That's Why We Have Strangers

Have you ever thought about why people are in your life?  Oh, come on, you know you’ve wondered about your mother-in law, your neighbor, maybe even your husband, admit it!

I think it is amazing how everyone, and I mean everyone, I’ve had in my life has affected me in some way.  My son would not be excited about church, I wouldn’t have ever thought to put chocolate in barbeque sauce, I would not have the wreath I have hanging on my front door, if not for the people I’ve encountered along the way. Even bad relationships have taught me something.

There is one random encounter I think about often.  When my son was 3, we were grocery shopping one day.  This may not sound like a very exciting event to you, but that just means you obviously don’t know my child.  You have not lived until you have maneuvered your way down every aisle of a grocery store catching boxes and cans being randomly thrown out of the back of the cart by your very unhappy toddler.

At the time, I did not have a good understanding of sensory processing issues or ADHD, or how those things could turn a grocery store into Evil Incarnate, but I did know it was frustrating.  Frustrating that this happened every time, frustrating that though I felt something was “off” I was just told he was being a boy, frustrating that it made me feel like a horrible mom.  Frustrating that most people would tell you to take your spawn of the devil home and leave your groceries, but I knew if I did that, we’d all be starving.  I had learned some coping skills though, and so when my son began doing this once we were walking down our second aisle, I calmly moved everything to the back of the cart or to the rack underneath, out of his reach.  Of course, because it was MY life after all, this just made him scream bloody murder at the top of his lungs because he couldn’t reach anything to throw.

I let him scream.  In fact, I left the cart right where it was and walked to the next aisle to get what I needed there, tears running down my face and an obvious look of defeat on my face.  Up to me walked a stranger, who said “Momma, you are doing a great job.  I’m a teacher, and trust me, I know how difficult some children can be, and it is not your fault.  Just keep doing what you are doing.”  I managed a tearful “Thank you” and walked away. 

Those few seconds, however, had a huge impact on my life.  I am not good at remembering faces, but I will always remember hers.  She is the woman who gave me hope, who made me feel like maybe I could handle this parenting thing, the woman who made me the mom I am. And I knew her for less than a minute.

My son is now a teenager.  He still likes to throw things (luckily we’ve channeled that into playing baseball!) and he still thinks the grocery store is the most horrible place on the face of the earth.  However, he has learned to tolerate the store for short amounts of time, and I’ve learned I need to tell him exactly what is on the list and not buy anything else (even a treat for him!) to make it a peaceful occasion.  

Never underestimate the impact you might have on someone.  And for those that have impacted you and not even realized it, raise a toast.  That’s why they have wine.  Just don’t take my son to the store when you go to buy it!

 

Gratefulness and a Shaun Cassidy Jacket

When I was about 12, I went down the street to my friend’s house, and, in horror, discovered her to be wearing a jacket with Shaun Cassidy screenprinted on the back.  I took her to the side, and whispered in here ear, “What are you doing wearing that?!  You know you will be made fun of.”  She answered me, and in a regular tone, “It was a gift.  From my parents.”

I got it.  I still get it.  I have things on display in my home or hanging in my closet (and sometimes I even wear them) that I don’t like.  They were gifts.  And in my upbringing, any gift is something to be grateful for, and, so, well, you just are.  You are thankful that someone cares enough about you to buy you something, even if they are off base.  You keep it, and, trust me, much to your own surprise you will come to treasure some of those things.

So why am I bringing this up?  It’s just that I’m bothered by what seems to be a lack of gratefulness in today’s society.  So many times I just hear, “But I deserve….”  That phrase just gets under my skin.

You know what, some days I deserve a month long trip to Tahiti and a $200 bottle of wine.  What I get?  A travel magazine and whatever wine was buy one, get one at Winn Dixie.  The reason, however, that I am happy despite that, is because I am grateful.  I know that life could always be worse.  There is always someone with better circumstances, there is always someone with worse circumstances, and the majority of the time we really have no idea who fits into which category.  Happiness does not depend on what anyone else’s life is like, it comes from accepting our own.  Sometimes life throws us some really crappy stuff, and I get that, and it is OK to grieve that stuff, but you eventually need to look at all the amazing things you do have.

