I just finished reading Anderson Cooper's book Dispatches From the Edge and I have to say that it is literally one of the best books I have ever read. And I read a lot. I'm that weird kid who really enjoys reading literary collections that a lot of others find boring as hell or dry as dust. I love losing myself in storylines, plots, or, in this case, autobiographical experiences. I love getting into people's heads and hearing their stories, seeing the world through their eyes, no matter how sad/violent/tragic/exhilarating, etc. their stories may be. This is one story that will stick with me forever, and here's why. Anderson throws open wide the windows to his soul, his heart, and his perception of the world. He allows the reader to live in his thoughts, share in his insecurities, and work through the internal battles that he struggles with. I can't say why exactly I appreciated his raw approach to life, death, his work, and his family tragedies. I can only assume it's because I am genuinely intrigued by the human condition. Sometimes, I'm way too involved and it brings on panic attacks- or just panicky feelings. I have a somewhat obnoxious habit of being hypersensitive to the plight of others. I oftentimes find myself inserting myself into situations I hear of, whether they're happy or sad, most of the time without realizing I'm doing it. It's second nature, and I don't know why. Maybe it's because of things that I've been through and experienced in my own life, or maybe I'm just weird. Who knows? It just seems to be the way I'm hardwired.
Most recently, I've been kept awake by three things: the situation at Penn State, the bullying and terrorizing of children in my siblings' school district (the same district I also went through), and the threat of nuclear war against America. Yes, I'm completely aware that they are all at completely opposite points of the triangle, but for whatever reason, they are all interconnected in my mind. Okay, okay. I have to be completely honest here. I have no idea why the threat of nuclear war is something I find myself worrying about at night, especially since it's been hanging over America since long before I was ever even thought of. It's so stupid that I sit up and worry about things like this, things that are such huge issues I could never even make a ripple of impact... but I do. Things like the potential for a devastating pandemic and war don't induce the same heart palpitations as nuclear war does. Can I control that? No. Absolutely not. I'm slowly starting to realize that there are things in life not worth worrying about because there is nothing I can do to change them. If widespread global disease breaks out, if nuclear war is initiated anywhere in the world, if a train derails behind the houses across the street and takes out my whole neighborhood in the middle of the night, there is nothing I can do to fix/change/prevent that, just like there is nothing I can do if a rogue asteroid decides to wander its way into Earth's orbit and comes crashing down. The fear is still there somehow, and I think it really stems from having children. Once my life became about two little people that are half of my DNA, who are my whole entire world, who I would die to protect, my world's rotational axis changed. Maybe that, compacted by the fact that I have post-traumatic stress and panic disorders stemming from childhood trauma (more on that later), is why I have random, completely irrational worries.
Anyway.
Time to chime in on Penn State. When I heard the breaking news report, I thought it was about some random college football scandal. You know, the football program was taking kickbacks from NFL recruiters to secure certain players on future pro rosters or someone was embezzling money. Personally, I hate college football- I could never get into it and I don't understand the draw of sitting around watching college football games on TV. I like going to college football games, but I just never got the whole Big 10 hoorah factor. Throw on Sunday football, Monday night football, or holiday games or the Super Bowl and I'm all in. (Go Pack Go!) So when the details started leaking out, I sat up and took notice. When the dam broke and the sordid details began pouring out in an unstoppable flood, I couldn't help but seek out the Grand Jury's findings online. Now I wish I hadn't. I, like many others out there, was a victim of child sex abuse at the hands of my father. I don't know when it started- I was really young- but I do recall when it ended. When I was eight and my father cussed me out on the phone and essentially took himself out of my life completely... that was when all categories of abuse ended. I remember being terrified to go to bed in my own room at night, and even now, I can recall being woken up in the middle of the night and, sleepy-eyed, seeing a distorted face hovering over me in the dark. My mom has told me that I didn't want to go in my crib because "Dee Dee" was in there. Sounds an awful lot like "Daddy" doesn't it? She couldn't figure out why I was having these horrible nightmares and would wake up to draw pictures of horribly disfigured monsters. She took me to a family therapist who confirmed her suspicions and agreed that my behavioral patterns were attributed to sexual abuse. Of course, when my father was confronted with the facts, he denied and pointed the finger at everyone under the sun. Coming from a man who came to this country illegally, lied about his age to get my mom to marry him to obtain citizenship, denied having affairs with my babysitters, cheating on my mom at out-of-town weddings, ignoring fidelity in general, going on drinking binges, and being arrested for cocaine possession multiple times, his denials came from a petty selfish need to twist the actual truth to fit his "truth." My parents divorced when I was a year and a half, but up to a certain point, my mom kept taking my father back. She wanted me to grow up with a father and held out hope that he would stand up and realize that he had a job to do in helping raise me. That never happened. Unfortunately, I was still subject to court-ordered visitation (which I never wanted to go to) and overnight visitation (ditto to the former). When I spent the night at his house with his then-girlfriend Viviana, I found myself locking the door and barricading it with a nightstand or dresser before turning out the lights. If he was going to try anything, I wanted to be alerted and awake to defend myself.
I made contact with my father again when I was almost twenty-one, and that contact was tainted and short-lived. I needed answers to the questions from my past, and he was unwilling to discuss anything. I wanted to know that he'd missed me being a part of his life and that he was ready and willing to nurture a mature relationship with me. He didn't and he wasn't. I still struggle with this even now, and it's been almost six years since I last spoke with him. I have five siblings I will never know, and it makes me sad for him that he will never ever meet or know my children. I'm not saying I would have ever had my kids around him if things had turned out differently; I could never trust that they'd be safe. But it hurts that he will never get pictures of them to hang on the wall, and he will never talk to them on the phone. He knows they exist and he knows I live a half hour away; I talk to everyone else on his side of the family and I know some of them have confronted him.
All I ever wanted was for my father to say he was sorry, explain where his head was at, why he did it, and show that he cared enough about me as a person to attempt to remedy the past. Instead, I've been left with a gaping hole and the lasting question of "Why?" Why did an adult, who was charged with the care of a child, HIS child, abuse that power? What thought passed through his head that said "Hey guy. This is a really great idea!" and why did he go with it? Sure there are all kinds of temptations in this world, temptations that can have us walking down destructive paths if we let them. But we all have voices that tell us what is right and wrong. Even children who have had absentee parents and little to no moral guidance in their upbringing reach the age when they are aware of consequences and the difference between what's right and wrong. It infuriates me when I hear someone say "Well, I was abused as a child and that's why I am the way I don't respect authority" or "I never had someone teaching me the difference between right and wrong." I don't buy either one of those reasons as a crutch to lean on when you find yourself in hot water. There comes a certain point when you have to take accountability for your own actions and the reactions brought on by them. And I'm sorry, but the sexualization and/or abuse of children, especially through seemingly charitable means as in Jerry Sandusky's case, is NEVER okay. It is absolutely abhorrent, deviant, Devil-in-human-form to lay hands on a child in an inappropriate manner.
When I read about the rape and brutal sexual assaults that Sandusky committed against these at-risk boys, a piece of my heart broke. These boys were looking for approval and acceptance from someone they could trust. They were looking for a positive male role model they could emulate and look up to, someone to fill the void left by a broken home or missing parent. Instead, they got unwanted advances, brutal rapes, and criminal sexual assault. For Jerry Sandusky to use his position and authority within Penn State's football program to gain access to innocent, vulnerable boys is absolutely despicable. I have cried over this while watching news coverage, I got nauseated while reading the Grand Jury's report. And every single time I hear about someone else who knew, who witnessed the destruction of a child's innocence by this man, I get infuriated. What has happened to the morality of Americans if anyone can witness an adult man performing oral sex on a ten year old boy he pinned to the wall or the violent rape of different ten year old boy in the locker room showers AND NOT REPORT IT? Mike McQuerery not only did just that, but he absolutely failed to protect the children by removing them from the situation AND by not going straight to the police! Instead, he ignored what he saw, talked to his father, and didn't even attempt to find out the names of the boys. Who does that?! It is absolutely sickening. I have no other descriptors aside from that. These men, every single one of them, is sick. They need to to never ever be allowed anywhere near another child for the rest of their lives. The entire Penn State sports organization failed these children, the system failed in bringing down the corruption, the police failed by not moving when presented with actionable knowledge, and the DA failed by not bringing charges. There is so much dysfunction in this case. Because of their lack of urgency and unwillingness to act, they have impacted and corrupted the course of children's lives forever.
