I was blessed to have a natural father, but also a step dad. My step dad, Ron, was the one that lived in the same house as me as I grew up. Each of them has played important roles in my life, at different points. It is almost as if the two of them were in a relay race, passing the baton back and forth as to who would parent me.
From as early as I can remember, Ron was in my life, as my stepparent. The legal marriage didn’t take place until I was 10, but he was present before then. Not many men would take on a single mother with four kids spanning over 10 years. Ron did. He opened up his home to us and we moved in. More than just food and shelter, he taught me values that would shape who I was.
Ron and I had a unique relationship. Being the youngest of 4, I didn’t have the experience of living with my mom and dad, as a family, like my older siblings did. They were divorced by the time I was one year old. Maybe that is why my relationship with Ron was so unique. He was immediately kind to me assumed the position of being a father figure.
I had never traveled outside the bordering states of Wisconsin, until at age 13, Ron took my mom, sister and I across the country to California to visit his daughter. We stopped at National Parks and scenes that every American should see in their lifetime. There was Yellowstone Park, the Old Faithful Geyser, The Four Corners, Wall Drug, Mesa Verde National Park, the Grand Canyon and countless other landmarks. We even stopped in Las Vegas for a few days. While mom and Ron did the casinos, my sister and I walked the Strip (which in 1987 was dramatically different than today) and lounged at the pool. We spent a few days in Los Angeles with trips to Venice Beach and Disney Land. Ironically, the day Ron passed away I spoke of this trip, in detail, to my husband, son and step kids. I vocalized my desire to take our kids on this same journey (minus Las Vegas!).
But more than just giving me the opportunity to travel, Ron was a father figure to me. With his heavy involvement as a President of the local AFL-CIO Union, he taught me what true Democracy was and how to achieve it. He was a member of the Madison Police and Fire Commission, which he used as a catalyst to encourage me to be a service provider, in ANY capacity I could. He stressed the more you give the more you will receive. He took me to my first “job” when I was 12. He volunteered at the Badger Football home games, doing the chains on the sidelines. He arranged for me to work the concessions, walking up and down the stadium steps yelling out “hot dogs, get your hot dogs here”. When I was initially embarrassed by the 20% commission paying job, he told me I should never shy away from a job because of what others would think, because in the end, it would only be my hard work and determination that would put $$ in my pocket.
Ron worked at “Ma Bell” for his career years. You may know this company as Wisconsin Bell or Ameritech. He was regimented in his schedule. He got up, showered, had breakfast, left for work, returned from work at the same time Monday – Friday. He was of the generation that you put your time in with a company and you will earn steady raise increases and job security. Thank God he retired before the 2000’s when the economy tanked and those valued employees were seen as a financial liability. I always valued his longevity and dedication to his employer and community service.
Every Christmas, Ron would address holiday cards to the Mailman, the Garbage person and the paperboy. He would give cash, as a thank you for their service. To this day, I do the same.
When it came time to think of college, I didn’t think it would be possible to go. But, Ron encouraged me and told me it would only help my future. He even assisted me in applying for grants and scholarships, which I ended up winning one through the Labor Union.
It has been said that Ron was “old fashion” or “stubborn” in his thoughts of a home, roles and responsibilities, work ethic and parenting. But for me, it was the foundation I needed to get through my youth with structure. When Ron’s stubbornness would subside along with my youthful defiance, there was always a hug from him, to assure me everything was OK and that it was OK to have different viewpoints.
I would be missing a key point if I didn’t mention that my mom met Ron through AA. Growing up with my mom and step dad was growing up with the Higher Power (HP) as my “god”. Ron referred to our powerlessness to addictions, and by asking our HP for guidance, we would eventually get an answer. Our religion was the 12 Steps. Our congregation was anyone touched by alcoholism.
When it came to primary discipline, asking permission or basic day-to-day life necessities, my mom was the primary go to person. Ron would never interfere, unless I completely overstepped my limits, which was rarely since Mom and Ron had a very open parental relationship with me. Almost like a fixture, you would find Ron sitting in his chair, in the living room watching TV, reading the paper or napping. I knew I could always sit on the couch and open up conversation and he would be attentive. It is then that we talked politics, school, National news and every other topic I would bring up.
I am not idolizing Ron as perfect. No one is perfect as a person or as a parent. But for me, he served a purpose, and helped form the definition as a stepfather to me. Thank you, mom, for bringing Ron into my life. Now that I myself am a stepparent, I reflect often on the core values he instilled upon me. What do I want to teach Jake and Cortney? What messages is my husband giving Noah? Step parenting is an endless journey. I am thankful to Ron for giving me the foundation to which I can build my own role as a stepparent on.
The baton has passed for the last time, as Ron has entered the eternal life in Heaven. He will be greeted by my mom, who will show him the importance of reaching down to Earth, every so often, and give their loved ones signs they are around us all the time. I am awaiting one of those signs. But if they are as subtle as the way he taught me values and goals, I may not see them so easily – but walk through life with them swirling around me all the time.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Kids and cell phones
When should kids get cell phones?
With technology today, we have so many advantages that we didn’t years ago. Using email or texting now easily dodges a once painful conversation. We have all heard how Brett Favre retired (or was it unretired) via text – or maybe it was when he decided to play for the Vikings – either way, it was done via text. It wasn’t an awkward phone call or in front of a press conference.
