Dear Sweet Ryan,
Here we are. The night before kindergarten. 5 years and 8 months ago we brought you into the world. Tomorrow, your daddy and I will walk you into your elementary school for the first time. Through all the milestones of your life thus far, we have celebrated, laughed, clapped, jumped up and down, and even cried. With each one, you become smarter, more aware of the world around you and more confident. Kindergarten will be no different. I am so proud of the young man you have become. You are smart, polite, generous, empathetic, fun-loving, sensitive, genuine, analytical, cognizant. I could go on.
There are some things I will promise you about this first year of school.
1. I promise you will remember it. You will remember the smell of your kindergarten classroom, even when you're 30. There will be certain smells, sights and sounds that will take you back to this time of your life. You will remember the excitement and anticipation you will feel as you're walking into that building tomorrow. Cherish it. It goes by so fast.
2. I promise your teacher (and all your teachers, actually) loves you. Teachers are gifts. Treat them as such. It takes a very special person to want to spend 180 days of their year with a room full of 5 and 6 year olds. They love what they do, and they love you.
3. I promise you there will be that one kid that gets under your skin. You won't like this child, and that's ok. You don't have to like everyone, but you will play nice.
4. I promise you will learn. A LOT! There are a few things you have been concerned with not knowing. "I can't read" is a common phrase we hear from you lately. You will learn to read along with many many more exciting things!
5. I promise you will LOVE kindergarten! You will make friends that you will keep for the rest of your life. You will learn lessons and have experiences that will continue to mold you into the man you will be.
I'm not going to lie, I have teared up over all the little things leading up to your first day; your last day of preschool, your first day of summer camp, driving by the school in the morning on the way to work. I even cried when I washed and folded your preschool nap time blanket for the last time. Instead of putting it back in your preschool bag, I put it in the closet and that just tore me to pieces. You'll just have to put up with me and my antics. You're my first. I was my parents' first, so I will apologize in advance for my overly-paranoid thoughts and actions you will be subjected to as you go through the next 13 years of school. Fortunately for you, your father is the baby of three. He tries very hard to bring me back to earth.
Why is this so bittersweet for me, you might ask? You've been in preschool since you were a year old. This school thing is nothing new for you. You adapt well, your extremely sociable, and you make friends easily. The fact is, kindergarten marks the end of an era; an idea that you need me for everything. It marks the beginning of the end of your childhood innocence. By the time you graduate from elementary school, you will know things that I didn't know until I was in high school. You will see and hear things that I have been able to shield you from until now. This is what happens over time. Children grow up faster than their parents did.
With all that said, I am so excited for you, my love. You are brilliant and you will do so well. Remember to always be open to learning, always be open-minded, treat your peers the way you want to be treated, remember your manners, ENJOY this fabulous time of your life and never deny me a hug!
I love you all the way around all the planets and back!
~Mommy
Monday, August 26, 2013
Monday, June 3, 2013
Coming home
A lot has happened in the last few months. Just this morning, as I wrote "June 3" on a work document, I seriously wondered where the year has gone. Then I remember. So far, 2013 has gone to our strong desire to go home. With the exception of a brief 2 year blur in the past 12 years, Fayetteville was home. Shortly before we got married, we moved to Apex with the goal of staying in the Raleigh area. However, a short ten months later, we purchased our first home in the opposite direction we wanted to be. Don't ask me why. I still don't know why we signed and initialled our lives away in 2007 for that house out in the middle of no where in Benson. We were drunk on the first-time homeowners juice, I guess. I have no legitimate reason other than that. So from there, in a relatively quick period of time, we found ourselves right back in Fayetteville. The place, a short 2 years earlier, we so desperately wanted to leave. In a strange way, I felt drawn back even while kicking and screaming the entire way there.
That was 2009. We went back for jobs, a promising future, a set-up for a better life. All the typical reasons for a big move, or a backwards move, as I thought at the time. The moment we made the decision to move back to Fayetteville, we said it was temporary. Knowing what the Raleigh area had to offer, we didn't want to raise our family in Fayetteville. We set a 5 year goal to be back. Back to Raleigh, where we truly wanted to be. After a couple years, new opportunities presented for both Brett and myself and we became comfortable with what we had considered second best. Funny thing though, I loved my job. My job and my friends were about the only thing I truly loved about living there. I worked with some great people and I made friendships that will last forever, but that didn't satisfy the urge to get out.
In December, after making the always grueling, 24-hour, multi-city, multi-family Christmas tour, we decided enough was enough. A decision had to be made: Are we settling in Fayetteville or are we going to commit to moving.... again. Anyone who knows us, knows our moving record. Since we met in 2004, Brett and I have moved 8 times. Do the math. My Fayetteville folks know that is nothing to bat an eye at. However, for us non-military people, it's a bit excessive. With both of us in industries that allow for easy relocation, we set our eyes on Raleigh.
