Shut Up And Say Thank You

It's Thanksgiving Day.  Time for pie.  Oh yeah, and turkey, dressing, cranberries, ham, gravy, assorted casseroles, and those yummy yeast rolls that melt the butter on them into a deliciousness unmatched in the history of the world.

Families gather together to share this holiday, with all their baggage.  We all carry around the bits and pieces of our childhood with us, and this does affect the way we view our families, especially when we are all crammed into one house, one room for hours.  Some conversation will be stilted, awkward, or downright uncomfortable. Other conversations will be comfortable, like a soft, fluffy sweater that warms you on a cold day.

Families are like that.

Maybe today, however, we should be thankful for the discomfort of our family.

Maybe today, instead of spending an hour arguing with Uncle Fred about his vote in the election, just shut up. Listen to what he has to say, even if you don't agree.  Tell him thank you for sharing his opinion.

Maybe today, when Aunt Vera asks you for the 458th time why you aren't married or why you don't you have any kids yet?  Shut your mouth on that snippy retort which will hurt her feelings. Say thank you, and tell her that you appreciate her concern.

Maybe today, while you're on the couch squeezed in between your cousin George and your Uncle Mac, who could both stand to lose a few pounds, shut your mouth on that irritated comment.  Get up and move if your arms have fallen asleep, but let them watch the game.

Families are tied together by more than DNA, and we should be grateful for that.  Those same people who make you uncomfortable or irritated are also the people who will stand by you, no matter what you look like, or who you bring home.  That's what family does, and we are going to need that in the coming days.  There's a lot of anger, hatred, and isolation out in the world right now, and we need to hold our loved ones closer than ever in the coming days.

Changing the world starts with a single person. A single person who is thankful for what they have in their lives, and who wants to share that gratitude.  What better place to start than now, in your own family?

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

One Perfect Day

I woke up the other day sweating, hyperventilating, my heart racing and my brain on high alert. Something is wrong, my mind yelled, and of course you have to pay attention to that sort of thing.  I took several deep breaths, opened my eyes and began looking around the room. I hadn't injured myself in my sleep.  My husband was still breathing; I could hear Zane snoring. It was early in the morning, so I could see that there were no intruders in the house. The alarm was still on.  Maisy, the secondary alarm dog, was sound asleep.

All was quiet, except in my head. I was having a garden variety panic attack.  As far as my brain was concerned, I am a terrible person, a bad mom, someone who has no friends, oh--and it is the end of the world.  I have a surgery coming up(July 8th), and my brain was convinced that I was going to die on the table, from complications or whatever.

I hate having panic attacks, because they aren't productive. I am used to feeling anxious.  I've read all the books on anxiety. I usually can problem solve my way out of my anxiety, unless it's a panic attack. I always try to talk my idiot brain out of them, as if my assertions can overcome hardwired brain responses.  I do deep breathing exercises. I get up and walk around. I try to redirect my thoughts.  I even pray.  None of that works for panic attacks.

And I keep all my freaking out to myself, because I don't want anyone in the house to freak out with me.  So I went downstairs and let out the dog and the cat into the backyard, started the coffee, and made breakfast.

Then I got mad at myself, and my mental nonsense. I'm not a person who is used to sitting around feeling crazy.  I'm a fighter.  Getting angry seemed counter productive, but there it was.  I just  said to heck with it.  If I have no reason to panic, but I'm panicking anyway, I may as well go do some things that make me panic.  So we packed up and went off to SeaWorld.  We hit their water park, Aquatica.  First on the agenda?  Sting Ray Falls, where you sit in a raft and slide down a big tube underneath a bunch of random stingrays.  Right away, my panic attack got worse.  My claustrophobia was hollering about the ride, because, enclosed space.  My acrophobia was screaming, because we had to climb about four stories up.  Zane noticed my nervousness, and I finally talked about what I was feeling.

"You should face your fears," Zane said.

"That's why we're here, son," I replied.

I took a picture of Larry and I, and my toothy smile.  That is panic on my face, but there's more. 

There's determination.  I could do this.  And I did.  I sat in the raft, I held on, and the ride began.   It was over in seconds, as most experiences are, and as we splashed down and floated to the exit, my panic attack went away.  At least for that day.  We floated on the "river", jumped waves in the wave pool, and had a blast. 

