tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89768860248613835362024-03-05T17:41:13.638-08:00 pell yeah!Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.comBlogger244125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-72102074355564853832015-03-05T11:14:00.001-08:002015-03-05T11:14:12.411-08:00Try Outs Teaching BraveryI'm coaching LIttle League again this year. As with anything I haven't done in almost a year, nervousness gets mixed in with the excitement. Normally these things are like riding a bike. The getting on is the difficult part, balancing and pedalling comes back easy. In the beginning of new (or new this calendar year) ventures, I have moments of panic. Am I going to know what I'm doing? What if I fail those innocent little players who just want to learn how to excel at baseball. I might embarrass myself or disappoint parents and players. What if I fail my own kid?<br />
<br />
In the beginning I always have to fake the confidence. It comes back to me slowly as the season goes along. Oh yeah, I remember how this goes. I've got this now. But that mindset doesn't make it's appearance until about two weeks into the undertaking. For now, panic and angst rule.<br />
<br />
Luke is old enough to play at a level in which he has to go through evaluations. Last night was the big show. "Evaluations" are just a nice way to say try-outs. Nobody gets cut at this level, but they may be placed at a higher or lower level than they wish. I get that this is a necessary piece in creating even teams with spread out playing levels. You don't want a bunch of kids who have never played all on one team and another team filled with kids who wear their gloves in the shower and eat baseballs for lunch. There are also safety concerns of having a kid with less experience playing at too high a level.<br />
<br />
These evals were just a two minute snippet of each of the kids' talent. Two minutes doesn't give a clear picture of throwing, fielding, batting and base running but I don't want to spend the next two weeks watching kids try-out. I'm sure the other coaches have the same sentiment. A few hours on a Wednesday night and a fun-filled Saturday is quite enough to spend asigning numbers to 100 kids' skills.<br />
<br />
It's really hard to watch them all because I've been in their shoes. I absolutely hated any sort of "evaluation." Still as an adult, I have a reoccurring nightmare. I'm in the outfield during try-out week. All the coaches sit by the fence with their taunting clipboards. Their menacing pens make evil assumtions while they record the atrocities. They all watch as an easy grounder makes it's way into my glove. The fielding part is never the problem. Without fail, in my nightmare, I take the ball out of my glove and try to throw it in to the cut-off, but my arm is a traitor. It ceases to work and fails me in my time of need. No matter how hard I try, I can never throw the ball. Sometimes my arm makes some sort of motion but the ball ends up driblling on the ground in front of my feet, miles away from where it's supposed to go. The dribble only happens if I'm lucky. Most of the time I can't even get the ball out of my hand. Those seams are stuck in my palm and I'm doomed. I will never make the team now.<br />
<br />
I'm smart enough to know that these tryouts had a huge emotional impact on me, especially if they are still haunting my dreams, but I also know they were necessary. Not only were they necessary because I wanted to play sports, but they were a necessary part of prepping me for adulthood. I didn't realize it at the time, but being a grown-up is filled with evaluations. There are the formal types like job interviews and professional peer reviews, but there are the informal ones like making social connections and having your neighbors be okay with letting their kids play at your house and not think you'll poison their babies.<br />
<br />
So these eight to twelve year olds had to stand in line for an hour. When it was their turn they stepped up to the line, threw a few pitches, then ran over to field a few balls. Keep in mind that this was in a gym and they were fielding bouncing baseballs on a basketball court. Then they stepped up to the plate to hit a few off the pitching machine. It all ended with a sprint to gage their running abilities. No warm ups. No loosening up of arms or legs. All with watchful coaches sitting their making notes with their villainous pens. <br />
<br />
For most of these little guys (and one girl) this was their first experience with try-outs. My heart went out to them. I could feel the nervousness eaking out of their pores. I was more wary of the kids who weren't nervous. I wrote a "C" by their number because I wanted to make sure I don't have any cocky kids on my team. I can't coach that out. There's a difference between confidence and arrogance. My read on these kids may be completely innacurate, but I don't want to take a chance on that. Yes, yes, I'm judging ten year olds now. But I can't help it, the man put this whole process on me. Get off my back!<br />
<br />
I wish I could have told all the nervous kids. I get it. Don't worry, you'll survive. You'll make it through this night, even if you fall on your butt and miss every single pitch. You'll live and next time you come through one of these atrocious assessment of skills, you'll have gained an inch more confidence. And by the way, I'm not only looking at how well you do tonight. I also want to see coachability. Do you have a good base of skills and a good learning attitude. Will you be open to teaching? Will you work together with your teammates?<br />
<br />
That's all really hard to tell in two minutes, but my evil, red, evaluating eyes were looking for that too. I wish I could have whispered some of that into their ears. Encouraging words might have helped a little. I wish I could have eased their fears. It would have been nice to tell them that I was nervous too. I'm a grown-ass woman and I still fear that I won't be good enough. I'm the only lady coach in a sea of masculinity. I don't want to give the moms a bad reputation. I want to prove that girls can be just as good coaches as boys.<br />
<br />
They were all so brave and I was proud they all got up there and showed us all what they were made of. Bravery and confidence are cultivated. Kids are not born with those skills. Even though try outs seem icky, they were a chance for each of those kids to step over the monsterous nervous energy. Bravery was practiced in that gym last night. Gold medals were pinned on all.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to lie though, I did write, "PICK HIM!!!!" next to the nine year old who performed better than most of the twelve year olds. Because this Mom Coach is going to beat ALL THE OTHER TEAMS, with bravery, good attitude and humble confidence, of course.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdJMkUfyS_hPlUvK9PrIx0q052QYw9cpnvn_v4WJQoNCdtoPz1Evt1RMbk_-nfr0BTA8YOlh2zo6ZQ49nrt_NJTVL_iDsqA34mUz61hUobUwQMXNhPtXL_3boY7Ae18MFPt4ywu8VKNQ/s1600/1425581825626.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdJMkUfyS_hPlUvK9PrIx0q052QYw9cpnvn_v4WJQoNCdtoPz1Evt1RMbk_-nfr0BTA8YOlh2zo6ZQ49nrt_NJTVL_iDsqA34mUz61hUobUwQMXNhPtXL_3boY7Ae18MFPt4ywu8VKNQ/s640/1425581825626.jpg" height="400" width="400" /> </a> </div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-78029685340886152602015-03-03T10:43:00.001-08:002015-03-03T10:43:20.778-08:00How do the Rules fit into the Bigger Picture?I am a rule follower. I always have been and probably always will be. Lately, I've been wondering about all the rules I follow. Some are imposed by myself, some others throw onto me. Some I enjoy, others I hate. Some help but some inhibit. Some I want to keep but some I want to chuck off the side of the tallest cliff. <br />
<br />
Now I just have to figure out which ones lie on which side of the line. Which ones to keep and which ones to trash.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xcHpDcB8RcdFy2kezHU6joVGQYsWzbYi7tkq3MSbR42ghKqA87WHDq2oFGQWvpVh7Nk092MpuMizyYZafowW9pamlDXnt9kh3vwxhqtR0fw41SgSmjci3ENjaXo-_vmplBQJNFFeU-o/s1600/2015-03-03+10.23.17.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xcHpDcB8RcdFy2kezHU6joVGQYsWzbYi7tkq3MSbR42ghKqA87WHDq2oFGQWvpVh7Nk092MpuMizyYZafowW9pamlDXnt9kh3vwxhqtR0fw41SgSmjci3ENjaXo-_vmplBQJNFFeU-o/s1600/2015-03-03+10.23.17.png" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
My Mama Addie, my grandma, was a rule follower too. A few weeks ago, I got to see her. Well, I got to see her shell. She's 94 and most of the time she's not really there. Sometimes though, if I'm lucky, I get to see a twinkle in her eye. It's a mischievous twinkle. It used to be there all the time but as the years have come and gone, she's slowly drifted away from us. I miss the constant twinkle and I miss her mischief, but most of all, I miss her. <br />
<br />
You see, I was her first girl. She mothered two sons but didn't get a female little one until I came along. Lucky for her, she got two more girls after me. The three of us got spoiled rotten, probably because she thought God was spoiling her with three granddaughters. She would have loved grandsons too, if they came along. It's just that she'd already been there and done that with her own sons. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lp5uQ20nYJp4dnq8iX4AdrBQzi073DFWTwt-S7t-Ye0s2mHGX8xwuYgrQZXmsO5YSaqfHnQUv-UwmNQJs97kecdJH_WuElcUYdZaxeBf4mW0NHcUApbwG4b0eJ-YmrnRIEz1Ub-zjFs/s1600/2015-03-03+10.21.19.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lp5uQ20nYJp4dnq8iX4AdrBQzi073DFWTwt-S7t-Ye0s2mHGX8xwuYgrQZXmsO5YSaqfHnQUv-UwmNQJs97kecdJH_WuElcUYdZaxeBf4mW0NHcUApbwG4b0eJ-YmrnRIEz1Ub-zjFs/s1600/2015-03-03+10.21.19.png" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I'm not saying girls are better than boys, or anything like that. I just think she wondered what it would be like to take care of girls. I don't think she realized it but she was part feminist. She didn't distinguish chores and household duties as belonging to one sex or the other. Those two boys of hers grew up knowing how to cook, sew, and clean as well as build, fix and tend. Mama Addie taught her boys to be creative and to think critically. She rocked being a boy mom and she did the same as a grandma to girls. Since she raised two little boys, I take voracious notes when I hear stories of her momhood.<br />
<br />
She loved all of her family like nothing else.<br />
<br />
Funny snippets stick into my brain. I remember her perfume. I remember laying my head on her "pillows" as I drifted off to sleep. I remember her lullabies would creak a little - just like the wooden glider she would rock me to sleep in. I remember waking up, coming downstairs to the earthy smell of black coffee and to her staring out at the salty Sound. I remember rootbeer floats and dipping crab into melted butter. I remember curlers in her hair while she lay on her bed chatting on the phone with her sister like she was a teenager. Most of all I remember she loved me.<br />
<br />
I also remember her absence. I used to play softball on the weekends and I never saw her sitting in the stands. She had a rule. Sundays were Sabbath. The rule was no work or play on that day. She thought I was breaking a rule by playing in my favorite game on Sundays.<br />
<br />
I never asked after her thought process on the subject. I wonder if her absense was because she didn't want to condone my unruly behavior. Or maybe she didn't think she could enjoy being a spectator on that day. I do know she was thoughtful about her own life and faith, so she must have been severly convicted to follow this rule. <br />
<br />
I know she loved me and I admire her faith, but it hurt seing that empty spot on the bleachers. I ached knowing that her tradition and rules trumped our relationship. I was confused as to why a turn on a calendar was so important. I wanted to hear that creaky voice, see that troublesome twinkle AND have dirt and grass stuck between my cleats. I wanted her there.<br />
<br />
Her absense never made me doubt her love and devotion to me. I simply missed her and wished she would break some of those rules to share more time together. I wanted to see her sitting in the bleachers with the sun beating down on her perfect head of brown curls. I wish her perfume wafted out to my nose in left field. I wanted to hear her laugh as I walked up to the plate. I wanted to go out for hamburgers together after the game. I never doubted her love for me, but I wished those rules would shatter so we could hangout on a Sunday. <br />
<br />
I get that certain rules are needed and important. Some make life run better and most of us don't want to live in a world of total anarchy. I also understand that periods of rest and time to exercise beliefs are vital. But sometimes I wonder if rules are the easy way out. It's easier to stick to the rules in stubborness rather than see their part in the bigger picture. It's easier to blindly follow along than to think critically about how they fit into the puzzle of life.<br />
<br />
For me, relationships are the bigger picture. They were to Mama Addie too, but her tradition spoke louder. I wonder, if she could have a do-over, would she break some of her rules? Would she do things the same? I wish I could ask her. Not in a confrontational way, but in an educational way.<br />
<br />
I know that the Sabbath was very important to her, along with other church traditions. I wonder if we went back to that time, would she realize that sitting in the bleachers could be Sabbath too? Being together could be Worship. Eating hamburgers and drinking Coke could be Communion. Breaking the rules could be church. It takes great faith to see that. I wonder if she would have seen Jesus sitting next to us all in the dugout. He was there.<br />
<br />
I like to think that looking back on life, she would agree. <br />
<br />
All of this makes me wonder what rules I'm stubbornly sticking to out of faith or beliefs or morals. Some of them may be beneficial, but others may be blinding. Am I not seeing the whole picture? Are the rules getting in the way?<br />
<br />
Which ones should I keep and which ones should I break for love and devotion? Which ones promote relationships, which ones hinder?<br />
<br />
What is your bigger picture? What rules promote that goal? What rules could you toss out the stained glass window?<br />
<br />
All I know right now is that I miss my Mama Addie and she's not even all the way gone. She taught me volumes and I want to keep learning. Maybe I'm just thinking about all the times I missed out with her because she won't be here in the near future. If she still had all her wits about her, she would probably scold me, "Be strong, Lindsey Annie, keep the faith. We don't know exactly what that means or how it works out, but keep learning, keep asking questions."<br />
<br />
I will, Mama Addie, I will.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgct_mczUa1ulW7pKXOmSb_lGmvmv0cykP9cs4eUjsoG2XIMk6NN4WpUQD0NF8Tu1JD8fySCBDSQxJsY2IOyNj6eIZaaxBaArYyHTc_v0HOHl7Zx8qoTgMuaV-OpyOWeJbjI_XHci2PZRk/s1600/2015-03-03%25252010.24.54.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgct_mczUa1ulW7pKXOmSb_lGmvmv0cykP9cs4eUjsoG2XIMk6NN4WpUQD0NF8Tu1JD8fySCBDSQxJsY2IOyNj6eIZaaxBaArYyHTc_v0HOHl7Zx8qoTgMuaV-OpyOWeJbjI_XHci2PZRk/s640/2015-03-03%25252010.24.54.png" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
For the record: She hates this picture.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
But she's pregnant, working on a fishing boat.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
How badass is that?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-4318318113083597812015-02-27T19:28:00.000-08:002015-02-28T00:03:05.351-08:00When My Kid Was the BullyI'm pretty upset right now. This morning I got a call from the principal at the boys' school. She had Jack in her office. Apparently, he had been really mean to another kid at recess. It wasn't a one time thing and I guess it had been going on for a couple weeks.<br />
<br />
During the phone call, I tried to stay calm and actually focus on what the principal was saying. Panicky, one-word questions kept flying through my head. What? How? Why? Jack?<br />
<br />
Yes, Jack. <br />
<br />
I was mad. Mad at him, mad at me, mad at the situation.<br />
<br />
The principal told me that the other little boy's parents had coached him to tell Jack that he didn't like the mean comments and to please stop. If that didn't work, they told him to walk away from the football game. If it still kept happening, the parents told their son to tell another adult.<br />
<br />
All of these happened, yet Jack still didn't stop the ugliness. The boy had said no yet Jack didn't stop. He was the bully. He was the one that was verbally stomping on another kid. He was going against all we taught him, against everything we believed in.<br />
<br />
This kid probably went home so distressed each day. He was probably nervous at the beginning of each recess. Those parents probably wrung their hands and agonized over dropping off their little boy each day to enter the recess lion's den.<br />
<br />
All of this was eerily familiar. Just a few months ago, Jack, Tim and I were all in their shoes. We were on the other side of the line. A kid from his class kept singling Jack out and finding various ways to put him down. Jack was in tears each night. We coached him and agonized each day. It stopped before we had to call the teacher or principal, but what if it hadn't? What if we were the ones having to let the school know that our child was being minimized.<br />
<br />
Not only was I mad, but I was disappointed. I was disappointed in his actions but mostly, I felt like I failed him as a parent. Both Tim and I were in a tail spin after the phone call. We couldn't focus on anything else. Nothing more got crossed off my to-do list and Tim couldn't focus on work. We discussed all the possible scenarios. We wondered if our parenting missteps led Jack to make this huge mistake. We wondered if the kid he was picking on was actually the same kid who was picking on him earlier and he took our whole sticking up for himself coaching a little too far. I'm not going to lie, I would have felt a little vindicated if that was the case. We would just have to sit Jack down and say, "Okay, you made your point, albeit a little too far, now it's time to stop." <br />
<br />
My whole logic on the bullying epidemic is that kids are learning how to interact with each other by watching us, the parents. This is the main reason I was so tormented by this situation. Where did we go wrong? Tim and I don't pick on each other. We try to thoughtfully converse with each of the boys. We try to facilitate healthy discussions between the two of them when a fight arises. We try to treat everybody else around us with respect. We aren't perfect at any of those things, but the objectives are always love, respect, grace and empathy.<br />
<br />
Where was our blindspot? What weren't we seeing? How could we teach and model differently?<br />
<br />
We ended up driving over to the school to get Jack's whole take on the situation. Our entire day was disturbed and unsettled; we had to get face to face with Jack and chat with him. He had a fun pizza party reading reward at lunch and there was no way in hell he would get to enjoy that if he wasn't sorry for tormenting another soul.<br />
<br />
I had already prepped myself with the ways that would upset me and disappoint me even more. I didn't want him to be remorseful just because he got in trouble. I didn't want him to be sorry because now he was labeled as a bully. I didn't want him to be upset because there were parent and school consequences to his meanness escapade.<br />
<br />
I wanted to see true remorse because he had made another human being feel less than. I wanted to know that he completely understood, and remembered, how it felt to be the little one with a bigger one towering menacingly overhead. I wanted to see him outward focused, rather than inward focused. How did this situation affect that other little boy instead of how it affected him? I knew that if this was the case, there was a really good chance we wouldn't have to address the issue again.<br />
<br />
I was still scared. I know Jack is a thoughtful and loving boy, but he still did this to another person. I wanted to foresee how he would respond to getting caught. I was hoping it was a wake up call and he would reverse direction when he realized the bigger picture. The bigger picture being the other little boy's heart.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, he was remorseful for all the right reasons. He had already genuinely and compassionately apologized to the other boy. He completely understood why the school and parent given consequences were in the picture. He had already lost recess time and he knew more consequences and conversations would come later after school. We let him enjoy his pizza party because he earned that and it wasn't directly related to the recess thing. Actually, reading is another situation where he lacks motivation to work hard so I didn't want to discourage that part. We told him he will be doing several things at home that will illustrate to us his thought process on how to make retribution, how to move forward and hopefully never make this mistake again.<br />
