A couple weeks ago after seeing Santa, I handed my munchkin a dollar to put in the Salvation Army bucket. The munchkin in his adorable innocence asked why we were donating money. The "gentleman" overheard my child and before I could blink told my child that "the money is to help buy presents for little boys and girls whose parents are not WEALTHY like your parents." I capitalized
wealthy because he over annunciated it and glared at us when he spoke the word.
I was livid. First of all, I am not a fan of someone judging me or my family. Second, both handsome dimpled husband and I work two jobs each...and then the really interesting homerun of facts, HDH and I both have jobs were we are public servants. I am a teacher and he is in law enforcement. In case you haven't been aware, neither one of us make big bucks in our careers. And the more I thought about it, the more I got mad. I was mad because "that man" didn't know us, and here he was telling my son things he had no idea about.
AND THEN... one day when I was wasting too much time contemplating complaining and writing a hateful letter to whomever would listen to my bitterness I had a couple of revelations.
First: That man doesn't know me or my family. He has no idea about us. He doesn't know that the reason we were there that day is because I was out of school for a snow day or that HDH was enjoying his day off by spoiling us and taking us to all the free festivities that Bass Pro offers at Christmas. He doesn't know that I work 7 days a week. He has no idea how hard we work for our family.
Second: Maybe... Maybe ... he was right. Just not in the way that he thought. I do not have a ton of money. We are able to pay our bills and put food on our table, which in itself is a form of wealth compared to many others.
BUT...
We are blessed in a safe and warm home with landlords who are like family.
We are able to provide for ourselves and make our ends meet.
We do have a family where if there is a problem, we sit down and discuss it without yelling and without disrespect.
We do have a home full of love and forgiveness.
I am rich that I have not one, but two handsome dimpled boys with my munchkin and my husband.
I am lucky to have two sides of family that I adore.
I am blessed that my son is healthy, kind, and has a heart and spunk like none other.
We are wealthy in happiness.
I am blessed that each and every night when we say family prayers that my heart swells so much I nearly cry.
My HDH works hard and thinks of us and our needs before his desires.
So, I guess that hateful bellringer was right, we are wealthy. We aren't wealthy in ways that can be monetarily measured but in happiness and love. Guess I need to stop being so thin skinned and focus on what is important.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Why I eloped.
It's interesting that so many people are curious about the decision my handsome dimpled husband and I made to elope and not have a wedding. I have no problem explaining my side of our decision.When people feel the need to question why we got married or place judgment on us, I find it odd as marriage is a promise not for them and us, but he & I.
I am in love with the handsome & stubborn man that I am lucky enough to call my husband. I don't mean momentarily love, I mean "in love" and "love." Where I choose him over and over and over again. Yes, I did put handsome and stubborn side by side in my description of him. He is both parts handsome and stubborn. I am not foolish enough to see only his strengths or the ways that I find him perfect. I am aware of his stubborn and am rather fond of it. It means he has loyalty and when he makes up his mind to do something, it will be so. It means he is internally strong in ways that many other men fall short.
We made the decision to get married as adults; permission not needed. We made the commitment to each other. We didn't need a party to make our commitment more real. We didn't need to spend 10's of thousands of dollars to make it special.. I have been to many weddings and yet, this quiet, cold, perfect, morning under a huge evergreen is by far my favorite one. Our vows were perfect, my memories happy, and the moment sacred. It had all the elements we needed: a man and woman in love, laughter, love, a pastor, a high five, a kiss and God. Nothing else needed.
We eloped to eliminate drama, skip the chaos of who sits where, and this bridesmaid doesn't like that dress, and the best man got drunk and said inappropriate things about the mother of the bride etc. Too many people get caught up in all the silly things that don't matter.
What matters to me is that I get to come home every night to a man who looks at me across the room and we share a conversation, to a man that I can't imagine my life without him next to me because he is my best friend. The thing is, if tomorrow something were to happen and he were to forget me and I had to take care of him, I would. No bitterness, no anger, just do it. Because I love him.
I married him to share every bit of myself. For the first time in my whole life, I am sure. I am sure that there is no one else I have ever been more "me" around as I am around him. I do not edit me. I do not adjust who I am when I am with him. I'd face hell and high water with him because we are a team.
With this man I have shared, a break up, a make up, "dates" to Walmart because that's what we had time in our schedule for, jokes, frustration, I have taken care of him when he was sick, bandaged him when he was broken, listened to him tell me I was wrong without me getting upset (that in itself is a miracle), there have been tornadoes and thunderstorms, shooting matches and motorcycles, flat tires, a furlough or two, road trips, broken bones, stitches, movies, midnight taco runs, poetry, misquoted song lyrics sung too loudly, video games, dinner with the parents, lunch with grandma, jealousy and forgiveness, miscommunications, changes in addresses, birthdays, some snuggles, soo much laughter, countless kisses, and a promise to never lie, not even about dumb stuff. With this man, I'd trust my life, my heart, and my forever.
So yes, I married the man I love. I married him for all the goodness that comes with him, all the tough things we will face. I married him to love and more importantly because I cherish him. I am honored to be known as his. I choose him everyday.
Anyone who can not understand that, I feel bad for.
I am in love with the handsome & stubborn man that I am lucky enough to call my husband. I don't mean momentarily love, I mean "in love" and "love." Where I choose him over and over and over again. Yes, I did put handsome and stubborn side by side in my description of him. He is both parts handsome and stubborn. I am not foolish enough to see only his strengths or the ways that I find him perfect. I am aware of his stubborn and am rather fond of it. It means he has loyalty and when he makes up his mind to do something, it will be so. It means he is internally strong in ways that many other men fall short.
We made the decision to get married as adults; permission not needed. We made the commitment to each other. We didn't need a party to make our commitment more real. We didn't need to spend 10's of thousands of dollars to make it special.. I have been to many weddings and yet, this quiet, cold, perfect, morning under a huge evergreen is by far my favorite one. Our vows were perfect, my memories happy, and the moment sacred. It had all the elements we needed: a man and woman in love, laughter, love, a pastor, a high five, a kiss and God. Nothing else needed.
We eloped to eliminate drama, skip the chaos of who sits where, and this bridesmaid doesn't like that dress, and the best man got drunk and said inappropriate things about the mother of the bride etc. Too many people get caught up in all the silly things that don't matter.
What matters to me is that I get to come home every night to a man who looks at me across the room and we share a conversation, to a man that I can't imagine my life without him next to me because he is my best friend. The thing is, if tomorrow something were to happen and he were to forget me and I had to take care of him, I would. No bitterness, no anger, just do it. Because I love him.
I married him to share every bit of myself. For the first time in my whole life, I am sure. I am sure that there is no one else I have ever been more "me" around as I am around him. I do not edit me. I do not adjust who I am when I am with him. I'd face hell and high water with him because we are a team.
With this man I have shared, a break up, a make up, "dates" to Walmart because that's what we had time in our schedule for, jokes, frustration, I have taken care of him when he was sick, bandaged him when he was broken, listened to him tell me I was wrong without me getting upset (that in itself is a miracle), there have been tornadoes and thunderstorms, shooting matches and motorcycles, flat tires, a furlough or two, road trips, broken bones, stitches, movies, midnight taco runs, poetry, misquoted song lyrics sung too loudly, video games, dinner with the parents, lunch with grandma, jealousy and forgiveness, miscommunications, changes in addresses, birthdays, some snuggles, soo much laughter, countless kisses, and a promise to never lie, not even about dumb stuff. With this man, I'd trust my life, my heart, and my forever.
So yes, I married the man I love. I married him for all the goodness that comes with him, all the tough things we will face. I married him to love and more importantly because I cherish him. I am honored to be known as his. I choose him everyday.
Anyone who can not understand that, I feel bad for.
Friday, October 25, 2013
Scars
I notice scars. I do not mean to stare and take notice, but it turns out I often do. Its not that I am repulsed or even grossed out. It's the quite the opposite, I am fascinated by scars.
I find the presence of scars to be an example of strength; how far a person has come, what all the have seen, how much they can survive. I am drawn to them. I like to ask how they got there. I like to listen to the stories of survival and triumph.
I am like most people that I see large scars and take notice. But I also am curious about the teeny tiny scars that other people don't necessarily notice.
I personally have both of both sets.
Some of my favorite memories involve scars.I have teeny tiny scars above both eyebrows from the chicken pox I shared with my bff, Ginger when we were six,
the oval near my jawline that matches up with another similar one on the back of my head from a dog attack when I was even younger that was resolved by my dog "going to live on a farm..",
a navy blue line on my shin that looks like the start to an oddly placed tattoo where I accidentaly jammed a pencil led into my leg in Miss Frose's 1st grade class but was too shy to tell anyone because I cried every time I talked to the teacher, I like this one because that shy girl is no more. I wonder what she would think if she saw me standing at the front of my classroom everyday teaching,
a minimal slash and stitches through my ear from a wild bronco ride when I was four that I would have nailed the landing if it weren't for the coffee table disrupting my dismount,
a medium slash on my lower leg that I received at the state fair while making sand art with my bestie and near twin Camie Baxter when we were about 6th grade that originally was at the ankle but has grown with me and reminds me how much I miss her since her too early death. I think of her and I while shaving my legs almost every time. I think of her and I sharing baths, and swimming in her Jacuzzi, and how that summer she turned her usual golden tan and bleach blonde thanks to the summer sun and looked a lot like a Barbie, and I got third degree sunburns and my momma made me wear a tank top under my swimsuit the rest of summer,
I look at my hands at see the large scar on my right hand that ranges from one side to the other that has finally shrunk to only 1/4 of an inch wide and mostly smooth and remember how much I feel weak when I hold a rope for fear that a. I will not have the hand strength and b. for fear I will have another half inch wide and half inch deep scar if it were to happen again, I look at my left hand and the see pinky crooked and odd textured where the other rope came across and nearly severed it, and yet it is functional and most people never notice its weirdness. I remember asking my mother to pray for me and remember her laughing through tears as she told me she had been for hours and how mean she had to be when they wanted to amputate it and she said no, I look and see the ring finger and realize how thankful I am that it's there because I like the thought of being able to show others someday that I married a man I love more than anything.
I like seeing both hands and both sets of large and crazy scars and realizing how God has watched over me and kept me from harm.
I look on my hips and see my "tiger stripes"(stretch marks) and realize that they do in fact look like tiger stripes... and I remember how strongly I prayed for my son, how badly I wanted him, how I gave up soda, and hot dogs, and hair dye because I wanted to protect him. I remember praying for him so much and so often when he was in his belly home God prolly got tired of hearing my voice. I look at them and remember how amazing it was to be pregnant with him.I lok at them and think how fun it was to see and feel him swim around. How neat it was to listen to his heart beat on the stethoscope. How I use to play Aerosmith and Johnny Cash at the belly because it made him wiggle and dance. I remember what a gift my son is and I am thankful.
These are the are the reasons I like scars on others. I like hearing their tales of crazy, woe, survival, pain, and learning. I like seeing how far they've come and what they can live through. I like the idea that we are stronger and more powerful. I like reminders of how far we've come. I like looking and realizing that we have survived more than we ever thought possible. If you ever see me stare or you overhear me tell someone how cool their scar looks, I am admiring it. I am admiring their personal fortitude. I am in awe of the strength they have. I am in awe of how each one made them more unique and identifiable.
If you were to ask my mother how she would intimacy identify me, she would tell you if something were to happen to me and she had to identify my body. She does not need to see my face. She would ask to see my ear and the scar there, she would ask to see my toes and the toe rings I never take off, and she would ask to see my hands. I guess my mother and I think a lot a like.
I find the presence of scars to be an example of strength; how far a person has come, what all the have seen, how much they can survive. I am drawn to them. I like to ask how they got there. I like to listen to the stories of survival and triumph.
I am like most people that I see large scars and take notice. But I also am curious about the teeny tiny scars that other people don't necessarily notice.
I personally have both of both sets.
Some of my favorite memories involve scars.I have teeny tiny scars above both eyebrows from the chicken pox I shared with my bff, Ginger when we were six,
the oval near my jawline that matches up with another similar one on the back of my head from a dog attack when I was even younger that was resolved by my dog "going to live on a farm..",
a navy blue line on my shin that looks like the start to an oddly placed tattoo where I accidentaly jammed a pencil led into my leg in Miss Frose's 1st grade class but was too shy to tell anyone because I cried every time I talked to the teacher, I like this one because that shy girl is no more. I wonder what she would think if she saw me standing at the front of my classroom everyday teaching,
a minimal slash and stitches through my ear from a wild bronco ride when I was four that I would have nailed the landing if it weren't for the coffee table disrupting my dismount,
a medium slash on my lower leg that I received at the state fair while making sand art with my bestie and near twin Camie Baxter when we were about 6th grade that originally was at the ankle but has grown with me and reminds me how much I miss her since her too early death. I think of her and I while shaving my legs almost every time. I think of her and I sharing baths, and swimming in her Jacuzzi, and how that summer she turned her usual golden tan and bleach blonde thanks to the summer sun and looked a lot like a Barbie, and I got third degree sunburns and my momma made me wear a tank top under my swimsuit the rest of summer,
I look at my hands at see the large scar on my right hand that ranges from one side to the other that has finally shrunk to only 1/4 of an inch wide and mostly smooth and remember how much I feel weak when I hold a rope for fear that a. I will not have the hand strength and b. for fear I will have another half inch wide and half inch deep scar if it were to happen again, I look at my left hand and the see pinky crooked and odd textured where the other rope came across and nearly severed it, and yet it is functional and most people never notice its weirdness. I remember asking my mother to pray for me and remember her laughing through tears as she told me she had been for hours and how mean she had to be when they wanted to amputate it and she said no, I look and see the ring finger and realize how thankful I am that it's there because I like the thought of being able to show others someday that I married a man I love more than anything.
I like seeing both hands and both sets of large and crazy scars and realizing how God has watched over me and kept me from harm.
I look on my hips and see my "tiger stripes"(stretch marks) and realize that they do in fact look like tiger stripes... and I remember how strongly I prayed for my son, how badly I wanted him, how I gave up soda, and hot dogs, and hair dye because I wanted to protect him. I remember praying for him so much and so often when he was in his belly home God prolly got tired of hearing my voice. I look at them and remember how amazing it was to be pregnant with him.I lok at them and think how fun it was to see and feel him swim around. How neat it was to listen to his heart beat on the stethoscope. How I use to play Aerosmith and Johnny Cash at the belly because it made him wiggle and dance. I remember what a gift my son is and I am thankful.
These are the are the reasons I like scars on others. I like hearing their tales of crazy, woe, survival, pain, and learning. I like seeing how far they've come and what they can live through. I like the idea that we are stronger and more powerful. I like reminders of how far we've come. I like looking and realizing that we have survived more than we ever thought possible. If you ever see me stare or you overhear me tell someone how cool their scar looks, I am admiring it. I am admiring their personal fortitude. I am in awe of the strength they have. I am in awe of how each one made them more unique and identifiable.
