I've been trying to consciously keep better track of my kids funny moments so that I can jot them down. It's not easy when we are this damn busy running around. But I found one!
This fall my husband was out of town so I was the only option to work "our" shift for the Football concession stand. A chore every sports parent has to do in fall season. Both boys wanted to go to the football game anyway so it was a Win-Win. At least for us, not the Football team as someone had to lose.
Anyway my 15 year-old took off for his band friends which I am not cool enough for. (HA!) My 12 year-old, I was trying to keep some what of a leash on, considering. This is my child that had he been lost in the airport in England at age three would have found us before we could have found him. However, I was trying to be the parent somewhere between helicopter and free range.
I never say him all night. When I did find him it was time to bug out so he waved me over to a dark corner under the bleachers. I felt like I was meeting a drug dealer. Not that I have ever done that, at a football game. Anyway I told him I was headed to the car and that I needed him and his friend to head toward the car when the clock ran down to 2 minutes so that we could get out of there before it was a madhouse. He said OK that's fine. Just don't talk to me when I'm with my friends -we are hanging out by the ticket booth.
Excuse me?
"You know, just pretend you don;t know me when you leave, cause you have to walk by us and Z said you can be a real dork in front of his friends."
I stood there stunned under the freaking bleachers as he looked both ways before running away from me. LIKE I WAS THE DRUG DEALER. or worse, like I was his mom.
Now I am not so naive to think that I am the cool mom. In fact I have never aspired to be the cool mom. When I as in high school the cool mom's where the ones that stocked the garage fridge with beer or kept their pot in their nightstand. I AM not that mom. But being called a dork by band kids?
Am I in trouble??
Tuesday, November 27, 2018
Sunday, September 16, 2018
Why haven't I written more....
The sole reason of this blog, truly, was so that someday when my boys said "Where's MY baby book? You don't have any pictures of my third birthday?! You don't remember my first words." I could say no, BUT I wrote down a lot of other stuff.
When they were younger it was easier. They were cute, the stories were cute. By Junior high, the stories are not so cute anymore. I seem to start to write about them and it turns into a rant about the world we live in. A friend was lamenting the other day about these ages and the era of - FORTNITE. Why didn't anyone tell me about this! They said, Oh babies are so hard you'll be so tired, but you will forget it and do it all over again. No one said, This is as good as it gets. Being tired, being in control, knowing where they are at and what they are doing. Enjoy it. It goes too fast.
sigh.........................
So I'm here to write to my boys. Inhale that baby smell, everyday, even at 3 am when you have been up for 24 hours and sleep is not in the near future. Tickle that toddler, kiss that curious questioner, laugh at the laboriousness of teaching a pre-schooler anything. (because you will say it 500 times before it sinks in) Smile at shoes on the wrong feet, and Batman in the backseat on Sunday Morning. In all fairness, you did say "Dress-up clothes".
Be patient with the I hate broccoli, I love broccoli, I hate broccoli, I love broccoli. When you are teaching them to tie a shoe, ride a bike, or set the table. Let them help you crack eggs, make cookies, clean the house, the yard, the car and don't worry if it is messier after you are finished. I promise they are learning.
What comes next gets messier and scarier than a skinned knee. A little cold. A tummy-ache. Did I let you cry enough? Too much? Becomes, can he get expelled, kicked off the team, arrested? Laying awake at night to watch them breathe becomes laying awake at night wondering if they are breathing and where? Making yourself sick. What kind of a parent am I? How did this happen?
My boys haven't stopped being cute. Quite the opposite. They are very cute, beautiful, smart, athletic, kind, funny, talented. I would rather hang out with them then anyone else. They are awesome. Maybe that's part of it. They are awesome, they have lives that are getting bigger and mine is getting smaller. I revolve around them. They are my Sun. I am their Pluto.....but that's ok.
But what I will say to them as new parents is the late nights and worry will not end, you just won't always have them in your arms. So while you do enjoy every moment you can. Sleep when they do, pray, laugh, and love, love love. Be a lighthouse of love beaming out to them at all times so they can always find their way home.
Ask yourself a lot - What would Grandma do? Then do that thing. Do not wait 50 years to enjoy yours kid's kids. Spoil them once in a while, play with them often, take a pictures (or 500), write a blog or a note or a post. Read to them, sing to them, dance with them no matter how old they get. Kiss them every chance you get even if they are 6'3" on Varsity and have a girlfriend.
No matter what - keep the light beaming. I promise I will.
When they were younger it was easier. They were cute, the stories were cute. By Junior high, the stories are not so cute anymore. I seem to start to write about them and it turns into a rant about the world we live in. A friend was lamenting the other day about these ages and the era of - FORTNITE. Why didn't anyone tell me about this! They said, Oh babies are so hard you'll be so tired, but you will forget it and do it all over again. No one said, This is as good as it gets. Being tired, being in control, knowing where they are at and what they are doing. Enjoy it. It goes too fast.
sigh.........................
So I'm here to write to my boys. Inhale that baby smell, everyday, even at 3 am when you have been up for 24 hours and sleep is not in the near future. Tickle that toddler, kiss that curious questioner, laugh at the laboriousness of teaching a pre-schooler anything. (because you will say it 500 times before it sinks in) Smile at shoes on the wrong feet, and Batman in the backseat on Sunday Morning. In all fairness, you did say "Dress-up clothes".
Be patient with the I hate broccoli, I love broccoli, I hate broccoli, I love broccoli. When you are teaching them to tie a shoe, ride a bike, or set the table. Let them help you crack eggs, make cookies, clean the house, the yard, the car and don't worry if it is messier after you are finished. I promise they are learning.
What comes next gets messier and scarier than a skinned knee. A little cold. A tummy-ache. Did I let you cry enough? Too much? Becomes, can he get expelled, kicked off the team, arrested? Laying awake at night to watch them breathe becomes laying awake at night wondering if they are breathing and where? Making yourself sick. What kind of a parent am I? How did this happen?
My boys haven't stopped being cute. Quite the opposite. They are very cute, beautiful, smart, athletic, kind, funny, talented. I would rather hang out with them then anyone else. They are awesome. Maybe that's part of it. They are awesome, they have lives that are getting bigger and mine is getting smaller. I revolve around them. They are my Sun. I am their Pluto.....but that's ok.
But what I will say to them as new parents is the late nights and worry will not end, you just won't always have them in your arms. So while you do enjoy every moment you can. Sleep when they do, pray, laugh, and love, love love. Be a lighthouse of love beaming out to them at all times so they can always find their way home.
