Category Archives: life

February 17, 2012 · 7:40 PM

Where my book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten ~Natasha Bedingfield

So Dan of Single Dad Laughing has done it again. Every so often, he writes something that I can relate to so deeply that it almost physically hurts. His recent post, Whose Life is it Anyway? now tops that list. In it, he writes about his learning to live life on his own terms, rather than for someone else. He tells of the process of finding his own voice, and ultimately leaving a church, a marriage, and a job on his path to happiness.

I’ve never left a marriage (in fact I consider myself very blessed – and lucky – that after having married at 19 with no earthly idea of who we were, that we were able to come into our own beside each other) But I’ve left a church. I’ve left a job. And six years ago, I left New Hampshire. I left New England. I left the entire east coast.

When I look back on old pictures, even of times that were happy, I will often feel a strange disconnect. Sometimes I even feel a profound sadness. I don’t know that person in those photos. She’s a person who made choices not based on what she wanted (and honestly, she wouldn’t know what she wanted even if you asked her) but based on everyone else around her. A person whose entire life… from the colleges she went to, to what she studied, to the kind of wedding she had, to what city she lived in, to what house she lived in… was decided, at least in part, by someone else. She lived her life in a box. And don’t get me wrong. It was a nice box, a lovely box. But it was a box all the same, and it wasn’t a box of her choosing.

I’m here to tell you that you can only live in a box for so long before the walls start closing in. Before you start gasping for breath. Before you start suffocating.

When people ask why we moved to Phoenix, I’m often left grasping for words. It was a big decision, and there were many factors. It was a joint decision too, so I can’t fairly speak for my husband. But I can say out loud for the very first time – and without hesitation – that for me, the biggest reason was clear:

I was suffocating.

I was 32 years old, and I had no idea who I was. I’d never made a decision on my own. I’d never stopped trying to please everyone around me. I’d never given more than a cursory thought to what it was that I wanted, so focused I was on what my family wanted, what society wanted, what the church wanted.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

So six years ago, I started living life on my own terms (and by the way, when I say “my” terms, I mean my terms within the larger framework of God’s terms. Which, ironically – or not – is a concept I hadn’t even begun to grasp until I’d left the church I grew up in.) It was the start of an adventure, to be sure, and a journey that is in turns exhilarating and terrifying and exhausting and just plain awe-inspiring. For the first time in my entire life I’m getting to know and listening to ME. Not society’s version of me, or my parent’s version of me, or even my husband’s version of me. Just ME, the me I was individually created to be.

And it feels so good.

One of the greatest things about it though? Once I started being true to myself, I realized that that respect, that authenticity, that truth that I was living started spilling out into the rest of my relationships as well. It’s made me a better wife. It’s made me a better mother. Which makes sense when you think about it, because how can you really give of yourself if you don’t even know who “yourself” is? How can you expect to have an authentic relationship with anyone if you can’t first be authentic with yourself? I have heard it said over and over that people who are hurting hurt others. So wouldn’t the opposite be true? That those who show love to themselves are then able to love others?

I spent three decades being partially immobilized by fear, anxiety, insecurity, and “what ifs.” Moving across the country was the catalyst that began to change all of that. It made me feel brave. It made me feel like if I could do that, I could do anything. And do anything I will!

I’m not suggesting that a 1800 mile cross-country move is the answer for everyone. But you know what, maybe it is. Or maybe it’s leaving that job. Or that church. Or that unhealthy relationship. Maybe it’s taking that pottery class, or belly dancing lesson, or volunteering in that soup kitchen. Maybe it’s the haircut you’ve always been too scared to get, or the tattoo you were afraid your dad would disapprove of, or the hobby your friends think is silly.

Two days ago, I sent in my enrollment paperwork for yoga teacher training, something I have been wanting to do – and putting off for various reasons – for years now. When I woke up the next morning, I felt more excited than I’ve felt in years. And it wasn’t just about the yoga. I was excited about life. I’m excited about all of it. I’m excited about the yoga; I’m excited about new friends; I’m excited about the shiny, colorful rings that I’ll transform into lovely chain maille jewelry; I’m excited about the mess on my head that will one day be beautiful and mature dreadlocks; I’m excited to know that I won’t be afraid to just chop it all off if I change my mind; I’m excited to get another tattoo; I’m excited to get better with my camera; I’m excited about cupcakes; I’m excited to write and to read and to learn and to grow; I’m excited for road trips and park days and singing loudly with my children and having drinks with my girlfriends; I’m excited about new adventures with the kids and new experiences with my husband.

