I can honestly say that I look around most days and wonder why I've been so blessed to live this amazing life. I have everything I've ever wanted, and so much more than I need.
If you glance from a distance, you may think it's all come easily, that I've just been lucky. And in some ways, you'd be right. I'm lucky that I got a scholarship for college and that my parents paid my living expenses. But I worked hard to make the grades and test scores that got me that scholarship, and to earn my parent's trust to live away from home. I'm lucky that I ran into my soul mate living right on my dorm floor freshman year of college. But I had to work through whether he was the best man for me, overcome lots of obstacles along the way, and continue to work hard to keep the strong marriage I have. I'm lucky that I got pregnant easily, when so many struggle, had a healthy pregnancy and full-term baby girl, when many do not. But I nearly lost her once when she was only 2, and I will never forget that day. And every day since, I can't help thinking how easy it would be for her or her little brother to be taken away from this life in an instant.
If I had to boil down the rules of our household into a single statement, it would be this: Be honest, work hard, and trust God.
My children know that telling the truth is extremely important (although we've had a few discussions about not being brutally honest, etc.). They will get in much worse trouble if they do something wrong and try to hide it than if they come forward with a confession, and they know that parents typically have ways of finding out, eventually.
I expect a lot of my kids. I expect a lot of myself. I push them to work hard and always do their best. I'm much more proud of hard effort that pays off (or sometimes even doesn't) than I am of their natural abilities and things that come to them with ease. I have two intelligent children. But intelligence alone does not get you far in this life. Being "book smart" is nice, but what does that really get you if you don't apply it to living and helping others? I'm probably a difficult, hard to please parent. I imagine that's one of the things my kids will complain about me when they are grown. I expect a lot. But kids often only live up to what is expected of them. I'd rather set high standards for them than no standards at all. I just hope they know how much I still love them even when they do fall short.
Then there's the toughest one, tough for me to teach since it's been so difficult for me to learn. With a controlling personality (though typically in a passive-aggressive, under-the-surface kind of way), I don't easily place my trust in others. I've always been independent, and it's important for me to know that I could take care of myself and my kids on my own even though I have depended on my husband for a long time, too. I've always believed in God. It's the letting Him be in control and trusting part I struggle with. See, I even still put it in terms of "letting Him", as if one little human has some sort of control over God. It just feels like a safer world when we feel like we have some control. And I'm certainly still a work in progress. I just hope it is still something my kids are learning.
Be honest, work hard, and trust God. Is life really more complicated than that?
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Man's best friend can be a cat, too.
Cats are amazing little creatures. Some are standoffish and don't really connect with your family the way dogs nearly always do, but others wrap themselves around your heart. Darrell and I have always had at least one cat, but only two have really completely connected with us. It seems almost fitting that the same organs gave out on both of them.
Callie was our first baby. She was our "practice" for being parents before having kids. She was always tiny, never weighing more than seven pounds. We didn't give her a very original name, for a calico cat. She was always very dainty, stepping carefully around the nick nacks I used to have out before we had kids. She was the constant in our lives as we moved from Morgantown, WV to Plymouth, MI to Raleigh, NC to Clayton, NC to Greenville, NC to Plymouth, MI to Fairmont, WV. We were worried about how she'd treat our daughter when she was born, but Callie seemed to understand that she'd better be kind to the new tiny human in the house.
But when I was pregnant with our son, Callie got very sick. Her kidneys were failing, one of them may have never worked right, which may have been why she was always so small. I gave her fluids every day for months. Sometimes she'd rally for a while, other times she seemed near death. It gave us about four more months with her, and I'll never be sorry for that.
Chester came into our lives quite differently. Rather than us going to pick out a cute little kitten, he was wandering our neighborhood in Fairmont, WV, already a few years old when we met. Our neighbors took him in first, thought he was female, and called him Junebug. But they already had three cats and asked if we could take him in. We did, even though we were moving soon. We quickly found out he was male, and changed his name to Chester. He handled the move well, and quickly showed that he was not the scaredy-cat his little brother Bailey was. He insisted on going outside to sun himself and to hunt, and quickly made friends with several other families on our new street in Firebrook.
