'Tis the season of want. 'Tis the season of wish lists. 'Tis the season of wrapping paper and bows and festivities. 'Tis the season of merriness and also loneliness. 'Tis the season of need. 'Tis the season of hunger. 'Tis the season of goodwill towards men. 'Tis the season of charity. 'Tis the season of hope.
This time of year never fails to bring out the absolute best in people. Even when the media forecasts economic doom, each holiday season I am amazed by others' charity.
I was raised by parents who greatly believed in charity. My mother is possibly the most generous person I know. It is from her I inherited a deep sense of charity. My heart swells with pride each time my own children take a box and load it with old toys and books they want to share with other children. They happily help me unload donations at Goodwill, graciously drop their coins into Salvation Army buckets, and carefully select items for food drives.
Three years ago, a fellow teacher and very good friend came came to myself and other teachers and told us that his church was sponsoring Angel Tree Ministries for the holiday season. He informed us that Angel Tree Ministries partner with churches across the nation to help children with parents in prison. For Christmas, his church was collecting donated gifts for such children in the city we teach in. Having volunteered at the Cook County Jail and also having countless students over the years with loved ones in prison, I immediately volunteered to help.
That night, I raided Target. With the help of my daughter, we selected gifts for pre-teens and teenagers, since there was a great need for that age range. The gifts we selected made me giddy. I imagined kids, so similar to many of my students, opening them and feeling the same. I couldn't wait to share my donations.
The next day, I casually mentioned what we'd done to one of my friends. He was moved enough to graciously match my donation! So, that night, I raided Target again and purchased several more gifts for pre-teens and teenagers. My dining room overflowed with colorful purses, fun games, scented lotions, funky hats and gloves, the latest best sellers, footballs, soccer balls, and makeup sets. Many children were going to have a brighter holiday.
The Angel Tree donations were delivered that weekend. Later, my friend shared pictures of the afternoon recipients received their gifts. Pictures of smiling parents selecting gifts for their children warmed my heart. I hoped that for just a moment the burdens those single mothers or grandparents felt because they were the sole providers and caregivers now, were lightened. Over the years, I'd helped many charities, but helping Angel Tree warmed a place in my heart that hadn't been warmed since the last night I'd tutored at the Cook County Jail.
It is now three years later, and this Christmas, my children are receiving a gift from Angel Tree Ministries.
Realizing there is now a huge gap in my story, let me explain the reason for this post.
When my ex-husband went to prison, we became one of two million households in which one parent is in prison. These households, these children, are affected daily by the fact that their parent is in prison. Many stressors come into play. Money, managing parental involvement from prison, visits to prison, uncertainty, and an overall healthy, balanced lifestyle are only some of the things the household must learn to manage and cope with. Dealing with these things during the course of the year is difficult enough, but the holidays bring into play a distinct sadness and reality. The reality is... my children do not have their father home with them to celebrate Christmas. It is as simple as that.
When my ex-husband first told me that he wanted to sign the children up for Angel Tree Ministries, I had mixed emotions. Never had I been on the receiving side of charity. I had never even considered that I might need to be on the receiving side of charity. I didn't want anyone to think I was looking for a hand out. All the negative remarks and comments I'd ever heard in my life about charity rang in my ears for a long time. But, he was persistent and adamant about doing this. He felt that this was his way of giving his children a gift from him, and only him, on Christmas morning. It is his way of reaching out to them and sharing, when the law says he can not.
So, I finally agreed. He provided all the information, as Angle Tree Ministries work directly with prisons. In the fall, a local church contacted me and told me the children would be receiving gifts from generous donations this Christmas.
It is with deepest sincerity I say, I was tremendously glad to hear that woman tell me that. A monetary burden was lifted right off my shoulders as she talked. A little bit of stress went away with it. When we were sent some paperwork, and the children could write out their wish lists "for Daddy", another bit of stress went away. I gazed at them happily writing down their favorite toys "Daddy was gonna get them."
It was then I decided it was perfectly okay to be on the receiving side of charity. If charity was going to maintain a connection between my children and their father and if was going to make them this delighted, wasn't that the best reason for it?
'Tis the season for charity and peace on Earth. If you could so find it in your kind heart to donate to charity this holiday season, you WILL be making someones holiday that much brighter. I know it.
Here are some of my favorite charities.
http://www.helpangeltree.org/index. Angel Tree Ministries
http://big-love.org/ Big Love Little Hearts is my dear friend's non-profit which helps children all over the world born with heart defects get the surgeries they need to survive. Locally, they are collecting donations for Toys for Tots.
http://www.sarahsinn.org/ Sarah's Inn helps women and children who are victims of domestic violence.
Lastly, I always donate to local food drives. In demand this year are personal care items and peanut butter.
Happy Holidays to all!!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
When The Time is Right
Dating when you are thirty-seven with two young children, a full time job, a needy dog, a needy cat, wrinkles that are just settling in, and a pathetic wardrobe is quite possibly one of life's greatest challenges. In fact, it could easily rank in the top five.
What the universe has failed to understand about me is that I embrace challenges these days. Bring on the dating game of the new millennium. I shall kick its ass.
When I decided to date, I was unprepared in so many ways. First and foremost, I didn't realize I'd have to do it in "stages". Second, you can not date without courage, and quite a lot of it. When my marriage fell apart, I had about zero courage in the man department.
So, I did this in stages. I had to be comfortable typing emails to men, had to be comfortable giving someone my phone number, then talking to someone on the phone, and finally had to have real- Cowardly Lion- courage to actually go on a date. This whole "stages" thing took me like a year to complete.
In perusing profiles, there were days I'd feel really good about myself and other days I'd feel pretty crappy. Some men have done more in one day of their lives than I have in my entire life. Seriously. There have been matches that climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro... or some other ridiculously high peak on the planet. Another guy casually mentioned his "favorites" which included some fancy named bistro in Paris, strolling on the Great Wall of China (his words, strolling on the Great Wall of China), and a wine I could not spell even with spell check. I wanted to message him and tell him one of my favorite things is when my children actually get their dirty clothes into the hamper. In all sincerity, for me that is a full and complete night.
I came to realize that my life has just been very different than men like this. Instead of scaling mountains and swimming in Tahiti, I've gone to pancake breakfasts for students in the Boy Scouts and visited the zoo so many times with my children we no longer need a map to get around. I came to realize men like this aren't the best match for me. Eating crappy pancakes and making kids happy is rewarding and my life will still be complete if I never scale a mountain.
Still, it would be nice to share my life with someone, so I kept searching. And searching. And reading profiles of men who actually believe Barbie is a real person. And emailing. And searching. Then, finally, I went on a date. My first date in, oh, about twenty years.
Before the date, I made many mistakes. The biggest one being, I naively assumed everyone's profile was... accurate. Not. So. Much.
Next, I talked to the guy way too much on the phone. If you do this, you tend to develop "phone chemistry". Phone chemistry means conversation flows in a relatively easy, flirtatious manner. You make a perfect phone pair. Phone chemistry gives a completely false sense of real chemistry.
Finally, I was so incredibly, ridiculously nervous. I don't recall eating, my stomach fluttered with nerves the entire day. I obsessed over my outfit and looked to my girlfriends for reassurance. Turns out, I had not one thing to be nervous about.
From the moment the guy walked into the bar, I knew he was not my perfect match.
Here are some of the date's "lowlights"... He needed a hearing aid and bifocals. He hated the bar. He was not 5'9, or 5'8... or even 5'7. He complained about getting there and traffic and the noise level, numerous times. He complained about the price of the microbrews, ordered one, took two sips, and sent it back. He told me Hillary Clinton is an idiot. He belched, a lot. When we parted ways, he said, "Come 'ere & gimme a kiss." I lied and said I never kiss on the first date. He did not believe me.
After that disaster, I mustered the courage to go out on several more dates. However, I changed my whole approach. No more naivete. No more phone conversations. No more nervousness. And things went so much better. The dates were pleasant and fun, but without "the spark".
Then, I went on a date where as soon as the guy walked into the bar, I knew he had the potential to be my perfect match.
That first date had many highlights. He liked the bar, his eyes twinkled, he loved the microbrews, he listened when I talked and admired my viewpoints. When we parted ways, I kissed him.
We went out again. We talked and laughed and listened. We texted and talked. My intuition told me there was something special about him. He talked of wanting to spend more time with me.
And then one day, he was just gone. No more communication, no explanation, profile gone, simply not there. As if he'd never existed.
I'd be lying if I said it wasn't crushing. I'd be lying if I said I didn't lose my courage. I'd be lying if I said I didn't give up on the profiles and matches and the hope that there is a perfect match out there.
So, I stepped away from the complex world of online dating for a bit and regrouped.
There were many more matters for me to learn about dating, and me, and men. What I learned is my timing with men has never been right. It goes all the way back to my crush in eighth grade, who took until our senior year in high school to "like" me. He told me this as he prepared to leave for the Marines. Or during college, when the guy I'd crushed on for awhile handed me a pack of matches as I walked out the door of his restaurant one night, and six months later when I finally opened it... there was his number and a note that he wanted to take me out. My timing was off all the years I knew my husband. It was obviously off with this match. It just seems that the right man & I are never placed in time when we both are ready for each other.
I learned about the type of man I truly need, not just want. Being a strong woman, I need a man who will challenge me and keep me on my toes. I need someone who will teach me new things... who has different views... someone who is hysterically funny and genuine and who accepts all my baggage and throws it right on top of his and then continues on this journey, as he reaches for my hand. I want someone to hold my hand, literally and figuratively.
The computer keeps telling me there are two thousand plus matches for me. Certainly, one of them must be the perfect one... when the time is right.
I came to realize that my life has just been very different than men like this. Instead of scaling mountains and swimming in Tahiti, I've gone to pancake breakfasts for students in the Boy Scouts and visited the zoo so many times with my children we no longer need a map to get around. I came to realize men like this aren't the best match for me. Eating crappy pancakes and making kids happy is rewarding and my life will still be complete if I never scale a mountain.
Still, it would be nice to share my life with someone, so I kept searching. And searching. And reading profiles of men who actually believe Barbie is a real person. And emailing. And searching. Then, finally, I went on a date. My first date in, oh, about twenty years.
Before the date, I made many mistakes. The biggest one being, I naively assumed everyone's profile was... accurate. Not. So. Much.
Next, I talked to the guy way too much on the phone. If you do this, you tend to develop "phone chemistry". Phone chemistry means conversation flows in a relatively easy, flirtatious manner. You make a perfect phone pair. Phone chemistry gives a completely false sense of real chemistry.
Finally, I was so incredibly, ridiculously nervous. I don't recall eating, my stomach fluttered with nerves the entire day. I obsessed over my outfit and looked to my girlfriends for reassurance. Turns out, I had not one thing to be nervous about.
From the moment the guy walked into the bar, I knew he was not my perfect match.
Here are some of the date's "lowlights"... He needed a hearing aid and bifocals. He hated the bar. He was not 5'9, or 5'8... or even 5'7. He complained about getting there and traffic and the noise level, numerous times. He complained about the price of the microbrews, ordered one, took two sips, and sent it back. He told me Hillary Clinton is an idiot. He belched, a lot. When we parted ways, he said, "Come 'ere & gimme a kiss." I lied and said I never kiss on the first date. He did not believe me.
