%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  This was my first blog, maybe my best blog...nah! The journey continues with another..!
|
|
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Check out this signature's match at Thomas  's blog** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** "You want to become aware of your thoughts and choose them carefully. You are the Michelangelo of your own life; the 'David' you are sculpting is YOU!" Dr. Joe Vitale
|
| I am distressed. Right after I read the comment from Mavis Moog about my last entry, I checked out my e-mails at another site. I received a correspondance that split my brain and exploded my corneas  A former high school friend actually had the nerve to send me some of the hype about Barack being a terrorist, being sure to call him by his middle name, of course. Can anyone say "hysterical nonsense" with me? PLEASE!!! I'm not for John McCain, I believe such a thing is obvious...now ask me if I'd be gullible enough to by some sort of media insanity or party ridiculousness that would have him be, perhaps, a card-carrying Chinese Communist hellbent on turning us all RED *gasp* For God's sake people, think JOE MCARTHY!!! Do we REALLY want to return to the days when Americans were so knee-jerk reactive and willing to believe anything anyone with a suit told them was TRUE?!? I fear greatly for our country if we are made up of such sheep, willing to be led anywhere and swallow anything, whether is sounds too outlandish or not. I do not choose to believe what my brain tells me is not feasable or even based on reality of any kind. I do not choose to be a prejudiced person willing to buy the notion that anyone with a "middle eastern" name must be a bad person and a terrorist. I choose not to be biased against those who follow the Muslim religion. I decided long ago that the worst thing in life to be is a bigot. We are all flawed, we are all different, and thank God. Yes. Thank GOD. I do not have to be a Republican to be a Christian. I do not have to be a Republican to be moral and stand up for what's right. I do, however, have to be an independent thinker to know when I'm being fed a line of nonsense and a pack of lies by the media and others. What about you? Who and what do you choose to be? You can be a democrat or a republican or middle of the road or from the green party or...it's not about politics, not really. It's about what sort of person you want to be. You can be anything you want to be in the United States, even a bigot or a sheep. But in the morning, when you go into your bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror, what will you see? Just a question. |
| Yesterday I was in Target. I wandered over to the book section first-what's a visit to Target without wandering over to the book section-and I noticed two "children's" books sitting on a rack: Barack and My Father: John McCain They were identical and colorful and I just had to walk over and take a look. Guess what? They're both fathers. John McCain is also a grandfather, a husband, an ex-husband, a Vietnam Vet, and human. Yup. He's very human. I'll bet he's raised his voice to his children and even grandchildren here and there, perhaps his wife as well, yet I'll also bet he's hugged them, given flowers, said he's sorry, and generally behaved in a very human fashion. Barack is a father of two little girls who are insane/crazy for The Jonas Brothers. He has a bet going with his oldest that when she meets her favorite-Joel-she'll be speechless and weak-kneed. She haughtily insists she loves their music and Joel is cute but she'd NEVER...  I'll bet he's raised his voice to his children and maybe even his wife. I'll bet he's given out hugs and flowers and said he's sorry and generally behaved in a very human fashion.I liked those children's books. They brought each candidate to life in a way they aren't in media or even through their own political parties. They seemed like people. We live in interesting times. One Presidential Candidate was a Vietnam POW who showed his youthful mettle when he was put to the test. Does he have character? I believe he did and does. Does that mean I want him to be my next President? No. I don't agree with his conservative answers to difficult situations. I don't believe his leadership will be strong enough in some ways (economically and with foreign policy), too strong in others (military)... The other Presidential candidate is African American, born from a foreign African father and a free-spirited, forward-thinking white mother. He never knew his biological father well while he was growing up, and in him I feel a kindred spirit. I know what sort of strength it takes to make a success of yourself through the absence of a parent who didn't "leave" involuntarily...he walked away. There's a fundemental core of "what is my worth" when a parent chooses not to be present. He obviously knows his worth and works hard to give the same confidence to others; people really are very important to him...individuals. Neither candidate is a "bad" man. Neither candidate is a terrorist or bent on destroying the American way of life. I believe both candidates are good men who truly believe they have what it takes to get this courntry back on track. I don't agree with the politics of one, I do with the other. But politics and the person are two different entities. Political party honchos have, in their hysteria, given us loads of bullshit about each man and their "evil" ways. Read the children's books if you have questions about the humanity of either man, then vote for the one whose agenda meets yours, but with an understanding that neither one is a destroying monster. That is the invention of the media and Party honchos who need to take a Prozac-or two. BARACK ALL THE WAY! *my personal belief and not paid for by any political party or honcho or Prozac-needing media hype*  |
| The day-after-birthday-blues. But I don't have that. I had a great one. Tom's mom took us out for dinner last night which was wonderful. I think she likes me...and I LOVE her. That's good. Something I realized years ago: if you don't like the family of the person you're with, pretty soon you're not going to like the person. It just IS. I like everyone I've met from Tom's family-a LOT. WHEW!  Tom gave me the most beautiful card and the girls...they haven't given me anything yet but I know they will, and they were funny, a little exuberant, and constantly told me "happy birthday." Cool kids!And now to other news: ah, the election. It's not too far away now, and in the next few days I'll most likely write about my candidate of choice. That would be the amazing Barack Obama. And no, I'm not advocating him because I lived in Illinois for years and LOVE Chicago with all my heart. I'm advocating him because he's our best bet for healing this country of ours. We need a "fix" for the economy. We need a "fix" for the Iraq situation that is so completely out of hand. We need a "fix" for what ails us, and right now it's a lot. I am a firm believer in Barack's ability to be more than a band-aid. I think he's a healer. But beyond that, I'm imparting a quite simple and heartfelt message. There are those I love, my good friends and in some cases confidants (you know who you are) who advocate for the opponant to Barack. In my book, that's no crime. I obviously think it's wrong  But it's certainly no crime.Please remember that elections come and elections go. But friendships are forever, and you don't have to agree with your friends about every little thing under the sun. That just won't happen no matter how long you wait. So enjoy the democratic process, tout your candidate and spout your beliefs ad nauseum-it's your right and you should take it-but never lose sight of what's important. The people who are REAL that you love. |
