I've been trying to implement a fair number of changes in my life over the last few weeks and months. Working out on a regular basis, changing my eating habits, spending more time going places with the girls, making sure I set aside some time for me so I don't go insane. These are all things that I'm happy about, proud of myself for, things I want to continue doing. My issue right now is finding the time and the proper balance for all of these things.
For example, there for a while I was doing really well at keeping the house under control. I managed to keep everything fairly clean, none of the rooms were out of control, the laundry was always manageable. But it seemed that while that was all good and well, my kids were spending a lot to time in front of the TV and when I did have an hour or so to do whatever, I was so worn out that I didn't even think about working out but rather plopped onto the couch with a bag of popcorn and a soda and flipped on an episode of whatever TV show I happened to be in the middle of.
What I've noticed recently, however, is almost a complete 180 going on. I've been working out regularly, spending more time with my girls, heading to the park when it's not too hot and heading to the mall when it is, eating a cut-up cantaloupe and drinking water instead of popcorn and soda. While the kitchen used to be my nemesis, now it's what stays the cleanest for the most part--mostly because if I'm going to eat properly, I need a clean space to work in. But the rest of the house has kind of fallen to the wayside. The living room is constantly a mess, the floor is covered in dog hair (which used to never happen) and I can't find an empty laundry basket because they're all filled with clean folded clothes that I haven't bothered to put away.
So here's my thing: how do I find the balance in all of this? How do I find the time to get everything I want to get done done and not run myself completely ragged? What and how do I prioritize my day-to-day activities? Is it okay to let the housework slide a little bit to make way for better health? Is letting the kids watch The Land Before Time three times instead of two worth the extra hour's worth of housework I can get done?
How do I balance being a good mom, a good housewife and just me?
Friday, June 28, 2013
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
June 26, 2013--Puke and Profanity
So, this story is one part hilarity and one part soapbox. I'll begin with the hilarity and leave it up to you to decide if you want to listen to my following rant.
The setting is our tiny, 4-door white Ford Escort, driving through Edwardsville/Glen Carbon on 159. Chaz and I are in the front seat, the girls in their respective car seats in the back. We have just finished dropping the dog off at the groomer's, getting breakfast, stopping at Walmart for the first time to replace my POS phone so that I can return to the 21st century and running some other errands. Chaz and I are now debating whether or not to stop at Walmart for a second time to pick up the handful of things we need while wasting time waiting on the dog.
As we're discussing our course of action, we hear that horrid and foreboding sound of a rumbling stomach followed by a slight cough/belch. I turn around and know by the look on my two year old's face that she is about to blow; it's a combination of panic and pain. And not two seconds later, she is covered in regurgitated strawberries, pancakes and water. She immediately starts crying because 1) she can't feel good--I mean, let's face it, who on this planet takes pleasure in vomiting?--and 2) she's dirty and wet. She hates being dirty and wet.
While attempting (and failing) to soothe her and reassure her that she's ok, I look at Chaz and say, "Well, guess that ends that discussion. Guess we're going to Walmart." He whips into the parking lot, which is currently under construction, finally finds a parking spot and we set to righting the crisis before us.
Now, me, being the genius mother that I am, have left the diaper bag at home, because I figured we weren't planning on being gone that long and my kids are pretty good. What could possibly go wrong, right? Please don't answer that. So, I have Chaz flip the trunk open and pull out an old blanket that I know has been there for months and return to the backseat to begin cleaning up my daughter. I wipe her hands and legs, then pull her out of the car seat and place her on the blacktop. I then proceed to strip her down to her panties and her socks because everything else is soaked in red puke.
In the meantime, Chaz has gotten out of the car and come around to the passenger side, where my daughter and I are currently standing and he takes over wiping away the last remaining dredges of half-digested food while I turn to the task of cleaning out the car seat. I have stripped off the seat cover, wiped it off and handed it to Chaz to throw into the trunk and am now turning to put the actual seat back into the car. I hear her say something along the lines of "my clothes are icky, Daddy," and he assures her that yes, they are indeed dirty. And then, as I'm leaning into the backseat to replace the car seat, my daughter, quite succinctly and emphatically states,
The setting is our tiny, 4-door white Ford Escort, driving through Edwardsville/Glen Carbon on 159. Chaz and I are in the front seat, the girls in their respective car seats in the back. We have just finished dropping the dog off at the groomer's, getting breakfast, stopping at Walmart for the first time to replace my POS phone so that I can return to the 21st century and running some other errands. Chaz and I are now debating whether or not to stop at Walmart for a second time to pick up the handful of things we need while wasting time waiting on the dog.
As we're discussing our course of action, we hear that horrid and foreboding sound of a rumbling stomach followed by a slight cough/belch. I turn around and know by the look on my two year old's face that she is about to blow; it's a combination of panic and pain. And not two seconds later, she is covered in regurgitated strawberries, pancakes and water. She immediately starts crying because 1) she can't feel good--I mean, let's face it, who on this planet takes pleasure in vomiting?--and 2) she's dirty and wet. She hates being dirty and wet.
