Learning from my climatalogical peak.

Being Cajun accounts for quite a lot of my personality traits, hobbies, favorite past-times, but you might find it surprising to learn that even my depression is ruled by the Cajun blood that runs through my veins. Between the large amounts of deathiversaries from my family and the ending of another glorious year with Lucian I become very melancholy, at the closing of every Summer. My stormiest and darkest days oddly correlate with the climatalogical peak of the Atlantic Hurricane season.

Every August and September I spend many nights in quite contemplation, wondering if I'm making enough memories and leaving an impression on Lucian's heart. I give hours pondering my efforts in preparing him for the life that lies in front of him. I desperately seek out each memory that was shared with loved ones, hoping to understand the lesson I was meant to gleam from their moments on Earth. When a storm begins to roll in I bravely close my eyes, face the wind and silently admit that I can no longer hear their voice or see their face in my mind, and in that instant I feel them next to me.

It was just the other night when I had that special juncture with my O'ma, I let the grin wash over my face and the tears stream quickly down my cheeks. Life has been weighing heavy on my heart as of late and I just let it all rush out to her, begging for guidance. It was such a freeing moment, I went to bed so joyful. I dreamt of lighthouses for the next few nights, they were a favorite of her's so I wasn't surprised but I was a little disappointed that there was no real clarity to be found in any of them. That's when I thought maybe she's telling me to BE a lighthouse. When I said those words out loud I swear I could hear her say, "Carrie Ann, you were designed to emit light and help others navigate the rough shores of life."

To the outsider, it may seem ludicrous but my purpose is clear to me now. I can take the time I need to looking longingly at the sea, remembering the happiness it has brought me, but I must muster the strength to be seen through the darkest, storm-riddled nights. I am built to ride out life's toughest storms. I must be maintained, ready and alert for the next day's trials - ever present to help guide my people to safety.

Conversations with Cheetah

Previously I have described my probing conversations with Cheetah, the short morning and afternoon commutes quickly become a formal inquisition. The years have been racing by but the daily scrutiny has remained, but he has up-ed the ante. He stuns me daily, as his subject matters widely broaden, I imagine this is due to his veracious reading, YouTube viewing (he does so in the living room, under our screening - no parent shaming needed), and countless hours of video game playing.

He plays good cop/bad cop as he grills me for answers while testing the validity of the responses with additional inquiries and promises of "googling" when our discussion has ended. After nearly ten straight minutes of examination, I pull into the driveway hoping for a reprieve. I close my eyes and try to get my heart rate back into the safe zone, while beginning to replay my answers in my mind.

Did I respond to his question about Herpes too graphically? Maybe he is too concerned with what his classmates think of him. Why in the world did I try to describe the Holocaust by myself, when I know I become too passionate? How else was I supposed to approach a questions about sperm? Thank goodness all we talked about was bugs and lizards today. What did he mean by, "but he did throw like a girl?" These moments of reflection leave me ready for round two, which never goes as well as the round he initiated; but I attempt to solidify my point or opinion, as I watch his eyes slowly begin to glaze over...

And there en lies the problem, he is only prepared to actively listen when he is ready to discuss issues with me; which I am learning happens less and less, in direct correlation with the amount of birthdays he has experienced. I'm unsure if I should be proud that he is growing more aware of his environment, that he catches every detail and written word that is around him or if I should be worried that he seems too aware of the world around him and isn't more lost in the thoughts and musings of a care-free child.

Those concerns lead me to a realization, maybe that's why many school districts have a completely separate school for children of this age, Middle School. It must be a place dripping with angst, overrun with attitude, and full of students who's eyes are stuck in the "rolled position" - what a drastic change from the light, airy, and happy hallways of the cute elementary school he currently attends. He's nervous to make that jump to the new school full of older kids, and I'm down right terrified.

I do have an ace up my sleeve though, a friend who works as a Counselor in the Middle School that Cheetah will be attending. We've discussed what changes I can expect and she assures me that things aren't as scary as I am envisioning. She has almost convinced me that Middle School is a gift to parents. It's the time in which we can train our hearts and bodies for the marathon ahead; to prepare for a barrage of arguments, patience obliteration, and additional limit testing.