I’m excited, for the first time in my life, to be REAL.

This. This is where my book begins. And it. is. awesome.

5 Comments

Filed under about me, adventures, Arizona, learning, life, passions, random

February 6, 2012 · 6:00 AM

The woman at the park

There was an incident at the park the other day. I witnessed, and ultimately tried to stop, a sad display of hatred towards children.

I have written about unkindness I’ve seen in public before. Two I can think of right off the bat were Natalie’s mother, and the old man at the grocery store. In those two cases though, I was a silent observer. Just another person in the crowd, watching what was unfolding, and not doing anything to stop it. This time I was a participant. Right there in the front lines as it were. I voluntarily inserted myself into the situation, boldly hoping for…. well, I don’t know what I was hoping for. I just knew I had to do it.

But I should start at the beginning.

It was a Friday, and most Fridays we’re at park day. I say “most” Fridays because I often try to get out of it. Not because I don’t have a good time (I do), and not because the other mothers aren’t wonderful (they are). Just because I’m a homebody and an introvert, and the thought of socializing for hours with dozens of other people makes me… tired. But this Friday, we were there.

The boys were all off with their friends clear across the park, playing football or frisbee, or whatever it is that they do. Tegan (almost 4) had just run across the playground with our friend Hannah (11), settling in to play in one of her favorite spots: the shady spot in the sand under the little kids’ playground.

They hadn’t been playing for long before Hannah came running back over to us, telling us that “an old lady had yelled at them,” and had told her and some other older kids that they had to leave the area because it was for younger kids only. We looked over and saw the lady in question, a couple of preteens simply hanging out and chatting, a toddler happily undisturbed in his play, and Tegan, still quietly sitting in the sand.

We told her she was fine, and that there were no hard and fast rules about who could play where. Besides, she was there with Tegan, clearly a “younger kid”, and was in essence acting as her caregiver.

A few minutes later, she came back to tell us that the lady had called them “stupid.” Now, I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Not because I didn’t trust Hannah’s word, but because I know that sometimes when you’re already feeling downtrodden that it’s easy to misinterpret. Maybe the woman had used the word “stupid” but hadn’t actually directed at anyone in particular.

So I waited, and I watched. Eventually the woman left the area to sit on a bench, and as more and more kids – of all ages – gathered to play on and around the equipment, she eyed them. Oh how she eyed them! Tegan wanted me to dig with her in the sand, in the middle of the playground, so I had a front row seat when the woman went from eying to acting. She strode over to where the kids were playing, and just as Hannah had reported, ordered them to leave. I couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but I could clearly hear her as she shouted, “You stupid kids!”

I got up and approached her.

(Let me stop here for a minute. If you’ve read my blog for any length of time you know that I DO NOT LIKE confrontations. Do not. Even over the internet, I have to be pretty provoked, it gives me a stomach ache, and I stress about it for days. So you can imagine my enthusiasm for the real-life variety)

But there I was, striding across the sand, feeling all Erin Brockovich.

“Excuse me,” I said to her, interrupting her as she demanded that one of the little boys take her to his mother. “I was just wondering why you’re calling these children stupid?”

“They are stupid! They’re disrespectful little brats who are blatantly disregarding the law, and this legal notice for them to stay away from this equipment.” She waved her arm at the sign in front of the playground. “This is for little kids only.”

“M’aam, I really don’t think that sign is a law. Those are just suggested ages.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT IT SAYS!”

I wanted to get the full story, I really did. If they were truly doing something wrong, I wanted to know about it. From what I could see, they’d simply been playing, until she harrassed them. So I calmly asked, “Were they disrupting any little kids at all? Getting in their way, hurting anyone?”

“No, but they’re hurting the equipment!! It’s not designed for bigger kids.”

And she wasn’t done. “And when I told them they needed to leave, these stupid kids did not respect me as an authority figure. They have no respect for authority.”

“Well, to be honest with you, I would have a hard time respecting someone who was resorting to calling me stupid too.”

“I don’t have to show respect for children!! We don’t have to respect children. But they are supposed to show respect to adults no matter what!”

