I'm working myself into a precarious position.
I'm like a dog, doing tricks for its master, then sitting there with my tongue hanging out, panting, waiting for the treat...
the treat that never comes because the master could care less if the dog does a trick or not. He's content having a dog that just sits there and doesn't shed.
In this scenario, I am the dog. And you can guess who the master is. Yes, it's my family. And, you can guess what tricks is a euphamism for. "tricks" means every single thing I do for people that is above and beyond the call of duty for a housekeeper/cook/chauffer/accountant. I'm talking about things like: buying the really special treat for their lunchbox, the one that I usually say "no" to. Or, how about making a hot lunch for my husband (without him asking me to do it) and putting it in a to-go box because he won't have time to make something for himself. Or maybe, cleaning out his car and vacuuming it. Or maybe, giving away all my craft supplies to my daughter and telling her, "Oh, I can buy more later."
And I sit there, with my tongue hanging out (euphamism for heart hanging out on my sleeve), waiting for someone to say, "Good Job, Mom." or "Thanks, you are so thoughtful." or "I really appreciate that."
But, usually I get, "Okay, I didn't really want that, but okay." or "Can I have something different?"
Why do I try? Is it because I really do desire to please these people who I love? Or is it because I am starving for affection and I need people to love me, to appreciate me, to stroke my ego?
I think there are two schools of thought on this:
1) if you love someone, you should willingly give them praise and encouragement, not because they want it but because you want to give it to them. You love and respect them and want to express those emotions to them in an outward way.
2) If you are confident in your relationship, you shouldn't need to have your ego stroked by your mate because you love and respect yourself. Having their love and respect is icing on the cake, but certainly not a necessary part of a relationship.
I am #1. Texan Papa is #2. So, not only do I need to hear the luvin, but I also tell him the luvin. The flip side of that is that not only does he not need to hear the luvin from me, but he doesn't feel the need to give me the luvin.
This is one sad, sick, depressing cycle I'm caught up in. And don't EVEN tell me to communicate with him or else I'm going to have to draw you a picture about the whole i-like-to-communicate-but-he-doesn't-need-to-communicate cycle. It's similar to the luvin cycle.
It is hard: I feel like every marriage has one person with the strong personality. If you knew me 15 years ago, you'd definitely say *I* would be that person. But since I got married, I have made a conscious choice to allow my husband to be the strong personality. I am all about harmony and compromise and I'm not always gonna get my way. And, in my husband's defense, it's not that he always gets his way and I suck it up. I often DO get the things I want (e.g. new computer, annual trip to Florida with girlfriends, etc.) But in an effort to be a loving, supportive wife, I have stayed quiet about so many things that are going on with me. And, in doing so, we have just quit talking. He goes to work. And when he's not at work, he sleeps. And when he isn't sleeping, we are usually in separate rooms, or else we're in the same room on our two laptops, not talking.
Holy crap, where has this post gone to? I have diverged from my course and I'm not sure where I'm headed, except maybe to invite y'all to the biggest pity party I've ever had for myself! BYOB! I like Strawberry Hill so bring it on!!!
So anyway, I guess this post is my way of venting to... no one in general. I'm not exactly mad. I don't have anything to blame on anyone. I'm just... tired. I want to escape life. I don't want to feel like a failure anymore.
That's it! I just want to feel like I'm good at something. Just one thing. Like cooking, or painting, or sewing, or softball, or even parenting. I feel like if I ever got a little nugget of praise, I might believe that I'm okay. But... nuthin. And, I can't blame my kids. They're kids. They don't know. They don't understand. I wonder if my mom ever felt this way? Wanted me to tell her what I thought of her? (Wait, I did do that. And it wasn't nice. But I tell her now how wonderful she is. But it's about 30 years too late.) I guess I could blame my husband, but I kinda feel like a big baby. Like, c'mon Gretchen, GROW UP! Be happy with yourself. Don't be such a drama queen.
Okay, I better cut myself off before I go 2 miles past crazy. I have no idea why I'm writing this except that if I tried to write it I would get a cramp in my hand and so far the keyboard hasn't let me down.
(Comments closed... I'm not trying to fish for compliments here; I just wanted to vent. Maybe someone out there is reading this and knowing they aren't alone.)
Sunday, February 28, 2010
When Do I Care?
I was watching Dr. Phil the other day... not the greatest programming but since we don't have cable or satellite I gotta go with what's on... and the guest was a surrogate mom who had taken back the twins she delivered for an adoptive couple. There were reasons why this situation was even able to happen at all... none of the adults involved were genetically linked to the babies, birth certificate legality, absence of surrogacy laws in their state, and so on. However, the reason the surrogate took back the infant twins (she gave the twins to the adoptive couple but then did not relinquish her parental rights in the court appearance) was because the adoptive mom had mental health issues that she did not disclose before the surrogacy was arranged. Once the surrogate found out, and that the mental health issues were not being managed by the adoptive mom, she felt it would be both unsafe and irresponsible to leave those children in the care of this woman. Even though she is not the physical mother of these children (donated egg and sperm), she saw herself as the advocate for these children who had no voice.
Of course, people spoke up on both sides of the argument. Dr. Phil was clearly on the side of the adoptive mother, speaking up in defense of people with all types of mental illness. He kept saying that there was no way for her (the surrogate) to know that the adoptive mother would mistreat the children or put them in any danger, and it wasn't her place to decide.
I am NOT going to weigh in on this situation, or even on surrogacy in general, because that's not the thing that kept me watching this particular Dr. Phil show. The argument I took issue with was "It's not your place". I totally disagree, and this is why: if those children had been later abused or mistreated or neglected, everyone would be scratching their heads and saying, "Didn't anyone know this could have happened? Why didn't someone do something earlier?"
I watch the news and constantly hear stories about people who act suspiciously, only found out to be a murderer or rapist or some other level of crazy AFTER they've been arrested. The neighbors always say, "Something wasn't right about him."
On some level, I think we'd all like to say that we would step in to a situation if we felt someone, especially a child, were in danger. But really? Would you? Would I? Would I put my reputation at risk by making an accusation based on nothing other than a hunch? Would I risk legal action to protect a child? What is my limit? Is it embarassment, or physical pain, or financial ruin, or slander?
Yesterday I saw some kids playing INSIDE a recycling bin (one of those big ones, one that's a dumpster) and I told them, hey you probably shouldn't be in there. you could get hurt. Then I drove away. I didn't tell the clerk inside the library, I didn't ask them where their parents were. I didn't get their names. I just kinda waved them off. I hope they didn't hurt themselves. It's not that I was unconcerned about them, but I had my kids with me, and I had to get home to babysit my neighbor's daughter, and these kids were old enough to get out by themselves, and there weren't any weirdos lurking in the visible area, and...
And, these are exactly the type of excuses that people give to avoid getting involved. Myself included. I'm not saying YOU would avoid doing the right thing, but I'm saying SOME people would. And, I'm saying that there are times I do it, which is just plain sad because I'm a mother, and a teacher, and my husband is a pastor. So, clearly, we like to look out for people and especially children. But our lives are busy and so are yours and so is everyone else's. And I think it's shameful that this has become my excuse to become complacent about knowing the people around me and what's going on with them. There is a lot of truth to the whole, "It takes a village to raise a child" theory. We can get to know the people in our lives (our neighborhood, our kids' schools, sports teams, scouts) without engaging in gossip about their business. We don't have to be our neighbor's best friend to know whether or not our children will be safe playing outside their house. And I think - sometimes - we need to quit acting like people are crossing the imaginary line in the sand about our privacy, simply because they want to get to know us better for their own safety's sake. After all, if we have nothing dangerous to hide, what is the big deal???
So, how 'bout you? Have you ever gotten involved in a situation in order to protect someone? Did you stay out of something, only to regret it later? Has your intervention made a difference? At what point do you make the decision to get involved or stay out of it?
Of course, people spoke up on both sides of the argument. Dr. Phil was clearly on the side of the adoptive mother, speaking up in defense of people with all types of mental illness. He kept saying that there was no way for her (the surrogate) to know that the adoptive mother would mistreat the children or put them in any danger, and it wasn't her place to decide.
I am NOT going to weigh in on this situation, or even on surrogacy in general, because that's not the thing that kept me watching this particular Dr. Phil show. The argument I took issue with was "It's not your place". I totally disagree, and this is why: if those children had been later abused or mistreated or neglected, everyone would be scratching their heads and saying, "Didn't anyone know this could have happened? Why didn't someone do something earlier?"
I watch the news and constantly hear stories about people who act suspiciously, only found out to be a murderer or rapist or some other level of crazy AFTER they've been arrested. The neighbors always say, "Something wasn't right about him."
On some level, I think we'd all like to say that we would step in to a situation if we felt someone, especially a child, were in danger. But really? Would you? Would I? Would I put my reputation at risk by making an accusation based on nothing other than a hunch? Would I risk legal action to protect a child? What is my limit? Is it embarassment, or physical pain, or financial ruin, or slander?
Yesterday I saw some kids playing INSIDE a recycling bin (one of those big ones, one that's a dumpster) and I told them, hey you probably shouldn't be in there. you could get hurt. Then I drove away. I didn't tell the clerk inside the library, I didn't ask them where their parents were. I didn't get their names. I just kinda waved them off. I hope they didn't hurt themselves. It's not that I was unconcerned about them, but I had my kids with me, and I had to get home to babysit my neighbor's daughter, and these kids were old enough to get out by themselves, and there weren't any weirdos lurking in the visible area, and...
And, these are exactly the type of excuses that people give to avoid getting involved. Myself included. I'm not saying YOU would avoid doing the right thing, but I'm saying SOME people would. And, I'm saying that there are times I do it, which is just plain sad because I'm a mother, and a teacher, and my husband is a pastor. So, clearly, we like to look out for people and especially children. But our lives are busy and so are yours and so is everyone else's. And I think it's shameful that this has become my excuse to become complacent about knowing the people around me and what's going on with them. There is a lot of truth to the whole, "It takes a village to raise a child" theory. We can get to know the people in our lives (our neighborhood, our kids' schools, sports teams, scouts) without engaging in gossip about their business. We don't have to be our neighbor's best friend to know whether or not our children will be safe playing outside their house. And I think - sometimes - we need to quit acting like people are crossing the imaginary line in the sand about our privacy, simply because they want to get to know us better for their own safety's sake. After all, if we have nothing dangerous to hide, what is the big deal???
So, how 'bout you? Have you ever gotten involved in a situation in order to protect someone? Did you stay out of something, only to regret it later? Has your intervention made a difference? At what point do you make the decision to get involved or stay out of it?
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Don't Leave Me Hangin'
If you've ever stopped by my blog and left a comment, but I've never commented back to you, PLEASE don't think me rude. I try to comment back to everyone who comments to me, at least once in a while. If you've never heard from me, it may be because you are...
**insert spooky music**
A NO-REPLY COMMENTER!!! (Trust me, you don't want to be one of those.)
Basically, a "no-reply" commenter has their Google account set up in such a way that their e-mail address does not show up when they comment on a blog, and the blog author can't reply back to them. When I get a comment like this, I see your handle (for example, mine is "Texan Mama") but when I read your comment in my e-mail, I can't reply. If I tried, I would be sending the message into the cyberspace garbage dump. It's where e-mails go to die.
Some blog authors reply to comments in the comments. Me, personally, I don't do that. I'm not against it or anything, I just like to reply directly to e-mail.
So, if you want to get a direct email reply to your comments (on my blog and on any other) then just do this:
Go to your Google Dashboard. Here's what it will look like:
Except yours will have your profile pic and won't have those black button things at the top. I don't know why they're there but I can't move them so let's just pretend they're not there. moving on...
