Recently, while looking through old photo albums for some "Throwback Thurday" shots, I came across my biological father's journal. This is actually about 5 months worth of journaling, scribbled on yellow legal paper from the first few months of my life. My grandma found it in her stuff on a trip to Nicaragua about 15 years ago and brought it back for me. It is fascinating. It's clear that he loved my mother very much and that he loved his new daughter very much as well. He definitely excelled at being a father, especially of babies. I was his fourth, although my mom's first...so he took lead on everything from feeding to diapering to general care. It's particularly poignant to me, since I felt quite abandoned by him as a young adult and right up until he died.
In the journal I also placed a series of letters I wrote to him (I printed more than one copy) and his response to me. Re-reading those, which represented the first time I ever really spoke up to him in an intelligent way, at around age 21, was moving...especially putting together the memories of the circumstances that surrounded the letters being written. I read them aloud to my very patient husband because I was impressed with how young adult me had handled the situation, and I felt the response I got from him was such great insight into his weird, narcissistic personality that I needed to share it. My husband only met him on a couple of occasions, and while he's heard many earfuls of stories about him, and even attended his funeral, this letter was a window into the kind of father he was to me, and the kind of person he was.
He died 3 years ago this month. It's felt very peaceful since he died. No stress or guilt on his birthday or on Father's Day, no second guessing if my cutting ties was the right thing to do...but a strong sense of his presence. Seemingly positive and quite evolved from the person he was in life, his energy spent a lot of time around me when first he passed, real or imagined. It was comforting to feel the father I had always longed for around me. He was an incredible father to many of my siblings (he had 7 children), but that isn't the straw I drew. Luckily, the universe granted me a second chance by way of my incredibly stalwart and honorable, if somewhat withdrawn, stepfather...but there's something about being loved by your dad that every kid yearns for, even if they don't realize it.
That man loved me. I know he did. I read it in his writings. Unfortunately, he fell into a relationship with a hate monger. A manipulative, horrid woman who could never be trusted, should not have been trusted with the care of his young child. He turned a blind eye, although apologized for it later. She was a terrific mother to her own children...and why not, she had me on whom to take out her frustrations. As I grew, and became less tolerant of the kind of parent she was, I became the pariah to that family. Their stories about me made it seem as though I left them out of some kind of spite or desire to hurt my them, especially my dad. My story is one of survival. I left to reclaim myself. I left to stop the pain. I found a way and was lucky enough to be able to stop the cycle of physical and emotional abuse, but my younger siblings were taught otherwise...and I won't ever be able to convince them of the validity of MY version. The last time I saw them was at our father's funeral. They didn't make eye contact with me. I didn't speak to any of them. They made it clear that I wasn't welcome. If I wasn't sure, the phone call I got the night before from one of them saying I wasn't welcome made it pretty clear. I went anyway, as I was there for my older siblings, who have always been my protectors.
It's been 3 years and for a long time I was able to happily not think about my stepmonster. I vaguely worry when I go to Santa Monica...concerned I may run into her...but I carry on. I am a big girl now and she can't hurt me anymore. But that hurt little girl isn't all that far away. I sometimes daydream about the confrontation that would take place if I could. It's a scene from a movie, really, where I yell at her in perfect Aaron Sorkin dialogue about why she's such a wretched human being and her children hear me and finally believe me and love their big sister again. But that's not the ending to this story. The little girl needs to be heard, and maybe will be one day, but the big girl knows that the only behavior you have control over is your own. There isn't going to be a movie ending on this one. Those 3 people who share my genes, the one who I carried home from the hospital, the one whose birth was the first I attended, and the one whose diaper I changed and hair I brushed...they have a different movie in their heads. I'm the bad guy in their movie, and as much as it pains me, I accept that I cannot change it. So, instead, I thank my lucky stars for the siblings I DO have who love me and hold me up, and for the rest of my family, who listens when I complain, and hold me when I am sad, and who love me. Because that has to be enough.
About Me
- Ariella
- I blog. I also mother, wife, create, preserve, recycle, cook, act, quilt, exercise, laugh, write, lolligag, work, volunteer, sing, and sometimes sleep.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Hashtag Compliments
Do you ever get a random compliment out of the blue and it completely makes your day ? Sometimes a remark from a complete stranger can lighten your mood, put a smile on your face, or make you think differently about that "old shirt" you pulled out of your closet. For the last few years I've noticed an upswing in people suggesting more compliments be given as you go about your day, and I think that's great. Random Acts of Kindness (or compliments)are awesome. I feel it's time to take it one step further and create a movement to consciously compliment the people you care about. Complimenting is best with very specific and sincere statements about how you feel about them, how they act, what they do, how they look, whatever strikes you. And I'm not talking a random "you look nice today" (although those are great too). I'm talking about taking one minute out of your day, every day to text someone that you know or leave a message on someone's Facebook wall or send an email just letting a friend know how you feel about them.
