The Story of the Snapdragon

Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away.....well, more like twenty two years ago in a little city where I was born, I was going through a very dark period in my life....probably one of the darkest that I've been through.  My daddy had died, and the light had gone out of my world.  There is much in the weeks surrounding his death that I don't remember.  I guess it was my defense mechanism kicking into overdrive.  I remember being in complete denial and feeling completely numb and just waiting to wake up from my horrible nightmare.  But I remember very little in the way of details about those weeks.  I do have one memory in particular, though, that always makes me smile and has resulted in me having a particular flower that reigns above all others on my list of favorites. 

At one of the viewings for my daddy, I was sitting in a chair surrounded by my friends.  As we were all between the ages of 12-14, my friends didn't know what to say to me.  But, to their credit, they never left my side in those days.  In fact, looking back, I am amazed at the wisdom of them--how they knew instinctively that I needed them there but also knew (or maybe didn't know by innocence) that I didn't need them to say anything--I just needed them there.  I do not remember smiling at all and feeling like I had nothing to smile about.  Sitting on a table next to me was a bouquet of beautiful flowers that some well-wisher had sent.  My friend Pam, who I had known since I was fairly little, reached over and pointed out some snapdragons in the bouquet.  I had never seen a snapdragon and didn't know what it was.  To be very honest, I wasn't really interested at first.  But then, Pam squeezed the sides of the delicate little flower and started making the flower "talk" to me in a funny little voice.  It was so silly and so spontaneous, that I burst out laughing.  It was the first time I had laughed in as long as I can remember.  And I laughed hard.  It felt amazing and freeing.  I remember feeling so grateful for Pam and all of her silliness. 

To this day, whenever I send flowers to someone going through something difficult in their lives, my one request is that it includes snapdragons.  I have planted them in my yard, too.  Whenever I get bouquets from my husband, he knows to include them.  Snapdragons ALWAYS remind me to smile, to keep my chin up, and to remember that better days are coming.  It's crazy that such a simple little flower can hold such amazing and beautiful meaning for someone, but they really do for me.  They are a symbol of hope and happiness, and a reminder of good friends that help pull you through the hard times. 

I hope that everyone can have a snapdragon to talk silly talk to them in an hour of need.  Sometimes, it's the simplest, most irrelevant things that are able to snap us out of our darkness. 

So, I am an avid reader.  As I have had plenty of extra time on my hands this week taking care of my hubby, who had his gallbladder removed on Monday, I finished two books.  The first was "The Lucky One" by Nicholas Sparks.  In my younger days, Nicholas Sparks was one of my absolute favorite authors.  When I read "The Notebook" (which still happens to be one of my all-time favorite books), I was completely in awe of him.  Now that almost every one of his books has been made into a movie, I've kind of strayed from him.  His books are still good, but just not what they used to be.  I will say, though, that "The Lucky One" was a pleasant, easy read.  I enjoyed it.

Then I read "The Vow," which, ironically, has also inspired a movie.  I also watched the movie itself yesterday, which ended up having very little resemblance to the true story, but was still good.  In case you've been living in a cave, the true story is about a couple who had been married for just three months or so when they were involved in a near-fatal car accident that left the wife with severe brain trauma.  When she awoke from her coma, she did not remember her husband or that she was married.  She was missing about a year or so's worth of memories.  However, they decided to make an attempt to be true to their vows and they somehow made it work.  Pretty awesome true story, but really sad and painful in some parts, as well. 

I read all of this just after celebrating my twelve year anniversary with my hubby this past Sunday.  It is so crazy how time flies.  Hubby and I a little less than a year and a half before getting married.  I am NOT a hopeless romantic, nor do I believe in love at first sight.  But, I have to be honest, the first night I went out with him, I knew that I was in trouble.  I had been single for less than a year after a previous three year relationship.  The other relationship had been with my first love, and it had left me terribly heart-broken.  I was not looking for a relationship when I found the hubby, and I was, in fact, dating three or four other guys at the time.  (No, I was not any of the nasty names that you may be thinking, but I was simply not ready to be serious or commit myself to anyone.)  That all changed the night I met the hubby.  Within two weeks of meeting him, I had told all of the other guys I'd been dating that I was done with them.  Not that I was ready to jump into anything with the Hubby just yet, but I didn't want to be distracted either.  I found myself wanting to spend all of my free time with him. 

We were together for about six months or so before he decided to break up with me.  I was heart-broken, but we hadn't said the "L" word yet, and I was different this time around.  While it hurt, I was at peace with his decision.  I didn't want to be with him if he didn't want to be with me.  And, if I'm being totally honest, I just somehow knew, deep down inside of me, that he was my "One."  I was able to let him go and walk away because something in me told me that it was all going to be okay.  We had worked together almost since the beginning of our relationship, and we continued to work together after our break-up.  We got along fine, and even managed to still hang out together with our friends on a couple of occasions. 

In a little more than a month, he came back to me.  Our relationship the second time around was significantly different--more mature, more defined, stronger.  It was less than a month after getting back together that we said the "L" word for the first time.  And we were married about eight months later. 

We've been through a lot, but we're so much stronger for it.  We've been blessed by God with two beautiful little boys.  Somehow, God has ALWAYS watched out for us.  Just when we get to a point where we're looking at each other going, "What are we going to do?  How are we going to get through this?", God makes something happen that not only fixes our problem, but puts us in a better place all around. 

It's crazy that we were born fifteen months apart in two cities that were less than two hours from each other.  Yet, it took us 21 years and 500 miles further south to find each other.  We're so different, yet so much alike.  We definitely complement and fill each other's gaps.  I AM "the LUCKY ONE." 

When I was reading (and watching) "The Vow", I was thinking about the vows I said on that day twelve years ago.  They were your standard, repeat after the preacher, vows.  And I meant every word of them.  Today, if I could do it over again, my vows would be the same, but I think I'd probably take a shot at writing them myself.  They'd go something like this.....

"I vow that for the rest of your life, you will always have a partner in me.  I vow to be your best friend, your soul mate, your secret-keeper, your defender, and your protector.  I vow that when you face obstacles, you will not face them alone.  I will forever be by your side.  I vow to be faithful to you--you will never have to worry about me straying or look for hidden meaning or truth behind anything I say.  I vow to be the best mother to your children that I can possibly be.  I vow to take your family as my own, and to love and honor and respect them the way that I do my own family.  I vow to consider you and our family first in everything that I do.  I vow to keep God first in our relationship, so that our love of each other might be a reflection of the unconditional love that God has for us.  I vow that, for the rest of our days, you will never be alone.  I will always be standing beside you, holding your hand, loving you through anything and everything that life has to offer us, both good and bad.  I vow to love you for the rest of my life." 

As I read the stories (especially the true ones) of love that wins despite even the most horrific of circumstances, I am in awe of those couples.  You never know what you'd do in a situation as horrible as the ones that the couple in "The Vow" had to overcome.  But, I admire them.  I hope and pray that the Hubby and I will never have to be put in that situation, but I have no doubt that we will continue to have our own obstacles that we will have to go through together.  I know that, as long as we keep God first, we will be able to get through whatever life hands at us.  I am extremely proud to be my husband's wife.  I am extremely grateful that God allowed me to find my "One."  He truly was worth the wait and everything that I had to get through in my life to find him.  I hope that we can live out the legacy of all of our grandparents and be a beacon of hope to our children that love really can, and does, last.  In a world where marriages mean little to anyone anymore, it still means something very significant to me. 

Thanks, God, for the blessing of my Hubby.  I am the lucky one. 

