Love Yourself Enough

I found a quote the other day:

"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." 

~Mary Manin Morrissey~

It brought back a memory from my childhood. 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.  

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. Over time they somehow got pushed to the back of my closet and I forgot about them.  

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? 

I realized I had learned the lesson that somehow some things 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.  What she had lived in her own childhood.  

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.   

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.  

"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."

~Andrew Matthews~

Happy New Year!

Yes, I am aware it is January 3rd and I am a little late.  But at least it's still January!

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?  

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. 

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.  

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.  

I have decided this will be my quote for the year:

  

“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

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.)  

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. 

The Traveling Wilbury's put it well in "End of the Line":

"Well it's all right, even if you're old and grey
Well it's all right, you still got something to say
Well it's all right, remember to live and let live
Well it's all right, the best you can do is forgive"

Christians and "Christians"

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.  

~Mark Twain~

 

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".  

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.     

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. 

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!   

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? 

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. 

Anne Rice, the author, recently announced she was quitting Christianity.  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.  

Not all religion is to be found in the church, any more than all knowledge is found in the classroom.  

~Author Unknown~

Everyday people are straying away from the church and going back to God.  

~Lennie Bruce~

A New Look

 If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies.  

~Author Unknown~

Regular readers, don't be alarmed! You have come to the right blog : ) I decided to change things up a bit.

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.

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.
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".  

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me),
It's always our self we find in the sea.
~e.e. cummings

Rebel, rebellious, rebellion

There are many definitions of "rebel" on the web. The two that most fit my take on the word are:

• break with established customs
• maverick: someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action

Then we can move onto "rebellious":

• resisting control or authority;
• disaffected: discontented as toward authority

And lastly we have "rebellion":

• refusal to accept some authority or code or convention; "each generation must have its own rebellion";
• organized opposition to authority;
  

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.

I don't believe there is one "correct" way to do something, and I don't believe there is anything wrong with questioning "authority". 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.

Has it gotten me into trouble? Certainly. Has it changed my position, no.

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:

“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.”

Steve Jobs

Losing Myself

I 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.

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 Columbia, 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.

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).

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.

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.

Some days I am content to putter around the house and just continue on with the status quo, 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).

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.

There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
~Anaïs Nin~

Weddings

I see it's been a week since I posted to my poor neglected blog. My step-daughter got married on Saturday, so I was little busy last week making sure me and hubby and our two girls would be dressed appropriately. As for me, after visiting almost every woman's clothing store in northern IL, I ended up wearing the first dress I bought. Could have saved myself a lot of time and aggravation, but at least now I know there is nothing out there in retail land that looks good on me, hmph!

So back to the wedding. It was lovely. Raina (my step-daughter) had originally planned on having a large, elaborate wedding this December. It was becoming a much larger event than she had hoped for, so early last spring they (her and her fiance, Erik) decided to make it a "family and close friends event only" and moved it to Erik's family's home and moved it up to July. I think there were probably 40 people total in attendance, including the entire bridal party. It was still very elegant and formal and everyone seemed to have a nice time.

Here's a picture of the lovebirds:



I never had a wedding. I moved out of my parents home and eventually in with my boyfriend (now hubby). Then I got pregnant, LOL. When you do things backwards, a big wedding is a bit redundant. John and I got married at the courthouse in March, and we had a backyard pig roast reception in August. When I look back, a wedding would have been nice, but with age comes wisdom and it really is an awful lot of money to spend on a party. We spent an awful lot of money just going to Raina's wedding. She wanted us in pictures, plus her dad had to walk her down the aisle, so we spent a pretty penny making sure we'd all look up to snuff.

My sister had a big wedding. My parents were paying for it so they got to call the shots. It was nice, about 100 people, at a country club. I do remember it being a lot of fun. But a few years later I remember my sister saying she wished she had been given money for a down-payment on a house instead of a wedding. The novelty wears off. Yes, you have nice pictures, but she says she barely remembers the day, having to run around and talk to people and thanking them for coming, and making sure everything was done properly.

I'm not dissing weddings. If someone has the money, go for it. Weddings can be a lot of fun and certainly special to the couple involved. But I don't think people should go into hock to give their kids a wedding. And given the choice, I think kids nowadays should think realistically, what is more important, a big wedding or a place to live? Just a few weeks ago my youngest and I were out running errands and we saw this girl on the side of the road with a sign that said: "Car Wash, Help Us Pay For Our Wedding". If you need to hold a car wash to pay for your wedding, maybe you should just go to the courthouse. (They actually made it into our local paper.)

