As I said the last post, that hospital visit was the last time I saw my young friend Lita.
Every time she was released to go home, she got worse and was readmitted. In February her church did a benefit for her and her family. Lita was Greek and German. This was the Greek side. The food was provided by Angelo’s, a fabulous little Italian restaurant which was where she was last employed before she became ill.
There was a table for her friends, many of them the from Kent State Stark campus theatre, where I met Lita when she worked props for the Miracle Worker. Most of us hadn’t seen each other in a very long time, as it was a university theatre, with students coming and going , therefore even more transient than regular community theatres.
Because we were theatre people, we were not at all shy, and the Greek church members instantly took a shine to us. There was a Greek band, Greek dancing, and the “unofficial” dance instructor grabbed several of us theatre girls and drug us onto the floor to teach us the moves. Of course, given our backgrounds in musical theatre, we were quick studies and soon were laughing and dancing and keeping up with the “professionals”. Well….at least with the dance instructor and the little kids he teaches!
When we were leaving Terri Sosnowski, professor, fellow actress, and mother to Alexa, one of Lita and my dearest friends, hugged me hard. She whispered in my ear, "YOU aren't moving or going away anywhere, are you?"
I assured her that having two sons who I shared with their father meant that no, in fact, I was a safe bet to stay put.
That night at the benefit reminded me of Maryanne’s last birthday party- joy mixed with concern, sorrow. It was a celebration to honor and support Lita, with all her closest friends, family, and fellow members of her church. The only difference was we still had hope, but it was a hope mixed with sadness when it was announced that Lita, who was supposed to come to the benefit and had been doing fairly well the past week or so, had taken a turn again and was readmitted to the hospital that day.
That was her last time admitted. They released her shortly after to go home. There was nothing else they could do for her.
Once she went home from the hospital, her mother was very understandably protective of her, and Lita was never able to return my phone calls. I was so “busy” with work, school, kids that I ended up playing phone tag with Lita’s Aunt Anna Marie, who had befriended me and kept in contact with me, keeping me up to date so I could pass messages onto Lita’s other friends. Now I only can hope that her mom was able to pass along the messages, that Lita was alert enough to receive them, so that she would know that I was thinking of her as well as all her young theatre friends..
A month or so after the benefit, Anna Marie called me and left an urgent message that I should go to see Lita, because it wasn't looking good. I tried to contact her, but her mom was obviously distressed and told me that Lita wasn’t up to visitors but she would let her know I called. A few other young theatre friends called me a few days later, to say they had reached Lita’s mom and arranged for us to go to visit her. Then the next day we all got a call that her family had her transported to seek a last hope treatment to a University Hospital almost 3 hours away, so we would have to wait to see her until she got back.
But Lita passed away that week. I'm not sure if she even got back to her home first, or was still at the University Hospital.
As a parent, on one hand I can so understand why her family was desperately trying to save her, even up to the last breath she took. But all the same, given our conversations, which I’m sure were not the same ones she felt comfortable having with her family, I worried that she was encouraged to fight up until the last possible minute. I hope she got to go home first, to her own bed, rather than dying at a hospital. I wish her friends would have been able to see her, to let her know how much we loved her and would miss her
And with certainly no disrespect to her family, I hope that their fear and desperation did not bring to her the end she expressed to me that she feared the most…not being ready to let go.
Losing Lita had such an impact on me personally, I can’t imagine the loss for those even closer to her.
But when she died...I thought....
How can I honor her? How can I take the loss of this bright, energetic, passionate, ornery, opinionated, compassionate brave, young woman and make any sense of it?
I remember leaving the last conversation I had with her in the hospital and thinking on the way home,
“If my Dr. told me I had something like this, that I needed to fight for my life, would I do it? Or am I too disillusioned with my life right now to save myself? I have something that Lita longed for. I am a mother of two beautiful sons. I am nearly done with a BA that Lita so had her heart set on finishing. I am living for “someday/maybe/ hopefully/ when I’m done with this, when I’ve completed that…”
I was not, nor had I been for quite some time, living in the moment of today, embracing the gift that was my life. My body, even in it’s flawed and at times health challenged state, was overall healthy enough to get me where I needed to go, and deserved to be appreciated a hell of a lot more.
It was a frigid March Sunday when I went to Lita's calling hours. I was late and all of my friends had already gone through the line. They were worried about me going through alone, and awaited my arrival rather than leave me on my own.
From there we all ventured over to the Sosnowski's house where a sort of Kent Stark waked ensued. Lita had been such a part of the Sosnowski's lives, having lived with them as part of their family for a few years off and on, that you could literally feel her presence. I thought about the story Terri had told before of when she went shopping for ornaments for her own daughters, Ardith and Alexa. She decided since Lita was living with them at the time she would get her one too, and added her name to the list for the artist to personalize them all. It wasn't until she returned home from picking them up she realized that she must have confused the person taking the order. There were ornaments for "Ardith", "Alexa"....
and "Alita".
She was going to have them fix it but it was too close to Christmas. So she decided it would be funny to go ahead and give Lita the ornament as is.
Lita loved that ornament, and told Terri, "Don't you dare change it! I am finally really part of your family!"
That night around Terri's kitchen table, we laughed and cried, and laughed until we cried.
I sat there, in the company of all my “old” yet younger than me theatre friends, who had either graduated from Kent or moved onto other universities. Some were off on adventures in other cities. And I was keenly aware of an overwhelming sort of bittersweet nostalgia wrapping around me. Laughing, remembering, sharing, just as we had at the benefit the month before. Only this time at this table, Terri's table, where we had all sat so many times before, many of those with Lita among us. This time, we all knew perhaps more fully than we had at that benefit, that we may all never be in the same room, this room, together again.
I will never forget when we were leaving that evening, Terri saying to all of us,
“Man…I am really going to miss all of you kids.”
I remember feeling for the first time that Terri, an accomplished English professor, didn't have the words or the ability to express them. Not really a loss of words, God no! That would never happen with Terri Sosnowski! It seemed to me that it was more, the emotions were too deep, too dear, to share outloud.
When I left that night, my heart was in contradiction. So torn between the joy and camaraderie rekindled, yet at a loss for the young life we were leaving behind. Grateful for our reunion, yet heavy hearted knowing that it may always be the last of its kind.
And I thought about empty nest for the first time. My mom never had a chance at it with my brother's disability keeping him home well into his thirties. I was too young to possibly know how brief and fleeting your kids are in your care. Yet watching Terri that night, I realized that through both their daughters' adolescence, the Sosnowskis had a house so full of teenage angst, mischief, celebration and chaos, full of life and all its glorious potential. When Ardith moved out there was still Alexa, and all her crazy theatre/high school girlfriends constantly in and out. A few, Audrey and Lita, had actually moved in with the Sosnowskis, Lita staying well after Audrey and Alexa got their own apartment.
Now Alexa had moved all the way to Florida
And Lita was gone.
When your nest empties, it’s not just your kids you will miss, but all the wonderful, interesting, evolving young people they bring in and out of your home. And I also finally understood Terri's question of me at the benefit over a month before.
No, I wasn't going anywhere. But like Terri I was feeling as though they were all leaving me. Passing me by on their way to their own young bright futures all over the world.
And I left there that night heavy in my heart. Alone in bed that night, my thoughts turned back to the man. The man I had the ridiculous notion to share with Lita on one of those last visits. When she asked how I was doing and I was ignorantly honest with her.
I started to become more and more upset with myself that I wasn’t making time for those I loved, because I was so distracted with one who couldn’t love me the way I deserved to be loved. Why was I wishing away my life, my gift...
How would that honor the loss of a young woman robbed of life in her 26th year?
That night, I sent an email to the man I was holding in my heart, that I was holding my life still in hopes of one day….maybe….someday….
I asked to see him one last time.
He came to me, late at night. We talked, cried...and said goodbye.
As he drove away I felt a calmness envelope me. And somewhere somehow, I knew it was the last time I would ever see him.
Well after he left I laid in bed wide awake, but still no tears came through me.
I felt...
Closure.
As though I was...
Released.
And my heart grew very still and quiet.
I realized for the first time in a long time, that I was not mourning the lost relationship, but a loss of myself.
And I felt something slightly short of a miracle. I felt a small space, almost sacred place, opening in my heart. A crack in an airtight shield.
And into that space, I placed a prayer. A surrender prayer it’s called:
"If it's really not him I'm to end up with. Then Ok. Are you listening God? I get it. I’m ready. I need to move on and find happiness. So whoever you think he is…please send him to me. Even if I think you're wrong. Even if I can’t believe it’s the right guy. I will give it a chance. I promise. Because I am finally ready to be happy again."
Two weeks later, I had a disastrous date with a guy I met online, who to me seemed absolutely perfect and what I was looking for at first "type." However he turned out to be using internet dating services to meet women for reasons other than dating.
(I nicknamed him “No Means No Joe” if that’s any indicator.)
When he canceled our second date after I insinuated I would not be sleeping with him any time soon, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I actually joined Yahoo Personals, as in paying the 20 bucks, so that I could finally contact people instead of waiting to see who showed up in my inbox. I then went to a “trash” bin in my Yahoo Personals account, to see who I had placed there, convinced at first glance that we would never be right for each other. (Because before Mr. No Means No Joe, I just knew I could so tell from a small profile pic and a paragraph if a man was worth dating.) I then found an Army Major, single dad, who had written me a month before, inquiring if I was interested in getting to know him. When I first received his note, I thought, “Army Major and Theatre Major? No way. ‘Don’t ask don’t tell’ meets ‘Here’s my gay friend Patric I’ve known since 3rd grade’? Hell no way. KSU ROTC instructor meets future KSU BA in Theatre Studies student?
Next Dogs and Cats will be sleeping together!!!!!!
But I dug him out of the trash bin and sent him a note. He wrote right back. I found out he was rather funny in a surprising, I didn’t think the Army had a sense of humor, way.
And in him I found a handsome, amazingly generous, giving, nurturing, actively engaging, humorous, politically conservative, (yet) incredibly open minded, supportive, caring, loving man…
So after holding him at arm’s length, allowing him to woo and reel me in for several months, I decided God was right and knew me and what was good for me better than I did myself.
And I can’t help wondering if Lita wasn’t somewhere, giving me a nudge in the right direction. I like to think so in light of meeting him so quickly after losing her. I owe so much of my own personal bliss, Rick and Anna in particular, to her...to losing Lita. Tremendous cost for such a lesson. But I really believe wherever she is, that she is proud I finally got what it took her own illness to teach her.
Live now, love now. That is the beautiful gift Lita left anyone who knew her.
