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Someday life will be more than laundry and dishes and grocery pick-ups and practices. Someday life will be lazy mornings reading and lonely afternoons of reflection. Someday I will be as happy with my body as I was when I was four years old, running, jumping, splashing, smiling, and living life uninhibited. Someday my heart will break again. More than it has ever broken. And it will heal. Slowly and unintentionally. On its own schedule. Resuming a new shape and capacity. Without my direction. No need to brace for it - what does bracing do anyway? Someday I will have little versions of myself climbing onto my lap again. But they will also be the little versions of my original little versions. And I won't know what to do with all the love that trickles down from me, to my boys, to their tiny little replicates full of life and wonder. I will supervise less and sympathize more. I will be less rigid and more engaged. I won't do this on purpose. It will just happen. Someday my identity won't be wrapped in a stethoscope or initials behind my name. My healing touch will never leave, but my paycheck will. I will be sad. I will feel funny. And eventually I will wonder how I ever let such bureaucracy define me. Someday I will look at my partner across the table and wonder how we got through all the muck. I will forget most of the junk and remember the highlights. I will be proud of us and happy for us. And I will sit at the table with the family we built. Someday I will sit on a porch, hopefully on a lake. I will feel a cool breeze and hear the birds and the squirrels. I will think of Mary and Martha, both my grandmothers, and I will explode with nostalgia. The men we loved. The families we created. The mess we endured. I will thank Martha for my fire and Mary for my loyalty. I will dance with both of them in my kitchen, windows up, music on high, supper in the oven, conviction in my heart. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their work surrounding the prompt "someday": Your Someday Will Come by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/your-someday-will-come Make Someday Happen by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/make-someday-happen/ Are You Waiting on Someday? by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/are-you-waiting-on-someday/ Simple Is Better – The “Some Day” that Doesn’t Ever Quite Happen by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/07/01/simple-is-better-the-some-day-that-doesnt-ever-quite-happen/
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On a recent poll with my readers, the results were not surprising:
The poll was not anonymous, and I know many of my readers. Several of the "way too much" respondents are married, have children, have jobs, are surrounded by people all the time, and YET... they feel alone. I can relate. Loneliness is harmful to your health. But how do we fix it? We've never been more "connected" in our lives? Or have we? I have found 10 ways to feel more connected in a digital world. These are not from some article or YouTube video. These are just what has worked for ME. I hope they work for you too:
I love interacting with my readers. For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my other hope*writers by reading their works based on the prompt word LONELY: Is God Lonely for You? By Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/is-god-lonely-for-you/ Loved vs. Lonely by Lisa Crowder https://lisacrowder.substack.com/p/5c456855-76dc-499f-90cd-6ffef071a3d3 Simple Is Better Lent - When Lonely is OK by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/03/01/simple-is-better-lent-when-lonely-is-ok/ Open Letter to the Lonely Mom by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/lonely-mom/ Breaking the Stigma: Understanding and Talking About Loneliness by MelAnn https://lifesouvenirs.net/p/breaking-the-stigma Legos and Laundry. These have been in my living room and dining room for over 10 years now. Should legos be in the rooms where we eat or relax? Should laundry? I say - YES. I have wanted to be a mother since I can remember. I babysat most of the kids in my neighborhood. Back when 12-year-olds could safely keep a few toddlers without any cell phones to reach any adults. Back when toddlers were thrilled to have said 12-year-old-neighbor-girl to make them pretend-school-worksheets and teach them how to hopscotch. Those were the days. Back to the legos and the laundry, there are many days where "I can't wait until this house is in order and everything is in its place and nobody's dirty socks or underwear will be on the floor!". But now that I've had one successfully leave the nest, I don't catch myself wincing over the legos or the laundry as much. See I know those cleats will be gone one day. I know that clarinet practice I hear from upstairs will be a distant memory. I know the messy rooms and the slammed doors and the "WHATTTTT?" of a teenager (with the required eye roll) will soon be in my rearview. And sometimes it catches my breath. Because I know. I know I will go from discussions around algebra to conversations about mortgages. From little league to stadiums. From junior Broadway productions to a college stage, perhaps. It's the perhaps that gets me too. See they were little, hard to believe but true. No bigger than my short arms could nuzzle. And I rocked them every night. And I picked out their nursery furniture and their first backpack and their first set of beliefs in many ways. But they're growing up. And they're SO smart. They can think for themselves and they challenge me, too. Make my brain stretch. Make my heart explode. I didn't know it could feel so good and so awful at the same time. Good that they're becoming themselves and that they're happy. Awful that I can't protect them and keep them from getting bumped and bruised like we all did. Now when I hang up that uniform or listen to the show soundtrack for the 100th time, I just smile. I let the legos pile up. I keep the clean clothes folded in the basket on the dining room table. And I hold my breath just a few more years and soak in every minute that I can get with them. How many more loads of laundry will I get? I think any mother would agree there is never enough. Written by one sappy mom to anyone else who feels this. Written when my boys are 10, 12, and 20. Written when I'm sandwiched between launching children and caring for aging parents. Written when the world seems automated and conversations seem rare. Written with my own youth creeping toward my rearview, with a coffee mug in my hand, and a knowing heart swollen in my chest. Godspeed. I love Christmas. I know for some the holidays are hard. Very hard. And as I get older, they are harder for me too. But I still have that child-like wonder and love for the holiday season. And I hope by traveling this list with me, you'll find a little whimsy inside your soul too.
