I’m driving a dented car, and proud of it. The dents don’t affect how it runs. It’s just something to get me from point A to point B. It doesn’t look as good as it used to, but it still runs.
No, really I’m not. It’s an allusion I ran across that just fits.
I don’t often talk about my boyfriend. He’s a very private individual, and I respect that.
We suffered quite a mighty dent to our relationship this week. At this point, we are taking things day by day, evaluating. Again and again, we have given each other an exit clause. No guilt, it may be more than we can each handle.
I don’t know where things are going from here, but I see in him a man I respect. This may not be the time and place for us as a couple to continue. That decision has to be made each day. But I have a wonderful vision of what sort of man I want to be with. And if I have to go thru some major dents to see the truth, then that’s what has to be done.
1) I will only accept a man who is as strong as me. A man who has the will power, and assertive nature that can be equally yoked with mine. A man who knows himself, and knows his value. A man who knows what he wants, and isn’t afraid to ask for exactly that.
2) A man at my side must be willing to accept full responsibility for his actions. Never shirking from what he leaves in his wake.
3) I insist that anyone involved in my life have compassion. Compassion enough to cry for the people who hurt you. To ache for the people who want to track you down and do bad things to you. Compassion to understand their pain, and sympathize with it as if it were your own.
4) I must have a man who will give me my right to choose. Over and over, trust me. Give me my freedom, and let me be safe in his arms. Free to choose him, or free to walk away, knowing his opinion of me hasn’t changed. Free to be myself.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
It takes a village
These are the days when I think, there is no way I could do this Single Parent thing on my own. What you see are two different projects my son had to do. For cub scouts, build something with hammer and wood. For school, make a Viking Longship.
Personally, I've never made a Viking Longship. Or done any sort of ship building, if you ask me! And I don't have any wood laying around for him to take a wack at. Maybe some cloth, and yarn, but no wood.
What I do have is an amazing amount of resources. My mother was the project designer behind the Viking Longship. My long time HomeTeacher was the woodworking specialist. And my son felt like super kid by the end of the day.
I don't know if I could ever move from where I am right now. I have so many people who support me, and help me. Should I need a babysitter at a moments notice, I know exactly who to start calling. In this case, when my son needed to do woodworking, I knew who to turn to.
I am so blessed to have a wonderful village that does help me raise my children.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Queen Noor
Light of Hussein. Queen Noor. Lisa Halaby.
When I grow up, and fall in love, I want to be just like her.
I want to go thru that life altering trust. To give up everything, and gain everything back. To trust my personhood, my safety and my life from henceforth into the hands of a man who can be trusted. A man who is worthy of power, and authority. A man who is true to his word. A man who doesn’t take no for an answer, but quietly, and politely keeps on working to change the world.
I want to loose my name, my culture, my language, my social position. I want to trust someone who is worthy of that trust. To see his eyes light up. To know that my trust in him is richly rewarded, is well founded. To know that he is my rock. To know that he knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and he will protect and treasure me. He will make me a Queen. Thru his love and care, I will be able to be myself better than I ever knew how.
And blessings of all blessings, my relationship with my boyfriend is slowly growing to be exactly what my heart desires.
When I grow up, and fall in love, I want to be just like her.
I want to go thru that life altering trust. To give up everything, and gain everything back. To trust my personhood, my safety and my life from henceforth into the hands of a man who can be trusted. A man who is worthy of power, and authority. A man who is true to his word. A man who doesn’t take no for an answer, but quietly, and politely keeps on working to change the world.
I want to loose my name, my culture, my language, my social position. I want to trust someone who is worthy of that trust. To see his eyes light up. To know that my trust in him is richly rewarded, is well founded. To know that he is my rock. To know that he knows me better than I know myself sometimes, and he will protect and treasure me. He will make me a Queen. Thru his love and care, I will be able to be myself better than I ever knew how.
And blessings of all blessings, my relationship with my boyfriend is slowly growing to be exactly what my heart desires.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Heightened State of Alert
My ex husband was abusive. What that means sometimes defies description. But today I was flooded by the memory of one thing that happened.
Our apartment complex was after him because one of the cars wasn’t up to date on all its registration. He decided to drive the car over to his work, and park it there for a few days until he could get it resolved. Late at night, with my two toddlers in the back seat, I followed him.
He pulled into one parking spot, and motioned me to a spot. I didn’t like the spot, and so pulled the car around to the other side. With the radio playing, and heater running, I watched him get out of the car. He was nearly obsessive compulsive, check this on the car, and check that. In the dark, hardly lit parking lot, I couldn’t see what he was doing, but assumed he was checking something on the car.
Then I realized he had walked away. He was walking out of the parking lot, away from us.
I turned the car on, and drove over to him.
“You didn’t do what I asked you to do.”
He walked home that night, refusing to get in the car.
My young children asked the bewildered questions I was feeling. What’s Daddy doing? Why won’t he get in the car?
Two hours later he got home. He would hardly speak. I walked on eggshells.
Abuse is never knowing when you’re going to get blamed. And never knowing what you’re going to get blamed for. It’s always being ready to deal with someone who won’t get in the car. It’s always being on standby to protect yourself, and the kids from strange, weird and totally nonsensical actions.
Heightened state of alert. It teaches you to guard at all times.
Our apartment complex was after him because one of the cars wasn’t up to date on all its registration. He decided to drive the car over to his work, and park it there for a few days until he could get it resolved. Late at night, with my two toddlers in the back seat, I followed him.
He pulled into one parking spot, and motioned me to a spot. I didn’t like the spot, and so pulled the car around to the other side. With the radio playing, and heater running, I watched him get out of the car. He was nearly obsessive compulsive, check this on the car, and check that. In the dark, hardly lit parking lot, I couldn’t see what he was doing, but assumed he was checking something on the car.
Then I realized he had walked away. He was walking out of the parking lot, away from us.
I turned the car on, and drove over to him.
“You didn’t do what I asked you to do.”
He walked home that night, refusing to get in the car.
My young children asked the bewildered questions I was feeling. What’s Daddy doing? Why won’t he get in the car?
Two hours later he got home. He would hardly speak. I walked on eggshells.
Abuse is never knowing when you’re going to get blamed. And never knowing what you’re going to get blamed for. It’s always being ready to deal with someone who won’t get in the car. It’s always being on standby to protect yourself, and the kids from strange, weird and totally nonsensical actions.
Heightened state of alert. It teaches you to guard at all times.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
My reputation
“So, you’re saying we could move this number from 3.5% to 11%?” my director brushed her hair out of her face, staring at my computer screen.
“How can we do it?” she turned her eyes upon my face, ready to hear what I’ve been trying to say for 2 months.
Five months ago when she came on board to the account I was simply another agent. My polite comments were brushed aside. The many suggestions I made at the onset were hardly even heard. After working with me, she has come to learn my reputation.
My reputation is something I’ve never cared about. I don’t control it. I can’t predict how people will view me.
A while back a co-worker accused me of gossiping about her. My jaw dropped. I nearly busted out laughing it seemed too ridiculous to me. Instead I pulled myself together and apologize profusely. What does it matter if she thinks I’m a gossip? The people who matter, who know me, they know the truth. If she needed my apology to help her go on, I’ll give it to her. She can say what ever she wants about me. She can tarnish my reputation as much as she needs to. Because people for the most part figure out the truth. And those who never figure out the truth, well, they were never going to figure it out in the first place.
Instead of worrying about what people think of me, I do what is right. I bury my head deep in my work.
By not worrying about what people think of me, I’ve made a reputation of being knowledgeable, dedicated, and very dependable. Didn’t do it by talking about myself. Didn’t do it by defending my actions and myself.
Did it by apologizing for every toe I step on. Did it by not complaining. Did it by working hard even when other people weren’t looking.
My reputation is not my own. The only thing I can control is how hard I work, and how I treat people.
“How can we do it?” she turned her eyes upon my face, ready to hear what I’ve been trying to say for 2 months.
Five months ago when she came on board to the account I was simply another agent. My polite comments were brushed aside. The many suggestions I made at the onset were hardly even heard. After working with me, she has come to learn my reputation.
My reputation is something I’ve never cared about. I don’t control it. I can’t predict how people will view me.
A while back a co-worker accused me of gossiping about her. My jaw dropped. I nearly busted out laughing it seemed too ridiculous to me. Instead I pulled myself together and apologize profusely. What does it matter if she thinks I’m a gossip? The people who matter, who know me, they know the truth. If she needed my apology to help her go on, I’ll give it to her. She can say what ever she wants about me. She can tarnish my reputation as much as she needs to. Because people for the most part figure out the truth. And those who never figure out the truth, well, they were never going to figure it out in the first place.
Instead of worrying about what people think of me, I do what is right. I bury my head deep in my work.
By not worrying about what people think of me, I’ve made a reputation of being knowledgeable, dedicated, and very dependable. Didn’t do it by talking about myself. Didn’t do it by defending my actions and myself.
Did it by apologizing for every toe I step on. Did it by not complaining. Did it by working hard even when other people weren’t looking.
My reputation is not my own. The only thing I can control is how hard I work, and how I treat people.