Next to your profile pic, click on "Edit Profile". When that screen comes up, you'll see a few sections. The first one is marked "Privacy". You'll want to leave a check-mark in the box "Show my e-mail address". Then a little further down, under "Identity", you should enter the e-mail address where you want the replies to your comments to go. This can be a different e-mail address than the one you use to sign in to your Google account. It only affects where the e-mail messages get sent.
And finally, AND THIS IS IMPORTANT, go down to the bottom of the screen and click "Save Profile".
Voila! Now when you comment I'll be able to harass you. You might be a little bit sorry.
**insert spooky music**
A NO-REPLY COMMENTER!!! (Trust me, you don't want to be one of those.)
Basically, a "no-reply" commenter has their Google account set up in such a way that their e-mail address does not show up when they comment on a blog, and the blog author can't reply back to them. When I get a comment like this, I see your handle (for example, mine is "Texan Mama") but when I read your comment in my e-mail, I can't reply. If I tried, I would be sending the message into the cyberspace garbage dump. It's where e-mails go to die.
Some blog authors reply to comments in the comments. Me, personally, I don't do that. I'm not against it or anything, I just like to reply directly to e-mail.
So, if you want to get a direct email reply to your comments (on my blog and on any other) then just do this:
Go to your Google Dashboard. Here's what it will look like:
Except yours will have your profile pic and won't have those black button things at the top. I don't know why they're there but I can't move them so let's just pretend they're not there. moving on...Next to your profile pic, click on "Edit Profile". When that screen comes up, you'll see a few sections. The first one is marked "Privacy". You'll want to leave a check-mark in the box "Show my e-mail address". Then a little further down, under "Identity", you should enter the e-mail address where you want the replies to your comments to go. This can be a different e-mail address than the one you use to sign in to your Google account. It only affects where the e-mail messages get sent.
And finally, AND THIS IS IMPORTANT, go down to the bottom of the screen and click "Save Profile".
Voila! Now when you comment I'll be able to harass you. You might be a little bit sorry.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Flashback Friday
Hey Y'all, It's Friday Again! Dust off that old post and give yourself the day off! Be sure to link up here so we all can come visit you.
I'm bringing back and oldy but a goody. Texan Papa is out of town but coming back tonight, so it reminded me of seeing people in airports, thus this choice for Flashback Friday.
have a great weekend!!!
Originally posted Thursday, December 18, 2008
Kleenex, anyone?
Okay, first of all, thanks for all your sweet comments from yesterday's post. As it turned out, I picked up the kids after school at 3:30, and Peppermint Patty bounded up to the Silver Bullet (aka our minivan) and hopped in. "Hi mom!" She was all smiles. I asked "How was your concert today?" and before she could answer, Linus piped in, "It was awesome!!! I love loud music!!!" And Peppermint Patty said, "Yeah, everybody clapped. It was cool!"
So, guilt? short-lived. I'm learning. See, the more this happens, the more I realize, NO need to add extra guilt to my usual quota. But, the tricky thing is, I don't have a barometer to figure out when the meltdowns will happen. If I did, I could make a million, ya think?
On to other news, my in-laws came in today for a Christmas visit. I am so lucky - I get along really wonderfully with them. Non-Texan Granny and Non-Texan Poppy. As I was sitting, waiting for them, I saw some of the best human emotions ever.
I saw a mother and father greet their twenty-something daughter. The dad, with salt-and-pepper hair, saw his daughter and hustled to her side and he gave her a hug that said, "I don't ever want to let you go. Not. Ever." He finally did separate himself from her when his wife said, "Okay, you've had enough. My turn." Her hug was just as squeezy and every bit as warm. They hardly said a word, but it was as if I could feel the relief between them. If I could read the parents' minds, I bet I would have seen "NOW I feel right. Without her here with us, something was missing. But now that she has arrived safely and she's in our arms, all is right with the world."
I sat in the waiting chairs next to a girl, about 28, who was greeting her mom and grandma who were coming to watch her graduate from college. Just listening to her speak, I could tell how proud she was and how excited she was to be sharing it with her mom and grandma. After graduation, they were going to pack her car and a U-Haul and help her move back home. The tone in her voice suggested that she was anxious to start her life. She had the most amazing optimistic attitude. I could hear her smile, even when I wasn't looking at her.
Then, there was a couple, mid-thirties maybe, who were walking briskly together, then upon seeing the security gate, they came to an abrupt halt. They just looked at each other, then at the security gate, then the woman looked at her mate and said, "Well, I guess we have to say goodbye now..." There was an awkward pause, one that couldn't be filled with words or kisses or music. The awkward pause could only be filled with time. I could sense that they desperately wanted more time to be together, talk together, smile together, hold each other, before they had to separate. I could tell they would be counting the hours and days until they saw each other again. They shared a brief but tender kiss, then she rushed off to her gate. I almost felt like it was my heart being left behind.
There is no better place to watch human interaction than at the airport. Joy, sadness, loneliness, frustration, thankfulness, it's all there, and in its purest form. It helps me to remember that, bottom line: people love people. They may say they love money or things, but when all is said and done, nothing can take the place of people.
I'm bringing back and oldy but a goody. Texan Papa is out of town but coming back tonight, so it reminded me of seeing people in airports, thus this choice for Flashback Friday.
have a great weekend!!!
Originally posted Thursday, December 18, 2008
Kleenex, anyone?
Okay, first of all, thanks for all your sweet comments from yesterday's post. As it turned out, I picked up the kids after school at 3:30, and Peppermint Patty bounded up to the Silver Bullet (aka our minivan) and hopped in. "Hi mom!" She was all smiles. I asked "How was your concert today?" and before she could answer, Linus piped in, "It was awesome!!! I love loud music!!!" And Peppermint Patty said, "Yeah, everybody clapped. It was cool!"
So, guilt? short-lived. I'm learning. See, the more this happens, the more I realize, NO need to add extra guilt to my usual quota. But, the tricky thing is, I don't have a barometer to figure out when the meltdowns will happen. If I did, I could make a million, ya think?
On to other news, my in-laws came in today for a Christmas visit. I am so lucky - I get along really wonderfully with them. Non-Texan Granny and Non-Texan Poppy. As I was sitting, waiting for them, I saw some of the best human emotions ever.
I saw a mother and father greet their twenty-something daughter. The dad, with salt-and-pepper hair, saw his daughter and hustled to her side and he gave her a hug that said, "I don't ever want to let you go. Not. Ever." He finally did separate himself from her when his wife said, "Okay, you've had enough. My turn." Her hug was just as squeezy and every bit as warm. They hardly said a word, but it was as if I could feel the relief between them. If I could read the parents' minds, I bet I would have seen "NOW I feel right. Without her here with us, something was missing. But now that she has arrived safely and she's in our arms, all is right with the world."
I sat in the waiting chairs next to a girl, about 28, who was greeting her mom and grandma who were coming to watch her graduate from college. Just listening to her speak, I could tell how proud she was and how excited she was to be sharing it with her mom and grandma. After graduation, they were going to pack her car and a U-Haul and help her move back home. The tone in her voice suggested that she was anxious to start her life. She had the most amazing optimistic attitude. I could hear her smile, even when I wasn't looking at her.
Then, there was a couple, mid-thirties maybe, who were walking briskly together, then upon seeing the security gate, they came to an abrupt halt. They just looked at each other, then at the security gate, then the woman looked at her mate and said, "Well, I guess we have to say goodbye now..." There was an awkward pause, one that couldn't be filled with words or kisses or music. The awkward pause could only be filled with time. I could sense that they desperately wanted more time to be together, talk together, smile together, hold each other, before they had to separate. I could tell they would be counting the hours and days until they saw each other again. They shared a brief but tender kiss, then she rushed off to her gate. I almost felt like it was my heart being left behind.
There is no better place to watch human interaction than at the airport. Joy, sadness, loneliness, frustration, thankfulness, it's all there, and in its purest form. It helps me to remember that, bottom line: people love people. They may say they love money or things, but when all is said and done, nothing can take the place of people.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
True Story Tuesday: A Quarter Saved
Once upon a time, I had a quarter. It was a nifty quarter. It looked like this:
Now that might not seem so unusual. I didn't think so at first either. But one day, as I was gathering up my change left on the bathroom counter after emptying my pockets, I noticed it didn't quite clink in the same way I've heard other quarters clink. I thought maybe it was a new quarter, or possibly a really old quarter, so I looked at it again:
And then I turned it over and saw this: And, then I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I flipped it over again, to see: And I flipped it over AGAIN to see:
I was shocked. I wondered, is it counterfeit? Is it a joke? What's the deal???? How could a quarter be printed exactly the same on both sides? I thought it might be one of those trick coins, but even Texan Papa - the great skeptic - thought it looked pretty real.
It felt the exact same weight as a regular quarter. It looked genuine. I thought about taking it to a bank to get it checked out, but then I wondered if they would confiscate it. I considered taking it to a rare coin shop but couldn't face the possible rejection of being told, Yeah, your quarter is worth exactly 25 cents.
So, I held onto the quarter. I showed it to people. I told them how I didn't buy it or find it, it just appeared in my change one day. Probably got it after giving McDonalds a $5 bill or something.
Then one day it was gone. My precious quarter! I probably used it to pay for my kids' lunch at school. I will never know if that quarter was real or fake, valuable or just a novelty. If I still had it, who knows... today I might be a hundred-aire!
Monday, February 22, 2010
I Heart Faces - Week 8 challenge: Hands
So, I'm pretty new to this whole photography thing. I do have a photostream at Flickr, in case you're bored or interested or whatever. But I decided to throw my hat into the ring at I{heart}faces and their weekly photo challenge.
This week's challenge is "Hands On Fun". Here is a picture of Linus saluting the flag in a Boy Scout Flag Ceremony 2 weeks ago.
I know this shot isn't the best, and the color could be better. But I just love his expression... so serious, so quiet. So out of character for him. But I know he was trying his best to be reverent and respectful.
So, wish me luck!!
A Blog Worth Reading
I have asked myself the question "Why Do I Blog?" a hundred times. I've written a couple posts on it. If you have a blog, you've probably written a post or two on it too.
But, have you ever asked yourself, "Why Do I Read Blogs?"?
The noblest of all bloggers starts her blog because she needs to vent. Or maybe hone her writing craft. Or find a place to share her photography. Or, maybe, offer some recipes that her family finds delicious. But in the back of her mind, finding readers is just an afterthought. I'm doing this for me, not for external validation.
Yeah, right.
In the giant blogiverse, a person (and by "person", I totally mean me. To the core of my being.) can get caught up in how many followers she has. A person can become obsessed with promoting her blog, her name, her brand. Getting coments, leaving comments, twitter, facebook, technorati, google page rank. Blogger, wordpress, typepad. Comment Luv. Widgets. Blogging Conferences.
Last Friday night I met up with Amanda from Sturgmom, In General. We had chips and salsa and waters with lemon. And we shopped at an outlet mall... I just love the outlet mall. Over dinner we got to talking about blogging and who we read. We've both wondered to each other how it's possible that some readers have HUGE followings, while their blog content is just so-so. And others, (like hers, in my opinion), are fun to read and give me belly laughs, yet her following is pretty small.
We both feel like our blogs are pretty non-specific when it comes to content. I don't know if I could classify myself as "mommyblog", "humor"or "family". I've posted a few recipes but I certainly don't classify myself as any kind of gourmet cook. I like to take photos but wouldn't call myself a photographer. Sometimes I'm serious. Sometimes I'm moody. Sometimes I'm funny. Most of the time I just scratch the itch that's knocking around in my head.
But I think the most important thing any blogger can offer to her (or his) readers, no matter WHAT their genre, is good quality reading. Honest posts that don't take me 20 minutes to read. Stories that make me laugh, but alternate with stories that show the human side of the writer. I even like to read a product review if I feel that it's coming from the viewpoint of the author and not peppered with keywords and hyperlink phrases to boost SEO.
