Emerging's Blog

Maybe it's the PMS and maybe it's the fact that I went to see Mama Mia the other night, but I've been feeling a bit weepy and nostalgic.  The story line for the movie/musical follows two sets of friends - the mom (Meryl Streep) and her two best friends from when she was younger (and much wilder) and her 20-yr-old daughter & 2 best friends.  As I was watching the movie, the wheels in my head were spinning in overdrive. 

First, I LOVE the music.  My mom used to have ABBA Gold on 8-track and I'm pretty sure we wore the thing out, as many times as we played it.  Yes, I said 8-track.  That particular album was the only thing that made cleaning house even moderately bearable.  I couldn't have been more than 6 or 7 years old, but I knew all the lyrics.  Suffice it to say I enjoyed the soundtrack to the movie immensely.  It took some doing, but I restrained myself from singing along with it until they rolled the credits.  By then, people were streaming out of the theater and I didn't have to worry about embarrassing my niece in front of as many people.  Not that I care, anyway - I mean, the girl has multi-colored hair, a brand new nose piercing and dresses like a cross between Pipi Longstocking and the Corpse Bride.  Don't get me wrong - I love my niece dearly - probably as much because she dresses Goth as for any other reason.  I appreciate the fact that she gives me an excuse to browse through Hot Topic.  I also appreciate the fact that, for me, she's easy to shop for because our tastes are similar.

The trip down memory lane didn't end with the music.  Oh no, that was only the beginning.  It set me on a path of thinking how lucky those women wer e to have friends like that to reminisce and make new memories with.  My head knows they were only characters in a movie, but I've also heard my neighbor talk about a couple of friends she had like that when she was growing up.  At first, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself because I realized I was missing something I never had.  I didn't have a whole lot of female friends in high school or in my first year at college.  My best friends throughout most of high school were gay guys.  No pressure, no competition, and I could keep a secret.  I covered for them with their parents and we had a blast.  I had plenty of peripheral friends - a good mix of both males and females to catch rides with to Youth Symphony, or hang out with on Fri/Sat nights when I wasn't working.  I had plenty of fun - just not those close sisterly bonds.  This held true until my senior year. 

I met a flute player at an honor band (I'm perfectly at peace with the fact that I was a band/orchestra geek).  He and I hit it off right away.  It was the beginning of a highly charged relationship that lasted on-and-off until we each started college - him in New York and me at UN-L.  We didn't survive the distance.  He moved on and I ended up broken-hearted - mostly because he didn't even have the decency to break up with me properly.  Part of me still wants to tell him off for that.  It's like everything else in life, though.  You can't just hang on to the good or the bad - and I have some pretty amazing memories from that time peried, too, so I've chosen to hang on to those.  God knows I made some mistakes back then, too, and I'd hate to think I'll only be judged for those!

OK, so right on the heels of all this tree hugging hippie crap - all the feeling sorry for myself, I realized I had my own version of the 3 musketeers, despite the fact that we've lost touch over the years.  Maybe we'll never end up getting back together to sing showtunes (they were guys, after all), but the memories are still there.  Anyway, right on the heels of this stroll through the cobweb cluttered passageways in my head, I received a little note from an old friend - a note that actually triggered a lot of these fond thoughts.  Life plays funny tricks on us sometimes, I think.

Monday again, and time to head back to school.  I've had a lovely break.  I even managed to work a little badly needed relaxation into it.  Somehow, the time moves too quickly, though.  Today marks the beginning of Term 4 - the last one in my LPN program.  I'm looking forward to digging back in.  At the same time, I still feel pretty worn out from the previous term.  I'm told this one is going to be even more grueling.  In addition, our thinking process is supposed to have changed drastically - moving towards the critical thinking skills of a nurse.  I started to get all worried about that because I'm not sure my thinking process has changed all that much.  I wrote my final clinical paper about the transformation my mind has gone through, but what if I haven't made the leap?  What if I simply wrote what I know they wanted to hear?  What if I've fallen behind and don't even realize it? 

I ask all these weird questions because I have a tendency to over-think EVERYTHING.  Had some "fun" conversations about that over the weekend.  I don't think I do anything for just one reason.  There usually seems to be at least half a dozen mitigating factors involved in my decision-making process.  In the absence of that, my decisions are based purely on "gut instinct" or "intuition"&nbs p;- which means to say I can't point to a specific reason.  When that happens, I rely on my powers of observation of ancillary details.  I know that there are times when I've noticed something and it doesn't stick in my conscious mind, but my brain hits the over-ride button and files it away regardless.  For instance, I've felt uncomfortable around someone and I wonder why.  They haven't done anything overt to raise a red flag, but I'm cautious anyway.  I try to be friendly, yet I feel compelled to keep my distance because I tend to trust those impressions.  Am I ever wrong?  Maybe, but who wants to take a chance?  I'd be more worried if that sort of thing happened often - paranoia here we come??

OK, so most of my decisions are based on a lot of factors.  Once I make up my mind, I start working out how to get from Point A to Point B in the most efficient manner possible because I'm lazy.  Being lazy isn't necessarily a bad thing.  It just means that I don't want to work any harder than I have to, but I definitely want to do things right.  I once heard someone say, "If you don't have time to do it right the first time, then you probably don't have time to re-do it later."  I think there's probably a better way to make that statement, but it does make a point.  Rushing through something and cutting corners may save time and gets the job done, but it won't be done well and you'll likely end up with more work on your hands in the future.  I'm not a big fan of wasting time.  If you're going to bother doing anything, do it well.

After re-reading the what I've written so far, maybe I don't feel that much different in my thinking process because I already think the way I need to.   I know how to prioritize.  I have common sense (most of the time).  I listen to people and concider what they say.  I care about their well being and I want the best for them.  I'm learning the basic steps involved in treatment, but it's up to me to decide how customize those steps and make them work for the individual.  I've done that sort of thing with my kids for years, so what am I worried about?  Finishing this post so I'm not late for school, that's what!

