Current mood: frustrated
Long ago in a galaxy on Mesa Street someone told me and my partner we needed to burn a white candle in our primary workspace to combat the negative energy. We took that as a huge joke for the longest time and believe me, we laughed, A LOT at that little gem. Then one day, we really needed that white candle.
I am certainly not alone in my belief that candles are extremely relaxing to have burning in one's space. If they smell yummy, all the better. I love my candles and love to pick up new ones when I have a spare five or ten in my wallet (like that ever happens, thanks Chevron). When I've had a particularly stressful day I enjoy lighting up all my candles in the family room or in my bedroom just to sit and watch the flames dance and smell their aromas to take the edge off. With the way things have been going lately, I'm amazed there's any wax left in this house.
Tonight- no exception. Nolan got his new yearbook today. As is typical of little precious angels from other families, and children being children, his yearbook had some special commentary in it written by a (ah-hem) friend in a distinct vernacular. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but this little darling also colored out the faces of other children. Such a dear. Nolan showed me his yeabook and the "material" kind of stuck out for me. I saw it right away. As I asked him, "Wow, that little comment is so nice. I am sure that is something you will be so proud to show your granny." That got a rather expected reaction and most of the evening was spent with an eraser in-hand voluntarily.
La Princessa came home and had her usual share of wonderment to share with me and share she did. So refreshing. Then I informed her I wanted the room (as in hers) cleaned for real this time. She decided a few days ago to totally go through everything and trash her floor in doing so. Unfortunately she inherited my pack-rattedness. Poor baby. Nolan did too. So, anyway, she threw a full laundry basket and a stretchy garbage bag full of miscellaneous crap away and left her litter, ankle-deep, all over her carpet. And she left it there. Knowing she was to finish tonight or risk doom, she half-heartedly began to work. During that time Nolan was in his room erasing and erasing and erasing. Eventually she migrated from her room to his and it went downhill from there.
They had been looking at his yearbook together when he pointed out a girl with special needs and made a comment about how she freaked him and his friends out. Yes, that was stupid and insensitive. But, kids are kids and this is the age at which they should really understand tolerance and for some, that learning comes from making mistakes such as his. Rather than come to me and ask me to help him understand, she took matters into her own hands and started yelling at him for being mean and brought up all of Nolan's insecurities. So, essentially, she did the same thing to him that she had accused him of doing. He got mad and yelled back, then she hit him, then he hit back, then she picked up his new yearbook with all the pencil marks and ugly words and threw it at him, which caused the cover to rip off the yearbook. And that is what pissed me off.
I went in her room and yelled at her (while suffering one of my lovely horrid stomach aches), then I grabbed her yearbook and flung it accross the room, thereby damaging it (dented a corner on the hard-cover). After all, I paid for it and she doesn't understand "nice" corrective training. Then came the discussion (the never-ending discussion) about why I got so mad. Then, she played her part and blamed all the ills of the world on Nolan. Then she blamed it on moving. Then I got angrier to the point I could no longer talk (hello? I am already apart from my best friend, but that is completely inconsequential in the global outlook, right?). Then I tried to talk again when she told me she wasn't trying to be disrespectful of her family members. I told her she wasn't not trying hard enough
I tired. I so sleepy, even though I am really sleeping kinda regularly and waking up on time is less of an issue. But, I can't go to bed right now with the lingering stress exploding in my head, even though she is in bed and resting soundly. I also need to make my bed because I washed all the bedding knowing our coolers would be turned on today (only half of them are, actually). But, I don't want to make my bed so I think I am trailer-trashin tonight, sleepin on top of the comforter on top of the matress, with the sheet on top of me.
And Liberace sits in the afterworld, full of envy for the candlelight in my family room.
*Sidebar- Dear Person, You are nasty. Oh, so is your partner. And even if I didn't hate what you are doing (but I SO! do), I would still hate the other thing you are doing because it is even more wretched. Trust me, you'll get yours one day because Kharma, as Earl and my pal will tell you, always comes back around. There is no room in this world for people who spend their days being mean-spirited, you Barney Rubble-footed jerk.
Currently listening : 85 Candles - Live in New York By Marian McPartland & Friends Release date: 2005-03-15
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
TSHTF- Google it
Current mood: aggravated
Sooo, just got off the phone with my mom. She wanted to know how to alter my chicken soup recipe so she could make some for her friend who is newly diagnosed with cancer (I swear, I am so sick of this disease). then, while discussing this and that, she brought it out. She told me that once we get settled that I need to begin buying an extra bag of dried beans and rice at each grocery trip, along with large air and water-proof containers to keep it fresh. The reason, you might ask? Ah, because the Arizona Republic published an article yesterday about survivalists who believe the US economy will completely bottom out by 2012 resulting in people stealing resources from those who have stockpiled them. Oh, and they're buying up firearms as well. (my easy solution- fear not for I have not stockpiled)Now, I am not about to get into a great discussion about the economy and what will or wont happen. I ain't that smart. I do know that things can be much harder than they are now for the average bear, but I would like to believe that at some point, someone somewhere will be able to fix our ills; maybe not all, but some or most would be nice. After all, isn't that a bit of what "Going Green" is all about?
But, that just wont do. Now my mother is convinced that the world as we know it is coming to an end. She told me she wasn't trying to scare me. I told her she wasn't, and I had to kind of choke back giggles when I did. I wasn't trying to be disrespectful. I just think that people need to ease up at least a little. I did read the article online and it wasn't written with a preachy tone about what we need to do or not do. It was merely a story about what some people are doing.
My father did live through the depression of the 1930s and my mother was born just as the US was coming out of that era. I have heard the stories. I do understand that fear that they have lived.
But, just maybe things will work out. Sure, we are all going to be a bit uncomfortable for a while, but I am completely unwilling to admit that we are all going to have to research the Hohokam waterways of the ancient southwest in order to understand how to irrigate our crops while we all barter with the local solar panel dealer to trade venison and pelts for panels. But, until we have to keep a sentry on guard over our generator, STOP SCARING MY MOTHER!
Currently listening : Smile, It's the End of the World By Hawk Nelson Release date: 2006-08-21
Monday, May 26, 2008
Have a Happy What?
Current mood: warm
My friend, Jessica, sent this to me. Sad, but true.
For a minute there I thought this was written by you Stacie. Sounds like something you'd say. Hehe...I love it!
