Several months ago, Husband's dad started working on converting their old family movies from VHS format to DVDs, and making copies so that each kid has a set of their family movies. When they found out that MIL was pregnant with Husband, FIL went out and bought one of those old over-the-shoulder video cameras, which were, of course, top of technology at the time. And they proceeded to record memories, from the time Husband was born until about 1999, so 11 years' worth of memories. I get to see how my husband grew up, and believe me, that can be very valuable. Last night after we put G and J to bed, we stayed up to do laundry and watch these movies, and it came down to a scene of Husband's and his sister's combined birthday party, when Husband would have been turning 5. The only other family members there were his paternal grandparents. Husband's Grandad died about 2 years ago, right after Husband came home from his Afghanistan deployment. J is named for Grandad but they never met in person. We went home for the funeral and that was the first real time I've ever seen Husband sit down and cry. He doesn't do that much. But there he sat, in those rows, in his Class A's uniform as one of the pallbearers, crying over his grandad. We have much respect, and owe much, to Grandad, as a family.
Last night as we watched that video about his birthday party, Husband started telling me about when he turned 12...but he couldn't finish the sentence for awhile. He started crying again. Second time in our marriage that I've ever seen him cry, and both times were over his grandad. Finally he finished it. When he turned 12, his grandad came by to ask FIL if he could take Husband fishing. And so they went out to the local creek, which is a popular fishing spot, and sat in Grandad's boat for 3 hours. No fish were caught. Not even a nibble. But that whole 3 hours, Grandad told Husband stories, about his childhood, his family, and things that were important to him. I don't know what details there are beyond that, but it got me thinking about my own time similar to that, when I was a teenager.
As the product of a split family, and then a blended family, I have more than one set of grandparents, and so my family has become rather large. I've spent a decent amount of time with every facet of my family. Even when my biodad and mom split in 1993, it didn't tear me away from my paternal family, and they welcomed my mom into the fold just like she was still their DIL, and indeed, to this day, my stepdad has become a loved part of my paternal family as well. Awkward? Sometimes. Especially since at my wedding my stepdad and biodad sat RIGHT next to each other in the front row. But it's my family and I love them all. My biodad's parents are affectionately referred to as MawMaw and PawPaw. PawPaw has a memory like a steel trap most of the time, and family history (and numbers, a talent I inherited from him) are especially foremost in his mind. One of our favorite things to do when I was a teenager was to go down to the basement and play ping pong. We could get competitive sometimes, but my favorite memory was the time we batted the ball back and forth for over an hour as I listened to my PawPaw tell me stories of his childhood, my family history and ancestry, and all sorts of his adventures. And so as Husband sat and cried over this particular memory of his own grandad telling him his past, I began to get teary on my own, thinking of, and dreading, the day when I'd see pictures and videos of my PawPaw, and of course, then my Gramps and Grandpa, and remember times when I spent time with them....only to know that they aren't there anymore. I'm fortunate enough that all my grandpas are alive. Gramps is my mom's dad, and Grandpa is my stepdad's dad. I don't know my stepmom's parents; they got married after I did so she wasn't a huge part of my childhood. MawMaw and Grama (counterpart to Gramps) are also both still alive and in pretty good health, considering their ages, but Grandma, counterpart to Grandpa, died last year of dementia, and that's still painful as well, remembering all the things she taught me and gave me.
Growing older is hard. Even if I'm not old, people I love are starting to be. I already know I'm going to fall to pieces when my grandparents pass on, and when my mom or stepdad go, I don't know how I'm going to deal with that. Death is a hard part of life, and while I'm not exactly scared to die myself, I'm scared of my loved ones dying.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Confessions of an Old Lady
I haven't written for 2 weeks. Don't ask why; I don't even have an answer except: G is here. And with G comes extra chaos. Beloved chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
Tonight, though, I was hit by a big, massive emotional mess that is: I am old. 10 years ago, no, I wasn't bikini fit, I was 18, I was flexible and agile and full of energy and zest for what I wanted life to be. Tonight, was a stark realization that I am now a fat old fart. I cried. Oh yes, I did. I cried. Freaked the whole family out too, because I didn't exactly want to tell everyone that I was crying like a baby over the fact that I couldn't do a back bridge with my girl as easily as I did 10 years ago. That it took sheer will and determination and a really unattractive grunty scream to get my large heiny in the air, lifted by my biceps and what pathetic abs are hiding under my fluff. And I'm sure it has something to do with where I am in my cycle, because, seriously, I laid there, after I plopped down (I'd had to move to carpet because I couldn't do it on the hard flooring in the living room/kitchen) and fought off tears. And J stood over me, with his cute little blue eyes and clearly-fake eyelashes, holding his sippy cup in one arm and blanket ("Sockie") in the other...and he said, "Aw yoo ok?" He knew. He knew I was having an emotional breakdown over physical weakness and my obvious signs of aging and as soon as he decided he wasn't going to get any words from me, because I was crying too hard and trying to stay quiet so G and Husband wouldn't hear, he stood at my head and said, "Mommy." And I knew he didn't care any more and just wanted me to flip him the way his daddy does. And so I did. Twice. And then he wandered away because, clearly, Mommy is so weak that even her flips of a 25-lb skinny toddler are pathetic.
