End of Week One (Operation: T.H.A.N.K.S.)

Teach Him (or her) Appreciation 'N' Kindness Specifically

Clever, right? Heehee

 

 

(If you're a weirdo and haven't already read my previous post, check it out now, so you'll know what I'm talking about. Mostly because I'm too lazy to recap.)

 

Week one of my little experiment went very well. Shockingly well, in fact. Gavin didn't have a single meltdown over the temporary loss of his toys. He did try to bribe me at one point, but I'm actually a little proud of that. Heh heh

 

 "I'll put up all of Rhett's toys for you, if you let me have some of mine back."

When I first sat him down and informed him of the plan, I wanted to make sure he understood the point of it, and I've reiterated that point every single day since. He's almost five, and he's very smart, but the kid still puts his underwear on backwards; it's necessary to repeat myself a lot.

 

It was very important to me that he knew he wasn't in trouble. This was not a punishment but an opportunity to learn an essential life lesson. 

It wasn't as easy as I anticipated it would be to explain the concept. You try defining something intangible to a preschooler! Not only did I have a limited time to work with before I would completely lose his attention, I had to explain it using words he was already very familiar with. After all, I didn't want him to merely recite back to me whatever I told him; I wanted him to get it.

What I ultimately came up with is that being thankful means you are happier with the things you already have than you are sad about the things you don't have. It's perfectly fine and understandable to want more, but it's not a good attitude to spend more time and energy pining away for things you don't have than you do being appreciative of what you already have. (Obviously, this goes for intangible things as well, but I figured this was a good first step... because it's actually visible.)

*If anyone has any other suggestions about how to help explain it, seriously let me know.

So, Gavin survived with having only three toys for a week. He learned a little about thankfulness, and he was forced to use his imagination even more than he normally does. For real - along the way I found him playing actively with a string, a scrap piece of fabric, and a Christmas ornament. 

 

And BONUS, he said he actually kind of liked it because it was "way easier" and faster to clean his room each night before bedtime. This, of course, didn't keep him from ripping the lid off of the toy box this morning, though!

Operation: T.H.A.N.K.S.

Teach Him (or her) Appreciation 'N' Kindness Specifically

Clever, right? Heehee

I'm a lucky lady. Not only are my boys beautiful, they're genuinely good. Yes, I know I'm partial. Duh. But seriously, they both naturally have sweet dispositions. They're amusing and observant and adorable. Having said that, they're certainly not perfect. They have a lot to learn. That's my job - not to make them perfect, of course, but to cultivate them to be the best versions of themselves.

My current mission is to simply and specifically teach my four-year-old gratitude. It's not an easy task, by the way. Don't get me wrong. Gavin has always been a sensitive and relatively thoughtful kid. He doesn't like to see others cry, and he's not the type to exclude anyone on the playground. What I've been struggling to teach him is to be appreciative of what he has, instead of just constantly wanting more, more, more.

This is tricky, because I don't want him to go without. I'm happy that we're in the position to provide all that he needs, and I enjoy giving him material things along with my affection and time. Plus, the desire to achieve more, more, more can be a fantastic tool to drive him to success in his adult life. (And realistically, can we ever expect a child to not want every toy he sees in the store?)

Soooo how do you instruct a child to be grateful for all that he has without putting him in the position of someone who has not? I'm not sure that you can. Many people opt to take their children to volunteer at soup kitchens around the holidays. This is a wonderful thing to do, in my opinion. However, I'm not sure that it is all that effective... at least not in the long term. Your kid may see someone who is enduring poverty, but that's not the same as experiencing lack.

Now, am I going to make little boy go hungry to prove a point? Hell no.

I am going to temporarily take some things away from him, though. Not because I wish him to think it's wrong to have and/or want things, but because I want him to understand the difference in needs and wants, and I desire for him to recognize he's fortunate to possess both.

So here's my gameplan:
Week 1: Put away all but three of his toys
Week 2: No more than an hour of TV a day
Week 3: No unhealthy treats (i.e. icecream, candy, etc)

Some may argue that these elements are already in effect in their households. Wellllll, gooood for them. My well-behaved, water-drinking, vitamin-taking, vegetable-eating, active, educated kid indulges in sweet treats and probably too much T.V. Also, I know this plan is similar to Lent in some ways. Lent is not something we have ever practiced, but I grasp the concept and potential benefits.

This plan of mine may give him an epiphany that will positively change the rest of his life. Then again, it may totally backfire and do nothing but make both of us miserable.

Either way, I'd like to stress that I chose the words for my little acrostic carefully, not simply out of convenience. (Quite honestly, I generally detest acrostics... because, well, they're usually lame.) I think being more appreciative of your own life makes you more likely to be generous and kind to others.

And, ya gotta admit that this is the perfect time of year to try this. Yeah, yeah, the origin of Thanksgiving sucks. In this instance, I'm a believer that it's what you make something into and not what something  started out as that counts (same goes for soccer and Halloween, etc). I don't celebrate the fact that dumb white people brutally took advantage of Native Americans. I do, however, take the time to see extended family and profess sincere gratitude for all the things I'm lucky to have, including good food!

Besides, we all know that Thanksgiving is really just foreplay for Christmas... ;)

More Than Mom

I won't bother trying to convince you my mother is perfect. There's no doubt she has her flaws and has made her share of mistakes, just like the rest of us. However, I recently started seeing my mom in a different way, and it's made our already-awesome relationship even better. What better time than Mother's Day to share this little insight?

My mother is more than Mom.

