The mention of NASCAR has always brought images to my mind of overweight wearing jeans and cut-off flannel shirts over white wife-beater shirts, and bleached-blonde chicks in cut-off shorts and cut-off shirts. And they are all wearing beer-hats. And drinking beer with a wad of chewing tobacco between their lower lip and gums while discussing what to eat for dinner at “mom’n ‘em’s” tonight.
However, Mr. Man is a big fanboy of cars – especially the shiny fast ones. Hey, he owns a hot red Lotus, what can I say? He definitely isn’t the beer-swigging red-neck I associate with NASCAR, so when he mentioned he was watching a race and invited me to watch it on his big screen, I thought maybe it would be something akin to the Formula One race in Monaco. Nope. It was NASCAR.
I gave it a fair shot though, and soon found myself rooting for the adorable Joey Logano, 19-year old racer from North Carolina. I was thrilled that at such a young age, he found himself living out his dream and competing with the likes of the Petty and Busch families.
But back to Target.
Watching a NASCAR race became a bit of a routine for us and we’d get together, turn the volume up loud so we could hear the revving of the engines, and we’d hope for a good crash – one in which nobody was hurt of course.
Eventually I got my kids in on the action and, much to my surprise, my 10-year old daughter was an instant fan. She picked Jimmy Johnson to be the winner in the race we were watching and sure enough: Johnson won. He won every race she watched as a matter-of-fact. (Next season I may have her watch again while we place bets online for her winning pics.)(If you want insider information contact me and we’ll work out a little $$ deal.)
But disaster struck and some sort of drama started up between the driver of the Target car, Juan Pablo Montoya. Now, I didn’t follow it closely enough to know, but according to Miss NASCAR herself, Montoya ran several drivers off the road including my precious Joey and her precious Jimmy.
So we’re driving to school this morning, talking about what to do in the summertime when vacation hits. We thought it would be fun to see a NASCAR race. Our conversation took a quick turn and went something like this:
Mom (that’s me): Oh, hey, I need to stop and get you a tri-fold board for your science fair project. I tried Wal-Mart but they didn’t have it, so I’ll try another store today.
Miss NASCAR (10-year old daugther): Oh thank you mommy! You can find one anywhere. Try Office Depot or Office Max (apparently she has insider information on office supplies, too). Oh, just DO NOT SHOP AT TARGET! NO! NOT AT ALL!
Mom: No Target? Why? I like Target! What is wrong with Target?
Miss NASCAR: (hissing dramatically) Montoya!
I pondered telling her the evils of Wal-Mart that lots of people use as their reasoning to boycott the store, but we shop there often for some things we just know are much cheaper. Surely those reasons are way more legit than someone bumping the back of your car while going 200+ MPH on a tight-cornered racetrack.
Miss NASCAR: (hissing again with much more dramatic flair, even better than Shatner’s performance in Star Trek when shouting “KAHN!!”: MONTOYAAAAAAH!
Mom: I’ll skip Target, but just for today. That’ll show them.
She seemed satisfied and started chatting about some boy in her class that she has a crush on. Funny girl.
I’m sitting at work right now, trying so hard to get this task completed, but I can’t stop thinking about Haiti. I’m haunted by the images of the dead, the dying, the trapped. My heart aches as I see the looks on the children’s faces: those terrified faces. They’ve seen what no child should have to see. Experienced what no child should experience.
I’m sitting in a nice comfortable chair, waterbottle close at hand, a fresh apple too. I have heat to warm me from the cold outside, a roof to protect me from the elements. The air I’m breathing is fresh and clean. My clothes are clean, my body is bathed. My stomach is full. I slept in a warm bed last night.
But the people in Haiti: there’s dead bodies piling up. There’s no water to drink. AT ALL. No breakfast. No phone to call someone – anyone – for help. The air is full of the smell of death and destruction and dust. Dust from the ground, dust from the collapsing buildings. Their clothes are dirty, torn, bloodied. They haven’t eaten. The prison building was compromised and who knows who escaped.
Children are missing. Trapped. Parents dead. Loved ones dead. Lost. Missing. God, please help them.
I can’t stand it. Just sitting here working on this mindless task that really doesn’t help anyone or do any good for anyone. And with each moment I sit here working, someone is buried in the rubble, hope of rescue fading, fading. Ugh. God, you need to help them.