And then Husband realized something was up, so he came in and saw, and then G saw, and all of a sudden it was a "What's wrong with Mommy" fest. And I didn't have words. Because I realized that I was simply crying over getting old, which I knew would happen, but I guess I'm just not ready for it. I don't have the energy to get to the point where I can do a backbend easily, but I hate where I'm at now, so maybe my cycle is creating a vicious circle of self-loathing.
I've never felt comfortable in my own skin. Never. A crowd of 100 people could stand around me for hours, telling me that I'm beautiful, smart, funny, a wonderful person...and I will smile and thank them and inside, think, "Ok, but what do you REALLY think about me?" I've never felt pretty. I know I have blue eyes and soft hair, and a decent smile that children and life have begun to ruin, and were I to apply my features to someone else I would likely think that person is very pretty, but I have never managed to think that about myself, no matter what I tell other people. I stress eat, and I'm stressed a lot, and I've had 2 kids, and I have a dysfunctional thyroid, so you can probably guess how I feel about my pant size and bat wings. I know I'm smart but because of how I apply it, I become an outcast, so sometimes I wonder if it's really a good thing, if it would be better to be a bit dumber.
I play Sims. Not because I like playing God over people I've created, but because I can live vicariously through them. Because I can make them live lives I wish I could experience. Through them, I can travel. Go on adventures. Go to school. Be rich. I can do all sorts of things that my life will just never add up to, simply because of the choices I've made. I can't really travel, now, until there are no kids dependent on me, and even then, the kids would need to be able to take over the farming business for a decent amount of time. I can't go to school for lack of money, and the times I've tried I've given up, much to my chagrin. If the farm goes the way it has been for the last several decades, or, ideally, better, I can achieve richness to some degree, but even then, it will be well managed and properly directed. There's no such thing as a thyroid transplant, or TRUST ME I would be all over that, like white on rice.
So maybe this blog is just the expression of a temporary identity crisis. I don't know. I know God has a plan for me, and I know that no matter what I regret, THIS is the path I'm meant to be on, but sometimes, like when I'm hanging upside down in a colossal effort to do a back bridge, I don't LIKE my current path and wish for another one. One where I can wear a bikini. And I didn't chop my hair off a year ago. And I can go spend a month in Ireland, just drinking tea in the country.
Tonight, though, I was hit by a big, massive emotional mess that is: I am old. 10 years ago, no, I wasn't bikini fit, I was 18, I was flexible and agile and full of energy and zest for what I wanted life to be. Tonight, was a stark realization that I am now a fat old fart. I cried. Oh yes, I did. I cried. Freaked the whole family out too, because I didn't exactly want to tell everyone that I was crying like a baby over the fact that I couldn't do a back bridge with my girl as easily as I did 10 years ago. That it took sheer will and determination and a really unattractive grunty scream to get my large heiny in the air, lifted by my biceps and what pathetic abs are hiding under my fluff. And I'm sure it has something to do with where I am in my cycle, because, seriously, I laid there, after I plopped down (I'd had to move to carpet because I couldn't do it on the hard flooring in the living room/kitchen) and fought off tears. And J stood over me, with his cute little blue eyes and clearly-fake eyelashes, holding his sippy cup in one arm and blanket ("Sockie") in the other...and he said, "Aw yoo ok?" He knew. He knew I was having an emotional breakdown over physical weakness and my obvious signs of aging and as soon as he decided he wasn't going to get any words from me, because I was crying too hard and trying to stay quiet so G and Husband wouldn't hear, he stood at my head and said, "Mommy." And I knew he didn't care any more and just wanted me to flip him the way his daddy does. And so I did. Twice. And then he wandered away because, clearly, Mommy is so weak that even her flips of a 25-lb skinny toddler are pathetic.
And then Husband realized something was up, so he came in and saw, and then G saw, and all of a sudden it was a "What's wrong with Mommy" fest. And I didn't have words. Because I realized that I was simply crying over getting old, which I knew would happen, but I guess I'm just not ready for it. I don't have the energy to get to the point where I can do a backbend easily, but I hate where I'm at now, so maybe my cycle is creating a vicious circle of self-loathing.
I've never felt comfortable in my own skin. Never. A crowd of 100 people could stand around me for hours, telling me that I'm beautiful, smart, funny, a wonderful person...and I will smile and thank them and inside, think, "Ok, but what do you REALLY think about me?" I've never felt pretty. I know I have blue eyes and soft hair, and a decent smile that children and life have begun to ruin, and were I to apply my features to someone else I would likely think that person is very pretty, but I have never managed to think that about myself, no matter what I tell other people. I stress eat, and I'm stressed a lot, and I've had 2 kids, and I have a dysfunctional thyroid, so you can probably guess how I feel about my pant size and bat wings. I know I'm smart but because of how I apply it, I become an outcast, so sometimes I wonder if it's really a good thing, if it would be better to be a bit dumber.
