Saturday, May 25, 2013

Sometimes, it takes a village....

The hubs & I were talking this morning. 

We do that a lot. 

Talk, when we have the chance that is. 

When you've got three other people running roughshod over your life & your home, sometimes it's really difficult to get a word in edgewise.  But, either way, we were talking about the boy's baseball game last night which led into a talk about parents and then onto our youngest daughter's graduation and then onto the middle daughter. 

(as I write this my two girls are swatting at each other:  One with her graduation cap from pre-school graduation and the other with a dishtowel as she's taking an untimely break from drying the dishes and putting them away)

But all of this talk of parents, teachers, loved ones, etc got me thinking about how it truly does take a village to raise our kids.  And while we're not always so receptive to certain 'teachers' in their lives (Ie their peers, the media, social networks, disgruntled/pessimistic influences), there are lessons with every person they encounter.

This past week our youngest graduated from preschool and had a major dental procedure done.  She came through both with flying colors but not without a few bumps and bruises.  People asked, people were concerned.

Our middle child, who doesn't always have life's easiest row to hoe (she's the quintessential middle child, honestly, and boy do we have our days) and has had a tough week, but there are people who give her rides home from school and listen to her.  I can't say how awesome it is to have this woman listen to my daughter and be a great influence on her and that she cares to listen.  It's amazing.

The boy.   That kid.  He's getting bigger and older and his problems aren't something I can put bacitracin on along with a band aid and shoo him on his way anymore.  But, he has people around him who listen and enable him in the best ways.

I guess my point is, sometimes throughout life I've closed myself off to people because it was easier to insulate myself against experiences that I didn't want to be in.  There are negative and hurtful people that don't want anything but you to be unhappy too.

But in the past year, I've found a group of women who have done nothing but remind what it is like to be part of a 'village'. 

They engaged, they were present, they listen, they share, and they make my heart feel better about having a group of friends that I can go to with problems whether they be something as small as learning how to make cinnamon rolls or something as frustrating as parenting teenagers.  They make me laugh when I don't wanna laugh.  They make me smile.  They make me cry.  They share things; their secrets, their fears, their joys, their sorrows.

And they remind me that with all of the bad things out there, there is so much good to be had too.  We just have to have the courage to let all of it in.  The good and the bad.

I don't want my kids to miss out on some awesome people because they were too afraid to try, ya know?  This is their time and this is their 'village' and while it's not always the best one, it's still a good one. 

I'll leave you with something I heard not too long ago while I was lying on the couch watching a movie with my daughters and it brought a tear to my eye. 

From the movie Lilo & Stitch:  "This is my Family.  It's little and it's broken, but still good.  Yeah, good."

Just remember, it doesn't have to be perfect.  It just has to be good. 

Sunday, May 19, 2013

A Month of Sundays....

Okay, thanks to my buddy, Nick on FB, and my real life gal pal, C, I'm back in the saddle again tonight.  I know it's been a month of Sundays since I've sat down and wrote anything to all of you and for that, I apologize.  I'd love to say that it's because of this and that or the other but mostly it's because I sit down and look at this little blank space and I'm not always sure what to say.

So *deep breath* I'll just say what's on my mind right now this second.

Sunday nights.

Growing up with my grandparents, Sunday nights were for staying in, popping popcorn, heating up frozen pizza, and watching TV.

Over the last 30 years, not much has changed in my life for Sunday nights.

They're still that night for regrouping and packing your lunch.

Taking a bath and shaving your legs.

It's for painting little girl's toenails.

It's for reminding the boy that he should pack up all his baseball stuff NOW and not three hours from now when I'm ready to go to bed and don't feel like washing this or that in the middle of the night thank you very much, sir.

It's for walking around in a pink chenille robe - even though it's hot outside - because your husband has the thermostat set to 'meat locker'.

It's for setting cream cheese out on the counter so you can make that 'really cool apple dip' for the kiddos to have for snacks during the week.

It's for making that mental grocery list in your head because you're gonna stop after work tomorrow night because gas just recently starting costing an arm, a leg, a thigh, and the rights to your first born.

It's for letting the dog out to go do his business and stopping to admire the mums you planted a week ago.  And to smile at the pumpkin vines because they finally quit looking like that pasty kid in the back of the class who sniffs glue and looks at his own boogers.

It's for looking under the couch because someone dropped the remote and the batteries rolled under the couch and you'd love to go to the kitchen drawer and get some more instead of hefting up the couch but someone left the empty battery container and didn't say a word to anyone about it and dear god, we have to watch powerpuff girls right this second (seriously?  Up yours, Buttercup)(sidenote:  Jude hates it when I call her Butterfart) before my head implodes, you heft up the couch and find nine-thousand-four-hundred and sixty-two hair ties and two fishsticks, nine pencils and two batteries. 

It's for thinking about a friend who had a horrid week and saying a quiet prayer of peace for her.

It's for thinking about how blessed I am.

It's for wondering if I have clean underwear for tomorrow and then remember that I'm the one in charge of the laundry and if I don't then I have no one to blame but me.  Or Kenny.  I'll blame Kenny.

It's for watching the National Weather Service Radar and wondering if I'm going to sleep before midnight.  Although, I'm sipping on a glass of iced tea anyway, so consulting the magic 8 ball here and thinking 'odds do not look good'.

 It's for snuggling down with a new book.

It's for those twenty 'just-one-more' hugs & kisses.

It's for the boy smacking the trim around the door and saying 'Night, Mom' before he takes the steps two-at-a-time.

It's for pizza, popcorn, and apples.

It's time for reflection.

And soon, it'll be time for bed.