tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50565817531243711862024-03-12T23:13:12.874-05:00Random Thoughts of a Fiery WomanRamblings on life, learning, and things I am passionate about.Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.comBlogger248125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-22664063141376338512012-09-16T16:42:00.000-05:002012-09-16T20:04:06.359-05:00Celebrating Womanhood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSvfg9Rcy3S8d9m6Wo14uslJRHjVSAIEFhAErUV9VByrAW0-HfL0m4U8gcrKtOnr2-ebRGGXNgR4GjHIH9-W8sMSJgCzET7Y6drykJRoUO8XUMHR3QZGjhGGTUbvadeU2bZCoP1v7yh6X/s1600/CelebratingWomanhood300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKSvfg9Rcy3S8d9m6Wo14uslJRHjVSAIEFhAErUV9VByrAW0-HfL0m4U8gcrKtOnr2-ebRGGXNgR4GjHIH9-W8sMSJgCzET7Y6drykJRoUO8XUMHR3QZGjhGGTUbvadeU2bZCoP1v7yh6X/s1600/CelebratingWomanhood300.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Today is the day! "<a href="http://www.livinglearninglovinglife.com/2012/09/celebrating-womanhood-because-women-are-amazing.html">Celebrating Womanhood" </a>is an event created by some amazing blogging woman as a day to celebrate, well, women! (Click on the link to read the other posts by other amazing women!) . </span></i> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have stewed about what to write on this day. Many out there feel that women have been treated poorly lately. Politicians have said things, the media have said things, etc. I don't listen much to what other people say. But I do know a lot about women's history and I do know where women have been and where they are today and all I can say is "We've come a long way baby" (Yes, I know that's stolen ; ) </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">With that said, I think I'll focus a little closer to home. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There have been many women in my life that have influenced me in a myriad of ways. I could talk about them all, my paternal grandmother who left England alone in the late 1920's to build a new life in New york City, or my maternal grandmother who survived growing up in poverty in tenement buildings in that same city, and survived an abusive alcoholic marriage, or my own mother, who survived terrible sexual and physical abuse as a child and battled her own demons as an adult, but still managed to raise three fairly decent human beings, of which I am one. They each have their own inspiring stories, and looking back at their lives, I realize how much of each of them is in me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But in telling their story, Id really be telling my own. I am a product of who they were. The grandmother who took a risk to come to a foreign country to find a better life. She met her husband on the boat coming over, and got pregnant our of wedlock too! Quite a scandal in those days, but it made me aware that women have been the same for generations. Impulsive, desirous, and willing to risk for love. My other grandmother who finally left an abusive husband and moved in with a new man, way before such a thing was accepted. She knew what she had to do and critics be damned. Such scandalous behavior from my own grandmothers! Later in life when I decided to move in with my now husband well before we married, and I actually conceived both of my children before we wed, I felt no shame in my actions. It was my life and I felt free to live it as I saw fit. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Then there was my own mother, who spent her adult life recovering from her childhood, but did the best she could to teach her daughters to stand up for themselves and find their own passions. My mother loved to tell us "Depend on no man, learn how to take care of yourself". She made sure my sister and I were strong, independent and opinionated women. And before I met my husband, I had the chance to live on my own and take care of myself, and while I now love having my husband in my life and love feeling cared for, I know that if I had to care for myself that I am more than capable of doing so. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">All three of those women found love in their lives,. My parents in particular had an amazing love story. They met when they were 14, married at 21. They respected each other. My father was evolved enough to know that women could work, have their own careers, and my mother did just that. I was actually in daycare in NYC when I was 4 and 5. Now some people might find that an odd thing to celebrate, but in 1972, not too many kids were in daycare. I loved it actually and my mom loved her job. And while I have chosen a different path in raising my children, I was empowered by my own mother to know that I could do anything and choose any path I wished. . </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Actually my grandmothers were working women as well. I guess that's a by-product of growing up in a city. So in retrospect, knowing that all these women in my life worked, it's interesting that I became a stay at home mom. And not even just a stay at home mom, but a homeschooling, stay at home mom. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But what they gave me was freedom of choice. I knew I could do anything I wanted to do. I was never told I had to be something I wasn't. I was never told I had to behave a certain way or look a certain way or that certain things were only available to men. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Freedom to be the woman and mother that I wanted to be, that was the gift given to me by the women in my life. And I know it was much harder for them to do what they did than it ever was for me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now it's my turn. My own daughters are 15 and 17 now. I have done my best to instill in them that they too can do and be anything they wish. I have never put expectations or demands on them to be something they are not. They do not have to grow up and be stay at home, homeschooling moms. If they choose an entirely different path than the one I chose I will be happy for and with them, because they will be their own women with their own freedoms. And I can thank the women who came before me for giving me the example that we can be who want to be. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is a great time to be a woman and we need to shut out the voices of negativity that we hear and listen to the only voice that matters, the one in our heart. </span></span>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-60438246112326587432011-11-25T16:49:00.000-06:002011-11-25T16:49:51.584-06:00Happy Holidays?<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I wrote this post "<a href="http://randomthoughtsofafierywoman.blogspot.com/2009/11/merry-christmas-or-happy-holidays.html">Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays </a>?" 2 years ago. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Unfortunately Christians are still rabid and calling for boycotts. So <a href="http://randomthoughtsofafierywoman.blogspot.com/2009/11/merry-christmas-or-happy-holidays.html">here's </a>the re-run, I think it bears repeating : )</span></span>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-5801163241180324762011-09-13T09:44:00.001-05:002011-09-13T09:47:43.182-05:00Love Yourself Enough<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I found a quote the other day:</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">"</span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">Start living now. Stop saving the good china for that special occasion. Stop withholding your love until that special person materializes. Every day you are alive is a special occasion. Every minute, every breath, is a gift from God." </span></b></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">~Mary Manin Morrissey</span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">~ </span><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;"> It brought back a memory from my childhood. </span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">When I was about 10 or 12 my grandmother bought me these great sheets. I didn't know anything about thread counts back then, but they were beautiful sheets. Pink and flowery and so, so soft. I loved those sheets. Seems weird for a 10 or 12 year old to love sheets, but I just thought these were the nicest sheets I had ever seen. And I didn't want to use them, lest they get ruined. I don't know what I needed to save them for, but I really thought they needed to be saved. Until I was older, until a special time came along. Whatever. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">So I never put them on my bed. I left them in the box in my closet. And I'd look at them, and I'd touch them, but I never put them on my bed. They were twin size sheets, because back then I had a twin sized bed. </span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">Over time they somehow got pushed to the back of my closet and I forgot about them. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">And then I moved out of my parents house when I was 19. And I didn't take my twin sized bed, by then I had a full sized bed. As I was cleaning out my closet while moving, I found those sheets. And then I realized I would never use them because I no longer had a twin sized bed. And it made me sad. Really sad. Why had I never used these sheets? What did I think I needed to save them for? </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">I realized I had learned the lesson that somehow some <i>things</i> were more special than others. My mom had all kinds of special tableware. Linens, silver, china, all things that we were not allowed to touch unless it was a holiday and we were having company. We had special towels and soaps we put out for "company". The subtle, unspoken message was that "company" was more special than we were. I'm sure it was how my mother was raised as well, so she didn't give us that message intentionally, it's just what she knew. </span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">What she had lived in her own childhood. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">But after seeing those sheets, I realized how stupid that is. How sad it is. To think that we subtly tell our children that they aren't as special as the "company", so they aren't good enough to waste the towels, or the china or the sheets on. I decided I would not send that message to my children. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}" style="font-size: small;">None of us know when it is our last day, and what are we waiting for? Put the sheets on the bed, burn the pretty candles, use the pretty soap, chip the good china. It's just stuff. And if you like it, don't save it, use it. What are you saving it for? You are worth the good stuff. </span><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"> <br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i><b>"A healthy self-love means we have no compulsion to justify to ourselves or others why we take vacations, why we sleep late, why we buy new shoes, why we spoil ourselves from time to time. We feel comfortable doing things which add quality and beauty to life."</b></i></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i><b> ~Andrew Matthews~</b></i></div><i style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b> </b></i> <br />
