Current mood: uncomfortable
Blah, blah, blah, economics, blah, 401k, blah, blah, blah, housing futures, blah, blah, gas prices.
Let me tell you 'bout my vehicles.
Travis took the Durango to SC when he moved. He wanted to keep it so he could transport his tri-bike (his mistress) without exposing it to the elements. I wanted to keep the Durango because it was so much easier for me to take the elderly dog to the vet in it. He won.
When the kids and I went to SC in June, we took the Ford truck and towed a trailer full of our stuff, like some furniture and personal things, to store at Travis' place. When I was driving somewhere in Alabama or Georgia I heard a noise coming from the back end of the truck, but figured it had something to do with towing the trailer. I'd never towed before so I didn't know. The truck still felt like it was handling the same way so I thought I was good.
Yeah, nope! When we got there and dropped the trailer off at the U-Haul, Travis heard the noise and told me he thought it was the rear-end. He decided we would drive back to Texas in the Durango and he would keep the truck. He did Band-Aid services to the truck until September, when he came here. He dropped it at the shop when he was leaving to have the rear-end done. That was $1900. Now he thinks there is soemthing going on with the fuel system. Crap.
Tuesday, the Durango wouldn't start. I have known there was a problem with the ignition system and I had narrowed it down to the starter or the alternator. I at least knew that much. We haven't really had much liquid cash flow these days so I decided to wait and hoped it might last us longer. Nope! So, I had it towed to the shop. When they got the starter off, they saw leaks and rust in the freeze plugs, so those had to be done. $641 later, my truck was going.
Yesterday, as I was leaving to pick the kids up, the truck started very sluggishly, almost as if the starter were going out. I put it in the back of my mind and went on about my business. A short time later, I saw Kelly and stopped to talk to her. While standing outside the high school I saw a leak under my truck. I called the shop and inquired. They told me to bring it in and they would check it whenever it was convenient for me. I went home, got the kids together for football practice, went to practice and had to run an errand when I dropped Nolan off. Then, the truck wouldn't start. Seriously, just like Tuesday.
I called the shop, which was literally two minutes from closing and they sent out the shop owner and a mechanic. They checked it out, gave it a couple of good whacks on the starter, told me the new starter was bad and that they would replace it the next day, free of charge. That would be today.
The truck started just fine this morning and after I got the kids delivered, I dropped the truck off. Kelly picked me up and let me borrow her car again. I ran to WalMart for eggs and bread and came home. I got here, started laundry, made dinner and then the stupid phone rang. It was the shop and I thought they might be telling me the truck was ready. Nope! They told me the starter was on and working well but that the water pump was what was leaking and that it was bad. $297.
Mind you, all of these maladies with the Durango are things Travis is capable of fixing himself, so long as he had the correct tools. And, he does. But, he is seven freaking states away making baby Soldiers cry.
E-FREAKING-NUFF.
Currently listening : Start Me up / No Use Crying By The Rolling Stones
Friday, October 24, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Unhappy Cows
Current mood: content
I'm just totally confused tonight. I am not going to complain. Well, at least, that is not my intention, so if it happens to happen, I apologize in advance.
While out and about today on my endeavours I had the chance to sit and talk to someone for the better part of 45 minutes. She was a very nice lady. She was a very nice lady who is very different from me. She is from another country (one which is far, far away from my own). She is older than I. She has very young children. She has been married for a few years, and from what I gathered from her she's been married less than half the time I have. I guess I am so surprised because from the little I know of her culture, it was shocking to hear what she had to say.
As we talked we mainly focused on small-talk business. You know the type- polite and pleasant and not neccessarily profound. Eventually we came upon the topic of our move and living situation. I told her I was ready to leave El Paso. She was blown away by my wanting to move first because we've been here for so long and I want to go, and second because of what I said after she asked her next question. She asked my why I wanted to move so much. I told her that El Paso isn't my home anymore. Then she wanted to know why. I told her I missed taking care of Travis. I told her it was my job to cook and do his laundry and just be there for him. Then she nearly dropped her teeth.
She told me she hadn't heard an American woman say anything like that. Heh? She also said that women from her country were becoming like American girls too. She said most of the women she comes across in her line of work are too caught up in being what sounded like she said, "dissatisfied and about me." So I guess that means that at least a small percentage of foreign women think that us American chicas (and some of their own) are grouchy cows who only focus on themselves. I wasn't offended. Mainly because she made it clear that I was somehow different from my national sisterhood.
I would like to think that I am the right blend of modern woman and the girl next door and a traditionalist in the marital arena. I relish in caring for Travis. I love my kids and would do anything for them, but my life is really about Travis. Because of him, I have our kids. He works hard every day (and there are so many more every days these days and his every days seem to keep getting longer) and it is my job, and always has been my job, to make his life with us at home a respite from the insanity of his career. I want the house quiet and the family room clean when he comes home. I want dinner to be ready not long after he gets home, if I can't have it done before he arrives. I want him to come home and walk in the house and know that he has a sanctuary at his disposal for at least the next several hours. Why is that such an oddity in our culture?
Have we removed ourselves from the past and progressed to the point that our traditional roles, as women, have become so completely cumbersome to us that we leave them in the dust behind us? That just makes me sad.
I am sure there are those who would say that part of my June Cleaver factor is that I am a Christian. I could agree with them, I guess, were it not for the fact that I have always felt this way. I have always known that making my husband's life easier, and richer, and more comfortable would be one of my greatest accomplishments. And by always, I mean before I even had one, or before I had one in mind.
What is the problem we "progressive" women have with taking joy in being responsible for the enrichment of another's life, particularly if that another was a man? What's with the man-hating? I just don't get it.
I am sure it's gonna tick someone, somewhere off, but I am going to say it anyway, cuz that's how I roll. We can be the corporate raider. We can be the ultra power-hungry attorney. We can be a divine baker or a fabulous dog walker or a tenured professor. But, none of that can bring us satisfaction unless we choose to allow it to do so. Maybe just being a housewife can make us complete- if we choose to allow it do do so. Maybe we can be the banker and let the drive home serve as the buffer between what we do and who we are, so we can jump into our jammies and cook an awesome three course dinner or just chuck a frozen lasagne in the nuker and grab a glass of iced tea and chill.
