Attitude is Everything...So Pick a Good One!!

Disclaimer: This post is about MY thoughts and MY feelings about a "hot" topic. I understand that there are differing viewpoints from my own and I don't claim to be "right". I simply claim the thoughts following to be empirical and personal.


That being said:

There are a few things that I have seen and heard this week that have caused me to reflect on my, for lack of a better word, situation. Most of my thoughts can be rounded up into one subject: feminism. Here they are:


I am a stay-at-home-mom and yet, I consider myself a "liberated woman". How can this be, you ask? Refer to the title of this post. If that's not enough, keep reading and I'll try to explain.

Here's what generated a lot of my thoughts. I saw a snippet this week of an interview with a single, female movie star in which she expressed her frustration at being told she was 'equal' with men but was annoyed that she would still "lose" her name (if she were to marry) and, after marriage would be expected to make babies and "present them" to her husband ("deliver the packages" was the way she put it), as if they were trophies, all the while being more and more diminished while her husband glorified himself. She was upset because she wanted to feel that her purpose in life was more than "just to be half of something else". According to her, the evolution of women is as follows: We begin as "mistresses", graduate to sex symbols, become mothers and, because we have become mothers and breastfed children, we are no longer attractive, don't look good in bathing suits and our only option after that is "soccer mom".


Let me share my thoughts about this.
(Disclaimer 2: I understand that one of the major frustrations for women's rights activists is that women do not get paid the same amount of money for doing the same jobs as men. If that were all this person were talking about, I wouldn't disagree. I don't disagree that if you're doing the same job as someone else, you should be paid the same amount of money. Read on:...)


This woman was upset at being told she was equal but feeling that she wasn't and that she didn't have the use of as many rights as men do. Let me state, for the record, that I am not equal with my husband. By divine design, I am different. God created me with certain talents and abilities that set me apart from my husband; and vice versa. I could also say that he is not equal with me. Where we become "equal" is in the goals that we have for ourselves and our family. I like to think that we are equal when we are united in purpose. I don't mind not being able to do everything he can do because he can't do everything that I can do. And if there's anything I've learned being married it is that individually we are strong, intelligent people; but TOGETHER, as two halves of a whole, we are at our most powerful. On his own, he can do amazing things and when he gets weak, he can strengthen himself. Together, he does amazing things and when he gets weak he can draw strength from the love and support I offer as well as from himself. It works much better this way... and it goes both ways.


I was married 16 years ago. When I got married, my name changed; but I didn't 'lose' it. I surrendered it. Until that point, I had had my father's name, because he was the one who cared for me. I CHOSE to change my name; not because in marrying my husband I was becoming less but out of respect for the responsibility that he was accepting to provide for and support me. At the manly age of 20, he CHOSE to accept the responsibility to care for a person other than himself, to put my needs before his and to work hard so that the necessities of life would always be available to me. My feelings about this can be summed up in Kate's Soliloquy from Shakespeare's play, "The Taming of the Shrew". (Italics added)


KATE: Fie, fie, unknit that threat'ning unkind brow
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor.
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty,
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee
And for thy maintenance; commits his body
To painful labor both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou li'st warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience--
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace,
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
Whey they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms,
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown.
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband's foot,
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready, may it do him ease.
If you think about it, Kate's words ring true. When people get married there are usually words, repeated by both people, like: love, cherish, honor, obey. I personally promised to obey the counsel of my husband as he obeys the counsel of God. Does all of this name changing and responsibility mean that I am incapable of working to provide for myself? Absolutely not. What it means, to me, is that in doing this one simple thing, in changing my name to my husband's name, I honor him as he honors me with his love and work on my behalf.

Let's move on to kids:
I've had four of them. In a way, I did present them to my husband but not as trophies. The first time he held each of our children, I could see in his face and in his reverent attitude toward the life he held in his hands that, to him, these children were not simply a means of glorifying himself. These precious children, straight from heaven, were being entrusted to him for his care and maintenance; and he would be held accountable before God for the performance of that sacred duty.

Regarding my status, according to the movie star, as "soccer mom" and unattractive, I beg to differ. No, I politely request that she speak for herself. Does my body look the same way it did 16 years ago? Definitely not. Am I unattractive because I've had 4 children? I flatter myself...Definitely not. I try to eat right, I regularly exercise, I don't drink, I don't smoke...I take care of myself in mind and body...THAT'S what makes a person attractive. And my kids don't go to a million different activities. Why? Because I know I can't handle juggling 4 different schedules and because cooking healthy meals and eating together as a family are more important to me than athletic achievements and trophies.

So I return again to my statement: I am a liberated woman. I have made choices in my life and am happy with them. I chose to honor and respect my husband by taking his name and accept my role as his wife, lover and support system with joy. I chose to have 4 children and accept my role as their mother, teacher, and guide with honor and humility. I choose to take tare of my body and my mind as an example to my children and as a proof to my husband that I know I am important to him...he wants me to be healthy and fulfilled.

There is nothing more liberating than choosing who you want to be, and working toward becoming that person.

Attitude is Everything...So Pick a GOOD One!

On Dogs and Children

So I'm sitting here late at night, waiting for something to finish cooking because I planned my day poorly, and my thoughts turned to the similarities that exist between dogs and children. Don't get me wrong! I'm not saying that dogs are better than children or vice versa. All I'm saying is that when you stop to think about it, the two really aren't THAT different, depending on how old the child is. For example:

*A dog eats everything. It doesn't matter what it is, "If it's on the ground, it's in the hound." My dog has a penchant for blankets and all things fabric. He chews on and swallows whatever he can get his teeth on. This frequently causes a "backup" which always ends up as my responsibility. A child, on the other hand, only eats everything it can get its hands on while he is young. The behavior usually stops after he learns that a)he has teeth and b)the big people will give him things to eat and he doesn't have to scavenge on the ground for cheerios and old gum.

*My dog likes to play outside for a long time and then come into the house, stinky and sweaty, and not take a shower. A male child will do the same thing and I'm told that the behavior changes eventually.

*Regarding playing outside, my dog will go anywhere and do anything. He likes to run through tick-infested grass and mosquito-laden mud spots with his mouth open, catching all the flying things as he goes. A male child is frequently seen doing the same types of activities and one may wonder if he catches any bugs in his mouth given the fact that his mouth is widely opened during most of the aforementioned activities - with loud sounds emanating therefrom to boot.

*My dog will run out the door any chance he gets if he sees his dog friend across the street or a squirrel in the yard. He neither needs an invitation nor waits for permission. A child of any age will do this. In young children it is easier to understand because they do not have the experience of understanding when it's ok and when it's not. The boggling of the mind comes in when older children, who are responsible enough to do some fairly important tasks, run out of the house when their friend walks by the front door. It's even more mind-rattling when they feel upset that you've called them in and accuse you of "never letting them play".

