A father is one who conceives a child. That's the easy and fun part. Turn on any daytime talk show on any given day and you'll hear at some point in the show, the host's announcement of "You ARE the father." But usually those who are receiving that announcement are only getting the confirmation that they have made a child, and they have yet to be more than a father and to be a dad.
But what makes a father a dad? A dad is there when the baby smells like powder. A dad is there when the baby doesn't smell so nice. A dad is there when his child begins to eat real food. A dad is there when his child throws it all up. A dad is there when his child is healthy. A dad is there when his child is covered in chicken pox or up all night with a bad cough. A dad is there when his child learns to ride a bike. A dad is there when his child falls off that bike and is crying because of skinned knees. A dad is there when his child comes home from school with smiley faces and "A's" on his or her homework. A dad is there when his child comes home with his or her first "F". A dad is there for the parent-teacher conferences where the teacher raves about what a great student and child he or she is. A dad is there for the conferences that don't go quite so well. A dad rejoices with his child when he or she gets the winning run, the winning goal or the winning touchdown. A dad comforts his child when he or she misses the catch or the pass and feels like a failure. A dad is there when his child gets his or her license. A dad is there when that same child gets his or her first speeding ticket or is in an accident. A dad is there for the school dances, the first boy or girlfriend, the first date, the graduation, the first job, the wedding, the birth of a grandchild, the joys, the tears, the ups, the downs.
A stepfather is one who marries a woman who already has a child with another. He becomes the stepfather to that child. Sometimes this is a very sticky situation for the stepfather. His stepchild already has a father. If the father is involved in the child's life, it can be tough on the stepfather who is with the child every day and is many times "the everyday father". However, some fathers don't appreciate the difficult role of the stepfather and don't understand that the stepfather is also now in a parenting role of his child. But the stepfather loves the mother and wants to help her by helping to take care of her child, loving, providing and disciplining. A good father and a good stepfather are good dads and good stepdads when they realize that they are co-parenting, not trying to take one job away from the other, but simply just another parent who loves the child. And a child can never have enough love. Stepdads are there for all the times that the dad is there, and they love that child as their own. And the dad should get that and appreciate the assistance. My husband and I married when my son was 7, and there have been many times that my son's father has said that he appreciates my husband and is thankful for him being there for his son, and for that we are all fortunate in that we can see the bigger picture of working together as parents. My husband and I have 2 children together, and he loves all 3 of my children the same, as if they were all 3 his own. He provides and cares for them and is there for all of the above occasions. Next Sunday we will celebrate Father's Day, and they will both be there, my son's father with his own family, and my husband with us. Co-parenting for the greater good of the child...because he is loved by both his dads.
My thoughts today are also with the dads who are parenting alone, whether by choice or not by choice. I think in particular of two very special dads who lost their wives, the mothers of their children. These dads have had to become both mother and father and have worked hard to make the transition as smooth as possible for their children, by keeping their schedules, their activities and their hopes and dreams going. Through their own grief and their own tears, they have devoted their lives to continue the parenting plan they had made with their wives for the children and to ensure that their children still have plenty of reasons every day to smile and laugh. God bless you for all that you dads do.
So today I would like to honor the fathers who are dads, the stepfathers who are stepdads and the fathers who have the very tough job of being moms and dads. I would like to honor my dad who has always been there, when I've made him happy and when I've disappointed him. I knew he loved me the same during both of those times, and I never doubted his love, his support and his prayers for me. I would like to honor my son's dad for loving him enough to share him with my husband. I would like to honor my husband who I respect and admire every day for the gentle and quiet ways he shows his love and care for our children, all 3 of them.
Happy Father's Day to all you DADS for all you do and all you are!
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
What would you do?
There's a term called the "bucket list". The "bucket list" is a list, written or mental, which includes all of the things you would like to do before your time on earth ends. But what would you do if one day you were told that there was a distinct end, a light at the end of the tunnel if you will, or a limited time left here on earth? Would you make amends with someone with whom you had parted ways? Would you spend as much time as you could with those you loved, doing the things you love? Would you become the daredevil you always wanted to be? Would you go bungee jumping? Skydiving? Parasailing? Would you get a tattoo? Would you travel and visit all the places you always thought you'd have the time to visit? Would you make sure you never missed a single chance to tell your loved ones that you love them?
I've been thinking of my own "bucket list". I've gone parasailing. I've always wanted to go hang gliding. I've always wanted to go to Italy and Hawaii. I'd love to take my parents and all my siblings and their families to Disney World. I'd like to just walk the beach holding hands with my husband and children, kicking our feet in the water as we walked, and NOT picking seaweed off our ankles or from in between our toes. I'd like to get a tattoo, and I just did that. I'd call a former friend and apologize for the mean letter I sent her when she hurt me. I'd like to get together with old friends and laugh and reminisce about good times. But mostly I'd like to spend every moment making memories, memories to treasure in my heart to carry me through dark times, and memories to leave in the hearts of those I'd be leaving behind.