Every year, we have a Cookie Decorating competition and an Ornament Decorating competition. The kids get super competitive and the husband and I simply enjoy all the time together as a family. We post pictures on Facebook and tally votes for the winners. In today's age of go-go-go and scroll-scroll-scroll, we cherish every minute of time together, unplugged, as a family. ❤️ Kids are out of school (or will be soon). "Mom, I'm bored." "Mom, I wanna do something fun." "Mom, let's do something for Christmas." If you've ever had a weekend or a school's-out-day full of hungry kids following you around the house telling you they're bored over and over again, I feel you!!! I have one out of the house and 2 still following me around on those days. This is a family tradition we created, in part, to fill some time and make some memories. Now it has become something we all love and look forward to every year. I keep acrylic paints on hand and I stock up on wooden ornaments at the after-Christmas sales for the next years' contest. Paint pens also come in handy and skinny Sharpies for those finer details. We usually post our ornaments on social media and allow friends and family to vote. I think we've had different prizes over the years, but mostly it's for bragging rights. Can you believe my then-9-year-old did the Frog all by himself? Note the leaves clinging to the window. Thank God for slower days that allow me to notice and pay attention. Those leaves inspired this post. When I think about all the concepts and ideas I have clung to for my 46 years, I feel muddled inside. Everything happens for a reason. I don’t know about that. Some days I see God and the universe working and others I don’t. I’m just being honest here. Hurt people hurt people. I do believe this one. ☝️ But how do I maintain my self-worth and boundaries while being in the presence of those who don’t know how to get out of their own misery? This one is tough and affects most of us on a regular basis. True love. Soulmates. The jury is still out for me. People treat you how you teach them to treat you. I’m 50/50 on this one. I can hold my boundaries and even lower my expectations when needed and some folks will still be jerks. See #2 above. It will all work out. I’m 80/20 on this one. Yes the sun WILL rise tomorrow. Yes the world WILL keep spinning. I have (mostly) grown from all my life experiences, but I’m not sure if it always works out. I see injustice. I see inequality. I am not sure that always works out. Take the high road. I don’t know. Sometimes change needs a low road as a catalyst. Maybe relationships need real moments with raw conversations to truly grow. If we all took the high road at all times, would it even be a high road anymore? The truth will set you free. Usually. Almost always. But as a holder of many secrets (job hazard), I have seen situations where the truth might hold one hostage and cause immeasurable suffering for years to come. Say what you mean and mean what you say. I love this one. In theory. But with my silver tongue and deep emotions have come words I did not really mean in times of hurt or anger. I think this is a great ideal, a lofty goal. But when we mess up, apologize- and sooner rather than later. A quick imperfect apology generally means more than a well-stated overdue one. What about you? What have you clung to? What feels true and what feels forced when you consider the building blocks for your social or moral compass? Better yet, what feels fake? What makes you squirm when you say it out loud to another human? If you squirm, stop saying it. Stop believing it. Our truths can evolve. Our truths don’t have to match those of our parents or our spouse. Our truths are our own. Here’s to both of us building our own houses of morality and ideology. And leaving room for repairs. Godspeed. photo credit: Naassom Azevedo I remember being 20 years old. Planning a wedding. Looking at houses like a 16 year old looks at cars. Aren’t we always looking for, searching for, planning for that next thing? After the wedding and the house came the baby fever a few years later. All the nursery furniture and books of baby names. Once the kids are born we start planning for school. Backpacks and school supplies. We spend the next decade or so driving everyone to everything and wondering when it will be our turn again. Even though these are the very dreams we prayed for and clung to for so long. Next we plan their launch. College visits or military recruiters. Sheets for twin beds and $10 dorm skillets. The excitement builds and then evaporates with one set of taillights or one giant aircraft in the distance. We wait. We wonder. We hear from them now on their terms and we count the weeks between visits. And we realize one Wednesday morning while we sip our coffee and type in the glow of the Christmas tree that now they’re us. Now THEY are 20 years old. We are no longer even a daily thought to them because they are planning that wedding and looking at that house with the very same vigor we did so many years ago. And they know everything just like we did. To that we just smile and think “so that’s why my parents never really said much and just watched it all unfold.” So what do we do now? See we have been to therapy and had all these intense life lessons since we were 20. We know so much. Alas we really know so little. We control so very little (only our own thoughts and actions). We could say now we are planning for grandchildren but we have also stopped all the cookie cutter “this comes next” because we have been on the very train that derailed those best laid plans. So I just revel in the warmth of my coffee mug in my hands. Stare at the lights on my tree. Remember the excitement of buying my very first house. Give thanks for the bumps and bruises I have endured. And look forward to making my Mammaw’s dressing from scratch tonight like she and my mother have done since the 1940’s. Mammaw was 20 years old. Mama was 20 years old. I was 20 years old. Thank you Lord for all the 20-year-olds, the hopes and dreams, the excitement of building a life. May we never forget that feeling. Godspeed. The whir of the wall heater lulls me to sleep. I’m in seventh grade again, at my friend’s house, dreaming of my life as an adult. We just watched Dirty Dancing and inhaled a bag of Doritos with a 2L of Dr Pepper and no one considered the carbohydrates involved. In reality, I am an adult. With children. And two husbands by now. And a whole lot of disappointments and triumphs along the way. I still feel like that awkward seventh grader when, I’m actually the mother of a seventh grader. How did this happen? I’m typing this in a cottage in the woods. A writer’s weekend, that’s what I claimed it to be. And in late 2022, I am stuck trying to decide how much of my life to share on social media and how many posts are “enough” to promote my writing. The internet connection is poor here and it’s a blessing and a curse. When did we become so tied to people we’ve never met and numbers oft generated by bots? Do I measure the importance of my work by likes, shares, and follows or by actual lives impacted? And let’s be honest, we rarely know when we impact a life because the Enneagram and Myers-Briggs tells us that a certain % of folks are introverts and would never tell us if we helped them, to no fault of our own. And the trauma we have all endured. I am not joking. The real actual trauma and pain I have seen my fellow GenXers and patients and friends endure. We all go to therapy and spend countless hours trying to right some of the wrongs between scrolling and TikToking, working our regular jobs, raising tiny to full-sized humans, and trying to eat whole foods. In this world of 2-4 second attention spans, I feel lost. I feel lonely. I feel drained. Am I the only one? And so I sit. In Midlife. In the Southeast. In middle school bleachers and while planning a wedding for the oldest. I sit at baseball tournaments and in my car traveling to see my patients. I sit at kitchen tables discussing hospice the same morning I sit with my fifth grader studying vocabulary. I know I’m not alone. The Middle is weird. It’s not the beginning, like I am reminded of with my oldest and his fiancé. The furniture shopping and the bedspread and dishes selections. It’s not the end either. The disbursement of family heirlooms and quiet days sparsely populated by visiting friends or family. It’s not the days of toddler-parent-survival where bath time and nap time ruled the schedule. But it’s not the days where everyone can drive yet either. And oh yeah a pandemic happened. School shootings. A nation so divided I can’t even recognize it. But just keep on going folks. Keep on posting and hashtagging and hustling. Meh. I will take this Middle. I will take the Menopause and the investment planning and the figuring out how to parent adult children. I will take it and try to learn from it and admit that it’s uncomfortable. See, we are too old to fake stuff in this Middle. We have seen too much. I think my writing will continue to be what it is. Real. Raw. With a flimsy filter and a side of sarcasm. It will grow as I do. I hope you join me. If anything in this little diary entry stirred your insides, then know that we are in this together. Let’s go. Awkward but not alone.