I play Sims. Not because I like playing God over people I've created, but because I can live vicariously through them. Because I can make them live lives I wish I could experience. Through them, I can travel. Go on adventures. Go to school. Be rich. I can do all sorts of things that my life will just never add up to, simply because of the choices I've made. I can't really travel, now, until there are no kids dependent on me, and even then, the kids would need to be able to take over the farming business for a decent amount of time. I can't go to school for lack of money, and the times I've tried I've given up, much to my chagrin. If the farm goes the way it has been for the last several decades, or, ideally, better, I can achieve richness to some degree, but even then, it will be well managed and properly directed. There's no such thing as a thyroid transplant, or TRUST ME I would be all over that, like white on rice.
So maybe this blog is just the expression of a temporary identity crisis. I don't know. I know God has a plan for me, and I know that no matter what I regret, THIS is the path I'm meant to be on, but sometimes, like when I'm hanging upside down in a colossal effort to do a back bridge, I don't LIKE my current path and wish for another one. One where I can wear a bikini. And I didn't chop my hair off a year ago. And I can go spend a month in Ireland, just drinking tea in the country.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
I Am A Woman
An apple is an apple, from the time the flower pollinates and puts out the fruit, to the time it rots, falls off the tree and lays there to become part of the earth again. It is biologically geared to be an apple. Painting it orange and ripping the stem off doesn't magically mean it's an orange now. It still tastes and smells like an apple. If you juice it, it will be apple juice, not orange juice.
Bruce Jenner is a man. "Identifying" with a woman doesn't magically turn you into one. Injecting hormones, cutting your willy off and squeezing yourself into a corset doesn't either. I was biologically geared to be a female. God created me to be a girl, then I grew up, had girly feelings, had babies, and have a mother's instinct. Surgery may change the world's perspective of me from female to male, but I can't change my chromosomes. I can't change the parts I was born with. God had a plan for me when He created me and that involved me being the gender I was born to be. He doesn't make mistakes. He made us intricately; we're still learning about how amazing the human body can be, what does what to it. HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING. Why is it, all of a sudden, that deciding that, clearly, we know better than God when it comes to ourselves, warrants completely changing everything He did, and now we're "brave" for it?
No. I haven't read the article. I do know enough, though to know that Bruce is a very confused man. He still has his male parts. It took a lot of man-made effort to morph him into the "woman" he thinks he is. I'm insulted by it, frankly. I may not be overly excited with how my body looks right now, but I have earned several titles that only women may hold. He can't hold those titles. I am a wife. A mother. A sister. A daughter. A daughter-in-law. I can almost promise you that if I'd once been a man and decided that I wanted to be a woman, and came clean, my kids wouldn't exist because their fathers would have wanted nothing to do with me. They are straight men, and regardless of my eventual decision to be a "woman," I highly doubt either of them would ever have been able to look past the fact that at one point in time, I was a boy.
I am not a male. No amount of surgery to shallowly ease my confused mind could ever make me a male. I still have female parts. Can male parts be conjured? Sure. But they wouldn't work the way a naturally-born male's would, because they're not natural. I will continue to have XX chromosomes. I was born Amy Jo Kachel and no surgery, no amount of money and publicity can change that. I'm not sure why Bruce thinks it can for him, except that society today is so ready to break all rules, boundaries and barriers and justify every little sin it can come up with, that it will support any number of abominations.
Injecting purple dye into my skin doesn't mean I'm a purplasian now. It means I have insecurities about myself.
What makes me sickest of all: ESPN has announced their intention to award "Caitlyn" Jenner the Bravery Award. FOR WHAT?!?! There was no sacrifice here. Too much reward, too little sacrifice. I'm disgusted that America has so warped it's definition of bravery that we now only consider social "trailblazing" as bravery, instead of actual sacrifices. Hey, ESPN. Go see what soldiers have died this year. Are their sacrifices less brave than Bruce? Their lost lives pay for YOUR freedom. "Caitlyn" pays your cell phone bill. Get your priorities straight.
And maybe I'll lose friends over this. Maybe I'll get hate mail, maybe people won't like me anymore. But calling an apple an apple isn't hate speech, it's not bullying, it's not close-minded. It's the truth. Sorry if the truth offends you; maybe you need to reanalyze why you find glorified lies more appealing than truth.
Bruce Jenner is a man. "Identifying" with a woman doesn't magically turn you into one. Injecting hormones, cutting your willy off and squeezing yourself into a corset doesn't either. I was biologically geared to be a female. God created me to be a girl, then I grew up, had girly feelings, had babies, and have a mother's instinct. Surgery may change the world's perspective of me from female to male, but I can't change my chromosomes. I can't change the parts I was born with. God had a plan for me when He created me and that involved me being the gender I was born to be. He doesn't make mistakes. He made us intricately; we're still learning about how amazing the human body can be, what does what to it. HE KNEW WHAT HE WAS DOING. Why is it, all of a sudden, that deciding that, clearly, we know better than God when it comes to ourselves, warrants completely changing everything He did, and now we're "brave" for it?
