Today in the big wide world of blogging and social media, friends and family were noting all that which they are grateful to have on this day of Thanks. I spent the day reading these from my hospital bed.
Spending the holiday recovering from emergency surgery sure gave me a different perspective this year. I had time, lots of time, to feel sorry for myself. During the times Craig wasn't there, I had time to feel lonely. But I also had a lot of time to reflect and realize that being sad and lonely were actually healthy feelings and I was lucky to have them. So this year, I am sharing my gratitude of an altered perspective.
I am a blessed woman to have a loving husband and four children to miss from my hospital bed. I am lucky to have sisters and parents and extended family to call and text with in the middle of the night when I felt hurt or sad. I am grateful for friends who reached out through facebook to wish me well.
I'm lucky to be able to have the medical care that kept me in that bed and away from my family. I'm lucky to have a home and warm bed of my own to miss.
I am lucky to have a Thanksgiving meal to cancel in the first place. The fact that I have surplus food to worry about cooking later, and a turkey waiting to be eaten is a good thing. Heavy cream that must be frozen, asparagus that must be eaten on a different day, bottles of wine to be shared with friends and family later...these are all blessings.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and this year I find myself giving thanks for my blessings in a different way. I realized that a canceled Thanksgiving can also be a beautiful thing.
Showing posts with label The World In My Eyes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The World In My Eyes. Show all posts
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Friday, September 21, 2012
Confession
I have recently discovered that I am a hoarder. A food hoarder.
The way those crazy people on TLC save pieces of aluminum foil and toilet paper rolls and tupperware lids with no home...that's me with breakfast food at my school. I am on the path to recovery, though, and understanding myself.
This year we began a new program in which every child in school eats breakfast in the classroom for free. I am one hundred percent behind this program because every child deserves to eat, no matter what.
There's one part of it that bothers me, though. When a child refuses something, or just isn't hungry, or maybe ate at home, the food is disposed. As in perfectly good, healthy, yummy food tossed into the trash. That's the rule in order for us to be reimbursed for meals.
Does that seem absurd to anyone else??
I do NOT want to jeopardize our program so I am usually pretty diligent about following the rules. Except when I'm...not. It pains me to throw this stuff out. Sometimes I compulsively stash it. This is my fridge today.
So....yeah. Nobody eats my stashed food. It's just there, resting in the refrigerator instead of in the trash can. But I dream about hungry kids knocking on my classroom door, needing some pancakes from my secret food pantry. I imagine giving fruit to people at soup kitchens, despite the fact that it's really not mine to give. I imagine interrupting political debates and interjecting, "I can help! I have pancakes!"
This is such a strange country we live in, where in order to feed hungry kids, I actually have to throw food away. Meanwhile, 35 million people in the US suffer chronic hunger every day. It's not all lazy sign-holders and crack addicts like some people think. The average "hungry" family household has working parents who have to make tough choices between healthy food items and electricity.
That was my family. Two working parents who didn't ask for help. They made the most of their few dollars, and learned to stretch. We ate soup. We ate cheap pasta. We ate seasonal fruit from our yard. We had times when things were great, and times when things got bad. As the oldest, I remember my parents whispering and looking at each other with worry in their eyes, wondering if we'd make it until payday. I remember being that kid in class who hadn't had breakfast but would never complain.
That part of my childhood was a very long time ago, but roots grow deep, I guess. I have a sister who compulsively buys clothes for her kids. Another sister buys more toys than her kids will ever need or want. Me? I overspend on food. And apparently I am now a recovering school breakfast hoarder.
The way those crazy people on TLC save pieces of aluminum foil and toilet paper rolls and tupperware lids with no home...that's me with breakfast food at my school. I am on the path to recovery, though, and understanding myself.
This year we began a new program in which every child in school eats breakfast in the classroom for free. I am one hundred percent behind this program because every child deserves to eat, no matter what.
There's one part of it that bothers me, though. When a child refuses something, or just isn't hungry, or maybe ate at home, the food is disposed. As in perfectly good, healthy, yummy food tossed into the trash. That's the rule in order for us to be reimbursed for meals.
Does that seem absurd to anyone else??
I do NOT want to jeopardize our program so I am usually pretty diligent about following the rules. Except when I'm...not. It pains me to throw this stuff out. Sometimes I compulsively stash it. This is my fridge today.
So....yeah. Nobody eats my stashed food. It's just there, resting in the refrigerator instead of in the trash can. But I dream about hungry kids knocking on my classroom door, needing some pancakes from my secret food pantry. I imagine giving fruit to people at soup kitchens, despite the fact that it's really not mine to give. I imagine interrupting political debates and interjecting, "I can help! I have pancakes!"
This is such a strange country we live in, where in order to feed hungry kids, I actually have to throw food away. Meanwhile, 35 million people in the US suffer chronic hunger every day. It's not all lazy sign-holders and crack addicts like some people think. The average "hungry" family household has working parents who have to make tough choices between healthy food items and electricity.
That was my family. Two working parents who didn't ask for help. They made the most of their few dollars, and learned to stretch. We ate soup. We ate cheap pasta. We ate seasonal fruit from our yard. We had times when things were great, and times when things got bad. As the oldest, I remember my parents whispering and looking at each other with worry in their eyes, wondering if we'd make it until payday. I remember being that kid in class who hadn't had breakfast but would never complain.
That part of my childhood was a very long time ago, but roots grow deep, I guess. I have a sister who compulsively buys clothes for her kids. Another sister buys more toys than her kids will ever need or want. Me? I overspend on food. And apparently I am now a recovering school breakfast hoarder.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Peace, Love, Happiness
Lots of people tend to become poetically reflective around the New Year, but not me. I'm a birthday sort of girl. Whenever April 18th rolls around, I find myself thinking a lot about my little world and my place in it.
I've never been one for wistful thinking about what could be, if only. I guess I just don't have an if only personality. You know what I mean....if only I had a better job, if only we made more money, if only I had a nicer car, if only we could live in a better neighborhood....if only.
Not that I don't have goals and dreams, because I do. My head is in the clouds more often than not. It's just that I'm not ruled by the if only thoughts that cause so many people so much unhappiness.
Want to know the secret to happiness? Learn to love what you have, while you have it. Dream big and work hard for those dreams, but find contentment along the way.
I love my life. Love it. I have a wonderful husband and family, a career that gives me joy, a nice place to live and raise my littlest daughters. If this is all I ever had I would be content. And yet, every time another birthday rolls around, I find that more and more of my dreams have come true.
Life is good.
I've never been one for wistful thinking about what could be, if only. I guess I just don't have an if only personality. You know what I mean....if only I had a better job, if only we made more money, if only I had a nicer car, if only we could live in a better neighborhood....if only.
Not that I don't have goals and dreams, because I do. My head is in the clouds more often than not. It's just that I'm not ruled by the if only thoughts that cause so many people so much unhappiness.
Want to know the secret to happiness? Learn to love what you have, while you have it. Dream big and work hard for those dreams, but find contentment along the way.
