Only a portion of the blog title is an actual book title. An actual book that I was made to read in the 11th grade by my mother who was also my English teacher. Lord knows I would have never read it otherwise. I personally did not enjoy the book and I am a fan of literature, however there is always a funny story to be told so let me begin…
As the book review of Silas Marner began in preparation for the next days test my mother stood in front of the classroom and asked the question, “Does any one know why Silas enters a trance like state?” (I honestly think she asked the question to see just how many of her students had actually read the book.) There was a pause… Hey, I wasn’t raising my hand. (My answer was, he was epileptic. I don’t know if this was the correct answer, but hey it beat what was about to be said.) The mean girl raises her hand and states rather matter of fact, “He was demon possessed.” Now I don’t know whether you, the reader just scratched your head or laughed out loud, but let me tell you I wanted to laugh… I personally don’t know how my mother kept from laughing. God bless her…
The rather odd thing was NO ONE but me found this statement of “fact” to be the least bit odd. I wonder what the mean girl would have assumed had she known the author, George Eliot, was actually a woman? One can only imagine. Luckily for her she graduated high school in spite of Silas Marner and now has a job selling things.
Close your mouth. The blog had ended.
Carter Ryan
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Sweet 16...
Today, September 20th, 2010, marks the sixteenth anniversary of the day Eric and I began dating. Wow, that is half of my lifetime! I remember the day very well and I will save the mushy recollection for my grandchildren.
I honestly cannot believe that it has been 16 years. It really feels like yesterday. Well, maybe not yesterday. I mean there are two 18th birthdays, two high school graduations, 14 years of marriage (almost) and six kids worked in there. A long with his military career of 14 years (almost), three different state moves, multiple family births and deaths, a separation and countless other details. So, I guess it has been a long time since that skinny boy wearing a Stussy ball cap stood on my porch with a piece of grass in his mouth, (You know the kind that you chew as a kid here in Texas.), and asked me to go for a ride. Yes, it has been a ride! Funny that he put it exactly that way.
Life is truly like a roller coaster as are relationships. You go up, you go down, you spin around, you wait for the bottom to drop out from under you and you go again. There is joy and pain and sometimes you want to get off the roller coaster and never get back on but that is when being stubborn and hard headed work to your advantage.
I can’t imagine what my life would be without the happenings of 16 years ago and I really do not want to. No matter what I know that there is someone in my corner, someone who has my back, someone who loves me in spite of my countless flaws and the specific incident with the rice krispies.
As we prepare for our next turn on the roller coaster I look forward to what the future holds. May it be bright and filled with more joy and love than any two people deserve.
I honestly cannot believe that it has been 16 years. It really feels like yesterday. Well, maybe not yesterday. I mean there are two 18th birthdays, two high school graduations, 14 years of marriage (almost) and six kids worked in there. A long with his military career of 14 years (almost), three different state moves, multiple family births and deaths, a separation and countless other details. So, I guess it has been a long time since that skinny boy wearing a Stussy ball cap stood on my porch with a piece of grass in his mouth, (You know the kind that you chew as a kid here in Texas.), and asked me to go for a ride. Yes, it has been a ride! Funny that he put it exactly that way.
Life is truly like a roller coaster as are relationships. You go up, you go down, you spin around, you wait for the bottom to drop out from under you and you go again. There is joy and pain and sometimes you want to get off the roller coaster and never get back on but that is when being stubborn and hard headed work to your advantage.
I can’t imagine what my life would be without the happenings of 16 years ago and I really do not want to. No matter what I know that there is someone in my corner, someone who has my back, someone who loves me in spite of my countless flaws and the specific incident with the rice krispies.
As we prepare for our next turn on the roller coaster I look forward to what the future holds. May it be bright and filled with more joy and love than any two people deserve.
A Letter to Carter...
29 July 2010
A Letter to Carter…
My dear, sweet baby Carter,
I hope you know how excited and anxious I am to finally meet you. I have been counting down the days for a very long time in anticipation. Your birthday just can’t get here soon enough for me. For more reasons than one. Everyone in our home is buzzing, but especially your oldest brother Elan. (Once you get to know E you will hold this in your heart closely because you will realize this is really out of character for him.)
I hope that you aren’t counting on being brought home to a clean or quiet house because I’ll let you know right now that is not going to happen. There will be dust, clutter, dirty laundry and dishes, little and big fingerprints, constant noise and plenty of chaos. You are the youngest brother of six. In the future though you will be glad because life is never boring and you my sweet boy will never be alone.
I will apologize to you now if you are accidentally dropped, have your face screamed in, are woken continuously from naps, have postponed feedings or are loved too roughly. Just always remember you are loved. Whether you have memories or scars to show for it remains to be seen.
I have a lot of hopes for you little one. My hopes for you are that you grow up to be strong in mind and spirit, loyal, kind and tenderhearted. That you live for God and no one else. I wouldn’t mind though if you were musically inclined and had the voice of an angel and also grow up loving the sport of baseball. Most of all I hope you always remember how much you are loved, cherished and adored at all times.
You were a surprise. A wonderful surprise. One that I cannot imagine having not experienced as I type you this letter. You will complete our family and make us stronger as a unit.
Always remember that I love you no matter what. You are my son. You are my pride and joy. You are one of the greatest loves of my life and I will cherish you always.
Love,
Mom
A Letter to Carter…
My dear, sweet baby Carter,
I hope you know how excited and anxious I am to finally meet you. I have been counting down the days for a very long time in anticipation. Your birthday just can’t get here soon enough for me. For more reasons than one. Everyone in our home is buzzing, but especially your oldest brother Elan. (Once you get to know E you will hold this in your heart closely because you will realize this is really out of character for him.)
