This summer, I made a conscience decision to change some things in my life. But it wasn't a decision like "drink more water" or "be nicer at work" it was a deep, multi-layer decision that affected many layers of my life. The decision was quite personal, not announced to anyone - even my husband and was something like this:
1. Stop doing the same thing every weekend with the same people.
2. Stop drinking so much. (see #1)
3. When I do go out with friends, get home at a respectable hour. (see #2)
4. Spend more time at home. (see #3)
5. Find things to do with people I like that don't involve drinking heavily or eating heavily. (see #1)
6. Live with health and fitness in my life.
By choosing to do (or not do) these 6 things, I have single-handedly alienated most of my friends. And this weekend when I realized that my friends were moving on without me, I cried. A lot. I thought, "Why don't I have any friends anymore? Why doesn't anyone call me? Why are all of my friends out with each other and not with us?"
And after I had my pity party, I realized that over the course of the last 2 months, I have effectively reaped what I had sown.
My friends didn't stop drinking or staying out until 2am - I did. My friends were still doing all the same things we've always done. And I suppose when you tell someone "no" enough, they stop asking.
The friend part of my life was not bringing me joy any longer, in fact, aside from not bringing me joy, it was actually bringing me angst. And I felt it was not a good example to set for my children who were getting to the age that would ask ME "What time did you come home last night?" And I felt some of these "friendships" had turned rather poisonous. Leading me to step away.
What is hard about this choice is realizing that not everybody is making the same life changing choice as me. If the analogy of walking down life's path together is accurate, what I have found is that when I took that sharp right turn, no one was running after me asking me to come back OR if they could join me.
New friends seem about as possible as driving to the moon and back. But I know, if I keep moving forward, believing in my choices, new friends (or maybe old friends with new intentions) will surface. I suppose I just need to keep walking.
9.05.2011
10.22.2010
Dear Hannah's Mom
My family took a giant leap of faith earlier this year, by taking on a 16 yr old foreign exchange student. It's not the bravest thing any one's ever done, I know that. But it was very unexpected, very spur of the moment and it turned out to be the coolest thing ever.
We literally were cold called at 6pm on a Saturday night - it is actually a miracle that I even answered the phone - because, let's be honest, I don't answer my home phone all that much anymore. A stranger, out of the blue, asked if we wanted to host a student. Why I listened to her speech is beyond me, I hang up on telemarketers after the 3rd syllable. Maybe I could tell she was genuine, or that I really couldn't believe my ears that a perfect stranger was calling a perfect stranger asking them to let a 16 yr old stranger live with them for a year.
I told her I couldn't really give her an answer right now, she understood, but asked if I was even contemplating it, to let her know within 24 hours. They had 25 students left to find families for and a very limited amount of time to find them - school was starting THIS week.
Long story short - we agreed. It's kind of an odd process once you get into it, you get to pick your student out of a line up. You get to see their pictures, their grades, read essays they've written, essays their parents have written but in your heart you know this is not really who they are. These brief paragraphs and doctors notes about how they don't have any serious medical issues or even allergies. The one sentence some teacher writes about being a great student and an eager learner. The random snapshots of perfect strangers on their family vacations. You know, this is not at all encompassing of their personality. So you pick one, you find a reason to pick one student over another. Whether it's age or gender or their general interests or all of the above. You pick one and you feel like you are going to hell for hand picking a child out of a lineup. Or for not picking someone else. I wanted someone else to pick for me, it made me feel dirty.
But I know that our destiny is not up to us. That "fate" is not fate at all, but God's plan. I much prefer to believe in God's plan. I much prefer to think I am not making these decisions at all, but that they were made by Him, for me, from the start and this is just his way of putting the human spin on things.
So Hannah came to our home from literally half way around the world. And Hannah is wonderful.
She is a typical teenager, full of wit and humor. She is quiet and thoughtful. She is athletic and studious. She is a better student that I ever was. She has the drive and desire to be wonderful. But she is not mine to keep. She is only staying until May and then she will go home to her family - that family that she misses, that family that knows her so much better than us. That family that put her on a plane and said goodbye to her so she could experience something beyond my comprehension.
Hannah's mother has never contacted me. She has never written me an email in broken English. She has never asked Hannah to translate even a sentence to me on the telephone. I think about Hannah's mother every day. I wonder if she misses her daughter in the depths of her soul. I wonder if she worries if she is happy or getting to eat foods that she likes.
I've asked Hannah if her mother would LIKE to write me an email. Hannah's response was "my mother doesn't speak any English." I've suggested that her mom write an email that Hannah can translate. And then I will respond via Hannah's translation. Hannah says it's not necessary. I've spoken to our support people about this lack of contact. They said that sometimes the students parents are worried that we will think they are stupid because they don't speak English. That sometimes the language barrier is just too big. They encouraged me to keep trying.
So my idea is that I will mail Hannah's mother a letter. I real handwritten letter - in English. I will hope that she will find someone to translate it and that she will understand 1/10th of what I am trying to say. I will include pictures of our family, of Hannah and hope for the best.