As for the bullying that's been going on, I can't say anything I haven't already said except this. The people who are in the position to act and make a difference NEED to do so. They NEED to stand up for students' rights. They NEED to stand up for my little brothers who have been sexually harassed for the past two years by other students and, until recently, had nothing done about it. They NEED to stand up for the little girl who was stabbed by another student with a pencil for not allowing them to cheat off her test. They NEED to provide her protection from students threatening to rape/kill her and her family. They NEED to provide safety for another girl who was brutally assaulted after being jumped from behind while she was in a passing period. Nobody realizes the damage that can result from a group of adults who fail to protect the innocents. It's one thing to be betrayed or failed by a parent, but to have parents who care and aren't being heard by the powers that be who can bring about change is just unacceptable and outrageous.
I look at Rhea and Trace with equal parts awe and wonderment that Nate and I created these two beautiful creatures. But I also look at them and worry about what the world is going to look like as they're growing up. Nate and I made the decision that I will homeschool our children, but we can't protect them forever. We can't shield them from the evils that this world holds and we can't save their innocence indefinitely. As they grow up, they will encounter the world. The blinders will fall away and they will struggle with the truths they're going to be confronted with. They will learn that not every man is as amazing as their daddy is and not every woman cares about her babies the way their mommy does. They will learn that not everybody is kind and that there are constantly scary things that we can't prevent or change- at least not right away. I want nothing more for them than to stay as perfectly happy and content as they are right now. I know that's completely unfeasible, but I can't help but wish for this.
Despite all the negativity that's around us and everything I have been through in my own life, I have committed myself to making sure that my kids know that people are (mostly) good. There is a lot of beauty in this world for them to experience, and they need to run at opportunity with open eyes, open hearts, and open minds. I want them to know that, despite everything ugly that happens on a regular basis, they can make a difference by standing up for the underdog; they can turn ugly into beauty. I want them to know that change starts with one voice and that they need to make theirs heard. But more than anything, I want them to be fearless. I want them to explore without boundaries, dream without limits, and love endlessly. I want them to live their passions and be passionate about their lives. I want them to know that they can change the world and make a difference in someone's life by simply taking the time to listen to them, observe their surroundings, and not be afraid to say something they see going on that's wrong. Change doesn't happen if we sit lazily by and expect someone else to take care of a mess we created or walked through.
Sometimes all it takes is one voice.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
I really should get better about this
So it's been almost a month since my last blog, and I've recently decided that, as the title of this entry says, I really should get better about this! (How's that for originality?) I'm back in school and things are picking up since we're already at midterms, so it's been hard for me to steal some time and write. So if you're reading this, thanks! :) Anyway. A lot's been on my mind lately, so here I go!
I (finally) found time to reconnect with one of my most favorite people EVER in the world. He used to be one of my baristas at one of the dozens of Starbucks stores I managed/co-managed/assistant managed, and, if I'm quite honest, he's one of my all-time favorite baristas ever. We got along incredibly well, and something about us just clicked. Come to find out, he's had a really rough year and a half, and I feel so bad that I wasn't around for him during this time. He came out to his parents and faced a world of persecution from the people who are supposed to love and accept him unconditionally. And, like all of us have been through, he put his heart and soul into loving someone with everything to his core, only to have all that love thrown back in his face. That all got me thinking about how close-minded people can be. There is nothing (well, except if my children took the life of someone else) that would ever make me turn my back on my children. I may not agree with things they do or the way they choose to live but I would never ever take away my love, affection, or acceptance of them and who they are. Nate feels the same way. I'm not saying that if one of my children came to me and said "Mom, I'm gay" that it wouldn't take some adjustment and time for me to reconcile that information with myself, but I believe that we are born with our sexual orientation predetermined. And can I fault my child for something they didn't choose? No. That would be like saying, "Well, you asked to be born with blue eyes and that's just unacceptable. I wanted you to have green like mine." Sounds ludicrous, right? That's because it is. At least, in my opinion. So, to my boo- if you're reading this- I know I've already told you this a billion times over, but you are an amazing person. The trials you've been through will seem like distant memories when you finish school and move on to where/what/who you're supposed to be and be with. I'm so happy to have you as my beautiful friend, and I will always be here for you. :)
Next order of business...
(By the way, I'm blogging instead of working on my 12-page midterm that's due on Thursday night. Some would call that procrastination. I call it dedication to my craft. Kinda.)
Have you ever felt like you're just biding your time, waiting for your life to start? I am in that rut, as far as my professional life is concerned. I know that I went into finishing my bachelors, knowing that I'm finishing it to finish it. I have no clue what I want to do after I graduate, except that I'd like to be in HR. Can I see myself there? Really see myself there, as my chosen career, for ever and ever? No. HELL no. Do I see myself living in the suburbs of Chicago forever? Nope. Do I see myself anywhere in the realm of the business world, corporate or otherwise? Definitely not. So what, you may ask, am I doing in school for managerial communications? Answer: I have no idea. Short answer: Justifying the almost $60k in student loan debt that I'm carrying around without having a degree, that's what. I am "investing in my future," whatever that means. Truth is, I'm a musician. I write, I sing, I play, I perform. It's in my blood, it's my dream, and it's the only thing I have EVER seen myself doing, the only thing I have ever WANTED to do. When I perform with the guys, it's like I walked into my house and the stage is my living room. It's home. Even more important, we're good. We're really good. Not trying to sound snotty or hoity-toity, and I would never say so with airs about me, but since this is my blog, I'm allowed to speak the truth. We. Freaking. Rock. So why am I living in the suburbs of Chicago, finishing my degree at a small liberal arts college in a program that I don't foresee ever being in? Great question. I guess it's what grown-ups do, and I've been told a time or two that I should have a backup plan. Since I'm 26 and married with two small children, I guess that makes me an adult. Thanks a lot, Responsibility and Sense of Necessity. You two are the big crashers of my party for big aspirations and plans. I started to run my brilliant idea by Nathan today and got interrupted by my two little ankle-biters, one of whom was climbing on the dining room table to get to the bag of Halloween autumn mix candy corn. I've been thinking that, after I graduate (and Adam will beat me to that by almost a year!), I think we should move the family to Nashville, LA, New York, Seattle, or ATL, steal Adam and Michelle and pack them into our moving truck, and get a move on our purpose for being on this earth. Well, one of our purposes is to spawn adorable children (check x2!) and be really really ridiculously good-looking (duh), but I just have this thing inside that's screaming to me that we're destined for incredible things. In the meantime, we'll be honing our performance style, adding to our stockpile of original songs, and putting our stamp on the covers we choose to play. We're pushing ourselves to learn new songs, write new material, nail down harmonies, and be better overall. I guess that'll have to suffice for now.
In other news...
Tomorrow is mine and Nate's anniversary. Three years has both flown by and seems like forever at the same time. Not in a bad way either! It's that same feeling I get when I realize that I've been out of high school for 8 1/2 years and it feels like forever ago and just yesterday at the same time. It's not like these have been the easiest three years either. Started off our marriage with a 10 month old baby girl, miscarried around her first birthday, got pregnant with Trace, delivered him when Rhea was twenty-five months old, then I blew out my foot when he was three and a half months old. And let's be honest. The past year and a half has been a period of massive adjustment to a new normal. I had to realize that my aspirations and determination to hit the 2012/2016 Olympic games for taekwondo were a thing of the past and that I would no longer be able to be the high-performing, cardio-driven athlete that I once was. The kids have had to adjust to my "wonky foot" (thanks, Rhea) and Nate's had to adjust to me having physical difficulties doing simple things like walking. I hope that I've been able to provide them all a positive example of the things that can be done when we set our mind to something, though. I've been incredibly bullheaded about maintaining a rigorous workout schedule, using pilates and P90 (modified when necessary to accommodate said "wonky foot") to maintain flexibility and usage of my foot, as well as losing weight. I've tried to keep the kids as active as before I was injured so that they don't suffer- even when I'm in excruciating pain. I've learned to live with a constant pain level of 7-8, as well as the importance of slowing down when my body tells me to. And I'm doing everything I can to make sure they know that, despite difficulties that seem impossible to overcome, you can always strive to meet and exceed everyone else's expectations to achieve your own goals and dreams. I've also learned that I'm a lot stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I used to pride myself on being physically strong and tough (bruises after tournaments were my physical trophies and just as flaunted as my actual trophies and medals), but I've realized that physical strength and endurance isn't all that matters. Mental strength and a positive attitude go even further when coupled with indomitable spirit and an unwillingness to quit. (Indomitable spirit = taekwondo tenant at its best!) I refuse to give up. At anything I know is in store for me. I just have to be patient and steadfast in my knowledge that something way bigger than I can even imagine is waiting just around the corner. I just have to take care of first things first, and Nate is the person I want by my side. He is not only my best friend, my confidant, but he is my other half. Even when we fight (we've gotten really good at that as the kids get older and test our boundaries), we fight knowing that we're still on the same team. He makes me laugh harder than anyone else on Earth, he infuriates me more than anyone else on Earth, and he makes me smile bigger than anyone else can. Another "it seems like yesterday" moment is every time I think back to when we first met and I knew he was my person. I know, I know. "Love at first sight" sounds cheesy and impossible, and I won't say it was love at first sight. But it was a knowing at first sight. He was important and he was going to be even more so in my life in the future. I just didn't know what role he'd play. Until we started dating two years later, that is- then I knew. Everything fell into place within me, and I knew. So thank you, Nathan, for the best eight and a half years of my life so far. Thank you for being there for me through everything, for letting me be your person, and for loving me. I love you!
