OK. For those of you who thrill at GGG's rants-n-raves, make yourself a ginormous bowl of popcorn and get a vat of Coke, because I'm ready for a good one today!
First off, let me set the scene. Picture it: Central Texas, 2008. A trim, healthy, active, not-too-bad-looking mom is walking through a local grocery store, selecting fresh fruits and vegetables to take home and lovingly prepare for her two young children. She takes pride in having "gotten her body back," even if she had to do so by force, and is trying to model healthy lifestyles for said children, despite how much people at the bank love to hand out lollypops and grandparents smuggle in root beer and gummi snacks. (Side bar: did I mention that I think Bud has a cavity the size of Tropical Storm Ike in his sweet little molar?!? More on that in two weeks when we see the dentist. Back to your regularly scheduled kvetching session...)
So yes, there we were in the local grocery store. We were really savoring some mommy-and-me time, seeing as Li'l G is already in school and he will begin his foray into official preschool tomorrow. *sniff, sniff* Just as we were unloading the cart, I cast my eyes up to the trashy tabloids and other various rags they sell at the checkout. The next thing I see is a painted nipple, and I wanted to be ill.
You know, I remember the first time I saw a bathing suit that had been, literally, painted on. It was a good 7-10 years ago in an allegded swimsuit magazine that comes out once a year because, you know, lots of women read this particular periodical. On top of that, I'm sure this magazine is marketed to equally as many women as men, and I don't know about you other people lacking penises, but I love gawking at other women whose hobbies are hang gliding and watching Kung-Fu while eating Hooters hotwings.
I couldn't believe that the people who published this magazine had gotten away with putting a little Crayola Tempera paint on this woman's hoo-ha (the scientific name, FYI) and publishing this without plastic wrapping around it! It was one of those moments where you say, "Am I the only one who just saw that?!?" Apparently I wasn't, but apparently I'm the only one who was shocked by it.
There is a fully naked woman on the front of this magazine. Every single woman in it, to include Paris Hilton, are completely nude. There are no pasties on their tender mercies, although I'm sure there's some kind of "artistic saran wrap" on their nether-regions. I reeeeeaaallly don't want to know how they pulled this off. I'm not going to post a link to anywhere on the Internet where you can find it, as I'm sure it's pretty easy to do. Heck, you can be at the Quickie Mart and send your five year old in with $5 to get you a copy of your very own. And THAT, dear readers, is why I'm ranting and raving today.
Go ahead -- I triple dog dare someone to comment using the words "First Amendment Rights" on this blog. What's at stake here is not the First Stinkin' Amendment. I think we've all been drug down the road of speech really meaning expression in general this sad day and age. Actually, I wonder if the founding fathers are rolling in their graves to look at the issues of our day in comparison to the ones of theirs: surviving epidemics, religious persecution, and being under the tyrannical rule of a separate nation. At any rate, we live in a society that we have created. I know that I cannot keep pornographers from being profitable at their chosen profession. But I do know that we have laws that limit its accessibility. If this particular magazine wants to publish this type of magazine, there's nothing legally that can be done about it. I just wish that it would be wrapped up and an ID card presented before purchase. Yes, kids under 18 will still likely get their hands on it, just like booze and cigarettes. We can't keep them from doing it, but if there are deterrents along the way, it might make the hassle not worth it or, heaven forbid, it might cause them to think about what they're doing. The fact that this magazine is sitting at eye level with my three and a half year old, next to other non-pornographic magazines, is unacceptable to me. Plain and simple.
