As with each new year, I have been reflecting recently on the things I need to do or to fix/change in my life in order to be a better, happier person. I’m happy in general. Very happy, actually. But there are always things we can all point to that we’d change about ourselves and each year we resolve to do just that. And, for the first two weeks of each year, our diet is better, our closets are cleaner, and we are much more likely to stay within the speed limit. Then, we go inevitably go back to our old, gluttonous ways and lay the groundwork for the next year’s resolutions.
I don’t really care much for resolutions. I don’t think you should decide to work on things one time a year. I think of it in the same way I do dieting – nothing will work unless or until it is a change in lifestyle. Quick fixes don’t solve the problem. So, that being said, I thought I’d go through my annual process of picking several things I will never change, and set myself up for failure by vowing to change them. There are also goals I am setting for myself that are not necessarily things that need changing, but thing that just need starting.
Here is my list for 2010:
1. I will make Meg’s scrapbook detailing the events and milestones in her first year of life. (Meg turned 2 in October)*
2. I will limit sweets to weekends, holidays, birthdays, other celebrations, times when I get shaky and need something sweet, times when I’m at a party and am drunk and have forgotten that I’ve vowed not to eat sweets, and other times when no one will find out that I've caved.*
3. I will do a better job of not cursing in front of my children. It's not good to curse as a general rule, but I really need to be cognizant of it particularly since my kids repeat everything they hear. But, it's hard. Damn hard.**
4. I will keep my car neat and tidy but not necessarily clean. It's so hard to find the time to have it cleaned or clean it myself, so saying I'll keep it clean is just an obvious lie. But I could do a much better job of keeping it from being uninhabitable. There is dust EVERYWHERE, toys, paper, wrappers, and any other kind of junk all over the floor, and God-knows-what smashed into the crevices of each car seat. It's foul. And, at all times it either smells like fast food or faster food. Yuck.*
5. I will do a better job of sending thank you notes. Ugh, why did I even write that? I am horrible at that. Don't people know that the best gift of all is being excused from sending thank you notes? Why don't people give me gifts and then say, no thank you note needed. Those of you reading this who give me gifts on occasion need to pay attention to that last sentence and perhaps work that into your own 2010 resolutions. Thanks.*
6. I will stop complaining so much. Yeah, I agree. Never going to happen.**
7. I will be more patient with my children. (I was laughing as I typed that last sentence.)**
8. I will be healthier. This means I'll eat better, exercise more, and focus on positive things instead of filling my mind with anger, blame, depressing thoughts and the crap that's on TV. I won't guarantee that everything I put into my body and mind will be healthy, but I'll do a better job of keeping myself healthy. The older I get, the more I realize that it's a wonder any of us ever make it. There is so much sadness out there. Diseases. Bad luck. Bad food. How much happier would we all be if we took ownership of our bodies and our surroundings?
9. I will not post serious things like that last resolution. People are expecting sarcasm and this just throws them off. **
10. I will not be so happy being frumpy and lazy. The first thing I do when I get home from work is slap my hair up into a rubber band, rip my bra off and change into my pajamas (or if I want to dress up, some sweats). My poor husband. I'm sure he'd appreciate seeing some trace of the woman he married. She is buried under about 20-25 pounds she's put on since their wedding, flannel pants, and a fairly repulsive old, pit-stained T-shirt. I'll show him that I care about his happiness by paying a little more attention to what he comes home to everyday.*
That seems like a pretty good list. I'm sure I'll come up with some new ones as I break these over the next few days. But this is at least a good starting point.
I wish you luck in keeping your resolutions and I hope 2010 brings you much happiness and contentment.
* Denotes items that I am unlikely to actually accomplish
** Denotes resolutions I have already broken
Monday, January 4, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
A Story From Christmas Past
Merry Christmas, everyone! Hope you were with loved ones enjoying the magic of the season! I know I was exactly where I wanted to be - in my home (the kitchen, mostly) with my wonderful husband and sweet girls and my parents. We have so many blessings to celebrate and thoroughly enjoyed the day.
As you age, you begin to realize that giving truly is better than receiving. Particularly when people give you things you don't like. Kidding, of course. But the old adage it is better to give than to receive really does hold true. This year, everyone seemed happy with the things I had gotten for them. The girls excitedly riped through the wrapping paper and were overjoyed by the treasures inside. My mom was very excited about the John Prine tickets I got for her in addition to a DVD and a decorative piece for their house. Dad seemed happy with his gifts from me, although to him the best gift is being with his family on Christmas.
There were no disasters when it came to what I had gotten for Mike this year which is always a welcome change when I think back to The Year Of The Teapot. I cannot remember what year it was, but I'm thinking it was Christmas of 2007. Mike and I were home for Christmas with our girls and my brother and his (now former) wife and daughter were in town as well. As usual, there was no shortage of sarcasm in the room the entire day. At one point we began saying that what we would really prefer to the gifts we had been given would be the cash equivalent so we could go out and get what we really wanted. Each eagerly-awaited package would be opened and then a shout of "CASH!" would follow indicating that it was a nice effort, but that we'd still prefer the cash used to purchase it. All of this was in good fun of course, as it always is. Until...
Mike was opening his final gift from me. I had gotten him a teapot from Williams Sonoma because he and I had both recently begun drinking tea at night. He had mentioned an interest in having one, so I got him a nice one from a nice store. Although it wasn't terribly creative or expensive, I still thought that it was a thoughtful gift and thus would be well-received.
So Mike was unwrapping it and began to see the box as the paper was ripped away.
"Oh, yeah, a tea pot", he said sarcastically, thinking (or perhaps hoping)that this box was a decoy and his real gift would be something quite different.
"No, Mike, it really is a teapot", I said gently, hoping that he would not get his hopes up that there was something better inside the box.
"Right, Maggie. Sure. It's a teapot.", he went on to say. Now he was trying to break the tape at either end of the box so he could reach in a pull out his real gift.
"Mike, I'm serious. It is a teapot. Listen to me." I said emphatically. Now I was beginning to have tears stream down my face. For one thing, I cry over everything, so of course this would happen during all of this. But another thing was that this was happening in front of my parents. In front of my brother. When Mike discovered that this gift really was a teapot he was going to feel SO bad for making fun of it. I wanted so badly for him to quickly remove both feet from his mouth and close it before he tried to insert them again.
"Maggie, I know it's not a teapot", he said with almost a tone of irritation. I mean, WHO would give their husband a teapot for Christmas? The very thought of it is ridiculous! It was as though he wanted me to drop my act and just admit that the teapot box was hiding something wonderful inside.
Sadly, it was not. This banter went on for what seemed like 17 days. I was crying and then laughing because I couldn't stop crying. He got a look of confusion on his face; not knowing exactly what was happening and whether or not this was all some kind of joke.
He reached into the box, saw that it was a beautiful, stainless steel teapot and immediately said, "Well, I love it. It's really nice. I mean, we DO drink a lot of tea. It's a very thoughtful gift. I just wasn't expecting..."
He understood now why I was crying. The realization was hitting him and it was not lost on him that he and I are not the only ones in the room. He thought he'd hurt my feelings (which, he sort of had). But truly I just felt so bad for him because in the moments leading up to this, he was basically indicating that no person in his or her right mind would ever give this as a gift. Not that he had anything against teapots (he and I both do, now). I guess it was just something that a (straight) man in his early thirties wouldn't really get too jazzed about. Who could blame him?