Don't get me wrong. Part of the reason I adore my mother so much is because of the natural bond we share thanks to DNA and the time I spent in her womb. She is the one person on Earth who is truly capable of loving me unconditionally. I've confessed my worst thoughts and actions to this woman without being judged or made to feel inferior or any less worthy of her affection, time, and attention.
But the older I get the more I see my mother as... a woman. Someone who has a history before me, her firstborn. A woman with fears, desires, experiences, quirks, and qualities just like any other woman... just like me.

It turns out I really like this person, regardless of the DNA connection. So now, I'm going to describe my mother as a person, as a friend.

1) She's compassionate and generous. If you're a teenage boy in line at a fast food restaurant and don't have enough money to cover your order, she's the stranger who will discreetly slide cash onto the counter in front of you while you nervously glance back and forth between the cashier and your friends who are goofing off at the drink machines. She was not born into a financially successful family and has never been swimming in dough, but if she has it and you need it, she will not hesitate to give it to you. And if it's something you don't need but really want - a dress for a high school beauty pageant, a plane ticket to go to Washington D.C. with the rest of your class, a swing for your newborn - she will find a way to make it happen.

2) She's empathetic and kind. For years my mother has worked with the elderly and not because its pays well. She has worked in nursing homes and retirement facilities, because she actually cares about how the older generation is treated. She has a natural gift for listening to them, treating them with respect, and taking care of their aging bodies. There are few people who are capable of this. Honestly, I'm not sure that I would be capable of doing it with the ease she has.

3) She's beautiful. Her eyes are the color of honey and her cheekbones are worthy of envy... but those are things she was born with. What really impresses me is how the woman has given birth to five children and still has a kickass figure. I'm sure genetics has something to do with it, but I've also witnessed her dedication to health. While we have both certainly indulged in cookies and chips and ice cream together, she's always been a water-drinker and an exerciser, too. She works hard for the fantastic body she has. And to top it off, nope, she's not vain.

4) She's funny. The problem with this is that it's really difficult to stay on schedule... because when you're in her presence, you have so much fun that the time goes by way too quickly. Before you know it, you're showing up sheepishly at home two hours later than you intended.

5) She's unselfish. I can honestly say that I can't think of a single time she ever tried to manipulate my actions to suit her own desires. She's that woman who will smile in encouragement and then cry behind closed doors about her own hurt feelings, before she will dare make you feel unsupported or guilty.

She's loyal... talented... chaotic... adventurous... modest... smart...
She's my mom. But she's also much more than that. She's simply a good person.
I'm lucky to have her. And, yeah, you should be jealous. :)

Let 'Em Know & Let It Go

"There is love in holding, and there is love in letting go." 

-- Elizabeth Berg, The Year of Pleasures

   

   There are many things in life that we can influence and very few that we can control. In case you haven't noticed, we cannot control other people - not really. You can insist that a person do something, but you can't actually make that person do it. Even if you hold a gun to his/her head, ultimately that person chooses to do it or get shot. And even if you do find a way to control a person's actions, you certainly can't control someone else's feelings. You cannot make someone love you... you cannot even make someone like you or desire you. You can't make someone treat you with respect or keep someone from hurting you. 

   The only person you can exercise control over is... well, you. Duh. This is a bit tricky, of course, when it comes to your feelings. I do admit some feelings seem rather uncontrollable and often overwhelming. Believe me, I've experienced them all: love, lust, betrayal, rage, disappointment, heartache, and the list goes on. I don't remember asking to experience any of those feelings, but at some point I found a way to manage each one. 

   When it comes down to it, there are always two options: hold on or let go. Physically, we know that holding on and letting go are both voluntary actions (unlike something such as falling asleep, which is involuntary). I recently discovered that emotionally, these are also voluntary actions. 

   The trick is to know when to do what. I have no formula, but I have noticed a pattern that seems to work for me. I imagine both scenarios - the weight and security of holding on, and then the lightness and relief of letting go - and then I choose the one that brings me the most pleasure in that particular situation. Most of the time (but not always) it feels better to let go. 

   See, it's not always easy to let go, but it usually requires more energy to hold on. 

   Whenever your feelings involve someone else (and c'mon, when don't they??) I think it is important to tell  that person. It doesn't matter whether you're in love with the person or pissed off at that person (or both! ha ha). He/she deserves to know, and you deserve to express yourself. (Holding it in sucks even more than holding on.) Life is short and if you never allow yourself to be vulnerable, you're not fully experiencing it. 

   However, once you've expressed yourself, let it out, why not let it go? Hmmm, the phrase "let it go" has become a little cliche' so I'll word it differently: Allow it to leave. 

Allow. That is a verb. Allow. That implies choice/permission/control.

   Feelings will come, and you can't control that they'll come. But you can allow them to leave (when the time is right for you). 

  I don't mean it won't be a little messy still. After all, another way people say "let it go" is "just drop it". And usually when you drop something - especially something heavy - it makes some noise and a little clean up is required. 

   It's still your choice ultimately. Holding on can bring a different kind of pleasure. It makes you feel stronger (it certainly requires more effort); it makes you feel justified. Sometimes it makes you feel protected. Your anger and refusal to forgive can make excellent body armor. Holding unrequited love over your heart can make a fabulous shield. You'll probably be exhausted and possibly lonely... but, sure, sometimes it's worth it. Your call.

   As for me, I'm lucky to have people (and one person in particular) who do a great job of holding me up, so for the first time in a long time, I feel safe enough to let go. 

Red Light, Green Light

Not too long ago, I was stopped at a red light that seemed like it was neeeevvverrr going to change. Seriously, I think I listened to three full songs. After a few minutes, I noticed that the vehicles that were on the road I was trying to cross weren't going either. No one was going straight, no one was turning right, no one was turning left. NO ONE was going anywhere. I leaned forward a little bit, and sure enough I saw that the others had a red light too. EVERYBODY had a red light; EVERYBODY was stopped.