I do this a lot, and sometimes I think people think that I'm creepy, or they think that I might be trying to sell them something. I may very well be creepy, but I forge on, because I can't help myself. I like connecting with people, even for a moment, and making them feel good. It's what I do. It's something I'm good at, but I think that everyone could do it. Can you imagine a world where periodically you receive messages from someone you care about with an unsolicited compliment? Wouldn't that be wonderful? Maybe it needs a hashtag, or a specific day of the week, or even both. It would be nice to not limit such things, but life gets so busy. Traditions are good and Reminders are better. I wish there was a day of the week that began with a C, as alliteration seems to of helped "Throwback Thursdays" quite a bit. Conscious complementing sounds a little bit too much like "conscious uncoupling", (thanks a lot, Gwyneth Paltrow).Okay, so I don't have a hashtag or a catchphrase yet, but I'll work on it, if all of you are willing to try doing this with me. I have over 1000 Facebook friends, all of whom people I know personally. Imagine the brightness in the world if each one gave a compliment to someone they love today. You CAN brighten someone's day.
Sometimes the best ideas strike you after some time has passed. How about #saysomethingsweetSunday? Or #ssss for short? Worth a shot.
Doing good truly makes you feel good. Making someone else feel good can be it's own reward. There is a selflessness about it that would do everyone a bit of good. Who is with me?
I do this a lot, and sometimes I think people think that I'm creepy, or they think that I might be trying to sell them something. I may very well be creepy, but I forge on, because I can't help myself. I like connecting with people, even for a moment, and making them feel good. It's what I do. It's something I'm good at, but I think that everyone could do it. Can you imagine a world where periodically you receive messages from someone you care about with an unsolicited compliment? Wouldn't that be wonderful? Maybe it needs a hashtag, or a specific day of the week, or even both. It would be nice to not limit such things, but life gets so busy. Traditions are good and Reminders are better. I wish there was a day of the week that began with a C, as alliteration seems to of helped "Throwback Thursdays" quite a bit. Conscious complementing sounds a little bit too much like "conscious uncoupling", (thanks a lot, Gwyneth Paltrow).Okay, so I don't have a hashtag or a catchphrase yet, but I'll work on it, if all of you are willing to try doing this with me. I have over 1000 Facebook friends, all of whom people I know personally. Imagine the brightness in the world if each one gave a compliment to someone they love today. You CAN brighten someone's day.
Sometimes the best ideas strike you after some time has passed. How about #saysomethingsweetSunday? Or #ssss for short? Worth a shot.
Doing good truly makes you feel good. Making someone else feel good can be it's own reward. There is a selflessness about it that would do everyone a bit of good. Who is with me?
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
What? I'm Fat??
Yes, somewhat inspired by the brilliant episode of Louis C.K, which has spurred on a load on internet discussion among my group of friends...but also inspired by, you know, my life...and I have more than a blogpost amount to say about that.
"Heavy" since 3rd grade. A "voluptuous" teenager/young adult. "Morbidly Obese" now. That sounds sexy and fun, doesn't it? I feel the need to justify that my actual weight only makes me "obese", but because I'm the lucky recipient of hereditary diabetes (another justification), that flips me right into that special "morbidly" category. But you know what? I'm done caring.
Imagine this conversation, if you would...between, let's say a black man and a white woman:
BM-So, you don't mind that I'm black?
WW- Oh, don't say that. You're not black.
BM- Um, pretty sure I am.
WW- No, stop saying that about yourself!
BM- But...I AM.
Now, trade out the word fat for black. I'm so done with people having the word fat be such a negative thing. (Old, too, while we're at it, but I'll just pick one battle with society for today.) Guess what? I'm fat. I'm also quite happily married to a (not fat) guy who yes, started dating me when I was a fair bit smaller than I am now, but married me at 206 pounds. Yes, that's how much I weighed when I got married, and guess what else? That's give or take 5 pounds what I weigh now. Did you hear that shattering sound? The universe combusting over an overweight woman giving the internet her actual, non driver's license (185), non 'size card' (200) weight and not because she's about to start on the next season of The Biggest Loser? No? Well, I'm pretty sure it was ready to...maybe it didn't because it really doesn't matter one freaking bit.
Am I a good wife? Yes. I support my husband in whatever way he needs, I'm a good partner, his best friend, his biggest fan and he adores me. My husband wants me healthy and happy, but loves me at any weight and I could call him into this room right now to have sex with me and he'd leave his past deadline work pile and drag his feverish, sickly self in here to take care of business...so THAT isn't an issue.
Am I a good mother? Sometimes, that's debatable but for the 2 incredibly awesome kids I have somehow managed to produce through all my insanity, so maybe for today's purposes we'll say yes.
Am I a good friend? Without question.
Good at my job? Great at it, actually.
I also eat healthfully and I exercise. Don't believe me? My afternoon snack today? 1/2 cup of raspberries and 6 almonds. My dinner? Spinach quinoa patties with hummus, taboule, and tomato. My next 5K scheduled for June 21st. My cholesterol is 147. My blood pressure last week came in at 108/67. Liver function is normal, as are my kidneys. Even my diabetes bloodwork matches that of a non-diabetic, now that I function as my own pancreas. I. Am. Good. Fat does not automatically mean unhealthy. Skinny does not automatically mean healthy. So, what's with the naughtiness of the fat word? Why is it SO terrible to be fat? When my kids were little, if they called my belly fat I'd get over the initial "ouch" feeling and pretend to laugh and I'd say- "yeah, mama's belly IS fat isn't it? And squishy!" and then I'd tickle them and we'd move on. Because I wanted them to live in a world (at least for a little while) where an accurate descriptive word was NOT bad. I want to change the world, even if it's just my little world...but my kids didn't live in a bubble. They went to school where because they weren't tiny stick figures they got called fat...and they'd come home sad until I explained to them that it didn't MATTER what they looked like, kids smell weakness. They could just as easily have been made fun of for the color of their hair, for the length of their chins, for the dimple on their nose or for the skinny legs they don't have...kids find things to make fun of. I explained to them that they needed to buck up and figure out how to deal with whatever the hurtful words were because even if they were the skinniest kids on earth, someone, someday would find a reason to pick on them.