I was able to dry my tears and pull myself together, of course. We went on to have a scrumptious meal as we do every Christmas and still enjoyed a sarcasm-filled afternoon. As a result of this little blunder though, my brother nicknamed Mike "Teapot", but it didn't really stick. Mike has gone on to be overly appreciative of any gift I gift him which was a nice side benefit of having to live through this experience.
The moral of this story is to never make fun of a gift until you are absolutely certain that what you are making fun of is not what you are opening. Also, that it is better to give than to receive. Oh yeah, and stainless steel teapots are very handy for hitting someone over the head.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
As you age, you begin to realize that giving truly is better than receiving. Particularly when people give you things you don't like. Kidding, of course. But the old adage it is better to give than to receive really does hold true. This year, everyone seemed happy with the things I had gotten for them. The girls excitedly riped through the wrapping paper and were overjoyed by the treasures inside. My mom was very excited about the John Prine tickets I got for her in addition to a DVD and a decorative piece for their house. Dad seemed happy with his gifts from me, although to him the best gift is being with his family on Christmas.
There were no disasters when it came to what I had gotten for Mike this year which is always a welcome change when I think back to The Year Of The Teapot. I cannot remember what year it was, but I'm thinking it was Christmas of 2007. Mike and I were home for Christmas with our girls and my brother and his (now former) wife and daughter were in town as well. As usual, there was no shortage of sarcasm in the room the entire day. At one point we began saying that what we would really prefer to the gifts we had been given would be the cash equivalent so we could go out and get what we really wanted. Each eagerly-awaited package would be opened and then a shout of "CASH!" would follow indicating that it was a nice effort, but that we'd still prefer the cash used to purchase it. All of this was in good fun of course, as it always is. Until...
Mike was opening his final gift from me. I had gotten him a teapot from Williams Sonoma because he and I had both recently begun drinking tea at night. He had mentioned an interest in having one, so I got him a nice one from a nice store. Although it wasn't terribly creative or expensive, I still thought that it was a thoughtful gift and thus would be well-received.
So Mike was unwrapping it and began to see the box as the paper was ripped away.
"Oh, yeah, a tea pot", he said sarcastically, thinking (or perhaps hoping)that this box was a decoy and his real gift would be something quite different.
"No, Mike, it really is a teapot", I said gently, hoping that he would not get his hopes up that there was something better inside the box.
"Right, Maggie. Sure. It's a teapot.", he went on to say. Now he was trying to break the tape at either end of the box so he could reach in a pull out his real gift.
"Mike, I'm serious. It is a teapot. Listen to me." I said emphatically. Now I was beginning to have tears stream down my face. For one thing, I cry over everything, so of course this would happen during all of this. But another thing was that this was happening in front of my parents. In front of my brother. When Mike discovered that this gift really was a teapot he was going to feel SO bad for making fun of it. I wanted so badly for him to quickly remove both feet from his mouth and close it before he tried to insert them again.
"Maggie, I know it's not a teapot", he said with almost a tone of irritation. I mean, WHO would give their husband a teapot for Christmas? The very thought of it is ridiculous! It was as though he wanted me to drop my act and just admit that the teapot box was hiding something wonderful inside.
Sadly, it was not. This banter went on for what seemed like 17 days. I was crying and then laughing because I couldn't stop crying. He got a look of confusion on his face; not knowing exactly what was happening and whether or not this was all some kind of joke.
He reached into the box, saw that it was a beautiful, stainless steel teapot and immediately said, "Well, I love it. It's really nice. I mean, we DO drink a lot of tea. It's a very thoughtful gift. I just wasn't expecting..."
He understood now why I was crying. The realization was hitting him and it was not lost on him that he and I are not the only ones in the room. He thought he'd hurt my feelings (which, he sort of had). But truly I just felt so bad for him because in the moments leading up to this, he was basically indicating that no person in his or her right mind would ever give this as a gift. Not that he had anything against teapots (he and I both do, now). I guess it was just something that a (straight) man in his early thirties wouldn't really get too jazzed about. Who could blame him?
I was able to dry my tears and pull myself together, of course. We went on to have a scrumptious meal as we do every Christmas and still enjoyed a sarcasm-filled afternoon. As a result of this little blunder though, my brother nicknamed Mike "Teapot", but it didn't really stick. Mike has gone on to be overly appreciative of any gift I gift him which was a nice side benefit of having to live through this experience.
The moral of this story is to never make fun of a gift until you are absolutely certain that what you are making fun of is not what you are opening. Also, that it is better to give than to receive. Oh yeah, and stainless steel teapots are very handy for hitting someone over the head.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
UPDATE - Socks, Highwaters and Owls, Oh My!
Just an exciting update to share with my (two) readers:
This past weekend, I met my sister (well, we had met before...) in Atlanta for a day of shopping and a night of food and beverages with friends. Mary, being one of my faithful blog followers, had read my post about my hideous fashion taste and decided to intervene. Of course, she was already aware of my lack of taste since we see each other several times a year, but I guess when she read it and knew that others probably were making fun of me, she decided now was the time to offer her counsel. Normally when we take this trip, it is to finish up any last-minute Christmas shopping. But this year she was on a mission. She was going to help me find and buy some decent looking, non-"mom" jeans. And guess what - she was successful!!
First we had lunch at Houston's (sssssslurp!) With a friend of mine from college. We had a great time despite the fact that I am not a friend mixer. You will never be invited to my house and be introduced to someone you do not know. I HATE being the common person that links a bunch of people who don't know each other. It makes me extremely uncomfortable. I almost passed out at my own wedding reception because I had people from every corner of my life {family, high school, college, work, all of my former lovers (as if!)} in one room together. Ugh! At any rate, Alisha is a college friend and had actually met my sister before when they both served as bridesmaids at my wedding. She is a pretty easy person to know, so I was able to relax and enjoy my meal. She also treated us to a glass of champagne to get our little shopping spree off on the right foot.
Somehow my bill for the lunch was $85.00. I'm still unsure as to how that happened, but apparently the champagne worked because I didn't seem to care much. I just paid it, hugged Alisha, and off Mary and I went. We went to Lenox and I was immediately reminded of why I hate Atlanta. There are ENTIRELY too many people in the city of Atlanta - and most of them were in Lenox Mall that day. We first went to Macy's to find some jeans. Of course, Macy's in as big as the entire mall in Chattanooga so finding the perfect pair of jeans for my misshapen legs was not going to be easy. Our first order of business, however, was to find the restroom.
Because it had been so long since either of us was in this mall, we weren't sure where the restrooms were. So, we followed the signs whose arrows were purportedly pointing us toward the facilities. We were following one sign when I looked up and saw another sign showing the restrooms were in the opposite direction. Frustrated, we shrugged it off and assumed we had just gotten mixed-up somehow. After a few minutes of walking in this new direction, we realized we had ended up in the exact same spot we had just been in. No restrooms. We were growing more frustrated and our bladders more full with every step we took in the wrong direction. Then we saw another sign that we started to follow claiming that the restrooms were in yet another direction. Long story short, about an hour later, our bladders were empty. I hate Atlanta.
Anyway, we found the section with the jeans and I have to say I hated everything I saw. The wash was so dark that it looked absolutely ridiculous. The jeans looked like Wrangler jeans that people wore back in my horse-riding days. I feared I would look like a cowgirl if I purchased them. But, my sister loving told me to shut up and let her handle it. She gathered what had to be 27 pairs of jeans and we trotted to the nearest fitting room. With skepticism, I tried on the first pair. I tried as hard as I could to pull them up to my belly button but 1. they were too tight; and 2. they were not designed to go up to my belly button**.