After that disaster, I mustered the courage to go out on several more dates. However, I changed my whole approach. No more naivete. No more phone conversations. No more nervousness. And things went so much better. The dates were pleasant and fun, but without "the spark".
Then, I went on a date where as soon as the guy walked into the bar, I knew he had the potential to be my perfect match.
That first date had many highlights. He liked the bar, his eyes twinkled, he loved the microbrews, he listened when I talked and admired my viewpoints. When we parted ways, I kissed him.
We went out again. We talked and laughed and listened. We texted and talked. My intuition told me there was something special about him. He talked of wanting to spend more time with me.
And then one day, he was just gone. No more communication, no explanation, profile gone, simply not there. As if he'd never existed.
I'd be lying if I said it wasn't crushing. I'd be lying if I said I didn't lose my courage. I'd be lying if I said I didn't give up on the profiles and matches and the hope that there is a perfect match out there.
So, I stepped away from the complex world of online dating for a bit and regrouped.
There were many more matters for me to learn about dating, and me, and men. What I learned is my timing with men has never been right. It goes all the way back to my crush in eighth grade, who took until our senior year in high school to "like" me. He told me this as he prepared to leave for the Marines. Or during college, when the guy I'd crushed on for awhile handed me a pack of matches as I walked out the door of his restaurant one night, and six months later when I finally opened it... there was his number and a note that he wanted to take me out. My timing was off all the years I knew my husband. It was obviously off with this match. It just seems that the right man & I are never placed in time when we both are ready for each other.
I learned about the type of man I truly need, not just want. Being a strong woman, I need a man who will challenge me and keep me on my toes. I need someone who will teach me new things... who has different views... someone who is hysterically funny and genuine and who accepts all my baggage and throws it right on top of his and then continues on this journey, as he reaches for my hand. I want someone to hold my hand, literally and figuratively.
The computer keeps telling me there are two thousand plus matches for me. Certainly, one of them must be the perfect one... when the time is right.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Gaining Wisdom
Knowledge is learning something every day. Wisdom is letting go of something every day.
~ Zen Proverb
~ Zen Proverb
I used to think I knew everything. Ev-er-y-thing. Just ask my mom, she'll confirm this.
Besides being a girl who thought she knew everything, I was also a girl who could not let go of anything. You can ask my mom to confirm this, too. Once during a move, my mom became exasperated at the amount of stuff I had. She opened my hope chest and about lost it. It was crammed and heavy and she said no one was moving all that stuff. She picked up a box of notes I'd been saving since junior high. Literally every single note anyone had ever written me was in there. She walked to the trash can and pitched the box in. When the box landed, it was as if the wind had been knocked out of me. I had anxiety about it for a little while. I know, it was a box of notes. But, it wasn't just a box of notes to me. It was friendship and memories and laughter and silly, inside jokes... and a note typed on toilet paper. (Really.) What I didn't realize was that if I let those notes go, the later wasn't going to go with them.
As you might recall, that May day started out like any other. The late May weather was perfection, with pristine blue sky and temperatures warm enough for shorts. The school year was on the way out, and my classes worked out the last details of their research papers.
I remember being in this place with my husband where we could laugh with each other again. We could say things back and forth that only we could understand, and I remember feeling so content because of that.
We'd exchanged emails at the beginning of the day, planning a night out with friends. I looked back and forth between my students and the emails, and all felt right.
Then an email came that read, "Something's come up. When are you free? I need to talk to you."
Staring at the screen, I knew, knew with every ounce of my being, something was terribly wrong.
Hastily, I typed back, "My lunch is hours away. What is the matter? I'm scared."
Panic set in. When I panic, I must move. At first, I paced around my classroom. The students looked at me out of the corners of their eyes and sensed how uncomfortable I'd become. No one talked.
I flexed my fists over and over. Not being able to stand it any longer, I went into the library office and told one of my dearest friends I needed to use the phone. Someone went to watch my class, and with trembling hands, I dialed my husband's cell phone.
The instant the phone connected, I knew he was in his car, driving, no longer at work. Everything baffled me.
He told me several things, none of which I could comprehend. I told him I'd be right home, and he calmly told me to stay at school. I screamed into the phone, "I can not stay here!" My heart hurt by this time from banging so fiercely inside my chest, my underarms were sweating and a sharp pain had developed between my temples.
With briskness, I left school. The only thing I remember is the look on the secretary's face as I heedlessly walked into and directly out of the office, telling her over my shoulder something was wrong with my husband and I had to leave. Now.
To detail the rest of the afternoon for you, there would be little coherence. I remember snippets. Pieces. The pristine blue, cloudless sky. A sense of urgency and trouble. Phone calls to my mother so she could pick the children up and care for them. My husband pacing like a rapid dog in the courtyard of our home. Driving alone, then with my husband. A tremendous feeling of panic and doubt and disbelief. Simply not knowing... anything. I remember sobbing and wailing and beating my fists upon my husband's chest.
By 5:00, the time when most families are sitting down to dinner and recapping their day, and smiling, and sighing that another day has been so well for them, the police were at my door, searching for my husband.
The officer came in, and this is all I know of the arrest.
He shouted for me to get the dog under control, or he would. I shrieked, "Leave Lulu alone." I sobbed, "Please, do not hurt my dog." This is what I did as he led my husband away, down the stairs, out the door. And, I let him go. I never once called out, I never once said "Stop." I just sunk to the floor and buried myself in my dog's fur. I let him go.
That was the moment in my life when I became wise. It was the right thing to do, to let him go. It was the only thing to do if I was going to save myself and my children. It was my moment of enlightenment. For so long, I thought I knew my husband, I thought I knew my life. But, I truly did not. In that moment of enlightenment, I realized I had no knowledge, but I had gained wisdom, and therefore, I would be just fine. I could sense it.
It has been over two years since I let my husband go. He may be gone, but my memories with him, our happiest times, our proudest moments, they are still there, just as I'd learned with the box of notes.
This post is dedicated to Jodi, the girl who typed the note on toilet paper so many years ago. It still is one of life's greatest accomplishments.
Monday, October 10, 2011
One Word, So Many Meanings
The other night at the end of a date (Disclaimer: This is not a post about my adventures in dating. Sorry to disappoint. Those will come later.), my date asked me if I liked being single. A bit taken aback by his question (and very slightly tipsy), I briefly paused and replied with confidence, "Yes, I like it." He scrunched up his face and told me he hated it. I never got the chance to explain my answer because the night ended shortly thereafter.
So, here is my explanation.
It is not a wonder the English language is so difficult to learn when one considers the many, many words it contains with multiple meanings. Pet, picture, racket, judge, produce, coast, settle... the list could go on.
Then, throw in the whole concept of connotation, and English learners can be at a complete loss. Correction, even life-long English speakers can be at a loss.
The word from that multiple meaning list and multiple connotations list that shapes my life is settle... settled, settling... any form of it.
What I should have said to my date was, "I don't mind being single because I feel settled. My life has finally settled down to the point where I can actually enjoy it. And finally, I am not settling for just any guy... therefore being single isn't half bad." He probably still would have walked out the door, but that's okay, he needn't settle either.
When I was much younger, I wanted nothing more than to settle down and raise a family. My Barbies always got married and had babies.They cooked and cleaned and ended each play session sitting on rocking chairs on a make-shift front porch. To me, this settle... good connotation. It was comforting. To someone terrified of commitment and responsibility...bad connotation.
On my wedding day, I did not feel as if I'd settled for just some guy. I married the man it took a very long time to get to the alter. He was one unsure of settling down. At times, I was patient with his uncertainty, and others, I became quite belligerent about how absurd I truly thought it was. When we'd finally made it to our wedding day, I wonder if he felt unsettled. He gave no indication of that, but when I look back at wedding pictures, there is one candid shot of him with a very unsettled expression on his face. Today, that photo is a foreshadowing of many unsettling things to come in our lives. I wish I could have seen it much sooner, but I was too busy settling into our new life as a married couple.
For many years, life was pleasant and... settled. And then one day, it just wasn't. It started that day in the Menards parking lot and became completely unsettled the day I learned about his affair. After that day, I vowed to settle for nothing but the best... from him, from me, from us. But, that wasn't what happened.
What comes next may be unsettling for you, the reader. It was catastrophic for us.
On that fateful May day, my husband was arrested. And instantly, nothing was settled anymore, everything was beyond unsettled, and my heart felt as if it would never settle its violent hammering rampage again.
It has been two and a half years since that day, and finally, my heart has slowed. For those two long years, I lived in an unsettled manner. I never knew what each moment would bring. I learned what "you never truly know what a person" means. I learned what "hold your head high" means. I learned what "you never truly know how strong you until being strong is all you can be" means. I learned about the criminal process and the justice system and the prison system in ways I never wanted to, but had to. I learned how faithful my family and best friends are. I discovered how very important it is to be settled in mind, body and spirit. And, I learned that I could become settled again.
How I got from there to here is for another post. This post is for all those out there working on being settled. It is possible.
So, here is my explanation.
It is not a wonder the English language is so difficult to learn when one considers the many, many words it contains with multiple meanings. Pet, picture, racket, judge, produce, coast, settle... the list could go on.
Then, throw in the whole concept of connotation, and English learners can be at a complete loss. Correction, even life-long English speakers can be at a loss.
The word from that multiple meaning list and multiple connotations list that shapes my life is settle... settled, settling... any form of it.
What I should have said to my date was, "I don't mind being single because I feel settled. My life has finally settled down to the point where I can actually enjoy it. And finally, I am not settling for just any guy... therefore being single isn't half bad." He probably still would have walked out the door, but that's okay, he needn't settle either.
When I was much younger, I wanted nothing more than to settle down and raise a family. My Barbies always got married and had babies.They cooked and cleaned and ended each play session sitting on rocking chairs on a make-shift front porch. To me, this settle... good connotation. It was comforting. To someone terrified of commitment and responsibility...bad connotation.
On my wedding day, I did not feel as if I'd settled for just some guy. I married the man it took a very long time to get to the alter. He was one unsure of settling down. At times, I was patient with his uncertainty, and others, I became quite belligerent about how absurd I truly thought it was. When we'd finally made it to our wedding day, I wonder if he felt unsettled. He gave no indication of that, but when I look back at wedding pictures, there is one candid shot of him with a very unsettled expression on his face. Today, that photo is a foreshadowing of many unsettling things to come in our lives. I wish I could have seen it much sooner, but I was too busy settling into our new life as a married couple.
For many years, life was pleasant and... settled. And then one day, it just wasn't. It started that day in the Menards parking lot and became completely unsettled the day I learned about his affair. After that day, I vowed to settle for nothing but the best... from him, from me, from us. But, that wasn't what happened.
What comes next may be unsettling for you, the reader. It was catastrophic for us.
On that fateful May day, my husband was arrested. And instantly, nothing was settled anymore, everything was beyond unsettled, and my heart felt as if it would never settle its violent hammering rampage again.
