- "You, sit down."
- "I got this."
- "Like your haircut."
- "You losing weight?"
- "You're not ___ (enter your age)."
- "You are strong."
- "You are important."
- "You are amazing."
- "You are mine."
- "I need you."
- "I want you."
- "You're my friend."
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Those three little words...
When people talk about those, "Three little words," most people assume it is, "I love you." Those are powerful words. For some, they may be difficult to ever say. Some may let those words drip from their lips as effortlessly as water. Everyone wants to hear it. Everyone wants to say it. You are a big, fat liar if you say you don't. Tell others whatever you want, but you cannot deny, at least to yourself, that it is a desire and a need we all have. But, those are not the only three little words that should count. Maybe there are those that think nothing else matters, but I disagree. You can give and have all the love in the world and still feel like something is missing. So, I have comprised a list of phrases that I find to be just as important to hear as, "I love you." Here we go:
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
The second time around isn't always easier
A few weeks ago, I blogged about my first daughter turning ten years old ("10 years down, the rest of her life to go" from September 18, 2013). Today is daughter #2's birthday. She is eight years old today, going on 25. When I learned I was having a second daughter, I was thrilled. I already had a ton of baby girl clothes from my first pregnancy. We had the infant car seat, the crib, a pediatrician, and the infant-stage was still fresh in my mind. There was no doubt that all the lessons learned from daughter #1 would make #2 a breeze. What started as a breeze turned into a whirlwind.
From the moment my doctor gave me the look...the look that told me the delivery of my baby was not going to happen as planned, I knew she was going to be different. I had to have an unscheduled C-section under general anesthesia after a full-face presentation and two failed epidurals. They put the mask on me, I sucked in the gas, and fell asleep. While floating around in the silent, painless void of happy gas, I heard a voice calling my name. My eyes slowly started opening, and just like when someone awakens from sleep in a movie, the blurry light started to brighten and my vision began to focus. "Amy, I've got your baby!" The shape of my doctor became more and more clear. She was still wearing the surgical mask over her mouth, but her eyes were smiling at me. Next to her face was my new baby girl. She was wrapped up in a blanket and her long hair was hanging out from the edges of her newborn hat. I asked, "Is she alright?" My doc said, "She's fine!" I said, "Good," and fell back to sleep. Not exactly how I was going to greet my daughter into the world, but there was nothing I could do about it. My next meeting with her was in the post-operative recovery area. I had no idea how much time had passed because I was still cruising through Happy Gas-town. There was this baby fussing - not really crying, just fussing. Then I realized that was my baby fussing. I halfway open my eyes. Sitting next to my bed was my husband holding our baby girl. He was smiling and rocking her. She was yapping at him. "If she's hungry, give her a bottle," was the first thing out of my mouth. There were so many narcotics pumping through me I could barely talk, but I still knew what my girl needed. She drank two infant bottles before we were even moved to my postpartum room. The girl could eat! And, she still can. I've often said that my Riley has not changed her eating habits since she was born: she still needs to eat every two to four hours or she gets cranky.
What I learned over the next few weeks and months and years is there were lots of things easier about girl #2. This baby was sleeping through the night by three weeks old. There was never that volcano of formula getting spit up all over a brand new outfit. She did not drool even when she was teething. She did not put weird things in her mouth or nose or ears. Potty training was done by four years of age (that includes waking up dry). Everything happened easier and faster and I thought I was really getting the hang of motherhood. I have never seen a child this smart and funny. The level she operates on is higher than most kids her age. She is not perfect: she whines, fights with her sister, and hates to wake up in the morning. But, I can say with confidence that this girl is going to be a force to be reckoned with one day.
I love my daughters the same amount, but I have learned to love them in different ways. What is a reward to one is not very important to the other. As I have discovered their differences, they have shown me how to parent. There are basic rules that apply to everyone, but there are times when individual circumstances have to be evaluated and handled accordingly. Daughter #2 is not as snuggly, she is a total daddy's girl, and I am often the butt of her jokes. I am pretty sure she never cried when getting dropped off at daycare or school. She has told me she wants to go to a bording schol and just come home on holidays. I don't love her more. I just love her different. I give her more space. I know when something is really important or really difficult or really hurting her because she will ask me for help. She is an amazing kid that in some ways is already a little adult.