We always joked that Chester might not move even if we did someday, because he had several other admirers on Fireside Circle. At least three other families kept treats for him regularly, and let him inside their houses even. He was just that kind of cat. When our son was little, he could pick Chester up by the paws or even tail, and Chester would just put up with it. He understood that you shouldn't hurt children. Even neighborhood children could do stuff like that to him, and he wouldn't scratch or even complain. If an adult did similar or played too rough, he would scratch though. He was quite the hunter, bringing home mice and birds for us to admire. I didn't like that so much, but admired his skill.
Last fall, he got glaucoma and went blind in one eye. We've been treating him with eye drops daily since then, with regular, expensive visits to vet ophthalmologists as well. I'd do all that and more for him for years and years if needed. But last week, it seemed like something else was wrong. He was losing weight again and not moving around as much. Both had happened before when his eye was painful, but his eye was pretty stable now. He's never been as active since the eye issue, so I think that all masked what was wrong longer. And he's such a brave, strong kitty anyway.
If a person were in as much pain, I'm quite sure we wouldn't even get out of bed. Chester doesn't complain. He doesn't look quite normal when he walks, has lost a lot of weight, and can't make it to the litter box well. But he still tries. He tries to eat. He goes down to the basement even if he can't make it to the litter box. He enjoyed a long walk outside last weekend even if he did have to stop every so often to rest. But the last few days, he's also added coughing/dry heave spells to his list of symptoms. It looks so painful and his little paws splay out each time.
When is the right time to stop a dear friend's suffering? I wish he could tell me when the pain is just too much, but since he can't, it's a decision we have to make for him. The vet said last Saturday that it would be just a matter of days, not weeks or months. I wish she weren't right. He has a huge tumor in one kidney, and the other is all shriveled up. We don't even know exactly how old Chester is, but we still thought we'd have longer than seven years with him.
I miss him already. I think today's the day to end his pain, but it tears me up to make that decision. He knows that he is loved.
Many people say that pets don't go to heaven, because they don't have souls and it isn't talked about in the Bible. I can't imagine them not being there though. I think heaven will be everything we want it to be and more, and I suspect that our beloved pets will be right there with us. Until then, Chester, we will miss you.
Callie was our first baby. She was our "practice" for being parents before having kids. She was always tiny, never weighing more than seven pounds. We didn't give her a very original name, for a calico cat. She was always very dainty, stepping carefully around the nick nacks I used to have out before we had kids. She was the constant in our lives as we moved from Morgantown, WV to Plymouth, MI to Raleigh, NC to Clayton, NC to Greenville, NC to Plymouth, MI to Fairmont, WV. We were worried about how she'd treat our daughter when she was born, but Callie seemed to understand that she'd better be kind to the new tiny human in the house.
But when I was pregnant with our son, Callie got very sick. Her kidneys were failing, one of them may have never worked right, which may have been why she was always so small. I gave her fluids every day for months. Sometimes she'd rally for a while, other times she seemed near death. It gave us about four more months with her, and I'll never be sorry for that.
Chester came into our lives quite differently. Rather than us going to pick out a cute little kitten, he was wandering our neighborhood in Fairmont, WV, already a few years old when we met. Our neighbors took him in first, thought he was female, and called him Junebug. But they already had three cats and asked if we could take him in. We did, even though we were moving soon. We quickly found out he was male, and changed his name to Chester. He handled the move well, and quickly showed that he was not the scaredy-cat his little brother Bailey was. He insisted on going outside to sun himself and to hunt, and quickly made friends with several other families on our new street in Firebrook.