We all are doing what we can: praying. Sending money. Doing what we can to spread the word to get help to Haiti.
But I can barely stand the ache in my heart for this tiny, poorer-than-poor country. I have the urge to go as if it were
From cnn.com
my own family caught, trapped. I see the video of a child sitting on a pile of rubble, shocked, confused, trying to make sense of what is happening. No adult is with him. Suddenly he looks like my own son, the same age and I think, My God help that little baby.
It’s just too much. I’ll turn off the TV for now, stop checking the news sites. Ignoring the problem won’t make it go away, but I’ve done all I can do and watching just ads to my own misery. Which is still nothing compared to theirs.
So I’ll do the only thing that I can do now. Pray. Please God. Just… please.
I’m doing it again. I’m jumping on the bandwagon of the latest trending topic on Twitter: Pat Robertson. I should know better than to talk politics or religion, but I’m impacted by this story in two ways: one, I’ve been to Haiti and found the people there lovely and enchanting although living in extreme poverty. Two, I’m a Christian.
Let me stop there to say I am embarrassed by Robertson’s comments regarding Haiti. You know, if he’d been giving a history lesson and telling the story of this dude who wanted to save Haiti from Napoleon so he sold his soul to the devil and just left it at that, I’d be okay. I thought it was a rather interesting story, one akin to Icharus wanting wings or Zeus sleeping around on Hera. Well, wrong era wrong continent but go with me here. While he didn’t right out say it, it appears he’s intimating that Haiti is cursed (by God I’m guessing) and that this earthquake is a result of said curse.
Having been to Haiti, I can say that it would indeed be easy to say the country is “cursed” (and by that I do not mean on God’s list of countries to smite in 2010). The people are incredibly poor there. Poor isn’t even a good word to use! The country is brown and dusty – animals roam the streets, dirty water puddles on the corners tainted by urine and feces, and children play right.there. There’s no topsoil in Haiti, no system for water (it’s caught in cisterns when (if) it rains) and when we were there, electricity only existed for about two hours a day, IF you were lucky.
And, sure enough, an hour crossing the Haitian border to the Dominican Republic is like stepping through the looking-glass: suddenly there’s lush green foliage, plants, flowers, grass, waterfalls, it’s a veritable land of plenty.
But back to Robertson.
I’m a Christian. Have been my whole life. I remember my mom watching Robertson when I was younger. I never minded him much until my adult life when many Christian leaders had their own failings as humans: affairs, homosexual relationships, embezzelment, etc. Wow, these are people just like me, making mistakes. These same people who represented Christianity to the world because of their far reaching programs and television shows.
Here’s what it comes down to for ME, in my OWN personal opinion.
Pat Robertson should have used his airtime to encourage Christians, Bhuddists, Muslims, Athiests humans to pray for, help, donate, send aid to Haiti.
If Pat Robertson wants this earthquake to truly be a “blessing in disguise” then he needs to not make harsh comments.
Cause hey, I’m just SURE that the people of Haiti will be LINING UP and coming in DROVES to turn Christian and follow this God who smited them, killing men women and little babies. After all, who doesn’t want to follow THAT God?
*hem*
Dear Haitians et. al:
I’m sorry that Pat Robertson made comments that make the rest of us Christians appear to be simple-minded, hateful witch hunters. Apparently he forgot the words “God is loving, gracious, kind, slow to anger, patient, forgiving…” I’ll stop there cause you get the point. Please don’t judge the rest of us based on his personal opinions. I’m pretty sure this earthquake was caused by this thing called a fault line.
So tired of people using religion to make other people feel bad about themselves, to scare others into believing in God. I get that we Christians beleive if you don’t believe in Jesus then you’re condemned to eternal damnation in hell (insert warm fuzzy feelings here) but for the love of God – really – knock it the hell off. If we’d spend half the time helping others, showing true love and concern for our fellow humans then maybe people would think “Hey, Christians are pretty cool. They aren’t stuffy at all!”
I’m hoping to go on a mission trip to Haiti this summer, returning to the city I visited back in ‘95 or ‘96. I’m not going to do dramas in the street or preach to thousands hoping they will turn or burn.
Instead, I’m going to really do what Jesus would likely have done: get in with the people, the outcasts, the downtrodden, the hurting, the homeless, the orphaned, and I’m going to love them. Yep. Love love. Like, ooh here’s a hug. Or, hey, let me make dinner for this displaced family. How ’bout that?
