tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87339567467191203072024-03-12T22:49:26.540-07:00Organized ChaosThis is my journey - as a wife, a mom, a teacher, and a soul saved by His grace alone. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger464125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-69114095141449719212020-04-03T11:36:00.002-07:002020-04-03T11:36:34.448-07:00That what friends are(n't) for...<br />
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I have wrestled for months with this post. I have started
it, deleted it, restarted it, given up on it, and started it again. I felt like
I didn’t have a right to share it for a multitude of reasons – to preserve
relationships, to keep from rocking the boat, among others. But, after some
serious reflection (and billable therapist hours), I’ve come to the conclusion
that this, just like every other major event that I’ve written about, will not
be over until I have been able to get it out and get it over with. My mental
health is suffering, and I think that holding in some of the betrayals that
have wounded me and fundamentally changed me is unhealthy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to move past it, I first must dissect
it, examine it, and then, hopefully, find closure. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This is <u>my</u> story. I can promise you that if you were
to read something written by either of my two ex-best friends, I’d be the villain
in their story. That’s fine. I don’t care. I understand that and I am not in any way claiming to be without fault. I’m going to tell you how things unfolded
for me. If you want their story, you can ask them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We will call the first friend, Friend A. Friend A and I met
a few years back through our church. It became apparent very quickly that we
had much in common and we bonded almost instantly. Our husbands became friends.
We spent almost every free weekend with them, and I spent hours sending video
chats to her when we couldn’t hang out in person. My kids called her Auntie. She
was the kind of friend that I could share anything with without fear of
judgment. She was a theology major and a youth pastor and I looked up to her for
help understanding the parts of the church and the Bible that were troubling for me.
We ended up forming our own small group so that we could foster faith in a way
that we felt was less hypocritical than the organized church. We brought in new
people and learned so much from them, which was life-changing for me. Those
conversations helped me start to walk down the path that eventually led me to
atheism. If I got nothing out of that friendship except for the gentle nudge
down this path, then even the pain of losing the friendship is worth it because
I found my way out of religion. She was supposed to be my forever friend. We
got matching tattoos. We talked about living on the same property someday. She
was my emergency contact. We lovingly joked about being “friend-married.” During
the early years of our friendship, Friend A and her husband experienced some serious
hardships. They dealt with infertility and miscarriages and the pain that comes
along with that. Her husband had a tragic accident his second day on a new job and
ended up out of work for months and with thousands and thousands of dollars in
medical bills. Friend A lost her job. She was incredibly depressed. We did
everything that we could think of to help them. I drove her to medical
appointments, we loaned them money, my husband got her husband more than one job.
We did everything we could to try and help them when they needed us. But Friend
A also had some personality traits that made socializing challenging sometimes.
She was very clingy and insecure. She was jealous of other friendships that I
had and her jealousy drove a huge wedge between Friend B and myself (more on that
later). We would try and hang out with other couples and her social anxiety at
sharing me as a friend would cause her to alienate everyone else in the room. Our
other friends and some family would express concern about social gatherings and
whether or not she would be there because she tended to make people
uncomfortable. As things moved on after they finally had their perfect baby (not
sarcasm, the boy is pretty great) and her husband got the job he wanted, life
improved for them. The last few months of our relationship were really hard. She
was constantly telling me all the ways that I let her down. She would tell me
that I wasn't attentive enough or I didn't respond soon enough to something she
said or something else and it got old. My husband was tired of hearing me stress
about how much of a disappointment I was to her and watching me obsess over how
to make it right. He saw how much time and energy I put into that friendship
and he saw how I put it above everything, even my marriage a lot of the time. Eventually,
things moved from wanting to hang out with her every free moment to looking for
excuses to avoid our standing weekly date. The beginning of the end came in the
fall. She and her husband had purchased a new home and were getting ready to
move. Their closing date ended up getting moved back to the same weekend my
husband was having his vasectomy. I had promised to help her move or at the
very least to help her clean but my husband was miserable the entire weekend
and she was pissed that I wouldn't leave my kids with him for a few hours to
come help. Then, the Monday after his vasectomy he threw out his back and ended
up spending the week in and out of the ER before being taken by ambulance for
emergency back surgery in Seattle. This was <u>traumatizing</u> for me. My
husband has never even really been sick let alone been hospitalized and unable
to help himself. I thought that since she had been through the devastation of
her husband's knee injury that she would be the person who showed up for me. I
figured she would know what it's like to sit in fear waiting for a surgeon. I
figured she'd give me extra grace considering I have two kids that I was
raising while also trying to care for my injured husband. The end of it all
came when she informed me how pissed off she was that I had missed her 30th
birthday, which happened to be the day after my husband's surgery. We had
barely gotten home from the hospital that afternoon and hadn't slept in a week.
She was holding a grudge because I missed her party. I had really hoped that I
was wrong but I got a very long detailed text message explaining that I was a shitty
friend and that she was incredibly disappointed in me for missing such a
special event in her life. She didn't check up on us after surgery, didn't
offer anything, didn't check in to see how I was holding up… nothing. Seeing as
I had enough shit on my plate, I told her I was done. If it had just been that
one time, I wouldn’t have walked away. But that friendship that had been so
lifegiving in the beginning had turned into something that was hurting me and
my family. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Friend B. I'm not even sure where to start. Friend B and I
have been friends since our girls were six months old. We have done life
together in almost every sense of the word for the last 10 years. She has been
my confidant and my partner in crime. She watched my son while I was still working
and she was the one who was buying me groceries and picking up prescriptions so
I could pack a bag and race over to the hospital to be my husband before his surgery.
I never even contemplated a world where she and I weren't friends. Our girls
are the same age, our boys are less than a year apart. Her husband works for
mine. I don't even know how to sum up our friendship into something short
enough that I won't lose you as a reader but long enough to do justice to the
depth and breadth of our friendship. After Derek’s surgery, I was in a bad spot,
especially in the wake of losing Friend A. A few weeks after returning from Seattle,
Friend B came over and I confided some very sensitive information and asked her
not to share it with her husband or anyone else. She chose to share it with her
husband who then felt compelled to share with mine, as they are close friends. It
led to an astronomical blowup in my marriage and my life in general. I was
devastated when I learned of this betrayal especially because I had specifically
asked her if she could handle keeping something to herself. Apparently, she
couldn't. I was furious. I don't know that there is a stronger word to explain
the emotions that I experienced the day all this shit came out. She told me she
knew that I was upset but that she felt like she had done the right thing and
that when I was done being angry she would be there ready to pick up and
continue where we left off. That didn't end up being the case. After some
heated text exchanges, we made the decision to meet in person for coffee. We
talked, or more so I talked, and she listened as she did not have a whole lot
to say to me. She talked about how my friendship with Friend A had hurt her for
so many years and I apologized for putting that other friendship ahead of ours.
I thought we were talking to smooth things over and move forward. I was ready
to put behind me the fact that she had betrayed my trust. We hugged in the
parking lot and she invited us to her brother's going away party the next day. I
thought that we were on the right path after that meeting. But I was wrong. The
next weekend, or the one after, I can't remember which, was her youngest's
birthday party which we have <u>always</u> been invited to. We weren't invited and
we weren't given any reason why. After that, she unfriended me on social media and
has been absent since. This second one is the one that hurts the most. I never
really knew what it meant to be ghosted by someone. I do now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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These aren't relationships that are ever going to be healed.
The only healing that I'm going to get is in finally speaking what has been
roiling around in my gut for months. It wasn't until I wrote about coming out
as an atheist that I finally felt like I understood who I was and what I did (and
did not) believe. It gave me the confidence to speak my truth. I understand now
what I do and do not want in my life. I miss having friends, please don't get
me wrong there, especially in this world that we're living in with quarantines
and lockdowns. I'd love to have a mom friend to confide in about how fucking
hard things have been. Luckily, I married the most patient and forgiving man on
the planet and he has sat with me and loved me through all of this. Obviously,
I can talk to him about these things but there's just something about having a
girlfriend that's different. I think that if I seek out adult friendships after
this, they will look very different. I don't think I'll ever trust someone the
way that I trusted these two women. I'm grateful for those relationships even
though they ended in an incredibly painful way. Friend B was there for me when
my dad died, and I can't think of a time when I needed people more than that. Friend
A was my sounding board and the person that I knew would understand anything
that I was feeling without judgment. I miss those elements of friendship, but I
will never bear my soul in its entirety to another human again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-37450538995375384792020-03-04T09:57:00.000-08:002020-03-04T09:57:28.127-08:00Trigger Warning – this is a very atheist post.<br />
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My dad is not in heaven.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I know that may seem like an awful thing to say, but since I
don’t believe in heaven, it follows that I can’t believe that he is there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yesterday was a beautiful (EARLY) spring day. The sky was
that robin’s egg blue that only spring seems to produce. There among the clouds,
a bald eagle was soaring above the river, riding the breeze, probably looking
for dinner. Almost immediately I smiled and whispered, “Hi Dad.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Growing up I was fortunate to have a summer home on an island
in Puget Sound. When I was little, seeing bald eagles was a rare occurrence.
They were endangered and the island was one of the places they tended to nest.
We had a giant evergreen tree in the front yard that looked over the cliff and
down to the water. Eagles would come to perch on that tree to hunt. My dad
loved these creatures. Every time one would land nearby, we would go out with
binoculars ready to see these enormous birds. Since his death, every time I see
an eagle, I think of him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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In that moment yesterday, I saw my dad. He wasn’t a person
or a ghost or some apparition. He was a bald eagle. But he was also the trees starting
to bud around me. He was the river running alongside the road. He was the warm
sunlight coming through my window. He is everywhere and in everything and that
is so much more comforting to me than thinking that he is in some far-off
place, floating in the clouds, completely inaccessible. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When I was a Christian, I was living my life for what I believed
came next. I believed that I would have more time with the people I loved. I
believed that somehow when my work was done here, I would show up in heaven
and bounce around on the clouds with my family and friends. (There is sarcasm
here… but also truth). This belief in “next” has historically helped me push
away the guilt of working too much or doing housework and yard work instead of
people-work because I <i>knew</i> I’d have all the time of eternity to do the
people-work. Now, I believe that this is it – that we don’t get an Act II or an
afterparty. We are here for a blink of an eye on the cosmic scale. This one
short lifetime is all I have with the people I love. We are each here by a 1 in
400 trillion chance. Our lives are fragile and short. But THAT is what makes it
so beautiful. It is rare. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Atheism has shown me just how beautiful this universe is and
how fucking lucky any one of us is to be alive. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItCAeDgU6bE1SpQ_wa4aR-qdc8ZZjSphPlR2BUeoYvOwW-HIBXrVKSSQ3rQs_7BGGbvi79gBEyCUZ0ovXWNx0OU7sRqRGP5dkRQ6jQsYg_hCyyhVRjuVFC6HMIgxWg-jVSYjnLu7TC133/s1600/eagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="503" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItCAeDgU6bE1SpQ_wa4aR-qdc8ZZjSphPlR2BUeoYvOwW-HIBXrVKSSQ3rQs_7BGGbvi79gBEyCUZ0ovXWNx0OU7sRqRGP5dkRQ6jQsYg_hCyyhVRjuVFC6HMIgxWg-jVSYjnLu7TC133/s320/eagle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-63506319467165576142020-01-19T16:32:00.002-08:002020-01-19T16:32:19.278-08:00Coming Out{<i>Before I begin this post I want to say that I am not at all equating what I am learning about "coming out" as an atheist to the experience of coming out as gay to one's family or friend group. I just don't know how else to try and describe it. Forgive me if I fuck it up.</i>}<br />
<br />
I didn't want this.<br />
<br />
I didn't choose it.<br />
<br />
I didn't sit down one day, a few years back, and think to myself, "You know what, self? I'd like to find a way to blow up everything I have ever believed because that way I can strain or break all sorts of important relationships and piss off all the people around me," before setting off down some perceived path toward atheism. This hasn't been an easy process. It has been many things but easy isn't one of them.<br />
<br />
It has been scary and really fucking lonely.<br />
<br />
But all of that doesn't change what I believe to be true. I'd like to say that if I could, I'd go back and somehow avoid "catching" atheistic beliefs, but I wouldn't. Or that I would take back my previous post and just keep it to myself instead of sharing it. I wouldn't. I shouldn't have to.<br />
<br />
It has involved unpacking all sorts of uncomfortable feelings about religion and Jesus and the mounting evidence I kept uncovering against those ideas. It involved separating what I wanted to believe and what I truly, to my core believed. And recently, it involved a lot of personal introspection. My post may have come out of no-where for those reading it, but it has been months in the writing.<br />
<br />
Atheism isn't contagious. I sure as fuck don't want to convert you. Your kids won't end up atheist if they play with my kids. I'm still me.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-4780460589248088752020-01-17T10:39:00.004-08:002020-01-17T10:39:52.330-08:00Losing My Religion<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Are you okay? Are you questioning
your faith? I saw your post and I’m worried about you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light", sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Those are a few of the messages I’ve
gotten recently from friends and family alarmed by my recent IG story post
about evolution and atheism. I know these questions come from a place of
genuine concern and there was no way to adequately answer those questions via a
text or IG post. I realize the gravity of what I am saying and trying to respond
to those texts made me decide to sit down and write it out. I am doing this for
myself as much as for the people who are trying to understand me. This could be
a long one… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">To really understand how I have
moved across the religious spectrum from my parent’s religious beliefs in the
Lutheran Church to Presbyterian to Anabaptist to Omnist to Agnostic to Atheist.
It is quite a change and the only way the end result makes sense is to go back
and start from the very beginning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">A large percent of my childhood
memories involve church. I remember Sunday mornings – often involving the smell
of McDonald’s Egg McMuffins – in my nicest clothes. I remember sitting in the sanctuary
and looking at the details of every stained-glass window, every arched beam, the
altar, the pulpit, the fans whirling lazily in circles. I remember learning how
to follow along in the complicated hymnals – usually singing songs that I didn’t
understand. I remember listening to the pastor drone on and on about passages
that didn’t make sense to me. I remember praying prayers and wondering why I
always felt like a prayer fraud. If I were to trace my evolution to atheism,
this forced, dictated prayer was where my first questions and doubts came from.
I can clearly remember the inner dialogue that went on in my head during prayer
time. I remember chastising myself for my thoughts wandering or for just going
through my wish list (I genuinely believed that that was how God worked because
there was always a portion of prayer time where the pastor named all those who
were suffering in the congregation. We prayed for health, for employment, for
discernment, for the doctors and surgeons. We prayed with the expectation that
our God could, and perhaps would see fit to answer those prayers). I remember
wondering why I never felt like anyone was really <i>listening</i> to me<i>.</i>
I felt like everyone else must be feeling this supernatural connection when
they prayed but that if I admitted my doubts or failings that my family would
be horrified. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I think that there is an
interesting tie-in here with my understanding of my adoption and how that aspect
of my life reinforced the desire to “be part of” the only family that I knew.