| Today is my birthday. Of course birthdays are opportunities for reflection, especially the older we get. At first I thought "what a way to start this day" when I went into work and discovered that our asst. manager decided I shouldn't have been allowed to switch the hours of myself and a coworker. I wanted the evening off to spend with Thomas and my girls, so I asked for a switch from evening hours-which the asst. knows I don't like anyway-to day ones, and at the approval from our GENERAL manager, I got it. The asst. manager wasn't there at the time. Because she wasn't and deals with insecurities linked to her young age and who knows what else, she told my coworker yesterday that we weren't "allowed" to do that. WHAT?! Since when did an asst. have precedence over the BIG boss?! I fumed this morning after I turned around and came home--until I put anger into action and called the general manager. I explained the situation and was given an "okay" to not come in at all today. I had to smirk just a little when the manager commented, "She might be working evening hours, I guess." I was highly annoyed by the whole thing until I paused to reflect. I'm forty-three years old today. Ten years ago-or even perhaps a few years ago-might have fumed in silence, allowed my resentment at what I knew was unfair bubble and simmer until it spilled over and out somewhere else...and maybe on someone else. Today I said "no" to what I felt was an injustice and did what was necessary to fix it. I think there's something to that old adage about "wisdom with age." I've also discovered, ironically, that the older I get the less I realize I truly know...it's a conundrum, isn't it? So I'm off work for the entire day and look forwad to some time spent in quiet solitude. I don't get that very often so I'm going to soak it up even as I miss the presence of my soulmate Thomas , who is toiling away at the IBM building right down the road. SIGH.  Last year my birthday was quite pleasant; my wonderful friend Iowegian Skye came to the Quad Cities and we spent the day before in easy companionship, which was a Saturday, culminating it at my favorite restaurant, Ruby Tuesday's. My actual birthday was heralded by the annual Halloween parade in Moline. I got to watch Sarah, then an 8th grader, parade down the street in her cheerleading uniform. This year she'll be late coming home because it's her first day of intensive practice with the John Marshall High School Competitive Dance Team...WOO HOO!!! *beaming mother here*Also last year I logged onto WDC and discovered a very special person in my life chose to gift me with a year's worth of WDC membership! I was floored, charmed, and felt such affection and care for my wonderful online friend...his name was Thomas . What a difference a year makes. This year he'll be able to gift me up close and personal (which he's actually already done with an awesome cell phone) , in the home we share with each other and my three beautiful girls. Am I BLESSED or WHAT?!?! HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me!!!  |
| Last night I talked to Liz about her experiences living in the Quad Cities on her own and with her dad. It's a good thing my anger was already dissipated by that time (thanks to your lovely comments, a call from Iowegian Skye , and the priceless company of Thomas - I would feel it begin to simmer and then force myself to back away inside my head. There's nothing I can do to change what he's already said and done in the presence of Liz and the other two, but I CAN limit his contact from this point forward...and I will. I've already told the girls they will no longer, especially Sarah the 14-yr-old, be allowed to visit him for an extended period of time. It's not in their best interest. The sad thing is they know it and Sarah actually thanked me. Liz ventured that they have a much more positive male role model in Tom than their own dad. Part of me thrilled to hear her voice such an opinion, but I also know they have to be accepting of their own father. It's important because he is a part of who they are. To be accepting of themselves they have to embrace ALL of it, including their father and his family. So last night, in the living room, the three girls and I talked about choices: How you choose to live your life is a choice every single day, every single hour, every single minute. You decide who you want to be and take steps to make it a reality--whether it's about getting an education, learning to be self sufficient, or making a decision to take your meds and accept treatment when it's needed and necessary. I told the girls to have enough pride in themselves and where they want to go in life to make better choices than they've seen their father make-and to some extent, even me. They can learn from the mistakes of older adults if they really pay attention. I'm still angry, but perhaps in a more productive way. I'm ready to do whatever I have to for the sake of my girls...and for my own sanity.  |
| I'm dealing with a lot of anger. Liz arrived yesterday afternoon. She looks weary and beat-up. We got into an altercation from the starting gate; I tripped over her bags on my way in the door after I'd spent my afternoon-after work-filling out paperwork to get her the help she needs. I was tired and already feeling the simmer. Her father has been buying her cigarettes the entire time she's been in Illinois. Cigarettes make her manic. She came with a full bottle of meds she shouldn't have had which means she's gone quite some time without it. Well what fun. She was also plunked onto the bus without one of her meds, which means I "get" to play games with the pharmacies to get the prescription transferred out here before she can take the correct dosage and mixture of what she needs to become "normal," to climb down off her "high" and fall back to earth. Every time he calls he regales at least one of the girls with his own woes-the stuff they shouldn't even hear from a parent. Last night Rachael sat and worried about her dad after his call; I snapped at her like I shouldn't have about how he's grown and needs to take some freakin' responsibility for his own life and how he reaps what he sows. If you lie down with dogs, as the old saying goes, you get up with fleas. Their father is a sponge, soaking up whomever he's around. Since I'm no longer running his life, the people he's soaking up are the kind I'd cross the street to avoid. For over twenty years I've cleaned up his messes. I've smoothed things over and fixed what he's broken and kept on...I'm no longer married to him for very good reasons obviously...so WHY am I still cleaning up his messes and fixing what he breaks and smoothing things over? Because I'm a mother and that's what mothers do. I'm just so tired of it.  Wise words from Dr Phil keep running through my head like a mantra. "You have to weigh whether having this person in your child's life is doing more harm than good. If harm is the answer, no matter who that person is, it might be better for your child if that person is NOT in his or her life." Sure my girls are older, mostly grown, but I'm a mom. I wish more than a little that I could take the harm away.  |