I think it will go something like this.
Dear Hannah's Mom,
Thank you for raising a child that is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. Thank you for putting your faith in God and putting your daughter on that plane to come to a country she's never been, to live with a family you've never met. Your courage has made my life brighter. Your daughter has made my family bigger.
I want you to know that she is doing very well. She has made some great friends. She is making wonderful grades. And she joined the volleyball team and we watched her play as many games as we could. On parents night, when they introduced her and she walked across the floor towards James and I, with a rose in her hand and a smile on her face and then they announced your names as her parents and our names as her host parents, it made me beam with pride that I would forever be associated with her in that manner. Like her second family. Her American family. And I couldn't be happier to have her in my life.
Every once in a while I think to myself that May will come sooner than I expect. That our 9 months with Hannah will be over. I already know I will cry when I put her on that plane that takes her home to you. I hope she comes back with a lifetime of stories.
I want you to know we are taking good care of her. And I want you to know that I want you to write me back, even if it's written in a foreign language that I don't understand and that I have to painstakingly type into Google translator and even if I then only understand every third word.
Jillian
Okay - I know I can't send that because my frilly metaphors would totally confuse someone who is trying to understand the literal translation of a foreign language. Do you know how hard it is to write a letter to a stranger who doesn't speak your language? Do you know how hard it is to not write a letter that if translated incorrectly would make it sound like I wanted to keep your daughter forever? Or make her think that her daughter makes me cry? Scary stuff here, but I'm going to try.
My problem is that I am wordy. That I could go on and on and on for pages and pages. My fear is that I will make the letter more about me than about Hannah. And her mom will think I am a totally narcissistic freak.
I will write the letter.
And then I will revise the letter 100 times.
And then I will put it in the mail along with all of our Husker paraphernalia that we are mailing them as Christmas gifts. Even though we are Iowa Hawkeye fans, but they wouldn't understand why we are sending Iowa stuff for gifts when we live in Nebraska.
And I will hope for the best.
We literally were cold called at 6pm on a Saturday night - it is actually a miracle that I even answered the phone - because, let's be honest, I don't answer my home phone all that much anymore. A stranger, out of the blue, asked if we wanted to host a student. Why I listened to her speech is beyond me, I hang up on telemarketers after the 3rd syllable. Maybe I could tell she was genuine, or that I really couldn't believe my ears that a perfect stranger was calling a perfect stranger asking them to let a 16 yr old stranger live with them for a year.
I told her I couldn't really give her an answer right now, she understood, but asked if I was even contemplating it, to let her know within 24 hours. They had 25 students left to find families for and a very limited amount of time to find them - school was starting THIS week.
Long story short - we agreed. It's kind of an odd process once you get into it, you get to pick your student out of a line up. You get to see their pictures, their grades, read essays they've written, essays their parents have written but in your heart you know this is not really who they are. These brief paragraphs and doctors notes about how they don't have any serious medical issues or even allergies. The one sentence some teacher writes about being a great student and an eager learner. The random snapshots of perfect strangers on their family vacations. You know, this is not at all encompassing of their personality. So you pick one, you find a reason to pick one student over another. Whether it's age or gender or their general interests or all of the above. You pick one and you feel like you are going to hell for hand picking a child out of a lineup. Or for not picking someone else. I wanted someone else to pick for me, it made me feel dirty.
But I know that our destiny is not up to us. That "fate" is not fate at all, but God's plan. I much prefer to believe in God's plan. I much prefer to think I am not making these decisions at all, but that they were made by Him, for me, from the start and this is just his way of putting the human spin on things.
So Hannah came to our home from literally half way around the world. And Hannah is wonderful.
She is a typical teenager, full of wit and humor. She is quiet and thoughtful. She is athletic and studious. She is a better student that I ever was. She has the drive and desire to be wonderful. But she is not mine to keep. She is only staying until May and then she will go home to her family - that family that she misses, that family that knows her so much better than us. That family that put her on a plane and said goodbye to her so she could experience something beyond my comprehension.
Hannah's mother has never contacted me. She has never written me an email in broken English. She has never asked Hannah to translate even a sentence to me on the telephone. I think about Hannah's mother every day. I wonder if she misses her daughter in the depths of her soul. I wonder if she worries if she is happy or getting to eat foods that she likes.
I've asked Hannah if her mother would LIKE to write me an email. Hannah's response was "my mother doesn't speak any English." I've suggested that her mom write an email that Hannah can translate. And then I will respond via Hannah's translation. Hannah says it's not necessary. I've spoken to our support people about this lack of contact. They said that sometimes the students parents are worried that we will think they are stupid because they don't speak English. That sometimes the language barrier is just too big. They encouraged me to keep trying.
So my idea is that I will mail Hannah's mother a letter. I real handwritten letter - in English. I will hope that she will find someone to translate it and that she will understand 1/10th of what I am trying to say. I will include pictures of our family, of Hannah and hope for the best.
