As a mom I want nothing more for my children than to be successful and happy in their adult lives. I have no illusions that they will face trying times, have their hearts broken and will fail, more than likely many times. This is part of the journey of life and each setback as well as success is part of the trip. There are so many different factors in raising a happy and healthy child into a well rounded and successful adult; from manners and self discipline to education and real life problem solving skills. I do my best each and every day to help them evolve into these well rounded adults that I often forget that they are simply children and need time to be just that. Enter education.
My decision to home school my oldest child, Curtis, has been a long thought out process. When he was in 2nd grade his teacher asked me if he had ADD. I knew that she was completely wrong in this assumption because I have never met another child who could sit in his room or on the living room floor and build with LEGO'S or a 500+ piece puzzle for hours on end with no regard for what was going on around him. He has always been this way, from the time he learned how to build his first tower of blocks at 6 months to when he put together his first puzzle at 9 months, he has displayed an intense level of focus. No, there was no doubt in my mind that my child did not have ADD but I took him to the doctor to be sure. She confirmed what I already knew but suggested that there may be another aspect to his development that we should explore, Asperger's Syndrome. Having never heard of Asperger's, I began to feverishly explore the shelves of the local library, scour the internet and talk with educators, mothers and physicians. Not long after this I had him tested through the public elementary school he was attending. The plan was simple enough: they would test him at school and I would have a test to do at home, in his more natural environment. The results were confusing and left me with more unanswered questions than I had going into the test. The school found Curtis to be on the very low end of the scale while my scores found him in the middle to high range, meaning that we showed two very conflicting evaluations. Rewind the clock to 2003 when I took Curtis to the Pediatrician inquiring why my then two year old son had very little vocabulary and yet could complete puzzles designed for a preschooler. He suggested that Curtis was simply delayed in his vocabulary and that I could likely chalk it up to the fact that my husband was deployed and he was not involoved in any social groups with other children.
It all comes flashing back to me when I met with the school to discuss Curtis' s education challenges. He was excelling in all areas, especially reading and reading comprehension, with a 4th grade reading level when he was in 2nd grade. Straight A's academically, but socially having many difficulties adjusting. To add to the confusion of all of this, we were still trying to figure out if there was a possibility of Asperger's or if it was just part of who Curtis was. He continued to excel academically throughout they year and was even accepted into the gifted program at his next school, but he also struggled with the social aspect of school as well as at home. The more research I did, the more similarities I found with my son and others with Asperger's. When 3rd grade started I figured that he would start fresh at a new school, more standards, higher learning would challenge him more and the kinks would soon work themselves out. However after only a few months he was in trouble again, the teacher asked if he had ADD again and by the middle of the school year I was fighting for my child to not be removed from the gifted program simply because he wasn't paying attention in the regular classroom. My attempts to work with the principal, teacher and Curtis all failed. He was removed from the gifted program because his regular teacher thought he should pay more attention to the lessons that the other students were being taught and the principal told me that he would be retested for the next school year.
I met with the principal before registering Curtis for 4th grade because I needed to know that my son would be placed in a class free of the constant bulling that he had experienced the year before and to make sure that he would be challenged enough to keep him busy. I told him that Curtis was reading at a 7th grade level, having read the entire Harry Potter series when he was in 1st grade and rereading it four more times since. I told him that I was seriously considering home schooling Curtis cause I did not feel like he was being challenged enough and I had some concerns about the curriculum of the school. I was reassured by the principal that he would monitor the progress and, should I have any further concerns, to come talk with him any time. Against my better judgement, I paid the fees, went school supply shopping and sent him to school with his friends for 4th grade.
It only took two months for me to realize that I had made a huge mistake and I pulled my son out of public school hoping to make a positive difference in his life. I have had many people, friends and family, ask me if I thought this was the best way, if I felt confident, what the schedules and curriculum would be, how I would incorporate socialization or deal with a lack of, all questions that I had already asked myself a million times in the last year. But I realized that I don't have the answers to all of the questions. I am not a teacher in the traditional sense and that I will likely be caught off guard by glitches along the way. I am okay with that. I am okay with not knowing all of the answers, with adapting when necessary, with some amount of discomfort and anxiety because although I don't have all of the answers I know my child better than any other educator. I know what makes him tick, I know how to talk to him in a way that he can get, I have been with him nearly every day of his life and I know that this is a job that I not fail at. My children are my job, my life, my greatest accomplishment. I will never quit them, never tell them they aren't good enough or expect less than they are able to give. I will continue to nurture them as they grow and beam with pride every step of the way.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Helping Hands
I collected donations for nearly three weeks, mostly from very generous people in my area but some from as far away as Washington State. Clothing, toiletries, baby needs and food were quickly being piled up in my garage until I had to start turning donations away due to the inability to hold any more. It was inspiring to see how many people gave items to donate to the affected residents. I felt amazing knowing that my truck load would be used to help those who needed it. I quickly began following blogs and Facebook posts from different volunteer groups, organizations and people who were going to the affected areas and making a difference. Almost as quickly, though, I began to hit some snags. Several of the organizations required groups of five or more people and a monetary donation per person to stay while helping. My husband and I could not afford, after gas and traveling expenses, to pay the fee nor did we have a group that size. I began to feel increasingly frustrated in the process until I just decided that we would pack it all up, drive down to Missouri and see where we could help.