"These are WAY too tight", I told my sister. Her response? "Those look GREAT on you!". What?! They aren't roomy! They're touching the floor! I can still see my belly button! I look ridiculous! But no, she advised, this was how they were supposed to fit. This was how they were supposed to look. You have got to be kidding me! These jeans fit so snugly that every time I pulled them off, they clung to my granny panties and took them down with them. I made sure to position myself each time I slid a pair off so that my sister caught a nice glimpse of my "assets". She had been making fun of my taste and fashion sense this entire time, so I retaliated by giving her a nice shot of my cottage-cheese-resembling hiney. That'll show her... Of course, she then became concerned by the size and length of my underwear and, perhaps, has now formed a new mission - to get me out of granny panties and into, gulp, thongs!!! Eeek!
I tried on a few more pairs and honestly did begin to see that my grotesquely-shaped rear end and thighs did kind of look better in these jeans. What's more - I actually began to look taller. She informed me that our next stop would be to find a fun pair of boots that I could wear with these jeans. I had never considered using the word "fun" to describe clothing or footwear. I had never gotten past referring to clothes as "comfortable" or "roomy". Apparently, comfort has no place in clothes that you wear out of the house. Who would have thought it?
We did find some boots and even some new casual shoes to replace the clogs I have been wearing for... I'm going to say eight years now (but it's really probably closer to 10). I have to say that I really do like my new purchases. I have been proudly wearing all of it ever since I returned. I must admit, I was a little disappointed that no one commented on how cute my jeans were at a party I went to this week. However, it has occurred to me since then that no one would comment on it because it's not like I'm setting any new trends. I have just finally caught up with the one that is currently out there. Why would anyone comment on a person looking normal?!
My trip to Atlanta was a success not only because of my new clothes but also because I had a great time with Mary and the friends we were able to see while we were there. Plus, I was inadvertently groped as I tried to make my way through the massive crowd in Lenox mall - so there's that. I only got lost twice trying to make my way around the city (I hate Atlanta) and I managed to squeeze in getting a couple of gifts for others on my list. I am thankful for my sister for intervening on my behalf and helping to bring me out of my fashion rut. Never fear - I'm not totally out of it. You, too, can help in the area of shirts, scarves, jackets, underwear, my hair, bathing suits, skirts, pumps, make-up, running clothes, party clothes, pajamas, jewelry, purses, bras that actually match my underwear, home decor, etc., etc. All help is welcomed and certainly appreciated.
**The jeans that are designed to go up to a person's belly button can be found at your nearest Sears.
This past weekend, I met my sister (well, we had met before...) in Atlanta for a day of shopping and a night of food and beverages with friends. Mary, being one of my faithful blog followers, had read my post about my hideous fashion taste and decided to intervene. Of course, she was already aware of my lack of taste since we see each other several times a year, but I guess when she read it and knew that others probably were making fun of me, she decided now was the time to offer her counsel. Normally when we take this trip, it is to finish up any last-minute Christmas shopping. But this year she was on a mission. She was going to help me find and buy some decent looking, non-"mom" jeans. And guess what - she was successful!!
First we had lunch at Houston's (sssssslurp!) With a friend of mine from college. We had a great time despite the fact that I am not a friend mixer. You will never be invited to my house and be introduced to someone you do not know. I HATE being the common person that links a bunch of people who don't know each other. It makes me extremely uncomfortable. I almost passed out at my own wedding reception because I had people from every corner of my life {family, high school, college, work, all of my former lovers (as if!)} in one room together. Ugh! At any rate, Alisha is a college friend and had actually met my sister before when they both served as bridesmaids at my wedding. She is a pretty easy person to know, so I was able to relax and enjoy my meal. She also treated us to a glass of champagne to get our little shopping spree off on the right foot.
Somehow my bill for the lunch was $85.00. I'm still unsure as to how that happened, but apparently the champagne worked because I didn't seem to care much. I just paid it, hugged Alisha, and off Mary and I went. We went to Lenox and I was immediately reminded of why I hate Atlanta. There are ENTIRELY too many people in the city of Atlanta - and most of them were in Lenox Mall that day. We first went to Macy's to find some jeans. Of course, Macy's in as big as the entire mall in Chattanooga so finding the perfect pair of jeans for my misshapen legs was not going to be easy. Our first order of business, however, was to find the restroom.
Because it had been so long since either of us was in this mall, we weren't sure where the restrooms were. So, we followed the signs whose arrows were purportedly pointing us toward the facilities. We were following one sign when I looked up and saw another sign showing the restrooms were in the opposite direction. Frustrated, we shrugged it off and assumed we had just gotten mixed-up somehow. After a few minutes of walking in this new direction, we realized we had ended up in the exact same spot we had just been in. No restrooms. We were growing more frustrated and our bladders more full with every step we took in the wrong direction. Then we saw another sign that we started to follow claiming that the restrooms were in yet another direction. Long story short, about an hour later, our bladders were empty. I hate Atlanta.
Anyway, we found the section with the jeans and I have to say I hated everything I saw. The wash was so dark that it looked absolutely ridiculous. The jeans looked like Wrangler jeans that people wore back in my horse-riding days. I feared I would look like a cowgirl if I purchased them. But, my sister loving told me to shut up and let her handle it. She gathered what had to be 27 pairs of jeans and we trotted to the nearest fitting room. With skepticism, I tried on the first pair. I tried as hard as I could to pull them up to my belly button but 1. they were too tight; and 2. they were not designed to go up to my belly button**.
"These are WAY too tight", I told my sister. Her response? "Those look GREAT on you!". What?! They aren't roomy! They're touching the floor! I can still see my belly button! I look ridiculous! But no, she advised, this was how they were supposed to fit. This was how they were supposed to look. You have got to be kidding me! These jeans fit so snugly that every time I pulled them off, they clung to my granny panties and took them down with them. I made sure to position myself each time I slid a pair off so that my sister caught a nice glimpse of my "assets". She had been making fun of my taste and fashion sense this entire time, so I retaliated by giving her a nice shot of my cottage-cheese-resembling hiney. That'll show her... Of course, she then became concerned by the size and length of my underwear and, perhaps, has now formed a new mission - to get me out of granny panties and into, gulp, thongs!!! Eeek!
I tried on a few more pairs and honestly did begin to see that my grotesquely-shaped rear end and thighs did kind of look better in these jeans. What's more - I actually began to look taller. She informed me that our next stop would be to find a fun pair of boots that I could wear with these jeans. I had never considered using the word "fun" to describe clothing or footwear. I had never gotten past referring to clothes as "comfortable" or "roomy". Apparently, comfort has no place in clothes that you wear out of the house. Who would have thought it?
We did find some boots and even some new casual shoes to replace the clogs I have been wearing for... I'm going to say eight years now (but it's really probably closer to 10). I have to say that I really do like my new purchases. I have been proudly wearing all of it ever since I returned. I must admit, I was a little disappointed that no one commented on how cute my jeans were at a party I went to this week. However, it has occurred to me since then that no one would comment on it because it's not like I'm setting any new trends. I have just finally caught up with the one that is currently out there. Why would anyone comment on a person looking normal?!
