Get Over Yourself

I am so sad right now. And mad. And soul-sick. Wait.  Let's go back to mad.  Yeah.  I'm mad.

This semester at Harding, I'm taking a wonderful class about family dynamics in our world. There are some aspects of it that make me glad to be a wife and mom. Some, however, just make me ill. One thing that has stuck in my mind for the past few weeks is how we treat the elderly here in America. It's pathetic. In almost every other country, developed and underdeveloped, the elderly are treasured and honored and cared for. In America, the elderly are, at most, just another person...and at the very least, a burden to be pawned off on some tired nurses in a "home" somewhere.

It used to be that when a person older than you walked into the room (older...not gray-headed necessarily or walking with a cane...older, period) you would stand and give up your chair for them. You'd open doors for them. You'd listen as long as they needed to talk. You'd give them preference and priority and respect!

But let's narrow it down. Let's talk about parents. It is shameful how parents are treated these days. I'm not talking about the years spent at home, growing up, learning your way. Those years could always use more respect, but it's not what makes me sick. I'm talking about after you move away and begin living "on your own". Little by little, your parents get shoved down on the priority list. Yes, you should call your parents often. Yes, you should make contact with them every holiday. Yes, you should do what you can to see to their needs. If they are "nasty" parents, meaning abusive to you and/or a danger to you, then seeking wise counsel about how to honor them is a good idea. But, honor them you must! We are COMMANDED to!

You do NOT get to speak disrespectfully to your parents. Being an adult does not make you a peer with your parents. You can hang out with them, visit with them, be so close with them...and still, they are your parents! If they fall on hard times, welcome them into your home indefinitely. Hard? Who cares. They wiped your bottom. They put up with your mouth. They forgave and forgave and forgave you. How long will they be on this earth? How can you best honor them?

There are three questions you MUST ask yourself every morning:
1. How can I best glorify God today?
2. How can I best meet my family's needs today?
3. How can I best honor my parents today?

Did you notice what you DON'T ask? How do I serve myself today? How can I get the most out of this day for myself? How can I make myself feel good? Myself? Myself? Myself?

Whatever happened to that long-ignored virtue self-sacrifice? Thinking of others? Humbling yourself? Giving respect to that person who raised you?

Yes, I'm angry. I've seen too much of it and I've literally spoken with parent after parent who will cry and blame themselves when their grown child is rude to them; takes advantage of them; feels entitled; and disrespects them. With the exception, as mentioned earlier, of those misguided parents who choose an abusive relationship with their children, parents are a gift. Treat them as such!

Many of you treat your boss better than your parent.  Many of you treat your dog better than your parent.  I have talked back to my parents before.  I've been rude to them, disrespected them, ignored them, and failed them.  And I found it's never too late to rectify that.  So, you may indeed call me self-righteous and call on times when you know I was a smart-mouth.  I will not argue. I found it's never too late to get over myself.

(And let me be perfectly clear.  "Abusive parent" does NOT include a parent you disagree with, don't like, think is lazy, wish had different habits, share different beliefs than, doesn't reach out to you, doesn't call YOU every day, doesn't look after YOUR needs anymore, and who takes a lot of energy and effort to be around.  You're no picnic either.)

Now....I need to go call Mama.

The Mommy Syndrome

Once you have it, it's always with you. I am constantly noticing runny noses, untied shoes, sleepiness, unfocused daydreaming, the pee-pee dance, the overwhelming desire to scream, wet diapers, dirty faces, hugs-in-wanting, tears-about-to-overflow, outside-voices, and too-quiet-to-be-up-to-anything-good.

I am constantly aware of the lack of "yes, ma'am", the shoulder shrug, the mumble, the inside sunglasses, the refusal-of-eye-contact, the slumped posture, the pull-up-your-pants-please!, the eternal pout, and the I'd-rather-be-anywhere-but-here-stare.