As I continue to enjoy our last year at elementary school, I invite you fellow parents to incoming Middle Schoolers to take this school year and summer to cuddle your kids - when they'll let you, enjoy your conversations with them about their friends and hobbies, and try to keep your cool under the bare bulb of the investigation room.

Tightening the purse strings.

This has been a big year for me and the Smith family, I'll expound on that in a later post, but one of the biggest occasions has been booking the Smith's 2017 trip to Europe. I was born in Heidelberg, Germany (my parents were stationed there at the time), in 1978, and I have never had the chance to return to my birthplace but that is going to change. We head abroad at the end of May, for a "quick" trip and I am beyond thrilled.

As you can imagine, the trip has been a very frequent topic of discourse in our household. For months now we've been discussing itineraries, flight schedules, passports, & rental cars. I have selected all the cities and sites (Disneyland Paris & the Neuschwanstein Castle made the list, of course) that are mandatory stops on my thirty-eight year old, Trip of a Lifetime; Tarzan is just happy to come along, he makes planning a trip such a breeze. Cheetah has added Rome, Italy, as his must see city on our European trek, and continuously adds new venues to our expedition through Europe.

Due to the hefty price tag that comes along with a trip overseas, we've been tightening the purse strings at the Treehouse. We've instituted meatless meals, elemenated eating out, greatly reduced our outside entertainment budget, and have begun keeping each other in check on our frivolous spending.

I began asking myself, "Do I need/want this? Would I rather _____ while in Germany or France?" - each time I consider purchasing new clothes or shoes. I have also been prompting Tarzan when he is contemplating a purchase and Cheetah when he is requesting a new toy or game, with the same round of questions and have found this practice to be the most helpful; until recently. I believe that I may need to create a different method to remind the family, The Boy especially, as to why we're currently sacrificing our wants for a future time and location:

One day as I reviewed the weekly grocery run with The Boy, we were both adding our lunch & dinner items when I mentioned needing to add tampons to the list. Without skipping a beat, Cheetah demanded, "Do you really need tampons, or can you wait to get tampons in France?"


It took several minutes for me to reign in the snorting and tear shedding laughter but I was able to smile lovingly at him and counter, "Yes my dear, I am sure that I need the tampons now. I may even need tampons while in France, too."

It can be tough on a frugal mom, check out this link for a little comedy relief.

They left a legacy.

Yesterday she would have been 95; to say she was the best grandmother I could have asked for would be an injustice. She was half my heart, the snort in my laugh and the light in my eyes. Her blood runs through my veins and continues to pump life through my scarred and lonesome heart. Sure the pain is somewhat dulled but my eyes still well up, easily spilling over with the mere thought of my life without her.

The loss of her sometimes seems to overshadow the loss of O'pa but I think that's just because we helped each other through loosing him. I stayed with her for over a week after he died because I wasn't sure I would be able to breathe again, if I left their house. We spent days without talking, going through the motions. I would fix her meals and we would both pretend to eat; at night I would lie beside her and we would cry until our bodies ran out of steam. On the night before I left she admitted to staying up late the weeks he was sick, and spending hours sitting in his chair just to feel close to him and smell him; her honesty was so comforting that I admitted to sneaking into his room when my shift was over and it was someone else's turn with him, because I was afraid I would regret not being with him for every second he had remaining. That night was the first night I hadn't cried my self to sleep since the beginning of August (he died on August 18th). I still didn't want to leave the safety of their home but at least I wasn't leaving scared, she had given me hope because I still had her.