Well, um, that was frustrating to say the least.

Then something occurred to me. Yes, the fact that all the lights were red was annoying, but it wasn't exactly dangerous. Now, if all the lights were green -- that would have been chaotic! That could cause a whole new level of "delays". That could have killed someone.

I'm thinking this is a good metaphor for my writing career (and other things, too, for that matter). I'm not going to curse the lights for all being red  (well, okay, okay, I might cuss a little bit!). Instead I'm going to enjoy the music and be grateful things aren't as bad as they certainly could be.

When it's time to safely move forward, I will. And when it's your turn, so will you ;) 

Side note: I just realized that Gavin and I have been playing the game Red Light/Green Light a lot lately. Suffice it to say that the dude gets just as much pleasure from the abrupt stopping as he does the running toward the finish line like a maniac. Ah, the things we can learn from a three-year-old. 

I'm a Writer! ... Right?

   Aspiring writers (as well as established ones) are encouraged to have a "strong online presence". All of the reasons for doing so are valid. So why is it that every time I get that particular suggestion, whether from an article or a hopeful friend or a helpful acquaintance, I feel the exact same way -- drastically unmotivated?

   Oh, wait! I know why. Because I'm an aspiring writer. (Side note: I mean that as in aspiring to have a career in the writing world. I believe in the concept that I'm a writer simply because I write; I don't have to aspire to a be a writer.) It's difficult for me to spend time trying to recruit followers when I don't have an actual product to offer these people. I've completed two novels, but neither of them is published yet. So wouldn't that make me akin to an insurance salesman with no company? A teacher with no degree? A doctor  with no office or hospital association?

   WHY would anyone want to support my talent if they have no evidence that I actually have talent? Sure, my family and friends are all about it. But how do I get the attention of a much larger group of people who are all strangers? Let's be real. Everybody and his or her cousin's ex-girlfriend is "writing a book". When I mention that I've written two books and am working on a third, I mean multiple drafts with lots and lots of editing and  relying on the help of others to proofread it. I mean researching and polishing. I mean waking up at one a.m. because a great idea pops in my head, and setting the alarm to wake me up at four a.m. so that I can write a few hours before going to my day job at seven a.m. But how is someone supposed to know this and believe in me just because I say, "Hey, I'm a writer. Not a published one, but please follow me on Blogger/Facebook/Goodreads anyway!" 

To be honest, it makes me feel silly. Worse, it makes me feel like a fake. Like I'm in denial or something. The  ugliest, weakest version of me whispers things like, "Having a website doesn't make you a real writer. You think you're something special because somebody commented on your witty little post? Ha! You're just tricking them. You're not published."

Generally, I punch that bitch in the face and get rid of her. Still, those remarks echo in my head. So what happens next? I start to ignore my blog altogether - for months actually <insert sheepish grin>. I refuse to write anything on my newest novel, and I stop submitting to agents about my completed manuscript. Like I said earlier, drastically unmotivated. 

Well, this is me admitting it in hopes of overcoming it. I've started a Twitter account (with 15 whole followers so far, yay me!), I've started "putting people in my circles" on Google+, and here I am writing a post for my blog. Fingers crossed that I'll continue to do this every Tuesday. I also have every intention of reading the blogs of other talented unrecognized writers like I used to do (reap, sow).  

This is me aspiring a little bit harder. Wish me luck! (And for crying out loud, follow me!! HA.) 

Under Construction

Reorganization of blog in process. 

Yay, sigh, etc. 

Oooh Crappy Day! (Um, Literally)

Perhaps it's because my little boy is losing all his "baby fat" and barely even qualifies as a toddler anymore - he certainly doesn't get in anywhere for free anymore - or perhaps it's because I spent a lot of time working at an OB/GYN office... or because one of my closest friends just had a gorgeous baby girl. Whatever the reason, I've found myself coming down with symptoms of baby fever. As in I'm ready for baby #2. As in the prospect of cuddling a tiny little human with my DNA is starting to outweigh the memories of sleepless nights, smelling like spit up, and days of inconsolable crying (whether I'm referring to the infant's tears or my own tears is not important...).

So of course, The Great Cosmos thought it would be wise - and hilarious - to test me, to be certain I was ready for round two.

Cue to a beautiful sunshiny day. Baby Daddy and I are back in Georgia helping the besties get loaded up for their move to Tennessee. While BD is doing the manly stuff like putting furniture into the giant truck and Best Friend is busy directing the dudes as to where to put stuff, etc. I made myself useful by keeping the little ones busy in the backyard.

So, I've got three-year-old Gavin and almost-two-year-old Landon soaked down with the water hose, which is a lot of fun, mind you. But after a little while we're all just too hot. It's almost lunchtime anyway, so I come up with the brilliant idea to take the boys to Chick Fil A. That way they can eat, be in an air-conditioned building, still play and still be out of the way of the moving chaos.

I've got the food ordered and spread out on the table when I realize it's steaming and definitely too hot for the little guys to eat. No worries. The table I landed is right beside the indoor playground so I take off their shoes and tell them to go have fun while the food cools.

(This might be a good time to interject that I've already gotten a few looks from people in the restaurant. You see, despite the fact that I'm twenty-six, even with makeup on I can usually pass for a teenager - and that day was hot so I wasn't wearing much makeup. Or any jewelry, such as a wedding band. Gavin and Landon both just so happen to have blonde hair and blue eyes like me. The town I was in just so happens to be full of rather judgmental people. Do you see where I'm going with this?)

Okay, so the little dudes have been on the playground all of thirty seconds when I notice a suspicious expression on Gavin's face. I ask him what's wrong and he says something about poop. I sigh and assume Landon must have filled up his diaper, and that sucks because I really don't feel like packing up our food and stuff and dragging two little boys to the restroom.

