the story of kids,chaos, mothering challenges and sometimes chocolate
Thursday, November 22, 2012
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: This year I am Thankful for HOPE
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: This year I am Thankful for HOPE: For the second, consecutive Thanksgiving, the "button" is eating a bologna sandwich bag lunch from summer camp. To a man, Thanksgiving is ...
This year I am Thankful for HOPE
For the second, consecutive Thanksgiving, the "button" is eating a bologna sandwich bag lunch from summer camp. To a man, Thanksgiving is about the food and the feast. This was obviously the men's idea up there at Plymouth Rock. The women would have looked at one another and said "too much work".
I have a whole new take on Thanksgiving. I have always DREADED Thanksgiving. It is a childhood thing. It was the only holiday that we had to spend with my dad's parents. And, to add insult to injury, my cousins were at my Mamaw's house. Oh, it was horrible. Here is how the day ALWAYS went down. My dad would leave about 5am in pursuit of the "big buck" on the hill. My mom would say, "be home by noon." Noon always came and always went. He never made it on time. He would get home, stink like gamey wilderness and provoke my mom.She would have a meltdown because we were going to be late. My mom "is never late." We would drive to grandmother's house, not through the woods but on William Penn Highway. He would be driving, not paying attention, looking in the fields for deer, spitting tobacco out the door. By the moment we arrived, my mom was so pissed at my dad and he was smiling because he had provoked her so.
Always, the scene at the Bahneman house looked like meal time at an Assisted Living Home. Everyone HAD to have a coaster, they had little bowls of Chinese nuts, walkers,canes and a beautifully decorated table (seriously, it looked like the cover of Southern Living) and they sat and played cards. Not a whole lot of cooking going down. I always retreated to the back bed room and would build a 2000 piece puzzle in one day.
The dog, Taffy, shed little white hairs EVERYWHERE and still had her dried up breasts dangling from when she had puppies about 13 years prior. The sight of that dog made my skin crawl.
OMG, it was horrible. The worst part, yes, there is more,was the meal. Betty would say we would eat at 4pm. Most times that meant 8p.Which, 8pm always cut into the Disney Special on the Wonderful World of Disney. The potatoes were instant and she always made this lime green jello salad with carrots on it with a lettuce leaf. When people pulled their chairs out, it wiggled. I was crammed in this chair against a hutch and my grandmother always gave me a hard time because I wouldn't eat gravy or much of anything. Who would and could eat this food? The whole time I was crammed in the chair, I would always be thinking of my Mamaw's house and how much fun that was over there. There was Nana, the really old lady telling my brother and I if we didn't eat, or take smaller bites, we would not get dessert. The food was typically sooooo bad that one year my dad wanted to stop at a restaurant on the way home. How bad is that? My mom finally got smart and made a turkey at the house so we had something when we got home.
The highlight of the day was an Islay's turkey Ice cream. Vanilla Ice cream with a Chocolate turkey in the center. I wonder if they still make those?
Anyway, I have not been a Thanksgiving person because of Bert Drive, Monroveille, Pa.
This year, I am all about the bird. Maybe it is the turkey dishes I scored from TJ Max for six dollars but I think it was more about HOPE.
Those Pilgrims came over here to be free. There were not an geography books or stories to learn from. They were virgins to the New World and new nothing of the cold winters or Indians at Plymouth Rock. Most of them died, but those who made it on the ship and then through the winter, made it. They were frontiers. They hoped they would make on the ship, they hoped they would make it through the winter and they hoped they would continue to thrive and prosper. Seriously, hope is all they had. Hope.
I certainly wish that my son was sitting at my table today. But he isn't and that is his doing. And that is exactly what he said to Franklin and I when he called. And he said it best, it isn't about the food. It is about learning and growing and walking forward. It is about Hope. We talked about the Josh Hamilton book and the parallels in the two men's lives and what the families went through. WE talked about how much better we understand and he understands after reading this book.
I am always a "big holiday" person and the "button" realized that he hadn't been home for a holiday since Mother's day, 2011. He said, "I just hope I am home for Walker or Addie's birthday". HOPE.
That is what this holiday is all about. They planted seeds in the HOPE that they would sprout and grow. They Hoped they would make it across the seas. Those Pilgrims hoped they would prosper. They longed for a different life and had Hope that they could find it.
I am at peace that he is eating bologna. I am happy about the communication that the "button" continues to have with his siblings, as crazy as the pictures and letters might be. I am encouraged that he finally owns his addiction. I am thankful that Josh Hamilton had the strength to share his story so we can Hope.
And later today, when we pass the six dollar Turkey plates, I will be thankful for Thanksgivings past and Hopeful that next year's Thanksgiving will force me to set one more six dollar turkey plate at the table.