You see, my relationship with my O'ma and O'pa was anything but typical. I was blessed with a wonderful set of parents who have always done above and beyond what parents (and people) should do for me, but O'ma and O'pa were like Parents+. I spent my Summer, Winter and Spring breaks happily by their sides. In large part, I have them to thank for being able to see all 48 Continetial United States; our times in the camper, seeing America will never be forgotten. We stayed up late playing games, teasing each other, and mapping out the next day's route. We spent countless hours discussing life, love, and trials. I was given unriveled access to their stories, lives and histories; nothing was off the table, I could ask them anything. There were times when I could tell that it was a tough topic, there were many pregnant pauses and answers that began with, "It was a different time..." They told me the truth.

There were times in their past where they disappointed themselves; but as they recounted these moments, they made sure to inform me that Parents and Grandparents are people and that they make mistakes. This was probably the best information they ever game me; sure it lowered the pedestal I had placed them on, but it was vital. I was able to go back to this lesson as time marched on. I used it as a point of reference with my parents and once I became a parent; it puts things in perspective and lowers anxiety levels when considering some of the tough choices that parents have to make.

These two were good people. They showed me how to be a person, how to live my life, and how to die with dignity. The world was a better place because of them and I am a better person for having known them. This legacy that they left me, must be handled with care and put into place. I will leave this earth much better than how I found it.

Patience is the answer.

Tarzan and I often get the question, "Why did you choose to have only 1 child?" While I strongly believe it is no one's business, I can say that after a very short week home, I have been reminded of the main reason: Patience.

Currently, Cheetah is lamenting my entire existence because I am insisting that his percussion practice be deliberate & focused, the moments of insanity are increasing vastly. It's like his heartbeat is some how linked with the amount of muttering & eye rolling he can produce. Heaven forbid I have a correction to make on his homework or an idea on how he can better edit his shorty story - his face reddens and his sighs become laborious. Those are the moments that I try to count to a hundred and remind myself of the food quality & accommodations of prison - must stay strong!

He tends to react better reason. So breathing deeply, I try to explain that my duty is to instruct him on how to be a contributing member of society; I have to instruct him on how the real word works, how to make & keep friends, how to get & keep a job, and how to stay on the right side of the law. Of course this conversation is met with more sighs & frustration from The Boy and as I begin counting  from 1 to 100, I can feel my imagination slipping down a rabbit hole...go with me here:

We happen upon a coliseum filled with crazed, screaming fans as Cheetah is marched into the center by a scantly clad Adam Levine. A hush falls, as I stand to greet the Challenger. I list the Challengers crimes: not fulfilling promises, blatant disrespect of authority, addiction to gaming devices, & a complete unwillingness to complete menial tasks - the crowd hits their feet and begin jeering at the Challenger. As the Challenger turns to select his weapon of choice, I usher in Dwayne Johnson who is carrying a house cat who is suited for battle. As he lovingly scratches the cat's chin and smiles in my direction....

"Mom, I'm sorry I get so ugly with you. I know you're right and that I am letting my desire for television and video games rule my life and my actions...(he continues to talk as he leans in for a hug)."

I mutter some version of forgiveness as I try desperately to return to my studly daydream...darn kids.

578,424 lives to change.

Throughout our visit to The Big Easy Cheetah noticed the people on the streets who were sleeping, crying, or asking for help (food, money, jobs, or shelter).  He asked, “Why does it seem that so many of these people live on the street?”  Thoughtfully, I answered, “Because many of them do live on the streets.”  I let that sentence sink in as we walked in silence, for a few blocks. 

“How does that happen?  How do you not have a place to live?” he asked.

  

I began, “There are a lot of situations that can lead to homelessness, son; it is something that effects all races, genders, and economic statuses.  That means it is something that can happen to anyone.”  I am no expert on the topic but I tried my best to cover all the situations I could imagine. I tried to cover financial loss & unemployment, drug & alcohol addiction, and mental & physical disabilities. 