Ask yourself a lot - What would Grandma do? Then do that thing. Do not wait 50 years to enjoy yours kid's kids. Spoil them once in a while, play with them often, take a pictures (or 500), write a blog or a note or a post. Read to them, sing to them, dance with them no matter how old they get. Kiss them every chance you get even if they are 6'3" on Varsity and have a girlfriend.
No matter what - keep the light beaming. I promise I will.
Friday, August 24, 2018
Please do as I say....not as I did
Do you ever feel, as a parent, that a lot of what you are trying to say to your child is -
do as I say -Please! Not as I did!
There is a lot of debate over the merits of telling your child what you did in your youth. Do you admit to smoking pot, getting drunk, dropping acid at a Phish concert? (none of which I did of course) Or do you just repeat the Reagan Era slogan drilled into our heads -
Where do I stand on this issue? Not the Just say no, that was the worst campaign ever. Right up there with abstinence. On whether to be fully and completely honest with my kids about all the stupid stuff that I did in my youth, where I was almost arrested, expelled, beat up, or killed. I sometimes wonder how I made it through my teenage years alive.
I just ran into someone who grew up about 30 minutes from where I did. Another small rural community where Friday night football, fights, and beer where the norm. We were discussing our misadventures in front of his now grown son who was standing there aghast. His son said "You never told us these stories!" To which he immediately replied "Now can you see why?"
So it brings me back to my question, How much do I share with my kids? They know that my dad was an alcoholic, my uncle a crack addict, that addiction runs heavily in my family. I have talked about how that affects not just the person's life, but everyone around them. But they have never seen it - because neither my husband or I drink or socialize- at all.
I was over exposed if that's possible. My parents were either out drinking or hosting the debacle every Saturday night my entire childhood. I was mixing a mean Gin & Tonic with a twist by age 7. I knew the difference between Wild Turkey and Jim Beam. Turkey you served to the hunter/fishermen crew, Beam you served to the Doctor/Judge/Banker crowd. Beer was beer - it just had to be cold and don't you dare shake it up. Always pour generous, use a tall glass for the fisherman and the good glasses for the Judge, just keep them coming.
That still didn't stop me from getting drunker than a skunk at maybe 12-13 years old when I ended up tagging along to an open air. (it's a country kid thing) I think my older siblings were there somewhere, I can't remember now, but what I do know is that upon walking in someone handed me a half gallon jug full of beer. In all the times that my parents threw those parties, all the drinks that I made and served, I never understood that those people were so "happy" not because I made them a great drink, but because they were drunk.
How do you explain drunk to someone? Especially a teenager? Without making it sound like the coolest thing ever?
So you drink a little and start to feel good, happy, social, carefree. After a few more drinks then you start to feel even happier, invincible, and maybe a little dizzy. The next stage everything around you becomes the funniest thing you have ever seen or heard and you want to tell everyone but they can't seem to understand you anymore. Your going to start getting really close to people and talking really loud, but they still won't understand you. Oh yeah and also at this point, you maybe having trouble standing up so your going to be hanging on to them like Kate Winslet held on to the Titanic.
Then you will throw up, pass out, piss yourself, and wake up feeling like you licked a cat all night long while someone used your head for a bongo drum. And they still are. It's Awesome!
I only had to drink once. That once. That I was taken to an open air, given a half gallon jug of beer, and do not remember the rest of the night. I do remember being kicked awake in a strange house soaking wet from the waist down feeling like total shit by someone yelling "your mom's here dumb ass and she's pissed". I NEVER EVER wanted to do that again.
Is this the story that I tell my kids so that they don't have to go through it? Is it something that you have to go through to figure out you never want to do that again? This is what I wrestle with considering the struggles my family has with drugs. What if they don't hate it? What if they think that is Awesome? We talk about drugs and alcohol and how they are bad for your body in general and how dangerous it can be but I feel like our talks always end the same way.....Just Say No.
do as I say -Please! Not as I did!
There is a lot of debate over the merits of telling your child what you did in your youth. Do you admit to smoking pot, getting drunk, dropping acid at a Phish concert? (none of which I did of course) Or do you just repeat the Reagan Era slogan drilled into our heads -
Where do I stand on this issue? Not the Just say no, that was the worst campaign ever. Right up there with abstinence. On whether to be fully and completely honest with my kids about all the stupid stuff that I did in my youth, where I was almost arrested, expelled, beat up, or killed. I sometimes wonder how I made it through my teenage years alive.
I just ran into someone who grew up about 30 minutes from where I did. Another small rural community where Friday night football, fights, and beer where the norm. We were discussing our misadventures in front of his now grown son who was standing there aghast. His son said "You never told us these stories!" To which he immediately replied "Now can you see why?"
So it brings me back to my question, How much do I share with my kids? They know that my dad was an alcoholic, my uncle a crack addict, that addiction runs heavily in my family. I have talked about how that affects not just the person's life, but everyone around them. But they have never seen it - because neither my husband or I drink or socialize- at all.
I was over exposed if that's possible. My parents were either out drinking or hosting the debacle every Saturday night my entire childhood. I was mixing a mean Gin & Tonic with a twist by age 7. I knew the difference between Wild Turkey and Jim Beam. Turkey you served to the hunter/fishermen crew, Beam you served to the Doctor/Judge/Banker crowd. Beer was beer - it just had to be cold and don't you dare shake it up. Always pour generous, use a tall glass for the fisherman and the good glasses for the Judge, just keep them coming.
That still didn't stop me from getting drunker than a skunk at maybe 12-13 years old when I ended up tagging along to an open air. (it's a country kid thing) I think my older siblings were there somewhere, I can't remember now, but what I do know is that upon walking in someone handed me a half gallon jug full of beer. In all the times that my parents threw those parties, all the drinks that I made and served, I never understood that those people were so "happy" not because I made them a great drink, but because they were drunk.
How do you explain drunk to someone? Especially a teenager? Without making it sound like the coolest thing ever?
So you drink a little and start to feel good, happy, social, carefree. After a few more drinks then you start to feel even happier, invincible, and maybe a little dizzy. The next stage everything around you becomes the funniest thing you have ever seen or heard and you want to tell everyone but they can't seem to understand you anymore. Your going to start getting really close to people and talking really loud, but they still won't understand you. Oh yeah and also at this point, you maybe having trouble standing up so your going to be hanging on to them like Kate Winslet held on to the Titanic.
Then you will throw up, pass out, piss yourself, and wake up feeling like you licked a cat all night long while someone used your head for a bongo drum. And they still are. It's Awesome!