We made a reservation at a campground in Joplin and packed as minimal as we could. We used a tent that was donated to us by a local woman and we prepared ourselves for a day of helping. At 9 am on June 23rd, we began driving through the town of Joplin and, at first, it looked like a great town full of life and charm. The churches and houses were quaint and lovely. It was only a few yards down the road when we began to see signs that this was no ordinary small town, that something was strikingly different. First, all of the trucks and heavy equipment on the roads filled with debris and rubble. Then we started seeing cars and trucks that looked as if they were left out for days at a driving range, peppered with holes and windowless. And then we were in it. It was so fast that I had to turn around to see how went from a perfect little main street to a scene from a war zone. It was unbelievable how one street was untouched and the next was demolished, seemingly wiped out by the hand of God. God was with these people. It was spray painted on buildings, remnants of homes, churches, schools and cars. God had blessed them.
It was difficult to breathe. I felt my whole body just dissolve into a state of disbelief. This is the true power of nature that man will never be able to harness. My husband, an Iraq war veteran, turned to me and said that it was worse than a bomb- a bomb incinerates leaving nothing behind but bits and pieces. This was not the case. Here, there were remnants, shreds of metal twisted in towering, stripped trees. Shells of cars lying upside-down in former building parking lots. Plots of land that used to bear homes now stood empty less the plumbing stacks or singular walls eerily standing in solidarity. Welcome to Joplin.
We made our way through the busy, chaotic streets to the Salvation Army oasis and told them we came down from Chicago with a truck full of donations and strong hands and backs, willing to work doing whatever they needed us to do. The director shook my husbands hand and thanked us then he directed us to a part of town where we would be working for the day. We made our way to a series of warehouses a few blocks down the street where we first needed to unload the donations. The woman and man who were in charge were radiating joy and positivity. We chatted about where we were from and they thanked us for coming down and for helping. It was not easy to take the compliment, it felt uncomfortable to say anything, really. How could someone thank us for doing what was right? Who wouldn't feel the sense of charity in a time like this, with people so warm and kind? After about 10 minutes we headed to the other warehouse for work. When we got there we saw the overwhelming need of the towns people. Car after car drove through asking for food, clothing or homeless resources. Truckloads of donations poured in through the back. We were given our directions for the morning and got to work.
My husband and I worked side by side with two older women, in their late 60's or early 70's, who were from Arkansas and a much older man whom reminded me of my own grandfather. These three older folks were the hardest working, warmest and genuinely funny people I had met in a long time. A large group of high school church volunteers were there as well, but I think they were a bit overwhelmed by the situation and possible embarrassed that the old guys were working ten times harder than they were. Our task was to organize all of the food by like types, box it up and move the boxes and shelving to another large warehouse to turn into a makeshift grocery store, all while allowing the "customers" to shop for what they needed and help them in whatever way we could. We worked constantly, breaking only momentarily to take a drink of water to help cool us down.
At noon, we were taken to lunch at the other Salvation Army building a block away. The young kids ate their fill and said goodbye while the older people who had been working with us told us what was next on the list. We were going to unload pallets of food and stock up the new grocery building making it as easy as possible to find products just like a regular store. My husband and I headed back and got straight to work. We worked with about six or seven Vietnam era men who made the trip from all over the country to help. One was from Southern California, another from Washington State, one from Massachusetts and the others from Missouri and Oklahoma. The men talked about their families, about their military experiences and about their desire to help. One man was a first responder when Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf coast and compared that disaster to this one.
Towards the end of the day, a three year old boy came through with his mother to get some groceries. He was zooming around in a blue wheelchair with one leg bandaged from his big toe all the way up to his knee. When a volunteer asked him what happened to his leg he simply said "tornado" and off he went. His mother, also in poor shape, said that he was hit with something and it had split his leg wide open from top to bottom. Another time, a man pulled up in a battered car with his young daughter and just stopped. He looked at one of the volunteers and said, " I just don't know what to do or where to go". The overwhelming feeling of helplessness filled my heart and I was left with no words of comfort. How do I help someone who has been through so much? An entire community was left broken, forced to pick up the pieces and move on.
It took us the remainder of the afternoon to work all of the donations into the shelving systems and get the backup pallets organized into workable shape so that it would be efficient enough to restock once the products ran low. Hundreds of jars of baby food, endless supplies of canned green beans and corn, pre-packaged rice and protein packs and shelves of soup all lined up and neatly arranged, making it as simple as possible to find what is needed. At 6pm, we closed up and met with the director. She told us that she was not scheduled to open up the food bank until Saturday (it was Thursday) because there was so much to do and how wonderful it would be to have it up and running a day early. She thanked us for our help and offered to have us back if we could make it. The other men that we had been working with shook our hands and simply said "thank you". We told them what an honor it was to work with them and help out such a resilient community. I wish we weren't leaving the next day. I wanted so desperately to stay and help.
We left the warehouse and started to make our way back to the campsite. We took a side road through streets with no names, past where the high school once stood, where kids played in a mangled playground. We could see block after block of decimated homes, splintered trees and twisted wreckage. My heart ached and my stomach twisted. I felt weak and helpless. Our one day here was over and yet there was so much to do. It would take months to clear away all of the debris and years more to rebuild. Generations to come will live with the memories of that day in May when the sky darkened and the tornado ripped a whole through their hearts. My hope is that the town of Joplin, as well as her sister cities, will not be forgotten and left with the burden of rebuilding. It has been six weeks and could take that many years to recover some sort of semblance to what once was. I know that this will not be my last trip to the area, in fact I am hoping that I can make a trip down there every few months. Knowing that there is still so much work that needs to be done, and so many people who will continue to suffer until they can rebuild, makes it difficult to live my life at home. I will never forget the people that we met working in Joplin that day, nor will I forget the wreckage that consumed the town. The perseverance will, someday, payoff and Joplin will be rebuilt but until that day comes, it will continue to be a struggle for daily life.