It's hard to think about things like this, much in the way it seems morbid to make a will or to talk about who you would want to raise your children if you were no longer here to do the job. But why does it take receiving a death sentence to make us live? Why don't we do these things each and every day? Why don't we say "I love you" more often? Why don't we make more of an effort to spend time with our families and friends? Why don't we build memories now?
There is a saying that I like that says "Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children". It's so true...what kind of memories are we giving our children? What kind of stories will they someday share with their children about what it was like when they were children living with us?
Tim McGraw sings "Live like you were dying", and maybe we should. No one knows when their last day is so why waste a single minute? Life here on earth has so much to offer, there is so much to see, so many things to do, and so many people to love and treat well and memories to be made every day.
I'm going to work on making memories, leaving good memories in the hearts and minds of my children, never missing an opportunity to say "I love you" and maybe, just maybe, go hang gliding in Hawaii someday.
I've been thinking of my own "bucket list". I've gone parasailing. I've always wanted to go hang gliding. I've always wanted to go to Italy and Hawaii. I'd love to take my parents and all my siblings and their families to Disney World. I'd like to just walk the beach holding hands with my husband and children, kicking our feet in the water as we walked, and NOT picking seaweed off our ankles or from in between our toes. I'd like to get a tattoo, and I just did that. I'd call a former friend and apologize for the mean letter I sent her when she hurt me. I'd like to get together with old friends and laugh and reminisce about good times. But mostly I'd like to spend every moment making memories, memories to treasure in my heart to carry me through dark times, and memories to leave in the hearts of those I'd be leaving behind.
It's hard to think about things like this, much in the way it seems morbid to make a will or to talk about who you would want to raise your children if you were no longer here to do the job. But why does it take receiving a death sentence to make us live? Why don't we do these things each and every day? Why don't we say "I love you" more often? Why don't we make more of an effort to spend time with our families and friends? Why don't we build memories now?
There is a saying that I like that says "Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children". It's so true...what kind of memories are we giving our children? What kind of stories will they someday share with their children about what it was like when they were children living with us?
Tim McGraw sings "Live like you were dying", and maybe we should. No one knows when their last day is so why waste a single minute? Life here on earth has so much to offer, there is so much to see, so many things to do, and so many people to love and treat well and memories to be made every day.
I'm going to work on making memories, leaving good memories in the hearts and minds of my children, never missing an opportunity to say "I love you" and maybe, just maybe, go hang gliding in Hawaii someday.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Fun Friday!
Today was the best Fun Friday ever. For those of you who don't read my blog regularly, there will be some references to previous blogs so let me catch you up to speed.
Fun Friday originated at work between me and my co-worker Hailyn. Fun Friday is a day that you wear jeans, order a really good lunch, and by really good, I mean really bad in terms of healthy eating. Some Fun Fridays even begin with chips 'n dip that we buy from the convenience store across the street at 10 AM. But there's always bad eating, that's a given. Sometimes we even go out for a long lunch, with the boss's permission, mind you, or the boss buys us lunch. The other definite of Fun Friday is doing little work, unless you count shopping online or watching music videos on YouTube as work. Yes, there is also dance music playing, rather loudly at times, and dancing in our cubicles. Fun Friday is, in a nutshell, FUN!
The only downer to Fun Friday is when others don't understand the concept of Fun Friday. For example, our other co-worker is a little bit of a downer, all right, I'm being nice, she IS a downer. She doesn't wear jeans EVER, doesn't eat bad food, and if she ever feels evil enough to order with us, she hardly eats anything and tells us repeatedly how her meal is going to last her all weekend while we shovel the entire meal into our mouths and then immediately thereafter begin talking about how we need something sweet to polish off the meal and thereby enhance the fun that is Fun Friday. The downer also almost always has a "boo boo belly" which is fancy talk for an upset stomach, and from previous blogs, you will have learned that every time she says "boo boo belly", it is like nails on a chalkboard to me. She is also a hard worker and ALWAYS overwhelmed with work, but it is work that no one can help her with. I know because I have asked in an effort to make her more fun. So picture Hailyn and I eating, dancing, laughing and shopping while she runs around from computer to copier to file cabinet all while complaining of a "boo boo belly" and wearing dress-up clothes. DOWNER! There are also clients who don't understand Fun Friday, and they show up or call, expecting us to take messages or make appointments for them or listen to their tales of woe, self-inflicted tales of woe, mind you, as there would be no tale to tell if they didn't get in trouble in the first place for their own wrongdoing.
The other thing you need to know is that I have been trying to get past my aversion to exercising and have been spending a lot of time bonding with my new treadmill. I've only seen a weight loss of 5 lbs, but have been told I look better so I'm guessing my hard work is paying off.