And while we're at it, let's talk about the freedom of speech/expression. We are all free to spew forth whatever comes to our minds without fear of imprisonment or persecution, and that's an amazing gift not to be taken for granted. Our soldiers stand in harm's way 24/7 to ensure that this freedom remains ours to use or not use as we choose. What baffles me is how we deal with the repercussions of said free speech/expression. Maybe this is why our court systems are clogged hopelessly with litigation-happy people who can't resolve their issues without having the law step in like a frazzled, worn out parent, and peel the two fighting siblings off each other. Here's what I think: You have a right to say/express whatever you want. I maintain that I have a right to not have to hear it, experience it, or acknowledge it. There's a reason why strip clubs don't have windows! I just wish there was some legal stance those of us could take that don't want anything to do with a certain activity. Almost like an intellectual restraining order or something. I'm not trying to prohibit this woman's right to be an exhibitionist. I'm just want to be left alone and not be affronted with her colorful, naked mammaries when I'm at the supermarket. If I wanted that, I could gaze at my own any time I wanted. Oh, but if I take out my breasts as I'm writing a check, that's considered public indecency. I could go to jail for that. But if I paint them with the kids' fingerpaints before I leave the house, does that make it legal??? Just some food for thought...
As another side note regarding our civil liberties, something else that really peels my potatoes is when people cry out "freedom of religion" or "separation of church and state." (which, dear readers, IS A PHRASE NOT FOUND IN OUR CONSTITUTION, NOR IS IT FOUND IN OUR BILL OF RIGHTS. Feel free to peruse here.) I cannot think of a single time when this was used on someone of any other religion than Christian. Christians receive verbal lynchings in ways that would make every member of the ACLU suicidal if it were being said of a Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, Hindu, Taoist, agnostic, or atheist. But the minute Christians form the words, "God," or, "Jesus," on their lips, we get whacked across the nose by Lady Liberty with her spare copy of the Constitution rolled up like Sunday's newspaper. If, indeed, we as Americans feel the need to enforce the laws this way, I'd like to see a little consistency. That's really all I'm asking for.
And speaking of consistency, that leads me to my last rant-n-rave topic of the day. Ever since Sen. McCain announced that Sarah Palin would be his running mate during this election, people have been in a political whirlwind about his choice. Let me say upfront: I don't care what body parts you were born with. If you're going to be a president or vice president of my country, gender and/or race is not something I care at all about. What I care about is this: are you the right human being for the job??? Most of us agree that we don't know much about her. As I learn more about her, I think she's pretty interesting. But I will say this: she has a 17 year old daughter who is pregnant. Again, I'm not going to link to this news, as it is prolific on almost any website you come across. But here's an opportunity to display some character.
Palin professes to be a pro-life candidate. I'm not going to blog about abortion, pro-choice, pro-life, or anything like that. I don't think it's an edifying conversation about which to blog. What impressed me about this situation is this: here is a young woman, going through a life-altering event. Not only is the transition from woman to mother a huge deal, doing it as a 17 year old really ups the ante. Many kids might want to have an abortion; similarly, their parents might be encouraging them to have an abortion for various reasons. To my knowledge, this girl is five months along and sounds like she will not be aborting her baby. Some people are incredibly critical of Gov. Palin about this familial indiscretion; I say BRAVO TO HER FOR BEING CONSISTENT. If she's pro-life, yet encourages her daughter to have an abortion because she's too young to be a mother and would be throwing her life away, that makes her a hypocrite in my eyes, which in turn means I wouldn't be casting a vote for her. This seems to be a case where the family is rallying around one another, the candidate is practicing what is being preached, and the message is consistent. Again, consistency is all I'm asking for.
So who am I voting for? I'm not letting on just yet, but I'm pretty sure I know who I'm not voting for, so the decision seems to be made for me. I still think that we're lacking a truly viable candidate for president, but that's a different blog for a different day. Hope you all will actually read me again after today!! And feel free to sound off if you want -- comments from both sides are welcomed here, even if you want to accuse me of being a bloviating poppinjay. (Big smooches if anyone knows where that came from...)
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Labor Day
Have you ever made a complete and total ass of yourself? No? OK, good, I was pretty sure I'm the only one who has...I have spent this Labor Day torn between two activities: watching Hurricane Gustav news and updates like I watched on 9/11 (i.e., obsessively) and laboring over something in my heart.
I'm relieved that Gustav turned out to not be Katrina Part Deaux. (Would that be Katrina, Jr.? Can females be, "Jr.'s?" Who can know...) I think the next few days will be interesting as damage assessments begin to filter in and we get a better picture of actual damage done to the coast. Here's hoping that everyone will continue to do the right thing...