John and I have two other daughters, so obviously the wedding thing will come up for us again. We got lucky this time, Raina and her fiance wanted to pay for their own wedding. I think my own girls are a bit more relaxed about the wedding thing. Neither is really a girlie girl and they don't have romantic notions of a prince charming and a fairy tale wedding. I was talking with my youngest about her dad having to wear a fancy suit to Raina's wedding and how he wished he could wear a Hawaiian shirt. That's our kind of wedding. Catherine said we could wear Hawaiian shirts to her wedding : )

In my dreams, one day before we die, my hubby and I will renew our vows on a beach somewhere. He can wear one of those Miami style suits, a white cotton, breezy suit with a Hawaiian shirt underneath, and I can find some kind of flowy summer dress, and we can both be barefoot. Maybe our kids will be there, maybe some grand kids. We could go out and eat lobster afterwards. That's my kind of wedding.

One look
One smile
One touch
One embrace
One kiss
One love
Two people
Two minds
Two souls
Two destinies
One road
One journey
One ending
Together.

- Melissa Higgins -

Duggar's Again

I know, I am probably a horrible person because I criticize the Duggar's. The way I look at it, they decided to put their life on tv, which means I get to criticize them if I want to ; )

The latest show my youngest daughter (Catherine) and I watched (oldest daughter can't stomach the show) was about them going to some homeschooling conference in Texas. They loaded up their giant bus and headed out on a road trip. When they got to the conference they showed some of the activities the kids had planned for the week. While the boys were outside rappelling down towers and having fun, the girls were inside teaching a bunch of little kids. What is wrong with this picture?

I get when you have to wear a full length denim skirt everyday that it might be hard to rappel down a tower, but the boys were having FUN and the girls were struggling to wrangle a bunch of little kids. I was so bothered by this. I wanted to see those girls outside rappelling down the darn tower. Heck, I wanted to try rappelling down the tower.

After the show was over I still couldn't get the thought out of my mind that they never showed the girls letting loose and having fun. They always have jobs to do. Even at home these girls are helping their mom wrangle younger siblings or helping with the housework.

What must it be like to grow up and always think of yourself as 2nd? I suppose some might think it noble for someone to give of themselves so much that they always put their needs last. But these girls are never even taught that it is ok to put themselves first. Are they allowed to say no at home? What if they had told someone at the conference that they wanted to rappel down the tower (denim skirt and all)? Would they have let them? Probably not, climbing towers isn't a "girlie" thing to do, that's boy/man stuff. That's what bothers me so much. The fact that they have drawn these lines of what is acceptable for the girls and what is not. Keep those girls in their place, girls needs always come after boys. Bleh!

I grew up in the 70's the age of feminism. For all the bad things people say about feminists, they have helped women progress beyond the kitchen. It is not necessarily a women's job to stay home and cook clean all day. If she chooses that, fine, but to raise girls and teach them that is the only choice for their adult lives does them a grave disservice in my book. I want my girls to know that they can do whatever they want with their lives. They get to dream and choose, it is their life. My job is to help them see all the choices that are available to them, not all the doors that are shut. I wouldn't even tell them any doors are shut to them, because I think if they encounter a shut door, then they should try to open it. If we had been at that homeschooling conference, my girls would have been telling everyone it isn't fair to make the girls teach the kids while the boys rappel down the tower. We would've been the squeaky wheel, the ones changing the rules.

To tell a woman everything she may not do is to tell her what she can do.
~Spanish Proverb~

I realize some women say they are happy in the roles that have been assigned to them since birth. Grow up, help mom to learn how to be a mom, get married right from daddy's house, become a mom, do unto your daughters what has been done to you. I often wonder if any of these women wake up one day and wonder what happened to their life. Or are they kept so secluded, all outside life kept at bay, no tv or controversial books, that they really live in oblivion their entire lives. How sad that seems to me. To never find yourself, to never think your life had a greater purpose than to be a pawn in someone else's game.

I'm so grateful that I had parents who taught me to think for myself, to question society and it's rules and roles and determine for myself what was ok and not ok. The older I get the more I have a better sense of who I am and what I want to be. And I plan to pass that on to my daughters.

A feminist is a woman who does not allow anyone to think in her place.

~Michele Le Doeuff~

My Dad

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.

~Gloria Naylor~

My dad died 11 years ago today. He was 56. I am amazed at how quickly the time has gone by. My youngest was one, today she is 12. She never knew my dad and that makes me pretty sad. Carley doesn't remember him either, she was only 3.

