I was walking down the hallway after work, paying not a bit of attention to my surroundings. I had my keys in my hand, and was searching through my purse for my driving sunglasses. I passed a young man, and my brain made a note. Just a note, though, because I work in a school, and I pass quite a few young men. Unless something they do triggers my "spidey sense", I go about my business.
Except on this day. On this day I hear a voice.
"Oh pardon me! Where are my manners?" I looked up. This particular young man, who had been heading the other way, runs past me to open the door. To hold said door. For me. I smiled and thanked him. I continued to smile as I made my way to my car, a warm feeling around my heart. What a nice young man, I thought.
And as I shut the door and put the key in the ignition, something hit me. It was the thought that that nice young man held the door for me because I reminded him of his mother. What-what-what? I started feeling as though I couldn't breath, signaling the start of a panic attack. Do I actually look old enough to be someone's mom? I AM someone's mom, of course, but he's only ten, not twenty-something. Crap.
I started inhaling for an eight count, then exhaling slowly. My brain just kept on rolling along with the "old" comments. The generally pleasant feeling that I had just before I got into my car had tumbled into the depths, as it does. I knew that I had to ride this particular train of thought to its destination.
Sometimes I overthink things. I just have to look in the Gift Horse's
mouth, try to find a motive in a behavior when perhaps there isn't one.
This was one of those times. I shook my head as I pulled into the
parking lot of my son's school.
The truth is that I don't really feel old. I feel tired, creaky, and cranky sometimes, not old. I have my AARP card, and am ready to whip it out at a moment's notice to get my discount of whatever, but I don't feel old. Does anyone out there who IS actually what could be considered old(90s?), actually consider themselves old?
Men and women sometimes hold doors open for the person behind them, just to be nice. Today wasn't the first time that had happened in my life. When I was younger and men held a door open for me, I was just flattered at the consideration and the kindness. What was different now? Nothing. Someone did something nice for me. Kindness is always welcome in my life. I didn't need to worry over the motive behind someone else's good deed. I just needed to be thankful for it.
That I can do.
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Saturday, December 16, 2017
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Shut Up And Say Thank You
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!
Friday, October 17, 2014
With a Little Help
I am not an outwardly emotional person, at least in public. I tend to be rather deadpan about most things, and even as the poop is flying through the air(yes that really happened), my demeanor appears rather placid. Even with cancer smacking me hard, most people have no idea what is going on inside my head. That's how I want it. It's safer that way, to retreat into yourself as you prepare to deal with something pretty scary. Except the funny thing about friends is that they pay attention to you. They notice little things about you, quirks that you never even knew you had, and it isn't too long before they "get" you. They just seem to know what you need.
Those friends have done so much to raise my spirits. My coworker support group has spent hours of text messaging time distracting me with discussions of The Walking Dead, Supernatural, and hypothetically bad horror movies involving honey badgers. My friend evil Laura has put aside her usual searing sarcasm in our email chats. My friend Michelle has been sending me articles about supplements that are supposed to help with surviving cancer. People make positive and encouraging comments to me all the time. They ask if they can pray for me(yes, I tell them. I need all the help I can get.).
My friend Andrea, over at Maybe It's Just Me, has sent me postcards and notes and cookies(yum!) and lots of encouragement and positivity. She's even offered to write letters to the medical companies that have annoyed me!
My friend Kirsten, over at The Kir Corner has sent me lots of hugs as well as reading my rants about everything that is happening. And right now I have more things to rant about than a Rush Limbaugh- Glen Beck tag team.
I appreciate all of you. I carry the notes and cards and letters with me in my purse, and I take them out and read them when I need a boost. Of course, then I cry, but it's a good cry. My heart is so full of love that the tears just flow right over the top.
Thank you.
My friend Andrea, over at Maybe It's Just Me, has sent me postcards and notes and cookies(yum!) and lots of encouragement and positivity. She's even offered to write letters to the medical companies that have annoyed me!