Other ideas for rainy days with kids include:
Please check out the work of my fellow hope*writers: 10 Things I Learned While Waiting On God by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/10-things-i-learned-while-waiting-on-god/ The Ten Lepers - A Lesson in Thankfulness by Lisa Granger https://lisamarcelina.net/the-ten-lepers---a-lesson-in-thankfulness/ Never Travel Without These Ten Things by Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/never-travel-without-these-ten-things 10 Ways to Turn Things Around by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/how-to-turn-things-around/ When Emotional or Mental Pain Is a 10 by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2022/09/01/when-emotional-or-mental-pain-is-a-10/ Isn't it crazy how people who were once part of your daily existence can just fade away? We can literally spend 40+ hours per week with another human (lots of humans in most cases) for YEARS or DECADES and with one twist of fate, all of that shared time and history can seem to float away. Forgotten? Surely not. Out of sight, out of mind? In this fast paced world, probably. No bandwidth to maintain a "long-distance" relationship when that relationship partner no longer parks in your shared parking lot? Maybe. I am not sure though. Family members can live out of town or out of state and we keep up with them, don't we? Or do we? Do we actually put the effort in to maintain relationships these days? Is all of our time spent "liking" and "commenting" on strangers from across the globe? I'm the first to admit I spend more time singing duets with random strangers on Smule than I do communicating with my out-of-state family members. Does that mean I don't care about my extended family? One could argue that our online friends are more organic than say, those we happen to share DNA or an office with... I can see that point. But, what about shared history? The office mate and the DNA-sharer have way more memories with me than the Randoms I have something-in-common-with online. But is it quantity of memories or quality? Just because we both attended a work cookout or a family wedding- does that mean more than shared interests and values with someone who doesn't "have to" spend time with us? Ever had someone in your life for just a season? The season ended for whatever reason: timing, location, circumstance. You and the other person knew it was a season, so you felt some closure. If you ever see that person again, awesome, what a pleasant surprise. If you don't, no worries, all is well. Perhaps we should all view each relationship we have as seasonal. Temporary. An at-will partnership. It can end at any time. That way when our phone doesn't ding or our mailbox remains empty, we are not disappointed. We will know and understand that these are just the ways of 2022. No one attaches. Nothing sticks. After all, there are millions of other shiny dots on the palm-sized demon calling each of our names. Faces we may never see in person. Voices we may never hear in real-time. Skin we may never touch. Meals we may never share. But let us not forget, those "relationships" end too! Accounts are hacked or closed. Real Life occasionally happens to our online friends as well and they may not be available to us. I guess I just get sad when I think about today's world for my kids. How do they know what's real and what's not when it comes to friendship (or even family)? There used to be something to be said for shared zip codes and shared uniforms. Quantity of memories somehow added up to some quality of memories. Now it's all a game of chance. Some people stick with us and most don't. Loyalty? Loyalty seems to happen more for brands than it does for us as individuals. And these are the rambling thoughts of a Midlife GenX woman raising sons ranging from pre-puberty to engaged. I want my kids to call and check on me when I am old. I want them to have friends that would come help them in the middle of the night. And today's ways of noncommittal BS (even amongst us grown folk) have me worried. What are we modeling for these kids? One day at a time. Godspeed. After writing School Colors as I processed the Uvalde tragedy, I kept feeling and seeing the word BRAVE creep into my mind and body. As with any tragedy, loss, or wonkiness we endure, I think people turn to comedy for some type of comfort or relief. Pandemic comedians, where you at? (yes I used improper grammar and I liked it)... Anywho, I've had a lot of ICKY after this most recent school shooting, and I have found myself SCROLLING more than usual- I guess as a form of searching for both relief and answers. 😞 Upon scrolling, I saw a meme of the 80's mustachioed dad tossing his bewildered 7 year old into the pool as his form of "swim lessons." Ha ha- so funny- so true (established 1976 right here), keep scrolling. Still smiling as my right thumb hovered over my phone, I felt a small nudge. Brave. Kids. Brave kids. Kids who are brave. Parents who allow kids to BE BRAVE. Now I'm NOT thinking or talking about Uvalde, but I'm thinking and talking about the kids I see and know. The ones in my house. The ones in my neighborhood. The ones on my son's team. The ones in my son's acting group. The ones in their classes. My cousins' kids. My friends' kids. MY KIDS. Last night I watched my youngest son do something SO BRAVE. It took so much courage to do what he did. After his brave act, I asked him how he felt. He had mixed emotions (because his efforts were great but not PERFECT) and he was exhausted. I explained to him that what I loved the most about his endeavor was the COURAGE he displayed to even attempt his feat. Good, bad, perfect, terrible, wonderful, awful, whatever... he DID IT! And he did not give up. And he did not waiver. He believed in himself and he followed through without the 2022 SAFETY NET of PARENTS and SOCIETY. But friends, are we the NET we think we are for these children? Are we catching them when they fall or are we blocking the ladder to get to the scary top? Are we so worried about their potential failure (and heaven forbid it being captured on social media) that we are keeping them from even DREAMING or BELIEVING or TRYING to reach for the stars? Are we modeling GOING FOR IT and TRYING NEW THINGS or are we waiting on the sidelines watching reels of strangers going for it? Did we "see it on TikTok" or did we actually try it ourselves? Are we letting them FAIL or are we making sure they SUCCEED at all costs? Are we celebrating the lessons learned or only the medals won? So I challenge you, Moms and Dads, Aunts and Uncles, Grannies and Nannies and Pappaws... talk to the children in your life about COURAGE and BRAVERY. Discuss success and failure at the supper table. On the way to the "brave feat" last night, that same son asked me if some celebrity was a millionaire. My response: "I'm sure he is, but that doesn't mean he's happy. Ask that celebrity what matters to him, what he stands for, who he has helped in his life - that's a better question." Give your dear ones a little wiggle room to make mistakes. Let them have an original thought and better yet, AN OPINION. Encourage them when they are frustrated, but please do not fix it all for them. Allow them to clean up their own messes. If I have learned anything in the past few weeks, it is that my children and the children in this world are BRAVE SOULS, braver than we will ever imagine. Let us unlock their courage and model resiliency after "failure." Put your phone down. Talk to the kids in your life. Ask them what courage means to them. SHOW THEM how to be brave. Godspeed. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am still not okay after what happened in Uvalde, Texas. I am okay with not being okay. This post is not meant to belittle those events in any way. I'm watching my children as they move through this. I'm learning from them how to be brave. Honors Day comes every May and with it comes some pain Pain for those who watch from afar Pain for those who were never the star and sometimes, a feeling unnamed This feeling of reeling from dealing with life and school and kids and daily strife There's work and marriage and laundry and dishes and unfulfilled goals, broken promises, forgotten wishes And all of a sudden we are all 16 again full of both awkwardness & confidence with our acne and our hormones watching the principal hold the microphone And we wait for our names to be called 1 2 3 and the teacher didn't call it they didn't pick me Pick me or my kid? What's going on in my head? Am I rejected for their rejection? Is this about me instead? Oh Honors Day, dread Honors Day I love you when you call my name I hate you when forget about me Wasn't I good enough? Don't you see? The joke is on us friends for life is its own Honors Day Your boss, your friend group they always pick who they want to stay We want to belong we want to matter to feel seen and heard But what I have just realized What I have finally learned Is that I throw my own Honors Day EVERY DAY for myself for my kids, for my spouse WE are the trophy, WE are the shelf I won plenty of ribbons and plaques and awards But they're somewhere in a box And now my family is my sword to keep fighting this fight we call life every day so when your lovely looks up to you disappointed from Honors Day just tell them, no SHOW them, about the true trophies in life Like kindness and empathy and perseverance. Hold that baby tight. Look right in their eyes and tell them YOU are their shelf. And no matter how good someone measures them to be, they are HELD. Don't push your sweet lovelies to climb to the top. Let them be who they will be. Let them stop if they need to stop. Honors Day comes every May and with it comes some pain just let it go on and do its thing. Don't let it determine the gain. Brought to you by a trophy-winning, plaque-possessing, still-trying-to-figure-it-out 16 year old stuck in a midlife body. Honors Day is just another day. Your sweet babies are the