*My dog has a built in aversion to "bath time" and will cower in corners when he knows it is time for him to be bathed. He has learned that resistance is futile and will be still but there is a clear understanding, in the look he gives you, that you will never be forgiven for this humiliation. A child of either persuasion has this same aversion after the age of about 7. Taking a shower becomes a chore to be hated and dawdled over and there is quite a vociferous understanding given you that this injustice will be remembered, like the "poisonous" chicken stir-fry you tried to feed them last night for dinner.

These are just a few of the things I think about late at night. I probably shouldn't stay up.

Do You Ever Feel That You Become The Worst Version Of Yourself?

Remember this line from "You've Got Mail"? I do. Partly because I watch this movie about once a week (it's my laundry movie) and partly because it kept coming into my mind tonight. I didn't 'zing' anybody, like Tom Hanks' character did but I definitely became a version of myself I wasn't happy with. Read on.

I'm a "people pleaser". I want to make everyone around me a) happy and b) happy with me. Despite my knowing that this is impossible, I valiantly continue to pursue my lofty goal sure that I will succeed someday. The people I'm trying to please change but the impossibility of the thing never does. As the people change, so do the consequences/effects of my people pleasing efforts. I can never seem to remember that you can make some of the people happy all the time, all of the people happy some of the time but you can't make all of the people happy all of the time. Inevitably, someone is going to be unhappy with me, whether it's the people I'm trying to please or me. Tonight I'm sure it was a little of both.

As a mom and a leader, I have to have lines that are clearly drawn, limits that are plainly voiced and boundaries I will not cross no matter the reason. I have to be strong enough to hold my ground, no matter how much I'm tempted to cross my own lines to please someone. There are times when this is easy and there are times when this is really hard. And when I choose to cross those lines, even just one step, damage is done. People who look up to me, whose trust I have worked hard to earn, now have reason to doubt my integrity or disbelieve my sincerity. New people who I was trying to please now see first hand and first thing, weakness where they assumed strength resided. My children have heard me allowing others to speak in unkind ways and though they may not have understood why I let it happen, they know it happened. Are they now wondering if I allow others to speak that way about them, or if I do?

Tonight, I became a worst version of myself (because I'm sure there's more than one...). I could end my post here but that is just as impossible as pleasing all the people all the time.
I can't leave it at that, with me being a terrible person (because that would rob my loyal readers of the happy ending that should come at the end of every story - I've got to make you happy!) :)I can't go through the rest of my life with the version of myself I became tonight. It was only for a little while but the effects would last a lot longer than that if I didn't have some way to get rid of this version. So I turned to my Savior, Jesus Christ.


I am so grateful to know that He suffered in Gethsemane for just such a night as this in my life. He felt the weight of the realization of what my actions cost, He felt the sick, sinking feeling that only ever comes when the Spirit of the Lord leaves you and He paid the price for it all; All so that I could kneel before the Father in Jesus' name and plead for forgiveness of my weakness and the grace to remove this 'worst version of myself'. I know it's not the last version of myself that I'll want to be rid of but knowing I can repent makes tomorrow a little easier to face somehow; the apologies are becoming a little easier to make and picking myself up and dusting off is becoming a joyful task. ('Cause when you're as imperfect as me, you fall down alot!)

Just Like in the Story!

Throughout my long, movie-watching life, I've seen a lot of stuff. Stuff that is completely realistic because it just happened to you yesterday, stuff that you can totally see happening because you've felt the same way as the person in the movie, stuff that just makes you laugh because the situations are so funny... all kinds of stuff. But I've always wondered if all the stuff you see in movies is really trustworthy. I mean, I already know none of the women are...they're perfect. Whatever. I'm talking about the stuff that isn't so far-fetched as to be completely unbelievable from the get go but too simple for Mythbusters. Stuff like:

*If you put regular dish soap in a dishwasher, will it make bubbles come out and go all over your kitchen?

Answer: YES. In the movie "Maid to Order" Ally Sheedy's character, having never operated a dishwasher in her life, puts Tide in it. At my house, it was my 12 year old daughter, who has been starting dishwashers ever since she realized there was a little compartment to put soap in with a little door that closed. She's always known which soap goes in the dishwasher but I guess I've never covered what to do when the bottle of dishwasher detergent is empty before the little soap container is full. She improvised. Just add regular dish soap til it's full and run as usual. Not only were there bubbles emanating from the dishwasher and running/spreading all over my kitchen floor, when I opened the dishwasher and pulled out the rack, it was actually a square shaped mass of bubbles.
Thankfully my kitchen floor was in desperate need of cleaning, my children in desperate need of fun and me in desperate need of comic relief. I restarted the dishwasher to let the bubbles flow, they removed their shoes and socks so they could "skate" and I cooked dinner (in bare feet) listening to them cooperate.

*If you turn on your blender without a lid, will it really go all over and make a mess?

Answer: YES. Arguably, this might be said to be dependent on the type of blender you have. Mine happens to have a variable speed switch that I always turn all the way down when I turn it off. I have, however, gotten into the habit of tossing things into the container and blending with no lid at a low speed...because I always turn the speed all the way down. This is a bad habit to have if there are other people in the house who might conceivably use said blender AND LEAVE THE SPEED SWITCH WHEREVER THEY WANT...LIKE ON HIGH. Needless to say, being barely awake,getting all of the smoothie ingredients gathered in the blender and flipping it on with no lid creates quite a mess. All three of the small appliances on my counter, some fairly important papers, the wall, two cabinets and the writer were summarily splattered with what looked like vomit. Thankfully, 45 antibacterial wipes later, there was still enough to salvage.

*If you turn on the gas in your barbeque BEFORE you open the lid and then light the barbeque, will it make a fire ball?

Answer: YES. It turns out that a young person who has completed this task several times under the direction of his father and several times with no direction (just supervision) will indeed forget some miniscule detail. After reassuring me that he could do it, I looked out the kitchen window to check his progress and saw, with no time to do anything, one hand lifting the lid and the other reaching for the ignite button. It went BOOM!, I said WHOA!, he shrunk from the flame and then sat, with singed hair, eyelashes and eyebrows, with frozen soybeans on his face. My heart fluttered until I was able to get a good look at him; no blisters, eyes were fine, ears were fine - just looking a little sunburned. His biggest concern? How bad does my hair look?

I still don't trust Hollywood but there are going to be things that I see that ring more and more true the longer I live, the longer I live with children and the closer I get to the edge of the cliffs of insanity.

Shoes

My daughter asked me recently why I have so many shoes. Let me set the record straight and then we'll go from there, mmm-kay?

I don't have a TON of shoes, but I do have quite a few pairs gracing my closet.
There are shoes in there that I keep because I need crappy sneakers every now and then.
There are others that shouldn't be there but are because a) it's the wrong season to buy something to replace them with or b)when it was the right season, I couldn't find anything I liked.
There are shoes that serve a specific purpose (like hiking boots) and hence are not suitable for everyday wear - for me. (My boys are a completely different story...)
There are also shoes in my closet that I've had FOREVER.