10 glorious uninterrupted days with my off-spring.  We had a few bumps in the road, but overall, the vacation was a roaring success - as were the campfires.  On the way up to Wildlife Ridge, I finally worked up the nerve to broach the subject of Mystery Man and what he means to me.  Boy wonder (the 14-yr-old) doesn't think his mother should date until he AND his 6-yr-old sister are out of the house.  He got this notion from his father who's sworn to the kids that he would never do something so improper.  It was all I could do to keep from saying, "Yeah, well  your dad didn't seem to have the same aversion to having a girlfriend while we were married.  In fact, he was so convinced she was the 'answer to his prayers' that he willingly threw in the towel on our marriage in order to be with her."  I didn't say that, though.  Instead, I shut my mouth and let my tongue beat my brains to death.  Suffice it to say, we had many interesting conversations throughout the course of the past 10 days.  I can't wait to find out what the backlash from the ex will be.  Seeing as how I'm supposed to have another fun-filled appt with him and the parenting plan counselor in the morning, I shouldn't have to wait long. 

Even with the drama, he still seemed to have some fun on our trip.  Mystery Man got his patience tested, but came through the fire relatively unscathed.  We ran the gamut of activities - go-carts, mini-golf, camping, canoeing & kayaaking, fishing, fending off swarms of ravenous mosquitos, and a trip to Hell.  Now, the boy can't wait to get back to school and answer the question, "What did you do on your summer vacation?"  For my part, I'm pleased that they let us back out of Hell <smirk>.  Actually, I enjoyed my time in Bobonia immensely.  Saint Bob was a gracious host - going so far as to introduce Mystery Man's culturally retarded companion [played by yours truly] to early Genesis, which was both educational and enlightening.  He screened a DVD performance of them for us that, at first glance, was pretty cheesy.  After giving it a little more thought and listening with my eyes closed, I found the experience quite stimulating.  All it took was clearing my mind of the extravagant images of recent concerts and realizing how cutting edge Genesis was when they first began performing.  Toss in a little imagination and it didn't take long for me to become immersed in the concert.  St. Bob also introduced me to my new best friend - a little drink called the Sidecar made from Triple Sec & Brandy.  I'm not quite sure what kind of vehicle it was supposed to be attached to, but I found that it had a driving force all its own.  I never thought I'd cheat on Cap'n Morgan or Jose, but this was pretty smooth.  Who knew I swung that way??

Upon exiting Hell, we drove the several hours back home with Mystery Man in tow.  Most men would've found the prospect of being trapped in the car with us quite daunting, but he showed no sign of weakness - not even a drop of sweat trickling down his temple.  I'd say that's pretty impressive.  He had nothing to worry about, though.  My kiddos are seasoned travelers.  It helps that we have a portable DVD player and book lights.  Even so, Little Bit was completely comfortable for the first couple of hours simply looking around, playing with her McDonald's toys, and talking.  When she became restless, we turned on a video and she was mesmerized.  Boy Wonder stuck to books and was equally pacified.  I was afforded the luxury of a respite from driving - which I took full advantage of by plugging the headphone splitter into the DVD player and watching Goonies with Little Bit.  She LOVED it and so did I.  It's been a long time since I was able to sit next to her in the back and relax while someone else drove.

Vacation was WONDERFUL, but it's nice to be back home.  I was able to do laundry at Mystery Man's, so I didn't have to do too much more than unpack - which is enough of a job.  Coming home Sunday meant that I've been able to spend the past couple of days alternating between getting my house in order and simply enjoying the company of my kids.  That, and trying to replenish my own blood supply after the bout with the mosquitos.  I counted yesterday and I have 14 bites below the ankle on my left foot and 12 on my right.  They itch like CRAZY.  I'd love to scratch them raw, but those nasty little bastards had the nerve to bite me on my tattoos.  Instead, I took Mystery Man's advice and soaked my feet in Epsom Salt tonight when it became apparent that the Benadryl cream wasn't doing the job. 

It was close to bed time for Little Bit, so I invited her to sit on my lap and soak her feet with mine while I read her a bedtime story.  The water was pretty warm, so she eased her feet into the water.  I started reading and she began squirming around.  I asked her if she had to go potty right before I felt a moist warmth spread across my lap and realized my question came a little late.  Her answer??  "Apparently."  Ah, the glamour of motherhood.  If her response hadn't been so damned funny, I might've been upset.  Besides, Mystery Man was decent enough to remind me that urine is mostly water and, in this heat, it'd dry in no time.  Even still...

Term 3 is over and I passed!!!!  I'm exhausted, but looking forward to 10 days of vacation, camping, and fun.  Pray for dry weather!

I like rain as much as the next person.  In fact, I'm a big fan.  I'm pretty sure I could live in Seattle without a whole lot of trouble.  Great music, plenty of Starbucks - what's not to love?  Except for today.  The last Friday before school gets out.  Both kids have field trips today - the only ones the schools saw fit to schedule all year.  It seems like a rip-off, but at least they each got one, right?  I guess we'll see what the weather decides.  It seems like it's been raining for days.  Oh wait, it has been.  Every day off-and-on since Sunday.   

My son is set to go to Adventureland today.  It's a decent sized amusement park, but not a whole lot of fun when it rains.  I'm guessing he forgot to stuff an extra set of clothes in his packpack.  Hopefully he grabbed the rain poncho and sunblock (just in case) I set out for him.  They were with his spending money, so it's possible.  If the sun does ever come out, the boy is going to be one hurting unit without sunscreen.  His neck hasn't seen the light of day for over a year because his hair has been covering it.  Yesterday, I call him up after school to tell him he HAS to go get new shoes and he says he's decided to get his hair cut.  Fine.  I loved the hair, even though it was longer than mine.  It seemed to suit him.  He's been kicking th e idea of a haircut around for awhile, so it didn't shock me. 

