When I was 23, I was diagnosed with what can be simplified as Lung Disease. The treatment involved steroids and regardless of what I ate, didn't eat, how much I worked out, or sat on my couch, I gained weight. My young size 0/2 and firm body blew up. I don't know how much I gained; I asked the nursing staff to stop weighing me at my third follow up appointment and they did not argue. The stretch marks left from what my body went through are deep and many. My hips and upper thighs look scarred.
I have always been hard on myself, no one has a greater expectation of me than me. I didn't grow up being self conscious of my body or weight. The after of a disease that could have taken my life combined with other life occurrences at time resulted in me becoming self conscious. My well taken care of skin, look scarred in some places. I stopped wearing shorts and would avoid events requiring a bathing suit.
Life would eventually lead to pregnancy, and the weight loss and gain many busy moms experience. I would eventually begin to scrutinize every inch of my thighs and stomach. My eyes seems to focus on only flaws. I saw every deep scar stretch mark and the eventual cottage cheese cellulite. I never saw survival or strength. I only saw not good enough.
Trying on clothes or even clothes shopping became a chore, something to be avoided. I didn't want to deal with how I would feel in those lights, with those mirrors, in that size.
We moved to Florida at the end of last year for my job. I will say it - I was terrified of the need to wear a bathing suit and shorts again. I almost didn't apply for the promotion.
When taking our son to his favorite store, I saw a Bar Method studio. I longed for something like this, it was not offered where our last move had taken us. Relo and one salary for an unspecified amount of time in a higher cost of living place, I signed up anyway.
I have consistently attended Bar classes 3-5 times a week since January. The group there is amazing and I would do anything for any one of them. The schedule of classes allows me to attend regularly despite my job, which often has me at work at odd times of morning/night (2am, 10pm, etc).
The consistency has allowed me to survive a hard relo, I've concentrated so hard on diamond thigh, standing seat, planks, push ups, that I was able to de-stress and focus on positive. Inches have disappeared, my body leaned out, muscles and definition appeared. I have noticed all of this, but I have been so focused on form, on pushing myself more, that I didn't really notice.
I didn't notice I have worn shorts in public, I didn't notice I walked around in a bathing suit in a public place twice in May. I didn't notice I look at definition now and not the scars. I didn't notice my body self confidence returned.
Earlier this week, I set up for water seat ski, I fell back with a wide arm grip as required and saw, really saw my arms. At first, I didn't believe they were mine. Right there in that moment, I realized how physically strong I was. I realized how physically and mentally strong I had always been, but Bar Method needed to remind me. Bar Method saved my mental state for relo, and Bar Method gave me myself back.
I smiled briefly, remembering how mentally strong I have always been, even when I didn't give myself credit. I smiled briefly realizing I could totally out push up my once athletic brother.
So while Bar Method has changed my body, more importantly it has changed my mindset and improved my self confidence. Bar Method has given me back to me.
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Friday, May 12, 2017
The Blog is Back: Happy Mother's Day!
"Yes, and now I am going to go tell your mother her baby is ok." Those were the words spoken to me post c-section when I asked my OBGYN if my baby was ok. You see Dr. Hill knew my mother longer than me. She was the only gynecologist I had known since 16. She watched me become a young adult and then delivered my child, making me a mom.
I was 25. I was 25 and had a baby. It took her words for me to realize, my mom had a baby too. I was that baby. Of course, I knew my mom had a baby, she had two actually. Until those words were spoken to me, it never occurred to me, she had gone through this entire process too.
You see back then, there was no reveal party with cake to cut revealing a dyed inside, blue balloons didn't fly, no cute staged picture was taken. My mom and I didn't sit around discussing my feelings and emotions during pregnancy, nor did we discuss hers. I was 25 with no idea what I wanted to do with my life and could barely afford my bills.
It wasn't how I thought I would become a mom. I didn't actually plan on becoming a mom. I figured I would look up from my desk one day at 40 and realize I forgot to have kids. Some days that was because I forgot to find a potential child's father too. I am currently writing this blog at 39, with a husband and a 13 year old son. I work for a Fortune 300 company. The dog just licked my leg, apparently he can read and knows he wasn't mentioned.
To say the last 13 years of my life have been easy would be the biggest lie ever told... or at least it would be up there with Judas' denial. The last 13 years of my life have been relaxing, strenuous, full of both joy and sorrow, mistakes, denial, questions. Full body shaking laughter, and full body shake crying, the kind where you stop breathing and may throw up, filled in the gaps. The real deal teeter totters between a Lifetime movie and the next King novel.
The last 13 years of my life, have reiterated one simple fact. My mom is an angel on Earth. She is the strongest, bravest, most fearless woman I know. My mom has a work ethic matched by no one. My mom has the strength of an elephant and the ferocious protection of a lion. Don't let her holiday themed sweaters, hair bun, and perfect skin fool you. She's pretty tough.
My mom was a divorced single mother of 2 under 4, one in diapers, and a full time nursing career. On 2nd shift. In ICU. She was on her feet all shift, came home to sleeping children she was working hard to raise, but not seeing often, at least not awake. Then an entire other job started at midnight or so when she packed lunches, and did laundry, and often cooked dinner for the babysitter so she only had to warm it up the next day. This was life until I was in 8th grade and she moved to Same Day Surgery, with better hours, hours she wishes she had when we were younger.
Of course there is more to the story, but that isn't my story to tell.
I never realized what those years were probably like for my mom until I became a mom. In an exhausted state of doing laundry in the middle of the night with a few week old baby and two grade school aged step-children, it occurred to me how very tired my mom must have been, every day, for a decade.
As a child, I never saw her break. She was a strong pillar of strength and perfection. I asked her once how she did it, she just shrugged and said you just do, no other choice. She probably doesn't recall this conversation, but every day since then, I have just done it, maybe not always the best way, but the best way I knew at the time.
My mom raised two children always putting us first. Always. To be honest, she may have had the same underwear for a long time while we ran around in KSwiss, Tretorn and Jordans. She put us both through 12 years of Catholic school and then paid for our Bachelor's degrees at expensive Liberal Arts Ohio colleges.
Today she called me to tell me her mother's day gift was too generous. I would have laughed and said "really, mom?", but my toe had just slammed into one of the kid's Jordans on my way to answer call.
If I end up being half the mother my mom has been, my kid will be very lucky. I am a product of my mom's perseverance and strength.
I was 25. I was 25 and had a baby. It took her words for me to realize, my mom had a baby too. I was that baby. Of course, I knew my mom had a baby, she had two actually. Until those words were spoken to me, it never occurred to me, she had gone through this entire process too.
You see back then, there was no reveal party with cake to cut revealing a dyed inside, blue balloons didn't fly, no cute staged picture was taken. My mom and I didn't sit around discussing my feelings and emotions during pregnancy, nor did we discuss hers. I was 25 with no idea what I wanted to do with my life and could barely afford my bills.
It wasn't how I thought I would become a mom. I didn't actually plan on becoming a mom. I figured I would look up from my desk one day at 40 and realize I forgot to have kids. Some days that was because I forgot to find a potential child's father too. I am currently writing this blog at 39, with a husband and a 13 year old son. I work for a Fortune 300 company. The dog just licked my leg, apparently he can read and knows he wasn't mentioned.
To say the last 13 years of my life have been easy would be the biggest lie ever told... or at least it would be up there with Judas' denial. The last 13 years of my life have been relaxing, strenuous, full of both joy and sorrow, mistakes, denial, questions. Full body shaking laughter, and full body shake crying, the kind where you stop breathing and may throw up, filled in the gaps. The real deal teeter totters between a Lifetime movie and the next King novel.
The last 13 years of my life, have reiterated one simple fact. My mom is an angel on Earth. She is the strongest, bravest, most fearless woman I know. My mom has a work ethic matched by no one. My mom has the strength of an elephant and the ferocious protection of a lion. Don't let her holiday themed sweaters, hair bun, and perfect skin fool you. She's pretty tough.
My mom was a divorced single mother of 2 under 4, one in diapers, and a full time nursing career. On 2nd shift. In ICU. She was on her feet all shift, came home to sleeping children she was working hard to raise, but not seeing often, at least not awake. Then an entire other job started at midnight or so when she packed lunches, and did laundry, and often cooked dinner for the babysitter so she only had to warm it up the next day. This was life until I was in 8th grade and she moved to Same Day Surgery, with better hours, hours she wishes she had when we were younger.
Of course there is more to the story, but that isn't my story to tell.
I never realized what those years were probably like for my mom until I became a mom. In an exhausted state of doing laundry in the middle of the night with a few week old baby and two grade school aged step-children, it occurred to me how very tired my mom must have been, every day, for a decade.
As a child, I never saw her break. She was a strong pillar of strength and perfection. I asked her once how she did it, she just shrugged and said you just do, no other choice. She probably doesn't recall this conversation, but every day since then, I have just done it, maybe not always the best way, but the best way I knew at the time.
My mom raised two children always putting us first. Always. To be honest, she may have had the same underwear for a long time while we ran around in KSwiss, Tretorn and Jordans. She put us both through 12 years of Catholic school and then paid for our Bachelor's degrees at expensive Liberal Arts Ohio colleges.
Today she called me to tell me her mother's day gift was too generous. I would have laughed and said "really, mom?", but my toe had just slammed into one of the kid's Jordans on my way to answer call.
If I end up being half the mother my mom has been, my kid will be very lucky. I am a product of my mom's perseverance and strength.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
The Move: A Look Back to the First Few Months
I tried hard not to cry as Michael put each suitcase and box in the car. I tried to delay my leave, but it was inevitable, I had to get on the road soon - daylight hours, long drive.
I swallowed hard as the boy and the husband said good bye and told me to be safe. Michael looked emotional. He's never emotional. Gabriel was strong. Later, I would find out as soon as I was gone he broke down in tears, saying he kept them in until I was gone so I would not get upset.
I backed out of the driveway and started the journey. I had left little notes for Gabriel, he would end up finding most of them within days. What I didn't know is he put a note in my make-up bag, which I would find in about 9 hours. The note is still in my make-up bag.
I don't recall crying on the journey. I do remember feeling slightly sad once I passed Columbus, the rest of the drive would be completely new. Crossing the Ohio/Indiana line, I swallowed hard.
I had no idea what the journey would bring, but I never questioned participating. The second I received the offer, I knew we would move. There was never a question of not doing so. There were many questions later of why, and a few times the thought of going back played in my head for longer than it should.
I didn't know how hard it would be to live apart from my child, husband, and dog for almost 3 months. We had it mapped out based on my training schedule, which would bring me back to Cleveland. The first seperation would be 3 weeks, but the others would all fall into 2 weeks. Easy peasy we thought...
Three weeks was too long. Something happens between week 2 and 3. It's too much. The hour time difference didn't seem like much, but my time frame to call never seemed to match up just right with what was happening back in Ohio. Our conversations were brief with little substance. Michael was figuring out move logistics with the relo team and being a single parent. I was learning a new job, new place, and trying to find a rental property in a town with no rental properties. The little things were gone - no idea how his day was, what they had for dinner, any little funny things that happened during day. I couldn't tell him how lonely I was, that I felt like I would never make friends, that I wanted to go home. That I was certain we would have no place to live. There are barely any rental properties in Effingham. As a matter of fact, the realtor assigned to me from the relo team, did not return my calls after finding out I need more than 2 bedrooms and had a dog.
As I type this in the kitchen of our rental house, I smile at how life works out while I wipe away the few tears writing this is causing. The renters prior to us had moved to another rental property - they needed something smaller. Our landlord had been traveling a lot and hadn't listed the rental property as soon as she would have normally. In talking to another person, who started a few months before me, I discovered the name of another realtor, who the company had approved. She had the listing for what would become our rental. A series of circumstance gave us a place to live.