I'm still nervous about my surgery tomorrow.  I wouldn't be me if the "what ifs" weren't constantly running through my mind. But we had one perfect day this summer, where we were able to let some of the cares from the past two years go, and everyone was healthy, and we laughed and had fun as a family. 

It will do for now. 

Backseat Driving Done Right

It's Graduation season, that time of the year when high school and college students finish their schooling and walk across the stage in a cap and gown to get a piece of paper with their name on it.  As it happens, this year my niece Courtney walked the stage as she graduated from high school, and the family trooped off to the Laurie Auditorium at Trinity University to watch this milestone.  I rode with my parents to the event. 

It's been awhile since I have ridden in the backseat of the family car, and things have changed since then.  For one thing, I developed a bit of claustrophobia, and sitting in the backseat is a little close.  For another, my parents are older.  My dad normally drives a huge pick up truck, but for this evening we were in my mother's Honda.  Except that my dad was driving like he was still in his pickup; he pretended that speed bumps put on our route weren't there and barely slowed down.  Short as I am, it was difficult not to go airborne.  I was grateful for the seatbelt!  I noticed my mother gripping her hands together, and I knew that she was nervous about her car. 

After the graduation ceremony, we returned to the car and headed home.  My dad exited the university, then headed for the traffic light.  He put on his turn signal at the stop light.  That's when the fun started, just like when I was a kid.

Mom:  "There's no right turn on red here,"

Dad: "There's no sign saying that."  

Mom: "Yes there is."

Dad: "I don't see any sign."

"Dad, you can't see oncoming traffic,"   I could not see the traffic light from the backseat, but I could see the left corner of the road jutting out to block our view. I felt compelled to speak up. 

Mom: "And it's no right turn on red."    Luckily, the light turned green, saving my dad from responding.  As we turned the corner, I saw the sign my mom was talking about, but kept quiet.  It became obvious that my dad was in a hurry to get home. 

"Dad, you're going a little fast.  There's a lot of cops out tonight."  I didn't mean to say a word; I had resolved to sit quietly in the backseat.  But my mother trained me well, and I could not help myself. I proceeded to correct his driving several more times, becoming more and more horrified at myself.  I even mentioned the speed bumps on the way back!  

"Can I just drive?" My dad had had enough of my shenanigans.  I'd had enough of myself as well.  However, I think my mom was secretly pleased. 

Making New Memories

The San Antonio Scorpions FC, our hometown NASL soccer team, played a match against a major league soccer team, FC Dallas.  (I am pretty sure that the 'FC' stands for 'Football Club', because football in every other country but ours is actually soccer. We had to be weird, us Americans. But don't quote me on that, because I'm winging it here.) 

The game was a 'friendly', meaning that it wouldn't count for anything. The Dallas club needed some practice, and the freshly selected newest members of the Scorpions needed practice as well.  It was also discussed that the Scorpions would like to be one of the MLS expansion teams at some point, and this would be good experience. 

Larry, Zane, and I had already taken a trip to Dallas to see the Dallas team play Los Angeles a while back. Well, to see David Beckham, really.  Zane wanted to show the soccer legend his new cleats, and we were all disappointed when Mr. Beckham bowed out.  Something to do with those pesky Olympic games and the jet lag of overseas travel. Or something.  

But this would be different. This would be on our home turf, so to speak.  It would be fun! And I decided to splurge a little and get as close to the green as possible. My goal(get it?--a soccer metaphor!) in splurging was simple. Life is about shared experiences.  The best memories that I have happened with other people, most of them my family. I want my son to have those kind of experiences, too.  My parents and my brother were also in attendance, so this was a family event of epic proportions.  

It is beyond exciting to be that close to the field of play in any sport, close enough to catch a ball if it flies into the crowd.  Or to yell at the ref when he misses a perfectly obvious yellow card.  Not that I would ever do that--that would be my brother. We were seated next to the section where the Scorpions Fan club was gathered, and the game was accompanied by the drums and chants of almost eight thousand people.  The energy of the crowd was inspiring.

