May 31, 2015
Locked and loaded, the dog, Twos boarded and the cat, Rick settled, we leave home at 10 AM, only an hour behind schedule. (No applause, just throw money) Both Big Al and Stevie Wonder made the trip because, A. We would be gone for almost a week, B. #2 and #3 both brought friends, and C. Four of our five travelers were girls. Three in each vehicle, we make a pit stop at the Pilot to fill-up, grab a bite to eat at Wendy's/Subway, and get me a crushed ice drink, of course. My husband, Mac had already politely asked me to keep the speed below reckless driving level (which really goes without saying when my cargo is most precious), so I set the cruise just below the speed limit accordingly. Within the first 100 miles, he called to say he thought we could pick up the pace, just a bit - probably had to do with being lapped by most all of the other cars on the Interstate. I oblige and we continue with an uneventful trip all the way to our "switch-up" point off Taylor Road in Montgomery. My two passengers boarded Big Al and Mac's two joined me for the last leg of the trip. We decided to hit I-10 off of Hwy 79 and go Hwy 77 into PC. This is something I've always liked to do so I can see all of the changes between the Mall and Hathaway Bridge. Everyone is hungry again, but anxious to get to the condo too, so we whip in BK to grab a quick bite to go... it was not tasty at all and took 30 minutes. Back on the road, I'm pointing out what "used to be" and noting what's new as we stop at the red light just before the intersection of 98 and MBR. That's when Stevie decided he'd had about enough of this traveling stuff and shut off. Side note... have I said how much I abhor this BMW? Yep, dead as a door nail 3 blocks from the condo, Mac jumps out of Big Al and pushes us into the parking lot of a surf shop. We have one of those adult conversations - you know - like the ones our parents used to have where, as kids, we would run over to hear and they would extend their arm, finger pointed toward the car, brows furrowed and simultaneously say "get back in the car!" #3 followed the order and we devised a plan that began with asking to leave Stevie parked there for a bit ("of course, take as long as you need"). All piled in Al, we finally reach our destination at approximately 5:00 PM.
To be thorough, I approached the front desk to announce our arrival. The clerk was blonde, Russian, I believe, and all helpful smiles until she realized we'd booked through a rental agency... then she quickly morphed into the Beach Condo version of the Soup Nazi - "No info for you!" (she didn't say those exact words, but that's what I imagined after being dismissed by her). After reaching the loading zone on the parking deck, everyone begins to pull things from the truck while I secure a luggage cart from the "couldn't possibly be 20 years old" drill Sargent positioned behind a podium. Arriving in the unit, I switch into "because I'm the Mama" mode directing the placement of all of our wares. I directed two of the kids to put their clothing into the owners closet since it was empty and strangely unlocked and told everyone that suitcases would be going back to the vehicle once emptied (there's just no room for them in the condo). Then, I step onto the balcony for a long deep breath filled with the old familiar scent of salt water and suntan lotion.....ahhhhhh. "Uh, Mom?" the voice of #3 comes through a crack in the sliding glass door. "It's locked." "What's locked?", I said as I was quickly jerked out of my nostalgic moment. "The closet door, and all of our stuff is in there now." No biggie, I grab a random rewards card from my purse and begin to poke it around the latch of the door. That's about the time Mac returns with the final load and takes over the locked door crisis for me. After thorough observation, he declares that the only way to remedy is to remove the door by the hinges. Not interested in risking damage within the first hour, we decide to call the rental agency to report the problem. They'll have a locksmith out in the AM.
Crisis #2 under control, Mac and I go to return the cart and discuss phase II of dealing with crisis #1, Stevie Wonder. "Where are our parking passes?", he asks. Well, fiddle, there weren't any in the room. "Let's worry about that later", we said in near unison. As we pushed the cart back into place, the cart Sargent asks "What number?" "There's a number?", we said. Sarge looks at us crooked and says, "Yes, oh, it's 13." Mac and I whip our faces toward each other and grin. We're thinking the same thing... great. Arriving back at the surf shop, I jump in SW, he cranks without hesitation and I drive back to the condo, stiff, as though my posture somehow keeps the car in motion. Mac follows closely, ready to jump out and push at any moment. But, all goes well. We call the brood to unload the car while Mac and I jump back in Al for a grocery run. Everyone is settled and snoozing by mid-night. But, we forgot something....
Tuesday, June 09, 2015
Anniversary Vacation - Day 2
June 1, 2015
I wake at my typical the-sun-is-just-peeking-over-the -horizon hour. This is truly my favorite part of the day. The beach is vacant. Not even the beach service guys have begun their day. The Gulf is calm, shades of teal and crystal clear turquoise, with an occasional white cap rolling to shore and gently sweeping back. A couple of gulls and pigeons are hanging out, gliding around and stopping by now and again to perch on the small ledge outside the balcony railing. I briefly leave my peaceful thoughts for a quick prayer that none of our neighbors are rookies and decide to feed them. The aroma of my coffee combined with the salty air and smell of the paper mill situate me completely. I'm home.
For the next couple of hours, I sit there as the haze lifts, entirely lost in memories of "growing up PC". I considered the vast changes to the City and the Strip over the years. Everything is different - except the Gulf. It was, is and will forever be the same. In the global sense, at least. I am fully aware that the 50 yards of sandbar from the shore outward was man made - a convenience and safety feature, of which this native approves. Then it begins. A man makes his way to the shoreline to set up for his family just ahead of the bronze beach service dude who jabs an orderly line of royal blue umbrellas into the sand along the shore. Then, situates chairs around each umbrella before entering his hut to begin taking rental fees. The jet ski service guys quickly join the bustle and a steady stream of vacationers begin to trickle in setting up their day camps.