TROPHY. Please be a kind and loving SHELF. Godspeed. How are you? Good, how are you? Fine, today was busy. Yeah, me too. Ready for some downtime. Did you go by the drugstore? I did (even though he could have). Did you run the dishwasher? I did (even though she could have). What's going on this weekend? A Saturday-Sunday tournament and I really need to get some of my charts done. (He didn't ask if I wanted to do anything as a couple. I guess he doesn't care). (She is always working- she never even mentioned anything I might want or need). Okay- sounds good. Sound familiar? We both have needs, but we are not making them known. We both have resentment, but we speak like polite coworkers. The conversations are transactional and not RELATIONAL. We are co-parenting and room-mating - but where is the love? Unfortunately, as the years passed and the kids got older, we seemed to have fewer transactional conversations. Homework wasn't AS MUCH of a chore. Snacks were often handled by the kids independently. Routines were established and roles were pretty defined (though unspoken) in the home. In ways, this meant less bickering and smoother mornings and evenings, but were we connected? OR were we just 2 lonely adults passing in the hallway - each longing for a real connection but not knowing where to start? We have both been married before, so we both know the pain of divorce. We vowed to make this marriage work, but was it working? Was it tolerable or was it phenomenal? I have been going to THE BEST counselor on the planet for about 18 months now, and I asked her for a few suggestions. Regardless of each person's love language, she made clear that time and non-sexual touch are both very necessary for meaningful connection. Since I work days and my husband works nights, we don't have a TON of time together - and very rarely is it without children. We both commute so that takes away even more of our precious time. The kids are busy year-round it seems, so where was I supposed to carve out both TIME and TOUCH? I decided that we needed ONE HOUR per day to talk, sit close to each other, and just be together. I named it the POWER HOUR and I told the kids this was Mom and Dad's time together and it should not be interrupted unless there is an emergency. They heard "screen time" and were all for it. I decided kids' screen time is worth the investment in our marriage. I claimed 7-8 pm to be our ONE HOUR per day to sit on the couch together - touching!- to watch TV, chat, whatever. I am not gonna lie, 9 times out of 10 my feet and legs are in his lap and he's using my massage gun on my calves while I scratch his non-massage-gun-holding arm and hand. He likes scratches, I like massages. The point is, though, that we are touching and there is no pressure surrounding the touch. All adults everywhere know what I mean by that. He has to leave for work by 8 pm, so once he leaves I call the kids back into the living room and we finish out our family time before bed. If he's off that night then we may continue past 8 pm. The rules are simple: he needs to be showered and ready for work by 7 not 8 so I can have that hour with him. I need to ignore work and personal messages during that precious hour so that I can give him my undivided attention. Sometimes there is a late practice or rehearsal and our POWER HOUR is skipped or delayed, but it is a daily priority now. We both look forward to that time together, and the kids are still alive. It is so much easier to hash out a BIG issue when you are sitting next to your spouse touching them instead of over the phone or (worse) text. If you are both relaxed and physically touching each other, it is harder to become defensive or to go into attack mode. A quick squeeze of the arm or hand can reassure your partner that you are, in fact, on the same team. Close eye contact can remind your spouse that you love them and that you each have the same end goals. You may read this and be thanking the heavens that you've never felt disconnected from your spouse. Having worked with married patients for years, I would venture to guess you'd be in the minority. I know most of us have felt like our marriages have become mundane or on auto-pilot at various times. It doesn't necessarily take a marriage retreat or some crazy new "trick" to get your marriage back on track. For us, it just took a shared couch, one hour per day, and our hands. It took putting the phone down. It took managing our time to preserve that one hour per day. It took biting our tongues when we wanted to be snappy and waiting until we were together to have that hard conversation.
My life isn't perfect nor is my marriage. My house isn't perfect. My kids are not perfect. I am far from perfect. But, I am trying. He is trying. We are trying. Effort is attractive and kindness matters. Godspeed. The following post is one mom's experience with autism. One family's experience. This author and I both understand that autism exists on a spectrum and this is just one example of the spectrum. What do I want you to know about autism? Since I am neuro-typical, I can only give you a mother’s perspective. So, last night, I asked my 15-year-old with autism what they want people to understand about autism. After a moment’s thought, they had two things to tell others. First, in their typical blunt manner, C said, “Autism is a spectrum, it doesn’t always look like a little 6-year-old boy who can’t control himself.” I thought this was a great point. Our autism story isn’t typical. My kid, born in a female body, wasn’t diagnosed until last year, when they were 14. (For the purposes of this post, I’m using gender neutral pronouns and the letter C for their name.) They’ve struggled with a number of things for years: reading was hard, paying attention in school was a disaster, building and maintaining relationships with “normal” peers was super challenging. The autism diagnosis was a sigh of relief for all of us. Finally, we had a name that encompassed a wide variety of things: social skills that were getting harder to manage in middle school, sensory issues that seemed to becoming more intense, and a hyper-fixation on a growing, rotating range of topics. Autism was not a negative diagnosis for us. It was an answer and in it, I found hope. It took years for me to start thinking about autism for my kid. To me, autism looked like one of two things: it was either the young boy whose autism made them unpredictable, a person with special needs, or it was the savant, again a boy, who could tell you everything you needed to know about his particular fascination. In fact, it was C who came to me and said, “Mom, I think I have autism.” In the next breath and typical fashion, “I’ve been doing some research.” My sweet kid, from the moment they were born, was never typical. They were happy and silly and the third born. They could be laughing one minute and asleep on your lap the next. C was cuddly and tender one moment, but at the next moment, trying some stunt that would make a mom’s heart stutter with nerves. They could listen to me read to them for long hours or play a silly made up game all afternoon, but could never concentrate long enough to finish math problems. We got an ADHD diagnosis when C was quite young. (That’s another thing C would want you to know: often Autism is misdiagnosed in females as ADHD because Autism presents differently in girls and practitioners don’t think females have autism.) And in that moment, an ADHD diagnosis was a tool—it gave our family a framework for understanding that our kid’s brain worked differently. We could accommodate their learning and home life to best suit their needs. C is smart, funny, talented, creative, and silly. Their diagnosis forced me, as a mom, to reframe the negative lens through which this is seen. I wasn’t going to let them think their ADHD was an affliction. Instead, ADHD was their superpower—they saw the world differently than I did. It’s just that the world isn’t really made for kids whose brains aren’t like everyone else’s. Everything fell apart in Middle School. Well, Middle school and a pandemic and online learning and adolescence. It was the perfect storm of horrible-ness. It has been a rocky couple of years for my kid (and me) as we’ve discovered the autism diagnosis and struggled mightily with mental health. (One more thing C would say, because they think of things at random times unrelated to anything else, is that because autism is diagnosed so late in girls, most girls with autism struggle with depression, anxiety and a sense of “who am I?” and “why can’t I be like everyone else?” An earlier diagnosis could help relieve some of that angst.) This is the first time I’ve ever put this story down in words. It feels rather momentous to do so. Yet, when I tell people in my orbit that C has autism, some are surprised, but for most, who know us, it just rolls off their back. “Huh,” they say and move on to something else. Because for them, as well as us, it’s just a way to define the way my kid is, the way they move and think and interact with the world. And someday, this culture will understand what a gift a brain like that is. I am convinced that someday C is going to change the world. Oh, and C wants everyone to know something else about autism: “Mom, make sure you say that moms who have kids with autism aren’t superheroes. They’re just moms. Like you.” C makes me laugh so hard I can’t breathe. They will share their saved memes with me for 30 minutes just to get some parental attention and then later lock themselves in their room and not want to talk to anyone. They challenge the way I think and expand my view of what success looks like in the world and teach me a gazillion things I never thought I would have to know. While I wish the world was an easier place for my sweet one, I would never, in a million years, change this part of who they are. And that is what I want you to know about autism. Sammy Beuker is a wife, mom, Youth Worker, friend, and