Monday, October 27, 2008
The good times
There is a Country Western song I’ve heard a few times now. A young mother is complaining about the kids screaming, her busy hectic life. And someone steps in to say “These are the good times, these are the times you’re going to want back.”
These are my good times.
I’m secure in my boyfriend’s affection. He’s been on the road now for close to a month. We haven’t had a real date since mid-August. I get whiny, and complain, clingy. And he doesn’t complain once about my less than stellar attitude. Instead he understands, and does everything he can to reassure me, to help me to find my center again. These are the good times.
My children are secure, and support Mommy dating. This guy puts a smile on Mom’s face. They don’t see him much. To be honest, they don’t even have to deal with him. All they know is that since he’s been around Mommy has become a lot more peaceful. Mommy has better routines at home. Mommy is secure, and happy, and so their lives are secure and happy. And once in a while (a great while lately) Mommy schedules a play date for them with a friend so Mommy can go out and have fun. Yes, these are the good times.
There are so many things that I could say are wrong right now. But some day I’ll look back on these days and I’ll realize, these were the good times. I’ll count these days as easy, peaceful, and happy. I’ll count myself as secure. I’ll see that my boyfriend did so much to show me his affection. I’ll see that our relationship was so simple, easy, and took nearly no effort. I’ll see that we had no problems, no big disagreements. I’ll look back at the kids, and realize they were pleasant, loving, and their problems were so manageable. So, since I’m going to look back and think that, why don’t I just hurry up and think it today.
These are the good times.
These are my good times.
I’m secure in my boyfriend’s affection. He’s been on the road now for close to a month. We haven’t had a real date since mid-August. I get whiny, and complain, clingy. And he doesn’t complain once about my less than stellar attitude. Instead he understands, and does everything he can to reassure me, to help me to find my center again. These are the good times.
My children are secure, and support Mommy dating. This guy puts a smile on Mom’s face. They don’t see him much. To be honest, they don’t even have to deal with him. All they know is that since he’s been around Mommy has become a lot more peaceful. Mommy has better routines at home. Mommy is secure, and happy, and so their lives are secure and happy. And once in a while (a great while lately) Mommy schedules a play date for them with a friend so Mommy can go out and have fun. Yes, these are the good times.
There are so many things that I could say are wrong right now. But some day I’ll look back on these days and I’ll realize, these were the good times. I’ll count these days as easy, peaceful, and happy. I’ll count myself as secure. I’ll see that my boyfriend did so much to show me his affection. I’ll see that our relationship was so simple, easy, and took nearly no effort. I’ll see that we had no problems, no big disagreements. I’ll look back at the kids, and realize they were pleasant, loving, and their problems were so manageable. So, since I’m going to look back and think that, why don’t I just hurry up and think it today.
These are the good times.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Art
My daughter has always said that she wants to be an artist when she grows up.
Today she got to work with me on an art project. A few weeks ago I shot some wonderful Temple pictures. Today I had her write out the words to a Children's song, to go with the picture. When I asked her, do you want to help with Mommy's art project, she popped straight up into her chair. She was excited. Her first real art project. Real life, not for school, really for art, for the walls, meant to be framed.
Unfortunatly, the paper I had was not meant for ink. As I blue inked over her handwritting, the ink bled into the paper. Under my breath I muttered. After doing as many projects as I have done I have learned to do practice runs. Something always goes wrong. This time it was the paper. Good thing I learned because I've got another ink project that I was planning on doing on this paper.
Today she got to work with me on an art project. A few weeks ago I shot some wonderful Temple pictures. Today I had her write out the words to a Children's song, to go with the picture. When I asked her, do you want to help with Mommy's art project, she popped straight up into her chair. She was excited. Her first real art project. Real life, not for school, really for art, for the walls, meant to be framed.
Unfortunatly, the paper I had was not meant for ink. As I blue inked over her handwritting, the ink bled into the paper. Under my breath I muttered. After doing as many projects as I have done I have learned to do practice runs. Something always goes wrong. This time it was the paper. Good thing I learned because I've got another ink project that I was planning on doing on this paper.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Entitlement
“Can you give me a jump?”
I looked at the ghetto woman in front of me.
“My car’s just over there, all I need is a jump.”
My kids ran on to my front door, wiggling the doorknob, hoping that maybe I had left the door unlocked. I looked at the woman who waited impatiently for me to say yes. Her face sparking off emotions of anger, frustration, and annoyance with me.
She shifted to the other foot, starting to get disgusted with my lack of response.
I had to get the kids dressed for church, get some lunch on the table. I looked at my car trying to think how long it would take.
“Well, don’t worry, I’ll ask someone else.”
Good, I was off the hook.
“It’s obvious you don’t want to help.”
The rude caveat stunned me. As if she was entitled to my help.
The young mother shifted her infant daughter to the library counter. Her active toddler had finally come to a stop at her feet, and the school age child was hanging off the doorknob.
“Can I get one copy?” Her sunny face was a wall of clouds, the only emotion showing stress.
As I ran the copy I could hear her frustration as she talked to her kids. The kids were under control, but she sounded like she was trying to tame a hurricane. Must have been one of those mornings where she was already at her wits ends. She was so stressed she couldn’t see that the kids were now calm.
She muttered to herself about her husband, where was he, she needed him. Why couldn’t he come get the kids? If not all of them, at least one of them. She had things to do. They were his kids too.
I was taken aback.
It has been a long time since I’ve thought that my kids were anyone else’s responsibility. Even when I was married, I long ago gave up that expectation.
Just because you married the person, and had children with them doesn’t mean you are entitled to anything. Yes, we would like certain behavior. But just because that person signed a marriage license with you doesn’t mean you have the right to demand his time, and involvement.
“Your daughter needs to do a week long project, and then right a short paragraph about her feelings on service for the Primary program next week.”
I stared at the woman in front of me.
You want my daughter to do what? I know you may think that’s asking 20-30 minutes out of my time, but you don’t have a job outside the home.
I work hard to get my kids to all their church programs. We read scripture stories each night.
“No, I can’t do it, I’m sorry. I’m a single working mother. In between the house, the kids, the homework.”
“She can’t do a small act of service at home, like make someone’s bed each morning?”
I looked at my daughter. Her hands were busy in the shelves, getting into the paperclips.
We do well to run on a routine each morning. I’m doing well when she makes it to the breakfast table. No, the truth was I didn’t need extra stress.
“No.”
Anger flickered across her face. I was telling her no.
She felt I should have said yes, I should have agreed. She was entitled to my cooperation.
“My kids have heard me tell this story multiple times, so bear with me here. Back a few years ago I went down to help with the disaster relief from Katrina.
“So many poor people, everything they had taken from them. And to make matters worse, these people felt the government, or someone should step in and help them. They kept on looking for the next hand out. And got angry when no one stepped forward to help them.
“Instead of working hard to make a difference, they complained about what someone didn’t do for them, what they should have gotten.
“For a long time I got mad at these poor people I was there to help. But then I realized, this is the only life they’ve ever known. They don’t know how to make a difference.
“We’ve taught these people time and time again that they are entitled to something. Someone will step in with a net, and rescue them. They don’t have to take responsibility.”
Too many times in our culture we don’t take personal responsibility. Instead of making our own lives better we get angry that someone doesn’t do what we expect them to do.
Our freedom to choose is a God given right. To assume that someone will make certain choices is a sin against the freedom of choice that God gave that person.
I looked at the ghetto woman in front of me.
“My car’s just over there, all I need is a jump.”
My kids ran on to my front door, wiggling the doorknob, hoping that maybe I had left the door unlocked. I looked at the woman who waited impatiently for me to say yes. Her face sparking off emotions of anger, frustration, and annoyance with me.
She shifted to the other foot, starting to get disgusted with my lack of response.
I had to get the kids dressed for church, get some lunch on the table. I looked at my car trying to think how long it would take.
“Well, don’t worry, I’ll ask someone else.”
Good, I was off the hook.
“It’s obvious you don’t want to help.”
The rude caveat stunned me. As if she was entitled to my help.
The young mother shifted her infant daughter to the library counter. Her active toddler had finally come to a stop at her feet, and the school age child was hanging off the doorknob.
“Can I get one copy?” Her sunny face was a wall of clouds, the only emotion showing stress.
As I ran the copy I could hear her frustration as she talked to her kids. The kids were under control, but she sounded like she was trying to tame a hurricane. Must have been one of those mornings where she was already at her wits ends. She was so stressed she couldn’t see that the kids were now calm.
She muttered to herself about her husband, where was he, she needed him. Why couldn’t he come get the kids? If not all of them, at least one of them. She had things to do. They were his kids too.
I was taken aback.
It has been a long time since I’ve thought that my kids were anyone else’s responsibility. Even when I was married, I long ago gave up that expectation.
Just because you married the person, and had children with them doesn’t mean you are entitled to anything. Yes, we would like certain behavior. But just because that person signed a marriage license with you doesn’t mean you have the right to demand his time, and involvement.
“Your daughter needs to do a week long project, and then right a short paragraph about her feelings on service for the Primary program next week.”
I stared at the woman in front of me.