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</div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-28734935659614045042011-08-12T16:28:00.000-05:002011-08-12T16:28:45.710-05:00Were You Raised By Wolves?!?!<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>"On the beach, you can live in bliss." </b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>~ Dennis Wilson~ </b></i></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I like watching people. Human behavior interests me. But sometimes, I just want to sit in a chair on a beach and have humanity leave me alone. Today was one of those days. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, today I went to the beach. It seems today was tween/young teen day at the beach. There were lots of what looked to be 12, 13, 14 year olds, wandering around, unattended by adults. And were they ever rude and inconsiderate of the adults around them. Lots of yelling, running, and just general rudeness going on. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was one group, three boys, three girls, that decided to park themselves right next to my blanket and chair. They threw their things to the ground, began kicking sand and yelling at each other. Joyfully yelling at each other, but yelling none the less. And the sand. Dust kicking up every where, I could feel the fine layer settling on my Coppertone greased skin. Yea. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then the girls decided to run off to the bathroom. I was in the way of the bathroom. My blanket had blown over on itself thanks to the wind, and so, instead of walking around my blanket, what did one of the girls decide to do? Yup, she jumped over my blanket. Really. With me sitting right there in a chair at the edge of my blanket. I lowered my sunglasses and stared at her two friends who were getting ready to do the same. I must have given them some look, one of the remaining two said "We'll go around". Hahaha. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then there were the little ones. All full of joy to be at the beach. Running 50 miles per hour back and forth across the sands, spreading love wherever they go. Or sand. Lots of sand, wherever the go. And the parents, who see them kicking great big billows of sand onto all those around them? Nothing. Not a peep. Really?!?!</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">And then you have the screamers. Sometimes that means kids, other times that means adults. The moms who take their kids to the beach, for what one would think would be the intention of having a fun day and making memories and all that sweet, sugary stuff, but in reality, the moms are harried and tired of being moms so they just scream at their kids the whole time they are there. That's fun to listen to. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then you have the kid screamers. The ones who scream for fun, the ones who scream at people 100 yards away because they can't seem to walk there, and the ones who scream because their mom tells them no, for the 100th time. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yikes! When did we stop caring how our actions affect others? I was never one to let my children be rude and unruly in public. I always made sure they realized that sometimes, our actions can upset other people and we should always try to be courteous of others. My girls knew not to run by people on a beach because running kicks up sand. The knew better than to scream at me or each other from the water to the sand. They certainly knew not to jump over someone else's stuff. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">As a mom, I tried really, really hard to never yell at or shame my kids in public. There are lots of moms out there who seem to never have learned that lesson. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have written about bad moms before <a href="http://randomthoughtsofafierywoman.blogspot.com/2010/06/stop-being-mean-to-your-kids.html">here,</a> and about the sad state of humanity <a href="http://randomthoughtsofafierywoman.blogspot.com/2009/07/self-absorbed-much.html">here</a> and <a href="http://randomthoughtsofafierywoman.blogspot.com/2009/05/people-annoy-me.html">here</a>. So I guess this is a running theme with me. I'm just so easily annoyed about things that seem like common courtesy to me. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Maybe it's aging. Maybe I'm just less tolerant the older I get. I actually sympathize with the people who want <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/07/11/restaurant-bans-children_n_894548.html">kid free restaurants</a> and <a href="http://travel.nytimes.com/2010/11/14/travel/14babies-journeys.html?pagewanted=all">flights.</a></span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">But I don't blame the kids, really. Not the young ones anyway. I blame the parents. By teens, even though teens to be very self absorbed, one would think they should have the where with all to know when they are annoying people. But little kids, they only know what they see or have been taught, and for that, the parents are at fault. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Blame. Someone has to be blamed, right? They ruined my day at the beach. But so did the sun, it chose not to shine. But that's a sad story for another grumpy day. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>“When one's expectations are reduced to zero, one really appreciates everything one does have” </b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>~Stephen Hawking~ </b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b></b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><br />
Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-7152946535311631562011-07-28T17:44:00.003-05:002011-07-28T21:41:57.272-05:00Changes and Choices<div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind. </span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">~William Blake~</span><br />
</b></i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> A strange thing has been happening to me lately. I am constantly re-thinking all the choices I have made in my life thus far. I think I will blog about these as the whim hits me. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><u>Todays' topic:</u> Choices I have made in regards to my children education. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Oh how idealistic we can be when we are young, when we are new parents, when everything in our lives is fresh and new. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When a person has a baby, at least this happened for me, education was the furthest thing from my mind. But around the time my eldest turned 2 and I was heavy with my 2nd daughter, it occurred to me that one day this child is going to have to go to school. Panic ensued, as I never wanted to be without my daughters. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I did end up enrolling my 2 1/2 year old in a Montessori pre-school that I eventually ended up working for, (to pay for the tuition and because I did not like being away from my daughters). My youngest daughter would end up going there as well. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now had I been independently wealthy, the story would end here. I loved Montessori. My eldest (Carley) moved on to a Montessori grade school while my youngest (Catherine) finished up at the pre-school where I worked (and bartered for tuition). Once Catherine was out of the pre-school and my job was over, I just could not afford the tuition at the Montessori grade school. A change had to be made. Public School? Egads no. Catholic school? I was no longer a practicing Catholic so that seemed hypocritical. Structured school in general was not a choice I wanted to make at all. Homeschooling, that's what it had to be. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At that time I knew very little about homeschooling. So I went to the library and checked out every book on homeschooling I could find. I read about school at home, unit studies, relaxed homeschooling, unschooling, etc., etc. I talked with other homeschool moms and eventually came up with a philosophy I thought would fit our family. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">First philosophy: School at home. I bought a full curriculum. We sat at the dining room table and did X number of pages of work per day. Started in September, just like school. By Christmas I wanted to kill myself. This style wasn't for us. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Then we went to a relaxed school at home. Some days we worked in books, some days we went to the park and the library. Some days we watched videos. But I still led the day and tried to keep some structure. I also added unit studies into this, <a href="http://www.konos.com/www/index.html">KONOS</a>, which my girls enjoyed but it required a lot of work and prep on my part. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As time went on the girls wanted less and less to do with structure, and we drifted into unschooling. I did continue to buy curriculum for a time, but only curriculum that the girls wanted. If one wanted a science curriculum, I bought it, if one wanted English, I bought it. But it was up to them to decide to work on it. I wasn't going to push them anymore. During this time we also did Sonlight. My girls really enjoyed <a href="http://www.sonlight.com/">Sonlight</a>, because frankly, there wasn't much for them to do. They read some books and I read some books to them. And then we'd discuss some vocabulary words. Both girls really enjoy books and reading, so this wasn't a chore for them. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As my girls got closer to those tween years, between 10 and 12, they wanted even less to do with anything structured and frankly so did I. Hormones were swinging wildly, we were involved in a co-op, and everything I had read about unschooling made me think the girls would be just fine if I left them to their own devices. So I did. Of course I was always here, willing to take them here or there, willing to help them learn something or figure out a way to learn something, they knew they could count on me for anything, but the learning was left up to them. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When my eldest was around 12 she started asking about going to school. I had already pre-decided she was never going to Junior high, <b>1)</b> because I hated junior high, <b>2)</b> because I heard horrible things about what goes on in junior high (bullying and sex) and <b>3)</b> I still wanted her home. Looking back, only one of those is really a valid reason. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So I told Carley we would re-visit the school issue with high school. I was hoping she would decide she loved home and me so much she'd never want to go. I was wrong. She starts her junior year of high school next month. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I thought school was going to be a nightmare. I thought Carley would hate it, that she'd decide to quit and come home (an option she knew she had whenever she wanted it). She didn't. She loves it. Ok, maybe love is a strong word, but she really, really likes it. She likes to be taught. By someone other than me. She likes to learn, the kinds of things they teach in books and schools. She is a perfect student. During her previous two years in high school she has made the honor roll each semester. Not bad for an unschooled homeschooler. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now Catherine, my youngest, the one who I thought really thrived in unschooling, has also decided she wants to try high school. She wants to see what it's like, wants to see if she's missing something. When everyone around you is doing something, it makes you want to maybe try it too. Especially if you are a teen. (Ok, we aren't talking about sex, drugs and alcohol here!) </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> There are also classes at the high school that Catherine thinks sound interesting. Fashion and World History being two of them. And while we could have learned Fashion and World History at home, somehow it just seems more interesting doing it with other people who share the same interest as you. Catherine has the same option as Carley, she is free to leave school at any time. She has already decided that while she may decide not to go full time, she pretty much knows she wants to stay in at least part time.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So my (eventually) unschooled daughters, whom I taught had the world at their fingertips and the freedom to do as they please and learn what they please, have in the end, decided the structure of public school is what they want. Hahahahahaha. Jokes on me.<br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But after having had some time to process it, I am now surprisingly Ok with it. I made choices for them when they were small based on my own life experiences and research. That's all a parent can do. We do what we think is best. No one knows what is best, it's all speculation. We are not our children, we are not in their heads, they are not our mini me's. We have to be comfortable as a parent, eventually letting our children be who they are meant to be. And if that is someone wholly different than who we are, we need to love them anyway. That's what it means to be a parent. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I know homeschoolers who would be upset if their children didn't grow up and homeschool their grandchildren. They take it as some personal affront if their children want to do something different. I also know homeschoolers who think I must have done something wrong to make my children want to choose school. I think I must have actually done something right. My children are making the choice they think is right for them. I am giving them the right to make that choice. How many other teens ever get to choose the direction of their lives? Most kids live with their lives planned out for them. They WILL do this, they WILL go there, etc, etc., ad nauseum until they move out. Yes, I made some of those decisions for my children when they were young, but now as teenagers they have the freedom to choose for themselves. And it is a different choice than I would have chosen for them at this stage in their lives, but that is part of letting go. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So now, 16 years after the birth of my first born, I am kind of doing an about face. The daughters that I swore would never go to school, will both be in school this fall. My kids are exactly where I didn't want them to be. Isn't that funny? </span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies. </span></b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">~Author Unknown</span></b></i>~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-82938862727936195182011-07-04T14:01:00.000-05:002011-07-04T14:01:03.967-05:00AmericaHappy 4th of July everyone. Thought I'd share one of my favorite patriotic songs. Neil Diamond, singing "America" from the movie "The Jazz Singer". Love this song. