tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87355821146320040692024-02-19T07:23:19.142-05:00A Good JoeThe musings of some suburban mom, on life, motherhood, faith, and whatever else happens to cross my mind.Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.comBlogger138125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-1320825840911710742015-03-17T21:54:00.000-04:002015-03-17T21:54:07.576-04:00Balancing Act<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphAf5dRrtjmwkG18X1hjJIdyZ_RmAirejnWxMr4kfYrXh3ioXU9EEsx5L4ic9WR8NA45-6lCvjiOHQI-0LgAGKgtoXrAu7tl4KCFeZaHt9TbvShzIgHNLXCwtexwQN1jwVHgi0iZIaVo/s1600/post_description_Thrive_by_Arianna_Huffington.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphAf5dRrtjmwkG18X1hjJIdyZ_RmAirejnWxMr4kfYrXh3ioXU9EEsx5L4ic9WR8NA45-6lCvjiOHQI-0LgAGKgtoXrAu7tl4KCFeZaHt9TbvShzIgHNLXCwtexwQN1jwVHgi0iZIaVo/s1600/post_description_Thrive_by_Arianna_Huffington.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">This post was inspired by </span><a href="http://amzn.to/1GFgTHg">Thrive by Arianna Huffington</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 24px;"><a href="http://amzn.to/1GFgTHg"> </a><span style="font-size: 17px;">who challenges women unplug and sleep more to create a balanced life. Join </span></span><a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" style="color: #300630; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px; text-decoration: none;">From Left to Write</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"> on March 19th as we discuss Thrive. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">Ohhhh, sleep, how I love the thought of you. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">You elude me when I am most exhausted. In the middle of the day, when there is no possible way I can stop for a few minutes and rest, there you are. But at night, when I'm lying in my bed and wait for you, you are not near. When we do finally meet, it's far too short and often interrupted. What I wouldn't do to wake up on my own, with no alarm clock shrilling, and feeling rested and refreshed! </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">These years we are in with our children are "those" years. The busy years with kids in school, kids in sports, kids that need rides to here, there and everywhere. It's so interesting to me that I don't work full-time outside the home.....because I don't have time. I thought my days would be empty once my kids were in school all day, but I feel busier now than I did when they were littles. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">I brought a lot of it on myself: I don't know how to say no when room moms call and ask for help with a project or with chaperoning a field trip. I have begun volunteering with some causes that mean a lot to me. None of them are over taxing; a couple hours here, a couple hours there, but it adds up very quickly, until I have made a full time job out of a couple hours of volunteer work. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">I do love my time at the gym. I've made friends in my early morning workout class, and I love how I feel after working out. It's critical to my health, both mental and physical, and I can't give it up. Not even for sleep. So I get up at 5:00 or 5:15 every weekday morning to go work out, and then my day really gets going. Weekends I don't usually work out, but getting everyone where they need to be, and taking care of everything I have committed to all day is a workout in itself.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">So, this challenge to get 8 hours of sleep a night? I'd like to say that I did it and it changed my life. But It simply isn't happening for me, not right now. Balance, for me, consists of flying by the seat of my pants and not forgetting where I left one of my kids! </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">No, it's not as bad as that. But life is seriously busy and hectic right now: three kids, two different school buildings and different school schedules. Four, no, five sports among the three kids, but that is only till the end of the month, then it will be back to four sports. A husband who travels 15 days out of the month. Dinner. Homework. Work brought home. Social time with friends. Community service. The list goes on. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">I want to take this challenge and get 8 hours of sleep every night. Even if I could do it for just a week, I am sure it would make a big difference to me. I'll keep chipping away at the things I allow myself to commit to. One of my dear friends told me once, "Say no to the good, so you can say yes to the best." Meaning, don't commit my time to everything and everyone that asks. Only commit to those causes and activities that are truly meaningful and do something to make my world a little bit better. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">I'm still working on that whole balancing thing. I'm not there yet, and I haven't given up. I'm going to go to bed early tonight. It's a start, right? </span></span></span>Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-85673918626097019052015-03-12T22:24:00.001-04:002015-03-12T22:24:28.274-04:00Just do it! <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0Qy3gtae78I8iLMEX1po5bNfagAGzxueYPDYEfbMPn7lFceff2FC4trDXKhYiVcC6W26UAQ3cBsKk_-4tcGJugIh0XIriz0RNdJx_iqdrx-n-ipTud81rKxRt1uFQ3-MOP5K1JdIZTg/s1600/No-More-Excuses-Diet-Banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0Qy3gtae78I8iLMEX1po5bNfagAGzxueYPDYEfbMPn7lFceff2FC4trDXKhYiVcC6W26UAQ3cBsKk_-4tcGJugIh0XIriz0RNdJx_iqdrx-n-ipTud81rKxRt1uFQ3-MOP5K1JdIZTg/s1600/No-More-Excuses-Diet-Banner.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;">This post was inspired by </em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><a class="external" href="http://amzn.to/1GNLa3R" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out; box-sizing: border-box; color: #4cc4e0; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;" target="_blank">The No More Excuses Diet</a></em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"> </em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;">by Maria Kang who shares her no excuses philosophy that motivated her to become more fit. Join </em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><a class="external" href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out; box-sizing: border-box; color: #4cc4e0; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.1s ease-in-out;" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a></em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"> </em><em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;">on March 12th as we discuss The No More Excuses Diet. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</em><br />
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">I remember when Maria Kang made a splash on the Internet, looking impossibly toned and fit shortly after giving birth to her third child, challenging moms everywhere with an in-your-face "What's Your Excuse?" Some said she was doling a much-needed dose of tough love to moms who complain about their extra baby weight that won't go away, but don't want to actually do any work to make it so. Others said she was "fat-shaming" busy and overworked moms who were too busy trying desperately to just keep their heads above the laundry pile, never mind get to the gym or keep the kids corralled for a half-hour so they could work out. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">So, which camp is right? Is she giving moms the kick in the backside many of us need, to get us up and moving? Or is she just flaunting her toned abs and being unnecessarily mean to the rest of us?</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">The truth is somewhere in between.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">I was pretty fit and healthy when I got pregnant with my first child. Not like Maria, I don't think my abs will EVER look like hers, and they didn't before kids, either. But I paid attention to what I ate, and I worked out regularly. But man, when I saw the two blue lines, I had the Golden Ticket to eat for two, all day long. I admit it; I went cah-razy. But I wasn't eating just to eat. I was HUNGRY all the time. Long story short, I gained 50 pounds. 50. I lost most of it, but I hung onto about 10 extra pounds. I tried to stay active, walking with the baby and going to the Y. Baby boy hated the Child Watch at my local Y and would usually let me just get to the cardio room before the staff called me back. So I bought a stack of DVDs and tried to do them at home when I could. Pffft. As if. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">Fast forward to baby number two. I gained the same 50 pounds, only I had a head start. After he was born, it was like deja vu; I tried to keep moving, tried to watch what I ate. But with a newborn and a toddler, it was hard. On top of that, my husband had to go to a training class for his job that lasted six weeks. I told him, "No way on God's green earth are you leaving me alone with a newborn and a toddler for six weeks while you hang out in a comfy corporate apartment and sleep all night uninterrupted." We all packed up and went with, and it was an incredibly stressful time. Still couldn't get rid of those last 10 pounds. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">Baby number three. Surely I'll get it right this time. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and saw a nutritionist who helped me create an eating plan that was healthy and low in sugars, but had some flexibility. Dude, I went through Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas preparations on a diabetic, low-sugar diet. If I can do it then, I can do it all the time, right? Heh. </span></span><span style="color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; line-height: 26px;">No. </span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">I was surprised that I lost all cravings for sugar once I had detoxed, and found it easier than I thought to stay away from candy and cookies and sweets all through the holidays. I indulged a bit but I managed to keep my blood sugar under control. Wouldn't you know it, though.....I still gained the same 50 pounds! My doctor just shook his head. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">Fast forward again. My boys are 15, 12 and 10. I can no longer call it baby weight and get away with it. I have lost most of that last 10 pounds, but I still struggle to control my eating. Working out is the easy part. I actually really enjoy being active and I love the classes I go to at the Y. I have come to count on my early morning workouts even though it was hard to learn to force myself out of bed those first few weeks. But now that I have created the habit, I get crabby when I miss my workout. I am fitter, stronger and healthier now at 44, than I was at 24. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;">Maria Kang is tough and she makes no apologies for it. She's a busy working mom and her kids are young. She gets it. She doesn't let herself off the hook and she won't let you off, either. Sometimes we just need a push to get moving, and this book will push you. Maybe it'll inspire you, too. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #34499e; font-family: Droid Sans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 26px;"><br /></span></span>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em>
<em style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #34499e; font-family: 'Droid Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 26px;"><br /></em></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-53397072740892654522015-02-11T21:13:00.002-05:002015-02-11T21:14:42.206-05:00Play Ball! <div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQYvgJcshPTDP9hltlP08g6jBwTEfq4E36B-GplxtBxU1rTm04P6nTgUj2611D1pwwlxhiDm4IckfeIoedSupCl-tNSK5O8s1ZAdn-peNWN1nPRZO03NX6bIs7y7Oliqj6NiMuvOyM6TY/s1600/Matheny_Manifesto_FL2W_Book_Club_Banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQYvgJcshPTDP9hltlP08g6jBwTEfq4E36B-GplxtBxU1rTm04P6nTgUj2611D1pwwlxhiDm4IckfeIoedSupCl-tNSK5O8s1ZAdn-peNWN1nPRZO03NX6bIs7y7Oliqj6NiMuvOyM6TY/s1600/Matheny_Manifesto_FL2W_Book_Club_Banner.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><i>***This post was inspired by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/055344669X/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=055344669X&linkCode=as2&tag=fromleft2write-20&linkId=CIIVBKPWCQEXJENJ">The Matheny Manifesto</a> by Mike Matheny. St. Louis Cardinals manager Matheny shares his tough-love philosophy for children's team sports that translate to everyday life. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #300630; text-decoration: none;">From Left to Write</a> on February 12th as we discuss The Matheny Manifesto. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.***</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">I had heard about this guy, and his philosophy before I had a chance to read this book, and I was, honestly, not totally convinced. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">A baseball team my son had tried out for got a new coach. He emailed everyone on the team's email distribution list to introduce himself and explain his coaching philosophy, and this was it. He attached the Manifesto to the email and I read it with a skeptical eye. As it turns out, my son decided to play on another team that year, without my ever mentioning anything about the new coach and his email. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">My athlete plays sports all year round, and if I made him choose one (which I don't), he'd choose baseball. He also plays basketball and volleyball, and does off season training in basketball and baseball. He plays rec baseball and select baseball, and he plays CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) sports. He doesn't do all that because I make him or his dad makes him, he does it because he loves sports. I mean, he <i>really </i>loves sports. His dream is to play in the big leagues, and I hope he makes it. I like to think I'm pretty realistic about my kids, and while he is a naturally gifted athlete and he works hard, I don't know if that'll be enough. There are a finite number of Major League Baseball player jobs out there and every boy on the baseball diamond in my small town wants one of them. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">I would love nothing more than to see my boy reach his dream. I am his biggest cheerleader. And that, I think, is where Mike Matheny and I part ways, at least a little bit. Mike wants parents to be quiet on the sidelines, to be silent support and not put more pressure on their kids, even inadvertently, by cheering or calling out what they think is encouragement. I cheer for my player; I cheer loud. I also cheer for the other players on the team, by name. I don't try to coach from the sidelines, and I don't criticize. But I CHEER. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">My ballplayer swears that he can't hear me when I cheer for him. Even before this book was a topic in my house, he has always said that he is so focused on the game that he can't pay attention to the noise from the parents. I wonder about that sometimes though. My very good friend is a fellow basketball mom, and her son once looked up at her in the stands during a game and yelled back at her, "SHUT UP, MOM!" I know I've seen my kid react to something another parent has shouted when he was on the court. When I listen to other parents cheering, what they say and how they say it, I am forced to think about what other parents hear when I cheer, what the coaches hear from me. This book has made me reconsider how vocal I am when I watch my son play. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">I have been a sports mom for a long time and I am well aware and agree that parents are definitely a big part of the problem in youth sports. A lot of parents forget that sports are supposed to be fun, and that it's just a game. Kids are learning more than how to throw or hit or kick a ball. Sports are full of life lessons, if you look for them. How to be part of a team, how to respect the authority of the coach and the umpire even if they are wrong, how to both win and lose with grace, how to compete against others and yourself, how to persevere, how to run it out hard even when the first baseman already has the ball in his glove, and how to learn from players who are better than you. My son has been blessed with great coaches who have pushed and challenged him. They know the game, and they like to win as much as the next guy, but they will put the boys up against the tough competition, saying "You will never get better by playing teams you know you can beat. Play the teams you might not be able to beat and learn something new." </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">His coaches have been at least as concerned with his growth as a young man, his emotional and spiritual growth, as they are with his growth as an athlete. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">And that's where I applaud Mike Matheny for sticking to his guns and making character development every bit as important as throwing a really good curveball. Most of the kids playing in youth leagues today are not destined for professional sports careers, and Mike knows that. All the hard work and discipline they learn from sports will serve them well, no matter where life takes them. The best compliment I've ever gotten on my son's sports performance is that he is respectful to his coaches and he is coachable. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">I don't know if I'll ever be able to be the "silent" support on the sidelines but I love watching my kid do what he loves most in the world, play sports. In the end, though, I liked this book a lot more than I thought I would, and my son is bugging me to read it next. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;">If your kids play sports, do you cheer loud and proud, or are you the strong, silent type? </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Avenir, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-7872353606670490182014-12-01T21:34:00.001-05:002014-12-01T21:34:26.084-05:00Untying Knots<div style="text-align: center;">