The rest of the story, including one more loving couple's influence, on Fri.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
Living, Loving...in the moment (Part Une)
I started this blog last week. I didn't realize how much of this was in me, just waiting to come out. The final blog was so large (around 8,000 plus words!) that I didn't post it (or anything) at all. I wanted to put it up for a few days, come back to it, and see if I really needed to say all of it.
I did.
But, in the interest of how much anyone else wants to read of it at once, I am posting it in sections. So if you wish to read the whole story, tune in on Wed for the next installment!
Here goes.
As a culture we spend so much of our lives wishing and waiting for others to hand us the happiness we deserve. We live for the next lover, friend, job, car, degree, house, furniture, computer, camera, pair of shoes….to fill up a void that cannot be fulfilled through anything external. That kind of bliss comes from deep within and cannot be found until we are able to dig deep into our own selves, and see it was right there inside us all along. We have to discover gratitude for all the gifts we already possess, both in our own minds and bodies, as well as from those who surround us. Then and only then, will all the other trimmings of a wonderful love filled life find their way into our lives.
Before I met my husband Rick, I was a single mom for 5 and a half years. I had only dated once, about 2 and a half years after my divorce, and it only lasted a few months. I then let go of what was a very unfulfilling “relationship” (I even hesitate to call it that.) The main positive I got from that whole experience was that finally, at 33 years old, I had learned when to throw in the towel. I gave it a couple of months and saw it was heading no where quickly. In the past, when I was very much younger, I would have held on for fear of being alone again. Yet, though I had not dated at all after my divorce, I let this person go, with very little ill feelings. We didn't fit. It was that simple.
Not too long after that, I became involved with an old flame. Over the next two or three years, we went through a devastating and heart breaking, on again/off again relationship. We did fit it seemed, though our life circumstances most certainly did not. Even when we mutually decided not to see each other anymore, I kept holding onto to him in my heart, well after we had both decided it was best to part and go our separate ways. No matter what I did, however, I just couldn’t seem to completely let go of him and move on. I trudged along, through mothering the boys, going to work, going to class. I was treading water emotionally, over scheduling myself so that I could be continually moving, and dodging my deepest most painful feelings.
A year after we said goodbye, I was seemingly no closer to letting go completely and moving on with my life.
I was stuck.
Then I had an epiphany. But finally seeing the light came at a high price. That is, having a young friend, only twenty-six, see the proverbial light herself, and have to walk into it.
In March of 2005, I lost my young, twenty-six year old friend Lita (short for Elizabeth) to cervical cancer. I was so busy, and had so many colds that I only got to visit her a few times in the hospital. But when I did we spent several amazing hours talking about life, death, dreams, and letting go...
When I first visited with her she had blood clots in her lungs, and cancer spreading from her where her uterus used to be. All she talked about was not being able to let go of never being a mom, being pregnant, giving birth. I remember thinking, "Oh honey…please get through that disappointment. Because you have more urgent realities to address now." But she was stuck herself.
The last time I saw her, she had let of ever having children, but not of life. She was convinced she had a purpose here yet unfulfilled. We talked about this for a long time, and I listened more than talked. When I did respond I told her that she did have so much to offer. That she needed to pour all her energy into getting better and keep her mind focused on how she will feel once she is healthy, as well as the new dreams she was creating for herself. She was vibrant and in wonderful spirits. She was thrilled that I came and stayed so long, because she said a lot of her younger friends seemed to have a hard time seeing her ill. Our talk turned more serious after a while, and it was then she expressed a fear of not being ready to let go of life if the time came.
I told her of my experience with my Mother-in-law, my first husband Ken’s mom Maryanne, who passed away of liver cancer in 1990 in her own bed, surrounded by her children. How when Maryanne was diagnosed after exploratory surgery in 1989, her children followed her physician out to the hall to ask all the important imperative questions regarding her prognosis. That I had initially followed their lead, until looking around us all in the hallway I realized Maryanne was lying in her hospital bed alone, having just been told in essence that she was dying within the next 6 months to a year.
I went back into her room and asked her, “Do you want to be alone right now?“
She reached out her frail hand to me, tears welling up in her eyes and whispered, “No.“
I took her hand. I believe it was the first time I ever held it since first shaking it when I met her a little over a year before. We stayed in there, me standing beside her bed, holding each other’s hands, until the rest of the family returned.
The last time I held her hand was almost a full year later. It was two days after her 61st birthday. Two nights after we had a huge party for her, where all of her friends and family came (over 50 of them) to essentially celebrate her birthday, her life, and say goodbye to her.
The evening after her birthday, she had a near death experience, where she was panicked, frightened, and unable to speak for what seemed forever. While Ken and Phyllis held her hand, I called their two other siblings, Rick and Karen, and told them to come right away. All of the kids, the grandkids, and everyone came over and took turns holding her hand until the frightening moment passed, and she could breath normally, and talk again.
Then she seemed to have what would be her final “second wind.” So we all stayed up late into the night, joking and laughing about all the silly crazy family stories. Like when Rick, the oldest brother, along with his friends, set a field on fire and sent his younger sister Phyllis for water. She return with one glassful. Then there was the time that Ken and his sister Karen decided to do home improvements in the kitchen, and nailed two by fours to the floor through the linoleum. Or when Rick allowed Ken, 14 years younger than him, to row the fishing boat on an outing with Rick’s college buddies. But they “forgot” (accidentally on purpose) to tell Ken that the anchor was down. So Ken rowed and rowed forever, going around in circles and never reaching the shore, only to look up and sigh about how HARD it was and valiantly continuing his efforts to impress his older brother‘s friends (who were trying not to pee their pants they were laughing so hard.)
It was a beautiful evening. But the earlier episode that brought everyone running to Maryanne’s bedside was scary.
That night, we all just wanted to keep talking with her, keep her smiling and laughing, as if we could suspend time and thereby keep her with us just a little longer. I think we all knew that she would be gone before another sunset.
We each had a moment alone with her before she went to sleep. I don't know what she said to each of her kids, but to me...
She said, "I am so very thankful Ken has you to help him through this. You will forever be a part of our family now. I love you." Those words came back to me many times throughout my marriage, whenever I was thinking of leaving. I just really hated to disappoint Maryanne.
As I said earlier, this was the night before….
The last time I held Maryanne’s hand.
Throughout the night she had a few more scares, lots more pain. Per the standing orders the hospice nurse gave them, to give her as much morphine as she asked for because it really didn’t matter about addiction at this point, Ken and Phyllis came close to the maximum does possible. Ken told me later what the hospice nurse had actually said to them- “If she asks for it, give it, as much as you are comfortable giving to her. I leave that to your discretion.”
This is one of the most amazing and important gifts of hospice. No judgment. An understanding that sometimes, too much morphine is ok, when someone is in that degree of pain.
Ken said he came close that night to the maximum does…just shy of going over. If she had asked for more, I’m sure he or his sister would have given it.
She was holding on for one more goodbye.
The next morning Ken woke me and told me to call the kids again. He was sure this time, she would not be coming out of the episode. She was so frightened, again she couldn’t speak, and that seemed to upset her the most. It was so hard to be brave and help her to leave us, but we knew it was what she needed us to do. I could read, quite clearly on her face, the fear of leaving us behind, the wish for one more chance to tell us she loved us. We stood encircling her bed, all of us were holding her hands, caressing her legs, arms, and face, smoothing her hair, wiping her silent tears. We told her over and over that we loved her, that she could stop fighting, that it was ok to leave us, that she had done such a wonderful job raising her family, that we would all be alright and would help each other through.
In an hour or less, she took her last, deep, desperate breath, and then she passed away.
I was 22 years old. Not being married to her son yet, it was a privilege I think, to be there, to be a part of helping her let go of life and move on to wherever her spirit was going next.
I did not share all of that with Lita. She was hell bent on recovery and I didn’t want to bring her focus to preparing for the alternative. I do believe, especially in Maryanne’s case, that the Dr telling us 6 months to a year, gave her a year at most.
I happen to know of a pancreatic cancer patient, our next door neighbor and father to one of my sister’s best friend’s growing up, who chose not to know how long he had. The Dr told his wife the same prognosis as Maryanne’s was, but he had no clue himself. He lived 3 or 4 more YEARS. I shared THAT with Lita. And she was reading all these “Beat Cancer” books centered around diet, attitude, and alternative treatment. She was in a really good place, and where she needed to be if she had a chance to live.
So I simply assured her that I had never known a person going through what she was, that was not ready to let go, if in fact that time came. Not that they weren't afraid to go, I think we all are, but they were also ready to let go when it was time. We also talked about making the most of every day. And I shared my favorite Maryanne quote with her.
One morning the last month or so Maryanne was alive, Ken went into her room one dreary April shower filled morning and opened the window for her. He turned, saw she was awake, and said to her, “Sorry Mom, looks like a dreary day out there.”
To which Maryanne smiled and said, “But it’s a day.”
Lita liked that story. We both so enjoyed our visit that we promised to have another as soon as she got out.
Sadly, that was the last time I saw her.
I did.
But, in the interest of how much anyone else wants to read of it at once, I am posting it in sections. So if you wish to read the whole story, tune in on Wed for the next installment!
Here goes.
As a culture we spend so much of our lives wishing and waiting for others to hand us the happiness we deserve. We live for the next lover, friend, job, car, degree, house, furniture, computer, camera, pair of shoes….to fill up a void that cannot be fulfilled through anything external. That kind of bliss comes from deep within and cannot be found until we are able to dig deep into our own selves, and see it was right there inside us all along. We have to discover gratitude for all the gifts we already possess, both in our own minds and bodies, as well as from those who surround us. Then and only then, will all the other trimmings of a wonderful love filled life find their way into our lives.
Before I met my husband Rick, I was a single mom for 5 and a half years. I had only dated once, about 2 and a half years after my divorce, and it only lasted a few months. I then let go of what was a very unfulfilling “relationship” (I even hesitate to call it that.) The main positive I got from that whole experience was that finally, at 33 years old, I had learned when to throw in the towel. I gave it a couple of months and saw it was heading no where quickly. In the past, when I was very much younger, I would have held on for fear of being alone again. Yet, though I had not dated at all after my divorce, I let this person go, with very little ill feelings. We didn't fit. It was that simple.
Not too long after that, I became involved with an old flame. Over the next two or three years, we went through a devastating and heart breaking, on again/off again relationship. We did fit it seemed, though our life circumstances most certainly did not. Even when we mutually decided not to see each other anymore, I kept holding onto to him in my heart, well after we had both decided it was best to part and go our separate ways. No matter what I did, however, I just couldn’t seem to completely let go of him and move on. I trudged along, through mothering the boys, going to work, going to class. I was treading water emotionally, over scheduling myself so that I could be continually moving, and dodging my deepest most painful feelings.