I'm brought back to real-time by the sound of the sliding glass door opening and the voice of #3 declaring that the remote has no batteries. LOL. Shortly, a man pops his head out and declares that he has gotten the closet door open. He also felt the need to tell me not to lock it again. I resist the urge to refer to him as Captain Obvious along with my Thank You. "I don't suppose you have any AA batteries, do you?", I asked. "What size?", He says. "I don't know, the AA size?" The sarcasm in my voice is apparent. He says, "I'll check." I assume he'll say he didn't in retaliation for my sarcastic comment, but he delivers and is quickly on his way out. By now, everyone is up and moving, donning their swim suits and packing their things for the trip down. My husband, Mac, announces that he has put duct tape over the closet door latch and button to avoid another crisis AND that he watched Captain Obvious fix the situation by removing the door by the hinges, just as he'd said the night before. I thanked him for thinking to bring the duct tape (a family necessity - regardless of the setting) and eliminating a potential stress trigger for me. Then, I stop by the kitchen to down some fruit, granola and yogurt before following the rest to the beach.
I decided to run to the car for ear buds before entering my sandy nest for the day. So, I threw on my cover up and took the skywalk over to the deck. As I approached the car, I realized what we'd forgotten the night before. There, under my windshield sat a citation. "No parking permit" I imagined the Sargent standing feet apart, leaning slightly backwards with his elbows resting on his sides scribbling on his ticket pad through mirrored sunglasses, lips in a line. "Crap!" I glanced at Mark's truck. He'd been lucky... no citation. Fortunately, there was no cost involved. I wondered what to do. Of course, I'd wandered away from my cellular device, a no-no in my husbands book, but there I was, feeling tethered to my car. For as there was no cost with the citation, there was a threat of towing or booting (I couldn't help having the fleeting thought - wonder if we could have them tow it to the shop?) Back in real-time, I decided to grab a pen from my car, flip the citation over and write a note. "We're in unit 123, tower 2. Owners failed to leave passes, but we've called for them." Then, I put my first initial, last name (which always brings it's fair share of eye rolls when we're at the beach, as though we're lying) and added my cell number... as if they cared. I placed the citation-converted-to-stationary back under the wiper blade and headed back to the unit for my cell and rest of the day's necessities. Since everyone was gone, I slipped into Mama mode and quickly tidied up the place a bit before heading to the beach.
Exiting the elevator on the ground floor, the smell of sweat, salt and chlorine were thick. I must be near the indoor pool - mental note made. Moving toward the lobby doors, I see a couple of groups, carts in tow, obviously hurrying to make the 10 AM check-out deadline. "Ewwwww", I thought. I detest that part. Not only the end-of-vacation part, but the packing up, loading up, AND the seemingly endless drive home. Nope, I think to myself and shake it off, Taylor Swift style. Not getting bummer thoughts in my head on the first full day here. Opening the door to the deck, I feel the perfect breeze. It's overcast now making it a very comfortable day outdoors. I reach the deck steps and pull off my sandals. On the ground to my right are a somewhat neat line of every size, color and style of casual shoe you can imagine. Flip-flops, mules, Sperry's, tennis shoes, little girl's flowered sandals, little boys Spiderman slip-ons, men's canvas crocs, just everything. Not being one to follow this practice, I drop my sandals in my bag and step into the sand. It's warm, not hot. With that familiar silky feeling causing the occasional squeak when I walk. I sink down with each step thinking of how my calves will not appreciate the work-out after a couple of days. In the distance, I see my loves. Mac has set up the market umbrella that I stole from Ross (not really, but got a great deal) the day before we left home. I actually hadn't planned to bring it... bought it for pool side at home, but was glad he threw it in the mix. See, #2, #3 and I have a more olive complexion, tan quickly and don't easily burn. Mac and #1, on the other hand burn almost instantly. I say they're severely Caucasian, decidedly translucent. Plus, if it weren't for the overcast, I would spend some time in the shade too. It's a marathon, not a sprint. Our towels were neatly laid out and the cooler served as a table. We'd planned the trip so quickly that we didn't bring beach chairs, floats and 17 other things that we'd liked to have had. Hence, the 6 trips to the nearby Wal-Mart over the next couple of days. We were fine for today though.
The kids alternated between the Gulf and the pool, Mac alternated between the umbrella shade and the condo. I was content with my audio book, bottled water, and baby oil gel. I was home. "I got a citation." I said to Mac shortly after joining him. "Huh?", he asked. "My car. We forgot about the parking passes." "Oh, no!", he huffed. "No problem.", I said and went on to explain my temporary fix. "But, would you call the agency and get them?" He picked up his phone and made the call. "That's what I'm talking about!", he said after the call ended. "Good customer service is so refreshing!" The agent had given him the code to another unit where we could get passes and asked to ensure our locked door situation was resolved. Mac and I have always worked in jobs where providing good customer service was expected. As such, we hold high expectations when we're on the receiving end - considering ourselves somewhat experts on the subject. Unfortunately, we don't see it as often as we should and it is a huge pet peeve for us both. "Yes, it is!" I reply with approval.
Mac decides to head up to retrieve the passes while I remain in the same spot. It's clouding up good within a little while and smells like rain is coming, so I grab some of our things and trek back to the condo. I'd been sitting on the balcony for a bit, occasionally looking down to inventory what we'd left on the beach. On about my third scan, I noticed that our umbrella was no longer open, in fact it was lying closed over our towels. The wind had picked-up when I wasn't watching and some nice person had helped us out by closing it. But, why did they lay it down? As I looked closer, I could tell that the bottom half of the pole was still stuck upright in the sand. "Great!", I yelled. It broke in half! That someone I thought was so nice for helping us out, probably closed it and laid it with our things after the wind caught it and slammed them in the face. Oh well, bummer # whatever is now on the books. Mac returns after retrieving and placing the parking passes. "Hey, I got a remote too.", he said. Oops, I forgot to tell him that Captain Obvious brought batteries. I'm sure we will misplace one before it's over, so it's all good. "The umbrella is toast.", I said. Without a word, Mac simply turns and heads out the door to survey the damage. He'd reminded everyone but me to close it before leaving it. It's raining gently now and the girls pile in to fix themselves lunch. I fix something for myself, and retreat to the bedroom to eat, shower and cuddle up for a nap.