But Landon's diaper is clean. That's when the smell hits me. That's when I notice that my own son - who has been perfectly potty-trained for months now - has not moved from his spot on the giant plastic steps that lead to the slide. That's when I realize that GAVIN is the one who has pooped. Not in his diaper, because Gavin doesn't use diapers anymore. Also, not in his underwear because... well, because after Mommy soaked him with the water hose earlier, she left his undies out to dry on the back porch and thought he'd be just fine in only a fresh pair of shorts for the next hour or so.

Do you have the image in your mind yet? Let me make it a little more vivid. Think brownish yellow and liquidy and sliding out of a pair of cotton shorts down a fuzzy little leg. I panic for about two seconds before I've got Landon on my hip and I'm dragging Gavin ACROSS THE ENTIRE BUILDING to the restroom (Note to Chick Fil A : Really, your business is already exceptional in comparison to other fast food joints, and I have a particular fondness for your good customer service and the mouthwash dispenser in the restroom. Having said that, perhaps it would make more sense for the restroom to be located closer to the playground. Since, you know, sometimes children have accidents.)

Nobody wants to be of assistance... Because it's gross. Also because an unwed teenager who's been knocked up twice deserves this and needs to learns to figure it all out all by herself since she got herself into this predicament all by herself.

The boys are still barefoot, which makes the image that much more entertaining. In my hurry, I also left the food and drinks, plus my cell phone, keys, and wallet at the table. Thankfully, the other customers may have been judgmental but none of them were thieves.

I felt immediately better once I was behind the closed stall door in the restroom. That was before I realized that the only thing I had to clean up the mess with was cheap toilet paper, and that I was going to have to put those nasty shorts back on Gavin unless I wanted to parade him naked through the building to the car. You see, since Gavin is no longer in diapers, I no longer carry a diaper bag with me. Having diapers and wipes and clean shorts would have been just too damn convenient at this point.

Also, in case you are not aware of this, most little kids don't like the sound of loud toilets flushing. Gavin and Landon are two such kids. Which is why they were both crying the entire time... Gavin wailed as he was bent over in a very awkward position while I desperately dipped large wads of toilet paper into the toilet water and wiped him with it. I couldn't do this too quickly because I was having to repeatedly stop and chase down Landon because he was trying to crawl under the stall door. Can you blame the little guy? The playground was much more pleasant than this obnoxious place I was forcing him to hang out in. (Special thanks to the lady in the stall next door who not only contributed to the delightful smell of the place but also repeated flushed.)

I managed to clean Gavin up decent enough to get out of there, and I paused at the sink just long enough to scrub my hands with scalding hot water. Then I drowned all three of us from elbows down with hand sanitizer. With lightening speed, I rushed back to the table and gathered our things. Not an easy feat - Gavin was so traumatized that he simply couldn't carry even something as small as a juice box. (Actually, he tried but ended up squeezing half of the contents onto my shirt and the rest onto the floor.) All Landon wanted to do, as he demonstrated by pointing and squealing, was get back to the playground.

I did make it to the car in one trip. (Thank god - because I KNOW that had I put the boys into the car and then ran back inside to get our things, somebody would have called Child Protective Services on me.)

Take a deep breath; it's almost over. Of course, by the time I had Landon buckled in and Gavin changed into new clothes (I don't carry a diaper bag, but I do always keep a change of clothes in the car!) and had the food divided up (they're both crying about being hungry at this point) I can't find my keys. Frantically I look across the parking lot, hoping I didn't drop them along the way - or worse, leave them inside.

I go to Landon's side of the backseat and search. Nothing. Driver's seat - nothing. I open the trunk and nope, not there. I've just gotten back to Gavin's side to look when I hear honking. That's right, honking. HONKING.

Despite the fact that there are at least five other parking spots available, some old lady simply must have the parking spot next to mine and ohmygoodness, but my car's side door is open and blocking her! Oh no! What an awful day she must be having. And, even better, there's more honking. Because Old Bat is holding up three other cars who are trying to get to the drive-thru line.

So, I did the only polite thing. I walked - quite slowly - to the other side of the car and did exactly what she wanted. I shut the door. Well, I slammed it. Rather dramatically, I'll admit. Then, with a big smile on my face I used both arms to guide her into the parking spot - you know, like all those silent models do when they're showcasing some product on a game show.

And, in case you're wondering, no, I didn't fling Gavin's dirty shorts onto her windshield. I really wanted to, but I'd already bagged them up and tossed them into the trunk, and I didn't have the energy to get them out again.

Well, Universe won. I don't think I'm ready to be taking care of two kids at once. Unless, of course, we adopt... a four-year-old girl who has been potty-trained without incident for two years and who insists on wearing undies no matter what and who would simply be too grossed out to ever allow her body to get diarrhea.

Gavin, You Save Me

Siiiiigh, my baby boy turns three-years-old today. Which, of course, means he's not actually my "baby" boy anymore. He can feed himself, walk and run and play, and entertain himself (and whoever else is nearby), use the potty (thank heavens for that one!) and speak very fluently (no, seriously, VERY fluently). It's been amazing to watch each development, but if I'm honest there's one thing he's done from the very beginning:

He's rescued me. And from what danger, you might ask? Well, without him, I'd have been confined to a life without experiencing the purest kind of love in existence. (And this is where I send out a little shout-out to his daddy for giving me the best gift ever!! xoxo).