Who's to say that women who have stayed home to grow their families rather than their investment accounts have it wrong? See, I had the career. I had a great career. I had a crappy couple of bosses, but I had a great career and I loved it. I was good at it, I was highly respected and I loved it. And then I left it. My husband was gone to Iraq, my kids needed to be able to have afternoons for their stuff, I wasn't serving my career or my family well simultaneously, so I quit. I thought Travis was going to have a stroke, but I did it anyhow.
The outcome? I lowerd my expectations of myself and began to accept that I was doing what I had to in order to grow happy healthy people (including me). I took the focus off me and took my joy from doing for my family. And that was the best decision I ever made. Leaving my job prepared me to be fulfilled by living.
Currently listening : Leave It To Beaver: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack By Randy Edelman Release date: 1997-08-12
I'm just totally confused tonight. I am not going to complain. Well, at least, that is not my intention, so if it happens to happen, I apologize in advance.
While out and about today on my endeavours I had the chance to sit and talk to someone for the better part of 45 minutes. She was a very nice lady. She was a very nice lady who is very different from me. She is from another country (one which is far, far away from my own). She is older than I. She has very young children. She has been married for a few years, and from what I gathered from her she's been married less than half the time I have. I guess I am so surprised because from the little I know of her culture, it was shocking to hear what she had to say.
As we talked we mainly focused on small-talk business. You know the type- polite and pleasant and not neccessarily profound. Eventually we came upon the topic of our move and living situation. I told her I was ready to leave El Paso. She was blown away by my wanting to move first because we've been here for so long and I want to go, and second because of what I said after she asked her next question. She asked my why I wanted to move so much. I told her that El Paso isn't my home anymore. Then she wanted to know why. I told her I missed taking care of Travis. I told her it was my job to cook and do his laundry and just be there for him. Then she nearly dropped her teeth.
She told me she hadn't heard an American woman say anything like that. Heh? She also said that women from her country were becoming like American girls too. She said most of the women she comes across in her line of work are too caught up in being what sounded like she said, "dissatisfied and about me." So I guess that means that at least a small percentage of foreign women think that us American chicas (and some of their own) are grouchy cows who only focus on themselves. I wasn't offended. Mainly because she made it clear that I was somehow different from my national sisterhood.
I would like to think that I am the right blend of modern woman and the girl next door and a traditionalist in the marital arena. I relish in caring for Travis. I love my kids and would do anything for them, but my life is really about Travis. Because of him, I have our kids. He works hard every day (and there are so many more every days these days and his every days seem to keep getting longer) and it is my job, and always has been my job, to make his life with us at home a respite from the insanity of his career. I want the house quiet and the family room clean when he comes home. I want dinner to be ready not long after he gets home, if I can't have it done before he arrives. I want him to come home and walk in the house and know that he has a sanctuary at his disposal for at least the next several hours. Why is that such an oddity in our culture?
Have we removed ourselves from the past and progressed to the point that our traditional roles, as women, have become so completely cumbersome to us that we leave them in the dust behind us? That just makes me sad.
I am sure there are those who would say that part of my June Cleaver factor is that I am a Christian. I could agree with them, I guess, were it not for the fact that I have always felt this way. I have always known that making my husband's life easier, and richer, and more comfortable would be one of my greatest accomplishments. And by always, I mean before I even had one, or before I had one in mind.
What is the problem we "progressive" women have with taking joy in being responsible for the enrichment of another's life, particularly if that another was a man? What's with the man-hating? I just don't get it.
I am sure it's gonna tick someone, somewhere off, but I am going to say it anyway, cuz that's how I roll. We can be the corporate raider. We can be the ultra power-hungry attorney. We can be a divine baker or a fabulous dog walker or a tenured professor. But, none of that can bring us satisfaction unless we choose to allow it to do so. Maybe just being a housewife can make us complete- if we choose to allow it do do so. Maybe we can be the banker and let the drive home serve as the buffer between what we do and who we are, so we can jump into our jammies and cook an awesome three course dinner or just chuck a frozen lasagne in the nuker and grab a glass of iced tea and chill.
Who's to say that women who have stayed home to grow their families rather than their investment accounts have it wrong? See, I had the career. I had a great career. I had a crappy couple of bosses, but I had a great career and I loved it. I was good at it, I was highly respected and I loved it. And then I left it. My husband was gone to Iraq, my kids needed to be able to have afternoons for their stuff, I wasn't serving my career or my family well simultaneously, so I quit. I thought Travis was going to have a stroke, but I did it anyhow.
The outcome? I lowerd my expectations of myself and began to accept that I was doing what I had to in order to grow happy healthy people (including me). I took the focus off me and took my joy from doing for my family. And that was the best decision I ever made. Leaving my job prepared me to be fulfilled by living.
Currently listening : Leave It To Beaver: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack By Randy Edelman Release date: 1997-08-12
Monday, October 20, 2008
But on the Content of Their Character
Current mood: argumentative
Can anyone tell me who said that? Anyone? My guess is that there are tons of people who can and at least an equal amount of folks who cannot. What inspires me to write this is all the pre-election bullcrap going on. It is equally bi-partisan. I mentioned before I didn't want my vote to be based upon who was the lesser asshole, but so far, that's how it is looking.
Both candidates have their backs up against the closet door trying desperately to shove the bones back in before some photog comes along and captures a still to rock the foundation of modern politics for the foreseeable future. Trust me, I see both sides. Yeah, I tend to be quite conservative, but I NEVER vote a straight ticket unless that's where my heart leads me. Mi corazon has never done so.
Keating Five. Rev. Wright. Big business. Ayers. We can play this kind of ping pong all night if we so choose and we'll still be in the same position as the moment it all began.
I prefer to state the following: I am sick to death of hearing about how, "Its about time we put a black man in the White House." I've heard it stated so many different ways and it is still the same message every single time. Vote Obama because he is black. Well, yes, he is. He is an equal amount white, just to drive home a moot point.