Jessica
This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. It's PC Magazine's 2007 editors' choice for best webmail-award-winning letter.
Dear Mr. Thatcher,I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer's monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!
The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is justcrawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'Are you f------ kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effectiveimmediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I havechosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I willcertainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss yourbrand of condescending bullshit.
And that's a promise I will keep.
Always. .
Best,Wendi Aarons
Austin , TX
Currently listening : Shiny Happy People By R.E.M. Release date: 1992-01-01
My friend, Jessica, sent this to me. Sad, but true.
For a minute there I thought this was written by you Stacie. Sounds like something you'd say. Hehe...I love it!
Jessica
This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. It's PC Magazine's 2007 editors' choice for best webmail-award-winning letter.
Dear Mr. Thatcher,I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from the curse'? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer's monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy!
The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is justcrawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'Are you f------ kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong', or are you just picking on us?
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effectiveimmediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I havechosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I willcertainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss yourbrand of condescending bullshit.
And that's a promise I will keep.
Always. .
Best,Wendi Aarons
Austin , TX
Currently listening : Shiny Happy People By R.E.M. Release date: 1992-01-01
Go Green... and Stink
Current mood: distressed
My blog circle has extensively covered global warming or global climate change or the phrase of the day for whatever you want to call it, as well as the need to conserve. I've mentioned before that I do not use the dryer regularly during warmer months because I see no point in heating up the dryer (and the back portion of the house) only to pay to have to cool it back down again. I estimate my seasonal energy savings reflects about a 40% reduction in cost. Yay me! I also do not use the washer, dishwasher, shower/bath, or lights from the hours of 10am to 6pm because in El Paso, both water and electricity are 2-3 times more expensive druing the peak use hours.
Having two houses with two sets of expenses has been interesting, and that may be the understatement of the century. I have really been pushing to conserve as many energy resources as I possibly can and in doing so, I have not had our coolers turned on at the house. We have two units. I knew that if I had them hooked up and ready to blow I would be weak and use them. They will be turned on at the end of this week so we can sleep really well (and comfortably) before we make our two day interstate highway trek across the country. Then, while we are gone they will only be set to 94 degrees. We do have fans in the house in the bedrooms and the family room, and two small window coolers in the back of the house, which I have run (never both at the same time) to ensure the health of the elderly dog. Today the family room thermostat read 37 Celcius, which is about 97 Farenheit. The other day it got to 102 in here. That was a bit uncomfortable.
Once we get back here and settle in again, I know that we can use minimal energy for our comfort, because we have made it this far without melting. I am curious to see how our efforts will stack up into savings at the end of the summer.
So, needless to say, I really do push to conserve. I conserve because it serves my family well.
Yesterday I was watching TV and saw a commercial about "going green." It offered several suggestions to viewers about how they can go green and aid the push toward conservation. One suggestion really bothered me. It said, "Ladies, do you really need to shwer and wash your hair every day? Skip a day and blah, blah, blah..." I was offended. There are already too many people in the US who can shower every day, and afford to do so, who do not. They opt to stink and "go greasy." And, they go greasy not in an effort to conserve anything except their own personal energy. Lazy-butts.
I need to shower every day in order to be human. I hate not getting a shower. I feel sticky and icky and my hair will look like the Exxon Valdez crashed into my forehead. Now, if it is a cleaning day, I will refrain from showering until I am done working around the house, but as soon as I do finish, I'm hopping in the stall for at least a quick rinse. This is a must. There are no acceptable negotiations. Then, once the peak hours have passed, I wlil get a real shower.
So, I would appreciate it if the "Go Green Groupies" would keep their suggestions about personal hygiene to themselves. You may absolutely tell me that four out of five aluminum cans are not recycled and that my carbon footprint has the potential to to stamp out certain breeds of puppies, but please, peeps, don't tell me not to shower or wash my hair daily.
And don't tell anyone else either.
My blog circle has extensively covered global warming or global climate change or the phrase of the day for whatever you want to call it, as well as the need to conserve. I've mentioned before that I do not use the dryer regularly during warmer months because I see no point in heating up the dryer (and the back portion of the house) only to pay to have to cool it back down again. I estimate my seasonal energy savings reflects about a 40% reduction in cost. Yay me! I also do not use the washer, dishwasher, shower/bath, or lights from the hours of 10am to 6pm because in El Paso, both water and electricity are 2-3 times more expensive druing the peak use hours.
Having two houses with two sets of expenses has been interesting, and that may be the understatement of the century. I have really been pushing to conserve as many energy resources as I possibly can and in doing so, I have not had our coolers turned on at the house. We have two units. I knew that if I had them hooked up and ready to blow I would be weak and use them. They will be turned on at the end of this week so we can sleep really well (and comfortably) before we make our two day interstate highway trek across the country. Then, while we are gone they will only be set to 94 degrees. We do have fans in the house in the bedrooms and the family room, and two small window coolers in the back of the house, which I have run (never both at the same time) to ensure the health of the elderly dog. Today the family room thermostat read 37 Celcius, which is about 97 Farenheit. The other day it got to 102 in here. That was a bit uncomfortable.
Once we get back here and settle in again, I know that we can use minimal energy for our comfort, because we have made it this far without melting. I am curious to see how our efforts will stack up into savings at the end of the summer.
So, needless to say, I really do push to conserve. I conserve because it serves my family well.
Yesterday I was watching TV and saw a commercial about "going green." It offered several suggestions to viewers about how they can go green and aid the push toward conservation. One suggestion really bothered me. It said, "Ladies, do you really need to shwer and wash your hair every day? Skip a day and blah, blah, blah..." I was offended. There are already too many people in the US who can shower every day, and afford to do so, who do not. They opt to stink and "go greasy." And, they go greasy not in an effort to conserve anything except their own personal energy. Lazy-butts.
I need to shower every day in order to be human. I hate not getting a shower. I feel sticky and icky and my hair will look like the Exxon Valdez crashed into my forehead. Now, if it is a cleaning day, I will refrain from showering until I am done working around the house, but as soon as I do finish, I'm hopping in the stall for at least a quick rinse. This is a must. There are no acceptable negotiations. Then, once the peak hours have passed, I wlil get a real shower.