I reminded him of our conversations on debt and how easy it can be for a person to get behind financially, I also explained how unemployment and lack of skills can leave a person without a way to make a living.  Then I tried to describe addiction and disabilities and how alienating they can be, how they build up walls in your life that make it difficult for you to continue fruitful relationships with the ones you love.  I attempted to clarify why some drugs are illegal, what they can do to you, why people take them and how deadly and addicting they can be.  We googled pictures of some of the drugs he had heard of and I took the opportunity to educate him on some of the synthetics that are sweeping the nation and ways to say “no” to people.  He seemed to grasp how feelings of despair and depression can lead people to a life of solitude; how inviting being on your own can be when you feel unworthy or if you're frightened you may be hurt or hurt someone else.  Then I covered medical care and how the inability to afford proper medical care can leave people in mental and physical states where they cannot be taken care of properly or cannot afford to take care of themselves, properly. 

 
By this time I was zapped, but I could see our hotel and knew we would be in a dark cool hotel room in under five minutes.  That's when I was thrown a curve-ball.  We crossed the last street there sat a disabled man wearing a hat similar to my father’s, it read “Vietnam Veteran.”  I could barely breathe.  The Boy squeezed my hand so tight.  He reached into his pocket and gave the man his dollar.  He then said, “Thank you for your service.”  Silently we walked through the hotel and boarded the elevator, still holding hands.  Once we reached our room he asked me how I thought that man ended up on the streets.  I then tried to explain war and how it can leave a solider broken, to a nine year old.

Thankfully Tarzan called and asked if we would be willing to pick him up.  Cheetah and I jumped in the car and headed out of the city.  As I piloted the car through the rain his eyes fell upon the underpass where a large number of (what he/we assumed to be) homeless people; his voice shook as he uttered, "Mom there are just too many of them.  We have to help."  He was right.  (Please check out The National Alliance to End Homelessness in America, they have viable solutions for all areas.)

We picked up Tarzan and he rounded up the final questions Cheetah had for the day and filled in anygaps in the explanations we had discussed earlier in the day.  Our tired minds and heavy hearts needed some lifting, so we headed out for frozen yogurt before bed.  I was so glad he opted to take a shower and call it a night, after binging on frozen goodies.  I turned off all the lights and sat on the floor by the bathroom listening as my sweet son drifted off to dreamland swimming in the sounds of my Bread station on Pandora.  He might not have been aware of it but I saw pieces of his innocence dying that day and it was so unsettling to see the harshness of the world through his eyes.

Everybody loves Muhammad Ali.

This past weekend Tarzan, Cheetah, and I headed to The Big Easy, or Our City - per Cheetah.  Tarzan had a competition to attend and we decided to make the most of his built up Hilton points and get out of Cajun Country for a couple of days.  After spending Friday as a family and doing the zoo, Cheetah and I spent Saturday hitting the high notes.  We walked nearly 17 miles in those 2 days, exploring Our City and getting to know each other.  We asked each other hard questions and talked about subjects that make parents uneasy.  We talked about drugs, homelessness, love, statues, and violence.  It seemed that around every corner was another verbal mile marker:  a moment to teach him how the world works; a moment to stop and hug; a moment to reflect in a parent's loss for words.

After lunch and a power nap we rode the riverside trolley to the end of the line with the intention of walking back to the hotel, after grabbing a bite to eat.  We were discussing all the statues we had seen that day and what made each person worthy of becoming a permanent part of the New Orleans scenery.  We discussed Andrew Jackson, Henry Clay, and Joan of Arc.  At this point in the conversation I noticed that a large rambunctious group of young men, that were celebrating, had been walking ahead of us for more than 5 blocks.  I discerned that though they were partying and their conversation was being carried well beyond our ears, their language was noticeably censored.  I was impressed that such spirited men could be aware of young, impressionable ears.

As we got closer to Café Du Monde, Cheetah began discussing the statues of Louis Armstrong and Antione “Fats” Domino, "Mom I have a question that is hard and I don't think you will have an answer.  Why are there not more statues of black people, why are there only statues of musicians?  Lots of black people have done great things."  A bit leery of how to answer his inquiry I carefully began constructing my answer.  "Dude that is a really good question and you're right, I don't really have an answer.  It doesn't make sense."  I realized that while I was answering Cheetah, the young men had grown silent and were mouthing things to each other and began glancing back towards us.  “I mean what about Martin Luther King, Jr or Muhammad Ali?”  He added, “Everyone loves Muhammad Ali.”