At the end of February, a solid 2 months into my job search, I landed a job offer in Cary for a dual-property hotel role. Two weeks later, Brett received his offer for the infamous Capital Ford in Raleigh. Everything else just fell into place, solidifying this was what we were supposed to do. Everything isn't perfect, but we are now happily back in the Triangle.
Now I know Fayetteville wasn't a backwards move as I had once thought. It was a necessity for us to be where we are now. It's a cliche that everyone hates, but I firmly believe, "there is a reason for everything." Our reason for Fayetteville was progress and growth in our marriage, in our careers and within each of us. We are stronger than we were before we left.
The boys are adjusting remarkably well. We have been busy discovering our new city. We've visited several parks, explored some nearby bike trails, shopped, walked the streets of downtown Raleigh, visited the farmer's market and the flea market, attended a hockey game, re-
visited museums, and we're still going. It will take us years to mark everything off the list of things we want to do. Most importantly though, we are close to family. We are finally home, and it feels so good.
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That was 2009. We went back for jobs, a promising future, a set-up for a better life. All the typical reasons for a big move, or a backwards move, as I thought at the time. The moment we made the decision to move back to Fayetteville, we said it was temporary. Knowing what the Raleigh area had to offer, we didn't want to raise our family in Fayetteville. We set a 5 year goal to be back. Back to Raleigh, where we truly wanted to be. After a couple years, new opportunities presented for both Brett and myself and we became comfortable with what we had considered second best. Funny thing though, I loved my job. My job and my friends were about the only thing I truly loved about living there. I worked with some great people and I made friendships that will last forever, but that didn't satisfy the urge to get out.
In December, after making the always grueling, 24-hour, multi-city, multi-family Christmas tour, we decided enough was enough. A decision had to be made: Are we settling in Fayetteville or are we going to commit to moving.... again. Anyone who knows us, knows our moving record. Since we met in 2004, Brett and I have moved 8 times. Do the math. My Fayetteville folks know that is nothing to bat an eye at. However, for us non-military people, it's a bit excessive. With both of us in industries that allow for easy relocation, we set our eyes on Raleigh.
At the end of February, a solid 2 months into my job search, I landed a job offer in Cary for a dual-property hotel role. Two weeks later, Brett received his offer for the infamous Capital Ford in Raleigh. Everything else just fell into place, solidifying this was what we were supposed to do. Everything isn't perfect, but we are now happily back in the Triangle.
Now I know Fayetteville wasn't a backwards move as I had once thought. It was a necessity for us to be where we are now. It's a cliche that everyone hates, but I firmly believe, "there is a reason for everything." Our reason for Fayetteville was progress and growth in our marriage, in our careers and within each of us. We are stronger than we were before we left.
The boys are adjusting remarkably well. We have been busy discovering our new city. We've visited several parks, explored some nearby bike trails, shopped, walked the streets of downtown Raleigh, visited the farmer's market and the flea market, attended a hockey game, re-
visited museums, and we're still going. It will take us years to mark everything off the list of things we want to do. Most importantly though, we are close to family. We are finally home, and it feels so good.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Random Ramblings
Warning: I'm exhausted and not really in the mood to write creatively, so this will probably come out a bunch a rambling. Nonetheless, I feel the need to get some thoughts out of my head and on to "paper". It's been so long since I've blogged. It's been so long since I've done a lot of things because of our move back home.
Here I sit at the top of the stairs. I'm guarding the doors of Bubs' and Blue's rooms and their access to the living room. They will inevitably try to con me into "one more show", or beg to accompany me on the couch while I write. I periodically stare at the three baskets of laundry I should be folding rather than boring you with my words. Oh, and I still haven't cleaned up from dinner. Some nights I give up and give in. They go to bed entirely too late and the next morning my children are replaced. They awake as vicious little monsters who refuse to get dressed, eat breakfast or brush their teeth. So here I sit. Repeating I love yous and good nights in between the requests to "shhhhhhhhh."
The evening began with Liam's routine temper tantrum as soon as we walked in the door. God bless the 2-year-old. Today's trigger was exiting the jeep. He's a master manipulator and decided he would test his limits by requesting to get out himself, which led to him crawling in the rear of the jeep and playing with the umbrella. Having my arms full of stuff, a killer headache and needing to pee only added to my frustration. He didn't approve of my solution to restrain him in a football hold to get him in the house. I'm sure our neighbors think I'm a stellar mom. I'll be waiting for trophy.
Sometimes I wonder why I was chosen to be a mother. When I was little, I always saw myself as a wife and mother. I never had huge dreams about my career or traveling or any other aspect of life. But motherhood I was sure of. I had the names of my children picked out by the time I was in middle school and by high school I started visualizing my wedding even though I had no idea who the groom would be. My plan was to have 2 boys and 1 girl. Names? Dominic, Andrew and Rebekah. My tastes have changed.
