Pastors, your Mother's Day stuff is nice and all buuut....

I have friends who skip church for Mother's Day because of you.
After being told she's less of a woman by people who were supposed to be on her side, your decision to have mothers stand and be honored or prayed over by the congregation has driven her decision. Even 50 some-odd years later, my father still grieves the loss of a child, and then the other loss 30ish years ago. My FATHER, a man, who is supposed to apparently be stoic and push aside *his* grief. My own husband is having a difficult time of it himself. My best friend's grandmother had a loss in the 60s, and the doctor was anything but compassionate toward her. She told him to never say that crap again and he was not to return to her room. He returned the next day with more of the same junk, and she threw a bar of soap at his head. She is 50+ years out from that loss, it still burns with an indescribable ache, and she was one of the ones who suffered in silence all these years. Women like her are why I have my big mouth and why I refuse to keep it shut.

So, pastors, get creative. Get compassionate. Get your congregation involved. Get them talking. Get them to understand the pain. Get them to show love to the women with empty arms, even if they also have full ones.

I will keep it simple and share these links with you, because they say it so much better than I could or would. 

http://www.messymiddle.com/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/
http://www.messymiddle.com/Beyond-the-surface-of-mothering

I am NOT saying skip the celebrating of mothers. I am saying shift a couple gears and rework it. I'm saying that while you're celebrating mothers in May and fathers in June, that you plan for October to honor the reason parents grieve too. I'm saying you've got noble intentions, and there is room to make it better. Believe me, word will get out that you do something awesome for the moms-of-a-different-sort, and you will build your community and have a group of women who are going to wrap their arms around newly-grieving families so that they do not suffer in silence like my friend's grandmother and countless other women, or like my father and husband.

Daylight and diapers

Again, with the preference for the instant gratification of being on crackbook and the feedback I get over there.

It's been a crazy few months with taking care of my dad, then him being tired of being here and going to my sister's house. Dealing with him is more exhausting than dealing with a toddler. At least with a toddler, you can redirect and reframe things. With an elderly adult having dementia, they.are.not.budging.no.matter.what.you.try. Plus he helped install the buttons, she he can find them easier than the kids do. Mad props to anyone who works with elderly, or has a caretaker role of the kind.

The ability to breathe again has made me realize that I was whiny when I didn't want to take the kids to the store with me. I still prefer to go alone, but I don't bemoan schlepping kids as much - except when my 5 year old has been on Spring Break and not having a big enough outlet to expend energy. Taking her with me added about 45 minutes to the journey, and prompted me to get cranky.

And in my cloth diapering adventures, a product I use broke. I contacted the company about replacing it under their warranty, and was asked about using a new product. I'm certainly amenable to beta testing things. If the product can withstand my brute force crew, and our distinct lack of dainty-floweredness, then I will gladly talk about it. I have been tossing around the idea of creating another blog page specifically for product reviews anyway.

I recently posted a picture on Facebook of my drying rack full of diapers sunbleaching in the front of my house which faces West and gets more hours of sunlight than my well-shaded back yard. It apparently created an uproar with a neighbor. If you're a reader of my blog, you know I did not give a rip that this person took issue with it. It just means the connection with that individual got relegated to the next concentric circle away from the center of my people. I value experiences and insight from those around me. What I do NOT value is condescending opinion of how I should be doing things in my household, or opinions from others who do not take active part in my day to day living. I value people who are heart-in and hands-on with regards to our friendship. The fact that I have a better friendship with some people online elsewhere who I've never met, than I have with some of the people geographically nearest me is sad. It's not for my lack of trying. I do try to make person-to-person connection with people. The problems start with my shooting from the hip, but to put it nicely, I am authentic. Then it continues with my hybrid traditional/modern approach, because some people can not handle a blend when they want all one way or another. In short, I am too weird to be normal, but too normal to be truly weird.

I am comfortable in my own skin, and have been able to discern people fairly quickly in their motives and what kind of behavior I expect from them. I do my version of me really well, and that is what draws the kind of people to me who appreciate it. The ones who don't usually end up looking foolish in the end anyway by their own actions.

My welcome? Wha?

When I re-start my search for a job, my resume will include "FIRM grasp of the English language and grammar, including appropriate punctuation, contractions, and spelling"
This is just one of the bazillion I've seen already in the course of dealing with the people tasked with the administrative segment of dad's care.

Unspeakable Acts

Yesterday, 2 people in 2 different countries killed large groups of children.

Of course, amid speculation about the perpetrators of these evil acts, there's a bunch of screaming for gun control, better access to mental health care, you name it. People are yelling for it.

Here's a nugget for you folks out there who think there should be more or less of anything.