Weekends were the worst. Sleeping in seemed like it would be amazing, and as it turned out is was just a depressing reminder that I was living in a hotel and far away from my family and friends. I decided I needed weekend homework. I started finding places (library, the school, the running path, places the locals went, etc.). I drank too much wine at Fridays, but ended up making friends with much of the staff - the good kind of friends, the ones who will pick you up if your car breaks down, or take your kid when you didn't know there was no school.
I couldn't wait for my family to move. I was counting down the days until their arrival. Mother Nature was going to strike during their 7 hour drive across two states. A part of 71 would close, multiple semi trucks would jack knife off the free way, they would pass two 30 plus car accidents, Michael would have prime location to watch the terror on a woman's face as she lost control of her car, Gabriel would decide to sleep as much as he could after seeing a fire truck spin.
That drive here would end up being the easiest part of my husband's life for the coming months. Living together again, would be more adjustments and stress than we realized.
I swallowed hard as the boy and the husband said good bye and told me to be safe. Michael looked emotional. He's never emotional. Gabriel was strong. Later, I would find out as soon as I was gone he broke down in tears, saying he kept them in until I was gone so I would not get upset.
I backed out of the driveway and started the journey. I had left little notes for Gabriel, he would end up finding most of them within days. What I didn't know is he put a note in my make-up bag, which I would find in about 9 hours. The note is still in my make-up bag.
I don't recall crying on the journey. I do remember feeling slightly sad once I passed Columbus, the rest of the drive would be completely new. Crossing the Ohio/Indiana line, I swallowed hard.
I had no idea what the journey would bring, but I never questioned participating. The second I received the offer, I knew we would move. There was never a question of not doing so. There were many questions later of why, and a few times the thought of going back played in my head for longer than it should.
I didn't know how hard it would be to live apart from my child, husband, and dog for almost 3 months. We had it mapped out based on my training schedule, which would bring me back to Cleveland. The first seperation would be 3 weeks, but the others would all fall into 2 weeks. Easy peasy we thought...
Three weeks was too long. Something happens between week 2 and 3. It's too much. The hour time difference didn't seem like much, but my time frame to call never seemed to match up just right with what was happening back in Ohio. Our conversations were brief with little substance. Michael was figuring out move logistics with the relo team and being a single parent. I was learning a new job, new place, and trying to find a rental property in a town with no rental properties. The little things were gone - no idea how his day was, what they had for dinner, any little funny things that happened during day. I couldn't tell him how lonely I was, that I felt like I would never make friends, that I wanted to go home. That I was certain we would have no place to live. There are barely any rental properties in Effingham. As a matter of fact, the realtor assigned to me from the relo team, did not return my calls after finding out I need more than 2 bedrooms and had a dog.
As I type this in the kitchen of our rental house, I smile at how life works out while I wipe away the few tears writing this is causing. The renters prior to us had moved to another rental property - they needed something smaller. Our landlord had been traveling a lot and hadn't listed the rental property as soon as she would have normally. In talking to another person, who started a few months before me, I discovered the name of another realtor, who the company had approved. She had the listing for what would become our rental. A series of circumstance gave us a place to live.
Weekends were the worst. Sleeping in seemed like it would be amazing, and as it turned out is was just a depressing reminder that I was living in a hotel and far away from my family and friends. I decided I needed weekend homework. I started finding places (library, the school, the running path, places the locals went, etc.). I drank too much wine at Fridays, but ended up making friends with much of the staff - the good kind of friends, the ones who will pick you up if your car breaks down, or take your kid when you didn't know there was no school.
I couldn't wait for my family to move. I was counting down the days until their arrival. Mother Nature was going to strike during their 7 hour drive across two states. A part of 71 would close, multiple semi trucks would jack knife off the free way, they would pass two 30 plus car accidents, Michael would have prime location to watch the terror on a woman's face as she lost control of her car, Gabriel would decide to sleep as much as he could after seeing a fire truck spin.
That drive here would end up being the easiest part of my husband's life for the coming months. Living together again, would be more adjustments and stress than we realized.
Sunday, August 30, 2015
What if We All Did This?
Last week, two people, I love and care about received tragic and unexpected news telling them of the loss of a loved one. In one case, a sister; in the other, a nephew.
Over the last 72 hours I have given death a lot of thought. I do not mean in a morbid, sad, or dark way. I mean in a mature, thoughtful, retrospective way. Death is, afterall, one thing we will all experience multiple times throughout our lives, and one day, we too shall die leaving our loved ones in the wake of our departure.
Experiencing loss can be earth shattering, even when you know the loss is coming. I have known several people, who have experienced the death of a loved one due to long-term illness. They have all told me the same thing: you can prepare the logistics, you dabble on the verge or various stages of grief, but until the loved one is actually gone, the full spectrum of the loss, the full spectrum of grief doesn't really hit you.
The other thing they have all shared is you have an opportunity to communicate. You say all the things you have wanted, you don't wait until tomorrow to make sure the other person knows you loved them, their kids will be raised with love, their dog will come to your house, and you will make sure the ugly stuffed animal they have had since they were 2 years old does not get thrown in the trash.
But what if death comes and it wasn't expected? What if you never had that final chance at communication? What if the last thing you said was hurful?
We seem to take for granted that we will always have tomorrow. The truth is the rest of today isn't even a guarantee. Every day we wake up and can open our eyes is a gift. Maybe we need to start living like tomorrow is not a guarantee.
Did you ever hear parents speak about how well behaved their kids are in the company of strangers? Or how about how Ms. Temper Tantrum is angelic at her friend's house even eating all of her snack with no complaints? While I am not a psychologist, the reasoning behind this is children will test their boundaries and push limits when surrounded by the safety of loved ones - i.e. parents, the babysitter, relatives they see often. Adults, sometimes, don't seem much different...
Think about your interactions today. You probably smiled sweetly to the cashier at the grocery store. You probably even waived to a neighbor. Perhaps, you paid it forward by buying the person's coffee behind you in the Starbucks line.
But...
What was the last thing you said to your spouse? Have you called either of your parents in the last week? If tomorrow didn't happen, would you be ok with how things are right now? I mean this very second. That's a hard question to face, but face it, we must.
I try very hard to be my best self every day. While I am a work in progress, I know I have made great strides, and I know I have others to make.
I am not perfect, I will never be perfect, but I will continue to be better each day. I will remember the most powerful and hurful weapon is something we all have: the power of our communication.
Over the last 72 hours I have given death a lot of thought. I do not mean in a morbid, sad, or dark way. I mean in a mature, thoughtful, retrospective way. Death is, afterall, one thing we will all experience multiple times throughout our lives, and one day, we too shall die leaving our loved ones in the wake of our departure.
Experiencing loss can be earth shattering, even when you know the loss is coming. I have known several people, who have experienced the death of a loved one due to long-term illness. They have all told me the same thing: you can prepare the logistics, you dabble on the verge or various stages of grief, but until the loved one is actually gone, the full spectrum of the loss, the full spectrum of grief doesn't really hit you.
The other thing they have all shared is you have an opportunity to communicate. You say all the things you have wanted, you don't wait until tomorrow to make sure the other person knows you loved them, their kids will be raised with love, their dog will come to your house, and you will make sure the ugly stuffed animal they have had since they were 2 years old does not get thrown in the trash.
But what if death comes and it wasn't expected? What if you never had that final chance at communication? What if the last thing you said was hurful?
We seem to take for granted that we will always have tomorrow. The truth is the rest of today isn't even a guarantee. Every day we wake up and can open our eyes is a gift. Maybe we need to start living like tomorrow is not a guarantee.
Did you ever hear parents speak about how well behaved their kids are in the company of strangers? Or how about how Ms. Temper Tantrum is angelic at her friend's house even eating all of her snack with no complaints? While I am not a psychologist, the reasoning behind this is children will test their boundaries and push limits when surrounded by the safety of loved ones - i.e. parents, the babysitter, relatives they see often. Adults, sometimes, don't seem much different...
Think about your interactions today. You probably smiled sweetly to the cashier at the grocery store. You probably even waived to a neighbor. Perhaps, you paid it forward by buying the person's coffee behind you in the Starbucks line.
But...
What was the last thing you said to your spouse? Have you called either of your parents in the last week? If tomorrow didn't happen, would you be ok with how things are right now? I mean this very second. That's a hard question to face, but face it, we must.
I try very hard to be my best self every day. While I am a work in progress, I know I have made great strides, and I know I have others to make.
I am not perfect, I will never be perfect, but I will continue to be better each day. I will remember the most powerful and hurful weapon is something we all have: the power of our communication.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Buy a House, Sell a Home
When Gabriel was nearing 3, aka the start of pre-school, his father and I actively started searching to buy a house. We had a specific suburb in mind, a smaller community with diversity and family friendly events. I had lived there from the age of 13 until I went to Mount Union College, with a brief return after graduation.
The prospect of owning a home made me feel like a responsible adult. The majority of my family was in the area and Gabriel would attend the Catholic grade school. It was the same Catholic grade school my brother attended from 4th grade through 8th grade. I had known since pregnant, Gabriel would attend this school. Further, I had started my graduate program at Baldwin Wallace College and was looking forward to a closer drive home after evening class.
After spending what seemed like months (in actuality probably a few weeks) and looking at hundreds (alright about 25) houses, we were frustrated. Then my mom saw a house for sale while walking. It was 3 blocks from her. We had our realtor make an appointment despite this proximity.
From the moment we stepped inside the house, it felt like ours. I went left and Gabriel's father went forward, we later came together in the t-shaped hallway, each having viewed opposite parts of the home, and said to one another "this is the one".
We moved in about two months later. We had bought a house!
What I did not realize, is how quickly the house would become a home. Quickly, memories were made between the walls. Love and joy would radiate throughout the foundation, the walls would absorb the pain and heartaches of life.
We focused on the area to be closer to family. Just like I had grown up riding my bike or walking the several blocks to my grandma's, Gabriel in turn would frequent my mom and stepfather's to swim or play basketball. It became a meeting place for him and his cousins. I became thankful for the proximity we once questioned.
Proximity is changing. We are moving.
After 10 years in HR, I have landed my dream position with my dream company, a fabulous opportunity, which will lead to further fabulous opportunities with my continued hard work.
We are moving to Central Illinois. I leave in less than 48 hours.
I haven't packed. I don't know where to start. How does one pack to leave months ahead of their family and go to the temporary housing of a hotel? I am leaving my home, I am leaving my family. I am leaving proximity.
As I look at the walls of my home, years of memories stream through my mind and vivid flashbacks occur as if I am toggling between the Lifetime and Hallmark channels.
Seven in a half years ago, we bought a house. In less than 48 hours, I will leave a home.
The prospect of owning a home made me feel like a responsible adult. The majority of my family was in the area and Gabriel would attend the Catholic grade school. It was the same Catholic grade school my brother attended from 4th grade through 8th grade. I had known since pregnant, Gabriel would attend this school. Further, I had started my graduate program at Baldwin Wallace College and was looking forward to a closer drive home after evening class.
After spending what seemed like months (in actuality probably a few weeks) and looking at hundreds (alright about 25) houses, we were frustrated. Then my mom saw a house for sale while walking. It was 3 blocks from her. We had our realtor make an appointment despite this proximity.
From the moment we stepped inside the house, it felt like ours. I went left and Gabriel's father went forward, we later came together in the t-shaped hallway, each having viewed opposite parts of the home, and said to one another "this is the one".
We moved in about two months later. We had bought a house!
What I did not realize, is how quickly the house would become a home. Quickly, memories were made between the walls. Love and joy would radiate throughout the foundation, the walls would absorb the pain and heartaches of life.