"I call him Mini-Me." Happy birthday, Roo.
From the moment my doctor gave me the look...the look that told me the delivery of my baby was not going to happen as planned, I knew she was going to be different. I had to have an unscheduled C-section under general anesthesia after a full-face presentation and two failed epidurals. They put the mask on me, I sucked in the gas, and fell asleep. While floating around in the silent, painless void of happy gas, I heard a voice calling my name. My eyes slowly started opening, and just like when someone awakens from sleep in a movie, the blurry light started to brighten and my vision began to focus. "Amy, I've got your baby!" The shape of my doctor became more and more clear. She was still wearing the surgical mask over her mouth, but her eyes were smiling at me. Next to her face was my new baby girl. She was wrapped up in a blanket and her long hair was hanging out from the edges of her newborn hat. I asked, "Is she alright?" My doc said, "She's fine!" I said, "Good," and fell back to sleep. Not exactly how I was going to greet my daughter into the world, but there was nothing I could do about it. My next meeting with her was in the post-operative recovery area. I had no idea how much time had passed because I was still cruising through Happy Gas-town. There was this baby fussing - not really crying, just fussing. Then I realized that was my baby fussing. I halfway open my eyes. Sitting next to my bed was my husband holding our baby girl. He was smiling and rocking her. She was yapping at him. "If she's hungry, give her a bottle," was the first thing out of my mouth. There were so many narcotics pumping through me I could barely talk, but I still knew what my girl needed. She drank two infant bottles before we were even moved to my postpartum room. The girl could eat! And, she still can. I've often said that my Riley has not changed her eating habits since she was born: she still needs to eat every two to four hours or she gets cranky.
What I learned over the next few weeks and months and years is there were lots of things easier about girl #2. This baby was sleeping through the night by three weeks old. There was never that volcano of formula getting spit up all over a brand new outfit. She did not drool even when she was teething. She did not put weird things in her mouth or nose or ears. Potty training was done by four years of age (that includes waking up dry). Everything happened easier and faster and I thought I was really getting the hang of motherhood. I have never seen a child this smart and funny. The level she operates on is higher than most kids her age. She is not perfect: she whines, fights with her sister, and hates to wake up in the morning. But, I can say with confidence that this girl is going to be a force to be reckoned with one day.
I love my daughters the same amount, but I have learned to love them in different ways. What is a reward to one is not very important to the other. As I have discovered their differences, they have shown me how to parent. There are basic rules that apply to everyone, but there are times when individual circumstances have to be evaluated and handled accordingly. Daughter #2 is not as snuggly, she is a total daddy's girl, and I am often the butt of her jokes. I am pretty sure she never cried when getting dropped off at daycare or school. She has told me she wants to go to a bording schol and just come home on holidays. I don't love her more. I just love her different. I give her more space. I know when something is really important or really difficult or really hurting her because she will ask me for help. She is an amazing kid that in some ways is already a little adult.
"I call him Mini-Me." Happy birthday, Roo.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Homecoming, class reunions, and beer
Last week, I went to the Homecoming game at my high school. I graduated from a small, Catholic high school in Indianapolis 24 years ago. I have not been back for a football game in 23 years. My class' big 25th reunion is next year, so me and some friends decided we would take part in this year's activities. My close friends and I can go anywhere and have a great time. Watching a football game in the crisp September air under the lights, running into old classmates and teachers, going to a bar afterwards for some beers; this was all I expected, and that was fine. That was fine because that was exactly what I got.