So, I would appreciate it if the "Go Green Groupies" would keep their suggestions about personal hygiene to themselves. You may absolutely tell me that four out of five aluminum cans are not recycled and that my carbon footprint has the potential to to stamp out certain breeds of puppies, but please, peeps, don't tell me not to shower or wash my hair daily.
And don't tell anyone else either.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Why do I Buy Strawberries?
Current mood: annoyed
Strawberries, socks, cookies, avocados (or is it avocadoes?), hair spray, flat iron, stoneware soap pump... Really, there is no end to the list.
Whatever it is that I purchase, whether specifically for me or Travis or as a family use item, why do I buy any of it? Oh, so many answers, but only one is correct.
I make these purchases because I want my children to eat, use, break or otherwise consume absolutely everything they come into contact with, duh! Even better is if they eat, use, break or otherwise consume these things before I even get to see them living in my house.
On Friday of last week Nolan and I ran to the grocery store up the street for avocados and a couple of other incidental items. I am the only member of our family currently residing in this dwelling who regularly eats avocados. They are incredibly good for you; you should try some. My favorite way to eat them is sliced on fresh (very, very fresh) corn tortillas with a tiny slice of Meunster cheese and a sprinkle of Joan's Crazy Mixed-Up Salt. Oh, so yummy. So simple. So wondermous. We ate one that night chopped up in our dinner salads (no-thank-you servings for the kids). Two avocados were left for my future pleasure. They remained on the counter for my next hankering for buttery green goodness. That came yesterday. I just wanted a couple of bites. I felt both avocados to see which was the riper and it was easy to see that the larger was farther along than the smaller. All the better for me. I washed the avocado and grabbed my knife in anxious anticipation. As I set the blade to the skin I noticed a gash in the skin. No, not a small one. This gash was about two inches long. What the hey, people? Then I saw the paring knife slid under the kitchen tool turner. Nope, not quite smart enough to hide the evidence, my children. That knife's blade still had the evidence of avocado residue. So, I decided to cut into it anyway, just to see. It was ruined. Completely. It was so gross I lost my apetite. They both denied gashing my treat.
Sunday we went to the commissary on the way home from the kids' sleepover at Ms. Holly's house. We needed a few things, but it was no big deal. The strawberries looked especially fantabulous, so I bought a quart. We came home and I ran to get a new bra and some panties (they are ok, hardly wonderful) as well as an organizer for some of my scrapbooking stuff. When we got home, the one instruction for the kids was to put the groceries away before I got home. I think I might have been gone for an hour and a half? On the way home from the mall, all I could think about was how great a couple of strawberries would be as a light snack before dinner. Ah, alas, when I returned home I went to the fridge to grab a couple to wash and the container was empty. And still in the fridge. The one reply to my questioning the whereabouts of the entire box of strawberries was, "Geesh Mom, they were huge strawberries, there were only, like, ten in the box." They were big strawberries, they looked fantabulous, after all, and I bought them for us all to enjoy.
Last week I bought an enormous bottle of shampoo. I purchased this shampoo knowing Amanda was out of shampoo and that Amanda being Amanda had likely yet to throw her empty shampoo bottle out, so she could refill it with shampoo from my super-tanker bottle, thereby leaving the larger bottle in my shower. Then the time came for me to shower and the kids were at Ms. Holly's house. And, drumroll, please... with diluted hair spray water running down my face and burning my eyes, naked and soaked, I discovered my giant shampoo bottle was missing. I stepped out of my shower and realized there was no flipping towel in my bathroom. OK, that sucked.
Nolan has bigger feet than me and they are almost as big as his father's. Since there is a drawer in our bedroom dresser just brimming with socks, this is where Nolan does his sock shopping. Why look for one's own socks under one's bed or in the back of one's closet or perhaps shoved or thrown behind the very large video game cabinet which sits diagonally in a corner when it is so easy to enter one's parent's bedroom to steal the socks of another? And, not just any socks, even though there are plenty in varying lengths and styles, noooo, the super-expensive socks purchased specifically for foot comfort during long runs and triathlons. Then, of course, one should take those expensive socks off, one in one room and the other in another, taking care to leave them where they fall or shove one in to some never-explored abyss, so at least one expensive sock is never to be seen again.
Two days ago upon the completion of a mad dash to WalMart as we were getting in the truck, my children lost their minds (you may find that shocking). My truck is the older-style three door cab, with the third door which opens in the opposite direction of the passenger front door. I have had to create a chant for the precious darlings which is quite simple. It goes, "Little door, big door. Little door, big door." Everyone say it together, please. It might be hard to grasp at first, but I have faith that you will eventually understand it. Well, this particular evening, my little angels decided that Little Door and Big Door needed to be closed at precisely the same moment, which caused a large piece of plastic door trim to break free from the metal part of the door. The reply from the elder of the two was, "Oh, that's an easy fix, Mom. All we need is some Super Glue and a few minutes and it will be good as new." Correct me if I am wrong, but wasn't it good as new before they broke it (while being stupid)?
Oh, I do love parenthood.
Currently listening : Under Presure (Under Pressure Remix) By Queen Release date: 1999-12-28
Strawberries, socks, cookies, avocados (or is it avocadoes?), hair spray, flat iron, stoneware soap pump... Really, there is no end to the list.
Whatever it is that I purchase, whether specifically for me or Travis or as a family use item, why do I buy any of it? Oh, so many answers, but only one is correct.
I make these purchases because I want my children to eat, use, break or otherwise consume absolutely everything they come into contact with, duh! Even better is if they eat, use, break or otherwise consume these things before I even get to see them living in my house.
On Friday of last week Nolan and I ran to the grocery store up the street for avocados and a couple of other incidental items. I am the only member of our family currently residing in this dwelling who regularly eats avocados. They are incredibly good for you; you should try some. My favorite way to eat them is sliced on fresh (very, very fresh) corn tortillas with a tiny slice of Meunster cheese and a sprinkle of Joan's Crazy Mixed-Up Salt. Oh, so yummy. So simple. So wondermous. We ate one that night chopped up in our dinner salads (no-thank-you servings for the kids). Two avocados were left for my future pleasure. They remained on the counter for my next hankering for buttery green goodness. That came yesterday. I just wanted a couple of bites. I felt both avocados to see which was the riper and it was easy to see that the larger was farther along than the smaller. All the better for me. I washed the avocado and grabbed my knife in anxious anticipation. As I set the blade to the skin I noticed a gash in the skin. No, not a small one. This gash was about two inches long. What the hey, people? Then I saw the paring knife slid under the kitchen tool turner. Nope, not quite smart enough to hide the evidence, my children. That knife's blade still had the evidence of avocado residue. So, I decided to cut into it anyway, just to see. It was ruined. Completely. It was so gross I lost my apetite. They both denied gashing my treat.