My kids participate in all of these at some points. And I do something about it! C'mon, parents! Let's be active! I don't want my kid to be the adult that no one wants to play with....the kid who becomes the adult no one wants to be around... the kid who becomes unhappy with himself but doesn't know why.

Sure...let a kid be a kid. Play, joy, imagination, giggles, fun, games, mischief, jokes, silliness, discovery, faith, innocence, trials, and goodness are all mandatory for childhood. To some of our children, these things do not come naturally and must be nurtured and cultivated. It's our job to do that. I really don't see a problem here in most cases. We want our children to be happy. We'd do anything to get a smile out of them. We hurt when they hurt so we do anything to keep from breaking their hearts. We make excuses for them when there are pending consequences. We ignore certain behavior to avoid conflict. We allow their individuality to become selfishness in the name of open-minded parenting.

Stop it.

When your child gets in trouble, it is NOT our job to cover it up, make excuses, say everything's okay, or come to their defense. YES, we love our children! It is our job, BECAUSE we love them, to stay beside them every step of the way. We must support them and hug them AS they pay the price. This doesn't, as so many parents fear, convey to them that we think they're bad or we don't care. Just the opposite, in fact. It tells them that, no matter what, we are always here for them and love them. It says, "Yes. You messed up. I've messed up too. I understand and am right here as you struggle through this life-lesson." When they don't get their way or their plans don't go as they want, it is NOT our job to re-manipulate the situation so that our sweeties are happy again. It's our job to convey to them that life will do this to them over and over and their reaction to it is more important than the actual plan not coming to fruition.

Parenting is so much more than runny-noses and untied shoes. The future DEPENDS on our efforts in discipline and active involvement in what's BEST for our child (not what's comfortable at the time!).

Preachy preachy. Yes, I know. And those of you who know me know that this must be a lesson I need badly myself. :)

I preach what I myself need to hear. My daughter is going through a difficult time right now. She has auditioned for a play, didn't make it; tested for a program, just missed it; and is now wanting to try-out for the swim team and has only had minimal lessons (I know she won't make it).

When she didn't get into this certain program I was so devestated. It was hard to encourage her when I really wanted to go down and have a "talk" with the administrators. Why would they NOT accept her? She's bright, sweet, selfless, determined, ethical, brilliant, etc... I had several sleepless nights over this. So did Maggie. It reminded me of a time in High School when I didn't get into a certain program. My mom DID go down and have a talk with one of the people in charge and was told that the program was directed toward students who needed the extra-curricular "club" because they needed the confidence...and they thought I didn't. Hooey. But I remember feeling like I'd let my mom down. I know now I didn't; that she was hurting for me. So, when Mark DID go and talk to one of the people in charge, he didn't tell Maggie he was doing it.

Then, right on the tail of this disappointment, was her failed audition. She sang a beautiful solo, did a choreographed dance, followed stage direction perfectly, was bold, etc...and didn't make it. I was crestfallen for her. I wanted to fix it! How could they NOT choose her! But then I remembered how I tried out for cheerleader for four years in a row and never won. I put myself out there for everyone to see and everyone knew that I had never made it. There was cruelty and fun-making. It was miserable. When I did become cheerleader, it was only because a certain girl had moved away and they were bumping up the names on the list. Because a small amount of girls had tried out and they could only accept so many, only one girl had not made it. Me. And, yay, now by default I got to join. So good for the self-esteem to know that I was the absolute least popular girl in the entire school.

And I remembered how my parents handled that. They held me while I cried and then told me how proud they were of me. They assured me that High School popularity in no way defined me. This didn't sink in until years later, but my subconscious heard it. That's what I needed. To know that I could fail and still not let them down. That was more important than them fighting my battles for me.

So, when Maggie's name was not on the cast list, I held her. She actually didn't cry. She handled it with grace and took time to read over the list to see if there were girls she knew so she could congratulate them. She told me she knew she'd done her best, that she'd been very good, and that they just couldn't choose everyone. I thought, "Boo-Hoo! She doesn't need me!!!"

