Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
"Clarence, you have to go down to Earth tonight. There's someone in trouble named George Bailey. Oh, what is the matter, is he sick? No, worse, he's discouraged."--From the movie, It's a Wonderful Life.
It's too easy as a parent to become discouraged when things don't seem to be going our way with our children. Bad behaviors and bad report cards become internalized, as if we were the ones with poor greades or who punched the bully on the bus. The 24-7 rapid fires lives we lead as parents seems never ending in our devotion to our children. We start our days an hour early to drive someone to Pop chorus, give up our lunch hour to get the material for the class project that was due yesterday, and end with running to the book store to purchase another copy of the book they forgot over the long holiday weekend. We clean, organize, and encourage. We read magazine articles on pitfulls to avoid in rasing our children.
We think we have it all together, only to find out they are failing 4 subjects. Or that they treated someone horribly and hung up on their best friend on the phone. Where did we go wrong? What are the neighbors kids doing so well, and we can't even get our kids to pick up their underwear after taking a shower or put their dishes in the sink? What program can we buy to make it all better? Where is our magic pill? Where is Mrs. Brady when we need her?
I have found the best thing you can do when the sky appears to be falling, is to look straight ahead, not up. See what is in front of you, and really pay attention to it. Compliment your child, not matter what. Find something to be happy about and smile.
So Wild Child is failing 4 subjects. He got a 91 in his technology class. A 91. That's a really amazing achievement for him, in a class I made him take instead of study hall. It teaches the whole Microsoft Office program, keyboarding, and basic computer office skills. I am sure he will be able to help me figure how to make a good Power Point presentation when he finishes the year. Or at least, make up excellent graphics for his My Space page. But it's a beginning, and I know I need to start there. Play it up. Be excited.
"Getting the first goal gives them the confidence to win. It's the key to the whole game."--BL, age 11, explaining his philosophy of the Sabres wins to his twin sister.
Sometimes when we listen carefully, we get all the encouragement we need from our own kids. While watching the hockey games this weekend, my youngest son got very excited when the Sabres scored the first goals in each game. He was jumping up and down and screaming, telling his sister they would win for sure. And she wanted to know why. Well, that's easy he said. Scoring the first goal gives them the confidence to win. They starting winning, and everyone is happy with them and congratulates them. This give the confidence to keep on going. Because they are happy, they are on top of the world, and they play well. They have fun. And then they win.
So, I was gratefully reminded to once again compliment my children and make them happy. When they have something to cheer about, they do better in other stuff. That's why I like to give candy bars when they get a hundred on an assignment. It makes them happy all over again, and reinforces the joy of succeeding.
And in their success, I find my success and joy. And that's all the encouragement I need.
Compliment someone today and see how joyful you feel.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Fantasy World
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
The world is but a canvas to the imagination.--Henry David Thoreau
When I was a child, I often played 3 houses down the street with my friend Lizard. We didn't need a lot of toys to use as props in our imagination, since her bedroom was our stage. The tiny 7 x 9 room was the scene for many escapades. She had bunk beds with a ladder, a built-in tall dresser and armoire, an 8 foot long closet. easy access to the kitchen and a first floor window.
We often played house. We would take pillows and blankets and lay them down in the closet for the bedroom. The bottom bunk bed became the kitchen, and the top bed was the living room. The armoire contained her older sister's clothes, so this turned into the clothing store, complete with long mirror for viewing our magnificent finds. The funniest thing we did was around age 10, when big sis was a curvy 16. We put on some of her shorty nightgowns, and blew up balloons which we tied together and wore underneath. We added lots of jewelry and big girl heels! Were we ever hot!
In our make believe kitchen, we cooked our own concoctions. One was "Maple Milk," which was milk with maple syrup stirred in. Yum. The other weird thing was raw peach jello. We liked the taste of the powder and used to dip our fingers in it and eat it. Another was peanut butter with Nestle quik powder stirred in it, with just a little water, and frozen. Kind of a candy bar.
The first floor window had its uses also. We took the ladder from the bunk bed and propped it outside. The bedroom was now a "bank." This became our drive thru teller. For money in the bank, we used playing cards. We carried old purses from Mom and Grandma. And then of course we would go shopping, or play "The Price is Right" where you have to guess the prices to the nearest amount.
Modern day bedrooms often lack this imagination. Most kids have their own TVs and DVDs, stereos, laptops and cell phones. This is to give kids their own "space" and identity. My kids lament their lack of "toys" in their rooms on a daily basis. As teenagers, they of course are in the entitlement phase. We all went thru it, and so are they. I say they are entitled to ask, and I am entitled to laugh hysterically when they do.
Still, I noticed when I was up in the war zones that masquerade as their bedrooms, that imagination is not lacking in my children. The rug is really the "closet" since they leave everything lying all over it. The dressers are really pantries, where they store all the contraband snacks, candy wrappers and pop bottles. Dresser drawers are step stools for the closet shelves. The clothes hamper is used as a garbage can when they can find it. Under the bed is the laundry shoot, complete with easy access kicking zone. Pillow cases are Halloween candy bags. Blankets are living room comforters. Lampshades are basketball hoops for homework detention notices wadded up in a ball.