We focused on the area to be closer to family. Just like I had grown up riding my bike or walking the several blocks to my grandma's, Gabriel in turn would frequent my mom and stepfather's to swim or play basketball. It became a meeting place for him and his cousins. I became thankful for the proximity we once questioned.
Proximity is changing. We are moving.
After 10 years in HR, I have landed my dream position with my dream company, a fabulous opportunity, which will lead to further fabulous opportunities with my continued hard work.
We are moving to Central Illinois. I leave in less than 48 hours.
I haven't packed. I don't know where to start. How does one pack to leave months ahead of their family and go to the temporary housing of a hotel? I am leaving my home, I am leaving my family. I am leaving proximity.
As I look at the walls of my home, years of memories stream through my mind and vivid flashbacks occur as if I am toggling between the Lifetime and Hallmark channels.
Seven in a half years ago, we bought a house. In less than 48 hours, I will leave a home.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Brains, Independence, and Beauty.
I was about 11 or 12 when it happened.
I was sitting on the concrete bleachers at Morgana Park waiting for my brother's baseball game to start. My mom hadn't arrived yet and my dad was most likely either coaching the game or behind the plate umpire at another. None of my friends had arrived at the summer hang out yet, so I sat... people watching.
My mom arrived and sat down not far from me, but not yet seeing me. I was a little perturbed she didn't see me and decided I would not sit by her.
Then it happened.
Two woman sitting near me, had also watched my mom arrive and sit down. The one woman turned to the other and said she is very pretty. I was taken aback, and not just because this was Morgana Park. I had always thought my mom was pretty, but I had never heard a stranger say this.
I was speechless, which was pretty unheard of even back then. I was then filled with a great sense of pride. I found my voice and I said to the women, that's my mom. They looked at me for a few moments, as if studying me, and then smiled at me.
I gingerly got up and went to sit by my mom glancing back at the women and smiling.
I had always known my mom was pretty, but I had never focused on this. I focused on how strong she was, how hard she worked, how she was always at games or plays, always doing everything she could to be a good mother. Due to all this, I never doubted that you could be independent, but in a loving relationship, a career woman and a mom, smart and beautiful.
I never doubted because my mom had shown me my entire life you could.
Happy Mother's Day!
I was sitting on the concrete bleachers at Morgana Park waiting for my brother's baseball game to start. My mom hadn't arrived yet and my dad was most likely either coaching the game or behind the plate umpire at another. None of my friends had arrived at the summer hang out yet, so I sat... people watching.
My mom arrived and sat down not far from me, but not yet seeing me. I was a little perturbed she didn't see me and decided I would not sit by her.
Then it happened.
Two woman sitting near me, had also watched my mom arrive and sit down. The one woman turned to the other and said she is very pretty. I was taken aback, and not just because this was Morgana Park. I had always thought my mom was pretty, but I had never heard a stranger say this.
I was speechless, which was pretty unheard of even back then. I was then filled with a great sense of pride. I found my voice and I said to the women, that's my mom. They looked at me for a few moments, as if studying me, and then smiled at me.
I gingerly got up and went to sit by my mom glancing back at the women and smiling.
I had always known my mom was pretty, but I had never focused on this. I focused on how strong she was, how hard she worked, how she was always at games or plays, always doing everything she could to be a good mother. Due to all this, I never doubted that you could be independent, but in a loving relationship, a career woman and a mom, smart and beautiful.
I never doubted because my mom had shown me my entire life you could.
Happy Mother's Day!
Saturday, March 8, 2014
...and I ran...(so far away)
I was a very active child, playing pick up kick ball games in the street, tag in the yard, basketball in the driveway.
In grade school, like most kids, I played basketball and volleyball. I played rec league softball.
I never played a sport for my high school, I made it the furthest in softball tryouts, and realized quickly my volleyball skills, which had been pretty good at the grade school level, did not compare to these other girls.
I was not athletic.
My brother, on the other hand, was the athlete--basketball, baseball, football. He always had a game. I always had a play.
I was perfectly ok with this. I had no dreams of athletic scholarships.
Of course, I loved to hike and rollerblade, I liked to push myself. I just wasn't on a court or a field.
Then at 35 years old, I had this crazy fitness idea. I was going to run.
...Not into a store seconds before it closed, not down the street to chase the escaped dog, not to catch the bus. Not even to get the last pair of cute flats in my size.
I was going to run for the challenge, the goal setting, to prove to myself I could.
and so I started training. I followed an app. I was discplined and dedicated. I registered for a 5K and a 10K.
But then I noticed I wasn't getting distance. I got nervous.
I reached out to a friend. She made me a plan. I followed it like it was my job. I pushed myself, completed each challenge. Refused to quit. I had the drive, the dedication, the discpline. The accountability.
I started getting the distance. Slowly, but like my friend said, a mile is a mile, if you do it in 6 minutes or 15 minutes.
Then the strangest thing happend. I started craving it. I couldn't wait to put my shoes on and run. I was accomplishing goals. It felt good. I felt accomplished.
I noticed small changes in my body and that motivated me more. I knew it would take time, but that I would get there.
Then I got sick. Run down. Stress, worry, life, work. My body had enough. I was sick twice in two months, the last episode putting me down for 3 days.
I didn't run. I felt weak, tired, not strong, not good.
It would have been easy to say well, that was nice while it lasted. I could have said "well, I was never going to do it anyway."
But I am not a quitter. I don't give up. I am tenacious. I am a fighter.
So today, I strap on my shoes again. and I run.
...Not into a store seconds before it closed, not down the street to chase the escaped dog, not to catch the bus. Not even to get the last pair of cute flats in my size.
But towards my goal--I have a 5k and a 10K approaching.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Dark Circles and Laugh Lines
On Monday, I will turn 36. I'm a few pounds heavier than I would like, I take pride in the few fine lines I see when I smile hard and laugh hard. My under eye dark circles are erased by my eye cream and water. Genetics I am fighting, time I welcome, but hours in the day are not enough.
I made a decision tonight to relax with a glass of wine instead of working out. It wasn't the best decision for my goals, but it is the one I made.
The last few years I have learned I can survive through economic downturns, through marriage heartaches, through disagreements with loved ones, through loss of once upon a time true friends.
OK so it was 2 glasses of wine.
Years ago, or maybe even last year, I would have taken this opportunity to not look at what I have to be thankful regarding, but rather what I haven't yet achieved. I have been hard on myself for as long as I can remember. I have high expectations, I am my own worst enemy.
For a few moments, I started down this path again. Thought about the jeans I couldn't yet wear as I came closer to 40, thought about the level of my career and it's compensation as I near 40, thought about a house I love that even though reasonably priced, I can't purchase and take it's for sale sign down just yet, thought about once upon a time. Thought about grad school loans and upcoming Ignatius tuition.
*pause while I sip wine not thinking above paragraph*
Then I thought about the bigger picture. I thought about all I have accomplished through trials and tribulations, through personal struggles I have not yet blogged regarding, perhaps never will. It always works out, not always on my timeline. I realized that 36 is just a number, that I may be getting closer to 40, but I wouldn't go back to closer to 20, or closer to 30. I've accomplished too much, learned too much, become closer to my true potential.
There is no going back, only forward.
I will meet closer to 40 head on, I will pack away the white flags and tears. I am a woman, a mother, a wife. I will concur. I do not know or recognize any other way. My life is not up for comparison, my life is mine to own, and it may be the only thing I own outright until I hit that next decade.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
What We As Parents and As People Really Need to Stop Doing
How many times have you said the following or a similar sentence: I wish I could go back to high school; I would love to be 5 years old again; I'd do anything for the "problems" I had at 16?
As we grow up, as we mature, as we gain responsibility both at a job and in our personal lives, our problems change. It's nature. Most of us will go from having someone else (i.e. a parent) care of us, make sure there is a roof over our head, food on the table, and clothes on our back, to doing this for ourselves. Obviously, this is a stress changer. Food, clothing, housing, it all costs money, and the day comes that we have to make that money. Some of us, may chose to someday have this accountability for someone else, perhaps a spouse or a child. Yet again, this is a game changer. That money you made when it was just you, doesn't stretch as far as it did. Suddenly, we go from bringing in the mail, to seeing envelopes with our name on them, bills that belong to us. Maybe we even have days where the mail stays in the mailbox, one less thing to consider.
These changes in life, don't negate the challenges or stress we felt earlier, it's just different. Does my gas bill coming to my house today cause me the same stress it did when I was 22? No, but that doesn't mean my 22 year old self wasn't justifiably stressed. Do I know what my friends with kids going off to college are going through? No clue. Do they know what it is like to have a 10 year old? Of course, and while they may look back longingly for the challenges I am just now facing, it doesn't make my now any less important than their now.
So why do we act like those at a different place than we are have concerns that don't matter? Or worse, laugh at them? Is this how we "help"? Maybe we need to think about the kind of help the person needs.
A friend's niece recently broke up with her first love. He cheated on her. My friend wanted to say so many things, but instead she paused. Instead of saying she didn't know her 15 year old boyfriend's name, couldn't remember why they even broke up. She paused. Then in this pause, she remembered herself at 15. Instead of giving grown up advice, instead of negating her niece's now, she chose to listen. Then she did what a good aunt would do, a good aunt, who doesn't want to spend life in prison, that is. She took her niece for a pedicure and ice cream.
This evening, Gabriel and I went over homework as is our normal. Gabriel became very distressed when making a few corrections. He started crying. Gabriel shared that 4th grade is stressing. He is worried he won't have enough time to get everything done. He is worried that the line for his teacher to check his homework book is too long, and he won't get pencils sharpened. He feels rushed, but yet wants to do well. I paused. I remember 3 things about 4th grade: I wore brown framed glasses. I was devasted that the teacher got me in the Christmas gift exchange. I received a beautiful necklace in the Christmas gift exchange. Faux pearls, I still wear it.
But I paused. I listened. Did I share with Gabriel that I barely remembered 4th grade? Of course not. That wouldn't have been helpful to him. Instead I listend to his concerns, really listened. This is his now. We brainstormed on some ideas. I didn't use terms like time management. I didn't tell him to stop crying. I didn't tell him to man up. I was his mother, his friend, his helper. I stayed in his now because my now is to help him complete 4th grade in the best way he can.
and tomorrow I will buy a portable automatic pencil sharpener for his desk. Surely, that will shave several seconds off pencil sharpening.
As we grow up, as we mature, as we gain responsibility both at a job and in our personal lives, our problems change. It's nature. Most of us will go from having someone else (i.e. a parent) care of us, make sure there is a roof over our head, food on the table, and clothes on our back, to doing this for ourselves. Obviously, this is a stress changer. Food, clothing, housing, it all costs money, and the day comes that we have to make that money. Some of us, may chose to someday have this accountability for someone else, perhaps a spouse or a child. Yet again, this is a game changer. That money you made when it was just you, doesn't stretch as far as it did. Suddenly, we go from bringing in the mail, to seeing envelopes with our name on them, bills that belong to us. Maybe we even have days where the mail stays in the mailbox, one less thing to consider.
These changes in life, don't negate the challenges or stress we felt earlier, it's just different. Does my gas bill coming to my house today cause me the same stress it did when I was 22? No, but that doesn't mean my 22 year old self wasn't justifiably stressed. Do I know what my friends with kids going off to college are going through? No clue. Do they know what it is like to have a 10 year old? Of course, and while they may look back longingly for the challenges I am just now facing, it doesn't make my now any less important than their now.
So why do we act like those at a different place than we are have concerns that don't matter? Or worse, laugh at them? Is this how we "help"? Maybe we need to think about the kind of help the person needs.
