Who's Right Is It?

Thanks to Todd Akin's recent statements regarding "legitimate rape" (and other politicians' statements, I am sure), my facebook feed has been bombarded with statuses, posts, links, etc...regarding abortion, a woman's right to choose, and so on and so forth.  I have refrained from getting involved in any major discussions about the subject on facebook, because honestly?  Arguing on facebook is kind of dumb, especially when you're arguing with someone who obviously has very different views than you.  It's like arguing with a wall.  Neither party is going to change his or her mind and shouting at each other over an internet forum is pointless.

With that said, I will now lay out my personal views and again I will ask, just as I did with my post about homosexuality, that you read the whole blog before you start screaming at me.  Thank you.

The issue of abortion comes down to one simple question...well, perhaps "basic" is a better term, because apparently, the question is not so simple.  But the question is this:  when does life begin?

When one answers the question, "when do I feel that life begins" one usually finds out where he or she lands along the spectrum of the abortion issue.

**Some people like to bring religion into this issue at this point--I am going to try and refrain from doing so, because this issue can be discussed without it.  And as a friend just pointed out, religion and government should be separated, with which I agree.  So, if we are going to discuss abortion as a government issue, religion should be left on the sidelines.**

My personal belief is that life begins at conception.  Period.  End of story.  In my book, as soon as a baby is conceived, it is indeed a baby, not just a bundle of cells, and it is alive.  Therefore, it is a human being and has just as many rights as any other human being currently in existence.  So, when a person, like my above-mentioned friend, says, "Well, it's her body and she has the right to choose," my immediate response is, "What about the baby's rights?  What about the baby's choice?"  This is my immediate gut response, because I believe that life begins at conception.  The problem with this is, for someone who doesn't believe that life begins at conception, this argument is completely moot. 

For those who believe that life does not begin until later on in the pregnancy or even until actual birth, abortion, especially as a "woman's right to choose," is not an issue.  They see nothing wrong with it because they see no living person's rights being violated.  They don't view abortion as "murder" as some (and I) do, because in their minds there isn't any person present other than the mother and it's her body, she can do with it what she pleases.

Now, being of the opposite opinion, I don't have to agree with people fighting for abortion, I don't have to like it, but I do understand it and trying to convince someone they are wrong in one of their fundamental beliefs is a very tricky business and one that I'm not terribly fond of.  Many people's beliefs about the start of life are as strong and as unchangeable as those I have regarding my faith.  And I know how upset and aggravated I get when certain people try and convince me that I am wrong for believing the way I do.  So in my mind, the best I can do at this point is support my own beliefs without raining down hate on those who don't believe as I do.

As to the rape/abortion issue, which is all hot and bothered right now, I stand by my original statement.  Regarding the abortion, the specific act of what is in my mind, killing a child, I think it is wrong.  HOWEVER, that does not go to say that I do not understand completely, why a woman would choose that route.  The trauma of rape is severe, physically, emotionally, psychologically, and it affects a woman permanently, even without the added issue of a conception.  With a conception, with that permanent visible evidence of a trauma that one would give anything to forget--I'm sure it's hell.

The thing is, there are women who have been in that situation who have fallen on either side of the fence.  My mother knows personally a woman who was raped, by a family member no less, who was impregnated, and she had her baby to term, gave birth and has raised the child lovingly ever since.  She views the child as a blessing, despite the negative situation in which the child was conceived and her life is fuller for it.   She is one case.  I also know there are plenty of women out there who , when faced with the idea of raising a child that was conceived in violence and violation, want nothing more than to run in the opposite direction.   And they cannot be blamed for that, especially by people who have never been in that situation.

I personally believe that it is not fair to punish a child for the sins of his or her father.  But again, that all goes back to my belief that what is growing inside the mother is a child, a person, and that to abort that child kills a life.  For someone who does not believe that way, the opinion is very different.  And that also goes to say, that I have never been in that position.  I will not lie and say that when I found out I was pregnant for the first time, outside of marriage, that the thought of aborting it did not cross my mind.  It did, very briefly.  I wondered if it wouldn't be easier to try and do that behind my parents' backs, rather than admit to them that I had gone against how they had raised me, had sex before marriage and gotten pregnant.  But the thought was followed quickly by a bout of shame, for the thought, and even more quickly by a bout of protective love for what I believed to already be my baby.  But that was me.  That's not every woman.

I have come to view the issue of abortion similarly to the way I view homosexuality.  Just because I do not personally agree with it or support it, doesn't mean that I shouldn't try to understand it and be more tolerant of it.  Judging those who are gay or those who have had an abortion is not my job, for their wrongdoing (what I personally believe to be wrongdoing) is no greater or lesser than my own.  I have learned that it is better to judge myself first and when I do that, I realize that I really have no business judging others. 

No matter what side of the issue we fall on, we would all do better I think to realize and understand that not all people view matters the way we do and chances are, we are not going to change anyone's minds, ESPECIALLY by yelling and screaming and throwing around insults.  That simply spreads more intolerance and more hate, and that, my friends, gets us nowhere. 

I will never vote towards something that supports abortion, because to me, a child results at conception and that child has just as much a "right to choose" as his or her mother.  But to those who fight for a woman's "right to choose" and believe that it is strictly a woman's choice because hers is the only life present, well, they are supporting that which is in line with their fundamental beliefs.  And how is that any different from what I'm doing?  It's not. 

So instead of whooping and hollering and attacking people about this issue, understand that their answer to a basic question, that is: when does life begin, may be different from yours and they are only acting in a way which supports their answer.  And that right, the right to believe as one chooses, is EVERYONE'S. 

Pondering About Patriotism

My cousin Lindsey returned earlier this summer from a 2-year jaunt in South Korea, where she worked as a teacher.  She posted the following link on facebook:

http://postmasculine.com/america

The link leads to a blog article entitled "10 Things Most Americans Don't Know About America."  Now, granted, it's an opinion based article--there are no footnotes referencing any actual data--but it is written by a person who is apparently well-traveled and has immersed himself in many different cultures.  I took the time to read the article, mostly because of a recent discussion my cousin and I had regarding gun control, about which we strongly disagree.  I was interested in finding out what there was about America that I didn't know as an American.

The answer?  Not much.

As I read the article, I found myself nodding and realizing that much of what the author said made perfect sense.  While I would have never been able to sit down and put everything he said to paper myself, I wasn't surprised by what had been written and realized that much of what he had said had been floating around in the back of my subconscious.

Which got me thinking about the word "patriotic."  According to freeonlinedictionary.com, "patriotic" is defined as "Feeling, expressing, or inspired by love for one's country."  I have always considered myself an extremely patriotic person.  My favorite holiday is the 4th of July.  I cheer relentlessly for the U.S. Olympic Team and I grew up in a household where the American Flag was publicly and proudly displayed.


However, I'm starting to think that maybe my sense of patriotism is a little displaced.  What I love most about 4th of July is seeing those who have served in the military be acknowledged and honored, rather than the fireworks.  My favorite part of an Olympian winning gold is hearing the National Anthem played, which I associate with freedom, which is gained primarily through our military.  When I see the American Flag, I am reminded of all the men and women who have sacrificed their lives for the freedoms I currently have.  I support the American military.  But in this day and age, I'm starting to question just how much I support America.


I will not try to sound more intelligent than I am--I openly admit that in the past I have not taken a large interest in politics.  I have in the past often been one of many suffering from what my husband calls a "sheep mentality" in which I spout off whatever the person next to me is saying.  But I don't want to be that kind of person anymore.  More and more I find myself trying to get to the heart of debates that rage across the internet, and I like to research my facts before I declare an opinion, because I do not want to be accused of following a crowd.


There are many things going on in this country right now that lead me to believe it is on a downward spiral, headed towards destruction, most likely internal, rather than external.  Our economy sucks, but nobody wants to talk about that or what they plan to do about it.  Minor issues such as gun control, abortion and gay rights flood the newspapers, political ads and internet while issues that affect everyone are left on the wayside.  **And may I just say, before anyone jumps down my throat, yes, I understand that gun control, abortion and gay rights are not minor and are very important to a lot of people--I myself have specific thoughts about each one--but overturning Roe v. Wade or outlawing the carry and conceal laws are NOT what we need to be overly concerned about right now.  We have bigger fish to fry.**  No one can agree on what's best for health care--the only thing that isn't argued about is that it's too effing expensive.  


I think one of the biggest issues we have right now is that our government has morphed into something it was never intended to be--and until it is changed, we will continue on in this downward spiral, getting nowhere.  Now, as to how to change it?  I'm not that smart.  I think that the laws regarding term lengths in Congress need to be re-vamped, I think that members of Congress should be required to follow all the laws that they pass and force the average American to follow, I think the salaries of those in Congress and the White House are just as exorbitant as those of professional sports players--as to how to change any of that, though?  No idea where to start.


But I don't believe that our government has the country's best interests at heart--and honestly, I don't give a flying you-know-what about whether or not you're Republican, Democrat or Barbie--nobody can say anymore what they stand for, only what they stand against.  They can't use their ads to defend themselves, only to attack others.  And personally, I don't think that's the best way to inspire confidence in those you plan to lead.  And quite frankly, I think most politicians do that because deep down, they all know that they're all full of shit, saying whatever it's gonna take to get them elected and then doing whatever they wanted to in the first place.