I hope that you aren’t counting on being brought home to a clean or quiet house because I’ll let you know right now that is not going to happen. There will be dust, clutter, dirty laundry and dishes, little and big fingerprints, constant noise and plenty of chaos. You are the youngest brother of six. In the future though you will be glad because life is never boring and you my sweet boy will never be alone.
I will apologize to you now if you are accidentally dropped, have your face screamed in, are woken continuously from naps, have postponed feedings or are loved too roughly. Just always remember you are loved. Whether you have memories or scars to show for it remains to be seen.
I have a lot of hopes for you little one. My hopes for you are that you grow up to be strong in mind and spirit, loyal, kind and tenderhearted. That you live for God and no one else. I wouldn’t mind though if you were musically inclined and had the voice of an angel and also grow up loving the sport of baseball. Most of all I hope you always remember how much you are loved, cherished and adored at all times.
You were a surprise. A wonderful surprise. One that I cannot imagine having not experienced as I type you this letter. You will complete our family and make us stronger as a unit.
Always remember that I love you no matter what. You are my son. You are my pride and joy. You are one of the greatest loves of my life and I will cherish you always.
Love,
Mom
Happy 11th Birthday Erica Kayt!
Eleven years ago today I gave birth to a nine pound two ounce bundle of joy that I was not expecting, a baby girl, Erica Kayt. On the eve of her birth never would I have imagined how my life would change in a matter of twenty-four hours and all for the better.
As the mother of four sons and a daughter I can honestly say that there is something different in having a daughter. It is almost as if you have an extension of yourself living outside of your body. Not that it is not the same feeling with the boys, but it is different. More complex. In good ways and in bad. As a mother to a daughter you are her rock, you are her protector, and most of all, you are what she will model her life around. The latter is some task for not only mother, but daughter as well. Boys believe that their mothers can do no wrong. They protect you. Whereas with girls they have subtle ways of showing you what is and is not so good about yourself. A daughter is the reflection of her mother.
I will never forget after two hours of hard pushing the doctor holding a baby in her arms saying , “It is a girl!” The look on Eric’s face was well worth all the hard labor. It was as if he had been handed all the money in the world. (We went in under the guidelines we would be delivering our second son…) God had very different plans and as well all know His plans are the best plans. As Eric’s tears began to flow and excitement busted from the seams of his clothes I laid there in shock, fear, love and anticipation of what was to come. I was now the mother of a daughter.
I was blessed. Erica Kayt born an old soul was undoubtedly the easiest baby in the history of the universe. Rarely cried, rarely had a sniffle, rarely needed anything I was too tired or preoccupied to give. She began taking care of me and my needs long before she even knew how. Her elf-like little features, chubby body, and contagious smile made me so proud. She was as unique then as she is now.
Erica crawled at four months, walked at seven months, talked in complete sentences not too long after beginning to walk. She was most definitely on a mission. Erica was Elan’s confidant, playmate, protector, the apple of her daddy’s eye, and even at such a young age she was my rock and a safe place for me to lay my head.
Through the years Erica has made me proud. She is a risk taker. She is never afraid to put herself out there and try something new and well outside of her comfort zone. Erica exudes the confidence and determination that it takes to be successful. She truly is a joy.
As the years have passed, memories have faded, and pictures lay in their respectful homes it has been easy for me to forget over the past eleven years just how truly fortunate I became on that hot Colorado day in 1999. Erica Kayt, I love you. You are the strength of this family. You are not only my rock, but as well your Dad’s and your four, almost five brothers. God designed this family with you in mind and at the heart sweet girl. Each of us love and cherish you as a valuable possession.
Happy 11th Birthday Erica Kayt! My love for you cannot be expressed with enough words…
Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
As the mother of four sons and a daughter I can honestly say that there is something different in having a daughter. It is almost as if you have an extension of yourself living outside of your body. Not that it is not the same feeling with the boys, but it is different. More complex. In good ways and in bad. As a mother to a daughter you are her rock, you are her protector, and most of all, you are what she will model her life around. The latter is some task for not only mother, but daughter as well. Boys believe that their mothers can do no wrong. They protect you. Whereas with girls they have subtle ways of showing you what is and is not so good about yourself. A daughter is the reflection of her mother.
I will never forget after two hours of hard pushing the doctor holding a baby in her arms saying , “It is a girl!” The look on Eric’s face was well worth all the hard labor. It was as if he had been handed all the money in the world. (We went in under the guidelines we would be delivering our second son…) God had very different plans and as well all know His plans are the best plans. As Eric’s tears began to flow and excitement busted from the seams of his clothes I laid there in shock, fear, love and anticipation of what was to come. I was now the mother of a daughter.
I was blessed. Erica Kayt born an old soul was undoubtedly the easiest baby in the history of the universe. Rarely cried, rarely had a sniffle, rarely needed anything I was too tired or preoccupied to give. She began taking care of me and my needs long before she even knew how. Her elf-like little features, chubby body, and contagious smile made me so proud. She was as unique then as she is now.
Erica crawled at four months, walked at seven months, talked in complete sentences not too long after beginning to walk. She was most definitely on a mission. Erica was Elan’s confidant, playmate, protector, the apple of her daddy’s eye, and even at such a young age she was my rock and a safe place for me to lay my head.
Through the years Erica has made me proud. She is a risk taker. She is never afraid to put herself out there and try something new and well outside of her comfort zone. Erica exudes the confidence and determination that it takes to be successful. She truly is a joy.