My trip to Atlanta was a success not only because of my new clothes but also because I had a great time with Mary and the friends we were able to see while we were there. Plus, I was inadvertently groped as I tried to make my way through the massive crowd in Lenox mall - so there's that. I only got lost twice trying to make my way around the city (I hate Atlanta) and I managed to squeeze in getting a couple of gifts for others on my list. I am thankful for my sister for intervening on my behalf and helping to bring me out of my fashion rut. Never fear - I'm not totally out of it. You, too, can help in the area of shirts, scarves, jackets, underwear, my hair, bathing suits, skirts, pumps, make-up, running clothes, party clothes, pajamas, jewelry, purses, bras that actually match my underwear, home decor, etc., etc. All help is welcomed and certainly appreciated.
**The jeans that are designed to go up to a person's belly button can be found at your nearest Sears.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Peace Be With You
Did you know that doves symbolize peace? Of course you did - that's why people release them at weddings and funerals. We had an encounter with one a few weeks ago that I have been told is blog-worthy, so I am now sharing our story.
We were on our way back from a Japanese Steakhouse (see Fortune Cookie) and pulled into the driveway when I noticed a big, white bird perched at the top of our front door. My first thought was that it looked out of place - we never see birds like this flying around the neighborhood. This had to be someone's pet. My second thought was that it kind of looked from that angle like the barn owl at the Chattanooga Zoo which is obviously a very crappy zoo if the most exotic animal they have there is a barn owl...
Once we had parked in the garage and hustled the kids into the house, I went out on the front porch to take a closer look at our little visitor. I was careful to be very quiet and slow so as not to spook him away from our stoop. Being that this was a few days before Thanksgiving, I was feeling especially sentimental and decided I need to help this bird out. It had flown to me for a reason, dammit, and I would not let it down. All the while, Mike was making comments about how it would make a lovely addition to our Thanksgiving feast. Feeling undeterred, I went inside and called a neighbor to see if she knew who might be missing their pet.
My neighbor was unaware of any neighbors who had a pet bird, but she did suggest sending out an email to all members of the neighborhood Ladies' Association in case someone was aware of an anxious family searching frantically for their bird. I even took some photos (in case there were multiple families with missing birds) so that someone might possibly recognize our little friend and help us get him safely home. All the while, Mike was wondering aloud why we didn't won a BB Gun and wondering who we could call at this hour who would have one. I paid him no attention. Fate had brought this bird to me. It was now my mission to get him back to his warm, safe home. After all, I'd want someone to extend the same courtesy to our dog Dudley if he was ever lost, right? So I viewed this as me simply paying it forward. I called animal control (trying to find someone who could provide food and shelter for the night) as well as the local Nature Center to see if it was their bird who had gone missing. Since it was after hours, I wasn't able to get anywhere with either agency, so the bird was going to have to sleep outside in the cold. Can you imagine? A bird having to sleep outside exposed to the elements!
That night and the next day, I received several calls and emails as well as several Facebook comments about this little guy but sadly, no owner stepped forward. I know nothing about birds (after all, I thought that the bird needed to get home because it wasn't safe for him to be outdoors). At first, I thought it was a cockatiel and was actually telling people that's what it was. Imagine my embarrassment when I was told that cockatiels are native to Australia and are actually parrots. I know what a parrot looks like, and this wasn't a parrot. I also had never heard the bird say anything like "g'day, mate", so I didn't think he was Australian. I had one neighbor who said that it looked like an albino pigeon. A pigeon? I'm doing all of this for a pigeon?! Who's the pigeon now?
The same neighbor who told me this was a pigeon also called him a dove. I didn't realize that a dove is a pigeon, but saying I was doing this for a beautiful, white dove sounded a lot more benevolent than going to these lengths for a stupid, dirty pigeon. This neighbor also happened to have a bird cage and told me that if we could catch it, he and his wife would take it to the local nature center for us. At this point, it had been 24 hours and the bird hadn't budged, which means - you guessed it - bird droppings all over the door and porch. All the while, Mike is threatening to shoo it away, but I again guilted him into inaction by reminding him we'd want someone else to take care of our Dudley.
Begrudgingly, Mike decided to appease me and try and catch the bird and hand him off to our neighbors with the cage. It just so happened that he had been at a meeting the second night we had our dove as a guest and at that meeting was a representative from Animal Control. He mentioned to her that we had someone's pet cockatiel perched at out front door and she volunteered to help us corral it. Imagine her disgust when she arrived at our house and saw not an Australian bird throwing shrimp on the barbie but a stupid, lost pigeon. She good-naturedly tried to help Mike catch it, but it spread it's beautiful, white wings and flew to a higher point on our roof - safely away from the door and from any human interaction, but also perfectly positioned to still be able to effectively defecate on our front stairs.
So, this was night two with the dove, it was going to be colder outside this night than the previous night, and now he was way too high for us to catch. I worried about my little friend. Worried that he would fly away and end up somewhere where no one would care about him. Worried that he was used to being indoors and would get cold in the night. Worried that he missed his owner or that his owner missed him. I filled a box with some towels and lay it on the front porch in case he needed warmth during the night. (Mike later explained that birds don't sleep on the ground, but complimented me on my valiant efforts anyway.) I wondered about his little birdie life. Where had he come from before he was placed in my charge? Who had he been? Was he released at someone's wedding? Was he a pet in a old lady's house where he sang to her while she knitted all day? Was he a carrier pigeon who had gotten lost on his way to deliver the Salahi's their invitation to the White House State Dinner? Where did he belong? And, would I be able to get him there?
On the third day, I awoke and did not see him right away. He was not at his new perch on the roof and had not come back to the front door. Later in the day, however, he returned to the front door and back where we had a chance at catching him. I have a neighbor who offered to come over with a fishing net to try and catch him for us. Unfortunately, Mike thought he had a better idea. Mike, who had had enough of all of this at this point, simply got Dudley's crate, got on a step ladder and climbed up until he was eyeball to teeny, tiny eyeball with the dove. He opened the crate and - best I can tell - expected the bird to simply get up, accept his fate, and waltz into the crate. Instead, the dove spread his beautiful, white wings again and moved to another point on the roof. By now Mike was furious with the bird and I was furious with Mike. If he had just waited for our neighbor, this could have all been over.
Day Four - Bird back at the door. Poop everywhere. Mike losing patience. Marriage crumbling due to the fact that I was neglecting Mike's wishes and still trying to save this God-forsaken fowl. But this time, Mike acquiesced and agreed to have our neighbor come over with his net and catch the bird. Which he did, in one fell swoop. He then transported the bird from his net to the cage and off he went. So the bird was saved! Drama over! But questions remained. Who was he? And how did he get here?
Well, he was identified as a White Homing Pigeon named Clarence (okay, his name wasn't Clarence, but I kinda felt like he needed a name for the purpose of this story). He had a tag on his leg that showed him as having originated in Beaver Falls, PA. My neighbor contacted the breeder in Beaver Falls and was given the name of the owner in Riceville, TN. The owner indicated that the he was being trained to be released at weddings and funerals and had become lost and disoriented on his first training flight when a hawk scared him. The bird was less than a year old and had been missing for about a month. He was very appreciative of us and of our neighbors' efforts in bringing him safely home.
So, there you have it. A Thanksgiving and perhaps even a Christmas miracle. I found a bird of peace and was able to bring about a peaceful resolution to his plight. I was given a duty and I accomplished it to the best of my ability. I still will glance out my front door to see if he's back and I get a little tear in the corner of my eye when I catch the sight of some of his droppings that remain on our porch. I think about Clarence, and I hope he's doing well. I am now ready to accept the next Christmas miracle that comes my way - only this time, I hope it's in the form of an Ann Taylor gift certificate.