What spurred me to this level of aggrivation is the quote I heard about a week ago. I was watching one of the cable news channels (I honestly don't remember which one and that has less to do with it than anything) when I saw a man (whose race is unimportant) in an interview. He declared the following (sorry if I paraphrase it incorrectly, but the meat of it is the same, I swear), "I am voting for Barak Obama based on the historical significance of his candidacy." What? Are you friggin' serious?
Vote for Obama because he organized and rallied a community. Vote for him because you like his global view. Let Barry be your man because he opposes troop presence in Iraq. Vote for him because you hate McCain. Vote for Barak because you like his policies.
Do not vote for Barak Obama because he is black. Or African American. Or any other derivative of racial description. To do so is stupid.
Voting for Barak Obama because he is black is horrible. If one were to vote for Hilary Clinton because she is a woman is equally as assinine. It equates to voting for McCain because he is old or Palin because she is a babe. USELESS!
To vote for Barak Obama based on the historical significance of his "blackness" completely negates any political work or community work or education or any measure of who Barak Obama really is. How is his race or ethnicity in any way validation or proof of what kind of President this man will be?
People have been throwing around a lot of familiar names these days with regard to the civil rights movement of the 50's and 60's. Most notably for people around the world is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Do you know what he said? Do you know the words he spoke? Do you realize the value in his vision?
Read on, if you will:
From the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, August 28, 1963. (I didn't know the August 28 part, but I knew the rest)
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But 100 years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men - yes, black men as well as white men - would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check that has come back marked "insufficient funds."
But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and security of justice. We have also come to his hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hoped that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for whites only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today my friends - so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification - one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father's died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!"
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi - from every mountainside.
Let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring - when we let it ring
from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children - black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics - will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
My favorite part? I HAVE A DREAM THAT MY FOUR LITTLE CHILDREN WILL ONE DAY LIVE IN A NATION WHERE THEY WILL NOT BE JUDGED BY THE COLOR OF THEIR SKIN BUT BY THE CONTENT OF THEIR CHARACTER.
Yes, it is about time "we" put a black man in the White House. Truth be told, having a black man as the leader of the world's agruably most powerful nation should have happened long ago. That is correct. But, to put someone there simply because he is black is not correct. It is corrupt.
If you intend to vote for Barak Obama, please do so. Just, please, do so based on his accomplishments or how he has inspired you. Vote for Obama because you see the leader within who surely must evolve. Listen to him speak, research his legislative history, study what it is that he stands for and then vote.
Should you vote for Barak Obama because he is black you will set American Race relations back by decades.
Currently listening : Black by Popular Demand By Guerilla Black Release date: 2004-12-14
Can anyone tell me who said that? Anyone? My guess is that there are tons of people who can and at least an equal amount of folks who cannot. What inspires me to write this is all the pre-election bullcrap going on. It is equally bi-partisan. I mentioned before I didn't want my vote to be based upon who was the lesser asshole, but so far, that's how it is looking.
Both candidates have their backs up against the closet door trying desperately to shove the bones back in before some photog comes along and captures a still to rock the foundation of modern politics for the foreseeable future. Trust me, I see both sides. Yeah, I tend to be quite conservative, but I NEVER vote a straight ticket unless that's where my heart leads me. Mi corazon has never done so.
Keating Five. Rev. Wright. Big business. Ayers. We can play this kind of ping pong all night if we so choose and we'll still be in the same position as the moment it all began.
I prefer to state the following: I am sick to death of hearing about how, "Its about time we put a black man in the White House." I've heard it stated so many different ways and it is still the same message every single time. Vote Obama because he is black. Well, yes, he is. He is an equal amount white, just to drive home a moot point.
What spurred me to this level of aggrivation is the quote I heard about a week ago. I was watching one of the cable news channels (I honestly don't remember which one and that has less to do with it than anything) when I saw a man (whose race is unimportant) in an interview. He declared the following (sorry if I paraphrase it incorrectly, but the meat of it is the same, I swear), "I am voting for Barak Obama based on the historical significance of his candidacy." What? Are you friggin' serious?
Vote for Obama because he organized and rallied a community. Vote for him because you like his global view. Let Barry be your man because he opposes troop presence in Iraq. Vote for him because you hate McCain. Vote for Barak because you like his policies.
Do not vote for Barak Obama because he is black. Or African American. Or any other derivative of racial description. To do so is stupid.
Voting for Barak Obama because he is black is horrible. If one were to vote for Hilary Clinton because she is a woman is equally as assinine. It equates to voting for McCain because he is old or Palin because she is a babe. USELESS!
To vote for Barak Obama based on the historical significance of his "blackness" completely negates any political work or community work or education or any measure of who Barak Obama really is. How is his race or ethnicity in any way validation or proof of what kind of President this man will be?
People have been throwing around a lot of familiar names these days with regard to the civil rights movement of the 50's and 60's. Most notably for people around the world is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Do you know what he said? Do you know the words he spoke? Do you realize the value in his vision?
Read on, if you will:
From the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, August 28, 1963. (I didn't know the August 28 part, but I knew the rest)
I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But 100 years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men - yes, black men as well as white men - would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check that has come back marked "insufficient funds."
But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and security of justice. We have also come to his hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hoped that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for whites only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today my friends - so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification - one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my father's died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!"
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi - from every mountainside.
Let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring - when we let it ring
from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children - black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics - will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
My favorite part? I HAVE A DREAM THAT MY FOUR LITTLE CHILDREN WILL ONE DAY LIVE IN A NATION WHERE THEY WILL NOT BE JUDGED BY THE COLOR OF THEIR SKIN BUT BY THE CONTENT OF THEIR CHARACTER.
Yes, it is about time "we" put a black man in the White House. Truth be told, having a black man as the leader of the world's agruably most powerful nation should have happened long ago. That is correct. But, to put someone there simply because he is black is not correct. It is corrupt.
If you intend to vote for Barak Obama, please do so. Just, please, do so based on his accomplishments or how he has inspired you. Vote for Obama because you see the leader within who surely must evolve. Listen to him speak, research his legislative history, study what it is that he stands for and then vote.