| I and my girls didn't have the easiest day, yesterday. Liz will most likely, at some point, be making her way back to Rochester from where she's been residing with friends. During the time she's been gone, she's been back-and-forth between her father's house in Peoria and her friend's apartment in Moline. The last straw happened last night, I guess, and when her father was summoned to pick her up and bring her back to his home for the second time, he called the other two girls while I was at work last night and told them he's planning to put Liz on a bus and send her back. This is a funny turn of events for several reasons. When Liz first returned to Illinois, her father was smugly sure that he could prove how easy dealing with her really was. He just KNEW I always "made too much" of handling her and all it would take was his "iron hand"...oh sure. While she lived with him she suckered him out of quite a bit of money and so many rides I think he's ready to take some stock options in one of the gas companies...in other words he found it impossible to stand up to her and say "no." With all my issues surrounding Liz and her behavior, I've never shirked from my ability to say "no" and stick to it. Sometimes I didn't and don't-I'll admit it-but most of the time I do. She's tough, no doubt about it. She'll wheedle and cajole to get what she wants until that doesn't work, then she'll resort to temper tantrums on a scale that would make a two-yr-old proud. If you haven't dealt with an adult tantrum, you're really missing out on one of life's worse experiences...especially when one commences in a public place. Oh, there's nothing quite like it. The person who never, ever helped me or took responsibility for his oldest daughter's behavior just wasn't up to the task. Shoot, sometimes even I am not up to the task.If and when she returns I do have a plan, one I formulated before she even left. She IS almost 21. I haven't been her mother for all those years without knowing her better than she knows herself. I knew she'd be back, and I also know the time has come to stop TALKING about how she needs residential treatment and get her INTO a treatment program. She can't function on her own, she has no skills for "making it" in the world as a grown-up. To aquire what she needs, what most of us learn through experience, she has to be in an environment condusive to her condition and her issues. That's not in a regular home with people who have other needs and day jobs. She needs to be THE job. Period. So Rachael and Sarah were distressed by how their father talked about his oldest daughter. One thing about my girls: they can say anything they want about each other, but they are incredibly protective of each other, bottom line. Liz has put the other two through a lot, just like she has everyone in her life, but she's their sister and that counts BIG in their opinions. Cool. It's been tough, watching my girls deal with a father who has too many of his own issues to be an effective or even decent parent at this point. He constantly lets them down, always expects of them what he shouldn't, and never seems to understand the concept of parent-to-child. He's not alone with that last one; none of his siblings seem capable of understanding how to PARENT, either, and I'm left wondering how I ever ended up procreating with someone so different from me in every single possible way. It's a conundrum. What puts the whole situation in perspective, though, is someone in my life who gently brings me into his arms with so much love and care it takes my breath away, someone my girls observe as he loves me without conditions or expectations or demands. Someone who, by just being himself, makes all our lives just that much better. I'm more calm, I'm more capable, I'm more grounded and sensible and motivated to do what needs to be done since he's a presence in our lives, since his wonderful skills, love, sense of humor, talent, and simple presence remind me that I'm not "there" anymore, I'm here. I'm in this place where I am cherished and held up, where I have a real partner who stands beside me no matter what, even when it might be hard for him. Wow. I love you Thomas . You make my life so much more bearable, so much better, and infinitely richer. |
| With my last blog entry I wrote about my girls and their "want" for material possessions. It's the fate of us, the "human animal," to want more. That's just who we are. As young people go, however, mine aren't so bad. Really. Just today my youngest daughter was concerned after her dance team practice, because the coach named off a lot of items for us to procure before the October 20th deadline, when she has to be prepared for the year of competition with the team. She looked at me with a worried frown and asked, in an anxious, soft voice, if I thought I'd be able to get all that. I told her that it might hurt a little, but if being on the dance team was important to her, then it is important to me, too. I did tell her afterwards that she is to remember the amount of money I'm going to spend on dance team when she's told to perform chores! She's still worried. To me, that's not a material girl. That's a sensible girl who knows the value of a dollar, especially in this shaky economy. Rachael has offered to buy a printer for our house with her next paycheck from Target. When I thanked her she said, "Ah Mom, it's the least I can do. I mean Tom bought Sarah and I our beds!" Which he did. So you see, it's not just older adult-types who are a mixture of the sinner/saint. Kids are too, no matter what their ages. The two-yr-old who snatched his brother's toy and bonked him on the head with it will, a few minutes later, give him his last cookie with a hug. It's who we are as a human species. The sinner and the saint. In the words of Roseanne, words I've used in my blog before because they are so accurate: "At some point, no matter how hard we try and how much we try to train them, kids are just gonna DO what they're gonna DO. They're like people that way." Yes. They are. |
| The song was written and performed when I was young. "I am a material girl." Raise your hand if you're a teenager from the fabulous '80s and remember the little ditty, sung of course by the woman WE made famous...Madonna. What I've discovered, though, is that we from the 'ME' generation didn't have nothin' on these chldren-of-the-21st-century. Last night while we were having dinner out, waiting on meals from a nice restaurant Thomas was kind enough to treat us to, my fourteen year old began filling us in on exactly what kind of cell phone she wants  She's in the market for one of the most expensive ON the market, and I "kindly" informed her that such a device would be something she'll have to pay for, herself. Moments before she regaled us with the sort of phone she wants, she'd been lamenting the fact that she doesn't have a phone at all right now. After her detailed description of her "dream cell phone", I asked her if providing a basic cell phone with picture-taking capabilities, phone service, and texting would be enough...she, in effect, tried to tell me "no" and I told her I'd keep that in mind, at which point she tap danced backwards in her answer Even my nineteen year old got into the act when she told us the sort of phone she covets; not the same as her sister but similar in price! Good grief, and I thought I was lucky to get a phone-on the same landline mind you-in my room when I was their age!I feel like a crotchety old person when I think about what I had in relation to what my own kids have, but it's the simple truth, and mine don't even have that much. They don't have cell phones right now, although they did before we moved (long story about a phone service we can't get here), and only Rachael has her own laptop computer, purchased by me as a graduation gift well over a year ago. Of course she's already lamenting the need for more memory and power and talks about buying a new one for herself, but so far the one she has serves its purpose well. Sarah loves name brand clothes and won't wear "just any" pair of jeans off the rack from any old store-no way. It's a good thing the girl is an expert at finding the bargains in the mall stores she's positive she must be clothed by. Now I'll admit remembering the need for a "certain" type of jeans-in my neck o' the woods it was Levi 501s all through high school and then Wranglers for college-but I did occasionally don a different pair from a different company without disintigrating into a heap of sawdust, seriously. One thing I've noticed with young people-teenagers and children the world over-is that the more they get, the more they want. Oh, they all want and want and want, especially with the help of television and now internet ads to inform them of what they desperately want and absolutely MUST have, but the whining, petulance, and overall spoiled-rotten behavior seems to intensify when they get too much for-well-nothing. I've tried really hard not to do that with my kids...of course, the fact that I can't afford to spoil them rotten is a given, heh heh. Sometimes I'm actually glad I can't. In the words of Roseanne: "how did you girls get so spoiled when we've given you absolutely nothing?" Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me I think they’re o.k. If they don’t give me proper credit I just walk away They can beg and they can plead But they can’t see the light, that’s right ’cause the boy with the cold hard cash Is always mister right, ’cause we are Living in a material world And I am a material girl You know that we are living in a material world And I am a material girl Some boys romance, some boys slow dance That’s all right with me If they can’t raise my interest then I Have to let them be Some boys try and some boys lie but I don’t let them play Only boys who save their pennies Make my rainy day, ’cause they are Boys may come and boys may go And that’s all right you see Experience has made me rich And now they’re after me, ’cause everybody’s Living in a material world I think this old song applies more now than it did, then. Ick. |
| It's written over 700 times in the bible, no matter what translation you use. I don't believe it to be an coincidence or an accident. Today a lovely woman-Thomas' mother-sent me an e-mail with some positive instances of "loving one another" set out in a, yes it's true, list of five! I believe it to be a good omen, dontcha think? I have no choice but to share the contents with you: 1. Cleaning Lady. During my second month of college, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions until I read the last one: 'What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?' Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50's, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade. 'Absolutely,' said the professor. 'In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say 'hello.' I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy. 2. Pickup in the Rain One night, at 11:3 0 p.m., an older African American woman was standing on the side of an Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rainstorm. Her car had broken down and she desperately needed a ride. Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her, generally unheard of in those conflict-filled 60's. The man took her to safety, helped her get assistance and put her into a taxicab. She seemed to be in a big hurry, but wrote down his address and thanked him. Seven days went by and a knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a giant console color TV was delivered to his home. A special note was attached. It read: 'Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night The rain drenched not only my clothes, but also my spirits. Then you came along. Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying husband's bedside just before he passed away.. God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others.' Sincerely, Mrs. Nat King Cole. 3 Always remember those who serve. In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. 'How much is an ice cream sundae?' he asked. 'Fifty cents,' replied the waitress. The little boy pulled is hand out of his pocket and studied the coins in it. 'Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?' he inquired. By now more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing impatient. 'Thirty-five cents,' she brusquely replied. The little boy again counted his coins. 'I'll have the plain ice cream,' he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies. You see, he couldn't have the sundae, because he had to have enough left to leave her a tip. 4 The obstacle in Our Path. In ancient times, a King had a boulder placed on a roadway. Then he hid himself and watched to see if anyone would remove the huge rock. Some of the king's wealthiest merchants and courtiers came by and simply walked around it Many loudly blamed the King for not keeping the roads clear, but none did anything about getting the stone out of the way. Then a peasant came along carrying a load of vegetables. Upon approaching the boulder, the peasant laid down his burden and tried to move the stone to the side of the road. After much pushing and straining, he finally succeeded. After the peasant picked up his load of vegetables, he noticed a purse lying in the road where the boulder had been. The purse contained many gold coins and a note from the King indicating that the gold was for the person who removed the boulder from the roadway. The peasant learned what many of us never understand! Every obstacle presents an opportunity to improve our condition. 5 Giving When it Counts... Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at a hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liz who was suffering from a rare & serious disease. Her only chance of recovery appeared to be a blood transfusion from her 5-year old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness.. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother, and asked the little boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister. I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying, 'Yes I'll do it if it will save her.' As the transfusion progressed, he lay in bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheek. Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, 'Will I start to die right away'. Being young, the little boy had misunderstood the doctor; he thought he was going to have to give his sister all of his blood in order to save her but he had chosen to save her anyway. I found this list timely and telling enough to share. |
| I was watching an old sitcom last night, a rerun of a rerun of a show called Family Matters. The main characters in this particular show happen to be black, or African American if you prefer. The show centered around the teenage son of this family who had been pulled over by white police in a white neighborhood; he was humiliated and made to feel like a criminal for no good reason. The catch in the show is that the father is, himself, a police officer for the city of Chicago. After an altercation between the father and said officers who were indeed prejudiced, the father told his son something, used a line that resonated with me: When you get angry about an injustice or a social issue, you can either stay angry and become bitter, or you can give that anger a voice, use it to do what you can to make things better. He's right, or actually the writer of that line is right. I haven't blogged much about the upcoming elections because the whole thing has distressed me, to be deadly honest. I'm still for my candidate of choice, I still believe that Barak Obama is what this country needs to move on and most definately UP...so why have I been reticent about writing what I believe? I'm not usually one who remains silent in the face of controversy and/or debate. Like I mentioned in a comment to Mavis Moog , I'm usually the first, last and in between to voice my opinions I've remained silent lately because I haven't liked what's going on...sometimes from either side.I want to hear about the issues at stake in an election. I want to know that I'm voting for someone based on his beliefs, the work he promises to do while in office, the core values he'll bring to probably the most important job in the world. I want to know I'm basing my decision at the polls on what's real. The problem is when campaigns and rhetoric get so darn muddy and outlandish...and people believe them. It's happened from both sides, but of course it is my opinion that the "other" side has been worse, no question. If the American public would refuse to accept conjectures at face value and do just a little research into allegations and accusations thrown out by candidates and their party "honchos," they may be better informed and less likely to buy into so much of the mud thrown; who knows, perhaps in that event the mudslinging would even stop...okay, never completely, but at least the worst of it. In my perfect world, political candidates for any office would stick to "just the facts, ma'am," and stop trying to tear down their opponants, stop trying to distract us from the issues that REALLY count and will REALLY have a very big impact on our everyday lives. "No more smoke screens", that needs to be the mantra of the voting public. Come the first Tuesday in November, please go to the polls and vote, but do it with knowledge. Know who and what you're voting for...don't vote for someone because "he's cute" or "she's a doll" or "he's black" or "she's a woman." Not even "he's too old" or "he's too young." Nope. Vote for the ideals closest to your own. Vote for the ones who will promote the sort of government you want to see on Capital Hill. Vote for the people who will do what they promise to do. Vote because you can and it's your responsibility and you know what and who you're voting for. BE INFORMED!!! http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18970417/ |