A year after we said goodbye, I was seemingly no closer to letting go completely and moving on with my life.
I was stuck.
Then I had an epiphany. But finally seeing the light came at a high price. That is, having a young friend, only twenty-six, see the proverbial light herself, and have to walk into it.
In March of 2005, I lost my young, twenty-six year old friend Lita (short for Elizabeth) to cervical cancer. I was so busy, and had so many colds that I only got to visit her a few times in the hospital. But when I did we spent several amazing hours talking about life, death, dreams, and letting go...
When I first visited with her she had blood clots in her lungs, and cancer spreading from her where her uterus used to be. All she talked about was not being able to let go of never being a mom, being pregnant, giving birth. I remember thinking, "Oh honey…please get through that disappointment. Because you have more urgent realities to address now." But she was stuck herself.
The last time I saw her, she had let of ever having children, but not of life. She was convinced she had a purpose here yet unfulfilled. We talked about this for a long time, and I listened more than talked. When I did respond I told her that she did have so much to offer. That she needed to pour all her energy into getting better and keep her mind focused on how she will feel once she is healthy, as well as the new dreams she was creating for herself. She was vibrant and in wonderful spirits. She was thrilled that I came and stayed so long, because she said a lot of her younger friends seemed to have a hard time seeing her ill. Our talk turned more serious after a while, and it was then she expressed a fear of not being ready to let go of life if the time came.
I told her of my experience with my Mother-in-law, my first husband Ken’s mom Maryanne, who passed away of liver cancer in 1990 in her own bed, surrounded by her children. How when Maryanne was diagnosed after exploratory surgery in 1989, her children followed her physician out to the hall to ask all the important imperative questions regarding her prognosis. That I had initially followed their lead, until looking around us all in the hallway I realized Maryanne was lying in her hospital bed alone, having just been told in essence that she was dying within the next 6 months to a year.
I went back into her room and asked her, “Do you want to be alone right now?“
She reached out her frail hand to me, tears welling up in her eyes and whispered, “No.“
I took her hand. I believe it was the first time I ever held it since first shaking it when I met her a little over a year before. We stayed in there, me standing beside her bed, holding each other’s hands, until the rest of the family returned.
The last time I held her hand was almost a full year later. It was two days after her 61st birthday. Two nights after we had a huge party for her, where all of her friends and family came (over 50 of them) to essentially celebrate her birthday, her life, and say goodbye to her.
The evening after her birthday, she had a near death experience, where she was panicked, frightened, and unable to speak for what seemed forever. While Ken and Phyllis held her hand, I called their two other siblings, Rick and Karen, and told them to come right away. All of the kids, the grandkids, and everyone came over and took turns holding her hand until the frightening moment passed, and she could breath normally, and talk again.
Then she seemed to have what would be her final “second wind.” So we all stayed up late into the night, joking and laughing about all the silly crazy family stories. Like when Rick, the oldest brother, along with his friends, set a field on fire and sent his younger sister Phyllis for water. She return with one glassful. Then there was the time that Ken and his sister Karen decided to do home improvements in the kitchen, and nailed two by fours to the floor through the linoleum. Or when Rick allowed Ken, 14 years younger than him, to row the fishing boat on an outing with Rick’s college buddies. But they “forgot” (accidentally on purpose) to tell Ken that the anchor was down. So Ken rowed and rowed forever, going around in circles and never reaching the shore, only to look up and sigh about how HARD it was and valiantly continuing his efforts to impress his older brother‘s friends (who were trying not to pee their pants they were laughing so hard.)
It was a beautiful evening. But the earlier episode that brought everyone running to Maryanne’s bedside was scary.
That night, we all just wanted to keep talking with her, keep her smiling and laughing, as if we could suspend time and thereby keep her with us just a little longer. I think we all knew that she would be gone before another sunset.
We each had a moment alone with her before she went to sleep. I don't know what she said to each of her kids, but to me...
She said, "I am so very thankful Ken has you to help him through this. You will forever be a part of our family now. I love you." Those words came back to me many times throughout my marriage, whenever I was thinking of leaving. I just really hated to disappoint Maryanne.
As I said earlier, this was the night before….
The last time I held Maryanne’s hand.
Throughout the night she had a few more scares, lots more pain. Per the standing orders the hospice nurse gave them, to give her as much morphine as she asked for because it really didn’t matter about addiction at this point, Ken and Phyllis came close to the maximum does possible. Ken told me later what the hospice nurse had actually said to them- “If she asks for it, give it, as much as you are comfortable giving to her. I leave that to your discretion.”
This is one of the most amazing and important gifts of hospice. No judgment. An understanding that sometimes, too much morphine is ok, when someone is in that degree of pain.
Ken said he came close that night to the maximum does…just shy of going over. If she had asked for more, I’m sure he or his sister would have given it.
She was holding on for one more goodbye.
The next morning Ken woke me and told me to call the kids again. He was sure this time, she would not be coming out of the episode. She was so frightened, again she couldn’t speak, and that seemed to upset her the most. It was so hard to be brave and help her to leave us, but we knew it was what she needed us to do. I could read, quite clearly on her face, the fear of leaving us behind, the wish for one more chance to tell us she loved us. We stood encircling her bed, all of us were holding her hands, caressing her legs, arms, and face, smoothing her hair, wiping her silent tears. We told her over and over that we loved her, that she could stop fighting, that it was ok to leave us, that she had done such a wonderful job raising her family, that we would all be alright and would help each other through.
In an hour or less, she took her last, deep, desperate breath, and then she passed away.
I was 22 years old. Not being married to her son yet, it was a privilege I think, to be there, to be a part of helping her let go of life and move on to wherever her spirit was going next.
I did not share all of that with Lita. She was hell bent on recovery and I didn’t want to bring her focus to preparing for the alternative. I do believe, especially in Maryanne’s case, that the Dr telling us 6 months to a year, gave her a year at most.
I happen to know of a pancreatic cancer patient, our next door neighbor and father to one of my sister’s best friend’s growing up, who chose not to know how long he had. The Dr told his wife the same prognosis as Maryanne’s was, but he had no clue himself. He lived 3 or 4 more YEARS. I shared THAT with Lita. And she was reading all these “Beat Cancer” books centered around diet, attitude, and alternative treatment. She was in a really good place, and where she needed to be if she had a chance to live.
So I simply assured her that I had never known a person going through what she was, that was not ready to let go, if in fact that time came. Not that they weren't afraid to go, I think we all are, but they were also ready to let go when it was time. We also talked about making the most of every day. And I shared my favorite Maryanne quote with her.
One morning the last month or so Maryanne was alive, Ken went into her room one dreary April shower filled morning and opened the window for her. He turned, saw she was awake, and said to her, “Sorry Mom, looks like a dreary day out there.”
To which Maryanne smiled and said, “But it’s a day.”
Lita liked that story. We both so enjoyed our visit that we promised to have another as soon as she got out.
Sadly, that was the last time I saw her.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Baby Borrowers is on TONIGHT
Just thought I'd send out that reminder. In light of last week's news of a rumored "pregnancy pact" in a Gloucester Mass high school I am even more convinced that The Baby Borrowers, with it's subtitle "It's not entertainment, it's birth control," should be on everyone's must see, must DVR/TIVO and show to all teens repeatedly until they stop thinking babies are a cool source of unconditional love and instant emancipation.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
LOVE(ing) Story
"I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about."~Mildred Loving June 15, 2007
On June 16th, 2008, Phyllis Lyon and Del Martinthese, two women who have been in a committed relationship for fifty-five years, were able to become legally married in San Fransisco.
"When we first got together, we were not really thinking about getting married, we were thinking about getting together,' Lyon said to laughter, standing behind Martin's wheelchair. 'I think it's a wonderful day. We are very happy.'
'Ditto,' said Martin." (Yahoo News)
Why-oh why-does anyone question the validity of this union? These women have been together longer than most couples of the opposite sex that I know. I just wish everyone would get over it already, and see that love knows no boundaries of race or gender. As I ask all people deeply concerned about same sex marriage as the downfall of mankind, really...Can you please explain to me how this affects you personally?
A few weeks ago I watched as a teary eyed Ellen gave the news that she would be marrying long time partner Portia DeRossi. I found myself teary-eyed for them. To tell the truth, Ellen is so damn funny and sorta cute and that Portia is such an incredibly beautiful woman, if I weren't such a flaming heterosexual I'd want to date either one of them myself. Sorry, I digress in attempts to add some humor to honor the great Ms DeGeneres.
I was reminded of a conversation I had with a friend of mine, David, on my front stoop about 15 or so years ago. He stopped by because his partner, who was a special education teacher, was attending a wedding of a co-worker, and couldn't bring David with him for fear of losing his job. I remarked how sad I thought that was, and how I took for granted the fact that my husband and I could go anywhere we wanted, hold hands any time we wanted, and introduce ourselves any way we chose to. We never had to hide we were a couple from anyone. I just never got that conversation out of my mind. I had grown up in the theatre, surrounded by gay couples free to be, well, couples. And because of that I was comfortable with it, and never thought more deeply about it until that night, speaking with my friend. My friend who stopped by because he felt left out, not accepted by his partner's side. Those friends stayed in that relationship for close to 15 years before they parted, much more amicably than any straight married couple I ever met.
I also had a similar conversation a few years ago with a theatre friend who has been involved in a committed relationship with her partner for years. Now in their 40's/50's, one is a teacher, and the other a guidance counselor at the same high school. Most of the students have likely figured out the status of their relationship, but since they are so respected by the kids, none of them make a big deal out of it. However, K, the counselor, shared with me how parents, unaware they are a couple, will call her or come in and tell her, "Put my kid in another teacher's class. I don't want that woman anywhere near my daughter." They are totally oblivious to the fact that they are confiding in the very person "that" woman goes home to every night. As a matter of fact the very woman who "that" woman has gone home to for well over a decade. It's so amazing that, even in 2008, so many Americans, who claim to embrace God given civil rights, demonstrate such a high level of ignorance and complete lack of tact.
It can be no coincidence that this morning Rick, my loving husband of three years, left out an article that he just knew I would be interested in. It was about Loving Vs Virginia, the historic Supreme court case that won the right of inter-racial couples to marry. Last year was it's 40th anniversary.Meaning in my lifetime (albeit I wasn't actually here yet, but close enough) it was illegal for couples of different races to marry. It was just as passionately debated against as the downfall of the human race, as the fierce protests occurring today about same sex couples marrying. Seems ludicrous now, 40 years later that African Americans, Native Americans, Hispanics, Asians and Caucasians, could not legally marry each other in every state, doesn't it?