No. I haven't read the article. I do know enough, though to know that Bruce is a very confused man. He still has his male parts. It took a lot of man-made effort to morph him into the "woman" he thinks he is. I'm insulted by it, frankly. I may not be overly excited with how my body looks right now, but I have earned several titles that only women may hold. He can't hold those titles. I am a wife. A mother. A sister. A daughter. A daughter-in-law. I can almost promise you that if I'd once been a man and decided that I wanted to be a woman, and came clean, my kids wouldn't exist because their fathers would have wanted nothing to do with me. They are straight men, and regardless of my eventual decision to be a "woman," I highly doubt either of them would ever have been able to look past the fact that at one point in time, I was a boy.
I am not a male. No amount of surgery to shallowly ease my confused mind could ever make me a male. I still have female parts. Can male parts be conjured? Sure. But they wouldn't work the way a naturally-born male's would, because they're not natural. I will continue to have XX chromosomes. I was born Amy Jo Kachel and no surgery, no amount of money and publicity can change that. I'm not sure why Bruce thinks it can for him, except that society today is so ready to break all rules, boundaries and barriers and justify every little sin it can come up with, that it will support any number of abominations.
Injecting purple dye into my skin doesn't mean I'm a purplasian now. It means I have insecurities about myself.
What makes me sickest of all: ESPN has announced their intention to award "Caitlyn" Jenner the Bravery Award. FOR WHAT?!?! There was no sacrifice here. Too much reward, too little sacrifice. I'm disgusted that America has so warped it's definition of bravery that we now only consider social "trailblazing" as bravery, instead of actual sacrifices. Hey, ESPN. Go see what soldiers have died this year. Are their sacrifices less brave than Bruce? Their lost lives pay for YOUR freedom. "Caitlyn" pays your cell phone bill. Get your priorities straight.
And maybe I'll lose friends over this. Maybe I'll get hate mail, maybe people won't like me anymore. But calling an apple an apple isn't hate speech, it's not bullying, it's not close-minded. It's the truth. Sorry if the truth offends you; maybe you need to reanalyze why you find glorified lies more appealing than truth.
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Social Conscience
This is unusual for me, posting 3 blogs in a week. I've been trying to keep steady and do "Blog Tuesday" because it's not normally one of my walking days (it was this week, because of Memorial Day), but I've been super inspired this week. What can I say?
Despite my previous declaration to try and kick FB to the curb, I'm fighting my addiction heavily. It calls to me. Really, I need to get my butt off of it. Today as I scrolled, I saw one of those "click this link for this article" posts, so I clicked the link, because it was about the 60 most hard-hitting ad campaigns for social issues...and as I scrolled down, I thought some of them were very clever. And then came the one that screamed at my heart. It was a picture of a homeless woman holding her clearly-sick son. Both were disturbingly skinny, but hunger always hurts the kids before it hurts adults. Around the mother and son were at least 20 arms, with their hands all making the "thumbs up" sign. The caption was "liking this doesn't fix it." Ouch. How many times have I seen causes and issues posted on FB, and if I did anything at all, it was probably a like? If I walked up to someone in need right now and flashed them a thumbs up sign, I've done something worse than just ignoring it; I acknowledged the problem and did NOTHING. As Husband says, "Yeah, that and a dollar will get me a cup of coffee."
This whole issue is 2 sided. After reading Atlas Shrugged, I'm sorta torn on the whole issue. I mean, in a sense they're 2 separate issues, but they still tie in together. Welfare has become a joke. I get that there are people out there that are genuinely going through a hard time and just need a bit of help to get on their feet again, but I see SO many stories in the news of welfare fraud, entitlement, and people pleading their case for the public to pay for their wedding. People have become lazy and entitled. We are not entitled to happiness. We are entitled to the PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. That doesn't mean you get to sit on your butt while others are working hard to pay for something that you've done nothing to earn, and meanwhile they don't get to have their dreams because they're too busy paying for yours. There is a massive pride in enjoying the fruits of your LABOR. Try it sometime.
G's dad and stepmom recently allowed a friend who had fallen on hard times to stay with them. I got a text from her stepmom, letting me know so that G didn't say awkward things when I talked to her. No big deal; I thought it was generous. This "friend" came to stay on a Thursday. By Saturday, he'd disappeared, stealing several things of high value (and a few not so expensive items) on his way out the door. This man was given MERCY from someone who owed him nothing, and he showed his gratitude by giving them a mess of legal work and police reports with which to deal. It makes one not want to help anyone anymore? Not that long ago, I was overtaken by a very bold beggar, and because I have a compassionate heart, I gave her a ride. She asked for it on the grounds that she would give me $20, she just needed a ride to get her meds. I didn't give her the ride to get the money, because that's not how I roll, but when she came out to my vehicle, after wanting to use my phone and demanding I GIVE her various items in my van, she asked me for $10. People like that ruin kind hearts. I was genuinely terrified; my knife was in the handle of my door, my phone was wedged under my leg, and I wished harder than anything that I hadn't let her in my car. Neither of my kids was with me or I wouldn't have agreed no matter what she said, and she wouldn't have asked if Husband was with me (they never do; perks of marrying a tall dude). I will NEVER give a bum a ride again, not by myself or with anyone else in the car. In joking she said she'd never take food out of a child's mouth, but she would surely take it out of my mouth. Seriously? It's disgusting!