What you can get done in a Four-Day weekend

So, because I work ridiculous hours, I am not one of the many people who get to enjoy simple pleasures like weekends because, well, I work most of them.  Let alone a four-day weekend, because my industry recognizes no holiday except Christmas and Thanksgiving (and I doubt that I will get Thanksgiving off for much longer).  However, this past weekend, I got four straight days off--Saturday through Tuesday--and I was reminded how very much you can get done in a situation like that.  Here is my level of productivity over the course of my four-day weekend:

1.  Got to spend time with SEVERAL friends I haven't spent time with in a long time. 
2.  Got to spend time with both of my brothers, twice.  And one of them, a third time.
3.  Fixed the two broken windows on my car.
4.  Sanded, buffed, compounded, and waxed my entire car.  With the exception of the gaping dent in the rear bumper thanks to some idiot that cannot see a parked car, my ten year old car literally looks brand new. 
5.  Vacuumed the interior of my car, armor-all'ed the vinyl, and scrubbed the carpet.  (FYI--coffee spilled in gray interior does not come out....)
6.  Finished three homework assignments.
7.  Went to three baseball games for my boys--we won two of them.
8.  Did five hundred loads of laundry.  Okay, maybe not five hundred.  Maybe more like one hundred.  Regardless, we hadn't done laundry in five years over a week, so it was a LOT.  Folded and put up all of it (that right there is the biggest celebration).
9.  This deserves its own recognition--I matched every single one of the socks that I could find a match to.  I am, admittedly, one of those people who would rather just buy a new pack of socks than match socks.  We are that family that has a basket of communal socks that you have to dig through every morning to find a match and usually just go with whatever as long as they're the same color.  The result of buying new socks vs. matching the ones you've got is that, when you do decide to match them, you have enough socks to clothe the U.S. Army.  Seriously.  Between my husband and I alone, we have four sock drawers.  Utterly ridiculous. 
10.  Tried a new dinner recipe.  McCormick spices now has these little spice cards that have a recipe with a bunch of little spices included.  Totally cool.  For all I know, these things have been around for ages, but I just discovered them and they are awesome.  I am a horrible cook, and I need all the help I can get.  Anyway, it tried the quesadilla casserole.  Not the greatest thing I've ever had, but not terrible.  Totally easy to make, though, which is definitely a plus. 
11.  Got a lesson on baby-making from my four year old niece (who, by the way, is an expert on practically everything in the most hysterical way possible).  I learned that mothers "poop out" their babies.  I don't know where she got this from, nor did I ask.  Honestly, I couldn't, between my hysterical laughter and utter shock.  Pretty freaking funny. 
12.  Caught up on all my shows--watched three episodes of Total Blackout (I swear, the funniest new show on TV), six episodes of The Voice, and two episodes of American Idol (did they REALLY vote off SKYLAR?!?!).  Also, set up the DVR to catch one of my other guilty pleasures--Animal Hoarders.  Couldn't set it up to catch just the plain Hoarders show, as the new season doesn't start until the 28th.  Darn.  I love these two shows.  They make me feel so much better about being an animal lover and extremely poor house keeper.  Lol.....
13.  Spent a lot of precious time with the ones I love most--my hubby, my kids, my family, and my friends. 

All in all, I had a really great weekend.  Yes, I realize that I'm posting this on a Thursday, and the weekend's been long gone by now, but it really was a glorious four days. 

Velveeta

So, I will be the first to admit that I'm a little bit....cheesy.  Thus, the name of this post.  I use every cliche in the book and believe them.  I live my life like one big analogy.  Seriously.  But, I swear they help me to take one day at a time, enjoy the moment, carpe diem, and all that garbage.  Today is one of those days when I am feeling particularly nostalgic/cheesy/whatever.  So, if you're not in the mood for a little Velveeta, move along. 

I was singing the song "Count Your Blessings"--it's an old hymn, for all of you sadistic people who don't know....  It's a really great song.  (By the way, I can also relate almost every song I hear to something or someone in my life and often do to the point of pyschosis....)

So, I was counting my blessings.  I get overwhelmed quite a bit lately.  (There's a previous post about "how I do it all" which I am not savvy enough to tag in this post so that it will take you straight there, but if you scroll way down there, somewhere, you will see my explanation of why I might feel slightly overwhelmed at times.....).  But, I decided to look at the brighter side of things.  Here's my blessing counter for today: 

1.  I get the day off tomorrow with the fam.  The boys have a baseball game.  Afterwards, we're going to celebrate the hubby's birthday three days late with a nice dinner out somewhere.  Then, we're going to the local minor league game, where my oldest will be recognized for Most Improved Student in his class!!  Sounds like a GREAT day to me!! 
2.  While I am bogged down with schoolwork to the point that I spend multiple nights a week for four plus hours in front of the computer, I am so thankful for this opportunity to finish my degree and see what opportunities might possibly lie in store for me. 
3.  Next weekend I get to go spend some more time (hopefully) with my fam in WV.  Although I expect it to be kind of a tough couple of days (I'm helping with Grandma's house), I also expect it to be full of great memories and laughs.  I also will get to visit Grandma's grave and see Papa while I'm there. 
4.  I have the best husband in the world, period.
5.  I have a job.  It pays the bills and provides benefits.  My boss views me as an asset. 
6.  My beloved car is still kicking after ten years and almost 200k miles.  Gotta love Hondas. 
7.  My dog loves me.
8.  I got to go on a field trip with my youngest this week.
9.  I have managed to stay above the BS in my life recently.  (Trust me, people, this is a feat for me.)  I have not sunk to anyone else's level, nor have I let their attempts at negativity or button pushing get to me.  I am above it, and geez is it so much more stress-free when you can just shrug stupid people off!!
10.  My rats are still alive and kicking.  After losing three in less than a month, the remaining two are doing great.  (Although we did have to separate them because they wouldn't stop fighting.) 

Now, I'm off to work.  I've counted my blessings, and I feel great. 

On a side note, a woman said to me yesterday, "You must have gotten up on the right side of the bed this morning."  I smiled and responded, "Even when I don't, I kick my feet around to the right side as often as I can.  Getting up on the wrong side doesn't mean I have to stay there.  The day goes a lot better when I roll over to the other side." 

Roll over to the other side, people.  There's a lot of cheese there. 

On the side of Angels

So, obviously, I've been a little weepy and despondent the last week.  But, I'm trying to get back into my zone.  I admit it's been a little harder than even I thought it would be.  I am NOT normally weepy or despondent.  Anyway, because last week was spring break for the boys, we have not had a baseball game in almost two weeks.  As I have mentioned before, one of my greatest joys is watching my boys play baseball.  I don't think I've mentioned it, but they are playing for the Angels this year.  Tonight they have their first game since coming back from spring break (and Grandma dying and the entire whirlwind that has been my last eight days). 

They are all dressed in their uniforms and practicing in the yard before we leave for the field.  I have to admit, I don't feel like I've had a whole lot to genuinely smile about since we got home from the funeral.  But, seeing them in their uniforms has given me my first sincere smile and my first little butterflies of happiness.  I've prayed more in the last couple of days than I admittedly have in a while.  And, I realized just now, that God has truly sent me some "Angels."  I know it probably sounds like I'm grasping for straws here, but it's really the way I feel.  Although the sun's been shining since I got home, this is the first day that I feel like a sunbeam has hit me. 

So, I am off to watch the boys play, and I am definitely sitting on the side of Angels.  Thanks, God, for throwing me that bone.  I sure needed it. 

From Grandma's girl

Dear Grandma,

I had to say goodbye to you this week.  It was one of the hardest things I've ever done.  I still cannot believe that you're not here.  My mind is literally exhausted from the reeling of memories and sounds and smells of my past repeating themselves over and over.  I miss you already, and I so desperately need one of your hugs and for you to reassure me that it's all going to be okay.  I know it is--I know that you are rejoicing in heaven with God and all of the angels.  I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that God greeted you with a "Well done, my good and faithful servant."  And I must agree--well done, Grandma. 

I am so blessed to have had you for 35 years of my life.  I am so eternally grateful to God for that, and for the fact that you knew and loved my husband and children.  I hate that the younger cousins will not get to share that experience, but I think that you've left such an amazing legacy that hopefully the rest of us can make up for your absence. 

You would have been so proud of us this week.  I kept imagining you beaming down on us from heaven.  We were all together for the first time in so, so long.  Uncle D & Aunt C talked and hugged even for the first time in thirty years.  Uncle D & C look to be making up as well.  I'm praying extra hard for that one.  C was the first one to the house to be with Grandpa after we all heard the news.  We were all devastated, Grandma.  But Papa was our pillar of strength, as I knew he would be.  His first words to me were, "Your Grandma's gone to heaven."  He was very heaven-minded.  D & I were talking about how shocked we were that you went before Papa.  But D's husband made a great point.  He said that you had taken care of Papa for so long, that you probably just went ahead to get heaven ready for him.  I thought that was really comforting. 

I hurt so much that it's hard to find words.  I was always instantly transformed into a little girl at your house.  All of a sudden, that's not the case anymore.  You're gone, and I can't be Grandma's girl anymore.  In the blink of an eye, I became an adult.  I know that probably sounds silly, but you had the power to make me feel almost childlike, but in all the best ways.  I always knew that everything was going to be okay.  You have never let anything hurt me.  And when horrible things happened in life, you were the first person I searched for.  In my Grandma's arms was safety and comfort and protection from all of the bad in the world. 