We always joked that Chester might not move even if we did someday, because he had several other admirers on Fireside Circle. At least three other families kept treats for him regularly, and let him inside their houses even. He was just that kind of cat. When our son was little, he could pick Chester up by the paws or even tail, and Chester would just put up with it. He understood that you shouldn't hurt children. Even neighborhood children could do stuff like that to him, and he wouldn't scratch or even complain. If an adult did similar or played too rough, he would scratch though. He was quite the hunter, bringing home mice and birds for us to admire. I didn't like that so much, but admired his skill.
Last fall, he got glaucoma and went blind in one eye. We've been treating him with eye drops daily since then, with regular, expensive visits to vet ophthalmologists as well. I'd do all that and more for him for years and years if needed. But last week, it seemed like something else was wrong. He was losing weight again and not moving around as much. Both had happened before when his eye was painful, but his eye was pretty stable now. He's never been as active since the eye issue, so I think that all masked what was wrong longer. And he's such a brave, strong kitty anyway.
If a person were in as much pain, I'm quite sure we wouldn't even get out of bed. Chester doesn't complain. He doesn't look quite normal when he walks, has lost a lot of weight, and can't make it to the litter box well. But he still tries. He tries to eat. He goes down to the basement even if he can't make it to the litter box. He enjoyed a long walk outside last weekend even if he did have to stop every so often to rest. But the last few days, he's also added coughing/dry heave spells to his list of symptoms. It looks so painful and his little paws splay out each time.
When is the right time to stop a dear friend's suffering? I wish he could tell me when the pain is just too much, but since he can't, it's a decision we have to make for him. The vet said last Saturday that it would be just a matter of days, not weeks or months. I wish she weren't right. He has a huge tumor in one kidney, and the other is all shriveled up. We don't even know exactly how old Chester is, but we still thought we'd have longer than seven years with him.
I miss him already. I think today's the day to end his pain, but it tears me up to make that decision. He knows that he is loved.
Many people say that pets don't go to heaven, because they don't have souls and it isn't talked about in the Bible. I can't imagine them not being there though. I think heaven will be everything we want it to be and more, and I suspect that our beloved pets will be right there with us. Until then, Chester, we will miss you.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Half my life ago...
Can you name something that you've spent half of your life on? I doubt that many of us could name much. I haven't yet been a mother half of my life, nor have I spent half of my life yet on my career. But, at 42, I've spent half of my life married.
I joke that I'm going to start saying that I got married at age 10, and that being from West Virginia, maybe folks will believe me. But in truth, I'm proud to have made it this far in marriage. Darrell and I have been through everything except childhood together. We're both far from perfect. We've had our ups and downs. There have been days, or maybe even months, when I wasn't sure we'd make it this far. There are days when I fear again that our marriage will not make it until the end. But, every day, I know that our marriage is worth fighting for, and I don't intend to ever give up.
I told a friend recently that God's timing amazes me. It's certainly no secret that we recently moved, and that since the move was from the place our roots ran the deepest as adults, it was (still is) a major upheaval in our lives. Darrell and I were going through one of those downturns in our marriage about a year ago. It wasn't anything that would rip us apart, and really neither of us were doing anything you could call wrong. But we weren't as connected or close as we usually are. If he had suggested at that point that we move, I might very well have told him to go ahead and move on his own. But that's not when it happened. Luckily, or maybe by God's divine plan all along, the potential of a move didn't even come up until about six months later. By that time, we were through the rough patch. Was it still tough? Of course, but we were back to being a strong, united team, and so it was much easier than it could have been otherwise.
Most days, I can't believe I'm old enough to be married 21 years in just a few days. Most days, I wonder how I ever got to be twice that age anyway. I remember walking down that aisle, being sure that I was marrying the right man. I remember the times I've wanted to hold Darrell tight and never let him go, looking in his eyes sometimes being amazed that we have all that we do together. I remember the times I've wanted to strangle him. And yes, sometimes the two extremes can happen in the same day.
I hear of strong marriages breaking every day. I don't want that to happen to us. I hope we're doing all that we can to stay together. And yet I still wonder if that's true.