| We all have both in us, like I mentioned in the last entry. I like being a witness to the inaugeration of Sainthood: About two weeks ago Rachael and I went into the coffee House called Caribou, a Starbucks-like place where she was kind enough to buy me a fluffy frapuccino type drink. She knows I love the coffee drinks and asked, while we were out, if I'd like one. What a nice kid! But she's not the "saint" of this piece As she and I sat to enjoy our drinks for a few minutes, a strange woman walked up to us. She asked Rachael if she'd bought "her mother" a drink just a moment ago. Rachael responded with a "yes" and the woman handed her a gift card! She really did, and she told Rachael her kindness to her mother should be rewarded. The card had ten dollars on it What a nice thing to do for complete strangers, and what a lesson for Rachael and anyone else who happened to notice the event: kindness does get repaid. Maybe not so quickly, and maybe sometimes only in the positive vibes we create inside ourselves, but very surely it DOES get repaid.Last night Rachael was working at Target here in NW Rochester. Her checkout line was long, impatience was obvious on the faces of many in that line and poor Rachael was doing the best she could, moving along at as fast a pace as the equipment would allow her-maintaning customer service politeness at the same time which is often a feat. Of course glitches happen; a woman's debit card refused to clear through. The woman was obviously distraught, Rachael said, and lamented that there was plenty of money in the account. Rachael had just directed her to an atm machine when the woman behind the lady with all the troubles said, "never mind. I'll take care of her bill." And she handed Rachael her own credit card. Now this was no small order-the total was around 62.00! When the woman returned and was told her purchases had been paid for, her mouth dropped open and Rachael said she almost hyperventilated from the shock; she stammered a thank-you to the woman who paid and asked for her name and address, something so she could repay her. The woman refused with a smile and said it was her good deed for the day and not to give it a second thought. Something tells me the people around who witnessed the event will be giving it second, third, and fourth thoughts... Since I've moved to Rochester, MN I've experienced more and perhaps smaller evidence of kindness shown to others. I begin to wonder: is it really Rochester that is so different or is it me? Am I more willing to see the goodness of others and the "random act of kindness" when I'm new to a community and looking around, eager to 'scope out the landscape" and the people? I think back to times when I've lived other places, and the same sort of thing happened. I'm sure the woman who gave Rachael a gift card has her less "saintly" moments. I have no doubt the woman who paid for someone else's groceries possesses faults just like the rest of us. They do something more of us need to do, however- They share their "saintly" moments with the masses. |
| Not too long ago Thomas had to find a way to write a blog entry about how people surprise us. Isn't it amusing that I'm the one who came up with the entry perfect for such a title?! Today was not the best day for me. In fact, it ranks right down there with some of the toughest. This morning I had to get up-this alone is enough to make the day plunge in my night-person estimation and it just sort of rolled downhill from there. Sigh.I discovered, upon taking over the front desk at my Hotel job, that the asst. manager had done some petty little things to both annoy me and let me know she was "on to me." Now it's all in her head I assure you, but for some reason she is convinced I'm after her job. I am not. I would love to achieve more responsibility and definately PAY in a job I do semi enjoy, which would fill the bill concerning this particular employment. I do not, however, have my eye on anyone else's postion...I'm just not like that. I feel extremely misunderstood when others erroneously judge me that way. Sigh again. When she came in I used the first hour of her presence to maintain quiet. I'd like to say I wasn't childishly TICKED but I kinda was. To undo some work I'd done, ignore other small things I'd accomplished, and generally make my presence negated with her petty nonsense...yeah, I was miffed. I felt supremely misunderstood and I decided that from now on I'm not going to go any 'extra miles" at work. I'm tired, I'm feeling jaded, and I'm thoroughly annoyed by the whole thing. I want to be a grown-up but who knows, perhaps my attitude isn't very mature, either! So I did start talking to her into the morning, we did become more friendly and the day limped along with other frustrating incidents to add that little umph to it all...sigh a third time. This afternoon, the "highlight" of the day...the shuttle bus driver-the one who drives to Mayo and back-came up to the desk during a break and started in on the political talk. He is most definately a McCain supporter, which of course I am not, but I'm not one who goes on the offensive just because someone doesn't agree with me. He, however, is. After some altercation using a few words carelessly placed, he implied I don't "love God" because I'm an Obama supporter. Good grief. If was JES, a McCain supporter, who ruffled her feathers. She pretty much told him to stop speaking, apologize to me, and/or leave her front desk. So yes, people surprise you. We are all made up of the good and the bad, the sinner and the saint. This afternoon, after what was admittedly a hard day for me, Jes surprised me. How cool. |