Well it does to me. I can only hope that forty years from now, when I'm 80, I can hear my grandchildren say the same about the fight to keep same sex couples from marrying. I really am praying for the day that I hear, "Grandma, was it really once illegal for two consenting adults to marry in the United States of America????"
I try to keep in mind that humanity is thousands of years old, and so if inter-racial marriage wasn't legal until 1967, then there's hope for us yet. After all, forty years is only a minuscule blip on the evolutionary screen.
On May 2, 2008 Mildred Loving passed on from this life and was reunited with her late husband Richard, who passed away in 1975. I could post forever on my own thoughts about her case, but of course, no one says it better than she did, in a statement released for the 40th anniversary of the case that "gave" her the "right" to marry the man she loved.
By Mildred Loving*
Prepared for Delivery on June 12, 2007,
The 40th Anniversary of the Loving vs. Virginia Announcement
"When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, DC in 1958, it wasn't to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married.
We didn't get married in Washington because we wanted to marry there. We did it there because the government wouldn't allow us to marry back home in Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, and where we wanted to be together and build our family. You see, I am a woman of color and Richard was white, and at that time people believed it was okay to keep us from marrying because of their ideas of who should marry whom.
When Richard and I came back to our home in Virginia, happily married, we had no intention of battling over the law. We made a commitment to each other in our love and lives, and now had the legal commitment, called marriage, to match. Isn't that what marriage is?
Not long after our wedding, we were awakened in the middle of the night in our own bedroom by deputy sheriffs and actually arrested for the "crime" of marrying the wrong kind of person. Our marriage certificate was hanging on the wall above the bed. The state prosecuted Richard and me, and after we were found guilty, the judge declared:
"Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix." He sentenced us to a year in prison, but offered to suspend the sentence if we left our home in Virginia for 25 years exile.
We left, and got a lawyer. Richard and I had to fight, but still were not fighting for a cause. We were fighting for our love.
Though it turned out we had to fight, happily Richard and I didn't have to fight alone. Thanks to groups like the ACLU and the NAACP Legal Defense & Education Fund, and so many good people around the country willing to speak up, we took our case for the freedom to marry all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. And on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously that, "The freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men," a "basic civil right."
My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, that it was God's plan to keep people apart, and that government should discriminate against people in love. But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation's fears and prejudices have given way, and today's young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry.
Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the "wrong kind of person" for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people's religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people's civil rights.
I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about."
The State of Woman
I was on another site today, with my fellow step moms, and the discussion of "unwed" mothers came up. I was so struck by the phrase, and all it has encompassed throughout recent history, that I just had to put my thoughts into words.
I just keep thinking about the way the term "unwed mothers" has been used to put women down. They are statistics, or spoken of in hushed tones. When my mother was a girl, they went off to homes in the middle of the night, until their babies were born. Now there are daycares in high schools. It's old fashioned to focus on a mother's marital status, because so many women are choosing not to wed if they are pregnant. Or, if they reach a certain age and have no committed relationship in site, and they want to have a baby, they have one anyway. I must say that I have always thought and continue to think that is an admirable journey. That is empowerment. However, with every positive there seems to be a price. And now that I am a little older, wiser, and the parent of teenagers, I am starting to see it more clearly.
I saw one woman on Oprah a while back who went a little too far and had embryos implanted when she couldn't conceive. Guess what? She had four babies. Her family is very upset with her because she can't take care of all of them by herself and they have had to help her substantially, both with time and money since she can't work anymore. That was quite an interesting show, as I never thought about that particular outcome happening before.
In high school, we had to carry an egg around for a week. We had to keep an hourly journal for activities for our egg, and who was watching it when we were busy. If we didn't break it we passed as parents. If we did we failed. It was an interesting experiment. However with an egg you can leave it in your room and barring a sibling trying to sabotage you, it will be fine when you return hours or days later.
Not so with a real kid.
There's a new show coming on this summer called The Baby Borrowers, where the producers have given teens and young adults a few toddlers and infants to care for during a certain period of time. From what I've seen in the previews, the kids are very confidant in their ability to "parent." And, according to the commercials I've seen, the kids are very disillusioned by the end of the show. I am watching this with my kids. Hell, I might even sign them up to be on it! I think perhaps community centers and high schools should have this as a mandatory class.
I have seen so many young women try this experiment for real, meeting men, getting pregnant, over and over. Never marrying at all, let alone first, a sort of serial maternity. I believe that sadly, many young women are insecure and see babies as a source of unconditional love, or an instant emancipation into adulthood. I don't believe those who do so understand their motives because I'm not sure they give pregnancy or parenting very much rational thought. Both on television and in conversations with my kids' friends, I have at times heard teens talk about having babies as "sounding like fun." It sends shivers up my spine. Fun? They have no idea.
Now that I am a stepmom of a 13 year old, I am I suppose paying more attention than I was a few years ago. I now am privy to conversations and observations of 13 year old girls, that I wasn't before. I am alarmed with all the self-objectifying behavior, focusing so heavily on name brands, hairstyles, make-up, tight clothes, push-up bras, all to attract young boys or young men. Ironically, in our youth based society there is an obsession among young girls to look older, a preoccupation on how, when and with whom they will lose their virginity, as though it's something to check off a list. There is something sad about adolescent and young women these days. They appear to be lost.
For some reason, women in their 30's and older seem to be the last generation that as a whole tend to think through life's lessons, making changes in behavior after successfully navigating difficult challenges. I think it's no coincidence that we are the last who remember a time before MTV, internet, unlimited credit, and 24 hour cable. Many of us also recall the ERA campaign, burning bras, and Charlie commercials.
Now, I have to say that for most of my 40 years on earth, I never considered myself a feminist. I was a child of the seventies and I understood and witnessed some of the issues the feminists fought for. However, as a young woman I felt overwhelmed with the concept that we were not only allowed to seek degrees and careers, but were expected to. The problem was that many of us had mothers who stayed home, and therefore we had no real role model for the "new and improved standard" of of superwomanhood. On top of which we were also expected to be supermoms, able to leap to the top of tall corporate buildings while giving birth and returning to the boardrooms in a single bound. Oh- and we were never to use our sexuality as a method of achieving anything, though we had to be prepared for the inevitable accusation of it when we reached success.
I often dreamed of a balance, where femininity could be celebrated as well as intelligence and drive. I was a little put off by feminists, most recently when "Mommy Wars" were proclaimed. I posted on this very blog my angry response to feminist authors declaring that I shouldn't have been "given" a degree if I then planned to stay home and raise children. If I did this I was slapping my feminist foresisters in the proverbial face. While in my senior year of college, I wrote a provocative essay about how I hesitated to align myself with a group who would label me, or corner me in any way. After all, what good was a feminist movement that told me that I owed them for my freedom to choose my vocation and the pay back was I could choose any vocation save staying at home to raise my children? What was the point of fighting for us if women went from no choices, to all choices, and back to no choices again?
Well...then I became a mother of a 13 year old girl. I now find myself understanding why the feminists are upset with us, as well as why we need to have a feminist renaissance. We have had our needs met. We can own property and vote. We can buy whatever we want and live wherever we wish. We can go to any college in the US, and pursue any degree our hearts desire. In essence, we now have it so good we have become smug. Each generation removed from the fight has, through our own apathy for the cause, taught our own daughters to trample on the freedoms that prior generations of women fought so hard for. The youngest generations are turning their noses up at the very rights that were won. They think that sex is empowering- a tool to get where you want to go. Materialistic bliss in an entitlement, and they may do as they please, consequences be damned.
Recently, my personal concerns for Adrienne's attitudes toward life led me to search for an advocacy group to get each of my kids involved with, but her in particular. I discovered there's a group of young feminists in Cincinnati. "Perfect!" I thought. However, it's a bit of a commute, and unfortunately, nothing like it exists within a reasonable distance of home. But I'm not giving up. If I have to start my own chapter and group I will do it. Someone has to. If the current trend continues, we'll be back in the fifties, with our daughters wearing dresses and pearls while ironing or cooking dinner, combing their kids hair and putting ribbons in their own to ready themselves for their husbands return from his rough day at the office.
I just keep thinking about the way the term "unwed mothers" has been used to put women down. They are statistics, or spoken of in hushed tones. When my mother was a girl, they went off to homes in the middle of the night, until their babies were born. Now there are daycares in high schools. It's old fashioned to focus on a mother's marital status, because so many women are choosing not to wed if they are pregnant. Or, if they reach a certain age and have no committed relationship in site, and they want to have a baby, they have one anyway. I must say that I have always thought and continue to think that is an admirable journey. That is empowerment. However, with every positive there seems to be a price. And now that I am a little older, wiser, and the parent of teenagers, I am starting to see it more clearly.
I saw one woman on Oprah a while back who went a little too far and had embryos implanted when she couldn't conceive. Guess what? She had four babies. Her family is very upset with her because she can't take care of all of them by herself and they have had to help her substantially, both with time and money since she can't work anymore. That was quite an interesting show, as I never thought about that particular outcome happening before.
In high school, we had to carry an egg around for a week. We had to keep an hourly journal for activities for our egg, and who was watching it when we were busy. If we didn't break it we passed as parents. If we did we failed. It was an interesting experiment. However with an egg you can leave it in your room and barring a sibling trying to sabotage you, it will be fine when you return hours or days later.
Not so with a real kid.
There's a new show coming on this summer called The Baby Borrowers, where the producers have given teens and young adults a few toddlers and infants to care for during a certain period of time. From what I've seen in the previews, the kids are very confidant in their ability to "parent." And, according to the commercials I've seen, the kids are very disillusioned by the end of the show. I am watching this with my kids. Hell, I might even sign them up to be on it! I think perhaps community centers and high schools should have this as a mandatory class.
I have seen so many young women try this experiment for real, meeting men, getting pregnant, over and over. Never marrying at all, let alone first, a sort of serial maternity. I believe that sadly, many young women are insecure and see babies as a source of unconditional love, or an instant emancipation into adulthood. I don't believe those who do so understand their motives because I'm not sure they give pregnancy or parenting very much rational thought. Both on television and in conversations with my kids' friends, I have at times heard teens talk about having babies as "sounding like fun." It sends shivers up my spine. Fun? They have no idea.
Now that I am a stepmom of a 13 year old, I am I suppose paying more attention than I was a few years ago. I now am privy to conversations and observations of 13 year old girls, that I wasn't before. I am alarmed with all the self-objectifying behavior, focusing so heavily on name brands, hairstyles, make-up, tight clothes, push-up bras, all to attract young boys or young men. Ironically, in our youth based society there is an obsession among young girls to look older, a preoccupation on how, when and with whom they will lose their virginity, as though it's something to check off a list. There is something sad about adolescent and young women these days. They appear to be lost.