This post was inspired by the novel <a href="http://www.darciechan.com/books/the-mill-river-redemption/">The Mill River Redemption</a> by Darcie Chan, about two estranged sisters who are forced to work together to uncover the hidden inheritance by their mother. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write</a> on December 2nd as we discuss The Mill River Redemption and <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/december-book-club-mill-river-redemption/">enter to win a copy of the novel.</a> As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVZp54LFVig8kaiGKjJaLkTqi2Yozjoya0QRBJ1aI-9DwuK54JIGEDvrVwK9DvFoEry1KLLfRWDVfiugJtegsmypjyC-Ld5veRorSX5suY0Mt9qSbvrqTB0A3uN1YijQmxvBKp9TCJC4/s1600/Mill-River-Redemption-Book-Club-FL2W.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVZp54LFVig8kaiGKjJaLkTqi2Yozjoya0QRBJ1aI-9DwuK54JIGEDvrVwK9DvFoEry1KLLfRWDVfiugJtegsmypjyC-Ld5veRorSX5suY0Mt9qSbvrqTB0A3uN1YijQmxvBKp9TCJC4/s1600/Mill-River-Redemption-Book-Club-FL2W.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Addiction and forgiveness can be, and often are, tied up in big ugly knots together. No matter which side you are on, whether you are the addict, or you are someone who cares about an addict, you are going to have to face up to forgiveness. You have to ask for it when you don't want to, or when you don't feel like you deserve it. You are going to be asked to forgive when you don't think you want to, or don't think you can. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sisters have a wholly unique relationship: part best friend and secret keeper, part antagonist, part protector, sometimes even part mother and caretaker. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have sisters (who are all of those things to me!) who are not addicts, and I have a very dear friend, almost like a sister, who is a recovering addict. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When my friend was sliding downhill toward her rock bottom, I watched helplessly, unable to think of or say the right words to make her stop and think about what she was doing. She told me later that I was really the only person who knew the truth about how bad it had gotten, before she really understood what the problem was, and sought help. She said some ugly things to me while in the grip of her drug of choice, things for which I eventually needed to extend forgiveness. Our friendship was fragile for awhile but it has regained solid footing as she has regained her equilibrium and is walking a healthier path. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My sisters....oh, my sisters. I love them and they drive me crazy. We lost our mother when we were all very young and we've all dealt with it in very different ways. Our lives have all traveled down various roads, parallel and intersecting all over the place. My oldest sister naturally took over the maternal role and in my case, she literally raised me, becoming my legal guardian when I was a teenager. I behaved as only a snotty teenage girl can, behavior for which I then had to beg forgiveness. My middle sister thought that mom's absence was hardest on her and sometimes still pouts about it, taking her loss out on everyone around her. She has a very difficult time with asking for forgiveness and that inability is tying up some knots in my family even today. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But what if your sister is the addict, and you need to forgive, but she hasn't asked and you don't want to? Oh, boy. Those are some industrial sized knots that are going to take time, and possibly divine intervention, to untie. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Forgiveness and reconciliation are not so much actions as they are a journey, with stops and starts, big strides and backward slides. The journey may sometimes look hopeless but ultimately it's worth the trip. They say that forgiveness isn't something you do for another person, it's a gift you give yourself. I wonder if the Di Santi sisters would agree? </div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-28414278752287138552014-10-27T15:17:00.001-04:002014-10-27T19:14:41.915-04:00Making Memories<br />
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none;">
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<img alt="The 13th Gift Book Club Banner FL2W" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-5041" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/The-13th-Gift-Banner-FL2W-Book-Club.jpg" height="266" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 100%;" width="400" /></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<h2>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><i>***This post was inspired by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0553418556/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0553418556&linkCode=as2&tag=fromleft2write-20&linkId=Q23Q7BILWRMXSOBR">The 13th Gift</a> by Joanne Huist Smith, a memoir about how random acts of kindness transformed her family's bereavement and grief during the holidays. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write </a> on October 28th as we discuss The 13th Gift. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.***</i>There is so much pressure surrounding the holidays.<br /> So much pressure to get just the right gift, and present it in just the right way, and make just the right meal and set just the right table.<br />I'm guilty of it on occasion, I'll admit it; getting caught up in the outward appearance angle of Christmas. Wanting to make sure that the kids are appropriately "wowed" when they come barreling down the stairs in the morning. Wanting to make each Christmas better than the last. Wanting to make special memories.<br /> I've never had to try to make Christmas feel normal for my kids just a couple of short months after the sudden and unexpected death of their father. I do, however, remember distinctly one Christmas when I wanted nothing more than to pull the covers over my head and not come out till mid-January. It was the year my marriage very nearly fell apart, right around Thanksgiving. Going to family dinners and big festive holiday parties was miserable; who wants to listen to a tale of marital woe and dry tears when everyone else is merry and bright? Our kids were little; too little to understand what was going on and why Mommy and Daddy were sad all the time, and still little enough to need the magic and the wonder of Santa Claus.<br /> My sister would call and ask if I had gotten one of the boys this toy or that toy; she had seen it on sale and just picked it up because she thought they'd love it. I finally had to ask her to stop shopping so I could have something left to give my kids. If only I could make myself go out and get in the damned holiday mood! It was a tense and awkward holiday and as much as Captain America and I tried to act as if nothing was wrong, it was painfully obvious to everyone around us, that something was indeed, terribly wrong.<br /> The holidays came and went, the kids got gifts they loved, and the storm in our marriage passed in time. But I'll never forget how much pressure I felt to make everything wonderful, when all I wanted to do was hide from the world and even from my own family.<br />
I don't know if I can really say I enjoyed reading this book, because it is, in some ways, a very sad story. It brought tears to my eyes, and it made me want to hug the whole family, really hard. But I guess I'd have to say I did enjoy it, in a sense. In spite of its sadness, though, it is a hopeful story. There ARE kind people out there, who WILL go out of their way to ease someone else's pain, and do for a hurting person what they can't do for themselves yet. It's hopeful because although Joanne really didn't want anything to do with the anonymous gifts at the outset, they reached her anyway. It gave me hope that God does indeed send angels when we need them. In a funny coincidence, I live very near to where this story took place, and every street name, every town name, every store and school mentioned was like chatting with a neighbor. In a way, it was comforting to know that such a hopeful story happened right here in my neck of the woods.<br />Memories aren't just made when the table looks like a magazine spread and the gifts are piled high. Memories are made from being with the people you love, and memories are made even when the holiday spirit seems to have skipped your house, and you don't want to play. Treasure those moments anyway, because you're still making memories. Just ask Joanne's family. </span></h2>
</div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<h2>
</h2>
</div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-79834215023723193902014-10-08T17:47:00.001-04:002014-10-08T20:50:48.989-04:00Who Do You Want Me To Be?<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i><br /></i></b>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: nowrap;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: nowrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span">***This post was inspired by </span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dataclysm-When-Think-Ones-Looking-ebook/dp/B00J1IQUX8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1412801449&sr=8-1&keywords=dataclysm">Dataclysm: Who We Are (When We Think No One's Looking)</a></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">by OKCupid co-founder Christian Rudder, </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">where he analyzes online date to find out that people </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">who prefer beer are more likely to have sex on a first date. </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write</a> on October 9th</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">as we discuss Dataclysm. As a member, I received a copy </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">of the book for review purposes.*** </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: nowrap;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRhVIGqmWW4wrq3KSwtK19hcfLobixLUvFBTeSAX9dNqTWDUmPLXRx86-Gp2NfNohEoWz_wGsQkhUOdgZMci-kwCG75_ScJFNT_rn6_T5T8IScsqP7v3ZSNa9nu-LBJJi9B7J1OYfqlUM/s1600/Dataclysm-Book-Club-FL2W-Banner-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRhVIGqmWW4wrq3KSwtK19hcfLobixLUvFBTeSAX9dNqTWDUmPLXRx86-Gp2NfNohEoWz_wGsQkhUOdgZMci-kwCG75_ScJFNT_rn6_T5T8IScsqP7v3ZSNa9nu-LBJJi9B7J1OYfqlUM/s1600/Dataclysm-Book-Club-FL2W-Banner-.jpg" height="214" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I have a love/hate relationship with social media.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I love it for all the same reasons everyone else does: keeping in touch with family and friends, seeing pictures of them and their families, getting recipes and decorating ideas, all the hilarious memes; you know, the same reasons that everyone loves social media. I hate social media because it can swallow an entire day whole if I let it. I allow myself to get sucked into political debates (I am fascinated by politics and could talk all day) or get into conversations or I go on Pinterest to find an idea for a kids' Halloween party. The next thing I know, it's 5:30 and little people want to be fed. </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">And I will say that ten or twelve years ago, I might have thought it ridiculous that you can meet people online and develop real and lasting friendships, but I am singing a different tune </span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">today. I have actually met some really great people online who have become friends There are message boards, forums, chat rooms, comment sections on blogs, and mobile apps for discussing everything from parenting to politics, and from airline travel to dog grooming. I, like millions of others, have jumped into the data pool.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This past summer, my husband, kids and I went on vacation with some members of a group of people I'd met via Facebook. We all met and shared a cabin for a long weekend and it was really a great time.</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone was EXACTLY who they had portrayed themselves to be on Facebook. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And therein lies the potential problem with making friends online; how do you know that they are who they say they are? </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I have a group of moms that I have known online for nearly eleven years. We met in a parenting/pregnancy forum and we all have kids born in a particular month and year. I have met one of them in person, but the rest I have not. We share pictures of our kids and our families and ourselves. There is one in the group though, I have never seen a picture of her. I believe she is who she says she is, but I have to admit I wonder sometimes. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">My kids are old enough now to have an online presence and it worries me greatly. I know that this is the world they inhabit; they need to learn to navigate it safely and wisely. We talk about online safety, and I demand their passcodes and their passwords. I follow them on Instagram and I read their emails. I tell them very bluntly upfront, upon receipt of an iPod or a tablet or any other Internet access device, that they have ZERO expectation of privacy, and if I catch them lying or hiding, their access will </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">be closed down. I sometimes shake my head at the things they post; it's silly and not really very funny to me, but it sure is to them. Some of it has been borderline inappropriate. I've seen their friends posting completely inappropriate things, and I have talked to them about them. In one case, the kid in question has been friends with my boys, literally since they were babies, and I reached out to him via text message and talked to him about what I saw on his Instagram wall. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I sat my kids down and showed them videos about how online predators seek out and victimize kids who don't know better or who think they know who they are talking to. At the end of one of the videos, my oldest son turned to me and said, "I don't think I want a Facebook account anymore." Yay technology! </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'd like to think that most of us social media users are honest and legitimate; we are who we say we are. We're on Facebook to see pictures of our kids and grandkids that live far away, or to find old high school friends. But I have to be realistic too; not everyone is being upfront. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If I meet people on Facebook that I don't know from Adam and then take my family out of state to meet them for a vacation, how can I tell my kids that the Internet is dangerous and they don't need to be on Facebook anyway? It's a fine line to walk; helping them learn to navigate their virtual world (even though it scares me sometimes) or shielding them from it completely, for their "safety" and to their detriment. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Parents have always struggled with how much rope to give their kids as they grow toward adulthood. The online world can be a lot of fun a lot of the time, but it's those unanswerable questions that make me not want to give my kids much freedom: who are these people that "like" your post? Who are these "followers" you have? How do you know who they really are? Who do they want you to be? </span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Are your kids online? How much freedom do they have?</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-24462426524370183722014-09-15T09:31:00.000-04:002014-09-15T16:34:42.241-04:00The Weaker Sex? I Don't Think So **This post was inspired by <a href="http://www.randomhouse.com/book/213715/the-underground-girls-of-kabul-by-jenny-nordberg/9780307952516/">The Underground Girls of Kabul</a>, by journalist Jenny Nordberg, who discovers a secret Afghani practice where girls are dressed and raised as boys. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write</a> on September 16th as we discuss <i>The Underground Girls of Kabul.</i> As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.**<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWnsAiNNoIv7f3FPjpLiioF-YtpL_F2naccoGQVY1W1cUto6fU5BMpoP4CC91Tku2walxSOlALfDy1fVP0CUcqiQz15ElOXkeS8f6s29Wsjk_DB5lIkc2KvDBrqNt51hYbL338RNDbwkU/s1600/Underground-Girls-of-Kabul-FL2W-Book-Club.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWnsAiNNoIv7f3FPjpLiioF-YtpL_F2naccoGQVY1W1cUto6fU5BMpoP4CC91Tku2walxSOlALfDy1fVP0CUcqiQz15ElOXkeS8f6s29Wsjk_DB5lIkc2KvDBrqNt51hYbL338RNDbwkU/s1600/Underground-Girls-of-Kabul-FL2W-Book-Club.jpg" height="223" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I do not consider myself to be a feminist. <br />
<br />
I believe in gender equality though, and from where I sit, those two things don't always look the same.<br />
<br />
Women have been defined as "the weaker sex" for as long as I can remember. My father had very definite ideas about things that girls just didn't do. This is why, at the age of 43, I have never mowed my own lawn. Mowing the lawn is a boy's job, or a man's job. He taught me lots of other things about why life worked the way it did for boys and for girls, and not many of them have played out the way he told me, at least not in my life.<br />
<br />
As a mother of boys, I am keenly aware that how I interact with the world, with their father, and with them teaches them a lot about women in general. I don't want them growing up thinking things like, 'she can't do that; she's a girl!' When asked what I do, my first answer is that I am a stay at home mom. A very traditional role for women, yes? That's what I consider to be my most important work, my most valuable contribution to the world, raising decent young men and productive members of society. <br />
<br />
But that's not all I do. I am also a military reservist, a freelance writer, an advocate for abused and neglected children, a pregnancy resource center consultant, and a very active volunteer in my community. My husband travels frequently for his work, which is for the most part what puts bread and butter on the table. But because he is away so much, all of the rest of the household work falls on me. And not just the cleaning and the cooking. My boys see a mom who takes care of business whether dad is home or not. They see a mom who can still beat them at HORSE when we play basketball together, a mom that they run to for help when they get hurt, a mom who owns and shoots her own guns, a mom who can cook and bake and get stains out of their sports uniforms, a mom who fixes things and kills spiders, and a mom who is capable and trusted in a military organization. My boys are taught not only how to shoot a decent lay-up and how to safely handle firearms, but they are also taught how to do their own laundry, they're learning their way around the kitchen, they take their hats off at the table and they open doors for people.<br />
<br />
I'm just one woman juggling my crazy life. There are women who lead nations, who perform life-saving surgery, who argue cases in front the Supreme Court, who sit on the bench in the Supreme Court, who run large corporations and institutes and teach in universities. So many of these women come home at night and still have the full-time job of mothering and taking care of their families and children. Moms interact and parent differently than dads do; it's proven. It's how it is supposed to be. <br />
<br />
Women give birth. Childbirth is allegedly one of the most intense and difficult to bear physically painful experiences known to man, and women do it every day. Many women do it again and again, voluntarily. That alone should be enough to disqualify women, forever and ever, from the title of "the weaker sex."<br />
<br />
I know a lot of husbands who say about their wives, "I don't know how she does it all."<br />
<br />
So where does this idea come from in the first place? Who says that there are things women can't do? <br />
<br />
Reading the stories in this book about girls who must hide who they are to be seen as valuable is heartbreaking to me. I can't imagine being thought of as a burden to my family because I produced daughters. I can't imagine thinking of my daughter as a burden or worse, as completely worthless. I simply cannot imagine it. It shocks me that there are societies in which that is the norm. I know it's out there, but it still shocks me. To the core. I sometimes fall into the trap of thinking that everyone thinks like me, and people all over the world live like I do. Reading this book has given me a major-league wake-up call.<br />
<br />
To see up-close and personal what these young women go through in order to have some worth just reinforces my belief that women are far stronger than they are given credit for. I am reminded that women survive. Women overcome circumstances and make a way. Why do women and men have to be in competition with one another? We were made to complement each other, not arm-wrestle each other. You will never convince me that women are the weaker sex. Why does there have to be one anyway?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; margin-top: 0px;">
</div>
<br />
<br />Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-442715800264335872014-07-22T22:52:00.001-04:002014-07-31T21:33:41.098-04:00Who Would You Take? <div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">This post was inspired by the classic </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="http://www.roalddahl.com/">Charlie and The Chocolate Factory</a></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="http://www.roalddahl.com/"> Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, by Roald Dahl</a>, which</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">celebrates its 50th anniversary this year. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">To celebrate, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="http://www.penguin.com/static/pages/youngreaders/index.php">Penguin Young Readers Group</a>, in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">partnership with </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="http://www.dylanscandybar.com/">Dylan's Candy Bar</a>, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">the world-famous candy emporium, and </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="http://www.firstbook.org/">First Book</a>, a non-</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">profit social </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">enterprise that provides books for children </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">from low-income families, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">is launching </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">a year-long international celebration.</span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">Head Over to <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write</a> to learn how you and your child can </span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">have a chance to win </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">The Golden Ticket Sweepstakes</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;"> where the grand</span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; white-space: nowrap;">prize is a magical trip to New York City plus </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i>much more! For every </i></b></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i>entry submitted, Penguin Young Readers Group will make a donation </i></b></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i>to First Book. Then join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write</a> on July 24 as we discuss </i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Charlie-Chocolate-Factory-Roald-Dahl/dp/0142410314/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1406083841&sr=1-1&keywords=charlie+and+the+chocolate+factory">Charlie and the Chocolate </a></b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Charlie-Chocolate-Factory-Roald-Dahl/dp/0142410314/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1406083841&sr=1-1&keywords=charlie+and+the+chocolate+factory">Factory</a><i>. As a book club member, I received </i></b></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i>a copy of the book for review purposes. </i></b></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVhbzyhhcZTYyA1bcM9TsFIPgmsaYiNhSAMrsUdjinASV1Ur9SO4f7fsEUC6F_H6mCnqfkRibi7sKM0mv0480WqAg4tb-ewhlcWFgxWxo8nNr9zs-XonDsl8jXs2nBPWQUzWxIr-CL6A/s1600/Charlie-and-the-Chocolate-Factory-by-Roald-Dahl-666x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVhbzyhhcZTYyA1bcM9TsFIPgmsaYiNhSAMrsUdjinASV1Ur9SO4f7fsEUC6F_H6mCnqfkRibi7sKM0mv0480WqAg4tb-ewhlcWFgxWxo8nNr9zs-XonDsl8jXs2nBPWQUzWxIr-CL6A/s1600/Charlie-and-the-Chocolate-Factory-by-Roald-Dahl-666x1024.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i></i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><b><i></i></b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><i></i></b></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjke4D7juz4f2tcsa608UazaONeySeGaIk87-j5FoAhIR98bIxKjCHHiNudieHkgKHDXjBu0GQsiC55VoRTsFLzKqUv4023luKXeU3XTEvPZNh-u6r4zO9JuAY2gogpIi-x_Q-xFT1XAvY/s1600/get-attachment.aspx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjke4D7juz4f2tcsa608UazaONeySeGaIk87-j5FoAhIR98bIxKjCHHiNudieHkgKHDXjBu0GQsiC55VoRTsFLzKqUv4023luKXeU3XTEvPZNh-u6r4zO9JuAY2gogpIi-x_Q-xFT1XAvY/s1600/get-attachment.aspx.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Here are our excited faces! </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I just got to read Charlie and The Chocolate Factory with my middle man-cub, Larry (as in Moe, Larry and Curly). I remember seeing the movie as a kid and LOVING the story. I loved the idea of a magical candy factory right in the middle of the city, and an eccentric ga-jillionaire who could, and did, do any old thing he wanted to. </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have to be honest, I did not see the more recent version of this movie. Not because I have anything against Johnny Depp, but because I loved the classic movie so much I was afraid it would be ruined for me, by being remade. I'm not opposed to new versions of classic movies or songs or stories, but there are some that are, in my mind, so perfectly perfect that you just cannot improve on them. I hated Madonna's version of 'American Pie.' </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But I digress. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My son didn't really know the story and didn't know what to expect with the book, but he barreled through it in a day. He's a fast reader, when something grabs his attention, and this book grabbed him, all right. He was fascinated with the idea of a never-ending supply of candy, and he liked Charlie the best out of all the kids. He liked that the "humble, modest" kid got a Golden Ticket and he LOVED that Charlie was the one who got the big prize at the end. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I really enjoy reading books and discussing books with my kids, but they are all boys and they are very literal and concrete. They don't really think in the abstract much, or nail down themes very well. When asked what they liked most about a story, a typical answer in my house is "all of it." When asked about the best part, a typical answer is "the whole thing." This is something we're working on! </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When I really get into a good story, it transports me. I imagine myself in the characters' shoes, and think about how I would handle the circumstances of the story. I imagine what if? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So I asked Larry, if you won a Golden Ticket, who would you take? He answered almost immediately, "You and Dad. You're allowed to take two adults." </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hmm. Too easy. I wanted him to THINK a little.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So I asked what two adults he would take if you weren't allowed to choose your parents.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8735582114632004069" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>He thought for a minute and answered, "Ben and Lauren." Ben and Lauren are his two older siblings, my grown stepchildren. My kids don't see as much of their older siblings as I would like; they are adults, out in the world living their lives. They both live in other states, but one is much closer than the other. One is married with a two year old and a brand new baby, the other is a night owl that works third shift and lives on almost the total opposite side of the clock from us. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I love that he loves them so much, in spite of how little he gets to see them. I love how they aren't "out of sight, out of mind" for him. They may not have that close relationship that siblings have when they are closer in age, and see each other all the time, but they are never far from his thoughts. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If he does ever win that Golden Ticket, I'll arm-wrestle them both, though.....I'm going to the Chocolate Factory. Just saying. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Who would YOU take on the adventure of a lifetime? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-53241622123238313062014-03-17T21:45:00.003-04:002014-03-17T21:49:06.046-04:00On Divorce and The Divorce Papers<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