I want you to know that I honestly believe you are one of the best people God ever placed on this planet.  You've led this family like no one else ever could have.  D & I were saying that we think that God gave us you because He knew we were going to need you, and we did.  You were there when my father, your son, walked out of my life.  You were there when my daddy adopted me.  You were there when my daddy died.  You were there when Grandma & Grandpa B died.  You were there when I graduated.  You were there when I got married.  You've always, always been there.  I cannot tell you how blessed and so utterly grateful to God I am. 

I'm sorry that G did not show up to pay his last respects.  I was really hoping that he would, and I think Grandpa was hoping so, too.  Clearly, none of us have ever been able to predict his actions.  I have teetered between resentment and hatred and pity for him this past week.  But, in this moment I know that you would tell me just to pray for him.  And I will.  He needs it, apparently. 

K told me this week that he was proud of me.  It was....I can't even find the words to tell you what that meant to me.  But I am who I am because of my family.  You and Papa and K and my mom, especially, but so many of the others, too. 

I miss you, Grandma.  I brought home the cookie jar like you told me to a couple of summers ago.  I had no idea when we talked about it then that I would be taking it with me so soon.  It's ironic--you had a little sleeve of nutter butter wafers in it, like you knew.  I also collected all of the grapes.  I'm going to send a vine each to D & C, and of course J will get some, too.  I have a bottle of your perfume, because I can't imagine never smelling you again.  You had the most amazing Grandma scent.  I also took that silly music box that sat in the TV room for most, if not all, of my childhood--the one with the couple on it that says, "Love means never having to say I'm sorry."  We had to look around for it to find it, because you had moved it at some point.  But I found it.  I remember growing up and getting mad because I always disagreed with the saying.  I feel like it should say, "Love means caring enough to say you're sorry." 

I can't delete your number from my cell phone just yet.  I'm not that far yet.  I can't bring myself to do it. 

I hope to one day be half the woman you were.  You were so immensely loved and admired and adored.  I will forever, in my heart, be your girl.  I am so proud to be your granddaughter.  We'll take good care of Papa while you're getting heaven ready for him.  My heart hurts, so please tell Jesus to give me a little extra comfort.  I really need it. 

See you some day,
R 

If I won the lottery....

So, our current Mega-Millions jackpot is up to over $600 million, apparently the highest in its history.  I do not normally gamble at all.  On rare occasions, I'll get a wild hair and buy a scratch off, but that's very, very rare.  I won $50 once.  It was a cool feeling.  But, I think I shall definitely have to buy a couple of these $600 Mega-Million tickets.  Which, of course, always makes one think of what you would do with that much money (somewhere around $400 million after taxes). 

1.  I would buy a house and two new cars. 
2.  I would put money away for both of the boys' college funds. 
3.  I would quit work.  There, I said it.  I would never be "forced" to work another day in my life.  That's not to say that I wouldn't work, I would just work when and how I chose to.
4.  I would completely remodel and fix my grandparents' house....or maybe just buy them a new one.  But they would live out the rest of their lives in style. 
5.  I would definitely share.  Joey and I would find some way to help our immediate family financially.  I don't know how we would do it, but we would. 
6.  I would travel....a lot.  My family would make an art of travelling the globe.  African safaris, Australian outback, England, Italy, Germany, and lots and lots and lots of tropical places. 
7.  I would hire a maid.  I would never clean house or do laundry again.  It would be awesome. 
8.  I might even hire a chef. 
9.  I would give to some charity....maybe the American Cancer Society or something. 

Okay, that's it.  I just need to win. 

Things this week that made me happy

I'm in such a great mood this morning, I thought I'd make a list of all the things that happened this week that made me happy.  (Trust me, there were an equal number of things that could've spoiled my happiness, but again--I feel it's the little things in life that we often overlook, so I'm sharing.)

1.  My boys had their first baseball game on Saturday.  This was my youngest's first non-teeball game, and my oldest tends to crack under the undue pressure he puts on himself in a game, so I wasn't expecting much.  However, this Saturday was an extremely exciting suprise.  My oldest hit the ball all three times he was up to bat and made it to base.  On his last hit, he scored an in-field home run.  Um, yeah--I was stoked.  My youngest was up to bat twice, in the bottom of the line-up, of course, because he's also one of the youngest on the team.  He knocked the ball almost to the outfield and made it to base twice.  He made it home by subsequent batters his second time up.  So, I had five opportunities during one game to yell, "THAT'S MY KID!!!!"  I didn't....but I could have.  I was beaming.  Awesome way to start the season!!

2.  I have become a fan of the show, "The Voice."  I was already a fan of Blake Shelton and Adam Levine, so this was just an initial great reason to get into a new show.  Number one, they are both GORGEOUS.  Number two, they are both funny.  It doesn't get any better.  Imagine my surprise when I picked up this week's People magazine (I am an admitted People addict) and they were on the cover.  While reading the article last night in bed, my husband commented that I was smiling while reading.  Yup, I was.  They are even funny in print.  And the pics were great.  I would absolutely love to hang out with them for a day.  I even love Miranda Lambert, Blake's real-life wife.  It made me happy. 

3.  Also a fan of Colton on American Idol.  He's great looking (although that sort of makes me borderline gross, as he could probably be my son), he can sing, and he plays the piano.  And his performance this week was "The Piano Man," a song that I have always loved.  And it rocked.  Oh, yeah--the little things.  I love him, and really hope he wins, although I admittedly love several of the other contestants, too. 

4.  Also on AI, Steven Tyler got ticked off and kinda reamed HeeJun.  I can't stand that dude.  He's so obnoxious, and he even admitted that he didn't care whether he won or not.  That's so insulting to the other kids who really want to win.  I loved it that someone finally read him the riot act.  I admit that he can be funny and slightly entertaining at times, but AI is not a comedy routine.  It's a talent competition for singing.  He's got a decent voice, but he lets his stupidity overshadow it.  He really gets on my nerves, so I was very happy that Steven Tyler finally put him in his place. 

5.  I finished my last non-Accounting class assignment this morning.  That means 11 more classes, all Accounting, before I FINALLY graduate from college (hey--it has only taken me 18 years).  That's exactly nine months from today that I will officially be a college graduate.  I've been in school for eleven months.  I can do this.  And, I am still on the Chancellor's List with a 4.0 GPA.  That is an accomplishment I NEVER expected.  Working full-time, being a baseball mom, AND keeping a 4.0 GPA?  Wow.  I'm super proud of myself. 

      So, that's it.  I've had a good week.  Like I said, I have an equal amount to complain about, but that would be to no avail.  Complaining is anti-productive.  I like to try to focus on the great whenever possible.  Today, it is definitely possible.  So I am. 

Right where I should be....

How I know I'm right where I should be in life:

1.  I did an accounting assignment this morning for one of my classes.  It took me about 5-6 hours and consisted primarily of computing financial ratios and comparing/contrasting the financial statements and accompanying ratios of two different IT companies.  I loved it. 
2.  I'm off today.
3.  My boys are ready for baseball practice and are outside "warming up" before practice....of their own choice....did I mention I always wanted boys that loved to play baseball?
4.  I was able to go into the pet store today, fall madly in love with an adorable little black kitten with a white nose, as well as two adorable little baby dumbo rats, and walk out without any of them in my possession.  This is not a feat I would have deemed possible several years ago....
5.  Whilst in the pet store, someone had apparently ticked off the ball python so that he was all coiled up into his little "s" striking stance.  The minute I walked over and put my hand near the glass, he struck the glass.....several times.  Clearly, being on the outside of his tank was the right place to be.  It was quite funny, and I thoroughly enjoyed teasing him and repeatedly making him strike his head against the glass.  While I know he's not poisonous, I don't wager that getting bit by him would be real fun either.  I now know that I don't ever want a pet snake (yes, that had been debatable up until this point).  I much prefer the cute, cuddly ones.
6.  Did I mention I'm off work today?
7.  I don't have anything to complain about.  I mean, I guess I do, but I don't feel like it.  I'm happy.  I'm content.  I'm satisfied.  I'm me.  That's a good place to find yourself. 