The electoral vote process is crap.  I live in Illinois.  The majority of Illinois' electoral votes are in Chicago.  Chicago is primarily Democratic.  It doesn't matter how many people in the rest of the state vote Republican--Illinois is going to whatever Democrat is running for office.  I still vote because I'm a firm believer in "If you don't vote, then you have no right to complain, so STFU" but do I feel like my vote counts for anything?  Absolutely not.  Not living where I am, anyway.


The point to all of this, I guess, is that I support our military and respect what it does.  I respect those who choose a life of service so that I can be a stay-at-home mom and take care of my girls.  I take pride in the fact that I'm an American because I've been raised here and have had a pretty decent life here.  I've got it better than a lot of people, American and non, and I've been provided with a freedom to believe and speak as I so choose.  But in this day and age, it is possible that my pride is placed more in an ideal, rather than reality.


I will never say that I hate America, because I don't.  I love my country.  But I'm not a big fan of what my country is doing and where it is headed.  It is my prayer that things change before we become Rome and self-destruct due to our own sense of self-importance.


God bless America--because surely we need it.

A Shade of Grey

I used to view homosexuality in absolute black and white.  There were no shades of grey.  You were either gay or you weren't, and if you were, you chose to be and therefore you were wrong, because homosexuality is a sin condemned by God.  That used to be my thought process.  I would hear people who were gay say things like, "God made me this way," or "I was born like this" and my mind immediately rebelled against such statements.  I looked at homosexuality as a choice--and choice was the only option available.

I've matured in my thinking abilities a little bit since then.  I've taken a step back from everything I was taught to believe as a child.  Rather than taking everything on blind faith because other people said so, I've attempted to find valid reasons for why I believe the way I do--and if I can't find one, I've asked myself if perhaps my belief needed to change just a little bit.  Some beliefs I still hold firm to, such as the presence of God, the death and resurrection of his Son, Jesus Christ, and salvation through grace and faith.  I have no concrete evidence that any scientist would accept--but I still hold firm to them for reasons and personal evidence of my own.  But that's a discussion for another day. 

What I want to discuss now--and I welcome thoughts and opinions from both sides, because I honestly do want to know--is a...theory, for lack of a better word, that I have developed regarding homosexuality.

I think, perhaps, that homosexuality is much more complex than most people believe.  I think there are many different facets surrounding the issue and I think there are a number of reasons that people either are or become gay. 

For example....

I do still think that for some people, homosexuality (or bisexuality) is a choice.  Note that I say some, not all.  Being a person that has in the past briefly wondered about what a sexual encounter with a person of the same sex would be like, I would like to think I'm safe in saying that some people do choose those sort of sexual encounters.  We are all sinful beings and I think most people (whether they would admit it or not) are curious beings, especially when it comes to sex.  We are obsessed with the unknown--aliens, the paranormal, what our sister told our brother but didn't tell us--why should it be any different when it comes to sex?  I admit to suffering curiosity about sex with a woman--yet I would never have sex with a woman.  And that is my choice.  I have considered and weighed options and made a decision in how I want to act.  I chose against a life of homosexuality (or even a homosexual encounter).  Therefore, it makes sense to me that just as one can choose against something, they can also choose for it.  So yes, I do think that in some cases, homosexuality is a choice.  **I will elaborate briefly on this in a moment.**

As for those people that claim that "God made them this way," I do not believe that.  And that is simply based on the fact (or what I believe to be fact) that God created a man and a woman.   "God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. God blessed them; and God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth..." Genesis 1:27-28.  God created men and women with the intent that through a man and a woman, procreation would occur.  If creating humans in His image had entailed creating two men or two women rather than one of each, He would have done so.  He didn't.  So for those who say to Christians who condemn them (my opinions on which I have stated in a previous blog), "How can you say God is sending me to hell, He made me this way?" I say, "No, He didn't."

But now I come to the crux of the matter.  This is where my thought process shifted.  Many gays claim that they are "born this way."  While I used to immediately argue against such a claim, I now wonder if it might not have merit. 

When God created the world, He created it in perfection.  He gave Adam and Eve only one rule--that they not eat from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.  They broke that law and sent all of their offspring spiraling down into a world of sin.  A world of evil, disease and death.  Polio would not have existed before the fall into sin.  Down's Syndrome would not have existed before the fall into sin.  And homosexuality would not have existed before the fall into sin. 

I do not claim to be an expert on all of the studies scientists have done regarding homosexuality, so please correct me if I'm wrong.  As far as I know, scientists have not found a "gay gene" in which if you have it you're gay and if you don't have it, you're not gay.  But I believe that some scientists have done studies that showed "biological differences" in those who were gay and those who were not..  Whether there has been fast and hard evidence that is the same across the board, or if differences have been found, I cannot say.  But I do know that not all people who suffer from autism suffer the same severity of it.  Some people born with illnesses that predict an extremely short lifespan live decades beyond it and some people, perfectly healthy, die for no apparent reason.  Biology adapts, just like everything else.  Micro-evolution.  It's inevitable.

So, is it not possible that just like other genetic diseases and defects that only came into effect after the fall into sin and have adapted and changed over time, homosexuality might have done the same?  And for those of you who are taking offense at the term "disease" or "defect" please, let me finish.  I'm not saying that homosexuals are diseased, as a person with leprosy would have been termed diseased.  What I'm trying to zero in on is that I honestly think that genetic differences may occur that allow for a homosexual to be born a homosexual.  I think it is logical to consider that homosexuality can be a product of biology in certain cases, just as any other condition, such as hermaphroditism, Downs, autism, or schizophrenia, is biological in nature as well.

What really got me thinking about this initially, was of all things, a scene out of Glee, in which Kurt, an openly gay boy who is tormented relentlessly at school, says to one of his fellow students regarding his homosexuality, "Who would choose this life?"  Meaning, who would choose a life of torture and torment and bigotry when another option was available?  And it got me wondering--I wondered if what he asked didn't make sense.  So then I wondered if there was another way to look at homosexuality?  Was there a way for people to actually be "born that way?"  And now I am of the opinion, that yes, in some cases, there is a way.

It would take many, many studies done over many, many years to determine if this is a viable theory.  I'd be interested in finding out what such studies would say.  Right now, I'm interested in what others have to say about it.

While as a Christian, I still believe that homosexuality is wrong, I feel that as a Christian it is my duty to try and understand what's underneath the surface and come to a place of love and forgiveness, as Christ did, rather than spewing hate about something that in all honesty, a person may in some cases really have no control over.  Murder is wrong.  But how do you a judge a schizophrenic who kills a person because he believes that person is trying to harm him, those thoughts and beliefs being a biproduct of an underlying biological defect?

Perhaps the old saying, "hate the sin, not the sinner" is too simple in this case, but at its heart is how I have come to feel about homosexuality.  I honestly believe that not all homosexuals can be thrown together in one bunch and dealt with as such.  It's not black and white, as much as some would like to say it is.

Christ's love is absolute and it covers black and white, as well as every shade of grey in between.  As Christians, I think we need to do a better job of remembering that.

A Night on the Patio

Let me start, first and foremost by saying: parenting is subjective.  There is no perfect way to do it.  One must make judgment calls based on a number of factors--the specific situation, the age of the child, the motivation behind the child's actions, the parent's own experiences, standard setting, etc.  The list could go on and on and on....

That being said, this post is in no way an attempt to tell others how to raise their children, because frankly, it's none of my business.  I do not claim to be a perfect parent.  I make mistakes.  It is not for me to tell others what is right and wrong when it comes to their parenting decisions.  In the same manner, I feel that others (especially those who do not have children) should not deign to tell me how to raise my two girls.  My husband and I make parenting decisions together and it is his and my opinion that matters when it comes to our daughters.  No one is obligated to agree with the choices we make--but neither are they entitled to tell us we are wrong. 

End rant. 

Start point of blog.

I would like to clarify my position on a picture I posted on facebook.  The picture depicts an envelope taped to the front door of a house.  On the envelope, handwritten, is the following: "You have missed curfew! Do not knock or ring the doorbell. You may sleep on the patio. I have been generous this time and provided a blanket."  The caption of the photo, which was posted by a radio station, asked the question: Too harsh or good parenting?  Comments ranged from total support to total horror and disgust.  Some of the arguments against this sort of action were: that it simply gave the child free reign for the rest of the night and they would only see it as permission to go back to the party from whence they came, that it was unsafe and what happened if the child was kidnapped, raped and murdered, and DCFS would not think this was good parenting.

I shared the picture, along with the fact that I might offer the car as a viable sleeping option, rather than the patio, but besides that, I was all for it. 

Let's break this down, shall we?

First of all, we have no idea what the specifics of the situation were regarding the parent who taped this envelope to his/her door or the child that it was meant to punish.  Whether or not the threat was carried through and whether or not the punishment was effective we may never know.  Like I said previously, judgment calls are made based on numerous factors.

To address the arguments against said punishment:

1) If the child sees such a thing as permission to go gallivanting for the rest of the night, chances are good that either 1) he has no regard for his set curfew in the first place and mightn't have bothered to come home at all, 2) that this is an ongoing problem that has not been addressed by either the child or the parent, because of laziness, lack of communication, lack of affection, etc., or 3) the child is just looking for a way to excuse his behavior (how could I make curfew, you locked me out, what else was I supposed to do?).  Or perhaps a combination of any or all of these.  So whether it was this punishment, a grounding, etc...whether or not it is effective punishment, again, depends on a lot of things.  And if the child has no regard for rules and no respect for the laws set down by his parents, nothing is too harsh because the child doesn't allow it to affect him in the first place.  