The other activity has consumed both my conscious and subconscious thoughts. It affected my dream last night that woke me with a start and left me with a sour taste in my mouth for most of the day. I know that the person against whom I have sinned does not read my blog; nonetheless, it wouldn't be appropriate to give the gory details thereof. Mainly, it would make me look like a major jerk, but the details are personal, so there you have it.
I knew, before I said the offending sentence, that what I was about to say was waaaaay out of line. I knew that it was going to end up being hurtful, even though I really didn't want to hurt this person. What I really wanted to do was underscore a point I was trying to make that this individual just didn't quite get, and I was getting fed up of trying to be reasonable. I was trying to get their attention and get them to see how frustrating this whole situation was. What resulted was me saying something terrible that cannot be taken back.
Have you ever experienced that minute pause in time when you felt it, where you formed the thought, it traveled to your mouth and rolled in the air between your soft palate and your tongue, which stood poised to project the evil thought into audible history? That split second where your conscience (a.k.a. the Holy Spirit) caught your breath before you pushed right past it in an effort to get your attention before you made a wound that would leave a scar behind, even if it healed?
I plunged right on past all the flashing signals and red lights into a terrible thing to say, and I can't take it back. I didn't really mean it, but it's been said.
I've gone back and replayed this in my mind, from start to finish. The conversation started innocently enough, but once it took a turn, the horses were out of the gate, and there was no stopping them. I apologized yesterday for what I said, and I feel the need to reaffirm my regrets now that I've had a chance to reflect. I don't expect this person forgave me yesterday, and quite frankly I don't know that they ever will. Now I've created this ugly space in the relationship that will bug me for months to come.
A friend of mine from FT Polk introduced this verse to me that I used to lay claim to almost daily, and I think, in light of last night's turn of events, it's worth revisiting:
"Set a guard, O LORD, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips." -- Psalm 141:3
The whole psalm is good, but this verse is perfect for those of us who suffer from verbal diarrhea. It's Pepto Bismol for the soul, I guess. (Oh dear, that's just foul!)
Something I've learned about myself through all this is that I'm a selfish, sinful person. I expect everyone I know to care about me, to care about what's going on in my life, my opinions and views on things, help me to think out or solve my problems, etc. I, in turn, want to be there for them. I want to know about what matters to my friends and loved ones, what touches them, what makes them cry, what they struggle with, the tedious details of their everyday lives. Not everyone likes or appreciates a
I may have jeorpardized this relationship for one stupid collection of words. I know I can ask forgiveness from God and that the sin will be wiped away, but I feel like the penance for consciously stepping outside the boundaries of grace-full living is paid a thousand times over in my heart...
Sunday, August 31, 2008
New Orleanian Blogger
I've referred you guys to Father Hollywood's blog before, so he will likely be a familiar "face/voice" to you. He and his family have evacuated, as they live in the NOLA/Gretna area. I am hoping he will find a way to blog his experiences from the viewpoint of someone hoping beyond all hope to have something to which he can come home. If nothing else, it will be interesting to hear from the front lines after Gustav has passed through. Also keep your eyes peeled to S4J, as she will undoubtedly have some exciting weather to endure in the coming days.
Check up on Father Hollywood here and S4J here.
Check up on Father Hollywood here and S4J here.
Quote of the Day
May God give you...
For every storm, a rainbow;
For every tear, a smile;
For every care, a promise;
A blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
a faithful friend to share;
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Gustav: A Matter of Where, Not When
Good grief. Just when we thought that our "Chocolate City" had seen enough drama, this happens. Thankfully, according to an article on Bloomberg.com, NOLA residents are taking a life-threatening Category 4 hurricane seriously this time. A local business owner was quoted as saying, "The hurricane isn't even in the Gulf of Mexico and the town is a ghost town." GOOD!! IT SHOULD'VE LOOKED LIKE THAT WHEN KATRINA WAS ON THE WAY!!! But I digress... Read the article here. I expect that we'll get some rain out this, too, if we're lucky. We could use the precipitation.