I think it will go something like this.
Dear Hannah's Mom,
Thank you for raising a child that is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. Thank you for putting your faith in God and putting your daughter on that plane to come to a country she's never been, to live with a family you've never met. Your courage has made my life brighter. Your daughter has made my family bigger.
I want you to know that she is doing very well. She has made some great friends. She is making wonderful grades. And she joined the volleyball team and we watched her play as many games as we could. On parents night, when they introduced her and she walked across the floor towards James and I, with a rose in her hand and a smile on her face and then they announced your names as her parents and our names as her host parents, it made me beam with pride that I would forever be associated with her in that manner. Like her second family. Her American family. And I couldn't be happier to have her in my life.
Every once in a while I think to myself that May will come sooner than I expect. That our 9 months with Hannah will be over. I already know I will cry when I put her on that plane that takes her home to you. I hope she comes back with a lifetime of stories.
I want you to know we are taking good care of her. And I want you to know that I want you to write me back, even if it's written in a foreign language that I don't understand and that I have to painstakingly type into Google translator and even if I then only understand every third word.
Jillian
Okay - I know I can't send that because my frilly metaphors would totally confuse someone who is trying to understand the literal translation of a foreign language. Do you know how hard it is to write a letter to a stranger who doesn't speak your language? Do you know how hard it is to not write a letter that if translated incorrectly would make it sound like I wanted to keep your daughter forever? Or make her think that her daughter makes me cry? Scary stuff here, but I'm going to try.
My problem is that I am wordy. That I could go on and on and on for pages and pages. My fear is that I will make the letter more about me than about Hannah. And her mom will think I am a totally narcissistic freak.
I will write the letter.
And then I will revise the letter 100 times.
And then I will put it in the mail along with all of our Husker paraphernalia that we are mailing them as Christmas gifts. Even though we are Iowa Hawkeye fans, but they wouldn't understand why we are sending Iowa stuff for gifts when we live in Nebraska.
And I will hope for the best.
8.19.2010
Popcorn, it's what's for dinner!
Disclaimer (i.e. EXCUSES): My husband and I both work 45+ hrs a week, Mon - Fri (I also work every Sat. morning) and commute 1 hour every day. I like to say we're very "busy", some might dare to consider me lazy, but truthfully I just hate cooking.
Tonight on the dinner menu - popcorn. Yes, that's right. Popcorn. James popped his version on the stove with oil and fancy flavored salt. I used the air popper (no dishes) and melted butter over the top. It was a buffet of popcorn.
"Dinner's ready!!" I yelled. The stomping of hungry kids running through the house became louder and louder as they approached. "What are we having?" A famished growing pre-teened called out? "POPCORN! YAAAAYYY!" I said with the biggest & proudest smile on my face that I could muster. The thudding of feet stopped instantly, groans and then "but I'm hungry!" "Well eat up!" I said cheerfully! Because when you are cheerful, it's more annoying to your children when it's so obvious to everyone you are in the process of a total failure moment.
"Can we make our own dinner?"
"Sure dude. Go for it."
"They scavenger around the kitchen. My oldest says to her friend who is standing there nibbling on tonights dinner straight from the bowl, "let's go to your house."
James and I laugh. They leave. We eat a bowl of popcorn. Soon the kids are back. Nothing to eat over there either. They settle for a bag of alfredo noodles courtesy of Knoll Pasta Sides with a side of popcorn. I offer to make them a PBJ, but they decline.
I swear up and down that my kids will probably grow up to think we were so poor we couldn't afford dinner. But seriously, I just hate cooking. I don't totally fail every night mind you. James cooks a lot too. And when the mood really strikes me I will spend an entire weekend marathon cooking in bulk, just to avoid the nightly hassle of wondering what in the hell to feed my family. The last time I did it, we had dinner for 8 weeks prepared and in the freezer. My kids were in heaven and I had no dinner stress for 2 months. Talk about AWESOME!
What daily chore would you do anything to avoid? And have you ever passed off popcorn as dinner?
Tonight on the dinner menu - popcorn. Yes, that's right. Popcorn. James popped his version on the stove with oil and fancy flavored salt. I used the air popper (no dishes) and melted butter over the top. It was a buffet of popcorn.
"Dinner's ready!!" I yelled. The stomping of hungry kids running through the house became louder and louder as they approached. "What are we having?" A famished growing pre-teened called out? "POPCORN! YAAAAYYY!" I said with the biggest & proudest smile on my face that I could muster. The thudding of feet stopped instantly, groans and then "but I'm hungry!" "Well eat up!" I said cheerfully! Because when you are cheerful, it's more annoying to your children when it's so obvious to everyone you are in the process of a total failure moment.
"Can we make our own dinner?"
"Sure dude. Go for it."
"They scavenger around the kitchen. My oldest says to her friend who is standing there nibbling on tonights dinner straight from the bowl, "let's go to your house."