If you were to ask my mother how she would intimacy identify me, she would tell you if something were to happen to me and she had to identify my body. She does not need to see my face. She would ask to see my ear and the scar there, she would ask to see my toes and the toe rings I never take off, and she would ask to see my hands. I guess my mother and I think a lot a like.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
A Dangerous Question, "Will you marry me?"
"Will you marry me?"
I hadn't ever contemplated what it must be like for a man to ask such a dangerous question. I knew what it was like to see on TV and movies, had heard smoochie-fied cheeseball stories from people, and had even been asked a time or two.
But nothing can compare to the time I had a conversation with my "other mother." See Penny, (yes, her real name.) wasn't just anyone in my life, Penny was my bonus mom. She is both beautiful and wise and quite frankly stinkin' amazing when it comes to raising and dealing with men.
She and I were discussing life and responsibilities and being grown up. I thought I was a grown up back then... trust me... I wasn't.
She was telling me how many men don't really understand what it really means to ask a woman to marry them. I am positive my face gave away my confusion. She began to explain to me that when a man asks such a dangerous question that he isn't just asking for your hand to hold or even for someone who will look nice in family pictures... although he is asking those too.
When a man asks a woman to marry him he is asking...
- will you grow and bear my children?
- will you share and take my last name?
- will you cook my meals?
- will you put up with my mother?
- will you deal and share my family?
- will you clean and keep our home in order?
- will you love me if I get fat?
- will you share my address, regardless of where it is?
- will you love me when I am old &/or grey? or bald?
- will you take care of me when I am sick? even if I'm a big baby about it?
- will you take care of our kids if they are sick?
- will you have my back when no one else does?
- will you love me in spite of my stubbornness...temper... crazy... etc?
-will you think I am still the handsome man you met and married forever?
- will you share half of my everything even if we don't have anything?
- will you support me and my decisions?
- will you be there through thick and thin?
- will you sacrifice for me and our family?
- will you "love" on me?
- will you cherish me when I am at my lowest?
-will you love me for ALL of me?
I had never contemplated how dangerous and powerful a statement that ONE question was. She was right. Too many women want the girlie bits and bling, they don't LISTEN to the underlying questions he is REALLY asking.
Ladies, think long and hard before you answer a man. Not because you don't love him... but because you really need to know you are willing and able to be everything.
Gentlemen, don't ask a woman anything you don't really mean. Know how much you are REALLY asking a woman...
The bottom line is, "will you marry me?" isn't just a cutesy question that leads to a big party. It's a life changing question. Any man crazy enough to ask me such a dangerous question better know what he is asking, because I want know...
-will you kill the spiders in our home?
- will you love me when I'm pregnant and feel like a whale?
- will you tell me the truth about our finances?
- will you hold me after a long day?
- will you put up with me when I'm emotional and girlie?
- will you love me regardless of my hair color or weight?
- will you explain "boy things" to me without making fun of me?
- will you love when I need it most?
- will you need me?
- do you want to have a baby with me?
- will you listen to me?
- will you kiss me and make me weak in the knees?
- will you snuggle me and keep me warm at night?
- will you be there for me?
The thing is marriage is hard. It is also absolutely worth it, if you are with someone who will get there and support you no matter what. I could care less about the jewelry or party. Truth is, if I had it my way, I wouldn't have a wedding. I want a marriage. All the other stuff, well, it's just stuff. Stuff gets old and broken. I want to come home to the man of my dreams and just be us.
Gentlemen, don't ask if you aren't ready to be man she needs. Ladies don't say yes unless you are willing to be the helpmate he needs.
I hadn't ever contemplated what it must be like for a man to ask such a dangerous question. I knew what it was like to see on TV and movies, had heard smoochie-fied cheeseball stories from people, and had even been asked a time or two.
But nothing can compare to the time I had a conversation with my "other mother." See Penny, (yes, her real name.) wasn't just anyone in my life, Penny was my bonus mom. She is both beautiful and wise and quite frankly stinkin' amazing when it comes to raising and dealing with men.
She and I were discussing life and responsibilities and being grown up. I thought I was a grown up back then... trust me... I wasn't.
She was telling me how many men don't really understand what it really means to ask a woman to marry them. I am positive my face gave away my confusion. She began to explain to me that when a man asks such a dangerous question that he isn't just asking for your hand to hold or even for someone who will look nice in family pictures... although he is asking those too.
When a man asks a woman to marry him he is asking...
- will you grow and bear my children?
- will you share and take my last name?
- will you cook my meals?
- will you put up with my mother?
- will you deal and share my family?
- will you clean and keep our home in order?
- will you love me if I get fat?
- will you share my address, regardless of where it is?
- will you love me when I am old &/or grey? or bald?
- will you take care of me when I am sick? even if I'm a big baby about it?
- will you take care of our kids if they are sick?
- will you have my back when no one else does?
- will you love me in spite of my stubbornness...temper... crazy... etc?
-will you think I am still the handsome man you met and married forever?
- will you share half of my everything even if we don't have anything?
- will you support me and my decisions?
- will you be there through thick and thin?
- will you sacrifice for me and our family?
- will you "love" on me?
- will you cherish me when I am at my lowest?
-will you love me for ALL of me?
I had never contemplated how dangerous and powerful a statement that ONE question was. She was right. Too many women want the girlie bits and bling, they don't LISTEN to the underlying questions he is REALLY asking.
Ladies, think long and hard before you answer a man. Not because you don't love him... but because you really need to know you are willing and able to be everything.
Gentlemen, don't ask a woman anything you don't really mean. Know how much you are REALLY asking a woman...
The bottom line is, "will you marry me?" isn't just a cutesy question that leads to a big party. It's a life changing question. Any man crazy enough to ask me such a dangerous question better know what he is asking, because I want know...
-will you kill the spiders in our home?
- will you love me when I'm pregnant and feel like a whale?
- will you tell me the truth about our finances?
- will you hold me after a long day?
- will you put up with me when I'm emotional and girlie?
- will you love me regardless of my hair color or weight?
- will you explain "boy things" to me without making fun of me?
- will you love when I need it most?
- will you need me?
- do you want to have a baby with me?
- will you listen to me?
- will you kiss me and make me weak in the knees?
- will you snuggle me and keep me warm at night?
- will you be there for me?
The thing is marriage is hard. It is also absolutely worth it, if you are with someone who will get there and support you no matter what. I could care less about the jewelry or party. Truth is, if I had it my way, I wouldn't have a wedding. I want a marriage. All the other stuff, well, it's just stuff. Stuff gets old and broken. I want to come home to the man of my dreams and just be us.
Gentlemen, don't ask if you aren't ready to be man she needs. Ladies don't say yes unless you are willing to be the helpmate he needs.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Time for judging people...
I was told by another mother that I overshare.
I have not ever had a conversation with this woman of even 10 words and she felt entitled to inform me about...well..me. I must say I respect her backbone just not her action.
See, she felt the need to inform me that because I am unashamed of the path that my life has been through I should keep it quiet. Here's what she didn't know....
I am not ashamed.
The thing is, I have been married before. I have been through divorce. I have been in abusive relationships. I have experienced heartache and depression. I have been broken.
BUT... She failed to see the most amazing parts of my life because she was too busy suiting in her big black robe and thinking she could judge me.
She failed to see that I have survived. She wasn't on my porch the night the police had to be called to my house just to let me leave. She wasn't present for my VPO hearing where I had to swallow down tears stand tall while my knees shook so hard my high heels wobbled. She wasn't there any of the times I dropped my son off with a smile on my face and then cried the whole drive home. She didn't pay my bills when I planned out each and every piece of bread to make sure I had enough for peanut butter sandwiches for the week.
She failed to see that all of the things that I went through, are just things. They do not define me. Yes, they have effected me. Yes they have shaped and shifted and altered me into a different woman than I was 10 years ago. I am not even the same woman I was 6 mths ago. I am more. I am stronger. I am someone meaner... and I like me. I believe in me. I did not always. I fought tooth and nail to become this woman.
She prolly is the kind of woman who judges other people who had babies as teenagers... Funny thing, I judge them too. Just not in the way that she does. I judge that they are tougher than I am. I judge that they are made of sacrifices and love for their children that I respect. I judge that they truly know the things they gave up for their children and know that it was worth it. Many of my favorite people in my life are those children and mommas. I can not even imagine my life without them.
The thing with judging is that you weren't there. You don't know what you can handle until you are on the other side of the storm.
So to the woman who had the audacity to judge me.... Hats off to you.
However, I noticed that you didn't say them to my face which tells me you at least respect me enough to be BEHIND me...
After all if you're talking behind my back...
enjoy the view and feel free to pucker up princess.
I have not ever had a conversation with this woman of even 10 words and she felt entitled to inform me about...well..me. I must say I respect her backbone just not her action.
See, she felt the need to inform me that because I am unashamed of the path that my life has been through I should keep it quiet. Here's what she didn't know....
I am not ashamed.
The thing is, I have been married before. I have been through divorce. I have been in abusive relationships. I have experienced heartache and depression. I have been broken.
BUT... She failed to see the most amazing parts of my life because she was too busy suiting in her big black robe and thinking she could judge me.
She failed to see that I have survived. She wasn't on my porch the night the police had to be called to my house just to let me leave. She wasn't present for my VPO hearing where I had to swallow down tears stand tall while my knees shook so hard my high heels wobbled. She wasn't there any of the times I dropped my son off with a smile on my face and then cried the whole drive home. She didn't pay my bills when I planned out each and every piece of bread to make sure I had enough for peanut butter sandwiches for the week.
She failed to see that all of the things that I went through, are just things. They do not define me. Yes, they have effected me. Yes they have shaped and shifted and altered me into a different woman than I was 10 years ago. I am not even the same woman I was 6 mths ago. I am more. I am stronger. I am someone meaner... and I like me. I believe in me. I did not always. I fought tooth and nail to become this woman.
She prolly is the kind of woman who judges other people who had babies as teenagers... Funny thing, I judge them too. Just not in the way that she does. I judge that they are tougher than I am. I judge that they are made of sacrifices and love for their children that I respect. I judge that they truly know the things they gave up for their children and know that it was worth it. Many of my favorite people in my life are those children and mommas. I can not even imagine my life without them.
The thing with judging is that you weren't there. You don't know what you can handle until you are on the other side of the storm.
So to the woman who had the audacity to judge me.... Hats off to you.
However, I noticed that you didn't say them to my face which tells me you at least respect me enough to be BEHIND me...
After all if you're talking behind my back...
enjoy the view and feel free to pucker up princess.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Baby Daddies
I have heard/read/ and listened in on conversations that your first child looks more like the man than all other children. The reason (per the writings and studies) is that pre-scientific evidence, the men would be able to know, even in cave times, that the child was THEIRS.
I find this concept interesting. Where does that leave people like me? I have previously been married and had the most amazing child. Yes, my son does in some instances resemble his father/my ex, however; my son looks and acts sooo much like my father that I am a believer in the NATURE versus nurture debate. His actions and logic is beyond where my brain usually ventures. He is logical and rational and uses reasoning like a weapon. I am in awe of this more often than I will admit in public very often. I am non of those. I am emotional and moved by my heart. We are near opposites when it comes to choices and making decisions. I do not wish to change him, but there are some times that my emotional and heart led brain struggles to explain "WHY." to my logical and reasoning child.
Back to my original idea, if my son did not necessarily follow this idea, does that mean that my next child will not ? I find this sad. I kind like the idea of being able to look at baby pictures of a man I love and know that the possibility of my next child looking like said loved man . My ex husband had the most dominate genetics ever. His eyes, hair, skin all are considered "dominate" per the whole Mendel's dominate/ recessive notion about predicting the outcome of offspring.
BUT.. my son is not dark, does not have dark eyes, and does not have dark hair. He is the genetic hopscotch king and skipped all of that. Let me pause for a moment and address a weird and wonderful thing. My son came out, DARK.. hair, skin, eyes, everything. He could have been a doppelganger for his dad.... BUT within a small window he no longer is any of those.
I confess that I have a personal weakness for men with brown eyes. I even somewhat hoped my son ( prior to his arrival outside of the belly home) would have them. I have NO complaints that my child looks nothing like what I assumed he would look like because I think he is altogether amazing and handsome in a way I couldn't have imagined.
I wonder if men hope their children will look like them? How does that work? If you are in a committed relationship and make babies, do the men still dream that the offspring will look the most like them? Do daddies even think about that? Has the genetic tide pool shifted over time? Has the need for children to look like their fathers receded over time?
I sometimes wish I had a magic ball and could look into what I hope to be my future life and see if my subsequent babies look like their dad or like me...
I sorda hope that they look like their father. Why wouldn't I want a kid(s) to look like the man I love?
;)
I find this concept interesting. Where does that leave people like me? I have previously been married and had the most amazing child. Yes, my son does in some instances resemble his father/my ex, however; my son looks and acts sooo much like my father that I am a believer in the NATURE versus nurture debate. His actions and logic is beyond where my brain usually ventures. He is logical and rational and uses reasoning like a weapon. I am in awe of this more often than I will admit in public very often. I am non of those. I am emotional and moved by my heart. We are near opposites when it comes to choices and making decisions. I do not wish to change him, but there are some times that my emotional and heart led brain struggles to explain "WHY." to my logical and reasoning child.
Back to my original idea, if my son did not necessarily follow this idea, does that mean that my next child will not ? I find this sad. I kind like the idea of being able to look at baby pictures of a man I love and know that the possibility of my next child looking like said loved man . My ex husband had the most dominate genetics ever. His eyes, hair, skin all are considered "dominate" per the whole Mendel's dominate/ recessive notion about predicting the outcome of offspring.
BUT.. my son is not dark, does not have dark eyes, and does not have dark hair. He is the genetic hopscotch king and skipped all of that. Let me pause for a moment and address a weird and wonderful thing. My son came out, DARK.. hair, skin, eyes, everything. He could have been a doppelganger for his dad.... BUT within a small window he no longer is any of those.
I confess that I have a personal weakness for men with brown eyes. I even somewhat hoped my son ( prior to his arrival outside of the belly home) would have them. I have NO complaints that my child looks nothing like what I assumed he would look like because I think he is altogether amazing and handsome in a way I couldn't have imagined.
I wonder if men hope their children will look like them? How does that work? If you are in a committed relationship and make babies, do the men still dream that the offspring will look the most like them? Do daddies even think about that? Has the genetic tide pool shifted over time? Has the need for children to look like their fathers receded over time?
I sometimes wish I had a magic ball and could look into what I hope to be my future life and see if my subsequent babies look like their dad or like me...
I sorda hope that they look like their father. Why wouldn't I want a kid(s) to look like the man I love?
;)
Friday, September 13, 2013
Everything happens for a reason...
I am a true follower of the idea that everything happens for a reason.
I am also wise enough to know that there are things I won't understand now, and some that I may never understand. I am not a fan of thinking that there are things in my life that will never make sense. In fact, if I let myself contemplate it for ever a short moment of time it begins to agitate and bother me enough to cause me true anguish.