As the years have passed, memories have faded, and pictures lay in their respectful homes it has been easy for me to forget over the past eleven years just how truly fortunate I became on that hot Colorado day in 1999. Erica Kayt, I love you. You are the strength of this family. You are not only my rock, but as well your Dad’s and your four, almost five brothers. God designed this family with you in mind and at the heart sweet girl. Each of us love and cherish you as a valuable possession.
Happy 11th Birthday Erica Kayt! My love for you cannot be expressed with enough words…
Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.
Lessons Learned
So apparently at 30something years old I am still learning lessons, especially ones in patience. Not my strongest virtue I might add. So I have taken to chronicling them.
LESSON NUMBER ONE; When your child (or husband) decides that they would like to purchase a pet PROTEST and A LOT… I am NOT a “pet person.” I have five, almost six kids, I don’t have time for picking up or cleaning up after other creatures. Especially ones that require more attention than children. Totally not my thing. Yet guess who was cleaning out a ferret & guinea pig cage at 8 last night? Me! Yep, that is right. (Erica helped. Poor girl was bleeding from having her head bit off so many times and for that I am truly sorry. I am not sorry for refusing to cook any form of a meal last night though.) Point is, they are NOT our pets and well if you want something done and done correctly you often have to shut your mouth, smile and just do it or put your foot down in PetCo. (That doesn’t mean I did not shut the door harder than necessary on more than one occasion and mumble several things under my breath and cry from exhaustion later, but next time I will remember to do it at the appropriate time, IN PETCO.)
LESSON NUMBER TWO; It is often best just to shut your mouth and let the other person have the last word. As difficult as it is for someone like me it is best. The last word often is the only thing the person has left. Be gracious, let them have it. In the end you truly do feel better for being the bigger person and just letting it go. Arguing is not as fun as it once was. Apparently I am getting older.
LESSON NUMBER THREE; Do not drink a double shot espresso after not having large amounts of caffeine for any lengthy period of time. I think I now have some sort of idea what it is like to either be tweeking from crystal meth or having withdrawal symptoms. Not fun… By the end of the day I was a complete emotional mess.
LESSON NUMBER FOUR; As ridiculous as you may find your mother from time to time her intuition never fails. So when she says, something is not right… LISTEN. You will save yourself and others a lot of heartache. (No Mom, I don’t find you ridiculous.)
LESSON NUMBER FIVE; DO NOT under any circumstances schedule three appointments for one day especially when you know one drains you of all your senses.
LESSON NUMBER SIX; Don’t listen to others when they tell you to rest and nap as much as possible when an impending birth is near. I spent, get this, 6 hours cleaning two rooms yesterday and they are still not up to my liking. You are the only person who knows you. So, if clutter, dust, dirt and grime make you a nervous wreck stay on top of the madness before it becomes beyond your control.
FINAL LESSON: SEVEN; Be quick to see the blessing! I know shocker after my previous statements. After a hard week, somewhat self inflicted, I felt hurt, betrayed, used, abused, pretty much just down about life and people. Then I opened my eyes. I had a Sally Field moment. There are people that love me, really love me. And why? Because I am me. And you know what? That is good enough.
LESSON NUMBER ONE; When your child (or husband) decides that they would like to purchase a pet PROTEST and A LOT… I am NOT a “pet person.” I have five, almost six kids, I don’t have time for picking up or cleaning up after other creatures. Especially ones that require more attention than children. Totally not my thing. Yet guess who was cleaning out a ferret & guinea pig cage at 8 last night? Me! Yep, that is right. (Erica helped. Poor girl was bleeding from having her head bit off so many times and for that I am truly sorry. I am not sorry for refusing to cook any form of a meal last night though.) Point is, they are NOT our pets and well if you want something done and done correctly you often have to shut your mouth, smile and just do it or put your foot down in PetCo. (That doesn’t mean I did not shut the door harder than necessary on more than one occasion and mumble several things under my breath and cry from exhaustion later, but next time I will remember to do it at the appropriate time, IN PETCO.)
LESSON NUMBER TWO; It is often best just to shut your mouth and let the other person have the last word. As difficult as it is for someone like me it is best. The last word often is the only thing the person has left. Be gracious, let them have it. In the end you truly do feel better for being the bigger person and just letting it go. Arguing is not as fun as it once was. Apparently I am getting older.
LESSON NUMBER THREE; Do not drink a double shot espresso after not having large amounts of caffeine for any lengthy period of time. I think I now have some sort of idea what it is like to either be tweeking from crystal meth or having withdrawal symptoms. Not fun… By the end of the day I was a complete emotional mess.
LESSON NUMBER FOUR; As ridiculous as you may find your mother from time to time her intuition never fails. So when she says, something is not right… LISTEN. You will save yourself and others a lot of heartache. (No Mom, I don’t find you ridiculous.)
LESSON NUMBER FIVE; DO NOT under any circumstances schedule three appointments for one day especially when you know one drains you of all your senses.
LESSON NUMBER SIX; Don’t listen to others when they tell you to rest and nap as much as possible when an impending birth is near. I spent, get this, 6 hours cleaning two rooms yesterday and they are still not up to my liking. You are the only person who knows you. So, if clutter, dust, dirt and grime make you a nervous wreck stay on top of the madness before it becomes beyond your control.
FINAL LESSON: SEVEN; Be quick to see the blessing! I know shocker after my previous statements. After a hard week, somewhat self inflicted, I felt hurt, betrayed, used, abused, pretty much just down about life and people. Then I opened my eyes. I had a Sally Field moment. There are people that love me, really love me. And why? Because I am me. And you know what? That is good enough.
A Birthday Blog for My Little Sister, Kristy...