Should you vote for Barak Obama because he is black you will set American Race relations back by decades.
Currently listening : Black by Popular Demand By Guerilla Black Release date: 2004-12-14
Monday, October 13, 2008
So, Ummm, Yeah
Current mood: aggravated
Today I drove a client to an appointment for herself and her son. Not a big deal, but we got on this topic and I ain't done with it yet.
Last week, I was in line at Big 5. That is a grocery store near our house here in El Paso. I was standing there with three items, all of which I needed. I would have paid less for them, were I shopping at the commissary, but that requires me to drive much further, thusly using more gas. So, saving and conserving one way bites me in the butt the other. Between our home (for which we are still paying the mortgage note) and the grocery store is a low-income government housing complex. I don't have a problem with that. This is the problem- As I drive by the neighborhood, I see several newer and quite fancy cars and trucks. I know the price tag on many of them, as I am window shopping for a new-ish vehicle now. So, some of these folks can't afford housing at the current going rate and need low-income housing, but they can afford cars that cost well over $30k? OK.
And, I guess that sent me into a tailspin which drug me far from the prior point. Back to the line at the store. I had three things, all of which I had a real need for. I had bread, eggs, and some nanners. I was standing there in a pair of older jeans, a nice t-shirt (which I have had for at least a year), and tennies, my wedding band, toting my WalMart purse while wearing my nerdy prescription sunglasses. I was tired and had worked all three of my contracts that day. The woman in front of me had two cartloads full of groceries- mostly stuff from the frozen foods department and the cereal aisle, but a healthy supply of meats and soda as well. She was wearing some hooker shoes, a pair of Baby Phat jeans (those are the ones with the cat embroidered on the back pockets, right?), she had enough makeup to make Tammy Faye (Lord rest her Maybellene soul) shudder and enough perfume to gag Queen Elizabeth I, a super-flashy top, about five gold chains around her neck, each with its own gleaming medallion (to include a Cadillac symbol, a Virgin Mary, some other religious medal, her name, and a cross), about five inches of bangle bracelets up each arm and a ring (or two) on each of her fingers, with a dye job that was about a week old (yeah, that obvious), and a huge Coach bag (fake or not, still- Coach?). Her bill was giganticus. I think it was somewhere in the area of about $350. She pulled out her LoneStar (Texas food stamps) card and paid. She did not pay with any cash, a check or a debit/credit card. The LoneStar paid it all.
Does anyone else see a problem with this? I do understand that goverment assistance is in place to help people get on their feet so they can build a life for themselves. I take no issue with that.
I think it is a good thing, as long as it leads a person down the path to real independence. Something tells me this woman was happy with the status quo.
So, are we really helping? Are we doing what we should? Are we making sure that the money we are putting out to lend aid to those who need it is really winding up in the hands of those with true need? When can I expect social responsibility and common sense to merge?
That just gripes me to no end.
Currently listening : Will Work for Food Stamps By American Gothic
Today I drove a client to an appointment for herself and her son. Not a big deal, but we got on this topic and I ain't done with it yet.
Last week, I was in line at Big 5. That is a grocery store near our house here in El Paso. I was standing there with three items, all of which I needed. I would have paid less for them, were I shopping at the commissary, but that requires me to drive much further, thusly using more gas. So, saving and conserving one way bites me in the butt the other. Between our home (for which we are still paying the mortgage note) and the grocery store is a low-income government housing complex. I don't have a problem with that. This is the problem- As I drive by the neighborhood, I see several newer and quite fancy cars and trucks. I know the price tag on many of them, as I am window shopping for a new-ish vehicle now. So, some of these folks can't afford housing at the current going rate and need low-income housing, but they can afford cars that cost well over $30k? OK.
And, I guess that sent me into a tailspin which drug me far from the prior point. Back to the line at the store. I had three things, all of which I had a real need for. I had bread, eggs, and some nanners. I was standing there in a pair of older jeans, a nice t-shirt (which I have had for at least a year), and tennies, my wedding band, toting my WalMart purse while wearing my nerdy prescription sunglasses. I was tired and had worked all three of my contracts that day. The woman in front of me had two cartloads full of groceries- mostly stuff from the frozen foods department and the cereal aisle, but a healthy supply of meats and soda as well. She was wearing some hooker shoes, a pair of Baby Phat jeans (those are the ones with the cat embroidered on the back pockets, right?), she had enough makeup to make Tammy Faye (Lord rest her Maybellene soul) shudder and enough perfume to gag Queen Elizabeth I, a super-flashy top, about five gold chains around her neck, each with its own gleaming medallion (to include a Cadillac symbol, a Virgin Mary, some other religious medal, her name, and a cross), about five inches of bangle bracelets up each arm and a ring (or two) on each of her fingers, with a dye job that was about a week old (yeah, that obvious), and a huge Coach bag (fake or not, still- Coach?). Her bill was giganticus. I think it was somewhere in the area of about $350. She pulled out her LoneStar (Texas food stamps) card and paid. She did not pay with any cash, a check or a debit/credit card. The LoneStar paid it all.
Does anyone else see a problem with this? I do understand that goverment assistance is in place to help people get on their feet so they can build a life for themselves. I take no issue with that.
I think it is a good thing, as long as it leads a person down the path to real independence. Something tells me this woman was happy with the status quo.
So, are we really helping? Are we doing what we should? Are we making sure that the money we are putting out to lend aid to those who need it is really winding up in the hands of those with true need? When can I expect social responsibility and common sense to merge?
That just gripes me to no end.
Currently listening : Will Work for Food Stamps By American Gothic
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Mascara and Lipstick
Current mood: determined
Things just haven't been going my way lately and most of us know it. In our entryway, immediately across from the front door there are mirrored closet doors. Most people have to take a step back when they enter because they are met with a full-on reflection of themself upon entry. They weren't our choice, they were here when we moved in and have stayed for any number of reasons. They really aren't important except that they are important to my story here.