It has been two and a half years since that day, and finally, my heart has slowed. For those two long years, I lived in an unsettled manner. I never knew what each moment would bring. I learned what "you never truly know what a person" means. I learned what "hold your head high" means. I learned what "you never truly know how strong you until being strong is all you can be" means. I learned about the criminal process and the justice system and the prison system in ways I never wanted to, but had to. I learned how faithful my family and best friends are. I discovered how very important it is to be settled in mind, body and spirit. And, I learned that I could become settled again.
How I got from there to here is for another post. This post is for all those out there working on being settled. It is possible.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
A Little Zen
The other day we ventured out to our old neighborhood. We visited with our favorite neighbor, who spoiled us with ice cream and cookies, and then made our way over to the local Trader Joe's.
While maneuvering down the frozen food aisle, a woman's voice called out, "Sherri!" I glanced around and stared straight at a very familiar blonde. My mind raced to recall who she was. She exclaimed, "Oh! You probably don't remember me..." But, I did. I walked over and opened my arms to hug her. I remembered the last time I'd hugged her. She gives the warmest, tightest hugs. It was at her baby daughter's funeral.
We stood in the aisle for a long while, recapping the past several years. Now, I could recall every detail of this woman's life, but I STILL can not recall her name. (That is truly another post... the inability to remember details.) Anyway, as we stood there, I remembered how much I'd admired her strength during her life tragedy. I remembered praying for her and her family, and watching her be such a good mama to her older daughter. She moved through life with dignity, and she still does.
We said our goodbyes, and I hurried through Trader Joe's to select the few items we needed. By the end of the excursion, I was anxious about getting to our next spot on time. My children were, well, being children, and happily looking at the Pet Wall and putting away their tiny shopping carts.
We made our way to the parking lot and the silliness from the children increased. It was hot. We were running late (per usual). I was annoyed. The children scrambled into their seats, and I tried to regroup, really, I did. They continued to laugh while they fumbled with their straps to click in. I snapped, "Hurry up and put your belts on." They whined about something, something silly and insignificant... at least to me.
Finally, my annoyance bubbled over, and I hollered, "Who friggin' cares, just click in already!"
I could feel the eyes on me, even before I finished the last syllable. Slowly, I turned to my left, and there she was, that old acquaintance, who'd I'd admired so much, but couldn't recall her name. She was loading her things into the back of her SUV, mid-load, standing like a stone, staring at me.
Like a dog with its tail between its legs, I jammed the car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking lot, completely exasperated with my true colors.
Since becoming an only parent... yes, only parent, as my ex is not available... I have realized many things about children and parenting. Children can suck the life right out of you. And, please, understand, I mean this in the best possible way. I adore my children, can not imagine life without them, but some days, my, oh my, they are draining. They make me tired and frustrated. So, I yell. My neighbors are probably blogging about it.
But, something that afternoon, in the Trader Joe's parking lot, shook me up. It shamed me. It weighed heavily on my mind, and I knew I needed to do something to alleviate some of the pressure, and frustration.
The next day, I received my Parents magazine in the mail. Casually flipping through the slick pages, I discovered an article entitled "Lessons From a Zen Mommy". Who couldn't use a little Zen? Some of us could use a lot.
The article was so inspiring to me, and really helped set me straight. After reading, I went straight to my computer and typed out the lessons. They are now taped to my refrigerator door. Let me share them now...
Do what you’re doing while you’re doing it.
Leave no trace.
Take just the right amount.
Practice patience.
Develop rituals.
Count your blessings.
Remember to breathe.
(Saltman 74-79)
Sometimes, we aren't ready for the lessons that life is going to give us. Sometimes, we are. I was perfectly ready for these. The way they've refocused me and taught me in just the short time they've been a part of me is remarkable.
The parking lot was mortifying at best, but you know, those worst parent moments can set you on a path for the best parent moments.
This post is dedicated to the woman whose name I still can't recall. You are a mommy hero.
Saltman, Bethany. "Lessons From a Zen Mommy." Parents. August 2011: 74-79. Print.
While maneuvering down the frozen food aisle, a woman's voice called out, "Sherri!" I glanced around and stared straight at a very familiar blonde. My mind raced to recall who she was. She exclaimed, "Oh! You probably don't remember me..." But, I did. I walked over and opened my arms to hug her. I remembered the last time I'd hugged her. She gives the warmest, tightest hugs. It was at her baby daughter's funeral.
We stood in the aisle for a long while, recapping the past several years. Now, I could recall every detail of this woman's life, but I STILL can not recall her name. (That is truly another post... the inability to remember details.) Anyway, as we stood there, I remembered how much I'd admired her strength during her life tragedy. I remembered praying for her and her family, and watching her be such a good mama to her older daughter. She moved through life with dignity, and she still does.
We said our goodbyes, and I hurried through Trader Joe's to select the few items we needed. By the end of the excursion, I was anxious about getting to our next spot on time. My children were, well, being children, and happily looking at the Pet Wall and putting away their tiny shopping carts.
We made our way to the parking lot and the silliness from the children increased. It was hot. We were running late (per usual). I was annoyed. The children scrambled into their seats, and I tried to regroup, really, I did. They continued to laugh while they fumbled with their straps to click in. I snapped, "Hurry up and put your belts on." They whined about something, something silly and insignificant... at least to me.
Finally, my annoyance bubbled over, and I hollered, "Who friggin' cares, just click in already!"
I could feel the eyes on me, even before I finished the last syllable. Slowly, I turned to my left, and there she was, that old acquaintance, who'd I'd admired so much, but couldn't recall her name. She was loading her things into the back of her SUV, mid-load, standing like a stone, staring at me.
Like a dog with its tail between its legs, I jammed the car into reverse, and pulled out of the parking lot, completely exasperated with my true colors.
Since becoming an only parent... yes, only parent, as my ex is not available... I have realized many things about children and parenting. Children can suck the life right out of you. And, please, understand, I mean this in the best possible way. I adore my children, can not imagine life without them, but some days, my, oh my, they are draining. They make me tired and frustrated. So, I yell. My neighbors are probably blogging about it.
But, something that afternoon, in the Trader Joe's parking lot, shook me up. It shamed me. It weighed heavily on my mind, and I knew I needed to do something to alleviate some of the pressure, and frustration.
The next day, I received my Parents magazine in the mail. Casually flipping through the slick pages, I discovered an article entitled "Lessons From a Zen Mommy". Who couldn't use a little Zen? Some of us could use a lot.
The article was so inspiring to me, and really helped set me straight. After reading, I went straight to my computer and typed out the lessons. They are now taped to my refrigerator door. Let me share them now...
Do what you’re doing while you’re doing it.
Leave no trace.
Take just the right amount.
Practice patience.
Develop rituals.
Count your blessings.
Remember to breathe.
(Saltman 74-79)
Sometimes, we aren't ready for the lessons that life is going to give us. Sometimes, we are. I was perfectly ready for these. The way they've refocused me and taught me in just the short time they've been a part of me is remarkable.
The parking lot was mortifying at best, but you know, those worst parent moments can set you on a path for the best parent moments.
This post is dedicated to the woman whose name I still can't recall. You are a mommy hero.
Saltman, Bethany. "Lessons From a Zen Mommy." Parents. August 2011: 74-79. Print.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
My Ariel Moment
I hate Disney. World. Land. The conglomerate. The princesses. The mouse sans shirt. The duck with the speech impediment. The happiest place on Earth slogan.The fairy tales turned into blockbusters.
My most hated Disney blockbuster is The Little Mermaid. The gist of this story is girl meets boy. Girl doesn't fit into boy's world. Girl changes for boy. Boy reaps all the benefits. The moral is what exactly? Girls, go right ahead and change yourselves for a boy? What a fabulous moral to share with the youth of America. Yes, little princesses (an absolutely irritating thing to call all little girls under the age of five), by all means, when you meet that boy who is oh-so-dreamy, leave your world behind, sprout your legs and run into his. Feminists must wince each time they see a little girl decked out as Ariel for Halloween.
And yet, ten years ago, I found myself doing almost exactly what Ariel did. (Go ahead and shout hypocrite from the mountain top, it is only fair.)
Ten years ago, I was living with my sister in a fabulous Oak Park apartment. I loved Oak Park. If I could have acted as a spokesperson for the village, I would have. It had everything a twenty-something liberal could want...diversity, art, quaint shopping, hippies, and Erik's Deli. (Well, maybe the deli doesn't count, but good food is good food.) As a bonus, it was minutes away from the city, so I could easily enjoy all Chicago had to offer. Oak Park was home.
By the time I moved to Oak Park, I'd been dating my boyfriend (see the post The Degree I Didn't Earn in College) for five years. Couples were moving in together. Some were getting engaged, and a few were actually married. And, then there was us.
There was absolutely no promise of anything committal on the horizon. So, for a while, the word moving became part of my every day vocabulary. Moving... to... well, the place that was top on my list was Arizona.
The heat intrigued me the most. Oak Park pools were only open for a few short months, and in Illinois, tans fade too quickly. One night at a bar, over loud raucous music, I shouted to one of my best guy friends. I wondered if he'd visit me if such a move should happen. He tossed his head back and laughed. Peeved, I stomped my foot. He said, "Sure. You move, I'll visit, but you ain't moving." With arms crossed, I stomped away.
In the dark bar, only to myself, I admitted what he'd declared. He was right, deep down, I knew he was right. I wasn't leaving. There would be no U-Haul taking me across the country. There would be no move across the Great Plains, into the Wild West.
In fact, I moved. Just not across the country. I moved to my boyfriend's town, not far from Oak Park, but far enough from what was me, and right into what was him. I was Ariel.
Girl was leaving her world for boy's world, because he wasn't going to do it for her. Somehow, it was all justified in my head, though now, I couldn't explain it to you if I tried really, really hard.
Now, in that move, I did find many things and wonderful friends and a job I love.But, I also lost part of me, the part of me that felt settled.There weren't roots, and I am a person who longs for roots.
Nearly ten years later, I wonder if I'd summoned up all the courage inside me at that moment and walked out of the bar and packed my stuff, if things would have ended up differently for me. But, when you spent too much time thinking, "What if?" you forget what is.
What is is that I am a mother and a strong woman. Even with the lemons of life, and my Ariel decisions of the past, we still have what lies before us.
On that May day when my world fell away, I knew deep in my heart, it was my chance to come back to Oak Park. The absolute best thing of it all was that my children would be able to stake their roots there, and they would know it and love it as I once had.
Just recently, we moved back to Oak Park into an old house, converted into two apartments. We live in the "blue house", or "Mama's new house" now. My sister, my Claw, lives a few short steps away. There are tall, old trees lining every street and urban gardens and the sound of the "El" squealing day and night. There are people bustling, and new friends to meet, and Erik's Deli for lunch. There is life here, it is our life, not anyone's but ours. Life is good and getting settled. And no one around here is acting like Ariel anymore.