(Oh no she DID NOT just say that. But sadly, she did.)

“Kids have just as much right to be treated with respect as – ” she cut me off then, and started shaking her head.

“Go ahead, defend them, and they’ll grow up never respecting authority, never having any respect for anyone, thinking they can do whatever they want….. Stupid disrespectful kids…”

“Well, maybe if you tried talking to them without name calling…”

She’d pretty much turned her back on me by then, shaking her head and scoffing, “Say what you want. They’re disrespectful kids. Black is black.”

Now – in the interest of fairness – I have to say that somewhere in the middle of all of this, one child (out of the group of at least a dozen that had gathered around us) had started arguing back with her, telling her to “shut up”, and at one point returning one of her “you’re stupid kids” with a “well, you’re old!” Was that the right way to handle the situation? Of course it wasn’t. I’m not arguing that. But was he provoked? Absolutely. And at what I’m guessing to be about 10, he lacks the maturity that one would hope the 60-something year old lady he was arguing with should have possessed. And honestly, with her attitude and flat-out assertion that she doesn’t need to show respect for kids, I don’t blame him for his feelings.

I wish I could say that there was a tidy ending to my story, but there was not. It just…. fizzled. It ended with her turning away from me in a huff, realizing that I wasn’t going to stop defending the kids; and me realizing that she was not going to stop calling them “stupid” long enough to listen to anything I had to say. I ultimately told the kids to just let it go, and that they’d maybe be better off playing elsewhere. Ironically, park day was close to ending by then anyway, and moms were starting to gather up their kids to go home.

I walked away, my heart pounding in my chest, already thinking about what it was I’d actually accomplished. In many ways, I hadn’t accomplished much of anything. The woman clearly did not like children, and I’d done little to change her mind.

I wish she would’ve heard me. I wish I could have told her that when you realize that children are people, when you treat them with respect, when you treat them the way you wish to be treated, that they (just like their adult counterparts) will respond in kind. How much differently it all would have turned out if she’d just talked to them instead of calling them names!

But what I had done – besides gaining the confidence that comes from doing something I would have been too afraid to do even a couple of years ago – was stand up for the kids. Not by thinking about it, not by sitting behind my computer and writing about it, but by literally standing up, walking over there, looking that woman in the eye, and saying, “Hey, kids deserve respect too.”

I stood up for the kids, and I would do it again.

25 Comments

Filed under gentle parenting, hypocrisy, kids, life, mindful parenting, parenting, respect

January 26, 2012 · 9:59 PM

Why we were late for gymnastics

A pictorial.

Any questions?

My Unsocialized Kids

A couple of weeks ago, someone wrote on an online forum that she liked the idea of homeschooling, but that she would never do it. Why? She couldn’t handle the possibility of her children becoming “social misfits.” Because, you know, kids need to go to school to get properly socialized. I have wanted to write a response to that woman for the past two weeks, but I haven’t had time… largely because my kids’ social calendar has kept me too darn busy.

I haven’t sat down since last Tuesday.

Like most homeschoolers, I am in turns annoyed, amused, and just plain bored with the socialization question. But for reasons that I will forever fail to understand, this “social misfit” myth is irritatingly persistent. So for that woman on the forum, and everyone else who shares her concerns, allow me this window into the lives of my four unsocialized homeschoolers for the past five days:

Wednesday was basketball practice for Everett (age 7). He plays for a town league at the community center with a group of maybe 10 or 12 other 7 and 8 year olds. Tegan (age 4) comes and watches with me while he practices. Sometimes the bigger boys come to hang out, and sometimes they stay home… where they’ll play Minecraft and chat with friends from as far away as Japan.

On Thursdays, Tegan has gymnastics. This is her second session, and she looks forward to it all week. The boys usually like coming to that too, because they can hang out in the game room and play ping pong.. either with themselves, or with the other kids who are always around. A lot of times, I won’t see them for the entire hour-long class. They manage to go to the front desk to ask to borrow the paddles and ball, and otherwise interact with the people around them, despite their lack of socialization.

