07, when I got a job as a bartender in the restaurant he was managing. After I moved to Atlanta 5 months later, we kept in touch via Myspace messages (yes, Myspace has played a significant role in my life. Sad as that may sound). By the time Christmas of '07 rolled around, we were in a long-distance love affair, and were about to re-meet face to face when I came home for the holidays. When Boy Love and I went over to his house for the first time after arriving in Portland for the holidays, I was a little nervous. I had not physically seen Big Love in any sort of situation besides at the restaurant. However, when he came to the door, we had one of those Hollywood kisses and my nerves were calmed. Big Love swears that when we were kissing our first kiss that I dropped Boy Love out of my arms, but I will contest to my grave that I set him down on the ground with the gentleness of a butterfly. By the time I left Portland in January to return to my apartment in Atlanta, the two of us had professed our love for each other, and he began to find ways to move back down south. By March, he had procured a job at a local restaurant and an apartment.
Big Love had lived in the south before. He attended college in Nashville and worked for one restaurant group the whole time he was there. He developed life long relationships with the owner ad his family, and was loved very much by them. When he moved to Atlanta to be around Boy Love and myself, he was in somewhat familiar territory. During his stint in Nashville, he had been to Atlanta a few times, and he knew what to expect in the area. What he did NOT expect, however, was a phone call in early June from his old employers saying they wanted to meet up with him. They were going to be in Atlanta checking out some restaurants and they wanted to meet up. Big Love was excited about this, but had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this was more than a friendly meeting.
He was right. Big Love was offered a job from his previous employers. They wanted him to be the general manager and kitchen manager of the restaurant that they owned in Birmingham. This was an amazing opportunity for Big, not only because he could once again work for his friends, but because he would make enough money to support a family. The only real downfall was that the job was in Birmingham, which meant another move. And since Big Love had just moved all the way across the country to be with Boy and I not 4 months earlier, there was no way he was about to move away from us now. That only meant one thing: we were going with him. Us going with him meant we had to make a decision, do we get separate places? Do we live together? Well living together was the only thing that made sense, financially speaking. I would not be working and could not afford to support myself and Boy. We didn't necessarily want to "shack up", so that left only one option. We decided to get married.
In accepting this job, he needed to begin training almost immediately. We had two weeks to get our affairs in order. That included getting married. Big Love came to my apartment a few nights later, Sharpie pen in hand, and proposed. He drew a pen mark around my ring finger, and I drew one around his. We had decided to get tattoos instead of rings, so the Sharpie would have to do for a couple weeks.
On the 20th of June, we went straight from our respective jobs (his at the Atlanta restaurant, mine at the summer camp at school) and went to the office of our church minister. He married us right then and there, in his office, with my parents on speakerphone. It was perfect. Boy Love was at the sitters for the night and all the next day, so Big Love and I high-tailed it to Birmingham for our wedding night. The one day of our honeymoon we spent in Birmingham finding an apartment, only to return to Atlanta in the evening. We picked up Boy Love from the sitter's house and went to get our "wedding rings". We were officially married.
And that is just the story of us getting married. Chaos continued to ensue after that...new jobs, moving to Birmingham, and a (very swift) conception of Baby Love, but that is a whole different story...
Happy Anniversary, to you, Big Love. You are a perfect, God fearing man, and I will love you forever and always.
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