What did shock me is how much I've missed seeing his face.  He got 10" cut off.  It looked like he left a small woodland creature on the floor when he got up from the chair.  My neice said it looked like someone dropped a wig.  I can't believe how much of a difference it made.  He went with his dad last night and I wasn't home when he got back.  My neighbor was sitting outside and I asked her if he'd gotten home yet.  He was standing right there.  I didn't look too close because I assumed it was her son.  We all got a good laugh out of that.  I'll bet he gets a lot of attention today.  My neighbor told me she had to keep staring at him because she'd never seen his eyes up close (he has great eyes).  Honestly, I did like the hair, but he looks happier now - less brooding and weighed down.  I hope it's a sign that he's turning a corner.  I've been worried about him and yesterday, he seemed a whole lot more like the kid I know him to be - funny and unpredictable in a good way.

As for my girl, she's supposed to go to a state park for her field trip today.  If it's light rain with no thunder or lightning, we'll still be going.  So far, so good.  I'm glad I bought her a raincoat a couple of weeks ago!  Maybe the weather will clear off and it'll turn out nice after all.  Little girlie got 4" cut off her hair yesterday, too, and I can hardly tell.  It's the second time in a couple of months that we've done that.  Mommy can't handle such a dramatic transformat ion in the baby girl.  Yes, I know she's not a baby, but she's still MY baby. 

A slightly different perspective...

I have friends who notice when I get 1/4" trimmed off my hair.  They notice when I change from Beige 1 to Beige 2 foundation (make-up).  They have remarkable powers of observation when it comes to superficial things. However, they may miss what I consider to be obvious things...like when a person is acting in such a way that might indicate they're feeling anxious, distraught, excited, or any number of other emotions.  They are the people who are most likely to ask "How are you?" while passing you in the foyer at church, but never break stride long enough to listen for the answer. 

At first glance, they seem like they genuinely care because they've noticed and made mention of some relatively minor difference in your appearance.  Upon further consideration, you realize that they noticed (and commented on) the gaping hole in your face, but failed to stop and ask you how you're feeling about the fact that it turned out to be malignant melanoma (just an example).  It's OK, though, because there will be others who "dig a little deeper" and offer a listening ear & support when you need it.  They may not make a big deal about your extreme makeover or nominate you for "What Not To Wear", but they'd be the first one by your side when the triumphs and tragedies of life occur.

Which type of person is best?  Both.  Each has their place in life.  Sometimes a well-placed compliment is just as impactful to someone as a genuine, "How are you feeling today?"  There are times when all it takes for me to feel like my faith in the mankind has been renewed is a simple kind word or gesture.  There are other times when I'm so lonely and homesick that the only thing that can possibly help is being wrapped in the embrace of a close friend - one who's been with me through thick and thin.  There are even times when neither makes a difference.  Those are the times that I know I need to be quiet and listen for the still, small voice of God.  If I listen to Mystery Man, he'd say that the only thing God is trying to tell me is

Be Good To Everyone ;-)

I am a Christian.  I love my Christian brothers and sisters - for the most part.  People aren't always easy to love.  Especially Christians.  I'm sure that's why Christ commanded us to love one another.  Case in point:  I received a call earlier today from a "concerned friend".  I haven't spoken to her since last summer - sometime in July, I think.  She was my first overnight guest in my new home in Des Moines.  Apparently she'd run into a friend of a friend from church over the weekend who mentioned seeing my kids and my ex.  No details were shared, so this "friend" took it upon herself to call me up because she knew we'd been having marital problems and felt "burdened" to speak with me.  On the surface, this seems like a considerate thing to do.  She asked me how things have been.  Being the relatively honest person I am, I elected to tell her.  Her response caught me off-guard by stirring up a whole maelstrom of emotions that I thought I'd made peace with.  After some deliberation, I realized I have made peace with them - just not with well-meaning Christians who are more intent on preaching than listening and loving.  Here's how things went down:

I gave a fairly dispassionate run-down of the events concerning my ex this past few months.  I've had awhile to adjust to the reality of the situation, so for me, it was simply a play-by-play of events since we'd moved.  I don't think it was terribly surprising news to my friend because she seemed to have a lecture prepared for me.  I listened to what she had to say about how God hates divorce.  I listened to her own "testimony" of emotional & physical abuse, cultural differences between herself and her husband, of the steps she'd previously taken towards divorce, and how God wouldn't let her off the hook in her marriage.  I'm glad she and her husband were able to find a way to make their marriage work in spite of everything that should've torn them apart.  I respect her decision to hang in and keep her nose to the grindstone.  I also know that my situation and hers aren't exactly the same.  I know that my God is bigger than any circumstance, but I also believe whole-heartedly in free will, which means God can only work in us and through us as much as we'll allow him to.  My ex and I share the blame for what led up to our failed marriage.  In the end, though, it boils down to this:  I was willing and he wasn't.  When he made that apparent, I chose to take him at his word and move on from there. 

Because I believe these things, I don't see any reason to spend the rest of my life hanging my head in shame because of divorce.  I know God hates divorce.  The way I understand it, God hates sin.  Also to my understanding, God doesn't rank sin according to the severity - it's all wrong in His eyes.  However, I've never read anything in the Bible about how God hates the sinner.  Sin separates us from God and the only thing that can reconcile us is the blood of Christ.  Confessing our own sins and accepting Christ's atonement for those sins is what brings us back into fellowship with God.  I am sorry for what I've done.  I know God forgives, so if God doesn't hold my sin against me, then why should I?  Isn't life a little too short to dwell on the could've/would've/should' ve?  The past is history, the future's a mystery, so all we have is now - which is why they call it the "present", right? 