Sunday we went to the commissary on the way home from the kids' sleepover at Ms. Holly's house. We needed a few things, but it was no big deal. The strawberries looked especially fantabulous, so I bought a quart. We came home and I ran to get a new bra and some panties (they are ok, hardly wonderful) as well as an organizer for some of my scrapbooking stuff. When we got home, the one instruction for the kids was to put the groceries away before I got home. I think I might have been gone for an hour and a half? On the way home from the mall, all I could think about was how great a couple of strawberries would be as a light snack before dinner. Ah, alas, when I returned home I went to the fridge to grab a couple to wash and the container was empty. And still in the fridge. The one reply to my questioning the whereabouts of the entire box of strawberries was, "Geesh Mom, they were huge strawberries, there were only, like, ten in the box." They were big strawberries, they looked fantabulous, after all, and I bought them for us all to enjoy.
Last week I bought an enormous bottle of shampoo. I purchased this shampoo knowing Amanda was out of shampoo and that Amanda being Amanda had likely yet to throw her empty shampoo bottle out, so she could refill it with shampoo from my super-tanker bottle, thereby leaving the larger bottle in my shower. Then the time came for me to shower and the kids were at Ms. Holly's house. And, drumroll, please... with diluted hair spray water running down my face and burning my eyes, naked and soaked, I discovered my giant shampoo bottle was missing. I stepped out of my shower and realized there was no flipping towel in my bathroom. OK, that sucked.
Nolan has bigger feet than me and they are almost as big as his father's. Since there is a drawer in our bedroom dresser just brimming with socks, this is where Nolan does his sock shopping. Why look for one's own socks under one's bed or in the back of one's closet or perhaps shoved or thrown behind the very large video game cabinet which sits diagonally in a corner when it is so easy to enter one's parent's bedroom to steal the socks of another? And, not just any socks, even though there are plenty in varying lengths and styles, noooo, the super-expensive socks purchased specifically for foot comfort during long runs and triathlons. Then, of course, one should take those expensive socks off, one in one room and the other in another, taking care to leave them where they fall or shove one in to some never-explored abyss, so at least one expensive sock is never to be seen again.
Two days ago upon the completion of a mad dash to WalMart as we were getting in the truck, my children lost their minds (you may find that shocking). My truck is the older-style three door cab, with the third door which opens in the opposite direction of the passenger front door. I have had to create a chant for the precious darlings which is quite simple. It goes, "Little door, big door. Little door, big door." Everyone say it together, please. It might be hard to grasp at first, but I have faith that you will eventually understand it. Well, this particular evening, my little angels decided that Little Door and Big Door needed to be closed at precisely the same moment, which caused a large piece of plastic door trim to break free from the metal part of the door. The reply from the elder of the two was, "Oh, that's an easy fix, Mom. All we need is some Super Glue and a few minutes and it will be good as new." Correct me if I am wrong, but wasn't it good as new before they broke it (while being stupid)?
Oh, I do love parenthood.
Currently listening : Under Presure (Under Pressure Remix) By Queen Release date: 1999-12-28
Monday, May 19, 2008
Awesomeness
That's a picture of Travis' first graduating platoon on Armed Forces Day. I think he's the guy immediately behind the two flags in the foreground, further to the left.
A few tears came to my eyes when I saw this picture for the first time. I know, you're all so shocked, huh? I am sure I'll cry when I see him walk this class onto the parade field for their graduation too, since it was dumb luck that our trip coincides with graduation.
I guess the tears are for a lot of reasons. Initially this assignment seemed like a punnishment to Travis. He absolutely didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave his unit, especially not right before they were set to leave. I didn't want it either, but I also didn't want him to deploy again. One night we were talking about all of this and my husband, who has never been the luck/fate/sign-from-God type, said, "Maybe this is God's way of saying going to Iraq again is just a bad idea. Maybe God is trying to tell us something." I think that is when my attitude toward this move changed.
We are truly leaving our comfort zone. We know El Paso and what to expect here. We have friends who will forever be in our hearts, even if they aren't right down the street any more. My doctors are here, which seems stupid to people who haven't really needed doctors like I have, but it means the world to me and Travis. El Paso, overall, has been very good to us.
I've had a lot of time to think with Travis gone and the sleepless nights I've had. Travis never wanted to be in the training environment. He is the GO type. If something needs doing, he does it. If someone needs correction, he corrects them. If something needs fixing, he gets it fixed. He doesn't sit still. He can't stand inferiority. He believes in second chances.
Maybe that's why the training environment is exactly where he needs to be.
I can't say how proud I am of Travis. He's always been the quiet type of Soldier, who doesn't need accolades or approval, and doesn't seek them out. He does his job because it is his job, plain and simple.
His job now is to train the next wave of Soldier mechanics, who will go out to motor pools like the ones he used to have, who will be the next wave to have sandy boots. Although he is not in the classroom, they are learning from him. They see the type of man and Soldier he is and I can't help but believe that somewhere down the line one of them will be inspired by him and his leadership. Maybe they will try to emulate him professionally. Maybe the training they get from him will save their lives and/or the lives of other Soldiers one day.
That is awesome.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Good Sports
Current mood: hopeful
I played a lot of softball as a kid. In Arizona, that is pretty normal. I played for school until high school and then just played in the spring and summer, but I always loved the game. I was a pretty good fielder and a great thrid baseman, but most important to the majority of my coaches was that I was a power hitter. I could nail the ball and send it soaring, which was great because I was slow like sloth when it came to running.
I learned a lot on and off the field from playing softball. I learned that when it is over, it really is over and there are no Mulligans in softball or real life. If you strike out, it is on you to get a hit the next time. If you get a walk, consider yourself lucky. If you get a home run, know that the next at bat you might strike out. Sliding will get the job done most of the time, but you'll be dirty afterward. When you are on deck it is time to visualize your next plan of action. If you get beaned while at bat you'll get what you deserve. Do you see the similarities?
I also learned that some of the most vicious competetors I have ever seen wear nail polish and pony tails.