In high school I worked at least 20 hours a week. But, I was still a teenager and sometimes I would be scheduled to work when my friends were planning an event that I was SURE would ruin me if I missed. So, everyone once in awhile, I had to “call in sick”. This wasn’t easily done. I would have to craft my excuse then contemplate how I would sound on the phone. There was always hesitation, some cold sweats and an adrenaline rush that came along doing such a scheme. Once the manager was on the phone, I would map out what I had planned in my head and then there would be the silence. Once they said “ok”, I was off the hook and ready to enjoy my sick time.
Today, if I have a DR appt, a sick child or if I am sick I simply open up my computer and send an email to my manager. Then, I go to a website to log my time appropriately. I don’t even have to talk live to my manager, just send the email off to cyberspace.
With this in mind, I wonder how “younger” generations have developed a good conscious. For them, they have always had cell phones and email to deliver messages they rather not give via voice. My son and step-daughter BEG for a cell phone. My response has been, “Who would you call?” they call out a name. I then point to the landline phone and tell them they are more than welcome to use it. They try the “But what if something happens and I need to get in touch with you?” I ask them WHERE and WHEN are they that we don’t know where they are? They are 11. We are their personal chauffeurs. I know where they are, whom they are with because I am the delivery person. They don’t take the bus (like when I was young) or hardly even bike more than a few blocks away.
Ok, time for a Kris history story:
My pseudo stepsister (my dad and her mom were a couple, living together, but not married) and I have stories of these bus treks. Looking back we were 8 and 10 years old. One time, we got on the wrong direction of the bus from State Street (yes, we were 8 and 10 hanging out on state street on the weekends) and we ended up on the far west side. The Bus route was ending for the day and it wasn’t scheduled to go back to the downtown area. So, we got off the bus, looked over the neighborhood, chose a house, knocked on the door and simply asked if we could use their phone. The older couple let us in their home, let us use their phone and even plugged in the Atari game for us to play as we waited for a ride to pick us up. If anything, back THEN we needed a cell phone because our parents truly did not know WHERE we were.
I know there are many times I send off a text or an email that I probably wouldn’t SAY verbally. There used to be “drunk dialing” oh lord, now you have cell phones with built in camera. God help us all.
Now, trying to join technology with my own kids is oil and water in my mind. Do I really want them to text or email something that they wouldn’t say verbally? They are building their social networks and in the process of gaining freedoms. For me, adding in opportunities to be “loose” with their tongues (via text) could put them in situations they may not be ready for. Why make this teen thing happen any sooner than it already does? I want them to be mature and confident before they acquire tools that shrug off such responsibilities.
There are website just to help determine texting lingo. I dread the day when I see a message one of my kid’s types and I DON’T understand it.
http://www.lingo2word.com/
I may be a stick in the mud in the kid’s eyes, but if I can spare them reflections from their painful youth, it will be worth it.
With technology today, we have so many advantages that we didn’t years ago. Using email or texting now easily dodges a once painful conversation. We have all heard how Brett Favre retired (or was it unretired) via text – or maybe it was when he decided to play for the Vikings – either way, it was done via text. It wasn’t an awkward phone call or in front of a press conference.
In high school I worked at least 20 hours a week. But, I was still a teenager and sometimes I would be scheduled to work when my friends were planning an event that I was SURE would ruin me if I missed. So, everyone once in awhile, I had to “call in sick”. This wasn’t easily done. I would have to craft my excuse then contemplate how I would sound on the phone. There was always hesitation, some cold sweats and an adrenaline rush that came along doing such a scheme. Once the manager was on the phone, I would map out what I had planned in my head and then there would be the silence. Once they said “ok”, I was off the hook and ready to enjoy my sick time.
Today, if I have a DR appt, a sick child or if I am sick I simply open up my computer and send an email to my manager. Then, I go to a website to log my time appropriately. I don’t even have to talk live to my manager, just send the email off to cyberspace.
With this in mind, I wonder how “younger” generations have developed a good conscious. For them, they have always had cell phones and email to deliver messages they rather not give via voice. My son and step-daughter BEG for a cell phone. My response has been, “Who would you call?” they call out a name. I then point to the landline phone and tell them they are more than welcome to use it. They try the “But what if something happens and I need to get in touch with you?” I ask them WHERE and WHEN are they that we don’t know where they are? They are 11. We are their personal chauffeurs. I know where they are, whom they are with because I am the delivery person. They don’t take the bus (like when I was young) or hardly even bike more than a few blocks away.
Ok, time for a Kris history story:
My pseudo stepsister (my dad and her mom were a couple, living together, but not married) and I have stories of these bus treks. Looking back we were 8 and 10 years old. One time, we got on the wrong direction of the bus from State Street (yes, we were 8 and 10 hanging out on state street on the weekends) and we ended up on the far west side. The Bus route was ending for the day and it wasn’t scheduled to go back to the downtown area. So, we got off the bus, looked over the neighborhood, chose a house, knocked on the door and simply asked if we could use their phone. The older couple let us in their home, let us use their phone and even plugged in the Atari game for us to play as we waited for a ride to pick us up. If anything, back THEN we needed a cell phone because our parents truly did not know WHERE we were.
I know there are many times I send off a text or an email that I probably wouldn’t SAY verbally. There used to be “drunk dialing” oh lord, now you have cell phones with built in camera. God help us all.