</div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<img alt="The Divorce Papers by Susan Rieger" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-3932" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/The-Divorce-Papers-by-Susan-Rieger.jpg" height="400" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 100%;" width="263" /></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">***This post was inspired by <i>The Divorce Papers</i> by Susan Rieger. Young lawyer Sophie unwillingly takes her first divorce case with an entertaining and volatile client in this novel told mostly through letters and legal missives. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write</a> on March 18 as we discuss <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0804137447/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0804137447&linkCode=as2&tag=fromleft2write-20"><i>The Divorce Papers</i></a>. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.*** </span></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">I'm just going to come right out and say, I loved this book. I thought it was witty and intelligent, and I thought the way it was written, in the form of emails, legal documents and letters, was clever and interesting. It was snarky and biting in places, and just plain fun to read. All of that being said, reading this book made me take another look at my marriage, and I experienced a huge wave of gratitude that I am not in the shoes of any of the characters in this book! </span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I did marry a divorced man, and I have two stepchildren who are now grown. While I didn't experience Captain America's divorce right alongside him, much of the wrangling back and forth over what seemed to me, the reader on the outside, to be petty things rang true, for sure. My husband did not have what anyone would call an "amicable" divorce, and I am not wholly convinced that such a thing really exists. I would like to be wrong about that, but I have never seen one in person. And truly, the ones who feel the sting of that reality the most are the kids caught in the middle. I am sure that my husband and his ex-wife were angry, hurt, resentful, and bitter; I am sure they felt the effects of the emotional hurricane that blows through a family that is falling apart. I have watched from the sidelines and tried to help pick up pieces of emotional wreckage left in a divorce's wake. </span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But their pain is not the worst of it. The kids suffer more, they just do. They are young and they're generally not equipped to deal with not only the implosion of their family, but the burden of being the go-between for Mom and Dad, who can no longer bear to speak to one another, the burden of the son who must be "the man of the house now." The weight of the heartbreak of the parent who didn't want to split up and leans on the kids a little too heavily; the responsibility of the daughter who has become her mom's confidant. Or the burden of the adult issues that should simply stay between the adults, like money and financial decisions. </span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I am not naive enough to believe that every marriage can be saved, and I know that some marriages are just not built to last. I hope that divorce is not in my future, but if it is, I want an attorney like Sophie. </span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br /></span></div>
<br />Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-33458710469053051282014-02-03T19:14:00.000-05:002014-02-03T19:14:26.450-05:00A Well Tempered Heart<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><i><br /></i></span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px;"></span></b></div>
<div style="color: #666666; font-family: 'Century Gothic', AppleGothic, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 15px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><img alt="A Well Tempered Heart by Jan-Philipp Sendker" class="aligncenter wp-image-3842" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/A-Well-Tempered-Heart-by-Jan-Philipp-Sendker.jpg" height="428" style="display: block; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 100%;" width="285" /></b></div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 17px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i></i></span></span></b></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
</div>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"></b></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"></b></span></b></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="display: inline !important; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This post was inspired by</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the novel </span><a href="http://amzn.to/11xUbab" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A Well-Tempered Heart</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">by Jan-Philipp Sendker. Feeling lost and burned out, Julia drops her well paying job at a NYC law firm. After hearing a stranger’s voice in her head, she travels to Burma to find the voice’s story and hopefully herself as well. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Join </span><a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From Left to Write</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> on February 4 we discuss </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A Well-Tempered Heart. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</span></b></b></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></b>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-5584d026-fa17-b855-e7a9-fb8baa7c6c68"><br /></b>
I read the prequel to this book, The Art of Hearing Heartbeats, and fell in love with the author's writing and his powers of description that transport me to the sights, sounds and smells of Burma, so I was very excited for the opportunity to read this next book that continues the story.<br />
<br />
What struck me about this novel was Julia's willingness to literally go to the ends of the earth to solve the mystery that had sort of taken over her life in a very real way, and the question that I kept coming back to was, would I walk away from the familiar, from my life and my home, to find the answers? <br />
<br />
In my post on the other book in this series, I wrote about the idea of home. And home continues to figure in to this story as well, at least it does for me. Maybe that says something about me :)<br />
Julia seems to be adrift at the outset of the story, and the stranger's voice she hears in her head hones right in on that, alternating between issuing warnings about her colleagues at work and whether she can trust them, and asking some very pointed and uncomfortable questions. Without giving away too much of the rest of the story, Julia goes to great lengths to unravel the mystery of the stranger's voice and has reasons to contemplate what and where her home is, where she feels at home, and with whom she feels at home. <br />
<br />
I moved away from my childhood home, the city where I grew up, when a relationship showed signs of becoming serious. My boyfriend at the time, who eventually became my husband, lived in a city about and an hour and a half away from me, and we did the long distance thing for a while. It was okay, it worked out, but both of us wanted more. He was unwilling to move because he was divorced and his kids were still young, so he didn't want to move any further away and possibly spend even less time with them, so it was really up to me to move, if one of us was going to.<br />
<br />
So I did. <br />
<br />
It all worked out fine: I moved toward him, we got married, had three kids, and have happily bloomed where we were planted. But not without some growing pains, mostly on my part. I didn't move so very far away, but I always considered where I grew up to be "home." Where we lived was where we lived, but it was not home.<br />
<br />
Only recently has that begun to change. When I go back to my childhood home, the city has changed. I don't know it so well anymore. New stores, new neighborhoods, new schools, new people, new highway layout. I don't know where I am anymore, when I'm in that city, where all of my family still lives. <br />
<br />
We were discussing the possibility of moving for Captain America's job a while ago, and we asked the kids how they would like to live in Columbus, where Mom grew up and where lots of aunts, uncles and cousins live? They immediately howled, "NOOOO! We'd miss our friends and our school and our house!" And that was that. Thankfully the need to move never materialized and the discussion was moot. <br />
<br />
But it planted a seed in my mind, and I began thinking of Columbus less and less as "home." I began seeing where I live now, small town USA, as my home. I have wonderful friends, a lovely community of people with whom I share my faith, my children, and my life. We're halfway done paying our house off. I've now officially lived away from Columbus longer than I lived there. And my desire to go home has finally disappeared, mostly because I have realized that I already am home. <br />
<br />
What does "home" mean to you?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-26463498227686490142014-01-05T22:03:00.000-05:002014-01-05T22:08:31.641-05:00What Makes You Happy? <div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Happier at Home by Gretchin Rubin" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-3783" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Happier-at-Home-by-Gretchin-Rubin.jpg" height="400" width="258" /> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This post was inspired by <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0307886794/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0307886794&linkCode=as2&tag=fromleft2write-20">Happier at Home</a> by Gretchen Rubin, where she runs a nine month experiment to create happier surroundings. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write</a> on January 6 as we discuss Happier at Home. You can also <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/639979452729265/?ref=5">chat live with Gretchen Rubin on January 7 on Facebook</a>! As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I was very excited to read this book; the title is so enticing. The author, Gretchen Rubin, previously wrote a book called The Happiness Project, and this follow-up sounded like the perfect how-to book for a frazzled mom who sometimes wants to leave home to get a little peace and quiet. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It wasn't quite what I expected. It didn't really read like a "how-to" so much as it chronicles Gretchen's own efforts to create a happier home, which are admirable and something to aspire to, with the "shelf by shelf" de-cluttering process, and one-on-one Wednesday time with her daughter and the twice-daily spouse-kissing. I love all these ideas. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's just that I'm the only one in my house that clutter bothers. I have by no means given up, but I realize I am fighting a losing battle. Given that my traveling spouse, Captain America, is gone half of every month and the travel schedule changes from month to month, and all the kiddos are in school all day, that pretty much takes care of the Wednesday Adventures and the twice-daily kiss. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, my own happier at home happiness project would look a little different from Gretchen's. And that's ok. She makes the point several times, that what makes each of us happy is wildly variable, and frankly, I've operated by the seat of my pants for so long now, that having Captain America home every night for dinner at 6 would just be weird. I love my children more than my next breath but I need them....no, I mean I <i>REALLY NEED</i> them to go to school all day. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
While the book wasn't quite what I expected, it did get me thinking. What makes me happy? Am I unhappy? Do I need to do something differently? How can I be happier? Do I need to be happier? And I came to the conclusion that I'm pretty darn happy most of the time, and I'm not all that introspective. I'm happy with my chaotic, often cluttered home, and my chaotic, overcommitted life. If I am unhappy, I can generally point to a specific reason, a thing that has happened or an attitude from one of my kids, that has made me unhappy. I don't spend much (ok, any) time considering whether or why which possessions make me happy. I kiss my husband more than twice each day he's home. Unless I'm mad at him, but that's not often. But in the end, I pretty much always default back to happy. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's good to take time now and then to check in with yourself, especially when you're in the trenches of parenthood and attempting to maintain some semblance of a marriage while raising people at the same time. But at the same time, I don't think it's wise to spend too much time contemplating and analyzing and working on your own happiness; life will pass you right by. Your spouse's life will continue to happen and your kids will be moving into their first college dorms or tiny walk-up apartments far sooner than you think they will. I will have more time to work on my clutter then. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What makes you happy? Would you embark on your own "happiness project"?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-42244390334463669012013-10-14T21:09:00.002-04:002013-10-14T21:09:34.157-04:00The Funeral Dress <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img alt="The Funeral Dress by Susan Gregg Gilmore" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-3547" height="300" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/The-Funeral-Dress-by-Susan-Gregg-Gilmore-194x300.jpg" width="194" /> </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
***No one has ever entrusted impoverished Emmalee with anything important, but she takes it upon herself to sew her mentor's resting garment in The Funeral Dress, by Susan Gregg Gilmore. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write </a>on Oct 15th as we discuss The Funeral Dress. As a member, I received a copy of this book for review purposes.***</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
This book really struck a chord with me. It's a sad story in many ways, and it's a story of strength and resilience and hope in other ways. But what really struck me is that Emmalee was a motherless mother. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
How do you learn how to be a mother, when you don't have one yourself? Her mother died when she was a young girl, and her father didn't give her much to go on. Emmalee had to fight for every single thing she had, and she didn't have much. The women that surrounded her at her job became her surrogate mothers, although they may not have realized it at the time. Her own family did not support her or offer her any kind of shelter from the storm and she was essentially alone. Her parting gift to Leona, the one woman who really cared about her and tried to help her in a time of need, was all that she could give, and it was everything. It was a perfect gesture in keeping with the relationship she had built with Leona. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Leona had taught Emmalee how to sew, but she taught her so much more along the way. Leona mothered Emmalee </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
In some ways, I can relate to Emmalee's situation. No, I didn't grow up destitute in a mountainside holler, and I wasn't a young unwed mother, but I lost my mother when I was a child, and I had to learn to be a mother without having one of my own. I was lucky enough, like Emmalee, to have a few people around me who were willing to step into the void and help me learn. Those women are thankfully still with us and not in need of a funeral dress. I don't know how to sew, but reading this book and thinking about my childhood made me wonder. If I had the chance, how would I repay that debt to them? How could I show my gratitude for how they shaped my life, and by extension, how they affected my children's lives? </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
I don't know if I ever can. </div>
<br />
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-41368218116312963092013-10-14T20:33:00.000-04:002013-10-14T20:33:45.642-04:00Reasons Mommy Drinks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img alt="Reasons Mommy Drinks Book" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-3540" height="300" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Reasons-Mommy-Drinks-212x300.jpg" width="212" /> </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
REASONS MOMMY DRINKS </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
(Includes 100 Cocktail Recipes to Enjoy in Your Zero Free Time), by Lyranda Martin Evans and Fiona Stevenson </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
As a contributing member of From Left to Write, I received a copy of this book for review purposes. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Since I received it in the mail, I did not have the opportunity to find it while perusing the shelves of my local bookstore, but I have to start with the Lego ice cubes in the drink. I LOVE THIS image! LOVE it. I am the mom of three boys, all of whom have a seriously committed relationship with Legos; I think it's absolutely perfect that they're accessories to alcohol in the cover photo. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