And I’m not going to mention that these souls that they are cursed. I’m instead going to look at them like the people who were wonderfully and fearfully made. By God.
Now, make a comment, but BE NICE! If ya’ll start hatin then I’ma delete your comment. Or put a curse on you.
If you noticed that my blog title is a line from 2001: A Space Odyssey, chances are you’re probably a sci-fi fan, movie trivia buff, or a space fan. Or maybe you just have a really good memory. Anyhoo, it doesn’t really matter since I’m not talking about movies or 2001 or if you can recall what you had for lunch on Tuesday six weeks ago.
I’m talking about outer space today. After a few weeks of following @flyingjenny on Twitter, I’ve become reacquainted with that bigger-than-life world that is outer space and the magic that was “maybe one day I can go to space” that all children seem to have at one point in life.
I know I did. I don’t know when it started, but I’d guess it was when I was about 5 and used to stare up at the night sky while driving home in the evening. I loved to look at the moon and the stars and was frequently disappointed when we arrived home and it was time to go in to bed. I wished on stars ALL THE TIME, and one wish (for a dog) was actually granted. I used to imagine the twinkling of those stars was really a message to me, blinking and flashing in a secret code, whispering to me how great my life could be and all of the wonderful things that were in store for me.
My mother was very imaginative and when my brother and I were younger, we were often treated to a game of make-believe play acting. We loved pretending and sometimes our acting seemed real enough that if we lived in CS Lewis’ books, we definitely would have made it through the wardrobe.
My mom read to us for hours on end, introducing us to The Hobbit and classics by Austen when we were still not of school age. She’d give us little buttons or other trinkets to leave on the windowsill for a magical princess who rode on the back of birds. In exchange for our little gifts, she’d leave a nickel or dime. It was wondrous!
Now toss in some good churching: the kind that makes God seem as big as eternity and just as wonderful and bright as those tiny twinkling stars, send us off to school to learn about the world around us, and you have two kids who believe anything is possible in the great big world!
But back to outer space. I mentioned following @flyingjenny. (If you don’t, you should!) She posed the question: “What “engages” you and keeps you interested in space?” I knew what it was for me: it was the magic of kinderhood that keeps me interested in space: it’s still a great big old mystery, filled with all the exciting possibilities one could ever imagine. My reply to her: “The magic that was space as a child! Wondering if someday *I* could look down at earth from the stars! Still feel that way. =)”
Why that is was her response, and what got me thinking today. Why is it some of us grown-ups are still enchanted by space and others could care less? When I heard NASA would be stopping the shuttle program, I felt incredibly sad! It was my parent’s generation who experienced the first shuttle missions, the first landing on the moon, the first tragedies of space travel. It was my generation that experienced more shuttle missions, the heartache that was the Challenger and Columbia. I remember the space station news and all of the launches into space for more exploration, and that pesky Hubble telescope that cost SO MUCH money.
When I was about 10 or 11, I saw the movie Space Camp. Oh, how I wanted to go to space and look down upon my planet! I wanted to fly to the moon and back, and zoom to stars and distant galaxies. When I was 20, I spent my evenings in Haiti gazing up at the sky, a sky so clear that ’shooting stars’ flew overhead like ducks on a cold winter day and you could see satellites cross the sky.
But wait! I can’t forget the space movies and television shows! The encounters had by Kirk and Spock! The evil empire of Darth Vader and the dashing Han Solo! What about space is there for a girl not to love!?
I don’t know what the future holds for space exploration (heavens, many will say it isn’t important enough because we can’t take care of our issues here on our own planet, much less outer space). I don’t know if the economy will bounce back and there will yet again be money for NASA to blast off into the undiscovered vastness of space. I doubt I’ll ever be in a space shuttle or on a space mission, or be a space tourist before I die. Heck, the one time I wanted to see the shuttle take off when we lived in Florida it was canceled. Some hurricane or rain storm or something. So I may not even hear the thunder that is the rocket booster thingamajigs, and feel the powerful shaking of the land as the shuttle takes off.
But I can tell my children about space, the planets, the possibilities of places far beyond human knowledge. I can tell them that Pluto is still a planet in my book, and maybe someday there will be hundreds more planets found and named. Maybe one day they will fly up to the stars and gaze down upon planet Earth.