Hope you're in the right place right now.  :)

My Thoughts on the Purpose of Life

For my ethics class a couple of months ago, I had to write a paper on my beliefs about the purpose of life.  I struggled with this at first, but then put it all together after much thought.  I was pretty proud of my results, so today (as I was a jerk yesterday and was threatening to punch people in the face), I will make an attempt to redeem myself by posting my paper.  It was good for me to do, for myself, because it solidified everything that I already knew and believed, if that makes any sense.  It's funny--you think you know exactly how you feel and what you think and believe until you have to write a paper about it.  Then it gets a little more sticky.....lol.  So, this is it.  It has some personal info about me that I have only previously shared with a very few number of people.  So, I guess this is me broadcasting it across the internet.  Clearly, I don't care.  The past is the past, and I don't look there except to occasionally reminisce over some fond memories.  I hope you enjoy it.  I sure enjoyed writing it.  :) ~~~~~~

What is the meaning of life?  Each person’s answer to this question will likely be as unique as the person answering it.   After thinking about this “what is the meaning of life?” question for the last two days, a Bible verse kept returning to my mind.  To me, this is the long version of saying that God has a plan for each of us.   Ecclesiastes 3:1 says “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven” (Bible).  I have always believed that God designed me with a purpose in mind.  Depending on my degree of faithfulness and devotion with Him at any given time, that is the degree of clarity with which I see and understand my purpose.  Is it something I can clearly define ever?  Not really.  However, I know that if I live according to God’s will, He will put me in the right places at the right times to realize His purposes. 

           

Blaise Pascal is one philosopher with whom I share many of the same views.  Born in 1623, Pascal is widely renowned for his contributions to math, science, religion, and philosophy.  On the meaning of life, Pascal took a supernaturalist view, in that he believed that “meaning in life must be constituted by a certain relationship with a spiritual realm” (Stanford, 2007).  God-centered supernaturalist views attribute the meaning of life in one’s fulfillment of the purpose they have been assigned by God.  To the extent that we fulfill this purpose, our lives have meaning; failure to recognize this purpose and freely and willingly fulfill that purpose will result in a meaningless life.  For those that do not believe in God or another higher being, this stance would probably be understandably hard to identify and relate to. 

While I was raised a Baptist, there have been times in my life when my rational mind has argued with my faith about my belief in God.  I finally came to rationalize my faith in the unseen and the unknown with this thought:  If I believe in God, and I’m wrong, I’ve lost nothing.  If I choose not to believe in God, and I’m wrong, I’ve lost everything.  Therefore, I choose to believe and have faith, because it gives me purpose, it gives me hope, and I have nothing to lose.  Imagine my astonishment in learning that one of Pascal’s philosophical teachings was Pascal’s Wager, in which he said, “Belief is a wise wager.  Granted that faith cannot be proved, what harm will come to you if you gamble on its truth and it proves false?  If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing” (All About Philosophy, 2011).  Also, in relation to my quote from Ecclesiastes, Pascal said, “The Ecclesiastes shows that man without God is in total ignorance and inevitable misery” (Reisinho, n.d.). 

The second philosopher I chose to research in regards to the meaning of life is Christopher Reeve.  I chose him for a couple of different reasons.  I love Superman, and Christopher Reeve will indelibly be ingrained in my mind as “Superman.”  In addition, his accident that left him a quadriplegic and ultimately resulted in his death left me with the feeling that even Superman is vulnerable.  The man of steel had been destroyed.  It was a heartbreaking tragedy.  However, even total paralysis did not conquer the man behind the suit: “Living a life with meaning means spreading the word.  Even if you can’t move, you can have a powerful effect with what you say” (Perel, n.d.).  In addition, he proved that his superpowers were not limited to being faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, or being able to leap tall buildings in a single bound:  “We all have powers within us that we don’t know exist until we’re tested.  There are no limitations to what you can do if you have the determination” (Perel, n.d.). 

These two men are clearly different in their beliefs, yet very similar.  While Pascal was a devout Christian, Christopher Reeve struggled with religion for a large portion of his life.  He was raised Presbyterian, briefly tried Scientology, and ultimately turned to the Unitarian Church at age 50.  About God, he said, “I think we all have a little voice inside us that will guide us.  It may be God, I don’t know” (Adherents, 2007).  However, they both clearly believed in a life of purpose.  And, both of these men believed that they were not limited by the things that happen to us over the course of our lives, but we are instead opened to new opportunities through these events.  Neither of them would have played the “victim” role.  Pascal would have described a tragic event as a part of God’s plan, and Christopher Reeve described the tragic event as a turning point in which you are given an opportunity to choose to fulfill a bigger purpose: “You play the hand you’re dealt.  I think the game’s worthwhile” (Beliefnet, n.d.). 

            I have always given a great deal of thought to my purpose in life.  I think it’s because of the life I’ve had.  As a quick summary, I was sexually abused by two different men as a small child, physically abused by my biological father, abandoned by the same father when I was six, adopted by a beautiful man when I was eight who later died when I was thirteen, and then uprooted and moved five hundred miles away from my entire family and everything I knew when my mother remarried when I was fourteen.  My teenage years were a trying time for me—trying to understand why God would let all of this happen to me.  As I stated earlier, I struggled with my faith for a while.    I spoke with my biological father for the first time on the phone when I was 23.  I realized at that moment that I had been looking for something that I was never really missing.  I had been blessed with a phenomenal father who had loved me and a stepfather who (when I decided to let him in) became one of my closest friends.  I had a hundred men who had been in my life the whole time who had loved me like my own father couldn’t or wouldn’t. 

            Since that time, I’ve married and had two little boys, and the pieces of my life’s puzzle have started to come together.  If my father hadn’t abandoned me, I would never have been adopted by my Daddy, and would therefore never truly have understood what that role or that relationship was supposed to be like.  If my Daddy hadn’t died, my mom wouldn’t have remarried my stepdad, and I wouldn’t have moved to SC.  If I hadn’t moved to SC, I would never have met my husband, and would therefore not have had my two little boys.  God has had a purpose for everything I’ve been through. 

In addition, I would like to think that because of the many trials, God has placed me in a position to be able to help others going through the same things I went through as a child.  I’ve had mothers bring their children to me just to talk after their own fathers had walked out.  The mothers cannot relate to the child on their feelings, but they know that I can.  It feels good to be able to look at those little girls and be able to tell them that they’re going to be okay—I made it, and so will they.  God has a plan for them, and everything that they go through in their life will one day play out like the verses of a beautiful song, and they will understand.  I know now that I am not a victim.  I am only a victim if I allow myself to be conquered.  For me, that is not an option.  That is not what God planned for my life, or for anyone’s life, in my mind. 

            The one and only tattoo I have on my body is the Superman emblem.  I got it six months ago, at the age of 34, after wanting it from the time I was seventeen.  For me, it is a symbol of several things.  On my checks in my checkbook, I have the quote, “Everyone is someone’s hero.”  Christopher Reeve once said, “I think a hero is an ordinary individual who finds strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles” (Beliefnet, n.d.).  Do I think I’m Supergirl?  No.  But the tattoo reminds me that anything is possible as long as I have God on my side and the willingness to find a way.  Like Superman, I am here to make the world a better place, no matter how miniscule my contribution may be in the grand scheme of things.  Ephesians 4:1 says, “I urge you to live the life to which God called you.”  That is what I earnestly try to do every day. 

            I am not sure how I would explain the meaning of life to a non-believer.  For them, who may or may not believe that our whole existence is an “accident” or a series of cosmic events that resulted in the existence of human life, I could see where they would have a hard time understanding how we could have meaning.  I, on the other hand, know that God does not create “accidents.”  Even unplanned pregnancies are not accidents in God’s mind.  “Everything comes from God alone.  Everything lives by His power, and everything is for His glory” (Romans 11:36). 

The most important purpose that God designed us for is to live a life of love:   love and honor of our parents, love of our spouse and children, love of our neighbors, love of Him.  “Love means living the way God commanded us to live.  As you have heard from the beginning, his command is this:  Live a life of love” (2 John 1:6).  For a world that equates lust with love, it is understandable why we get this theory all wrong.  True love is described in I Corinthians 13:4-8:  “Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails.”  Love means self-sacrifice, it means paying it forward, it means doing kind deeds for others for no reason, it means forgiving those who have wronged us.  Without love, we are “bankrupt” (I Corinthians 13:3). 

In conclusion, I agree wholeheartedly with Pascal’s theory that life has no meaning without God.  In addition, I admire Christopher Reeve’s ability to overcome the obstacles in his life and not turn to despair.  For me, this ability could only come as a result of my faith in God.  The purpose for my life has nothing to do with what I want for my life—my career, my house, my cars, my belongings.  Those things are material things that are immaterial to the meaning of life.  The purpose of my life is part of a grander, larger plan that belongs solely to God, my Maker.  Ephesians 5:15 say “Live life with a due sense of responsibility, not as those who do not know the meaning of life, but as those who do.”  Proverbs 19 confirms this by reminding us that my own plans for my life are irrelevant; it is God’s plan that will prevail.  And so, I will close with this last remaining verse:  “These three things continue forever:  faith, hope, and love.  And the greatest of these is love” (I Corinthians 13:13). 