Before I knew it, we had physically collided with the group of young men.  They had all turned around to face us and were smiling.  One guy grabbed The Boy's arm and asked if he could shake his hand, confused he obliged and took his hand.  Another young man then hugged me and said he was really touched by my honest answers and frank conversation that I was having with my son.  With watery eyes he turned to his friends and said, "I am speechless."  They all nodded and added their pieces of praise to my loving son, gave him high fives, and we all voiced our good wishes.  They headed towards Bourbon Street while we kept moving towards our hotel.

Cheetah smiled and said, “See Mom, everyone loves Muhammad Ali.”


Laughing, I hugged him tightly.  “I believe you’re right,” I said.








 

with each great nap comes great change

I have spoken before on the love affair that I have with my bed, the last time I crawled in and settled down for a recharge I began to reminisce.  I can remember 3 great naps in my life; the first one was in high school, the second in college, and the last one occurred soon after I became a Mom. 

My grandparents had a bedroom in their house (the middle bedroom for those that know the house) that was perfect for taking naps.  It had one window so you didn't have to worry about the sun light rousing you before you were ready and the ceiling fan had this hi speed that created just enough wind and just enough sound.  The other key element to this nap were the bed linens.  The sheets were worn in, making them cool and satiny smooth, and the light weight floral bedspread kept you cool enough to snuggle deep into the bed.  I had been on a road trip with them for the summer and we were enjoying the last few days of summer at home.  We had eaten soup and sandwiches for lunch, O'pa had gone off to 'bowl' and O'ma was in her chair just resting her legs.  If I close my eyes I can feel the cool floor under my feet as I head down the dark hallway lined with pictures of grandchildren.  I awoke to the smell of decaffeinated Community coffee, and the sound of O'ma and O'pa discussing plans for the rest of the week.

I remember coming home from college for the weekend, after an early morning mass I donned my social club sweatshirt and faded boxers and joined my dad in the living room for a viewing of 'Two Mules for Sister Sara'.  Mama had been roped into making our favorite chicken and dumplings so we knew we had plenty of time to watch the whole movie.  I made a pallet on the floor and 2 1/2 hours later I woke up in the middle of "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon'.  I remember rolling over and seeing the blue couch pillow with the red flowers and I instantly smiled...it's so good to be 'home'.

Cheetah has never been the best sleeper, but when he was a newborn I thought I was going to go nuts; sleep deprivation had me on my knees.  One day I decided to try creating the perfect nap environment for us.  I closed all the blinds in the bedroom, turned on the ceiling fan, and dressed in a comfy set of pjs.  I bathed the boy and put him in the softest gown, said a silent prayer and slide in bed.  Five hours later I woke up just in time to see him slowly waking up in my arms.  It by far tops my list of best naps ever.

As I described each memorable nap I realized that they all had something in common.  Each experience seems to occur at the cusp of a big change in my life.  I was heading into my Senior year of high school, starting my Senior year in college, and getting my footing for motherhood. For me, the greatest moments of change all start with waking from a deep restorative sleep.

In the name of healthy

When I was pregnant I vowed that my child would not have the same health problems as I do, I raised him to eat at least 2 servings of veggies (or fruit) at every meal and to ingest mainly complex carbs with his proteins.  I am proud to say that he has the healthiest diet of anyone I know...except on Tarzan's BNO.  I allow him to get McDonald's and while I don't eat food from McDonald's I allow him to have his occasional guilty pleasure.  Every time we go he gets the chicken nuggets (I have tried everything to end this unhealthy relationship but even the 'How Chicken Nuggets Are Made video can't end his unyielding love for them) and apple dippers...the kid is a huge fan of the apple.  Well tonight may have ruined his chances of ever tasting the fried goodness of his yummy chicken nuggets again.