Though my job can cause me to coming close to banging my head on the wall, I’m grateful that I have one (and that I work from home so no one can see me just in case I follow through with the banging).  Though I suddenly have to pay a whopping amount of money for my child’s medication every month, I’m grateful that it helps him.  Though we seem to have a knack for adopting animals with medical issues, I’m grateful for the love we get from them.  Though I deal with issues from 3 herniated disks in my back, I’m EXTREMELY grateful I haven’t had to have surgery (yet).  Though I hardly see my husband all week due to our conflicting work schedules, I’m grateful for the amazing man he is.  Though my child can have the typical teenage attitude issues, I’m grateful that HE knows how to be grateful.  I am very grateful for a want I had today that God came through on and fulfilled in an unexpected way, because it really wasn't something I really needed.  I could go on and on and on, for pages and pages and pages. 

Everyone, everyone, has something to be grateful for.  If you are alive, have the technology to get to this blog, and are able to read, there are three things going for you right there.  Be thankful, see how it feels.  Let it in.  Allow yourself to be happy, even in the face of struggles you may have.

And if you need a kickstart, that’s why they have wine.  Dark Horse is on sale at Winn Dixie and gets you a load of fuel perks. ;) 

I’m raising a glass to my family, my husband’s family, my amazing friends, my friends to come, and everyone else in my life.  I am extremely grateful for each and every one of you.

The Perfect Christian

I read a lot of stuff on the internet.  I prefer that media because most of the time readers can make comments, and it is a great study of society.

On some recent articles, I've read a lot of comments that start, “A good Christian would….”  Sometimes those comments are made by Christians, many times they are made by someone who believes Christians are just people that believe in fairy tales.  In both instances, I find myself wondering just how people’s minds work.

To me, “a good Christian” is an oxymoron, there is no such thing.  By definition, a Christian is a person who believes there is a God, that God came to earth in the form of his son, Jesus, and that Jesus died to take the punishment for all of our sins, so that we would not have to, thus making him our Savior.  Why would someone that is perfectly good all on their own need a savior?  Jesus didn't die for the perfect people, if they exist, he died for the sinners.  Today, Good Friday, today is the day we celebrate that event. Today is the day we all need to remember that.  Today is the day we all need to remember that no one is greater than the other, we are all loved the same by God, Christian or not.  We are all imperfect, we all sin, we all have issues, and we are all forgiven for them with the simple acceptance that Jesus took the punishment for us.

I’m not a “good Christian.”  I’m a plain old regular one, a person who makes lots of mistakes, who can be mean, who often says the wrong thing, who has been divorced, who has been known to drink one too many glasses of wine, a person who is certainly not worthy of God through my own actions.  I never will be.  I’m not different than anyone else.  I’m one of those crazy people who believes someone can be on death row and still be loved by God, who believes that no one is all good or all bad, who believes we are all incapable of unimaginable things.

I do have my convictions, as every Christian does.  They are not always the same as everyone else’s.  The Bible, well, it is not always clear.  I think that is on purpose.  I think God wants to speak to each of us individually.  I have a tendency to interpret some things in a, for a lack of a better word, less strict manner.  But I realize that is my interpretation, and I don’t know if I’m right.  Others have a different one, and I have no idea if they are the ones who are right, I just know I don’t feel uncomfortable in my relationship with God the majority of the time, and when I do, I pray and re-look at things.  Only God really knows everything, and he knows I don’t, and as he created me that way, I’m good with that.

I’m not a good Christian.  I don’t even know if I could be called a good person, what exactly is that anyways?  But Sunday is the day we celebrate Jesus’ rise from the dead, giving us all new life.  New life forgiven for our sins.

That’s why they have wine.  After all, Jesus has been known to turn water into it.

Working Hard For The Money

 

When I listen to music, I am a lyric person.  You can have the greatest melody in the world, but if I find your lyrics to be stupid or annoying, your song will go on my most hated list.

There have even been a few songs lately that have come REALLY close to bypassing “Barracuda” by Heart.  MOST ANNOYING SONG EVER.  But that song nor it’s extremely close competitors  are what this blog is actually about.  It’s about a certain song that just makes me want to slap Pitbull and Neyo.  What the heck kind of names are THOSE anyways?

