Not for the Faint of Heart

We all know I am a fat girl. I am not in denial and I know why I am fat. I do not eat healthy. I consume large amounts of sugar via sodas and candy. The only exercise I get it cleaning the house and grocery shopping. I care about my health. I try to eat plenty of vegetables and fruits. Over the years I have picked up a few tricks to keep the hounds (family illnesses) at bay. I eat spinach to keep my blood thin.  Cinnamon to lower my blood sugar. I eat whole grain cereal or breads to regulate my cholesterol.

Just recently I once again gave up soda. A few months ago I swore off fast food after reading that it had ammonia in it. These are not super fixes. But it is things I can afford to do with a very limited income and no health insurance.  I felt like a little something is better than nothing. 

I’m not looking to lose weight. I do not take my weight too seriously.  I am surrounded by skinny people with high blood pressure and mass health problems.  Overall I think it is kind of funny how their health is worse than mine.  But being fat still puts me in an unhealthy range to develop these problems. Something I worry about.

So it is no surprise that when a blogger/neighbor started to talk about colon cleansing I was interested. I used my super tool google to find out the basics. First thing I found out was I could not afford the suggested retail therapies. Second thing I found out was that I could not find half the ingredients for the homemade remedies. But the third thing I found out was that most suggest large amounts of psyllium. I have plenty of that. And the motto that “a little bit of something is better than nothing.”

Here is a description of my first day.  It was important to fast.  So at 12 a.m. Thursday morning I ate my last meal. I went to bed. I woke up and grudgingly reached past my coffee maker to the psyllium. Mixed a heavy helping with some water and drunk it down as quickly as possible. It does not taste bad. It just turns  thick and gel like if you let it sit to long. By long I mean more than a minute.

It was not long after drinking it my stomach started to hurt. Not my normal I “gotta go” hurt.  This started in my upper gut (small intestine) and went all the way to the bottom gut (lower intestine). It can only be described by me as thunderbolts and lightning strikes. I was in misery. But I kept drinking.  I thought that it must be the process working and soon I would get some relief by using the restroom.

I was wrong. The day continued in the same way until I finally could not stand the pain any longer and went to lay in the bed and wither in pain. When the kids got home I got up long enough to complain that standing only made the pain worse.  But now I had that constipated feeling along with the striking pain.

Normally I am very regular in the bathroom department. If I eat it comes out minutes later. I got that from my gallbladder surgery.  But it was in no way normal. —–>Gross Part: My bowel movements have always been watery. If I had normal (according to everyone else) poop, it hurt really bad. I always joked my butt couldn’t handle the hard stuff.  But I was fasting with this cleanse like you are supposed to do. No eating meant no using the bathroom like I was use to.

My brain was thinking ”but surely this stuff would make me go?”  As the day went on the pain lessened. I managed to get up and sit up straight. I drank what I was supposed to and wondered if this was all normal.  By the end of the evening my head was hurting and I still had not used the bathroom.

I was not hungry. But my brain started to tell me I was messing up my blood sugar and needed to eat. On the 24 hour mark I agreed because nothing good had happened.  I ate. Lots of vegetables and even some meat. I wish now I hadn’t ate the meat. It didn’t hurt but it undid the good I had unknowingly done.

Day 2.  I had completely given up.  I woke up made my coffee and started the day like I normally would.  Usually at some point I want to go back to sleep because I feel draggy.  I laid down like I normally do but I didn’t feel draggy. I was just bored.  10 minutes later I realized I was wasting perfectly good energy by laying in the bed.  I got up and started to clean.

Time passed and I realized I still was not tired. I had only slept for about 4 hours. I started to read the news and play with facebook. Nothing much was happening there so I started a new book.  I got a bathroom pain and was eager to get that constipation feeling gone. 

It was not my normal movements.  It felt more solid but that is to be expected if I was constipated.  Not until I began to clean myself did I notice just how unordinary this movement was.  ——>Gross Part: It was slimy! Not watery. There were chunks and clumps of nasty greasy stuff. I almost PUKED! I had to wipe and wipe and it felt like it was stringy and smearing. It reminded me of little dog worms! 

I don’t normally look, but I had too. After seeing it I knew that I had made a terrible mistake in stopping the cleanse.  I am now more enthusiastic about doing it again.  The plan is a full 7 days.  That is what most people do.  Hopefully it won’t be as painful but if it is I know now that it is worth it. 

If you are interested, google it. Or you can read Heather’s blog that I have shared a link to on facebook. She is chronicling her fast and cleanse experience.  She explains the reasons behind this much better than I could.   You do not have to go all out if you can not afford to. Afer all a little something is better than nothing!

Village Rearing Children

For the last couple of months teachers, schools and communities have been on my mind.  Our family recently moved to another school district.  It was a nice school. There were friendly helpful teachers.  Our family participated in almost every extra event that the school put on.  I really enjoyed this school.  Maybe for me it was an opprotunity for a fresh start as an active mother.  The school was close and I had a partner who encouraged me to be more active.