My most hated Disney blockbuster is The Little Mermaid. The gist of this story is girl meets boy. Girl doesn't fit into boy's world. Girl changes for boy. Boy reaps all the benefits. The moral is what exactly? Girls, go right ahead and change yourselves for a boy? What a fabulous moral to share with the youth of America. Yes, little princesses (an absolutely irritating thing to call all little girls under the age of five), by all means, when you meet that boy who is oh-so-dreamy, leave your world behind, sprout your legs and run into his. Feminists must wince each time they see a little girl decked out as Ariel for Halloween.
And yet, ten years ago, I found myself doing almost exactly what Ariel did. (Go ahead and shout hypocrite from the mountain top, it is only fair.)
Ten years ago, I was living with my sister in a fabulous Oak Park apartment. I loved Oak Park. If I could have acted as a spokesperson for the village, I would have. It had everything a twenty-something liberal could want...diversity, art, quaint shopping, hippies, and Erik's Deli. (Well, maybe the deli doesn't count, but good food is good food.) As a bonus, it was minutes away from the city, so I could easily enjoy all Chicago had to offer. Oak Park was home.
By the time I moved to Oak Park, I'd been dating my boyfriend (see the post The Degree I Didn't Earn in College) for five years. Couples were moving in together. Some were getting engaged, and a few were actually married. And, then there was us.
There was absolutely no promise of anything committal on the horizon. So, for a while, the word moving became part of my every day vocabulary. Moving... to... well, the place that was top on my list was Arizona.
The heat intrigued me the most. Oak Park pools were only open for a few short months, and in Illinois, tans fade too quickly. One night at a bar, over loud raucous music, I shouted to one of my best guy friends. I wondered if he'd visit me if such a move should happen. He tossed his head back and laughed. Peeved, I stomped my foot. He said, "Sure. You move, I'll visit, but you ain't moving." With arms crossed, I stomped away.
In the dark bar, only to myself, I admitted what he'd declared. He was right, deep down, I knew he was right. I wasn't leaving. There would be no U-Haul taking me across the country. There would be no move across the Great Plains, into the Wild West.
In fact, I moved. Just not across the country. I moved to my boyfriend's town, not far from Oak Park, but far enough from what was me, and right into what was him. I was Ariel.
Girl was leaving her world for boy's world, because he wasn't going to do it for her. Somehow, it was all justified in my head, though now, I couldn't explain it to you if I tried really, really hard.
Now, in that move, I did find many things and wonderful friends and a job I love.But, I also lost part of me, the part of me that felt settled.There weren't roots, and I am a person who longs for roots.
Nearly ten years later, I wonder if I'd summoned up all the courage inside me at that moment and walked out of the bar and packed my stuff, if things would have ended up differently for me. But, when you spent too much time thinking, "What if?" you forget what is.
What is is that I am a mother and a strong woman. Even with the lemons of life, and my Ariel decisions of the past, we still have what lies before us.
On that May day when my world fell away, I knew deep in my heart, it was my chance to come back to Oak Park. The absolute best thing of it all was that my children would be able to stake their roots there, and they would know it and love it as I once had.
Just recently, we moved back to Oak Park into an old house, converted into two apartments. We live in the "blue house", or "Mama's new house" now. My sister, my Claw, lives a few short steps away. There are tall, old trees lining every street and urban gardens and the sound of the "El" squealing day and night. There are people bustling, and new friends to meet, and Erik's Deli for lunch. There is life here, it is our life, not anyone's but ours. Life is good and getting settled. And no one around here is acting like Ariel anymore.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
The Art of Lying
I am sitting her staring at an old cover of People magazine. It reads, "Arnold Admits to Love Child; Maria's Heartbroken".
On the news this week, we have been bombarded with reports of Senator Weiner confessing he lied about... well, who really knows what because I'd bet my entire pathetic savings account that there is a lot more he's lied about.
Since that late October night, stories of lying and betrayal seem to haunt me. Each time a new one surfaces, the anger, humiliation, and heartbreak I felt that night, resurface.
I have thought about lying endlessly since that day. To me, it is an art.
Art is defined as the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
Lie is defined as to express what is false.
Now, there is nothing beautiful in a lie. But, to express such deception to another human being seems to appeal to so many people. It is their work of art. Similar to a drawing or painting or sculpture,the lie is labored over, shaped, changed ever-so-slightly, and morphed into great falsity. Some of them are so splendid, they could hang on a wall somewhere. Both liar and receiver marvel at the false tale, though for different reasons.
The liar becomes so good at it, he lies again and again, perfecting his art. And with that comes the greed of a lie, and then you are left with... nothing.
Within the word lie are ramifications and flaws and terror and humiliation and power. I would soon understand them all.
The following October morning, while our children watched way too many silly cartoons, I looked deep into my husband's eyes and searched for truth. Who? What? When? Why? How? Like a good investigator, all the right questions were asked. All the answers given back to me were lies.
I know that now, several years later. At the time, those deep brown eyes, that steady voice, the controlled posture of a man I'd loved for nearly fifteen years, made art. I could not do anything but believe.
It was humiliating to think this was where my marriage had ended up. We agreed not to tell our families, thinking that if we recovered from this, our families may not. We agreed not to tell anymore friends. In fact, he never told any of his. Eventually, I told a few more girlfriends. You can't lie to girlfriends.
It was terrifying to think that all I'd known for the past fifteen years teetered on the edge of destruction. I looked at my children and wondered what they would do without a mom and dad in the same house. I asked my husband if he wanted them to live in a house where their daddy didn't love their mommy. He cried and said he didn't want that for them. But, I never asked if that was how he really felt, because I wasn't ready to hear the answer. For that moment, a lie was fine.
Over the next six months, a power arose in me. At first, I thought it was a power to rebuild my marriage. But, it wasn't. It was a power to rebuild me.
This post is dedicated to Sam. May she never hear a lie again, and may her power continue to rise in her.
On the news this week, we have been bombarded with reports of Senator Weiner confessing he lied about... well, who really knows what because I'd bet my entire pathetic savings account that there is a lot more he's lied about.
Since that late October night, stories of lying and betrayal seem to haunt me. Each time a new one surfaces, the anger, humiliation, and heartbreak I felt that night, resurface.
I have thought about lying endlessly since that day. To me, it is an art.
Art is defined as the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.
Lie is defined as to express what is false.
Now, there is nothing beautiful in a lie. But, to express such deception to another human being seems to appeal to so many people. It is their work of art. Similar to a drawing or painting or sculpture,the lie is labored over, shaped, changed ever-so-slightly, and morphed into great falsity. Some of them are so splendid, they could hang on a wall somewhere. Both liar and receiver marvel at the false tale, though for different reasons.
The liar becomes so good at it, he lies again and again, perfecting his art. And with that comes the greed of a lie, and then you are left with... nothing.
Within the word lie are ramifications and flaws and terror and humiliation and power. I would soon understand them all.
The following October morning, while our children watched way too many silly cartoons, I looked deep into my husband's eyes and searched for truth. Who? What? When? Why? How? Like a good investigator, all the right questions were asked. All the answers given back to me were lies.
I know that now, several years later. At the time, those deep brown eyes, that steady voice, the controlled posture of a man I'd loved for nearly fifteen years, made art. I could not do anything but believe.
It was humiliating to think this was where my marriage had ended up. We agreed not to tell our families, thinking that if we recovered from this, our families may not. We agreed not to tell anymore friends. In fact, he never told any of his. Eventually, I told a few more girlfriends. You can't lie to girlfriends.
It was terrifying to think that all I'd known for the past fifteen years teetered on the edge of destruction. I looked at my children and wondered what they would do without a mom and dad in the same house. I asked my husband if he wanted them to live in a house where their daddy didn't love their mommy. He cried and said he didn't want that for them. But, I never asked if that was how he really felt, because I wasn't ready to hear the answer. For that moment, a lie was fine.
Over the next six months, a power arose in me. At first, I thought it was a power to rebuild my marriage. But, it wasn't. It was a power to rebuild me.
This post is dedicated to Sam. May she never hear a lie again, and may her power continue to rise in her.
Friday, March 25, 2011
One Night in October
This has taken so long to write for many reasons. Most of those reasons involve my busy hectic life. The strongest reason... fear.
To recap, I was not listening to my woman's intuition.
By this night in October, I had not listened to it so much that it caused an aching throughout me. My heart ached, my head ached, my body ached. Finally, the aching won, and I had to listen.
In the late hours of the night, I awoke with a jolt. That voice screamed, "Get out of the bed. Go look. There is something there." Slightly dazed, I sat there for a moment. As I eased myself down to return to my slumber, my body froze and the voice screeched once again. "Get out of the bed right now. You can not wait any longer." My heart began to hammer within my chest.
Realizing I had no other choice, I slid out from under the warm covers and gingerly walked through the blackness.
Within ten minutes, life as I'd known it was over.
My husband was having an affair.
The only sound in the room was my heart, now pounding and banging against the wall of my chest so ferociously, I thought it might explode. That is the sound of a heart breaking.
There were still four hours until daylight and I knew I could never wait that long to... well, do anything. The only way to wake my husband was to act like there was an emergency with the children, so that was what I did. Shaking him awake, I told him there was an emergency and I needed help.
Finally roused, he made his way into the living room, and blinked hundreds of times. Confused, he asked where the emergency was. I thrust the evidence in his face, and shouted, "Right here!"
He crumbled into the couch, completely stunned.
Truly, what happened over the course of the next several hours is a blur. If I tried to explain it, it would never come out correctly. What I know most is that even through the tears, yelling, questions, disbelief, and horror, I was crawling deep inside myself. I was going to a place I never knew existed in myself. On the outside, I was promising to forgive and help and move on. But, I realize now, I wasn't saying those things for him, I was saying them for me. On the inside, I was preparing myself to be... alone.
By six o'clock, it was finally what could be considered a a decent enough hour to call your best friends. Because, what do girls do when their man wrongs them, they reach out to their soul sisters. It is a call no soul sister ever wishes to receive, but one she will take with vigor and might.
By that time, I was actually part of my bathroom floor. That is how I felt, like a floor. Making those calls and choking out the words was the hardest thing I had ever done. But, I did it.
What happened when I finally peeled myself off that floor... that is for the next post.
This post I dedicate to my two soul sisters... DeAnna and Marisa. Without them, I am nothing.
To recap, I was not listening to my woman's intuition.
By this night in October, I had not listened to it so much that it caused an aching throughout me. My heart ached, my head ached, my body ached. Finally, the aching won, and I had to listen.
In the late hours of the night, I awoke with a jolt. That voice screamed, "Get out of the bed. Go look. There is something there." Slightly dazed, I sat there for a moment. As I eased myself down to return to my slumber, my body froze and the voice screeched once again. "Get out of the bed right now. You can not wait any longer." My heart began to hammer within my chest.
Realizing I had no other choice, I slid out from under the warm covers and gingerly walked through the blackness.
Within ten minutes, life as I'd known it was over.
My husband was having an affair.
The only sound in the room was my heart, now pounding and banging against the wall of my chest so ferociously, I thought it might explode. That is the sound of a heart breaking.
There were still four hours until daylight and I knew I could never wait that long to... well, do anything. The only way to wake my husband was to act like there was an emergency with the children, so that was what I did. Shaking him awake, I told him there was an emergency and I needed help.