While attempting (and failing) to soothe her and reassure her that she's ok, I look at Chaz and say, "Well, guess that ends that discussion. Guess we're going to Walmart." He whips into the parking lot, which is currently under construction, finally finds a parking spot and we set to righting the crisis before us.
Now, me, being the genius mother that I am, have left the diaper bag at home, because I figured we weren't planning on being gone that long and my kids are pretty good. What could possibly go wrong, right? Please don't answer that. So, I have Chaz flip the trunk open and pull out an old blanket that I know has been there for months and return to the backseat to begin cleaning up my daughter. I wipe her hands and legs, then pull her out of the car seat and place her on the blacktop. I then proceed to strip her down to her panties and her socks because everything else is soaked in red puke.
In the meantime, Chaz has gotten out of the car and come around to the passenger side, where my daughter and I are currently standing and he takes over wiping away the last remaining dredges of half-digested food while I turn to the task of cleaning out the car seat. I have stripped off the seat cover, wiped it off and handed it to Chaz to throw into the trunk and am now turning to put the actual seat back into the car. I hear her say something along the lines of "my clothes are icky, Daddy," and he assures her that yes, they are indeed dirty. And then, as I'm leaning into the backseat to replace the car seat, my daughter, quite succinctly and emphatically states,
"Son of a b!tch!"
There was a split second of shocked silence before my husband and I both burst into hysterical laughter. I am literally leaning on the door frame of the car, trying to hold myself up while I also attempt to contain the laughter that is not about to be stopped and when I finally am able to glance over at Chaz, he is doubled over in the parking lot, laughing his a$$ off.
Now, before the lectures start about toddlers being tape recorders and mommies and daddies needing to watch what they say around their children (which is true, I'm not denying) let me say that my two year old has heard just about every curse word there is to hear. I'm not proud of that fact, it just simply is. My husband is a former Marine and has never really curbed his cursing habit. Despite her hearing these words, she has never repeated any of them. I don't know if she just has some sort of sixth sense about it or what, but it's like she instinctually knows not to say them.
This is the first time that she has used any type of profanity. She used it in context and in my own humble opinion, she used it appropriately for the situation. If I'd had to strip down to my underwear in a public parking lot because I'd just blown chunks all over my outfit, I'd probably say a lot worse. Just sayin'. Anyway, the point is, it was just too hilarious for the moment. I about died laughing.
Don't lie--whether you approve or not, you're probably laughing too.
After this little incident, we managed to get both of the girls into a shopping cart and headed into the store. And this is where the soapbox half of my post is going to begin. You have been warned.
First let me say that the Walmart is currently undergoing an expansion, so nothing is where it's supposed to be and nothing is where it has been for the past God knows how many years. Used to be, you walked into this Walmart and it was a straight shot to the back of the store for baby stuff. You literally walked in the door and kept walking until you hit baby clothes. No turns, no treasure hunts, there is less than a minute. But no. Not today.
Today, as I'm walking through Walmart with my (for all intents and purposes) naked toddler, the baby stuff has been moved over halfway across the store, smack-dab in the middle of everything. The doors have also been moved so every person that has just checked out now has to walk past us on their way out of the store as we make our way in. So, here we are, walking through Walmart, with a two year old in panties and Hello Kitty socks.
We got our fair share of odd looks, let me tell you.
Now, I expected this, don't get me wrong. You see a naked baby, you tend to wonder for just a moment what's going on. We got the quick glances, we got the sideways glances, we got the double-takes and the few slightly uncomfortable smiles. You know the ones--those, "oh, look at the cute baby, holy cow, she's naked, that's slightly awkward" smiles.
Those were all mildly irritating and more than understandable. I grinned and bore it and simply walked faster towards the baby clothing. But then there was the one. The one person who had to go and really piss me off.
This woman was middle-aged, probably late forties or early fifties. Chances are, she probably had kids of her own that were more than likely grown. Maybe she's got a grandkid or two, who knows? But she is leaving the store as we are walking in and she is starting at my naked toddler like she is some sort of white trash hillbilly that just got done dumpster diving after being released from prison. I mean, seriously, I cannot begin to put into words the contempt, disgust and disdain on this woman's face. And we're not talking just a quick glance and then hurriedly looking away. Oh, no. We're talking an incredibly rude stare with the slight grimace of the mouth that indicates that she's worried she's going to contract HIV if she gets within three feet of this child that is wearing no clothes. The looks she gave us was even worse. That extremely distinct sneer with the nose in the air.
When she did finally manage to stop leering at my child and deign to make eye contact with me, I hesitated not a moment before saying, rather forcefully, "She puked all over herself in the car. Her clothes are covered in vomit; that's why she's naked." I got no response other than a slight huff (I didn't really expect one) before she hurried past to continue on with her higher-than-thou judgmental day.
And now, I would just like to ask a simple question: was I wrong for taking my child into the store in only her panties and socks? I will take responsibility and say that if I had been a truly prepared mother, I would have had the diaper bag with me with an extra set of clothes in it for both girls, just in case something like this happened. As it was, I didn't, so I took my daughter into the store, found her an outfit that she liked, ripped the tags off and dressed her, and then paid for the clothes at the checkout afterwards.