<br />
When he got home from school, we got the whole story again. We discussed it in and out. Of course he was nervous to talk to us, he's a kid who got in trouble. Of course he didn't want to get in trouble or be labeled as a mean kid. We reiterated that the main reason he should be sorry was because he hurt that little boy. Most of the time we never tell each of the boys how they should feel in any situation, but this one trumped that rule. He already felt this way but we wanted to emphasize that the main reason this was wrong was because someone else got hurt by Jack's actions.<br />
<br />
To better illustrate our point, Tim told a story about when he was in 8th grade shop class:<br />
<div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"When I was younger, I was a bully too. There was a kid who I had a class with named Dale. Dale stuttered and it made him talk different than the other kids. Dale didn't have any other friends. We were in shop class together and I came up to him and asked him what he was working on. You see, Dale was really talented at everything we did in shop. He got really excited and told me all about his project and who he was making it for. He thought he was finally making a friend.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After he was done talking, I said, "C-c-c-c-oool Dale. Th-th-th-th-that's really n-n-n-n-neat."</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Dale's face fell. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "A-a-a-are you m-m-m-m-making fun of me Tim?"</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Then it all hit me. I was making Dale feel like garbage. He thought he was making a friend but then I turned around and hurt him instead. I was trying to make my own friends laugh but he thought I was there to be friendly. It was then and there that I decided that I would NEVER EVER use others to be funny. I would never hurt a person to get a laugh out of my friends. That's when I decided that self-depreciating humor was the way to go. I would make others laugh by making fun of myself. I had thicker skin so I could take my own beating so others wouldn't have to.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I always remember Dale. He's still with me, helping me be kind to others. And if there is someone to poke fun at, I make sure it's me. I can take it. I don't want others to hurt, especially at my hand. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I always remember Dale and it would be helpful for you to always remember this little boy. Remember how he hurt. Remember how you felt when you were in his position.</blockquote>
<br />
Jack is a good boy, he just made a mistake. I'm not going to make excuses for him but I'm not going to let this define him either. I'm not going to let this slide without an important lesson being learned. Just because he was picked on at one point, doesn't mean he has reason to pick on someone else. Verbally bashing another is not cool and it's not funny. Bullying isn't even justified if that person "started it." There is a difference between standing up for yourself and slashing back at someone who hurt you. A wrong for a wrong, doesn't make a right, even if it feels justified in the moment.<br />
<br />
I hope he keeps this whole thing in his brain for years to come. I hope he thinks twice when his possible actions may belittle another. I hope he chooses differently next time, and every time after that. And I hope if he messes up again, he'll come to terms quickly and right the wrong as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
Thinking over this situation, I see some holes in my parenting. I think, Tim and I may have portrayed that there are only two sides in this fight of life: The bully and the bullied. I may have only illustrated the eat and be eaten positions. While both those roles exist in the larger world, there is another dimension. Our world isn't two dimensional; the three dimensions are the consumer, the consumed and something else. I don't have a name for it. It's just the space between or the step back. It's a place where we don't have to pick a side, we can see both, help both and love both. It's a place where we can pick the bullied off the ground and still have compassion for the one pushing down. The step back is not hands off. We are still called to stand up for the outliers. We cannot afford to stay silent and therefore, inactively condone the poor choices made by the power seekers. We just need to know that even if we have played a part in the two dimensional world, that's not all. There's more, there is space between and we all belong there.<br />
<br />
Those are the things I need to teach the boys. It will be a continual conversation, I'm sure, just like every major life discussion. Parenting is funny. You hurt when your kids get injured. You are happy when they are joyful. You are proud when they overcome. But you also hurt when they make mistakes. You hurt for the people they affected and you hurt for them. Today there was a lot of hurt and it sucked. I'm sure it was horrible for the other parents and little boy too, but the sun has gone down on today and tomorrow there will be new light and new freedom. A new day with no mistakes in it. A new day where we can all heal instead of hurt.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUDT5FXY108h4Xo8PBuf-timEnmhQIW6J2LONGcR88u55eBdDbNOgI3jpi1Y1gi0BczDqqMzroCbLx_h8jjVvIjARF7tEVb5oEhiusYGncst9EmaSnmdg-OiRhXWHZ9ZlWMu2JfgvMxZc/s1600/1425092836844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUDT5FXY108h4Xo8PBuf-timEnmhQIW6J2LONGcR88u55eBdDbNOgI3jpi1Y1gi0BczDqqMzroCbLx_h8jjVvIjARF7tEVb5oEhiusYGncst9EmaSnmdg-OiRhXWHZ9ZlWMu2JfgvMxZc/s640/1425092836844.jpg" /> </a> </div>
</div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-9893111098353426782015-02-23T13:28:00.001-08:002015-02-23T13:38:08.604-08:00Life's ScoreboardWe had a sporty weekend during the last holiday weekend. Four hockey games and two basketball games in three days kept us on our toes. This is the stage of life we are in and I'm loving it. I have sports on the brain so all I can come up with today are sports analogies. I know that these are probably nothing new and way overdone, but they are what spoke to me when I was mulling over our game heavy schedule.<br />
<br />
On that Saturday morning, we got to witness Jack's very first basketball game. In the past he has been in camps to work on skills, but he's never been on a competitive basketball team before. The night prior he set out his uniform, shoes and basketball so everything was ready to go. I could tell he was really excited but also extremely nervous. Sometimes his nervousness and self consciousness sabotages his efforts so I was anxious for him. When he's comfortable and laid back, he just does his thing and it's so fun to watch.<br />
<br />
No amount of pep talks could ease his nerves so we knew we just had to get him out onto the court and let him work it out on his own. I was so proud of how confident he appeared even though I'm sure his heart was racing. He didn't let the anxiousness stop him from playing. I know a lot of adults who have a hard time overcoming that so I already considered this game a win the moment his bright, blue Nikes stepped in bounds.<br />
<br />
Once the game got going he calmed down. When his little butt was off the bench he ended up getting the ball about 50 percent of the time. When he didn't have the ball he was racing around getting open for a pass. He just knew what to do and where to be and he gave it his all. <br />
<br />
Every time he touched the basketball, he paused for a second to gather up where his team was and which opponents he had to get through. Then he would aggressively plow through and drive up the lane to shoot the ball. I was so impressed that he used all the skills he had been practicing at home, he took all possible shots and when those shots were not available, he found a teammate to pass to.<br />
<br />
I don't pretend to know much about basketball; I'm still learning the rules and techniques. Put me on a basketball court and it would end up being more of a comedy routine rather than a competitive game. I consider myself to be fairly athletic but the game of basketball confuses my brain and body. Since I'm a basketball newbie, I was in awe of how quickly Jack picked up this game. It's turning out to be his "thing," at least for now and for as long as he wants to keep at it. <br />
<br />
More than half way through the game, I looked over to Luke. He was watching Jack and almost crying. I asked him what was up. "I just feel so bad for Jack. He keeps shooting and none of them go in."<br />
<br />
I looked down at Jack and he also looked defeated. While I was in awe of all his fundamentals, he was focusing on how little he was contributing to the overall score. After the game, he was teary because he hadn't scored. Tim and I listed off all the amazing skills he displayed and even his coach came up to him to tell him how impressed he was. That seemed to cheer him up a little, but he was still disappointed.<br />
<br />
I totally get it. Winning is more fun than losing and you want to help out the team. Losing is devastating and making those shots is evidence of how hard you have been practicing. But the cliche is true, you miss 100 percent of the shots you don't take. Sooner or later, the more you throw that ball up, it will go in the basket. It just sucks when you have a game full of missed shots.<br />
<br />
Isn't that kind of like life? It devastates us when we miss shot after shot. Sometimes we get so disappointed that we stop even trying. It just gets too hard to throw that heavy ball up anymore. And the more we miss, the heavier the ball feels. If just like basketball is Jack's thing, isn't life our thing? We are all here, plodding along on this earth. We all want life to be our expertise, but some of us have stopped even taking shots. We aren't even putting ourselves in position to make the shots, let alone practicing to hone our life skills.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, I think we have to continue making those agressive drives up the lane, even when we don't feel like it. LIfe sometimes puts barriers and opponents that have to be pushed through. It's hard bumping into others who are putting their hands up trying to block you from making a clear shot. It's not our job to foul them everytime, but we have to get by somehow. Gently or aggressively, we'll know when we see the opponent.<br />
<br />
And we have to remember that the success isn't always if the score changes. The success is pushing through life and putting yourself in a place to try and try again. There may be hands in your face, elbows thrown into your side but launch that ball up anyway. If that isn't success, I don't know what is. Some days that ball will sink nicely into the net and you will see the reflection on the scoreboard of life, but not always. For now, push through, throw something into the air and know that you've played well. That deserves a W in my scorebook.<br />
<br />
Luke was also a hockey maniac that weekend. His last game of the tournament was probably the best we've ever seen him play on any team in any sport. He ended up playing a position he doesn't normally occupy. We knew this before the game started so as I chauffered the athletes to the arena, Tim sat in the back with Luke and went over strategies. Luke said he was open to input and advice so they got a notebook out and planned out possible situations. Now, keep in mind, Luke normally doesn't like input from us so Tim made sure he got the okay beforehand. He knew that if that didn't occur, he would be advising to deaf ears. <br />
<br />
It was a good thing that Tim showed him some positioning and skill strategy because he ended up being paired up with the best kid on the other team. This kid was a great skater and he was super aggressive. He knew his stuff - a little too well - because he was nasty at times. The kid scored all three of the goals the other team made but he also earned all three of the penalties. <br />
<br />
Checking is not allowed at their level and Luke got some nasty elbows to the face and he got slammed into the boards multiple times. This didn't seem to phase Luke and actually kind of spurred him on. He ended up playing harder and better and he even got to shoot a penalty shot at the opposing goalie because that kid was so nasty. I was so surprised how fast he would get up after being checked. The low-blow playing kid was motivating him to play harder. Luke never scored a goal that game but he played the best we have ever seen, ever. <br />
<br />
He didn't let a little adversity get in his way. He actually used it to his advantage. I was so proud of how he never stooped to the kid's level of play - he just played harder and in a more stand-up, noble way. It takes more heart to play that way and I was taking lessons from him that game. In the past, Luke has scored multiple goals in a game but he didn't play as well as he did on that Sunday. Again, just like with Jack, the scoreboard didn't reflect the play and effort and heart that went into the game. <br />
<br />
On that sporty Valentine's weekend I learned a great deal by watching my kids play. I realized it's not worth it to keep staring at life's scoreboard. It's not worth it to be preoccupied with the world's definition of winning - that will just sabotage my efforts.<br />
<br />
Let's change our definition of winning. Let's drive agressively through life and throw up shots. Let's skate back into the game, even after we get slammed unfairly into the boards. Let's win the way we want to win and let's do it together. <br />
<br />
Who's with me?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlbKNVkoUTvJlwZA3hz6lzvFV93B3Wf-n7znLYiXRTyzFKHAZ9ldeIEGhPJSTxeXtVdMQsPEiTCx43sSzru-x6mzxI6cBEVDfXViAZTYbhpnpwIc_UX-Bryvo1qlwsPVe-Jv0Ddu7fxU/s1600/1424726830898.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlbKNVkoUTvJlwZA3hz6lzvFV93B3Wf-n7znLYiXRTyzFKHAZ9ldeIEGhPJSTxeXtVdMQsPEiTCx43sSzru-x6mzxI6cBEVDfXViAZTYbhpnpwIc_UX-Bryvo1qlwsPVe-Jv0Ddu7fxU/s1600/1424726830898.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-27411033533372401812015-02-18T10:40:00.002-08:002015-02-18T10:40:26.417-08:00Ugly Focal Points<div dir="ltr">
I dread my lady time that comes around every month. I don't really mind the physical aspect of it, it's the mental and emotional side that's brutal. This was the main reason why I absolutely hated being pregnant. I felt like someone highjacked my brain. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
One week a month I don't feel in control. I don't feel like myself. Everything I touch seems to break open and I leave a trail of relational destruction in my wake. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
This is a raw subject right now because I'm in the midst of "the week." I feel emotionally broken down. I've had multiple red-faced, blubbering conversations with Tim. These hurt and they are hard, but I'm realizing they may be necessary. He's so patient with me too. He gets that this is a sensitive time so he just sits by my side and holds my hair while I emotionally puke.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
I always dread this week but maybe it is an emotionally necessary time. Maybe this is the time that I can't hold it in anymore and shouldn't hold it in anymore. It's a time where my walls can't hide my feelings anymore. It's not an excuse to be rude or nasty, I still want to filter that, but maybe the rude and nasty are the actual walls. Normally, I have other walls like clamming up or letting others steamroll over me. Instead of letting this time be a positive mental awakening, I just replace it with uglier screens. Maybe this is the time I'm supposed to do the hard work of self evaluation and promote my own self awareness. Maybe then my spew of garbage will slowly reduce its radius until there isn't any more to spit out. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
When I actually say out loud that I'm extremely irritable I gain a little more control over it. Verbalizing it also helps me realize that I need to sometimes remove myself from the situation and spend a little time alone. I also let my family know my emotional state so they know when to step in or out. Alone time can be healing, but together time being honest with my people can be healthy too. I need both.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
If rudeness or nastiness are my walls during this time, what am I covering up? I'm not sure yet. I do know that it is healthy and beneficial to find out so I will keep searching.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
During my balance poses in yoga I have found a trick to quickly get into position and stay there. If I find a spot on the carpet or ceiling to focus on I am more successful in holding my balance. If I glance away from that spot, I fall. Since I do yoga at home, most of those focal points are a stain on the carpet or a scuff on the ceiling. Sometimes I laugh and wonder how the boys managed to throw something up that high and with such force to create that dent in the ceiling. The spots I focus on are dirty and they are things I should probably clean up or repair and paint over. But they are my saving grace in keeping my balance.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Maybe my "week" is a dirty focal point. On the surface it's ugly. And if I let it control me, I will say nasty things and hurt the ones I love the most. Maybe I can get to a point where I look forward these times because I use them to let down my guard and soul search a bit. Maybe it's like the practice of yoga. If I keep at it, I will get stronger physically and emotionally, but only if I put the hard work into it first. This will only happen if I don't build up my normal walls. I need to find my balance in life so I am searching for those focal points.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
We all need to find what helps us keep our balance. What walls are we raising up? What should we be focusing on? Don't always look for focal points in the clean, pretty, perfect things. There are treasures and hope in the ugly stains. In those, you may find your balance.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
This is going to be hard for me this week though because everybody is chewing so loudly right now. The splosh of teeth and gums and saliva is going to make my ears explode. Everybody is doing this on purpose to irritate me! Oh my gosh, now someone is picking at their teeth! Steam is coming out of my ears and I'm trying to take some deep breaths. <i>Find the focal point, Lindsey, do the work, gain your balance and hold it!</i></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div dir="ltr">
What about you? How do you find your balance in life? How do you push through your emotionally raw times?</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyT7Vp0EJL0ONglUvAFQ-PcnLm-NRRmvLeMAhjlhsuxq-WwpVwbR2BYQSusfIAHzaNKKnrKIsD1tTmsmceBuGqeqQQNXcDf-jCtbwpXP9vYt21JhbHrRxRYM7tx9mKgwXr1Koz7J7w8g/s1600/1424284724686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyT7Vp0EJL0ONglUvAFQ-PcnLm-NRRmvLeMAhjlhsuxq-WwpVwbR2BYQSusfIAHzaNKKnrKIsD1tTmsmceBuGqeqQQNXcDf-jCtbwpXP9vYt21JhbHrRxRYM7tx9mKgwXr1Koz7J7w8g/s1600/1424284724686.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-43909981624539758852015-02-13T06:00:00.000-08:002015-02-13T06:00:04.897-08:00For Tim<br />
Because Valentine's Day is tomorrow and he is my one and only Valentine. Plus, who can resist publicly shouting out that I made out extremely well with him by my side. He makes my crazy sane and my unintelligible legible. I love you Sweetie, more today than all our yesterdays combined. Our love is exponential.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGnHlmb3cfnAbr8EPpbn2GoArMlejBOb0TYNnHEFZsEMxGygiSG8XdYzBHO0xtL9HPbcbGGSCIXJmPT13wY8dq_ODw_l0Pke5qYZIZ5acqWrjTPCrJ2Zl_QKX6HK_BuD3414SzYWY1Ok/s1600/1423804383024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMGnHlmb3cfnAbr8EPpbn2GoArMlejBOb0TYNnHEFZsEMxGygiSG8XdYzBHO0xtL9HPbcbGGSCIXJmPT13wY8dq_ODw_l0Pke5qYZIZ5acqWrjTPCrJ2Zl_QKX6HK_BuD3414SzYWY1Ok/s1600/1423804383024.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_829660168"></span><span id="goog_829660169"></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Hey I heard you were a wild one</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Oooh</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>If I took you home</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>It'd be a home run</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Show me how you do</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I wanna shut down the club</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>With you</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Hey I heard you like the wild ones</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>-Sia (Wild Ones)</i></div>