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ii0b2rpXJ5s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-72479509388680383902011-07-02T15:30:00.001-05:002011-07-02T15:44:06.837-05:00Old Age and Death and Dying<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ready for an uplifting post? Then don't read this one ; )</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">"A test of a people is how it behaves toward the old. It is easy to love children. Even tyrants and dictators make a point of being fond of children. But the affection and care for the old, the incurable, the helpless are the true gold mines of a culture." </span></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="sqq">~Abraham J. Heschel~</span></i></b></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We've been dealing with some aging parent issues around my home. My mother-in-law will be 91 next month, and my father-in-law just turned 87. My father in law has been having some dementia issues for a few years now, moodiness, anger issues, confusion. He's been in and out of hospital's and nursing homes, and it seems like it may finally be time for him to permanently leave his home. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have dealt with this before. Three of my grandparents ended up in nursing homes before they died. My maternal grandmother, (Nanny) had breast cancer that metastasized to her bones. She got to the point where she just couldn't be cared for in her home anymore. She went down hill pretty quickly after being moved into the nursing home. I suppose you lose your will to live a lot quicker when you realize you no longer have anything to live for. She was trapped in a bed, away from her family. We visited her, but how often can you really spend at the nursing home when you have a job and your own life to live? (and being 21, I felt my life was very important). My mom was an only child and had big issues with her mom. My parents were on vacation in Florida when my grandmother died and my mom refused to come home. She said the service could wait until after her vacation. So my sister and I made all the arrangements. I had just turned 22 four days after her death, and my sister was 26. We arranged for her cremation, and arranged a service with the cemetery and the priest. Thankfully my grandmother already had a burial spot bought and paid for. But we still had to wait two weeks to have her service, because that is when my parents would be home. Nanny died February 15, 1990.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My grandmother left behind her husband Harry, my step-grandfather, but really the only grandfather I had ever known. He fared pretty well for awhile, but then he too needed to go into a nursing home because he just couldn't live on his own anymore. My mom certainly wasn't going to move him in with her, she already had my paternal grandfather, Pa, living with her and my dad. He had moved in when I was a sophomore in high school. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In 1991, a year after my grandmother died, my parents moved from IL to TN. My mother decided she was not going to take my grandfathers with her, so they were both left behind, in IL, in nursing homes. And then my mom pretty much never looked back. My dad was complicit in this too, he was just usually in the background of everything my mom did, which is why I keep putting this on her.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So it fell upon my sister and I to visit our grandfathers and make sure they had the things they needed. I tried to get out to see them weekly. The nursing home was about 1/2 an hour from me, but it was over an hour for my sister. It was rough going to the home every week. I was in my early twenties, when it seems you are the most alive. And every week I had to go and sit with those on deaths door. Pa was never overly happy to see us. I sensed he realized it was out of a sense of duty, not that we really wanted to be there. He was a pretty angry man, had a rough life and carried that with him. I can't recall him ever being really happy. But my sister and I would go anyway, we would sit with him and watch TV, or while he ate his lunch. Make sure he was being treated well, and then we'd leave. It was always so depressing. A lot of the people there never had anyone visit. They were just left there. My sister and I would talk to some of these other residents if we were in the community room. They seemed to appreciate having someone other than nurses aides to talk with.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A few times Pa needed to go to the hospital for a feeding tube because he started having trouble eating. The nursing home would transport him there and then call my sister to let her know. ( She being the oldest was the one left in charge). They were never able to keep the tube in him, he always managed to pull it out. He had a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) on his chart, but a feeding tube isn't the same as not resuscitating. My mother also had a signed living will from Pa, and she had his medical power of attorney, so eventually she decided to just stop all means of nourishment. She was still in TN by the way, calling the shots. So even though my sister and I were there, actually caring for him, my mom got to have the final say in how he should die. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Harry (my maternal step-grandfather) managed to hang on until 1995. He lived in that nursing home for 4 years. The first few years he did pretty well. He had a TV, he could watch the baseball games. He was asked to be on a major league team right after high school, but his father wouldn't let him go. Harry never had any kids of his own, his only other relatives were his sister who was older than him and still lived back east. My Nanny was Harry's life. When my parents were transferred to IL with my dads job, Nanny and Harry moved out a year later. So our family was all Harry had. But Harry wasn't my moms real dad, and she didn't particularly care about him once she moved to TN. Harry had done a lot for me growing up. I was only 10 years old when Nanny and Harry moved to IL. He drove me places, I used to hang out at their apartment, and he taught me to drive. So I felt I owed it to Harry to visit him as much as I could. He died 3 weeks after my eldest daughter was born in 1995. My parents came back to IL and we had a small service for him at the cemetery and a small luncheon afterwards. All of that was at the insistence of my sister and I. Harry had a burial plot next to my grandmother (they both wanted to be cremated) and if it had been up to my mom, we would have just passed his ashes off to the cemetery and had him buried. But I remember that service and the luncheon. And I am glad we paid him the respect he deserved. My mom had a marker placed on her mothers grave after she died, but she never got one for Harry. She kept telling me she didn't have the money. In 1997 I received a settlement for a back injury. One of the first things I spent money on was a marker for Harry's grave.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So why I am writing all this down? Well, for one, grandchildren shouldn't have to deal with taking care of their grandparents when able bodied children are alive. My parents both completely shirked their duties as children. I realize both had crappy childhoods and had serious issues with their parents. But they were never not on speaking terms with them, we always had them in our lives. You just don't abandon your parents in the end. It was really stressful for my sister and I to have to make sure our grandfathers were taken care of. We were just starting our own lives, by the time Harry died we both had small children. It was a heavy burden. I don't regret all that we did , but I still think the responsibility should have been on my parents.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Back when all this was going on I often thought how it would be for my parents. Would I have to put them in a nursing home and watch them deteriorate too? As fate would have it, my dad died at 56 of pancreatic cancer and my mom would die 6 years later of internal bleeding at 62. Has it spared me the pain my husband now has to go through? I don't know. Death is death no matter when it happens. I was devastated when my mom died, it was quick and unexpected. I had 6 months from diagnosis to death with my dad. A little time to prepare and say goodbye, but it was still very, very hard. But my parents will be forever young in my memory. I didn't have to watch them lose their faculties and their minds. I didn't have to worry about the care they might be receiving by others in a home. Death is death, whether young or old and it is painful for children to watch their parents die.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have a fear of death. I know I shouldn't as a Christian, but I do. So I want to live as long as possible. And I kind of hope my mind has gone when I go, so I am not aware of my death. But I certainly do not want to put the burden of my elderly care on my daughters. So it is a dilemma. Obviously I really have no say when I die. But if I had to choose early death to spare my children the pain of my care, or living to a ripe old age to hang on as long as possible, I choose the ripe old age. I just don't want to die, ever (yes, denial!) I hope to make sure my old age needs are taken care of before I get there (if I get there) so that those decisions don't have to be made by my daughters. I'll also make sure they know that they don't have to come and sit by my bedside and entertain me. I'll have lived my life, and they should be living theirs. Not worrying about old mom in the home.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Life sucks and then you die. Or your parents die, or are dying, or are losing their minds. None of us expect or want this in our lives. But it will come for all of us eventually. C'est la Vie. </span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><h1 style="font-size: 12px; margin: 0pt; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Parents, however old they and we may grow to be, serve among other things to shield us from a sense of our doom. As long as they are around, we can avoid the fact of our mortality; we can still be innocent children.” </span></span></i></h1><h1 style="font-size: 12px; margin: 0pt; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">~Jane Howard~</span></span></i></h1>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-43042556554846426162011-06-28T09:07:00.000-05:002011-06-28T09:07:53.044-05:00Sunshine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
I love John Denver. There, I said it. I also like Barry Manilow and the Carpenters! It's not an aging thing, I've liked all kinds of music for most of my life. I get the John Denver, Barry Manilow gene from my mom, I get a country gene from my dad (who knew a guy born and raised in NYC of Irish descent would be such a Country music fan?) and I probably get my love of hard rock and metal from my older brother who introduced me to it at a very young age. <br />
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But on a day like today, in which the sun is shining, the sky is blue and there is just the slightest breeze, only one voice can evoke in me a feeling of what it means to be alive on such a perfect day, and that man is John Denver. <br />
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Enjoy! Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-19353800192967351832011-06-24T22:52:00.003-05:002011-06-24T22:58:25.477-05:00Sister Wives vs. Duggars<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I hate to admit it, but I have a fascination with some weirdly religious reality shows. While I can't stand the likes of Jersey Shore or any of those "Housewives", give me the weirdly religious and I am all over it. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
