Wednesday, March 6, 2013
"When God Created Mothers"
“When God Created Mothers"
When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of "overtime" when the angel appeared and said. "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."
And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order?" She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts...all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands."
The angel shook her head slowly and said. "Six pairs of hands.... no way."
It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "it's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."
That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded.
One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks, 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here in the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and of course the ones here in front that can look at a child when he goofs up and say. 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word."
God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest tomorrow...."
I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick...can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger...and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower."
The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.
But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can imagine what this mother can do or endure."
Can it think?"
Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator.
Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.
There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model."
It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."
What's it for?"
It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."
You are a genius, " said the angel.
Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there.”
Friday, March 1, 2013
.The ~ Red ~ Blanket.
It's a magical land. A place where the pigments are the crayola crayon of colors, the sweets are the candied of all desserts, the people are all placed in one big happy category; there is no right and wrong or good or bad; only one kind and they were put before her to only love and smile and say "hiiii" in the raspiest small voice coming from behind blush colored heart shaped lips placed below jewel toned eyes that shine like diamonds.
Her hair always seems to be too heavy on top and curly in the back to be any sort of structure. The tresses pulled atop her crown and fastened with a small teeny tie seem to topple over in whichever direction they please and she uses her two tiny little hands to always brush it out of her eyes.
She sees things in a different light, through that of a young innocent child, the world her very own treasure chest, climbing and digging about, rummaging for lost gold. She laughs often, squeales with frustration when she can't use her own words to emphasize what she is apparently admanent about getting. She apologizes with a huge (head in the shoulder) hug when she has done wrong, and loves nothing more than to snuggle up and watch a movie during the late evening hours just before bed.
Crimson is a color she customarily envisions. Most see red out of hatred. She sees red out of the little fleece blanket with the tag. Not really very certain where this particular linen has sprung from. Maybe it had come with a Cars or Lightning McQueen soft toy somehow attached to it that her older brother had received for a much earlier Christmas or birthday present. He would have undoubtedly detached the toy from the cloak and tossed it elsewhere. Aside from a particular pillow he obsesses over, he hadn't an attachment to much aside from the bottle when he was a baby and having to take that feat and rid him of this habit, it's not with anticipation that it's looked upon to rid her of hers.
It's certain this red fleece blanket used to be much brighter, much cleaner, much newer. Her older brother was now 7 so it was aging well but not if this one little girl could not keep her sticky paws off of it.
At showers, while in the hospital, recovering at home with guest and visitors coming and going and bringing and dropping off items of the baby sort to leave with the newest addition and the mother; blankets upon blankets of baby blankets. Mounds and heaps neatly folded in stacks on shelves in closets. How this specific blanket was pulled out and used on this particular baby who immediately took a liking to its soft fleece fibers, it's bright red hue, it's rather tattered and torn tag placed strategically on one of the four corners. Never has a blanket seemed to have so many corners when one is twirling and spinning this blanket around trying to locate a small dingy tag while the baby cries to be comforted by the red cover. She wants the tag, she wants the blanket, she wants her pointer and middle finger on her left hand to pop into her mouth and she wants to shut her eyes and drift off to dream about bubbles and butterflies.
It's a blanket. It just so happens to be red. It's made of fleece and it's half the size of a twin flat sheet. It's not exactly a concealed coverlet. It's easily heeded in its unhideable hue, it's bulky size a big burden and it's textile tresurous in torrid summer temperatures. But to this young sweet child it's a lifeline. Its a complete part of her, like another limb entirely. It's secure and safe, it's comfort and calm, its as warm as her mothers womb and rosy red as love and respect that only she can see.
The tall tale this textile could tell. She's a (red) caped crusader chasing her big brother about, she's a Rapunzel with (red blanket) hair tossed over her tower bed awaiting a scale, she's invisible completely when it's placed over her head, it's a fort when strategically situated and climbed within. It's the cover in the car, it's the comfort in the shopping cart, it's "night night" time, it's dragged and dredged through sun, snow, and sludge. It's secretly stolen and washed and then tumble dried supersonically and then restored to its standard station, lightly upon her before she awakes. It's carelessly cast clearly present in every picture captured. It's never forgotten atop the diapers and wipes and extra outfit and desitin and tippy cup and snacks and booger bulb and all the other items tossed into a pink backpack when going on short trips. It's thrown over the shoulder, baby placed on hip and carried to and through every destination and adventure embarked upon. It's a symbol of everything she holds near and dear to her heart and she we get desperate at times to have it. If you try to take it from her, she will make it crystal clear that she is the rightful owner and will take you down with a squeal that will crack your eardrum with a shattering scream and a tug and pull causing her to huff and puff backed by all her toddler sized strength.
It's a very special part of her and this childhood she plays out, a future untold..how far this could go and how this could all play out. One day be left behind, forgotten or outgrown? Perhaps a small piece tied to her wedding garder, a secret from the past and to all others unknown. Something old, something new, something borrowed something blue, something red, something still carried about when she says her I do's. No! Not possible, this can't always be the case. Only time will tell what is to happen to this little red blanket and its lifes perfect place.
Friends til the end, through thick and thin, washed ragged and wore, stains crumbs and more. First year, present, and future near - Little Miss Viand has her little red blanket, have no fear and stand clear!
Her hair always seems to be too heavy on top and curly in the back to be any sort of structure. The tresses pulled atop her crown and fastened with a small teeny tie seem to topple over in whichever direction they please and she uses her two tiny little hands to always brush it out of her eyes.
She sees things in a different light, through that of a young innocent child, the world her very own treasure chest, climbing and digging about, rummaging for lost gold. She laughs often, squeales with frustration when she can't use her own words to emphasize what she is apparently admanent about getting. She apologizes with a huge (head in the shoulder) hug when she has done wrong, and loves nothing more than to snuggle up and watch a movie during the late evening hours just before bed.
Crimson is a color she customarily envisions. Most see red out of hatred. She sees red out of the little fleece blanket with the tag. Not really very certain where this particular linen has sprung from. Maybe it had come with a Cars or Lightning McQueen soft toy somehow attached to it that her older brother had received for a much earlier Christmas or birthday present. He would have undoubtedly detached the toy from the cloak and tossed it elsewhere. Aside from a particular pillow he obsesses over, he hadn't an attachment to much aside from the bottle when he was a baby and having to take that feat and rid him of this habit, it's not with anticipation that it's looked upon to rid her of hers.
It's certain this red fleece blanket used to be much brighter, much cleaner, much newer. Her older brother was now 7 so it was aging well but not if this one little girl could not keep her sticky paws off of it.
At showers, while in the hospital, recovering at home with guest and visitors coming and going and bringing and dropping off items of the baby sort to leave with the newest addition and the mother; blankets upon blankets of baby blankets. Mounds and heaps neatly folded in stacks on shelves in closets. How this specific blanket was pulled out and used on this particular baby who immediately took a liking to its soft fleece fibers, it's bright red hue, it's rather tattered and torn tag placed strategically on one of the four corners. Never has a blanket seemed to have so many corners when one is twirling and spinning this blanket around trying to locate a small dingy tag while the baby cries to be comforted by the red cover. She wants the tag, she wants the blanket, she wants her pointer and middle finger on her left hand to pop into her mouth and she wants to shut her eyes and drift off to dream about bubbles and butterflies.
It's a blanket. It just so happens to be red. It's made of fleece and it's half the size of a twin flat sheet. It's not exactly a concealed coverlet. It's easily heeded in its unhideable hue, it's bulky size a big burden and it's textile tresurous in torrid summer temperatures. But to this young sweet child it's a lifeline. Its a complete part of her, like another limb entirely. It's secure and safe, it's comfort and calm, its as warm as her mothers womb and rosy red as love and respect that only she can see.
The tall tale this textile could tell. She's a (red) caped crusader chasing her big brother about, she's a Rapunzel with (red blanket) hair tossed over her tower bed awaiting a scale, she's invisible completely when it's placed over her head, it's a fort when strategically situated and climbed within. It's the cover in the car, it's the comfort in the shopping cart, it's "night night" time, it's dragged and dredged through sun, snow, and sludge. It's secretly stolen and washed and then tumble dried supersonically and then restored to its standard station, lightly upon her before she awakes. It's carelessly cast clearly present in every picture captured. It's never forgotten atop the diapers and wipes and extra outfit and desitin and tippy cup and snacks and booger bulb and all the other items tossed into a pink backpack when going on short trips. It's thrown over the shoulder, baby placed on hip and carried to and through every destination and adventure embarked upon. It's a symbol of everything she holds near and dear to her heart and she we get desperate at times to have it. If you try to take it from her, she will make it crystal clear that she is the rightful owner and will take you down with a squeal that will crack your eardrum with a shattering scream and a tug and pull causing her to huff and puff backed by all her toddler sized strength.