But wait. She doesn't need me.....to define her....to be her strength...to keep her from building her own life and personality. Cool.

So I was in a quandry. Do we let her try out for the swim team? We KNOW she will not make it. But, is that the point? Mark told me just yesterday that he is going to let her try out. He said it's good for her. My first impulse was to argue...to shelter her from pain, embarrassment, disappointment...from a character-building experience, life, growing pains. I must trust my daughter. I must use disappointments to help her grow. And I must NOT convey to her that I don't think she's good enough.

It's hard. But I guess if it was easy, there wouldn't be parenting classes, books, counselling, etc... As parents, let's encourage each other!

We can do this!! And so can our kids!!

Dead Trees and Timing

Today marks the end of one whole week of college life for me. I made it! And I love it! Every day has caused a flashback of college life 15 years ago and I'm reminded how blessed I am today. When I first attempted college, my finances were a mess, my confidence was nil, my physical being was under enometrial siege, my dating life had just taken a very public and embarrassing dive, and I was experiencing a chemical depression that was yet to be diagnosed.

Today is proof that one never knows what's in store. Ten years ago, I was resolute in my decision to never go back to school. My health had only deteriorated, my social life had only deteriorated, my confidence had only....you get the idea. Then the tree began to blossom.

In the summer time when trees seem dead, it's hard to picture them in full bloom. They have to rest, store up minerals, food, and water in preparation for the spring. They look weary, useless, lifeless, as if they have nothing to offer. But then the tree begins to blossom.

Maggie.

Those of you who know the story of my miracle child are probably tired of hearing about it. But, I never am. I am constantly amazed at the turn of events she set in motion. My health...because the endometriosis had killed so much of me, I was seeing five different specialists. On their recommendation, and the prayers and support of my family and friends, I became artificially inseminated. Pregnancy could offer the one last hope of reversing some of the endometrial damage; and if it didn't, then this would be my last ditch chance of having a child.

Let's remember....my life was a wreck. No social life, no future goals, no anything. I simple existed. Through the process of fertility and meeting Mark and maturing in my spiritual journey and deepening my relationship with family, a 180 took place. All of a sudden, my life had meaning. I began to see how all of the physical trials had led me to this moment. Maggie. I'd do it all over again if I had to.

I also began seeing another pattern emerging.

After almost a decade of marriage, I have had the chance to make out a time-line of my life and truly study it. How perfect everything seems now. Heartache, loneliness, depression, shame, destitution, dependence...gathering minerals, water, and food.

I am in school to get my Family Life Education degree which will ultimately lead to me being a family therapist with emphasis on child trauma. What kind of therapist would I be if I'd never lived what my future clients will have experienced? Empathy cannot be taught in a classroom and compassion is on no exit exam. I am so blessed to have had a dead-tree life in order to prepare for this wonderful spring I can now see.

Yesterday, a sweet friend said, "You're a survivor. You're going to be a great therapist!" I was humbled. I've never really thought of myself as being a survivor. Survivors fight through their mess and arrive victorious on the other side. I feel as if I tolerated the mess until God pulled me through to the other side. But regardless of how I got here, I'm here.

I love God's timing. I love His plan. I love that I am not God.

Fort Mascara

First Day of School. This well-known and widely-celebrated holiday seems to touch everyone at various stages of life every year. Today is my first day of school...again. Hi, my name is Kim, and I'm a 38 year old starting back to college in hopes (again) of completing my undergrad degree. So, is it different for me than for, say, my nine year old who is starting Fourth Grade today? Nope. No, it's not. She painstakingly planned her wardrobe, brushed her hair until is shone, packed her lunch with detail to every aspect and had her backpack at the door....last night. Me? I'm too old to care about things like wardrobe and all that right? I mean, as long as I have a pen, some paper, my textbook and the laptop, I'm good to go.