Twenty-eight, not twenty-nine years ago today, July 18th, 1982, a Sunday, God completed my parents and our family with a daughter and a sister for Jennifer and I, Kristy Lynn. While a lot of time has passed I remember that day and the days that followed somewhat. Most clearly I remember going to the hospital with my PaPa and MaMa and my Dad showing my younger sister and I through the window the new baby who laid in a special bed with special lights and was to this day the biggest baby I have ever seen. I also remember Dad having her name written on a piece of white paper in perfect script. It would be Kristy with a K and a Y. (Not to be confused with Christy.) Perfect.
It was several days, (What seemed like an eternity.), before Mom and the new baby made it home. I remember the excitement. I mean, hello, her “belly button,” (umbilical cord stub), fell off her first day at home and couldn’t be found. I even went outside to investigate. It wasn’t there. This was going to be fun! A new sister, a new friend, a new partner in crime…
With our family now complete days passed and things happened. This child was different. She created more excitement, (Read terror and drama.), in her first few years than either Jennifer or I. Let’s see, she fell out of a window, lost a tooth, pushed a “friendship” bead so far up her nose it required surgery, had the Roto-Rooter man at our house at least once a month, and the list could go on and all before she was even two. What did we do before her? I am certain that life was boring.
Over the course of my childhood I watched that chubby little doll like being evolve from someone with a lisp, (Remember the missing tooth? It didn’t grow back until she was about 7.), who adored all things Barbie and the latest Disney movie, into the most caring and compassionate person I have ever had the great fortune of knowing. Kristy is that person who extends her hand and opens her heart to anyone. She is someone you would want your child to grow up and be like. With her character is king.
As the days of my childhood and adolescence came to an end I would lie awake at night and cry. She was the person I did not want to leave. She was the person after having left my heart would long for. I guess I can simply say, she is my person. She knows every single detail of my life, the good, the bad, and the ugly and still holds her arms open wide and loves me in spite of my many flaws. She is the person I would entrust my children to. She is the person I wish I could be in a lot of ways.
Happy Birthday my dear, sweet Kristy… I love you more than words could ever begin to express. You are a source of continual joy. I am so blessed to call you my sister.
It was several days, (What seemed like an eternity.), before Mom and the new baby made it home. I remember the excitement. I mean, hello, her “belly button,” (umbilical cord stub), fell off her first day at home and couldn’t be found. I even went outside to investigate. It wasn’t there. This was going to be fun! A new sister, a new friend, a new partner in crime…
With our family now complete days passed and things happened. This child was different. She created more excitement, (Read terror and drama.), in her first few years than either Jennifer or I. Let’s see, she fell out of a window, lost a tooth, pushed a “friendship” bead so far up her nose it required surgery, had the Roto-Rooter man at our house at least once a month, and the list could go on and all before she was even two. What did we do before her? I am certain that life was boring.
Over the course of my childhood I watched that chubby little doll like being evolve from someone with a lisp, (Remember the missing tooth? It didn’t grow back until she was about 7.), who adored all things Barbie and the latest Disney movie, into the most caring and compassionate person I have ever had the great fortune of knowing. Kristy is that person who extends her hand and opens her heart to anyone. She is someone you would want your child to grow up and be like. With her character is king.
As the days of my childhood and adolescence came to an end I would lie awake at night and cry. She was the person I did not want to leave. She was the person after having left my heart would long for. I guess I can simply say, she is my person. She knows every single detail of my life, the good, the bad, and the ugly and still holds her arms open wide and loves me in spite of my many flaws. She is the person I would entrust my children to. She is the person I wish I could be in a lot of ways.
Happy Birthday my dear, sweet Kristy… I love you more than words could ever begin to express. You are a source of continual joy. I am so blessed to call you my sister.
ONE of THOSE PEOPLE
I am one of those people. One of those people who does not feel the need to scream and spout crazy partisan nonsense in an effort for my voice to be heard. One of those people who does not feel that drawing a Hitler mustache on the face of any American president is ever appropriate. I am one of those people who finds it imperative that we find common sense solutions to all the crises that the American people face and I for one do not think that Glenn Beck has the answers. I am one of those crazy people that says it is time to put an end to politics of fear and insanity. It is time to call on all those elected and serving in Washington DC and demand that they work for the citizens of this great nation and not their special interests.
Like Lambs to the Slaughter, A Generation of Mean Girls and Violent Boys
Recent news stories covering the deaths of children and young adults over this past week left me saddened but not speechless, appalled but not helpless and angry but not defeated. The following is my story. The only story that one truly knows.
It began in the 3rd grade and continued sporadically until I graduated high school. I like a large majority of American children was the target of childhood and teenage bullying. Sadly, I believed that it was a part of growing up and something that one must endure in order to obtain a “thicker skin.” Now viewing myself as a normal child and teenager I often ask myself this question, Why was I bullied? Hmmm… I had a different name, I was taller than most of the other girls, I didn’t dress in the latest fashions, I lived in a modest home where I was raised to have Christian values, I had a unique laugh, I had/have a big nose, I was in the eyes of my peers either too skinny or too fat… These are the critiques that I can remember. There are some that thankfully I have since forgotten. Another question that I ask myself is, if this happened to me what did my peers endure growing up? I know I am not the only one who was a victim and I know that there are stories far worse than my own. However, society tells us that this behavior is a rite of passage. We are not to talk about our hurts. To do so makes us both weak and vulnerable.
