This morning my heart broke right in two...for my son. For the first time in, I think, forever, he did not make a team he tried out for. He did not make the baseball team.
There are plenty of reasons, plenty of explanations, plenty of blessings in disguise, no doubt. But when your son is heart broken, you are heart broken. When you can see the deep disappointment in his posture, his face, the tone of his voice...it is more powerful than I can express.
I had a feeling we might come up against this - they are only fielding one team, one team of a dozen, maybe. And there were at least 30 kids who tried out. That's not great odds when you are one of the youngest boys in your class, when you haven't "matured" like your athlete classmates, when you are only 5'10" and the other 1st basemen are 6'2" and 6'4". But we didn't think like that. He got his gear ready for practice today. I prayed, visualized, prayed some more and bargained with God...and then took it back, because I know He knows what is best...and then I negotiated...and took it back and decided to be thankful for all we have and to turn it back over to Him and then thought about bargaining some more...when is the same as bargaining...because He knows! I sat with my phone at my side as they took off to check the list and knew, but wouldn't admit I knew when I didn't get a text or a pic of the list.
And then the door opened. Peanut came in first...and made that subtle face that said "nope". My son and husband went right up the stairs...made it halfway before he just couldn't go any farther. That's where I found them...together, half-way up the steps...with hearts breaking. Trying to be positive and even act like it just wasn't any big deal...we'd play Spring Ball somewhere else....but you can't fool a mother. We're connected.
I didn't say anything. I hugged him, sat with them, and we moved on. He and his Daddy talked some. I have faith that my husband is the one to have the perfect words at a time like this. I stayed silent. Moved about doing my regular thing, stopping by occasionally to kiss his beautiful face or put my hands on his back. My words didn't feel right. My prayers felt perfect. I prayed while I made beds, prayed while I held him. Felt how truly I trusted that God has this. That it will all be okay and somehow for the best. But my heart still aches. I love my son in a way I never knew was possible. He frustrates the heck out of me, he is a mystery as he is becoming a young man, but he is precious. He is sunshine. He is my son. I want his life to be... Easy. Charmed. Effortless. Meaningful. With purpose. Full of light. I want for him the things I didn't have. I want him to know in his heart what he was put on this Earth for. I want him to know how proud we are of him. I want him to be proud of himself. Full of confidence.
Not making a baseball team is in some ways trivial...but today it is the elephant in every room. It is the elephant that is sitting on my chest making it hard to breathe, breaking my heart in two. It is the thing that will hopefully bring me patience, kind words, insight and guidance in what needs to be said and done. For my son.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Friday, January 24, 2014
Freshman Exams...
I realize I went to high school back when America had 'dummed it down' and we weren't winning any awards for academics. I also realize my parents were both from very small towns and school was not a top priority for them. My daddy dropped out of school in the 8th grade and mom went to a school with a graduating class of 19 and wanted to be a secretary, which did not require a college education. They were both from poor families with no money for college and both ended up being successful, so it never seemed a deterrent.
I went to college and left early. I was a theatre major and always dreamed of working on the stage. Never really wanted to be a "movie star" or on television. No idea where that came from. An outlet, I guess, for a creative soul. Sadly, I have a very thin skin and the core of my father who dreamed daily of a world where everything was fair and everyone was loved and valued. The theatre world is a bit more cut-throat than that. I didn't have the killer instinct.
I was just telling my daughter this morning about how afraid I was before I left for college. My parents just didn't prepare me. We didn't go on college tours. They never encouraged me or helped me complete applications. They had no first-hand knowledge of going to university. I didn't really know anyone who had already left for college. At least no one I knew well enough to learn anything from. I was a good high school student and always assumed I would go to college, but when the time came to leave - I was terrified.
My point in all this - I just don't remember the same pressure kiddos are feeling now about grades, AP classes, SAT prep, college choice, career choice. I also don't remember having to be pushed to study or to do my homework. I think that is why this Freshman exam thing has me baffled.
Poor Murph is up to his eyes in class reviews and resentment. He is a good student. A really smart kid. He can remember algebraic theorems with the best of them. He memorizes vocabulary words at lightning speed AND retains them! He has the potential to be a top student, but not the inclination.
This has been a tough couple of weeks. On both of us! I want him to be responsible. He thinks he is. I want him to WANT to do this. He thinks that's stupid. I want him to dig deep and he just rolls his eyes. Still, we study! We have to fight first, he has to be exhausted with me, I have to be a motivational speaker-mom, he has to be a teenager (EW!), I have to "be firm", he has to slam something...it wears me out! And then we have a moment of some kind of reason and we study. My heart is sad for him. No one wants to see their child so overwhelmed. No one wants to want to say "I told you so" to them when the deadline approaches and you know they could have spent their time more wisely, saved themselves some anxiety, carved out some time every weekend (or dare I say, every day?!) to hit the books. Not that there are books. I hate that! I need a book. I don't want a notebook with worksheets all taped in and notes scribbled around the edges and under the tape. Man, I'm a dinosaur!