Sometimes....you just want to punch them in the face

So, I am not a mean person by any shape of the word.  While I am not someone that could be described as "patient," I am usually pretty kind unless very tired or unless my buttons have just been pushed too much.  Today, both happened.  I was very tired, and entirely too many really irritating things happened in a row to the point that I really just wanted to punch someone.  Usually, it's when someone has been extremely rude for no reason or has said something so incredibly stupid that I wonder how it is possible that they've functioned this far in life.  Both occurred today several, several times too many in a row. 

After the couple of given people today said the amazingly stupid (or rude) things that they said to me and I had been given a chance to calm down and actually be able to look back and reflect at the humor in their stupidity (or rudeness), I began to reflect.  I wonder what it is that these people see on my face when they say things like this to me.....I can hide it very well from my customers at work, because I've been trained to do so.  But I do not hide it very well from anyone who knows me at all, like, say, my employees......So, I wonder what my face looks like when this stupid moment happens. 

I wonder if they can tell that I'm secretly wishing I could just knock the stupid out of them.  I wonder if it's written all over my face how I'm wondering how it is that they were able to graduate from elementary high school with this level of complete lack of common sense.  I wonder if they realize that it's taking all of my own intelligence to try to decipher what it is that they just asked me or said to me so that I can "dumb" down my answer to make sense to them. 

I know that this all sounds horrible.  I'm seriously not at all a mean person, nor would I ever punch someone.  At my mid-thirties-age, I've never punched anyone besides my little brother, and he deserved it doesn't count.  And I'm usually not judgemental of stupid people  people having brain farts.  I'm just tired and grumpy, and the impatience is showing. 

So, enough of my venting.  I promise that my next post will be more positive.  Not that anyone reads this anyway, but it sure felt good to get that out.  

It's the "little" things.....

I've never been a big girl.  Although I had my own self-imposed weight "issues" when I was in high school & college, looking back now I realize how silly I was.  I struggled to lose weight after my first baby, and literally left the mall crying when I could barely squeeze my tush into a size 11/12 pant.  I've always hovered somewhere between a 7/8 and a 9/10.  At 35 years old, I'm okay with that size.  I don't weigh myself very often, because it will cause me to become obsessive, so I just avoid it. 

Today, I went to my fave store (Maurice's) to get some new work clothes.  I typically do not have to try anything on in that store, because their size 7/8 clothes are made for me.  But today, I tried several different outfits on.  The first two pair of pants fit perfect.  But then I got to the third one, and I was swimming in it.  I was just going to put it back, but decided to ask the sales girl to get me a 5/6 just to try, as I really liked the pair of pants with the outfit that I had picked out.  I just knew that they weren't going to fit. 

But....they did.  Like a glove.  I realize that this just means that this particular pair of pants is made bigger than the rest, but for me, it was freaking awesome.  I want to hang a sign around my neck that says, "These pants are a size 5/6!!!!!"  I realize that this probably makes me sound very shallow, and I apologize.  But, every woman can admit, regardless of their size, that squeezing your behind into a size smaller than you normally wear is an AWESOME feeling.  I literally haven't been able to get into a 5/6 since middle school.  My rather large rear end and thick thighs (in comparison to my relatively small waist) simply will not allow it. 

So, I am excited.  It totally made my day.  I shall hold onto these pants forever, as it will probably never happen again.  :)  Today, it truly was the "little" thing that made me happy. 

Luke & Leia (and the late Charlie....RIP)

So, I will continue on my trend of funny animal stories, as a friend has followed my rat story with her equally very funny chincilla story. 

I am a bleeding heart when it comes to animals....I admit it.  My husband is NOT a cat guy.  At.all.  I really, really wanted a cat.  One day, while visiting PetSmart by myself, a girl walked in with three of the teeniest little kittens I have ever seen.  She had found them in a cardboard box behind her workplace.  They were covered in fleas, matted fur, eyes had just opened and were pretty crust....I mean, what's not to love?  So, I did exactly what I knew my husband would totally understand (NOT), and I bought syringes and cat formula, and I brought one of them home.  She was so young, she could barely walk.  Here's one of her first pics....

I syringe fed her for almost a month, and obviously fell in love.  Let me say that my husband and I really and truly rarely fight or even argue.  That changed the day I brought this cat home for about three months.  To say that he was mad at me would be an understatement.  But, I won.  The boys named her Leia (as in Princess).  While she is now full-grown at almost 3 years old, she is the smallest cat I have ever had.  And she's a total diva.  Completely psychotic and anti-social to anyone but me. 

The boys, several years ago, decided that they wanted parakeets.  Again, this is something that I indulged them with really without a whole lot of permission with the hubby, so he wasn't very happy.....again......  They named them Luke (as in Skywalker) and Charlie (as in....Charlie).  As we have a St. Bernard, I put the bird cage in what I thought was the safest place possible--on the top of the boys dresser.  The day after I bought the parakeets, we came home from work/school.  My youngest walked into his bedroom and quickly announced, "Mom, Charlie's dead!!!"  My initial thoughts were, "Oh, no...the new environment must have been too much for him.  Shucks."  But before I could even finish my thoughts, youngest child declared, ".....and he's laying right here on the floor!!!"   HUH?  I walked into the bedroom, and sure enough, what was LEFT of Charlie was on the floor.  Here's the crazy part--- the cage, still completely intact with the door closed, was still on the dresser.  Luke was just as happy and safe as can be.  I have absolutely no idea how Charlie got out, but I am pretty clear about what happened after he got out.  (Enter St. Bernard with tail tucked and guilty expression.....)

Ironically, Charlie happened to belong to my youngest child, who also happened to be the owner of the three rats that died in a row on us.  My oldest's animals always seem to be just fine.  My youngest's drop like flies. 

So, Luke & Leia are still happy members of our family.  Well, most of the time......

Yes, that is Luke's tail in Leia's mouth. 

Myths about Rats

So, I am the proud owner of two little rats--one Dumbo rat and one Fancy rat.  My children decided that they wanted them for Christmas, and so they got them.  Well, I should say that they got two Dumbo's.  The original two were Stuart and Scabbers.  Stuart lasted 17 days before passing.  He was then replaced by one that we did not name, which is a good thing, because he died 9 days later.  He was replaced by Stuart II, who also lasted 9 days.  All three of our deceased rats were Dumbos (called such because their ears are lower set than a normal rats' and are bigger).  We decided after Stuart II died that we would try one last time, but we would switch it up and get a Fancy rat.  We named this one Rocky.  He has now survived over three weeks, and is living happily in the cage with Scabbers.  So, myth #1 is that rats are impossible to kill.  My hubby and I have successfully proven that this is not the case.  Bring them to my house--they just drop dead. 

Myth #2:  Rats enjoy swimming and generally like the water.  I tried to bathe my stinky pee-smelling rats today.  I started with Scabbers, as Rocky is still pretty timid and freaks out quite easily.  I gently placed Scabbers in the tub that had about 1/2" of water in the bottom.  I learned that, from a standing still position, a rat can jump straight into the air about a foot and a half high.  He very nearly caught a hold of my face trying to get out of the tub.  In addition, we will claw and scratch and climb your bare arm in about a half of a second to get out of the water.  So, no--not ALL rats enjoy swimming OR like water. 

Myth #3:  Rats do not bite.  This is both true and false.  I have not yet, in my two and a half months of owning pet rats, had any of them bite me to the point of drawing blood or even hurting significantly at all.  Nor have any of my family members or any friends that have come over to play with the rats.  They are very friendly.  However, I assure you that if you've just eaten a bag of Doritos or had a great taco dinner, you can be certain that there will be a little nibble of your fingers if you stick your hands anywhere near that cage. 

I will say that I have come to absolutely adore my rats, particularly Scabbers.  I know it sounds crazy, and people give me the most ridiculous looks when I tell them that I have pet rats.  But they are a lot of fun to watch, and they are very, very smart.  I have truly enjoyed playing with them and getting to know them.  Now, let's just hope that these two last.  Otherwise, I will officially rename my blog "The Exterminator's World." 

This is Scabbers, eating a piece of dog food, sitting in the hood of my sweatshirt on my shoulder. 

