I am.
I don’t remember being afraid of the dark when I was young and I don’t remember any situation in particular that would have made me feel this way, but I do.
My husband and I both have lamps on our nightstands, matching of course. We also have a ceiling fan that contains light as well. The ceiling fan is remote controlled; however, the remote is located on my husband’s side of the bed. When you walk into our room and flip on the light switch, it activates the lamp on my husband’s side of the bed. Not, mine. Therefore, when I head to bed first, I have to walk to the wall, turn that light off and walk to the bed in the dark. However, it’s not really as simple as it sounds.
You see, I am terrified of what might by lying underneath my bed. Ok, I’ll give you a moment to stop laughing and collect yourself. Yes, I am afraid of the dark, and I am not afraid to admit it anymore. This is how entering my bed alone usually goes:
I do all the necessary get-ready-for-bed activities, brushing the teeth, showering etc. Then I’ll head downstairs, tell everyone goodnight, lock the front door, get a drink, whatever. Then the dreaded walk up the stairs. Now, if there are people actively playing upstairs, Jake on the computer, and whatnot, there are usually lights on in the hallway, so things go very smoothly on my walk up the stairs. However, the nights when the kids are all tucked in asleep, and Tom is downstairs watching TV, or in the garage tinkering, I head up the stairs alone, and the fright fest begins.
There is a light switch at the bottom of the staircase. I flip it on. I walk happily up the stairs in a brightly lit stairwell. I turn the corner to head up the second flight of stairs and eyeball the light switch at the top of the stairs that I will use to turn these lights off. I head directly for it, but right before I turn it off, I eyeball the route to my bedroom, memorizing it, so that as soon as I turn this stairwell light off, I can walk that path with my eyes closed if need be, and know full well, there is nothing in my way.
I flip the switch, head straight to my door, and immediately turn the light switch on in my room that operates Tom’s nightstand lamp. Phew! I made it.
Now comes the hard part. I, again, map out the path from the bedroom door to my bed. Making sure nothing is in my way, no shoes, no purse, etc. Keep in mind, my bedroom is 17x24 feet, therefore, the walk from my bedroom door to the bed is approximately 8 to 10 steps.
After taking about 4 to 5 steps, I can actually feel cold air coming from under my bed on my feet, a sensation that would make anyone feel eerie. What is the cold from I wonder, are there vampires under there? A man with a cold steal weapon, or the boogey man himself? When I feel this sensation, and that I am close enough to actually make it, I take a giant leap, with all my might from about 3 feet away and jump to the top off my bed, not letting my legs or feet dangle off at any point. I mean, I make my entire body meet the center of the bed in one giant move.
I immediately get under the covers, survey the room, and take deep breathes, well, because I just jumped really far and that was a lot of work and now I am out of breathe.
Now, I know the simple solution to this is to turn the light on at the wall, then walk to my side of the bed and turn my lamp on, however, as you can see, my critical thinking skills are lacking during this stage of my day! J But I do have some excuses.
I suffer from cataracts. I do have a vision problem and wear contacts; however, this is separate from the cataracts. My cataracts cause a vision problem for me that cannot be corrected with contacts or glasses. It’s like splattered paint on your eyeballs. Therefore, when light hits my eyes, even with the corrected vision of my contacts, I see shadows and some objects I cannot see at all. All of this is caused by glare. If light is behind me, I am perfectly fine. But if the light is in front of me, it’s literally blinding. Now, with this information, think about where the light is coming from when I walk, run, leap into my bed. It’s right in front of me, causing my vision to blur and all the of objects seem black and distorted.
Yep, that’s the best excuse I can come up with. I am visually impaired and therefore, the boogey man lives under my bed.
I also can’t sleep until my husband comes to bed, but that’s another blog entirely.
Although my excuse is pretty lame, I do have a simple solution that will work even when my critical thinking skills are on the fritz….. The Clapper!
I need the device that plugs into the wall, and when I am in bed, I can clap my hands, as my old lady turkey arms wave back and forth, and shout CLAP ON! CLAP OFF!
It feels good to get this off my chest. My husband has only recently discovered my fear.
Stop laughing!
Friday, November 14, 2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
When your teenager gets hammered and decides to vomit inside your car...
Raising a teenager is painful to say the least. There's no more cute little voice, lovey dovey moments, or innocence. And you obviously can't spank or wave your finger at them while saying "no, no little Johnny, don't do that". You have to come up with more inventive ways of disciplining, communicating, and overall loving.
I strongly believe that affection is still very important, no matter what age. Every person on this earth wants to feel the touch of someone who loves them. Whether it be a soft pat on the back, holding hands, or fingers through the hair. Everyone loves it and needs it. But beyond the physical affection, things change when children get older, namely, they do just that, get older.
My son recently came home smelling like cigarette smoke. He's almost 17. But that's no excuse, it's just me listing his age. I smelled it on him in 1 second flat. The stupidity of a teenager shines through in these moments. Smokers are somehow oblivious to the fact that the rest of us can smell you from 6 miles away. Our noses turn into that of a brown bear's nose. We sense you, smoker people! To top off the fact that I hate it, hate it, hate it, my other son is deathly allergic to it. He's asthmatic, and one of his allergies is cigarette smoke, along with trees, grass, and animals with fur. So, to have a person in my home purposefully bring in something that might harm another one of us is just not tolerable in my book.
But being level headed, I took a deep breathe, and my husband and I decided to only give advice, and facts about smoking. Instead yelling and screaming "what the hell were you thinking?" We decided to be smart about it. The yelling and screaming comes easy to me, can you tell? LOL
We explained what smoking does to your body. We explained the seriousness of addiction and the affects of that, as well as the cost. I told him that if a girl had a choice, would she choose to kiss a guy with ashtray breathe, or strawberry bubblegum breathe? But we also deeply discussed Brody's health issues and that it cannot be tolerated for that reason alone. We left the room by saying "these are the facts about smoking, but it's up to you because we can't police you 24 hours a day". Since then, I have not smelled cigarette smoke. I have even heard him on the phone with someone telling them, "naw, I don't smoke anymore". YAY! The After School Special tactic worked. (Unless of course, he is better at hiding it, either way, I can't smell it.)
Two small, very small, days later, he went to the high school football game. Our backyard overlooks the football field. That night, he strolled thru the front door right on time. Smiling ear to ear, he came right at me and hugged me saying "Hi Mom". WHOA! I could smell something new that night.
I told him to head to his room and that I would be right there. After putting the other kids to bed, I headed for his room. He was already lying down on his bed, but was still smiling. I said "what are you smiling about?" "I was making out with a girl" he replied, smiling even bigger this time. I said "have you been drinking?" He replied immediately, without any hesitation "Yep!" I sat down on the floor beside his bed, keeping my composure and asked a load of questions. He happily answered every single one. At one point, I wanted to ask "are you sure it was vodka and not truth serum?" I had trouble at times not laughing at him. He was so giggly and it was almost cute. But I had to check myself and say STOP, this is terrible stuff. What are you doing thinking this is funny?!?!
So, I did the same thing as we did two nights earlier. I explained that he could get me in a lot of trouble for being underage and the trouble he could get himself into. Thank goodness we live within walking distance; otherwise, he could have been in a car! By the way, they were drinking in plain site at the school football game. Anyway, I did the after school special routine on him and hoped for the best. I hoped he would be sick out of his mind the next day, vomiting, crying "I'll never drink again".
Yeah, right! He was up the next morning at 7:00 a.m. asking me for eggs and bacon. He was perfectly fine. ARGH! He had no punishment out of it. We talked more and he remembered everything. I also brought up the fact that he spilled his guts to me the night before and to remember that, because if he ever does it again, he will tell me everything!