I'm showered and dressed when Mac returns. With the girls zonked in the living room, we decide to head out for a few of those 17 things we wanted. The rain has stopped now and the sun is just about to start setting, so the humidity is at high caliber. I knew better than to attempt "fixing" my hair - it would, for the most part, be a curly hair kinda trip. Thank heaven for claw clamps!! We visit Publix this time as Wal-Mart was mysteriously, completely out of bananas. Then, to one of the 600 Dollar General's we'd passed on the way for floats and a chair. Mac had visited the bronze body dude when he retrieved the broken umbrella and rented a four chair set up for the rest of the trip. He's a mind reader sometimes. The kids were starving when we returned and I had become painfully aware of the sinus infection that I'd been fighting for a couple of weeks. So, Mac made my stroganoff that had been consistently requested by the kids throughout the day. I threw in a load of towels, changed into PJ's and spent some time on the balcony. The breeze was cool and the surf lulling. There were a handful of people with flashlights on the beach searching for the illusive hermit crab. I could hear faint sounds of island music in the distance. I was home.
Mac served me dinner where I sat and joined me in a bit. We briefly discussed the day and plans for the next before sitting quietly for a while, together enjoying the view, the sounds, the breeze, and the peace. At about 11, my battery was nearly dead, so I headed in for bed. I know, that's super late for me, but I was on vacation! Everyone else followed suit shortly.
I wake at my typical the-sun-is-just-peeking-over-the -horizon hour. This is truly my favorite part of the day. The beach is vacant. Not even the beach service guys have begun their day. The Gulf is calm, shades of teal and crystal clear turquoise, with an occasional white cap rolling to shore and gently sweeping back. A couple of gulls and pigeons are hanging out, gliding around and stopping by now and again to perch on the small ledge outside the balcony railing. I briefly leave my peaceful thoughts for a quick prayer that none of our neighbors are rookies and decide to feed them. The aroma of my coffee combined with the salty air and smell of the paper mill situate me completely. I'm home.
For the next couple of hours, I sit there as the haze lifts, entirely lost in memories of "growing up PC". I considered the vast changes to the City and the Strip over the years. Everything is different - except the Gulf. It was, is and will forever be the same. In the global sense, at least. I am fully aware that the 50 yards of sandbar from the shore outward was man made - a convenience and safety feature, of which this native approves. Then it begins. A man makes his way to the shoreline to set up for his family just ahead of the bronze beach service dude who jabs an orderly line of royal blue umbrellas into the sand along the shore. Then, situates chairs around each umbrella before entering his hut to begin taking rental fees. The jet ski service guys quickly join the bustle and a steady stream of vacationers begin to trickle in setting up their day camps.
I'm brought back to real-time by the sound of the sliding glass door opening and the voice of #3 declaring that the remote has no batteries. LOL. Shortly, a man pops his head out and declares that he has gotten the closet door open. He also felt the need to tell me not to lock it again. I resist the urge to refer to him as Captain Obvious along with my Thank You. "I don't suppose you have any AA batteries, do you?", I asked. "What size?", He says. "I don't know, the AA size?" The sarcasm in my voice is apparent. He says, "I'll check." I assume he'll say he didn't in retaliation for my sarcastic comment, but he delivers and is quickly on his way out. By now, everyone is up and moving, donning their swim suits and packing their things for the trip down. My husband, Mac, announces that he has put duct tape over the closet door latch and button to avoid another crisis AND that he watched Captain Obvious fix the situation by removing the door by the hinges, just as he'd said the night before. I thanked him for thinking to bring the duct tape (a family necessity - regardless of the setting) and eliminating a potential stress trigger for me. Then, I stop by the kitchen to down some fruit, granola and yogurt before following the rest to the beach.
I decided to run to the car for ear buds before entering my sandy nest for the day. So, I threw on my cover up and took the skywalk over to the deck. As I approached the car, I realized what we'd forgotten the night before. There, under my windshield sat a citation. "No parking permit" I imagined the Sargent standing feet apart, leaning slightly backwards with his elbows resting on his sides scribbling on his ticket pad through mirrored sunglasses, lips in a line. "Crap!" I glanced at Mark's truck. He'd been lucky... no citation. Fortunately, there was no cost involved. I wondered what to do. Of course, I'd wandered away from my cellular device, a no-no in my husbands book, but there I was, feeling tethered to my car. For as there was no cost with the citation, there was a threat of towing or booting (I couldn't help having the fleeting thought - wonder if we could have them tow it to the shop?) Back in real-time, I decided to grab a pen from my car, flip the citation over and write a note. "We're in unit 123, tower 2. Owners failed to leave passes, but we've called for them." Then, I put my first initial, last name (which always brings it's fair share of eye rolls when we're at the beach, as though we're lying) and added my cell number... as if they cared. I placed the citation-converted-to-stationary back under the wiper blade and headed back to the unit for my cell and rest of the day's necessities. Since everyone was gone, I slipped into Mama mode and quickly tidied up the place a bit before heading to the beach.