Now fast forward to today...today being Friday. I took the day off from work. Initially I asked for the day off because I needed to take my son to a doctor's appointment. I thought I could go to the mall before picking him up at 11, and spend my Christmas and Mother's Day gift cards. However, the mall didn't open until 10, and that wasn't going to allow enough time. So although I had the day off, I wasn't thinking I would be able to observe the weekly holiday known as Fun Friday.
So this morning I was awakened by my husband telling me that he was taking his motorcycle to work and Jake would take his car to work so that I didn't have to bring Jake to his doctor's appointment. Bonus! Now I could go to the mall. So as I lay in bed, I planned my Fun Friday. I got Nathan and Allie on the bus and off to school; we average MAKING the bus in the morning maybe twice a week, so this was already a plus. I then came home, threw in a load of laundry and baked a cake as my husband of almost 13 years had just announced the other day that his favorite dessert was chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Staying with the positive theme of Fun Friday, it's good to learn something new about your spouse after all these years, right? I'm not a bad wife for not knowing that, right?
Then I headed to the mall which is just under an hour away. Oh yeah, I was also having a good hair day. On the way to the mall, I heard all my favorite songs which I sang at the top of my lungs. My first stop was DSW. I had never been to DSW which is SHOE HEAVEN!!!
I didn't know where to begin, but then saw my favorite sign "Clearance" so headed to my size. DSW isn't cheap, and for someone who doesn't like to pay more than $20 for any item, this was the section for me. I found 2 pairs of shoes here and then began to walk the hundreds (all right maybe more like 40) of aisles of regular-priced shoes where I found another pair. I paid with my gift card and coupons and ended up leaving with $10 left on my gift card for a future visit. Then it was off to Macy's to spend my other gift card. I was in search of pants for work, Monday thru Thursday pants, in other words, not jeans. I found 2 pairs in my size that were regularly $98 but were 80% off which would have made me buy them just for that but then the best thing happened. I tried them on, and they were TOO BIG! After a quick thank you to my treadmill for not bucking me off anymore, I returned them to the rack and grabbed the next size down. I then found 2 cute summer tops and headed to the cashier. I went over my gift card by $7, but I gladly paid it for my smaller-sized clothes.
Then I headed home, windows open, good hair blowing in the cool breeze, sunglasses on, again hearing my favorite songs on the radio, singing along, pleased with my new purchases and looking forward to my daughter's concert at school at 2:00, and then it happened. Something that could potentially be a literal buzzkill to Fun Friday...a bee flew into my open window and flew into my shirt. I pulled my shirt out and could see it and feel it flying in my armpit. I tried to reach it through my shirt to no avail so I ripped off my seatbelt, ripped off my shirt and began beating the bee until it could fly no more. It was then time to get off on my exit so I figured I would just put my shirt back on while on the exit ramp. Then a car began to pass me, and I thought, "Oh great!" I looked over and a nice young man, who was clearly in need of an eye exam, gave me a big smile and a thumbs-up. So see, nothing bad really ever happens on Fun Friday!
The only downer to Fun Friday is when others don't understand the concept of Fun Friday. For example, our other co-worker is a little bit of a downer, all right, I'm being nice, she IS a downer. She doesn't wear jeans EVER, doesn't eat bad food, and if she ever feels evil enough to order with us, she hardly eats anything and tells us repeatedly how her meal is going to last her all weekend while we shovel the entire meal into our mouths and then immediately thereafter begin talking about how we need something sweet to polish off the meal and thereby enhance the fun that is Fun Friday. The downer also almost always has a "boo boo belly" which is fancy talk for an upset stomach, and from previous blogs, you will have learned that every time she says "boo boo belly", it is like nails on a chalkboard to me. She is also a hard worker and ALWAYS overwhelmed with work, but it is work that no one can help her with. I know because I have asked in an effort to make her more fun. So picture Hailyn and I eating, dancing, laughing and shopping while she runs around from computer to copier to file cabinet all while complaining of a "boo boo belly" and wearing dress-up clothes. DOWNER! There are also clients who don't understand Fun Friday, and they show up or call, expecting us to take messages or make appointments for them or listen to their tales of woe, self-inflicted tales of woe, mind you, as there would be no tale to tell if they didn't get in trouble in the first place for their own wrongdoing.
The other thing you need to know is that I have been trying to get past my aversion to exercising and have been spending a lot of time bonding with my new treadmill. I've only seen a weight loss of 5 lbs, but have been told I look better so I'm guessing my hard work is paying off.
Now fast forward to today...today being Friday. I took the day off from work. Initially I asked for the day off because I needed to take my son to a doctor's appointment. I thought I could go to the mall before picking him up at 11, and spend my Christmas and Mother's Day gift cards. However, the mall didn't open until 10, and that wasn't going to allow enough time. So although I had the day off, I wasn't thinking I would be able to observe the weekly holiday known as Fun Friday.