I was thoroughly amused by this book. No, that's not exactly right...it was more like interrupt- Captain-America-while-he's-watching-football, "OMG you have to read this, it's hysterical" funny. In the spirit of full disclosure, my kids are (and therefore I am) a little bit older than what I imagine the target audience is for this book. But pregnancy, childbirth and my children's infancies are not that far removed from the dusty recesses of my memory, that I couldn't relate to nearly every page of this book. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
It's a recipe book of sorts, served with a generous helping of self-deprecating wit and snark and camaraderie for moms: newly pregnant, about to give birth, just gave birth and moms in the trenches. It's for all of us. Each drink has a theme and a pacifier rating system, as in, how badly do you need this drink? Some drinks are 1- binky drinks, where yeah, you might could use it. Or you might just as well enjoy handing baby over to daddy and zoning out in front of What Not to Wear for awhile. Then you have your 5-binky drinks, which are CRITICAL. You need it NOW. STAT. Someone could get hurt. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
The drinks sound pretty good, and I am going to try out a few of them. I don't object at all to alcohol and I understand the need for it. It's just that don't mix a lot of drinks for myself. I kind of cut right to the chase; I pretty much just open the bottle and go. But what I loved, and read out loud to my husband and my mommy friends and laughed till I cried about, were the topics and stories that went with the drinks. Here's an example: The drink is a Mudslide. Most of us have at least heard of a Mudslide, even if we haven't actually partaken. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Ingredients:</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Chocolate syrup</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
1/2 ounce vodka</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
1/2 ounce coffee liqueur</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
1/2 ounce Irish cream</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Splash of milk</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Instructions: </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Drizzle chocolate syrup around the inside rim of a glass, and then fill the glass with ice. Pour in the vodka, coffee liqueur, Irish cream and milk, and stir. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
How badly you need this drink:</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
5 binkies</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
The story that goes along with the desperate need for a Mudslide is called Explosive Poo. That's pretty self-explanatory, but the paragraph that describes it in hysterical, horrific detail will really bring the point home. You're going to have to read it for yourself to truly appreciate it. I will give you this much though: "There is no waiting for Daddy to get home, though, as The Situation must be dealt with lest you get a diaper rash. But oh, the horror that unfolds with the diaper." </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Really, who among us can't relate to that? </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
If your kids are past this age, pick it up and reminisce. And then pass it on to your pregnant girlfriend, or neighbor, or daughter in law. But if you are in the thick of pregnancy or the baby years, this is book is written just for you. Do yourself a favor and get it. You can read it two pages at a time and that will be enough. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Check out the authors' website <a href="http://reasonsmommydrinks.com/">here </a>and order the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0385349297/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=0385349297&linkCode=as2&tag=fromleft2write-20">here!</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Happy reading! And drinking. </div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<br />
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-16573293389315697022013-07-29T21:34:00.002-04:002013-07-29T21:41:03.753-04:00Daddy's Girl<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i><img alt="Execution of Noa P Singleton by Elizabeth Silver " class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-3335" height="300" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/Execution-of-Noa-P-Singleton-by-Elizabeth-Silver-Cover-197x300.jpg" title="Execution of Noa P Singleton by Elizabeth Silver " width="197" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This post was inspired by the novel </i>The Execution of Noa P. Singleton<i>, by Elizabeth L. Silver. Mere months before Noa's execution, her victim's mother changed her mind about Noa's sentence and vows to help stay the execution. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/">From Left to Write</a></i> <i>on July 30 as we discuss </i>The Execution of Noa P. Singleton. <i> As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wasn't quite sure what to think when I read the jacket of this book. I wasn't quite sure what to think when I finished the first chapter. Or the second. The writing is terrific and it grabbed me right away. The story was, honestly, a little hard for me to read at first. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I didn't really understand Noa, and what she was thinking. As I read more about the relationship between Noa and her father, I began to understand her a little bit better. It's fascinating to me, how we repeat patterns in our relationships in spite of our efforts to change those patterns, and even the relationships we say we don't want affect and influence us. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I did not, and I have a few female friends who did not, have good or healthy relationships with their fathers. I have heard it said and read in several places, that a child's relationships with the opposite-sex parent sets a course for that child's future relationships with members of the opposite sex, and from the vantage point of 40-plus years of life experience, it sure seems to be true. When I was younger I didn't always see it that way, and took some pride in choosing relationships with men that drove my father crazy, simply for the purpose of driving him crazy. For the record, I did outgrow my daddy-rebellion and my husband is only like my father in that he is a guy. Thank goodness. My dad informed my parenting to the extent that he showed me what not to do. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What is really interesting to me is that, ironically, I am a parent to only male children, and I am extremely aware of how, by my mothering, I am determining to some extent the kind of woman my sons will likely be drawn to. It reassures me and scares me at the same time. I think we have good and healthy relationships and I am very hopeful that will continue once they are all teenagers. (Only one of them is right now; so far so good). I hope to raise good boys who will grow into good men. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I pray that I will use my influence wisely, and teach them well. I pray that when they are grown, their memories of me will be happy; that I will have been a good example of how to love a child. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I am the daughter my father raised, but I am not Daddy's girl. It seems to me that although she professed not to care, Noa was her father's daughter, more than she thought. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-12051348306389873452013-05-19T22:10:00.000-04:002013-05-20T09:55:35.087-04:00Strong Enough<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> </i> <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/A-Constellation-of-Vital-Phenomena-by-Anthony-Marra.jpg"><img alt="A Constellation of Vital Phenomena by Anthony Marra" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-3193" height="360" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/A-Constellation-of-Vital-Phenomena-by-Anthony-Marra.jpg" title="A Constellation of Vital Phenomena by Anthony Marra" width="237" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<i>This post was inspired by the novel </i><a href="http://amzn.to/XWBaxN" target="_blank">A Constellation of Vital Phenomena</a><i>
by Anthony Marra. In a war torn Chechnya, a young fatherless girl, a
family friend, and a hardened doctor struggle with love and loss. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a> on May 20 as we discuss Anthony Marra's debut novel. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</i><br />
<br />
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><b>'You must do the things you think you cannot do.' ~ Eleanor Roosevelt</b></i><br />
<i><b> </b> </i></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<i> </i>I believe with all my heart that we are all capable of much more than we think we are. Whether it's about running another lap or another mile, giving just <i>one more big push, </i>or surviving an unthinkable loss, the human spirit, the will to persevere is strong enough to carry us through.<i> </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
I have never been to war. I have been affected by wars, but I have not been put out of my burning home or watched my loved ones taken away by soldiers. But I have faced obstacles I didn't know if I would overcome, challenges I wasn't sure I'd survive. I have lost both of my parents, I have lost friends, and I have walked through more than one big bad marital firestorm with Captain America and come out on the other side, bruised and battered but still standing. I have suffered enormous disappointments, both because of other people and because of myself. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have discovered along the way that it's those challenges that we face that really determine who we are. I have absolutely failed, at times, to overcome fear and trepidation, and I have questioned myself and my God in the midst of confusion, turmoil and seemingly endless pain. But the storms fade. Fires die. And what else is there, but to pick ourselves up, assess the damage, and go about setting things to rights? Even when we feel defeated, and we feel like we've got nothing left, sooner or later we still get up. </div>
<div>
<br />
Sometimes, though, sometimes we prevail over the fear and we conquer that thing we are afraid of. It's not because we're so brave, or we're so smart, or we're so strong. It's not. We're not. Not necessarily. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I am strong enough. We are strong enough, to do those things that we think we cannot do. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We must do the things that we think we cannot do. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-37626045191547517592013-03-11T20:11:00.001-04:002013-03-11T20:11:20.199-04:00Terms Of Endearment<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Raising Cubby by John Elder Robison" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-3045" height="400" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Raising-Cubby-by-John-Elder-Robison.jpg" title="Raising Cubby by John Elder Robison" width="263" /> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">This <span class="">post</span> was inspired by <a href="http://amzn.to/TVo6Lq" target="_blank"><i>Raising Cubby: A Father and Son’s Adventures with Asperger’s, Trains, Tractors, and High Explosives</i></a> by John Elder Robison. Parenting is a challenging job, but what challenges does a parent with Asperger's face? Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a> on March 12 as we discuss <i>Raising Cubby</i>. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This book arrived on my doorstep in what I can only describe as a divine moment of timing. I had <i>just </i>started getting over one of my periodic fits of frustration with my oldest son, who does not have Asperger's Syndrome, but who clearly exhibits several of the classic behaviors. He struggles mightily to just go with the flow that the most of the rest of us seem to find naturally, without much effort or thinking. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He is disorganized at school and is a regular in the detentions that are supposed to be a deterrent for forgetting to do and/or turn in homework in a timely manner. He is easily distracted and can often be found gazing out the window or playing imaginary games in his head, using the eraser of his pencil as the main character. Sometimes, when he gets overwhelmed by the noise and activity level at school, he prefers the company of his imaginary world and its inhabitants to the here and now. He can go on at length about the TV shows and video games he is particularly enamored of, and can give a mini dissertation on them, not really grasping that you don't find it every bit as riveting as he does. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The day I got this book, I had sent a semi-desperate email to Moe's teacher, principal, tutor and school psychologist, asking for help, and I was working on scheduling a meeting with all of them to discuss getting Moe tested for learning disabilities. It pains me to say it, but my kid really needed something he just wasn't getting. I have no interest in hanging a label, but if I don't know what he's dealing with, I can't help him or give him any effective tools to cope with the challenges he faces. My good friend, who is a teacher herself, gets angry when I say I think something is wrong....it's not that I think he is defective somehow, or broken. But I know, in my heart, that he's different, that he does not and will not fit into any predetermined boxes, and he operates on a whole separate level than most of the rest of the world. The world in which he must learn to operate and function. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I enjoyed reading this book. I found myself nodding in agreement and understanding in several places, and laughing out loud in others. I get the author's style of writing and his sense of humor, at least I think I do. I get his thought process. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I especially got a kick out of, and enjoyed his nicknames for his wife and his son, and even their cat. I have nicknames for Captain America and Moe, Larry and Curly (other than those!) that probably not many people would understand. In fact, I might be a little embarrassed trying to explain my little pet names for my people. But to them, and to me, those names are special....those little pet names communicate an awful lot more than just whose attention I am trying to get. They speak to the special bond between me and each member of my family. Some are sentimental and some are silly, and they are all uniquely <i>ours.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I will share one of them, though, because I think it's particularly funny. And it will be funny for me to call my youngest child this name on his wedding day. Curly is a funny, silly kid, a performer, someone who loves to laugh and make people laugh. I call him Monkeyface, and he responds without hesitation. My other man-cubs get offended if I try to call them Monkeyface, but Curly...I think he likes it. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Do you have special nicknames or pet names for your family or for your kids? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-7894786534097475142013-01-21T19:31:00.000-05:002013-01-21T19:34:24.753-05:00Shooting the messenger<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="The Expats by Chris Pavone" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-2844" height="300" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/The-Expats-by-Chris-Pavone-194x300.jpg" title="The Expats by Chris Pavone" width="194" /><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>This post was inspired by mystery thriller novel <a href="http://amzn.to/WZqdtn" target="_blank">The Expats by Chris Pavone</a>.