Monday, June 20, 2011
A (Gypsy) Wedding
I am not one for reality shows because, more often than not, they are just bits and pieces that form an altered reality. If I had to choose one reality program, though, I would quickly choose TLC's My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. This show is fascinating beyond words. The first time I watched this program I actually caught myself with my mouth agape and not just once or even twice but at least four times! Something about these women, well girls actually, was so captivating, vexing and witty that I could not shut it off.
It is amazing that this Gypsy, or Traveler lifestyle is so secretive and yet so publicly frowned upon. The culture, while extraordinary and enigmatic, is pure in the simplest form. The young are forbidden to have pre-marital sex, the girls are seldom allowed to venture outside the home without an entourage of family members and rarely go to school once they reach the age of twelve or so. The girls are taught nearly from infancy that they will be mothers, wives and home makers. The biggest aspirations that these girls have is to have the biggest, most fanciful wedding, while the boys know how to work hard, provide and are nearly bread to fight. While some of these cultural symptoms seem lopsided and somewhat primitive, I think there is something to be said for raising children in a small family community where parents are respected as well as somewhat feared.
The weddings are somewhat simple Catholic ceremonies but the dresses, WHEW! Some are as heavy as 270 pounds, all are nearly twice the weight of the young bride wearing them! The girls, while young, are not forced to marry at an early age, nor are they in arranged marriages like so many other cultures. They simply know that if they wait until they are in their early twenties to marry, they are considered old by the Traveling community. Most of the young women have never been away from their family homes, weather a caravan or a brick and mortar style, and find their weddings to be melancholy as well as fun. The tears are as big as the dresses, it seems, and I can't help but feel empathy for them as they make their transition from girl to wife. I cannot seem to make out where childhood fits into the equation but it seems that this is what the girls know is waiting for them after the big dress is put away.
As far as the "real" reality goes, I have little doubt that there is cinematic magic happening in the studio before the show actually airs, but I think there is a magical, forbidden and slightly sad mixture that lures me in each week to watch more of this fascinating and enigmatic underground culture.
It is amazing that this Gypsy, or Traveler lifestyle is so secretive and yet so publicly frowned upon. The culture, while extraordinary and enigmatic, is pure in the simplest form. The young are forbidden to have pre-marital sex, the girls are seldom allowed to venture outside the home without an entourage of family members and rarely go to school once they reach the age of twelve or so. The girls are taught nearly from infancy that they will be mothers, wives and home makers. The biggest aspirations that these girls have is to have the biggest, most fanciful wedding, while the boys know how to work hard, provide and are nearly bread to fight. While some of these cultural symptoms seem lopsided and somewhat primitive, I think there is something to be said for raising children in a small family community where parents are respected as well as somewhat feared.
The weddings are somewhat simple Catholic ceremonies but the dresses, WHEW! Some are as heavy as 270 pounds, all are nearly twice the weight of the young bride wearing them! The girls, while young, are not forced to marry at an early age, nor are they in arranged marriages like so many other cultures. They simply know that if they wait until they are in their early twenties to marry, they are considered old by the Traveling community. Most of the young women have never been away from their family homes, weather a caravan or a brick and mortar style, and find their weddings to be melancholy as well as fun. The tears are as big as the dresses, it seems, and I can't help but feel empathy for them as they make their transition from girl to wife. I cannot seem to make out where childhood fits into the equation but it seems that this is what the girls know is waiting for them after the big dress is put away.
As far as the "real" reality goes, I have little doubt that there is cinematic magic happening in the studio before the show actually airs, but I think there is a magical, forbidden and slightly sad mixture that lures me in each week to watch more of this fascinating and enigmatic underground culture.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
39 on $180
Tonight marked my 39th meal in a row for my family of four. It was awful. No really, there was absolutely nothing that was tasty about it! The dipping sauce was not terrible but one cannot live on dipping sauce alone although it would be a hell of a lot easier! My 38th meal, or lunch as some may call it, was pretty bad too.
Feeding a family of four, plus guests and random neighborhood children, is not an easy task when you are the one who plans the meals, makes the shopping list, does the cooking and most of the clean up (although when my husband is home he does help with the dishes). All of my meals are scratch made, meaning that there are no processed or prepackaged ingredients apart from the occasional specialty condiment. I do not buy frozen meals, boxed mixes or canned stuff, aside from beans, tomatoes and beets. Cereal, nearly always Chex because it is gluten free, is the only ready made thing that I buy. Don't get me wrong, I love cooking especially for my family and those whom I love the most. I dreamed of going to culinary school when I was a kid and joined the Army as a cook instead. My time there was invaluable as far as knowing how to cook for hundreds of people per meal and some tricks to making eggs, yes the Army does in fact use real eggs (sometimes). So it is not to say that I do not enjoy my time spent in the kitchen with music blaring or an exhaust fan humming in the background while some member of the family keeps me entertained at the counter. I am human, however, and I do like to have someone else do the cooking and cleaning up every once in a while.