JUST FREAKING BE POLITE TO PEOPLE!! Stop being jerks. You being an asswipe to someone that afternoon could potentially be the last straw in their crappy day and you send them over the edge. Remember me talking about my husband's friend that killed himself? THAT is an example. If one person had chosen their words more cautiously, that sailor might not be dead, and friends mourning that horrific loss.

Let me demonstrate the opposite. I half-jokingly say all the time that I mistreat all the kids that come to my house just the same. If you're here when we're cleaning, working, doing yardwork, whatever - we are going to put you to work with us. I treat the kids' friends like I treat my own kids. Borrowed Billy practically lives here more time than at his own house. He loves being here, because he learns something new every day in our house. I never thought twice about sharing knowledge with my kids because that's what my dad always did with his 6 kids. It never occurred to me to not do that. How are they supposed to learn how to function in the world if we don't do that? Not sharing your knowledge with your kids leads to them being financially taken advantage of because they don't know something like how to tell if you need new tires, or your oil is too low, or your water heater only needs a new heating element or sacrificial annode rod versus full replacement. It leads to kids getting credit cards as soon as they turn 18 and student loans when they head off to college, then suffering the burden of being saddled with debt for the entirety of their adult lives. They get to retire into poverty because they couldn't save any cash for their old age. Borrowed Billy is an example of what happens when you're not an asswipe to someone. He's going to head into adulthood with knowledge he wouldn't have gotten at home, and be able to live his life differently than he would have if he hadn't taken up residence on my futon.

A few years ago a friend asked if his girlfriend could stay with us. She lived in what he described as a total trash-life situation. I told him I had to meet her first. If I'd had any hinky feelings, she wouldn't have lived with us. I saw a girl who felt lost and like she was always doomed to living like her family did. I didn't even know she was still 17, and legally her mother could have caused us all kinds of trouble. Thankfully she did not. Like with Borrowed Billy, I treated her pretty much the same way I treated my own. We held her to a standard appropriate for her age, and she did fabulously living with us. It was my husband's friend that mucked up things, but that's water under the bridge. Ours was the first example of a normal relationship she'd ever seen. She had always seen various abuses around her, and that's all she knew. She had new hope that she didn't have to be destined to live like the others in her family tree. We eventually parted ways, but a few years later she popped up in an IM to say hi. She thanked me for letting her live with us, and showing her that she could have a better life. She said that we gave her love and care and that nobody ever did that before. She made me cry. All I did was just help her meet her basic needs, and give her a hand when she was stuck. It as all I knew how to do, because that's how I was taught to treat people.

Common sense and human decency are two lost arts, to the point that they are now superpowers because so few people have and use those tools in their interactions. So when people are acting out evil atrocities such as happened in 2 places yesterday, everyone gets mad and starts muppet-flailing about how things need to change and rules need to be more stringent. How about holding your kids accountable for their actions from a young age instead of telling the teacher "not my child", or "My baby wouldn't do that!" or "why didn't you give my child a passing grade?". What you should have said was "I'm sorry my child did that, and I will discipline him/her at home" (and then DO IT, holding yourself to the discipline too), or asking "what was my child doing, who else was my child with, what else were the other kids doing, and who was supervising them?" and sort out the facts of the situation before calling "not it". It just might have been your kid doing the misdeeds after all. And your child didn't get a passing grade because your child didn't study for that test or do that project themselves. Teachers are NOT stupid. They know when you do the project for your child. If I were a teacher and got the idea a parent did the work, I'd be inclined to giving a failing grade, just because it's not the STUDENT'S OWN WORK. Aren't you lucky I'm not your child's teacher. Only once in Evil Genius' entire school career, did I side with him. ONCE. He knew I was going to side with the teacher because I was always teaching him that the teacher gets my vote initially. I met with her and gave her the benefit of the doubt, till I learned that she ascribes to the teaching method of "no straggler left behind", disallowing the accelerated students in aiding the stragglers to catch up with the other end of the spectrum. She did the entire class a major disservice. It was in the middle of that conference my vote moved and I sided with my son, because that teacher really didn't deserve my support after that.

And then I'm seeing in my crackbook feed the things like "why would someone have three guns in their house if they knew their adult son was mentally ill?"

To that, I say this:
The second amendment does not, and should not, specify that you have to be deemed mentally fit to safely own and operate a weapon. Nor should it stipulate restrictions if you have any form of disability or mental health challenges in anyone in your household. Just because you have a family member that has any of that, it does not mean that they are unable to grasp the gravity of handling a weapon, or the consequences of its use. Mentally and emotionally handicapped people CAN LEARN. When people stop making asinine generalizations and having overreaching kneejerk reactions, and wait a minute till we get all the facts in situations like this, then and only then can appropriate steps be taken to mitigate the atrocities.
I suppose if we use all that same line of logic, then knives sharper than a rounded butter knife should be made illegal too since the loon in another country stabbed a bunch of kids too.