Just as many readers exist as do bloggers. Maybe even more. Every reader has a different taste. Maybe I've just explained mine to you, and your taste is completely different. But I think one thing we can all agree on is that when the blogger writes in their authentic voice, it is apparent.
You can't fake emotion. Us bloggers are too smart for that. And, right about the time you change your writing style to try to fit your reader's taste or increase numbers or fit into some bigger collection of popular bloggers, instead of remaining loyal to yourself, we'll know that too.
So, whether or not I ever hit the big leagues when it comes to readers, I don't know. I am trying to care less about numbers of subscribers and pay more attention to the integrity of my words. I am fairly sure you'll never read a review post here, unless it's for some product that I just love and bought all on my own. I don't know if I'll ever attend a blogging conference, unless it has workshops about "Ignoring Your SEO" and "Loving Your Blog when No One Else Does" and "Only bloggers with NO advertising in their sidebars are admitted to this party". I have to believe that increasing my Google page rank will never help me improve my writing skills.
So, as for me, I'll try to be keeping it real. Maybe because I'm lazy. Maybe because I'm too dumb to figure out how to make it big (I act like I detest it but really? Wouldn't everyone want to feel the collective high-five from the blogosphere?). Maybe because there are already so many bloggers out there that whatever niche I'd fit into is already jam-packed full. But that's okay. I'm comfortable sitting here. I'm glad y'all are here to keep me company.
But, have you ever asked yourself, "Why Do I Read Blogs?"?
The noblest of all bloggers starts her blog because she needs to vent. Or maybe hone her writing craft. Or find a place to share her photography. Or, maybe, offer some recipes that her family finds delicious. But in the back of her mind, finding readers is just an afterthought. I'm doing this for me, not for external validation.
Yeah, right.
In the giant blogiverse, a person (and by "person", I totally mean me. To the core of my being.) can get caught up in how many followers she has. A person can become obsessed with promoting her blog, her name, her brand. Getting coments, leaving comments, twitter, facebook, technorati, google page rank. Blogger, wordpress, typepad. Comment Luv. Widgets. Blogging Conferences.
Last Friday night I met up with Amanda from Sturgmom, In General. We had chips and salsa and waters with lemon. And we shopped at an outlet mall... I just love the outlet mall. Over dinner we got to talking about blogging and who we read. We've both wondered to each other how it's possible that some readers have HUGE followings, while their blog content is just so-so. And others, (like hers, in my opinion), are fun to read and give me belly laughs, yet her following is pretty small.
We both feel like our blogs are pretty non-specific when it comes to content. I don't know if I could classify myself as "mommyblog", "humor"or "family". I've posted a few recipes but I certainly don't classify myself as any kind of gourmet cook. I like to take photos but wouldn't call myself a photographer. Sometimes I'm serious. Sometimes I'm moody. Sometimes I'm funny. Most of the time I just scratch the itch that's knocking around in my head.
But I think the most important thing any blogger can offer to her (or his) readers, no matter WHAT their genre, is good quality reading. Honest posts that don't take me 20 minutes to read. Stories that make me laugh, but alternate with stories that show the human side of the writer. I even like to read a product review if I feel that it's coming from the viewpoint of the author and not peppered with keywords and hyperlink phrases to boost SEO.
Just as many readers exist as do bloggers. Maybe even more. Every reader has a different taste. Maybe I've just explained mine to you, and your taste is completely different. But I think one thing we can all agree on is that when the blogger writes in their authentic voice, it is apparent.
You can't fake emotion. Us bloggers are too smart for that. And, right about the time you change your writing style to try to fit your reader's taste or increase numbers or fit into some bigger collection of popular bloggers, instead of remaining loyal to yourself, we'll know that too.
So, whether or not I ever hit the big leagues when it comes to readers, I don't know. I am trying to care less about numbers of subscribers and pay more attention to the integrity of my words. I am fairly sure you'll never read a review post here, unless it's for some product that I just love and bought all on my own. I don't know if I'll ever attend a blogging conference, unless it has workshops about "Ignoring Your SEO" and "Loving Your Blog when No One Else Does" and "Only bloggers with NO advertising in their sidebars are admitted to this party". I have to believe that increasing my Google page rank will never help me improve my writing skills.
So, as for me, I'll try to be keeping it real. Maybe because I'm lazy. Maybe because I'm too dumb to figure out how to make it big (I act like I detest it but really? Wouldn't everyone want to feel the collective high-five from the blogosphere?). Maybe because there are already so many bloggers out there that whatever niche I'd fit into is already jam-packed full. But that's okay. I'm comfortable sitting here. I'm glad y'all are here to keep me company.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
How Can I Be This Stupid??
Please, internetz people, help me.
I have an MP3 player that I really like.
I want podcasts.
I do NOT want to subscribe to iTunes. I think it's a big monopoly. Plus, a lot of their files are .AAC type, which isn't compatible with an MP3 player.
So, what are my options? Not to mention, how in the world do I get the damn podcast onto my MP3 player?
I swear, I'm not stupid. I have loaded tons of music to my MP3 player. I've even converted files of movies (taken by me on my video camera) and and pictures. But for some reason I can't figure out how to get podcasts.
Okay, talk to me like I'm a 6 year old.
**edited to add: Okay, are podcasts only for iPod users? Because, my MP3 Player has a specific folder for "PODCASTS" so I'm assuming it can take them. BTW my MP3 isn't a nothing junky MP3. It's a Sansa Fuze 4 gHz. So, it's got enough space to hold tv shows, movies, and songs. Now if someone could just explain to me how to GET the mf'ers onto that little box, it would be fan-flipping-tastic.***
I have an MP3 player that I really like.
I want podcasts.
I do NOT want to subscribe to iTunes. I think it's a big monopoly. Plus, a lot of their files are .AAC type, which isn't compatible with an MP3 player.
So, what are my options? Not to mention, how in the world do I get the damn podcast onto my MP3 player?
I swear, I'm not stupid. I have loaded tons of music to my MP3 player. I've even converted files of movies (taken by me on my video camera) and and pictures. But for some reason I can't figure out how to get podcasts.
Okay, talk to me like I'm a 6 year old.
**edited to add: Okay, are podcasts only for iPod users? Because, my MP3 Player has a specific folder for "PODCASTS" so I'm assuming it can take them. BTW my MP3 isn't a nothing junky MP3. It's a Sansa Fuze 4 gHz. So, it's got enough space to hold tv shows, movies, and songs. Now if someone could just explain to me how to GET the mf'ers onto that little box, it would be fan-flipping-tastic.***
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Book Covers
I've done it. You've done it. Anyone who denies they've done it is a flat. out. liar.
I'm talking about judging a book by its cover.
I can sit here and tell you that I see a homeless person standing at the off ramp, with a sign that reads, "Vietnam Vet - Anything will help" and I'm compassionate. Really? I'm wondering if I gave him money what he'd really do with it. Or if he's really a Vietnam Vet. Or if he's really even homeless at all.
I can tell you that I see a photo spread of the cast from Jersey Shore and I think they probably are misunderstood because of their looks. But honestly? I immediately assume their IQ's to be sub-par, simply because of their careful attention to detail when it comes to hair gel.
I can tell you that I see a gaggle of college-aged girls in a convertible, with manicured nails and a sorority bumper sticker, and I think they are lucky to be so young and having fun. But really? Deep in the back of my mind? I'm thinking, "Bitch. I bet she's the baby of her Daddy's trust fund. And she's probably a ditz."
Those are the easy examples. And I say "easy" because they fit a stereotype. But what about the hard ones? What about the skinny kid with thick glasses in your son's class at school. Do you believe him to be the smartest one in class, just because of the glasses? (Sometimes I do.) Or what about the kid with the hole in her shoe, the stain on her shirt, and the hair that looks unkempt? Do you jump to the conclusion that her family is poor or neglectful? (Sometimes I do.)
What kind of stereotypes do you fit? What kind of stereotypes do you blow out of the water?
I remember in college, I had a friend from Texas named Rachael. She was blond. And Jewish. And I had the gall to tell her, "You can't be Jewish! You're blond!" Of course, she laughed her head off at me. In retrospect, I laugh at it too. My only excuse is that I grew up in a very sheltered world and college opened my eyes to a lot of new things, blond Jewish girls being only the beginning.
When I was in college, I was a sorority girl. And, to some degree, greek life does live up to the stereotype. There is lots of partying. There is lots of inappropriate behavior. There is definitely more cost involved belonging to a sorority than with simply living in a dorm. I faced that stereotype while in college and, at times, I was judged by it. But what some non-greeks never knew was the other side of being in a sorority. I learned a ton about leadership, and I was able to hold offices to hone my skills to lead other people. I met a group of genuine friends with whom I shared a bond that continues today. I was exposed to experiences that may have eluded me had I not been plugged into the Greek community (such as: study abroad, alcohol awareness, and scholarships).
Now that I've been out of college for 16 years, I still stay connected with the collegiate chapter of my sorority. But I don't readily admit to people I meet that I was in a sorority. Why? Book covers. Really. I don't want people to hear me say "sorority" and immediately picture "pillow fights in our bras and panties". (By the way, in case anyone wondered, that is a total myth. No one does that.) Somehow, I have been made to feel ashamed of this part of my personal history that shaped me in a very positive way.
And, I'm not going to act altruistic, like I would never make snap judgements about people based on pre-conceived ideas. If I said that, I would have to call myself a flat. out. liar. But what do we do to get past it? For example, if I told you that, on my collegiate campus, every fraternity and sorority held philanthropic fundraisers every year to help organizations like American Heart Association, Muscular Distrophy Association, and the American Red Cross, just to name a few, would you immediately think, "Oh I must have been wrong about those Greek organizations?" My guess is no. But it's true - we did do a lot of good with all the time and energy we had to burn while we were young and energetic. Still, how does a person ever escape the Book Covers?
Some stereotypes we are born with. Some stereotypes we choose as we walk down our life path. Maybe, for a time, we actually enjoy and revel in the light of a stereotype. But is the stereotype REAL? Is it ACCURATE? And, as we realize how we don't fit into the stereotypes that people set on us, do we realize that they don't fit into the stereotypes we set on them either?
Maybe that homeless person is a victim of forclosure. Maybe that skinny kid has a rare eye disease that ruined his eyesight. Maybe that girl in the convertible is at school on a full academic scholarship. Or maybe they are exactly who I think they seem to be. But either way, I don't think that me forming an opinion of them makes me smarter or happier or a better person. If anything, the opposite is true. So why do I do it?
The Book Cover I'm under right now is the MOM book cover. People see me with my herd of children, and immediately I'm presumed to be crazy busy. And frantic. And uninterested in grown-up fun. Or maybe even a little disconnected from reality (every time I got pregnant, I'd get the question, "Again? Is this your LAST???). I just hate that. I love my family, but I hate what having a family has come to mean to society at large. I want to shout from the rooftops, "I STILL LOVE BEER! I LIKE TO WEAR SEXY UNDERWEAR! I STILL LAUGH AT DIRTY JOKES!!!"
I think the only thing to do is to steel ourselves against the stereotypes people put on us. We can't stop them, but we can stop reacting to them. Or we can prove them wrong.
So, pass the Bud Light.
I'm talking about judging a book by its cover.
I can sit here and tell you that I see a homeless person standing at the off ramp, with a sign that reads, "Vietnam Vet - Anything will help" and I'm compassionate. Really? I'm wondering if I gave him money what he'd really do with it. Or if he's really a Vietnam Vet. Or if he's really even homeless at all.
I can tell you that I see a photo spread of the cast from Jersey Shore and I think they probably are misunderstood because of their looks. But honestly? I immediately assume their IQ's to be sub-par, simply because of their careful attention to detail when it comes to hair gel.