My last grocery trip was 12 days ago and I spent $180. Twelve days is a long time to go between shopping trips! Needless to say I have exhausted nearly every ingredient in my fridge, freezer and pantry! I love the fact that dairy staples like sour cream and Greek yogurt have a lot of time to work with. The last time my family and I went out to eat it was, well a familiar sea food chain in which our dear friend treated us and then got food poisoning in return. That was nearly a month ago. Before that, I have no recollection of the last time we went out. We just don't spend money on a meal that I can make better, and healthier, at home. We also live in a place where the options are quite limited. Being a Californian in the semi-rural Midwest I will admit that I am picky when it comes to fresh and vibrant flavors with a nice cultural mix. I have found only one restaurant in our three town area that I can even stomach enough to spend our hard earned money in and even that is questionable. I am not a snob, really! I just like good quality food at a reasonable price with fresh ingredients and good service. Honestly, I don't think it is too much to ask.
The way that I look at it is simple: give me a reason to drop $50+ in your establishment. If I can make it at home for less (and have leftovers) I'm not paying you to make it! Sometimes I think that being a California girl has spoiled me. I grew up with fresh fusion cuisine and my parents both cooked our week night meals. I went grocery shopping with my mom every week or so and I knew how much it cost to feed a family of six, including four teenagers. Is it too much to ask that I be able to do the same for my family? I know that people are feeling the burn of the high prices at the grocery store made very apparent by TV shows and websites devoted to coupon shopping. We are all feeling the pinch with costs of nearly everything that we consume rising steadily. The price of milk and the price of gas are about the same- nearly $4/ gallon. With meat prices rising, I have begun to wonder when we started running low on cows, chickens and pigs in the US. I always though that we had an abundance of these things but perhaps, along with everything else, we have begun to suck the meat industry dry.
I am not an economist, nor do I pretend to have a clue about the ins and outs of such matters. What I do know is how to stretch a dollar, how to cook good food that will nourish the body and provide a clean and happy environment to enjoy said food in with great conversations. I may not be the best cook, I certainly cannot bake to save my life, but I try to be better each meal, every day. I will say this, though, I am running out of new things to make at this point and am fairly burnt out on cooking at this point! Even in the Army I had a day off once in a while!
Feeding a family of four, plus guests and random neighborhood children, is not an easy task when you are the one who plans the meals, makes the shopping list, does the cooking and most of the clean up (although when my husband is home he does help with the dishes). All of my meals are scratch made, meaning that there are no processed or prepackaged ingredients apart from the occasional specialty condiment. I do not buy frozen meals, boxed mixes or canned stuff, aside from beans, tomatoes and beets. Cereal, nearly always Chex because it is gluten free, is the only ready made thing that I buy. Don't get me wrong, I love cooking especially for my family and those whom I love the most. I dreamed of going to culinary school when I was a kid and joined the Army as a cook instead. My time there was invaluable as far as knowing how to cook for hundreds of people per meal and some tricks to making eggs, yes the Army does in fact use real eggs (sometimes). So it is not to say that I do not enjoy my time spent in the kitchen with music blaring or an exhaust fan humming in the background while some member of the family keeps me entertained at the counter. I am human, however, and I do like to have someone else do the cooking and cleaning up every once in a while.
My last grocery trip was 12 days ago and I spent $180. Twelve days is a long time to go between shopping trips! Needless to say I have exhausted nearly every ingredient in my fridge, freezer and pantry! I love the fact that dairy staples like sour cream and Greek yogurt have a lot of time to work with. The last time my family and I went out to eat it was, well a familiar sea food chain in which our dear friend treated us and then got food poisoning in return. That was nearly a month ago. Before that, I have no recollection of the last time we went out. We just don't spend money on a meal that I can make better, and healthier, at home. We also live in a place where the options are quite limited. Being a Californian in the semi-rural Midwest I will admit that I am picky when it comes to fresh and vibrant flavors with a nice cultural mix. I have found only one restaurant in our three town area that I can even stomach enough to spend our hard earned money in and even that is questionable. I am not a snob, really! I just like good quality food at a reasonable price with fresh ingredients and good service. Honestly, I don't think it is too much to ask.
The way that I look at it is simple: give me a reason to drop $50+ in your establishment. If I can make it at home for less (and have leftovers) I'm not paying you to make it! Sometimes I think that being a California girl has spoiled me. I grew up with fresh fusion cuisine and my parents both cooked our week night meals. I went grocery shopping with my mom every week or so and I knew how much it cost to feed a family of six, including four teenagers. Is it too much to ask that I be able to do the same for my family? I know that people are feeling the burn of the high prices at the grocery store made very apparent by TV shows and websites devoted to coupon shopping. We are all feeling the pinch with costs of nearly everything that we consume rising steadily. The price of milk and the price of gas are about the same- nearly $4/ gallon. With meat prices rising, I have begun to wonder when we started running low on cows, chickens and pigs in the US. I always though that we had an abundance of these things but perhaps, along with everything else, we have begun to suck the meat industry dry.
I am not an economist, nor do I pretend to have a clue about the ins and outs of such matters. What I do know is how to stretch a dollar, how to cook good food that will nourish the body and provide a clean and happy environment to enjoy said food in with great conversations. I may not be the best cook, I certainly cannot bake to save my life, but I try to be better each meal, every day. I will say this, though, I am running out of new things to make at this point and am fairly burnt out on cooking at this point! Even in the Army I had a day off once in a while!
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Lonely Hearts Club
Loneliness is one of those things that tend to creep up on you and before you know it you are stuck with this feeling of sadness. I woke up last week feeling like the whole world was on one side and there I was, with one other person on the other side. I look in envy at the friendships and relationships that other people have and wonder why it never quite works out for me. Maybe I just get too invested. Maybe I am picking the wrong people. Maybe I will never know.
