Is this what Kurt Cobain meant when singing "Smells Like Teen Spirit"? There's been an explosion in the male population on our street in recent weeks. Seems to coincide with the recent return of our neighbor's teenage daughters. In my parental incompetence, I had to ask who one boy was, only to find out it's a neighbor behind us that the boys have played with for a couple of years. The boys always go to his house, I've seen him only a handful of times in the last couple of years. I mistook him for a new neighbor with his new found interest in our street.
The cause of the increase of testosterone you may wonder? Two girls who are growing into beautiful young ladies. The interest seems to be mutual. The older sister seems to have her sights on one boy, the younger sister it seems is picking on my son recently. The problem begins when each girl has quite a following. Steven will NEVER be mistaken for Mr. Suave. Instead he loses it completely coming just short of drooling.
The smell of Teen Spirit is much better than prepubescent boy, as it's become so much easier coaxing a young boy to the showers. The mere mention of a specific girl's name is all it takes. Just a few weeks ago, this same boy seemed highly allergic to the reaction caused by mixing soap with water. This morning, just one vague statement, he was "Speedy Gonzales", just a blur and brisk wind as he sped passed to the bathroom.
Ah, the smell of teen spirit...such a breath of fresh air.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
When Did Eddie Haskell Become the Poster Child for Normal?
The most important thing I hope for my children is that they stand up for themselves, think independently, not just follow someone blindly. Apparently that is not the model of today's education system.
I've observed what today's teachers classify as "normal". It is Eddie Haskell. Who'd think that a conniving, sneaky, kiss up would be the model for the next generation, but that's what I've seen.
Watching the kids together, you see an innocent enough looking boy. She is blinded by his halo which seems to disguise the horns that are just below the surface. The teacher's head turns, I'm assuming because looking too long would burn the retnia of the eye, this same angelic child uses foul language, pushes others, and bullies those around him.
How can the teachers be fooled by this child? How can they truly appreciate a child like this; kind to your face, bully behind your back? My theory, they see what they want to see, and it makes their job easier.
Maybe it's not such a bad thing that my sons are not classified as "Normal". For the longest time I beat myself up. I'm healthy, intelligent, socially accepted. How could my kids be anything other than normal. Now, after witnessing the new standard of normal I'm relieved. I'd much rather have a child that stands up for himself, treats others fairly, and kisses up to no one; instead staying true to himself. So, until we can reach a common ground, I am NOT raising my boys to be what educators may see as "NORMAL".
I've observed what today's teachers classify as "normal". It is Eddie Haskell. Who'd think that a conniving, sneaky, kiss up would be the model for the next generation, but that's what I've seen.
Watching the kids together, you see an innocent enough looking boy. She is blinded by his halo which seems to disguise the horns that are just below the surface. The teacher's head turns, I'm assuming because looking too long would burn the retnia of the eye, this same angelic child uses foul language, pushes others, and bullies those around him.
How can the teachers be fooled by this child? How can they truly appreciate a child like this; kind to your face, bully behind your back? My theory, they see what they want to see, and it makes their job easier.
Maybe it's not such a bad thing that my sons are not classified as "Normal". For the longest time I beat myself up. I'm healthy, intelligent, socially accepted. How could my kids be anything other than normal. Now, after witnessing the new standard of normal I'm relieved. I'd much rather have a child that stands up for himself, treats others fairly, and kisses up to no one; instead staying true to himself. So, until we can reach a common ground, I am NOT raising my boys to be what educators may see as "NORMAL".
Parenting: Boys vs. Girls
Parenting has become the longest job I’ve ever held. I’ve been raising children for 22 years now. For the sake of children, the pain of childbirth lessens with time. I’ve raised an only child, and now am raising three more. Through all of these years, when anyone asks if I’m sad not to have a daughter, I quickly reply NO. I’ve seen girls today, and don’t believe I have the strength to endure the intensity required to fulfill that mission.
Sure, boys have their moments too, they are rowdy, make very strange noises in public and have disgusting choices of pets. Consider this as getting purgatory out of the way with the terrible two’s.
I’ve seen the prim donna training. That phase can last an entire lifetime. Sure you might get a couple of good years, but it can start as early as two, and escalate from there. If you’re new to parenting, there is no room for error with girls. The damage is done quickly and early on with no hope of repair. With sons, you can make mistakes with possibility of survival. If you find your parenting style is ineffective, you can make adjustments along the way. Boys seem more flexible.
Girls learn to rely on their innocent looks as youngsters, which then becomes an ingrained habit before pre-school begins. Boys are looked upon with suspicion, due to their curiosity and general activity level. Because of this labeling, they generally don’t form the same long lasting habits of manipulation.