Now, trying to join technology with my own kids is oil and water in my mind. Do I really want them to text or email something that they wouldn’t say verbally? They are building their social networks and in the process of gaining freedoms. For me, adding in opportunities to be “loose” with their tongues (via text) could put them in situations they may not be ready for. Why make this teen thing happen any sooner than it already does? I want them to be mature and confident before they acquire tools that shrug off such responsibilities.
There are website just to help determine texting lingo. I dread the day when I see a message one of my kid’s types and I DON’T understand it.
http://www.lingo2word.com/
I may be a stick in the mud in the kid’s eyes, but if I can spare them reflections from their painful youth, it will be worth it.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far From the Tree
I have always thought that whatever we like the least about ourselves, we typically pass that onto our child ten fold. But I also think this goes with the most LIKEABLE traits we have. We aren’t always content enough to give ourselves credit when it comes to the good things we portray.
I watch my child struggle with homework and school work on a daily, weekly, monthly basis. Thanks goodness the subject matter has changed and he has gained strength in some areas. I could kick myself for being so lax in college, never studying until the night or morning of a test. Did I do that out of sheer laziness or was it actual impedance?
Recently, I was driving Noah to school and I was running late, had multiple work deadlines on my brain, forgot my lunch and umbrella and for some reason didn’t sleep very well. These are NOT excuses. These are somewhat daily occurrences that compacted all on the same day. This wasn’t just any day, this was a day when my tolerance to such stressors was at a low. Anyway, as we drove, an elderly person zigged and zagged in the 2 lanes ahead of me making me cautious to use the passing lane to get around them. Under my breath, I let out “Argh, can you go in a straight line you old fart”. Form the back seat, a condescending voice emerged, “Mom, that is someone’s dad, someone’s grandpa – how do you think they would feel knowing you said something so rude?” Gee, where have I heard THAT expression before? Yes, from my own lips. I guess he does listen and does understand how saying something can affect others around him. Score 1 point for my parenting skills!
As he hurries through everything he possibly does and I ask him to slow down, again, I am blaming myself for my own impatience. I get so focused on something and have to have it NOW, that I don’t always do proper checks and balances of need/want. Buyer’s remorse is part of my normal occurrences.
I don’t remember a time when I was confident of my physical body, EVER. Those that know me very well, know the story of my dad taking me to the County Seat in 1983 to get new jeans. As I wanted the relaxed fit, pleaded Lee Riders he protested that LEVI’s were a better quality. So, as he tried to get the stiff, starched, scratchy denim up and over my thighs, he said “If I could just get them over your thunder thighs…”. No, that didn’t leave any scaring at all.
I went past Noah bedroom recently, a bit after bedtime, and he was on the floor doing sit ups. I asked what he was doing. He said he wanted his belly to be flat. Trying to be open minded, I asked why. He said he didn’t want a fat belly anymore. It broke my heart. How do you explain to an 11 year old that hasn’t hit puberty yet that his body will be different some day. But, I think back to my own upbringing and the LITTLE physical exercise my family encouraged. So, I told him that his body was just what it needed to be for his age and size. I told him if he wanted to start using weights and exercise I could show him some things. I didn’t want to give him the classic mom “NO” and make him feel like I disregarded his feelings. I know what it is like to stand in a dressing room at age 9 and 36 with tears.
What else do we have in common?
We both seem to identify and cheer for the underdog.
We are very conscious of our surroundings and are able to take the temperature of the person nearest to us without even having a conversation.
We use manners whenever possible.
We can let others know our mood by just one flash of the eyes/face.
We struggle when people don’t like us, and will sometimes make poor choices to get that person to change their opinion.
Love animals and pets.
Love to make others laugh.
We both even have a fondness for Eminem.
I have no regrets in what I have passed on to Noah. If anything, it makes me want to address my shortcomings to prove to him that some things truly are changeable. Watching him grow physically, mentally and spiritually is my biggest reward.
I watch my child struggle with homework and school work on a daily, weekly, monthly basis. Thanks goodness the subject matter has changed and he has gained strength in some areas. I could kick myself for being so lax in college, never studying until the night or morning of a test. Did I do that out of sheer laziness or was it actual impedance?
Recently, I was driving Noah to school and I was running late, had multiple work deadlines on my brain, forgot my lunch and umbrella and for some reason didn’t sleep very well. These are NOT excuses. These are somewhat daily occurrences that compacted all on the same day. This wasn’t just any day, this was a day when my tolerance to such stressors was at a low. Anyway, as we drove, an elderly person zigged and zagged in the 2 lanes ahead of me making me cautious to use the passing lane to get around them. Under my breath, I let out “Argh, can you go in a straight line you old fart”. Form the back seat, a condescending voice emerged, “Mom, that is someone’s dad, someone’s grandpa – how do you think they would feel knowing you said something so rude?” Gee, where have I heard THAT expression before? Yes, from my own lips. I guess he does listen and does understand how saying something can affect others around him. Score 1 point for my parenting skills!
As he hurries through everything he possibly does and I ask him to slow down, again, I am blaming myself for my own impatience. I get so focused on something and have to have it NOW, that I don’t always do proper checks and balances of need/want. Buyer’s remorse is part of my normal occurrences.