Growing up, I remember a lot of songs about hard work.  You know, those songs that may have complained about it, but were about being responsible anyways?

Remember these?  “9 to 5” by Dolly Parton?  “Jump in the shower and the blood starts pumpin'. Out on the streets, the traffic starts jumpin'.  With folks like me on the job from 9 to 5.”

“Manic Monday” by the Bangles?  “Have to catch an early train.  Got to be to work by nine.”

 

“Working for a Living” by Huey Lewis?  “Hey I'm not complaining 'cause I really need the work.  Hitting up my buddy's got me feeling like a jerk.  Hundred dollar car note, two hundred rent. ”

 
“Working for the Weekend” by Loverboy?  Well, hey, the name says it all there.  That’s what us working people do.

“Working Hard for the Money” by Donna Summer?  “She'll never sell out.  She never will.  Not for a dollar bill.  She works hard.  She works hard for the money.”

Now we have “I knew my rent was gon' be late about a week ago.  I worked my ass off, but I still can't pay it though.  But I just got just enough  to get up in this club.”  Um, what?  You can’t pay your rent but going to a club is top priority.  I. WANT. TO. SLAP. YOU.  Ok, so maybe this song is close to being as annoying as “Barracuda.”  Or maybe not, because it probably won’t still be around in 20 years when all the people in the club are homeless and want to slap them too.

Life is hard work.  It’s not always about having fun.  Sometimes it sucks.

That’s why they have wine.  And it’s a lot cheaper to drink it at home. 

 

 

The Weight of the World, At Least of Mine

I am not a vain person.  My favorite places to buy clothes are EBay and Goodwill.  I can’t remember the last time there was something on my feet that didn’t have a Crocs emblem. (Ok, so I have a broken toe and can only comfortably wear a particular pair of flip flops, but still…)  I get my hair cut at Super Cuts.  I only shave my legs once a week.  I’ve never, and I mean NEVER, plucked a single eyebrow.  Not a single one.

So why am I suddenly so obsessed by my weight?

As I’ve reached menopause, I’ve put on a few pounds.  I’ve lost my rear end, it either fell off somewhere while I wasn’t looking or was run over by a steamroller.  Whatever was there, however, was somehow recovered and relocated to my belly.  At the age of 46, 3 weeks from 47, my body apparently figured out I had long past puberty and for the first time in my life I have breasts larger than those of a 12 year old boy.  The result of all this?  The wardrobe I had so thoughtfully put together with my wins on EBay no longer fit me.  Six months ago, I had a blazer collection to die for.  Tonight, I made myself get rid of all those things I could no longer button, and, well, I don’t think you can call one blazer that only closes if I hold my breath a collection.

A couple months ago I had come to terms with my body.  I started getting rid of tight clothing and buying stuff bigger.  I actually own more than one bra, and I didn’t have to buy them in the little girls department.  I accepted that I was getting older.  My husband claims I look better (though I’m not sure I’m really buying that, I do know he loves me anyways).

And then a few weeks ago, my mother came over.  My 70 year old mother, who is 3 inches taller than me.  “Mom, wow, did you lose weight?”

“Yes, you are the only one to notice!  I weigh XYZ pounds!”

XYZ pounds.  Hmmphh!  3 inches taller and 10 pounds less.  She is 70, she is supposed to be heavier than me.  And, well, she always has been.  I’ve always been the thin one in the family.  Then she adds that my sister lost weight too.  It’s not supposed to be this way!

So, yes, I am 20 pounds more than I’ve been for most of my life, 20 pounds more than the weight I was in high school.  Heck, 40 pounds more than when I was training for a marathon.  (How was I even healthy then!)  And I don’t know whether to accept it or obsess over it.  I eat good, I’m not even sure what I can change.  In the past week I’ve hardly eaten, but the scale hasn’t even moved. 

Last night, I bought some larger tops on EBay.  Tonight, I put my too small blazers in a bag and put them in the car to take to Goodwill.  Tomorrow I’ll still watch every calorie I eat.

Growing old.  That’s why they have wine!  Wine gets better with age, somehow I need to accept that people do too, even if we are more full bodied!

Why My Vote Is Not Wasted

Let’s take a little quiz.