Young girls are more likely to follow one around saying “Gee, that is my favorite.” “Mmm, that looks good”, instead of just asking if they could have something. I was once followed an entire afternoon by a cute, sweet, innocent looking girl, that continuously told me everything that caught her eye was her favorite. I’m used to the boys approach, which is straightforward; if there is something they want or need they have no fear of just asking. Quickly, painlessly their request is taken care of.
Then come the teenage years. There’s a very good reason for the term DRAMA QUEEN. I’ve witnessed them in action, and it is not a pretty sight, nor does a picture of royalty spring to mind. It’s amazing that some of these fine examples can accomplish much through THESE years. In all fairness, there are a few DRAMA KINGS as well.
How many grown men brag with vanity plates stating “Daddy bought this, but It’s all mine now?” Another true example that left me flabbergasted was “My Daddy will need to buy this for me.” The previous statement came from a co-worker who happened to be a 42 year old woman at the time. I don’t see why anyone would think this a bragging point. Can that truly be helpful in the mating game? It seems like that would become tiring for anyone trying to enter that picture.
This disorder begins early in life. Girls seem so precious, so fragile, in need of constant praise and protection. Girls learn early how to play on this thought process by the good intentions of their doting fathers. I was once Daddy’s Little Girl, but through intensive intervention I’ve broken my dependency on him. We are now friends, and much closer than we would be had I not grown up.
There are a few good, strong, independent women in the world, and I applaud them. However, there are too many examples of prim donna's and Drama Queens, that tend to give us all a bad image.
Sure, boys have their moments too, they are rowdy, make very strange noises in public and have disgusting choices of pets. Consider this as getting purgatory out of the way with the terrible two’s.
I’ve seen the prim donna training. That phase can last an entire lifetime. Sure you might get a couple of good years, but it can start as early as two, and escalate from there. If you’re new to parenting, there is no room for error with girls. The damage is done quickly and early on with no hope of repair. With sons, you can make mistakes with possibility of survival. If you find your parenting style is ineffective, you can make adjustments along the way. Boys seem more flexible.
Girls learn to rely on their innocent looks as youngsters, which then becomes an ingrained habit before pre-school begins. Boys are looked upon with suspicion, due to their curiosity and general activity level. Because of this labeling, they generally don’t form the same long lasting habits of manipulation.
Young girls are more likely to follow one around saying “Gee, that is my favorite.” “Mmm, that looks good”, instead of just asking if they could have something. I was once followed an entire afternoon by a cute, sweet, innocent looking girl, that continuously told me everything that caught her eye was her favorite. I’m used to the boys approach, which is straightforward; if there is something they want or need they have no fear of just asking. Quickly, painlessly their request is taken care of.
Then come the teenage years. There’s a very good reason for the term DRAMA QUEEN. I’ve witnessed them in action, and it is not a pretty sight, nor does a picture of royalty spring to mind. It’s amazing that some of these fine examples can accomplish much through THESE years. In all fairness, there are a few DRAMA KINGS as well.
How many grown men brag with vanity plates stating “Daddy bought this, but It’s all mine now?” Another true example that left me flabbergasted was “My Daddy will need to buy this for me.” The previous statement came from a co-worker who happened to be a 42 year old woman at the time. I don’t see why anyone would think this a bragging point. Can that truly be helpful in the mating game? It seems like that would become tiring for anyone trying to enter that picture.
This disorder begins early in life. Girls seem so precious, so fragile, in need of constant praise and protection. Girls learn early how to play on this thought process by the good intentions of their doting fathers. I was once Daddy’s Little Girl, but through intensive intervention I’ve broken my dependency on him. We are now friends, and much closer than we would be had I not grown up.
There are a few good, strong, independent women in the world, and I applaud them. However, there are too many examples of prim donna's and Drama Queens, that tend to give us all a bad image.
What Happened to Immortal?
I was just slapped in the face with the fact that all of us are mortal. We all have a life path, and no one gets to change the rules. For some reason, growing up in a small community, I felt that all of us, in the graduating class of 1981 would somehow beat the odds, live forever.
Suddenly, I wake up, 25 years later when an invitation to my class reunion arrived in the mail. Skimming through most of it, I reminised a bit about the glory days that never truly were. Then, I turn to the last page to find out about the donation request for a Memorial wall. That's when I froze. Memorial walls aren't necessary after a mere 25 years. Sure, some of the rougher schools may have them, but not mine. No one could be taken. Instead, to my disbelief, not just one person passed, but nine. Out of that, three were the best and brightest my graduating class had to offer the world.