For some reason, women in their 30's and older seem to be the last generation that as a whole tend to think through life's lessons, making changes in behavior after successfully navigating difficult challenges. I think it's no coincidence that we are the last who remember a time before MTV, internet, unlimited credit, and 24 hour cable. Many of us also recall the ERA campaign, burning bras, and Charlie commercials.
Now, I have to say that for most of my 40 years on earth, I never considered myself a feminist. I was a child of the seventies and I understood and witnessed some of the issues the feminists fought for. However, as a young woman I felt overwhelmed with the concept that we were not only allowed to seek degrees and careers, but were expected to. The problem was that many of us had mothers who stayed home, and therefore we had no real role model for the "new and improved standard" of of superwomanhood. On top of which we were also expected to be supermoms, able to leap to the top of tall corporate buildings while giving birth and returning to the boardrooms in a single bound. Oh- and we were never to use our sexuality as a method of achieving anything, though we had to be prepared for the inevitable accusation of it when we reached success.
I often dreamed of a balance, where femininity could be celebrated as well as intelligence and drive. I was a little put off by feminists, most recently when "Mommy Wars" were proclaimed. I posted on this very blog my angry response to feminist authors declaring that I shouldn't have been "given" a degree if I then planned to stay home and raise children. If I did this I was slapping my feminist foresisters in the proverbial face. While in my senior year of college, I wrote a provocative essay about how I hesitated to align myself with a group who would label me, or corner me in any way. After all, what good was a feminist movement that told me that I owed them for my freedom to choose my vocation and the pay back was I could choose any vocation save staying at home to raise my children? What was the point of fighting for us if women went from no choices, to all choices, and back to no choices again?
Well...then I became a mother of a 13 year old girl. I now find myself understanding why the feminists are upset with us, as well as why we need to have a feminist renaissance. We have had our needs met. We can own property and vote. We can buy whatever we want and live wherever we wish. We can go to any college in the US, and pursue any degree our hearts desire. In essence, we now have it so good we have become smug. Each generation removed from the fight has, through our own apathy for the cause, taught our own daughters to trample on the freedoms that prior generations of women fought so hard for. The youngest generations are turning their noses up at the very rights that were won. They think that sex is empowering- a tool to get where you want to go. Materialistic bliss in an entitlement, and they may do as they please, consequences be damned.
Recently, my personal concerns for Adrienne's attitudes toward life led me to search for an advocacy group to get each of my kids involved with, but her in particular. I discovered there's a group of young feminists in Cincinnati. "Perfect!" I thought. However, it's a bit of a commute, and unfortunately, nothing like it exists within a reasonable distance of home. But I'm not giving up. If I have to start my own chapter and group I will do it. Someone has to. If the current trend continues, we'll be back in the fifties, with our daughters wearing dresses and pearls while ironing or cooking dinner, combing their kids hair and putting ribbons in their own to ready themselves for their husbands return from his rough day at the office.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Z Bucket List
Recently, Tanner, Noah and I started a new Mother/Sons tradition of Monday night double features at the Dollar Movie Theatre. Yes, the seats need some mending, and yes the popcorn is a little stale compared to the $8 a movie theatres, but what can I say? The price is definitely right when you're a family of six on a budget.
We also discovered quite accidentally, that on Monday nights our local Dollar Theatre shows movies for 50¢ a piece, for groups of three or more. Noah just won a $15 gift certificate to this movie theatre and, at the 50¢ a piece night, translates to 10 movies a piece! Which in turn equals five nights of Mother/Sons double features, just enough to go every other Monday, which is when they are at our house, for the rest of the summer!
The last time we went we saw The Bucket List and The Spiderwick Chronicles. These were both Noah's choices because we were there to celebrate his 11th birthday. I chose the order however, because I figured Bucket List would be a little slow and Spiderwick a little more action filled, and it was going to be a long night with two movies.
I chose correctly.
We had fun, though they weren't my favorite movies I have ever seen. The Bucket List didn't get me all sappy and teary eyed as I thought it might. However it did inspire me to do some thinking about a sort of "Bucket List" of my own.
I have been tossing that idea around for a while, ever since seeing Elizabeth Gilbert on Oprah discussing her book, Eat, Pray, Love. She was so inspiring that they had her on twice within a few weeks or so, to follow up with audience members who had been inspired to rethink their priorities after hearing her speak or reading her book. In the first appearance, Gilbert suggested making a list of things we really want to try or experience in our lifetime; the kinds of things that we put off in order to do all the "less selfish" things we think we should do. A "things to do before I die" or, per the movie, a "before I kick the bucket" list.
So after hearing about said list from my Eat, Pray, Love Guru, then from the movie with the boys, then again this morning via my Step Mom support group friends, I decided it was time to make up mine.
So far it's up to 50, not the 100 that Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman had on their list. But I'm only 40 as opposed to their ripe old ages, and I'm sure by then I could easily think of a hundred or more.
So....
Here's Z's Bucket List- Fifty Things I would like to do in my 40's
We also discovered quite accidentally, that on Monday nights our local Dollar Theatre shows movies for 50¢ a piece, for groups of three or more. Noah just won a $15 gift certificate to this movie theatre and, at the 50¢ a piece night, translates to 10 movies a piece! Which in turn equals five nights of Mother/Sons double features, just enough to go every other Monday, which is when they are at our house, for the rest of the summer!
The last time we went we saw The Bucket List and The Spiderwick Chronicles. These were both Noah's choices because we were there to celebrate his 11th birthday. I chose the order however, because I figured Bucket List would be a little slow and Spiderwick a little more action filled, and it was going to be a long night with two movies.
I chose correctly.
We had fun, though they weren't my favorite movies I have ever seen. The Bucket List didn't get me all sappy and teary eyed as I thought it might. However it did inspire me to do some thinking about a sort of "Bucket List" of my own.
I have been tossing that idea around for a while, ever since seeing Elizabeth Gilbert on Oprah discussing her book, Eat, Pray, Love. She was so inspiring that they had her on twice within a few weeks or so, to follow up with audience members who had been inspired to rethink their priorities after hearing her speak or reading her book. In the first appearance, Gilbert suggested making a list of things we really want to try or experience in our lifetime; the kinds of things that we put off in order to do all the "less selfish" things we think we should do. A "things to do before I die" or, per the movie, a "before I kick the bucket" list.
So after hearing about said list from my Eat, Pray, Love Guru, then from the movie with the boys, then again this morning via my Step Mom support group friends, I decided it was time to make up mine.
So far it's up to 50, not the 100 that Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman had on their list. But I'm only 40 as opposed to their ripe old ages, and I'm sure by then I could easily think of a hundred or more.
So....
Here's Z's Bucket List- Fifty Things I would like to do in my 40's
1. Say no when I need to and yes when I want to
2. Create Space for meditation
3. Make my health a priority
4. Learn to love my body in its current state
5. Call my family and friends more often to tell them I love them
6. Send a real card in the real mail to a different friend once a week
7. Find more women friends my age
8. Go and sit alone for an afternoon in my late grandparents home in the country
9. Form a Step Mom Retreat
10. Finish writing my play, my novel, start my memoir
11. Forgive and let go of past hurts
12. Spend less time recording my life and more time living it
13. Visit my 93 year old grandmother, even though we’ve never been close
14. Visit my disabled brother and heal our relationship
15. Consume less (unhealthy foods, unnecessary goods, and energy resources)
16. Get a dog
17. Go for more walks
18. Go to lunch with my mom once a month
19. Audition for a play again for the first time in years
20. Go to matinées of foreign films alone
21. Read more fiction ( put down the self improvement books)
22. Take a writing class
23. Take a photography class
24. Learn to play my Seagull (acoustic guitar)
25. Take a tap dancing class again
26. Restart Voice lessons
27. Learn to belly dance
28. Take a cooking class
29. Start a garden- LEARN to garden!
30. Find a sitter two Sat nights a month for a date with my husband
31. Take ballroom dancing lessons with my Husband
32. Read a novel to my sons
33. Volunteer for a good cause
34. Volunteer for a good cause with each of my kids
35. Do a play with my kids
36. Start a young girls writing retreat with my SD
37. Do an artistic project with each of my kids
38. Teach my kids to each cook one meal from scratch
39. Take my kids to the drive in movies
40. Take my kids camping
41. Initiate steps to becoming a lay leader
42. Establish a budget for family fiscal health
43. Apply for my Masters in Religion at Meadville
44. Go to the ocean
45. Visit nearby summer festivals
46. Host a dinner party
47. Have a tea party
48. Have a cocktail party
49. Watch less TV
50. Reduce clutter in my life
Monday, June 09, 2008
Utter Disgust (TPing isn't funny it's VANDALISM)
We have a thirteen year old in the house who has, for some unknown reason, created an enemy in the neighborhood- a set of fourteen year old girls, who's parents evidently think that's well above the age of responsible parenting because their teens are running around unsupervised at one o'clock in the morning. As my husband and I were just discussing yesterday regarding curfews and teens, nothing good happens after midnight.
This morning Rick woke me up with, "Tell Adri to clean the yard when she gets home."
I groaned in utter disgust.
This TPing has happened to us 5 times in the past several months, and each and every time the offenders become more brave and the TPing gets worse. This time is was accompanied by vomit and rotten eggs (fortunately the ingredients were mutually exclusive as the eggs were raw, but still a lovely vision for me before breakfast.) I'm sure that even by 6 AM when I went out to clean it up, the eggs would have successfully cooked into my paint if they had made it to my car. Luckily they must have been interrupted, perhaps when the alcohol poisoned teen let loose under one of my trees.
I know I should have left it for Adri to clean, however, I went ahead and took care of it. For one, I have questioned her about it in the past, and she is very upset. I - ninja Zen- can tell easily when she's telling me a tall tale, and when she's hiding something. Can't always tell what that something is, but just that it is amiss. Plus the TP-ers always seem to manage to do the task when she's not home anyway so I would have to look at it, blood pressure boiling, all morning. I worked too hard on my front yard, wind chimes, flowering plants, shrubs trimmed and flower bed mulched, to let these ignorant, arrogant, self-entitled, disrespectful children ruin all my hard work.
I also didn't want to give them the opportunity for pictures/bragging rights of their work.
I was pretty sure they wouldn't be awake at 6am like I was, since the crime must have been committed after midnight (when I went to bed) and I'm sure they were hung over nicely as well, per their evidence of drinking in the form of vomit in my front yard.