Would I have been a better mother if I had dragged her into the store still dressed, terribly upset and crying hysterically while dripping vomit-covered strawberries all over the floor? Would that have gained me any less disgust or judgment from the people walking by?
Kids have accidents. They throw up when you least expect it, they pee their pants accidentally, they spill food and trip in the mud. As parents, we are never going to be completely prepared for each and every little possibility that could come about. It never fails that if you pack one clean outfit for your child, they'll have two accidents. Or if you pack diapers for one, you'll forget them for the other. Whatever the case may be, there is always going to be something that could potentially happen to screw up your day.
As parents, the best thing we can do is make the best out of a crappy situation and do whatever needs to be done to rectify it. Today, the best way I could rectify the situation was to soothe my daughter. The best way to soothe my daughter was to take her dirty clothes off of her and clean her up. That is what got her to stop crying, that is what got her to take a few deep breaths and calm down. After stripping her down, it seemed the best way to rectify her nakedness was to go into the store and buy her a new outfit.
God forbid someone's sense of modesty and propriety was offended by my two-year-old's nudity. Not to be petty or anything, but I tend to be much more offended by the twelve or thirteen year old wearing a push-up bra with a low-cut shirt and shorts that barely cover her ass cheeks or the 350lb woman wearing clothes that are three sizes too small and half her body is rolling over her waistband like fresh sausage. I mean, seriously, of all the inappropriate things that can be seen today, you're going to freak out over a two year old who's going to be "naked" for all of two minutes while her parents try to find her some clothes that aren't drenched in putrid vomit?
Get over yourself and maybe consider the possibility that there may be a perfectly logical explanation for why a toddler has a few too less clothes on in the middle of the super store. An explanation other than her parents are lazy, good-for-nothing jacka$$es who don't care.
And there ends my soapbox rant.
Have a great day!
Get over yourself and maybe consider the possibility that there may be a perfectly logical explanation for why a toddler has a few too less clothes on in the middle of the super store. An explanation other than her parents are lazy, good-for-nothing jacka$$es who don't care.
And there ends my soapbox rant.
Have a great day!
Monday, June 24, 2013
June 24, 2013--Blessed
The circumstances for the girls' sabbatical into Missouri were not ideal but nevertheless, as a stay-at-home mom, I was not heartbroken over the fact that I was going to have a few days without them. Whenever the time comes around that they're going to spend some time with Grandma & Grandpa or Uncle Rich & Aunt Tammy, I look forward to their departure with maybe just a smidgen too much anticipation. This time was no different. Perhaps I should be ashamed to say so, but I'm not. It didn't matter that they were going away so that I could spend some time helping my parents get some much needed things done around their home due to my father's illness; at least I knew that when I finished cleaning something, it would stay that way for more than five minutes.
What originally started out as a tentative "few days" trip ended up being a ten-day-long break from my kids. I don't think they've ever been gone that long before. We've done a week, more than once, and while part of me is jonesing for my baby girls by the end of that seven days, the other part of me is saying, "Is it over already?" Ten days, however....well, apparently, it's a helluva LOT longer than seven.
There was no, "Wow, I can't believe it's over already," this time. Nope. It was strictly, "I want my babies back and I want them NOW!" The four hour drive to my parents-in-laws' home seemed to take forever. Even our near scrape with death didn't liven up the trip too much. Once we hit the sign that said "Brookfield, 35" I found myself checking the clock every two minutes and wondering if we could drive 35 miles in 15 minutes.
When we finally, finally, pulled into the driveway, Chaz barely had the car in park before I was out my door. We both hastily agreed that we weren't going to bother with unloading the car at that point and raced into the house just as fast as our feet would carry us.
Stepping into the living room, I stopped and drank in the sight of my two beautiful daughters. They were both sitting on the floor watching 101 Dalmations. Daphnie saw me first. She turned and looked up and after just a brief second, her eyes lit up, her mouth broke into a huge, open-mouthed grin and she giggled. She then reached her arms up to me in a silent plea to come pick her up. Needless to say, I acquiesced.
It was that which got Aubrey's attention. Jumping up, she yelled "Mommy!" and came over to wrap her arms around my leg. Almost as quickly she leaned back, looked up at me and said, "Is Daddy at work?" I looked over at Chaz, who had stayed at the back of the room and we shared a grin. I told Aubrey that no, Daddy wasn't at work. She then asked, "Where is he?" and then began to look from side to side, slowly pivoting towards the back of the room. And then she saw him and yelled "Daddy!" and raced to him. Seeing as his arms were still empty, he swung her into the air and then gave her a huge hug.
It was quite the reception.
Since we got home last night the girls have been very well behaved, a bit more so than usual. They've also been clingy, but not in that "bad" way where you know they don't feel good or they're tired and a bit whiney. They just haven't left my side all day. They split their time between Chaz and me until he left for work but since he's been gone, they've pretty much been glued to my side. Daphnie wants to sit in my lap and Aubrey wants to sit right next to me and we've spent the day together, watching The Lion King and How to Train Your Dragon and playing and reading. I haven't gotten this many hugs from my girls maybe ever.