I have a whole new take on Thanksgiving. I have always DREADED Thanksgiving. It is a childhood thing. It was the only holiday that we had to spend with my dad's parents. And, to add insult to injury, my cousins were at my Mamaw's house. Oh, it was horrible. Here is how the day ALWAYS went down. My dad would leave about 5am in pursuit of the "big buck" on the hill. My mom would say, "be home by noon." Noon always came and always went. He never made it on time. He would get home, stink like gamey wilderness and provoke my mom.She would have a meltdown because we were going to be late. My mom "is never late." We would drive to grandmother's house, not through the woods but on William Penn Highway. He would be driving, not paying attention, looking in the fields for deer, spitting tobacco out the door. By the moment we arrived, my mom was so pissed at my dad and he was smiling because he had provoked her so.
Always, the scene at the Bahneman house looked like meal time at an Assisted Living Home. Everyone HAD to have a coaster, they had little bowls of Chinese nuts, walkers,canes and a beautifully decorated table (seriously, it looked like the cover of Southern Living) and they sat and played cards. Not a whole lot of cooking going down. I always retreated to the back bed room and would build a 2000 piece puzzle in one day.
The dog, Taffy, shed little white hairs EVERYWHERE and still had her dried up breasts dangling from when she had puppies about 13 years prior. The sight of that dog made my skin crawl.
OMG, it was horrible. The worst part, yes, there is more,was the meal. Betty would say we would eat at 4pm. Most times that meant 8p.Which, 8pm always cut into the Disney Special on the Wonderful World of Disney. The potatoes were instant and she always made this lime green jello salad with carrots on it with a lettuce leaf. When people pulled their chairs out, it wiggled. I was crammed in this chair against a hutch and my grandmother always gave me a hard time because I wouldn't eat gravy or much of anything. Who would and could eat this food? The whole time I was crammed in the chair, I would always be thinking of my Mamaw's house and how much fun that was over there. There was Nana, the really old lady telling my brother and I if we didn't eat, or take smaller bites, we would not get dessert. The food was typically sooooo bad that one year my dad wanted to stop at a restaurant on the way home. How bad is that? My mom finally got smart and made a turkey at the house so we had something when we got home.
The highlight of the day was an Islay's turkey Ice cream. Vanilla Ice cream with a Chocolate turkey in the center. I wonder if they still make those?
Anyway, I have not been a Thanksgiving person because of Bert Drive, Monroveille, Pa.
This year, I am all about the bird. Maybe it is the turkey dishes I scored from TJ Max for six dollars but I think it was more about HOPE.
Those Pilgrims came over here to be free. There were not an geography books or stories to learn from. They were virgins to the New World and new nothing of the cold winters or Indians at Plymouth Rock. Most of them died, but those who made it on the ship and then through the winter, made it. They were frontiers. They hoped they would make on the ship, they hoped they would make it through the winter and they hoped they would continue to thrive and prosper. Seriously, hope is all they had. Hope.
I certainly wish that my son was sitting at my table today. But he isn't and that is his doing. And that is exactly what he said to Franklin and I when he called. And he said it best, it isn't about the food. It is about learning and growing and walking forward. It is about Hope. We talked about the Josh Hamilton book and the parallels in the two men's lives and what the families went through. WE talked about how much better we understand and he understands after reading this book.
I am always a "big holiday" person and the "button" realized that he hadn't been home for a holiday since Mother's day, 2011. He said, "I just hope I am home for Walker or Addie's birthday". HOPE.
That is what this holiday is all about. They planted seeds in the HOPE that they would sprout and grow. They Hoped they would make it across the seas. Those Pilgrims hoped they would prosper. They longed for a different life and had Hope that they could find it.
I am at peace that he is eating bologna. I am happy about the communication that the "button" continues to have with his siblings, as crazy as the pictures and letters might be. I am encouraged that he finally owns his addiction. I am thankful that Josh Hamilton had the strength to share his story so we can Hope.
And later today, when we pass the six dollar Turkey plates, I will be thankful for Thanksgivings past and Hopeful that next year's Thanksgiving will force me to set one more six dollar turkey plate at the table.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Beyond Belief, Finding the Strength to Come Back
There isn't a whole lot to do in Summer Camp. Reading, puzzle books and sit-ups, that is pretty much the order of the day.
Look, if the button is going to have summer camp be his version of higher education, I figured, cool. He will read and he will read "good" books. The rules are three books per week. I have been supplying books like East Of Eden, Moby Dick, David Copperfield, you know the classics.
Last week, I did my usual stop at the Used and New Book store. I went straight to the classics. Let's see, One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest (sorry, couldn't pass this one up), Lord of the Flies and The Scarlet Letter. This should keep him occupied.
The counter was busy and so I browsed. Here I am carrying three books around, one that features a sexually frustrated lady who got caught and has to wear an A on her chest. I feel like I wear a SC on my chest, SC for summer camp.