Exiting the elevator on the ground floor, the smell of sweat, salt and chlorine were thick. I must be near the indoor pool - mental note made. Moving toward the lobby doors, I see a couple of groups, carts in tow, obviously hurrying to make the 10 AM check-out deadline. "Ewwwww", I thought. I detest that part. Not only the end-of-vacation part, but the packing up, loading up, AND the seemingly endless drive home. Nope, I think to myself and shake it off, Taylor Swift style. Not getting bummer thoughts in my head on the first full day here. Opening the door to the deck, I feel the perfect breeze. It's overcast now making it a very comfortable day outdoors. I reach the deck steps and pull off my sandals. On the ground to my right are a somewhat neat line of every size, color and style of casual shoe you can imagine. Flip-flops, mules, Sperry's, tennis shoes, little girl's flowered sandals, little boys Spiderman slip-ons, men's canvas crocs, just everything. Not being one to follow this practice, I drop my sandals in my bag and step into the sand. It's warm, not hot. With that familiar silky feeling causing the occasional squeak when I walk. I sink down with each step thinking of how my calves will not appreciate the work-out after a couple of days. In the distance, I see my loves. Mac has set up the market umbrella that I stole from Ross (not really, but got a great deal) the day before we left home. I actually hadn't planned to bring it... bought it for pool side at home, but was glad he threw it in the mix. See, #2, #3 and I have a more olive complexion, tan quickly and don't easily burn. Mac and #1, on the other hand burn almost instantly. I say they're severely Caucasian, decidedly translucent. Plus, if it weren't for the overcast, I would spend some time in the shade too. It's a marathon, not a sprint. Our towels were neatly laid out and the cooler served as a table. We'd planned the trip so quickly that we didn't bring beach chairs, floats and 17 other things that we'd liked to have had. Hence, the 6 trips to the nearby Wal-Mart over the next couple of days. We were fine for today though.
The kids alternated between the Gulf and the pool, Mac alternated between the umbrella shade and the condo. I was content with my audio book, bottled water, and baby oil gel. I was home. "I got a citation." I said to Mac shortly after joining him. "Huh?", he asked. "My car. We forgot about the parking passes." "Oh, no!", he huffed. "No problem.", I said and went on to explain my temporary fix. "But, would you call the agency and get them?" He picked up his phone and made the call. "That's what I'm talking about!", he said after the call ended. "Good customer service is so refreshing!" The agent had given him the code to another unit where we could get passes and asked to ensure our locked door situation was resolved. Mac and I have always worked in jobs where providing good customer service was expected. As such, we hold high expectations when we're on the receiving end - considering ourselves somewhat experts on the subject. Unfortunately, we don't see it as often as we should and it is a huge pet peeve for us both. "Yes, it is!" I reply with approval.
Mac decides to head up to retrieve the passes while I remain in the same spot. It's clouding up good within a little while and smells like rain is coming, so I grab some of our things and trek back to the condo. I'd been sitting on the balcony for a bit, occasionally looking down to inventory what we'd left on the beach. On about my third scan, I noticed that our umbrella was no longer open, in fact it was lying closed over our towels. The wind had picked-up when I wasn't watching and some nice person had helped us out by closing it. But, why did they lay it down? As I looked closer, I could tell that the bottom half of the pole was still stuck upright in the sand. "Great!", I yelled. It broke in half! That someone I thought was so nice for helping us out, probably closed it and laid it with our things after the wind caught it and slammed them in the face. Oh well, bummer # whatever is now on the books. Mac returns after retrieving and placing the parking passes. "Hey, I got a remote too.", he said. Oops, I forgot to tell him that Captain Obvious brought batteries. I'm sure we will misplace one before it's over, so it's all good. "The umbrella is toast.", I said. Without a word, Mac simply turns and heads out the door to survey the damage. He'd reminded everyone but me to close it before leaving it. It's raining gently now and the girls pile in to fix themselves lunch. I fix something for myself, and retreat to the bedroom to eat, shower and cuddle up for a nap.
I'm showered and dressed when Mac returns. With the girls zonked in the living room, we decide to head out for a few of those 17 things we wanted. The rain has stopped now and the sun is just about to start setting, so the humidity is at high caliber. I knew better than to attempt "fixing" my hair - it would, for the most part, be a curly hair kinda trip. Thank heaven for claw clamps!! We visit Publix this time as Wal-Mart was mysteriously, completely out of bananas. Then, to one of the 600 Dollar General's we'd passed on the way for floats and a chair. Mac had visited the bronze body dude when he retrieved the broken umbrella and rented a four chair set up for the rest of the trip. He's a mind reader sometimes. The kids were starving when we returned and I had become painfully aware of the sinus infection that I'd been fighting for a couple of weeks. So, Mac made my stroganoff that had been consistently requested by the kids throughout the day. I threw in a load of towels, changed into PJ's and spent some time on the balcony. The breeze was cool and the surf lulling. There were a handful of people with flashlights on the beach searching for the illusive hermit crab. I could hear faint sounds of island music in the distance. I was home.
Mac served me dinner where I sat and joined me in a bit. We briefly discussed the day and plans for the next before sitting quietly for a while, together enjoying the view, the sounds, the breeze, and the peace. At about 11, my battery was nearly dead, so I headed in for bed. I know, that's super late for me, but I was on vacation! Everyone else followed suit shortly.
Sheltering Creates Vulnerability
I wrote this SEVERAL years ago, but never published it. Funny, I was having a conversation recently with someone about this very topic.
I have several decades of experience with parenting. Now, my oldest child is 13, so I didn't say I have decades of parenting experience...and there is a huge difference between the two. Parenting experience comes from being a parent. Experience with parenting comes from being parented, observing the parenting techniques of others, and working for an agency that exists to protect children.
Opinions on the topic are so varied and emotionally charged that it should be added to the short list of no-no's for social setting discussion topics - politics, religion, and parenting. There are parents who believe that children should never be punished and there are those who believe that regular beatings breed obedience. You get the picture.
Most of the time I find it rather easy to keep my opinions on the topic to myself. But, occasionally I find it hard to hold back. That happened this week when we, and several of our neighbors were notified that a convicted sex offender had moved to a residence that is within a 1500 foot radius of our home.
(Now, I know that there is surely some research behind the decision to notify only those who live within a 1500 foot radius, but still found amusement in my visualization of this person walking face first into an invisible barrier at 1501 feet).