I don’t remember a time when I was confident of my physical body, EVER. Those that know me very well, know the story of my dad taking me to the County Seat in 1983 to get new jeans. As I wanted the relaxed fit, pleaded Lee Riders he protested that LEVI’s were a better quality. So, as he tried to get the stiff, starched, scratchy denim up and over my thighs, he said “If I could just get them over your thunder thighs…”. No, that didn’t leave any scaring at all.
I went past Noah bedroom recently, a bit after bedtime, and he was on the floor doing sit ups. I asked what he was doing. He said he wanted his belly to be flat. Trying to be open minded, I asked why. He said he didn’t want a fat belly anymore. It broke my heart. How do you explain to an 11 year old that hasn’t hit puberty yet that his body will be different some day. But, I think back to my own upbringing and the LITTLE physical exercise my family encouraged. So, I told him that his body was just what it needed to be for his age and size. I told him if he wanted to start using weights and exercise I could show him some things. I didn’t want to give him the classic mom “NO” and make him feel like I disregarded his feelings. I know what it is like to stand in a dressing room at age 9 and 36 with tears.
What else do we have in common?
We both seem to identify and cheer for the underdog.
We are very conscious of our surroundings and are able to take the temperature of the person nearest to us without even having a conversation.
We use manners whenever possible.
We can let others know our mood by just one flash of the eyes/face.
We struggle when people don’t like us, and will sometimes make poor choices to get that person to change their opinion.
Love animals and pets.
Love to make others laugh.
We both even have a fondness for Eminem.
I have no regrets in what I have passed on to Noah. If anything, it makes me want to address my shortcomings to prove to him that some things truly are changeable. Watching him grow physically, mentally and spiritually is my biggest reward.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Welcome to The Club
Welcome to the Club. We don’t recruit new members. We prefer not to have additional members. We are all here, not because of choice but because of circumstance.
Growing up, I had vaguely heard of this Club, but like a deep dark secret, it was quickly pushed out of my mind in hopes it didn’t exist. When I was 16, I watched a close friend become part of this club. As soon as she joined, something about her changed. She wasn’t always herself when she hung out with us “common folk”. She seemed distant, disengaged, and she grew very independent. There was a great sadness that surrounded her. When she did let loose and have fun, it seemed as though the other shoe would drop, and would be sentenced back into her internal jail of solace. I didn’t want to be part of her new club, I knew if I joined I would never be the same person and I wasn’t ready for that.
Like running through the rain, avoiding the drops as much as possible, I tried to steer clear of this new club. There was only the loss of one person that could push me over the cliff, head first into the club. I attempted preventative measures to avoid getting sucked in. I would go home and beg my mother to stop smoking. I tried anger, which being 16 was really easy to portray, “Why should I smell like an ashtray just because you smoke”. I tried disengagement, “Don’t come crying to me when they put you on a machine to breath for you”. I tried guilt, “Don’t you care if you know your grandchildren someday”. I tried positive reinforcement, “Look, Mom you CAN do this, you put the bottle down for over 15 years, I KNOW you can stop smoking”. She just couldn’t stop.
Looking back, I think my fear of joining this club sent me into a search of another “rock” in my life that would take care of me, nurture me and love me unconditionally. Getting married age 23 probably had something to do with this fear.
I was living in another state when my membership began. My mom was gone, thanks Emphysema. I had a husband and friends near me as I settled into The Club. As much as these people surrounded me with open hands and hearts, I couldn’t quite connect with them. Something inside me changed. I didn’t feel myself anymore. I grew distant, disengaged and I had just sadness around me. When my pseudo rock said to me “When will the old Kris come back, I miss and need her”, I felt like I was losing my mind. How could the person I was supposed to be “one” with be so far away emotionally, spiritually and mentally? As people tried to reach out to me, they would be at a loss for words, which made me feel like I had to comfort them. It was easier to just avoid conversations with people and just “be”. I avoided emotional movies and music – those were the last days of listening to Country Music.
I thank God I wasn’t an only child during the initiation period. I knew how my siblings felt because I felt it too. We were there for each other, unconditionally. We always took each other’s calls, no matter the time of night, just to be there.
I was thankful to see my friend on the inside of this Club. I knew I wasn’t alone. I knew, she knew, how I felt. She didn’t come to me and say she “was sorry”. She didn’t need to, I knew. Just having her near helped on so many occasions.
As time went on, I have seen more and more friends join this Club. Now, as I look at them, I know we are apart of a group that goes nameless, and we share a special bond.
If the time comes for you to join The Club, I will be here for you. What can I offer you as a new member? I will try to welcome you with kind eyes, open ears and stability. I won’t say, “I am sorry”, but instead I will say, “Stay sane”. I would do just about anything for you NOT to be part of the club, but since you are here, please know you are not alone.
Welcome to the Club.
Growing up, I had vaguely heard of this Club, but like a deep dark secret, it was quickly pushed out of my mind in hopes it didn’t exist. When I was 16, I watched a close friend become part of this club. As soon as she joined, something about her changed. She wasn’t always herself when she hung out with us “common folk”. She seemed distant, disengaged, and she grew very independent. There was a great sadness that surrounded her. When she did let loose and have fun, it seemed as though the other shoe would drop, and would be sentenced back into her internal jail of solace. I didn’t want to be part of her new club, I knew if I joined I would never be the same person and I wasn’t ready for that.