writer who lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan. When she isn’t managing her complicated family life, she works with teenagers at her local church. You can find her and her newsletter at sammybeuker.com where you can follow along on her journey to publication or on IG @sammyanne_b where she posts about her life, writing, books, food, family, faith and her golden retriever, Monty. Thank you Sammy (and C!!!) for sharing your words with my readers. Thank you for having the courage to tell your story. This touched me! ❤️ -Amy at Taylored Intent My story is different than most step-moms. Almost seven when I met him he already had a mom. So I did what thought a step-mom would do. I had no child of my own. Lord knows I did not have a clue how to parent this sweet boy who slept down the hall every other week for a week. Thus we stumbled; there were falls. Those early years of homework and karate class. Parent-teacher conferences where I was often asked if I was his mom, since I was the only one who seemed tuned in who emailed and would come to all his events, I was all in. Meanwhile I had my babies 20 months apart, back to back. Boys upon boys, our schedules were packed. Those years of one on the hip and one in the belly and one hitting puberty. I wish THIS wiser me could tell THAT younger me that it would all work out one way or another; but his daddy and I we fought over and over. I saw coddling. He saw support. I saw side-taking. He saw retort. Step-son soon lived with us full-time and that was that. I was really his mom. She stopped putting on the act. So I again tried to treat all 3 the same "we have rules in this house" "If you did it, take the blame." But Daddy (to me) just couldn't allow his oldest who had been hurt to be kept in tow. Maybe by him, but never by me. Maybe on a Tuesday, but never consistently. So the marital battle of blended families began. It wasn't "yours, mine, and ours" it was "Me & The Little Two versus Them." And it divided us, collided us, excised us from the family that I had prayed for and dreamed of and waited for... But I didn't know how to fix it, The divide between the 5 of us. I was "always too hard on him," I needed to "chill out and stop caring so much." This passionate mama doesn't know how to do that. I see my children and I want them to try and to do their best. Thus the battle continued. There were wounds. There were scars. Being a full-time step-parent has left its mark. On our marriage. On my spirit. On my step-son, I'm sure. The war still continues as we are almost 2 years in to him being an adult and out of the house. I have certain expectations. I require a text or call now and then. I wish I could tell you it's easy or fun. Maybe for some folks it is, but not for us. Trying to glue us back together has been the hardest thing I have EVER done. But we keep on trying Keep on fighting Is it Fighting or is it Trying? The world keeps spinning The time keeps ticking The years seem shorter The road can seem colder... but sometimes on a Saturday when I watch my children smile and play, I remember that it's worth it and HE is worth it and WE are worth it. I sigh and sleep the hurt away. So if you love someone you didn't make You see their soul, and you feel their ache, Remember that they know the truth And love is really all they need from you. Keep loving. Love heals. If you love someone you didn't make, I see you. You are seen. And you matter. I have a beefy cardiology post that was supposed to drop today, but I don't wanna. I've started it, and it's important, but it's way too serious after coming off a glorious restful vacation. Instead, I thought I would share all the random thoughts that have been filling up and overflowing from my overworked brain. Maybe you can relate. Maybe not. Either way, you might find these entertaining.
Anywho, it's Saturday- the sun in shining - and if you're exhausted parenting toddlers right now, just enjoy the Duplos and Play-Doh. Starbucks and Xbox await! Entitlement and minimal communication are just chillin' - they'll come soon enough! Godspeed moms and dads. How did our parents survive us? 🥰 🎼 Cherish: My Love Letter to Music 🎼 I cherish the depth of a bass guitar It tickles my rib cage; it teases my heart My toes start tapping; my hips, they sway Whether I am sad or mad or lonely, it’s okay While the melody speaks to me, The harmony sees through me The drums set up space in my body and soul, Add brass and winds and keys, Now I am whole But the lyrics, the WORDS are what I cherish the most They pierce me, tattoo me, renew me, and expose Those tiny little pieces that we all try to hide The lyrics, the WORDS... they seep gently inside I cherish the music that built this life The staccato of pleasure, the minor chords of strife In my darkest hour or my coldest night I cherish my medicine of music; it shines the light The lights are on and the volume is up I cherish the music that yields me unstuck I am rhythm, I am blues, I am a crescendo of hues Oh music, sweet music, our wayward spirits be fused When I received the "CHERISH" writing prompt from my writer's group, I had a small chuckle. My small bloggers' writing group consists primarily of Christian writers, all of whom are women, and whose work I enjoy and admire. That said, I considered all the ways we can cherish God and our faith that these women would probably cover in their posts. My mind, however, went STRAIGHT to Kool & the Gang's song Cherish which was released in 1985 when I was 9 years old and full of hope. What can I say? Music is in my BONES. I wake up with it. I end my day with it. It is a constant soundtrack for any emotion I have ever had, and it seems to pour out of me without effort. I cannot imagine my life without music, and well... I just love it. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their work:
Okay, this post might get a little confusing so bear with me. I would call it a fable, but fables involve animals or forces of nature according to Wikipedia. I would call it a parable, but I am not Jesus. So it's just a story. A True Story. As I was cooking tonight, I was actually following a recipe - which is something I very rarely do. Wouldn’t you know it? I totally screwed the recipe up. I had scrolled the internet late last night before the midnight cutoff for my click list and somehow combined two different chicken casserole recipes into one in my tired mom brain. Since I do cook on a regular basis, I tried to assemble the casserole from memory. That was where things went wrong. Long story short, the casserole was delicious and my family asked me to write it down so we can have it again. Then my writer brain kicked in, and I started to think of my friends who loathe cooking and would rather swallow nails than be stuck in a kitchen near a stove. I have always wondered if these friends (male or female) grew up in a house where meals were cooked on a regular basis. I have an inside scoop on meals in a wide variety of households because I am the primary care provider for around 2000 patients. I have families who eat out three meals per day seven days per week. How they afford a roof over their head, gas in their car, or clothes on their body is beyond me LOL. The folks in my house like to eat. Since I analyze everything, after this chicken casserole disaster-turned-deliciousness, I started to think about the non-cooks that I know.
Anyway, aside from all that, I started to think about the actual skills I have acquired from cooking on a regular basis. I rarely have to measure things unless it’s a new recipe. I really don’t even look at recipes. I’ve always been able to just make something up and it works. But I do give credit to my parents who always cooked and included me in the cooking. As a latchkey kid in the 1980s and 1990s, mom would leave directions for supper on an index card by the stove.
This helped me learn what side dishes pair with which main courses and how to time meals so that everything was ready at one time. If you hate to cook you’ve probably stopped reading by now, but bear with me- I do have a point. If you like to cook, I’m sure you’re reminiscing about your early cooking endeavors as a teen or early 20s and remembering the disasters and burned meals. We have all had them. Now back to my point. I think cooking is a lot like parenting. Some people have cooks in their homes and learn how to cook because they are included in the cooking and it comes naturally to them. Likewise, some children have really good parents in their homes and learn how to parent because they see good parenting every day. When they become parents, they are able to mirror a lot of what they saw as children. What about all the little girls and little boys that don’t see good parenting? Do they grow up to hate being a parent? Is parenting more difficult for them? Some of my non-cooking friends have told me that cooking is difficult for them. Are there any parallels? I am not saying good parents cook. Being a good parent has absolutely nothing to do with cooking. I am just wondering if my patients that seem to be checked out on parenting had poor examples of parents from which to learn. I know, I know. Deep, random thoughts on a rainy Sunday night. But I think of the little girls and the little boys who are now big girls and big boys. I see them struggling because they come to me. They open up about their struggles. And I feel them. I see their efforts and witness their frustrations. Most of them are really trying, but they feel defeated from the jump. I am not going to get overly cheesy here about a cookbook or a parenting book. Life is much harder than anything you could ever read in either of those books. I just want you to know that some of us got a “recipe” given to us while others did not. Some of us received love, attention, and praise while others did not. Let us be kind to one another and forgo the judgment. “Food” comes from many places. Let us feed each other well. ☀️ Godspeed.