We were on our way back from a Japanese Steakhouse (see Fortune Cookie) and pulled into the driveway when I noticed a big, white bird perched at the top of our front door. My first thought was that it looked out of place - we never see birds like this flying around the neighborhood. This had to be someone's pet. My second thought was that it kind of looked from that angle like the barn owl at the Chattanooga Zoo which is obviously a very crappy zoo if the most exotic animal they have there is a barn owl...
Once we had parked in the garage and hustled the kids into the house, I went out on the front porch to take a closer look at our little visitor. I was careful to be very quiet and slow so as not to spook him away from our stoop. Being that this was a few days before Thanksgiving, I was feeling especially sentimental and decided I need to help this bird out. It had flown to me for a reason, dammit, and I would not let it down. All the while, Mike was making comments about how it would make a lovely addition to our Thanksgiving feast. Feeling undeterred, I went inside and called a neighbor to see if she knew who might be missing their pet.
My neighbor was unaware of any neighbors who had a pet bird, but she did suggest sending out an email to all members of the neighborhood Ladies' Association in case someone was aware of an anxious family searching frantically for their bird. I even took some photos (in case there were multiple families with missing birds) so that someone might possibly recognize our little friend and help us get him safely home. All the while, Mike was wondering aloud why we didn't won a BB Gun and wondering who we could call at this hour who would have one. I paid him no attention. Fate had brought this bird to me. It was now my mission to get him back to his warm, safe home. After all, I'd want someone to extend the same courtesy to our dog Dudley if he was ever lost, right? So I viewed this as me simply paying it forward. I called animal control (trying to find someone who could provide food and shelter for the night) as well as the local Nature Center to see if it was their bird who had gone missing. Since it was after hours, I wasn't able to get anywhere with either agency, so the bird was going to have to sleep outside in the cold. Can you imagine? A bird having to sleep outside exposed to the elements!
That night and the next day, I received several calls and emails as well as several Facebook comments about this little guy but sadly, no owner stepped forward. I know nothing about birds (after all, I thought that the bird needed to get home because it wasn't safe for him to be outdoors). At first, I thought it was a cockatiel and was actually telling people that's what it was. Imagine my embarrassment when I was told that cockatiels are native to Australia and are actually parrots. I know what a parrot looks like, and this wasn't a parrot. I also had never heard the bird say anything like "g'day, mate", so I didn't think he was Australian. I had one neighbor who said that it looked like an albino pigeon. A pigeon? I'm doing all of this for a pigeon?! Who's the pigeon now?
The same neighbor who told me this was a pigeon also called him a dove. I didn't realize that a dove is a pigeon, but saying I was doing this for a beautiful, white dove sounded a lot more benevolent than going to these lengths for a stupid, dirty pigeon. This neighbor also happened to have a bird cage and told me that if we could catch it, he and his wife would take it to the local nature center for us. At this point, it had been 24 hours and the bird hadn't budged, which means - you guessed it - bird droppings all over the door and porch. All the while, Mike is threatening to shoo it away, but I again guilted him into inaction by reminding him we'd want someone else to take care of our Dudley.
Begrudgingly, Mike decided to appease me and try and catch the bird and hand him off to our neighbors with the cage. It just so happened that he had been at a meeting the second night we had our dove as a guest and at that meeting was a representative from Animal Control. He mentioned to her that we had someone's pet cockatiel perched at out front door and she volunteered to help us corral it. Imagine her disgust when she arrived at our house and saw not an Australian bird throwing shrimp on the barbie but a stupid, lost pigeon. She good-naturedly tried to help Mike catch it, but it spread it's beautiful, white wings and flew to a higher point on our roof - safely away from the door and from any human interaction, but also perfectly positioned to still be able to effectively defecate on our front stairs.
So, this was night two with the dove, it was going to be colder outside this night than the previous night, and now he was way too high for us to catch. I worried about my little friend. Worried that he would fly away and end up somewhere where no one would care about him. Worried that he was used to being indoors and would get cold in the night. Worried that he missed his owner or that his owner missed him. I filled a box with some towels and lay it on the front porch in case he needed warmth during the night. (Mike later explained that birds don't sleep on the ground, but complimented me on my valiant efforts anyway.) I wondered about his little birdie life. Where had he come from before he was placed in my charge? Who had he been? Was he released at someone's wedding? Was he a pet in a old lady's house where he sang to her while she knitted all day? Was he a carrier pigeon who had gotten lost on his way to deliver the Salahi's their invitation to the White House State Dinner? Where did he belong? And, would I be able to get him there?
On the third day, I awoke and did not see him right away. He was not at his new perch on the roof and had not come back to the front door. Later in the day, however, he returned to the front door and back where we had a chance at catching him. I have a neighbor who offered to come over with a fishing net to try and catch him for us. Unfortunately, Mike thought he had a better idea. Mike, who had had enough of all of this at this point, simply got Dudley's crate, got on a step ladder and climbed up until he was eyeball to teeny, tiny eyeball with the dove. He opened the crate and - best I can tell - expected the bird to simply get up, accept his fate, and waltz into the crate. Instead, the dove spread his beautiful, white wings again and moved to another point on the roof. By now Mike was furious with the bird and I was furious with Mike. If he had just waited for our neighbor, this could have all been over.
Day Four - Bird back at the door. Poop everywhere. Mike losing patience. Marriage crumbling due to the fact that I was neglecting Mike's wishes and still trying to save this God-forsaken fowl. But this time, Mike acquiesced and agreed to have our neighbor come over with his net and catch the bird. Which he did, in one fell swoop. He then transported the bird from his net to the cage and off he went. So the bird was saved! Drama over! But questions remained. Who was he? And how did he get here?
Well, he was identified as a White Homing Pigeon named Clarence (okay, his name wasn't Clarence, but I kinda felt like he needed a name for the purpose of this story). He had a tag on his leg that showed him as having originated in Beaver Falls, PA. My neighbor contacted the breeder in Beaver Falls and was given the name of the owner in Riceville, TN. The owner indicated that the he was being trained to be released at weddings and funerals and had become lost and disoriented on his first training flight when a hawk scared him. The bird was less than a year old and had been missing for about a month. He was very appreciative of us and of our neighbors' efforts in bringing him safely home.
So, there you have it. A Thanksgiving and perhaps even a Christmas miracle. I found a bird of peace and was able to bring about a peaceful resolution to his plight. I was given a duty and I accomplished it to the best of my ability. I still will glance out my front door to see if he's back and I get a little tear in the corner of my eye when I catch the sight of some of his droppings that remain on our porch. I think about Clarence, and I hope he's doing well. I am now ready to accept the next Christmas miracle that comes my way - only this time, I hope it's in the form of an Ann Taylor gift certificate.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Socks, Highwaters, and Owls, Oh My!
I was actually excited when I turned 30 a few (okay, six) years ago. For one thing, I like myself and my life better and better with each passing year. I know myself better, too. But the main reason was that 30 seemed sooooo OLD when I was growing up. If someone was in their 30's they were ancient and out of touch. I'm not exactly ancient yet I don't think. But out of touch? Absolutely! I always have been. So turning 30 now makes it allowable, even acceptable, to be lame.
