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.
Monday, October 27, 2008
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.
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