But for some reason my children were not as happy with the school as I was.  They would come home daily and complain.  Not so much about the teachers but about how much they missed their old school.  That was a shock for me.  Because while they were attending their old school all they did was complain about it. 

I liken it to the “Don’t know what you got till it’s gone” mentality.  For my children they realized that the teachers from North Washington were more active with their education.  A common day for my son would include extra help with class assignments.  He had the opportunity for one on one help.  Something he took for granted until he no longer had it.  For my son he missed the educational part of his old school. 

My daughter missed the social part of her old school.  She was finding it difficult to make new friends.  Her grades were slipping horribly to the point that is was obvious if something did not change she was going to be held back. 

The teachers at the new school did all they could to help.  But like with so many inner city schools resources were limited and the teachers were strained with large classrooms, disruptive students, and cutbacks.  Imagine trying to teach a class without text books.  My daughter’s Science class actually had that problem.

Most schools suffer from the same problems of large classrooms and limited resources.  What seems to be the dividing factor is the students themselves. Inner city school families are more likely to be single parent low-income families.  You have all probably heard of stories of living in cities and what kind of problems that can have.  There is more violence, drugs, and poverty.  More latch key kids who are left alone during the day to fend and raise themselves.  Then imagine that all the children converge in one place for roughly 8 hours a day. 

Now compare that to the rural school community.  Usually there are both parents in the home.  Even if both parents work the children are not packed in neighborhoods being influenced by other children.  They are more than likely coming home to watch tv and do their homework and chores before their parents come home.  It  is less likely they will come across drugs or see violence on a daily basis.  

For my family that means that my son will have a better chance for success at the smaller rural school.  There he is ( for lack of a better word) the odd child.  He gets the one on one attention that he needs and doesn’t have to share that attention with 8 other children in one classroom needing that same individualized attention.  Something I believe he noticed and wanted to change.

For my daughter that means less socially advanced interactions.  Children in the city have cable t.v. as an influence in their rearing.  I was amazed at how many of the girls in our neighborhood and school district acted like the grown adults you see on reality tv.  They wanted boyfriends and fought over them like they were grown.  The fights were disturbing to say the least.  To see these young children emulating the “Bad Girls Club.”  Of course my daughter has never seen these types of shows and often was confused and scared of these situations.

I have been lucky when it comes to choosing what I want for my children.  I am not forced to live in a community because of convenient locations or affordable housing.  I have the good fortune of having friends and family who allow me to raise my children in a community where education and values are going to take top place.  I can not express my appreciation to those people and the community of North Washington enough.  Because of you there is a truth to the saying “no child left behind,” and “it takes a village to raise a child.”

Security

The parking garage seems futuristic to Audrey and I. We decided to wait in the car while the boys did their business. I had stopped at the store previously and we were loaded with snacks and reading materials. I of course had to get the Big Gulp. I peered at my watch while doing my little pee pee dance. Much to my displeasing only a few seconds had passed and not hours like I had hoped.

I looked at Audrey with defeat in my eyes. “Ok I got to go. Are you coming or staying?” She had a foot long slim jim in her mouth chewing on one of the ends, “just a second,” she mumbled.

I jumped out of the car and headed for the lobby of the building. I could see bathrooms by the elevator doors. Just a few steps through the glass doors to my salvation. I heard a whirling noise and looked back at Audrey. She was climbing out of the car. I motioned for her to hurry. Just then my eyes spotted two little robots speeding up to me. I froze.

The metal around them was gray and enclosed a LCD screen in the middle.  They were rectangle and ever so slightly slanted backwards on their wheels. One of the screens was flashing a red stop sign over and over. The other had taken on the appearance of a cartoonish style face. 

Audrey gushed with amazement and cried out awww as though they were puppies. The cartoon robot began to bark orders that the keys in the ignition must be removed before we proceeded. I was a little scared to move so I asked Audrey to get the keys. She cheerily skipped over to the car and fumbled with the keys.

I stared at the two contraptions thinking how odd the world was becoming with security now days. How were these two little mechanical televisions going to stop any one wanting to do harm to the building? Then I hushed a chuckle as I imagined them running over people with red flashing stop signs playing on the screens.

Audrey was returning with the keys and  I took a few steps closer to the glass doors.  Mr. Stop rushed me and squeezed his warm gray body up against my leg. I froze again a little more angry wondering how long this was going to take.  Mr. Cartoon ordered that we needed to remove the bag from our car also. I took a deep breath and asked Audrey to please hurry and get the purse before I peed on myself. 