So this morning I was awakened by my husband telling me that he was taking his motorcycle to work and Jake would take his car to work so that I didn't have to bring Jake to his doctor's appointment. Bonus! Now I could go to the mall. So as I lay in bed, I planned my Fun Friday. I got Nathan and Allie on the bus and off to school; we average MAKING the bus in the morning maybe twice a week, so this was already a plus. I then came home, threw in a load of laundry and baked a cake as my husband of almost 13 years had just announced the other day that his favorite dessert was chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. Staying with the positive theme of Fun Friday, it's good to learn something new about your spouse after all these years, right? I'm not a bad wife for not knowing that, right?
Then I headed to the mall which is just under an hour away. Oh yeah, I was also having a good hair day. On the way to the mall, I heard all my favorite songs which I sang at the top of my lungs. My first stop was DSW. I had never been to DSW which is SHOE HEAVEN!!!
I didn't know where to begin, but then saw my favorite sign "Clearance" so headed to my size. DSW isn't cheap, and for someone who doesn't like to pay more than $20 for any item, this was the section for me. I found 2 pairs of shoes here and then began to walk the hundreds (all right maybe more like 40) of aisles of regular-priced shoes where I found another pair. I paid with my gift card and coupons and ended up leaving with $10 left on my gift card for a future visit. Then it was off to Macy's to spend my other gift card. I was in search of pants for work, Monday thru Thursday pants, in other words, not jeans. I found 2 pairs in my size that were regularly $98 but were 80% off which would have made me buy them just for that but then the best thing happened. I tried them on, and they were TOO BIG! After a quick thank you to my treadmill for not bucking me off anymore, I returned them to the rack and grabbed the next size down. I then found 2 cute summer tops and headed to the cashier. I went over my gift card by $7, but I gladly paid it for my smaller-sized clothes.Then I headed home, windows open, good hair blowing in the cool breeze, sunglasses on, again hearing my favorite songs on the radio, singing along, pleased with my new purchases and looking forward to my daughter's concert at school at 2:00, and then it happened. Something that could potentially be a literal buzzkill to Fun Friday...a bee flew into my open window and flew into my shirt. I pulled my shirt out and could see it and feel it flying in my armpit. I tried to reach it through my shirt to no avail so I ripped off my seatbelt, ripped off my shirt and began beating the bee until it could fly no more. It was then time to get off on my exit so I figured I would just put my shirt back on while on the exit ramp. Then a car began to pass me, and I thought, "Oh great!" I looked over and a nice young man, who was clearly in need of an eye exam, gave me a big smile and a thumbs-up. So see, nothing bad really ever happens on Fun Friday!
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Being the "Other Mother" and Saying Goodbye
I have 3 children to whom I have given birth. Over the years, I have spent a great deal of time with many of their friends as well, and there are certain ones who have spent more time here than others. As a result, I have grown very fond of them and consider them my other children. I have accepted their Facebook friend requests and read their Facebook statuses, rejoicing with them when they are happy, feeling concern when they are sad and worrying when something is bothering them. I try to have these feelings from a distance, particularly for the friends of my oldest son Jake, as they are now young adults and don't want their own parents asking them questions, much less me. But I care nonetheless.
In January one of these other children came to live with us. I always knew the situation would be temporary, but the longer he was here, the more I dreaded the day that he would leave. He wasn't used to living with younger children and wasn't used to my style of mothering that some might call "smothering mothering" or "helicopter" mom behavior. I gave him the rules and also warned him that there would be home-cooked meals, laundry services, annoying "where are you" phone calls, intruding questions and hugs and love. I knew it would be an adjustment for him, and it was. For a month or so, he asked if he could get a drink or snack or take a shower and never ate the suppers I made and left in the refrigerator for him. But gradually, he became more comfortable. He reheated his suppers every night when he came home, he stopped being so polite and showered when he wanted to and felt comfortable to help himself to the fridge and pantry. He also said good night to me every night before he went downstairs to his room.
Yesterday he told me that he was going to be moving back home with his mother, and I'll admit a part of me wanted to say, "But I'm your mother." But I'm not, and no matter how much I love him as my own, I have to let him go. We talked for awhile, he thanked me for everything the way he has done so many times in the past, we talked about his future plans, we promised to still see each other occasionally and said we'd miss each other and when he said "I love you", I said it back with a lump in my throat and fought back the tears. And when we hung up, I felt sad and let the tears fall.
Today after work I went to his room to bring in clean laundry. As I opened the door, I noticed he had been packing, and it hit me...hard. My other son was leaving... and soon. He texted me a little while later to ask if it was okay to start moving some of his things to his mother's, and I wrote back "Sure, but I'm sad." While I was at Nathan's game he called to say he had moved everything out as he had a truck tonight and just did it all in one shot and said he was sorry to have missed me but would stop by. The lump in my throat immediately returned.