What if they all had a divine connection but because I was adopted, I was not included
that divine relationship. I never consciously thought that at the time but looking
back at some of my behaviors and beliefs with the eyes of an adult, I see where
being adopted, led me to desperately want to please and be included during my youth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">But, back to the topic at hand.
After Sunday School ended, my classes for confirmation began somewhere around 6<sup>th</sup>
grade. Once a week I would head upstairs in the church office building into the
stuffy room where our pastor taught our confirmation classes. I need to mention
here that I was not a fan of our pastor at that time. He was old, grumpy, and
reeked of alcohol during classes. I have one very clear memory from those
classes. It’s not the bible verses I was required to regurgitate or the beliefs
I was told were in my best interest. Because why else would you send a child to such
a class? I know that my parents absolutely had my best interests at heart. My memory?
What stuck with me all these years? I asked him why the bible didn’t mention dinosaurs.
Why, if the bible chronicled everything from the beginning of time, did it
never mention these ferocious beasts that would have been terrifying to coexist
with. There are all sorts of fantastical tales in the old testament that made
the cut, but never once is a giant, man-eating lizard mentioned in these
stories. I was taking 6th-grade science at the time and we were studying
fossils. I was being presented with physical, scientifically soundproof that
dinosaurs existed yet never once in the Bible were they ever really mentioned.
Yes, someone will inevitably say that Isaiah 27:1 mentions Leviathan – a gliding
serpent, a monster of the sea. That’s it. One tiny sentence mentioning a creature
that could easily exist today – a giant crocodile or an anaconda. No mention of
giant beasts, or predators, of the land and air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">His response, in front of all my
peers: “How dare you to question the Word of God?” He was angry that I had the
audacity to try to understand the text I was about to publicly proclaim as
Truth. He didn’t even give me the verse from Isaiah. It took until adulthood for
me to discover that one. He shut me down. Embarrassed me. Reinforced the
already strong notion that asking questions meant I was a doubter (insert audible
gasp). I didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t get “in”… who didn’t
graduate. So, I stuffed my questions and learned my lesson. It wasn’t about
understanding it was only about believing blindly. This was around the time I
was pulling back from church. Trying week after week to get out of going and,
finally, when I was 14 or 15, I left for good. Shortly after, I went into quite
a tailspin of shitty behavior. My whole belief system had taken a hit and I
acted out. I won’t go into that, but I went dark for a while. From then until
college, I pretty much stayed out of the pews. Every once in awhile, we went
to a Christmas Eve service genuinely because I believed not going was some sort
of smite toward God. Easter was pretty much the same. I attended one church in college,
but it was super cult-like and after a few awkward encounters I quit going. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I didn’t return to church regularly
until I was pregnant with Addison. We went through hell trying to get pregnant
and then, to top it off, my pregnancy was miserable. I felt strongly that our
kids needed a church upbringing like I had. How ironic is that? I felt like my
kids needed the same uncomfortable, confusing experience that I dreaded every
week as a kid. Hindsight… Anyway. I spent half my pregnancy in bed, so church
wasn’t really happening. Then, with a newborn, church just wasn’t feasible. I know
I attended the Presbyterian church in town sporadically for a while, but I can’t
remember exactly when I really returned and started interacting more with the people
there. I volunteered in the middle school youth group. I went through the classes
and the process of becoming a church member. My babies were baptized there. I fell
into a small group that led to a friendship that was instrumental in me
really starting to look at my faith and do the work to understand it. She met
with me regularly and guided me through some really difficult life situations.
She was the first person who every actively encouraged me to ask the tough
questions and then to dig into scripture to find the answers. We talked about
dinosaurs and gaps in scripture and how we had to understand the context of the
stories in the bible to understand the meaning of verses. I attended a small
group for the first time in my life. I had never heard people discuss Jesus as
I did in that group. It made me want to understand. I was curious. I started
reading scripture. Then, when my dad died – I dove in even further. I was
desperate to answer questions I had about mortality and the idea of heaven. I
wanted to know that my dad was okay. I wanted to know that I would see him
again. I needed that. I made friends in the church. These friends were people
that I looked up to. People who I felt were “further along the path” than I
was. We had deep conversations about what it meant to follow Jesus. Then, there
was a big shake-up in the church administration and things slowly dissolved.
One of the interim pastors left and his replacement was a joke. Friends that
worked in the church started to leave and I left with them. That church went in
a direction that we didn’t agree with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The time between when I last went
to a service at the Presbyterian church and when some friends and I started
meeting semi-regularly is kind of nebulous. I know it started around the time
of the 2016 election. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Just to be controversial, I would
honestly attribute this radical shift in my belief system to the election of
Donald Trump. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Yah. I know. I am going to do my
best to leave politics out of this post because that is a WHOLE other topic
with its own set of bunny trails. I’m going to try to avoid those trails as best
I can. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So how did Donald Trump make me an
atheist? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Right around the time of the
election, some friends that I had made in the church and I started our own “tiny
church”. We fell into an online sermon from a church in Canada that we really
resonated with. The Meeting House was our primary source of sermons and questions
that we discussed in our group. We started grappling with societal issues – privilege,
racism, feminism among them. The Meeting House is an Anabaptist Church. Anabaptists
are on the same branch of Christianity as Quakers and Mennonites. In a
nutshell, Anabaptists focus on the written words of Jesus and the message that
he was trying to send. It spends far less time rooting around in Old Testament
texts. The lead pastor, Bruxy, is an excellent speaker. His teachings were so
accessible and so relatable that I really looked forward to church in a way
that I never had in organized (what we called capital “C” Church) church. The
members of our small group were intelligent, intellectual, educated humans. It
was the perfect version of church for me for a season. As we moved through the
sermons, we also followed politics with a wary eye. We talked about trends we
were seeing in society and in the people, we thought we knew so well. I started
reading about white privilege. I started listening to podcasts about racism. I
started paying attention to what people were saying. This same time period is
also when I taught 7<sup>th</sup> grade Ancient Civilizations. I’m a nerd by
trade. I wanted to know everything about everything. Buddhism fascinated me.
The overlap between Islam, Judaism, and Christianity ran deeper than I had ever
learned in church. We spent a month each spring diving into each of the eight
major world religions. Each year that I taught the class we dove a little deeper.
I found new materials, videos, and sources. It was amazing. One of the biggest
takeaways from teaching that class was my understanding that all of the world
religions were trying to do the exact same questions. Where did we come from?
Why are we here? What happens next? Each religion shares the same basic beliefs.
God is love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">As I taught about the major world
religions, I started re-evaluating my own beliefs. One of the first concepts
that grabbed me was the overlap of creation stories that the Bible shares with
world religions around the globe. Early people had questions too, but they
lacked the science and knowledge to understand the answers. They couldn’t comprehend
the cause of thunder and lightning, so they attributed the storms to the gods.
As we look back at natural disasters and natural phenomena throughout history,
almost every early polytheistic religion attributed a different god to each
natural event. As humans learned more about the world and our place in it, some
of these previously unexplained events suddenly had a logical, and more importantly,
scientifically-backed, explanation. When we study the ancient Greeks, Egyptians,
and Romans we see polytheistic religions with gods for everything from
fertility to war to famine. We look back on these ancient civilizations and
shake our heads that they could believe something so silly. Of course, there isn’t
a god for famine, there is just GOD. Silly Egyptians. But stop for a second and
try to think objectively about some of the Jesus stories in the bible. I fully
believe that future humans will look back at modern religions the same way we
look at the Romans and Greeks. Silly Christians believing that the world was
made in 6 days or that Adam and Eve actually existed (fun fact: they didn’t.
Genesis is a creation myth. Just like every other early religion, Christianity
has a farfetched story about how the world and everything in it came to be. I’m
not going to go into all the ways that science and history have disproved the reliability
of the bible, I’d recommend listening to one of Richard Dawkins books for an
intro to that. He’s far more articulate and educated than I and he will do a better
job explaining it. But the historical inaccuracies are huge. King David is NEVER
mentioned outside of the bible. The whole lineage of Jesus is based on Joseph’s
link to King David (which make no sense, since Joseph allegedly wasn’t Jesus’s
father). But if King David didn’t exist, then Jesus doesn’t fulfill the Old
Testament prophecies. The plagues of Egypt aren’t mentioned anywhere in Egyptian
history – especially the death of the firstborns. If there was an event where
every firstborn son in Egypt died in one night, it would have been recorded SOMEWHERE.
But it’s not. Add to that, the bible wasn’t written until hundreds of years
after Jesus’s life. That means for hundreds of years, these stories were passed
down orally. Anyone who played the game “telephone” at a slumber party knows
what happens when stories are told and retold. The end product is very rarely
an accurate representation of what the original story was. I’m going to stop
there but honesty, Richard Dawkins is a great source if you want to learn more about
the inconsistencies that Christians never question. I honestly used to believe
that Adam and Eve were real people for a long time. They most definitely weren’t.
If they didn’t exist, then original sin can’t exist because Eve wasn’t there to
ruin it for everyone. Once you start looking at it objectively, Christianity
just doesn’t make sense. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Back to Tiny Church and anabaptist
beliefs… Doing the work through The Meeting House of looking at the words of
Jesus led to a lot of discussions about pacifism and pacifist beliefs. At the
start of this discussion, I was definitely on the “defend my turf” bandwagon.
Someone hurts you, you hurt them bigger and badder (intentionally poor grammar).
When you look at the words of Jesus, it’s pretty easy to see that he was a
pacifist and how he demonstrated pacifist beliefs right up until going to die
willingly on the cross. It was a hard sell for me but by the time we had gotten
through Bruxy’s sermon series on pacifism, I realized that that was the most
basic and simple thing that Jesus asked of us. Love one another. Be kind. Don’t
hurt people intentionally. You can’t do those things with a gun in your hand. I’m
still working out what pacifism means to me. It is an evolving belief that I’m
still getting to know. Pacifism also means seeking peace in your relationships,
not just practicing non-violence. I can feel a huge change from how I used to
view interpersonal relationships and conflict before to how I view it now. I
used to see every interaction as “me versus them”. Every interaction had a
winner and a loser and I am highly competitive, so I wanted to be the winner
all of the time. It led to arguments in my marriage because I tried to “win”
against my husband. When I started looking at maintaining peace, I learned to
choose my arguments, to evaluate what I do and don’t want to say, and to
swallow my pride when I can. I learned to see my family and friends as on “my
team” and not as opponents. It changed how I talked to myself in my own head.
It’s one of the changes that I’m most grateful for because it has helped me
navigate Addison’s blow-ups. I’m imperfect though – I still lose my temper and
say things I don’t mean. But pacifism forces me to get real and apologize. It’s
pretty humbling to have to apologize to your 10-year-old for losing your mind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Since the 2016 election, my interest
and awareness of societal issues and inequalities have steadily increased. We
did a lot of work in Tiny Church around recognizing the privilege that we all
had as white, middle class, highly educated humans and how that privilege had led
us to be complacent in systemic racism. It was hard work, but we wanted to
understand how we could use the privilege we had to raise awareness or affect
change in some way. We discussed MAGAs and how we couldn’t see any period in American
history as “great” by any definition of the word. The “great” periods people
talked about weren’t ever really great at all. Slavery? Segregation? War?
Corruption? Prohibition? Great Depression? Westward Expansion? None of these periods
were great. Some were downright awful. The more we discussed our nations ugly
history and how our nation is ugly today, the less proud I was to be “American”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw how I had been trained by society to be
blindly allegiant to our flag. To pledge that allegiance before we even
understood what that meant. To hang our flags on the front porch and wear red,
white, and blue on the 4<sup>th</sup> of July. To accept our history at the
face value of our biased textbooks. To believe that “God blessed America” when
America didn’t exist when God was doing the supposed blessing. No thank you. I
cringe when I watch interviews with Trump Rally go-ers. I don’t want to be in
any way associated with those people. I’m not proud of our nation at any point in
history. I don’t recite the pledge of allegiance when I sub. I don’t sing the
national anthem or put my hand on my heart. I stand respectively to set a good
example. In public, I wouldn’t bother. It just doesn’t matter to me anymore.
Being American isn’t relevant just like being Australian isn’t relevant. There
is no genetic or biological difference between any race. The color of our skin
is simply based on how much sun our ancestors got. More sun means more melanin.
More melanin means darker skin. Go team evolution. That’s it. So, I’m a human.
That’s it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Just like the term American, “Christian”
has an ugly connotation among non-believers or those of other non-Christian
religions. Christians are judgmental. They’re hypocrites. More wars have been
fought in the name of Christianity than of any other religion. That’s right,
those who follow the Jesus of non-violence have murdered more people in the
name of that God than ANY other world religion. That’s gross. But then I
started reading articles about white evangelicals who fervently support Trump
and turn a blind eye and his repeated, unapologetic transgressions (admitted adultery,
25 allegations of sexual assault, bragging about sexually assaulting women, literally
thousands of proven lies to the media, the list goes on and on). To try and
tell me that Jesus would be a Trump supporter is like telling me Gandhi was in
the MMA. It goes against literally everything he taught. If Christianity is the
religion of Trump, then I knew I definitely didn’t want to be a part of that
club. I joke that Trump made me an atheist but, in some ways, he did help. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I wanted to understand government
and to try to get a better understanding of what the history of our whole
nation really was. We know what it was like for the white elites, their stories
are the ones that made it into the history books. But what about the experience
of immigrants? Orphans? Women? The poor? There is so much that we DON’T know about
these groups. So, I started reading. I started listening to podcasts. I
followed activists on social media. I watched videos. I did the same with
evolution and astrophysics. This process of learning has taken place slowly,
and privately for the most part, for the past two years. I have been moving by
small degrees across the spectrum from anabaptist, where my beliefs were at at
the start of this process, to omnist. From omnist to agnostic. And finally, I
think, to tentative atheist. I’d like to believe in God but I think that the likelihood
that of all of the thousands of gods who have been worshipped throughout the
years, that the Christian God is the “winner”, is pretty low. What I believe
now, I think, is just as beautiful as the idea of a benevolent god. I believe in
matter. The atoms that make us up are only created when a star explodes. We are
literally made of star-stuff (that is also my next tattoo theme). How fucking
beautiful is that?? And what else, matter never goes away, it never dies. Parts
of me have existed in a million different forms over billions of years. And,
parts of me will live on, in different forms, for billions of years more. When
I die, I want my ashes sent into space. I want to be in the heavens, not in Heaven.