Sitting in the stands at the game was a bit surreal. It was the first time I sat in those bleachers as a real adult. I watched the young kids, from grade school to high school age, cheering for the home team, walking around and laughing with their faces painted, and seeing who could wear the most wacky outfit to the game for attention (it's usually some guy who is a sophomore or junior). I remembered that feeling of independence and safety walking around the high school football game: your parents let you walk around without them (independence), but you were constantly surrounded by other students, teachers, and parents you knew (safety). It was great to see this tradition continue, and I hope it is still there when my daughters are older.
While sitting in those bleachers, I saw my old French teacher. I could not believe how great it was to run into her. She was always one of my favorites. I had no problem recognizing her because I swear she has not changed a bit. Amazingly, she remembered me, too. We hugged and laughed and I told her how she is an awesome teacher, and I hope she is still there when my daughters are older.
After the game each year, a local bar sets up a tent in the parking lot. It is the official, "old peoples' homecoming." There is a band, beer, and the largest group of alums I have seen. A lot of people have no desire to go back in time. They do not want to keep in touch with classmates. They have no desire to go to class reunions. They think, "If I did not talk to those people in high school, why would I want to talk to them now?" Why? I'll tell you why. People change. Maybe not all people, but most people. I am not denying that there feels like there is a, "class system," in place in high school. But, we all grow and learn about ourselves, and there comes a time when we let others see more of who we are. We then find that the parts we never saw are the ones that make us alike. The shy kids are more confident. The confident kids are more humble. Remember the star basketball player? He has a son who cannot throw a free throw. The really smart girl in class? Has a child with severe learning disabilities. The nerd that no one really paid much attention to? She is running a successful business, married a pilot, and has a daughter that is president of her class. The playing field is leveled and now you do not know which class people belong to. I like that.
Time has an amazing ability to chisel away parts of people. Sometimes the parts are there to protect that fragile girl that has not built up her own self esteem. Sometimes the parts are huge, attention getting accolades that the star athlete earns. There are the nerds, the sluts, the punks and goths, the class clowns, the brains, and the numerous kids that can float between the groups. The chisel reveals, after 20 or so years (time works slowly), that we are not all that different. The, "us," in high school was a scared, less confident, and usually insecure teenager. We find our niche, our safety zones, and we stay close to that comfortable feeling of friends we have a lot in common with. Those with children, especially teenagers, of their own probably see this more clearly. You are happy that your child gets decent grades, has some good friends, and gets involved with extracurricular activities. We only see our kids with the ones they spend their free time with. I think it is important to make sure they know that they do not have to be best friends with everyone, but they need to be kind and respectful to everyone. They will not be able to fathom the thought that 20 years will go by and when the chisel drops to the ground, what will others see? If they promote kindness, humor, fairness, and friendship, they will have someone come up to them one day and say, "I always liked sitting by you in biology class," or, "You always seemed confident in yourself. I admired that about you." People are not all that different from each other.
Oh, and beer can help a lot. There is no denying that it lowers the inhibitions and raises your confidence. I shared a beer with quite a diverse group on homecoming night: head bangers, football stars, cheerleaders, basketball players, band members, sluts, and nerds. What I discovered is that we all have become the adults that can float between the groups. That is a good thing.
Sitting in the stands at the game was a bit surreal. It was the first time I sat in those bleachers as a real adult. I watched the young kids, from grade school to high school age, cheering for the home team, walking around and laughing with their faces painted, and seeing who could wear the most wacky outfit to the game for attention (it's usually some guy who is a sophomore or junior). I remembered that feeling of independence and safety walking around the high school football game: your parents let you walk around without them (independence), but you were constantly surrounded by other students, teachers, and parents you knew (safety). It was great to see this tradition continue, and I hope it is still there when my daughters are older.
While sitting in those bleachers, I saw my old French teacher. I could not believe how great it was to run into her. She was always one of my favorites. I had no problem recognizing her because I swear she has not changed a bit. Amazingly, she remembered me, too. We hugged and laughed and I told her how she is an awesome teacher, and I hope she is still there when my daughters are older.