There is something to be said for human generosity. I have, many times, fished for what small change I could find when I found someone on the side of the road; I've given a bum a sandwich. But I can't just open my home and life to random people on the street anymore; it's not safe. My compassionate, soft heart has officially gotten me into trouble and now it's a bit scarred, and probably less compassionate and soft. Isn't that sad?
There's nothing more scary than the phrase, "For the greater good." Do you know what that involves? Sacrifice of a few for the many. What if you're one of the few? Are you going to give a flying fart in space about the many if someone wants to do science experiments on you, hold a gun to your head, do awful things to you, all in the name of "benefitting society at large?" Humans are programmed for fight or flight. It's a defensive reaction. If we can't get away, we'll fight back until we're free or dead. If we can, tootles! But when someone appeals to our better nature to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good, we can't exactly lean on that, because we've basically thrown down all defense and become the lamb on the sacrificial altar. Do what you want to me; because it might save someone who doesn't actually care what happened to me in the first place! I would throw my life down in a heartbeat for my kids. My husband. My family. I don't know how I'd be with a complete stranger.
So there's a line to be drawn, and I think it differs from person to person. Where do you start doing what you can to protect yourself, and where do you start opening up to others that may or may not deserve it?
Despite my previous declaration to try and kick FB to the curb, I'm fighting my addiction heavily. It calls to me. Really, I need to get my butt off of it. Today as I scrolled, I saw one of those "click this link for this article" posts, so I clicked the link, because it was about the 60 most hard-hitting ad campaigns for social issues...and as I scrolled down, I thought some of them were very clever. And then came the one that screamed at my heart. It was a picture of a homeless woman holding her clearly-sick son. Both were disturbingly skinny, but hunger always hurts the kids before it hurts adults. Around the mother and son were at least 20 arms, with their hands all making the "thumbs up" sign. The caption was "liking this doesn't fix it." Ouch. How many times have I seen causes and issues posted on FB, and if I did anything at all, it was probably a like? If I walked up to someone in need right now and flashed them a thumbs up sign, I've done something worse than just ignoring it; I acknowledged the problem and did NOTHING. As Husband says, "Yeah, that and a dollar will get me a cup of coffee."
This whole issue is 2 sided. After reading Atlas Shrugged, I'm sorta torn on the whole issue. I mean, in a sense they're 2 separate issues, but they still tie in together. Welfare has become a joke. I get that there are people out there that are genuinely going through a hard time and just need a bit of help to get on their feet again, but I see SO many stories in the news of welfare fraud, entitlement, and people pleading their case for the public to pay for their wedding. People have become lazy and entitled. We are not entitled to happiness. We are entitled to the PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. That doesn't mean you get to sit on your butt while others are working hard to pay for something that you've done nothing to earn, and meanwhile they don't get to have their dreams because they're too busy paying for yours. There is a massive pride in enjoying the fruits of your LABOR. Try it sometime.
G's dad and stepmom recently allowed a friend who had fallen on hard times to stay with them. I got a text from her stepmom, letting me know so that G didn't say awkward things when I talked to her. No big deal; I thought it was generous. This "friend" came to stay on a Thursday. By Saturday, he'd disappeared, stealing several things of high value (and a few not so expensive items) on his way out the door. This man was given MERCY from someone who owed him nothing, and he showed his gratitude by giving them a mess of legal work and police reports with which to deal. It makes one not want to help anyone anymore? Not that long ago, I was overtaken by a very bold beggar, and because I have a compassionate heart, I gave her a ride. She asked for it on the grounds that she would give me $20, she just needed a ride to get her meds. I didn't give her the ride to get the money, because that's not how I roll, but when she came out to my vehicle, after wanting to use my phone and demanding I GIVE her various items in my van, she asked me for $10. People like that ruin kind hearts. I was genuinely terrified; my knife was in the handle of my door, my phone was wedged under my leg, and I wished harder than anything that I hadn't let her in my car. Neither of my kids was with me or I wouldn't have agreed no matter what she said, and she wouldn't have asked if Husband was with me (they never do; perks of marrying a tall dude). I will NEVER give a bum a ride again, not by myself or with anyone else in the car. In joking she said she'd never take food out of a child's mouth, but she would surely take it out of my mouth. Seriously? It's disgusting!
There is something to be said for human generosity. I have, many times, fished for what small change I could find when I found someone on the side of the road; I've given a bum a sandwich. But I can't just open my home and life to random people on the street anymore; it's not safe. My compassionate, soft heart has officially gotten me into trouble and now it's a bit scarred, and probably less compassionate and soft. Isn't that sad?
There's nothing more scary than the phrase, "For the greater good." Do you know what that involves? Sacrifice of a few for the many. What if you're one of the few? Are you going to give a flying fart in space about the many if someone wants to do science experiments on you, hold a gun to your head, do awful things to you, all in the name of "benefitting society at large?" Humans are programmed for fight or flight. It's a defensive reaction. If we can't get away, we'll fight back until we're free or dead. If we can, tootles! But when someone appeals to our better nature to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good, we can't exactly lean on that, because we've basically thrown down all defense and become the lamb on the sacrificial altar. Do what you want to me; because it might save someone who doesn't actually care what happened to me in the first place! I would throw my life down in a heartbeat for my kids. My husband. My family. I don't know how I'd be with a complete stranger.