You want my daughter to do what? I know you may think that’s asking 20-30 minutes out of my time, but you don’t have a job outside the home.
I work hard to get my kids to all their church programs. We read scripture stories each night.
“No, I can’t do it, I’m sorry. I’m a single working mother. In between the house, the kids, the homework.”
“She can’t do a small act of service at home, like make someone’s bed each morning?”
I looked at my daughter. Her hands were busy in the shelves, getting into the paperclips.
We do well to run on a routine each morning. I’m doing well when she makes it to the breakfast table. No, the truth was I didn’t need extra stress.
“No.”
Anger flickered across her face. I was telling her no.
She felt I should have said yes, I should have agreed. She was entitled to my cooperation.
“My kids have heard me tell this story multiple times, so bear with me here. Back a few years ago I went down to help with the disaster relief from Katrina.
“So many poor people, everything they had taken from them. And to make matters worse, these people felt the government, or someone should step in and help them. They kept on looking for the next hand out. And got angry when no one stepped forward to help them.
“Instead of working hard to make a difference, they complained about what someone didn’t do for them, what they should have gotten.
“For a long time I got mad at these poor people I was there to help. But then I realized, this is the only life they’ve ever known. They don’t know how to make a difference.
“We’ve taught these people time and time again that they are entitled to something. Someone will step in with a net, and rescue them. They don’t have to take responsibility.”
Too many times in our culture we don’t take personal responsibility. Instead of making our own lives better we get angry that someone doesn’t do what we expect them to do.
Our freedom to choose is a God given right. To assume that someone will make certain choices is a sin against the freedom of choice that God gave that person.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Lunch with the kids
Sunflower and airport
Originally uploaded by Sunflower Central
I took the day off to spend with the kids. Looking for something exciting to do, I took the children out to an observation park at the airport. We ate our picinic, and watched planes land.
These happy moments, wonderful times together are just so precious. And so simple, watching planes, eating sandwhiches.
The simple pleasures of life are often the best.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
History Lessons
My son and I went out to dinner. As usual I took a book with me. He plays, I read.
I grabbed a wonderful pictoral history book, News Headlines from the last Century. It's interesting to see what things were important. The Kind of England's Abdication was much more imporant that the rise of the Nazi party.
I thumbed thru it, reading articles. He happened to glane at the book, all the pictures catching his attention.
"What's that, Mom?"
I explained the book, and then began telling him the stories out of the book.
He keeps running off with the book. At bedtime I send them to bed with a book to read to and calm down. He's fascinated with the 70's. He's been reading up on when Star Wars came out. Vietnam. It's so neat so see him trying to prop his eyelids open so he can read another article that's caught his fancy.
I grabbed a wonderful pictoral history book, News Headlines from the last Century. It's interesting to see what things were important. The Kind of England's Abdication was much more imporant that the rise of the Nazi party.
I thumbed thru it, reading articles. He happened to glane at the book, all the pictures catching his attention.
"What's that, Mom?"
I explained the book, and then began telling him the stories out of the book.
He keeps running off with the book. At bedtime I send them to bed with a book to read to and calm down. He's fascinated with the 70's. He's been reading up on when Star Wars came out. Vietnam. It's so neat so see him trying to prop his eyelids open so he can read another article that's caught his fancy.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Perfect moment
We had one of those absolutely wonderful moments last night.
My daughter was in the kitchen with me as I cooked dinner. I cut up the veggies and she dumped them into the pan. Meanwhile she chatted with me, telling me all about the wonderful things in her imagination.
My son, not to be left out, finally came in as I started dumping spices into the pan. He read out the names off the small glass jars.
"Mom, there are leaves in this one!" He said holding up the bay leaves.
I had to keep moving their heads out of the way so I could get access to the stove. They didn't argue with each other. They simply stood there talking, commenting, and talking with me.
I wish life was like this all the time. Pleasant little people, busy learning about the world, observing, commenting. It was just one of those precious little jewels.
My daughter was in the kitchen with me as I cooked dinner. I cut up the veggies and she dumped them into the pan. Meanwhile she chatted with me, telling me all about the wonderful things in her imagination.
My son, not to be left out, finally came in as I started dumping spices into the pan. He read out the names off the small glass jars.
"Mom, there are leaves in this one!" He said holding up the bay leaves.
I had to keep moving their heads out of the way so I could get access to the stove. They didn't argue with each other. They simply stood there talking, commenting, and talking with me.
I wish life was like this all the time. Pleasant little people, busy learning about the world, observing, commenting. It was just one of those precious little jewels.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Why it works
People find out I'm dating. They say, so what's he like?
And I find myself tongue tied. Ummm . . . tall, dark and handsome?
They expect to hear a little bit more. They want to hear me gush poetry. Recite the list of romantic gestures he's done. Impress them with how he's swept me off my feet.
And it's not like that. I want them to be happy for me. I want to find words that express who he is, and what he means to me. And the usual things just aren't cutting the mustard.
But today I finally did it. So for everyone curious about why this guy is in my life. I finally have an answer for you.
As a woman who survived abuse, who has walked thru the fire, I have seen what it is to be treated badly. I have scars on my heart that will be with my for the rest of my life. I am a survivor. I am not a victim. A victim has no choices. Instead I choose to survive and hold my head high. I know what it is to live without respect. To live in fear.
Today I have a man who respects me. It thrills me to hear him say he is proud of me. Proud of who I am, and what I've accomplished in my life. He glories in the quirks of my personality, the odd things that could so easily be made fun of. He counts the days that we are apart. Each of us is a busy full time working, single parent with many responsibilities to the world. He calls me when he's busy; he calls me when he's got a free moment.
He treats me the way I always dreamed of being treated. The way I thought I never would be treated. With utter respect, joy, and concern. He is trustworthy. He takes the time to know what it is that I like, and why I like it. He understands me.
He sent me a bouquet of Sunflowers. He knew the special place the Sunflower holds in my heart. He took the time to ask the questions. Sunflowers, not roses.
When the problems of life mount all around me, he calms me down. He helps me see that I have the solutions right at my finger tips. He helps me find the power to change my life, and find that power within myself. He won't allow me to lean on him. And I have to say I am very grateful of that. I take alot more pride in myself when I solve my problems. I can stand in front of him as his equal.
The three months we have been dating have taught me to hold my chin up. It has strengthened my resolve.
I have survived the fire, and I will flourish.
And I find myself tongue tied. Ummm . . . tall, dark and handsome?
They expect to hear a little bit more. They want to hear me gush poetry. Recite the list of romantic gestures he's done. Impress them with how he's swept me off my feet.
And it's not like that. I want them to be happy for me. I want to find words that express who he is, and what he means to me. And the usual things just aren't cutting the mustard.
But today I finally did it. So for everyone curious about why this guy is in my life. I finally have an answer for you.
As a woman who survived abuse, who has walked thru the fire, I have seen what it is to be treated badly. I have scars on my heart that will be with my for the rest of my life. I am a survivor. I am not a victim. A victim has no choices. Instead I choose to survive and hold my head high. I know what it is to live without respect. To live in fear.
Today I have a man who respects me. It thrills me to hear him say he is proud of me. Proud of who I am, and what I've accomplished in my life. He glories in the quirks of my personality, the odd things that could so easily be made fun of. He counts the days that we are apart. Each of us is a busy full time working, single parent with many responsibilities to the world. He calls me when he's busy; he calls me when he's got a free moment.
He treats me the way I always dreamed of being treated. The way I thought I never would be treated. With utter respect, joy, and concern. He is trustworthy. He takes the time to know what it is that I like, and why I like it. He understands me.
He sent me a bouquet of Sunflowers. He knew the special place the Sunflower holds in my heart. He took the time to ask the questions. Sunflowers, not roses.
When the problems of life mount all around me, he calms me down. He helps me see that I have the solutions right at my finger tips. He helps me find the power to change my life, and find that power within myself. He won't allow me to lean on him. And I have to say I am very grateful of that. I take alot more pride in myself when I solve my problems. I can stand in front of him as his equal.
The three months we have been dating have taught me to hold my chin up. It has strengthened my resolve.
I have survived the fire, and I will flourish.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Pseudo Family Dating
In this modern age of dating there has sprung up what I call Pseudo-family dating. It’s a combination of a lot of factors.
You see single parents dating, and playing pretend house together. They help each other care for the children. They go to the zoo, and take the kids to McDonald's. It’s a great way for the adults to spend time together while the children are occupied, to see how the other behaves, and not have to arrange babysitting.
There are some very good things that come out of this. One of the most important things is you get to see how the other person behaves in a home setting. A good friend talks often about how important it is to her that the floor be clean. Listening to her talk, you would believe that her house is neat and tidy at all times. Nope, just the floor. Carpets are shampooed once a month.
Another thing that happens with this style of dating is your family gets a chance to see the person. They come with you to family functions. Birthday parties, Holidays and other events, there they are. There are more sets of eyes, judging if this person is a good match, does this person really suit you?