<br />
You and me, we'll shut down every club together. That's how we do. We've been hitting home runs since day one. <br />
<br />
When I first heard of you (yes, we girls like to talk) I was sitting on my bed, under a bug net, sweating in the Haitian heat. We were countries apart, but you and me, we were tugging hard to get to each other. "There's a new boy in town back home. I've heard he's a wild one."<br />
<br />
You intrigued me and I hadn't even met you. Love had started to grow. I was already fighting to stay on the path that led me to you. You see, not many people know, but I'm a wild one too.<br />
<br />
When we finally met, both of us knew, but neither would admit it. These things take a while. The YOU and ME were on our way to US, the way it was always supposed to be. Us wild ones need to be together. I'm the only one who gets you and you're the only one who gets me. Crazy, beautiful, wild ones, trying to keep each other sane. Hey, I heard we are the wild ones, oooh.<br />
<br />
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-45736833076238967712015-02-12T08:34:00.001-08:002015-02-12T08:34:49.674-08:00My Kids Will Never Be a Status Symbol<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7T61N3MmJo15jnoMbz6MoXqLpdRyIsDgyRHjE3YoBkgJ1jfWh-7ujBKJNOIgHdjTuS3rL7l7irT3fcPt3IcJJ_UN3jCP8iaDnNd4xLsE056gSJnwxtHyBdcVzfbsgnbXueyoAl4LvgU/s1600/IMG_20150212_083126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7T61N3MmJo15jnoMbz6MoXqLpdRyIsDgyRHjE3YoBkgJ1jfWh-7ujBKJNOIgHdjTuS3rL7l7irT3fcPt3IcJJ_UN3jCP8iaDnNd4xLsE056gSJnwxtHyBdcVzfbsgnbXueyoAl4LvgU/s1600/IMG_20150212_083126.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I will not parent my boys in a way that is done solely for others approval. I will love and discipline them in a way that promotes a healthy relationship between us and so they don't grow up to be total dickwads when they leave the nest. And if for some reason, they do end up being delinquents, I will know I did the best I could do. It will be up to them to use the tools Tim and I gave them to keep from being grown-up assholes.<br />
<br />
My kids have not, are not and will never be a status symbol.<br />
<br />
Luke and Jack are not boxes I can check off on my life's to-do list. They are people and they deserve to be treated as such. No line crossing out here.<br />
<br />
This is not to say that I don't love being a mom. I will wear that name tag with honor for the rest of my life. We will always be connected but we are each our own entities. Their "success" or mine in life does not depend on one another. No matter if they are "good" boys or "bad" boys - I will have succeeded at this parent thing because I woke up each day and gave it my best. When I screwed up, we all started anew.<br />
<br />
There have been days I asked the boys for forgiveness at 7:30 p.m. They always let me start over. Never yet have I heard some version of, "Sorry Mom, you were just too mean and you yelled too much today. No do-overs for you today." They are getting really good at this grace thing.<br />
<br />
The same idea spreads over to my marriage. I didn't marry Tim so I could just say I was married. It wasn't just the next step in life or our relationship. We didn't get married because everybody else we knew was doing it. We also aren't staying married because it's the "right" thing to do. Marriage and parenting for us isn't a keeping up with the Joneses kind of thing. <br />
<br />
Tim and I got married because we wanted to create the Pell Team, forever partners in this hard and amazing life. Besides, he's extremely hot so there's that too.<br />
<br />
Sure, I loved saying he was my husband. When we were newlyweds I would try to creatively drop it into conversation. "My husband" was so fun to say but the label and married status wasn't the why behind our union. <br />
<br />
What we have doesn't fit neatly into a box. Our love is ever changing, ever growing and getting better each day. We have our rough spots, sure. Part of the greatness is the getting through the hard times and looking back on them while giving each other a high-five. We beat that life tumble, Pell Yeah!<br />
<br />
I think we started out with this marriage idea early on and it just transferred to our theory behind our parenting. We got married young and had kids young. I am proud of that, but still, the labels and the timing weren't the why's behind it all. <br />
<br />
It's way too much work to try to please everybody anyway. For every one person who approves of our marriage or parenting, there will be 99 others behind them pointing out all the flaws. I will absolutely never change how I am a wife or a mom in order to gain the "good job Lady!" from anyone. It cheapens the experience.<br />
<br />
Tax forms, mortgage applications, facebook. Yes, I will check the appropriate boxes. I do have a husband and two kids, but my status in this world isn't based on that. That isn't why I galloped into this story or even why I stay and put my all into it. That kind of story has boring black text on a dull white page. Our story is full of vibrant pictures and poetry. Our pages are filled with elaborate imagery and complimented by colors your brain can't even comprehend. <br />
<br />
I am Lindsey. Tim is Tim. Luke is Luke. Jack is Jack. We are Mothers, Fathers, Sons, Daughters, Brothers and Sisters. Those labels depend on how we relate to others in this life. But standing alone, we are just as amazing as when we stand together.<br />
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-45405751753987705462015-02-11T11:08:00.003-08:002015-02-11T11:08:46.290-08:00The Rock Throwing IncidentLast Spring, the boys and I got invited to a play date after school. It was a half day of school and a generous mom of a boy in Jack's class invited us over. With her two boys, my two boys and an extra boy from Jack's class, it was guaranteed little kid fun. In a matter of minutes there were superhero figurines strewn about the floor, video games going on in the corner and a mish mash of hopping on furniture and leaping from one room to the next. They were all in heaven.<br />
<br />
I was a little nervous going into it because new interactions tend to be hard for me. I had talked to this mom off and on at the pick up line after school. We were both about ten years younger than the average age of most of the other parents at the school and we both had had two kids in less than two years. Gravity used those two identifiers to pull us together and produced some good conversation each afternoon. I was excited, as well as apprehensive, to spend the afternoon at her house.<br />
<br />
This mom was winning all the good mom and best host awards right away. She put a spread of fruits and veggies onto the table along with the corresponding dips. Organic apple juice boxes were offered up and gluten free cookies were promised if a fair amount of the "good" stuff was consumed. <br />
<br />
After seeing her spread, I felt a little self conscious. During the last play date I hosted, I chucked a box of Cheez-its out the back door and told the kids to go play in the mud. <br />
<br />
After the consumables were consumed vigorously, the tiny males scattered again. Some stayed inside to play and others went out to play on the backyard swing set. This amazing mom and I quickly got into a very interesting conversation. You see, after she realized her youngest, who was on the Autism Spectrum, was gluten intolerant, she started her own business out of her home. Since she had a talent for baking and her son couldn't eat most of the traditional baked goods, she formed a gluten-free bakery out of her personal kitchen. Talk about ingenious. Her idea was on current trend and she filled a niche that not a lot of people ventured into. <br />
<br />
I was amazed. I asked her all about the science behind it and how she got the ingredient combos to work without the standard chemical reactions. In the midst of talking about fondant and how to shape certain cakes, Jack and the other boy from his class went out to play in the backyard. Luke and the two resident kiddos stayed inside to game it up in the corner of the living room.<br />
<br />
Jack and Gus (we'll call him that even though he has a much cooler name) had been out there for about twenty minutes when I noticed both of them quietly slink back inside to play Mario Brothers. Hmm. I got a twinge that something was a bit off, but I was too fascinated by how you can make sugar cookies without wheat flour.<br />
<br />
The playdate was still going along successfully when we heard a knock at the door. It was the neighbor lady from next door. All I could see was a puff of gray streaked curly hair standing on the stoop. <br />
<br />
A low, gravelly voice emerged from the poof, "I used to have young boys, so I kind of understand this is normal, but some boys were throwing rocks over the fence and hit my brand new pick up truck."<br />
<br />
WHAT??? My heart starting beating faster and my face warmed up to a nice bright pink. I looked over to Jack with my eyes shooting fire daggers. Gus started to cry and went to hide under the kitchen table. Jack's face paled and he started to quietly cry. What in the world?<br />
<br />
The dark poof kept going, "I just bought the truck a couple months ago so it was in pristine condition. After the rocks, there are four dents on the hood and the windshield is cracked. I totally understand this is a kid thing, but I want to figure out how to get my truck fixed and back to the original condition."<br />
<br />
The stellar host mom started to panic, "Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry. We will definitely figure this out. Give us a minute with the boys and I'll give you a call back."<br />
<br />
That satisfied the poof and she hustled back to her house and her dented truck. We sat Jack and Gus down to get their side of the story. Through tears, they fully admitted to throwing the damaging rocks. It was a pretty simple story. They saw some rocks on the ground, both threw some over the fence, the rocks crashed into something on the other side, then they came back inside to play.<br />
<br />
Since Gus's mom wasn't there, I took it upon myself to explain the repercussions to both of them. "So, now that you two damaged the truck, some things have to happen now. The neighbor lady has to get it fixed and she isn't the one who is going to have to pay for it. It's probably going to cost a lot to fix it and our two families are probably going to have to cover the bill. I'm not sure how much it will be, but I know that it is a lot more than what you have in your piggy bank."<br />
<br />
Both began crying again and Gus kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I did....Okay, now I feel better. Can we play superheros now?" Umm, not quite.<br />
<br />
The host mom went to go call Gus's mom, while I stepped out to call Tim. Jack started crying even harder. He didn't want Tim to be disappointed in his behavior, but he knew it was inevitable. <br />
<br />
I wanted to get out of that house as soon as possible so I left my contact information to be relayed to the neighbor and hustled the boys into the van. I wasn't thinking clearly so I didn't make Jack go over to apologize to the neighbor. Plus, I wasn't even sure if Jack was the one who threw the rocks or if he was just the sidekick, so I didn't want to admit any fault that would later be picked up by the insurance company. I totally understand both the role of the thrower and the sidekick cheering squad are at fault, but as I said, I wasn't thinking clearly. <br />
<br />
Later that night, Tim and I were discussing our options and obligations when Jack came in with his piggy bank and wallet. He spilled everything on our bed and said he would pay for the damage. We told him we appreciated his sentiment but it would probably take all of his allowances until he turned 18 to pay for it all. The real lesson here was understanding how our actions affect others. We have to seriously think before we do things and understand all the consequences. <br />
<br />
I was still under the impression that this began as Gus's idea and Jack was following him over the rock throwing cliff. You might call it the mommy blindspot but I couldn't picture Jack orchestrating this adventure. When all the emotions had evened out, Tim sat Jack down and asked him again about what happened that afternoon.<br />
<br />
Tim: So, who's idea was it to throw rocks over the fence?<br />
Jack: I don't know, both of ours, I guess.<br />
Tim: When you threw the first rock over the fence did you hear it hit something?<br />
Jack: Yeah.<br />
Tim: Did you know it was a truck?<br />
Jack: Yeah.<br />
Tim: After you knew if was a truck, did you throw another rock?<br />
Jack:......Yeah, a few more.<br />
<br />
DAMNIT! We were going to have to pay through the nose for this.<br />
<br />
All sorts of insurance companies got involved, there were inquiries, multiple quotes to fix the damage and lots more drama. There was finger pointing and some parties refused to take responsibility. The powers that be determined that the responsibility would be split three ways: the two families of the rock throwers and the nice mom who technically owned the rocks since they came out of her backyard. Tim and I didn't think that was fair to the nice host mom so we paid our third plus Jack's half of her share.<br />
<br />
During this process we had multiple heart to hearts with Jack. I'm pretty sure he learned his lesson, but only time will tell. We made sure to emphasize that we all make mistakes. At some points in our life, everybody makes poor choices. It's how we act after the fact and how we try really really hard not to repeat those same mistakes. There is no point in dwelling on the situation once it's done and after you have made ammends. <br />
<br />
In our family we have a secret handshake that indicates a grace-filled start-over. Three fist bumps, while saying, "Let's move on." The person who is asking for a re-do starts it and the other person can't participate unless they agree to give the grace. Simply verbalized, but so hard to put into practice. Grace is a discipline and we all need to ask for it and give it. Grace is a daily practice. Some days we fist bump more than a few times. Other days, none at all. <br />
<br />
This is a good childhood lesson but some adults have a really hard time with it too. Heck, giving myself grace is hard on most days. I lash out and place blame on others or myself. Not helpful and never healthy. I need an internal, "Let's move on," instead of dwelling on it forever. Those rocks will never unthrow themselves. The damage is already done. We just have to pay the fine and move on. <br />
<br />
Let's all say it together, "LET'S MOVE ON!"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-kBv_H-oqRSKg4_IdTdOCJrxkBa9YyIhtlPiA6EQyvep1x_0UnnrsUIN6rJFEPmCRkeJJoPhYvrdE05Qp8sIOajZod1BaFyEwTWdNdbZ-Hwvk0GTQC0gmWTyYZDCW8IUT6L4GmFrdVM/s1600/10153060331482296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9-kBv_H-oqRSKg4_IdTdOCJrxkBa9YyIhtlPiA6EQyvep1x_0UnnrsUIN6rJFEPmCRkeJJoPhYvrdE05Qp8sIOajZod1BaFyEwTWdNdbZ-Hwvk0GTQC0gmWTyYZDCW8IUT6L4GmFrdVM/s1600/10153060331482296.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-36948937201531380712015-02-10T09:54:00.001-08:002015-02-10T09:54:42.022-08:00Spineless<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_mISnT0o-SqFGoju3e_9wLSKsy7R-XQ7mD0bSVd1rLX1d-n0WP4K2lkIpuwOYuC6hYR88OLAL5uPP0F_YppHUeE3JdfkRP7SAwnnfEoNM9u_XnEOAJLjxlnKkS07YbaCyPRlnrynCOI/s1600/1423590625407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN_mISnT0o-SqFGoju3e_9wLSKsy7R-XQ7mD0bSVd1rLX1d-n0WP4K2lkIpuwOYuC6hYR88OLAL5uPP0F_YppHUeE3JdfkRP7SAwnnfEoNM9u_XnEOAJLjxlnKkS07YbaCyPRlnrynCOI/s1600/1423590625407.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Looking back on my history of friendships and relationships, there are some that were pretty screwed up. For some reason, I played the role of a spineless turd. I have no idea how I got myself into these situations. Maybe it was because it was a phase in my life where I was desperate for friendship and I didn't care who with, as long as it was with a breathing person. Sometimes I wonder if I had a sign on my forehead that said, "Put thumbprint here. Push down as hard as you can." Maybe they had their own insecurities and they saw a passive sidekick in me. Who knows.<br />
<br />
It's just weird though, because anybody who knows the real, whole me, knows that I DO NOT like being told what to do. I hate feeling manipulated and pushed around. Who doesn't, really. I have my own ideas and I like control of most situations. I know I'm intelligent and strong but for some reason, these relationships left me second guessing myself.<br />
<br />
I've just been wondering lately how I got myself into these situations. I really want to figure it out so I don't make this grave mistake again. Maybe it's because I tend to be non-verbal in heated conversations. Maybe it's because I avoid confrontation at all costs. Some people are for-fun-debaters or confrontational by nature. There's nothing wrong with that, I just shy away from it. If people are having a friendly debate and voices get raised all the alarms go off in my head and my adrenaline starts pumping. <i>Oh my gosh, they're fighting! Where can I run and hide?</i> In the fight/flight, my go-to is almost always flight. <br />
<br />
I'm not really sure why I'm like this; I just am. And when I'm around a friend who is opposite, I can only hide for so long. It just takes up so much energy to be in these kinds of friendships and then even more to figure out how to gracefully bow out of it.<br />
<br />
And believe me, most of the time, my exits were not pretty.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, not all my friendships are like this. I have had, and still have, some that are amazing. In these we are equals. We are kindred spirits. They are iron sharpens iron situations. I'm grateful for my small circle of friends because it's easy with them. We have fun, get along great, but hard times, on my end or theirs, don't phase us. <br />
<br />
Maybe, me sitting here, wondering why some friendships failed, isn't worth my time. I just really really don't want to get myself involved with anything like that again. I might be thinking of it because we are relatively new in our new town. We are meeting more and more people so we are building our network here. I'm happy with my small circle of friends that I already have but aren't we supposed to get involved in the community we live in? How can I do that without building friendships? Maybe I just have to cultivate my vulnerability by taking the risk that some friendships may turn out toxic. If that happens, I can fall back on my posse and they will take care of me. <br />
<br />
I might also be rolling this topic around because sometimes I see the boys getting into uneven friendships. I always thought both would take on more leadership roles in their social circles. This isn't always the case. I am surprised when they follow into not so positive situations. I want to save them from eventual heartbreak, from imploding friendships or others that sadly fade away. I know it's part of the "let them live and learn" parenting trick, but it's so hard to watch. I wish there was something else to do rather than sit and wait for them to crumble onto the couch after a relationship has died. <br />
<br />
Of course, I turn it back onto myself and play the blame game. Am I setting a bad example of how to be in a friendship? Is it in our genes to sometimes get trampled on? Did I pass that shit down to them? I want to put on a brave face for them and for myself, but I'm learning that a fake smile and blame aren't the answers. Vulnerability is.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure about any of this. Any suggestions? Yes, I'm asking for your opinion. I'll try really hard to not take it as you telling me what to do. I may or may not put your suggestions into practice because, obviously, I'm sensitive about power plays. So much so, I have no brain indication of discerning the difference between helpful suggestions and someone making me feel like a wet paper towel. I need help, obviously.Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-33019817205709303072015-02-09T09:51:00.002-08:002015-02-09T10:41:28.759-08:00Scary Vulnerability<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIkCY3x68t3grK4JEh6FQwQQGgN5mkuGPMaW22xjaFFRtNMuI7qv9F0_rt8i-yoJB9VyX_4vNKQaldfdzATJaq9f53j8680KtTvjp7Wnu-Ltc5AKhIJdt_Is5jvlyb2XM82wOmwpoY3PU/s1600/1423504157746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIkCY3x68t3grK4JEh6FQwQQGgN5mkuGPMaW22xjaFFRtNMuI7qv9F0_rt8i-yoJB9VyX_4vNKQaldfdzATJaq9f53j8680KtTvjp7Wnu-Ltc5AKhIJdt_Is5jvlyb2XM82wOmwpoY3PU/s1600/1423504157746.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I struggle with making decisions based on shame and guilt. These decisions are the major, life changing ones, the little bitty every day ones and everything in between. I know there is a good version of guilt, like feeling bad for sitting on the couch reading instead of going down to the basement to play in a Nerf battle with Tim and the boys. That kind of guilt makes me a better mom and I'm grateful for it. This is not the kind I'm talking about today. I'm referencing the kind that overtakes my priorities. I hate when guilt gets played as the trump card. My tendency to people please double teams with it and I make rash, horrible decisions just to try to make the shame and guilt shut the hell up.<br />