I love my life. Love it. I have a wonderful husband and family, a career that gives me joy, a nice place to live and raise my littlest daughters. If this is all I ever had I would be content. And yet, every time another birthday rolls around, I find that more and more of my dreams have come true.
Life is good.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
I Am The Fat One
I've been reading a lot of blogs lately about women who are struggling with weight loss. Some of my favorite bloggers are on a quest to lose, and are being pretty successful too. When I read them, I am amazed at how open they can be about it, posting pictures and talking about their feelings.
They talk a lot about losing, but nobody ever talks about being fat. I think in our world, it's only okay to address the issue of fat if you are already trying to lose yours. Hence, the weight-loss blogs.
I've always been really uptight about discussing weight. It's a taboo subject. It hurts people's feelings. It hurts my feelings. Honestly, who wants to be the center of negative attention? It's really hard to be a fat person in a thin world.
Thin people always wonder; why doesn't that fat girl just exercise more self control? If she would only stop eating, she'd lose weight. Calories in-calories out. Simple.
Hmmm. It's not quite that simple. There are many, many reasons why a person might be overweight besides the desire to gorge herself.
Everyone in my family is slender. Everyone. Except me. I'm the fat one.
They never say anything, and they love me just the same. Well, sometimes my mother says things, but whose mom doesn't? But, it's the way it is, and we all know it.
When you're the fat one, you spend a great deal of time holding your stomach just so. You try on lots of clothes and adjust waistbands, stretch the edges of t-shirts, look for well-placed pockets. If you are lucky like me, you have larger breasts that can take some of the attention away from the behind area.
When you're the fat one, it feels like everyone scrutinizes you to see what you put in your mouth. I'll tell you, I'm surrounded daily by people who eat worse diets than I do. What the hell?
When you're the fat one, many thoughts are centered around what hairstyle or makeup or clothing or shoes will not contribute to the appearance of fatness.
Here's the thing, though. I've been thinking about it for a LONG time, and I've finally figured out a major reason why I don't attempt to thin myself out a little more. It's going to sound conceited, but it's not really. The truth is, I forget I'm fat most of the time. I feel thin. I feel beautiful. I feel sexy. I really, really do.
I'm a big believer in loving oneself, and in the idea that how we feel inside is how others will see us. The mind is such a powerful thing. My husband is the only one who sees me naked, and since I think I'm sexy, he thinks I'm sexy. I love myself and believe I'm worthy, so he does too. My little girls cuddle with me and snuggle into my curves, and are perfectly fine with it.
So to all my fat girlfriends... screw it. Eat healthy foods and get moderate exercise, but if you still have curves, embrace them. Who cares? Love yourself, and surround yourself with people who are worthy of you.
We are all so much more than a number on the scale.
They talk a lot about losing, but nobody ever talks about being fat. I think in our world, it's only okay to address the issue of fat if you are already trying to lose yours. Hence, the weight-loss blogs.
I've always been really uptight about discussing weight. It's a taboo subject. It hurts people's feelings. It hurts my feelings. Honestly, who wants to be the center of negative attention? It's really hard to be a fat person in a thin world.
Thin people always wonder; why doesn't that fat girl just exercise more self control? If she would only stop eating, she'd lose weight. Calories in-calories out. Simple.
Hmmm. It's not quite that simple. There are many, many reasons why a person might be overweight besides the desire to gorge herself.
Everyone in my family is slender. Everyone. Except me. I'm the fat one.
They never say anything, and they love me just the same. Well, sometimes my mother says things, but whose mom doesn't? But, it's the way it is, and we all know it.
When you're the fat one, you spend a great deal of time holding your stomach just so. You try on lots of clothes and adjust waistbands, stretch the edges of t-shirts, look for well-placed pockets. If you are lucky like me, you have larger breasts that can take some of the attention away from the behind area.
When you're the fat one, it feels like everyone scrutinizes you to see what you put in your mouth. I'll tell you, I'm surrounded daily by people who eat worse diets than I do. What the hell?
When you're the fat one, many thoughts are centered around what hairstyle or makeup or clothing or shoes will not contribute to the appearance of fatness.
Here's the thing, though. I've been thinking about it for a LONG time, and I've finally figured out a major reason why I don't attempt to thin myself out a little more. It's going to sound conceited, but it's not really. The truth is, I forget I'm fat most of the time. I feel thin. I feel beautiful. I feel sexy. I really, really do.
I'm a big believer in loving oneself, and in the idea that how we feel inside is how others will see us. The mind is such a powerful thing. My husband is the only one who sees me naked, and since I think I'm sexy, he thinks I'm sexy. I love myself and believe I'm worthy, so he does too. My little girls cuddle with me and snuggle into my curves, and are perfectly fine with it.
So to all my fat girlfriends... screw it. Eat healthy foods and get moderate exercise, but if you still have curves, embrace them. Who cares? Love yourself, and surround yourself with people who are worthy of you.
We are all so much more than a number on the scale.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Thirty-Ten is the New Forty
So. It's not so bad. Really.
For all my self-deprecation this past week, I actually feel good. I feel like me, same as always. "Age is just a number." That's what they say, right? Besides, Kharli tells me I'm officially a cougar now!
I'm not sorry about entering a new decade of numbers. Numbers are important. Numbers represent more than what they are. When we add together all our hours, our days, our years living on this planet...well, why would anyone want to deny those?
Why would I really want to turn back the clock and deny all those days of being me? Why would I be sad and wish to have those days back? If anything, growing a day older only makes me sad in that it means I have one less day to stick around here.
Being older isn't such a bad thing to be. Yes, I have to be more careful about what I eat. And I have to wear sunblock on my toes. I have to take different vitamins than before. I suppose I have to worry about a whole lot of things I never did before.
But to me, being older just means that I've lived. Good or bad, I've lived. That's an amazing feeling. And I can't wait to see how the next forty years play out.
Happy birthday to me. :)
For all my self-deprecation this past week, I actually feel good. I feel like me, same as always. "Age is just a number." That's what they say, right? Besides, Kharli tells me I'm officially a cougar now!
I'm not sorry about entering a new decade of numbers. Numbers are important. Numbers represent more than what they are. When we add together all our hours, our days, our years living on this planet...well, why would anyone want to deny those?
Why would I really want to turn back the clock and deny all those days of being me? Why would I be sad and wish to have those days back? If anything, growing a day older only makes me sad in that it means I have one less day to stick around here.
Being older isn't such a bad thing to be. Yes, I have to be more careful about what I eat. And I have to wear sunblock on my toes. I have to take different vitamins than before. I suppose I have to worry about a whole lot of things I never did before.
But to me, being older just means that I've lived. Good or bad, I've lived. That's an amazing feeling. And I can't wait to see how the next forty years play out.
Happy birthday to me. :)
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
I Don't Get It
I love my husband a great deal, and one of the things I dig about him is that he's a sports fanatic. Every sport, all NY teams, every weekend. And that's just the pro stuff, don't even get me started on his college teams. He's all guy that way, and I get that. I even like it.