I can tell you that I see a gaggle of college-aged girls in a convertible, with manicured nails and a sorority bumper sticker, and I think they are lucky to be so young and having fun. But really? Deep in the back of my mind? I'm thinking, "Bitch. I bet she's the baby of her Daddy's trust fund. And she's probably a ditz."
Those are the easy examples. And I say "easy" because they fit a stereotype. But what about the hard ones? What about the skinny kid with thick glasses in your son's class at school. Do you believe him to be the smartest one in class, just because of the glasses? (Sometimes I do.) Or what about the kid with the hole in her shoe, the stain on her shirt, and the hair that looks unkempt? Do you jump to the conclusion that her family is poor or neglectful? (Sometimes I do.)
What kind of stereotypes do you fit? What kind of stereotypes do you blow out of the water?
I remember in college, I had a friend from Texas named Rachael. She was blond. And Jewish. And I had the gall to tell her, "You can't be Jewish! You're blond!" Of course, she laughed her head off at me. In retrospect, I laugh at it too. My only excuse is that I grew up in a very sheltered world and college opened my eyes to a lot of new things, blond Jewish girls being only the beginning.
When I was in college, I was a sorority girl. And, to some degree, greek life does live up to the stereotype. There is lots of partying. There is lots of inappropriate behavior. There is definitely more cost involved belonging to a sorority than with simply living in a dorm. I faced that stereotype while in college and, at times, I was judged by it. But what some non-greeks never knew was the other side of being in a sorority. I learned a ton about leadership, and I was able to hold offices to hone my skills to lead other people. I met a group of genuine friends with whom I shared a bond that continues today. I was exposed to experiences that may have eluded me had I not been plugged into the Greek community (such as: study abroad, alcohol awareness, and scholarships).
Now that I've been out of college for 16 years, I still stay connected with the collegiate chapter of my sorority. But I don't readily admit to people I meet that I was in a sorority. Why? Book covers. Really. I don't want people to hear me say "sorority" and immediately picture "pillow fights in our bras and panties". (By the way, in case anyone wondered, that is a total myth. No one does that.) Somehow, I have been made to feel ashamed of this part of my personal history that shaped me in a very positive way.
And, I'm not going to act altruistic, like I would never make snap judgements about people based on pre-conceived ideas. If I said that, I would have to call myself a flat. out. liar. But what do we do to get past it? For example, if I told you that, on my collegiate campus, every fraternity and sorority held philanthropic fundraisers every year to help organizations like American Heart Association, Muscular Distrophy Association, and the American Red Cross, just to name a few, would you immediately think, "Oh I must have been wrong about those Greek organizations?" My guess is no. But it's true - we did do a lot of good with all the time and energy we had to burn while we were young and energetic. Still, how does a person ever escape the Book Covers?
Some stereotypes we are born with. Some stereotypes we choose as we walk down our life path. Maybe, for a time, we actually enjoy and revel in the light of a stereotype. But is the stereotype REAL? Is it ACCURATE? And, as we realize how we don't fit into the stereotypes that people set on us, do we realize that they don't fit into the stereotypes we set on them either?
Maybe that homeless person is a victim of forclosure. Maybe that skinny kid has a rare eye disease that ruined his eyesight. Maybe that girl in the convertible is at school on a full academic scholarship. Or maybe they are exactly who I think they seem to be. But either way, I don't think that me forming an opinion of them makes me smarter or happier or a better person. If anything, the opposite is true. So why do I do it?
The Book Cover I'm under right now is the MOM book cover. People see me with my herd of children, and immediately I'm presumed to be crazy busy. And frantic. And uninterested in grown-up fun. Or maybe even a little disconnected from reality (every time I got pregnant, I'd get the question, "Again? Is this your LAST???). I just hate that. I love my family, but I hate what having a family has come to mean to society at large. I want to shout from the rooftops, "I STILL LOVE BEER! I LIKE TO WEAR SEXY UNDERWEAR! I STILL LAUGH AT DIRTY JOKES!!!"
I think the only thing to do is to steel ourselves against the stereotypes people put on us. We can't stop them, but we can stop reacting to them. Or we can prove them wrong.
So, pass the Bud Light.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Flashback Friday: God Bless America
Howdy Y'all! It's time for Flashback Friday again!!
Now, hop on board and flash back with us. Just find an old post that needs a little love, and post it right up there on your blog. Presto! All the comments and none of the work!! Don't forget to come back here with Mr. Linky and link up so we can come visit you.
Giddy up!
What does "American" mean?
Originally posted 7/1/08
Now, it is close to the 4th of July, so I have been thinking about America. I mean, what does it really mean to be "AMERICAN"? Is an American defined as a person who fits the stereotype that other countries have of us? By that I mean: an overweight person driving a big gas-guzzling car, eating a Big Mac, having road rage, and when he/she gets home there is so much extra food for dinner that the overflow is simply thrown away. OR is an American defined as the new wave of our country: an Eco-Friendly pacifist who only rides a bike or walks (or drives the french-fry car), buys everything organic and sternly rejects the idea of organized religion in favor of free thought and worldwide tolerance and acceptance.
I have to be honest. Right now I do not like America. If I could move to another country with my family I would do it. Unfortunately I have too many anchors here in the United States to keep me from going - some good and some bad. My extended family is all here, my friends are here, my children have just started school, we've just bought a house, we don't know any other languages, etc. But living in America is chipping away at my heart, little by little. What happened to the America of years ago? Words like PRIDE, HONOR, SERVING YOUR COUNTRY, OBEY, and CITIZEN are becoming words to be mocked. The very thing that our country was founded on - freedom - is the thing that is going to tear us apart. Everyone is free to think whatever he or she wants, do whatever, be whomever, say whatever, and then some. If today I can burn an American Flag and hide behind freedom of speech, what is next? My opinion is that if you hate America so much, THEN MOVE SOMEWHERE ELSE AND HATE US IN A COUNTRY THAT DOESN'T SUPPORT YOU. The same people who burn flags are the ones who will collect social security when they are 70 and you can bet that they cashed that economic stimulus check last spring. I just can't help but hate those people who hate America.
But right there is exactly what I'm talking about: Do I hate them because they hate America, or do I hate them because they're different from me. Am I intolerant? Deep down, do I just want to live in a society where everyone thinks the same way I do? After all, that's anti-American, isn't it? I mean, wanting to exist in a world where freedom is quashed. I guess there is a boundary somewhere, like... you can have free thought about how much to pay for something, but not free thought about whether you will pay for it or not. I guess what really irks me is the people who claim to be free-thinkers, but really just want everyone to think like they do. The new Go Green movement reeks of antiestablishmentalism (is that a word?) but really it's just a movement toward a new establishment with its own set of rules and boundaries. Buy organic. Grow your own food but don't use pesticides or chemical fertilizers. Don't use air conditioning because of the leaks into the atmosphere. Buy a hybrid or alternate fuel car. Pay more for all these things to further support the movement. If you don't you're an enemy of the earth, destroying it for future generations. (insert growl here) BAD HUMAN!!!
So, is the blog world representative of America? I guess it is. For every interest and every niche there will surely be a blog that will feed that intellect. And before long I'm sure there will be blogs with questionable content (unless there are already - I'm just not aware yet). The internet is the new forum for free speech so undoubtedly those blogs will go uncensored and continue to promote the ideas of the masses, no matter how healthy or unhealthy they may be. God help us all. For now the best I can do is to just carefully choose my content and pray that I don't get too worked up the next time I hear some crazy inbreed spouting off at the mouth.
One last note: Here is an example of poor judgement when considering free speech. Last fall (2007) I went to a children's museum with my 3 kids while I was pregnant with my 4th. The kid-to-adult ratio there was about 4 to 1. My older two, Peppermint Patty and Charlie Brown, can read pretty well by this time. One adult male, aged about 30, looked in his closet that evening and chose to wear a t-shirt that read "MAN WHORE". Now, of course, that idiot had the right of free speech to wear that t-shirt. He wasn't committing a hate crime. He wasn't endorsing any behavior except, possibly, blatant stupidity. But what kind of person wears that shirt to a CHILDREN'S MUSEUM???? Very subtly I steered my children into another room away from the offending t-shirt so I wouldn't have to answer the question, "Mommy, what does 'Man Whore' mean?"
God Bless the USA
Now, hop on board and flash back with us. Just find an old post that needs a little love, and post it right up there on your blog. Presto! All the comments and none of the work!! Don't forget to come back here with Mr. Linky and link up so we can come visit you.
Giddy up!
What does "American" mean?
Originally posted 7/1/08
Now, it is close to the 4th of July, so I have been thinking about America. I mean, what does it really mean to be "AMERICAN"? Is an American defined as a person who fits the stereotype that other countries have of us? By that I mean: an overweight person driving a big gas-guzzling car, eating a Big Mac, having road rage, and when he/she gets home there is so much extra food for dinner that the overflow is simply thrown away. OR is an American defined as the new wave of our country: an Eco-Friendly pacifist who only rides a bike or walks (or drives the french-fry car), buys everything organic and sternly rejects the idea of organized religion in favor of free thought and worldwide tolerance and acceptance.
I have to be honest. Right now I do not like America. If I could move to another country with my family I would do it. Unfortunately I have too many anchors here in the United States to keep me from going - some good and some bad. My extended family is all here, my friends are here, my children have just started school, we've just bought a house, we don't know any other languages, etc. But living in America is chipping away at my heart, little by little. What happened to the America of years ago? Words like PRIDE, HONOR, SERVING YOUR COUNTRY, OBEY, and CITIZEN are becoming words to be mocked. The very thing that our country was founded on - freedom - is the thing that is going to tear us apart. Everyone is free to think whatever he or she wants, do whatever, be whomever, say whatever, and then some. If today I can burn an American Flag and hide behind freedom of speech, what is next? My opinion is that if you hate America so much, THEN MOVE SOMEWHERE ELSE AND HATE US IN A COUNTRY THAT DOESN'T SUPPORT YOU. The same people who burn flags are the ones who will collect social security when they are 70 and you can bet that they cashed that economic stimulus check last spring. I just can't help but hate those people who hate America.
But right there is exactly what I'm talking about: Do I hate them because they hate America, or do I hate them because they're different from me. Am I intolerant? Deep down, do I just want to live in a society where everyone thinks the same way I do? After all, that's anti-American, isn't it? I mean, wanting to exist in a world where freedom is quashed. I guess there is a boundary somewhere, like... you can have free thought about how much to pay for something, but not free thought about whether you will pay for it or not. I guess what really irks me is the people who claim to be free-thinkers, but really just want everyone to think like they do. The new Go Green movement reeks of antiestablishmentalism (is that a word?) but really it's just a movement toward a new establishment with its own set of rules and boundaries. Buy organic. Grow your own food but don't use pesticides or chemical fertilizers. Don't use air conditioning because of the leaks into the atmosphere. Buy a hybrid or alternate fuel car. Pay more for all these things to further support the movement. If you don't you're an enemy of the earth, destroying it for future generations. (insert growl here) BAD HUMAN!!!
So, is the blog world representative of America? I guess it is. For every interest and every niche there will surely be a blog that will feed that intellect. And before long I'm sure there will be blogs with questionable content (unless there are already - I'm just not aware yet). The internet is the new forum for free speech so undoubtedly those blogs will go uncensored and continue to promote the ideas of the masses, no matter how healthy or unhealthy they may be. God help us all. For now the best I can do is to just carefully choose my content and pray that I don't get too worked up the next time I hear some crazy inbreed spouting off at the mouth.