I know that could be upsetting to people who believe in the Christian God. I’m
not trying to be offensive – I really do find it beautiful and kind of awe
inspiring. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri Light",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So why share this? I could have
kept quiet and just silently made the transition without those around me really
noticing at all. I could just let people maintain the assumption of my Christian
beliefs and avoid some potentially upsetting conversations. But then I realized
that if I did that, it was only to make the people around me comfortable. The
internet has been a blessing in this regard. I have had the chance to talk to so
many different people around the world who are atheists and learned that there
are so many out there. Remember back to the beginning of this dissertation, my
earliest memory of the church involves being chastised for asking questions,
for doubting. I was terrified to talk about this with almost all of the humans
in my life, save one or two. Anyone who has made the move from religion to
non-religion will be able to attest, it is hard to unpack all the dogma and
superstition that you inherit as a part of organized religion. It’s hard to
navigate holidays like Christmas and Easter. It’s hard to know how to talk to people
about it or how to handle it when they get upset. But it’s hard <i>because</i> no
one talks about it. So here I am, talking about it. Maybe me writing this will
make it easier for someone else to bring to light concerns or questions they
have or encourage someone else to read a book on a topic they hadn’t considered
before. Maybe it won’t do anything. I don’t know. What I do know, is that for
the first time in my life, I think I’m onto the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-76014801472078956312019-05-16T12:24:00.000-07:002019-05-16T12:24:50.573-07:00Coming to terms with reality...<br />
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I am parenting a child with special needs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have been parenting her for almost ten years and I am just
now coming to terms with what that means for her and for our family. (When I
say “I” in this post, I’m not implying that I’m doing it alone – I have the
greatest partner I could ask for in this journey. This post is simply my side
of the experience.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Addison is the most loving, kind, smart, funny, creative
soul I have ever known. She also faces more challenges than most kids her age. She
is impulsive and hyper, scattered and disorganized, and her behavior at home
and school is a constant challenge. We knew early on that she was an active
child – even in utero she rolled and kicked constantly and once she could roll over,
she never stopped moving again. She was diagnosed with ADHD at age 3 ½ before
starting her first year of preschool. We went through all of the non-medicated
options – elimination diet, essential oils, herbal supplements, sticker charts…
We. Tried. EVERYTHING. Eventually, we went through the process of starting her
on medication, but we had to wait almost nine months before we made it to the top
of the waiting list for an appointment. I don’t even know how to quantify the
number of conversations with medical professionals that I have had about
Addison. She has been diagnosed with ADHD, anxiety, disruptive mood disorder, potential
early onset bipolar, and a few others that I can’t even remember at this point.
We went through medication after medication and side effect after side effect. It
wasn’t until she was about 8 that we finally found a combination of meds that
seemed to work for her for a while. Unfortunately, we have discovered that
while a particular medication may work for a while it can suddenly become
ineffective and then we start the process all over again. She is currently
taking a long-acting ADHD med with a booster at lunchtime. She takes another
mood controller with her morning meds. At night she takes a hefty dose of an
antidepressant that helps her sleep and an anxiety med as well. We easily spend
$300-$400 each month on her medications because insurance doesn’t cover them
fully. She sees a psychiatrist and a counselor as often as we can afford –
because again, insurance doesn’t cover it beyond 8 visits, which means she can
only be seen twice a month and that sets us back another $350 at least. Unfortunately,
meds and money are overwhelming yet pale in comparison to trying to figure out
how to be the best parent possible for this beautiful girl. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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A typical day in our house starts out with Addison getting
up for breakfast and getting her pills right away. On a good day, she gets
dressed and ready-ish with constant reminders and guidance. On bad days there are
screaming matches, doors slamming, things being thrown or knocked over and when
we get out the door we are lucky if she is dressed and has her backpack. I can’t
count the number of times we have gotten in the car with her hair a total rat’s
nest, teeth unbrushed, lunch left on the counter, and the drive to daycare
filled with arguments and crying. On a good day at school, she gets work done
and plays with her friends. On a bad day, she is rolling on the floor, hitting
or kicking other kids, fidgeting with everything she can get her hands on, out
of her seat, distracting others. On the really bad days, I get a call from the
office or her teacher. She is in 3<sup>rd</sup> grade and has received 17
referrals this year. 10 were for minor classroom infractions – out of her seat,
talking, etc. The other 7 were for more serious offenses - hitting other
students or saying grossly inappropriate things. She has served weeks’ worth of
“community service” at school – cleaning up the lunchroom, picking up trash, scrubbing
scuff marks off the floor in the hallways. After school, on a good day, she
comes home, puts her things away and either goes upstairs to play or heads
outside. She gets along with her brother and listens to Derek and I. On bad
days, it’s very much like our bad mornings – arguing, lying, stealing,
destroying things, saying awful things to me. She has stolen more money from us
than we can accurately count, has destroyed countless make-up items of mine,
gone through our drawers or my purse to find things she wants. She fights with her
brother, argues with us, hoards food, and a whole host of other issues that I
can’t even list. On a good night, she takes her meds and gets sleepy right on schedule
and she sleeps through the night. On a bad night, she is up all night, getting
into the pantry (not anymore, because padlock), hunting down any technology
that she can get her hands on, cutting holes in clothes, sheets, and cords, or
drawing on furniture, carpet, doors. We very rarely have a day that is “good” all
the way through. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Even with all that ^, it never really occurred to me exactly
how different our parenting experience has been with Addison compared to with
friends who have kids of the similar age and even compared to her brother. It
seems like the older she gets the larger the gap is between her and her peers.
This makes sense because kids with ADHD are typically 30% developmentally delayed
compared to peers their age. This means we technically have two 7-year-olds
instead of a seven-year-old and an (almost) ten-year-old. We have always known
she was immature, and we have always known that she had ADHD. We have tried
everything we could think of – incentives, points, rewards, grounding, yelling,
ignoring, taking away toys and electronics, etc. etc. and had zero luck in
changing her behavior. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I have the greatest support from friends and family, and I
am so thankful for that. I cannot imagine how much harder this experience would
have been without them. However, regardless of how much time others spend with
my daughter, they don’t see the whole spectrum of behavior that we see day to day,
minute to minute. They don’t live in the trenches. They get breaks. We don’t. There
has only ever been one other person that I have talked to that I felt really “got”
it. She was the parent of one of my sweetest students. At conferences, her
parents and I got to talking and discovered that she exhibited a lot of the same
behaviors as Addison to the same extent and with the same frequency (as in all
the time). It was such a relief to talk to someone who was in the same place as
I am/was as a parent. I didn’t know until that point how badly I needed to know
others who struggle with parenting a child with ADHD. It seems that the older
she gets and the more her disability becomes apparent, the more isolated I feel
as a mama. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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For a long time (the last six years or so), I thought that I
could just parent her the way I knew how to parent and that eventually she
would just magically grow and meet my expectations. I absolutely knew that ADHD
was impacting our lives and Addison’s education, but I never dug into the
research about what ADHD is and what the implications really are for her. Recently
I had the opportunity to listen to my therapist explain the ins and outs of ADHD
to Derek and I and it was a game changer for me. I have finally come to terms
with the fact that my child has an intellectual disability. There is an actual,
measurable difference between her brain and the “neuro-typical” brains of most
of her peers. There are chemicals that aren’t doing their job and there is a
delay in the growth and maturity of the prefrontal cortex, the part of the
brain that helps us analyze consequences, plan, organize, and do all of the
things that are required to be successful in school. I have spent the past few
weeks digging into texts and websites and podcasts about ADHD and parenting
kids with disabilities. If she had been born with a disability that we could
SEE, we wouldn’t even question doing the research and the hard work to learn
about it, dig into what it really means, and change our lifestyle to meet her
needs. But because she was born beautiful and witty with a great vocabulary and
for all intents and purposes, seemed “normal” (Ew. I don’t like that word,
because none of us are normal but hopefully you understand what I mean) we kept
trying to force her to fit OUR lifestyle and OUR needs. She has almost no executive
function ability (planning, organizing, anticipating, changing, etc.) and her
anxiety causes her to stress out so much that she can’t focus for the rest of
the day because her nerves are on edge. There is no way that she CAN meet those
needs unless we teach her how. Slowly. One skill at a time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Right now, we are working on getting ready in the morning by
using a checklist. She can’t shower on her own because she gets out of the
shower without rinsing her hair. She doesn’t brush her teeth unless we stand
behind her and supervise. Her room is a DISASTER every moment of every day. She
doesn’t wipe properly and has to be reminded and supervised to wash her hands
after using the bathroom. She would walk around with her hair in tangled knots
every day if we didn’t coach her on how to brush it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel inadequate and unprepared
for a role that is so much more daunting than I expected as a parent. I’m
trying to learn – to educate myself and change some of the ingrained habits and
expectations that I didn’t realize I had about what it means to be a mom and
what my expectations should really be for <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">my</b>
child. The hardest part is that every time I think I have figured something
out, something else changes or falls apart and I’m back at square one. This job
is harder than anything else I have ever done and is far more important than anything
I have ever done. She must be able to go out into the world 9 years from now
and thrive – she has to take care of herself and her responsibilities without a
constant parental presence. What we do in the next nine years will either help or
hurt her as she moves into adulthood. I really, really want to help her. I just
need to learn how. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the baby girl who made me a mama. She is my miracle
after years of being told we wouldn’t be able to have kids. She was the only
solace when I lost a baby the year before we had Cohen. I was a mess on the
bathroom floor and my two-year-old came and comforted me. She loved on me when
I needed it the most. Now I need to love on her when she needs it most. <3 o:p=""></3></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-78473404049700861362017-07-09T10:53:00.002-07:002017-07-09T10:53:24.006-07:00Maybe this is my midlife crisis...Maybe this is my midlife crisis.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If you had asked me two months ago what my plan for the future was, I wouldn't have even had to think about it. My future was working in Zillah, doing what I love, watching my kids grow up here, and being a part of the community that I love. This was my home. It was where I intended to put down my roots. I have spent 12 years working in the Zillah School District. I started as a para-pro at the elementary and worked while I put myself through night classes to earn my BA in Education. My dream from the start was to teach English or reading at the middle school in Zillah and that was the first position I was offered when I applied. It was perfect. As I grew to love the quirky middle school age group. I started coaching and eventually took on ASB which led to teaching a leadership class and running a mentoring program. I adored my job. </div>
<div>
<br />
Then this year happened. It was by far the most challenging year of my career - by miles. I started the year with a new principal and in the beginning, we got along great. We had similar ideas about student leadership and I thought that it was the beginning of a beautiful thing. It wasn't. In November I left for an NCTE conference in Atlanta. When my plane touched down and my notifications started coming in, I discovered that the guest speaker that I had booked and had approved a year in advance had been canceled without my knowledge or consent. To say that I was furious was an understatement. I had booked someone who would have had an amazing impact on our students. I could have dealt with being told that we had to cut the speaker but I believe strongly that I should have at least been consulted. If I hadn't heard from the company themselves, I wouldn't have even known that anything had happened. When I came home, I had to tell my ASB students that the speaker had been canceled and that instead, a friend of our principal would be speaking. I was angry and so were they. I know that I didn't keep some of my thoughts to myself and I should have but because of the way it was done, I had a lot of trouble with that.</div>
<div>
<br />
A few weeks later we did our online StuCo survey. It is a routine that we do at the end of each semester to get a feel for what the student body is interested in for upcoming events and what suggestions they have for improving our school and activities. When the results came in and my students brought them to me, I was shocked. A significant number of the responses were related to our principal and they were incredibly negative and cruel. After sharing the results with her, she became convinced that somehow I was turning the students against her. Ironically, I was spending a lot of time trying to stop the negative comments about her - both in my content classes and in leadership. If you've ever worked with middle schoolers, you know how difficult that is. Needless to say, by Christmas break the tension was high. Things didn't get any better after we came back from break. In March I left for my ASB conference in Vancouver. The first day that I was gone was an in-service day for staff. First thing in the morning I started getting texts from coworkers that the topic of the morning was moving leadership to a before school class or an after school club - neither of which would work in our community. Again, I felt like as soon as I was out of the building, my program was on the table without me there to discuss or defend it. When I got back, I was reassured that the leadership program would stay and that things would go on pretty much as before.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to May. Things were winding down for the year and I had started working on a presentation for some leadership kids to present at the board meeting at the end of May. We wanted to acknowledge the support that we had to put on new activities throughout the year and show them what we had planned for the coming year. I talked to the kids about presenting at the meeting and told them if they wanted to sign up to do it, we would put it on the agenda. Then we watched our <a href="https://youtu.be/lCA6EF3y23k" target="_blank">TED talk</a> for the day (if you haven't watched it, you should) about the use of language and the mindset that we have about gender roles. The speaker drops the f-bomb when quoting a player that she interviewed. A parent called the school the next day concerned about the content of the video. In hindsight, I should have sent home a note to parents about it and if it had been one of my ELA or history classes, I absolutely would have. However, in leadership, most of our conversations are about hard topics and I made the mistake of assuming that it was something they all could handle. My principal asked for the link so she could watch the video and then, throughout the rest of the day, students were pulled out of my classes and were interviewed. At the end of the day, some students came to me and confided in me the interviews made them really uncomfortable and that the questions were related to my character and the quality of teacher that they believed I am. I went into the weekend in tears, trying to understand what on earth I had done to make her question my character.<br />
