**Disclaimer: I was feeling pretty nostalgic about Halloween this evening and I sat down and just started typing. I rarely do that. Usually there is a whole blogpost in my head before I even pull up this site, but this one...this one is purely for me.
I remember alot of Halloweens growing up. Probably one of my first memories is when I got my 1st store bought costume. I think I was 3. We went to the Big B store on the corner of Sparkman and Jordan Lane and bought a Mickey Mouse costume. What I remember about it was this -- it was cheap. The mask was uncomfortable plastic that was so thin and stiff, you could probably cut yourself on it. The "costume" was also plastic and you stepped into it and it tied in the back like a hospital gown. I remember that the mask cracked before the night was over and that a couple of the ties broke when we put it on. Maybe that is why I didn't have another store bought costume until I was 14 and needed something impressive for a friend's Halloween party. One year I wore a purple sweat suit and painted my face purple -- I was The Purple People Eater. Another year I wanted to be a ghost, but mom wouldn't let me cut holes in a sheet, so I was some kind of incredibly politically incorrect version of...well, I don't know what I was. I wore a shirt that my grandparents had brought me from the Caribbean, holey jeans, a gardening hat of my mothers, and I carried a coffee can with beans in it like some kind of drum/maracca hybrid. It was horrible -- but I walked around the neighborhood like a panhandling migrant worker asking everyone for candy. One of the most memorable costumes I ever made was when I was about 12. I was a robot. I painted a huge Whirlpool Dryer box with silver paint, as well as a smaller square box that I affixed to the top for the head. I raided my dad's garage and found all sorts of weird looking bulbs, wires, etc to form a face, cut the sleeves off of an old shirt, attached gloves at the ends, stuffed them with newspaper and duct taped them to the sides for arms. The most ingenious thing I did though was to push dozens of Lite Brite pegs through the front of the box, so that when I lit my flashlight on the inside of the box and swung it back and forth, the costume came alive. I did not go trick-or-treating that year -- I went to the Halloween party at our church and won the costume contest. I have been thinking alot about my childhood and how much holidays like Halloween have changed since we were kids. The idea of having "decorations" for Halloween beyond a Jack-O-Lantern or two was ludicrous for our family and our neighborhood. No one had Halloween lights, or stretched fake spiderwebs over their bushes. Occasionally, we might come to a house that had a blacklight in their porch light, or a scarcrow on the porch, and I think that there was one house that had fake ghosts hanging in their trees one year. But for the most part, a grinning Jack-O-Lantern was it (not the elaborate pumpkin sculptures that you see today, but just triangle eyes and nose and a jagged grin). The Jack-O-Lantern went out the night of or the night before Halloween and went into the trash the next day (unless your mom was like mine and made it into pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, or pumpkin muffins).
We have become so commercialized as a society that a simple holiday that used to be comprised of a $5 pumpkin and a homemade costume has become one of $50 kids costumes, $200 inflatable spiders, and month-long celebrations. People rarely have ONE Jack-O-Lantern, but instead they have several -- many of them fake and plugged into the wall. I love Haloween. Fall is one of my most favorite times of the year, and Halloween is consumate "Fall" with pumpkins and apples and red and gold leaves. The crisp Fall air that is cool and dry and the coming of Halloween go hand in hand, and you know that soon after will be Thanksgiving, with turkey, sweet potatoes, family and football, followed closely by the holiday of holidays -- Christmas. I really miss the simplicity of the holidays the way we used to celebrate them -- Halloween was like a warm up of good holidays to come. The candy we collected was an appetizer to the rich foods of Thanksgiving and Christmas. Now, people decorate more for Halloween than they do for Christmas and many families never see each other -- even on Thanksgiving. (sigh)
This is me...
I'm having a mom moment....
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Growing up at Central
As a Southern woman raised in the Church of Christ, a lot of people believe that I am rigid -- believing that I am "saved" and you are not. I have heard all of my life that "those Church of Christ folks think that they are the only ones going to heaven" but I have never been taught that -- it has never even been implied to me. I even attended a Church of Christ private school from the age of 4 through the 8th grade and I never heard it there either. I was taught what it took to get to heaven based on the scriptures, no more, no less. Prejudices about other faiths was not part of the curriculum.
I grew up as a bonified member of the Central Church of Christ in Huntsville, AL and I loved it there. I do not know what others who grew up in the church went through, but for me, it was a blast. I loved the people and the building and the quaint downtown atmosphere. I was baptised there and on a cool, sunny, Saturday in October 1998, I was married there. A lot of this will not make sense to you unless you also attended church and some of this will not make sense unless you attended Central.
We were not an affluent church, full of monetary wealth. No, the riches of Central lay in the hearts of its members. As a young child, I worked hard in Sunday School to impress David and Marlene Thomason, Tim and Jimi Johnson, and even Marrietta Neiland (even though she never taught me personally, she was like the "Matriarch" of Central's youth). I opened my heart, sharpened my wit, and delved into more serious theological questions with Mike and Lora Porter, David and Laura Bell, and Dorthea Thompson as a teen. I learned to respect my elders -- Henry Bragg, Clyde Jones, Richard Brown, D.O. Matthews, J.D. Jones, and countless others. I wrote a letter to the elders when I was about 12 asking to be moved into the teen group early because I felt I was "much more mature" than the kids in my current class. I have no idea what it said, I would love to read it now for a laugh, but it worked, (much to my older sisters chagrin who had hoped to avoid me encroaching on her territory for at least 2 more years). I do not know if I impressed them with the words in the letter, or simply by the act of writing it.