After the game each year, a local bar sets up a tent in the parking lot. It is the official, "old peoples' homecoming." There is a band, beer, and the largest group of alums I have seen. A lot of people have no desire to go back in time. They do not want to keep in touch with classmates. They have no desire to go to class reunions. They think, "If I did not talk to those people in high school, why would I want to talk to them now?" Why? I'll tell you why. People change. Maybe not all people, but most people. I am not denying that there feels like there is a, "class system," in place in high school. But, we all grow and learn about ourselves, and there comes a time when we let others see more of who we are. We then find that the parts we never saw are the ones that make us alike. The shy kids are more confident. The confident kids are more humble. Remember the star basketball player? He has a son who cannot throw a free throw. The really smart girl in class? Has a child with severe learning disabilities. The nerd that no one really paid much attention to? She is running a successful business, married a pilot, and has a daughter that is president of her class. The playing field is leveled and now you do not know which class people belong to. I like that.
Time has an amazing ability to chisel away parts of people. Sometimes the parts are there to protect that fragile girl that has not built up her own self esteem. Sometimes the parts are huge, attention getting accolades that the star athlete earns. There are the nerds, the sluts, the punks and goths, the class clowns, the brains, and the numerous kids that can float between the groups. The chisel reveals, after 20 or so years (time works slowly), that we are not all that different. The, "us," in high school was a scared, less confident, and usually insecure teenager. We find our niche, our safety zones, and we stay close to that comfortable feeling of friends we have a lot in common with. Those with children, especially teenagers, of their own probably see this more clearly. You are happy that your child gets decent grades, has some good friends, and gets involved with extracurricular activities. We only see our kids with the ones they spend their free time with. I think it is important to make sure they know that they do not have to be best friends with everyone, but they need to be kind and respectful to everyone. They will not be able to fathom the thought that 20 years will go by and when the chisel drops to the ground, what will others see? If they promote kindness, humor, fairness, and friendship, they will have someone come up to them one day and say, "I always liked sitting by you in biology class," or, "You always seemed confident in yourself. I admired that about you." People are not all that different from each other.
Oh, and beer can help a lot. There is no denying that it lowers the inhibitions and raises your confidence. I shared a beer with quite a diverse group on homecoming night: head bangers, football stars, cheerleaders, basketball players, band members, sluts, and nerds. What I discovered is that we all have become the adults that can float between the groups. That is a good thing.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
10 years down, the rest of her life to go
After you've done something for ten years, you would like to feel like you are doing it right. In most professional fields, a decade of experience is a time frame that elicits confidence and admiration from other people. A surgeon tells you, "I have been performing that procedure for ten years." Sounds good, doc, cut me open. A broker says, "I have been investing peoples' money since 2003." Awesome, Mr. Moneybags, where do I sign? We equate the length of time a person has done something with how good they are at it. Usually, this is a fair indicator of the results we can expect. There is no substitute for experience. However, what do you do when after ten years of doing something everyday, you still are not sure if you are doing it all right?
Today is my daughter's birthday. From the title of this blog post, you can probably guess that she turned ten years old. I was lying in bed last night remembering what I was doing in 2003: I was waiting for my cervix to dilate. It was taking its time because I was at the hospital nearly 24 hours before I delivered my baby girl. She was beautiful, perfect, and they handed her to me like I was supposed to know what to do. Luckily, between my years working at an OB/GYN office with amazing nurses, doctors, and moms, my skimming through What to Expect When You're Expecting, and that natural maternal instinct, I took her home and managed to raise her. Every day, I kissed her. Every day, I told her I loved her. Every day, I told her how important she is to this world. I still do every one of these things every day. I also ask myself every day, "After ten years, am I doing this right?"
There is no way to describe parenting. Probably because it is not an experience, it is a life. Like life, we have to take it day by day. It doesn't matter that those whom have more experience than us try to guide, shelter, and show us the way. We usually do not listen to all the advice we are given, for we all feel our lives ultimately must be shaped by ourselves. We have to say it to hear it. We have to do it to feel it. We have to lose it to appreciate it. When it comes to parenting a daughter (or two, in my case), all I can hope for is a baby that grows into a smart girl that changes into a confident adolescent that moves into a goal-driven teenager and ends up an accomplished woman. Too much to ask? Yes, it is. I have come to terms with the fact that I am going to make mistakes. It does not matter how hard I try to make her perfect, she is going to need to say it, do it, and lose things on her own to make her life hers. I will always be there to support her.