They just don't go out of style OR they're a color I like/want and I can't buy anything to replace them; either way, in the closet they stay.

Now, back to my daughter's question. Why so many? Well, aside from the aforementioned reasons, I like shoes. Specifically, I like high heels. And if you want me to be even more specific than that, I like shoes with heels that start at 4 inches. (I'll wear shoes with a heel as high as 6 inches, but they'd have to be absolutely perfect.) Why, you ask? Read on.
I'm 5 foot 7 inches; by all accounts of average height. I married a guy who's 6 foot 4. That means there's a 9 inch difference between the tops of our heads. Now, if we take into account the fact that our eyes are NOT on the tops of our heads, the difference between the heights of our eyes could be even greater, depending on how far from the tops of our heads our eyes actually are. Did any of that make sense to you? NO?? *sigh* Suffice it to say that at 5 foot 7, I feel very small and it's not a very strong position to fight from. BUT...I put on a pair of 4 inch heels and all of the sudden, I'm 5 foot 11. Almost eye level with that 6 foot 4 man. 6 inch heels? 6 foot 1, baby! Look me in the eye and say that again!

Now, all that aside, for some reason I can wear shoes in colors and styles that I would never dream of wearing clothes in. For example:

Hot pink is a little much for me in a dress but a pair of hot pink shoes? Absolutely. Beige or tan - blah. I look like a popsicle stick...all one color. BUT, nude colored shoes are perfect to wear with colors that are hard to match or occasions when you don't want your shoes to get all the attention.

One more reason I love high heeled shoes. I'm sort of enamored of the styles of the 1940's. Not really the ideas but the way that women dressed. If pictures can be trusted (and not just Hollywood-ized ones...I'm talking about pictures from family histories here.), there was so much more emphasis placed on taking the time to look pretty. Now I'm not saying that these women spent hours each day getting just perfect but what I am saying is that they took care of themselves and it showed. They weren't vapid or indecisive. They were confident and capable. They wore modest clothing but still looked very attractive.

They wore MUCH less make-up but were still bombshell beautiful. Was it all because of the shoes? Probably not; but I'm pretty sure that putting the shoes, the dress, the make-up and the hair all together equalled women who believed in themselves and their abilities. Women who were not about to be told that their value lay in their sexuality; Women who were strong enough to hold their families and their nation together when a world at war threatened to tear it all apart. Sometimes I contrast that with women of today and find today's women wanting. There is an emphasis placed on taking care of oneself but it seems to me that it's only for the sake of looking pretty, of fitting in or having what "she" has. Buy this or that make-up and look as pretty as someone else who uses it. Buy this brand of bra and look like a supermodel. The take-care-of-yourself of today seems geared toward making a woman attractive to a man. The take-care-of-yourself of back then was geared toward making a woman attractive because that's what a woman is. Granted, there was still a lot of pressure for women to be beautiful because men wanted to marry beautiful girls but I like to think there was so much more to women back then because they chose to make themselves so much more.

I could go to a plastic surgeon and be "re-constructed" so that I have teeth and a face and breasts and legs that, according to today's standards, would make me beautiful. I'd get looked at and checked out because of my body. OR, I could do may hair every day, put on a little make up, a cute outfit and a pair of high heeled shoes. Will I still look beautiful? Darn Tootin' I will! But why? Well, mostly because I'll be smiling at the thought of how much money I saved by buying a pair of shoes instead of plastic surgery. I'll still get looked at but I don't think it would be because of my body. (Probably mostly because who dresses like THAT nowadays??) I'd get looked at because I was beautiful in a different way than anyone else...and maybe, just maybe, it's a little nicer to see.

"Oooohhh Fuuuuudge!"

If anyone out there is like me, you had someone in your life teaching you what was right and wrong when you were little. A parent, a grandparent, an auntie, a friend's mom or dad...somebody. That person who always expected good things from you and let you know it; who would drop the hammer on you just like you were their own kid when you did something stupid and who made it clear which rules you could bend and which ones you'd better never break. They expected you to be polite to them and their family; they expected good table manners and good language.

I think that, somewhere in our DNA, is a list of "bad words". We don't always have to hear them to know them...somehow they are built in and we wake up one bright 3rd or 4th grade morning knowing we know something we aren't supposed to say and wickedly looking for opportunities to say it. It might be under our breath, it might be at the top of our lungs (granted this is while we're at the top of the highest tree, farthest from our house) or, if you are exceedingly good, these words might cross your mind, but never your tongue. After all, these are the words that would make grandmas blush and certainly cut short any chillax time with friends.

I would like to add to the "hard-wired" list of Unsayables, a few words that,over the past several years, have become just as irritating, just as thoughtless and rude as any of those 'other' words.

1. an·a·lyze 
to examine carefully and in detail so as to identify causes, key factors, possible results, etc.

I hate this word. More to the point, I hate when I am the one being analyzed. I don't want to be examined so that the examiner can try to figure out why I do something, what went into my decision to do it and the far-reaching (sometimes REALLY far...) consquences of whatever it was I did. If I had done all that, I may not have done what I did. BUT, not having done that does not make me dumb, or stupid or thoughtless and not thinking that way habitually does not make me somehow 'less than' those who do.

2.ir·ra·tion·al   
1.without the faculty of reason; deprived of reason.
2.without or deprived of normal mental clarity or sound judgment.

I used two definitions for this one because both mean sort of the same thing but in different ways.
First of all, I am NOT deprived of reason. I am quite capable of being reasonable. Will I get annoyed if I am treated with condescending disrespect? Yes. Does that make me irrational? No.

Second of all, I am not deprived (or denied the use of) mental clarity or sound judgement. These things are not like food and water which can be taken away as a punishment. They are inherent. Do some people think more rationally than others? Absolutely. Are there those in this world who think more rationally than me? I'm sure of it. Am I irrational because of this? No.

3.nor·mal   

1.conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural.
Psychology
2.approximately average in any psychological trait, as intelligence, personality, or emotional adjustment.
3.free from any mental disorder; sane.

Another multi-definitional one.
As far as conforming to societal standards regarding the laws of the land and "appropriate" sociological behavior, I am normal. That being said, I am also very different. I am ME and I like me. I like me BECAUSE I am different and others like me (so I've been told) because I'm different. In all the responsible citizen, be-a-good-neighbor, set-a-good-example ways, I'm normal. In all the make-your-own-kind-of-music, march-to-the-beat-of-your-own-drum, be-comfortable-with-who-you-are ways, I'm ME. (Which is probably pretty normal, because everyone wants to be a little different from everybody else.)

As far as being of average intelligence, personality or emotional adjustment, I'm probably on the side of the bell curve toward abnormal; but only just. I'm not free of a mental disorder, as my last post clearly outlined. BUT, (there's always a big one somewhere...)I'm not insane. I could probably be called quite rational. :)

4. house·wife   
1.a married woman who manages her own household, especially as her principal occupation.