Tuesday night Nolan took an odd hit at football. It was kind of a freak accident. Yes, one of the ideas behind football is to knock the fire out of your opponent. And, no, I am not one of those football mommies who thinks my angel is about to begin hemmoraging after every practice, including the ones with no pads and hitting. I pretty much have the idea that if you want to play sports like football and wrestling, you kinda gotta take your lickin's and all. So, the hit did concern me. In four years of contact football we've never had a real injury but Coach actually had Nolan sit out a few plays (and eventually made him lay down as well). As a play was wrapping up a boy's helmet hit Nolan's chin, under and inside the facemask, knocking his jaw in a very odd fashion. I figured once we got home and he got dinner and a shower he'd feel better. Not so much. At 8:45 we left for the ER. No big deal, the doc agreed with me and told me he'd be sore and a bit swollen for a day or two, but I was smart to bring him in to get checked because it was above the shoulders. We left just before 1:00, which was pretty much what I expected. I didn't mind.
I was very sleepy at the ER but I would not allow myself to doze. Once we got home and Nolan went to bed, I did as well. Then, I couldn't sleep. That's normal for me these days. I think I finally drifted off around 2:45, but had to wake up at around 4:00 for a potty call from the dogs. I got up, put them out, brought them in, went back to bed and got up for the day at 5:45. I went all day full-steam with work and the house and errands, then came football again. That was fine too, but I was in a totally bad moooood.
When we got home, I walked and and flipped on the hall light and caught a glimpse of myself in my ginormous mirrors. I looked like death. Seriously. No makeup, hair a mess, sweats, worn out and looking it. I made a decision at that point. "Tomorrow, I will wear makeup."
I always wear makeup. I at least have on foundation or powder at all times. My health stuff has caused me to have some serious issues with my skin and the foundation and powder help cover that and even things out a bit. The rest of the makeup aisle might or might not be visited on any given day. Today I was to put everything on.
When I got ready I realized I was out of powder and mascara. My budget has been in ICU for a while now but I had to run to Kmart for birthday stuff for the daughter (yep, 15) so I grabbed powder and mascara as well. Prolly shouldn't'a, but I did anyway. I needed it. I really, really needed it.
I've always been a girlie girl. I love shoes and purses and makeup and clothes and pedicures and fake nails (which I gave up) and its been that way since the dawn of time. I guess I've just been absorbed in everything else so I let myself go.
You know, the mascara and new powder and lipstick actually helped me feel better. I felt put together and just like I was me again. Well, me with an incredibly uncomfortable living arrangement.
Sure, it seems shallow and I would really like to think there is more to me than just the superficial, but something about getting back to looking more polished made me feel more polished. I kinda think I might have been a little happy. Sorta.
So, tomorrow, I am putting on my makeup again. Even if I don't have anything to do or anywhere to go.
Just cause.
Who knew a little makeup would save me from wallowing in self-pity?
Currently listening : Skin Deep By Lipstick Magazine Release date: 2008-08-05
Things just haven't been going my way lately and most of us know it. In our entryway, immediately across from the front door there are mirrored closet doors. Most people have to take a step back when they enter because they are met with a full-on reflection of themself upon entry. They weren't our choice, they were here when we moved in and have stayed for any number of reasons. They really aren't important except that they are important to my story here.
Tuesday night Nolan took an odd hit at football. It was kind of a freak accident. Yes, one of the ideas behind football is to knock the fire out of your opponent. And, no, I am not one of those football mommies who thinks my angel is about to begin hemmoraging after every practice, including the ones with no pads and hitting. I pretty much have the idea that if you want to play sports like football and wrestling, you kinda gotta take your lickin's and all. So, the hit did concern me. In four years of contact football we've never had a real injury but Coach actually had Nolan sit out a few plays (and eventually made him lay down as well). As a play was wrapping up a boy's helmet hit Nolan's chin, under and inside the facemask, knocking his jaw in a very odd fashion. I figured once we got home and he got dinner and a shower he'd feel better. Not so much. At 8:45 we left for the ER. No big deal, the doc agreed with me and told me he'd be sore and a bit swollen for a day or two, but I was smart to bring him in to get checked because it was above the shoulders. We left just before 1:00, which was pretty much what I expected. I didn't mind.
I was very sleepy at the ER but I would not allow myself to doze. Once we got home and Nolan went to bed, I did as well. Then, I couldn't sleep. That's normal for me these days. I think I finally drifted off around 2:45, but had to wake up at around 4:00 for a potty call from the dogs. I got up, put them out, brought them in, went back to bed and got up for the day at 5:45. I went all day full-steam with work and the house and errands, then came football again. That was fine too, but I was in a totally bad moooood.
When we got home, I walked and and flipped on the hall light and caught a glimpse of myself in my ginormous mirrors. I looked like death. Seriously. No makeup, hair a mess, sweats, worn out and looking it. I made a decision at that point. "Tomorrow, I will wear makeup."
I always wear makeup. I at least have on foundation or powder at all times. My health stuff has caused me to have some serious issues with my skin and the foundation and powder help cover that and even things out a bit. The rest of the makeup aisle might or might not be visited on any given day. Today I was to put everything on.
When I got ready I realized I was out of powder and mascara. My budget has been in ICU for a while now but I had to run to Kmart for birthday stuff for the daughter (yep, 15) so I grabbed powder and mascara as well. Prolly shouldn't'a, but I did anyway. I needed it. I really, really needed it.
I've always been a girlie girl. I love shoes and purses and makeup and clothes and pedicures and fake nails (which I gave up) and its been that way since the dawn of time. I guess I've just been absorbed in everything else so I let myself go.
You know, the mascara and new powder and lipstick actually helped me feel better. I felt put together and just like I was me again. Well, me with an incredibly uncomfortable living arrangement.
Sure, it seems shallow and I would really like to think there is more to me than just the superficial, but something about getting back to looking more polished made me feel more polished. I kinda think I might have been a little happy. Sorta.
So, tomorrow, I am putting on my makeup again. Even if I don't have anything to do or anywhere to go.
Just cause.
Who knew a little makeup would save me from wallowing in self-pity?