But what I don't understand is the number of women who are as into football as my man. I know that makes me sound hopelessly gender-biased, which I'm really not, but my girlfriends who scream at the TV and play the football pool and look forward to Sunday because the games are on? I don't get them.
I just don't understand why they like it so much. What's the pull? What IS it about football that makes them light up like that? Am I missing something?
I've been told that it's sexy for a woman to be into sports. That hats and jerseys on girls are cool. But really...unless that girl's doing a football jersey strip tease after the game, what's so sexy about it? Truly, I'd rather be reading, or baking cookies, or listening to music, or watching reruns of Friends...all very nice past-times that may or may not lead to sex just much as football watching.
Don't get me wrong, though. I do like sports...some of them. I like hockey and baseball a lot, and enjoy going to those games. I think it's cute when my husband buys our girls NY team jerseys. And I really want our girls to play sports as they grow up. Sure, I'll be the mom on the sidelines reading a book, but hey...I'll be there.
I have this vision, years down the road, of my daughters sitting on the couch on Sundays with their dad, shouting and cheering over some televised game. I have a feeling there will be many weekends to come where our girls play games on Saturday, and watch them on Sunday.
And me? I'll probably still be sitting here shaking my bewildered head as I bake cookies and blog.
But what I don't understand is the number of women who are as into football as my man. I know that makes me sound hopelessly gender-biased, which I'm really not, but my girlfriends who scream at the TV and play the football pool and look forward to Sunday because the games are on? I don't get them.
I just don't understand why they like it so much. What's the pull? What IS it about football that makes them light up like that? Am I missing something?
I've been told that it's sexy for a woman to be into sports. That hats and jerseys on girls are cool. But really...unless that girl's doing a football jersey strip tease after the game, what's so sexy about it? Truly, I'd rather be reading, or baking cookies, or listening to music, or watching reruns of Friends...all very nice past-times that may or may not lead to sex just much as football watching.
Don't get me wrong, though. I do like sports...some of them. I like hockey and baseball a lot, and enjoy going to those games. I think it's cute when my husband buys our girls NY team jerseys. And I really want our girls to play sports as they grow up. Sure, I'll be the mom on the sidelines reading a book, but hey...I'll be there.
I have this vision, years down the road, of my daughters sitting on the couch on Sundays with their dad, shouting and cheering over some televised game. I have a feeling there will be many weekends to come where our girls play games on Saturday, and watch them on Sunday.
And me? I'll probably still be sitting here shaking my bewildered head as I bake cookies and blog.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I Believe In...
*the sound of motorcycles.
*trying new beauty products.
*helping spiders escape
*letting music lift the spirit
*tomatoes warm from the garden
*bubble baths with wine*proper spelling
*caffeine highs*keeping secrets
*making time for chit-chat
*children's literature*hiding from conflict
*kids playing outdoors
*metabolic programming
*seeking the good in people
*playdoh
*the ellipse and comma
*positive self talk
*sisterhood
*complimenting strangers
*praising
*giving the benefit of the doubt
*taking a chance
*falling, and staying, in love
*making lists
*sharing my mind and heart*being happy
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Class
Last night I went to dinner with Craig's family at The Phoenician Resort's very fancy steakhouse. There were hordes of classy, wealthy-looking people there. At one time in my life, that would have made me shrink in my seat just a little. Because although I've been to many upscale places over the years, it's only recently that I've begun to grow comfortable around people with money.
I think that discomfort goes way back to when I was a little girl. Financially, I guess you could say we were an impoverished family. We didn't have a whole lot of material things.
We usually had the necessities, but truthfully there were times when we didn't have even that. I remember hard times when we really had to stretch the grocery budget. My parents worked very hard and never once took welfare, so we made do on our own. I remember times when I'd wash my jeans every night because I only had one pair, or times when I'd take noodle soup in a thermos to school every day for lunch, or times when our after school snacks came from whichever fruit trees in the yard were ripe.
When you grow up poor...really poor...it affects the way your mind thinks. Very young kids don't know any differently, but as you get older an awareness of the world opens your eyes. You learn that everything other people have is something you don't. You begin to understand that everything you want in life will probably never be, and anything you see is something you will never have. And you begin to question your place in the world.
Some people grow up bitter, others grow up driven to succeed. I grew up shy but resilient. Shy because I knew I was out of place just about anywhere I was. Resilient because I learned to accept what was, even as I strived to improve my future.
But I would not change my childhood. I think it made me strong on the inside. I'm glad I didn't always get everything I wanted. I think people who do never learn to appreciate life. They don't learn to bounce. Sometimes things are wonderful, and sometimes I struggle, but through it all I appreciate what I have, and I'm happy and secure with my life.
So after decades of learning to be happy with myself, the shyness has almost melted away. I still feel a twinge now and then, but mostly I feel comfortable in my skin. I figured out that money is just...money. It doesn't make you a better person, it just buys things. If you have a lot, then you can buy a lot of things. If you have a little, then you can buy less, but so what? A $40 steak and a PB&J all come out the same in the end.
What a person does with the space they take up on this planet, and how they treat their family and how they treat strangers and the world...that's the measure of who is important and who is deserving, or not. Having more things doesn't make a person more entitled to the air they breathe than me. Once I realized this, I began to relax around people...whoever they are.
Still...I can't help but I wonder if on the inside I will always be that poverty-stricken little girl I was growing up. Sometimes she's there beside me, looking scared and feeling out of place. Sometimes she is more comfortable making chit-chat with the waitstaff than with other diners. I just hold her hand and tell her to smile and breathe, and that we're okay. Most of the time she believes me.
I think that discomfort goes way back to when I was a little girl. Financially, I guess you could say we were an impoverished family. We didn't have a whole lot of material things.
We usually had the necessities, but truthfully there were times when we didn't have even that. I remember hard times when we really had to stretch the grocery budget. My parents worked very hard and never once took welfare, so we made do on our own. I remember times when I'd wash my jeans every night because I only had one pair, or times when I'd take noodle soup in a thermos to school every day for lunch, or times when our after school snacks came from whichever fruit trees in the yard were ripe.
When you grow up poor...really poor...it affects the way your mind thinks. Very young kids don't know any differently, but as you get older an awareness of the world opens your eyes. You learn that everything other people have is something you don't. You begin to understand that everything you want in life will probably never be, and anything you see is something you will never have. And you begin to question your place in the world.
Some people grow up bitter, others grow up driven to succeed. I grew up shy but resilient. Shy because I knew I was out of place just about anywhere I was. Resilient because I learned to accept what was, even as I strived to improve my future.
But I would not change my childhood. I think it made me strong on the inside. I'm glad I didn't always get everything I wanted. I think people who do never learn to appreciate life. They don't learn to bounce. Sometimes things are wonderful, and sometimes I struggle, but through it all I appreciate what I have, and I'm happy and secure with my life.