—Usage note
Housewife is offensive to some, perhaps because of an implied contrast with career woman (just a housewife ) and perhaps because it defines an occupation in terms of a woman's relation to a man. Homemaker is a common substitute.

OK - this one doesn't bother me so very much and certainly not for the reason stated that it defines me in relation to a man. Specifically, MY man. It bothers me because saying I'm a housewife implies that I'm married to my house. Ummm...no. By one definition, to marry is to unite closely or intimately. I really like my house and the views are great. I find peace in my backyard and it's in a good neighborhood but, we just aren't that close. We're really just good friends. So I'm NOT a housewife, I'm Dan's wife. That's a HUGE difference! I have moved from house to house to house and never once felt anything close for them as I do for my husband. I am definitely a homemaker. I make the empty house into a home with my flair for decorating (which is really just putting stuff away) and my charming, effervescent spirit. (HEY! I was actually told that by somebody once...in the family I married into!) So don't call me a housewife.

5. stu·pid   

1.lacking ordinary quickness and keenness of mind; dull.
2.characterized by or proceeding from mental dullness; foolish; senseless

This word really bugs me because I have heard it so often in reference to ideas I've had or questions I've asked or things I've done to help someone else. I've heard others use it in reference to my children's questions and they, in turn have started to think it's okay to say it to one another regarding their respective knowledge quotients. I'm not the most intelligent person in the world, I know, but I'm pretty smart. My kids are fantastic and capable of advanced work in many of their school subject. And we are by no means DULL. (If you think this, you have clearly never been to our house!)

So, loyal readers, as with those other words that must not be spoken, keep these out of your vocabulary. Replace them with words like pulchritudinous, effervescent, reasonable, extraordinary...you get the picture.

I Really Hate This

About two years ago, after 7 years of treatment for depression, I was re-diagnosed with bipolar disorder. It was liberating and terrifying, vindicating and disheartening, great and terrible; all those oxymorons that are bipolar in and of themselves. It was wonderful to finally understand what the heck was "wrong" with me but also awful, because I finally understood what the heck was wrong with me.

After struggling with this for the past two years, and knowing I'm nowhere near done and not nearly as awesome, strong or patient as people I know who've struggled with this for a lifetime, I thought I would take a minute or two, on a good day, to let you all know what bipolar disorder looks/feels like. It might also help to realize that when bipolar hits, it hits hard and fast, with little or no warning and can stay for as long or as little time as it wants.

So, think of an earthquake; it can hit at any time in any place and can affect a relatively small area or, as we've recently seen, a huge area. It can cause damage and wreak havoc on things that are totally unrelated to the ground shaking but that have a lasting effect on the quality of life for weeks and months to come. It is surprising, shocking, painful and always requires time to rebuild when it's over. This is what bipolar disorder feels like to the people who love someone or care for someone who is bipolar. It comes out of nowhere and shakes everything, sometimes to the very foundations of what their relationships are built on.

Now, think of a tornado. There's always a little warning. A storm or a flat sky...some small signal. But there's usually not much time between that little warning and the touchdown. Like an earthquake, a tornado can be relatively small or it can be really big, as we have also recently seen. It twists and turns malevolently, it thunders and roars, it tears through things that seem solid or unmovable and terrifies everyone in its' path. And then, of a sudden, it's gone. The swath of destruction it leaves behind causes grief and heartache to those who have been affected by it and the silence in place of the cacophony of noise is almost ear shattering. And like an earthquake, there is always rebuilding to be done. This is how I feel when I get "in one of my moods." I feel it coming but am powerless to actually do anything to stop it. I rage and rip around, saying and doing things that have the power to break apart what needs to remain strong. And always there is the heartbreaking realization, when the storm is over, of what I've done, and what needs to be mended.

From the outside looking in, (and speaking from personal experience) bipolar is hard to understand and frequently is seen as nothing more than a scapegoat for bad attitudes or stupid behavior. If you wake up feeling depressed, just choose not to be. Attitude is everything, right? If you're getting mad, take a breather. If you're getting manic, just calm down. Sure everybody has hard days but you ultimately choose what kind of day you're going to have, right?

Well from the inside looking out, it's so much more difficult than that. Waking up feeling depressed feels more like swimming for miles in the ocean. After a while, it's so tempting to stop; to quit swimming and just let yourself go under. The fact that I'm still alive means I haven't given up. It may be all I can do to just float, with no thought about where I may be headed. But I haven't gone under, and that's the most important part. Getting mad isn't really accurate because it feels more like that tornado...that tiny little warning signals and then BOOM - touchdown. Sometimes the tiniest, stupidest things flip that switch. I see the signal and before I even have time to really process what happened, I'm tearing around like a tornado. (The most horrible part of THIS is I feel like I stand looking at myself from the outside and shaking my head...knowing how hard life is going to be when my personal tornado has ended.)

I guess what I really want you to know is that it's not all lollipops and rainbows, people. It's not easy to know you (and , by extension, your family) are going to deal with this for the rest of your life. It's not fun knowing that you are going to have days, no matter how much you try to prevent them, where you feel like you're living alone in a black hole that nobody else in the whole universe is aware of. It's heartbreaking (especially for loved ones) to realize that when you're really down, you're going to be firmly convinced that there isn't a single person in the world that you can call on for help.

The only saving grace in all of this is the fact that Jesus Christ suffered what I suffer and not only understands completely but also knows how to help me. He knows where I need to focus first when I need to rebuild. He knows which people to put into my life to kick my butt, which ones I'll need to empathize and which ones I'll need to be life preservers. He knows it all and it's only because of Him that I don't give up and go under. I'm still here. I haven't given up. Please don't give up on me!

Is that really ME??

You know how, every once in a while, you see a picture of yourself at a family reunion or school function and you don't recognize you? You stare and stare and finally swear up and down that the idiot in the picture couldn't possibly be you because you would never do something like THAT. Then some person, who usually remains nameless forever after, points out how it's not only possible that it's you but also how they know without doubt that it's you. Then you want to hide for awhile until people start looking at another idiot in another picture.

And how about when you get some idea in your head about what you sound like when you sing or talk and then hear yourself on a recording and say "That's not me. I don't sound like that..." Meanwhile, the whole world looks at you (like you're an idiot) and says, "Yes you do."

I had an experience this morning just like that but a little worse, if you can imagine. I woke up and grabbed my Droid phone (because it's my alarm and I wanted it to stop whistling the Andy Griffith Show theme song in my ear). I checked the weather, because my kids can't look out the window or open the door, and then checked my email, so I'd know who's getting good grades and who needs some help. As usual, there were several Facebook emails but only on that gave me that icky, "that's not what I sound like" feeling. Let me explain.

My sense of humor has been called sarcastic, among other things and I'm the type of person that people either love or hate but that nobody ever forgets. I've been told I'm "real" and frequently tell people more than they probably want to hear when they ask me how I'm doing. All of my cards are on the table. For some reason, I think I assume that because that's how I am, that's how everybody is. I'll poke fun at others, in good humor and follow up by poking fun at myself. Back to my email.

