Sharing my struggles, and occasional victories, as I try to live a life that reflects my Savior
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
A great afternoon
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Caught between two worlds...
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The Countdown Begins
Monday, November 10, 2008
One hundred dollars.....
Friday, November 07, 2008
How did this happen?
In 1983, my freshman year of high school, I had a hard-core punk-rocker in my biology class. I can't imagine what he saw in me, with my tortoise shell glasses, bad haircut, and hand me down clothes, but he began to indoctrinate into the world of punk music and rebellion. I felt like I found my place in the world. I had already been wearing hand-me-downs for years, as my adoptive mother felt that school clothes were an unnecessary expenditure, so it was a small leap to go from ugly accidentally to ugly on purpose. I got contacts and cut my hair into a mohawk. Being rejected by society somehow made me feel accepted. I had a spine of steel when it came to being myself, and expressing my self creatively. I eschewed social status at school, never went to a single school dance, and sneered at cheerleaders.
Fast-forward, 25 years. I have a 14 year old daughter. She is tall, slender and beautiful. She is also a cheerleader. My years of muttering about how anti-woman it is to stand on the sideline, cheering for the boys, have fallen on deaf ears. She has also been nominated for freshman homecoming princess. Not in a "Carrie-let's dump-pig-blood-on-her" way, but, a "she's-sweet-and-pretty" way.
How did this happen?
And why am I so proud of her?
Thursday, November 06, 2008
In the eye of the beholder
Monday, November 03, 2008
Hello.....Does anyone still care?
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Sweet Serene Summer
My sister, the one I drove to rehab, is now staying with me. I am trying to remember why I thought it was a good idea. Oh yeah, living with my father would drive anyone to do drugs.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Sigh... I need a new extended family.
Friday, June 27, 2008
What's left to eat?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
XY17 has a girlfriend, pretty much for the first time. I really like her. She is very sweet, smart and cute. I am always pushing XX17 to have friends over. He spends more time at his friends homes then they spend here. I really just want kids over here so I can feed them. It's a sickness. I need help. I know.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Day three of Summer Vacation
Monday, June 16, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
"May you live in interesting times"
XY11 is starting the pre-season football stuff; meeting the coaches, getting equipment, and stuff like that. Watching a group of 21 10 and 11 year olds throw together an impromptu football game while the coach talks to parents, makes you feel like not that much has changed. Eleven year old boys still have too much energy. They still have bruised shins and scraped elbows. They still get freckles across their noses in the summertime, and they still like being tucked in, even if they would rather be tortured than admit it to their friends. XY11's childhood is slipping away quickly. More quickly than his 17 year old brother's did. I wish I could preserve his innocence and youth, but I can't.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Sigh....
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mothers Day
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Of Books and Women
What TV has come to..
Friday, April 25, 2008
Sorry.....
- My faith in my Creator. With out the grace of Jesus I would not get out of bed in the morning.
- My children have never been hungry.
- I have a job I love.
- My husband is a source strength, not a sapper of strength.
- None of my kids are in big trouble.
- The kids and Steve and I talk to each other.
- Books.
- My friends.
There is much more, of course. But since I was up late with a restless XX5 last night, I can't think of anything else. What are you grateful for?
I am reading 'The Witch of Cologne'. Per Burpykitty's request, (pronouncement) I will be reading 'The Birth House' next. What are you reading? Should I read it?
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Today is someone's Birthday
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Things that Make Me Happy
- Making quesadillas for XY1y and his two friends who dropped him off after school.
- XX11 letting me hug him for a long time in front of XX17's friends
- Going to the nursery to buy herbs, strawberry plants, tomato plants, peppers and spinach.
- Making a delicious dressing for salad with only four ingredients.
- My box of produce from the CSA
- The long hug I got from XX13 when she got home from school yesterday.
- Getting to go up to my room after the kids got home from school and hang out while Roser made dinner. (This made me really! happy.)
There are also things that make me happy in general. Cooking. Tucking XX5 in bed. Going in to kiss XY11 after he has gone to bed, and turning his radio down or off. Waking up and falling asleep next to my most favorite person in the whole wide world. I have many things in my life that still make me happy. I am still feeling a little weighed down by the world, but I know it is temporary.
What makes you happy?
Sunday, April 06, 2008
My Eeyore Moment
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Just Checking In
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Which one is for you?