It's a very special part of her and this childhood she plays out, a future untold..how far this could go and how this could all play out. One day be left behind, forgotten or outgrown? Perhaps a small piece tied to her wedding garder, a secret from the past and to all others unknown. Something old, something new, something borrowed something blue, something red, something still carried about when she says her I do's. No! Not possible, this can't always be the case. Only time will tell what is to happen to this little red blanket and its lifes perfect place.
Friends til the end, through thick and thin, washed ragged and wore, stains crumbs and more. First year, present, and future near - Little Miss Viand has her little red blanket, have no fear and stand clear!
Monday, February 4, 2013
Tips and Tricks: Home Staging & Redesign
Welcome to my private world. My home. This is the place I always long to be whenever I am away. It is the place where I feel the safest, the most secure, the most loved. The place where I can pull on my flannel jammies and slippers, pour a cup of warm tea, and cuddle up in a soft chair (with lots of plush pillows, of course). My home is like a second skin; it says "me" more than anything else. I have always tried to make whatever space I had into something of a refuge, a sanctuary, a place where I feel great about myself.
Even when I was growing up in Arlington, Nebraska, when the money was tight (because the lack of handing it out came at that of my hardworking father). I never lived in a dream bedroom that we were unable to afford. I made due with what I had lying about, what interested me, and things I loved. At that time, I lived for music, boys, and shopping. I saved shopping bags from all sorts of adventures and also had well traveled family and friends do the same. I remember placing each and every bag onto the ceiling strategically to cover the popcorn style plaster that totally freaked me out, even then. It was a small cave, covered from floor to (actual) ceiling with reminders of other places, bigger places, places I had yet never been but longed to be one day. It was the perfect backdrop to a creative teen with a wandering mind of the greater things in the vast world I had yet to explore.
Upon leaving home, my first place was shared with my bestest gal pal, Alison. We rented a studio apartment in a shaky part of the city close to downtown and we stuck out like a sore thumb. However, our apartment was cozy and comfortable. A bunk bed style futon allowed for sleep quarters for us both, while leaving the bottom bed as a couch would accomodate guests. We had a dresser with mirror (handed down from my dad and painted black) that was used for storage and also served double duty as a buffet in case our living area was needed as a dining room. We stacked things to the very tippy top of the only closet we had and we used an old foldable step. We last there a few short months before we were both both onto bigger and better things. However, our friendship has lasted throughout and that speaks volumes for the lack of space we had to share at that time.
The next few years were filled with building credit, acquiring hand me downs, flea-market finds and saving and scrounging to buy perfect pieces I just could NOT go without. The same goes for your space. It's YOUR space. Whether awakard in shape or too small for much large furnishings, some signature pieces needed to tie it all together; it is YOUR space and should be represented as such.
Think about the things you will be doing in that area.
Think about the things in that space already that make you happy and you are committed to.
Think about the colors that make your mood.
With the right "eye" and the right mindset, it could literally take only 5 minutes for a room to go from drab to fab, just by rearranging some small items, tossing in some color, and organizing the place. Home should be your sanctuary; the place you arrive to toss your keys in the bowl or onto the hook (or wherever it is you place your keys once you get home: and they should have a designated space), the place you kick off your shoes and you inhale deeply and you say, "Relax! You're home!" It doesn't get any better than that. The door is closed behind you to all the rest of the world and you are in your personal space surrounded by the people and the things you love the absolute most, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside; like wrapping up in a warm terry cloth robe upon exiting the shower. Home is like the center of the Oreo, It's the good stuff and you should indulge completely!
I surround myself with the things I love. Is your child a budding artist? Hang their masterpieces in a grouping going up the stairs or on the back of their bedroom door, personalizing it to their taste. You can easily switch it out as new additions come home in their backpacks. Got a favorite seashell you snagged from your honeymoon? I have saved sand and seashells and had friends bring me back sand and shells from all around the world. I keep the sand in vases and top it with a few specifically placed shells. I can say I have a piece of the world, right there in the glass atop the shelf. It makes me happy knowing that piece of the world has travelled from Greece, the Dominican Republic, the Bahamas, from the shores of Florida, from numerous trips to California; all the way back to my living room and survived several moves I made personally since then. Home is where the heart is and that is where you should begin.
Just like fashion; design comes and goes in fads. It's possible to spend a considerable amount of money on items for your home, whether it be the Chippendale dining room you purchased because it was the "grown up" thing to do or painting the bathroom in a Chevron pattern (which personally I love but think it's the fad right now and will soon explode to the point I don't want what everybody else has). Remember that there are things that are in fashion today, just like what you wear, that can be gone tomorrow; yesterdays newspaper. Will you love what you buy 10 years from now? Think about that before you buy it. Think about your heart and what speaks to you when you go out shopping. Does that fabric or table or lamp speak to you? If yes, buy it. If not, leave it there...you'll be amazed at how quickly you forget it.
I have put a significant amount of money, minutes, and my tears into the house I live in now; but what really makes this place work are the personal things that are about me and my children. There are the pictures of my family, the things we've collected on trips (even if it's pine cones on our walks by the lake), and memories being built.
When I take time to look around at the decorating I've done-buying things, making mistakes (lots of mistakes), being driven by what I saw in a magazine, following trends- I can tell you that if you stay with good lines, simplicity, and you take things slowly and always ask your inner self its opinion, you probably can't go wrong. After working with me and I share all that I have learned to cut corners and save money, transform a room with paint, choose the right window treatments, experiement with lighting...and much, much more, I know you'll create a home you will love. But remember that Rome wasn't built in a day. This process can be long, hard and frustrating. Just take it one step at a time and enjoy the whole operation.
And please try to remember: there are some thing you just can't fix. I am currently renting. There are plenty of things I can still style and redo to my taste and liking but there are other things that are untouchable (per the landlord) and that's the kitchen in my case. It's a dark knotty pine and laminate with flourescent lighting catastrophe. I make due with what I can by incorporating my love for wine and all the accent pieces I have by hanging things on the wall, throwing down some rugs for added comfort and contrast to the cold porcelain tile floor that I get to enjoy while I'm cooking or washing dishes. I make the rest of the space just as much "me" as I possibly can and cross my fingers that those are the things people notice upon diverting their eyes from the obvious old fashioned mess that is the cabinets and countertops now. There are ways around any problem (usually) and there are ways to get the look and style you are going for without having to spend much time or money in doing so.
Finding the perfect pieces; the throw to toss over the ottoman in the reading nook to snuggle up with, the lamps and shades to set the right mood, the perfect vase to incorporate with a fresh flower arrangement to enjoy when it's just too cold out to enjoy them elsewhere; is the excitement that gets me geared up and going. The thrill is searching for these treasures, doing it on a budget is makes it even more satisfying, because if you ever really do finish-God forbid! What will you then do on the weekends?-you'll have a home that's truly yours and one that comes from the heart-not from your pocketbook.
I know that you budget is definitely on your mind when you're thinking about decorating your home. It should be. I know mine is. Very few of us can just go out and buy everything we like right now. If you need to watch your dollars carefully, it means only that you must do more research to get what you want for the price you can afford. Style is more about how you put together what you have than about spending the most amount of money. I know plenty of fabulously wealthy people who have fabulously awful taste. Sure, they spend a lot, but so what? I can teach you how to spend the least and have a home that others envy. Everyone will think you've spent a fortune, because your home will look spectacular. You'll see that even the little things really count. I can teach you how to transform one room or all of them and make your private place yours. So, let's get to work :)
Even when I was growing up in Arlington, Nebraska, when the money was tight (because the lack of handing it out came at that of my hardworking father). I never lived in a dream bedroom that we were unable to afford. I made due with what I had lying about, what interested me, and things I loved. At that time, I lived for music, boys, and shopping. I saved shopping bags from all sorts of adventures and also had well traveled family and friends do the same. I remember placing each and every bag onto the ceiling strategically to cover the popcorn style plaster that totally freaked me out, even then. It was a small cave, covered from floor to (actual) ceiling with reminders of other places, bigger places, places I had yet never been but longed to be one day. It was the perfect backdrop to a creative teen with a wandering mind of the greater things in the vast world I had yet to explore.