I must admit, it's quite the feeling. I have so much enjoyed just getting to hold them and talk to them and listen to Daphnie mimic every word that comes out of my mouth. It hasn't been irritating at all today that they haven't given me a moment's peace. I got up this morning with the intention of getting a bunch of stuff done around the house. It didn't take much for me to give up on that idea and just enjoy my time with my babies. The housework will be there tomorrow.
I knew I was missing my girls, but I don't think I realized just how much I missed them until I got them back. Even the things that drive me a little crazy, like Aubrey waiting until I've just sat down and gotten comfortable in the hole we call a couch before telling me she has to go potty. It felt so good to just be a mom today and to not let any of the little things that a one and three-year-old are bound to do drive me up the wall. It was great to just feel good and happy and not stress about the dishes sitting in the sink or the dog hair that's covering the carpet or the girls' suitcase which still hasn't been unpacked. It was great to really focus on and enjoy and truly appreciate every hug and kiss and "I love you."
I think sometimes I take them for granted, even though I do try really hard not to. I know that I am extremely blessed to have the children I do and to be able to stay home and simply be their mom. I always try to remind myself that not every mom has that luxury and therefore I should be even more thankful. I try hard not to forget that, but I think sometimes I do anyway. Today I was reminded again of how blessed I truly am and I thank God that he has given me this wonderful life, surrounded by the wonderful people he has put in it for me.
My husband, who puts up with me and loves me for me and supports me with no questions asked.
My girls, who love me unconditionally and remind me that there are more important things, like dragons and dinosaurs, than laundry and dirty dishes.
My mother and father, who give me a daily example of marriage, of love conquering any struggle that may arise. I've reached a new level of appreciation for them this past week and I thank God that they are both still here and pray that they continue to be.
My other mother and father (in-law) who watched the girls with no hesitation when I asked them. They are amazing people with amazing hearts and their love is boundless. I cannot put into words how much I have learned to care for and love them, how much I appreciate them, and how thankful I am that God put them into my life.
My sisters, one of which took the girls at the drop of a hat with no questions asked and the other who like me, has struggled and is now overcoming. You both are inspirations to me.
My best friend, who when I say I'm hormonal and a little grouchy because I'm on my first period in over a year says, "I've got you covered, I'll bring home chocolate."
Everyone else, friends, relations and acquaintances, who have sent up prayers and offered support.
I love you all.
What originally started out as a tentative "few days" trip ended up being a ten-day-long break from my kids. I don't think they've ever been gone that long before. We've done a week, more than once, and while part of me is jonesing for my baby girls by the end of that seven days, the other part of me is saying, "Is it over already?" Ten days, however....well, apparently, it's a helluva LOT longer than seven.
There was no, "Wow, I can't believe it's over already," this time. Nope. It was strictly, "I want my babies back and I want them NOW!" The four hour drive to my parents-in-laws' home seemed to take forever. Even our near scrape with death didn't liven up the trip too much. Once we hit the sign that said "Brookfield, 35" I found myself checking the clock every two minutes and wondering if we could drive 35 miles in 15 minutes.
When we finally, finally, pulled into the driveway, Chaz barely had the car in park before I was out my door. We both hastily agreed that we weren't going to bother with unloading the car at that point and raced into the house just as fast as our feet would carry us.
Stepping into the living room, I stopped and drank in the sight of my two beautiful daughters. They were both sitting on the floor watching 101 Dalmations. Daphnie saw me first. She turned and looked up and after just a brief second, her eyes lit up, her mouth broke into a huge, open-mouthed grin and she giggled. She then reached her arms up to me in a silent plea to come pick her up. Needless to say, I acquiesced.
It was that which got Aubrey's attention. Jumping up, she yelled "Mommy!" and came over to wrap her arms around my leg. Almost as quickly she leaned back, looked up at me and said, "Is Daddy at work?" I looked over at Chaz, who had stayed at the back of the room and we shared a grin. I told Aubrey that no, Daddy wasn't at work. She then asked, "Where is he?" and then began to look from side to side, slowly pivoting towards the back of the room. And then she saw him and yelled "Daddy!" and raced to him. Seeing as his arms were still empty, he swung her into the air and then gave her a huge hug.
It was quite the reception.
Since we got home last night the girls have been very well behaved, a bit more so than usual. They've also been clingy, but not in that "bad" way where you know they don't feel good or they're tired and a bit whiney. They just haven't left my side all day. They split their time between Chaz and me until he left for work but since he's been gone, they've pretty much been glued to my side. Daphnie wants to sit in my lap and Aubrey wants to sit right next to me and we've spent the day together, watching The Lion King and How to Train Your Dragon and playing and reading. I haven't gotten this many hugs from my girls maybe ever.
I must admit, it's quite the feeling. I have so much enjoyed just getting to hold them and talk to them and listen to Daphnie mimic every word that comes out of my mouth. It hasn't been irritating at all today that they haven't given me a moment's peace. I got up this morning with the intention of getting a bunch of stuff done around the house. It didn't take much for me to give up on that idea and just enjoy my time with my babies. The housework will be there tomorrow.