He was diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer in Nov. of 1996. Here he is just 3 months prior to diagnosis (with me and my mom and my 5 month old, Catherine):


The doctors told him he had 3-6 months to live. He chose not to do Chemo or radiation, he wanted to have the best quality of life for his remaining few months. He did seek out some alternative remedies, and I think they helped him make it to the 6 month mark. My parents lived in Florida at the time, and I lived in IL. I was able to get down and see him twice before he died. We went down in December and again in March.

He died near midnight on the night of May 31st. I wasn't there when he died, my sister and my brother were. I had a 3 year old and a 1 year old. I was still nursing my 1 year old. I wanted to be there, but my mom and sister told me I couldn't bring my girls, that it would be too stressful on everyone. He was in and out of coherent near the end, but I did have my mom put the phone up to him and told him I was sorry I couldn't be there. I just couldn't leave my girls. I think he understood.

I didn't always have the best relationship with my dad growing up. He could be a mean son-of-a-gun when he wanted to be. But most of the time he was pretty reserved and rather jovial. He liked to read and passed that love to me. He taught me to play chess. Life was simple for my dad and he had clear boundaries of right and wrong. He was a staunch conservative and I thank him for those values. I never had a very emotional relationship with my dad, we never told the other we loved each other, although we did hug and kiss. I remember when I was really small he used to carry me to bed on his shoulders each night. And I remember even into high school kissing him good-night before bed.

Here he is on a Fathers Day when I was about 20 (that's me on the right):


Just before he died I wrote him a letter. I wanted him to know that I although I had blamed him in the past for screwing me up, that I no longer did and that I knew he had done the best he knew how in raising me. He had a horrible childhood with a very abusive father. His childhood was worse than mine. I thanked him for being my dad and told him I loved him. I waited for a reply and finally my mother called me and told me that my dad had read the letter and cried. My dad and I never spoke about the letter and we didn't need to. He heard what I said, it made him cry, that was enough for me.

Time lessens pain but doesn't remove it. I don't think about him everyday anymore, but I do think about him frequently. And I still remember the day he died. Most of all I look forward to seeing him again one day.

Here's a picture of my dad and mom in the bar in the house I grew up in. They had their issues, but I always knew they loved each other:

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.
~Madame de Stael~

Kindergarten

We worry about what a child will become tomorrow, yet we forget that he is someone today.
~Stacia Tauscher~

I belong to several yahoo chat groups on unschooling. We have recently been discussing this article: Kindergarten Cram. If you don't feel like going to the link, the gist of it is Kindergartner's are now suffering through homework and testing. Egads!

Kindergarten is from the German meaning children's garden. What does one think of when they think of a child's garden? I know I think of trees and flowers and children running and playing, maybe stopping to pick and smell of the flowers, maybe trying to climb some of the trees. Maybe chasing each other and playing tag, or even having a picnic. I certainly don't think of little bodies stuffed into desks listening to some teacher drone on and on about their next testing session.

When I was old enough for Kindergarten both of my parents worked. I went to a normal public school Kindergarten (PS 98 in NYC) for about 3 weeks before my mother realized she could not work with the 1/2 day schedule. I don't remember too much about it other than the 2 1/2 hours going by very quickly. I don't remember going outside much, but it was right in the heart of Manhattan, so I can see why.

After realizing Kindergarten wouldn't work for me, I was put into a daycare center. I loved it there. I was in the class with the other "big" kids. Those of us who should have been in Kindergarten but weren't. I remember being one of the first kids dropped off in the morning and one of the last picked up at the end of the day. But I didn't mind it too much, I had a lot of fun there.

Those of us who were early arrivals got to eat breakfast at the center. I remember they used to let me eat bowls of peanut butter for breakfast. No one thought it was weird, no one shamed me, they just let me eat my bowl of peanut butter. I also remember they had a big table that they filled with sand in the cold months and water in the warmer months. Sand and water fun INSIDE! How cool was that! We used to make our afternoon snack together in the mornings, sometimes pudding, sometimes cookies. It was a fun thing to look forward to each morning knowing we would get to eat our creations that afternoon. We had our own cubbies and our own pillow and blanket for our nap time each afternoon. No one forced us to nap, if we weren't sleepy we just needed to have quiet time. Thinking back on all of this, I can't help but think that maybe some of my unschooling tendencies were quietly planted in my little head while at this daycare center. I think for 1973 they were definitely ahead of their time in their approach to children. But it was NY.