A friend's niece recently broke up with her first love. He cheated on her. My friend wanted to say so many things, but instead she paused. Instead of saying she didn't know her 15 year old boyfriend's name, couldn't remember why they even broke up. She paused. Then in this pause, she remembered herself at 15. Instead of giving grown up advice, instead of negating her niece's now, she chose to listen. Then she did what a good aunt would do, a good aunt, who doesn't want to spend life in prison, that is. She took her niece for a pedicure and ice cream.
This evening, Gabriel and I went over homework as is our normal. Gabriel became very distressed when making a few corrections. He started crying. Gabriel shared that 4th grade is stressing. He is worried he won't have enough time to get everything done. He is worried that the line for his teacher to check his homework book is too long, and he won't get pencils sharpened. He feels rushed, but yet wants to do well. I paused. I remember 3 things about 4th grade: I wore brown framed glasses. I was devasted that the teacher got me in the Christmas gift exchange. I received a beautiful necklace in the Christmas gift exchange. Faux pearls, I still wear it.
But I paused. I listened. Did I share with Gabriel that I barely remembered 4th grade? Of course not. That wouldn't have been helpful to him. Instead I listend to his concerns, really listened. This is his now. We brainstormed on some ideas. I didn't use terms like time management. I didn't tell him to stop crying. I didn't tell him to man up. I was his mother, his friend, his helper. I stayed in his now because my now is to help him complete 4th grade in the best way he can.
and tomorrow I will buy a portable automatic pencil sharpener for his desk. Surely, that will shave several seconds off pencil sharpening.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
The Great School Supply Breakdown
Those of you who know me well, and maybe those of you who just have picked up on a few things between blog posts and Facebook statuses, will not at all be surprised to learn that I love school supply shopping. I love the lists, the organization, the labeling, did I mention the lists and the organization? I take the "steady supply" part seriously having a handy container with all the extras at the ready.
I loved watching as a younger Gabriel would pick out a Transformer Thermos, a Star Wars lunch bag, a super hero backpack, Disney Cars themed folders. As he entered 2nd grade, he started moving away from the themes and more to colors. I loved this too because who doesn't love the green folder with the green themed notebook for the same subject?! Coordination is the Type A person's dream. Gabriel enjoyed finding as many different colors as he could. Picking out his backpack was a science: he would compare each style and color weighing the pros and cons. I would patiently wait enjoying all the options and his mind processing it all.
Then came Third Grade.
He picked out a black Adidas backpack complete with a laptop space, a bag more appropriate for college than 3rd grade. I blamed his father.
A paperbag was all he wanted on days he decided to pack his lunch. A great joy was found in my heart on days I got to put soup in the Tranformers Thermos.
Half way through the school year, Gabriel made a rule that I love yous had to be said before he opened the car door and all the windows had to be up. What choice did I have? I had to comply. Some days he would say I love you back while standing on the parking lot pavement and shutting the door leading me to giggle at the rule breaking.
While in my naive mother mind, I didn't think 3rd grade would be such a year of change, I definitely was not prepared for what would happen next.
Gabriel and I attended the "Getting Ready for 4th Grade" week long program at his school. While I knew it would be a year of change and challenge, I didn't expect to be sitting in a school desk when my son's childhood would flash before my eyes. That week Gabriel and I spoke a lot about 4th grade expections. Gabriel understood that this may be his first year of real classroom challenge and he definitely understood the homework change. "Mom, you will help me learn how to study, right?" Gabriel asked as we went over how tests would work and that this year books would be coming home daily. "Of course. You are very smart this will be a good year for you, but it will be more work than before" I replied. Gabriel said he knew and he felt prepared.
I felt like crying.
Which I did, a few weeks later while standing in Target. By the school supply section. Looking at an Angry Birds lunch box and a little girl carrying a Barbie bag. I looked away only to see them: the Disney Cars folders. Stupid Mac and Sally, I thought, as I dried my eyes hurridly walking towards sporting goods. I'd get erasable pens and reinforced college ruled paper later.
About two weeks ago, Gabriel attended soccer camp at St. Ignatius High School. As we were in the car talking about how camp went, he said "ya know, mom, St, Ignatius isn't that far away really. I mean I am half way to high school now. I will be there soon." he added, as he smiled. I saw the excitement in his eyes, he really does like it there.
Today I sorted school supplies while thinking about how my child was right. High school is around the corner. My days of buying Disney Cars products are over. My days of helping my child reach his full potential in school, are just really beginning. Thankfully, I layed a great foundation full of flashcards and awesome twist Crayola crayons.
I loved watching as a younger Gabriel would pick out a Transformer Thermos, a Star Wars lunch bag, a super hero backpack, Disney Cars themed folders. As he entered 2nd grade, he started moving away from the themes and more to colors. I loved this too because who doesn't love the green folder with the green themed notebook for the same subject?! Coordination is the Type A person's dream. Gabriel enjoyed finding as many different colors as he could. Picking out his backpack was a science: he would compare each style and color weighing the pros and cons. I would patiently wait enjoying all the options and his mind processing it all.
Then came Third Grade.
He picked out a black Adidas backpack complete with a laptop space, a bag more appropriate for college than 3rd grade. I blamed his father.
A paperbag was all he wanted on days he decided to pack his lunch. A great joy was found in my heart on days I got to put soup in the Tranformers Thermos.
Half way through the school year, Gabriel made a rule that I love yous had to be said before he opened the car door and all the windows had to be up. What choice did I have? I had to comply. Some days he would say I love you back while standing on the parking lot pavement and shutting the door leading me to giggle at the rule breaking.
While in my naive mother mind, I didn't think 3rd grade would be such a year of change, I definitely was not prepared for what would happen next.
Gabriel and I attended the "Getting Ready for 4th Grade" week long program at his school. While I knew it would be a year of change and challenge, I didn't expect to be sitting in a school desk when my son's childhood would flash before my eyes. That week Gabriel and I spoke a lot about 4th grade expections. Gabriel understood that this may be his first year of real classroom challenge and he definitely understood the homework change. "Mom, you will help me learn how to study, right?" Gabriel asked as we went over how tests would work and that this year books would be coming home daily. "Of course. You are very smart this will be a good year for you, but it will be more work than before" I replied. Gabriel said he knew and he felt prepared.
I felt like crying.
Which I did, a few weeks later while standing in Target. By the school supply section. Looking at an Angry Birds lunch box and a little girl carrying a Barbie bag. I looked away only to see them: the Disney Cars folders. Stupid Mac and Sally, I thought, as I dried my eyes hurridly walking towards sporting goods. I'd get erasable pens and reinforced college ruled paper later.
About two weeks ago, Gabriel attended soccer camp at St. Ignatius High School. As we were in the car talking about how camp went, he said "ya know, mom, St, Ignatius isn't that far away really. I mean I am half way to high school now. I will be there soon." he added, as he smiled. I saw the excitement in his eyes, he really does like it there.
Today I sorted school supplies while thinking about how my child was right. High school is around the corner. My days of buying Disney Cars products are over. My days of helping my child reach his full potential in school, are just really beginning. Thankfully, I layed a great foundation full of flashcards and awesome twist Crayola crayons.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
My First Time
My first time on an airplane I was around 13. My mom and step dad took my brother and I to Disney World. My mom bought me an entire new summer wardrobe for the trip. I packed it all carefully, keeping all items for each day together - I was anal retentive even as a child.
We had taken vacations prior to this trip, but this was the first airport needed mode of transportation vacation. As soon as I boarded, I was in love with air travel. My mom always said she can't take me anywhere without me seeing someone I know, and crossing state lines was no exception. I saw a girl I knew from softball, Jessica something. It was a great vacation, and the one where the phrase "you got a mouse in your pocket?" was coined by my step dad whenever my mom said "we". My brother and I use this phrase to this day.
A little over a decade later, I had a child. As I had written in my graduate school application essay, I needed to work hard in order to provide the same, let alone better, for my child. I want him to experience all life has to offer and expand his boarders: his understanding of different cultures, his understanding of different socioeconomic settings. I could write an entire blog about what I want for him. Maybe stay tuned for that one...or those five...
Yesterday, I booked our air travel for Gabriel's first trip via air. We are going to San Diego. We wanted to do something special for his10th birthday. I can't believe he is 10 already. While he did not get a new wardrobe, he did get a new suitcase, a big kid suitcase - one he will hopefully use on many more airport needed vacations. I hope by 13, one he will earn a passport stamp for, a stamp from a country not on our continent.
Today, Gabriel and I were discussing our trip. We broke out maps so he could see exactly where he was going. We have a connecting flight in Atlanta, an airport I visit frequently, but a city I have never actually visited. Gabriel asked if we could stay a night, and I said not this time, but in my head I was thinking what a great trip it would make, some day, a stop over on our way to my beloved Savannah.
Gabriel went on to play on the chalkboard that was mine when I was a child. He is making a list of superpowers. If only he knew...he is my superpower, my motivation every day.
We had taken vacations prior to this trip, but this was the first airport needed mode of transportation vacation. As soon as I boarded, I was in love with air travel. My mom always said she can't take me anywhere without me seeing someone I know, and crossing state lines was no exception. I saw a girl I knew from softball, Jessica something. It was a great vacation, and the one where the phrase "you got a mouse in your pocket?" was coined by my step dad whenever my mom said "we". My brother and I use this phrase to this day.
A little over a decade later, I had a child. As I had written in my graduate school application essay, I needed to work hard in order to provide the same, let alone better, for my child. I want him to experience all life has to offer and expand his boarders: his understanding of different cultures, his understanding of different socioeconomic settings. I could write an entire blog about what I want for him. Maybe stay tuned for that one...or those five...
Yesterday, I booked our air travel for Gabriel's first trip via air. We are going to San Diego. We wanted to do something special for his10th birthday. I can't believe he is 10 already. While he did not get a new wardrobe, he did get a new suitcase, a big kid suitcase - one he will hopefully use on many more airport needed vacations. I hope by 13, one he will earn a passport stamp for, a stamp from a country not on our continent.
Today, Gabriel and I were discussing our trip. We broke out maps so he could see exactly where he was going. We have a connecting flight in Atlanta, an airport I visit frequently, but a city I have never actually visited. Gabriel asked if we could stay a night, and I said not this time, but in my head I was thinking what a great trip it would make, some day, a stop over on our way to my beloved Savannah.
Gabriel went on to play on the chalkboard that was mine when I was a child. He is making a list of superpowers. If only he knew...he is my superpower, my motivation every day.
Monday, May 20, 2013
For My Beautiful Mom, Happy Birthday!
During my Baptism, the priest upon bringing me up from the 2nd dunk, prior to immerging me for the 3rd dunk looked at my father and said, "you can't deny this one, she looks just like you." Both my mom and dad share this recollection, thus, I know it is true.
For most of my life, I was the spitting image of my father, as I got older more his family's side in general. Most people at the church his family attended for years knew me as one of them on site. At Vatra (church camp) the other parents would know I was related to the family, of the children they knew from childhood, when my jelly shoes and pony tail got out of the car.
When I was in junior high I was sitting watching a little league baseball game in my uniform waiting for my coach. There were two women a few "seats" away from me talking. I overheard part of their conversation-- "...the woman with the sunglasses and long hair, she's beautiful. I looked over, my mom was sitting a few feet away, she must have just arrived for my game. I asked the women, "excuse me are you talking about that woman there?" Yes, they said. "That's my mom", I said. The one woman smiled and the other looked at me and after a brief pause said "yes, yes I see she is".
I can't remember my exact age (high school years), but I do remember seeing it. I looked in the mirror, and I saw it. I had her nose. The little bump about half way down, was just like hers. For the next several weeks, I would look at it long and hard when I washed my face or put make up on. Hmm, I do resemble her, I would think. So I have some Moore genes, I would think.