Anyway, I look over, and almost smiling at me is Josh Hamilton. No,not in person, but his book. I was immediately captivated by the title, Finding the Strength to Come Back. I picked it up and started to read it.
Now let's see, Hester Prynne of Josh Hamilton? Which one, I can only have three books. Well, I chose Josh.
When I went to write the "button's"name in it, in addition to his name, I wrote,
"He did it, you can too. Turn it around, it is Possible. Love, MOM".
During our visit, I mentioned that I dropped off books. He got "that" look on his face because I know he was not happy about the previous ones that I had sent. "There is one that you will like, let me know what you think."
Saturday, the mail came. Addie got the mail. She came in the house sobbing with a yellow piece of tablet paper in her hand. "Mom, you have got to read this."
The good news about summer camp is you are forced to write letters. I now know what young girls felt like when they got those love letters from their sweeties fighting wars. While they are not the same, I look forward to every letter that we get. I am not always happy with the content, but I do like seeing the envelope.
I sat down to read with Addie beside me.
The letter went something like this.
"yes mom, great visit, I felt better that I cried too. Mom, about that book, I read it in two hours. I was skeptical at first but by page two I never put it down and for the first time, I felt like someone else understood me and all of my mess. I am so inspired now. If he can do it, I can too. I want to write and tell him. This is my mess and I am going to clean it up and thank you so much for the book. Get the book yourself, and read these pages (insert random pages) and you will see and feel me. I can do this mom, I can. Love you."
My return letter went like this verbatim,
Look, if the button is going to have summer camp be his version of higher education, I figured, cool. He will read and he will read "good" books. The rules are three books per week. I have been supplying books like East Of Eden, Moby Dick, David Copperfield, you know the classics.
Last week, I did my usual stop at the Used and New Book store. I went straight to the classics. Let's see, One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest (sorry, couldn't pass this one up), Lord of the Flies and The Scarlet Letter. This should keep him occupied.
The counter was busy and so I browsed. Here I am carrying three books around, one that features a sexually frustrated lady who got caught and has to wear an A on her chest. I feel like I wear a SC on my chest, SC for summer camp.
Anyway, I look over, and almost smiling at me is Josh Hamilton. No,not in person, but his book. I was immediately captivated by the title, Finding the Strength to Come Back. I picked it up and started to read it.
Now let's see, Hester Prynne of Josh Hamilton? Which one, I can only have three books. Well, I chose Josh.
When I went to write the "button's"name in it, in addition to his name, I wrote,
"He did it, you can too. Turn it around, it is Possible. Love, MOM".
During our visit, I mentioned that I dropped off books. He got "that" look on his face because I know he was not happy about the previous ones that I had sent. "There is one that you will like, let me know what you think."
Saturday, the mail came. Addie got the mail. She came in the house sobbing with a yellow piece of tablet paper in her hand. "Mom, you have got to read this."
The good news about summer camp is you are forced to write letters. I now know what young girls felt like when they got those love letters from their sweeties fighting wars. While they are not the same, I look forward to every letter that we get. I am not always happy with the content, but I do like seeing the envelope.
I sat down to read with Addie beside me.
The letter went something like this.
"yes mom, great visit, I felt better that I cried too. Mom, about that book, I read it in two hours. I was skeptical at first but by page two I never put it down and for the first time, I felt like someone else understood me and all of my mess. I am so inspired now. If he can do it, I can too. I want to write and tell him. This is my mess and I am going to clean it up and thank you so much for the book. Get the book yourself, and read these pages (insert random pages) and you will see and feel me. I can do this mom, I can. Love you."
My return letter went like this verbatim,
"Dear Son,
Glad you like the Josh Hamilton book. Read it again, and again, and again, and again. Do some sit-ups and then read it again, and then read it one more time. Forget what page 24 said?, read it again,and again and again. Keep reading until the ink wears off. Love you, Mom."
Yes, of course I downloaded the book. Are you kidding? Insight? Heck yeah I jumped right on that! Amazing. Amazing.
And again, Hope. I cannot even imagine how hard it was for Josh Hamilton to come back. But he did and he did it. I don't need a son who can hit four home runs in one major league baseball game, I will settle for staying out of trouble and playing whiffle ball in the backyard with his brother and he will be free of demons. Oh, that would be All Star Team worthy for me.
Typically, on Monday, I go to visit. Not today. I am slammed. Franklin is going. It will be the first time he has seen him since September 20.
I am sure that it was not easy for Josh Hamilton to reveal his demons. I know, for a million dollars you can do anything, but seriously, he did not need the money. He wanted to take his story and change lives. Just like me. I don't make any money from this blog, I could but I don't. It isn't about the money. It is about finding a place to go, a lady to talk to or a kid you can relate. This blog, just like his book is about helping others.