Chewing on her jerky stick and skipping along merrily she managed to add a couple of minutes to my pain. I noticed that the little warm robot pressed up against my leg was emitting a pulse. I wondered to myself if maybe an electric shock would be administered if we went against their orders. That must have been secret to their usefulness. My brain began to imagine the screens opening up and spraying teargas. Another chuckle emerged from me as Audrey returned.

I looked at Mr. Cartoon and asked if that was all. His robotic voice replied that we could proceed. I began to move forward but noticed my leg attachment was not budging. I drug my apprehended leg along with the rest of my body towards the glass doors.

Inside I could see that there were two receptionist and two human security guards peering down at screens on the desk. I thought about the objects in the car. Did they have cameras that allowed them to see what was in the car? Never  being to the airport but hearing about the bodyscans I assumed that this buildings security must have been like a giant body scanning machine. Allowing personnel to see people and objects in vehicles. It made sense considering all the media surrounding car bombings.

Curiosity had me wondering what else was housed in this hundred story building besides the DMV. Opening the doors so that Audrey could go through first a guard glanced up. I waited patiently for him to call off the little buzzing robot attached to my leg.  Tapping my other foot I searched the area of where the bathrooms were located. Two shiny steel doors with a digital  number grids  pronouncing which floors they had last stopped on dominated the hallway.  Beside them gender colored doors to my heavenly bathrooms.

I looked back at the desk. The guards were not laughing as I would have been if I had just witnessed the scene outside. A tall slender guard was pointing to the computer screen and the other less slender was nodding his head in agreement. The two receptionist were talking to unseen people on little blue lighted ear pieces. Neither of them even glanced in my direction.

My bladder was swelling as I stood there. The discomfort was letting me know that there were literally seconds before it would relieve itself without my permission. My tapping turned into the pee pee dance. I gritted my lip and sighed hard. I wish someone would come in with a bomb right now and teach these turds a lesson.

Suddenly Mr. Stop made a funny noise that resembled a stifled siren. Both guards looked up at me and my leg accessory. As if I had told the little guy my thought he recited it to the guards. My eyes widened and I gave a cheesy smile. The little telepathic robot began vocalizing every thought I was having. To the ridiculousness  of their mechanical bodies and my image of the shocking people to the fact that I had to use the restroom really bad.

The guard did not smile. He only grabbed a little clip board and slowly waltzed over to where I stood. He asked Audrey to open the bag. She did as she was told. He rummaged through the bag inspecting every item. I tried to control my thoughts so that Mr. Stop did not report back what I was thinking, but it was no use. “Really? Seriously? You really think I am carrying a bomb in my purse,” it announced.

The guard looked at me with dissatisfaction that I would mock his duties. Then he turned and headed back to the mahogany desk where all eyes were now on my daughter, two stupid television robots and me still doing the pee pee dance. I shrugged my shoulders in a questioning  approval to proceed to the bathroom. The slighty less slender guard barely managed a nodding approval. But still no releasing words to my pulsating leg friend.

I threw my hands up in defeat and decided at this point I could pee with him still attached. Hell if he had an opening in the top of his head I would squat on top of him and pee infront of everyone at this point. I began to drag my arrested leg behind me on the way to the restrooms with Audrey following closely behind.  The closer I got the more that my bladder was threatening to release. I put my hand on the pink colored door……and then I woke up!

Some dream. I was always told not to eat sugar or sweets before bed.

A Heavy Heart

This last year has officially become the worst year of my life. In May 2009 my family suffered a blow by losing my mother. Just a few months later before I could even begin to mourn her passing I was faced with yet another gut wrenching heartache.

I have heard the only way to relieve yourself from heavy burdens is to talk about your situation. But what if talking about your situation would only further damage the ones that you love? I feel like I have been forced into a silence that is only causing me more pain. And still my pain doesn’t begin to compare to that of the one who has been directly affected by what has happened.

I will not disclose all my family secrets and tragedy here in this blog for the world to see. Not while I still have this urge to protect everyone around me. What good would come of me telling complete strangers and risking someone I love finding the link and being doubly hurt. But I feel like I need some sort of release or I may go mad.

As a mother we have this desire to be able to fix everything when it comes to our children. When they are born we go to great measures to learn which cry means hungry and which means dirty diaper. Why? So we can fix it and our babies will stop crying.

As they get older we kiss booboos and hug tears away. When our children are sad we tickle, joke and laugh away their sadness. Why? Because we are mothers and it is our job. My job for 15 years has been to try to be the best mother I can be. I have not been perfect. I have slept in and woke up to a dozen eggs broken in the floor.

I have forgotten to fasten seat belts causing a near deathly mistake of my oldest flying out of the door as we drove down our driveway. I did not have proper door locks installed on my home doors which lead to me frantically searching for my 2 and half-year old who decided to go on an adventure.

All of these mistakes occurred because I was either not using my common sense, was in to big a hurry, or just had too much on my mind and was not paying attention. But none of those mistakes did I ever make more than once.