Shame. Such an icky topic and feeling. I am not a licensed therapist. I am still trying to figure all of this out myself, but I am learning and I am working to diligently avoid shaming words being said by any member of my household (including myself). THIS IS HARD WORK. 😩 When I see myself, my spouse, or my children slipping into a shame spiral, I try to acknowledge it and stop it if possible. This is treacherous, however. The danger in stopping a shame spiral is the risk of entering into toxic positivity. Toxic positivity can equally invalidate and minimize a person's feelings. One can go from "I am not good enough" to "I am not good enough to have this emotion right now." One can go from being told "you worry too much, you are such a worry wart" to "don't worry, everything is always going to work out." Neither instance feels good. Has a friend or loved one ever told you what you should have done and how you should have responded? How did that feel? Even better, have YOU ever told a friend or loved one what they should have done or how they should have responded? That mirror comes up quickly. The Shame Spiral can start immediately or hours, days, weeks after the "injury." It can last a lifetime. My therapist just asked me if I had ever heard the story about the father and son and the nails on the fence post. I had not. I tried to find the original author and the original full story, but I could not find it. Please let me know if you do. The quick version is that the father gave the son some nails to nail into the fence post. The boy did and came back to his dad. The dad said "good job son, now go take them all out." The boy wondered what in the world his father was thinking but he did as he was told. Upon his return, the boy asked "okay, I took them all out, but why did you have me do that Dad?". The father replied "Son, those nails are like words. You can say them and you can try to take them back, but the holes will always remain." Credit to MaryAnn Denwood @ The People's Therapist and Richard Bamford Therapy for the above images. Credit to Michigan Health Blog and ThePsychologyGroup.com for the above images. I could not locate the exact source from these SlideShare images, but I found them to be extremely valuable. When I began my own work with my own shame, it felt bad of course. I wondered why I "felt so bad" when "I don't think I really did anything wrong." And I don't mean I've never lied or disappointed someone or made a poor choice. OF COURSE I have done all of those things. I meant that sometimes I feel like I'm doing good things, kind things, making smart choices, and I still feel SHAME. Why in the world am I feeling shame when I "act right" and make kind, intentional choices? I quickly learned that we can be just as shamed for doing GOOD as we can for doing BAD. (Excuse all grammar rules here - just go with me). I can be a good girl and be shamed for it. I can be the best in the room (at a sport, in a class, on a project, or at work) and be shamed for it. Am I crazy and causing myself all this shame or do other children and adults actually shame us when we excel? The truth is BOTH. We receive messaging from infancy to the grave that shape our responses. These messages come from our loved ones and from strangers. Today, they often come from avatars on a screen in the devilish device in our hands. The messages come from television and advertisements. They even come from our beloved children. Are other people TRYING to shame us? Probably not. But they may be full of shame themselves, so it's a language in which they are fluent. OR, they don't know how to handle their own emotions and we are the nearest punching bag. It's all complicated. It is layered. It is old and it is new. None of it feels good. As part of my own shame work, I was asked to draw my own shame creature. I think this is an excellent exercise for anyone. I included the most shaming statements I have received from strangers and well-meaning loved ones. So here I am, undressing on the internet and showing you my boo-boos. It is scary to be this vulnerable, but I want to do and feel better. I don't want to push the shame button of anyone I love, especially the sweet souls fast asleep under my own roof right now as I type this. So here goes.
In order to plan for 2022, I first had to complete my 2021 yearly review. Be sure to block off at least 30 minutes to complete that task. It is a worthy investment of your time. I have detailed each step for the yearly review process here: 2022 planning- what I KNOW for sure is on the books: January
***I did not include my own health appts***. that list is too long 🤪 Once you have crafted your year-at-a-glance, start plugging dates into your Google calendar and/or paper planner. Consider the goals you set during your goal-setting session (my post on goal-setting linked below). Try to plug in some of your goals into your year-at-a-glance during the month in which you think it might occur. Examples include: - Health: run a 5k - go ahead and find a 5k in your area and list it in the month ahead; remind yourself to register in the previous month - Fun: game night with the girls- go ahead and find a Saturday you can host and plug it in your calendar and create the Facebook event so you'll remember to invite people or they can go ahead and save the date - Personal development: book that conference you want to attend, start saving for it, plug it into your calendar, and set a few reminders before the actual conference date, go ahead and ask a friend if you want someone to attend with you -Home: your fence needs to be painted so go ahead and slate the month you plan to do it; plug it into your calendar; get estimates if you're hiring it out or price your own materials if you plan to do it yourself You can see by my rather extensive list that some months are simply TOO BUSY to tackle a home project or Girls Weekend. Looking at your year-at-a-glance in a list format like this is THE BEST way to future-plan in my experience. Calendars are great, but this really shows how crowded some months can be. I can do an entire post on the month of May and its insanity. May and December have become nothing short of a circus for most parents in America, and I happen to have national nurse's day and a child with a birthday that month to boot. Hopefully, this overview of my year-at-a-glance planning technique will give you some clarity for your year ahead. You may skim through my list and think, No Way Jose, I am NOT going to even think about any of that stuff until I need to think about it. As someone who struggles with anxiety, however, I like to know what's ahead of me. Yes, I still have my minutes, hours, days of complete and total overwhelm which end in a long Netflix binge with a bowl of microwave popcorn or some random unnecessary online shopping stint. We each numb in our own ways. 🤪
I encourage you to give this yearly overview planning process a try. 2020 and 2021 were a ball of fear, disappointment, grief, cancelled plans, confused children, learning gaps, and strained marriages and friendships (for many different reasons). We were all cooped up with people we may or may not like doing things we may not have ever done before. We weren't sure who to believe or what to do. I see a light at the end of that horrible tunnel, so maybe a little navigation and forethought will help us all. Godspeed. Motherhood. It sounds official, important, and majestic. And IT IS. BUT - motherhood - being a MOTHER - is a constant, daily, exhausting, never-ending, rollercoaster of a job that has zero degrees or certifications as preparation and the measuring stick seems to move daily. Who is measuring? My boys? The world? My husband? Social media? The boys' future therapists? ME? Let all that soak in for a few moments and then we will dig into this crazy ride called motherhood. Being a mother is definitely my greatest JOY in life. I have wanted to be a mom since I was a very young girl setting up mock classrooms in my garage for neighborhood children (#truestory) and naming my children in big bubble letters in my third-grade spiral notebook. I babysat my entire neighborhood it seemed, and I was going to be a mom as soon as I got married and worked 2 years as a nurse. I would be 24 and my life would be perfect. Then life happened. For lots of reasons, and over many years, I thought motherhood was not in the cards for me. I was devastated. I wasn't sure what life would be without ME being a mom. I was destined to be a mother, right? That was the PLAN. I live by and stick to the PLAN. Fast-forward to age 34 and my first baby boy was born screaming, dreaming, and wild, and he hasn't stopped any of those yet! His 8 year old brother was waiting on him in the waiting room bursting with excitement. 2 years later, God gave me the sweetest, big-hearted, most mellow fellow in the universe and God's plans for me and my motherhood journey were complete. All those nights I looked to the starlit heavens with tears in my eyes wondering when it would be my turn ended. All those Happy Mother's Day cards and texts I sent out with awkward responses like "um, thank you- hope you have a good day too" were over. Some women may say motherhood doesn't define them or isn't their purpose. I do love other things. I enjoy hobbies and my career and a good live band or a breeze on a boat. I will sit on any cabin deck in the mountains and drink any cup of coffee if it's made right. But being a mother is and will always be my MOST IMPORTANT JOB. And every time I look at my green-eyed boy with the world's longest eyelashes acting on stage, or admire the kind, responsible young man my step-son has become, or listen to my big-blue-eyed baby boy tell me how he wants to help someone in need, the world drifts away. Nothing else matters. If I had never made a proper diagnosis, helped someone who was in pain, or received any trophy, plaque, or ribbon for my efforts, I would be just fine. My real work is being done every single day and will continue until I leave this Earth. Those 3 boys are my purpose in life. Thank you, Jesus, for answering my prayers in Your way on Your time. HERE ARE 14 LESSONS I LEARNED IN MY FIRST DECADE OF MOTHERHOOD. I'M NOW IN MY SECOND DECADE, BUT I'VE HAD MOST OF THESE DOWN FOR A LITTLE WHILE NOW.