Happy birthday, baby girl. Live your life...as long as I am always in it.
Today is my daughter's birthday. From the title of this blog post, you can probably guess that she turned ten years old. I was lying in bed last night remembering what I was doing in 2003: I was waiting for my cervix to dilate. It was taking its time because I was at the hospital nearly 24 hours before I delivered my baby girl. She was beautiful, perfect, and they handed her to me like I was supposed to know what to do. Luckily, between my years working at an OB/GYN office with amazing nurses, doctors, and moms, my skimming through What to Expect When You're Expecting, and that natural maternal instinct, I took her home and managed to raise her. Every day, I kissed her. Every day, I told her I loved her. Every day, I told her how important she is to this world. I still do every one of these things every day. I also ask myself every day, "After ten years, am I doing this right?"
There is no way to describe parenting. Probably because it is not an experience, it is a life. Like life, we have to take it day by day. It doesn't matter that those whom have more experience than us try to guide, shelter, and show us the way. We usually do not listen to all the advice we are given, for we all feel our lives ultimately must be shaped by ourselves. We have to say it to hear it. We have to do it to feel it. We have to lose it to appreciate it. When it comes to parenting a daughter (or two, in my case), all I can hope for is a baby that grows into a smart girl that changes into a confident adolescent that moves into a goal-driven teenager and ends up an accomplished woman. Too much to ask? Yes, it is. I have come to terms with the fact that I am going to make mistakes. It does not matter how hard I try to make her perfect, she is going to need to say it, do it, and lose things on her own to make her life hers. I will always be there to support her.
Happy birthday, baby girl. Live your life...as long as I am always in it.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Only Family Gets the Food!
This week, we sadly laid to rest my great-aunt. She was 97 years old, born in Scotland, and was sharp as a pin until the end. She could talk about politics, sports, and movies, and she possessed a cosmopolitan energy that made you feel inspired. My favorite question was when she asked me, "Amy, do you watch, 'The Sopranos'?" Most people would be surprised to hear my Aunt Minnie, at the age of 83 when the series began, was following a show on HBO about a mafia crime family. How many times per show did they drop the F-bomb or shoot someone in the head? If you knew Aunt Minnie, it was not a shock. ("Ooooo, I love that Tony Soprano! He's so bad!") My daughters referred to her as, "that little grandma lady who isn't actually our grandma." She was a strong, feisty woman that will be missed by her family and loved ones.
Family provides security, a support system, laughter and tears, and a sense of belonging. Those of us lucky enough to be raised in my immediate and extended family know we give each other every one of these things. We have also provided each other with not only aunts, uncles, and cousins, but also friends, role models, and partners-in-crime. We should always be there to build each other up, to give constructive criticism, and to help when we can. Our family wants only the best for each other, so if a comment or suggestion seems hurtful, we need to realize that maybe they are trying to show us something we do not want to see. Harmful words and grudges have no place in our family tree. Our roots are planted in love and our branches reach to Heaven. Every time I am in the same room as my kin, I want to lock the doors and keep everyone close. Part of me is six years old, remembering my siblings and cousins (eight of us, in all) playing in the spare bedroom at our grandparents' house. Were we really all little enough to fit in that room at one time? There were no expensive toys to play with, and we had the best time together that all I remember is the laughter.
Being, "family," does have its privileges, too. We get to joke with each other about things that an outsider would get punched in the face for bringing up in conversation. There is a protective bond that holds us tight to each other. Constructive criticism is at times given too freely because we think the underlying love will convey the underlying message of concern. Regardless of the delivery, if the intent is positive and well intended, it will show...eventually. Family - you can't live with 'em and you can't live without 'em. If you piss 'em off, you're out of the will!