Fridays are park days. We have belonged to a really lovely homeschool group since last fall, a rather long time for me us. This week, Everett was so excited to get there that he begged me to drop him off before I’d even parked the car. He jumped out and ran over to join to the kickball game, a weekly tradition that welcomes and involves kids from anywhere 6 to 16. Spencer (14) and Paxton (11) ended up over there too, while Tegan and I went to play on the playground. She quickly made a little friend, and eventually told me, “You can go over with the other moms and watch me from over there, Mommy.” The boys finished playing kickball, and graduated to swinging on the swings, playing touch football, and just chatting and hanging out with their friends, and their friends’ moms. We stayed at the park until 4:00, when we had to leave to get Paxton to his basketball practice.

Yesterday, we were back at the same park for Everett’s Cub Scout Space Derby. We got there at 11:00 in the morning, and spent the next couple of hours watching and rooting for Everett and the rest of his den while they competed to see who had the fastest rocket ship. The highlight for Everett (besides winding up with first place and Best in Show): Getting to race against his best friend for the top spot.

After the derby was over, it was a basketball game for Paxton, out to dinner with friends, and back to the park once again for skits and the award ceremony.

This morning, the boys all wanted to go to church with their friends… so they did, each to their own classes, while Mike and I stayed home to take care of some things around the house. When they got back, our friends came over to 1) help Mike with a project on the car and 2) visit. The kids – our kids and theirs – all immediately dispersed into the backyard and various rooms to hang out and play, but not before Spencer thrust a flier (for a teens’ barbeque and volleyball game) in front of me, and said “I want to go to this.” And so he will.

Tomorrow is Monday, and Everett’s den meeting… and it starts all over again.

So are they social misfits? Or just normal, happy, well-adjusted kids who like to stay busy, try new things, and hang out with their friends? I guess it’s a judgment call. I will say though, that when I go to bed at night, in those final moments before I fall asleep, when the events of the day run through my head, and I ponder what’s working and what I need to do differently….. I don’t ever, EVER think to myself:

Damn, I really need to get these kids some socialization.

28 Comments

Filed under homeschooling, life, socialization, unschooling

January 11, 2012 · 1:04 PM

My birthday, and people who let me be me

I turned 38 yesterday. I am enjoying getting older, but I especially love the realization every year that I am just a little bit (or a lot) more authentically ME than I was the year before. For someone who floated through her teens and much of her twenties with nary an opinion in her head, that’s something to be celebrated for sure.

I like to make a big deal about my birthday, but the day itself was remarkable in its unremarkableness this year. I actually stayed home most of the day. We did our nails, we painted (at first on paper, but as is usually the case, eventually on bodies), we played outside, and we did all those things that people with kids do when they’re at home. Mike was going to be late coming home from work – clearly his employer didn’t get the memo that it was my birthday, because why else would payroll fall on the most important day of the year – so we filled the late afternoon with a last-minute trip to the store. By the time we got home it was 5:30, and I was ready to sit down for the first time all day and break into my new bottle of wine. But.

Then the girl put what I can only assume was half a roll of toilet paper in the toilet, sufficiently clogging it ….. and I then spent another half an hour plunging, flushing, and mopping up the resulting overflow. Glamorous finale to my day (bonus: my bathroom is extra clean now. Happy birthday to me.)

And then it was evening. Mike made it home, and I finally got to pour my wine. Despite the fact that he was feeling lousy from the cold he’d caught from the kids, he still made me the beautiful salad I’d been craving for days, while I worked on getting the cupcakes in the oven.

We don’t always, or usually, do birthday presents for each other, but this year he’d come home with a little gift for me. I’m not kidding when I say it was the best thing he’s ever gotten me.

Now, the visual of him going into an incense-burning, bong-selling, hippie store in his serious-button-down-office-man attire just for me was almost present enough in and of itself. But that’s not why I loved it. It smells and feels really good, and is supposed to be great for keeping dreads soft and moisturized and non-frizzy… but that’s not why I loved it either. I loved it because it said something. It said:

I support you.

I have wanted to dread my hair for probably two years now, and recently decided that this would be the year I did it. Like my nose ring, my husband wasn’t super enamored with the idea in the beginning. And also like my nose ring, I would have done it regardless. But to have him fully on my side – not in a “It’s your body, do what you want” kind of way, but in a “I went out of my way to get you a present. I love you. I support you. Go, be you” kind of way – honestly means more to me than I think even he knows.