Currently listening : Skin Deep By Lipstick Magazine Release date: 2008-08-05
Monday, October 6, 2008
For Crying Out Loud... No, Really
Current mood: disappointed
Yesterday was a crap day. It was a total crap day. We have been on the go, almost non-stop since we put the house on the market on the 12th of September. Sure, we've watched TV a time or two or sat around in our jammies for a while, but otherwise, we've been cleaning, packing, painting, cleaning, footballing, cheerleading, schooling, cleaning, and ummm- cleaning.
Last weekend was our first open house. It was attended by one couple who expressed interest in the house and asked to meet with the Realtor who administered the open house regarding our house. Our Realtor was tied up at another open house (which, incidentally, went completely unattended. I have been assured that is the norm these days. Peeps just ain't lookin'.) so she had another person from her office handle ours. He was to represent the buying couple. Apparently they just aren't buying ours. Maybe they will, but I refuse to go crazy over it because I can't control it.
Yesterday, crap day, we didn't even go to church. We stayed home, Amanda and I slept late, we did laundry (which was laid out in the spare room and the halls by load), we cooked, we played checkers and backgammon and chess all day, we cleaned the kitchen and that was about it. Until the freaking doorbell rang. There was a Realtor and a couple who wanted to see the house. Ummm, I told her no.
See, our MLS information states clearly that the showing Realtor is to call the homeowner (that would be me) an hour prior to arrival. My phone never rang. NEVAH. I thought that since no one had called, we were safe to be lazy and slovenly. Shah, not.
So, I said no and then called my Realtor. She called me back and said that she clearly told the showing Realtor to call us before they came. She also told me I was completely right to tell them they could not see the house. Somehow, I feel like we may have lost out since we've had A whopping couple see the house in the last three weeks.
Also, while speaking to Gina (our Realtor), she told me she had two other couples she intended to show the house to next week. Yay. Let us hope and pray that something comes of this.
There are many reasons for this. See, I miss my man. I could go into it, but there's no sense in making everyone sad along with me. Let's just say this (skip it if you've heard me say it before), this is harder than any deployment because there is no arguing or second-guessing a deployment. They go. That's that. They just have to go. So they do. This was a choice for us. I don't want to regret the choice made primarily by me and agreed upon by him. Selling will be the first next step in my getting us there.
Also, we have two abodes. Two sets of bills. Two sets of operating expenses. It was OK for a while, but it ain't now. This crappy economy and the gas prices of the last eight months and all the travel costs have all but killed us. Selling will cut our family living expenses substantially, give us enough to seriously work on our ever-growing bills and put some in something for the kids' educations. There was a reasonable something there before. There isn't now. There are lots of reasons, but our economic nose-dive is a factor. Big factor. FREAKING HUGE. But, now we have to figure out what kind of something we inted on trusting this time around. Trust is interesting.
So, since yesterday at about 4:00, I've been upset. I have cried. Actually, I've sobbed until I nearly puked, but who's noticing. I keep wondering if this was THE client to buy this house. I have got to sell this thing. I have doubted my choice to take a real mental health day for the kids and I and wished I had just gotten up at 7:30 to get ready for church and cleaned. But, at the end of the day (just prior to the ringing of the doorbell), I felt really good. I took a greedy me day and did stuff that only serves the three of us. I even got a real jump on three nights' dinners. And it got squashed. Return to Crapville.
I know this house will sell. I know there is a buyer out there. I know I do everything I can as much as possible to facilitate that buyer who will buy this place. But, am I not allowed to take care of us at the same time?
I really want to unfurl a litany of bad words.
And I'd like to cry some more.
Currently listening : Cry Like a Rainstorm, Howl Like the Wind By Linda Ronstadt Release date: 1989-09-25
Yesterday was a crap day. It was a total crap day. We have been on the go, almost non-stop since we put the house on the market on the 12th of September. Sure, we've watched TV a time or two or sat around in our jammies for a while, but otherwise, we've been cleaning, packing, painting, cleaning, footballing, cheerleading, schooling, cleaning, and ummm- cleaning.
Last weekend was our first open house. It was attended by one couple who expressed interest in the house and asked to meet with the Realtor who administered the open house regarding our house. Our Realtor was tied up at another open house (which, incidentally, went completely unattended. I have been assured that is the norm these days. Peeps just ain't lookin'.) so she had another person from her office handle ours. He was to represent the buying couple. Apparently they just aren't buying ours. Maybe they will, but I refuse to go crazy over it because I can't control it.
Yesterday, crap day, we didn't even go to church. We stayed home, Amanda and I slept late, we did laundry (which was laid out in the spare room and the halls by load), we cooked, we played checkers and backgammon and chess all day, we cleaned the kitchen and that was about it. Until the freaking doorbell rang. There was a Realtor and a couple who wanted to see the house. Ummm, I told her no.
See, our MLS information states clearly that the showing Realtor is to call the homeowner (that would be me) an hour prior to arrival. My phone never rang. NEVAH. I thought that since no one had called, we were safe to be lazy and slovenly. Shah, not.
So, I said no and then called my Realtor. She called me back and said that she clearly told the showing Realtor to call us before they came. She also told me I was completely right to tell them they could not see the house. Somehow, I feel like we may have lost out since we've had A whopping couple see the house in the last three weeks.
Also, while speaking to Gina (our Realtor), she told me she had two other couples she intended to show the house to next week. Yay. Let us hope and pray that something comes of this.
There are many reasons for this. See, I miss my man. I could go into it, but there's no sense in making everyone sad along with me. Let's just say this (skip it if you've heard me say it before), this is harder than any deployment because there is no arguing or second-guessing a deployment. They go. That's that. They just have to go. So they do. This was a choice for us. I don't want to regret the choice made primarily by me and agreed upon by him. Selling will be the first next step in my getting us there.
Also, we have two abodes. Two sets of bills. Two sets of operating expenses. It was OK for a while, but it ain't now. This crappy economy and the gas prices of the last eight months and all the travel costs have all but killed us. Selling will cut our family living expenses substantially, give us enough to seriously work on our ever-growing bills and put some in something for the kids' educations. There was a reasonable something there before. There isn't now. There are lots of reasons, but our economic nose-dive is a factor. Big factor. FREAKING HUGE. But, now we have to figure out what kind of something we inted on trusting this time around. Trust is interesting.