When I got home, I went downstairs. The door to his room was open, and I walked in. The room was empty. I stood in the middle of the room and cried. I haven't had to say goodbye to a child who has left for college or who has gone into the military or moved out, and one of my birds had left the nest.
So to my other son...I will miss you, I want nothing but the best for you, and I will always be here for you. Thank you for letting me be your mother even for a short time, thank you for letting me be a part of your life and thank you for being a part of our family. You are important to me, you are special, and I love you.
In January one of these other children came to live with us. I always knew the situation would be temporary, but the longer he was here, the more I dreaded the day that he would leave. He wasn't used to living with younger children and wasn't used to my style of mothering that some might call "smothering mothering" or "helicopter" mom behavior. I gave him the rules and also warned him that there would be home-cooked meals, laundry services, annoying "where are you" phone calls, intruding questions and hugs and love. I knew it would be an adjustment for him, and it was. For a month or so, he asked if he could get a drink or snack or take a shower and never ate the suppers I made and left in the refrigerator for him. But gradually, he became more comfortable. He reheated his suppers every night when he came home, he stopped being so polite and showered when he wanted to and felt comfortable to help himself to the fridge and pantry. He also said good night to me every night before he went downstairs to his room.
Yesterday he told me that he was going to be moving back home with his mother, and I'll admit a part of me wanted to say, "But I'm your mother." But I'm not, and no matter how much I love him as my own, I have to let him go. We talked for awhile, he thanked me for everything the way he has done so many times in the past, we talked about his future plans, we promised to still see each other occasionally and said we'd miss each other and when he said "I love you", I said it back with a lump in my throat and fought back the tears. And when we hung up, I felt sad and let the tears fall.
Today after work I went to his room to bring in clean laundry. As I opened the door, I noticed he had been packing, and it hit me...hard. My other son was leaving... and soon. He texted me a little while later to ask if it was okay to start moving some of his things to his mother's, and I wrote back "Sure, but I'm sad." While I was at Nathan's game he called to say he had moved everything out as he had a truck tonight and just did it all in one shot and said he was sorry to have missed me but would stop by. The lump in my throat immediately returned.
When I got home, I went downstairs. The door to his room was open, and I walked in. The room was empty. I stood in the middle of the room and cried. I haven't had to say goodbye to a child who has left for college or who has gone into the military or moved out, and one of my birds had left the nest.
So to my other son...I will miss you, I want nothing but the best for you, and I will always be here for you. Thank you for letting me be your mother even for a short time, thank you for letting me be a part of your life and thank you for being a part of our family. You are important to me, you are special, and I love you.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Get the Funk Out
I'm in a funk this week. Too many of my loved ones are hurting, and I can't fix them. I am a control freak, and I like to fix things and have everything be good and everyone happy. No drama for this mama, I just can't stand it.
So, being in my funk, I have very random thoughts. I stay up too late, thinking. I drive 2 hours a day, thinking. I stand in the shower, thinking. I walk on the treadmill, thinking. I can't keep my mind on work, I forget why I went into a room or what I was supposed to do, and I have that constant distracted feeling about me.
So today's thoughts started with wondering how I was going to zig zag between Winchendon and Gardner tonight to go to dek hockey (on the W/G line) for 5, then to softball (Winch) for 5:15, then back to dek hockey for 6 and then back to the Winch and then to Gardner for a hockey meeting at 7. Ya, it was too much for me, we skipped dek hockey.
Then my thoughts jumped to words I hate. I was listening to the radio, and the DJ kept saying the word "panties" over and over. I hate that word. Maybe I watch too much Law & Order SVU, but every time they use the word panties it refers to either a sexually abused child or a rape victim. So yeah, I hate that word.
Another word I hate is pantyhose, and maybe because it is a derivative of panties, I don't know, but I don't like it. Is it supposed to mean a pair of panties with hoses hanging off of it for your legs? Like a flat fireman's hose that fills up with water, much the way the legs of pantyhose lie limp until a pair of legs fill them up?
My next hated word is actually a phrase that a coworker uses: "boo boo belly". This is in reference to a stomachache or an upset stomach, but every time she says it, which is almost daily because she has constant stomach issues, it goes through me like nails on a chalkboard, and I feel like she is a grandmother trying to talk to a 2 yr old and explain why the toddler's tummy hurts.
The next two words go together: "blouse" and "slacks". To me they imply old lady clothing, a silky top with a really bad print paired with a polyester pair of pants with an elastic waist. Any time I hear those words, I immediately think ugly, old lady clothes and am reminded of the Blair ads I used to see in the Parade section of the Sunday paper. There is a reason those prices are so low, it is because they are trying to appeal to a Social Security or Retirement salary and...because they are ugly. So if someone says to me "Nice blouse" or "Are those new slacks?", I immediately want to remove the offensive items that immediately feel like they are burning my skin and throw them away or, at the very least, hide them in the back of my closet with the other clothes that I am too kind to throw away because I don't want to hurt their feelings, but there is an understanding that they will not be worn again. I secretly think that even though they know they won't fulfill their destiny in being worn, they are relieved that I have a "no kill policy".
