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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Gradually they are learning that they have to think for themselves because the quality of their life depends on their own ability to think.