It gives me hope to see my own parents holding hands more these days, to see them snuggle together on the couch. I hope that's us in 21 more years. I hope we can watch our grandchildren, together, someday.
I hope I'll be able to let you know how it turns out in another 21 years...
I joke that I'm going to start saying that I got married at age 10, and that being from West Virginia, maybe folks will believe me. But in truth, I'm proud to have made it this far in marriage. Darrell and I have been through everything except childhood together. We're both far from perfect. We've had our ups and downs. There have been days, or maybe even months, when I wasn't sure we'd make it this far. There are days when I fear again that our marriage will not make it until the end. But, every day, I know that our marriage is worth fighting for, and I don't intend to ever give up.
I told a friend recently that God's timing amazes me. It's certainly no secret that we recently moved, and that since the move was from the place our roots ran the deepest as adults, it was (still is) a major upheaval in our lives. Darrell and I were going through one of those downturns in our marriage about a year ago. It wasn't anything that would rip us apart, and really neither of us were doing anything you could call wrong. But we weren't as connected or close as we usually are. If he had suggested at that point that we move, I might very well have told him to go ahead and move on his own. But that's not when it happened. Luckily, or maybe by God's divine plan all along, the potential of a move didn't even come up until about six months later. By that time, we were through the rough patch. Was it still tough? Of course, but we were back to being a strong, united team, and so it was much easier than it could have been otherwise.
Most days, I can't believe I'm old enough to be married 21 years in just a few days. Most days, I wonder how I ever got to be twice that age anyway. I remember walking down that aisle, being sure that I was marrying the right man. I remember the times I've wanted to hold Darrell tight and never let him go, looking in his eyes sometimes being amazed that we have all that we do together. I remember the times I've wanted to strangle him. And yes, sometimes the two extremes can happen in the same day.
I hear of strong marriages breaking every day. I don't want that to happen to us. I hope we're doing all that we can to stay together. And yet I still wonder if that's true.
It gives me hope to see my own parents holding hands more these days, to see them snuggle together on the couch. I hope that's us in 21 more years. I hope we can watch our grandchildren, together, someday.
I hope I'll be able to let you know how it turns out in another 21 years...
Thursday, July 25, 2013
The Strongest Woman I Know
I know a lady who has been through more than most can imagine. Her mom left her off and on with my grandparents, until she started living there permanently. Eventually my grandparents adopted her. I was very young then. She is six years older than I.
What I remember is a really cool young aunt (I didn't even call her aunt when I was little) who I got to see most weekends when my sister and I, and sometimes our cousin, would stay all night with my grandparents many Friday nights. She had a cool bedroom with older kid stuff (or so it seemed to me). I remember looking through her yearbooks in awe of her and her classmates. I remember a few times when a boyfriend would even stop by to visit her, one was in a baseball uniform (how cool is that!).
I was in awe of her growing up. She was the closest thing to a big sister I've ever had.
But I also remember lots of arguments between her and my grandmother. To this day, I'm not sure what all of it was about. There were hints of issues, but I was still pretty young. It hurt me to see them fighting, but I didn't know why, and these are the kinds of things my family doesn't discuss much, to this day.
And then she was gone. She left home. I didn't see her again for a few years. I didn't know why, really. But it seemed like it was right when I would have liked to ask her advice on growing up and on boys. I missed her like crazy, but I didn't tell anyone that.
I think I saw her a few times in between, but eventually, she moved back to the area, with a little girl! But she had another, younger daughter she didn't get to bring with her, whose father pushed to get custody of, kind of behind her back. I guess that daughter blames her for leaving to this day, but what would you do if your older daughter needed extra care and heart surgeries, and you wanted family nearby to help out? What if you thought you could get that younger daughter back once you were settled, but it never worked out that way? What if the younger daughter's father had rich parents, who could afford to pay good lawyers to quickly get your custody taken away?
I was glad she was back, and soon she remarried and had a son, too. But by the time she moved back, I was grown and about to get married, then soon moved away myself. I wasn't as close to her as I might have been.