And now for the wrap up...
The kids are hilarious. They are my every joy and every headache! Trace has become quite the chatterbox. And monkey. And entertainer. He is endlessly goofy and always does his silly thing looking out of the corner of his eye for the laugh. I think he learned that from Rhea. Just when I thought her personality couldn't be any bigger, she surprises me. Everything from telling my mom to "Slow down, kiddo!" to asking Nate (at the zoo, while eating lunch next to an African American family) "Hey Dad, what color are we?" to singing to the tune of "Feliz Navidad," "I wanna wish you a Lauren Pittman!" (one of my good friends), and answering my phone to talk to my friend Katie for ten minutes (unbeknownst to me- I was cleaning out a backed up tub drain- or trying to!), she is Miss Personality Plus! Every day I wake up exhausted from the day before, but excited to see what's up their sleeves for the day. On the days I do get frustrated with my physical restrictions, I just look at them and think of what I'd be missing if I was still working 40+ hours a week. Some things that challenge us end up being the biggest gifts. Thank you, God, for giving me this understanding and for giving me peace when I felt the most anxious.
Okay... it's about that time. You know? "That" time where you realize it's time to stop putting off the things you reeeally have to get done? Yeah... "that" time has come. Hopefully I'll get to blog it up before next month! But if not, I'll see you in November! (Whoa- where did 2011 go?!)
Peace!
I (finally) found time to reconnect with one of my most favorite people EVER in the world. He used to be one of my baristas at one of the dozens of Starbucks stores I managed/co-managed/assistant managed, and, if I'm quite honest, he's one of my all-time favorite baristas ever. We got along incredibly well, and something about us just clicked. Come to find out, he's had a really rough year and a half, and I feel so bad that I wasn't around for him during this time. He came out to his parents and faced a world of persecution from the people who are supposed to love and accept him unconditionally. And, like all of us have been through, he put his heart and soul into loving someone with everything to his core, only to have all that love thrown back in his face. That all got me thinking about how close-minded people can be. There is nothing (well, except if my children took the life of someone else) that would ever make me turn my back on my children. I may not agree with things they do or the way they choose to live but I would never ever take away my love, affection, or acceptance of them and who they are. Nate feels the same way. I'm not saying that if one of my children came to me and said "Mom, I'm gay" that it wouldn't take some adjustment and time for me to reconcile that information with myself, but I believe that we are born with our sexual orientation predetermined. And can I fault my child for something they didn't choose? No. That would be like saying, "Well, you asked to be born with blue eyes and that's just unacceptable. I wanted you to have green like mine." Sounds ludicrous, right? That's because it is. At least, in my opinion. So, to my boo- if you're reading this- I know I've already told you this a billion times over, but you are an amazing person. The trials you've been through will seem like distant memories when you finish school and move on to where/what/who you're supposed to be and be with. I'm so happy to have you as my beautiful friend, and I will always be here for you. :)
Next order of business...
(By the way, I'm blogging instead of working on my 12-page midterm that's due on Thursday night. Some would call that procrastination. I call it dedication to my craft. Kinda.)
Have you ever felt like you're just biding your time, waiting for your life to start? I am in that rut, as far as my professional life is concerned. I know that I went into finishing my bachelors, knowing that I'm finishing it to finish it. I have no clue what I want to do after I graduate, except that I'd like to be in HR. Can I see myself there? Really see myself there, as my chosen career, for ever and ever? No. HELL no. Do I see myself living in the suburbs of Chicago forever? Nope. Do I see myself anywhere in the realm of the business world, corporate or otherwise? Definitely not. So what, you may ask, am I doing in school for managerial communications? Answer: I have no idea. Short answer: Justifying the almost $60k in student loan debt that I'm carrying around without having a degree, that's what. I am "investing in my future," whatever that means. Truth is, I'm a musician. I write, I sing, I play, I perform. It's in my blood, it's my dream, and it's the only thing I have EVER seen myself doing, the only thing I have ever WANTED to do. When I perform with the guys, it's like I walked into my house and the stage is my living room. It's home. Even more important, we're good. We're really good. Not trying to sound snotty or hoity-toity, and I would never say so with airs about me, but since this is my blog, I'm allowed to speak the truth. We. Freaking. Rock. So why am I living in the suburbs of Chicago, finishing my degree at a small liberal arts college in a program that I don't foresee ever being in? Great question. I guess it's what grown-ups do, and I've been told a time or two that I should have a backup plan. Since I'm 26 and married with two small children, I guess that makes me an adult. Thanks a lot, Responsibility and Sense of Necessity. You two are the big crashers of my party for big aspirations and plans. I started to run my brilliant idea by Nathan today and got interrupted by my two little ankle-biters, one of whom was climbing on the dining room table to get to the bag of Halloween autumn mix candy corn. I've been thinking that, after I graduate (and Adam will beat me to that by almost a year!), I think we should move the family to Nashville, LA, New York, Seattle, or ATL, steal Adam and Michelle and pack them into our moving truck, and get a move on our purpose for being on this earth. Well, one of our purposes is to spawn adorable children (check x2!) and be really really ridiculously good-looking (duh), but I just have this thing inside that's screaming to me that we're destined for incredible things. In the meantime, we'll be honing our performance style, adding to our stockpile of original songs, and putting our stamp on the covers we choose to play. We're pushing ourselves to learn new songs, write new material, nail down harmonies, and be better overall. I guess that'll have to suffice for now.
In other news...
Tomorrow is mine and Nate's anniversary. Three years has both flown by and seems like forever at the same time. Not in a bad way either! It's that same feeling I get when I realize that I've been out of high school for 8 1/2 years and it feels like forever ago and just yesterday at the same time. It's not like these have been the easiest three years either. Started off our marriage with a 10 month old baby girl, miscarried around her first birthday, got pregnant with Trace, delivered him when Rhea was twenty-five months old, then I blew out my foot when he was three and a half months old. And let's be honest. The past year and a half has been a period of massive adjustment to a new normal. I had to realize that my aspirations and determination to hit the 2012/2016 Olympic games for taekwondo were a thing of the past and that I would no longer be able to be the high-performing, cardio-driven athlete that I once was. The kids have had to adjust to my "wonky foot" (thanks, Rhea) and Nate's had to adjust to me having physical difficulties doing simple things like walking. I hope that I've been able to provide them all a positive example of the things that can be done when we set our mind to something, though. I've been incredibly bullheaded about maintaining a rigorous workout schedule, using pilates and P90 (modified when necessary to accommodate said "wonky foot") to maintain flexibility and usage of my foot, as well as losing weight. I've tried to keep the kids as active as before I was injured so that they don't suffer- even when I'm in excruciating pain. I've learned to live with a constant pain level of 7-8, as well as the importance of slowing down when my body tells me to. And I'm doing everything I can to make sure they know that, despite difficulties that seem impossible to overcome, you can always strive to meet and exceed everyone else's expectations to achieve your own goals and dreams. I've also learned that I'm a lot stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I used to pride myself on being physically strong and tough (bruises after tournaments were my physical trophies and just as flaunted as my actual trophies and medals), but I've realized that physical strength and endurance isn't all that matters. Mental strength and a positive attitude go even further when coupled with indomitable spirit and an unwillingness to quit. (Indomitable spirit = taekwondo tenant at its best!) I refuse to give up. At anything I know is in store for me. I just have to be patient and steadfast in my knowledge that something way bigger than I can even imagine is waiting just around the corner. I just have to take care of first things first, and Nate is the person I want by my side. He is not only my best friend, my confidant, but he is my other half. Even when we fight (we've gotten really good at that as the kids get older and test our boundaries), we fight knowing that we're still on the same team. He makes me laugh harder than anyone else on Earth, he infuriates me more than anyone else on Earth, and he makes me smile bigger than anyone else can. Another "it seems like yesterday" moment is every time I think back to when we first met and I knew he was my person. I know, I know. "Love at first sight" sounds cheesy and impossible, and I won't say it was love at first sight. But it was a knowing at first sight. He was important and he was going to be even more so in my life in the future. I just didn't know what role he'd play. Until we started dating two years later, that is- then I knew. Everything fell into place within me, and I knew. So thank you, Nathan, for the best eight and a half years of my life so far. Thank you for being there for me through everything, for letting me be your person, and for loving me. I love you!
