When I know someone is lying to me it is so hard to just go along with it and watch the fiction unfold. Yet I don’t get any real satisfaction from calling the junk out on the table. I’m currently watching one lie topple into another and I feel like I need to cover my eyes and peek through my fingers. Human nature leaves me wanting to know what happens next, but dang, why can’t people just be honest? The snowball just keeps getting bigger as it rolls down the hill. I think it’s time for me to shake the sun out and warm things up a bit. The sooner I can get the snowball to melt the less damage it will do.
I Can’t Watch
December 8th, 2008
Quivering Lips
December 6th, 2008My 2 1/2 year old daughter has the unique ability to make me angry and hysterical at the same time. There’s is nothing like trying to be firm and authoritative with a wide-eyed, witty toddler interjecting commentary that makes it impossible to stay mad, let alone keep a straight face.
Yesterday my daughter, who has been potty training for the past few months, intentionally wet her pants. Mommy wasn’t happy. I knew she needed to go and yet she stubbornly stuck her chin in the air and informed me she did not. A minute later her jeans looked like she sat on a sprinkler. I angrily hauled her into the bathroom, sat her on the thrown and began my lecture of why it is important to be honest with mommy and not dirty her pants. She sat there staring at my flushed cheeks without an ounce of concern. Her eyes sparkled at my entertaining performance of The Taming of the Shrew. When I paused to ask if she understood, she nodded yes and quickly asked “mommy, are you saaaaaaaad?….are you going to cryyyyyyyy?” She wasn’t worried about my frail disposition. She was clearly enjoying her mother’s weak grasp on sanity and was excited at the prospect of an emotional climax to it all. Turkey. I wanted to throttle her and burst out laughing at exactly the same moment. I stood there as my lip quivered through a suppressed giggle. No way was I going to let her see me laugh.
That experience made me wonder why it’s easy for me to mix laughter and anger with my children, but not with anyone else. If a grown stranger, friend or family member had pulled the same stunt I would have been even angrier. Somehow my child’s enjoyment of my angst softens instead of hardens. Perhaps it’s because I know she isn’t being malicious, she’s just being 2. Still, it would be a lot easier to navigate life if those who make us genuinely angry were capable of giving us a hardy chuckle at the same time. Quivering with giggles is much better than quivering with rage.
Buttons
November 21st, 2008The best way to find out all the things your remotes, computers and electronics can do is to give your toddler a few seconds alone with them. Several times a day I find myself in the middle of the “what the heck could they have pushed” game. I have to admit I’ve discovered features I never would have had a clue about were it not for my tech savvy children.
Of course, my kids have also managed to push some of my own buttons that I wasn’t exactly aware of either, the internal kind that can leave you anywhere from mushy/sappy to psycho/crazy. And just like with the remote, the mommy buttons that lead to a bad result seem to be the most intriguing to them. On the positive side, once they’ve pushed a not so great button I know exactly how to undo the damage quickly the next time. I can also anticipate when they are about to push something with dire consequences and redirect them.
Scars
November 20th, 2008Until Sunday I thought seeing red was just about being angry. My daughter’s innocent dance twirl that catapulted her face first into our television stand changed all that. Where delicate flesh met unforgiving wood, injury reigned supreme. I saw red alright. My heart wasn’t angry, it was shattered. What was supposed to be a relaxing afternoon at home turned into a chaotic race to the hospital. There capable hands worked to put her back together again while I struggled to keep my emotions in check. How did it happen? How did the little twirl she’d done countless times before go so wrong? How was my little girl smiling and facing needles and thread so bravely when her big and protective mom wanted to sob on the floor?
By the time we made it home, my daughter was lost in the joy of the grape popsicle she earned for being such a good patient. Though well aware of her boo-boo, she was completely over the events that led us to that point. Mommy wasn’t though. When she asked for some music and for us all to dance I wanted to say no. I wanted to bundle her up on the couch with a good book and make sure she was safe and sound. Her eyes pleaded as only a 2 year old’s can. So we danced and she spun and I realized a split lip and a couple of stitches wasn’t the worst injury she could have walked away with. Had her confidence been damaged, it would have left a deeper wound.
Refrigerators
November 13th, 2008There was a time when the only thing on my refrigerator was a magnetic calendar from my car insurance agent. After I had been working for a while and had some extra cash, a few take out menus joined the calendar for easy access. Now that I have kids, it’s easier to list what’s not on my frig than what is. At a glance I see a fuzzy lamb made out of cotton balls, a paper coconut tree, a $20 bill, pediatrician appointment cards, timers, lists of various importance, emergency phone numbers, a magnetic play toy, pictures…the list goes on. I still have a calendar. This one is from a real estate company. It’s amazing I put so much care and concern into selecting the exterior I wanted for my frig when I can’t see it anyway. My life is essentially plastered to a Kenmore these days.
Not to freak people out who I know in real life, but I do look at people’s refrigerators a lot. Just as my frig is a window to my world, the same can be said of my friends’ and family’s frigs. Some revelations have pulled at my heart. Numbers for various support groups, notices for parent/teacher meetings for struggling kids, medical specialist appointment cards, debt notices and the like. I never judge what I see. It’s simply information to absorb that helps me open my heart and mind even more to what others are going through. I wish we could all be as open and honest in life with others as we are with our refrigerators. I can tell you from my observations, struggles and obstacles are not in short supply. Using refrigerators as my reference, people have even more in common with one another than they think at times.