Seriously, if Josh Hamilton can help my son, I will pay him a million dollars, that is what it is worth to me. If my son can find some peace and ability to to throw those demons onto the road and run over them from another person, wouldn't that be something? God, I hope so. But for now, I will just pray that the "button" has the strength to come back.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Finally!
it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Finally!: When I am sad, I cry. Not often but I do. I cry when I am moved and emotionally touched. When I laugh these days, I cry . And if I am re...
Finally!
When I am sad, I cry. Not often but I do.
I cry when I am moved and emotionally touched.
When I laugh these days, I cry . And if I am really laughing, sometimes I pee.
And, maybe it is the female in me, but when I am frustrated, I cry.
And when I have one of those really, really tough situations, I might lose my composure and cry.
My bff will call me and it will be one of those really tough situations and she will say, "you know, I just didn't want to cry."
Tears are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of feelings and passion.
After seven arrests in 14 months, my son has yet to shed a tear, lose his composure or even let his voice crack.
And it has bothered me immensely. I simply cannot get passed it. Not one tear? Really? Just recently I got pulled over by a state trooper, I lost it. I broke down and sobbed like a lunatic. Walker held my hand through the whole thing. He has never seen my cry like this before. It wasn't the ticket, it was my life. The damn broke. I lost it. And, maybe it was the little hand that got me through it, but I recovered. It was just a speeding ticket though. I am old and mature and on the grand scheme of things it was nothing. I sobbed like a teenage girl after a big break up over a ticket.
The "button" has more problems than a Chinese math book and nothing.
Today, I went to see the "button." I did not want to go. It was a holiday and I knew it would be packed. Ugh. And quite frankly, the visits are like Charlie Brown's teacher, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
But I went. Sure enough, when I arrived, I felt like I was waiting in line for a Taylor Swift concert. Packed. Standing room only.
I signed in and stood against the wall. Typically, there is a group or two that goes upstairs in the elevator to visit. It is a fifteen visit, usually, and it with everyone else. It is loud and horrible.
The guard announces that there will be a third group. I knocked people over getting to the desk to say, "I will go up in the third group.
The advantage of being a summer camp frequent flier is that you get to know the ropes.
Up all the groups and down the groups came. Nine out the ten moms and grandmas come down crying. While I wasn't there, I am pretty sure those tears weren't caused by jokes.
Anyway, it was finally my turn. Again, it doesn't matter how many times you see this, you are never prepared.
But, bonus, it was just me. There was nobody else. Just me. And here comes the "button."
I didn't lead the conversation this time. I let him. He was very chatty, but a very nervous chat.
I mentioned that I noticed that he had two names on the list to visit him. One was a family friend that the "button" adores. I told him that it was a holiday and it was hard for people to come today. He put his head in his hands and started talking. I had to say, "hey, I cannot hear you. Please look up at me."
Finally, there they were, big crocodile tears. No jokes, no hearty laughs, just big, fat tears and they were streaming.
"I just don't want her to see me like this, I am so ashamed, so embarrassed and so sad." Finally, the damn was broke.
There were fists slammed and tears. And words and finally feelings. Finally.
There was talk of hopes and dreams and lost opportunities and poor choices and bad friends and horribly, wrong actions. And then again, hopes and dreams and boxer shorts. "I just want a pair of boxer shorts and to smell something in an oven."
Tears. Plenty of them. And I was glad. Instead of the fifteen minute visit, I got 32 minutes. And he crammed a ton into those 32 minutes. When a boy starts talking, you need to listen. And I did. He said, "I just lay there at night and think over and over and over and ask myself a million questions. There is nobody to blame. This is mine."
Finally, the guard stepped forward and said, "Dude, we need to wrap this up."
My son put his hand on the glass and for the second time ever, I put my hand up. And then, he fell apart. I could just stand and watch.
The hardest thing for a mom is to watch a child hurt and cry and know that you cannot do a thing about it.
And I did.
He walked away and the guard looked at me with that " you did the right thing and he needs you" look. The guard was a class act.
I walked out into the sunshine. I had tears in my eyes too. Finally, I was emotionally moved.
This is far from over but those tears finally gave me the hope that I have been searching.
I cry when I am moved and emotionally touched.
When I laugh these days, I cry . And if I am really laughing, sometimes I pee.
And, maybe it is the female in me, but when I am frustrated, I cry.
And when I have one of those really, really tough situations, I might lose my composure and cry.
My bff will call me and it will be one of those really tough situations and she will say, "you know, I just didn't want to cry."
Tears are not a sign of weakness. They are a sign of feelings and passion.
After seven arrests in 14 months, my son has yet to shed a tear, lose his composure or even let his voice crack.