My oldest who I affectionately call my Ginny Pig has been the subject of most of these mistakes. He had the unfortunate luck of being born to a young mother who was not ready to take on the job of parenting, even though she had convinced herself that she was.

My pregnancy was not a mistake. I had decided I wanted a child so I got pregnant. One of the happiest days of my life was May 2, 1995. I gave birth to an adorable 7lb 7 oz. son. He was beautiful! I did not have much but what I had was his. I saved money for the best of everything. He would not have any hand-me-downs.  He had a new store-bought crib, high chair, pumpkin seat, bouncy chair, and clothes. He was my pride and joy and I wanted him to have everything that children deserve.

Little did I know that those things meant nothing to a child. Children do not care if all their stuff is new or used. Children do not care if their blankets coordinate with their pillows and curtains. I learned that what my son craved most was my attention and my love. 

I failed him in those departments. I thought I could substitute those with more material items. Still I felt pain when I would walk out the door to go to work and he screamed for me not to leave. Everyone told me that this is what kids do. His behavior was completely normal for a child with a working mother. We must over look it and walk away so that we can provide for our children.  

I sought comfort and solace confiding in other adults who would assure me that my worries were unfounded. Being a busy mother I eagerly accepted what I was told.  I have ignored my own instincts and caused my children some extreme emotional pain all because I wanted to be what was expected of me.

August 28, 2009 I had my worst blow ever as a mother. I had to make a tough decision that I would not wish on any parent. I had to admit for the first time that I could not fix my child’s problems. I also had to hand my son over to strangers so that he could get he help he needed.

For a year I have lived with the guilt of my actions and inactions. I have been asked some hard questions about my decisions.  My feelings were always anger at first when confronted with these accusations. But when left alone to dwell on the accusations my anger would turn to shame and sadness as I realized that the accusations were actually observations.

There were signs all along of what would be played out over the years. Even to my very first act of saying that I loved a man and wanted to start a family with him. I trusted to easily and was betrayed. And worse than that my children suffered because of it.

I have to live with the guilt everyday. I apologize to my children constantly for letting them down as a mother. I have to live with the consequences of my actions and inactions.  There are times when I doubt that I have done the right thing. I wonder if the risk was worth the loss.

I reassure myself daily that this last decision was for the best. That soon our family will be one again. We will all have had a chance to deal with our demons. We will be able to move past everything and have the necessary skills to deal with what has been dealt us. 

 Soon that plate I fixed so many times and still sometimes forget NOT to fix will be eaten by the mouth it was made for. Soon there will be three little heads to kiss goodnight. Soon I will see that  wonderful smile that has long faded from a face aged by an innocence lost.  Soon I will hug a son that I may never let ago again.

I hope that what I have done is not just another rookie mom mistake.  I pray daily that I can be forgiven.  Soon I will know for sure. But the thing I have learned most was to trust my instincts and to give all my love and attention to the three people who deserve it most.

Inspiration Natasia

I have been promising for sometime that I would explain how Natasia was an inspiration to me. I have written several drafts only to leave them in limbo under the save to drafts tab. Nothing that I have written seems to do her justice. 

 Afterall, I have never actually met her or spoken to her.  I sat here over the last few months and pondered whether or not it was important to  tell everyone why Natasia is an inspiration to me.  I have come to the conclusion that yes it is important.

 I would like to be honest and tell her that she has inspired me with her strength and her honesty.  The strength that she shows everyday by not letting life swallow her whole.  And her honesty of admitting that her strength has been tested a few times over the last couple of years.

Let me explain my point of views and the limited history I have in knowing Natasia.  I first heard of Natasia threw her brother Naaman.  Like most little brothers he talks very highly of his sister.  There is a fondness on his face and in his tone when he mentions her.  I remember hearing him tell of how she moved to Texas alone.  I could not imagine ever being brave enough to do something like that alone.

I picture a strong female heroine from the books I read when I think of Natasia.  A woman who does not conform to societies views of how woman should be.  No she does not blush bashfully or cling to her man’s arms for protection.  In the face of danger she is the one who steps forward to face it head on. That is how I imagined Natasia.

As much as it embarrassing to admit I was very jealous of Natasia.  I had dreams of living far from home and making my own way in life.  As a teenager I dreamed of living in exotic places like Rio and writing novels on the beaches.

In the 9th grade I won a summer scholarship to a school for the arts.  It is something I rarely mention.  Mostly because of my embarrassment of never going.  I had plans to go that is until I found out I had to stay with a strange family in a strange place for the whole summer.   My fears kept me from doing something that I really wanted to do.  That summer was responsible for my realization that I did not have the strength and courage to ever be or do anything great.

My jealousy would turn to inspiration in the years that followed.  Threw natural curiosity I befriended Natasia on Facebook.  I scrolled through her pictures only to be shocked.  Natasia had become a mother and had lost a child. 