The other side effect of my funk is that while I am disgusted with my body and weight and had all good intentions while grocery shopping over the weekend when I was funk-free, I am now irritated that there is no chocolate in my house. I have pushed past the granola bars, the pretzels and the low-fat crackers in search of chocolate chips. I have moved the cantaloupe, the strawberries and the watermelon in the fridge in search of a possible left over piece of fudge from Christmas. Why, oh why was I so motivated on Sunday when I was at the store? Is it too late, at 11:49 PM on a work night, to whip up a batch of brownies? What time will they be done and cool enough to eat? Too late, I suppose.
It's late, too much thinking, gotta get the funk out, or at least buy a candy bar first thing in the morning.
So, being in my funk, I have very random thoughts. I stay up too late, thinking. I drive 2 hours a day, thinking. I stand in the shower, thinking. I walk on the treadmill, thinking. I can't keep my mind on work, I forget why I went into a room or what I was supposed to do, and I have that constant distracted feeling about me.
So today's thoughts started with wondering how I was going to zig zag between Winchendon and Gardner tonight to go to dek hockey (on the W/G line) for 5, then to softball (Winch) for 5:15, then back to dek hockey for 6 and then back to the Winch and then to Gardner for a hockey meeting at 7. Ya, it was too much for me, we skipped dek hockey.
Then my thoughts jumped to words I hate. I was listening to the radio, and the DJ kept saying the word "panties" over and over. I hate that word. Maybe I watch too much Law & Order SVU, but every time they use the word panties it refers to either a sexually abused child or a rape victim. So yeah, I hate that word.
Another word I hate is pantyhose, and maybe because it is a derivative of panties, I don't know, but I don't like it. Is it supposed to mean a pair of panties with hoses hanging off of it for your legs? Like a flat fireman's hose that fills up with water, much the way the legs of pantyhose lie limp until a pair of legs fill them up?
My next hated word is actually a phrase that a coworker uses: "boo boo belly". This is in reference to a stomachache or an upset stomach, but every time she says it, which is almost daily because she has constant stomach issues, it goes through me like nails on a chalkboard, and I feel like she is a grandmother trying to talk to a 2 yr old and explain why the toddler's tummy hurts.
The next two words go together: "blouse" and "slacks". To me they imply old lady clothing, a silky top with a really bad print paired with a polyester pair of pants with an elastic waist. Any time I hear those words, I immediately think ugly, old lady clothes and am reminded of the Blair ads I used to see in the Parade section of the Sunday paper. There is a reason those prices are so low, it is because they are trying to appeal to a Social Security or Retirement salary and...because they are ugly. So if someone says to me "Nice blouse" or "Are those new slacks?", I immediately want to remove the offensive items that immediately feel like they are burning my skin and throw them away or, at the very least, hide them in the back of my closet with the other clothes that I am too kind to throw away because I don't want to hurt their feelings, but there is an understanding that they will not be worn again. I secretly think that even though they know they won't fulfill their destiny in being worn, they are relieved that I have a "no kill policy".
The other side effect of my funk is that while I am disgusted with my body and weight and had all good intentions while grocery shopping over the weekend when I was funk-free, I am now irritated that there is no chocolate in my house. I have pushed past the granola bars, the pretzels and the low-fat crackers in search of chocolate chips. I have moved the cantaloupe, the strawberries and the watermelon in the fridge in search of a possible left over piece of fudge from Christmas. Why, oh why was I so motivated on Sunday when I was at the store? Is it too late, at 11:49 PM on a work night, to whip up a batch of brownies? What time will they be done and cool enough to eat? Too late, I suppose.
It's late, too much thinking, gotta get the funk out, or at least buy a candy bar first thing in the morning.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Mother's Day Reflections
Yesterday was Mother's Day, a day when we remember our own mothers, our friends and loved ones who are mothers, etc., etc. I got spoiled, spoiled by gifts, beautiful and heartfelt cards, special texts and Facebook messages. But more importantly, I spent time with those I love, and I was reminded of the importance of family.
Being the oldest of 8 children, I always knew I wanted children of my own. I loved the way there was always a sibling home to play with when I was bored, there was always something going on in the house, and it wasn't quiet. And I liked it that way. I loved playing Mommy to my younger siblings, and I know I was bossy, but I liked to feel that I was in charge, too, because I was the oldest. I remember the disappointment of my high school guidance counselor when he tried to convince me to go to a prestigious college because I had such high grades and I told him that I wanted to be a wife and mother and maybe a teacher and that I didn't want to go to an expensive school. He finally gave up on me. Yes, I always wanted to be a Mom, and I have been for almost 20 years. Being a Mother is my greatest joy in this world and my 3 children are my greatest accomplishments. So see, Mr. Daley, I was right, this was what I was meant to do.