<br />
The following week, my union rep and I sat down with my principal and vice principal. She proceeded to tell me that she had interviewed students from my classes and that she believed that I was trying to pit students against her and that I was a poor role model for leadership. She had heard bits and pieces about students presenting to the board and somehow twisted it to believe that we were going to the board to try and get her fired. She could not have been further from the truth. She then told me that she was going to take my leadership program away from me and that I would no longer be the leadership teacher OR the ASB advisor at ZMS. My rep asked her if this was something that I could earn back if the following year went well and I was told, unequivocally, NO. Prior to the meeting, I had asked if I needed a rep, if there was some sort of discipline that I needed to be aware of, and I was told that there was no discipline to be assigned. After she told me that I would no longer be working with student leadership, I said I had been under the impression that no discipline was occurring. She smiled and said that it wasn't. She explained that she could assign or take away supplemental contracts as she saw fit. So I wasn't be disciplined <b>but</b> I was losing everything that I held dear. I lost it. I left school in hysterics. I went to my best friend's house and I bawled until I didn't have any tears left to cry. Then, I started updating my resume and applying for jobs. I knew that if I couldn't teach leadership or do ASB, the things that brought the deepest joy in my job, that I did not want to be a part of ZMS anymore. Leadership and ASB kept me grounded and made it so I could tolerate the bullshit that was thrown my way. I took two days off, updated my resume, and applied for several jobs around the valley.<br />
<br />
The kicker came the day that I returned to work. A district administrator came to see me first thing in the morning and told me in no uncertain terms that the interviews and "investigation" did not yield ANY results that warranted discipline. Let me say that again - there wasn't anything in the investigation that HE conducted that warranted discipline. Then, a few days later I was visited by another administrator. He went on to tell me that the relationship between my principal and I was too toxic for us to continue in the same building. So, after 9 years at ZMS, I was told that I would be moved to a position at the elementary school. That sealed the deal for me. I was done with Zillah.<br />
<br />
I have given 12 years to the Zillah School District and I intended to give my entire career to the students in Zillah. In nine short months, all of that was undone by one human. The saddest part is that I am not the only teacher at ZMS who has been put in this position, who has had to contact the union, who has considered leaving the district, who has felt isolated and unappreciated. I am one of several. In conversations with educators and administrators from other districts in the valley who have worked with this person, I am one of many. Prior to my resignation, I was told that I wasn't to share my story. Now that I am no longer a ZSD employee, I am exercising my right to free speech and I am sharing my story. I believe that I was treated unfairly and I believe that my reputation in Zillah speaks for itself. I know the truth about the situation and I know that truth about what went on in our building. I may not have been allowed to share it before, but I am choosing to share it now. I don't believe that silence solves anything.<br />
<br />
It hasn't only been my career that has been impacted. This all came to a head as we were in the process of moving to Zillah. My commute has literally been flipped around. My kids will be in Zillah this year since we are living here but next year they will be moved to Selah. This has impacted every aspect of my life.<br />
<br />
The saddest part of all of this and the actual point of this incredibly long post is that this entire year has made me question every part of myself. After I got the call from the principal in Selah, who expressed how excited he was to bring me on board, I realized how much my perception of myself had changed this year. I have always struggled with self-esteem but this year has been horrendous. I have questioned my ability as a teacher, as a wife, as a mom, and as a friend. I have doubted myself in every regard and I am so angry about it. I have lost an entire year of my life. I have lost a year of my kids' lives. I have been so depressed and full of self-loathing that I haven't been the wife or parent that I was designed to be. I will never get to go back and relive this time in my kids' lives, I can't go back and be more present in my marriage. I can't undo the poor decisions I made in regard to my health and wellness. I have lost an entire year to negativity, anger, doubt, fear, and hate. I am trying to find a healthy way to process that anger and harness it into being a better wife, a better mom, and a better human in general - but it is hard. I can choose to let it fester or I can write it out, share it, and move on with my life. I choose the latter.<br />
<br />
I have a new chapter beginning - a new school, a new community, and new opportunities. I am excited and I am optimistic. I feel like in the weeks since I walked out of the middle school for the last time, I have started to see pieces of the real me again. I have started working out, playing with my kids, and being a human who participates in life again. This post is the endcap of a part of my life - it is the final lines in a dark chapter and I am so ready to turn the page. I am so grateful for the experiences and relationships that have been a result of my time in Zillah. The community has been awesome and supportive and I have taught some of the most amazing students and have watched them grow into kind, compassionate, successful adults. I value those memories and relationships more than I can express and they have shaped me into the teacher and human that I am today.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thank you Zillah. I will love you always. <3 p=""><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Selah... let's do this.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Image result for a new chapter begins" src="https://momdds64.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/new-beginnings.jpg" /></div>
</3></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-65214869485066426892017-02-19T15:02:00.000-08:002017-02-19T15:02:01.540-08:00The fringe...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>
<br />
<br />
My heart is broken.<br />
<br />
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" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for broken heart" border="0" height="367" 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U3x4yLY4p5OcHp9l8IbppTKVYU3TJr7KE1s62a5loHIYFatKSrFNWqtWpZRn3Q9SrZZR2CgDidUQkeGo/MrNaBIBzHubePQBE8Qr3KK+FKA/7Kx2ho6T2nei74LhBs8v4jkuoDTiM07mJcOR79Eo+a0zJ/B9dtVpxvEuc61xtMjwukT6zgZGux5dFTFj0eFknsKxcag6QI6Hb2FlTc2Ytex1JHQLH5+w2FyvUoLpPjb7LprRCxvRdaXDQT9/4WIq9SvOcC2ACY/XJZDCe5SpDiN7lWOi84K4KsRIZromGEBDroFnejG7E2SyGiOaVXp5IvBYvVshsi5O5FxCRGuIse/qtcOZEzbQCFzygWUjoaFdtSGzaNLxYbpFjsKaFUAWa67eQ3IRfDcXleS2NI9nZOOKYFtSkCTqPJ2shSvhL8FscmtrtDPhXxBTqAB5yu3nQncgjn1T9un51XyJjnU35HC435jmul4PxdzRZ1uR0SZIcdro9bBCHkRuLqX2O7pNkwmBEBczgOOtm9j0uPJdFRxjXiQQe66ldksuGcO0Y1G9FRuHBNwi8oOhUinCBIAr4ECSLW209/wk/FsC131NE89D6LonmTHL2Et4i2yZDwk10ceOGEGWnwOvgVdwLbOBB5H8c05o0rq+Iw4c0tOh9DzCEopnbi8yS1LYkaV6VgHEEg6gkHvBhUq4oBT4vo9PvZP/AM7/ALHM2aBfqUHjcVAsl+IrljnOsQ4yeY28QgMXjC4ZRvou2OBOq6PJyfEPSi4y+q3+xd7y9wa25K6TDVTQptpwDFyTYEnUnzQfBuGOp03VXAFxHkOSJ4i9pa2DmMSdPwtNqT4ro8ieST+eXYvq3ku1JhKcYQCSjazpOhgeHgk1WtOw1XTjicc2QX7I3D1f55JfT1TOgwRPNUkJENpP7P35quYciqZ4bFunPxQ/ymc/VToewGoLqAVFU3VAVQmWGquyqViQolGgWE/MRNKsbAIBpReWNErQ6YyoPiIud04w5cWy49mbAyR3wkVGrpbTbmjBio3i235XPONlosO4lgRVbA+ofSTY+mgKT4fEFp+W4ZXCx8F0WBxTMsjU69OkqOO8JZVAc2zwJBGhHI9P2oxnT4y6OrFklB84Pf8A0Cw2LhOcFjyLgkdy4yhVc1xa60WhNsPiEmXFTPofF8qPkQ/J22F44bZr9Rqn+C4o19pnpoV84w+KhNMNXuoNtBy+HCXWjunN1KUYxyww/EnNbrIjQoB3Gabjc5T10800ZJnnz8XJHa2g2kFrUIAnbVYNrtFyQBzm3mua4/8AEDQw06bpn6nDQDkP2qKLbOa9i7F40Fz3D/JxPgTKAfipUswNR8E9hp3Nie5up1Tjh2Bp0rmnmMjtG9t45J3wh32dOTzpNcYdfcWUOC1awkjK22u/cNfwjxwllNot2jYk3M8ug/S6R+PaGOyDtDSdxHTcA+i5bHYl0XJg/haM8k9dI8vI4p32zM1okNJiBz2++ysx4y3Im6DLhlF+cndY0cRe/orKBzuRjxCrNxp3/hJim3EqgyxF5nRKV1R6OefZanqm7LaGUvw9GTdGOcI/SEgwMKlQ6afypkc/fkpqZQbhVhvIrBBnLMKXlQ0Jidli5UKtCqiY1pjdHU3jQjX1QbDC2aZSMeIWGbzKIw5GhKDYfKYnfmiqEa6xdTaKIPbI+mNLz5JlwyqMpDiQSNdrdEobUE/eUbSJa4XsR+VzzjorFgvFMDnbI+oeZHI8kqwWJvBtC6v5bcs/5Hy80i4tw/MPmM+rcDf+VoST+WRaGSWKSnE1p1gmOErrlcLiI1TnCYjQpMuKj6Dw/NjmW+zoa+MytjofsuWxOKv+UZi68gyg8HQDxmfZg169B+UcWNRVsj5vlcHxiyKdJ9QawzqbE9BudP2muEwNOkc31EC7jBg9Bsb9UOabHOLWukbRzHRYPxGXNuCdOcWTNuWlo8WWT3lsKxOPJvmnSOkI3B1ySOmoOh71zdRxBkfT1vsmXC8bY3vpfXwWeGlol6rb2NuIPBktnq20pHia4cI5c41/a0q4o7kn3yS+vVl2n471WEKJylZDzzvHsKpcB3qarbXN0JUtMa+kKqRNsyxdWSvUKUqSzr/KJpthv4/cJ7oSrdmtQECQFmTe0kLSrUtCFcYNkEMy9dl9f4WWT/7eimiSSisq3QBWvNUgqQmEKkqWL0KW2Kxjcs+yzaYXvmkqHuWGsMw7/WyJpVS2RtCWUHSQj6wtPsJGh09FnbX9/wBIpmJMQeRSn5h5rUOPig4hUh2/Gw0N5j3qpoObbUnpskxqwR/YRGHrqMseiinstjuGzNSkJi5b+QgsNioMFdBwyuCHSQIiOvu6H4nwtriDTAaT/wDk/pCM/wCWRSEpQfKDMWnOQwG7rCdL7rTijchDJ7IEAcrazvJuscE4sqMDxBa4SDbWWg91xdRxKtLznm4tHPZGnaXsPmycnZnhy6xAgC8qa7pEgm096zw1e0TB8N0O95n9J0tnM3oiq+YW+EfB0tbzQjQZR+Dwubu9U70Ii76pIJtugalTzR9WmGz3+KWYskGCBoD4FGOzSdGodmWT27clOGKLaJF9pnn4o9AqxfEFEU6ug25ftexNNZUrH3KPYOjYk7WCyfrARTPp9+SHcy/JBGJYy/vmtcvuyxDT0Vvnd3ksEBXpVg1RCYmWAssytmGyycsFlZVi5VKhEU2oC6KLyg6aIe6e9Kyi6MS662Y5DuC3w4kFZgj2aF9/cK9GoFSo2Ld6pRdBmEtaHsMp1C1wMW5dE4w1cGJiRsd4/tJqVSQtc5BsVKUbHUqOja6jXpltUTlBIP8AlOljy6LmOI1WuIiQQAL30tZF4arG/hoenRLAZJuFoQoM52jWgL9OqisD4IuiwBp3Va1Ox238E17FrQEYH8ppwrEADST+0oebyNExwLtDHcjJaAns14i6TIm/6v8AhK61HWRfmmRdM2I0WFVtiPL+0Y6A1YFhmwbmBomArRYG6AyED34LUOkeQ8kWgImssM11cXMrzmbhEB4OMlQQpDb3V2jksEyYFMDl6qajCDBsq5+qxrMJUEK4avNRFKQqFWcvFqIDNS1eKnKiAloVw5Q1VegEhxU06kFVUIgsINWTe6sTt7uhQtmJWhk7CqboIjqvfMvrH7jVYUz3qzwhQ1hFJ8E9AD3oanWi53Vc4ghYFFIVyHGExrTY7iD/AGhcRWk9NLoSkVuG7JeKTG5WjMOPgmeEda1/0NglbzyTHBVsrdIPejI0WFO1nW23XpzS/FGDbkinVDIgQ206eipXozfn/dkqCwdp381L1AAFuanIiY8xvNbNELKm3eV59WFgGhaN9+aoWbBYmrdeFbZGjWTWJQ+ZaF6zKIrLE2VZULyJjxCkaLy8gZHi1VAXl5EzLEarN5Xl5YDKqF5eRFPLRhXl5YKNqJW7wNN15eSMoY12hCleXkyEkeRNO/kvLyzNEyc5EU60ALy8szJm7ZN5Ntffgtatadtl5eSDgz3SqF68vIgLtqKpG68vImByVYFQvIikEqMyleWCf//Z" width="400" /></a>I feel as though I'm grieving even though it's impossible to accurately articulate the range of emotions that I've felt in the past few days. I haven't cried this hard or this much since my dad passed away. I have resisted social media and texts because I don't know how to say what is in my heart without causing pain in my relationships but I also can't continue to feel all of this and not express it somehow.<br />
<br />
I grew up as a kid on the fringes. I lived near the "cool kids" and when we were little we all played together. As we got older and started to break into different groups they still would play with me on the weekends and during the summer but when we stepped off the school bus each day I found myself alone. I was never pretty enough, athletic enough, or smart enough to fit in so I spent my adolescence on the fringes. I knew all of the "cool kids" and they knew me but that was the extent of it. I wasn't invited to their parties or included in their groups. Looking back at my high school years, I had exactly two real friends. I attended one of the largest high schools in the state but I had two friends... and one didn't even go to my school. It was painful and it took its toll - depression, rebellion, isolation...<br />
<br />
Addison has grown up with a small group of friends - daughters of my friends and co-workers. She has gone through preschool, kindergarten, sports, birthdays with these girls and she adores them. Addison doesn't make friends easily - she's wild and unpredictable, passionate and emotional - and those things tend to frustrate kids her age.<br />
<br />
This fall, I started to see things falling apart. She was placed in a different class than the other girls, which was what I thought I wanted. I thought she would make new friends so that she wouldn't be so reliant on the other girls to play with her.<br />
<br />
Then she wasn't invited to the birthday of one of the girls. I tried to not let it bother me and I came up with all sorts of reasons in my head why it was okay that she didn't get to go. But it lingered.<br />
<br />
Then she heard through the grapevine of 1st graders that one of the girls thought she was 'embarrassing' and 'cooky'. It broke her heart which in turn broke mine.<br />
<br />
Then, this weekend, she was not invited to another birthday party. All the other little girls were there.<br />
<br />
She doesn't know yet - I didn't have the heart to tell her - but she will find out.<br />
<br />
We are 100 days into 1st grade.<br />
<br />
She hasn't been invited to a birthday party.<br />
<br />
She hasn't been invited to a sleepover.<br />
<br />
She hasn't been invited to a play date, a movie... anything.<br />
<br />
When asked who she plays with the most at recess, she replies, "Myself."<br />
<br />
I am a mother of a little girl on the fringe.<br />
<br />
When that realization hit me yesterday, it broke me. I went to work in my classroom and I bawled like a baby for hours. Then I got home and tried to explain how I was feeling to Derek... which led to me bawling again.<br />
<br />
I don't know how to parent her through this. Some of my dearest friends are the moms of these girls. I love these other girls and I love their moms. But I'm ashamed to admit that I'm resentful and hurt. I know that they aren't deliberately excluding her and that they aren't trying to be cruel but it doesn't change the fact that it hurts her and that it hurts me.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-90470410120756901922017-02-09T09:45:00.001-08:002017-02-09T09:45:04.959-08:00The Digital Invasion Book ReviewI've wanted for a long time to find a way to turn my book-obsession into something productive. I've never officially written a book review, so I have no idea how this is going to go... but here's my debut.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLjQWVTdxp3sr3LWXQ6KNh08aFegQumBcWYlrzSGGDIIoVsXm0ON6KyjgFSh5_ZoCSQxJBPq7tQqzp6z6GTgEWzB6JAfcL1LLoxWah0T5OReso3cslgjQ8yWTdvr1E06BVVFUHbEDPbj9/s1600/51sBzPbRnyL._SX322_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLjQWVTdxp3sr3LWXQ6KNh08aFegQumBcWYlrzSGGDIIoVsXm0ON6KyjgFSh5_ZoCSQxJBPq7tQqzp6z6GTgEWzB6JAfcL1LLoxWah0T5OReso3cslgjQ8yWTdvr1E06BVVFUHbEDPbj9/s320/51sBzPbRnyL._SX322_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" width="207" /></a>I recently read <u style="font-style: italic;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Digital-Invasion-Technology-Shaping-Relationships-ebook/dp/B00B85M43C/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1485123130&sr=8-1&keywords=the+digital+invasion" target="_blank">The Digital Invasion</a></u> by Dr. Archibald D. Hart and Dr. Sylvia Hart Frejd. I was driving home one night and listening to an interview on the radio where the author discussed the premise of his book. The authors, a father and daughter team, are a psychology professor and a Christian counselor, respectively. The book looks at the impact that technology is having on our relationships. I am a self-proclaimed social media addict and I felt like there was value in looking at how that is impacting my relationships.<br />
<br />
One thing that the authors point out at the start of the book is that we are broken up into two different groups in regards to technology. There are Digital Natives - those born after the advent of digital technology and Digital Immigrants - those born before the advent of digital technology. The first few chapters instruct readers to critically look at their personal technology habits - texting and driving, checking notifications while spending one-on-one time with a family member or friend, impulses to play online games, and the need to post about every minute of our lives (I am SO guilty on that last one). Next the authors explain the different brain systems (pleasure, tranquility, memory, learning, attachment, spiritual) and how the overuse of technology is impacting each of these areas.<br />
<br />
While the first three chapters were enlightening and set the stage for what was to come in the rest of the book. Once I hit chapter 4, the dog-earring began. Chapter 4 discusses the myth of multitasking. I have always prided myself on being able to multi-task. Being a mom and a teacher, it's probably one of the "skills" I utilize the most. It's awesome to be able to help with homework, answer emails, cook dinner, and listen to the TV at the same time. Sort of. The authors cite research done at Harvard and Stanford that show that when their brightest students were given either sequential task or multi-tasking projects, "they found that ALL the students' performance were reduced about one-third when multi-tasking. What is also notable about this study is that ALL students reported that they thought they were actually doing better when multi-tasking than when sequential tasking" (Hart, 81). Another interesting point in chapter 4 is the mention of multi-tasking and the "attention deficit trait". Multi-tasking may actually be a factor in the rise in ADHD diagnoses in youth today. Since youth who have access to digital technology around the clock are constantly jumping back and forth between games, texting, videos, and social media. They are doing all of this while working on homework and listening to music. The problem is that when the brain is asked to jump back and forth between stimuli without ever deeply focusing on a task, we train our brain NOT to focus and think deeply about something. The idea is that by allowing kids the access we are currently giving them to digital media, we are allowing them to wire their brains to be incapable of deep though and analysis. As a teacher, this is terrifying. Students NEED to be critical thinkers who are able to reflect and form their own opinions and beliefs.<br />