This map can be found on the NOAA website. I think these guys have such cool jobs. I've always had a real fascination with weather, weather patterns, and catastrophic weather events. I wouldn't be good at doing any of the math, but I sure do enjoy the science behind meterology.
Regardless of the fact that the eye is not predicted to pass directly over NOLA, they are most definitely on the more dangerous side of the hurricane. Quoted from the website HurricaneTrack.com,
"The maximum effects of a hurricane are usually felt within what is called the right-front quadrant. Here the winds are (typically) strongest, storm surge is highest, and the possibility of tornadoes is greatest. It is important to know whether or not your area will be affected by the right-front quadrant. It could mean the difference between maximum hurricane conditions or a glancing blow."
Unfortunately, if you superimpose this map over the predicted landfall of Gustav, NOLA falls directly in this quadrant of the hurricane, so it doesn't look good.
I won't comment on politics or personal opinion right now, because I'm sure you all know exactly how I feel about the Katrina debacle by now. (And if you don't, you probably don't want to know.) Let's just all pray for every man, woman, child, and animal fighting to survive right now. And let's please not focus just on NOLA. True, the squeakiest door gets the majority of the grease, but let's cast our eyes a little further west. People living in Cameron and Calcasieu Parishes will likely lose everything they have in this hurricane. They were directly hit by Rita three years ago and were almost wiped off the map then. (FYI: Lake Charles is in Calcasieu Parish, for a frame of reference.) There are plenty of low-income families living there, farmers, etc., who took a massive hit. There were even reports of flooded cemeteries with caskets floating like macabre driftwood in Cameron Parish. And we can't forget S4J and several other of my peeps in that neck of the woods, as the eye is predicted to more or less pass directly over them.
Praising God that His hand is already on this... Praying for leaders to do the right thing for their constituents... Praying for people to take initiative...
Friday, August 29, 2008
The Heart of a Mother
The first day, and in fact the first week, of school has come and gone, and everyone in our little family is worn out. I have taken a three hour nap two days in a row now, and as soon as I tap out the last word of this post, am going to shove aside the wrinkled laundry and load my exhausted lump of flesh into that fluffy piece of heaven called my bed and surrender to sweet slumber.
Having been an elementary teacher in my life before having my own "classroom of two," the first day of school is a magical day for me. It is palpably electrified, the anxious anticipation of laughter, tears, the smell of new crayons and playground sweat hovering in the room after the kids clear out, the odd aromatic combination of cafeteria food and rubber balls from P.E. wafting through the hallways always give me a sense of regeneration, a willingness to tackle endeavors anew, and commit to being a productive, positive individual.
I have seen tearful parents lingering in hallways and stalking their children through fogged up windows, reluctant to leave the post that only they held for the last five or so years, knowing that this is the first step their baby bird takes toward developing wings of their own and soaring away from the nest. In my mind, I was always thinking, "This is only elementary school -- HELLO!! We're not talking college yet! Your ill-behaved child will be back in a few hours, and you'll be looking forward to the next day of school! Grow up, will ya'?!?"
And then I became a parent.
Lil' G's first day of school was everything that I prayed for her that it would be. We packed her lunch, biked to school, and got settled in at her little desk. I got a little misty-eyed that she was so excited to be there and confident that this was, in fact, going to be a great experience, that she shooed me off with a, "Bye, Mom! Have a great day!" Bud was with me, and he started getting a little dramatic, so we made a quick exit before it got too hard to make it at all. I'm also trying not to be "that parent," the one who is a little too involved just because he/she used to be a teacher, etc. The bike ride home quickly got my mind off of the emotionality of the day, and the rest of the week went by quickly as well.
But today was different. Today was Day #5, and after having built up her confidence, Grace decided, when asked if she wanted Bud and me to walk her in the building and to her classroom or if she wanted to go by herself, she chose to go it alone. What?!? You're supposed to ask me to go with you!! You're supposed to love me and only me so much that you don't want to leave my side; at least, not yet. *sniff, sniff* (Hanging head, feeling so dejected and replaced...)