Suddenly I see a name, rubbing my eyes in total shock and sadness. Bryan, why would Bryan be taken from the world so young? He, in my total misfitted teenage years was a bright star that shined. When I wanted to feel sorry for myself for the additional weight packed on from emotional scars, he would appear, playing basketball, on crutches to balance himself on one leg. When I felt no one in the world could understand my pain; he would share the experience of doctors telling his family that he would die of cancer, but they could save him if they allowed the professionals to amputate his leg.
Apparently the cancer returned shortly after we left high school. He was able to finish college and marry his college sweetheart, but he was taken so very soon. There were so many dreams left to imagine, so many goals left to attain.
I understand the life paths, and the choices made prior to birth, but as a mere mortal, it still leaves a hole, a sadness and grief. Although I know in my heart, he's in a much better place, the selfish side wishes we could return to those carefree days, just one more time. Enjoy your moments, even when they seem so insignificant, they add up to create a wonderful picture of what life is all about. We are not immortal, we all have our moment in time. It seems true what they say about the brightest stars burning out the quickest. My graduating class is mourning the loss of three of our brightest stars.
Suddenly, I wake up, 25 years later when an invitation to my class reunion arrived in the mail. Skimming through most of it, I reminised a bit about the glory days that never truly were. Then, I turn to the last page to find out about the donation request for a Memorial wall. That's when I froze. Memorial walls aren't necessary after a mere 25 years. Sure, some of the rougher schools may have them, but not mine. No one could be taken. Instead, to my disbelief, not just one person passed, but nine. Out of that, three were the best and brightest my graduating class had to offer the world.
Suddenly I see a name, rubbing my eyes in total shock and sadness. Bryan, why would Bryan be taken from the world so young? He, in my total misfitted teenage years was a bright star that shined. When I wanted to feel sorry for myself for the additional weight packed on from emotional scars, he would appear, playing basketball, on crutches to balance himself on one leg. When I felt no one in the world could understand my pain; he would share the experience of doctors telling his family that he would die of cancer, but they could save him if they allowed the professionals to amputate his leg.
Apparently the cancer returned shortly after we left high school. He was able to finish college and marry his college sweetheart, but he was taken so very soon. There were so many dreams left to imagine, so many goals left to attain.
I understand the life paths, and the choices made prior to birth, but as a mere mortal, it still leaves a hole, a sadness and grief. Although I know in my heart, he's in a much better place, the selfish side wishes we could return to those carefree days, just one more time. Enjoy your moments, even when they seem so insignificant, they add up to create a wonderful picture of what life is all about. We are not immortal, we all have our moment in time. It seems true what they say about the brightest stars burning out the quickest. My graduating class is mourning the loss of three of our brightest stars.
Mid Life Crisis Hits Hard!
What happened? Life was so good, then I hit 40. Much like teenage boys, it took some time before it hit me. When it struck, it sent shock waves through my system.
Emotions out of control, life feeling like a train wreck waiting to happen. Added to it, I'm a very even keeled person, never jumping for joy, but you'll never find me in a corner huddled in the fetal position over a hangnail. I happen to live with the opposite end of that spectrum. What comes to mind, spews out, with little thought of recourse.
I deal, I put up with, I shrug off. I happen to be one who can do that successfully for a while, which tends to make people believe they can get away with it forever. Then, much like a tornado whipping through, I don't deal, I DON'T tolerate, and I can no longer shrug off the comments, thoughts, or insinuations.
Of course, it comes at a time, never opportune; while in the midst of a major life altering decision. Could it be cold feet? Possibly a four year itch? I'm not sure, but I do know I'm not handling it in my usual calm, cool manner. On the outside, possibly it seems that way, on the inside I'm seething with resentment and rejection.
Will the outcome be acceptable? Will I bounce back, stronger than before? I'm sure of it. Will the damage be easily repaired, I doubt it? I just hope I hold the emotions in check. I have a sharp tongue in these situations, when this level has been reached. Added to that, I have tunnelvision, when I feel cornered or provoked, and a stubborn streak like no one else.
Could it be mid-life crisis hitting hard? Why couldn't I just get a cool sports car and hair transplant and be done with it?
Emotions out of control, life feeling like a train wreck waiting to happen. Added to it, I'm a very even keeled person, never jumping for joy, but you'll never find me in a corner huddled in the fetal position over a hangnail. I happen to live with the opposite end of that spectrum. What comes to mind, spews out, with little thought of recourse.
I deal, I put up with, I shrug off. I happen to be one who can do that successfully for a while, which tends to make people believe they can get away with it forever. Then, much like a tornado whipping through, I don't deal, I DON'T tolerate, and I can no longer shrug off the comments, thoughts, or insinuations.