I wish I had some magic fortune tellers ball and could look into and give people answers. I wish there were moments someone was there to hold my hand and tell me that it will all makes sense in the end. But the thing I believe, the truth, is that not everything will make sense and sometimes the reasons why things happen are so far removed from me that I will never see the cause that effected me.
Then the idea that some things HAVE to happen to make me (or them) better. For example if I'd given up and decided not to have my munchkin with my ex...What if my son has a destiny to be something so great and change the world, but I robbed the universe of it because I changed my mind after we decided to try to make a kid? And because I hadn't yet my son I didn't know what I was missing?
I believe that God has a sense of humor, I believe that he knows I flex without breaking, and that I make a fantastic punchline. I also think that sometimes he allows me to go through things because it makes me stronger even though when I am going through it I feel weaker.
I truly believe that all my jobs I had prior to teaching helped to equip me to be a teacher.
Grocery store cashier- ability to answer multiple questions, deal with conflict and see people at both their best and worst and treat them equally
Waitress- help others, listen to 15 people all at once, keep track of information, and do it all with a smile
Photography studio- see the best in people, celebrate life's events, be there in the right moment
Jewelry Sales- find out the needs of others, figure out what they can do, help them to see they can do it, make them happy with their accomplishments
Children's Shoe Sales- meet the needs of others, find the best fit, handle crying and snot, and gross things with ease and act like nothing even phases you, breathe and handle everything that comes my way
Marketing- ask and answer a ton of questions, learn names and faces rapidly, convince others I/ we are great at what we do
I think all of these things are integral pieces of what makes me good & also love my job.
everything happens for a reason. I did not love all of those jobs, but they all taught me something. I think the same is true with people in my life, everyone is there for a reason. Some people are there to teach me, others to keep me sane, some to hold me in check, and others I am apart of their life to teach, help, love them.
I believe that every moment in my life has led me to this place... this moment.. this time...
if I had changed one step I might never fall in love...
never had had my son...
never become a teacher...
everything happens for a reason, sometimes the reason is above what my feeble brain can understand.
I am also wise enough to know that there are things I won't understand now, and some that I may never understand. I am not a fan of thinking that there are things in my life that will never make sense. In fact, if I let myself contemplate it for ever a short moment of time it begins to agitate and bother me enough to cause me true anguish.
I wish I had some magic fortune tellers ball and could look into and give people answers. I wish there were moments someone was there to hold my hand and tell me that it will all makes sense in the end. But the thing I believe, the truth, is that not everything will make sense and sometimes the reasons why things happen are so far removed from me that I will never see the cause that effected me.
Then the idea that some things HAVE to happen to make me (or them) better. For example if I'd given up and decided not to have my munchkin with my ex...What if my son has a destiny to be something so great and change the world, but I robbed the universe of it because I changed my mind after we decided to try to make a kid? And because I hadn't yet my son I didn't know what I was missing?
I believe that God has a sense of humor, I believe that he knows I flex without breaking, and that I make a fantastic punchline. I also think that sometimes he allows me to go through things because it makes me stronger even though when I am going through it I feel weaker.
I truly believe that all my jobs I had prior to teaching helped to equip me to be a teacher.
Grocery store cashier- ability to answer multiple questions, deal with conflict and see people at both their best and worst and treat them equally
Waitress- help others, listen to 15 people all at once, keep track of information, and do it all with a smile
Photography studio- see the best in people, celebrate life's events, be there in the right moment
Jewelry Sales- find out the needs of others, figure out what they can do, help them to see they can do it, make them happy with their accomplishments
Children's Shoe Sales- meet the needs of others, find the best fit, handle crying and snot, and gross things with ease and act like nothing even phases you, breathe and handle everything that comes my way
Marketing- ask and answer a ton of questions, learn names and faces rapidly, convince others I/ we are great at what we do
I think all of these things are integral pieces of what makes me good & also love my job.
everything happens for a reason. I did not love all of those jobs, but they all taught me something. I think the same is true with people in my life, everyone is there for a reason. Some people are there to teach me, others to keep me sane, some to hold me in check, and others I am apart of their life to teach, help, love them.
I believe that every moment in my life has led me to this place... this moment.. this time...
if I had changed one step I might never fall in love...
never had had my son...
never become a teacher...
everything happens for a reason, sometimes the reason is above what my feeble brain can understand.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
Boobies
I discovered a lump in my boob about December of last year. I asked the man I was with to check and see if he felt anything and he refused and told me I was just being dramatic and that there was prolly nothing there.
Mostly, He "foo foo'd" me off.
I decided maybe I was crazy...
And so... I waited.
January in a quiet and yet dramatic course of events I left said man.
July I went in for my "girlie" exam where they examine my ladies, check under the hood, and make sure everything is fine. As my Dr, is chatting away with me and discussing life, love, my munchkin, how blessed I am, etc. and she is feeling me up like a easy prom date she pauses in the conversation.
She says... "Do you do your monthly self breast check ups?"
Me: "Yes...............(silence)......why?"
She Dr. "Have you noticed this before?" concern on her face and voice tense
Me "yes. I found it in December but previously mentioned ex told me I was crazy and being dramatic."
She Dr. " I'm sure it's nothing...BUT... we need to get this checked out.
For those of you unfamiliar with the "BUT statement rule" let me enlighten you. Anything said before the 'But' should be ignored because it's just there to sugar coat the truth. I am aware of the "BUT statement" rule of conversation and have to begin concentrating on breathing as I am panicked.
A quick couple texts to people I adore and trust and a few 5 calls to get the "just check this out" appointment scheduled, some promises from my BFF to get new bigger fake boobs if it's a bad lump and I am at the Oklahoma Breast Center in OKC.
I arrive for my appoint and get taken back to a quiet freezing room and get topless, a lovely nurse brings me a heated blanket and we begin to look and discuss at the inside of my boobs.
She explains everything, shows everything, labels everything, and is amazing. However, she also feels like the head Dr. man needs to come in and feel me up too
At this point 3 separate people have seen and felt me up, none of which have brought me dinner or even a snack. Sighhhh.
After much discussion we all agree that there IS a lump. It IS noticeable. It IS hard. It IS about the size of a marble. We discuss and evaluate as a team (a team for my boobs!) and decide a mammogram is next. The have me move across the building; still topless; and a nice new lady feels me up and puts cut flower stickers on the lump and they do a mammogram. Yes I have heard the horror stories about mammograms and heard how they "squish" your boobs and make them feel like pancakes... but a. I am not enormously blessed b. my lady was amazing c. I kept giggling at the way my boobs looked squished between two clear pieces of glass. I kept thinking of fish faces squished across the wall of an aquarium d. my alarm from the day before went off and we enjoyed "Boston" by Augustana and it helped relax me.
4 people have now played with my boobies and still no snacks or treats or offers for a date.
I am taken back to a room where mister Dr. man, ultrasound lady, and the mammogram film all are. We all look, talk, analyze, and decide that there IS a bump. It IS hard. It doesn't look bad, but all of their years of experience tell them to check ONE more way. I get taken over to scheduling where we discuss my cycles and they ask some really in depth questions and am actually able to answer them with 100% answers because I have an app for that. ;)
We schedule my MRI for the next day.
I have a problem with needles.
A LARGE problem.... when I arrive on Thurs a lovely nurse has me get topless ( naked boobies seen by person number 5) and we discuss if I have tattoos, piercings or any other internal metal, etc. She begins my IV, I look away and concentrate on breathing and on our discussion about tattoos and babies. I feel myself get heavy and my eyes start to spot... I let her know about 1 min. before I pass out. I wake up 5 min. later, a little hazy about where I am, surrounded by 3 more people, still topless.
Number of people who have seen or felt my boobies in one week, 8.
I get relaxed, we do the MRI. I think about the man I crush on, music lyrics, the last time I cuddled anyone, the heated blanket on my legs, the annoyance of laying my body weight on my rib cage, and wait.
Turns out, after 8 people have seen or felt up my boobies in a week, and non of them even offered me a stick of gum, I am thankful that my the only thing wrong with me is I'm lumpy like bad mashed potatoes at Gramma's Thanksgiving.
However, I will also not take my boobies for granted. I will be thankful that I breast fed my son for almost a year. I am blessed that while I have bad genetics I have the gift of prayer and people who love me and help handle my whiney stressed out self. I am blessed that my insurance didn't need a pre approval and I was able to get answers in the same week .
God is good even if my boobies are lumpy. :)
Mostly, He "foo foo'd" me off.
I decided maybe I was crazy...
And so... I waited.
January in a quiet and yet dramatic course of events I left said man.
July I went in for my "girlie" exam where they examine my ladies, check under the hood, and make sure everything is fine. As my Dr, is chatting away with me and discussing life, love, my munchkin, how blessed I am, etc. and she is feeling me up like a easy prom date she pauses in the conversation.
She says... "Do you do your monthly self breast check ups?"
Me: "Yes...............(silence)......why?"
She Dr. "Have you noticed this before?" concern on her face and voice tense
Me "yes. I found it in December but previously mentioned ex told me I was crazy and being dramatic."
She Dr. " I'm sure it's nothing...BUT... we need to get this checked out.
For those of you unfamiliar with the "BUT statement rule" let me enlighten you. Anything said before the 'But' should be ignored because it's just there to sugar coat the truth. I am aware of the "BUT statement" rule of conversation and have to begin concentrating on breathing as I am panicked.
A quick couple texts to people I adore and trust and a few 5 calls to get the "just check this out" appointment scheduled, some promises from my BFF to get new bigger fake boobs if it's a bad lump and I am at the Oklahoma Breast Center in OKC.
I arrive for my appoint and get taken back to a quiet freezing room and get topless, a lovely nurse brings me a heated blanket and we begin to look and discuss at the inside of my boobs.
She explains everything, shows everything, labels everything, and is amazing. However, she also feels like the head Dr. man needs to come in and feel me up too
At this point 3 separate people have seen and felt me up, none of which have brought me dinner or even a snack. Sighhhh.
After much discussion we all agree that there IS a lump. It IS noticeable. It IS hard. It IS about the size of a marble. We discuss and evaluate as a team (a team for my boobs!) and decide a mammogram is next. The have me move across the building; still topless; and a nice new lady feels me up and puts cut flower stickers on the lump and they do a mammogram. Yes I have heard the horror stories about mammograms and heard how they "squish" your boobs and make them feel like pancakes... but a. I am not enormously blessed b. my lady was amazing c. I kept giggling at the way my boobs looked squished between two clear pieces of glass. I kept thinking of fish faces squished across the wall of an aquarium d. my alarm from the day before went off and we enjoyed "Boston" by Augustana and it helped relax me.
4 people have now played with my boobies and still no snacks or treats or offers for a date.
I am taken back to a room where mister Dr. man, ultrasound lady, and the mammogram film all are. We all look, talk, analyze, and decide that there IS a bump. It IS hard. It doesn't look bad, but all of their years of experience tell them to check ONE more way. I get taken over to scheduling where we discuss my cycles and they ask some really in depth questions and am actually able to answer them with 100% answers because I have an app for that. ;)
We schedule my MRI for the next day.
I have a problem with needles.
A LARGE problem.... when I arrive on Thurs a lovely nurse has me get topless ( naked boobies seen by person number 5) and we discuss if I have tattoos, piercings or any other internal metal, etc. She begins my IV, I look away and concentrate on breathing and on our discussion about tattoos and babies. I feel myself get heavy and my eyes start to spot... I let her know about 1 min. before I pass out. I wake up 5 min. later, a little hazy about where I am, surrounded by 3 more people, still topless.
Number of people who have seen or felt my boobies in one week, 8.
I get relaxed, we do the MRI. I think about the man I crush on, music lyrics, the last time I cuddled anyone, the heated blanket on my legs, the annoyance of laying my body weight on my rib cage, and wait.
Turns out, after 8 people have seen or felt up my boobies in a week, and non of them even offered me a stick of gum, I am thankful that my the only thing wrong with me is I'm lumpy like bad mashed potatoes at Gramma's Thanksgiving.
However, I will also not take my boobies for granted. I will be thankful that I breast fed my son for almost a year. I am blessed that while I have bad genetics I have the gift of prayer and people who love me and help handle my whiney stressed out self. I am blessed that my insurance didn't need a pre approval and I was able to get answers in the same week .
God is good even if my boobies are lumpy. :)
Monday, August 26, 2013
Sleep is for the Weak
I am a fan of sleep. My sleep schedule on the other hand, is not a fan of me...
This may sound like a crazy thing to say; however, I have a terrible time sleeping. I stay awake at night thinking. I think about what I should be doing if I'm not gonna sleep (dishes, laundry etc). I consider the "deeper" meaning of song lyrics. I prolly give more "additional" meanings to songs than I would care to admit in polite company.
Here's the thing... I don't think it's really a sleep problem. I fell asleep last week in like 2 seconds in the middle of a living room floor face down. I haven't slept face down in ages. Normally the only time I sleep face down is when I physically don't fell well. My momma swears its my version of the fetal position bc she says she laid me down that way back in the day. Anyway, I do have a hard time falling asleep in strange places. In fact, the first night on a vacation or just about anywhere I am not familiar with, I don't sleep much.
However, I have noticed that there are exceptions to the "me no sleepy" thing I've got going on. It has nothing to do with thread count in the sheets, nothing to do with the firmness of the mattress- remember I slept like a rock face down on the living room floor last week... I think it's more about who I am around. It's a comfort level.
At first glance I thought it was just that I was around persons I am comfortable with. I am casting off that idea as if that were true I should sleep well at home, also I slept nearish a friend of mine a while back but still had nightmares. Thus it's not just comfort. And it's not about being safe or not because all of the locations that I attempt sleep I am safe.
The only difference is who I am near.
Put me near people I am comfortable with and have not single secret...
and BAM!
I'm sleep like the survivors after a zombie apocalypse.
The idea that my sub-conscience is more in control of my sleep than my conscience...
now that...
That will give me plenty to ponder tonight when I am tossing, turning, and contemplating life.
This may sound like a crazy thing to say; however, I have a terrible time sleeping. I stay awake at night thinking. I think about what I should be doing if I'm not gonna sleep (dishes, laundry etc). I consider the "deeper" meaning of song lyrics. I prolly give more "additional" meanings to songs than I would care to admit in polite company.
Here's the thing... I don't think it's really a sleep problem. I fell asleep last week in like 2 seconds in the middle of a living room floor face down. I haven't slept face down in ages. Normally the only time I sleep face down is when I physically don't fell well. My momma swears its my version of the fetal position bc she says she laid me down that way back in the day. Anyway, I do have a hard time falling asleep in strange places. In fact, the first night on a vacation or just about anywhere I am not familiar with, I don't sleep much.
However, I have noticed that there are exceptions to the "me no sleepy" thing I've got going on. It has nothing to do with thread count in the sheets, nothing to do with the firmness of the mattress- remember I slept like a rock face down on the living room floor last week... I think it's more about who I am around. It's a comfort level.