I resovled to be supportive of whatever decision she made, so when we walked into the door of the building, we hugged and kissed, said our goodbyes, and just stood there for a moment. It was a little surreal, with parents, children, teachers swirling around us like water in eddies around the rocks in a stream. Then she took that first step and was off on her journey.
She would walk five or six steps, pause, and turn around, searching the sea of faces for the one she calls, "Mommy." We would lock eyes, I would smile as genuinely as one can through hot tears, raise my hand as high as I could and wave, and she would turn around to continue down the long, straight hallway. Eventually, she disappeared into a crowd of precious little heads tottering off to classrooms, and she was gone.
I stood there, not knowing what to do. Besides keep Bud out of other people's way, as per usual. After what seemed like an eternity, I did what any mother would do:
I went down the hall to check on her.
I told Bud we were going to sneak up and just make sure Lil' G got to her classroom OK. I didn't want her to think I didn't trust her or cause her grief by showing up. I was going to stand back at a distance, make visual contact with the top of her pony-tailed head, and head to the bike rack for my morning's ride. But she was nowhere to be seen.
A little concerned, I made eye contact with her teacher, a friend of mine. We mouthed to each other over the tops of kids' heads:
Me: Did Lil' G make it down the hallway yet? She asked to come by herself. I just wanted to make sure she got here OK.
Teacher: Yes, she's inside the classroom putting her backpack away. She came in a little upset.
Just as we finished our mime conversation, Lil' G emerged from the room, with the same look on her face that I'm sure Atlas had on as he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. When I called out her name, she immediately burst into tears and nuzzled up to me, which of course made me sad. Bud, being surrounded by the women he loves, was overcome with empathy and burst into tears as well. We were such a pathetic, sweet sight.
In episodes like these, I try to ask Lil' G open-ended questions that will get her talking about how she's feeling. Many times, she's overcome not just by the details of a situation, but also feels the hole left in her heart by the absence of her daddy. These can be times where I feel like her life is so unfair. She cannot just be a child, going through the motions of growing up. Grief is not an imaginary playmate in our family. Grief is real, grief is always there, and grief announces its presence at the most inopportune of times. It is like a dragon that I have sworn to do battle with, to not let it overcome my family and I to the point where we are rendered unable to function, but I feel like that is my job as their mother. Grief can tangle with me, but it had better not touch my children. Then, with the few functioning, non-dramatic brain cells I posess, I realize that just can't be, and I have to watch their little hearts break all over again.
But grief was apparently taking a four-day holiday today.
When asked why she was so sad, she did not say that she missed her daddy, but that she missed me. She missed me. I know that my daughter loves me even when I am mean and unlovable. I know that she misses me when we are apart, even when grandparents are spoiling her rotten. I hear about her saying these things, but this is one of the only times she has clung to me, tears streaming down her face, and let down her guard to tell me she missed me, and I was so humbled.
I wanted to sit down right there in the middle of the floor in the Kindergarten wing of the school and hold her, but there was really no time. I consoled her to the point where she was able to get back with her group, Bud and I left the school, and the rest of the day was history from that point on. But there are so many things I wished I could download from my heart directly into hers.
I wanted to tell her how beautiful and strong she is. She is both tenacious and tender, driven yet deliberate. She is competetive and compassionate. I wanted to warn her as well. I wanted to tell her that she is so gifted, in many ways that will set her far apart from others. Anointed, really, with strength, grace, and vision. Her life's struggle will likely be how to balance Tom's gentleness and good humor with my fire and passion and determination. I wanted to tell her what so many others have tried to pound into my head, and that is that it's OK to be emotional and vulnerable. Part of what makes her who she is, and someone I admire, is that tender, gentle side of her. I am so afraid that life with a strong personality, driven, eccentric mom will only sharpen her tougher side, and her tenderness will be completely overshadowed by her innate desire to be a strong woman like her mother. (I am not necessarily trying to identify my own strength here, but rather point out that my own stubbornness and strong will, while serving me well in some ways, has been a real handicap in other ways.)