Personally, I don’t agree with this style of dating. It creates a false sense of intimacy. Since you have shared all these home like moments together, and have a history together, it feels like you have a good foundation. No, you just have a bunch of things that you’ve done together. Nothing can substitute for conversations, and time. If you don’t know the person it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve had fun together at the zoo, it won’t make a good marriage. Understanding, and sharing with your partner build a true connection that has a better chance of standing the pushes and pulls children place on parents. Ice cream at Marble Slab doesn’t help you when your child is screaming “Mom, he’s not my Dad and if he tells me one more time what to do, I’m running away!” A solid relationship with your partner can give you the foundation to deal with kids like that.
At a recent party I listened to a friend. She said, I’ve been dating him for a year. He’s a great guy. My kids love him. He’s asked me to marry him three times, and I’ve turned him down. I kept my mouth shut, listening to her talk. She explained there was nothing wrong with him, she just knew there was not enough right with him either. She wanted to break up, but staid because her kids got along great with the guy.
Kids don’t make adult decisions; adults do. Kids who are given that power are ultimately given the power to take a family apart.
You see single parents dating, and playing pretend house together. They help each other care for the children. They go to the zoo, and take the kids to McDonald's. It’s a great way for the adults to spend time together while the children are occupied, to see how the other behaves, and not have to arrange babysitting.
There are some very good things that come out of this. One of the most important things is you get to see how the other person behaves in a home setting. A good friend talks often about how important it is to her that the floor be clean. Listening to her talk, you would believe that her house is neat and tidy at all times. Nope, just the floor. Carpets are shampooed once a month.
Another thing that happens with this style of dating is your family gets a chance to see the person. They come with you to family functions. Birthday parties, Holidays and other events, there they are. There are more sets of eyes, judging if this person is a good match, does this person really suit you?
Personally, I don’t agree with this style of dating. It creates a false sense of intimacy. Since you have shared all these home like moments together, and have a history together, it feels like you have a good foundation. No, you just have a bunch of things that you’ve done together. Nothing can substitute for conversations, and time. If you don’t know the person it doesn’t matter how many times you’ve had fun together at the zoo, it won’t make a good marriage. Understanding, and sharing with your partner build a true connection that has a better chance of standing the pushes and pulls children place on parents. Ice cream at Marble Slab doesn’t help you when your child is screaming “Mom, he’s not my Dad and if he tells me one more time what to do, I’m running away!” A solid relationship with your partner can give you the foundation to deal with kids like that.
At a recent party I listened to a friend. She said, I’ve been dating him for a year. He’s a great guy. My kids love him. He’s asked me to marry him three times, and I’ve turned him down. I kept my mouth shut, listening to her talk. She explained there was nothing wrong with him, she just knew there was not enough right with him either. She wanted to break up, but staid because her kids got along great with the guy.
Kids don’t make adult decisions; adults do. Kids who are given that power are ultimately given the power to take a family apart.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Ritalin
On Thursday I put my daughter on Ritalin for Hyperactivity. It was a long road winding there.
The road started about two years ago with her brother actually. The teacher felt that my son showed signs of ADD. And I thought the teacher needed a serious slap upside the head. In no uncertain terms I told the teacher, and counselor this. My son needs a firm hand, and responds well to authority, and encouragement.
I talked with a really good friend, a fellow single mother. My friend is a nurse, and when the school called her saying her eldest needed medication she told them where to put their opinions. Her child, despite being a good kid, continued to have problems. She found the best Neurologist in town, and soon found herself with a diagnosis of Aspersers and Hyperactivity. On medication the child reported, Mommy, my mind is quiet. She felt horror knowing that her child had been struggling with a condition that couldn’t be controlled, and she had allowed him to suffer with it for that long. She told me, if my kid had had a seizure, I would have put him on medication. But here he was, trying his hardest, and he couldn’t do it. I denied him medication.
Another friend, a stay at home Mom has a brilliant son. The child was reading around the age of 3. He started kindergarten the most excited little boy you could imagine. He was thrilled to pieces to find a classroom full of things to learn and study. Words on the walls to be read, books to study, numbers. It was just a treasure trove for this excited little boy. But this brilliant little boy soon found himself in trouble every day for getting out of his seat, for experimenting, and doing the things a only a brilliant 5 year old could think to do. Instead of rising to the top of the class, he sunk. The mother took him to a holistic doctor. Behavior therapy, changes in nutrition, vitamins, a strict schedule. The child felt a compulsion to move all the time, so the Doctor gave him a small rock to move in his hand. In the end, the mother had to pull him out of public school. Now they home school. Due to the nutritional needs, the family has to take food with them everywhere. On some days the child can’t eat wheat, other days milk. But the child is thriving! He is learning at an incredible rate. His behavior is no longer a problem.
My daughter is mildly hyperactive. For the past 4 months we’ve tried behavior therapy. Her counselor has advised me, helped me, and guided me. I want to give her a normal life. I’m a single mother, and I don’t have the ability to pull her out of school, and guide her myself. Instead I must trust her to the system.
Personally, I believe her behavior is more a reflection of our school system, than anything wrong with her. But just as you would fix a child’s teeth if the grew straight out of their mouth because the child would get teased, I need to give her the tools to help her fix her behavior. I can’t go taking wheat out of her diet, or restrict her intake of milk. To help her have a normal life, what I can do is give her a tiny little pill in the morning, and have the nurse give her one in the afternoon.
I have to admit, the medication is amazing. It’s a stimulant, and it works on her brain. It doesn’t calm her down! Believe me, if anything, the child is more alert than ever. Watch out what you say around her when she’s had her med’s. Because she hears every word, and can file it away for later use! Nope, medicine doesn’t dope her up, or turn her into a zombie. Instead it turns her into Miss Focused, and dangerously smart!
The road started about two years ago with her brother actually. The teacher felt that my son showed signs of ADD. And I thought the teacher needed a serious slap upside the head. In no uncertain terms I told the teacher, and counselor this. My son needs a firm hand, and responds well to authority, and encouragement.
I talked with a really good friend, a fellow single mother. My friend is a nurse, and when the school called her saying her eldest needed medication she told them where to put their opinions. Her child, despite being a good kid, continued to have problems. She found the best Neurologist in town, and soon found herself with a diagnosis of Aspersers and Hyperactivity. On medication the child reported, Mommy, my mind is quiet. She felt horror knowing that her child had been struggling with a condition that couldn’t be controlled, and she had allowed him to suffer with it for that long. She told me, if my kid had had a seizure, I would have put him on medication. But here he was, trying his hardest, and he couldn’t do it. I denied him medication.
Another friend, a stay at home Mom has a brilliant son. The child was reading around the age of 3. He started kindergarten the most excited little boy you could imagine. He was thrilled to pieces to find a classroom full of things to learn and study. Words on the walls to be read, books to study, numbers. It was just a treasure trove for this excited little boy. But this brilliant little boy soon found himself in trouble every day for getting out of his seat, for experimenting, and doing the things a only a brilliant 5 year old could think to do. Instead of rising to the top of the class, he sunk. The mother took him to a holistic doctor. Behavior therapy, changes in nutrition, vitamins, a strict schedule. The child felt a compulsion to move all the time, so the Doctor gave him a small rock to move in his hand. In the end, the mother had to pull him out of public school. Now they home school. Due to the nutritional needs, the family has to take food with them everywhere. On some days the child can’t eat wheat, other days milk. But the child is thriving! He is learning at an incredible rate. His behavior is no longer a problem.
My daughter is mildly hyperactive. For the past 4 months we’ve tried behavior therapy. Her counselor has advised me, helped me, and guided me. I want to give her a normal life. I’m a single mother, and I don’t have the ability to pull her out of school, and guide her myself. Instead I must trust her to the system.
Personally, I believe her behavior is more a reflection of our school system, than anything wrong with her. But just as you would fix a child’s teeth if the grew straight out of their mouth because the child would get teased, I need to give her the tools to help her fix her behavior. I can’t go taking wheat out of her diet, or restrict her intake of milk. To help her have a normal life, what I can do is give her a tiny little pill in the morning, and have the nurse give her one in the afternoon.
I have to admit, the medication is amazing. It’s a stimulant, and it works on her brain. It doesn’t calm her down! Believe me, if anything, the child is more alert than ever. Watch out what you say around her when she’s had her med’s. Because she hears every word, and can file it away for later use! Nope, medicine doesn’t dope her up, or turn her into a zombie. Instead it turns her into Miss Focused, and dangerously smart!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Complaining hearts
“They have forty registers, and at the most only 20 are ever opened,” the woman in front of me griped. She frowned at the closed registers. “Why did they build so many if they don’t have the man power?”
Because they are built for the busiest days, Black Friday and December 24th. And also for appearances, the long line of registers, open or not does something for the human eye.
Her energy was captured in finding the wrong, instead of answering the question. She was focused on her version of justice, and not seeing the world around her. I watched her check out, and saw the half concealed roll of the eye, the momentary grimace of contempt. Her complaints blinded her to see the world in front of her.
Her disgruntled attitude affected only her. The more she complained, the less she saw of the wonderful blessings around her. The world, in joy and glory, continues just outside her narrow viewpoint.