I was walking in the parking lot of a store last week, when a 20 something man called me a fat cow. This happens more often than you'd think. I hadn't taken his parking spot, I hadn't done anything. I was just walking to my car. He just did it. Sadly, he chose the wrong person, because what came out of my mouth was something to this effect:
"Why do guys like you always think that's some kind of great insult? I've been married for 16 years to a hot guy who thinks I'm FINE. I've probably had more sex in my life than you will EVER have (and am sure I'm better at it). I am more healthy, happy, and fulfilled than you could ever imagine being...and YOU think pointing out one of the most OBVIOUS FACTS about me is going to hurt me somehow?? Your brain must be as small as your penis."
Have to admit, was pretty pleased with the last bit.
So how do we do this? How do we make the word fat as innocuous as the word tall or short or silly or redheaded or whatever? I'm starting with me. You can too. Call me your fat friend Ariella. I don't care. It's TRUE. If you're lucky enough to be my friend, anyway.
The movie PITCH PERFECT has a character, played by the actress Rebel Wilson who goes by the name Fat Amy...by her own logic she says she knows the girls are going to call her fat anyway so they may as well do it to her face. The movie does a fabulous job of making her not apologize for her weight, in fact she joins the singing group cause she's tired of all her boyfriends...as a fat actress, I am always worried about the portrayal of the fat character, and I'm happy they did it well. So did Louis. And so will I. I don't need to be fat BUT with a pretty face...or sexy DESPITE the fact that I'm fat. I can just just be all of those things. And it can be ok.
My favorite fat joke? (only Harry Potter fans will get it).
Yo mama is so fat that her patronus is a cake.
"Heavy" since 3rd grade. A "voluptuous" teenager/young adult. "Morbidly Obese" now. That sounds sexy and fun, doesn't it? I feel the need to justify that my actual weight only makes me "obese", but because I'm the lucky recipient of hereditary diabetes (another justification), that flips me right into that special "morbidly" category. But you know what? I'm done caring.
Imagine this conversation, if you would...between, let's say a black man and a white woman:
BM-So, you don't mind that I'm black?
WW- Oh, don't say that. You're not black.
BM- Um, pretty sure I am.
WW- No, stop saying that about yourself!
BM- But...I AM.
Now, trade out the word fat for black. I'm so done with people having the word fat be such a negative thing. (Old, too, while we're at it, but I'll just pick one battle with society for today.) Guess what? I'm fat. I'm also quite happily married to a (not fat) guy who yes, started dating me when I was a fair bit smaller than I am now, but married me at 206 pounds. Yes, that's how much I weighed when I got married, and guess what else? That's give or take 5 pounds what I weigh now. Did you hear that shattering sound? The universe combusting over an overweight woman giving the internet her actual, non driver's license (185), non 'size card' (200) weight and not because she's about to start on the next season of The Biggest Loser? No? Well, I'm pretty sure it was ready to...maybe it didn't because it really doesn't matter one freaking bit.
Am I a good wife? Yes. I support my husband in whatever way he needs, I'm a good partner, his best friend, his biggest fan and he adores me. My husband wants me healthy and happy, but loves me at any weight and I could call him into this room right now to have sex with me and he'd leave his past deadline work pile and drag his feverish, sickly self in here to take care of business...so THAT isn't an issue.
Am I a good mother? Sometimes, that's debatable but for the 2 incredibly awesome kids I have somehow managed to produce through all my insanity, so maybe for today's purposes we'll say yes.
Am I a good friend? Without question.
Good at my job? Great at it, actually.
I also eat healthfully and I exercise. Don't believe me? My afternoon snack today? 1/2 cup of raspberries and 6 almonds. My dinner? Spinach quinoa patties with hummus, taboule, and tomato. My next 5K scheduled for June 21st. My cholesterol is 147. My blood pressure last week came in at 108/67. Liver function is normal, as are my kidneys. Even my diabetes bloodwork matches that of a non-diabetic, now that I function as my own pancreas. I. Am. Good. Fat does not automatically mean unhealthy. Skinny does not automatically mean healthy. So, what's with the naughtiness of the fat word? Why is it SO terrible to be fat? When my kids were little, if they called my belly fat I'd get over the initial "ouch" feeling and pretend to laugh and I'd say- "yeah, mama's belly IS fat isn't it? And squishy!" and then I'd tickle them and we'd move on. Because I wanted them to live in a world (at least for a little while) where an accurate descriptive word was NOT bad. I want to change the world, even if it's just my little world...but my kids didn't live in a bubble. They went to school where because they weren't tiny stick figures they got called fat...and they'd come home sad until I explained to them that it didn't MATTER what they looked like, kids smell weakness. They could just as easily have been made fun of for the color of their hair, for the length of their chins, for the dimple on their nose or for the skinny legs they don't have...kids find things to make fun of. I explained to them that they needed to buck up and figure out how to deal with whatever the hurtful words were because even if they were the skinniest kids on earth, someone, someday would find a reason to pick on them.