And now for the wrap up...
The kids are hilarious. They are my every joy and every headache! Trace has become quite the chatterbox. And monkey. And entertainer. He is endlessly goofy and always does his silly thing looking out of the corner of his eye for the laugh. I think he learned that from Rhea. Just when I thought her personality couldn't be any bigger, she surprises me. Everything from telling my mom to "Slow down, kiddo!" to asking Nate (at the zoo, while eating lunch next to an African American family) "Hey Dad, what color are we?" to singing to the tune of "Feliz Navidad," "I wanna wish you a Lauren Pittman!" (one of my good friends), and answering my phone to talk to my friend Katie for ten minutes (unbeknownst to me- I was cleaning out a backed up tub drain- or trying to!), she is Miss Personality Plus! Every day I wake up exhausted from the day before, but excited to see what's up their sleeves for the day. On the days I do get frustrated with my physical restrictions, I just look at them and think of what I'd be missing if I was still working 40+ hours a week. Some things that challenge us end up being the biggest gifts. Thank you, God, for giving me this understanding and for giving me peace when I felt the most anxious.
Okay... it's about that time. You know? "That" time where you realize it's time to stop putting off the things you reeeally have to get done? Yeah... "that" time has come. Hopefully I'll get to blog it up before next month! But if not, I'll see you in November! (Whoa- where did 2011 go?!)
Peace!
Friday, September 9, 2011
My 9/11
Well, it's that time of year again... it's an anniversary of "the day of infamy." Only this year, it's the tenth anniversary and the weight of it is hitting me full force, even moreso than years past. I think it's because so much has happened while the time has whipped by, and I'm in a completely different place than I was ten years ago.
Ten years ago, I was a junior in high school. The day had just started, and I was super tired, but strangely awake. You know that feeling? I call it hyper-tired. Anyway, I was heading up the stairs to my second class of the day when a girl I was friends with named Liz came running up to me with this kind of shocked look on her face. Now, if you knew Liz, you knew that this wasn't standard behavior for her. She was the kind of pseudo-pessimistic but totally cool girl... looking back, she kind of reminded me of Lisa Loeb in a way. Similar vibes. Anyway, I asked what her deal was and she asked me if I'd heard. "Heard what?" Her response will be forever seared into my mind. "Dude, we're under attack. A plane flew into the north tower of the World Trade Center in New York and while the news was showing the hole in the side of the north tower, a plane hit the south tower ON CAMERA." I don't remember anything after that but running to my class and all of us anxiously awaiting the announcement from our superintendent addressing what was happening on the east coast. It came about a minute after the final bell rang, and everyone sat shell shocked. No one said a word, no one moved. The rest of my classes passed in a blur, up until I got to one of my favorite classes: AP US History with Mr Korfist. He was super cool and a total straight shooter. We walked into the room and all the lights were off. A usually chatty class, we were all trying to figure out what was happening, attempting in our sixteen and seventeen year old minds to make heads or tails of what was unfolding. He got us all to quiet down, then informed us that we were going to go down to the basement drivers ed classrooms and watch live coverage. "This, as horrific as it is, is history in the making. This is your generation's JFK moment." He was right. I will forever remember the day that the towers, the Pentagon, and Flight 93 went down and where I was. In that class, we watched the towers fall live on tv. In that class, we realized the scope of the events and in that class, devastation began to set in.
On my way to lunch, I saw our police liason, Officer Keller (or Keller as he was known). He and I had a good rapport, and so I asked him if I could go home. I just didn't want to be in school, I wanted to be with my family, I was totally freaking out. He told me that I needed to trust the school and him, and say a prayer for those who were unaccounted for and who were affected directly by what was going on. The school was on lock down and no one was allowed in or out, no one was allowed to leave, even if their parents called them out, except in extenuating circumstances. (I found out when I got home that my mom had sat on the phone for over an hour trying to get through to the office, only to be told that she could not come get me and I would not be allowed out of the building until we received confirmation that the city of Chicago was not a target.) Little did I know at the time that there were about twenty of my fellow students who lost direct family members. One of them was a boy in my grade who's dad was on staff at my church. He was on the first plane.
I was supposed to head right from school to work, but I got to work and there was a note on the back doormat that said "Go home Becca. The company (Starbucks) sent out a memo and had the entire corporation shut down until further notice." When I got home, I hugged my mom and sobbed my eyes out. Everything that I'd been seeing all day had been building and once I knew I was in a safe environment, I just fell apart. I had twin brothers who were ten days old and a little sister who was 2 1/2 and I looked at them, knowing that the world they were going to grow up in was going to be very different from the one I knew up until that morning.
My family home is right in the path of Midway and O'Hare airports, so we constantly have air traffic flying overhead. The two big-name newspapers are the Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Sun-Times, and they covered everything but always came out in the morning. On the night of 9/11, two things will forever stick out to me. 1.) There was no air traffic, the city of Chicago was on blackout and it was eerily dark and silent because of this. 2.) The Chicago Tribune put out its first ever evening edition, and I remember standing in the driveway with my aunt as the newspaper delivery man drove by, tossing our paper onto the driveway. As my aunt and I were outside putting American flags up and down our driveway, we happened to look up and see a low-flying military drone aircraft. The one that kind of looks like a flying tank in the shape of a w? It was so quiet we almost didn't see/hear it... it was just an out-of-the-blue reminder of what had happened and that our world had changed forever. When I opened the paper up after getting it out of the bag, the centerfold was filled with various images of people falling out of the buildings. One of the pictures was of the "falling man." That image will forever be etched in my mind, as will the others.
I have panic disorder- I've had it for as long as I can remember- and so, after the day's events, there was no way in God's kingdom that I was going to be sleeping in my room all by myself. I'm okay admitting that as a sixteen year old girl, I was terrified of the dark because of the unknown terrors that were hiding in my mind from watching the television coverage. So, since my mom was sleeping in the living room with my brothers and recovering from a c-section, and since my dad had to be up for work around 4:30 in the morning, I decided to jump on baby duty. It gave me a chance to help my mom AND not sleep alone. Two birds, one stone, that whole thing.
Anyway. Looking back at 9/11 ten years later, it's easier to reflect on but it's still heartrending. Every time I learn about someone else who died who was a mother, a father, had children on board the plane or were pregnant, it wrenches my emotional floodgate wide open. Being a parent myself, I simply cannot imagine knowing that because of the actions of someone else, not only was I going to die and leave my family behind, but thousands of others would too. I look at my children, even when they're testing the limits of my sanity, and cannot imagine a life without them. While I know that life without me is going to happen at some point for them (hopefully in the far distant future), I hope it's when I'm 95, a great-great grandma, white-haired, and losing my teeth in my pillowcase.
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly time flies. It seems like just yesterday but forever ago all at the same time. As a country, we've grown stronger as we've grieved, we've rallied behind our troops, even as we've been politically divided. So, even though 9/11 ripped a hole in our nation's heart, we have come back with a resilience in our hearts and our American spirit has found a way to shine. We are unbreakable. Our troops answered the call of duty, and those who had never considered having a military career enlisted to protect this great country we live in. I will be forever grateful and my heart will always be wide open to those who have fought in any capacity for this country, and I will always be thankful to those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for me, a stranger but an American like them. So, to those who are still active, thank you for all you do. I pray for you and your safety every single day. I pray for your families' strength and courage in your absence. Finally, I pray for peace of mind, peace of spirit, and peace at heart for everyone affected by the events of September 11th. Hopefully the next ten years holds more peaceful and healing times ahead.
To the readers out there, please be safe this weekend (as every weekend). I leave you with a parting thought. It's so easy to point the finger at those who look like the men who perpetuated the crime. But the thing is, they're not. So I urge everyone to remember that we are all American, regardless of where we come from or what we look like. Let's stand united.