Like most everyone, I was jolted when first learning of the news (little bit different than learning that a new Starbuck's is moving around the corner). But, I quickly put it into perspective and went about conducting my own investigation. I made a call to the lead investigator assigned to the case. What I learned eased my mind a bit. I was relieved because my professional experience has taught me the difference between a sexual offender and a sexual predator. This guy is not a predator - he did not seek out this physically mature teen aged girl for the purpose of sexual abuse. Her parents, apparently, chose to see things differently.
Anyway, after gathering the information, we had a talk with the girls. With the exception of #1, the talks weren't much different than those that we have had before. Again, because of my chosen profession, my children are usually more informed than most on certain subjects. Since a very young age, they have been taught to be aware of their surroundings at all times and to be true to their gut feelings about people. We call it the "Uh-Oh" feeling. That little knot in your stomach that tells you something just isn't quite right. They are taught to trust the uh-oh feeling and remove themselves from the situation as quickly as possible - then tell us.
Though the philosophy isn't always popular, we firmly believe that a fundamental responsibility of parenting is to equip our children with coping skills. Giving them age appropriate knowledge - particularly about the uncomfortable things - is a necessary part of raising them to be happy, healthy, contributing members of the community.
The reality (in my opinion) is this:
1. There is not necessarily more danger than there was when my husband and I were growing up, we are just more likely to hear about bad things that happen.
2. As parents, we must be careful to teach the difference between caution and fear. Children who learn to fear others will not have the tools they need to become healthy adults.
3. Parents have a duty to physically protect their children, but also to emotionally immunize them to danger in the world. Parents who completely shelter their children are NOT protecting them. As all caring parents do, most sheltering parents faithfully have their children immunized against disease. Basically, they control the intentional exposure of their children to horrible deadly diseases for a greater good - So that these little bodies will have the necessary tools to cope, so to speak, should they come into contact with these diseases while out in the world. Many of these same parents would not think of discussing sex with their children(something they are certain to come into contact with at some point), much less a sex crime! In failing to have open, age appropriate discussions with their children on these and other (often uncomfortable) topics, they leave their children completely and dangerously unprotected.
*Note for those who fail to see the forest for the trees - I am not suggesting that parents intentionally place their children in dangerous situations in order to teach them coping skills.
My children are playing outside today having the benefit of a few extra "Mama Prayers" for their physical and emotional well being.
I have several decades of experience with parenting. Now, my oldest child is 13, so I didn't say I have decades of parenting experience...and there is a huge difference between the two. Parenting experience comes from being a parent. Experience with parenting comes from being parented, observing the parenting techniques of others, and working for an agency that exists to protect children.
Opinions on the topic are so varied and emotionally charged that it should be added to the short list of no-no's for social setting discussion topics - politics, religion, and parenting. There are parents who believe that children should never be punished and there are those who believe that regular beatings breed obedience. You get the picture.
Most of the time I find it rather easy to keep my opinions on the topic to myself. But, occasionally I find it hard to hold back. That happened this week when we, and several of our neighbors were notified that a convicted sex offender had moved to a residence that is within a 1500 foot radius of our home.
(Now, I know that there is surely some research behind the decision to notify only those who live within a 1500 foot radius, but still found amusement in my visualization of this person walking face first into an invisible barrier at 1501 feet).
Like most everyone, I was jolted when first learning of the news (little bit different than learning that a new Starbuck's is moving around the corner). But, I quickly put it into perspective and went about conducting my own investigation. I made a call to the lead investigator assigned to the case. What I learned eased my mind a bit. I was relieved because my professional experience has taught me the difference between a sexual offender and a sexual predator. This guy is not a predator - he did not seek out this physically mature teen aged girl for the purpose of sexual abuse. Her parents, apparently, chose to see things differently.
Anyway, after gathering the information, we had a talk with the girls. With the exception of #1, the talks weren't much different than those that we have had before. Again, because of my chosen profession, my children are usually more informed than most on certain subjects. Since a very young age, they have been taught to be aware of their surroundings at all times and to be true to their gut feelings about people. We call it the "Uh-Oh" feeling. That little knot in your stomach that tells you something just isn't quite right. They are taught to trust the uh-oh feeling and remove themselves from the situation as quickly as possible - then tell us.
Though the philosophy isn't always popular, we firmly believe that a fundamental responsibility of parenting is to equip our children with coping skills. Giving them age appropriate knowledge - particularly about the uncomfortable things - is a necessary part of raising them to be happy, healthy, contributing members of the community.
The reality (in my opinion) is this:
1. There is not necessarily more danger than there was when my husband and I were growing up, we are just more likely to hear about bad things that happen.
2. As parents, we must be careful to teach the difference between caution and fear. Children who learn to fear others will not have the tools they need to become healthy adults.
3. Parents have a duty to physically protect their children, but also to emotionally immunize them to danger in the world. Parents who completely shelter their children are NOT protecting them. As all caring parents do, most sheltering parents faithfully have their children immunized against disease. Basically, they control the intentional exposure of their children to horrible deadly diseases for a greater good - So that these little bodies will have the necessary tools to cope, so to speak, should they come into contact with these diseases while out in the world. Many of these same parents would not think of discussing sex with their children(something they are certain to come into contact with at some point), much less a sex crime! In failing to have open, age appropriate discussions with their children on these and other (often uncomfortable) topics, they leave their children completely and dangerously unprotected.
*Note for those who fail to see the forest for the trees - I am not suggesting that parents intentionally place their children in dangerous situations in order to teach them coping skills.
My children are playing outside today having the benefit of a few extra "Mama Prayers" for their physical and emotional well being.
A Tribute to Daddy
My father died a few years ago of complications related to Alzheimer's Disease. He had remarried since my mother's death and was living away from the place we all called home. A memorial service was conducted at their local church, officiated by the preacher at the time who barely knew my father. This gentleman also followed us to our home to officiate the funeral and burial there.