Of course, it comes at a time, never opportune; while in the midst of a major life altering decision. Could it be cold feet? Possibly a four year itch? I'm not sure, but I do know I'm not handling it in my usual calm, cool manner. On the outside, possibly it seems that way, on the inside I'm seething with resentment and rejection.
Will the outcome be acceptable? Will I bounce back, stronger than before? I'm sure of it. Will the damage be easily repaired, I doubt it? I just hope I hold the emotions in check. I have a sharp tongue in these situations, when this level has been reached. Added to that, I have tunnelvision, when I feel cornered or provoked, and a stubborn streak like no one else.
Could it be mid-life crisis hitting hard? Why couldn't I just get a cool sports car and hair transplant and be done with it?
Where's The Owner's Manual?
It seems to me that we’ve not made any progress on the “owner’s manual” for children. I’ve been searching for the past twenty years, my mother searched before me, and I recently went to a baby shower, and although on the registry, not one copy was found.
Sure, they offer child’s first year, to help you deal with colic, fevers, breast-feeding or bottle, finding a pediatrician, but that is hardly my idea of an Owner’s Manual. I’ve seen more detail from the auto manufacturers for their new models than is available for the most important investment known to mankind.
With all the self-proclaimed experts, no one has cornered that niche. I would, except honestly even after twenty years in the field I have no clue as to any tried and true techniques that work in all scenarios. I have three boys with the same genetics, and they couldn’t be any more extreme without being from foreign galaxies. What works for one only aggravates the situation with the others. I have the gentle giant, whose calm demeanor is a gift from heaven at times. On the other end of the spectrum, I have three boys that have all been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder with hyperactivity thrown in.
I’ve often asked my mother if when she placed the “curse” upon me, as all parents do, she in fact hired a High Priest to oversee the ceremony to assure that it stuck. What are the odds…three out of four hyperactive children? I’ve wondered at times, could I have been that terrible to my parents. I grew up too afraid to act out. I had two foster brothers tell me that no one would want to adopt me since I was no longer a baby, and if they did, I had better be perfect or they would ship me back. That stuck, as a child, I spoke back to no one, don’t recall throwing tantrums, very polite and respectful to all adults that crossed my path. It wasn’t until I turned seventeen that I realized it was useless to send me back by then, so I let go, and rebelled, with a capital R. It is my curse though that brought about the short attention span for the boys; I can’t even attempt to deny that. If I tried, I’d be humiliated by the roar of laughter coming from those I tried to convince.
I think I understand why no one wants to corner that niche…no one has a clue as to what works and what doesn’t. We are all grabbing at straws when it comes to raising children. The experts give us their words of wisdom; find out it didn’t work and try Plan B on the next generation.
I remember when my eldest son was younger, the rage for all the experts was to avoid at all cost damaging a child’s frail sense of self. See where that led. Now, if there is no answer, a new acronym is created as an answer. Any current expert would be sure to annihilate their hopes of a career if they were to step out on that limb. It would be suicide for their career to even attempt to claim to have the answer to raising children.
Sure, we can act as if we have answers, but as the saying goes, we find the answers and the question changes. So, I guess until some brave soul is brave enough to find the answer and share it with all of us that are grappling at trying to raise children, we’ll all keep moving along, doing the best that we can with what we have available to us. If a manual does surface, I’d like to pre-order mine today.
Sure, they offer child’s first year, to help you deal with colic, fevers, breast-feeding or bottle, finding a pediatrician, but that is hardly my idea of an Owner’s Manual. I’ve seen more detail from the auto manufacturers for their new models than is available for the most important investment known to mankind.
With all the self-proclaimed experts, no one has cornered that niche. I would, except honestly even after twenty years in the field I have no clue as to any tried and true techniques that work in all scenarios. I have three boys with the same genetics, and they couldn’t be any more extreme without being from foreign galaxies. What works for one only aggravates the situation with the others. I have the gentle giant, whose calm demeanor is a gift from heaven at times. On the other end of the spectrum, I have three boys that have all been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder with hyperactivity thrown in.
I’ve often asked my mother if when she placed the “curse” upon me, as all parents do, she in fact hired a High Priest to oversee the ceremony to assure that it stuck. What are the odds…three out of four hyperactive children? I’ve wondered at times, could I have been that terrible to my parents. I grew up too afraid to act out. I had two foster brothers tell me that no one would want to adopt me since I was no longer a baby, and if they did, I had better be perfect or they would ship me back. That stuck, as a child, I spoke back to no one, don’t recall throwing tantrums, very polite and respectful to all adults that crossed my path. It wasn’t until I turned seventeen that I realized it was useless to send me back by then, so I let go, and rebelled, with a capital R. It is my curse though that brought about the short attention span for the boys; I can’t even attempt to deny that. If I tried, I’d be humiliated by the roar of laughter coming from those I tried to convince.