<br />
I just started reading this amazing book by Brene Brown. <i>The Gifts of Imperfection</i> has helped me understand this whole process. I'm only through chapter two and it's blowing my mind. I always knew that guilt had an overarching power over me, but I didn't know how to combat it. You can't just say, <i>guilt isn't going to affect me anymore</i>, and poof, you're free. At least for me, it doesn't work like that. Understanding how it works in our brains and then how it flows out through our actions is helpful. If I can see each piece of the cycle and categorize feelings and actions, I can finally start to get a grip on it. I have to tangibly process things, talk about it, write about it, then be given measurable steps to follow through. Only then, can I even approach the idea of changing. <br />
<br />
Along with her study on shame and guilt, Dr. Brown found that people who don't let these monsters rule their life cultivate vulnerability. I think this is the very reason I haven't been able to shake those monsters. I always try to put on a smiley face, make my life sound Pinterest worthy and shove everything else in the dark closet. <i>I can do all of the things myself! Everything is fine! </i>Being vulnerable takes a lot of bravery and courage. I don't think I have enough right now but I'm sure going to wake up each day and try my best. <br />
<br />
Actually, today I'm feeling especially low, so this post is even harder to pound out. When I get like this, I feel like I have tunnel vision. Anything perepheral is fuzzy and I can barely focus on the things right in front of me. Using my brain feels like walking through a thick mud. So, my apologies if none of this makes sense.<br />
<br />
She also says that there are certain behaviors that work against being vulnerable. Blaming is one of these. It's funny how I can totally see myself in all these negative behaviors. When something goes awry, my default is to blame.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<i>We protect ourselves, by looking for someone or something to blame. Or sometimes we shield ourselves by turning to judgement or by immediately going into fix-it mode.</i><i>-Brene Brown</i></h4>
<br />
So blame is equal to self protection. I have to get over this. I've put all my energy into putting up walls, while silently suffering under guilt's heavy pin. Now, instead of lashing out and wondering why I can't change, I'm working at tearing down these barriers. It sounds pretty scary to me, but this post here is my first baby step. <br />
<br />
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<i>Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy - the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.<br />-Brene (again, isn't she wise?)</i></h4>
<br />
I want that light. I want ownership of my own story, even if some of the pieces turn out to be really ugly. I want to be vulnerable and celebrate with those who want it too.Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-34649247830500635832015-02-06T08:17:00.002-08:002015-02-06T08:17:47.351-08:00I Guess I've Got the Look<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.wylio.com/credits/flickr/5412343334/"><img alt="Bingo! from Flickr via Wylio" height="400" id="Flickr-5412343334-1423237336941" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5215/5412343334_49ff36d164_z.jpg" title="'Bingo!' by elizaIO, released on Flickr under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/), found via Wylio" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">© 2011 <a href="https://www.flickr.com/people/elizaio/" title="'Bingo!' published on Flickr by elizaIO">elizaIO</a>, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/elizaio/5412343334/" title="from Flickr">Flickr</a> | <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/" style="font-size: .8em;" title="Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/">CC-BY-SA</a> | <a href="https://www.wylio.com/" title="Easily credit free 'bingo' pictures with Wylio.">via Wylio</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Last week I mentioned that I had a crazy busy week that involved a ton of planning. One of the major events that required me to run around town like a chicken with it's head cut off was Bingo. About a month prior, I got asked to be the chairperson for the PTSA Bingo Night at the boys' school. I reluctantly agreed. I love bingo and I knew how hard the five people who run the volunteer parent group work to support the students and teachers. I wanted to get more involved, but chairperson? That may be too much for me. I realized they saw me as fresh meat and needed someone to organize this extra event. Plus, they all had already put a million hours into all the other events and fundraisers so I figured it was my turn to step up.<br />
<br />
After I put my name on this project, Christmas happened, then we vacationed in Texas, then my side of the family came over to celebrate the holidays. Before I knew it, there were two weeks to go until the big night happened and I hadn't really given it much of a second thought. Yeah, I know, I know, procrastinate much? <br />
<br />
I love details though. I love when things finally come together. I see a vision of how the end product should be, then I break it into chewable pieces. In my quiet office or ordering things behind a computer screen, I slowly gather all the moving parts together. It's kind of fun.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I definitely had a few freakouts mid process. I absolutely hate asking for donations. Talking to people I don't know scares me enough, but when you throw in asking for money, it's like hearing nails on a chalkboard. My soul cringes, I twitch and I just want to hide under a warm blanket. A couple days in a row, I had planned to make the rounds in town to ask local businesses to help us out and donate prizes. Instead of crossing that off my list, I panicked and went grocery shopping instead. I got an amazing amount of work done that day, trying my best to do everything BUT ask people for money.<br />
<br />
I admitted my failure to Tim through a face full of tears. He graciously offered to ask the scary business people for offerings but I knew I had to do this for myself. <i>It's for the kids</i>, I told myself. <i>Suck it up and get it done!</i> I got some boosting encouragement from friends the next day and set out. <br />
<br />
Success! I was surprised that most people were happy to help the local school out. I even found some cool shops and restaurants that I didn't know existed before this terrifying mission. I came home with a car load worth of donations and promises of more to come later.<br />
<br />
Most of the time, I like to compile all these details all by myself. It's easier than explaining exactly how I want it done. But in order to practice self-care and preemptive reduction of stress, I knew I needed to ask for some assistance. I needed help, so I delegated.<br />
<br />
I'm learning to prioritize by figuring out which bits to hold close, the parts I want to artfully complete. Those other things that aren't as important to me, I hand off to other, most of the time more capable, people. That person can figure out how they want to get that puzzle piece together, without my specific input. <br />
<br />
When planning out this Bingo night, I knew right away I would need to find someone to MC the event. There was no way I would be standing in front of a whole bunch of people holding a microphone. Luckily, I found the perfect person. I guess at one point in her life she had been a stand up comedian. Perfect. I could hand that off to her. <br />
<br />
Just before she went on stage, we were prepping in a side room by going over the little details of the night's schedule. She interjected with, "Are you sure you don't want to be the caller? I mean, I don't mind doing it, but I also don't want to take the show away from you."<br />
<br />
"Are you kidding me? I absolutely hate being up front. That's not my thing; you go for it." I would stick with my role as floor walker and even that was a bit too much stage time for me. <br />
<br />
"Okay, but let me tell you, with your look - you could go really far and do a lot of great things."<br />
<br />
Ummm. Thank you? I guess that was a compliment. I was flattered that she thought my "look" was something that would render success, but I'm perfectly comfortable being a wall flower. I like standing in the back, out of view, making sure everything runs smoothly. I like that position, I'm good at it and I really didn't feel like hyperventilating or breaking out in a rash that night. <br />
<br />
I completely understand she meant that statement as a compliment. And I am aware of my tendency to read way too much into what people say. However, I can't deny that I felt a little put down. It was demeaning that I was wasting my "look." I felt like, because I wasn't comfortable up on stage, or at least because I didn't want to get over my fear of that, I wasn't doing all that I could to help. I wasn't the whole package apparently.<br />
<br />
Of course, there are also a lot of other explanations for her comment. She could have been having little misgivings or stage fright. She could have also been not confident about her "look." My overplanning of the details for the night may have been slightly irritating. She also probably just wanted to check in to make sure she wasn't steamrolling my project. All of those are more likely options. <br />
<br />
I know it was just my sensitivity kicking into high gear. My brain was working overtime after that comment and I started looking inward. Rather than focusing on what it meant toward me, I should have been focused on what might push her to say that. Either way, both of us were probably stuck on what we couldn't give, rather than everything our strengths had accomplished. Why is that always our knee-jerk reaction?<br />
<br />
We need all contributions. We need MC's and comedians, and we also need people like me. The ones who never really grew out of being a shy, four-eyed, goofy little girl. The ones who will quietly pull all the neat little pieces together. We need all types of people. Everybody has something different to give; there are varying strengths to be offered up. Life is like bingo. If we want to win, we need different numbers called in order to get that five in a row.Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-83082889874781969862015-02-05T08:15:00.002-08:002015-02-05T08:42:11.355-08:00Just a Typical Monday<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; line-height: 21.5599994659424px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*Since it's #throwbackthursday, I'm doing a repost today. This was originally posted on February 27th, 2012, I just made a few edits and touched it up a bit. Enjoy!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLgOTZR82UVxtYMygRhmZr4IUBgHDUKm-7LuKNmN_9kU7GdQ7pWYdeJusya5_K-Fc7dTnGJK434zV8YVIXqwQVlAy2xClq-3z5Fdkh5SvaMFLozjTK2uKbhIDk8QxQAPZgfBavCYDzzXs/s1600/P1040802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="color: #00326e; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLgOTZR82UVxtYMygRhmZr4IUBgHDUKm-7LuKNmN_9kU7GdQ7pWYdeJusya5_K-Fc7dTnGJK434zV8YVIXqwQVlAy2xClq-3z5Fdkh5SvaMFLozjTK2uKbhIDk8QxQAPZgfBavCYDzzXs/s400/P1040802.JPG" height="266" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; background: rgb(17, 17, 17); border: 1px solid rgb(17, 17, 17); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392) 1px 1px 5px; padding: 1px; position: relative;" width="400" /></a></div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">After a fun weekend filled with friends, relaxing, church, snow and a trip to the indoor water park, it was a morning of getting back to business. Tim was getting ready for work, Luke was packing up his backpack for school and Jack and I were getting ready to go to preschool. </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">Sometimes, Jack takes his own sweet time in the shower and I have to remind him that there might be a time crunch if he doesn't get his butt in gear. The shower seems to be his stage and he sings to his heart's content while locked inside the tiny bathroom. Normally, he won't even sing along with us in the car. With the shampoo and body wash as his only audience members, he'll make up his own tune to artfully serenade the soap at the top of his lungs. Some mornings, I'll just hang around outside the bathroom door, listening. That will turn my grumpy, non-coffee mood back right again.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">He had been in there for a while so I tromped down the stairs to give him a gentle reminder. When I peeked in the bathroom, the shower was turned off. The mirror was still foggy and steam came rolling out as I opened the door. I expected to see a soggy preschooler head, wrapped in his Lightening McQueen towel, but a naked Jack was in the fetal position on the bottom of the shower stall. That was weird.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">When I asked him what was going on, a calm and serene voice came out of the stall, "I'm stuck."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">"How are you stuck?" I opened up the shower door.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">"My finger..." His left pinky was stuck in one of the holes of the shower drain cover. It was stuck past the second knuckle.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">Keep in mind, this is a child who fuh-reaks out if his shoes aren't tied tight enough. Since there were no hysterics, I didn't take him quite seriously. I giggled and called for Tim to come downstairs. I figured we would get this situation fixed in a few seconds. Easy peasy.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">When Tim came downstairs, we realized it might be more serious than I previously thought. Tim tried plain old pulling. We tried soap and lotion and water and ice. Nothing worked. Both of us kept calm faces but we were internally panicking. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">Luke quietly cried in the corner of the room. His empathetic super power was working overtime so he knew it might be serious.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">I grabbed to toolbox, madly dug through it to find the necessary item. I finally found the screw driver and tossed it to Tim. He unscrewed the drain cover so we could get better leverage. Jack's finger was puffing up and turning a strange color. We were running out of options so we decided to head to the ER. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">There was also the puzzle of how to get him dressed so he wouldn't freeze to death in the sub-zero North Dakota winter terrain. The lower half was easy but finding a shirt he could wiggle the huge piece of metal through an armhole proved more difficult. We found a huge t-shirt that workd but there was no way he could wear his much needed coat. Tim grabbed a blanket, swaddled him tightly and carried his little butt off to the van.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">On the way, we dropped Luke off at school with the promise that the doctors and nurses would know what to do. We also promised to return to let him know that Jack was okay once we got finished at the hospital. That seemed to ease his worry a little so he soldiered on to perform his Kindergarten duties.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">At the ER, Jack marched in, calm and brave, with a shower drain cover for an over-sized ring. At the front in-take desk, the lady asked why we were there. Both Tim and I were at a loss for words, "Ummmmm...." We both just looked over to Jack and he poked his hand out of his blanket swaddle and held it up like he was carrying an Olympic victory torch.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">"Oh! Well now. Let's get you in here straight away!"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">They tried multiple methods. Jelly got smeared on his finger first, but that didn't work. Then they tried wrapping his finger with some sort of twine in order to compress it. Still stuck. They brought him over to the sink to run it under cold water. Fail. Another nurse brought in a bucket and plunged the pinky and drain cover into some icy water. After a few minutes in the ice, they tried again to pull it off. Freeeeeeeedommmmmm! The finger and the circular metal piece were separate entities again. Hallelujah!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">The trusty van took us back home. Midway we stopped by Luke's school to give him the update and then started back on our not-so-typical Monday.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;">We are averaging one ER visit per year and I'm not liking those stats. Oh, the life of daredevil kids. Jack's first two visits to the ER were in Charleston, the third in Meridian, now the fourth in Grand Forks. With Luke making an appearance in the Bellingham ER at two days old, our tally is five visits in six years, coast to coast and in the middle. I'd be fine with taking a break from those visits for a few years or twenty. But since we like to live life on the edge and stick our fingers in shower drains, I'm thinking that's not going to happen. I can cross my unrestrained fingers and hope for the best though.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">**Since this story was written, Jack went to the E.R. one more time in Grand Forks for an extremely high fever on Christmas Eve, then again when he fell off a playground toy in Edmonds, and then another time, just a <a href="http://pellyeah.blogspot.com/2014/12/hashtag-jacks-fine.html">couple months ago</a>, here in our new town. So far, we haven't impoved the rate of emergency visits per year. Lovely.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxD4fUpxvv0iRFJH6UT6mgPnf1lNKGraP6JztYq19aY78nYVtcH_axzs3GkTPPkbWGFHVVq7Nz8t62nVSXirpZa3IOj1VH3YEq6VoUwoDG-LiekQj1zFBd-tlbW6Eso1kFTPe9L3MIZ8/s1600/10152456702907296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBxD4fUpxvv0iRFJH6UT6mgPnf1lNKGraP6JztYq19aY78nYVtcH_axzs3GkTPPkbWGFHVVq7Nz8t62nVSXirpZa3IOj1VH3YEq6VoUwoDG-LiekQj1zFBd-tlbW6Eso1kFTPe9L3MIZ8/s1600/10152456702907296.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Different finger, different town a couple years later.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; line-height: 21.5599994659424px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span id="goog_1112185037"></span><span id="goog_1112185038"></span><br /></span></span>Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-78982068571728519632015-02-04T10:34:00.000-08:002015-02-04T10:37:38.659-08:00The ParadeWe've been in a state of mourning for the past few days. We were three freaking handoffs from winning the Super Bowl! Three. And with plenty of time left too. We are still die hard fans though so nothing can shake our love for our Seahawks.<br />
<br />
Instead of dwelling on things I can't change though, I'll reminice today on fonder times. It goes back to last year about this time. Seattle was actually celebrating because we blew those Broncos out of the water and held the title of World Champions. A little sidenote: The Seahawks very first Super Bowl appearance was when Luke was one month old. In the nine years since he's been born, they've made three appearances at the big game. Considering the fact that before Luke was born, they never made it, they should be thanking him for all their success. Maybe they'll make him a mascot, or a coach. According to Luke, his nine year old self would make a better coach than Darrell Bevell. That may be true.<br />
<br />
Last February, the city of Seattle planned this huge homecoming celebration for all the players and team personel. There was going to be a huge parade in downtown so Tim and I decided to be spontaneous. That morning, we woke the boys up early and told them to get all their blue and green gear on. We were going to skip school and work that day to see the parade. Since downtown parking is a headache on normal days, we thought it would be smart to take the bus. We drove up to the park 'n ride and hopped on a double decker. What normally consisted of business commuters turned into other fans and families like us. Seems that a lot of other people had the same idea of playing hooky. <br />
<br />