So there's a line to be drawn, and I think it differs from person to person. Where do you start doing what you can to protect yourself, and where do you start opening up to others that may or may not deserve it?
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeathe
If you know anything about me, anything at all, you probably have picked up on the concept that I am prone to stress overload. Big time. And if you've read any of my blogs or know me in person, you probably also know that I'm not exactly prone to popping a Xanax. I've done the Pill Path and it was dark and awful. Lotsa potholes. So in my years of stress combat, I have learned one or two things that help me beat down the awful monster known as stress.
1) Yes. We've done this road before. We're gonna do it again. It's called Stress Away, and sometimes I wonder if it's the reason my husband and son are still alive. It's an essential oil blend from Young Living, although I think DoTerra has something similar to the concept called PastTense; they don't use the same blend. If you have a preferred company or blend, go for it; I just happen to use Young Living oils, most of the time. When I have moments that J is being THAT kid in the store, or being a bit of a butthead at home, or I just have too much on my plate, I'll put a drop on my hand, rub it on my temples and then smell my hands. Mmm. So good. It smells amazing and even knowing that I did it helps me calm down until the oil itself takes effect.
2) Yep. Gone down this one too. Confianza from It Works! Global has done such wonders for my tension level, and my ability to control my responses, especially with J, because, let's face it, he can often be my worst aggravator. It's conceivable to take several "doses" throughout the day, but I've found that if I take 2 in the morning before the day begins and gets crazy, I can usually handle whatever comes my way. I also notice that even if I forget a day or two, the calm keeps on keeping on. Going too many days without isn't such a good idea for me, though.
3) Coloring. Yeah! I love coloring. And I don't like sharing my coloring books. I was an only child; what can I say? There's something therapeutic about making something pretty with those delicious smelling crayons, especially if they're brand new. Concentration on coloring, staying in the lines, making something to be proud of...it tends to wipe the mind of whatever chaos is going on, or at least give you some time to calm down from the immediacy of it and get a new perspective. They make adult coloring books now; at Barnes & Noble today, I saw several different types of designs of coloring books, and yes, I bought one, Celtic Designs. Because, you know, I heart Ireland. Now I need to find the perfect coloring utensils, because G's crayons aren't in the greatest shape for a mommy that needs to destress. The picture isn't my book, obvs, but it's a great example. Also, if you Google "adult coloring books" for cheap ways to color, make sure kids aren't around. Come to think of it, maybe I should have been smarter about my wording. >.>
4) Baths. Whether you're into bubbles or epsom salt or oils, baths have a wonderful way of melting stress and tension away. Long has it been that my go to for relaxation is the tub, often complete with Enya, oils, a snack, and either wine or tea. And candles. Turn off those awful lights, light up a few candles, make the bath water smell good, and enjoy some peaceful music! Plus, ya know, cleanliness is a good thing...
1) Yes. We've done this road before. We're gonna do it again. It's called Stress Away, and sometimes I wonder if it's the reason my husband and son are still alive. It's an essential oil blend from Young Living, although I think DoTerra has something similar to the concept called PastTense; they don't use the same blend. If you have a preferred company or blend, go for it; I just happen to use Young Living oils, most of the time. When I have moments that J is being THAT kid in the store, or being a bit of a butthead at home, or I just have too much on my plate, I'll put a drop on my hand, rub it on my temples and then smell my hands. Mmm. So good. It smells amazing and even knowing that I did it helps me calm down until the oil itself takes effect.
2) Yep. Gone down this one too. Confianza from It Works! Global has done such wonders for my tension level, and my ability to control my responses, especially with J, because, let's face it, he can often be my worst aggravator. It's conceivable to take several "doses" throughout the day, but I've found that if I take 2 in the morning before the day begins and gets crazy, I can usually handle whatever comes my way. I also notice that even if I forget a day or two, the calm keeps on keeping on. Going too many days without isn't such a good idea for me, though.
3) Coloring. Yeah! I love coloring. And I don't like sharing my coloring books. I was an only child; what can I say? There's something therapeutic about making something pretty with those delicious smelling crayons, especially if they're brand new. Concentration on coloring, staying in the lines, making something to be proud of...it tends to wipe the mind of whatever chaos is going on, or at least give you some time to calm down from the immediacy of it and get a new perspective. They make adult coloring books now; at Barnes & Noble today, I saw several different types of designs of coloring books, and yes, I bought one, Celtic Designs. Because, you know, I heart Ireland. Now I need to find the perfect coloring utensils, because G's crayons aren't in the greatest shape for a mommy that needs to destress. The picture isn't my book, obvs, but it's a great example. Also, if you Google "adult coloring books" for cheap ways to color, make sure kids aren't around. Come to think of it, maybe I should have been smarter about my wording. >.>
4) Baths. Whether you're into bubbles or epsom salt or oils, baths have a wonderful way of melting stress and tension away. Long has it been that my go to for relaxation is the tub, often complete with Enya, oils, a snack, and either wine or tea. And candles. Turn off those awful lights, light up a few candles, make the bath water smell good, and enjoy some peaceful music! Plus, ya know, cleanliness is a good thing...