If you told your child a good serving was 2 brownies, and instead they ate 10, would you:

1.  Never make brownies again and start a campaign to make brownies illegal.

2.  Complain that now there is no way everyone in the family could have an equal amount of brownies because there were only 12 to begin with, and make more brownies.

3.  Tell your child to eat the other 2 brownies so you could put the plate in the dishwasher, knowing that if he wasn’t already sick to his stomach, he would be then, and would learn his lesson.

My answer, I would pick #3.  He might not get it right away.  Heck, he might even do it again, maybe a few times.   Eventually, however, he will understand that maybe things need to change, maybe always doing the same things the same way just gets us to the same consequences.   That maybe he should do things differently if he wants a different outcome.

And to that end, when I vote Libertarian, it is not a vote “wasted” as many like to say. There is a purpose to what I do. I know that there will be no immediate dramatic change.  I know there will not be some sense of satisfaction of being on the “winning” side.  I know that the result of my actions will not in any way give me any sort of credit, not even in the long run.  I get it. 

I, however, also know that I am planting a seed or two or three.  A seed that shows there is an option other than the status quo.  A seed that shows the establishment that not everyone is happy with their representation.  A seed that helps others to understand that it’s OK to vote based on what they actually believe instead of if there is an R or a D next to a name.  A seed that shows my child that it’s perfectly alright to still like a team that you know will probably lose, if that is who stands for who you are.   

One day, those seeds will grow into a mature tree with more than 2 branches. That day may not be until my child is grown.  It may not even be in my lifetime.  But it will come.  And so I will continue to nourish that sapling and vote my conscious, and to have the peace that I did not settle for someone I did not believe in.

The only vote wasted is the one that is not cast.  One day we'll be able to have a viable choice that is not just the lesser of two evils.

Until then, that’s why they have wine.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...Crap, This Is Hard!

I am writing this to distract myself.

Eight or nine years ago, I wanted to lose a little weight.  I tried the South Beach diet, which consists of an initial phase of eating no carbs but for some non-starchy vegetables and then slowly adding “good” carbs back to your diet, and was successful.  I lost my pregnancy weight (and it was about time, as my “baby” was 5 years old), felt better, and truly lost the sweets craving that used to be my health downfall.  I stuck with the maintenance phase easily for years, maintaining both my weight and my health.

Then I turned 40.  About that time, a woman’s hormones get bored and decide to shake things up.  They create havoc and make you do all kinds of strange things.  One of those things is, coincidentally, blaming everything on hormones and taking no responsibility for particular actions, like screaming at the cat for the bell on her collar annoying you while you are consuming an entire chocolate cake.

Recently, when most of my clothes no longer fit me and routine tests revealed my cholesterol had gone up just past the acceptable level, I decided I needed to stop blaming the hormones.  So….I’m on day two of Phase 1 of South Beach, and I am finding myself plotting how to steal the hash browned potatoes and bread from my son’s plate and hide it under the squash and chicken sausage on mine.

Day 1 was not so bad.  I ate cottage cheese, raw veggies and hummus, almonds, and cheddar cheese.  I was full and I was happy and I was proud of myself for taking control of my health.

Today didn’t start so bad either.  This morning I boiled some eggs, making some extra for later in the week, and for lunch I made chicken salad with leftover chicken breast, celery, nuts, and just a smidge of mayo.  I snacked on baby carrots mid-afternoon.  Again, I was feeling good. 

Until about 2 hours ago.

At that point I had an almost uncontrollable urge to eat an entire bag of potato chips.

Instead, I grabbed a few more of those carrots and went outside to finish the Halloween decorations.  That’s when the visions of pasta and bread took over my brain.

I came back in and cooked dinner, trying so hard not to tear just a little bite off the bread or take a bite of potatoes.  I had to walk away and read a little about the benefits of a low carb diet to reinforce myself, and grab some more carrots a couple of times (good thing I stocked up), but I made it through.  I need to wash the dishes though and I’m scared to go back into the kitchen.  I don’t know what I might do.

Oh, no, it just occurred to me I still have to pack my son’s lunch!  This might be too much.

That’s why they have wine.  Too bad I’m not supposed to have any.  Well, maybe one glass wouldn’t hurt….