One thing has to be certain: there isn’t a human who was or is or will be alive who hasn’t at some point stopped and stared up, wondering what is up there, what is out there, what kind of greatness would it be to *be* there.
Oh, for all my love of space and fantasy, I still can’t figure out the constellations. They NEVER look to me like the shapes they’re supposed to be. =)
What about you? What makes you a space lover either as a kid or an adult!?
Saying goodbye to the decade
Posted by: mswiggie
December 21st, 2009 >> I Can Be Serious Too, You Know...
I don’t usually sit down and review the past year when the new year is just around the corner. Instead I’m usually busy cleaning up Christmas decorations and trying to decide if I have enough energy to stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve (not really).
This year, however, I’ve been reading through the many “Decade in Review” postings on several websites. When I realized that it was indeed the end of a decade, I decided to think about the milestones, markers and events that shaped my life over the past ten years.
The decade began with heartache as my mom was ill and my relationship with my husband-at-the-time spiraled downward. My mom passed away in September of 2000, and by January of the next year, I’d had my first restraining-order against my husband. I was grateful to many friends who helped me get on my feet with my then-baby daughter.
September of 2001 is of course marked with tragedy of the September 11 attacks. Reconciliation with my husband followed soon after, and my son was born in June of 2002. The rest of that year was fairly decent, but old demons returned in June of 2003 and I learned a big lesson: some people cannot change. By October I was on my own yet again, this time with two kids. Christmas of 2003 was to be the best ever as friends brought gifts and food to me at a time when I had no money for anything. By May of 2004, I was leaving behind everything I had in Colorado and moved to Florida to be with family and to try to start my life over. I lived the rest of that year in fear trying to stay off the radar and hide out from my husband.
In February of 2006 I decided it was time to stop living with people and trying to “survive.” I wanted a better life for me and my two little ones, so I moved to Raleigh, NC to be by my brother. He encouraged me to go back to school, so I enrolled in an online college course and completed my degree with straight A’s.
Soon I had my own job, new friends, a new church and a new lease on life. The day after my birthday in 2007, I was FINALLY able to get a divorce. 2008 was pretty good to me, sans the ever-existing issues with my ex-husband. 2009 turned difficult when tragedy struck my family, this time hitting my daughter with a life-changing event. Through prayer and the support of our church family, we recovered and found another new outlook on life. Summer of 2009 and I met my downstairs neighbor and started a wonderful and healthy dating relationship after years of intermittent dating or just being solo. Can I tell you that years of being solo S U C K S?
2000-2009 was definitely the most difficult decade of my life. Losing a parent is incredibly difficult, watching your child suffer is unbearable. But, like the saying “one day we’ll look back at this and laugh” I can say that I look back at “this” or “that” still with some sadness, but with knowing that who I am today is a stronger, better, healthier person than I could ever be.
And so I think with the closing of this old decade, I’m going to put to bed the past and tuck it in nicely. Then I’m going to turn off the lights, shut the door, and walk away.
I have so much to look forward to: the upcoming decade holds hope and excitement. My kids are getting older and they ALWAYS add so much to my life: funny times, hilarious moments, learning experiences, tender hugs. I want this decade to be better for them, too.
So see you later 2000 thru 2009.
Hello 2010. I have great things planned for you!!!
If you’re in a relationship that is unhealthy or unsafe, you can get away and you can start over. If you or someone you know needs help, contact a local law enforcement agency or check out this website for more information.
Got this in an email from my pastor today. It was very thought provoking and helped me stop and still my thoughts for a moment. I hope it does the same for you:
Dear Church Family:
I read a devotional book each day written by Leo Tolstoy about 100 years ago. It’s a collection of ancient wisdom. He worked on it for years, drawing wisdom from all the major traditions, and particularly from his own as a Christian man. I was particularly taken by the reading on December 12, so I thought I’d send along a few of the points from that day’s reading.
God bless you
Doug
—
DECEMBER 12
On Anger and Hatred
In your quiet, inner thoughts, always try to find the good in others.
Make it a habit not say anything bad about others, even in your own thoughts.
When you interact with a person, try to find as much common ground as possible, the more the better, and try to nurture this feeling in yourself.