My friend Kirsten, over at The Kir Corner has sent me lots of hugs as well as reading my rants about everything that is happening. And right now I have more things to rant about than a Rush Limbaugh- Glen Beck tag team.
I appreciate all of you. I carry the notes and cards and letters with me in my purse, and I take them out and read them when I need a boost. Of course, then I cry, but it's a good cry. My heart is so full of love that the tears just flow right over the top.
Thank you.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
From the Great Book
"May Gratitude
Be an unending
verse in
the Everyday song
of our lives,
not only this single day.
It is right
that we daily
sing our thanks
in the Quiet between
Day and Night.
It is right
that great gusts
of thanksgiving
should
pour unceasingly
from our lips
in appreciation,
and that this
should be
a daily libation
for parched souls.
We pray for all
who have forgotten
the tribute owed
the deity, their
ungrateful blood
crying for release
from the darkness,
the muck
of their sorrows
that they may
forever
speak thankfully
to the skies
upon their release.
Amen."
The prompt is 100 words of fiction or nonfiction. Strange what comes to mind in the quiet of the night, when you have a cat sleeping next to your monitor.
Be an unending
verse in
the Everyday song
of our lives,
not only this single day.
It is right
that we daily
sing our thanks
in the Quiet between
Day and Night.
It is right
that great gusts
of thanksgiving
should
pour unceasingly
from our lips
in appreciation,
and that this
should be
a daily libation
for parched souls.
We pray for all
who have forgotten
the tribute owed
the deity, their
ungrateful blood
crying for release
from the darkness,
the muck
of their sorrows
that they may
forever
speak thankfully
to the skies
upon their release.
Amen."
The prompt is 100 words of fiction or nonfiction. Strange what comes to mind in the quiet of the night, when you have a cat sleeping next to your monitor.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Oops! I Missed A Milestone
I just realized that I've had over 1000 posts. There I was, not paying the least bit of attention, writing like a good blogger, and then I noticed my post count was 1100-something. It took a moment to compute, that number. My brain knew that there was something important about that number, but it just...couldn't...focus. To be fair, focusing is very difficult in our house, with a five-year-old yelling at the dog, a dog barking at the boy, the television tuned to a lively soccer game, and a million things to do. (As someone who is very distracted by auditory stimuli, some days I don't know how I make it.)
And then it hit me. I've hit 'publish' more than 1000 times. I've thought of something to say, something to write, over 1000 times. Me, the person who does well to remember the names of her own child on a day to day basis. Me, the person who has difficulty committing to a magazine subscription, because it's too much work. I did all that. That's a pretty big deal, if you think about it.
I have to thank my husband, who fusses and grumbles at me when I stay up too late writing, but who reads my blog and tells me when he likes a post. I have to thank my son, the subject of many a blog post; I've tried not to say anything which might require therapy in adulthood. I have to thank Jillsmo, the crazy hippy who got me to start blogging, even though she never calls anymore because she's a rock star. And I'd like to thank all of you, my blogger friends, for reading and commenting and writing such insightful, wonderful blog posts yourself. You guys keep me inspired.
I've been blogging for more than three years. I haven't always been consistent. I haven't always been interesting. I don't stick to one subject(hence the name of the blog). I sometimes use memes to help spark my flagging creativity. I sometimes make absolutely no sense. But I'm here, and it still makes me happy to blog.
I guess that you're stuck with me.
And then it hit me. I've hit 'publish' more than 1000 times. I've thought of something to say, something to write, over 1000 times. Me, the person who does well to remember the names of her own child on a day to day basis. Me, the person who has difficulty committing to a magazine subscription, because it's too much work. I did all that. That's a pretty big deal, if you think about it.
I have to thank my husband, who fusses and grumbles at me when I stay up too late writing, but who reads my blog and tells me when he likes a post. I have to thank my son, the subject of many a blog post; I've tried not to say anything which might require therapy in adulthood. I have to thank Jillsmo, the crazy hippy who got me to start blogging, even though she never calls anymore because she's a rock star. And I'd like to thank all of you, my blogger friends, for reading and commenting and writing such insightful, wonderful blog posts yourself. You guys keep me inspired.