When I was 12, I met the dearest, closest friend a girl could ever ask for. She was beautiful, smart, wickedly funny and exceedingly popular. Being the new girl in a very small school the odds were not in my favor, but she and I hit it off instantly (almost) and have remained the closest of friends through boyfriends, college, military life, over continents, marriage, children and through adulthood. We are going to be 30 this year and it is amazing that this one person knows all that I have hidden and how to call bullshit on me when necessary. I consider this one of my greatest gifts in life along with my family. Through it all, she has been there for me and I for her, no matter how many miles we had between us.
I am a funny person with many talents and way too much loyalty sometimes. I often let people use and take advantage of my generous spirit with little regret after the fact. I feel that people come into our lives to teach us something and often times we have no idea what that lesson is until after the fact. If you do not hear and receive that message, you will be presented with the same people, situation or experiences until you get it through your skull that there is something you are supposed to learn. So here I am, wondering what the message is that I am supposed to be learning- what does the universe have to teach me about friendship that I don't already know? What am I missing?
Perhaps it is that my energy is best spent helping people whom I have no connection to. Or maybe I should learn to pick my friends better. Or maybe that I should stop being so damn nice because I end up with the short end of the stick. I honestly have no idea. When I was in the Army, a friend whom I worked with was having financial troubles. She was the same rank as I was at the time, had a husband and two kids with another on the way. She didn't know how she was going to pay rent and feed her family. I couldn't help but feel for her, who wouldn't feel bad for someone in such a spot? So one day I gave her my ATM card and pin number and told her to take whatever she needed to get through the month. She ended up taking just over $1,000 and I wound up with her dog. Les than two months later, she was gone and I was out a grand and stuck with a horribly mean dog. Lesson learned? Not quite...
I am a pleaser, a fixer and a nurturer by nature. Opposites attract. What better companion to a pleaser than a user? A match made in heaven. So these are the kind of people that I am always attracting, in classes, as friends and even family. Honestly I love doing for other people. I feel a purpose, I feel good in my soul and I honestly think that I am doing the right thing. Every time. Burn. It's like a ride at a carnival; you pay the money, get on and in two minutes it's over and you are left feeling like you just wasted your time standing in line for an hour to ride the worst ride in the whole damn place. Not fulfilling at all. Yet for some reason, you are willing to take a chance at more rides, sometimes it feels worth it but mostly it is less than mediocre.
This is the gamble if life, love and friendship. Sometimes, like with my dear friend from seventh grade, it is an amazing gamble that you win big on. Other times you are left longing to erase the memory of the pain and stupidity you feel at being so used. Every time I get hurt I tell myself I am done. I am no longer going to put myself out there to be hurt, used and made a fool of. I will no longer try to make plans (what is the point when I make enough food to feed an army and my kids & husband are stuck eating it all for a week) only to be canceled on. I will not try to coordinate an event, throw a party or plan a family get together. But I can guarantee that if someone needs me to bring a dish, take pictures, watch their kids or has an urge to vent, guess who will be called. And I will do all of those things, and likely ten times more, because I know that is what I do best. I help. I contribute. I never show up without a little something for the hostess or some food or drink to contribute. My mother taught me well and I am ever so thankful for that. Always bring something and always, ALWAYS write a Thank You note by hand. I will continue to be generous and thoughtful. I cannot change that, it is simply who I am. When I get hurt I will cry, I will rage, I will swear off people forever... again. But I will find someone else who I can get along with, help and try to contribute something positive to their life.
When I was 12, I met the dearest, closest friend a girl could ever ask for. She was beautiful, smart, wickedly funny and exceedingly popular. Being the new girl in a very small school the odds were not in my favor, but she and I hit it off instantly (almost) and have remained the closest of friends through boyfriends, college, military life, over continents, marriage, children and through adulthood. We are going to be 30 this year and it is amazing that this one person knows all that I have hidden and how to call bullshit on me when necessary. I consider this one of my greatest gifts in life along with my family. Through it all, she has been there for me and I for her, no matter how many miles we had between us.
I am a funny person with many talents and way too much loyalty sometimes. I often let people use and take advantage of my generous spirit with little regret after the fact. I feel that people come into our lives to teach us something and often times we have no idea what that lesson is until after the fact. If you do not hear and receive that message, you will be presented with the same people, situation or experiences until you get it through your skull that there is something you are supposed to learn. So here I am, wondering what the message is that I am supposed to be learning- what does the universe have to teach me about friendship that I don't already know? What am I missing?
Perhaps it is that my energy is best spent helping people whom I have no connection to. Or maybe I should learn to pick my friends better. Or maybe that I should stop being so damn nice because I end up with the short end of the stick. I honestly have no idea. When I was in the Army, a friend whom I worked with was having financial troubles. She was the same rank as I was at the time, had a husband and two kids with another on the way. She didn't know how she was going to pay rent and feed her family. I couldn't help but feel for her, who wouldn't feel bad for someone in such a spot? So one day I gave her my ATM card and pin number and told her to take whatever she needed to get through the month. She ended up taking just over $1,000 and I wound up with her dog. Les than two months later, she was gone and I was out a grand and stuck with a horribly mean dog. Lesson learned? Not quite...