Two little weeks later, the homecoming dance! He's supposed to be home at 10:00. My strict rule, which he abides by very carefully. At 10:05, he was not home, so I called his cell. He answered and said "I'm almost there".
I decided to walk out front and stand in the driveway and wait for him. As I looked down the street, I heard giggling from behind me. I look the opposite direction from where he should be coming, and here comes a load of people, falling down in my yard as they try the simple task of walking. They're laughing, falling, tripping, and looking totally ridiculous. And alas, here he comes, bringing up the rear of this train of fools. He's trying that cool teenage boy swagger, but it ain't working. Even at 10:15 at night I can see his pearly whites, he's smiling so big. The swagger kept swaying from left to right, in a diagonal line. He walks right up to me and says "Hey mom" with this goofy "I'm wasted" voice.
He's white as chalk and sweating already from his head. I decided to grab my purse and take him to his father's house because I had all the other kids in the house still watching TV. I didn't want them to witness this catastrophe. I told him to stay put. I ran inside, grabbed my purse and off we went. I told him we were going to go for a drive.
Now, some background, I am not a drinker. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy myself some Mexican food and margaritas. I also enjoy wine, by the bottle at times. But I never get wasted and have never had to throw up and get sick over it and I am not 16 years old.
But I toss him in the car, and drive to his dad's. I use the excuse of the kids being up, but really, honestly, I just don't want to deal with it. It's someone else's turn as far as I am concerned. I wasn't in the mood.
We get about 3 minutes from the house and I hear this loud rumbling, which turns into groaning. Before I have a moment to react, I realize the vomit it coming, fiercely coming. I reach across for his door and yell "open the door, open the door!"
Oh man, what a site, my entire door, passenger side of the car covered in teenage stupidity! It didn't take but about 10 seconds for me to realize my terrible predicament.
Crying, I call his dad, telling him, possibly yelling, "I am bringing him to you, he just barfed in my car and you're taking care of this! He just BARFED in my car!!" He said "why are you yelling at me?" I said "because you are on the phone, that's why!"
I cried the entire way to his house. I called my husband and said "don't ask any questions, just get in your car and come pick me up at Jake's dad's house." "Uh, ok" he said.
When we got there, I walked him to the door; he barfed on his way up their stairs and all over his bed. I gave his dad the keys to my car and told him "make sure my car is spotless by tomorrow afternoon, I'll be back to get it". His dad does car detailing on the side, so he has all the needed equipment.
My husband shows up, gets out of his car and opens his trunk. He pulls out a gas can and walks up to me and says "You ran out of gas didn't you?" No, I didn't run out of gas, but that sure would have been easier to deal with. So I explained what happened and he hung his head really low and proceeded to his car without saying a word. LOL
The next day, I got a call at about 3:00 and was told my car was finished. I picked it up, along with the teenager, and it was spotless. He did a great job but I was deserving.
But what I am struggling with is this….how the heck do you punish this kid? I mean, ok, I know, restriction, take away the computer, take away the phone, banish him from the outside world and only allow fresh air when needed. But really, what's your advice? Instead of getting drunk, I was off getting pregnant. I never dealt with this side of things.
I also wonder if being 3rd generation square has anything to do with it. You see, my grandparents drank and smoked. My grandmother smoked so much, all of us hated it. All I heard my entire life was how terrible it smelled. So, in turn, I associated the smell of smoke with the term BAD. Same with drinking. It was drilled into me that it was bad.
For Jake however, we're not around anyone who does those things. So he hasn't had it drilled into him like it was for me. I guess you could say it almost is never brought up because it's never been an issue.
I know what you're thinking. "Oh, he's a teenager, most teenagers do this." But really, do they? And where else is this headed. Is there any end in site? I surely hope so, I need a drink.
Signed,
Desperate Mother, wishing I was a housewife
I strongly believe that affection is still very important, no matter what age. Every person on this earth wants to feel the touch of someone who loves them. Whether it be a soft pat on the back, holding hands, or fingers through the hair. Everyone loves it and needs it. But beyond the physical affection, things change when children get older, namely, they do just that, get older.
My son recently came home smelling like cigarette smoke. He's almost 17. But that's no excuse, it's just me listing his age. I smelled it on him in 1 second flat. The stupidity of a teenager shines through in these moments. Smokers are somehow oblivious to the fact that the rest of us can smell you from 6 miles away. Our noses turn into that of a brown bear's nose. We sense you, smoker people! To top off the fact that I hate it, hate it, hate it, my other son is deathly allergic to it. He's asthmatic, and one of his allergies is cigarette smoke, along with trees, grass, and animals with fur. So, to have a person in my home purposefully bring in something that might harm another one of us is just not tolerable in my book.
But being level headed, I took a deep breathe, and my husband and I decided to only give advice, and facts about smoking. Instead yelling and screaming "what the hell were you thinking?" We decided to be smart about it. The yelling and screaming comes easy to me, can you tell? LOL
We explained what smoking does to your body. We explained the seriousness of addiction and the affects of that, as well as the cost. I told him that if a girl had a choice, would she choose to kiss a guy with ashtray breathe, or strawberry bubblegum breathe? But we also deeply discussed Brody's health issues and that it cannot be tolerated for that reason alone. We left the room by saying "these are the facts about smoking, but it's up to you because we can't police you 24 hours a day". Since then, I have not smelled cigarette smoke. I have even heard him on the phone with someone telling them, "naw, I don't smoke anymore". YAY! The After School Special tactic worked. (Unless of course, he is better at hiding it, either way, I can't smell it.)
Two small, very small, days later, he went to the high school football game. Our backyard overlooks the football field. That night, he strolled thru the front door right on time. Smiling ear to ear, he came right at me and hugged me saying "Hi Mom". WHOA! I could smell something new that night.
I told him to head to his room and that I would be right there. After putting the other kids to bed, I headed for his room. He was already lying down on his bed, but was still smiling. I said "what are you smiling about?" "I was making out with a girl" he replied, smiling even bigger this time. I said "have you been drinking?" He replied immediately, without any hesitation "Yep!" I sat down on the floor beside his bed, keeping my composure and asked a load of questions. He happily answered every single one. At one point, I wanted to ask "are you sure it was vodka and not truth serum?" I had trouble at times not laughing at him. He was so giggly and it was almost cute. But I had to check myself and say STOP, this is terrible stuff. What are you doing thinking this is funny?!?!
So, I did the same thing as we did two nights earlier. I explained that he could get me in a lot of trouble for being underage and the trouble he could get himself into. Thank goodness we live within walking distance; otherwise, he could have been in a car! By the way, they were drinking in plain site at the school football game. Anyway, I did the after school special routine on him and hoped for the best. I hoped he would be sick out of his mind the next day, vomiting, crying "I'll never drink again".
Yeah, right! He was up the next morning at 7:00 a.m. asking me for eggs and bacon. He was perfectly fine. ARGH! He had no punishment out of it. We talked more and he remembered everything. I also brought up the fact that he spilled his guts to me the night before and to remember that, because if he ever does it again, he will tell me everything!
Two little weeks later, the homecoming dance! He's supposed to be home at 10:00. My strict rule, which he abides by very carefully. At 10:05, he was not home, so I called his cell. He answered and said "I'm almost there".
I decided to walk out front and stand in the driveway and wait for him. As I looked down the street, I heard giggling from behind me. I look the opposite direction from where he should be coming, and here comes a load of people, falling down in my yard as they try the simple task of walking. They're laughing, falling, tripping, and looking totally ridiculous. And alas, here he comes, bringing up the rear of this train of fools. He's trying that cool teenage boy swagger, but it ain't working. Even at 10:15 at night I can see his pearly whites, he's smiling so big. The swagger kept swaying from left to right, in a diagonal line. He walks right up to me and says "Hey mom" with this goofy "I'm wasted" voice.