My house is consistently a wreck. We leave at 7:00am every morning for school and work. The boys and I get home around 6:15pm every evening. I don't have as much time with them as I would like, even though sometimes I feel like I need to run as fast as I can away from them. Our evenings are consumed with making dinner, eating dinner, play time, showers, cuddles and bedtime. Most of the time the husband isn't home. He's busting his butt at work so he can one day have a relatively normal schedule. Cleaning isn't first on my list of priorities. Pop up visitors, even family, makes me anxious. I worry about being judged on my homemaker skills. I'm not a homemaker. Currently, aside from the laundry and dishes I've already mentioned, there are toys from wall to wall in the playroom (which happens to be the living room in this house), there is dirt on the floor in the kitchen and laundry room from the dogs (why do I mop?), surfaces are dusty, there is random 'stuff' throughout the house, and we won't discuss the bathrooms. I wouldn't necessarily consider it a choice to live this way. I prefer to call it a requirement of raising two small boys. I could spend my time chasing after them with a dust rag, bottle of Windex and the Dyson, or I could spend my time making memories along side them while looking beyond the mess.
Last night we had a rare evening with Daddy home. We had dinner together then headed to the park on our bikes. Ryan has recently graduated from training wheels on his bike. I met another mom today who's child will be entering kindergarten this year. We compared stories and she asked me how I felt about Ryan going to school this year. I paused for a second and then answered, "I can't think about kindergarten. I'm still recovering from the removal of the training wheels." I know he's going to school in 3 months, but I haven't given it much thought yet. Anyway, back to the park... (see, I told you I'm rambling) While Ryan can ride on 2 wheels, he hasn't completely mastered it yet. Before last night, he still couldn't push off and ride without my assistance to balance. He and Brett worked together for an hour last night and I'm happy to say he's mastered it. With a little more practice, we're ready to hit the trails around our house. Watching him learn from his daddy and finally master something he was struggling with gave me goosebumps. There were tears, falls and scrapes, but that child was hell bent on success. He has a double dose of stubbornness and persistence from his parents. Seeing him put it all to good use makes me proud. The experience gave me flashbacks of when my Deddy taught me to ride my purple bike with pink tires in our backyard. I love that I now know how he felt that day when I took off without him holding on. This is practice for all the times I will have to let go and let him ride as he grows older.
When I think about how horrible a house keeper I am at this time in my life, I do my best to push it aside. My children aren't going to care about a messy house. Hell, they make the mess! I don't want to miss my boys' childhood milestones because I'm worried about pop up guests. We're too busy making forts, cooking together, doing science experiments and exploring our new city to worry with a spotless house. You're more than welcome to stop by, but if you're going to judge me, wait until the boys are off to college to come over.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like the clutter doesn't get to me. I can't stand it actually. My OCD gets in the way of me completely being ok with a messy house. Hence the anxiety with guests. So I've come up with a couple remedies: Alphabetize the spices and sort the closets by color. This is normal, right? The boys' closets look like brand new boxes of crayons. All colors grouped together from lights to darks in the correct color order. I guess I have to grab hold of some aspect of our home in order to feel secure, while the rest of the place falls into the miniature hands of our children.
Oh well. Such is life. I doubt my children will dwell on the mess. Hopefully they will remember how much fun we had.
Here I sit at the top of the stairs. I'm guarding the doors of Bubs' and Blue's rooms and their access to the living room. They will inevitably try to con me into "one more show", or beg to accompany me on the couch while I write. I periodically stare at the three baskets of laundry I should be folding rather than boring you with my words. Oh, and I still haven't cleaned up from dinner. Some nights I give up and give in. They go to bed entirely too late and the next morning my children are replaced. They awake as vicious little monsters who refuse to get dressed, eat breakfast or brush their teeth. So here I sit. Repeating I love yous and good nights in between the requests to "shhhhhhhhh."
The evening began with Liam's routine temper tantrum as soon as we walked in the door. God bless the 2-year-old. Today's trigger was exiting the jeep. He's a master manipulator and decided he would test his limits by requesting to get out himself, which led to him crawling in the rear of the jeep and playing with the umbrella. Having my arms full of stuff, a killer headache and needing to pee only added to my frustration. He didn't approve of my solution to restrain him in a football hold to get him in the house. I'm sure our neighbors think I'm a stellar mom. I'll be waiting for trophy.
Sometimes I wonder why I was chosen to be a mother. When I was little, I always saw myself as a wife and mother. I never had huge dreams about my career or traveling or any other aspect of life. But motherhood I was sure of. I had the names of my children picked out by the time I was in middle school and by high school I started visualizing my wedding even though I had no idea who the groom would be. My plan was to have 2 boys and 1 girl. Names? Dominic, Andrew and Rebekah. My tastes have changed.