Finally, my most favorite memory of this center was the roof. Being NY, land is a premium and while there are plenty of parks, not too many were at schools, especially small private daycare centers. So they put a big chain link fence around the roof and built a huge playground up there. We had slides and swings and monkey bars and see saws and a sand box and it was all on the roof. And we got to go up there twice each day. Once in the morning and once after lunch. Even in the snow. I don't remember having to sit and "learn" something everyday while there, but I am sure learning took place. It was just in such a fun and free environment it happened naturally. Imagine that, learning being fun!

My own girls went to Montessori for Kindergarten. Montessori is also a very free environment. My girls loved it there. They too got to bake and create and go outside and just be kids in that environment. Their teachers were loving and genuinely cared about each child. That is what Kindergarten should be. I actually would prefer that Kindergarten didn't exist. Had I known about homeschooling/unschooling when my girls were little, they might not have gone to Montessori, but I can at least rest in knowing that by going I did them no harm. I am very glad I didn't subject them to public school Kindergarten, at least not what passes for Kindergarten today. Parents need to take back the schools. They need to do what is in the best interest of their children. Children need to play, they need to observe the world around them, they need to get outside and be in touch with nature. They don't need to be stuffed into desks in airless classrooms listening to some person who just wants to make it through her day drone on and on about meaningless drivel. Let our little ones be free. I can dream can't I?

You are worried about seeing him spend his early years in doing nothing. What! Is it nothing to be happy? Nothing to skip, play, and run around all day long? Never in his life will he be so busy again.
~Jean-Jacques Rousseau~

What is Really Important?

My youngest daughter (Catherine) has been funny lately. It's like she suddenly realized how the world works and knows we tend not to live the "normal" way.

Last fall I taught a class at our homeschool co-op on painters and styles. One of the subjects was Jackson Pollock. I took the classes into the parking lot of the church where we meet and got them large pieces of paper and buckets of different colored paints and sticks and brushes and they went to town, a la Jackson Pollock. It was so much fun. I made a few paintings myself. It was such a free way of doing art. One didn't have to think about an end result, the art was in the doing.

Recently Catherine asked me if she could "Jackson Pollock" one of the walls in her room. I told her she'd need to clean it out a bit, so we could move all the furniture so she could have access to the one wall, and how we'd have to get some drop cloths to cover everything so she could splatter away. She laughed at my answer. She knows that not one of her friends would ever be allowed to do that in their rooms. She marveled that I didn't even bat an eye or give it a second thought. And why should I? It's her room. She wants to do art in her room. How cool is that? Currently she paints and draws on her walls, mostly by her bed. She has been using black, which I know will be a bit tough to cover, but when you walk into her room, you can see her personality all over the walls. I love that she knows she has the freedom to be herself in her room.

Another example: A few days ago Catherine was complaining about her hair. She wants to get it cut. We have been bartering haircuts with our neighbor whose dog we care for when she flies (she's a flight attendant). I haven't been able to set up an appt. for Catherine's hair, so she was complaining about it. And so she asked me if she could just cut it off. I told her she could, but she might not be happy with the results. She looked at me and laughed. She did not expect me to say she could cut her hair off. It's her hair and it's ONLY hair. Go ahead, cut it off. If it looks horrible, we'll just try to hurry that appt. along with the neighbor. She decided against cutting her own hair, but she genuinely appreciated that I didn't care if she did.

Why do some parents choose to control their children just for the sake of control? Who cares if kids paint their walls or cut their hair? I watch families a lot when I am out. I am always amazed at the battles I see going on between kids and parents. And so much of it is over the most trivial things. What shoes to buy, what jeans to wear, etc. I think it's just common sense to give kids respect, to listen to their opinions and feelings. I certainly wasn't raised that way myself, my parents would have killed me if I had drawn on my walls or cut my hair. I see a lot of sad kids in my day to day travels. Teens/tweens who are just beginning to have a sense of who they are away from their parents and yet they have no ability to control anything in their lives. They aren't allowed to voice an opinion or able to make the smallest or even the biggest of decisions. My eldest daughter has made the decision to go to high school next year. Some fellow homeschoolers are frowning on me for "allowing" her to make that decision. I'm not the one going to school, who else should be allowed to make that decision. She will be 14 1/2 when she enters high school. Isn't that old enough to decide for oneself?