When he is an adult, my son may recall an unseasonably warm March 1st when he went to a Scorpions soccer game, ate blue cotton candy and drank a blue snowcone, and pooped blue for a week(if you're a mom, you know how I know that).  Maybe he'll also happily recall that the Scorpions tied a major league soccer team in the final seconds of the game, and that he was with the people who love him the most. If so, then it was worth it.

One Last Look

Tomorrow we all have to go back to work/school.  A general pall has invaded the house as a result, which is an indicator of how much fun we had over the holidays.  We have nothing to show for it, of course.  We didn't "go" anywhere fancy, like some people do.  No ski trips or jaunts to the coast.  We stayed close to home, and the furthest we ventured was to New Braunfels for my son's basketball game.  Still, we had fun.  We played video games and watched movies and played with the dog and read books.  We slept in, all three of us.  Maybe that's why we are reluctant to let the holidays go--we've spent the last two weeks just being a family and doing family stuff.  We don't usually get to do so much of that during the work week, with all the other obligations. That's kind of sad, isn't it?  I think that we need to work on that. 

So I am going to sit back and enjoy this huge cup of coffee in my Christmas mug for one more day.  I'm going to relax, at least for an hour, and just be, something that I have a great deal of trouble remembering.  I will hug my son and husband and enjoy our family time today.

Tomorrow will be here soon enough.

Time Be A River

This is a photograph of my Uncle Mike and Aunt Rosie on their wedding day, circa the late 40s.  See that little kid in the front row, looking off camera?  That's my father, and behind him are his parents, my grandmother and grandfather.  My father looks as though he would rather be anywhere else on earth than posing for pictures. I've seen that same look on my own child, when I can get him to stand still.

The idea that my own father was once a child, and that my own child will one day be an adult with children of his own,  always fills me with wonder as well as melancholy.  It's quite a revelation to finally understand that all things are born, and all things must die, including the people we love.  Most people shy away from ever thinking about death, and I'm no different on most days.  But then I see photographs like this, and I understand that time is indeed a river, and all of us are fallen leaves floating wherever the current takes us. 

Those who came before us aren't really gone; they're just downstream.

Randoms

As I've mentioned before, Zane loves the show Finding Bigfoot.   He's an avid viewer.  We may have to curtail it, however.  On the show, the members of the group try to get Bigfoot to show up by calling them.  It's a whooping call, a bit of a scream.  Zane decided that it was his wish that Bigfoot show up in his backyard.  So he is out there, every chance he gets, whooping for Bigfoot.  I've tried to reason with him; Bigfoot is probably not a fence vaulter, I explained.  If Bigfoot tried to jump over our fence, he would likely knock the whole thing over, and Maisy would not be able to play in the back yard, I told him.  Zane said that he would help fix the fence, and when I thought about it, the publicity of having Bigfoot in the backyard would probably result in enough cash flow to pay for a broken fence.  So I told Zane that he would be responsible for feeding said Bigfoot, should that creature show up.

The above was either a butterfly or a moth in the act of releasing itself from the cocoon.  I am not sure what sort of butterfly it is.  I am not even sure this critter is alive.  It didn't move while I was clicking away, not even a twitch.  It's just that I never expected to see this emergence from the cocoon without time lapse photography. 

Maisy has outgrown her 'kennel'.  We had been using one of our cat carriers, but her legs seem to have grown two inches, and the rest of her hasn't caught up yet.  Fooey.   We have to have some place to put her at night so she doesn't eat the cats.  I sent Larry to the store to buy a kennel.  So now we have a HUGE kennel.  Zane can fit in there WITH the dog, and I'll bet we could get all of the cats in there, too. That would be errr...interesting.

Yes, I just kept buying the minifigures until I got Santa!

My husband asks me what I want for Christmas each year, and I have a few ideas.  I usually put my wants on my wish list from Amazon, but he never reads that.  So maybe he will read this, likely at some point closer to my birthday in June.  Here are some things that I want: I would like a day at a spa, to get a massage, a pedi and a facial. I would like a housekeeper.  I would like the first season of Justified.  I would like a weekend trip to Fredricksburg or some other place in the Hill Country, just the two of us. I would like for MY computer to be fixed, so I don't have to keep using my husband's computers.  I would like to have my own space for crafting that isn't surreptiously commandeered by Lego sets.  I would like my house cleared of all the clutter. I would like to have a new mattress.  I'll be fine no matter what gifts I get, as long as it appears that the person spending the money should be the one making decisions.   It's the thought, right? 