Anyway, this first round of Freshman exams is over today...and we will all be happier this weekend. I will not rule out eye-rolling for other reasons, but I expect a kinder, gentler household in my near future!
I went to college and left early. I was a theatre major and always dreamed of working on the stage. Never really wanted to be a "movie star" or on television. No idea where that came from. An outlet, I guess, for a creative soul. Sadly, I have a very thin skin and the core of my father who dreamed daily of a world where everything was fair and everyone was loved and valued. The theatre world is a bit more cut-throat than that. I didn't have the killer instinct.
I was just telling my daughter this morning about how afraid I was before I left for college. My parents just didn't prepare me. We didn't go on college tours. They never encouraged me or helped me complete applications. They had no first-hand knowledge of going to university. I didn't really know anyone who had already left for college. At least no one I knew well enough to learn anything from. I was a good high school student and always assumed I would go to college, but when the time came to leave - I was terrified.
My point in all this - I just don't remember the same pressure kiddos are feeling now about grades, AP classes, SAT prep, college choice, career choice. I also don't remember having to be pushed to study or to do my homework. I think that is why this Freshman exam thing has me baffled.
Poor Murph is up to his eyes in class reviews and resentment. He is a good student. A really smart kid. He can remember algebraic theorems with the best of them. He memorizes vocabulary words at lightning speed AND retains them! He has the potential to be a top student, but not the inclination.
This has been a tough couple of weeks. On both of us! I want him to be responsible. He thinks he is. I want him to WANT to do this. He thinks that's stupid. I want him to dig deep and he just rolls his eyes. Still, we study! We have to fight first, he has to be exhausted with me, I have to be a motivational speaker-mom, he has to be a teenager (EW!), I have to "be firm", he has to slam something...it wears me out! And then we have a moment of some kind of reason and we study. My heart is sad for him. No one wants to see their child so overwhelmed. No one wants to want to say "I told you so" to them when the deadline approaches and you know they could have spent their time more wisely, saved themselves some anxiety, carved out some time every weekend (or dare I say, every day?!) to hit the books. Not that there are books. I hate that! I need a book. I don't want a notebook with worksheets all taped in and notes scribbled around the edges and under the tape. Man, I'm a dinosaur!
Anyway, this first round of Freshman exams is over today...and we will all be happier this weekend. I will not rule out eye-rolling for other reasons, but I expect a kinder, gentler household in my near future!
Monday, January 20, 2014
Baseball Season approaches...
It's that time again...January in Texas - psuedo-Spring, kinda winter, sunny and cold, rainy and warmish, football is over and that means BASEBALL is on the way.
We've always played baseball (Keaton, that is) - usually in Fall and Spring. Tryout weekends, batting cages, fielding at the church, on-again-off-again conditioning. But this year Murph's in HIGH SCHOOL. That's different. Spring baseball will actually be played in the Spring. And it won't come with a ridiculous price tag should he make the team. Sigh. Of. Relief. We can really use a break on the high price tag sports this year!
Anyway, this is Texas, so there is a Football class and a Baseball class in HS athletics. Keaton chose Football because he loves playing school football. He loves the camaraderie, the conditioning, the drills, the uniforms, the equipment, the games, the being-a-part-of. And I love the fact that he loves playing a sport that is not his natural disposition. He is sweet. He is gentle and sensitive. He cares about others. He is not aggressive. He is not violent or full of rage. He is not a trash-talker. He is not giant. But he loves to play football with his schoolmates.
Guess what? He loves football, but he LOVES baseball. But because he wanted to play football, he couldn't choose the Baseball class. Thank goodness for Patrick - he was able to find out about and get Murph into the Fall Central Baseball team. But he is still at a disadvantage. He is not in the Baseball class. He takes his gear every day just in case the Football coach lets them (there are 5 of these "living between two worlds boys") work out with the Baseball class. Most days he comes home with tales of lifting and studying football plays - and the stories are good ones. Full of laughter and pride in some weight lifting first. But they are always followed with a quiet sigh (just loud enough for a mother to hear) that he didn't get to work out with the Baseball team. He's worried that this will put him at a disadvantage come time for try-outs. He is a young man who would never question his coaches. Who is not ready to bulldoze his way into what he wants or thinks is right. So he goes to Football and he does whatever he is challenged to do...but he loves baseball. Sadly, he's not the biggest kid and he's still not reached his athletic potential. He's sprouted quite a bit this year - officially taller than his mom and leaner (thanks to eating at home every meal and packing a healthy lunch every day), but he's not in the Baseball class so the coaches will have to base their assessment of him on a snapshot. That's a lot of pressure for a boy who loves baseball.