Years later, I would find myself doing laundry at 2am during the few hours Gabriel, the baby, was sleeping. It occured to me, I had turned into her. The only other person I knew that did laundry at 2am after a long day was my mother. The only difference was I wasn't cooking a dinner as well for the babysitter (the term nanny didn't exist in the middle class yet) to warm up the next evening, while she was at work.
A few years later, we would rent a house across the street from my mother's parents. Gabriel was a toddler, so he has limited memories of the house, but he does remember the gumballs (see previous post) at his great-grandparents house. After we bought our house, we would visit. At some point during this time period, a picture, the only picture of my mom and her 9 siblings would appear above my grandparent's entertainment system. My grandma immediately showed it to me upon it's framing and showcase in her house. "Look at this picture", she said, smiling. I saw myself, I saw myself with 9 siblings of various ages around me. I stared at my mother. Later, Gabriel was shown the picture and his response was "mom, who are those kids and babies with you and where was I?".
Over the course of years, I have not only grown into looking more like my mom, but I have also grown into her unconditional love, exhasperating caring (my nieces and nephew "lovingly" refer to me as grandma sometimes), overly worrying ways, and dedication to children (in her case two, in mine one).
My mom has shaped the woman I am, the lioness mother, the dedicated professional, the helper of others. There will definitely be a place for her in Heaven, I can only hope she will argue with God enough to get me there too. Somehow, I think she will prevail.
Happy Birthday, Mom. You are amazing in more ways than you will ever know. You are my inspiration every day and I can only hope I leave this Earth giving it as much as you have.
For most of my life, I was the spitting image of my father, as I got older more his family's side in general. Most people at the church his family attended for years knew me as one of them on site. At Vatra (church camp) the other parents would know I was related to the family, of the children they knew from childhood, when my jelly shoes and pony tail got out of the car.
When I was in junior high I was sitting watching a little league baseball game in my uniform waiting for my coach. There were two women a few "seats" away from me talking. I overheard part of their conversation-- "...the woman with the sunglasses and long hair, she's beautiful. I looked over, my mom was sitting a few feet away, she must have just arrived for my game. I asked the women, "excuse me are you talking about that woman there?" Yes, they said. "That's my mom", I said. The one woman smiled and the other looked at me and after a brief pause said "yes, yes I see she is".
I can't remember my exact age (high school years), but I do remember seeing it. I looked in the mirror, and I saw it. I had her nose. The little bump about half way down, was just like hers. For the next several weeks, I would look at it long and hard when I washed my face or put make up on. Hmm, I do resemble her, I would think. So I have some Moore genes, I would think.
Years later, I would find myself doing laundry at 2am during the few hours Gabriel, the baby, was sleeping. It occured to me, I had turned into her. The only other person I knew that did laundry at 2am after a long day was my mother. The only difference was I wasn't cooking a dinner as well for the babysitter (the term nanny didn't exist in the middle class yet) to warm up the next evening, while she was at work.
A few years later, we would rent a house across the street from my mother's parents. Gabriel was a toddler, so he has limited memories of the house, but he does remember the gumballs (see previous post) at his great-grandparents house. After we bought our house, we would visit. At some point during this time period, a picture, the only picture of my mom and her 9 siblings would appear above my grandparent's entertainment system. My grandma immediately showed it to me upon it's framing and showcase in her house. "Look at this picture", she said, smiling. I saw myself, I saw myself with 9 siblings of various ages around me. I stared at my mother. Later, Gabriel was shown the picture and his response was "mom, who are those kids and babies with you and where was I?".
Over the course of years, I have not only grown into looking more like my mom, but I have also grown into her unconditional love, exhasperating caring (my nieces and nephew "lovingly" refer to me as grandma sometimes), overly worrying ways, and dedication to children (in her case two, in mine one).
My mom has shaped the woman I am, the lioness mother, the dedicated professional, the helper of others. There will definitely be a place for her in Heaven, I can only hope she will argue with God enough to get me there too. Somehow, I think she will prevail.
Happy Birthday, Mom. You are amazing in more ways than you will ever know. You are my inspiration every day and I can only hope I leave this Earth giving it as much as you have.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Closed for Business, The End of Dirty Mondays
For a few months, Dirty Mondays "the establishment" hasn't seen much action. Gabriel, "the owner" has moved onto other activities. However, he assured me he was not ready to give it away. I inquired on several occassions.
I rearranged a few items in our kitchen (see blog entitled "Dirty Mondays") and as a result "the establishment" was to be relocated to the playroom. However, the husband, "the father", relocated "the establishment" to the garage.
"The owner" asked several times regarding the whereabouts of "the establishment", wanting confirmation "the establishment" was indeed still in our possession. He confirmed on multiple occassions he would like "the establishment" relocated to the playroom. I mentioned this several times to "the father". He did not seem phased or at all interested.
I tried to move "the establishment" to the playroom. This proved to be challenging due to our stairs (and the fact that "the establishment" stands nearly as tall as me). Obviously, a large plastic kitchen that lasts 7 years is a pretty serious piece of plastic. As a result, "the establishment" stayed in the garage. "The owner", must have noticed it more and more as he stopped inquiring regarding its whereabouts. "The father" became even less interested in hearing about the relocation procedure needed for "the establishment".
I know what you are thinking. "The owner" didn't notice it anymore than he had previously. He just outgrew it.
I know what you are thinking, "the owner" is almost 10 years old. Double digits.
I know what you are thinking. My ill fated attempt to move "the establishment" was a last ditch effort to hold onto my little boy.
I know what you are thinking. "The father" was not at all interested in the relocation because he was aware "the establishment" would not be relocating, but would be closing.
I know what you are thinking. The tears running down my face are pathetic.
Dirty Mondays is gone. There will be no more birthday hats, even when it's not your birthday.
Dirty Mondays is gone. There will be no more cheap meals, but expensive desserts.
Dirty Mondays is gone. There will be no more pizza girl.
Dirty Mondays is gone. The tears streaming down my face are full of memories.
I rearranged a few items in our kitchen (see blog entitled "Dirty Mondays") and as a result "the establishment" was to be relocated to the playroom. However, the husband, "the father", relocated "the establishment" to the garage.
"The owner" asked several times regarding the whereabouts of "the establishment", wanting confirmation "the establishment" was indeed still in our possession. He confirmed on multiple occassions he would like "the establishment" relocated to the playroom. I mentioned this several times to "the father". He did not seem phased or at all interested.
I tried to move "the establishment" to the playroom. This proved to be challenging due to our stairs (and the fact that "the establishment" stands nearly as tall as me). Obviously, a large plastic kitchen that lasts 7 years is a pretty serious piece of plastic. As a result, "the establishment" stayed in the garage. "The owner", must have noticed it more and more as he stopped inquiring regarding its whereabouts. "The father" became even less interested in hearing about the relocation procedure needed for "the establishment".
I know what you are thinking. "The owner" didn't notice it anymore than he had previously. He just outgrew it.
I know what you are thinking, "the owner" is almost 10 years old. Double digits.
I know what you are thinking. My ill fated attempt to move "the establishment" was a last ditch effort to hold onto my little boy.
I know what you are thinking. "The father" was not at all interested in the relocation because he was aware "the establishment" would not be relocating, but would be closing.
I know what you are thinking. The tears running down my face are pathetic.
Dirty Mondays is gone. There will be no more birthday hats, even when it's not your birthday.
Dirty Mondays is gone. There will be no more cheap meals, but expensive desserts.
Dirty Mondays is gone. There will be no more pizza girl.
Dirty Mondays is gone. The tears streaming down my face are full of memories.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Someday, I May Shower Alone
When Gabriel was a baby and I was back at work, I tried to shower before he would wake up. It became a task of tip toeing and wondering if the city knew just how loud the water actually was. Maybe I should call them? Seriously, how did I not notice the octaves of water prior? While he didn't sleep through the night until he was a year old, he did always sleep through my shower.
Eventually, sleep cycles changed and I would strap Gabriel into his carseat and take a very quick shower hoping he either didn't cry or the cries wouldn't break my heart too much. The loud anguishing cries were probably similar to what torture victims sound like when they still have voices. He was much happier free and exploring, something that still hasn't changed, nor do I expect it will. This is the type of experience that can make one sweat in the shower. The stress, the rush, the forgetting to shave the 2nd leg, just anything to end the experience and give your child what they want. This is how they train you...to always think about them and what they need, want, desire. It starts with your morning shower. Someday, I thought, I will be able to take a peaceful shower.
Approaching the "not so much a baby not really a toddler" years, I was very lucky to have the help of my step-daughter. She would help get Gabriel ready in the morning during the week---changed, sometimes cereal fed. At the time she probably enjoyed this (to an extent), but until she had a child of her own, she probably never realized what her minutes to an hour of help actually did for my well being. A semi-peaceful shower no matter if 2 minutes or 15 minutes is a jackpot of diamonds to a mother. Of course, I still rushed, thought of a million things that could be going wrong, dissected if i really needed to wash my hair, justified shaving my legs a few days apart. Someday, I will shave both legs in the same day I thought.
I'm pretty certain that somehow toddlers and small children have brains that automatically switch into need mode when they hear anything related to the closing of a door. Is this what they are really doing that first night at the nursery hosptial? Does a nurse walk around with a clipboard instructing the others which babies still need "the chip" inserted? This chip turns the very word you couldn't wait for them to say into a shrilling blood curling, cringing, and sigh inducing word: Mom. Someday, I will manage an entire hair and make-up session without being needed. I often go without make-up. Someday, I will look like a movie star every time I leave my house. Well, I do have some pretty cool sunglasses...
When Gabriel started school he used to sit in the bathroom while I did my hair or put make-up on (ok so both didn't normally happen on the same day). We would talk, the dog would often get in the way, first Lobo, later Arlo. It became our time and it brought us closer. I enjoyed it. Of course, there were still times I got aggrevated when I tripped over Gabriel or the dog, or for a short time the dogs. I would remind myself, this time won't last forever, be in the moment, enjoy the moment.
My brother's children started coming over in the morning several years ago. The only visitor to the bathroom in the mornings now is Memphis and the occasional child letting me know of some discrepancy by another child that morning. At times, I leave the bathroom stressed because of the noises in the other rooms (are they fighting, playing, an ER visit needed?), but for the most part I do my thing and they do theirs. Occassionally, the click of the door in non-morning hours activates "the chip", but at 9, Gabriel can wait a minute or two and sometimes I purposefuly take longer. He has to learn patience, you know.
Over the weekend, I had the radio on full blast while in the shower. Something I don't do often if I'm the only adult home. A song by Gabriel's favorite band, F.U.N., filled the speakers. Only this time my dormant chip was activated. When I heard the opening of the door, I smiled. For the next several minutes, we sang at the top of our lungs, me in the shower and him dancing on the tile floor. I will miss these days because they really are limited. They really are coming to an end.
Eventually, sleep cycles changed and I would strap Gabriel into his carseat and take a very quick shower hoping he either didn't cry or the cries wouldn't break my heart too much. The loud anguishing cries were probably similar to what torture victims sound like when they still have voices. He was much happier free and exploring, something that still hasn't changed, nor do I expect it will. This is the type of experience that can make one sweat in the shower. The stress, the rush, the forgetting to shave the 2nd leg, just anything to end the experience and give your child what they want. This is how they train you...to always think about them and what they need, want, desire. It starts with your morning shower. Someday, I thought, I will be able to take a peaceful shower.
Approaching the "not so much a baby not really a toddler" years, I was very lucky to have the help of my step-daughter. She would help get Gabriel ready in the morning during the week---changed, sometimes cereal fed. At the time she probably enjoyed this (to an extent), but until she had a child of her own, she probably never realized what her minutes to an hour of help actually did for my well being. A semi-peaceful shower no matter if 2 minutes or 15 minutes is a jackpot of diamonds to a mother. Of course, I still rushed, thought of a million things that could be going wrong, dissected if i really needed to wash my hair, justified shaving my legs a few days apart. Someday, I will shave both legs in the same day I thought.