5) Get away from it. There are times when the stress is so overwhelming that I simply can't be in the same zone as the source. So, as long as my mommy duties are either discharged for a bit, or there is a reliable person to watch J, I will get in my MommyMobile, roll the windows down, pump up my favorite music, and drive somewhere. Anywhere. Sometimes I stop, park, cry it out and enjoy the peaceful time to vent my frustrations, and sometimes I get myself a small, no-doubt unhealthy treat to take my mind off of whatever is going on. Driving feels good to me; I love road trips, so even a quick trip away from stress is wonderful. (This wonderful picture does not feature my own dog, Apollo, but they seem to be the same breed, so I liked it. Maybe someday I'll introduce you to the tornado counterpart to J, that is Apollo.)
6) Wine. Yeah. I like wine. It's not good to rely solely on alcohol to take away tension, because if overdone it can cause some poor choices (and goodness knows it does regularly), but sometimes settling down with a glass of your favorite wine and enjoying feeling like a big girl, even if you're sitting around in yoga pants with your hair in a mess and spilled food all over your torn shirt.
Which brings me to 7) Yoga. Now, I personally have never done yoga, but I know some people who do, just for the stretches side of it, and I'm sure it's very calming. So if that's your thang, go for it, sista. The below picture is of a friend of mine through It Works, Kendra Darling. She's AMAZING at yoga. This is a picture of her doing the Fallen Angel pose, with her permission, of course. Thank you, Kendra!
Girl, Look At That Body...
This past weekend was my 10-year high school reunion, and seeing old friends put a smile on my face several times. I missed those people! That said, with reunions come pictures...and when I saw the pictures I'm in, I about cried and wanted to delete them. Oh my word am I large. I'm not fat-shaming anyone but myself here, so if I get hate-mail about my comments, go away; I can say what I want about myself.
I recently acquired a cute shirt that is basically the front of a white tank, with a pink and white striped sweater attached to it. It's so adorable. And it was on clearance. So that's what I wore on Saturday, to most of the events. But...oh my word, I make it look terrible. So. I'm done being fat. (Yes, I know, I've said this before.) It's not good for me, it makes me feel awful about myself, and it's not fair to my kids, that I can't keep up with them. I'm so tired of it.
For the last couple of weeks I've been attempting to walk to an outside shopping strip about 1.5 miles away, 3 times a week, and with browsing in different stores (including Barnes & Noble, my weakness), I can sometimes rack up almost 5 miles by the time I return home. Today I only walked about 4.87, but I burned 1,714 calories, Jack got out of the house, and I have a fantastic tan. Plus, there's a sense of pride when I hit stop, and save, on my RunKeeper, get a few numbers, text them to Husband, and get the resultant "Wow."
If you, like me, are tired of the way you look in the mirror, the way your jeans make a spare tire when you sit in the car, the need for extra clothes to cover the extra bit of you....message me. Let's start an activity challenge. The more I talk about this with Husband, the more I realize that the goal is to start getting in the habit of BEING ACTIVE. This explains why my son is so skinny; that kid never stops!
I recently acquired a cute shirt that is basically the front of a white tank, with a pink and white striped sweater attached to it. It's so adorable. And it was on clearance. So that's what I wore on Saturday, to most of the events. But...oh my word, I make it look terrible. So. I'm done being fat. (Yes, I know, I've said this before.) It's not good for me, it makes me feel awful about myself, and it's not fair to my kids, that I can't keep up with them. I'm so tired of it.
For the last couple of weeks I've been attempting to walk to an outside shopping strip about 1.5 miles away, 3 times a week, and with browsing in different stores (including Barnes & Noble, my weakness), I can sometimes rack up almost 5 miles by the time I return home. Today I only walked about 4.87, but I burned 1,714 calories, Jack got out of the house, and I have a fantastic tan. Plus, there's a sense of pride when I hit stop, and save, on my RunKeeper, get a few numbers, text them to Husband, and get the resultant "Wow."
If you, like me, are tired of the way you look in the mirror, the way your jeans make a spare tire when you sit in the car, the need for extra clothes to cover the extra bit of you....message me. Let's start an activity challenge. The more I talk about this with Husband, the more I realize that the goal is to start getting in the habit of BEING ACTIVE. This explains why my son is so skinny; that kid never stops!
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Are you happy? Or are you right?