So there I was, at 6am, in the already 90 degree/ 80 percent humidity weather, climbing up a ladder a couple dozen times, pulling down all but one roll and a few straggles of toilet paper that I could not safely reach from atop my precarious perch.
God help me if I ever fall cleaning this up.
On second thought, God help them.
Beacause I am so very angry.
I know this isn't a typical post for me, but I just am so tired of this.
This as in the entitled, materialistic "Generation Me" that my generation of parents seem so bent on rearing.
Now when we hear "But all the COOL parents let their kids-"
Have a cell phone and Xbox, with an uncensored side order of IPOD.
Every other kid at their school seems to also have but are not limited to -
Any and all use of the computers, internet and TVs in their bedrooms allowing for complete privacy, and absent of any hint of parental controls.
These "friends" have complete purchase power of their clothes, no budget, wear whatever they want including short shorts, push-up bras, low riding/underwear showing pants.
They always go to the mall/movies/sporting events alone, and are never questioned as to whether or not parental supervision is taking place wherever they are headed off to.
The sad part is...I have talked to some of these parents and .....
it's true.
You know I never really felt the pangs of peer pressure as a teen, because I had my own ideas about what was right and wrong, about what was appropriate behavior, what were "wants" and what were "needs," so I didn't feel pressured to keep up or do what everyone else was doing. I grew up believing in being accountable for my actions. Much as my now 11 year old son Noah does (who, speaking of trees has not fallen far from mine. :)
Whenever his teenage siblings make fun of him for listening and doing the right thing, he proudly tells me "I think for myself Mom. There's nothing wrong with being a good kid and listening to your parents. Why would I want to be grounded all summer?"
God love him. It's nice to know I'm doing something right.
So I didn't deal with or feel pressured by my peers growing up. But now? My parental peers are pressuring ME to keep up with them through their teenagers.
"All the COOL parents are doing it!" has been a battle cry for teens for decades. The difference is, now it somewhat true. Well...the part about all the parents giving in, living vicariously through and purchasing "happiness" for and being buddies to their teenagers, is true. I don't agree on the use of the term "COOL" however. Maybe that's because the term "cool" and "parents" are or should be considered an oxymoron (with emphasis on the second half of that term.)
On a positive note, in my search today to see how to go about catching teen vandals and pressing charges, I found out a lot! And though it's unfair that our kids will have to do without a few more of their current lists of "wants vs needs", we will be purchasing some video surveillance equipment, getting the trees trimmed and thinned out (making it harder for the TP to get caught in them) and motion sensor lights.
In short we are declaring war.
And if their parents don't like it when we grab their "precious children" and drag them by force into our own holding cell (ie my husband's office complete with military swords on the walls) til the cops get here? Then perhaps they will start acting like parents, impose some age appropriate restrictions and consequences, and grow up already themselves.
On a side note I was pleased to also come across a story about a mall in New Orleans, that teens were boycotting in protest (along with some ridiculous "parents") because the mall created a "curfew" for teens under the age of 16. They cannot be in the mall, unless accompanied by an adult over 21, on Fridays and Saturdays after 4 pm until closing. I found several articles about this online, and despite the "teen and tween" protests to boycott sales, the adults were all commenting that they would be returning to shop at the mall to show their support. There's even a my space support group for the mall, including many teens who agree it's out of control.
And these self righteous teens and tweens (some 10 or younger) who chose to boycott to exercise their financial power in protest? Were the same ones not spending money there anyway, who's parents drop them off and go to work or out themselves, using the mall as a babysitter.
The sites were flooded with support for the curfew.
Now if I could figure out how to get one imposed in my neighborhood.
This morning Rick woke me up with, "Tell Adri to clean the yard when she gets home."
I groaned in utter disgust.
This TPing has happened to us 5 times in the past several months, and each and every time the offenders become more brave and the TPing gets worse. This time is was accompanied by vomit and rotten eggs (fortunately the ingredients were mutually exclusive as the eggs were raw, but still a lovely vision for me before breakfast.) I'm sure that even by 6 AM when I went out to clean it up, the eggs would have successfully cooked into my paint if they had made it to my car. Luckily they must have been interrupted, perhaps when the alcohol poisoned teen let loose under one of my trees.
I know I should have left it for Adri to clean, however, I went ahead and took care of it. For one, I have questioned her about it in the past, and she is very upset. I - ninja Zen- can tell easily when she's telling me a tall tale, and when she's hiding something. Can't always tell what that something is, but just that it is amiss. Plus the TP-ers always seem to manage to do the task when she's not home anyway so I would have to look at it, blood pressure boiling, all morning. I worked too hard on my front yard, wind chimes, flowering plants, shrubs trimmed and flower bed mulched, to let these ignorant, arrogant, self-entitled, disrespectful children ruin all my hard work.
I also didn't want to give them the opportunity for pictures/bragging rights of their work.
I was pretty sure they wouldn't be awake at 6am like I was, since the crime must have been committed after midnight (when I went to bed) and I'm sure they were hung over nicely as well, per their evidence of drinking in the form of vomit in my front yard.
So there I was, at 6am, in the already 90 degree/ 80 percent humidity weather, climbing up a ladder a couple dozen times, pulling down all but one roll and a few straggles of toilet paper that I could not safely reach from atop my precarious perch.
God help me if I ever fall cleaning this up.
On second thought, God help them.
Beacause I am so very angry.
I know this isn't a typical post for me, but I just am so tired of this.
This as in the entitled, materialistic "Generation Me" that my generation of parents seem so bent on rearing.
Now when we hear "But all the COOL parents let their kids-"
Have a cell phone and Xbox, with an uncensored side order of IPOD.
Every other kid at their school seems to also have but are not limited to -
Any and all use of the computers, internet and TVs in their bedrooms allowing for complete privacy, and absent of any hint of parental controls.
These "friends" have complete purchase power of their clothes, no budget, wear whatever they want including short shorts, push-up bras, low riding/underwear showing pants.
They always go to the mall/movies/sporting events alone, and are never questioned as to whether or not parental supervision is taking place wherever they are headed off to.
The sad part is...I have talked to some of these parents and .....
it's true.
You know I never really felt the pangs of peer pressure as a teen, because I had my own ideas about what was right and wrong, about what was appropriate behavior, what were "wants" and what were "needs," so I didn't feel pressured to keep up or do what everyone else was doing. I grew up believing in being accountable for my actions. Much as my now 11 year old son Noah does (who, speaking of trees has not fallen far from mine. :)
Whenever his teenage siblings make fun of him for listening and doing the right thing, he proudly tells me "I think for myself Mom. There's nothing wrong with being a good kid and listening to your parents. Why would I want to be grounded all summer?"
God love him. It's nice to know I'm doing something right.
So I didn't deal with or feel pressured by my peers growing up. But now? My parental peers are pressuring ME to keep up with them through their teenagers.
"All the COOL parents are doing it!" has been a battle cry for teens for decades. The difference is, now it somewhat true. Well...the part about all the parents giving in, living vicariously through and purchasing "happiness" for and being buddies to their teenagers, is true. I don't agree on the use of the term "COOL" however. Maybe that's because the term "cool" and "parents" are or should be considered an oxymoron (with emphasis on the second half of that term.)
On a positive note, in my search today to see how to go about catching teen vandals and pressing charges, I found out a lot! And though it's unfair that our kids will have to do without a few more of their current lists of "wants vs needs", we will be purchasing some video surveillance equipment, getting the trees trimmed and thinned out (making it harder for the TP to get caught in them) and motion sensor lights.
In short we are declaring war.
And if their parents don't like it when we grab their "precious children" and drag them by force into our own holding cell (ie my husband's office complete with military swords on the walls) til the cops get here? Then perhaps they will start acting like parents, impose some age appropriate restrictions and consequences, and grow up already themselves.
On a side note I was pleased to also come across a story about a mall in New Orleans, that teens were boycotting in protest (along with some ridiculous "parents") because the mall created a "curfew" for teens under the age of 16. They cannot be in the mall, unless accompanied by an adult over 21, on Fridays and Saturdays after 4 pm until closing. I found several articles about this online, and despite the "teen and tween" protests to boycott sales, the adults were all commenting that they would be returning to shop at the mall to show their support. There's even a my space support group for the mall, including many teens who agree it's out of control.
And these self righteous teens and tweens (some 10 or younger) who chose to boycott to exercise their financial power in protest? Were the same ones not spending money there anyway, who's parents drop them off and go to work or out themselves, using the mall as a babysitter.
The sites were flooded with support for the curfew.
Now if I could figure out how to get one imposed in my neighborhood.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Tales of Denial
I was reading one of my favorite blogs, 37 Days, when I came to a startling revelation. Now I do usually have many have epiphanies while on Patti's blog, but rarely would I classify them as "startling." More like peaceful, spiritual, enlightening, Zen-like epiphanies.
This particular blog was a thank-you from Patti to a reader for giving her food for thought about handing out stickers to cranky toddlers and preschoolers on airplanes. I happen to think this is perfectly acceptable and friendly behavior on such a horrible experience such as air travel (especially for the other passengers listening to a wildly uncomfortable or bored child for several hours.) But it set one mom off just a smidgen.
The rather heated comments that followed Patti's gratitude for another view point, ranged from "how dare someone give stickers to a misbehaving two year old" to "what kind of mother are you that you don't bring your own darn stickers!" I felt so protective of Patti, the "What Would You Do With 37 Days To Live" guru, that my "mother hen" meets "fellow blogger" instincts came out. My hackles, once raised cannot be denied. I just had to put my two cents in as well. I didn't say this much in my comment on Patti's blog, because I try not to wax poetic in someone else's space. But...this is the tale of how I became a legend among tired, single, poor, working mom college students, and infamous among poor, tired, cranky, selfish, tyrannical toddlers.
I spent six years as a full time working, 2/3 time studying/acting, 1/2 time single mother of two sons. That is to say, I did all the above, including being a mom all the time, but only had my sons with me every other week. During that time, I did a financial dance of poverty level income, meets reasonably low mortgage, meets money pit home repairs, including a furnace that was once hit by lightening and ever since was very fickle, especially in the dead of winter. Somewhere around the middle of that time period, I also totaled my (completely mine, no loans) car and had to replace it in a jiffy with a decent used one, adding a previously unnecessary car payment to my already "subsidized by home equity/student loans" income.
Now my sons were only 2 and 5 when I began my single mom (and all of the above) status. Like all little kids with no understanding of money or lack thereof, they made the usual requests on our trips to Acme/Target/or (God forgive me) Walmart. I'm always reminded of kids in supermarkets when I read the Very Hungary Caterpillar.