So, Gavin darling, I'm borrowing some of Kenny's lyrics and dedicating them to you:

Every now and then I get a little lost
The strings all get tangled
The wires all get crossed
Every now and then I’m right upon the edge
Danglin’ my toes out over the ledge


I just thank God you’re here

When I’m a bullet shot out of a gun
When I’m a firecracker comin’ undone
When I’m a fugitive ready to run
All wild-eyed and crazy
No matter where my reckless soul takes me
Gavin, you save me

I don’t know how you do it
I’m not sure how you know
The perfect thing to say
To save me from myself
You’re the angel that believes in me
Like nobody else


And I thank God you do

When I’m a ship tossed around on the waves
Up on a high wire that’s ready to break
When I’ve had just about all I can take


Gavin, you...

Baby, you save me

Happy birthday! Mommy loves you ~ you're her hero :)

Be-YOU-full

A few months ago I read an article that still haunts me. I don’t remember all of the specifics, but the part that hovers in my mind is this: In a survey,  4% of the women asked said they thought they were beautiful.

FOUR PERCENT??!

Only four percent. It literally sickens me.

It’s not like I’m going to sit here and lie by saying that I believe every woman I’ve ever come across fits personal idea of beauty. But I can quite confidently say that a MUCH larger percentage of the women I encounter are beautiful.

In general, I think the problem is that too many people are making the terrible mistake of believing beauty is some kind of competition. Well, damn, of course they do.  Just think about an actual beauty pageant. EVERY contestant in the pageant is attractive (or else, duh, they wouldn’t have qualified to compete), yet all the focus is on narrowing it down to who is the MOST attractive. Don’t miss the point – I don’t have a position, good or bad, when it comes to the things. I’m just saying that life is not a beauty pageant. Your own beauty is not determined by a comparison to someone else.

Go read that last line one more time.

I looked up the definition of beautiful and it gave me pleasant chills:

Having qualities that give great pleasure or satisfaction to see, hear, think about, etc; 

delighting the senses or mind

See, I understand the sentiment behind the cliché, but beauty is in fact, more than skin-deep. Allow the most genuine version of yourself to radiate from within, and you’ll notice a beauty on the outside that is breathtaking.

Surely you’ve experienced this with others? You think someone is “cute” but then, the more you are around that person and the negative attributes that dominate their behavior, you start to question how you ever thought that person attractive in the first place. And the reverse is true – you think someone is “average at best” but before you know it, you’re overwhelmed with that person’s essence.

I encourage you to take care of your physical appearance – brush your teeth and wash your hair and dress in clothes that fit properly and exercise, etc.  But understand this: If you want to see yourself as beautiful, you have to see yourself.

This may make you laugh, but hopefully that’ll help you remember it. In order to be beautiful, you have to  be-YOU-ful. (Not necessarily arrogant or selfish, but you – and not someone else’s interpretation of you, or what you think will make somebody like you more.)

In hopes of raising that pathetic percentage I mentioned earlier, I’m offering these two basic suggestions to sum it all up:

 Don’t wait for someone else to tell you you’re beautiful before you believe it.

BUT having said that,

Take the advice once given to me, “Don’t question the beauty someone sees in you.”

If Ignorance Is Bliss, Am I Too Smart to Be Happy?

I hesitated to write this post because I know how cocky it may make me seem. (Of course, if you know me, you probably already use that word to describe me. Ha.) Plus, it practically begs others to catch me in the middle of some stupid mistake. 


But, I happened to be on www.dictionary.com and wouldn't you know it? This is the word of the day:

 OBSCURANTISM      opposition to the increase and spread of knowledge

So, now I figure it's some grand sign from the universe or something. <smirk>


Let me make this much clear from the beginning: my frustrations do not stem from the idea that I'm just so much smarter than the general population that I can hardly tolerate others. Rather, I'm well aware that, while I am indeed intelligent, I'm certainly not the smartest person in existence. There are soooo many people who are brilliant compared to me. 


This is the very reason that I'm baffled about how things that seem so obvious to me (a barely above-average person) are apparently difficult for others to grasp. 


I recently came to this realization: Ignorance is not the same thing as stupidity. Ignorance is a lack of knowledge whereas stupidity is the inability to learn. (Or, at least, the inability to learn easily.)


So now I think my irritation does not come from believing there are too many stupid people in the world. Instead, I think there are too many lazy people. That's right, too many people who are too apathetic to educate themselves.


Apparently it's just convenient to not be knowledgeable (thus the bliss - without working towards something, you're basically on a perpetual vacation from reality). There seems to be this common belief that being uninformed somehow absolves one of personal responsibility. 


Um, that's not how it works. You can throw all of your bills into the trash without opening them, but that doesn't change the debt you owe. 


(And, ahem, if you're alive then you owe something good to the world. We all should be contributing.)


Perhaps, it's because I've spent the last year working in a customer-service-type position that my frustrations have escalated. While I have the pleasure of interacting with many pleasant people, I'm also exposed to a vast number of less-than-charming and idiotic people. 


Some particularly annoying things happen a little too frequently. For example, there is a form patients fill out that asks this optional question: What is your religion? 


The list includes Catholic and Protestant. Too often, the patient looks at me and says, "Uh, I'm a Christian. Why isn't that on here?" And then eventually I hear this statement, "But I'm Baptist (or Methodist, Pentecostal, etc) not Protestant."


Now, do I expect everybody to know that Baptist is a denomination under the Protestant religion? Nope. But if you're going to consider yourself a die-hard Christian, dedicated to a certain belief system associated with the title Baptist/Methodist/Pentecostal/whatever, and especially if you're going to go around touting that you have Jesus, so you have all the answers... then YES, I expect you to know what the fuck you're talking about. And that most certainly includes knowing the very basics of your religion of choice.


This is a minor thing. My real grievance is with the world at large. Because the world is an illogical place - and I plead with someone to prove me wrong.