So, since yesterday at about 4:00, I've been upset. I have cried. Actually, I've sobbed until I nearly puked, but who's noticing. I keep wondering if this was THE client to buy this house. I have got to sell this thing. I have doubted my choice to take a real mental health day for the kids and I and wished I had just gotten up at 7:30 to get ready for church and cleaned. But, at the end of the day (just prior to the ringing of the doorbell), I felt really good. I took a greedy me day and did stuff that only serves the three of us. I even got a real jump on three nights' dinners. And it got squashed. Return to Crapville.
I know this house will sell. I know there is a buyer out there. I know I do everything I can as much as possible to facilitate that buyer who will buy this place. But, am I not allowed to take care of us at the same time?
I really want to unfurl a litany of bad words.
And I'd like to cry some more.
Currently listening : Cry Like a Rainstorm, Howl Like the Wind By Linda Ronstadt Release date: 1989-09-25
Can I Sleep it Off?
Current mood: uncomfortable
Wish I could, and this is going to be one of those times when cogent typing falls by the wayside and pure emotion spills out all over. I could write about the ills of our economy or the fact that my checking account looks ever-sicker each month of this separation or more on cancer or more on my wacky family or the fact that I turned down a dog which needs a home out of respect for my family's needs (totally against my usual response to dogs needing homes), but no. I revert to being the mother of a kid in high school.
I think most of the time that Travis and I have done a relatively good job on the kids. Nolan's had his rough spots, but as he matures, I see the issues shrinking and fading. He sometimes struggles for his successes, but they do come and we appreciate his efforts. We tell him, as we tell his sister, that we are proud of them. We tell them that we love them unconditionally, and in Nolan's case, it was important for him to be told that no matter what, he could never make us un-love him. I think he gets that now. Praise the superior being of your choice (A. The Lord. B. Allah. C. Buddah. D. Hale-Bop. E. ________________).
Conversely, it is important to us as parents to make sure that when warranted, we tell our children we are disappointed in their actions. Not in them, rather, in what they do. My child is not disappointing, but the fact that her sports bras are all missing disappoints me to no end. My child is not disappointing, but the continual disappearance of his socks due to his not picking them up from the floor disappoints me and makes me break out in hives a little. You see? I hate having those conversations. They suck. They make me feel like doody. Before. During. After. Just. Plain. Doody. ***BUT*** I see a huge decline in the number of people who were raised with a sense of what is and is not disappointing to their parental unit(s). I guess that's what the ol' folks used to call, "Shame on you!" I, personally, don't think a little shame ever killed someone. If you do, stop reading because this is my blog and I'll say what I want. The way we learn that shame sucks is to feel shame for an action and learn from it how to avoid shamefulness. Or disappointment, or whatever prettier word you want to give it.
My kid is in high school now. Yes, high school. Hold on, gotta dab the corners of my eyes. Ahem, where was I, ah, high school.
This is a whole new world. I thought I might have some type of advantage here, being one of the younger moms of a high schooler. I am 35, dude. I graduated high school just 18 years ago. Dude, I thought I was young until my kid went to high school in El Paso. I think the median age for mothers of new Freshman has got to be somewhere around 30? Maybe 28? Not kidding. I guess I am old. Dude, that blows. Oh Menopause, is that you creeping through the shadows of my room?
Remember, if you will, to date we have dealt with bisexuality, homosexuality, teen pregnancy (more than one acquaintance of La Princessa is currently expecting), homelessness ('nuther story for 'nuther time), mental illness, promiscuity, all within four weeks, and now this- read on.
So, last night I went into Amanda's room around 10-ish. I wanted to talk to her. I wasn't trying to catch her in the act of anything, but that's usually how it happens. Regardless of the good decisions/bad decisions discussions, regardless of the consequences for our actions discussions, regardless of the presence of very cut and dried rules in our home, she still leans. She was leaning. She actually was texting after 9 pm. I can deal with the texting. I have learned to cope without the help of such agencies as Text-annon. My two requirements- no texting/calling during school and no texting/calling after 9 pm. Fair enough? Yeah, but occasionally when the mood strikes her, she simply must text. Last night she was texting with two people.
One is a friend from an activity and one (who shall remain as annonymous as possible because that person is a minor- I'll call them LL) is someone with whom my Precious Darling wants to spend more time. I was previously involved in the more time decision as was the father. Leery and acutely aware of newness and unfamiliarity, we reluctantly agreed. F*&^! We are so stupid.
So, the one wanted info. And to gossip. Typical. The other wanted to laugh about their choice to do some illegal things. Ah, which illegal things? LL got loaded and high. Chronic and pot. And was laughing about it, while telling my kid that they were flirting with the third person in the texting triad while loaded and high. At least they're honest, eh?
That's when the fun began. I took the phone and began to assume my kid's identity. Oh, yes, I violated the sanctity of the text. After several texts back and forth, I told LL I was THE MOM. I think I heard LL crap a little in los pantalones. So, we then shared a dialogue and I explained that pot was totally not cool with me. LL tried to get me to believe that it was a one time/first time mistake. Yo momma may buy that crap, but I wont. LL tried really hard. LL called me dude several times, dude. LL told me that they were a good kid because their progress reports was all As, cept two Bs, dude. LL even pinkie promised me. Yes, seriously. Unwavered, I didn't back down. But I wasn't a total cow to LL either. I discussed openly for an hour and a half and told LL I expected better decision making from my kid because she was taught better. When I asked LL if they had told their parents about their first timeyness, LL instantly became so tired that LL required immediate rest and bid me a pleasant evening. Not really, it was more like, "I really have to go to sleep. I need my rest. Goodnight mam."
So, now we have lied, broken at least two laws, flirted with a friend (while loaded and high and blaming it on that [which might just be another lie, no?]), and tried to manipulate someone's mom into changing her thinking that it was just a "one time thing and that everyone makes mistakes."