I've been blogging for more than three years. I haven't always been consistent. I haven't always been interesting. I don't stick to one subject(hence the name of the blog). I sometimes use memes to help spark my flagging creativity. I sometimes make absolutely no sense. But I'm here, and it still makes me happy to blog.
I guess that you're stuck with me.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Great Googly Moogly!
Gratitude was what I was going to write about for today. I even wrote it on my calendar, so I wouldn't forget. I was going to write about how it is important to be thankful for everything that you have in your life, and how being grateful is part of having a positive attitude and good overall mental health.
There is a lot of pressure on us to be grateful. We are told that we should just accept everything that comes to us and be grateful that we get it. We are so pressured about being grateful that some people feel guilt about it. That is wrong.
Yes, gratitude is extremely important. We should be thankful for every single gift we are given. What about a gift that's not really a gift? What if it's your birthday and someone gives you an old copy of a Zamfir, Master of the Pan Flute album, knowing that pan flute music makes you have seizures? What if you're given a fruit cake by someone who knows darn well that you're allergic to it? How about the husband who buys his wife fourteen pairs of size 4 bikini underpants from Victoria's Secret when she's a plus-size person?
Some would fall back on that old adage that it's the thought that counts. Really? So the person who knew that you were allergic to fruitcake really put thought into purchasing a fruitcake? Doesn't that make them homicidal instead of generous? One could argue that the husband sees his wife as a size 4, and that buying such a small size is a compliment, I guess. The more likely scenario is that the man forgot the occasion, and just ran to the mall and grabbed whatever was on the table, but there may be a lovestruck individual who sees his bride as a petite flower and not as a flower truck. (To which I would argue that true love is seeing the real person standing in front of you and not an illusion of that individual. Because I'm crazy like that.) It's a sad fact that some gifts have no thought behind them at all.
And how about the left-handed compliment? We've all heard them over the years. "Elise, this potato salad is so much better than that crap you brought to the last potluck. You've obviously been reading some cookbooks!" Should we be grateful for the compliment that comes with a knife to the back? I know that we are taught to turn the other cheek, but that doesn't mean that we need to be grateful.
I'm not telling you to scream at the person or throw a punch. I'm not saying that you should get angry; there's no point in anger here. All I am saying is that there should be no guilt if the gift is a less than thoughtful one. Guilt is a negative emotion, and nobody needs extra.
So how about this? Let's be grateful for the people around us who love us, no matter what. Let's be grateful for the pets who enrich our lives with their antics, their purrs and their puppy licks. Let's be grateful for the enthusiastic laughter of children on a lovely spring day. Let's be grateful for the sun in the sky and the earth beneath our feet. Let's be grateful for the kindness of strangers in far off lands. Let's even be grateful for that forgotten piece of chocolate that you found in the back of your desk drawer at work that day when you really needed it.
And then maybe we can forgive a few thoughtless gifts or comments.
There is a lot of pressure on us to be grateful. We are told that we should just accept everything that comes to us and be grateful that we get it. We are so pressured about being grateful that some people feel guilt about it. That is wrong.
Yes, gratitude is extremely important. We should be thankful for every single gift we are given. What about a gift that's not really a gift? What if it's your birthday and someone gives you an old copy of a Zamfir, Master of the Pan Flute album, knowing that pan flute music makes you have seizures? What if you're given a fruit cake by someone who knows darn well that you're allergic to it? How about the husband who buys his wife fourteen pairs of size 4 bikini underpants from Victoria's Secret when she's a plus-size person?