And curtain rods? Well, those of course are swords, the scene of many duels when Mom is not looking.
Now if we could only figure out what they imagine the lamps are that they break every other week. Basketballs maybe?
The world is but a canvas to the imagination.--Henry David Thoreau
When I was a child, I often played 3 houses down the street with my friend Lizard. We didn't need a lot of toys to use as props in our imagination, since her bedroom was our stage. The tiny 7 x 9 room was the scene for many escapades. She had bunk beds with a ladder, a built-in tall dresser and armoire, an 8 foot long closet. easy access to the kitchen and a first floor window.
We often played house. We would take pillows and blankets and lay them down in the closet for the bedroom. The bottom bunk bed became the kitchen, and the top bed was the living room. The armoire contained her older sister's clothes, so this turned into the clothing store, complete with long mirror for viewing our magnificent finds. The funniest thing we did was around age 10, when big sis was a curvy 16. We put on some of her shorty nightgowns, and blew up balloons which we tied together and wore underneath. We added lots of jewelry and big girl heels! Were we ever hot!
In our make believe kitchen, we cooked our own concoctions. One was "Maple Milk," which was milk with maple syrup stirred in. Yum. The other weird thing was raw peach jello. We liked the taste of the powder and used to dip our fingers in it and eat it. Another was peanut butter with Nestle quik powder stirred in it, with just a little water, and frozen. Kind of a candy bar.
The first floor window had its uses also. We took the ladder from the bunk bed and propped it outside. The bedroom was now a "bank." This became our drive thru teller. For money in the bank, we used playing cards. We carried old purses from Mom and Grandma. And then of course we would go shopping, or play "The Price is Right" where you have to guess the prices to the nearest amount.
Modern day bedrooms often lack this imagination. Most kids have their own TVs and DVDs, stereos, laptops and cell phones. This is to give kids their own "space" and identity. My kids lament their lack of "toys" in their rooms on a daily basis. As teenagers, they of course are in the entitlement phase. We all went thru it, and so are they. I say they are entitled to ask, and I am entitled to laugh hysterically when they do.
Still, I noticed when I was up in the war zones that masquerade as their bedrooms, that imagination is not lacking in my children. The rug is really the "closet" since they leave everything lying all over it. The dressers are really pantries, where they store all the contraband snacks, candy wrappers and pop bottles. Dresser drawers are step stools for the closet shelves. The clothes hamper is used as a garbage can when they can find it. Under the bed is the laundry shoot, complete with easy access kicking zone. Pillow cases are Halloween candy bags. Blankets are living room comforters. Lampshades are basketball hoops for homework detention notices wadded up in a ball.
And curtain rods? Well, those of course are swords, the scene of many duels when Mom is not looking.
Now if we could only figure out what they imagine the lamps are that they break every other week. Basketballs maybe?
Friday, October 26, 2007
Big Foot
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
What do Eskimos get from sitting on the ice too long?Polaroids.
Funny Fridays. Fun Fridays. TGIF. Whatever we call it, we should think better of it because it's the end of the week. I'd like to have nothing but jokes and laughter on Friday, since life is too short anyway. So I think Friday's column should be about laughing and loving and smirking and joking and rolling on the floor dying with gasps of laughter.
Lots of people can laugh at life, but can never laugh at anything about themselves. Not me. I have been the bunt of bad jokes since puberty struck many moons ago. I grew 6 inches one summer. My bright red hair got dark. My face freckles went away. And my feet....well, they got bigger. And bigger. They suddenly grew to a size 10 1/2.
It was the half size that did me in. Suddenly, I had to really shop for shoes. Now when I do manage to find shoes, I buy every pair that fits that day. You never know when you might next find a pair. Still, the 10 1/2 was manageable. Life went on.
Then I had my first child. Gained a keg size belly and the feet, well, the feet went up to an 11. Still not bad, but more searching needed. Specialty catalogs or Penney's when they had a good day, became the way to go. Then the twins came along. How to say this delicately about the size you grow to when you have twins. Hmm. Well, my doctor explained it at 8 weeks when the sonogram clearly showed "the two heads, " as the sonogram technician so gleefully pointed out. The size I was at 9 months with my first child, the extra large maternity clothes, well, I was that size at 12 weeks with the twins. And kept on expanding. The condo was so big at the 40 week mark, that my belly measured 60 inches. I could put my arm at a 90 degree angle to the belly, and my stomach stuck out to my fingertips.
And the feet? Well, they grew to a 12. A 12. Now it's really a pain to shop for shoes, and at times, I get almost desperate to find a nice pair in my budget. Still, the one good thing about having big feet was my ability to just pick out the biggest shoes in the pile and put them on. Easy, they were always mine. No thinking needed. I always had the biggest foot in the house.
Until about a month ago. My son's feet grew a size. He's a 12 men's. A good extra size and then some to mine. It was weird to have someone Else's shoes I could slip on. I hadn't been able to do that for decades. I felt like a little kid playing dress-up.