You know the part where he eats all the junk food and then gets a stomach ache?
These necessities included but were not limited to-
several different kinds of pop-tarts, cereal, squirt guns, silly putty, coloring books, action figures, Hot Wheels (all in the cereal aisle of course,) potato chips, corn puffs, candy bars, packs of gum, and stuffed toys from crane sporting money eating vending machines.
I said no.
Hard to imagine looking at the angelic picture above that I could, isn't it? Luckily for me I had two things going for me. One could say it was born out of necessity and lack of funding, but as luck would have it they did at times resemble heathen aliens rather than this picture.
Oh and actually, I found I rather liked saying no.
So when stores came out with those "solutions" to keeping kids amused, i.e. carts with huge plastic cars attached (causing the boys to fight over who was "really driving") or instant daycare centers as germ filled as the aforementioned "autocarts" I'm sure) were more trouble than they were worth. So I said no even though it was FREE.
I so much started to enjoy my absolute power, that I became...
The Keeper Of The Fun
Throughout the next several years of my poor, unamused sons' lives I did my best to only reward good behavior with fun. I rationed out financial or material fun, as though they were sugar and cigarettes in war torn Europe. Sometimes if they were really good in the store they got 50-cent toys out of the "gumball" machines , or a ride on the 50 cent jumbo jet/train/dinosaur outside the store. Or they were allowed to pick two or three things (a piece!) from the Dollar Store. Or, on the many occasions where I was too tired (see crazed schedule I was keeping above) to fight one more "Pleeeeeeeze mom! " Too frail to utter one more "Define 'want' vs 'need' for me!" I occasionally gave in, but added such a dose of guilt that any spoils of war were, well...spoiled. My sons still comment on this strategy and it's success, and I'm sure that they will employ the same techniques one day for their own kids.
*(Note to my future grandchildren- Don't worry, I'll spoil you as all grammys and grandmas do, and help to drive your parents crazy with my hypocrisies! It's a payback for their teen years. )
When I met and remarried, my frugality relaxed some, and my kids now have many more wants than they need to. I still share the boys with their father and stepmom, but am also full time mother of one step daughter and our joint project- two and a half year old Anna. When I met Rick he was amazed at my sons' reaction to my first, sometimes second (intonation rising if I had to repeat it) "No" to whatever they asked for. My sons were very interested in their new stepsister's frequently given into requests, as she was an only child of two professional level income parents, and was used to extra money for all those aforementioned "necessities." She came by her shopping savvy by way of material appeasement from two parents who were not on the same page (Rick was on the Wall Street Journal sites while his ex was on the Home Shopping Network.)
During one of our early trips to Target then Kohls, Adri had managed to snag a crossword puzzle book and the boys a gumball out of the machine at the first store. The second one had all the kids eyeing the toy department (right across from the shoes, God love 'em.) Adri started begging and Rick became agitated. Then the boys said, "Mom, can we get?" And I said, "Nope-we're here for shoes." And that was that.
And "that's all she wrote" for Rick. I think he may have fallen in love with me that day. I know he fell in love with my mean old mom techniques at least. He told me so later. And I'm afraid that it didn't take long for my "No means no" to material bliss attitude to rub off on Rick , much I'm sure to Adri's chagrin.
I have continued what is now our family tradition with Anna, in that she doesn't get to buy something very often either. Though my future grandma hypocrisy does shine through with her being my "late life" baby and my first baby girl to boot.
Therefore I have indulged myself on several occasions on her behalf, most recently on a leotard, tutu, tights and ballet slippers-
Oh yeah- and the Princess Play tent to go with it that I couldn't resist at Pat Catans. So in addition to not being in the running for "Mother of the Year," I am only human after all.
In my defense, I don't give into her demands for a toy at the grocery store, just because they're right there in the cereal aisle, or impulse candy purchases at the cash register.
No small feat now that even places like Home Depot sport a full service cash "Candy Bar" at each checkout. (When will the madness end????)
And so I am determined to "mean" the materialism out of her just like I did her older brothers.
One mother on Patti's blog discussed the unfairness to children who are dragged along on errands and proudly claimed super mom status because her purse is a virtual arsenal of candy, gum, stickers and...
A harmonica.
Well.
I'm not sure who the harmonica is for, the child? Or is mom going to whip it out and entertain the kid? Either way, I'm not sure I want to hear the toddler version of the blues while I'm in line with Anna.
I don't battle carry boredom ammo (Rick likes how his military influence makes it into my blog posts, so there's one for you honey. ;)
My purse contains (if I'm lucky) my gum, my wallet, and if Anna hasn't pulled them out to play with and misplaced them, my list, a pen to cross things off it, and my ever growing key chain of store id/discount cards.
No stickers...just the boring store. No food for her (I don't even go for the free kid's cookie-now there's a bad habit to start.) Not even the cool kids car/cart mutation, no matter what other nicer mom passes us trying to fit everything in the tiny top compartment, and manage steering it with her toddler/preschoolers weighing it down. Thank God those steering wheels don't work on those things. I tried it once in a moment of weakness with a cranky nap deprived Anna, and nearly crashed into another harried mom with a toddler driving underneath her. I don't think my USAA auto covers grocery store aisles.
But..my mean anti-material momness goes further than the store.
I possess no in car DVD players (not even on long trips) because the thought of my two and a half year spending any more time watching DVD's or TV than she already does now (say, when I'm blogging for instance) makes me cringe. My older kids have Gameboys and I did break down for a Leapster (no games just drawing) for Anna for when we are desperate to quiet her on a 6 hour drive to see her Grammy and Pops. And for the older ones, they may bring along their Ipods if I'm really nice, (purchased by other parents) which Rick and I take away at the slightest sign of ungrateful behavior.
You know? I used to LOVE long trips in the car to my grandparents. I would lean back and look out the window and imagine tons of things. Create whole tales for people walking along side of the country roads, or watch the moon follow us home. Before we all had to "Buckle Up-It's the Law" I laid down in the back seat if I was the only passenger. Sometimes it was to try and keep from breathing in the fragrant countryside, or gravel road dust storm on our short jaunt over to my Aunt Kathy's house. On longer car trips,which were few and far between when I was growing up, I laid in the back of our station wagon and daydreamed with my friend, or read a book, maybe took a nap. At night I loved to lay back there and watch the patterns of light dance across the window.
Kids may be bored. It is through boredom that true creativity is born. I am not an entertainer of my kids, they must fend for themselves a little.
And yes, I might be annoyed if a stranger gave my children anything when they are throwing fits. But, I can be graciously subtle, and will never curse the kindness of strangers, no matter if they offer Anna stickers when she's screaming in the checkout line about wanting "animal crackers now first!" She might not even accept them herself (she's quite shy about strangers.) As a matter of fact, the other day a nice old lady (probably a Grandma) gave me some tissues when Anna was coughing and crying because she was afraid her cough would make her throw up. I said a tired, "Thank you, but I'm not sure they will help," because she had been sick and coughing herself into throwing up all that week. However, the tissues helped her calm down. Thanks Somebody's Grandma. You definitely have the credentials, patience, and a purse to make Magyver's Granny proud.
Now before I get all kinds of defensive Mommy comments about my soapbox I want to let you all know that I do say, to each their own. However, as the mother of two thirteen year olds, I have to warn you. The male version is not so bad about name brands and buying things, but the female of the species went from "Why do I have to comb my hair in the morning?" to "Why do I have to use cheap Suave Shampoo instead of 4 dollar a bottle Herbal Essence " in one short year. I have seen the future of your indulgence, and though as I said I can be guilty of it myself, it's never by way of giving into a child's impulse (oh- and yes those teenagers are still children, not your buddies, your pal, your peer. But that's another blog for another day.) So mother's of toddlers, if you aren't careful now, they will have an insatiable drive for material bliss when they reach adolescence. And believe you me, you will want to have the "No means NO policy in place well before then.
Oh- and one last thing to ponder.
I may not be up for mother of the year any time soon, but I am proud to know I have successfully given (at least some of ) my children enough material for their future best selling memoir called,
My Mom Ruined My Life and Other Sad Tales of Denial
This particular blog was a thank-you from Patti to a reader for giving her food for thought about handing out stickers to cranky toddlers and preschoolers on airplanes. I happen to think this is perfectly acceptable and friendly behavior on such a horrible experience such as air travel (especially for the other passengers listening to a wildly uncomfortable or bored child for several hours.) But it set one mom off just a smidgen.
The rather heated comments that followed Patti's gratitude for another view point, ranged from "how dare someone give stickers to a misbehaving two year old" to "what kind of mother are you that you don't bring your own darn stickers!" I felt so protective of Patti, the "What Would You Do With 37 Days To Live" guru, that my "mother hen" meets "fellow blogger" instincts came out. My hackles, once raised cannot be denied. I just had to put my two cents in as well. I didn't say this much in my comment on Patti's blog, because I try not to wax poetic in someone else's space. But...this is the tale of how I became a legend among tired, single, poor, working mom college students, and infamous among poor, tired, cranky, selfish, tyrannical toddlers.
I spent six years as a full time working, 2/3 time studying/acting, 1/2 time single mother of two sons. That is to say, I did all the above, including being a mom all the time, but only had my sons with me every other week. During that time, I did a financial dance of poverty level income, meets reasonably low mortgage, meets money pit home repairs, including a furnace that was once hit by lightening and ever since was very fickle, especially in the dead of winter. Somewhere around the middle of that time period, I also totaled my (completely mine, no loans) car and had to replace it in a jiffy with a decent used one, adding a previously unnecessary car payment to my already "subsidized by home equity/student loans" income.
Now my sons were only 2 and 5 when I began my single mom (and all of the above) status. Like all little kids with no understanding of money or lack thereof, they made the usual requests on our trips to Acme/Target/or (God forgive me) Walmart. I'm always reminded of kids in supermarkets when I read the Very Hungary Caterpillar.You know the part where he eats all the junk food and then gets a stomach ache?These necessities included but were not limited to-
several different kinds of pop-tarts, cereal, squirt guns, silly putty, coloring books, action figures, Hot Wheels (all in the cereal aisle of course,) potato chips, corn puffs, candy bars, packs of gum, and stuffed toys from crane sporting money eating vending machines.
I said no.
Hard to imagine looking at the angelic picture above that I could, isn't it? Luckily for me I had two things going for me. One could say it was born out of necessity and lack of funding, but as luck would have it they did at times resemble heathen aliens rather than this picture.
Oh and actually, I found I rather liked saying no.
So when stores came out with those "solutions" to keeping kids amused, i.e. carts with huge plastic cars attached (causing the boys to fight over who was "really driving") or instant daycare centers as germ filled as the aforementioned "autocarts" I'm sure) were more trouble than they were worth. So I said no even though it was FREE.