I read today that people were angry at Bob Costas for tossing out his opinions on gun control after the murder-suicide of that player from the Kansas City Chiefs.  I am not really sure what all the hubbub is about.  Yes, it was prior to a football game, and people were whining that it shouldn't have been brought up because it had nothing to do with football.  Except that most commercials have nothing to do with football, either, and yet they keep showing up.  I am not sure what the fuss is about. 

I am joining the rebels over at Stacy's Uncorked.  Go check her out!

Family

optional prompt: family

My parents came from large families.  My mother is the oldest of eleven children, my father is somewhere in the middle of six.  But there's only just my brother and me.  Throughout most of our moving about, he was there, one small constant.  We got on each other's nerves on a daily basis, just because that is what siblings do.  When we were younger, our disagreements often resulting in physical altercations.  Except that I knew that he had my back, and I had his.  We were often the new kids, we were often targets.  But if you messed with my brother, you dealt with me.   And vice versa.

Now I have a husband and a son.  My brother has a wife and three teenagers.  His kids are much older than my boy, and his wife would rather spend time with her relatives than us.  It is what it is. We have our own lives, my brother and I, and though we live less than five miles from each other, we usually only meet on Sundays for the family dinner.  Conversations are limited to the time it takes to enjoy the meal, most days. 

But I know that if something happens, no matter what, my brother has my back. If I need him, he will be there.  And vice versa.  That is what family does. 

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Family Mottoes

Family was just about everything back before electricity, when you lived and died at the will of your king or queen or chieftain. Loyalty to the group, particularly the leader, was vital to survival. History is full of tales in which the knight demonstrates his faithfulness to his leader, mostly in battle, but sometimes in other ways.  If you were lucky to survive whatever your king commanded of you, you might be given a coat of arms or crest as a reward.  It was the practice at one time, then, for the nobility to have a motto to go with their coat of arms or family crest.  All the "cool" families had them.  My family had a coat of arms, somewhere in Germany, but I don't think that they got around to having a family motto.  

A motto is a mantra, it's a reminder, it's a prayer.  It is a promise, a vow, a comfort.  It is whatever it needs to be. Armies use mottoes as a rallying cry to boost morale or help soldiers gather courage before a fight.  "Remember the Alamo" was a powerful motto, for example, repeated over and over by men fighting for the independence of Texas.  Sports teams use mottoes to inspire their players, and to get their fans enthusiastic.  

I have always liked the idea of a family motto; a phrase or sentence to represent the family to others.  When Larry and I were dating, planning our life together, we made up a family motto: Whatever comes, we share. One of us would start the sentence, and the other would be there with the finish. It was just the two of us having fun, but a funny thing happened along the way: our motto became us. 

We have had a lot of trauma in our lives, Larry and I.  A burden shared is a burden lightened, they say. We have had many joys as well, the biggest being the birth of our son. A joy shared is multiplied a thousandfold. (I don't know if anybody ever said that, except me, but I like it.)  And through it all, our family motto has bound us together, the tendrils of our words winding tenaciously around each of us, extending now to our son.  Whatever comes, we share. There is strength in our motto, and faith, and love.  Whatever has come, we have shared.  Whatever is coming, we will share. 

Does your family have a motto?

Explorers Ahoy!

Zane and I went to the park this morning! It was nice and cool, with a bit of a breeze. We walked through the middle of the park, venturing off the walking path to climb on rocks and sticks and creepy-crawlies.


Boys can't go exploring without looking for a big stick. It's a rule or something.


This is the web of a funnel web weaver spider. They build their webs on the ground and hide inside their 'funnels'.


We found some fake dinosaur tracks to poke with the previously mentioned stick.


There were 'huge-big' rocks for little boys to climb on, and Zane had tons of fun climbing to the top.


"I'm king of the world, Mom!"

