1-29-09
The dilemma is as follows.
When Ken and I first had children, we had a routine. With me breast feeding, I was going to need help. We had a great system. When I sat down to feed, Ken always had fluids for me. At night, after the feed, Ken would do the burping and change him. He also had swaddle duties. He figured it was the least he could do being that I was up feeding the baby every couple hours.
As they grew, the teamwork continued. Specifically, nighttime adventures were Ken’s responsibility. Even though he did get them ready for daycare in the mornings, and I had the afternoon and evenings, Ken felt that I should have as much sleep as possible over night due to how early I went in. I know, it sounds like I should never even think of complaining. I mean, there are women out there who would die for that kind of assistance. Then again, not all of them are control freaks and spaz mommies.
When one of the boys wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, Ken jumps up before the WA becomes WAA. He doesn’t want me to hear it, since if I do, it means I am up, and worried. If I hear that one of them has a tummy ache, a bad dream, or is just dealing with the separation anxiety, I am the first to offer up my services. I will sit with him or I will sleep in his room. Whatever it takes. This stems from my previous ability to offer the one thing Ken didn’t have. The boob.
When Dax would get upset in the middle of the night, I was always able to go to him, lift up my shirt and all would be right with the world. It was awesome! Dax would sleep, Ken and Bobby could sleep, and even I could having mastered the art of sleep feeding with Bobby. The whole house was peaceful.
When Dax was 17 months old, the boob somehow lost its appeal. This was not all bad being that he was a big 17 month old. He liked his sippy cups and he was drinking regular milk, so he didn’t need the nutritional factor, or the packaging. By not breast feeding any longer, it also freed me up from leaky boobs, allowed me more than a glass of wine, and I no longer needed to take my Boppy everywhere I went. We were in the land of toddlerhood, and it was working out ok.
But that before bed feeding was my favorite time of the day. It was the time in which I was the sole focus of Dax, and aside from the occasional fussy feed, I knew that it was me that was getting him to sleep through the night. When he was sick, I knew I was the one to comfort him. Now, my secret weapon has been disarmed.
On top of all of that, Ken snips at me when I do try to help. I may not have the boob anymore, but I am still mom, dammit, and they are Mama’s Boys, right? However, it is pretty rude of me to swoop in on the time in which Ken is super dad. When I bring in the glass of chocolate milk and the graham cracker with the bright shinning face at 2 am after he has been battling with the cranky child and had told him no to these treats, I am not helping anyone. Sure, we all get to sleep quicker, but then I make Ken look the fool, and it just means that tomorrow night they will do the same thing knowing I will be in to be the “good” parent. That equals spoiled children, bitter spouse, and sleepless nights all around.
But of course, it isn’t like I can just sleep through the tantrum. Luckily their cries don’t make me ache as they did when they were younger. I still long to comfort them when they are upset. I don’t want Ken to have to go through sleepless night after sleepless night when there is a bad stretch of a cold or maybe a monster outbreak. I also don’t want to get growled at by the cranky husband who isn’t meaning to be a bear, but when you are tired, sometimes you growl at the person trying to help. So this leaves me lying in bed, trying to sleep, but feeling guilty every minute until Ken returns. I am not technically breaking the rules. I mean, I am staying out of this round of parenting. Then again, I am not sleeping, and rest, well, that is up for debate.
My only way to rid myself of guilt is the Saturday morning shift. It is the one morning that I sleep in (I normally get up at 4, so yes, sleeping to 6 is sleeping in), but I also can let Ken sleep longer when the boys come bounding into the bedroom before the sun has even opened its eyes. Even though Ken doesn’t “sleep” the whole time, he can do that debatable resting thing.
My dilemma will probably be with me until they are 18, so I might as well suck it up. Things change so much, but they also stay the same. I know, as they get older, the up all night will change. They will go from this to sleeping late, to being up all night again, but this time out on the town. My worry will never change, and Ken will still insist I get my rest. It will always be something that he will tease me about and I will always insist on staying up with him, waiting for their return. But that is what makes a great team, right?
It also goes without saying that my two boys will still be enchanted by a boob, but I am pretty sure it won’t be mine at that point.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Monsters
12-11-08
The trouble with monsters is that they are everywhere.
This is according to my two sons, who on one too many occasions the last six months have had run ins with the mysterious creatures. It started when Bobby, my three year old, decided that they were living in his bedroom. It caused him to be fearful of being in there at night. He would get up in the middle of the night, convinced that one of them was jumping around and breaking things in his room. It was some very exhausting nights while we went through the arsenal of solutions available to us on the net.
We tried the monster killer, AKA squirt bottle. This seemed to keep them at bay for a while. He armed himself each night with the spray bottle after we showed him how to use it against the rude houseguests. The bottle had nothing in it, but this didn’t seem to bother Bobby. He ran through the house before bed and claimed to have killed all of the monsters and he settled in for sleep feeling victorious. Not as much as we did since it meant that we also would get sleep.
That was of course until we heard the pitter pat of his Lightning McQueen slippers enter our room with the hushed whisper of “Daddy?” The monsters were back. We tried “friends” in the form of his toy Shrek and even Blue. He has a small army of stuffed animals, lead by General Buzz Lightyear who seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with the onslaught of these pesky buggers.
Finally on a whim, I decided to make monster powder. My husband and I rummaged through the house looking for the best container for this magical remedy that consisted of baby powder and some sparkly body powder I had in my makeup drawer. In our search, we came across these plastic bottles and colored sand that were some craft project I had purchased long before either of my children would care to make sand bottles. However, it was their time to shine as I cam out of the craft box with excitement. Bobby would help me make the monster powder with the colored sand. He would pick a pinch of the colors to put into the base of baby powder to create a tailor made concoction specific for his brand of monster. Luckily, it seemed to do the trick as he and Daddy sprinkled the dust all over ever square inch of his room and most of the house.
What makes this even more frustrating is that monsters truly are everywhere. They are on Sesame Street. Grover, Oscar and the truly frightening Elmo are all technically monsters. The description of Yo Gabba Gabba, which is a favorite in our house, says that is the adventures of four monsters and a robot. Even one of their beloved Pixar films is an entire world of monsters. Mind you, all of these creatures are totally acceptable to each of them. They even have a set of the Yo Gabba Gabba crowd on their beds and Dax loves his Sulley action figure. I have tried to explain to them that the monsters in their rooms are friends with the good monsters and will not hurt them. My pleas fall on deaf ears.
Bobby was looking at something that had the Loch Ness Monster on it. He asked me what it was. I actually had to come up with something else to call this fictional character. I can’t even bring myself to say monster for anything. I am so scared that it will put a new image of the bad monsters in their heads that I have to come up with creative ways to describe things.
How can you battle something that has such a prominent place in our lives? I don’t want to say that all monsters are bad, since we know this isn’t the case. Of course, they aren’t all good, either. I guess monsters are just like people. They come in all shapes and sizes and some are pleasant, some are grumpy, and some are child like. Maybe this is why monsters are so easy for children to gravitate towards, not just because of their cuddly aspects. They are exaggerated images they might have of the people in their lives. Elmo is just like a kid brother, always willing to play, full of wonder and someone you can always teach a lesson to, which is great for kids to be the ones who teach instead of being taught. They also see monsters like Oscar who are grouchy like his name and I would bet the monsters under the bed look more like him than Elmo. Kids are not scared of monsters, so much as they are frightened of the characteristics that certain monsters portray. Clearly my lesson plan has changed. I need to be teaching them how to deal with difficult monsters much in the same way I deal with difficult humans. I am pretty sure no amount of magic monster powder will get rid of that annoying boss or rude checkout girl. Maybe the monsters need some compassion.
I am now on a mission to make the monster lessons similar to the training classes we get at work on how to work with all different sorts of people. I think this will be a better lesson overall with the boys. Maybe it will help Bobby sleep, and in turn, create a better person for the future.
Of course, now the monsters have now moved on to torment Dax, my 2 year old. The last couple nights we headed out for a walk around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights when Dax gripped onto my legs on a particularly dark section hissing at me, “Mommy! Scared!” I asked him what he was afraid of and he said with all seriousness, “Monsters!” I guess I need to get him enrolled in my new classes, too.
The trouble with monsters is that they are everywhere.
This is according to my two sons, who on one too many occasions the last six months have had run ins with the mysterious creatures. It started when Bobby, my three year old, decided that they were living in his bedroom. It caused him to be fearful of being in there at night. He would get up in the middle of the night, convinced that one of them was jumping around and breaking things in his room. It was some very exhausting nights while we went through the arsenal of solutions available to us on the net.
We tried the monster killer, AKA squirt bottle. This seemed to keep them at bay for a while. He armed himself each night with the spray bottle after we showed him how to use it against the rude houseguests. The bottle had nothing in it, but this didn’t seem to bother Bobby. He ran through the house before bed and claimed to have killed all of the monsters and he settled in for sleep feeling victorious. Not as much as we did since it meant that we also would get sleep.
That was of course until we heard the pitter pat of his Lightning McQueen slippers enter our room with the hushed whisper of “Daddy?” The monsters were back. We tried “friends” in the form of his toy Shrek and even Blue. He has a small army of stuffed animals, lead by General Buzz Lightyear who seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with the onslaught of these pesky buggers.
Finally on a whim, I decided to make monster powder. My husband and I rummaged through the house looking for the best container for this magical remedy that consisted of baby powder and some sparkly body powder I had in my makeup drawer. In our search, we came across these plastic bottles and colored sand that were some craft project I had purchased long before either of my children would care to make sand bottles. However, it was their time to shine as I cam out of the craft box with excitement. Bobby would help me make the monster powder with the colored sand. He would pick a pinch of the colors to put into the base of baby powder to create a tailor made concoction specific for his brand of monster. Luckily, it seemed to do the trick as he and Daddy sprinkled the dust all over ever square inch of his room and most of the house.
What makes this even more frustrating is that monsters truly are everywhere. They are on Sesame Street. Grover, Oscar and the truly frightening Elmo are all technically monsters. The description of Yo Gabba Gabba, which is a favorite in our house, says that is the adventures of four monsters and a robot. Even one of their beloved Pixar films is an entire world of monsters. Mind you, all of these creatures are totally acceptable to each of them. They even have a set of the Yo Gabba Gabba crowd on their beds and Dax loves his Sulley action figure. I have tried to explain to them that the monsters in their rooms are friends with the good monsters and will not hurt them. My pleas fall on deaf ears.
Bobby was looking at something that had the Loch Ness Monster on it. He asked me what it was. I actually had to come up with something else to call this fictional character. I can’t even bring myself to say monster for anything. I am so scared that it will put a new image of the bad monsters in their heads that I have to come up with creative ways to describe things.
How can you battle something that has such a prominent place in our lives? I don’t want to say that all monsters are bad, since we know this isn’t the case. Of course, they aren’t all good, either. I guess monsters are just like people. They come in all shapes and sizes and some are pleasant, some are grumpy, and some are child like. Maybe this is why monsters are so easy for children to gravitate towards, not just because of their cuddly aspects. They are exaggerated images they might have of the people in their lives. Elmo is just like a kid brother, always willing to play, full of wonder and someone you can always teach a lesson to, which is great for kids to be the ones who teach instead of being taught. They also see monsters like Oscar who are grouchy like his name and I would bet the monsters under the bed look more like him than Elmo. Kids are not scared of monsters, so much as they are frightened of the characteristics that certain monsters portray. Clearly my lesson plan has changed. I need to be teaching them how to deal with difficult monsters much in the same way I deal with difficult humans. I am pretty sure no amount of magic monster powder will get rid of that annoying boss or rude checkout girl. Maybe the monsters need some compassion.