My Facebook friend and I seem to have the same type of sense of humor. We laugh at the same types of stuff and have made similarly obnoxious comments to one another. I recently made a comment on something he posted and he sent a comment back that stung. But it didn't sting because of the words that he said or because he was upset and lashing out or anything else dumb like that. (I'm a big proponent of "If you can't take the heat, stay out of the kitchen" and I've said worse things to him and he's "taken the heat") No, it stung because I realized that maybe I went a little too far; not for him, but for me. I looked at myself, figuratively speaking, and thought "Is that really ME? That's not what I sound like...". The little voice in my head actually looked at my like I was an idiot.

So I started thinking a little more carefully about my friend. We are at different "seasons" in our lives. Things that I'm working on, he hasn't gotten to yet and things that he struggles with, I've already figured out (to a certain extent). I'm married, he's not. I've got kids, he doesn't. I'm sure his life is in a period of transition that's taking so long that it feels like stagnation to him and I can look at it and feel empathy because I've been where he is. The more I thought, the more I realized that the person I SOUNDED like when I made that comment, isn't the person I want to be.

It's just like the photos or the video recordings; we can wish and hope that the idiot who did that in the picture or said that on the recording isn't us but, in the end, no amount of wishing will change what we DID. We only have power to change what we DO from here on out.

Will my friend and I change our senses of humor? Not likely. Will we still roast each other a little bit? Probably. Will I be a little more thoughtful of where he is and what might actually get a little too close to the "OOoooo...BURN/OUCH...That hurt" line? Definitely.

My friend, I'm sorry.

I've got it!

At least I found something I feel like posting, anyway.  I wrote this about 3 years ago.  At the time, Dan was nearing the end of his 7 month deployment to Iraq and I was doing a little "soul searching".  This is the result.

What am I made of?  What am I capable of?  How much can I handle before I fall apart?

  These are questions I have been forced to ask myself over the past 6 months.  More to the point, they are questions I have been forced to answer.  Some of the answers have surprised me.  Others have left me speechless and still others have left me shaking my head and hoping THAT never happens again.

I have spent the past 11 years preparing, and being prepared, for the past 6 months.  I started out with a 10 day separation, so that I could get used to him coming home.  Then, because I thought I knew how to be “on my own”, there were several short times apart: a weekend here, a few weeks there – all to teach me to live and continue to function by myself; on my own. 

Then I had children.  Whereas in the beginning, I learned how to be alone with me, now I was to learn how to keep myself going at the same time I was giving; my body to pregnancy, (and some of my mind to its’ fog), my heart to the tiny souls entrusted to me, my time, day and night, to the care and nurture of others. I thought that I had to give everything I had to these small task masters – that there was no time left for me.  When he was gone during these times, I learned that I had to take time, indeed MAKE time, to take care of myself.  The children wouldn’t, my husband couldn’t – I would have to do it for myself.  The separations and limited communications made these lessons the most difficult to learn.

Time passed and opportunities came.  While he was in school, I learned how to let go a little bit and how to trust him.  I learned how to hold him up at the same time I cleaned up and helped children keep up.  I learned how to have joy in HIS accomplishments and successes and that sometimes, the best way to hold him up was to let him go.  He does amazing things when he’s free to do them.

We moved again and I learned how to drive long distances with children in the car.  I learned how to move and how NOT to move and which of us is better at being in charge of that process.  I learned patience with him and the things he asked and required of me, more to the point, with the way he asked me.  Then I realized that this was one of the times I needed to let him go.  I had to let him leave me: first, for a week at a time,   then for a month at a time, then for a few weeks at a time – stretched out over a whole year.  So, he went – and he did amazing things.  I learned then that there are times when he leans on me and relies on me; that those are usually the times when he has to be gone and can’t take care of everything.  I “hold down the fort” and “keep it together” – in my home, with my children and in my heart – until he can return and take up his part again. 

After that, I found that  there will be times when I will have to revisit places I don’t want to return to because it’s time to learn again: more patience, more love for him and my children, more self reliance.  Now I know that there will be times that I am lovingly transported and carefully placed so that I can bloom where I’m planted.  And that there will be other times when I am unceremoniously yanked from the ground only to be brought inside by a chubby, grubby little hand and placed in a cup of water on the window sill.  With effort, I will bloom where I’m planted – but only with GREAT effort.

I pause for a moment in this place, looking back over the past 11 years and see the Hand that has moved me from place to place; the careful preparation that was undertaken to make sure that I would be able face myself and answer those questions I asked.

What am I made of?  Curious stuff.  Strength and weakness, happiness and misery, obedience and mutiny, hope and despair, light and dark, love and hate, peace and confusion, serenity and upheaval – and I need them all to learn.  I can’t learn, know or understand any of those things without the antithesis of them.

What am I capable of?  Amazing things – sometimes wonderful, sometimes stupid.  Things I never thought I could do.  Situations I thought I would never face.  Calm in the face of a tempest, love greater than I ever imagined, more gratitude than I could ever express or repay.  Appreciation, understanding, wisdom, charity, faith, compassion, empathy, humility...I have talents I never knew of.  Talents I never considered talents until someone’s life was touched. ( I’m capable of surprise at this.)  Am I perfect?  No.  But I can do so much more than I ever gave myself credit for.

How much can I handle before I fall apart?  Unknown.  Since I have faced situations I was sure I never could, I have learned more faith.  I have come to truly believe that I will never fall apart unless I try to learn without a Teacher; a friend to guide me.  Sometimes that teacher will be a sister, other times a child, still other times, my husband.  But always guided by Someone…and with their help, I will never fall apart.

It's Been Awhile...

I have spent 45 minutes of  the past hour reading over my past posts and avoiding my laundry.  I have spent the most recent 15 minutes thinking "I should probably update this thing."  Then I had this epiphany: I don't want to post anything if it's not going to be hilarious or amazingly witty enough to generate a ton of comments.  I don't think anyone who reads this wants a play-by-play update about my day to day life.  It's rather boring...except for when it gets very interesting because I forgot to take my medication and started swearing.  (And THAT stuff, I won't put up here...)
I doubt that the "faithful few" want to know about the challenges I'm facing as the Young Women's President....yes..it's me again.  New place, same calling...still wondering. (Especially since one of my counselors has been the YW pres for the past 25 years or so...everywhere she's gone!!)  I'm not intimidated at all...why do you ask?
I'm sure you don't want to know about the roller coaster highs of my bipolar - which can actually be fun unless they happen at PMS time.  Then they're just nasty and mean.
I won't bore you with stories about sliding down the razor blade of life on my bipolar park ride.  That can be painful.
I've written about my children.  I've written about my dog.  I'm not authorized to write about my husband.  (I can never seem to get the facts straight.  Well....I think they're a lot straighter than he realizes.  )
I'd never write about my siblings...ask them yourself.  And I quit my job.
No wonder it's been awhile...
Never mind that - I'll work this week to come up with something that will generate long posts about how funny I am or how you can relate or how you dread that point in your life....maybe even better ones like "ROFLMBO".
(I'm starting to think I sound like Charlie Sheen...)