I read on a paper sent home by the teacher that "research shows" that children need eight hugs a day to maintain a strong emotional level and twelve hugs a day in order to grow. Good grief! Add that to all the other things I guilt trip myself about not taking enough time to do with the kids. But isn't that the least I can do?? I do, after all, want my children to grow, even if it means taking baby steps away from me and toward lives of their own.
I was relieved that Lil' G felt the same way I did about the morning's experiment: not just yet. We're getting there, but we don't want to rush through this stage of our lives. There are plenty of years ahead of us, God willing, to take those steps together. One tearful hug at a time.
Having been an elementary teacher in my life before having my own "classroom of two," the first day of school is a magical day for me. It is palpably electrified, the anxious anticipation of laughter, tears, the smell of new crayons and playground sweat hovering in the room after the kids clear out, the odd aromatic combination of cafeteria food and rubber balls from P.E. wafting through the hallways always give me a sense of regeneration, a willingness to tackle endeavors anew, and commit to being a productive, positive individual.
I have seen tearful parents lingering in hallways and stalking their children through fogged up windows, reluctant to leave the post that only they held for the last five or so years, knowing that this is the first step their baby bird takes toward developing wings of their own and soaring away from the nest. In my mind, I was always thinking, "This is only elementary school -- HELLO!! We're not talking college yet! Your ill-behaved child will be back in a few hours, and you'll be looking forward to the next day of school! Grow up, will ya'?!?"
And then I became a parent.
Lil' G's first day of school was everything that I prayed for her that it would be. We packed her lunch, biked to school, and got settled in at her little desk. I got a little misty-eyed that she was so excited to be there and confident that this was, in fact, going to be a great experience, that she shooed me off with a, "Bye, Mom! Have a great day!" Bud was with me, and he started getting a little dramatic, so we made a quick exit before it got too hard to make it at all. I'm also trying not to be "that parent," the one who is a little too involved just because he/she used to be a teacher, etc. The bike ride home quickly got my mind off of the emotionality of the day, and the rest of the week went by quickly as well.
But today was different. Today was Day #5, and after having built up her confidence, Grace decided, when asked if she wanted Bud and me to walk her in the building and to her classroom or if she wanted to go by herself, she chose to go it alone. What?!? You're supposed to ask me to go with you!! You're supposed to love me and only me so much that you don't want to leave my side; at least, not yet. *sniff, sniff* (Hanging head, feeling so dejected and replaced...)
I resovled to be supportive of whatever decision she made, so when we walked into the door of the building, we hugged and kissed, said our goodbyes, and just stood there for a moment. It was a little surreal, with parents, children, teachers swirling around us like water in eddies around the rocks in a stream. Then she took that first step and was off on her journey.
She would walk five or six steps, pause, and turn around, searching the sea of faces for the one she calls, "Mommy." We would lock eyes, I would smile as genuinely as one can through hot tears, raise my hand as high as I could and wave, and she would turn around to continue down the long, straight hallway. Eventually, she disappeared into a crowd of precious little heads tottering off to classrooms, and she was gone.
I stood there, not knowing what to do. Besides keep Bud out of other people's way, as per usual. After what seemed like an eternity, I did what any mother would do:
I went down the hall to check on her.
I told Bud we were going to sneak up and just make sure Lil' G got to her classroom OK. I didn't want her to think I didn't trust her or cause her grief by showing up. I was going to stand back at a distance, make visual contact with the top of her pony-tailed head, and head to the bike rack for my morning's ride. But she was nowhere to be seen.
A little concerned, I made eye contact with her teacher, a friend of mine. We mouthed to each other over the tops of kids' heads:
Me: Did Lil' G make it down the hallway yet? She asked to come by herself. I just wanted to make sure she got here OK.
Teacher: Yes, she's inside the classroom putting her backpack away. She came in a little upset.