Some would fall back on that old adage that it's the thought that counts. Really? So the person who knew that you were allergic to fruitcake really put thought into purchasing a fruitcake? Doesn't that make them homicidal instead of generous? One could argue that the husband sees his wife as a size 4, and that buying such a small size is a compliment, I guess. The more likely scenario is that the man forgot the occasion, and just ran to the mall and grabbed whatever was on the table, but there may be a lovestruck individual who sees his bride as a petite flower and not as a flower truck. (To which I would argue that true love is seeing the real person standing in front of you and not an illusion of that individual. Because I'm crazy like that.) It's a sad fact that some gifts have no thought behind them at all.
And how about the left-handed compliment? We've all heard them over the years. "Elise, this potato salad is so much better than that crap you brought to the last potluck. You've obviously been reading some cookbooks!" Should we be grateful for the compliment that comes with a knife to the back? I know that we are taught to turn the other cheek, but that doesn't mean that we need to be grateful.
I'm not telling you to scream at the person or throw a punch. I'm not saying that you should get angry; there's no point in anger here. All I am saying is that there should be no guilt if the gift is a less than thoughtful one. Guilt is a negative emotion, and nobody needs extra.
So how about this? Let's be grateful for the people around us who love us, no matter what. Let's be grateful for the pets who enrich our lives with their antics, their purrs and their puppy licks. Let's be grateful for the enthusiastic laughter of children on a lovely spring day. Let's be grateful for the sun in the sky and the earth beneath our feet. Let's be grateful for the kindness of strangers in far off lands. Let's even be grateful for that forgotten piece of chocolate that you found in the back of your desk drawer at work that day when you really needed it.
And then maybe we can forgive a few thoughtless gifts or comments.
Friday, November 23, 2012
WOE: Gratitude
Write On Edge Prompt: Write a creative non-fiction or fiction piece this week focusing on
gratitude. The piece doesn’t necessarily have to be linked to
Thanksgiving, but allow the mood of gratitude to infuse your piece. If
you find yourself unsure where to begin, start with the question, “For
what or whom am I (or is my main character) grateful?” Yes, this is fiction. Reports to the contrary, I do not own a broomstick.
"For what are you grateful, my child?" the wizard demanded. "Focus on that, and draw your spell from it."
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, pondering the wizard's words. It seemed difficult to focus, with all the eyes of the Elders on me, but that was part of the test. Sorcerers did not always get to cast their spells when they had optimal conditions. For what was I grateful? I let that question flow through my cells, and images began to pour into my mind. There were so many that I began to feel dizzy from their rush past my consciousness.
My husband's strong arms. The smile of my child. Hot food. Warm fires. The laughter of children. Wildflowers on a hillside. A soft bed. The first taste of love, like wine. Cool breezes on a hot day. The first day of spring. Pickled beets. A roof over my head. My husband's kisses on the skin of my shoulder.
Gratitude filled my heart as I thought of all the gifts I had been given. Suddenly the words of the spell burst from my lips without conscious thought. My skin began to glow brightly in the darkness, and a translucent sphere formed around me as I stood in the center of the circle of Elders.
"Perfect." The wizard's compliment made my sphere glow brighter.
"For what are you grateful, my child?" the wizard demanded. "Focus on that, and draw your spell from it."
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, pondering the wizard's words. It seemed difficult to focus, with all the eyes of the Elders on me, but that was part of the test. Sorcerers did not always get to cast their spells when they had optimal conditions. For what was I grateful? I let that question flow through my cells, and images began to pour into my mind. There were so many that I began to feel dizzy from their rush past my consciousness.
My husband's strong arms. The smile of my child. Hot food. Warm fires. The laughter of children. Wildflowers on a hillside. A soft bed. The first taste of love, like wine. Cool breezes on a hot day. The first day of spring. Pickled beets. A roof over my head. My husband's kisses on the skin of my shoulder.
Gratitude filled my heart as I thought of all the gifts I had been given. Suddenly the words of the spell burst from my lips without conscious thought. My skin began to glow brightly in the darkness, and a translucent sphere formed around me as I stood in the center of the circle of Elders.