Why are there so many kind and wholesome women who struggle to get pregnant only to then miscarry four times when there are other women who have four abortions in a matter of three years because they're too lazy to use actual birth control?


Why is it illegal in this country to drive, smoke, drink or join the military before a certain age, but the government will pay for a teenage girl to give birth to a child she will neither love nor take proper care of? 


Why do people seem to think it's okay for a wealthy celebrity to pay over ten million dollars for a wedding (and then get divorced two months later!) when there is so much hunger and disease in the world? I believe in enjoying life, but I'm not okay with blatant disregard to the current human existence. I do no care how much of your wealth you already donate to charity - it is not acceptable to spend that disgusting amount of money on a single luxurious event when there is still so much suffering in the world.


I know this post is... depressing. But sometimes the frustration in my mind and the heavy feeling in my chest is too much to keep inside. These are the things that keep me up at night - and understandably so. When your eyes are wide-open, how can you sleep?


Writing (and, yes, sarcasm) is my weapon of defense.

*As you can see, I've always had this little smirk*

If Ignorance Is Bliss, Am I Too Smart to Be Happy?

I hesitated to write this post because I know how cocky it may make me seem. (Of course, if you know me, you probably already use that word to describe me. Ha.) Plus, it practically begs others to catch me in the middle of some stupid mistake. 


But, I happened to be on www.dictionary.com and wouldn't you know it? This is the word of the day:

 OBSCURANTISM      opposition to the increase and spread of knowledge

So, now I figure it's some grand sign from the universe or something. <smirk>


Let me make this much clear from the beginning: my frustrations do not stem from the idea that I'm just so much smarter than the general population that I can hardly tolerate others. Rather, I'm well aware that, while I am indeed intelligent, I'm certainly not the smartest person in existence. There are soooo many people who are brilliant compared to me. 


This is the very reason that I'm baffled about how things that seem so obvious to me (a barely above-average person) are apparently difficult for others to grasp. 


I recently came to this realization: Ignorance is not the same thing as stupidity. Ignorance is a lack of knowledge whereas stupidity is the inability to learn. (Or, at least, the inability to learn easily.)


So now I think my irritation does not come from believing there are too many stupid people in the world. Instead, I think there are too many lazy people. That's right, too many people who are too apathetic to educate themselves.


Apparently it's just convenient to not be knowledgeable (thus the bliss - without working towards something, you're basically on a perpetual vacation from reality). There seems to be this common belief that being uninformed somehow absolves one of personal responsibility. 


Um, that's not how it works. You can throw all of your bills into the trash without opening them, but that doesn't change the debt you owe. 


(And, ahem, if you're alive then you owe something good to the world. We all should be contributing.)


Perhaps, it's because I've spent the last year working in a customer-service-type position that my frustrations have escalated. While I have the pleasure of interacting with many pleasant people, I'm also exposed to a vast number of less-than-charming and idiotic people. 


Some particularly annoying things happen a little too frequently. For example, there is a form patients fill out that asks this optional question: What is your religion? 


The list includes Catholic and Protestant. Too often, the patient looks at me and says, "Uh, I'm a Christian. Why isn't that on here?" And then eventually I hear this statement, "But I'm Baptist (or Methodist, Pentecostal, etc) not Protestant."


Now, do I expect everybody to know that Baptist is a denomination under the Protestant religion? Nope. But if you're going to consider yourself a die-hard Christian, dedicated to a certain belief system associated with the title Baptist/Methodist/Pentecostal/whatever, and especially if you're going to go around touting that you have Jesus, so you have all the answers... then YES, I expect you to know what the fuck you're talking about. And that most certainly includes knowing the very basics of your religion of choice.


This is a minor thing. My real grievance is with the world at large. Because the world is an illogical place - and I plead with someone to prove me wrong.


Why are there so many kind and wholesome women who struggle to get pregnant only to then miscarry four times when there are other women who have four abortions in a matter of three years because they're too lazy to use actual birth control?


Why is it illegal in this country to drive, smoke, drink or join the military before a certain age, but the government will pay for a teenage girl to give birth to a child she will neither love nor take proper care of? 


Why do people seem to think it's okay for a wealthy celebrity to pay over ten million dollars for a wedding (and then get divorced two months later!) when there is so much hunger and disease in the world? I believe in enjoying life, but I'm not okay with blatant disregard to the current human existence. I do no care how much of your wealth you already donate to charity - it is not acceptable to spend that disgusting amount of money on a single luxurious event when there is still so much suffering in the world.


I know this post is... depressing. But sometimes the frustration in my mind and the heavy feeling in my chest is too much to keep inside. These are the things that keep me up at night - and understandably so. When your eyes are wide-open, how can you sleep?


Writing (and, yes, sarcasm) is my weapon of defense.

*As you can see, I've always had this little smirk*

The Truth's Quirks

The truth hurts.

So... either I have an unusually high level of pain tolerance or I get some kind of minute amount of pleasure from pain - because I have an obsession with the truth.

See, I'm that chick who could handle being cheated on or stolen from without flinching but can't stand being lied to about it. It's not those actions that would get to me as much as the deception. I guess it's because it insults my intelligence, and that annoys me more than most things.

I also have pretty decent intuition. So what happens is if I suspect you aren't being completely forthright about how you feel/why you feel/what you've done/why you've done it and so, I'll push and push until I hear you say it.

And let me just tell ya, it's exhausting. Most people are lying to themselves so it's extremely difficult to be honest with someone else.

Now, am I suggesting that my love for the truth means I never lie? Yup.
(Ahem, that was a lie.)

However, I am indeed quite truthful and this has gotten me in trouble on numerous occasions. The thing is, I feel like if I can admit to being clumsy and sometimes abrasively direct and sarcastic and dramatic at times, I think it gives me permission to point out when you're being a control freak or overly sensitive or if the pants you're wearing are completely unflattering. (Let me clarify, though, this isn't information that I'll necessarily volunteer; I'll just be honest if you ask - or if you provoke me.)