He's white as chalk and sweating already from his head. I decided to grab my purse and take him to his father's house because I had all the other kids in the house still watching TV. I didn't want them to witness this catastrophe. I told him to stay put. I ran inside, grabbed my purse and off we went. I told him we were going to go for a drive.
Now, some background, I am not a drinker. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy myself some Mexican food and margaritas. I also enjoy wine, by the bottle at times. But I never get wasted and have never had to throw up and get sick over it and I am not 16 years old.
But I toss him in the car, and drive to his dad's. I use the excuse of the kids being up, but really, honestly, I just don't want to deal with it. It's someone else's turn as far as I am concerned. I wasn't in the mood.
We get about 3 minutes from the house and I hear this loud rumbling, which turns into groaning. Before I have a moment to react, I realize the vomit it coming, fiercely coming. I reach across for his door and yell "open the door, open the door!"
Oh man, what a site, my entire door, passenger side of the car covered in teenage stupidity! It didn't take but about 10 seconds for me to realize my terrible predicament.
Crying, I call his dad, telling him, possibly yelling, "I am bringing him to you, he just barfed in my car and you're taking care of this! He just BARFED in my car!!" He said "why are you yelling at me?" I said "because you are on the phone, that's why!"
I cried the entire way to his house. I called my husband and said "don't ask any questions, just get in your car and come pick me up at Jake's dad's house." "Uh, ok" he said.
When we got there, I walked him to the door; he barfed on his way up their stairs and all over his bed. I gave his dad the keys to my car and told him "make sure my car is spotless by tomorrow afternoon, I'll be back to get it". His dad does car detailing on the side, so he has all the needed equipment.
My husband shows up, gets out of his car and opens his trunk. He pulls out a gas can and walks up to me and says "You ran out of gas didn't you?" No, I didn't run out of gas, but that sure would have been easier to deal with. So I explained what happened and he hung his head really low and proceeded to his car without saying a word. LOL
The next day, I got a call at about 3:00 and was told my car was finished. I picked it up, along with the teenager, and it was spotless. He did a great job but I was deserving.
But what I am struggling with is this….how the heck do you punish this kid? I mean, ok, I know, restriction, take away the computer, take away the phone, banish him from the outside world and only allow fresh air when needed. But really, what's your advice? Instead of getting drunk, I was off getting pregnant. I never dealt with this side of things.
I also wonder if being 3rd generation square has anything to do with it. You see, my grandparents drank and smoked. My grandmother smoked so much, all of us hated it. All I heard my entire life was how terrible it smelled. So, in turn, I associated the smell of smoke with the term BAD. Same with drinking. It was drilled into me that it was bad.
For Jake however, we're not around anyone who does those things. So he hasn't had it drilled into him like it was for me. I guess you could say it almost is never brought up because it's never been an issue.
I know what you're thinking. "Oh, he's a teenager, most teenagers do this." But really, do they? And where else is this headed. Is there any end in site? I surely hope so, I need a drink.
Signed,
Desperate Mother, wishing I was a housewife
Educating America, one word at a time
Word for the day: Nuclear
I am on a soapbox today because I am trying to educate 4 children in my home. They actually sat and watched the debate with us last night, and during which, we have the leaders of America mispronouncing so many things. It’s scary. I’d like to know how many of their school teachers are mispronouncing words in the classroom, thus causing this great catastrophe in the world.
I’ll admit, I think Sarah Palin is gorgeous, smart as hell, and could be a great leader. I think the same of Joe Biden, except for the gorgeous part. However, other Americans are listening to them speak and learning the incorrect pronunciation of words. It’s just sad. And George Dubya is worse!!!
Did you know that because so many people, high level people, have pronounced the word “nuclear” incorrectly that they have actually added the incorrect pronunciation to dictionaries????
Check out this site:
http://en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Nucular
It is new-clear, NOT new-cu-lar
Can you believe that? Just because a few high profile people said it wrong, it now makes it right?????
Some other words that tick me off that are pronounced incorrectly:
Acrossed - hello people, it's just across, there's no ‘ed’ on the end.
Artic - No such thing peeps, it's the Arctic. Read it again if you didn't get it.
Aks - If you plan to chop down a tree, it's ax. If you want to get an answer, you must ASK a question. Aks??? Really?!?!?
Fisical - Ok, I work in the accounting field and hear this so much it drives me up the wall. The word physical, we all know well, I can assume. But there is this thing called fiscal. Like fiscal year, fiscal crisis etc. Are you fiscally sound? It is NOT fisically sound, or fisical year. It is fiscal. (Fi-skull)
Supposably - No such thing. It's supposedly! Period.
And lastly Volumptuous - Take out the M people. Our boobs might be lumpy, causing you to put the word lump in the middle, but that's NOT how the word is pronounced. It's voluptuous!
I am on a soapbox today because I am trying to educate 4 children in my home. They actually sat and watched the debate with us last night, and during which, we have the leaders of America mispronouncing so many things. It’s scary. I’d like to know how many of their school teachers are mispronouncing words in the classroom, thus causing this great catastrophe in the world.
I’ll admit, I think Sarah Palin is gorgeous, smart as hell, and could be a great leader. I think the same of Joe Biden, except for the gorgeous part. However, other Americans are listening to them speak and learning the incorrect pronunciation of words. It’s just sad. And George Dubya is worse!!!
Did you know that because so many people, high level people, have pronounced the word “nuclear” incorrectly that they have actually added the incorrect pronunciation to dictionaries????
Check out this site:
http://en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Nucular
It is new-clear, NOT new-cu-lar
Can you believe that? Just because a few high profile people said it wrong, it now makes it right?????
Some other words that tick me off that are pronounced incorrectly:
Acrossed - hello people, it's just across, there's no ‘ed’ on the end.
Artic - No such thing peeps, it's the Arctic. Read it again if you didn't get it.
Aks - If you plan to chop down a tree, it's ax. If you want to get an answer, you must ASK a question. Aks??? Really?!?!?
Fisical - Ok, I work in the accounting field and hear this so much it drives me up the wall. The word physical, we all know well, I can assume. But there is this thing called fiscal. Like fiscal year, fiscal crisis etc. Are you fiscally sound? It is NOT fisically sound, or fisical year. It is fiscal. (Fi-skull)
Supposably - No such thing. It's supposedly! Period.
And lastly Volumptuous - Take out the M people. Our boobs might be lumpy, causing you to put the word lump in the middle, but that's NOT how the word is pronounced. It's voluptuous!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
I Love My Dad!
I found this letter my dad wrote to me a while back. At the time, I was struggling with my teenage son, as most parents do. It was a very trying time for me. It was testing my devotion as a mother to the fullest. I felt weak for the first time as his mother and embarrassingly so. It's terrible to say, but it felt good to hear that I wasn't alone. It was a test of my commitment and loyalty, but we persevered.
My dad's letter helped me through it and I thought I would share it with you. Perhaps you can gain strength from it as I did and use it to your advantage.
He wrote:
"Just a note to say how much I love you........things may be overwhelming right now, but, somehow (and we don't know how or when) things always work themselves out.
When faced with hard times it is sometimes comforting to reflect on the beautiful occasion(s) that led to this time. For me it is always thinking back to that gorgeous 18 year old that I made a promise to so long ago at the altar of God. Maybe, in this case, it's that first time you held that beautiful baby boy.....for I'm sure that's all it took to dedicate you to a lifetime of devotion.
Reyna, you've faced tough obstacles before and always landed on your feet. It is important to recognize that the toughest obstacle you'll ever face is devotion.
Devotion tests you, it comes charging at you, it envelopes you and it tries to drown you. It will unnerve you, it will frighten you and it will confuse you. But, know that you'll feel pride when you pass the test, you'll gain strength to face it's charge, you'll learn to shed the paralyzing cocoon, and you'll learn what it takes to keep your head above water. You'll be more steadfast....you'll become valiant..... and you will become certain. True devotion will always make you a better person.