By the time I entered the 10th grade I absolutely had no self-esteem or self-worth. I had begun to believe all of the hurtful and mean things that had been said to me. I did not view myself as normal, rather I viewed myself as anything but. I was far from comfortable in my own skin. As a defense mechanism I made my world small and withdrew myself from anything that once gave me any sense of joy or pleasure. In the fall of 1993 I had few friends and absolutely hated school. Instead of talking to my parents about my troubles I will shamefully admit that I started acting out by cutting my own hair in peculiar ways, skipping school and failing virtually every class in the first nine weeks of my sophomore year. It was not that I could not talk to my parents. It was that I would not talk to my parents. I always wondered if they viewed me in this same way but loved me anyhow. I now know that they did not. They loved me, they accepted me just as I was. As a kid though, you think like a kid and it would be odd for anyone to expect that a child would have all the coping tools that one acquires through the adolescent years.
As my parents first child I am sure they felt that I was just experiencing “growing pains.” My younger sister did not have the same difficulties academically or socially and every child is different. Nonetheless this added to the guilt that I bore. Why did I have to be different?
Acting in my best interests and lovingly my parents removed me from the public school system and placed me in the only private high school in our city. This particular school was designated as “Christian” and naively my parents believed it to be so. In defense of my parents and in defense of the school the intent was good, however the acceptance process adopted by the establishment was lacking tremendously. Every social misfit within 60 miles attended, a long with a few who had been removed from the public school system for similar reasons as I, and a slight few who attended for a Christian education. Like the saying goes, One bad apple spoils the whole bunch…
Within the first month I had received an education alright. A social one. I had never known any one person my age, 15, who had smoked cigarettes or pot, drank, had sex, cursed like a sailor or acted out of complete defiance against any elder or authority. Now I knew several of them. Some of these kids had actually been sent to boarding and military schools. I personally thought these places were reserved for the wealthy and were only in the movies. No, they really existed. In summation, I was no longer bullied for being different in the ways I had been in the past, but now in new ways. In ways that I could rise against for a period of time and ones that adults finally found to be unacceptable.
Ones that adults finally found to be unacceptable… It is true. As adults we tell ourselves and teach our children by example that it is okay to ostracize another human being for their appearance, social standing, etc. Our actions and unwillingness to act convey that it is alright to be arrogant and harsh in our judgments of one another. We the adults perpetuate the meanness and we wonder why our children will not open up to us as their parents and turn to drugs, alcohol, unhealthy relationships and unfortunately sometimes the “S” word. The word that no one likes to speak, but the one that is becoming more prevalent than ever in our society as the numbers rise, suicide. In 2009 the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported that 13.8% of students grades 9-12 seriously considered suicide within that year. Statistically 12.2% of all deaths in the 15-24 year old age range were the result of suicide. The Journal of Pediatrics acknowledges the significant connection between peer victimization and teen suicide and yet little is done. If suicide were a disease we would search frantically for an immunization to prevent it or a cure to end it. (http://www.cdc.gov/ViolencePrevention/suicide/index.html)
I am not saying that suicide is the fault of the parents or even that it is society’s fault. What I am saying is that every mother and father are accountable for their own actions. We should be raising our children to be productive members of society and not products of our dysfunction. We are a part of the cure.
As a mother of two pre-teen children I am convicted and this is why I write. I am guilty of not engaging with my children as I should. I am guilty of not asking the right questions, but more often than not asking the wrong ones. I am guilty of being a bad example and in my own arrogance believing that I am a good mother because I check the appropriate boxes.
There is a complacency in accepting that we are raising up a society of violent boys and mean girls. It is time for accountability and it begins with individual, personal accountability. If we want change in society we must be the change. Otherwise we are leading our lambs to the slaughter.
It began in the 3rd grade and continued sporadically until I graduated high school. I like a large majority of American children was the target of childhood and teenage bullying. Sadly, I believed that it was a part of growing up and something that one must endure in order to obtain a “thicker skin.” Now viewing myself as a normal child and teenager I often ask myself this question, Why was I bullied? Hmmm… I had a different name, I was taller than most of the other girls, I didn’t dress in the latest fashions, I lived in a modest home where I was raised to have Christian values, I had a unique laugh, I had/have a big nose, I was in the eyes of my peers either too skinny or too fat… These are the critiques that I can remember. There are some that thankfully I have since forgotten. Another question that I ask myself is, if this happened to me what did my peers endure growing up? I know I am not the only one who was a victim and I know that there are stories far worse than my own. However, society tells us that this behavior is a rite of passage. We are not to talk about our hurts. To do so makes us both weak and vulnerable.
By the time I entered the 10th grade I absolutely had no self-esteem or self-worth. I had begun to believe all of the hurtful and mean things that had been said to me. I did not view myself as normal, rather I viewed myself as anything but. I was far from comfortable in my own skin. As a defense mechanism I made my world small and withdrew myself from anything that once gave me any sense of joy or pleasure. In the fall of 1993 I had few friends and absolutely hated school. Instead of talking to my parents about my troubles I will shamefully admit that I started acting out by cutting my own hair in peculiar ways, skipping school and failing virtually every class in the first nine weeks of my sophomore year. It was not that I could not talk to my parents. It was that I would not talk to my parents. I always wondered if they viewed me in this same way but loved me anyhow. I now know that they did not. They loved me, they accepted me just as I was. As a kid though, you think like a kid and it would be odd for anyone to expect that a child would have all the coping tools that one acquires through the adolescent years.
As my parents first child I am sure they felt that I was just experiencing “growing pains.” My younger sister did not have the same difficulties academically or socially and every child is different. Nonetheless this added to the guilt that I bore. Why did I have to be different?