James and I laugh. They leave. We eat a bowl of popcorn. Soon the kids are back. Nothing to eat over there either. They settle for a bag of alfredo noodles courtesy of Knoll Pasta Sides with a side of popcorn. I offer to make them a PBJ, but they decline.
I swear up and down that my kids will probably grow up to think we were so poor we couldn't afford dinner. But seriously, I just hate cooking. I don't totally fail every night mind you. James cooks a lot too. And when the mood really strikes me I will spend an entire weekend marathon cooking in bulk, just to avoid the nightly hassle of wondering what in the hell to feed my family. The last time I did it, we had dinner for 8 weeks prepared and in the freezer. My kids were in heaven and I had no dinner stress for 2 months. Talk about AWESOME!
What daily chore would you do anything to avoid? And have you ever passed off popcorn as dinner?
8.18.2010
Freaked out by Freedom??
When I was younger - and we'll just guesstimate age as being anywhere between 10 and 15 - I would get up on any given summer day whenever I pleased. Maybe watch a little TV, pour a bowl of cereal, get bored enough to wander outside. We did have phones back then, but they were attached to the kitchen wall. I may have used it to call my bff to see what was up for the day but more than likely I probably just voluntarily walked over to her house.
My dad was a school teacher, so although not working during these fine summer months of blissful freedom, he wasn't exactly making ass prints in the couch. That man was always doing SOMETHING - fishing, golfing, mowing, tinkering. I'm sure most of the time my whereabouts were anyone's guess. If he was around I was always sure to shout "I'M GOING TO AMY'S HOUSE" just before the door slammed.
I came home when I was hungry, thirsty, needed to pee, or just generally wanted to come home for whatever reason. We didn't do anything too terribly bad. I remember lighting a few dry leaves on fire once. I stuffed them into a glass jar and threw a match in and watched them burn, then burn out, and then I'd start all over again. Even then my memory tells me I had permission as long as I didn't start the grass on fire. True rebellion didn't really hit until about the age of 16 - which is another post all together.
We had a black top road that lead straight through town and out into the country. Every now and then we would ride our bikes out a few miles and turn back, just to kill time. Pretty sure the only people that knew we were out there were the farmers that passed us in their pick up trucks. We swam at the local public pool, played at the playground, watched local baseball games, hung out in each other's backyards, pretty much whatever we could find to do with our time.
My childhood was not wrapped in bubble wrap and puffy hearts. I didn't live in Utopia or Mayberry or any other fictional fantastical place. When I was out and about, I could have gotten hurt (and did a few times) - crashed a bike, gotten lost, been approached by a stranger (did that too!). I could have also made a lot of bad choices, as all the choices were mine to make. I could have shoplifted from the corner grocery store, threw eggs at passing cars, drank copious amounts of alcohol or smoked cigarettes behind the school or do all those things they tell you not to do in the "very special episodes" of Growing Pains. But I didn't. Do you know why? Because that dad of mine, who maybe was not riding my ass about what I was doing all day and was certainly not spending his hours entertaining me, had eyes and ears every where. Had he caught wind of anything I was doing that I was not supposed to be doing, I would have been PUNISHED! And punishment was more than time out and no more Frogger on the Atari. It was PUNISHMENT! It was having my dad YELL at me and ask me if I had lost my ever lovin' mind and than depending on the level of absurdity of my decisions a big fat spankin' on the ass and solitary confinement in my room. Punishment and discipline were made of all those things I did not want to happen to me. Not things that were sort of an inconvenience in my day.
My kids have MORE freedom than I ever had - as me and their father work at jobs outside of the home for 40 hours plus commute Monday - Friday. Which leaves them totally unsupervised for 45 hours a week. They do NOTHING with their freedom! It drives me insane. After the 3rd week of summer vacation, I asked them what they are doing with their days aside from chores and watching TV. Their answer was "nothing". "Do you play with friends?" I ask. "Sometimes." "Well what do you DO with friends?" I ask. "Swim or watch TV". And then they gave me this big sob story about how only TWO of their friends live in our neighborhood and when they aren't home, there is NOTHING to do!
I sat down with my kids and looked them straight in the eye and explained the amount of freedom they have. That they are free to make choices for themselves ALL DAY LONG! They can LEAVE THE HOUSE AT WILL! Go, be free, I told them. Do what 11 year olds and 13 year olds do. You have my permission. Just don't mess up.
Speaking of messing up... did you hear about the 3 kids from Florida that got bored one day and hopped a flight to Tennessee with nothing but a whim and $700 cash one of them had in their piggy bank? Seriously! I read this in the newspaper. My first reaction as a parent was "My kid would NEVER do that!" My second reaction was "If my kids ever did that I would KICK THEIR ASS INTO NEXT WEEK." And then my 3rd reaction was "HOW FUCKING AWESOME!" Okay seriously, they were kids 11 - 15 years old - 2 siblings and a friend, left to their own devices and a wad of cash. They decided that they were bored and wanted to fly somewhere, so why not Tennessee? I mean really...why not? So getting through the cab ride, the ticket buying, the security, the boarding without any adult asking any questions, they make it to Tennessee and then realize they only had $40 left in their pocket and no way to get back. The gig was up, they called mom and dad. Mom and dad appropriately freaked out. The airlines paid for their flights back home and everyone was safe and sound. Can you imagine the stories these kids will have for the first day of school? And the memories they made together as siblings? I've got to say, thankfully, they had the good sense to realize their gig was up and call for help. That's the sign of a good decision maker right there. Granted the decision that got them there was a little flawed but not without merit.