"Perfect." The wizard's compliment made my sphere glow brighter.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Gratitudes
Gratitude is difficult these days for a lot of people. There's a heaviness in the air, the weight of worry on millions of minds as people wonder if they will have jobs or if they will lose their homes. I know that I have lots to be thankful for, actually breathing being one of them. Most days, it's not hard to be grateful for the gifts I have been given. I have a family that loves me, a roof over my head, and a job. I can walk. I can read, and I can write.
And then there are other days. Days when I just feel overwhelmed by the thousands of tiny details, and I am afraid. I'm afraid that I will miss something important, and everything will fall apart in a horrible chain reaction and it will be the end of the world.
Did I remember to bring the snacks for the soccer game? Did I neglect to pack my son's turf shoes? Did I turn off the coffeemaker before we left the house? Did I forget to take my blood pressure medication? Is my underwear on correctly, not inside out? Is there spinach in my teeth?
Pretty mundane things, true, but pile them on, and they can become a mountain. Mountains are not easy to move, even under the best of circumstances. And these are not the best of circumstances.
There's research that says that gratitude is healthy for us. Being thankful has a positive ripple effect on everything else in our lives. Gratitude is something that we should all work toward, and all journeys begin with a step in the right direction. I am going to try to be more positive, so I can move that mountain of worry off my shoulders, and I would like for all of you to come along.
Today is a day for gratitude. Even if you are underneath a mountain of worries, find at least one thing that you are grateful for, however small. Take a moment and let that thankfulness float to the top of your brain. See if that helps you move that mountain, even if it's only 1/10th of a centimeter.
And then there are other days. Days when I just feel overwhelmed by the thousands of tiny details, and I am afraid. I'm afraid that I will miss something important, and everything will fall apart in a horrible chain reaction and it will be the end of the world.
Did I remember to bring the snacks for the soccer game? Did I neglect to pack my son's turf shoes? Did I turn off the coffeemaker before we left the house? Did I forget to take my blood pressure medication? Is my underwear on correctly, not inside out? Is there spinach in my teeth?
Pretty mundane things, true, but pile them on, and they can become a mountain. Mountains are not easy to move, even under the best of circumstances. And these are not the best of circumstances.
There's research that says that gratitude is healthy for us. Being thankful has a positive ripple effect on everything else in our lives. Gratitude is something that we should all work toward, and all journeys begin with a step in the right direction. I am going to try to be more positive, so I can move that mountain of worry off my shoulders, and I would like for all of you to come along.
Today is a day for gratitude. Even if you are underneath a mountain of worries, find at least one thing that you are grateful for, however small. Take a moment and let that thankfulness float to the top of your brain. See if that helps you move that mountain, even if it's only 1/10th of a centimeter.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Really Pay It Forward
I mourn the loss of any bookstore, since it lowers the IQ as well as the property values of the area around it. But money is tight these days and so I was among the other vultures picking over the corpse that was once Borders, looking at children's books. I had waited in a long line, I was hot, I was tired, I was cranky.
After I paid, I took my cranky self and my purchases and stood outside. Then I saw a woman walking toward me. She was a big girl like myself, but she had on a beautiful dress. She looked fabulous. As she approached me, I decided to do something that I hardly ever do: I told a complete stranger that I liked what she was wearing. I made sure that my tone was polite and cheerful just to counteract my crankiness. Her response was a sarcastic "Thanks" as she passed, as if I had insulted her.
My immediate reaction was extremely negative. I wanted to grab her, sling her around, and slap her silly. Look, I wanted to say, I was paying you a compliment. I was doing something NICE, and you just crapped on it.
But I didn't. I remembered something important.
If you give a gift, pay a compliment, or otherwise display kindness toward another and expect or demand a thank you for it, then you've negated the kindness, compliment, or gift. Gifts of kindness should be given freely, without expectation of reward. That warm feeling that we all get for performing some kindness should be enough. If you expect to be rewarded or 'owed' for your gift, then you are being kind for YOU, not the other person.