Upon leaving home, my first place was shared with my bestest gal pal, Alison. We rented a studio apartment in a shaky part of the city close to downtown and we stuck out like a sore thumb. However, our apartment was cozy and comfortable. A bunk bed style futon allowed for sleep quarters for us both, while leaving the bottom bed as a couch would accomodate guests. We had a dresser with mirror (handed down from my dad and painted black) that was used for storage and also served double duty as a buffet in case our living area was needed as a dining room. We stacked things to the very tippy top of the only closet we had and we used an old foldable step. We last there a few short months before we were both both onto bigger and better things. However, our friendship has lasted throughout and that speaks volumes for the lack of space we had to share at that time.
The next few years were filled with building credit, acquiring hand me downs, flea-market finds and saving and scrounging to buy perfect pieces I just could NOT go without. The same goes for your space. It's YOUR space. Whether awakard in shape or too small for much large furnishings, some signature pieces needed to tie it all together; it is YOUR space and should be represented as such.
Think about the things you will be doing in that area.
Think about the things in that space already that make you happy and you are committed to.
Think about the colors that make your mood.
With the right "eye" and the right mindset, it could literally take only 5 minutes for a room to go from drab to fab, just by rearranging some small items, tossing in some color, and organizing the place. Home should be your sanctuary; the place you arrive to toss your keys in the bowl or onto the hook (or wherever it is you place your keys once you get home: and they should have a designated space), the place you kick off your shoes and you inhale deeply and you say, "Relax! You're home!" It doesn't get any better than that. The door is closed behind you to all the rest of the world and you are in your personal space surrounded by the people and the things you love the absolute most, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside; like wrapping up in a warm terry cloth robe upon exiting the shower. Home is like the center of the Oreo, It's the good stuff and you should indulge completely!
I surround myself with the things I love. Is your child a budding artist? Hang their masterpieces in a grouping going up the stairs or on the back of their bedroom door, personalizing it to their taste. You can easily switch it out as new additions come home in their backpacks. Got a favorite seashell you snagged from your honeymoon? I have saved sand and seashells and had friends bring me back sand and shells from all around the world. I keep the sand in vases and top it with a few specifically placed shells. I can say I have a piece of the world, right there in the glass atop the shelf. It makes me happy knowing that piece of the world has travelled from Greece, the Dominican Republic, the Bahamas, from the shores of Florida, from numerous trips to California; all the way back to my living room and survived several moves I made personally since then. Home is where the heart is and that is where you should begin.
Just like fashion; design comes and goes in fads. It's possible to spend a considerable amount of money on items for your home, whether it be the Chippendale dining room you purchased because it was the "grown up" thing to do or painting the bathroom in a Chevron pattern (which personally I love but think it's the fad right now and will soon explode to the point I don't want what everybody else has). Remember that there are things that are in fashion today, just like what you wear, that can be gone tomorrow; yesterdays newspaper. Will you love what you buy 10 years from now? Think about that before you buy it. Think about your heart and what speaks to you when you go out shopping. Does that fabric or table or lamp speak to you? If yes, buy it. If not, leave it there...you'll be amazed at how quickly you forget it.
I have put a significant amount of money, minutes, and my tears into the house I live in now; but what really makes this place work are the personal things that are about me and my children. There are the pictures of my family, the things we've collected on trips (even if it's pine cones on our walks by the lake), and memories being built.
When I take time to look around at the decorating I've done-buying things, making mistakes (lots of mistakes), being driven by what I saw in a magazine, following trends- I can tell you that if you stay with good lines, simplicity, and you take things slowly and always ask your inner self its opinion, you probably can't go wrong. After working with me and I share all that I have learned to cut corners and save money, transform a room with paint, choose the right window treatments, experiement with lighting...and much, much more, I know you'll create a home you will love. But remember that Rome wasn't built in a day. This process can be long, hard and frustrating. Just take it one step at a time and enjoy the whole operation.
And please try to remember: there are some thing you just can't fix. I am currently renting. There are plenty of things I can still style and redo to my taste and liking but there are other things that are untouchable (per the landlord) and that's the kitchen in my case. It's a dark knotty pine and laminate with flourescent lighting catastrophe. I make due with what I can by incorporating my love for wine and all the accent pieces I have by hanging things on the wall, throwing down some rugs for added comfort and contrast to the cold porcelain tile floor that I get to enjoy while I'm cooking or washing dishes. I make the rest of the space just as much "me" as I possibly can and cross my fingers that those are the things people notice upon diverting their eyes from the obvious old fashioned mess that is the cabinets and countertops now. There are ways around any problem (usually) and there are ways to get the look and style you are going for without having to spend much time or money in doing so.
Finding the perfect pieces; the throw to toss over the ottoman in the reading nook to snuggle up with, the lamps and shades to set the right mood, the perfect vase to incorporate with a fresh flower arrangement to enjoy when it's just too cold out to enjoy them elsewhere; is the excitement that gets me geared up and going. The thrill is searching for these treasures, doing it on a budget is makes it even more satisfying, because if you ever really do finish-God forbid! What will you then do on the weekends?-you'll have a home that's truly yours and one that comes from the heart-not from your pocketbook.
I know that you budget is definitely on your mind when you're thinking about decorating your home. It should be. I know mine is. Very few of us can just go out and buy everything we like right now. If you need to watch your dollars carefully, it means only that you must do more research to get what you want for the price you can afford. Style is more about how you put together what you have than about spending the most amount of money. I know plenty of fabulously wealthy people who have fabulously awful taste. Sure, they spend a lot, but so what? I can teach you how to spend the least and have a home that others envy. Everyone will think you've spent a fortune, because your home will look spectacular. You'll see that even the little things really count. I can teach you how to transform one room or all of them and make your private place yours. So, let's get to work :)
Thursday, January 31, 2013
I am a {WoNdErFuL} mother
I am a wonderful mother. There are women who become mothers without effort, without thought, without patience or loss; and although they are good mothers and love their children, I know that I will be better. I will be better not because of genetics or money or because I have read more books, but because I have struggled and toiled for this child. I have longed and waited. I have cried and prayed. I have endured and planned over and over again. Like most things in life, the people who truly have appreciation are those who have struggled to attain their dreams. I will notice everything about my child. I will take time to watch my child sleep, explore, and discover. I will marvel at this miracle everyday for the rest of my life. I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of my child, knowing I can comfort, hold, and feed him and that I am not waking to take another temp, pop another pill, take another shot, or cry tears of a broken dream. My dream will be crying for me. I count myself lucky in this sense; that God has given me this insight, this special vision with which I will look upon my child. Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to; or a child that God leads to me; I will not be careless with my love. I will be a better mother for all I have endured. I am a better woman, a better sister, a better daugher, neighbor, and friend because I have known pain. I know disillusionment, as I have been betrayed by my own body. I have been tried by both fire and hell, that many never face, yet given time, I stood tall. I have prevailed. I have succeeded. I have won. So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see it, mourn it, and join them in theirs. And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it less lonely. I have learned the immense power of having another hand in mine, of other eyes that moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth when life is beyond hard. I have learned a compassion that only comes by walking in those shoes. I have learned to further appreciate life. Yes, I am a wonderful mother.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Pinocchio and Wooden Shoes and the Red Thong
The topic is being brought up, this amongst many many more. It's discussions atop discussions and questions and answers and finding the core fibers that are holding this entire entity together. It's the good stuff, the thick stuff, the cornstarch and butter that holds this recipe together. But it's not easy to muddle through it. It's passion, it's real, it's relationships.
We all know that every relationship is something to be worked at. It's to be molded and sculpted into just the right statue that works in your life. Tweaked and tooled with to form just the right amount of give and take. We have learned over the years that some things are really worth the added effort (picking up the phone and calling gradma to say "Hi" just for the pure fear in your heart that if you don't, you'll regret it FOREVER), it's the listening with a soft ear to the words spoken just for the mere lack of energy to really listen with what my mother is saying or agree with her way of living. It's the calling an old friend and saying, "Let's get together," deed because that friend has nothing but interesting things to say; regardless if that such said person thinks they're life is less than boring. I think the time away from the monotony of my life; the everyday tedious bullshit that comes along with being a SAHM that really makes the time spent with these people the love and respect (the glue and safety pins) that really hold these relationships together. It's give and take, love and respect, time and energy, patience and understanding, and it's the yin and the yang and the balance. Yeah blah blah blah.
So...sitting, resting lightly against the throw pillow sitting atop the overstuffed chair in the living room with the words (the worded pillow- it's genius and beautiful! I want worded curtains next-shower or otherwise.)... We sit down to have a discussion about "us". We've been talking about "us" for the past 3 or 4 days which seems like an eternity in love years and we've pretty much fizzled out by this point. We're frazzled.