I only had to drink once. That once. That I was taken to an open air, given a half gallon jug of beer, and do not remember the rest of the night. I do remember being kicked awake in a strange house soaking wet from the waist down feeling like total shit by someone yelling "your mom's here dumb ass and she's pissed". I NEVER EVER wanted to do that again.
Is this the story that I tell my kids so that they don't have to go through it? Is it something that you have to go through to figure out you never want to do that again? This is what I wrestle with considering the struggles my family has with drugs. What if they don't hate it? What if they think that is Awesome? We talk about drugs and alcohol and how they are bad for your body in general and how dangerous it can be but I feel like our talks always end the same way.....Just Say No.
Saturday, August 18, 2018
Boys need real chores
I think I've noted before, but it is worth saying again since I am desperately trying to get paid for listening to podcasts, but I listen to A Lot of podcasts. Recently I was listening to Trevor Noah, The Daily Show Ears Edition when I heard him riff on this....
NPR-girls do more chores than boys
so it made me do some more digging....
NPR _ Why can't he do the dishes
My boys have always had a few chores, not enough to get an allowance. Not that we would have paid and allowance. Hell if anyone gets an allowance around here, it starts with me! But when I went to work part-time and they were home alone in the mornings for a few hours I started leaving a longer list for each boy of what had to be done before I got home. This has been a struggle since day one. The first summer I came home everyday to nothing being done so by Friday I was screaming at everyone while "we all" did the chores.
By the second summer I got smart and started screaming at them by Wednesday so that by Friday, when I am not at work, it was only half the screaming chore time. This summer I started with screaming at the beginning thinking I would nip this in the bud before it even buds. Ok. Better. I only had to come home and scream the chores done about once a month. Well, mainly because I have run out of energy and figure cleaning once a month is enough.
You may be asking at this point, What is your point? With chores and this blog? My point is that I do not want my boys growing up thinking that girls cook, clean, do the laundry, shopping, scheduling, and picking up after everyone- everyday. I want them to understand it is the Twenty First Century and men CAN DO ALL THAT TOO!!!
Men can cook dinner and change diapers. Women can mow the lawn and change the oil. And it is not like they have not seen their mom do anything a boy can do. It's also about being aware, which is what we discussed this summer between screaming chores done. I am not the only one in the house that can see the sink is full of dishes, I'm just the only one that cares. Working for a property management company that owns rental units in a University area is great for getting my point across.
Bringing home stories of maggots covering a kitchen floor so thick the Property Manager thought someone had spilled a bag of flour - until they started to move. During an eviction recently the Property Manager thought the mattress was covered in mold, until it started to move. Bedbugs. Or the Baseball players house that smelled so foul from spit cans and beer that we had to tear out all the carpet. They had converted a small back bedroom in to the "recycling center". By the time they moved out she couldn't open the door all the way because it was full of beer cans. Don't think this is just boy houses. The maggots were in a house full of girls and they have trashed many a rental unit.
In his riff on this article Trevor Noah mentions that many boys get paid for chores like taking a shower and girls get paid for cooking or laundry. His take is very funny and accurate because 13 year-old boys do stink, badly. And yes, I have resorted to paying them to get in the shower. But not without letting them know that if they ever want to have a partner in life they will need to take hygiene WAY more seriously.
All of this comes back to me being that nagging bitchy mom who doesn't pay her kids to pick up their rooms, vacuum and dust the house, or mow the lawn. But I also do not charge them to live in my house-meals included- or the gas money to get them back and forth to soccer five nights a week. Because, as I have told them since they were two, my job is to keep them safe and make them a gentlemen.
I hope their wives appreciate it.
NPR-girls do more chores than boys
so it made me do some more digging....
NPR _ Why can't he do the dishes
My boys have always had a few chores, not enough to get an allowance. Not that we would have paid and allowance. Hell if anyone gets an allowance around here, it starts with me! But when I went to work part-time and they were home alone in the mornings for a few hours I started leaving a longer list for each boy of what had to be done before I got home. This has been a struggle since day one. The first summer I came home everyday to nothing being done so by Friday I was screaming at everyone while "we all" did the chores.
By the second summer I got smart and started screaming at them by Wednesday so that by Friday, when I am not at work, it was only half the screaming chore time. This summer I started with screaming at the beginning thinking I would nip this in the bud before it even buds. Ok. Better. I only had to come home and scream the chores done about once a month. Well, mainly because I have run out of energy and figure cleaning once a month is enough.
You may be asking at this point, What is your point? With chores and this blog? My point is that I do not want my boys growing up thinking that girls cook, clean, do the laundry, shopping, scheduling, and picking up after everyone- everyday. I want them to understand it is the Twenty First Century and men CAN DO ALL THAT TOO!!!
Men can cook dinner and change diapers. Women can mow the lawn and change the oil. And it is not like they have not seen their mom do anything a boy can do. It's also about being aware, which is what we discussed this summer between screaming chores done. I am not the only one in the house that can see the sink is full of dishes, I'm just the only one that cares. Working for a property management company that owns rental units in a University area is great for getting my point across.
Bringing home stories of maggots covering a kitchen floor so thick the Property Manager thought someone had spilled a bag of flour - until they started to move. During an eviction recently the Property Manager thought the mattress was covered in mold, until it started to move. Bedbugs. Or the Baseball players house that smelled so foul from spit cans and beer that we had to tear out all the carpet. They had converted a small back bedroom in to the "recycling center". By the time they moved out she couldn't open the door all the way because it was full of beer cans. Don't think this is just boy houses. The maggots were in a house full of girls and they have trashed many a rental unit.
In his riff on this article Trevor Noah mentions that many boys get paid for chores like taking a shower and girls get paid for cooking or laundry. His take is very funny and accurate because 13 year-old boys do stink, badly. And yes, I have resorted to paying them to get in the shower. But not without letting them know that if they ever want to have a partner in life they will need to take hygiene WAY more seriously.
All of this comes back to me being that nagging bitchy mom who doesn't pay her kids to pick up their rooms, vacuum and dust the house, or mow the lawn. But I also do not charge them to live in my house-meals included- or the gas money to get them back and forth to soccer five nights a week. Because, as I have told them since they were two, my job is to keep them safe and make them a gentlemen.
I hope their wives appreciate it.
Sunday, June 17, 2018
When life becomes a Dystopian Novel
There is a new app form our Public Library that suggests books based on your reading habits. Considering that I use only one card for all of us (even though the boys have had a library card since they were 5) I think I broke the app. I read a very eclectic variety and then being summer I also checked out books for the my boy's.