We've probably all had someone who did something nice for us at some point in our lives. Did we say "thank you"? Was our thanks enough? When we perform a kindness for another person, do we expect them to grovel at our feet in their professions of thanks? What does that say about us, that many of us feel entitled to that gratitude?
Sometimes I will do something nice for someone anonymously. I do this to remind myself that I don't have to be thanked. Nobody "owes" me anything in those situations because they don't know that I am the giver.
I still feel that warm glow, and that is thanks enough.
After I paid, I took my cranky self and my purchases and stood outside. Then I saw a woman walking toward me. She was a big girl like myself, but she had on a beautiful dress. She looked fabulous. As she approached me, I decided to do something that I hardly ever do: I told a complete stranger that I liked what she was wearing. I made sure that my tone was polite and cheerful just to counteract my crankiness. Her response was a sarcastic "Thanks" as she passed, as if I had insulted her.
My immediate reaction was extremely negative. I wanted to grab her, sling her around, and slap her silly. Look, I wanted to say, I was paying you a compliment. I was doing something NICE, and you just crapped on it.
But I didn't. I remembered something important.
If you give a gift, pay a compliment, or otherwise display kindness toward another and expect or demand a thank you for it, then you've negated the kindness, compliment, or gift. Gifts of kindness should be given freely, without expectation of reward. That warm feeling that we all get for performing some kindness should be enough. If you expect to be rewarded or 'owed' for your gift, then you are being kind for YOU, not the other person.
We've probably all had someone who did something nice for us at some point in our lives. Did we say "thank you"? Was our thanks enough? When we perform a kindness for another person, do we expect them to grovel at our feet in their professions of thanks? What does that say about us, that many of us feel entitled to that gratitude?
Sometimes I will do something nice for someone anonymously. I do this to remind myself that I don't have to be thanked. Nobody "owes" me anything in those situations because they don't know that I am the giver.
I still feel that warm glow, and that is thanks enough.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Gratitude
Guess what? This is fiction, so don't freak out!
"Give it back!" I heard my brother yelling, and I walked around the corner of the apartment building toward the playground to check it out. He was standing nose to nose with another boy who appeared to also be eight. The two boys were mirror images of defiant children, with their chins jutting out, hands fisted on their hips.
"No! It's mine!" said the other boy. He held up his prize in one fist, intent on keeping what was in his grip.
I sighed loudly. I had told my brother that if he brought one of his Marvel action figures outside of the house, some other kid would want it. When we got home from school, Albert had wanted to take the Hulk outside to play in the sandbox. I had told him not to do it, but he didn't ever listen, and since he was my baby brother, I almost always gave in. Now I got to clean up the mess, without any thanks from him. I waded through the sea of bystanders into the center of the arena.
"What is going on here?" I pitched my voice a little louder than usual to get their attention. It did no good.
"Give my Hulk back right now!" My brother's face was starting to turn crimson. It was the color that meant he would either explode or cry. Or both. I did not want to have to explain the situation to my mother when she got home.
"I told you, it's mine!" The other boy was being kind of a jerk, I decided. Considering that his size was extremely round, I thought that Jerk-boy should be more polite.
I was ready to take Albert and go home, back to our apartment, to get started on our homework before supper. I marched over to Jerk-boy. Being thirteen and taller, I roughly grabbed the wrist holding the action figure and extracted it from his smaller hand. I wasn't gentle, and I heard some cracking as I pried the fingers open, but I was the more determined, and so I was the victor.
When I had the toy back, I let go of Jerk-boy's arm and he fell right on his butt onto the ground. The sound of the bystanders laughing reminded me of their presence, and I vaguely wondered why it was so entertaining to watch two eight year olds fight.
Jerk-boy struggled to his feet, holding onto his hand and crying. He gave me an angry look and ran off, shoving the crowd out of his way. A few jeers followed him, but I was more interested in Albert.
"Are you okay?" I put my hand on his shoulder. Albert jerked angrily from my touch. He whirled to face me, and I noticed the dirt on his face, and on his clothes, from playing in the sandbox.