Ten years ago, I was a junior in high school. The day had just started, and I was super tired, but strangely awake. You know that feeling? I call it hyper-tired. Anyway, I was heading up the stairs to my second class of the day when a girl I was friends with named Liz came running up to me with this kind of shocked look on her face. Now, if you knew Liz, you knew that this wasn't standard behavior for her. She was the kind of pseudo-pessimistic but totally cool girl... looking back, she kind of reminded me of Lisa Loeb in a way. Similar vibes. Anyway, I asked what her deal was and she asked me if I'd heard. "Heard what?" Her response will be forever seared into my mind. "Dude, we're under attack. A plane flew into the north tower of the World Trade Center in New York and while the news was showing the hole in the side of the north tower, a plane hit the south tower ON CAMERA." I don't remember anything after that but running to my class and all of us anxiously awaiting the announcement from our superintendent addressing what was happening on the east coast. It came about a minute after the final bell rang, and everyone sat shell shocked. No one said a word, no one moved. The rest of my classes passed in a blur, up until I got to one of my favorite classes: AP US History with Mr Korfist. He was super cool and a total straight shooter. We walked into the room and all the lights were off. A usually chatty class, we were all trying to figure out what was happening, attempting in our sixteen and seventeen year old minds to make heads or tails of what was unfolding. He got us all to quiet down, then informed us that we were going to go down to the basement drivers ed classrooms and watch live coverage. "This, as horrific as it is, is history in the making. This is your generation's JFK moment." He was right. I will forever remember the day that the towers, the Pentagon, and Flight 93 went down and where I was. In that class, we watched the towers fall live on tv. In that class, we realized the scope of the events and in that class, devastation began to set in.
On my way to lunch, I saw our police liason, Officer Keller (or Keller as he was known). He and I had a good rapport, and so I asked him if I could go home. I just didn't want to be in school, I wanted to be with my family, I was totally freaking out. He told me that I needed to trust the school and him, and say a prayer for those who were unaccounted for and who were affected directly by what was going on. The school was on lock down and no one was allowed in or out, no one was allowed to leave, even if their parents called them out, except in extenuating circumstances. (I found out when I got home that my mom had sat on the phone for over an hour trying to get through to the office, only to be told that she could not come get me and I would not be allowed out of the building until we received confirmation that the city of Chicago was not a target.) Little did I know at the time that there were about twenty of my fellow students who lost direct family members. One of them was a boy in my grade who's dad was on staff at my church. He was on the first plane.
I was supposed to head right from school to work, but I got to work and there was a note on the back doormat that said "Go home Becca. The company (Starbucks) sent out a memo and had the entire corporation shut down until further notice." When I got home, I hugged my mom and sobbed my eyes out. Everything that I'd been seeing all day had been building and once I knew I was in a safe environment, I just fell apart. I had twin brothers who were ten days old and a little sister who was 2 1/2 and I looked at them, knowing that the world they were going to grow up in was going to be very different from the one I knew up until that morning.
My family home is right in the path of Midway and O'Hare airports, so we constantly have air traffic flying overhead. The two big-name newspapers are the Chicago Tribune and the Chicago Sun-Times, and they covered everything but always came out in the morning. On the night of 9/11, two things will forever stick out to me. 1.) There was no air traffic, the city of Chicago was on blackout and it was eerily dark and silent because of this. 2.) The Chicago Tribune put out its first ever evening edition, and I remember standing in the driveway with my aunt as the newspaper delivery man drove by, tossing our paper onto the driveway. As my aunt and I were outside putting American flags up and down our driveway, we happened to look up and see a low-flying military drone aircraft. The one that kind of looks like a flying tank in the shape of a w? It was so quiet we almost didn't see/hear it... it was just an out-of-the-blue reminder of what had happened and that our world had changed forever. When I opened the paper up after getting it out of the bag, the centerfold was filled with various images of people falling out of the buildings. One of the pictures was of the "falling man." That image will forever be etched in my mind, as will the others.
I have panic disorder- I've had it for as long as I can remember- and so, after the day's events, there was no way in God's kingdom that I was going to be sleeping in my room all by myself. I'm okay admitting that as a sixteen year old girl, I was terrified of the dark because of the unknown terrors that were hiding in my mind from watching the television coverage. So, since my mom was sleeping in the living room with my brothers and recovering from a c-section, and since my dad had to be up for work around 4:30 in the morning, I decided to jump on baby duty. It gave me a chance to help my mom AND not sleep alone. Two birds, one stone, that whole thing.
Anyway. Looking back at 9/11 ten years later, it's easier to reflect on but it's still heartrending. Every time I learn about someone else who died who was a mother, a father, had children on board the plane or were pregnant, it wrenches my emotional floodgate wide open. Being a parent myself, I simply cannot imagine knowing that because of the actions of someone else, not only was I going to die and leave my family behind, but thousands of others would too. I look at my children, even when they're testing the limits of my sanity, and cannot imagine a life without them. While I know that life without me is going to happen at some point for them (hopefully in the far distant future), I hope it's when I'm 95, a great-great grandma, white-haired, and losing my teeth in my pillowcase.
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly time flies. It seems like just yesterday but forever ago all at the same time. As a country, we've grown stronger as we've grieved, we've rallied behind our troops, even as we've been politically divided. So, even though 9/11 ripped a hole in our nation's heart, we have come back with a resilience in our hearts and our American spirit has found a way to shine. We are unbreakable. Our troops answered the call of duty, and those who had never considered having a military career enlisted to protect this great country we live in. I will be forever grateful and my heart will always be wide open to those who have fought in any capacity for this country, and I will always be thankful to those who gave the ultimate sacrifice for me, a stranger but an American like them. So, to those who are still active, thank you for all you do. I pray for you and your safety every single day. I pray for your families' strength and courage in your absence. Finally, I pray for peace of mind, peace of spirit, and peace at heart for everyone affected by the events of September 11th. Hopefully the next ten years holds more peaceful and healing times ahead.
To the readers out there, please be safe this weekend (as every weekend). I leave you with a parting thought. It's so easy to point the finger at those who look like the men who perpetuated the crime. But the thing is, they're not. So I urge everyone to remember that we are all American, regardless of where we come from or what we look like. Let's stand united.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Body Issues
They're part of what being a woman is all about, right? Today I woke up feeling really bloaty and icky and blase about the day. I hated my complexion (despite being blemish free), felt like my face was super oily (even after I washed it), and felt like my boobs are ginormo (which they are, but usually I don't feel like they're anchors pulling me to the floor). You know what I mean? Those days where, as a woman, you just feel like some kind of urchin of society? Granted, I hadn't showered yet (huh- still haven't, actually!) and I didn't get some incredible sleep last night (chalk one up to intense leg pain and nightmares from the girlchild), so I guess it would make sense. But still. It got me wondering as the day went on (and I felt better), why is it that it's so easy for most women to be completely down on their bodies on any given day? Is it really human nature, or is it a societal thing? For me, someone who's always struggled with body image- even when I was a rail thin 125 pounds and 5'8" at 14 years old- I don't think I've ever known what it means to be comfortable in my own skin. I was recently looking through my high school yearbooks and I ran across a couple full-body shots of me that were taken during choir rehearsals, and I didn't realize how healthy and normal I looked. I was 150 pounds, had flat, defined abs, and could wear anything I wanted, but for some reason, I remember feeling awkward even then. And now I find myself wishing that I'd known then what I know now: that I was completely fabulous and had nothing to be self-conscious about in high school. Or college, for that matter.
Since my injury, I've been frustrated because I was so used to being able to do hardcore cardio and take weight off really easily. Now though, I've started tracking caloric intake and doing pilates several times a week for at least 35 minutes a session, and on the days I don't, I find some other way to be as active as my body will let me. I'm proud to report that I'm up to 90 minutes of walking around at a stretch. Granted, I have to sit down for at least an hour after being up for 90 minutes, but I'm doing everything I can to push through the pain, both for my own physical well-being and to set a positive example for my highly active children.
Anyway...
I didn't want this to be a woe is me, but if you're a woman and you're reading this, do me a favor. The next time you feel like crap and you don't like what you see in the mirror, tell yourself that you are beautiful and pick one feature in particular that you really really like. For me, it's a toss-up between my smile and my eyes. (My eyes are a pretty cool color if I do say so myself! Thanks Mom!) Carry that happy feeling when you think of the features you really like about yourself with you throughout the day and let that lift you up. That's what I did today, and it really turned out to be a great day! Sure, there were some unpleasant aspects of it (like taking the kids to get lead-tested), but they were champs. So I figure if they can be such troopers through getting their little fingers pricked and saturating two circles on a paper, then I can be a trooper and think positively about myself, even when I feel like hiding my head in a paper grocery bag and the rest of me in a muumuu.
Since my injury, I've been frustrated because I was so used to being able to do hardcore cardio and take weight off really easily. Now though, I've started tracking caloric intake and doing pilates several times a week for at least 35 minutes a session, and on the days I don't, I find some other way to be as active as my body will let me. I'm proud to report that I'm up to 90 minutes of walking around at a stretch. Granted, I have to sit down for at least an hour after being up for 90 minutes, but I'm doing everything I can to push through the pain, both for my own physical well-being and to set a positive example for my highly active children.