What is the magic age of allowing children some autonomy over their lives? How about from birth? Listening to a babies cries and responding accordingly is letting them make decisions. I was never that parent that let a baby cry. They cried for a reason and I listened. As toddlers they got to to pick their own clothes and choose what foods to eat. As my kids got older they got to decide (age appropriately) what they needed. We did the family bed with our girls. At 5 years of age, Carley decided she wanted her own room. At 8 Catherine still shared a room with us (she had her own bed by then). People found it odd that I shared a room with my 8 year old. I wasn't about to force her to leave, she had the right to choose what she was comfortable with. At 10 she moved into her own room and loves it. I've never had night issues with my kids, nor sleep issues, because I've allowed them to make choices for themselves.

Too many people have stuck in their minds the way they thing things "should" be. Who said things need to be a certain way? I say make up your own rules. Live a life of joy and love instead of rules and boundaries. Be free.

I wish that every human life might be pure transparent freedom.
~Simone de Beauvoir~

Minutes, Hours, Days, Weeks

I just realized it's been a week since I wrote a blog post. I don't even know where the time went. It's not like I am super busy. I work part-time two days a week. I have co-op on Friday. I drive my girls places (like friends houses and kyuki-do lessons), take them to appointments (like doctors and dentists), take them to the library for books or anime night, try and keep the girls engaged during the day when I am not driving them places (that pesky homeschooling thing we do ; ) clean up after the cats (that hairball thing they do), go to the grocery store so we can eat, occasionally do the laundry (to keep my hubby happy), iron for hubby (so he'll look presentable at work) cook dinner at least a few nights a week, watch American Idol, etc., etc.

Writing it down makes it seem like I am busier than I am. Or maybe I should just cut myself some slack because I am busy. Looking over my list I realize I didn't even add anything I do for me. I suppose sitting at the computer and checking my email or Facebook would count as me time. Now if I only had a comfier desk chair I might enjoy it more. But then I'd probably see my time go by even more quickly, because if my chair was comfier, I might never get up, LOL.

I'm always so tired during the week, I really look forward to the weekend. But that just makes the week seem to go by quicker. Pretty soon several weeks have gone by and one wonders where the month has gone. I'm not sure how to remedy the problem. I suppose I should look forward to every day during the week. Not just live for Friday. Such is the life of a working family. We look forward to the weekend when dad is home and we can sleep in and hang out. No one has a class, no one needs to work. We can just be, our lives are our own, we don't need to be on anyone else's time schedule.

I want to look forward to retirement, but I don't want to be old. There's just no pleasing me I think. I want the best of everything, and I want it now. I want to be retired, I want my time to be my own, I don't want my husband to have to go to work. And I want it now, while we're young enough to enjoy it. So there!

(And of course it would be nice if these middle aged hormones didn't make me so moody ; )

Irishness

May the leprechauns be near you,

To spread luck along your way.
And may all the Irish angels,
Smile upon you St. Patrick's Day.

~Irish toast~

Today is St. Patrick's Day. A day my family always celebrated while I was growing up. My dad was a first generation American, both of his parents were Irish, met on the boat on the way over here. My mom was mostly Irish, her father had a bit of Scot in him. So when I was a kid, on St. Patrick's Day, my dad would break out the Irish Rover albums, my mom would whip up an Irish stew or some corned beef. And of course there was drinking. There was drinking even when it wasn't St. Patrick's Day, but that just gave everyone a better excuse.

So I found some funny Irish stories, some Irish quotes and proverbs to add to the merriment of the day and to help me remember my heritage. I also added a playlist below with some good Irish songs. There are the Irish Rovers, of course, in memory of my father, but there are also some good current bands on there, the Irish make some good music.

In case you are wondering, I will be making corned beef and cabbage in my house tomorrow. I'd much prefer a nice lamb stew, but my DH will not eat the poor baby lambs. So Corned beef it is.

Enjoy the wit and wisdom : )


*******************************************************************

Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table. Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.

Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Oh, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?"

They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse. "Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishman you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me."

Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants. Gallagher declares, "Your husband just lost $500, and is afraid to come home."

"Tell him to drop dead!", says Murphy's wife.

"I'll go tell him." says Gallagher.

***********************************************************

Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut, and bruised, and he's walking with a limp.

"What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.

"Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy.

"That little O'Conner," says Sean, "He couldn't do that to you, he must have had something in his hand."

"That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."

"Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?"

That I did," said Paddy, "Mrs. O'Conner's breast, and a thing of beauty it was; but useless in a fight."

************************************************************

An Irishman who had a little too much to drink is driving home from the city one night and, of course, his car is weaving violently all over the road. A cop pulls him over. "So," says the cop to the driver, "where have ya been?"