Pros and Cons

As with everything in life, there are pros and cons to moving and there are pros and cons to camping.  Many people go through their whole lives never doing either.  Some fortunate people, like military families, get to move every three to five years.  There are even some people who spend more time camping than they do living in  a house or working at a job. (At least that's what they want you to think from all the pictures they post on their blogs or Facebook pages.)  Today, my friends, I am the envy of all.  I am moving and camping at the same time.

Moving from Monterey, California to Spotsylvania, Virginia may not seem like a big deal to some but this family doesn't do anything small (or normal, for that matter) and we couldn't stand the idea of the military moving us.  We couldn't have professional packers come and pack our stuff, neither could they load it on a truck for us.  No, no.  We had to do this ourselves.  (Ideally, we make money doing it this way.)  So we have spent weeks packing things into boxes and one MAD week cramming it all into a truck.

And we can't just drive straight there from here; we've got to do this with style so the kids will remember it for the rest of their lives. (WHAT exactly the kids remember will come to light in later years when the scarring properties of what their parents have inflicted has somewhat worn away the bitterness.) We've got to camp across the country.  To this end, we have a minivan that will be dragging (notice I did not say hauling) a trailer chock full of camping gear over hill and dale and a small 2 door sedan in which 4 people CAN sit but only 2 people (the driver +1) WILL sit for this trip.

Now as I said in the beginning, there are pros and cons to this and I've compiled a list of each.  In the future, should you decide to attempt this same madness, consult this blog and choose wisely (Remember those Choose Your Own Adventure books?????).  Your sanity may depend on it. (thankfully, I don't have any left to lose)

AND NOW........be forewarned - these pros and cons are biased.  The writer takes full credit for the point of view...
The pros of moving and camping across the country at the same time

• You get to drive across this great nation - And since my husband is so gallant and chivalrous, he doesn't want me driving the van with the trailer.  Do you know what that means?  That means that this wonderful, intelligent man who listens to talk radio all day and spends most of his time on the internet reading the news or doing research about one thing or another will be driving the van with three children and a dog.  NPR is not going to cut it all the way to Virginia.  I bet it won't even clear California!!
• You get to visit family - if your family is like mine, they're all over the place.  What better time to make them cook you dinner?
• You get to see all kinds of neat stuff that you may never see again - Like Mt. Rushmore or the place where Laura Ingalls Wilder grew up.  You'll finally know for yourself whether Old Faithful is REALLY as faithful as they say (whoever "they" are).
• You'll be creating memories that will last a lifetime - memories of family fun at amazing places, excitement in your childrens' eyes at historical places, spiritual awakenings within our family circle.

The cons of moving and camping across the country at the same time

• You get to drive across this great nation - and see every podunk town and weirdy at every gas station along the way.  You get to use gas station and truck stop bathrooms where your kids think everything they sell is worth what they're asking because they'll keep it "forever" (which really means they'll keep it till it gets lost, they'll cry about it for a day and then never think of it again)
• You get to visit family - the folks you never get to see cause they're in the middle and you only ever live on the coasts....and who knew that they had the ONLY surviving copy of mom's Tuna Florentine Casserole.  (Especially since you went to such great pains to make sure it was destroyed so she could never make it for dinner again!!)
• You get to see all kinds of "neat" stuff that you nay never see again - for which fact, you will thank the Lord for the rest of your life.  (We're not talking giant rubber band balls either. ) 
• You'll be creating memories that will last a lifetime - you'll never forget who gets bad gas from which fast food place OR how long it takes for them to erupt.  You'll never forget that the dog barfs going over the "whoopdee-doos" in the desert or that it only takes about 30 minutes for half a gallon of soda to require mom to stop.  (And for those who are "in the know" - cow pies.  that's all I have to say)

You'll have to decide for yourself whether it's worth it for you.  Since I started this venture with no sanity and the kid's was questionable at best, you'll have to use my husband as the gauge.  If he's still sane at the end of it all, it wasn't worth it.  If he's come through a few sandwiches short of a picnic and a few kabobs short of a barbeque, I'll call it a worthwhile venture.  HA HA HA!!!

Things children insist on learning through sad experience

Kids are amazing little creatures.  Their minds are like little sponges that soak up information at a rate that we sad, sagging adults can't even fathom.  Our minds are burned out or worn out or just plain OUT. But KIDS...man!

I think there are things that kids learn because they are repeated to them a million and a half times, like times tables or don't play with the wall socket. And they remember these simple, sometimes inane things, for the rest of their lives!

I think there are other things that get repeated a million and a half times, like don't hit your brother or clean your room or leave me alone when I'm on the phone, that they never seem to remember and have to be reminded of frequently; usually much more frequently than parents like to admit.  (You see, it reflects badly on US if we say to one another that just the other day one son punched the other in the chest and you told him to knock it off so he did but then today you had to tell the SAME son to stop doing the SAME thing because, as said son says, he "forgot you said that.")

But there is another classification of things that kids learn that, try though we may, we cannot shelter them from.  They are going to learn these things whether we like it or not and the only things we can do, when the lessons are learned, are take them to the ER or clean up the mess.

Here, for your reading pleasure as well as your education, are some of the lessons my children have learned from sad experience:

1.  That stupid rhyme about monkeys jumping on beds is true.  You really will fall off and crack your head.  Then you'll have to get 5 stitches.  (The rhyme never talks about THAT part.)

2.  Sliding down the stairs in a laundry bucket is NOT the same as sledding down a really steep hill.  The hill doesn't have a wall at the bottom that you hit your head on really hard  [**admittedly, they learned this from watching ME trying to convince them that it WAS the same**]

3.  If mom says that shiny, triangle thing with holes in it  (aka the iron) is really hot, it really is REALLY HOT and you shouldn't grab it with both hands.

4.  Playing tug-of-war is something you should do OUTSIDE because there are no closet doors or hinges that you can bang your head on.  Cause after you bang your head you have to go to the hospital and get staples or stitches, depending on the hospital.

5.  Playing baseball with friends is really cool when you're seven except when everybody wants a turn to bat at the same time.  Then, when you get too close to the guy with the bat while it's his turn, you get hit right between the eyes and have to go back to the ER for more stitches.  (And your mom want's to call you Frank 'cause it's short for Frankenstein)

6.  If your mom says she'll help you use that wax thing she dips her hands in, blow drying the wax from the top will not help it melt any faster.  It just makes it splatter all over the mirror in her bathroom and then she says you can't use it anymore.

7.  You should never walk too close to your mom is she's in one of those moods where she wants to try to kick your butt from the side.  She's going to get her foot stuck in your backpack straps and drag you both to the ground.  Then your first grade teacher will have to put Band-Aids on both of you. (Then your kid says "Mom!!  Why do you have to be so stupid!!!???")