I do not remember how old I was, maybe 8 or 9, but I still remember a lesson that J.D Jones taught about singing. What I remember about it is this: Singing is important. It is as important as praying and sitting still and listening to the sermon. He told us that it was important to not have instruments crowding out our voices as we lifted them in praise to God. And he told us to breathe which I thought was a little unnecessary until he explained further. We shouldn't all breathe at once so that a song sounded like this: "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound (GASP) That saved a wretch like me! (GASP)..." It is an odd lesson to have stuck with me for so long, but it has, and I still try to practice the intermittent breathing when I sing at church now. We had no organ, no piano, no bass guitar or drums, but on a good Sunday with Ed Smith or Gerry Binford leading the singing you would never miss them. We sang, we clapped, we stomped our feet to the rhythms of "In My Father's House" and "Amen" until I thought that we would raise the roof or at least blow the doors from their hinges. We had an inner-city ministry, a class for divorcees, a jail ministry, a class for single parents, and 2 college ministries -- one at UAH and one at A & M. On any given Sunday, you could look out at the congregation and see people from as many as 4 or 5 races and 10 or 12 countries all side by side smiling right back at you. We had no qualms about race that so many churches in the South do even today.
The building was old (still is) but it was my playground every Sunday and Wednesday night. I would hold onto the brown metal poles that stretched to the ceiling as part of the staircase and swing from the 3rd or 4th or 5th step while holding onto the bottom pole in an impressive display of upper body strength that would make any stripper proud. I swung like a monkey on the silver painted poles that barricaded the parking lot across the street with my long brown hair dragging through the dirt. I begged every Wednesday night to walk to Gorin's for a waffle cone after church and was usually told no. I took great care in my hard soled Sunday shoes to pop as many seeds that fell from the huge tree out front. That tree is gone now. Its huge roots were buckling the concrete and its towering branches stretched high over the church roof. I wriggled in my seat as the invitation song, the announcements, and the prayer were concluded so that I could bound from the pew and run to the gym (we called it "The Family Life Center," but it was a gym). I would play while my mom and dad visited (or fellowshipped), and then I would whine when it was finally time to leave. I helped decorated that gym for the Harvest Banquet every year, and hosted several Parent Appreciation Dinners there as a teen. Some of my fondest memories are of the Halloween parties that they used to have there -- popcorn, Abbot & Costello, and costume contests. I won the year that I made a killer robot costume out of an old dryer box, silver spray paint, and light bright pegs.
For those of you not raised in the church, this might sound odd, but when you are raised in the Lord, surrounded on all sides by Him, even before you choose to be baptised, you have taken Him on like a reflection from those around you. I always knew that I would choose a life with Christ, and at a weekend teen retreat at Henry and Melba Bragg's Elk River cabin, I decided it was time. I was 14, and I was baptised by Clyde Jones at Central the Sunday morning after we got back with my parents and grandparents looking on. It was a good day. I didn't know it at the time, but the first real attack on my faith was just a few months away in the form of "The Boston Movement" where I saw our congregation that was bursting at the seams one Sunday go to a meager gathering of the faithful just a few weeks later. Although I have prayed alot about forgiving those responsible, I will never get over the effect that it had on me. It was my first experience with church "politics" (for lack of a more universally understood word), and in many ways it left me cynical. I am certain that the church had its problems before that, but I was oblivious to them. Sometimes, growing up sucks.
I know that I have romanticized the building, the grounds, and even the people in my head, but they are still the standard by which I judge other congregations. Central, in all its glory, warts and all, is "Home." There will never be another church that I can walk through and feel so at ease, so comfortable, like I belong. The people who taught my Sunday school classes, now teach my kids when we go home to visit. Ed and Gerry still raise the roof with the singing. Kids still swing on that banister. It is a constant comfort to me to know that it is there -- growing, flourishing, changing, yet always the same.
I grew up as a bonified member of the Central Church of Christ in Huntsville, AL and I loved it there. I do not know what others who grew up in the church went through, but for me, it was a blast. I loved the people and the building and the quaint downtown atmosphere. I was baptised there and on a cool, sunny, Saturday in October 1998, I was married there. A lot of this will not make sense to you unless you also attended church and some of this will not make sense unless you attended Central.
We were not an affluent church, full of monetary wealth. No, the riches of Central lay in the hearts of its members. As a young child, I worked hard in Sunday School to impress David and Marlene Thomason, Tim and Jimi Johnson, and even Marrietta Neiland (even though she never taught me personally, she was like the "Matriarch" of Central's youth). I opened my heart, sharpened my wit, and delved into more serious theological questions with Mike and Lora Porter, David and Laura Bell, and Dorthea Thompson as a teen. I learned to respect my elders -- Henry Bragg, Clyde Jones, Richard Brown, D.O. Matthews, J.D. Jones, and countless others. I wrote a letter to the elders when I was about 12 asking to be moved into the teen group early because I felt I was "much more mature" than the kids in my current class. I have no idea what it said, I would love to read it now for a laugh, but it worked, (much to my older sisters chagrin who had hoped to avoid me encroaching on her territory for at least 2 more years). I do not know if I impressed them with the words in the letter, or simply by the act of writing it.
I do not remember how old I was, maybe 8 or 9, but I still remember a lesson that J.D Jones taught about singing. What I remember about it is this: Singing is important. It is as important as praying and sitting still and listening to the sermon. He told us that it was important to not have instruments crowding out our voices as we lifted them in praise to God. And he told us to breathe which I thought was a little unnecessary until he explained further. We shouldn't all breathe at once so that a song sounded like this: "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound (GASP) That saved a wretch like me! (GASP)..." It is an odd lesson to have stuck with me for so long, but it has, and I still try to practice the intermittent breathing when I sing at church now. We had no organ, no piano, no bass guitar or drums, but on a good Sunday with Ed Smith or Gerry Binford leading the singing you would never miss them. We sang, we clapped, we stomped our feet to the rhythms of "In My Father's House" and "Amen" until I thought that we would raise the roof or at least blow the doors from their hinges. We had an inner-city ministry, a class for divorcees, a jail ministry, a class for single parents, and 2 college ministries -- one at UAH and one at A & M. On any given Sunday, you could look out at the congregation and see people from as many as 4 or 5 races and 10 or 12 countries all side by side smiling right back at you. We had no qualms about race that so many churches in the South do even today.