"Why, I've been to the pub of course," slurs the drunk.

"Well," says the cop, "it looks like you've had quite a few to drink this evening."

"I did all right," the drunk says with a smile.

"Did you know," says the cop, standing straight, and folding his arms across his chest, "that a few intersections back , your wife fell out of your car?"

"Oh, thank heavens," sighs the drunk. "for a minute there, I thought I'd gone deaf."

**********************************************************

Brenda O'Malley is home making dinner, as usual, when Tim Finnegan arrives at her door. "Brenda, may I come in?" he asks. "I've somethin' to tell ya".

"Of course you can come in, you're always welcome, Tim. But where's my husband?"

"That's what I'm here to be telling ya, Brenda. There was an accident down at the Guinness brewery"

"Oh, God no!" cries Brenda. "Please don't tell me."

"I must, Brenda. Your husband Shamus is dead and gone. I'm sorry."

Finally, she looked up at Tim. "How did it happen, Tim? and please don't spare the details"

"It was terrible, Brenda. He fell into a vat of Guinness Stout, and drowned."

"Oh my dear Jesus! But you must tell me true, Tim, did he at least go quickly?"

"Well, Brenda, no. In fact, he got out three times to pee."

**************************************************************

Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears.

He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?"

She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My husband passed away last night."

The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible. Tell me, Mary, did he have any last requests?"

She says, "That he did, Father."

The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?"

" She says, "He said, 'Please Mary, put down that damn gun...' "

**************************************************************

Definition of an 'Irish fact':
That which tells you not what is the case but what you want to hear.
~Hugh Kenner~

The curse of the Irish is not that they don't know the words to a song - its that they know them all.
~Susan Dooley, Washington Post.~

When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I managed to survive at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.
~Frank McCourt - Angela's Ashes~

"This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever."
~Sigmund Freud (speaking about the Irish~

"The most important thing to remember about drunks is that drunks are far more intelligent than non-drunks. They spend a lot of time talking in pubs, unlike workaholics who concentrate on their careers and ambitions, who never develop their higher spiritual values, who never explore the insides of their head like a drunk does."
~ Shane MacGowen, lead singer/songwriter for The Pogues~

"It's not that the Irish are cynical. It's simply that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everything and everybody."
~ Brendan Behan~

May those who love us love us.
And those that don't love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we'll know them by their limping.

~Irish curse~

My Youngest Turns 12

Today is my youngest daughters birthday (Catherine). She was born at almost 11pm, so I am trying to time this post in relation to her actual birth. Her tale is not as dramatic as my other daughters. Catherine only took one day to make her appearance into the world.

Funnily enough, I can't seem to remember the particulars as much as I can with my older daughter. Maybe already having a toddler when I was due with my second made my mind overwhelmed. I do remember first going to my doctors office around noon. She determined I was in labor and at about 3 cm and sent me to the hospital. We arrived there around 2:00pm. My sister left work and met us there to take Carley to her house. It was sad watching Carley go, she had never left us before.

Just as I was getting settled into my hospital room, my water broke. That was a very weird experience. I had already had an epidural when my doctor broke my water with Carley, so being "un-numb" and having it spontaneously happen was weird. And slightly alarming. But we hoped it was a good sign that things would move quickly along. Unfortunately that was not going to be the case. Since I had an epidural with Carley, I wanted one with Catherine.

Oh and here is a little aside: I had an amnio at 20 weeks so I knew I was having a girl and we had already named her Catherine. No big surprises for me at the birth. I like to plan ahead.

Anyway, I wanted an epidural after my water broke. So they got the anesthesiologist. He came in and looked at my back. "Have you had back surgery" he asked? "Yes, I had a spinal fusion", I replied. "Oh, well you can't have an epidural then". Witness Donna melt-down. Hello? My OB knew I had surgery on my back. She never mentioned I couldn't receive an epidural. I panicked. I didn't think I could do this delivery thing "au natural". But I had no choice.

My doctor needed to put an IV in me because I tested positive for Group Strep B. The nurses wanted to put an internal monitor on the baby, but that would've confined me to the bed, and since I wasn't getting an epidural, I wanted to be up. Thankfully my doctor didn't care what the nurses wanted, she let me be up. Which was interesting seeing as my water had broken. I had to carry a pad between my legs as I walked around the room so as not to leak.