"Why do you always have to do that?" Albert raised two fists and slammed them into my chest as hard as he could. I didn't even pretend to flinch.
"Why do I have to do what?" I responded, bewildered. I expected his gratitude. I had retrieved his toy for him. Why wasn't he happy about this?
"You get in my way!" Albert screamed, and began trying to hit me repeatedly with his small fist.
"I think that you should show a little gratitude that you have a big brother to help you out when you need it," I was starting to get angry. My brother was not ever grateful when I helped him out like I did today. He never thanked me or hugged me or anything!
"All I am trying to do is help," I insisted.
"Don't help!" Albert screamed at me, and started to cry. He began running toward our apartment, and the crowd began to disperse. I looked down at the Incredible Hulk toy in my hand, sighed again, and turned around to follow Albert. I took two steps before I stumbled over something in the dirt/sand. The Hulk looked back at me from the grass. I did a double take. I held a Hulk in my hand, and there was one on the ground. I looked from one to the other for several second, my brain not processing what I was seeing at first.
There were two Hulks, which meant that someone else besides Albert had decided to take their toys outside today. I was horrified that I had taken a toy that belonged to Jerk-boy. I didn't even know his name. I had no way to find him. I was ashamed. I was a bully. No wonder Albert was so angry and ungrateful.
Just then I heard a loud popping sound, and a scream. I looked up and saw my brother standing for a second, people running from him, before he crumbled to the pavement near the door to the building. I began to run to him. Jerk-boy was standing a few feet away, and in his hands was a gun.
As I reached him I heard a rattling sound as the last breath Albert ever took left his body. I had heard that sound before. I shook him, as if trying to wake him up. It was too late.
I turned to look at Jerk-boy, who was still standing there, holding the gun, as if he were in a trance. His eyes were round and locked on Albert's body. My tears did not prevent my vision from suddenly going red, nor did they stop my feet as I stood up, nor did they stop my movement as I walked over to Jerk-boy and grabbed the gun from him.
"Here, this one is yours," I gave him his action figure back. There were sirens in the distance, getting nearer. I raised the gun, pointed it at his head, and pulled the trigger. The loudness muffled the sound of my sobs for a moment. Jerk-boy dropped to the ground and didn't move. The gun fell from my hand. I woodenly walked back to my brother's body, sat down, and waited for the cops to arrive.
At least our mother would be grateful not to have us around anymore, I thought.
"Give it back!" I heard my brother yelling, and I walked around the corner of the apartment building toward the playground to check it out. He was standing nose to nose with another boy who appeared to also be eight. The two boys were mirror images of defiant children, with their chins jutting out, hands fisted on their hips.
"No! It's mine!" said the other boy. He held up his prize in one fist, intent on keeping what was in his grip.
I sighed loudly. I had told my brother that if he brought one of his Marvel action figures outside of the house, some other kid would want it. When we got home from school, Albert had wanted to take the Hulk outside to play in the sandbox. I had told him not to do it, but he didn't ever listen, and since he was my baby brother, I almost always gave in. Now I got to clean up the mess, without any thanks from him. I waded through the sea of bystanders into the center of the arena.
"What is going on here?" I pitched my voice a little louder than usual to get their attention. It did no good.
"Give my Hulk back right now!" My brother's face was starting to turn crimson. It was the color that meant he would either explode or cry. Or both. I did not want to have to explain the situation to my mother when she got home.
"I told you, it's mine!" The other boy was being kind of a jerk, I decided. Considering that his size was extremely round, I thought that Jerk-boy should be more polite.
I was ready to take Albert and go home, back to our apartment, to get started on our homework before supper. I marched over to Jerk-boy. Being thirteen and taller, I roughly grabbed the wrist holding the action figure and extracted it from his smaller hand. I wasn't gentle, and I heard some cracking as I pried the fingers open, but I was the more determined, and so I was the victor.