Like running through the rain, avoiding the drops as much as possible, I tried to steer clear of this new club. There was only the loss of one person that could push me over the cliff, head first into the club. I attempted preventative measures to avoid getting sucked in. I would go home and beg my mother to stop smoking. I tried anger, which being 16 was really easy to portray, “Why should I smell like an ashtray just because you smoke”. I tried disengagement, “Don’t come crying to me when they put you on a machine to breath for you”. I tried guilt, “Don’t you care if you know your grandchildren someday”. I tried positive reinforcement, “Look, Mom you CAN do this, you put the bottle down for over 15 years, I KNOW you can stop smoking”. She just couldn’t stop.
Looking back, I think my fear of joining this club sent me into a search of another “rock” in my life that would take care of me, nurture me and love me unconditionally. Getting married age 23 probably had something to do with this fear.
I was living in another state when my membership began. My mom was gone, thanks Emphysema. I had a husband and friends near me as I settled into The Club. As much as these people surrounded me with open hands and hearts, I couldn’t quite connect with them. Something inside me changed. I didn’t feel myself anymore. I grew distant, disengaged and I had just sadness around me. When my pseudo rock said to me “When will the old Kris come back, I miss and need her”, I felt like I was losing my mind. How could the person I was supposed to be “one” with be so far away emotionally, spiritually and mentally? As people tried to reach out to me, they would be at a loss for words, which made me feel like I had to comfort them. It was easier to just avoid conversations with people and just “be”. I avoided emotional movies and music – those were the last days of listening to Country Music.
I thank God I wasn’t an only child during the initiation period. I knew how my siblings felt because I felt it too. We were there for each other, unconditionally. We always took each other’s calls, no matter the time of night, just to be there.
I was thankful to see my friend on the inside of this Club. I knew I wasn’t alone. I knew, she knew, how I felt. She didn’t come to me and say she “was sorry”. She didn’t need to, I knew. Just having her near helped on so many occasions.
As time went on, I have seen more and more friends join this Club. Now, as I look at them, I know we are apart of a group that goes nameless, and we share a special bond.
If the time comes for you to join The Club, I will be here for you. What can I offer you as a new member? I will try to welcome you with kind eyes, open ears and stability. I won’t say, “I am sorry”, but instead I will say, “Stay sane”. I would do just about anything for you NOT to be part of the club, but since you are here, please know you are not alone.
Welcome to the Club.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Loyal Creatures
Very recently, my close friend adopted a dog that within 2 months was diagnosed with some serious medical conditions. She made the comment that when she got home that day, the dog was so happy to see her, despite probably feeling so ill. She referred to dogs as “such loyal creatures”. She was so spot on.
Growing up as an alcoholics 4th child, there was only one constant and that was change. By the time I entered high school, I had gone to 7 schools. I had numerous bedrooms, sleeping arrangements and school orientations in my short lifetime. Through all those years, we had a Miniature Schnauzer that moved right along with me. He was my “Sam”. He didn’t like men, so he bit at their ankles. He ran away every chance he could get which meant the only way I could catch him was that he stopped at EVERY tree on the street. But he was always there for me. At one point, my mom had a 2nd shift for a job and I went to AM kindergarten. Mom recalled years later that she knew she had to get a different job because she would watch me come home from school, get my own snack and go to the TV without asking her for any assistance. All of this was done while I told Sam about my day, what was on TV and anything else a 6 year old though was important to tell their friend.
Today, the first thing I say when I walk into the door at home is “Hello baby girl” to my Ziggi (6 year old Springer Spaniel). I then look up to see if Maddie (11 year old tuxedo cat) in near by (which is almost always is) and I give him a cheek rub and remind him how handsome he is. The last thing I say as I walk out of the house is to Ziggi and Maddie that I love them and to be GOOD. By just saying the words, I have a warmed heart.
I have always said that I cannot trust people who choose not to have kids or animals (except due to medical or housing issues). This is because I don’t think they truly understand “unconditional love”. Animals have one of the best qualities, and that is they are UNABLE TO LIE. No wonder we find them as such LOYAL companions, because they can’t, won’t and don’t hurt us emotionally. Instead, they give us an outlet to say what we want, with no chance of repeating. We cry near them and they usually snuggle closer to us, because they understand whimpering as a sign of hurt. They know how to nurture – thinking back to when we first got Ziggi and she had a “False Pregnancy” where she was actually lactating. She would get all the stuffed animals from the kids rooms and hoard and lick them, but she never chewed or hurt them. It broke my heart to see she just THOUGHT she was pregnant and these natural instincts were displayed.
After mom passed away and we were living in Iowa, away from family, we got a kitten. This was my first cat; I had always grown up with dogs. Maddie (named after Madison) was my baby, my best friend and confidant. Many times I would cry myself to sleep and he was always there for me. He would actually lick my tears. To this day, if I am upset and crying he will come find me and just be hear me. That is loyalty.
I have wanted to add another dog to our family, but have feared that Ziggi and Maddie would feel somehow cheapened, so I have shied away. Thinking back to when Noah was born, I made sure Maddie was held almost as much as the baby, so he wouldn’t get resentful. Most photos have me holding both of them.