Maybe I've got it all wrong, but I'm pretty sure there's a whole lot in the Bible about grace and forgiveness.  I've experienced a great deal of it in my life.  Because of that, I feel as though it's imperative for me to be compassionate towards others.  I don't always succeed, but I sure try.  I know my human limitations, which is why I ask God to work in my life.  I figure He's the only one who can overcome the things that I can't.  I'm just OK with that.  I don't need to be in control, but I do need to know that someone else much bigger than I am is.  It seems like a round-about way to get to the point where I can say that things haven't turned out the way I hoped, intended, or prayed, but I haven't lost my faith.  Quite the opposite.  When God was all I had left, I realized that there wasn't a person on earth who could help me anyway.  It became much less important what other people thought and much more important for me to live out what I believe. 

I knew there would be days like this and people like my friend who's understanding is limited by their own experience.  The same holds true for me.  The difference is that, even though I might think about how others should conduct themselves and what kind of decisions they should make, I also know that my understanding is limited both by what I've been told (which is always subjective) and my own capacity to empathize.  I truly believe my friend was well-intentioned in calling me.  I just wish she would've asked more questions, listened to what I said, and offered compassion rather than advice.  I didn't have to get a divorce.  I could very well have maintained "status quo" with my ex by continuing to offer feedback that would've reinforced his version of reality.  It wouldn't have been right, though.  His version of reality was completely contrary to what Christ taught and what I believe.  The only thing I would've accomplished in fostering his delusion is a slow and systematic spiritual and emotional death for myself.  Is that really what God had in mind for marriage?  Is that really what Jesus meant when he told us to love one another? 

Reality TV?  I don't think so - not in my house, anyway!  At least, that's what I tell myself - because I am a self-styled snob when it comes to shows like Survivor or, God help me, that nasty show with Tila Tequila "auditioning" (sleeping with) the next "love of her life" (outrageous and controversial sex partner).  I experience more than enough second-hand drama simply by listening to my fellow nursing students describe the intricacies of their lives.  We spend a lot of time together, so I know them to be decent, hardworking people with a great deal of compassion and interest in caring for other people.  Some of their drama is self-inflicted (as is mine, at times), but hey, everybody's got problems!  I just don't go out of my way to fill my head with images of just how awful and back-biting people can be in an effort to make their mark on history!  That being said, I have a confession to make:  I am a TLC/BBC/Lifestyle addict.  

I can't get enough when it comes to seeing just How Clean Is Your House?, the drama of letting go of treasured family heirlooms (mostly junk made valuable only by sentiment), and the emotional high of seeing the reactions of people who previously lived in filth and squalor coming home to find spic-n-span rooms that look as though they could be featured in Better Homes & Gardens.  It's not only the homes that are transformed - the people themselves go through an enlightenment process.  In the course of just a couple of days, they begin to realize that holding on to stuff from the past interferes with living life in the present.  I, myself, have done a tremendous amount of sorting, pitching, and donating in the past few months.  When my ex came in and took what he wanted, he left me with vast quantities of junk - things that aren't worth the effort of moving (again).  I'm not terribly sentimental.  I don't feel as though my life is particularly enriched by having lots of material possessions.  At the same time, I suffer from the most common mental illness in society today - the "But, what if I need that sometime in the future?" disease - an affliction that became apparent over the holiday weekend when Mystery Man sets the course of our plans by dragging everything out of my kitchen cabinets and piling it in the middle of the floor. 

I thought he was only teasing me every time he held up a Pampered Chef gadget and did an impromptu infomercia l on it.  As it turns out, he really doesn't think I need a device whose express purpous is to make perfectly round, uniform hamburger patties.  He really thinks it's OK to actually touch meat with your bare hands and shape it into relatively similar shapes and sizes.  In fact, he even thinks it's a good idea to customize the size of the patty according to the size of the person who will be consuming the meat product!  My head is still spinning in my effort to wrap my brain around that concept!  I mean, how can I really live well without a Tupperware bagel holder?  What will life be like without that second "back-up" coffee pot and electric can opener (just in case)?  I spent good money on that stuff - or at least got it free when I sold Tupperware or had a Pampered Chef party (yes, the virtual product placement is intentional). 

The upshot of all of this is that we did survive the weekend.  I parted with many of my comfort objects in the effort to streamline both my kitchen and my life.  Mystery Man was (gulp) right.  Wow, that was painful.  At least I know I won't have to admit that too much in the future!  He is a man, after all.  Oops, did I actually type that out loud?  Even so, he's going to have to pry my Pampered Chef tomato corer out of my cold, dead hands!   

With Mother's Day fast approaching, I'm working hard to keep my head held high and put one foot in front of the other.  For the past week or so, my heart feels as though someone took a cheese grater to it.  It just feels raw and shredded - and it has a lot to do with Mother's Day.

I'm probably not what anyone would call the model daughter.  I tend to be a pretty private person when it comes to sharing with my mom.  Sometimes, I think she imagines it's because I'm a snob or that I'm unloving.  That's not the case at all.  Instead, it has a lot to do with past hurts and her own current behavior.  I can't do anything about the past except make peace with it.  I know that my memories are fairly accurate, but I also recognize the fact that my memories are grounded in whatever stage of maturity I was in at the time they happend.  I can admit that my mom made some pretty poor choices without feeling much internal conflict.  I know that everybody makes mistakes.  I also know that a single mother trying to raise kids in the 70's had a much different set of challenges than a single mother trying to do the same job today.  Given the same set of circumstances, I'm not sure I could've done better.  The hard thing for me to get over (and I still struggle with it, especially now that I have my own kids) is the fact that she didn't love me the way she should have.  Experience has taught me that people aren't always capable of giving unconditional love.  Even if they are, they're not always able to express it in a way that's meaningful to the people they love.  Regardless, her defecit has nothing to do with my value as a human being.  No matter how she treated me, I am loveable and fully capable of giving love.  To her credit, she's a much better grandmother than mother. 