One last note: Here is an example of poor judgement when considering free speech. Last fall (2007) I went to a children's museum with my 3 kids while I was pregnant with my 4th. The kid-to-adult ratio there was about 4 to 1. My older two, Peppermint Patty and Charlie Brown, can read pretty well by this time. One adult male, aged about 30, looked in his closet that evening and chose to wear a t-shirt that read "MAN WHORE". Now, of course, that idiot had the right of free speech to wear that t-shirt. He wasn't committing a hate crime. He wasn't endorsing any behavior except, possibly, blatant stupidity. But what kind of person wears that shirt to a CHILDREN'S MUSEUM???? Very subtly I steered my children into another room away from the offending t-shirt so I wouldn't have to answer the question, "Mommy, what does 'Man Whore' mean?"
God Bless the USA
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Inclusion or Exclusion?
Valentine's day has come and gone. Our kids have come home with tons of V-Day loot: Reese's miniatures and Tootsie Rolls and heart-shaped cherry suckers. But in Charlie Brown's class, everyone came home with just a little bit less.
You see, Charlie Brown decided not to hand out valentines this year. It was his decision and we explained to him that some kids might not feel so great about that. But he was okay with explaining - to his teacher or classmates or whoever asked - why he declined to do valentines this year. In CB's class, there are a few kids who he has told us are mean to him. He doesn't like them and he definitely didn't want to give them valentines. But, the school policy for valentines (as well as birthday party invitations) is: give them to everyone or no one. So, Charlie Brown chose the latter.
Texan Papa and I talked to each other about this because we can both remember a day when rules like this didn't exist. While I understand the reasoning behind the school's decision about inclusion for parties, I also can speak - from experience - that it doesn't make the unwanted kid feel any more included. She knows when the Valentine she receives was only given to her because the giver had to. She knows when the party invitation isn't REALLY meant for her. Sure, she's included like everyone else. But is she really wanted?
I remember attending my first sleepover birthday party in 5th grade. Patti gave me the invitation and actually said to me, "I'm only inviting you because my mom said I had to invite ALL the girls in the class." But to me, it didn't matter. I was invited to a party! At the house of the popular girl!!! Now, finally, they'll see how fun I am and how I can tell a joke. They'll get to know me and want to be my friend after all!
Patti and Beth and Kelly, they didn't want anything to do with me. If I stood near them, they'd say, "Do you smell something funny?" If I asked them what they were doing, they'd ignore me and say, "Hey, let's go upstairs!" and run quickly up the steps and lock themselves in the bathroom. They'd yell out, "Oh, sorry! We have to talk privately for a minute!" Of course, I ended up in tears which only ostracized me more. That night, I ended up spending most of the evening in the kitchen talking to Patti's mom. Slumber Party Fail.
I don't know if it would have been better for me to have never been invited. Going to that party built my character. It taught me how to never be a "mean girl" to anyone else, knowing all too well how it felt to be on the receiving end of such behavior. It also drove home the point that some people will just always be mean, and I shouldn't wait around for them, expecting that one day suddenly they'll be my friend. Maybe if I'd never been invited to that party, I would have learned the same lesson over the long haul, not as a crash course.
Texan Papa had a little different bent on the whole situation. He felt that when a kid doesn't receive a valentine, or party invitation, the kid gets the message of... you're not so fun to be around. You're mean to people. Start being nicer and maybe you'll get more friends (and valentines and party invitations). But for me, it wasn't that I was mean or anything. I was just a bit socially awkward. I never really fit in with the popular crowd and my parents didn't exactly teach me how to love my independent and individual self. I spent most of my primary and middle school years wishing I could be friends with someone.
In high school, I never went to parties unless the person throwing the party specifically came up to me and invited me. WHO DOES THAT IN HIGH SCHOOL??? Uh, nobody. Teenager party policy was basically BYOB and don't puke on the couch. But I just couldn't accept that anyone would want me at their party.
So now, as a parent watching my kid in class, I get it. No one wants to feel left out. Really, if anyone gets it, I do. And, I don't know what the right answer is. I wouldn't want to be like the real Charlie Brown, waiting by his mailbox for a valentine that never comes, or even worse, getting the late valentine that had someone else's name written on it, then erased, and my name put in its place.
Childhood is so simple, yet so complicated. I'm glad it's over for me, and now I just have to watch it from the free seats. Problem is, watching each of my children struggle with friendships makes me relive my own struggles, over and over again.
Maybe nothing in life is simple.
You see, Charlie Brown decided not to hand out valentines this year. It was his decision and we explained to him that some kids might not feel so great about that. But he was okay with explaining - to his teacher or classmates or whoever asked - why he declined to do valentines this year. In CB's class, there are a few kids who he has told us are mean to him. He doesn't like them and he definitely didn't want to give them valentines. But, the school policy for valentines (as well as birthday party invitations) is: give them to everyone or no one. So, Charlie Brown chose the latter.
Texan Papa and I talked to each other about this because we can both remember a day when rules like this didn't exist. While I understand the reasoning behind the school's decision about inclusion for parties, I also can speak - from experience - that it doesn't make the unwanted kid feel any more included. She knows when the Valentine she receives was only given to her because the giver had to. She knows when the party invitation isn't REALLY meant for her. Sure, she's included like everyone else. But is she really wanted?
I remember attending my first sleepover birthday party in 5th grade. Patti gave me the invitation and actually said to me, "I'm only inviting you because my mom said I had to invite ALL the girls in the class." But to me, it didn't matter. I was invited to a party! At the house of the popular girl!!! Now, finally, they'll see how fun I am and how I can tell a joke. They'll get to know me and want to be my friend after all!
Patti and Beth and Kelly, they didn't want anything to do with me. If I stood near them, they'd say, "Do you smell something funny?" If I asked them what they were doing, they'd ignore me and say, "Hey, let's go upstairs!" and run quickly up the steps and lock themselves in the bathroom. They'd yell out, "Oh, sorry! We have to talk privately for a minute!" Of course, I ended up in tears which only ostracized me more. That night, I ended up spending most of the evening in the kitchen talking to Patti's mom. Slumber Party Fail.
I don't know if it would have been better for me to have never been invited. Going to that party built my character. It taught me how to never be a "mean girl" to anyone else, knowing all too well how it felt to be on the receiving end of such behavior. It also drove home the point that some people will just always be mean, and I shouldn't wait around for them, expecting that one day suddenly they'll be my friend. Maybe if I'd never been invited to that party, I would have learned the same lesson over the long haul, not as a crash course.
Texan Papa had a little different bent on the whole situation. He felt that when a kid doesn't receive a valentine, or party invitation, the kid gets the message of... you're not so fun to be around. You're mean to people. Start being nicer and maybe you'll get more friends (and valentines and party invitations). But for me, it wasn't that I was mean or anything. I was just a bit socially awkward. I never really fit in with the popular crowd and my parents didn't exactly teach me how to love my independent and individual self. I spent most of my primary and middle school years wishing I could be friends with someone.
In high school, I never went to parties unless the person throwing the party specifically came up to me and invited me. WHO DOES THAT IN HIGH SCHOOL??? Uh, nobody. Teenager party policy was basically BYOB and don't puke on the couch. But I just couldn't accept that anyone would want me at their party.
So now, as a parent watching my kid in class, I get it. No one wants to feel left out. Really, if anyone gets it, I do. And, I don't know what the right answer is. I wouldn't want to be like the real Charlie Brown, waiting by his mailbox for a valentine that never comes, or even worse, getting the late valentine that had someone else's name written on it, then erased, and my name put in its place.
Childhood is so simple, yet so complicated. I'm glad it's over for me, and now I just have to watch it from the free seats. Problem is, watching each of my children struggle with friendships makes me relive my own struggles, over and over again.
Maybe nothing in life is simple.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Random Thoughts Tuesday
I've got a few thoughts... they're random... but they keep my brain buzzing...
Do you remember the first (I think) screen saver? The flying toasters? I wonder why THAT was the screen saver image of choice. hmmm
Do you remember Andy Travis (aka Gary Sandy IRL) from WKRP in Cincinnati?
Do you remember the first (I think) screen saver? The flying toasters? I wonder why THAT was the screen saver image of choice. hmmm
Do you remember Andy Travis (aka Gary Sandy IRL) from WKRP in Cincinnati?
I used to be so in love with him. I loved those tight jeans with the bulge. Oh, the bulge. It's what a Catholic girl's confession is made of.
I got my first pair of cowboy boots.
2 years in Texas and it took me this long to get a pair of cowboy boots. They are suede and they are so comfortable. I love them! They are made by Guess. Texan Papa said that Guess doesn't make cowboy boots, so he thinks they don't count. But I don't care. I got them at Burlington Coat Factory and I have to confess, they only cost $30 WAY on sale.
And finally, I wore a belt today. Yea me. This is a very simple thing, one that many people do every day. Yet, I have not worn a belt in about a year. Granted, the belt is the biggest one I have, and it's on the second-to-last hole. But it's a belt.
For other Random Thoughts, head on over to Keely at The Un Mom.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Does Your Spouse Celebrate Your Specialness? Vote Now!
With Valentine's Day near, I wonder how other couples view the big romantic day.
I am always surprised, but less and less as years go by, at how the whole topic of Valentines Day is like a time bomb for a relationship. Sometimes, the guy doesn't remember. Or he doesn't remember the right gifts. Or, he remembers but says something that gets him into hot water. Or he makes the right plans but forgets to get a babysitter. Or whatever.
I would love to get candy and flowers on V-Day. I'd love even more to get a poem. But really? What would make me melt?
Getting to sleep in. For reals. None of this "SHH BE QUIET NOW!!! MOMMY IS SLEEPING!!!! THAT'S IT, YOU'RE IN TIME OUT!!!!" crap. Sleeping in means you take the kids out to breakfast so the only thing I hear is the laundry machine tumbling the load you just started. An alternate but completely acceptable way to celebrate Valentines would be to do the vacuuming and ironing for me.
Valentine's day has lost a lot of its meaning and importance, I think, because my husband just isn't into it. So, he doesn't go overboard for me and if I try to make any effort for him, it falls on blind eyes and deaf ears and an uninterested spirit.
If I could pick just ONE occasion that I'd like my husband to remember and make a big deal out of, it would probably have to be my birthday. I like Mother's Day too, but my birthday is all mine. Don't have to share it with other moms. Just me.
How 'bout you? What holiday/celebration is #1 to you? And does your spouse make you feel special on that day?
Dish!
I am always surprised, but less and less as years go by, at how the whole topic of Valentines Day is like a time bomb for a relationship. Sometimes, the guy doesn't remember. Or he doesn't remember the right gifts. Or, he remembers but says something that gets him into hot water. Or he makes the right plans but forgets to get a babysitter. Or whatever.
I would love to get candy and flowers on V-Day. I'd love even more to get a poem. But really? What would make me melt?
Getting to sleep in. For reals. None of this "SHH BE QUIET NOW!!! MOMMY IS SLEEPING!!!! THAT'S IT, YOU'RE IN TIME OUT!!!!" crap. Sleeping in means you take the kids out to breakfast so the only thing I hear is the laundry machine tumbling the load you just started. An alternate but completely acceptable way to celebrate Valentines would be to do the vacuuming and ironing for me.
Valentine's day has lost a lot of its meaning and importance, I think, because my husband just isn't into it. So, he doesn't go overboard for me and if I try to make any effort for him, it falls on blind eyes and deaf ears and an uninterested spirit.
If I could pick just ONE occasion that I'd like my husband to remember and make a big deal out of, it would probably have to be my birthday. I like Mother's Day too, but my birthday is all mine. Don't have to share it with other moms. Just me.
How 'bout you? What holiday/celebration is #1 to you? And does your spouse make you feel special on that day?
Dish!
Tired of Being Fat/Too Lazy to Change
Okay, so I am tired of being fat.
I am tired of my stomach looking like two wrinkly pug jowls, hanging there over my underwear waistband and staring back at me in the full-lenth bathroom mirror.