<br />
In chapter 5, the focus shifts to the impact that social media and technology has on personal relationships. As Hart states,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>"Technology can help us connect with extended family but it also disconnects us from our most intimate relationships. We turn to technology to for connections we can control, like texting, tweeting, emailing, and posting. These allow us to edit, delete, and retouch what we say and how we look. Real conversations are hard work, messy, challenging, unpredictable, and time consuming, but they are worth it."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
The authors go on to analyze the way the our technology use impedes our relationships and leads to<br />
disconnected people living in their own isolated worlds. Digital tech is an incredibly important part of our lives but we need to be aware of how it impacts our relationships and our brains. I would whole-heatedly recommend this book to parents and teachers alike. We are just starting to scratch the surface of the impact of digital technology and it is important that we are educated consumers.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-30583599487674461312017-01-20T19:46:00.001-08:002017-01-20T19:47:04.316-08:00My (anti)Inauguration SpeechIt's Inauguration Day. A few weeks back I made a self-promise not to post political ideas or beliefs, especially on Facebook and I have since broken that promise several times. I hadn't intended to blog about it at all until my husband made an innocent statement while getting ready this morning. I told him that I was wearing black today to protest Trump's inauguration and he said, "I think that we owe it to him to give him a chance - it's not like we can change anything."<br />
<br />
o_o<br />
<br />
I adore my husband and I know he had no deeper agenda than believing that this man that our government, not our people, elected deserves a fair shot. I think that's a bit idealistic since Trump had the past year to woo America and to win over the different groups who have opposed him. I haven't really seen him make that effort unless belligerent statements count and effort. I know I'm not alone. As of yesterday, somewhere around 60% of Americans are of the same mindset as I am. We're in big trouble and we just elected a bully with horrible manners and questionable morals to be our leader. I've been asked several times on Facebook to defend my beliefs but since I'm almost always on my phone when I check it and am HORRIBLE at typing on my phone, I thought I would respond here - with a full size keyboard.<br />
<br />
Why do I refuse to embrace the idea of "giving Trump a chance"?<br />
<br />
<b>I am a mom.</b><br />
<br />
I have been charged with raising two tiny humans who are acutely aware of what is going on around them. My job is to raise them to be kind, compassionate, forgiving, and tolerant. We now have a president that I would NEVER allow my children to watch speak (given their ages). I would not tolerate my children to use the kind of comments and behavior that he is admired for. If my children mocked someone with a disability the lesson would be learned and reparations made. If my son made sexist comments about a girl in the way Trump has mocked women, the punishment would be swift and an example would be made. Trump demonstrates the range of behavior that I will not tolerate in my children - and certainly on in my President.<br />
<br />
<b>I am a woman.</b><br />
<br />
When the announcement of Trump's victory came in November I awoke for the first time with a snippet of the fear and uncertainty that is commonplace for minorities in our country. I was scared. We elected a man who has made his opinion on women clear many times. I was raped when I was a teenager. It was traumatic and shameful and it took me a long time to be able to look my family in the face and discuss it. Our society already shames women who are victims of sexual assault.<br />
"Are you sure you said no?"<br />
"Were you wearing something suggestive?"<br />
"Were you drinking?"<br />
Trump has be accused of sexual assault by more than 15 women. I know that allegations have not been proven by my point is this - we have elected a man who is coming into office with multiple women alleging abuse.<br />
<br />
I was fortunate that I didn't have to deal with the added pain of a pregnancy as a result of rape. But if I had, I think that, given my age, I would have had an abortion. Becoming a mom has changed my views on abortion dramatically and now I know that I could never terminate a pregnancy. The point here is that is MY belief and MY choice. I would never want to impose that onto someone else. It is covered by the 14th amendment. Cutting funding to organizations such as Planned Parenthood means that women who have limited access to health care will no longer have access to birth control or other women's health services.<br />
<br />
<b>I am a Christian.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
I am a Christian. I believe in the teaching of Jesus and the Bible. Jesus' teaching promoted agape love, patience, and kindness. He taught that we are to love one another and care for 'least of these'. He was humble, forgiving, compassionate, loving, and patient. How can I support a man that is the literal opposite of all of these things? It's simple for me - I can't. I cannot reconcile the hate that spews from his mouth with the love that we know to be Jesus.<br />
<br />
I am so thankful that I know who wins in the end.<br />
<br />
<b>I am a teacher.</b><br />
<br />
I teach in rural Eastern Washington. We are an agricultural region that relies on migrant workers in the fields and I am fortunate to teach the children of some of these families. I know that some of the families in our community are here illegally. I also know that if Trump were to deport those living here illegally that families in our community would be ripped apart. I want my students to have every opportunity to better their lives and that means getting an education and having the opportunity to attend college. These families are here - help them acquire legal status. Treat them like humans.<br />
<br />
I won't even go into Betsy DeVos in this post... but I have A LOT to say about her as well.<br />
<br />
<b>I am a human.</b><br />
<br />
I believe that all people should be free from oppression, poverty, and violence. I watch Trump openly express an "Us versus Them" mentality that automatically pits religion against religion and nationality against nationality. I watch him describe his mighty wall and proclaim how he plans to shut down borders to keep "them" out. What happens after that, to the "them" that are left here? How will they be treated or mistreated?<br />
<br />
Donald Trump stands for all the things I stand against.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-6518253865977313712017-01-18T12:49:00.000-08:002017-01-18T12:49:07.908-08:00There will come a day...I have spent the last year and a half nursing an injured hip. There have been MONTHS of physical therapy, surgery, crutches, more physical therapy, tears and frustration, and now... suddenly I'm cleared by my surgeon to be a normal, active human again.<br />
<br />
It's the day I've been waiting for for almost two years... and yet now that it's here, I'm a little bit scared.<br />
<br />
When I finally reached a point where running was challenging but fun and re-energizing, it became something that I built my day around. I got up at 4:50 IN THE MORNING so I could go running. There are so many things about that statement that don't describe me that it still feels funny to write it down. I loved running. I felt good, I felt strong, and for the first time in a really long time - I didn't hate what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I was proud of myself.<br />
<br />
Now I'm horrendously out of shape, 15 pounds heavier, unmotivated (because let's be honest, exercise right now HURTS and it SUCKS and I don't like it. At all.), and so intensely scared. What if I can't get back in shape? What if I start running and the pain comes back and this whole mess was a waste of time and effort and insane amounts of money?<br />
<br />
I hate how I look and I hate how much that matters to me. If one of my friends or students were to say that they based how they felt about themselves based on what they weighed I would threaten to smack them because I know it's not a fair unit of measure. But somehow that truth doesn't work in my head. I look in the mirror and the only truth I see is what I SEE - not the kind of wife or mother I am, the kind of friend or teacher. It is a fundamental error in reasoning.<br />
<br />
So now what?<br />
<br />
I start training. I can't call it working out because then I just won't do it - I have no motivation to work out. I HATE working out. But I want that feeling back - I want to go out before sunrise this summer and run the hop fields and watch the sun come up as I'm making my last turns toward home. I want to be able to participate in the See Spot Run 5k in May as my first race post-surgery. But more than anything, I want to look in the mirror and be proud of the person looking back at me. I want that moment where all the pain and the tears become worth it... and to do that, I have to train.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_u-clEhlVNRRNaBoQDuTCl5Zte0xioLdEU5atx9oQQU73clvgWlg2mENFibgiqXIoSOltLrgzyJybItNR4uQVzShTD0Y_N2v_3OyvyNSSMZFlkWfXrRgqb8QJ5Imu1kpKLPvRfw2iu8/s1600/run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_u-clEhlVNRRNaBoQDuTCl5Zte0xioLdEU5atx9oQQU73clvgWlg2mENFibgiqXIoSOltLrgzyJybItNR4uQVzShTD0Y_N2v_3OyvyNSSMZFlkWfXrRgqb8QJ5Imu1kpKLPvRfw2iu8/s640/run.jpg" width="432" /></a>It is going to suck and I'm going to hate it. I'm going to whine and I'm going to want to quit. I'm going to feel like I will NEVER get to cross that finish line... and so I need my people to have my back. Please don't let me quit on myself. Life's too damn short to spend it on the couch.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-57382486550146335842016-01-18T12:22:00.000-08:002016-01-18T12:22:16.257-08:00Measuring up...It's been an entire year since I sat down with a blank page and cursor in front of me... I wish that my first post back was something positive, something uplifting. I DO have those posts in my drafts folder - they are unfinished and don't have the burning urgency to post that this one does. So they will stay there and the raw, icky reality of life will make its way onto this page instead.<br />
<br />
My life has forever been a battle of measuring up. Before I continue let me assure you that I KNOW that this isn't reality, I know that the things I tremble before are NOT the important things in life. Intellectually, I know this. I may know it but I can't make myself believe it lately.<br />
<br />
I have been trying to unravel the mess of how I ended up here - how I went from relatively "okay" with life back to a place where I am on a razor-sharp precipice between holding it together and absolute darkness. There isn't one event or circumstance that has landed me here - it's a mess of different little things that have snowballed together. This is my attempt at untangling it all..<br />
<br />
Weight. This is probably the most all-consuming thought on my mind. It would appear that five pounds is the difference between sanity and insanity for me. I know that (rationally) it is a small number, that my overall weight is not something to be concerned about... blah. blah. blah. As I said before, knowing and believing are two different concepts completely in my book. My clothes don't fit right. I loathe what I see in the mirror and in pictures. I have never tried to lose weight by doing anything normal. When I have wanted to drop pounds, I starved myself. It was a very simple equation. No food = smaller numbers on the scale. I don't know how to pick just healthy items. I don't know how to moderate my intake anymore. Binge eating is new to me and completely terrifying. When I was in out-patient therapy for my last bought with anorexia I was told to "just eat" and to learn to enjoy food again. That advice worked for a time but now it has come back to bite me in the ass in a completely different way. I can't make portion control work. I want Oreos, especially when I feel like the world is laying its weight on my shoulders. I don't want to go back, I don't want to ever have to deal with my eating disorder like that again. The problem is that I value my weight more than my health. I don't want to. I wish it to be different but it's not.<br />
<br />
Parenting. I feel like the ultimate failure as a mother. I watch other people with their kids and I wonder what in the hell I am doing wrong. One child doesn't sleep. Ever. I have had to lock her door at night because she roams the house at all hours of the night, watching Netflix and eating everything in the house. She goes into the garage to search for food and I am terrified she'll find some chemical that wasn't put away properly or eventually, walk right out the front door. She lies. Constantly. She has ADHD that drives me up the wall. She still doesn't sleep through the night without a pull up. My son is nearly 4 and still barely communicates verbally (in human). I can't get him to sit through Sunday school because he refuses to listen to a teacher. He will not potty train. No matter what I do I can't fix these things. I can't find a way to make my kid sleep. She walks around with dark circles under her eyes and is exhausted 98% of the time but I can't make her sleep. I can't even keep her in her room, despite child locks and threats and every incentive system Pinterest has to offer. I can't get my son to talk. There is no amount of coaxing or teaching that will get this child to speak unless he wants to. The exact same problem arises whenever I try to feed him something that doesn't start with "peanut butter and...". We don't eat as a family. I don't cook family meals. Hell, I barely cook. On my days off I spend my time avoiding them, not playing with them because I am so tired and angry and resentful. What kind of mother feels that way about her kids?? I love them with every fiber of my being... and yet I want to lock myself in my bedroom and hid under the covers whenever I am home alone with them.<br />
<br />
Work. I can't go into detail about this lest someone file a complaint about it. It's safe to say I could write pages on this topic.<br />
<br />
Faith. This season of my life is one of isolation. I feel alone even when I am in a room with the people I love most. My prayer life feels repetitive and empty. I am constantly "doing my homework" in my devotions, not yearning for the knowledge and connection to Christ that I felt six months ago.<br />
<br />
I have lost my joy. I have lost who I know I am and who I know I can be. I have been sucked back to this void, this darkness where I can't feel anything anymore.<br />
<br />
I know it is temporary. I know this is just a bumpy patch. I know that I will look back on this at some indeterminate time in the future and see the lesson that I learned or some person strength that I acquired. I have been through the dark before and come out the other side but being in the midst is painful, its scary, and it is so very lonely.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-8541835885670028002016-01-18T12:15:00.000-08:002016-01-18T12:26:48.297-08:00Failure{This post was written on 4/15/15 - it would appear I haven't come far in a year...}<br />
<br />
<i>We are not saved or justified by works but by the grace of God.</i><br />
<br />
How many times I have I heard this preached in church? How many times have I read it in my devotional or in an uplifting email in my morning inbox?<br />
<br />
Answer? More times that I can count.<br />
<br />
Do I believe it? Yes, because it is written in the bible. Sorta, because I struggle to comprehend the kind of love and grace and acceptance that is poured out by Christ being "free". No, because I still hold myself accountable to God and to myself in a works-based mindset.<br />
<br />
The scary part of struggling with this concept is that if, by my logic, I fail at my works - marriage, parenthood, teaching, discipleship.. by my logic (NOT God's), if I fail, I lose out on that grace, love, and forgiveness that I crave.<br />
<br />
Right now, I feel like a failure because of my struggles with parenting and my struggle with the idols of material goods, success, and body image.<br />
<br />
Parenting has been hard from the start - don't get me wrong. From day one I have wondered how and IF I was really prepared for the selfless work it took to be a good mom. I am selfish by nature - it is something that I battle constantly. If I need something, then I get it. If I want something, then I get it. If it stresses relationships, I still pursue it because MY needs come first. Is this right? HA! No - and please don't think for a second that I an proud of it. Take that selfish nature and put it in the context of parenting (or marriage for that matter) and one can easily see a thousand ways that selfishness can ruin the type of relationship I am trying to nurture with my children. The battles that we are going through with Addison are hard enough that, I believe, they would push any mother to her breaking point (and THAT is a whole different post). I pray every night for the strength to approach our struggles with love and understanding. Then I wake up to a destroyed house, a raided (and lied about) pantry, a child up watching movies at 3 am - and I come completely unglued. I'm not loving and understanding - I'm angry, I'm selfish. In the heat of the moment, I don't wonder what is going on in her body that has driven her to get up and ruin her favorite things, I don't wonder why she doesn't tell the truth even when being caught is inevitable, I don't wonder what it's like to lay awake all night with nothing to do, no way to fall asleep, and a body that NEEDS to move. In the heat of the moment, I see the mess, I hear the lie, I feel the frustration of being woken from MY sleep. I fail at being the loving parent that Jesus commissioned me to be. I end up being a bit of a bitch.<br />