Finally roused, he made his way into the living room, and blinked hundreds of times. Confused, he asked where the emergency was. I thrust the evidence in his face, and shouted, "Right here!"
He crumbled into the couch, completely stunned.
Truly, what happened over the course of the next several hours is a blur. If I tried to explain it, it would never come out correctly. What I know most is that even through the tears, yelling, questions, disbelief, and horror, I was crawling deep inside myself. I was going to a place I never knew existed in myself. On the outside, I was promising to forgive and help and move on. But, I realize now, I wasn't saying those things for him, I was saying them for me. On the inside, I was preparing myself to be... alone.
By six o'clock, it was finally what could be considered a a decent enough hour to call your best friends. Because, what do girls do when their man wrongs them, they reach out to their soul sisters. It is a call no soul sister ever wishes to receive, but one she will take with vigor and might.
By that time, I was actually part of my bathroom floor. That is how I felt, like a floor. Making those calls and choking out the words was the hardest thing I had ever done. But, I did it.
What happened when I finally peeled myself off that floor... that is for the next post.
This post I dedicate to my two soul sisters... DeAnna and Marisa. Without them, I am nothing.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Who Will Play You in the Movie About Your Life?
My answer to that question is easy. I can answer it without hesitation.
Jenny McCarthy.
People who know me just went, "Ha!" Their response is surely because as far as physical features go, Jenny McCarthy and I share none. Tina Fey and I share more, but I'd still pick Jenny McCarthy to play me in the movie about my life.
My admiration for Jenny McCarthy dates back to her days on Singled Out, the MTV game show. I loved the way she elbowed guys as she burst through a crowd of them to get in front of the cameras. She was crass and yet simply silly. A few years later, I worked with her best friend. (I know! Six degrees of separation really isn't just a theory.) (This is also not my only "brush with fame", but the others will have to be for a different post, they don't really apply here.) The day I found out they were best friends, I gushed, "Oh my gosh, tell her she is hysterical on Wings." Then, she started writing books, and I read every one. She made me laugh out loud, and if you're an author that can do that, well, I reserve a bookmark for you for life.
It wasn't until Louder Than Words, that I stopped viewing her only as a celebrity. She wrote of a day she knew her son's treatment wasn't going well, and sat amongst women who probably knew the same thing. However, these women did nothing about it. She wrote of leaving and vowing to find the help her son needed. I was so drawn to her passion for her child. I knew that if I ever had to face anything of that magnitude with my children, I'd do the exact same thing. I'd go to the ends of the Earth for them. Now, I know MANY moms would say that, but there is a difference between saying it and doing it. I think even back then, in 2007, the universe was preparing me for my future.
The other day, I read Jenny's latest book, Love, Lust, and Faking It. In it, she writes of the beginning of her career and where she is today. This short chapter led me to do a vast amount of thinking. I thought of evolution.
Not evolution, ape to man (even though that is where I stand on the issue), but evolution of self.
You see, even five years ago, I was not even a smidge as strong as I am today. If all that has fallen on me had fallen on that girl, well, she would have drowned, been swallowed up, she would not have survived.
First of all, I was terribly insecure. I think I put on a good act, but most days, I quaked with insecurity. This insecurity caused me to just be a royal... bitch at times. I tried so hard to mask any sign of insecurity, my actions displayed the exact opposite.
Second of all, I had no idea what direction I was headed in. None. When any thought of the future arose in my head, it was pure fog. I knew in my heart, I should be seeing a clear picture of family, house, and happiness, but I never once did. Now, I know why there was never that picture there, it wasn't meant to be.
So, some how, some where in those five years, I started to figure myself out. I think I learned it from being a mom. I learned to trust myself, trust my decisions, trust my direction, just trust me. Because me was who I was going to need the most.
What was about to happen to me would require me to be my absolute strongest. Anything less, would not do. So, you see, evolution of self is pertinent, it is absolute, it is a must. If you do not evolve, you are not you.
I have some final thoughts... one being, I wonder if Jenny McCarthy reads blogs?
And, this post is dedicated to Marti... if she won't erase her past, I won't erase mine.
And finally, I'd love to know your answer to the question.
Jenny McCarthy.
People who know me just went, "Ha!" Their response is surely because as far as physical features go, Jenny McCarthy and I share none. Tina Fey and I share more, but I'd still pick Jenny McCarthy to play me in the movie about my life.
My admiration for Jenny McCarthy dates back to her days on Singled Out, the MTV game show. I loved the way she elbowed guys as she burst through a crowd of them to get in front of the cameras. She was crass and yet simply silly. A few years later, I worked with her best friend. (I know! Six degrees of separation really isn't just a theory.) (This is also not my only "brush with fame", but the others will have to be for a different post, they don't really apply here.) The day I found out they were best friends, I gushed, "Oh my gosh, tell her she is hysterical on Wings." Then, she started writing books, and I read every one. She made me laugh out loud, and if you're an author that can do that, well, I reserve a bookmark for you for life.
It wasn't until Louder Than Words, that I stopped viewing her only as a celebrity. She wrote of a day she knew her son's treatment wasn't going well, and sat amongst women who probably knew the same thing. However, these women did nothing about it. She wrote of leaving and vowing to find the help her son needed. I was so drawn to her passion for her child. I knew that if I ever had to face anything of that magnitude with my children, I'd do the exact same thing. I'd go to the ends of the Earth for them. Now, I know MANY moms would say that, but there is a difference between saying it and doing it. I think even back then, in 2007, the universe was preparing me for my future.
The other day, I read Jenny's latest book, Love, Lust, and Faking It. In it, she writes of the beginning of her career and where she is today. This short chapter led me to do a vast amount of thinking. I thought of evolution.
Not evolution, ape to man (even though that is where I stand on the issue), but evolution of self.
You see, even five years ago, I was not even a smidge as strong as I am today. If all that has fallen on me had fallen on that girl, well, she would have drowned, been swallowed up, she would not have survived.
First of all, I was terribly insecure. I think I put on a good act, but most days, I quaked with insecurity. This insecurity caused me to just be a royal... bitch at times. I tried so hard to mask any sign of insecurity, my actions displayed the exact opposite.
Second of all, I had no idea what direction I was headed in. None. When any thought of the future arose in my head, it was pure fog. I knew in my heart, I should be seeing a clear picture of family, house, and happiness, but I never once did. Now, I know why there was never that picture there, it wasn't meant to be.
So, some how, some where in those five years, I started to figure myself out. I think I learned it from being a mom. I learned to trust myself, trust my decisions, trust my direction, just trust me. Because me was who I was going to need the most.
What was about to happen to me would require me to be my absolute strongest. Anything less, would not do. So, you see, evolution of self is pertinent, it is absolute, it is a must. If you do not evolve, you are not you.
I have some final thoughts... one being, I wonder if Jenny McCarthy reads blogs?
And, this post is dedicated to Marti... if she won't erase her past, I won't erase mine.
And finally, I'd love to know your answer to the question.
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Most Awesome Job
Not very long after that afternoon at Menard's, I discovered I was pregnant, or "prego-my-eggo" as one of my funniest friends likes to say.
Nine months after that, my "Bud" was born. His older sister, my "Pay-Pay" was over the moon happy with him.
While we were in the hospital with Bud, I continued to completely ignore my intuition, even though it was banging on the door inside my head where I'd locked it out months ago.
In getting to that day I finally could not ignore my intuition any longer, I feel I must showcase the two reasons I'll never stop listening to it again, Pay-Pay and Bud.
Being someone's mom is the most awesome job on the planet. Even before I was a mom, I knew this. Sadly, I have witnessed countless woman who don't know this. I have sat in conferences where moms have completely bashed their children. I have felt the sting of children recounting their mom ignoring them, or calling them a horrible name. And, I have heard of moms who couldn't be bothered to spend a day with their little peanuts and have dramatically declared after such a day of "being stuck with them" that they need a break.
These woman baffle me, one hundred percent baffle me. I am not going to judge them, I am just going to hope that one of them some day reads this post and realizes she does in fact, have the most awesome job in the world, as she is someone's mom.
My kiddos are the reason I went on after that May day. I truly believed if they didn't have a strong mama, they had no chance of turning out good. A mother is your guide in life, so if I were to crawl into bed and never come out... well, I was afraid they'd outgrow the pajamas they were currently wearing and be really ticked about it.
I have one daughter. She is five. As I am typing this, she just brought me a plate of Play-doh cake. The cake is orange, the frosting is brown, and on top sits a tiny flower. This gesture perfectly describes my daughter. She is thoughtful, creative, kind, and resourceful. She adores her family and animals. When we found a lost dog yesterday, she told me we might just have to be like JoAnn (the woman we got our cat from) and take care of lots of animals. I find her to be a bit intuitive, often informing me of what her brother, cat or dog are thinking before any of them can tell me. Pay-Pay is faithful and resilient. When I told her about all the bad things that had happened that May day, she sobbed, but did not falter. For a little girl whose world was turned upside down, she is surely standing right-side up.
My son is three. He is so..., yes, he is so. Any adjective that could describe him must be prefaced with a "so". He is stubborn, patient, fierce, and quite possibly the funniest three year old on the planet. He is now bringing me Play-doh to eat, and these actions describe him well, too. Mainly because he started flinging the "vanilla ice cream" across the room. But as quickly as he will misbehave, he will just as quickly remedy his ill-behavior. His world, though it turned upside down, never felt the shift. Life for him will always be this way, he does not know our life before that May day, and I secretly envy that.
There were many, many days I thought I could not make it one more. There were many obstacles that stood in our way, refusing to move. But each time, I gazed at my children and knew I had no choice but to go on. If that meant knocking down an obstacle, well, then, I did it.
There was one day that was particularly bad, the day I almost really gave up. While cooking dinner, Bud threw a yo-yo into the glass coffee table. For a moment, time froze. The only sound was the last tiny pieces of glass falling out of the table. For the next ten minutes, I gave up. I gave up everything. I quit. I screamed and cried and wailed.I can't explain why the table breaking caused me to snap, but it did. I sank to the floor and sobbed, "I don't think I can be your mama anymore." My children scampered onto my lap, and my daughter said, "You have to be our mama." Her reply was like a slap to my hysterics. Nearly frozen, I ceased my pity party, raised myself from the ground, and as I held them both tightly, I promised them to never, ever stop being their mama. It was not an option.
As I sit here and "eat" my Play-doh treats, I can't help but marvel at what the universe blessed me with... the best strength of all, being two someone's mama.
This post is dedicated to Diane, who is a "mother" to my children when I am not there. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart.
Nine months after that, my "Bud" was born. His older sister, my "Pay-Pay" was over the moon happy with him.
While we were in the hospital with Bud, I continued to completely ignore my intuition, even though it was banging on the door inside my head where I'd locked it out months ago.
In getting to that day I finally could not ignore my intuition any longer, I feel I must showcase the two reasons I'll never stop listening to it again, Pay-Pay and Bud.