Name That Christian
November 6th, 2008One of the saddest developments in the 2008 election season was the endless questioning of Barack Obama’s faith. Yes, it could be argued whether or not some of his beliefs or decisions live up to Biblical expectation. The fact is though, all Christians are flawed in some way. That is why all needed to be saved. The most important aspect of Christianity, in my opinion, is accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior. Once you’ve done that publicly it is pretty much between you and God to know how true it is.
Up to the election, and even now, you can still find individuals denouncing Obama’s Christianity. Some do so as a result of his stance on gay rights and abortion. Never mind he himself is not gay, nor has he ever had an abortion. He is right with what some believe God expects, he simply believes, as do most, politicians are in place to honor the Constitution of our country and churches are a place to honor the law of God. And if we want to hold the Bible to the letter, I don’t think there is a politician in existence, with all sins being equal, who is in the clear. There are plenty who not only condone things that go against the Bible, but practice things that are actually part of the 10 Commandments. Thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not commit adultery and thou shall love thy neighbor (and not bear false witness against them) are the top three that come to mind. Those candidates don’t seem to attract the same level of condemnation for their direct sins against God. It makes it hard to consider the Christian Right credible when they rise against a candidate over abortion and homosexuality, but shake off the indiscretions of those who happen to line up on their side of the abortion/homosexuality issue. Again, all sins being equal.
The most upsetting for me is those who say Obama is not a Christian because of his name. They admit this with a wink and a grin as if his name exposes him for the fraud he is. I want to shake these people and remind them of their Missionary work. How many Christian soldiers are spread throughout the world right now converting non-Christians? Thousands. Those who have converted are not named Peter, John or Michael. So, is their conversion a fraud? Or perhaps they are a lower level Christian? It’s disgusting and a slap in the face to what Christianity is supposed to mean. It’s also a publicity nightmare for the faith in general. I’m sure many of the faithful in the US and abroad got the message loud and clear. Christians are willing to accept you as one of them when tallying their conversion points for God, but not when it comes to supporting your efforts to serve your public and your country.
Commercials Kill Me
November 2nd, 2008It’s so obvious when commercials are created by or written for people who never are in the situation actually being described. Have you seen the one with the woman who is faced with a giant rolling ball of laundry? Apparently it is 6 months worth of dirty clothes. Normally the task of doing that much laundry would be daunting. Not in this case though. She has a front loading washing machine that can store up to 6 months worth of detergent. She need not worry about pouring soap to get the job done. Suddenly her life is easier and that massive ball of laundry isn’t so intimidating. The end of the commercial shows her happy with a mountain of clean and neatly folded laundry beside her. I believe the machine runs about $1,500. Dare I say it’s a rip off? Unless I’m unique, in the overall scheme of things the pouring of the soap is hardly noticeable. If the washing machine industry really wants to make that giant rolling garment ball less of a chore, invent a machine that sorts, empties pockets, treats stains and folds. Just saying.
Hen Pecking
October 31st, 2008Hens don’t peck outcast chicks to somehow make those chicks better at conforming to the group. They do it to destroy the chick. Often times the chicks are pecked and bloodied for no more reason than being themselves. It’s devastating to watch. You try to distract the hens and coach the chicks, but there is often little that can be done other than completely isolating the targeted chicks. Watching nature take its course is tough. Seeing the proud chicks, heads held high with feather remnants dangling from their beaks, is one of those things you never really get used to. Although, getting used to it would mean losing yet another thread of compassion that makes humans so special.
Grandpa’s Secret
October 26th, 2008My Grandpa has always been a busy body. He’s a few days away from 87 and does a little more couch sitting now then before, but he’s still pretty active for a man of his years. As a kid and young adult, I often wondered where my Grandpa’s inner drive came from and why it didn’t get passed down to me. I like to do things from time to time, but I don’t seem to burn with the same desire to fill every moment of my life with something.
Recently my Grandpa faced a health challenge that could have been the beginning of the end. Not wanting to risk losing him before knowing him better, I asked him some questions in a letter. One question was about his inner fire. Where did it come from and why didn’t he pass it down genetically? My Grandpa was very candid with his answer. It wasn’t something cellular. When he was young he wasn’t all that motivated or driven. WWII changed him. He saw many of his comrades die beside him and had a few close calls himself. At the time he was a poor farm kid without a wife or family. Men dying beside him had a lot more to live for and yet he was the one to come out intact. When his foot hit American soil again he promised himself he would live his life for those who couldn’t, for those who never came home. Reading his words I knew it was the blunt truth. His life was a mission. It all made perfect sense. He came home from the War, but he never stopped being a soldier and comrade. Never.
This knowlege has made me wonder if some of us are missing out on life because we’ve never had the opportunity to experience just how precious and valuable it is.
Not Yet
October 18th, 2008I know when someone does something crappy and apologizes it is best to accept the apology and move on. As a fan of peace and harmony I usually don’t like to drag things out too long. If the “I’m sorry” is sincere, that is typically enough. There are times when I feel like being mad for a bit, however. It’s this inner need to give whatever assinine word or gesture that occurred its due attention. When apologies come immediately, it’s like you are stripped of the chance to enjoy a full blown moment of pissed-off-tivity. It doesn’t seem fair to subject someone to stupidity and not allow a chunk of time for them to shove things around violently while muttering all the jungle animals you are likely kin to. The very act of furiously cleaning my house is a crucial step in the process to closure. I need that experience to be able to embrace the apology and truly move past whatever happened.
So, to the person who screwed up today, I appreciate your apology. I will eventually forgive you. Just, not yet.