I've got it, and I've got a bad case of it. It's not that I can't think of issues to write about. Nope, that's not it. I've just lost the desire to write about it. Sadness. I'm kind of in a mood right now that makes me want to 'do' things and not simply 'write' about them. However, having said that...I'll give it my 100% in an effort to return to the basics.
So my friend sits on the board of the local YWCA volunteer board and was telling me about some of the programs that they have available for families here in Birmingham. The conversation came up because I'm looking to find a volunteer home - a place where I can concentrate my efforts, year-after-year for more than just once a year. I mean a place where I dedicate myself, my resources, my efforts to truly learning about other people and maybe - just maybe - making a real difference in someones life. One such program is an after-school session that they have with children of parents who are homeless.
I'll be honest, I've never even processed the thought of homeless children. I don't know why, but it just never crossed my mind. The truth is, I know why it never crossed my mind. The truth is that I like to look at the world through my cleaned up view and I don't want to imagine that there are children that do not have a place to lay their head at night. The truth is that I do not want to believe that they live in such a dangerous world. The truth is that I didn't want to imagine this as truth; therefore, I didn't. It reminds of me being a kid and covering my head with a blanket and believing that if I can't see it, then it didn't exist. Shame on me.
To begin to see that ours is not an average life and that we must always be mindful of those in need, this is what I hope to create as the corner stone of my life. We are but a single situation removed from the life we love. A single job loss, a single tragedy, a single decision. Please don't let the opportunities to get involved and perhaps change lives get moved to your "things to do" list.
Strange Measure of Comfort
I'm at peace with the whole financial crisis thing.
There, I've said it.
Do not mistake what this means. I'm not at peace with the suffering of families or the horrendous impact that this has on everyone of us. It just means that I'm at peace with the fact that it's happening. For years, I've quietly voiced my opinion to Mason that once everyone figures out that "this" can't go on forever, then it's going to crumble. I believe that "this" is the "relentless pursuit of...". I take comfort in the bar being reset. It's small comfort, but comfort. I take comfort in the reminder that this "life of things" is all temporary and that it can go away in a moment. I take comfort in the reminder that money isn't worth anything tomorrow, but today it can actually help people. I grieve the lost opportunities of families to spend time together in order to build up their nest eggs so they can enjoy each other later in life. I take comfort in learning this lesson before I do the same thing. I take comfort in the reminder that I have no control over anything. I must invest myself in planing for our future (which I will continue to do), but must always divest myself of the end result since I have no say in it.
Also, I've met apart of me that I like...a lot. I've met the girl who could care less what she has as long as she's with her husband and her daughter...with them, I can do anything, go anywhere, live without anything, and even eat beans if the situation dictates that I must. I am wistfully reminded of the very pure love that I have for Mason that sometimes gets cluttered with our life and our things, and of what is important for Clare to have in her life (I'll give you a hint, it's not the latest item at any store). So, I take a small measure of comfort during all of this turmoil that, at least for me, something has come out of this that is not measured by the rise or fall of the numbers on Wall Street.
There, I've said it.
Do not mistake what this means. I'm not at peace with the suffering of families or the horrendous impact that this has on everyone of us. It just means that I'm at peace with the fact that it's happening. For years, I've quietly voiced my opinion to Mason that once everyone figures out that "this" can't go on forever, then it's going to crumble. I believe that "this" is the "relentless pursuit of...". I take comfort in the bar being reset. It's small comfort, but comfort. I take comfort in the reminder that this "life of things" is all temporary and that it can go away in a moment. I take comfort in the reminder that money isn't worth anything tomorrow, but today it can actually help people. I grieve the lost opportunities of families to spend time together in order to build up their nest eggs so they can enjoy each other later in life. I take comfort in learning this lesson before I do the same thing. I take comfort in the reminder that I have no control over anything. I must invest myself in planing for our future (which I will continue to do), but must always divest myself of the end result since I have no say in it.
Also, I've met apart of me that I like...a lot. I've met the girl who could care less what she has as long as she's with her husband and her daughter...with them, I can do anything, go anywhere, live without anything, and even eat beans if the situation dictates that I must. I am wistfully reminded of the very pure love that I have for Mason that sometimes gets cluttered with our life and our things, and of what is important for Clare to have in her life (I'll give you a hint, it's not the latest item at any store). So, I take a small measure of comfort during all of this turmoil that, at least for me, something has come out of this that is not measured by the rise or fall of the numbers on Wall Street.
And the learning continues...
Friday night I had one of my first MAJOR parenting scares. It was during a toy shopping trip at Target with Clare. She decided that it would be fun to run from Mommy in the children's clothing section. Usually I can keep up with her, but for some reason Friday night she was on her game and even in a full sprint, I still couldn't catch her before she unexpectedly turned up another aisle. I reached the spot where she turned expecting to see her continuing her run toward the toys, but she wasn't there. Panic immediately gripped me. My eyes darted to the right and left. Nothing. The blood rushed to my head and I felt light and dizzy. I started calling her name, but heard nothing. I continued to call her name, now yelling, each iteration getting louder and louder. People started looking at me. I yelled, "I can't find my daughter". My chest hurt - it felt like someone was sitting on it.