Just as we finished our mime conversation, Lil' G emerged from the room, with the same look on her face that I'm sure Atlas had on as he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. When I called out her name, she immediately burst into tears and nuzzled up to me, which of course made me sad. Bud, being surrounded by the women he loves, was overcome with empathy and burst into tears as well. We were such a pathetic, sweet sight.
In episodes like these, I try to ask Lil' G open-ended questions that will get her talking about how she's feeling. Many times, she's overcome not just by the details of a situation, but also feels the hole left in her heart by the absence of her daddy. These can be times where I feel like her life is so unfair. She cannot just be a child, going through the motions of growing up. Grief is not an imaginary playmate in our family. Grief is real, grief is always there, and grief announces its presence at the most inopportune of times. It is like a dragon that I have sworn to do battle with, to not let it overcome my family and I to the point where we are rendered unable to function, but I feel like that is my job as their mother. Grief can tangle with me, but it had better not touch my children. Then, with the few functioning, non-dramatic brain cells I posess, I realize that just can't be, and I have to watch their little hearts break all over again.
But grief was apparently taking a four-day holiday today.
When asked why she was so sad, she did not say that she missed her daddy, but that she missed me. She missed me. I know that my daughter loves me even when I am mean and unlovable. I know that she misses me when we are apart, even when grandparents are spoiling her rotten. I hear about her saying these things, but this is one of the only times she has clung to me, tears streaming down her face, and let down her guard to tell me she missed me, and I was so humbled.
I wanted to sit down right there in the middle of the floor in the Kindergarten wing of the school and hold her, but there was really no time. I consoled her to the point where she was able to get back with her group, Bud and I left the school, and the rest of the day was history from that point on. But there are so many things I wished I could download from my heart directly into hers.
I wanted to tell her how beautiful and strong she is. She is both tenacious and tender, driven yet deliberate. She is competetive and compassionate. I wanted to warn her as well. I wanted to tell her that she is so gifted, in many ways that will set her far apart from others. Anointed, really, with strength, grace, and vision. Her life's struggle will likely be how to balance Tom's gentleness and good humor with my fire and passion and determination. I wanted to tell her what so many others have tried to pound into my head, and that is that it's OK to be emotional and vulnerable. Part of what makes her who she is, and someone I admire, is that tender, gentle side of her. I am so afraid that life with a strong personality, driven, eccentric mom will only sharpen her tougher side, and her tenderness will be completely overshadowed by her innate desire to be a strong woman like her mother. (I am not necessarily trying to identify my own strength here, but rather point out that my own stubbornness and strong will, while serving me well in some ways, has been a real handicap in other ways.)
I read on a paper sent home by the teacher that "research shows" that children need eight hugs a day to maintain a strong emotional level and twelve hugs a day in order to grow. Good grief! Add that to all the other things I guilt trip myself about not taking enough time to do with the kids. But isn't that the least I can do?? I do, after all, want my children to grow, even if it means taking baby steps away from me and toward lives of their own.
I was relieved that Lil' G felt the same way I did about the morning's experiment: not just yet. We're getting there, but we don't want to rush through this stage of our lives. There are plenty of years ahead of us, God willing, to take those steps together. One tearful hug at a time.
"And may the Lord keep watch between you and me when we are away from each other." -- Genesis 31:49
Accountability Post #3: "Runnin' With It"
**TMI WARNING TODAY!! DON'T READ THIS FIRST PARAGRAPH IF YOU DON'T LIKE DETAILS!!
I am enjoying being on the bike, but I didn't think today was going to pan out. I have had some weird stomach ache-y thing going on all week and I can't quite nail down the culprit. I've recently started a different hormone pill, as well as a multi-vitamin, and I've noticed I've started early on the post-nasal drip that is a sure sign that fall (or what passes for fall in Texas) is coming. So between these three offenders, one of them has had me doubled over all week. You know those commercials for bladder control drugs where they can't be out in public for long, or if they do, they have to be near a bathroom or know where one is? That's me this week, except it's not my bladder that needs controlling. So as the kids are getting helmets on and practically already down the road, I'm in the bathroom, bargaining with God to make the stomach ache go away.