So things progressed and at about 5:00pm I was checked. Still at 3cm. Uh oh. She wanted to give me pitocin. Without an epidural. I wasn't pleased with that, but since I wasn't progressing, she felt maybe I would just need it a short time to kick start things. So the pitocin was added to my IV. Yikes. Glad I didn't have to feel that with my first or may not have had a second. It really was extreme pain.

Between 5:00 and 7:00 (times are approximate), I progressed to 6cm, so my doctor said she would stop the pitocin and see how things went. Well, all things stopped again. What the heck is wrong with my body?

I think it was around 7 or 8 she started the pitocin again. I remember things in a dazed sort of way. I really went into the pain zone for a while. All I could concentrate on was contractions and pain. It's kind of like everything around me was a blur. I had a great doctor though. She didn't abandon me and leave the nurses in charge. She was there most of the time. She even ordered a pizza with my husband 1/2 way through the day. (Luckily I was in pain and not paying attention, otherwise I might have been miffed that my hubby and cute doctor were going off to share a pizza together).

I remember her checking me again around 10:30pm. I was at 8cm. Seeing how the progress had been the rest of the day, she figured maybe another hour or two before I would be at 10cm. About 5 mins after that, I remember feeling an uncontrollable urge to push. It was like something else had taken over my body. I told the doctor " THE BABY IS COMING!" She said she can't be coming, I'm only at 8cm. I said "NO SHE IS COMING RIGHT NOW!"

So she quick checked me and sure enough I was at 10 and the baby was right there. Nothing was ready. Everyone had been taking their time. All of a sudden it was a big commotion. The bed comes apart so I can get my feet up. Lights come out of the ceiling, someone runs off to get the isolette for the baby. And then I start to push. I didn't feel this kind of pain with Carley. I think I only had to push about 5 times to get Catherine out. But there was no time to numb me "down there" or to give me an episiotomy. So I tore. And it felt like someone had held hot coals to me "down there". Ripping flesh is not a pleasant experience. But then baby was out. And she was perfect. So Catherine Ann Clasen was born March 6, 1997 at 10:55 pm.

This picture is of me and my doctor with a little bundled up Catherine just after she was born.



Then I had to deliver the afterbirth, and boy did those contractions suck. I really must have had a lot of residual epidural effect with Carley. These pains were all very new to me. And then of course my doctor had to stitch up the tear. And by now it was close to midnight and I was hungry and tired and just wanted everyone away from my body. But one good thing about skipping the epidural was that I was able to get up and walk right away. It felt good to be up. And someone, somewhere in the hospital, found me a turkey sandwich at 12:30am because I was starving.

Below is a picture of my step-daughter Raina holding Catherine and Carley is kissing her head. This was the day after Catherine was born, we were still in the hospital.


And here is Catherine at about 2 years old



And here she is now


Isn't she lovely.........

Here She Is!

(This is part 3 in a story telling about the birth of my eldest, who turns 14 today.)

So after seeing the doctor Thursday, after she tortured me by "stripping my membranes" I went home and tried to rest. I woke up that night (really the next morning) about 4am. My contractions were definitely stronger and coming much closer together. I called my doctor. After leaving a message with the answering service, she called back in about 15 mins. That was a long 15 mins. Anyway, she decided I should come into the hospital.

Before I continue, thought I should show everyone how I looked the week before I gave birth:
Boy was I huge!


We got to the hospital about 5:30 am. My doctor wasn't there yet, but the nurse's in ER were expecting me. I was pre-checked in, so they just popped me in a wheel-chair and up we went to the maternity floor. By the time I got changed and almost settled, my doctor showed up. After a check she determined I was at 3 cm. Oh My God, I am only dilating a cm a day! She suggested I take some Demerol to take the edge off. I was willing to take anything at that point to take the edge off. The Demerol helped, but it also made me nauseous. I would rather have excruciating contractions than be nauseous. I hate being nauseous. It's my most dreaded sickness.

It's around 7am now. An hour later than when she first checked me. I am still at 3 cm. She decided she is going to start Pitocin and break my water, but "would I like an epidural first?". Damn right I want an epidural first. So Mr. anesthesiologist comes in, tells me to lie on my side, curl up my knees and DO NOT MOVE! It's kind of hard not to move when your body is being racked with pain, but the thought of paralysis also crossed my mind, so I managed not to move. It was almost immediate relief. I never loved anyone as much as that anesthesiologist.