And it has bothered me immensely. I simply cannot get passed it. Not one tear? Really? Just recently I got pulled over by a state trooper, I lost it. I broke down and sobbed like a lunatic. Walker held my hand through the whole thing. He has never seen my cry like this before. It wasn't the ticket, it was my life. The damn broke. I lost it. And, maybe it was the little hand that got me through it, but I recovered. It was just a speeding ticket though. I am old and mature and on the grand scheme of things it was nothing. I sobbed like a teenage girl after a big break up over a ticket.
The "button" has more problems than a Chinese math book and nothing.
Today, I went to see the "button." I did not want to go. It was a holiday and I knew it would be packed. Ugh. And quite frankly, the visits are like Charlie Brown's teacher, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
But I went. Sure enough, when I arrived, I felt like I was waiting in line for a Taylor Swift concert. Packed. Standing room only.
I signed in and stood against the wall. Typically, there is a group or two that goes upstairs in the elevator to visit. It is a fifteen visit, usually, and it with everyone else. It is loud and horrible.
The guard announces that there will be a third group. I knocked people over getting to the desk to say, "I will go up in the third group.
The advantage of being a summer camp frequent flier is that you get to know the ropes.
Up all the groups and down the groups came. Nine out the ten moms and grandmas come down crying. While I wasn't there, I am pretty sure those tears weren't caused by jokes.
Anyway, it was finally my turn. Again, it doesn't matter how many times you see this, you are never prepared.
But, bonus, it was just me. There was nobody else. Just me. And here comes the "button."
I didn't lead the conversation this time. I let him. He was very chatty, but a very nervous chat.
I mentioned that I noticed that he had two names on the list to visit him. One was a family friend that the "button" adores. I told him that it was a holiday and it was hard for people to come today. He put his head in his hands and started talking. I had to say, "hey, I cannot hear you. Please look up at me."
Finally, there they were, big crocodile tears. No jokes, no hearty laughs, just big, fat tears and they were streaming.
"I just don't want her to see me like this, I am so ashamed, so embarrassed and so sad." Finally, the damn was broke.
There were fists slammed and tears. And words and finally feelings. Finally.
There was talk of hopes and dreams and lost opportunities and poor choices and bad friends and horribly, wrong actions. And then again, hopes and dreams and boxer shorts. "I just want a pair of boxer shorts and to smell something in an oven."
Tears. Plenty of them. And I was glad. Instead of the fifteen minute visit, I got 32 minutes. And he crammed a ton into those 32 minutes. When a boy starts talking, you need to listen. And I did. He said, "I just lay there at night and think over and over and over and ask myself a million questions. There is nobody to blame. This is mine."
Finally, the guard stepped forward and said, "Dude, we need to wrap this up."
My son put his hand on the glass and for the second time ever, I put my hand up. And then, he fell apart. I could just stand and watch.
The hardest thing for a mom is to watch a child hurt and cry and know that you cannot do a thing about it.
And I did.
He walked away and the guard looked at me with that " you did the right thing and he needs you" look. The guard was a class act.
I walked out into the sunshine. I had tears in my eyes too. Finally, I was emotionally moved.
This is far from over but those tears finally gave me the hope that I have been searching.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Tales from the elderly
I love the old stories from the elderly. As kids, we would sit around the kitchen table and my great grandma Emma would tell stories about growing up with all of her sisters.
My favorite story that she told me 100 times was this...
It was getting dark early and because they didn't have electricity, the eight girls went to bed. The bed linens were duvets stuffed with hay. They were not tired. I was probably around 7pm so they decided to have a circus with each sister performing one act. When it came to my great grandma Emma, she decided to take a lit candle and shove it up her butt to see how long she could dance with the lit candle up her butt. Well, it sounded good on paper. The candle fell out and lit the curtains on fire. You can only guess the amount of trouble she was in after the circus.
I love those stories. I love talk radio too.
The other day, I discovered a local am radio station discussing the election.
An elderly gentlemen called in and he immediately got every one's attention. He was 82 and spry. Here were his comments on the election.
"Hello, welcome to the show. You said you know why Romney lost. Go for it..."
"Thank you for taking my call. Romney lost because we don't raise our children with respect, pride or grace anymore. He did. But he doesn't understand that most don't."
And then, and I am summarizing, he spoke, in his 82 year old voice with poise and conviction. H spoke about pride, respect and grace. Here is some of what he said.
He said that when he married his wife, he loved her.
They were too young too get married but that is what you did. You got married. And shortly after they were married the first child came. Naturally, everything changed. Then came another, and so on. There were five boys. And the gentlemen worked. And the wife raised the kids. Over time, he didn't know his wife. They didn't speak about them, they spoke about the children. There were not couple weekends, or date nights of girl's nights out...it was just him, the five boys and his wife.