I think I understand why no one wants to corner that niche…no one has a clue as to what works and what doesn’t. We are all grabbing at straws when it comes to raising children. The experts give us their words of wisdom; find out it didn’t work and try Plan B on the next generation.
I remember when my eldest son was younger, the rage for all the experts was to avoid at all cost damaging a child’s frail sense of self. See where that led. Now, if there is no answer, a new acronym is created as an answer. Any current expert would be sure to annihilate their hopes of a career if they were to step out on that limb. It would be suicide for their career to even attempt to claim to have the answer to raising children.
Sure, we can act as if we have answers, but as the saying goes, we find the answers and the question changes. So, I guess until some brave soul is brave enough to find the answer and share it with all of us that are grappling at trying to raise children, we’ll all keep moving along, doing the best that we can with what we have available to us. If a manual does surface, I’d like to pre-order mine today.
Downsized!
Today is Day 1, reality has settled in for me. I've been downsized. To make the best of it, I'm going to become self-reliant, setting the pace for myself, rather than letting others control it for me. Every career test, every test from Tickle all point to the fact that I should be a writer, Architect, or Psychologist. Since it would take a good four or more years to even get started in psychology, writing seems to be the best path at this point of my life.
My dream job, I believe even when asked in high school was to be sitting on a beach cranking out daily syndicated columns. My hope chest has a design of my dream beach house for when I made it big.
When most kids were reading Dick and Jane books, I was reading Erma Bombeck and Mike Royko. My other asset that makes writing seem the perfect fit for me is that since I was a little girl, my mom has said "you need to stop daydreaming, focus and apply yourself." A psychic even pointed out to me at one time that Erma was going to help me from the other side. What more do I need to get this through my thick skull.
Why couldn't I just listen then, a few more years wasted filled with a lack of confidence in my abilites. Doesn't that always seem to be the way. Darn voices in my head just won't stop picking and nagging. Now, with some free time on my hands, it is time to venture out there in my own mysterious world.
It is time for me to stop lagging and start typing. Maybe downsizing was just exactly what was needed to kick me in the butt.
Don't misunderstand me on this, I'm not setting up to hang out on the computer all day waiting for a publisher to find me, but when the mood strikes and my muse sings, you'll find me here plugging away. Think of this as your view into my therapy sessions. Somedays you may need a flashlight, as I know my head can be a sometimes scary place with very dim exit signs. So, for the moment, sit back and enjoy the ride.
My dream job, I believe even when asked in high school was to be sitting on a beach cranking out daily syndicated columns. My hope chest has a design of my dream beach house for when I made it big.
When most kids were reading Dick and Jane books, I was reading Erma Bombeck and Mike Royko. My other asset that makes writing seem the perfect fit for me is that since I was a little girl, my mom has said "you need to stop daydreaming, focus and apply yourself." A psychic even pointed out to me at one time that Erma was going to help me from the other side. What more do I need to get this through my thick skull.
Why couldn't I just listen then, a few more years wasted filled with a lack of confidence in my abilites. Doesn't that always seem to be the way. Darn voices in my head just won't stop picking and nagging. Now, with some free time on my hands, it is time to venture out there in my own mysterious world.
It is time for me to stop lagging and start typing. Maybe downsizing was just exactly what was needed to kick me in the butt.
Don't misunderstand me on this, I'm not setting up to hang out on the computer all day waiting for a publisher to find me, but when the mood strikes and my muse sings, you'll find me here plugging away. Think of this as your view into my therapy sessions. Somedays you may need a flashlight, as I know my head can be a sometimes scary place with very dim exit signs. So, for the moment, sit back and enjoy the ride.
Monday, July 09, 2007
The Attack of the Ryanites
We’ve had an invasion in our neighborhood…worse than any alien species known to any experts, more terrifying than the accounts written in the tabloids. It's even worse than roof rats, ants, or any other pesky creature. It’s the attack of the “Ryanites.” Infestation takes a mere 24 hours, and eats away the brains of those it targets, turning them into zombie like followers.
The fearless leader is about four foot tall, blond haired, blue eyes, an only child. He targets young, impressionable children, who just want to fit in and be accepted by their peers, and being cooler than their siblings. He is destined for greatness; just ask him, he’ll tell you. Ryan’s more than happy to share his stats in baseball, football, school, or anything else. The realtor neglected to inform us that we live in HIS neighborhood and in doing so the kids should BOW to his wishes.