I was appalled when I received my child's meal, alongside his glorious fried nuggets of nasty were fries and the smallest bag of apple slices I have ever seen.  I went back to the counter to inform them of the mistake and was told that McDonald's is making some changes to their menu.  The manager said, "In order to offer a healthier Happy Meal we are now offering french fries AND apples in each meal (like it was a point of pride)".  To which I responded, "How is minimizing the amount of apples and forcing french fries on my child healthy?"  Looking baffled he stuttered, "Did you see how small the order of fries is?"  Laughing I retorted, "Have you seen how small the apples are, what a joke!"



"Apple Dippers' - before menu change

 Really McDonald's??  You think this is healthier?  While I never really agreed with the whole caramel thing, this is ridiculous.  Now my child has THREE TINY pieces of apple AND french fries, I understand some kids never get the apples but is it wise to give the addicting taste of french fries to kids who don't enjoy them? 



new 'Apple Slices'

 Take a clue from Chick-Fil-A, now that is a healthy meal for kids.... 

from my heart to yours

I love holidays, I love nothing more than making an ordinary day extra special for the ones I care for.  I trolled pintrest and found some great ideas, and I came up with more ideas than I had time for...

I found this recipe for brown sugar blondies and knew instantly that Tarzan and Cheetah would love eating these for breakfast on Valentine's day.  I used my grandmother's heart-shaped pans, I made a batch for the boys and one for Cheetah's teacher.

When I asked Cheetah for some ideas he said, "Ms. Hue LOVES oatmeal".  I figured you can't go wrong with a heart healthy breakfast as a gift for teacher, so we packed up her gift and used the shirt box as the perfect gift wrap.  I'm sure it will make her smile.

I packed Cheetah a special lunch with heart-shaped carrots and sandwiches; along with a snack mix made with the perfect heart-shaped cereal and the Valentine M&Ms. 

I made sure that even the people Tarzan and I work with will have something special to enjoy on V-Day.  Tarzan will bring the brownies baked with M&Ms and I'll be bringing the blondies.

To top it all off, we made the cutest Valentine's for Cheetah's friends.  Of course this isn't Cheetah but what a cute idea!  Happy Valentine's Day...love to all.

working hard for the money

Tarzan and I had previously been big spenders and had the credit card debit and bad credit ratings to prove it, so we now live by a budget and a strict rule of NO credit cards.  We learned the pluses of living on a budget the hard way, though I am sure our parents warned us before leaving for college.  Cheetah has the joy of be raised by 2 cheap parents who refuse to give into his every whim.  It is so easy to get wrapped up in giving him everything he asks for, while we may not be made of money, he is an only child and it does have its perks.   

When Christmas came around Tarzan and I were appalled when Cheetah's wish list began growing by leaps and bounds, we decided that this would be the perfect time to try and teach him some perspective.  He had asked for the PS3 game called Skylander's, I was down for it until I googled it and realized it was a scam!  No only is the game $60 but you have to buy/collect all these different figures to complete the game.  Once again, Tarzan came to the rescue...he informed Cheetah that this was a rather expensive item for a Christmas gift (especially for Santa) but we could come up with a way for him to EARN the money for the Skylander game.  Cheetah wasn't thrilled but once he understood that he would have the game eventually he agreed to try to be patient and work for the money to spend on his game.

We came up with this chore list, things that Cheetah could do that would help us out and help him foster some skills of his own.  He could earn up to 12 stickers a day (additional stickers could be given if behavior warranted it) and each sticker was worth a nickle.  I was shocked to see such a swift change in his behavior,  we have had to endure quite a bit of conversations revolving around Skylander's over the past weeks but it was worth it.  If all goes well at school this week Cheetah will be buying the MEGA pack...and he is just beyond ecstatic!

This weekend we spoke of nothing but Skylander's and all the 'guys' he wants to buy, he said he'd be on his best behavior and work really hard!  I'm a bit concerned that he may be the best kid in the world and  that we'll be broke before next Christmas. 

Wordless Wednesday

Wax on, wax off.