2) Yes, in this day and age, it is certainly possible and possibly probable that such an action would be unsafe.  Again, however, we must take into consideration certain factors.  Doing this to a 13 year old who lives in East St. Louis (a local place that I am familiar with) or perhaps downtown L.A. (Chicago, New York, any major city, take your pick) is probably not the best idea.  It would definitely put the child in a position of risk.  Doing this to an 18 year old who lives in Greendale, Indiana (another place with which I am familiar) where everybody knows everybody--takes the risk factor down quite a bit.  

At this point let me clarify that there are exceptions to every rule and none of this is 100% definite.  Just a note for anyone that's ready with an anecdote that starts with, "Well, I knew somebody...."

Also, regarding the safety issue--if this was done by a parent who is familiar with their child and relatively involved in their child's life and takes their child's safety seriously, I think it is pretty safe to say that the parent believed this type of punishment did not put their child at a high level of risk.  The fact that the envelope qualified "I'm being generous this time" indicates that this may have happened once or twice before and the child survived to suffer the same punishment...again.  If the kid was resourceful enough to stay out late and make it home ok, chances are he is resourceful enough to either get into the house or smart enough to know he is either 1) safe sleeping on the patio or 2) to call up a friend and find a place to crash, depending on whether or not he's willing to suffer said consequences.

3) It is difficult to find ANY kind of parenting/discipline that DCFS approves of.  If you spank your child, it's abusive.  If you lock your child out of the house, it's abusive.  If your child refuses to eat because he doesn't like what you've prepared and you let him go hungry for the night, it's abusive and neglectful.  No punishment is perfect.  A punishment that works for one child may have no effect on another.  And any type of punishment can be abused by people that are determined to be abusive.  Again, it's a matter of not placing blame where blame is due.  A parent doesn't have to spank his child to be abusive--that can be accomplished simply by telling the child every day that he or she is ugly...or stupid...or worthless.  It is not the art of spanking that is abusive--it's the parent.  So personally, I find the DCFS argument mostly moot.  DCFS would probably have a million things to say about the way I'm raising my daughters.  But my daughters are happy, healthy and pretty darn well-behaved for kids their age. 

As for my own personal experience with such a punishment (because, yes, I do have one)--it never had to get this far.  My parents told me before I walked out the door that my curfew was at a specific time.  At that specific time, the door was getting locked.  If I wasn't home, I was out of luck.  I never came home to an envelope taped to the door because I always made it home on time.  And furthermore, the locked door wasn't even the actual point.  I had a key to my house.  Any parent who doesn't provide his or her kids with keys to the house has problems above and beyond locking the kids out of the house.  So I could unlock the door and go inside if I wanted to, as I'm sure many other kids who are faced with similar situations can.  The point of the punishment is to reinforce the idea that respect for the parents and their rules is due.  If you think, as a teenager, that you are enough of an adult to not come home until three in the morning when you're supposed to be home by midnight or one, if you are enough of an adult to "take care of yourself" and follow your own set of rules, then by all means, live like an adult.  Find your own place to sleep.  Give up your right to the bedroom and bed and privacy that your parents provide and pay for.  I don't know too many parents who charge their children rent for no good reason--so if you're living under their roof, it makes perfect sense that you be obligated to follow their rules.  If you as a child are going to deny me the respect I'm due as a parent who has put your needs and wants above all else, then I'm going to deny you the comfort of a bed. 

This is how I was raised.  I was raised to respect my parents and follow the rules, even if I didn't like them.  If I didn't like them that much, I had the option of moving out and making it on my own and following my own rules.  It was that simple.  My parents did not ask much from me and I was not treated unfairly (even if as a teenager, I may have thought so at the time).

I would not use this punishment lightly.  I might not do it exactly in this manner.  I would only use it if the individual circumstances warranted it.  And it is my prayer that I am a good enough parent that by the time my girls are old enough for this type of punishment to be remotely appropriate, I won't have to resort to it.

Being a parent is not easy.  It encompasses many different roles.  It is not just your job as a parent to love your children, but also to be a guide for them and teach them to make decisions for themselves.  Loving them is not enough.  In the real world, there are consequences for your actions and if you don't learn that early, it bites you in the butt.  If you're late for work, you are punished.  If you don't turn your homework in on time, you get a failing grade.  If you don't follow the rules your employer sets for you because you think you know better, you get fired. 

Letting your children come to understand such consequences before they become reality is a sign of good parenting.  Give them a better way.  Let them make mistakes early so they learn from them and don't make them later on when the consequences are much more severe than spending the night on a patio.

Limit Guns, Limit Life

Since the tragic shooting in Colorado this past Friday, there has been a massive influx of commentaries on the issue of gun control flooding my Facebook feed.  Both sides of the issue have been represented, but the side supporting restrictive gun laws has definitely been a bit more vocal.  And seeing as it's an election year, many politicians are using the Colorado tragedy as a means to rise in the polls.  Whether Republican or Democrat, I find it a bit despicable.

Twelve lives were lost.  Over fifty more were affected forever.  Some may never walk into a movie theatre again due to post-traumatic stress, panic attacks and debilitating fear.  Families are now suffering from both massive amounts of grief and medical bills that, due to our flailing economy, they probably will not be able to afford.  That those looking for power gains are willing to try and use the situation toward their own ends absolutely disgusts me.

However, that is not my main point. 

I have two, actually--the first, quite simply, is about bullies.  The second, about criminals.

Bullies prey on the weak.  They target those who either cannot or will not fight back.  Whether it is the biggest kid on the playground tormenting the smallest, the drunken husband beating on the wife who takes it in order to protect the child, the rapist jumping someone from behind or the shooter targeting a "gun free" zone because he knows no one will shoot back, in the end it is the same.  Bullies, beating on the easy target.  When the small kid gets in the big kid's face and shoves back, it's amazing how quickly the big kid backs off.  When the would-be rape victim pulls out the pepper spray and the cell phone, quickly dialing 911, the rapist quickly turns tail and runs.  And when the shooter takes a bullet from someone shooting back in self-defense, the death toll usually falls short of twelve.

Denying the right to own, carry and conceal a weapon, believing that such action will save lives is a fallacy.  When you take away a person's ability to defend himself, he quickly becomes a target for bullies looking for easy prey--the only kind of prey for which they look.  Restricting the possession of firearms to the public makes it that much easier for those who do go on shooting sprees to up their number of kills very rapidly.  If someone tries to shoot me and I am unarmed, the best I can do is run for cover--any shooter with any determination to kill will simply continue to hunt me down and to fire until I am hit.  If he's an accurate shot, I'm dead.  Life lost.  However, if I am armed and properly trained, when he shoots at me, I shoot back.  And then, if he values his life at all, he must rethink his strategy and also look for cover.  If I hit him, even if the wound is not life-threatening, it slows him down.  There's also the possibility that he gives up entirely and leaves.  Now yes, he may still hit me and I may go down.  My life may still be lost.

However....

Insert this same scenario into a situation like the one on July 20, where a huge number of people are involved.  When someone shoots back at the shooter and he takes that moment of hesitation to rethink what's going on, vital seconds pass where others can make it out the door and get to safety.  If, unwilling to risk his own life, he gives up entirely and leaves, a lot less shooting happens and a lot less bullets find flesh in which to lodge themselves. 

Three people that went to the Batman premier in Colorado de-armed themselves before entering the theatre because the theatre was a "gun-free" zone.  Had they been allowed to keep their weapons in the theatre, there is the possibility that not only one, but three people could have been returning fire towards the shooter.  I highly doubt that he would have continued with his deadly intent had he been dodging bullets from three different directions.  But because the theatre was known publicly to be a "gun-free" zone, the shooter knew he would meet with no resistance.  Easy prey for a bully.  A smart, technical, and possibly insane bully, yes, but a bully nonetheless.

De-arming people in this case did NOT save lives.  In all honesty, it most likely helped cost lives.  Losing even one life is a tragedy.  But losing twelve that might have been prevented under different circumstances?  That is an absolute travesty.

As for my second point, as I said it regards criminals.  Criminals are criminals for the simple fact that they DO NOT FOLLOW LAWS. 

I've seen throughout my feed many comments regarding how if certain weapons were not made available to the public, such incidents would not occur.  This my friends, is bullshit.  If someone is bound and determined to shoot up a movie theatre, they will find a way.  Something tells me that if someone is willing to commit twelve counts of murder and God knows how many counts of attempted murder, they're probably willing to illegally purchase a weapon.  Not only illegally purchase the weapon, but not register it, scratch off the identification numbers on it, etc. 

My husband and I are big fans of the show "Sons of Anarchy."  For anyone not familiar with the show, it is about a motorcycle club, whose members' main source of income comes from running illegal weapons.  While it is just a TV show, based on fiction, the underlying foundation is reality.  A friend of my husband's looked into joining an Illinois-based MC a while ago.  After he became a prospect, my husband asked him if it was like being on the set of SOA--running guns, drugs and prostitutes?  His friend, in all seriousness answered, "Well, not the drugs.  We don't get into that shit." Selling weapons on the black market happens all the time.

