And This is Just The Begining...

Austin got out of the bathtub just now and gave me a big hug, all wrapped up like a hot dog in his blue towel. "Kisses, mommy!" he says, and plants a few on me... ahhhh... heart melting....

I was kneeling on the floor of the bathroom, cleaning up bath toys and towels. Austin takes a step back and "Holy SH*#! Aus, put that thing away!" And now, I am left wondering (neither of the thoughts particularly more likely or appealing than the other) , was it just because he's a boy and that just happens to them randomly forever?? Or, did it have something to do with the big hugs and kisses he had just showered me with...? I'm hoping for the former and not the latter, but there may by a therapist psychoanalyzing his Oedipus complex in 15 years....I'm just sayin'....

Either way, big brother Sam seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world and on that note, I left the maturity rites-of-passage to be hammered out amongst the brothers while I poured myself a glass of wine. Geez...

They're Back....

Reposted some earlier blogs that I took down all the way in August of last year. Don't have the husband or need to please/appease him anymore...so there you go...

Loving the Olympics

I just LOVE the Olympics! How can you not? Once every other year the most amazing athletes in the world get to show off and compete in a world-wide arena. And really, you don't even have to be a sports fan to appreciate them. How cool is it just from a "people can really do that?!?!?" point of view? My son, Sam, is in love too. "Mom, do you wish you could do that too?" "Mom, wasn't that awesome?" "Mom, the USA won another gold medal!" It could be in underwater basket weaving for all he cares, he is enthralled.

I keep ruining some of the suspense for myself. Last night when I was checking e-mail, MSNBC spoiled the men's 4 by 100 relay win for me. And yet, as I watched it later that night I was still on the edge of my seat. They were behind by so much! Maybe I saw it wrong (like 5 times) on the Internet. Maybe the USA doesn't win...but they did! I whooped and hollered like Michael Phelps and the others were MY teammates and friends. I do have a personal connection to swimming; it was my sport of choice for four years of high school and two of college. But it DOESN'T MATTER people! That was some exciting action!

At the risk of sounding sappy, I also like the personal stories they throw in about the athletes. It does make it more interesting to learn about the older gymnast from Germany who had left her home country to get treatment for her son's leukemia. And the love triangle between the Italian and French swimmers and his new girlfriend (who had recently broken his ex-girlfriend's 400 free record) made that race more fun to watch (both girls placed poorly). But, once again, it is the sheer incredibleness of the athletes, the record-breaking, the long-shots who pull through on a dream and a prayer--that is what I love.

Would I think it was so great if the Olympics happened more often? Surely not. But I would stop short of saying that the Olympics could ever be ordinary. Dara Torres, the oldest woman to ever make the US Olympic swimming team, ordinary? Michael Phelps, ready to break Mark Spitz and Carl Lewis' records as the winningest Olympian in history, ordinary? No...but I am still glad that it only comes every other year. Not for my own personal excitement or build-up, but because it makes me appreciate the athleticism and drive of the athletes even that much more. These Americans and other world citizens train their entire lives in hopes that they will receive recognition for their country. They are dedicated and disciplined in ways that are surreal to a recreational athlete like me. Because I am an athlete, I can understand the want to be the best you can be...but to actually get there on an Olympic level, it is rare and amazing.

As I write, Natalie Coughlin is on the podium crying to our national anthem as she is awarded a gold medal for backstroke. Turn it on...this is as inspiring as it gets!