While parusing blogs-a-plenty I ran across a link to the story listed below. I felt compelled to click on the link and learn more. And of course, me being me, I cried like a baby.
May 7, 2008, 1:19 pm
Girls, Sports and Sportsmanship
If there already weren't enough reasons to get your child involved in sports, the story of Sara Tucholsky will give you another one.
Ms. Tucholsky plays softball for Western Oregon University, but in her high school and college careers, the 5-foot-2 player had never hit a home run. On the last Saturday in April, in a game against Central Washington University, she hit her first home run over the fence. But as she began to run the bases, a misstep resulted in a torn knee ligament and she couldn't continue.
The umpire mistakenly ruled that a team member couldn't run in her place or assist her around the bases. A member of the opposing team, first baseman Mallory Holtman, the career home run leader in the Great Northwest Athletic Conference, asked the umpire if she and her teammates could help Ms. Tucholsky run the bases. He said they could, and Ms. Holtman and shortstop Liz Wallace carried her around the field as she gently tapped her uninjured leg on each base.
At least 150,000 people have now watched videos of the moment on YouTube. To see ESPN's take on it, grab a tissue and watch below.
.... --> end post-content -->
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Competition is one of the most rewarding parts of life. Whether that competition is between you and another sportsman, you and yourself, you and the heiffer lady down the street who swears her kid is better than yours or just between your willpower and a bag of chips.
Better than competition is sportsmanship. It is great to know that a fair shake is something everyone deserves.
Currently listening : Centerfield By John Fogerty Release date: 2001-04-24
I played a lot of softball as a kid. In Arizona, that is pretty normal. I played for school until high school and then just played in the spring and summer, but I always loved the game. I was a pretty good fielder and a great thrid baseman, but most important to the majority of my coaches was that I was a power hitter. I could nail the ball and send it soaring, which was great because I was slow like sloth when it came to running.
I learned a lot on and off the field from playing softball. I learned that when it is over, it really is over and there are no Mulligans in softball or real life. If you strike out, it is on you to get a hit the next time. If you get a walk, consider yourself lucky. If you get a home run, know that the next at bat you might strike out. Sliding will get the job done most of the time, but you'll be dirty afterward. When you are on deck it is time to visualize your next plan of action. If you get beaned while at bat you'll get what you deserve. Do you see the similarities?
I also learned that some of the most vicious competetors I have ever seen wear nail polish and pony tails.
While parusing blogs-a-plenty I ran across a link to the story listed below. I felt compelled to click on the link and learn more. And of course, me being me, I cried like a baby.
May 7, 2008, 1:19 pm
Girls, Sports and Sportsmanship
If there already weren't enough reasons to get your child involved in sports, the story of Sara Tucholsky will give you another one.
Ms. Tucholsky plays softball for Western Oregon University, but in her high school and college careers, the 5-foot-2 player had never hit a home run. On the last Saturday in April, in a game against Central Washington University, she hit her first home run over the fence. But as she began to run the bases, a misstep resulted in a torn knee ligament and she couldn't continue.
The umpire mistakenly ruled that a team member couldn't run in her place or assist her around the bases. A member of the opposing team, first baseman Mallory Holtman, the career home run leader in the Great Northwest Athletic Conference, asked the umpire if she and her teammates could help Ms. Tucholsky run the bases. He said they could, and Ms. Holtman and shortstop Liz Wallace carried her around the field as she gently tapped her uninjured leg on each base.
At least 150,000 people have now watched videos of the moment on YouTube. To see ESPN's take on it, grab a tissue and watch below.
.... --> end post-content -->
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Competition is one of the most rewarding parts of life. Whether that competition is between you and another sportsman, you and yourself, you and the heiffer lady down the street who swears her kid is better than yours or just between your willpower and a bag of chips.
Better than competition is sportsmanship. It is great to know that a fair shake is something everyone deserves.
Currently listening : Centerfield By John Fogerty Release date: 2001-04-24
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Home
Current mood: pure
Poochi-wi, poochi-wiiiii, POOCHI-WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!
No, you have no idea what that means unless you are Tiana or one of her friends. Poochi-wi is a good old fashioned feelin' sorry for myself blah feeling we all get from time to time. I am poochi-wi today.
Actually, I've been poochi-wi for a while.
I am sick of my house. I am sick of being in Texas. I am very poochi-wi.
I don't care about this house any more. I don't want to clean it. I don't want to sleep here. I don't want to cook here. I don't want to be here. I do want to move out of it and head east and do it mighty quick. But I won't. I am going to stay. I am going to stick with the plan because ultimately, I truly believe that is what is best in the long run, not just for me- for all of us.
I figured out today why I don't care about cleaning it any more or anything else. This isn't my home any more. I know, I said that a few weeks ago, but it really hit home (not this one, obviously) for me today. So, does that render me homeless?
Nope, but I do have that feeling about myself.
We all miss the people we love when we can't be near them and Travis' absence is no different, although there are obvious differences with this separation in comparison to the others. As I said before in another blog, I do really well when he deploys or is away at schools and the like. That is a temporary (even when it feels like forever) situation and I know he'll be coming home to me. This time he won't, at least not to stay.
Therein lays the problem. Home for me is where Travis is. It really is that simple and that is the source of today's poochi-wi. I want to be home. I want to go home and no matter how many times I unlock the front door and walk through it in this house, this wont ever be home again. I never thought detaching myself from this house would be so sudden for me until I realized home is not a place. Whatever online dictionary I used to define home says that home is: a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household. They are either lying or are ill-informed.
South Carolina is now my home.
Home is my heart.
Poochi-wi, poochi-wiiiii, POOCHI-WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!
No, you have no idea what that means unless you are Tiana or one of her friends. Poochi-wi is a good old fashioned feelin' sorry for myself blah feeling we all get from time to time. I am poochi-wi today.
Actually, I've been poochi-wi for a while.
I am sick of my house. I am sick of being in Texas. I am very poochi-wi.
I don't care about this house any more. I don't want to clean it. I don't want to sleep here. I don't want to cook here. I don't want to be here. I do want to move out of it and head east and do it mighty quick. But I won't. I am going to stay. I am going to stick with the plan because ultimately, I truly believe that is what is best in the long run, not just for me- for all of us.
I figured out today why I don't care about cleaning it any more or anything else. This isn't my home any more. I know, I said that a few weeks ago, but it really hit home (not this one, obviously) for me today. So, does that render me homeless?