<i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sister_Wives">Sister Wives</a></i>, if you haven't seen it, is about, well Sister Wives. Four women married to one man. One man with four wives. Plural marriage. At first I was sure I would hate this show, I watched the first episode only out of morbid curiosity. How could those women possibly share their man? Sloppy seconds anyone, ewww! </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But after watching a few times, (it's kind of like a train wreck, hard to look away), I've actually come to like them. And the most surprising development.....I no longer judge them. I had expected them to be overly religious, for the wives to be brain-washed, for the children to be controlled , etc, etc. I was pleasantly surprised that none of that seems to be the case. The wives all knew what they were getting into and chose this lifestyle for themselves. The children, while not choosing this lifestyle but being born into it, certainly are free to speak their minds and have the freedom and ability to leave this lifestyle behind, should they choose to, as adults. And they are surprisingly normal kids. They dress normally, have cell phones, watch TV, and are, wow, just like normal kids. <i><a href="http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,351272,00.html">Not like those cult polygamists, with their long dresses and weird hair, as seen on TV, being raided in Texas a few years back.</a> </i>They weren't like those people at all. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now I realize comparing the <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/19_Kids_and_Counting">Duggar's</a></i> and the <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sister_Wives">Sister Wives</a></i> is kind of like comparing apples to oranges, but since both claim to do what they do out of a religious conviction, I think the comparison is fair. Plus they both chose to have reality shows, so they are fair game. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/19_Kids_and_Counting">Duggar's</a></i> TV show is called "19 Kids and Counting". I think it was originally called "16 Kids and Counting", but that was 3 kids ago.......keep up! </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have written about the Duggar's on several other occasions, <i><a href="http://randomthoughtsofafierywoman.blogspot.com/2009/01/duggar-family.html">here</a></i> and <i><a href="http://randomthoughtsofafierywoman.blogspot.com/search/label/Duggar%20family">here</a></i>. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you have been living in a cave, the Duggar's show is about a conservative Christian family that believes one should continue to spawn until the woman's uterus falls out. OK, to be fair, that was my description, not theirs. I guess they would consider themselves, <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quiverfull">Quiverfull</a></i>. (click on it if you don't know what it means). </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar share their home with 18 of their 19 children. Oldest Josh has married and just had baby #2 with wife Anna. He was well prepared to move on and start his own quiverfull brood. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My problem with the Duggar's is that the kids in this family are given no voice, and the actions of the parents do indeed affect the children. In the Duggar family the older children are expected to help with the younger. Jim Bob and Michelle just keep spittin' em out, and the older girls will just pick up the slack. One Mother cannot mother 19 children. So if she didn't employ these older children to help, (and not just with childcare, with cooking and cleaning and homeschooling, etc, ad nauseum) it just wouldn't get done. The girls particularly in the Duggar home are at such a disadvantage. They are being raised under <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patriarchy">Patriarchy</a></i>, they cannot wear pants, or swimsuits, or think for themselves. They will never have a career. They are being raised to be breeders, because that's all they know. If you read any of my older Duggar posts, you will learn all you need to know about why the Duggar lifestyle is not good for girls. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So that bring me back to my comparison. Two religious families, both living outside of what most of us consider "normal". (I live outside of "normal" most of the time too, so that is not a judgment). </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Before I began watching either show, I presumed I would have disdain for both of them. I planned to watch and judge and wonder "How can they live that way". But now, I don't have judgment or disdain for either. I am amazed at how accepting I feel of the Sister Wives. It is their life, they are hurting no one, live and let live. It certainly isn't a life for me (although at times the thought of another woman sharing my home and being here to pass off the dinner making or laundry pile is appealing. But sorry, no husband sharing, that still brings out an "ewww" in me). While I don't judge the Duggar's either, I do feel sadness for them. Particularly the daughters. They just won't ever get to appreciate all that life has to offer them. Their roles have been decided for them since birth. And none of them will ever get to fully understand what it means to have an attentive parent. Two parents just cannot give to 19 children what they might have been able to give to 3 or 4. If Jim Bob were to bring in a few more wives, maybe those daughters could get a break and those kids could get a little more mothering. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maybe it's time for a crossover episode. Better put my call into TLC. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span class="sqq" style="font-size: small;"><i><b>"You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist." </b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span class="sqq" style="font-size: small;"><i><b>~Friedrich Nietzsche</b></i></span><span style="font-size: small;">~</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-30538229179777830532011-01-05T21:23:00.000-06:002011-01-05T21:23:02.437-06:00Perfect Childhood?<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Is there such a thing as a "perfect childhood"? Is it possible to raise children who don't look back as adults and wish they had been raised differently? I don't think so. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Maybe some think their childhood was ok, maybe some think it was great, but I have never known an adult who didn't wish maybe something was different growing up. Maybe it's in our wiring to never be completely happy, maybe we are always looking for something better, but whatever it is, I think striving to give our kids the "perfect childhood" with the hope that they will look back with stars in their eyes and nothing but wonderment is a waste of time. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now don't get me wrong, I don't think we as parents should slack off and not care about how we raise our children. I still think we should love them like crazy and do our best, but I do think some of us need to surrender the idea that our kids might not hate us when they grow up (if they don't already hate us now!) Of course I don't mean hate in that they'll kill us while we sleep, I mean hate as in they wish we had done things differently. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I know many will disagree with me, and a few years ago I would have disagreed with myself. I thought, a few years back, that I was doing such a bang up job that there was no way I was going to turn out kids who had nothing bad to say about their upbringing, hahahahaha. I was so delusional then! </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> When I became a mom I looked back on my childhood before I decided how I wanted to raise my children. Of course I wanted to raise my girls completely opposite of how I was raised, because I thought my childhood sucked. Overall I think I had a crappier than normal childhood. My parents were pretty dysfunctional, selfish, and didn't really seem to like having kids. As I have gotten older, had kids of my own, spoken with other adults about their childhood, I have come to realize my parents did close to the best they could for the time. (Notice I said "close", because I do think if they had actually put a little thought into the job, they could have done better). Both of my parents' came from childhoods way worse than mine, so if anything, they did do better in that mine was better than theirs. Plus, 40+ years ago, parents didn't really analyze their parenting like we do now. They didn't put thought into it, they just did it. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So with that as my background, I put a lot of thought into my parenting. Everything I have done in regards to raising my girls was thought out beforehand. I chose to attachment parent and co-sleep, I chose Montessori, I chose homeschooling and then unschooling. And I chose religion. Each one of those things was mulled over very carefully before proceeding. I read a lot of books, I sought out what I thought was sage advice, and I tried to make decisions that I thought would be the best in the long term. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And yet, now I have teens who look back on their childhoods and wonder "why"? Why did I make them go to "that church", why didn't I let them go to school, why this, why that? They aren't happy with a lot of the decisions I made, and looking back, I am not happy with a lot of the decisions I made. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But what I have come to realize is that being a parent doesn't make us a god. I was learning right along with my girls. I had to learn to be a mom, I had to learn who these little beings were. I could only do for them what I thought was best based on my own experiences. But I soon learned they weren't little Me's, and what was best for me wasn't necessarily best for them. And unfortunately a lot of those lessons were learned by trial and error. I did a lot of things that I thought was good for them, that now in hindsight I realize wasn't. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I can't change the past. So I don't mourn it. Because I know I did the best I knew how. And I'm not done. My girls are teens, we're still growing together. I may be an adult, but I am still growing and learning too. And I think they forgive me, because I think they know my intentions were pure. But it still doesn't change the fact that in spite of my intentions, I think my girls still wish things had been different. And even if they had been different, and I had chosen a completely different path in raising them, maybe they wouldn't have liked that one either. I can only hope, that in the future, when they have children of their own, they'll realize being a parent isn't such an easy job and maybe they'll realize I did the best I knew how to do. </div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b><i>"You know, the only people who are always sure about the proper way to raise children? Those who've never had any." </i></b></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b><i>~ Bill Cosby~</i></b></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-87290873967860760882011-01-03T20:47:00.001-06:002011-06-24T22:55:03.666-05:00Happy New Year!<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes, I am aware it is January 3rd and I am a little late. But at least it's still January!</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So Thanksgiving whizzed by, as did Christmas. Time seems to be a blur sometimes, holidays the blurriest of times. Looking back I realize I really am seeing my life flash before my eyes. My eldest will 16 next month, my youngest 14. She'll start high school next fall. How the heck did all these years get past me? </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">One of my resolutions for this year to be more present. For myself in my own life, for my kids, for my husband. I need to focus on the now, or I will again end up in some future present wondering how I got there. and forgetting a lot of things that happened along the way because I was just going through the motions. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I remember when I was back in high school, (way too many years ago), and we used to wonder what it would be like in the year 2000. "Oh we'll be 32 then", we'd squeal to each other, like that was so old! When one is 16 it is hard to imagine 32. But when one is approaching 43, 32 is but a memory. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've heard it said many times, by many people, "The older one gets the quicker it goes" and it is true. I realize my life is probably more than 1/2 over. Will I reach 86? Neither of my parents did, only 1 grandparent lived past 80. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have decided this will be my quote for the year:</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span class="messageBody"> </span></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span class="messageBody">“The secret of health for both mind and body is not to mourn for the past, worry about the future, or anticipate troubles, but to live in the present moment wisely and earnestly.” ~Buddha</span></i></b></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What do I want to do with the 2nd half of my life? I have a better idea of who I am now. I like myself, more now, than I probably ever did. (Not physically necessarily, but who I am, inside.) </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The thoughts are swirling in my head again. Another resolution is to get to this blog more often and get these thoughts onto "paper" if for no one but me. Writing helps me think things through, it helps me remember, and maybe it can bring others wisdom. Or it can be a legacy to my kids. It will be 3 years in April since I started this blog. I have recorded some stories from my past, I have ranted about things that I am passionate about about, I have written about things that have hurt me. I also realize, looking back, that I have changed in the last 3 years. I think I've mellowed, I think I have become more accepting of myself and others, and hopefully, I think I have become kinder. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Traveling Wilbury's put it well in "<b><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwqhdRs4jyA">End of the Line</a></b>":</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Well it's all right, even if you're old and grey</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Well it's all right, you still got something to say</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Well it's all right, remember to live and let live</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Well it's all right, the best you can do is forgive"</span></i></span></b><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: left;"></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-4545350950620129362010-11-17T13:55:00.002-06:002010-11-17T17:40:12.979-06:00Religion Again?<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes that title reflects how I feel. I am so sick of thinking and talking and writing about religion, but now that I have removed myself from "religious" life, I am bombarded daily with the hypocrisy and hate of it all. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Disclaimer: I still believe in God, still pretty sure about Jesus, still reading and exploring and praying and deciding. So I have not become an atheist.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But oy vey, I am fed up to my eyeballs with do-gooder, self righteous Christians who think their way is the only way. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I never considered myself to be an overly intellectual person. I think I am smart, I think I can figure things out, I have a brain and I know how to use it. But I didn't go to college and get a fancy degree. Most of the stuff I know, I know because I sought the knowledge. So it always makes me curious how so many people can fall hook, line and sinker for half the stuff told to them in church. I can admit, I did fall hook and line for a while. But I always held a little doubt (sinker) in my head. Sometimes things felt fishy, sometimes they felt wrong. Sometimes they didn't make sense. So I didn't just close my mind and believe. Well, sometimes I tried to, but I always had the nagging doubt that something didn't add up. Which I suppose is why in the end it made it easy to leave church. God gave me a brain, and I use it. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My eldest daughter recently joined a club at school called The Gay-Straight Alliance. It's purpose is to foster friendship and understanding between gay and straight students. It is supposed to be a safe place for the gay students to go and feel like they can be themselves. It is not a club about sex or a place for gay students to sway their straight peers (as many would like to believe). It's actually just a social club, a place for the kids to hang out together and organize community service events. Recently the club helped out at the schools showing of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Laramie_Project">The Laramie Project</a>. It was during a question and answer after the play that the audience was made aware of the fact that the school will not allow the club to advertise itself in school. Seems the word "gay" is off limits. So I wrote a <a href="http://www.nwherald.com/2010/11/15/without-fear-or-shame/a5x6r8s/">letter to the editor</a> of my local paper. (It's the comments to the letter and some other comments heard by people that have set me off.) </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What is it about gay people that brings such hatred out of Christians? What makes them so afraid? Do they think it's contagious? Do they think gay people eat small children and kittens? Why can't Christians just live out their own lives and let other people live theirs?</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Isn't anyone other than me tired of Christians constantly butting into everyone else's lives? They are not the only people on this planet. I know they'd like to be, I know they think they have a mandate from God to make sure they are, but newsflash, there are plenty of other people who believe just as strongly in what their God says, or believe they have no God to tell them what to do and don't they deserve to just live their life in peace? Believe me, there is no one in America who has never heard of God, so since they have all heard the "good news" isn't it time to leave them the hell alone? </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am all for freedom of religion, I am all for anyone going to whatever church they like and worshiping however they like and living their life and raising their kids in whatever holy way they'd like. What I am entirely sick of is people trying force other people to live their way of life. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We are all here for such a really short time. We all are just muddling through, trying to find our place, our purpose. No one knows anyone else's story. No one else EVER has the right to judge another's path, and certainly no one has the right to get into someones face and tell them their path is wrong. If all the religious zealots were really following their religions, they would know the greatest commandment is to love. Come on people, let's just love on each other. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"The day will come when, after harnessing the winds, the tides and gravitation, we shall harness for God the energies of Love. And on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire." ~ Teilhard de Chardin</i></b></span><br />
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</div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-46369908572615040962010-08-14T11:00:00.002-05:002010-08-14T11:03:38.231-05:00Christians and "Christians"<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">Man is a Religious Animal. He is the only Religious Animal. He is the only animal that has the True Religion - several of them. He is the only animal that loves his neighbor as himself and cuts his throat if his theology isn't straight. He has made a graveyard of the globe in trying his honest best to smooth his brother's path to happiness and heaven. </span></i></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">~Mark Twain~</span></i></span></b></div> <br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A little background: I grew up Catholic. Born, baptised, reconciled, communed, confirmed, Catholic. Cradle Catholic as many like to call us. Back then, Catholics didn't read the bible, they didn't do much other than show up for church on Sunday. So by the time I was 16 or so, I was done with Catholicism and most religion. I went through the motions when my girls were born, had them baptised Catholic, to save their souls and all that. But around 1999, I started hanging with "Christians". </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Catholics like to call themselves Christians, but over time I have come to see that there are Christians and there are "Christians" and never the twain shall meet. They are just two different animals. I have decided that Christians are the normal, everyday folk, who believe in God, believe in Jesus, go to church on Sunday, but live in and with the rest of the world. "Christians" on the other hand, are those who go to church as many days during the weeks as possible, go to every church retreat, every church event, and try to mingle with "others" as little as possible. People outside the church are "scary", threatening, not like them. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I started hanging out with "Christians" I got sucked into all things "Christian". I decided to homeschool my girls to save them from the evil public schoolers (actually, homeschooling become unschooling which became a "good thing" but I digress). I became obsessed with shielding my children from all the "worldly" things that might harm them. TV, music, who their friends were all had to be carefully evaluated to make sure it was what God would want for my children. I even made them skip Halloween for a few years. Something my children never let me forget. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In recent years we've been involved in a Christian homeschooling cooperative. The hypocrisy I have seen there has been amazing. These people, who profess love in their hearts for all, have really shown themselves to be the most judgmental people I have even known. I never saw judgment much until I became a "Christian". It's one thing as a Christian to believe Christianity is the way, quite another to think your own version of "Christianity" is the only way. Who knew there was so much division just among "Christians"? It isn't enough to be a believer, one must believe a certain way. Every denomination seems to think they have the lock on the "truth". They also believe they get to judge how our children dress, how much make-up they wear and whether or not they should be allowed to date or (gasp) have a boyfriend! </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've grown tired of it. I've grown tired of trying to see where I fit into the puzzle that is Christianity. When we as a family were actually going to church, a "Christian" church, we didn't necessarily believe everything being taught. When we spoke to some other members about this dilemma, we were told that most people don't believe everything taught in a specific church, one was supposed to take the good and discard the bad. We were told we'd never find a "perfect" church. HUH? At the time I didn't think much about that statement, but looking back, I think why go somewhere if you don't agree with what is being taught? </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Since leaving our former church, I have considered going back to the Catholic church. But I can't. The patriarchal attitude is more than I can take, and I don't want my girls growing up under patriarchy. And the more I research other churches, the more I realize I just don't think I will fit in anywhere. I just have too many disagreements with what they believe, and I don't want to go to a church and have to pick and choose, again, what I believe in. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.annerice.com/">Anne Rice</a>, the author, recently announced she was <a href="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/herocomplex/2010/08/anne-rice-leaves-christianity-with-a-kind-of-confusion-a-toxic-anger.html">quitting Christianity</a>. She just can't reconcile what she believes (and she believes in God, Jesus and the Bible) and what the churches teach. So she's given up on church. I think I need to give up on church too. I haven't given up on God, or Jesus. But I am giving up on church. There is too much falsehood, too much hypocrisy, too much judgement, too many cliques, too much prying into my life at church. I have been happier since leaving church, surprisingly enough. Since I stopped my quest of feeling like I "have" to go to church, that I "have" to be in community, blah, blah, blah, I feel less stressed, more free to be me. And I think God is ok with it too. </span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">Not all religion is to be found in the church, any more than all knowledge is found in the classroom. </span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">~Author Unknown~</span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">Everyday people are straying away from the church and going back to God. </span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">~Lennie Bruce~</span></i></b></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-83228534548142554382010-08-09T15:07:00.000-05:002010-08-09T15:07:56.116-05:00A New Look<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span>If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies. </i></b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><b><i>~Author Unknown~</i></b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">Regular readers, don't be alarmed! You have come to the right blog : ) I decided to change things up a bit. <br />
<br />
I am not much of a computer geek. I need specific, easy instructions when I want to do anything on the computer. So my blog has looked the same for the last few years, because I have no skills when it comes to customizing things on the internet. </span> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><br />