Potential of Selfishness

How do responsibility and the "right amount" of selfishness coexist? As a parent, this was a struggle for me. I love my little people, but as they grow I have discovered that they are not going to suffer from lack of love just because I went to get a hair cut or because I took a bubble bath. I no longer worry about this aspect of selfishness. I know that I am a good mom. I would even venture to say that I am a great mom. My children are wonderful beings. They are respectful, well mannered, fun-loving, smart, creative, and most importantly, happy. They are secure with themselves because they trust me and their dad to be there for them, no matter what. I have been thinking non-stop about priorities lately. Other people's priorities, my own priorities. If I had to list my own, number one would be to love and be loved. To have a person believe in me, respect me, and love me for who I am without making judgments. My children, and all that comes along with them, would be number two. From there on out it gets fuzzy for me. Obviously health (mine and my family's), family, friendships, and financial security are on the list. But if the first two are there and in order, I feel like the rest falls into place. So now, back to selfishness. If the first priority on your list is not there, not being met, is it okay to be selfish and demand it be? Is it a deal-breaker? Is it weak and cowardly if you live daily life without it? Yes!!! That word won't stop flashing through my head when I ask myself those questions. And yet....the repercussions from that decision leave me overwhelmed. What does this mean? Does this mean I am being "too" selfish? Does this mean I am willing to alter the course of my childrens lives for my own happiness? But then, what am I truly teaching them if I don't demand happiness for myself? Am I being the teacher, the protector, the nurturer, the mother that I have always thought that I was? I have messed up a million times in my life. I will mess up a million more. I have a choice to make. This choice could potentially make me happier than I have ever been before. I know it will also hurt. If I go down, I want to go down swinging. I want to be respected for following my heart. I want my legacy to be one of a woman who went after what she knew was out there waiting for her to find. And if I never find it, that is okay too because at least I will know that it was important enough to me to give up everything to try. And look at what could happen if I do find it, if it is out there for me....the potential is amazing, exciting, and worth taking a chance on.

Choosing to Love

Alright, here it is. I had to write about love sooner or later. It is a hard topic for me to write about and expect everyone to understand. Everyone has their own perceptions and ideas about what it is, what they need it to be. I've always been "in love" with the idea of being in love. The spark, the initial connection, the butterflies. Even though I know that having an actual relationship is much harder than just being attracted to someone, I have always believed in "love at first sight." And even if it never happened to me, I imagined it happening for someone, somewhere. As I have grown as a person, I still believe, but not with the same innocence I had before.

Love can be very romantic. This is initial love, the obsession stage, the actual "falling in love." This sort of love doesn't last. Before I offend anyone, let me clarify myself. Sexual desire can last throughout your life, but the idea that your mate can do no wrong doesn't. They will leave their socks on the floor, forget to take out the trash, and do a million other things that annoy you. Being in actual, true love is hard work. The kind of love that sustains through time requires more choice and reason. I choose this person and I choose to make them happy--whatever that takes. The tingles are great, and I do think that they can last forever; and yet... Love isn't that simple. Anyone who has had a one-sided crush or had unrequited feelings for someone can tell you that. Just as you can't make the initial infatuation appear where it isn't, you also can't force someone to truly care about what it takes to make you happy. Love has to be selfless. This is hard--as humans we are innately selfish and egocentric. To put someone else's needs and desires before your own, to chose to love them, requires daily effort. I believe that to truly love another person, you have to commit to doing it daily.

I still believe in the idea of a "soulmate" and that there is someone that can make you happier than anyone else can. But your soulmate has to decide that they see something in you worth loving. They have to choose to love you. The reason this is so difficult is because people feel loved by different means. What is enough for one person, isn't for another. What one person needs, their partner may not be able or willing to give. One partner can wind up feeling emotionally abandoned by the other. If each partner cannot or won't give to the other selflessly, the love is destined to fail.

This is empowering! It means that you can have love in a relationship that struggles, as long as both partners are willing to give. It also means that if one relationship ends you can have faith that another will succeed if you find a partner who sees something in you that is worth loving. It gives me hope that someday, someone will not only fall in love with me, but will also make the choice to love me too.

I'll Still Be Me

I remember, one day many years ago, my college roommate and I said, "Let's go to San Diego." We left when she got off work and spent the night driving, drinking coffee, singing at the top of our lungs with the sun roof open and entertaining ourselves by flirting with all-night truck drivers. We arrived at 2:30 in the morning, crashed for a few hours and headed down to Tijuana. We stayed in a dive hotel, spent hours at the beach and drank Coors Lights. I know we called in sick to work and cut classes. We spent money we didn't have and had A BLAST!

When did I become a person with so many responsibilities? I went from a carefree girl to a woman with two kids, two mortgages and an SUV. I go from soccer practice to golf lessons and wouldn't dream of having the kids skip school unless they were REALLY sick (if you're not puking or don't have a fever of at least 102 degrees, you are going to school)! I have a calendar that I actually write appointments on...and keep them. I make advance plans for coffee dates and girl's nights. It's hard to call in sick to work now that my job is caring for two energetic boys who don't like to sit still for a haircut, let alone a "mom break."