So after decades of learning to be happy with myself, the shyness has almost melted away. I still feel a twinge now and then, but mostly I feel comfortable in my skin. I figured out that money is just...money. It doesn't make you a better person, it just buys things. If you have a lot, then you can buy a lot of things. If you have a little, then you can buy less, but so what? A $40 steak and a PB&J all come out the same in the end.
What a person does with the space they take up on this planet, and how they treat their family and how they treat strangers and the world...that's the measure of who is important and who is deserving, or not. Having more things doesn't make a person more entitled to the air they breathe than me. Once I realized this, I began to relax around people...whoever they are.
Still...I can't help but I wonder if on the inside I will always be that poverty-stricken little girl I was growing up. Sometimes she's there beside me, looking scared and feeling out of place. Sometimes she is more comfortable making chit-chat with the waitstaff than with other diners. I just hold her hand and tell her to smile and breathe, and that we're okay. Most of the time she believes me.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Tomorrows
Having young children makes me consider my own mortality a lot more than I used to. I am not a paranoid person, or one given to irrational hysteria. I'm not afraid of many things, actually. But sometimes I wonder... am I developing a not-so-healthy fear of dying? I worry about driving in the car. I worry a lot about falling down the stairs. I think about aneurysms and cancers and pneumonia. If I'm being honest, that was really the only reason I actually got my mammogram.
I'm not scared of dying, exactly. I'm not scared for my sake. I'm afraid of leaving my little ones motherless. For me, this is the scariest part about raising really young children. Because we bring these little people into the world. Everything that they are, and everything they will become is in our hands. But...what if my hands weren't here? That's truly where all the anxiety comes from.
They would have their dad, of course, and he's a wonderful dad. He's thoughtful and gentle, and has a special relationship with each of them. So I know they'd grow up happy and loved.
But still. Mothers...well they're just irreplaceable, you know? Who would teach my girls how to tame their curly hair, and match their clothes, and make sure their nails were trimmed? Who would teach them how to wear make-up, and how to talk to boys, and how to be brave and stand up to mean girls? Who would help them choose their wedding gowns and bathe their newborns? These are not the jobs of a father.
I can't even imagine leaving my girls to grow up on this earth without me. When I try to picture it, I can't even breathe. What if something happened to me now? They would have NO memory of me. They wouldn't think of me with love, or miss me...because they wouldn't ever remember me.
If I disappeared, how would they ever know how much I love them? How would they ever know what they mean to me? A couple years of pictures, half empty baby books, and a few cutesy mom blogs...that's all I'd leave behind.
I have to be careful. I cannot let anything happen to myself. I have to be so, so careful.
And I need to live these early days with them completely. I should not save things for tomorrow or put experiences off for a better or easier age. They deserve the best of me now, not tomorrow. My universe gave me these beautiful children and no guarantees about how many tomorrows I will see. What if now is all I will have?
I'm not scared of dying, exactly. I'm not scared for my sake. I'm afraid of leaving my little ones motherless. For me, this is the scariest part about raising really young children. Because we bring these little people into the world. Everything that they are, and everything they will become is in our hands. But...what if my hands weren't here? That's truly where all the anxiety comes from.
They would have their dad, of course, and he's a wonderful dad. He's thoughtful and gentle, and has a special relationship with each of them. So I know they'd grow up happy and loved.
But still. Mothers...well they're just irreplaceable, you know? Who would teach my girls how to tame their curly hair, and match their clothes, and make sure their nails were trimmed? Who would teach them how to wear make-up, and how to talk to boys, and how to be brave and stand up to mean girls? Who would help them choose their wedding gowns and bathe their newborns? These are not the jobs of a father.
I can't even imagine leaving my girls to grow up on this earth without me. When I try to picture it, I can't even breathe. What if something happened to me now? They would have NO memory of me. They wouldn't think of me with love, or miss me...because they wouldn't ever remember me.
If I disappeared, how would they ever know how much I love them? How would they ever know what they mean to me? A couple years of pictures, half empty baby books, and a few cutesy mom blogs...that's all I'd leave behind.
I have to be careful. I cannot let anything happen to myself. I have to be so, so careful.
And I need to live these early days with them completely. I should not save things for tomorrow or put experiences off for a better or easier age. They deserve the best of me now, not tomorrow. My universe gave me these beautiful children and no guarantees about how many tomorrows I will see. What if now is all I will have?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Dear Mom in 1019,
Please stop letting your toddler ride his tricycle in the parking areas and street where we live. I know it's hard with so many kids. It's hard to watch them every second and still get things done. But I also know how completely devastating it would have been to your family if I had not been able to stop my car in time today.
What would you do if that sweet little boy HAD been crushed underneath the wheels of my car? Imagine the grief you would live with every day for the rest of your life. Imagine how you would cry over his chubby baby-faced pictures, wondering what he might have looked like over the years. Imagine how you might come across his Thomas PJs in the laundry hamper and hold them to your face, breathing in his little boy smell, knowing it would soon be gone for good.
Imagine the guilt his 5-year-old brother would grow up with, knowing he was supposed to be "watching" his little brother on that day he died. What could that kind of guilt do to a kid? How could he ever grow up a normal, happy person with that on his conscience?
Please, please take a minute to think about what happened today, and thank your Angel for sparing you from what might have been. Then go into your little guy's room and look at his sleeping face. Hug him, and kiss him, and cherish him for the gift that he is. Now make him a promise...the most solemn promise a mother can make. And keep it.
What would you do if that sweet little boy HAD been crushed underneath the wheels of my car? Imagine the grief you would live with every day for the rest of your life. Imagine how you would cry over his chubby baby-faced pictures, wondering what he might have looked like over the years. Imagine how you might come across his Thomas PJs in the laundry hamper and hold them to your face, breathing in his little boy smell, knowing it would soon be gone for good.
Imagine the guilt his 5-year-old brother would grow up with, knowing he was supposed to be "watching" his little brother on that day he died. What could that kind of guilt do to a kid? How could he ever grow up a normal, happy person with that on his conscience?
Please, please take a minute to think about what happened today, and thank your Angel for sparing you from what might have been. Then go into your little guy's room and look at his sleeping face. Hug him, and kiss him, and cherish him for the gift that he is. Now make him a promise...the most solemn promise a mother can make. And keep it.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Love Is...
Love...real love... is today, and tomorrow, and every day. Love is in all the little moments, as well as those grand gestures.
Love is watching out for me, and taking my hand to keep me from walking in front of traffic when I'm not looking where I'm going.
Love is hating the sound of a whirring fan, yet sleeping next to it every night because I need white noise to fall asleep.
Love is sitting patiently in the Starbucks drive thru line in the morning when we are pressed for time.
Love is noticing how tired I am, and stopping for an impromptu restaurant dinner on the way home.
Love is gratefully eating every single thing I cook, whether it tastes good or not.
Love is replacing my broken cappucino machine with an even better one.
Love is answering just a tad slower than possible when we play Scene It so I don't feel like a loser.
Love is buying flowers on a regular day, just because I think they're pretty.