I am now on a mission to make the monster lessons similar to the training classes we get at work on how to work with all different sorts of people. I think this will be a better lesson overall with the boys. Maybe it will help Bobby sleep, and in turn, create a better person for the future.
Of course, now the monsters have now moved on to torment Dax, my 2 year old. The last couple nights we headed out for a walk around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights when Dax gripped onto my legs on a particularly dark section hissing at me, “Mommy! Scared!” I asked him what he was afraid of and he said with all seriousness, “Monsters!” I guess I need to get him enrolled in my new classes, too.
Instant Gratification
1-21-09
We were driving home yesterday, and Bobby was playing with his balloon that Poppy had given him. As he batted it around, it got loose and ended up in the back of the car. Bobby of course was distraught. “Mommy! My balloon! Get it!” I calmly explained to him that I could not reach it since I was driving. “Then stop, Mommy!” He really wanted the balloon. I once again told him that he would need to wait until we got home since we only were about 5 minutes out. “But Mommy, I want it really quick!” Yes, my son wants instant gratification.
This of course is my fault. I have memories of him as an infant screaming in the back seat because he wanted some kind of toy. I was driving quickly in order to get home so I could help him, but all the while, my right hand was behind me, desperately grabbing for anything I could find to hand to him to appease his cries. Not the safest thing, but I couldn’t handle him crying. Specifically, I had a hard time letting him feel for even a moment that he wasn’t being given anything I could get for him.
They tell you that you can’t spoil a baby. If they want to be hugged, hug them as much as they want. Listen to their needs and really take it upon yourself to make sure you provide for those needs. Sure, you do eventually let them cry things out and you tend to not buy them something EVERY time you enter a store. You make sure that you aren’t giving in to their every demand. Yet, I know I am not alone with children that demand things instantly.
Can you blame them, though? Our culture has been evolving with instant gratification in mind. It is the dream of everyone to have everything handed to us. We eat at fast food places because we don’t want to spend the time cooking. There was a time when people made their own clothes, whereas now not only can we just go down to any mall and get pants, we can be even lazier and order them online. Point and click is really instant gratification at its finest.
There are diet pills that claim to make you thin with no effort. We don’t have to spend weeks reading books anymore since all the good ones are made into 2 hour movies. Didn’t call your best friend on her birthday? No problem! You can send her a virtual card, write her a note on Facebook and send her an email all in about 5 minutes online. Christmas used to be a time where we scoured the earth for the best present for our loved ones. Now, we can pick up a handful of gift cards at the supermarket while we get milk. Where is the joy in that?
I am certainly not suggesting I don’t take full advantage of many of the technological breakthroughs we have made. There was a time when I would have been writing this with my trusty ball point pen and lined notebook paper. But now, I can type this out, let the computer tell me where my spelling errors are (and often it will just go ahead and correct them for me!), tell me the number of words and even put pretty page numbers. Why in the world would I write something out by hand now being that I would end up having to type it later anyway?
Keeping all of this in mind, I still want to instill a sense of hard work into my children. Yes, use technology as a way to make things easier, but make sure you also take the time to put some elbow grease into things. Presents shouldn’t come every time you do something good. Candy isn’t a treat for every night.
It also means that because of these lessons, I will need to apply them to my own life as well. Sure, I may be tired after working all day, but I should cook dinner instead of getting takeout. Use that time to teach the boys how to make food. It will come in handy when they are teenagers who will eat me out of house and home and I can’t keep up with the demands. Plus, it will woo the ladies later in life. If I want to buy something big, I need to save up for it. If I need to get my own piggy bank, so be it. But I can also use this lesson to teach the boys valuable lessons in money saving. Maybe have them put their coins in their banks as not just a game, but as a way to buy that cool Buzz Lightyear action figure, or the Darth Vader costume they have their eye on. It is never too soon to teach the value of a dollar.
Really, I need to appreciate the shortcuts and cool things that I have, but I also need to make sure to earn those things. Only then will the boys have a real example of what patience and hard work can really bring you. If Bobby loses the balloon, he needs to be taught to understand that no matter how much crying he does, it isn’t coming back until a later period. And I need to be ok with that.
Don’t worry, I am sure I will still spoil them. I can’t help going in the dollar aisle and picking up random things that I am sure they will enjoy. But perhaps instead of bestowing them on them the instant I see them, I will hold on to them, save them, and make sure that I don’t just give them everything they want. Otherwise, they start to misunderstand the word “treat”.
When we got home, I retrieved Bobby’s balloon for him and he took it proudly inside. Within about 5 minutes, though, he managed to pop it with one of this toys. I was concerned that he would demand a new balloon on the spot, but instead, he calmly said, “Poppy will have to make me a new one when we go there.” I was impressed that he didn’t melt down. He actually seemed to understand that he would have to wait for something he wanted. Perhaps teaching him these lessons won’t be as hard. Maybe it isn’t as bad as it could be. There is hope for us! “Mommy, go get me milk!”
Ok, maybe not.
We were driving home yesterday, and Bobby was playing with his balloon that Poppy had given him. As he batted it around, it got loose and ended up in the back of the car. Bobby of course was distraught. “Mommy! My balloon! Get it!” I calmly explained to him that I could not reach it since I was driving. “Then stop, Mommy!” He really wanted the balloon. I once again told him that he would need to wait until we got home since we only were about 5 minutes out. “But Mommy, I want it really quick!” Yes, my son wants instant gratification.
This of course is my fault. I have memories of him as an infant screaming in the back seat because he wanted some kind of toy. I was driving quickly in order to get home so I could help him, but all the while, my right hand was behind me, desperately grabbing for anything I could find to hand to him to appease his cries. Not the safest thing, but I couldn’t handle him crying. Specifically, I had a hard time letting him feel for even a moment that he wasn’t being given anything I could get for him.
They tell you that you can’t spoil a baby. If they want to be hugged, hug them as much as they want. Listen to their needs and really take it upon yourself to make sure you provide for those needs. Sure, you do eventually let them cry things out and you tend to not buy them something EVERY time you enter a store. You make sure that you aren’t giving in to their every demand. Yet, I know I am not alone with children that demand things instantly.
Can you blame them, though? Our culture has been evolving with instant gratification in mind. It is the dream of everyone to have everything handed to us. We eat at fast food places because we don’t want to spend the time cooking. There was a time when people made their own clothes, whereas now not only can we just go down to any mall and get pants, we can be even lazier and order them online. Point and click is really instant gratification at its finest.
There are diet pills that claim to make you thin with no effort. We don’t have to spend weeks reading books anymore since all the good ones are made into 2 hour movies. Didn’t call your best friend on her birthday? No problem! You can send her a virtual card, write her a note on Facebook and send her an email all in about 5 minutes online. Christmas used to be a time where we scoured the earth for the best present for our loved ones. Now, we can pick up a handful of gift cards at the supermarket while we get milk. Where is the joy in that?
I am certainly not suggesting I don’t take full advantage of many of the technological breakthroughs we have made. There was a time when I would have been writing this with my trusty ball point pen and lined notebook paper. But now, I can type this out, let the computer tell me where my spelling errors are (and often it will just go ahead and correct them for me!), tell me the number of words and even put pretty page numbers. Why in the world would I write something out by hand now being that I would end up having to type it later anyway?
Keeping all of this in mind, I still want to instill a sense of hard work into my children. Yes, use technology as a way to make things easier, but make sure you also take the time to put some elbow grease into things. Presents shouldn’t come every time you do something good. Candy isn’t a treat for every night.
It also means that because of these lessons, I will need to apply them to my own life as well. Sure, I may be tired after working all day, but I should cook dinner instead of getting takeout. Use that time to teach the boys how to make food. It will come in handy when they are teenagers who will eat me out of house and home and I can’t keep up with the demands. Plus, it will woo the ladies later in life. If I want to buy something big, I need to save up for it. If I need to get my own piggy bank, so be it. But I can also use this lesson to teach the boys valuable lessons in money saving. Maybe have them put their coins in their banks as not just a game, but as a way to buy that cool Buzz Lightyear action figure, or the Darth Vader costume they have their eye on. It is never too soon to teach the value of a dollar.
Really, I need to appreciate the shortcuts and cool things that I have, but I also need to make sure to earn those things. Only then will the boys have a real example of what patience and hard work can really bring you. If Bobby loses the balloon, he needs to be taught to understand that no matter how much crying he does, it isn’t coming back until a later period. And I need to be ok with that.
Don’t worry, I am sure I will still spoil them. I can’t help going in the dollar aisle and picking up random things that I am sure they will enjoy. But perhaps instead of bestowing them on them the instant I see them, I will hold on to them, save them, and make sure that I don’t just give them everything they want. Otherwise, they start to misunderstand the word “treat”.
When we got home, I retrieved Bobby’s balloon for him and he took it proudly inside. Within about 5 minutes, though, he managed to pop it with one of this toys. I was concerned that he would demand a new balloon on the spot, but instead, he calmly said, “Poppy will have to make me a new one when we go there.” I was impressed that he didn’t melt down. He actually seemed to understand that he would have to wait for something he wanted. Perhaps teaching him these lessons won’t be as hard. Maybe it isn’t as bad as it could be. There is hope for us! “Mommy, go get me milk!”
Ok, maybe not.
Beach
1-19-09
It was gorgeous out over this past weekend and it seemed like the best thing to do with the boys was to take them down to the beach. I mean really, how often can you say you went to the beach in January? We went Saturday and the kids had so much fun, we decided to go back on Sunday.
There was a larger crowd Sunday, but it was still the same kinds of people, families with multiple kids all enjoying the surf, sand and sun. We set up camp and Bobby and Ken ran down to the water. Dax and I joined them after some sandcastle building.
Dax was a bit unsure of the water, despite his excitement of letting the water wash over his toes. I watched him like a hawk, myself being a bit nervous about the ocean which had already instilled a fear in me years before. You hear all the horror stories, kids getting washed into the riptide. I was not going to let this happen, so my focus was 100% on Dax.
It was at this time that a child no more than 7 started milling around at my feet. I have become more and more accustomed to kids all gravitating towards my kids. I don’t think that it is just my children, either. It seems like kids all just want to be around other kids having fun. But this kid was different.
He watched Dax closely; often trying to communicate with him and at one point, I was almost sure he considered holding Dax’s hand. I can assure you, my son would not have tolerated this. Either way, it was a curious thing to watch. Dax and I continued to play in the surf, despite this young stalker.
It was at this point that this young man in Sponge Bob swim trunks tried to engage me in conversation. I told Dax at one point to be careful of this one wave. Our admirer then tried to tell me some ocean trivia. He took this tactic a few times before at one point he asked me if Dax would play sandcastles with him. I explained that Dax probably would not want to as he was already pretty happy in the water. He looked defeated, but he did not let up.
I continued to play with my child while this other child stayed close. At one point, I held onto Dax’s hand, bracing for a series of larger waves. Before I knew what had happened, I had another small hand in mine and I looked down to find Sponge Bob at my side, seemingly content to have this connection.