Anyway...
I didn't want this to be a woe is me, but if you're a woman and you're reading this, do me a favor. The next time you feel like crap and you don't like what you see in the mirror, tell yourself that you are beautiful and pick one feature in particular that you really really like. For me, it's a toss-up between my smile and my eyes. (My eyes are a pretty cool color if I do say so myself! Thanks Mom!) Carry that happy feeling when you think of the features you really like about yourself with you throughout the day and let that lift you up. That's what I did today, and it really turned out to be a great day! Sure, there were some unpleasant aspects of it (like taking the kids to get lead-tested), but they were champs. So I figure if they can be such troopers through getting their little fingers pricked and saturating two circles on a paper, then I can be a trooper and think positively about myself, even when I feel like hiding my head in a paper grocery bag and the rest of me in a muumuu.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Let's talk about...
Politics. And God. Politics, God, and society. There's a loaded topic. As I'm writing this, I'm sitting in my Modern and Contemporary Christian Thought class; a theology class, for all-intensive purposes. We have gotten zero theological study out of this class, but instead my prof has decided to cater to the one guy in here who is literally obsessed with the "what came first"s, the "what did Jesus LOOK like"s, and the 'fact' that racism "doesn't exist" anymore. It got me thinking. When did America as a whole become like this? I'm sure there are others who think this way (Koran burners, The WBC), and that could explain why we're so ass-backward as a nation. Does it matter what came first between the chicken and the eggs? We have chickens AND eggs, and we get nourishment from both, end of subject. Does it matter who came up with the idea of 'pantheism', 'panantheism,' 'deism,' etc...? Nope. Not at all. It matters that they're there. People have different beliefs, people are different, period.
A couple weeks ago, there was a ridiculous ongoing commentary from said ridiculous guy about how "9/11 was an isolated incident, the world religions get along really well, and since 9/11, the world's been a much calmer, more peaceful, safer place." Um, herro Kim Jong Il (yes, I'm referencing "Team America"), not so. We've been at war, both within our own borders and without. How can you miss that?! How can someone be so oblivious to the suffering of people everywhere, all across the world, and make statements that are so ignorant they make my blood boil? So I guess I'm wondering: am I insane for thinking HE'S insane?
Piggybacked to my weekly Thursday night shenanigans is the anger I feel at how racist America is. It makes me angry that anyone can be blind to this, especially with the condemnation that President Obama has been undergoing in a very public manner for the past 2 1/2 years. Where is the outcry against the injustice of the forced humiliation of THE MAN WE ELECTED INTO THE OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT AS A NATION by repeatedly asking for his birth certificate?! This 'birther' movement, Donald Trump, conspiracy theorists are never going to be satisfied. He releases the illegal-to-release long-form certificate of live birth and it's fake. He releases the normal, government-issued birth certificate, has Republicans and Democrats verify it's authenticity and it's a conspiracy. Nothing is ever good enough because of society's perceptions of what's right/wrong, acceptable/unacceptable, moral/unethical. Listen. We are ALL from somewhere else. We ALL have ethnic names, whether we realize it or not. 'Johnson' dates way back to the UK's naming system, and literally means "John's son." 'Smith' alludes to some form of European tradesman: blacksmith, silversmith, locksmith, etc. 'White' is a surname that was given to black slaves to denote who they "belonged" to. Connell is the short-form of O'Connell- obviously Irish, McKidd is Scottish, Diaz can be a plethora of Hispanic countries as is Castro (Cuban or Dominican, for example). My point is, there is an ethnic history behind every single surname in this country, and it enrages me that we are such hypocrites as a nation.
I got teased for my last name when it was "Salazar" because it sounded like "saladbar." For a girl who developed faster than everyone else around me and was significantly taller than everyone, my "nickname" was Chewbecca- aka Chewy. So then I became a wookie entree in my "full nickname" Chewbecca ate the Saladbar. This is what we do to people with ethnic last names. We ostracize them and make them outcasts. It goes much less noticed when we're younger because it's school and children are mean. But when we begin calling out our elected leader and picking on him because his last name is different, all the exceptions made for previous white men (*cough cough* John McCain and Mitt Romney) come bubbling to the surface as injustices. It sickens me to the core.
I could catch a lot of flack for this next statement, but as for the religion of the President of the United States? Or anyone else, for that matter? I don't care. I don't care what denomination of Christianity the President is, or even if he's Christian. What I do care about is whether or not he believes that there is something bigger than us and that no one can carry a country on their shoulders alone. I don't think God calls himself "God". If we want to get into Scripture, he only says "I am" or "I am what I am." What his earthly name is can change, and who's to say who's right or wrong? God to Christians can be the same Allah of the Muslims who can be Buddha to Buddhists or Yahweh to the Jews or Brahma to Hindus. In my mind, they are all the same. I do, however, care about how I choose to raise my family, and I do care that I'm allowed the freedom to raise my family the way I see fit. (Which happens to be a Christ-centered household, in case you're wondering! :) ) I may be Christian and have Christian beliefs, but I don't believe that's the only way to be. To think that Christians are the absolute key-holders to all things divine, I think that's ignorant. Like I said, I could catch flack for saying that, but that's okay. We're all entitled to our own opinions, and those are mine.
To wrap it up:
Am I the one living under the rock with a warped worldview? I don't get it. At all.
Okay... my rant is over, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Until later....
B
A couple weeks ago, there was a ridiculous ongoing commentary from said ridiculous guy about how "9/11 was an isolated incident, the world religions get along really well, and since 9/11, the world's been a much calmer, more peaceful, safer place." Um, herro Kim Jong Il (yes, I'm referencing "Team America"), not so. We've been at war, both within our own borders and without. How can you miss that?! How can someone be so oblivious to the suffering of people everywhere, all across the world, and make statements that are so ignorant they make my blood boil? So I guess I'm wondering: am I insane for thinking HE'S insane?
Piggybacked to my weekly Thursday night shenanigans is the anger I feel at how racist America is. It makes me angry that anyone can be blind to this, especially with the condemnation that President Obama has been undergoing in a very public manner for the past 2 1/2 years. Where is the outcry against the injustice of the forced humiliation of THE MAN WE ELECTED INTO THE OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT AS A NATION by repeatedly asking for his birth certificate?! This 'birther' movement, Donald Trump, conspiracy theorists are never going to be satisfied. He releases the illegal-to-release long-form certificate of live birth and it's fake. He releases the normal, government-issued birth certificate, has Republicans and Democrats verify it's authenticity and it's a conspiracy. Nothing is ever good enough because of society's perceptions of what's right/wrong, acceptable/unacceptable, moral/unethical. Listen. We are ALL from somewhere else. We ALL have ethnic names, whether we realize it or not. 'Johnson' dates way back to the UK's naming system, and literally means "John's son." 'Smith' alludes to some form of European tradesman: blacksmith, silversmith, locksmith, etc. 'White' is a surname that was given to black slaves to denote who they "belonged" to. Connell is the short-form of O'Connell- obviously Irish, McKidd is Scottish, Diaz can be a plethora of Hispanic countries as is Castro (Cuban or Dominican, for example). My point is, there is an ethnic history behind every single surname in this country, and it enrages me that we are such hypocrites as a nation.
I got teased for my last name when it was "Salazar" because it sounded like "saladbar." For a girl who developed faster than everyone else around me and was significantly taller than everyone, my "nickname" was Chewbecca- aka Chewy. So then I became a wookie entree in my "full nickname" Chewbecca ate the Saladbar. This is what we do to people with ethnic last names. We ostracize them and make them outcasts. It goes much less noticed when we're younger because it's school and children are mean. But when we begin calling out our elected leader and picking on him because his last name is different, all the exceptions made for previous white men (*cough cough* John McCain and Mitt Romney) come bubbling to the surface as injustices. It sickens me to the core.
I could catch a lot of flack for this next statement, but as for the religion of the President of the United States? Or anyone else, for that matter? I don't care. I don't care what denomination of Christianity the President is, or even if he's Christian. What I do care about is whether or not he believes that there is something bigger than us and that no one can carry a country on their shoulders alone. I don't think God calls himself "God". If we want to get into Scripture, he only says "I am" or "I am what I am." What his earthly name is can change, and who's to say who's right or wrong? God to Christians can be the same Allah of the Muslims who can be Buddha to Buddhists or Yahweh to the Jews or Brahma to Hindus. In my mind, they are all the same. I do, however, care about how I choose to raise my family, and I do care that I'm allowed the freedom to raise my family the way I see fit. (Which happens to be a Christ-centered household, in case you're wondering! :) ) I may be Christian and have Christian beliefs, but I don't believe that's the only way to be. To think that Christians are the absolute key-holders to all things divine, I think that's ignorant. Like I said, I could catch flack for saying that, but that's okay. We're all entitled to our own opinions, and those are mine.