At first glance I thought it was just that I was around persons I am comfortable with. I am casting off that idea as if that were true I should sleep well at home, also I slept nearish a friend of mine a while back but still had nightmares. Thus it's not just comfort. And it's not about being safe or not because all of the locations that I attempt sleep I am safe.
The only difference is who I am near.
Put me near people I am comfortable with and have not single secret...
and BAM!
I'm sleep like the survivors after a zombie apocalypse.
The idea that my sub-conscience is more in control of my sleep than my conscience...
now that...
That will give me plenty to ponder tonight when I am tossing, turning, and contemplating life.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Quiet is my conscience
I hate the quiet. Genuinely. I am rarely comfortable with it. I am perfectly happy if there is music in the background, a tv creating noise, a fan while I sleep, a dishwasher while I type.
I am very uncomfortable with absolute silence. The truth is the only time I ever choose quiet is when I drive and no one else is in the car. Then it feels like peace. Maybe bc I am not forced to think of the dishes in the sink or the fact that my bed needs made... (and for the person who thinks it's a criminal act not to make his bed, you are wrong. ) I just drive.
I don't like quiet because I think of all the "perfect" answers to questions I have been asked, I think of all the better things I could have said, all the times I should have swallowed my pride, should have let go of my fear and told the other person how I REALLY felt... quiet is like my own personal purgatory where I relive all the pieces of my life where I should have... could have.... done or said something different.
I guess the truth really is much more simple than I am making it out to be. For me, quiet is the accumulation of all the wrong choices, perceived wrong choices, and bad ideas I had. I'd like to tell you that once and a while I decide that I occasionally decide I did the right thing, but that would be far fewer and far between and thus it would be a lie.
Quiet is my conscience. I overthink, overanalyze, worry, compare, and contemplate. If I could just turn off m brain I might be safe however; until then I will turn on music, flip my fan off and on...anything to make a sound.
I am very uncomfortable with absolute silence. The truth is the only time I ever choose quiet is when I drive and no one else is in the car. Then it feels like peace. Maybe bc I am not forced to think of the dishes in the sink or the fact that my bed needs made... (and for the person who thinks it's a criminal act not to make his bed, you are wrong. ) I just drive.
I don't like quiet because I think of all the "perfect" answers to questions I have been asked, I think of all the better things I could have said, all the times I should have swallowed my pride, should have let go of my fear and told the other person how I REALLY felt... quiet is like my own personal purgatory where I relive all the pieces of my life where I should have... could have.... done or said something different.
I guess the truth really is much more simple than I am making it out to be. For me, quiet is the accumulation of all the wrong choices, perceived wrong choices, and bad ideas I had. I'd like to tell you that once and a while I decide that I occasionally decide I did the right thing, but that would be far fewer and far between and thus it would be a lie.
Quiet is my conscience. I overthink, overanalyze, worry, compare, and contemplate. If I could just turn off m brain I might be safe however; until then I will turn on music, flip my fan off and on...anything to make a sound.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Thoughts like a lava lamp
I don't think that my internal thoughts are exactly the same as everyone elses'. No I do not believe that I am some stellar genius, far far from it. And I don't think I am a psychopath. I just think that maybe my thought process is unique and unusual. I like to think of it as a gift in the same way that people describe some birth defects "gifts". They are not good or bad but rather just apart of my dna.
Anyway back to my brain and it's inner workings. I used to get frustrated that people don't understand how my brain made it's "leaps" and I can jump from one subject to another with grand rapidness. I have come to terms with this now. I do sometimes struggle with the fact that rarely do people like my randomness. And often my leaps make me seem scatterbrained. The truth of the matter is completely opposite. I overthink things. I overanalyze things. I think 15 things but only mention 3. I have found it makes people less uncomfortable and less apt to look at me with the crazy face if I only explain the 3.
For example, I walk down the hall at school. I see a kid with a turquoise shirt and think of shopping with the roommate, I think of my favorite Easter dress in 6th grade, I think of finding Robin's eggs shells when I was 5, I think of that blue eyed boy I kissed at Czech Fest in 7th grade with the sun on my face, I think of the sky before the storm, I think of the blue sheets I ordered for my first big girl bed when I was 4 or 5 with the sleeping puppies on them, I think of that one man and that one shirt he wears and how he looks hot in it and how I lose my cool with him, I think of a thousand things that are all either blue or turquoise and I get lost in my head for about 5 min. Yes, 5 min.
Yes, most people have triggers in their head that are caused by memories. A lot of people have scent memories. What I mean to say is memories that are triggered by scent. For example certain soaps or perfumes that make them think of baking cookies at Grandma's house. Or the cologne the boy they crushed on it 8th grade wore and sat in front of them in Geometry. But for my brain... it's like the old "Family Circus" comic with the little boy who visits 20 places just to get from the mailbox to the front door. Now take that kind of internal triggering, add a visual memory, a sensitivity to color, add that fact that I am emotional and love life and the fact that memories are only stored IF you have an emotional reaction....
Needless to say what you end up with is a constantly over working brain that looks like a kaleidoscope inside a lava lamp....and the whole thing set on EXTRA crazy.
Glub..glub... clink.
Anyway back to my brain and it's inner workings. I used to get frustrated that people don't understand how my brain made it's "leaps" and I can jump from one subject to another with grand rapidness. I have come to terms with this now. I do sometimes struggle with the fact that rarely do people like my randomness. And often my leaps make me seem scatterbrained. The truth of the matter is completely opposite. I overthink things. I overanalyze things. I think 15 things but only mention 3. I have found it makes people less uncomfortable and less apt to look at me with the crazy face if I only explain the 3.
For example, I walk down the hall at school. I see a kid with a turquoise shirt and think of shopping with the roommate, I think of my favorite Easter dress in 6th grade, I think of finding Robin's eggs shells when I was 5, I think of that blue eyed boy I kissed at Czech Fest in 7th grade with the sun on my face, I think of the sky before the storm, I think of the blue sheets I ordered for my first big girl bed when I was 4 or 5 with the sleeping puppies on them, I think of that one man and that one shirt he wears and how he looks hot in it and how I lose my cool with him, I think of a thousand things that are all either blue or turquoise and I get lost in my head for about 5 min. Yes, 5 min.
Yes, most people have triggers in their head that are caused by memories. A lot of people have scent memories. What I mean to say is memories that are triggered by scent. For example certain soaps or perfumes that make them think of baking cookies at Grandma's house. Or the cologne the boy they crushed on it 8th grade wore and sat in front of them in Geometry. But for my brain... it's like the old "Family Circus" comic with the little boy who visits 20 places just to get from the mailbox to the front door. Now take that kind of internal triggering, add a visual memory, a sensitivity to color, add that fact that I am emotional and love life and the fact that memories are only stored IF you have an emotional reaction....
Needless to say what you end up with is a constantly over working brain that looks like a kaleidoscope inside a lava lamp....and the whole thing set on EXTRA crazy.
Glub..glub... clink.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Why I stopped saying the big 3: I love you
I have in my past been a bit of an “I love you” slut. I used
it casually and didn’t put forth as much effort as I should have. I used it
with people I loved, but was not in love with. I do still use it a lot with my
friends, my family, my munchkin, and honestly, my students… because I have no
doubt that I do very genuinely love them. I will admit that I care about
people. Although, how deeply I oft leave off. That does not mean I do not care,
and it does not mean that I wouldn’t endure bone marrow transplant for those
people ; which I hear is supposed to be one of the most painful medical
procedures and involves needles… I have a fear of needles and am a whimp when
it comes to pain. I wanted to get back to a purer version of “I love you.” I wanted the people I
said it to, to KNOW I meant it with the absolute bottom of my heart. I wanted my actions to stand for more. I
wanted my intentional choices to be a reflection of my heart. I dunno that I
had actually expressed or explained that to the person or person(s) who needed
to know it, but in my head I knew.
“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” Oscar Wilde
It’s funny how you remember some things but not others. I remember that quote
as clearly as the day I sat in the library working on a research paper in high
school about Mr. Wilde. I can picture the black ink pen in my hand, the green
book from which I was copying it, and the white unlined notecard in front of me
as I scrawled it out word for word. I
think part of why I remember the quote is because I was at first taken about by
the idea of it. My brain couldn’t fathom it at first and so I sat staring at
it, contemplating it. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The
more truth and weight it held. Before that moment I hadn’t ever pondered the
idea that the truth could be anything other than “truth.” I remember tucking
the card along with about 15 others into my binder and throwing it all into my
ever crammed backpack. That one card had started the thought army and its
descent on the beaches of Normandy of my brain…creeping in where I wasn’t
armed… sneaking under other thoughts that were seemingly unrelated. .. hidden
behind things that were what I had previously thought were simple.
I bring all this up to try to explain my personal lockdown
and fear of the phrase, “I love you.” I
have come through a couple ugly relationships. I do not say that as an excuse
for pity. I say it as a way to preface why the phrase “I love you” has shifted
in my mind and become a more meaningful thing than it was previously used
before.
I do feel the “I love you” rise up inside of me. I do almost
say it. I did hear it screamed in my head as I snuggled in for bed. I did feel
it as I kiss the face I adore goodbye. When the perfect hand is laid on my leg,
I nearly choke on the words…but… I swallow them down. It’s not that I don’t
want to say them. It’s not that they are not true. They are so pure and so honest,
to say them scares me. I am afraid that if I utter them, the other person whom
I care so deeply about that I can’t sleep at night will not understand and that I have waited to say them because
this time they are the exact perfect thing. What if I say them and the other
person says they were “only joking” and I am so hurt that I nearly cry…sigh.
What if they say them and it’s just a trap to have me confess my feelings only
to have them make fun of me for being so foolish? What if my heart is just a
game to be won like a game of tic tac toe? What if I let go and tell them that
I don’t just care about them, that I do in fact, love them, and they don’t feel
the same and the whole thing gets all weird and awkward and we stop talking?
And here’s where I
get back to Mr. Wilde. The truth about all this isn’t simple; and it’s not
totally pure. I don’t say it not because it’s not true…and it’s not because
they don’t know I care. I have been pretty open with the fact that I do
genuinely care. I just can’t seem to let go of my fear. And until I can let of my fear.. I try to let
my actions say what my heart beats say everytime we talk.
The truth about me isn’t simple.
And my crazy isn’t pure.
My feelings and emotions are genuine.
I care more than I have understanding and more than I have
the ability to verbalize.
Not the silly “Luv ya.”
Not the non personal, “Love you,”
Not the”lol, you know I love you but…”
Real ..true..
“ I love you”: I miss you when we aren’t together. I miss
seeing you. I am in love with you. I worry about you. I pray for you daily.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Happy
Question I overheard at the library today got me to thinking...It wasn't a big question...
It was simple.
"Are you happy?"
It wasn't directed at me. It was merely one I overheard as the munchkin and I were enjoying the city library. It sent my mind to a whole other dimension in self contemplation.
Am I happy?Yes...no... somewhat...
And better questions..
WHY NOT?
What can I do to change that?
So I did the only "logical thing" and I looked up what happy meant.
Merriam Webster describes "happy"as
HAPPY: favored by luck or fortune
It was simple.
"Are you happy?"
It wasn't directed at me. It was merely one I overheard as the munchkin and I were enjoying the city library. It sent my mind to a whole other dimension in self contemplation.
Am I happy?Yes...no... somewhat...
And better questions..
WHY NOT?
What can I do to change that?
So I did the only "logical thing" and I looked up what happy meant.
Merriam Webster describes "happy"as
HAPPY: favored by luck or fortune
2: notably fitting, effective, or well adapted
3a : enjoying or characterized by well-being and contentment
b : expressing, reflecting, or suggestive of happiness
c.glad or pleased
d : having or marked by an atmosphere of good fellowship : friendly
4a : characterized by a dazed irresponsible state
b : impulsively or obsessively quick to use or do something
c : enthusiastic about something to the point of obsession
I dunno that I have really considered my self "lucky" although I do consider myself very fortunate. I am fortunate to have a roof over my head, food in my fridge, an amazing kid that I adore so much it makes me what more kids... etc. I am NOT what I would consider "well adapted.." so I fail on that front. I do think I try to reflect happiness. I am more oft than not glad. I have pretty good fellowship, I miss a few people, and rarely get brave even to say it but I do. I often feel dazed and irresponsible but that has more to do with my ability to overanalyze and over think... LOL.. I AM IMPULSIVE. that one is an absolute score for team happy.... and I dunno about that last definition. Honestly, It's a bit odd for me.
I guess overall I am relatively happy. I miss people and I am not bold or brave as I'd like to be nor am I well adapted. I wish I knew a few more of "well adapted" people who could teach me, but I think I'd make them loose their cool, so.. meh.
I noticed something amazing that WASN'T in the definition. It didn't ask me if I had regrets, or if I'd made mistakes, or if I'd done dumb things, it never asked if I gave my heart to the wrong person, it never accused me of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, or the right thing at the WORSE time...
I find that very refreshing. Its nice to have a checklist that is tangible to help keep my thoughts in check. Turns out, happy is not something hard to find. Happy is a state of mind.
I am happy, a few potholes in my path, but happy nonetheless.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Apologies and Guilt
There are some words and phrase that are powerful to me. Some that I frequently use, " I love you," there are ones I think about often and don't always use because I feel vulnerable using them, "I miss you," then there are two that I am not fond of using... and sadly, they often go hand in hand
"I was wrong."
" I'm sorry."
...all of the above phrase can change relationships between friends and love(s) but I think the ones I need to use more often are the last two.
I don't like to be wrong. That in itself is an understatement. I hate it. I literally hate it. Most people assume it's because I am vain. The truth is far more odd. It makes me mad at myself, not because I am wrong so much as the idea that I let someone down or misled them. I let myself look foolish. I am a fan of telling people the truth. I am a fan of being honest to the point of embarrassment ( most of the time.) However, I despise being wrong.
I don't hate saying "I'm sorry" as much as "I was wrong." Maybe because if I am at the point where I need to say I'm sorry I have already come to the conclusion that I have hurt or injured someone. I am not a fan of hurting people. I will avoid it. (Side note: I avoid confrontation bc I am a whimp and often overreact)
I think I view "I'm sorry"as a healing thing and less of an admission of guilt so I am more comfortable with it. I will apologize when I think I have offended, when I have hurt, or when I feel it appropriate. But those words, " I am wrong..." Dear me... they nearly burn my tongue.
I have been told many times that I am stubborn and often need to admit I was wrong more. I have been told by friends, loved ones, exes, co-workers... and every time... EVERY one... it makes me angry. I dunno if it's bc I am stubborn or that I am too much like my father. Maybe it just happens to be my main character flaw.
If my flaws are simple like this, I think I am doing okay. I think I personally consider pride to one of the worst character flaws. I am not really prideful. Actually, I fear pride. It prolly has a lot to do with teaching and studying English and seeing so many of the epic heroes creep up on their failure like a roller coaster edging it's way to the top because they were too prideful. Or worse, they were too proud to admit they were wrong and get help from others. Hmm.