I was walking in the parking lot of a store last week, when a 20 something man called me a fat cow. This happens more often than you'd think. I hadn't taken his parking spot, I hadn't done anything. I was just walking to my car. He just did it. Sadly, he chose the wrong person, because what came out of my mouth was something to this effect:
"Why do guys like you always think that's some kind of great insult? I've been married for 16 years to a hot guy who thinks I'm FINE. I've probably had more sex in my life than you will EVER have (and am sure I'm better at it). I am more healthy, happy, and fulfilled than you could ever imagine being...and YOU think pointing out one of the most OBVIOUS FACTS about me is going to hurt me somehow?? Your brain must be as small as your penis."
Have to admit, was pretty pleased with the last bit.
So how do we do this? How do we make the word fat as innocuous as the word tall or short or silly or redheaded or whatever? I'm starting with me. You can too. Call me your fat friend Ariella. I don't care. It's TRUE. If you're lucky enough to be my friend, anyway.
The movie PITCH PERFECT has a character, played by the actress Rebel Wilson who goes by the name Fat Amy...by her own logic she says she knows the girls are going to call her fat anyway so they may as well do it to her face. The movie does a fabulous job of making her not apologize for her weight, in fact she joins the singing group cause she's tired of all her boyfriends...as a fat actress, I am always worried about the portrayal of the fat character, and I'm happy they did it well. So did Louis. And so will I. I don't need to be fat BUT with a pretty face...or sexy DESPITE the fact that I'm fat. I can just just be all of those things. And it can be ok.
My favorite fat joke? (only Harry Potter fans will get it).
Yo mama is so fat that her patronus is a cake.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
That Easter Thing You Do
My kids know the truth now. If yours don't, then maybe have them stop reading over your shoulder now (also, why are you letting your kids read over your shoulder anyway? They should be outside playing.).
Magnolia found out when she was 9...mainly because we are terrible at the Tooth Fairy thing. We forget, we lose teeth, we forget some more, then we forget again. We always said that we weren't going to straight up lie to the kids about anything, and if they asked us direct questions, we'd answer truthfully, with the idea that when they get older, this would translate into them feeling safe about trusting us to be honest with them...an idea certainly appealing once they become teenagers. So, the tooth fairy forgot (again) and Magnolia asked. And since she asked, I was honest with her. Unfortunately, she lost her shit. LOTS of crying. Through the tears, she blubbered "What about the Easter Bunny?" at which point I told her. Renewed hysterical sobbing...then "And Santa?". Fearful of the onslaught, I lied. A few days later, once she had calmed down, she asked again about that one, and I was honest. She took it reasonably well. She then became very concerned about her brother not knowing the truth and over the next couple of years put on an incredible show, which made the inevitable truth even harder with him...as he is a person who loves facts and information. But the years passed, the tooth fairy bungled again, and one fateful day, he tested his theory before even asking the question, and we were caught before we even got asked. *The* question was then asked, with several follow up questions...and the truth came to light. When his father later asked how he felt about knowing the truth, Max's matter of fact answer was "I'm glad you guys told me because otherwise when I grow up and have kids, I wouldn't have known I was supposed to DO all this stuff!!" Perfect.
So, once your kids "know"...and especially if you're Unitarian Universalists (spiritual agnostics) and don't actually "believe" in the "reason for the season" (although your families celebrate it)...what do you do? Last Easter was the first one where both kids *knew*. And they both begged me to pretend like they didn't know because they still wanted presents and candy. I gave in, even though it's a lot of work on a weekend when I already have a lot of work to prepare for not one, but TWO family gatherings. This year, I was in a bit of denial right until we got until the day before...when both kids pleaded again for the candy...when I explained we could go BUY the candy they wanted when it was 50% the day after Easter, Magnolia groused that she liked the TRADITION of it...and that Max waking her up early in excitement was the thing she liked the most. Heart warmed by an unusual display of sibling love, this Grinch decided SOMETHING should be done. Both kids had mentioned how much they'd miss the chocolate bunnies. So, in between baseball and softball games, rehearsal, an audition, and a shopping for a BBQ we were hosting that evening, I went to the store to buy a few bits of Easter joy. That night, I decided that baskets and egg hunts at home were out (they'd have one at each Grandparents' house later), but something needed to replace it. In a moment of brilliance, I decided on a new tradition, and since both kids are old enough to process a letter, and since the waking up early part is better when they don't involve US, I wrote out a letter to both of them, which Michael typed up and printed up 2 copies, so that we could personalize each one. We've started a new tradition, one they were both excited by and happy with...and one that will make me finally comfortable with this celebration. Each kid got a few chocolate eggs, peeps, a small chocolate bunny, some money, and this letter, along with personal notes to each one by each of us. This is something I feel comfortable with.
Dear Magnolia and Max,
We decided, as the years passed where make believe bunnies bring you treats, that it's time to transition our traditions into one that makes good for the years to come.