Needless to say, this is good news for someone who has been lame for a very long time. Nowhere is my lameness more evident than in my closet. I've never dressed well. I look back in horror at old pictures of me in high school. I should have known better; of course I should have. But I didn't. And if you've ever met my mother, you know I didn't have much help in the fashion department. My sister had better taste, but she was kind of a nerd until college, so again... no help. And yes, looking back I'm horrified, but I don't really know how to change all of the wrong fashion choices I made. Would I do things differently today? I guess. But what exactly I don't know. So when I turned 30 I figured I could continue dressing badly just as I always had, but now it would somehow look better because it would be more socially acceptable for a person in her 30's to be wearing that shirt, or those shoes. Or have, gulp, that hair!
To this day, I don't really know when it's okay to wear socks with dress shoes. In the spring and summer I think I'm in pretty good shape with my assortment of sandals. But since I have to dress up (somewhat - business casual) for work, I can't wear the clogs I normally wear in the fall and winter. I have to wear close-toed shoes in the cooler months. Is it okay to wear socks with them? I've noticed several of my younger coworkers don't wear them. But then, they wear tall heels with really pointy toes. That looks really painful, so I wear something with a low heel and comfortable sole. This translates into - an ugly shoe. Would socks make them more or less attractive? I just don't know.
There are a lot of times at work when I'm in the restroom where the full-length mirrors are and I notice that my pants come down to around my ankles. I have never viewed this as a problem, but my younger, cuter coworkers never have any ankle showing. Their pants are practically all the way to the floor! I'd trip over my pant legs if I did that! And anyway, the more weight I gain, the higher my pants seem to rise. So for these reasons, I sometimes wear high-waters. A bold fashion move or just a bad look for a thirtysomething has-been? Wait, don't answer that.
I can also tell you - and I'm not bragging here - that I am wearing several sweaters and shirts that I have been wearing for at least seven or eight years now. I'm pretty sure the styles have changed since they were purchased, but I will not be rushed into buying new clothes. Many items no longer really flatter me due to the fact that I'm at least 10 pounds heavier than I was when I bought them. So, I have to stretch them from here to Ohio just to make them fit. But I will not be defeated! I will continue to wear them until they disintegrate, are lost at the dry cleaners, or someone stages a fashion intervention and saves me from myself.
Really, it's not my intention to dress badly. It's just that I have no flair at all for fashion. I truly don't know what works together and what doesn't so I am at a horrible disadvantage. I used to feel some level of guilt about dressing so badly and having such lame taste. But I embrace it now because I'm in my mid 30's. I can proudly wear "mom jeans" and comfortable shoes because I don't have to be attractive anymore. Not that I ever was - but now there's no guilt involved. It's really quite freeing. You should try it. In fact, please do. Then maybe I won't be the only hideous person out there...
Of course I'm thinking of all of this because I was folding my kids' clothes tonight and I came across a couple of shirts with owls on them. What's the rule on owls? Are they strictly a Fall option? I see little girls wearing bunnies year-round and not only at Easter. Are owls allowed the same consideration? Ugh, I just don't know. (or maybe I don't give a "hoot" a-hahahahaha!) This is really hard. I could be shaping my girls' lameness by allowing them to wear something that it completely passe. Someone please help me or, better yet, help them. I'm already a lost cause. But they are young and still capable of being molded into snazzy dressers. Oh gosh! No one even says "snazzy dressers" anymore do they??!! I'm sure "lame" isn't even a cool enough word to describe something lame anymore. I'm probably too lame to know the new word for lame.
Well, please give me some guidance on the socks and the owls. That will at least get me started. And please don't hold my horrendous taste against my sweet children. They are innocent in all of this. I welcome your fashion advice but would appreciate it if you would be gentle with your critiques. I may look lame but underneath the ill-fitting shirts and short pants, I do care.
Needless to say, this is good news for someone who has been lame for a very long time. Nowhere is my lameness more evident than in my closet. I've never dressed well. I look back in horror at old pictures of me in high school. I should have known better; of course I should have. But I didn't. And if you've ever met my mother, you know I didn't have much help in the fashion department. My sister had better taste, but she was kind of a nerd until college, so again... no help. And yes, looking back I'm horrified, but I don't really know how to change all of the wrong fashion choices I made. Would I do things differently today? I guess. But what exactly I don't know. So when I turned 30 I figured I could continue dressing badly just as I always had, but now it would somehow look better because it would be more socially acceptable for a person in her 30's to be wearing that shirt, or those shoes. Or have, gulp, that hair!
To this day, I don't really know when it's okay to wear socks with dress shoes. In the spring and summer I think I'm in pretty good shape with my assortment of sandals. But since I have to dress up (somewhat - business casual) for work, I can't wear the clogs I normally wear in the fall and winter. I have to wear close-toed shoes in the cooler months. Is it okay to wear socks with them? I've noticed several of my younger coworkers don't wear them. But then, they wear tall heels with really pointy toes. That looks really painful, so I wear something with a low heel and comfortable sole. This translates into - an ugly shoe. Would socks make them more or less attractive? I just don't know.
There are a lot of times at work when I'm in the restroom where the full-length mirrors are and I notice that my pants come down to around my ankles. I have never viewed this as a problem, but my younger, cuter coworkers never have any ankle showing. Their pants are practically all the way to the floor! I'd trip over my pant legs if I did that! And anyway, the more weight I gain, the higher my pants seem to rise. So for these reasons, I sometimes wear high-waters. A bold fashion move or just a bad look for a thirtysomething has-been? Wait, don't answer that.
I can also tell you - and I'm not bragging here - that I am wearing several sweaters and shirts that I have been wearing for at least seven or eight years now. I'm pretty sure the styles have changed since they were purchased, but I will not be rushed into buying new clothes. Many items no longer really flatter me due to the fact that I'm at least 10 pounds heavier than I was when I bought them. So, I have to stretch them from here to Ohio just to make them fit. But I will not be defeated! I will continue to wear them until they disintegrate, are lost at the dry cleaners, or someone stages a fashion intervention and saves me from myself.
Really, it's not my intention to dress badly. It's just that I have no flair at all for fashion. I truly don't know what works together and what doesn't so I am at a horrible disadvantage. I used to feel some level of guilt about dressing so badly and having such lame taste. But I embrace it now because I'm in my mid 30's. I can proudly wear "mom jeans" and comfortable shoes because I don't have to be attractive anymore. Not that I ever was - but now there's no guilt involved. It's really quite freeing. You should try it. In fact, please do. Then maybe I won't be the only hideous person out there...
Of course I'm thinking of all of this because I was folding my kids' clothes tonight and I came across a couple of shirts with owls on them. What's the rule on owls? Are they strictly a Fall option? I see little girls wearing bunnies year-round and not only at Easter. Are owls allowed the same consideration? Ugh, I just don't know. (or maybe I don't give a "hoot" a-hahahahaha!) This is really hard. I could be shaping my girls' lameness by allowing them to wear something that it completely passe. Someone please help me or, better yet, help them. I'm already a lost cause. But they are young and still capable of being molded into snazzy dressers. Oh gosh! No one even says "snazzy dressers" anymore do they??!! I'm sure "lame" isn't even a cool enough word to describe something lame anymore. I'm probably too lame to know the new word for lame.