I remember being pregnant with my oldest child. I had gone to lamaze classes, had watched the birthing video and had talked with others about pregnancy. But yet, when I woke up one morning with contractions and timed them to be 3 mins. apart for a couple of hours, I thought it would be a piece of cake. I remember waiting until 8 AM to call my mother and telling her that this was so easy. The contractions were already 3 mins apart and didn't even hurt; as a matter of fact, I was playing solitaire killing the time to avoid calling her at the crack of dawn. Well, I went to the hospital 4 times that day, and 3 of those times they sent me home because things weren't happening quickly, and I wasn't in enough pain for them to admit me. By the time they admitted me, I could barely walk or talk through the contractions, which was the criteria they said I needed in order to be allowed to stay and give birth. And by the time my son was born just after midnight, I no longer thought it was a piece of cake, and my solitaire card game was long over.
And the longer I am a mother, I realize that the labor and delivery was the easy part. Once you become a mother, you are responsible for someone, you have a job to do, a person depending on you for their physical needs as well as their emotional needs. It is up to you, the Mother, to show them the way, to do your best to teach manners, to teach responsibility, to teach kindness and respect. Sound like a big responsibility? It is.
That said, all we as Mothers can do, is our best. Will we screw up occasionally? Of course we will. But own it when you do, the same way we expect our children to own up to their wrongdoings. Don't be afraid to say to your child "I don't know" or "I'm sorry" or "That wasn't right of Mommy". Be real, be a person, be human and admit to your wrongdoings. We don't know it all, and we do screw up, and if we can't admit it when we do, then how can we ask that of our children?
I have many hopes and dreams for my children. When they were younger, I wished for them to be polite, have good manners, not hit or bite, and to be respectful. Now that they are older, I still wish all those things for them, but my list has grown. I wish that they be strong, be honest, be true and loyal, always do their best, treat others with kindness and the same respect they want from others, and to be real. Stand up for yourselves, but do it in the right manner. Hold firm to your beliefs, and if you feel strongly about something, be respectful about others' opinions and beliefs, but don't back down if you think you are right. Treat your friends and your boy/girlfriends with dignity, don't lie, be honest about your feelings, even if those feelings differ from theirs and don't leave someone guessing as to their importance in your life.
And most of all, my child, be YOU, because you are special, you are funny, you are kind, you are wonderful, and you are loved.
Being the oldest of 8 children, I always knew I wanted children of my own. I loved the way there was always a sibling home to play with when I was bored, there was always something going on in the house, and it wasn't quiet. And I liked it that way. I loved playing Mommy to my younger siblings, and I know I was bossy, but I liked to feel that I was in charge, too, because I was the oldest. I remember the disappointment of my high school guidance counselor when he tried to convince me to go to a prestigious college because I had such high grades and I told him that I wanted to be a wife and mother and maybe a teacher and that I didn't want to go to an expensive school. He finally gave up on me. Yes, I always wanted to be a Mom, and I have been for almost 20 years. Being a Mother is my greatest joy in this world and my 3 children are my greatest accomplishments. So see, Mr. Daley, I was right, this was what I was meant to do.
I remember being pregnant with my oldest child. I had gone to lamaze classes, had watched the birthing video and had talked with others about pregnancy. But yet, when I woke up one morning with contractions and timed them to be 3 mins. apart for a couple of hours, I thought it would be a piece of cake. I remember waiting until 8 AM to call my mother and telling her that this was so easy. The contractions were already 3 mins apart and didn't even hurt; as a matter of fact, I was playing solitaire killing the time to avoid calling her at the crack of dawn. Well, I went to the hospital 4 times that day, and 3 of those times they sent me home because things weren't happening quickly, and I wasn't in enough pain for them to admit me. By the time they admitted me, I could barely walk or talk through the contractions, which was the criteria they said I needed in order to be allowed to stay and give birth. And by the time my son was born just after midnight, I no longer thought it was a piece of cake, and my solitaire card game was long over.
And the longer I am a mother, I realize that the labor and delivery was the easy part. Once you become a mother, you are responsible for someone, you have a job to do, a person depending on you for their physical needs as well as their emotional needs. It is up to you, the Mother, to show them the way, to do your best to teach manners, to teach responsibility, to teach kindness and respect. Sound like a big responsibility? It is.
That said, all we as Mothers can do, is our best. Will we screw up occasionally? Of course we will. But own it when you do, the same way we expect our children to own up to their wrongdoings. Don't be afraid to say to your child "I don't know" or "I'm sorry" or "That wasn't right of Mommy". Be real, be a person, be human and admit to your wrongdoings. We don't know it all, and we do screw up, and if we can't admit it when we do, then how can we ask that of our children?