A wise man we all knew once told me your children are your life and your legacy. Lee didn't profess to know much about either, but, his life produced his legacy.
We all do our best to control our life, but, it's going to turn out the way destiny chooses. That leaves you with your legacy, and a new chapter is written every day. You are the author, so choose the words carefully.
I love you,
Dad"
Nuff said.
My dad's letter helped me through it and I thought I would share it with you. Perhaps you can gain strength from it as I did and use it to your advantage.
He wrote:
"Just a note to say how much I love you........things may be overwhelming right now, but, somehow (and we don't know how or when) things always work themselves out.
When faced with hard times it is sometimes comforting to reflect on the beautiful occasion(s) that led to this time. For me it is always thinking back to that gorgeous 18 year old that I made a promise to so long ago at the altar of God. Maybe, in this case, it's that first time you held that beautiful baby boy.....for I'm sure that's all it took to dedicate you to a lifetime of devotion.
Reyna, you've faced tough obstacles before and always landed on your feet. It is important to recognize that the toughest obstacle you'll ever face is devotion.
Devotion tests you, it comes charging at you, it envelopes you and it tries to drown you. It will unnerve you, it will frighten you and it will confuse you. But, know that you'll feel pride when you pass the test, you'll gain strength to face it's charge, you'll learn to shed the paralyzing cocoon, and you'll learn what it takes to keep your head above water. You'll be more steadfast....you'll become valiant..... and you will become certain. True devotion will always make you a better person.
A wise man we all knew once told me your children are your life and your legacy. Lee didn't profess to know much about either, but, his life produced his legacy.
We all do our best to control our life, but, it's going to turn out the way destiny chooses. That leaves you with your legacy, and a new chapter is written every day. You are the author, so choose the words carefully.
I love you,
Dad"
Nuff said.
Why my grandmother is who I strive to be, and why I'll never be like her...
I don't know if this happened because she passed away, or if it's just my age, but perhaps it's just a little bit of both. My grandmother, Mary, was the kindest, softest, and most "put-together" women I have ever met. She cooked a meal the size of my Thanksgiving spread almost every single Sunday and the entire family of aunts, uncles and cousins would be there to enjoy it along with Grandpa's music under the fruitless mulberry tree. And as I recall, the small 2 bedroom 1 bath house was as clean as a whistle. She had obviously been cooking all morning, and somehow there were no dirty dishes and she didn't even have a dishwasher. When did she find the time to wash the dishes? Now don't get me wrong, I am fully aware that it was only Grandma and Grandpa living there, not making large messes and so on, but those images are engrained in my mind. I can remember vividly how perfectly the beds were made; even her sheets were ironed, or "pressed" as she would say. The kitchen floor and counters NEVER had a crumb on them and the toilet and tub were spotless. To boot, she was always happy, kind and not rushing or sweating in the kitchen to prepare the meal.
I recently had my son's 16th birthday party at my home. I prepared food and cleaned the house as well. I had actually been cleaning for almost a week prior. The day of the party, I enlisted each of my children to help me around the house with the remaining chores while my husband worked to prepare the yards. By the time the party started I was literally sweating, trying to make sure every chore was complete and done to my satisfaction. I also needed to make sure my hair and make-up were in place and that my food would be ready in time to eat. All the while, all I could think about was Grandma. She wouldn't be sweating, and her house wouldn't take 5 people to clean it. Why?
Well, for starters, I think my "vivid" memories are a tad skewed. I mean, they have to be right?!? I was a child for one, I can't have really paid THAT much attention to every detail. In fact, I was outside playing in the barn until we were called in to eat. How do I really know how she was acting inside? And perhaps my mom and aunt were inside helping her finish up everything, washing the dishes, putting things away etc. Now I know for a fact her house was immaculate. That part of my memories I don't doubt, but the calmness that I remember, how could it be?
Was it her genetic make-up, just the way she was born or raised? Could it be her old age, or even a tiny pill like valium? Or just my imagination?
But knowing what I "vividly" remember, I place more stress on myself to be just like her. Perfect! My sheets should be pressed, and my toilets should be spotless, and for God's sake, I have a dishwasher, I certainly shouldn't have dirty dishes. The pressure I put on myself is terrible, making the task at hand seem even harder to attain.
When I walk into my home, my eyes are immediately drawn to the crumbs on the kitchen floor, like Crumb Radar. Then my eyes scan in horror as I notice the pillows out of place on the sofa and the kids afternoon snack wrappers on the table. And it all gets worse when I notice the shoes, socks, backpacks and homework tossed all around the dining area. By then, I am sweating, my mouth is foaming and steam is coming out of my ears. To resolve, the issue, I either start shouting orders, or my attentive husband notices the dripping steam from my head and starts shouting them himself, trying to avoid his wife's inner demon from escaping.
As each evening wears on, I shout between 20 and 30 more orders to any given person. Pick up your shoes, take a shower, where's your homework, brush your teeth, what were you thinking…etc. etc. etc. By the time I go to bed, I often think, WWGD? What would Grandma do?
I can't honestly say. But just the pressure of knowing how perfect her home was makes it that much more important to me.
I recently told my husband that I honestly feel guilty that I don't make everyone's bed each morning. He thought I was nuts. And yes, I am a working mother, not a stay at home mom, but I feel brainwashed by my grandmother and possibly television, that mom's are supposed to make their kids beds. Yes, I know, we have to teach our children how to be independent and self-sufficient. But I still have that guilty feeling.
So I asked myself today, what if I just stopped trying to be like Grandma? What if I my memories of her were skewed and she were less perfect than I remember? And my answer is that I don't think I would be the women I am today, if I at least didn't try. I know times are different, and I know I work full-time and have twice as many children as she, but if I didn't try, my carpet would be permanently stained, and we would never have a clean spoon and their shoes would still be in the living room.
If I didn't give orders, or make them clean up their own messes, they would never learn to clean up after themselves.
I recently went into my step-daughter's bedroom to find a mess far beyond my wildest imagination. While she was gone, I decided to tackle it myself. I was crying, angry, and sweating. After three and a half hours I decided to stop and wait until she returned to finish the job. At first, I was going to scold her for not keeping it up to my standards. But after a 24 hour cooling off period, I came to my senses. I realized that everyday, the kids learn from me how to keep the kitchen swept, the shoes put away, the pillows neatly placed and the dishes clean. But we never had daily lessons of keeping our bedrooms organized. When she returned, I decided to show her how to organize, how to plan ahead and how everything in your room has a place. It's been almost a week and she's already invited several friends over after school to play in her room, which she hasn't done for quite sometime. She's obviously proud of what her room looks like now. And she told me that she made sure to clean the mess up before her friends left. And since she is our princess, I hope I made a good impression on her, giving her good advice instead of it being a terrible memory of when her evil step-mother made her scrub the floors, and polish the glass slipper.
About two weeks ago, I started placing little note cards around my house. Little reminders to the family members, a.k.a CHILDREN, about how to take care of certain things. Here's a sample of my reminders:
On the microwave –
"If you make a mess in the microwave, please CLEAN IT!!!"
On the toilet –
"If you just used this toilet, please flush it. And courtesy flush the pooh please!"
Over the kitchen sink –
"Rinse your dish off COMPLETELY"
So far, the little reminders are working!
Perhaps it's all in my head. I call it "shouting orders", because that's how it feels, I feel like a drill sergeant. But I am probably just teaching lessons and being a mom. I know in my heart, I will never be that "vivid" memory of my grandmother, but I strive each day to be that woman. And maybe one day, when I am 65 and have no children at home, retired, and baking, I will get there.
Until then, please put your shoes away!!!!