Well, please give me some guidance on the socks and the owls. That will at least get me started. And please don't hold my horrendous taste against my sweet children. They are innocent in all of this. I welcome your fashion advice but would appreciate it if you would be gentle with your critiques. I may look lame but underneath the ill-fitting shirts and short pants, I do care.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Fortune Cookie
I am the only person I know who has had not one but two fortune cookies that were empty on the inside. No fortune. No future? Well, this happened in college, so obviously I have had some kind of a future. But really, how sad is that? Sometimes you open a fortune cookie and you get some proverb that really doesn’t say or mean anything and it’s a total disappointment. (example: "Enough is as good as a feast".) How does this fortune motivate me to live a better life or be a better person? The answer is that it does not. But no fortune at all? What does that mean I should do? Just give up and go home to bed? Actually, it doesn't take much to make me go to bed. Now I have a good excuse!
Sunday night, Mike and I took the girls to Shogun for dinner. We hadn’t been to a Japanese Steakhouse in a while and I thought (mistakenly as it turns out) that the girls would get a kick out of it. So, at the end of the meal, Mike and I were sufficiently stuffed and the girls had hit their time limit on behaving in a public place. The wait staff was passing around fortune cookies which seemed to delight the girls. That is, until they actually tasted the "cookies" and realized that they were not cookies at all but rather flavorless, stale pieces of bread. At any rate, Meg being too young to understand why there was a piece of paper inside her cookie, promptly discarded her fortune onto the floor. Kate, however, was interested and wanted to know what her little slip of paper had to say. I read it to her: A lucky surprise is coming to you in the mail. She got excited thinking that she was about to get some sort of gift, so I tried to distract her by telling her that it was Santa who would be bringing this treasure and she’d have to wait a few more weeks AND would have to be good (since he’s watching and all).
Kate, while very timid and shy with new people or in crowds, is actually a playful little girl. After I read her the fortune tucked inside her cookie, she took it from me and began pretending (or “buhtend” as she says it) to read her fortune. She told me it said, “I Love My Mommy.” She smiled sweetly as she said this. It made my heart melt (well, that and the heat from the still-simmering cook top before us). I then began to envision how this fortune would change in her mind as the years passed. Fast forward 5 years and she’ll say her fortune reads, “I hate my mom”. Fast forward another 5 years and it’ll be, “My mom doesn’t understand me at all.” Fast forward maybe three years and it’ll be tempered somewhat to, “My mom is a total embarrassment” or “Why can’t my mom dress like the other, more attractive mothers?”. Hopefully a few years after that it will be something like, “My mom did the best she knew how to do.” I guess I'll know I've done a good job with her if down the road it reads, “My mom loved me no matter what.”
As things happen to me now, I try to think of a way I can write about it, making it deep and profound for the readers of my blog. I was sitting there in that restaurant, brushing Kate’s bangs to the side of her face with my gentle and loving fingers, looking deep into her eyes – lost in thought as I pondered these future fortunes (again, painting a picture of a profoundly reflective moment in my parenting for the purpose of this story…). I was suddenly bolted back to reality when I realized she was now saying that her fortune said, “Poo Poo Bottom”. So much for my blog-worthy, beautifully crafted moment with my adorable and loving child.
At any rate, my fortune for the evening was something lame like, "Doors will be opening for you" and it was actually a lady at our table who was the recipient of the cookie with no fortune at all. (I still have her beat, though. I had two in one sitting!) When I got home, I found that Kate’s fictitious fortune was correct. Her sister had a dirty diaper (the aforementioned “poo-poo bottom”) that I was lucky enough to get to clean.
The point of this story? There's not one, of course. Much like all of my other posts. Just my wish for you the next time you open a fortune cookie; a quote from Marcus Aurelius, "Very little is needed to make a happy life; it is all within yourself, in your way of thinking".
Hope you had much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving!
Sunday night, Mike and I took the girls to Shogun for dinner. We hadn’t been to a Japanese Steakhouse in a while and I thought (mistakenly as it turns out) that the girls would get a kick out of it. So, at the end of the meal, Mike and I were sufficiently stuffed and the girls had hit their time limit on behaving in a public place. The wait staff was passing around fortune cookies which seemed to delight the girls. That is, until they actually tasted the "cookies" and realized that they were not cookies at all but rather flavorless, stale pieces of bread. At any rate, Meg being too young to understand why there was a piece of paper inside her cookie, promptly discarded her fortune onto the floor. Kate, however, was interested and wanted to know what her little slip of paper had to say. I read it to her: A lucky surprise is coming to you in the mail. She got excited thinking that she was about to get some sort of gift, so I tried to distract her by telling her that it was Santa who would be bringing this treasure and she’d have to wait a few more weeks AND would have to be good (since he’s watching and all).
Kate, while very timid and shy with new people or in crowds, is actually a playful little girl. After I read her the fortune tucked inside her cookie, she took it from me and began pretending (or “buhtend” as she says it) to read her fortune. She told me it said, “I Love My Mommy.” She smiled sweetly as she said this. It made my heart melt (well, that and the heat from the still-simmering cook top before us). I then began to envision how this fortune would change in her mind as the years passed. Fast forward 5 years and she’ll say her fortune reads, “I hate my mom”. Fast forward another 5 years and it’ll be, “My mom doesn’t understand me at all.” Fast forward maybe three years and it’ll be tempered somewhat to, “My mom is a total embarrassment” or “Why can’t my mom dress like the other, more attractive mothers?”. Hopefully a few years after that it will be something like, “My mom did the best she knew how to do.” I guess I'll know I've done a good job with her if down the road it reads, “My mom loved me no matter what.”
As things happen to me now, I try to think of a way I can write about it, making it deep and profound for the readers of my blog. I was sitting there in that restaurant, brushing Kate’s bangs to the side of her face with my gentle and loving fingers, looking deep into her eyes – lost in thought as I pondered these future fortunes (again, painting a picture of a profoundly reflective moment in my parenting for the purpose of this story…). I was suddenly bolted back to reality when I realized she was now saying that her fortune said, “Poo Poo Bottom”. So much for my blog-worthy, beautifully crafted moment with my adorable and loving child.
At any rate, my fortune for the evening was something lame like, "Doors will be opening for you" and it was actually a lady at our table who was the recipient of the cookie with no fortune at all. (I still have her beat, though. I had two in one sitting!) When I got home, I found that Kate’s fictitious fortune was correct. Her sister had a dirty diaper (the aforementioned “poo-poo bottom”) that I was lucky enough to get to clean.
The point of this story? There's not one, of course. Much like all of my other posts. Just my wish for you the next time you open a fortune cookie; a quote from Marcus Aurelius, "Very little is needed to make a happy life; it is all within yourself, in your way of thinking".
Hope you had much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I giggle every time Kate refers to her girly part as a "Ba-gina", therefore, I am too immature to be a parent.
Yes, it's true. Not only have I told Kate that that particular body part is called a vagina (there's just really not a good word for it, is there?), I also giggle when she mispronounces the word. What are some other things that prove I am a sub par parent? Sadly, it won't take long for me to think of examples...
For one thing, I am a voice-raiser. I am conscious of it when it is happening, and yet I allow it to happen. How else am I going to get the girls' attention, though? Really?! Perhaps they are misbehaving because they didn't hear my initial requests for them to stop whatever it is they are doing. So, I raise my voice to make my point and they end up winning whatever issue it was because I am now reduced to a 2 year old or 4 year old level.