I never asked her how.  Nor would I ever. Common decency kept me from doing anything disrespectful.  My images of how strong Natasia is, was remarkably underrated.  Natasia was THE strongest person I have ever seen hands down.

I stumbled upon a post Natasia had written about that time in her life.  Tears streamed down my face as she described the heartache and emotions she felt.  As hard as we all may try, we will never fully be able to comprehend how she must have felt.  That is something only her and other mother’s who have lost children will ever know.

 When you look at this young woman you may not see the inner strength that she posses but it is there.  Life has made her wise beyond her years. The inspiration and admiration I draw from Natasia is her strength to continue on with life and talk openly about her heartache.  Something that I have tried to do with this blog in hopes that it will be an outlet to help with my own healing process from my heartaches.

I would like to say that this post does not do Natasia justice either.  But if you are lucky enough to  know her, then you know already what a wonderful person she is.

The Devil Within

I got a friend request recently from a girl I grew up with in my pre-Lebanon era.  These request always scare me.  Why you  ask? Because I was a demon child. Those of you who know me now may not believe this. But I assure you it is true and there are plenty of people who would love to tell you about one of the times I tortured them.

Maybe a few stories will help the readers understand what I mean.  When my cousins from Florida came up I was always so excited.  I loved playing with them and showing them off to the neighborhood friends. I would ask Jenny to say home and other o words so many times she would get frustrated.  I loved the way they talked, so unlike my own country accent.

As a grown woman I accompanied my mother to Florida in 1995.  My mom and I were greeted with hugs and welcome wishes.  My cousin Michelle smiled at me and said, ”I remember you…you were the one who tried to drown me.”  Well what could I say to that?  Sorry was all I could murmur and a promise that I was not the same person as I was then.

Another story: A sweet wonderful girl I attended Bardstown Elem. with was blasted by my hatred everyday.  She tried everything to befriend me and get me to be nicer. I was invited to her birthday party sleepover. She would give me candy.  I repaid her by breaking her toys and making her cry.  My torture of her went on until she transferred to another school.

Now that sounds just about as bad as they come.  But trust me there are more.  A little girl I played Barbie with would not let me use a certain pair of orange pumps for my Barbie. I stole the shoes and cut the hair off of her Barbie.

A little 3-year-old boy got a red tricycle. He paraded around the neighborhood so happily that later that night I stole it and carried it through 3 cow fields to throw it into a pond.

I have no excuses for my behavior as a child. I to this day can come up with any reason other than jealousy and attention seeking.  But I’m going to be honest. I did not want those Barbie shoes. I did not want a baby tricycle. And I did not want to drown my cousin.  I am still at a loss for a reason behind my behavior other than plain and simple meanness. 

One time a distant relative came to visit. By this time I was old enough to know better. I was in middle school and my nephew Gery had been born. I adored that baby. But the relative made a bad judgment call when she allowed me to watch her grandson in the swimming pool.  I recall asking him several times not to use Gery’s baby float. He ignored me. So when he tipped over and had trouble getting turned back uprite, I offered no help. I watched that poor kid flop like a fish until his movements started to slow and then I flipped him back over.  My only words to him were, “you gonna give me that float back now?” And he did.

My behaviors were not just aimed at children. I also enjoyed vandalizing and breaking and entering.  A neighbor who worked during the day had her washer and dryer in a shed outside.  Imagine my surprise when she left it unlocked one day.  Now imagine her surprise when she came home to find the laundry detergent spitting bubble out of her machine and her dryer sheets strung from every tree, bush, porch and light.

Another grown neighbor had a love for Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Oh how it tasted so good when I pried her door apart and raided her refrigerator eating all of it and anything sweet she had.  I also found a beautiful pair of white suede boots in her closet.

That same single mother of two kids also managed to work so hard and long that she saved enough money to buy a brand new mobile home. It was gorgeous.  One day she finally let us come inside to look around. During this grand tour I (accidently) dropped a huge glob of purple bubble gum on her carpet.  And to make sure the deed was done good, I stepped and ground it in.

There was an old couple that had a beautiful flower bed. I do mean beautiful. But try to stop and smell those flowers and the husband would rush to the door to yell get away from my flowers. The couple also enjoyed Sunday services and finding them pulling out of the drive one day I had a light bulb moment.  I rode my bike back to my house grabbed scissors and very fastly cut every blooming flower they had down to the ground.

I was never caught by any of these people, or at least not they could prove.  Asking the neighborhood kids was useless because they were all so scared of me. No one would rat me out.

The only time I ever even came close to being caught was the time I visited a neighbor to con her out of money for the little starving African kids.  I got the idea from a school fundraiser.  I walked to each house with my angel face and collected a sizeable amount. But one new neighbor allowed me inside her door while she fetched the money. 