I've never even met her younger daughter, although family always said she resembled me, and I did see pictures as she grew. She's a mother herself now.
I got to watch the older daughter grow, and picture what it might be like to have my own daughter someday. But, she passed away, much, much too young, at only about 10 years old. How do you survive losing a child? I have no idea. I wasn't even a mother yet myself then, and I had no idea how to offer any comfort to my aunt. I wish I could have.
Just a few years later, I had my own daughter, and every year after 10 years old, it hits me that I've already gotten to spend that much more time with my daughter than my aunt did. It doesn't seem right, but it does make me cherish time with my kids more than I might otherwise.
Somehow, my aunt pulled her life back together yet again. She divorced a man that didn't treat her right. She got through a court case against her that was completely unfounded. She got a decent house with a decent man who saw her through the death of her daughter. She raised her son. She got a better job. She went back to college.
And then, her own health problems got worse and worse. I'll skip the details, because, again, I don't even know all of them. But a few years ago, it came to this. She needed a liver transplant, or she would die. A year and a half ago, it nearly came to that, but she pulled through what I don't think most could. She went home from the hospital, only to end up back there every few months. But she fought for her life, and won again and again, miraculously.
One hospital took her off of their transplant list, and it took a long time to get on another and get moved to the top of their list. I'm sure I can't count the number of prayers that have gone up for her. And God answered. He always does, of course, but not always the way we want or in ways we can understand. This time, she got that liver. Just yesterday in fact.
She still needs our prayers. But my hope and prayer is that, this time, she will be given the chance at the kind of life she deserves. I want her to have the chance, the time, to reconcile with her younger daughter, to see her son get married and pull his own life together. I want her to get to know how much I love her, because I'm sure I've never said it right. I want her to get to spend time with all the family and friends who have been pulling for her for so long. I want us all to see that miracles really do happen, and I want us to see it in her.
I love you, Aunt Cindy. Stay strong!
What I remember is a really cool young aunt (I didn't even call her aunt when I was little) who I got to see most weekends when my sister and I, and sometimes our cousin, would stay all night with my grandparents many Friday nights. She had a cool bedroom with older kid stuff (or so it seemed to me). I remember looking through her yearbooks in awe of her and her classmates. I remember a few times when a boyfriend would even stop by to visit her, one was in a baseball uniform (how cool is that!).
I was in awe of her growing up. She was the closest thing to a big sister I've ever had.
But I also remember lots of arguments between her and my grandmother. To this day, I'm not sure what all of it was about. There were hints of issues, but I was still pretty young. It hurt me to see them fighting, but I didn't know why, and these are the kinds of things my family doesn't discuss much, to this day.
And then she was gone. She left home. I didn't see her again for a few years. I didn't know why, really. But it seemed like it was right when I would have liked to ask her advice on growing up and on boys. I missed her like crazy, but I didn't tell anyone that.
I think I saw her a few times in between, but eventually, she moved back to the area, with a little girl! But she had another, younger daughter she didn't get to bring with her, whose father pushed to get custody of, kind of behind her back. I guess that daughter blames her for leaving to this day, but what would you do if your older daughter needed extra care and heart surgeries, and you wanted family nearby to help out? What if you thought you could get that younger daughter back once you were settled, but it never worked out that way? What if the younger daughter's father had rich parents, who could afford to pay good lawyers to quickly get your custody taken away?
I was glad she was back, and soon she remarried and had a son, too. But by the time she moved back, I was grown and about to get married, then soon moved away myself. I wasn't as close to her as I might have been.
I've never even met her younger daughter, although family always said she resembled me, and I did see pictures as she grew. She's a mother herself now.
I got to watch the older daughter grow, and picture what it might be like to have my own daughter someday. But, she passed away, much, much too young, at only about 10 years old. How do you survive losing a child? I have no idea. I wasn't even a mother yet myself then, and I had no idea how to offer any comfort to my aunt. I wish I could have.