And yet, I challenge you to believe me when I say that I am still the same girl. The dreamer who still hasn't fully settled into her life. The one who could stay up all night and still at least partially function the next day. I might take responsibility for my mistakes now, but I still make them. I know when enough is enough and can look forward with no regrets. I still believe in myself and have hopes for my future. No, I won't ever be 18 again. That isn't a bad thing! The amount of growing I have done in the last 15 years is irreplaceable. From the outside looking in you won't see the same girl you saw then or even who I was at 25. But in my heart and in all the ways that matter to me, I am the same. I might go on vacations with friends that are more well-planned than the spontaneous trip to San Diego, but I also don't have to stay in a Motel 6 or drink Coors Light anymore. And let's face it, I would still drive all night, only stopping for coffee. I still sing at the top of my lungs with my hair blowing in the wind and I would definitely flirt with passing truck drivers!

As I've grown older I have grown more confident in who I am too. Back then, I would wait for a boy to call me, I was shy about making friends, and I was self-conscious in my own skin. Now I choose to make a daily effort to look forward with no regrets. When I meet someone new and have a connection with them, we exchange phone numbers. If neither of us calls, I don't sweat it. If we do and develop a friendship...that is great too. I say how I feel without worrying about whether the person I am talking to will like me less. I care about people deeply and without conditions. Those who really love me for me and for the girl that I have always been stick close. They don't judge my feelings, instead, they take them for what they are; mine! They respect me and choose to love me because they want to, not because they have to.

So I have responsibilities now...so what? At the end of the day, I'll still be me. The same girl from whom laughter flows as freely as tears, who is passionate about the people I love, and who will always be a carefree dreamer...with no regrets or apologies. I'll still be me.

Fall into Me

Picking up pieces. Moving forward. Trying not to look back, but knowing that it is inevitable and healthy if you sometimes do. In my heart, I know the sun will shine again, but I don't know when.

My new favorite song (there is always a new favorite) is by Sugarland, entitled "Fall Into Me." A line from the song:

Fall into me.
My arms are open wide and you don't have to say a word.
Because I already see
That it's hard and
You're scared and
You're tired and
It hurts and
I wanna be the one you reach for first.

Even though I know that I don't need to be rescued or saved and that I will eventually be okay, I would give so much for someone to say that to me right now. It is hard. I am scared and tired. It does hurt. I don't want to make any more life-altering decisions right now. I just can't. I've done my fair share.

I am moving on the 30th. How do you divvy your life up? Some things are easy. I am taking the spare bed, my clothes, the computer. But, how do you separate your dreams? Who gets to keep the feeling of home? How do you tell your children that despite your immense love for them, you are going to completely turn their world upside-down? What about the memories...the hopes...the future? Who gets to keep that? The profound sadness at the loss of what I imagined my life to be has started to sink in. I am helpless to change things. I have been abandoned and now I need to pick up the pieces of my life on my own.

But it's hard. And I'm scared. And I'm tired. And it hurts...

Not as Good as I Once Was...

So, I'm going back to school. No mid-life crisis. Not unhappy with being a stay-at-home mom. I've just really always wanted to be a labor and delivery nurse when I grow up and what better time than the present? Sam is in school all day. Austin has an after-school academic Kindergarten program available to him. Why not now?

Although I already have two degrees in health-related fields (I know, I really like school), nursing programs are competitive and impacted. I can't even apply yet for spring semester so in the meantime I decided to brush up on Anatomy by taking a course at the community college. Registered for that, no problem. Unless you count me searching online for a college that still had the course available without a wait-list of 40 or more people a problem. Finally, I got the course. In Fairfield. An hour away from my house. Whatever, positive, stay positive....

Next on my list, take a pre-nursing skills assessment test. The test is the day after tomorrow. No sweat, I will be tested on reading comprehension, math, science and English. As I am reviewing the practice test book over the past few weeks I am shocked to discover that although I have a Bachelor's degree in Biology and one in Nutrition, I am performing horribly on the science review. Science is so broad! And please, it has been 10 years since I graduated college. I guess I haven't reviewed the Krebs Cycle lately or thought about covalent versus ionic bonds. I haven't thought to work the purpose of the endocrine system into conversation with the other moms waiting to pick up their kids from school. Needless to say, I am eat, sleep, and drinking my science review. And also wishing I had a few extra weeks to remember what Avogadro's number is.