Look out world... I might be on a roller coaster of doom after all.
Here is me admitting I am wrong.
I am wrong. A lot.
Here is me apologizing.
I am sorry.
( trust me the list I have of people who deserve to hear this is long and extensive )
Today I make the goal to stop being so stuck on not admitting I am wrong.
Hopefully, I am not wrong in making it. ;)
"I was wrong."
" I'm sorry."
...all of the above phrase can change relationships between friends and love(s) but I think the ones I need to use more often are the last two.
I don't like to be wrong. That in itself is an understatement. I hate it. I literally hate it. Most people assume it's because I am vain. The truth is far more odd. It makes me mad at myself, not because I am wrong so much as the idea that I let someone down or misled them. I let myself look foolish. I am a fan of telling people the truth. I am a fan of being honest to the point of embarrassment ( most of the time.) However, I despise being wrong.
I don't hate saying "I'm sorry" as much as "I was wrong." Maybe because if I am at the point where I need to say I'm sorry I have already come to the conclusion that I have hurt or injured someone. I am not a fan of hurting people. I will avoid it. (Side note: I avoid confrontation bc I am a whimp and often overreact)
I think I view "I'm sorry"as a healing thing and less of an admission of guilt so I am more comfortable with it. I will apologize when I think I have offended, when I have hurt, or when I feel it appropriate. But those words, " I am wrong..." Dear me... they nearly burn my tongue.
I have been told many times that I am stubborn and often need to admit I was wrong more. I have been told by friends, loved ones, exes, co-workers... and every time... EVERY one... it makes me angry. I dunno if it's bc I am stubborn or that I am too much like my father. Maybe it just happens to be my main character flaw.
If my flaws are simple like this, I think I am doing okay. I think I personally consider pride to one of the worst character flaws. I am not really prideful. Actually, I fear pride. It prolly has a lot to do with teaching and studying English and seeing so many of the epic heroes creep up on their failure like a roller coaster edging it's way to the top because they were too prideful. Or worse, they were too proud to admit they were wrong and get help from others. Hmm.
Look out world... I might be on a roller coaster of doom after all.
Here is me admitting I am wrong.
I am wrong. A lot.
Here is me apologizing.
I am sorry.
( trust me the list I have of people who deserve to hear this is long and extensive )
Today I make the goal to stop being so stuck on not admitting I am wrong.
Hopefully, I am not wrong in making it. ;)
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Fighting for what I don't want.
The truth is... I fail.
A lot.
I make choices all the time not really sure of if I am doing the right thing. I figure that if I get it all wrong and fall at least I will have a better view when I look up again. I try to do the right thing. I attempt to be the bigger person; however, I am not always a fan of this.
I fail.
I try again.
I fail.
I try again.
I fail.
And then sometimes I actually learn a few things about myself.
I have learned that when there are two paths... I usually whimp out and choose the one I think is the safest option. The saddest part about that is that the "safe" option is not usually the one I want in the long run. I am tired of choosing safe. I am tired of trying to be the person that I am "supposed" to be to fit other people's ideas of who or what I should be. I am not really that girl.
I am a believer that everything happens for a reason and that the reason is USUALLY beyond what my feeble brain can understand. I agree that we accept what we think we deserve instead of fighting for what we want.
I think I often fight when I shouldn't and run when I should fight. I have been thinking about this a lot lately. It's really pretty simple. If I fight for the things I know I shouldn't and I lose them I haven't really lost. It's like buying cookies I like, but don't love that way I can easily not eat them and stay "skinny." I give up too easily on the things/people I want most because I am afraid that they will figure out that I am not really that great and will leave or hurt me.
I read a quote not that long ago about how when we truly care about someone we show them the truest most intimate and weakest parts of ourselves and then hand them the knife and hope that they won't cut us. It's been a some time since I really let someone into that aspect of me. I nearly did a short time ago and then looked for an excuse to run..and did just that. I ran. I ran because my "ally" What-If started whispering in my ear again; warning me I could be truly broken by this scenario.
What if my fears are right... what if he doesn't really care... what if I let go and tell the truth about what/how I feel...
what if ..
what if..
what.............if.....
I am a paint by number picture except the numbers seem to be written in Mandarin and I don't understand Mandarin and so I guess instead of asking the right people the right questions.
Here's to leaps of faith...
Here's to letting go fear...
Here's to following my heart.
Here's to fighting for what I desire.
A lot.
I make choices all the time not really sure of if I am doing the right thing. I figure that if I get it all wrong and fall at least I will have a better view when I look up again. I try to do the right thing. I attempt to be the bigger person; however, I am not always a fan of this.
I fail.
I try again.
I fail.
I try again.
I fail.
And then sometimes I actually learn a few things about myself.
I have learned that when there are two paths... I usually whimp out and choose the one I think is the safest option. The saddest part about that is that the "safe" option is not usually the one I want in the long run. I am tired of choosing safe. I am tired of trying to be the person that I am "supposed" to be to fit other people's ideas of who or what I should be. I am not really that girl.
I am a believer that everything happens for a reason and that the reason is USUALLY beyond what my feeble brain can understand. I agree that we accept what we think we deserve instead of fighting for what we want.
I think I often fight when I shouldn't and run when I should fight. I have been thinking about this a lot lately. It's really pretty simple. If I fight for the things I know I shouldn't and I lose them I haven't really lost. It's like buying cookies I like, but don't love that way I can easily not eat them and stay "skinny." I give up too easily on the things/people I want most because I am afraid that they will figure out that I am not really that great and will leave or hurt me.
I read a quote not that long ago about how when we truly care about someone we show them the truest most intimate and weakest parts of ourselves and then hand them the knife and hope that they won't cut us. It's been a some time since I really let someone into that aspect of me. I nearly did a short time ago and then looked for an excuse to run..and did just that. I ran. I ran because my "ally" What-If started whispering in my ear again; warning me I could be truly broken by this scenario.
What if my fears are right... what if he doesn't really care... what if I let go and tell the truth about what/how I feel...
what if ..
what if..
what.............if.....
I am a paint by number picture except the numbers seem to be written in Mandarin and I don't understand Mandarin and so I guess instead of asking the right people the right questions.
Here's to leaps of faith...
Here's to letting go fear...
Here's to following my heart.
Here's to fighting for what I desire.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Rules of how to be a "girl"
Recently I have noticed that people are using the label "girl" as an insult. But I have been thinking about what it means to me to be female. Yes, there is the obvious I have boobs etc. But it's more than that. There are things that I think women are/should be...
1. They should be able to be feminine.
I believe that women should be held to a set of standards. In fact, I am a bit sexist in nature. I believe that women should never go out in public without painting their toenails. I think it makes us ladies look more feminine. I could care less about whether or not a girls fingernails are painted, probably because I have a hard time maintaining lovely nails without chipping them while I am super mom or teaching. (as a rule, you should assume my standards are often double...)
2. We like being treated like girls.
Women are not the same as men. I don't want to be treated like a man. I want better. Yes, I can change a tire and have on occasion have changed the oil in my car. My theory is, I don't want to. I want to be treated like a girl and taken care of. I want someone to open the jar of pickles for me. I think I deserve to have doors opened for me... no matter where I go. I don't mean just when I am out and about with someone I am in a relationship with, I mean I walk into Dillards and some guy is nearish me he should hold the door for me. The age of the man is non-important... I usually think that if the male is between the ages of 10 and 80ish... He opens the door. (Curtches and walkers I'll give you a break. ) I don't need the crazy lay your jacket down in the mud kinda treatment. Just a little bit of pampering.
3. A girl sometimes needs to put her hair up, and have fun.
I am a girl. I don't burp, fart, pick my nose, or scratch things in public. I shave my legs. I wear makeup. I act like a lady. I am not prissy. I won't melt in the rain. In fact, a little dancing in the rain and enjoying the moment makes me stupid happy. It's worth the makeup that will run down my face and the fact that I will be freezing my butt off after the fact because I don't make body heat on my own. I'm perfectly happy snuggling extra close to steal the body heat of my man; if he isn't willing to share, don't let me get cold. I won't put my cold feet on him in bed, I wear socks because I think it's mean to do that. Sometimes I need to put my hair in a pony tail and do outdoors-y things or shoot a gun or whatever. BUT I don't have to look like a "dude" while I do it. I can shoot a gun and look cute in my makeup while doing it. I don't feel like any less of a woman without makeup, but have discovered that I prefer myself with mascara. I like the way I feel more powerful. It's not about how others view me, it's about what I like.
4. Our strength is measured differently.
Women are not strong like men; at least not in the same ways. I will never attempt to move a refrigerator. A lot of women are mentally strong in ways that I don't think people would believe. We grow humans with our bodies knowing it will hurt, knowing that they will grow up and hate us ( hopefully only temporarily), knowing that our children have the ability to hurt us both intentionally and unintentionally... and yet.. we make babies. We are often externally weaker than men. We allow ourselves to be vulnerable. We let people see us cry. I don't see us allowing our "weakness" to show as a true vulnerability. I see it was a strength. It takes a very strong person to allow themselves to be broken and be built back up again.
5. We are fond of double standards.
We women are different critters indeed. We are often very fond of double standards. (Gawd knows I already admitted my weakness for them). Women often demand equality; but then when it comes time to be given the equality some women don't want to uphold their end of the bargain. They want equal pay and equal hours and equal rights. But then when a child gets sick they assume people will overlook it because they can't help it because of their offspring. Yes... My son is my greatest accomplishment in my whole life; but I don't use him as an excuse. As a single momma there is no luxury of having someone else to pick up the slack. If I need to pay bills or do something it is my responsibility to take care of it. I understand that if I miss work, and I miss hours, the paycheck will reflect that. It seems some women have missed this important factor of the working force. I want to be held when I cry but also feel like it has to be when I want to be held...
6.Logic doesn't seem to be our first reaction.
I have noticed that (myself included) many women do not automatically respond to situations with black and white instant answers. I think it might have something to do with the fact that we have maternal instincts and often have to consider the needs of those we give birth to... or our spouses...significant others etc. I don't have to be logical. In fact, I am often emotionally reactionary. I often have to apologize for my reaction. I don't like it... But it's the way I am..
( to be continued...)
1. They should be able to be feminine.
I believe that women should be held to a set of standards. In fact, I am a bit sexist in nature. I believe that women should never go out in public without painting their toenails. I think it makes us ladies look more feminine. I could care less about whether or not a girls fingernails are painted, probably because I have a hard time maintaining lovely nails without chipping them while I am super mom or teaching. (as a rule, you should assume my standards are often double...)
2. We like being treated like girls.
Women are not the same as men. I don't want to be treated like a man. I want better. Yes, I can change a tire and have on occasion have changed the oil in my car. My theory is, I don't want to. I want to be treated like a girl and taken care of. I want someone to open the jar of pickles for me. I think I deserve to have doors opened for me... no matter where I go. I don't mean just when I am out and about with someone I am in a relationship with, I mean I walk into Dillards and some guy is nearish me he should hold the door for me. The age of the man is non-important... I usually think that if the male is between the ages of 10 and 80ish... He opens the door. (Curtches and walkers I'll give you a break. ) I don't need the crazy lay your jacket down in the mud kinda treatment. Just a little bit of pampering.
3. A girl sometimes needs to put her hair up, and have fun.
I am a girl. I don't burp, fart, pick my nose, or scratch things in public. I shave my legs. I wear makeup. I act like a lady. I am not prissy. I won't melt in the rain. In fact, a little dancing in the rain and enjoying the moment makes me stupid happy. It's worth the makeup that will run down my face and the fact that I will be freezing my butt off after the fact because I don't make body heat on my own. I'm perfectly happy snuggling extra close to steal the body heat of my man; if he isn't willing to share, don't let me get cold. I won't put my cold feet on him in bed, I wear socks because I think it's mean to do that. Sometimes I need to put my hair in a pony tail and do outdoors-y things or shoot a gun or whatever. BUT I don't have to look like a "dude" while I do it. I can shoot a gun and look cute in my makeup while doing it. I don't feel like any less of a woman without makeup, but have discovered that I prefer myself with mascara. I like the way I feel more powerful. It's not about how others view me, it's about what I like.
4. Our strength is measured differently.
Women are not strong like men; at least not in the same ways. I will never attempt to move a refrigerator. A lot of women are mentally strong in ways that I don't think people would believe. We grow humans with our bodies knowing it will hurt, knowing that they will grow up and hate us ( hopefully only temporarily), knowing that our children have the ability to hurt us both intentionally and unintentionally... and yet.. we make babies. We are often externally weaker than men. We allow ourselves to be vulnerable. We let people see us cry. I don't see us allowing our "weakness" to show as a true vulnerability. I see it was a strength. It takes a very strong person to allow themselves to be broken and be built back up again.
5. We are fond of double standards.
We women are different critters indeed. We are often very fond of double standards. (Gawd knows I already admitted my weakness for them). Women often demand equality; but then when it comes time to be given the equality some women don't want to uphold their end of the bargain. They want equal pay and equal hours and equal rights. But then when a child gets sick they assume people will overlook it because they can't help it because of their offspring. Yes... My son is my greatest accomplishment in my whole life; but I don't use him as an excuse. As a single momma there is no luxury of having someone else to pick up the slack. If I need to pay bills or do something it is my responsibility to take care of it. I understand that if I miss work, and I miss hours, the paycheck will reflect that. It seems some women have missed this important factor of the working force. I want to be held when I cry but also feel like it has to be when I want to be held...
6.Logic doesn't seem to be our first reaction.
I have noticed that (myself included) many women do not automatically respond to situations with black and white instant answers. I think it might have something to do with the fact that we have maternal instincts and often have to consider the needs of those we give birth to... or our spouses...significant others etc. I don't have to be logical. In fact, I am often emotionally reactionary. I often have to apologize for my reaction. I don't like it... But it's the way I am..
( to be continued...)
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
When words fail me.
I am good with words. I love words; big words, small words, fancy ones, simple ones. I adore using them. I like using them to speak, to write, to convey my emotions, to sing.
There are times in my life when I am truly at a loss for words. It seems that often the times where words fail me are the times when I truly want them the most. Moments of incredible overwhelming emotions seem to inactivate the part of my brain most responsible for words and human expression.
The last three years has been entirely too full of these moments. I have experienced loss of family members, the murder of friends, the heartache of a friend(s) struggling with infertility, divorce, abuse, neglect of people I love, hatred, suicide, attempted suicide of youth, held hands with friends who were burying the child, been saved more times than I'd like the admit.
During all of these moments I think I was not the best version of me. There is some weird switch in my brain that once my emotions hit a certain level I am no longer able to express myself. It's not tears or even anger; although both will do just this. It's that feeling you get when you are having a nightmare and you wake yourself up because you are attempting to scream and the sound won't come out. That is the exact feeling I get when I can't find the right words. I want to speak but the words get stuck in my brain. Quite simply, I hate it.