Just a few years later, I had my own daughter, and every year after 10 years old, it hits me that I've already gotten to spend that much more time with my daughter than my aunt did. It doesn't seem right, but it does make me cherish time with my kids more than I might otherwise.
Somehow, my aunt pulled her life back together yet again. She divorced a man that didn't treat her right. She got through a court case against her that was completely unfounded. She got a decent house with a decent man who saw her through the death of her daughter. She raised her son. She got a better job. She went back to college.
And then, her own health problems got worse and worse. I'll skip the details, because, again, I don't even know all of them. But a few years ago, it came to this. She needed a liver transplant, or she would die. A year and a half ago, it nearly came to that, but she pulled through what I don't think most could. She went home from the hospital, only to end up back there every few months. But she fought for her life, and won again and again, miraculously.
One hospital took her off of their transplant list, and it took a long time to get on another and get moved to the top of their list. I'm sure I can't count the number of prayers that have gone up for her. And God answered. He always does, of course, but not always the way we want or in ways we can understand. This time, she got that liver. Just yesterday in fact.
She still needs our prayers. But my hope and prayer is that, this time, she will be given the chance at the kind of life she deserves. I want her to have the chance, the time, to reconcile with her younger daughter, to see her son get married and pull his own life together. I want her to get to know how much I love her, because I'm sure I've never said it right. I want her to get to spend time with all the family and friends who have been pulling for her for so long. I want us all to see that miracles really do happen, and I want us to see it in her.
I love you, Aunt Cindy. Stay strong!
Friday, July 12, 2013
This one's for you, little sis!
This is my virtual toast to my sister, the day before her wedding.
I remember wanting a sister. I remember holding you as a baby. I remember you throwing up on, well, just about everyone. I remember telling people at school that my baby sister would clean out my toy box for me, meaning, she takes EVERYTHING out of it, and thinking I'd come up with the most hilarious joke ever (forgive me, I was probably six years old). I remember long summer days getting shut out of the house with you until lunch, then being sent right back out until dinner. I remember playing with the neighbor girls, and you tagging right along. I remember you getting upset when those girls and I would beat you in every board and card game we tried (you were by far the youngest "on the hill"). I may have suggested a few times that we let you win, but not often. I remember dragging you down the driveway to the bus stop for school, but not bothering to ask you why you didn't want to go. I remember mostly finding you annoying, but being ready to put anyone else who might pick on you in their place immediately. I remember Saturday morning cartoons, and watching them way past the age I might have liked. I remember playing Legos and Barbies endlessly, and the floods and the elaborate back stories that I would set up for us to play along to (I don't think you ever got to plan our play). I remember Dad letting us play with a few Christmas presents early one year, and that none of us told Mom until you and I were grown (I often wonder if he told her sooner?).
I don't remember much before you were born. Basically, I just remember you always being there, a given but sometimes annoying part of my life. I think I've only recently come to appreciate you as much as I now do. And now I tell my own two kids that they will appreciate each other more one day. I say it is at least because they'll want help taking care of us and paying for the nursing home when we're old. But really, I think you and I have both just finally grown up.
And I only recently have learned to appreciate what you must have gone through as the younger child, by watching it through my younger one's perspective. I married another first-born, then had a first-born of my own as our only child for over five years. But now, I'm guessing I understand better. I find myself watching my son look up to his big sister, want hugs from her when she's unwilling, want to go into her room even if it is to help her make her bed just to be there, and I think, oh, that's what the following was all about. You wanted to be like me, but I didn't want you following after me, and now, I wish I had been more considerate.
Then, when you were just growing up, I was gone. I didn't think of it then, but it must have been hard in ways. And it may have been just when I would have started finding you interesting again. Maybe I could have offered advice that would have made a difference in your life, but I wasn't there to see you growing up.
By the time you were 14, you were taller than I, but you will always be my little sis. And now you are getting married, marrying a good man, the right man. And I know you will be good for each other. I find myself wanting again to offer advice, and you know I will if you want it. But really, it comes down to just a few things...