My house is consistently a wreck. We leave at 7:00am every morning for school and work. The boys and I get home around 6:15pm every evening. I don't have as much time with them as I would like, even though sometimes I feel like I need to run as fast as I can away from them. Our evenings are consumed with making dinner, eating dinner, play time, showers, cuddles and bedtime. Most of the time the husband isn't home. He's busting his butt at work so he can one day have a relatively normal schedule. Cleaning isn't first on my list of priorities. Pop up visitors, even family, makes me anxious. I worry about being judged on my homemaker skills. I'm not a homemaker. Currently, aside from the laundry and dishes I've already mentioned, there are toys from wall to wall in the playroom (which happens to be the living room in this house), there is dirt on the floor in the kitchen and laundry room from the dogs (why do I mop?), surfaces are dusty, there is random 'stuff' throughout the house, and we won't discuss the bathrooms. I wouldn't necessarily consider it a choice to live this way. I prefer to call it a requirement of raising two small boys. I could spend my time chasing after them with a dust rag, bottle of Windex and the Dyson, or I could spend my time making memories along side them while looking beyond the mess.
Last night we had a rare evening with Daddy home. We had dinner together then headed to the park on our bikes. Ryan has recently graduated from training wheels on his bike. I met another mom today who's child will be entering kindergarten this year. We compared stories and she asked me how I felt about Ryan going to school this year. I paused for a second and then answered, "I can't think about kindergarten. I'm still recovering from the removal of the training wheels." I know he's going to school in 3 months, but I haven't given it much thought yet. Anyway, back to the park... (see, I told you I'm rambling) While Ryan can ride on 2 wheels, he hasn't completely mastered it yet. Before last night, he still couldn't push off and ride without my assistance to balance. He and Brett worked together for an hour last night and I'm happy to say he's mastered it. With a little more practice, we're ready to hit the trails around our house. Watching him learn from his daddy and finally master something he was struggling with gave me goosebumps. There were tears, falls and scrapes, but that child was hell bent on success. He has a double dose of stubbornness and persistence from his parents. Seeing him put it all to good use makes me proud. The experience gave me flashbacks of when my Deddy taught me to ride my purple bike with pink tires in our backyard. I love that I now know how he felt that day when I took off without him holding on. This is practice for all the times I will have to let go and let him ride as he grows older.
When I think about how horrible a house keeper I am at this time in my life, I do my best to push it aside. My children aren't going to care about a messy house. Hell, they make the mess! I don't want to miss my boys' childhood milestones because I'm worried about pop up guests. We're too busy making forts, cooking together, doing science experiments and exploring our new city to worry with a spotless house. You're more than welcome to stop by, but if you're going to judge me, wait until the boys are off to college to come over.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like the clutter doesn't get to me. I can't stand it actually. My OCD gets in the way of me completely being ok with a messy house. Hence the anxiety with guests. So I've come up with a couple remedies: Alphabetize the spices and sort the closets by color. This is normal, right? The boys' closets look like brand new boxes of crayons. All colors grouped together from lights to darks in the correct color order. I guess I have to grab hold of some aspect of our home in order to feel secure, while the rest of the place falls into the miniature hands of our children.
Oh well. Such is life. I doubt my children will dwell on the mess. Hopefully they will remember how much fun we had.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
We're a Family
When you were born you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life in a manner so that when you die the world cries and you rejoice.
I don't know who those words belong to, but there isn't a truer, more profound statement to live by.
He was walking across the main room of the student center of my college during the set up for our new student orientation. I was a sophomore, the new Editor of the campus newspaper, a senator of our student government and a member of our local sorority. I was setting up the booth to recruit new students to join our newspaper. I noticed his sense of pride and ownership in this event. He walked up and down that room and his stride suggested he was untouchable. When the students started shuffling in, it didn't take long for him to come over and introduce himself to me. How I had not met him during my freshman year, I have no idea. Maybe because I was your typical freshman, enjoying her new found freedom with blinders on.
"What's up," he said.
"Not a lot. Recruiting new people to write for me," I answered back.
"Me too. You want to come join us in SAC?" he said quite confidently as if I had been wasting my time for the past year.
"Umm, no. I can't." Then I listed all the extracurriculars I had already committed to, not to mention my overbearing course load I had signed up for.
"Here. Write your name on this list. Come to our first meeting and just try it out. We're a family. You'll love it." He handed me a a yellow legal pad with a place to write my name, email address and phone number. He wrote in black ink, and it was borderline chicken scratch.
I didn't even really know what the Student Activities Committee did. Like I said, I had blinders on. I had gone to many campus events, but didn't really pay any attention to how they were put on. I wrote my name on that pad of paper and promised I would attend the first meeting. Nothing could have convinced me at that moment that writing my name down on that paper would have changed my life the way that it did. It was one of those crossroads decisions that would pave many roads through the rest of my life.
That man's name is Chris Ryan. Today is his birthday. He would have been 51. He passed away during a soccer game on campus in 2003. He left behind a beautiful, wonderful wife and three boys who have grown to be absolutely, incredible young men who are extensions of my family. He also left behind a legacy and decades worth of students who were a part of his campus family; his SAC family. Never have I met someone who touched so many people. Because of him, we are all a family, hundreds deep and miles wide.