Alright, so I've enrolled in the brush-up course, signed up for the test... Next up, make sure I have all the prerequisites taken so that I actually qualify to enter a nursing program should I even be selected. I check websites again, scouring the small print for anything that I may have missed. I notice that while "Pharmacology" is not a prerequisite, it is strongly recommended. Seriously. Strongly recommended? Well to me that means required. If it comes down to the last spot in the program and the only thing separating me from Jane Doe is that I've taken Pharmacology, well sign me up! Of course, that wasn't so easy either. This class has a Biology prerequisite, so I waited for Sacramento State to send me my transcripts, so that I could send them on to the community college. The community college took 2 weeks to process the transcripts. After MANY phone calls I was ready to add the course online, only to find out that the course was already full and I had to get special permission from the teacher to add it. Good thing I had planned ahead and become e-mail buddies with the instructor. Now I'm at 8 units. I can do this.

Finally, thinking I am good to go, I come across a prerequisite I have never taken. Eeek! Human Development Throughout the Life Cycle. Okay, if I don't sleep, only grocery shop every other week, cut down on the luxuries in life (yes Sam, that's clean enough to wear!) I'll be fine. I am now carrying 11 units this fall. Plus, I need to put together admissions packets for each nursing program I want to apply to--which includes attending counseling meetings, ordering more transcripts, getting recommendation letters, etc. Did I mention that the boys have golf, swimming and soccer? Or that I actually prefer to sleep 7 hours every night? Suck it up, I guess.

So really. What better time than the present? Why not now?

Conjuring Memories and Feelings

What causes the random moments that create the strongest rush of emotion in me? I tell you, I have tried to figure it out over and over. My son, Sam, sang songs and served me tea and cookies for Mother's Day at school a few years back. While the other moms were sobbing, I was smiling. You couldn't have pinched me hard enough to get a tear to squeeze out. From there on out the other moms would tease me about my "heart of steel." And yet, I've cried during my fair share of Hallmark commercials. Why? My own flesh and blood is reading me a letter about all the reasons why he loves me and yet some random guy on T.V. who has his hands wrapped around his wife's eyes so that she will be surprised by the car he just bought her for Christmas is the one who has me running for a tissue? Senseless, I tell you...

A sure way to get me (and NO, it's NOT "catch her the week before her period"), is music. I am a big-time country music fan, but really, whatever the genre happens to be, a good song is a good song. Every time I hear "In My Daughter's Eyes" by Martina McBride I want to run out and get pregnant so that maybe this time I'll have a girl. I just watched a movie tonight that I literally cried throughout because of how heartfelt the music was, and how well it told the unfolding love story. Can't get me to cry when I give birth, but I am still sappy about my boy's baby songs that I used to sing to them while I rocked them to sleep.

For me, songs trigger memories of moments and the feelings associated with those moments. Even though I don't miss him a bit, I still think of one of my ex-boyfriends every time Toby Keith sings, "He Ain't Worth Missing." I remember dancing to "Da Butt" in a parking lot with my sister and a friend at a high school church activity. And the song about Daisy Dukes reminds me of going out dancing with my girlfriends in college. "Strawberry Wine" makes me think of my first love and "Fruit Salad," by The Wiggles, means play dates at Amy's house with Jen. Every time I hear "Next to You, Sittin' Next to Me" I call my sister Carrie and blast it as loud as I can when she or her answering machine picks up. (Not sure why that is "our song," but it is...)

My neighbor Dana and I found a box of old tapes this past Christmas in a desk my mom gave me. We had a great night dancing and doing the Running Man in my kitchen while our kids looked at us like we were crazy. They finally gave up and joined in. Eighties music is just too catchy I guess :)

Sometimes I imagine that my life is set to the music of the songs that affect me most deeply. I picture myself as a free spirit. Someone who loves independence and wants to be accepted the way that I am. That's only a part of me though. I am a mother, I love my family, I am a good friend, I am reliable and think of others before myself. I am great at finding "the perfect gift." Music is integrated into every part of who I am. There is a song for my every mood, every feeling, every thought. I've already passed my love along to my boys. Sam is rarely seen without a Walkman, which he keeps in his backpack and carries around all day. Austin though, is my true music lover. Countless times I have walked past my little loner's room and have heard him in there, content as can be, singing one of a million songs he has memorized. No matter where he goes or what he is doing, he is singing. I adore that.

Music is a good form of communication too. Who hasn't given or received a "mixed tape" in their day? And even if not every word in a song applies to you, there is the relatability factor. I tend to connect emotionally with songs that relate to how I am feeling at certain time periods. Right now, you won't catch me listening to too much Black Eyed Peas or Madonna. I'm not in that place in my life. Heartfelt songs where the actual melody is not as important as the words is what you will find on my iPod. My music is a window to my soul.