"Easter" is celebrated by Christians all over the world to honor the idea that Jesus rose from the dead as a way to forgive us all for all our sins as humans...but long before Jesus of Nazareth died on the cross, spring brought the celebration of "Ostara", a celebration of fertility and rebirth, of Mother Earth coming out of her winter sleep to bless us all with new life- celebrations filled with eggs and rabbits and babies and animals to symbolize fertility and spring- new life. As you can see, all these years, we've actually been celebrating Ostara. We still think it's important to honor spring, the rebirth of the earth, the renewal of hope, life; the celebration of blooms, babies, bunnies and the sweetness of life- these are things we feel never will go out of style.
With this in mind, we provide you with your new Ostara tradition. You'll see on the table gifts for each of you. Candy, to represent how sweet life is and how delicious it can be. Money, to wish for your prosperity in the coming yer and for years to come. Baby animals (represented by peeps) to remind you of the rebirth of the earth and the importance to respect all living things. And a chocolate bunny, to remind you of your childhood past, a reminder that even as things change, they can also stay the same.
We give you these gifts in the hopes that you remember these things, that you celebrate traditions, old and new, that you continue to appreciate and support each other and the rest of our family to make sure we are always give the best of ourselves to the world, and that you enjoy this day and the coming year.
The kids awoke to their presents and letters and when they came to thank us, Magnolia whispered to me "I like Ostara better. Thank you.". The next day, Max asked me if he could eat his chocolate bunny, and when I gave him permission, he said (with sincere 10 year old wisdom) "Thank you. I want to remember my childhood...I really hope it's a solid one." I know he was talking about the bunny...but still.
Magnolia found out when she was 9...mainly because we are terrible at the Tooth Fairy thing. We forget, we lose teeth, we forget some more, then we forget again. We always said that we weren't going to straight up lie to the kids about anything, and if they asked us direct questions, we'd answer truthfully, with the idea that when they get older, this would translate into them feeling safe about trusting us to be honest with them...an idea certainly appealing once they become teenagers. So, the tooth fairy forgot (again) and Magnolia asked. And since she asked, I was honest with her. Unfortunately, she lost her shit. LOTS of crying. Through the tears, she blubbered "What about the Easter Bunny?" at which point I told her. Renewed hysterical sobbing...then "And Santa?". Fearful of the onslaught, I lied. A few days later, once she had calmed down, she asked again about that one, and I was honest. She took it reasonably well. She then became very concerned about her brother not knowing the truth and over the next couple of years put on an incredible show, which made the inevitable truth even harder with him...as he is a person who loves facts and information. But the years passed, the tooth fairy bungled again, and one fateful day, he tested his theory before even asking the question, and we were caught before we even got asked. *The* question was then asked, with several follow up questions...and the truth came to light. When his father later asked how he felt about knowing the truth, Max's matter of fact answer was "I'm glad you guys told me because otherwise when I grow up and have kids, I wouldn't have known I was supposed to DO all this stuff!!" Perfect.
So, once your kids "know"...and especially if you're Unitarian Universalists (spiritual agnostics) and don't actually "believe" in the "reason for the season" (although your families celebrate it)...what do you do? Last Easter was the first one where both kids *knew*. And they both begged me to pretend like they didn't know because they still wanted presents and candy. I gave in, even though it's a lot of work on a weekend when I already have a lot of work to prepare for not one, but TWO family gatherings. This year, I was in a bit of denial right until we got until the day before...when both kids pleaded again for the candy...when I explained we could go BUY the candy they wanted when it was 50% the day after Easter, Magnolia groused that she liked the TRADITION of it...and that Max waking her up early in excitement was the thing she liked the most. Heart warmed by an unusual display of sibling love, this Grinch decided SOMETHING should be done. Both kids had mentioned how much they'd miss the chocolate bunnies. So, in between baseball and softball games, rehearsal, an audition, and a shopping for a BBQ we were hosting that evening, I went to the store to buy a few bits of Easter joy. That night, I decided that baskets and egg hunts at home were out (they'd have one at each Grandparents' house later), but something needed to replace it. In a moment of brilliance, I decided on a new tradition, and since both kids are old enough to process a letter, and since the waking up early part is better when they don't involve US, I wrote out a letter to both of them, which Michael typed up and printed up 2 copies, so that we could personalize each one. We've started a new tradition, one they were both excited by and happy with...and one that will make me finally comfortable with this celebration. Each kid got a few chocolate eggs, peeps, a small chocolate bunny, some money, and this letter, along with personal notes to each one by each of us. This is something I feel comfortable with.
Dear Magnolia and Max,
We decided, as the years passed where make believe bunnies bring you treats, that it's time to transition our traditions into one that makes good for the years to come.
"Easter" is celebrated by Christians all over the world to honor the idea that Jesus rose from the dead as a way to forgive us all for all our sins as humans...but long before Jesus of Nazareth died on the cross, spring brought the celebration of "Ostara", a celebration of fertility and rebirth, of Mother Earth coming out of her winter sleep to bless us all with new life- celebrations filled with eggs and rabbits and babies and animals to symbolize fertility and spring- new life. As you can see, all these years, we've actually been celebrating Ostara. We still think it's important to honor spring, the rebirth of the earth, the renewal of hope, life; the celebration of blooms, babies, bunnies and the sweetness of life- these are things we feel never will go out of style.