In all our well thought out planning of the day, we figured we would run downtown, see the parade and then jet back home so Tim and the boys could finish the afternoon half of their work and school day. Little did we know but everybody else had that idea too. A later estimate was that over one million people drove into Seattle that morning from the surrounding area. When it was done, all the busses home were packed to capacity and we got stuck until my sister came to rescue us and drive us home. Even that took forever because fan traffic on all major roads and side roads alike was a nightmare. We ended up getting home after dark and after bedtime. <br />
<br />
I'm jumping ahead a bit, sorry. Back to the bus ride into town. Business men and women had traded in their briefcases and laptops for twelve jerseys, flags and anything else blue and neon green. We knew the parade route so we got off as close to it as possible. We walked a few blocks uphill and found a great spot on a corner, midway through the planned route. By eight o'clock a.m. we were set up and putting dibs on our prime spot.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasJrLNAuHzqjp5wU9Bk-Pwbptws8Xi_7Tt0q8TeIeN7xWqmrU-TMqW673FazAPEX0F7s8JV5geiYMwixM14HsNDoOOWaCx6RSOctdL3uMsiu-qM4-jkXEVhoACKBALmIwiOyZg8TgFDg/s1600/DSC_0588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgasJrLNAuHzqjp5wU9Bk-Pwbptws8Xi_7Tt0q8TeIeN7xWqmrU-TMqW673FazAPEX0F7s8JV5geiYMwixM14HsNDoOOWaCx6RSOctdL3uMsiu-qM4-jkXEVhoACKBALmIwiOyZg8TgFDg/s1600/DSC_0588.JPG" height="212" width="320" /></a>Because this was a spontaneous planning of the day, I didn't even think to check the weather report. It was February, so I knew it would be cold. Seattle cold though, normally only requires a winter jacket, cotton gloves and maybe a hat to keep your ears warm. I started to get little sneaking pangs of worry when I saw other kids in full-on snow gear, boots, insulated pants and gortex gloves. Oh shoot. I looked down at my own boys, who were wearing normal jeans and tennis shoes. We might be in trouble.<br />
<br />
After standing on that cold cement curb for about an hour, we were all fidgeting. It turns out that cool, crisp, clear sunny day's high temperature was 11 degrees. My only defense for being an ill prepared mom was that Seattle is NEVER that cold. I should have brought blankets and other insulated gear, but we were going to have to improvise. <br />
<br />
Tim and the boys stayed in our perfect spot with a perfect view while I trudged down the hill to the first Starbucks I saw. Maybe coffee, hot chocolate and scones would distract us all from the cold. After standing in the coffee line that went out the door for half an hour, I finally got our order and walked back up. The hot drinks warmed us up for about fifteen seconds and we were all cold again.<br />
<br />
Tim decided to try and find at least some extra socks or something else to layer up the boys. This time the boys and I planted ourselves in our spot while he went a few blocks over to the mall. Meanwhile, while we were shivering, but still enjoying the fan fare of it all, people started to filter in around us. This nice family with a few kids came and stood right next to us. We were all happily chatting and waiting for everything to start. Cars were driving down the road with twelve flags, honking like crazy to the cheers of all the waiting people. When the police finally closed off the road, people on bikes, and one guy in a skin tight neon green suit and blue wig came roller skating down the road. <br />
<br />
More and more fans were filtering in and room was beginning to run out. The sidewalks were about four rows deep and I saw people finding their way up onto roofs and balconies of the surrounding buildings. We were on the front row edge of a corner so I knew our spot would yield great views of the players. People were starting to push gently from behind, but we held our ground. The side street next to us finally got closed off by the authorities so people filtered in to the other side of us. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sLcfUxXtE_1sc7TsW8PShzF6glRg_3rc8r8aqcqBI-_OIFnSeHgdMzNIgdWNcJv2FZNlklaci_U6T1lJ9eF2DbASGldIW4Hvo7ppmcMOK521Zib7NZTWrh8W-iygyLFmbcVIeZpK-as/s1600/DSC_0614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sLcfUxXtE_1sc7TsW8PShzF6glRg_3rc8r8aqcqBI-_OIFnSeHgdMzNIgdWNcJv2FZNlklaci_U6T1lJ9eF2DbASGldIW4Hvo7ppmcMOK521Zib7NZTWrh8W-iygyLFmbcVIeZpK-as/s1600/DSC_0614.JPG" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
<br />
By the time Tim got back to us, there wasn't a lot of standing room left. He had found some extra socks just in time because both boys were starting to whimper and complain that their feet hurt. He knelt down to layer up their toes. The nice mom to the left of us, graciously offered some of her extra toe-warmers. Even though I was a bit self conscious that we weren't more prepared, we accepted. Sometimes it takes a village to keep those appendages warm. <br />
<br />
As the boys' feet were slowly warming up, Tim's 6' 4'' self stood back up and took his place back, right next to me. Then I hear a scratchy, lady voice pipe up from behind. "OH, NO, you can't do that! You can't just come in here and stand in front of me. I was here first!"<br />
<br />
I turned around and tried to explain, that actually, if we were acknowledging that arrival time was the trump card, we were here long before she ever set her foot on this frozen curb. <br />
<br />
She went on to explain that she was with her whole family and they had been in this spot for a long time and they wouldn't be able to see anything if Tim were standing right there. She quickly got wound up and her voice was getting louder and louder and angrier and angrier. Tim kept listening to her and repeatedly interjected in a slow and steady voice, "You need to calm down. There are kids around."<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I was getting angrier as well. Who was she to assert that this spot had her name on it? And if we were really looking at the facts, we had more claim to it than she and her hundred family members who showed up thirty minutes prior. At one point she was trying to explain the angle of her view. I guess Tim was in her 90 degree angle view. <br />
<br />
I got sucked into the heated conversation and it all began to fall apart. I can use my logic tool when I am in a calm environment, but I am completely useless in a heated debate. I was trying hard though. I guess trying to convince her that, actually, more of a 60 degree angle view was better because of the trajectory of the parade coming down from the north side of the street. She wasn't having it and I wasn't thinking anymore anyway.<br />
<br />
"HE CAN'T HELP HOW TALL HE IS!" Those words just vomited out of my mouth. And since it was such an intellectual zinger, she was kind of confused.<br />
<br />
Then I decided to give my old pal, passive aggressive, a turn. I simply turned back around to face the street. I scooted my body right in front of the short nasty lady and threw in the calm jab, "He could have stood right here instead."<br />
<br />
Obviously, she wasn't too pleased with that move, so she grabbed my official sideline Seahawks beanie and threw it on the ground.<br />
<br />
Now, Tim had been engaging her the whole time. He had been extremely calm and reasonable, unlike his lovely wife. He's normally even keeled unless, UNLESS, you go after me or the boys. So this was definitely crossing his line.<br />
<br />
He looked down on her and told her, "You can't touch someone, sister, that's called assault. You can't touch my wife!"<br />
<br />
This change in Tim startled her so she started to irrationally back peddle. "It's not assault! I speak English!"<br />
<br />
"Umm, your abilitiy to speak English has nothing to do with your intelligence."<br />
<br />
" I'm a .....<br />
<br />
Tim had had enough. "You're a what? Please tell me you do something really important for a living to excuse your behavior."<br />
<br />
I think she was noticing all the stares and slight steps away from the situation. We were too and so when she finally shut up about everything, I grabbed my hat off the ground and turned around. We waited on the parade to start while our teeth chattered away. The nice lady next to us, took pity on us and offered to share her family's blanket with our boys. She was probably thinking, "<i>Oh my gosh! I feel so bad for these boys. Their mother didn't even dress them warm enough and besides, she's certifiably crazy.</i>" She earned her stars that day by taking care of the boys who were destined to be dragged around downtown Seattle with a lunatic for a mom. <br />
<br />
If you haven't figured it out already, there is no moral to this story. It's just one more example of my inability to express clear thoughts when put on the spot. Then again, maybe it's my lesson that I should keep my mouth shut when I know my brain will definitely not back me up. Selfishly, this also may be one teeny reason why it might be a good thing we lost the Super Bowl this year. No championship, no parade, no ridiculous irrational debates in the streets. Granted, we live a five hours drive away from Seattle now, but those kind of obstacles have never stopped us from showing our spirit before. There's always next year. I'll try to reign the crazy in if that happens, but I can't make any promises, because BEAST MOOOOOOOODE!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1vsFOd5SywYGaEqjTLJtDHPdoAAp9IMuVt348u7kBd4P8_anbXRvgR7PqVq1ugtmzkd1h-AakJd0Sv7OLuGi2fB6DfvyXMwGl1IpYNzgxlhImOfW5tFrRGdX6sd0yGNHE7HVElpopRc/s1600/DSC_0634.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1vsFOd5SywYGaEqjTLJtDHPdoAAp9IMuVt348u7kBd4P8_anbXRvgR7PqVq1ugtmzkd1h-AakJd0Sv7OLuGi2fB6DfvyXMwGl1IpYNzgxlhImOfW5tFrRGdX6sd0yGNHE7HVElpopRc/s1600/DSC_0634.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBMzWNRcf7ZTV4bf24g6W9c43izr5gGrK85-ga5XBFrMASVwtEAzCnD4MAyr3Wk9LYKujM-_gMFD2HNfC5bBVPL1pSyi5Ev0Z3XPiR10pO9YTMUsQvGgxUS5QaY0w29AkYvmkkMovRcM/s1600/DSC_0726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBMzWNRcf7ZTV4bf24g6W9c43izr5gGrK85-ga5XBFrMASVwtEAzCnD4MAyr3Wk9LYKujM-_gMFD2HNfC5bBVPL1pSyi5Ev0Z3XPiR10pO9YTMUsQvGgxUS5QaY0w29AkYvmkkMovRcM/s1600/DSC_0726.JPG" height="400" width="265" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZh5OZMTQnqdRaFdwTRABR9Kq3l7gIeMxcPQT7lAtL7xNIIPb3rCzqYq19uVb_aStMnutkXPyzGGiowrou7mHUIE-anr7ZZi2ug4gJKiKxG8Yto2qv4g6UoQvGWVsTTMQFSKPEt2LVzI/s1600/DSC_0613.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqZh5OZMTQnqdRaFdwTRABR9Kq3l7gIeMxcPQT7lAtL7xNIIPb3rCzqYq19uVb_aStMnutkXPyzGGiowrou7mHUIE-anr7ZZi2ug4gJKiKxG8Yto2qv4g6UoQvGWVsTTMQFSKPEt2LVzI/s1600/DSC_0613.JPG" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZezlQdDyxc47EjkjK-6ZNic_hO4aMBHT_e3nYD5KXqlk2xMKo1i_DsJYGapn2uC7ArKxgMnvWhuwP3kH66Uhlqwuh-Q6f5dfIQabXmKihPNH41OFa9qPVnKqQH1ZOj1Bcbh1nlbjeO9M/s1600/DSC_0718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZezlQdDyxc47EjkjK-6ZNic_hO4aMBHT_e3nYD5KXqlk2xMKo1i_DsJYGapn2uC7ArKxgMnvWhuwP3kH66Uhlqwuh-Q6f5dfIQabXmKihPNH41OFa9qPVnKqQH1ZOj1Bcbh1nlbjeO9M/s1600/DSC_0718.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBmR7IK33Tkbrd6-kM-IxEWCL49dt1zwoA3_HbJUwfa7cLk0c4wZZBYYJXx1N1BI3fg-fG4-ZXAf2znREXNfbrQpBFO6Bj62WMfKe1GLAjDR8pP7THaKAhU__ZqLhgVd3AUM8AoysSDnE/s1600/DSC_0757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBmR7IK33Tkbrd6-kM-IxEWCL49dt1zwoA3_HbJUwfa7cLk0c4wZZBYYJXx1N1BI3fg-fG4-ZXAf2znREXNfbrQpBFO6Bj62WMfKe1GLAjDR8pP7THaKAhU__ZqLhgVd3AUM8AoysSDnE/s1600/DSC_0757.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnf0x5zX1IxFFPmL9aGIkJE22Bcyno3SeKwrv3JbJi8C6q0Pe8T5ZCmhmUx6q578mahiWu_Wy-b6nbjJjw4vmdDww4umfYzg68buC7o1Wsk45Ete8hs3ew0cSk_RIapElVNqvITEfsGwY/s1600/DSC_0720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnf0x5zX1IxFFPmL9aGIkJE22Bcyno3SeKwrv3JbJi8C6q0Pe8T5ZCmhmUx6q578mahiWu_Wy-b6nbjJjw4vmdDww4umfYzg68buC7o1Wsk45Ete8hs3ew0cSk_RIapElVNqvITEfsGwY/s1600/DSC_0720.JPG" height="400" width="265" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphGWMyPKpoV3IotU1RheiepfcQaC5wlLIecHGvJkH7w5vFQsG5jWZo30DxM2RU8cSaJTeI47It4-XhreqL19rZ4RfY_ILZJiOffTdimbL6IDwTURftabDcWPgg3RGue2CRcbvB5ivGv8/s1600/DSC_0620.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphGWMyPKpoV3IotU1RheiepfcQaC5wlLIecHGvJkH7w5vFQsG5jWZo30DxM2RU8cSaJTeI47It4-XhreqL19rZ4RfY_ILZJiOffTdimbL6IDwTURftabDcWPgg3RGue2CRcbvB5ivGv8/s1600/DSC_0620.JPG" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-18964650170185468892015-02-03T07:26:00.000-08:002015-02-03T07:26:48.682-08:00100 Percent<br />
A few months back sickness wreaked havoc on our extended family. It all started with the preschooler, because, you know, preschools equal giant germ factories. And generally, said preschoolers aren't really known for their amazing hygiene. I question sometimes if we have graduated from that stage even though the ages of the boys should prove otherwise. I still have to tell them not to touch the garbage cans in public restrooms. There must be some allure of magic treasure inside because the seven AND nine year old still stick their faces pretty much inside the nasty cans.<br />
<br />
About the same time, Jack was finishing up his basketball camp. In other previous years, Jack played hockey, soccer and baseball. He was pretty good at those but basketball is turning out to be his thing, at least for now. He really really excels at it already and I'm not biased at all. Every Sunday he would go down to the high school gym and practice on his ball handling skills. The coach taught him how to sling the ball in a figure eight around his legs and how to do some cool close to the ground dribbling. The normal things like dribbling and passing were covered too. Every afternoon after school he would work on his Every Day Drills to reinforce all the things he learned each Sunday. <br />
<br />
He worked really hard and was so excited to show off his skills at the end of camp performance. All the kids in the program would get to be a part of the half time show during the high school boys' game. They had a whole routine, set to music and would get to dazzle the audience with their awesomeness. All the family who lived in town planned to be in the stands to see all that Jack had learned.<br />
<br />
The above mentioned virus changed these plans a little. I let Jack know that even though they really wanted to be there, the sick ones may not make it to his big time performance. He was bummed, but understood. Luckily, some of the family hadn't caught the bug yet and some were on the mend so Jack had a cheering section.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGzaAiVpHO37sAinnwtD7aQIHTBaxv_4CqWVgUHekDckYm1LN3m_tMrAnO7MAKeI1ZAwx_naLjVd10qyJKhV3c4-iND4HIdS56Dh-c6PpT1Yz-93WYLkMMuA7Y06ZKpLa3rwSwCzhgS4/s1600/10152931478012296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGzaAiVpHO37sAinnwtD7aQIHTBaxv_4CqWVgUHekDckYm1LN3m_tMrAnO7MAKeI1ZAwx_naLjVd10qyJKhV3c4-iND4HIdS56Dh-c6PpT1Yz-93WYLkMMuA7Y06ZKpLa3rwSwCzhgS4/s1600/10152931478012296.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
He was quite nervous and excited all at the same time. It was written all over his face during the first half of the game. When it came time to line up, he bravely shook off those butterflies and got busy. He ran across that court, dribbling and passing and figure-eighting to the amped up music. He was amazing; he killed it.<br />
<br />
He came back up to us in the stands with a huge smile on his face. He had conquered the world. Well, more like he conquered those ball handling skills, but it sure felt like I had just witness him conquer the universe.<br />
<br />
We went out to get frozen yogurt after the big show, because those kind of things deserve celebration. And what a better way to celebrate than a late-night cold sugary treat. As we were chatting and eating, Auntie Sarah reminded Johnny not to share, just in case the bug was still hanging around. I appreciated her caution and assured her we'd be fine. I pointed out Jack, who we all know from the above basketball scenario doesn't give anything but 100 percent. He was hunched over the table, licking the table top. Some froyo had spilled and he was going to eat it all. I guess you never waste good froyo, no matter what bugs are flying around.Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-43725682822966401292015-02-02T09:38:00.002-08:002015-02-02T09:38:43.621-08:00Unwell<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Unwell"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>All day staring at the ceiling</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Making friends with shadows on my wall</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>All night hearing voices telling me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>That I should get some sleep</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Because tomorrow might be good for something</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Hold on</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And I don't know why</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I know right now you can't tell</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A different side of me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I know right now you don't care</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But soon enough you're gonna think of me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And how I used to be...me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I'm talking to myself in public</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Dodging glances on the train</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And I know, I know they've all been talking about me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I can hear them whisper</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And it makes me think there must be something wrong with me</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Out of all the hours thinking</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Somehow I've lost my mind</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>-Matchbox 20</i></div>
<br />
I get it Rob Thomas. I know how you feel. I'm right there with you. <br />
<br />
I've been called overly sensitive, selfish, rude and probably a lot of other nastier things behind my back.<br />
<br />
There were times that those labels and names were probably valid and well earned. I've always been a little socially awkward so I don't always pick up on the normal cues. I am also a recovering know it all, so there's that too. I have ruined some friendships and other relationships because of my short comings. There have been times in my life where I have been extremely inward focused. It would not be a lie to have called me selfish and narcisistic.<br />
<br />
These amazing qualities also contributed to a time when I put myself up on a religious pedestal. I was following all the "right" rules. I wore the "right" clothes. I put the "right" things in my schedule. I said the "right" thing, I acted the "right" way. I was winning and everybody who wasn't doing things the way I was doing them was wrong.<br />
<br />
Good thing Jesus saved me from that. Now he teaches me about grace and unconditional love. I mess up every day and Jesus is okay with that. Quite frankly, he loved me when I was a religious nut, even though he was just sitting on the sidelines shaking his head. "Oh, Lindsey, I can't wait until you get it. You're sucking it up right now, but one day, you'll see it and it will be beautiful."<br />
<br />
Those shortcomings are all layers that I have been trying to peel off for years. Sometimes they served me well in creating a shield of armor but those things are isolating and, as it turns out, a horrible way to life my life. We are on this planet with actual people who have feelings and I don't want to be constantly walking around with poison spines and bumping into everyone so destructively.<br />
<br />
I believe that my life mission is to love everyone, no matter what. Even though I feel like I've grown up a lot and the selfish, unloving tendencies have faded away a bit, they are still there. It will always be an internal competing battle. Sometimes people need to have their needs met, even when I don't agree with the way they go about it. They need to win this battle so we can all win the love war. This one is really hard for me though, because I'm competitive and sometimes a bit shortsighted. I never want to lose any battle and can't they see how ridiculous they are acting?<br />
<br />
The part if this that is really hard for me, is knowing when to stand up and say something or when to let it slide. I tend to be an all or nothing person so I either let people walk all over me and never say a word. Other times, I'll pipe up at every teeny thing that irks me. Actually, most of the time that's not true. I'll let all those teeny things irk me so I'll just passive agressively be rude all the time so I don't have to confront anything. Any sort of confrontation makes me break out in hives. It's easier to be rude. Yeah, just reading that back sound horribly unhealthy. I've got a long way to go. <br />
<br />