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But recently blogger added some new, easy to make templates for blogs. After a little playing around I decided to go with a calming, water theme. I still consider myself a fiery woman, and believe me, lots of things can get me fired up. But I have decided I need some calm in my life, and nothing calms me like water. I love to stare at water, listen to water and be in water. And since I live in northern IL, and there isn't an ocean anywhere near me, my blog will have to do. </span> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So let me know what you think. Do you like the changes? Does it make it easier or harder to read? I know I have been a bit negligent of my blog lately, but I always have some good thoughts swirling in my head, I just need to schedule the time to get my thoughts down on "paper". </span> </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif; font-size: small;">For whatever we lose (like a you or a me),</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif; font-size: small;"> It's always our self we find in the sea.</span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="font-family: georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif; font-size: small;"> ~e.e. cummings</span></i></b></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-62293522530944886592010-07-21T20:34:00.000-05:002010-07-21T20:34:47.617-05:00Parenting 101<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> A good friend of mine wrote a speech for a class she took while getting her psychology degree (she just graduated with her Bachelor's degree, congrats Jody). I had lunch with her today to discuss the "joys" of raising teenagers. She thought I might find her speech enlightening, and has given me permission to share it here, so that I may enlighten others. (May you all feel enlightened ; )</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Parenting 101</span></b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> This speech is intended for parents and future parents of all ages. Those of you who have decided not to have children, you are very wise and should be revered by all. I suggest complete abstinence from sex for the rest of your lives (don't take any chances.) </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">1. For those of you who are not yet parents - DON'T DO IT!</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">2. For parent's of young children - enjoy it while you can. You have no idea what you're in for (you fools!)</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">3. For parents of teenagers - God help you. You have my sympathies.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">4. For parents of adults - HOW THE HELL DID YOU SURVIVE?</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I feel it is my duty to bring to light some common misconceptions about proper parenting (pun intended). </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">(1.) The first 5 years of a child's life are the most critical years in personality development. If you are an attentive and conscientious parents during this period of time, you will produce well adjusted, happy teenagers. </span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">TRUTH - It doesn't really matter what you do because all teenagers will have their heads up their asses and will drive you to drink, so you might as well start drinking now and enjoy the ride. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">(2.) Teach your children responsibility by requiring them to go to school, do their homework and do simple chores around the house. This will teach them a good work ethic and to be proud of a job well done. </span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">TRUTH - You are just wasting your time bitching and nagging at them. They will turn on you like dogs when they are teenagers, and there is nothing on earth you can do to make them do their homework, including pleading, bribery, water torture and beating the crap out of them. Go have a drink instead. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">(3.) Give your children something to believe in. Teach them your faith and bring them to church or temple or whatever you believe in, regularly. Being part of a religious community gives children a sense of belonging and teaches them good morals and values. </span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">TRUTH - They won't hear a single word of any sermons at church in all the years you bring them there. When they are 6 they will think Jesus is Santa Claus. When they are 10 they will tell the Sunday School teacher, "My mom yells at my dad all the time." When they are 14 they will get caught smoking in the church parking lot, and when they are 17 they will tell you that God is a figment of your imagination anyway, and you will believe them. Screw it. Go out drinking on Saturday nights and stay in bed nursing your hangover on Sunday mornings instead of dragging those unwilling brats to church every frigging week. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">(4.) Set a good example for your children. Children learn by observing those around them. If you want your children to grow up and be responsible citizens, then you must act responsibly. </span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">TRUTH - Your teenagers don't want to be like you! They want to be ANYTHING but you! They will walk through fire to get AWAY from you. If you want them to be respectful, responsible human beings, then you should do the OPPOSITE! Go ahead.....be a big loser! You will be doing your children a favor in the long run. Here are some suggestions: </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">1. Get arrested</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">2. Lose your job</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">3. Be promiscuous</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">4. Do drugs </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">5. Lie. Chest. Steal.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">6. And most importantly - drink heavily.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thank you for listening. I feel I have performed a great service to society by dispelling these myths and I urge you to do the same, saving thousands of unsuspecting, would-be parents from lives of disillusionment. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">For those with young children: I am aware of your superior attitude because I used to have it. I looked with disdain at my neighbor's children running around outside in their underwear and cowboy boots, while their mother sipped a margarita on her back deck. I was SURE that my children would NEVER act like that. I WAS WRONG! Now I'm downing tequila straight from the bottle while my children are running around on college campuses doing God Knows What, wearing God Knows What, only calling home when they need money. I should have started drinking long ago. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">~Jody Powers</span></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-4949369190430140822010-07-18T00:52:00.005-05:002010-07-18T11:40:25.481-05:00Parenting Teens<div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">“Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands.” </b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">~Anne Frank~</b></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I used to judge parents. I used to be the one, when my girls were little, who would sit on the park bench while my darling little daughters played, as sweet little girls do, and look at other people's children and marvel at how well behaved my mine were in comparison. I used to wonder what was wrong with those parents, how come they had such awful kids. I used to see friends or acquaintances who had messed up teens. Granted I didn't have teens yet, but oh how I stood in judgment of those parents. The things they must have done wrong in raising their kids, those terrible teens, rebellious, outcasts, always in trouble. Those terrible parents, they did such an awful job of parenting. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Now that I have teens: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! The joke is now on me! </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have now repented of my past thoughts. Oh how easy it is to stand in judgment until you have walked in another's shoes. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sure I still think how we parent affects our kids. But I no longer think I have complete control over how my kids will turn out. They are individuals, each one completely different. They have their own way of viewing the world and how they see themselves in it. It is amazing when you have more than one child to see how different they are. Usually you have parented them both the same. Sure birth order affects some of how we parent, but for the most part, unless you blatantly favor one child over another, they were raised in the same house, shouldn't they be similar? Not always. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I never thought I'd have teen issues. (I know, am I completely naive/stupid/ignorant/arrogant or what?) I thought because I was raising my kids in a home of mutual respect, where I tried to always hear my kids side of things, where I often changed my mind on things after hearing their opinion, where I thought we had complete and total communication, that I wouldn't have teen issues. Teens only acted out when they weren't heard/understood/cared for. I did/do all of those things for my kids. Surely they wouldn't go through any teen angst stuff. Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. I'm laughing so hard to keep from crying. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This parenting thing is hard. I never really thought it would be easy. I remember when I had my eldest daughter. She was about 3 weeks old. I was tired/overwhelmed/feeling a bit post-partum and my mother came to visit. I was crying to my mom that I didn't know what I was doing, how hard this baby thing was, and that maybe I should have stuck with cats (I am serious cat person : ) Sometimes I still feel that way.</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Of course I love my daughters dearly and wouldn't trade them for cats any day. But in my naivety I thought each stage would get easier. Hahahahahahahahahhaha (there I go laughing to keep from crying again). It was physically hard on me when they were young. I got very little sleep, always felt like I needed to "do" for them, be it feeding, bathing, changing, etc. It would get emotionally hard when I was exhausted, especially when I felt like I had no support or because I had to do everything myself. But it wasn't emotionally hard in that I had to deal with their emotions. It wasn't emotionally hard because they were breaking my heart. Now that I am parenting teens, it is no longer physically hard, but it is emotionally hard. Teenagers rip your heart from your chest. </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I remember being a teen. I am not one of those parents who has completely forgotten her childhood/teen years and parent from a place of "do as I say not as I do". I was a horrible teen. I remember it vividly. Granted my parents were no "parents of the year" and they had big issues of their own which didn't translate into parenting well, but looking back I know they did the best they could. I suffered from terrible angst, although I only really showed it at home. I was bitchy and moody. All the time. I was rebellious and all that entails. I remember once my mother telling me she couldn't wait until I had teenagers of my own. Well mom, I know you aren't here to see it, but you must be smirking in heaven, because it seems you have gotten your wish, I have teenagers! </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I love my girls, I really do. I wouldn't trade this life for anything. I'd lay down my life for them. And some days are wonderful, we are good friends and able to hang out and have fun and talk. Just what I dreamed my life with my daughters would be like. Then other days, {shudder}, it's like they were abducted by aliens overnight and are no longer my children. Those days are hard. They make me question everything I have ever done since they were born. Those days make me long for when they were toddlers, oblivious to the influences of the world. Just warm little bundles of joy, who just wanted to curl up in mama's lap. I know I can't go back in time and I really don't want to. I look forward to watching them grow up and become young women who have lots to offer this world. And I know they have lots to offer. I know they can make a difference in this world. If they can only survive these teen years. Terrible two's? Hahahahahahahahahahahaha! They ain't got nothing on the terrible teens! </span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b><br />
<br />
"can't you see that you're smothering me <br />
holding too tightly, afraid to lose control <br />
cause everything that you thought i would be <br />