With this in mind, we provide you with your new Ostara tradition. You'll see on the table gifts for each of you. Candy, to represent how sweet life is and how delicious it can be. Money, to wish for your prosperity in the coming yer and for years to come. Baby animals (represented by peeps) to remind you of the rebirth of the earth and the importance to respect all living things. And a chocolate bunny, to remind you of your childhood past, a reminder that even as things change, they can also stay the same.
We give you these gifts in the hopes that you remember these things, that you celebrate traditions, old and new, that you continue to appreciate and support each other and the rest of our family to make sure we are always give the best of ourselves to the world, and that you enjoy this day and the coming year.
Mother Theresa
My wise and sometimes way too on point husband paraphrased Mother Theresa this morning, as he was pontificating on life and relationships and why we are who we are and why we do what we do...and what he said was this:
Mother Theresa was with someone who was struck by how she connected with everyone she met, regardless of how well she knew them or what she knew of them, she was able to connect with them at a personal level. When this person asked her about it, she said something to the effect of "If you spend your time making judgments, you are not spending time loving. I'd rather spend my time loving."
This struck a chord with me as I've recently been coming to terms with a lot of realities about who I am and what makes me really tick, and I've realized that making those connections, even with people I barely know or don't know at all, is incredibly important. I have never paid a great deal of attention to the life and works of Mother Theresa, but I was so moved by a quote a friend posted on her birthday, almost a year ago, that I asked him to email it to me, so I wouldn't lose it. After the conversation with Michael this morning, I felt the need to go retrieve that email and re-visit the message that resounded so strongly with me.
“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it. Life is beauty, admire it. Life is a dream, realize it. Life is a challenge, meet it. Life is a duty, complete it. Life is a game, play it. Life is a promise, fulfill it. Life is sorrow, overcome it. Life is a song, sing it. Life is a struggle, accept it. Life is a tragedy, confront it. Life is an adventure, dare it. Life is luck, make it. Life is too precious, do not destroy it. Life is life, fight for it.”
Now, when I was 18, I took on a challenge through a Y program very dear to my spirit...and part of that challenge involved choosing an "ideal". A person whose life I wished to emulate...and the people I chose at that time were people who were not famous, they were 2 women in my life who I respected and cared about and about whom I thought very highly...and I still feel that way about them, however, I think it's time for me to spend a little more time thinking about Mother Theresa and what I can learn from this woman. Her legacy on this earth was something to really emulate...beyond her work with the sick and the poor, the ability she had to really connect with people, to try to stay positive and kind while completing her life's work...THAT is what I want to be my legacy.
Mother Theresa was with someone who was struck by how she connected with everyone she met, regardless of how well she knew them or what she knew of them, she was able to connect with them at a personal level. When this person asked her about it, she said something to the effect of "If you spend your time making judgments, you are not spending time loving. I'd rather spend my time loving."
This struck a chord with me as I've recently been coming to terms with a lot of realities about who I am and what makes me really tick, and I've realized that making those connections, even with people I barely know or don't know at all, is incredibly important. I have never paid a great deal of attention to the life and works of Mother Theresa, but I was so moved by a quote a friend posted on her birthday, almost a year ago, that I asked him to email it to me, so I wouldn't lose it. After the conversation with Michael this morning, I felt the need to go retrieve that email and re-visit the message that resounded so strongly with me.
“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it. Life is beauty, admire it. Life is a dream, realize it. Life is a challenge, meet it. Life is a duty, complete it. Life is a game, play it. Life is a promise, fulfill it. Life is sorrow, overcome it. Life is a song, sing it. Life is a struggle, accept it. Life is a tragedy, confront it. Life is an adventure, dare it. Life is luck, make it. Life is too precious, do not destroy it. Life is life, fight for it.”
Now, when I was 18, I took on a challenge through a Y program very dear to my spirit...and part of that challenge involved choosing an "ideal". A person whose life I wished to emulate...and the people I chose at that time were people who were not famous, they were 2 women in my life who I respected and cared about and about whom I thought very highly...and I still feel that way about them, however, I think it's time for me to spend a little more time thinking about Mother Theresa and what I can learn from this woman. Her legacy on this earth was something to really emulate...beyond her work with the sick and the poor, the ability she had to really connect with people, to try to stay positive and kind while completing her life's work...THAT is what I want to be my legacy.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
I'm not Perfect
A parent at the school, a new friend, told me today that she marvels at my ability to get everything done that I do. I explained that all I do is put one foot in front of the other.
She asked if she could help with what I was doing and I gladly gave her a task...she was doing it when she asked if I was a perfectionist...and I laughed and said that I most certainly was not. "Good enough!" is my mantra far more often than not. Pondering this, it occurred to me that in reality, I don't have TIME for perfection. I have too much to do. It doesn't all get done well...hell, sometimes it doesn't even get done...but if I strived (strove?) for perfection, I doubt any of it would get at all.