Last week we got word (thanks again to Patrick) that try outs are this weekend. YIKES! Murph hasn't swung a bat or fielded a ball for a couple of months...did I mention he hasn't been allowed to work out with the Baseball class??? So off to D-Bat. To hit. And hit. And hit. And today, to go to a clinic to field and run and throw and pitch and hit with a group of other young men.
His hands are raw. His ribs and core are achy. He got his baseball hair cut. He dug out his gear. He is hitting better every day he goes to the cages. Prayers are being said, positive thoughts sent out. Encouraging words being said. Motivational stories being told. Baseball season that depends on a try out is tougher than baseball season that depends on a checkbook and comes with history with coaches and other players...c'mon Murph!
This is the third in a series of band-aid combinations to make it so he can still hit and wear a glove with a palm full of blisters!
We've always played baseball (Keaton, that is) - usually in Fall and Spring. Tryout weekends, batting cages, fielding at the church, on-again-off-again conditioning. But this year Murph's in HIGH SCHOOL. That's different. Spring baseball will actually be played in the Spring. And it won't come with a ridiculous price tag should he make the team. Sigh. Of. Relief. We can really use a break on the high price tag sports this year!
Anyway, this is Texas, so there is a Football class and a Baseball class in HS athletics. Keaton chose Football because he loves playing school football. He loves the camaraderie, the conditioning, the drills, the uniforms, the equipment, the games, the being-a-part-of. And I love the fact that he loves playing a sport that is not his natural disposition. He is sweet. He is gentle and sensitive. He cares about others. He is not aggressive. He is not violent or full of rage. He is not a trash-talker. He is not giant. But he loves to play football with his schoolmates.
Guess what? He loves football, but he LOVES baseball. But because he wanted to play football, he couldn't choose the Baseball class. Thank goodness for Patrick - he was able to find out about and get Murph into the Fall Central Baseball team. But he is still at a disadvantage. He is not in the Baseball class. He takes his gear every day just in case the Football coach lets them (there are 5 of these "living between two worlds boys") work out with the Baseball class. Most days he comes home with tales of lifting and studying football plays - and the stories are good ones. Full of laughter and pride in some weight lifting first. But they are always followed with a quiet sigh (just loud enough for a mother to hear) that he didn't get to work out with the Baseball team. He's worried that this will put him at a disadvantage come time for try-outs. He is a young man who would never question his coaches. Who is not ready to bulldoze his way into what he wants or thinks is right. So he goes to Football and he does whatever he is challenged to do...but he loves baseball. Sadly, he's not the biggest kid and he's still not reached his athletic potential. He's sprouted quite a bit this year - officially taller than his mom and leaner (thanks to eating at home every meal and packing a healthy lunch every day), but he's not in the Baseball class so the coaches will have to base their assessment of him on a snapshot. That's a lot of pressure for a boy who loves baseball.
Last week we got word (thanks again to Patrick) that try outs are this weekend. YIKES! Murph hasn't swung a bat or fielded a ball for a couple of months...did I mention he hasn't been allowed to work out with the Baseball class??? So off to D-Bat. To hit. And hit. And hit. And today, to go to a clinic to field and run and throw and pitch and hit with a group of other young men.
His hands are raw. His ribs and core are achy. He got his baseball hair cut. He dug out his gear. He is hitting better every day he goes to the cages. Prayers are being said, positive thoughts sent out. Encouraging words being said. Motivational stories being told. Baseball season that depends on a try out is tougher than baseball season that depends on a checkbook and comes with history with coaches and other players...c'mon Murph!
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Growing Up
I'm home now - an all-the-time mom. I am in charge of the getting up, the getting ready, the laundry, the lunch packing, the homework prodding, the car-pooling, the scheduling, the meals, the doling out of computer/table/phone/tv time, the referee, the nutritionist, the confidant, the grade-checker, the disciplinarian.
I am all the way in. It is the best and better part of my every day. It is the music or fabric or whatever commercial catch-phrase you want to use "of my life". And I love it! I waited so long for it that I find I have an easier time not resenting it or wanting more or wishing for things past. I love this life of being mom.
Sometimes when you are up to your elbows in a thing, you don't notice the changes...until you glance at your son when you are side-by-side at the refrigerator and realize he is taller than you. When did that happen? Gradually, I'm sure. While I was momming. He was growing. WOW!
This has been a week of wows. Wows that have made me realize how fast my kids are growing up. My baby is preparing for semester exams - for HIGH SCHOOL! He's nearly half way through his Freshman year. And he's taller. And his sense of humor is more adult - he's funny like his daddy and a smart aleck like his momma. His voice is deeper, he is interested in girls (although the names change frequently and he'd rather die than tell me who they are - no worries, I just break into his phone and look for myself!) My bitty, bitty girl is getting ready for middle school. She is going to try out for cheerleading. She is getting ready as we speak to go to the mall with a friend...and putting on mascara! She still has a pink stuffed monkey named Bubbles that accompanies her everywhere, but Bubbles stays in the car now - she's far too old to be seen with a stuffie in public. She is smart, she has a sense of fashion, she is already talking about what she wants to be when she grows up - a surgeon or a medical examiner are top of the list these days...although stylist and make-up artist frequently jump back in the conversation!