I don’t have a whole lot of people like that in my life. One of the reasons why I so love my online community is that it is truly one of a very few places where I feel that acceptance…. where I feel like I can really be me. In my online community, there are so many people who not only “get” me, but who also wouldn’t want me to be any other way. In my actual day to day life, not as many. But they’re there, and last night reminded me that I’m married to one of them.

And so, this year as my present to myself, I’m not just going to dread my hair. I’m also going to allow myself to stop wanting that support or acceptance from the people who are just honestly never going to give it…… and celebrating the heck out of the people who do.

27 Comments

Filed under about me, acceptance, birthdays, dreadlocks, life

January 4, 2012 · 8:20 PM

One of those days

Do you ever have one of those days that just starts off-kilter, and the harder you try to make things right, the worse it gets? The kind of day where one little thing sets off a chain reaction of ick, and even though you know you could stop it if you really wanted to, you let it grab you and pull you until you spiral and spiral into a vortex of unpleasantness? The kind of day that you find yourself suddenly bursting into tears in the middle of your kitchen, not because you don’t want to wash the dishes, and not even because Adele’s Someone Like You has transported you back into that angst ridden, heart-broken teenager…. but just because you are ohsoverytired of the terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day and you want it to be over? The day that ends with 3 of your 4 kids bickering, and the 4th grumping about the house himself, and you have to admit to yourself that you played no small part in any of it?

Yeah, that kind of day.

I asked you on Facebook to tell me something happy, tell me something that would restore my faith again. And as always, you guys delivered. 🙂 But it wasn’t until tonight, as I looked through the few pictures I snapped today (and tried not to chastise myself all over again) that I was once again reminded:

Her, and her three “brudders” too. And I realize – like I realize every time I look into those big brown eyes – that there is goodness. And beauty. And innocence. And light.

Yup, there really is. Even on “those” days.

6 Comments

Filed under life, perspective

December 8, 2011 · 5:50 PM

Christmas, presents, and why I want to be like Carrie Bradshaw

I’ve never been very good at fitting in with one group. Never has this been more clear to me than it has been since the advent of Facebook, where I can SEE right there in black and white just how very different my friends are.

I have friends who are Christians, friends who are Atheists, and every other religious flavor in between. I have friends who are unschoolers, and friends who are strong supporters of the public school system. I have friends who are extremely liberal, and friends who are very conservative. Friends who… well, you get the idea. A lot of different opinions.

And I learn from, and appreciate, each and every one of them.

One of the things that I love most about blogging is that (provided that you’re doing something at least a little bit right) it really does become a community … one in which people can come and gather just as they are, differences and all. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve been needing that. Because the amount of division I’ve been seeing lately is making me crazy. Christmas season – which most people would agree should be a time of family, fellowship, and goodwill – seems to bring out an odd side of a lot of different folks.

It’s like December 1st hits, and it’s time to Deck the Halls! Time to shop! Time to be merry! Time to …. squabble like little children. I don’t think I ever see people sweating the small stuff quite as much as I do at Christmas time.

In one corner is the “It’s MERRY CHRISTMAS, not Happy Holidays” crowd, which has grown tenfold since I posted about it.

In another is the “Christmas is too commercialized/secular/greedy/materialistic/just plain wrong these days” group.

There are those who let themselves get swept away into the “Christmas is just so STRESSFUL” train.

Some decide to do away with the tree and the presents and the lights altogether, in order to focus on other things.

Then there are the people who take personal offense to any or all of the above, and/or people who let themselves feel guilty because they shopped at Walmart, didn’t hand make their gifts, and didn’t use eco-friendly recycled freshwater stream Martha Stewart biodegradable toilet paper gift wrap.

My head hurts.

I want to say as sort of a general, blanket statement that you are the one creating your Christmas experience. It doesn’t have to be stressful. It doesn’t have to be commercialized. It doesn’t have to be materialistic. And for that matter, it doesn’t have to be homemade either. Decorate, don’t decorate. Give gifts, don’t give gifts. It’s all the same to me. But please don’t think it has to be either/or. When I recently asked on my Facebook page if you thought there was something wrong with gift giving at Christmas, one thing I saw come up again and again was that Christmas should be about giving to others, not about getting lots of stuff. And absolutely, I agree! But why should giving to someone outside your own family hold precedence over giving amongst yourselves? Why not do both? Why would there ever be something wrong with giving a heartfelt gift to a spouse or a child or a parent, whether it’s Christmas, or a birthday, or a Tuesday? And yes, ~~almost everything~~ ~~most~~ much of what we give are not needs, but wants. We live in a ridiculously abundant world, to be sure. If you’re reading this right now, it means you have internet, or a smart phone, or access to a public library… all of which are far, FAR more than many, many people around the world are privileged enough to have. But is it wrong to have them?