AND, according to my daughters, I learned of another, "privilege," that comes from being family:
A few months ago, my best friend lost her grandmother. My daughters and I had been at the funeral home for about twenty minutes. My nine year old came up to me and said, "Mom, there is food here! Can we eat?" I replied, "No, sweetie. That food is for the family." This week, I informed the girls that Aunt Minnie had passed away. They were sad and said they would miss her very much. The following day, my girls asked, "So, Aunt Minnie was family, right?" Thinking they wanted a mini-geneology lesson, I explained how they were related to Aunt Minnie. Their faces lit up and they said, "So, if there is food there, we get to eat it?!?!" All I could do was laugh and say, "Yes, girls, you can because we are family."
God bless Aunt Minnie. May she be reunited with her dear husband, my sweet Uncle Harry.
Family provides security, a support system, laughter and tears, and a sense of belonging. Those of us lucky enough to be raised in my immediate and extended family know we give each other every one of these things. We have also provided each other with not only aunts, uncles, and cousins, but also friends, role models, and partners-in-crime. We should always be there to build each other up, to give constructive criticism, and to help when we can. Our family wants only the best for each other, so if a comment or suggestion seems hurtful, we need to realize that maybe they are trying to show us something we do not want to see. Harmful words and grudges have no place in our family tree. Our roots are planted in love and our branches reach to Heaven. Every time I am in the same room as my kin, I want to lock the doors and keep everyone close. Part of me is six years old, remembering my siblings and cousins (eight of us, in all) playing in the spare bedroom at our grandparents' house. Were we really all little enough to fit in that room at one time? There were no expensive toys to play with, and we had the best time together that all I remember is the laughter.
Being, "family," does have its privileges, too. We get to joke with each other about things that an outsider would get punched in the face for bringing up in conversation. There is a protective bond that holds us tight to each other. Constructive criticism is at times given too freely because we think the underlying love will convey the underlying message of concern. Regardless of the delivery, if the intent is positive and well intended, it will show...eventually. Family - you can't live with 'em and you can't live without 'em. If you piss 'em off, you're out of the will!
AND, according to my daughters, I learned of another, "privilege," that comes from being family:
A few months ago, my best friend lost her grandmother. My daughters and I had been at the funeral home for about twenty minutes. My nine year old came up to me and said, "Mom, there is food here! Can we eat?" I replied, "No, sweetie. That food is for the family." This week, I informed the girls that Aunt Minnie had passed away. They were sad and said they would miss her very much. The following day, my girls asked, "So, Aunt Minnie was family, right?" Thinking they wanted a mini-geneology lesson, I explained how they were related to Aunt Minnie. Their faces lit up and they said, "So, if there is food there, we get to eat it?!?!" All I could do was laugh and say, "Yes, girls, you can because we are family."
God bless Aunt Minnie. May she be reunited with her dear husband, my sweet Uncle Harry.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
State Fair time!!!!!!
My husband and I took our daughters to the Indiana State Fair last week. We try to go every year. I guess it has become a tradition of sort for us to ride the rides, view the livestock, and consume 4,000 calories each in one afternoon. This year's fair trip was especially nice because it was not 103 degrees with 85% humidity (which is not uncommon for Indiana in August). It was cloudy for most of the day, but we had no more than a few raindrops before the skies started to clear. And, since the public and township schools had already started back, the crowds did not show up until nearly 5:00 p.m. Comfortable weather, little waiting in lines, and food on a stick...could it get any better? The answer was, "Yes." It was also,"$2 day," so admission was just $2 each and the fair was full of food specials for only $2 each. Great day for all.
For those of you who may not live in Indiana, we do not all own a pig or live on a farm. I am aware that Indiana is viewed by most as a corn-growing, cow-milking, tractor-driving kind of place. If you want to grow corn, milk a cow, or drive a tractor, that can easily be accommodated. But, I do not know the first thing about being a farmer. I am happy that I have picked four tomatoes out of my garden this year. When I walk through the fair, especially the livestock barns, I am jealous of those that do live that stereotypical, "Indiana life."