I sometimes forget how much I like to walk through parks, exploring. It's nice that I have Zane to go exploring with me. I hope we find a snake next week!

Now With More Sand!

The beach and I have generally had a love-hate relationship.

I love walking along the water line early in the morning.

I hate stepping on jellyfish and some sort of unidentifiable icky thing that gives me the dry heaves.

I love building sand castles.

I hate sand getting into everything I own, even stuff that I did not actually bring to the beach. (Physicists should be studying THAT phenomenon.)

I love listening to the waves roll in, and sometimes standing in the surf.

I hate not being able to see what is in those waves. Thank you, Stephen Spielberg!

After several attempts to work on our relationship, the beach and I parted ways amicably. I didn't even request joint custody of the sand.

We didn't travel when Zane was younger because we weren't sure how he would do sitting for lengthy periods in his car seat, or how he would deal with sleeping in a strange bed, or what he would eat if there were no chicken nuggets or waffles to be found. We decided this summer that it was time to try a "mini" vacation of a couple of days to see how the boy did. Our first little trip, to Grapevine, Texas(did not actually see any grapevines, but still a very nice town), was a rousing success. This encouraged my husband to suggest a second short trip, this time to Corpus Christi.

"That sounds great," I said, but I was thinking about the sand.

"Why is your eye twitching like that?" Larry asked me.

Once I got over the idea of all the sand, I got a little excited about our trip. It would be my son's very first trip to the beach! I was also very excited that it was my husband who suggested that we go, because he doesn't really like to be outside of his comfort zone.

We explained to Zane that we were going to the beach a few days early, to get him used to the idea. This was a mistake, since three-year-olds have not adapted to the concept of time, and most of them do not understand words like "tomorrow", "next week", or even "five minutes". It's funny how we as adults take those words for granted. But Zane was very excited about the trip, and he talked about the beach every day like we were going that day.

Then it was time to pack. I picked out some toys for Zane to take with him.

"No," my boy told me.

"No?"

"No." Zane repeated. "Shark will eat them."

"Shark?" I shrugged. "Okay."

We drove to Corpus Christi, which is the closest beach from where we live. The first day we were there, we went to the Texas State Aquarium(we had to see Dory and Nemo), the USS Lexington, and then we went to a beach that was actually in Corpus Christi. Zane loved it. He liked the waves and how the water seemed to chase him where ever he went.

Larry had had the idea that he and Zane could build sandcastles together; Zane liked the idea, but wasn't all that into actual construction.



No, my child was all about the waves and the water. We got tired of yelling at him not to go to far out, so I sat beside him. All around us, the sand was pulled inexorably into the ocean. This too was wondrous for Zane. We stayed at the beach in Corpus until the sun was almost out of the sky.




When we got back to the car, the sand had followed us. We attempted to dust off as much as we could, but it was a futile effort. We drove back to the hotel, and after showering and rinsing all of our clothes, we figured that we had removed at least a gallon of sand from the beach. That did not include the amount of sand that we left in the car.

And it was only our first day!

Fanboys: The Green Lantern

My husband has been anticipating this movie, Green Lantern, for months. He dug through his vast collection of comic books to reread the early tales of the Green Lantern. He searched for new stories in the dwindling number of comic book stores in San Antonio, and read those as well.

He bought Zane as many Green Lantern action figures as he could find and afford, and he told Zane stories about the Green Lantern. We viewed animated movies about Hal Jordan and Jon Stewart and other members of the Green Lantern Corps. I listened to my husband lecture about the Corps and Sinestro and Kilowog for what seemed like hours, but Zane ate it up like ice cream. I remember reading a couple of Green Lantern comic books as a kid, but that's the extent of my knowledge. I was still invited to go to the movie with them, even though I refused to wear the t-shirt and the ring.

We went to eat first, and let Zane run out some of his energy. We found our seats and then I went to get popcorn. I should have just waited five minutes and gone back in there; Zane was sitting still for longer than two minutes, so he fell asleep. He only slept fifteen or twenty minutes, and woke up after the back story.