I read the posts of my high school friends who followed a more traditional timeline for having kids and love seeing them become grandparents and looking at their kiddo's graduation pics and know that someday I will have the same stories to share. And those are beautiful things, things I want for my kids.
At the same time, I am a bit melancholy that my babies are growing up. That they don't need me for survival like they used to. That I came to this life of full-time motherhood in the back stretch and it will be over in a blink of an eye. That I'm running out of time to teach them, to set the example, to fill their hearts with assurance that they are loved beyond measure... so many things.
So today while I enjoy a Saturday of not doing any crazy cleaning or laundry or gourmet cooking, I am watching them be bigger, stronger, more mature and praying, always praying, for God's hand on their shoulders and voice in their ears as they continue this journey of Growing Up.
I am all the way in. It is the best and better part of my every day. It is the music or fabric or whatever commercial catch-phrase you want to use "of my life". And I love it! I waited so long for it that I find I have an easier time not resenting it or wanting more or wishing for things past. I love this life of being mom.
Sometimes when you are up to your elbows in a thing, you don't notice the changes...until you glance at your son when you are side-by-side at the refrigerator and realize he is taller than you. When did that happen? Gradually, I'm sure. While I was momming. He was growing. WOW!
This has been a week of wows. Wows that have made me realize how fast my kids are growing up. My baby is preparing for semester exams - for HIGH SCHOOL! He's nearly half way through his Freshman year. And he's taller. And his sense of humor is more adult - he's funny like his daddy and a smart aleck like his momma. His voice is deeper, he is interested in girls (although the names change frequently and he'd rather die than tell me who they are - no worries, I just break into his phone and look for myself!) My bitty, bitty girl is getting ready for middle school. She is going to try out for cheerleading. She is getting ready as we speak to go to the mall with a friend...and putting on mascara! She still has a pink stuffed monkey named Bubbles that accompanies her everywhere, but Bubbles stays in the car now - she's far too old to be seen with a stuffie in public. She is smart, she has a sense of fashion, she is already talking about what she wants to be when she grows up - a surgeon or a medical examiner are top of the list these days...although stylist and make-up artist frequently jump back in the conversation!
I read the posts of my high school friends who followed a more traditional timeline for having kids and love seeing them become grandparents and looking at their kiddo's graduation pics and know that someday I will have the same stories to share. And those are beautiful things, things I want for my kids.
At the same time, I am a bit melancholy that my babies are growing up. That they don't need me for survival like they used to. That I came to this life of full-time motherhood in the back stretch and it will be over in a blink of an eye. That I'm running out of time to teach them, to set the example, to fill their hearts with assurance that they are loved beyond measure... so many things.
So today while I enjoy a Saturday of not doing any crazy cleaning or laundry or gourmet cooking, I am watching them be bigger, stronger, more mature and praying, always praying, for God's hand on their shoulders and voice in their ears as they continue this journey of Growing Up.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Sadness
Sadness is the overwhelming feeling I am getting more and more with my mom. Sadness brought on by confusion...maybe. Sadness brought on because of a lack of socializing...probably. Sadness brought on by aging and all that comes with it...I don't know.
My heart breaks for her. Many of the resentments I have toward my mom stem from the fact that she wasn't a classic mother-figure. Mind you, I grew up when fairytales were still told and wished for, Mrs. Brady was on tv and I read Anne of Green Gables over and over and over. I also grew up in a rural school district with moms who cooked and cleaned and farmed and raised and sewed and baked and worried and showed up at everything.
My mom was one of the few working moms - something I was always proud of. My mom was independent. She didn't hover. She trusted me to make my own decisions (something that worked out better for her than it did for me, as it turns out!). But she was always around, a part of my life.
Until my daddy died. Suddenly, she wasn't that interested in me or being a family. Years later I learned that she was out trying to find a new husband. Who knew? I assumed she was grieving. I could understand that. And I was young and bullish and an expert at pretending I was stronger than steel, so I didn't let it bother me. And when I did let it bother me, I ignored it until something distracted me enough that it didn't bother me anymore.
Years passed and I continued to force my mom to be a part of my life. She never outwardly complained about it, but I honestly believe that if I hadn't called her every Sunday and made a point to go home every year, I may have lost touch with her. Cards at Christmas and birthdays and the occasional call to share a special story or ask a question. I couldn't let that happen. I needed her. I needed to be a part of a family. When Daddy was alive, I had no doubt that I was loved beyond measure and cherished...how many people ever get to be cherished? I was used to it. I needed it. So I kept hold of my mom and our relationship like a bulldog.