Being someone's mom is the most awesome job on the planet. Even before I was a mom, I knew this. Sadly, I have witnessed countless woman who don't know this. I have sat in conferences where moms have completely bashed their children. I have felt the sting of children recounting their mom ignoring them, or calling them a horrible name. And, I have heard of moms who couldn't be bothered to spend a day with their little peanuts and have dramatically declared after such a day of "being stuck with them" that they need a break.
These woman baffle me, one hundred percent baffle me. I am not going to judge them, I am just going to hope that one of them some day reads this post and realizes she does in fact, have the most awesome job in the world, as she is someone's mom.
My kiddos are the reason I went on after that May day. I truly believed if they didn't have a strong mama, they had no chance of turning out good. A mother is your guide in life, so if I were to crawl into bed and never come out... well, I was afraid they'd outgrow the pajamas they were currently wearing and be really ticked about it.
I have one daughter. She is five. As I am typing this, she just brought me a plate of Play-doh cake. The cake is orange, the frosting is brown, and on top sits a tiny flower. This gesture perfectly describes my daughter. She is thoughtful, creative, kind, and resourceful. She adores her family and animals. When we found a lost dog yesterday, she told me we might just have to be like JoAnn (the woman we got our cat from) and take care of lots of animals. I find her to be a bit intuitive, often informing me of what her brother, cat or dog are thinking before any of them can tell me. Pay-Pay is faithful and resilient. When I told her about all the bad things that had happened that May day, she sobbed, but did not falter. For a little girl whose world was turned upside down, she is surely standing right-side up.
My son is three. He is so..., yes, he is so. Any adjective that could describe him must be prefaced with a "so". He is stubborn, patient, fierce, and quite possibly the funniest three year old on the planet. He is now bringing me Play-doh to eat, and these actions describe him well, too. Mainly because he started flinging the "vanilla ice cream" across the room. But as quickly as he will misbehave, he will just as quickly remedy his ill-behavior. His world, though it turned upside down, never felt the shift. Life for him will always be this way, he does not know our life before that May day, and I secretly envy that.
There were many, many days I thought I could not make it one more. There were many obstacles that stood in our way, refusing to move. But each time, I gazed at my children and knew I had no choice but to go on. If that meant knocking down an obstacle, well, then, I did it.
There was one day that was particularly bad, the day I almost really gave up. While cooking dinner, Bud threw a yo-yo into the glass coffee table. For a moment, time froze. The only sound was the last tiny pieces of glass falling out of the table. For the next ten minutes, I gave up. I gave up everything. I quit. I screamed and cried and wailed.I can't explain why the table breaking caused me to snap, but it did. I sank to the floor and sobbed, "I don't think I can be your mama anymore." My children scampered onto my lap, and my daughter said, "You have to be our mama." Her reply was like a slap to my hysterics. Nearly frozen, I ceased my pity party, raised myself from the ground, and as I held them both tightly, I promised them to never, ever stop being their mama. It was not an option.
As I sit here and "eat" my Play-doh treats, I can't help but marvel at what the universe blessed me with... the best strength of all, being two someone's mama.
This post is dedicated to Diane, who is a "mother" to my children when I am not there. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
All the Intutitive Ladies
It is time to begin the story of how I ended up here...
It is time because today, I spent part of my afternoon with a new friend, and she gave me hope.
Making friends when you're little isn't all that difficult. There are at least twenty-five other little hellions locked in a classroom with you all day,and consequently, you are bound to seek refuge with one of them from a booger eating classmate at one point. Presto, instant friendship. Making friends when you're older isn't always that easy, until you come across the one who will seek refuge with you from the booger eating adults out there.
So, this post, I dedicate to Lisa.
There comes a point in your adult life when you realize you have got to stop judging. At least, I hope you realize this. It seems as if we are all handed imaginary gavels when we turn eighteen and we proceed to use them with fury. I dropped that gavel hundreds upon hundreds of times before reaching this stage of my life. I was the "discerning" type of judge.
Having been an observer all my life, when I received my "gavel" I continued to observe, only now I threw my "two cents" in. I'd watch something about life happening and then I could say, "Well, blankety-blank happened because blankety-blank and blank, so there you go." Only, I had no clue, and more importantly, I had no right to make any type of judgment.
So, as you read these next few posts, remember the wise words of my new friend, Lisa when she reminds us all that we have to stop judging because... you just don't know.
I have woman's intuition. (And, there went all the male readers...) The first time I realized this I was very little. My sister and I were playing gymnastics on our front lawn and just before I took off for my tumbling pass, a distinct voice came from somewhere inside me and told me to turn around. A force of some sort within me knew that I had to turn around. I'd never heard this voice before, nor had I experienced that sensation before, yet I trusted it enough to turn around.
I turned around and directly at my tiny heals was a pitbull. Panting, he looked up at me, and I down him. For a split second we stared at each other and that voice told me, "He will not follow you. Now, run." I snapped out of whatever cosmic cloud I was in, screamed my ever-loving brains out, took off running, did not tumble, grabbed my sister, ran into the house, and slammed the door. I could have cared ales about the dog, I was mystified by that voice and that sensation.
I could fill up post after post about my woman's intuition after that point, but I'd like to keep some of those male readers, so instead let me tell you about the day I stopped listening to it, and the day I had to start listening to it again.
The day I stopped listening to my woman's intuition was a spring day four years ago. My husband, daughter, and I were looking for a spot in the Mendard's parking lot. My daughter, who was just a little over one at the time had been happily pointing out all the birdies to us. I was talking.
That fall I'd had a miscarriage. It was sad and sudden, and I didn't really know how to deal with it. I just did what I'd done any other time something bad had happened. I talked about it, and went on. Which was how , I found myself driving through that Menard's parking lot, talking about it, again.
Only, this time, I was explaining to my husband that we should start trying to have another baby. I hadn't talked about that before because I wasn't ready. You're probably thinking, "How bizarre, she's talking about this while running errands." But, remember, we're trying not to judge anymore.
As I babbled away, the voice/sensation rose within me. It began faintly, like it always did and it grew louder until it was shouting at me, "Look at him. Something is wrong. Stop talking. He is not there." So, I looked, and I saw what the voice said, but I told the voice to go to hell. I did not want to hear it. I did not want to believe it. Because I knew, I knew, my husband was gone.
A parking spot appeared and we made our way into Menard's. We linked arms with our daughter as she splashed in the spring puddles. We were a family, for now.
It wasn't until one very late night almost two years later that I'd listen to my woman's intuition again. That is a very long time to go without listening to yourself.
It is time because today, I spent part of my afternoon with a new friend, and she gave me hope.
Making friends when you're little isn't all that difficult. There are at least twenty-five other little hellions locked in a classroom with you all day,and consequently, you are bound to seek refuge with one of them from a booger eating classmate at one point. Presto, instant friendship. Making friends when you're older isn't always that easy, until you come across the one who will seek refuge with you from the booger eating adults out there.
So, this post, I dedicate to Lisa.
There comes a point in your adult life when you realize you have got to stop judging. At least, I hope you realize this. It seems as if we are all handed imaginary gavels when we turn eighteen and we proceed to use them with fury. I dropped that gavel hundreds upon hundreds of times before reaching this stage of my life. I was the "discerning" type of judge.
Having been an observer all my life, when I received my "gavel" I continued to observe, only now I threw my "two cents" in. I'd watch something about life happening and then I could say, "Well, blankety-blank happened because blankety-blank and blank, so there you go." Only, I had no clue, and more importantly, I had no right to make any type of judgment.
So, as you read these next few posts, remember the wise words of my new friend, Lisa when she reminds us all that we have to stop judging because... you just don't know.
I have woman's intuition. (And, there went all the male readers...) The first time I realized this I was very little. My sister and I were playing gymnastics on our front lawn and just before I took off for my tumbling pass, a distinct voice came from somewhere inside me and told me to turn around. A force of some sort within me knew that I had to turn around. I'd never heard this voice before, nor had I experienced that sensation before, yet I trusted it enough to turn around.
I turned around and directly at my tiny heals was a pitbull. Panting, he looked up at me, and I down him. For a split second we stared at each other and that voice told me, "He will not follow you. Now, run." I snapped out of whatever cosmic cloud I was in, screamed my ever-loving brains out, took off running, did not tumble, grabbed my sister, ran into the house, and slammed the door. I could have cared ales about the dog, I was mystified by that voice and that sensation.
I could fill up post after post about my woman's intuition after that point, but I'd like to keep some of those male readers, so instead let me tell you about the day I stopped listening to it, and the day I had to start listening to it again.
The day I stopped listening to my woman's intuition was a spring day four years ago. My husband, daughter, and I were looking for a spot in the Mendard's parking lot. My daughter, who was just a little over one at the time had been happily pointing out all the birdies to us. I was talking.
That fall I'd had a miscarriage. It was sad and sudden, and I didn't really know how to deal with it. I just did what I'd done any other time something bad had happened. I talked about it, and went on. Which was how , I found myself driving through that Menard's parking lot, talking about it, again.
Only, this time, I was explaining to my husband that we should start trying to have another baby. I hadn't talked about that before because I wasn't ready. You're probably thinking, "How bizarre, she's talking about this while running errands." But, remember, we're trying not to judge anymore.
As I babbled away, the voice/sensation rose within me. It began faintly, like it always did and it grew louder until it was shouting at me, "Look at him. Something is wrong. Stop talking. He is not there." So, I looked, and I saw what the voice said, but I told the voice to go to hell. I did not want to hear it. I did not want to believe it. Because I knew, I knew, my husband was gone.
A parking spot appeared and we made our way into Menard's. We linked arms with our daughter as she splashed in the spring puddles. We were a family, for now.
It wasn't until one very late night almost two years later that I'd listen to my woman's intuition again. That is a very long time to go without listening to yourself.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sports and Me
I do not like sports.
Now, when I say this aloud, people have one of several reactions. The first being, shock and horror. Their face crinkles into this twisted mass of near hysteria. They no longer want to even touch me, as though not liking sports might be catching. The second reaction is pity. Their face melts into a shade of melancholy. They instantly desire me to be their charity case. The last reaction is one of slight arrogance. These people actually raise their chin and gaze at me with a look of , "Oh, she just does not know."
I prefer none of those reactions. I just don't like sports. Once, I even passed up a chance at a Hawaiian vacation because I could not fake liking sports enough to go there and sit through a Bowl game. If you try and take me to a sporting event, I develop "situational ADD". Try as I might, I will not focus on one thing about the game. I've tried, I've been to major sporting events, watched friends and family play various games, and the end result is always the same. When I'm asked, "How was the game?" my answer is always the same. "Oh, it's over?"
I am the farthest thing from a sports enthusiast. However, since that May day, I have applied several of sports greatest lessons to my life.
On that May day, I fully comprehended that for every single day after I was going to have to "bring my A game." Or, I was going to have to exhaust myself trying to. Sports people have this drive within them. They desire that great game. They are always reaching for it, so at every practice, they work towards it. I feel the same way about my life. I feel like every day is similar to practice.