This should be the case but it's not. This is very interesting to me. It's interesting that I thought I didn't care what I would wear until I couldn't find a certain pair of jeans this morning. I mean, I have a few other pair of jeans but for some reason, I HAD to find THIS pair. Then, the shirt. I was going to just throw on a T-shirt. But from the looks of my bed, now strewn with blouses of every color and style, I may have been a little more invested in this as well.

Make-up. I haven't been wearing a lot of make-up lately, but when I was done this morning, I stared at the mask looking back at me from the mirror. Wow....layer much?

So, this is what I've learned....about myself, if not people in general. I care. As much as I wish I didn't, I do. When you see me today, those of you who WILL see me today, feel free to make fun. I am not so much insecure about the outfit, hair, make-up, etc, as I am just traditional. It's like putting up the Christmas tree even though you won't be home for Christmas. You just do it. It's just the way it's always been. I will always arm myself with lint-free clothing and heavy make-up when embarking on something new.

To all you gals out there pumping the mascara tube, may you be blemish-free and may your deodorant work all day today!

When Real is Real Annoying

It occurs to me as I lick my bowl that there's a little "slob" in me. It was a great pasta dish, I'm all alone in my own home, and there was sauce left at the bottom of the bowl! Yummy! So, if there were people here, would I have still licked the bowl? If I was at a restaurant, would I lick the bowl? No. No I wouldn't. Does this mean I'm a fake?

I know people who say, "I am comfortable with myself. What you see is what you get." And that's great. We should all be confident enough to show our true colors, stand by our own opinions, follow through with our words, and unapologetically sport our own style. I encourage this full-speed! In fact, I refuse to define beauty, success, love, reason, comfort, or style in any kind of general sense. These things are defined by each person for themselves. When you see my children wearing polka-dots with stripes, orange with red, hair sticking straight up, flip-flops with taffeta... just know it's not negligence. It's Mark and me setting a foundation of what's appropriate and modest, and letting each person in the house decide what makes THEM feel beautiful and stylish.

But, if I lick my bowl in private, should I lick my bowl public? I mean, I digressed a little with the whole beauty-style-definition thing. Real is real, right?

I believe I can be real and still NOT lick my bowl in public.

I knew a girl in college who was herself, her earthy-natural-selfy self, all the time. No matter where we were. She was sure of herself and didn't seem to need anyone's compliments or assurance. This was such a respectable quality. And I was totally put off by her. I cringed when I knew she would be around. Oh yes, what you saw is what you got. She passed gas, picked her nose, scratched, burped, and yes she licked her bowl. Gross. Not gross because she did all of those naturally human things. Gross because she did them where I could see her.

I'm all about being my own person bla bla bla. But, people, it's not about that. It's about considering others. To thine own self be true? Yes, in the privacy of your own home, feel free to be as true as thine own self would like. But hopefully, within you, there is a true sense of respect that will give you the common sense to hold your tongue when needs be, keep private things private, and observe politeness when politeness is called for.

I know this girl who, in the dorm rooms, would entertain us all by burping the alphabet in two octaves. I still smile just thinking about it. But she would never have done that in public. She was true to herself AND respectful of others.

You're not being fake by having manners.

The Last Dog Days of Summer

Our dog is sick. Most of you know this. Some of you don't, so I'll just tell you about it. One day, our Maisy just wasn't herself. Overnight, she went from hyper, happy, white, playful, bark-at-pedestrians sweetness...to...lethargic, drooling, not eating, dull-colored (in fact, yellow), despondant, quiet nothingness. We tried not to panic. We tried the normal stuff. On day three of same symptoms, we took her to the vet. We're thinking a bad virus, bug bite, snake bite...oh, no. Not something normal for our dog. She has Canine Autoimmune Hemolytic Anemia. This is a disorder that only 10% of dogs get. Of course. Her red blood cell count went from the normal range of 35-50 to 18. Then 15 the next day. We knew it was over. So few dogs survive from this. But the next day, the count went back up to 18. Wha..? So, now I'm force-feeding chicken broth to her through a dropper and Mark's sleeping on a pallet in the floor beside her at night and we're just countingher breaths.