As I said before, these negative behaviors have impacted my social and family life. But not all of those faded or abruptly broken off relationships were all my fault. Some people just lack a sort of empathy that is required to be around me. I try to return the empathy most of the time, but that's a struggle for me too. Others are just plain in the wrong. Some of the times, people just didn't get me. I know I come off as a little unwell, but they also have their own stuff to work on. And if you cross the boundaries and go after my husband and kids, there will be hell to pay. I can't be held responsible for my reactions with that one. Maybe I'll work on having healtier reactions in regard to this area, but not now and most likely never.<br />
<br />
Walking through life feeling like not a lot of people "get" me wears me down sometimes. I really don't care if most people understand me, I've got my small circle of people and that's all I need. Some days though it frustrates me. What's so wrong with being sensitive? I've come leaps and bounds in the social department too. I kind of have to treat it like an algorithm. If X behavior happens or X words are said, it is most likely can be interpreted as Y. I also have my partner in crime, who excels in everything social, to whisper tips in my ear. He's amazing. Have I told you that lately? Probably, but indulge me. <br />
<br />
When I get written off as different or weird it sucks sometimes. "Oh, that Lindsey, she's just overly sensitive, it's too bad." Oh yeah? I know I have my own shortcomings, but maybe you should stop being such a jerk. Have you ever though of that? And I like the way I am sometimes. Being sensitive can be a good thing. I feel things and that spurs me to action.<br />
<br />
It's just that when the overly sensitive part becomes more self centered and crowds out other people's well intentions or needs is when it becomes a problem. Are they doing this to spite me on purpose? Most likely this weird, irritating behavior is not because they are out to get me. There is a larger picture here and it's not all about me; I need to remember that. It will probably be something that I will always work on. The internal battle will rage, but if I'm cogniscent of it, I might be able to get ahead of it to control it rather than letting it control me. I hope I get to a place where I can grow to let my sensitivity can be more of a strength, rather than a hindrance. <br />
<br />
I may be crazy AND a little unwell, but I kind of like me that way. It makes life spicy. How boring would it be if we had everything all figured out? This journey of life is supposed to be hard and confusing, but because of that we get to team up with others to try and figure it out together. And I promise to keep working on my stuff too. I may just need a little space for it though. If you give me grace, I'll try to return the favor. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-F3G9I_sr4klkwhyRS5DL13ldGwRXbgwj4aur0auQ7qtGoOy7jje_QrCwCJsDM-udGHvm2vhyphenhyphenkBJjA6-aRc9eTeNoDeum9NTKlGMLMzVhnUpyhmypUm0FEBkwqECjeJcUSsr2DkypEc/s1600/1422898663269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-F3G9I_sr4klkwhyRS5DL13ldGwRXbgwj4aur0auQ7qtGoOy7jje_QrCwCJsDM-udGHvm2vhyphenhyphenkBJjA6-aRc9eTeNoDeum9NTKlGMLMzVhnUpyhmypUm0FEBkwqECjeJcUSsr2DkypEc/s1600/1422898663269.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-6471216154403173932015-01-30T07:43:00.000-08:002015-01-30T22:18:59.267-08:00Colorful Words<br />
<br />
Warning: This little diddy of a story contains foul language. Actually, it involves teaching children bad words and thinking it's hilarious. If that offends you, feel free to come back another day and read another not-so-foul post.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When Luke was three years old, we were living just outside of Charleston, South Carolina on Daniel Island. The weather was beautiful there about 360 days every year. The island was beautiful and super family friendly with all these parks and walking trails. Luckily we didn't have Clementine then because it was kind of risky walking your dog past all the little ponds with gators in them. I might have been a little paranoid that my two and three year old would get snapped up but I swear, there were warning signs like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKh6UK2-bMh6NMppbM6jn6LXmRGjff31aWxTNF97i2a4xThFUj-stlLkMD3HlBsU6HFaXDRb8fkIo9uhf7-EcKbNSW9UG_JePEgYsooWacoyaWit09dkCVBiZc9IOsdw1gLfyjL_tL1_w/s1600/beware_of_alligators.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKh6UK2-bMh6NMppbM6jn6LXmRGjff31aWxTNF97i2a4xThFUj-stlLkMD3HlBsU6HFaXDRb8fkIo9uhf7-EcKbNSW9UG_JePEgYsooWacoyaWit09dkCVBiZc9IOsdw1gLfyjL_tL1_w/s1600/beware_of_alligators.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">photo cred <a href="http://stophavingaboringlife.com/alligator-kayaking-adventure-in-wekiwa-springs-park-usa/">here</a></span></div>
<br />
Here is an actual picture I took:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGeCwoxO_ex7iI6ddATtkwb7p0idF6gAJUGYwEYpbfilj1cP3D3yTm5RbM99Fr7airwSaqG9_oLCnWeboHST2-EZ6Y_dVrt1dcef6mw9LB_xfhZDJbKo9XbGTvEwu3kIuMFzB1L61NgLE/s1600/IMG_2010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGeCwoxO_ex7iI6ddATtkwb7p0idF6gAJUGYwEYpbfilj1cP3D3yTm5RbM99Fr7airwSaqG9_oLCnWeboHST2-EZ6Y_dVrt1dcef6mw9LB_xfhZDJbKo9XbGTvEwu3kIuMFzB1L61NgLE/s1600/IMG_2010.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This story has nothing to do with gators, so I should probably get on with it already. I get a little side tracked sometimes, sorry.</div>
<br />
<span id="goog_275285952"></span>
Since we were a one car family back then, I figured out ways to get out of the house and keep the boys busy while Tim was at work. The parks and walking trails were perfect for us. Side note: I wasn't much of a hermit when both boys were home with me all day. When I could either strap them into a car seat or stroller, they were content and I was happy that they weren't driving me crazy, screaming, jumping on things and beating each other up. The quiet was nice and I veered the stroller as far away from those gator ponds as possible. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIP5BzLyOogei_xPM4z7CkXW4l88HJydiexTdP4pnYxxTUO3Xy7zfnAcSEwjlchW-gf3nU0tdWiVQp6CiXh5pVtCGY0uWFdq7XcZik-3ROCmRULGZrSb2Yxe_Sigia7nAsuEAoQs3NXTc/s1600/IMG_2237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIP5BzLyOogei_xPM4z7CkXW4l88HJydiexTdP4pnYxxTUO3Xy7zfnAcSEwjlchW-gf3nU0tdWiVQp6CiXh5pVtCGY0uWFdq7XcZik-3ROCmRULGZrSb2Yxe_Sigia7nAsuEAoQs3NXTc/s1600/IMG_2237.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
On our almost daily walks, we found all sorts of fun parks right there on the island. It wasn't a big island, but there were at least four really elaborate parks with all sorts of fun things to do for toddlers and parents alike.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWikzO4G6DHahWlwiz9B0ZbSdZaT3yzpl6J3mYd2qjAz0ASV1DlPIL9zxnz78YSbHgt8bh-5kl_Z8fE1KDDUwB_S0tQCSqdFkFdPHdIRkJTpPf7U6Lz6BbLfQaRo-VPqkYOAiNkGJT3s/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWikzO4G6DHahWlwiz9B0ZbSdZaT3yzpl6J3mYd2qjAz0ASV1DlPIL9zxnz78YSbHgt8bh-5kl_Z8fE1KDDUwB_S0tQCSqdFkFdPHdIRkJTpPf7U6Lz6BbLfQaRo-VPqkYOAiNkGJT3s/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xdgkEmhkojaS_eSwoHwPedzX9OpyxG067dpeILQF8N12GnteREJnv27HT6uFaoff0z5atJLHy73f35HXwSVSzNCicICMFCpG5h9nopqbfYpyRwJLeZLlCHHi7b1-WaZaAwZjD-nb4RM/s1600/IMG_1549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8xdgkEmhkojaS_eSwoHwPedzX9OpyxG067dpeILQF8N12GnteREJnv27HT6uFaoff0z5atJLHy73f35HXwSVSzNCicICMFCpG5h9nopqbfYpyRwJLeZLlCHHi7b1-WaZaAwZjD-nb4RM/s1600/IMG_1549.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So when the grandparents came to visit, the parks were on the top of the list to explore. Papa loves flying kites so he took the boys down to the local store and bought the perfect one. We packed up all of our necessities, picked the perfect place for optimum wind and set out. Just our luck though, there wasn't even the slightest of breeze available, which was rare for us there. Papa, Tim and the boys were still determined to get that kite up in the air. And maybe, just maybe if they could throw it up high enough, it might catch the rogue breeze that eluded us down closer to the ground. Three year old Luke was holding the spool. Papa was there with him for moral support and Tim was holding the kite and trying to throw it up as high as he could.<br />
<br />
After about 55 tries and a lot of sweat later, everybody was getting frustrated and disappointed, especially Luke. When Tim threw up try number 56 and the kite came crashing back down. Luke hung his head, shot a disgusted look at the spool and threw it down on the ground as hard as he could. He muttered under his breath, "Fuck this kite!" and sulked off toward some bushes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuav9NLQFxbS7ecFZv-7P11ht6MEVTDxeSZcXQ5XpH4omp6w50YOmVgBvFdKZDf_Ryd_V8wGu5FLw2pBcluPuHWs14Sp3pKnIgse4DhSg4S04J_SwjCFJCUgONQpZL6drc1JpU0L3THUw/s1600/IMG_1490.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuav9NLQFxbS7ecFZv-7P11ht6MEVTDxeSZcXQ5XpH4omp6w50YOmVgBvFdKZDf_Ryd_V8wGu5FLw2pBcluPuHWs14Sp3pKnIgse4DhSg4S04J_SwjCFJCUgONQpZL6drc1JpU0L3THUw/s1600/IMG_1490.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Both Tim and Papa were quite surprised, but couldn't help themselves. Both had to walk off and hide their faces because they were cracking up. They knew they shouldn't condone a cussing three year old but that shit is funny. I don't care who you are.<br />
<br />
About a month later, we were back in Washington visiting my family on Camano Island. Nana was so excited because she had found this huge train set for the boys. Two year old Jack and three year old Luke were obsessed with trains so this was perfect. Nana and the boys had just started setting up the track but since it was on carpet, the track pieces kept unattatching and becoming unlevel so the train couldn't chug smoothly all around. <br />
<br />
I probably should have warned Nana about what happens when Luke got frustrated. But I didn't. As you can guess, after the train got stuck too many times for Luke, he threw it down. "Fuck this train!" and skulked off. <br />
<br />
After hearing about the situation, I had to let my mom know that was just something we were working on with him. We were trying not to react, either positively (laughing) or negatively (scolding). We were just trying to ignore it and let him try the word out for a bit. <br />
<br />
Of course, we knew he had heard that word somewhere; obviously it was from us. We let him know he probably shouldn't say it in public, around his friends, or when he went to school. But we couldn't deny that a little f-bomb thrown in here and there was a bit therapeutic. And when used sparingly, can actually make something funnier. We weren't the language police and a little fuck here and there wasn't going to damn us all to hell.<br />
<br />
Seriously, I bet Jesus threw in some colorful words when those nails got pounded through his wrists.<br />
<br />
I knew we would be fine in the language department. I wasn't too worried. Actually, now the boys aren't totally shocked if they see or hear something with a four letter word in it. We don't go around promoting it or anything, but I'm not hovering around covering their ears and eyes all the time. And six years later we haven't gotten any calls from other parents or school yet, so I think we're fine.<br />
<br />
Fast forward a little to last year. We were dropping Tim off at work one morning and I saw the most hilarious thing. Someone had graffitied, "Shit Barf" on the side of a newly cemented wall at a construction site we were driving by. I meant to take a picture but there was nowhere to pull over and besides, the boys would probably be late for school if I didn't keep driving. I told myself that I would capture this genius message that afternoon when we picked up Tim from work.<br />
<br />
The reason I though "Shit Barf was so amazing was because I had concocted a whole story in my head that explained it. So the way it went down was two 13 year old boys were walking down the street in downtown Seattle. Probably walking home from school or something else mischevous like that. The construction workers were done for the day and all was quiet. They are just shooting the breeze when they noticed a few spray paint cans laying on the ground. They grabbed them and tried to come up with something ingenious or funny to write on the wall. They both had competing ideas and couldn't settle on one, so they lightly argued about it when all of a sudden, they heard footsteps. <br />
<br />
"Oh crap Arnold! We're going to get caught. My mom's going to kill me! What do I write?"<br />
<br />
"Just give me the spray paint Gordon! I'll handle it!<br />
<br />
Quick, thirteen year old humor gets sprayed up onto the wall and they booked it down the road, safely home.<br />
<br />
Now, I have no idea what really went into the planning behind those words, but Shit Barf just stinks of young teenage boy humor. To my dismay, some good samaritan, or probably someone on boss's orders painted over that gem. I never got a picture of it, but I sure told Tim all about it, within hearing range of the boys, because I don't care who you are, that shit barf is funny.<br />
<br />
Okay, okay, the responsible part of me is officially reminded to let the boys know that it's wrong, and also illegal, to graffiti someone else's property. But if I find, "Fuck This Kite" scrawled somewhere on our walls, I'll probably leave it up for a few weeks before I make the perpetrator paint it over.Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-8219788476600403292015-01-29T08:10:00.003-08:002015-01-29T08:10:52.089-08:00Being Present UpdateSo it turns out, this was the worst week to push my "Get Things Done Now" list to a lower priority. I signed up to organize Family Bingo Night at the boys' school. That has to all come together and be ready for this Friday night. Then Luke's birthday party is happening on Saturday and I haven't deep cleaned my house since before Christmas Then our beloved Seahawks went and made it to Super Bowl XLIX so we are having a party at our house on Sunday. And to top it all off, Tim is gone on a business trip all week and won't be home until about a half an hour before Bingo starts.<br />
<br />
Last weekend, I was dreading this week. Don't get me wrong though, I was excited for all those events, I just knew the lead up and aftermath would be hard on me personally. Can someone anticipate and dread something at the same time? I guess so, because I'm that someone, even if I'm the only one in the world that it happens to. I felt I had made significant changes in my priorities, for at least a couple days, and <a href="http://pellyeah.blogspot.com/2015/01/at-top-of-list.html">successfully reshifted my focus</a>. This week was going to challenge that.<br />
<br />
But then something magical happened. I anticipated all the craziness so I made a million lists and planned everything out according to what I needed to get done each day. Somehow time multiplied. I was able to make check marks on my list and also make time to pay attention to my family.<br />
<br />
Another amazing thing occurred when I <a href="http://pellyeah.blogspot.com/2015/01/on-tom-brady-and-being-needy.html">actually asked for help</a>. For the record, I hate asking for help, but this whole blog-writing-therapy is worming it's way into my everyday life. I am actually forced to put into practice all the thoughts I put on here. So, thank you. I don't know if you realized it, but you are my stand in therapist/accountability partners.<br />
<br />
All the people around me know what a hermit I am and so, they stepped up and offered to help. They are taking care of my boys for bits of time. They are helping me set up for the party. They are bringing over dinner one night AND helping me clean up one party to get ready for another. They are amazing. They weren't looking for ways they personally wanted to help, they looked for ways they knew I needed to be helped. It's a selfless bunch and I'm lucky to have them.<br />
<br />
Normally, I would have smiled and said no, I don't need help, I can do it ALL BY MYSELF. Usually I would have projected that, look at me thing, I'm so great, I can do everything, I don't need you, I'm fine. And then I would have crumbled inside and had multiple freakouts that Tim and the boys would have had to witness. To top it all off, I would have been resentful and begrudging each event and all the people the whole time.<br />
<br />
So my lesson this week, <i>and not to be forgotten for the rest of my life,</i> is ask for help and take it when offered. Also, let my people know how crazy these things make me so they know when to step in.<br />
<br />
I also came to the realization that I was off the hook to "be present" for my family every minute of every day. I took my cues from them. <br />
<br />
I like to think of myself as being the parent who is somewhere in the middle of helicopter hovering and the free range, see you in two days parenting. Of course that's my perfect view of myself and who's kidding, I probably slide too close to both of the extremes at times. <br />
<br />
There were times when Tim and the boys wanted my full attention and I was able to mentally drop the to-do list and focus on them. There were also times they were busy and didn't want me around. Playing with the neighborhood kids doesn't really sound fun with mom tagging along. Also, there were times that I had to multitask and I didn't feel guilty (well almost, that self guilt thing is hard to shake). Not every week is going to look as full as this week. And because I had militantly organized my to-do list, I was able to take breaks when I Jack wanted to explain to me all about a new level on Skylanders or Luke wanted to play Uno or when Tim had a quick break from all the work in Seattle and could chat for a bit over the phone.<br />
<br />
I also took teeny me-breaks to recharge my batteries a bit. Chatting on the phone or messaging friends, going to the gym, eating lunch out or reading a quick chapter. All these gave me little boosts to get on with the day.<br />
<br />
As I mentioned before, there is a balance with everything in life. When things are evened out, life tends to run more smoothly. Each day, week, month and year I need to take a hard look and figure out how to get that balance. That'll definitely be a challenge because half the time I have no flipping idea what I'm doing. I guess I'll be balancing and managing freakouts here and there too and that's okay, I'll deal.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to lie to you though. This week has tapped me out and I will probably hibernate next week. I will take some non-people-interaction time to heal myself and get my energy stores back to full. And if my people need me, I will be there for them. But they are big boys and they can pour their own cereal and call it dinner!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdq6g-Zx6TIIP0FCyEjVflBPmYm3DadJYIcp-_DInCVgJ71GILu-M5IVbFCbw729ByIXnjOzDYJ29HbJNdqXdHeRQeM2GbannuZVVZhh_srrcyHoNpwuBZMxKqIj5S8sI-jPzfP4HwdI/s1600/ZB10x159383993m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdq6g-Zx6TIIP0FCyEjVflBPmYm3DadJYIcp-_DInCVgJ71GILu-M5IVbFCbw729ByIXnjOzDYJ29HbJNdqXdHeRQeM2GbannuZVVZhh_srrcyHoNpwuBZMxKqIj5S8sI-jPzfP4HwdI/s1600/ZB10x159383993m.jpg" height="640" width="424" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://leavingamarkphotography.com/">Leaving a Mark Photography</a></div>
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-29375914528755704012015-01-28T09:16:00.000-08:002015-01-28T09:16:28.639-08:00On Tom Brady and Being Needy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWEepK5upZE1xJIfATQ3qFnmFQL0f8KBXadefPa6l09xHtkSw0l5T_GYQ2Y2qAvfHTBrsBydVC5cU4B4pDorTovtQrZZypKlLVN5vsBI51OYer37jc6xFW_N2gJv8bNfwEnw3wsKTcG4/s1600/Pell+Family+2014-Pell-0045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWEepK5upZE1xJIfATQ3qFnmFQL0f8KBXadefPa6l09xHtkSw0l5T_GYQ2Y2qAvfHTBrsBydVC5cU4B4pDorTovtQrZZypKlLVN5vsBI51OYer37jc6xFW_N2gJv8bNfwEnw3wsKTcG4/s1600/Pell+Family+2014-Pell-0045.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://leavingamarkphotography.com/">(Leaving a Mark Photography)</a></div>
<br />
<br />
If you have known Luke for a while, you know that he is ridiculously empathetic. He's always been that way, even as a baby. During the childhood stages where most kids are focused inward, he has had this uncanny ability to feel what others are feeling. It's his superpower.<br />
<br />
Recently, he taught me something extremely important. I don't think he knows this but I'll be sure to tell him how awesome he is and hopefully it will put some extra boost power in his rockets.<br />
<br />
Okay now, keep the above superpower in mind. I promise my long winded self will tie it in eventually.<br />
<br />