To wrap it up:
Am I the one living under the rock with a warped worldview? I don't get it. At all.
Okay... my rant is over, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Until later....
B
Friday, April 22, 2011
Catch and Release
If you recognized the title from the Jennifer Garner flick (also starring the yummy Timothy Olyphant), I'm so busted. If you didn't and I just outed myself, I'm also busted! But I think it's applicable for today. I took Rhea to get her hair cut- and for a little girls' time, and it hit me that it seems like just yesterday, she was at Trace's stage, running around the house, babbling, being silly. (I say this as Mr. Man just emptied the DVD cabinet by pulling a concert booklet out from under the movie stack. Awesome sauce.) She told the stylist "I would like side bangs please. Not straight across my forehead, but side bangs. To. The. Side. Thank you!" And while I sat there cracking up with the stylists and another customer, it hit me just how quickly time has flown. I can't believe that my first baby is almost 3 1/2 and that she can tell us exactly what she wants, in no uncertain terms, like she's a little adult. I can't believe that we can put on Justin Bieber (and a handful of other artists, don't worry- she's not just a Belieber!) and she knows all the words and can sing all the notes (pretty much dead on), working her way through CD after CD. Her sense of humor is hilarious, and her smile lights up a room. Her giggle is contagious, and she most often lets those laughs loose when we're doing the "Do Together" part of her yoga for kids workout. She dotes on, polices, and beats on Trace whenever she wants, but always wants to pray with him and she freaks out if she doesn't get to say goodnight. She is totally her own person, and yes, that does create some struggle for Nathan and me, but I'm so amazed at the little girl she's growing into and excited for the young lady of the future.
Then I look at Trace and am even more amazed. I don't remember Rhea doing what he's doing when she was his age. He is so verbal, and goofy, and he has his own little sense of himself, and his own sense of humor. I feel like the baby of my babies grew into a toddler way faster than my first baby! And I know that's normal, because the second baby has an example to follow. Quite frankly, I'd be concerned, with the level of talking at/to him that Rhea does and with her level of involvement, if he wasn't the little guy he is. Between the two of them, I'm either laughing or tearing my hair out all through the day. Let's just say, our house isn't boring!
Even though I look at them with a sense of awe and wonder (I still cannot believe that Nate and I created these two perfections), I also have a heart tinged with sadness. It's astounding how quickly time is flying by, and I often wonder if I'm absorbing as much from them and of them as I can. Even though I'm with them all day every day, am I seeing as much of them as I should be? I feel like time is racing by and I can't possibly catch it all. Am I saying the right things to Rhea? Am I doing a good job showing them as much love as they need and as much as I have to give them? I constantly worry that something is going to happen to me or them and that our time is going to be cut short. I know, I know... it sounds completely irrational. But, God forbid that does happen, did I give them the start of a solid foundation for the rest of their lives?
I guess the point I'm trying to make is that we should love and cherish every single second we have with the people we love the most. I can't imagine my life without Nathan, in the same way life before Rhea feels like a million years ago, in the same way that our family without Trace didn't sparkle as much as it does with him. Life happens and it happens so fast that I feel like there's never enough time. There just isn't.
Nathan did a really sweet thing though today, and I feel like our house is taking more and more steps toward feeling like a home. He hung a bunch of pictures that we had up in our old apartment. Pictures of him and me when we were dating, pictures of us in college, pictures of Rhea as a newborn until now. (We have a ton of pictures of Trace that we have to print off so they can join the picture party!) So, after almost two years living in this house, we're finally starting to live like grown ups! We have our beautiful memories hanging from the walls (and more keep coming!), we're organizing the rooms (and you can see the floor! *happydance*), and the kids' playroom looks like a playroom, not an abyss. All it took is a little concentrated time.
So, coming back to the beginning of this entry, I feel like we have such a brief time, no matter how long life is, to catch the beautiful people we love. We have such a brief long time to do the incredible things we want to do with those beautiful people... and then we have to release. We release the youthful times to the past and relegate them to precious memories. We release the feelings of the past in favor of a peaceful present and future. We release our amazing children to the big, wide world without being under our roof. And somewhere in there, we release our hearts and give them to someone else. Whether that someone is our spousal soulmate, our friend(s) soulmate, our children (who are the carriers of our souls), or just the universe, we are all here to leave our mark. So take the time and catch the people you love to make your mark. Time is ticking.
Then I look at Trace and am even more amazed. I don't remember Rhea doing what he's doing when she was his age. He is so verbal, and goofy, and he has his own little sense of himself, and his own sense of humor. I feel like the baby of my babies grew into a toddler way faster than my first baby! And I know that's normal, because the second baby has an example to follow. Quite frankly, I'd be concerned, with the level of talking at/to him that Rhea does and with her level of involvement, if he wasn't the little guy he is. Between the two of them, I'm either laughing or tearing my hair out all through the day. Let's just say, our house isn't boring!
Even though I look at them with a sense of awe and wonder (I still cannot believe that Nate and I created these two perfections), I also have a heart tinged with sadness. It's astounding how quickly time is flying by, and I often wonder if I'm absorbing as much from them and of them as I can. Even though I'm with them all day every day, am I seeing as much of them as I should be? I feel like time is racing by and I can't possibly catch it all. Am I saying the right things to Rhea? Am I doing a good job showing them as much love as they need and as much as I have to give them? I constantly worry that something is going to happen to me or them and that our time is going to be cut short. I know, I know... it sounds completely irrational. But, God forbid that does happen, did I give them the start of a solid foundation for the rest of their lives?
I guess the point I'm trying to make is that we should love and cherish every single second we have with the people we love the most. I can't imagine my life without Nathan, in the same way life before Rhea feels like a million years ago, in the same way that our family without Trace didn't sparkle as much as it does with him. Life happens and it happens so fast that I feel like there's never enough time. There just isn't.
Nathan did a really sweet thing though today, and I feel like our house is taking more and more steps toward feeling like a home. He hung a bunch of pictures that we had up in our old apartment. Pictures of him and me when we were dating, pictures of us in college, pictures of Rhea as a newborn until now. (We have a ton of pictures of Trace that we have to print off so they can join the picture party!) So, after almost two years living in this house, we're finally starting to live like grown ups! We have our beautiful memories hanging from the walls (and more keep coming!), we're organizing the rooms (and you can see the floor! *happydance*), and the kids' playroom looks like a playroom, not an abyss. All it took is a little concentrated time.
So, coming back to the beginning of this entry, I feel like we have such a brief time, no matter how long life is, to catch the beautiful people we love. We have such a brief long time to do the incredible things we want to do with those beautiful people... and then we have to release. We release the youthful times to the past and relegate them to precious memories. We release the feelings of the past in favor of a peaceful present and future. We release our amazing children to the big, wide world without being under our roof. And somewhere in there, we release our hearts and give them to someone else. Whether that someone is our spousal soulmate, our friend(s) soulmate, our children (who are the carriers of our souls), or just the universe, we are all here to leave our mark. So take the time and catch the people you love to make your mark. Time is ticking.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Exhausted
It's been a while, and I've missed blogging. From the title of this entry, you can probably see why it's been awhile. I'm one sleepy chica! I've recently put two and two together as to why I've been so completely exhausted to the bone every day. So recent that it has, in fact, been approximately thirteen hours since I've made this discovery. Every night, Nathan and I go to bed just the two of us, and every morning I wake up- hours after he's been gone- with someone else in my bed. Her name starts with Rh and ends with eaLynn. And she is a bed hog beyond belief. I'm talking, she comes in sometime in the middle of the night and plasters me against the wall, which makes me wake up stiff and in pain, which in turn causes me to try and turn over, but I can't because of said toddler hogging my space. This morning, I woke up, tried to shift, she woke up and asked me to cuddle her (which I'd already been doing in my sleep, explaining the dead left arm I had going on), and I told her I couldn't because my body hurt. So I turned over, and what did she do? Plastered her bum into my back, made sure it was good and dug in to the small of my back, and promptly returned to snoring. Needless to say, I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept at all.