Stop being a ninny and hold yourself, your friends, your children, your coworkers and your leaders accountable for their poor choices. The government can't babysit everybody, nor have they demonstrated that they can successfully handle what they already have. Why the hell would we want them nosing into how many boogers are in your collective noses?

Just be civil to each other, help without expecting anything in return, hold yourself and your kids accountable for actions and choices, and share your knowledge without fear of other people knowing what's in your head. You can't change the collective world till you change your own self, and inspire others to change their own selves. When you have enough people that do things differently on their own, you will start seeing a shift in how society behaves in general.

Anyone smell smoke?

Dad scared us with some elderly electrolyte losses that were looking like a stroke...Older sis called me saying she was worried about dad...nevermind our youngest sister LIVES THERE with him. SO I had to dispatch 2 youngest kids to check on dad and get him back in shape. Lord knows I'm in no condition to go running across town to rescue him. Meanwhile I called the Oldest Sis who's having some minor surgery in the morning, and left a message for her...gah, I hope she doesn't stress out about him when she really needs to be taking care of herself. It turns out Dad was volunteering, as his usual Thursday fun, at the bread mission today in the heat. Then his cheapskate self refuses to turn on any ceiling fans or the window AC units so he can save electricity, so his house was NINTEY freaking degrees INSIDE when it was 83 degrees on the OUTSIDE. He claims it's comfortable. Stubborn ass mule. I call BS! He's had "three gallons" of water, and enough food, but he's old and his potassium, sodium etc were out of whack and Aunt R the nurse helped us get him squared away. She was fairly spot on that his electrolyte balance was anything but balanced. She said that too much water actually flushes out the electrolytes, and dad is just too much a cheapskate to buy gatorade. And he's drinking too much coffee.
I swear if it's not my 16 year old son stressing me out, it's my 82 year old father. Attention whores. Can't let me be the focus just a few months? Geeez.

The oven is still baking a baby, but it's baking past the due date. Shouldn't there be some kind of alarm that sounds when something overbakes? I mean when I use the oven and something's been in there too long, there is a smell of smoke, and then a noisy alarm sounds to tell me I got stupid and distracted, and I need to go take the stuff out of the oven. Baby-bakers don't come with such equipment in the womb.

Well if she's not done baking by the weekend, she's getting evicted from the oven Monday. The heat source is needed for other things too and she just can't be hogging it for herself. I finished my last round of service calls for the time being, and walked all week (yay for hips popping back into place last month!) in hopes of helping Thumper find the exit. We'll see if it helps.

God's just teaching me patience. It doesn't take rocket surgery to know that.

It's good to know your mother well

There are quirks about me that I inherited from my mother. Most notably is the one relating to first thing in the morning. I'm just like my mother in that regard, except less unpleasant looking. Just give me several minutes to become coherent, and preferably wait till I've had at least half a cup of coffee before talking to me about anything. For instance, my father went with us to my in-laws for Christmas last year. After sleeping on a fold out sofa, I needed some stretching and strong coffee to wake up and deal with well over a dozen humans crammed into a double wide trailer in South Carolina. Granted, that place is larger than my 1100 sq ft but more bodies equals fewer square feet per person. In any case, my father rises before the sun, as gerontological quirks require fewer hours of sleep. I peeled myself out of the bed at what I think is a fairly reasonable hour (8:30ish) and went about my routine for waking. After visiting the water closet, I tottered into the kitchen to get my java, all while my cheery father was repeatedly saying good morning to me, and trying to ask how I slept, and other attempts at conversation. I kept waving him off with a grunt, much like my mother (and his wife for 33+ years) did any time he attempted to talk to her that soon. He either didn't get the hint or didn't recognize the gestures and noise.
My sons tried to tell him. My nephew tried to tell him. It was all to no avail. Finally my oldest said "Grandpa, for everyone's safety, do NOT talk to her until she's had coffee and speaks to you first. Seriously, it's dangerous if you try to talk to her before she is fully awake." My father responded with "ah, ohh-kaaay" with a hint of personal offense taken by my lack of desire to talk to him. The man watched me and as I tipped the mug back for the near-final swig, he tried talking to me again, asking if it was safe to greet me. I shook my head no. The coffee wasn't strong enough, and would require a second one. It made me very grateful that I was able to convey to my children the understanding of my quirks, especially the first-thing-in-the-morning deal. I didn't want to be like that, but in all honesty I just don't move fast in the morning.
Fast forward to today. My neighborhood association had a yard sale last week that was essentially rained out, so they quickly decided to do it again this weekend. I spaced out about it, even though i wanted to go scope it out, if nothing else to look at other people's clutter they were trying to pawn off on the rest of the world. Again I move slow in the morning, and slower when I'm not completely healthy. We ended up going over there as the last 3 people were packing up to go back home. My son the Beast, trailed along after the episode of NCIS he was watching ended, while Clone and I were already done. He snagged himself a couple 1000 piece puzzles (insert motherly eyeroll here) a PS2 game, and a mug. He came to show it to me and upon returning it, the mug's seller saw him with it and told him to just take it. He's excited about free stuff (it's genetic, my apologies). He brought it over to show me and yes, it rather aptly describes me in the mornings. But he's unwilling to let me have this mug, tells me to get my own.