I recently had my son's 16th birthday party at my home. I prepared food and cleaned the house as well. I had actually been cleaning for almost a week prior. The day of the party, I enlisted each of my children to help me around the house with the remaining chores while my husband worked to prepare the yards. By the time the party started I was literally sweating, trying to make sure every chore was complete and done to my satisfaction. I also needed to make sure my hair and make-up were in place and that my food would be ready in time to eat. All the while, all I could think about was Grandma. She wouldn't be sweating, and her house wouldn't take 5 people to clean it. Why?
Well, for starters, I think my "vivid" memories are a tad skewed. I mean, they have to be right?!? I was a child for one, I can't have really paid THAT much attention to every detail. In fact, I was outside playing in the barn until we were called in to eat. How do I really know how she was acting inside? And perhaps my mom and aunt were inside helping her finish up everything, washing the dishes, putting things away etc. Now I know for a fact her house was immaculate. That part of my memories I don't doubt, but the calmness that I remember, how could it be?
Was it her genetic make-up, just the way she was born or raised? Could it be her old age, or even a tiny pill like valium? Or just my imagination?
But knowing what I "vividly" remember, I place more stress on myself to be just like her. Perfect! My sheets should be pressed, and my toilets should be spotless, and for God's sake, I have a dishwasher, I certainly shouldn't have dirty dishes. The pressure I put on myself is terrible, making the task at hand seem even harder to attain.
When I walk into my home, my eyes are immediately drawn to the crumbs on the kitchen floor, like Crumb Radar. Then my eyes scan in horror as I notice the pillows out of place on the sofa and the kids afternoon snack wrappers on the table. And it all gets worse when I notice the shoes, socks, backpacks and homework tossed all around the dining area. By then, I am sweating, my mouth is foaming and steam is coming out of my ears. To resolve, the issue, I either start shouting orders, or my attentive husband notices the dripping steam from my head and starts shouting them himself, trying to avoid his wife's inner demon from escaping.
As each evening wears on, I shout between 20 and 30 more orders to any given person. Pick up your shoes, take a shower, where's your homework, brush your teeth, what were you thinking…etc. etc. etc. By the time I go to bed, I often think, WWGD? What would Grandma do?
I can't honestly say. But just the pressure of knowing how perfect her home was makes it that much more important to me.
I recently told my husband that I honestly feel guilty that I don't make everyone's bed each morning. He thought I was nuts. And yes, I am a working mother, not a stay at home mom, but I feel brainwashed by my grandmother and possibly television, that mom's are supposed to make their kids beds. Yes, I know, we have to teach our children how to be independent and self-sufficient. But I still have that guilty feeling.
So I asked myself today, what if I just stopped trying to be like Grandma? What if I my memories of her were skewed and she were less perfect than I remember? And my answer is that I don't think I would be the women I am today, if I at least didn't try. I know times are different, and I know I work full-time and have twice as many children as she, but if I didn't try, my carpet would be permanently stained, and we would never have a clean spoon and their shoes would still be in the living room.
If I didn't give orders, or make them clean up their own messes, they would never learn to clean up after themselves.
I recently went into my step-daughter's bedroom to find a mess far beyond my wildest imagination. While she was gone, I decided to tackle it myself. I was crying, angry, and sweating. After three and a half hours I decided to stop and wait until she returned to finish the job. At first, I was going to scold her for not keeping it up to my standards. But after a 24 hour cooling off period, I came to my senses. I realized that everyday, the kids learn from me how to keep the kitchen swept, the shoes put away, the pillows neatly placed and the dishes clean. But we never had daily lessons of keeping our bedrooms organized. When she returned, I decided to show her how to organize, how to plan ahead and how everything in your room has a place. It's been almost a week and she's already invited several friends over after school to play in her room, which she hasn't done for quite sometime. She's obviously proud of what her room looks like now. And she told me that she made sure to clean the mess up before her friends left. And since she is our princess, I hope I made a good impression on her, giving her good advice instead of it being a terrible memory of when her evil step-mother made her scrub the floors, and polish the glass slipper.
About two weeks ago, I started placing little note cards around my house. Little reminders to the family members, a.k.a CHILDREN, about how to take care of certain things. Here's a sample of my reminders:
On the microwave –
"If you make a mess in the microwave, please CLEAN IT!!!"
On the toilet –
"If you just used this toilet, please flush it. And courtesy flush the pooh please!"
Over the kitchen sink –
"Rinse your dish off COMPLETELY"
So far, the little reminders are working!
Perhaps it's all in my head. I call it "shouting orders", because that's how it feels, I feel like a drill sergeant. But I am probably just teaching lessons and being a mom. I know in my heart, I will never be that "vivid" memory of my grandmother, but I strive each day to be that woman. And maybe one day, when I am 65 and have no children at home, retired, and baking, I will get there.
Until then, please put your shoes away!!!!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
An Old Story
I am obviously in a reminiscing mood today, school's out, kids are graduating, etc. I ran across this old story I wrote exactly one year ago today, interestingly enough. I thought I'd post it here today for old times sake. Enjoy!
Xavier!
My stepson, Xavier, who is 7 years old, has recently completed a month long stint of restriction. He was restricted from playing video games, playing with friends, and watching television, unless it was the Science, History, or Discovery channels. In recent months, Xavier has been in a lot of trouble, for your normal everyday boy stuff. Not listening, lying about homework, etc. etc. etc. So the month of restriction, which he has completed, was his punishment.
A Broken Door!
Yesterday, I came home from work to a hole in one of my interior doors of my home. My 15 year old son, Jake, immediately fessed up. I say hole, but it was really more like a broken dent, for lack of a better term. Brody and Cecilia were messing around causing Jake to get involved, which ended up with Brody making a comment to Jake that really hurt his feelings. I am leaving a lot of the details out, but please know that Jake had to endure quite a bit of frustration throughout this ordeal trying to control Cecilia and Brody and the entire situation. Jake is 15, however, quite immature and in Special Ed classes at school. Brody made a comment to Jake after their argument that basically made fun of Jake and his learning disability. Jake stormed off and punched the door on the way to his room.
So, as the kids started to tell me what happened, I asked Xavier to go outside and play, since he had no part in the ordeal. He grabbed his brand new bucket of chalk and went outside.
We were inside at the kitchen table for quite sometime, talking everything out with Jake, Brody and Cecilia. I was crying at one point, because as a mother, you never want to see your children argue. And you most certainly don't want your child's feelings hurt. At the end of the conversation, I leaned over to my husband and said "I bet Xavier is jumping for joy that he's not sitting at this table for once!"
Time for Dinner!
Now it's time to start dinner. I try to teach the kids how to cook when I can, so last night was Xavier and Jake's turn at the stove. Cecilia and Brody were helping my husband outside. We decided to make breakfast burritos. Carbs always soothe a broken heart right? As Jake was cracking the eggs into the pan, I was stirring away as Xavier watched. By the 12th egg, I was stirring vigorously, however Jake said "Mom, there was a huge piece of eggshell, hold on!"
Well, it was too late. I had already scrambled it in and we looked and looked and looked to no avail. Xavier said "what are we gonna do?" I leaned over and jokingly said "We'll just keep it our little secret."
Since there are 6 people in the house, I was standing at the stove building each burrito as they stood in line. Starting with Xavier's and ending with mine. By the time I got to the 4th burrito, Xavier came up behind me, having eaten almost half of his, he tugged on my shirt. I turned around and he motioned for me to bend down because he wanted to tell me a secret. I leaned over to him and he said very quietly "I got the shell".
I was so overwhelmed; I was laughing hysterically, and started to cry. I wasn't that serious about it being a secret. My family wouldn't have cared if they found it in their food. But it was absolutely outstanding how Xavier handled the situation. I shared the story with everyone at the dinner table and we laughed and laughed.
Time to Wake Up!