I enjoyed the movie, and not just because Ryan Reynolds looks good in the suit courtesy of CGI and good genes. (Do you think that maybe I could get some CGI around my middle? That would be a cool weight loss thing. It would certainly sell!) There were a few "huh?" moments for me, that I won't talk about because someone will scream and yell about me giving away the most important part of the movie plot and completely ruining their movie experience. If you like superheroes, if you like comic books, if you like chicken, if you like action movies...you will like this movie.

Rest In Peace, Marshall Dillon

It was with great sadness that I read about the death of James Arness in the paper the other day. I felt like I was experiencing the end of an era, the final passing away of my childhood.

I wasn't around when the television show Gunsmoke started, but I do remember watching it as a kid. It was pretty tame, as most television shows from that era were, and I am sure that if I watched an episode today I would be focusing more on a fake backdrop or on the fact that when people got shot they never seemed to bleed. Back then, none of that mattered. I think that my love of westerns comes from watching Gunsmoke.

Gunsmoke was a family show, meaning that it was something my entire family would watch together. We all loved Marshall Dillon, and why not? He was the essential good guy, the man who always rescued the people who needed rescuing. Dillon always did the right thing, even if the right thing meant punching someone in the face. He kept the town safe just by walking down the dusty streets. Who wouldn't love that kind of a character?

It has been said that the role of Matt Dillon was originally made for John Wayne, who turned it down. I don't believe for one second that the show would have been nearly as successful if John Wayne had been Marshall Dillon. No disrespect to John Wayne, but James Arness didn't just act the role of Matt Dillon, at least not to me. James Arness wore the character of Matt Dillon like a second skin. He was Marshall Dillon. Arness' portrayal of Marshall Dillon became iconic; the character became an archetype because of it. How many television actors can say that?

The character of Matt Dillon even got his own verse in a decent Toby Keith song:

I'll bet you never heard ol' Marshall Dillon say:
Miss Kitty, have you ever thought of running away?
Settling down, would you marry me?
If I asked you twice and begged you pretty please?


Rest in peace, James Arness. There never was a TV or movie lawman who could fill your shoes. But they all wanted to try.

RemembeRED: Tickle Monster

We played a lot of games when I was a kid. That is what kids did back then, of course. There was no Nintendo, or Playstation, or Xbox. Children actually had to use their imaginations to come up with ways to have fun. Short of imagination, we just ran around until it was dark.

One of my favorite memories is being at my grandmother’s house during the summer, back when my mother and her siblings were all still speaking to each other, before dementia dragged my grandmother off to her singular hell. I was in high school. There was lots of mischief to be had on a farm, if you know where to look, and when it was just my brother and I, we had lots of things to keep us busy.

My grandparents still did not have air conditioning, so the windows would be open to catch any stray breezes that happened along. There was one television, and it got exactly two channels, neither of them cable. Consequently, all of the grandchildren played outside as much as possible, whenever we visited. When there were family gatherings, all the grandchildren were put together and expected to amuse ourselves. On this particular occasion, it was my grandparents’ fortieth wedding anniversary, so everyone was expected to be there.

I am the oldest grandchild. This had never been brought home to me so forcefully before that summer; I found myself surrounded by what seemed to be thousands of children under the age of ten. This age gap at first appeared to be an insurmountable obstacle to good family relations, but I soon overcame their reservations with my improvisation skills. I made up a game.

It was called Tickle Monster.

The game was simple: I was the Tickle Monster, and I chased little kids. When I caught them, I tickled them. I caught a few of the slower kids as an example. The game was a huge hit. All of my cousins scattered to the four corners of the farm, to hide from the Tickle Monster. Soon I was standing next to the vegetable garden all alone.

I went inside the house, picked up the book I was reading, and dove in. Twenty minutes later, I could hear my little cousins calling for me. They had no idea where I was, and were searching for me near the tool shed.

I put the book down, quietly opened the screen door, and snuck up behind them.

“RARRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!! I jumped out from behind the water tank. Little squeals, followed by laughter, and they all scattered to hide once more. I waited until I was alone, then went back inside to read my book, until I heard them calling for me again.

This cycle repeated for a good two hours, until the sun went down, the fireflies came out, and it was too dark for the little ones. When it was time for everyone to leave, my cousins hugged me and cried. I was, for that summer, their very favoritest relation.