So often I want to reach out and help people like this. Trapped in their own personal grumbling, complaining hell, I wish I could open their eyes to joy, help them see that their personal satisfaction is within their grasp.
People only hear what they want to hear, what they are prepared to hear.
Because they are built for the busiest days, Black Friday and December 24th. And also for appearances, the long line of registers, open or not does something for the human eye.
Her energy was captured in finding the wrong, instead of answering the question. She was focused on her version of justice, and not seeing the world around her. I watched her check out, and saw the half concealed roll of the eye, the momentary grimace of contempt. Her complaints blinded her to see the world in front of her.
Her disgruntled attitude affected only her. The more she complained, the less she saw of the wonderful blessings around her. The world, in joy and glory, continues just outside her narrow viewpoint.
So often I want to reach out and help people like this. Trapped in their own personal grumbling, complaining hell, I wish I could open their eyes to joy, help them see that their personal satisfaction is within their grasp.
People only hear what they want to hear, what they are prepared to hear.
Flirt to Convert
I’m just about having a hissy fit with some people. My boyfriend is of a different religion than mine. And the question I get asked is, do you think he’ll convert?
I want to throw the book in their face, scream them out. How dare they ask such an insulting question. How dare they suggest that our relationship has conditional love. That question offends me so deeply.
Believe me, I’m the first to understand that religion is an area where a couple would like to have as much in common as possible. And a spiritual foundation is vital. It embodies so many things about expectations, life cycle, value of money, and many other things. Yes, I get it. Never mind that in my faith shared faith is required for a Temple Marriage. Believe me, if you ain’t got a Temple Marriage, you’ll have your Bishop riding your case to get one. Okay, I get it. I get why shared religion is important, psychologically, I get the social aspect, and I understand the religious implications, and how it affects children raised interfaith.
But for Pete’s sake, either the gospel is the true light, and will draw people to it, or . . . . . Don’t get me started on missionary work. I believe in living your religion where people can see is missionary work, and if they want to know more, tell them more when they are ready. If the gospel is true, living my faith day to day, openly talking about matters will be enough. I have one friend who converted thru my testimony. Have a bit more confidence in our Heavenly Father, and His ability to show people the truth, when they are ready and open. My blabbing mouth is not necessary to convert another person. The gospel is true if I open my mouth or not. Heavenly Father doesn’t need me arguing with my boyfriend to make his truth any more true. The truth is pure, simple, and simply exsists.
And don’t get me started on expectations, and conditional love. My ex husband always wanted me to loose about 50lbs. The more he talked about it, griped about it, the more I knew he couldn’t care less about ME. All he cared about was getting a skinny trophy wife. I refuse to put expectations on my boyfriend. Either he is good enough, just as he is, or he isn’t. Changing his religion doesn’t change who he is. It doesn’t change how he talks to me, it doesn’t change how he holds me, and it doesn’t change how he looks me straight in the eye, going deep for the soul.
No, my boyfriend will not be taking the missionary discussion. No, he will not be converting. He will never share the same faith as I do, and I’m fine with that.
He will openly talk about faith. We have wonderful discussions about religion in which we find that we each share many of the same ideas, with slightly different perspectives. He is a righteous man, devout in his own faith. He doesn’t just give the outward signs, but he truly lives his religion. I respect that and applaud that. And the man gives me the same respect for living my faith.
It is enough.
I want to throw the book in their face, scream them out. How dare they ask such an insulting question. How dare they suggest that our relationship has conditional love. That question offends me so deeply.
Believe me, I’m the first to understand that religion is an area where a couple would like to have as much in common as possible. And a spiritual foundation is vital. It embodies so many things about expectations, life cycle, value of money, and many other things. Yes, I get it. Never mind that in my faith shared faith is required for a Temple Marriage. Believe me, if you ain’t got a Temple Marriage, you’ll have your Bishop riding your case to get one. Okay, I get it. I get why shared religion is important, psychologically, I get the social aspect, and I understand the religious implications, and how it affects children raised interfaith.
But for Pete’s sake, either the gospel is the true light, and will draw people to it, or . . . . . Don’t get me started on missionary work. I believe in living your religion where people can see is missionary work, and if they want to know more, tell them more when they are ready. If the gospel is true, living my faith day to day, openly talking about matters will be enough. I have one friend who converted thru my testimony. Have a bit more confidence in our Heavenly Father, and His ability to show people the truth, when they are ready and open. My blabbing mouth is not necessary to convert another person. The gospel is true if I open my mouth or not. Heavenly Father doesn’t need me arguing with my boyfriend to make his truth any more true. The truth is pure, simple, and simply exsists.
And don’t get me started on expectations, and conditional love. My ex husband always wanted me to loose about 50lbs. The more he talked about it, griped about it, the more I knew he couldn’t care less about ME. All he cared about was getting a skinny trophy wife. I refuse to put expectations on my boyfriend. Either he is good enough, just as he is, or he isn’t. Changing his religion doesn’t change who he is. It doesn’t change how he talks to me, it doesn’t change how he holds me, and it doesn’t change how he looks me straight in the eye, going deep for the soul.
No, my boyfriend will not be taking the missionary discussion. No, he will not be converting. He will never share the same faith as I do, and I’m fine with that.
He will openly talk about faith. We have wonderful discussions about religion in which we find that we each share many of the same ideas, with slightly different perspectives. He is a righteous man, devout in his own faith. He doesn’t just give the outward signs, but he truly lives his religion. I respect that and applaud that. And the man gives me the same respect for living my faith.
It is enough.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Food up, kid down
“Food up, kid down.” I said, my mantra when my children decide they don’t want to eat what’s on the table. Food goes up, and kid gets down. End of meal.
Of course, since my kids are smart, clever little people, ten minutes later, “Mommy, can I get a snack?”
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s so sad: I give snacks to kids who eat all their dinner. But I promise, we’ll have breakfast in the morning.”
My kids have each heard that line thousands of time. And about the time I start to say “sad” they let go with a volley of whining and gripping. Since my kids are obviously smart, I applaud their efforts to figure out how the world works, and their attempts at controlling their environment.
I was speaking with a fellow single parent this evening. After the conversation I spent a lot of time pondering the reasons that I stay so calm with food discussions. Why I refuse to punish the children, but instead allow the slow lesson of empty tummies to do its work. My ex-husband, Lord bless the man’s soul, has painted me into a corner that makes righteous anger a tool I can rarely use.
My ex has always placed undue importance on children eating their meals. Threats, lecture and intimidation are his methods of imparting wisdom to the children. “Eat that food! Put that bite in your mouth, chew, now swallow! Do I have to get the belt?”
I’ve listened to these Drill Sergeant meals. I’ve watched the children choke on their food as they tried to avoid punishment.
My children have learned a lot of lessons from these meals. And the worst part is that some of these lessons they can actually articulate.
They have learned that Daddy’s love is conditional; if you eat all your food, then you can spend time with Daddy. Daddy doesn’t like kids he has to punish. If you make too many problems for Daddy, he won’t spend time with you. The kids have told me this; they’ve learned these lessons so well.
They’ve also learned some other lessons. They have learned that the amount of food in their stomach has a direct relationship with their father’s volume. They’ve learned that the speed at which they move the food into their mouth is also related to the speed at which their father will hit the table or throw something. Basically they have learned that they can control a grown-up. In a world where grown-ups are supposed to be in charge, that’s a scary thing, to find out that you, a small child can have such a dramatic effect on a person who is supposed to protect you, and guide you.
My kids have also learned, how much food is in their tummy is something Daddy has to worry about. Their own tummy isn’t their problem; it’s Daddy’s.
At my house the lesson is very different. No threats, no lectures, not intimidation. Sadness, sorrow, and Mom expresses very minimal concern that they are hungry because that’s really not Mom’s worry. At Mom’s house, their tummy is their own concern.
Of course, since my kids are smart, clever little people, ten minutes later, “Mommy, can I get a snack?”
“Oh, sweetheart, that’s so sad: I give snacks to kids who eat all their dinner. But I promise, we’ll have breakfast in the morning.”
My kids have each heard that line thousands of time. And about the time I start to say “sad” they let go with a volley of whining and gripping. Since my kids are obviously smart, I applaud their efforts to figure out how the world works, and their attempts at controlling their environment.
I was speaking with a fellow single parent this evening. After the conversation I spent a lot of time pondering the reasons that I stay so calm with food discussions. Why I refuse to punish the children, but instead allow the slow lesson of empty tummies to do its work. My ex-husband, Lord bless the man’s soul, has painted me into a corner that makes righteous anger a tool I can rarely use.
My ex has always placed undue importance on children eating their meals. Threats, lecture and intimidation are his methods of imparting wisdom to the children. “Eat that food! Put that bite in your mouth, chew, now swallow! Do I have to get the belt?”
I’ve listened to these Drill Sergeant meals. I’ve watched the children choke on their food as they tried to avoid punishment.
My children have learned a lot of lessons from these meals. And the worst part is that some of these lessons they can actually articulate.
They have learned that Daddy’s love is conditional; if you eat all your food, then you can spend time with Daddy. Daddy doesn’t like kids he has to punish. If you make too many problems for Daddy, he won’t spend time with you. The kids have told me this; they’ve learned these lessons so well.