has fallen apart right in front of you"</b></i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">~Linkin Park - </span></span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Numb"~ </span></span></i></b></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-28584146462776787922010-06-21T09:50:00.001-05:002010-06-21T11:27:15.049-05:00Stop Being Mean to Your Kids!!!!!!!<div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="sqq" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>“<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><a class="sqq" href="http://thinkexist.com/quotation/feelings_are_real_and_legitimate-children_behave/12212.html">Feelings are real and legitimate; children behave and misbehave for a reason, even if adults cannot figure it out.</a></span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">”</span></span></i></div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So I was in Kohl's last week. Casually browsing through the men's Hawaiian shirts, trying to find the perfect shirt for Father's Day. It was early, 10:30 am, and the store was not yet crowded, so I was alone in the menswear dept. And then I heard it, a small child, crying/whining "But I'm tired!" And then I heard the mom say in her meanest voice ever "THERE ARE NO CARTS WITH SEATS! YOU HAVE TO WALK!!!!!!!". </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The voices got louder, I knew they were heading my way, but still could not see this little family amongst all the racks of clothing. The girl kept crying "Mama, I'm tired!" The mom kept bitching "You are 3 years old! You have legs and can WALK!" </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Finally they walked past where I was perusing my shirts. All single file. First the mom, mid 30's probably, looking very stern. Then the 3 year old, just a tiny thing, all hunched over, dragging her feet, rubbing her eyes. Crying. Then a third person, another girl, probably 7 or 8, walking along not saying a peep, just looking sad. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I wanted to pick up the 3 year old and give her a little squeeze and tell her "I know you are tired, I'm sorry your mom dragged you to this store". But I just kept looking at my shirts, and cringing every time this mom yelled at her 3 year old for being tired. I wanted to tell this mom that her time with her 3 year old will be over in a flash, and that her daughter was the most precious thing right now, not shopping, and that she should pick her up and give her a squeeze, and then maybe she'd more happily walk along. Or if she was really tired (I know my toddlers often woke up at 5-6am!), how hard would it be to carry her along, this was a tiny 3 year old, not a big hulking one. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But I said nothing. I don't think if I had it would have been well received. The older girl seemed sad, either the mom had been bitching at her kids all morning, or she just wasn't an overall nice mom. Seems the older daughter had already learned the drill, keep your emotions hidden, don't voice your concerns. Just follow along and tow the line. Sad really.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I see this too often. Parent's dragging their kids here and there, the kids are tired, the parent's are yelling at them. Why does a child deserve to be yelled at for being tired and sharing their feelings? This is why kids shut down and learn not to feel. They have been raised by people who don't honor them, or their feelings or care about what they think. This is why people eat too much and smoke and drink and do drugs and shop, etc. They were taught to shut off their emotions as kids, to stay out of trouble or to avoid being yelled at. If you have lost touch with your emotions, you don't know who you are or what you are feeling. If you don't know those things, you look for outside things to make you feel better. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm no shrink, but I have been there. I was often told as a child what to feel. If I cried I was told not to cry. If I was slapped and cried I was told it didn't hurt. If something happened I was told it wasn't as bad as I was making it out to be. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>No one knows what someone else is feeling and no one else has the right to tell someone else how to feel. EVER! </b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Even a 3 year old knows what they feel. Until someone bigger and stronger tells them, over and over, that they aren't feeling what they think they are. Then they begin to question themselves, until they no longer feel. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Wake up parents! </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="sqq" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>"Feelings are everywhere - be gentle."</i></span></b></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-14316322198825259712010-06-14T09:53:00.003-05:002010-06-14T10:41:43.589-05:00Rebel, rebellious, rebellion<span style="font-family: verdana;">There are many definitions of <span style="font-weight: bold;">"rebel"</span> on the web. The two that most fit my take on the word are: </span><br /><br /><ul style="font-family: verdana;" class="std" type="disc"><li>break with established customs</li><li>maverick: someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action</li></ul><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then we can move onto <span style="font-weight: bold;">"rebellious"</span>: </span><br /><br /><ul style="font-family: verdana;" class="std" type="disc"><li>resisting control or authority; </li><li>disaffected: discontented as toward authority </li></ul><span style="font-family: verdana;">And lastly we have <span style="font-weight: bold;">"rebellion"</span>: </span><br /><br /><ul style="font-family: verdana;" class="std" type="disc"><li>refusal to accept some authority or code or convention; "each generation must have its own rebellion"; </li><li>organized opposition to authority;<br /></li></ul><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I bring up these words because I have always been a rebellious sort. Maybe I get it from my Irish side (paternal grandfather, he was in the IRA), or the bit of Scottish in me (maternal grandfather) but it seems I have rebellion in my blood. I have never been one to go with the flow or follow "normal" societal conventions. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't believe there is one "correct" way to do something, and I don't believe there is anything wrong with questioning "authority". <span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span>I am who I am, I am who God made me to be. I may rub people the wrong way, I may seem "too big for my britches" at times. Some have called me loud, some have called me obnoxious. Some would like to "put me in my place" I am sure. But sometimes someone has to speak up and challenge conventions. I guess sometimes I think that someone is me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Has it gotten me into trouble? Certainly. Has it changed my position, no. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I could list all the rebellious things I have done in my life, but that really isn't the point of this post. I found a quote by Steve Jobs that kind of sums it all up for me: </span><br /><br /><div style="font-family: verdana; font-style: italic;" class="quoteText"> <p><a href="http://www.quotesdaddy.com/quote/563512/steve-jobs/heres-to-the-crazy-ones-the-misfits-the-rebels-the">“Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes... the ones who see things differently -- they're not fond of rules... You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them because they change things... they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.”</a></p> </div> <div style="font-family: verdana; font-style: italic;" class="quoteAuthorName"> <p class="authorName"><a href="http://www.quotesdaddy.com/author/Steve+Jobs">Steve Jobs</a><br /></p></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-12713442294824268502010-06-05T21:03:00.003-05:002010-06-05T21:38:18.658-05:00Losing MyselfI started thinking the other day about who I am. I know all the labels people can put on me: I was a daughter (both of my parents are now dead, so I am a parent-less daughter now), a sister, an aunt, a mother, a wife etc. Those are words that describe me, but they don't define me. I don't want to be defined by labels or categories or boxes that others can put me in. <br /><br />I started thinking back to my youth and what I wanted to "be". When I was growing up, kids were always striving to "be" something. It wasn't enough to just be a kid or a teen, it was all about what you were going to "be" when you grew up. I remember wanting to be a model. What girl didn't want to be a model in the early 80's, the heyday of supermodel-ism? Although I have (had) a pretty face, I knew my Irish "potato pickers" legs would never get me a cover shoot, so I moved on to wanting to be an actress. I was in some school plays, and I was pretty interested in the acting thing for while, but reality set in (and lack of encouragement from my parents) brought me back to reality. By junior year of high school I was thinking about being a photographer. (I am sensing a theme here; I think I wanted a career with excitement and adventure.) My grades weren't great, I hated school, so my parents weren't willing to help me pay for photography school. (I wanted to go to <a href="http://www.colum.edu/">Columbia</a>, in Chicago, I could have lived at home and commuted to cut costs, but that's a whole other story). Suffice it to say, none of those dreams ever panned out. I considered becoming a paralegal at one point, but again, no money for school, and with my grades, no scholarships were forthcoming. <br /><br />So I went to work. I had been working since age 14, various jobs, fast food, a laundromat, cleaning offices, finally retail. But after I graduated high school, I needed full time employment as I wanted to get of my parents house. (Another long story for another time). <br /><br />So working full time, paying for an apartment and car, finally meeting a man, moving in with him and getting pregnant, then married, then I wake up one day at 42 and realize I lost myself. <br /><br />I'm not unhappy with how my life turned out, I love my husband, I love my daughters. I have been happy being a mom, and I have learned a lot about myself, what my strengths (and weaknesses) are through being a wife and mother. But now that my girls are getting a little older, and I too am getting older, I have been thinking about the rest of my life. Is it too late to re-visit those old dreams? Do I even want to do those things anymore? Who am I outside of the wife and mother role? I still wonder what I want to be when I grow up. <br /><br />Some days I am content to putter around the house and just continue on with the status <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">quo</span>, other days I feel like I was meant for so much more, that I should be contributing to the world in a more meaningful way. I just don't know what that is yet. I wish I could sit on a mountain for a while, and maybe the gods would speak to me and point me in the right direction. (Although in reality, I'd much prefer to sit under a palm tree and stare at the ocean for a while). <br /><br />I think I may be going through a mid-life crisis. Although crisis isn't really the right word. It's soul searching. Searching for meaning in my life and in this crazy world we live in. If I find it I'll let you know. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia, bookman old style, palatino linotype, book antiqua, palatino, trebuchet ms, helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, avante garde, century gothic, comic sans ms, times, times new roman, serif;" >There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. <br />~<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Anaïs</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Nin</span></span>~<br /></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-47906841964216027212010-03-24T20:26:00.001-05:002010-03-24T20:28:27.097-05:00Religions of the World<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHgBv_92Ijt8qkFy7d896UUdYTsFIk9GOt1TgKU2hKJibkbsmh3I5dM1oTI4B8xlMIX7nXuWRYu94R5Jc0qe7PxzEX5seVxs38StsNykcdTGrJ4lliI0TIAGZbgShDAoZ8oUI6m15goDU/s1600/shit+happens.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 334px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHgBv_92Ijt8qkFy7d896UUdYTsFIk9GOt1TgKU2hKJibkbsmh3I5dM1oTI4B8xlMIX7nXuWRYu94R5Jc0qe7PxzEX5seVxs38StsNykcdTGrJ4lliI0TIAGZbgShDAoZ8oUI6m15goDU/s400/shit+happens.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452376800144474882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Courtesy of my daughter : )</span>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-54131757845854815512010-03-15T17:43:00.003-05:002010-03-15T17:48:16.818-05:00More Irishness, in honor of the Holiday!<span style="font-size:100%;"><b style="font-family: verdana;">What It Means To Be Irish:<br /><br /></b><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 1) You will never play professional basketball.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 2) You swear very well.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 3) At least one of your cousins is a fireman, cop, bar owner, funeral home owner or holds political office.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 4) You think you sing very well.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 5) You have no idea how to make a long story short!</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 6) There isn't a big difference between you losing your temper or killing someone...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 7) Much of your childhood meals were boiled.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 8) You have never hit your head on a ceiling.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 9) You spent a good portion of your childhood kneeling in prayer (ya know ya were thinkin' about being bad</span><span style="font-family:verdana;">whether ya did it or not).