I also use bribery in order to accomplish what I need them to accomplish. I said I'd never do it, but here we are. I have watched other parents beg and plead with their child(ren) to get them to cooperate and then ultimately give them some kind of goodie in exchange for their cooperation. Who is the parent here? I would wonder to myself. I wonder the same thing when I promise gummy bears if they will smile for a family photo. What I should do is allow them to act like the little monsters they can be so that later I can point out to them how they ruined every Kodak moment when they were kids. Which brings me to my next struggle:
Sarcasm. If there's one thing kids "get", it's sarcasm. (That, incidentally, was sarcasm.) I use sarcasm all the time with my kids. I am very calm and sweet with them as I chastise them with my words. And I do it with a smile on my face. The day they learn to do this back to me will not be a good day. When I use sarcasm with them, I am teaching them to use it with others. I happen to love sarcasm and think it is hilarious. However, it is an adult way to communicate; not for young little minds who want nothing more than to please their parents. Like I need to tell you what sarcasm is (again, that's sarcasm).
But the good news is, I do have a lot of positive things I want to bestow upon my children. I figure that because I have some good, valuable lessons I want to teach them that even with all of the yelling, bribery and sarcasm, they still have a shot of turning out okay. Plus, their father is a wonderful person. Hopefully his influence will outweigh mine. Here is a sampling of what I hope to teach my girls as they age through my words and more importantly, my actions:
1. Value each other and love having a sister. I have loved having mine.
2. Value family. Invest time with your family as you grow and even as your peer group changes over the years.
3. Seek out a husband who is a loving as your father. Don’t ever settle for less than that. It is better to be on your own than with someone who is less than wonderful to you.
4. Value your mind and body. Demand that other people value and respect it as well.
5. Appreciate what you have. Don’t focus on what you don’t have. (Happiness is wanting what you get.)
6. Don’t get married right out of college. Spend some time on your own developing your own identity.
7. Be nice to everyone. Treat everyone with respect and dignity. It’s better to be known as a nice person than to be labeled as “popular”.
8. Be comfortable doing your own thing. This requires comfort in your own skin.
9. Love the name you were given. It was special to your parents and it should be to you.
10. Surround yourself with people of quality. Recognize that quality comes in all shapes and sizes and from all types of backgrounds.
11. Read to develop your knowledge and interests.
12. Have hobbies.
13. Never let a boy/man come between a good friendship. Better to lose the man.
14. Care what adults think of you. Carry yourself with strong character, class and impeccable poise.
15. Don’t ever take up smoking. Not all people who smoke are trashy, but all trashy people smoke.
16. Insist on a sober driver, or be it yourself. Your life and the lives of your friends depend on it.
17. Never be out of control of yourself. If you are vulnerable to others, they may take advantage.
18. Never let your sister or your friend be out of control of herself and vulnerable to others. (My kids will know who Natalee Holloway was.)
19. Be a good listener. (Most importantly, listen to me!)
20. Whatever you do, do a good job. Yours should be tough shoes to fill.
21. Tell someone if you are unhappy. You don’t have to live in a cloud. There are things that can help.
22. Don’t let fear hold you back; but practice caution.
23. Problems do not go away by failing to acknowledge they exist.
24. Know that behind every lecture your father or I might subject you to, is love.
25. Despite mistakes your father and I make along the way, you are loved and our intentions were always pure.
I'm sure there are more, but that's a start. Parenting is the most important thing I have ever done in my life and it is the one I approach with the least amount of knowledge. We make this up as we go along, don't we? If we invest our time, energy and love into it, though, our kids will realize (through lots and lots of therapy probably) that we did the best we could do.
If I still have readers out there, tell me some of the things you want to teach your kids and I'll add them to my own list (if they're good). I had to end with some sarcasm...
For one thing, I am a voice-raiser. I am conscious of it when it is happening, and yet I allow it to happen. How else am I going to get the girls' attention, though? Really?! Perhaps they are misbehaving because they didn't hear my initial requests for them to stop whatever it is they are doing. So, I raise my voice to make my point and they end up winning whatever issue it was because I am now reduced to a 2 year old or 4 year old level.
I also use bribery in order to accomplish what I need them to accomplish. I said I'd never do it, but here we are. I have watched other parents beg and plead with their child(ren) to get them to cooperate and then ultimately give them some kind of goodie in exchange for their cooperation. Who is the parent here? I would wonder to myself. I wonder the same thing when I promise gummy bears if they will smile for a family photo. What I should do is allow them to act like the little monsters they can be so that later I can point out to them how they ruined every Kodak moment when they were kids. Which brings me to my next struggle:
Sarcasm. If there's one thing kids "get", it's sarcasm. (That, incidentally, was sarcasm.) I use sarcasm all the time with my kids. I am very calm and sweet with them as I chastise them with my words. And I do it with a smile on my face. The day they learn to do this back to me will not be a good day. When I use sarcasm with them, I am teaching them to use it with others. I happen to love sarcasm and think it is hilarious. However, it is an adult way to communicate; not for young little minds who want nothing more than to please their parents. Like I need to tell you what sarcasm is (again, that's sarcasm).
But the good news is, I do have a lot of positive things I want to bestow upon my children. I figure that because I have some good, valuable lessons I want to teach them that even with all of the yelling, bribery and sarcasm, they still have a shot of turning out okay. Plus, their father is a wonderful person. Hopefully his influence will outweigh mine. Here is a sampling of what I hope to teach my girls as they age through my words and more importantly, my actions:
1. Value each other and love having a sister. I have loved having mine.
2. Value family. Invest time with your family as you grow and even as your peer group changes over the years.
3. Seek out a husband who is a loving as your father. Don’t ever settle for less than that. It is better to be on your own than with someone who is less than wonderful to you.
4. Value your mind and body. Demand that other people value and respect it as well.
5. Appreciate what you have. Don’t focus on what you don’t have. (Happiness is wanting what you get.)
6. Don’t get married right out of college. Spend some time on your own developing your own identity.
7. Be nice to everyone. Treat everyone with respect and dignity. It’s better to be known as a nice person than to be labeled as “popular”.
8. Be comfortable doing your own thing. This requires comfort in your own skin.
9. Love the name you were given. It was special to your parents and it should be to you.
10. Surround yourself with people of quality. Recognize that quality comes in all shapes and sizes and from all types of backgrounds.
11. Read to develop your knowledge and interests.
12. Have hobbies.
13. Never let a boy/man come between a good friendship. Better to lose the man.
14. Care what adults think of you. Carry yourself with strong character, class and impeccable poise.
15. Don’t ever take up smoking. Not all people who smoke are trashy, but all trashy people smoke.
16. Insist on a sober driver, or be it yourself. Your life and the lives of your friends depend on it.
17. Never be out of control of yourself. If you are vulnerable to others, they may take advantage.
18. Never let your sister or your friend be out of control of herself and vulnerable to others. (My kids will know who Natalee Holloway was.)
19. Be a good listener. (Most importantly, listen to me!)
20. Whatever you do, do a good job. Yours should be tough shoes to fill.
21. Tell someone if you are unhappy. You don’t have to live in a cloud. There are things that can help.
22. Don’t let fear hold you back; but practice caution.
23. Problems do not go away by failing to acknowledge they exist.
24. Know that behind every lecture your father or I might subject you to, is love.
25. Despite mistakes your father and I make along the way, you are loved and our intentions were always pure.
I'm sure there are more, but that's a start. Parenting is the most important thing I have ever done in my life and it is the one I approach with the least amount of knowledge. We make this up as we go along, don't we? If we invest our time, energy and love into it, though, our kids will realize (through lots and lots of therapy probably) that we did the best we could do.
If I still have readers out there, tell me some of the things you want to teach your kids and I'll add them to my own list (if they're good). I had to end with some sarcasm...
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