TMI?
I realize, I'm not obese or anything. I'm actually only about 25 pounds heavier than I was when I graduated high school. I'm about 13 pounds heavier than when I got pregnant. And, Amy is closing in on 3 months old (that'll be on Feb 22).
I know I should give my body time to recover. I know I am still exclusively breastfeeding, so I need to eat more calories in order to make milk for the baby. I know I have 5 kids and not a whole chunk of extra time to hit the gym.
But still. I don't want to wear maternity clothes. So my other options are: A) squeeze myself into my pre-pregnancy clothes and look like a sausage in it's casing. I think that is EXTREMELY bad taste. I've always said... just buy the next size up. No one sees the tag but you. Plus I can hardly breathe in those tight jeans. OR B) I could go out and buy some more clothes that fit. But I feel like that would be essentially admitting defeat. Like, I give up. I resign myself to the fact that this is my body now. I don't think I'm quite ready to do that.
And, I know, exercise. Eat less. Eat healthier. Drink more water. Blah blah blah. I know what to do but I don't know if I'm ready. And, part of me wonders if my body actually will ever be "normal" again. Seriously, my stomach skin is so stretched out that even if I lost the weight, I seriously doubt I'd ever be able to have a six-pack.
Not that I expect to be a spokesperson for Bowflex or anything. But I don't want to be a spokesperson for bacon either.
I think I should really buckle down and bite the bullet (as opposed to more Reese's Peanut Butter Cups). Of course, there's always that other hand that lets me think, aah, I've got 5 kids. I'm allowed to have a "mom body".
Too bad it's MY mom's body.
I am tired of my stomach looking like two wrinkly pug jowls, hanging there over my underwear waistband and staring back at me in the full-lenth bathroom mirror.
TMI?
I realize, I'm not obese or anything. I'm actually only about 25 pounds heavier than I was when I graduated high school. I'm about 13 pounds heavier than when I got pregnant. And, Amy is closing in on 3 months old (that'll be on Feb 22).
I know I should give my body time to recover. I know I am still exclusively breastfeeding, so I need to eat more calories in order to make milk for the baby. I know I have 5 kids and not a whole chunk of extra time to hit the gym.
But still. I don't want to wear maternity clothes. So my other options are: A) squeeze myself into my pre-pregnancy clothes and look like a sausage in it's casing. I think that is EXTREMELY bad taste. I've always said... just buy the next size up. No one sees the tag but you. Plus I can hardly breathe in those tight jeans. OR B) I could go out and buy some more clothes that fit. But I feel like that would be essentially admitting defeat. Like, I give up. I resign myself to the fact that this is my body now. I don't think I'm quite ready to do that.
And, I know, exercise. Eat less. Eat healthier. Drink more water. Blah blah blah. I know what to do but I don't know if I'm ready. And, part of me wonders if my body actually will ever be "normal" again. Seriously, my stomach skin is so stretched out that even if I lost the weight, I seriously doubt I'd ever be able to have a six-pack.
Not that I expect to be a spokesperson for Bowflex or anything. But I don't want to be a spokesperson for bacon either.
I think I should really buckle down and bite the bullet (as opposed to more Reese's Peanut Butter Cups). Of course, there's always that other hand that lets me think, aah, I've got 5 kids. I'm allowed to have a "mom body".
Too bad it's MY mom's body.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Incognito
My daughter, Peppermint Patty, loves to tell people about how I won a Flip Video camera.
My mom won it by writing a blog!
To which the listener usually responds Oh really? She blogs? (then, looking at me) You write a blog? What is it? I'll read it!
At which point I promptly change the subject...
You see, I don't really want people I know in person to also know me for who I am online. I feel this way for a few reasons:
1. Sometimes my real-life subjects become blog-fodder through every fault of their own. I can't control stupid but I certainly can exploit it. I make no excuses and I pull no punches. But I do change names since I don't know how often they google themselves.
2. I like to use expletives. Not all the time, but sometimes. I don't often drop the f-bomb but I'm quite fond of saying shit. When I was a kid, I never once heard my mother or father utter the f-word, but saying shit was as common as saying Oleo. And if you know what Oleo is, then you must have parents that are 60 or older, like me.
3. This blog is a lot like my personal diary. I don't want my mother-in-law knowing that I critique her sleeping arrangements with my father-in-law. I don't want my friend knowing that it hurt my feelings when she bashed Stay-At-Home moms. I just want to blommit my thoughts and then see if it all made as much sense on the outside of my head as it did on the inside. And I don't want to get into the habit of censoring myself because I worry who might read my words and get offended. Of course, I could say, "Screw 'em! Let them get offended!" But please, I'm not that coarse. However, I do realize that the moment I'm afraid to say things like I really think them, then I start to lose the whole reason I started blogging in the first place.
4. I like the mystery. I like it when people can't figure me out. Gretchen is the real-life me, but Texan Mama is my alter ego. I kinda look at it like a part of myself that I can choose with whom to share it. I know, before I started blogging, I thought bloggers were like online gamers with scabs on their thumbs from game controllers, and bloodshot eyes from too many late nights in front of the monitor. I NEVER thought a blogger would be a mom who clips coupons and goes to yoga. Like me. Except that "go to yoga" means "go to Target".
Sometimes I wonder how bloggers shoot from birthing their blog into WorldWideWeb stardom in a matter of months. But then I realize, they probably share their blog with everyone they know, including family and friends. Long ago I wished I could increase my number of subscribers, but I realized that it was a trade-off: I could get more readers but I would have to out myself to people who know me IRL.
I like to play my cards a little closer to the vest, and when an innocent conversation turns to the topic of twitter, facebook, and blogs, I usually look glassy-eyed and clam up. Blog what?
My mom won it by writing a blog!
To which the listener usually responds Oh really? She blogs? (then, looking at me) You write a blog? What is it? I'll read it!
At which point I promptly change the subject...
You see, I don't really want people I know in person to also know me for who I am online. I feel this way for a few reasons:
1. Sometimes my real-life subjects become blog-fodder through every fault of their own. I can't control stupid but I certainly can exploit it. I make no excuses and I pull no punches. But I do change names since I don't know how often they google themselves.
2. I like to use expletives. Not all the time, but sometimes. I don't often drop the f-bomb but I'm quite fond of saying shit. When I was a kid, I never once heard my mother or father utter the f-word, but saying shit was as common as saying Oleo. And if you know what Oleo is, then you must have parents that are 60 or older, like me.
3. This blog is a lot like my personal diary. I don't want my mother-in-law knowing that I critique her sleeping arrangements with my father-in-law. I don't want my friend knowing that it hurt my feelings when she bashed Stay-At-Home moms. I just want to blommit my thoughts and then see if it all made as much sense on the outside of my head as it did on the inside. And I don't want to get into the habit of censoring myself because I worry who might read my words and get offended. Of course, I could say, "Screw 'em! Let them get offended!" But please, I'm not that coarse. However, I do realize that the moment I'm afraid to say things like I really think them, then I start to lose the whole reason I started blogging in the first place.
4. I like the mystery. I like it when people can't figure me out. Gretchen is the real-life me, but Texan Mama is my alter ego. I kinda look at it like a part of myself that I can choose with whom to share it. I know, before I started blogging, I thought bloggers were like online gamers with scabs on their thumbs from game controllers, and bloodshot eyes from too many late nights in front of the monitor. I NEVER thought a blogger would be a mom who clips coupons and goes to yoga. Like me. Except that "go to yoga" means "go to Target".
Sometimes I wonder how bloggers shoot from birthing their blog into WorldWideWeb stardom in a matter of months. But then I realize, they probably share their blog with everyone they know, including family and friends. Long ago I wished I could increase my number of subscribers, but I realized that it was a trade-off: I could get more readers but I would have to out myself to people who know me IRL.
I like to play my cards a little closer to the vest, and when an innocent conversation turns to the topic of twitter, facebook, and blogs, I usually look glassy-eyed and clam up. Blog what?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Wordless Wednesday
Hey Y'all
Check out my photostream at Flickr. I am doing a 365 project where I take a photo every day. So far I've been able to do it. I'm learning more about my camera and what I like to photograph. Here's today's photo:
I'm taking a class this Saturday so I can learn what in the world aperture is. And shutter speed. and all that photography mumbo-jumbo.
Check out my photostream at Flickr. I am doing a 365 project where I take a photo every day. So far I've been able to do it. I'm learning more about my camera and what I like to photograph. Here's today's photo:
I'm taking a class this Saturday so I can learn what in the world aperture is. And shutter speed. and all that photography mumbo-jumbo.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Thick Skin
My husband didn't marry me for my looks.
Now, that's not some saucy way of hinting that my boudoir skills are on par with Angelina Jolie. No way. Not that I know her skills either, but if she can keep Brad Pitt happy in the bedroom, I'm assuming there's some serious Kama Sutra going on in there.
So, to review: NOT Angelina Jolie. Just your averge Bonnie Hunt type of boudoir skills. I'm assuming. I don't think she's married so hopefully I am gettin' some whoopee more often than she is.
WHEW I am already WAAAYYYY off topic. Okay, regroup. Focus.
Now, I have to tell you, the reason I know my husband didn't marry me for my looks is that he told me so. Yes, exactly that. He meant it as a compliment: He married me for my inner beauty, not for outer beauty - which fades over time. The first time I heard him say this, I was all, "Aww, that is so sweet!" And now, I'm like, "What? You don't care if I'm pretty or ugly? So, in other words, I could be a total hag and you'd still be okay with that. Gee, what discriminating taste you have."
Is it so bad that I want my husband to think I'm pretty? Is it superficial? Is it vain? I guess I should be glad that he doesn't make comments about me gaining weight or getting more and more stretch marks. Please don't make me even get into the whole deal with my sagging stomach and boobs. But he still finds me desirable. I guess. I mean, I'm the one he wants to have "alone time" with (as we say to our kids). But, I could count on ONE HAND the number of times he's complimented my looks, without me having to ask first.
And trust me, I have communicated to him how I feel. I have gently told him that I need to have my ego stroked. I have explained that yes, it has something to do with a fragile self-image, but please just indulge me from time to time. And, yes he is the person who I try to look good for so it would be nice for him to acknowledge the effort once in a while. But, can a leopard change his spots? Can an old dog be taught new tricks? Would I even want him to change? Didn't I know all this going into our marriage?
D'ya know what I want from him, more than anything in the world? For him to say JUST ONCE "Wow, you take my breath away." or "You look absolutely stunning." or "You're the most beautiful woman in the whole room." But I want him to mean it. I want it to be HIS idea. I don't want to plant the idea in his head, only for him to follow through later. That would be fake. So, I guess the problem is, does he really think that of me? Or not?
Which leads me to... why is this so important to me? I know he loves me. He respects me. He is an honorable man. He is incredibly loyal. I have complete certainty that he would never, EVER cheat on me. He has a good, dependable job. He's an amazing father.
But what I really really want is for him to desire me. I want him to be passionate for me. Not necessarily romantic, but I simply want to know that he thinks I'm sexier than his fishing tackle. Right now, I'd say it's a pretty close race.
It's hard, because this "lackluster" (no pun intended) attitude of his contributes to the whole line of thinking that goes... "Why should I lose those last 10 pounds? He doesn't care anyway." and "I don't really need to shave my legs. The honeymoon is over, baby!" I am definitley not going to place blame on him for my own esteeem issues. But, seriously, I'm not in the market for a new mate. So, if present company doesn't give a shit about whether I have cellulite or a grown-out haircut or dry scratchy skin on my elbows, what motivates me to give a shit either?
IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would care about all these things to make myself feel better! To be proud of my looks! To be healthy! To project a positive self-image! Well, ever heard of the expression, "All dressed up and no place to go"? That is how I feel if I do even the bare minimum. If I get all ready to go, with makeup and hair done and even pantyhose, my husband acts bothered that I'm taking too much time to get ready.