And my "throw on the biggest shoes in the pile" theory. Well, it backfired on me last Friday. There I was, walking across the driveway into work and I looked down. Grass stained sneakers. Not mine. Not even close.
Shoot. I wore my sons sneaks to work. Oh well. Everyone has a good laugh. At least it wasn't the pair with skeletons on them!
Maybe I can wear those sneaks for Halloween!
What do Eskimos get from sitting on the ice too long?Polaroids.
Funny Fridays. Fun Fridays. TGIF. Whatever we call it, we should think better of it because it's the end of the week. I'd like to have nothing but jokes and laughter on Friday, since life is too short anyway. So I think Friday's column should be about laughing and loving and smirking and joking and rolling on the floor dying with gasps of laughter.
Lots of people can laugh at life, but can never laugh at anything about themselves. Not me. I have been the bunt of bad jokes since puberty struck many moons ago. I grew 6 inches one summer. My bright red hair got dark. My face freckles went away. And my feet....well, they got bigger. And bigger. They suddenly grew to a size 10 1/2.
It was the half size that did me in. Suddenly, I had to really shop for shoes. Now when I do manage to find shoes, I buy every pair that fits that day. You never know when you might next find a pair. Still, the 10 1/2 was manageable. Life went on.
Then I had my first child. Gained a keg size belly and the feet, well, the feet went up to an 11. Still not bad, but more searching needed. Specialty catalogs or Penney's when they had a good day, became the way to go. Then the twins came along. How to say this delicately about the size you grow to when you have twins. Hmm. Well, my doctor explained it at 8 weeks when the sonogram clearly showed "the two heads, " as the sonogram technician so gleefully pointed out. The size I was at 9 months with my first child, the extra large maternity clothes, well, I was that size at 12 weeks with the twins. And kept on expanding. The condo was so big at the 40 week mark, that my belly measured 60 inches. I could put my arm at a 90 degree angle to the belly, and my stomach stuck out to my fingertips.
And the feet? Well, they grew to a 12. A 12. Now it's really a pain to shop for shoes, and at times, I get almost desperate to find a nice pair in my budget. Still, the one good thing about having big feet was my ability to just pick out the biggest shoes in the pile and put them on. Easy, they were always mine. No thinking needed. I always had the biggest foot in the house.
Until about a month ago. My son's feet grew a size. He's a 12 men's. A good extra size and then some to mine. It was weird to have someone Else's shoes I could slip on. I hadn't been able to do that for decades. I felt like a little kid playing dress-up.
And my "throw on the biggest shoes in the pile" theory. Well, it backfired on me last Friday. There I was, walking across the driveway into work and I looked down. Grass stained sneakers. Not mine. Not even close.
Shoot. I wore my sons sneaks to work. Oh well. Everyone has a good laugh. At least it wasn't the pair with skeletons on them!
Maybe I can wear those sneaks for Halloween!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Survival of the Fittest
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
As I have discovered by examining my past, I started out as a child. Coincidentally, so did my brother. My mother did not put all her eggs in one basket, so to speak: she gave me a younger brother named Russell, who taught me what was meant by "survival of the fittest." Bill Cosby
Growing up, I was always taller than my brother Joe by several inches. He had 2 years on me, but I had a loud mouth and the determination to not be bullied by him. I gave back what he dished out. Gave it so well, that my mother had a little talk with me when I was in around 3rd grade and Joe was in 5th. "Now, I know he aggravates you. And you can hold him down and punch him. But just because you can, doesn't mean you should. "
I stopped beating him up and we had a truce...for maybe a year. Then the tides changed. Suddenly my little brother grew biceps. Large biceps. My best friend had a balance beam that stood about 5 feet high. Her Dad made it custom for us to do tricks on in the back yard. My brother used to go to beam, which hit him at should level, since he was only about 5' 6" tall. He would put his arms on the beam, and from a standing position, push himself up into a hand stand. It was really cool. He became really strong.
One day, while sitting on the couch in my parent's living room, I discovered just how much those early beating bothered Joe. He came in, picked me up, lifted me over his head, and dropped me on the floor. From then on, he had the couch whenever he wanted it.
Joe never got much taller, but he got a lot of muscles. His friends all towered over him, but he got them back. We had a mini-bike, that he took the motor out of. He designed and welded himself a go cart frame, that was full body, with a cage for protection in case of rollovers. In case of roll overs? Yes, he even padded the whole frame and covered it in leather. It was a sweet machine, and perfect size for him. His friends Mark and Tom had to literally ride with their knees up by their ears to fit in it. It went really fast and they made a whole track in the miles of empty land in our neighborhood. They zoomed around in that go-cart for years. Broken bones became a badge of honor amongst them. Oh, the fun of it.
I remember well the shouting matches and fights over stuff I had with Joe. It makes me smile when I live through the hormones years with my kids. My little twin cupcake is 70 pounds of concentrated anger. She can yell with the best of them. Her 56 inches takes on her older brother's 70 inches with no problem. If Wild Child is really bothering her, she just jumps on his back and attempts to pound. He easily hands her off because he has muscles right now while she looks like a 2nd grader. She gets sent to her room very often now, just to calm her mouth.