Although I really don't know any more of the story, I might draw some totally biased and unfounded conclusions. Conclusions that these kids got in a lot of trouble when they got home. The parents were probably somewhere between hugging them to death and strangling them. The kids' reign of freedom is probably over for a while. Their bank accounts probably frozen for a bit.
But isn't it awesome that they had the sense of adventure to even THINK about doing it? And then THINK that is might even be POSSIBLE! I mean, so many parents, teachers, school administrators are so overly obsessed with the absolute dangers that lurk in society that the term "lock down" is now written in every school handbook across the nation. Kids walking to school unsupervised is absolutely unheard of, should they be snatched up and put into a scary white van. After-school care is the norm, often in places that also practice "lock down" and scheduled snacking. It's as if we've all given up on common sense and think that the world is so scary that we can't even let a 12 year old walk to her own home and shut the door behind her. But instead of teaching them right from wrong, instilling a sense of responsibility and trust in their decisions, allowing them to make mistakes and learning from their mistakes - we hover.
The lessons we used to learn at the age of 12 are now being learned later in life. And the whole growing up process is taking longer. What I really want to know is when did everyone get so freaked out by freedom? There aren't more "bad guys" now than there were 25 - 30 years ago. The problem is that our media just feeds us every bad thing that ever happens to anybody, 24 hours a day. 30 years ago, we probably would not have heard about a child being abducted or a gang shooting 4 states away, but now we hear it almost the minute it happens. And then we keep hearing it for days and weeks afterward. We see the trials on TV, then they make it into a Lifetime movie for us to relive AGAIN!
Sure the world seems scarier. We have more information now than we ever did before. And we can use that information to make choices about our lives. And we can also use that information to help our children make choices about THEIR lives. Because isn't that the whole point? To raise a child to be an independent, self sufficient adult?
Do you let your kids have freedom? I mean - REAL freedom? Do you think it's wise to allow a 12 year old to make her own bacon for lunch - unsupervised? Mine did today.
My dad was a school teacher, so although not working during these fine summer months of blissful freedom, he wasn't exactly making ass prints in the couch. That man was always doing SOMETHING - fishing, golfing, mowing, tinkering. I'm sure most of the time my whereabouts were anyone's guess. If he was around I was always sure to shout "I'M GOING TO AMY'S HOUSE" just before the door slammed.
I came home when I was hungry, thirsty, needed to pee, or just generally wanted to come home for whatever reason. We didn't do anything too terribly bad. I remember lighting a few dry leaves on fire once. I stuffed them into a glass jar and threw a match in and watched them burn, then burn out, and then I'd start all over again. Even then my memory tells me I had permission as long as I didn't start the grass on fire. True rebellion didn't really hit until about the age of 16 - which is another post all together.
We had a black top road that lead straight through town and out into the country. Every now and then we would ride our bikes out a few miles and turn back, just to kill time. Pretty sure the only people that knew we were out there were the farmers that passed us in their pick up trucks. We swam at the local public pool, played at the playground, watched local baseball games, hung out in each other's backyards, pretty much whatever we could find to do with our time.
My childhood was not wrapped in bubble wrap and puffy hearts. I didn't live in Utopia or Mayberry or any other fictional fantastical place. When I was out and about, I could have gotten hurt (and did a few times) - crashed a bike, gotten lost, been approached by a stranger (did that too!). I could have also made a lot of bad choices, as all the choices were mine to make. I could have shoplifted from the corner grocery store, threw eggs at passing cars, drank copious amounts of alcohol or smoked cigarettes behind the school or do all those things they tell you not to do in the "very special episodes" of Growing Pains. But I didn't. Do you know why? Because that dad of mine, who maybe was not riding my ass about what I was doing all day and was certainly not spending his hours entertaining me, had eyes and ears every where. Had he caught wind of anything I was doing that I was not supposed to be doing, I would have been PUNISHED! And punishment was more than time out and no more Frogger on the Atari. It was PUNISHMENT! It was having my dad YELL at me and ask me if I had lost my ever lovin' mind and than depending on the level of absurdity of my decisions a big fat spankin' on the ass and solitary confinement in my room. Punishment and discipline were made of all those things I did not want to happen to me. Not things that were sort of an inconvenience in my day.