Real love is so much more than diamonds. And while I actually do own some diamonds, for me their value is minimal compared to the fact that my husband never...never...comments on the fact that I've served him dried chicken once again. You can't really put a price tag on that kind of love.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Rules of the Game
In my house, we watch football. Some of us (um, me) don't actually watch football. What we do is suffer through the background noise of it all the time. All. Weekend. Long. During football season (one-fourth of the year!) all the other things I could be listening to...music, raindrops, the dryer...are all obliterated by that droning noise coming from the TV.
I don't blame my husband for driving me slowly insane. It's not his fault. He was indoctrinated by his father, and his father before him, and his father before him. This is the male way....I get it. Besides, I really do love the guy. And even though our rabbi never mentioned televised sports during our wedding ceremony, I'm sure there was some implied acquiescence about it thrown in somewhere. Probably in the Hebrew I didn't understand.
For my husband's sake, I wish I could be one of those "football fan" women. You know, the ones who sit by their hubby's sides and scream along with them. Sadly for him, no. He ended up with a woman who only likes hockey and baseball. I suppose I have other redeeming qualities that make me lovable to a man who reads football statistics for pleasure.
There IS a glimmer of hope for him in his house of women-folk, though. Catie rather enjoys throwing balls around, and Jaden not only knows what football is, but has become quite curious about it.
Since her father hadn't done so yet, I took it upon myself today to explain the rules of the game to my tw0-year-old daughter...
"Okay, Jaden. See all these guys here? They all have yellow pants. That means they're friends and they play together. Those guys? They have blue pants. They're friends together too, but not with the yellow guys.
The blue guys and the yellow guys don't want to be NICE friends, they just want to jump all over each other and take the ball away. See the brown ball there? It's called a football, but mostly they hold it with their hands. Everybody wants to get the ball, and knock it onto the ground. That's why they jump all over each other.
They wear a hard hat so they don't get too hurt. You can ONLY jump on your friends if they're wearing a hat to protect themselves! Sometimes that man in the zebra clothes has to come in and give them a time-out because they didn't follow the jump around rules."
It would seem that there ARE a few life lessons to be learned from football. Such as, stick with your friends and you'll be okay. And, taking toys away from somebody might get you put in a time-out.
I'll save the intricacies of scoring for another day. In the meantime, I will try to make it through this season without accidentally-on-purpose knocking our TV off the shelf. After all, if I did that, however would I torture my husband with home design shows and Hallmark tear-jerkers?
I don't blame my husband for driving me slowly insane. It's not his fault. He was indoctrinated by his father, and his father before him, and his father before him. This is the male way....I get it. Besides, I really do love the guy. And even though our rabbi never mentioned televised sports during our wedding ceremony, I'm sure there was some implied acquiescence about it thrown in somewhere. Probably in the Hebrew I didn't understand.
For my husband's sake, I wish I could be one of those "football fan" women. You know, the ones who sit by their hubby's sides and scream along with them. Sadly for him, no. He ended up with a woman who only likes hockey and baseball. I suppose I have other redeeming qualities that make me lovable to a man who reads football statistics for pleasure.
There IS a glimmer of hope for him in his house of women-folk, though. Catie rather enjoys throwing balls around, and Jaden not only knows what football is, but has become quite curious about it.
Since her father hadn't done so yet, I took it upon myself today to explain the rules of the game to my tw0-year-old daughter...
"Okay, Jaden. See all these guys here? They all have yellow pants. That means they're friends and they play together. Those guys? They have blue pants. They're friends together too, but not with the yellow guys.
The blue guys and the yellow guys don't want to be NICE friends, they just want to jump all over each other and take the ball away. See the brown ball there? It's called a football, but mostly they hold it with their hands. Everybody wants to get the ball, and knock it onto the ground. That's why they jump all over each other.
They wear a hard hat so they don't get too hurt. You can ONLY jump on your friends if they're wearing a hat to protect themselves! Sometimes that man in the zebra clothes has to come in and give them a time-out because they didn't follow the jump around rules."
It would seem that there ARE a few life lessons to be learned from football. Such as, stick with your friends and you'll be okay. And, taking toys away from somebody might get you put in a time-out.
I'll save the intricacies of scoring for another day. In the meantime, I will try to make it through this season without accidentally-on-purpose knocking our TV off the shelf. After all, if I did that, however would I torture my husband with home design shows and Hallmark tear-jerkers?
Thursday, September 17, 2009
"Everyone Else Is Smarter Than Me"
I love sticky notes...I put them everywhere. I like to write little phrases and quotes and random facts down and place them around my workspaces.
This week one of my stickies caught the eye of a friend and she read it aloud;
Well, yes I do.
Here's the thing. I have a very low-ability class this year. And in this class, one student in particular has, to put it bluntly, been driving me bugshit. She's sullen. She refuses to work. She finds ways to be quietly defiant every hour. Just when I think I've got those kiddos right where I want them, I glance over at her and realize she doesn't give a crap what I say or do.
It's extremely difficult to deal with kids like that. More than the average layperson would understand. And I admit, my reaction to her attitude would not have won any Teacher of the Year awards, that's for sure. I mostly felt pissed off that I had to put up with her, and was planning to call her parents in for a little chat about her attitude and behavior.
Then a few weeks into the year I was administering a big test, and I went to check on her, thinking I'd probably find her off task or staring into space, as usual. I briskly told her, "Come on now, back to work!" and was about to pass her by when I happened to notice tears rolling down her cheeks as she hid behind her testing folder.
Figuring she was probably angling for a bathroom or nurse pass to get out of having to test, I went and put my arm around her, and bent down to ask her what was wrong? She just looked at me for the longest time, as if she were trying to figure me out. Finally, she whispered quietly, "I can't read it. Everyone else is smarter than me. I'm too stupid to do it."
Wow. Just...wow. What was I supposed to say to that? For the record, I don't believe it's true. Half of my class reads at her level. But she believes it. She BELIEVES it.
I began to wonder...What has happened to this little 8-year-old girl day after day after day to convince her that, not only is she stupid, but she is the stupidest person in her world? In just 3 years, we as an educational community have broken this child. And how can I, a teacher who has only known her for a month, even hope to change this?
What I DO know is that attitude is contagious, and self-fulfilling prophecies are no joke. We will achieve only what we believe we can. Kids cannot see themselves clearly. They see themselves not as who they really ARE, but who they believe others think they are. They need parents and teachers who are willing to believe in them, so they can begin to believe in themselves.
As a teacher, that's my mission. To find any sincere opportunity to praise this student. To make sure she experiences success. To fight back against the attitude, and return sullen frowns with encouraging smiles. To remember that, for all her eye-rolling and heavy sighing, inside she is really just a little girl who has never had a reason to believe she can be anything but stupid.
So that's why I wrote that rather cryptic sticky note and placed it where I would see it often. It's a reminder to me that every person I meet has their own secret thoughts and beliefs about themselves. That there could be more to a person's eye roll or heavy sigh than just a "bad attitude". That we all struggle every day to swim against currents of our own negative thoughts, and you just never know when someone will need a hand to clasp.