I told her she couldn't spend time outside school with LL. And then she tried for another half an hour, after the hour and a half I was texting LL and talking to her at the same time, to make me change my mind into believing that LL was a good person with whom she could spend extra time. I told her I do believe in second chances but LL used them up in one night and that my kid deserves more than to compromise what she knows is right for someone who thinks it is all a fun ride. I told her if she also needed to discuss it with her father. When she talked to him he said pretty much the same thing as me.
I really love that man.
Currently listening : Fast Times At Ridgemont High: Music From The Motion Picture By Various
Artists Release date: 1995-03-14
Wish I could, and this is going to be one of those times when cogent typing falls by the wayside and pure emotion spills out all over. I could write about the ills of our economy or the fact that my checking account looks ever-sicker each month of this separation or more on cancer or more on my wacky family or the fact that I turned down a dog which needs a home out of respect for my family's needs (totally against my usual response to dogs needing homes), but no. I revert to being the mother of a kid in high school.
I think most of the time that Travis and I have done a relatively good job on the kids. Nolan's had his rough spots, but as he matures, I see the issues shrinking and fading. He sometimes struggles for his successes, but they do come and we appreciate his efforts. We tell him, as we tell his sister, that we are proud of them. We tell them that we love them unconditionally, and in Nolan's case, it was important for him to be told that no matter what, he could never make us un-love him. I think he gets that now. Praise the superior being of your choice (A. The Lord. B. Allah. C. Buddah. D. Hale-Bop. E. ________________).
Conversely, it is important to us as parents to make sure that when warranted, we tell our children we are disappointed in their actions. Not in them, rather, in what they do. My child is not disappointing, but the fact that her sports bras are all missing disappoints me to no end. My child is not disappointing, but the continual disappearance of his socks due to his not picking them up from the floor disappoints me and makes me break out in hives a little. You see? I hate having those conversations. They suck. They make me feel like doody. Before. During. After. Just. Plain. Doody. ***BUT*** I see a huge decline in the number of people who were raised with a sense of what is and is not disappointing to their parental unit(s). I guess that's what the ol' folks used to call, "Shame on you!" I, personally, don't think a little shame ever killed someone. If you do, stop reading because this is my blog and I'll say what I want. The way we learn that shame sucks is to feel shame for an action and learn from it how to avoid shamefulness. Or disappointment, or whatever prettier word you want to give it.
My kid is in high school now. Yes, high school. Hold on, gotta dab the corners of my eyes. Ahem, where was I, ah, high school.
This is a whole new world. I thought I might have some type of advantage here, being one of the younger moms of a high schooler. I am 35, dude. I graduated high school just 18 years ago. Dude, I thought I was young until my kid went to high school in El Paso. I think the median age for mothers of new Freshman has got to be somewhere around 30? Maybe 28? Not kidding. I guess I am old. Dude, that blows. Oh Menopause, is that you creeping through the shadows of my room?
Remember, if you will, to date we have dealt with bisexuality, homosexuality, teen pregnancy (more than one acquaintance of La Princessa is currently expecting), homelessness ('nuther story for 'nuther time), mental illness, promiscuity, all within four weeks, and now this- read on.
So, last night I went into Amanda's room around 10-ish. I wanted to talk to her. I wasn't trying to catch her in the act of anything, but that's usually how it happens. Regardless of the good decisions/bad decisions discussions, regardless of the consequences for our actions discussions, regardless of the presence of very cut and dried rules in our home, she still leans. She was leaning. She actually was texting after 9 pm. I can deal with the texting. I have learned to cope without the help of such agencies as Text-annon. My two requirements- no texting/calling during school and no texting/calling after 9 pm. Fair enough? Yeah, but occasionally when the mood strikes her, she simply must text. Last night she was texting with two people.
One is a friend from an activity and one (who shall remain as annonymous as possible because that person is a minor- I'll call them LL) is someone with whom my Precious Darling wants to spend more time. I was previously involved in the more time decision as was the father. Leery and acutely aware of newness and unfamiliarity, we reluctantly agreed. F*&^! We are so stupid.
So, the one wanted info. And to gossip. Typical. The other wanted to laugh about their choice to do some illegal things. Ah, which illegal things? LL got loaded and high. Chronic and pot. And was laughing about it, while telling my kid that they were flirting with the third person in the texting triad while loaded and high. At least they're honest, eh?
That's when the fun began. I took the phone and began to assume my kid's identity. Oh, yes, I violated the sanctity of the text. After several texts back and forth, I told LL I was THE MOM. I think I heard LL crap a little in los pantalones. So, we then shared a dialogue and I explained that pot was totally not cool with me. LL tried to get me to believe that it was a one time/first time mistake. Yo momma may buy that crap, but I wont. LL tried really hard. LL called me dude several times, dude. LL told me that they were a good kid because their progress reports was all As, cept two Bs, dude. LL even pinkie promised me. Yes, seriously. Unwavered, I didn't back down. But I wasn't a total cow to LL either. I discussed openly for an hour and a half and told LL I expected better decision making from my kid because she was taught better. When I asked LL if they had told their parents about their first timeyness, LL instantly became so tired that LL required immediate rest and bid me a pleasant evening. Not really, it was more like, "I really have to go to sleep. I need my rest. Goodnight mam."
So, now we have lied, broken at least two laws, flirted with a friend (while loaded and high and blaming it on that [which might just be another lie, no?]), and tried to manipulate someone's mom into changing her thinking that it was just a "one time thing and that everyone makes mistakes."
I told her she couldn't spend time outside school with LL. And then she tried for another half an hour, after the hour and a half I was texting LL and talking to her at the same time, to make me change my mind into believing that LL was a good person with whom she could spend extra time. I told her I do believe in second chances but LL used them up in one night and that my kid deserves more than to compromise what she knows is right for someone who thinks it is all a fun ride. I told her if she also needed to discuss it with her father. When she talked to him he said pretty much the same thing as me.
I really love that man.
Currently listening : Fast Times At Ridgemont High: Music From The Motion Picture By Various
Artists Release date: 1995-03-14
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