He says, "What do you plan to do Princess? String me along until you can cut the strings and know I'm a real boy, and we go off and live happily ever after?"
In a very serious face, straight as a board, I reply, "Why yes Pinocchio! That's pretty much exactly what I have been planning."
And?! Laughter.
Both capable to take that deep breath, laugh, and cutting the tension that has resided in the space for days now, laying low like stagnant cigarette smoke in a neighborhood pub. Dark and dingy and disgraceful really.
Now I'm sitting there thinking about a princess, puppeteering out the window of her castle, the wooden shoes, the growing nose when lies are told. The scene from Shrek when they're down in the sewer and Pinocchio is wearing the red thong. And I'm laughing, hysterically thinking about how much I absolutely love the movie Shrek (Shrek 2, and the Third and Forever After) I'm having all these thoughts like an ADHD maniac, images flipping through the undersides of my eyelids like a movie on an old rotary reel...but most importantly--I am laughing...and he's sitting so close to me on this chair, laughing too.
It occurs to me that I just had this entire thought process with about 10 different mini series stories and he's still just sitting there, looking at me, laughing, not even close to being able to comprehend what plays through my mind. He's thought of one thing, this moment. The laughter, the ice breaker, the "things are fine" feeling that resides at the pit of your stomach. He's a man, and monolythic, and thought one thought. Which is perfect. That is what he should be thinking about. This is the exact moment we should be having and I want him to enjoy it.
So, to answer the question again..
Yes! I am a puppeteer. I want to guide and give all the good stuff that comes along with a relationship (and that speaks for all my relationships with friends, family, or lovers alike). I like pulling strings, I already classify my home as my castle, there's reason to talk about shoes (wooden or not) and yeah, growing into a real boy would be wonderful my innocent man and we may ..We may live happily ever after. In the meantime, it's the living part we let play out and laugh about.
P.S.Cleary I still believe in fairytales :)
We all know that every relationship is something to be worked at. It's to be molded and sculpted into just the right statue that works in your life. Tweaked and tooled with to form just the right amount of give and take. We have learned over the years that some things are really worth the added effort (picking up the phone and calling gradma to say "Hi" just for the pure fear in your heart that if you don't, you'll regret it FOREVER), it's the listening with a soft ear to the words spoken just for the mere lack of energy to really listen with what my mother is saying or agree with her way of living. It's the calling an old friend and saying, "Let's get together," deed because that friend has nothing but interesting things to say; regardless if that such said person thinks they're life is less than boring. I think the time away from the monotony of my life; the everyday tedious bullshit that comes along with being a SAHM that really makes the time spent with these people the love and respect (the glue and safety pins) that really hold these relationships together. It's give and take, love and respect, time and energy, patience and understanding, and it's the yin and the yang and the balance. Yeah blah blah blah.
So...sitting, resting lightly against the throw pillow sitting atop the overstuffed chair in the living room with the words (the worded pillow- it's genius and beautiful! I want worded curtains next-shower or otherwise.)... We sit down to have a discussion about "us". We've been talking about "us" for the past 3 or 4 days which seems like an eternity in love years and we've pretty much fizzled out by this point. We're frazzled.
He says, "What do you plan to do Princess? String me along until you can cut the strings and know I'm a real boy, and we go off and live happily ever after?"
In a very serious face, straight as a board, I reply, "Why yes Pinocchio! That's pretty much exactly what I have been planning."
And?! Laughter.
Both capable to take that deep breath, laugh, and cutting the tension that has resided in the space for days now, laying low like stagnant cigarette smoke in a neighborhood pub. Dark and dingy and disgraceful really.
Now I'm sitting there thinking about a princess, puppeteering out the window of her castle, the wooden shoes, the growing nose when lies are told. The scene from Shrek when they're down in the sewer and Pinocchio is wearing the red thong. And I'm laughing, hysterically thinking about how much I absolutely love the movie Shrek (Shrek 2, and the Third and Forever After) I'm having all these thoughts like an ADHD maniac, images flipping through the undersides of my eyelids like a movie on an old rotary reel...but most importantly--I am laughing...and he's sitting so close to me on this chair, laughing too.
It occurs to me that I just had this entire thought process with about 10 different mini series stories and he's still just sitting there, looking at me, laughing, not even close to being able to comprehend what plays through my mind. He's thought of one thing, this moment. The laughter, the ice breaker, the "things are fine" feeling that resides at the pit of your stomach. He's a man, and monolythic, and thought one thought. Which is perfect. That is what he should be thinking about. This is the exact moment we should be having and I want him to enjoy it.
So, to answer the question again..
Yes! I am a puppeteer. I want to guide and give all the good stuff that comes along with a relationship (and that speaks for all my relationships with friends, family, or lovers alike). I like pulling strings, I already classify my home as my castle, there's reason to talk about shoes (wooden or not) and yeah, growing into a real boy would be wonderful my innocent man and we may ..We may live happily ever after. In the meantime, it's the living part we let play out and laugh about.
P.S.Cleary I still believe in fairytales :)
Friday, January 4, 2013
American, Russian, Spanish, Middle Eastern, French, or Italian?!
I love ethnic cuisine. It's difficult for me to prepare an All-American meal of cheeseburgers and french fries. I don't particularly like eating red meat more than once a week and if I had my choice, I'd prefer a steak over boring old hamburger. And I don't have a fry daddy (insert GASP here) so any french fries would most likely need to be frozen and I also don't prefer to eat out of the frozen food section if I can help it all. Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint. There are plenty of frozen foods in my freezer because they're quick and easy and I have kids, it's sometimes just the only way to go.
I can whip up a creamy Spaghetti alla Carbonara, a tantalizing Tabbouleh Salad, any sort of whole chicken (with roasted red potatoes) whether it be lemon peppered or with a fresh rosemary and thyme rub and I can turn around and burn or dry out a meatloaf til nobody (including the dogs) wants it. I've been known for not being the best at preparing a chicken breast meal either. I can usually spruce it up with something but it terrifies me the size of these things that come in the packages at the store. Seriously? It's the size of my face, imagine what the chicken looked like. Uck. I can cut them in half, beat them to a pulp and dredge them in egg and panko crumbs and make a pretty awesome Chicken Parmesan with Angel Hair Pasta and a chunky mushroom marinara all hot crispy under a bubbly layer of Mozzarella cheese. Again, bringing me back to my point. I'm just not supposed to cook for Americans. Maybe Italians? Spanish? Middle Eastern? Certainly French with all the baguettes I bring home. (Oh the thought of bringing home fresh warm baguettes from a small French bakery, a scarf tied in my wind blown hair, the baguette sitting in a basket attached to the front of my Vespa)
...I am often too wrapped up in daydreams... I take that as a hint: I need a vacation!
Speaking of bread... Funniest story...
My two beautiful and lovely blonde friends from Russian were here in the States visiting from their homeland and staying with my family shortly after having Viand (their 2nd visit :) I had some Pillsbury Crescent Rolls in the fridge because I am an American and there are somethings that just make my life easier (along with butter...errr whatever it is that comes in the tubs labeled Country Crock). So, I pop open a can of crescent rolls and their mouths drop open and hit the table they were seated around, making almost the same noise as popping those cans (my favorite little pleasurable sound). "What IS that?"
My reponse, "It's crescent rolls."
"America is so weird. Can I touch it? I've never heard of bread from a can."
...bread from a can... imagine never having seen the easy way of making homestyle rolls or buscuits...some old Russian with an apron on kneeding and flouring the butcher block countertops in a small dimly lit kitchen telling stories to all the children of the Soviets and their Red Party.
The things we take for granted that these lovely single ladies have never even imagined. And when they do find the man of their dreams, marry and have a few children, I will happily ship over Phillsbury (one can at a time if need be) and they can each prepare Borscht and "homemade" buscuits for the entire Семья. Just send me a heads up ladies.
(Tatiana, Myself, and Darina...we had just met, who would have known we'd be friends for life?..and that they didn't have canned bread in Russia?)
I could very easily be a vegetarian if it weren't for fish. I don't prefer one over the other and I can eat it all 7 days of the week if it's prepared correctly, which I find it hard to mess up. Some tin foil, extra virgin olive oil, and lemon, a sprig of oregano and I've got myself a meal. Don't even get me started on seafood! Mussels, Clams, Lobster, Shrimp...oh my!