Last week, I wrote what was supposed to be a flattering piece about how Tim is <a href="http://pellyeah.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-dark-side.html">rocking the whole dad thing</a>. When I re-read it a few days later, I realized that it was laced with undertones of my own insecurities as a parent. I meant to show you what a great dad Tim is but it kind of turned out weird because I was a bit resentful. Lately, I have felt like I can't connect with the boys like I used to do when they were littler. As they are growing and maturing I feel like they are slipping away from me. I know that it is a natural part of parenting, separating themselves from us and becoming individuals, but all I keep thinking is, "Not yet! Not yet!" I also can't help but think that I haven't put them at the forefront because I have had <a href="http://pellyeah.blogspot.com/2015/01/passions-worth-and-leaving-space.html">tons of things to do</a>. <br />
<br />
My inadequacies in parenting have been floating under the surface for a while now. Without realizing it, they even came out in a joke I told last week. If you have been following the NFL lately, you'll get the joke. If not, google Deflategate, and you'll understand. Before school, Jack was trying to zip up his backpack but he couldn't get his football to fit all the way inside. I told him, "You could just be like Tom Brady and deflate the football a bit." <br />
<br />
Tim and the boys looked at me in awe. Tim shouted from the office, "Whoa Babe! Nice one." <br />
<br />
I smiled and replied with, "See!?! I'm cool too!!!"<br />
<br />
I didn't realize it yet, but Luke took that response into his mental account and went along with his day. That afternoon, we went doorbelling as a family to promote voting for our local schools in the upcoming election. Sidenote: always vote in favor of helping out the schools. It's really a no-brainer. Help schools = help kids and promote education = help economy and really all of life in the long run. Simple.<br />
<br />
When we started out, Tim and I decided if we split up we could cut the time in half and get back to our Friday afternoon. I took one side of the street and he took the other. Luke shouted out, "I want to go with Mom!" Awww, that made me feel good, but I still had no idea what was going on.<br />
<br />
After we got home, Tim and Luke were hanging out on the front porch just chatting when it came out. I guess Luke was really affected by my comment after the Tom Brady joke. He wanted to show me that he still loved me and wanted to be around me. He went out of his way to show me that.<br />
<br />
Tim relayed the conversation to me and my first thought was, "<i>Awwwwww, shoooooooot. I messed up big time.</i>" <br />
<br />
I shouldn't have let him know I was feeling like a dumpy mom. All my insecurities and inadequacies should have stayed hidden behind a smile. I could have worked on them without him knowing.<br />
<br />
But then, maybe, just maybe, this was good.<br />
<br />
Was this a lesson for me?<br />
<br />
Probably.<br />
<br />
Why do we as a society and culture have such a problem with needy people? Are we afraid they really aren't needy and they just want to exploit us? What about the people who really need help, how do they get it? Do their problems and situations get shoved under the rug because of our fear of the small few who are just out to get us?<br />
<br />
I like being needed. I like helping and showing the way. Teacher, mom, all my past and current occupations reflect that. Helping is what I want to do for the rest of my life. If no one ever asks though, how will I know how and where to be?<br />
<br />
I like being on the giving end, but it leaves me feeling powerless when I am the needy one. What if there is power in being needy? The act of admitting you are powerless is harder to do sometimes. There is inner strength in honesty, even when others perceive you to be on the energy sucking end. What if it was an esteemed position to ask for help as much as it is to offer service?<br />
<br />
As with everything in life though we need a balance. I get that. We can't be the giver all the time and we can't be the taker all the time either.<br />
<br />
There is strength and power in knowing who you are and being honest with those close to you. Not everything looks like Pinterest. I am actually always skeptical when I see someone beautifully put together with a rosy life. Maybe that make me a cynic, but I always think, "<i>What are you hiding?</i>" Vulnerability may seem like it eeks the power out of you, and it might, but I don't think that's a bad thing.<br />
<br />
Life is messy and imperfect and that fact brings people together, but only if they are honest about it. It's like, phew, I don't have to pretend to have it all together because you don't either. It's a breath of fresh clean air. So much work has to be put into appearing perfect. I don't have enough energy for the regular craziness of life so I don't want to add any other facade I have to put work into keeping up. For me, interacting with people sucks a ridiculous amount of energy from my overall store, I can't spare any amount for stupid reasons like pretending to have everything figured out.<br />
<br />
Can't we all just be needy together and then help each other out? And by help, I mostly mean just listening and being vulnerable together, instead of offering solutions and fix-alls. When action is needed, we'll know because we will be asked or the situation will present itself. I really wish we could take the guess work out of it though. <br />
<br />
Back to the parenting piece of it. I'm the mom, I should be the one teaching and setting the example. But here is Luke, teaching me about empathy and responding actively when he saw a need. He was the one teaching me and helping me out. This time, we flip flopped roles and I am becoming more okay with that now.<br />
<br />
Maybe I was doing a bit of teaching too though. Through this I got to show him that it's okay to voice insecurities to the ones you love. We are better for it. How else will we be able to lean on and support each other?<br />
<br />
So I guess both Luke and I taught each other something. It's kind of fun swapping the teacher/student parts in our Pell Play. I am looking forward to learning more about life from him. He's a pretty awesome dude. If Tom Brady only knew his Deflategate was the catalyst for an important parenting lesson, he would totally blast it in the media. Your welcome Patriots, this is the only positive thing that will come out of Super Bowl XLIX for you.<br />
<br />
Go Hawks!<br />
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-89613441884584850252015-01-24T10:40:00.001-08:002015-01-24T10:40:03.923-08:00At Top of the ListWhat do you do all day?<br />
<br />
Remember how hypersensitive I am about this question? I measure my own worth by how much I can get done. My friend Val referred me to <a href="http://www.babble.com/relationships/being-a-stay-at-home-parent-is-a-luxury-for-your-spouse/">this article</a>. I loved it because it gave me a new perspective and validated my chosen occupation. <br />
<br />
Back to the question at hand. "What are you up to?" "What are you doing?" That's often a normal first question on a regular check in phone call. It's a routine way to start an everyday conversation, but sometimes I panic a little when someone inquires about it. Is what I'm doing at that current moment productive? What will it portray if I can't come up with any tangible doing? Will I get judged if I am truthful about the fact that I was just zoning out on Facebook or Instagram? Will I get looked down upon if I say that I was just shooting the breeze with my family in the midst of an extremely dirty house? Will it sound lazy if I tell them that I was just lounging on my couch reading or binge watching a new tv show obsesson?<br />
<br />
At the end of each day, I feel good if I have checked off at least ten chores. Done. Did it. The more lines I scratch through tasks, the more awesomeness I achieve. I've beat this day to a pulp and now I win.<br />
<br />
But what I'm finding is that the more activities and assignments I plan to undertake each day, the less present I become in my own life. I am less available to the people I love, to the people who need me. I need those same people but I push them away in order to get all the things done.<br />
<br />
Maybe I need to write, "Be present" at the top of my list each day. <br />
<br />
But now, what does that look like? This is a hard one. I was always taught in teaching that your goals and objectives for your lesson plans need to be measureable. How do you measure being there for someone? How do you know if you have accomplished your end goal? Maybe it's looking Jack in the eyes when he's telling me about his day, rather than half listening while I fold laundry. Maybe it's truly hearing Luke when he's giving me a summary of the book he just finished. Asking follow up questions to let him know that I really understand what he's telling me, instead of, "Mmm hmmm.... sounds like a cool book," while balancing the checkbook at the same time. Maybe it's putting off vacumming for another day so Tim and I can sit and chat during lunch in the rare quietness of our mid-day boy-free house. Maybe it's rescheduling the evening trip to the gym because it will interfere with family hangout time. <br />
<br />
All those tasks and more still need to be done. Some of them I need to do to stay sane and healthy so I can be a whole enough person to actually be in the moment. But remember how great I am at <a href="http://pellyeah.blogspot.com/2014/10/multitasking.html">multitasking</a>? Remember the <a href="http://pellyeah.blogspot.com/2015/01/passions-worth-and-leaving-space.html">priorities</a> I set earlier? When I focus on getting that checklist scribbled on, when the dark, cross out lines are agressively promoting my worth, my priority list gets flip flopped. Those things begin to rise above my people and that is not okay with me.<br />
<br />
So, now I guess it's on to the To-Do LIst for today:<br />
<br />
<br />
1. Get this post written so it will be cemented into my brain. For me, pencil on paper makes things more permanent.<br />
<br />
2. Be present. Just be there for those that I love.<br />
<br />
3. If there is down time - take some "me" time without feeling guilty about it.<br />
<br />
4. And then if there is time, and only after the above have taken place, eek out some teeny tiny chores. But remember, if I get interrupted and my people need me, revert back to number two.<br />
<br />
<br />
I'll let you know how it goes. I might fail and flop right on my face, but there's always tomorrow to try again.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9kA_7qJ0JsdalLYNsEF7ZzBt0yTeVdLyUeYdAXqN0g_CClxVEC6Uh67kH1_N9x9rQzGjTnTEbRTtLPvrsluWXEQaZH5Ul4W2t8gRwj2pI9WTCkUtrDoyTcbkfMKKL7H_Ls8SVS0fH30/s1600/20150105_154324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP9kA_7qJ0JsdalLYNsEF7ZzBt0yTeVdLyUeYdAXqN0g_CClxVEC6Uh67kH1_N9x9rQzGjTnTEbRTtLPvrsluWXEQaZH5Ul4W2t8gRwj2pI9WTCkUtrDoyTcbkfMKKL7H_Ls8SVS0fH30/s640/20150105_154324.jpg" /> </a> </div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-59567184595658057332015-01-23T10:07:00.001-08:002015-01-23T10:12:26.487-08:00The Dark Side<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpny1H8TOEIL4aAZT1PmEaO26676CZkmIYItVm9_8pGCk_ricCMLiTALlff-G4TgkIqowwm6M1PsirHyVi7BFNCmeDJkFGoCwQkXhOFC34-R7f4ozIj2oo7fgbgy7CEmcdyUvYu0pj_Y/s1600/zfz5D159384350m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpny1H8TOEIL4aAZT1PmEaO26676CZkmIYItVm9_8pGCk_ricCMLiTALlff-G4TgkIqowwm6M1PsirHyVi7BFNCmeDJkFGoCwQkXhOFC34-R7f4ozIj2oo7fgbgy7CEmcdyUvYu0pj_Y/s1600/zfz5D159384350m.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I've just come to the realization that my boys have gone over to the Daddy Dark Side. If you were to ask all three of them, they would call it the cool side. I kind of agree, but whatever. Even the neighbor boy would agree. His standard question when I come to answer the door is, "Can Luke and Jack play?" If the answer is no, the next question is always, "Okay then, where's their dad? Can he play?"<br />
<br />
The other night I came into the office and found Tim jamming with the neighbor boy; we'll call him J. Both Luke and Jack were playing football with all the other neighbor kids in the front yard. It was bitter cold and getting dark by the second. J decided to come in because he didn't want to wear his shoes anymore and his fingers needed to warm up. Typical five year old reasoning. I guess he saw the guitar we have just sitting in the corner of the office. None of us know how to play it and it just gathers dust, but having a guitar set up in a corner implies that we rock, so we keep the dusty thing around. He asked Tim if he could play it so of course all late evening work duties got postponed to plug the guitar into the amp. When I came in, J was plucking those strings to his heart's content and singing the improvised verses at the top of his lungs. And there sat Tim, trying to hold his laugh back, but giving J his full attention.<br />
<br />
I realize that this is a good problem to have. There are many uninvolved dads out there and Tim has never put his toe in that dark pond. The boys probably won't realize how lucky they are until later. <br />
<br />
It has taken a lot of hard work and patience on Tim's part. In the beginning the boys physically needed me and he didn't have the goods dripping out of his boobs so I was the "It Girl". I was also home with them all day so I was the go-to filler of all snack bowls and sippies. I chauffeured them to fun places like the mall kiddie playground and the local muddy pond to feed the ducks. I bought them popcorn to eat in the red Target shopping carts while we wandered the aisles and gazed at all the treasures. I was pretty high on their list.<br />
<br />
We have a joke between the four of us that Jack hated Tim for the first two years of his life. Now, while that's not necessarily true, Jack was a major mama's boy. If he was hungry, thirsty, tired, or hurt he wanted me. If he was bored, I was the selected entertainer. In the middle of the night, he would wake up just to make sure I was still there. "Oh hey Mom. Is it really 3am? Cool. I love you, wanna hang out?" I had two choices when Jack was little. Either pick him up and carry him around, or listen to him cry, "Mamamamamamamamama," while he follow me every-freaking-where.<br />
<br />
During those early times, I tried to convince both boys that Daddy was actually cooler than me. He could actually fill those cracker snack bowls and sippies faster than I could. But to no avail. All they wanted was me. And at times, all I wanted to do was to sit on the couch and read without any toddlers sitting on me, laying on me or touching me.<br />
<br />
I guess Tim's been going for the slow play. Smart dude. He was sneaky patient through the baby and toddler years. He'd make up goofy songs and make weird noises at the chance of getting a smile or giggle. He changed diapers and bounced teary babies. He tried to outrun me when one of the boys got hurt so they would see him first and he could console them. He's way faster than me, so he always won that one. I told you, sneaky.<br />
<br />
Now he's convinced them that his childhood hobby of collecting cards could be their childhood hobby too. Granted, the boys threw him for a loop when they chose Pokemon as well as sports cards, but he rolled with it. While they have been taking trips to the local card shop and scouring eBay and YouTube, the boys have been learning about pulling the coveted Michael Jordan signed rookie card. In turn, the boys have been educating him on Mega Charizard EX. <br />
<br />
Ah! Now I get it. He's buying them off with cards. Genius!<br />
<br />
I guess I can see why they like him so much. A few weeks back he even upped his fun rating when he set up a Nerf battle ground in our unfinished basement. He used our left over moving boxes to set up two base camps. Each battle begins with a gun draft and strategic ammo set up. Then they get busy trying to obliterate each other with foam darts.<br />
<br />
Sometimes he pays the price for his awesomeness though. Last week he got nailed in the eyeball with a Nerf dart. That shot bruised and reddened his eye just in time for a business video conference call. <br />
<br />
I'm at a disadvantage now too because he isn't annoyed like I am at potty humor. I can appreciate a good burp or fart like the best of them but after twenty in a row, I lose interest. <br />
<br />
So I've come to this transition realization just recently. I'm slow, I know. Looking back on it, he's been slowly gaining ground for a few years. Jerk. At the airport a few weeks ago, the boys beautifully negotiated on who would get to sit by the window on the plane. The thing that got them stuck was who would get to sit by Dad. Jack sited a previous flight six months prior in which Luke got to sit by Dad. Therefore, it was his turn this time. Luke could appreciate the logical argument so he consented to sitting with me only if he got to sit by Tim on the next trip. See? They are all in this against me!<br />
<br />
After the "who gets to sit by dad" incident, I mentioned my sadness that I wasn't the cool one anymore. Of course they all went on about how much they love me and need me. On the next flight, Luke even shouted out that he wanted to be the one who got to sit by me. All of Tim's Jedi mind tricks on teaching empathy and affirmation worked.<br />
<br />
I know I'm going to have to up my game, but sometimes I get the feeling that my work is futile.<br />
<br />
"Cute fart Mom." <<rolls eyes="">></rolls><br />
<br />
"Thanks for the homemade veggies and hummus, but where are Dad's Doritos?"<br />
<br />
I've been getting better at coming up with good material like Ding Dong Jiggly Butt and Cheesy McNuggett Fart Face. I'm still bigger than them so I think I can still pin them in a living room carpet wrestling match. I'll have to google more moves though; they are quick tricky buggers. And those basement Nerf battles are actually quite fun. I even out the numbers so having me works to their advantage. <br />
<br />
I'll get them back somehow. And I'm pretty sure my awesome husband won't mind sharing the popular throne. He's nice like that. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrq93xOYSimSBZNWEgVhM6OwNmieODR9jvlXy0nty2bDFmOfjpIwPDK1HqDjTbY430Gx-lLDR4fyVRoWjVOem7QcgeIZ1sPecsof_O5SQO9RxtKVP2B0P99dHMP1G-KiphF5XDCLoXqOM/s1600/HsKJ2159385231m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrq93xOYSimSBZNWEgVhM6OwNmieODR9jvlXy0nty2bDFmOfjpIwPDK1HqDjTbY430Gx-lLDR4fyVRoWjVOem7QcgeIZ1sPecsof_O5SQO9RxtKVP2B0P99dHMP1G-KiphF5XDCLoXqOM/s1600/HsKJ2159385231m.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">photos courtesy of <a href="http://www.leavingamarkphotography.com/">Leaving a Mark Photography</a></span></div>
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-21410771114063483962015-01-22T09:39:00.000-08:002015-01-23T07:32:16.439-08:00Passions, Worth and Leaving SpaceWhat is my passion? How is my worth measured?<br>
<br>
RIght now, my passion lies in setting the scene. I want to be able to set the scene for Tim, Luke and Jack. I want to put all my energy into being a wife and a mother. I've also recently discovered I love writing, hence the frequency of these posts. <br>
<br>
I'm a simple person and I don't like a million things going on at the same time. For some reason it muddles my brain and I can't function 100 percent in the things I really want to do. For some, it works and they need all those things going on. All the responsibilities and activities make them more of a whole person and I wouldn't want it any other way for them. For me, it doesn't work like that. When I have too much on my plate, I become less. I am less effective in everything I do. I hate that. <br>
<br>
When I was in my early 20's my passion was teaching. That was what I wanted to do. I was good at it and I loved it. I tried going back to work a few times. I tried subbing a few days a week when the boys were little and then when Jack went to Kindergarten, I tried full time teaching again. I am a damn good wife and mom and I rock the whole teaching thing, but I completely sucked at all those things when I tried to do them simultaneously. I became a shadow of my self and I couldn't mother or teach or partner well at all. I am also part hemit so the mere fact that I had to be out of the house for long periods of the day while constantly interacting with human beings gave me horrible stress headaches.<br>
<br>
Now that I am a stay at home mom with kids in school full time, I feel like the outside world doesn't think I do enough. I know I'm hypersensitive about this and the people who matter in my life would never say that. I know that my worth is not measured by how much money I bring into our family or how many tangible products I come up with. I know that I am extremely lucky to be in this position and I should just stop complaining already. I know that life has worked out in ways that give me this choice and I should be grateful for my situation. I know all of these things with my head but sometimes my heart doesn't get the message. When my soul gets down about this I tend to think I need to add responsibilities and duties. I know full well this doesn't work but my overarching need to please all the people wins out. <br>