The fact is, obtaining weapons is not difficult for those who are determined to get them.  They will break the law to get them with no qualms whatsoever.  Passing laws that limit the rights of gun owners does not stop the criminals--because again, they DON'T FOLLOW LAWS--it only inhibits the ability of those who use their firearms responsibly to defend their own lives and the lives of their loved ones. 

Guns are not responsible for the twelve lives lost in Colorado on July 20, 2012.  James Egan Holmes is.  Without Holmes wielding the weapons, no one would have been shot, because guns don't shoot themselves.  Had the three individual gun owners who attended the film been allowed to carry their weapons instead of checking them at the door, Holmes may have been prevented from shooting so many times. 

Bullies and criminals must be the ones held responsible for their actions.  It is they who should be punished, not the general public.  Limiting the rights of responsible gun owners because of a single psycho spree killer is like taking recess away from the entire class because one kid wouldn't shut up.  It's not fair, it breeds resentment, and only hurts those who aren't at fault. 

And if the whole point is to save lives, well....there's only one way lives are saved.  Take your life back from the bully.  Let him know that you can and will defend yourself and that he has no power over you.  Watch how quickly he backs off and how much longer you stay alive.

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed--2nd Amendment

"The Supreme Court has now definitively held that the Second Amendment protects an individual's right to possess a firearm unconnected with service in a militia, and to use that weapon for traditionally lawful purposes, such as self-defense within the home. Moreover, this right applies not just to the federal government, but to states and municipalities as well."--http://caselaw.lp.findlaw.com/data/constitution/amendment02/

Oftentimes I feel like I don't have the time (or perhaps don't make and take the time) to sit back and reflect on the many things that impact my life.  However, when it does happen, it amazes me how I tend to worry most about the little things--the things that really aren't going to matter in the long run.  For example, I get extremely frazzled when people show up to my house unexpectedly....usually because my house isn't totally 100% pristine and I feel like people will judge me and think I'm a bad housewife because there are a few dirty dishes in the sink.  Or when plans get changed at the last minute--drives me crazy.  I get myself all worked up and in a tizzy and always spend forever ranting about the imminent bad outcome of said changed plans. 

In all honesty, it's a tad ridiculous.

Life is a constant, ever-changing, massive ball of unpredictability.  Circumstances change in an instant.  The path you set for yourself is almost never the path you end up walking down.  Things happen that you can't control (and if I'm truly honest with myself, and the world, I'm more than a bit of a control freak) and the best thing you can do is trust that God will handle the things you can't and get you through them.

The thing I find interesting, in my case however, is that when it comes to the big things--I mean, the huge, important, life-altering things--I don't worry about them.  I'm able to give up control and just trust that whatever happens, happens for a reason.

My dad is pretty sick right now.  He's had some rather major medical issues going on for the past several years, but they are all coming to a head now.  In the past six weeks he has had numerous tests run, received multiple blood transfusions and taken a trip to the ER that resulted in a 4-day hospital stay.  Without saying too much specifically, to protect his privacy, I can say that there is a good chance that his lease on life may be limited.  I hope that he's around for the next 30 years.  I know that probably won't happen.  But what I pray for is that God's will be done.  I know that God has a plan for my dad, as He does for each of us, and if His plan is for my dad to die at the age of 55, or 56, or 57, then that is what will happen.

When my mom first told me what my dad's diagnosis was, I wasn't surprised.  I'd seen it coming.  But hearing it spoken out loud was still a bit of a shock.  I took a day or two to grieve and to process, but I very quickly came to a place of acceptance.  I came to terms with the fact that my dad could possibly die very soon, within the next few years, perhaps even in the next few months and I am at peace with that.

I know that many people find it very difficult to believe me (or others) when I (or they) say that they don't have a problem with death.  That they don't fear death, whether it be their own or someone else's.  But I don't.  Death doesn't bother me.  My Christian belief, and that of my family, leaves me with the knowledge and hope of an afterlife in eternal Paradise.  I know that if my dad should die, that's where he's headed and he'll be much better off there than he is here.  I don't worry about him.  I'm not going to lie and say that I won't feel sad, that I won't grieve and have passing thoughts of "what if?"  But grief passes and the grief is for myself, for my mother, my brothers, my girls.  The grief is not for my father. 

It is easy for me to not worry about such a possibility.  And such a possibility would change my life, change the life of my mother, my siblings, my children--change them all irrevocably.  But I don't agonize over my dad's condition.  Yet I so easily agonize over the condition of my kitchen. 

When it's all said and done, however, I think I'm happy with the way things are.  I think I'd rather sweat the small things.  If I worried about my dad's condition, or our finances, or my in-laws the way I worry about whether or not my kid's clothes coordinate, I'd never have a moment's peace.  And peaceful moments are hard enough to come by without chasing them off with worry.

The older I get and the more stresses that come my way, the more I learn to appreciate that God is perfectly capable of handling those stresses and is more than willing to take them off my shoulders.  All it takes is a quickly whispered prayer.  He will gladly carry my burdens as long as I am willing to give up control and let Him. 

In the grand scheme of things, my dirty floor is really not all that heavy of a burden, so I'm ok with carrying it for now.  And maybe someday, as I grow older and wiser, I'll learn to let it go along with everything else.  Time will tell. 

Charles Brandon Robertson

I would just like to take a moment to say that I am extremely thankful for my husband. 

He is extremely loving and supportive and he always has my back, no matter the circumstance.  He is always honest with me and even if that honesty hurts or even if I feel like it does me no good at that exact moment in time, it still helps to hear it and more than that, it helps to know that he never lies to me.  He tells me like it is, the good and the bad, and I know I can trust him because of that.  He defends me and puts me and my feelings first and I know he would tackle dragons for me. 

Lately there's been a lot of family issues going on for us and while we may not always agree about those issues, he always tries to put the best spin on things as possible and he reminds me that I can only do so much.  The world's problems are not mine to fix.  He keeps me grounded, he keeps me sane.

He loves me for me, accepting every part of me, the good and the bad, and that is rare.  Where others have let me down, he has raised me up.  He tells me that I'm beautiful when I feel ugly, he tells me that I'm everything when I feel inadequate. 

He is my better half.

Checking In...

So I blogged back at the end of May that I was done being overweight and that I was officially getting into shape and training for a marathon.  I also blogged that mistakes would be made--and so they have been.

After I posted that blog, I went about a week where I was seriously trying to work out, at least a little, every day and I tried to kick the soda habit.  Didn't work.  I got bored with the treadmill, couldn't resist the caffeine cravings and I went right back to my same old, same old.  Marathon training came to a speedy halt.  I caught myself over the next couple of weeks reminding myself of the public declaration I'd made about running a marathon and telling myself that I had plenty of time, if I screwed up for a few weeks, it was no big deal.  I was lying to myself, and what's worse, I knew I was lying to myself, yet I still wasn't getting up off my ass and doing something about it.

And then, my sister came to town.

My niece got married 10 days ago and because of that, the whole family was in town.  My sister and niece stayed with us for a few days before the wedding and after the wedding we had a few days of glorious peace because my brother and sister-in-law hijacked our kids and took them home with them for a few days.  After a tearful farewell to the youngsters, my sister and I sat in my living room trying to figure out what to do with ourselves.  After coming up with and then discarding a number of suggestions, I had an epiphany.  I looked at my sister and said: We have a gym membership.  There is a pool at the gym.  To which my sister immediately and emphatically replied: We must go swimming.  We must go swimming NOW! 

For the next three days we spent time at the pool, enjoying the exercise, the whirlpool and most especially the air conditioning (it was 100+ degrees outside each day and the AC in our house was on the fritz).  We discussed anything and everything and one of the things we discussed was how we both needed to get back into shape but were having trouble getting motivated to do so.

And then I had an idea.  An awful idea.  I had a wonderful awful idea....except there was nothing awful about it.  (And for those of you who get the reference, kudos!) We could start a dual blog, where we could both post updates about our weight-losing progress.  And admitting that we're both competitive as hell, that could be our motivation.  Because, as I told my sister, there was no way in hell I was letting her get back to being skinny and hot before I did.  She immediately concurred.  (And of course we both admitted that getting thin wasn't the goal, getting healthy was....but seriously, who are we kidding, right?)

So on July 5 we started "Fat Wars" which can be read at www.sistersfightfat.blogspot.com.  Since then I can proudly say that I have worked out 5 out of the last 7 days, I've kicked the soda habit and lowered my calorie intake.  Since posting on May 31st about starting marathon training, I've lost 11 pounds.  Down to 245 with 85 more pounds to go!

And maybe the best news of all: my brother and sister-in-law (you know, the ones who hijacked our kids) are trying to lose weight too, and after reading our blog, they've started their own competition AND their own blog about it!!  So proud of them!

For the longest time I said I couldn't figure out what it would take to motivate me to get back into shape--but apparently, my motivation is competition.  I workout every day (or close to it) cuz I can't wait to post about it as soon as I'm done...and if my sister posts first for the day, working out shoots up in my priority list.  I gotta get it done so I can post too.  And of course, it's all healthy competition--I hope that my sister is thinking the exact same way I am, cuz Lord knows, it's doing me all kinds of good.  And if we keep it up, in the end we both win.  And that's the best prize of all.  :)

Done

So, I haven't blogged in a while.  Not because I don't have anything to say, however.  It's because I've had too much to say and haven't felt able to say it.  At least not in a public forum like this.