Today, with seeing all the tributes, quotes, and pictures honoring Chris on Facebook, I wondered if he knew just how much he had impacted everyone he encountered. I wondered if he knew about all the people that would miss him when he was gone, even almost 10 years later. My hope is that he looks down on all of us with incredible awe over the passion people still feel when we remember him. I hope he knows how much each and every one of us love him and (I think I can speak for everyone) thank him for a job well done. He wasn't lying when he said "We're a family" and even in death, he has kept our world together. To me, that is beyond amazing.
Happy Birthday, Chris! You deserve to rejoice.
I don't know who those words belong to, but there isn't a truer, more profound statement to live by.
He was walking across the main room of the student center of my college during the set up for our new student orientation. I was a sophomore, the new Editor of the campus newspaper, a senator of our student government and a member of our local sorority. I was setting up the booth to recruit new students to join our newspaper. I noticed his sense of pride and ownership in this event. He walked up and down that room and his stride suggested he was untouchable. When the students started shuffling in, it didn't take long for him to come over and introduce himself to me. How I had not met him during my freshman year, I have no idea. Maybe because I was your typical freshman, enjoying her new found freedom with blinders on.
"What's up," he said.
"Not a lot. Recruiting new people to write for me," I answered back.
"Me too. You want to come join us in SAC?" he said quite confidently as if I had been wasting my time for the past year.
"Umm, no. I can't." Then I listed all the extracurriculars I had already committed to, not to mention my overbearing course load I had signed up for.
"Here. Write your name on this list. Come to our first meeting and just try it out. We're a family. You'll love it." He handed me a a yellow legal pad with a place to write my name, email address and phone number. He wrote in black ink, and it was borderline chicken scratch.
I didn't even really know what the Student Activities Committee did. Like I said, I had blinders on. I had gone to many campus events, but didn't really pay any attention to how they were put on. I wrote my name on that pad of paper and promised I would attend the first meeting. Nothing could have convinced me at that moment that writing my name down on that paper would have changed my life the way that it did. It was one of those crossroads decisions that would pave many roads through the rest of my life.
That man's name is Chris Ryan. Today is his birthday. He would have been 51. He passed away during a soccer game on campus in 2003. He left behind a beautiful, wonderful wife and three boys who have grown to be absolutely, incredible young men who are extensions of my family. He also left behind a legacy and decades worth of students who were a part of his campus family; his SAC family. Never have I met someone who touched so many people. Because of him, we are all a family, hundreds deep and miles wide.
Today, with seeing all the tributes, quotes, and pictures honoring Chris on Facebook, I wondered if he knew just how much he had impacted everyone he encountered. I wondered if he knew about all the people that would miss him when he was gone, even almost 10 years later. My hope is that he looks down on all of us with incredible awe over the passion people still feel when we remember him. I hope he knows how much each and every one of us love him and (I think I can speak for everyone) thank him for a job well done. He wasn't lying when he said "We're a family" and even in death, he has kept our world together. To me, that is beyond amazing.
Happy Birthday, Chris! You deserve to rejoice.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Pass the mic
I have to get some things off my chest in light of the Sandy Hook tragedy. You may not agree, and that's OK...
1. Guns. I grew up in a house with guns. Several of them. I know many of my friends who grew up the same. In my 13 years of grade school, no one ever brought a gun to school. The biggest threat we had was kids getting on the wrong bus to go home, or some idiot who wanted to get out of taking a test would call in a bomb threat and we'd all have to go sit out on the football field for an hour. No on ever showed up with a gun, much less shot anyone. Guns are not the major issue here. School shootings are an indirect result of a society that has become a culture of mental instability, a lack of self-respect or value of life. I meet children who speak to their parents like they are worthless individuals that just happen to be living under the same roof, yet they get away with it. Children are exposed to adult content too early and they become desensitized to it all by the time they reach their teenage years. I do believe that we, as a nation, should come up with stricter gun laws. But I don't think this would solve the problem. When is the last time you met a criminal that cared a lick about laws? I remember in high school how easy it was to get our hands on alcohol. I remember getting drunk at a field party. Did I care that I was only 17, and 4 years too young to be drinking? No. I did not. However, that was in 1999. Obviously things have changed.