One of the books it suggested was The Giver. I knew that it was made into a movie fairly recently and honestly I could not remember if I had read it, or one of the boys did, or if I just saw the movie trailer. So I downloaded the series on my Kindle. I am currently reading book three in the series.
And this morning while I was cooking breakfast I started thinking - I am not reading a dystopian novel - I am living it!
How many people: children, teens, young adults, have to be diagnosed with Cancer and poisoned with Chemo to save their lives? How much of the Ice caps need to melt, and plastic needs to be found in oceans, and fresh water disappear. How many natural disasters have to happen earlier and stronger and further in. And not to mention the leadership or lack there of, weapons of mass destruction, and school shootings. Obesity, starvation, Ultra-Rich, Ultra-Poor, Republicans, Democrats, Communists, the gaps get wider, greater, stronger.....
I could go on and on, but I am already having a panic attack writing this. I am not totally sure what my gift is, although I have always thought it was writing, but this I do know. This is not a drill. We are no longer a maybe. We can no longer pretend it is not happening or expect the next generation to take care of it. We are all responsible for this world and for each other, because we are in this together. Destruction, Dystopia, or Destiny. If you do not choose someone else will.
One of the books it suggested was The Giver. I knew that it was made into a movie fairly recently and honestly I could not remember if I had read it, or one of the boys did, or if I just saw the movie trailer. So I downloaded the series on my Kindle. I am currently reading book three in the series.
And this morning while I was cooking breakfast I started thinking - I am not reading a dystopian novel - I am living it!
How many people: children, teens, young adults, have to be diagnosed with Cancer and poisoned with Chemo to save their lives? How much of the Ice caps need to melt, and plastic needs to be found in oceans, and fresh water disappear. How many natural disasters have to happen earlier and stronger and further in. And not to mention the leadership or lack there of, weapons of mass destruction, and school shootings. Obesity, starvation, Ultra-Rich, Ultra-Poor, Republicans, Democrats, Communists, the gaps get wider, greater, stronger.....
I could go on and on, but I am already having a panic attack writing this. I am not totally sure what my gift is, although I have always thought it was writing, but this I do know. This is not a drill. We are no longer a maybe. We can no longer pretend it is not happening or expect the next generation to take care of it. We are all responsible for this world and for each other, because we are in this together. Destruction, Dystopia, or Destiny. If you do not choose someone else will.
Thursday, May 17, 2018
Help, Thanks, Wow
Anne Lamott wrote a book called Help, Thanks, WOW:The Three Essential Prayers. I was introduced to this writer by a neighbor who gave me this book just before my mastectomy. I liked the book and I am glad that I own it. I'm never sure about giving a book to others though - I always wonder - What if they hate it?
A beautiful family that I know is going through an unimaginable time. The woman is a friend from college, we were in a sorority together albeit briefly when I was at University. She met her husband there, after I had transferred, but I have met him several times since as we all live in the same community. She has two handsome boys about the same age as my oldest son. Her husband has cancer.
I'm not on Facebook so the news that this is happening and hospice has been called in has taken my breath away. How quickly my life has become small. A circle, the size of my family. The day is filled with our stuff, our busy, and then I go to bed. The only places I frequent are work, the grocery store, and the places that my kids need to be.
At first it was a very conscience choice. It was a choice I made to insulate myself from the ugliness of a small community. The gossip, the clique's, the politics, all the stuff that I suck at and that make me feel like that 12 year old bullied girl all over again. But here is the problem with insulating myself - it's also isolating myself. And now, I live in a small community that can rally in times like these for a family going through something heart breaking, and I am not in the circle.
I know that I need to reach out - not only to my friend - but to people in general. I know that I need to widen my circle. But as the saying goes...Can you teach an old dog new tricks?
For someone who fancy's themselves a writer, I struggle for words right now. I want to tell the family of the impact their love and light has brought to others. That seeing a couple so perfectly matched makes me believe in SoulMates not just RoomMates. Watching them raise two amazing young men and interact in their community is more than inspiring. It sets the bar high for the rest of us.
More than that, I want to reach out with my words and wrap them all in love and support. Giving them a literal, or literary hug. I wish that somehow, my mere words could convey warmth and comfort in this devastating time, but those words seem to evade us all. If only my words could conjure the Angels, I would write them, shout them, sing them.....but I end up with only one.
Help.
It's ok that someone else has the words, writes the prayers. I'll write the jokes. Right now all I can think of, is Help. Please dear God, send them your Angels to wrap them in all they love you have.
Thanks.
A beautiful family that I know is going through an unimaginable time. The woman is a friend from college, we were in a sorority together albeit briefly when I was at University. She met her husband there, after I had transferred, but I have met him several times since as we all live in the same community. She has two handsome boys about the same age as my oldest son. Her husband has cancer.
I'm not on Facebook so the news that this is happening and hospice has been called in has taken my breath away. How quickly my life has become small. A circle, the size of my family. The day is filled with our stuff, our busy, and then I go to bed. The only places I frequent are work, the grocery store, and the places that my kids need to be.
At first it was a very conscience choice. It was a choice I made to insulate myself from the ugliness of a small community. The gossip, the clique's, the politics, all the stuff that I suck at and that make me feel like that 12 year old bullied girl all over again. But here is the problem with insulating myself - it's also isolating myself. And now, I live in a small community that can rally in times like these for a family going through something heart breaking, and I am not in the circle.
I know that I need to reach out - not only to my friend - but to people in general. I know that I need to widen my circle. But as the saying goes...Can you teach an old dog new tricks?
For someone who fancy's themselves a writer, I struggle for words right now. I want to tell the family of the impact their love and light has brought to others. That seeing a couple so perfectly matched makes me believe in SoulMates not just RoomMates. Watching them raise two amazing young men and interact in their community is more than inspiring. It sets the bar high for the rest of us.
More than that, I want to reach out with my words and wrap them all in love and support. Giving them a literal, or literary hug. I wish that somehow, my mere words could convey warmth and comfort in this devastating time, but those words seem to evade us all. If only my words could conjure the Angels, I would write them, shout them, sing them.....but I end up with only one.
Help.
It's ok that someone else has the words, writes the prayers. I'll write the jokes. Right now all I can think of, is Help. Please dear God, send them your Angels to wrap them in all they love you have.
Thanks.
Sunday, May 6, 2018
Silent Sunday....