Now I am a firm believer that funerals should celebrate the life of the individual and ABSOLUTELY not be about saving the souls of the guests gathered to remember them. Unfortunately, the memorial service was clearly the latter. In defense of the gentleman preacher who officiated, he had little to draw on in speaking about my father. As I said, he barely knew Daddy before the onset of the disease.
On the drive home from the memorial service, I decided that "someone" had to speak besides this guy. Someone had to say all of the things about Daddy that needed to be said. Someone needed to make his life "real" to those who never really got to know him....particularly the preacher. After failing to solicit a willing speaker, I decided that the someone would be me. So, I rose early before the service, sat by the pool (I have vivid memories of Daddy at our pool) and wrote...and re-wrote, and wrote some more. The following is the last gift I gave to my Daddy.
Now I am a firm believer that funerals should celebrate the life of the individual and ABSOLUTELY not be about saving the souls of the guests gathered to remember them. Unfortunately, the memorial service was clearly the latter. In defense of the gentleman preacher who officiated, he had little to draw on in speaking about my father. As I said, he barely knew Daddy before the onset of the disease.
On the drive home from the memorial service, I decided that "someone" had to speak besides this guy. Someone had to say all of the things about Daddy that needed to be said. Someone needed to make his life "real" to those who never really got to know him....particularly the preacher. After failing to solicit a willing speaker, I decided that the someone would be me. So, I rose early before the service, sat by the pool (I have vivid memories of Daddy at our pool) and wrote...and re-wrote, and wrote some more. The following is the last gift I gave to my Daddy.
For Daddy
My brothers and I now live scattered across the south. Though we talk often, we don't see each other as much as we would like. Being together over the past several days, we've enjoyed sharing funny stories and special memories of growing up the children of W.H. and Evelyn.
I've listened to my brothers stories of living in Calloway as "mill children"; of Daddy's strong discipline when you hide in a ditch and throw things at cars; of his pride in helping to build Trinity Lutheran Church; of his love of fishing; and of his welcoming of a baby girl who needed a home. I've shared stories about the heartache in his eyes when I was a teenager and he told me that he couldn't afford to give me the $45.00 per week allowance that I was used to getting. Because he was on strike and that was about all he was bringing home; of the way he insisted that being a girl wouldn't mean being helpless, so he taught me to add oil, change a tire, fix the plumbing and stand up for myself.
My brothers and I also talked about character traits that we inherited from Dad. They defined him. So, I'd like to share a few of them with you today.
1. School is at least 16 years. Daddy was the oldest child in his family. After the death of his mother, he quit grammar school to care for his siblings. He saw to it that they were educated and provided for. He would not have his children struggle in life. so, if you were his child, you just knew that a formal education was not optional - it was expected. Daddy was very proud to tell almost everyone he met " I have four children and they are all college graduates."
2. Where there's a will there's a way. Daddy gave us tenacity. If the screen door wouldn't close correctly, you simply spent all day working on it with a hammer and duct tape until it did. If you needed or wanted something you just picked-up side jobs to pay for it.
3. Practicality - Why install a more powerful air conditioner when you can put the sprinkler on the roof to cool the house? Why spend money at the body shop when clear fingernail polish will keep the scratch on the car from rusting?
4. A solid work ethic - Whether his task was to mop the floor or lead a team of mill workers. Daddy did it on time and to the best of his ability. Showing initiative and taking pride in his accomplishments.
Finally - unconditional love. No matter your faults, your continued mistakes, or your life choices, you had a home with Daddy, Uncle W.H., Mr. S. Family, friend, or stranger, if you met Evelyn and W.H. and you needed a leg up in life, you got it. In 39 years of marriage, I don't think they lived alone (together) for more than a few months. They opened their home to their aging parents, their siblings, nieces, nephews, friends, their children's friends and even perfect strangers...your place at their table being no less important than their own.
Even though we lost the Daddy we knew several years ago and now we've lost him in body as well, if you had the privilege of him touching your life, giving you a hand, a home, a shoulder, support. A piece of his unconditional love remains with you. And for however he touched you, all he would ask in return is that you, when life places you there, do the same for someone else.
When I think on Daddy's life and how he lived it, I think of Genesis 12:2...God speaking to Abraham said, "I will bless you, so that you may be a blessing to others."
Maybe Daddy was a blessing to you. He and his life were truly a blessing to me. If we can share this gift of unconditional love with our children, grandchildren and everyone we meet... he will live forever in our hearts.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Slamming on the Brakes
Occasionally, without warning, I am reminded to slow down and appreciate the things that truly feed my soul. I think of it as life's equivalent to slamming on the brakes.
Recently, a friend and I made plans to let the older girls spend the night together at their house. We were leaving a ball game (duh?) and it was already close to 11:00 PM. My daughter and I let them know that we would run home, pick up a change of clothes and toothbrush and then we'd be over. We ran by the house, gathered her things and I told my husband that I would be back in a bit. As we drove, we passed the handy Wal-Mart when my daughter remembered that she needed a couple of things for the following day's trip to the local water park. So, we pulled in, grabbed the wallet and keys, and ran in to quickly pick up a few things.
As usual, it took a while. Longer than we knew apparently. We purchased our items, jumped back in the car and headed to my friend's house. As we approached the house, I could see that my friend, her daughter and another of our daughter's friends were standing in their driveway. As we pulled in, they began running toward the car. All seemed to be frantic and crying. My heart dropped to my toes. In those split seconds between seeing them running toward the car and us getting out to greet them, hundreds of images ran through my mind. Has something happened to one of the kids? Has something happened to one of our husbands? Has something happened to anyone, someone we love? Why didn't I get a call on my cell? Oh, I left it in the car when we ran into the store and I hadn't checked it on the way. My Lord, this is bad, they are hysterical.