They’ve also learned some other lessons. They have learned that the amount of food in their stomach has a direct relationship with their father’s volume. They’ve learned that the speed at which they move the food into their mouth is also related to the speed at which their father will hit the table or throw something. Basically they have learned that they can control a grown-up. In a world where grown-ups are supposed to be in charge, that’s a scary thing, to find out that you, a small child can have such a dramatic effect on a person who is supposed to protect you, and guide you.
My kids have also learned, how much food is in their tummy is something Daddy has to worry about. Their own tummy isn’t their problem; it’s Daddy’s.
At my house the lesson is very different. No threats, no lectures, not intimidation. Sadness, sorrow, and Mom expresses very minimal concern that they are hungry because that’s really not Mom’s worry. At Mom’s house, their tummy is their own concern.
Gradually they are learning that they have to think for themselves because the quality of their life depends on their own ability to think.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Bridge into Summer
Bridge into Summer
Originally uploaded by Sunflower Central
My favorite thing to do on a Sunday- take the kids to the park and go for a walk. Bring my camera with me and take pictures as we go. It's a pleasant way to spend a Sunday, good family time, relaxing, away from the usual stress of our lives.
My daughter arrived home this morning from her father's house. I sat and snuggled with her on the couch, reconnected after three days apart.
As we set off thru the park, I got an inkling of how this was going to go. She saw a bird and began insisting that it was one thing. Her brother said, no that's not what I saw. And things went down hill from there.
Right after I took this picture she found some Beer Bottles. As I told her to go put them back, she went, looked me straight in the eye, and dropped them into the stream below. I marched her back to the car, and we left the park.
Why is it that the child has to test the boundaries every time she comes home? Why does she have to find out anew that yes, you do get in trouble for being disobedient, especially to a direct order like that!
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Destroying the Fairy Tale Biological Father
Yesterday as we drove home from our counseling session it dawned on me that I needed to tell my son more stories of his biological father. He has heard the name, and is hurting, desperate for information, but doesn’t know how to express it.
As I started my car, with the kids in the back seat, I thought about it. He needs information. He needs good positive things because half of his genetic being comes from this man. If he hears terrible things about this man he’ll think half of me is terrible. But he also needs to know the truth. My son doesn’t need to think that somewhere out there is a wonderful man who would be his father. He doesn’t need fairy tale dreams of some magical biological father figure.
As we drove home, I told him about meeting his biological father. We met while Christmas Caroling with our singles group. He and I were the only two who could carry a tune. He tried to stay away from me because he came with another woman. I forgot all about him until I met him again 2 or 3 months later.
This morning, sitting on the couch in pj’s I told my son how I got pregnant with him. I told him that his biological father suggested I put him up for adoption. I heard him sniffle. I told him how his biological father attempted to disappear off the planet, and didn’t want anything to do with me once I was pregnant. I told him about how my father tracked him down, and how we took the case to court.
There was such a look of grief on his face. He worked hard to keep his face frozen, not betraying the depth of emotions running thru him. I held him and expressed my own sadness.
As I started my car, with the kids in the back seat, I thought about it. He needs information. He needs good positive things because half of his genetic being comes from this man. If he hears terrible things about this man he’ll think half of me is terrible. But he also needs to know the truth. My son doesn’t need to think that somewhere out there is a wonderful man who would be his father. He doesn’t need fairy tale dreams of some magical biological father figure.
As we drove home, I told him about meeting his biological father. We met while Christmas Caroling with our singles group. He and I were the only two who could carry a tune. He tried to stay away from me because he came with another woman. I forgot all about him until I met him again 2 or 3 months later.
This morning, sitting on the couch in pj’s I told my son how I got pregnant with him. I told him that his biological father suggested I put him up for adoption. I heard him sniffle. I told him how his biological father attempted to disappear off the planet, and didn’t want anything to do with me once I was pregnant. I told him about how my father tracked him down, and how we took the case to court.
There was such a look of grief on his face. He worked hard to keep his face frozen, not betraying the depth of emotions running thru him. I held him and expressed my own sadness.
Friday, August 8, 2008
The heads went rolling
The head started rolling around 11am. I recognized the signs this time. Someone missing from their desk, followed by a manager coming to pick up their purse. Lay off’s.
I have known for a while that the travel industry was going thru some shifts, and realignments. With business shifting to online bookings, and fuel costs sky rocketing, the need for “traditional agents” is falling. There will always be a need for a skilled person who can make the computer stand up and do what it’s supposed to do, but in today’s market about 70% of travel really can be booked online. As online tools improve that number will only increase.
Currently my position is not in danger. I am the one and only subject matter expert at what I do. What is in danger is where they decide to keep my position. Our account is spread over three cities, Dallas, Denver and Boise. I have noticed that the number of agents in Boise is growing larger. Cost of living in Boise is probably lower than both Denver and Dallas. I suspect the company can afford lower salaries in Boise and still get the same quality.
When lay-offs happened last month I began to get my resume up to date. I posted it online, and started making some inquires for help on polishing it. I realize I no longer have that luxury. Today I started applying for jobs.
Many of the jobs that have openings are looking for people to work evenings and weekends. What’s called After-hours services. Employers who have openings are already glutted with qualified applicants. Employers hold all the cards right now, and can ask an applicant to jump thru hoops just to get a job.
Next I need to get my other resumes cleaned up, and ready to work for me. I need to evaluate my skill set and see what other jobs I am qualified for. Despite my love for travel, I might need to do something else for a time to keep my family afloat.
I have known for a while that the travel industry was going thru some shifts, and realignments. With business shifting to online bookings, and fuel costs sky rocketing, the need for “traditional agents” is falling. There will always be a need for a skilled person who can make the computer stand up and do what it’s supposed to do, but in today’s market about 70% of travel really can be booked online. As online tools improve that number will only increase.
Currently my position is not in danger. I am the one and only subject matter expert at what I do. What is in danger is where they decide to keep my position. Our account is spread over three cities, Dallas, Denver and Boise. I have noticed that the number of agents in Boise is growing larger. Cost of living in Boise is probably lower than both Denver and Dallas. I suspect the company can afford lower salaries in Boise and still get the same quality.
When lay-offs happened last month I began to get my resume up to date. I posted it online, and started making some inquires for help on polishing it. I realize I no longer have that luxury. Today I started applying for jobs.
Many of the jobs that have openings are looking for people to work evenings and weekends. What’s called After-hours services. Employers who have openings are already glutted with qualified applicants. Employers hold all the cards right now, and can ask an applicant to jump thru hoops just to get a job.
Next I need to get my other resumes cleaned up, and ready to work for me. I need to evaluate my skill set and see what other jobs I am qualified for. Despite my love for travel, I might need to do something else for a time to keep my family afloat.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
I'm learning
I sometimes wonder, am I going down the same path I’ve always gone down, making the same mistakes, or have I truly grown up and learned to make better choices.
Yes, I’m talking about men in my life. I wonder if I’ve truly chosen someone who is vastly different from my previously failed relationships. Something happened today that reassured me that yes, this is better, yes, I’ve made a wiser decision.
This morning we were chatting, as we do most mornings. He told me of some youthful indiscretions. This isn’t his blog, so what he did, I’ll leave up to your imagination. Needless to say, it was stupid stuff, like the time I lied to my mother and said I went to class. (Note to self, when you go to college with your mother, and have lunch each day with your mother, don’t lie about going to class; a classmate will always find you and ask where you were!)
He told some hilarious stories, and we laughed. And then I had to get busy, and so did he. Later, I thought, I hope he knows that’s stupid and not behavior to be repeated. I e-mailed asking that question.
A little background for my fair reader who has never met my ex-husband. Simply asking a question like that would have been a chance for my ex to tear into me. He would have justified the past actions, explained why they were important, and since they were so important, maybe why they should be done today. He would have berated me for questioning, and implying that I knew better than him. Basically, questioning him would have been the opening gambit to me getting yelled at.
Anyway, the boyfriend responded telling me that I worry too much. Not an overly comforting answer. And then says, maybe I just shouldn’t tell you stuff like this because you get upset by it.
Okay, flip out moment there. WHAT? Excuse me, I thought this was about trust? Fortunately I kept my cool and put together a very succinct little answer. If you expect me to trust you, you need to be willing to hear the questions I ask. How can I trust you with the dreams, desires, and goals of my life if you won’t let me ask you questions?
In the back of my mind, I heard my ex really tearing into me. I heard him ripping me apart. I heard my heart scream out in pain as I was ignored, brushed aside, and made to feel little because I had questioned him. I heard myself beat down, told to shut up, and made to feel ashamed, made to feel disloyal.
His response: “Fair Enough.”
Oh my word. My heart could have sung. He realized I had a point, he listened to me, and he accepted it. You could have plucked me off the ceiling right then. I suddenly felt such joy and elation over two small words.
I have learned. I am making better decisions.
Yes, I’m talking about men in my life. I wonder if I’ve truly chosen someone who is vastly different from my previously failed relationships. Something happened today that reassured me that yes, this is better, yes, I’ve made a wiser decision.