Although the past still bothers me at times, it's my mother's present behavior towards me that causes me to keep a respectable distance - both emotionally and physically.  I don't avoid her, but I do screen her calls occasionally.  See, my mom has the quintessential martyr complex.  She seems to make decisions that cause her to suffer.  Not necessarily for the greater good, but rather for the sake of suffering.  She seems to revel in her own misery.  Most stories she tells begin with some sort of injustice and conclude with that injustice triumphing over the victim in question - often times, the victim is either herself or her current man.  She hates her job because she works harder than everyone else and gets little or no credit for it.  She hates her man's ex-wife because the woman took him to the cleaners financially and in terms of custody with their daughter.  Don't even get her started on the daughter!  My mom's brand of negativity can be overwhelming, but I manage it pretty well most of the time, either by redirecting the conversation towards something positive, or by simply telli ng her it's none of my business.  Most of our conversations consist of her telling me a bunch of depressing stuff and me either saying, "Uh huh, okay, what??, that sucks, uh huh......how could that even happen?....I don't guess it's any of my business."  We go through this a couple of times a week. which is alright I guess, but I need something more right now - something I'm unlikely to ever get from her.

Every now and then, I try to share my heart with her.  When she asks how I'm doing, I actually answer her honestly.  Instead of responding to what I say and offering encouragement and support, she usually changes the subject or tries to "one-up" me.  I can remember telling her that I had cancer.  Instead of asking me how bad it was, what she could do to help, or how I was feeling about the diagnosis, she started talking to me about her own possible health problems (I have yet to see a Dr's diagnosis for the ailments she claims to suffer from).  After a couple of surgeries, I was just fine, but the situation caused me to wonder how she would've behaved if it had been more serious.  I know she does these things because she doesn't know how to be what I need, but the need doesn't go away.  I voice the needs periodically to give her a chance, but it's without expectation.  Maybe some day she'll surprise me.  In the meantime, I recognize and accept her limitations for what they are, realize that they're her issues, not mine, and I love her anyway.

That pretty much sums up how I feel about my mom.  Now, for how I feel about being a mom.  Pastor Dave's latest post does a pretty good job of expressing the emotional stress of parenting a teenager.  In my case, it's a son instead of a daughter, but we're going through the same conflict.  Divorce adds another dimension because my son believes he has an alternative to living in my "hell-hole".  Disneyland Dad has him convinced that the grass is greener.  The pain of knowing he's probably right is excrutiating.  I can't be my son's best bud - it's wrong.  I'm not going to pay him to do what he ought to be doing anyway - it's wrong.  I'm not going to try to negatively influence his opinion of his dad in order to get him to find fault with everything the man does - it's wrong.  Unfortunately,  ;my ex isn't playing by the same rules.  To be honest, I'd rather live in a place where there aren't any expectations.  I'd love to be paid for picking up my dirty clothes.  I'd love to spend endless hours on the computer doing absolutely nothing productive.  I just don't live in that world and neither does my son, whether or not he realizes it.  I love him and I have to do what's right, even if it's unpopular.

My daughter is a little bit easier because she's younger.  She still needs me and appreciates the little things - like snuggling and watching cartoons.  She gets in her little snits where she acts more like she 16 instead of 6.  Those aren't pretty and I give in more than I probably should, but I draw the line where I need to.  I don't beat myself up too badly for it because, after all, tomorrow is another day.  Pick your battles and do the best you can.

For the most part, I'm relatively hopeful that I've done the job I needed to do with my kids and I'm on the right track in dealing with them both now and in the future.  The thing that keeps getting to me is this whole concept of Mother's Day.  It's always been really important to me because of how much love and energy I've poured into my kids.  I'm proud of the mother I've become - not just for what I've done with and for my kids, but also for overcoming the tendency to allow the past to repeat itself in the way I parent as compared to the way my parents did.  Don't get me wrong - I do what I do because I believe it's right.  Even if my kids don't appreciate me or agree with my decisions, I still feel like I've done my best.  So, what's the big deal about Mother's Day?

The big deal is that being a mother is hard.  Being a stay-at-home mom is really hard.  I've written about this before - how there aren't any performance reviews, no objective feedback for the things you do, noone saying, "Hey, great job!" most of the time.  It has been up to me to find ways to feel good about what I do - to find meaning in less-than-glamorous and often tedious, repetitive tasks.  Even if I did everything exactly right (which I obviously didn't), kids still have the freedom to make their own choices and some of those choices will be wrong.  There's no real way to gauge the success or failure of a stay-at-home mom.  Because  of that, it's really nice to have at least one day a year where you hear "Thank You".  I tried to express this to my ex, but he never seemed to get it.  If I wanted to go out to brunch on Mother's Day, it was up to me to make the reservations.  Sometimes I got a card - if he remembered to buy one.  Every now and then, the card was even signed.  If I didn't ask for a specific gift, I didn't get one at all. 

It wasn't about the gifts, the cards, or the meals out.  It was about the thought.  It was about knowing that the man who fathered my children couldn't care less about how much I poured into loving them.  The only thing he really cared about was how we all reflected on his image.  That part, I'm still angry about.  I guess it's time to let that go.  I have my kids this weekend.  If I hold on to the anger, disappointment, and hurt, my attitude will ruin the time we have together.  The circumstances are painful, but I don't have to let them define me, right?   