The building was old (still is) but it was my playground every Sunday and Wednesday night. I would hold onto the brown metal poles that stretched to the ceiling as part of the staircase and swing from the 3rd or 4th or 5th step while holding onto the bottom pole in an impressive display of upper body strength that would make any stripper proud. I swung like a monkey on the silver painted poles that barricaded the parking lot across the street with my long brown hair dragging through the dirt. I begged every Wednesday night to walk to Gorin's for a waffle cone after church and was usually told no. I took great care in my hard soled Sunday shoes to pop as many seeds that fell from the huge tree out front. That tree is gone now. Its huge roots were buckling the concrete and its towering branches stretched high over the church roof. I wriggled in my seat as the invitation song, the announcements, and the prayer were concluded so that I could bound from the pew and run to the gym (we called it "The Family Life Center," but it was a gym). I would play while my mom and dad visited (or fellowshipped), and then I would whine when it was finally time to leave. I helped decorated that gym for the Harvest Banquet every year, and hosted several Parent Appreciation Dinners there as a teen. Some of my fondest memories are of the Halloween parties that they used to have there -- popcorn, Abbot & Costello, and costume contests. I won the year that I made a killer robot costume out of an old dryer box, silver spray paint, and light bright pegs.
For those of you not raised in the church, this might sound odd, but when you are raised in the Lord, surrounded on all sides by Him, even before you choose to be baptised, you have taken Him on like a reflection from those around you. I always knew that I would choose a life with Christ, and at a weekend teen retreat at Henry and Melba Bragg's Elk River cabin, I decided it was time. I was 14, and I was baptised by Clyde Jones at Central the Sunday morning after we got back with my parents and grandparents looking on. It was a good day. I didn't know it at the time, but the first real attack on my faith was just a few months away in the form of "The Boston Movement" where I saw our congregation that was bursting at the seams one Sunday go to a meager gathering of the faithful just a few weeks later. Although I have prayed alot about forgiving those responsible, I will never get over the effect that it had on me. It was my first experience with church "politics" (for lack of a more universally understood word), and in many ways it left me cynical. I am certain that the church had its problems before that, but I was oblivious to them. Sometimes, growing up sucks.
I know that I have romanticized the building, the grounds, and even the people in my head, but they are still the standard by which I judge other congregations. Central, in all its glory, warts and all, is "Home." There will never be another church that I can walk through and feel so at ease, so comfortable, like I belong. The people who taught my Sunday school classes, now teach my kids when we go home to visit. Ed and Gerry still raise the roof with the singing. Kids still swing on that banister. It is a constant comfort to me to know that it is there -- growing, flourishing, changing, yet always the same.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Letting Go
I have been working on streamlining things around my house lately -- getting rid of the junk, the old, the worn out. Today I tackled the linen closet. I finally bagged up all of the old hooded baby towels. It looked great when I was done, and it no longer takes excellent hand-eye coordination to open the door and put in the clean towels and washclothes so that the entire contents don't come spilling out onto your head. But as I looked at the pile of old towels I had removed, many of them grayish with the wear and tear of 9 years worth of use and washing, I got a little pang of regret. I mean, these were the towels that I wrapped William in after his first bath, the washcloths that I washed Bella with for the first time, the towels that Lorelei and Jackson played "super-heros" with just last year, and I was bagging them up to give to Goodwill. Some stranger is going to buy these and probably use them to wash his car or his dog. How could I let that happen? These are precious mementos of my kids, of too many "firsts" to count, and they are destined to become someones "rags".
I know that you cannot hold onto everything. It is a lesson that I learned after we moved and I realized that we had too much "stuff." With 4 kids, I cannot hold onto every picture that they draw, every card that they give me, or every cute outfit that they ever wore. And the truth is, why would I want to? I used to think that I would hold onto their "special" outfits and give them to them for their own kids some day. Then my mother moved to a new house and gave me a virtual trunk load of MY old baby clothes. Now, I was a child of the 70's -- there was NOTHING in the things that she gave me that I would ever put on my kids unless the only other choice was that they go naked. The same will hold true for my kids in 25 years or so. They are not going to want to dress their kids in the height of early 21st century fashion. And since I know I am not having any more children, what would be the point of holding onto a bunch of clothes that they will never want and that I will never need?
Memories. Of course I hold onto the things from when my kids were little because they will never be little again. William is already catching me in height, Bella's attitude and wit rivals my own, Lorelei is growing like a weed and Jackson (who was never little to begin with since he was over 10 pounds at birth) is almost as big as his sister. I tell myself to hold on. Hold on to that sleeper, that blanket, that towel, or whatever it may be as if their childhood is somehow magically contained within the fibers. It is a HARD lesson to learn that those things are just things. They are not my kids. They are not even my memories. My memories of those times are not going to Goodwill -- just some old gray towels.
So I paused to think about those precious times that are long gone now as I folded each item and placed it into the bag. I remembered the way each one of them squirmed in my arms all slippery with soap as I gave them their first baths, how clean they smelled as I sang to them wrapped up in those now old towels, and I cried a little as I reflected on how they will be constantly growing and changing. It is one of the hardest things about being a mother, a parent -- letting go. I WANT them to grow and change. I want them to mature, to learn, to try, and to sometimes fail because that is how they become adults. It would be nice to freeze time and hold onto them for even just a little while longer as they are, but it is not possible and it would be going against my job as a parent. My sole responsibility to them in this world is to help them grow up -- to teach them how to be responsible, contributing members of society. I cannot do that if they never grow up. So I am learning how to let go. It is a daily struggle, and it isn't getting any easier.