8.  If your mom tells you not to ride your bike down that really steep hill with all the potholes in it, don't ride down that hill.  'Cause if you do, you might hit a really deep hole and fly over your handlebars.  Then you scrape your chest all up and your bike lands on top of you and bikes are heavy.

9.  Sliding down the stairs in slickery sleeping bags is AWESOME!...unless....there's a leather sectional three feet from the bottom of the stairs.  The slickery sleeping bag makes you go really fast and your feet crunch into the sectional.  Then you have to turn that piece upside down, glue it, clamp it and pray that the glue dries and you get the dumb thing put back together BEFORE Dad comes home.  (Although you do find all kinds of treasures....)

10.  If someone offers you candy for sucking soda up a straw with your nose...don't do it.

All dressed up...Where shall we go?

Have I ever mentioned the many reasons I love Fall? 
No?  Allow me to elucidate -
1. It's back to school time. 
I love my children, don't get me wrong.  I have dedicated the past 12 years of my life to their well-being but there's something wonderful about the first day that they all go to school and you have six glorious hours of quiet.
2.  The leaves start to fall down from the trees and, if the weather isn't too wet, they get crunchy.  I love crunchy leaves.  Especially when they've been down from the tree for a while and the weather's been dry and they've had a chance to really curl up.  Those have the most satisfying CRUNCH!
3.  HALLOWEEN!  This is for the kid in me.  I love to dress up in costumes and "pretend".  The candy's not a bad thing either.  I can eat several mini Twix's in one day and nobody will think anything of it.
4.  It's "96 season".  This is for the military wife in me.  Autumn marks the beginning of lots of 4 day weekends.   Labor Day, Columbus Day, Marine Corps Birthday, Veteran's Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years...sometimes they even get time off for the Super Bowl (but I think that's only on Okinawa)
5.  The Marine Corps Ball.  This is for the grown up in me.  I still get to dress up but it's the fancy kind of dressing up and my hubby has to dress up too.  :O)  THAT'S the part I like the best.

The best of times,the worst of times...

...Halloween from two perspectives
Depending on who you are, Halloween can be either the best or the worst.

**For the mom trying to sew three costumes in one week, it's probably closer to the worst (although the three children
 placing that much faith in her should count for something...)
*For the children who get to wear the costumes - Party! Bonus! Definitely the best of times.
**For the parents who get to take their kids to the church Halloween activity the day BEFORE Halloween (at which costumes are a social must and they "trunk-or-treat" from car to car) - Worst of times.
* For the kids - two Halloweens in one year! YES! Best of times....
**Regarding the previously mentioned church activity - Dinner is provided---that's good. Good times...but not really best.
*Again, regarding the church activity - dinner is chili. gross. worst.
**Then there's the candy. I understand now why my mom always said we could go once around our block. 13 houses times 7 kids is plenty of candy. As a parent, this is abundantly clear.
*Here is some kid math: dress up + go to the neighbors house = get candy!
We should do this every day!!

**Definitely NOT doing this every day.  Once a year is enough!
*Mom's just afraid of having this much candy in the house all the time....killjoy.

Been there, Done that, got the pictures to prove it

For about the past month or so, Dan and a bunch of guys from church have been planning a big hike up Mt. Whitney. They've been talking and planning about all kinds of stuff, usually away from the house and making me wonder about their "secret combinations". In any case, this past week all that planning finally paid off. They left Wednesday night (could they pick a worse night???) and drove 9 hours to a base camp on Mt. Whitney which is about as high as the top of Half Dome in Yosemite. (Dan and the boys conquered Half Dome over the summer...he was due for another challenge)
They arrived at about 0230, set up camp and got everything all ready to hang around the next day and do nothing. (all that build up for nothing!) They did a few measly hikes around the area and played with some icicles on a frozen river but scaling the mountain was set aside for Friday.

So Friday came (his day started at 0300 or so) and the trek began. There were more pictures than this, but these are the ones with smiles in them.

They all hit the top by 1 pm and then turned around, trudged down, crabbed, packed, ate, and drove home...all on Friday. Needless to say, his Saturday was spent sleeping and walking VERY slowly.

Here are some lessons we learned:

1. 7 men motivated by high adventure trips can finish a lot of work in a little time so they can go have fun

2. It is not a wise idea to simultaneously try to pack and eat if you are in a hurry to leave....you will choke, throw up and worry people around you (once they stop laughing at you for eating so fast you choke yourself...)

3. No matter how tired a woman is, she worries (and hence doesn't sleep...at least not well...) until one of two things happens: a) He walks in the door, b) she passes out casue she's so tired and her body will not go any more

4. You are going to find out, on a hike like this, who you want in your foxhole. Be prepared.

5. Hiking up and up and up sounds easy but is actually very hard. It takes longer than you plan for to get up there and longer than you think to get back down.

6. Driving for a long time after you've hiked 22 miles in one day makes you tired.

7. The day after you come home, you will probably scare the people who love you the most when you try to get out of bed and nearly fall to the floor yelling something about "OW". (Apparently, a hike like this will make your calves and feet VERY sore and make it an exceedingly painful thing to stand up or walk)

8. Baby steps, after a hike like this are a good thing...they take a long time but they feel so much better!!!

THE absolute DUMBEST dog on the planet

So Oreo, our dog, has been with our family for about a year now and we're all pretty well adjusted. Every now and then we see him doing something completely retarded and know he was meant to be with us. He'll run laps around the table just to get you to play with him and one time he even nipped Stephen's rear because he was being ignored. He'll whine and cry if he's not getting any love ( Like when Dan and I are hugging and NOT paying attention to him).

These are all little things that he does...small and simple and very comfortable. And then there are things like the "making" of the bed. This is a very important ritual for everyone and each person has his or her own way of doing it.

Dan likes to twist up and sleep the BOTTOM sheet off the matress.

I prefer to have everything smooth and flat so that when I get OUT of the bed, I don't have to do much to make it neat.

Stephen is a burrito...very literally, a boy burrito.

Haley begins as a ball, breaks in the middle to make knee tents, and then goes back to the ball.

Nathan is all over the place...makes me nervous having him sleep on the top bunk.

Emily is a "star sleeper". Arms out, legs out...Ahhhhh.

Little did we know that Oreo also has a method to his madness. Observe.Watch the video here...

Ohhhh....I wish I wish.....

What to say about these choice pictures.....

There are days when I'm really serious about wanting this to be real. Take yesterday for example and we'll examine the angry boy in the white shirt.

Yesterday was a regular day. He came home from school, The Happy Wanderer/Hungry Hunter Gatherer, in search of food. Anything would do, EXCEPT the crust from his lunchtime sandwich. Three tortillas microwaved with too much cheese, a spoon ful of peanut butter, a handful of chips and a paper cup full of green Kool-Aid seemed to satiate his hunger. But then it was time for homework. (scary music here)

THE HORRORS OF ABC ORDER!!! And that stupid letter "F"! (it kept getting forgotten...) For an hour he was on the living room floor playing kewpie doll with his worksheet. (You know that thing you do when your paper is on a soft floor and you stab it repeatedly with your pencil to make many little holes...it feels sort of neat-o when you turn it over.) After that, he tried to spear it while it floated....this did not go over well with the older brother who kept getting speared because he was in the line of fire.