My kids have MORE freedom than I ever had - as me and their father work at jobs outside of the home for 40 hours plus commute Monday - Friday. Which leaves them totally unsupervised for 45 hours a week. They do NOTHING with their freedom! It drives me insane. After the 3rd week of summer vacation, I asked them what they are doing with their days aside from chores and watching TV. Their answer was "nothing". "Do you play with friends?" I ask. "Sometimes." "Well what do you DO with friends?" I ask. "Swim or watch TV". And then they gave me this big sob story about how only TWO of their friends live in our neighborhood and when they aren't home, there is NOTHING to do!
I sat down with my kids and looked them straight in the eye and explained the amount of freedom they have. That they are free to make choices for themselves ALL DAY LONG! They can LEAVE THE HOUSE AT WILL! Go, be free, I told them. Do what 11 year olds and 13 year olds do. You have my permission. Just don't mess up.
Speaking of messing up... did you hear about the 3 kids from Florida that got bored one day and hopped a flight to Tennessee with nothing but a whim and $700 cash one of them had in their piggy bank? Seriously! I read this in the newspaper. My first reaction as a parent was "My kid would NEVER do that!" My second reaction was "If my kids ever did that I would KICK THEIR ASS INTO NEXT WEEK." And then my 3rd reaction was "HOW FUCKING AWESOME!" Okay seriously, they were kids 11 - 15 years old - 2 siblings and a friend, left to their own devices and a wad of cash. They decided that they were bored and wanted to fly somewhere, so why not Tennessee? I mean really...why not? So getting through the cab ride, the ticket buying, the security, the boarding without any adult asking any questions, they make it to Tennessee and then realize they only had $40 left in their pocket and no way to get back. The gig was up, they called mom and dad. Mom and dad appropriately freaked out. The airlines paid for their flights back home and everyone was safe and sound. Can you imagine the stories these kids will have for the first day of school? And the memories they made together as siblings? I've got to say, thankfully, they had the good sense to realize their gig was up and call for help. That's the sign of a good decision maker right there. Granted the decision that got them there was a little flawed but not without merit.
Although I really don't know any more of the story, I might draw some totally biased and unfounded conclusions. Conclusions that these kids got in a lot of trouble when they got home. The parents were probably somewhere between hugging them to death and strangling them. The kids' reign of freedom is probably over for a while. Their bank accounts probably frozen for a bit.
But isn't it awesome that they had the sense of adventure to even THINK about doing it? And then THINK that is might even be POSSIBLE! I mean, so many parents, teachers, school administrators are so overly obsessed with the absolute dangers that lurk in society that the term "lock down" is now written in every school handbook across the nation. Kids walking to school unsupervised is absolutely unheard of, should they be snatched up and put into a scary white van. After-school care is the norm, often in places that also practice "lock down" and scheduled snacking. It's as if we've all given up on common sense and think that the world is so scary that we can't even let a 12 year old walk to her own home and shut the door behind her. But instead of teaching them right from wrong, instilling a sense of responsibility and trust in their decisions, allowing them to make mistakes and learning from their mistakes - we hover.
The lessons we used to learn at the age of 12 are now being learned later in life. And the whole growing up process is taking longer. What I really want to know is when did everyone get so freaked out by freedom? There aren't more "bad guys" now than there were 25 - 30 years ago. The problem is that our media just feeds us every bad thing that ever happens to anybody, 24 hours a day. 30 years ago, we probably would not have heard about a child being abducted or a gang shooting 4 states away, but now we hear it almost the minute it happens. And then we keep hearing it for days and weeks afterward. We see the trials on TV, then they make it into a Lifetime movie for us to relive AGAIN!
Sure the world seems scarier. We have more information now than we ever did before. And we can use that information to make choices about our lives. And we can also use that information to help our children make choices about THEIR lives. Because isn't that the whole point? To raise a child to be an independent, self sufficient adult?
Do you let your kids have freedom? I mean - REAL freedom? Do you think it's wise to allow a 12 year old to make her own bacon for lunch - unsupervised? Mine did today.
8.17.2010
7 Truths
This is where I state 7 random truths about myself - a little "get to know ya" session if you will. Where to start... where to start... Well let's start with the basics I guess!
1. I am married to the most fantabulous man ever. And I'm not just saying that. He spoils me and my friends are disgusted by it.
2. I do not use real names, dates or locations in this blog, but everything else is true. LOL I fear that my kids in the not too distant future will become much more web savvy than I and stumble upon this blog and be scared for life.
3. I am a Daddy's girl through and through - probably the reason my husband HAS to spoil me so. I've grown accustom to it.
4. I love the food that I love and hate all other foods.
5. I ran my first 1/2 marathon in May and LOVED IT! And want to do it again.
6. The filter between my brain and my mouth often times does not work.
7. I love to read swearing, but can't bring myself to write it very often. Even though in my head swearing makes everything funnier. I'm afraid my mom will find my blog and be disappointed in me.
1. I am married to the most fantabulous man ever. And I'm not just saying that. He spoils me and my friends are disgusted by it.