A couple of months ago I got a new phone that does amazing things. It’s like a robot. I don’t need it, but I’m happy and thankful that I have it. Is it more important than God or my health or my kids or my relationships or giving to others? Of course not. It’s a luxury. And the few presents we’ve gotten our kids for Christmas are luxuries too… luxuries that I’m happy and excited and thankful to be able to give them. Giving them doesn’t mean we don’t give to those outside the family though. It doesn’t mean it’s the most important part of our celebration. It doesn’t mean we don’t remember the true meaning of Christmas, and it doesn’t mean we’re greedy and materialistic (two other words I’ve recently seen a lot of). To me, greed and materialism mean putting ‘things’ ahead of people. And if you’re giving with the spirit of… well, giving… isn’t that the opposite of greed and materialism? It shouldn’t matter then if the gift is a gift of time, or a picture, or a good deed, or a homemade bauble, or yes, even a mass produced something or other from a big bad department store. If the giver is giving sincerely, in love, shouldn’t the old adage, “it’s the thought that counts,” still ring true, no matter how little OR how much something does or doesn’t cost?

I was watching the movie “Sex in the City” yesterday, and there was a scene about halfway through that completely (and surprisingly) made me all leaky-eyed. Jennifer Hudson’s character gives a small gift to Carrie, and Carrie graciously accepts it before going into her room and returning with a gift of her own, something extravagant that she knew she would really love. Just watch.

That to me is what gift giving should be about, whether it’s done on Christmas or any other of the 364 days of the year. Two people sharing a moment with each other. Two people GIVING to each other, with their whole hearts. It didn’t matter that one gift was a $14.99 DVD and one was a however much those fancy name-brand bags cost. They were both given, and accepted, with genuine warmth and happiness. That’s what I want from my gift-giving… whether I’m giving a plate of cupcakes or a pressure cooker or a Louis Vuitton handbag.

Finally, as I was deciding how to end this post, I saw the following quote on Facebook that summed up the spirit of giving more than I ever could:

Christmas gift suggestions: To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, your heart. To a customer, service. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To yourself, respect. ~Oren Arnold.

Words to live by, for sure. And we can’t give any of the above if we’re wasting time and energy worrying about Christmas particulars that at the end of the day just shouldn’t matter.

8 Comments

Filed under Christmas, holidays, life, not sweating the small stuff, perspective

December 7, 2011 · 8:01 AM

To the old man at the store

Note: This letter is hypothetical. The incident it describes is not. This happened two days ago.

Dear Sad Old Man at the Grocery Store,

You don’t know me, but we both shopped at the same grocery store the other night.   I’m sure you didn’t notice me, as your attention was clearly elsewhere, but I couldn’t help but notice you. It’s difficult not to notice someone who’s so being so unhappy and hateful… but I guess I should go back to the beginning.

I was sort of unhappy myself that night, grumbling to myself about rising prices and lack of selection. It wasn’t my normal grocery store, the trip was taking twice as long as it should have, and I was tired and just wanted to go home. I was searching for the organic half and half when I first noticed the young couple next to me. They were holding hands and laughing over what I can only assume was the kind of inside joke that only couples share.   They were sweet and affectionate with each other, and very clearly in love. They reminded me of my husband and I’s early days together, the days we like to joke that were “back when we loved each other.”   They made me smile.

The fact that they were a gay couple was irrelevant.

I was right behind them, pushing my overfilled cart with the wobbly wheel as we left the dairy section. We rounded the corner of the aisle to head to the registers, and that’s when I saw you coming towards us.   You didn’t look at me, didn’t even glance my way, so fixated you were on the couple in front of me.   You had a look of disgust on your face, and at first I told myself that it wasn’t what it appeared.   But then, as you passed, you looked them up and down, shook your head, and made an audible sound of revulsion.