You just never know if that hand might be yours.
This week one of my stickies caught the eye of a friend and she read it aloud;
"Everyone else is smarter than me."
What was that all about? she asked. Why would I want to read a note like that every day? Don't I know that "negative self-talk can become a self-fulfilling prophecy?"Well, yes I do.
Here's the thing. I have a very low-ability class this year. And in this class, one student in particular has, to put it bluntly, been driving me bugshit. She's sullen. She refuses to work. She finds ways to be quietly defiant every hour. Just when I think I've got those kiddos right where I want them, I glance over at her and realize she doesn't give a crap what I say or do.
It's extremely difficult to deal with kids like that. More than the average layperson would understand. And I admit, my reaction to her attitude would not have won any Teacher of the Year awards, that's for sure. I mostly felt pissed off that I had to put up with her, and was planning to call her parents in for a little chat about her attitude and behavior.
Then a few weeks into the year I was administering a big test, and I went to check on her, thinking I'd probably find her off task or staring into space, as usual. I briskly told her, "Come on now, back to work!" and was about to pass her by when I happened to notice tears rolling down her cheeks as she hid behind her testing folder.
Figuring she was probably angling for a bathroom or nurse pass to get out of having to test, I went and put my arm around her, and bent down to ask her what was wrong? She just looked at me for the longest time, as if she were trying to figure me out. Finally, she whispered quietly, "I can't read it. Everyone else is smarter than me. I'm too stupid to do it."
Wow. Just...wow. What was I supposed to say to that? For the record, I don't believe it's true. Half of my class reads at her level. But she believes it. She BELIEVES it.
I began to wonder...What has happened to this little 8-year-old girl day after day after day to convince her that, not only is she stupid, but she is the stupidest person in her world? In just 3 years, we as an educational community have broken this child. And how can I, a teacher who has only known her for a month, even hope to change this?
What I DO know is that attitude is contagious, and self-fulfilling prophecies are no joke. We will achieve only what we believe we can. Kids cannot see themselves clearly. They see themselves not as who they really ARE, but who they believe others think they are. They need parents and teachers who are willing to believe in them, so they can begin to believe in themselves.
As a teacher, that's my mission. To find any sincere opportunity to praise this student. To make sure she experiences success. To fight back against the attitude, and return sullen frowns with encouraging smiles. To remember that, for all her eye-rolling and heavy sighing, inside she is really just a little girl who has never had a reason to believe she can be anything but stupid.
So that's why I wrote that rather cryptic sticky note and placed it where I would see it often. It's a reminder to me that every person I meet has their own secret thoughts and beliefs about themselves. That there could be more to a person's eye roll or heavy sigh than just a "bad attitude". That we all struggle every day to swim against currents of our own negative thoughts, and you just never know when someone will need a hand to clasp.
You just never know if that hand might be yours.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
We All Have the Laps
"Children are made readers on the laps of their parents."
Emilie Buchwald
This quote gives me chills whenever I read it. If I could tell every new parent just one thing that I've learned, one thing that I know to be true...this would be it.
Read. Just read...everything, everyday. Build a huge library of books and make reading the most special thing you do together. Cuddle close and read, read, read. Don't save it for bedtime, don't wait for a magic age, and don't stop when your child goes off to school.
It's the secret. A secret I wish I could confide, but since I don't see parents when their children are still this young, that continues to be my wish. Sadly, by the time I'm in the picture, that window has closed. And for all that I do, and how much I dedicate myself to the teaching of reading, I will never be able to give kids what their parents might have long before me.
Can you imagine how smart, how inquisitive, and how verbal this next generation of our children would be if every parent read to their toddlers and preschoolers every single day? Just think about it for a minute. It's such a monumental challenge, and yet...wouldn't it be so easy? The books are all around us. We have the desire. We have the time. And we all have the laps.
Just think how amazing the world could be 20 years from now if we put them to better use.
Emilie Buchwald
This quote gives me chills whenever I read it. If I could tell every new parent just one thing that I've learned, one thing that I know to be true...this would be it.
Read. Just read...everything, everyday. Build a huge library of books and make reading the most special thing you do together. Cuddle close and read, read, read. Don't save it for bedtime, don't wait for a magic age, and don't stop when your child goes off to school.
It's the secret. A secret I wish I could confide, but since I don't see parents when their children are still this young, that continues to be my wish. Sadly, by the time I'm in the picture, that window has closed. And for all that I do, and how much I dedicate myself to the teaching of reading, I will never be able to give kids what their parents might have long before me.
Can you imagine how smart, how inquisitive, and how verbal this next generation of our children would be if every parent read to their toddlers and preschoolers every single day? Just think about it for a minute. It's such a monumental challenge, and yet...wouldn't it be so easy? The books are all around us. We have the desire. We have the time. And we all have the laps.
Just think how amazing the world could be 20 years from now if we put them to better use.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Supernova
I have always, always tried to be a kind, warm-hearted, nice-to-everyone type of person. I think that friendly smiles and kind words are too rare in today's world, but I live my life by them. And I conciously think about them every day.
So, it is all the more devastating to me when I realize that something I've said or done has been hurtful to someone else. Doesn't matter to me whether that someone is family member, friend, colleague, or even a stranger. I can't stand knowing that I've made somebody else feel bad.
This week was particularly difficult for me. At one point, I was so wrapped up in how I felt, that I didn't realize that my flippant, sarcastic remarks were affecting others. I didn't realize that I hurt feelings until it was too late. And sometimes an apology, however sincere, can't undo that.
So I have to remind myself that, although I am at the center of my universe, it's not mine alone. I'm surrounded by all manner of celestial wonders. Aristotle taught that the Universe is made of three elements...Matter, Form, and Change (how Matter becomes altered).
I don't want to affect destructive change on people in my universe. I don't want to become so wrapped up in my own viewpoint, or focus so heavily on my own feelings that I alter those around me in a bad way...changing how they feel, how they view themselves, and who they become inside.
If you think about it, the most beautiful supernova is really just an internal explosion. The brightest shooting star is only a broken piece of a meteor burning itself out. I would be brokenhearted if something I said were to dull the shine of another person. I need to watch what I say, and how I say it.
"Your beliefs become your thoughts.
Your thoughts become your words.
Your words become your actions.
Your actions become your habits.
Your habits become your values.
Your values become your destiny."
Mahatma Gandhi
Who do I want to be? I want to be....better. And I resolve to be.
So, it is all the more devastating to me when I realize that something I've said or done has been hurtful to someone else. Doesn't matter to me whether that someone is family member, friend, colleague, or even a stranger. I can't stand knowing that I've made somebody else feel bad.
This week was particularly difficult for me. At one point, I was so wrapped up in how I felt, that I didn't realize that my flippant, sarcastic remarks were affecting others. I didn't realize that I hurt feelings until it was too late. And sometimes an apology, however sincere, can't undo that.
So I have to remind myself that, although I am at the center of my universe, it's not mine alone. I'm surrounded by all manner of celestial wonders. Aristotle taught that the Universe is made of three elements...Matter, Form, and Change (how Matter becomes altered).