Kate Moore sheds happily sheds her old life become a stay at home mom
when her husband takes a job in Europe. As she attempts to reinvent
herself, she ends up chasing her evasive husband's secrets. Join<a href="http://amzn.to/WZqdtn" target="_blank"> From Left to Write</a> on January 22 as we discuss The Expats As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</i></span><br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are a lot of secrets in this novel. And I don't want to ruin them for you, if you decide to pick it up. But I want to talk about a part that really stuck with me and made me think about a related question for some time after I finished the book. </span><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> In a lot of ways, I related to Kate, the main character. Not so much that I was leading some sort of secret double life, but that when I put that job aside, the job that I loved and the job that served as my identity in my twenties, it was really hard for me to say goodbye. That job was not compatible with a stable home and family life, and when I gave birth to my first child, I realized that a stable home was more important than the job. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was still really hard to give it up, and I, like Kate, often look back and wonder, could I have somehow made this work? I've looked at my house, cluttered with toys and books and teenytiny Lego pieces tangled in the weave of the carpet, the kitchen with bread crust on the floor and peanut butter smeared on the front of the fridge, and thought, is this it? Is this what I quit working for? </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In other ways, though, I couldn't understand Kate at all. I didn't understand why she was so reserved when she moved to Luxembourg; didn't she want to make friends? Didn't she want to carve out a new life with her people, her compadres? Even when she did make friends, she wasn't completely open. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But then, neither were all of her friends. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Without giving too much away, suffice it to say that, in this book, not many people are who they say they are. And Kate finds this out in a most uncomfortable way, while she is hiding behind her own secrets. She stumbles across a spouse, doing something they shouldn't be doing, with someone they shouldn't be doing it with. And the plot thickens. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The question I keep coming back to is this: if you, by pure accident, discover that someone you know is keeping a secret, one that could potentially hurt someone else you know, are you supposed to tell it or keep it? This comes up all the time in women's magazines, usually in relation to a cheating spouse. But, really, it can cover a wide range of situations, and secrets besides affairs. And the advice columnist in the women's magazines always, <i>always</i> says to stay out of it. You're the messenger, therefore you're the bad guy and you'll be the one who takes the blame for whatever fallout there is. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And not having any experience in this, I can't say for sure that that isn't true. But it sits wrong with me; I don't think the messenger should be the one to get shot. No one likes to deliver bad news or tell people something that will likely hurt them or upset them. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe I just have that tendency to root for the underdog, but I always end up feeling bad for the messenger. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-70376636782482506022012-09-06T18:20:00.001-04:002012-09-06T18:20:53.463-04:00a unique child<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> <img alt="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/January-First-Book-Cover.jpg" class="decoded" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/January-First-Book-Cover.jpg" /></i></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<i>How far would you go to advocate for your child? In January
First, father Michael Shofield and his family struggle to find the right
treatment for </i><i>his daughter </i><i>Jani, who was diagnosed with schizophrenia at six years old. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a> on September as we discuss the Shofield's memoir <a href="http://amzn.to/LXNzzY" target="_blank">January First</a>. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I read January First in one sitting. I literally could not put it down. Some of it, a lot of it actually, was difficult to read, but I just couldn't stop until I reached the end, until I knew what had happened to Jani and her family. It's not accurate to say "how they ended up" because they haven't "ended up." They're living each day as it comes. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I can not, would not and will not say that I even begin to understand what the Schofields have gone through. I do know what it's like to parent a unique child though, a confounding child, and one that does not fit neatly into any category, diagnosis or label. Not that I'm a fan of labeling children or people for that matter, but when you don't understand why your kid is the way he is, or does the way he does, having a word or a condition or description to feel as if you know a little about what you're dealing with helps.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We used to have regular meetings with the school psychologist. In preschool, he couldn't be moved up to the three year old class room because <insert and="and" concerned="concerned" here="here" hushed="hushed" whispers="whispers"> he wasn't potty trained. He couldn't handle scissors properly yet. We were informed of these things as if they were character flaws, as if there was something <i>wrong</i> with him. He commenced to screaming and crying at drop-off time and we commenced to keeping him home from school. We found a much better program that was much more inclusive of children at all developmental levels, rather than one that implied that we had already failed him, at the age of three, by not insisting that he learn to manipulate scissors, and by not forcing the potty issue. Have you ever gotten locked into a battle of wills with a two year old over the potty? Heh. Good luck with that one. </insert></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
But we talked it over with the doctor, who recommended some occupational therapy to help with delayed motor skills. He'd had speech therapy as a baby....he didn't utter his first word until he was nearly 18 months old. That word? Apple, pronounced ap-mmm, while pointing at a picture of an apple. Mama and Dada came much later. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In kindergarten and first grade, the teachers expressed a little concern about his social skills (or lack thereof) and his attention. He'll probably grow out of it, he'll be just fine, he's just a little behind, they said. Don't worry until there's something to worry about. It has to be said here, this is an extremely bright child, with a photographic memory. He taught himself to read before he was fully potty trained (at 4, finally). He has this fascination with Japanese anime, specifically Pokemon, and he memorized 1500 characters, their powers and their strengths and weaknesses. 1500. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
In second grade, at conferences, I asked the teacher straight out, tell me about his attention. She let out a huge sigh of relief and said, I'm so glad you asked about it, because I was going to bring it up if you didn't. So, we did all the recommended testing, and were told that he had a solidly average IQ, definitely had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, predominantly inattentive type, and showed significant markers of Asperger's Syndrome. The psychiatrist was on the fence about whether it rose the level of clinical diagnosis and ultimately decided that it did not. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We tried adjusting his diet; this kid is picky beyond reason and if dinner did not consist of his favorites, well then, he'd just wait till breakfast to eat, thanks. And he didn't mind skipping meals. At all. Although I was never fully comfortable with it, we tried medicating him for a time. In the end, the meds didn't address the real root of his struggles, and they just made him want to eat even less. This was an eleven year old child who weighed maybe 50 pounds. You could literally count his ribs. We had an incident that freaked me out sufficiently to stop medicating him not quite a year ago, and we haven't been back. Since then he's gained 20 pounds. 20. We tried therapy, sports, martial arts; some have been more helpful than others. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Some of his quirks are due to immaturity and he's catching up with other kids his age. Some are due to Moe just being Moe. His younger brothers, Larry and Curly, seem more mature than he does at times. He struggles to understand social cues and social norms. But he's learning....other kids are good teachers of what is ok and what is not ok for him to do or say, more so than we are. From all reports from other parents and teachers, he is beloved by his classmates. We send our children to a very small parochial school, and the kids have all grown up together. They accept and love him, quirks and all. I wish he could stay at this school, with these kids forever. But he's in junior high now, soon to head off to the much bigger high school, with lots of kids he doesn't know. Will they accept him and love him too? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love this child, love him more than my next breath. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
This was the first year that I didn't go to meet the teacher night, and talk to his teachers about him, briefing them on what they could expect from him. I've done that every year. I debated whether to do it, and Captain America (my flying, traveling spousal unit) and I went back and forth quite a bit. In the end we decided to let him make his own impression, not to give the teacher advance notice and thus a preconceived notion. So far he seems to be doing well, shining all on his own. Just this week, he got the highest grade in his class on an English assignment. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's moments like that that make me feel like he's going to be ok. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As parents, we all worry about how the world will treat our children. As an adult, I understand and accept that challenges, heartbreaks and disappointments are what make us strong and help us grow. As moms and dads, though, it's so difficult to watch your child struggle. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have a unique child. Do you? </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-27432352279177067752012-08-28T21:14:00.000-04:002012-08-29T13:31:07.621-04:00Who am I, really?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/The-Bakers-Daughter-by-Sarah-McCoy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The Bakers Daughter by Sarah McCoy" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-2439" height="300" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/The-Bakers-Daughter-by-Sarah-McCoy-194x300.jpg" title="The Bakers Daughter by Sarah McCoy" width="194" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<b><i>This post is inspired by Sarah McCoy's <a href="http://amzn.to/T1t5qh" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">The Baker's Daughter</a>.