I like being the woman who has words for people who need them. I have no problem holding people and loving on them and telling them how much I care about them, how much I value them, or even how terrible other people are... but when it comes down to me, I fail when I am overwhelmed.
What's worse is that not only am I at a loss for the words I am reaching for... but also I feel the failure of not having the right words. I feel like I am failing by just not having the right thing to say...
I am overwhelmed currently by a few such things that I can feel are driving right toward the cliff of wordlessness. I feel my grasp on words and expression getting more and more slippery as if someone greased it down with butter and I am unable to wipe it off. I reach for the sides of whatever surrounds me in an attempt to slow myself down, but nothing can seem to halt it.
I am losing my grip on words. When I talk non stop everything is fine... when I am at a loss...
the silence is so deafening that I can't stand it. When words won't do because there are no words I know that will suffice the pain...
All the words I need to express myself are in a dictionary that either I don't have or has been written in disappearing ink and I can't find the antidote.
I am wordless...
and I fall headlong
down
down
down
the wordless cliff
because words won't do.
There are times in my life when I am truly at a loss for words. It seems that often the times where words fail me are the times when I truly want them the most. Moments of incredible overwhelming emotions seem to inactivate the part of my brain most responsible for words and human expression.
The last three years has been entirely too full of these moments. I have experienced loss of family members, the murder of friends, the heartache of a friend(s) struggling with infertility, divorce, abuse, neglect of people I love, hatred, suicide, attempted suicide of youth, held hands with friends who were burying the child, been saved more times than I'd like the admit.
During all of these moments I think I was not the best version of me. There is some weird switch in my brain that once my emotions hit a certain level I am no longer able to express myself. It's not tears or even anger; although both will do just this. It's that feeling you get when you are having a nightmare and you wake yourself up because you are attempting to scream and the sound won't come out. That is the exact feeling I get when I can't find the right words. I want to speak but the words get stuck in my brain. Quite simply, I hate it.
I like being the woman who has words for people who need them. I have no problem holding people and loving on them and telling them how much I care about them, how much I value them, or even how terrible other people are... but when it comes down to me, I fail when I am overwhelmed.
What's worse is that not only am I at a loss for the words I am reaching for... but also I feel the failure of not having the right words. I feel like I am failing by just not having the right thing to say...
I am overwhelmed currently by a few such things that I can feel are driving right toward the cliff of wordlessness. I feel my grasp on words and expression getting more and more slippery as if someone greased it down with butter and I am unable to wipe it off. I reach for the sides of whatever surrounds me in an attempt to slow myself down, but nothing can seem to halt it.
I am losing my grip on words. When I talk non stop everything is fine... when I am at a loss...
the silence is so deafening that I can't stand it. When words won't do because there are no words I know that will suffice the pain...
All the words I need to express myself are in a dictionary that either I don't have or has been written in disappearing ink and I can't find the antidote.
I am wordless...
and I fall headlong
down
down
down
the wordless cliff
because words won't do.
Monday, May 20, 2013
The Power of Words
Most people know that there are certain words and phrases that are powerful when it comes to the human condition. The truth is simple words have power. Not just words, but also the words you don't say.
There obvious words of power: I love you, I hate you, Let's be friends,.. Then there are the words and phrases that people know but rarely think about how really important that they are until they hear them spoken directly to them. Phrases like, 'I'm pregnant' and 'I'm married' are life changing and entail far more than the simplicity of the words.
Everyone knows that having a child is significant. People often focus on the fact that there will be a baby but I dunno that people contemplate the long term aspects of a child. I know that when I was pregnant with my man-child I was so focused on the fact that I was pregnant that I hadn't really contemplated the idea that I would be 100% responsible for each and every thing that he did, said, etc. for many years. I remember when they handed me the hospital release papers to take the man-child home I was completely freaked out. Before that moment I was comfy and safe in the bubble of the hospital where we had been for the last 5 days. I was spoiled and anytime there was something that happened with my lil' hunk I asked a nurse. I asked a lot of questions...(Dear nurses, you are amazing people..) and I had someone to help me no matter what. When it was time to go home, the words of power were, "Congratulations!" and "Good Luck!"
Words are so powerful that sometimes it's not just words used but also the tone that can effect the situation. One prime example of tone, " She was my best friend." Depending on which word is stressed makes a huge difference.
"SHE was my best friend" accusatory and hateful in nature.
"She was my BEST FRIEND!" when two girls who were formally close but are no longer and often the other girl has betrayed the original trust.
" She was my best friend.."(said quietly) She has passed and the hole in your heart is vast and awful.
"SHE WAS MY BEST FRIEND!" she has been apart of a relationship that involved someone I love cheating with her.
"she was my best friend...." this one is the one when you formally where BFF but have lost touch, grown apart, and don't share the closeness that they used to.
One phrase said 5 separate ways each one meaning something completely different; all of them equally emotional and powerful.
I love you. Three words. The phrase we as humans hope to hear from someone who genuinely care about. If we think about when they really mean they grow to much larger. Love the idea that you care about someone more than others, the fact that you honor them above others, they are important...etc. I know I have said them when I shouldn't. I was trying to please people. I know I have held them in when I shouldn't have because I knew the other person wasn't ready to hear them. I have come to terms with the idea that if you mean them, say them regardless because everyone deserves to know they are loved.
Take nearly any word or phrase and add the three letter word, 'BUT' and all bets are off. Once one add a but to a statement anything said before the but should be ignored as it was only there to sugar coat. Example, " I love you BUT I wanna see other people." " I'm pregnant, BUT it isn't yours." "That's a nice dress BUT is it supposed to look like that?" Yes, BUT....watch out for the BUT statement. It's a nice way to say something, but it often puts the truth second. Say the truth.
One of my favorite word sets of power that people don't really contemplate is, "Will you marry me?" People are often too busy thinking about the jewelry, the dress, the fancy party. When someone is asking you this phrase they are asking approximately 1,000 other questions... A few of the questions that are being asked are : Will you share my last name, will you bear my children, will you hold my hand when I'm sick or scared, will you love me when I'm old, will you love me through fatness or skinny, will you support me if I lose my job, will you cook my meals, will you share my home, bed, and address with me, will you put up with my family, my mother, my siblings, and hold me when my gramma is sick, will you love me when I am not loveable, will you tell me I'm the best thing that happened in your life even when I am getting on your nerves, will you love and cherish me, will you say my name differently than everyone else, will you trust me, will you take care of me and our household, will you be last kiss, will you always be there for me, will you chose me day in and day out, will you be my helpmate, my soul mate, my cheerleader, my partner, my safe place, and the one person who I can turn to when I need someone.... There are many many more these are just the first ones that come to my mind.
Words that we don't say can be important. If someone says I love you etc and you don't say them back the silence left in-between is also powerful. When I approach a tall bossy man in my life and whine and act like a big baby and he tells me to, "Suck it up, Buttercup" without judging me, without pointing out the fact that I'm being annoying, without being mean, and without yelling. I know he has my best interest at heart.
All the things we say, when we say them, who we say them to, the tone in which we say them, when we let silence speak louder than the words themselves....
Words have power.
There obvious words of power: I love you, I hate you, Let's be friends,.. Then there are the words and phrases that people know but rarely think about how really important that they are until they hear them spoken directly to them. Phrases like, 'I'm pregnant' and 'I'm married' are life changing and entail far more than the simplicity of the words.
Everyone knows that having a child is significant. People often focus on the fact that there will be a baby but I dunno that people contemplate the long term aspects of a child. I know that when I was pregnant with my man-child I was so focused on the fact that I was pregnant that I hadn't really contemplated the idea that I would be 100% responsible for each and every thing that he did, said, etc. for many years. I remember when they handed me the hospital release papers to take the man-child home I was completely freaked out. Before that moment I was comfy and safe in the bubble of the hospital where we had been for the last 5 days. I was spoiled and anytime there was something that happened with my lil' hunk I asked a nurse. I asked a lot of questions...(Dear nurses, you are amazing people..) and I had someone to help me no matter what. When it was time to go home, the words of power were, "Congratulations!" and "Good Luck!"
Words are so powerful that sometimes it's not just words used but also the tone that can effect the situation. One prime example of tone, " She was my best friend." Depending on which word is stressed makes a huge difference.
"SHE was my best friend" accusatory and hateful in nature.
"She was my BEST FRIEND!" when two girls who were formally close but are no longer and often the other girl has betrayed the original trust.
" She was my best friend.."(said quietly) She has passed and the hole in your heart is vast and awful.
"SHE WAS MY BEST FRIEND!" she has been apart of a relationship that involved someone I love cheating with her.
"she was my best friend...." this one is the one when you formally where BFF but have lost touch, grown apart, and don't share the closeness that they used to.
One phrase said 5 separate ways each one meaning something completely different; all of them equally emotional and powerful.
I love you. Three words. The phrase we as humans hope to hear from someone who genuinely care about. If we think about when they really mean they grow to much larger. Love the idea that you care about someone more than others, the fact that you honor them above others, they are important...etc. I know I have said them when I shouldn't. I was trying to please people. I know I have held them in when I shouldn't have because I knew the other person wasn't ready to hear them. I have come to terms with the idea that if you mean them, say them regardless because everyone deserves to know they are loved.
Take nearly any word or phrase and add the three letter word, 'BUT' and all bets are off. Once one add a but to a statement anything said before the but should be ignored as it was only there to sugar coat. Example, " I love you BUT I wanna see other people." " I'm pregnant, BUT it isn't yours." "That's a nice dress BUT is it supposed to look like that?" Yes, BUT....watch out for the BUT statement. It's a nice way to say something, but it often puts the truth second. Say the truth.
One of my favorite word sets of power that people don't really contemplate is, "Will you marry me?" People are often too busy thinking about the jewelry, the dress, the fancy party. When someone is asking you this phrase they are asking approximately 1,000 other questions... A few of the questions that are being asked are : Will you share my last name, will you bear my children, will you hold my hand when I'm sick or scared, will you love me when I'm old, will you love me through fatness or skinny, will you support me if I lose my job, will you cook my meals, will you share my home, bed, and address with me, will you put up with my family, my mother, my siblings, and hold me when my gramma is sick, will you love me when I am not loveable, will you tell me I'm the best thing that happened in your life even when I am getting on your nerves, will you love and cherish me, will you say my name differently than everyone else, will you trust me, will you take care of me and our household, will you be last kiss, will you always be there for me, will you chose me day in and day out, will you be my helpmate, my soul mate, my cheerleader, my partner, my safe place, and the one person who I can turn to when I need someone.... There are many many more these are just the first ones that come to my mind.
Words that we don't say can be important. If someone says I love you etc and you don't say them back the silence left in-between is also powerful. When I approach a tall bossy man in my life and whine and act like a big baby and he tells me to, "Suck it up, Buttercup" without judging me, without pointing out the fact that I'm being annoying, without being mean, and without yelling. I know he has my best interest at heart.
All the things we say, when we say them, who we say them to, the tone in which we say them, when we let silence speak louder than the words themselves....
Words have power.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Teenagers...
The truth is a lot of the time 9th graders (or teenagers in general) get a bad wrap. They get accused of being gross, of being dirty, or rude. I understand that there are teenagers who fit that mold; BUT there are also adults who not only fill that mold but also exceed it.
I confess... I like teenagers. I prefer most the 9th graders that I teach. Partially because I am biased towards my babies and partially because once they hit sophomore year they feel more entitled and act "harder" and thus begin to annoy me. Nevertheless, I think they are amazing people. I know that people will find this shocking. I am in amazement of how they can shift focus, attitude, emotions, and intelligence in 5 seconds flat. I find it intriguing.
Some days the emotional turmoil in my room is so strong you can almost smell it. To me it is the most raw and unedited version of psychology. Yes, I understand that officially the rules of basic psychology do not apply to teenagers as their frontal lobes of their brains are not fully formed until nearish the end of "teen" years. However, my personal theory is that since the are soo near adulthood and are already beginning to grow, shape, and change into the adults that they will eventually be some of the emotions etc. are already in their but bob around like apples in water. They are so raw with emotion that at times it is a warzone both metaphorically and literally. I my empathy is sometimes in overdrive as I observe them that I have to walk away and catch my breath.
Some days wisdom is a rollercoaster. One minute a student will be describing how he/she thinks that the world could end world hunger, the next second someone ( or even the same student) will make a fart joke, then ten minutes goes by and I will have been asked about everything under the sun...from why your pee smells weird after you eat asparagus, to why is Zeus the head of the Greek gods and goddess, to why is the sky blue, to why do both sexes have nipples if only girls get boobs... I never know what genius or simplicity will come out of their mouths. I have previously wondered a lot of the things they ask me, so I am not phased by much anymore. Once and a while one child will ask me something odd.. not often and even more rarely I have students who will ask me things that I have never contemplated. I ask my best friend Google or any of the brilliant people I have in my life. :)
I grow more understanding of relationships and interpersonal skills the more years that I teach. I have been a teacher for 7 years and in education for the last 10 yrs. I have learned a lot of things about how words can have more power than I ever realized. I learned how not saying words also have power. I learned how a misquote or misunderstanding can really get blown out of proportion.
I thought I had learned about communication in college, being an adult, being previously married, but nope. I really learned about people and communication through people who are often and at it. For all the things they do right and all the things they do wrong I learn. I love teaching. I love that I learn so much about humanity and all the human condition. I love that I learn from them. It really is true about teaching, I learn from them as much as I hope they learn from me.
And that simple fact makes me love my job, love my kiddos, and learn every day about life.
Teenagers aren't bad, they are just the most edited and raw versions of humanity. Every aspect. Teaching them is like going back to getting my humanities degree, except this time, it's hands on and the homework is emotional.
I confess... I like teenagers. I prefer most the 9th graders that I teach. Partially because I am biased towards my babies and partially because once they hit sophomore year they feel more entitled and act "harder" and thus begin to annoy me. Nevertheless, I think they are amazing people. I know that people will find this shocking. I am in amazement of how they can shift focus, attitude, emotions, and intelligence in 5 seconds flat. I find it intriguing.
Some days the emotional turmoil in my room is so strong you can almost smell it. To me it is the most raw and unedited version of psychology. Yes, I understand that officially the rules of basic psychology do not apply to teenagers as their frontal lobes of their brains are not fully formed until nearish the end of "teen" years. However, my personal theory is that since the are soo near adulthood and are already beginning to grow, shape, and change into the adults that they will eventually be some of the emotions etc. are already in their but bob around like apples in water. They are so raw with emotion that at times it is a warzone both metaphorically and literally. I my empathy is sometimes in overdrive as I observe them that I have to walk away and catch my breath.