I would like to say that I am just that cool of a mom that other kids come running to me. I know this is not the case. This poor boy was not in need of me, he was in need of a parent who wanted to play with him. I would imagine if I were lonely, I too would go towards families that looked like they truly enjoyed being a family. I looked around at one point to find some kind of relative for him, but honestly, it was hard to say who he was with.
After he determined that we were not a suitable surrogate family, he moved on to other families. I saw him insert himself into a sandcastle building adventure with another boy and his father, both looking equally confused by their new contractor. I saw him playing with a handful of other children, all with parents near by, and sometimes I didn’t see him interacting with just the other kids, but with the parents.
Sure, you could make the argument that he was just a friendly kid. I didn’t get this impression. There was a sadness about him that made him seem almost lost. You wondered if perhaps his parents did this often. Drop off their kid at the beach since it costs nothing, and then go on with their lives as if he didn’t exist. I have zero frame of reference when it comes to this. I have a hard enough time taking the boys to daycare, let alone just abandoning my child some place that could be dangerous. It seems more and more common, though.
Of course there will be kids that want to be away from their mother’s watchful eyes. I would imagine my own Mama Bear style of parenting will grow tiresome for my two cubs who undoubtedly will want to explore outside the cave without me in tow. But I would like to think they would want this free time because they do spent a lot of quality time with me. I would hate to think that I would ever kick my kids out just so that I wouldn’t have to spend time with them.
It seems like this is almost the norm, though. How often have I gone to Target, only to be stopped by someone complimenting me for, as they put it, “having fun with my boys.” They marvel at me when I will talk with both of them as we wander the aisles. They have told me that most people just seem to drag their kid from place to place, with no sense that they are happy to have reproduced at all. How sad for these parents to not see the absolute joy in what they have brought into this world.
I am not saying that I am mom of the year by any stretch. I know I have an unusual pride in my kids since it took me longer to conceive them despite my lifelong desire to be a mommy. Maybe this has given me the appreciation that other moms who can get knocked up just by thinking about it. But shouldn’t this genuine affection be the norm, not the exception?
So many moms today tell the tale of how they were instantly, deeply in love the second that ball of goo shot out of their body. They were connected by more than just the umbilical cord and they would always love them the same way. How does this turn into parents looking miserable every time they are with their children? How does this evolve into parents not wanting to spend time whenever they can with their offspring? How does this become a little boy wandering the beach hoping someone, just someone, will offer him up a little bit of attention?
I have no answers to these questions. I suppose the only thing I can do is try to be as kind as possible to these kinds of kids that will come in and out of my life, if only for a few minutes in the sand. Hopefully I am not the only one he encounters.
It was gorgeous out over this past weekend and it seemed like the best thing to do with the boys was to take them down to the beach. I mean really, how often can you say you went to the beach in January? We went Saturday and the kids had so much fun, we decided to go back on Sunday.
There was a larger crowd Sunday, but it was still the same kinds of people, families with multiple kids all enjoying the surf, sand and sun. We set up camp and Bobby and Ken ran down to the water. Dax and I joined them after some sandcastle building.
Dax was a bit unsure of the water, despite his excitement of letting the water wash over his toes. I watched him like a hawk, myself being a bit nervous about the ocean which had already instilled a fear in me years before. You hear all the horror stories, kids getting washed into the riptide. I was not going to let this happen, so my focus was 100% on Dax.
It was at this time that a child no more than 7 started milling around at my feet. I have become more and more accustomed to kids all gravitating towards my kids. I don’t think that it is just my children, either. It seems like kids all just want to be around other kids having fun. But this kid was different.
He watched Dax closely; often trying to communicate with him and at one point, I was almost sure he considered holding Dax’s hand. I can assure you, my son would not have tolerated this. Either way, it was a curious thing to watch. Dax and I continued to play in the surf, despite this young stalker.
It was at this point that this young man in Sponge Bob swim trunks tried to engage me in conversation. I told Dax at one point to be careful of this one wave. Our admirer then tried to tell me some ocean trivia. He took this tactic a few times before at one point he asked me if Dax would play sandcastles with him. I explained that Dax probably would not want to as he was already pretty happy in the water. He looked defeated, but he did not let up.
I continued to play with my child while this other child stayed close. At one point, I held onto Dax’s hand, bracing for a series of larger waves. Before I knew what had happened, I had another small hand in mine and I looked down to find Sponge Bob at my side, seemingly content to have this connection.
I would like to say that I am just that cool of a mom that other kids come running to me. I know this is not the case. This poor boy was not in need of me, he was in need of a parent who wanted to play with him. I would imagine if I were lonely, I too would go towards families that looked like they truly enjoyed being a family. I looked around at one point to find some kind of relative for him, but honestly, it was hard to say who he was with.
After he determined that we were not a suitable surrogate family, he moved on to other families. I saw him insert himself into a sandcastle building adventure with another boy and his father, both looking equally confused by their new contractor. I saw him playing with a handful of other children, all with parents near by, and sometimes I didn’t see him interacting with just the other kids, but with the parents.
Sure, you could make the argument that he was just a friendly kid. I didn’t get this impression. There was a sadness about him that made him seem almost lost. You wondered if perhaps his parents did this often. Drop off their kid at the beach since it costs nothing, and then go on with their lives as if he didn’t exist. I have zero frame of reference when it comes to this. I have a hard enough time taking the boys to daycare, let alone just abandoning my child some place that could be dangerous. It seems more and more common, though.
Of course there will be kids that want to be away from their mother’s watchful eyes. I would imagine my own Mama Bear style of parenting will grow tiresome for my two cubs who undoubtedly will want to explore outside the cave without me in tow. But I would like to think they would want this free time because they do spent a lot of quality time with me. I would hate to think that I would ever kick my kids out just so that I wouldn’t have to spend time with them.
It seems like this is almost the norm, though. How often have I gone to Target, only to be stopped by someone complimenting me for, as they put it, “having fun with my boys.” They marvel at me when I will talk with both of them as we wander the aisles. They have told me that most people just seem to drag their kid from place to place, with no sense that they are happy to have reproduced at all. How sad for these parents to not see the absolute joy in what they have brought into this world.
I am not saying that I am mom of the year by any stretch. I know I have an unusual pride in my kids since it took me longer to conceive them despite my lifelong desire to be a mommy. Maybe this has given me the appreciation that other moms who can get knocked up just by thinking about it. But shouldn’t this genuine affection be the norm, not the exception?
So many moms today tell the tale of how they were instantly, deeply in love the second that ball of goo shot out of their body. They were connected by more than just the umbilical cord and they would always love them the same way. How does this turn into parents looking miserable every time they are with their children? How does this evolve into parents not wanting to spend time whenever they can with their offspring? How does this become a little boy wandering the beach hoping someone, just someone, will offer him up a little bit of attention?
I have no answers to these questions. I suppose the only thing I can do is try to be as kind as possible to these kinds of kids that will come in and out of my life, if only for a few minutes in the sand. Hopefully I am not the only one he encounters.
No Bleeping Way!
1-16-09
We had recently come across a poster filled with various dinosaurs that Bobby loved. Ken got some Scotch tape and affixed it to his bedroom wall. It was up for a few days when he came running to find me.
“Mommy, come!” he said with a serious tone. I followed him to his room where he then proceeded to gesture towards the poster. The top right corner had come down, and the poster was now folded over a bit. Bobby then explained what was going on.
“It’s all fucked up, Mommy.” There was no malice in his voice. It was a statement. It was matter of fact. He wasn’t screaming profanities at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t telling someone to fuck off. He just wanted me to understand the situation at hand.
I wasn’t sure what to do with his words at first. There is a huge part of me that wanted to laugh. Come on, we all know it is endlessly amusing when a toddler swears. Look at how many hits Funny Or Die.net got when Will Ferrell was out acted by a 3 year old who needed her mouth washed out with soap. It is taboo, but an innocent one that allows us to find humor in it.
Of course, the responsible parent in me also piped up. It was jumping up and down in the back of the crowd of reactions trying to make sure his voice was heard. You can’t let your child swear at this young of an age! Its blasphemy! You have to nip this in the bud right away lest he starts swearing at the drop of a hat.
Sure, I heard his words, but then quickly cursed him out and put him back in his place.
My next thought was, well, pride. And no, not because I used to joke that I wanted his first words to be dammit. In all actuality, I was just impressed that he listens to me. Fuck is one of those words in my house that is interchangeable with any other word. It’s true. I have a potty mouth. I swear like I breathe. It is what gives me edge without having to have a weapon. So clearly Bobby heard me use the phrase, and then proceeded to repeat it.
It isn’t just that he repeated it, either. He used it in a proper sentence structure. His context was right on. It portrayed the problem clearly. Mom, the poster that is on my wall has come down and I feel that it is a problem. I am also rather disappointed in this development in the décor of my room. Of course, had he phrased it like that, I would have been even prouder, but he is only 3. How much can I expect? It’s all fucked up is clear as day to me.
During all of this though, I stood there, speechless. I even asked him to repeat what I was sure to have misheard. Nope. He repeated the phrase that pays and I was amused. I of course had to share my amusement with whomever was closest, and since Dax wouldn’t have understood (and if I was on the fence about wanting my children to swear, telling this tale to the 2 year old was only going to make matters worse), I sent Bobby in to inform Daddy of the poster incident.
What really sucked was the fact that he in deed sprinted into the other room in search of Ken to tell him. But his delivery was lacking. He only said that his poster had fallen, and did not use the colorful language that had my head swimming.
When I say swimming, I refer to this crazy pool of ideals and morals that I have to content with when it comes to my children. Everything from whether or not they can eat sugar before bedtime to what college I can afford to send them to resides in this body of water. An issue like childhood vulgarity is something that before kids I never thought I would care about. I was one of the parents that felt that I wanted to teach my kids a time and a place for this words would give them better education and would keep them from just using bad words because of their forbidden nature. If you drop a rock on your foot, you should be able to scream out anything that your little head comes up with. Even if it is just “Kelly Clarkson!” I wanted my kids to be smart about language. All kinds of language. I don’t talk down to them now. They have heard the words decapitate, agitate and antagonize in reasonable sentences rather than dumbing it down in order to keep it kid friendly. I think kids deserve to know what words mean, and just because the language in Go Dog Go is basic, it doesn’t mean I can’t also read to them from Harry Potter or even Shakespeare.
That being said, swear words are just words. They are only bad when you make them bad. So shouldn’t I utilize these words just like other “grownup” words if they are actually ones I use from day to day?
However, it comes to mind that children don’t always know the time or place where a particular piece of vocabulary is appropriate. Bobby still says, “Whobody said that?” as opposed to “Who said that”. Realistically, he may not understand at this young age that saying something is fucked up may not be appropriate in all situations. If he were in his 3rd grade classroom, I would imagine said statement would get him a detention. If he were at my parent’s house, he would get laughter. If he was in public, I would get dirty looks across the board. All of these are reactions I can’t control, nor do I want to. All I can control is the education I give to my son to explain to him what the world feels about certain pieces of the English language.
So do I tell him that his choice of words was incorrect? But that is an incorrect statement since clearly the sentence made sense. Ok, do I tell him that it is not appropriate to use said language in the house? No, since I personally don’t care what he says as long as it isn’t hurtful. Ok, then where is the lesson? I suppose there isn’t one, yet. If anything, the lesson learned is that Bobby is far smarter than I think I have given him credit up until this point. He also is growing and will soon be in situations that I am not there to protect him or even laugh at his innocence.