In a small Texan town, Reba discovers Elsie's German Bakery and falls
in love with more than the pastries. Shes drawn to Elsie's life in
Germany during the last year of WWII. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a> on August 29 as we discuss The Baker's Daughter. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</i></b><br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Boy, it's been a long dry spell this summer, both in the local weather and in my posting. I keep thinking that summer means long lazy days spent by the pool or in the backyard with my feet up, doing a ton of summer reading. Heh.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<i> </i></div>
<div>
I have three children. Three boys, who like to do most anything besides read. I instituted my summer reading/video game ratio rule, which is there must be at least thirty minutes spent reading before anything with a remote control or an on/off switch is picked up. Boy, they were careful not to spend any extra time reading, I'll tell you that. Thirty minutes and that was IT. We had our usual summer activities and it flew by. Today was their first day of school, and I was so ready. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
From Left to Write also took a summer hiatus and I was all discombobulated with my blog posting. The book club discussions help me keep on track. You see, I love to write, and I love to write creatively, but I still need subject matter and a deadline. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In any case, here I am, having read this book. I really enjoyed it, on several levels. First, I am a total history nerd. I love history. I majored in it, and I write it in my gainfully employed state. Historical fiction is great fun; it allows you imagine, what if? Could this really have happened? This book has enough authenticity in its detail to make you wonder as you read, not only could it have happened, but did it? Also, it is abundantly clear that the author is well acquainted with baking, specifically German baking, and just exactly how things are made. And the story is good. I wanted to know what happened before, how characters were connected, and how things would turn out. There are some good twists and unexpected turns of events that kept me guessing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The thing that really struck me about the story was Elsie's determination, no matter where she ended up, to maintain her cultural identity. Even in Texas, she was German, through and through. Elsie simply refused to give up parts of herself, even though doing so might have smoothed the path in front of her that was sometimes pretty rough and treacherous. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wonder, if circumstances conspired to uproot me from my life here in smalltown USA, and I found myself living in some other country, say, Norway....would I still hold fast to my American identity? Would I just put my foot down and refuse to change parts of me in order to assimilate into a new culture, even if it would make my life easier? Would they immediately know I was American? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My cultural heritage is a mixed bag; I've got Irish, German, English, and French in me. One of my middle names (I have two) is French and once people get past my having two middle names, they don't know how to pronounce the second one. (it's Rive with the accent on the 'e'...pronounced Rih-vay, in case anyone was curious) But that is about the extent to which I have preserved any smidgen of my cultural heritage. We don't have German Christmas traditions in my house, for example, nor do we observe Irish traditions (well, there is St. Patrick's Day, but I'm not entirely certain that green beer really counts). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After having read the book, and checked out the recipes for all of Elsie's many baked treats in the back (I know! How awesome is that?!) I find myself a little sad that I don't have recipes or traditions to pass on to my boys, or their future spouses. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Do you have a sense of cultural identity? Do you keep it alive in your homes with foods or traditions or other kinds of observances? I'd love to hear about them! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-64453113745672048422012-06-11T20:27:00.000-04:002012-06-11T20:27:00.498-04:00You think you know someone....<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><i>This post is inspired by mystery thriller <a href="http://amzn.to/JqfkiQ" target="_blank">GONE GIRL</a>
by Gillian Flynn. They may not have the perfect marriage, but after Amy
goes missing, Nick becomes the number one suspect. Can he discover what
happened before it's too late? Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a> on June 12 as we discuss Gone Girl. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span><span class="post-comments"></span> </div>
<div class="entry-content" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://amzn.to/JqfkiQ"><img alt="Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-2269" height="400" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/05/Gone-Girl-by-Gillian-Flynn-198x300.jpg" title="Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn" width="264" /> </a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first thing I have to say is, I just cannot say enough good things about this book! Holy cow! You know how sometimes you get in bed with a book, and set a time limit for yourself so you don't end up staying up all night reading? This book will blow your limit off the map. It's a fantastically written mystery that travels roads you never even considered. I thought I knew what was going on, and who did what to whom, at a few points in the book, and I was wrong every single time. I can't wait to get my hands on more books by this author. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
At first, I felt sorry for Nick. Then I felt sorry for Amy. Then I felt like neither of them deserved any pity. These two have got one messed-up relationship. I have been thinking about this book since I finished it a couple of weeks ago, and I've been thinking about not only the book itself, but all the issues and questions it raises. Well, to be perfectly honest, it raises some questions I sure can't answer and don't really want to think about too hard, but it also made me think about the idea of really knowing someone. Do we ever really, <i>really </i>know anyone? Even our closest friends or spouses or children? </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Have you ever had that experience where you feel like you really know someone....you know their thoughts and opinions, you can finish their sentences, and you know what they're going to say before they open their mouths, and then they hit you broadside with something you never, ever would have expected from them? </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Or have you had the experience where you felt like you knew someone so well, that you'd know in a second if they were hiding something from you, or lying to you, or even just trying to surprise you, and then you find that they were pulling something off right under your nose?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I guess these questions sound sort of ominous, but surprises come in different sizes and flavors; a surprise isn't always a nasty one. My husband, who knows me really well, pulled off a giant surprise right under my nose last year, and I don't know if I was more shocked about the surprise itself or the fact that he could and did hide something from me for months. We had been discussing buying a new vehicle for awhile and it was my 'turn'....the last time we'd replaced a vehicle he'd gotten to choose and he was the one who'd drive it. He knew exactly what type of car I'd had my eye on, down to color, seat material and how many cup holders it should have. Also, it must be said, during this time, I was finishing my last two quarters of college and Capt America has been known to make 'the grand gesture' on occasion. At some point, I don't know exactly when, he started squirreling away some money each pay period. He stashed money, a little bit at a time, away for several months, and when he had racked up the amount he had in mind for a down payment, he placed an order with the local GMC dealer. He almost completely pulled it off without me having one single clue, but I asked him some minor question about money, I can't even remember what it was. He got super defensive and vague, which of course did nothing to answer my question, but only made me immediately suspicious. What exactly I was suspicious of, I had no idea, but all of a sudden it was very clear that he was trying to steer me somewhere else. <br />
<br />
Long story short is that he finally asked me to just trust him and give him a few more days without any questions, which I tried mightily to do, with varying degrees of success. As promised, a few days later, he made up some silly reason why we had to run an errand in the neighborhood of the dealership. He was practically bursting by the time we got there, just in time to see the sales guy pulling up to the curb in our shiny new Acadia. Whaddaya know?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Suffice it to say, that this is not the type of surprise that Amy has for Nick. Or that Nick has for Amy. Or that Gillian Flynn has for her readers. I don't want to ruin the book for you; the surprises are what makes it so compelling and so hard to put down. Just when you think you know what Nick is going to say, or what Amy might have done, they will surprise you. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-596095794108655852012-05-07T22:19:00.000-04:002012-05-07T22:19:35.880-04:00On faith and rules<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><i>This post is inspired by <a href="http://amzn.to/AyvkEl" target="_blank">I AM FORBIDDEN</a>
by Anouk Markovits. Though not sisters by blood but through their
Hasidic faith, Mila and Atara views the rules and structure of their
culture differently. Mila seeks comfort in the Torah while Atara
searches for answers in secular literature she is forbidden to read.
Ultimately each must make an irrevocable decision that will change their
lives forever. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a> on May 8 as we discuss I AM FORBIDDEN. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.</i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><i> </i></span><span class="post-comments"></span> </div>
<div class="entry-content" style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-2148" height="320" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/I-Am-Forbidden-by-Anouk-Markovits-202x300.jpg" title="I Am Forbidden by Anouk Markovits" width="214" /> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I have always been fascinated by faith. How different people view it, learn it, relate to it, define it and define themselves by it, question it, and outright reject it. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In the spirit of full disclosure I will say that I am a convert to Catholicism, from a nondenominational, Pentecostal-style upbringing. I have thought long and hard about faith, and about my own faith journey that has brought me to where I am today. I am devout in my faith, but I still have questions. I am a faithful practicing Catholic, but I am not a Biblical scholar by any means. I am not sinless (HA! far from it), and and I am not finished with my journey. I have been in lively discussions about faith, and whose version is 'right' and whose is 'wrong.' (for the record, no one ever really wins those debates) </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I know that when I go to my church and participate in the Mass, I am home. For me, it's as simple as that. There is a peace that comes over me that cannot be explained or justified any further. This point was just recently driven home for me again. I was away from home on a long, two week work trip, and over the weekend, I went to a Mass at an unfamiliar church with an unfamiliar group. I found comfort in the structure of the Mass (it doesn't change from church to church to speak of) and in one sense I felt spiritually fulfilled and connected. But then I got home the following Saturday evening, and when I went to Mass at my church Sunday morning, I felt truly complete. I was home. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
One of the recurring themes I have come across in my discussions about faith (I seek them out, because I am so interested in learning as much as I can about faith, from every different perspective that I can get) is that the Catholic Church is too full of rules, man-made rules that aren't Biblical. Well, as I said before, I'm no Biblical scholar, and I am not good at the game that I sometimes call 'dueling Scriptures.' I love to discuss these things in the context of learning, but I don't like when it turns to more of a debate, where one person is right, so the other person must be wrong. I </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But back to the rules. Yes, there are a lot of 'rules' in Catholicism. And in Christianity in general, truth be told (and yes, Catholics are indeed Christians....I've heard it said that Catholics are not even Christian). Rules exist for a reason, and in matters of faith, we follow the rules out of our love for God and our desire to spend eternity with Him in Heaven. I spent a good deal of my life chafing against the rules, rejecting them and ignoring them. You know what, though? They didn't change. I did. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
I will be the first to tell you, I struggle to understand some of the rules. But that does not mean that I reject them....it just means that I'm still learning. I see myself more as Mila in the book...I find comfort in the rules and the structure of my faith. I find tremendous comfort in the fact that while the world around me changes all the time, my faith and its rules do not. God's rules were the same 100 years ago, 1000 years ago, as they are today. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Asking questions isn't the same thing as rejection. I like to think that I have a living relationship with my faith, in that I'm always learning new things about it and how better to live it (although I don't always do that very well) and growing in that learning. I am blessed with a phenomenal community of women with whom I pray, and study the Bible, and from whom I learn on a daily basis what it means to be a woman of faith. I thank God for them every day, because I fall down on a regular basis, and it's truly a gift to have a safety net of sisters who will pick me up and help me brush off the dirt. I hope that I do the same for them. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I didn't know the first thing about Hasidism or Satmar Hasidism before I picked up this book. I don't claim to know a lot about it now. But it sure made me want to dig deeper and learn more. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Are you on a faith journey? Do you struggle with 'the rules' of your faith? </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-71719168649656206412012-04-11T21:39:00.011-04:002012-04-11T21:42:28.149-04:00Being a girl has nothing to do with it<div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><i>Trish Herr's then five year old daughter Alex wanted to hike all 48 of New Hampshire's 4,000+ foot mountains. Would you let your five year old do the same? Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a> on April 12 as we discuss </i></span><a href="http://amzn.to/y3VyCk" target="_blank">Up: A Mother and Daughter’s Peakbagging Adventure</a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><i>. As a member of From Left to Write, I received a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.</i></span></div><div></div><div><span class="post-comments"></span> <br />