Nope, but I do have that feeling about myself.
We all miss the people we love when we can't be near them and Travis' absence is no different, although there are obvious differences with this separation in comparison to the others. As I said before in another blog, I do really well when he deploys or is away at schools and the like. That is a temporary (even when it feels like forever) situation and I know he'll be coming home to me. This time he won't, at least not to stay.
Therein lays the problem. Home for me is where Travis is. It really is that simple and that is the source of today's poochi-wi. I want to be home. I want to go home and no matter how many times I unlock the front door and walk through it in this house, this wont ever be home again. I never thought detaching myself from this house would be so sudden for me until I realized home is not a place. Whatever online dictionary I used to define home says that home is: a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household. They are either lying or are ill-informed.
South Carolina is now my home.
Home is my heart.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Adventures in Pantyland
Current mood: cantankerous
Interestingly enough I am not the only person I know who has blogged about panties in the last week. No, I will not tell you who my other undie friend is, so quit being a perv, OK?
So, those who know me best know I have a thing about panties. I hate panty lines. No, I really hate panty lines. I think they are disgusting. They drive me nuts. And, sometimes I have them, hard as I may try to not to do so. They are just nasty.
One of my biggest pet peeves is going anywhere and seeing panties made for a size 6 on the butt of a woman whose jeans are at least a 10 or 12. The sizes printed in the panties are a guideline for you, ladies. Learn how to use them. Please.
I've been needing to buy some new chones (Spanish for undies- pronounced cho-nays) for a little while. The weight shifting (note I did not say weight loss) is affecting my rear. My two-sizes-smaller jeans are getting a little baggy now, and I am still wearing the same size undies. In fact, at the bowling party Saturday night my drawers were slipping down (inside my jeans) as we were walking out of the alley. Now, that panty-slippage can also be attributed to the elastic wearing out, but lets all just blame it on the weight shift, mm-kay? So, I needed some newbies. Yay!
WalMart used to carry the "Say Ahh" line of panties made by Hanes, I think. I feel so in love with those undies. They were the best! They had regular bikinis, low-rise bikinis, thongs and boy-legs, which were my choice because they weren't granny panties, but they still left me sans panty lines because of the flat seams on the trim. Praise the Lord. Not long after I found them there, they stopped carrying the line. What jerks. It took me some time, but Target had begun selling some chones as a part of their store brand which VERY closely resembled the Say Ahhhs, so I started buying those. And, alas, they stopped carrying them not long after that. I was still searching desperately for something similar so I didn't have to join the Sisterhood of the Nasty Butts.
You see, panty lines are not only created by women who do not buy the proper sized underwear in the too small department, panty lines can happen when panties are too big too. There is also the obvious panty wrinkle which happens when the panty does not lie properly on the hiney. The thong panty line is particularly disturbing because although we all are freaks of one kind of another, I don't need to know you are trying to split your body vertically via your ya-dee-ha-ha. Thongs are not for long-term wear, girls. Ugh, now I feel chafed.
Back to my quest for the perfect panty... Kmart, after much time and aggrivation on my part, began to carry the Say Ahh line. I was so excited I bought them out of my size the day I found them there. And, you guessed it, just a few short weeks later, they were gone. But, fret not, panty fans as Kmart introduced their own line of knock-offs just as soon as they got rid of our friends from Hanes. Angels singing, bluebirds chirping, me giggling with glee, sunshine and rainbows.
I went to Kmart last week on a panty prowl and although they had the other styles from my favorite line, they did not have any boy-legs. Ugh, they suck. I went back Saturday to see if they had a shipment. Nope. I went tonight for trash bags and hopped across the aisle to Pantyland. Again, they had thongs and bikinis, but no boy-legs were to be found. I was frustrated and running out of my supply at home, so out of desperation, I looked at the panty tower. You know the panty tower- it is a series of bins full of panties of different styles and sizes stacked to maximize merchandising space. So, I looked at the sign, 4 for $12, sounded like a deal to me. I found four in my size and went to pay.
None of them rang up for the 4 for $12 price so I asked the cashier. She actually had to lock her register and go do her own price-check (unbelievable). When she came back she told me that the only ones which were 4 for $12 are the ones labeled as such. I am sure I must have missed that, but I swear it said 4 for $12. It just irked me.
So, I have panties again. Yay. Only they aren't my favorite undies. I'll let you know how they work out. But, in the meantime, if you should happen across my kinda panties, let me know.
Interestingly enough I am not the only person I know who has blogged about panties in the last week. No, I will not tell you who my other undie friend is, so quit being a perv, OK?
So, those who know me best know I have a thing about panties. I hate panty lines. No, I really hate panty lines. I think they are disgusting. They drive me nuts. And, sometimes I have them, hard as I may try to not to do so. They are just nasty.
One of my biggest pet peeves is going anywhere and seeing panties made for a size 6 on the butt of a woman whose jeans are at least a 10 or 12. The sizes printed in the panties are a guideline for you, ladies. Learn how to use them. Please.
I've been needing to buy some new chones (Spanish for undies- pronounced cho-nays) for a little while. The weight shifting (note I did not say weight loss) is affecting my rear. My two-sizes-smaller jeans are getting a little baggy now, and I am still wearing the same size undies. In fact, at the bowling party Saturday night my drawers were slipping down (inside my jeans) as we were walking out of the alley. Now, that panty-slippage can also be attributed to the elastic wearing out, but lets all just blame it on the weight shift, mm-kay? So, I needed some newbies. Yay!
WalMart used to carry the "Say Ahh" line of panties made by Hanes, I think. I feel so in love with those undies. They were the best! They had regular bikinis, low-rise bikinis, thongs and boy-legs, which were my choice because they weren't granny panties, but they still left me sans panty lines because of the flat seams on the trim. Praise the Lord. Not long after I found them there, they stopped carrying the line. What jerks. It took me some time, but Target had begun selling some chones as a part of their store brand which VERY closely resembled the Say Ahhhs, so I started buying those. And, alas, they stopped carrying them not long after that. I was still searching desperately for something similar so I didn't have to join the Sisterhood of the Nasty Butts.