I was intrigued by these matching lamps she had that appeared to have candy in them.  I asked her all kinds of questions about these lamps. She insisted that it was just paper and the candy was not real.  I did not believe her. I thought she was just being stingy with her candy. So after my trip to Busy Bee to spend my hard-earned money on candy I came back to stalk her street.  Eventually it paid off. Eating a cowtail I saw the woman pull out of her driveway.

That was my cue. I popped her door open and entered. I tried every way possible to find the hidden door to open the lamps and get the precious candy out.  But there was not one that I saw.  Determined not to let that stop me I raised the lamp over my head and was just about to slam it on the ground when I heard her car door open and shut.

Panic filled me and I ran and hid in the bathroom. She came in and did not seem to notice the lamp being put back hastily. She busied herself with something and I bolted out the back door to my bike and rode in the opposite direction of my house.

These are just a few of the things I recall doing as a child.  There was no epiphany for my transformation.  I feel horrible about my behavior now but can only offering meaningless apologies in return for what I did.  I have changed drastically as a person since my teenage years hit. I try every way possible to atone for what I have done.

But karma likes to remind me that I have a lot of work to do in that department.  I do not often complain about any misfortune happening in my life.  I try to grin and bare it knowing that this is God’s way of providing me penitence for my sins.

Hopefully this friend request will not be another penitence. I dread hearing any memories this lady has of me and my time as a youth. But like all the others that I have come across since my addiction to the social network site Facebook, I will offer her a heartfelt apology and try to explain to her that I am truly a changed person.

A Mother’s Poem

 There is a part of me that lingers..here down upon the earth…that part of me is my children…given to each at birth…to my oldest son Michael… I bestow to you my face…so when the time was right…you would find your rightful place

to the blond hair blue-eyed girl…I gave to you my grace…so that when life tried to get you down you could run that daunting race…to the one I haunt the most…I gave to you my dreams…so when you really need me…I would always be there it seems.. 

 

to my child that likes to keep people…always at arms length… when your ready to demolish those walls…I honor you with my strength…and to the baby of the group…I give to you my voice…so that on nights like these….you can help them all rejoice..

 

five unique children…god did bless to me…I was the luckiest mother…that there ever could be…for Michael, Angie, Junior, and Stephanie, unfortunately this was written by Brandi…

Inspiration (Heather)

Bread Heather baked for my family.

Why did I decide to blog?  I had to seriously ask myself this after reading so many other blogs.  Each individual blog seems to have had a purpose for starting.  Expecting Mothers, New Mothers, Cloth Diaper Mothers, Simple Living Mothers, Homeschooling Mothers, and the list goes on.  I am drawn to the mother’s plight if you had not noticed.

But what was my inspiration?  What were my intentions?  I started reading my neighbor’s blog.  Heather fascinates me.  I remember first hearing about her at Alma’s yard sale.  These adorable little girls wandered up the road to it and I watched them shop.  The youngest was encouraged by the others to pick out items within her monetary range.  Each one seemed extremely mature for their age.  I was amazed at how they protected each other and spoke respectfully to one another.  At the time I had two in preschool and one in the second grade ( I think).  Mine were not exactly mature or well-behaved like these girls. 

After they made their purchases and headed back down the road I asked about them.  Small communities are great for gossip, but if you knew the Cooksey family you would know that gossip was not in their vocabulary.  I am and will always be a naturally curious person.  But gossip to me is just back ground information.  I did not want to hear the family’s dirt like most people I know.  I just wanted to know….well everything.  Alma would supply me with the basics and if one of my questions seemed to personal she would not answer it.

 Threw time I gathered that Heather was the mother.  She had 8 children total, 5 girls, that still lived at home and that she homeschooled her children.  That information right there was enough to make me intrigued. 

 I am not a sociable person so I observed Heather from afar.  I’m not one of those people who show up at your door with a welcome to the neighborhood plate of baked goods. I noticed Heather walked everyday.  Which to me suggested that she cared about her heath. I picked up on the fact that she had a son who worked at the farm just above us. Her girls would walk the roads looking for cans so that they could recycle them.  This suggested that she taught her children work ethics even at an early age. 

Of course my head was full of questions about their life.  They did not have Kentucky accents and I could not quite place the accent that they spoke with.  I gathered from a trip to the park that her husband was a truck driver.  I had noticed the semi parked at the school on the weekends. One  day I saw her van pull up next to the semi and her husband got out and got in with her.  That meant that she did most of the raising of the kids by herself. 

My admiration for Heather just kept coming as I discretely watched her life.  One day I was lucky enough to get to met Heather in person.  I had experienced some trouble with the public school and was looking for alternatives.  One possibility was to home school my kids.  I knew Heather homeschooled so I sent my oldest to her house with a note asking if I could get some information about homeschooling my kids.