Acting in my best interests and lovingly my parents removed me from the public school system and placed me in the only private high school in our city. This particular school was designated as “Christian” and naively my parents believed it to be so. In defense of my parents and in defense of the school the intent was good, however the acceptance process adopted by the establishment was lacking tremendously. Every social misfit within 60 miles attended, a long with a few who had been removed from the public school system for similar reasons as I, and a slight few who attended for a Christian education. Like the saying goes, One bad apple spoils the whole bunch…
Within the first month I had received an education alright. A social one. I had never known any one person my age, 15, who had smoked cigarettes or pot, drank, had sex, cursed like a sailor or acted out of complete defiance against any elder or authority. Now I knew several of them. Some of these kids had actually been sent to boarding and military schools. I personally thought these places were reserved for the wealthy and were only in the movies. No, they really existed. In summation, I was no longer bullied for being different in the ways I had been in the past, but now in new ways. In ways that I could rise against for a period of time and ones that adults finally found to be unacceptable.
Ones that adults finally found to be unacceptable… It is true. As adults we tell ourselves and teach our children by example that it is okay to ostracize another human being for their appearance, social standing, etc. Our actions and unwillingness to act convey that it is alright to be arrogant and harsh in our judgments of one another. We the adults perpetuate the meanness and we wonder why our children will not open up to us as their parents and turn to drugs, alcohol, unhealthy relationships and unfortunately sometimes the “S” word. The word that no one likes to speak, but the one that is becoming more prevalent than ever in our society as the numbers rise, suicide. In 2009 the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported that 13.8% of students grades 9-12 seriously considered suicide within that year. Statistically 12.2% of all deaths in the 15-24 year old age range were the result of suicide. The Journal of Pediatrics acknowledges the significant connection between peer victimization and teen suicide and yet little is done. If suicide were a disease we would search frantically for an immunization to prevent it or a cure to end it. (http://www.cdc.gov/ViolencePrevention/suicide/index.html)
I am not saying that suicide is the fault of the parents or even that it is society’s fault. What I am saying is that every mother and father are accountable for their own actions. We should be raising our children to be productive members of society and not products of our dysfunction. We are a part of the cure.
As a mother of two pre-teen children I am convicted and this is why I write. I am guilty of not engaging with my children as I should. I am guilty of not asking the right questions, but more often than not asking the wrong ones. I am guilty of being a bad example and in my own arrogance believing that I am a good mother because I check the appropriate boxes.
There is a complacency in accepting that we are raising up a society of violent boys and mean girls. It is time for accountability and it begins with individual, personal accountability. If we want change in society we must be the change. Otherwise we are leading our lambs to the slaughter.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
My kind of reality...
Anyone who knows me knows me, knows that I am a huge fan of reality television. I have until now been in the closet on how much I watch and exactly what it is that I devour. When I write reality tv I don’t mean the trashy kind that you find on MTV or Vh1, I mean the classy kind. (Right… like there is classy reality tv.) I only watch TWO regular series, LOST and Parenthood, and one sitcom, Modern Family, which makes me feel some better about my unhealthy consumption.
Sunday begins the vicious cycle. Amazing Race, Ruby, Celebrity Apprentice and Kirstie Alley’s Big Life… Along comes Monday which brings my dvr, Little People Big World, Dancing with the Stars, and Tori and Dean Home Sweet Hollywood… Tuesday is the only night when I actually watch the tube in real time and at 8 I must be sitting in silence as I take in every nanosecond of LOST. Wednesday, it is Top Chef Masters where I live out my dream vicariously through others of being a master chef… (Someday maybe. Right now it is Oscar Meyer wieners and Kraft macaroni and cheese. Have I mentioned, I am TIRED?) Thursday, the best night, Survivor, Heroes vs. Villains (love it), Sober House, and my favorite reality show of all time, Real Housewives of Whatever City Bravo is filming now… And I must not forget The Marriage Ref. This show in particular makes me feel a little less dysfunctional.
The “thing” about others reality is that I either can relate in some odd way, become invested in a way that may be deemed as psychotic, experience a challenge without actually making a fool out of myself, or I can sit with my mouth open gulping flies and just enjoy. Reality television can also be a great conversation piece, as I experienced recently with my OBGYN. (Seriously… Who knew that someone else was as concerned as I by the turn in Matt and Amy Roloff’s relationship?)
I have faced the harsh reality that NO ONE, absolutely NO ONE, could endure the Amazing Race with me as their partner… Maybe if they changed the name to Amazing Trip to Hell. I don’t watch Ruby to see her weight loss, no matter how significant it may be… I watch only to see if Denny comes out of the closet on the most recent episode and to listen for all the words that she mispronounces. (I promise NOT all southern girls are stupid.) Celebrity Apprentice this season has proven that Bret Michaels is smarter that the governor of one of the largest states in the union (I am not sure about the validity of half-baked Blago’s statement… and that Holly Robinson Pete is just one step away from being a mega-bitch. Oh, and I must not forget, Cyndi Lauper is certifiable.)
Kirstie Alley has single-handedly made being “fat” cool to me and also made being almost 60 look not too bad. Now as for what she calls her “religion” a big fat frown I give her and I am sorry but I can’t help but think she and Jim are a little bit more than chubby buddies. I’m just saying…
Little People Big World has proven that no matter how “little” one may be, we all have adult sized problems, and sometimes that means being married to a jackass who has an extreme compulsion to spend large quantities of money without batting a single eyelash. I would just like to say here that if my 12 year old were to run up a $2,000+ cell phone bill I would not be the only person needing crutches.