Recently, Scott told me he has always wanted an English Bulldog. Being a salesperson, I have seen this a HUGE opportunity to get my 2nd dog in the house. I have read as much research as possible, talked to Veterinarians, others that have them and decided that we could easily add one to our family with little turmoil. My extra time has been dedicated to this search. Wanting to give an animal a 2nd chance, I have been contacting all rescue organizations in the area. The first one that we seemed to be interested in had a donation fee of $600. Is this REALLY rescuing a dog? Needless to say, we had to look for additional possibilities. What has me worried is that my husband has seemed to catch COLD FEET. He is thinking of the expense (probably 1/50th of what he spent on golf this year). He wonders how we will travel (the whopping 3 weekends a year we go to Sparta) and he has tried to serve me a huge “Poo Poo Platter”. I am heartbroken. But being a salesperson, I will not give up!
I have been accused to like animals than most people on earth. If it were up to me, I would have a boarding service and spend my workdays with animals instead of people. That isn’t going to happen anytime soon (hello WI lotto), so I will continue to say hello and goodbye to my Loyal Creatures everyday, and always tell them what they mean to me. After all, they show me every day.
Growing up as an alcoholics 4th child, there was only one constant and that was change. By the time I entered high school, I had gone to 7 schools. I had numerous bedrooms, sleeping arrangements and school orientations in my short lifetime. Through all those years, we had a Miniature Schnauzer that moved right along with me. He was my “Sam”. He didn’t like men, so he bit at their ankles. He ran away every chance he could get which meant the only way I could catch him was that he stopped at EVERY tree on the street. But he was always there for me. At one point, my mom had a 2nd shift for a job and I went to AM kindergarten. Mom recalled years later that she knew she had to get a different job because she would watch me come home from school, get my own snack and go to the TV without asking her for any assistance. All of this was done while I told Sam about my day, what was on TV and anything else a 6 year old though was important to tell their friend.
Today, the first thing I say when I walk into the door at home is “Hello baby girl” to my Ziggi (6 year old Springer Spaniel). I then look up to see if Maddie (11 year old tuxedo cat) in near by (which is almost always is) and I give him a cheek rub and remind him how handsome he is. The last thing I say as I walk out of the house is to Ziggi and Maddie that I love them and to be GOOD. By just saying the words, I have a warmed heart.
I have always said that I cannot trust people who choose not to have kids or animals (except due to medical or housing issues). This is because I don’t think they truly understand “unconditional love”. Animals have one of the best qualities, and that is they are UNABLE TO LIE. No wonder we find them as such LOYAL companions, because they can’t, won’t and don’t hurt us emotionally. Instead, they give us an outlet to say what we want, with no chance of repeating. We cry near them and they usually snuggle closer to us, because they understand whimpering as a sign of hurt. They know how to nurture – thinking back to when we first got Ziggi and she had a “False Pregnancy” where she was actually lactating. She would get all the stuffed animals from the kids rooms and hoard and lick them, but she never chewed or hurt them. It broke my heart to see she just THOUGHT she was pregnant and these natural instincts were displayed.
After mom passed away and we were living in Iowa, away from family, we got a kitten. This was my first cat; I had always grown up with dogs. Maddie (named after Madison) was my baby, my best friend and confidant. Many times I would cry myself to sleep and he was always there for me. He would actually lick my tears. To this day, if I am upset and crying he will come find me and just be hear me. That is loyalty.
I have wanted to add another dog to our family, but have feared that Ziggi and Maddie would feel somehow cheapened, so I have shied away. Thinking back to when Noah was born, I made sure Maddie was held almost as much as the baby, so he wouldn’t get resentful. Most photos have me holding both of them.
Recently, Scott told me he has always wanted an English Bulldog. Being a salesperson, I have seen this a HUGE opportunity to get my 2nd dog in the house. I have read as much research as possible, talked to Veterinarians, others that have them and decided that we could easily add one to our family with little turmoil. My extra time has been dedicated to this search. Wanting to give an animal a 2nd chance, I have been contacting all rescue organizations in the area. The first one that we seemed to be interested in had a donation fee of $600. Is this REALLY rescuing a dog? Needless to say, we had to look for additional possibilities. What has me worried is that my husband has seemed to catch COLD FEET. He is thinking of the expense (probably 1/50th of what he spent on golf this year). He wonders how we will travel (the whopping 3 weekends a year we go to Sparta) and he has tried to serve me a huge “Poo Poo Platter”. I am heartbroken. But being a salesperson, I will not give up!
I have been accused to like animals than most people on earth. If it were up to me, I would have a boarding service and spend my workdays with animals instead of people. That isn’t going to happen anytime soon (hello WI lotto), so I will continue to say hello and goodbye to my Loyal Creatures everyday, and always tell them what they mean to me. After all, they show me every day.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Being a stepparent can be a thankless job
You know that feeling when you are babysitting someone else’s kids and you find yourself OVERLY cautious with the kids? You fear them crossing the monkey bars, because WHAT IF they fall. You cut up their food in tiny bits because WHAT IF they choke on their food. When you take them outside to play, you make sure they have on proper coats, hats, mittens, etc because WHAT IF they get cold and possible frostbit. You watch everything you say in front of them because WHAT IF they tell their parents a “new” word they learned form you. You monitor any movie or TV shows because WHAT IF it is inappropriate and you just aided a new negative behavior to brew within them.
For this reason I could never have been a teacher. I would be so preoccupied about the WHAT If’s; that I couldn’t concentrate on what I COULD teach them that is positive. All teachers have the most respect from me along with admiration!