My daughters love animals, and I admit that I, too, adore the animals at the fair. Every barn we walked through, my daughters could be heard gasping then saying, "It's sooooo cute!" It could have been a cow, a goat, a donkey, anything with fur, feathers, or wool. Looking at the sheep and goats, I got to thinking, "How hard would it be to own a goat? That one over there is no bigger than my dog!" It could walk around my back yard, eat the grass so we wouldn't have to mow it, and I could learn how to make goat's milk cheese. If not a goat, maybe I could raise some chicken. We could convert the mini-barn into a chicken coop. Fresh eggs every day and fried chicken when they quit laying. I can just see myself churning butter, plucking chicken carcasses, scooping goat poop off my shoes....maybe not. The lifestyle of a farmer is hard. Those of us who are really only exposed to it at the fair cannot grasp the real blood, sweat, and tears these people give to live this, "simple life." Raising cows and pigs is not a hobby. I have been known to tell a bird to, "Shut up!" because it was outside chirping before my alarm had gone off. I do appreciate the people at the fair that answer the silly questions we ask and let my daughters pet their animals. The sight that always shows me the commitment these people have to their lifestyle is when you see a person sleeping in a stall meant for an animal. Early mornings, long days, cold nights, sore muscles, and manure. I'm not embarassed to say I could not hack it.
If you have not visited the fair, try to get out there before it is gone. After you take a ride on the ferris wheel, eat a deep fried Oreo, and try to win a goldfish, show your kids how the other half lives. Teach them to appreciate and respect the people that still live the, "easy life."
I still want a goat.
For those of you who may not live in Indiana, we do not all own a pig or live on a farm. I am aware that Indiana is viewed by most as a corn-growing, cow-milking, tractor-driving kind of place. If you want to grow corn, milk a cow, or drive a tractor, that can easily be accommodated. But, I do not know the first thing about being a farmer. I am happy that I have picked four tomatoes out of my garden this year. When I walk through the fair, especially the livestock barns, I am jealous of those that do live that stereotypical, "Indiana life."
My daughters love animals, and I admit that I, too, adore the animals at the fair. Every barn we walked through, my daughters could be heard gasping then saying, "It's sooooo cute!" It could have been a cow, a goat, a donkey, anything with fur, feathers, or wool. Looking at the sheep and goats, I got to thinking, "How hard would it be to own a goat? That one over there is no bigger than my dog!" It could walk around my back yard, eat the grass so we wouldn't have to mow it, and I could learn how to make goat's milk cheese. If not a goat, maybe I could raise some chicken. We could convert the mini-barn into a chicken coop. Fresh eggs every day and fried chicken when they quit laying. I can just see myself churning butter, plucking chicken carcasses, scooping goat poop off my shoes....maybe not. The lifestyle of a farmer is hard. Those of us who are really only exposed to it at the fair cannot grasp the real blood, sweat, and tears these people give to live this, "simple life." Raising cows and pigs is not a hobby. I have been known to tell a bird to, "Shut up!" because it was outside chirping before my alarm had gone off. I do appreciate the people at the fair that answer the silly questions we ask and let my daughters pet their animals. The sight that always shows me the commitment these people have to their lifestyle is when you see a person sleeping in a stall meant for an animal. Early mornings, long days, cold nights, sore muscles, and manure. I'm not embarassed to say I could not hack it.
If you have not visited the fair, try to get out there before it is gone. After you take a ride on the ferris wheel, eat a deep fried Oreo, and try to win a goldfish, show your kids how the other half lives. Teach them to appreciate and respect the people that still live the, "easy life."