You are getting married tomorrow before God, don't forget it. Love each other, even when you don't particularly like each other. Don't think marriage is 50/50, because it's not. In a good one, it's 75/25 some days, maybe even 99/1 at times, but then it flips, and you realize it's been 25/75 or 1/99 for a while, too. Just don't give up on each other, not when you've found the right person. The rest is just the details, the living.
I'm proud of you for going back to school, and for marrying a good guy. Just stay on those paths and I'm certain you'll be fine. I love you!
I remember wanting a sister. I remember holding you as a baby. I remember you throwing up on, well, just about everyone. I remember telling people at school that my baby sister would clean out my toy box for me, meaning, she takes EVERYTHING out of it, and thinking I'd come up with the most hilarious joke ever (forgive me, I was probably six years old). I remember long summer days getting shut out of the house with you until lunch, then being sent right back out until dinner. I remember playing with the neighbor girls, and you tagging right along. I remember you getting upset when those girls and I would beat you in every board and card game we tried (you were by far the youngest "on the hill"). I may have suggested a few times that we let you win, but not often. I remember dragging you down the driveway to the bus stop for school, but not bothering to ask you why you didn't want to go. I remember mostly finding you annoying, but being ready to put anyone else who might pick on you in their place immediately. I remember Saturday morning cartoons, and watching them way past the age I might have liked. I remember playing Legos and Barbies endlessly, and the floods and the elaborate back stories that I would set up for us to play along to (I don't think you ever got to plan our play). I remember Dad letting us play with a few Christmas presents early one year, and that none of us told Mom until you and I were grown (I often wonder if he told her sooner?).
I don't remember much before you were born. Basically, I just remember you always being there, a given but sometimes annoying part of my life. I think I've only recently come to appreciate you as much as I now do. And now I tell my own two kids that they will appreciate each other more one day. I say it is at least because they'll want help taking care of us and paying for the nursing home when we're old. But really, I think you and I have both just finally grown up.
And I only recently have learned to appreciate what you must have gone through as the younger child, by watching it through my younger one's perspective. I married another first-born, then had a first-born of my own as our only child for over five years. But now, I'm guessing I understand better. I find myself watching my son look up to his big sister, want hugs from her when she's unwilling, want to go into her room even if it is to help her make her bed just to be there, and I think, oh, that's what the following was all about. You wanted to be like me, but I didn't want you following after me, and now, I wish I had been more considerate.
Then, when you were just growing up, I was gone. I didn't think of it then, but it must have been hard in ways. And it may have been just when I would have started finding you interesting again. Maybe I could have offered advice that would have made a difference in your life, but I wasn't there to see you growing up.
By the time you were 14, you were taller than I, but you will always be my little sis. And now you are getting married, marrying a good man, the right man. And I know you will be good for each other. I find myself wanting again to offer advice, and you know I will if you want it. But really, it comes down to just a few things...
You are getting married tomorrow before God, don't forget it. Love each other, even when you don't particularly like each other. Don't think marriage is 50/50, because it's not. In a good one, it's 75/25 some days, maybe even 99/1 at times, but then it flips, and you realize it's been 25/75 or 1/99 for a while, too. Just don't give up on each other, not when you've found the right person. The rest is just the details, the living.
I'm proud of you for going back to school, and for marrying a good guy. Just stay on those paths and I'm certain you'll be fine. I love you!
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
There will come a day...
I know there will come a day when my car knows the way home again.
But it's not today, and I miss our old home.
I miss knowing where everything is.
I miss the order that I thought was chaos at the time,
When I look around at stacks and stacks of boxes still.
I know there will come a day when wearing heels will feel as normal as my running shoes.
Then again, I doubt that.
I like my work.
Someday soon I'll know everyone's name and more about them.
Maybe I'll make friendships there.
I hope.
I know there will come a day when I'll have a true friend here.
But it's not today, and I miss my friends.
I miss going to the grocery store and running into someone I know.