Some days wisdom is a rollercoaster. One minute a student will be describing how he/she thinks that the world could end world hunger, the next second someone ( or even the same student) will make a fart joke, then ten minutes goes by and I will have been asked about everything under the sun...from why your pee smells weird after you eat asparagus, to why is Zeus the head of the Greek gods and goddess, to why is the sky blue, to why do both sexes have nipples if only girls get boobs... I never know what genius or simplicity will come out of their mouths. I have previously wondered a lot of the things they ask me, so I am not phased by much anymore. Once and a while one child will ask me something odd.. not often and even more rarely I have students who will ask me things that I have never contemplated. I ask my best friend Google or any of the brilliant people I have in my life. :)
I grow more understanding of relationships and interpersonal skills the more years that I teach. I have been a teacher for 7 years and in education for the last 10 yrs. I have learned a lot of things about how words can have more power than I ever realized. I learned how not saying words also have power. I learned how a misquote or misunderstanding can really get blown out of proportion.
I thought I had learned about communication in college, being an adult, being previously married, but nope. I really learned about people and communication through people who are often and at it. For all the things they do right and all the things they do wrong I learn. I love teaching. I love that I learn so much about humanity and all the human condition. I love that I learn from them. It really is true about teaching, I learn from them as much as I hope they learn from me.
And that simple fact makes me love my job, love my kiddos, and learn every day about life.
Teenagers aren't bad, they are just the most edited and raw versions of humanity. Every aspect. Teaching them is like going back to getting my humanities degree, except this time, it's hands on and the homework is emotional.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Timing is everything....
It turns out that the rest of the world is not on the same internal schedule as I am.
I have no sense of time. I require very small amounts of sleep and still maintain a very happy outlook.
I think of it as simply enjoying as much of my life as possible. I fully embrace the fact that every life is short and terminal and no one can escape this factor. I want to absorb so much of life and love that I would sacrifice sleep for them. My phone is always beside my bed, the ringer is always on, and I ALWAYS answer... Happily in fact. My texts come through.. however; I have only a few people whose texts actually make sounds and wake me up.A few people I love and adore, a new mommy who might need to ramble or cry, a new friend who works crazy hours,etc.
The funny thing is that I am even more open minded after about 12:30...
I also have learned a lot about me by answering my phone after 12:30. I am more honest at that time of the morning. I think it has something to do with the fact that I am not thinking about editing what I want, think, feel, or desire. I just follow my heart. I go with my instincts. Luckily for me, the few people who speak to me then are people that I would trust my life with. Which is good, as some of the things I will confess or say then... the kinds of things that can lead to being judged.
I have had deep conversations about
where I hope to be in 5 years... ( happy)
what I want out of life... (peace)
whether or not I regret anything...( I don't . EVERYTHING happens for a reason)
what I want in my love..(commitment and to never doubt him)
what I expect from others (honesty)
what I have to give (devotion)
Anyway back to timing. I have no sense of time. I can get involved in doing something, especially art or writing related and completely lose track. It happens mainly early in the morning or in the latest of late hours before the moon sneaks off. I prefer these hours. I like the simplicity of them. I thrive on the idea that I might be the one person up in my house ( or even my neighborhood) enjoying this time before the chaos and calamity of the day. I love being able to look and see the stars and think that no one else is enjoying their beauty. For some reason it makes me feel spoiled.
I suspect the reason I like to talk, write, clean, or just be up is because I feel the most me. As I previously mentioned before, I lack what little filter I have at these hours. I am unedited and raw and the most 'me'. Add to the unedited-ness to the fact that when I am on the phone.. computer... texting etc the distance of not being face to face makes everything feel more secure and less transparent. And on the times when I was blessed to be face to face chatting with people and metaphorically bearing it all, I don't turn on all the lights to add the same "safe" distance. There is just something so scary about telling someone anything serious face to face with all the lights on.
I don't love to clean my house... unless it's after 10:30.. and then I must be shimmying to music. I dunno why. Prolly too many years of cleaning house with my momma as the " rosy fingers of dawn" crept over the horizon listening the Mommas and Poppas or Neil Sedaka. I loved Neil Sedaka as a kid... but it was because I was biased. How can anyone not love an 8 track that nearly every song has your name in it? :)
I love shopping at Walmart in the wee hours so that there are less people, not necessarily less crazy.. but less of them. Laying in the truck bed at just talking so much better at weird hours than in the afternoon. I wish I understood my crazy fascination with odd hours, but I do not. Maybe my own personal oddity feels at ease with the oddity of it. I dunno.
Al I know is that timing when if comes to the day, and in life, makes all the difference.
I have no sense of time. I require very small amounts of sleep and still maintain a very happy outlook.
I think of it as simply enjoying as much of my life as possible. I fully embrace the fact that every life is short and terminal and no one can escape this factor. I want to absorb so much of life and love that I would sacrifice sleep for them. My phone is always beside my bed, the ringer is always on, and I ALWAYS answer... Happily in fact. My texts come through.. however; I have only a few people whose texts actually make sounds and wake me up.A few people I love and adore, a new mommy who might need to ramble or cry, a new friend who works crazy hours,etc.
The funny thing is that I am even more open minded after about 12:30...
I also have learned a lot about me by answering my phone after 12:30. I am more honest at that time of the morning. I think it has something to do with the fact that I am not thinking about editing what I want, think, feel, or desire. I just follow my heart. I go with my instincts. Luckily for me, the few people who speak to me then are people that I would trust my life with. Which is good, as some of the things I will confess or say then... the kinds of things that can lead to being judged.
I have had deep conversations about
where I hope to be in 5 years... ( happy)
what I want out of life... (peace)
whether or not I regret anything...( I don't . EVERYTHING happens for a reason)
what I want in my love..(commitment and to never doubt him)
what I expect from others (honesty)
what I have to give (devotion)
Anyway back to timing. I have no sense of time. I can get involved in doing something, especially art or writing related and completely lose track. It happens mainly early in the morning or in the latest of late hours before the moon sneaks off. I prefer these hours. I like the simplicity of them. I thrive on the idea that I might be the one person up in my house ( or even my neighborhood) enjoying this time before the chaos and calamity of the day. I love being able to look and see the stars and think that no one else is enjoying their beauty. For some reason it makes me feel spoiled.
I suspect the reason I like to talk, write, clean, or just be up is because I feel the most me. As I previously mentioned before, I lack what little filter I have at these hours. I am unedited and raw and the most 'me'. Add to the unedited-ness to the fact that when I am on the phone.. computer... texting etc the distance of not being face to face makes everything feel more secure and less transparent. And on the times when I was blessed to be face to face chatting with people and metaphorically bearing it all, I don't turn on all the lights to add the same "safe" distance. There is just something so scary about telling someone anything serious face to face with all the lights on.
I don't love to clean my house... unless it's after 10:30.. and then I must be shimmying to music. I dunno why. Prolly too many years of cleaning house with my momma as the " rosy fingers of dawn" crept over the horizon listening the Mommas and Poppas or Neil Sedaka. I loved Neil Sedaka as a kid... but it was because I was biased. How can anyone not love an 8 track that nearly every song has your name in it? :)
I love shopping at Walmart in the wee hours so that there are less people, not necessarily less crazy.. but less of them. Laying in the truck bed at just talking so much better at weird hours than in the afternoon. I wish I understood my crazy fascination with odd hours, but I do not. Maybe my own personal oddity feels at ease with the oddity of it. I dunno.
Al I know is that timing when if comes to the day, and in life, makes all the difference.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Relationship Rules
Relationship is a big word. I think many people overuse it. They have no idea how it effects (cause & effects) and affects (emotional) them. There is no specific pattern to how to build a relationship, no magic formula. Sometimes I think that they would be easier if there was...although, I think they would be less enjoyable.
I have heard some people try to make rules about how long a couple should be friends first, how long should date, the length of time they are to be engaged, if they should do this or that, if they should adopt an animal to learn about parenting styles ..blah ...blah.. blah.
I get all of those. In fact, I have previously been a student in that school of thought. I also failed. I have started relationships doing everything by the book, following every rule, down to the don't kiss on a first date. As it turns out I was no happier at the end of the relationship than a couple of the crazy, no chance at a real future at all, ones. I believe that there are some rules that are too big to break and that the little things are the big things. I don't mean the how a man treats his momma is how he will treat his wife. ( Although I personally believe this one) I mean the things I ponder while I read Romeo & Juliet with my classes and I wonder if they would have made it..
A few of the things I have learned...
a. Mrs. Kennedy was right.
Mrs. Kennedy was my 9th grade English teacher. She would randomly sprinkle in life advice as she was teaching. She is one of my roll models of what kind of a teacher I want to be like. She made a statement while we were studying "Romeo & Juliet." She said, if you ever have to choose between two people on who to spend your life with... choose the one who makes you laugh and you can talk to for hours. It doesn't matter how great the other one kisses or how much you want them. When you are old you will remember the one who you kissed but the one who made you laugh you will always think of and miss. I always wanted to ask her which one she had chosen; but I wasn't brave back then.
b. Don't settle for someone you can live with, be with someone you can't live without.
Yes, everyone and their dog will tell you how similar interests and compatibility are the big things. I am not as sure about those as I was at 18. If I wanted someone to just hang out, I have girlfriends. I need someone to balance me. Someone who calls me on my crazy and makes me better. Knifes don't stay sharp on their own. They need to be sharpened. I don't need someone to just tell me what I want to hear, I need honesty and someone who I can trust enough to tell me the truth even when it is the last thing I want to hear.
c. The right ones will stay the wrong ones will leave.
People who love you will make choices to be with you. Literally and figuratively. Cheating is leaving. How I spend my time and who I give it to says a lot about me. If I give up sleep or whatever for you... there is a reason. Anyone can be kind and sweet on a date. I don't want to spend extended time with everyone at 2 am ; that time is reserved for people I care about on a totally different plane.
d. When you know; you KNOW.
I believe that your heart will truly guide you. I believe all those lovely stories told by old men who watched a woman walk into somewhere, took one look at her, and then told his buddies he was gonna marry her, then promptly did. I personally have listened to a few of them(... my favorite one...)
He told me that he knew the exact second she walked into the door.
It was during a war...and they married quickly... and he left shortly there after.
After he got back they started a family and continued on with an amazing life.
Here's the part that melted my heart; She had never heard the story until she heard him tell it to me. I saw the sparkle in his eyes. She looked at him incredulously and teasingly called him a old fibber. He then promptly described her dress and how she wore her hair. The look on her face I will never forget. He wasn't a fibber. Truth is, he was man still in love with the woman who walked into that jazz club all those years ago. When you know, you know.
e. Crazy is better.
"People don't write sonnets about being compatible. Or novels about shared life goals and stimulating conversation The great loves are the crazy ones. " Anyone can make you smile... but not everyone can make you truly happy. Seek happy. Seek crazy.
f. Actions are the words.
It doesn't matter how often someone says "I love you" or says they care about you. If their actions don't say it... They don't. If you have to worry about if they care about you... they don't care enough.
Find the person who you'd rather stay up until 2 am.
Kiss the one who gives you butterflies.
Hold on to the person who reaches out for you without looking just to make sure you are there.
Be with the person who you are content just being in the same building with.
Anything else... Isn't crazy enough. ;)
Monday, May 6, 2013
Loss
I can not even begin to describe what loss feels like for other people. I consider it a gift that I often understand people on a real, raw level; however, I am thankful that I cannot understand their loss.
This last month has been a rollercoaster of loss. Babies taken too soon due to reasons that are beyond a magnitude that my simplicity can understand. All life is precious. There are no members of our society that shuld be considered "throw away." And yet, abuse, death, disease, illness, and accidents take people we love away from us every day.
I struggle with trying to find the "right words" to help people I love and care about when they are the ones hurting. Then I think back to my own life and remember that it wasn't always about the words; because frankly, the wrong words just make you angry. But more importantly it's about being a shadow. I can say, "I'm sorry." I can say, " This sucks." I can say, "I don't understand." or maybe there is a bigger picture.. but each and every one of those phrases could be said by a thousand other people. My role is to be the shadow. I mean the person who waits behind the ones I care about and.. well.. waits until the need me. When they need to talk. If they never want to talk but just want to breathe the same air, I can do that. I can shadow them and be there.
I know when my dad was accidentally taken from me;I was unable to process. I was unable to express what I needed. I KNEW I didn't need all the people who were in my face asking if I needed this or that or who wanted to hug. I didn't need them. I needed room to breathe...room to feel the air around me. All I knew was that I hurt, I didn't understand, and that somehow everything was different .. everything. Even the air around me felt.. Different.
And as I try to process the extreme loss of those near and far from me. I remember that loss is hard. I think about my own memories. They don't come in waves but often in little vingettes of memories.
The touch of a teeny tiny baby hand..
The gruff of beard...
the laughter of little kids...
God grant me the ability to be a shadow and be there for those I love when they need me when they need me. Help me to accept the path... because I am wise enough to know I won't ever understand.
God help me.
God help them.
Know their needs... give them peace.
Comfort.
Rest.
This last month has been a rollercoaster of loss. Babies taken too soon due to reasons that are beyond a magnitude that my simplicity can understand. All life is precious. There are no members of our society that shuld be considered "throw away." And yet, abuse, death, disease, illness, and accidents take people we love away from us every day.
I struggle with trying to find the "right words" to help people I love and care about when they are the ones hurting. Then I think back to my own life and remember that it wasn't always about the words; because frankly, the wrong words just make you angry. But more importantly it's about being a shadow. I can say, "I'm sorry." I can say, " This sucks." I can say, "I don't understand." or maybe there is a bigger picture.. but each and every one of those phrases could be said by a thousand other people. My role is to be the shadow. I mean the person who waits behind the ones I care about and.. well.. waits until the need me. When they need to talk. If they never want to talk but just want to breathe the same air, I can do that. I can shadow them and be there.
I know when my dad was accidentally taken from me;I was unable to process. I was unable to express what I needed. I KNEW I didn't need all the people who were in my face asking if I needed this or that or who wanted to hug. I didn't need them. I needed room to breathe...room to feel the air around me. All I knew was that I hurt, I didn't understand, and that somehow everything was different .. everything. Even the air around me felt.. Different.
And as I try to process the extreme loss of those near and far from me. I remember that loss is hard. I think about my own memories. They don't come in waves but often in little vingettes of memories.
The touch of a teeny tiny baby hand..
The gruff of beard...
the laughter of little kids...
God grant me the ability to be a shadow and be there for those I love when they need me when they need me. Help me to accept the path... because I am wise enough to know I won't ever understand.
God help me.
God help them.
Know their needs... give them peace.
Comfort.
Rest.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Gone VS Gained... Mom edition
I am naturally a worrier. I think up stuff. I contemplate. I ponder. I dream. I plan; although not literally as I am often motivated by emotions and gut instinct and less by logic. I worried about having kid(s)... I waited...
I waited 5 years to have my son. Trust me, that in itself is a crazy thing. I always said I didn't want kids, and when I finally starting "growing up" I decided I would like ONE girl. No boys. Just a girl. Somehow I had decided if I declared it and put in my order with God, he would see that I was correct in my assessment of what I wanted and what I "needed" and give it to me.
Things I have learned...
We get what we NEED and not just what we want..
God has a sense of humor...
& I must still be a sapling in the grand scheme of things as he enjoys seeing how far I can bend..