I so much started to enjoy my absolute power, that I became...
The Keeper Of The Fun
Throughout the next several years of my poor, unamused sons' lives I did my best to only reward good behavior with fun. I rationed out financial or material fun, as though they were sugar and cigarettes in war torn Europe. Sometimes if they were really good in the store they got 50-cent toys out of the "gumball" machines , or a ride on the 50 cent jumbo jet/train/dinosaur outside the store. Or they were allowed to pick two or three things (a piece!) from the Dollar Store. Or, on the many occasions where I was too tired (see crazed schedule I was keeping above) to fight one more "Pleeeeeeeze mom! " Too frail to utter one more "Define 'want' vs 'need' for me!" I occasionally gave in, but added such a dose of guilt that any spoils of war were, well...spoiled. My sons still comment on this strategy and it's success, and I'm sure that they will employ the same techniques one day for their own kids.
*(Note to my future grandchildren- Don't worry, I'll spoil you as all grammys and grandmas do, and help to drive your parents crazy with my hypocrisies! It's a payback for their teen years. )
When I met and remarried, my frugality relaxed some, and my kids now have many more wants than they need to. I still share the boys with their father and stepmom, but am also full time mother of one step daughter and our joint project- two and a half year old Anna. When I met Rick he was amazed at my sons' reaction to my first, sometimes second (intonation rising if I had to repeat it) "No" to whatever they asked for. My sons were very interested in their new stepsister's frequently given into requests, as she was an only child of two professional level income parents, and was used to extra money for all those aforementioned "necessities." She came by her shopping savvy by way of material appeasement from two parents who were not on the same page (Rick was on the Wall Street Journal sites while his ex was on the Home Shopping Network.)
During one of our early trips to Target then Kohls, Adri had managed to snag a crossword puzzle book and the boys a gumball out of the machine at the first store. The second one had all the kids eyeing the toy department (right across from the shoes, God love 'em.) Adri started begging and Rick became agitated. Then the boys said, "Mom, can we get?" And I said, "Nope-we're here for shoes." And that was that.
And "that's all she wrote" for Rick. I think he may have fallen in love with me that day. I know he fell in love with my mean old mom techniques at least. He told me so later. And I'm afraid that it didn't take long for my "No means no" to material bliss attitude to rub off on Rick , much I'm sure to Adri's chagrin.
I have continued what is now our family tradition with Anna, in that she doesn't get to buy something very often either. Though my future grandma hypocrisy does shine through with her being my "late life" baby and my first baby girl to boot.
Therefore I have indulged myself on several occasions on her behalf, most recently on a leotard, tutu, tights and ballet slippers-
Oh yeah- and the Princess Play tent to go with it that I couldn't resist at Pat Catans. So in addition to not being in the running for "Mother of the Year," I am only human after all.In my defense, I don't give into her demands for a toy at the grocery store, just because they're right there in the cereal aisle, or impulse candy purchases at the cash register.
No small feat now that even places like Home Depot sport a full service cash "Candy Bar" at each checkout. (When will the madness end????)
And so I am determined to "mean" the materialism out of her just like I did her older brothers.
One mother on Patti's blog discussed the unfairness to children who are dragged along on errands and proudly claimed super mom status because her purse is a virtual arsenal of candy, gum, stickers and...
A harmonica.
Well.
I'm not sure who the harmonica is for, the child? Or is mom going to whip it out and entertain the kid? Either way, I'm not sure I want to hear the toddler version of the blues while I'm in line with Anna.
I don't battle carry boredom ammo (Rick likes how his military influence makes it into my blog posts, so there's one for you honey. ;)
My purse contains (if I'm lucky) my gum, my wallet, and if Anna hasn't pulled them out to play with and misplaced them, my list, a pen to cross things off it, and my ever growing key chain of store id/discount cards.
No stickers...just the boring store. No food for her (I don't even go for the free kid's cookie-now there's a bad habit to start.) Not even the cool kids car/cart mutation, no matter what other nicer mom passes us trying to fit everything in the tiny top compartment, and manage steering it with her toddler/preschoolers weighing it down. Thank God those steering wheels don't work on those things. I tried it once in a moment of weakness with a cranky nap deprived Anna, and nearly crashed into another harried mom with a toddler driving underneath her. I don't think my USAA auto covers grocery store aisles.
But..my mean anti-material momness goes further than the store.
I possess no in car DVD players (not even on long trips) because the thought of my two and a half year spending any more time watching DVD's or TV than she already does now (say, when I'm blogging for instance) makes me cringe. My older kids have Gameboys and I did break down for a Leapster (no games just drawing) for Anna for when we are desperate to quiet her on a 6 hour drive to see her Grammy and Pops. And for the older ones, they may bring along their Ipods if I'm really nice, (purchased by other parents) which Rick and I take away at the slightest sign of ungrateful behavior.
You know? I used to LOVE long trips in the car to my grandparents. I would lean back and look out the window and imagine tons of things. Create whole tales for people walking along side of the country roads, or watch the moon follow us home. Before we all had to "Buckle Up-It's the Law" I laid down in the back seat if I was the only passenger. Sometimes it was to try and keep from breathing in the fragrant countryside, or gravel road dust storm on our short jaunt over to my Aunt Kathy's house. On longer car trips,which were few and far between when I was growing up, I laid in the back of our station wagon and daydreamed with my friend, or read a book, maybe took a nap. At night I loved to lay back there and watch the patterns of light dance across the window.
Kids may be bored. It is through boredom that true creativity is born. I am not an entertainer of my kids, they must fend for themselves a little.
And yes, I might be annoyed if a stranger gave my children anything when they are throwing fits. But, I can be graciously subtle, and will never curse the kindness of strangers, no matter if they offer Anna stickers when she's screaming in the checkout line about wanting "animal crackers now first!" She might not even accept them herself (she's quite shy about strangers.) As a matter of fact, the other day a nice old lady (probably a Grandma) gave me some tissues when Anna was coughing and crying because she was afraid her cough would make her throw up. I said a tired, "Thank you, but I'm not sure they will help," because she had been sick and coughing herself into throwing up all that week. However, the tissues helped her calm down. Thanks Somebody's Grandma. You definitely have the credentials, patience, and a purse to make Magyver's Granny proud.
Now before I get all kinds of defensive Mommy comments about my soapbox I want to let you all know that I do say, to each their own. However, as the mother of two thirteen year olds, I have to warn you. The male version is not so bad about name brands and buying things, but the female of the species went from "Why do I have to comb my hair in the morning?" to "Why do I have to use cheap Suave Shampoo instead of 4 dollar a bottle Herbal Essence " in one short year. I have seen the future of your indulgence, and though as I said I can be guilty of it myself, it's never by way of giving into a child's impulse (oh- and yes those teenagers are still children, not your buddies, your pal, your peer. But that's another blog for another day.) So mother's of toddlers, if you aren't careful now, they will have an insatiable drive for material bliss when they reach adolescence. And believe you me, you will want to have the "No means NO policy in place well before then.
Oh- and one last thing to ponder.
I may not be up for mother of the year any time soon, but I am proud to know I have successfully given (at least some of ) my children enough material for their future best selling memoir called,
My Mom Ruined My Life and Other Sad Tales of Denial
Friday, May 30, 2008
Anna's Fashion Statement of the Week
Or....How we like to kick off the summer at our house....OR...how to accentuate your cast!
Now wait! I'm not ready for my photo shoot yet hand me that...
Sticker!!!!
One must balance the splint with a sticker on the opposite knee, don't you know.
There. now I'm ready :)
It's important when switching from a neutral colored splint, to choose your favorite color since you'll be living with that for the next 10 days.
Make sure it's a color that you have plenty of in your wardrobe. Obviously, pink was a good choice for me! But don't overdo the pink. Make sure you find other colors to offset it.
Things to do when you have a cast...
Play Leapster while crawling up onto the ottoman (that mommy usually says to get off of!)
(note the purple glasses. I thought they were a nice touch!)
Pretend you're standing up on your walking cast since Mommy keeps hounding you to walk on it. (What is she anyway- can't she see my ankle's broken? How could I possibly walk on it?!?!?)
Sit too close to the TV watching Cinderella because now is the perfect time to bend the rules and play the sympathy card...
"Well HI Mommy! What do you mean sit on the couch instead of right next to the TV?"
"But don't you know my 'feet hurts'?"
Oh alright...I'll watch from the couch.
The other thing you can do is play on daddy's laptop (which you're not supposed to but once again, if you can't get away with things when you have a broken ankle, when can ya?)
I've seen them push this button before to get it started...
Nothing's happening!
Maybe this one- oops! "Hi again Mommy!!!"
Oh man...Mommy's spoil all the fun.
Now wait! I'm not ready for my photo shoot yet hand me that...
Sticker!!!!
One must balance the splint with a sticker on the opposite knee, don't you know.
There. now I'm ready :)
It's important when switching from a neutral colored splint, to choose your favorite color since you'll be living with that for the next 10 days.
Make sure it's a color that you have plenty of in your wardrobe. Obviously, pink was a good choice for me! But don't overdo the pink. Make sure you find other colors to offset it.
Things to do when you have a cast...
Play Leapster while crawling up onto the ottoman (that mommy usually says to get off of!)
(note the purple glasses. I thought they were a nice touch!)
Pretend you're standing up on your walking cast since Mommy keeps hounding you to walk on it. (What is she anyway- can't she see my ankle's broken? How could I possibly walk on it?!?!?)
Sit too close to the TV watching Cinderella because now is the perfect time to bend the rules and play the sympathy card...
"Well HI Mommy! What do you mean sit on the couch instead of right next to the TV?"
"But don't you know my 'feet hurts'?"
Oh alright...I'll watch from the couch.
The other thing you can do is play on daddy's laptop (which you're not supposed to but once again, if you can't get away with things when you have a broken ankle, when can ya?)
I've seen them push this button before to get it started...
Nothing's happening!
Maybe this one- oops! "Hi again Mommy!!!"
Oh man...Mommy's spoil all the fun.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Zen Wisdom
A religious leader came to visit Rabi'a, and was shocked to see that her clothes were in tatters. He said: 'There are many people who would provide you with decent clothes, if you would only allow them.' Rabi'a replied: 'Everything in this world is on loan to us from God. I am ashamed to accept the loan of a loan.' The man went away, and said to others: 'It is astonishing that a mere woman has reached such spiritual heights. She refuses to spend any time on material matters.'
-Attar, "Rabi'a"
beliefnet.com
-Attar, "Rabi'a"
beliefnet.com
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