I am a pleaser, a fixer and a nurturer by nature. Opposites attract. What better companion to a pleaser than a user? A match made in heaven. So these are the kind of people that I am always attracting, in classes, as friends and even family. Honestly I love doing for other people. I feel a purpose, I feel good in my soul and I honestly think that I am doing the right thing. Every time. Burn. It's like a ride at a carnival; you pay the money, get on and in two minutes it's over and you are left feeling like you just wasted your time standing in line for an hour to ride the worst ride in the whole damn place. Not fulfilling at all. Yet for some reason, you are willing to take a chance at more rides, sometimes it feels worth it but mostly it is less than mediocre.
This is the gamble if life, love and friendship. Sometimes, like with my dear friend from seventh grade, it is an amazing gamble that you win big on. Other times you are left longing to erase the memory of the pain and stupidity you feel at being so used. Every time I get hurt I tell myself I am done. I am no longer going to put myself out there to be hurt, used and made a fool of. I will no longer try to make plans (what is the point when I make enough food to feed an army and my kids & husband are stuck eating it all for a week) only to be canceled on. I will not try to coordinate an event, throw a party or plan a family get together. But I can guarantee that if someone needs me to bring a dish, take pictures, watch their kids or has an urge to vent, guess who will be called. And I will do all of those things, and likely ten times more, because I know that is what I do best. I help. I contribute. I never show up without a little something for the hostess or some food or drink to contribute. My mother taught me well and I am ever so thankful for that. Always bring something and always, ALWAYS write a Thank You note by hand. I will continue to be generous and thoughtful. I cannot change that, it is simply who I am. When I get hurt I will cry, I will rage, I will swear off people forever... again. But I will find someone else who I can get along with, help and try to contribute something positive to their life.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Lemons
When life hands you a lemon you are supposed to try to make it into lemonade. Currently, my lemonade would be more like a small glass of water, no ice and a lemon slice! It seems that no matter how hard I try (and I really do try... feverishly!) nothing seems to go the way I meticulously plan.
I have two vices: 1) I take my morning bowl (I say "bowl" because my favorite cup is roughly 20 oz.) of coffee extra strong with fat free French vanilla coffee creamer. In a pinch I will use regular, in desperation, I will use milk and 2) I smoke. These two things have been my way of taking a few minutes for myself for going on 15 years. I enjoy my coffee and I enjoy smoking, which some may find hard to believe. I don't get my hair cut or get mani/pedi's on the weekends. I don't go on vacations. I don't go out with friends for a night of fun. Hell, I don't even go to the movies. So my two things are quite important to me! Needless to say as the cost of gas is still $4.00 a gallon where I live and my family relies on me to make all meals at home from scratch, gluten free when I can, my vices are slowly becoming less frequent and enjoyable! I remember when I could go to the grocery store and spend $150 and have enough food to feel my family for more than two weeks. Now when I spend the same amount I can usually only make it 6, maybe 8 days, tops. The rising cost of living does not match up with the amount made working.
Wages are down, promotions are declining and becoming less frequent, taxes and medical insurance are up and there is no end in sight for the drastic gap that is making life more difficult every day. My husband works for a great company. He has fantastic benefits, which we have not had since his departure from the military, and he thoroughly enjoys his job. He works near 40 hours a week and commutes ten more on top of that. While his pay is decent he has worked relentlessly to prove himself in a new company, a new life, and is slowly, slowly making a name for himself. While I applaud and encourage him to keep doing his best every day it is becoming increasingly frustrating as well. Without his military disability every month, we would not be able to survive as a family on his salary alone. A family of four just cannot live on $21k a year! And yet this is the issue facing so many families in our country. We are not alone and we are certainly not at the bottom.
With the rising cost of, well everything, how are families supposed to choose between celebrating a birthday or holiday and putting gas in their car? Between their heating costs and groceries? What makes it even harder is that we are bombarded by images of what we should have. Even if you don't have a TV, you are still being marketed by companies for a faster, sleeker and more functional phone, the bigger, better, lighter HDTV, the hybrid SUV. In our culture of keeping up with the Jonse's, the Smith's and the Friedman's, it is quite difficult to feel content and secure. If you are a family with young children, you have to decide if getting a second job is really going to be the better option- if you make only $7.50 and hour and you work 30 hours a week, after taxes it is around $190 a week. If childcare costs are $100 a week and gas is $50 a week, you have made $40. That is a hard pill to swallow when you think of all of the time that you are spending away from your child(ren) to have them in room with twelve other screaming kids learning basic colors and numbers. Is it worth the $40 a week? And what can that actually get you? Two gallons of milk, a few boxes of cereal (on sale with a coupon) maybe some chicken breasts and pasta, a bag of apples and some bananas. Yup, that's about all you can get at a store if you are not an extreme couponer with a cache in your basement.
My two vices are starting to take a back seat. I spend $1500 a year on the two things that I have just for myself. It sounds like a lot, but if you take the average woman who spends $60 every six weeks at a hair appointment, $40 every two weeks on their nails, a new outfit or pair of shoes every month or so and a date with their boyfriend/husband/girlfriend every weekend, six small lattes from the Starbucks drive-thru every month, that adds up to roughly $4000 a year (or $330 a month), not including eating out or bottled water. Now my $1500 a year on nicotine and sweet caffeine doesn't sound so crazy, does it! The point is that even though we have to make sacrifices as our economy is taking a shit, at what point do we cross the line from "luxury" wants to simple "feel a bit better about all this" items? In ten years will we be making the decision between eating breakfast or dinner? Drinking water or showering? It is not only a scary thought but it is also depressing as hell! For now I am going to figure out how to make do with what I have and savor each drag off of my cigarette and enjoy each hot, sweet sip of my morning coffee. If that is all I have to make me feel human, so be it ... and if life is handing me a lemon, it's not going to be enough to make lemonade, I can fucking guarantee that!