Saturday, March 22, 2008
I am at the library finishing up some work. I have been working non-stop since Thursday, between editing and my own articles. I finished up and was sitting here with earphones plugged into my laptop so I could listen to my i-pod songs while I rejoice in being done. While I was sitting here a girl of about 11 came and sat in the same section as me. She is awkward, with long dark hair pulled back in a messy pony tail. She is dressed in nothing my own little princess (sarcastic) would wear. Worn shorts, baggy t-shirt, bunny ears, (for Easter I'm sure.) She is too tall for her age, with feathered eyebrows over wideset eyes. She is buried, nose first in a graphic novel. She has a look that is equidistant between defiance and apology. I know that look well. I wore it for years before defiance took over. Defiance was my answer to being rejected; by parents who would rather be dead than be with me, who would rather drink themselves unconscious, anything but be with me, hear me; rejection from peers. Most, not all, found my vocabulary off putting, my swift mood swings, my preference for the printed page to a living breathing companion unbearable. Defiance served me well for a while, until I found the One who would never reject me. My Savior and Creator led me to others, my husband, his family, dear friends. I sit here writing this, comfortable, happy, confident. I look again at this little girl, on the brink of growing up. I see the beauty hidden by the soft childishness of her facial contours. I can tell by the way she carries herself she has no idea she will, one day soon, be beautiful. I want to place my hand on her head and say, "It's okay, everything will be fine." I want to talk to her as though she were me, almost 30 years ago. I want to tell her, "You will beloved some day by the people that matter most." I want to tell her, "Keep reading, it will save your life." I want to tell her, "You matter." She's not me, but she could be. It is hard for me to see someone that reminds me of myself at that time of my life. I like myself so much now. I hate to be reminded of a time when I did not.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
I Wanna Know What Bored Is....
Monday, March 17, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
A Break From Drama
Running with the Bad Moms
Saturday, March 15, 2008
JM, who has been my friend for 14 years was speechless when she saw XX13 and our pierced noses. I thought we would have to get the smelling salts. It was not pleasant. She got over it quickly though.
Friday, March 14, 2008
See that puff of Smoke Floating By? That was my Parent Card
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
The Hair Lollipops
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Boy! Isn't this fun?!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Vegtables vs. Shoes
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Sunday...
XY17 wants to be a teacher. That also makes me very proud. There is nothing that could make me prouder. XX13 says she wants to be a stay-at-home mother. Again, so proud! It stands to reason that XX5 will be a girl in a bar with tequila in holsters mixing shots in peoples mouths. Not that there's anything wrong with those girls, but still...
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Friday, March 07, 2008
Are you tired too?
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Costco
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Just Call me Pancho Villa
Open Letter to My Husband
I met you almost exactly 17 years ago. I was working in a sleazy bar and you and your best friend came in after a wedding. I tried to work you for tips but failed. You asked me for my phone number, just like five or six guys a night did. For reasons I still don’t understand, I broke precedent and gave it to you. Before I did, I told you my flaws as I saw them. I was not nearly as attractive out of the dim lights of the bar; I wore glasses when I didn’t have my contacts in; and I had a seven month old son. You didn’t care, you still called. I tried to keep you separate from my beautiful mixed race son. When you picked me up for a date, he was already at the sitter’s. One day, after we had been dating for about three weeks, you showed up unexpectedly at my apartment. When I realized it was you at the door, I said out loud, “Oh no!” You later told me you thought I had another guy in there. You were sort of right. My little man was there. You met him before I would have introduced you. He worked his calm wide-eyed charm on you. Over the next year, you fell in love with us simultaneously. The feeling was mutual. We married. The charming baby turned into a mouthy four year old. You approached fatherhood from a logical angle whenever you could, emotional when you couldn’t fight it anymore. You have always understood that true love is always accompanied by action. You coached DB’s baseball teams. You took him camping. You rolled your eyes over my head, so he knew you thought I was crazy too. It has always been obvious that there is more than meets the eye with DB. He is half black, and you and I are both white. When people meet the two of you together, they assume you are his father, and I am his step-mother. No one can tell by your behavior that you are not his father. He can’t even tell, even though he knows. He told me once, about four years ago that he was so grateful he didn’t have a step-father. He forgets that there is any other man but you responsible for his existence. He is right. You are the man responsible for everything he is. He stands like you, argues like you, laughs like you. I could never have taught him how to be a man. I taught him to learn about the world by reading. I taught him to have compassion, to have empathy. You taught him the importance of ambition. You taught him when to walk away and when to stand and fight. You taught him that a man appreciates the females in his life. He got his dark skin and curly hair, wound into messy dreadlocks from someone else. He got everything that matters from you.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Open Letter to a One Night Stand