A Guide to Clearing Your Schedule

The perfect way to stress out an organized and extremely busy person? Leave her calendar at her parent's house, 45 minutes away from where she lives. When I got home after a relaxing weekend in Fairfield, I noticed within seconds that I didn't have my calendar. My sister, Carrie, helped me tear apart her car (waking up my sweetie pie niece...sorry Lillie). Not that it would be easy to find in the messy excuse for a car my sister drives. It didn't help that she parked under my parent's bird-infested tree all weekend. Actually scratch that, maybe she'll actually wash it now (love you, Carrie).

My mom found my calendar in the room I had slept in. She said it blended in with the bedspread. That is NOT going to help me figure out what time Austin's soccer practice is or what day I see my chiropractor. She read off tomorrow's schedule for me and said, "I'll photocopy July and we'll e-mail it to you and then drop the calendar in the mail. You'll have it in a couple days." She must have heard the anxiety in my voice. I've checked my e-mail at least five times and it hasn't come through yet. I guess I could just stay at home tomorrow and find out from the phone calls where I was supposed to be and at what time I should have been there. That actually doesn't sound like too bad of an idea to me. I like days when there is nothing on the calendar. Doesn't happen too often, but it's nice in theory.

I called my mom back an hour later. "We just e-mailed it sweetie. And you know, don't let ANYONE tell you that you don't DO anything. I looked through June and July and you have a full-time job! I can't believe the things you do every day." Tell me about it... Too bad I have no idea what any of them are right now. Some days I run on auto-pilot. I check my calendar before bed (so I know if I need to set an alarm or not) and first thing in the morning (so I remember what I read the night before). I am quite sure that I can get through the next couple of days without it. The biggest problem really, is that I get phone calls, make appointments, schedule meetings, play dates, coffee with a friend, and a million other things on a daily basis. We might make it to all of our events tomorrow, but too bad that I wasn't able to write down which day is girl's night out or what time Sam's swim teacher changed his lesson to. We SO won't be at either of those things.

I've tried the "calendar hung on the wall" thing. I've tried the Palm Pilot thing. I've tried the "scribble a bunch of things down on random pieces of paper" thing. I need it with me to function properly and smoothly. The "carry the calendar around everywhere with you" thing works the best for me. Until I do the "leave it on a bed in another town and try not to freak out" thing. I better go check my e-mail again...

A Reason for Everything

I've been thinking a lot about fate lately. Maybe fate isn't entirely the right word. Maybe faith is more like it. Faith that everything is going to work out exactly like it is supposed to. That there is a plan for each person and even when things are tough, you can take comfort knowing that this is the course your life was meant to take and that everything happens for a reason.

At church yesterday, the pastor spoke about sensationalism and "doom and gloom." Basically, that when you believe that "the economy will never survive" or that "the next generation of adults are worthless," then you are ignoring faith. You aren't believing that things are as they were meant to be and that God has a plan for everything. It's comforting to me to think of things faithfully. My life might feel like it is spinning out of control, but there is someone who knows why. God planned for this. He knows what is going on and He meant for it to happen. I meet people every day who reaffirm this for me. People who say exactly what they were meant to say. Be exactly where they were supposed to be. Come into my life exactly when they were supposed to enter.

I just had a friend send me a text message a few days ago saying, "Life works in weird ways. I tell you I get amazed daily about life and how we are brought together. Just remember everything happens for a reason. Hold that beautiful head up." (The last part I think she HAS to say, because she is the one who does my hair and makes me beautiful, but moving on...) It was honestly like she could read my mind and knew what I had been thinking. I needed her to say that. I needed her to reaffirm what I knew...that everything does happen for a reason. Is it random? I think not. I have been praying like crazy lately, trying to straighten things out in my mind. Just like everything else, I know that God had his hands in this. At times when things seem the most out of control and I start to lose my faith is really when I need it the most.

This is not to say that I am just going to sit back and cruise through life expecting that God is going to fix everything I mess up. Or that it doesn't really matter what I decide to do because no matter if I do something or nothing, I will turn out the same way. This isn't how I feel at all. If anything, I feel more empowered by knowing that God has a plan for me. I feel comfortable saying things that I want to say and doing things that I want to do...taking chances really, on having a meaningful life. The little voice in my head, my gut instinct....I am listening to these. I do believe that this is God talking to me. I do believe that in these ways and others he is guiding me to my fate.