<br>
I also suck at being a quick processor. My brain works slowly and processes things over the course of days and weeks. This along with the propensity for people pleasing is a horrible combination. When put on the spot, I always say yes because for one, my brain can't think of any other answer at the time and two, it will make the asker happy. My aunt once told me that it was liberating when she realized that, "No." is a complete sentence. No explanation or justification is needed. Just, No. There. Done. I've also heard that an automatic, "Let me think on it and get back to you." is great. I'm trying to put both of those into practice but it's really hard. If I can learn to accommodate my slower processing I can probably keep my people pleasing in check. <br>
<br>
The first trick is identifying what I really want in life right now. Then comes how to get there and stay there. That's where I have been sucking it up lately. I know what I want in life, I want to be a great wife and mother. I also really like writing here. So, setting the scene for Tim and the boys and then also playing an active part in this life we are all sharing. And also, making time for myself to write. I really like it and it's so therapeutic. I get to connect with all of you, some of whom are in my same position and others who are kindred spirits. <br>
<br>
Another thing I think that is really important for me is to leave time and space just in case a new passion comes along. If my brain and schedule are muddled with things I don't want to do and don't align with my main life goals, that space disappears. I won't ever have time to even consider taking on something new. In that quiet place I'll either know that things need to stay the same or if something is begging for a change.<br>
<br>
How about you. What are your passions/goals/necessities in life right now? How do you keep them at the forefront without letting other things wiggle their way in? How the heck do you say no and push away the guilt that comes along with it? Seriously, I need to know because some days I feel like my heart will explode with the weight of that guilt.<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRS8Q-BkPnA8F28gL42AmWkfcoGHO1q_2EXWAc1H8tFI_u9zR4WsH1GgDO8-Ajx-z5DGKEGElZE3nge06VCrfEJVqw3cJo_x9J0giN3w87LK4Zeid4eMjsujgW_OUanwpZ7LUIqyqVcPE/s1600/20150120_073118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRS8Q-BkPnA8F28gL42AmWkfcoGHO1q_2EXWAc1H8tFI_u9zR4WsH1GgDO8-Ajx-z5DGKEGElZE3nge06VCrfEJVqw3cJo_x9J0giN3w87LK4Zeid4eMjsujgW_OUanwpZ7LUIqyqVcPE/s640/20150120_073118.jpg"> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Here's Luke getting his birthday doughnuts. I thought he should eat nine, one for every year. He made it through three. Oh well, he'll probably have more trips to get birthday doughnuts because of that healthy decision.</div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-43545719039087739112015-01-19T12:26:00.000-08:002015-01-19T12:26:27.540-08:00Dreams Without Judgement<div dir="ltr">
<br />
Last week the boys were emptying the dishwasher and we heard Jack laugh and tell Luke, "It's not like I'm flipping burgers at McDonald's."</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
That was weird. Both Tim and my mental alerts went off. We looked at each other and came into the kitchen. Where had he heard that phrase? Neither of us have said things like that. After digging a little further, we found out that someone at school was teaching Jack's class about Martin Luther King Jr. The apparent focus was on what it meant to "have a dream." Examples and anti-examples must have been given. I guess the lesson-giver told the students that, "Flipping burgers at McDonald's is not a good dream."</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Tim and I tried to remain calm. We didn't want Jack to think we were mad at him. We weren't at all. We were angry with the person who decided to make judgements on what others' may decide to make as their goals. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
What a contradiction! MLK Jr, the very man who spoke against surface judgement, was being used as a catalyst to teach seven and eight year olds to rank other's aspirations. How did this person know what went into deciding goals? What if a sixteen year old wanted to work at the local fast food joint in order to save for college, or work their way up to management and franchise ownership? What if an immigrant just came to this country and wanted to work for an honest wage? Would this dream be validated then? Who was this person to make a blanket judgement? Automatically, he elevated himself above another. His life goals did not involve flipping burgers so I guess that made him a better person. I guess his goals were more important than that, which made him better, elite. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
This did not jive with us. And our child would not be taking life lessons from a person who seated himself at the head of the table. Tim and I had some work to do so we sat both boys down.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Me: Our job in life is not to judge others. It's to love them. No matter what.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Tim: What defines you as a man is not by what you do for work. It's not whether you cry when you are sad or if you are knowledgeable about car mechanics or if you can throw a football or get straight A's in school. What defines you is how you treat others. How you love them.- How you see them. Everybody is our equal, even if they look different, do different or act different. The only thing you can control in life is how you act. How you love others. That is what will define who you are.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Me: Your dad and I really hope you chose to love others well. We can't control you, only you get to do that. I hope you teach us how to love better because we don't always get it right either. We try, but we fail too. The cool thing is that we get to practice loving each other. We all live together so there are opportunities every day. We can try to love each other the best we can. And when we mess up, like each of us will, the other three will give grace and forgiveness to that one to start over and try again. And then we can use what we learn in our home to love the rest of the world better.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Tim: Our love for you will never be conditional. There is nothing you can do that will make us love you less. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Me: If you choose different, even if you make choices that don't show love and kindness, we will still be here, loving you and hoping grace bleeds into your life, like it has into ours.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
We are surrounded by people who love us unconditionally. Some haven't, but that's okay - maybe they'll come around later. Those that do, have taught Dad and I how great and hard and how magical it can be. Please choose love and equality instead of hate and judgement. If you don't, that's okay, we'll just wait until you are ready to be pulled out of the dark. Both Dad and I have been shown the beauty of grace. Others have pulled us out of pits in life. We all need the love of others.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Tim: We love you both like crazy. More today than yesterday. Everybody has a right to choose their own dreams without judgement from us. Remember that.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4v1_OkPNN03FKuRKFDlykHMLnEQJvFBLlCEiAGtdI0hq4HD8AOPWUTIsFrTpJOffcccQRSAhjjnsDARbCDAsXDMW_ywsv-Dg-s-3OzqZHwyft3OLBvnCxTMQnwy6KnR1xtY8rQ22e-cE/s1600/IMG_20150119_121203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4v1_OkPNN03FKuRKFDlykHMLnEQJvFBLlCEiAGtdI0hq4HD8AOPWUTIsFrTpJOffcccQRSAhjjnsDARbCDAsXDMW_ywsv-Dg-s-3OzqZHwyft3OLBvnCxTMQnwy6KnR1xtY8rQ22e-cE/s640/IMG_20150119_121203.jpg" height="640" width="640" /> </a></div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-68124362848155550972015-01-06T08:17:00.000-08:002015-01-06T08:17:41.692-08:00How to be a Car Pig <div dir="ltr">
1. Keep adding to that dust layer on the dashboard. Years of dirt and grime make for good tic tac toe games. Also, love notes written in dust are endearing.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
2. Never think of vacuuming - that would require removing things from the car so you can see the floor. Plus, when you get your oil changed, some shops will shove the junk aside and do it for you.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
3. Plan to paint your son's room. Buy primer. Leave it in the front seat for three weeks because painting is hard work. Actually taking the can of paint out of the car is harder. It looks nice there and it's functional. Plus, it's a nice resting place for your food when you are eating lunch during errand-running.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4WyAVVhgd4KRle9Cvv8ioZSPSB4QA00Is7-2rN-Q5bCZV5hO667rbHUv4qvMWY4ZDynL_1RzH4DUcC79t3ICAG25MU0MfTvBXm3S55lDm9BSu-VImRgLSRoF2ABJcPGmeE7YS2Tn52Ek/s1600/car+pig+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4WyAVVhgd4KRle9Cvv8ioZSPSB4QA00Is7-2rN-Q5bCZV5hO667rbHUv4qvMWY4ZDynL_1RzH4DUcC79t3ICAG25MU0MfTvBXm3S55lDm9BSu-VImRgLSRoF2ABJcPGmeE7YS2Tn52Ek/s1600/car+pig+1.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
4. Buy your kids Pokemon cards and have them open packs in the car. Make sure they take out only the cards they want. The wrappers and lesser cards can be wadded up and thrown in the back seat.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
5. Go to Target - buy unneeded crap, like 4 pillows. Leave those in the car too. You need pillows so bad that your forget to take them out for two weeks. It's logical.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilUc488_Z8UVAemWDx1JnMQ4d47p6QtZhfSNnlBo9AmuuIwoZpZvPDVtm5kQ4kpL1V7I8ZhecYWNG_MzTKQ9hXJ1H2A1oyiFKUzIAZjU1EuIFdYSLLMnpC3YmA7k3BJGWM4n-KrMPG8M/s1600/car+pig+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilUc488_Z8UVAemWDx1JnMQ4d47p6QtZhfSNnlBo9AmuuIwoZpZvPDVtm5kQ4kpL1V7I8ZhecYWNG_MzTKQ9hXJ1H2A1oyiFKUzIAZjU1EuIFdYSLLMnpC3YmA7k3BJGWM4n-KrMPG8M/s1600/car+pig+3.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
6. Go ice skating, (I bet you can guess this one by now), leave all the skating gear in the back. You may never know when you'll drive by a frozen lake. When that happens - you'll be ready to carve that shit up. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2mAlI1LzZWyh09Pq5UqNe3nNyYE7V_4q4275l2L8k0Me3bztNyksNm-n0DWq3C5VWq0PPss6jpa1cYkDziKok4SvkdK-Pdest0ifJuFJl2pihsQL9d03lRd7_O3QwVaeh63ROF3LF-U/s1600/car+pig+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2mAlI1LzZWyh09Pq5UqNe3nNyYE7V_4q4275l2L8k0Me3bztNyksNm-n0DWq3C5VWq0PPss6jpa1cYkDziKok4SvkdK-Pdest0ifJuFJl2pihsQL9d03lRd7_O3QwVaeh63ROF3LF-U/s1600/car+pig+2.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
7. Go to McDonald's, buy happy meals. Apply for your car to be the next Cheap Plastic Toy Museum.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
8. Save all of those rogue fries, raisins, fishies, and crackers under the booster seats. You may get hungry later. Your welcome.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIJXn6WBpyRotRkjPjyQu7hA20lhGNmXOGmHDIK3VRoJm9uJlqi965oKC6-iMZSCI6E__YWQ_JZjpHWt_dSTxc6jTZHBWbE7sgC_g-1l77O12vKdiXGOI7PWdn4KRSuxmqupU1AKS4n8/s1600/car+pig+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWIJXn6WBpyRotRkjPjyQu7hA20lhGNmXOGmHDIK3VRoJm9uJlqi965oKC6-iMZSCI6E__YWQ_JZjpHWt_dSTxc6jTZHBWbE7sgC_g-1l77O12vKdiXGOI7PWdn4KRSuxmqupU1AKS4n8/s1600/car+pig+4.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
9. Pack the car with video games, chargers and hand-held gaming systems because, "MOM! CAN I PLAY ON YOUR PHONE?"</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
10. Baby wipes kept in the car come in handy. Things will inevitably spill so use them to wad up and cover over the sticky messes. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
11. Don't volunteer to transport anything for a school field trip. Then you will have to apologize for the weird unknown smell coming out of the back seat. Actually, do volunteer, then they won't ever ask you to do this again. One and done.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
12. At the end of each trip, thank your car for putting up with all your crap and carrying it around too. Remember, you love your car and she loves you back. Really, this relationship is a great example of grace. You mess her up but she will still chug along and carry you to all those exotic destinations like the grocery store and Target. </div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0Port Aransas, United States27.826606230608288 -97.0679234265153tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-64194655962206754492014-12-31T05:00:00.000-08:002014-12-31T05:00:06.017-08:0015 Resolutions for 2015 For our New Year's resolutions, Tim and I are teaming up. We are already awesome together but 2015 is going to be on a whole new level. Without further ado:<br />
<br />
Me: #1 Start the vegan paleo diet. Only eat "clean" cookies made with refined sugar, flour and tons of butter. Expect great results.<br />
<br />
Tim: #2 Inject HGH into my eyes, hoping for x-ray vision.<br />
<br />
Me: #3 Name my defective dinosaur phone Sheila. When her GPS gets me lost, announce to everyone, "Damnit! That bitch Sheila made me late again!"<br />
<br />
Tim: #4 Refer to myself only in the third person during business meetings.<br />
<br />
Me: #5 If a clerk asks for my i.d. at the grocery store, yell, "YOU DON'T KNOW ME," and run out of the store, leaving everything behind.<br />
<br />
Tim: #6 Do everything in my power to become best friends with Toby McGuire.<br />
<br />
Me: #7 Be an exceptionally involved parent for 15 minutes a day. Be sure to take pictures and post it all on social media to prove it. For the rest of the day, let the boys fend for themselves and build character.<br />
<br />
Tim: #8 Constantly refer to people of other ethnicity, gender and age as "those people."<br />
<br />
Me: #9 Become more passive aggressive than I already am, but, you know better than me, so what do you think?<br />
<br />
Tim: #10 Stop buying into the conspiracy called "Water Conservation."<br />
<br />
Me: #11 Start meditating. Tell everyone I know about it. Make sure they know that if they aren't meditating, they're wrong and messing up their entire life.<br />
<br />
Tim: #12 When introducing myself to someone new, I will state, "I present myself to thee," bow and walk away. No additional pleasantries will be exchanged.<br />
<br />
Me: #13 Live every day of 2015 as if I have 75 more years left to live. The whole "live today as if you'll die tomorrow" thing is way too much pressure and besides, I've got to take a nap.<br />
<br />
Tim: #14 Go to any place that is hiring. Hand them a glamour photo and simply say, "Text me if you're interested."<br />
<br />
Please note: If anybody tells you that 14 is not 15, remind them that 2015 is the year of the penguin and that kind of math doesn't work anymore. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Peace Out 2014!<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQMZRPUI9ZAkigW67DFqmqYLVYQyqkyfp9_N4cP15ihCnXAspdR51ieigQYk1GZq41ISnqAC0vVtqNNy3QJzJaqKprO6jXx1n7ZYuqCHZyTISBCMGQUywv5tbSJuwcYM7DXntI6_RQCQ/s1600/IMG_20140712_163707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQMZRPUI9ZAkigW67DFqmqYLVYQyqkyfp9_N4cP15ihCnXAspdR51ieigQYk1GZq41ISnqAC0vVtqNNy3QJzJaqKprO6jXx1n7ZYuqCHZyTISBCMGQUywv5tbSJuwcYM7DXntI6_RQCQ/s640/IMG_20140712_163707.jpg" /> </a> </div>
Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976886024861383536.post-3939828256610815232014-12-26T12:51:00.000-08:002014-12-26T12:51:50.800-08:00Waiting in the Dark<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHW_Qx6Ik3o7GMmGtOOgmSAswLr1ViEZ6-vRASMUnU5dklBSpGmjrWCB7meLv2Oht9HZi9uq2JHA9mL1GKP-BFo1znlPDeWgJE6Ki22EAwnPwHYz40RlucwNIY0Yj7nZV5TMjuUEUIuA/s1600/DSC_0982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHW_Qx6Ik3o7GMmGtOOgmSAswLr1ViEZ6-vRASMUnU5dklBSpGmjrWCB7meLv2Oht9HZi9uq2JHA9mL1GKP-BFo1znlPDeWgJE6Ki22EAwnPwHYz40RlucwNIY0Yj7nZV5TMjuUEUIuA/s1600/DSC_0982.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I’ve decided that I really like who I am. When I wrote earlier about <a href="http://pellyeah.blogspot.com/2014/12/be-true-to-i.html">having downtimes</a> it may have sounded like a bad thing. It’s not. I
don’t mind feeling a bit low because it makes the up times better. Life isn’t constant and how boring
would that be if it were? You may
disagree with me on that and that’s fine.
My hope would be that everybody comes to learn what they believe to be
true about life and about themselves.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Take today for instance. Jack calls it the worst day of the year. Christmas is over and he has to wait
364 more days for it to come again.
When everybody left our house yesterday, Luke came into the kitchen, “I
hate this. It’s so sad.” He was holding back tears. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Tim told me that Luke came up to him too, “I wish we all had
just one more present to open.” It
wasn’t that he was ungrateful for all we had given him. He didn’t want more presents. He wanted more time, more
celebration. The end of the
holiday was over and he was mourning it.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
That’s perfectly normal and healthy. I don’t ever want to be numb to the
mourning and sadness. If I weren’t
sad when something ended, that would mean that the event, or celebration, or
relationship wasn’t so great. I
want things in my life that I can mourn when they end. I want seasons in my life that are so
amazing that I’m sad at the conclusion.
If there were no valleys in life, how could we see the mountains to
climb? When at the top of those
mountains, the panoramic views are beautiful because we see the shadow veiled
valleys we climbed out of and others that we will inevitably descend into. The views are also breathtaking because we
can see the light reflecting off other peaks. Life is a journey and a hike. There are highs and lows. Light and dark.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
With Winter Solstice just passed us, I’ve been thinking a
lot about the presence of light. I
hate waking up in the dark and the sun leaving us around 4pm. I need the light; I crave it and love
it. But now is a time of waiting
in the dark, waiting for the light to return. That’s not to diminish the time we spend waiting it
out. Waiting in the dark is good
and holy too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>I said to my soul,
be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing;
wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith,
but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for
thought: So the darkness shall be
the light, and the stillness the dancing.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i>-T.S. Eliot<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I don’t know if you believe in God or not. If you believe in the Goodness or the
Light this argument works too I think.
If you disagree, I would love to hear it because I’m far too old and
tired to pretend that I have it all figured out. I think God or Goodness or Light is with us in the
dark. For me, I believe in God and
try to follow Jesus so we were at church on Christmas Eve. The pastor called all the kids up on
stage and read them a book about a grumpy shepherd. The moral of the story was that as soon as the shepherd met
Jesus, it changed his life and he wasn’t grumpy anymore. I think that’s true, but it’s not the
whole story. Jesus (or Goodness or
Light, or whatever you believe in) is okay with grumpy too. He’ll sit there with us, waiting in the
dark. He doesn’t shame us for being there. And us, waiting in that valley, it doesn’t mean that we lack
faith or that we aren’t following all the right rules. Jesus sits beside us and
whispers, “It’s okay, I made this too.
Isn’t it beautiful?” The
night is just as holy as the day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Whatever metaphor I use to describe the ups and downs of
life, they exist. It’s healthy for
me to acknowledge them. It’s taken
me a while to get to this place.
Maybe it’s just because I’m well past 30 and it’s taken me a while to
shake off what the world tells me about what I should think, what I should look
like and how I should act. Maybe
I’m just sick of pretending to live a constant, median life. I want to celebrate as well as I mourn. That kind of life sounds
appealing. Because remember, there
is dancing in the stillness and I’m going to dance the shit out of this
life. </div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<br />Lindseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10624807853949423827noreply@blogger.com1