2. I do not use real names, dates or locations in this blog, but everything else is true. LOL I fear that my kids in the not too distant future will become much more web savvy than I and stumble upon this blog and be scared for life.
3. I am a Daddy's girl through and through - probably the reason my husband HAS to spoil me so. I've grown accustom to it.
4. I love the food that I love and hate all other foods.
5. I ran my first 1/2 marathon in May and LOVED IT! And want to do it again.
6. The filter between my brain and my mouth often times does not work.
7. I love to read swearing, but can't bring myself to write it very often. Even though in my head swearing makes everything funnier. I'm afraid my mom will find my blog and be disappointed in me.
8.16.2010
Becoming a Mother - an essay from long ago
I’ve become a mother, three times now. Each time, motherhood came bearing gifts like the welcome wagon of life. Sometimes tucked in underneath the obvious gifts were other things I didn’t know I even needed and some I certainly thought I never wanted.
The first time motherhood came knocking, I didn’t see her coming. She parked a few blocks a way, dressed in camouflage and moved swiftly though the night. And when I least expected it, she showed up with a baseball bat and mugged me. She took things like late night parties, eating popcorn for dinner and my one bedroom apartment. She took them and replaced them with shot gun wedding plans, baby showers and a 3 bedroom home in the suburbs. These were things I did not want! These were things that were supposed to come later, after I met Mr. Right, after we honeymooned in Hawaii and after I became a big-time career woman with designer suits and a Gucci briefcase. Not to mention I had professed to anyone who would listen that I would NEVER have children. Children were needy and I wasn’t responsible enough to keep anyone else alive, let alone HAPPY! But motherhood came anyway, uninvited, unannounced and unwanted. Less than 3 months after my daughter was born, I quit my job because it wasn’t “family friendly”, I traded my two door car for a four door sedan and the first Christmas tree we ever had as a family was filled with toys and tiny outfits all wrapped up as though she was the only person on Earth that mattered.
I always think to myself how it wasn’t really James and I that made us a family, it was Christine. She gets the credit for saving me from a life that I never knew I didn’t even want. Christine gets the distinction of making me a mother, making me see outside of myself, giving me the courage to stand up for what I know is right in the name of setting the bar high for her. That is the gift that was tucked underneath, the one I didn’t see when Motherhood came knocking.
The second time Motherhood arrive, she was a welcome and invited guest. She couldn’t get here fast enough. We sent the invitation by priority mail. And let me tell you, once she got that invitation, she must have taken the first flight to town. This time I was sure there would be no room for surprises in her little basket. How could she really surprise us, I mean, we were holding the door open for her, there would be no surprises.
Everything about our lives centered on our child. Sharp corners were padded, the cupboards were full of little plastic plates and cups, the laundry was full of little clothes, everything was miniature. There were little baby dolls and tiny pots and pans. We had a little kitchen and a little toilet. We were knee deep in little. And when Jayne arrived, well she was little too.
Jayne was just what we wanted. First she was a girl and I really wanted a girl. I wanted Christine to have a sister and I wanted to watch them grow up together. I wanted to see that they were friends and I wanted them to need each other as much as I needed them. When Jayne got here it was as if we were just waiting for her so we could start our real lives.
Nearly 7 years later, I can still say all of that is true. They are best friends when they want to be. They share a room and share secrets and share a love of all things gross. And as hard as it is for me to remember some days, they aren’t the same. They don’t have the same personality, they don’t really look the same, they don’t act the same, they don’t excel at the same subjects. They are completely and utterly unique human beings. And for as much as Christine is like me, Jayne is the exact opposite. She is loud and funny and forgetful. She is confident and artistic and friendly. And she makes me remember that being a little bit crazy and a little bit funny and a little bit ornery is okay too. That not everything has to be planned, not everything has to be perfect. That was the gift we found long after Motherhood left. She had tucked it away in a place she was sure we would find it when we needed it.
The third time Motherhood came we himmed and hawed for several months trying to decide if we wanted her to come back. For one, the guest room had been taken over by the girls. There really wasn’t any room for her if she was going to come and stay. For two, Motherhood can be kind of unpredictable and we liked that we had a predictable kind of life. We had dinner plans most Friday nights with friends of ours. The girls were in school and they had sports and our friends had kids the same age. It was a life we had come accustomed too. But in the end, we decided that we kind of missed seeing our old friend, so we sent the invitation off.
She must have missed us too, because she showed up the next day. We had to rearrange some stuff, the girls got bunk beds and we got rid of enough stuff so we could make room for her. She was fun to have around. The girls had never met her before. They asked her a lot of questions about why she was here and what she was doing and how long she was staying and exactly what she was leaving us. This time, I knew there would be surprises. I knew from experience that I would find them, one by one, when the time was right.
I probably haven’t found them all yet, but one of them was that we all need to slow down a little bit. That dinner every Friday night with friends will come back when Jax is older, but for now, Friday nights are a lot like Wednesday nights. We make supper and give baths and go to bed at 10 o’clock. We play on the floor and watch TV. Sometimes we play games with the girls too. Sometimes we just crash on the couch. That just hanging out together can be fun too. That watching your older children make your younger children laugh is something you wish you could put in a jar and keep forever. That for right now this is what life is all about.