I'm pretty certain that somehow toddlers and small children have brains that automatically switch into need mode when they hear anything related to the closing of a door. Is this what they are really doing that first night at the nursery hosptial? Does a nurse walk around with a clipboard instructing the others which babies still need "the chip" inserted? This chip turns the very word you couldn't wait for them to say into a shrilling blood curling, cringing, and sigh inducing word: Mom. Someday, I will manage an entire hair and make-up session without being needed. I often go without make-up. Someday, I will look like a movie star every time I leave my house. Well, I do have some pretty cool sunglasses...
When Gabriel started school he used to sit in the bathroom while I did my hair or put make-up on (ok so both didn't normally happen on the same day). We would talk, the dog would often get in the way, first Lobo, later Arlo. It became our time and it brought us closer. I enjoyed it. Of course, there were still times I got aggrevated when I tripped over Gabriel or the dog, or for a short time the dogs. I would remind myself, this time won't last forever, be in the moment, enjoy the moment.
My brother's children started coming over in the morning several years ago. The only visitor to the bathroom in the mornings now is Memphis and the occasional child letting me know of some discrepancy by another child that morning. At times, I leave the bathroom stressed because of the noises in the other rooms (are they fighting, playing, an ER visit needed?), but for the most part I do my thing and they do theirs. Occassionally, the click of the door in non-morning hours activates "the chip", but at 9, Gabriel can wait a minute or two and sometimes I purposefuly take longer. He has to learn patience, you know.
Over the weekend, I had the radio on full blast while in the shower. Something I don't do often if I'm the only adult home. A song by Gabriel's favorite band, F.U.N., filled the speakers. Only this time my dormant chip was activated. When I heard the opening of the door, I smiled. For the next several minutes, we sang at the top of our lungs, me in the shower and him dancing on the tile floor. I will miss these days because they really are limited. They really are coming to an end.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
No, You Can't. Yes, I Can.
One of my biggest problems has always been listening when someone tells me what to do. No, you can't drive in this snow storm (I did without issue); no, you shouldn't wear those shoes with this ice (I fell); yes, you should always put the guards on your ice skates (cut lip). Sometimes, my stubborness or my belief that I know what is right, correct, better has worked out, sometimes, not so much.
It didn't help that I was raised by parents, who taught me that I could achieve anything I wanted to achieve. I could be anything, I could do anything. My mom worked long hours in the ICU Department as a RN, when I was young, she picked up over time hours whenever she could. I never wanted for anything to be honest. The latest K-Swiss shoes, had them. The hockey skates for Friday at Winterhurst when the borrowed figure skates were no longer "cool", bought. The new outfit for the dance even though I probably had clothes I hadn't worn yet, bought. The private liberal arts college, when she had prepared for only state school, paid. The wedding dress I ripped out of a magazine and saved for half a decade not realizing it was couture, wore it. My dad was working on a college degree when I was in grade school. I would attend classes with him at a very young age. I didn't know I wasn't "in the class". I aked questions. Professors shamed the college kids, who didn't pick up what this little girl did. He called out injustices in socio-economics, in treatment of people. I stood on the lines with him, I called out grown-ups, who used degrating words, that treated people poorly. I dreamed big, and they supported it.
In my early 20s, I became lost. I didn't know what I wanted to do anymore (see previous blogs). They say God laughs when you make plans, I despised Him for his laughter, for His lesson that I wasn't in control. Yes, I was, how dare He make me doubt. Show Yourself, play on my field. Show himself He did.
In the mist of confusion, in the mist of figuring it out, I found out I was pregnant. I hadn't really even thought about kids, and then bam, I had to think about the baby I would have. I had to grow up. I didn't make a plan, I did something out of my character. I took one step at a time, one step at a time towards the life I wanted not knowing yet really what I would do "when I grew up."
When asked on interviews why I chose HR as a profession, I tell the truth. I followed a lead a friend gave me and I applied for a recruiting job. I had done a lot with recruitment in college for my sorority, for Greek Life. Surely, it had to be similar. I fell in love with the world of recruitment, with training, with developing others. I knew I had found my calling. I had found my calling because of the angel, I would name Gabriel. I wanted more, I was hungry. I went back for my MBA. I worked around 45 hours a week, took my graduate classes, ran a household, and raised a baby. I graduated with a 3.87 GPA. I achieved it.
My career grew, I focused more on all areas of HR, stepping more and more away from talent acquisition and more and more into employee relations and performance management coaching. I started to earn a name as "the one to ask", the "one to get coaching from". My career was not without setbacks (see previous blogs), but I started to feel like those post college years spent in non-career jobs, were no longer important.
Gabriel has morals, he calls out adults who treat others poorly, he has a vocabularly that people don't believe. He plays soccer forty some weeks a year, baseball in the summers, piano lessons. He plays on his iPad, he doesn't understand why social injustice exists. He talks about Yale, Harvard, and sometimes how he's gonna move to New York City.
The past year has been challenging. My hours are often difficult, I've missed a few school functions, I've lost sleep, I've woken up in the middle of the night and turned on a lap top, I've arrived at work at 4am, I've left work at 4am. I found a mentor to help me help my employees even more. Turnover has decreased, employee morale has improved, employee engagement is strong. When asked in interviews why I am passionate about my field, I tell the truth. I make a difference to the business, to people's career path, to lives. I am one of the lucky few that gets to go to work everyday and earn a paycheck doing something I love, not something I have to do.
Today, I was told that if I truly wanted out of my career, what I have stated (executive level is my end goal), that I would have to dedicate more to work and less to sick child days, soccer games, family life. That I couldn't have it all. That in today's world, you have to make the hard choices.
I've made the hard choices. I finished an undergrad degree in Political Sciences, I knew I would never use. I ended a relationship with someone I loved very much, when I knew he didn't feel the same anymore, when I could barely stand up from the knowledge. I went back for a MBA when I still needed my full time job and was raising a child in diapers. I supported my husband when he quit his job and went back to nursing school, at a time when we were not fully prepared for my salary alone. I brought a puppy home when my work hours were long and my child's social calendar was reminiscent of my teen years. Those are just the ones I am willing to share on a social blog.
So tell me again, what I can't do? I don't think I heard you correctly. I can do anything I set my mind to achieve.
It didn't help that I was raised by parents, who taught me that I could achieve anything I wanted to achieve. I could be anything, I could do anything. My mom worked long hours in the ICU Department as a RN, when I was young, she picked up over time hours whenever she could. I never wanted for anything to be honest. The latest K-Swiss shoes, had them. The hockey skates for Friday at Winterhurst when the borrowed figure skates were no longer "cool", bought. The new outfit for the dance even though I probably had clothes I hadn't worn yet, bought. The private liberal arts college, when she had prepared for only state school, paid. The wedding dress I ripped out of a magazine and saved for half a decade not realizing it was couture, wore it. My dad was working on a college degree when I was in grade school. I would attend classes with him at a very young age. I didn't know I wasn't "in the class". I aked questions. Professors shamed the college kids, who didn't pick up what this little girl did. He called out injustices in socio-economics, in treatment of people. I stood on the lines with him, I called out grown-ups, who used degrating words, that treated people poorly. I dreamed big, and they supported it.
In my early 20s, I became lost. I didn't know what I wanted to do anymore (see previous blogs). They say God laughs when you make plans, I despised Him for his laughter, for His lesson that I wasn't in control. Yes, I was, how dare He make me doubt. Show Yourself, play on my field. Show himself He did.
In the mist of confusion, in the mist of figuring it out, I found out I was pregnant. I hadn't really even thought about kids, and then bam, I had to think about the baby I would have. I had to grow up. I didn't make a plan, I did something out of my character. I took one step at a time, one step at a time towards the life I wanted not knowing yet really what I would do "when I grew up."
When asked on interviews why I chose HR as a profession, I tell the truth. I followed a lead a friend gave me and I applied for a recruiting job. I had done a lot with recruitment in college for my sorority, for Greek Life. Surely, it had to be similar. I fell in love with the world of recruitment, with training, with developing others. I knew I had found my calling. I had found my calling because of the angel, I would name Gabriel. I wanted more, I was hungry. I went back for my MBA. I worked around 45 hours a week, took my graduate classes, ran a household, and raised a baby. I graduated with a 3.87 GPA. I achieved it.
My career grew, I focused more on all areas of HR, stepping more and more away from talent acquisition and more and more into employee relations and performance management coaching. I started to earn a name as "the one to ask", the "one to get coaching from". My career was not without setbacks (see previous blogs), but I started to feel like those post college years spent in non-career jobs, were no longer important.
Gabriel has morals, he calls out adults who treat others poorly, he has a vocabularly that people don't believe. He plays soccer forty some weeks a year, baseball in the summers, piano lessons. He plays on his iPad, he doesn't understand why social injustice exists. He talks about Yale, Harvard, and sometimes how he's gonna move to New York City.
The past year has been challenging. My hours are often difficult, I've missed a few school functions, I've lost sleep, I've woken up in the middle of the night and turned on a lap top, I've arrived at work at 4am, I've left work at 4am. I found a mentor to help me help my employees even more. Turnover has decreased, employee morale has improved, employee engagement is strong. When asked in interviews why I am passionate about my field, I tell the truth. I make a difference to the business, to people's career path, to lives. I am one of the lucky few that gets to go to work everyday and earn a paycheck doing something I love, not something I have to do.
Today, I was told that if I truly wanted out of my career, what I have stated (executive level is my end goal), that I would have to dedicate more to work and less to sick child days, soccer games, family life. That I couldn't have it all. That in today's world, you have to make the hard choices.
I've made the hard choices. I finished an undergrad degree in Political Sciences, I knew I would never use. I ended a relationship with someone I loved very much, when I knew he didn't feel the same anymore, when I could barely stand up from the knowledge. I went back for a MBA when I still needed my full time job and was raising a child in diapers. I supported my husband when he quit his job and went back to nursing school, at a time when we were not fully prepared for my salary alone. I brought a puppy home when my work hours were long and my child's social calendar was reminiscent of my teen years. Those are just the ones I am willing to share on a social blog.
So tell me again, what I can't do? I don't think I heard you correctly. I can do anything I set my mind to achieve.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
I Never Had a Sister Until...
When my brother was in high school, he ended a very long term relationship with the girl, who had been his first love. Like a typical teen boy, he started dating several girls over the course of a short time. As I was away at college, and none of these girls stayed around long, I didn't pay much attention. My mom had some concerns (her middle name is actually Worry), but I thought it was pretty normal.
I was home for a school break, and noticed a little bit about what my mom was worried about. My brother was not in a good place still. I understood. As a result, I did my sisterly duty and paid absolutely no attention to any of the girls that would show up at the house. ...and by that I mean, I was rude.
Then I was leaving to go out with friends and noticed there was a Tempo in the driveway. A girl that drove herself? Maybe she didn't care about the red Mustang my brother drove. Then I saw her, tall and blonde. I rolled my eyes and left.
Over the course of the next decade, she would prove me wrong. She would treat my oldest niece like her own daughter, she would drive the kids to Alliance for a family funeral, which my brother could not attend, when she wouldn't know anyone, she would put up with my brother, and my mother. Those are not easy tasks...
She's been there for me during mother doubts and marital challenges. Literally, sometimes arriving 5 minutes later to my house. She carried my dog when I could no longer pick him up, she was there when we had put put him to sleep.
As a little girl, I would sometimes pretend I had a long last sister, who I would find and then confront my parents. (This would at times mean painting my brother's nails...). I guess I just never knew that I would eventually have a sister, my brother just needed to find her.