To cease being angry with a person and instead to seek peace, forgiveness, and love toward him, remind yourself of any sins you may have in common and compare them.
Hopefully the twitterverse will calm down a little with all the brouhaha and words regarding the death (yes, it’s been confirmed by Brevard County Sheriff) of @military_mom ’s son.
Twitter opens new doors for people to get help, but because of it’s telephone-chain-style of information spreading, people further down the road aren’t getting information firsthand. We’re getting RT of an RT of an RT and so on.
With the balloon boy story fresh in our minds, and the reality that some people will indeed take advantage of the internet, it’s not surprising that so many were immediately skeptical of this story.
So, people, skeptics and supporters alike: it’s okay to want to check out a story or a request for prayers or money. It’s not okay to attack someone or call them a liar straight out, but it’s A OK to say, “Hey, I want to help but I don’t know you. Can you give me something to work with?”
It’s good to see the community – real and virtual – come together to help this mom out. I hope that this family recovers from their loss quickly.
Another update:
Well, sad news. It’s been confirmed by the Brevard County Sheriff’s office that this little guy did indeed pass away. So if you want to help/can help this family, check out twitter feeds for more info, or go to: http://ilikeitfrantic.net/2009/12/prayers-and-hugs-for-the-ross-family/
UPDATE
Yeah, don’t be hating. Nothing wrong with wanting to help someone but checking it out first…
There’s NO local police reports, no local news story. I work for the media industry and there’s no way a story like this would go unreported. Seriously: mom alone, hubby overseas, baby dies?
I’m concerned. Super concerned. Not just because people are giving money to what*could* be a hoax (hey, I could be wrong) but because if this never happened, then a mother is speaking as though her son is dead. That’s terribly troubling. From a psychological standpoint, what does that say???
Original post:
Yes, I’m jumping on the bandwagon.
A few minutes ago I read a tweet by a kind person wishing well to someone who’d apparently lost a loved one. I clicked on the @name and discovered a few tweets by a lady whose son apparently drowned in Florida about 16 hours ago. Very sad, tragic, shocking indeed. But wait…something isn’t sitting right.
Who tweets “Please pray, 2 year old fell in a pool” followed up by odd posts with pictures. She never really says the child died, but it’s assumed based on the comments (read here: http://twitter.com/military_mom). Plus it’s foggy out – likely chilly. I lived in Fort Myers: WE NEVER went swimming in December. But okay, maybe she lives farther south. Maybe it’s a heated pool. But what’s with the chickens?
Now mind you, if I was at the hospital and was trying to get some prayers, yeah I may twitter. There’s something about the camaraderie of your friends online – whether you’ve met face to face or not. I tweeted when a beloved friend died a few months ago. But my baby?
Fog rolls in. Hour later baby fell in pool. At what point between trying to get him out, calling 911, police, fire, medical rolling on scene, attempting CPR… at what point did she tweet this prayer request?
Something just doesn’t seem right. There are no news reports at all. The AP Florida Bureau has nothing. Google search has nothing with the mom’s name or the child’s name.
Here’s what I think. Sympathies to this mom if this happened. I hope she catches a break from the nasty comments putting blame on her. If tweeting brings you comfort and some therapeutic value, keep doing it.
However, as someone who has worked in Law Enforcement, I suggest someone pay this home a visit and check on mom and baby. It isn’t impossible that maybe she’s just overwhelmed and needs help (her hubby is deployed right now). This could be a little shout-out for someone to help her out. It may be a big fat red flag that something isn’t right.
Looks like this gal is heading up the research department: http://twitter.com/madisonmcgraw. She’s catching flack too, but she has a point: just verify the story. (Check out her blog here: http://girlarsonist.blogspot.com/ )
If it’s true, I’m sure LOADS of people will flock to assist this family right away.
Either way, this woman needs help pronto: either her son just died OR something else is going on and she feels the need to lie and say he did.
Comments welcome but BE NICE.
Why my kids deserve medals
Posted by: mswiggie
December 9th, 2009 >> I Can Be Serious Too, You Know..., Rants
WAIT! DON’T GO!! I promise, this isn’t a blog about my perfect little angelic kids. It’s much more than that. Read on!