One day, Wild Child will get his licks. And I hope he smiles years later when it happens to his kids. I know I do.
As I have discovered by examining my past, I started out as a child. Coincidentally, so did my brother. My mother did not put all her eggs in one basket, so to speak: she gave me a younger brother named Russell, who taught me what was meant by "survival of the fittest." Bill Cosby
Growing up, I was always taller than my brother Joe by several inches. He had 2 years on me, but I had a loud mouth and the determination to not be bullied by him. I gave back what he dished out. Gave it so well, that my mother had a little talk with me when I was in around 3rd grade and Joe was in 5th. "Now, I know he aggravates you. And you can hold him down and punch him. But just because you can, doesn't mean you should. "
I stopped beating him up and we had a truce...for maybe a year. Then the tides changed. Suddenly my little brother grew biceps. Large biceps. My best friend had a balance beam that stood about 5 feet high. Her Dad made it custom for us to do tricks on in the back yard. My brother used to go to beam, which hit him at should level, since he was only about 5' 6" tall. He would put his arms on the beam, and from a standing position, push himself up into a hand stand. It was really cool. He became really strong.
One day, while sitting on the couch in my parent's living room, I discovered just how much those early beating bothered Joe. He came in, picked me up, lifted me over his head, and dropped me on the floor. From then on, he had the couch whenever he wanted it.
Joe never got much taller, but he got a lot of muscles. His friends all towered over him, but he got them back. We had a mini-bike, that he took the motor out of. He designed and welded himself a go cart frame, that was full body, with a cage for protection in case of rollovers. In case of roll overs? Yes, he even padded the whole frame and covered it in leather. It was a sweet machine, and perfect size for him. His friends Mark and Tom had to literally ride with their knees up by their ears to fit in it. It went really fast and they made a whole track in the miles of empty land in our neighborhood. They zoomed around in that go-cart for years. Broken bones became a badge of honor amongst them. Oh, the fun of it.
I remember well the shouting matches and fights over stuff I had with Joe. It makes me smile when I live through the hormones years with my kids. My little twin cupcake is 70 pounds of concentrated anger. She can yell with the best of them. Her 56 inches takes on her older brother's 70 inches with no problem. If Wild Child is really bothering her, she just jumps on his back and attempts to pound. He easily hands her off because he has muscles right now while she looks like a 2nd grader. She gets sent to her room very often now, just to calm her mouth.
One day, Wild Child will get his licks. And I hope he smiles years later when it happens to his kids. I know I do.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Hot Mama
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
meno·pause· (men′ə pôz′)
noun
the permanent cessation of a woman's ability to bear children, when she questions her sanity in every having them in the first place---ME
I get up most days and go to the health club at 5:30 a.m. To make it easier, most of the time I just sleep in my work out clothes. I know my own mentality at that time of day, and I have used any excuse there is not to leave the comfort of a warm snugly bed. It's too cold, I'm too tired, I'm too happy laying here, it's raining outside, it's foggy outside, it's nice day outside, my feet feel toasty, the dog is comfortable laying on me or the coffee smells really good, and I need to lay here and enjoy the smell. You name it and I have taken it as a reason. I either have to set the clothes out on the dresser all ready to go, or I have to sleep in them. Some days, I think my pink polka dot jammies would make excellent sweat pants. I may find out if they do yet.
So I get up, throw on socks and sneaks, grab the Creative Zen and keys and go. I drive the half mile and run upstairs to the club. I walk in the door, grab a rubber band in the pen basket, tie my hair up and zap in my membership card. I hop on my favorite ellipitical machine, crank the tunes to the max and begin. I don't really open my eyes or my brain until I have released all the pent up hormones raging inside me. It's a wonderful thing to be sweating so hard people think tears are running down your face; your shirt is sticking to you, your hands are falling off the handles from the river running down them and you think there can't possibly be any more sweat inside you until bam!--a hot flash hits you, creeping up the neck and drenching the last possible strain of hair that isn't wringing wet. Heat from hormones mixes with heat from exertion and becomes volcanic.
I push harder on the machine, punishing it for this impossible feeling overcoming me, the heat, the sweat and most of the time the overwhelming need to cry. The hormones are raging, pushing and pulling me, filling me simultaneously with angst and hot sexual need. I ride higher and faster, stomping, straining, running; ignoring the pain in the knees, the sticking of the joints, and most of all, ignoring the desire to just lay down and give into the hormones. I carry on, filling my mind with erotic images while my body protests that it is no longer 18. I push while I pretend to dance, glide while I transport my mind to an earlier time and age.
The minutes tick by as fast as the years. Where was I when I met him? Who was I with? How did it end? I work to burn off the energy and take my brain to an even plain, a place where I am still in control and my body listens to my commands. I ride hard to lose the anxiety, the stress and the fear. Will I ever feel that joy again? Will I ever be a rising star at work again? Am I doing a good job as a Mom while I feel so out of control? When will it be about me again and will I be ready? How long with this ocean of desire last? And do I want it too? I ride to enjoy and ride to forget. I ride to make it through the day.