I knew I was missing my girls, but I don't think I realized just how much I missed them until I got them back. Even the things that drive me a little crazy, like Aubrey waiting until I've just sat down and gotten comfortable in the hole we call a couch before telling me she has to go potty. It felt so good to just be a mom today and to not let any of the little things that a one and three-year-old are bound to do drive me up the wall. It was great to just feel good and happy and not stress about the dishes sitting in the sink or the dog hair that's covering the carpet or the girls' suitcase which still hasn't been unpacked. It was great to really focus on and enjoy and truly appreciate every hug and kiss and "I love you."
I think sometimes I take them for granted, even though I do try really hard not to. I know that I am extremely blessed to have the children I do and to be able to stay home and simply be their mom. I always try to remind myself that not every mom has that luxury and therefore I should be even more thankful. I try hard not to forget that, but I think sometimes I do anyway. Today I was reminded again of how blessed I truly am and I thank God that he has given me this wonderful life, surrounded by the wonderful people he has put in it for me.
My husband, who puts up with me and loves me for me and supports me with no questions asked.
My girls, who love me unconditionally and remind me that there are more important things, like dragons and dinosaurs, than laundry and dirty dishes.
My mother and father, who give me a daily example of marriage, of love conquering any struggle that may arise. I've reached a new level of appreciation for them this past week and I thank God that they are both still here and pray that they continue to be.
My other mother and father (in-law) who watched the girls with no hesitation when I asked them. They are amazing people with amazing hearts and their love is boundless. I cannot put into words how much I have learned to care for and love them, how much I appreciate them, and how thankful I am that God put them into my life.
My sisters, one of which took the girls at the drop of a hat with no questions asked and the other who like me, has struggled and is now overcoming. You both are inspirations to me.
My best friend, who when I say I'm hormonal and a little grouchy because I'm on my first period in over a year says, "I've got you covered, I'll bring home chocolate."
Everyone else, friends, relations and acquaintances, who have sent up prayers and offered support.
I love you all.
Friday, June 14, 2013
June 14, 2013--Is honesty the best policy?
Over the past few months, I've tried to make some pretty significant changes in my life. I've changed my outlook on a number of viewpoints, ranging from politics to homosexuality to religion. I've started the journey to better health. I've reached out to people I thought I might never speak to again. I've come to terms with aspects of my personality and character, admitted that I am flawed and taken steps to adjust those aspects as needed.
However, there is one aspect of myself that I still struggle with and for the life of me, I can't decide which side of the line I should fall on.
Growing up, I took on the role of a people-pleaser. Of a peacekeeper. I acted in the ways that were expected of me. I met the expectations of those around me. Of my parents. My teachers. My friends. I tended to apologize for things, even when I felt I was not in the wrong, because I couldn't abide being at odds with people. I kept my true feelings and opinions buried regarding numerous situations, numerous people, because I did not want to make waves. I coated truths with silver linings, trying to soften blows to the people I cared most about; the people I thought cared the most about me.
I left for college with that same mentality and for a long time, I made the effort to stay in contact with those "best" friends I had from high school. I didn't want to succumb to the reality that constantly demonstrates that people grow apart. That absence, in fact, does not make the heart grow fonder. And eventually, I became jaded and then cynical, as I realized that despite all the effort I was making, things had changed.
I quit calling my so-called "friends," quit emailing and texting, because I figured, if they really cared about me, then it was their turn to make an effort. If they wanted to stay friends, if they wanted to talk and hang out, then they would get a hold of me. And if they didn't make the effort, then apparently, they didn't care about me as much as they claimed to. In making that decision, a lot of bonds were severed and I eventually came to terms with my own perspective on reality: that I had been used, that I was simply convenient, and that distance was an easy excuse to give up on me.
Since then, and even more so since meeting and marrying my husband, I have focused more on who I am, who I want to be, rather than trying desperately to meet the needs and expectations of those around me. I have clung to the mantra that people should love me for who and how I am and if they are only willing to like/love/care about me if I change to fit into their little box of perception of me, then they're not worth my time. That I am better than that.
I like to think that I'm justified in that way of thinking. I have made a huge effort (for the most part) over the past few years to truly accept people for who they are, even if their lifestyles, sexual preferences, religious beliefs, political beliefs, etc, don't match up with my own. I'm not saying I'm not flawed and haven't made bad judgement calls, because I have, but I really try hard to do that for others. And I feel that they are completely justified in believing that they deserve to be accepted for who they are.
Part of who I am, who I have become, is honest. Especially with those who are close to me, friends and family. In my opinion, if we are close enough friends or family members to discuss political beliefs, ideas about parenting, sex lives, dreams and hopes and wishes--if we can talk about all these things--then we should be able to be honest about these things. We should be able to disagree about things without fighting about them. We should be able to have different opinions regarding whatever the case may be and still speak about it like adults.
Now, I'm not saying that a fair amount of irritation and annoyance isn't allowed, because it is. When a good friend recently gave his opinion on whether or not he thought our course of treatment for Daphnie's delay was necessary or not, at that moment I took it personally and I was upset by it. However, it did not cause a never-ending feud or long-term feelings of ill will. He stated his opinion on something, I disagreed with it, I had an emotional reaction to it and we moved on.