Of course over the years, there were highs and lows. The gentlemen knew they were broke when there was oatmeal with no milk, lots of potatoes and cabbage for dinner and then leftover cabage for breakfast and the boys taped the soles of their shoes. His wife never complained. The boys always looked immaculate. So did his wife.
Church was mandatory on Sunday, followed by a visit to the in-laws or parents on Sundays. The boys stayed outside and played and carried a change of clothes with them. The boys did the dishes after the meals,without being asked, so the women could talk, they didn't interrupt, they worked after the meal.
His wife never washed a dish after a meal, never took the trash out, never made the beds after a certain age. For birthdays, they got homemade cakes, their favorite meals and always a special treat in their lunch bag. When they got older, a huge treat was a new baseball glove, not a hand me down glove. It was the only real new thing the boys ever got and she made me take them to purchase it.
The boys adored their mother. She was there for them everyday after school, when they were sick and when they needed her. She wasn't there for me emotionally, she was there for them and that was enough. At Christmas, I don't know how she did it, but she always put on the big Christmas. Years ago, I learned that she took any change that she ever got and hid it in a jar. She used that money for Christmas. I never knew then. Her extra work made Christmas magical. All of us got a new pair of pajamas on Christmas eve, the only package you were allowed to open and that was after church.
And then the boys left. She joined every group and club and became a new person. She traveled and volunteered and book clubbed and ate at restaurants. And then she was more tender to me.
One day , at lunch, I looked at her and asked, "when the boys were young, were you happy?" "Oh, I don't know, I was too busy. I suppose I was if packing lunches, cleaning house, doing laundry, homework, grocery shopping, cooking and baking and making sure that I was raising five honorable men without any compensation only smiles, makes you happy, then yes, I was happy. It was my job. It didn't matter that I was happy or not. What mattered was that I signed up to be their mother and your wife and there was not quitting. I could never have an off day. I had 12 eyes looking at me. It was my job. I was proud of the life I chose and even on the days that I wanted to scream, I chose this job. I never had a sick day, a vacation day or a mental health day. It was my job".
And then he said this, "from that day on, I looked differently at my wife. She didn't have the pills of today to take the edge off, the modern day appliances or even the modern day conveniences, if she was in the mood for cookies, she made them. She and the whole generation of us was too proud to fight or admit that we were struggling and we had too much respect for ourselves and our children to see anything different."
She was committed to her job. Her job was to raise her family to understand, appreciate and practice Honor, Pride and Respect and she never waivered. And without even knowing, she made me do the same. There were not shootings and schools then, there was always that "family" that everybody knew about but nobody ever discussed but there were not drug addicts, babies born at the dance or people having babies that never cared for them. My kids never wore pajamas to the mall, they protected sex, they courted their women, they paid their bills and bought their own cars and they never wanted to disappoint their mama. They respected their mother, and she taught them to be honorable and she lived honorably. She taught them to have pride.
Times has changed, this is true. It is a new generation, I am aware. What has changed, and should not have changed, is the commitment that we have to our children. The lessons that we teach our children is more important than ever. Spend more time with your kids and an book than you do with your kids at the mall or in front of the television and you will have better kids. Spend more time eating at the kitchen table with your kids than in your car with cell phones and you will have better kids. Spend more time in church with your kids and you will have better kids. Spend more time with your in-laws and your family members and you will have better kids. Spend more time doing less for your kids and allowing them to do more and you will have better kids. And spend more time caring or them and their needs then you do for your own and you will have better kids.
This was not the same as sticking a lighted candle up your butt and most of what he said i have heard before and practice myself. It was his strength and conviction that struck me. His conviction and his passion. I totally believe that the same conviction and passion was the fuel that carried his wife.
It carried me as well.
I don't know if this is why a candidate one and another lost. I don't care. It does make good sense that this makes for a better family.
Some days when I feel like "what the hell", I am going to think about this lady and wish that she would have run for an elected official.
My favorite story that she told me 100 times was this...
It was getting dark early and because they didn't have electricity, the eight girls went to bed. The bed linens were duvets stuffed with hay. They were not tired. I was probably around 7pm so they decided to have a circus with each sister performing one act. When it came to my great grandma Emma, she decided to take a lit candle and shove it up her butt to see how long she could dance with the lit candle up her butt. Well, it sounded good on paper. The candle fell out and lit the curtains on fire. You can only guess the amount of trouble she was in after the circus.
I love those stories. I love talk radio too.
The other day, I discovered a local am radio station discussing the election.
An elderly gentlemen called in and he immediately got every one's attention. He was 82 and spry. Here were his comments on the election.
"Hello, welcome to the show. You said you know why Romney lost. Go for it..."
"Thank you for taking my call. Romney lost because we don't raise our children with respect, pride or grace anymore. He did. But he doesn't understand that most don't."