Finally, the energy spent, I return my brain to present day Mom, the one who has to plan the day, run the house and organize the fun. The one who does laundry while cooking breakfast, defrosting dinner, packing her lunch and putting on her work clothes. The one who leaves the house an hour early to drive her kids to choir practice and flag football. The one who puts on her makeup while waiting in traffic. The one who somehow holds it together while being ignored at work, pretending life is good and smiling at everyone, when she would rather scream , "Don't you know how I feel??? Are you really that stupid?" The one Mom who loves her life, her kids and their every changing lives. The one who feels the heat and laughs at the world. The one who secretly smiles at cute guys thinking, "Red Roof Inn, 5:30?" The one who hears the hormones rage in her teenagers and thinks, "I can relate."
meno·pause· (men′ə pôz′)
noun
the permanent cessation of a woman's ability to bear children, when she questions her sanity in every having them in the first place---ME
I get up most days and go to the health club at 5:30 a.m. To make it easier, most of the time I just sleep in my work out clothes. I know my own mentality at that time of day, and I have used any excuse there is not to leave the comfort of a warm snugly bed. It's too cold, I'm too tired, I'm too happy laying here, it's raining outside, it's foggy outside, it's nice day outside, my feet feel toasty, the dog is comfortable laying on me or the coffee smells really good, and I need to lay here and enjoy the smell. You name it and I have taken it as a reason. I either have to set the clothes out on the dresser all ready to go, or I have to sleep in them. Some days, I think my pink polka dot jammies would make excellent sweat pants. I may find out if they do yet.
So I get up, throw on socks and sneaks, grab the Creative Zen and keys and go. I drive the half mile and run upstairs to the club. I walk in the door, grab a rubber band in the pen basket, tie my hair up and zap in my membership card. I hop on my favorite ellipitical machine, crank the tunes to the max and begin. I don't really open my eyes or my brain until I have released all the pent up hormones raging inside me. It's a wonderful thing to be sweating so hard people think tears are running down your face; your shirt is sticking to you, your hands are falling off the handles from the river running down them and you think there can't possibly be any more sweat inside you until bam!--a hot flash hits you, creeping up the neck and drenching the last possible strain of hair that isn't wringing wet. Heat from hormones mixes with heat from exertion and becomes volcanic.
I push harder on the machine, punishing it for this impossible feeling overcoming me, the heat, the sweat and most of the time the overwhelming need to cry. The hormones are raging, pushing and pulling me, filling me simultaneously with angst and hot sexual need. I ride higher and faster, stomping, straining, running; ignoring the pain in the knees, the sticking of the joints, and most of all, ignoring the desire to just lay down and give into the hormones. I carry on, filling my mind with erotic images while my body protests that it is no longer 18. I push while I pretend to dance, glide while I transport my mind to an earlier time and age.
The minutes tick by as fast as the years. Where was I when I met him? Who was I with? How did it end? I work to burn off the energy and take my brain to an even plain, a place where I am still in control and my body listens to my commands. I ride hard to lose the anxiety, the stress and the fear. Will I ever feel that joy again? Will I ever be a rising star at work again? Am I doing a good job as a Mom while I feel so out of control? When will it be about me again and will I be ready? How long with this ocean of desire last? And do I want it too? I ride to enjoy and ride to forget. I ride to make it through the day.
Finally, the energy spent, I return my brain to present day Mom, the one who has to plan the day, run the house and organize the fun. The one who does laundry while cooking breakfast, defrosting dinner, packing her lunch and putting on her work clothes. The one who leaves the house an hour early to drive her kids to choir practice and flag football. The one who puts on her makeup while waiting in traffic. The one who somehow holds it together while being ignored at work, pretending life is good and smiling at everyone, when she would rather scream , "Don't you know how I feel??? Are you really that stupid?" The one Mom who loves her life, her kids and their every changing lives. The one who feels the heat and laughs at the world. The one who secretly smiles at cute guys thinking, "Red Roof Inn, 5:30?" The one who hears the hormones rage in her teenagers and thinks, "I can relate."
Monday, October 15, 2007
Say Thank You
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
Many days I hear, "This, Too, Shall Pass"--words that my late mother often said to remind me that whatever it is, it won't last. And I often find myself mentally asking, Where's the Thank You Power?--a reminder to look for the blessings in every situation because they are there.
But my personal tagline is "Here to Make a Difference." I have never for a moment believed that life was just a series of days, and then you die. I believe we were meant to experience as much as we have the opportunity to, and to have meaningful connections with the people around us. I think that when we leave this earth, something about it should be better for our having been here.
There are so many ways to make that difference, which is really what Thank You Power is all about. Doing something for someone else makes both of you feel good. The broaden-and-build aspect of feeling good makes you more adventurous and more inclined to try the new things that make life invigorating. The new experiences give you memories that, when recalled, lift you up even more.1 It's an upward spiral that all starts with Thank You Power.---from the book by Deborah Norville, Thank you Power
I started reading this book last week and just had to share some of it. I have always found myself gravitating to my tried and true beliefs during stressful times. Years ago, I read in a Jan Karon "Mitford Series" novel, that we need to give thanks for all things. In the book, Father Tim stops stressing for his being afflicted with diabetes, and gives thanks for this to God. He finally sees that the blessings in his friends and parishioners that help him with his disease, in the foods that he is allowed to savor occasionally and in his need to slow down and take life as it comes, instead of rushing through it like a freight train.