I know that you cannot hold onto everything. It is a lesson that I learned after we moved and I realized that we had too much "stuff." With 4 kids, I cannot hold onto every picture that they draw, every card that they give me, or every cute outfit that they ever wore. And the truth is, why would I want to? I used to think that I would hold onto their "special" outfits and give them to them for their own kids some day. Then my mother moved to a new house and gave me a virtual trunk load of MY old baby clothes. Now, I was a child of the 70's -- there was NOTHING in the things that she gave me that I would ever put on my kids unless the only other choice was that they go naked. The same will hold true for my kids in 25 years or so. They are not going to want to dress their kids in the height of early 21st century fashion. And since I know I am not having any more children, what would be the point of holding onto a bunch of clothes that they will never want and that I will never need?
Memories. Of course I hold onto the things from when my kids were little because they will never be little again. William is already catching me in height, Bella's attitude and wit rivals my own, Lorelei is growing like a weed and Jackson (who was never little to begin with since he was over 10 pounds at birth) is almost as big as his sister. I tell myself to hold on. Hold on to that sleeper, that blanket, that towel, or whatever it may be as if their childhood is somehow magically contained within the fibers. It is a HARD lesson to learn that those things are just things. They are not my kids. They are not even my memories. My memories of those times are not going to Goodwill -- just some old gray towels.
So I paused to think about those precious times that are long gone now as I folded each item and placed it into the bag. I remembered the way each one of them squirmed in my arms all slippery with soap as I gave them their first baths, how clean they smelled as I sang to them wrapped up in those now old towels, and I cried a little as I reflected on how they will be constantly growing and changing. It is one of the hardest things about being a mother, a parent -- letting go. I WANT them to grow and change. I want them to mature, to learn, to try, and to sometimes fail because that is how they become adults. It would be nice to freeze time and hold onto them for even just a little while longer as they are, but it is not possible and it would be going against my job as a parent. My sole responsibility to them in this world is to help them grow up -- to teach them how to be responsible, contributing members of society. I cannot do that if they never grow up. So I am learning how to let go. It is a daily struggle, and it isn't getting any easier.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Moms and School -- the TRUE Story
I did not write this, but I soooooooooo could have. Whoever the woman is that penned this masterpiece is a champion of truth. I know I should have posted this a couple of months ago when school was actually starting, but hey, I'm lazy. A friend sent me this in an email about 3 weeks ago and I JUST read it today, so you are getting it as soon as I could get it to you, enjoy! (And Thanks to Cari for sending it in the first place!)
10 Misconceptions of Moms and Back-to-school
Misconception Number 1: Moms miss their kids when they go back to school Seriously. I’ve had enough of you by now. Every morning with the “what are we going to do today, Mom?” is finally over. I’ve had looked at your face twenty-four seven for the last 77 days. It’s time to go learn something. No more asking me about the pool, when is the next snack or if you can stay up late and watch a movie. It’s over….You’re going back to Hogwarts and I get to have a life again. There is a Christmas morning for parents and it’s called “back to school”.
Misconception Number 2: Moms like to go school shopping. Are you freaking kidding me? Why do I pay taxes?…so I can rack up a 200 dollar bill at Staples for crap that we have laying around my house in junk drawers. Why does it have to be new pencils? What’s wrong with the chewed up, broken strawberry shortcake pencils sitting in the bottom of the toy box for the last 6 months? And how many subject books can you possibly need? What happened to reading, writing and arithmetic. If they added a couple of things for parents to that list I wouldn’t mind so much….why not pencils, erasers and vodka …..or some Nyquil.
Misconception Number 3: Moms like back to school night. Why must we do this every year? I got it already. You’re the teacher…I’m the parent. My kid is either going to be smart or dumb. If he gets a certain number or colored dot on his discipline chart, he can’t get a prize from the prize box. Pretty simple stuff. Listen, I’m pretty old school. If he doesn’t listen to you…you can throw something at him. I don’t care. But I got a lot of work to do at home and I’m paying a babysitter right now. Plus, I’m pretty sure you are going to assign some project on wigwams made by some Indian tribe I’ve never heard of, so I need to get home and start my research. So, I got it. We’re all here for the betterment of the kids. Blah Blah Blah. Can I leave now?
Misconception Number 4: Moms like school paperwork. How many trees are you planning on killing to tell me the same stuff I had to pay a babysitter to listen to the other night? You know our name, where we live and our emergency phone numbers. He doesn’t have a nickname….call him “stinkbutt” for all I care. We don’t have any “special circumstances” that you need to know about. He lives in a home with two parents who may or may not like each other at any given time and they will fight. If that qualifies as a reason he can’t get his homework done on time then he won’t be able to function as an adult and have a real job so you may want to “educate” him on that life lesson.
Misconception Number 5: Moms like covering books in that annoying sticky paper. What exactly will you be doing with these books that I have to cover them in a plastic laminate? Do you often teach in the rain? Or while the children are drinking soda and eating soup? Do you know how long that takes? Has any parent in the history of education been able to do it without any air bubbles in it? From now on I’m covering it the old way…brown paper bags. That way I can cover the books and pack their lunches at that same time. Who says moms can’t multitask?
PS. Please tell my son if he can’t find his lunch to look in his science book.
Misconception Number 6: Moms like helping you with your homework. What? I am scared out of my mind. I’m pretty sure that I forgot everything I learned in fifth grade by the time I was in sixth grade. I have no idea what you are talking about most days. I don’t really know my 12 times tables, I read the cliff notes to all your summer reading and I don’t know how to conjugate anything but I do know that song “conjuction junction what’s your function” if that helps at all. And please don’t even say the words “new math” to me. What the heck was wrong the old one?
Misconception Number 7: Moms can’t wait to pack your lunch every day until we die.I hate doing laundry. Making dinner every night is the bane of my existence, so making your lunch every day for an entire year, in terms of “mom fun”, lies somewhere between brushing plaque off the dogs teeth and scheduling my annual pap smear. Listen, as a child I hated what my mom packed me for lunch. But, like every kid before me, and every generation to come you will find a kid to trade with…I’m sure someone likes sardines.