<br />
<i>Thou shall have no other gods before Me.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
For my ENTIRE life, I thought that was the one commandment that I had in the bag. I didn't worship gold idols or other anything crazy like that. Then my world was flipped upside down by Timothy Keller and the preaching staff at our church started talking about what idols really are. They aren't necessarily golden calves - they are all the things that we put before God in our lives.<br />
<br />
Money.<br />
<br />
Success.<br />
<br />
Career.<br />
<br />
Family.<br />
<br />
Appearance.<br />
<br />
Hearing that, realizing that, and evaluating myself on that commandment was a sobering experience. I have spent my life adoring money and the things that it could buy. Brand names, new things, shiny objects - all those things were idols in my life.<br />
<br />
Success in my career, status, accolades - I thought that working hard and earning recognition was the end game of my job. But when I was hit with crippling jealousy over the "teacher of the year" award in our district this year I realized that I have placed WAY too much importance on my job and my career and on being acknowledged by others instead of doing what I know is right and good and letting that be all the satisfying enough.<br />
<br />
I thought that my dedication to my kids and the fact that I put them ahead of all else was something to be proud of. It felt natural to me that a mother should put her children above all else in her family. Then I learned that I was wrong again. Yes, my children are important and raising them and loving them are some of the most important aspects of my self - however it is Derek that I should put above the rest. I have let everything else come first and then I have given what I have left to Derek. I am living backwards.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-87443803772146822462015-01-02T13:05:00.000-08:002015-01-02T13:05:53.962-08:00Really??Pink eye.<br />
<br />
Day 2 of 2015 and I come down with pink eye of all things. I am just thankful that I have a cabinet full of doTERRA and am able to treat this kind of thing without the hassle and expense of heading to the doctor and being told it's a virus and I'll just have to wait it out.<br />
<br />
Not with doTERRA. Last night I diluted 2 drops of melaluca and 2 drops of lavender in a small amount of fractionated coconut oil and rubbed it around my eye socket (NOT in my eye... holy geeze, that would burn...) It was noticeably better this morning and after reapplying today it feels like it's mostly gone. I expect that by tomorrow I will be back to normal.<br />
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(If you are interested in learning more about doTERRA essential oils and how you can take your health into your own hands, message me or visit my website<a href="http://www.mydoterra.com/stefanitweedy/" target="_blank"> here</a>. I promote these because they have changed my life and the life of my family - not because I want to earn income from them.)</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-59408049146186258352015-01-01T16:36:00.000-08:002015-01-01T16:36:00.282-08:00Organized ChaosIf there is an accurate description of my life, 'organized chaos' would be it.<br />
<br />
2013 was the year I lost my dad. My world was dominated by grief and loss - I couldn't write about it. I couldn't talk about it. I was consumed.<br />
<br />
2014 was a year of learning the hard way. I tried to come to terms with what life without my dad meant and I did it in all the wrong ways. I vowed not to write about my marriage on a public forum and I will keep that vow, but I will say that I made mistakes, I caused tremendous pain. When I tried to cope and grasp onto what was the shards of my life - I hung onto the one thing that I have always controlled. Food. In February I entered back into a battle with anorexia - one that drug me down to 103 pounds and five days without food. Early spring was rock bottom for me but it forced me to make some tough decisions. I was on the precipice - on one side was six months of in-patient therapy, likely out of state. On the other was intensive outpatient therapy. Even my medical team doubted my chances of success with outpatient treatment. I couldn't stand the thought of being away from my family and I knew that I needed to learn to cope with life as it was happening - not in a secluded resort, away from the reminders of the pain and the stress that look me in the face each day. So I entered outpatient therapy. I went to counseling. I saw a nutritionist. I found a psychiatrist who is nothing short of amazing. I started reading scripture daily. All of these things combined into a painfully slow healing process that has brought me to where I am today. I have exited counseling. I have exited nutritional counseling. I see my psychiatrist every other week and we are working on an ever changing combination of medications to manage my anxiety, to help me sleep, to manage my depression, and keep my eating disorder in check. My faith has been my anchor through all this. I made an effort to be more involved at church - I taught vacation bible school every other week during the summer, I volunteer with the middle school youth group every Wednesday. My small group should be starting back up now that the new year has begun. I make an effort to read scripture and keep up with my church's teaching of The Story. As 2014 came to a close, I felt like I was finally walking in the right direction after a year of being caught in a labyrinth.<br />
<br />
2015.<br />
<br />
A new year.<br />
<br />
A new beginning.<br />
<br />
I'm not a fan of New Year's Resolutions. They scream failure to me... I can make a list of all the things I'm going to change about myself and my living habits and by January 15th I'm overwhelmed and I give up. So I'm not making resolutions. That being said - I am goal oriented. I always have a to-do list. Lists help me focus. So what follows is my public declaration of my goals for 2015. I am going into this year knowing that some days (or weeks or months) some goals will be a focus and others may fall to the background. I'm okay with that. It has taken me 33 years to truly realize that I am and always will be a work in progress. This list simply highlights the areas where I hope to look back on in a year and say that I have made progress. PROGRESS not perfection. In 365 days, I want to be a better version of me than I am today.<br />
<br />
<b>Spiritual Growth:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Carve out time each day to read scripture and pray</li>
<li>Continue to find time each week to be a part of youth group</li>
<ul>
<li>Make a more focused effort to connect with the kids</li>
<li>Develop lessons around scripture that challenge the students and myself</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Family Focus:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Be a better wife to my husband and a better mom to my kids</li>
<li>Plan a 'family night' at least once a week - board games, the park, go for a walk - anything as a whole family and without social media involved</li>
<li>Develop 'homework' for both kids to complete each weeknight (15 minutes max)</li>
<li>Develop chores for both kids to complete nightly</li>
<li>Take a vacation as a whole family</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Physical Health:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Train for and complete a 5k run</li>
<li>Train for and complete a 3 minute plank</li>
<li>Train for and develop a butt :)</li>
<li>Stretch daily</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Nutrition:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Drink at least 32 oz. of water daily</li>
<li>Replace prescription medications with natural options wherever possible </li>
<li>Eat at least three times per day</li>
<li>Develop a daily and weekly routine for doTERRA oils</li>
<li>Develop a weekly menu to plan shopping and ease chaos at night</li>
<li>Develop a list of healthy lunch choices and HAVE THEM AVAILABLE AT WORK</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Professional Growth:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Organize and lead a PD book study</li>
<li>Get the 6-8 ELA team up and running on SharePoint</li>
<li>Create a vertical alignment for 6-8 ELA</li>
</ul>
<br />
<b>Financial Health:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Stick to weekly food & gas budget</li>
<li>Divide spending money three ways: 33% to savings, 33% to spending, 34% toward debt consolidation loan principal</li>
</ul>
<div>
<b>Just Because:</b></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Alternate what I'm reading - YA fiction, teacher/PD book, Kindle book</li>
<li>Take one (or more!) Epson salt/doTERRA bath each week</li>
<li>Teach 4 (or more) doTERRA classes and maintain my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/doterrainthenest" target="_blank">Addicted to Oils </a>FB page</li>
<li>Spend 15 minutes picking up every night</li>
<li>Write. </li>
</ul>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-2619416561924928742014-04-25T11:30:00.000-07:002014-04-25T11:54:42.728-07:00A letter to my son on his 2nd birthday...Cohen,<br />
<br />
My boy. My sweet, sweet, amazing boy. How has it already been two years since I first held you in my arms? Two years since I looked into those perfect eyes? Two years since I met a living, breathing piece of my soul?<br />
<br />
I have always heard the stories about mothers and their sons, and to be honest, I never believed them (which makes no sense, because I was a daddy's girl through and through). I always thought of boys as loud and dirty and... just so different from me. Yet the opposite is true - you are the sweetest part of my life. You are a mama's boy and I am completely yours. I love your sister with all my heart and she and I have an amazing relationship - but you and I have our own special connection that no-one can ever even begin to understand. Your eyes light up when I come into a room and your smile and giggle are contagious. You see me on the couch and drag a giant blanket and pillow over to me, climb up, and cover us both us and we just lay there together. I never knew another boy could steal my heart after your daddy did... but you, my love, have stolen it away.<br />
<br />
I look back and think of how much you have grown and how much you have changed in this short amount of time. Then I look forward and think how amazing it will be to watch you grow up into a man. I hope I raise you well - I hope that I teach you what you need to know to be a good man in a world that doesn't necessarily promote being a truly good person.<br />
<br />
Please be kind - to yourself and to everyone that you meet. There will be times when people don't seem to deserve your kindness, but those are the times when they need it the most. Show love and grace to those around you, forgive when someone hurts you, and ask forgiveness when you wrong someone else. Be honorable - be a man whose handshake is his bond, who is trustworthy and honest, reliable and steadfast in his beliefs. Other people will try and sell you on so many things in life - be sure you know which things are worth buying in to and when to walk away. I want you to love God and realize His unfailing love for you. He will not fail you, even when the darkness closes in, His light will guide your path. Teach your children to love Him as well. Be proud of your faith - a good man, a courageous man, is all any woman could ever hope for as a partner. Find success in your passions. You will spend a lifetime working, so find something that you love and get paid to do it. I'm certainly not a teacher because of the paycheck I bring home at the end of each month but I know that the impact I make on my students is worth more than gold. I hope you find that type of reward in whatever you choose to do. Show the world that I taught you manners - open doors for strangers, and always, ALWAYS for the women in your life. Look people in the eye when you speak to them and shake their hand. Be respectful and respectable. <br />
<br />
Always love your sister - watch over her. You may be younger, but she is impulsive and there will be times when she will need you to be the voice of reason. Take care of her always. I never had a sibling and I've never wanted something more - the bond you two have is special. Don't let anything come between you. You two have each other forever - stay close, support each other, love each other, keep each other safe. <br />
<br />
You are my boy. My perfect baby boy. And whether I am telling you this when your two, twenty, or fifty - you will always be my perfect baby boy. I adore you with a love only a mother can possess and I hope you know that I would spend every second of every day curled up snuggling you if life would allow it. I know that soon enough you'll be too 'cool' for the kisses and hugs that I bombard you with every day - but that is why I do it so much now. I know that I can't keep you little, no matter how badly I want to and no matter how hard I try, you grow up a little more each day. <br />
<br />
Happy birthday my beautiful boy... I love you with my whole heart.<br />
<br />
~ Mama<br />
<br />
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<span id="goog_233384717"></span><span id="goog_233384718"></span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-17086355178335975302013-11-14T21:06:00.000-08:002013-11-14T21:06:34.749-08:00Coming up for air...I've been drowning these past few weeks... drowning in worry and anxiety about my kids, in work, in sickness, and in stress.<br />
<br />
Cohen had his hearing test today and it went better than I had expected. I had myself so prepared for the worst possible news that it was a relief to hear that it's just fluid behind his ear drum and that tubes will likely be the answer to that problem. We ended up in the pediatricians office because the doctor was concerned about how much weight the little man has lost {5 pounds} and wanted to recheck him and touch base. It seems like the stomach bug is starting to ease up and his appetite and personality are pretty much back to normal. He still is hacking with the stupid croup so tonight we started him on breathing treatments to help him quit coughing long enough to get some decent sleep.<br />
<br />
Addison is getting over her cold {although if you ask her, she will still tell you she is, "SO SICK!"} but since I turned in the paperwork for her ADHD evaluation today I suspect that she will soon become the focus of a lot of my worry and anxiety as we start looking at diagnosing her and moving forward from there.<br />
<br />
Work has been incredibly stressful the past few weeks - mostly due to being out of the classroom on short notice and trying to prep sub plans and recuperate after having a sub all while planning for the next week and trying to keep up with the mountain of grading that is next to me on the couch getting ignored.<br />
<br />
There is so much more weighing on my heart that I'm not at liberty to discuss because it's not my place and I don't have permission. All that I will say is that my mom was admitted to the hospital today in Arizona. She passed out yesterday {thankfully she had family over at the time} and somehow between yesterday afternoon and today at 2pm, she ended up in the ER. The phone reception was awful so I couldn't hear much of what she was saying and now her phone is dead but all I know is that they ruled out a stroke but are keeping her overnight for additional tests and observation. I HATE being this far away. I HATE not having someone I can call who can update me on what's going on and I HATE feeling so incredibly helpless.<br />
<br />
I am asking for your prayers again tonight - for my mom, for my kids, and selfishly, for me. A friend asked me today how I managed to be upbeat and have a smile on my face and I told her it was all a facade... and it is. I am trying to be strong. I am trying to lean on God. I pray so hard every night... but I still lay in bed and toss and turn.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
She got the call today<br />
One out of the gray<br />
And when the smoke cleared<br />
It took her breath away</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
She said she didn't believe<br />
It could happen to me<br />
I guess, we're all one phone call<br />
From our knees<br />
We're gonna get there soon</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
If every building falls<br />
And all the stars fade<br />
We'll still be singing this song<br />
The one they can't take away</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
I'm gonna get there soon<br />
She's gonna be there too<br />
Crying in her room<br />
Praying, Lord, come through<br />
We're gonna get there soon</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
Oh, it's your light<br />
Oh, it's your way<br />
Pull me out of the dark<br />
Just to show me the way</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
Crying out now<br />
From so far away<br />
You pull me closer to love<br />
Closer to love</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
Meet me once again<br />
Down off Lake Michigan<br />
Where we could feel the storm blowing<br />
Down with the wind</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
And don't apologize<br />
For all the tears you've cried<br />
You've been way too strong<br />
Now for all your life</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
I'm gonna get there soon<br />
You're gonna be there too<br />
Crying in your room<br />
Praying Lord come through<br />
We're gonna get there soon</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