I know in times of stress that it's hard to find the grace, to look for the good, and most of all to try and do something good for someone else. It seems to be the last thing we have time to do, but in reality, this is the thing that sets us free to experience God's love in ourselves, to feel his healing power.
Last Sunday I came home not to a new set of kitchen cabinets, but to an empty kitchen because the new layout was not right for the current space. I had no cabinets, no counter, no dishwasher, and worst of all no sink. I loaded the dishes in my 5 gallon pail and threw them into the utility tub. I couldn't imagine what we were going to do now and was screaming inside, trying hard not to show how distressed I was. I took out my frustration on a bag of pretzels and hot cheese. Yum!
The next day I tried to come up with a plan and called our kitchen designer and got some options on what we might need to change in the cupboard layout if we did indeed measure wrong. I tried to think positively and picture the final, beautiful kitchen I would have, thinking Easter was a good time frame to plan for. Easter 2009. After all, I really like washing dishes in a bucket!
Then I came home, I found out the real problem was the new window we just put in. The bigger window which was moved 5 inches to the right to make room for the bigger sink. Except, it should have gone 5 inches to the left, since the corner most cabinet was smaller. Oops. My husband did not want to do this, since it meant a probable extra week without the kitchen. ()Think 3 extra weeks). He didn't want me to have to go that long without a kitchen. He was desperately trying to make it right. When I realized this, I stopped him and thanked him for working so hard on the kitchen, even when his hands were going numb and he couldn't lift another tool. I said it was okay, and the suggested he just get an opinion from his Dad. Just talk to him about it. And I silently gave thanks that my father-in-law was a home builder for many years.
When Dad saw the problem, he just said, "Move the window." Simple as that. Just a mistake. Fix it and go on. Fix it and forget about it. No big deal really, stuff happens.And he came the next night, and helped move it. I returned home that night at 9, to a 8 foot by 6 foot gaping hole in my kitchen wall. At 9 o'clock at night, when it was going to be 45 overnight, a hole large enough to drive a car through. Augh! Well, I locked myself in the bedroom and proceeded to kill a bag of potato chips. Bad chips! Bad! Take that! I was tired and went to sleep to the whir of the saws. I gave thanks for the help and figured they would stop soon and just board up the space. We would be cold, but we would be on the way to having it fixed. Tomorrow is another day.
I woke up to a nice, shiny new window in the right space. All lined up for the new sink. They worked until midnight. My mother-in-law was calling every hour trying to get her husband to stop and rest from his diabetes. But he hung on, and got it in for us.
Thanks Dad. Thanks husband. Thanks friends who are helping me through this remodel. Thanks for all the kind support and love as I write this blog. Thanks for getting me writing again. And thank you God for my wonderful life.
Many days I hear, "This, Too, Shall Pass"--words that my late mother often said to remind me that whatever it is, it won't last. And I often find myself mentally asking, Where's the Thank You Power?--a reminder to look for the blessings in every situation because they are there.
But my personal tagline is "Here to Make a Difference." I have never for a moment believed that life was just a series of days, and then you die. I believe we were meant to experience as much as we have the opportunity to, and to have meaningful connections with the people around us. I think that when we leave this earth, something about it should be better for our having been here.
There are so many ways to make that difference, which is really what Thank You Power is all about. Doing something for someone else makes both of you feel good. The broaden-and-build aspect of feeling good makes you more adventurous and more inclined to try the new things that make life invigorating. The new experiences give you memories that, when recalled, lift you up even more.1 It's an upward spiral that all starts with Thank You Power.---from the book by Deborah Norville, Thank you Power
I started reading this book last week and just had to share some of it. I have always found myself gravitating to my tried and true beliefs during stressful times. Years ago, I read in a Jan Karon "Mitford Series" novel, that we need to give thanks for all things. In the book, Father Tim stops stressing for his being afflicted with diabetes, and gives thanks for this to God. He finally sees that the blessings in his friends and parishioners that help him with his disease, in the foods that he is allowed to savor occasionally and in his need to slow down and take life as it comes, instead of rushing through it like a freight train.
I know in times of stress that it's hard to find the grace, to look for the good, and most of all to try and do something good for someone else. It seems to be the last thing we have time to do, but in reality, this is the thing that sets us free to experience God's love in ourselves, to feel his healing power.
Last Sunday I came home not to a new set of kitchen cabinets, but to an empty kitchen because the new layout was not right for the current space. I had no cabinets, no counter, no dishwasher, and worst of all no sink. I loaded the dishes in my 5 gallon pail and threw them into the utility tub. I couldn't imagine what we were going to do now and was screaming inside, trying hard not to show how distressed I was. I took out my frustration on a bag of pretzels and hot cheese. Yum!