Nowayds, it appears that everything to prepare a meal for the family (here in the states) is either out of box, out of a can, or stacked in our freezer. It's easy, I get it. Almost as easy as running to the the local fast food stop and stacking up on burgers served in greasy paper through a window. How intimate?! Again, not bragging about my lack of fast food pitfalls but even the last 3 times I tried to treat the kiddos to a happy meal, something in our order was completely effed up and I slap my forehead each and every time. (going off on a rant...((There is a screen in front of me stating my order line item for line item, the friendly smile behind the microphone repeats the order back to me, all correct. I get to the window, we exchange my currency for their product, the world keeps moving in a circle, and I drive off. Next thing?...something entirely unedible.)) and end of rant)
So, onto my next point. Tapas! Tapas is best described as a wide variety of appetizers or snacks in the Spanish cuisine. I love finger foods, their small portions, their easy accessbility, their small and simple presentation and often cutesy appearance. I could throw a dinner party and only have tapas and love the sheer idea of everyone eating off small plates and getting to sample and try a bit this and some of that.
A very common tapas is the Spanish Omelette. It's easy, quick, simple, and perfect.
I use vegetable oil, russet potatoes, onion, garlic and eggs.
In a medium pot, bring vegatable oil to hot. Peel and wash approx 7 medium sized russet potatoes. Cut them into hunks (think like apples for an apple pie) Some people prefer to slice them but I like hunks. (That's the best descriptive word I could think of) and put them into the hot oil.
In the amount of time it takes you to finely chop a medium sized onion and 3 gloves or garlic, the potatoes are ready for the onion and garlic mixture.
Cook until soft
Drain
Put approximately 3 teaspons of olive oil (on low heat) or vegetable oil (on medium heat) into a shallow edged skillet. Beat 6 eggs in a bowl until it's almost creamy and frothy. Add in your drained potatoes, onion, and garlic tossing it all. Add to your warm skillet. Heat until the edges start separating from the edge of the pan, the mixture starts to firm.
(I added a dash of salt and pepper to taste)
To serve, flip back onto a plate, let cool, cut like a pizza into slices. And? Serve with a side of your choice. I'm certain Mayonnaise will suffice to feel more American. It's actually delicious and it's always good served hot, room temp, or out of the fridge for a finger food late night craving. I may not be great at American cuisine but I can certainly cook for like minded foodies around :)
Food is a way to really bring people together. I believe very firmly this is why when couples begin to court, they often go out to eat and then eventually cook for each other. It's an intimate way to get to know each other and an even better reason to invite friends and family over. Tapas are simple to prepare, easy to eat, and I think the best all around for entertaining with a great move-about atmosphere.
Pair Tapas with your favorite wine or my personal favorite, Sangria (making certain to eat the fruit and count them into your daily servings) and laugh and love amongst you all.
Happy Friday! Wishing you a fashionable and well-fed weekend!
Saturday, December 29, 2012
~One Generations Length Away~
My father and I are close; attached at the hip, always on my mind, my rock, my heart and my guiding light into the night. We (on average) talk every other day, if not every day and sometimes twice on Sundays.
In the middle of my bantering, ranting and raving over this and that and whatever of that particular moment that is pissing me off, making my blood boil and I'm venting to him; giving the exact definition for the word "venting"-meaning to have hot steam roll out of the vents after things have really heated up. He lets me go on and on and on about rat-tit-tat-tit-too and when I finally get to the end of such said vent, while I'm catching my breath he very calmy and every so plain and flat says, "You really should call your grandmother. She mentioned something the other day about probably not being around for next Christmas."
The phone falls silent...
"Ash?, Are you still there?"
I don't know where my mind had escaped to but I most certainly did NOT want to be having this conversation. Not only am I responsible for the lives of two small children, being the damn Santa Claus I still would like to magicially believe in, now here we are talking about death of our loved ones like we talk about the changing of the weather. Really?! Adulthood sucks!
"You have her number don't you?"
I say, "Yeah..blah blah blah-blah blah blah blah. It's been the same for the past 89 years, hasn't it?"
"87!" He says sternly although I get the humor behind his voice. I appreciate the effort and the timing for it, given the current circumstance.
Later that following day, I am driving my own children to their grandmothers to spend the night for a date night out. I flip on the blinker, take a right, proceed with caution, and immediately a downstream of tears begin to fall. It hits me like a brick wall right there in the drivers seat of the ol' family wagon, kids in the back, smiling to the DVD playing overhead. It's dark outside and my thoughts are in the same state.
"I am one generations length away from fighthing this life out on my own!" The words are playing loudly inside my head for only me to hear, my heart growing heavy and my eyes flooded with warm tears trickling down my face. I brush it off, take a glance in the mirror and promise myself that I am just entirely too sensitive.
I get the kids into the house, cuddly and snuggly in the queens bed to watch a movie and relax. My mother leads me out the front door, compliments me thoroughly on how great I look and I can't help but turn around, once again crying, and grabbing her tightly into my arms.
"Are you ok Ash?"
Cleary I am NOT ok. I'm confident enough in my day to day feats, I know my strengths and by golly and I am not confident enough to think I am strong enough to lead on this life without them, either of them, all of them.
I swallow hard, still crying. She politely says, "You might think about going to see someone, you know? Someone you can talk to..." her voice trailing off. I don't need to talk to anyone. I want to talk to you, at this particular moment, right here and right now and I want to hold all the good memories near and dear to my heart and savor all the infinite love I have for these good people in my life and I want them to know how much I love them and appreciate them and never a day go by that they might question that. I want to call my grandmother, spend my spring and falls in Southern Missouri with my father and my kids running around, I want my kids to know how great these incredible people are in their lives and have fond memories all their lives to carry around with them.
They all say I'm just overly sensitive and I'd say my cuppeth has runneth over with love. Either way?...I have a resolution, not just for the New Year but for always. The people we love in this life are important and I'm going to make sure they know it!
---
No I'm not color blind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind but...
I just can't sleep on this tonight
Stop this train I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly won't someone stop this train
Don't know how else to say it, don't want to see my parents go
One generation's length away
From fighting life out on my own
Stop this train
-JM
In the middle of my bantering, ranting and raving over this and that and whatever of that particular moment that is pissing me off, making my blood boil and I'm venting to him; giving the exact definition for the word "venting"-meaning to have hot steam roll out of the vents after things have really heated up. He lets me go on and on and on about rat-tit-tat-tit-too and when I finally get to the end of such said vent, while I'm catching my breath he very calmy and every so plain and flat says, "You really should call your grandmother. She mentioned something the other day about probably not being around for next Christmas."
The phone falls silent...
"Ash?, Are you still there?"
I don't know where my mind had escaped to but I most certainly did NOT want to be having this conversation. Not only am I responsible for the lives of two small children, being the damn Santa Claus I still would like to magicially believe in, now here we are talking about death of our loved ones like we talk about the changing of the weather. Really?! Adulthood sucks!
"You have her number don't you?"
I say, "Yeah..blah blah blah-blah blah blah blah. It's been the same for the past 89 years, hasn't it?"
"87!" He says sternly although I get the humor behind his voice. I appreciate the effort and the timing for it, given the current circumstance.
Later that following day, I am driving my own children to their grandmothers to spend the night for a date night out. I flip on the blinker, take a right, proceed with caution, and immediately a downstream of tears begin to fall. It hits me like a brick wall right there in the drivers seat of the ol' family wagon, kids in the back, smiling to the DVD playing overhead. It's dark outside and my thoughts are in the same state.
"I am one generations length away from fighthing this life out on my own!" The words are playing loudly inside my head for only me to hear, my heart growing heavy and my eyes flooded with warm tears trickling down my face. I brush it off, take a glance in the mirror and promise myself that I am just entirely too sensitive.
I get the kids into the house, cuddly and snuggly in the queens bed to watch a movie and relax. My mother leads me out the front door, compliments me thoroughly on how great I look and I can't help but turn around, once again crying, and grabbing her tightly into my arms.
"Are you ok Ash?"
Cleary I am NOT ok. I'm confident enough in my day to day feats, I know my strengths and by golly and I am not confident enough to think I am strong enough to lead on this life without them, either of them, all of them.
I swallow hard, still crying. She politely says, "You might think about going to see someone, you know? Someone you can talk to..." her voice trailing off. I don't need to talk to anyone. I want to talk to you, at this particular moment, right here and right now and I want to hold all the good memories near and dear to my heart and savor all the infinite love I have for these good people in my life and I want them to know how much I love them and appreciate them and never a day go by that they might question that. I want to call my grandmother, spend my spring and falls in Southern Missouri with my father and my kids running around, I want my kids to know how great these incredible people are in their lives and have fond memories all their lives to carry around with them.