My decision is, well, to not make a decision. As of right now, he has emulated my speech, and has done it well. I have no reason to be angry or concerned. It does mean I need to be aware of what is coming, which will undoubtedly be that talk after his preschool teacher sends home a note saying that he uses a curse word. But I think I will cross that bridge when it comes.
The other day I overheard Bobby say something was jacked up, which is another common phrase I use when I know that my swearing would be inappropriate. I smiled since I knew then that it meant that he was versatile and perhaps it really would only be a little bit of training that I would be able to show him words that he could use in place of ones that are offensive to other folks. I also was pleased when I knew that his vocabulary was not limited to just swearing. I know there will be plenty of “he said what?” moments in my future, and I also know that I look forward to every colorful one. Why worry when really, there is nothing “fucked up” about that.
We had recently come across a poster filled with various dinosaurs that Bobby loved. Ken got some Scotch tape and affixed it to his bedroom wall. It was up for a few days when he came running to find me.
“Mommy, come!” he said with a serious tone. I followed him to his room where he then proceeded to gesture towards the poster. The top right corner had come down, and the poster was now folded over a bit. Bobby then explained what was going on.
“It’s all fucked up, Mommy.” There was no malice in his voice. It was a statement. It was matter of fact. He wasn’t screaming profanities at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t telling someone to fuck off. He just wanted me to understand the situation at hand.
I wasn’t sure what to do with his words at first. There is a huge part of me that wanted to laugh. Come on, we all know it is endlessly amusing when a toddler swears. Look at how many hits Funny Or Die.net got when Will Ferrell was out acted by a 3 year old who needed her mouth washed out with soap. It is taboo, but an innocent one that allows us to find humor in it.
Of course, the responsible parent in me also piped up. It was jumping up and down in the back of the crowd of reactions trying to make sure his voice was heard. You can’t let your child swear at this young of an age! Its blasphemy! You have to nip this in the bud right away lest he starts swearing at the drop of a hat.
Sure, I heard his words, but then quickly cursed him out and put him back in his place.
My next thought was, well, pride. And no, not because I used to joke that I wanted his first words to be dammit. In all actuality, I was just impressed that he listens to me. Fuck is one of those words in my house that is interchangeable with any other word. It’s true. I have a potty mouth. I swear like I breathe. It is what gives me edge without having to have a weapon. So clearly Bobby heard me use the phrase, and then proceeded to repeat it.
It isn’t just that he repeated it, either. He used it in a proper sentence structure. His context was right on. It portrayed the problem clearly. Mom, the poster that is on my wall has come down and I feel that it is a problem. I am also rather disappointed in this development in the décor of my room. Of course, had he phrased it like that, I would have been even prouder, but he is only 3. How much can I expect? It’s all fucked up is clear as day to me.
During all of this though, I stood there, speechless. I even asked him to repeat what I was sure to have misheard. Nope. He repeated the phrase that pays and I was amused. I of course had to share my amusement with whomever was closest, and since Dax wouldn’t have understood (and if I was on the fence about wanting my children to swear, telling this tale to the 2 year old was only going to make matters worse), I sent Bobby in to inform Daddy of the poster incident.
What really sucked was the fact that he in deed sprinted into the other room in search of Ken to tell him. But his delivery was lacking. He only said that his poster had fallen, and did not use the colorful language that had my head swimming.
When I say swimming, I refer to this crazy pool of ideals and morals that I have to content with when it comes to my children. Everything from whether or not they can eat sugar before bedtime to what college I can afford to send them to resides in this body of water. An issue like childhood vulgarity is something that before kids I never thought I would care about. I was one of the parents that felt that I wanted to teach my kids a time and a place for this words would give them better education and would keep them from just using bad words because of their forbidden nature. If you drop a rock on your foot, you should be able to scream out anything that your little head comes up with. Even if it is just “Kelly Clarkson!” I wanted my kids to be smart about language. All kinds of language. I don’t talk down to them now. They have heard the words decapitate, agitate and antagonize in reasonable sentences rather than dumbing it down in order to keep it kid friendly. I think kids deserve to know what words mean, and just because the language in Go Dog Go is basic, it doesn’t mean I can’t also read to them from Harry Potter or even Shakespeare.
That being said, swear words are just words. They are only bad when you make them bad. So shouldn’t I utilize these words just like other “grownup” words if they are actually ones I use from day to day?
However, it comes to mind that children don’t always know the time or place where a particular piece of vocabulary is appropriate. Bobby still says, “Whobody said that?” as opposed to “Who said that”. Realistically, he may not understand at this young age that saying something is fucked up may not be appropriate in all situations. If he were in his 3rd grade classroom, I would imagine said statement would get him a detention. If he were at my parent’s house, he would get laughter. If he was in public, I would get dirty looks across the board. All of these are reactions I can’t control, nor do I want to. All I can control is the education I give to my son to explain to him what the world feels about certain pieces of the English language.
So do I tell him that his choice of words was incorrect? But that is an incorrect statement since clearly the sentence made sense. Ok, do I tell him that it is not appropriate to use said language in the house? No, since I personally don’t care what he says as long as it isn’t hurtful. Ok, then where is the lesson? I suppose there isn’t one, yet. If anything, the lesson learned is that Bobby is far smarter than I think I have given him credit up until this point. He also is growing and will soon be in situations that I am not there to protect him or even laugh at his innocence.
My decision is, well, to not make a decision. As of right now, he has emulated my speech, and has done it well. I have no reason to be angry or concerned. It does mean I need to be aware of what is coming, which will undoubtedly be that talk after his preschool teacher sends home a note saying that he uses a curse word. But I think I will cross that bridge when it comes.
The other day I overheard Bobby say something was jacked up, which is another common phrase I use when I know that my swearing would be inappropriate. I smiled since I knew then that it meant that he was versatile and perhaps it really would only be a little bit of training that I would be able to show him words that he could use in place of ones that are offensive to other folks. I also was pleased when I knew that his vocabulary was not limited to just swearing. I know there will be plenty of “he said what?” moments in my future, and I also know that I look forward to every colorful one. Why worry when really, there is nothing “fucked up” about that.
Past
12-9-08
I am a person who although doesn’t live in the past, does look back at it with fond memories. You see, the past is how you got where you are today. Good and bad, those are events and memories that have formed who you are and where you are going. My past has taught me to mistrust all people. My past has taught me that too often friends are not there through thick and thin. My past has taught me that you should always be yourself despite what others think of you. There are many more lessons that have created the person I look at in the mirror every morning. Despite my weight gain and cynical look at the world, I am very happy at what I am. Sure, there are things that need to change. I need to get out of the house more to do things for me, not just for the boys. I should have more hobbies. I may need to rethink the plaid skirt since I am no longer 20. And of course, there is the gut that gets in my way. There are plenty of ways to change these things, and sometimes, I look to my past to figure out how to do them.
I used to be thin. How did I do that? Well, in high school, not only did I play soccer, but at one time I used to run 3 miles a day. A year or so ago, I managed to drop 65 pounds because I watched what I ate, and I worked out. Don’t you think I should look at how I did these things in order to see what to do now? Perhaps I can remember how I used to wear some really cute things back in the day all because I was thin. Sometimes, the motivation to fix myself is to see how I felt before. The past is the way to do this.
I don’t see friends like I used to. In high school, and even right out of school, I used to go out with people all the time. I saw movies, I went to concerts, I just hung out at restaurants. Sure, I will never have the same existence as I did then. I am not devastated by this. I love spending time with my kids. I am happy that a good chunk of my time is now spent with family. Of course, it would be not just fun to go out more, but it would be good for me to have some people that I talk to that don’t just speak in toddler. I have that. I keep up with friends via email a lot. It seems to be the easiest medium these days with hectic schedules and responsibilities. It also takes me back to when I was grounded all the time and my primary source of communication was in the form of hand written letters. Yes, the response time wasn’t always as fast, but it still worked. Now, I can write back and forth with someone all day, despite being at work or maybe cleaning up kid stuff. Super handy. I also look back on my past, when I was out with friends, having fun, and I look to see why I was having fun. Well, a good chunk of it was that I was getting to know people. I was having lots of fun chats with people about their likes and dislikes. A lot of the talk surrounded boys. My conversations now have this topic, but a totally different connotation. My past shows me how I was when I was a social butterfly. Was I happy? Most of the time. Would being that way again make me happier than I am now? I don’t know. I use that version of me as a good gauge to see if I am going in a correct direction, or if I am missing out on something I could possibly still have.
One of the biggest disappointments that I actually have now is some of my past that isn’t find of it. Sure, I understand not thinking back fondly of the breakup pains or death or abuse or some other horrific past that may haunt you. But these are people that don’t even appreciate a fun day with good friends. They see pictures, hear stories, and you can actually see them cringe as these memories are drudged up in their mind. I can speculate all day long as to why they react as if I just punched them in the gut when I present them with a photo of them mugging for the camera 20 years ago. But the bottom line is, when they shun the pictures or the tales, they are telling me that their past that involved me was something they wish they never had, and that hurts.
There are people I hung out with that were horrible. They drove me crazy, they were annoying, they were obnoxious, they were not even good friends. But I am ok with that now. If anything, I am even more happy to of had those kind of characters in my life so that I could have some diversity. We were misfits in high school. We were never even close to being the cool kids, and I am so relieved this was the case. Sure, as a little kid, I hoped to be homecoming queen or the most popular girl in the school. It was never meant to be. Not to say those people were not good folks. But I think that I was meant to be something else. The girl in the background that people vaguely remember because I used to hang out with some other vaguely memorable people.
My senior year I should have known that the friends I had would turn out like this. We had a couple of kids that hung out with us that were not seniors. One of my friends decided this was unacceptable. He, and a couple others opted to go sit somewhere else for a while at lunch. They told me that I was more than welcome, as was this one guy that was younger, but not the others. Apparently the other guys were cramping their style. I was appalled. In fact, for a couple days I didn’t even go near any of them. I just felt so lost. Mind you, we were all freshman at one point when we hung out with a senior and a couple of guys already graduated. We were never the kids who would run for student counsel or even have the one obligatory pic in the year book. And maybe they wanted this. Maybe this is what they always yearned for and come the time we were in the 12th grade, they felt like we had missed out on our chance. I on the other hand just didn’t know how they could be so arrogant. Now, 15 years later, they are once again shunning things that they feel are beneath them.
These last few months, I have seen old friends show their true colors. People I love with all my heart, despite the fact that we don’t talk but once every few years or even if we talked every day and had differences. These were people that were my foundation. My base of what kind of people I hoped to have in my life for years and years to come. People that would be surrogate aunts and uncles to my children, and the ones that I would hopefully speak fondly of forever. The latter will always be true, since I will try to always think of the good times. I will keep as much in touch with the less jaded ones and stay up to date on their whereabouts and lives. I chatted with one of my old friends on Sunday for about an hour, and it was awesome. We told stories, we talked about our kids and different things we had been up to. It was so wonderful to know that we would probably always have a place in each other’s lives, even if it was but once or twice a year.