I always made it "funny" - "ironic" - "sarcastic". That's how I deal with difficult situations that could show my weakness. My need for people. My desperate desire for family. I can do funny with the best of them. I love the power of funny. And I don't want to sound desperate about it - funny would always cheer me up! It puts life in perspective. It reminds me that I choose how I feel/react/deal with all situations. It made things not hurt so badly.
Anyway, mom allowed me to stay in her life - as long as I did all the leg work. We never grew closer as some families due after a loss, but because she had always been a little distant - I don't think we grew apart either. And it never seemed weird until I became a mother.
I gave birth to my son and my heart exploded with love. To this day, he takes my breath away. I gave birth to my daughter and it doubled. I can't explain how much I need them in my days, minutes, seconds. I love them the way I am guessing my Daddy loved me. When they went back to school after Christmas break this year, I felt like part of me was missing for the first couple of days. I just love being with them.
Maybe some people are born to be parents. And some are not. Mom was not. We've joked about it. I never thought it was that funny, but I went along because I was a strong woman who didn't need anyone...HA!
But now, mom has no one. She has me, but she doesn't want me. She wants a man. A husband. A friend her own age. But not a daughter. A servant perhaps. But not me. She finds no comfort in me as her daughter. She knows somewhere in her mind that I am the one who cares for her and keeps her safe. But that annoys her - she isn't supposed to need anyone. She is independent. WAS. She was independent. And now she is not. This cruel disease has robbed her of the one thing she valued above all else...independence.
So now she is sad. She never thought this would happen to her. She never thought long-term. She assumed she would always be able to live independently. To drive. To shop. To keep house. To socialize. Instead she has trouble remembering how to dress herself and what day it is. My heart is breaking for her. And for me sometimes.
My heart breaks for her. Many of the resentments I have toward my mom stem from the fact that she wasn't a classic mother-figure. Mind you, I grew up when fairytales were still told and wished for, Mrs. Brady was on tv and I read Anne of Green Gables over and over and over. I also grew up in a rural school district with moms who cooked and cleaned and farmed and raised and sewed and baked and worried and showed up at everything.
My mom was one of the few working moms - something I was always proud of. My mom was independent. She didn't hover. She trusted me to make my own decisions (something that worked out better for her than it did for me, as it turns out!). But she was always around, a part of my life.
Until my daddy died. Suddenly, she wasn't that interested in me or being a family. Years later I learned that she was out trying to find a new husband. Who knew? I assumed she was grieving. I could understand that. And I was young and bullish and an expert at pretending I was stronger than steel, so I didn't let it bother me. And when I did let it bother me, I ignored it until something distracted me enough that it didn't bother me anymore.
Years passed and I continued to force my mom to be a part of my life. She never outwardly complained about it, but I honestly believe that if I hadn't called her every Sunday and made a point to go home every year, I may have lost touch with her. Cards at Christmas and birthdays and the occasional call to share a special story or ask a question. I couldn't let that happen. I needed her. I needed to be a part of a family. When Daddy was alive, I had no doubt that I was loved beyond measure and cherished...how many people ever get to be cherished? I was used to it. I needed it. So I kept hold of my mom and our relationship like a bulldog.
I always made it "funny" - "ironic" - "sarcastic". That's how I deal with difficult situations that could show my weakness. My need for people. My desperate desire for family. I can do funny with the best of them. I love the power of funny. And I don't want to sound desperate about it - funny would always cheer me up! It puts life in perspective. It reminds me that I choose how I feel/react/deal with all situations. It made things not hurt so badly.
Anyway, mom allowed me to stay in her life - as long as I did all the leg work. We never grew closer as some families due after a loss, but because she had always been a little distant - I don't think we grew apart either. And it never seemed weird until I became a mother.
I gave birth to my son and my heart exploded with love. To this day, he takes my breath away. I gave birth to my daughter and it doubled. I can't explain how much I need them in my days, minutes, seconds. I love them the way I am guessing my Daddy loved me. When they went back to school after Christmas break this year, I felt like part of me was missing for the first couple of days. I just love being with them.
Maybe some people are born to be parents. And some are not. Mom was not. We've joked about it. I never thought it was that funny, but I went along because I was a strong woman who didn't need anyone...HA!
But now, mom has no one. She has me, but she doesn't want me. She wants a man. A husband. A friend her own age. But not a daughter. A servant perhaps. But not me. She finds no comfort in me as her daughter. She knows somewhere in her mind that I am the one who cares for her and keeps her safe. But that annoys her - she isn't supposed to need anyone. She is independent. WAS. She was independent. And now she is not. This cruel disease has robbed her of the one thing she valued above all else...independence.
So now she is sad. She never thought this would happen to her. She never thought long-term. She assumed she would always be able to live independently. To drive. To shop. To keep house. To socialize. Instead she has trouble remembering how to dress herself and what day it is. My heart is breaking for her. And for me sometimes.