Misconception Number 8: Moms love after school activities. I don’t know who made up this idea of organized clubs and sports but they should be the ones in charge of carting your ass around. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against all after school programs. I just wish they would offer it during hours that would work best for me so that dinner wasn’t at 8:30 at night followed by 4 hours of homework. Why not do it on the weekends and call it “after-hours activities” so mommy and daddy could actually go out one night and pretend that we have a life of our own. Don’t worry about us though I’m sure that me and “what’s his name” will be married a very long time.
Misconception Number 9: Moms don’t mind taking you to school if you miss the bus. Your bus comes at 7:10 am….which means that you should be standing by the door at 7:05 am. Not eating breakfast , chasing the dog around the house or in the bathroom, asking me to check your homework while I’m taking a shower. Get it together! I don’t like running down the street in my jammies at 7:12 screaming “Please wait” or “If you stop I’ll show you my boobies.”
Misconception Number 10: Moms cry on your first day of school. We do cry but they are tears of joy. I have done my job. I have successfully kept a human child alive for at least 5 years without doing any major damage. Motherhood is the hardest job in the world!! Sure, doctors save lives and CEO’s run million dollar businesses but…you teach a kid not to poop their pants and then you can say you’ve made the world a better place.”
10 Misconceptions of Moms and Back-to-school
Misconception Number 1: Moms miss their kids when they go back to school Seriously. I’ve had enough of you by now. Every morning with the “what are we going to do today, Mom?” is finally over. I’ve had looked at your face twenty-four seven for the last 77 days. It’s time to go learn something. No more asking me about the pool, when is the next snack or if you can stay up late and watch a movie. It’s over….You’re going back to Hogwarts and I get to have a life again. There is a Christmas morning for parents and it’s called “back to school”.
Misconception Number 2: Moms like to go school shopping. Are you freaking kidding me? Why do I pay taxes?…so I can rack up a 200 dollar bill at Staples for crap that we have laying around my house in junk drawers. Why does it have to be new pencils? What’s wrong with the chewed up, broken strawberry shortcake pencils sitting in the bottom of the toy box for the last 6 months? And how many subject books can you possibly need? What happened to reading, writing and arithmetic. If they added a couple of things for parents to that list I wouldn’t mind so much….why not pencils, erasers and vodka …..or some Nyquil.
Misconception Number 3: Moms like back to school night. Why must we do this every year? I got it already. You’re the teacher…I’m the parent. My kid is either going to be smart or dumb. If he gets a certain number or colored dot on his discipline chart, he can’t get a prize from the prize box. Pretty simple stuff. Listen, I’m pretty old school. If he doesn’t listen to you…you can throw something at him. I don’t care. But I got a lot of work to do at home and I’m paying a babysitter right now. Plus, I’m pretty sure you are going to assign some project on wigwams made by some Indian tribe I’ve never heard of, so I need to get home and start my research. So, I got it. We’re all here for the betterment of the kids. Blah Blah Blah. Can I leave now?
Misconception Number 4: Moms like school paperwork. How many trees are you planning on killing to tell me the same stuff I had to pay a babysitter to listen to the other night? You know our name, where we live and our emergency phone numbers. He doesn’t have a nickname….call him “stinkbutt” for all I care. We don’t have any “special circumstances” that you need to know about. He lives in a home with two parents who may or may not like each other at any given time and they will fight. If that qualifies as a reason he can’t get his homework done on time then he won’t be able to function as an adult and have a real job so you may want to “educate” him on that life lesson.
Misconception Number 5: Moms like covering books in that annoying sticky paper. What exactly will you be doing with these books that I have to cover them in a plastic laminate? Do you often teach in the rain? Or while the children are drinking soda and eating soup? Do you know how long that takes? Has any parent in the history of education been able to do it without any air bubbles in it? From now on I’m covering it the old way…brown paper bags. That way I can cover the books and pack their lunches at that same time. Who says moms can’t multitask?
PS. Please tell my son if he can’t find his lunch to look in his science book.
Misconception Number 6: Moms like helping you with your homework. What? I am scared out of my mind. I’m pretty sure that I forgot everything I learned in fifth grade by the time I was in sixth grade. I have no idea what you are talking about most days. I don’t really know my 12 times tables, I read the cliff notes to all your summer reading and I don’t know how to conjugate anything but I do know that song “conjuction junction what’s your function” if that helps at all. And please don’t even say the words “new math” to me. What the heck was wrong the old one?
Misconception Number 7: Moms can’t wait to pack your lunch every day until we die.I hate doing laundry. Making dinner every night is the bane of my existence, so making your lunch every day for an entire year, in terms of “mom fun”, lies somewhere between brushing plaque off the dogs teeth and scheduling my annual pap smear. Listen, as a child I hated what my mom packed me for lunch. But, like every kid before me, and every generation to come you will find a kid to trade with…I’m sure someone likes sardines.
Misconception Number 8: Moms love after school activities. I don’t know who made up this idea of organized clubs and sports but they should be the ones in charge of carting your ass around. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against all after school programs. I just wish they would offer it during hours that would work best for me so that dinner wasn’t at 8:30 at night followed by 4 hours of homework. Why not do it on the weekends and call it “after-hours activities” so mommy and daddy could actually go out one night and pretend that we have a life of our own. Don’t worry about us though I’m sure that me and “what’s his name” will be married a very long time.
Misconception Number 9: Moms don’t mind taking you to school if you miss the bus. Your bus comes at 7:10 am….which means that you should be standing by the door at 7:05 am. Not eating breakfast , chasing the dog around the house or in the bathroom, asking me to check your homework while I’m taking a shower. Get it together! I don’t like running down the street in my jammies at 7:12 screaming “Please wait” or “If you stop I’ll show you my boobies.”