You see, panty lines are not only created by women who do not buy the proper sized underwear in the too small department, panty lines can happen when panties are too big too. There is also the obvious panty wrinkle which happens when the panty does not lie properly on the hiney. The thong panty line is particularly disturbing because although we all are freaks of one kind of another, I don't need to know you are trying to split your body vertically via your ya-dee-ha-ha. Thongs are not for long-term wear, girls. Ugh, now I feel chafed.
Back to my quest for the perfect panty... Kmart, after much time and aggrivation on my part, began to carry the Say Ahh line. I was so excited I bought them out of my size the day I found them there. And, you guessed it, just a few short weeks later, they were gone. But, fret not, panty fans as Kmart introduced their own line of knock-offs just as soon as they got rid of our friends from Hanes. Angels singing, bluebirds chirping, me giggling with glee, sunshine and rainbows.
I went to Kmart last week on a panty prowl and although they had the other styles from my favorite line, they did not have any boy-legs. Ugh, they suck. I went back Saturday to see if they had a shipment. Nope. I went tonight for trash bags and hopped across the aisle to Pantyland. Again, they had thongs and bikinis, but no boy-legs were to be found. I was frustrated and running out of my supply at home, so out of desperation, I looked at the panty tower. You know the panty tower- it is a series of bins full of panties of different styles and sizes stacked to maximize merchandising space. So, I looked at the sign, 4 for $12, sounded like a deal to me. I found four in my size and went to pay.
None of them rang up for the 4 for $12 price so I asked the cashier. She actually had to lock her register and go do her own price-check (unbelievable). When she came back she told me that the only ones which were 4 for $12 are the ones labeled as such. I am sure I must have missed that, but I swear it said 4 for $12. It just irked me.
So, I have panties again. Yay. Only they aren't my favorite undies. I'll let you know how they work out. But, in the meantime, if you should happen across my kinda panties, let me know.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Uh-hmmm, Coaches
Current mood: disappointed
Gotta love coaches. They are a necessary part of any organized youth sport. I try, as a parent who will likely NEVER coach any sport (because I can't stand parents), to be understanding. Now I question my understandingness.
I've let a few coaches know, in my day, just how I felt. I've unloaded on them, discussed intelligently with them, suggested to them and any other host of things to and with them regarding my kids and their sports. I do appreciate coaches. Most of the time they are volunteers, and that is a very good thing.
But maybe, just maybe, they are coaching for the wrong reason. Maybe they are coaching because they want their kid to be a star. That is a wrong reason to coach. Maybe they are coaching because they want to win. Eh, wrong answer. Maybe they are coaching because they want to win to make themselves feel like big men. Ummm, double wrong. Maybe they are coaching because those volunteer hours are adding up as a part of a class or community service project. While not entirely wrong, that can still be a wrong reason for a volunteer coach to take a coaching position.
Ladies and gentlemen, can we all agree that the main and best reason to volunteer to coach a sport is to bring your love (and if you don't love it, you probably can't convey love for it) of that sport to young people? Also acceptable reasoning is that you feel a need to be involved in children's lives to make them richer human beings. You have to love coaching to coach. Hands down, no exceptions.
So Mr. Nolan is in flag football right now. It is a chance for the kids to get ready for pre-conditioning for the regular football season, which begins practicing in about two months. The rules of flag are different from tackle. Some of it doesn't make sense to me, but I can hang with it.
Up until this week, he was having a blast. Andrew and Jared, two of his closest buddies, are on the team with him. Mason is there too, who was one of the standouts from the tackle season last year. Derek is also on the team, and he practiced and played in the end of the year tournament with our boys. So, these boys love each other and know each other. Youth Services placed them together because of their familiarity with one another.
Our age bracket (10-15) also has two other teams, obviously hand-picked by their coaches. I don't so much have a hard time with that. I get that. One team seems to be kids from the Sergeants Major Academy families, and I am 99% sure their coach is in the Academy. Now, the problem I do have with the bracket is that one of the teams is made up, almost exclusively, of boys who are fourteen or fifteen years old. OK, not a big deal, until you consider that the median age for the other two teams is probably twelve. Their median age has got to be fourteen. Their voices have changed. Their shoulders are broad. And, I think I saw them sharing a six pack of beer after the first time they, ah-hem, beat (more like decimated) us.
We played that team last night for the second time. We don't have to drive the outcome home. But, our boys showed up ready to win. They believed they could, and that is the most important thing in the equation, right?
One of our boys said, "Hey Coach! We're gonna win." and the coach replied, "No, we aren't." (can you hear me using swear words I didn't know I knew?)
Last week that coach's wife said, "My husband feels like he got the team of leftovers." The very same coach.
Now, we bring our kids to practice to learn from you. We instill trust in you that you can bring out the best in our boys. We are confident you will teach them athleticism and sportsmanlike conduct. And we should be able, at all times, to think that way.
And then you open your mouth.
Let me just say, if you make a kid believe he can do anything, he can. The trick is knowing how to make him believe.
Gotta love coaches. They are a necessary part of any organized youth sport. I try, as a parent who will likely NEVER coach any sport (because I can't stand parents), to be understanding. Now I question my understandingness.
I've let a few coaches know, in my day, just how I felt. I've unloaded on them, discussed intelligently with them, suggested to them and any other host of things to and with them regarding my kids and their sports. I do appreciate coaches. Most of the time they are volunteers, and that is a very good thing.
But maybe, just maybe, they are coaching for the wrong reason. Maybe they are coaching because they want their kid to be a star. That is a wrong reason to coach. Maybe they are coaching because they want to win. Eh, wrong answer. Maybe they are coaching because they want to win to make themselves feel like big men. Ummm, double wrong. Maybe they are coaching because those volunteer hours are adding up as a part of a class or community service project. While not entirely wrong, that can still be a wrong reason for a volunteer coach to take a coaching position.
Ladies and gentlemen, can we all agree that the main and best reason to volunteer to coach a sport is to bring your love (and if you don't love it, you probably can't convey love for it) of that sport to young people? Also acceptable reasoning is that you feel a need to be involved in children's lives to make them richer human beings. You have to love coaching to coach. Hands down, no exceptions.
So Mr. Nolan is in flag football right now. It is a chance for the kids to get ready for pre-conditioning for the regular football season, which begins practicing in about two months. The rules of flag are different from tackle. Some of it doesn't make sense to me, but I can hang with it.