Another Five Minute Friday....Encouragement
Encouragement
What a wonderful word. Concept. Goal. I love to encourage - it brings out the best in me when I try and bring out the best in others. I grew up with a daddy who always encouraged. His greatest life-lesson to me was the "10 People Smile" lesson.
Somewhere around age 11, my daddy started a daily goal or making 10 people smile every day. And family didn't count - they were an expectation! It had to be 10 different people every day - so some days, if he hadn't been out of the office much or was under the weather, we got in the car and headed to the Mall. We were on a mission - a joyful, crazy, loud and sometimes embarrassing mission to find 6 or 8 or whatever people to make smile so he could say he'd accomplished his daily goal.
I have carried this with me - as a PART of everything I am - since I was 11. I enjoy making people smile. I can't imagine not offering a smile to everyone I meet. I have sacrificed "cool" because I will never be cool - or collected - or calm - or disinterested. I can't be. I am my daddy's daughter and that means I have to engage - to encourage - to make people smile.
I forget that not everyone is wired this way. The nice thing about being a smiler/engager/encourager is that is usually brings out the smiler in others. And that encourages me. I am the mother who embarrasses her daughter the same way my daddy's over-the-top personality embarrassed me. But on the other side of embarrassment is a love of people, an attitude of joy and a life long goal of making others smile. Not a bad gift to give to the next generation!
Whew, that was fast - 5 minutes of writing (5 minutes and 12 seconds, to be exact) felt like 2 minutes tops! But thank goodness for Five Minute Friday - it's the only time I've made myself sit down for this wonderful therapy.
http://lisajobaker.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/5minutefriday.jpg
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.- See more at: http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2014/01/fmf-encouragement-from-former-porn-star.html#sthash.LySadolm.dpuf1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.- See more at: http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2014/01/fmf-encouragement-from-former-porn-star.html#sthash.LySadolm.dpuf1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.- See more at: http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2014/01/fmf-encouragement-from-former-porn-star.html#sthash.LySadolm.dpuf1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.- See more at: http://www.findingheaventoday.com/2014/01/fmf-encouragement-from-former-porn-star.html#sthash.LySadolm.dpu
What a wonderful word. Concept. Goal. I love to encourage - it brings out the best in me when I try and bring out the best in others. I grew up with a daddy who always encouraged. His greatest life-lesson to me was the "10 People Smile" lesson.
Somewhere around age 11, my daddy started a daily goal or making 10 people smile every day. And family didn't count - they were an expectation! It had to be 10 different people every day - so some days, if he hadn't been out of the office much or was under the weather, we got in the car and headed to the Mall. We were on a mission - a joyful, crazy, loud and sometimes embarrassing mission to find 6 or 8 or whatever people to make smile so he could say he'd accomplished his daily goal.
I have carried this with me - as a PART of everything I am - since I was 11. I enjoy making people smile. I can't imagine not offering a smile to everyone I meet. I have sacrificed "cool" because I will never be cool - or collected - or calm - or disinterested. I can't be. I am my daddy's daughter and that means I have to engage - to encourage - to make people smile.
I forget that not everyone is wired this way. The nice thing about being a smiler/engager/encourager is that is usually brings out the smiler in others. And that encourages me. I am the mother who embarrasses her daughter the same way my daddy's over-the-top personality embarrassed me. But on the other side of embarrassment is a love of people, an attitude of joy and a life long goal of making others smile. Not a bad gift to give to the next generation!
Whew, that was fast - 5 minutes of writing (5 minutes and 12 seconds, to be exact) felt like 2 minutes tops! But thank goodness for Five Minute Friday - it's the only time I've made myself sit down for this wonderful therapy.
http://lisajobaker.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/5minutefriday.jpg
It’s easy to join in, just:
- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/#sthash.uv1JoULZ.dpur Five-Minute Friday...
- Check what the prompt is on my blog.
- Write a post in only five minutes on that topic on your blog.
- {And if you don’t have a blog, no worries! Just leave your writing as a comment on my post}
- Link over here and invite friends to join in.
- Select the permalink to your post {so not your blog url www.lisajobaker.com but your post url www.lisajobaker.com/2012/07/five-minute-friday-2/ }
- Using the blue linky tool at the bottom of my Five Minute Friday post enter your link.
- It will also walk you through selecting which photo you want to show up in the linky.
- Your post will show up in our Five Minute Friday linky.
- Be sure and encourage the person who linked up before you!
- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/#sthash.uv1JoULZ.dpur Five-Minute Friday...
It’s easy to join in, just:
- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/#sthash.uv1JoULZ.dpuf
- Check what the prompt is on my blog.
- Write a post in only five minutes on that topic on your blog.
- {And if you don’t have a blog, no worries! Just leave your writing as a comment on my post}
- Link over here and invite friends to join in.