The next day I tried to come up with a plan and called our kitchen designer and got some options on what we might need to change in the cupboard layout if we did indeed measure wrong. I tried to think positively and picture the final, beautiful kitchen I would have, thinking Easter was a good time frame to plan for. Easter 2009. After all, I really like washing dishes in a bucket!
Then I came home, I found out the real problem was the new window we just put in. The bigger window which was moved 5 inches to the right to make room for the bigger sink. Except, it should have gone 5 inches to the left, since the corner most cabinet was smaller. Oops. My husband did not want to do this, since it meant a probable extra week without the kitchen. ()Think 3 extra weeks). He didn't want me to have to go that long without a kitchen. He was desperately trying to make it right. When I realized this, I stopped him and thanked him for working so hard on the kitchen, even when his hands were going numb and he couldn't lift another tool. I said it was okay, and the suggested he just get an opinion from his Dad. Just talk to him about it. And I silently gave thanks that my father-in-law was a home builder for many years.
When Dad saw the problem, he just said, "Move the window." Simple as that. Just a mistake. Fix it and go on. Fix it and forget about it. No big deal really, stuff happens.And he came the next night, and helped move it. I returned home that night at 9, to a 8 foot by 6 foot gaping hole in my kitchen wall. At 9 o'clock at night, when it was going to be 45 overnight, a hole large enough to drive a car through. Augh! Well, I locked myself in the bedroom and proceeded to kill a bag of potato chips. Bad chips! Bad! Take that! I was tired and went to sleep to the whir of the saws. I gave thanks for the help and figured they would stop soon and just board up the space. We would be cold, but we would be on the way to having it fixed. Tomorrow is another day.
I woke up to a nice, shiny new window in the right space. All lined up for the new sink. They worked until midnight. My mother-in-law was calling every hour trying to get her husband to stop and rest from his diabetes. But he hung on, and got it in for us.
Thanks Dad. Thanks husband. Thanks friends who are helping me through this remodel. Thanks for all the kind support and love as I write this blog. Thanks for getting me writing again. And thank you God for my wonderful life.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
It Was As Far As They Could Dream
Life Balance: a feat we try to achieve while searching to be the best that we can we, while simultaneously raising our children to do the same. This is the equilibrium in our inner life force whereby our heartbeat matches the divine force that exists all around us. When this life balance peaks, our sense of peace, joy, love and wisdom act as one with our very souls.
The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.-- Eleanor Roosevelt
We received the Sears "Wish Book" in the mail last week. I remember eagerly paging through the Sears catalog as a child and eagerly composing my wish list for Christmas. The haven't published the book in the last 14 years, so my kids did not have the pleasure of doing the same when they were little. Not all the need is the Best Buy add to compose a list that will take me 5 minutes to purchase and 5 years to pay off.
When they were little, it was great to encourage them in their dreams of the moment; the fire truck and helmet, the police car and badge, the princess crown and pink tutu. Dreams were so simple, but in their choices of toys were the real life elements of careers that might interest them someday. We encourage our children in so many ways to live up to their potential, to gravitate toward their natural interests, to believe in themselves and be what they are meant to be.
Be all you can be. Just do it. Grab the bull by the horns. "Hey, your never know, it's a dollar and a dream."
Many of the way in which we help our children develop is just by helping them to open their mind to new things and new ideas. We try to expand their horizons by showing them the world outside of which they live. To believe they can have anything they want. Dream it, think about it, save pictures of, think about what your life might be like if you did that, and picture yourself there, doing it, owing it, experiencing it.
In the movie "Cheaper by the Dozen," Steve Martin is trying to get his 12 children together at one time to take a family picture for the Christmas cards. The oldest daughter is off with the boyfriend, so Steve says he will photo shop her in the picture. Then of course everyone would like to be photo shopped in, rather that rearranging their schedules to do the real thing. Its kinda funny in the movie, that technology was replacing a "real" family moment.
A friend at work likes to photo shop himself in events at Ball games with co-workers that live in other parts of the world. It's funny in that he is bringing himself together with people he works with, talks with, co-designs reports with, has meetings with, but can't actually be with in today's global workplace. In this instance, he is creating moments that can't happen as reality. But then one day, he took a home vacation, and each workday, sent us a different picture of himself in Paris. He was standing in front of the Eiffel tower and we all laughed. We posted the pictures and other co-workers were jealous of his fabulous dream vacation.
So we asked him one day when he was really going to Paris. He was surprised by this, since his answer automatically came out "never." It set him back, and made him think, when did he stop dreaming? When did his dreams shrink down to the area he lived in?
Neighbors of a family friend lived in a poor section of the city. The houses there are from the turn of the 20th century, working class housing stock on very narrow lots. Very dilapidatedhouses that often share a driveway with the house next door. House values run in the low teens. Often people own cars that are worth more.
So the family friend shared a driveway and had a restored '69 Cuda with a custom paint job in the driveway, with their sons motorcycle parked behind it, and another car and a van behind that. The neighbor backed the van around, but in their hurry, bumped the motorcycle, which tipped over and smashed into the Cuda, scratching the paint. They asked our friend to let them pay cash instead of billing their insurance, so they did. The repair would have been $1800, and the neighbors were shocked. They didn't even have car insurance, and thought it might be like $200 to repair the scratches. They refused to pay, so our friend took them to small claims court.