This morning we were chatting, as we do most mornings. He told me of some youthful indiscretions. This isn’t his blog, so what he did, I’ll leave up to your imagination. Needless to say, it was stupid stuff, like the time I lied to my mother and said I went to class. (Note to self, when you go to college with your mother, and have lunch each day with your mother, don’t lie about going to class; a classmate will always find you and ask where you were!)
He told some hilarious stories, and we laughed. And then I had to get busy, and so did he. Later, I thought, I hope he knows that’s stupid and not behavior to be repeated. I e-mailed asking that question.
A little background for my fair reader who has never met my ex-husband. Simply asking a question like that would have been a chance for my ex to tear into me. He would have justified the past actions, explained why they were important, and since they were so important, maybe why they should be done today. He would have berated me for questioning, and implying that I knew better than him. Basically, questioning him would have been the opening gambit to me getting yelled at.
Anyway, the boyfriend responded telling me that I worry too much. Not an overly comforting answer. And then says, maybe I just shouldn’t tell you stuff like this because you get upset by it.
Okay, flip out moment there. WHAT? Excuse me, I thought this was about trust? Fortunately I kept my cool and put together a very succinct little answer. If you expect me to trust you, you need to be willing to hear the questions I ask. How can I trust you with the dreams, desires, and goals of my life if you won’t let me ask you questions?
In the back of my mind, I heard my ex really tearing into me. I heard him ripping me apart. I heard my heart scream out in pain as I was ignored, brushed aside, and made to feel little because I had questioned him. I heard myself beat down, told to shut up, and made to feel ashamed, made to feel disloyal.
His response: “Fair Enough.”
Oh my word. My heart could have sung. He realized I had a point, he listened to me, and he accepted it. You could have plucked me off the ceiling right then. I suddenly felt such joy and elation over two small words.
I have learned. I am making better decisions.
Monday, August 4, 2008
New Boundaries
Somewhere I remember reading that Single friends and dating friends have a basic conflict. Though the goal of most singles is to get into a dating relationship, their behavior often tears at those who are dating.
On Saturday I found out exactly how true that is. Saturday a girlfriend, a fellow single mother and I decided to get together. First we were going to go to her place, and things changed last minute, and we went to my place. Four kids, two Mom’s, we cooked dinner and then went swimming. We were cooking and my girlfriend got a call, a guy that’s new to the area. He attends my ward, so I’ve wanted to reach out, and befriend him, just never had the chance. My girlfriend asked, can we invite him over? Great I thought! A chance to meet this guy, and get to know him.
So, we have two girlfriends, and one guy.
I can’t explain it, but it was wrong. The group was too small and intimate. I felt too exposed. I’m not single. I’m in a relationship that means a lot to me. They were behaving like regular singles, which they are, and expecting me to do the same. I’m not. And I couldn’t tell you exactly what behaviors it was.
Meanwhile our FHE group has fallen apart, with the host moving to San Antonio. For a while we had talked about having it at my place. I now realize, as a single woman, I really don’t want to go opening my private space up to a bunch of people I don’t know well. Especially since I’m dating. It feels so totally wrong to have other people that close to me.
This relationship is new. And the boundaries that define it still need to be rigorously enforced.
On Saturday I found out exactly how true that is. Saturday a girlfriend, a fellow single mother and I decided to get together. First we were going to go to her place, and things changed last minute, and we went to my place. Four kids, two Mom’s, we cooked dinner and then went swimming. We were cooking and my girlfriend got a call, a guy that’s new to the area. He attends my ward, so I’ve wanted to reach out, and befriend him, just never had the chance. My girlfriend asked, can we invite him over? Great I thought! A chance to meet this guy, and get to know him.
So, we have two girlfriends, and one guy.
I can’t explain it, but it was wrong. The group was too small and intimate. I felt too exposed. I’m not single. I’m in a relationship that means a lot to me. They were behaving like regular singles, which they are, and expecting me to do the same. I’m not. And I couldn’t tell you exactly what behaviors it was.
Meanwhile our FHE group has fallen apart, with the host moving to San Antonio. For a while we had talked about having it at my place. I now realize, as a single woman, I really don’t want to go opening my private space up to a bunch of people I don’t know well. Especially since I’m dating. It feels so totally wrong to have other people that close to me.
This relationship is new. And the boundaries that define it still need to be rigorously enforced.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Little scratch on the heart
“I’ve told my kids, point blank, that when I marry, I marry a husband, not to get them a Daddy.” This is a standing conversation between my children and I. They’ve got a Daddy, and any possible future husband of Mommy’s is not going to be their Daddy. Nope, I’m not marrying a Daddy. Not marrying for the sake of my kids.
I could hear my boyfriend nodding to himself. I went on to explain the conversations with my kids, explaining that their Daddy was their Daddy, and would never be replaced. I can’t go get them another Daddy. Can’t go to the store and pick out the next model, can’t go online to the Daddys’R’Us website. They’ve got a Daddy, and that’s all they get. Not replaceable. Best they’ll get is people who will help set good role models for them. My son has a man at Church who takes him out about once a month for “boy time.” The best they can hope for is people like that who will do things with them, and show them how a man should behave.
“I’m only Daddy to my daughter,” my boyfriend explained. He told me a story about a former girlfriend who put her daughter on the phone. The eight-year-old child asked in a plaintive voice, why don’t you want to be my Daddy? His response was to ask for the mother back. You can’t date, and make a meaningful relationship with those sorts of obligations. No, dating is about two people, and how you get along.
In spite of the fact that I know psychologically, that I’ve prepared myself, and my children with the most secure foundation, I still had a fantasy in the back of my mind. And last night it got destroyed. I know what he said is actually what’s healthiest. It will give the strongest foundation, and allow a very healthy relationship to be built between the two of us.
But still, in the back of my mind . . . I heard the voice of an older woman I know. Her children were raised mostly by her second husband. She told me, her second husband said, Look, I married you, and the kids are a package deal; they’re my kids now! I had a fantasy that we would each take responsibility for each other’s children.
Truth be told, I don’t want to take responsibility for his daughter. I did that in my previous marriage, to the detriment of our relationship. My boyfriend's daughter is a two-year-old handful, like any normal two year old! My daughter is enough of a handful for me. At least with my own daughter I know her history. I’ve seen where all her neurosis came from. I have legitimate authority with this child, and can tell her what to do. His daughter?!? NO! His daughter is his job to handle. I really don’t want to have to lay down the line with that kid. She has a mother, and a father, who can keep her in line. Why should I have to take on that job? Nope, don’t want it, thank you very much!
So, today I’m dealing with a little scratch on my heart. The final loss of a fantasy that really wasn’t healthy in the first place. A fantasy that I’m trying to get my kids to let go of, too.
I could hear my boyfriend nodding to himself. I went on to explain the conversations with my kids, explaining that their Daddy was their Daddy, and would never be replaced. I can’t go get them another Daddy. Can’t go to the store and pick out the next model, can’t go online to the Daddys’R’Us website. They’ve got a Daddy, and that’s all they get. Not replaceable. Best they’ll get is people who will help set good role models for them. My son has a man at Church who takes him out about once a month for “boy time.” The best they can hope for is people like that who will do things with them, and show them how a man should behave.
“I’m only Daddy to my daughter,” my boyfriend explained. He told me a story about a former girlfriend who put her daughter on the phone. The eight-year-old child asked in a plaintive voice, why don’t you want to be my Daddy? His response was to ask for the mother back. You can’t date, and make a meaningful relationship with those sorts of obligations. No, dating is about two people, and how you get along.
In spite of the fact that I know psychologically, that I’ve prepared myself, and my children with the most secure foundation, I still had a fantasy in the back of my mind. And last night it got destroyed. I know what he said is actually what’s healthiest. It will give the strongest foundation, and allow a very healthy relationship to be built between the two of us.
But still, in the back of my mind . . . I heard the voice of an older woman I know. Her children were raised mostly by her second husband. She told me, her second husband said, Look, I married you, and the kids are a package deal; they’re my kids now! I had a fantasy that we would each take responsibility for each other’s children.
Truth be told, I don’t want to take responsibility for his daughter. I did that in my previous marriage, to the detriment of our relationship. My boyfriend's daughter is a two-year-old handful, like any normal two year old! My daughter is enough of a handful for me. At least with my own daughter I know her history. I’ve seen where all her neurosis came from. I have legitimate authority with this child, and can tell her what to do. His daughter?!? NO! His daughter is his job to handle. I really don’t want to have to lay down the line with that kid. She has a mother, and a father, who can keep her in line. Why should I have to take on that job? Nope, don’t want it, thank you very much!
So, today I’m dealing with a little scratch on my heart. The final loss of a fantasy that really wasn’t healthy in the first place. A fantasy that I’m trying to get my kids to let go of, too.
Mother's Wisdom
I hate it when I go and prove my mother right. And she's going to read this and tease me about it.
Back in March she came out to spend three weeks with us. My kids were struggling, and I was too. For three weeks she helped the kids stablize, and helped me get a few things going. It was a wonderful bandaid that helped us get thru to some more peace.