The point is, he was honest about how he felt about something, and I would rather my friends tell me straight-out if they think something I'm doing is right or wrong and give me the chance to respond openly and honestly about it in turn. My mother-in-law on many occasions has questioned some thing or another that I'm doing with my daughters. She is allowed to do that because her concern is for my children and I appreciate that. She makes sure to state her opinion or ask her question in a way that lets me respond in an adult way. She is never accusatory, only curious. And for the most part, I am able to give her a logical reason for why I'm doing something a certain way and while she may still not agree with it, she is able to accept it and know that at least I've thought about why I'm doing something a certain way.
What I'm struggling with now is whether or not my policy of being open and honest about things is actually acceptable and whether or not my ferocious hold on this policy is costing me people. And if that cost is worth it.
I lost someone I counted as a very good friend a few years ago because I was honest with her about how I felt about her actions at the time. She didn't like what I had to say and we haven't spoken since. In the same vein, I feel as if I have similar situations going on now and I'm trying to figure out whether it is worth it to speak my mind about things or if I should remain silent and say all the "right" things and do and say what is expected in order to keep everybody happy.
I expect people to be honest with me. I would rather know if someone is unhappy with me or my actions so that I can either explain myself or my actions or ultimately make changes to myself and my actions if necessary. Because I expect this, I suppose I expect my friends and family to feel the same way. But apparently, this isn't how a lot of people feel. Apparently, a lot of people don't care to hear what you have to say if what you have to say is in any kind of opposition to what they're currently thinking/doing/acting/etc.
So, is it better to be honest with people and suffer the consequences as they come while being true to your own feelings and sense of self? Or is it better to say and do what's expected of you by others in order to keep those close to you happy and content, even if it goes against what your inner self is telling you?
I honestly want to know, because so far, I can't seem to win either way. I don't want to isolate myself for the sake of principles, necessarily, yet at the same time, I don't want to present a fake and dishonest facade to the people I care about simply because that's the face that's easiest for them to see and accept. And I can't seem to find a middle ground anywhere.
If you have thoughts or input, I invite them. And even if I don't necessarily like or agree with what you've said, I will still be grateful that you said it and I will take it into consideration. If I've learned anything in the three and a half years I've been married, it's that sometimes you have to take a step back and consider that what someone is saying might make sense, even if it goes against everything you've believed up until this point. Sometimes, you do have to change your perspective.
June 14, 2013--A Hard Run
We've had a hard run, you and I.
Hovering somewhere between what's expected and what's honest.
It doesn't suit us.
For our convictions are strong and our opinions sure,
yet they constantly collide.
I am not who I was
and I think now that I never truly knew you.
You, who I worshiped
and idolized
and aspired to be.
But all I can be is me.
I think you might resent me.
Do I resent you?
I think perhaps I do.
What is it that drives us to such dividing points?
Extremes as far as east from west
and the chasm between limitless?
Is it an instinctual need?
To be more, to be best?
Or do we each in our insecurity
give in to the temptation
of tearing down the other's core stability?
We fight a silent war
as our truths remain behind closed lips
at the cost of preserving peace.
Perhaps we should cease.
Yet life is simply our stage
and we each have a role to play.
And God knows we both crave the spotlight,
for we are each a leading lady.
We've had a hard run, you and I,
and I long for rest.
Yet the ending remains unwritten.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013--Tribute
Yesterday was Memorial Day, as I'm sure most of you well know. I didn't get my status of thanks posted like so many of my friends did. I would like to take a moment to say a few words now.
Obviously, I would like to offer up my thanks to the numerous men and women who have made and are still making the choice to serve in our military and give up their families, their day-to-day freedom, and their lives to serve and protect this country. Even more so I thank the ones who may not necessarily agree with the decisions of the higher commands, who do not agree with what the government has decreed, but they serve anyway because they know that as bad as it might be, serving is still "better" than not serving.
A friend of mine posted a quote from a friend of his yesterday on Facebook. The quote was by a person who had previously served in the military and was not happy about his experience. He spoke of how every last one of his personal morals were broken while he served, that he lost all sense of who he was and what he actually believed in.
Obviously, I would like to offer up my thanks to the numerous men and women who have made and are still making the choice to serve in our military and give up their families, their day-to-day freedom, and their lives to serve and protect this country. Even more so I thank the ones who may not necessarily agree with the decisions of the higher commands, who do not agree with what the government has decreed, but they serve anyway because they know that as bad as it might be, serving is still "better" than not serving.
A friend of mine posted a quote from a friend of his yesterday on Facebook. The quote was by a person who had previously served in the military and was not happy about his experience. He spoke of how every last one of his personal morals were broken while he served, that he lost all sense of who he was and what he actually believed in.
"...I violated every last bit of my personal moral code during my time in the army and yet it's the thing I am the most celebrated for. I am a black man in America. My grandmother was a Black Panther. She fought for equality and I treated so many people with a lack of humanity I can never forgive myself.