2. God. In elementary school we recited the Pledge of Allegiance every morning. A student would get on the intercom in the office and lead the school while we all stood by our desks, facing the flag that hung in our classroom with our hand over our hearts. We knew it word for word by the second week of kindergarten. That was the only time we ever mentioned God in school. Of course, today, it is rare to hear that pledge in a school. I'm OK with that. You know why? Because I don't believe you can take God out of anywhere. Regardless of who your God is, you can't remove Him from the person who believes in Him. He goes where we go. I'm so sick of hearing the religious argument, "__(fill in the blank)__ happened because God was taken from the school." I'm sorry, but you're wrong. My God is always with me. I was taught that by my parents, my family and my church and I believe it to be true. It is not the educators' job to teach your child a religion. That's YOUR job as the parent, if you chose to do so. Learning morals and values starts at home. Your child's teacher builds upon those universal values by leading and teaching in a loving, kind and nurturing way. Whether the teacher is Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, or Atheist, he or she will love your child and teach your child with the highest of moral standards that comes naturally to all teachers that are truly called to teach. If you want your child to be taught in an atmosphere that is exclusive to one of those religions, put him in a private school that offers that setting.
3. Mental illness. For whatever reason, mental illness and development disorders are the red headed step children of the medical world. Insurance doesn't want to cover it, people don't want to talk about it, and children and adults a like are secretly shunned because they suffer from it. I have been affected directly on this issue in more ways than one and what I have observed infuriates me. Public schools, in general, are not equipped to educate children with mental or developmental issues. They are cast out to the side and their parents are left to wonder how in the world they are going to get them through graduation without wanting to jump off a building. Mental health professionals, in general, are quick to drown patients in medication rather than offering therapy to work through their issues. Medication they quickly become dependent on. It then takes 10 times the effort to wean off the medicines than it would to work through the underlying issues that presented in the beginning. I am NOT saying all mentally ill people can do without medication. I am suggesting that some mentally ill and developmentally challenged individuals need only a specific plan of action and a qualified, caring professional to help them work through their challenges.
4. Westboro. They are NOT baptist. They are NOT a church. Westboro (and I won't even say their full name) is a hate group. The media and the general public need to stop referring to them as a baptist church. This group of people participate in hate crimes against humanity. Hate crimes are illegal, therefore they should be prohibited to "practicing their right to free speech." Wake up folks.
Our country is so quick to lay blame on someone else or a certain policy when tragedy occurs. Perhaps WE are to blame. We, as a nation, are doing our children an injustice. The United States of America is more concerned about foreign policy, the "sanctity of marriage", unborn babies and marijuana rather than focusing on the important stuff. The people of this nation are suffering because our country can't get our priorities straight. Yet, we (parents) are supposed to teach our children to be responsible adults and set appropriate priorities?
I see a problem here. Or maybe I've just lost my mind.
1. Guns. I grew up in a house with guns. Several of them. I know many of my friends who grew up the same. In my 13 years of grade school, no one ever brought a gun to school. The biggest threat we had was kids getting on the wrong bus to go home, or some idiot who wanted to get out of taking a test would call in a bomb threat and we'd all have to go sit out on the football field for an hour. No on ever showed up with a gun, much less shot anyone. Guns are not the major issue here. School shootings are an indirect result of a society that has become a culture of mental instability, a lack of self-respect or value of life. I meet children who speak to their parents like they are worthless individuals that just happen to be living under the same roof, yet they get away with it. Children are exposed to adult content too early and they become desensitized to it all by the time they reach their teenage years. I do believe that we, as a nation, should come up with stricter gun laws. But I don't think this would solve the problem. When is the last time you met a criminal that cared a lick about laws? I remember in high school how easy it was to get our hands on alcohol. I remember getting drunk at a field party. Did I care that I was only 17, and 4 years too young to be drinking? No. I did not. However, that was in 1999. Obviously things have changed.
2. God. In elementary school we recited the Pledge of Allegiance every morning. A student would get on the intercom in the office and lead the school while we all stood by our desks, facing the flag that hung in our classroom with our hand over our hearts. We knew it word for word by the second week of kindergarten. That was the only time we ever mentioned God in school. Of course, today, it is rare to hear that pledge in a school. I'm OK with that. You know why? Because I don't believe you can take God out of anywhere. Regardless of who your God is, you can't remove Him from the person who believes in Him. He goes where we go. I'm so sick of hearing the religious argument, "__(fill in the blank)__ happened because God was taken from the school." I'm sorry, but you're wrong. My God is always with me. I was taught that by my parents, my family and my church and I believe it to be true. It is not the educators' job to teach your child a religion. That's YOUR job as the parent, if you chose to do so. Learning morals and values starts at home. Your child's teacher builds upon those universal values by leading and teaching in a loving, kind and nurturing way. Whether the teacher is Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, or Atheist, he or she will love your child and teach your child with the highest of moral standards that comes naturally to all teachers that are truly called to teach. If you want your child to be taught in an atmosphere that is exclusive to one of those religions, put him in a private school that offers that setting.