I was mortified, heartbroken for these two strangers who’d done nothing but come to the store to pick up a few things for dinner.   I don’t care if you disagree with their lifestyle. I don’t care if you think it’s wrong. I don’t care if you don’t like it. There’s a certain way of treating people, and That’s. Not. It.

I immediately felt sad for them, this young couple that I didn’t even know. What had they ever done to you to earn such a reaction? But the more I thought about it, the more sadness I felt for you. I wondered what had happened in your life for you to carry so much hatred and prejudice. I wondered if your reaction would have been the same if your son or your brother or your best friend announced he were gay. I wondered if you’d ever had anyone in your life who’d loved you unconditionally…. someone who stood beside you, and held your hand, and told you they would always, always have your back.

I felt sorry for the small way you were living your life, and I felt sad for your lost possibilities, your missed friendships, and your true potential for a full and rich and joyful existence.

You are hurting yourself, in ways I can’t even describe, and it doesn’t have to happen. I wish love for you, and healing… from whatever it is that is making you be so hurtful to others.

And finally, I’d like to thank you. In many ways it’s people like you who make me want to try harder. To be better. To be kinder. To be more accepting. To not give up. It’s people like you who remind me why I’m raising my kids the way that I am. Kids that know how to treat people. Kids that know how to love. Kids that know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that people – gay, straight, black, white – are all deserving of compassion and kindness.

And you know what? That couple? They were still happy when they walked out of that store.   You didn’t break them.   And you … you were still an angry, sad old man, whose actions only made you even sadder.

18 Comments

Filed under acceptance, bullying, life

November 10, 2011 · 12:57 PM

Conversations with a Three Year Old, Part 637

“Mommy, how do you make love?”

The question was honest, and innocent. I absolutely believe in talking about such matters frankly, so I did what any self-respecting parent would do. I stalled.

“What do you mean, like a drawing?” I thought maybe she meant a heart. When Everett was her age he used to always (adorably) call hearts “kisses”.

“No. No. Not a drawing. I said ‘how do you make love?” She repeated it as if I were hard of hearing, and followed it up with “Like, with your body.”

“Uh…. your body?” Stalling, stalling. I’m cool, I’m calm. I can handle this.

“Yes,” She paused, and much to my relief, rephrased. “Well, no. With your hand.”

“Oh….” I wasn’t sure that was better. And then I realized. “OH! You mean this?”:

“Yes!” And I helped her make the sign with her own fingers, and she was happy. “I love you Mommy,” she told me, with both her hand and her words.

I love you too, baby. More than you’ll ever know.

9 Comments

Filed under humor, life, Tegan

November 5, 2011 · 6:00 AM

Why Moms Never Sit

I love the stereotypical bon-bon eating, soap opera watching, image of a home maker. I really do. Mainly because as any stay at home parent could tell you, we NEVER SIT. When you’re a homeschooling parent of multiple children…. well, you never sit times infinity. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good life. But it’s also a constantly moving, juggling, helping, holding, dancing, playing, getting, putting, doing, showing life.

This past week has been a particularly tiring one. Starting on Monday with illness and Halloween. Tuesday brought the first day of NaNoWriMo (illness be damned) Wednesday was an entire day spent at the AZ State Fair, followed by a visit to my sister in the hospital (who is home now, yeah!) and a late night dinner. Yesterday was the girl’s last day of gymnastics for this session, and a way-longer-than-it-should-have-been grocery shopping trip with all four kids. Today was a fall party with the homeschool group, and a whole heckuva lot of driving.

At four o’clock, exhausted, I tried to sit. Only the youngest two were home.

“Mommy, can you get me some orange juice?” Sure, honey. I got up.

“Mommy!!” That one came from the bathroom, which only means one thing. I got up again.

“Mommy, I need some more paper.” I can’t be responsible for inhibiting creativity. I got up again.

“Mommy, can you sign me into this website?” At seven, Everett still needs help on the computer sometimes. I got up again.

“Mommy, you HAVE to come see this.” Really, I have to? I got up again.

“Mommy, come here, I have to give you something.” What is it?

“I drew you a picture!”

How can you say “no” to that? You can’t. So I got up again, happily.

By then, Mike was getting home, and it was time for dinner, and the evening was wearing on… and I never really did get a chance to sit. And you know, it was worth it.

It’s always worth it.

6 Comments

Filed under homeschooling, life, parenting

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