Here's the good part. I haven't thought of myself once during the past few days. Service, even to a DOG, will get your head back in the game. It never fails. Thank you, God, for Canine Autoimmune Hemolytic Anemia. It reminded me there are things bigger than me. My dog is fighting for her life and she may pull through. I am fighting daily against the evil one and I already know I'll pull through.

Anger Rising...

Well, as expected, this new No Yelling Policy was put to the test immediately. Boy, did I wanna explode last night!

Oh, but first, let's rewind. A few weeks ago, I said the next leg of this journey is about understanding the reasons behind decisions I've made. You know...the if-I-could-go-back-I'd-do-it-all-differently decisions. Well, don't think I've derailed. Anger is the beginning. I remember making decisions based solely on the feeling of rage. This is where we begin and if I don't get it together, we may not move forward!

Last night, Mark and I went to one of the kids' Open Houses for school. It didn't take long for my insecurities to kick in...just stepping onto a school campus triggers them. I saw all the perfect moms. Tan, blonde, buffed, shined, styled and smiling. Children walking obediently beside them with matching hairbows and clean, pressed clothing. Having had therapy yesterday, I was wiped out. I was wearing my oh-so-baggy pants, had not a stitch of make-up on (and let's remember that I bawled my eyes out earlier), and only washed hair...not moussed, dried, and styled hair. No jewelry. Nothing really matched. My toenail polish was chipping. I hated every woman in the building. Anger rising.

I spent the entire Principal-Speech-Orientation-Bla-Bla-Bla calming myself. Good grief. These women deserve come credit. If they can run a household and still show up looking like diamonds, then way to freakin' go. I mean, way to go. Yes. Good. Very good for them. I could look good. If I wanted to. I mean, if I wanted to and had the energy and money and....Okay, let's move on already.

We got to the designated classroom, found our child's name and little desk. I started brightening immediately. The bookshelves, the calendar, the wall-art, the fun activities...Oh, I know this will be a good year! The teacher seems nice. What's this? I spy a name at one of the desks...a classmate from last year that is a best friend! Oh, how wonderful! I begin looking at other names. Oh, for the love of all that is right. There it is. The name of the Nemesis. And the Nemesis has a mom. The mom who always does everything perfectly. The mom who goes on all the field trips. The mom who is at the school involved in every micro-detail every time I show up and who makes me feel pittied somehow for not being as involved as she is. Anger rising.

At least the best friend is there. Until I talk to best friend's mom and find that they're actually probably going to home school this year. WHAT?!!!

Mark, take me home.

This may seem ridiculous to most of you. However, remember I have an anger problem and it takes so little to trigger it these days. Nemesis-and-Mom in my kid's class. Perfect.

I started to rant on the way to the car. I didn't yell. I did not ONCE raise my voice. I didn't hurl a stapler at anyone. I didn't curse...wait. Hmm. Well, I didn't come home and begin plotting the year to come.

I prayed. I prayed and I asked Mark to help keep me grounded. And here's something interesting. Mark brought this wisdom to the table. Why do I care? What does it matter to ME that this mommy needs to be there every minute of her child's day? Why do I care that everyone always loves her? Why do I care that she politics all year so that her child always gets all the Best-Freakin'-Person-in-the-World Awards? Why? I'm not jealous. I just have issues with that type of personality. And that's irrational. Let it go.

Deep breath.

Let her be what she is. Let what happens happen. It's not in my control. I can be the best mom I can be and that has nothing to do with the other mothering going on.

I. Will. Not. Be. Angry. Over. This. :)

(Ask me how this is going in couple of weeks!)