Every morning, before I jump in the shower, I head to the second floor window and stare out for a moment. Checking the weather, seeing the light, while letting my eyes adjust. As I look down to the front driveway of our home, I see something that made me smile from ear to ear, and prompt me to write this today.
Remember yesterday, I sent Xavier outside to play and he took his bucket of chalk? Well, what I saw on the driveway was in large print, each letter nearly 12 inches tall.
It read "I LOVE MY DAD, REYNA, JAKE, BRODY, AND SISTER". It was so beautifully written, it was as if he knew I would read it from my window. What a wonderful way to start me day! We love you too, Xavier!
Wow, I love these kids! No matter what breaks, they mend it with laughter and unconditional love.
Xavier!
My stepson, Xavier, who is 7 years old, has recently completed a month long stint of restriction. He was restricted from playing video games, playing with friends, and watching television, unless it was the Science, History, or Discovery channels. In recent months, Xavier has been in a lot of trouble, for your normal everyday boy stuff. Not listening, lying about homework, etc. etc. etc. So the month of restriction, which he has completed, was his punishment.
A Broken Door!
Yesterday, I came home from work to a hole in one of my interior doors of my home. My 15 year old son, Jake, immediately fessed up. I say hole, but it was really more like a broken dent, for lack of a better term. Brody and Cecilia were messing around causing Jake to get involved, which ended up with Brody making a comment to Jake that really hurt his feelings. I am leaving a lot of the details out, but please know that Jake had to endure quite a bit of frustration throughout this ordeal trying to control Cecilia and Brody and the entire situation. Jake is 15, however, quite immature and in Special Ed classes at school. Brody made a comment to Jake after their argument that basically made fun of Jake and his learning disability. Jake stormed off and punched the door on the way to his room.
So, as the kids started to tell me what happened, I asked Xavier to go outside and play, since he had no part in the ordeal. He grabbed his brand new bucket of chalk and went outside.
We were inside at the kitchen table for quite sometime, talking everything out with Jake, Brody and Cecilia. I was crying at one point, because as a mother, you never want to see your children argue. And you most certainly don't want your child's feelings hurt. At the end of the conversation, I leaned over to my husband and said "I bet Xavier is jumping for joy that he's not sitting at this table for once!"
Time for Dinner!
Now it's time to start dinner. I try to teach the kids how to cook when I can, so last night was Xavier and Jake's turn at the stove. Cecilia and Brody were helping my husband outside. We decided to make breakfast burritos. Carbs always soothe a broken heart right? As Jake was cracking the eggs into the pan, I was stirring away as Xavier watched. By the 12th egg, I was stirring vigorously, however Jake said "Mom, there was a huge piece of eggshell, hold on!"
Well, it was too late. I had already scrambled it in and we looked and looked and looked to no avail. Xavier said "what are we gonna do?" I leaned over and jokingly said "We'll just keep it our little secret."
Since there are 6 people in the house, I was standing at the stove building each burrito as they stood in line. Starting with Xavier's and ending with mine. By the time I got to the 4th burrito, Xavier came up behind me, having eaten almost half of his, he tugged on my shirt. I turned around and he motioned for me to bend down because he wanted to tell me a secret. I leaned over to him and he said very quietly "I got the shell".
I was so overwhelmed; I was laughing hysterically, and started to cry. I wasn't that serious about it being a secret. My family wouldn't have cared if they found it in their food. But it was absolutely outstanding how Xavier handled the situation. I shared the story with everyone at the dinner table and we laughed and laughed.
Time to Wake Up!
Every morning, before I jump in the shower, I head to the second floor window and stare out for a moment. Checking the weather, seeing the light, while letting my eyes adjust. As I look down to the front driveway of our home, I see something that made me smile from ear to ear, and prompt me to write this today.
Remember yesterday, I sent Xavier outside to play and he took his bucket of chalk? Well, what I saw on the driveway was in large print, each letter nearly 12 inches tall.
It read "I LOVE MY DAD, REYNA, JAKE, BRODY, AND SISTER". It was so beautifully written, it was as if he knew I would read it from my window. What a wonderful way to start me day! We love you too, Xavier!
Wow, I love these kids! No matter what breaks, they mend it with laughter and unconditional love.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Things Remembered
The older I get, the harder it seems to remember important events in my life, scheduled appointments, birthdays, or even someone's name. Thank goodness we live in a technological era and that we can live off of our Palm Pilots, Treos, and crapberrys, I mean Blackberry. I recently decided to start writing some of these events down in hopes that I can continue my list and later it will help jog my memory.
Here's a short list of events that I remember and hope to retain:
My mom's 23rd birthday. I was 3. The cake was chocolate and my dad used green and white numbered candles. It was at night and he turned off the lights so that the room was dark. It was beautiful. She was 7 months pregnant with my sister.
My sister fell into our pool while my dad was mowing the lawn. He couldn't hear me screaming for him because of the lawnmower. I had to run all the way to him. She fell in with her tricycle. My dad ran and jumped right into the deep end and pulled her to safety. She was still holding on to the tricycle. She was 2.
Broke my arm when I was 9 after falling off a horse. We had just recently moved and my parents couldn't find the hospital. My mom couldn't stop crying.
My sister's glasses were accidentally thrown into the lake where we lived. My dad hooked them with his fishing line as he cast out. She is considered legally blind. My dad swam in the bottom of the lake looking for the glasses all night, knowing it took 2 weeks to order new glasses and she would go that length of time not being able to see. They were never found. I still feel terrible for him to this day. She was 6.
My first pony, Sunny, decided to stop, lie down, and roll over while I was still on him. My grandpa watched, laughing hysterically, as I thought I was going to be crushed to death. I was 11.
My dog Gatlin was hit by a car in the middle of the night when I was 8. My parents picked us up out of bed and we drove to the 24 hour vet. I was terribly embarrassed the entire time because I had worn my dad's white undershirt as pajamas that night. It was as long as a dress, but I wasn't prepared for the
public. :)
My best friend invited me on a summer vacation when I was 12. My grandfather gave me $100 privately and said "don't tell your mom I gave this to you, keep it for an emergency and just give it back if you don't use it". My mom had already packed a certain amount of money for me in envelopes marked "Sunday", "Monday", "Tuesday"… etc. When I returned from my trip, I had not spent the $100, so to keep the secret I placed it in my Verve' perfume box. I kept it in my room. I planned to return it to him on Sunday after church. Two years later, I was cleaning out my room and found that box; the $100 was still in it!! I secretly returned it to him, 2 years late, and he whispered, "Just keep it".
I remember my first kiss. It was terrible!
Holding Jacob for the first time. He was warm and soft and I never wanted to let him go. And according to Tom, I most likely never will.
Seeing Tom for the first time. I remember his black leather jacket and tan skin. He was introduced to me and from that moment on, the game had begun.
The first time I saw Brody's face. He was born puckering his lips, as if he was ready to give his momma a kiss.
As I write some of these memories, I get that warm and fuzzy feeling. Maybe these memories will help on a bad day too, when I'm not feeling very warm and fuzzy.
And as my list grows, I'll be able to look back, with no pictures needed and remember my fond memories.
And one day, when I am a grandmother, I will cross off each story as I tell it. That way I don't keep repeating myself over and over and over, like most grandparents. J
Have a warm and fuzzy day!
Here's a short list of events that I remember and hope to retain:
My mom's 23rd birthday. I was 3. The cake was chocolate and my dad used green and white numbered candles. It was at night and he turned off the lights so that the room was dark. It was beautiful. She was 7 months pregnant with my sister.
My sister fell into our pool while my dad was mowing the lawn. He couldn't hear me screaming for him because of the lawnmower. I had to run all the way to him. She fell in with her tricycle. My dad ran and jumped right into the deep end and pulled her to safety. She was still holding on to the tricycle. She was 2.