I have many hopes and dreams for my children. When they were younger, I wished for them to be polite, have good manners, not hit or bite, and to be respectful. Now that they are older, I still wish all those things for them, but my list has grown. I wish that they be strong, be honest, be true and loyal, always do their best, treat others with kindness and the same respect they want from others, and to be real. Stand up for yourselves, but do it in the right manner. Hold firm to your beliefs, and if you feel strongly about something, be respectful about others' opinions and beliefs, but don't back down if you think you are right. Treat your friends and your boy/girlfriends with dignity, don't lie, be honest about your feelings, even if those feelings differ from theirs and don't leave someone guessing as to their importance in your life.
And most of all, my child, be YOU, because you are special, you are funny, you are kind, you are wonderful, and you are loved.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Tears of Joy
Last week my Dad completed his first round of chemotherapy after 12 weeks of 3 days of treatments every other week, anti-nausea medication, stomach issues, fatigue and a modified diet of less than desirable foods. He was told that because he tolerated the chemo well, he could do another round and keep up with the same schedule. "Oh, goodie, can I?" would have been my response. It's kind of like when you do a job that is out of the realm of your regular job duties, and because you did it well, you are now deemed to be that person...for example, the "toner replacer", the "bathroom cleaner", the "bill collector". Yes, because Dad tolerated the treatments, because he managed to deal with the nausea, the pills, and the gross foods, he wins another 12 weeks of more of the same.
So before the "prize" could be scheduled, a PET scan needed to first be approved by the insurance company and then performed. The PET scan is a test that he had prior to chemotherapy and is a test that pinpoints and measures the cancerous tumors. Bloodwork and labs performed during the course of the chemotherapy weren't very positive and seemed to indicate that the chemo wasn't doing its job, that is, to kill or slow the growth of the cancer.
Today was the PET scan. I talked to my Dad late morning, and he said that it was all very quick, and that they didn't expect to hear anything until his appointment next Wednesday, but that no news was good news. Less than an hour later, I received this email from my Dad:
"Mom took a call from my oncologist, Dr. Samaha. He already got the report from my PET scan and said there was a lot of improvement, which means that the chemotherapy will continue. On the negative side they have to replace my port before the treatment. But the good news is that the chemotherapy worked. We’ll know tumor measurements and how much improvement later."
Immediately my eyes started to fill with tears, but for the first time since this journey began, they were tears of joy. I have received emails from my parents after every doctor's appointment and every lab, and many of these emails were not upbeat or positive medically. I have cried, I have been sick to my stomach, I have driven around aimlessly, and I have thrown things. But more than all that, I have prayed as have countless others. Hundreds, and maybe thousands of people, all around the world have been praying. We have been praying for a miracle because the medical diagnosis was grim. Well, today that miracle came in the form of a PET scan and 4 beautiful words "a lot of improvement".
And I know that prayers have been answered, God has heard all of our prayers, and God has given us the gift of more time. I am thankful to those who have prayed, I am thankful to God for his gift, and I am so thankful for my Dad, who is my pillar of strength and my inspiration. It is he who comforts me on the difficult days, and it is he who reminds me where my faith and trust should lie. Thank you God for giving me more time with this amazing man, my Dad.
So before the "prize" could be scheduled, a PET scan needed to first be approved by the insurance company and then performed. The PET scan is a test that he had prior to chemotherapy and is a test that pinpoints and measures the cancerous tumors. Bloodwork and labs performed during the course of the chemotherapy weren't very positive and seemed to indicate that the chemo wasn't doing its job, that is, to kill or slow the growth of the cancer.
Today was the PET scan. I talked to my Dad late morning, and he said that it was all very quick, and that they didn't expect to hear anything until his appointment next Wednesday, but that no news was good news. Less than an hour later, I received this email from my Dad:
"Mom took a call from my oncologist, Dr. Samaha. He already got the report from my PET scan and said there was a lot of improvement, which means that the chemotherapy will continue. On the negative side they have to replace my port before the treatment. But the good news is that the chemotherapy worked. We’ll know tumor measurements and how much improvement later."
Immediately my eyes started to fill with tears, but for the first time since this journey began, they were tears of joy. I have received emails from my parents after every doctor's appointment and every lab, and many of these emails were not upbeat or positive medically. I have cried, I have been sick to my stomach, I have driven around aimlessly, and I have thrown things. But more than all that, I have prayed as have countless others. Hundreds, and maybe thousands of people, all around the world have been praying. We have been praying for a miracle because the medical diagnosis was grim. Well, today that miracle came in the form of a PET scan and 4 beautiful words "a lot of improvement".
And I know that prayers have been answered, God has heard all of our prayers, and God has given us the gift of more time. I am thankful to those who have prayed, I am thankful to God for his gift, and I am so thankful for my Dad, who is my pillar of strength and my inspiration. It is he who comforts me on the difficult days, and it is he who reminds me where my faith and trust should lie. Thank you God for giving me more time with this amazing man, my Dad.
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