 I was actually apprehensive at approaching her myself.  Heather seemed like a very private person and I did not want her to think that I was trying to be one of those nosey neighbors who are not satisfied until they know every detail of your life.  Yeah that is me, but I do not want to seem that way. Plus I am a anti social person.  People scare me. I would much rather observe them than to actually interact with them.  I like to picture myself as the Jane Goodall of society.

 You can not imagine my anxiety when Heather knocked on my door.  I did not know if I should answer it or hide.  What if she came to confront me about sending a kid to her house.  What if Sydney did not knock and just opened the door and waltzed in.  Something all my children did because of lack of interaction with anyone other than family members.  What if she caught him peering through a window because he was scared to go to the door.  There were so many what if’s that I will not even bother to mention them all in this post.

I took a deep breath and answered the door.  At my amazement Heather seemed very normal up close.  Now you have to keep in mind that this was the first time I had actual seen her up close.  So to finally put a face to the name was great.  She smiled and was polite and said that she would love to talk to me tomorrow at her house about homeschooling.

This news would propel me into another panic.  She wanted me to go to her house.  Do I take my shoes off at her door? Do I bring a gift as a show of appreciation?  Would she be upset if I brought James? How much eye contact should I use?  Too much could freak a person out. Not enough can make people think you are shifty.  What if I say something that sounds retarded?  What if I could not say anything at all?  What if I say something that insults her?  What if my nerves make me gassy? It would not be the first time!

But I faced my fears and went to her house.  Heather was very helpful with the home school information.  She showed me her children’s classroom and the rest of the house.  She was working on painting border around her walls free-handed with no stencils. In her hallway she was using a drywall mud to cover a wall.  I can not remember if she said she was going to sand it down or do a stucco look. 

There was piano in one of the rooms.  Which to me meant someone there must have played music.  You can imagine how intimidating this all seemed to me.  I had never met a person with so many talents.  And after trying to home school my kids, my admiration for Heather just grew even more.  I realized that homeschooling was not something you could do if you were a person like me.  It took organization, patience, and planning.  None of those qualities I possessed at that time.

Over the years I would still be enthralled by Heather.  And then came the social network Facebook. I stumbled upon her profile.  Charlotte and Heather had baked cookies and Charlotte had posted pictures.  Heather had commented on one of the pictures.

Realizing that I could get a glimpse into Heather’s life without actually bothering her was great.  I found out what her children’s names were.  All of her children’s names started with a N.  I saw pictures of their massive garden.  She had posted essays and artwork her kids had done.  Her oldest son was in the army.  Her oldest daughter was an artist and was the one who used that piano.  Heather herself baked and  worked on a farm. 

If there was ever a person who screamed success to me, it is Heather.  I have seen success faked with fancy cars, houses, and degrees.  Maybe I should not say faked because those things can be considered a sign of success by some. But that it not what I consider successful.  Success to me is raising independent, intelligent, happy, well-adjusted children while juggling jobs, gardens, baking, husbands, and more children. 

I do not care who you are, you have to admire this woman.  She is by no means average in any way.  If you do not believe me just read her blog.  Oh yeah back to the blog and why Heather is one of my inspirations for starting one of my own.

Checking out her profile led me to her blog.  What curiosity was not calmed by me through her profile I found could be answered threw her blog.  She has the most interesting stories about her life detailed in the blog.  I find myself looking everyday just to see if she has posted any more wonderful stories about her.   

 That is what inspired me to  started a blog.  To tell my stories.  Yes I am a bit self obsessed.  I also find it helpful to write down what I want to achieve.  If I write it down then I am less likely to forget about it or fail to complete my goal.  I can get off task sometimes and forget where I am headed. 

I also use the blog to vent.  Interactions with people are hard for me.  I want to talk to people but I can’t or won’t and don’t.  Most of the interactions that I have with people involve them talking and me listening.  I will shake my head but rarely will I say anything back.  Not because I have a lack of thoughts or nothing interesting to contribute.  Believe me I am having a conversation in my head with the people I am listening too. But I can not articulate what is in my head because I freeze up when I try to talk to people.  I fumble with words, and tend to babble when nervous which makes me look and feel stupid.   

With a blog I can say what is in my head.  If I want people to know what I was thinking I can hit post.  If I do not want people to know what I was thinking and I just wanted to let it out I can hit move to trash.  Either way I feel like it is not bottled up inside anymore.  Which leads me to my second Inspiration ( Natasia) which I will post up later.

Could It Be?

I finally decided that today I ought to clean up the house.  I had been feeling a little under the weather for the last few days, so the house has suffered more than I had.  After working hard to catch up laundry ( you know I am sick when the laundry piles up) dishes, and sweeping up the mounds of dog hair, I went to start the bathroom. 