My Drug

I realized today something that I've always known, but have just now put a name to.  I absolutely LOVE to do nice things for people, completely unexpectedly.  The joy and surprise on their face gives me a high.  I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing, but it does.  I don't do it for the "Look what Rachel did" results.  I do it for that sheer look in their eyes and on their face that tells me that they are completely caught off guard by a good deed.  Good deeds are my drug.  I took flowers to two of my friends that are both in the hospital.  I say friends rather loosely.  I mean, they are friends, but not in the close-I'll-call-you-on-the-phone sort of way.  One is the wife of a guy I worked with in high school, so I've known her since then, because they were dating way back then.  We see each other around every once in a while and we're friends on FB, so I know what she's up to all the time.  But calling us "friends" I guess is a bit misleading.  She was having surgery today, so I dropped by to give her some flowers when she got out of surgery.  Her hubby (my old friend) was so surprised and shocked to see me.  I got this really huge hug.  He was so grateful.  And I was high.  It gives me the warm and fuzzies to do stuff like that. 
The other is the girlfriend of one of my regular's at work.  I see them usually at least once or twice a week.  Her man bakes, and he's GOOD at it.  He brings us cookies a lot, and I love it.  So, I wanted to spread some good cheer.  She, also, was really shocked and surprised to see me.  She mentioned that she'd miss having our soup at work tonight.  So, I left, went and got the soup, and came back with it for her.  Double shocked.  And thrilled (as hospital food is GROSS).  I was high. 
My boss calls me a bleeding heart.  I guess I sort of am.  I just know that doing nice things for others, no matter how small, is the best feeling in the world.  With me, though, you can't expect it.  Your birthday?  Yeah, I'll forget it.  Your anniversary?  Uh....don't even think of holding your breath.  But, for some random reason or if you have something kinda bad going on and everyone else has dipped on you--that's where I like to come in when I can.  I'm the girl who sticks around when it's not fun anymore.  I won't know what to say, and I'll have no words of wisdom to comfort you, but I'll listen.  And I'll be present.  I know in my past when I have gone through hard times, those are the people I valued the most--the ones who were just there.  They shut up, because they knew nothing they said was going to make it any better.  They just were with me, all the way through the storm. 
So, I don't know what all of this says about me.  I've always been a "pay it forward" kind of girl, or at least, I try to be.  But what does it say about me that I get a high off of doing stuff like this?  It puts me on cloud nine.  I love to make someone's day, whether they know it was me who did it or not.  Giving back is my drug.  Today, I had two fixes, and I'm still high.  :)

So NOT the perfect Mom....

I definitely don't claim to be perfect, especially when it comes to being a Mother.  I have undoubtedly made a mistake or two, as all mothers do.  It just hurts especially bad when it becomes blatantly obvious that you made a mis-judgement. 

Yesterday, my nine year old spent the entire afternoon at school in BCR--the behavior control room... (kinda sounds like a place with padded walls where someone is strapped in a vest, doesn't it).  It's the "new" acronym for what we all used to call detention or in-school suspension.  He was also written up.  Turns out that he was telling another boy about a video he'd seen on YouTube where Elmo kills Barney.  He was quoting a line from the video where one person or character apparently tells the other to "Shut the F up."  Just like that--he actually said the letter 'F', not the whole word (thank God, not that that makes it any better). 

So, in retrospect, I have to admit that I've clearly made some mistakes.  Yes, I KNOW he's going to say these words at school.  We all did.  Yes, I know he's going to hear this language at school.  We all did.  But, I made a mistake in a couple of ways.  Here are my admissions of guilt:

1.  First and foremost, I do not regularly take my kids to church.  I'd like to blame it on work, because I do, in fact, work a lot of Sundays.  But I don't even take them on a regular basis when I'm not working.  So, that's going to change immediately. 
2.  I have allowed my kids to play on YouTube.  Usually, I am in the room.  But, clearly, I haven't been paying enough attention.  So, he's lost YouTube for pretty much a permanent basis until he's forty years old. 
3.  I have allowed them to listen to or watch music and shows with adult language in them.  Let me say, in my defense (not that it matters at this point), that I have always had conversations with my boys about trust.  They are ONLY allowed to listen to or watch stuff that I approve of, and then only if I can trust that they know the difference between what is acceptable to say and what is not, and that I can trust them not to repeat the stuff they know is unacceptable.  Obviously, I cannot trust that anymore.  Trust broken. 

Now, there's two parts of me waging war.  The first says that this isn't such a big deal.  Even his teacher kinda defended him in that he was just relating a story and he didn't actually say the word, but it was still inappropriate and needed to be disciplined.  I get it.  She says she hears much, much worse on a regular basis and that this is not normal for my kid (thank God).  But the other side of me says that if I go easy on him, this is just opening a door for worse language.  That is NOT okay for me.  I do realize that this is totally normal--I went through the same thing at his age.  You want to see the reaction from the other kids when you drop the bad word.  It makes you feel all tough and big.  I get it.  But, I don't in any way want him to think that I condone this behavior at all. 

But I did feel horrible last night.  My hubby brought him up to work to face me and tell me about what had happened.  I was horrified, disappointed, and embarrassed.  I let him know in no uncertain terms all of those things.  He was crying (which ALWAYS breaks my heart, no matter what he's done).  I doled out his punishment before kissing him and telling him that I loved him.  And then they drove away.  Is it normal for me to still hurt after I've made him cry, even if he did deserve it?  Despite his "tough man show" exterior, I know that he is a very sensitive, self-conscious kid.  I don't ever, ever want to break his spirit or make him doubt himself.  And I worry about that all the time.  I always, always, always follow up punishment with love.  I want to make sure that they know that poor decisions to not cause me to love them any less.  But is it enough? 

I wonder if other mothers worry about the same things that I do.  Like I said, I know I'm going to make mistakes.  I just want a three things for their lives:

1.  That they are saved and have a strong faith in God.  (I've led them both to be saved, and for that I am very proud.  Now I just have to reinforce it--see back to mistake #1 above.)
2.  That they know they are immensely, unconditionally, and forever loved by their parents.  That they know how grateful to God I am that they are mine and that I've been blessed with raising them.  That they know they ALWAYS have a home.  That they know how proud I am to be their mother. 
3.  That they are happy.  That they know how to live life to the fullest, laugh at themselves, and not take things so seriously all the time.  Learn from their mistakes, accept the challenges that life hands you, and know that all things happen for a reason.  That they know how to love and be loved. 

I suppose if I achieve these three things in life, I shall consider myself a success. 

Things I've learned from Children's Sports

My boys have played t-ball, baseball, and now basketball for about five years.  Growing up, I dreamed of having two little boys who played sports.  I swore to myself I wouldn't force them (just strongly encourage).  This year, my oldest has decided that he's "retiring" from baseball.  I must admit--I'm heartbroken.  But, I promised I wouldn't make him, so I'm not.  Instead, I'm praying that he'll regret it and beg me to play next year he'll find something else that he loves that will keep him involved with other kids his age. 

But these are the things that I've observed about parents (not the kids) over the years in watching these sports:

1.  The parents of the morbidly obese child that are just certain that enrolling them in sports is going to whip them into shape.  Meanwhile, the kid is sitting in the dugout or on the sidelines with a large bag of Doritos and an ice cream cone, completely uninterested in the game. 
2.  The parents of the strangely akward and lanky taller-than-every-other-kid-on-the-court kid, who are certain that because of his height, he is sure to be an awesome basketball player.  Nevermind that he runs with all limbs flailing like Gumby coming down the court or that he trips over his own feet every other step or that he can't hit the broad side of a barn with the ball--because he is tall, he is going to be good. 
3.  The parents of the socially akward, shy child who are certain that this interaction with other, more outgoing children is going to make him come out of his shell and spread his wings like a butterfly to new and exciting social encounters.  Instead, the poor kid ends up overwhelmed by the loud, bossy, and over-bearing peers and seems to coil even further into his shell.  (To some degree, I am one of these parents.....)
4.  The parents of the children with a mild degree of talent who seem to have put their whole future hopes on the fact that their child is going to one day make millions playing professional sports, ensuring that the parents will never have to work again.  These are the parents that push coaches out of the way to scream at their child for missing a basket or striking out.  "You KNOW how to do this--what is your problem?!?!"  You know these parents by their screaming and hollering from the sidelines--the ones that are so obnoxious you wish the people behind them would throw popcorn at them so they'd shut up.  Their kids are the ones that walk off the court or the field looking like utter failures if the team has lost.  It's sad and disturbing.
5.  The parents who could care less.  These parents are not so easily recognizable, as they drop their kids off for practice and disappear for an hour of quiet.  They are never present, unless they have to be, and then it's clear that it's an inconvenience.  At the games, you can usually tell them apart because the children of these people are the ones who, when they do something awesome, immediately look to their parents to make sure they are watching.  The kids appear so starved for attention or approval that you cheer for them yourself, regardless of which team they are on. 
6.  The parents of girls who wish that they had had boys (I would probably have been this parent if I hadn't had boys, and I admit it.)  Let me preface this by saying that I totally agree and am okay with girls playing sports with boys.  I advocate it.  However, there is a degree of girly-ness that they bring to the sports world that is, admittedly, slightly obnoxious.  The high-pitched screaming across a court, the tears, the sassiness, the "I'm as tough as you are" attitude....ugh.  (Thank God I had boys.)  There are the girls that you are sure will be great athletes one day, displaying a clear degree of talent (my sister was one of these).  There are the ones that you're certain are lesbians in training (don't shoot me--my best friend is gay).  There are also the ones that are so girly that they are so clearly out of place on the court or the field that you feel they are better served as a cheerleader.  I mean--matching bows, shoelaces, and ribbons?!?!  This is SPORTS, people!!!  You're supposed to get dirty!!!!!
7.  The parents who live vicariously through their children.  I would like to think that I fall into this category.  These are the parents that get excited no matter what--win or lose.  These are the parents that get involved, not just with their own kids but with other children as well.  These are the parents that help the association sponsoring the games and the coaches and moms helping the teams.  These are the parents that realize that this is just a game, that their child is probably not going to grow up to play in the NBA or MLB.  These are the ones that realize that this will teach their kids that nothing good comes without a little practice, teamwork, and effort, and that playing sports while growing up is meant to be fun and teach good sportsmanship, friendly competition, and how to overcome obstacles. 