Spring is Springing

It's Spring. Easter Sunday. The bluebonnets have bloomed, and other wildflowers are in their full glory. The Glory of the Lord is being revealed, because Handel wrote the Messiah to coincide with Easter, not Christmas.

This Sunday is about being with family, religious beliefs aside. People have traveled all over to spend this day with parents, grandparents, sisters, cousins, uncles, etc. Some people will have huge gatherings with lots of children underfoot, searching for eggs. Some people will gather at their church for services, followed by a family meal, then more church. There are a few people who camp out in state parks Easter weekend; given the wildfire situation in Texas right now, I hope everyone doing that stays safe.

I think that it is great that people gather for holidays to spend time as a family. But why do they need a holiday? Is there a reason that people have to have a special day to visit their parents or grandparents? Perhaps. Maybe there is residual baggage that we carry with us, vestiges of our childhood, that prevent us from seeing our family for what they are: just people. Maybe we can't let go of anger at being the middle child, or the oldest, or the youngest. Maybe our younger brother stole our favorite toy at some point, and we are still mad about it. We may still resent our parents for not showing up at our fifth grade assembly because they had to work and couldn't get time off.

There's many other reasons that we shy away from big family gatherings. I know that I am easily overwhelmed by lots of noise and competing conversations, and I am sure that I am not the only person sensitive to such things. Since we are having the family come to our house this year, my stress level is tripled by the need for everything to be perfect, with the simultaneous understanding that it will never, ever be.

This day, maybe we can let go of our hangups, our anger, our fears that hold us back from family members. Maybe today, just for today, we can let go of those feelings that keep us separated from those around us. Maybe today we can concentrate on laughter, joy, and the beauty of wildflowers, and just BE.

Family is an Awesome Thing

One of the biggest issues that a working mom faces is what to do when your child gets sick. On the one hand, the ever present desire of your heart is to look after the welfare of your child. On the other hand, working women have a duty to their employer to show up to complete the work they were hired to do. And on the third hand, there's the paycheck. The paycheck that can make a huge difference if it is not there on billpaying day.

I once told my husband that he needed to become a famous person so he could support me in the lifestyle to which I could become accustomed, he apparently did not believe me. So we both work at this point in our lives, and it will be that way for awhile. When our beautiful little big boy is sick, one of us is more than willing to stay at home with him.

Except...when I have federal deadlines to meet, kids to test, important parent meetings to attend, lesson plans to create, writing projects to present, and workshops. Then it's not so easy to decide to stay home with a sick child. Larry usually ends up staying home, because he, at one point, had more sick days than I did. But it is getting close to the Imaginary Time, as I call it, when all of the school children will suddenly and magically learn to read fluently and write coherently for the flagrantly worshipped idol called TAKS. So now his days are limited as much as mine. We live in Converse, but carpool to New Braunfels. Sometimes we work late, for various reasons. Sometimes,as painful as it feels, we just cannot drop everything and leave to go pick up Zane.

Yet just as we have been gifted with the most miraculous child, we have been gifted with the blessing of family. My family is not very chatty. We don't talk a lot on the phone. We do try to eat lunch together every Sunday, although I don't get to pay as much attention as I would like because I have to pay attention to Zane around sharp knives and forks. My husband marvels at how little I seem to communicate with my family, and I marvel at his seemingly constant communication with his mother. (when we first started dating, Larry was on the phone with his mother at least 7 times a day. I am not kidding.)

But here's the thing: whether I talk to my parents or my brother five times a day or never, they are there for me when I need them. My sister-in-law spent two years taking care of Zane for us because he wasn't supposed to be at a daycare. Denise did this cheerfully on most days, and Zane thrived. He still talks about going to 'Auntie's house'.

On Friday, when the daycare called and asked us to come pick up Zane because he was ill, Denise went and picked him up. Then my parents picked him up from her house and took him to our house and played with him until we were able to get home. Today, Denise is going to be taking care of Zane(once again, he's got the runs, so no daycare). If my parents finish their appointments early(my dad has a CT scan to check for any cancer, they are going to go and get Zane and take him home and will watch him until we are able to get there. Occasionally, when we have to work late, Larry's mother will go and pick up Zane from daycare and take him home and wait for us.