So much has happened in the past few weeks....

........my dad has been diagnosed with some serious medical problems....

........family members have personal issues going on......

.........a pregnancy scare......

.........a very good friend going through a very tough time......

They're all things that I am heavily involved in, yet don't feel like I can write about because while I'm involved in the stories, they're not mine to tell.  But I'm going crazy because I have all this stuff going on in my head and no way to release it, to just let it go. And I have found that while I can talk to other people who are involved, writing is the only way in which I feel I can put my thoughts in order, put them out there for others to see in an orderly fashion and then release them and not have them weighing me down.

My husband says that my problem is that I take on too much drama that is not my own.  He may be right.  In all actuality, he probably is.  But I care about the people in my life and want to help them as much as I can.  It drives me absolutely bonkers that I can't fix the world's problems...and more particularly the problems of those closest to me. 

But I've come to the conclusion very recently that I can't help people if they either 1) don't want help or 2) are not ready and/or willing to accept said help.  So I will continue to pray for them and then leave everything in God's hands.  Other than that, I'm done.  I have to put my own needs and the needs of my family first, and apparently, my family has been suffering more than I've been aware of and that is not ok. 

I can't do this anymore and that hurts me more than words can express, more than anyone will understand.  But I can't.  So I'm done.

Playing the Role of Peter

Having been raised the way I was, following the Christian faith that I do, I've always held a steadfast belief that God has control over my life.  He has laid out a path before me and given me all the tools I need to follow it.  People may say that my outlook on life is silly or unrealistic.  They may say that it indicates an unwillingness in me to be accountable for my own life.  That is their right.  But my outlook on life has always been that if something is meant to happen, it will find a way to happen.  God has dealt me my cards and those are the ones with which I have to play.  Whether it be an ace or a deuce, if the situation be good or bad, the card will be played, the situation will happen.  Period. 

For those of you who may not know, after the birth of my first daughter, I chose an IUD as a method of birth control.  It failed.  My second daughter was conceived while I was "protected" and there was some worry (even if the doctor never came out and said so) that complications would arise during the pregnancy due to the baby being conceived while I was on birth control.  Thank God, there weren't.

Due to that situation, however, Chaz and I discussed at length what method I should start using after the birth of our second daughter.  I had originally liked the idea of the shot because it was only something I'd have to worry about once every three months, it was easy, no problem.  But after reading up on it I found that one out of every three pregnancies that occur while on the shot end in an ectopic pregnancy, causing death for the child and oftentimes complications for the mother.  I'd already gotten pregnant while on one type of birth control and I didn't want to risk those kinds of complications should I get pregnant on yet another type.

We decided on the pill, which I was not happy about, because I am NOT a pill taker, but we couldn't come up with a better solution.  **For those of you who think this is a bit too much personal information, I apologize, but I promise, it does play into the actual point of this post.**  After thinking about it though, and plugging the situation into my outlook on life, I came to the conclusion that if I was meant to have an ectopic pregnancy, I was going to have an ectopic pregnancy, no matter what type of birth control I was on and I might as well be on one I would remember to take.

So when I went in to the OB/GYN earlier this week, I expressed this thought to him.  Looking back though, I didn't say it properly.

What I said was:  If whatever powers that be have decided that I'm going to have an ectopic pregnancy, then I'm going to have an ectopic pregnancy. 

What was going through my head as I said it was: If God has decided I should have an ectopic pregnancy.....

But I said "whatever powers that be."  I did not say God.

I remember having the thought as I was getting ready to tell the doctor the reasoning behind my decision that I didn't want him thinking I was being crazy, or silly, or unrealistic, or unaccountable.  I didn't want him thinking poorly of me because my decision had been based on the idea that someone other than myself had more control over my life than I did.

Here's the problem:  saying "whatever powers that be" instead of "God" doesn't change the fact that I believe someone other than myself has control over my life.  The concept is exactly the same.  Whether you believe in God or Allah or fate, the concept is exactly the same. 

I've realized that the true reason I said "the powers that be" instead of "God" was that I was unsure of my doctor's personal beliefs and I did not want to offend him.  So I used a generic cop-out instead of standing behind and being proud of my own beliefs.  I let the possibility of another person's opinion dictate what I said.  I turned away from a chance to proclaim my belief in God.

Christ said, “Therefore whoever confesses Me before men, him I will also confess before My Father who is in heaven.  But whoever denies Me before men, him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven." (Matthew 10:32-33) 

I feel like I denied Christ.  Unlike Peter, I did not come out and say, "I do not know Him."  But I also did not acknowledge knowing Him when I had the chance.  I let the worries of this life dictate how I spoke and I did not proclaim Christ when I was handed the opportunity.  There was no reason whatsoever that should have stopped me from saying "If God has decided that I should have an ectopic pregnancy..."  But I did stop.  I didn't say it.  I choked.  I said "whatever powers that be." 

Coming to this realization, acknowledging what I did, or rather what I failed to do, hit me pretty hard.  I've always said, with strong conviction, that if someone ever put a gun to my head and asked if I believed in God I would not hesitate to say "Yes, I do."  Yet I couldn't bring myself to openly admit to faith in God to my own doctor.  I was presented with a perfect opportunity to declare myself, and I failed. 

It's not a good feeling, knowing this about myself.  But on the plus side, coming to this realization reminded me again of how greatly I am in need of Christ's mercy and forgiveness.  Feeling remorse about the situation, really focusing on what happened and acknowledging the fault within me--it's brought me to a new place.  It's reminded me that I continue to screw up, daily, but that in admitting fault, I can also try to do better.  The next time a similar situation is presented to me, I can remember how ashamed I felt in playing the role of Peter and not make Peter's mistake of doing it again, three times over. 

I know that forgiveness is mine through grace by faith.  God has put my sins away from me as far as the east is from the west.  This denial has been forgiven.  Thank God for that.

 God give me strength, that the role of Peter will not be mine to play again.  Amen.

Marathon Training--Day 1

My workout today was a humbling experience.  I walked on the treadmill for 20 minutes at 2.8 mph.  I sit here now, after stretching, drenched in sweat, guzzling water and trying to keep my calves from cramping as they scream in discomfort.  The reality of today's workout has brought on two different reactions.

The first is disappointment. 

I knew I had gained weight.  The evidence is clear every time I look into a full-length mirror.  But it's very easy to forget how I look in the mirror when I'm not looking into the mirror--it's very easy to see myself as I used to be.  And it's very easy to avoid looking into a mirror to avoid facing the reality of myself.  The reality of myself is that I weigh 256 pounds.  The reality of myself is that walking for 20 minutes on a treadmill exhausted me.  The reality of myself is that I drink way too much soda and not enough water, I eat too many wrong foods and not enough right ones.  The reality of myself is that I am overweight and unhealthy. 

When I first met Chaz I weighed 175 pounds and wore a size 12 jean.  Now I wear a size 22/24.  When I first met Chaz I could walk for an hour and still have energy to go some more.  I was able to run between 1 and 2 miles--and could probably have run more if I so chose, I just hated running.  Exercise wasn't a chore, it was part of a daily routine, even if my mother did have to hassle me out the door and get me started. 

I look back at what I could do then and see what I can do now and the chasm between the two is huge.  And it's not ok.  I could use the fact that I've been pregnant twice in the past two and a half years as an excuse for why I've gained this much weight, but that's exactly what it would be.  An excuse.  I made the decisions that got me to this place--I chose to eat the wrong food, I chose to quit exercising, I hid behind my pregnancies and told myself that I was fine. 

But I'm not.  Living like this is not ok.  Not for me and not for my family.  I should have never let myself get like this and now that I have, I am the only one who can do something about it.  So I'm starting today.

Which leads to my second reaction: determination.

I used to be healthy and relatively athletic.  I want to be that way again.  I want to get back to the person I was three years ago--the person who could run and kick box and win martial arts tournaments.  I want to feel good about myself.  I want to like the person I see in the mirror.  I want to quit lying to myself and telling myself that it's ok to look and feel the way I do, because if there's one thing I can say about myself, it's that I've never been a liar.  At least, not until now.

My mother turned 50 yesterday and she is running in her second marathon this October.  If she can run a marathon at 50 (heck, if the 70 and 80 year olds I saw running last year are running marathons) then I should be able to do the same at half the age.  So I have decided that I will be running in the Rock n' Roll Marathon that will take place in St. Louis next October.  Unfortunately, I do have to be realistic about the demands on my life right now, including two girls under the age of two and I don't think I will be ready for the marathon this year.  But I will be running next year. 

I'm declaring it publicly because then I am accountable to someone other than myself.  Declaring it makes it real.  It's not just a thought in my head that I can quickly discard.  People will read it and expect it--so if I don't run next year, then I have once again lied.  I will have failed.  And failure has never been an option in my life.  I will not let it become an option now.

So it starts today.  The steps will be small.  Change cannot and does not happen overnight.  Mistakes will be made.  But over the course of many days and many nights I will continue to strive until I am once again looking in the mirror at the person I want to be.  Until that day when I can truly look myself in the eye and say "I love you." 