<div class="entry-content"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://amzn.to/y3VyCk"><img alt="Up A Mother and Daughter's Peakbagging Adventure by Patricia Ellis" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-2067" height="333" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Up-A-Mother-and-Daughters-Peakbagging-Adventure-by-Patricia-Ellis.jpg" title="Up A Mother and Daughter's Peakbagging Adventure by Patricia Ellis" width="216" /></a></div></div></div><div></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">I read Trish Herr's book, <i>Up</i>, and I have to admit, I'm impressed with her daughter. It's not every 5 year old who understands and wants to undertake such an endeavor. Actually, I'm impressed with both her daughters. It's also not every 3 year old who would want to hike huge mountains. </span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">I have three children, for all of whom 5 and 3 are in the past, and I don't know if it would ever occur to them to want to hike 48 4000+ foot mountains, but in fairness, we live in the wide open spaces of Midwest USA. Mountains are not exactly easily accessible for us. And by that I mean, we'd have to drive for days or buy airline tickets to get to one, let alone 48 of them. Would I let them do it? Sure, if they wanted to. Would I let them when they were 5? Sure, if they wanted to. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">I love that Trish has instilled such a love and respect for the outdoors in her children, and I love that her daughters have learned that simply being a girl doesn't stop them from doing what they want to do, it's a matter of attitude. Being a girl has nothing to do with it. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">I'm a female in a male-dominated world, the military. I get it. I've worked long hard hours to be considered as good as the guys. What I've learned is this: if I don't focus on the fact that I'm a woman in a man's world, then generally neither does anyone else. If I ask people to notice that I am a woman, they generally will. I don't see myself as a female Airman, I'm an Airman. What matters is not what restroom I use; what matters is the effort I bring, and the end result of my work. The men I work with don't say, "Hey, great job....for a girl," unless they're trying to get a rise out of me. Which only works sometimes. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">My children are all boys. God most definitely has a sense of humor, and He definitely knew what He was doing, giving me all boys. They're growing up with a mother who wears a military uniform to work, and still drives them to school every day. They're growing up with a mother who chaperones field trips and does room mom duties, and who can also beat them at HORSE, and will practice pitching and catching and batting with them. Their mother kills bugs (even the big ones), bakes cookies, and runs the house while dad is away at work, which is often. Their mother does indeed wear combat boots. </span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">And I think they'll be better men for it. They don't see me, a woman, as limited by my gender. I have one foot in each world, the traditional and the not so traditional. No one made me quit working full time and choose the part time Reserve route; I made that choice completely on my own. No one made me continue to stay home when my youngest child went to all-day school; again, my choice. </span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">It seems to me that kids will always take their cues from their parents. When they take a spill, they immediately look at Mom to see how bad it really is. If Mom gasps, they start to cry. I get to determine, to a significant extent, how my boys view the world and how it works. I like to think I'm showing them an example of someone who makes their own choices while considering others who are affected by them, who places value on education and on service to others, and who is willing to put effort into making a family work. Someone who acknowledges mistakes (most of the time) and is willing to try to learn from them (most of the time). Not a woman who does these things, just someone who does them. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">I'm not at all ashamed of being female or wish that I was not; I love being a wife and a mother. It's my true vocation, above all else. But I don't allow my gender to limit me, or define me. </span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;">Being a girl has nothing to do it. </span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-77183951730608892182012-03-28T20:10:00.001-04:002012-03-28T20:11:56.524-04:00Not really a single mom<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><i>During the fifth month of her pregnancy of her first child Natalie Taylor is devastated by the sudden death of her husband. Her journey with grief is chronicled in the memoir <a href="http://amzn.to/wvm8EY" target="_blank">Signs of Life</a>. Join From Left to Write on March 29 as we discuss Signs of Life by Natalie Taylor. As a member of<a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" target="_blank"> From Left to Write</a>, I received a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.</i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="post-comments"></span> </div><div class="entry-content"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://amzn.to/wvm8EY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Signs of Life by Natalie Taylor" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-2012" height="300" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/signs-of-life-by-natalie-taylor-194x300.jpg" title="Signs of Life by Natalie Taylor" width="194" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">I am not a single mom. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">I sometimes make jokes about my traveling husband, how many days he is gone every month and how we practice tag-team parenting. How, when he gets home, I clock out. We slap hands in the driveway, my tires squealing as I shout, "I'm out!" before he can set down his suitcase long enough to protest. I sometimes call his schedule and his absences "the married single-mom shuffle." My friends, who know the unpredictability of his work schedule, just ask, "When will he be home?" when we're discussing weekend plans, the kids' baseball practices and Cub Scout meetings. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">And there it is. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">He will come home. I am not a single mom. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">Natalie Taylor's memoir is real, and honest, and raw. Her grief is palpable, something her reader experiences with her. I don't mind telling you that I shed tears along with Natalie as I read her words. I have experienced grief and loss and the deaths of loved ones. I have experienced growing up without a parent. I have not, however, experienced the death of my spouse, and I came to realize as I read this book, that I have no idea what I'm joking about when I glibly call my life "the married single mom shuffle." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">What would I do? How would I cope? How would I get up every day and get my kids off to school? How would I help them cope with their dad's permanent absence? How I would keep him alive for them? How would I dry their tears and tell them we'd be ok? How would I teach my boys about what it means to be a man? Who would teach them to change a tire and how to throw a perfect spiral pass? Who would help them build a tree-house? Who would give them their first .22 rifle and teach them how to use it right? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">I found Natalie to be incredibly brave. Brave enough to get up in the morning, to continue to do the things that needed doing. Brave enough to be the mother her son needs, even when she doesn't feel like it. Brave enough to continue living her life. Brave enough to write it all down, and to share it with the world. I believe that giving voice to something takes away its power over us, whether it's a secret or a struggle. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">I am not a single mom. But I'm afraid I could become one, at any given time, unexpectedly. <span style="color: #222222;">I can't say I'll never make a joke again about tag-team parenting or doing the married single-mom shuffle. Besides giving voice to my fear, those jokes allow me to laugh a little at the possibility, and humor is a powerful weapon, especially in the face of difficulty, however awful it might be. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222;">I know I don't understand Natalie's struggles. I can't. And to be perfectly frank, I don't want to. I am afraid to. I applaud her and I admire her for her honesty and her strength. But I can't understand. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222;">Her story reminds me that I am not a single mom. It reminds me to be grateful for the blessings I have, and that you just never know. It reminds me that life can change direction, and turn on a dime. It reminds me that I am, or I could be, stronger than I think. It reminds me that there is always hope. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222;">What are the things you laugh about, that you're really afraid of? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></span></span></div></div>Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-57713095442848118882012-02-20T22:26:00.005-05:002012-02-20T22:29:01.665-05:00All things in moderation<div><i>Could you live an entire year eating locally or the food from your garden? Barbara Kingsolver transplanted her family from the deserts of Arizona to the mountains of Virginia for their endeavor. Join <a href="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/" target="_blank">From Left to Write</a> on February 21 as we discuss <a href="http://amzn.to/yDegcj" target="_blank">Animal, Vegetable, Miracle</a> by Barbara Kingsolver. As a member of From Left to Write, I received a copy of the book. All opinions are my own. </i></div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="post-comments"></span> <br />
<div class="entry-content"><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://amzn.to/yDegcj"><img alt="Animal Vegetable Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-1919" height="300" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/animal-vegetable-miracle-197x300.jpg" title="Animal Vegetable Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver" width="197" /></a></div></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Well, for me, the short answer for that first question would be: uhm, no.<br />
</div><div></div><div>I don't know how to grow daffodils, let alone anything one could reasonably eat, I don't happen to own (or be married to someone who owns) a farm on which to hone my growing skills, and I lead a very hectic life (or does it lead me?) with three very active boys and a husband who is off flying the friendly skies half of every month. I am a big fan of convenience and the pizza delivery guy, especially when I'm the only one in the house with a drivers' license and a car, and three kids have to get to different activities or practices in the same afternoon. My mantra is 'all things in moderation.' Except coffee.... I really, really like coffee. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Now, having said all of that, let me back off from my "uhm, no," at least a little bit. </div><div><br />
</div><div>First of all, I fully realize that it is possible to lead a very hectic life and still grow vegetables. Or buy from farmers' markets and farming co-ops or CSAs (community supported agriculture). And I realize that many, many people far busier than I, can and do eat locally grown and harvested produce and meats all the time. I also realize that I don't necessarily have to be the one doing all the farming and the growing. Which, honestly, is a relief, because I'm not exaggerating, I can't even grow daffodils. But I'm still a wife and a mom who wants to feed her family healthy and nutritious food that tastes good, is grown in a responsible way and doesn't cost more than my children's college fund. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Barbara Kingsolver and her family moved from Tucson, Arizona to Virginia, to a farm her husband owned, and made a pact together to only eat food that they grew themselves or that was grown locally, or just do without it. That's a huge step. Huge. Kingsolver's story is fascinating and well written, with humor and amazing research. I especially liked the sidebars written by her family members. I only wish my children loved fruits and vegetables so much! </div><div></div><div>Being a historian, I was fascinated by Kingsolver's research into the types and variety of different types of fruits and vegetables that we have lost, due in large part to the mass production of industrial farms and the focus on growing only a couple of crops, but A LOT of them, for maximum profit. I had no idea, and it's tragic. If France and Italy and Germany and India are all known for their wonderful and unique cuisines, what would American food be? McDonald's? Ick.<br />
<br />
I don't think I possess the intestinal fortitude for a transcontinental move and a vow to give up Honey Nut Cheerios, I'll just throw that out there. But after reading <i>Animal, Vegetable, Miracle,</i> I will say that I am inspired to expand my horizons and try some new things. I will frequent the farmers' markets and local farms more, I will research local CSAs and I will learn to enjoy cooking. I will stop caving to the whiny "how many bites of THAT do I have to eat?" and I will continue to encourage and teach my kids to make healthy food choices. I will learn more about what is in season, and what is not, and I will try to do better to abide by the schedule nature gave us.<br />
<br />
I can't promise to delete the pizza guy's phone number from my speed dial, but I can promise that I will press 'call' a little less often.<br />
<br />
Hey, it's something! We've all gotta start somewhere. <br />
<br />
</div><div></div><div></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8735582114632004069.post-12841100060025665582012-01-31T22:37:00.000-05:002012-01-31T22:37:43.126-05:00Home<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://amzn.to/vlGUYS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Art of Hearing Heartbeats by Jan-Philip Sendker" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-1833" height="285" src="http://www.fromlefttowrite.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Art-of-Hearing-Heartbeats-Cover.jpg" title="Art of Hearing Heartbeats by Jan-Philip Sendker" width="190" /><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i> </i></span></span></span></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>When Julia travels to Burma to search for her missing lawyer father, she discovers much more than she expected. Join From Left to Write on February 1 as we discuss <a href="http://amzn.to/ACE6cw">The Art of Hearing Heartbeats</a> by Jan-Philipp Sendker. As a member of From Left to Write, I received a copy of the book. All opinions are my own.</i></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Home. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Four little letters, one short syllable. So heavy with layers of meaning. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">There is a part in this beautifully told story where Tin Win goes to a monastery as a young man who has lost his sight. I am not blind, and cannot fathom what it would be like to lose my sight. To lose the primary way I engage with and experience the world. I can't imagine how frightened and out of sorts I would feel, even in my own comfort zone, my home. But I know very well the layout and the design of the rooms and hallways within these four walls, and I could navigate it in the dark if I needed to. Home is, and is meant to be, our safe place, our soft place to fall. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">For Tin Win, he experiences a different kind of home when he arrives at the monastery. He has never been there before and it is all unfamiliar territory to him, and yet he feels peaceful, as if he is at home. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">There have been relatively few times in my life when I have felt that deep peace of coming home, when I was most definitely not at the house where I reside, and most definitely not in familiar territory. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I felt that way the first time I attended the church that spoke directly to my soul. I was not raised in this church or with the beliefs or traditions of this church. And yet, the first time I sat in the pews and really absorbed the message, I knew. I'm an academic; I need to know the why's and wherefore's of things. I need to see the proof and examine the sources and analyze the credibility of the argument and the premise upon which it is based. And yet, I can't do that when pressed about my faith. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Because I didn't choose my faith after careful consideration of all the options and a thorough analysis. I just came home. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I felt that way when I met the man who would become my husband. I didn't try to flirt like crazy with him, or impress him with how cute and clever I was. He didn't wait any certain number of days to call me after he asked for my phone number, and he didn't waste time acting disinterested to see how hard I would chase him. We skipped over the initial, sometimes awkward, dating rituals and mating dances. I just knew about him. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I didn't choose my husband because he adhered to a list of do's and don't's or because he met a list of criteria. I just came home. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Home, to me, is not about a nice three car garage on a wooded cul de sac. It's not about four bedrooms in a nice suburb. It's not about Home is about peace. Home is about feeling safe. Home is about acceptance and love and comfort. Home is about belonging somewhere, belonging to someone. </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">What makes you feel at home? </span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0f0800;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><i> </i></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Some Suburban Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13908478478292293915noreply@blogger.com5