Misconception Number 10: Moms cry on your first day of school. We do cry but they are tears of joy. I have done my job. I have successfully kept a human child alive for at least 5 years without doing any major damage. Motherhood is the hardest job in the world!! Sure, doctors save lives and CEO’s run million dollar businesses but…you teach a kid not to poop their pants and then you can say you’ve made the world a better place.”
Friday, September 10, 2010
Another Political Rant
I have had a lot on my mind lately about the way the events of 9/11 are being recognized. I know exactly where I was that day -- I was getting onto I-85 in Buford, GA on my way to have an ultrasound for my first child. It was my husband's birthday, as well as my dad's, and I had just gotten off of the phone with my mom who told me that my dad was en route to Washington DC for work when the news came on the radio. The initial impression was that this was an accident -- not a terrorist attack, so while I was horrified for those involved, there was no fear yet. By the time I reached the doctor's office, the second plane had hit and there was speculation forming about what was going on. Then we heard about the Pentagon, and I began to think of my dad who was "en route" to Washington. Then the 4th plane went down and I began obsessively switching from CNN, to NBC, to Fox News looking for ANY new information. Panic doesn't really begin to describe that feeling. Fear is a short word with heavy meaning that I never fully understood until that day. It was afternoon before I got through to my mom who told me my dad was safe. But even then, I knew that there were thousands who were personally effected by these tragedies, even if I had been lucky enough to have not lost anyone. The coming days and weeks were full of stories of tragedy, heroism, loss, and rescues. There was hope, and lost hope, and this country went on an emotional roller coaster ride that I do not believe any of us will ever forget or would want to repeat. There were images of people celebrating this attack in other countries -- dancing in the street chanting "Death to America," and there were little children who were being taught to trample and burn our flag by their parents. Those images made me angry. Angry at any country who celebrated the tragic death of innocent men, women, and children and thought that it somehow proved that we were infidels and that "Allah" was on their side and not ours. That anger took a long time to dissipate.
Some people in our country are still holding onto that anger. They spout off without thinking at the drop of a hat, and go into tirades about the Muslims, the Arabs, the terrorists as if they are all one in the same. While I relish the fact that we live in a free country, and I understand that the Freedom of Speech applies to everyone (even those who make an ass out of themselves every time they open their mouths), I believe that this particular freedom is frequently abused. The men most directly responsible for the terrorist attacks on our country died along with their victims. Many of those who helped to facilitate those attacks have been captured or killed in the War on Terror. As for the thousands, or perhaps millions, who relish in America's pain...well, they have their own pain. They live in countries where their freedoms are few, their luxuries far between, and their "government" cares little (if anything) about their plight. I learned in elementary school that you cannot make everyone love you -- or even LIKE you -- so it should come as no surprise that there are countries out there who do not think America is awesome the way that I do. However, the key is the same with countries as it is with a 7 year old -- you may not like them, but you have to share the classroom. So while I do not believe that we can force them to like us and our lifestyles and our religions and our way of life, I KNOW that we have to coexist with them.
So why, would ANYONE in their right mind think that burning the Koran would accomplish anything other than inciting more anger and hatred? I am not suggesting that we all hold hands and sing "Kumba Ya" or get together for a picnic, but how is burning the sacred text of Islam going to help anyone move forward? How would this Pastor Jones feel if a Muslim group recommended that everyone burn a Bible on December 25th? It is ludicrous. On the flip-side, why would anyone think that it would be a good idea to build a mosque on Ground Zero? I personally believe that that is sacred ground -- not "religious" sacred, but patriotically sacred. It belongs to our nation -- not to the Baptists, the Catholics, the Mormons, the Jews or the Muslims. NO church should be allowed to build there. The men who caused all of that mayhem, death, and grief did so in the name of Islam. And while "true" Islam (as I understand it) does not support their actions, they did what they did in the "Name of Allah." Building a mosque on that site would be like building a Nazi Cultural Center at Auschwitz -- completely inappropriate.
And that is my rant for the day.
God bless th USA and may He be with all of the men and women who serve this country and often die to protect the freedoms that we so often misuse and abuse.
Some people in our country are still holding onto that anger. They spout off without thinking at the drop of a hat, and go into tirades about the Muslims, the Arabs, the terrorists as if they are all one in the same. While I relish the fact that we live in a free country, and I understand that the Freedom of Speech applies to everyone (even those who make an ass out of themselves every time they open their mouths), I believe that this particular freedom is frequently abused. The men most directly responsible for the terrorist attacks on our country died along with their victims. Many of those who helped to facilitate those attacks have been captured or killed in the War on Terror. As for the thousands, or perhaps millions, who relish in America's pain...well, they have their own pain. They live in countries where their freedoms are few, their luxuries far between, and their "government" cares little (if anything) about their plight. I learned in elementary school that you cannot make everyone love you -- or even LIKE you -- so it should come as no surprise that there are countries out there who do not think America is awesome the way that I do. However, the key is the same with countries as it is with a 7 year old -- you may not like them, but you have to share the classroom. So while I do not believe that we can force them to like us and our lifestyles and our religions and our way of life, I KNOW that we have to coexist with them.
So why, would ANYONE in their right mind think that burning the Koran would accomplish anything other than inciting more anger and hatred? I am not suggesting that we all hold hands and sing "Kumba Ya" or get together for a picnic, but how is burning the sacred text of Islam going to help anyone move forward? How would this Pastor Jones feel if a Muslim group recommended that everyone burn a Bible on December 25th? It is ludicrous. On the flip-side, why would anyone think that it would be a good idea to build a mosque on Ground Zero? I personally believe that that is sacred ground -- not "religious" sacred, but patriotically sacred. It belongs to our nation -- not to the Baptists, the Catholics, the Mormons, the Jews or the Muslims. NO church should be allowed to build there. The men who caused all of that mayhem, death, and grief did so in the name of Islam. And while "true" Islam (as I understand it) does not support their actions, they did what they did in the "Name of Allah." Building a mosque on that site would be like building a Nazi Cultural Center at Auschwitz -- completely inappropriate.
