Make It Count

Posted by on Dec 30, 2012 in From My Perspective | 0 comments

     Over the course of the past week, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.  Here is what I’ve concluded:
LIFE IS PRECIOUS…And I must live it accordingly.
  • I will work at my relationships.
  • I will make time for the people that I care about.
  • I will be grateful for hellos and careful with goodbyes.
  • I will not sweat the small stuff.
  • I will be quicker to agree to disagree.
  • I will love fiercely and leave no room for regret.
  • If I have something nice to say: I will say it.
  • I will forgive those in need of forgiving.
  • I will apologize when I’ve behaved inappropriately.
  • I will live with the intention of loving whatever life has to offer.
  • I will search for silver linings during less than desirable circumstances.
  • I will appreciate the little things that often bring the greatest amount of joy.
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Necessary Release

Posted by on Dec 21, 2012 in From My Perspective | 0 comments

  • I snapped at Craig today…which means I’m not writing.
  • The messy house is driving me crazy…which means I’m not writing.
  • I’m on edge even after a workout…which means I’m not writing.
  • I’m craving chips and dip…which means I’m not writing.
  • I am struggling to find motivation…which means I’m not writing.

You see, I possess 3 guaranteed releases in life:
1.) Exercise: Already tried.
2.) The Unmentionable: The kids are home and Craig is not = not an option.
3.) Writing…So here I am.

And I’m already starting to feel better.  I just exhaled a deep, calming breath.

  • I realize how silly I must have sounded to Craig during my rant this morning.  No wonder he smiled.  I hate it when he does that.  Because then I smile too, before I’m done being frustrated.  Clever man.
  • I accept that the house will be messier for the next few weeks while the kids are home.  It is what it is.  And I’d rather have them ‘home and messy’ than ‘not home and clean.’
  • At least I worked out.  I’d feel much worse if I hadn’t.
  • I’ll save the chips and dip for later when my salt-junkie-of-a-friend can join me.  Then I’ll really enjoy my guilty pleasure.
  • I’m ready to roll now.  I took time for me.  I looked inside from the outside.  And if that’s all I have to complain about?  Well, then I’m one lucky lady.
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Star Strikes

Posted by on Dec 17, 2012 in From My Perspective, Raising Great Kids | 0 comments

     We took the kids to a charity bowling event yesterday supported by the NBA.  Usually I’m a horrible bowler.  But yesterday I was on a hot streak.  I bowled two strikes and a spare early on.
     The attractive black man in the lane next to ours was impressed.  “Shoot!  I’m gonna have you throw my ball for me!” he said.
     I laughed.  “Nah…you don’t want me!  This is the best I’ve ever bowled!” I admitted.
     He didn’t believe me.  “Are you a hustler?” he teased.
     “Sshhh!!!  Don’t tell!” I joked back and winked at him.
A little while later, Gabe said to me, “Mommy!  I can’t believe I got to bowl with Chris Paul today!”
     “Who’s Chris Paul?”  I asked.
     “MOMMY!!” he addressed me with frustration.  “How can you not know who Chris Paul is?!”
      “I don’t know.”  I shrugged my shoulders.  “Who is he?” I asked.
      “He’s practically the best player in the entire NBA!” he professed with excitement.
     “Good for you, buddy!  Did you talk to him?” I asked.
     “Oh my gosh, Mommy!” Gabe giggled and rolled his eyes.  “Yes, I talked to him!  And so did you!” he focused on my ignorance.
     “I did?” I asked.  “Who was he?”
     “Mommy!  He was the guy that asked you to bowl for him!” he pointed out.
     “Oh!  Really?” I asked.
     “Yes!” Gabe shook his head in defeat.
     “Well, then it’s a good thing I was bowling strikes today!” I said with exaggerated relief.
     “Mommy…You don’t even care that it was Chris Paul?” he asked me.
     “Honey, I don’t even know who Chris Paul is.  But I do know that the guy that bowled beside us today was nice and happy to be here.  And for those reasons: I like him,” I told him honestly.
     “So when he’s on TV blowing up the court, you’re going to cheer for him because he’s ‘nice and happy?'” Gabe challenged with macho sarcasm.
     “Well, that and the fact that he thinks I’m cool,” I nudged him playfully.
     Gabe sighed.  He knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with his dorky old mom.
     “Well,” he confessed, “I guess that’s a good reason to cheer, too.”