I was home for a school break, and noticed a little bit about what my mom was worried about. My brother was not in a good place still. I understood. As a result, I did my sisterly duty and paid absolutely no attention to any of the girls that would show up at the house. ...and by that I mean, I was rude.
Then I was leaving to go out with friends and noticed there was a Tempo in the driveway. A girl that drove herself? Maybe she didn't care about the red Mustang my brother drove. Then I saw her, tall and blonde. I rolled my eyes and left.
Over the course of the next decade, she would prove me wrong. She would treat my oldest niece like her own daughter, she would drive the kids to Alliance for a family funeral, which my brother could not attend, when she wouldn't know anyone, she would put up with my brother, and my mother. Those are not easy tasks...
She's been there for me during mother doubts and marital challenges. Literally, sometimes arriving 5 minutes later to my house. She carried my dog when I could no longer pick him up, she was there when we had put put him to sleep.
As a little girl, I would sometimes pretend I had a long last sister, who I would find and then confront my parents. (This would at times mean painting my brother's nails...). I guess I just never knew that I would eventually have a sister, my brother just needed to find her.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
The First Time
The first time I heard Janis Joplin, I was in Junior High. It was the Summer before my 8th grade year and I was at my friend's house. She had the Pearl album, Me and Bobby McGee was the song she played. I immediately had to buy the CD too (I am proud to say with 3 exceptions, I own everything released. One item has never been opened as it is a limited edition). I had never heard anything like it: the rawness, you felt it, you knew, even when you you were 13 years old ("I figured it out at 13 years old...")
Over that school year, we drifted apart, her to her own blues and me to my world. Two junior high friends would go through situations that year that even at 35 I can't fathom. But my love for Janis and the Blues would only grow. In my early 20s, I would be the only white person and the youngest by generations to attend a tribute to Etta James' (one of Janis' favs) career (at the time, she was still alive, of course). I am not sure she, my friend, even knows (until she reads this) that she was my intro to this world.
Now let me be clear, my dad played Zeppelin, Floyd (my son, who he is with often sang 4 songs off The Wall for me the other day), Neil Young and Skynard. He played Joe Cocker, Rush, Beatles, and Stones. And yes, he played Janis. But it wasn't until my pre-teen years that I heard Janis.
The thing about Janis is that you feel her, you feel the anguish, the talent, the confusion, the love, the pain, the want. I am often struck by the Sublime lyric that says with music, you feel no pain. You feel it, people take drugs to numb it. You feel it in your core and if you don't, you are listening to the wrong band/singer at the wrong time.
I am sure I drove many a high school boyfriend crazy with my love of a blues/rock singer, who died years before we were born. Perhaps, being raised by a hippie dad and a not so hippie mom shaped me to my core.
Both my parents always supported this love, and when you have divorced parents, them agreeing on something isn't the norm. My mom bought me books, my dad shared Woodstock and 60s and 70s knowledge. Years later, You Tube would make many things "viewable" to a girl, who would never see a favorite live. I created a binder full of news articles, play bills, press releases, while I am certain there is far more out there than I have, it's my way of following someone who has been dead for over 30 years, but still lives through her art.
I've seen Love Janis, (of course, I own the actual book too) and I've seen A Night with Janis. When my mom first took me to see Love Janis, I was nervous. Who was Beth Hart and how would she be Janis? It wouldn't work, I thought. This is going to be disappointing. Beth Hart was Janis, she was amazing. She went on to have (last I knew) a tortured life of her own, I went on to buy her own actual CD. By far though, as many Janis shows I have seen (and been nervous for) Mary Bridget Davies was the best Janis. I forgot she wasn't Janis, I forgot it was a play, and for a few short hours I saw Janis live.
Throughout my 35 years, there have been trials, tribulations, second guesses, mistakes, love, heartbreak, joy, pure bliss. I have, for the most part, stayed true to myself -- my passions, my beliefs, my respect and love for myself. A woman, who was never truly able to do this for herself, has helped million of little girls do it for themselves. Janis will rock on in my house, in my heart, in my soul, because I feel it in my core.
Over that school year, we drifted apart, her to her own blues and me to my world. Two junior high friends would go through situations that year that even at 35 I can't fathom. But my love for Janis and the Blues would only grow. In my early 20s, I would be the only white person and the youngest by generations to attend a tribute to Etta James' (one of Janis' favs) career (at the time, she was still alive, of course). I am not sure she, my friend, even knows (until she reads this) that she was my intro to this world.
Now let me be clear, my dad played Zeppelin, Floyd (my son, who he is with often sang 4 songs off The Wall for me the other day), Neil Young and Skynard. He played Joe Cocker, Rush, Beatles, and Stones. And yes, he played Janis. But it wasn't until my pre-teen years that I heard Janis.
The thing about Janis is that you feel her, you feel the anguish, the talent, the confusion, the love, the pain, the want. I am often struck by the Sublime lyric that says with music, you feel no pain. You feel it, people take drugs to numb it. You feel it in your core and if you don't, you are listening to the wrong band/singer at the wrong time.
I am sure I drove many a high school boyfriend crazy with my love of a blues/rock singer, who died years before we were born. Perhaps, being raised by a hippie dad and a not so hippie mom shaped me to my core.
Both my parents always supported this love, and when you have divorced parents, them agreeing on something isn't the norm. My mom bought me books, my dad shared Woodstock and 60s and 70s knowledge. Years later, You Tube would make many things "viewable" to a girl, who would never see a favorite live. I created a binder full of news articles, play bills, press releases, while I am certain there is far more out there than I have, it's my way of following someone who has been dead for over 30 years, but still lives through her art.
I've seen Love Janis, (of course, I own the actual book too) and I've seen A Night with Janis. When my mom first took me to see Love Janis, I was nervous. Who was Beth Hart and how would she be Janis? It wouldn't work, I thought. This is going to be disappointing. Beth Hart was Janis, she was amazing. She went on to have (last I knew) a tortured life of her own, I went on to buy her own actual CD. By far though, as many Janis shows I have seen (and been nervous for) Mary Bridget Davies was the best Janis. I forgot she wasn't Janis, I forgot it was a play, and for a few short hours I saw Janis live.
Throughout my 35 years, there have been trials, tribulations, second guesses, mistakes, love, heartbreak, joy, pure bliss. I have, for the most part, stayed true to myself -- my passions, my beliefs, my respect and love for myself. A woman, who was never truly able to do this for herself, has helped million of little girls do it for themselves. Janis will rock on in my house, in my heart, in my soul, because I feel it in my core.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
...And Then There Were None
About 4 1/2 years ago, I saw him. He wasn't like the rest of his siblings. He didn't look like a American Bull, he looked like a Doberman. He wasn't running around playing, he was snuggled up tight in a ball. I wanted to take him home.
My husband and I had talked about another dog. Although we didn't talk about it often, we knew we probably had another year with our shepherd (his dog and then our dog). Two years would be asking too much. We weren't actively seeking to add to our fur family, but we were not against it.
Arlo came home with us 2 weeks later. Others wanted him, but it was too late---we had claimed him. He was a stubborn, cute, playful dog. He was something to look at--beautiful. Pounds of girth ran at you when he came -- some found it frightening. He loved kids and he loved people, he just didn't want you to know it. He was smart like that.
Lobo passed about 6 months later. It was sad, hard, and everything you can imagine for all of us. She had led a good, long life. We miss her and always will.
We often joked about how Arlo was either extremely smart or extremely dumb. It's not fair we said, we can't compare him to Lobo. Sheps are very smart. The motto "can't stop, too stupid" was coined by a family friend and it stuck. Of course, Arlo wasn't stupid, he was actually smart about a lot and just not smart enough to care about other things. Or maybe that was smart too?
This morning Arlo, 4 next month, was ill and laying down in an abnormal spot. He never came to my bed last night. He always sleeps with me. Arlo was sick, he didn't look well, he almost looked...well you know...on and off the last 6 months, our until then healthy dog hadd challenge after challenge (that's HR talk for problem after problem).
My husband took Arlo to the ER Vet. Neither of us knew if he would even make it there. We didn't know what was wrong, we just knew it wasn't good. Not good at all.
Arlo's liver was slowly shuting down. His body was shutting down. There was nothing the vet could do, nothing. So we did the only thing we could do. We took his suffering away. My husband was with him the entire time, showing him love and care. I was home with our son, curled on the couch as we both cried and hugged. Explaining "liver sickness" to a 9 year old and knowing Arlo could not be helped was not what I thought this Saturday would bring.
Gabriel wanted his cousins, we went to my brother's house for a bit. It was nice to have people, to not think for a bit.
We came home. There was no dog in the window anxiously awaiting our entrance. There was no dog to let outside. No water bowl to check. No dog to trip over. No dog to follow me around. No dog.
There was no dog. and then Gabriel summed it up.
"God is saying, can't stop too stupid." --Gabriel
My husband and I had talked about another dog. Although we didn't talk about it often, we knew we probably had another year with our shepherd (his dog and then our dog). Two years would be asking too much. We weren't actively seeking to add to our fur family, but we were not against it.
Arlo came home with us 2 weeks later. Others wanted him, but it was too late---we had claimed him. He was a stubborn, cute, playful dog. He was something to look at--beautiful. Pounds of girth ran at you when he came -- some found it frightening. He loved kids and he loved people, he just didn't want you to know it. He was smart like that.
Lobo passed about 6 months later. It was sad, hard, and everything you can imagine for all of us. She had led a good, long life. We miss her and always will.
We often joked about how Arlo was either extremely smart or extremely dumb. It's not fair we said, we can't compare him to Lobo. Sheps are very smart. The motto "can't stop, too stupid" was coined by a family friend and it stuck. Of course, Arlo wasn't stupid, he was actually smart about a lot and just not smart enough to care about other things. Or maybe that was smart too?
This morning Arlo, 4 next month, was ill and laying down in an abnormal spot. He never came to my bed last night. He always sleeps with me. Arlo was sick, he didn't look well, he almost looked...well you know...on and off the last 6 months, our until then healthy dog hadd challenge after challenge (that's HR talk for problem after problem).
My husband took Arlo to the ER Vet. Neither of us knew if he would even make it there. We didn't know what was wrong, we just knew it wasn't good. Not good at all.
Arlo's liver was slowly shuting down. His body was shutting down. There was nothing the vet could do, nothing. So we did the only thing we could do. We took his suffering away. My husband was with him the entire time, showing him love and care. I was home with our son, curled on the couch as we both cried and hugged. Explaining "liver sickness" to a 9 year old and knowing Arlo could not be helped was not what I thought this Saturday would bring.
Gabriel wanted his cousins, we went to my brother's house for a bit. It was nice to have people, to not think for a bit.
We came home. There was no dog in the window anxiously awaiting our entrance. There was no dog to let outside. No water bowl to check. No dog to trip over. No dog to follow me around. No dog.
There was no dog. and then Gabriel summed it up.
"God is saying, can't stop too stupid." --Gabriel
Friday, September 28, 2012
Skip the Self Help Section, Just Read This
I remember being curled up on the floor. Tears streaming causing puddles around me. I couldn't get up. It's not that I wouldn't, it's that I was incapable.
That was my first real experience of heartbreak. Forget what I thought that word meant. Heartbreak. My son will now tell you that heartless and heartbreak are impossible, your body can't function w/o your heart. The kid knows so much, but yet he has so much to experience.
The experience, tears, pain, depression, mistakes. It taught me a lot, it cost me a lot-financially and more importantly not financially. It brought me back to me. After all, if you don't love and respect yourself, what do you really have? Who can you love?
There was no snap to it moment. There was no near death experience. God and angels did not visit me. Instead me came back to me.