Michael has something he calls the 95% rule. The idea is that to get a task 95% of the way done takes a certain amount of time. Then, the last 5% of that task very often, can take almost as much. It's all in the details. He applies this rule to coding, to housejobs, to gardening...and while the point of this rule is not to invalidate the importance of that last 5%, it does often happen by default, resulting in us only getting things *most* of the way done, because those last details are just plain tedious...and can take us away from doing 95% of something else. Back to my mantra, "good enough". Because, really, there are a LOT of tasks that need doing. Once we've gotten to something where "good enough" IS good enough, we often move on. I applaud those detail oriented folks who want everything to be JUSTEXACTLYRIGHT before they move on to the next thing...but that's just not me. I have stuff to do, and not enough time to do it in as it is, much less if I fuss over getting every last thing *just so*. Perfectionism is for those people who post stuff on pintrest. I can't...I just can't. I applaud those who do, don't get me wrong...we need a world of diversity. We need a world where people pay attention to detail and where people plow through getting loads of stuff done. We need people to create beauty, people to appreciate it, people to make stuff, people to buy stuff (although the fact that there is too much stuff in the world is a whole other blog post) and people to clean up when all the stuff is gone. We need those pintrest people and we also need the people that haven't ever even been on pintrest (raises hand). Everyone has a gift to give...contentedness comes when we learn to be happy with whatever that is. Am I a perfectionist? Far from it...but another friend just told me I poop rainbows, which I think was a compliment.
Children's entertainer, Laurie Berkener, who saved many a car ride when my kids were toddlers, has a song called "I'm Not Perfect". The lyrics to the chorus are
I'm not perfect, no I'm not.
I'm not perfect, but I've got what I've got.
I do my very best, I do my very best, I do my very best each day...
But I'm not perfect, and I hope you like me that way.
Those lyrics might be wrong...I am writing them from memory, and, well, I'm not perfect. :)
She asked if she could help with what I was doing and I gladly gave her a task...she was doing it when she asked if I was a perfectionist...and I laughed and said that I most certainly was not. "Good enough!" is my mantra far more often than not. Pondering this, it occurred to me that in reality, I don't have TIME for perfection. I have too much to do. It doesn't all get done well...hell, sometimes it doesn't even get done...but if I strived (strove?) for perfection, I doubt any of it would get at all.
Michael has something he calls the 95% rule. The idea is that to get a task 95% of the way done takes a certain amount of time. Then, the last 5% of that task very often, can take almost as much. It's all in the details. He applies this rule to coding, to housejobs, to gardening...and while the point of this rule is not to invalidate the importance of that last 5%, it does often happen by default, resulting in us only getting things *most* of the way done, because those last details are just plain tedious...and can take us away from doing 95% of something else. Back to my mantra, "good enough". Because, really, there are a LOT of tasks that need doing. Once we've gotten to something where "good enough" IS good enough, we often move on. I applaud those detail oriented folks who want everything to be JUSTEXACTLYRIGHT before they move on to the next thing...but that's just not me. I have stuff to do, and not enough time to do it in as it is, much less if I fuss over getting every last thing *just so*. Perfectionism is for those people who post stuff on pintrest. I can't...I just can't. I applaud those who do, don't get me wrong...we need a world of diversity. We need a world where people pay attention to detail and where people plow through getting loads of stuff done. We need people to create beauty, people to appreciate it, people to make stuff, people to buy stuff (although the fact that there is too much stuff in the world is a whole other blog post) and people to clean up when all the stuff is gone. We need those pintrest people and we also need the people that haven't ever even been on pintrest (raises hand). Everyone has a gift to give...contentedness comes when we learn to be happy with whatever that is. Am I a perfectionist? Far from it...but another friend just told me I poop rainbows, which I think was a compliment.
Children's entertainer, Laurie Berkener, who saved many a car ride when my kids were toddlers, has a song called "I'm Not Perfect". The lyrics to the chorus are
I'm not perfect, no I'm not.
I'm not perfect, but I've got what I've got.
I do my very best, I do my very best, I do my very best each day...
But I'm not perfect, and I hope you like me that way.
Those lyrics might be wrong...I am writing them from memory, and, well, I'm not perfect. :)
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Being Legal
18 years ago this morning, I woke up with one thought in my head. I wanted a new life. I was done with the boy I'd been seeing for the previous 18 months. Our relationship wasn't good for either of us, even considering the good parts. I knew it was time to move on. I hadn't been able to make the break, because our relationship was mostly a pretty easy one, built on friendship, common interests, and a strong physical connection, but we weren't meant for each other. I was done with the string of relationships I'd been in for years. I wanted some freedom, a chance to just be me. 9 months out of college, a burgeoning freelance career, and all kinds of options awaited...but first, this day. March 2nd. I rolled over in bed and looked at an invitation for a party that my friend was throwing that evening and took note of the last line on the handwritten, "Xeroxed" invitation, "If there's a person you're supposed to meet, they will be there." I rolled my eyes and sighed. Oh, Gabe. So optimistic.
18 years ago this afternoon I stopped by a community garden right by my apartment that had just put up a sign that it was FINALLY accepting applications for new members. I dropped off my carefully written application and stood watching the sun start to make its downward trajectory and daydreamed about this new life of mine...I was sure to meet a bunch of fun crunchy granola types here and this would just be the start of this carefree, fun, without strings life I was about to start. I knew big things were coming and headed home to make my potluck contribution for the party (had to be something that began with the first letter of your name...I was going to make "Noodles and Alfredo" cause I had already said I was going to bring the aforementioned boy and knew it was up to me to provide. I figured I'd make a lot to make up for chintzing on the name thing.)