I look at this picture on my desk of a group of us at Disneyland a few years back. I realize when I look at it how many of these folks that I don’t actually talk to that often, if at all. I look at with this naïve sense of warmth. If someone saw this picture who didn’t know us might say, oh, what a nice group of friends. But in reality, the closeness of everyone pictures is as much of a façade as the fake mountain we are posing in front of.
Will these revelations sully my image of these people? I am hoping to answer that with a no. Of course, this can’t possibly be true, but my existence now, the foundation I stand by, despite the changed house that sits atop of it, needs to always be respected. Although some of the people that make up that base can’t face it, I need to believe that they will always still be there. Yes, I may replace some of the pillars with other people as the years pass. I may even move, but this was my very first existence, and I will always hold tight onto the memories.
My future holds so much. Friends that I have only known a short time or even ones I don’t know yet will be who I turn to in times of need. I will have my children’s lives to help mold and structure as they navigate adolescence and build their own foundations of friends. I will grow crazy old with my husband at my side, and he and I can know that we came from the same group of friends and still love each other despite growing up and moving on from high school. I will still have the pictures and the memories near by, though. You have to, since when your life is over, you will have those precious moments ease you into the dark. I refuse to go feeling sad. I want to feel like my life was filled with happy times, no matter when the time was.
I am a person who although doesn’t live in the past, does look back at it with fond memories. You see, the past is how you got where you are today. Good and bad, those are events and memories that have formed who you are and where you are going. My past has taught me to mistrust all people. My past has taught me that too often friends are not there through thick and thin. My past has taught me that you should always be yourself despite what others think of you. There are many more lessons that have created the person I look at in the mirror every morning. Despite my weight gain and cynical look at the world, I am very happy at what I am. Sure, there are things that need to change. I need to get out of the house more to do things for me, not just for the boys. I should have more hobbies. I may need to rethink the plaid skirt since I am no longer 20. And of course, there is the gut that gets in my way. There are plenty of ways to change these things, and sometimes, I look to my past to figure out how to do them.
I used to be thin. How did I do that? Well, in high school, not only did I play soccer, but at one time I used to run 3 miles a day. A year or so ago, I managed to drop 65 pounds because I watched what I ate, and I worked out. Don’t you think I should look at how I did these things in order to see what to do now? Perhaps I can remember how I used to wear some really cute things back in the day all because I was thin. Sometimes, the motivation to fix myself is to see how I felt before. The past is the way to do this.
I don’t see friends like I used to. In high school, and even right out of school, I used to go out with people all the time. I saw movies, I went to concerts, I just hung out at restaurants. Sure, I will never have the same existence as I did then. I am not devastated by this. I love spending time with my kids. I am happy that a good chunk of my time is now spent with family. Of course, it would be not just fun to go out more, but it would be good for me to have some people that I talk to that don’t just speak in toddler. I have that. I keep up with friends via email a lot. It seems to be the easiest medium these days with hectic schedules and responsibilities. It also takes me back to when I was grounded all the time and my primary source of communication was in the form of hand written letters. Yes, the response time wasn’t always as fast, but it still worked. Now, I can write back and forth with someone all day, despite being at work or maybe cleaning up kid stuff. Super handy. I also look back on my past, when I was out with friends, having fun, and I look to see why I was having fun. Well, a good chunk of it was that I was getting to know people. I was having lots of fun chats with people about their likes and dislikes. A lot of the talk surrounded boys. My conversations now have this topic, but a totally different connotation. My past shows me how I was when I was a social butterfly. Was I happy? Most of the time. Would being that way again make me happier than I am now? I don’t know. I use that version of me as a good gauge to see if I am going in a correct direction, or if I am missing out on something I could possibly still have.
One of the biggest disappointments that I actually have now is some of my past that isn’t find of it. Sure, I understand not thinking back fondly of the breakup pains or death or abuse or some other horrific past that may haunt you. But these are people that don’t even appreciate a fun day with good friends. They see pictures, hear stories, and you can actually see them cringe as these memories are drudged up in their mind. I can speculate all day long as to why they react as if I just punched them in the gut when I present them with a photo of them mugging for the camera 20 years ago. But the bottom line is, when they shun the pictures or the tales, they are telling me that their past that involved me was something they wish they never had, and that hurts.
There are people I hung out with that were horrible. They drove me crazy, they were annoying, they were obnoxious, they were not even good friends. But I am ok with that now. If anything, I am even more happy to of had those kind of characters in my life so that I could have some diversity. We were misfits in high school. We were never even close to being the cool kids, and I am so relieved this was the case. Sure, as a little kid, I hoped to be homecoming queen or the most popular girl in the school. It was never meant to be. Not to say those people were not good folks. But I think that I was meant to be something else. The girl in the background that people vaguely remember because I used to hang out with some other vaguely memorable people.
My senior year I should have known that the friends I had would turn out like this. We had a couple of kids that hung out with us that were not seniors. One of my friends decided this was unacceptable. He, and a couple others opted to go sit somewhere else for a while at lunch. They told me that I was more than welcome, as was this one guy that was younger, but not the others. Apparently the other guys were cramping their style. I was appalled. In fact, for a couple days I didn’t even go near any of them. I just felt so lost. Mind you, we were all freshman at one point when we hung out with a senior and a couple of guys already graduated. We were never the kids who would run for student counsel or even have the one obligatory pic in the year book. And maybe they wanted this. Maybe this is what they always yearned for and come the time we were in the 12th grade, they felt like we had missed out on our chance. I on the other hand just didn’t know how they could be so arrogant. Now, 15 years later, they are once again shunning things that they feel are beneath them.
These last few months, I have seen old friends show their true colors. People I love with all my heart, despite the fact that we don’t talk but once every few years or even if we talked every day and had differences. These were people that were my foundation. My base of what kind of people I hoped to have in my life for years and years to come. People that would be surrogate aunts and uncles to my children, and the ones that I would hopefully speak fondly of forever. The latter will always be true, since I will try to always think of the good times. I will keep as much in touch with the less jaded ones and stay up to date on their whereabouts and lives. I chatted with one of my old friends on Sunday for about an hour, and it was awesome. We told stories, we talked about our kids and different things we had been up to. It was so wonderful to know that we would probably always have a place in each other’s lives, even if it was but once or twice a year.
I look at this picture on my desk of a group of us at Disneyland a few years back. I realize when I look at it how many of these folks that I don’t actually talk to that often, if at all. I look at with this naïve sense of warmth. If someone saw this picture who didn’t know us might say, oh, what a nice group of friends. But in reality, the closeness of everyone pictures is as much of a façade as the fake mountain we are posing in front of.
Will these revelations sully my image of these people? I am hoping to answer that with a no. Of course, this can’t possibly be true, but my existence now, the foundation I stand by, despite the changed house that sits atop of it, needs to always be respected. Although some of the people that make up that base can’t face it, I need to believe that they will always still be there. Yes, I may replace some of the pillars with other people as the years pass. I may even move, but this was my very first existence, and I will always hold tight onto the memories.
My future holds so much. Friends that I have only known a short time or even ones I don’t know yet will be who I turn to in times of need. I will have my children’s lives to help mold and structure as they navigate adolescence and build their own foundations of friends. I will grow crazy old with my husband at my side, and he and I can know that we came from the same group of friends and still love each other despite growing up and moving on from high school. I will still have the pictures and the memories near by, though. You have to, since when your life is over, you will have those precious moments ease you into the dark. I refuse to go feeling sad. I want to feel like my life was filled with happy times, no matter when the time was.
Music
12-11-08
I recently watched the movie Bowling for Columbine by Michael Moore. I enjoyed it, and despite the editing that made it seem almost too good to be true on certain points, I was particularly amused at his interview with shock rocker Marilyn Manson. I had for gotten the backlash he had received after the Columbine shootings. After the tragedy, all of the media outlets were looking for answers. They couldn’t accept that these two young men could possibly have the kind of anger that would be needed to shoot up a school of their peers, and then turn the guns on themselves. Someone needed to be blamed.
It is incredibly easy to blame music. We had been doing it for some time. Music has been under fire so many times to be the reason why our youth do the awful things they do. Rap music is causing gang wars, rock is causing kids to do drugs. It is a wonder that we don’t have more problems with the kids these days.
Blaming musicians and their artistic statements has always really bothered me. It isn’t as if these rock stars are telling kids to go shoot up a school. And even if they are, I don’t really think they mean it. Rap artists have talked about killing cops and just about everyone they come in contact with. Sure, their lifestyles often mirror their lyrics, but I am guessing most of the folks that listen to their music will never be in a situation that would be similar to the song. And the ones that do, they would have been in said situation despite what song was playing on the radio at this time.
On my way home from work yesterday, I had the radio on. The song playing was a song that I sang to my boys when they were little. Every time I sing the song, I get choked up. It never fails, either. Every time I hear the song, I think of my boys and I get all mushy. If often alters my mood instantly into super mom mode and I find that even when they are being crazy kids, the music will calm me and almost rejuvenate my patience with their antics. As I started to consider all of this, Marilyn Manson came to mind. Here was a song that willed me to being more in touch with my boys. Lyrics and melody all combined with the end result of me actually, if even for a split second, being different.
Of course, this was a positive effect. I had euphoria because of 2 and a half minutes of some British guy singing his heart out. My brain then went back to when I was a teen. Angst was my favorite state of mind, and how many times did I turn to my CD collections to find something to relate to, something to numb the pain I was feeling or perhaps to inspire healing in my soul. Erasure, George Michael, Depeche Mode, all of these people were my therapists. Lucky for me, their fees were very reasonable. For $12 I could get unlimited time with them forever. It was as if they all could understand me on a level no best friend would ever be privy to. When I was in a fight with my boyfriend, I would blare the song, “I Love to Hate You!” over and over, screaming the lyrics, feeling empowered about the current breakup, and it was this that got me through so many rough times.
So how is it any different for other kids who were listening to other styles of music. My choice was British Electronic Pop. Pretty harmless when you look at the grand scheme of things. What would happen had I listened to a more angry song? What had happened had I been more than just mildly emotional about things? What if I had already been troubled to a level where I was angry at the world and the music was ALL I had? I cannot speculate what the psychological issues that the young men who shot up Columbine. I wonder, though, if it is at all possible that they had deeper issues, and the music they happened to choose empowered them in different ways then my little pop songs inspired me. Is it possible that the anger and pure adrenaline that is contained in those songs could have made them feel better because they knew they didn’t have to put up with anything anymore? It isn’t to say that they were told to kill students in such a brutal fashion. It was just fuel to an already burning fire deep in their soul.
We have always ruined to music to inspire, to touch, to laugh at, and to really define our existence. Decades were characterized by genres of music simply because they explained the mood of the youth that listened to the tunes flowing from their radios. Drugs were done to particular songs because they were the best mood enhancers. We slow danced to ballads sung to the artist’s girlfriend, and we dedicated it to our own love. Sure, her name wasn’t Donna, but Richie Vallens knew how we felt about Betty. Music is what makes the soundtrack to our lives and for most people, it is featured prominently in every facet of our existence.
Maybe the media was correct in saying that the music had something to do with Columbine. These boys were influenced in some way to release their inner demons. That being said, though, do we blame the artists for their songs? Do we point the finger at them, making them share the blame of multiple deaths all because they sang a song that inspired a kid to cause those deaths? Is there really blood on the guitar at this point?