Guess what greeted me on the bathroom basin? Ants! Normally I would be very upset by the sight of ants.  All summer long it is a battle of who will win ( me or them).  But after what seems an extremely long bitter cold winter I was kind of happy to see the little buggers.  Especially the sight of them swirling down the sink.

After finishing the bathroom I made way to the kitchen and was once again greeted by ants.  Large black ants!  Could it be?  Yes spring is in the air and it comes with ants, sneezing, and nature’s garbage (dandelions). 

 I could complain about all of those things and many more, but I will not.  I can not wait to sit outside and soak up the smell of fresh-cut grass.  To let the sun beam down on my skin until there is an inner warmth.  To make plans for a garden that never gets planted.  To throw the ball to the dogs while the children ride their bikes.   And lets not forget all the colors of blooming flowers, tree sprouts, and green grass!  Awww spring…I have missed you.

Chapter 2 Week 2

Week two got started off with a real bang.  But the situation was perfect for the chapter 2 lessons on winning cooperation.  I really had to use my brain on this section of the book.  First I will discuss the sections and maybe refer to a few stories that helped me relate the information to my personal experiences.

Chapter 2 starts out with a little story about two oarsmen on a boat. One of the oarsmen notices that the other is drilling a hole on his side of the boat. The oarsmen asks the other what he thinks he is doing.  The second oarsmen says, “What do you care, it is on my side of the boat?”  In short, the lesson is that no matter whose seat the hole is under, we are all going to get wet. I like that analogy. In family matters there is not a single problem that does not affect the whole family.

The chapter begins to explain the problem handling model. There are six parts:  1. preventing problems, done by talking. 2. Deciding who owns the problem. 3. If the parent own, then there is discipline and skills. 4. If the child owns, then there is support and skills outlined. 5.  Deciding whether the family should have a meeting to discuss.  And lastly 6. Encouragement.

There were also three questions to ask yourself when trying to determine who owns the problem.  1. Who is the problem affecting?  2. Did the problem involve health, safety, or family rules?  3. Is the problem within reasonable limits for your child’s age and level of maturity?

A parent’s problem example is a family outing to a restaurant and the kids are giggling loud and running all over the place.  A child’s problem would be that a teacher is picking on them.  A shared problem is your child not keeping up with homework assignments.  I think most families have encounter at least one of these situations if not all. I have seen them all!

Most of those situations prior to trying this book, ended with Mommy’s mean face.  I hate using physical discipline on my kids. I would be lying if I said I never had though. In fact that is how my kids came to understand that when Mommy does that face they had better behave immediately. 

In chapter two communication is key to winning cooperation.  Parents are encouraged to use our words, keep our tone of voice level and respectful, and maintain respect in our body language, facial expressions, and how close we stand to our kids.  My warning shots to my children include me getting very close to them, grabbing an arm, smiling and saying calmly but with the scary face, “You better stop it now.”  I understand now how that could have been confusing to my kids.  Plus it had to be a hilarious sight to anyone witnessing it. I laugh now imagining it.

Mixed messages are something I was not completely aware that I did. These cause communication blocks that teach your children not to want to share problems with you. Page 49 list the type of blocks that most parents unintentionally use.   Commanding, giving advice, placating, interrogating, distracting, psychologizing, being judgmental, sarcasm, moralizing, and being a know it all. 

 A couple that I was not aware that I used are placating. That is when we say, “oh it is not as bad as it seems, everything will be ok.”  An example of distracting is to say something like, ” Let’s not worry about that.”  When I read the examples I realized I did every one of them. 

Now that I know where to stop myself from blocking communication, I need to know how to communicate with my kids.  Because after reading page 49 I am left wondering what in the world can I say?  The book offers five simple steps: 1. listen actively 2. listen for feelings 3. connect feelings 4. look for alternatives and evaluate consequences  5. follow-up later. 

I could describe a whole scene here in this blog, but it would take up to much time. I found a video not related to the Active Parenting Now DVD’s, on YouTube.  But it is a scene with the same concepts and skills used in the book.   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NH5-pEIbGi0

In summary a parent should do an “emotional mirror”.  We should pay attention (step away from the computer screen Brandi).  We have to try to find the emotion our kids are feeling by saying, ” I understand why that would make you mad.”  If we got it right the kids will continue, if we did not hopefully they we tell us the feeling they are experiencing.  For example, “I’m not mad, I’m jealous.” 

Then we need to decide who owns the problem.  If we the parents own it we should solve it.  If it is a shared problem, parents and the kids should find a solution together.  And if it is the kids problem then we should allow our kids to find ways to solve the problem themselves, but with support from us.

The end of chapter 2 gives a list of goals to try to follow for the week.  Mostly it is the same list as the previous week but with two additions:  practicing the active listening when your child owns the problem and remember to say “I love you” everyday.

This week should be am interesting week.  I will let everyone know of my attempts, and whether I failed or succeeded.  I predict a lot of referring back to the book for inspiration.