So, here I go. I am trusting. I am faithful. I am excited to experience what God has in store for me. Everything will be as it was meant to be.

A Complete Mess

I admit it. I am weird. I like to clean. I really, really like to clean. But not just that....I like to organize too. I have a label maker that has seen more than its fair share of usage since I brought it home to live with me. I know the Queen of England is not coming over for dinner, but just in case, my formal dining room table is dusted and polished and there are candles standing by ready for action. I am quite sure that no one cares, but my boys' closets are color coordinated. One thing in particular that I am especially fond of is vacuuming. It's really too bad too because my kids also like to vacuum. What a waste of a favorite household chore! They vacuum and then I have to vacuum again so the lines are straight and the dirt is FOR SURE gone. (I know, I already said I was weird). Or else I wait until they are off at school and I sneakily vacuum without their knowledge.

For some reason though, I carry the cleanliness principle into every room of my house EXCEPT my own office. My office is a disaster. How can I be so clean, neat, and organized and yet the room that I spend so much time in is a complete mess? I know where everything is...most of the time. I almost always can find the right pile to look into when Sam needs the paper that his teacher sent home three weeks ago that details a report he needs to complete by tomorrow. I know where my coupon is for Ann Taylor, oh no wait that one is expired, well I have a new one over here in this basket, somewhere...just keep digging. Speaking of baskets, it's not like I don't try to keep it neat and organized. I think to myself that if everything had a "place" then it would be easy to keep clean. So now I have a basket for my purses, a bin for soccer forms, a wall organizer for office supplies, a dresser with cards and craft stuff, a work table that is perpetually full, a cork board, 2 memo boards, a bin for Sam's schoolwork, one for Austin's, magazine organizers, jars for buttons and pens, a bookshelf! For crying out loud, I have a bin that is labeled "Label Maker". Now that is just sad....

I suppose in a lot of ways this all makes perfect sense. I am a stay at home mom. I spend my life making other people's lives better and easier. My house is visitor-ready. My kids have clean clothes on every day. My laundry is put away, the kitchen is swept and the kids don't need to ask me where to find a pencil because I have their homework corner straight as a pin. I don't have time for my office and I honestly don't want to clean it up. When it comes to my own space, I am surrounded by things that I love. No, don't try to hang another thing on my cork board or you might cover the BEST picture of a dinosaur that Austin drew me. Or the note from Sam that says, "Mom I love you in the hole in tire wold." I can't find my car keys all the time, but my painted vase from Sam and my ladybug made out of a flowerpot that Austin created are ALWAYS by my computer screen. I have an unbroken sand dollar that we collected from the beach last summer, a piggy bank from when I was a baby, and my beloved grandparents' old cookbooks on a shelf. I guess I can deal with the mess. There are a lot of memories hidden underneath.

The Power of Words

Pain. Raw, crushing, suffocating pain. Aching and burning to the core.

When I was little the things that caused me the most internal pain were things. Things that I wanted, but didn't get. Things that I thought mattered. Along the way I lived and learned. Things don't cause me pain anymore. Somehow, somewhere I learned that things don't carry the importance I had placed on them. Don't get me wrong, I would be sad if my family photos were lost in a fire, but I know that those memories aren't tied to the pictures. I actually lived those moments and had those experiences and I could go back to them in my mind if I had to.

These days, the only things that cause me pain are people. People's words. Their actions. The things they do and don't say. The words that they say in anger or in love, not understanding that both can affect deeply. Do you or do you not choose to believe them? They were spoken, but does that give them meaning?

When you have children, you learn to not be affected by some of what they say. They are innocently observing and absorbing the world. My son, Austin, asked me a few days ago if I was going to die first or daddy?
"I don't know who will die first." He has always thought that death went in age order. Grandma's and grandpa's die first, then daddies and mommies, then Sam.
He responded this time by saying, "I hope you die first, so that way Daddy will stay home more." There was never a minute that I was offended by what he said. I know that in his mind, that is the only way daddy won't travel so much for work. This seemingly hurtful comment caused me no pain.