It isn’t fair to expect a singer or songwriter to censor their artistic expression simply because there are a few people out there that might find this to be the key to their dungeon of hate. Many of these musicians are using the music to get out their own anger in a more constructive way. Many of them actually help people to do the same thing. Just because one or two people do a horrific crime, it doesn’t mean that the artist caused this.
What is to say that a happy band doesn’t inspire hate? I can tell you when I was young, I would hear New Kids on the Block and I would practically seizure from their cheery boy band ways, and I wanted to hit someone in the face. Did I? No, I knew right from wrong and I was aware that the New Kids Defense would be mocked endlessly by my peers. People snap for various reasons. It could be because someone put onions on their burger when they clearly asked for none. Someone gets fired, someone stubs their toe, someone sees a movie with violence, someone loses their keys. Can we prevent all of these things from happening? Charles Manson was rumored to have snapped when the Beach Boys, one of the most cheery bands ever, ended up not recording with him. Are we then to believe that a band of guys who sang about girls and cars caused Sharon Tate to be sliced up with all of her friends? Let’s hope not.
Should artists be mindful of their lyrics? Probably. It would be a good idea to not target songs to kids that are filled with profanity and hate. Of course, they will still hear it, but it would be good to not shove it down their throats. Kids will discover the music they need, and if talking about beating the hell out of their girlfriend while scoring a whole ton of drugs is what they need and it is what you wrote, then you are set. I am guessing, though, that kids would much rather listen to something that will help them in a more productive way.
So yes, go ahead and blame the music for their actions. But when you do that, you need to look closely at all of the music that has influenced you. When you were so depressed about some boy not asking you to prom, and you polished off a whole gallon of ice cream while listening to the Cure, which resulted in gaining 5 pounds, I would recommend throwing out all of those albums you have cherished all these years. Oh, and when you didn’t get what you wanted for Christmas, make sure to blame Andy Williams since he is the one singing about how Santa is coming to town to bring you everything you wanted. When you get divorced, make sure to file a lawsuit against the band that played at your wedding. We know they must have caused the problems since they are what played at the start of your marriage. If we are truly willing to blame, and credit, all of the artists for everything they have given to society with their voices and tunes, then and only then can we really place any kind of responsibility on the likes of Marilyn Manson for Columbine. And even then, shouldn’t we just know that even if the music plays out hate, it is still our responsibility to turn it off?
I recently watched the movie Bowling for Columbine by Michael Moore. I enjoyed it, and despite the editing that made it seem almost too good to be true on certain points, I was particularly amused at his interview with shock rocker Marilyn Manson. I had for gotten the backlash he had received after the Columbine shootings. After the tragedy, all of the media outlets were looking for answers. They couldn’t accept that these two young men could possibly have the kind of anger that would be needed to shoot up a school of their peers, and then turn the guns on themselves. Someone needed to be blamed.
It is incredibly easy to blame music. We had been doing it for some time. Music has been under fire so many times to be the reason why our youth do the awful things they do. Rap music is causing gang wars, rock is causing kids to do drugs. It is a wonder that we don’t have more problems with the kids these days.
Blaming musicians and their artistic statements has always really bothered me. It isn’t as if these rock stars are telling kids to go shoot up a school. And even if they are, I don’t really think they mean it. Rap artists have talked about killing cops and just about everyone they come in contact with. Sure, their lifestyles often mirror their lyrics, but I am guessing most of the folks that listen to their music will never be in a situation that would be similar to the song. And the ones that do, they would have been in said situation despite what song was playing on the radio at this time.
On my way home from work yesterday, I had the radio on. The song playing was a song that I sang to my boys when they were little. Every time I sing the song, I get choked up. It never fails, either. Every time I hear the song, I think of my boys and I get all mushy. If often alters my mood instantly into super mom mode and I find that even when they are being crazy kids, the music will calm me and almost rejuvenate my patience with their antics. As I started to consider all of this, Marilyn Manson came to mind. Here was a song that willed me to being more in touch with my boys. Lyrics and melody all combined with the end result of me actually, if even for a split second, being different.
Of course, this was a positive effect. I had euphoria because of 2 and a half minutes of some British guy singing his heart out. My brain then went back to when I was a teen. Angst was my favorite state of mind, and how many times did I turn to my CD collections to find something to relate to, something to numb the pain I was feeling or perhaps to inspire healing in my soul. Erasure, George Michael, Depeche Mode, all of these people were my therapists. Lucky for me, their fees were very reasonable. For $12 I could get unlimited time with them forever. It was as if they all could understand me on a level no best friend would ever be privy to. When I was in a fight with my boyfriend, I would blare the song, “I Love to Hate You!” over and over, screaming the lyrics, feeling empowered about the current breakup, and it was this that got me through so many rough times.
So how is it any different for other kids who were listening to other styles of music. My choice was British Electronic Pop. Pretty harmless when you look at the grand scheme of things. What would happen had I listened to a more angry song? What had happened had I been more than just mildly emotional about things? What if I had already been troubled to a level where I was angry at the world and the music was ALL I had? I cannot speculate what the psychological issues that the young men who shot up Columbine. I wonder, though, if it is at all possible that they had deeper issues, and the music they happened to choose empowered them in different ways then my little pop songs inspired me. Is it possible that the anger and pure adrenaline that is contained in those songs could have made them feel better because they knew they didn’t have to put up with anything anymore? It isn’t to say that they were told to kill students in such a brutal fashion. It was just fuel to an already burning fire deep in their soul.
We have always ruined to music to inspire, to touch, to laugh at, and to really define our existence. Decades were characterized by genres of music simply because they explained the mood of the youth that listened to the tunes flowing from their radios. Drugs were done to particular songs because they were the best mood enhancers. We slow danced to ballads sung to the artist’s girlfriend, and we dedicated it to our own love. Sure, her name wasn’t Donna, but Richie Vallens knew how we felt about Betty. Music is what makes the soundtrack to our lives and for most people, it is featured prominently in every facet of our existence.
Maybe the media was correct in saying that the music had something to do with Columbine. These boys were influenced in some way to release their inner demons. That being said, though, do we blame the artists for their songs? Do we point the finger at them, making them share the blame of multiple deaths all because they sang a song that inspired a kid to cause those deaths? Is there really blood on the guitar at this point?
It isn’t fair to expect a singer or songwriter to censor their artistic expression simply because there are a few people out there that might find this to be the key to their dungeon of hate. Many of these musicians are using the music to get out their own anger in a more constructive way. Many of them actually help people to do the same thing. Just because one or two people do a horrific crime, it doesn’t mean that the artist caused this.
What is to say that a happy band doesn’t inspire hate? I can tell you when I was young, I would hear New Kids on the Block and I would practically seizure from their cheery boy band ways, and I wanted to hit someone in the face. Did I? No, I knew right from wrong and I was aware that the New Kids Defense would be mocked endlessly by my peers. People snap for various reasons. It could be because someone put onions on their burger when they clearly asked for none. Someone gets fired, someone stubs their toe, someone sees a movie with violence, someone loses their keys. Can we prevent all of these things from happening? Charles Manson was rumored to have snapped when the Beach Boys, one of the most cheery bands ever, ended up not recording with him. Are we then to believe that a band of guys who sang about girls and cars caused Sharon Tate to be sliced up with all of her friends? Let’s hope not.
Should artists be mindful of their lyrics? Probably. It would be a good idea to not target songs to kids that are filled with profanity and hate. Of course, they will still hear it, but it would be good to not shove it down their throats. Kids will discover the music they need, and if talking about beating the hell out of their girlfriend while scoring a whole ton of drugs is what they need and it is what you wrote, then you are set. I am guessing, though, that kids would much rather listen to something that will help them in a more productive way.
So yes, go ahead and blame the music for their actions. But when you do that, you need to look closely at all of the music that has influenced you. When you were so depressed about some boy not asking you to prom, and you polished off a whole gallon of ice cream while listening to the Cure, which resulted in gaining 5 pounds, I would recommend throwing out all of those albums you have cherished all these years. Oh, and when you didn’t get what you wanted for Christmas, make sure to blame Andy Williams since he is the one singing about how Santa is coming to town to bring you everything you wanted. When you get divorced, make sure to file a lawsuit against the band that played at your wedding. We know they must have caused the problems since they are what played at the start of your marriage. If we are truly willing to blame, and credit, all of the artists for everything they have given to society with their voices and tunes, then and only then can we really place any kind of responsibility on the likes of Marilyn Manson for Columbine. And even then, shouldn’t we just know that even if the music plays out hate, it is still our responsibility to turn it off?
I really need to get back into the swing of this!
1-28-09
I know, what a slacker! I say I am going to start a blog again, but then I don’t write yesterday? Sheesh!
Ok, in all fairness, it was hectic yesterday. I dealt with idiots on parade, so it kept me from my normal time frame of stuff. I can’t complain, though. I am happy to be busy at work since it means I am working. These times are so freaky. That family that was all killed yesterday because the parents lost their jobs. It is so sad. I assume he was a little crazy anyway, but I think that the strain of losing your job, your livelihood, is really starting to take its toll on folks.
Aside from my dealings with the dumb yesterday, it was a good day. I rode the exercise bike in the morning and have been this week. I am only doing about 15 minutes at first so I can ease back into the routine. I was a little annoyed that my 90210 was a repeat and the Mentalist was as well. But that was ok, since it gave me time to clear out the Tivo’s a bit. I think tomorrow I will start watching some movies. I have a handful I had recorded, so I might as well take advantage of the time.
The only real problem with my new schedule of events is that I am insanely tired. I get to bed between 9 and 10 and get up at 4, which really isn’t a lot of sleep. Plus, I wake up in the middle of the night the once or twice (on a good night) that Dax may get up. Poor kid is having some separation anxiety lately. Nothing worse than hearing him at 12:30 yelling, “Wait! Daddy!”
Poor Bobby had a helluva day yesterday. He bonked his noggin pretty good at my folk’s house. He stepped off the porch step wrong and smacked his head into the chair, which left quite the bump. Then, later, he was dinking around at the dinner table and managed to fall and bit his lip. Not cool. He had been protesting the dinner selection (chicken and bananas) so I ended up making him a sandwich because despite the lessons I was trying to teach him, I didn’t think the bruised little boy needed to go to bed hungry.
I have several lessons I need to start doing with the boys. Little things that I really have let go for too long. With Dax going through his nightly issues, I will probably wait since part of the problem is from Dax waking up Bobby. Bobby gets up, then, and comes and asks for some milk. I don’t have issue with this, except when he gets up like 4 times to get milk. Once again, I like that he drinks so much milk, but he will never learn to stay dry over night with that much fluid in his bladder. The good news is I heard him get up last night to pee, so this is a good sign. He is still kind of young for over night, but I may set up a prize system with that. Either way, I think cutting off nighttime fluids is a good way to do that.
I want to get Bobby a little MP3 player. He loves music and he likes certain songs. I am thinking if we set up his little player with songs he likes, and maybe even some he doesn’t know, he can start to listen to music on his own. So this is one of the presents for his birthday. The other is the Darth Vader costume we saw. He told me about it again, and even knew it had been at Toys R Us, so I think tonight we will venture out to pick that up. I want to get it before it sells out.
I loved listening to Bobby go on and on about his birthday plans. He tells me he wants a balloon cake, and then quickly corrected himself, “No! Not a balloon cake, it will fly away!” He has discussed Buzz Lightyear and Darth Vader and even an ice cream cake. I think that a Costco sheet cake, with several toys for cake toppers is the plan. I figure a Buzz, Darth, maybe even Blue and other friends will make an appearance on the cake. That way I cover my bases.