So now, after nearly a dozen years of marriage, I am wondering what's happening. I know that I am just in the beginning of my marriage and I have many many years worth of learning to do. But, I'm constantly torn between how to think about my husband:
Now, that's not some saucy way of hinting that my boudoir skills are on par with Angelina Jolie. No way. Not that I know her skills either, but if she can keep Brad Pitt happy in the bedroom, I'm assuming there's some serious Kama Sutra going on in there.
So, to review: NOT Angelina Jolie. Just your averge Bonnie Hunt type of boudoir skills. I'm assuming. I don't think she's married so hopefully I am gettin' some whoopee more often than she is.
WHEW I am already WAAAYYYY off topic. Okay, regroup. Focus.
Now, I have to tell you, the reason I know my husband didn't marry me for my looks is that he told me so. Yes, exactly that. He meant it as a compliment: He married me for my inner beauty, not for outer beauty - which fades over time. The first time I heard him say this, I was all, "Aww, that is so sweet!" And now, I'm like, "What? You don't care if I'm pretty or ugly? So, in other words, I could be a total hag and you'd still be okay with that. Gee, what discriminating taste you have."
Is it so bad that I want my husband to think I'm pretty? Is it superficial? Is it vain? I guess I should be glad that he doesn't make comments about me gaining weight or getting more and more stretch marks. Please don't make me even get into the whole deal with my sagging stomach and boobs. But he still finds me desirable. I guess. I mean, I'm the one he wants to have "alone time" with (as we say to our kids). But, I could count on ONE HAND the number of times he's complimented my looks, without me having to ask first.
And trust me, I have communicated to him how I feel. I have gently told him that I need to have my ego stroked. I have explained that yes, it has something to do with a fragile self-image, but please just indulge me from time to time. And, yes he is the person who I try to look good for so it would be nice for him to acknowledge the effort once in a while. But, can a leopard change his spots? Can an old dog be taught new tricks? Would I even want him to change? Didn't I know all this going into our marriage?
D'ya know what I want from him, more than anything in the world? For him to say JUST ONCE "Wow, you take my breath away." or "You look absolutely stunning." or "You're the most beautiful woman in the whole room." But I want him to mean it. I want it to be HIS idea. I don't want to plant the idea in his head, only for him to follow through later. That would be fake. So, I guess the problem is, does he really think that of me? Or not?
Which leads me to... why is this so important to me? I know he loves me. He respects me. He is an honorable man. He is incredibly loyal. I have complete certainty that he would never, EVER cheat on me. He has a good, dependable job. He's an amazing father.
But what I really really want is for him to desire me. I want him to be passionate for me. Not necessarily romantic, but I simply want to know that he thinks I'm sexier than his fishing tackle. Right now, I'd say it's a pretty close race.
It's hard, because this "lackluster" (no pun intended) attitude of his contributes to the whole line of thinking that goes... "Why should I lose those last 10 pounds? He doesn't care anyway." and "I don't really need to shave my legs. The honeymoon is over, baby!" I am definitley not going to place blame on him for my own esteeem issues. But, seriously, I'm not in the market for a new mate. So, if present company doesn't give a shit about whether I have cellulite or a grown-out haircut or dry scratchy skin on my elbows, what motivates me to give a shit either?
IN A PERFECT WORLD, I would care about all these things to make myself feel better! To be proud of my looks! To be healthy! To project a positive self-image! Well, ever heard of the expression, "All dressed up and no place to go"? That is how I feel if I do even the bare minimum. If I get all ready to go, with makeup and hair done and even pantyhose, my husband acts bothered that I'm taking too much time to get ready.
So now, after nearly a dozen years of marriage, I am wondering what's happening. I know that I am just in the beginning of my marriage and I have many many years worth of learning to do. But, I'm constantly torn between how to think about my husband:
- He needs to change. He needs to tell me I'm gorgeous even if it's not true. He must get in touch with his lusty XY-chromosomed self. He needs to man up and act like a typical hot-blooded American male. Testosterone and all.
- I need to change. I need to just get over the fact that he doesn't do compliments. I need to love myself for who I am and not rely on him to pump up my ego, even if it means that I could choose a flannel housecoat over Victoria's Secret without him batting an eye.
- I need to work harder at burying my feelings of neediness. Give me a cork for this bottle. Speaking of bottles, does anyone have any wine? I could use some to drown my sorrows right about now.
Monday, February 8, 2010
One Nation, Under Dave
This nation is a nation divided. There are now officially TWO type of people in America:
Those who follow Dave Ramsey. And those who do not.
I think if Dave Ramsey ran for president, he would win by a landslide. Seriously, is there anyone left in this nation who doesn't follow him, or know someone who does? I hate to make this comparison, but it's like cancer: You either have it yourself, or you know someone close to you who does.
Now, personally the Texan Household has not been gathered into the Dave Ramsey Cult. There, I've said it, I think it's a cult. Although, I know DR doesn't require his followers to do anything harmful. But the way they talk, it is clear that he has a strong and fast hold over them. This occurred to me when one too many of my friends uttered, "Well, Dave would say...."
I think they should all wear bracelets that read "WWDD?" (Instead of WWJD for What Would Jesus Do)
Now, I have to give props to all of his followers. They are getting right with their finances. They are reducing their dependence on credit. I mean, what in the world could be BAD about getting out of debt? And, it certainly isn't a scheme or a get-rich-quick system. But sometimes it is just so shocking to me how Dave Ramsey and his Money Makeover will completely conform a person's thinking to his own. Sometimes when I ask people questions about the plan, they answer, "Well, I don't know what Dave would say about that." HELLO? WHAT DO **YOU** SAY ABOUT THAT??? I just get the feeling that people feel so beat down about their money issues that they are left to feel that they can't decide on their own how to handle their finances. They have to commit, to the letter, to all of Dave's principles.
If they want to do that, okay fine. Their life. Their money. It's all good.
But seriously, doesn't that sound like the definition of a cult? I'm just sayin'.
Those who follow Dave Ramsey. And those who do not.
I think if Dave Ramsey ran for president, he would win by a landslide. Seriously, is there anyone left in this nation who doesn't follow him, or know someone who does? I hate to make this comparison, but it's like cancer: You either have it yourself, or you know someone close to you who does.
Now, personally the Texan Household has not been gathered into the Dave Ramsey Cult. There, I've said it, I think it's a cult. Although, I know DR doesn't require his followers to do anything harmful. But the way they talk, it is clear that he has a strong and fast hold over them. This occurred to me when one too many of my friends uttered, "Well, Dave would say...."
I think they should all wear bracelets that read "WWDD?" (Instead of WWJD for What Would Jesus Do)
Now, I have to give props to all of his followers. They are getting right with their finances. They are reducing their dependence on credit. I mean, what in the world could be BAD about getting out of debt? And, it certainly isn't a scheme or a get-rich-quick system. But sometimes it is just so shocking to me how Dave Ramsey and his Money Makeover will completely conform a person's thinking to his own. Sometimes when I ask people questions about the plan, they answer, "Well, I don't know what Dave would say about that." HELLO? WHAT DO **YOU** SAY ABOUT THAT??? I just get the feeling that people feel so beat down about their money issues that they are left to feel that they can't decide on their own how to handle their finances. They have to commit, to the letter, to all of Dave's principles.
If they want to do that, okay fine. Their life. Their money. It's all good.
But seriously, doesn't that sound like the definition of a cult? I'm just sayin'.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Letters of Intent: Dear Playgroup Mommies
Dear Mommies in my daughter's playgroup:
It's bad enough that we moms have to decide between cloth or disposable diapers, private education or public, to circumcise or not. Those "life or death" decisions seem like child's play when it comes to deciding between vaccinating or not vaccinating our children.
I know where I stand on this issue. However, where I stand is not important. Where I stand is good for me and good for my children and has ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with anyone else. So I'm not going to tell you to either get or skip vaccinations for your child, and you're not going to do that to me either, mmkay?
What is driving me crazy, though, is to turn on the news and find out that the vaccine/autism link has been determined to be false. For nearly a dozen years, parents have been faced with the choice of either exposing their unvaccinated children to lethal diseases, or giving their children a dose of Russian Roulette in the form of an eager doctor with a syringe. Now, after all this time, are we supposed to just accept the excuse, "Whoops! Our bad! Sorry folks!!"?
But really, I can't blame the researchers. It is their job to come up with a hypothesis and try to prove or disprove that hypothesis. I don't know if Dr. Wakefield's research had enough teeth to support his claims, but the Lancet (the British medical journal that published his report on the autism/vaccine link) is a well-respected publication and apparently THEY thought his theory was valid.
Who is to blame? The media? Yes, I would put quite a bit of the responsiblilty on the media. So many media outlets put a higher value on the right to be able to speak freely that they don't consider what it is they are saying. Just because we can do something doesn't mean we should.
But, bottom line, I put the responsibility on us. It is our job to make the hard choices: watch the t.v. or don't. Give credibility to the news report or ignore it. Trust this doctor or get a second opinion. Act out of fear or act from an informed conscience.
So, mommies, please remember that when you advise another mommy to think the same way you are thinking, another child's life may be at stake. I'm not talking about giving advice on what age to take away the pacifier or where to buy the best crib sheets. I'm talking about our children's heath. It's okay to be tight-lipped when the conversation turns to hot button issues that get every mommy (including this one) hot under the collar.
Your opinion is important. And valid. And needs to be heard... by YOUR family. Not every other mom within a 20 foot radius. It's our job to discern what we hear, but when you look down your nose at those of us who make decisions contrary to yours, it isn't at all helpful. As a matter of fact, it feels a lot like being bullied on the playground.
Being a mom is hard enough without feeling like we're being judged and criticized by other moms. So, be supportive! Be helpful! Encourage us! And if you can't, then just SHUT UP!!!!
Kthxbai.
Love,
Texan Mama
Letters of Intent is a cool, fun Friday feature over at Foursons. C'Mon, join the fun!
It's bad enough that we moms have to decide between cloth or disposable diapers, private education or public, to circumcise or not. Those "life or death" decisions seem like child's play when it comes to deciding between vaccinating or not vaccinating our children.
I know where I stand on this issue. However, where I stand is not important. Where I stand is good for me and good for my children and has ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with anyone else. So I'm not going to tell you to either get or skip vaccinations for your child, and you're not going to do that to me either, mmkay?
What is driving me crazy, though, is to turn on the news and find out that the vaccine/autism link has been determined to be false. For nearly a dozen years, parents have been faced with the choice of either exposing their unvaccinated children to lethal diseases, or giving their children a dose of Russian Roulette in the form of an eager doctor with a syringe. Now, after all this time, are we supposed to just accept the excuse, "Whoops! Our bad! Sorry folks!!"?
But really, I can't blame the researchers. It is their job to come up with a hypothesis and try to prove or disprove that hypothesis. I don't know if Dr. Wakefield's research had enough teeth to support his claims, but the Lancet (the British medical journal that published his report on the autism/vaccine link) is a well-respected publication and apparently THEY thought his theory was valid.
Who is to blame? The media? Yes, I would put quite a bit of the responsiblilty on the media. So many media outlets put a higher value on the right to be able to speak freely that they don't consider what it is they are saying. Just because we can do something doesn't mean we should.
But, bottom line, I put the responsibility on us. It is our job to make the hard choices: watch the t.v. or don't. Give credibility to the news report or ignore it. Trust this doctor or get a second opinion. Act out of fear or act from an informed conscience.
So, mommies, please remember that when you advise another mommy to think the same way you are thinking, another child's life may be at stake. I'm not talking about giving advice on what age to take away the pacifier or where to buy the best crib sheets. I'm talking about our children's heath. It's okay to be tight-lipped when the conversation turns to hot button issues that get every mommy (including this one) hot under the collar.