birthdays

Yesterday I was too busy enjoying the quiet to blog about a significant event in my family. Then my people crawled out from atop their mattresses and the quiet ceased. And it ceased till around midnight when my people were sent packing back to their quarters. Then I had to use brain cells that were lacking the ability to be used for my job as household executive manager. Quiet is no fun when you have to THINK while tired. In any case, yesterday was my father's 81st birthday, and his brother's 85th. Yes, you were not mistaken, I did not hit an 8 when I was reaching for its neighbor. It has been EIGHTY ONE and EIGHTY FIVE years those two souls have been on the Earth. Yes, they share a birthday, four years apart. Their parents' anniversary was four years before my uncle was born as well. Dad says Grandpa was a mathematician...in actuality, it was Grandma that had a very regular cycle. And NO my dad is not really my grandfather, like so many kids asked when I was younger. I completely tired of hearing that question quickly. He was nearing 50 when I was born...and even still there were two more after I arrived. Three more if you count the miscarriage Mom had. In any case, my sister went out Wednesday and got Dad a big beer to commemorate a little early. We were all on the phone together for quite a while, and Dad got the 22 ounce beer consumed in about 30 minutes. I quoted my father when I said "Old sots never die" and my sister added "and new ones don't stop". She then asked where that one originated, so I told her the New Year's story of how we took Dad to a party the first New Years after Mom died so he wouldn't be alone. We come from hardy Irish stock, and we know how to use it. Happy Birthday Dad & Uncle J. .... and Slainte.

Mouth of babe moments

*It's been a crazy week around my household. Dad's still in the hospital, but should be moving to a rehab facility in a day or two. His gall bladder was gangrened and so they couldn't do the surgery laproscopically. He's got a nice scar forming across the top of his abdomen. He's not happy about all this stuff either. He's been really down in the dumps. And a pain in the butt about food. Yes it's nasty but good grief he needs to eat something or he really won't get better. But I shouldn't rant so much about my dad.

I took him some banana bread muffins this afternoon so he could eat SOMETHING. While I was baking a batch, I sat at the desk and I forget what made me say it, but I said "dammit". My daughter who's sadly witnessed far worse things exiting my mouth pointed to her head from above herself and said "heeeeey! you said a bad word in front of the little kid." I promptly cackled like a hyena at the amusement she lent the moment.

Then while we were at the hospital dad's "barf city" dinner arrived. My daughter didn't like the smell of it and stood on the outside of the door, in the doorway. We tried to get her in the room and in her melodramatic tone she said "I can't stand it. I need fresh air from the smell of that food!"

I have *no idea* where my daughter gets this stuff..... really, I don't. HONEST


My oldest was online tonight and being impatient, assumes I've met my demise when I don't answer tuit suite. There was an exchage between us that actually amused me....

DAW (12:01:37 AM): yep (he answered my question while I wasn't looking)
DAW (12:05:49 AM): mom???
DAW (12:08:40 AM): ur dead
MOM (12:10:10 AM): lol
MOM (12:10:12 AM): nope
MOM (12:10:15 AM): i'm blogging
DAW (12:10:25 AM): eeewww
DAW (12:10:29 AM): loser
MOM (12:10:37 AM): pbbbbbt
DAW (12:10:46 AM): ;alksjfd;aslkdfj;asldkjf
DAW (12:10:54 AM): take that
MOM (12:11:21 AM): oooh
MOM (12:11:26 AM): you really hurt my pride there
DAW (12:13:34 AM): i know im lyk lyk idk
MOM (12:14:26 AM): *eyeroll*
DAW (12:14:45 AM): grrr..... do not mock me old one
DAW (12:14:52 AM): lol j/k ilove you
MOM (12:17:08 AM): rofl

THIS one is the child that is going to end up choosing my nursing home - mothers just KNOW these kinds of things....I'm soooo screwed in a few decades. SO screwed.

Meanwhile the middle child provided me no entertainment what so ever. He's useless to me and subsequently he will be promptly terminated first thing in the morning.