One of the court TV shows picked up the case and flew them to New York to tape the story. Our friends won the case, and the show paid them the money owed. The neighbor got off scott free, but everyone couldn't believe they were willing to stiff their next door neighbor. Usually, the story would end by maybe something bad happening to them for stiffing, "karma" getting them back, but no.
They win the lottery. They win $800,000. Wow. They can buy a real nice house and get out of the poor section of the city they live in. Everyone expects them to buy land, and move to a real nice suburb, or move to another state, something big. Definitely, everyone thinks a move is in the future. They can do basically anything they have ever dreamed of with that much money. What was in their dreams? How far would they go?
They moved one half mile down the road, just over the city line. The houses are double what their house was worth, maybe $40,000. One half mile. It was as far as they could dream.
I think of that story amazed and dismayed at the same time. How could they want so little? When did they stop expecting more? Are we grown-up when we stop dreaming, or are we just self-limiting?
How do we encourage our children to dream while we keep dreaming ourselves?
The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.-- Eleanor Roosevelt
We received the Sears "Wish Book" in the mail last week. I remember eagerly paging through the Sears catalog as a child and eagerly composing my wish list for Christmas. The haven't published the book in the last 14 years, so my kids did not have the pleasure of doing the same when they were little. Not all the need is the Best Buy add to compose a list that will take me 5 minutes to purchase and 5 years to pay off.
When they were little, it was great to encourage them in their dreams of the moment; the fire truck and helmet, the police car and badge, the princess crown and pink tutu. Dreams were so simple, but in their choices of toys were the real life elements of careers that might interest them someday. We encourage our children in so many ways to live up to their potential, to gravitate toward their natural interests, to believe in themselves and be what they are meant to be.
Be all you can be. Just do it. Grab the bull by the horns. "Hey, your never know, it's a dollar and a dream."
Many of the way in which we help our children develop is just by helping them to open their mind to new things and new ideas. We try to expand their horizons by showing them the world outside of which they live. To believe they can have anything they want. Dream it, think about it, save pictures of, think about what your life might be like if you did that, and picture yourself there, doing it, owing it, experiencing it.
In the movie "Cheaper by the Dozen," Steve Martin is trying to get his 12 children together at one time to take a family picture for the Christmas cards. The oldest daughter is off with the boyfriend, so Steve says he will photo shop her in the picture. Then of course everyone would like to be photo shopped in, rather that rearranging their schedules to do the real thing. Its kinda funny in the movie, that technology was replacing a "real" family moment.
A friend at work likes to photo shop himself in events at Ball games with co-workers that live in other parts of the world. It's funny in that he is bringing himself together with people he works with, talks with, co-designs reports with, has meetings with, but can't actually be with in today's global workplace. In this instance, he is creating moments that can't happen as reality. But then one day, he took a home vacation, and each workday, sent us a different picture of himself in Paris. He was standing in front of the Eiffel tower and we all laughed. We posted the pictures and other co-workers were jealous of his fabulous dream vacation.
So we asked him one day when he was really going to Paris. He was surprised by this, since his answer automatically came out "never." It set him back, and made him think, when did he stop dreaming? When did his dreams shrink down to the area he lived in?
Neighbors of a family friend lived in a poor section of the city. The houses there are from the turn of the 20th century, working class housing stock on very narrow lots. Very dilapidatedhouses that often share a driveway with the house next door. House values run in the low teens. Often people own cars that are worth more.
So the family friend shared a driveway and had a restored '69 Cuda with a custom paint job in the driveway, with their sons motorcycle parked behind it, and another car and a van behind that. The neighbor backed the van around, but in their hurry, bumped the motorcycle, which tipped over and smashed into the Cuda, scratching the paint. They asked our friend to let them pay cash instead of billing their insurance, so they did. The repair would have been $1800, and the neighbors were shocked. They didn't even have car insurance, and thought it might be like $200 to repair the scratches. They refused to pay, so our friend took them to small claims court.
One of the court TV shows picked up the case and flew them to New York to tape the story. Our friends won the case, and the show paid them the money owed. The neighbor got off scott free, but everyone couldn't believe they were willing to stiff their next door neighbor. Usually, the story would end by maybe something bad happening to them for stiffing, "karma" getting them back, but no.
They win the lottery. They win $800,000. Wow. They can buy a real nice house and get out of the poor section of the city they live in. Everyone expects them to buy land, and move to a real nice suburb, or move to another state, something big. Definitely, everyone thinks a move is in the future. They can do basically anything they have ever dreamed of with that much money. What was in their dreams? How far would they go?
They moved one half mile down the road, just over the city line. The houses are double what their house was worth, maybe $40,000. One half mile. It was as far as they could dream.
I think of that story amazed and dismayed at the same time. How could they want so little? When did they stop expecting more? Are we grown-up when we stop dreaming, or are we just self-limiting?
How do we encourage our children to dream while we keep dreaming ourselves?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)