"Nathan, go upstairs and work please!!!" I shouted....? yelled...? shrieked...? You get the picture....imagine the exasperation.

He went and peace reigned downstairs. Then the little sister began to be tortured. Pencils were moved, marks were made on her papers, crayons were taken and broken with one hand (...she said I couldn't do it so I showed her....) and, the piece de resistance, she was knocked out of her chair (which her older sister cleverly balances on risers)

I arrived on the scene to find half of a worksheet, torn lengthwise so the words could still be used and punctured mercilessly, on the table next to a folder, torn in half in a fit of forgotten "f" temper. These were accompanied by a horde of broken crayons and the wadded other half of the aforementioned worksheet. The little sister was in tears under the table and the BOY was on a chair in the closet, berating the sister for falling from the chair.

WHY do they not offer to let parents use the jails a few days a month?!??! Do you know how helpful this would be??? *sigh*

As it was, I had to improvise...

I looked at my watch...5:15 pm. I looked at the BOY....

"GO TO BED!!!"

Snot So Very Easy....

Snot. Snot. This I have learned.
This blogging stuff can suck up some serious time! I thought it would be a simple enough thing to click, create and post (and given my limited technical knowledge, this is a good thing) but after several hours spent clicking, creating, trying to upload, downloading about 12 different things to help me upload, trying to figure out how to set up said things and failing all miserably, I came to my conclusion: Snot so very easy. I finally achieved success (after a few more downloads and a phone call to my internet service provider). NOW, we’re getting down to it.
Now I can post news on my blog and think I've done very well and have time to visit my friends blogs. Then I switch back and forth between theirs and mine and debate deleting mine entirely because theirs look so much better. *sigh* (what was it that girl in first grade said that her mom told her??? "Never compare yourself to others, you'll only make yourself miserable." I know, I know....but I'm still new at this.

And now I'm tired.

Kids...

I found this when I was clicking through old folders. It's about three years old but still applies...

These are NOT for the faint of heart!
In 9 years of being a mom, I think I can honestly say that this one line is applicable to every situation involving my children and the one common thread between them all.
I was all idealism with my first, convinced that he would be my little man. Wouldn't you know that, from the womb even, he only had ears for his father. After his birth, he would cry when I held him and shut up for dad. I tried not to be shattered.
With my second, I was still trying to get the hang of the first. Since she was a girl, she was completely different and it was with her that I realized that "the mother's curse" is real. She acts just like me. In my proud moments, I see her speaking kindly to other children, taking them under her wing and even teaching them to read. On my dark days, I see her crinkle her face in frustration or drop her eyebrows clear down to her chin in anger and (oh the drama) the feeling of being misunderstood.
My third was my little prince. We bonded right away and then he began to walk. He ran from me straight for the open pantry and as I watched him try to sneak gulps of pancake syrup, I realized that first and foremost in his little heart was his tummy.
With my fourth, I was somewhat leery about how she would "turn out". Given my previous experience, the only thing I knew for sure was that she would be just as unpredictable and mind-rattling as the first three. She's four now and, as with all of them, I'm still learning about her.
With all the challenges, though, the highs, the lows and the more-often-than-not-somewhere-in-between times, they stretch my heart to the limit.
Sometimes, I get so frustrated by the choices they've made that I struggle to comprehend the thought precess behind them. (What on earth makes you think it's ok to throw stuff out your window when you're cleaning your room? We live on the fourth floor of a 9 story apartment building!!!)
Other times, they come to me with such hurt on their little faces that my own heart wants to break so that theirs doesn't have to. The mother bear in me surfaces and I know that I would tear anyone who hurt my baby limb from limb. (It's a very good thing I don't see the punk kids who bully them on the playground)
Then there's the laughter...each one has a laugh that is contagious. You hear them laugh that little laugh and it doesn't matter WHAT they're laughing about (the words "fart" and " poop" are frequent favorites)...you laugh too.
The little smiles they give only you and the subtle nuances that only moms catch fill your heart till you want to hug them cause you love them so much (Mom...you're choking me) or just holler to everyone about how great your kid is. And with each one, it's different but the same and always bigger and more than you ever thought you could; and it, amazingly, still all fits inside your heart. You need a strong heart...
These are NOT for the faint of heart.

This Life is not for WIMPS!

I was just thinking today about how much stuff I am responsible for, individually. (I do a lot of thinking...)

• I am a wife and a mother, first and foremost, and those two alone bring enough responsibility to make me shake in my (awesome, high-heeled) boots. It's not easy work and nobody ever tells you that it will make you stretch and grow, whether you want to or not. "Bloom where you're planted" doesn't apply here...it's more like "Come up with the blooms, or else!" (Mom, what's for dinner? Will you sign this? Can I go outside and play? I can't think of a sentence... Honey, where's my thingamabobber?? I put it on the hooyah and it's not there anymore...)
  

• I am a daughter and a sister. These are responsibilities that I wished to be rid of as a youth but am so grateful for as an adult! (many times....my sisters can probably vouch for this...my parents probably just assume it) My sisters are voices of warning and wisdom and comfort when all around me madness ensues. My parents, I found out, really do know a lot! I don't have to follow their rules any more but I'm finding out that there are bits and pieces of them that make sense and I even understand why they made them in the first place! Who would have guessed???
  

• I am a friend. Sometimes, this one is much more fun than any of the others and it's hard not to let it become more important. These women become my "sisters" by default because almost all of them are military wives. When it's the wrong time of day to call a sister, I can always call a "sistah-friend". We can grumble or grouse or eat chips and drink soda and yell at all the kids in the house and be okay with it. We can dig through one another's dirty clothes (and wear what we find!), sew, pin, fit, dance, eat, exercise, stay up late, make crafts, sing, watch movies (chick flicks and stupid, old comedies that people nowadays don't even remember)...it doesn't matter. We understand each other...when they need me I'm there, and vice versa.
  

• I am the Young Women's President - This is a blessing to help me to become who the Lord wants me to be but it's hard sometimes!!! It's amazing to know that He has asked me to be in charge of something that could be run so much better by someone else....like the women who have to work with me! These are amazing women who, even though they are probably better equipped to do what I'm doing, are ok with ME being the leader. They follow me...(please don't get lost, oh please, oh please.....)

I remember thinking about all of this and wondering how on earth I was supposed to do it all successfully. Then I remembered that I can't do it all. I need help. (no big secret there...)
The really amazing part is that Help is available if I ask...divine help...guidance from God...tailored to me and my situation and my frustrations or strengths or weaknesses.
On my own, I'm a wimp. But with HIM, I can do it all!