"It was the winter after 9/11 and everyone was angry. I was told I was doing the right thing by everyone I knew and respected. They told me I was going over there to defend my loved ones. They told me I was going to bring freedom to people who wanted it. They told me I was doing it for God.
"For my part in this, I am so sorry. I recognize that I have contributed to the suffering of so many people and everyday I try to live my life in a way that makes up for all the wrong I've done, but it gets very hard sometimes."
"It was the winter after 9/11 and everyone was angry. I was told I was doing the right thing by everyone I knew and respected. They told me I was going over there to defend my loved ones. They told me I was going to bring freedom to people who wanted it. They told me I was doing it for God.
"For my part in this, I am so sorry. I recognize that I have contributed to the suffering of so many people and everyday I try to live my life in a way that makes up for all the wrong I've done, but it gets very hard sometimes."
I hate that there are soldiers out there who feel this way. Let me rephrase that: I don't hate that they feel that way, I hate that they have a reason to feel this way. I know they're out there. And they are probably more than they are few.
I'm not a soldier so I can only speak from the experience I have from talking to friends and family members who have served. My own husband served in the Marine Corps during the time of 9/11 and he has suffered from PTSD in more ways than I'm sure he's even aware. A good friend of my younger brother (and of mine) suffered pretty badly after returning from his tours as well. But I know that they have gone through stages of depression, trauma recall, psychological stress. And getting them to talk about it can be like pulling teeth oftentimes.
PTSD is rampant; it has been for decades. It's gone by many different names and it has been viewed as a weakness, something that doesn't get talked about. But we as civilians have absolutely NO IDEA what the men and women who have served, who are still serving, have gone through and are going through. My great-uncle served in 'Nam and he doesn't talk about it. He won't talk about the friends he watched be blown to bits out of the sky--the only reason I know about it is through the accounts of other family members. And I have watched numerous documentaries showing war veterans of WWII and they are very hesitant to give detailed accounts of what happened to them.
The friend who posted the above quote stated that he because of this, he doesn't look at soldiers and feel proud of them; instead he thinks, "you poor bastard." I don't know if he equates that reaction to pity, but that's how I take it.
While I understand where he's coming from and how he has reached that conclusion, I cannot do the same. Our soldiers do not need our pity. They need our support. Whether we agree with whatever our military is doing at the time or not, we have to support them. We don't have to support the government and the decisions it's made. But we do have to support the individual men and women who have no say in the matter. And when I say support, I don't mean a bunch of "thank you" posts on Memorial Day. Yes, the outward show of thankfulness on a holiday is nice and it lets the people serving that we know personally know that they are thought of and in many cases prayed for.
But these men and women, these husbands and wives and fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers and close friends--many of them do come back damaged, even if they don't verbally acknowledge it. They come back traumatized and stressed and messed up, inside and out. While losing a limb is treated medically and dealt with accordingly, losing one's sense of humanity isn't always addressed. Soldiers hesitate to reach out for help because they are worried about being labeled as weak or crazy. They're NOT weak. They're NOT crazy. They have been pushed to limits they never knew they had, they have been asked to do things for the "greater good"--and those things don't always fit into their own personal sense of what's "right" or "fair" or "okay." For the good of their country, for the good of their families, for the advancement of freedom. It's not always that cut and dry. The reasoning behind war isn't always "good" or "right" or "best." Mankind is flawed and so are their decisions. Unfortunately, the masses are often the ones most affected by the decisions made by the few. And that is often the case with our soldiers.
They need our support. There needs to be acknowledgement of PTSD and the stigma attached to it needs to be done away with. The suffering of trauma does not mean a man or woman is now unfit to serve or is no longer qualified to do his or her job. With proper treatment, with proper understanding, with proper acknowledgement, they can begin to heal. But only if they are given the option and the ability to heal. And that is only going to happen with education. That is only going to come with those of us who have loved ones serving standing up and demanding better treatment. That is only going to come when we tell the ones we love that they are perfectly justified in however they might feel regarding what they've done and that we will do whatever it is that they need to deal with it.
Yes, I want to thank all those who have served and who are currently serving in our military. I want to thank them for making it possible for me to live safely at home in the company of my family. I want to thank them for the sacrifices they make every day so that I don't have to make those same sacrifices. I want to thank them for deciding to go overseas, to shoot bullets and to place themselves in front of bullets because someone other than them thinks it's the best solution. Seeing only the surface of what they suffer, knowing that the damage can and usually does go so much deeper makes my thanks go so much deeper.
And I do feel pride in them--in knowing that they are better people than me, that they are willing to make a decision that I couldn't.
There is a darker side to this part of our country that so many of us never see or realize. So when you offer your thanks to these men and women who have given so much of themselves, who have often sacrificed the better parts of their souls, of their humanity, please take a moment to really consider what it is you're thanking them for.
Be involved, be educated. Check in with your local VA and see if there's anything you can do to help. My mother and father-in-law go at least once a month to the VA's they can make it to and do mini-concerts. They sing and play and offer up concrete proof of their thanks. They give back.