Broke my arm when I was 9 after falling off a horse. We had just recently moved and my parents couldn't find the hospital. My mom couldn't stop crying.
My sister's glasses were accidentally thrown into the lake where we lived. My dad hooked them with his fishing line as he cast out. She is considered legally blind. My dad swam in the bottom of the lake looking for the glasses all night, knowing it took 2 weeks to order new glasses and she would go that length of time not being able to see. They were never found. I still feel terrible for him to this day. She was 6.
My first pony, Sunny, decided to stop, lie down, and roll over while I was still on him. My grandpa watched, laughing hysterically, as I thought I was going to be crushed to death. I was 11.
My dog Gatlin was hit by a car in the middle of the night when I was 8. My parents picked us up out of bed and we drove to the 24 hour vet. I was terribly embarrassed the entire time because I had worn my dad's white undershirt as pajamas that night. It was as long as a dress, but I wasn't prepared for the
public. :)
My best friend invited me on a summer vacation when I was 12. My grandfather gave me $100 privately and said "don't tell your mom I gave this to you, keep it for an emergency and just give it back if you don't use it". My mom had already packed a certain amount of money for me in envelopes marked "Sunday", "Monday", "Tuesday"… etc. When I returned from my trip, I had not spent the $100, so to keep the secret I placed it in my Verve' perfume box. I kept it in my room. I planned to return it to him on Sunday after church. Two years later, I was cleaning out my room and found that box; the $100 was still in it!! I secretly returned it to him, 2 years late, and he whispered, "Just keep it".
I remember my first kiss. It was terrible!
Holding Jacob for the first time. He was warm and soft and I never wanted to let him go. And according to Tom, I most likely never will.
Seeing Tom for the first time. I remember his black leather jacket and tan skin. He was introduced to me and from that moment on, the game had begun.
The first time I saw Brody's face. He was born puckering his lips, as if he was ready to give his momma a kiss.
As I write some of these memories, I get that warm and fuzzy feeling. Maybe these memories will help on a bad day too, when I'm not feeling very warm and fuzzy.
And as my list grows, I'll be able to look back, with no pictures needed and remember my fond memories.
And one day, when I am a grandmother, I will cross off each story as I tell it. That way I don't keep repeating myself over and over and over, like most grandparents. J
Have a warm and fuzzy day!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
LOVE U
Tuesday night, I was the last person to bed. Before I went to bed, I had personally cleaned off the kitchen table and remember vividly doing so. I left only a couple of items inside a grocery bag for my next day at work. There were 2 checks that needed depositing at the bank, and two boxes of meal bars that I bring to work, all still inside the grocery bag from my purchase earlier and that was it.
The next morning, I was the last person to leave the house for work. When I came downstairs to the kitchen, I noticed quite a few things all over the table. I stood and questioned everything for a moment, wondering why, who, and when this all happened. I remember specifically cleaning this table off the night before. Now, I know there are quite a few kids eating breakfast at this table each morning, as well as backpacks and the like. However, they have been well-trained and know to put their dishes in the sink. Plus, they were all gone and off to school, and no backpacks were in site.
There were things on the table that just didn't make sense. There were a couple of pens, a coaster, and my plastic grocery bag EMPTY, with the items removed.
Obviously, in the morning, I don't have too much time for investigative work. Now, if it were the afternoon, I would be dusting for fingerprints, looking for shoe prints on the floor and any hair follicles to decipher the culprit. But not this morning, I was headed out the door. So, I quickly put everything away, repacked my bag for work and off I went.
That afternoon, my husband said "Did you remember the checks for the bank?" "Yes, I did", I replied. He said "Oh, good, did you also remember your meal bars for your desk at work?" I said "Yes, I did, I got everything this morning before I left." "Well," he said "did you notice anything strange about your things?" "No, why" I asked. Tom said "oh, well, I guess you didn't notice," with a long face he continued "I had spelled out the words 'LOVE U' on the table."
I thought for a moment, taking in what he just said, replaying the scene in my head, and BOOM! It hit me like a ton of bricks, my heart instantly sank. L What a great fool I was. How could I not have noticed!!!!
He used the two checks to make an "L". He used the coaster from the living room to make an "O". He used two pens from the kitchen junk drawer to make the "V" and my meal bars to make an "E". Finally, he rolled the grocery bag into the shape of a "U".
And I didn't even notice. All I saw was a huge mess on the table. Terrible, just terrible! But you know, this has been a HUGE lesson for me, a reminder to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. My eyes and mind are trained to worry about the messes, and keeping order. Instead of taking a step back, waiting for just a slight moment, I jumped into the mode of "who did this and why". This is a lesson I will hold dear to my heart.
I will work hard to take a step back, and provide myself with a longer reaction time. Perhaps that will save me the embarrassment next time and offer the praise and gratitude that is due, as it was for my husband in this situation.
So, I write this today, in hope that maybe you can learn from my mistake. Don't jump to conclusions, stop and smell the roses, and take deep breathes!
And Tom, I deeply LOVE U too!!!!!
The next morning, I was the last person to leave the house for work. When I came downstairs to the kitchen, I noticed quite a few things all over the table. I stood and questioned everything for a moment, wondering why, who, and when this all happened. I remember specifically cleaning this table off the night before. Now, I know there are quite a few kids eating breakfast at this table each morning, as well as backpacks and the like. However, they have been well-trained and know to put their dishes in the sink. Plus, they were all gone and off to school, and no backpacks were in site.
There were things on the table that just didn't make sense. There were a couple of pens, a coaster, and my plastic grocery bag EMPTY, with the items removed.
Obviously, in the morning, I don't have too much time for investigative work. Now, if it were the afternoon, I would be dusting for fingerprints, looking for shoe prints on the floor and any hair follicles to decipher the culprit. But not this morning, I was headed out the door. So, I quickly put everything away, repacked my bag for work and off I went.
That afternoon, my husband said "Did you remember the checks for the bank?" "Yes, I did", I replied. He said "Oh, good, did you also remember your meal bars for your desk at work?" I said "Yes, I did, I got everything this morning before I left." "Well," he said "did you notice anything strange about your things?" "No, why" I asked. Tom said "oh, well, I guess you didn't notice," with a long face he continued "I had spelled out the words 'LOVE U' on the table."
I thought for a moment, taking in what he just said, replaying the scene in my head, and BOOM! It hit me like a ton of bricks, my heart instantly sank. L What a great fool I was. How could I not have noticed!!!!
He used the two checks to make an "L". He used the coaster from the living room to make an "O". He used two pens from the kitchen junk drawer to make the "V" and my meal bars to make an "E". Finally, he rolled the grocery bag into the shape of a "U".
And I didn't even notice. All I saw was a huge mess on the table. Terrible, just terrible! But you know, this has been a HUGE lesson for me, a reminder to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. My eyes and mind are trained to worry about the messes, and keeping order. Instead of taking a step back, waiting for just a slight moment, I jumped into the mode of "who did this and why". This is a lesson I will hold dear to my heart.
I will work hard to take a step back, and provide myself with a longer reaction time. Perhaps that will save me the embarrassment next time and offer the praise and gratitude that is due, as it was for my husband in this situation.
So, I write this today, in hope that maybe you can learn from my mistake. Don't jump to conclusions, stop and smell the roses, and take deep breathes!
And Tom, I deeply LOVE U too!!!!!
Saturday, February 2, 2008
About Us
Me – The Square
I am a very proud wife and mother. I am thrilled of where I am today in my life. To get to this place was rough at times and I hit a few bumps in the road along the way, but each journey brought new beginnings and taught me appreciation I would otherwise not of known.