3. Mental illness. For whatever reason, mental illness and development disorders are the red headed step children of the medical world. Insurance doesn't want to cover it, people don't want to talk about it, and children and adults a like are secretly shunned because they suffer from it. I have been affected directly on this issue in more ways than one and what I have observed infuriates me. Public schools, in general, are not equipped to educate children with mental or developmental issues. They are cast out to the side and their parents are left to wonder how in the world they are going to get them through graduation without wanting to jump off a building. Mental health professionals, in general, are quick to drown patients in medication rather than offering therapy to work through their issues. Medication they quickly become dependent on. It then takes 10 times the effort to wean off the medicines than it would to work through the underlying issues that presented in the beginning. I am NOT saying all mentally ill people can do without medication. I am suggesting that some mentally ill and developmentally challenged individuals need only a specific plan of action and a qualified, caring professional to help them work through their challenges.
4. Westboro. They are NOT baptist. They are NOT a church. Westboro (and I won't even say their full name) is a hate group. The media and the general public need to stop referring to them as a baptist church. This group of people participate in hate crimes against humanity. Hate crimes are illegal, therefore they should be prohibited to "practicing their right to free speech." Wake up folks.
Our country is so quick to lay blame on someone else or a certain policy when tragedy occurs. Perhaps WE are to blame. We, as a nation, are doing our children an injustice. The United States of America is more concerned about foreign policy, the "sanctity of marriage", unborn babies and marijuana rather than focusing on the important stuff. The people of this nation are suffering because our country can't get our priorities straight. Yet, we (parents) are supposed to teach our children to be responsible adults and set appropriate priorities?
I see a problem here. Or maybe I've just lost my mind.
FIVE
Did you hear? I have a 5-year-old.
1...2...3...4...5.
Five years of giggles, bedtime stories, bubble baths, walks, trips to the park, and playing catch. 60 months of snuggles, kissing boo boos, saying prayers, wiping tears, looking for the moon, and counting stars. 260 weeks of peek-a-boo, coloring, racing cars, listening for trains and chasing firetrucks. 1,825 days of waffles for breakfast, chocolate milk, building sand castles, pretending we can fly, and playing in the rain. 43,800 hours of cooking together, answering "why?", monkey hugs, cow kisses and the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. 2,628,000 minutes of dancing, drumming, singing and painting in the kitchen. 157,680,000 seconds of thanking God for my smart, witty, beautiful, sweet Ryan.
How on earth did I get so lucky to be blessed with such a remarkable child?
Ryan,
You are a remarkable little boy with a big heart. I am so proud to be your mother. You will move mountains, son!
Happy Birthday precious boy. I love you!
~Mommy
1...2...3...4...5.
Five years of giggles, bedtime stories, bubble baths, walks, trips to the park, and playing catch. 60 months of snuggles, kissing boo boos, saying prayers, wiping tears, looking for the moon, and counting stars. 260 weeks of peek-a-boo, coloring, racing cars, listening for trains and chasing firetrucks. 1,825 days of waffles for breakfast, chocolate milk, building sand castles, pretending we can fly, and playing in the rain. 43,800 hours of cooking together, answering "why?", monkey hugs, cow kisses and the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. 2,628,000 minutes of dancing, drumming, singing and painting in the kitchen. 157,680,000 seconds of thanking God for my smart, witty, beautiful, sweet Ryan.
How on earth did I get so lucky to be blessed with such a remarkable child?
Ryan,
You are a remarkable little boy with a big heart. I am so proud to be your mother. You will move mountains, son!
Happy Birthday precious boy. I love you!
~Mommy
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Put Me In The Zoo
I commonly refer to my family as a circus and me the circus manager. It fits. It's entertaining. It's fun. Well, after the last couple weeks, I'm not sure that analogy fits anymore. Circuses are well thought out, planned and structured. Every once in a while we'll hear of a freak accident where the tiger goes off on his handler or the elephant plows through the crowd, but for the most part, circus animals and people on stage are trained (or terrified) and respond on command to complete their tasks to entertain a crowd.
No, we're not a circus. We're entertaining and fun, but there's no structure and the planned days are scarce. We are a zoo. While entertaining, zoos allow their animals to roam free and do whatever it is that makes them happy. Other than feeding time, they lack structure. People come and watch the animals in the zoo in their natural habitat, not some crazy, delusional production where tigers are jumping through hoops of fire and elephants are giving each other piggyback rides.
The Dipp zoo has special kinds of animals though. We have morphing animals. We have lions that morph into monkeys that morph into birds that morph into... well, you get it.
My Mimi used to read to me when I was little. It was one of my favorite things to do with her. One of my favorite books she would read is a Dr. Seuss book, Put Me In The Zoo. If you aren't familiar with the read, it is about a Leopard named Spot. He wants to live in the zoo, but ultimately decides that the circus is the best fit for him as that is where he can best showcase his talents. Perhaps my childhood love for this book was a foreshadowing of my future. My future of being 'put in the zoo'. Ironically, I have purchased this book for Liam for our new family tradition, 12 books of Christmas. I can't wait to read it to him.