I realized that this has been happening for about a week and a half, since she really got re-comfortable sleeping in the room Rhea and Trace share. We bought this flower light at Ikea a couple weeks ago, and since it's been mounted on the wall and on all night long (all day, too!), she's realized that there are no "skulletons in her room" coming to get her. The nightmares have stopped *knock on wood* and hopefully, we are moving away from this phase that she's been in for about a year. Now, about the skulleton thing: Rhea is super-perceptive to the supernatural. I know, I know... if you don't believe in "ghosts" or "spirits," things of that nature, it can sound really hokey. And that's fine; stop reading. Because that's what I'm going to be talking about. Since she was a baby and we lived across from a nursing home, she's been freakishly in tune to things that Nate and I can't see. (Or, every so often, we could see... in my case, sense.) Nate used to be really visually perceptive to the spirit realm- seeing random spirits, friends who'd died, my grandpas and uncle, that kind of shenanigans. I've never seen anything in detail- just the occasional "teaser" where I see something out of my periphery, look up, and it's gone. Or a shadow person in a doorway... or the electric vibes/presence of a spirit. Sometimes, when that happens, my world looks like the "doo doo doo doo" scene at the end of Wayne's World, except sub in crazy electric colored lights for the wavy water effect. Anyway, Rhea. When we lived across from the nursing home in this super cool condo (with a super douche-y landlord), it was a wide open floor plan. But there was a short hallway that ran off the living room; if you were in the hallway and looked right, there was the master bedroom. Right in front of you was a linen closet, to the immediate left of the door to the closet was Rhea's room, and at the left end of the hallway was the big bathroom. (We had a half bath on the other side of the condo.) When I would put Rhea down for nap or bed, I would rock her in a glider that faced the doorway. If the door wasn't completely closed, she would pop up, and watch people (we assume) walk up and down the hallway. Oftentimes, she would fight her way down out of my lap, crawl to her doorway, push open the door, and sit there, waving, babbling, and smiling at people walking up and down the hall. Creeeeepy. If the door was closed all the way, it happened a few times where I'd hear this shuffling sound, like someone scuffing their feet across the carpet, and it would stop in the middle of the room. Simultaneously, it would get chilly and Rhea would be riveted to the same spot I'd be sensing something. Double creepy. Add in the times Nate and I would hear her talking and laughing at/with someone, and when we'd get up to check on her, she'd be completely asleep, but her room would be frigid and the glider would be moving. Bizarre.
I don't know when she went from being so comfortable with the supernatural to absolutely freaked out by it. Nate and I both grew up having supernatural experiences, so it's nothing new to us. Yes, we've both had some seriously freaky situations, but nothing that we've ever gone running scared from. We're really open and accepting to that, so when we moved and about 7 months after we moved in, right after I had Trace, she started saying "There was a man in her room" and "Skulletons were coming to get her," we'd ask her to elaborate and she'd immediately switch into full-on denial of anything being there. But it wasn't the kind of denial that was like "Ahhhh got ya! I'm just kidding around!" It was the kind of terrified denial that really said "There is something scary in my room and I can't even talk about it." We tried everything from getting her fish in a lighted tank (that didn't work) to a Bieber poster on the wall (she'd swoon all day and still flip her nuggets at night) to putting my confirmation cross with a beautiful dove in the middle on the wall. No dice. It would be "Night night Jesus! I'm going to sleep on Mommy and Daddy's floor!" Sigh. Her little world was shattered (again) when she woke up in the middle of the night on our floor, shrieking about the skulletons that were in our room. So she climbed into bed with us and it was another terrible night of sleep for me and Nathan, wonderful and secure sleep for Rhea. Un-fair.
Back to the original point, I've figured it out. She is a bed hog of epic proportions. So tonight we're going to try leaving Nate's ipod in the room for her. That way, if she wakes up, she can put on Go Diego Go! or Toy Story 3 or Dora the Explorer or Backyardigans (yeah- she has a plethora of options) and (hopefully) stay in her room. I need to be able to wake up in the morning and do some yoga mania or pilates without her freaking out because I "got out of bed without her." I also enjoy showering without a shrieking toddler banging down the door and waking up her brother at 6:45 in the morning. A cup of coffee in my system, breakfast on occasion... those are also two more things I highly enjoy that I severely miss when Miss Miss gets up off her tuffet and thinks everything should go her way.
On that note... my eyelids are desperately seeking Susan (okay, not that terrible Madonna flick from the '80s, but Susan meaning sleep... terrible correlation, I know), so I'm gonna hit the ol' sack o' hay. Can't wait for what tomorrow's going to bring!
I realized that this has been happening for about a week and a half, since she really got re-comfortable sleeping in the room Rhea and Trace share. We bought this flower light at Ikea a couple weeks ago, and since it's been mounted on the wall and on all night long (all day, too!), she's realized that there are no "skulletons in her room" coming to get her. The nightmares have stopped *knock on wood* and hopefully, we are moving away from this phase that she's been in for about a year. Now, about the skulleton thing: Rhea is super-perceptive to the supernatural. I know, I know... if you don't believe in "ghosts" or "spirits," things of that nature, it can sound really hokey. And that's fine; stop reading. Because that's what I'm going to be talking about. Since she was a baby and we lived across from a nursing home, she's been freakishly in tune to things that Nate and I can't see. (Or, every so often, we could see... in my case, sense.) Nate used to be really visually perceptive to the spirit realm- seeing random spirits, friends who'd died, my grandpas and uncle, that kind of shenanigans. I've never seen anything in detail- just the occasional "teaser" where I see something out of my periphery, look up, and it's gone. Or a shadow person in a doorway... or the electric vibes/presence of a spirit. Sometimes, when that happens, my world looks like the "doo doo doo doo" scene at the end of Wayne's World, except sub in crazy electric colored lights for the wavy water effect. Anyway, Rhea. When we lived across from the nursing home in this super cool condo (with a super douche-y landlord), it was a wide open floor plan. But there was a short hallway that ran off the living room; if you were in the hallway and looked right, there was the master bedroom. Right in front of you was a linen closet, to the immediate left of the door to the closet was Rhea's room, and at the left end of the hallway was the big bathroom. (We had a half bath on the other side of the condo.) When I would put Rhea down for nap or bed, I would rock her in a glider that faced the doorway. If the door wasn't completely closed, she would pop up, and watch people (we assume) walk up and down the hallway. Oftentimes, she would fight her way down out of my lap, crawl to her doorway, push open the door, and sit there, waving, babbling, and smiling at people walking up and down the hall. Creeeeepy. If the door was closed all the way, it happened a few times where I'd hear this shuffling sound, like someone scuffing their feet across the carpet, and it would stop in the middle of the room. Simultaneously, it would get chilly and Rhea would be riveted to the same spot I'd be sensing something. Double creepy. Add in the times Nate and I would hear her talking and laughing at/with someone, and when we'd get up to check on her, she'd be completely asleep, but her room would be frigid and the glider would be moving. Bizarre.
I don't know when she went from being so comfortable with the supernatural to absolutely freaked out by it. Nate and I both grew up having supernatural experiences, so it's nothing new to us. Yes, we've both had some seriously freaky situations, but nothing that we've ever gone running scared from. We're really open and accepting to that, so when we moved and about 7 months after we moved in, right after I had Trace, she started saying "There was a man in her room" and "Skulletons were coming to get her," we'd ask her to elaborate and she'd immediately switch into full-on denial of anything being there. But it wasn't the kind of denial that was like "Ahhhh got ya! I'm just kidding around!" It was the kind of terrified denial that really said "There is something scary in my room and I can't even talk about it." We tried everything from getting her fish in a lighted tank (that didn't work) to a Bieber poster on the wall (she'd swoon all day and still flip her nuggets at night) to putting my confirmation cross with a beautiful dove in the middle on the wall. No dice. It would be "Night night Jesus! I'm going to sleep on Mommy and Daddy's floor!" Sigh. Her little world was shattered (again) when she woke up in the middle of the night on our floor, shrieking about the skulletons that were in our room. So she climbed into bed with us and it was another terrible night of sleep for me and Nathan, wonderful and secure sleep for Rhea. Un-fair.
Back to the original point, I've figured it out. She is a bed hog of epic proportions. So tonight we're going to try leaving Nate's ipod in the room for her. That way, if she wakes up, she can put on Go Diego Go! or Toy Story 3 or Dora the Explorer or Backyardigans (yeah- she has a plethora of options) and (hopefully) stay in her room. I need to be able to wake up in the morning and do some yoga mania or pilates without her freaking out because I "got out of bed without her." I also enjoy showering without a shrieking toddler banging down the door and waking up her brother at 6:45 in the morning. A cup of coffee in my system, breakfast on occasion... those are also two more things I highly enjoy that I severely miss when Miss Miss gets up off her tuffet and thinks everything should go her way.
On that note... my eyelids are desperately seeking Susan (okay, not that terrible Madonna flick from the '80s, but Susan meaning sleep... terrible correlation, I know), so I'm gonna hit the ol' sack o' hay. Can't wait for what tomorrow's going to bring!
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