We’ve faced this invasion before, and went to great lengths to break this cycle. Our assistance was requested due to the incessant whining of the unfairness, the bullying, and the torment. His game plan is divide and conquer, leaving nothing intact.
The boys have not played with Ryan all summer. Withdrawal was a difficult process at first; they would eye him to see if he was having fun without them, trying to see who might be playing with him. Our intervention worked, after a short time they were no longer concerned about what he was up to. They were introduced to other neighborhood kids, having fun, without the friction. Then it happened. Word got out that Ryan is playing Jr. League football. Just when I thought the world was safe, their idol has returned. He is once again COOL, as he has football practice. Within 24 hours the whining has started, the bridges are being burned, and the faithful Ryanites have returned. Lock your doors, board your windows and pray that it doesn’t attack your neighborhood too.
The fearless leader is about four foot tall, blond haired, blue eyes, an only child. He targets young, impressionable children, who just want to fit in and be accepted by their peers, and being cooler than their siblings. He is destined for greatness; just ask him, he’ll tell you. Ryan’s more than happy to share his stats in baseball, football, school, or anything else. The realtor neglected to inform us that we live in HIS neighborhood and in doing so the kids should BOW to his wishes.
We’ve faced this invasion before, and went to great lengths to break this cycle. Our assistance was requested due to the incessant whining of the unfairness, the bullying, and the torment. His game plan is divide and conquer, leaving nothing intact.
The boys have not played with Ryan all summer. Withdrawal was a difficult process at first; they would eye him to see if he was having fun without them, trying to see who might be playing with him. Our intervention worked, after a short time they were no longer concerned about what he was up to. They were introduced to other neighborhood kids, having fun, without the friction. Then it happened. Word got out that Ryan is playing Jr. League football. Just when I thought the world was safe, their idol has returned. He is once again COOL, as he has football practice. Within 24 hours the whining has started, the bridges are being burned, and the faithful Ryanites have returned. Lock your doors, board your windows and pray that it doesn’t attack your neighborhood too.
Ewww...Creepy Crawling Creatures
What has happened to me? I was one of the dainty little girls that screamed and cried at the sight of anything slithery or slimy in nature. My brother used this fear to his advantage many times as it was a sure way to excuse himself from a pesty little sister that wanted to tag along.
I'm looking at my latest addition to our household...Jaba. She believes that she is a fericious beast, staring with her menacing eyes. When that doesn't create fear in those who dare to approach her kingdom, her tail whips wildly, lashing out at anything that approaches.
For the longest time I had people convinced that my reptilian friends were pets of my sons, looking at people in ridicule for not putting that basic deduction together. Somehow my secret was leaked unsuspectedly to the outside world. Since then I've become proud of my fascination with those four legged creatures I once loathed. I've overcome my fear, and can now enjoy those moments when my sons' bring some new animal they've found in the nearby hills.
Our latest adventure has been watching the birthing process of frogs. Watching for weeks as he transformed from fish to amphibian. I would have never been able to stomach that had my sons' not helped me overcome the fears of days past.
Don't congratulate me quite yet, my newfound confidence is evident only with some four legged creatures. I've once been stranded, frozen in fear, terrified of the fericious branch in the grass. To my defense, I swore it moved, slithering up the hill towards my youngest child and myself. His older brothers were slow to rescue us. I'm not sure what kept them, maybe it was the uncontrollable laughter of seeing my dire situation.
I'm looking at my latest addition to our household...Jaba. She believes that she is a fericious beast, staring with her menacing eyes. When that doesn't create fear in those who dare to approach her kingdom, her tail whips wildly, lashing out at anything that approaches.
For the longest time I had people convinced that my reptilian friends were pets of my sons, looking at people in ridicule for not putting that basic deduction together. Somehow my secret was leaked unsuspectedly to the outside world. Since then I've become proud of my fascination with those four legged creatures I once loathed. I've overcome my fear, and can now enjoy those moments when my sons' bring some new animal they've found in the nearby hills.
Our latest adventure has been watching the birthing process of frogs. Watching for weeks as he transformed from fish to amphibian. I would have never been able to stomach that had my sons' not helped me overcome the fears of days past.
Don't congratulate me quite yet, my newfound confidence is evident only with some four legged creatures. I've once been stranded, frozen in fear, terrified of the fericious branch in the grass. To my defense, I swore it moved, slithering up the hill towards my youngest child and myself. His older brothers were slow to rescue us. I'm not sure what kept them, maybe it was the uncontrollable laughter of seeing my dire situation.