26.2, here I come.

happiness is what you make of it

Over Memorial Day weekend, I took my two girls and went with my mother to visit the Hardy side of my family (my mother's family) in southeastern Indiana.  I've always loved visiting the Hardys, for a number of reasons.  The first is that the Hardys are simply the epitome of how I picture a family being--my grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins are all extremely close and incredibly involved in the going ons of each other. --And not in the nosy, gossipy sort of way where people always know one another's business, but in the "I honestly care about what's going on in your life" way.--The Hardys are a unit, plain and simple.  Secondly, my grandparents live on a large farm (or at least, what I consider to be large based on the limited backyard space I've had since being a child)--there are plenty of trees, a lake filled with fish and clear starry skies uninhibited by buildings and the ever present haze of smog present in East Alton and Granite City.   And finally, the Hardy farm is one of the few places I have found in this world (the others being church and my husband's embrace) where I can truly relax, take a deep breath and be myself. 

My grandparents are flanked on either side by one of my two Hardy uncles and their families.  As you drive up the two lane highway, you can see all three houses lined up in a row, separated by no more than half a mile, the lake and forest making a gorgeous backdrop.  It's pretty much a guarantee that while staying at my grandparents' home for a few days, my uncles, my aunts and my cousins (before we all grew up, headed off to college, jobs, marriages, Korea, etc) will all be frequent visitors.  Fish are caught and cooked, dinners are eaten, conversation is had.  Often times I spend three or four days in which I watch absolutely no TV, have no reception on my cell phone and no internet access.  Any other time in any other place, such circumstances might bother me.  But not there.  There the company, the peace and serenity is more than enough to satisfy me.

Before moving to Granite City, IL in 2000, my family lived not too far from the small town in which the Hardy clan resides.  While many memories were made during the childhood years I spent in Indiana, I don't think I've come to truly appreciate that time and place until very recently.  The Hardys live what most would consider a relatively simple life.  Spare time is spent fishing in the lake or tending small vegetables gardens.  Chores include caring for the small herd of cows that now reside on the farm, as well as general upkeep on the fences and homes and mowing the numerous acres of grass.  My grandparents have very basic cable and no computer or internet.  While this might seem extremely boring to some (and while it used to seem quite boring to me, especially as a child) I am coming to realize that I crave that simplicity and the camaraderie that comes with it.  I am learning to appreciate the "small" things that more and more seem to be so much bigger than I ever thought them to be.  Staring up at the stars, listening to the crickets and bullfrogs as they belt out nature's symphony, breathing in fresh air.  All these things lead to a sense of utter happiness and contentment--almost.

It's a five hour drive from here to there.  My mother and I have made the trip many many times together and during these drives we have had many many heart to heart talks.  Subjects have ranged from religion to relationships, politics to nothing all that important.  While we were leaving to come back home this past Monday, Memorial Day, as we were driving through my grandparents' small town for the last time (at least the last time of this particular trip) my mother and I were talking about how we both had been thinking about how we might like to move back to the area, how much we missed it.  I said to my mother that I was going to talk to Chaz about the possibility of moving "back home" as I call it--Chaz has always been a country boy at heart and I'm coming to find that I pretty much am a country girl myself, at least from my own perspective.  I said that I thought I could probably learn to be really happy there.  My mother's response was that I could learn to be happy anywhere--happiness is what I make of it.

I've taken a few days to think about that and have come to the conclusion that my mother is a very wise woman.  I've thought about the things that really make me happy: Chaz, my girls, my relationship with God.  What's great about all those things is that I can have them anywhere.  Chaz and I have lived as a married couple in East Alton for two and a half years now and I know I have said on many occasions that I wanted to get out of East Alton, that I wasn't truly happy there.  But if I really think about it, in the true sense of being happy, I am extremely happy here.  Because all I've ever wanted is right here.  I have a loving and supportive husband, two beautiful daughters and a strong and involved church family.  Everything I need is right at my fingertips.  As much as I might want other things in my life, as much as I have dreams I want to pursue, in the end, the ultimate source of my happiness is already in my possession.

As I said earlier, I love visiting the Hardy farm.  I loved getting to "go home" for the weekend this past weekend.  But at some point every day, the contentment I felt was interrupted by a longing for Chaz.  I missed him.  He wasn't able to come along on the trip due to his work schedule, so the weekend was in a way incomplete.  The happiness I felt had a hole that wouldn't be filled until I was back in my husband's arms. 

So yes, happiness is what you make of it.  Happiness comes with the things that mean the most to you.  In my case, being happy has absolutely nothing to do with where I'm at, but rather with the people I'm sharing that place with.  So if it is in God's plan for us to move, whether it be to Indiana or Tennessee or one of the other numerous places we've talked about moving or if it is His plan for us to live out the rest of our days in this purple house in East Alton, so be it.  I've made my happiness and the equation to it is very simple.  Me + God + Chaz + Aubrey + Daphnie = smiley face.  Our address just didn't fit in. 

We took my in-laws out to dinner this past week for Mother's Day.  We took them to one of our favorite restaurants in Edwardsville.  Unfortunately, the experience (in my personal opinion) was not one of the best I've had in all of my restaurant experiences, which was sad really because the service at this particular restaurant is usually very very good.

Here's how the day went:

Before we'd even gotten fully seated our waitress came up and asked us what she could get us to drink.  (I was trying to get Daphnie's infant seat settled in the sling they brought and we had to remind the waitress we needed a high chair for Aubrey--she was still in my father-in-law's lap at this point.)  Since none of us had had a chance to even pick up a menu yet, we all ordered water.  When our water came out, she asked if we were ready to order.  My father-in-law, having never been to the restaurant, was still perusing the very extensive menu so we told her we needed a few extra minutes.  Before she left, however, I went ahead and ordered a Long Island Iced Tea (one of the daily drink specials) while my husband debated over whether or not he wanted a margarita for $3.99 (another of the specific drink specials).  He literally said, in front of the waitress, "Hmm, do I want a margarita for $3.99?" to which the waitress replied, "Who doesn't?"  So Chaz ordered a strawberry margarita on the rocks.  With a quick smile and no further comment, our waitress left to put in our drink orders. 

She came back about ten minutes later to take our food orders.  Our drinks had not arrived yet, but I figured it was busy so I didn't think much of it.  We ordered our food, including a children's meal for Aubrey which included a glass of milk.  A while later (at least ten minutes) the waitress came by with a refill on our water.  Aubrey was fussing and reaching for my in-laws' drinks, so I said to her (making sure the waitress could hear), "Don't worry, Aubrey, your drink will be out in just a minute."  Luckily, she managed to take the hint and brought out the milk.  Our drinks had still not arrived at this point.  So I'm starting to get irritated because as I look around I notice that the restaurant is not filled to capacity, which is an oddity, and there are not more than 3 or 4 people at the bar.  In my mind, I cannot fathom any reason that it should have been almost half an hour before we receive our drinks.  So when the waitress is passing by next, Chaz gets her attention and asks her what's taking so long with the drinks.  Her response: **giggle** Oops, I left them sitting on the bar, I'm so sorry. **giggle, giggle** I'll go get them for you.  It then takes her another five minutes to bring them out.  By the time she brings our drinks, our food has already arrived. 

When she does get around to bringing the drinks out, Chaz's order is not right.  She's brought him a frozen strawberry margarita instead of one on the rocks.  I tell him to

Dilemma

I am going to present the accounting of something that happened to me.  I am going to be as honest and truthful in the presentation as I possibly can be, as much as memory allows me to be (for any psych majors out there, we all know that personal memories can be faulty).  For the sake of anonymity I will change the names of some of the people involved.  For anyone who is familiar with any or all parts of this accounting, please do not reveal identities, even if you are aware of them.

The reason I am going to present this is because it has bothered me for some time and I am not sure how to go about resolving it.  Perhaps it cannot be resolved left as it is now.  Or perhaps I simply need to let go.  If that is the case, then I must learn how to do so.  Whatever the outcome may be, this issue has weighed heavily on my mind for almost two years now and I am hoping that by writing it down I may find some sense of inner peace and reconciliation.

Here goes:

"G" and I have been best friends since our freshman year of high school.  We met during volleyball tryouts a few weeks before the school year started.  We both made the team and both had the unfortunate luck of being talented but apparently not talented enough to actually play.  We spent the majority of the season working our asses off at practice and our only reward was to warm the bench while our coach's six favorite people played all the time, win or lose.  That was all it took.  We bonded that fall and while we suffered ups and downs in our friendship throughout our four years of high school and beyond, we always managed to stay really close.

After we graduated from high school, I left to attend college near Chicago.  "G" stayed here in the Metro East to attend school and knock out her gen eds.  A year and a half later, broke and homesick, I came home to attend school and we shared a semester together at the same university.  That fall, "G" left to attend a specialized veterinary technician program at another school.  Soon after she started working at a local animal hospital.

The following year I was in need of a new job and the animal hospital at which "G" worked was in need of a triage nurse/receptionist.  She told me about the job, I applied and was soon after offered the job.  Who would have thought that after all the different paths we'd taken, we'd end up working at the same place, a lot of times on the same shifts (or at least overlapping shifts)?  I couldn't have been happier.  We got to see each other more often than we had since high school, we were able to keep up in each other's lives and lend a hand or an ear when one was needed. 

When my dad suffered a seizure that fall, "G" drove me to the hospital from work.  We took another drive to the hospital when I got bitten by a rottweiler on the job.  When her car broke down, I drove her around.  We knew we always had a place to stay if we ever needed to crash somewhere.  We exchanged talk about our love lives--or at least we talked about hers.  At the time, mine was pretty much nonexistent.  She started dating a guy pretty seriously that fall and always had stories to tell.