</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 10) You're strangely poetic after a few beers.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 11) You are, therefore, poetic a lot.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 12) You will be punched for no good reason...a lot.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 13) Some punches directed at you are from legacies of past generations.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 14) Many of your sisters and/or cousins are named Mary, Catherine or Eileen...and there is at least one member of </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> your family with the full name of Mary Catherine Eileen.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 15) Someone in your family is incredibly cheap. It is more than likely you.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 16) You may not know the words, but that doesn't stop you from singing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 17) You can't wait for the other guy to stop talking before you start talking.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 18) You're not nearly as funny as you think you are...but what you lack in talent, you make up for in frequency.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 19) There wasn't a huge difference between your last Wake and your last keg party.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 20) You are, or know someone, named Murph.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 21) If you don't know Murph then you know Mac. If you don't know Murph or Mac then you know Sully.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> Then you probably know Sully MacMurphy.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 22) You are genetically incapable of keeping a secret.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> 23) You have Irish Alzheimer's.</span></span>..<span style="font-family:verdana;"> your forget everything but the grudges!</span><br />24) "<span style="font-family:verdana;">Irish Stew" is a euphemism for "boiled leftovers."</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">25) All of your losses are alcohol related (loss of virginity, loss of drivers license, loss of money, loss of job,</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >loss of significant other, loss of teeth from punch...) but it never stops you from drinking.<br /><br />I didn't write this, but I can admit, some of these fit me!<br /></span>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-39638505274810550212010-03-14T18:33:00.001-05:002010-03-14T18:35:49.086-05:00Sunday Funny<span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:Arial, Helvetica, Geneva, Swiss, SunSans-Regular;font-size:100%;" >A man walked into the lingerie department of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Dunnes</span> in Dublin and said to the woman behind the counter, "I'd like to buy a Baptist bra for my wife, size 36B."<br /><br />What type of bra? asked the clerk. "Baptist" said the man. She said get a Baptist bra, and that you'd know what she meant."<br /><br />"Ah yes, now I remember" said the saleslady. "We don't sell many of those. Mostly our customers want the Catholic type, the Salvation Army type, or the Presbyterian type.<br /><br />"Confused the man asked, "What's the difference between them?"<br /><br />The lady responded, "It is all really quite simple; the Catholic type supports the masses, the Salvation Army type lifts up the fallen, and the Presbyterian type keeps them staunch and upright. Then there's the Baptist type."<br /><br />"What does that do?" asked the man.<br /><br />She replied, "It makes mountains out of molehills."</span>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-67461366417325712132010-03-09T16:07:00.006-06:002010-03-09T18:31:52.801-06:00Family Tree<div style="text-align: center;font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our heritage - to know who we are and where we came from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness.<br />~Alex Haley~</span><br /></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I hope to write a series of blog posts about my family tree, at least what I know so far. I think it'll be good to get the information and stories out of my head and on "paper" for future generations. Today I am starting with my dad's side:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I was born in NYC, Manhattan to be exact. Same as my father. We lived in an apartment, I talked about it </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://randomthoughtsofafierywoman.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas-1973.html">here</a><span style="text-decoration: underline;font-family:verdana;" ></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">. My dad's parents (my grandparents) lived in the apartment building next door. (Not where my dad grew up, but he still was born and raised in Manhattan). My grandmother Frances Clarke (Nanny) was Irish, but was born and had grown up in England, my grandfather, Thomas Cox (Pa) had grown up in Ireland, so they both had accents. I didn't think much of their accents, as living in NYC many people had accents. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The story, as I had always heard it growing up, was that Pa was coming from Ireland to America and Nanny was coming from England. They met on the boat and by the time they got to America, they were in love. The real story, which came out after both grandparents had died, was that Nanny got pregnant while they were on the boat, (guess there wasn't much to do on boats back then, especially if you were in steerage), so they had to get married. That baby ended up dying a few months after birth, he would've been my Uncle John, my dad was born 13 years later. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My dad didn't talk to much of his childhood. I know it was hard. I know they were poor, but most Irish were back then, especially in the big cities. The neighborhood my parents grew up in was mostly Irish and Italian, and poor, so everyone was in the same boat. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Pa held a variety of jobs over his lifetime. He was a milkman for a while (drove a milk truck) and was a member of the Teamsters. In his later years he worked for the Port Authority in NYC. It's what he did before coming to America that he was most proud of. He was a member of the IRA, the Irish Republican Army. He told us that he was one of the first members of the IRA. He was the youngest of 12 children, and there wasn't much to do in Ireland if you weren't the first born son (and inherit the land and farm) or a daughter who would be married off, so for a teenage boy, the IRA was it. I don't know what he did as an IRA member or what happened to him other than one story he used to tell us: After he had been with the organization for a while, and had done whatever they told them him to do, the </span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_and_Tans">Black and Tans</a><span style="font-family:verdana;"> came for him one night. He was asleep in his bed, and they dragged him away from his home. He said they tortured him for information, of which he said he had none. He thought they were going to kill him, but they didn't. After a very long night they let him go. He had nightmares for most of the rest of his life after that. He never told my dad any details, and he never told us kids any. It's kind of a shame really, so much history, such much information, lost forever. My grandfather wasn't a very nice man, he wasn't good to my father and he was very stern with us, his grand kids. I often wondered if he was always that way or if he was a product of his circumstances, the things that had been done to him. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">In recent years I have begun exploring my family tree. I have limited information, I know who my great grandparents were, but barring a trip back to Ireland, I'm not sure how to get more information. Yes the Internet is a wonderful thing, but unless someone, somewhere, put that information on the Internet, it isn't there for my grabbing. My grandfather told us the birth records were kept in the Catholic churches, and many of those churches were burned to the ground during all the years of trouble with the British. So our record might not be there at all. I do know my grandfather had a sister who came to the states when he was a baby, and she died before he ever came here, so he never knew her. I never had first cousins, both of my parents were only children, but I do remember a 2nd cousin, who was my age, that I knew when we lived in NYC. My parents never fostered an interest in us keeping up with our relatives. After we moved to the Midwest when I was 8, we lost most contact with those relatives. I find it sad, and now it makes it that much harder to find these people who share my gene pool, my heritage. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">This is what I know about my paternal grandparents: My grandfather was born Thomas Francis Cox, June 15th, 1902. His fathers name was John Cox and his mothers name was Bridget Devine. My paternal grandmother was born Frances Clarke, June 13th 1908. Her parents were Francis Clarke and Margaret LaVelle. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I</span> <span style="font-family: verdana;">plan to</span> write <span style="font-family: verdana;">more</span> <span style="font-family: verdana;">of their stories and delve into my mothers side in upcoming post</span>s. <span style="font-family:verdana;">More to come............</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;color:black;" >When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;color:black;" > </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;color:black;" >~Edna O'Brien</span><span style="font-size:100%;">~</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die.<br />~Thomas Campbell~</span><br /></div>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-35708943332063490342010-03-02T17:02:00.006-06:002010-03-02T21:35:38.703-06:00March<div style="text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >"A light exists in Spring</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" > Not present in the year</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" > at any other period</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" > When March is scarcely here."</span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><br />~ Emily Dickinson</span><span style="font-size:100%;">~</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">How can it be so, March is here. I feel like it has taken forever coming, and yet so long. My last quick stop here was on Christmas Day. I have fallen into the horrible winter doldrums ever since. Moping around the house, dreading winters snow and chill. Becoming more and more slug like as the days dragged on. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">But alas, it is March! Spring, right around the corner. And with that head knowledge, somehow my body also knows it. I have a bit more energy, look a little more forward to the morning and the coming day. Relish in the sun streaming in my windows, and melting the snow outside them.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Spring, spring, I am so happy to see you. Sunlight and longer days where have you been? My mental and physical health depend on the warmth and sunshine. I am but a shriveled weed without them. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I am committing myself today to embrace the coming months, to get outside and appreciate the sun and fresh, warm air when it is here. And to my blog, that I have neglected for too many cold, dreary months. Whereas most people might be inspired to write while cooped up inside, for me it is the opposite, I need happiness and joy, brought by the sun, to release my inner thoughts. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Spring and summer, those are the months I thrive in. I am happy that they are almost here! </span><br /><br /><p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"Winds of March, we welcome you,<br />There is work for you to do.<br />Work and play and blow all day,<br />Blow the Winter wind away." </span></p><div style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;"> </div><p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">March bustles in on windy feet<br />And sweeps my doorstep and my street.<br />She washes and cleans with pounding rains,<br />Scrubbing the earth of winter stains.<br />She shakes the grime from carpet green<br />Till naught but fresh new blades are seen.<br />Then, house in order, all neat as a pin,<br />She ushers gentle springtime in."</span></p><p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; text-align: center;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">~Susan Reiner, Spring Cleaning~</span></p>Donnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5056581753124371186.post-9958392512436013142009-12-24T23:49:00.003-06:002009-12-24T23:52:28.145-06:00Merry ChristmasDonnahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10494831650370783065noreply@blogger.com0