Shockingly, this doesn't always go over well.

(And let me also add that my truthfulness does not just include negative things. I don't mind telling you when your girlfriend looks hot in that dress or if the job you just landed suits your talents.)

Where am I going with all of this? Well, lately I've discovered something that has been... well, a hard truth. It turns out that sometimes the truth is just as much emotional as it is factual. And that makes it complicated. That means the truth isn't flawless and that, to be blunt, it's quirky.

I'll use the *awesome* show True Blood as an example. (Not just because the title of the show itself is perfect for this post, heehee.) I love and adore Bill - and I was well aware that things were never really "over" between him and our darling heroin -- but, damn, was I thrilled when Sookie finally hooked up with Eric (and admitted the attraction that was there all along).
*I'm not even going to bring Alcide into the picture at this point. Whew.

Yeah, it's TV but life it full of situations like that (minus the biting and crazy-powerful blood, but you know what I mean). That's why "love triangle" is such a common term and theme. Yes, you can truly have feelings for more than one person just like you can truly have a friend that you simultaneously love and hate. You can have more than one motivation for your actions - I'd venture to say that's the case most of the time, actually.

I'm writing this mostly to myself, as a reminder to go easier on people when it comes to my investigation of the extreme truth. Why? Because most people can't handle the truth.

It's too much work. I've got to breathe a little easier and channel my energy into the situations that really matter.

And I've come to this conclusion: The truth is not black and white or even shades of grey. It is simply a piercing white (hear me out; I'm not being racist) that is in actuality made up of a spectrum of colors. For some people, it is easier to focus on a single hue. Lucky for me, I can handle - and prefer - looking into the intensity of that bright light that encompasses the full rainbow.

Karma is a Beach

I'm at the beach with a friend who insists she will walk on the sand, will chill in the pool, will play volleyball and Frisbee, but will not be getting in the ocean. (Her statement was more like, "I'm not walking into something if I can't see the very bottom of it. Hell no. I'll stay on the shore and watch you get eaten by a shark, thank you very much.")

Fast forward half a day, factor in a pool that feels like a warm community bath and brand new boogie board... I had my dear friend in the ocean nearly up to her shoulders.

We were enjoying the gentle movement of the cold water when a giant wave rushes in from nowhere and completely topples me. I mean, when I finally emerged from the water I had seashells in my matted hair, sand in my teeth and that god awful burning sensation in my nose.

I suppose it's my clumsy nature. My friend, who was somehow prepared for this monstrous wave and remained upright and untouched, all the while laughing her pretty little ass off, called it karma for me forcing her into the ocean. "Karma's a bitch, baby."

So, that got me thinking... Karma is actually kind of like the beach.

Life isn't out to get me (or you) any more than the beach is. Certain elements simply exist, and your actions and motivations factor in right along with the actions and intentions of everyone else.

The same water that knocked me off my butt is the water that lulled me to sleep that night. The sun that made my body glisten way before I reached the water is the sun that took my breath away early the next morning as it peaked over the horizon. The salt that made my skin dry and burned my eyes actually helped to heal a cut on my ankle.

Sure, the elements seemed vicious at times, and they even altered slightly based on time of day, but really it all came down to me... my actions, needs and desires.

While I was on the beach, I loved it. But it wouldn't take too long before I felt completely wiped out (haha!) and needed a break. Barely into my break, I no longer felt drained but desperate to get back on the beach... A cycle that is a shocking parallel to how I live my life.

Like karma, the beach cannot be controlled as a whole. But it can be influenced in your own little experiences based on how you treat it... Loosely translated karma means "for every event that occurs, there will follow another event whose existence was caused by the first (sort of like the effects of the waves on the sand), and this second event will be pleasant or unpleasant according as its cause was skillful or unskillful."

Like the beach, karma is a beautiful thing. It allows us to let go of our focus on the actions and intentions of others and instead take responsibility for ourselves.

I beckon you to do so... seriously, come on in - the water's fine!

Karma is a Beach

I'm at the beach with a friend who insists she will walk on the sand, will chill in the pool, will play volleyball and Frisbee, but will not be getting in the ocean. (Her statement was more like, "I'm not walking into something if I can't see the very bottom of it. Hell no. I'll stay on the shore and watch you get eaten by a shark, thank you very much.")

Fast forward half a day, factor in a pool that feels like a warm community bath and brand new boogie board... I had my dear friend in the ocean nearly up to her shoulders.

We were enjoying the gentle movement of the cold water when a giant wave rushes in from nowhere and completely topples me. I mean, when I finally emerged from the water I had seashells in my matted hair, sand in my teeth and that god awful burning sensation in my nose.

I suppose it's my clumsy nature. My friend, who was somehow prepared for this monstrous wave and remained upright and untouched, all the while laughing her pretty little ass off, called it karma for me forcing her into the ocean. "Karma's a bitch, baby."

So, that got me thinking... Karma is actually kind of like the beach.

Life isn't out to get me (or you) any more than the beach is. Certain elements simply exist, and your actions and motivations factor in right along with the actions and intentions of everyone else.

The same water that knocked me off my butt is the water that lulled me to sleep that night. The sun that made my body glisten way before I reached the water is the sun that took my breath away early the next morning as it peaked over the horizon. The salt that made my skin dry and burned my eyes actually helped to heal a cut on my ankle.

Sure, the elements seemed vicious at times, and they even altered slightly based on time of day, but really it all came down to me... my actions, needs and desires.