They all say I'm just overly sensitive and I'd say my cuppeth has runneth over with love. Either way?...I have a resolution, not just for the New Year but for always. The people we love in this life are important and I'm going to make sure they know it!
---
No I'm not color blind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind but...
I just can't sleep on this tonight
Stop this train I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly won't someone stop this train
Don't know how else to say it, don't want to see my parents go
One generation's length away
From fighting life out on my own
Stop this train
-JM
Sunday, December 23, 2012
What is this world coming to?
It's been a week and a day since the terrible sad and tragic events took place in the small town in CT that was spread about every news channel and media source. It truly hit home, someplace deep within, having a 6 (just turned 7 year old yesterday) trekking off to his school everyday and it's hard enough with all the other questions weighing heavy on our hearts and mind.
Upon making the transition to the new community we currently reside in, I often question the decisions I've had to make as a mother, a provider, the "brains" of this entire operation. Along with the everyday questions I am consistantly asking myself about his proper health and nutrition, his speech delays, his fine motor skills, his seemingly bad attitude, etc etc. I am often asking myself if his school and teachers and peers are really backing up his education and making certain he is excelling at the important academic subjects that he should be absorbing like a sponge.
Let's face it, the teachers and staff are underpaid. This is no surprise. There are teachers picketing outside of the buildings and going on strike for the lack of funds being provided to assist in them doing their job to the fullest. Not where we live (not yet anyway) but it's happening all around us. I have a difficult enough time having my own children running around, keeping them occupied, steering them away from the television and getting their little heads involved in something creative and productive. I cannot imagine having 20 something kids running around, all with the attention span of a gnat and not beating my brains into a cement brick wall. With that being said, I get the world we live in. I don't condone it nor do I completely understand it but I do know it takes all kinds to make this entire world go round and we will never completely fathom why people do some of the things that they do. I don't believe it's because a higher being needed them in heaven. I don't tell my kids this. I think people are nuts, everyday, every way, and everywhere. I don't sugar coat it. There are people that are bad and they do terrible horrible things and I haven't an excuse for it nor will I make an excuse for it. It's life. It's sad. A few days go by, we get back into the swing of things, we go about our routines until an entire year has passed and the news stations are reminding us of the anniversary. I don't need a reminder. It's filed away in the back of my brain where I hide all the other deeply sad shit that has no reasoning. Its all there, stacked high like old wrinkled newspapers set beside a fireplace just waiting to get put into the flame, turn into ash and disappear. It doesn't work that way. It all just piles up and it stays there, a constant reminder that we must be aware and on alert every single day that we live in a world of tragedy and disgust and throughout that there is happiness and joy and we count our blessings, hold our children tight and always use caution.
Now:
I am a stay at home mother. It may not always be that way but I take full advantage of being a stay at home mother and I take my job seriously more than not. My job is to make certain my kids and my companion and anyone or thing for that matter living under my roof has everything they could possibly need to make their life easy and happy and full of memories they will hold close to their hearts and remember forever, hopefully using the same tactics when they go out into the world on their own and one day having children of their own.
We moved to Carter Lake last March. My son was immediately enrolled into Kindergarten after I made the executive decision to leave Millard and venture away and start anew. Millard schools, although he went to Omaha Public Schools (to one of the best there is) was on top of their game. His teacher was the picturesque Kindergarten teacher. She had short hair, a round smiling face, wore skirts past her knee and often funky fun loving socks on her feet topped off with clogs. She wore sweater vests to match every holiday and usually some macaroni handmade necklace placed around her neck. She had a system down and it worked. The room screamed FUN for the kids and they wanted to be there. Everyday before picking them up, they were all dancing about, laughing and singing with the teacher being goofy and we could see it through the window that they all thoroughly enjoyed being there.
Each day upon picking up our children there would be a folder placed in their backpack and securely taped inside was a calendar for the month split into four quadrants for each day. A happy face in two quadrants and a straight face in the other two. They represented morning and afternoon and if your child was unhappy in the morning or afternoon she would highlight the straight face. She would do the same if your child was happy as well. So everyday we could see if our child had a good day or a not so good day. I didn't have to ask the teacher, being as there were 20 something other parents waiting for a similar reply. It was an incentive. All week we could get all smily faces and we could be rewarded at weeks end with more TV time or going out to a restaurant to eat. Now? I can't even get an email back from the teacher asking about treats for my sons birthday or any volunteer work I could possibly assist with.
Further on that subject, there is not even a Christmas program or Winter Program (seeing as some children are of different religions and don't celebrate Christmas), the music and PE programs have been combined into one, recess is given to kids "if there is time" and I spend a full day making a handmade wreath to give as a gift to his teacher and baking up and icing up and sprinkling up dozens upon dozens of mini cupcakes to take to the class to assist in my son celebrating his birthday with his peers and you know what I get? "We allowed it this time but homemade treats and gifts and are not allowed from here on out. It must be store bought."
(((Pausing...Mouth Agape)))
Excuuuuuuuse me?! Are you serious? You can't possibly be serious? I can't bake mini cupcakes with confetti birthday sprinkles for my sons damn birthday celebration? Oh...but I can go to the local fucking rat race in the depths of hell known as Walmart where all the toothless, stained wife beater wearing, check out lanes backed up to layaway lines in the back of the damn store and buy cupcakes or treats that were made God knows where... Really!?
I don't harp on the teachers or the school (yet-I have a few choice words I'm still continually trying to revise in a stern yet proper letter to both) for lacking in their responsibilities of their JOB. It is my job to make certain my child has what he needs/wants every single second of every single day. He wanted homemade chocolate and vanilla mini cupcakes with icing and confetti sprinkles and by golly that's exactly what I made.
The world used to operate differently. Not everything was bought in a damn package, made in some factory using products we can't even pronounce. There was a time when mothers stayed home with their children, they baked goods and passed them out to the neighbors or the classmates, they fully participated in the goodness of life that exists. They greeted people with a smile, they welcomed new families to the neighborhood and invited them in, they accepted handmade Christmas gifts showing our appreciation for dealing with our little heathens on a daily basis with a smile and a goddamn handwritten thank you note.
Am I too old fashioned? Do such values and morals still exist?
I am so disgusted that I am seriously thinking of yet again changing schools. We have made our house into a home and we are still trying to fit into the community, although I refuse to change who I am or how I was brought up to lower myself to their lack of overall social standards. I'm beginning to think private schools may be the way to go. The teachers and staff are paid a bit more considering the tuition that is paid by each parent for each student. This may give them more incentive in doing their job proficiently. There is room in the budget to have separate subjects; where kids can learn to read music in an actual music class and not just reiterate songs back to a machine being broadcast from an xbox 360 kinect and dance along to Just Dance 4. (I'm not kidding..this is real life education here. Tax dollars being put to good use huh?) Yeah, it's fun for kids, maybe every Friday. However, children that can read music are proven to be better in Math and have a higher IQ. My child hasn't even brought home a library book. I ask him, "Why not?" "Because we didn't have time to go to the library today mom." Not enough time?! What do you do all damned day? Suck your thumbs and rock yourself in a corner somewhere?
I don't know. I'm frustrated. I don't want to change schools again but maybe this one just isn't the right choice for my son. Maybe the private school will be the reason why my son someday ends up a pychiatrist and says, "I think it all went wrong when my mom changed my schools and then changed my school again to a private school where I didn't fit in at all and hated my life." Or maybe it will be the reason why he decided to get his Masters degree in Math and become some engineer working at a military defense company programming the radar for the stealth bomber that protects our freedom and rights as Americans. Or do I stick it out, hope for the best and do my absolute most to ensure that I fully push the rights and responsibilities on my child himself, regardless of the institution? Who knows what's the right answer?!
I feel my duty as his mother is to know the right answers, to know in my heart the right decisions and to instill the confidence and happiness within my child. However, I don't. I question myself daily, try my absolute hardest, pray to God, and still find myself scratching my head.
Maybe I'll flip a quarter (2 out of 3) and hope for the best! Iowa is a gambling state anyway. (Casion dollars supposedly paying for the educational institutions...ha) Maybe I should learn to do things the way they seem to do them. Take a chance and hope for a big win. Maybe I'll just vent to the worldwide web, take a nap, dream some, and wake up in a different life somewhere else where I needn't bother myself with any of this. Maybe the real underlying problem is not trusting myself enough to make these decisions. Maybe it's not the school or the community or anything else. Maybe it's me and my lack of confidence to parent these children right and not completely fuck them up. Maybe that's the real problem.