And then, and I am summarizing, he spoke, in his 82 year old voice with poise and conviction. H spoke about pride, respect and grace. Here is some of what he said.
He said that when he married his wife, he loved her.
They were too young too get married but that is what you did. You got married. And shortly after they were married the first child came. Naturally, everything changed. Then came another, and so on. There were five boys. And the gentlemen worked. And the wife raised the kids. Over time, he didn't know his wife. They didn't speak about them, they spoke about the children. There were not couple weekends, or date nights of girl's nights out...it was just him, the five boys and his wife.
Of course over the years, there were highs and lows. The gentlemen knew they were broke when there was oatmeal with no milk, lots of potatoes and cabbage for dinner and then leftover cabage for breakfast and the boys taped the soles of their shoes. His wife never complained. The boys always looked immaculate. So did his wife.
Church was mandatory on Sunday, followed by a visit to the in-laws or parents on Sundays. The boys stayed outside and played and carried a change of clothes with them. The boys did the dishes after the meals,without being asked, so the women could talk, they didn't interrupt, they worked after the meal.
His wife never washed a dish after a meal, never took the trash out, never made the beds after a certain age. For birthdays, they got homemade cakes, their favorite meals and always a special treat in their lunch bag. When they got older, a huge treat was a new baseball glove, not a hand me down glove. It was the only real new thing the boys ever got and she made me take them to purchase it.
The boys adored their mother. She was there for them everyday after school, when they were sick and when they needed her. She wasn't there for me emotionally, she was there for them and that was enough. At Christmas, I don't know how she did it, but she always put on the big Christmas. Years ago, I learned that she took any change that she ever got and hid it in a jar. She used that money for Christmas. I never knew then. Her extra work made Christmas magical. All of us got a new pair of pajamas on Christmas eve, the only package you were allowed to open and that was after church.
And then the boys left. She joined every group and club and became a new person. She traveled and volunteered and book clubbed and ate at restaurants. And then she was more tender to me.
One day , at lunch, I looked at her and asked, "when the boys were young, were you happy?" "Oh, I don't know, I was too busy. I suppose I was if packing lunches, cleaning house, doing laundry, homework, grocery shopping, cooking and baking and making sure that I was raising five honorable men without any compensation only smiles, makes you happy, then yes, I was happy. It was my job. It didn't matter that I was happy or not. What mattered was that I signed up to be their mother and your wife and there was not quitting. I could never have an off day. I had 12 eyes looking at me. It was my job. I was proud of the life I chose and even on the days that I wanted to scream, I chose this job. I never had a sick day, a vacation day or a mental health day. It was my job".
And then he said this, "from that day on, I looked differently at my wife. She didn't have the pills of today to take the edge off, the modern day appliances or even the modern day conveniences, if she was in the mood for cookies, she made them. She and the whole generation of us was too proud to fight or admit that we were struggling and we had too much respect for ourselves and our children to see anything different."
She was committed to her job. Her job was to raise her family to understand, appreciate and practice Honor, Pride and Respect and she never waivered. And without even knowing, she made me do the same. There were not shootings and schools then, there was always that "family" that everybody knew about but nobody ever discussed but there were not drug addicts, babies born at the dance or people having babies that never cared for them. My kids never wore pajamas to the mall, they protected sex, they courted their women, they paid their bills and bought their own cars and they never wanted to disappoint their mama. They respected their mother, and she taught them to be honorable and she lived honorably. She taught them to have pride.
Times has changed, this is true. It is a new generation, I am aware. What has changed, and should not have changed, is the commitment that we have to our children. The lessons that we teach our children is more important than ever. Spend more time with your kids and an book than you do with your kids at the mall or in front of the television and you will have better kids. Spend more time eating at the kitchen table with your kids than in your car with cell phones and you will have better kids. Spend more time in church with your kids and you will have better kids. Spend more time with your in-laws and your family members and you will have better kids. Spend more time doing less for your kids and allowing them to do more and you will have better kids. And spend more time caring or them and their needs then you do for your own and you will have better kids.
This was not the same as sticking a lighted candle up your butt and most of what he said i have heard before and practice myself. It was his strength and conviction that struck me. His conviction and his passion. I totally believe that the same conviction and passion was the fuel that carried his wife.
It carried me as well.
I don't know if this is why a candidate one and another lost. I don't care. It does make good sense that this makes for a better family.
Some days when I feel like "what the hell", I am going to think about this lady and wish that she would have run for an elected official.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
I'm a Buzz kill
Yesterday, two states voted to legalize marijuana.
Look, I am not Rebbecca from Sunny brook Farms. I have had my moments. I have "waked and baked" before a WVU football game or two. I have done a couple of bong hits on Friday afternoon after class. I get it. The key words here were "game or two" and "couple of" and this was back in the 80's.