- Select the permalink to your post {so not your blog url www.lisajobaker.com but your post url www.lisajobaker.com/2012/07/five-minute-friday-2/ }
- Using the blue linky tool at the bottom of my Five Minute Friday post enter your link.
- It will also walk you through selecting which photo you want to show up in the linky.
- Your post will show up in our Five Minute Friday linky.
- Be sure and encourage the person who linked up before you!
- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/#sthash.uv1JoULZ.dpuf
I'm hanging out with Lisa-Jo this morning. Want in? Here's the deal:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
I'm hanging out with Lisa-Jo this morning. Want in? Here's the deal:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
It’s easy to join in, just:
- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/#sthash.uv1JoULZ.dpuf
- Check what the prompt is on my blog.
- Write a post in only five minutes on that topic on your blog.
- {And if you don’t have a blog, no worries! Just leave your writing as a comment on my post}
- Link over here and invite friends to join in.
- Select the permalink to your post {so not your blog url www.lisajobaker.com but your post url www.lisajobaker.com/2012/07/five-minute-friday-2/ }
- Using the blue linky tool at the bottom of my Five Minute Friday post enter your link.
- It will also walk you through selecting which photo you want to show up in the linky.
- Your post will show up in our Five Minute Friday linky.
- Be sure and encourage the person who linked up before you!
- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/#sthash.uv1JoULZ.dpuf
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.. - See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/2014/01/why-your-words-matter/#sthash.9TYwiJPR.dpuf
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.. - See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/2014/01/why-your-words-matter/#sthash.9TYwiJPR.dpuf
I'm hanging out with Lisa-Jo this morning. Want in? Here's the deal:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
I'm hanging out with Lisa-Jo this morning. Want in? Here's the deal:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community..
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.. - See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/2014/01/why-your-words-matter/#sthash.9TYwiJPR.dpuf
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.. - See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/2014/01/why-your-words-matter/#sthash.9TYwiJPR.dpuf
1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.. - See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/2014/01/why-your-words-matter/#sthash.9TYwiJPR.dpuf
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. And then absolutely, no ifs, ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you & encourage them in their comments. Seriously. That is, like, the rule. And the fun. And the heart of this community.. - See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/2014/01/why-your-words-matter/#sthash.9TYwiJPR.dpuf
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Funny Thing About Raising Kids...
I want so much for my kids. I don't spend a lot of time articulating specifics - but I know exactly what I want for them. I want satisfaction. Happiness. Self-love. Good health. Love. Passion. Great instincts to make good choices. A forever friend. Just the right amount of luck. Faith. Appreciation. A strong Work Ethic. History to ground them in who they are and where they come from. To know deep in their soul how much they are loved.
I also catch myself wanting for them things opposite of me.
My son is sensitive, an easy crier, a young man who feels deeply for others and who desperately yearns for a fair and just world. He is just like me in all matters of empathy. I do NOT want that for him at the same time I DO want that for him.
My daughter is strong, stubborn, requires a LOT of space when pushed or challenged. She is independent, the first to tell you everything is fine/wonderful/perfect. She is defensive and strong and loud and dug-in. She is just like me in all things independent.. I do NOT want this for her, but understand how valuable it is for her to have this independence.
The reality is, I know the particular challenges these personality traits have held for me and above all else, we want life to be easier for our kiddos that it was for us. Maybe that's why I want something different for them. But c'mon! What is better than recognizing yourself in your child? Aside from the fact that I melt at the mere thought of my children, noticing me in them - words, actions, expressions - makes me especially melty.
Last night Peyton had a meltdown. It took nearly an hour to get to the bottom of it (which was exhausting for all of us), but it all boiled down to her fighting her independence. She wanted to be a "family" - all of us in the big chair watching a show and having some dessert. Together. A FAMILY. All of us. You would have never guessed that from how the meltdown started. But after much discussion, an ultimatum and the entire getting ready for bedtime routine, it came out. She didn't want to ASK to be a family - because she doesn't need anyone. She wanted it to morph into her perfect picture of how the evening should be. Without letting anyone else in on her vision. How I wish I could have read between her lines and made a magic evening for her. I didn't - none of us did. But it gave me an opportunity to see inside her heart and probably color a lot of our conflicts with a gentler brush from now on. Blessed little one.
Raising kids really is the most interesting thing in the world.
I also catch myself wanting for them things opposite of me.
My son is sensitive, an easy crier, a young man who feels deeply for others and who desperately yearns for a fair and just world. He is just like me in all matters of empathy. I do NOT want that for him at the same time I DO want that for him.
My daughter is strong, stubborn, requires a LOT of space when pushed or challenged. She is independent, the first to tell you everything is fine/wonderful/perfect. She is defensive and strong and loud and dug-in. She is just like me in all things independent.. I do NOT want this for her, but understand how valuable it is for her to have this independence.