Ryan received some hand-me-down Spiderman pajamas from a friend last week. Tonight he wore them for the first time and realized the shirt had "web wings". My soon-to-be five-year-old immediately began jumping from the couch to the ottoman, and while flying through the air, he yelled "SPIDER SPIDER SPIDER!!"
After bath time I got one hell of a workout while attempting to dry my crazed, slippery, 2-year-old, half-monkey child while simultaneously preventing him from falling on a wet floor and keep the door shut while he pitched a fit to get at his brother before Ryan could get to his trains. Not an hour after his bath, Liam had an unfortunate accident with a Pediasure Sidekicks 'milk shake' that left his hair soaked and smelly and the bedroom walls needing to be cleaned.
On any given night, if you were to walk in our home, you would find Ryan racing around the "track" that our kitchen, living room and dining room double as, kicking balls through the house or jumping off the top of the Little Tikes climber. You will find Liam standing on tables, coloring on himself, getting into the tupperware cabinet, or emptying out the desk. During these colder months the basketball goal, bikes and various balls have found their way into the house. If you stepped in, you may or may not get smacked in the face by a ball that has just been kicked during a game of indoor soccer. If you have dinner with us, it is likely that you will end up with part of Liam's dinner in your hair, on your plate or in your lap. You may walk into a dance party in our kitchen, complete with all 43 instruments we own. You'll also hear dogs barking, children squeeling, and lovely background Pandora music that sometimes doesn't really fit the mood. You'll find dirty dishes in the sink, a pile of laundry and sometimes you'll find sticky floors. You'll also find a laid back mother who enjoys allowing her children express themselves in their own home.
So, no. Our home doesn't fit with the orderly standards of a circus. We're simply a zoo. A crazy, unstructured, free-spirited home with half-crazed, borderline-barbaric children. We act in our natural ways and only have semi-structured feeding times. We have lions, tigers, and bears... OH MY! We have fun, we have excitement, and we have love.
Yes please, Put me in the Zoo!
No, we're not a circus. We're entertaining and fun, but there's no structure and the planned days are scarce. We are a zoo. While entertaining, zoos allow their animals to roam free and do whatever it is that makes them happy. Other than feeding time, they lack structure. People come and watch the animals in the zoo in their natural habitat, not some crazy, delusional production where tigers are jumping through hoops of fire and elephants are giving each other piggyback rides.
The Dipp zoo has special kinds of animals though. We have morphing animals. We have lions that morph into monkeys that morph into birds that morph into... well, you get it.
My Mimi used to read to me when I was little. It was one of my favorite things to do with her. One of my favorite books she would read is a Dr. Seuss book, Put Me In The Zoo. If you aren't familiar with the read, it is about a Leopard named Spot. He wants to live in the zoo, but ultimately decides that the circus is the best fit for him as that is where he can best showcase his talents. Perhaps my childhood love for this book was a foreshadowing of my future. My future of being 'put in the zoo'. Ironically, I have purchased this book for Liam for our new family tradition, 12 books of Christmas. I can't wait to read it to him.
Ryan received some hand-me-down Spiderman pajamas from a friend last week. Tonight he wore them for the first time and realized the shirt had "web wings". My soon-to-be five-year-old immediately began jumping from the couch to the ottoman, and while flying through the air, he yelled "SPIDER SPIDER SPIDER!!"
After bath time I got one hell of a workout while attempting to dry my crazed, slippery, 2-year-old, half-monkey child while simultaneously preventing him from falling on a wet floor and keep the door shut while he pitched a fit to get at his brother before Ryan could get to his trains. Not an hour after his bath, Liam had an unfortunate accident with a Pediasure Sidekicks 'milk shake' that left his hair soaked and smelly and the bedroom walls needing to be cleaned.
On any given night, if you were to walk in our home, you would find Ryan racing around the "track" that our kitchen, living room and dining room double as, kicking balls through the house or jumping off the top of the Little Tikes climber. You will find Liam standing on tables, coloring on himself, getting into the tupperware cabinet, or emptying out the desk. During these colder months the basketball goal, bikes and various balls have found their way into the house. If you stepped in, you may or may not get smacked in the face by a ball that has just been kicked during a game of indoor soccer. If you have dinner with us, it is likely that you will end up with part of Liam's dinner in your hair, on your plate or in your lap. You may walk into a dance party in our kitchen, complete with all 43 instruments we own. You'll also hear dogs barking, children squeeling, and lovely background Pandora music that sometimes doesn't really fit the mood. You'll find dirty dishes in the sink, a pile of laundry and sometimes you'll find sticky floors. You'll also find a laid back mother who enjoys allowing her children express themselves in their own home.
So, no. Our home doesn't fit with the orderly standards of a circus. We're simply a zoo. A crazy, unstructured, free-spirited home with half-crazed, borderline-barbaric children. We act in our natural ways and only have semi-structured feeding times. We have lions, tigers, and bears... OH MY! We have fun, we have excitement, and we have love.
Yes please, Put me in the Zoo!
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