I know my end result is to be happy and at peace. My end result is to have two exceptional children who don't need a lot of therapy. Gone were my days of half-hearted attempts. Gone were my days of constantly putting tasks off until tomorrow. Every day I proceed to "bring my A game" to whatever situation I encounter that day. It is a work in progress. I am often exhausted by it. But, I feel if I become sloppy, we'll never reach that end result, we'll never have that perfect game.
Though I know very little about sports, I do know this, sometimes the game plan might need to be changed mid-game. Now, this could be a metaphor for my entire life, but it relates to my every day life, too. I soon realized I was going to have to become a whole lot more flexible than I had ever been before. Quickly, I realized that things weren't always going to go according to plan, and , therefore, I'd have to think on my feet, adjust, and... change.
Change and I have never been friends. Therefore, morphing into a person who could adapt to something as simple as a day of errands not going well, and switch an entire plan around so that the day could end well, has not been easy. This must be hard for sports people to learn to do, too. It really is mind over matter. But, you know, usually even the slightest change, can result in winning the game.
The last sports lesson is perhaps my favorite one of all. "There's no crying in baseball."
Prior to that may day, I was a crier. Just ask my parents, or my sister. I would cry about everything. I cried about things that made me very sad, and about sappy commercials. I bawled when things didn't go my way, and when Prince changed his name to a symbol. There is even a picture of me as a little girl, holding a baseball bat, crying.
That May day, I gave myself one good, long, hard cry and then I stopped crying. I actually heard Tom Hanks shrill voice declaring, "There is no crying in baseball", and I thought, "He's right." If I was going to make it and have any dignity left within me, I had to stop crying. So, I did.
Since then, I have cried only twice. Those cries are for another post.
So to all my sports-loving family and friends, all these years, I have been watching and learning. I do know the most important things about sports. I do know how the game of life is played.
And, finally to Elana, my sweet friend, thank you for giving this post the direction it needed.
Now, when I say this aloud, people have one of several reactions. The first being, shock and horror. Their face crinkles into this twisted mass of near hysteria. They no longer want to even touch me, as though not liking sports might be catching. The second reaction is pity. Their face melts into a shade of melancholy. They instantly desire me to be their charity case. The last reaction is one of slight arrogance. These people actually raise their chin and gaze at me with a look of , "Oh, she just does not know."
I prefer none of those reactions. I just don't like sports. Once, I even passed up a chance at a Hawaiian vacation because I could not fake liking sports enough to go there and sit through a Bowl game. If you try and take me to a sporting event, I develop "situational ADD". Try as I might, I will not focus on one thing about the game. I've tried, I've been to major sporting events, watched friends and family play various games, and the end result is always the same. When I'm asked, "How was the game?" my answer is always the same. "Oh, it's over?"
I am the farthest thing from a sports enthusiast. However, since that May day, I have applied several of sports greatest lessons to my life.
On that May day, I fully comprehended that for every single day after I was going to have to "bring my A game." Or, I was going to have to exhaust myself trying to. Sports people have this drive within them. They desire that great game. They are always reaching for it, so at every practice, they work towards it. I feel the same way about my life. I feel like every day is similar to practice.
I know my end result is to be happy and at peace. My end result is to have two exceptional children who don't need a lot of therapy. Gone were my days of half-hearted attempts. Gone were my days of constantly putting tasks off until tomorrow. Every day I proceed to "bring my A game" to whatever situation I encounter that day. It is a work in progress. I am often exhausted by it. But, I feel if I become sloppy, we'll never reach that end result, we'll never have that perfect game.
Though I know very little about sports, I do know this, sometimes the game plan might need to be changed mid-game. Now, this could be a metaphor for my entire life, but it relates to my every day life, too. I soon realized I was going to have to become a whole lot more flexible than I had ever been before. Quickly, I realized that things weren't always going to go according to plan, and , therefore, I'd have to think on my feet, adjust, and... change.
Change and I have never been friends. Therefore, morphing into a person who could adapt to something as simple as a day of errands not going well, and switch an entire plan around so that the day could end well, has not been easy. This must be hard for sports people to learn to do, too. It really is mind over matter. But, you know, usually even the slightest change, can result in winning the game.
The last sports lesson is perhaps my favorite one of all. "There's no crying in baseball."
Prior to that may day, I was a crier. Just ask my parents, or my sister. I would cry about everything. I cried about things that made me very sad, and about sappy commercials. I bawled when things didn't go my way, and when Prince changed his name to a symbol. There is even a picture of me as a little girl, holding a baseball bat, crying.
That May day, I gave myself one good, long, hard cry and then I stopped crying. I actually heard Tom Hanks shrill voice declaring, "There is no crying in baseball", and I thought, "He's right." If I was going to make it and have any dignity left within me, I had to stop crying. So, I did.
Since then, I have cried only twice. Those cries are for another post.
So to all my sports-loving family and friends, all these years, I have been watching and learning. I do know the most important things about sports. I do know how the game of life is played.
And, finally to Elana, my sweet friend, thank you for giving this post the direction it needed.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
40 Before 40
Just before the new year, one of my very best girlfriends mentioned she was going to create a 40 Before 40 list. I loved this idea and decided to create my own.
Here it is...
Let's see what happens next...
Here it is...
- earn my master's degree
- save more money for retirement
- learn to play poker
- date like I should have in my twenties
- travel to Europe
- maintain a successful non-profit
- visit Melissa in LA
- let my family & friends know what each really means to me
- be featured in print for something good
- conquer my fear of heights
- take my children to one of America's natural beauties
- be able to do a cartwheel & headstand again
- draft my children's book
- visit the Chicago Botanic Gardens
- road trip more often
- purchase new living room furniture
- stop being so afraid
- ride in a Corvette
- drive that Corvette
- be a mother my children can admire
- travel to Greece for my 40th birthday with my best girls
- have a savings account... with a respectable balance
- grow my hair high school long
- learn to sew better
- see family & friends more often
- drink more wine
- take a photography class
- search for my second chance at love
- declutter
- have a fish for a pet
- start a study/tutor group for high school students
- return to scrapbooking
- get a mammogram
- take a yoga class
- play with the kiddos more... more... more
- have a well-trained dog
- try not to look and dress like a frumpy almost 40 year old
- remain true to myself
- keep writing
- start a 50 Before 50 list
Let's see what happens next...
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Carte Blanche
This post is going to have a different tone. The responses I've received from my other posts have been phenomenal. Truly, they simply make me want to write more. This time, I just have to write a little different because the pressure of being "inspirational" is too much. Sometimes. Not that I don't like it, but everyone needs a break.
To quote Shrek, "I'm like an onion. Onions have layers." Therefore, I am not only a girl trying to be a very good mama, or a girl trying to start a blog, or a girl organizing a non-profit. My other layers include an ever- present humor layer. I consider myself to be someone with a sense of humor. My world is surrounded by some of the funniest people on the planet. Really, I don't know why some of my friends aren't doing stand up. Next to words, laughter is my best remedy for the crap that life sometimes hands me. My sense of humor is witty, slightly sarcastic, a bit cynical, and pretty direct.
You want to know how I'm made it this far... one word... humor.
Now, I am going to enter a disclaimer here, because my mom reads my blog. And other family members read my blog. I haven't shared the following information with all of them. So, they may want to shield their eyes or stop reading and wait for the next post. However, I promise to keep it clean.
In case you haven't figured it out, I am single. Being single in the new millennium has its challenges. I suppose it also has its benefits, though I haven't completely figured those out yet. The first challenge being... I am old.When I was a young, on any given Friday night, I could be found at a bar or dance club. More often than not, you'd find me dancing on top of a bar in a dance club. Many nights, I'd still be dancing on top of the bar as they yelled for "last call".
These days, on a Friday night, you'll still find me dancing. However, I'm dancing around my living room with my children. These days, I am lucky if I stay awake until ten-thirty. And that is really pushing it. I don't go many places without my children, except sometimes to my local Target and Trader Joe's. There, I am too harried and hurried to even think about finding a man to date. If I do have a night out, I am with my girlfriends and have no interest in trolling for men.
Awhile back, I decided to give dating a whirl. Before I did, I had not one clue what to expect. The last time I dated, I was in my early twenties. Dating back then was fairly easy, as, for one, I had a social life. It isn't hard to meet boys when you're dancing on top of a bar. All my friends were single and everyone they knew was single. It was an endless circle of people to meet. Now, mom, don't worry, I did not date half the city, but I had my share of good times.
Dating today leads most people to online dating sites, probably because living rooms aren't hot social gathering spots. I have become one of those people. (I feel like I just stood up at an AA meeting and introduced myself.) Divulging the sites' names would probably cause me to, at some point, have to pay them royalties or something, so you can just take a guess as to which they are. If you are unfamiliar with the process of such sites, let me provide a quick overview.
You must complete a lengthy question and answer session. This process is obviously for the computer program to be able to find the perfect mate for you. I secretly think is it to weed out any potential serial killers, or at least that's what their disclaimer might read. You create a profile for yourself, for which you whip out the thesaurus and spend hours searching for a picture in which you look only slightly harried and hurried. Once completed, the computer works its "magic". Let's use that term quite loosely.
These sites provide you with endless dating possibilities. Really, I had no idea there were so many singles out there, because I often feel like I am caught in the Lonely Hearts Club Band, playing air guitar solo. It all starts with winking (quite possibly the silliest thing I have done as an adult), emailing, chatting, and ogling.
Through my journey and with the help of one of my wisest friends, I discovered something about being single at this age. After many frustrations, she said to me, "Dating now is easier. You know what you like, what you want, and what you don't like and what you don't want. You're wise now, when you're in your twenties, you're a fool." I don't think I could have said it better.
Now, here are some things I 've come to find I don't want in a date (and yes, all learned from experience):
1. A 30-something who lives at home with his parents.
2. Have foot fetish? Do not follow.
3. Money-droppers... the ones that tell you how much everything costs.
4. Closets are for clothes, not people. It is 2011, come out already.
5. A man who lacks any knowledge of proper English grammar... seriously, it is hard for me not to correct profiles & emails.
6. Texting obsessed... I can't text. I have a flip phone and about one hundred other things to do.
That's not such a long list, is it?
People have often told me I am lucky. Lucky because my "love life" is carte blanche. Yes, I think that this is single best benefit of being single in this millennium. I'm in no hurry, I'm not harried about it. I think this course of action will be... quite wonderful. And if nothing else, one full of humor.
To quote Shrek, "I'm like an onion. Onions have layers." Therefore, I am not only a girl trying to be a very good mama, or a girl trying to start a blog, or a girl organizing a non-profit. My other layers include an ever- present humor layer. I consider myself to be someone with a sense of humor. My world is surrounded by some of the funniest people on the planet. Really, I don't know why some of my friends aren't doing stand up. Next to words, laughter is my best remedy for the crap that life sometimes hands me. My sense of humor is witty, slightly sarcastic, a bit cynical, and pretty direct.
You want to know how I'm made it this far... one word... humor.
Now, I am going to enter a disclaimer here, because my mom reads my blog. And other family members read my blog. I haven't shared the following information with all of them. So, they may want to shield their eyes or stop reading and wait for the next post. However, I promise to keep it clean.