I have two vices: 1) I take my morning bowl (I say "bowl" because my favorite cup is roughly 20 oz.) of coffee extra strong with fat free French vanilla coffee creamer. In a pinch I will use regular, in desperation, I will use milk and 2) I smoke. These two things have been my way of taking a few minutes for myself for going on 15 years. I enjoy my coffee and I enjoy smoking, which some may find hard to believe. I don't get my hair cut or get mani/pedi's on the weekends. I don't go on vacations. I don't go out with friends for a night of fun. Hell, I don't even go to the movies. So my two things are quite important to me! Needless to say as the cost of gas is still $4.00 a gallon where I live and my family relies on me to make all meals at home from scratch, gluten free when I can, my vices are slowly becoming less frequent and enjoyable! I remember when I could go to the grocery store and spend $150 and have enough food to feel my family for more than two weeks. Now when I spend the same amount I can usually only make it 6, maybe 8 days, tops. The rising cost of living does not match up with the amount made working.
Wages are down, promotions are declining and becoming less frequent, taxes and medical insurance are up and there is no end in sight for the drastic gap that is making life more difficult every day. My husband works for a great company. He has fantastic benefits, which we have not had since his departure from the military, and he thoroughly enjoys his job. He works near 40 hours a week and commutes ten more on top of that. While his pay is decent he has worked relentlessly to prove himself in a new company, a new life, and is slowly, slowly making a name for himself. While I applaud and encourage him to keep doing his best every day it is becoming increasingly frustrating as well. Without his military disability every month, we would not be able to survive as a family on his salary alone. A family of four just cannot live on $21k a year! And yet this is the issue facing so many families in our country. We are not alone and we are certainly not at the bottom.
With the rising cost of, well everything, how are families supposed to choose between celebrating a birthday or holiday and putting gas in their car? Between their heating costs and groceries? What makes it even harder is that we are bombarded by images of what we should have. Even if you don't have a TV, you are still being marketed by companies for a faster, sleeker and more functional phone, the bigger, better, lighter HDTV, the hybrid SUV. In our culture of keeping up with the Jonse's, the Smith's and the Friedman's, it is quite difficult to feel content and secure. If you are a family with young children, you have to decide if getting a second job is really going to be the better option- if you make only $7.50 and hour and you work 30 hours a week, after taxes it is around $190 a week. If childcare costs are $100 a week and gas is $50 a week, you have made $40. That is a hard pill to swallow when you think of all of the time that you are spending away from your child(ren) to have them in room with twelve other screaming kids learning basic colors and numbers. Is it worth the $40 a week? And what can that actually get you? Two gallons of milk, a few boxes of cereal (on sale with a coupon) maybe some chicken breasts and pasta, a bag of apples and some bananas. Yup, that's about all you can get at a store if you are not an extreme couponer with a cache in your basement.
My two vices are starting to take a back seat. I spend $1500 a year on the two things that I have just for myself. It sounds like a lot, but if you take the average woman who spends $60 every six weeks at a hair appointment, $40 every two weeks on their nails, a new outfit or pair of shoes every month or so and a date with their boyfriend/husband/girlfriend every weekend, six small lattes from the Starbucks drive-thru every month, that adds up to roughly $4000 a year (or $330 a month), not including eating out or bottled water. Now my $1500 a year on nicotine and sweet caffeine doesn't sound so crazy, does it! The point is that even though we have to make sacrifices as our economy is taking a shit, at what point do we cross the line from "luxury" wants to simple "feel a bit better about all this" items? In ten years will we be making the decision between eating breakfast or dinner? Drinking water or showering? It is not only a scary thought but it is also depressing as hell! For now I am going to figure out how to make do with what I have and savor each drag off of my cigarette and enjoy each hot, sweet sip of my morning coffee. If that is all I have to make me feel human, so be it ... and if life is handing me a lemon, it's not going to be enough to make lemonade, I can fucking guarantee that!
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Motherhood
I have been a mother now for nearly my entire adult life. Having my first child when I was 20, there were so many things that I was unprepared for and the road was full of uncertainty. I was young and terrified. I hoped all my life that I would not become the mother that I was born to. I fought through my childhood and adolescent years beating it into my brain that no matter what, no matter how hard it may be or how many obstacles were put in front of me, I would never, never be the mother that she was. I knew that, even if it took everything I had, I would be the mother to my own children that she never could have been for me. So when my first child was born nearly nine years ago, I faced the biggest challenge that I had ever put in my way. He changed my whole world, became my world and shaped my world. He was the one thing that I knew that I could not quit and would never fail. I now lived and breathed for that small being that I barely knew how to care for and yet, it all seemed to fall into place.
After a while, when my husband deployed and I was living half way around the world, isolated from everything that I had known, he became my single driving force to get up every day and continue on with living. He was the person who I ate every meal with, talked to, confided in and cried with. He was all I had, this tiny little baby whom someone or something entrusted me with. His life and well being relied solely on me. All of this was deeply satisfying and horribly frightening at the same time. At only 21 years old, how in the world was I supposed to take care of him all by myself? How would I know if I had done the right thing? Was he getting enough rest? Eating the right foods? How was I supposed to know!