Now that I am a stepparent, all the WHAT If’s come to mind on a daily basis. I make sure I watch my mouth so they don’t go to their mother, school or friends to share what their “step mom” taught them. What the _____ happened in here? I stress about meals, making sure they are balanced and healthy to provide the needed nutrients for growth. Finish your milk before you leave the table. I monitor candy, sweets and other non-nutritional items. No, you can’t keep your Easter or Halloween baskets in your room to graze on. I make sure all movies; TV shows and video games are suited for ages 9/10. No, you cannot rent HALO. I am fearful of broken bones, so I have to put a kibosh on many requested activities. No, you shouldn’t stand on the skateboard, get pulled down the hill by him while he rides his bike.
My name at home is “Fun Wrecker” and I where that badge honorably. Yes, kids are kids and there will be a time when I cannot protect them. My hope is that they will learn right from wrong and possibly actually calculate the risks before they act. But right now, while I am leading them, I can TRY to keep them from harms way.
I have always believed, with ALL my heart, I was doing the right thing by making sure I was a good example to my step kids. Even when my voice or decision is unpopular with them, I believe (and hope) someday they will appreciate me. In my heart I know I have tried as much as possible to be the best parental figure.
With all of this being said…. Why is it that the maternal parent can do everything they want, not even within reason, and it is OK? Letting a 9 and 10-year-old watch Gran Torino horrified me. Her reasoning was that she wanted to explain things to the kids herself, instead of learning it at school. I am not sure HOW you explain Korean was Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, Racial slurs and Gang Rape to kids that still sleep with blankies.
Why is it OK for her to let her 10 year old read the Twilight books? If a Google is entered on the age appropriate for the series, every response was age 13+. Not to mention it isn’t even carried in the school library, which has always been a standard of appropriate reading material.
Now, does this mean I should just let the kids eat, watch, do whatever they want because their mother does? NOT A CHANCE. I have too much self-respect to let my parent duties become a popularity contest. The not so fun part is the kids know they can do what they want with their mom, but not with their step mom. I love these kids and care about their mental and physical health. I will drudge on, pushing my way through the eye rolls and snake eyes, to deliver on my Marital Promise.
WOW, I really DO live in a fairy tale, too bad I am the Evil Step-Mother.
So, again, I say…Being a stepparent can be a thankless job.
For this reason I could never have been a teacher. I would be so preoccupied about the WHAT If’s; that I couldn’t concentrate on what I COULD teach them that is positive. All teachers have the most respect from me along with admiration!
Now that I am a stepparent, all the WHAT If’s come to mind on a daily basis. I make sure I watch my mouth so they don’t go to their mother, school or friends to share what their “step mom” taught them. What the _____ happened in here? I stress about meals, making sure they are balanced and healthy to provide the needed nutrients for growth. Finish your milk before you leave the table. I monitor candy, sweets and other non-nutritional items. No, you can’t keep your Easter or Halloween baskets in your room to graze on. I make sure all movies; TV shows and video games are suited for ages 9/10. No, you cannot rent HALO. I am fearful of broken bones, so I have to put a kibosh on many requested activities. No, you shouldn’t stand on the skateboard, get pulled down the hill by him while he rides his bike.
My name at home is “Fun Wrecker” and I where that badge honorably. Yes, kids are kids and there will be a time when I cannot protect them. My hope is that they will learn right from wrong and possibly actually calculate the risks before they act. But right now, while I am leading them, I can TRY to keep them from harms way.
I have always believed, with ALL my heart, I was doing the right thing by making sure I was a good example to my step kids. Even when my voice or decision is unpopular with them, I believe (and hope) someday they will appreciate me. In my heart I know I have tried as much as possible to be the best parental figure.
With all of this being said…. Why is it that the maternal parent can do everything they want, not even within reason, and it is OK? Letting a 9 and 10-year-old watch Gran Torino horrified me. Her reasoning was that she wanted to explain things to the kids herself, instead of learning it at school. I am not sure HOW you explain Korean was Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, Racial slurs and Gang Rape to kids that still sleep with blankies.
Why is it OK for her to let her 10 year old read the Twilight books? If a Google is entered on the age appropriate for the series, every response was age 13+. Not to mention it isn’t even carried in the school library, which has always been a standard of appropriate reading material.
Now, does this mean I should just let the kids eat, watch, do whatever they want because their mother does? NOT A CHANCE. I have too much self-respect to let my parent duties become a popularity contest. The not so fun part is the kids know they can do what they want with their mom, but not with their step mom. I love these kids and care about their mental and physical health. I will drudge on, pushing my way through the eye rolls and snake eyes, to deliver on my Marital Promise.
WOW, I really DO live in a fairy tale, too bad I am the Evil Step-Mother.
So, again, I say…Being a stepparent can be a thankless job.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Mom's Chair
Growing up, my mom was a single parent of 4 kids. She always had at least 1 of us tagging along to her errands, visits with friends and even simple trips to the grocery store. But Friday nights were different. Friday night was bowling league for mom, which meant I would be home with my built in babysitter Peggy. We would have the standard frozen pizzas and milk for dinner as a family before the hectic night. It was a night of organized chaos.