Oh, it's your light<br />
Oh, it's your way<br />
Pull me out of the dark<br />
Just to show me the way</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
Crying out now<br />
From so far away<br />
You pull me closer to love<br />
Closer to love</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
'Cause you are all that I've waited for<br />
All of my life<br />
We're gonna get there<br />
You are all that I've waited for<br />
All of my life</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
You pull me closer to love<br />
Closer to love<br />
Pull me closer to love</div>
<div class="verse" style="text-align: center;">
You pull me closer to love<br />
Closer to love, oh no<br />
Closer to love, closer to love<br />
Pull me closer to love</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMRXXBGotnw" target="_blank">{Mat Kearney, Closer to Love}</a></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-50284885630191019552013-11-13T21:20:00.001-08:002013-11-13T21:20:46.055-08:00Afraid to sleep...When I lay in bed, I worry. I know that's when I'm supposed to pray, to lean on the Lord... but a lot of the time I worry. Or worse, I Google.<br />
<br />
Cohen's hearing appointment is tomorrow. I'm so scared and I'm forced to go alone because Derek is in an audit. What if the diagnosis is not what I want? How do I think, and hold it together, and not snap at Addison, and ask the right questions, and FUNCTION all by myself??<br />
<br />
What if my son can't understand my voice when I tell him I love him? What if he doesn't know the sound of his mama calling his name?<br />
<br />
My mama heart is heavy tonight... lots of worry, lots of questions, lots of fear. I'm going to bed now and I'm going to pray like I've done every night in recent history. I'm going to pray that my babies are healthy and that they know that I adore them above everything else. I'm going to pray for the doctors to have the expertise and understanding that we need. And I'm going to pray for myself... that no matter what, I have the strength and dignity to hold it together and do what needs to be done. I can lose my shit later, if need be, once the kids are in bed.<br />
<br />
Prayers for my baby boy... for tomorrow's test, for the blood work we're still waiting on, for the diagnosis we're unsure of, and for what the future holds. <br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-34488017191505578502013-11-13T20:02:00.000-08:002013-11-13T20:02:10.720-08:00Day 5...Today was hard... preschool days are always hard. What I'm learning from this <a href="http://theorangerhino.com/the-challenge-details/" target="_blank">challenge</a> is less about yelling and more about triggers... Addison's triggers and my own.<br />
<br />
Addison's meltdown triggers:<br />
- no nap days<br />
- preschool days<br />
- days where the schedule changes unexpectedly<br />
- the word 'no'<br />
<br />
Mama's screaming triggers:<br />
- Addison's meltdown triggers<br />
- anything involving managing two small children in a large hospital <br />
- plus lack of sleep, lack of caffeine, stress at work, sick children, a sick husband...<br />
<br />
Okay, so basically what I've learned is that everyday there are triggers, preschool days are by far the worst, but they exist everyday. As soon as I walked in the door today to pick up Addison I knew what I was in for... she screamed, "MAMA!!!" and swung her coat around like a lasso. She was in timeout before we could even get out the door and it just continued when we made an unexpected stop at the grocery store to pick up some things and when we walked past the greeting cards our world came to a grinding halt. She saw a princess kitty card that said, "Happy Birthday Niece!" {It would have been funny, I totally admit... but I said no.}<br />
<br />
As soon as I said no, she was gone - a screaming, foot stomping, crocodile tear producing, rationale lacking 4 year old.<br />
<br />
Now, without the challenge I would have managed to get out of the store without screaming. That part I could handle - but I would have lost it when we got in the car and the constant crying, screaming, kicking, flailing continued.<br />
<br />
I didn't lose it. I did turn up the music ridiculously loud. I did wait until she quit howling to explain that we could make daddy a card when we got home that he would like 100x times more. And I did repeat that compromise ten times before she actually HEARD me, but I didn't yell. <br />
<br />
When we got home we colored a beautiful princess dress picture and wrote, "Happy 10th Birthday Dad-O" per her request and everyone was happy.<br />
<br />
Tiny victories my friends, tiny victories.<br />
<br />
{300 days to go...}Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-19294567155468384942013-11-11T19:48:00.002-08:002013-11-11T19:48:27.949-08:00The Challenge...So, I have successfully made it to day three of the <a href="http://theorangerhino.com/the-challenge-details/" target="_blank">Orange Rhino </a>challenge.. that seems like a victory until I think of it in terms of the 362 days left to go. Part of the challenge is to document the triggers and your reactions during the first week or so... Let me recap yesterday and today for you.<br />
<br />
Sunday - Church was a bit crazy because Addison wanted to go with me into worship until the kid's message. She doesn't go with me very often so it's fair to say she doesn't really understand the expectations of being in 'big church'. She was crawling all over the pew and had a hard time sitting still during prayer but overall she did alright. I took her down to Kid Zone after the children's message {where she tried to pretend to be a 2nd grader so she could get a bible :)} and when I picked her up she was pretty wound up. I was talking with a friend from work about Cohen and Addison was running off every two seconds to hug a teacher or story teller from Sunday School. It seems like every lesson I've tried to teach her about caution with people we don't know goes out the window EVERY TIME WE STEP OUTSIDE. So, I kept calm and decided that I probably needed to just get her out of there because she was at the level of 'wonky' that makes her almost impossible to deal with. After we left church, we stopped at Walgreens to get cold medicine and she was touching EVERYTHING. I nagged her {didn't yell} to keep up and kept my trip as short as possible but finally had to get down to her eye level just before we left the store to have a quick chat about why we don't touch everything in the store and why we need to listen to mama. Not sure it really did much good, BUT I didn't yell or even raise my voice, so I think it counts for something.<br />
<br />
Today - She wasn't with me for a large chunk of the day since she went to a Veteran's Day parade with a friend and her grandma and then came home and instantly was ready for her nap. But this morning I did yell once - loudly. I think it falls within the rules of the challenge... I walked into the living room to find Addison with her little brother in a headlock, trying to drag him onto the couch, which looked a lot like a WWE move. I yelled, "Addison, let him go!" and she started crying. I sent her to the corner while I checked on Cohen {he was unfazed} then pulled her aside and tried to stay calm as I explained that she could hurt him by handling him like that.<br />
<br />
The real challenge begins tomorrow when we have to get dressed, get ready, and get out the door for work on time. Mornings are one of the times when I'm most likely to yell - especially when she is whiny because she's tired or cold or whatever is bugging her at that moment. So, I'm going to have to be mindful in the morning that with all of us being sick, with the weather freezing, and going into a week after a three day weekend, it will likely be a morning full of triggers.<br />
<br />
Wish me luck...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-84584902581535511552013-11-11T18:09:00.002-08:002013-11-11T18:10:01.111-08:00My Dad, My HeroI've had this in my drafts for a while, it's what I read at my dad's memorial. I figured Veteran's Day was an appropriate day to post it because it focuses on how he had always been my hero... it brings back sad memories to read over these words again... I miss him so much.<br />
<br />
----<br />
<br />
Ever since I was a little girl, my dad has been my hero. I was in awe of him. As far as I was concerned he was the smartest, handsomest, funniest man on the planet.<br />
<br />
It wasn't until I got older that I started to notice a pattern. I started paying more attention to the stories the our family and friends told about my dad. People always talked about how he was a stellar athlete, smart, kind, helpful, dedicated... the list goes on and on. What I started to realize, was that I wasn't the only person who looked up to my dad; I wasn't the only person who thought of him as my hero. Former teammates, friends, colleagues, and family all looked up to him for a variety of reasons. In these past weeks my mom and I have received countless emails, letters, CaringBridge comments, and phone calls and all of them have shared the same common message - that my dad was every bit the hero to them as he has been to me for my entire life. I had always thought that my feelings were simply the embodiment of the typical 'daddy's little girl' - I have since realized that it was not simply because he was my dad that I looked up to him as I did, but even more-so because he was the kind of person that everyone admired. <br />
<br />
While Derek and I were planning our wedding, my dad was horrified at the cost of my 'dream' wedding. He always was a man who weighed the pros and cons of finances and he could not comprehend how flowers, a cake, or a wedding video could mean so much to me <u>and</u> cost so much. At one point, he made Derek and I an offer. He said that if we would elope and have a small wedding somewhere, he would give us the budgeted money for the wedding as a down payment on our first house. At the time, I was young and totally naive about both the importance of lilies AND the value of a down payment. I chose my dream wedding and even though I don't think he agreed with me at the time - he didn't argue again. For the remainder of the time leading up to the wedding he obligingly wrote the checks as the bills were due and held his tongue - even though I know it was difficult for him. On my wedding night, during our father-daughter dance my dad asked me one question that has stuck with me since. He asked if I was happy. I smiled and laughed and said, "Of course!" He looked at me very seriously and said, "Then it was worth it - every penny."<br />
<br />
I learned an important lesson from my dad in that moment - that the memories that we make with the people we love matter more than anything else. I feel like my dad lived his life as an example of that lesson. <br />
<br />
Cancer wasn't supposed to happen to my dad. He spent his life being healthy and fit. It wasn't supposed to happen to him... the star quarterback, the Vietnam veteran, the man who
taught me how to ride a bike and shoot a gun, who walked me down the
aisle at my wedding, the man
who had a secret handshake with my baby girl, and wanted nothing more than to throw a football with my son. Cancer stole my dad away too soon - but it can never take away the love, the admiration, and the memories that we made with him, right up until his last days.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
There is a verse in the bible that I have relied on during some of the darkest points in my life. This verse comes from Hebrews chapter 6, verse 19. It reads:<br />
<br />
<i>We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. </i><br />
<br />
At various points in my life, I have wondered if God had forgotten me. My plans and hopes for my life weren't coming to pass as I had expected - I was devastated and angry at God for these disappointments. I realize now that this was simply God telling me that he had better and more important plans for my life and this led me to understand the importance of hope. I have discovered that anything is survivable if we are able to hold out hope. Over spring break, during my last visit to see my parents in Arizona, I had an anchor tattooed on my wrist. Later that night, I explained the motivation behind it to my dad. I had hope for the success of his medical treatments and the possibility of remission, and although I didn't say it at the time, I had hope that my dad to come to Christ, to find his faith, and as a result, that even if our time together on Earth was limited - we would be together again in heaven. That hope is was sustains me today - the understanding that even though we are all flawed - my dad and myself certainly included, that we will be welcomed into the gates of heaven as children of God. So today as we say goodbye to this amazing man I feel that it is better for me to think of it as, "see you later".<br />
<br /><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-87775578074939113952013-11-11T18:06:00.003-08:002013-11-11T18:06:29.158-08:00What a difference a year can make...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-16232260453873511582013-11-09T22:09:00.004-08:002013-11-09T22:10:56.279-08:00I think I've said this before...but parenting is really hard.<br />
<br />
I thought it was hard with a newborn - no sleep, no clue what I was doing, pumping milk every 3 hours, spit up, blow out diapers, packing an entire car load just to run to the store... it was hard.<br />
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Then I had a toddler - suddenly I was operating on no sleep {okay, more sleep than in the newborn days but compared to pre-baby, it was hardly sufficient}. We had moved past the pumping and spit up and cruised right into a cupboard raiding, electricity outlet seeking, temper tantrum throwing 2 year old... and it was hard.<br />
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Then I had a preschooler and a newborn and shit hit the fan {pardon my language... but in some instances, we could be talking about actual poop here... this is the stage where potty training when horribly wrong AND I had a new born with blow out diapers}... and everything that was hard about the first two stages got smooshed together under one roof and this mama may have come ever-so-slightly unglued.<br />
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Now, everything that I've just written up there ^ is exactly why this blog has been neglected since Cohen's birth. Parenting TWO children is exceptionally more challenging than parenting one... and I would hedge a bet that it is even more fun with three, and four, and so on... but I have no intentions of discovering that first-hand.<br />
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So fast forward to now, I'm mama-ing a 4-year-old and an 18-month-old, working more than full time, grieving the loss of my dad, holding together a marriage that on some days feels like it's on the verge of crumbling down {and on others, feels like perfection.. go figure.}, and trying to do it all and make it look like it's no big deal.<br />
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So, basically, I'm a big, fat liar.<br />
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Like I've said before, parenting is hard. Being an adult is hard. Being a wife is hard. LIFE IS FREAKING HARD.<br />
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{I do have a point, pinkie-swear}.<br />
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In the pre-baby days, I could lose my shit - scream, cry, throw things, buy things, starve myself, do whatever it took to make myself feel in control. I looked like an idiot more often than not, but it worked for me. Even in the early days when Addison was so little that I could be letting loose with a string of swear words that would make a sailor blush, but as long as I did it in my 'mommy voice' and had a smile on my face, she was none the wiser. Then, she started to get it. Addison knew when I was mad or sad, reacted when I was angry, and paid attention to whether or not what I did matched what I said I was going to do. Suddenly, I had to follow through. I had to watch what I said. I had to be a PARENT {read: role model} and it was terrifying. Back in the days when Addison was tiny and she cried or did something naughty, I could soothe or scold her and move on with life. However, four years old means memories and grudges tiny broken hearts over tiny broken promises. Four means laying down the law and teaching respect and asking WHY did it seem like a good idea to bite daddy... four means shit is getting real.<br />
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Addison is a mini-me... it's adorable most of the time - she's wonky and silly and loves people and runs on high octane... but minus a nap or with an unplanned change in the schedule or just because the moon is full, she can turn into a small, but mighty terror. Please understand, that until she turned three, I just thought that 'those people' with 'those obnoxious children' simply had no parenting skills and knew that no offspring of my womb would EVER dare act that way sohelpmeGod. Mmmmhmmm... That was the naivety of a first time parent. I know better now. The higher the stakes, the classier the joint, the more likely it is that my child will do something crazy. And I never wanted to be 'that parent' with 'that kid'... so I scolded and I YELLED. And then one day, Addison dropped her drink in the kitchen and I turned around with what I'm assuming it the typical "take cover, mom is going to explode" look... and my kid flinched.<br />
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My child was scared that I was going to yell. She was expecting it. And it stopped me dead in my tracks.<br />
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{^ point, if you missed it}.<br />