It seems I've been remiss in posting of late.  The word busy doesn't even begin to describe a typical day for me.  Take yesterday, for example.  I got up early and walked to the grocery store with my son so he could buy a 12-pack of soda.  That may seem like a goofy thing to do first thing in the morning, but I'm trying to support his entrepreneurial spirit.  The school shuts the pop machines off during the school day in an effort to get kids to make healthy choices for at least 7 hours a day.  I'm not sure it's working out the way they intended.  Some of the kids have caught on to the fact that there's an opportunity to make money in the deal, so they bring 12-packs of soda to school and sell it by the can.  They charge a premium for it because the supply is limited.  Their friends always seem to have cash to burn, so it all works out.  My son has decided to get in on the action.  Maybe I should discourage him.  After all, I don't know if the school has policies about it or what the penalties might be - perhaps I should re-read the handbook.  Regardless, I figure he could be dealing in stuff that's a lot more harmful than caffeine.  Besides, it gives him extra spending money.  Not only that, but our little walk gave me some one-on-one time to talk with the boy - good for both of us.

OK, so he carts his Mt. Dew off to school on the bus and I have an hour before I have to get the girl up for school.  It's crazy, but he has to be on the bus at 7:05 and she doesn't have to be to school until 9:05.  Fortunately, I don't have to be at school until 10 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I get to spend the morning with the kids.  I got the girl up around 8am, fed her breakfast, got her showered and dressed, packed a snack for both of us and drove her to school.  We try to walk to school as often as possible, but it was raining and we were running late.  When we got there, I realized I needed to stop by the insurance office and pay my car insurance before they cancel it.  I drove in the general direction of where I thought it was, then called on mystery guy to guide me the rest of the way there.  There's something to be said for a guy who's willing to mapquest for you at a moment's notice.  I got the insurance paid, then drove on to school - all before 10am.

2 hours of Nursing classes, 1/2 hour for lunch, 4 hours of Composition class, then home again.  At home, I packed the girl's weekend bag because we changed the schedule slightly to accomodate a special church event this weekend.  After packing the bag, I prepared a snack for her and one of her friends.  We looked through her Friday folder, I did some cleaning up, got after the kids to put their shoes on and get ready, and waited for ex to pick them up at 5:30.  I tried to do some tidying up for awhile, then went walking for an hour with my nextdoor neighbor.  Walking makes it sound tame, but really, I think the woman is out to kill me.  OK, so maybe I'm exaggerating a bit.  She has military training, so walking with her is more like a slow jog, but I need to get back in shape and she's trying to get ready for a wedding in June.  It's grueling, but it'll be worth it in the end.  We got back around 8:30, talked for awhile, then I came in and talked to mystery guy for awhile.  We were both tired, so it was a short conversation, then I was off to bed.  I'd say that was a typical day, but there's really no such thing as a typical day around here.  It's OK.  I like variety and I'd rather be busy doing something constructive than sitting around feeling sorry for myself!  Seems like I've been down quite a bit the past three weeks.  Hopefully exercise will help get the endorphins going and boost my spirits!

Quitting smoking is not for sissies!  Since I am a sissy, I tried to go about it logically. 

First, I chose a time when I would be experiencing (relatively) lower stress.  In my life, it's all relative.  I don't have an impending court date at the moment.  I am, however, required to work on that parenting plan with my ex.  I think there are enough days in between appointments that I should survive without my head exploding.  My kids are a constant source of stress, but it balances out because they're also a constant source of joy and entertainment.  I have mystery man to lean on for support, even though he indulges in the same habit I'm trying to kick.  Still, he knows what I'm going through.  Like me, he's gone down this road before.

Second on the list of considerations was to make sure I have plenty to occupy my hands and my head.  Because I didn't smoke in the house, around my kids, or in my car (usually), I would have to take time out of my day to step outside to smoke.  Keeping myself busy ensures that I can't afford to take the required time out.  I have weather on my side, too.  Rain and snow are not conducive to a person's comfort when it comes to smoking.  I've also just started back to school, so I'm in class 8 hours a day this week, and 6 hours a day next week.  We start clinicals next week, too, and we're NOT ALLOWED to smoke at the clinical site - even in our cars.  I try to grab my knitting needles and yarn every morning so I can keep my hands occupied during breaks (when I would normally smoke).

The two things I'm most concerned about in regards to failure or success are weight gain and mood swings.  In order to combat the weight gain (and out of necessity to cut costs), I'm packing my lunch everyday.  I'm also cooking at home instead of eating out.  I haven't had a french fry or iced coffee with cream from McDonald's in several days.  I aim to keep that up.  Packing my lunch means measured portions.  I've still eaten more than I need to, but it seems to be tapering off.  As for the moods, it's pretty much a lost cause.  The only way to be polite right now is to be quiet - a very difficult feat for me.  I'm trying.  I'd be patting myself on the back right now except for a minor incident last night.

My son found a lighter on the headboard of my bed.  He proceeded to pick it up and flick the bic.  I thought I was going to jump out of my skin.  Who knew a simple sound could be so powerful?  It wasn't just the sound.  Oh no, it couldn't be that easy.  The flame - that warm, shiny, mesmerizing beacon of temptation.......but, I digress.  I didn't kill the boy for his thoughtless infraction.  I didn't "fall off the wagon", either.  I did, perhaps, get the tiniest glimpse of how a moth must feel, though.  Don't go into the light...............

Term three started with little fuss or muss.  No threat of being kicked out for missing the first day (or any day) of classes.  We all know the score by now.  No grand introductions of students to one another.  Most of us were in class together last term.  No stern lectures on the virtues of following the rules.  I found myself automatically pulling my nose ring and covering my ink before walking into the lab.  Nope - just a brief intro by the main instructor to the term, an overview of what we can expect for the next 12 weeks, and several videos on new lab skills.  All-in-all, not too bad.  I got to school a little early, felt like I was organized and prepared, took notes where I needed to, and did pretty well at paying attention when it was required.