Dax is learning the phrase “I Love You” which is crazy cute. Bobby says it a lot, often followed up with, “You’re cute, mommy.” I know that between Bobby and I saying it that much, Dax will have it soon. I am impressed with Dax’s sentences. He sits on the potty, despite having no pee in him, and will then tell me, “I am trying again!” He also has become frustrated when he doesn’t know the names of random characters in shows. There could be a dog that has no name and he is insistent on knowing the dog’s name. “I dunno dog’s name!” I may need to get Dax a book of baby names so he has some names he can start dolling out to every one we come in contact with.
I an so sore! I boxed, I hula hoped, I did step class. I did a smidge of yoga to stretch out. I may need to do that at home since I can feel how stiff I am. I am hoping to start riding the bike for 10 to 15 minutes in the evening as well. It is just some more exercise in general. I am not trying anything specific, yet. Just getting my body used to all the activity.
Tonight we need to go to Target. Ken needs some sets for an upcoming b-day party. This is really my excuse to get the boys some more Buzz Lightyear socks. In the dollar section, there were some Pixar socks including Monsters Inc and the Incredibles. The Monsters Inc ones have green socks that have Mike, and a set that are pink with Sulley. So I combined them so Dax has one of each. Yes, they don’t match, and yes, he is wearing pink, but I can safely say no one would ever pick on Dax for liking pink socks. Either way, both love the Buzz sock especially, and they are rather large, so we can pick up 10 pair and they are set for a while. And for $10? Shoot, you can’t go wrong.
I am very excited since the lovely people in my department are taking me to lunch on Friday. And not just lunch, PF Changs!! It is a thank you for all of the help that I give them. I thought that was way cool. They so didn’t need to do that, but they said they appreciate all that I do for them, when I really don’t need to. But apparently I do need to since it gets me free lunch!
I am supposed to my reports this morning, but it seems that everything doesn’t want to match. Of course, this may be due to the change in our fiscal period. Dates on everything changed, so a lot of the variants for them may be off. I am a little bummed, since I was hoping to work on them today, but at this rate, unless we changed the network path for them and I just didn’t know, they will all need to be re run, which means I don’t get to do them until tomorrow.
This is not to say that I don’t have accounts I can’t work on. Shoot, I can run new reports that will let me kick some ass on these new accounts I got. So I think I will do that. I love a challenge, and I was essentially given one. I may as well step up, right?
I know, what a slacker! I say I am going to start a blog again, but then I don’t write yesterday? Sheesh!
Ok, in all fairness, it was hectic yesterday. I dealt with idiots on parade, so it kept me from my normal time frame of stuff. I can’t complain, though. I am happy to be busy at work since it means I am working. These times are so freaky. That family that was all killed yesterday because the parents lost their jobs. It is so sad. I assume he was a little crazy anyway, but I think that the strain of losing your job, your livelihood, is really starting to take its toll on folks.
Aside from my dealings with the dumb yesterday, it was a good day. I rode the exercise bike in the morning and have been this week. I am only doing about 15 minutes at first so I can ease back into the routine. I was a little annoyed that my 90210 was a repeat and the Mentalist was as well. But that was ok, since it gave me time to clear out the Tivo’s a bit. I think tomorrow I will start watching some movies. I have a handful I had recorded, so I might as well take advantage of the time.
The only real problem with my new schedule of events is that I am insanely tired. I get to bed between 9 and 10 and get up at 4, which really isn’t a lot of sleep. Plus, I wake up in the middle of the night the once or twice (on a good night) that Dax may get up. Poor kid is having some separation anxiety lately. Nothing worse than hearing him at 12:30 yelling, “Wait! Daddy!”
Poor Bobby had a helluva day yesterday. He bonked his noggin pretty good at my folk’s house. He stepped off the porch step wrong and smacked his head into the chair, which left quite the bump. Then, later, he was dinking around at the dinner table and managed to fall and bit his lip. Not cool. He had been protesting the dinner selection (chicken and bananas) so I ended up making him a sandwich because despite the lessons I was trying to teach him, I didn’t think the bruised little boy needed to go to bed hungry.
I have several lessons I need to start doing with the boys. Little things that I really have let go for too long. With Dax going through his nightly issues, I will probably wait since part of the problem is from Dax waking up Bobby. Bobby gets up, then, and comes and asks for some milk. I don’t have issue with this, except when he gets up like 4 times to get milk. Once again, I like that he drinks so much milk, but he will never learn to stay dry over night with that much fluid in his bladder. The good news is I heard him get up last night to pee, so this is a good sign. He is still kind of young for over night, but I may set up a prize system with that. Either way, I think cutting off nighttime fluids is a good way to do that.
I want to get Bobby a little MP3 player. He loves music and he likes certain songs. I am thinking if we set up his little player with songs he likes, and maybe even some he doesn’t know, he can start to listen to music on his own. So this is one of the presents for his birthday. The other is the Darth Vader costume we saw. He told me about it again, and even knew it had been at Toys R Us, so I think tonight we will venture out to pick that up. I want to get it before it sells out.
I loved listening to Bobby go on and on about his birthday plans. He tells me he wants a balloon cake, and then quickly corrected himself, “No! Not a balloon cake, it will fly away!” He has discussed Buzz Lightyear and Darth Vader and even an ice cream cake. I think that a Costco sheet cake, with several toys for cake toppers is the plan. I figure a Buzz, Darth, maybe even Blue and other friends will make an appearance on the cake. That way I cover my bases.
Dax is learning the phrase “I Love You” which is crazy cute. Bobby says it a lot, often followed up with, “You’re cute, mommy.” I know that between Bobby and I saying it that much, Dax will have it soon. I am impressed with Dax’s sentences. He sits on the potty, despite having no pee in him, and will then tell me, “I am trying again!” He also has become frustrated when he doesn’t know the names of random characters in shows. There could be a dog that has no name and he is insistent on knowing the dog’s name. “I dunno dog’s name!” I may need to get Dax a book of baby names so he has some names he can start dolling out to every one we come in contact with.
I an so sore! I boxed, I hula hoped, I did step class. I did a smidge of yoga to stretch out. I may need to do that at home since I can feel how stiff I am. I am hoping to start riding the bike for 10 to 15 minutes in the evening as well. It is just some more exercise in general. I am not trying anything specific, yet. Just getting my body used to all the activity.
Tonight we need to go to Target. Ken needs some sets for an upcoming b-day party. This is really my excuse to get the boys some more Buzz Lightyear socks. In the dollar section, there were some Pixar socks including Monsters Inc and the Incredibles. The Monsters Inc ones have green socks that have Mike, and a set that are pink with Sulley. So I combined them so Dax has one of each. Yes, they don’t match, and yes, he is wearing pink, but I can safely say no one would ever pick on Dax for liking pink socks. Either way, both love the Buzz sock especially, and they are rather large, so we can pick up 10 pair and they are set for a while. And for $10? Shoot, you can’t go wrong.
I am very excited since the lovely people in my department are taking me to lunch on Friday. And not just lunch, PF Changs!! It is a thank you for all of the help that I give them. I thought that was way cool. They so didn’t need to do that, but they said they appreciate all that I do for them, when I really don’t need to. But apparently I do need to since it gets me free lunch!
I am supposed to my reports this morning, but it seems that everything doesn’t want to match. Of course, this may be due to the change in our fiscal period. Dates on everything changed, so a lot of the variants for them may be off. I am a little bummed, since I was hoping to work on them today, but at this rate, unless we changed the network path for them and I just didn’t know, they will all need to be re run, which means I don’t get to do them until tomorrow.
This is not to say that I don’t have accounts I can’t work on. Shoot, I can run new reports that will let me kick some ass on these new accounts I got. So I think I will do that. I love a challenge, and I was essentially given one. I may as well step up, right?
Monday, January 26, 2009
My first new real blog
1-26-09
I will admit, I didn’t think anyone really read the blog. Perhaps it is my own self esteem talking, but I truly didn’t think people cared. Not saying that I am not interesting at times. More realistically, I wondered if perhaps people just didn’t have time to hear how I cleaned the house for the 100th time or how the boys were funny/bad/cute/odd/etc. I apparently was incorrect in my assessment.
I spoke to Angela on Friday who called me on an unrelated topic. Before we said our goodbyes, she mentioned to me that she missed the blogs. She said she read them everyday. It shocked me. It really did. I guess just because people don’t comment on things, it doesn’t mean they are not checking in from time to time. Not just people who talk to me every day. People who don’t always get a chance to see how I am, now have a way to see what my life is like. I feel so loved!
It is going to take me some time to get back into the swing of things. I have written journals since I signed off. But many were short and didn’t contain a whole lot of information. In addition to this, I started working on my new project in which I am hoping some day that perhaps I can have my own column. I have no idea if I am good enough. I don’t even know if I would be diligent enough to write on a schedule. Shoot, I didn’t finish my story writing exercise. Then again, the story started to bore the crap out of me. Anyway, I am now working on short pieces that would be column worthy. Ok, one is funny, but it does swear, so that may or may not work for say the LA Times. Either way, I was thinking of posting those today as well just to get some feedback if anyone is up to it.
This whole weekend was one of those surreal sets of weekends. It really started Thursday. I went to check Facebook before turning into bed when I noticed a friend request. Doug Smith. I would assume that name would really only mean something to me. And that is because Doug is my half brother.
Before my parents were married, my dad was married to another woman. He also had a son. Of course, they split, and my parents met and hooked up. However, my dad was still a part of Doug’s life. I remember Doug being at the house from time to time. I don’t know how much, and I don’t even know the logistics of how those times came to be. Come to think of it, I don’t even know the custody arrangement. Perhaps my dad didn’t have 50/50 custody. I don’t really know. Either way, when I did get to see Doug, I always liked him a great deal. He was always super nice to me. I remember one time when Doug was at Redondo (yes, he went to Redondo, but I will forgive him since I had no idea about the severe rivalry at the time) and there was a football game. Doug was in the band. My dad and I went and I remember Doug actually bragging to his friends about how smart his kid sister was. It was so cool!
I saw him from time to time, but really, not enough to really get to know him as I should. I remember one of his girlfriends, I think her name was Angie? That was a period of time in which I saw him a bit more. It was pretty cool. But they split up and it seemed like he wasn’t around anymore. The last time I saw him was right when I started working at Earthlink. For those of you keeping track, that would be about 10 years ago.
I invited him to
I saw him from time to time, but really, not enough to really get to know him as I should. I remember one of his girlfriends, I think her name was Angie? That was a period of time in which I saw him a bit more. It was pretty cool. But they split up and it seemed like he wasn’t around anymore. The last time I saw him was right when I started working at Earthlink. For those of you keeping track, that would be about 10 years ago.
I invited him to my wedding, I know my dad sent cards, but really, it was as if he was just gone. On my end, I assumed he had distanced himself from us and wasn’t interested in having a relationship with our father, and in turn, me. Our dad seemed pretty upset at this. He didn’t talk about it a lot, and the few times I really brought it up, he seemed angry, which tends to mean hurt. It didn’t help that his side of the family harassed him constantly about there whereabouts of his first born son. Mind you, I was pretty bitter about this. Especially when it came to Grandma who couldn’t remember my name, yet asked for Doug every time she talked to my dad. So the combo of these things made me not interested in seeking out his company.