We all tend to "give back" when tragedies such as Moore, OK happen, as it did so recently. But these men and women suffer tragedies, no matter how small, every single day. They need us to give back every single day. They need to know that they will be accepted despite the horrible things they may have done in the line of duty. For their country. For us.
To my military--you have my thanks. It runs deep. The following is dedicated to you:
Stars and Stripes
Have people really forgotten? Or do they just not care?
Has society really evolved into an entity satiated by the by the lure of the material,
by lust and instant gratification?
They scream about speech and rant about religion and demand the retention of rights,
yet how conveniently they forget....
A finger pricked by Ross’s spike stains the stripes red--stripes shredded by shrapnel and ripped by rifles.
And when the dark backed down to the dawn of another day the blazing sun revealed the blood-soaked snow and the horizon rang with the wails of war.
And when the sun retreated, the stars circled ‘round in the twilight leading thousands to a destiny of death, a price paid.
Given that price, how dare they?
Flooded in a torrential downpour, limp and lifeless, forgotten by the selfish need to dodge the drops that may dampen their Dolce.
Razed to naught but dust as maniacal laughter rings through the haze of smouldering smoke, the ashes carried away by an unnoticed wind.
Covered heads line the streets as the anthem goes unheard.
Respect, like chivalry, is dead.
They say the stars shine bright in a desert sky.
And the blood of our brothers still stains stripes in the sand.
Who cares?
After all, it’s just a flag.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013--Love yourself, ladies!
In high school I was an fairly active person. I played volleyball my freshman year. I was involved in show choir all four years, which involved a fair amount of dancing and movement. My mom and I went out and walked/ran the local park as much as the weather allowed. I ate my fair share of ice cream and candy bars but I also ate a lot of fruits and vegetables too. I was healthy.
Over the past few years, my focus has shifted away from being healthy and back to being thin. Now, I am never going to be "skinny." I'm never going to fit into a size 6 or 8 pant or wear a medium shirt (my bust wouldn't allow that even if I were skinny). But I don't have the body frame that allows for being that small. If I can get back down to a size 12 pant (what I wore in high school) that would mean that I was in good enough shape to do the activities I was doing then. Walking and running multiple miles three to five times a week. Not being completely winded after a few minutes of cardio. Being able to do a weight routine and the next day not feeling like I'm going to fall apart. It would mean that I was back to being healthy.
Having two daughters has really brought my focus back to being healthy and reminded me of how important it is that I have a good body image and a good self-image. Because if I can't convince myself that I'm beautiful, if I don't believe that I'm beautiful, how on earth am I going to convince my daughters that they are beautiful when everything else in this world is telling them they're not good enough? I don't want my daughters to go through what I went through in high school. I don't want them doubting themselves. I don't want them believing that they're not good enough, not pretty enough, not "skinny" enough. I don't want them to even consider, let alone succumb to a bout of bulimia, like I did. Not eating and puking up what you do is NOT ok. I don't ever want them to get there.
Advertising, marketing, media. For the longest time, I've considered them the enemies. Because they flaunt these tiny women, this minute minority of women who do not represent the masses, and convince us all that this is what we should strive for. Don't get me wrong--I have no issues with the actual women who are in these ads--they are beautiful and they've done what they've had to do to keep themselves looking like that. I have a healthy respect for "skinny" people--especially the ones who are healthy and skinny.
But most of us don't look like that. And that's why I'm seriously considering turning to Dove for all of my hygienic needs. Shampoo, body wash, etc. Because, finally, finally, a company has stood up and said "Damn what people might say--we are going to stand up for the masses. We are not going to be exclusionary, but we are going to support all women in whatever walk of life they may be traversing. We are going to stand up for health, not for a number on a scale, and we are going to encourage women to love themselves."
For so long now I have been so focused on the fact that I'm 70 pounds overweight and how much I hate myself for it. And I don't know about others, but in my case, my hatred of myself does not encourage me to get up and do something about it. It's just so much easier to wallow in my self-hatred by diving into a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
However, there are so many more positive things about myself to focus on. I'm a mother, and according to the people around me, a pretty good one. I've developed a sense of patience that I never had. Through help and encouragement from my husband I've learned to be less judgmental and more accepting. In a month I put nearly 35,000 words on paper and am well on my way to writing a novel that I'm proud of--a dream I've had since I was very young. I cross-stitch well. I'm proud of the house I have, of how I've learned to manage it and the improvements I want to make to it. And thinking of all these things makes me proud of the person I'm becoming and I want my outside to reflect my inside. I want to look good because for the first time in I don't know how long, I feel good--about myself. Not just about my girls or the fact that my house is clean. I feel good about me. And therein lies my motivation.
^^This is who I want to be. This is how I want to feel.^^
Thank you, Dove, for standing up for women of all shapes and sizes. Thank you for standing up for my girls, and giving them something to strive for. Thank you for standing up for me, for making me finally see that I am good enough, that I am beautiful enough, and that despite all that, I can be better. I can be better for myself, for my daughters, for my sisters, blood or no. I can be a better wife and a better mother. I can finally learn to love myself in a way I have never done at any point in my life. Thank you.
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