I think each of these lessons deserves a little more detail. I really had no trouble thinking of these, since they have honestly been LESSONS LEARNED. These are all things I literally did not know until I knew. And what you don't know, well... it's just better that you know these. 🤷♀️
My own mother told me many years ago that motherhood would be both the hardest and the MOST IMPORTANT job I would ever have. She has never been a step-mother. She has never been through a divorce and tried to navigate a second marriage with a man who was also navigating a second marriage. She has what some might call a wonderful, life-long, high-school-sweetheart partnership that is still going strong over 50 years later. She had 2 smart kids who were active in sports and music and for the most part well-behaved. She wasn't working as a nurse practitioner bringing work home every night, and she wasn't commuting over 8 hours every week. And she still said it was the hardest. And the most important. Odds are that I don't know you. I don't know how many people live in your house or what kind of childhood you had. I don't know how many times you've been hurt or who exactly caused your pain. I don't know how demanding your job is or if you even work outside the home. I don't know if you struggled to get pregnant or if you have more children than you ever intended. Your family may be blended or straight out of Southern Living. It doesn't matter. If you're reading this, you are most likely a parent, probably a female, and if I were a betting woman, I would bet you are exhausted. You are overwhelmed. You are lonely. You are bored if we are being 100% honest. You are under-appreciated and overworked. And you wanted to know you're not alone. I declare from my Georgia basement with my ice-pack on my already-arthritic knee, you are NOT alone. I am with you. My own mama with her cookie cutter textbook family was with you and is still with you. This is hard work. And it's WORTH IT. I hope this article brought you some comfort, whimsy, new ideas, or peace. Just remember wherever you are, I am with you. I'm only halfway to 18 on my youngest, so we can hang out for quite a while yet. 🤪 Godspeed. Please help support my fellow hope*writers' work by reading their posts using the prompt word "fourteen"... :
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year: 14 Things I Love About the Holidays by Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/the-most-wonderful-time-of-the-year 14 Truths about Love by Sharla Hallett www.sharlahallett.com/14-truths-about-love/ Fourteen Adjectives to Cultivate in Kids by Jessica Haberman https://storytellerfarm.com/fourteen-adjectives-to-cultivate-in-kids/ 14 Parenting Tips to Raise Strong, Independent Kids by Ashley Olivine https://louvaria.com/14-parenting-tips/ I see it every year. It starts around the first week of November and it lasts through the middle of January. The holiday blues. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve actually slowed down enough to think about trends in my practice. Sure there is an actual diagnosis of seasonal affective disorder, but this is different. This is deeper. This is hard. And here’s how I see it every day for two months straight in my exam rooms: Me: Hey Mrs. Jones - it is so good to see you. I know we had to zoom for our last visit. What’s new in your life? Are you ready for Christmas? Do you have to cook for Thanksgiving? Are y’all going anywhere? Mrs Jones: oh you know, I will be cooking for the family for Thanksgiving. And the children and the grandchildren may stop by for Christmas. No... I don’t go anywhere. I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. Anyway how are your boys? Are they ready for Christmas? Do you have to cook for Thanksgiving? Me: oh yes I will be making my Mammaw’s dressing, sweet potato casserole from an old Birmingham recipe from one of my mother’s friend’s mothers, my layered salad that a nurse I used to work with taught me how to make. Gosh that was over 25 years ago now. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. Daddy will fry the turkey and my husband will fix the ham and a peanut butter pie. Mama will make the deviled eggs and the Waldorf salad. I will make my mother-in-law‘s corn bean casserole and some homemade mashed potatoes. Of course we will have rolls and cranberry sauce. Another blank stare. I haven’t seen my mother-in-law in over five years. The boys? Oh yes, they are more than ready for Christmas. We got them a matchbox Advent calendar they can’t wait to get started on. They’re growing up so fast. Blank stare. Obvious reflection. The oldest will be home from the Air Force. He and his girlfriend will be together the whole time I’m sure. I smile. But I’m nearly in tears. What is going on? And we sit for a moment. Two women born of different decades and sometimes different skin colors who have lived two very different lives at the outsider’s glance, but are so alike on the inside that it’s haunting. Her daughter is sitting beside her. They look and act so much alike it makes me smile from the inside out. I’m sure that’s what people say when they see me with my mother. I don’t have a daughter. Will my boys take care of me? Alright, get it together Amy. We finish out our actual medical visit and say our go-to goodbyes: Happy Holidays. Y’all be safe. Call me if you need me. And now, after ALL these years, I often hear “you know I love you.” And I believe it’s true. It’s not forced. It’s been earned. Is it against the rules? No, not my rules it’s not. Truth be told, I love her too. Maybe because I see myself in her and I’m cheering for myself in my old age. I’m giving myself a head start and saving myself a seat. I’ve practiced in Kentucky and in Georgia. I worked in a nursing home for six years and then made rounds as a nurse practitioner in that very same nursing home. I’m an old soul myself so I think I draw my elderly patients in and they stick. I stick to them too, and I think they know it. I’ve had so many Mrs. Jones over my 17 years. I’ve had Mr. Jones and Little Johnny Jones or Little Sally Jones as well, but I am so connected to Mrs. Jones that I can almost finish her sentence. Now I’m driving home and this 2 Lane Highway surrounded by trees and cows and horses makes me feel like I could be in any of the four states I’ve lived. It’s familiar and so are these thoughts. I’m a little girl in my childhood home with my brother and my parents and we just came home from candlelight Christmas Eve service and mama made lasagna. I haven’t really been hurt yet. I don’t know what it feels like to love somebody besides my family. I feel safe and secure and like I can do anything in this world. How did Mrs. Jones feel at this age? How did you feel at 10 years old? Now I’m driving home from Tuscaloosa with Delta Zeta on my back windshield. My finals are over. I get to see my boyfriend. I’m taking pre-med classes as well as a full nursing load, but I’ve been hurt by now. I’ve been disappointed and lied to by some people I trusted. But it’s the holidays you see, and I still feel like I’ve got a handle on things. I wonder what Mrs. Jones was doing at 20 years old? Had you been hurt by then? Oh wow. I didn’t really see this coming. Or did I? I’m sitting alone in my first marital home. Half my furniture is gone. Someone I love deeply told me I don't really need a Christmas tree this year because "it's just you." Am I not enough for a tree? Who am I by myself anyway? I’m driving to Georgia for Christmas. I don’t think I’ve ever been this sad in my life. I wonder what Mrs. Jones was doing when she was 30 years old? Was her heart broken like mine? Was yours? Gather around now. It’s time to eat. My baby boy is four years old and can’t