I’m sure in a few months I will stumble across some more hidden treasure that Motherhood left me. I’m hoping that some of them show me what being the mother of a little boy is really like. And I’m hoping it’s a complete surprise.
The first time motherhood came knocking, I didn’t see her coming. She parked a few blocks a way, dressed in camouflage and moved swiftly though the night. And when I least expected it, she showed up with a baseball bat and mugged me. She took things like late night parties, eating popcorn for dinner and my one bedroom apartment. She took them and replaced them with shot gun wedding plans, baby showers and a 3 bedroom home in the suburbs. These were things I did not want! These were things that were supposed to come later, after I met Mr. Right, after we honeymooned in Hawaii and after I became a big-time career woman with designer suits and a Gucci briefcase. Not to mention I had professed to anyone who would listen that I would NEVER have children. Children were needy and I wasn’t responsible enough to keep anyone else alive, let alone HAPPY! But motherhood came anyway, uninvited, unannounced and unwanted. Less than 3 months after my daughter was born, I quit my job because it wasn’t “family friendly”, I traded my two door car for a four door sedan and the first Christmas tree we ever had as a family was filled with toys and tiny outfits all wrapped up as though she was the only person on Earth that mattered.
I always think to myself how it wasn’t really James and I that made us a family, it was Christine. She gets the credit for saving me from a life that I never knew I didn’t even want. Christine gets the distinction of making me a mother, making me see outside of myself, giving me the courage to stand up for what I know is right in the name of setting the bar high for her. That is the gift that was tucked underneath, the one I didn’t see when Motherhood came knocking.
The second time Motherhood arrive, she was a welcome and invited guest. She couldn’t get here fast enough. We sent the invitation by priority mail. And let me tell you, once she got that invitation, she must have taken the first flight to town. This time I was sure there would be no room for surprises in her little basket. How could she really surprise us, I mean, we were holding the door open for her, there would be no surprises.
Everything about our lives centered on our child. Sharp corners were padded, the cupboards were full of little plastic plates and cups, the laundry was full of little clothes, everything was miniature. There were little baby dolls and tiny pots and pans. We had a little kitchen and a little toilet. We were knee deep in little. And when Jayne arrived, well she was little too.
Jayne was just what we wanted. First she was a girl and I really wanted a girl. I wanted Christine to have a sister and I wanted to watch them grow up together. I wanted to see that they were friends and I wanted them to need each other as much as I needed them. When Jayne got here it was as if we were just waiting for her so we could start our real lives.
Nearly 7 years later, I can still say all of that is true. They are best friends when they want to be. They share a room and share secrets and share a love of all things gross. And as hard as it is for me to remember some days, they aren’t the same. They don’t have the same personality, they don’t really look the same, they don’t act the same, they don’t excel at the same subjects. They are completely and utterly unique human beings. And for as much as Christine is like me, Jayne is the exact opposite. She is loud and funny and forgetful. She is confident and artistic and friendly. And she makes me remember that being a little bit crazy and a little bit funny and a little bit ornery is okay too. That not everything has to be planned, not everything has to be perfect. That was the gift we found long after Motherhood left. She had tucked it away in a place she was sure we would find it when we needed it.
The third time Motherhood came we himmed and hawed for several months trying to decide if we wanted her to come back. For one, the guest room had been taken over by the girls. There really wasn’t any room for her if she was going to come and stay. For two, Motherhood can be kind of unpredictable and we liked that we had a predictable kind of life. We had dinner plans most Friday nights with friends of ours. The girls were in school and they had sports and our friends had kids the same age. It was a life we had come accustomed too. But in the end, we decided that we kind of missed seeing our old friend, so we sent the invitation off.
She must have missed us too, because she showed up the next day. We had to rearrange some stuff, the girls got bunk beds and we got rid of enough stuff so we could make room for her. She was fun to have around. The girls had never met her before. They asked her a lot of questions about why she was here and what she was doing and how long she was staying and exactly what she was leaving us. This time, I knew there would be surprises. I knew from experience that I would find them, one by one, when the time was right.
I probably haven’t found them all yet, but one of them was that we all need to slow down a little bit. That dinner every Friday night with friends will come back when Jax is older, but for now, Friday nights are a lot like Wednesday nights. We make supper and give baths and go to bed at 10 o’clock. We play on the floor and watch TV. Sometimes we play games with the girls too. Sometimes we just crash on the couch. That just hanging out together can be fun too. That watching your older children make your younger children laugh is something you wish you could put in a jar and keep forever. That for right now this is what life is all about.
I’m sure in a few months I will stumble across some more hidden treasure that Motherhood left me. I’m hoping that some of them show me what being the mother of a little boy is really like. And I’m hoping it’s a complete surprise.
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