It's Sunday morning, 7 a.m. I have already been up for two hours. #1 son had to be at the marathon split by 6:20. #2 son has day three of soccer tourney that is a little over an hour away. Even though I had two alarms set, I have been up every half and hour since 3 am thinking I overslept.
So here I am at 7 am on Sunday, already exhausted. I'll take it. With #1 son finishing his Freshman year I know that it won't be long before I am sitting in the silence on Sunday morning, wondering what they are doing now?
When the kids where 6 and 3 I didn't think this house would ever get quiet but now as I sit in silence I miss those days. When there was non stop noise. Cars zooming, Thomas blaring, sword play, gun fights, hungry hippos and kids. Now a days the only thing the TV is good for is Xbox and if the boys are even home they are engrossed in their device watching something on YouTube.
Everything changed but it happened slow enough I don't seem to notice, until it was too late. #2 son has grown three inches this year. By the time he is out of Junior High he too will be taller than me. He is upset with the status quo and meeting with the principal on Monday to discuss it. #1 son is organizing his schedule and planning for his senior year, on top of still growing an inch a month.
So it's 7 am on Sunday, I am sitting in the silence for a little while longer. I am finishing my tea and my thoughts and remembering those days that I thought would never end. Enjoy your Sunday.
P.S. When eating breakfast before dawn, make sure you check the labels chili powder and cinnamon are not the same.
So here I am at 7 am on Sunday, already exhausted. I'll take it. With #1 son finishing his Freshman year I know that it won't be long before I am sitting in the silence on Sunday morning, wondering what they are doing now?
When the kids where 6 and 3 I didn't think this house would ever get quiet but now as I sit in silence I miss those days. When there was non stop noise. Cars zooming, Thomas blaring, sword play, gun fights, hungry hippos and kids. Now a days the only thing the TV is good for is Xbox and if the boys are even home they are engrossed in their device watching something on YouTube.
Everything changed but it happened slow enough I don't seem to notice, until it was too late. #2 son has grown three inches this year. By the time he is out of Junior High he too will be taller than me. He is upset with the status quo and meeting with the principal on Monday to discuss it. #1 son is organizing his schedule and planning for his senior year, on top of still growing an inch a month.
So it's 7 am on Sunday, I am sitting in the silence for a little while longer. I am finishing my tea and my thoughts and remembering those days that I thought would never end. Enjoy your Sunday.
P.S. When eating breakfast before dawn, make sure you check the labels chili powder and cinnamon are not the same.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
How far have we come?
I was just thinking this morning about a recent conversation that I had with another mom. She has a daughter at the JH school this year. I do not have anyone there right now but I did and I know that the athletic director is infamous when given the micrpohone. He goes on and on for way too long and says things that make even the kids cringe.
This woman is not only new the the JH scene but new to our scene as they just moved into the area. Her daughter didn't make the Volleyball team and she said after hearing his message at the Winter Sports Meeting she felt better about it.
Mr. Microphone always gives a legnthy intro to the meeting like we are all new to the district. Then he talks about how hard his job is as there are 1200 students just int he 7th/8th grades, then about how he came from a larger district where he was band director and that was an even bigger challenge....I'm not kidding. Very predictable. Takes two and half hours.
When it was time to acknowledge the volleyball team this woman said she was cringing because he started the introduction with "These girls have come a long way. There were a lot of social issues with this group - they just didn't get along. Right girls?"
She said you could have heard a pin drop and all 12 girls were staring at the floor looking like they wanted it to open up and swallow them whole. Oh but he didn't stop there, she said, and went on to say they worked hard as a team on and off the court and he did praise them for coming together in the end. This mother was horrified.
But I have not been able to get that out of my mind. Why? Why is that still rattling around in there I keep asking myself? What is it that is bothering me? Knowing I am stuck for the next two years listening to Mr. Microphone blabber on each quarter when all he has to say is Great Job athletes and call them up for their certificate?
Nope. That's not it. And this morning it hit me. Well, actually the door hit me in the head as I was half asleep getting #1 son off to school and carrying two laundry baskets upstairs, but I digress. It hit me that what was bothering me was that I wasn't bothered by what he did. I was actually thinking - that may just be what some of those girls need right now. To feel the shame of their actions on a public stage. Maybe they will think twice the next time.
When I was maybe in third grade and attending a catholic elementary school the class bully was a girl. (Even the boys were afraid of her) She decided that she wanted to pick on one particular girl, but in true bully fashion, she didn't do it herself. She got all of us to do it. She planted the seeds of disgust and watered them with innuendo. And when that wasn't going far enough, she found me. The weakest link. And she played on my need to get in the group, feel connected, be a cool kid - and she told me what to shout across the playground.
We were immediately hauled into the Principal's office. He let us have it, particularly me. (rightfully so) Lesson learned. But it would be a few years before the Bully got her hands on me. Fast forward to 8th grade and the JH Washington DC trip. For those of you not in the Midwest, it used to be iconic and every JR High kid within 8 hours of DC got two nights on a bus and 4 days in Washington DC. Now I love DC don't get me wrong, but that trip was literally hell on wheels. 250 thirteen year old kids traipsing around DC with a handful of chaperones.Ugh. Boys- you ain't missing nothing.
On the first leg of the trip the overnight bus to DC the bully decided that the boy she liked was giving me too much attention. Not wanting to lose her non-existent boyfriend she started a rumor about me. Remember this is LONG before cell phones, because I am old. And the one and only time that anyone from the 6 buses could even talk was the rest stop in PA at 4 am.
But she did it. By the time the bused rolled into DC not one of the 250 kids on that trip would speak to me. No one. They all avoided me like the plague. Her cronies then did things like sidle up next to me and say "Speak of the She Devil". They would accidentally run into me, push into walls, or off a curb into traffic. Where of course I would get screamed at by a chaperone for being stupid. (Midwest parents in the 80's)
By the end of day one I was confused, humiliated, exhausted, defeated, I just wanted to leave. For weeks before the trip the teachers had threatened up daily with good behavior or they would put us on a plane and ship us home at our parents expense. Right then I was all for it. But still a good catholic white girl taught to always shut up and take it, I did nothing.
Day two got horribly worse. I started my period for the first time. Thank you ladies for that collective sigh, it was exactly like you imagine. Alone in DC, no knowledge of WTF just happened (Midwest parents in the 80's) blood on my clothes, toilet paper waded up in my underwear, and my sweater wrapped around my waist all day. Now I truly wanted to die and thought I was.