I still want a goat.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
A different side to vacation
My husband, myself, and our two daughters are wrapping up our summer vacation. We took a trip to North Carolina to visit relatives on my husband's side of the family, then we drove another few hours to the coast. We spent three nights in Ocean Isle Beach, North Carolina. This small, coastal town only has about 450 permanent residents. There are no chain restaurants, no amusement parks, and we learned on our first evening there that mini-golf is THE most popular nighttime activity on the island (and there is only one mini-golf course, so it is one of the only nighttime activities on the island). I would recommend this place to anyone who is looking for a nice place to take their family on vacation.....unless you get bored easily. If you and/or your family need a lot of activities to fill each minute of the day, go some place else. I, however, can fill a week with time sitting on the beach, watching the waves and pelicans diving into them looking for fish, reading a book in a hammock, and drinking frozen concoctions that help me hang on (Jimmy Buffet reference). What I have discovered is that the less I do on vacation with my body, the more my mind wanders. As my butt sits close to the sand, my brain is doing the equivalent of an Ironman competition. To the other tourists on the beach, I appear to be dozing off in my chair, but my mind is a flurry of ideas so frantic for fruition that I still cannot calm them when it is time to sleep at night. While I lazily lie in that hammock and try to read a book, I am asking myself questions about every aspect of my life: Why don't we move to a state closer to the ocean? I wonder if my dad would have enjoyed the beach? What are my daughters going to be like in 10 years? How did I gain back 20 of the 30 pounds I lost last year? What do people see when they look at me sitting on the beach? Am I ever going to finish one of the books I have been trying to write for the past five years? Should I stop dying my hair and let it go gray?
You would think a vacation would put you at ease. Do not get me wrong; this has been a much needed get-a-way for all of us. We have all had a great time, and the beach does melt away stress better than any method I know. But, how do I get my mind to be able to take a vacation? How do I get that beachy feel to permeate the layers of hair, scalp, and skull to allow the subconscious to feel at peace? I tried pouring sand in my ears, but all that did was cause a nasty infection. I tried snorting sea water, but that just made me cough and choke and sneeze out salty boogers. I even allowed a sea gull to make a nest in my hair...lets just say that did not give the desired results. When we say a person has their toes in the sand, we instantly imagine they are relaxed. When we say a person has their head in the sand, we see them as hiding from reality. All I want is to be relaxed in my reality, so what do I bury to get that?
Peace does not happen when everything just fixes itself. Peace is not a result of having everything you want. To achieve peace, a lot of time there first is a war. An objective must be made, and peace comes in the accomplishments in reaching that goal. Instead of asking all the questions, maybe the time has come when I start answering them. Maybe we all need to take one of the questions that keep us up at night and make it our goal to answer it. Put it to rest. Mark it off the list. Maybe all the answered questions will start to build like grains of sand in your mind. Maybe the goals that are reached will form an oceanside hammock that swings in the breeze. And, maybe the accomplishments we make will blow across our skin and make us smile and smell the air. Just maybe.
You would think a vacation would put you at ease. Do not get me wrong; this has been a much needed get-a-way for all of us. We have all had a great time, and the beach does melt away stress better than any method I know. But, how do I get my mind to be able to take a vacation? How do I get that beachy feel to permeate the layers of hair, scalp, and skull to allow the subconscious to feel at peace? I tried pouring sand in my ears, but all that did was cause a nasty infection. I tried snorting sea water, but that just made me cough and choke and sneeze out salty boogers. I even allowed a sea gull to make a nest in my hair...lets just say that did not give the desired results. When we say a person has their toes in the sand, we instantly imagine they are relaxed. When we say a person has their head in the sand, we see them as hiding from reality. All I want is to be relaxed in my reality, so what do I bury to get that?
Peace does not happen when everything just fixes itself. Peace is not a result of having everything you want. To achieve peace, a lot of time there first is a war. An objective must be made, and peace comes in the accomplishments in reaching that goal. Instead of asking all the questions, maybe the time has come when I start answering them. Maybe we all need to take one of the questions that keep us up at night and make it our goal to answer it. Put it to rest. Mark it off the list. Maybe all the answered questions will start to build like grains of sand in your mind. Maybe the goals that are reached will form an oceanside hammock that swings in the breeze. And, maybe the accomplishments we make will blow across our skin and make us smile and smell the air. Just maybe.
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