Even with all of this in mind, the back of my head was always filled with, I have a brother out there that I don’t know. I should know him. He is my brother! What really kicked the thoughts into high gear was the birth of my children. Here was an uncle that they should know. So I asked my dad about him again.
I wrote a letter to Doug I think it was last year. I got his last address and was going to mail the letter. I would like to say I sent it, but I really think that I chickened out. I was nervous that he wouldn’t care, which surprisingly was more of a fear than him calling. I posted the letter on MySpace, thinking that way even though it was “out there” then perhaps he would come across it.
I also tried looking him up so I could email him. It is my most comfortable medium and I figured it was a less threatening way to approach the relationship. But let’s face it, Smith isn’t exactly unusual.
Over Christmas, my parents sent Doug a Christmas card, and at my mom’s urging, they included a couple of pictures of the boys. I think they also included my information in there. It was an attempt to get Doug to get in touch with me. Whatever the issue was between he and Dad, was no reason to shut me out.
It worked.
The friend request have me access to his life again! I have since emailed with his fiancé and have been able to glimpse into how he has been. What really made my day was that he was excited about being an uncle. Both said they were looking forward to meeting the boys and Ken and hopefully being a part of our lives. YAY!!
One of the emails from Doug included the phrase, “Cute kids, sis!” I have never been called sis before. Yes, I have a brother in Matt, but it is so different. Not to say that Matt is any less of a brother. But really, it isn’t like I can have deep conversations with him. I don’t know that this is something I have lacked. I have this strange dynamic in my sibling status. I am a middle child, with no older brother present much of the time. I am the older sibling, and sometimes I am like an only child in terms of not having sibling support. I have appreciated more than anyone may know how great it is to have Ken’s siblings as my own now. I love the interaction. But of course, it isn’t quite the same.
I always was jealous of Angela and Dani since they had older brothers. I loved that their brothers were old enough to not be in their hair all the time, but that they seemed protective of them when they were there. I remember Rob, Angela’s brother, ready to kick anyone’s ass if they messed with Angela. It was so cute! I kind of always hoped that Douglas would have been that way with me. Some boy treated me wrong, they had my brother to answer to. Then again, I was always so independent about that sort of thing, so maybe it wouldn’t have been like that. I don’t know. I just saw the cool potential, never the logistics.
I really hope that Doug is comfortable enough to tell me his side of the story with the falling out with our dad. I know that it will take some time. Even I am starting to wonder if my tainted views of how things really happened with the relationship really kept me from seeing the real things happening. I have so many questions, and even though I think I am entitled to some answers, how much of it is really my business?
In addition to my recent family happenings, work has taken a strange turn. I was out on Friday, and once again, layoffs happened. I don’t know how I do it, but if I was my coworkers, I would worry when I call out sick since it seems to mean my spidey sense is in high gear. We lost one person in our department, and it isn’t someone I though would actually go. I am happy about it, but that seems cold. I am also nervous as I write this, though, that I also am out of a job. I was out on Friday, so what is to say that when the boss comes in that I am out? I don’t know, and hopefully he gets here soon so I know.
So on that note, I suppose I should get my butt to work. I leave you with one funny thing Bobby did last week.
We have a bunch of magnets on the fridge for the boys to play with. One is a cat head. Bobby takes this cat, and then says to me, “Look mommy! A Cat-tar!” at this point, he begins strumming it as if he has a guitar. Awesome!
So wish me luck that my next installment will be written at my work desk!
I will admit, I didn’t think anyone really read the blog. Perhaps it is my own self esteem talking, but I truly didn’t think people cared. Not saying that I am not interesting at times. More realistically, I wondered if perhaps people just didn’t have time to hear how I cleaned the house for the 100th time or how the boys were funny/bad/cute/odd/etc. I apparently was incorrect in my assessment.
I spoke to Angela on Friday who called me on an unrelated topic. Before we said our goodbyes, she mentioned to me that she missed the blogs. She said she read them everyday. It shocked me. It really did. I guess just because people don’t comment on things, it doesn’t mean they are not checking in from time to time. Not just people who talk to me every day. People who don’t always get a chance to see how I am, now have a way to see what my life is like. I feel so loved!
It is going to take me some time to get back into the swing of things. I have written journals since I signed off. But many were short and didn’t contain a whole lot of information. In addition to this, I started working on my new project in which I am hoping some day that perhaps I can have my own column. I have no idea if I am good enough. I don’t even know if I would be diligent enough to write on a schedule. Shoot, I didn’t finish my story writing exercise. Then again, the story started to bore the crap out of me. Anyway, I am now working on short pieces that would be column worthy. Ok, one is funny, but it does swear, so that may or may not work for say the LA Times. Either way, I was thinking of posting those today as well just to get some feedback if anyone is up to it.
This whole weekend was one of those surreal sets of weekends. It really started Thursday. I went to check Facebook before turning into bed when I noticed a friend request. Doug Smith. I would assume that name would really only mean something to me. And that is because Doug is my half brother.
Before my parents were married, my dad was married to another woman. He also had a son. Of course, they split, and my parents met and hooked up. However, my dad was still a part of Doug’s life. I remember Doug being at the house from time to time. I don’t know how much, and I don’t even know the logistics of how those times came to be. Come to think of it, I don’t even know the custody arrangement. Perhaps my dad didn’t have 50/50 custody. I don’t really know. Either way, when I did get to see Doug, I always liked him a great deal. He was always super nice to me. I remember one time when Doug was at Redondo (yes, he went to Redondo, but I will forgive him since I had no idea about the severe rivalry at the time) and there was a football game. Doug was in the band. My dad and I went and I remember Doug actually bragging to his friends about how smart his kid sister was. It was so cool!
I saw him from time to time, but really, not enough to really get to know him as I should. I remember one of his girlfriends, I think her name was Angie? That was a period of time in which I saw him a bit more. It was pretty cool. But they split up and it seemed like he wasn’t around anymore. The last time I saw him was right when I started working at Earthlink. For those of you keeping track, that would be about 10 years ago.
I invited him to
I saw him from time to time, but really, not enough to really get to know him as I should. I remember one of his girlfriends, I think her name was Angie? That was a period of time in which I saw him a bit more. It was pretty cool. But they split up and it seemed like he wasn’t around anymore. The last time I saw him was right when I started working at Earthlink. For those of you keeping track, that would be about 10 years ago.
I invited him to my wedding, I know my dad sent cards, but really, it was as if he was just gone. On my end, I assumed he had distanced himself from us and wasn’t interested in having a relationship with our father, and in turn, me. Our dad seemed pretty upset at this. He didn’t talk about it a lot, and the few times I really brought it up, he seemed angry, which tends to mean hurt. It didn’t help that his side of the family harassed him constantly about there whereabouts of his first born son. Mind you, I was pretty bitter about this. Especially when it came to Grandma who couldn’t remember my name, yet asked for Doug every time she talked to my dad. So the combo of these things made me not interested in seeking out his company.
Even with all of this in mind, the back of my head was always filled with, I have a brother out there that I don’t know. I should know him. He is my brother! What really kicked the thoughts into high gear was the birth of my children. Here was an uncle that they should know. So I asked my dad about him again.
I wrote a letter to Doug I think it was last year. I got his last address and was going to mail the letter. I would like to say I sent it, but I really think that I chickened out. I was nervous that he wouldn’t care, which surprisingly was more of a fear than him calling. I posted the letter on MySpace, thinking that way even though it was “out there” then perhaps he would come across it.
I also tried looking him up so I could email him. It is my most comfortable medium and I figured it was a less threatening way to approach the relationship. But let’s face it, Smith isn’t exactly unusual.
Over Christmas, my parents sent Doug a Christmas card, and at my mom’s urging, they included a couple of pictures of the boys. I think they also included my information in there. It was an attempt to get Doug to get in touch with me. Whatever the issue was between he and Dad, was no reason to shut me out.
It worked.
The friend request have me access to his life again! I have since emailed with his fiancé and have been able to glimpse into how he has been. What really made my day was that he was excited about being an uncle. Both said they were looking forward to meeting the boys and Ken and hopefully being a part of our lives. YAY!!
One of the emails from Doug included the phrase, “Cute kids, sis!” I have never been called sis before. Yes, I have a brother in Matt, but it is so different. Not to say that Matt is any less of a brother. But really, it isn’t like I can have deep conversations with him. I don’t know that this is something I have lacked. I have this strange dynamic in my sibling status. I am a middle child, with no older brother present much of the time. I am the older sibling, and sometimes I am like an only child in terms of not having sibling support. I have appreciated more than anyone may know how great it is to have Ken’s siblings as my own now. I love the interaction. But of course, it isn’t quite the same.
I always was jealous of Angela and Dani since they had older brothers. I loved that their brothers were old enough to not be in their hair all the time, but that they seemed protective of them when they were there. I remember Rob, Angela’s brother, ready to kick anyone’s ass if they messed with Angela. It was so cute! I kind of always hoped that Douglas would have been that way with me. Some boy treated me wrong, they had my brother to answer to. Then again, I was always so independent about that sort of thing, so maybe it wouldn’t have been like that. I don’t know. I just saw the cool potential, never the logistics.
I really hope that Doug is comfortable enough to tell me his side of the story with the falling out with our dad. I know that it will take some time. Even I am starting to wonder if my tainted views of how things really happened with the relationship really kept me from seeing the real things happening. I have so many questions, and even though I think I am entitled to some answers, how much of it is really my business?
In addition to my recent family happenings, work has taken a strange turn. I was out on Friday, and once again, layoffs happened. I don’t know how I do it, but if I was my coworkers, I would worry when I call out sick since it seems to mean my spidey sense is in high gear. We lost one person in our department, and it isn’t someone I though would actually go. I am happy about it, but that seems cold. I am also nervous as I write this, though, that I also am out of a job. I was out on Friday, so what is to say that when the boss comes in that I am out? I don’t know, and hopefully he gets here soon so I know.
So on that note, I suppose I should get my butt to work. I leave you with one funny thing Bobby did last week.
We have a bunch of magnets on the fridge for the boys to play with. One is a cat head. Bobby takes this cat, and then says to me, “Look mommy! A Cat-tar!” at this point, he begins strumming it as if he has a guitar. Awesome!
So wish me luck that my next installment will be written at my work desk!
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Need a Title
Ok, with this new fancy format, I can title the whole blog page. So my readers first assignment is to help me come up with a fun title. Bring em on y'all!
New Blog
I have been inundated with requests to start my blog up again, so this means that I had to find a new way to post said blogs. MySpace was becoming tedious in the amount of errors I experienced every time I tried to do anything. Heck, I have mostly moved on to Facebook at this point for all my social networking needs. However, despite the superiority in layout and dependability, there isn't a good blogging ground. Jenni pointed out that I have access to the Google blogging due to my gmail account, so this is where I am. I see that I already blogged once over a year ago here, which made me laugh since so much has happened since that time that it would take me too long to put it all here at this point. So instead, I will start from scratch come tomorrow. It is going to be a tough day tomorrow since Friday I took the day off and in my strange streak of luck, I am never there when there is a massive layoff. So of course, my paranoid self is worried that despite being able to walk into the office at starting time, I may be leaving well before my normal day is over. So we will see.
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