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I don't want to be that mom. I want to be a mom who has well-behaved kids because they don't want to disappoint her, not because they fear her. I want to have kids who come clean about their mistake before I even find out because they know that I am a safe haven and that even though there will be consequences - they are SAFE. I don't want to be the mom who screams. I never want to see fear in my child's eyes.<br />
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So, I'm starting over. I don't think you really get to do that but it's better than mucking through the way I've been going. I read several articles today as I planned this blog and, as He has a way of doing - God guided me to this decision and gave me the resources and the support from other mom's to say that I'm not going to yell anymore. {I realize this is the goal, and not likely the actual reality... but I'm talking about my children, so I'm setting the bar high.} I'm taking the <a href="http://theorangerhino.com/the-challenge-details/" target="_blank">OrangeRhino Challenge</a>. 365 days {and hopefully many, many more - of no yelling}. I may vent on here, I may lock myself in the bathroom to count to 100, but I will do my absolute best not to yell. <br />
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Because as I realized today... that even though I carried these two tiny humans inside my body, pushed them out into this world, nursed them, and fell madly in love with them - THEY ARE NOT MINE TO KEEP. God blessed me with these to precious souls and has charged me with caring for them and raising them up until they are ready to go out into the world and do His work. When I fully realize that these are children of God, not just children of Stefani and Derek, I feel even more pressure to do the right thing. And the right thing, the thing that God has done with me, is to raise them with love. God has never yelled at me and I want to mirror that parenting that He has shown me. I want to be worthy of being called 'mama' by these two precious souls. <br />
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So, my first step, is to stop yelling, to treat them with love and to be honest with myself, with God, and with my children about the kind of parent I need to be.<br />
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Today was my first day... 364 to go {and hopefully 6552 after that...}<br />
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I had one major trigger and I snapped, but I didn't yell. I caught Addison coloring in pencil on the door panel in the new Pilot while we were driving to the store. When I realized what was happening, I snapped at her to stop and give me the pencil. I asked her why she thought it was okay to color on the car {and herself, which happened yesterday when she came home from preschool with washable marker toenail polish, fingernail polish, lipstick, and body paint}. Then I handed her a wipe and made her clean up every mark of pencil we could see. She didn't get a treat at the store {as she had been promised} but I explained that it was a consequence of making the choice to color on the car. She didn't like it, but she didn't cry and she still held my hand as we walked across the parking lot.<br />
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I have a long way to go and I know that I am going to slip up more than once and end up back a zero, but I can handle that as long as I can turn around when juice goes crashing to the floor and not see fear in the eyes of my child.<br />
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I will do this. With God, all things are possible. {Matthew 19:26}<br />
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Here is a list of what I've been reading today:<br />
<a href="http://theorangerhino.com/" target="_blank"><br /></a>
<a href="http://theorangerhino.com/" target="_blank">Orange Rhino Challenge</a><br />
<a href="http://theorangerhino.com/10-things-i-learned-when-i-stopped-yelling-at-my-kids/" target="_blank">10 Things I Learned When I Stopped Yelling At My Kids</a><br />
<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/lisajo-baker-/when-your-temper-scares-you_b_4057344.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&ir=Parents&src=sp&comm_ref=false" target="_blank">When Your Temper Scares You</a><br />
<a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/10/how-to-have-a-temper-tantrum/" target="_blank">How To Have A Temper Tantrum</a> {This is the one that started it all for me... it brought tears.}<br />
<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/11/07/opinion/blow-the-passion-of-parenting.html?_r=0" target="_blank">The Passion of Parenting</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-51450077490189879622013-09-08T12:27:00.000-07:002013-09-08T12:27:52.483-07:00All I want for my birthday...is to NOT celebrate my birthday.<br />
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I don't want to have cake or open presents or, honestly, even hear the words, "Happy Birthday" on Wednesday. I know that it's irrational and I know that it's immature but if I can't hear those words from my dad this year, then I don't want to hear them at all.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-42526720789339905112013-07-11T22:27:00.002-07:002013-07-11T22:27:54.777-07:00ChaosI will never cease to be amazed at the human capacity to survive. Internally, I feel like absolute chaos - my heart has a hole in it, my soul hurts, my mind cannot stop the 'what-if' and 'I should have...' thoughts. It boggles my brain that I can still somehow get out of bed each morning, take care of my children, attempt to maintain relationships, and try to move forward.<br />
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All I know is that on my own, I would be nothing more than a puddle on the floor at this point. I am so thankful that He is with me through this.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8733956746719120307.post-90246484685227961652013-07-01T21:25:00.000-07:002013-07-01T21:25:34.250-07:00A leap of {FAITH}I was raised in church.<br />
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That statement has always been my 'get out of jail free' card when I am asked about my religion. I would explain that I was baptized, confirmed, and married in the Lutheran Church that my mom was raised in. I attended Sunday worship with my mom and grandma, took part in Sunday school, sang in the choir, and lit candles before the service. I sang hymns {once I figured out how to read the music in our ancient hymnals} that I didn't understand, knew when to say Amen, recited the Lord's Prayer, took communion, shook hands with our pastor, and sat patiently while our pastor delivered his weekly sermon.<br />
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But I never GOT IT.<br />
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I had faith in God, understood that Jesus was my salvation and had died for my sins, knew that the bible taught us how to lead a good and respectable life, and felt guilt before God when I did something that I knew was wrong. But still, I didn't GET IT. I went through the motions but I stopped short of actually living in faith. I BELIEVED it but I didn't LIVE it. <br />
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Around the time that I turned 14, I quit attending church. I was rebelling in countless ways, and this was surely one of them. My early teenage years were also filled with a host of other regrettable choices - and I'll save those for another post {or maybe not, they are not moments that I am proud of at all}. Things started to improve as I approached high school graduation and began to see that life extended beyond our small town. I moved away to college, met a boy, fell in love, and got engaged. As I was planning our wedding, I knew that I wanted to get married in my home church - where my parents had also said their vows. That desire sparked an interest to find a church in Pullman where I could feel at home while we were living there. I tried a few but never went back - it was too different from what I knew, it was too similar to what I knew, that people weren't friendly, the people were too friendly, the service was too early, the service was too late... and on and on. I found something wrong with every church I tried. So, what did I do? Yep, I quit trying. I gave up and went back to life as I knew it. I wanted to find a church that I loved but I had come to terms with the idea that maybe 'my' church just didn't exist. You see, at this time I wanted all of the perks of a church - friends, tradition, the warm fuzzy that comes with a great sermon - without the obligation of being a part of the church. The fastest way to get me to run was to tell me I needed to talk to strangers about Jesus, or get involved with bible study, or any other host of activities that required my involvement beyond holding down a pew on Sunday morning.<br />
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Things didn't change when we moved to the Yakima Valley. I tried a few churches, found flaws in all of them, and returned to my days of sleeping in on Sunday morning. Embarrassingly enough, I did drag Derek to various services on Christmas or Easter, but that was the extent of our spiritual journey for the year. Around Christmas in 2008, I started attending First Presbyterian Church in Yakima with a friend. We went together several times after Christmas and on the I spent the hours after discovering that I was pregnant in church there. We continued to attend services on Sunday there for a while - but soon the job of being pregnant started taking it's toll and sleep became invaluable. Then I ended up on bed rest and any hope of me making my way to church went out the window. Being a new parent wasn't any easier, in fact - having a kid in tow made it even harder to 'sample' churches because I had to find a fit for both of us. So, true to my nature, I gave up again. You can pretty much see how this pattern continued for the past several years - try, give up, wish harder, repeat.<br />
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Then, this January I made a choice. I always knew I wanted my children to grow up in church - like I did. I knew that First Pres had a great preschool program and it was the only church here in the valley that I had ever attended with any consistency, so even though I didn't know a soul, Addison and I started going. I would get there just before the service started, drop her off downstairs for KidZone, and then find a seat in the back of the sanctuary and feel like all eyes were on the woman who was sitting ALONE. Every service we stand up and greet the people around us and I would watch as everyone else hugged and waved and greeted people by name... and then they politely shook my hand and said hello. It was awkward and I never saw the same person twice, even when I searched for them. So what kept me going this winter, when I would have normally chosen the less 'scary' path and stayed home? Easy. My daughter fell in love with Christ.<br />
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Addison was coming home and wanting to say prayers, was asking about Jesus, and was SO looking forward to Sundays. She would ask me two questions every day after I picked her up from daycare - 'Did we get to go to Gymnastics?' and 'Did we get to go to church?' If I had any reservations about sticking it out, they disappeared right there. I knew that, at least for the foreseeable future, we had found a church. <br />
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Now, if you go back and look at the first paragraph of this post, I explained very clearly that I was raised in church. That was the only religious experience I have ever known. I would hear people talk about being 'reborn', I would see people with their hands raised in worship, and I was judgy. If this is an honest post about the changes in me, then I have to address this part - even though it's embarrassing and makes me feel like an awful person for admitting it. The more religious a person was, the more uncomfortable I was and the more I judged. Coming from someone who was 'raised in church' this should be appalling, right? If anyone confronted me about my faith, I quickly changed the subject. My faith was a person relationship with God and I had NO desire to share it or explain it to anyone. The more people pushed {read: encouraged} the more I pulled back. I didn't pray - honestly, I didn't know how to. Growing up in the Missouri Synod, we only prayed very formal prayers. I had no idea how to 'talk to God'. I didn't know if I had to be on my knees with my hands folded or if I could pray as I was driving down the freeway or delivering a lesson in class. I grew up in church and I had religion - but I didn't have FAITH.<br />
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So, remember two minutes ago where I said I got all judgy and freaked out when people talked about being 'born again' and all that? Yah, that's where I'm going now.<br />
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I can't remember the date specifically - I *think* it was shortly before Easter... or after... I don't really know. There was a large cross up in front of the alter and at some point in the service, Pastor had each member of the congregation select a rock out of a basket. There were rocks of every color and shape and we were to pick one rock to represent our sins. I picked a very shiny, simple black rock. I held onto it throughout the sermon and listened as Pastor talked about how if we truly repent our sins, that they are taken away. Not just forgiven, but FORGOTTEN. As I sat there, I thought of all my sins... and let's be honest - I had quite a list, from petty to incredibly serious. Some were recent {from that morning even} and some were old shames from years and years ago. As I thought through all of these mistakes and wrong-doings, I clung to that rock. Toward the end of the sermon, as we were called to come forward and cast our stones at the foot of the cross, I would have sworn that it weighed significantly more than it did when I first selected it. When it was my turn, I very deliberately placed my rock under the cross. <br />
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Was there an immediate lifting of my soul? No. Did I feel as if my faith was instantly renewed? Nope. But I felt something... and I don't have words to describe it - there was a subtle shift after that day. Small things started to change in my life... I started sitting closer to the front in church, I made an effort to seek out people my age and connect with them, I started having conversations with Addison about God, and - most importantly to me - I started praying. For the first time in my life, I was TALKING to God. Not begging, not making a wish list of what I wanted him to do - but truly asking for things like patience, guidance, continued faith, and forgiveness. I also prayed for a way to connect more with the people at our church. <br />
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For as long as I can remember, I have likened volunteering at church with daycare, potlucks, and the little white haired ladies of my childhood. I couldn't visualize myself being involved at church - I couldn't imagine how I could be of use. Then, one day just before spring break, there was a presentation during worship as the high school youth group prepared to go on a mission to New York to feed the homeless. During that same presentation, there was mention of a need for adults to volunteer for day and weekend camp during the summer. It hit me {yes, I know this should have been a DUH moment, but sometimes it takes awhile for me to catch on}. I work with teenagers. I love it. WHY IN THE WORLD wouldn't I want to use that passion in the church?? So, I signed up to volunteer at day camp and at VBS. I was 'hired' to do day camp, but our anniversary trip {and, it turned out, the passing of my dad} prevented that opportunity from coming to fruition this year. However, I did volunteer at VBS and had an AMAZING time. The people, the kids, the messages were all incredible and I know that I will be planning my summer around VBS week next year and in the years to come. I also want to find a way {read: childcare} so I can volunteer at the Madison House during the next school year. I would love to tutor once or twice a week and I would be thrilled if I could find a way to have my kids there with me. I think that it's so important that they grow up understanding how important it is to help others and also to appreciate how good they have it and how so many others in our community are not as fortunate. <br />
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So, yes, I was raised in church. But I don't think I was raised in faith. I believe that I found faith this year and I believe that it happened at this point in my life for a reason. My mom and I went to First Pres in February when she was here visiting, and that was the first time Addison attended Sunday school. I have only missed three Sunday's since - once because I had the flu and two when I was in Vegas/Mesa. In the few short months before my dad passed away, I found faith - not religion - {FAITH}. Beautiful, strong, unwavering, amazing, FAITH. I know that I was pulled back to the church when I was because I needed that connection, that relationship, that understanding, and that support to be built into my life before I lost my dad. I know that my daughter needed that foundation and understanding to help her comprehend that her Papa was gone but living on somewhere so much more glorious. I wish that all of you on the interwebs could hear her talk honestly about where her Papa is. It's amazing that so much compassion and faith can fit into such a little body. <br />
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{I keep trying to write an ending paragraph for this post and each time I read over it and delete it... so I will leave it at this - I have come a long way in my journey but I have so much farther to go. Blessings.}Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2