As we got out of the car, they grabbed us and we all stood in a group hug. They were still crying and I was saying, "What?" "What's wrong?" "What happened?" Composing herself, my friend said. "I called your house. Mac said you left already and that was over an hour ago. We heard sirens and we couldn't get you on your cell phone. I've chased the sirens trying to find them, I've called your cell phone 100 times. I called back to your house and no one answered. We thought something horrible had happened to you two and they had gone to where you were. We had to imagine what life would be like without you. We realized how much you mean to us. We realized how much we love you."
At that very moment, all of the perpetual rush hour traffic that races through my brain came to a screeching halt. For a moment, true clarity and an amazing sense of focus. But, mostly, an opportunity for a do-over. The whiplash I suffered from that moment was a needed reminder to go easy on the gas.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Merry Xmas!!!
As I'm sure that the post title will have some of you gasping, know that this post is intended for you.
Every year at this time I am placed in some situation where the topic of the using X before "mas" is discussed. Usually it begins with someone expressing their anger, frustration or disgust with the author "X-ing" Christ out of Christmas. Sometimes, I am given the opportunity to educate and sometimes I just sit back and listen to the misinformed ranting.
During a two year indepth study of the bible led by the late Reverend Doctor Barry Kiger, the group had an opportunity to evaluate this issue. I believe that it arose over a discussion of how quickly some Christians rush to protest, boycott, and publically denounce nearly anything these days.
Barry suggested to the group that much of this behavior is born out of our misplaced focus on the "means of transportation" rather than the "cargo". Christmas, or Xmas, is a word (means of transportation) love, kindness, giving, etc. (cargo) is where God would like our focus. The study group used this analogy in discussing many of the protests and boycotts that we often see performed and encouraged by Christians today. We discussed the effect that some of these "missing the point" displays could have on lost or would be Christians. The consensus wasn't good. While there is certainly room for peaceful protest (thank heaven we live in a country where it is allowed), protestors in the name of Christ have a responsibility to gauge themselves and their topics.
But, I digress. It is clearly documented that the Greek (language in which the new testament was written) letters for Christ early became symbols of Christ and Christianity. The first two greek letters in the word Christ are XP (expressed chi and rho). The exact era in which the symbol began being used is often debated. Some believe that it originated as long ago as the first century AD and others believe that it originated during the Middle Ages. Either way, the symbol X in representing Christmas was widely used by the fifteenth century. Websters dictionary acknowledges that Xmas was in common use during the sixteenth century.
So, for those of you who believe (or hopefully believed) that there was some growing conspiracy by the government or retail giants to remove the spiritual aspect of Christmas by using the abbreviation Xmas, you'll need to find another cause. The origin of Xmas is deeply rooted in the history of the Church and is simply another way to spell Christmas.
By the way...Xmas is pronounced Christmas, not exmas. Just as Dr. is pronounced Doctor, not Dur.
Merry Christmas to you all!
Every year at this time I am placed in some situation where the topic of the using X before "mas" is discussed. Usually it begins with someone expressing their anger, frustration or disgust with the author "X-ing" Christ out of Christmas. Sometimes, I am given the opportunity to educate and sometimes I just sit back and listen to the misinformed ranting.
During a two year indepth study of the bible led by the late Reverend Doctor Barry Kiger, the group had an opportunity to evaluate this issue. I believe that it arose over a discussion of how quickly some Christians rush to protest, boycott, and publically denounce nearly anything these days.
Barry suggested to the group that much of this behavior is born out of our misplaced focus on the "means of transportation" rather than the "cargo". Christmas, or Xmas, is a word (means of transportation) love, kindness, giving, etc. (cargo) is where God would like our focus. The study group used this analogy in discussing many of the protests and boycotts that we often see performed and encouraged by Christians today. We discussed the effect that some of these "missing the point" displays could have on lost or would be Christians. The consensus wasn't good. While there is certainly room for peaceful protest (thank heaven we live in a country where it is allowed), protestors in the name of Christ have a responsibility to gauge themselves and their topics.
But, I digress. It is clearly documented that the Greek (language in which the new testament was written) letters for Christ early became symbols of Christ and Christianity. The first two greek letters in the word Christ are XP (expressed chi and rho). The exact era in which the symbol began being used is often debated. Some believe that it originated as long ago as the first century AD and others believe that it originated during the Middle Ages. Either way, the symbol X in representing Christmas was widely used by the fifteenth century. Websters dictionary acknowledges that Xmas was in common use during the sixteenth century.
So, for those of you who believe (or hopefully believed) that there was some growing conspiracy by the government or retail giants to remove the spiritual aspect of Christmas by using the abbreviation Xmas, you'll need to find another cause. The origin of Xmas is deeply rooted in the history of the Church and is simply another way to spell Christmas.
By the way...Xmas is pronounced Christmas, not exmas. Just as Dr. is pronounced Doctor, not Dur.
Merry Christmas to you all!
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Give Me Jesus
I lost a good friend and mentor on Friday. We hadn't been in town long when we joined First Presbyterian. Mac, raised Baptist and I Lutheran, were visiting around until God let us know where we should be. It wasn't long after joining that I began to get gentle nudges from Randy, the director to join the choir for Wednesday night practice.
Through all of high school and most of college, music (singing) was my life. I studied privately, received music scholarships, even declared music as my major at one point. But, by this time, I had pretty much hung up the organized singing. With a new home, new job, and new baby keeping me busy I found it easy to initially decline Randy's offer. Quietly and gently, he kept nudging. It seems that he knew what God knew - you can't deny the components of your soul.
Over the next several years, Randy and his wife Judy became good friends to Mac and I and "surrogate" grandparents to our children. Their only child, Tommy had only recently married and they didn't have grandchildren of their own, yet. But, oh how they looked forward to it. We all thorougly enjoyed spending time with Randy and Judy - simple, loving, and delightful people.