After the deployments and the military life had ended and our family moved back to the States, we had another child. This time, I was ready. I was aware of all the mistakes that I had made with my son and was determined to not make those mistakes with my daughter. As luck would have it, she turned out to be a polar opposite of my son and I had to relearn how to parent such a dramatically different child. I was not the same person, not in the same circumstances and certainly not alone. Four years have passed since she came into our lives and for the life of me, I still cannot figure out how these two completely different entities have come from the same two people! I t amazes me every day to see how different my children are and I am left wondering if I had made mistakes along the way with my son. Was I too young to be able to be the parent that he needed me to be? Was I smothering? Was I repeating the mistakes, although quite different, that my own birth mother had made? Most importantly, was I doing a good enough job?
I am lucky enough to have an amazing mom in my life who can tell me the truth even if I don't want to hear it. She may not have birthed me, but she is the only mother I have ever really known. She lets me know, on those days when I am feeling especially incompetent at being a mother, that I am doing something that my own mother never did for me. That no matter how much I may doubt my parenting abilities, I should feel confident in that fact that I am parenting- that I am being a mother, that I am there. Nothing comes before my children- nothing. They are my sole purpose in this life, the reason that I do all that I do. My husband has been amazing in the process, allowing me to devote these precious fleeting years as a stay at home mom, giving me the opportunity to give them the solid foundation that I longed so much for when I was their age. As I peered into my son's room the other night, seeing him engrossed in a new novel, I realized that he may never know the daily internal struggle within my soul to make him happy. He knows only of his fantasy world of magic and wizards. He cannot see past his Lego buildings. He doesn't understand why he has to go to bed. I long for the day when I can believe that I have done a good job. That I am doing a good job. I don't want to be a perfect mother; a child would never learn to walk if he did not have the courage to fall down a few times and get back up again. It is my hope that my children grow up and say that even though I screwed up, I never stopped trying.
I found my daughter lying in my bed tonight, curled up with her blankie and her baby doll. She had fallen asleep waiting for me. I stood over her, knowing that my husband and I would not get much sleep with her in the bed and yet I could not bring myself to move her. Instead I lay down next to her and smelled her hair, touched her tiny fingers and realized how very lucky I was to have such precious gifts. I have gone from a scared twenty year old with a newborn to a slightly less scared twenty nine year old with two kids! I cannot believe that a mother, or a parent, ever stops being a parent. How could my own mother have looked upon me, her other children and just let us go? The thought of not having my children in my life brings nearly instant panic. I am so very greatful that these beautiful children have chosen me to be their mom, that they love me in spite of my flaws. That they keep me grounded and never stop teaching me.
After a while, when my husband deployed and I was living half way around the world, isolated from everything that I had known, he became my single driving force to get up every day and continue on with living. He was the person who I ate every meal with, talked to, confided in and cried with. He was all I had, this tiny little baby whom someone or something entrusted me with. His life and well being relied solely on me. All of this was deeply satisfying and horribly frightening at the same time. At only 21 years old, how in the world was I supposed to take care of him all by myself? How would I know if I had done the right thing? Was he getting enough rest? Eating the right foods? How was I supposed to know!
After the deployments and the military life had ended and our family moved back to the States, we had another child. This time, I was ready. I was aware of all the mistakes that I had made with my son and was determined to not make those mistakes with my daughter. As luck would have it, she turned out to be a polar opposite of my son and I had to relearn how to parent such a dramatically different child. I was not the same person, not in the same circumstances and certainly not alone. Four years have passed since she came into our lives and for the life of me, I still cannot figure out how these two completely different entities have come from the same two people! I t amazes me every day to see how different my children are and I am left wondering if I had made mistakes along the way with my son. Was I too young to be able to be the parent that he needed me to be? Was I smothering? Was I repeating the mistakes, although quite different, that my own birth mother had made? Most importantly, was I doing a good enough job?
I am lucky enough to have an amazing mom in my life who can tell me the truth even if I don't want to hear it. She may not have birthed me, but she is the only mother I have ever really known. She lets me know, on those days when I am feeling especially incompetent at being a mother, that I am doing something that my own mother never did for me. That no matter how much I may doubt my parenting abilities, I should feel confident in that fact that I am parenting- that I am being a mother, that I am there. Nothing comes before my children- nothing. They are my sole purpose in this life, the reason that I do all that I do. My husband has been amazing in the process, allowing me to devote these precious fleeting years as a stay at home mom, giving me the opportunity to give them the solid foundation that I longed so much for when I was their age. As I peered into my son's room the other night, seeing him engrossed in a new novel, I realized that he may never know the daily internal struggle within my soul to make him happy. He knows only of his fantasy world of magic and wizards. He cannot see past his Lego buildings. He doesn't understand why he has to go to bed. I long for the day when I can believe that I have done a good job. That I am doing a good job. I don't want to be a perfect mother; a child would never learn to walk if he did not have the courage to fall down a few times and get back up again. It is my hope that my children grow up and say that even though I screwed up, I never stopped trying.
I found my daughter lying in my bed tonight, curled up with her blankie and her baby doll. She had fallen asleep waiting for me. I stood over her, knowing that my husband and I would not get much sleep with her in the bed and yet I could not bring myself to move her. Instead I lay down next to her and smelled her hair, touched her tiny fingers and realized how very lucky I was to have such precious gifts. I have gone from a scared twenty year old with a newborn to a slightly less scared twenty nine year old with two kids! I cannot believe that a mother, or a parent, ever stops being a parent. How could my own mother have looked upon me, her other children and just let us go? The thought of not having my children in my life brings nearly instant panic. I am so very greatful that these beautiful children have chosen me to be their mom, that they love me in spite of my flaws. That they keep me grounded and never stop teaching me.
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