I miss running through the neighborhood,
And recognizing at least every other face.
I know there will come a day when I'll be used to looking up at my children.
But that will never seem quite right.
I miss their cute toddler voices.
I miss the things they used to mispronounce and say wrong.
I miss the days when they thought mommy and daddy could make everything right.
I know things change.
And I'm usually up for any adventure.
But not today.
There will come a day when I'm ok.
Just not today.
But it's not today, and I miss our old home.
I miss knowing where everything is.
I miss the order that I thought was chaos at the time,
When I look around at stacks and stacks of boxes still.
I know there will come a day when wearing heels will feel as normal as my running shoes.
Then again, I doubt that.
I like my work.
Someday soon I'll know everyone's name and more about them.
Maybe I'll make friendships there.
I hope.
I know there will come a day when I'll have a true friend here.
But it's not today, and I miss my friends.
I miss going to the grocery store and running into someone I know.
I miss running through the neighborhood,
And recognizing at least every other face.
I know there will come a day when I'll be used to looking up at my children.
But that will never seem quite right.
I miss their cute toddler voices.
I miss the things they used to mispronounce and say wrong.
I miss the days when they thought mommy and daddy could make everything right.
I know things change.
And I'm usually up for any adventure.
But not today.
There will come a day when I'm ok.
Just not today.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
What I've Learned
I've learned (or in some cases realized) some things about myself this week. They are:
- I realized that I'm a tough parent. I expect a lot. The things I stress most are honesty and hard work. Darrell is a tough parent, too, but in different ways than I am. This realization just hit me this week for some reason. I was thinking about the personality tests I'd taken and how they really taught me things about myself after all, but then I connected some hypothetical dots and realized that if I'd be a tough manager, I would also be considered a tough parent, because really, I am the day to day manager of my kids' lives. And in trying to imagine it from my kids' points of view, I think they would agree with me on this. I expect a lot from them. I don't think that's all bad, but it is true.
- I realized that I might be halfway decent at moderating focus groups. See, that's a part of market research I've always tried to avoid. I just assumed it would make me really nervous. I used to have a huge fear of talking in front of groups of people. I mostly overcame that by giving a lot of presentations at one of my past jobs. I guess that cured me for focus groups, too, because I did one this week, and it wasn't bad. My voice didn't even seem to start getting shaky, not even once. If you do or have ever feared public speaking, you probably understand that this was a big revelation for me. I don't ever plan to moderate focus groups full-time, but it's nice to know that it's not a skill I'm totally lacking.
- I learned another new thing that always seemed "techy" but unnecessary to me - I learned to set up and use multiple monitors at work. This always seemed silly to me, but everyone around me at work seemed to be using more than one monitor, so I gave it a try. It's not half bad, and I think it will keep me from printing even more. Now I can look at the guide/questionnaire/notes on one screen while I write a report on another.
- I learned that if I want to make a healthy dinner each evening while working full-time and commuting 50 minutes each way three to four times per week, I'm going to have to either use my crock pot most of the time or prepare lots of stuff on weekends. So far, I'm choosing my crock pot. So if you have any great crock pot recipes, please send them my way.
- I learned I'm still not good at just getting out there and introducing myself. I miss my friends, but no way am I brave enough to just start knocking at neighbors' doors to introduce myself! Sometimes I wish I were.
- I realized about how right I was that Darrell not being with us for over three months was a huge gap in our lives. I love just knowing that he is nearby. Our son has been by his side every evening. Leaving our friends is a huge loss, but I know this was meant to be and that as long as the four of us are together, we are good.
- I realized that I was right about missing work. My ideal job would be only two or three days a week so I could spend more time with my kids and keep our lives running smoothly, but those jobs just aren't readily available, especially in my field. I've enjoyed going into the office this week and being around nice, smart people. And I also enjoyed my one day working from home and that it allowed me to sleep in just a little, run during my lunch hour (and with my son riding his bike), and throw in two loads of laundry during breaks.
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