In case you haven't figured it out, I am single. Being single in the new millennium has its challenges. I suppose it also has its benefits, though I haven't completely figured those out yet. The first challenge being... I am old.When I was a young, on any given Friday night, I could be found at a bar or dance club. More often than not, you'd find me dancing on top of a bar in a dance club. Many nights, I'd still be dancing on top of the bar as they yelled for "last call".
These days, on a Friday night, you'll still find me dancing. However, I'm dancing around my living room with my children. These days, I am lucky if I stay awake until ten-thirty. And that is really pushing it. I don't go many places without my children, except sometimes to my local Target and Trader Joe's. There, I am too harried and hurried to even think about finding a man to date. If I do have a night out, I am with my girlfriends and have no interest in trolling for men.
Awhile back, I decided to give dating a whirl. Before I did, I had not one clue what to expect. The last time I dated, I was in my early twenties. Dating back then was fairly easy, as, for one, I had a social life. It isn't hard to meet boys when you're dancing on top of a bar. All my friends were single and everyone they knew was single. It was an endless circle of people to meet. Now, mom, don't worry, I did not date half the city, but I had my share of good times.
Dating today leads most people to online dating sites, probably because living rooms aren't hot social gathering spots. I have become one of those people. (I feel like I just stood up at an AA meeting and introduced myself.) Divulging the sites' names would probably cause me to, at some point, have to pay them royalties or something, so you can just take a guess as to which they are. If you are unfamiliar with the process of such sites, let me provide a quick overview.
You must complete a lengthy question and answer session. This process is obviously for the computer program to be able to find the perfect mate for you. I secretly think is it to weed out any potential serial killers, or at least that's what their disclaimer might read. You create a profile for yourself, for which you whip out the thesaurus and spend hours searching for a picture in which you look only slightly harried and hurried. Once completed, the computer works its "magic". Let's use that term quite loosely.
These sites provide you with endless dating possibilities. Really, I had no idea there were so many singles out there, because I often feel like I am caught in the Lonely Hearts Club Band, playing air guitar solo. It all starts with winking (quite possibly the silliest thing I have done as an adult), emailing, chatting, and ogling.
Through my journey and with the help of one of my wisest friends, I discovered something about being single at this age. After many frustrations, she said to me, "Dating now is easier. You know what you like, what you want, and what you don't like and what you don't want. You're wise now, when you're in your twenties, you're a fool." I don't think I could have said it better.
Now, here are some things I 've come to find I don't want in a date (and yes, all learned from experience):
1. A 30-something who lives at home with his parents.
2. Have foot fetish? Do not follow.
3. Money-droppers... the ones that tell you how much everything costs.
4. Closets are for clothes, not people. It is 2011, come out already.
5. A man who lacks any knowledge of proper English grammar... seriously, it is hard for me not to correct profiles & emails.
6. Texting obsessed... I can't text. I have a flip phone and about one hundred other things to do.
That's not such a long list, is it?
People have often told me I am lucky. Lucky because my "love life" is carte blanche. Yes, I think that this is single best benefit of being single in this millennium. I'm in no hurry, I'm not harried about it. I think this course of action will be... quite wonderful. And if nothing else, one full of humor.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
"Words To Live By"
I am fully aware that I keep mentioning that May day. And, I am fully aware I have yet to explain what happened that day.
I'm just not ready to...yet.
In my first blog, besides mentioning the non-profit quest, I also mentioned that I wanted to help people understand that they could triumph over life's greatest challenges. I wrote that I'd explain how I have done and continue to do it. Because, I sort of see this process like AA... one day at a time.
On that May afternoon, while I waited for my sister to arrive, I emailed an old friend. We have been friends for well over ten years. In that time, we have seen each other on maybe thirty occasions. Our friendship is "held" over email. My inbox is filled with emails from him. And, it was on that day that he gave me an extremely important piece of advice. It ended up acting as my guide, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know it.
He told me that just like when you are sick, and you fill your body with good things... remedies... I would need to do the same during this crisis. I would need to fill my head and heart with positive things. I would have to surround myself with positive books, movies, people, songs. These would be my remedies. It was how I would heal.
I decided right then and there I would do only that.
Then, he sent an email with this as the subject: "Manana sera mejor."
The translation is ~ "Tomorrow will be better."
I copied the quote down on a small piece of paper. Then, I stuck it to my bathroom mirror.
A few days later, I returned to work. The last thing I did before leaving was to read the quote stuck to the bathroom mirror. Returning to work was one of the many hard things I had to do, but I did it because to me, it was "tomorrow" and that quote had said, "Tomorrow will be better." What did I have to lose?
After the first period bell rang, the students and I sat and stared at one another for a very long time. Neither side knew what to say. I scanned all their faces and my eyes fell to one boy's t-shirt. He wore a brand new white t-shirt with black Old English lettering. It read, "Know your weaknesses. Let others see your strengths." Reading that quote was like being hit by a brick. In haste, I scribbled it onto a small piece of paper and threw it in my purse.When I returned home that day, I stuck it to my mirror. When I read it, I knew it was the absolute most important thing I do. I set out to show how strong I was.
The next morning, one of my best girlfriends from work forwarded me an email. She'd received her "Quote of the Day" email, which read, "Become a possibilitarian. No matter how dark things seem to be or actually are... see possibilities... for they're always there." (Norman Vincent Peale) You can probably guess what I did with that. Yes, it went on my mirror, too. I chuckled at this quote and tried to think how it could apply to this situation, but it did indeed. My possibilities, my quests were endless.
Within the next few weeks, two other quotes came my way. "You don't know how strong you are until being strong is the only thing you can be." and "When nothing is sure, anything is possible." (Margaret Drabble)They went on my mirror, too. In a very short amount of time I'd learned I was pretty damn strong. And, I learned that I could chart this course of my life any way I so desired. It was invigorating.
Months passed and another quote came to me. "Never does the human soul appear so strong and noble as when it forgoes revenges and dares to forgive an injury." (Edward Chapin) This quote...this quote would be my next quest. And, a future blog.
This past summer, I traveled to St. Louis for a Girls' Weekend. While shopping in nearby St. Charles, we stepped into a boutique. There, I found bracelets with quotes on them. Both my girlfriends and my sister took one look at the bracelets and declared, "Those are Sherri bracelets." I purchased one that reads, "Keep the faith." You'll find it on my right wrist every day. It reminds me to keep going, to plow ahead, to believe that everything will be fine.
What I discovered was words were the most positive thing I could bring into my life. I discovered that the right words had a way of finding their way to me. And each one that came in, taught me something about either myself, or about how I should handle my current situation.
I never went searching for the right quotations. I waited for them to come to me, and they have kept coming. Other people's words have guided me, caused me to pause, reflect, reevaluate, and even laugh. Words are powerful.
Just yesterday, two new quotes came to me. The first is now on top of my Blog. A wise, dear former student sent it to me and said it reminded her of me.Words can not desribe how very touched I was by her thoughtfulnesses.
The second, my friend sent to me in an email, "Do not anticipate trouble, or worry about what may never happen. Keep in the sunlight." (Ben Franklin) It is up on my mirror. I find it quite healing.
I sent him this one today, "Some days you're a bug. Some days, you're a windshield." (Price Cobb) Isn't that the truth?
I'm just not ready to...yet.
In my first blog, besides mentioning the non-profit quest, I also mentioned that I wanted to help people understand that they could triumph over life's greatest challenges. I wrote that I'd explain how I have done and continue to do it. Because, I sort of see this process like AA... one day at a time.
On that May afternoon, while I waited for my sister to arrive, I emailed an old friend. We have been friends for well over ten years. In that time, we have seen each other on maybe thirty occasions. Our friendship is "held" over email. My inbox is filled with emails from him. And, it was on that day that he gave me an extremely important piece of advice. It ended up acting as my guide, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know it.
He told me that just like when you are sick, and you fill your body with good things... remedies... I would need to do the same during this crisis. I would need to fill my head and heart with positive things. I would have to surround myself with positive books, movies, people, songs. These would be my remedies. It was how I would heal.
I decided right then and there I would do only that.
Then, he sent an email with this as the subject: "Manana sera mejor."
The translation is ~ "Tomorrow will be better."
I copied the quote down on a small piece of paper. Then, I stuck it to my bathroom mirror.
A few days later, I returned to work. The last thing I did before leaving was to read the quote stuck to the bathroom mirror. Returning to work was one of the many hard things I had to do, but I did it because to me, it was "tomorrow" and that quote had said, "Tomorrow will be better." What did I have to lose?
After the first period bell rang, the students and I sat and stared at one another for a very long time. Neither side knew what to say. I scanned all their faces and my eyes fell to one boy's t-shirt. He wore a brand new white t-shirt with black Old English lettering. It read, "Know your weaknesses. Let others see your strengths." Reading that quote was like being hit by a brick. In haste, I scribbled it onto a small piece of paper and threw it in my purse.When I returned home that day, I stuck it to my mirror. When I read it, I knew it was the absolute most important thing I do. I set out to show how strong I was.
The next morning, one of my best girlfriends from work forwarded me an email. She'd received her "Quote of the Day" email, which read, "Become a possibilitarian. No matter how dark things seem to be or actually are... see possibilities... for they're always there." (Norman Vincent Peale) You can probably guess what I did with that. Yes, it went on my mirror, too. I chuckled at this quote and tried to think how it could apply to this situation, but it did indeed. My possibilities, my quests were endless.
Within the next few weeks, two other quotes came my way. "You don't know how strong you are until being strong is the only thing you can be." and "When nothing is sure, anything is possible." (Margaret Drabble)They went on my mirror, too. In a very short amount of time I'd learned I was pretty damn strong. And, I learned that I could chart this course of my life any way I so desired. It was invigorating.
Months passed and another quote came to me. "Never does the human soul appear so strong and noble as when it forgoes revenges and dares to forgive an injury." (Edward Chapin) This quote...this quote would be my next quest. And, a future blog.
This past summer, I traveled to St. Louis for a Girls' Weekend. While shopping in nearby St. Charles, we stepped into a boutique. There, I found bracelets with quotes on them. Both my girlfriends and my sister took one look at the bracelets and declared, "Those are Sherri bracelets." I purchased one that reads, "Keep the faith." You'll find it on my right wrist every day. It reminds me to keep going, to plow ahead, to believe that everything will be fine.
What I discovered was words were the most positive thing I could bring into my life. I discovered that the right words had a way of finding their way to me. And each one that came in, taught me something about either myself, or about how I should handle my current situation.
I never went searching for the right quotations. I waited for them to come to me, and they have kept coming. Other people's words have guided me, caused me to pause, reflect, reevaluate, and even laugh. Words are powerful.
Just yesterday, two new quotes came to me. The first is now on top of my Blog. A wise, dear former student sent it to me and said it reminded her of me.Words can not desribe how very touched I was by her thoughtfulnesses.
The second, my friend sent to me in an email, "Do not anticipate trouble, or worry about what may never happen. Keep in the sunlight." (Ben Franklin) It is up on my mirror. I find it quite healing.
I sent him this one today, "Some days you're a bug. Some days, you're a windshield." (Price Cobb) Isn't that the truth?
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