I don't want to affect destructive change on people in my universe. I don't want to become so wrapped up in my own viewpoint, or focus so heavily on my own feelings that I alter those around me in a bad way...changing how they feel, how they view themselves, and who they become inside.
If you think about it, the most beautiful supernova is really just an internal explosion. The brightest shooting star is only a broken piece of a meteor burning itself out. I would be brokenhearted if something I said were to dull the shine of another person. I need to watch what I say, and how I say it.
"Your beliefs become your thoughts.
Your thoughts become your words.
Your words become your actions.
Your actions become your habits.
Your habits become your values.
Your values become your destiny."
Mahatma Gandhi
Who do I want to be? I want to be....better. And I resolve to be.
Monday, August 17, 2009
I Miss You
"Where are you?
and I'm so sorry...
I cannot sleep,
I cannot dream tonight.
I need somebody and always...
This sick strange darkness
comes creeping on so haunting every time.
Don't waste your time on me,
you're already the voice inside my head.
Miss you....Miss you...."
I have really missed you these past two weeks. When the craziness dies down, I'll be back. I promise.
and I'm so sorry...
I cannot sleep,
I cannot dream tonight.
I need somebody and always...
This sick strange darkness
comes creeping on so haunting every time.
Don't waste your time on me,
you're already the voice inside my head.
Miss you....Miss you...."
I have really missed you these past two weeks. When the craziness dies down, I'll be back. I promise.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Footprints
I'm a people watcher. I notice things. I analyze things. I enjoy the dynamics of watching human beings interact with each other. And I generally LIKE people. However, the downside to noticing things is that sometimes you see the reality of the way they really ARE, rather than the way you wish they were. It's not always pretty.
Living in Arizona this past year has NOT been a pretty little bubble of happiness and good-will. Especially when it comes to the issue of immigration. Many residents have extremely strong, negative feelings on this issue.
This week, Wal-Mart opened a new store in my city...a Supermercado. It caters to the Hispanic population, and this has really incensed some Phoenicians.
Why? Why does anyone really care if a certain population can shop for the foods and goods they enjoy in their culture? We have Jewish delis, German bakeries, Polish butcher shops...I've never heard anyone complain about those.
But I have heard so many bitter comments, and seen some very despicable actions when it comes to hispanic immigrants. And it all makes me sad to live here among some of the citizens of my country...and my planet for that matter.
Okay, fine. You don't have to share my feelings to be entitled to your own. We are all allowed to feel the way we feel, and feelings are something that can never really be up for debate. But... comments and actions are a different story.
You know how, now that we live in the age of green enlightenment, people are always talking about carbon footprints? As in, what mark (undesirable greenhouse gas emissions) will you leave on this Earth?
Why is there not a term coined to describe the HATE footprints that are left on this Earth? All those poisonous little things a person says and does that cause hostility and rancor among the population. Things that negatively affect us as a human race.
Because, if you really think about it, does it even matter how healthy and beautiful the Earth is if those who inhabit it perpetuate ugliness?
Just something to consider as you pass by a smiling family going into the Supermercado to shop for some fresher papayas and avocados.
Living in Arizona this past year has NOT been a pretty little bubble of happiness and good-will. Especially when it comes to the issue of immigration. Many residents have extremely strong, negative feelings on this issue.
This week, Wal-Mart opened a new store in my city...a Supermercado. It caters to the Hispanic population, and this has really incensed some Phoenicians.
Why? Why does anyone really care if a certain population can shop for the foods and goods they enjoy in their culture? We have Jewish delis, German bakeries, Polish butcher shops...I've never heard anyone complain about those.
But I have heard so many bitter comments, and seen some very despicable actions when it comes to hispanic immigrants. And it all makes me sad to live here among some of the citizens of my country...and my planet for that matter.
Okay, fine. You don't have to share my feelings to be entitled to your own. We are all allowed to feel the way we feel, and feelings are something that can never really be up for debate. But... comments and actions are a different story.
You know how, now that we live in the age of green enlightenment, people are always talking about carbon footprints? As in, what mark (undesirable greenhouse gas emissions) will you leave on this Earth?
Why is there not a term coined to describe the HATE footprints that are left on this Earth? All those poisonous little things a person says and does that cause hostility and rancor among the population. Things that negatively affect us as a human race.
Because, if you really think about it, does it even matter how healthy and beautiful the Earth is if those who inhabit it perpetuate ugliness?
Just something to consider as you pass by a smiling family going into the Supermercado to shop for some fresher papayas and avocados.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
You've Got to Be Joking
Tell me a joke. Right now, off the top of your head. Anything coming to mind?
Kharli had a job interview today, at which she was asked to tell a joke. When she told me this, I thought...what a great idea! You can learn so much about someone's personality by the joke they'd choose to tell, and how they tell it.
What kind of sense of humor do they have? Do they have a sense of audience when speaking? Do they have an innate sense of timing? Can they engage somebody else with their smile or laughter? Are they quick on their feet? Witty? Are they thoughtful enough to retell it in sequence, yet easy-going enough to shrug it off with a chuckle if they blow the whole thing?
I began to wonder which joke I'd tell in this situation. This was the first thing to pop into my mind:
How do you make a tissue dance?
Put a little boogie in it!
Um...yeah. Would that have been my shining moment in which I'd dazzle my (not) future employer with my wit and charisma? Guess not. My 3rd graders crack the hell up. But I don't suppose it comes across the same way with real live adult people.
So I decided that I need a really good joke in my repertoire. Something that is very ME. I don't want to be like Uncle Bob who throws back a few too many at family gatherings and then proceeds to tell the same old tired joke, laughing stupidly the whole time. I don't want anything vulgar or degrading, or anything that begins with, "So this duck, girl scout and bank teller all walk into a bar..."
I just want a signature joke that I can bring out once in awhile...something that will make people smile and think I'm completely charming, if they don't already. I'm going to go try some on and see if they fit.
Kharli had a job interview today, at which she was asked to tell a joke. When she told me this, I thought...what a great idea! You can learn so much about someone's personality by the joke they'd choose to tell, and how they tell it.
What kind of sense of humor do they have? Do they have a sense of audience when speaking? Do they have an innate sense of timing? Can they engage somebody else with their smile or laughter? Are they quick on their feet? Witty? Are they thoughtful enough to retell it in sequence, yet easy-going enough to shrug it off with a chuckle if they blow the whole thing?
I began to wonder which joke I'd tell in this situation. This was the first thing to pop into my mind:
How do you make a tissue dance?
Put a little boogie in it!
Um...yeah. Would that have been my shining moment in which I'd dazzle my (not) future employer with my wit and charisma? Guess not. My 3rd graders crack the hell up. But I don't suppose it comes across the same way with real live adult people.
So I decided that I need a really good joke in my repertoire. Something that is very ME. I don't want to be like Uncle Bob who throws back a few too many at family gatherings and then proceeds to tell the same old tired joke, laughing stupidly the whole time. I don't want anything vulgar or degrading, or anything that begins with, "So this duck, girl scout and bank teller all walk into a bar..."