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Momma Bear

Posted by on Dec 14, 2012 in From My Perspective | 0 comments

     I loved being a parent today.  I got to chaperone my eight year-old twin daughters’ second grade field trip.  It was a morning full of laughter and fun.  I got to know the girls’ classmates in a relaxed atmosphere; what a great group of kids.  Their innocence made me laugh as they participated in casual conversation.  One boy told me he wanted to be a cartoonist when he grew up, even though I think he was born to be a comedian.  Another boy declared with conviction that he wanted to be an elbow doctor.  Sydney and Taylor snuck in spontaneous hugs and snuggles all morning long.  Their youthful spirit, camaraderie and light-heartedness was contagious.  My heart burst with grateful joy for this time spent with my daughters and their classmates.
     Then I heard the news of the school shooting.
     I was crushed by the undeniable presence of evil in this world.  Tears formed in my eyes as I read the latest death toll.  I shivered with confused disgust as I imagined the horrific acts of violence committed against the innocent and unsuspecting victims.  I was flooded with panicked empathy as I tried to imagine the terror of the unknown as parents raced to the school to find out if their children were dead or alive.  I was depressed for those children and adults who will be tainted by the trauma of this one day for the rest of their lives.
     Then my compassion turned into anger.  How could anyone be so cruel?  So heartless.  So evil.  What demons could possibly possess anyone to make the choice to murder an entire Kindergarten class, among others?  I just don’t get it.
     My mind won’t stop spinning.  My heart won’t stop aching.
     I will hug my babies tighter tonight.  I will pray for those families who can no longer do so.  And I will continue to keep a vigilant eye on the safety of my kids, no matter how paranoid I may seem.

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Call Me, Baby

Posted by on Dec 13, 2012 in From My Perspective | 2 comments

     Female conversation has proven that most men behave like babies when they’re sick. They expect to be doted upon and nurtured.  They shed the titles of husband and father.  They think nothing of lying in bed until they feel better.  I used to be annoyed by this.  But then one day while I was taking care of my own sick little boy it hit me: Women, we are our own worst enemies.  
     Gabe had a bad case of the flu.  Between feverish naps, he asked for chocolate milk.  Before I could answer, he rose sluggishly from the couch and started toward the refrigerator.
     “Where are you going, honey?” I asked.
     “I’m getting the milk and the chocolate for you,” he volunteered.  Any other day this would have been normal.  It’s what we did:  He got the ingredients.  I made the chocolate milk.  He put away the ingredients.
     And yet I heard myself say, “Sweetie…don’t get up.  I’ll get you your milk.  You feel too yucky today.”
     As the words came out of my mouth, I knew I was creating a monster.  But every maternal instinct I possessed would not allow him to help that day. I temporarily erased all expectations for my son because he was sick.
     Gabe was seven at the time.  His sense of responsibility, despite being ill, was still there.  But I put a dent in it that day, and have continued to erode it further every day he’s spent sick since.
     So who can blame a man that spent every cold and flu season until he was eighteen being spoiled by his mommy? I am grooming Gabriel to drive his wife crazy because it’s impossible for me not to take care of him when he’s sick.  Can I make up for it by teaching him to make his bed in the morning?  If not, I apologize to the future Mrs. Gabriel Myers. Because it feels too good to be needed by my little boy every now and again.
     So…The next time I’m ready to kill Craig when he complains about a sniffle in baby-talk, I will refer to this blog.  I will try to be sympathetic when he comes home from work and tells me he feels like crap, even though he’s managed to interact with clients all day.  I will try to be more patient with him and keep the kids out of his hair while he rests.   I will remind myself that his mother’s love conditioned him to behave this way.  I will remember that it’s not really his fault.
     The next time he’s sick…I’m handing him the phone and telling him to call his mom.
     And the next time I’m sick…I think I’ll call mine, too.

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