Me. Who was I? I wasn't this person. I wasn't a person who was incapable of getting up off the hardwood floor. I wasn't a person who couldn't go to work. This was not me.
Janine was a strong independent woman, who spoke her mind and stood up for what she believed. Janine was a powerhouse, who never went down (Do you hear that Brown's receivers?). So why was I not getting up?
I'd love to say it was an easy journey (don't stop believing...) But it wasn't. When you misplace yourself, you are not easily found (and you thought Waldo was hard to find). But finding yourself is vital.
Step 1: realizing there are things you can control and things you can not. You just can't.
Step 2: letting go of what you can't control. For a type A, anal retentive, control freak, this can be difficult. But honestly, if I can learn to do this, surely you can. Don't believe me? Have you ever had people sit in your passenger seat, disrupt the order of your glove box, and then stare intently at their wrist watch laughingly counting the seconds/minutes until you can no longer take it, pull over, and fix the contents of the glove box, repairing all to size and shape order. No? Then you can do this. I did and this example is a true story. Multiple times over.
Step 3: remembering there are things out of your control.
Step 4: Focus on what you can control. Really focus. Hard. Stop reading. FOCUS.
Step 4a: there are two kinds of people in your life. Those you love, who love you. Those you love, who don't love you. Think about the people in your life. Where do they fall? Who can you rely on if your electric is shut off? Flat tire? Psycho friend attack? Hard night with the kids? Tough day at work?
Step 4b. Severe ties with those who fall into "do not love you" category. Don't think more, don't think it will change. History repeats itself. Love YOU.
Step 5: Think about why you keep those who don't care about you in your life. This can be hard. You may not want to face it, but you will be stronger, better, and happier if you do.
Step 6: Release those who are unhealthy, non-supportive, and uncaring from your life. Let go.
Step 6a: Seriously. Why haven't you yet? In the words of Janet Jackson, Ms. Jackson, if you're nasty, what have they done for you lately? (this is not to say life is about you, but you have to be about you).
Step 6b: Mourn. Mourn what you hoped for, mourn the loss of the unworthy. But for the love of you, stand up. Get up. Walk.
Step 6c: Don't mourn too long. Focus on YOU.
Step 7: Establish your ideals. Think long. Think hard. Who are you?
Step 8: What are your passions? Focus on your passions. They are your heart. You can't survive without a heart (maybe the kids knows more than I think at times).
Now you know why dance counts 5, 6, 7, 8. 8 is where it all begins.
Dance. Like no one is watching.
That was my first real experience of heartbreak. Forget what I thought that word meant. Heartbreak. My son will now tell you that heartless and heartbreak are impossible, your body can't function w/o your heart. The kid knows so much, but yet he has so much to experience.
The experience, tears, pain, depression, mistakes. It taught me a lot, it cost me a lot-financially and more importantly not financially. It brought me back to me. After all, if you don't love and respect yourself, what do you really have? Who can you love?
There was no snap to it moment. There was no near death experience. God and angels did not visit me. Instead me came back to me.
Me. Who was I? I wasn't this person. I wasn't a person who was incapable of getting up off the hardwood floor. I wasn't a person who couldn't go to work. This was not me.
Janine was a strong independent woman, who spoke her mind and stood up for what she believed. Janine was a powerhouse, who never went down (Do you hear that Brown's receivers?). So why was I not getting up?
I'd love to say it was an easy journey (don't stop believing...) But it wasn't. When you misplace yourself, you are not easily found (and you thought Waldo was hard to find). But finding yourself is vital.
Step 1: realizing there are things you can control and things you can not. You just can't.
Step 2: letting go of what you can't control. For a type A, anal retentive, control freak, this can be difficult. But honestly, if I can learn to do this, surely you can. Don't believe me? Have you ever had people sit in your passenger seat, disrupt the order of your glove box, and then stare intently at their wrist watch laughingly counting the seconds/minutes until you can no longer take it, pull over, and fix the contents of the glove box, repairing all to size and shape order. No? Then you can do this. I did and this example is a true story. Multiple times over.
Step 3: remembering there are things out of your control.
Step 4: Focus on what you can control. Really focus. Hard. Stop reading. FOCUS.
Step 4a: there are two kinds of people in your life. Those you love, who love you. Those you love, who don't love you. Think about the people in your life. Where do they fall? Who can you rely on if your electric is shut off? Flat tire? Psycho friend attack? Hard night with the kids? Tough day at work?
Step 4b. Severe ties with those who fall into "do not love you" category. Don't think more, don't think it will change. History repeats itself. Love YOU.
Step 5: Think about why you keep those who don't care about you in your life. This can be hard. You may not want to face it, but you will be stronger, better, and happier if you do.
Step 6: Release those who are unhealthy, non-supportive, and uncaring from your life. Let go.
Step 6a: Seriously. Why haven't you yet? In the words of Janet Jackson, Ms. Jackson, if you're nasty, what have they done for you lately? (this is not to say life is about you, but you have to be about you).
Step 6b: Mourn. Mourn what you hoped for, mourn the loss of the unworthy. But for the love of you, stand up. Get up. Walk.
Step 6c: Don't mourn too long. Focus on YOU.
Step 7: Establish your ideals. Think long. Think hard. Who are you?
Step 8: What are your passions? Focus on your passions. They are your heart. You can't survive without a heart (maybe the kids knows more than I think at times).
Now you know why dance counts 5, 6, 7, 8. 8 is where it all begins.
Dance. Like no one is watching.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
That I May Grow in Courage, Graciousness and Peace
I attended Mount Union College (kna University of Mount Union) where even if a person was not in your major, didn't live in your dorm, or wasn't your neighbor's friend's cousin, you probably knew them. My high school was larger at the time.
My two close friends and I went through Recruitment after the Christmas break. At the time, that was the earliest a freshman could participate. We ended up in different sororities and yes, we stayed friends: the poster children for Greek life, people joked. At the time, I didn't really understand what sisterhood was going to mean, how deep the bond would be, how this membership would tie me to great women all over the world, how this membership would shape the woman I would become.
Home from school one Christmas, I was doing what most early 20s girls were doing, hitting the mall to spend my hard earned money. I had a white ball cap on displaying yellow Alpha Xi Delta letters. I noticed an elderly woman get up using her walker. I think it was her struggle and the look of worry on her younger companions face that caught my attention. She was walking towards me, I stepped to the side not wanting to block her path. She stopped, turned to me, extended her arm and gave me the AZD hand shake. She had gotten up to give me the handshake. She saw our letters. It was at that moment that "membership for life" had meaning.
Throughout the next 4 years, Alpha Xi Delta became a part of my life, a part of me, through both joy and sorrow, Alpha Xi Delta had something to give, I had something to gain. I didn't always see the "something to gain". Like many of life's lessons, you don't realize you learned something until later.
During a Greek Conference, I had a conversation with the Greek Adviser regarding a change I thought would be best for our process. I knew it would not be popular. She cited " that we may grow in courage" and I knew I needed to move forward. Years later, I would run across the following quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "When you have decided what you believe, what you feel must be done, have the courage to stand alone and be counted." I continue to grow in courage, recently being the only dissent in a managers' meeting.
During college, I was upset, tearful when something I expected to happen did not. It was a huge blow...to my ego... not to my work as I had thought at the time. I vented to the same Greek Adviser, who had moved on to another position. Tears streaming down my face, sobs coming from everywhere (and as mentioned in previous blogs I am not a crier). Again she cited The Symphony of Alpha Xi Delta: "without bitterness or defeat we may encounter misfortune and with humility meet success." I held my head high and carried on with my day. Years later, I would find out my boss was passing off my work as her own to Partners and Managing Team of my employer. Believe me I wanted to do many things. I was not in a position to do anything. I held my head high and persevered onward. I do remember hearing some time later that it became apparent to some that the work may not have been completed by my former boss. Apparently, this particular person was unable to answer questions related to the data, process, and plan during a presentation. I guess she never found my FAQ...I'd stop and pick her up if I saw her stranded on the highway in the rain. Bitter leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Bitter is bad for the soul.
Since graduation, the words of The Symphony have come to have more meaning. Life changes, you mature, you start a job, you lose a job, you end up in a career, you change your career path, you get laid off, you fall in love, you have your heartbroken, you have a family, you lose loved ones, friendships grow apart, friendships end. Words become meaningful, their role changes in your life. You stop taking so much for granted. You shake your head at teenagers in the mall. You no longer spend countless hours wondering why he/she didn't just love you, why he/she couldn't just own what they did, how no one else could see it that way, why he/she will never change. You just accept it and move on, being grateful you know who you are, you hold your values and beliefs in high regard. You own your mistakes, you face your challenges, you develop, you learn, you move on, and you become better.
I have found peace.
My two close friends and I went through Recruitment after the Christmas break. At the time, that was the earliest a freshman could participate. We ended up in different sororities and yes, we stayed friends: the poster children for Greek life, people joked. At the time, I didn't really understand what sisterhood was going to mean, how deep the bond would be, how this membership would tie me to great women all over the world, how this membership would shape the woman I would become.
Home from school one Christmas, I was doing what most early 20s girls were doing, hitting the mall to spend my hard earned money. I had a white ball cap on displaying yellow Alpha Xi Delta letters. I noticed an elderly woman get up using her walker. I think it was her struggle and the look of worry on her younger companions face that caught my attention. She was walking towards me, I stepped to the side not wanting to block her path. She stopped, turned to me, extended her arm and gave me the AZD hand shake. She had gotten up to give me the handshake. She saw our letters. It was at that moment that "membership for life" had meaning.
Throughout the next 4 years, Alpha Xi Delta became a part of my life, a part of me, through both joy and sorrow, Alpha Xi Delta had something to give, I had something to gain. I didn't always see the "something to gain". Like many of life's lessons, you don't realize you learned something until later.
During a Greek Conference, I had a conversation with the Greek Adviser regarding a change I thought would be best for our process. I knew it would not be popular. She cited " that we may grow in courage" and I knew I needed to move forward. Years later, I would run across the following quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: "When you have decided what you believe, what you feel must be done, have the courage to stand alone and be counted." I continue to grow in courage, recently being the only dissent in a managers' meeting.
During college, I was upset, tearful when something I expected to happen did not. It was a huge blow...to my ego... not to my work as I had thought at the time. I vented to the same Greek Adviser, who had moved on to another position. Tears streaming down my face, sobs coming from everywhere (and as mentioned in previous blogs I am not a crier). Again she cited The Symphony of Alpha Xi Delta: "without bitterness or defeat we may encounter misfortune and with humility meet success." I held my head high and carried on with my day. Years later, I would find out my boss was passing off my work as her own to Partners and Managing Team of my employer. Believe me I wanted to do many things. I was not in a position to do anything. I held my head high and persevered onward. I do remember hearing some time later that it became apparent to some that the work may not have been completed by my former boss. Apparently, this particular person was unable to answer questions related to the data, process, and plan during a presentation. I guess she never found my FAQ...I'd stop and pick her up if I saw her stranded on the highway in the rain. Bitter leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Bitter is bad for the soul.
Since graduation, the words of The Symphony have come to have more meaning. Life changes, you mature, you start a job, you lose a job, you end up in a career, you change your career path, you get laid off, you fall in love, you have your heartbroken, you have a family, you lose loved ones, friendships grow apart, friendships end. Words become meaningful, their role changes in your life. You stop taking so much for granted. You shake your head at teenagers in the mall. You no longer spend countless hours wondering why he/she didn't just love you, why he/she couldn't just own what they did, how no one else could see it that way, why he/she will never change. You just accept it and move on, being grateful you know who you are, you hold your values and beliefs in high regard. You own your mistakes, you face your challenges, you develop, you learn, you move on, and you become better.
I have found peace.
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