In December of that year, I met the guy I would eventually marry.  When we met he worked a job that didn't allow him much social time, but when he was home and able to be social, I quickly introduced him to "G" and her boyfriend and the four of us spent a lot of time together.  We'd go out to bars, we went dancing a few times, they'd come over to house for a BBQ or a bonfire.  My husband (at that time, boyfriend) would hit on "G" because she was an attractive girl and he's simply a guy (that's what he does), but it was always nothing more than a friendly flirtation.  When "G's" boyfriend expressed concern over my boyfriend's flirting with his girlfriend, I asked my boyfriend to back off.  When "G" and I talked about it, she said it didn't worry or upset her at all.

The following November, I lost my virginity to my fiance (we had picked a date for the wedding already but hadn't announced it  yet).  Immediately afterwards, that same night, I told "G" what had happened.  She was the person I went to--not my parents, not my brother, not my soon to be sister-in-law.  I told "G."  And two weeks later when I found out I was pregnant, she was the first one I told after telling my fiance.  She was ecstatic for me.  During that phone conversation, I also told her that my fiance and I would be getting married in six weeks (we figured upping the date instead of waiting til July when I was 8 months pregnant was the better idea) and I asked her if she would be my maid of honor.  She quickly agreed and jumped into helping me plan what she could for the wedding. 

She threw my bachelorette party.  She stood up for me at my wedding.  She gave the toast at my reception.  She was my best friend.

A few months later, she ended her relationship with her boyfriend.  My husband's best man had developed quite the crush on "G" when he came up for our wedding and my husband, ever the matchmaker, called his best friend up when "G" became single, determined to hook the two of them up.  His best friend did indeed come up to stay for a few days and I called "G" to see if we could all get together one night.  (As best as I can remember, it had been a few weeks since "G" and I had last talked when we had this particular phone conversation.)  She said that yes, we could come over to her place but that "B" might stop by at some point during the evening, so to not be surprised if he showed up.

"B" was one of "G's" exes from high school.  She had broken up with him before graduation because he had become extremely jealous and possessive of her and she was uncomfortable with it.  After high school, "B" had married another girl and moved a fair distance away.  According to "G" during this phone conversation, "B's" wife had cheated on him, then packed up and left him.  Not wanting to be that far away from home by himself, he had come home and contacted "G," looking for a friend.  I was suspicious and asked "G" if she was thinking of getting back together with him and she said no, they were just friends, he just needed someone to talk to.

****I later heard from multiple other sources that "B's" wife had not cheated on him, but that he had actually cheated on her and that's why she left--you can believe what you want, as I do.****

So my husband, his best friend and I went over to "G's" place one night to hang out and play cards and drink a bit (I was not drinking, as I was pregnant).  We were having a good time, and of course my husband's best friend was flirting with and hitting on "G."  While she may not have encouraged his attentions, she did not seem unhappy about them and made no effort to stop them.  About halfway through the evening, "B" arrived.  He walked in and seemed genuinely shocked and immediately ticked off that there were two men hanging out at "G's" place.  After walking in and saying a hesitant hello, he proceeded to hang up his coat, take his shoes off and tell "G" that he'd decided to "come home" for his lunch break (he had found a job working nights).  He stayed for 20 minutes or so and then left. 

After he left, the three of us razzed her a bit about his calling her place "home" and acting like he lived with her.  She admitted at that point that he hadn't had a place to stay so he was crashing with her for a while until he could get back on his feet.  My husband and his friends being guys, they started razzing her about sleeping with him.  She vehemently denied such claims, continuing to say that she and "B" were just friends, especially considering he was still officially married.

I called her a few days later to get the real scoop on "B" since I felt in my gut that she hadn't been completely honest about what was going on with him, but I figured she hadn't felt comfortable talking about it in front of the guys, which I didn't blame her for.  She admitted that she and "B" had talked about getting back together, that he had changed and wanted her back, but that they had both agreed that nothing would happen until he was officially separated and divorced from his wife, which could take up to six months at the very least.  As unhappy as I might have been about the situation (I had never liked "B" all that much and thought "G" deserved better) I told her I supported her decision if that was what she really wanted and I thought it was smart of them to wait until the legalities were finalized.

A few weeks later I was at my sister-in-law's apartment, visiting.  I was about seven months pregnant at this time.  I texted "G" to let her know that my husband's best friend would be coming up for a few days again and to see if she might want to get together and hang out while he was here.  I will be honest (as hard as it is to be) and say that I was purposely trying to get her around my husband's best friend because I was hoping she might fall for him and tell "B" to hit the road.  She replied that she didn't know if she could and besides, she didn't think "B" would like it all that much.  I asked her what did it matter what he thought at this point, it wasn't like they were together or anything.  She texted back that actually, they were.  They had decided to get together (some amount of time ago, I honestly don't remember what she said) but they hadn't told anybody yet.  They didn't want anybody to know until his divorce was finalized.  Concerned for her and her reputation, I told her to be careful, that people would talk and I didn't want to see her get hurt.  Her reply was "f*** people, I don't give a damn about what other people say."  At that point, I asked her if she didn't care, then why was she keeping it a secret?  Keeping it a secret indicated that both she and "B" felt like it was wrong and that was why they didn't want people to know.  If she didn't care about people's opinions, then why not be open about it up front?  She then sent me a text ranting about how "B's" wife was a lying, cheating b**ch and why wasn't I on her side?  I told her I was, that again, I just didn't want her to be the center of people's cruel and malicious gossip.  I didn't want people calling her a homewrecker--she was better than that and I didn't want to see her hurt.  I don't remember if she answered me or not and if she did, I don't remember what was said.

At this point, I did something that turned out to be really, really stupid.  I make it a point to never post anything argumentative or petty or anything that can be construed as a personal attack on facebook--even more so after this incident--because I don't feel as though facebook is the forum for such things.  But that day, following the conversation I had with "G," I posted as my status: I love my friends.  I love my friends.  Even when they do something stupid, I love my friends."  The status didn't gain any comments, so I thought nothing of it.

The next week, "G" sent me a text saying something along the lines of, "You know, if you have a problem with me, you should just tell me instead of writing nasty things about me on facebook."  Those were not her exact words, I am sure, but that was the gist.  I asked her what she was talking about (as if I didn't already know) and she told me that I damn well knew what she was talking about, that status I'd put about her doing something really stupid.  A friend of hers had seen the post and pointed it out to her and she was pissed.  I told her that she had no idea whether that post was directed at her or not, that it could be about any one of my friends doing any one of a number of things.  In doing so I didn't admit to writing it about her, but I felt that I wasn't totally lying to her about it either, when in fact, that's exactly what I was doing.  Part of the reason I didn't want to tell her it was about her was because I didn't think she'd get that upset over something that I considered very small and inconsequential.  But she had taken it as a betrayal, as me talking about her behind her back.

I tried to call her (our conversation had consisted of texts to this point) but she would not answer her phone.  I asked her why she wouldn't answer my call and she replied that she didn't want to talk to me in person.  What followed was a rant of texts telling me that my husband was a "deadbeat ass**** loser," so I had no business passing judgment on who she chose to be with, that I had turned into a selfish b**ch who only thought about herself ever since I started dating my husband and hanging out with his "b**chy" sister and that I had made the biggest mistake of my life when I married my husband.  When I asked her why she hadn't told me any of this sooner (like, anytime in the past year and a half since I met him) she told me that we hadn't really been friends for a while, that she had only been pretending to be my friend and she hadn't said anything to me because she didn't want to hurt my feelings.  Those exact words I remember clearly.

Absolutely stunned and shocked, I asked how long she had felt this way?  Had she felt this way when she stood up as my maid of honor?  She reiterated that she had felt that way almost since I had started dating my husband and again said that she thought I had made a mistake marrying him, everybody else thought so too, but no one wanted to hurt my feelings, so they'd stayed quiet.  Not knowing what else to say, I didn't reply.  I set my phone down and burst into tears. 

A few months later, after my daughter was born, "G" and I made contact.  I can't remember if she contacted me or if I contacted her, but however it happened, she wanted to meet the baby and could we meet up for lunch somewhere?  I agreed, hoping that we would talk about what had happened and clear the air.  I was still extremely hurt over what she had said, but had come to the conclusion that she had spoken out of anger and hadn't meant what she'd said (or so I hoped).  Lunch was awkward.  We made small talk and she went crazy over my daughter, but nothing was said about the conversation that had taken place a few months prior.  I kept waiting for her to bring it up, hoping she'd apologize,  but she didn't and somehow, I couldn't bring it up myself.  I wasn't sure how to bring it up, what to say.  I was still very confused about my feelings regarding the entire situation.  Lunch ended and we went our separate ways, that conversation still a silent chasm with the two of us on either ends.

At some point after the lunch date, "G" called me (or texted me, I don't remember) to tell me she was pregnant with "B's" baby.  There was no mention of whether or not his divorce had been finalized, there was no mention of whether or not they were planning on getting married.  Simply, she was having a married man's baby and she was thrilled about it.  I tried to find some sort of happiness and congratulations for her, but I couldn't.  She had told me she was going to throw my baby shower and then bailed two weeks before it was supposed to happen, thanks to a lovely text conversation.  She hadn't come to see me in the hospital when my daughter was born.  She had shown no inclination in spending any real time with me or my daughter since that single lunch date that accomplished nothing.  I wanted to be happy for her.  But I wasn't.  Here she was, expecting me to congratulate her and be happy for her because she was having a baby out of wedlock.  She had said horrible things about my husband, made a mockery of her best friend status by indicating her support as my maid of honor when she (according to her) thought I was making a mistake by getting married and then hadn't talked to me for months on end.  And she wanted me to be happy for her?  For her bastard? 