"Where is she?" I hissed at myself. "Where did she go?"
I lowered my body and started looking up underneath the racks of clothing, first to the left and then to the right. I was shaking violently.
"Oh God, I've lost her. I've lost her and someone is going to steal her and hurt her and I've got to find her, where is she, where is she, where is she."
tick...tock...tick...tock
Finally, I stopped myself and literally said out loud, "Calm down, think, think Lael" It was then that I looked up and saw the most beautiful little smile. She was so proud that she had hidden from Mommy. She was playing a game and had won with little idea of the emotional havoc she had moments before wreaked on me. Her only hint that all was not well were the tears in Mommy's eyes as I scooped her up and held her close. I was trembling so hard that I didn't think I could stand. Once the calm of finding her passed, a wave is anger passed over me and I growled into her ear, "When Mommy calls, you come. Do you understand me, Clare Boyd? When Mommy calls, you come!" I held her close and tight and just kept telling her I loved her and to come when Mommy calls.
Now I find myself searching the Internet for child location devices and no longer laughing at the parents who use them. Maybe, just maybe, I won't ever have to go through that again.
"Where is she?" I hissed at myself. "Where did she go?"
I lowered my body and started looking up underneath the racks of clothing, first to the left and then to the right. I was shaking violently.
"Oh God, I've lost her. I've lost her and someone is going to steal her and hurt her and I've got to find her, where is she, where is she, where is she."
tick...tock...tick...tock
Finally, I stopped myself and literally said out loud, "Calm down, think, think Lael" It was then that I looked up and saw the most beautiful little smile. She was so proud that she had hidden from Mommy. She was playing a game and had won with little idea of the emotional havoc she had moments before wreaked on me. Her only hint that all was not well were the tears in Mommy's eyes as I scooped her up and held her close. I was trembling so hard that I didn't think I could stand. Once the calm of finding her passed, a wave is anger passed over me and I growled into her ear, "When Mommy calls, you come. Do you understand me, Clare Boyd? When Mommy calls, you come!" I held her close and tight and just kept telling her I loved her and to come when Mommy calls.
Now I find myself searching the Internet for child location devices and no longer laughing at the parents who use them. Maybe, just maybe, I won't ever have to go through that again.
It was Nucular!
After the conclusion of last night's only Vice Presidential Debate, I have decided that our education system is failing our citizens. Frankly, it's the only explanation I have.
Why you ask?
Because, like her or not, Sarah Palin is following in the footsteps of George W. Bush and pronouncing nuclear as "nucular". Not just once, but repeatedly. Then following up one of her "nucular" comments with naivety, and pronouncing it with the very formal and proper English pronunciation of "naee-vu-tay". All I could do was look over at Mason with a classic and unforgiving Lael-look and shake my head.
"Really?" is the best that I could conjure up for this one.
Call it folksy. Call it what you like. It's still like nails on a chalkboard to me. I will not hide my dislike of her appointment by pretending to be fair and partial on the issue. I'm a woman, lucky me. She's a woman, lucky her. She does nothing for me based on her policies and the good Lord knows I can at least name a newspaper that I look to in order to help form my world opinion. I might have been tripped up by the name of an actual Supreme Court Case, but I'm quite certain I could have given you enough facts on a few of them that you would be able to point to the issue settled within one. However, I get back to "nucular". I looked it up myself. It's not an acceptable pronunciation, and I'm from the south!!! I find myself to be relatively forgiving of these modifications of pronunciation, as I know that we Southerners pretty well butcher the English language and exchange it for "dialect" differences. Seriously though, couldn't one of her debate coaches help her with this? Maybe they could have pointed it out with a sticky note or something so they could do it anonymously??
Utter Sadness
This is what I felt yesterday. Even while my body was fragile and I was in need of my own mother, I felt overwhelming sadness.
Why?
I couldn't hold my Clare, or hug her, or play with her, or do anything with her. I was sick, very sick, am still sick - but at least better now. And in my love for her, I couldn't tolerate the idea that she might get what I was suffering through - so I avoided her and refused her advances and begged her not to climb on me. I shunned her kisses and wouldn't share her crackers or cookies with her like I always do.
Why?
I couldn't hold my Clare, or hug her, or play with her, or do anything with her. I was sick, very sick, am still sick - but at least better now. And in my love for her, I couldn't tolerate the idea that she might get what I was suffering through - so I avoided her and refused her advances and begged her not to climb on me. I shunned her kisses and wouldn't share her crackers or cookies with her like I always do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)