And that is my rant for the day.
God bless th USA and may He be with all of the men and women who serve this country and often die to protect the freedoms that we so often misuse and abuse.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
My Aunt Dot
I haven't written on here in awhile. I could sit here and make excuses about how I was visiting family and friends, then school started, and how things have just been crazy; but the truth is that if you read my blog, then you know that I have four kids and that my life is ALWAYS crazy and hectic, so I don't really have any excuse except that I am lazy about my blog.
When I was on my way to visit my family in Alabama, my mother told me "Say a prayer for Aunt Dot. She went to the hospital last night." When I got to about Texarkana, I spoke to her again and she told me "Aunt Dot has been moved to ICU." By the time I got to Memphis, the doctors were telling them to gather the family and as I crossed the Mississippi/Alabama state line, she was gone. I didn't get to tell her goodbye. I didn't get to tell her that I loved her one more time. The last communication I had with her was the Tuesday after Mother's Day when she called me to thank me for the Mother's Day card that I sent her. It had not arrived until Monday, because I was late getting it in the mail, but she had appreciated it so much.
Dorothy B. Ware was her name. She was a teacher, a Methodist Lay-Speaker, a Christian, a horsewoman, a fisherwoman, a fellow Auburn fan, and my great-aunt. She was the youngest of three sisters from Millerville -- my mom's mother was the oldest. She married Clifford "Pete" Ware, who preceeded her in death. She lived in a 4 room house in Valley, AL and raised horses while Pete "raised" roosters. She used to say "We might seem a little bit wild to ya'll, but our grandmother was a Wolf." (My great-great-grandmother was Indian and her last name was Wolf.) She loved to fish, and while she was not monetarily rich, she was very happy in life. When we were helping my mother and my aunt clean out her house, I found the following poem which is a better snapshot of the Aunt Dot that I knew and loved than I could ever write:
When I was on my way to visit my family in Alabama, my mother told me "Say a prayer for Aunt Dot. She went to the hospital last night." When I got to about Texarkana, I spoke to her again and she told me "Aunt Dot has been moved to ICU." By the time I got to Memphis, the doctors were telling them to gather the family and as I crossed the Mississippi/Alabama state line, she was gone. I didn't get to tell her goodbye. I didn't get to tell her that I loved her one more time. The last communication I had with her was the Tuesday after Mother's Day when she called me to thank me for the Mother's Day card that I sent her. It had not arrived until Monday, because I was late getting it in the mail, but she had appreciated it so much.
Dorothy B. Ware was her name. She was a teacher, a Methodist Lay-Speaker, a Christian, a horsewoman, a fisherwoman, a fellow Auburn fan, and my great-aunt. She was the youngest of three sisters from Millerville -- my mom's mother was the oldest. She married Clifford "Pete" Ware, who preceeded her in death. She lived in a 4 room house in Valley, AL and raised horses while Pete "raised" roosters. She used to say "We might seem a little bit wild to ya'll, but our grandmother was a Wolf." (My great-great-grandmother was Indian and her last name was Wolf.) She loved to fish, and while she was not monetarily rich, she was very happy in life. When we were helping my mother and my aunt clean out her house, I found the following poem which is a better snapshot of the Aunt Dot that I knew and loved than I could ever write:
Drinking From My Saucer
I've never made a fortune
and it's probably too late now.
But I don't worry about that much,
I'm happy anyhow.
And as I go along life's way,
I'm reaping better than I sowed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
'Cause my cup has overflowed.
I don't have a lot of riches,
and sometimes the going's tough.
But I've got loved ones around me,
and that makes me rich enough.
I thank God for his blessings,
and the mercies He's bestowed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
'cause my cup has overflowed.
I remember times when things went wrong,
My faith wore somewhat thin.
But all at once the dark clouds broke,
and the sun peeped through again.
So God, help me not to gripe about
the tough rows that I've hoed.
I'm drinking from my saucer,
'Cause my cup has overflowed.
If God gives me strength and courage,
when the way grows steep and rough.
I'll not ask for other blessings,
I'm already blessed enough.
And may I never be too busy,
to help others bear their loads.
Then I'll keep drinking from my saucer,
'Cause my cup has overflowed.
~Author Unknown~
Rest in peace, Aunt Dot. You were loved very much and you will be missed. I will think of you often and I sincerely hope that my life is every bit as fullfilling to me as yours was to you.
(And War Damn Eagle!)
(And War Damn Eagle!)
Saturday, June 12, 2010
I Learned How to Raise Four Kids in College....At a Frat House
I would LOOOOOOVE to say I came up with all of this, but I didn't. A friend posted a link to this on Facebook, and I laughed and laughed, so I thought I'd copy it and share it here with a few of my own additions. The original was a Top 10 list, I obviously added some of my own from 11 on. The original title was "Why Living With a Toddler is Like Being at a Frat Party,"(From Suburban Snapshots) but as you can see, I amended that as well to better fit some of my own additions and since my kids are now 8 1/2, 6 1/2, 3 1/2, and 2 years old.
50) There is no food left in the house even though you went grocery shopping yesterday and no one will admit to eating any of it.
49) The next morning, no one except you remembers what happened.
48) Running around in underwear, a weird hat, and rain boots is not in anyway strange
47) The older ones are always hazing the younger ones.
46) People are in and out of beds like it's some sort of French farce.
45) The toilet is never flushed.
44) The neighbors call the cops because of the noise.
43) Someone always has "the munchies."
42) You often find unidentifiable stains on your clothes and have NO IDEA what they are or how they got there.
41) Someone is telling jokes that don't make sense and everyone is laughing hysterically anyway.
40) You stop asking what you stepped on. It is better not to know.
39) Everything is sticky
38) No one can ever find their shoes.
37) It is not uncommon for someone to find out - midday - that they are wearing someone else's underwear.
36) People fall asleep everywhere - the couch, the floor, the chair, the table - at all times of day.