Dancing with the Stars is good for a laugh. Typically I don’t watch because I am a huge fan of any participant, but rather to laugh at someone else’s expense and this season that individual would be, Kate Gosselin. Are you kidding me Kate? I understand supporting your children with whatever amount of money ABC has paid you at your own expense, but really… I laugh at you, not with you. While Jon lays on his brothers sofa eating KFC the world watches and waits for your elimination. Which by the way I cannot believe was not week one. Even Buzz had more potential. Artificial hips and all…
MAKS, DWTS professional, you danced the tango with me recently in a G-rated pregnancy dream, and I must say you are not hot, but rather HAWT… (Please continue reading as I digress further.)
Tori and Dean, have you not heard of the reality show curse? Not that the odds were stacked in your favor from the get go… I mean the reality is your relationship is the product of deception. Nonetheless, your kids are really cute and so are the gunkles, and Tori I am always for the under dog.
Top Chef, you educated me as to what exactly squab is… Thank you kindly… I will remember to never order pigeon as long as I eat. Survivor, thanks for casting the devil, Russell… Because of you we will never have to debate if anyone else is satan. I mean it is quite possible that CBS has enlisted the anti-christ for ratings. As of today Colby, eye candy from season 2, is still standing and I can rest a little easier knowing that just maybe in the world of reality television good will triumph over evil.
Real Housewives of New York, oh how I love each and every one of you. Yes, even you Kelly. You make all of us “real housewives” look so much better. I mean seriously what straight man could ever watch this show and not thank the good lord above that he is married to the Old Navy dressed, bad dye job, not well manicured, chubby girl from the sticks. Jill and Bethenney you have made Ramona look sane. Jill seriously, if I did not know any better, I would think that you were one of the uptight women, from the FBC in my home town.
Sober House gives me the weekly chance to see my celebrity crush, Dr. Drew. (Hey, I have contemplated naming the baby in my belly after this man.) The unreal thing about this show is that it is reality and I cry every single time I watch. Although, watching is sort of like sinning.
Marriage Ref. creator Jerry Seinfeld, you have settled no arguments within my home, but you have given some of my craziness validity. Especially the episode with the “stuffed” dog. Now the husband does not think that I am completely insensitive.
Yes, you have read correctly. Yes, I am this invested to where I feel the need to type quick notes to people and let them know how I really feel. Now I think I will go and create a group on FACEBOOK that is dedicated to all of us who have no life and watch ten hours or more of television or more per week.
Sunday begins the vicious cycle. Amazing Race, Ruby, Celebrity Apprentice and Kirstie Alley’s Big Life… Along comes Monday which brings my dvr, Little People Big World, Dancing with the Stars, and Tori and Dean Home Sweet Hollywood… Tuesday is the only night when I actually watch the tube in real time and at 8 I must be sitting in silence as I take in every nanosecond of LOST. Wednesday, it is Top Chef Masters where I live out my dream vicariously through others of being a master chef… (Someday maybe. Right now it is Oscar Meyer wieners and Kraft macaroni and cheese. Have I mentioned, I am TIRED?) Thursday, the best night, Survivor, Heroes vs. Villains (love it), Sober House, and my favorite reality show of all time, Real Housewives of Whatever City Bravo is filming now… And I must not forget The Marriage Ref. This show in particular makes me feel a little less dysfunctional.
The “thing” about others reality is that I either can relate in some odd way, become invested in a way that may be deemed as psychotic, experience a challenge without actually making a fool out of myself, or I can sit with my mouth open gulping flies and just enjoy. Reality television can also be a great conversation piece, as I experienced recently with my OBGYN. (Seriously… Who knew that someone else was as concerned as I by the turn in Matt and Amy Roloff’s relationship?)
I have faced the harsh reality that NO ONE, absolutely NO ONE, could endure the Amazing Race with me as their partner… Maybe if they changed the name to Amazing Trip to Hell. I don’t watch Ruby to see her weight loss, no matter how significant it may be… I watch only to see if Denny comes out of the closet on the most recent episode and to listen for all the words that she mispronounces. (I promise NOT all southern girls are stupid.) Celebrity Apprentice this season has proven that Bret Michaels is smarter that the governor of one of the largest states in the union (I am not sure about the validity of half-baked Blago’s statement… and that Holly Robinson Pete is just one step away from being a mega-bitch. Oh, and I must not forget, Cyndi Lauper is certifiable.)
Kirstie Alley has single-handedly made being “fat” cool to me and also made being almost 60 look not too bad. Now as for what she calls her “religion” a big fat frown I give her and I am sorry but I can’t help but think she and Jim are a little bit more than chubby buddies. I’m just saying…
Little People Big World has proven that no matter how “little” one may be, we all have adult sized problems, and sometimes that means being married to a jackass who has an extreme compulsion to spend large quantities of money without batting a single eyelash. I would just like to say here that if my 12 year old were to run up a $2,000+ cell phone bill I would not be the only person needing crutches.
Dancing with the Stars is good for a laugh. Typically I don’t watch because I am a huge fan of any participant, but rather to laugh at someone else’s expense and this season that individual would be, Kate Gosselin. Are you kidding me Kate? I understand supporting your children with whatever amount of money ABC has paid you at your own expense, but really… I laugh at you, not with you. While Jon lays on his brothers sofa eating KFC the world watches and waits for your elimination. Which by the way I cannot believe was not week one. Even Buzz had more potential. Artificial hips and all…
MAKS, DWTS professional, you danced the tango with me recently in a G-rated pregnancy dream, and I must say you are not hot, but rather HAWT… (Please continue reading as I digress further.)
Tori and Dean, have you not heard of the reality show curse? Not that the odds were stacked in your favor from the get go… I mean the reality is your relationship is the product of deception. Nonetheless, your kids are really cute and so are the gunkles, and Tori I am always for the under dog.