I think that it doesn't so much take a village to raise a child as it does a family. Parenting is such an extreme sport that you never know what is going to happen. I am grateful that Zane has such loving and wonderful people in his family to help raise him up to be a good man. His Mama and Daddy sure do need and appreciate the help!

Some Thoughts on Bullying

When we were kids, my brother and I were often bullied by other kids. We were always the new kids, and as such were teased and tormented by our peers. That was just the way it was back then, and while we fought like cats and dogs with each other, when you picked on one of us, you had to contend with both of us. Family sticks together, especially when you're an Army brat who moves often. We sometimes had to physically fight, but most of the time we just had to deal with exclusion, ignoring, teasing, or other events that were just as harmful. For instance, some boys buried my brother in a box in the back yard of the apartment building in which we lived; he went along with it because he wanted them to like him. In my own case, a group of girls knocked me down one day when I was wearing a dress and gave me a wedgie.

We were visiting my brother's house a few weeks ago, which seems to be the place for everyone to meet. Zane was having a blast, running around, playing in the back yard, etc. Being a happy three year old. He decided that he wanted to go upstairs and find his cousin Tristan. I followed Zane up the stairs several steps behind to make sure that he got up there okay; while I was on the stairs, I could hear voices talking and laughing. The second Zane got to the top of the stairs, there was dead silence. That got my attention; silence is not a normal occurrence at my brother's house. I had to investigate.

It took me a second to realize that MY child was being specifically excluded from this particular gathering. These kids didn't want to play with my son, but rather than tell him that in some form or fashion, they were excluding him by pretending to be asleep. That exclusion, if it happened at school, would have been called indirect bullying. I was angry, hurt, and horrified to realize that my son was experiencing bullying at three years of age. I never expected that someone would be deliberately cruel to my child, but there it was, a big, stinking pile of it. I was so horrified/angry that I was shaking. It was as if I was reliving all those moments years ago when I was excluded as the "weird" kid. And I felt helpless. After all the things I try to do to protect my child, it didn't mean a damn thing.

Once I calmed down, I started thinking. Tristan is your average, garden-variety teenager. He is a good person. He's generally polite, if monosyllabic around adults. Tristan has spent hours playing with Zane, teaching him how to play soccer. He doesn't get into trouble for anything except forgetting his chores and forgetting his homework. Yet here Tristan is, engaging in bullying. Bullying behavior seems to be pervasive.

Our new kitten has a habit of attacking our ankles and legs when we walk past her, and I have lots of little cuts and scratches on my legs as a result. My husband and I joke about a "death by a thousand cuts" from her attacks. Bullying is like that, I think. Death by a thousand cuts--a thousand moments of teasing, exclusions, and threats. A person dies a little every time they are bullied--if they can't defend themselves against it. I am not talking about violence, I am talking about resilience. Being able to pick yourself up off the ground, dust yourself off, and go on about your day and not letting the bullying emotionally beat you down. We seem to be focusing so much on the bullying itself that we aren't working on the very survival skills a kid needs to handle being bullied. I wish that wasn't so. The fact of the matter is that we as parents cannot be there every single second of the day to shelter and protect our children; they need to be able to handle this on their own. And we have our own bullies to deal with, be it our boss, a coworker, a parent, or that police officer who pulled us over for a bad brakelight this morning. It is in watching us that our children learn the most about what they will face as adults. How do they see us dealing with the bullies in our life?

My brother and I survived the bullying over the years because we were smart and, more importantly, resilient. I personally made a decision to never to define myself as a victim, and I began to shrug those feelings off like an old coat that no longer fit. That does not mean that I don't remember what it was like to be bullied; it means that I can handle being bullied. And make no mistake--bullying behavior happens everywhere, every day, every place. You can let it get to you, or you can let it roll off of you like water, right into the gutter where it belongs. That's what I want to teach my son.

Oh, and those girls in fifth grade who gave me a wedgie? I got up, walked about ten feet away from them, and smiled as sweetly as I could through my tears. Then I mooned them. And ran as fast as I could, laughing, all the way home.