You are an occasional subject of conversation in my house. Under normal circumstances I would not even remember your name. You and I were friends for a brief period in 1989/1990. I don’t remember the names of our other friends, although for about five months, we were all inseparable. The only reason I remember you at all is because we were sexually intimate one time, again, very briefly. So briefly in fact, that you were done before I could tell you I was not on the pill. As a result of that otherwise completely forgettable, drunken encounter, I have a seventeen year old son, who looks exactly like your brother. My husband asked me recently how you could not care if I was protected against pregnancy. I said it was because it wouldn’t have affected you at all if I got pregnant. I sort of just threw it out there. After I thought about it for just second, I realized I was right. My having a child has for all intents and purposes has not affected you at all. I remember a phone conversation with you, about ten years ago, in which you told me you though about “your son” every day, and every thing you did in your life was to bring you to a place where you could have something to offer him. I recommended a card on his birthday, but you said you couldn’t afford a stamp. Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you do think about the kid, oh, let’s just say, once a week. I think I am being damn generous here, but okay, once a week. When he was growing up that equaled 21 meals I had been responsible for. Ten outfits I had washed, one set of sheets I washed. When he was much younger, it was three episodes of night terrors that I got up in the middle of the night to deal with. On some weeks it was four or five times he didn’t make it to the toilet to barf, four or five messes on the carpet my husband or I would have to clean up. When he was 13, it was six times I cried myself to sleep, wondering if I had done all I could to raise him the right way. Now that he is seventeen, I am crying again, wondering again, “Have I done all I could?” You will never convince me that having a son means anything to you or your lifestyle. When I told you I was pregnant, I told you I didn’t want anything from you, and you could be as involved as you want. Every time we moved, I made sure you knew where we were. I made sure, through your mother, that you always had a phone number for our family. I have not had the same consideration from you. When my son was young, I cared. I had the most amazing, most beautiful child in the world, (like every mother) and I could not understand why the one other person in the world who had a genetic link to him didn’t care to know him. Because I was in a relationship with someone, the same someone, since my kid was seven months old, it didn’t matter for long. Having a child has affected your life not at all. And yet I know you claim him. You tell people you have a son. You asked me during one of only two phone conversations we have ever had if I would consider giving him your last name. Were you fucking serious? You were.
When I was told I was pregnant by a tired distracted doctor working in a medical clinic, he also told me I was in the process of miscarrying. I went immediately to a friend’s house, and waited in bed, trying to keep the little zygote I was carrying safe. I began changing my life. I did not want a baby, but I was compelled to act like a mother. I quit Diet Coke and smoking and drinking. I started drinking milk by the gallon. I worked until one week to the day before he was born. Every minute, every decision is about how it affects my family, of which, he was the first member. You have nerve. You did nothing, NOTHING to contribute to this child except have sex with me, 17 years ago. Your life has not changed at all. What is that like? Because my life has never been the same.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Kitchen Mojo
Friday, February 29, 2008
It is not that I am strongly in favor of gay marriage; it is that I am not strongly against it. In my religious beliefs, marriage is a sacrament, a covenant between a man and a woman and God. My own marriage is a promise to God that I will stay married to my husband until death separates us. In my opinion, the ease with which divorce is obtained is much more of a threat to marriage than gay marriage. There is no social stigma attached to divorce at all. Not that we should go back to the days when women stayed in horrible marriages with abusers and philanderers, but now, there is no reason to stay in a marriage if you don’t want to. This is a threat to what I see as the sanctity of marriage.
I have always believed that if everybody put their time and money into the one or two things they believe in, things would get done. That being said, I am shocked that this is an important cause to some people. Women are still being killed by their husbands and boyfriends. Children who are sexually molested by a parent may still have to have visitation from that parent. Little girls in Africa and the Middle East are still have their clitoris’s ripped from their bodies with no anesthesia, and their vaginal openings sewn closed. Babies are still being chopped up and sucked from what should be the safety of their mother’s wombs. The most important thing to this mother though, is that two people of the same sex should not share the same benefits as two people of the opposite sex.
My religious beliefs are my own. My relationship with my Creator is the cornerstone of my life, without which, nothing else matters. My children’s sharing my faith is the paramount issue to me as I raise them. I want to spend eternity with them. I will gladly tell everyone about my Savior. I will not expect anyone else to live by the parameters of my faith. I will not support legislation that does. I will not fight to ban a movie that presents my Lord or my religion in an unflattering light. I will not fight to hinder the right of someone to say their most abhorrent thoughts. I will thank God that I live in a country in which I can walk according to my own convictions openly and unafraid. I will fight for those around me to walk according to their own convictions, as long as those convictions do not impede my rights. I do not see how gay marriage impedes my rights. I will not sign a petition to ban it.