The reality is, I know the particular challenges these personality traits have held for me and above all else, we want life to be easier for our kiddos that it was for us. Maybe that's why I want something different for them. But c'mon! What is better than recognizing yourself in your child? Aside from the fact that I melt at the mere thought of my children, noticing me in them - words, actions, expressions - makes me especially melty.
Last night Peyton had a meltdown. It took nearly an hour to get to the bottom of it (which was exhausting for all of us), but it all boiled down to her fighting her independence. She wanted to be a "family" - all of us in the big chair watching a show and having some dessert. Together. A FAMILY. All of us. You would have never guessed that from how the meltdown started. But after much discussion, an ultimatum and the entire getting ready for bedtime routine, it came out. She didn't want to ASK to be a family - because she doesn't need anyone. She wanted it to morph into her perfect picture of how the evening should be. Without letting anyone else in on her vision. How I wish I could have read between her lines and made a magic evening for her. I didn't - none of us did. But it gave me an opportunity to see inside her heart and probably color a lot of our conflicts with a gentler brush from now on. Blessed little one.
Raising kids really is the most interesting thing in the world.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Farewell Twinkly Lights...2014
...I must admit I am excited about this new year. I have lots of plans, thoughts, challenges, opportunities and adventures to explore. With that comes the daunting task of organizing my life. My priorities. My home....UGH!
Last night I started the dreaded dismantling of the Christmas decorations. Each year I get better and better at it, but it drains my spirit. I believe with all my heart that the world looks better in twinkly lights. Especially in the winter months when it is dark so early and we want to stay home with our hands wrapped around hot mugs of tea, cocoa and coffee, sitting in front of the fire.
I had planned to wait until my husband and right-hand-man was home. He is practical about things like this where I am not. He is strong. He is efficient. He is not the least bit interested in delaying the task to wax poetic about the history of an ornament. As with so many other things - he makes me better.
Regardless, I found myself with time on my hands and not being one to sit and relax until mom has retired for the evening, I opened the closet under the stairs where Harry Potter does NOT live and dragged out the boxes.
I made great headway - the ornaments and garlands off the main tree. The dough ornaments lovingly wrapped and down from the banister garland. The Santa's wrapped and boxed. This year's handmade paper chain down and into the recycle bin.
Somewhere atop a kitchen chair trying to finish taking down all the kitchen decorations, my legs started to ache, my tummy felt woosy, my head didn't throb, but it threatened. I was done-in! I am sure (after a good night's sleep) that I stopped just short of taking down the twinkly lights. I guess I needed one more evening in their glow.
The kids and I found a couple of episodes of "Monk" that we haven't seen yet, scooped up some ice cream and sat for one last cozy evening in the twinkly sparkle of the tree and the mantel.
I have made more progress this morning - trees upstairs have been stripped, the snowmen are down and the bookcase is getting back to it's practical functions. The boxes, cartons, tubs and various baskets and the sleigh are making their puzzle-fitted way back into the closet. Still much to do, but as long as I finish before dusk - I will sit contently in candlelight this evening and start looking forward to next year's Christmas glow.
Last night I started the dreaded dismantling of the Christmas decorations. Each year I get better and better at it, but it drains my spirit. I believe with all my heart that the world looks better in twinkly lights. Especially in the winter months when it is dark so early and we want to stay home with our hands wrapped around hot mugs of tea, cocoa and coffee, sitting in front of the fire.
I had planned to wait until my husband and right-hand-man was home. He is practical about things like this where I am not. He is strong. He is efficient. He is not the least bit interested in delaying the task to wax poetic about the history of an ornament. As with so many other things - he makes me better.
Regardless, I found myself with time on my hands and not being one to sit and relax until mom has retired for the evening, I opened the closet under the stairs where Harry Potter does NOT live and dragged out the boxes.
I made great headway - the ornaments and garlands off the main tree. The dough ornaments lovingly wrapped and down from the banister garland. The Santa's wrapped and boxed. This year's handmade paper chain down and into the recycle bin.
Somewhere atop a kitchen chair trying to finish taking down all the kitchen decorations, my legs started to ache, my tummy felt woosy, my head didn't throb, but it threatened. I was done-in! I am sure (after a good night's sleep) that I stopped just short of taking down the twinkly lights. I guess I needed one more evening in their glow.
The kids and I found a couple of episodes of "Monk" that we haven't seen yet, scooped up some ice cream and sat for one last cozy evening in the twinkly sparkle of the tree and the mantel.
I have made more progress this morning - trees upstairs have been stripped, the snowmen are down and the bookcase is getting back to it's practical functions. The boxes, cartons, tubs and various baskets and the sleigh are making their puzzle-fitted way back into the closet. Still much to do, but as long as I finish before dusk - I will sit contently in candlelight this evening and start looking forward to next year's Christmas glow.
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