Please, God, have mercy. I would do anything at this point, ANYTHING, to convince you to heal my poor bowels and make the stomach ache go away. I'll even quit making fun of Democrats (at least until the end of the convention). OK? So if you could just go on ahead and, ahhhh, take away the stomach ache, that'd be greaaaaaat.
At any rate, we got Lil' G to school (that's a WHOLE other blog today, BTW) and here's what we got:
Report #3: 29 AUG 08. Went approx. 5.25 miles this morning, including the trip to school. 4.25 miles count towards training. Completed in approx. 23.5 minutes for an average of 5.53 min/mi. (Note: I think I may have miscalculated the first two days, but that should only affect the averages by half of a minute or less.) I did 2.5 miles on a walking/biking track today and did less in the way of hills. With the stomach and all, I thought it prudent to be near tree cover in case I had to use nature's bathroom. :) (S4J, that was just for you, haha...)
On a happy note, we have met neighbors that are biking to school as well. The mom pulls her little guy, who is Bud's age, on a trail-a-bike, too! Turns out we've been stalking each other. When we saw them pass by the house the other day, we all pushed our faces up against the windows to gawk like we were hunting down the ice cream man or something, completely incredulous that there was another family out there like us! I think they're a military family, which warms my heart. I can't wait to get to know them better.
I'm off to do some Pepto Bismol shooters and get my day off and running, no pun intended. I've two other posts in the works, so be sure and check back soon. And please keep those crazy cajuns in your prayers, and really anyone who lives on the Gulf Coast these days. Even as irriated as I permanently am with all things Louisiana or New Orleans, hurricanes are serious stuff. Let's pray there are no repeats of 2005, in more ways than you all could imagine...
I am enjoying being on the bike, but I didn't think today was going to pan out. I have had some weird stomach ache-y thing going on all week and I can't quite nail down the culprit. I've recently started a different hormone pill, as well as a multi-vitamin, and I've noticed I've started early on the post-nasal drip that is a sure sign that fall (or what passes for fall in Texas) is coming. So between these three offenders, one of them has had me doubled over all week. You know those commercials for bladder control drugs where they can't be out in public for long, or if they do, they have to be near a bathroom or know where one is? That's me this week, except it's not my bladder that needs controlling. So as the kids are getting helmets on and practically already down the road, I'm in the bathroom, bargaining with God to make the stomach ache go away.
Please, God, have mercy. I would do anything at this point, ANYTHING, to convince you to heal my poor bowels and make the stomach ache go away. I'll even quit making fun of Democrats (at least until the end of the convention). OK? So if you could just go on ahead and, ahhhh, take away the stomach ache, that'd be greaaaaaat.
At any rate, we got Lil' G to school (that's a WHOLE other blog today, BTW) and here's what we got:
Report #3: 29 AUG 08. Went approx. 5.25 miles this morning, including the trip to school. 4.25 miles count towards training. Completed in approx. 23.5 minutes for an average of 5.53 min/mi. (Note: I think I may have miscalculated the first two days, but that should only affect the averages by half of a minute or less.) I did 2.5 miles on a walking/biking track today and did less in the way of hills. With the stomach and all, I thought it prudent to be near tree cover in case I had to use nature's bathroom. :) (S4J, that was just for you, haha...)
On a happy note, we have met neighbors that are biking to school as well. The mom pulls her little guy, who is Bud's age, on a trail-a-bike, too! Turns out we've been stalking each other. When we saw them pass by the house the other day, we all pushed our faces up against the windows to gawk like we were hunting down the ice cream man or something, completely incredulous that there was another family out there like us! I think they're a military family, which warms my heart. I can't wait to get to know them better.
I'm off to do some Pepto Bismol shooters and get my day off and running, no pun intended. I've two other posts in the works, so be sure and check back soon. And please keep those crazy cajuns in your prayers, and really anyone who lives on the Gulf Coast these days. Even as irriated as I permanently am with all things Louisiana or New Orleans, hurricanes are serious stuff. Let's pray there are no repeats of 2005, in more ways than you all could imagine...
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