Top Chef, you educated me as to what exactly squab is… Thank you kindly… I will remember to never order pigeon as long as I eat. Survivor, thanks for casting the devil, Russell… Because of you we will never have to debate if anyone else is satan. I mean it is quite possible that CBS has enlisted the anti-christ for ratings. As of today Colby, eye candy from season 2, is still standing and I can rest a little easier knowing that just maybe in the world of reality television good will triumph over evil.
Real Housewives of New York, oh how I love each and every one of you. Yes, even you Kelly. You make all of us “real housewives” look so much better. I mean seriously what straight man could ever watch this show and not thank the good lord above that he is married to the Old Navy dressed, bad dye job, not well manicured, chubby girl from the sticks. Jill and Bethenney you have made Ramona look sane. Jill seriously, if I did not know any better, I would think that you were one of the uptight women, from the FBC in my home town.
Sober House gives me the weekly chance to see my celebrity crush, Dr. Drew. (Hey, I have contemplated naming the baby in my belly after this man.) The unreal thing about this show is that it is reality and I cry every single time I watch. Although, watching is sort of like sinning.
Marriage Ref. creator Jerry Seinfeld, you have settled no arguments within my home, but you have given some of my craziness validity. Especially the episode with the “stuffed” dog. Now the husband does not think that I am completely insensitive.
Yes, you have read correctly. Yes, I am this invested to where I feel the need to type quick notes to people and let them know how I really feel. Now I think I will go and create a group on FACEBOOK that is dedicated to all of us who have no life and watch ten hours or more of television or more per week.
Monday, April 19, 2010
And the boy screamed, Martin Luther King!
What do you do when your three year old child begins to scream in the checkout line at the grocery store? I personally opened a package of M&M’s and began shoving them in his mouth hoping that he would not continue to scream, “Martin Luther King”… and then I began to threaten him when he asked the bagger, a small Asian woman to in his words, “stop looking at me, you are making me nervous.”
One may ask, several already have, to include his own dad, “Why Martin Luther King?” To which I have sheepishly replied, “I don’t know. Too much History Channel?” However, upon further investigation I have learned that when your older brother is beating the crap out of you, “Martin Luther King”, is what you scream to get attention so he will stop.
I know that this may not be funny to some and I must admit it is not politically correct, however it is my life.
One may ask, several already have, to include his own dad, “Why Martin Luther King?” To which I have sheepishly replied, “I don’t know. Too much History Channel?” However, upon further investigation I have learned that when your older brother is beating the crap out of you, “Martin Luther King”, is what you scream to get attention so he will stop.
I know that this may not be funny to some and I must admit it is not politically correct, however it is my life.
Uh Oh...
I always questioned the judgment of the woman teaching the “Preparing For & Welcoming Baby Class” when we were expecting our oldest child in the fall of 1997. She said, “Baby blues, the crying, save it for later. You will know what the blues are when you have a teenager.” I sat catching flies as these words left her mouth and I thought to myself, just another hormonal, angry, middle-age woman.
Now that I find myself quickly approaching middle-aged, continuously hormonal, and quite often angry and on the brink of having my very own teenager I realize that woman knew what she was talking about and unfortunately this phase for me as a mother is just beginning.
Yesterday, our oldest son attended what we thought was his first boy/girl party. Joke was on him. He ended up being the only boy! However, he did not seem to mind the “joke”. Imagine my horror…
Beforehand, he had borrowed my toothpaste with breath strips, made a request that I buy him mouthwash, and was well groomed, two hours before the party. Uh oh… When I asked him why he was now so concerned with his “breath”, he jokingly replied, “You have to be prepared for the ladies.” I laughed, more out of a deep fear than joy…
As I enter into this new phase in motherhood I cringe and fear the unknown. As much as my heart aches and breaks I know that in the end, after this time has passed, I will want to do it all again. (Well, maybe.)
Now that I find myself quickly approaching middle-aged, continuously hormonal, and quite often angry and on the brink of having my very own teenager I realize that woman knew what she was talking about and unfortunately this phase for me as a mother is just beginning.
Yesterday, our oldest son attended what we thought was his first boy/girl party. Joke was on him. He ended up being the only boy! However, he did not seem to mind the “joke”. Imagine my horror…
Beforehand, he had borrowed my toothpaste with breath strips, made a request that I buy him mouthwash, and was well groomed, two hours before the party. Uh oh… When I asked him why he was now so concerned with his “breath”, he jokingly replied, “You have to be prepared for the ladies.” I laughed, more out of a deep fear than joy…
As I enter into this new phase in motherhood I cringe and fear the unknown. As much as my heart aches and breaks I know that in the end, after this time has passed, I will want to do it all again. (Well, maybe.)
Don't Bite Your Friends...
I learned a valuable lesson today while watching, N*ck Jr.‘s Yo Gabba Gabba, with the little boys… The lyrics to the song read, “Don’t bite your friends…” Of course smartass me said aloud, “Really?” Yes, really. It is good to be reminded ever so often of what we should and should not do. I guess that is why some of us go to church and then there are those of us who are backslidden and rely upon preschool programming for reinforcement.
There are times when I have figuratively bit a friend and I will be the first to admit that sometimes it has been on purpose. Whether it be to prove a point or *sigh* out of spite. However, I never felt good for long, maybe momentarily, but never long-lasting.
I am learning still… Which fortunately means I am still growing. It is important to remember if you don’t like to be bit, then don’t bite…
There are times when I have figuratively bit a friend and I will be the first to admit that sometimes it has been on purpose. Whether it be to prove a point or *sigh* out of spite. However, I never felt good for long, maybe momentarily, but never long-lasting.
I am learning still… Which fortunately means I am still growing. It is important to remember if you don’t like to be bit, then don’t bite…
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