Your opinion is important. And valid. And needs to be heard... by YOUR family. Not every other mom within a 20 foot radius. It's our job to discern what we hear, but when you look down your nose at those of us who make decisions contrary to yours, it isn't at all helpful. As a matter of fact, it feels a lot like being bullied on the playground.
Being a mom is hard enough without feeling like we're being judged and criticized by other moms. So, be supportive! Be helpful! Encourage us! And if you can't, then just SHUT UP!!!!
Kthxbai.
Love,
Texan Mama
Letters of Intent is a cool, fun Friday feature over at Foursons. C'Mon, join the fun!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Big Savings
I love coupons. I use them and I collect them. However, recently when I was at Arby's with the Texan Family, I saw this on my tray.
Yes, we were enjoying our $5.01 Arby's combos. I saved the paper so I could save some money on my future meals. Then I got a closer look at the coupons:
Seriously, what's up with that? 1 cent off? I can't figure out if it's supposed to be a joke and maybe I'm just too stupid to figure it out. Yes, we were enjoying our $5.01 Arby's combos. I saved the paper so I could save some money on my future meals. Then I got a closer look at the coupons:Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Martha Stewart I Am Not.
Nor am I Rachel Ray. Not Paula Deen either.
Well, okay, maybe I channel Paula Deen occasionally. I do loves me some butter. Mmmm....
But anyway, I have friends who love to cook. And, I bet their dishes are divine. I love to cook too, but I just don't do it. Our usual fare consists of hot dogs, sloppy joes, and mac 'n cheese. If I try to "get fancy" and fix something as simple as Salmon for my kids, I get sideways stares that scream I AM GOING TO VOMIT IF I HAVE TO EAT THIS PINK FISH. WHERE ARE THE CHICKEN NUGGETS???
New rule: No one is allowed to complain about the food except the person who cooked it.
However, the other night, I came up with an idea. I'm not even going to call it original because I've seen this posted on other people's cooking blogs. (I googled it when I came up with the idea because I wanted to double check my chances of screwing up). So, here's my newest idea from the Texan Kitchen.
Mini Chicken Pot Pies
Serves 6
Supplies:
Parchment Paper
Jumbo Muffin Tin
rolling pin
Ingredients:
1 pkg of 2 frozen pie crusts (Thawed)
1 can cream of chicken soup
1/2 soup can (or, 5 oz.) of milk
peas
carrots
onion
2 chicken breasts
2 Tbsp. Mayonnaise
1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
2. Use the soup can to draw 6 circles on the parchment paper and cut them out. Then, generously grease and flour the pie pan. Put the parchment paper circles on the bottom of each muffin cup. YES this is like doing double duty but TRUST ME you don't want those hot pot pies getting stuck in the muffin cups.
3. Start cooking the chicken (if it's not pre-cooked). I usually just boil it in some water with a couple bouillon cubes.
4. Unwrap one pie shell but don't unroll it. Cut it in half, then each half into thirds, making 6 small pie crust balls. Take each pie crust section and flatten it, using the rolling pin to make a mini pie shell. The diameter should be around 5 inches or a little more. Place each pie shell in each muffin cup.
*NOTE: You'll need a little less pie shell for the tops, so if you feel like your pie shells are a bit thin or small, cut a little extra shell from the second pie pastry to give yourself a bit extra for the bottom crusts.
5. Mix in a medium pot the soup & milk. In a separate bowl, cook the peas/carrots/onion with some of the water/broth from cooking the chicken. Cover the bowl with cling wrap and microwave for about 5 minutes. Drain water off and put the vegetables into the pot with the soup & milk. If you like other vegetables - like green beans, celery, corn, potatoes, or lima beans - use those instead or in place of peas & carrots. Or, use leftover vegetables. Those don't need to be cooked again since they've already been cooked.
6. Chop up the cooked chicken and add it to the soup mixture. Cook just until warm, then stir in the mayonnaise. Add some salt or pepper to your taste.
7. Divide the filling among the six muffin cups.8. Roll out the second pie shell in the same way as before. Cover each muffin cup with a pie crust on top and pinch edges to seal. Cut a slit in top for venting.
9. Bake at 375 for 45 minutes. After 30 minutes, lay a sheet of aluminum foil on top of the pies, to keep the top crusts from getting too brown during the last 15 minutes in the oven.
10. THIS IS THE REALLY IMPORTANT PART: Allow the pies to cool for about 15 minutes after removing them from the oven. Leave the aluminum foil loosely on top. This will keep them warm but allow them to set. If you take them out of the muffin cups too early, they will fall apart.
YUM YUM
Monday, February 1, 2010
Self-Reflection
On Sunday, at Bible Study, our friend Susan made a comment to me that has left me thinking. I don't know if I'd say that she "rocked my world", but she certainly has given me pause to reflect on what I'm doing with my children and myself.
Texan Papa was holding Violet, and I stood next to him. Susan asked how things were going, to which TP replied, "Well, you know, it can be hard. All the kids need such different things that sometimes it's hard to keep up." Susan replied, "Oh, I know what you mean. I am one of six kids and I remember that my mom was always stretched so thin."
I heard what she said. I let it sink in. I didn't really have an initial reaction, but I couldn't get that phrase out of my mind all day long. My mom was always stretched so thin. All through church, then during the church luncheon. Once we were home, and all afternoon. Anytime a busy thought didn't require 100% of my brain power, Susan's comment kept echoing in the back of my head. My mom was always stretched so thin.
Is that what I'm showing my kids? Is that what I'm doing to myself? Is that what I'm doing to them? I ask this of myself when I'm putting Sally down for her noon nap and I catch a glimpse of myself as I pass a mirror. Dear Gawd, I haven't even showered yet. I ask this when the first comment out of my mouth in the morning, upon seeing my children, is "Go get your clothes on for school." Not "Good Morning!" or "Did you sleep well?" or "Ri-ise, and shi-ine, and give God the glory! Glory!" No, instead I bark out orders on their personal hygiene. I ask myself this when we are at the store and I have lost track of one of my children. I have gotten so wrapped up in finding the aisle with the ZipLock bags and getting the coupon out of my purse and kissing a boo-boo, that I have not noticed a child straying away from the cart. Before I know it I'm counting one, two, three, four... where's five? WHERE'S FIVE??? I ask myself, Do I know where that fifth child is? Did they tell me where they were going while I wasn't paying attention?
And, I make no apologies nor do I ask for any condolences. My life is what it is. Personally, I love having a lot of kids. It has filled our home and my heart with love. Yes, it's chaotic at times. Yes, I sheepishly admit, there are times that it crosses over from chaotic to dangerous. Yes, I would probably do a better job if I never left the house with all 5 children at one time. But, if we're out of Children's Motrin and somebody has a fever while Daddy's at work, then it looks like we're all taking a quick trip to Walgreens. And if I need milk on the way home from school pick-up, I am just going to stop and get it because the idea of going all the way home and then dragging everyone out again later is too exhausting to think about. But I do my best.
My best. What is my best? Is my best really good enough? I hope it is. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Maybe my intentions are good but my practices suck. Really, I'm a nice person. But being nice doesn't make me responsible. Birthing 5 children doesn't make me a pro at child-rearing; it only makes me a pro at carrying a baby to term. And loving my children doesn't mean I'm any good at teaching them. Most days I'm way too lenient. I always thought I'd be so great at laying down the law and making my kids toe the line. But in reality, I get pretty worn down by the constant assault of whining, crying, fighting, pouting, and tattling. At the end of the day, I'm happy for them all to just sit in front of the TV and be quiet. After all, at least they aren't giving me any smart talk.
There it is. I have been worn thin. It makes me feel so... defeated, like I didn't have the coordination to keep all the balls in the air that I'm juggling. It feels like it's a choice - to be worn thin. Even if I am worn thin, do I need to show it? And, if I need to show it, do I have to wear it like a badge of honor? Wouldn't it be more honorable to be a quiet servant to my family?
What, then, is a reflection of me? My home? My personal appearance? My attitude? My habits? My principles? All of the above? If I face the truth, I'll admit I'm kinda stretched thin in all those areas. Maybe that's just who I am. Maybe that's just who I am right now, but it will change later. Or, maybe that's who I've always been and I'm just facing it now.
Who knows.
Texan Papa was holding Violet, and I stood next to him. Susan asked how things were going, to which TP replied, "Well, you know, it can be hard. All the kids need such different things that sometimes it's hard to keep up." Susan replied, "Oh, I know what you mean. I am one of six kids and I remember that my mom was always stretched so thin."
I heard what she said. I let it sink in. I didn't really have an initial reaction, but I couldn't get that phrase out of my mind all day long. My mom was always stretched so thin. All through church, then during the church luncheon. Once we were home, and all afternoon. Anytime a busy thought didn't require 100% of my brain power, Susan's comment kept echoing in the back of my head. My mom was always stretched so thin.
Is that what I'm showing my kids? Is that what I'm doing to myself? Is that what I'm doing to them? I ask this of myself when I'm putting Sally down for her noon nap and I catch a glimpse of myself as I pass a mirror. Dear Gawd, I haven't even showered yet. I ask this when the first comment out of my mouth in the morning, upon seeing my children, is "Go get your clothes on for school." Not "Good Morning!" or "Did you sleep well?" or "Ri-ise, and shi-ine, and give God the glory! Glory!" No, instead I bark out orders on their personal hygiene. I ask myself this when we are at the store and I have lost track of one of my children. I have gotten so wrapped up in finding the aisle with the ZipLock bags and getting the coupon out of my purse and kissing a boo-boo, that I have not noticed a child straying away from the cart. Before I know it I'm counting one, two, three, four... where's five? WHERE'S FIVE??? I ask myself, Do I know where that fifth child is? Did they tell me where they were going while I wasn't paying attention?
And, I make no apologies nor do I ask for any condolences. My life is what it is. Personally, I love having a lot of kids. It has filled our home and my heart with love. Yes, it's chaotic at times. Yes, I sheepishly admit, there are times that it crosses over from chaotic to dangerous. Yes, I would probably do a better job if I never left the house with all 5 children at one time. But, if we're out of Children's Motrin and somebody has a fever while Daddy's at work, then it looks like we're all taking a quick trip to Walgreens. And if I need milk on the way home from school pick-up, I am just going to stop and get it because the idea of going all the way home and then dragging everyone out again later is too exhausting to think about. But I do my best.
My best. What is my best? Is my best really good enough? I hope it is. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. Maybe my intentions are good but my practices suck. Really, I'm a nice person. But being nice doesn't make me responsible. Birthing 5 children doesn't make me a pro at child-rearing; it only makes me a pro at carrying a baby to term. And loving my children doesn't mean I'm any good at teaching them. Most days I'm way too lenient. I always thought I'd be so great at laying down the law and making my kids toe the line. But in reality, I get pretty worn down by the constant assault of whining, crying, fighting, pouting, and tattling. At the end of the day, I'm happy for them all to just sit in front of the TV and be quiet. After all, at least they aren't giving me any smart talk.
There it is. I have been worn thin. It makes me feel so... defeated, like I didn't have the coordination to keep all the balls in the air that I'm juggling. It feels like it's a choice - to be worn thin. Even if I am worn thin, do I need to show it? And, if I need to show it, do I have to wear it like a badge of honor? Wouldn't it be more honorable to be a quiet servant to my family?
What, then, is a reflection of me? My home? My personal appearance? My attitude? My habits? My principles? All of the above? If I face the truth, I'll admit I'm kinda stretched thin in all those areas. Maybe that's just who I am. Maybe that's just who I am right now, but it will change later. Or, maybe that's who I've always been and I'm just facing it now.
Who knows.
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