I didn't flunk out, I had a job and during my freshman year, I DEFINITELY took advantage of being away from home and not having my mom's keen senses around.
I watch the news clips last night of the crowds cheering and I was sad. Everybody was dressed in "grunge", they were young and the signs they carried had words that were not spelled correctly.
It was just so sad to me. There are so many things going on in the world today and I just wondered if any of the reporters asked the sign carriers, "hey, do you know anything about an Embassy being bombed?"
Marijuana is "supposed" to make you laugh, get the munchies and relax. Hmmmm.
Today's marijuana is a business. The simple fact is that marijuana today is much stronger than what they used to have 20 years ago.
A 1983 study of THC showed that the pot from the 80's had only 4% of THC. Today, 10% more THC.
The reason, it is ADDICTIVE. Give them more THC, they will want it more. And since marijuana potency's have been increasing for the last two decades, there is a greater chance of adverse mental effects when the drug is abused.
Typically, you start smoking pot when you are young, high school age, when your brain is developing, your body is changing and you or your friends are behind the wheel. And, it is during this time that users learn to "escape" by abusing, thus, they lose the life skills they were just developing.
Marijuana has changed five lives forever. My family's lives. My son is a substance abuser. Pot and Booze. Just pot and booze. I love the line, "pot is really no big deal, it is organic", Bullshit. Peanut butter can be organic. You need to eat, you don't need to be stoned.
Look, I have had too much to drink and I have smoked some weed. SOME. I never let it consume me or my life. I have never lost a job or missed a day of work because of weed.
I know several who have and they are young and not a could habit to learn.
If we allow folks to smoke dope, what is next, fornicating in public parks? Isn't anything sacred anymore?
If you are 42 years old, own your own home, your wife goes out of town for the weekend and you go to your buddy's house to watch the big game and he offers you a hit off a joint, is it a big deal? NO. You are a man, fiscally responsible and your brain is developed and you get "being responsible for your own actions."
Young kids are not fiscally responsible, they do not get "being responsible for their own actions" and the brains are not developed yet. Kind of like not eating carrots, "it will stunt your intellectual growth."
I watched the news clip several times today, each time with greater sadness. One life, at least will be ruined because of pot. Kind of a buzz kill, don't you think?.
Look, I am not Rebbecca from Sunny brook Farms. I have had my moments. I have "waked and baked" before a WVU football game or two. I have done a couple of bong hits on Friday afternoon after class. I get it. The key words here were "game or two" and "couple of" and this was back in the 80's.
I didn't flunk out, I had a job and during my freshman year, I DEFINITELY took advantage of being away from home and not having my mom's keen senses around.
I watch the news clips last night of the crowds cheering and I was sad. Everybody was dressed in "grunge", they were young and the signs they carried had words that were not spelled correctly.
It was just so sad to me. There are so many things going on in the world today and I just wondered if any of the reporters asked the sign carriers, "hey, do you know anything about an Embassy being bombed?"
Marijuana is "supposed" to make you laugh, get the munchies and relax. Hmmmm.
Today's marijuana is a business. The simple fact is that marijuana today is much stronger than what they used to have 20 years ago.
A 1983 study of THC showed that the pot from the 80's had only 4% of THC. Today, 10% more THC.
The reason, it is ADDICTIVE. Give them more THC, they will want it more. And since marijuana potency's have been increasing for the last two decades, there is a greater chance of adverse mental effects when the drug is abused.
Typically, you start smoking pot when you are young, high school age, when your brain is developing, your body is changing and you or your friends are behind the wheel. And, it is during this time that users learn to "escape" by abusing, thus, they lose the life skills they were just developing.
Marijuana has changed five lives forever. My family's lives. My son is a substance abuser. Pot and Booze. Just pot and booze. I love the line, "pot is really no big deal, it is organic", Bullshit. Peanut butter can be organic. You need to eat, you don't need to be stoned.
Look, I have had too much to drink and I have smoked some weed. SOME. I never let it consume me or my life. I have never lost a job or missed a day of work because of weed.
I know several who have and they are young and not a could habit to learn.
If we allow folks to smoke dope, what is next, fornicating in public parks? Isn't anything sacred anymore?
If you are 42 years old, own your own home, your wife goes out of town for the weekend and you go to your buddy's house to watch the big game and he offers you a hit off a joint, is it a big deal? NO. You are a man, fiscally responsible and your brain is developed and you get "being responsible for your own actions."
Young kids are not fiscally responsible, they do not get "being responsible for their own actions" and the brains are not developed yet. Kind of like not eating carrots, "it will stunt your intellectual growth."
I watched the news clip several times today, each time with greater sadness. One life, at least will be ruined because of pot. Kind of a buzz kill, don't you think?.
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