When I had the toy back, I let go of Jerk-boy's arm and he fell right on his butt onto the ground. The sound of the bystanders laughing reminded me of their presence, and I vaguely wondered why it was so entertaining to watch two eight year olds fight.
Jerk-boy struggled to his feet, holding onto his hand and crying. He gave me an angry look and ran off, shoving the crowd out of his way. A few jeers followed him, but I was more interested in Albert.
"Are you okay?" I put my hand on his shoulder. Albert jerked angrily from my touch. He whirled to face me, and I noticed the dirt on his face, and on his clothes, from playing in the sandbox.
"Why do you always have to do that?" Albert raised two fists and slammed them into my chest as hard as he could. I didn't even pretend to flinch.
"Why do I have to do what?" I responded, bewildered. I expected his gratitude. I had retrieved his toy for him. Why wasn't he happy about this?
"You get in my way!" Albert screamed, and began trying to hit me repeatedly with his small fist.
"I think that you should show a little gratitude that you have a big brother to help you out when you need it," I was starting to get angry. My brother was not ever grateful when I helped him out like I did today. He never thanked me or hugged me or anything!
"All I am trying to do is help," I insisted.
"Don't help!" Albert screamed at me, and started to cry. He began running toward our apartment, and the crowd began to disperse. I looked down at the Incredible Hulk toy in my hand, sighed again, and turned around to follow Albert. I took two steps before I stumbled over something in the dirt/sand. The Hulk looked back at me from the grass. I did a double take. I held a Hulk in my hand, and there was one on the ground. I looked from one to the other for several second, my brain not processing what I was seeing at first.
There were two Hulks, which meant that someone else besides Albert had decided to take their toys outside today. I was horrified that I had taken a toy that belonged to Jerk-boy. I didn't even know his name. I had no way to find him. I was ashamed. I was a bully. No wonder Albert was so angry and ungrateful.
Just then I heard a loud popping sound, and a scream. I looked up and saw my brother standing for a second, people running from him, before he crumbled to the pavement near the door to the building. I began to run to him. Jerk-boy was standing a few feet away, and in his hands was a gun.
As I reached him I heard a rattling sound as the last breath Albert ever took left his body. I had heard that sound before. I shook him, as if trying to wake him up. It was too late.
I turned to look at Jerk-boy, who was still standing there, holding the gun, as if he were in a trance. His eyes were round and locked on Albert's body. My tears did not prevent my vision from suddenly going red, nor did they stop my feet as I stood up, nor did they stop my movement as I walked over to Jerk-boy and grabbed the gun from him.
"Here, this one is yours," I gave him his action figure back. There were sirens in the distance, getting nearer. I raised the gun, pointed it at his head, and pulled the trigger. The loudness muffled the sound of my sobs for a moment. Jerk-boy dropped to the ground and didn't move. The gun fell from my hand. I woodenly walked back to my brother's body, sat down, and waited for the cops to arrive.
At least our mother would be grateful not to have us around anymore, I thought.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
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 beautifullittle 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!
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
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!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
100 Followers!!!!
WOW!!! I never thought it would happen to me! I had resigned myself to blogging in obscurity, in the basement of life, my only companion a red Swingline stapler. And now look at me! One hundred completely awesome people decided to follow me!
I would like to thank my husband and my son for providing great blogging material; my friend Jillsmo for pushing me out of the nest and giving me confidence that I could write again; and all the autie parents for making me feel right at home in the blogosphere.
And I especially thank all of YOU for reading and commenting here! It makes me feel squishy inside. I love reading all of your blogs, even when I don't get to comment! Thank you!!!
I hope I didn't sound too Sally Field...
I would like to thank my husband and my son for providing great blogging material; my friend Jillsmo for pushing me out of the nest and giving me confidence that I could write again; and all the autie parents for making me feel right at home in the blogosphere.
And I especially thank all of YOU for reading and commenting here! It makes me feel squishy inside. I love reading all of your blogs, even when I don't get to comment! Thank you!!!
I hope I didn't sound too Sally Field...
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