I hated myself for thinking the way I did.  I managed to text her back congratulations, but there was no feeling behind it.  Or if there was feeling, it was resentment, anger, hurt, perhaps even a little hatred. 

After that I began to see her status updates on facebook about how her pregnancy was progressing and then when the baby was born, there were pictures.  I couldn't bear to see her happy after the hurt she'd caused me and I hated myself for wishing her unhappiness.  I hated myself for resenting her happiness, thinking she didn't deserve it.  So soon after I deleted her as a friend on facebook, believing it would be easier to let go of that chapter of my life if I didn't have a daily reminder of it.

I don't think of "G" nearly as often as I used to.  But I do still think of her.  And when I do, I still suffer the onslaught of confused emotions and I wonder how I'm supposed to feel.  Is it ok to feel the way I do?  I go to church and hear about forgiveness but wonder if I've ever truly forgiven her for the things she said and the hurt she caused.  And if I haven't, how am I supposed to do that now?  How do I reach that forgiveness when I can't forget what happened and still get angry when I think about it?  How much of a hypocrite does it make me if I can't forgive her?  How am I supposed to feel about the fact that I miss her?  I miss the person who was my best friend for a decade--am I betraying my husband by missing her and wanting that friendship back, even if I know it can never be?  How do I let go, if letting go is indeed what I need to do?

If you'd made it this far (and I truly appreciate it if you have), I would now ask for your thoughts.  Your honest thoughts.  Please, please, please don't do what she did--don't worry about hurting my feelings.  If you think I am wrong for saying or thinking or feeling a certain way, please say so!!  I am looking for a way to put this issue to rest and I need to know  how to do that.  I haven't been able to figure it out on my own, so please, if you have a thought, I encourage you to share it.  You will be doing me a great service and you have my thanks.

One of the Many Things I'd Never Thought I'd Do

***DISCLAIMER:  I will be writing about my father in this post.  Please note that this is written from my point of view as I personally remember it.  My father would tell you differently....very differently.  But seeing as it's my blog, my point of view is the right one.  :)

In most families (or at least the number of families I've been exposed to) there is a sense of balance in the kitchen.  If one person cooks dinner, the other cleans up afterwards.  If the parents cook then the kids are responsible for washing and drying the dishes (or in this day and age perhaps loading the dishwasher).  Sometimes turns are taken when it comes to the cooking and cleaning.  None of these scenarios happened (at least regularly) throughout the years of my growing up.

My dad was the king of the kitchen.  The kitchen was his domain and no one dared enter without permission.  My dad has always taken great pleasure in the culinary arts and while my mother was always the baker in the family, Dad was definitely the cook.  And everybody knew it.  When Dad started pulling out the pots and pans and ingredients and utensils to start making dinner, everybody knew to stay out of his way.  This never bothered me as a child.  It was just the way things were and I never questioned it.

As I got older, however, I began to take note of my mother's nagging my father to "let the kids help--they need to learn to cook."  And as I got older, I began to want to help my dad in the kitchen.  By the time I was in high school, amongst the school day, homework, extracurricular activities and a part-time job, I didn't see my dad all that often, so helping him out in the kitchen would give me a chance to talk to him, catch him up on how things were going, etc.  Or so I thought. 

The first time I went to help my dad in the kitchen, he set me to chopping vegetables.  "You gotta learn the basics before you can learn the hard stuff," he'd say.  Well, I put in my time chopping vegetables--it was all he ever let me do.  I became an expert at chopping.  Unfortunately, chopping vegetables became the limit of my kitchen experience and cooking abilities.  I finally got sick of being able to do nothing else and so I quit asking Dad if I could help.  I found more enjoyable things to do with my time.

Fast forward a few years or so to today.  I am a housewife and stay-at-home mom and I do not know how to cook.  This creates a bit of a problem.  People always say that girls marry their fathers and in a lot of ways that is true in my case.  Chaz is very much like my father (although both Chaz and my dad will vehemently deny that claim) and he does know how to cook.  However, five days a week he works from 3 to 11pm and is not home to make dinner.  Which leaves me a bit in a lurch.

Five, ten years ago when I would look ahead and picture my life, I never saw myself as a housewife.  Yet here I am.  And I never pictured myself as being in kitchen, let alone enjoying being in a kitchen.  However, I am finding that I take great pleasure in spending time in the kitchen.  I've started looking for recipes that I find intriguing and want to try out.  I taught myself how to cook bacon (ok, ok, I googled how to cook bacon and followed the instructions--and yes, I am aware of how pitiful that sounds).  I have come to enjoy the task of grocery shopping and then putting the groceries away when I get home.

Which brings me to one of the many things I never thought I would do.  Chaz and I have been talking for a while now about the things we both need to start doing to get healthy and lose weight.  So today, I went grocery shopping.  I made a list before I went and I bought only the things on my list.  I came home with NONE of the following items (which not so long ago, say, last week, were very common items in my shopping cart): chips, soda, ice cream, candy, microwavable dinners, frozen pizzas or fried chicken.  I came home with fresh fruits, fresh and frozen vegetables (including a butternut and spaghetti squash which I have no idea how to cook, but speaking of google, that's what it's for, right?), lean chicken, pork and beef, and almonds and trail mix for healthy snacks. 

Upon arriving home and unloading all of the groceries, I proceeded to start rationing out the things that were bought in bulk.  I know for a fact how easy it is to open a bag of almonds or a bag of trail mix and just munch.  And munch. And munch. And munch a little more.  And before you know it, the bag is gone in one, maybe two sittings. 

There are sixteen servings of almonds in the bag I bought.  One serving is 160 calories.  No one, especially Chaz or myself, needs to sit down and consume 2,560 calories at one time.  That's your whole daily caloric intake for Pete's sake. 

So in addition to the groceries, I bought ziploc bags.  And now things are broken down into serving sizes so that Chaz and I can be more aware of how much we're eating and better limit ourselves to how much we take in.  The chicken breasts, pork and hamburger were split similarly with one portion in the fridge for us to cook and the rest in the freezer for now.  And now I'm looking up ways to cook squash and healthy ways to eat chicken and snacking on fresh strawberries instead of potato chips.

I'm getting involved in my kitchen and while I may be a novice at the moment, I am thoroughly enjoying the education! 

Mother's Day

You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but every now and again I find myself a bit blindsided by how things have changed since I got married.  Yesterday was Mother's Day.  Three years ago and all the years before that Mother's Day would have gone something like this:

I'd have gotten up and gotten ready for church with my mother, father and brother.  My father would have bought corsages for my mother and me to wear to church.  Church would have been followed by coming home and presenting Mom with whatever cards and gifts had been bought for her.  Mom would then relax on the couch and for one day have full control of the remote (much to the horror of my father--but it was Mother's Day, so he coped) and then in the late afternoon/early evening, dinner would be had.  Mom would have chosen the menu and my brother and I usually went partially hungry because Mom would have picked something with mushrooms or olives or some other icky ingredient that my brother and I simply couldn't stomach.  Nevertheless, Mother's Day was always a good day.

Fast forward three years and as a married woman and mother, here's how Mother's Day went:

I got up and took my two girls to church with me.  They're too young for corsages, so no flowers were had.  Everyone at church wished me a Happy Mother's Day, instead of my mother.  I received a number of texts from friends and family expressing the same sentiments.  I left church to find my Mother's Day gift lashed to my windshield by the windshield wipers--thanks be had to my sneaky husband.  I got home with the girls and awaited the arrival of my in-laws.  They arrived shortly after and a few hours later, my husband's older sister showed up.  We spent the afternoon talking and simply enjoying each other's company.  Later on in the evening I had a nice online chat with my husband's younger sister.  My interaction with my own mother on Mother's Day was limited to a five minute phone conversation.

Now, before people get the wrong idea, let me say that of the two scenarios listed above, one is not better than the other.  They are simply different.  I had a perfectly wonderful Mother's Day yet.  The whole point of this is that it takes a day like yesterday to remind me how strongly ensconced I've become in my husband's family.  I married Chaz and was immediately enveloped into the lives of his parents, his brother, his sisters and their kids.  While my bonds with them have become much stronger over the last two years, the bonds between myself and my own parents and brother, haven't become weaker, but have become a bit looser, you might say.  I've become fully enmeshed into the Robertson clan.  I have, in fact, ceased to be a Feicho and become a Robertson. 

There is absolutely nothing wrong with this and no one on either side of my family, Feicho or Robertson, would say they have a problem with this.  It just takes me by surprise sometimes.  My Mother's Day was spent as a Robertson with the Robertsons (ok, technically my in-laws are Browns, but for the sake of this particular argument we're going to conveniently forget that). 

Changes aside, it was an awesome Mother's Day.  

On a final note, I would simply like to say that I love BOTH of my mothers very dearly and would not be surviving as a mother myself without all their love, support and guidance.  Loreea and Tonya--I love you.  Happy Mother's Day.