Ozzie and Sharon?
I always had such lofty goals for family life...move over Beav; Ozzie is no match. I was thinking of Ozzie with Harriett, not Ozzie and Sharon. Noticing changes with my sons, which saddened me recently. The two that were closest couldn't be farther apart now, the one I thought a people pleaser, is VERY independent, the shy one is now Mr. Popularity, while the one I always saw as a leader, is turning into such a follower.
Call it my mother's intuition, my sixth sense so to say, I could feel the distance last night. Things just not quite right. I saw the "outcast" with his arms crossed, mumbling under his breath, rolling his eyes in frustration. Closing himself off. With my full fledged paranoia, I start questioning, and requestioning trying to make sure everything was fine. Although I heard agreeable answers to my many questions, I wasn't convinced.
As they began wrapping up the day, making their way towards bed, I slipped quietly into each room for a final check. That's when it was brought to my attention the miscommunication and the walls that can be built because of it. The outcast chooses his friends over his brothers because he ONLY likes skateboarding and NO ONE will go with him. Why won't they go I wondered...duh, because everyone else has two left feet. So, why doesn't he play guitar with his brother anymore...again, duh, because he doesn't have the musical ear shared by his brothers. The one with the most natural gift, takes control of iTunes learning new songs at an astounding rate. Instead of choosing songs that they both know, he finds it as his time to show off.
It's my hope that they can all just learn to get along...all inclusive. No matter what happens in life, you should always have your siblings. Hopefully they figure this out. Until then, I guess I'll have to get used to the modern day Ozzie and Sharon.
Call it my mother's intuition, my sixth sense so to say, I could feel the distance last night. Things just not quite right. I saw the "outcast" with his arms crossed, mumbling under his breath, rolling his eyes in frustration. Closing himself off. With my full fledged paranoia, I start questioning, and requestioning trying to make sure everything was fine. Although I heard agreeable answers to my many questions, I wasn't convinced.
As they began wrapping up the day, making their way towards bed, I slipped quietly into each room for a final check. That's when it was brought to my attention the miscommunication and the walls that can be built because of it. The outcast chooses his friends over his brothers because he ONLY likes skateboarding and NO ONE will go with him. Why won't they go I wondered...duh, because everyone else has two left feet. So, why doesn't he play guitar with his brother anymore...again, duh, because he doesn't have the musical ear shared by his brothers. The one with the most natural gift, takes control of iTunes learning new songs at an astounding rate. Instead of choosing songs that they both know, he finds it as his time to show off.
It's my hope that they can all just learn to get along...all inclusive. No matter what happens in life, you should always have your siblings. Hopefully they figure this out. Until then, I guess I'll have to get used to the modern day Ozzie and Sharon.
Did You Miss Me?
We just returned from our annual trek to the great outdoors. OK, so my version of camping would never make it to the Discovery Channel...Jeff Corwin would laugh at me, as would the guy from Wilderness vs. Man, but hey, it works for me. I don't need to eat grubs, sleep in a grass hut, nor suffer extreme conditions to commune with nature. I love the great outdoors, with the utmost respect for all of God's creatures, I just don't care to sleep with them.
I enjoy the idea of escaping reality for a few days, where I can be as anti-social as I want to be. I'm not required to play nice, I can float off on an intertube to complete solitude. The kids love it as well. They have the opportunity to have the freedom I experienced growing up, while I'm comforted by the fact that they are in a safe environment. What could be better.
This year was met with new challenges. In my attempt to be Nature Girl, I managed to twist my ankle on the first expedition. This however, did NOT stop me from continuing on. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't walk, so of course, I kept right on walking. Day 2 and 3 led to extreme sunburn, that I'm sure will begin peeling any moment.
It was all worth it though, every moment. I made it Yosemite, where we hiked to the vista point at Bridalveil Falls. For the extremist in my party, there was a dip in the pool created by the fall. As they returned to the edge of sanity, they were shivering from their experience.
I found it disheartening this year though. The snowfall apparently was very light this year, causing the usually massive waterfalls to appear as slow leaks. Although I heard that a day before we went, a bear cub was wandering through the visitor center area, we did not witness such a sight. My teenage son swore he saw something black in a rock area, near where we were hiking, but even though it looked like the perfect spot for a bear's den, we found only what we could assume to be paw prints, nothing more.
No matter what the condition of the day, Yosemite is an awe inspiring place. What I found was that the many pictures I've seen over the years, just somehow don't do it justice.