We'll take the winter break, time away from school. We'll bake whatever the hell we please, read books while we're cuddled up together, play some XBox 360 and kick everyone's asses out of frustration because we can't do it in real life. And...we'll take a recess any goddamn time we please and nobody will say a thing about it.
And I'm off...we got some puzzles to assemble and cookies to bake. We ain't got all day!
Upon making the transition to the new community we currently reside in, I often question the decisions I've had to make as a mother, a provider, the "brains" of this entire operation. Along with the everyday questions I am consistantly asking myself about his proper health and nutrition, his speech delays, his fine motor skills, his seemingly bad attitude, etc etc. I am often asking myself if his school and teachers and peers are really backing up his education and making certain he is excelling at the important academic subjects that he should be absorbing like a sponge.
Let's face it, the teachers and staff are underpaid. This is no surprise. There are teachers picketing outside of the buildings and going on strike for the lack of funds being provided to assist in them doing their job to the fullest. Not where we live (not yet anyway) but it's happening all around us. I have a difficult enough time having my own children running around, keeping them occupied, steering them away from the television and getting their little heads involved in something creative and productive. I cannot imagine having 20 something kids running around, all with the attention span of a gnat and not beating my brains into a cement brick wall. With that being said, I get the world we live in. I don't condone it nor do I completely understand it but I do know it takes all kinds to make this entire world go round and we will never completely fathom why people do some of the things that they do. I don't believe it's because a higher being needed them in heaven. I don't tell my kids this. I think people are nuts, everyday, every way, and everywhere. I don't sugar coat it. There are people that are bad and they do terrible horrible things and I haven't an excuse for it nor will I make an excuse for it. It's life. It's sad. A few days go by, we get back into the swing of things, we go about our routines until an entire year has passed and the news stations are reminding us of the anniversary. I don't need a reminder. It's filed away in the back of my brain where I hide all the other deeply sad shit that has no reasoning. Its all there, stacked high like old wrinkled newspapers set beside a fireplace just waiting to get put into the flame, turn into ash and disappear. It doesn't work that way. It all just piles up and it stays there, a constant reminder that we must be aware and on alert every single day that we live in a world of tragedy and disgust and throughout that there is happiness and joy and we count our blessings, hold our children tight and always use caution.
Now:
I am a stay at home mother. It may not always be that way but I take full advantage of being a stay at home mother and I take my job seriously more than not. My job is to make certain my kids and my companion and anyone or thing for that matter living under my roof has everything they could possibly need to make their life easy and happy and full of memories they will hold close to their hearts and remember forever, hopefully using the same tactics when they go out into the world on their own and one day having children of their own.
We moved to Carter Lake last March. My son was immediately enrolled into Kindergarten after I made the executive decision to leave Millard and venture away and start anew. Millard schools, although he went to Omaha Public Schools (to one of the best there is) was on top of their game. His teacher was the picturesque Kindergarten teacher. She had short hair, a round smiling face, wore skirts past her knee and often funky fun loving socks on her feet topped off with clogs. She wore sweater vests to match every holiday and usually some macaroni handmade necklace placed around her neck. She had a system down and it worked. The room screamed FUN for the kids and they wanted to be there. Everyday before picking them up, they were all dancing about, laughing and singing with the teacher being goofy and we could see it through the window that they all thoroughly enjoyed being there.
Each day upon picking up our children there would be a folder placed in their backpack and securely taped inside was a calendar for the month split into four quadrants for each day. A happy face in two quadrants and a straight face in the other two. They represented morning and afternoon and if your child was unhappy in the morning or afternoon she would highlight the straight face. She would do the same if your child was happy as well. So everyday we could see if our child had a good day or a not so good day. I didn't have to ask the teacher, being as there were 20 something other parents waiting for a similar reply. It was an incentive. All week we could get all smily faces and we could be rewarded at weeks end with more TV time or going out to a restaurant to eat. Now? I can't even get an email back from the teacher asking about treats for my sons birthday or any volunteer work I could possibly assist with.
Further on that subject, there is not even a Christmas program or Winter Program (seeing as some children are of different religions and don't celebrate Christmas), the music and PE programs have been combined into one, recess is given to kids "if there is time" and I spend a full day making a handmade wreath to give as a gift to his teacher and baking up and icing up and sprinkling up dozens upon dozens of mini cupcakes to take to the class to assist in my son celebrating his birthday with his peers and you know what I get? "We allowed it this time but homemade treats and gifts and are not allowed from here on out. It must be store bought."
(((Pausing...Mouth Agape)))
Excuuuuuuuse me?! Are you serious? You can't possibly be serious? I can't bake mini cupcakes with confetti birthday sprinkles for my sons damn birthday celebration? Oh...but I can go to the local fucking rat race in the depths of hell known as Walmart where all the toothless, stained wife beater wearing, check out lanes backed up to layaway lines in the back of the damn store and buy cupcakes or treats that were made God knows where... Really!?
I don't harp on the teachers or the school (yet-I have a few choice words I'm still continually trying to revise in a stern yet proper letter to both) for lacking in their responsibilities of their JOB. It is my job to make certain my child has what he needs/wants every single second of every single day. He wanted homemade chocolate and vanilla mini cupcakes with icing and confetti sprinkles and by golly that's exactly what I made.
The world used to operate differently. Not everything was bought in a damn package, made in some factory using products we can't even pronounce. There was a time when mothers stayed home with their children, they baked goods and passed them out to the neighbors or the classmates, they fully participated in the goodness of life that exists. They greeted people with a smile, they welcomed new families to the neighborhood and invited them in, they accepted handmade Christmas gifts showing our appreciation for dealing with our little heathens on a daily basis with a smile and a goddamn handwritten thank you note.
Am I too old fashioned? Do such values and morals still exist?
I am so disgusted that I am seriously thinking of yet again changing schools. We have made our house into a home and we are still trying to fit into the community, although I refuse to change who I am or how I was brought up to lower myself to their lack of overall social standards. I'm beginning to think private schools may be the way to go. The teachers and staff are paid a bit more considering the tuition that is paid by each parent for each student. This may give them more incentive in doing their job proficiently. There is room in the budget to have separate subjects; where kids can learn to read music in an actual music class and not just reiterate songs back to a machine being broadcast from an xbox 360 kinect and dance along to Just Dance 4. (I'm not kidding..this is real life education here. Tax dollars being put to good use huh?) Yeah, it's fun for kids, maybe every Friday. However, children that can read music are proven to be better in Math and have a higher IQ. My child hasn't even brought home a library book. I ask him, "Why not?" "Because we didn't have time to go to the library today mom." Not enough time?! What do you do all damned day? Suck your thumbs and rock yourself in a corner somewhere?
I don't know. I'm frustrated. I don't want to change schools again but maybe this one just isn't the right choice for my son. Maybe the private school will be the reason why my son someday ends up a pychiatrist and says, "I think it all went wrong when my mom changed my schools and then changed my school again to a private school where I didn't fit in at all and hated my life." Or maybe it will be the reason why he decided to get his Masters degree in Math and become some engineer working at a military defense company programming the radar for the stealth bomber that protects our freedom and rights as Americans. Or do I stick it out, hope for the best and do my absolute most to ensure that I fully push the rights and responsibilities on my child himself, regardless of the institution? Who knows what's the right answer?!
I feel my duty as his mother is to know the right answers, to know in my heart the right decisions and to instill the confidence and happiness within my child. However, I don't. I question myself daily, try my absolute hardest, pray to God, and still find myself scratching my head.
Maybe I'll flip a quarter (2 out of 3) and hope for the best! Iowa is a gambling state anyway. (Casion dollars supposedly paying for the educational institutions...ha) Maybe I should learn to do things the way they seem to do them. Take a chance and hope for a big win. Maybe I'll just vent to the worldwide web, take a nap, dream some, and wake up in a different life somewhere else where I needn't bother myself with any of this. Maybe the real underlying problem is not trusting myself enough to make these decisions. Maybe it's not the school or the community or anything else. Maybe it's me and my lack of confidence to parent these children right and not completely fuck them up. Maybe that's the real problem.
We'll take the winter break, time away from school. We'll bake whatever the hell we please, read books while we're cuddled up together, play some XBox 360 and kick everyone's asses out of frustration because we can't do it in real life. And...we'll take a recess any goddamn time we please and nobody will say a thing about it.
And I'm off...we got some puzzles to assemble and cookies to bake. We ain't got all day!
Thursday, December 13, 2012
aBoUt Me
Let's see...