35) Spinning around and flapping your arms counts as dancing.
34) At least 10 times somebody will be yelling "Hey, watch this".
33) If there's a wet spot in the bed at 2AM, you just throw a towel over it or move to the other side.
32) When you get unexpected company you pray that everyone has pants on.
31) There is a guy in the next room who can tell you what system, planet, and ship every Star Wars Character is from, and you are praying that NO ONE gets him started on the subject
30) By early evening, general silliness has broken out and uncontrollable laughter rings out through the house with little apparent cause.
29) The music is REALLY annoying, but everyone else in the room seems to love it.
28) Rinsing something out with water and reusing constitutes as washing it.
27) At any time there is a chance of someone running nude through the house.
26) You spend hours playing a game you don't understand because it has no discernible rules and is made up of seemingly random components, and then you win and somehow the person you played is naked.
25) You constantly say things like "Please, don't lick my pants!" and wonder why on earth you would EVER have to say that out loud.
24) Whenever you sit down some weird guy is RIGHT there, hanging all over you. Not taking a hint.
23) If you miss a period you are truly horrifying because as you look at your life you realize that you are in know way ready to be a parent (again).
22) You don't remember the last time you looked at your television set and saw something other than cartoons or video games.
21) Try as you might, you cannot get people to stop dancing on the furniture.
20) There's always someone that wants to stay up all night.
19) No one walks in a straight line and they randomly fall down.
18) For reasons unknown, there is a half-eaten grilled cheese on the stairs.
17) The most popular snack food is Pop-Tarts.
16) People can't climb the stairs without using their hands.
15) All conversation occurs as though at least one of you has forgotten the language.
14) Eating utensils are optional.
13) At least one person is lying on the floor, either face up or face down, singing at the top of their lungs.
12) You lie to your mother about what is going on at your place.
11) You have a TV theme song stuck in your head, and when you start singing it everyone joins in.
10) There are half-full, brightly-colored plastic cups on the floor in every room. Three are in the bathtub.
9) There's always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner.
8) It's best not to assume that the person closest to you has any control over their digestive function.
7) You sneak off to the bathroom knowing that as soon as you sit down, someone is going to start banging on the door.
6) Probably 80% of the stains on the furniture contain DNA.
5) You've got someone in your face at 3 a.m. looking for a drink.
4) There's definitely going to be a fight.
3) You're not sure whether anything you're doing is right, you just hope it won't get you arrested.
2) There are crumpled-up underpants everywhere.
1) You wake up wondering exactly how and when the person in bed with you got there.
50) There is no food left in the house even though you went grocery shopping yesterday and no one will admit to eating any of it.
49) The next morning, no one except you remembers what happened.
48) Running around in underwear, a weird hat, and rain boots is not in anyway strange
47) The older ones are always hazing the younger ones.
46) People are in and out of beds like it's some sort of French farce.
45) The toilet is never flushed.
44) The neighbors call the cops because of the noise.
43) Someone always has "the munchies."
42) You often find unidentifiable stains on your clothes and have NO IDEA what they are or how they got there.
41) Someone is telling jokes that don't make sense and everyone is laughing hysterically anyway.
40) You stop asking what you stepped on. It is better not to know.
39) Everything is sticky
38) No one can ever find their shoes.
37) It is not uncommon for someone to find out - midday - that they are wearing someone else's underwear.
36) People fall asleep everywhere - the couch, the floor, the chair, the table - at all times of day.
35) Spinning around and flapping your arms counts as dancing.
34) At least 10 times somebody will be yelling "Hey, watch this".
33) If there's a wet spot in the bed at 2AM, you just throw a towel over it or move to the other side.
32) When you get unexpected company you pray that everyone has pants on.
31) There is a guy in the next room who can tell you what system, planet, and ship every Star Wars Character is from, and you are praying that NO ONE gets him started on the subject
30) By early evening, general silliness has broken out and uncontrollable laughter rings out through the house with little apparent cause.
29) The music is REALLY annoying, but everyone else in the room seems to love it.
28) Rinsing something out with water and reusing constitutes as washing it.
27) At any time there is a chance of someone running nude through the house.
26) You spend hours playing a game you don't understand because it has no discernible rules and is made up of seemingly random components, and then you win and somehow the person you played is naked.
25) You constantly say things like "Please, don't lick my pants!" and wonder why on earth you would EVER have to say that out loud.
24) Whenever you sit down some weird guy is RIGHT there, hanging all over you. Not taking a hint.
23) If you miss a period you are truly horrifying because as you look at your life you realize that you are in know way ready to be a parent (again).
22) You don't remember the last time you looked at your television set and saw something other than cartoons or video games.
21) Try as you might, you cannot get people to stop dancing on the furniture.
20) There's always someone that wants to stay up all night.
19) No one walks in a straight line and they randomly fall down.
18) For reasons unknown, there is a half-eaten grilled cheese on the stairs.
17) The most popular snack food is Pop-Tarts.
16) People can't climb the stairs without using their hands.
15) All conversation occurs as though at least one of you has forgotten the language.
14) Eating utensils are optional.
13) At least one person is lying on the floor, either face up or face down, singing at the top of their lungs.
12) You lie to your mother about what is going on at your place.
11) You have a TV theme song stuck in your head, and when you start singing it everyone joins in.
10) There are half-full, brightly-colored plastic cups on the floor in every room. Three are in the bathtub.
9) There's always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner.
8) It's best not to assume that the person closest to you has any control over their digestive function.
7) You sneak off to the bathroom knowing that as soon as you sit down, someone is going to start banging on the door.
6) Probably 80% of the stains on the furniture contain DNA.
5) You've got someone in your face at 3 a.m. looking for a drink.
4) There's definitely going to be a fight.
3) You're not sure whether anything you're doing is right, you just hope it won't get you arrested.
2) There are crumpled-up underpants everywhere.
1) You wake up wondering exactly how and when the person in bed with you got there.
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