Anyway.. As I was saying. I wanted a girl. I even had her pictured in my head. Green eyes like my dad, red hair like the kid version of me, the ability to tan, adorable freckles across her nose and shoulders, and curls like my Aunt Fern. She would be lovely; And look a lot like Barbie's friend, Midge. But that wasn't something I necessarily discussed with people.
The moment the tech told me I was growing a male child I swallowed hard, blinked back the tears, and began the shifting my plans of my child like a rubrics cube. Gone were the cute bows, pony tails, and braids... Gone were the baby names that ended in "lee" Haylee, Kaylee, and a possible wild card of Charlee for my Grandpa Charlie and my daddy's middle name of Lee. Gone was the closeness I had with my momma that I would pass down to my lil pumpkin. Gone were the hours of prom dress shopping and convincing her dad to spend more on the "perfect dress"... Gone were late night painting of toenails and talking about boys... Gone was the image of what kinda momma I would be.
However; turns out... when you give up an "idea" of what you THINK you want you find out what you NEEDED in your life ( this applies to other situations as well )
I may have lost an "idea" but I in turn gained the "ideal" child. I gained a child who picks me all stages of "dandylion" flowers and holds them with such love and reverence it nearly makes my eyes water, I gained a knight who slays the dragons in my hallway and a warrior who kills the ninjas in my backyard all to protect me, I gained a logical side to balance my emotional impulse, I gained a tough guy.. I gained a man-child who opens the door for me and almost always uses Ma'm, I gained giant SQUISHED hugs that squeeze the breathe out of me, I gained counting kisses to make sure I had enough to sustain me for the day, I gained a small temper that makes me crazy and makes me miss my father, I gained a future man that will be too good for his wife because there isn't a woman who can love him like I do... and yet... I will smile and hug her and tell her she is the perfect woman if she and he are happy. I gained an understanding of the world .. there must be wild and rough things in it to make the beauty have balance and protection. I never understood it all until him.
This boy who constantly makes me wanna pull out my hair and yet touched my heart so much I hafta leave the room and cry because there is no other parent on duty to balance my girliness and he needs a strong influence that sometimes I fail at.
He is more than I could have ever asked for in life. And if someone had told me I would be a "boymom" in the future I would have given them a few choice words and some direction of where to go.. BUT
THIS boy..
This BOY..
He is what I needed in my life.
And again ... I worry..
Let me not fail him. Let me help to build a MAN, a future husband.. a father who is strong hearted for his kids. Let me show him love so deeply that when he finds his partner in life that he will recognize it like a best friend you have know for years.
Let me be the "boymom" and the mother I was chosen to be.
I waited 5 years to have my son. Trust me, that in itself is a crazy thing. I always said I didn't want kids, and when I finally starting "growing up" I decided I would like ONE girl. No boys. Just a girl. Somehow I had decided if I declared it and put in my order with God, he would see that I was correct in my assessment of what I wanted and what I "needed" and give it to me.
Things I have learned...
We get what we NEED and not just what we want..
God has a sense of humor...
& I must still be a sapling in the grand scheme of things as he enjoys seeing how far I can bend..
Anyway.. As I was saying. I wanted a girl. I even had her pictured in my head. Green eyes like my dad, red hair like the kid version of me, the ability to tan, adorable freckles across her nose and shoulders, and curls like my Aunt Fern. She would be lovely; And look a lot like Barbie's friend, Midge. But that wasn't something I necessarily discussed with people.
The moment the tech told me I was growing a male child I swallowed hard, blinked back the tears, and began the shifting my plans of my child like a rubrics cube. Gone were the cute bows, pony tails, and braids... Gone were the baby names that ended in "lee" Haylee, Kaylee, and a possible wild card of Charlee for my Grandpa Charlie and my daddy's middle name of Lee. Gone was the closeness I had with my momma that I would pass down to my lil pumpkin. Gone were the hours of prom dress shopping and convincing her dad to spend more on the "perfect dress"... Gone were late night painting of toenails and talking about boys... Gone was the image of what kinda momma I would be.
However; turns out... when you give up an "idea" of what you THINK you want you find out what you NEEDED in your life ( this applies to other situations as well )
I may have lost an "idea" but I in turn gained the "ideal" child. I gained a child who picks me all stages of "dandylion" flowers and holds them with such love and reverence it nearly makes my eyes water, I gained a knight who slays the dragons in my hallway and a warrior who kills the ninjas in my backyard all to protect me, I gained a logical side to balance my emotional impulse, I gained a tough guy.. I gained a man-child who opens the door for me and almost always uses Ma'm, I gained giant SQUISHED hugs that squeeze the breathe out of me, I gained counting kisses to make sure I had enough to sustain me for the day, I gained a small temper that makes me crazy and makes me miss my father, I gained a future man that will be too good for his wife because there isn't a woman who can love him like I do... and yet... I will smile and hug her and tell her she is the perfect woman if she and he are happy. I gained an understanding of the world .. there must be wild and rough things in it to make the beauty have balance and protection. I never understood it all until him.
This boy who constantly makes me wanna pull out my hair and yet touched my heart so much I hafta leave the room and cry because there is no other parent on duty to balance my girliness and he needs a strong influence that sometimes I fail at.
He is more than I could have ever asked for in life. And if someone had told me I would be a "boymom" in the future I would have given them a few choice words and some direction of where to go.. BUT
THIS boy..
This BOY..
He is what I needed in my life.
And again ... I worry..
Let me not fail him. Let me help to build a MAN, a future husband.. a father who is strong hearted for his kids. Let me show him love so deeply that when he finds his partner in life that he will recognize it like a best friend you have know for years.
Let me be the "boymom" and the mother I was chosen to be.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
The Weight of Caring
Everything on the planet Earth has weight; as in the amount of mass that gravity effects. I understand that on a purely normal level where if I pick up something with more mass it feels heavy. I am sure all the Mr. Wizards of the world will argue that it's more complex but the simple truth is... I know what I need to know about it. My mass keeps me on Earth.. when I eat more cookies I get more mass..etc.
However the longer I teach and interact with people I am beginning to understand that the internal weight of situations and people is often grandeur and far, far, heavier than the actual physical weight of things.
For example...
When my "kiddos" past or present trusts me with the following info...
- I'm gay and I dunno how to tell my momma.
- I think I might be pregnant.
- My dad was killed last night.
- I think I am miscarrying...right now...
- I'm in a relationship, and I love my girlfriend, but I cheated and now I'm pregnant.
-I need help.
- My bff has started cutting themselves and I'm scared for her.
- I'm addicted to drugs and I need rehab. My momma doesn't even know I'm on drugs. How do I tell her and get her to put me in rehab?
- I'm scared of.... (this one has changed faces too many times ...)
- I don't feel normal because...
- Is it normal that I...
Over the years I have truly had to work on not allowing my face to react. I have gained a whole new understanding of other people and the demons they face. I broke out of the box that I lived in and started to see the world through eyes and experiences that were far removed from my own. I found out that all the crazy, shady, dramatic, or hurt in my past made me the exact person that other people needed. I FINALLY understood that my history my past, my hurt, my pain, had all lead me to this point, to this moment... because it is so much bigger than me.
And....
I learned....
that caring for other people holds it's own version of mass. It weighs you down. It pulls at you...drags your heart down. The worries I have for other people stick around in the back of my mind like cobwebs. They are small and often undetected. They can be ignored for a small amount of time but eventually I notice them and then.. all of the sudden I am very aware of them and the cobwebs grow into VW bugs sitting in the corner of my mind. I try to cover them up and convince myself and other people they aren't there... but it's hard not to notice a VW bug just sitting in the corner.
Caring for others has a cost. It mentally and often physically has mass for the emphatic person.
However; the really interesting factor that few people state about the weight of caring for others...
it is totally worth it.
My heart is full. And while I give up sleep worrying I also sleep more restfully knowing I helped someone. I love that. I know some of you might think I am simple in my assessment of the world and that my ideas are not fully developed..blah blah blah.. BUT.. I love the simplicity of knowing I was given this golden opportunity and I didn't run and I didn't give up. I took the moment and used what I had and made it better.
Yes, the weight of caring and compassion is heavy and often sits in the corner of my mind no matter how hard I try to cover it up and pretend it doesn't effect ( & also affect) me...
BUT
for me,
It's worth it.
And as long as it does I will hand over my heartstrings to be played, my nerve and sinew to be stretched, and my thoughts to be shared. Because for me, it's worth it.
And I will carry the weight.
However the longer I teach and interact with people I am beginning to understand that the internal weight of situations and people is often grandeur and far, far, heavier than the actual physical weight of things.
For example...
When my "kiddos" past or present trusts me with the following info...
- I'm gay and I dunno how to tell my momma.
- I think I might be pregnant.
- My dad was killed last night.
- I think I am miscarrying...right now...
- I'm in a relationship, and I love my girlfriend, but I cheated and now I'm pregnant.
-I need help.
- My bff has started cutting themselves and I'm scared for her.
- I'm addicted to drugs and I need rehab. My momma doesn't even know I'm on drugs. How do I tell her and get her to put me in rehab?
- I'm scared of.... (this one has changed faces too many times ...)
- I don't feel normal because...
- Is it normal that I...
Over the years I have truly had to work on not allowing my face to react. I have gained a whole new understanding of other people and the demons they face. I broke out of the box that I lived in and started to see the world through eyes and experiences that were far removed from my own. I found out that all the crazy, shady, dramatic, or hurt in my past made me the exact person that other people needed. I FINALLY understood that my history my past, my hurt, my pain, had all lead me to this point, to this moment... because it is so much bigger than me.
And....
I learned....
that caring for other people holds it's own version of mass. It weighs you down. It pulls at you...drags your heart down. The worries I have for other people stick around in the back of my mind like cobwebs. They are small and often undetected. They can be ignored for a small amount of time but eventually I notice them and then.. all of the sudden I am very aware of them and the cobwebs grow into VW bugs sitting in the corner of my mind. I try to cover them up and convince myself and other people they aren't there... but it's hard not to notice a VW bug just sitting in the corner.
Caring for others has a cost. It mentally and often physically has mass for the emphatic person.
However; the really interesting factor that few people state about the weight of caring for others...
it is totally worth it.
My heart is full. And while I give up sleep worrying I also sleep more restfully knowing I helped someone. I love that. I know some of you might think I am simple in my assessment of the world and that my ideas are not fully developed..blah blah blah.. BUT.. I love the simplicity of knowing I was given this golden opportunity and I didn't run and I didn't give up. I took the moment and used what I had and made it better.
Yes, the weight of caring and compassion is heavy and often sits in the corner of my mind no matter how hard I try to cover it up and pretend it doesn't effect ( & also affect) me...
BUT
for me,
It's worth it.
And as long as it does I will hand over my heartstrings to be played, my nerve and sinew to be stretched, and my thoughts to be shared. Because for me, it's worth it.
And I will carry the weight.
Monday, April 29, 2013
I finally slay the "What IF" Monster...
Today I sit at my computer thinking about the paths my life has taken.
As tempting as it may be.. I don't wish to change anything about my life.
I refuse to fall victim to the what if monster and let it slay my peace or happiness.
IF.
Some have told that my life would be better if I had never been married before. To them I argue that I learned how to be married, how to fight, how to learn to follow my heart, how to give everything of myself even though I thought it would end poorly, I gained the most breathtakingly amazing child who I am proud of daily and yet worry about nearly as often. Through marriage I learned who I am, what I'm not, what I will and won't put up with, and what I want... in so many different ways.
IF
I had never moved across the state I would have never gone to college... I would have never become a teacher... I can't imagine if I had never met some of my students and all the amazing things I have learned from them. I would have never gotten some of the trust and love I feel some comfortable accepting. I would have never found my own "voice". I would have never started writing...and writing has kept me sane in ways that I will share with someone someday.. just not the WWW. ;)
IF
I had never tried to make things work with my son's dad... I wouldn't understand how it feels to be totally in love with a human whom you know will leave and start their own family because I would have never had my son,.. whom I know will say IHATEYOU, whom I know will roll his eyes at me and think I am a fool.. The child who's eyes alone I am amazed at. I never understood the momma tigris self sacrificing love until my son. I would never have pictured myself a single momma.. but.. I am a proud to be his momma everyday.. even on the days I see the writing on the wall of what kind of teenager he will become..
IF
I didn't embrace all the chaos and drama that I have lived I would never know how strong I am. I wouldn't understand when people try to tell me I am a survivor. I was just me in my own eyes for so long that I never sat down and evaluated how much I have overcome... endured... and beat. Drama didn't break me... it pushed me around and blackened my eyes.. it knocked me (literally) on my butt.. BUT I got up.
IF
I hadn't followed the path I am on I would have never met some of my favorite people in my life. Would have never understood love through every aspect.. from best friends... to parenthood.. to the love of my life...the simple.. the hard... the weird.. the crazy.. the take my breath away... everything..
And so.. I hold the sword of understanding.. and I slay the what if monster finally.
Because understanding myself & being content are more than the what if monster can ever take from me.
As tempting as it may be.. I don't wish to change anything about my life.
I refuse to fall victim to the what if monster and let it slay my peace or happiness.
IF.
Some have told that my life would be better if I had never been married before. To them I argue that I learned how to be married, how to fight, how to learn to follow my heart, how to give everything of myself even though I thought it would end poorly, I gained the most breathtakingly amazing child who I am proud of daily and yet worry about nearly as often. Through marriage I learned who I am, what I'm not, what I will and won't put up with, and what I want... in so many different ways.
IF
I had never moved across the state I would have never gone to college... I would have never become a teacher... I can't imagine if I had never met some of my students and all the amazing things I have learned from them. I would have never gotten some of the trust and love I feel some comfortable accepting. I would have never found my own "voice". I would have never started writing...and writing has kept me sane in ways that I will share with someone someday.. just not the WWW. ;)
IF
I had never tried to make things work with my son's dad... I wouldn't understand how it feels to be totally in love with a human whom you know will leave and start their own family because I would have never had my son,.. whom I know will say IHATEYOU, whom I know will roll his eyes at me and think I am a fool.. The child who's eyes alone I am amazed at. I never understood the momma tigris self sacrificing love until my son. I would never have pictured myself a single momma.. but.. I am a proud to be his momma everyday.. even on the days I see the writing on the wall of what kind of teenager he will become..
IF
I didn't embrace all the chaos and drama that I have lived I would never know how strong I am. I wouldn't understand when people try to tell me I am a survivor. I was just me in my own eyes for so long that I never sat down and evaluated how much I have overcome... endured... and beat. Drama didn't break me... it pushed me around and blackened my eyes.. it knocked me (literally) on my butt.. BUT I got up.
IF
I hadn't followed the path I am on I would have never met some of my favorite people in my life. Would have never understood love through every aspect.. from best friends... to parenthood.. to the love of my life...the simple.. the hard... the weird.. the crazy.. the take my breath away... everything..
And so.. I hold the sword of understanding.. and I slay the what if monster finally.
Because understanding myself & being content are more than the what if monster can ever take from me.
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