Recently I've been internally debating the importance of "being happy", and I've come to a few revelations and conclusions. The first being this. Part of America's founding was in the interest of "the pursuit of happiness." But let's analyze this. I am a woman of faith. I accepted God's gift of salvation when I was 5 years old and have renewed my promise to God several times since. I believe that the Bible is God-breathed, and so therefore when there is an issue of moral question, when I want to know how I should act about something, I turn to the Bible for my answers. Not everyone does this. I get that. You live your life your way, I live my life my way, because in the end, we each answer for our own choices. There are clear laws in the Bible about how we should act, both to God and man, and within ourselves. For hundreds of years, these things were generally accepted as the way people should act, but over time, people have no interest in doing "what's right" anymore. The new moral compass is "What makes me happy? Don't I deserve to be happy? I should do whatever it is that makes me happy." And being the sinners that we ALL are, many of these things that make us happy are, in fact sins. Sin is fun. It is, I know, that's not something that every pastor or Christian would tell you, but sin is fun. It can be fun to drink yourself stupid, because your inhibitions drop and your perspective skews. It's fun to have sex with whomever you please, be it man or woman or a bunch of men or women, or heck, both! At the same time! It's fun to spend all your money: that purse is really cute, and it matches these shoes, but now we need a new dress for those accessories, and look at that big sparkly diamond. And then, someone else has something you want. It would make you happy, but if you asked them for it, they probably wouldn't give it to you, so you should just take it when they're not looking, and pretend you don't know what happened when they ask you about it. No one likes getting in trouble, so we lie to escape the trouble. That person over there did something that made you upset, and you deserve to be happy. Chances are that they'll do it again, so if you deserve to be happy, you need them out of the way. So just kill them. Do you see where I'm going with this?
Doing what is right isn't always fun. It can be quite painful. But God didn't call us to live lives seeking pleasure, He called us to live lives of honor, and glory to Him. He called us to love our fellow man. He called us to be productive with the time that is given to us. We're never granted any more than the minute we're living; why, oh why, does it HAVE to be about us? It should be about, and for, the One who gave it to us!
Teaching your kids that they should "do what makes them happy" is setting them up for failure, misery, and disappointment. Because while we are only given this minute, we should do in this minute as if we have to deal with the consequences of this minute FOREVER. Because we do. In this minute, taking a draw off that meth pipe may feel really good and make them happy, but it's going to tear them apart in the long run. It could even tear them apart right now. It could tear OTHER people apart. The man who sits at the bar, getting drunk because alcohol makes him happy, could be sitting in jail in 30 minutes for a DUI or even killing someone because he chose to drive home drunk. Sleeping with that really hot person you've been eyeing for awhile may make you happy now...but were you planning for a baby? Were you planning for a STD? Were you planning to be married to that person? It doesn't always end up like that....but it might.
My goal, as a parent, is to live every day with my kids as if it might be my last. There are stories everywhere about grieving parents whose child died, and the last word they spoke to them was one of anger and hatred. But I bet you at the time it felt like a weight off their shoulders. Finally they could express the turmoil that was brewing inside from resentment at an action or situation. If every day my son watches me, watches me living only in the moment and never thinking about what's to come, and then he grows up and lives the same...and I observe this behavior and wonder where he learns it, that's sad. That's tragic. And I earned that remorse. Because it was I who taught him to act and feel and live like that. So I say to you. Are you going to spend the rest of your life only seeking out the empty, shallow things that satisfy you in the moment but ruin your future, or are you going to think forward about what God would say to you on that day when you are judged, and act accordingly today? I don't know about you, but I don't look forward to when God questions me about the lies I've already told, the angry outbursts I've already made, the selfish decisions I've already committed. I am saved, and God sent his amazing Son to die for those sins already...but I believe I will still hear about them, and will still feel shame that I spent my last 28 years in such away.
Doing what is right isn't always fun. It can be quite painful. But God didn't call us to live lives seeking pleasure, He called us to live lives of honor, and glory to Him. He called us to love our fellow man. He called us to be productive with the time that is given to us. We're never granted any more than the minute we're living; why, oh why, does it HAVE to be about us? It should be about, and for, the One who gave it to us!
Teaching your kids that they should "do what makes them happy" is setting them up for failure, misery, and disappointment. Because while we are only given this minute, we should do in this minute as if we have to deal with the consequences of this minute FOREVER. Because we do. In this minute, taking a draw off that meth pipe may feel really good and make them happy, but it's going to tear them apart in the long run. It could even tear them apart right now. It could tear OTHER people apart. The man who sits at the bar, getting drunk because alcohol makes him happy, could be sitting in jail in 30 minutes for a DUI or even killing someone because he chose to drive home drunk. Sleeping with that really hot person you've been eyeing for awhile may make you happy now...but were you planning for a baby? Were you planning for a STD? Were you planning to be married to that person? It doesn't always end up like that....but it might.
My goal, as a parent, is to live every day with my kids as if it might be my last. There are stories everywhere about grieving parents whose child died, and the last word they spoke to them was one of anger and hatred. But I bet you at the time it felt like a weight off their shoulders. Finally they could express the turmoil that was brewing inside from resentment at an action or situation. If every day my son watches me, watches me living only in the moment and never thinking about what's to come, and then he grows up and lives the same...and I observe this behavior and wonder where he learns it, that's sad. That's tragic. And I earned that remorse. Because it was I who taught him to act and feel and live like that. So I say to you. Are you going to spend the rest of your life only seeking out the empty, shallow things that satisfy you in the moment but ruin your future, or are you going to think forward about what God would say to you on that day when you are judged, and act accordingly today? I don't know about you, but I don't look forward to when God questions me about the lies I've already told, the angry outbursts I've already made, the selfish decisions I've already committed. I am saved, and God sent his amazing Son to die for those sins already...but I believe I will still hear about them, and will still feel shame that I spent my last 28 years in such away.
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