Day three they put us on a boat and shipped us over to Monticello. When we arrived there was a lot of jockeying around as they had to split us up into very small groups for the tours and we were there with 500 other 8th graders on their trips. Not even thinking conscientiously about what I was doing I went straight to the bathroom when we arrived as I had been doing every where we went so far on this trip not that any adult noticed. When I came out of the bathroom I looked around and didn't see anyone I knew and for the first time in two days, I could breathe. I could just be. Then these beautiful girls with gorgeous southern accents came up and one of them said Hello. To me. I must have looked like a deer in headlights because they all started to giggle and one of them said "I thank you scared her half to dith!"
In the next three hours I would very little about Monticello but I learned all about my new friends from North Carolina. We talked and laughed and giggled and they gave me tampons and pads and showed me how to use them. They trash talked the bully and her crew and said if they ever ran into her they would kill her! That's when it suddenly dawned on all of us - I wasn't one of them.
Oh shit! They saw the panic in my face and we immediately went to a teacher. We simply said I think I lost my group. They contacted a park ranger or house ranger what ever they are and sure enough. My group had been sitting on a boat for and hour and a half counting heads, interviewing students, and finally getting the whole story from one of the girls who couldn't take it anymore. I was whisked away from my new friends who saved my life and sent back to the boat of bitches. I wanted to die again.
Oddly enough, when I got back to the boat I was suddenly the big TB. Total Badass. The rumors were flying that I had said F'it and run away. That I had been found hitchhiking back to Ohio (off an island people really? 13 year-olds). But the best was that the Bully had found me alone and beat the shit of out of me and left me for dead. That one cracked me up.
The rest of the trip went very differently, that night at the dinner theater everyone wanted to sit at my table. Which didn't matter because they had assigned seats three months earlier, but as we sat in the dark eating cold chicken waiting for 1776 to start I had time to think about everything that I had been through. And the fact that the boy next to me kept trying to slip his hand up my skirt. I wasn't won over by the girls who were suddenly "not" her friend any more. I wasn't stupid. They wanted to be cool so badly that they would change who they were for the next best thing. I learned that lesson at 13. In a way I was lucky - in a way it made HS even worse.
I never did find a group of friends and haven't to this day. I don't trust people easily and rarely see friendships as lasting. I also learned that week to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Which I think I took too literally and ran with my enemies for way too long.
My point to all of this....if even one of those girls was truly horrified by being called out in that gymnasium that day. If even one girl figures out that she does not need to tear others down to get ahead - then was it worth it? Because I believe that far too many woman, still think being cool is the only thing that matters - that being mean is the only way - and that taking care of each other isn't on the agenda.
I remember thinking at thirteen, Doesn't she know how scared I am? How awkward I feel? How much I want to a friend too? 34 years later....how far have I come? How far have you come?
This woman is not only new the the JH scene but new to our scene as they just moved into the area. Her daughter didn't make the Volleyball team and she said after hearing his message at the Winter Sports Meeting she felt better about it.
Mr. Microphone always gives a legnthy intro to the meeting like we are all new to the district. Then he talks about how hard his job is as there are 1200 students just int he 7th/8th grades, then about how he came from a larger district where he was band director and that was an even bigger challenge....I'm not kidding. Very predictable. Takes two and half hours.
When it was time to acknowledge the volleyball team this woman said she was cringing because he started the introduction with "These girls have come a long way. There were a lot of social issues with this group - they just didn't get along. Right girls?"
She said you could have heard a pin drop and all 12 girls were staring at the floor looking like they wanted it to open up and swallow them whole. Oh but he didn't stop there, she said, and went on to say they worked hard as a team on and off the court and he did praise them for coming together in the end. This mother was horrified.
But I have not been able to get that out of my mind. Why? Why is that still rattling around in there I keep asking myself? What is it that is bothering me? Knowing I am stuck for the next two years listening to Mr. Microphone blabber on each quarter when all he has to say is Great Job athletes and call them up for their certificate?
Nope. That's not it. And this morning it hit me. Well, actually the door hit me in the head as I was half asleep getting #1 son off to school and carrying two laundry baskets upstairs, but I digress. It hit me that what was bothering me was that I wasn't bothered by what he did. I was actually thinking - that may just be what some of those girls need right now. To feel the shame of their actions on a public stage. Maybe they will think twice the next time.
When I was maybe in third grade and attending a catholic elementary school the class bully was a girl. (Even the boys were afraid of her) She decided that she wanted to pick on one particular girl, but in true bully fashion, she didn't do it herself. She got all of us to do it. She planted the seeds of disgust and watered them with innuendo. And when that wasn't going far enough, she found me. The weakest link. And she played on my need to get in the group, feel connected, be a cool kid - and she told me what to shout across the playground.
We were immediately hauled into the Principal's office. He let us have it, particularly me. (rightfully so) Lesson learned. But it would be a few years before the Bully got her hands on me. Fast forward to 8th grade and the JH Washington DC trip. For those of you not in the Midwest, it used to be iconic and every JR High kid within 8 hours of DC got two nights on a bus and 4 days in Washington DC. Now I love DC don't get me wrong, but that trip was literally hell on wheels. 250 thirteen year old kids traipsing around DC with a handful of chaperones.Ugh. Boys- you ain't missing nothing.
On the first leg of the trip the overnight bus to DC the bully decided that the boy she liked was giving me too much attention. Not wanting to lose her non-existent boyfriend she started a rumor about me. Remember this is LONG before cell phones, because I am old. And the one and only time that anyone from the 6 buses could even talk was the rest stop in PA at 4 am.
But she did it. By the time the bused rolled into DC not one of the 250 kids on that trip would speak to me. No one. They all avoided me like the plague. Her cronies then did things like sidle up next to me and say "Speak of the She Devil". They would accidentally run into me, push into walls, or off a curb into traffic. Where of course I would get screamed at by a chaperone for being stupid. (Midwest parents in the 80's)
By the end of day one I was confused, humiliated, exhausted, defeated, I just wanted to leave. For weeks before the trip the teachers had threatened up daily with good behavior or they would put us on a plane and ship us home at our parents expense. Right then I was all for it. But still a good catholic white girl taught to always shut up and take it, I did nothing.
Day two got horribly worse. I started my period for the first time. Thank you ladies for that collective sigh, it was exactly like you imagine. Alone in DC, no knowledge of WTF just happened (Midwest parents in the 80's) blood on my clothes, toilet paper waded up in my underwear, and my sweater wrapped around my waist all day. Now I truly wanted to die and thought I was.