seem to stop smiling. God gave him to me for sure. The first one I carried is six and almost as smart as I am. The one I didn’t carry but I’ve fed and loved now for seven years is sitting right next to me. Is he thinking about his mama? Will he ever see her again? Tiny pieces of my heart crumble for him. I just started taking prednisone for an incurable autoimmune disease I had to look up on the Internet. Lord have mercy and I really do mean "please Lord have some mercy." I’m only about 3 1/2 weeks into a lifelong diagnosis and I don’t know what the future holds. I’m scared. I’m sad. Merry Christmas y’all. It’s the holidays, right? I wonder how old Mrs. Jones was when she first questioned her mortality? How old were you? Were you 40 years old like me with a child in pre-K, one in first grade, and one silently falling apart right in front of you? You see that’s what the holiday blues are. They are every heartbreak and broken promise. They are all the fears and all the lost relationships. They are that empty seat at the table. The phone that barely rings. They are the one that got away and the one that stayed too long. They are your mother, your father, and your children. They are every husband you’ve ever had. How can they not be? We can’t erase our memories. I don’t have a cure for the holiday blues. I think they’re part of life. Mrs. Jones might tell me they get better with each decade or she might tell me they grow and take up more space than we should allow. I’m scared to ask her. None of us even talk about it really. We just say Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, y’all be safe. So this is my letter to you at age 45. Some heartaches of mine have healed and some are still there. I don’t think we should only remember the good times because that’s not what made us. It’s certainly not what made me today sitting right here baring my soul and giving you the permission to bare yours. Acknowledge the things that built you. Godspeed. This goes out to every Mrs. Jones that has ever allowed me to know her. She is me and I am her. And I thank God for that. I am the mother of THREE boys! Three boys who will all become young men with driver's licenses and whom will require car insurance. I predict they will be as busy as Husband and I were in high school between work and school activities, so I envision a used car lot in my driveway. Boys are EXPENSIVE to insure, and two of mine are only 20 months apart in age. That said, Mommy needed a gameplan for CARS (or trucks if you live in Georgia like we do). I knew that college savings needed to be different from a car fund, and I have always been a Dave Ramsey fan. I remembered Dave saying that he would match whatever his children saved for a vehicle, and I really liked that idea. I wasn't 100% sure what I was doing, but I wanted to have an account open to at least get started. I will lay out how I use the car fund system in our household. The boys have never known any differently than this, so it has worked well. If you are starting this with older children, there might be some mutiny and a learning curve at the beginning.
A few closing thoughts:
I hope you consider starting a car fund. You can even use these tips if you don't have children. Use them for yourself! All of us can benefit from these basic principles. Happy Saving and Godspeed. I started these accounts for my boys when Braden was a baby, Jake was 2, and Cameron was 10. This just shows I practice what I preach and it has worked well for our family. Best of luck as you save for your kiddos! Less Stress is Always Best!!! Hey, I know you. I share a bed, a remote, and a living room with you. I ride in the front seat with you. I talk to you numerous times a day about kids and groceries and logistics. I know how you take your coffee and what you like on your pizza. But, do I know you right now, at this very moment, 12 years in, more or less than I did say 10 years ago? BEFORE our conversations revolved around schedules and pickups and homework. I know I have changed in the last 12 years. Surely you have as well? Have I asked? Have I noticed? Have you seen the changes in me? Have you noticed? Are we giving each other what we need? (my therapist is ALWAYS in my ear- "tell them what you NEED Amy! tell that person what you NEED.") Every year we try to take a trip sans kiddos to regroup, reconnect, unplug, and just have fun together. It is a WORTHY investment (time and money) in a marriage or relationship. Parenting is hard! Adulting is hard! Marriage is hard! Sure, some people make it look easy, but let's leave them out of it and talk about the real work that staying married involves. We usually try some "games" or conversation starters to break our habit of only talking about our kids, our jobs, or our day-to-day frustrations. Sometimes we play "would you rather?". Here are some of the ones we asked this last date night:
Wait, what just happened? We soon realized that the frivolous conversations led to deeper ones and that was the eventual goal anyway, BUT had we ever really talked about any of these things? We have not crossed into some of those territories personally, but we have witnessed other loved ones facing different challenges. Those various challenges have seemed more frequent as we age, or perhaps our reservoirs of empathy grow deeper with maturity and life experience. To be quite frank, husband and I had not attended many funerals together prior to the last 2-3 years. We were busy attending weddings or baby showers. That dress with heels and coat and tie now have a different destination it seems. And so it goes. This weekend we've discussed our future grandparent names, how we picture retirement for each of us individually as well as together, and trips we plan to take. We have discussed aging parents and various family caregiving scenarios. Our first few "just us" getaways involved naps and recovery from pure exhaustion and planning out toddler birthday parties, Halloween costume ideas, or Santa ideas. Now we are brainstorming passive income ideas, retirement goals, and our own personal dreams and desires. We are transforming, both together and separately, from Mom & Dad, to 2 people with our own passions, fears, and personal insecurities. I am by no means a marriage expert.
I have seen a beautiful example of marriage in my parents and some of my other family members. Husband and I have each had a failed marriage prior to this one, so we know how painful divorce is and we are each way too stubborn to go down without a fight. I'm not writing this as a beacon of marital bliss, but rather as a tired working mom in the thick of motherhood, menopause, and midlife (try having kids in your mid-30's) 😜. I am writing this as an imperfect, hard-to-please, bleeding-heart woman married to an imperfect, hard-headed, scared-of-abandonment man that didn't see the example of marriage that I saw growing up. We are actually two scared-of-being-vulnerable humans bound together by beautiful boys and God, fate, the universe - but we, too, are still trying to figure it all out. If you find yourself still figuring it all out, it's OKAY. Stay the course. My Uncle Don told me one time many years ago, "Amy, you know how to stay married, right? long pause. You just never leave. Neither of you. You stay and you don't leave." Time and space apart can sometimes be good for a marriage. They can allow room to think and heal. But time TOGETHER has been our best strategy. Make your marriage a priority. Make your spouse a priority. He or she is a worthy investment. You can read all the books and try all the counseling, but sometimes you just need TIME together and conversations that bring you closer than you thought you might ever be. Godspeed. |