18 years ago tonight I arrived at the party, hot dish in hand, boy trailing behind...ready to meet new people. I met an interesting redhead in the kitchen almost first thing...as I set down my dish. He'd brought 2 different dishes of Mac n Cheese, cause his name was Michael. I felt a little dash of guilt. My jacket still in hand, a friend popped her head in the door and took our picture. The evening passed pretty quickly. I was really enjoying talking to the redhead, but I wasn't sure if he was enjoying talking to me *quite* the same way. Looking at the pleats on his J. Peterman pirate shirt, I was pretty convinced he wasn't. There was a very pretty girl with a shaved head who I thought might be more interested in me, and I spent a little bit of time working on my girl flirting skills, which hadn't been successfully used in a couple of years. Eventually the boy I came with let me know he was ready to go home, and while I wasn't, I grudgingly left to drive him home.
18 years ago right about now, I drove my kinda boyfriend home and asked him if I could come in, because I was weak willed and needy. Thankfully he said no. I drove around the corner where some of my friends, including my roommate, were getting ready for the midnight show of Rocky Horror. My roommate and another friend of mine were standing outside the theater and I pulled up to say hi and to vent about my situation. My roommate was tired of hearing me complain about the boy, and once they heard there were not one, but two potentially interesting people back at the party, they both insisted I backtrack and drive back over to the party. So I did.
17 years, 11 months, 30 days, and 23 and a half hours ago I got back to the party, and much to my chagrin, the cute shorn girl was gone. The redhead was still there, and it turns out, he WAS interested in me. We ended up going to first base and the next morning helped clean up, exchanged numbers, and promised to stay in touch. I remember walking back to my car and being decently annoyed. I knew something WAS different, but it wasn't the kind of different I had planned. I could tell that there was something very different about *this* boy. Life was going to be different, but it wasn't going to involve me being carefree and single. And it turns out, I was right.
That redhead is now my husband of almost 16 years. He is the father of my children. He is my best friend, my biggest fan, my most vehement supporter. He's the person I most enjoy spending time with, the one I most admire...we are inextricably linked. We have grown up together. He can make me laugh with a word. He knows me better than anyone. And we're finally legal. 18 years since the day we met and started our life together.
Who knew Gabe would be right?
18 years ago this afternoon I stopped by a community garden right by my apartment that had just put up a sign that it was FINALLY accepting applications for new members. I dropped off my carefully written application and stood watching the sun start to make its downward trajectory and daydreamed about this new life of mine...I was sure to meet a bunch of fun crunchy granola types here and this would just be the start of this carefree, fun, without strings life I was about to start. I knew big things were coming and headed home to make my potluck contribution for the party (had to be something that began with the first letter of your name...I was going to make "Noodles and Alfredo" cause I had already said I was going to bring the aforementioned boy and knew it was up to me to provide. I figured I'd make a lot to make up for chintzing on the name thing.)
18 years ago tonight I arrived at the party, hot dish in hand, boy trailing behind...ready to meet new people. I met an interesting redhead in the kitchen almost first thing...as I set down my dish. He'd brought 2 different dishes of Mac n Cheese, cause his name was Michael. I felt a little dash of guilt. My jacket still in hand, a friend popped her head in the door and took our picture. The evening passed pretty quickly. I was really enjoying talking to the redhead, but I wasn't sure if he was enjoying talking to me *quite* the same way. Looking at the pleats on his J. Peterman pirate shirt, I was pretty convinced he wasn't. There was a very pretty girl with a shaved head who I thought might be more interested in me, and I spent a little bit of time working on my girl flirting skills, which hadn't been successfully used in a couple of years. Eventually the boy I came with let me know he was ready to go home, and while I wasn't, I grudgingly left to drive him home.
18 years ago right about now, I drove my kinda boyfriend home and asked him if I could come in, because I was weak willed and needy. Thankfully he said no. I drove around the corner where some of my friends, including my roommate, were getting ready for the midnight show of Rocky Horror. My roommate and another friend of mine were standing outside the theater and I pulled up to say hi and to vent about my situation. My roommate was tired of hearing me complain about the boy, and once they heard there were not one, but two potentially interesting people back at the party, they both insisted I backtrack and drive back over to the party. So I did.
17 years, 11 months, 30 days, and 23 and a half hours ago I got back to the party, and much to my chagrin, the cute shorn girl was gone. The redhead was still there, and it turns out, he WAS interested in me. We ended up going to first base and the next morning helped clean up, exchanged numbers, and promised to stay in touch. I remember walking back to my car and being decently annoyed. I knew something WAS different, but it wasn't the kind of different I had planned. I could tell that there was something very different about *this* boy. Life was going to be different, but it wasn't going to involve me being carefree and single. And it turns out, I was right.
That redhead is now my husband of almost 16 years. He is the father of my children. He is my best friend, my biggest fan, my most vehement supporter. He's the person I most enjoy spending time with, the one I most admire...we are inextricably linked. We have grown up together. He can make me laugh with a word. He knows me better than anyone. And we're finally legal. 18 years since the day we met and started our life together.
Who knew Gabe would be right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)