I just want a signature joke that I can bring out once in awhile...something that will make people smile and think I'm completely charming, if they don't already. I'm going to go try some on and see if they fit.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Fortune Cookie Wisdom
Sometimes I think we are just too quick to judge other people as being asses. I really do try very hard to give my fellow man/woman the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes I cross paths with someone who is not the nicest to me. We all do.
Usually I tell myself... they are probably just having a bad day. Maybe they got in a fight with their wife or mother. Maybe they were late to work and yelled at by their boss. Maybe they got flashed on the highway. Maybe they overdrew their bank account the day before payday. Maybe they have strep throat but can't pay their urgent care bill if they call in sick to work, and that's why they are handing me my change without smiling and saying "Have a nice day!" I could think of a hundred reasons why someone might not smile at me, but you get the point.
Last weekend I was having dinner out at a Chinese restaurant with my family. The girls, who are usually great at the table, were a little crabby this evening. At one point, Jaden let loose a rather high-pitched shriek. The elderly couple sitting near us turned to look at her, and the man winced and shook his head, looking really put out.
I'm not used to people making faces at my girls. I thought to myself, what a grumpy old fart! Sitting over there, acting like an ass because a little 2 year old screamed. Get over it, I thought, and rolled my eyes.
A little later after we paid the check and were passing by his table to leave, the man smiled at Jaden. We apologized for her behavior, and were ready to walk out when he spoke up. He told us he had many grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and was used to being around kids. Then he gestured to his hearing aid, which I hadn't noticed before, and explained that sometimes loud noises would cause horrible ringing and feedback in his ear.
My fortune cookie this evening said something about being lucky on the romance front. But what it should have said, was "Don't be so quick to assume people are jerks unless you want to be one yourself."
Words to live by. I'm telling you, and now I'm reminding ME.
Usually I tell myself... they are probably just having a bad day. Maybe they got in a fight with their wife or mother. Maybe they were late to work and yelled at by their boss. Maybe they got flashed on the highway. Maybe they overdrew their bank account the day before payday. Maybe they have strep throat but can't pay their urgent care bill if they call in sick to work, and that's why they are handing me my change without smiling and saying "Have a nice day!" I could think of a hundred reasons why someone might not smile at me, but you get the point.
Last weekend I was having dinner out at a Chinese restaurant with my family. The girls, who are usually great at the table, were a little crabby this evening. At one point, Jaden let loose a rather high-pitched shriek. The elderly couple sitting near us turned to look at her, and the man winced and shook his head, looking really put out.
I'm not used to people making faces at my girls. I thought to myself, what a grumpy old fart! Sitting over there, acting like an ass because a little 2 year old screamed. Get over it, I thought, and rolled my eyes.
A little later after we paid the check and were passing by his table to leave, the man smiled at Jaden. We apologized for her behavior, and were ready to walk out when he spoke up. He told us he had many grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and was used to being around kids. Then he gestured to his hearing aid, which I hadn't noticed before, and explained that sometimes loud noises would cause horrible ringing and feedback in his ear.
My fortune cookie this evening said something about being lucky on the romance front. But what it should have said, was "Don't be so quick to assume people are jerks unless you want to be one yourself."
Words to live by. I'm telling you, and now I'm reminding ME.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Open Your Eyes
If you have been dying to read a sappy "blue" blog post...here we go.
Last night I watched American Idol and I was really touched by what I saw. No, I don't get all choked up by singing and dancing :) In fact, sometimes even I don't get Paula's teary critiques.
Well, last night was the weekly elimination episode, where the contestant with the fewest votes leaves the competition. The person who lost was Scott, the singer from Phoenix who happens to be blind.
I remember back when they were doing auditions, I thought to myself how challenging it would be for him to participate, and wondering what kind of accommodations would need to be made. I wondered if the show would dump him right away in order to not have to do that.
He turned out to be pretty good, so he hung around awhile. Every week I took notice of how the other contestants aided and guided him while performing. They've been really kind and considerate about it. They are very subtle. You barely see what's happening unless you're looking for it.
To me, that's the considerate part. Because I suppose the show producers and directors can tell the others they have to help this blind competitor. But they can't make them do it in this gentle, thoughtful way...a way that allows Scott to become a member of the group, with the emphasis on his singing ability instead of his challenge.
Last night, the group performed a song together that required a lot of position changes, turns, and going up and down stairs. What I noticed was that at any given time during this performance, one of the others would be withing an arm's reach of Scott. They would ever so slightly touch his arm or elbow or hand, directing him where to go. They even seamlessly guided him up and down the stairs.
At one point, they were all lined up in a row, and Scott was a little too far forward. The person beside him didn't reach out and pull him back. He didn't say anything to cause Scott to realize he was out of position, or tell him to step backward. What he DID was take a small, quick step forward and make it look as if the two of them were out of line.
And THAT was the part that touched me. I know it's a small thing, just some singing on a reality TV show. But it gives me hope. It was a small moment of kindness that makes me believe in people. In the goodness and niceness of average, everyday people. Once you open your eyes and start looking for those things, they're everywhere. Open up your eyes and you'll really see.
Last night I watched American Idol and I was really touched by what I saw. No, I don't get all choked up by singing and dancing :) In fact, sometimes even I don't get Paula's teary critiques.
Well, last night was the weekly elimination episode, where the contestant with the fewest votes leaves the competition. The person who lost was Scott, the singer from Phoenix who happens to be blind.
I remember back when they were doing auditions, I thought to myself how challenging it would be for him to participate, and wondering what kind of accommodations would need to be made. I wondered if the show would dump him right away in order to not have to do that.
He turned out to be pretty good, so he hung around awhile. Every week I took notice of how the other contestants aided and guided him while performing. They've been really kind and considerate about it. They are very subtle. You barely see what's happening unless you're looking for it.
To me, that's the considerate part. Because I suppose the show producers and directors can tell the others they have to help this blind competitor. But they can't make them do it in this gentle, thoughtful way...a way that allows Scott to become a member of the group, with the emphasis on his singing ability instead of his challenge.
Last night, the group performed a song together that required a lot of position changes, turns, and going up and down stairs. What I noticed was that at any given time during this performance, one of the others would be withing an arm's reach of Scott. They would ever so slightly touch his arm or elbow or hand, directing him where to go. They even seamlessly guided him up and down the stairs.
At one point, they were all lined up in a row, and Scott was a little too far forward. The person beside him didn't reach out and pull him back. He didn't say anything to cause Scott to realize he was out of position, or tell him to step backward. What he DID was take a small, quick step forward and make it look as if the two of them were out of line.
And THAT was the part that touched me. I know it's a small thing, just some singing on a reality TV show. But it gives me hope. It was a small moment of kindness that makes me believe in people. In the goodness and niceness of average, everyday people. Once you open your eyes and start looking for those things, they're everywhere. Open up your eyes and you'll really see.
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