It has been busy couple of weeks in the Smith household, we have signed up for a new after school program and it has taken some time to get used to our new schedule.  For some time now, Cheetah has shown interest in karate and Tarzan and I were more than happy to sign him up for some extra physical activity.  I knew I was going to be pleased with him learning some techniques in self-defense but really had no idea how much help it would be in the behavior department.

He still has his moments where listening and focusing can be taxing but it's obvious that he realizes it and tries his best to keep it in check.  Not only has karate helped him to learn the correct behavior for social & school situations but we have also seen a huge change in his self-confidence.  It even shows on the playgrounds we have been frequenting.

NO CRAWLING!!!

I know that no matter how long he stays in the program, only positive things can come from earning stripes for memory, discipline, and fitness.  My 'Little Ninja' is thoroughly enjoying his time in the dojo and I love seeing the accomplished look on his face each time we head home.  It's a win - win!

Guest Post: I am that Mom

Check out my guest post on my dear friend McCall's blog for her 'I am that Mom week', and if you aren't a groupie of her's...what are you waiting for?!?!?

The beginning of goodbye.

Once Cheetah reached the toddler stage we began making preparations for his entry into school.  We drilled him on numbers, colors, and shapes.  We worked with them for weeks on memorizing addresses, phone numbers, and names.  We went shopping for supplies, uniforms, and snacks while using every spare moment as chance to 'teach'.  Tarzan even instructed him on wiping, grooming, and belts.  We answered question after question while explaining life's most difficult quandaries but we brushed over one important situation.  The Goodbye.

We know how we feel; our hearts are so heavy, sad at the sight of him in his uniform, and wanting to wait a bit longer to be sure he's ready.  But what's going on in his head as he heads out into uncharted territory?  How foreign to be dropped off at the door, no one to hoover and remind him to work, who will help open the ketchup, will the new person in his life know what to do if he pukes? 

As the car approaches the morning drop-off lane, my heart plummets deep in my stomach, just waiting for his inevitable tears.  As they begin to fall down his sweet face and he begs for 'just one more kiss' I know he must feel what I do, the beginning of 'goodbye'...

Wordless Wednesday

Food for thought...

As I have stated in the past holidays were always important in my childhood home, and my mother would always pull out all the stops to ensure that they were memorable and that we took time to celebrate the importance of family and love.  On the ‘federal’ holidays my dad always tried to convey the importance of every life that was lived or lost for our country’s benefit.  

My parents always drove home the importance of being aware of the rest of the world. Education was key, they wanted me to know that there was more in the world then what was just outside my door. I was taught that as a citizen it was my responsibility to stay informed of current events for our state, country, and the world; the news was used as a teaching tool to develop empathy for others and of how life may be for them. By far this is the best thing that I learned from my parents, it is a lesson that I use daily.

We are all reminded to live life to the fullest because you never know when it will be your last but how do you live in a constant state of fear? When I hear fireworks, gun shots, or screaming I am reminded that there are countries that are currently war torn and families that are being caught up in the crossfire. I try to imagine how stressful it must be to try to raise a family during these terrifying times; how do you keep things routine when every minute you have together is potentially fatal? I am so thankful that I can give my child a ‘care free’ childhood similar to the one my parents worked so hard to maintain.

When going to the grocery, I prefer to go alone, not only to save me from the constant ‘can I have’s’ and ‘I never get’s’ but to truly use this time to be appreciative. As I walk down countless aisles of food and supplies I am reminded that there are villages of people that do not even have a corner store for miles; and the stores they have don’t have an aisle just for shampoo. Occasionally walking the aisles of stores can bring my mood down, it’s a bit daunting when you see all the things that you cannot buy for your family. Then I will see a cart that is barely filled and over hear parents discuss skipping lunch for the week so they can buy the 2 gallons of milk their children need for breakfast. I realize while I may not be able to buy my family everything they want; I CAN feed them, put clothes on their backs, and buy their medicine.

We have a way of life that most people don’t get to enjoy and it is hard to imagine a life unlike your own. I implore you though to stop and think every time you fill your cart or watch fireworks that somewhere not so far from here, someone lives a much more stressful existence.