Up until this week, he was having a blast. Andrew and Jared, two of his closest buddies, are on the team with him. Mason is there too, who was one of the standouts from the tackle season last year. Derek is also on the team, and he practiced and played in the end of the year tournament with our boys. So, these boys love each other and know each other. Youth Services placed them together because of their familiarity with one another.
Our age bracket (10-15) also has two other teams, obviously hand-picked by their coaches. I don't so much have a hard time with that. I get that. One team seems to be kids from the Sergeants Major Academy families, and I am 99% sure their coach is in the Academy. Now, the problem I do have with the bracket is that one of the teams is made up, almost exclusively, of boys who are fourteen or fifteen years old. OK, not a big deal, until you consider that the median age for the other two teams is probably twelve. Their median age has got to be fourteen. Their voices have changed. Their shoulders are broad. And, I think I saw them sharing a six pack of beer after the first time they, ah-hem, beat (more like decimated) us.
We played that team last night for the second time. We don't have to drive the outcome home. But, our boys showed up ready to win. They believed they could, and that is the most important thing in the equation, right?
One of our boys said, "Hey Coach! We're gonna win." and the coach replied, "No, we aren't." (can you hear me using swear words I didn't know I knew?)
Last week that coach's wife said, "My husband feels like he got the team of leftovers." The very same coach.
Now, we bring our kids to practice to learn from you. We instill trust in you that you can bring out the best in our boys. We are confident you will teach them athleticism and sportsmanlike conduct. And we should be able, at all times, to think that way.
And then you open your mouth.
Let me just say, if you make a kid believe he can do anything, he can. The trick is knowing how to make him believe.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Because I am too Nice to Say it to Your Face
Current mood: bummed
Dear Person I Love Very Much,
I need to get a few things out in written form so I do not permanently damage our relationship. It is because I love you that I do not want to say these things to you personally. I know you will most likely never read this, and that is a huge part of the reason I am writing it. Maybe my getting it out of my head will make me feel better.
I do enjoy talking to you. I find you vital and entertaining. I appreciate you checking on me. All of these are good things. Recently when we talk, you have become what I will call critical, even though I know that is not your intention. I don't even know if that is the right word for what it is that you do. If I mention something, anything at all, sometimes that topic, which is completely random in each discussion, will become your never-ending topic. You latch on it with a death-grip and when you do, you assume that any thought you have regarding the topic is fair game to mention. When you do this, I know you mean it to be harmless, but it is becoming more and more hurtful when you do it.
Of late, when I meet people who bulldoze through conversations like this, I say that their "brake pedal" is broken or that they can't find it. I was raised to consider other people's feelings in thought and deed but so few people actually apply that to their lives now. Most often, when they do consider the feelings of others, they put complete strangers in the comfort seat and let their friends and family members suffer through the verbal diarrhea. I wonder if that is what is happening here.
It is not always OK to say what you think. Sometimes it is no big deal. Other times, the nature of the discussion topic needs to be top of mind before you lose your brake pedal. Sure, maybe I am being hyper-sensitive. I can accept that, but it would be nice if you would take that into consideration too before you lay out my issues like a buffet from which you can hunt and peck at will. Although you mean no harm in your open thoughts, you are hurting me. And worse, it makes me not want to talk to you.
I know that is not how you want me to feel. I know you care about me and that when you speak about the things you think about my life and the events therein, you are only trying to make conversation. I know you do not want to alienate me, but that is happening. That happening hurts me too.
Please learn to "hear" what I am not saying and recognize that when I change the topic or suddenly become quiet it is a symptom of an inappropriate discussion. I can't always say, "Please don't say that because..." because I know that will hurt you and I don't want to hurt you. I also don't want to unleash on you. Especially not now, when I am riding my stress wave at a non-stop high-tide. I am afraid if I start in on you, I wont stop.
I would prefer to not have regret be an active part of our relationship. I would rather be able to confide in you openly without criticism and judgement. I want to tell you everything but you are making that hard for me and I constantly find myself wondering if the topic of the day is something I can talk to you about or if it would be better left unsaid, for my own peace of mind.
I say this only because I care,
Stacie
Dear Person I Love Very Much,
I need to get a few things out in written form so I do not permanently damage our relationship. It is because I love you that I do not want to say these things to you personally. I know you will most likely never read this, and that is a huge part of the reason I am writing it. Maybe my getting it out of my head will make me feel better.
I do enjoy talking to you. I find you vital and entertaining. I appreciate you checking on me. All of these are good things. Recently when we talk, you have become what I will call critical, even though I know that is not your intention. I don't even know if that is the right word for what it is that you do. If I mention something, anything at all, sometimes that topic, which is completely random in each discussion, will become your never-ending topic. You latch on it with a death-grip and when you do, you assume that any thought you have regarding the topic is fair game to mention. When you do this, I know you mean it to be harmless, but it is becoming more and more hurtful when you do it.
Of late, when I meet people who bulldoze through conversations like this, I say that their "brake pedal" is broken or that they can't find it. I was raised to consider other people's feelings in thought and deed but so few people actually apply that to their lives now. Most often, when they do consider the feelings of others, they put complete strangers in the comfort seat and let their friends and family members suffer through the verbal diarrhea. I wonder if that is what is happening here.
It is not always OK to say what you think. Sometimes it is no big deal. Other times, the nature of the discussion topic needs to be top of mind before you lose your brake pedal. Sure, maybe I am being hyper-sensitive. I can accept that, but it would be nice if you would take that into consideration too before you lay out my issues like a buffet from which you can hunt and peck at will. Although you mean no harm in your open thoughts, you are hurting me. And worse, it makes me not want to talk to you.
I know that is not how you want me to feel. I know you care about me and that when you speak about the things you think about my life and the events therein, you are only trying to make conversation. I know you do not want to alienate me, but that is happening. That happening hurts me too.
Please learn to "hear" what I am not saying and recognize that when I change the topic or suddenly become quiet it is a symptom of an inappropriate discussion. I can't always say, "Please don't say that because..." because I know that will hurt you and I don't want to hurt you. I also don't want to unleash on you. Especially not now, when I am riding my stress wave at a non-stop high-tide. I am afraid if I start in on you, I wont stop.
I would prefer to not have regret be an active part of our relationship. I would rather be able to confide in you openly without criticism and judgement. I want to tell you everything but you are making that hard for me and I constantly find myself wondering if the topic of the day is something I can talk to you about or if it would be better left unsaid, for my own peace of mind.
I say this only because I care,
Stacie
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