A few years ago, Randy retired (for the second time - he had already retired from a long career of directing the high school chorus) and he and Judy were moved by God to join another church. Mac and I had already made a decision to make a change as well, but chose a different church. Over time, we began to lose close touch, but kept up to speed through mutual friends and occasional visits.
Within the last few years, Randy and Judy bought a new house, received the blessing of a grandchild, Judy's mother came to live with them, and Randy was diagnosed with cancer. We heard the news through friends as I was leaving to go on a week long trip for work. I said many prayers for Randy, Judy and their family over that week, and planned to visit - maybe have them over for dinner when I returned. I was too late.
Randy, however, was right on time. His life was a blessing and model to many. He was a kind, talented gentleman who dedicated his life to God, music and family. In his roll as friend, choir director, and man of faith, he was simply stated. He was able to see past the material world and focus on what is truly important. This is evidenced by one of his favorite pieces which he requested be sung by the choir at his funeral:
GIVE ME JESUS
When I am alone,
Oh, when I am alone.
Oh, when I am alone, give me Jesus
Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
When I am alone
Give me Jesus
When I come to die
Oh, when I come to die
Oh, when I come to die, give me Jesus
Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus
So long dear friend, you are with Him now and all of heaven is filled with your music.
Through all of high school and most of college, music (singing) was my life. I studied privately, received music scholarships, even declared music as my major at one point. But, by this time, I had pretty much hung up the organized singing. With a new home, new job, and new baby keeping me busy I found it easy to initially decline Randy's offer. Quietly and gently, he kept nudging. It seems that he knew what God knew - you can't deny the components of your soul.
Over the next several years, Randy and his wife Judy became good friends to Mac and I and "surrogate" grandparents to our children. Their only child, Tommy had only recently married and they didn't have grandchildren of their own, yet. But, oh how they looked forward to it. We all thorougly enjoyed spending time with Randy and Judy - simple, loving, and delightful people.
A few years ago, Randy retired (for the second time - he had already retired from a long career of directing the high school chorus) and he and Judy were moved by God to join another church. Mac and I had already made a decision to make a change as well, but chose a different church. Over time, we began to lose close touch, but kept up to speed through mutual friends and occasional visits.
Within the last few years, Randy and Judy bought a new house, received the blessing of a grandchild, Judy's mother came to live with them, and Randy was diagnosed with cancer. We heard the news through friends as I was leaving to go on a week long trip for work. I said many prayers for Randy, Judy and their family over that week, and planned to visit - maybe have them over for dinner when I returned. I was too late.
Randy, however, was right on time. His life was a blessing and model to many. He was a kind, talented gentleman who dedicated his life to God, music and family. In his roll as friend, choir director, and man of faith, he was simply stated. He was able to see past the material world and focus on what is truly important. This is evidenced by one of his favorite pieces which he requested be sung by the choir at his funeral:
GIVE ME JESUS
When I am alone,
Oh, when I am alone.
Oh, when I am alone, give me Jesus
Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
When I am alone
Give me Jesus
When I come to die
Oh, when I come to die
Oh, when I come to die, give me Jesus
Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus
So long dear friend, you are with Him now and all of heaven is filled with your music.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Ode to A Constant Companion
How patiently you wait for me
Sometimes days on end
The promises I make to thee
Often broken in the end
Silently you wait for me
No complaints from you
I hurry by you constantly
With more important things to do
Finally the day has come
When my attention falls to thee
My silent constant companion
The pile of dirty laundry
Sometimes days on end
The promises I make to thee
Often broken in the end
Silently you wait for me
No complaints from you
I hurry by you constantly
With more important things to do
Finally the day has come
When my attention falls to thee
My silent constant companion
The pile of dirty laundry
Monday, August 22, 2005
Talk to the HANDS!!
Last night I was attempting to do the "proper parenting" thing. The term "proper parenting" is relative to what book you are reading at the time or simply what mood you're in. Anyway, so I have the four year old (#3) alone in the living room. I am seated in a chair and she facing me on the floor. I am explaining to her that she shouldn't fight with her sisters as they love her and reminded her of the golden rule.
Now, this is a "chat" that I had and continue to have with all of my girls (I suppose it would apply to boys too, but I don't have those). When hearing this sermon, the oldest (#1) usually complains that she behaves this way because her sisters are responsible for HER actions, which leads to further discussion. The child born second (#2) usually bows her head and states something like, "I will try to make my life better, Mom". But the baby, the four year old, seated on the floor in front of me, raises her arms with fingers apart and says......"TALK TO THE HANDS"!!!!
The hands did some talking alright, mine. So much for the Dobson approach. Next time, I believe I'll skip the sermon and go straight to the time out chair. There I will quietly sip tea and let them duke it out (John Rosemond approach).
Now, this is a "chat" that I had and continue to have with all of my girls (I suppose it would apply to boys too, but I don't have those). When hearing this sermon, the oldest (#1) usually complains that she behaves this way because her sisters are responsible for HER actions, which leads to further discussion. The child born second (#2) usually bows her head and states something like, "I will try to make my life better, Mom". But the baby, the four year old, seated on the floor in front of me, raises her arms with fingers apart and says......"TALK TO THE HANDS"!!!!
The hands did some talking alright, mine. So much for the Dobson approach. Next time, I believe I'll skip the sermon and go straight to the time out chair. There I will quietly sip tea and let them duke it out (John Rosemond approach).
Monday, July 25, 2005
The "Bad Mouth Bears"
Not a long post here. Just a quick review of the 21st century version of The Bad News Bears. From the post title, I'm sure you can gleen my opinion. The movie (which my children did not see...thank heaven) was simply a remake of the original, set in present time. How painfully authentic...kids curse each other and adults constantly, unsportsmanlike conduct is cheered and unhealthy relationships abound. How sad. On the other hand...cudos on the casting of Billy Bob Thornton as Coach!
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