| Mysteries!! I love them, I truly do. In fact, for many years all I read were mystery novels, mostly from my favorites, the ones I've discovered through hit-and-miss over the years. I just couldn't seem to get enough of those whodunits, the ratty PIs with hearts-of-gold, the Miss Marples so staid and correct in their drawing rooms while they discussed that dreaded crime that both frightens and fascinates us: murder! And now I possess the secret, the very thing designed to mold ME into the mystery author privileged enough to rub elbows with the likes of PD James, John Grisham, Sue Grafton...this morning Thomas and I attended a workshop entitled, "Mystery is Murder." It was led by the renowned mystery author, Ellen Hart.I'd seen Ellen's work on library shelves right next to the mysteries of Carolyn Hart, but I don't think I ever picked one up, I'm not sure why. I did take the time to wonder if she was related to Carolyn. On the heels of Mary Higgins Clark's daughter, Carol, becoming her own author, I wouldn't have been surprised. Now I know: no relation. Ellen Hart is, however, a seasoned mystery author with 24 published titles and a 25th in the works. She sat before us without makeup, her hair looking a little like iron, but she WOWED me like I haven't been for quite some time. Now I KNOW I made a mistake when I didn't pick up her book! She gave us some "tricks of the trade" destined to become valuable for more than just mystery writing. For years I've wondered why I can't write what I love-those mysteries with twisted but believable stories that keep us reading and biting our nails from the first page to the last. I believe I figured out my "issue" pretty early on. Structure. I've never been real good at following a set of rules or a "formula." I expound on that little topic all the time when it comes to the poetry I write-I don't do "form" because I just can't follow it! Yeah well, it turns out that most genre fiction-in fact, most fiction of any kind-pretty much needs a plan, a form, a structure. Oh.  In listening to her discuss the importance of even a general structure and a need to respect the formula of a decent mystery, I began to admit something about myself. Not only do I not adhere to enough structure in much of my writing life, I don't adhere to enough structure in my life AT ALL. There's nothing wrong with "taking things as they come" and "rolling with the punches" as they arise, but wouldn't it be a bit advisable to, perhaps, implement a bit of structure to PREVENT some of the occurances in my life which create the need for "rolling with the punches??" What a concept. Ellen Hart discussed some time spent with an author named PD James. She also mentioned having met and enjoyed the company of Dennis Lehane-anyone heard of Mystic River? I was jazzed to listen to her-she wasn't name dropping, she was being honest about her experiences. She even graced us with an anecdote about Janet Evanovich, the flamboyant author of the number mysteries featuring her foremost protagonist, Stephanie Plum, and her motley crew of bumbling coherts. The morning was a grand experience, made more so by Ellen's comment to Thomas after the workshop, hee hee! But since it happened to him, I'll let him be the author of that little tidbit and you'll just have to stew in the...mystery! |
| Today is Sarah's Homecoming. All of us in the family-with the exception of the chicken dog and gargantuan cat-are looking forward to attending tonight's football game. And OF COURSE Thomas and I will do NOTHING to embarrass our lovely young teenager, like kiss in front of her friends or wave at her A LOT or anything; we'd NEVER! *halo* Tomorrow night Sarah will be attending her first high school dance. I want to know when my youngest daughter grew into this beautiful young woman, willowy and very attractive and radiant in the dress she was thrilled to buy last weekend-after years of watching her sisters buy those dresses and flit to and from those glamorous high school dances, it's now HER turn, and she's basking in it She's only been attending John Marshall High School for a few weeks, but she seems to be acclimating herself very well. Last Saturday she tried out to be on the winter dance team for the school, the Rockettes because they are the Rockets, and she made it I was so happy for her, and glad she made the team for several reasons: the night before she was extremely nervous; in typical teenage-girl form, she took that out on the rest of us , but as I was saying good night to her she began to tear up and I sat, asked her what was wrong. "I don't know if I should go in the morning," she said. "What if they don't need anyone else or I don't make it?" I answered her, "Well, let's see. If you don't go at all then you know what the answer to being on the Rockettes is. That would be 100% NO. If you get up in the morning and go, do the best you know how to do, then the chances are much, much better. So would you rather know the outcome to be negative and not even try, or do you want to take that chance and perhaps get better than a negative outcome? You just don't know until you try." She went, and she made it, and I was glad because she learned a valuable life lesson that I need to remind myself of quite often, "avoidance" making the top of my recent list entitled: Habits to Discard. Until we face a challenge or a problem head-on, we're cheating ourselves. If we take no action for ourselves like going to the try-outs of a team or band or play we want to be a part of, if we lament our "sad circumstances" or bury our heads in the sand when there's a tough situation in our lives that has to be addressed, we are assuring ourselves of a negative outcome. Pulling our heads up and taking the steps forward to tackle whatever issue is set before us to overcome...that is when we are giving ourselves a chance to experience better than a negative result. I just recently commented in Thomas' blog about "not sweating the small stuff," and that's still my mantra. There's a difference between "sweating" and "taking action." There are some things in life we really CAN'T control, and allowing those situations to entangle us emotionally isn't going to make it better. Moving forward with positive energy towards what we CAN have some control over...that's a key, I think, in achieving that lovely feeling of success. Because "success" really isn't about winning all the time or making the team all the time or having everything go your way all the time. It's about knowing you got up, dusted yourself off, and did the best you knew how to do. It sounds cheesy but it really is true: no matter whether the outcome was what you desired or not, if you tried-if you got out and moved and gave action to your dreams or needs-then you won. Ultimately that's how it feels on the inside. |
| I used to blog almost every day when I first started this recording of my life's journey and the thoughts which crowd into my brain during the trek. So what happened? When blogging was a novel activity and I realized how positive it could be for me and others-how those who read what I wrote might benefit from my own experiences and thoughts about them-I was hooked on blogging. I liked "journaling" when I was in the ninth grade and had an English teacher who made it a mandatory part of our grades. Every day she gave us ten to fifteen minutes to update our personal journals encased in a simple spiral notebook. At first, in that notebook, I simply recorded what I'd done the day before and all the day to day mundane goings-on. She repeatedly told us, however, that she didn't want that sort of writing. She wanted us to take a piece of ourselves, what was roiling around inside our growing bodies, and express within the pages of that journal. We needed to tap into our inner selves, she would tell us, find out who we really were. I took on the challenge and learned to truly "journal." I found out I was good at it-that "baring my soul" thing...and I also found out I loved it. She only read our offerings if we told her she could-using a red pen to write an entry meant "don't read"...I never had need of one, which I'm sure surprises everyone who knows me Sometimes, if she recieved our "okay," she would read a journal entry out loud, one she would find particularly compelling or thought provoking. She read quite a few of my entries to the class, and as much as I loved the accolades from the teacher and the attention, sometimes I squirmed because many of the other kids would peer at me in a kind of confused worry or maybe even fright. Sometimes they even avoided talking to me after a journal-reading. I didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing, actually. I was never one who thought it was necessary to 'fit in," I didn't even try for the most part because I knew I just didn't. Most of the time I didn't even want to, but still, I also didn't like feeling like a bug in a jar, the kind we all oggle at for a bit because it's so weird and unusual. I resolved that, in life, there are times when we simply have to take the good with the bad, decide which is more desirable to us, and go with it. I