While I was on the beach, I loved it. But it wouldn't take too long before I felt completely wiped out (haha!) and needed a break. Barely into my break, I no longer felt drained but desperate to get back on the beach... A cycle that is a shocking parallel to how I live my life.

Like karma, the beach cannot be controlled as a whole. But it can be influenced in your own little experiences based on how you treat it... Loosely translated karma means "for every event that occurs, there will follow another event whose existence was caused by the first (sort of like the effects of the waves on the sand), and this second event will be pleasant or unpleasant according as its cause was skillful or unskillful."

Like the beach, karma is a beautiful thing. It allows us to let go of our focus on the actions and intentions of others and instead take responsibility for ourselves.

I beckon you to do so... seriously, come on in - the water's fine!

Re-Lie-Able

I've got two types of people in my life:

the reliable ones 

and

those who are able to lie repeatedly 

What sucks is that I seem to have a whole lot more of the latter than the former. I can name several people who are charming and funny and smart, whose company I simply adore. The problem is, I never can count on actually having their company. (Which is kind of ridiculous, because I'm pretty damn charming and funny and smart myself.)

I can't even count the number of times I've made plans to meet someone for lunch or for shopping or for a movie... and then had that someone send a text or call at the last minute to say he/she is not coming because of same random lame-ass excuse (I'm tired... I forgot...I just met the hottest guy ever... my ex just stopped by to talk...). Or WORSE he/she is doesn't even bother to contact me at all!

It's not that I have an issue being alone - I can rock a table of one, no problem. It just blows my mind, because I simply can't fathom doing that to someone. If I make plans to do something with you, I'm going to do everything I can to keep our arrangement. And if for some reason I can't, I'm sure as hell going to give you as much notice as possible... and I'm going to be pretty apologetic about canceling (especially if I'm aware of the trouble you've gone through to get off work or to spend your gas money or arrange for a sitter, etc).

If you have a major event coming up (birthday, graduation, wedding, the birth of your child...) you can generally count on me to be there. For those of you who can't say the same, I'm actually a little jealous of your ability to be so self-centered.

Yeah, that sounds a little harsh, but I mean it. Partially, because it irritates the hell out of me when somebody says he/she is going to do something or be somewhere, when he/she knows from the very beginning it's untrue. But secondly, I've realized something. Yes, part of the reason I'm going to be there for you is because I care about you and support you; it's how I show my love. But it's also not about you at all - it's because of who I am. I'm just the dependable sort. (Sure, I've got a series of flaws, but unreliability ain't one of them.)

Because of realizing this, I've had to change some things. I've literally had to refrain from being "too supportive." I think sometimes my friends don't want me to drive three hours to be at their 4-year-old's birthday party, because it puts pressure on them to do the same... and they know in their heart, it simply isn't going to happen. It doesn't mean they don't care about me; they'd just prefer to keep in touch with me through Facebook.
(If you really really do want me there, just say so!)

For those of you who remember my birthday, don't bail on me at the last minute, who'd never dream of saying  you're going to be somewhere and leave me searching for your presence... for those of you who have rescued me from sucky situations at your own inconvenience... god, I love you! I'm so grateful to have you in my life -and shame on me if I've ever made you feel under-appreciated.

You're my <delicious> cake batter; everyone else is just a sprinkle. :)   

 For those of you who are genuinely hurt or annoyed by this blog, I'm sorry. But if you have the right to be unreliable and still consider yourself my friend, I have the right to bitch about it and still be your friend ;) XOXO

Oh Hoppy Day, Mommy

A couple of mornings ago Gavin (my clearly very intelligent 2-year-old) climbed into my bed and tapped me on the shoulder. I opened my eyes slowly and he grinned.

"Mommy, what's a cow say?" He whispered.When I didn't respond immediately, he answered, "Moooo!"

A moment later he asks, "Momma, what's a dinosaur say?" I yawned. He continued with a "Rawr!!"

Just as I was closing my eyes again he says, "Mommy, what's a bunny say?"


This time I opened my eyes, puzzled. What does a bunny "say"?? 


Without missing a beat he responds, "Oh hoppy day!"

(That's right, he's TWO. Does he even get the joke? I'm not sure... but he sure gets comedic points in my book.)

I've been giggling for days now, every time I replay that moment in my head. There's no way to deny it, one of the most exhilarating days of my existence was when that little boy arrived... and the days have been pretty "hoppy" ever since.

Especially since I've been working at an OB/GYN office, I've noticed pregnancy and  childbirth are the perfect parallel to what motherhood is like. You're going to grow and change, everything that you're used to will be stretched and you won't always like the results.

You'll be exhausted and nauseated at times, but you're only real concern is not about you at all - you want to feel the baby move, hear the racing heartbeat within your belly, see a tiny face on a black and white screen, hear that first irritated cry, see that beautifully misshapen head emerge from your body and put on your chest...

There are always going to be moments of intense pain and fear and panic - when you love someone that deeply, those emotions are unavoidable. But as cliche' as it is, you really do forget those excruciating moments as soon as you know your child is safe. It's a unique relationship and it certainly deserves to be acknowledged.

To all the mommies out there, and especially to my own: Don't forget that you may be the one and only person in your child's life who is capable of loving him/her unconditionally. You may not always be properly acknowledged, but your role is incredibly significant. May the things you've done "right" outweigh any poor decisions and may you receive a love that comes close to matching what you give.

Oh, hoppy Mommies Day, ladies!! 

(**Thank you Ashton, Brianna and Gavin for making my life waaaay more meaningful**)
(Mom, I know I can reveal anything about myself and you'll accept me no matter what - thank you, I love you! Ma Cat, you did what you could with what you had - I know it was never easy. Thanks u xoxo! Annetti, you're a good mother. Thanks for embracing me.)