Fortunately, most of us fall into this category.  But if the rest of that stuff sounded familiar at all, maybe those people need to reevaluate things.  I did when my son told me he didn't want to play baseball.  Like I said, I was heartbroken.  I want him to play so bad--all the way up through high school and even college.  But, this is not my life--it's his.  So, I have to let him make some of his own choices.  He knows that I have a couple of rules:  1.  If you start something, you finish it.  (In other words, if you sign up for a sport, you will play the whole season--we don't quit in the middle.)  2.  You don't just not go because you don't feel like it.  You're a part of a team, and you don't let the team down.  (AKA--Unless you're sick or there's an emergency, you will play every game.)  3.  If you choose not to sign up, you don't get to participate at all.  In other words, you won't be allowed to "practice" with the team just so you can get your fix in without obligation or responsibility.  You either play, or you don't play. 

Thank God, my youngest swears he's going to play for the rest of his life.  Maybe my oldest will be the brainiac of the family?!........

Play ball, people!!

My Debilitating Fear

I guess it's normal to have some sort of phobia.  I find that there's very few things that I am phobic about.  Snakes don't bother me at all.  Neither do spiders.  I mean, I don't want to cuddle up with either of them, but I can handle it if they are close to me.  I can hold a snake and it doesn't bother me.  In fact, I find myself mildly intrigued by snakes and lizards and other slimy, scaly things.  I once screamed at a bunch of Cub Scouts for killing a frog.  Yeah--I'm that girl.  I'm a little psycho about animals. 

But I do have a fear of one thing that is pretty much crippling.  Like flip-out-and-make-a-giant-jackass-of-myself upsetting for me.  Roaches.  I think it bothers me most because roaches can't really hurt you, so I know that the fear is somewhat irrational.  They don't bite or sting or suck your blood or anything that would hurt.  But I am absolutely terrified of them. 

Growing up, I lived in an area where you just didn't have roaches unless you were really, really, really dirty.  I don't remember ever even seeing a roach or knowing what they looked like until I moved to my current location.  My new region of the country, however, is rampant with them.  It doesn't matter how clean you are, the bigger, flying variety WILL get into your house.  They have various names:  water bug, Palmetto bug, whatever.  They are roaches.  I've literally seen them as big as almost three inches long.  They are hideous.  And they fly--THEY FLY!!!! 

I've written several FB notes about this subject.  I'm convinced that I emit a pheromone that attracts the stupid things.  They KNOW that I am terrified of them.  They KNOW that I am afraid to even kill them because I can't stand the hideous crunch they make when you step on them and GOD FORBID you don't get them just right, because they WILL keep moving after you've stomped them a couple of times (hearing that CRUNCH EACH TIME). 

The first argument I ever got into with my husband was over a roach.  There was one in the bathroom (trying to attack me), and the hubby was at his brother's.  I called him to come save the day so I could get ready for work, and he laughed at me.  HE LAUGHED AT ME!!!!!!  I hung up the phone on him and had to handle the crisis myself.  I used the plunger and suction-cupped the stupid thing to the counter top.  No exaggaration--ten hours later, he was still alive!!!!  Trapped under a bathroom plunger with no oxygen for TEN HOURS.  And he was still alive. 

Here are other occasions when I was attacked:
1.  On the phone with the bestie as a teen when one flies across the room at me. 
2.  In my bed reading as a teen one night when one crawled INTO MY BED, trying to steal my book from me.
3.  Out with a friend and her grandmother one night, sitting at a patio table, when one flew across the sky and landed ON MY LIP!!!  I think it was trying to rip my face off...I'm not sure. 
4.  Giving my two children a bath one night when one snuck up from behind and tried to take me out.
5.  Multiple occasions when I have taken out my husband, half of the patio furniture, a friend, and possibly a child or two trying to get away from one attacking me on our porch. 

If they get on me, you're going to see flailing.  It's certain.  If they're on my clothes, the clothes are coming off.  Like, I don't care where I am--I am stripping.....No, seriously....  There's going to be a lot of screaming, hyperventilating, and possibly some tears.  If my husband dares to betray that he's fighting back laughter or a smile, there's going to be a fight.  My kids are probably going to panic because they will think that I've momentarily been possessed by the devil.  It's just a bad, very ugly situation. 

They're out to get me.  It's a plot.  I'm convinced it's my hair that they want.  They think that if they can get into my rat's nest of an excuse I call hair, they can build an indestructible fortress and take over the world......

My Friends

I guess you have to live in my community right now to kinda understand what's going on or what prompted this post....but since you probably don't, let's just say that there's a little bit of racial tension these days that is highly unusual in my community.  So, on the way home, I was thinking about my friends.  I'm so, so lucky.  Amongst the people that I consider my close friends--the ones I would drop anything for if they needed me--, I have blacks, an Egyptian/German, an Indian, and several Asians.  I have every denomination of Christianity, Muslim, Hindu, agnostic, and atheist.  I have a couple of lesbians and gays.  I have strong right-wingers and conservative left-wingers.  I don't think of this stuff often, though, because I am not friends with any of them because or "in spite of" these things.  I am friends with them because of who they are.  I am friends with them because they'd drop anything for me, too.  I am friends with them because they are amazing people who respect my right to believe in God and be extremely liberal about some things and extremely conservative about other things.  I am friends with them because we can have "political (or religious) discussions" that are just that--discussions and sharing of thoughts and ideas.  They are not debates, they are not arguements.  They are an acceptance of our differences and a respect for the things that we each value and care about.

I am a straight Christian white girl.  But I would proudly march with my friend for gay rights.  I would proudly fight with my friend for their civil rights.  I would proudly fight with my friend for their religious rights.  I would proudly respect my friend's right to pray to their God and I would respect their right to choose not to pray.

Do I agree with all of my friends?  Heck, no.  In fact, I disagree with my friends on a regular basis.  I'm not friends with them because we are exactly alike.  I am friends with them because they are amazing people.  They have hearts of gold, and they add to my life.  They open me up to new ideas, new thoughts, and new perspectives.  They make my heart bigger.  They make me feel like I'm as important as I think they are.  They're my friends, and I am so, so very proud of that fact.
  

Forget lemons--what about when life hands you poo?

So, we've all heard the adage "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."  What if it's not lemons?  What if it's poo?  I don't think making anything from poo is going to make the situation any better.  As a matter of fact, as opposed to an end result that leaves you smelling like Pine-Sol, you'll end up dirty and smelling like...well, poo. 

There's a lot of poo out there in life, too.  And the sad thing is--we get it in all shapes and forms.  Some smells horrible and makes us nauseous.  Sometimes it's just that lingering aroma of poo that let's us know that it was here.  Either way, I have a solution for dealing with the poo in your life (it's how I deal with mine)--FLUSH IT.  Then, walk away and let the room air out. 

It's a fact of life that is negativity in the world that you just can't do anything about.  We're kind of dealing with it right now in my city.  There's a lot of people just pooing in other people's bathrooms, so to speak.  As a result, everyone is griping and complaining about the poo.  Because their bathroom is now contaminated, they are then going to other people's clean bathrooms and pooing.  Negativity breeds negativity--poo breeds poo. 