continued to "okay" the out-loud readings of my teacher and weathered through the "bug-in-a-jar" stares. So it was that when I began to blog I was harkened back to those early journaling days, when I "bared my soul" and had a mostly positive experience from it, and I embraced the exercise. I discovered I was still pretty good at sharing my innermost self, and I truly enjoy it. I found others who enjoy it, too, and no longer did I feel that "bug-in-a-jar" stare, because everyone in Blogville pretty much does what I do, and they're all pretty good at it, too! I fell in love with the blogging experience, made several great friends who have remained so as the years have passed, and generally found myself uplifted by this writing known as 'blogging". So why have my sharings and blog visits become so sporadic over the last year or so?? I still love it... Many reasons could be used to explain or excuse my spotty blog record these days, but I think there's a bottom line I have to admit to and address: I've been too lazy. Yup, I admit it. Sure, I get busy like everyone else, depressed sometimes, bored others...but at the core of every excuse is just that-an excuse. Why is it that sometimes the things we do which are so wonderfully good for us are the things we back away from most often?? Human nature is crazy! Blogging has given me far more than it ever took away in time and/or effort. Blogging has given me the opportunity to publicize my writing style while baring my soul, which in turn has been extremely cathartic for me more than once in a while. During Liz's worst bipolar cycling outbreaks, this blogging experience literally saved my own sanity, often pulling me back from the brink of despair. So many on this site would write comments of sympathy and support, and in getting to know other moms who experience what I was, I didn't feel so alone. I hoped I was doing the same for them in being so open about the pain of it all. I resolve to get much better about taking the time to blog. Expressing myself with the written word...I mean does it GET any better than that?! |
| I'm so hot. And not in a good way For months the air conditioner in the laundry room of this lovely hotel has been broken. The laundry room is directly behind the front desk, where I work. It is not even 10am here yet, and I am melting. Think of the witch from the Wizard of Oz. Here's my rendition: "I'm meeelting! Dorothy-or anyone listening-I'm meeeelting!!" *look of melting on my thinning face, but the thinning is just due to the melting procedure*  This is Minnesota, people! According to my latest sources it's NORTH and isn't supposed to MELT PEOPLE!! Huh, so much for the ideas of a girl from the Oklahoma Panhandle who entertained misty notions of a state of coolness in the north. SIIIGGH. *drip*The Big Boss, the Head Honcho, the Owner, the Godfather...he's coming to the hotel, today. Sirens are going off, lights are flickering, we are standing at attention under the stern eye of the manager...okay, not really. But it is weird, how the tension is in the air and we're not talking, just working or at least pretending to in anticipation of the Great One making an appearance.This hotel is attractive and its atmosphere is calming to me. The music piped in is either classical or easy listening and soothes me when I start to get JUST a little "bent" by a young assistant manager whose insecurity makes her abrasive and too bossy-to-rude. She tends to treat employees, at times, as if we are her servants who must hop to her bidding...this annoys me Okay it totally ticks me off. But I deal because that's what we on the bottom rung do. Sigh again. The MANAGER is fabulous so I guess it's a give-and-take. The drawback is that I stand out here with the assistant who crosses my eyes when she gets "icky." She's not always on the icky side, but enough to occasionally give me a stomach ache when I leave. Eh, I've had worse jobs, no question!I really like the large majority of our guests. I learn where they're from, why they're here-which is mostly for the Mayo-but sometimes for other reasons. I just checked out two young men who work for an audio/visual company. They stay here off and on because the Mayo Clinic hires them to pipe in music and video. They crawl around in ceilings and air ducts to install the lovely muzak we are all privy to! You mean PEOPLE do that?? Learn something new every day! Yesterday the manager and I dealt with a horrible person, a young man who owns a construction business and was booking rooms for employees. He was belligerent, rude, nasty, implied we are all stupid because we can't read his mind...I kept waiting for him to ask about his royal throne. Gag. When she hung up the phone, my manager looked at me and said, "I think his underwear is on too tight. He needs a larger size." I responded, "I think both his heads are swollen." Yeah, this job has its moments. I do lament, however, that they will have to scoop me up in one of those paper coffee cups and pour me out on the sidewalk when my shift is over. *drip* Whispered: The manager hopes it remains nice and toasty for the owner so he'll see what he's subjected us to in not repairing the life-giving air conditioner *slippery-with-sweat-groggy icon* |
Yesterday Thomas wrote a lovely tribute in his blog to his brother, Ron. The entry made me itch to introduce you to more about the man I now share my life with. Of course our journey, his and mine, has just begun-we're at the starting gate if you will-and we middle-aged codgers sure do get tired from working full time  , but we still find time to enjoy each other, learn about each other, and learn to LIVE with each other! Those of you who read this little blog regularly already know that Thomas and I were the best of friends for a few years before "taking the plunge" into more. I knew a lot about him before we moved into this "romantic plain" and I already loved him, foibles and all. Yes yes, my handsome, creative Thomas isn't perfect (shockingly enough, I'm not either). But he is smart, funny, witty, FULL of life and vigor for living most of the time, and utterly charming in a way designed to melt my heart. I've communicated to him more than once that my love for him, increasing every day, will just never end, of this there is NO DOUBT. I fell for him before physical attraction was a reality, before I touched his flesh or stroked his hair or...met his mother. In actuality, Thomas' mother works with the elderly-and nope, she doesn't seem to be that at ALL-and is a strong woman, the kind I admire most. She raised five children and weathered her husband's health issues, as well, until she became a single parent. She dug in and did whatever she had to do for those kids and herself, never giving a second thought to her own sacrifices along the way. She's in such "giving" mode that Thomas and I almost groan when we "slip" and mention something we might need for the house or the girls or ourselves, because once we do she'll bustle around her house to find that something, or she'll return from a store or flea market with JUST the thing we needed most; much of our home has been stamped by Thomas' mom. I'm just fine with that. Thomas' dad has dealt with health issues for much of his adult life. He's currently in a nursing home-a good one staffed mostly by people who care-and boy can he smile! I now know where my own handsome Harper man acquired his charm. Thomas' dad loves his kids and Minnesota sports teams, in that order. He taught Thomas to enjoy the Twins and the Vikings and they spend a LOT of time on both topics...good thing I'm not one o' those women who can't keep up or gets *gasp* BORED! I don't, thank goodness Thomas' dad has yet to visit us in our home but we're looking forward to just such an event next weekend. What I love most about this man and seeing him with his boys...none of them have a problem being affectionate with one another. There's none of that stand-offish "we're men, we can't