But she told me, I haven't been playing with the kids, I've been making them work! She cleaned house with the kids, and they had a blast! Imagine that, spending the day scrubbing kitchen counters, and thinking it just the most awesome thing.
Okay you get the idea where this is going. A fellow single mother is coming over this evening with her two kids. Twins as a matter of fact, right in between my two. The house is decent, but the kids bedroom, and bathroom . . . well, they look like a bomb went off in there.
I sent one kid into the bathroom, and one into the bedroom. Each had orders to pick up five things. And then they switched places. In about half an hour, both were semi-picked up. There are still toys on the floor of the bedroom, but it's ten times better.
Most surprising was during a break section my daughter came and asked me, Mom, can I go finish swiffering the bathroom.
For a few minutes I didn't have any arguments from the kids. They weren't getting on each other's nerves.
Back in March she came out to spend three weeks with us. My kids were struggling, and I was too. For three weeks she helped the kids stablize, and helped me get a few things going. It was a wonderful bandaid that helped us get thru to some more peace.
But she told me, I haven't been playing with the kids, I've been making them work! She cleaned house with the kids, and they had a blast! Imagine that, spending the day scrubbing kitchen counters, and thinking it just the most awesome thing.
Okay you get the idea where this is going. A fellow single mother is coming over this evening with her two kids. Twins as a matter of fact, right in between my two. The house is decent, but the kids bedroom, and bathroom . . . well, they look like a bomb went off in there.
I sent one kid into the bathroom, and one into the bedroom. Each had orders to pick up five things. And then they switched places. In about half an hour, both were semi-picked up. There are still toys on the floor of the bedroom, but it's ten times better.
Most surprising was during a break section my daughter came and asked me, Mom, can I go finish swiffering the bathroom.
For a few minutes I didn't have any arguments from the kids. They weren't getting on each other's nerves.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Biology Lesson
Our lizard Daniel has been quite the living biology lesson. He is thriving in his tank, eating insects.
The first lesson we had was on the food chain. Daniel the lizard is an insectivore. We buy a steady supply of crickets for him. And they have to be moving before he'll eat them. The kids have been fascinated with what we feed the crickets. Crickets eat carrots, and grain. So Daniel is a secondary predator. We sometimes talk about what do carrots, corn, and wheat eat? Soil, water, and Sun are the standard answer.
Last night we introduced meal worms to Daniel's diet. He was fascinated. As we watched Daniel, he kept a very close eye on the meal worms. Daniel is a very attentive lizard. Normally when we gather round his tank he keeps a good eye on us. But he's relaxed about that realizing that we mean him no harm. And those meal worms were wriggling in the dish. His little head bobbed up and down, turning to the side to keep them in view. We never saw him eat his dinner, but this morning there are no more meal worms in the tank.
My daughter spotted the fact that Daniel was shedding. Around his legs we could see the white patches of skin peeling off. Fresh green skin was visible underneath. A white patch on his back soon peeled off as he crawled between the leaves of his palm tree. I thought it would be really neat to look at the skin once it was completely peeled off. Later though all the loose skin was gone, and no where to be seen. I had to assume that he had eaten the skin.
Daniel the lizard is quite the biology lesson. Food chain, reptile habitat, and life cycle, even insect life cycles as we feed him.
The first lesson we had was on the food chain. Daniel the lizard is an insectivore. We buy a steady supply of crickets for him. And they have to be moving before he'll eat them. The kids have been fascinated with what we feed the crickets. Crickets eat carrots, and grain. So Daniel is a secondary predator. We sometimes talk about what do carrots, corn, and wheat eat? Soil, water, and Sun are the standard answer.
Last night we introduced meal worms to Daniel's diet. He was fascinated. As we watched Daniel, he kept a very close eye on the meal worms. Daniel is a very attentive lizard. Normally when we gather round his tank he keeps a good eye on us. But he's relaxed about that realizing that we mean him no harm. And those meal worms were wriggling in the dish. His little head bobbed up and down, turning to the side to keep them in view. We never saw him eat his dinner, but this morning there are no more meal worms in the tank.
My daughter spotted the fact that Daniel was shedding. Around his legs we could see the white patches of skin peeling off. Fresh green skin was visible underneath. A white patch on his back soon peeled off as he crawled between the leaves of his palm tree. I thought it would be really neat to look at the skin once it was completely peeled off. Later though all the loose skin was gone, and no where to be seen. I had to assume that he had eaten the skin.
Daniel the lizard is quite the biology lesson. Food chain, reptile habitat, and life cycle, even insect life cycles as we feed him.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Yesterday was a very busy day for our house. We just had a lot of activities on the calender. It started out with a kids activity at church, and went from there.
In the afternoon I was getting us ready to go over to Dallas. We had a skating trip planned, followed by a potluck dinner. As I was pulling up maps, and directions, a child came to the door to ask my son to play. Paying more attention to the maps, I reminded him, we'll be leaving in a few minutes. The door shut, and I wrote down the last of the directions. I looked up and realized that he had left the house. Oh well, he's outside. I grabbed my purse, and a few other things, and went out to the car.
He wasn't easily visible. I yelled a few times to no avail. Finally I got in the car, expecting him to come running when he saw us getting ready to go. I started the car, and still no sign of him. Now I was starting to get mad. He's done this so many times already, run off. I drove around our complex, looking for him. But he was no where to be seen.
My mind was racing, trying to think. I pulled out my phone, an idea half formed in my mind. Maye someone could come over and stay at the house until my son decided to come home. I called a few friends, and no one picked up. Finally I reached one of my friends. She set me straight, we'll come look with you, and we'll take him to your place, but you do have to stay there until he shows his face. True. I was too upset to be thinking rationally. I was too angry, scared, anxious and everything else. But that was exactly what we needed to do. She promised, I'll make it boring, he can come over here as his consequence, instead of having a fun evening with Mom.
As this was going on, my neighbor, the people I've had tons of problems with, came home. As they came in they asked me, is everything okay. I guess the tears streaming down my face kind of gave it away that I was a touch upset. I explained the issue, and the grandfather went out to look and see if he could locate my son.
I paced my apartment, emotions sky rocketing, muttering to myself. My son burst thru the door, a look of concern on his face. I latched onto him, and began to cry. For a few minutes nothing was said as I simply held him close to me. The child has no idea of the dangers of this world. In between crying myself I explained to him the consequences of his actions.
"Baby, you don't get to come skating with us. You weren't here when we were ready to go."
His face fell, and he began to cry in earnest now.
Shortly my friend's husband arrived. My son realized this wasn't just talk, but real. He curled himself into a tiny ball underneath the stairs. I had to pry him off, dragging him to the car. I put him in the car, and had to simply walk away.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I cried.
As I was typing this, his friend knocked on the door. He opened the door, and vacillated on accepting her offer to come play. He explained to her, we can't go play so far from my house, I have to stay close to my house. Maybe he has learned something.
In the afternoon I was getting us ready to go over to Dallas. We had a skating trip planned, followed by a potluck dinner. As I was pulling up maps, and directions, a child came to the door to ask my son to play. Paying more attention to the maps, I reminded him, we'll be leaving in a few minutes. The door shut, and I wrote down the last of the directions. I looked up and realized that he had left the house. Oh well, he's outside. I grabbed my purse, and a few other things, and went out to the car.
He wasn't easily visible. I yelled a few times to no avail. Finally I got in the car, expecting him to come running when he saw us getting ready to go. I started the car, and still no sign of him. Now I was starting to get mad. He's done this so many times already, run off. I drove around our complex, looking for him. But he was no where to be seen.
My mind was racing, trying to think. I pulled out my phone, an idea half formed in my mind. Maye someone could come over and stay at the house until my son decided to come home. I called a few friends, and no one picked up. Finally I reached one of my friends. She set me straight, we'll come look with you, and we'll take him to your place, but you do have to stay there until he shows his face. True. I was too upset to be thinking rationally. I was too angry, scared, anxious and everything else. But that was exactly what we needed to do. She promised, I'll make it boring, he can come over here as his consequence, instead of having a fun evening with Mom.
As this was going on, my neighbor, the people I've had tons of problems with, came home. As they came in they asked me, is everything okay. I guess the tears streaming down my face kind of gave it away that I was a touch upset. I explained the issue, and the grandfather went out to look and see if he could locate my son.
I paced my apartment, emotions sky rocketing, muttering to myself. My son burst thru the door, a look of concern on his face. I latched onto him, and began to cry. For a few minutes nothing was said as I simply held him close to me. The child has no idea of the dangers of this world. In between crying myself I explained to him the consequences of his actions.
"Baby, you don't get to come skating with us. You weren't here when we were ready to go."
His face fell, and he began to cry in earnest now.
Shortly my friend's husband arrived. My son realized this wasn't just talk, but real. He curled himself into a tiny ball underneath the stairs. I had to pry him off, dragging him to the car. I put him in the car, and had to simply walk away.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I cried.
As I was typing this, his friend knocked on the door. He opened the door, and vacillated on accepting her offer to come play. He explained to her, we can't go play so far from my house, I have to stay close to my house. Maybe he has learned something.
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