I don't mean to quote an old infomercial, but can we just "Stop the Insanity!!"  Don't poo in another person's restroom--flush the toilet in your own.  Get rid of the poo.  Make a little Pine-Sol lemonade and clean up the mess left by the other person's poo.  Let the bathroom air out.  And then, if you must, poo in your own bathroom!!  Keep it to yourself!! 

I don't mean to make light of a bad situation or of problems that we have in society (aka "poo").  I am also not suggesting that we sweep problems under the rug.  But, let's treat the source of the problem.  If you have diarrhea, you take an anti-diarrheal medicine.  If you're constipated (maybe you have some pent-up frustration and you NEED to get some stuff out), you take Ex-lax.  Clean yourself out, flush it, and move on.  Treat the problem--don't make more problems for others.  Sometimes, you just need to poo.  Poo then.  But keep it in your own restroom (or in a closed stall if it is necessary to do it in public).  Wipe, flush, clean up any mess that you may have made (God forbid), and MOVE ON.  If there's air freshener available, USE IT. 

I work with the public.  As such, I at any given time, may be called upon to clean up the poo that someone has left behind in our public restroom.  Not a pretty job, and I usually require the help of one of my very loyal and dedicated team members (as I gag quite easily in response to poo).  I don't hover over the poo and complain about it.  I don't bring others in to show them the poo.  I just flush it and ensure that the mess is cleaned up. 

Moral of the story:  If there is negativity being spread around--whether in your community, your workplace, your family, your group of friends, or even your church (let's not be naive, people, it happens)-- be the place where it stops.  Don't spread it to new people.  Don't even share it or "gossip" about it with your close friends.  Go to the source and stop the negativity.  Bring positivity (air freshener and some Pine-Sol) to the situation.  Turn the negatives into positives.  If someone needs to get something negative off their chest, let them (as long as it is productive).  Hopefully, they will feel better for getting it all out.  Then, redirect them.  Give them some hope, some faith, some love--a light at the end of their dark tunnel.  Be real with them.  Sometimes, we just can't see things the right way and needed to be given a little light. 

Okay....that's my thoughts for the day.  When life hands you poo, FLUSH IT!!

How do you do it?

So I met someone new at work today, and I was talking about my kids and school and some other stuff going on in my life.  She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "How the heck do you do it all?"  It made me stop.  The truth is, I don't know. 

I work 50-55 hours a week, every week.  I do not have the luxury of a 40 hour work week.  I wouldn't even begin to know what to do with myself if I did.  I work nights, weekends, early mornings--you name it, I work it.  When I'm not working, I'm happily married (yes, really) and have two growing little boys, who are (for all intents and purposes) extremely smart, extremely happy, extremely loved little boys. 

I'm also working towards my bachelor's degree.  I've been back in school online for a year, and I will FINALLY get my degree in December.  I will have my BSA.  Don't ask me what I'm going to do with it--I have no idea.  I just know I will have accomplished a goal, and I'm proud of myself for finally doing it.  Oh, and, by the way--I'm on the Chancellor's List, not to be confused with the Dean's List--I have a 4.0 GPA.  Yay, me!!!  :)

My kids are both playing basketball, and I have yet to miss a game this season.  My youngest also just signed up for his 3rd or 4th year of baseball (I can't remember....).  My goal is to not miss one of those games, either. 

I also have a menagerie of animals at the house.  If it weren't for my hubby, I'd undoubtedly be an animal hoarder.  At present, we have a St. Bernard, a cat (that I had to nurse as a baby when she was abandoned in a box), a bird, two Dumbo rats, and some fish.  And, I am happy to say, I have enough love for all of them. 

So, how do I do it?  With a lot of help from my amazing husband, for one thing.  But other than that--I have no idea.  It's not without the occasional complaint, I assure you. 

On the other hand, I'd like to know how these people do "it"--
1.  Single parents--I admire you, and have NO IDEA how you do it.
2.  People in abusive relationships--I do NOT admire you, and do not understand WHY you do it.
3.  People raising daughters--I never wanted to do it.  Not that I wouldn't have loved and worshipped any daughter that the hubby and I could have been blessed with, but I always wanted boys, and thank God He saw fit to give them to me.  I just can't see myself with girls, and I don't know how people  raise daughters in this world.....

Compared to these things, I think my life is pretty darn easy.  A little hectic, maybe.  But no sweat (most days).  Nothing like a little blood, sweat, and tears to make for a little more appreciation for the kisses, hugs, and laughter. 

Frustration redirected...My House Part 1

So, I'm a little frustrated with situations that I can't discuss on a publicly open forum such as this, so I'm going to redirect my frustration by talking about something else that I absolutely love to talk about....my house.  It's a really cool story (or at least I think so), and I know it will get my mind off of other "things."  So, here we go:

When hubby & I got married, we purchased our first house.  It was brand new, and was literally everything I thought I wanted...wrap-around porch, painted in exactly the colors I wanted, etc.  All except for one thing...I was seriously house poor.  We lived there for 2 1/2 years before deciding that we had to get out from under it before we were financially ruined.  Before even putting it on the market, a friend of ours decided that he wanted to buy it.  It was sold in less than a month. 

For the following year, we lived in an apartment with my then two-year old son and my brand new baby.  The idiots that lived above us were significantly younger and partied....literally 24 hours a day.  I think I called the cops at least once a month the entire time I lived there.  When my son came in from the patio one day with a marijuana roach stuck to his sock, I went to the apartment office.  They graciously told me that we could move--not the horrible neighbors--US.  Not really an option with two little babies.  So, I endured it, and continued calling the cops. 

During that miserable year, hubby & I started looking at other housing options.  We really didn't know what we wanted except for two things:  it had to be within our budget and it had to be OUT of the apartment.  One day, while driving around with no real purpose, we came across the house that is now ours.  It was for sale by owner, it was empty, and the owners happened to be in the yard.  It also was a block from where a horrible train wreck had happened six months earlier, causing a huge chlorine explosion and contamination.  None of the houses in that area were selling--banks wouldn't finance because they weren't sure what collateral damage to the houses was going to exist due to the train wreck. 

We stopped, got out of the car, and asked if we could look at the house.  They happily let us look around, but also let us know that it was under contract that expired that upcoming weekend--the couple that was trying to get it was having a hard time with the financing part. 

The house is OLD--built in the 1850s and some point and a part of what was then a mill community.  It had belonged to the treasurer of the mill when the mill was built.  It had the quaint charm of a dollhouse--huge front porch, big back porch, huge open rooms, fireplaces (albeit closed-off ones) in the living room and both bedrooms, a gorgeous staircase.  To say that I fell in love would be an understatement.  With that being said, it also needed a LOT of work (but that's a story for another post). 

The other couple's contract fell through, and we made an offer--a ridiculously low offer for such a huge house.  And then we tried to get financing.  Like some miracle, it all came through with no problems.  You know how sometimes there's these signs that you just know something is right?  Well, in addition to being the first people financed for a house in this area after the train wreck, here's my "sign" from God that this house is meant for us....

The previous owner (like I am now) was enamored with the story of the house.  It had been first occupied by (we'll call them this, although it's not real because I don't want to give away where I really live) the "Strong" family, and the street had been named after them--"Strong" street.  The treasurer father had two grown sons, who both fought in the civil war.  While they were at war, they would write letters to their sister.  All of the letters had been typed up, along with a picture of the brother who was killed in battle.  Both of the brothers are buried in the local cemetery.  The packet of letters were given to me the day we closed on the house. 

The day we closed, I was so excited to get the letters.  Already, I felt some wierd connection to these two fascinating brothers and their family.  (I know, wierd.)  On the ride home from the closing, I started flipping through the letters, so excited to read all of them and hear the actual words of a Civil War soldier talking to his sister.  While flipping, I came across a page that had some of the typed lines underlined, so I stopped out of curiosity.  In this particular letter, the brother was telling his sister about this lady--I don't know if he actually knew her or knew of her or what.  He was describing her physically, as well as denoting characteristics of her personality.  When I read the name of the woman he was describing, Belle Boyd, I knew I recognized the name.  I told hubby that, and he looked at me like I was crazy.  I kept reading, and then got to the part where he told his sister where she was from...my hometown in WV.  My jaw dropped to my lap.  I DID know who the woman was!!  I had been in her father's house on the House & Garden Tour in my hometown growing up several times. 

What are the chances of that?!?!  It's not like I'm from Charleston, WV--a big town where it's possible lots of people came from.  I'm from a relatively small town.  I absolutely could not believe it. 

May not seem that crazy to you, but to this day, six years later, it still blows my mind.  I know that this house was meant for us, despite all of the stuff we've gone through with it over the years.  ..........But I'll save that for another post.  :)