Getting out this one night a week was a routine but also special for mom. I used to love watching her get ready to go out. She had an old ratty green chair that was placed in front of her dresser. Avocado green, bench seat, with a short 4-5 inch back and most likely found on a curb somewhere. She would sit on this chair, doing her hair, applying her makeup and most importantly making chit chat with me. In the younger days, I could squeeze next to her with ease and watch the transformation of “single mom” to “going out mom”. We would talk about anything and everything. Sometimes I would stroll over to her jewelry case, (that really didn’t have much for jewels) and would ask questions about old broaches (that I never saw her wear) or someone’s baby teeth (she WAS the Tooth fairy after all) and all her sobriety coins. The whole time, mom would be sitting with her legs crossed, yet tucked underneath her, on that old bench chair.
For all my years, when I needed to talk to my mom, I could find her sitting on that same green chair. To me, she was the strongest woman I could ever imagine being. Being too big to sit on the chair next to her, I would sit on the floor and lean my head on her lap. My tears would make marks on her pants as she stroked my head and tucked my hair behind my ears. She always had something to say or a story to tell me that would make me not feel so alone. That chair was her throne. I truly think it gave her extra powers.
After mom passed away, I took the chair from her room. It moved with me from Davenport to Long Grove to Monticello. My husband (now Ex) wouldn’t dare get rid of it, he knew the priceless value of it. The avocado green linen was ripped, stuffing depleted and exposed bare wood was unsightly. One Christmas, he surprised me by having it reupholstered. It now boasted a beautiful tapestry with light colored flowers and it even had a skirt around the base. It never had a skirt in the past. Much like my mom, it wasn’t overly feminine, just strong. I was touched by his thoughtfulness and was appreciative, but the chair no longer looked like my moms chair. I couldn’t see or feel the presence of her. It was so feminine I almost didn’t want to sit on it for fear of getting it dirty. The chair moved with me to Stoughton and then to Oregon. It had it’s own place, in a corner of my bedroom, dutiful holding the extra pillows from the bed. But it wasn’t my mom’s chair.
Recently, the stresses in my life tore down my strength to the point I went to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I needed to be alone, yet I needed hear the voice I hadn’t heard in 12 years. I walked over to the chair and pulled off the pillows. I laid my head on the chair as if to hear it speak to me. With my eyes closed, I reached below the dressing and grabbed the legs of the chair. The nicks were still in place along with the smooth lacquered finish. I held on to those legs, with my ear on the seat, imagining the voice I was so desperate to hear. Even though my hair didn’t move, I swore I felt it go behind my ears. My tears soaked the cushion, but I don’t think it minded. In fact, I think the saline gave the chair new life, empowerment. I talked with mom and her words came to me so clearly. I was able to gather myself, dry the tears and stand up straight. I left the chair, knowing I would be back another day to hear the voice and feel the brush of my hair.
Getting out this one night a week was a routine but also special for mom. I used to love watching her get ready to go out. She had an old ratty green chair that was placed in front of her dresser. Avocado green, bench seat, with a short 4-5 inch back and most likely found on a curb somewhere. She would sit on this chair, doing her hair, applying her makeup and most importantly making chit chat with me. In the younger days, I could squeeze next to her with ease and watch the transformation of “single mom” to “going out mom”. We would talk about anything and everything. Sometimes I would stroll over to her jewelry case, (that really didn’t have much for jewels) and would ask questions about old broaches (that I never saw her wear) or someone’s baby teeth (she WAS the Tooth fairy after all) and all her sobriety coins. The whole time, mom would be sitting with her legs crossed, yet tucked underneath her, on that old bench chair.
For all my years, when I needed to talk to my mom, I could find her sitting on that same green chair. To me, she was the strongest woman I could ever imagine being. Being too big to sit on the chair next to her, I would sit on the floor and lean my head on her lap. My tears would make marks on her pants as she stroked my head and tucked my hair behind my ears. She always had something to say or a story to tell me that would make me not feel so alone. That chair was her throne. I truly think it gave her extra powers.
After mom passed away, I took the chair from her room. It moved with me from Davenport to Long Grove to Monticello. My husband (now Ex) wouldn’t dare get rid of it, he knew the priceless value of it. The avocado green linen was ripped, stuffing depleted and exposed bare wood was unsightly. One Christmas, he surprised me by having it reupholstered. It now boasted a beautiful tapestry with light colored flowers and it even had a skirt around the base. It never had a skirt in the past. Much like my mom, it wasn’t overly feminine, just strong. I was touched by his thoughtfulness and was appreciative, but the chair no longer looked like my moms chair. I couldn’t see or feel the presence of her. It was so feminine I almost didn’t want to sit on it for fear of getting it dirty. The chair moved with me to Stoughton and then to Oregon. It had it’s own place, in a corner of my bedroom, dutiful holding the extra pillows from the bed. But it wasn’t my mom’s chair.
Recently, the stresses in my life tore down my strength to the point I went to my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I needed to be alone, yet I needed hear the voice I hadn’t heard in 12 years. I walked over to the chair and pulled off the pillows. I laid my head on the chair as if to hear it speak to me. With my eyes closed, I reached below the dressing and grabbed the legs of the chair. The nicks were still in place along with the smooth lacquered finish. I held on to those legs, with my ear on the seat, imagining the voice I was so desperate to hear. Even though my hair didn’t move, I swore I felt it go behind my ears. My tears soaked the cushion, but I don’t think it minded. In fact, I think the saline gave the chair new life, empowerment. I talked with mom and her words came to me so clearly. I was able to gather myself, dry the tears and stand up straight. I left the chair, knowing I would be back another day to hear the voice and feel the brush of my hair.
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