touch" mentality going on with them. They love each other dearly and they demonstrate it often. Now THERE'S some men I can respect and love. Thomas has other siblings I've yet to meet: two sisters I have a sneaking suspicion I'll get along with and love in addition to two neices and two nephews AND a great neice Because the family talks about their deceased son and brother, Jeff, with simple, honest emotion and love, I think I pretty much know him, too. He had health issues all his life, but he is always smiling in pictures and seemed as resilient as his strong mother. He is missed every day.Why did I describe Thomas' family when I told you I was going to describe Thomas? Because these people are the cornerstone of the man I so love and cherish. I think it's a good sign that I love all of them, too, and so do my girls. We're all such a fit, like jigsaw pieces snapping in place. So I may have trouble sleeping at night-I wake the poor man up too much with my nightly meanderings-and he may snore loudly enough that the cemetary down the road called to complain, hee hee, but we fit like peas in a pod, shoes in a box, twinkies in their wrapper. I never thought I'd be in a relationship with someone whose company I so thoroughly and completely enjoy; we all need our "alone" time, sure, but I've discovered that with him, I don't need as much. I actually crave sharing moments with him I never would have dreamed I'd share with anyone else- It's like we're soulmates or something. To Thomas: Friends, we started out as friends, Friends turned into lovers; With you it is so easy For me to speak my mind- Oh how I believe in you, You're the light that has always seen me through. I will be Forever by your side- Now we see our love has grown And these have been the sweetest times That I have ever known- And I know that it will never end, 'Cause every time I look at you, I fall in love again. Longer than the sun will shine, Love is a tie that binds, Two hearts are meant to be one eternally- Together forever. -performed by the Manhattans |
| Heat ripples off hard-packed dirt in waves, Easily seen and causing the eyes to water If one looks too much, too closely- I look to the side of me, take in the expanse of Dirt and what they call "buffalo grass" withering Tan-to-brown from the punishment of intense heat and Nothing much to drink. Cactus are common and tumbleweeds too... In spring they dance, end over end, and climb Up to cover doorway, entrances and exits, it doesn't Matter- The dirt isn't red but brown, not dusty but too hard and Packed and cracked to move... I like looking down the cracks, searching for what might Be Underneath... All I ever see is more dry, cracked, brown dirt- I ride in my Aunt's car and we pass wheat fields, sorghum Fields, fields of stuff I don't remember the names for... Long metal machines stretch all the way across, Spitting mists of precious water, life giving liquid the Heavens seldom choose to grace us with- Once they made a lake, a really big lake so we could Boat and fish and swim, and once I went to that lake. I swam away from the others, I wanted to tred water alone, I wanted to experience the swim, the glistening abundance Of water Alone- There was a small island in the middle, man-made Like the water, and I sat on the hard packed dirt -no beach- I turned my face up to the sun; its relentlessness was Evident. I was dry in no time. I slipped back into the water And shivered, my skin puckered... I was reluctant to return, looking up into the cloudless Blue as I swam- The lake is gone, long dried up by the "Natural course of things" Determined to maintain desert where desert belongs- The brown dirt where water used to stand is Hard and cracked, occasionally broken by Patches of "buffalo grass" that shrink in the Baking sun. It was the home of my youth, the place where all my memories begin and will probably end, when I'm old and withered and reliving my youth...! I could have done worse.
|
| Liz is my oldest child. Anyone who has spent much time reading this blog of my lifetime is well aware of Liz and her special challenges. She's bipolar, has been since she was twelve years old. The challenges she and I have already faced as mother and daughter are incredibly intensified as a result. I've quit jobs to make sure she grew up "okay." I stood in the hallway of her middle school when she was chronically skipping classes and the school couldn't seem to stop her. I even "shadowed" her a few times, walking with her from class to class to ensure she understood I meant business when it came to her education. When she was in high school there came a time when I walked her to gym class. I chased after her when she ran off in the throes of mania. I monitored her ceaselessly during her high school years because I was hell bent on making sure she made it OUT of her teens as intact as someone with adolescent bipolar disorder can be. She's twenty years old now, closer to twenty-one, and she has scars. But for the most part, she made it out of adolescence with less trauma than so many who suffer from what ails her. In some ways I'm proud that she and I were able to keep her as safe as we did. In other ways I have to wonder if I protected her too much. As a minor, Liz would have had more and better access to publically funded mental health care. As a minor she had some options for help. Now she's in that "limbo age" where she's not considered adult enough for some programs but certainly too old for others. I like to call it the "18-21 abyss." It's sad. She's been struggling since she left high school-a mere 3 credits shy of graduation-drifting and directionless and wondering where her life can go while she fights with herself inside her own brain. She's academically gifted, has always been intellectually light years ahead of her peers, yet because of bipolar disorder she is grievously behind, emotionally. Where does a person go with these unique challenges she carries inside herself? How does she become self sufficient, and at almost twenty-one she's more than ready... She moved with us, initially, to Rochester, MN and I was optimistic. I know this area has a great mental health system and I quickly got her an appointment with one of the clinics. But Liz was restless here, didn't know how she was going to get out and get to know people in the area, didn't know how she was going to become more self sufficient. She started feeling less so, here. So she made a choice a couple of weeks ago. She chose to return to Moline, IL and live with a friend who made the offer. So my oldest daughter has flown the nest, so to speak. She's currently in Moline with her friend Jamie and Jamie's one-year-old son. I got her an appt with her psychiatrist there with a promise to pay for the meds-which I will as long as she needs me to-but other than that, I have warned her that my days of "running to save her" are gone. She's okay with that; I think she means it. She has a job babysitting for a neighbor, Monday through Friday from 6am to 3pm. She's making plans to return to school, maybe next semester, to become a hair stylist/makeup artist/manicurist. I think it's a great start for her, something she'll enjoy and be good at. We talk to her on the phone almost every day. I haven't heard her sound this calm and sure of herself...maybe ever. My oldest child has grown up for the most part. She might end up needing more help down the road, but as long as I see her making an effort for herself and helping herself as much as she possibly can, I'll be there. Emotionally I'll be present for her no matter WHAT. It's tough, being the parent of a special-needs barely-grown person, knowing when and where to draw a line. REALLY hard. She's doing her best, working at building a life for herself, and even though I worry, I know that "branching out" is what's best for her-and me, and everyone in our family. We love her, we miss her. We're proud of her. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