What I noticed, when I finally took a moment to look around, was that we were down to 20 students from the original 32 we started with in term one.  That last term, in particular, was fairly brutal.  There was a point at which I was doubting my own ability to pass.  So, half-way through the program, we're down a third of our class.  A more observant student would've checked out the composite pictures hanging in the halls and counted how many students graduate each term and compared notes.  Apparently I was not that person today.  My class isn't the only one to have left students behind.  In addition to the ones we've lost, we gained 2 or 3 people from the class ahead of us who didn't make the cut.  I feel bad for them because I know how expensive it is and how hard we work to make it through.  The thought of repeating a term gives me chills. 

After taking a look at what's expected this term, I think I'm going to be OK.  I'll be in the classroom less because we have more clinicals, but I'm also taking Composition and Psychology.  I'm actually looking forward to both classes.  Hopefully the instructors will be as interesting as the subjects.  Either way, I expect I'll do well enough.  I have made some changes for this term and hope to make a couple more. 

The first is that I think I've eliminated the need for my daughter to be in childcare before school.  This will be a wonderful thing because it saves money and should make for a more relaxing week for both of us.  Change number two is a little more annoying short-term, but should have longer term benefits.  I tried to quit smoking back in September, but I didn't get very far with it.  I went through a bunch of stressful events and used them as an excuse to keep puffing away.  The habit was getting out of hand and, even though I wasn't smoking near as much as some do, it was having dramatic effects on my health.  It got to the point this past week where I was having difficulty catching my breath while reading a story to my little girl.  I don't need any more incentive than that, so I quit.  It's only been a couple of days, so I'm still really irritable and tired - mostly from coughing so much.  I knew to expect this, but it still isn't terribly pleasant.  In addition, I think I'm starving to dea th every second of the day and my jeans are already a bit tight.  I can't afford to gain any weight.  In fact, I could stand to lose about 10 lbs.  So, that leads me to change number three.

The thought came to me today that we don't have enough time to eat lunch at school - only 30 minutes.  that's not long enough to properly digest food and it almost ensures overeating.  It occurred to me that we're allowed to eat during classes, so why am I worried about cramming  food in my mouth during the 1/2 hour we're given for lunch?  Now that the weather is improving, I'd be better off walking dur ing lunch and eating afterwards.  That way, I can squeeze in a bit of exercise, eat slower, and possibly tip the scales in my favor.  It's worth a shot.  I used to be so disciplined in my exercise regime - aqua aerobics 5 days a week and yoga 3 days a week.  I haven't done that since we moved to this wretched city.  Not the city's fault - just a matter of trying in vain to establish a routine with my ever-changing school schedule.  I'll get the hang of this - right about the time I graduate.  In the meantime, I think I'll try to implement this lunch-time plan.  Wish me luck!   

OK, so here's the cake that everyone has been clamouring for.....

If you don't love it?  You'll just have to walk the plank!!

Meet the birthday party pirate gang....

The modern version of lady pirates...

I'd like to thank the mystery guest who made it all possible...

"I feel blessed" or "Blessed by God"

I've been to lots of Christian retreats & conferences and heard plenty of people speak like that.  They're usually dressed impeccably in finely tailored clothing, complete with costly accessories.  You know the ones - not a hair out of place and make-up expertly applied (even the men).  According to Jill Conner Browne, author of the Sweet Potato Queens, women should always be wary of men who are higher maintenance than they are and I think there might be something to that.  Either way, those phrases have always struck me wrong - mostly because they paint for me an unrealistic "sunshine and rainbows" image of life as a Christian.  They make me feel a little queasy.

At first, I thought I was the problem.  I didn't go through my days thinking about all of the blessings from heaven.  I didn't see signs from God in every little detail of my life.  I thought maybe my faith wasn't genuine - that I wasn't as good a Christian as the people who stood up and spoke at these conferences.  Not only that, but I felt rotten because I didn't nod my head and smile at all of the appropriate times.  I didn't have the same rapturous glow on my face that I saw on the faces around me.  I just wasn't feeling it.  As a result, I vowed to stop going on those crazy weekend retreats.  Why should I put myself throught the hell of those periodic reminders that I just didn't measure up?

Surprisingly enough, my life didn't end when I opted to stay home.  In fact, somewhere along the line, I learned a thing or two about my own personal faith.  My life hasn't ever been what I'd describe as smooth sailing.  There have been periods of time where routine took over, but I never really felt content or at peace.  It seemed like there was always a crisis around the next bend.  Granted, I did live with the male version of a drama queen, but I also allowed circumstances to dictate my mood from day to day.  I still fall into that trap on occasion, but it's getting better.  One thing I've learned is that there are as many different expression s of faith as there are different kinds of people. 

My faith comes from my own set of experiences, which have been largely tumultuous.  As a result, the faith I claim is a scrappy sort of pull-yourself-up-by-the-b ootstraps kind of thing.  I'm a survivor.  I've had to be.  There's no shame in that, nor should there be.  I've lived through some tough stuff and I've come out stronger for it.  Early on, I could see that I had choices.  I could do what was expected of me - follow in my parents' footsteps and make the same mistakes with the same results.  My parents weren't looking out for my best interests most of the time because they were busy dealing with the consequences of their own choices.  They simply didn't have the time, energy, or insight to teach me to make better choices.  Despite that, I learned a tremendous amount from them - about what NOT to do.  It wasn't enough, though, as evidenced by how my marriage has turned out.