Day three they put us on a boat and shipped us over to Monticello. When we arrived there was a lot of jockeying around as they had to split us up into very small groups for the tours and we were there with 500 other 8th graders on their trips. Not even thinking conscientiously about what I was doing I went straight to the bathroom when we arrived as I had been doing every where we went so far on this trip not that any adult noticed. When I came out of the bathroom I looked around and didn't see anyone I knew and for the first time in two days, I could breathe. I could just be. Then these beautiful girls with gorgeous southern accents came up and one of them said Hello. To me. I must have looked like a deer in headlights because they all started to giggle and one of them said "I thank you scared her half to dith!"
In the next three hours I would very little about Monticello but I learned all about my new friends from North Carolina. We talked and laughed and giggled and they gave me tampons and pads and showed me how to use them. They trash talked the bully and her crew and said if they ever ran into her they would kill her! That's when it suddenly dawned on all of us - I wasn't one of them.
Oh shit! They saw the panic in my face and we immediately went to a teacher. We simply said I think I lost my group. They contacted a park ranger or house ranger what ever they are and sure enough. My group had been sitting on a boat for and hour and a half counting heads, interviewing students, and finally getting the whole story from one of the girls who couldn't take it anymore. I was whisked away from my new friends who saved my life and sent back to the boat of bitches. I wanted to die again.
Oddly enough, when I got back to the boat I was suddenly the big TB. Total Badass. The rumors were flying that I had said F'it and run away. That I had been found hitchhiking back to Ohio (off an island people really? 13 year-olds). But the best was that the Bully had found me alone and beat the shit of out of me and left me for dead. That one cracked me up.
The rest of the trip went very differently, that night at the dinner theater everyone wanted to sit at my table. Which didn't matter because they had assigned seats three months earlier, but as we sat in the dark eating cold chicken waiting for 1776 to start I had time to think about everything that I had been through. And the fact that the boy next to me kept trying to slip his hand up my skirt. I wasn't won over by the girls who were suddenly "not" her friend any more. I wasn't stupid. They wanted to be cool so badly that they would change who they were for the next best thing. I learned that lesson at 13. In a way I was lucky - in a way it made HS even worse.
I never did find a group of friends and haven't to this day. I don't trust people easily and rarely see friendships as lasting. I also learned that week to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Which I think I took too literally and ran with my enemies for way too long.
My point to all of this....if even one of those girls was truly horrified by being called out in that gymnasium that day. If even one girl figures out that she does not need to tear others down to get ahead - then was it worth it? Because I believe that far too many woman, still think being cool is the only thing that matters - that being mean is the only way - and that taking care of each other isn't on the agenda.
I remember thinking at thirteen, Doesn't she know how scared I am? How awkward I feel? How much I want to a friend too? 34 years later....how far have I come? How far have you come?
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. Plato
Sunday, March 18, 2018
A message to my teenager son before you start High School
....................
Girls will love you
Boys will hate you
Teachers will test you
Coaches will push you
Life will try and break you
and that is why I'm here
When you need a hand to hold
Or a place to rest
When you need a shoulder to cry on
Or a place to call home
That is why I am here
When you need to know what love is
Or why bad things happen
When you can't find the answers
Or even know the question
That is why I'm here
When you need reassurnace
Or picked up from the ground
When it's time to celebrate you
Or toot your own horn
That is why I'm here
To my teenage son before you start High School-
Girls will love you
Boys will hate you
Teachers will test you
Coaches will push you
Life will try and break you
and that is why I'm here
Girls will love you
Boys will hate you
Teachers will test you
Coaches will push you
Life will try and break you
and that is why I'm here
When you need a hand to hold
Or a place to rest
When you need a shoulder to cry on
Or a place to call home
That is why I am here
When you need to know what love is
Or why bad things happen
When you can't find the answers
Or even know the question
That is why I'm here
When you need reassurnace
Or picked up from the ground
When it's time to celebrate you
Or toot your own horn
That is why I'm here
To my teenage son before you start High School-
Girls will love you
Boys will hate you
Teachers will test you
Coaches will push you
Life will try and break you
and that is why I'm here
Friday, February 16, 2018
Solitare:The Game of Life
Like my mother before me, I taught my kids to play solitaire. Long before it was the only computer game that you could play while pretending to work, (Yes! I am THAT old I keep telling you) it was a card game that I played a lot. Mostly because I was always by myself, and also because I love the game. Especially when I got a little older and my mom taught me to play Vegas style. OhhhLaalaaaa
Actually, I was struggling in math and I think it was a ploy to get me to practice adding and subtracting. It was a good for this anxiety ridden partly OCD kid. Once I learned Vegas style there was no turning back! Even when I said, "oh I'm not playing for money just for fun." I would find myself cursing at the aces to get their ass out of the deck so that I could at least over the cost of the cards. Sheesh. Is that too much too ask.
The Holiday's were good around here, it was a lot less crazy than the fall. A well deserved break. But boy did I pay for it in January. The month was crazy busy and I am still scratching my head that February is almost over. It didn't help that we have passed around a cold or sinus infection or whatever this was and it literally took us down one by one. I was the last to go.
The overlap between #2 son passing it to #1 son was a rough few days. Everyone was snotty - in more ways then one. Tempers flared, exhaustion reined, and the world was not cooperating. Toward the end of one of those long days I finally got out the lysol sprayed everyone into their rooms then kissed them all soundly and put them to bed.
As I lay in the dark looking at my Kindle with barely enough energy to set my alarm let alone read my book I remembered Solitaire. I busted out the tried and true. Not really even paying attention I would start the game, click away, get stuck, start a new one. This pattern repeated so often I started clicking new game, if I didn't like the way the cards looked. No Aces? click. All red? click. 4 10's, how is that even possible! I clicked new game again, and again, and again.
Just one WIN and I could go to bed!!
Finally frustrated that no amount of starting over was getting me that win I let go of winning and started click, click, clicking....and then it happened. I won. The last card clicked started that beautiful falling, shuffling, flying of cards all over the screen that says - "YOU DID IT!"
Just when I thought it would never happen, there it was in the most unlikely cards. I thought about how much this game is a metaphor for life. Since I really started this blog to leave my son's the musing of their mother I want to say to them....
Solitaire is a lot like life. While you may be surrounded by people, friends, and loved ones- the only one who can play is you. Sometimes the cards are good. Sometimes the cards are bad. Sometimes you play hard trying every angle possible, and still you can't win. Cut your losses. Reshuffle. Sometimes you play for fun and the cards are easy and you win. Enjoy it!
Like any game; you will only get out of life, what you put into it. And when you least expect it, it will surprise you. Enjoy the good cards and the bad because all of them make up the game.