I am a happy go lucky kind of girl - Willing to try anything once and probably have - I have a wild streak that rears its ugly face more often than I'd like to admit.
I am a perfectionist and have a hard time realizing that everything is not going to be perfect - I struggle with that one daily - I like things done a certain way and will often redo it if I think I can do it better.
I am in love with the simplest things in life. Possibly because I want my life to be as simple as possible and run as smoothly as it can. I have high hopes and even higher expectations. Not only of myself...but of everyone.
I am my toughest critic. I am extremely hard on myself. I am sure people have thought awful, nasty things of me at some point or another but chances are I have thought those same things of myself many many times before...so get in line.
I don't try to be something I'm not, and neither should you. Yes I’m ADD…and OCD. There just aren’t enough words to describe me. And yes I’m Manic…and sometimes depressed. I am at times just one big fucking mess.
I'm a walking contradiction. Everything I say is lost in a massive bipolar rage. I'm everything you anticipate me to be, and nothing you'd expect. I'm nothing short of a thrill ride. I walk railroad tracks like I'm walking the road to failure and success. Life is a game and determination is how you play it out. You live, you lose, you learn.
I'll be your biggest mistake, yet by far your best investment. I give up on things easily, not because I'm weak, but because I'm strong enough to let go. My sanity is nothing but a madness put to good use. I know how to lose and I know how to win. I know how to deceive and I know how to be real. I'm misused and I make mistakes.
I live on lies that come out of your mouth, so I can last two seconds on my knees, because pleading for your forgiveness is what I’m good at...shoving it right back in your face is what I’m best at. I lose my breath when he speaks, and I kill myself every time I let another make me weak. The city lights are my guide into the night...the midnight woods are the only place my footsteps feel right.
I'm my own addiction, I'm the drug that feeds the frenzy. You won’t let me go because I’m nothing you need and everything you can’t control. I'm most likely very different then you think I am, so don't judge me. Getting attached is my weakness. I've been cheated on, lied to and deceived. Trusting people isn't something I'm good at.
Lucky is something I'm most definitely not. I've become accustom to people walking out on me. Call me a hypocrite, but not a liar. I lack both tolerance and patience. I deal with the fact that I've forgotten the worst. I feel that my social behavior may seem somewhat unrehearsed. Another page, get rid of some built-up rage...and I'll be back to my normal self. I drive to the edge of my considerate plain. I apologize to the people I hurt on the way. I wipe the slate clean...I kick the daydream... And I remain independently happy.
"Just don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration..I don't think you can go wrong."
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Over-Thinking Ruins You
Sometimes it's best to just "let things be", to not get wrapped up the dramatic sense of it all, let it steep in the hotness until the cool air drifts over and settles; to take a time out and find the inner goodness that lives within; to not let anger and fear consume your thoughts which would later result in an even bigger mess than the worry itself.
I can be a mess at times; stuck in an OCD loop of fear and anxiety about the littlest fragmented things of my little insignificant life, racing thoughts and being afraid that I might panic...at any given moment; which in turn causes more panic and brings about episodes of even more panicky panic pathetic panics.
((((and breathing))))
I've searched deep within and also in a Sherlock Holmes(esque) manner; I've managed to find things that bring on such bouts of panic.
*Heat and Humidity---Rule of Thumb: I do not go outside in the heat/humidity if it's like 95* and I'm in any sort of clothing whatsoever. At the lake in a bikini?! That seems to be fine but then I'd most likely want to reach for a cold drink to partake in the festivities but again, fuel to the fire. No bueno. So I avoid it at all costs.
*My own negative thoughts and perfectionist OCD qualities that consume me---Rule of Thumb: The world is NOT out to get you. This can be the hardest one to pinpoint. Upon getting passed my past, it's easy for me to be my toughest critic; being stuck in the habit of thinking someone or something is looking down on me, their pointer finger a-pointing and scolding my every move.
*and Money (or lack thereof)--- Rule of Thumb: like blood, it circulates. Somedays I have more than I should and somedays I have less than I want. However, neither my children or I go without ANYTHING. Even Santa Claus himself was like "Wow! If you can't think of anything for the list then I'd say you're sitting pretty well." It's just easy to overwhelm ourselves with the lack thereof when we check the mail and it's bills/bills/bills. What happened to handwritten notes and Christmas Cards? Lol!
It's safe to say that it's still all new to me. I find that if I'm in a position that I feel uncomfortable or that any sort of conflict may result, it's best for me to just shut down and let it steep, like a tea bag in a mug of scolding hot water (which sounds perfect right about now). I shut down. I need to give myself a time out to think about the situation or circumstance before reacting. Work on being proactive.
Every woman should have a sanctuary located somewhere within their happy and healthy home. It's a place where your thoughts are laid to rest, where you surround yourself with all your favorite things be it pictures of the kids, fresh flowers, a hot cup of tea, some scented candles to light, some ticket stubs to a concert you attended in Central Park with some of your nearest and dearest, a scarf that you knitted that you can wrap up in and the whole world melts away around you.
In my new home, I haven't created a corner or nook to confine myself within. I haven't created a select place where a shrine lives where I can escape on my time outs and just focus on my breathing. I place myself upon my perfectly made bed, full of fluffy pillows, the sun shining through the curtains that creates the perfect glow of warmth and home. I have cards from those I love sitting on the nightstand next to the bed along with books I love to read all cozied up next to my man; a carnival glass dish in the perfect opulent orange shade I place all my accessories in as I get undressed and redressed in cozy pajamas. A framed poem of the 1: Corinthians and a lamp to shed some light on any subject. In the top drawer?..all my favorite things, my hidden treasures; dark chocolate with sea salt, peppermint foot balm, my grape skin moisturizer that my mother brought back from a vineyard in Napa, Lavender and Orange lip balm; a pair of slippers for any midnight runs outside of the bed, and some other things that needn't be mentioned but make for a romantic night within arms reach :)
And hanging upon the wall is a shrine that has accumulated a massive amount of my treasures throughout the years. Having everything tucked in neatly and not to neatly; holding on tightly to some of my most memorable items.
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*A menu from the White Star bar in SoHo NYC from my birthdate in 2008 where I travelled and attended an art gallery opening. I drank sparkling champagne with cubes of brown sugar and absynthe dropped onto spoonfuls of white cubed sugar while I hid behind dark sunglasses under the bright light of the audience. They all knew I was a tourist. I hailed for a cab and headed back to the condo where I was staying. I felt soooo very small and alone in that instant; in that extremely large city; knowing nobody, not knowing my way around. How I wanted to be so carefree and breathe in the sights and the sounds of the city and when I thought I had escaped my own self; I wanted nothing more than to find her again; in an area I knew my way around, in my comfy clothes and without hiding behind dark glasses.
*All of my JM concert badges given to me over the many many tours I had a friend working on. I was lucky enough to work at a concert/club lighting company and we had the JM contract and he was the LD on the tour. So...I got much wanted JM swag and I've saved it all. Well...because I'm the just biggest JM fan EVER!
*JM ticket stubs for each and every time I've had the pleasure of seeing him live, boarding passes from my trips all around the country, a trail map for the slopes from my time spent in Aspen, postcards from around the globe, a letter I wrote to Jaxon when he was still in the womb, various pictures of my son and set beside it in a vase is a single black faux feather I rec'd from a hairdresser the night of a Goth Gala I attended at Nico many many moons ago.
All of these things remind me of the lovely life I've had up to this point. They put a smile on my face where worry resides most days. I'm certainly still trying to figure out what has triggered these attacks and can only hope to prevent them as I gather more intel. However, until then, I take deep breaths, I count my many blessings and I drink up the sights and sounds of the happy and healthy home in which I share with all my favorite people.
There really isn't need to worry, I know this. It sounds so simple. Everything will be fine. Give time to time. It will heal all.
And as the year comes to a close and I prepare gifts for under the tree and anticipate the smiles that will take over the faces of the little ones in my home; I am so incredibly happy that I have a certain someone to share my life with; the good, the bad, sickness (ha), health, and many memories we work on making daily. I wish he could see how much he does for each and every one of us; how happy he makes us; and how fortunate we are to have him in our lives. I am so happy he doesn't cause me more stress than I can handle, drops things that need to be dropped and doesn't push when there needn't be pushing. Somewhere; past all of the worry and stress and panic; we somehow know that all will be well in the world and we needn't attack the issue further. It's so incredible to know someone has your back fully. Even in a state of panic; they're there to step in and take over with such ease.
Panic Less-Love More
Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.
Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.
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