Tom – The Disciplined Force
My husband has brought me happiness that I have not experienced in my adult life. He is a true man. He’s smart, funny, a great father, and makes me a better person all around. Oh, and he pays the bills, so that part is my favorite. LOL
He and the kids are halfway to black belt in Tae Kwon Do and I am so very proud of them for that. It takes a lot of dedication to accomplish that goal.
Jake – The Big Softy
Jake is my oldest, and he’ll be 16 this month. He is my best friend and we have been thru everything together, all the ups and downs and “bumps in the road”. I am very proud to be that boy’s momma. He is the reason I work so hard. It just sucks that he’s so tall and hairy. Where’d my little boy go?
Brody – The Asthmatic
Brody will be 12 in June. He’s my baby boy. Brody is intense and passionate about everything he does. Ugh, even girls. He likes to flex his muscles and can kick some butt in Tae Kwon Do sparring matches too. We speak the same language and I enjoy my conversations and bike rides with him. He’s my buddy.
Cecilia – The Artist
Cecilia is my step-daughter. She is 11. She’s almost as tall as I am and her shoes are two sizes BIGGER than mine. At this rate, I will be shorter than EVERYONE in the family in a couple years. Cecilia is a well-rounded human being. I think she’s been in trouble 3 times in 6 years. LOL She loves to paint, sew, and do arts and crafts. Boys are not allowed near her!!!!
Xavier – The Comic
Xavier is my stepson and is 8 years old. He’s been making me laugh since I met him when he was 2 years old. He can remember every line from a movie, or recite a joke he heard his dad say, with funny voices and all. But he cannot, no matter what, remember where his shoes, backpack, or homework is. Perhaps that will come in time. LOL I love to hear him sing and talk out of the side of his mouth.
The Family -
We eat dinner at the table, as a family, every night. We love to watch movies with our popcorn and coca-cola close by on the weekends. We frequent Disneyland and the grocery store. I love my family dearly and am very proud to be a part of their lives. I look forward to retirement, (because I hate working), and Friday nights with my husband, even if we’re just folding laundry. Yes ladies, he folds laundry too. Hello, he was in the Marines.
I am a very proud wife and mother. I am thrilled of where I am today in my life. To get to this place was rough at times and I hit a few bumps in the road along the way, but each journey brought new beginnings and taught me appreciation I would otherwise not of known.
Tom – The Disciplined Force
My husband has brought me happiness that I have not experienced in my adult life. He is a true man. He’s smart, funny, a great father, and makes me a better person all around. Oh, and he pays the bills, so that part is my favorite. LOL
He and the kids are halfway to black belt in Tae Kwon Do and I am so very proud of them for that. It takes a lot of dedication to accomplish that goal.
Jake – The Big Softy
Jake is my oldest, and he’ll be 16 this month. He is my best friend and we have been thru everything together, all the ups and downs and “bumps in the road”. I am very proud to be that boy’s momma. He is the reason I work so hard. It just sucks that he’s so tall and hairy. Where’d my little boy go?
Brody – The Asthmatic
Brody will be 12 in June. He’s my baby boy. Brody is intense and passionate about everything he does. Ugh, even girls. He likes to flex his muscles and can kick some butt in Tae Kwon Do sparring matches too. We speak the same language and I enjoy my conversations and bike rides with him. He’s my buddy.
Cecilia – The Artist
Cecilia is my step-daughter. She is 11. She’s almost as tall as I am and her shoes are two sizes BIGGER than mine. At this rate, I will be shorter than EVERYONE in the family in a couple years. Cecilia is a well-rounded human being. I think she’s been in trouble 3 times in 6 years. LOL She loves to paint, sew, and do arts and crafts. Boys are not allowed near her!!!!
Xavier – The Comic
Xavier is my stepson and is 8 years old. He’s been making me laugh since I met him when he was 2 years old. He can remember every line from a movie, or recite a joke he heard his dad say, with funny voices and all. But he cannot, no matter what, remember where his shoes, backpack, or homework is. Perhaps that will come in time. LOL I love to hear him sing and talk out of the side of his mouth.
The Family -
We eat dinner at the table, as a family, every night. We love to watch movies with our popcorn and coca-cola close by on the weekends. We frequent Disneyland and the grocery store. I love my family dearly and am very proud to be a part of their lives. I look forward to retirement, (because I hate working), and Friday nights with my husband, even if we’re just folding laundry. Yes ladies, he folds laundry too. Hello, he was in the Marines.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Like a Virgin!
My first blog. Aren't you proud? Am I blushing?
Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not really a virgin. Does that change our relationship now? I've written quite a few things over the last several months, but I was invited here to share it with you. So here goes....
I enjoy writing for a laundry list of reasons, mainly because it makes me feel good. It relieves stress and I can make light of hectic situations. I also write in order to remember heartwarming stories of my own, or to just simply complain, bitch, moan, and groan. Once I’ve written it down, I usually feel a lot better.
It’s like wanting to write a nasty letter to your boss. You spend hours making sure you say everything perfectly. You cuss him out on paper, making sure to cram in every detail of your anger. You use spell-check, and even the thesaurus to make your correspondence seem more educated and refined.
You proofread it several times and even share it with your spouse or a friend to get their opinion. For most of you, you’ll find that your spouse or friend will tell you it’s a little harsh, but you forge on. In fact, you add edgier cuss words and reformat the letter with bullets and numbering.
However, a little while later, you realize your anger has dissipated. You no longer feel the hatred and absolute loathing you felt a couple hours ago. You then decide that it’s best to perhaps sit on this letter for a while. Think about it more and not be too irrational.
The next day, you completely forget about the letter. Weeks later, you come across this repulsive letter and think to yourself “am I really that hateful?” No, you’re not. You’re just reading on paper your own personal counseling sessions, free counseling I might add. Your stress management course is right there in black and white. (Unless you formatted the cuss words is bold red font.)
Writing is a healing process for me, even if no healing is required.
Veracity, for those of you that don't know, simply put means "devotion to truth" or "power of conveying the truth". This is a place for my experiences, my trueness, my triumphs, and my sincerity.
I hope you enjoy my writings. I do it out of fun, and hope to put a smile on your face while you read. Heck, you might even learn a thing or two.
Enjoy.
Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not really a virgin. Does that change our relationship now? I've written quite a few things over the last several months, but I was invited here to share it with you. So here goes....
I enjoy writing for a laundry list of reasons, mainly because it makes me feel good. It relieves stress and I can make light of hectic situations. I also write in order to remember heartwarming stories of my own, or to just simply complain, bitch, moan, and groan. Once I’ve written it down, I usually feel a lot better.
It’s like wanting to write a nasty letter to your boss. You spend hours making sure you say everything perfectly. You cuss him out on paper, making sure to cram in every detail of your anger. You use spell-check, and even the thesaurus to make your correspondence seem more educated and refined.
You proofread it several times and even share it with your spouse or a friend to get their opinion. For most of you, you’ll find that your spouse or friend will tell you it’s a little harsh, but you forge on. In fact, you add edgier cuss words and reformat the letter with bullets and numbering.
However, a little while later, you realize your anger has dissipated. You no longer feel the hatred and absolute loathing you felt a couple hours ago. You then decide that it’s best to perhaps sit on this letter for a while. Think about it more and not be too irrational.
The next day, you completely forget about the letter. Weeks later, you come across this repulsive letter and think to yourself “am I really that hateful?” No, you’re not. You’re just reading on paper your own personal counseling sessions, free counseling I might add. Your stress management course is right there in black and white. (Unless you formatted the cuss words is bold red font.)
Writing is a healing process for me, even if no healing is required.
Veracity, for those of you that don't know, simply put means "devotion to truth" or "power of conveying the truth". This is a place for my experiences, my trueness, my triumphs, and my sincerity.
I hope you enjoy my writings. I do it out of fun, and hope to put a smile on your face while you read. Heck, you might even learn a thing or two.
Enjoy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