PS Your Mom is always up for a game of Peanuts!!
Actually, I was struggling in math and I think it was a ploy to get me to practice adding and subtracting. It was a good for this anxiety ridden partly OCD kid. Once I learned Vegas style there was no turning back! Even when I said, "oh I'm not playing for money just for fun." I would find myself cursing at the aces to get their ass out of the deck so that I could at least over the cost of the cards. Sheesh. Is that too much too ask.
The Holiday's were good around here, it was a lot less crazy than the fall. A well deserved break. But boy did I pay for it in January. The month was crazy busy and I am still scratching my head that February is almost over. It didn't help that we have passed around a cold or sinus infection or whatever this was and it literally took us down one by one. I was the last to go.
The overlap between #2 son passing it to #1 son was a rough few days. Everyone was snotty - in more ways then one. Tempers flared, exhaustion reined, and the world was not cooperating. Toward the end of one of those long days I finally got out the lysol sprayed everyone into their rooms then kissed them all soundly and put them to bed.
As I lay in the dark looking at my Kindle with barely enough energy to set my alarm let alone read my book I remembered Solitaire. I busted out the tried and true. Not really even paying attention I would start the game, click away, get stuck, start a new one. This pattern repeated so often I started clicking new game, if I didn't like the way the cards looked. No Aces? click. All red? click. 4 10's, how is that even possible! I clicked new game again, and again, and again.
Just one WIN and I could go to bed!!
Finally frustrated that no amount of starting over was getting me that win I let go of winning and started click, click, clicking....and then it happened. I won. The last card clicked started that beautiful falling, shuffling, flying of cards all over the screen that says - "YOU DID IT!"
Just when I thought it would never happen, there it was in the most unlikely cards. I thought about how much this game is a metaphor for life. Since I really started this blog to leave my son's the musing of their mother I want to say to them....
Solitaire is a lot like life. While you may be surrounded by people, friends, and loved ones- the only one who can play is you. Sometimes the cards are good. Sometimes the cards are bad. Sometimes you play hard trying every angle possible, and still you can't win. Cut your losses. Reshuffle. Sometimes you play for fun and the cards are easy and you win. Enjoy it!
Like any game; you will only get out of life, what you put into it. And when you least expect it, it will surprise you. Enjoy the good cards and the bad because all of them make up the game.
PS Your Mom is always up for a game of Peanuts!!
Thursday, January 18, 2018
Should we really rush to "fix" it?
I'm pondering this morning as I listen to the story once again of the Turpin family in California that had 13 children and then locked them up, literally, in the house. There is really no details - which I do not want - no explanation - which there isn't one regardless and yet a Senator is already introducing or asking or politicking for more laws so this never happens again.
Should we really cater to the sickest amongst us?
That's what keeps rattling around in my head. I feel like when something horrific happens the media rushes to get us "all the answers" and officials rush to "make it against the law". My two issues are there is no reasonable explanation why two people have 13 children and then torture them. All the experts in the world can pontificate but it doesn't make it better. And it doesn't make me feel better. I have come to know and understand that as humans we need explanation. That we crave order in chaos.
Being the old woman that I am I think of it like this: When we hear that two parents have not only had 13 kids (Holy Hurt Locker Batman) but that they have locked them, chained them, and tortured them in their own house my brain is so overloaded it freezes and the hourglass starts to spin.
(trigger anyone?) This causes distress and I desperately search for the Escape key in my brain trying to reset. Reset! Reset!
That reset button can take of the form of NPR, Fox News, the internet, ( in my case pulling the covers over my head) or all of the above. I just keep pushing all the buttons hoping one will be the reset and PUFF! Life can go back to the way it was before I heard that awful bit of information.
I also have to wonder about that person that steps up immediately to take action to "make sure this never happens again". What's in it for them? Did their brain not get stuck? It didn't need a reset? It processed the information so clearly and quickly that it knew immediately what needed to be done?
Or did they not process it at all? I have to wonder, cause that's what this brain does. Did they even feel the depth and weight of the situation or did they just slide across like when you hit a patch of ice and almost fall but right yourself at the last minute. And ---- sigh----- you look around and puff up a little saying "Yeah - I goooood."
Is the person who rushes to action to fix it, really fixing it? Are they really thinking of those who are living it? I can not even begin to imagine what it will take for those children to comprehend what has happened to them, let alone heal. This was not an act perpetrated by an unknown assailant (which is horrific)- these were their parents. The people who are suppose to love them the most and protect them the fiercest. What do they need right now?
Should California Home School laws change? Maybe. Should neighbors pay more attention to who they live next to and what is going on there? Maybe. Should we really rush to "fix" it?
Should we really cater to the sickest amongst us?
That's what keeps rattling around in my head. I feel like when something horrific happens the media rushes to get us "all the answers" and officials rush to "make it against the law". My two issues are there is no reasonable explanation why two people have 13 children and then torture them. All the experts in the world can pontificate but it doesn't make it better. And it doesn't make me feel better. I have come to know and understand that as humans we need explanation. That we crave order in chaos.
Being the old woman that I am I think of it like this: When we hear that two parents have not only had 13 kids (Holy Hurt Locker Batman) but that they have locked them, chained them, and tortured them in their own house my brain is so overloaded it freezes and the hourglass starts to spin.
That reset button can take of the form of NPR, Fox News, the internet, ( in my case pulling the covers over my head) or all of the above. I just keep pushing all the buttons hoping one will be the reset and PUFF! Life can go back to the way it was before I heard that awful bit of information.
I also have to wonder about that person that steps up immediately to take action to "make sure this never happens again". What's in it for them? Did their brain not get stuck? It didn't need a reset? It processed the information so clearly and quickly that it knew immediately what needed to be done?
Or did they not process it at all? I have to wonder, cause that's what this brain does. Did they even feel the depth and weight of the situation or did they just slide across like when you hit a patch of ice and almost fall but right yourself at the last minute. And ---- sigh----- you look around and puff up a little saying "Yeah - I goooood."
Is the person who rushes to action to fix it, really fixing it? Are they really thinking of those who are living it? I can not even begin to imagine what it will take for those children to comprehend what has happened to them, let alone heal. This was not an act perpetrated by an unknown assailant (which is horrific)- these were their parents. The people who are suppose to love them the most and protect them the fiercest. What do they need right now?
Should California Home School laws change? Maybe. Should neighbors pay more attention to who they live next to and what is going on there? Maybe. Should we really rush to "fix" it?
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