And yet, as I write, I am living and dealing with the pain of words spoken two years ago. I've heard many quotations on the power of words. One, by Ralph Ellison, "If the word has the potency to revive and make us free, it has also the power to blind, imprison and destroy." The problem with words is that once they are spoken, they can't be taken back. And to a degree, most of what is said by people has some ounce of truth in it. So here is the big decision: Do you let those words have power over you? If you do, does it make you a weak person? Do you let them imprison and destroy you?

I can't go through my life believing that someone's spoken words define who I am. People get mad, angry, frustrated. I've said things that I have later regretted. Even if the words were meant to be taken exactly as spoken, words won't ever make me the person that I am. But they obviously still have power...they cause pain, raw and crushing; aching and burning. But then eventually, they will also allow me to revive and be free.

The Waxing Incident of '08

When I was a senior in high school I took a weight training class. I heard it was pretty easy, as long as you attended you got a passing grade. Plus, HELLO, boys....enough said. Anyway, after a semester of socializing and not getting any stronger, I decided to actually lift weights one day. I remember saying, "Look at me, Mr. Hood, I am really doing something today." Seconds later an unsecured bar crashed down on the bridge of my nose and knocked me out cold. With only a few days left of school, I am sure I appear in more than one person's photo memories with two black eyes and a swollen nose.

I can't help but think of the good intentions I had that day as I recover from my latest incident. I am not into self mutilation, but I am also not the most coordinated person in the world. Look over my body at any given time and you would find bruises in varying shades of purple and yellow, scratches, bumps, and more than one sore muscle. None of this can compare to what I will refer to as "The Waxing Incident of '08."

Yesterday I decided to give myself a bikini wax. This is a semi-regular occurrence. I do a decent job...I've never felt the need to pay someone else to do it for me. I heated the wax in the microwave, got my strips ready, and settled in for the ordeal. I applied the wax to a delicate area and it was a little warm so it ran into an even more delicate area. No biggie, I thought. I put a strip on it and pulled. Pulled off a one inch by half inch section of my skin. Down there. EEK!!! Between the gushing blood and the wax that was still left I was near passing out. How was I going to get the rest of the wax off because I was NEVER going to put another strip on myself and pull? If you have ever used wax on yourself, you know that hot water DOES NOT take wax off.

I did the only thing I could think of at the time, I called my neighbor Dana. "Dana, I had a waxing incident. You can tell Pete (her husband) but at least wait to laugh until after we get off the phone."
Dana is a very smart person. I knew she would have great advice for me. But when she suggested that I get out a lighter and try to melt it, I knew I was on my own. It probably would have worked, but between the missing flap of skin and the wax that was still down there, there was NO WAY I was going to take a chance at having to explain burns to an ER doctor too.
"I could come over," she said, "It would be like the Sex in the City episode where Carrie loses her diaphragm and Samantha has to go look for it."

Yeah, thanks Dana, but I think I got this. Between scissors, a hot bath, and neosporin I think I will survive. If you need me, I'll be sitting on my ice pack....

Learning to Ride and other lessons

My 5-year-old son, Austin, learned how to ride a bike this weekend. He's tried off and on for months now. He asked us to take off the training wheels. Now put them on. Now take them off. Oh no, put them back on! Okay, I want to try no training wheels.

Once we got over that part, the "trying" looked like this: Austin would plant one foot on either side of the bike. He would start to pedal with one foot. He had no concept of balance. Once the bike started to tip the slightest bit in one direction he would bail off like he was leaving a sinking ship. He's very dramatic so he was actually quite good at this phase in the learning process. Making sure he was close to grass, he would leap off, do a couple stunt-man rolls and say "Whoa!" or "Aaahh!" or something else to make it seem like he had just survived a major test of strength and character.

Then two nights ago, he just did it. He climbed on the bike and rode. No drama...no big announcements. In fact, if I wasn't watching him closely, I wouldn't even have known. I can learn a lot from him. Drama aside, sometimes you just need to do something. Jump in. Fall if you need to, but get back up and just do it. Don't do it for the praise. Do it for yourself.

When I looked at him while he was riding, the pride was undeniable on his face. He was so pleased with himself and yet it was a private pleasure. I can share the pride from a parents' point of view, but I won't ever know what it was like for him. To do something he had worked at for a long time and he knew was a cool thing, but to not even care if anyone knew but him. It was enough for him to know that HE could do it, he didn't need to show it off to us.

It is at these moments that praise for a job well done feels the best. Unsolicited and unexpected. No disappointment if it doesn't come because you weren't expecting it and didn't need it anyway. You knew all by yourself that you did a cool thing.