So then Dr. Novas (my ob) went to work breaking my water. I didn't feel anything. They attached a monitor to my poor little baby's head and hooked me up to a Pitocin drip. And then I went to sleep. Ah blissful sleep. Something I didn't have much of for the past two days. My sister showed up sometime during my nap. I had wanted her there for the delivery. I figured as many people I could have on my side the better. So I had DH (who was then just dear boyfriend) and my sister present for the delivery. Oh yea, and just about every other nurse, aide or passer-by in the hospital watching the delivery. My doctor had just switched from a different hospital and I was only her second delivery at this hospital. Being the newbie, people wanted to see how she did things. Luckily, being in pain and having a purpose distracted me enough that I didn't care how many people were in the room. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Around noon my doctor came in to check me and I was at about 7cm. She cranked up the Pitocin a bit more, and told me I'd probably be ready soon. I was still blissfully numb, so that was fine with me. Around 2pm she came back. I was at 10 cm. She had the anesthesiologist turn off the epidural (stop the drip from going in and keeping me numb). She wanted me to be able to feel to push. Did I really need to feel it? Couldn't I just push when she said push? So a little after 2:00pm I started to push. The nurses cranked up the back of the bed, my knees were pulled up so I could grab them, I had my DB (dear boyfriend, now husband) on one side of me and my sister on the other. And my doctor would watch the monitor to see when I was in a contraction (because I was still numb) and she would tell me when to push. Wasn't so hard for the first 20 mins or so, then the epidural started to wear off. But I trudged along. I had to have an episiotomy (which luckily she numbed me for) and then lo and behold, at exactly 3:20pm, out popped......A GIRL!

A girl? I wanted a girl so badly, but I am one of those kinds of people who likes to be prepared for the worst, so I didn't want to hope for a girl and be disappointed. So I had myself convinced it was a boy. But it was A GIRL! Yea, a girl. I remember my doctor asking DB if he wanted to cut the cord. I'm not sure he wanted to, but what do you say in the heat of the moment, no? So he cut the cord, the doc wiped her down a bit, wrapped her in a blankie, and gave her to me. Here she is in her very first picture:


After a minute or so they took her away, gave her a perfect Apgar score, cleaned her up, swaddled her like a sausage and then gave her back to me. My perfect little baby was, perfect! DB and I had talked about names. We had it narrowed down to Jacqueline (Jacquie) or Caroline (Carley). Carley won in the end, and I think it fits her.

Here she is while they were checking her out:



Here's my OB and me the next day (Carley is hard to see, but that's her all swaddled up.)


Below is one of her laying on her dad at about 3 months:


And here she is by herself at about 4 months:


We like to call that one "Crazy hair Carley".

And finally, one of her at 2 years old:


Maybe I'll try to get a picture of her today, so I can show you what "14 year old" Carley looks like. It's harder to get her to pose these days. It seems like just yesterday when I was pregnant with her. And yet it also seems like an eon ago. I can't believe those baby, toddler, pre-schooler, kid, years are gone. She is a young adult now really. Off to high school next year. Tick tock, tick tock.

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new. ~Rajneesh~

"The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time"
~James Taylor~

Day Two

(This is a continuation of a story started yesterday about my eldest daughters birth).

So I ended yesterday with going to bed and trying to sleep whilst having contractions.

So now it's Thursday. I wake up in the morning, still feeling the same way I felt the day before. Intermittent contractions, come and go every 15 -20 mins or so. I call my doctor and she says I should come back into her office and she will check me again. I get there, she puts the belt on, yes, I am still having what she calls "mild" contractions (they didn't feel mild to me!) and I am barely at 2 cm. Barely 2? I tell her I cannot go on like this for 8 more days if it is taking me a day to advance 1 cm. So she says she will strip my membranes and see if it will help speed things along. I didn't really know what "stripping my membranes" was, but it hurt like hell. While she was "in there" doing her thing, I asked her to stop, it was really, really uncomfortable. She got a bit snippy with me "You do want your labor to progress don't you?" No, duh, I think I'd like to be pregnant forever. What a stupid question. The whole goal was for me to get something out and here she was shoving her arm 1/2 way in, and twisting things around in there. Ouch!

(And I'd like to let you all know my doctor had never been pregnant, so she really had no idea how any of her torture devices felt.)

So after my "stripping" experience, she tells me to go back home and see how things go. I asked her what will it take for her to want to induce. She says I'm still moving along fine on my own, albeit a bit slowly, let's leave it to nature.

I want to have this baby now! But alas, Carley was meant to be born on the 24th not the 23rd, so I will need to wait one more day.

So DH and I went home. I continued to take my Darvocet to lessen the pain of the contractions and I tried to rest and sleep. I didn't make it through the night................more tomorrow : )