Although, I'll never have my own Discovery Channel show trekking through the wilderness in search of something creepy and crawly...I will always have an immence respect for nature. Even though I prefer cooked meals, electricity and other modern conveniences, I do enjoy getting away from it all, seeking refuge in the great outdoors. But, now I'm back to reality, the daily grind of life. Hope you enjoyed your break from me as much as I enjoyed getting away from it all. I'm back to having to be social, playing nice, being fair. It is so nice to have my one week a year where no rules apply and I have the opportunity to visit God's great playground.
I enjoy the idea of escaping reality for a few days, where I can be as anti-social as I want to be. I'm not required to play nice, I can float off on an intertube to complete solitude. The kids love it as well. They have the opportunity to have the freedom I experienced growing up, while I'm comforted by the fact that they are in a safe environment. What could be better.
This year was met with new challenges. In my attempt to be Nature Girl, I managed to twist my ankle on the first expedition. This however, did NOT stop me from continuing on. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't walk, so of course, I kept right on walking. Day 2 and 3 led to extreme sunburn, that I'm sure will begin peeling any moment.
It was all worth it though, every moment. I made it Yosemite, where we hiked to the vista point at Bridalveil Falls. For the extremist in my party, there was a dip in the pool created by the fall. As they returned to the edge of sanity, they were shivering from their experience.
I found it disheartening this year though. The snowfall apparently was very light this year, causing the usually massive waterfalls to appear as slow leaks. Although I heard that a day before we went, a bear cub was wandering through the visitor center area, we did not witness such a sight. My teenage son swore he saw something black in a rock area, near where we were hiking, but even though it looked like the perfect spot for a bear's den, we found only what we could assume to be paw prints, nothing more.
No matter what the condition of the day, Yosemite is an awe inspiring place. What I found was that the many pictures I've seen over the years, just somehow don't do it justice.
Although, I'll never have my own Discovery Channel show trekking through the wilderness in search of something creepy and crawly...I will always have an immence respect for nature. Even though I prefer cooked meals, electricity and other modern conveniences, I do enjoy getting away from it all, seeking refuge in the great outdoors. But, now I'm back to reality, the daily grind of life. Hope you enjoyed your break from me as much as I enjoyed getting away from it all. I'm back to having to be social, playing nice, being fair. It is so nice to have my one week a year where no rules apply and I have the opportunity to visit God's great playground.
Hats Off to Stay at Home Moms!
How do stay at home mom's do it? I now must take my hat off to them. I've been home for two days and I'm ready for a heavy dose of Prozac. Just last week it seemed that summer vacation was shrinking in size, today I'm counting down the days until school starts.
Maybe it was that obsessive quest of becoming the "cool" parents that has backfired. I don't think that was my idea to begin with, but an idea forced upon me by one that I share parenting responsibility with. Today, he is safely tucked away behind his desk, having full fledged conversations with other adults. I'm listening to the ever popular chimes of "STOP!' "Don't touch me." "I didn't do ANYTHING" "Wasn't me" Much of which I laughed at when the boys were two, but now that their voices are changing, it's just not as cute or funny to me these days.
When did the footsteps become so heavy too? I swore AMTRAK passed through ten minutes ago. The screeching sounds could have easily been mistaken for breaks of a freight train. The heavy breathing of anger sounding much like a locomotive in motion.
The good old days of parenting, where did they go? I remember being shooed out of the house at the crack of dawn, returning for short periods known as lunch and dinner. Our alarm was the sight of the streetlights which announced the end of yet another full day.
Now, it's the sound of three boys with friends forgetting how to take turns, sitting for hours in front of a screen, with controllers in hand. One more day down...how many days until Fall?
Maybe it was that obsessive quest of becoming the "cool" parents that has backfired. I don't think that was my idea to begin with, but an idea forced upon me by one that I share parenting responsibility with. Today, he is safely tucked away behind his desk, having full fledged conversations with other adults. I'm listening to the ever popular chimes of "STOP!' "Don't touch me." "I didn't do ANYTHING" "Wasn't me" Much of which I laughed at when the boys were two, but now that their voices are changing, it's just not as cute or funny to me these days.
When did the footsteps become so heavy too? I swore AMTRAK passed through ten minutes ago. The screeching sounds could have easily been mistaken for breaks of a freight train. The heavy breathing of anger sounding much like a locomotive in motion.
The good old days of parenting, where did they go? I remember being shooed out of the house at the crack of dawn, returning for short periods known as lunch and dinner. Our alarm was the sight of the streetlights which announced the end of yet another full day.
Now, it's the sound of three boys with friends forgetting how to take turns, sitting for hours in front of a screen, with controllers in hand. One more day down...how many days until Fall?
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