It wasn't enough to know that I shouldn't pick a dead-beat drunk as a spouse.  I really needed to be taught how to determine what I value and how to make choices that reflect those personal values.  The same goes for parenting.  Knowing that I shouldn't abuse or neglect my children was good, but it's only a start.  There's so much more to it - demonstrat ing love, managing my anger, learning how to pick my battles, setting priorities, being able to accept that I won't always like my kids and they won't always like me.  All of this to say that I've worked hard to learn better so I could do better.  Along the way, I can point to people who have been a positive influence on my life - most of whom I met in church.  Everyday heroes who live out their faith instead of beating people over the head with it.  

These people taught me how to care for others, show generosity, kindness, and compassion.  They've taught me that doing the right thing simply because it's the right thing has its own rewards (all things they learned from the Bible, incidentally).  I'm not talking about the crowns you store up in heaven, either.  I'm talking about feeling good knowing that you've made a choice to do what's right.  Sometimes it's easy, and sometimes not.  It's easy when you have a surplus and someone asks you for a donation.  It's not so easy when you're struggling financially and someone gives you too much change back.  You know the store will never miss it and that it could make a big difference for you, but you choose to do the right thing.  It's a funny thing, though.  Those things have a way of coming back around. 

Some people call it Karma and some people call it God's blessings.  Either way, doing the right thing gives you a good feeling that far outweighs the sacrifice.  Mystery man and I were talking about this yesterday - how that good feeling can also be a source of guilt.  You make choices in life to help out other people and you end up feeling so good about it that it seems selfish and you begin to question your own motives.  Did I really do that because I'm kind, or did I do it so I'd feel good?  I believe people are selfish by nature, but I don't believe it renders them incapable of generosity and kindness for its own sake.  In the same vein, I don't believe anyone should experience guilt over feeling good for doing good. 

God loves us.  He tells us to love Him and love others.  When I love someone, I want good things for them.  I do things to make their lives easier, happier, and more fun.  I may not be able to fix everything, but even a small gesture can make a huge difference.  Why wouldn't God work the same way?  Is it so strange that He would want to give us encouragement when we're going through difficult times or "bless" us when we're on the right track?  I still don't look for signs and wonders in every tiny detail of my life, but sometimes I'll take notice of something beautiful and it gives me hope, even in the midst of miserable circumstances.  Is God speaking to me?  I don't know.  All I do know is that those "blessing s", if I choose to call them that, give me just a little more endurance.  They soften my heart so that I'm less harsh with others.  They make me feel loved and they make me want to love others.  I don't remember reading anything in the Bible about how my life would be smooth sailing - quite the opposite.  John 16:33 says, "These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world."   & nbsp;      

6 Years Ago Today....

And now look.....

Happy Birthday Thing Two!!!

14 Years Ago Today.....

Happy Birthday Thing One!!!

The hardest term of school I've ever been through.  The hardest few weeks of life I've ever been through.

I hired an attorney.  I took care of my kids.  I took 18 credit hours of school.  I fought completely bogus accusations of being an unfit mother.  I spent countless hours on the phone rounding up affidavits from friends.  I've worked through a huge amount of personal baggage.  I fought fear, fatigue, and self-doubt and I didn't do any of it alone. 

I prayed a lot - not just about the things I hoped for, but also about the things I'm grateful for.  I asked God for the strength to make it through, the courage to face my fear, wisdom to make good decisions, discernment to sort out the truth from the lies, and to surround me with people who could help.  He answered.

My counselor has been extraordinary through all of this.  She has given me solid, sound feedback on the changes I want to make in my life.  She didn't try to make my decisions for me or promote her own agenda.  She listened and helped me form a plan of attack.  She's still helping me and I'm very grateful.  She's proven herself reliable, trustworthy, generou s, kind, and honest - even when it hurts.  Yes, I pay her.  So what?  She's good at what she does.

My lawyer has been steadfast.  He's given me an accurate picture of what the proceedings were going to be like.  He's prepared me for what to expect.  He advised me on the steps to take in defending myself against the accusations.  He encouraged me to stand firm and show no weakness.  He stood up for me when it was called for and has allowed me to stand on my own two feet when I've shown the ability to do so.

My friends from Sioux City came through when I needed them to in a way that went above and beyond what I could've hoped for.  They continue to check in (as I do with them) and offer support, encouragement, the occasional shoulder to cry on, and share what's going on in their own lives.  We bear one another's burdens and it's a really good thing.  I'm slowly making new friends here.  A couple of my classmates and a couple of other people from church have really stepped up for a total stranger.  They've been good to me in a way I didn't feel like I deserved and certainly in a way that was unexpected - yet another thing to be grateful for.  Same goes for my online friends who may not be physically present, but who have definitely made their presence known in spirit.

And then, there's my mystery "friend" (who's not such a mystery for those in the know).  He's listened to all of the ranting, complaining, whining, sobbing, cries of injustice, frustration, and hurt.  He's been consistent all the way through; tough with me when I needed it, gentle, patient, kind, and honest.  All of the qualities I hoped for (and even asked for), but never experienced.  He's a fierce debater (but not a master debater :P) and a worthy verbal sparring partner.  His editing skills have proven invaluable - something I was reminded of today when he wasn't available to assist me in yet another reply to yet another annoying and accusatory email.  I did alright on my own, but it didn't have the usual pizazz that we pack into it when we work together.  He gave me quite a scare today and I'd like to kick him for it, but I won't because I'm just so damned grateful to have him in my life.  Who else could possibly make me as happy to be angry as he does?

All of this to say 3 A's and a B+ for the term.  I'm still on the Dean's list and I did it in spite of His Highness (better known as my ex).  No matter what he threw at me, no matter what he said or how he tried to manipulate, I did it.  Not on my own because I'm smarter than to think I need to.  There's no shame in asking for help!  Thank you God and thank you to everyone who offered the right words at the right time.  It's nowhere near over yet, but celebrate the good things as they come, right?