Ayup: I’m a single mom. I have two kids – 10 and 7. They’re great kids and I’m not just saying that because I’m their mom. They’re just mellow, chill, friendly little people. They slept through the night at 5 weeks, potty trained after a few days, never had the terrible twos, and get along rather well with each other even though they have occasional spats. But they don’t hit or bite each other and never throw tantrums. I’m truly blessed to have such great kids. They aren’t perfect though: my daughter has a drama streak in her that tells me she’ll likely win an Oscar before she’s 20. My son feels the need to police what all of the other children do, so I’m guessing a career in law enforcement is on his horizon.
I’ve been a ’single’ parent ever since my daughter (the 10 year old) was born. Even though I was married, I was alone the whole ride from all the doctor’s appointments and sonograms to the scary pre-term labor stints at the ER. As a matter of fact, it was during one of those ER trips – hooked up to IVs and heart rate monitors – that I realized my then-husband was a word I’d rather not use here. I’ll never forget the day he said to me “If you want so much attention, get a puppy.”
It was a few short months later that his true colors surfaced and I realized I’d married an abusive alcoholic. I was cut off from my family and friends, not allowed to have anyone over and my phone calls were monitored. I was working but barely made enough to cover the bills. His money went to buy vodka and cigars. Eventually I couldn’t keep up with my own car-payment and my car was repo’d and I was literally at his mercy to go anywhere or do anything.
I’ll keep a long story short so I don’t bore you with all the scary details. Let’s just say I’m surprised my life hasn’t been turned into a Lifetime Movie of the Week yet.
Yep, there were frightening times when I thought maybe I was going to die. But there were times of victory, too, like when I finally got a job waiting tables and saved enough money to move into my own little section 8 townhouse, two kids in tow. They shared a room and I slept on the couch, but oh the sweet bliss of not having to be afraid or upset when I went to bed!
I’m the mom who found bags of groceries by the front door and money in the mail to pay for electricity. I’m the mom who went to bed on Christmas Eve crying because I had no cookies or gifts for my little ones, only to be woken up by wonderful and amazing friends bearing BAGS of gifts, clothes and food for my children.
I’m the mom who left everything behind and took my two little children and left the state in a move of secrecy to get away from what was an increasingly volatile situation with my at-the-time husband. We lived in a little 5th wheel trailer in my uncle’s backyard, the two kids and I sleeping in a tiny bed together.
We eventually moved up to sleeping on a blow-up mattress in a garage, then sharing a room in a house, and eventually moving to Raleigh to live with my brother.
And now, 6 years later, I have my own place (my own bed!). The kids FINALLY each have their own bedrooms after moving again and again. We’ve been at the same school for three years, the same church. I’ve been trying to establish roots for my kids, security, stability, routine. So far so good.
I finally got a divorce a few years ago when a family member paid for an attorney so I could get custody of the kids. Last Christmas the kids flew out to Colorado to see their dad for the first time after 5 years. He finally started paying child support a year ago – almost consistently – until last month.
Last night he called me in a fury: he’d been arrested for not paying child support, for being in contempt of court (he won’t provide his employment information to the county).
The funny thing? It’s all MY fault that he’s suffering so much, and I need to close the child support case so they leave him alone (and of course he’ll still send me child support every month). If I don’t do this, then he’s flying to North Carolina to file for full custody.
Sure, no big deal. If you are reading this you are probably scoffing like I did.
But I’ve gone down a rabbit trail. I was telling you about my great kids: my kids who every Christmas, every birthday know that they won’t get the latest and greatest toy, they may get one or two little things but they never hold their breath. We see cool stuff at the store and they say things like “Hey this is sooooo cool! I wish I could have it!!!” Only to follow-up with a statement like “Oh, it’s too expensive. We probably can’t have it.”
Never snotty, never hateful, just resigned to the fact that our life is like “this.” They don’t complain when their pants get too small and ride up at the ankles, or when they have PB&J sandwiches for weeks on end for lunch, or Hamburger Helper for dinner again.
They didn’t complain when their dad gave them a Wii and an Xbox the day after Thanksgiving but said they had to leave them in Colorado. Instead they appreciate the fact they finally have one (I guess I’m the only one who thinks that was super mean to do to them…).
I’ve done my best to never say anything bad about their dad in front of them or to them. I make excuses for why he doesn’t send birthday cards or gifts, or why he never calls or writes or emails.
Yeah, it kills me to hear the kids say life is better at dad’s house where they have all this nice stuff like clothes that fit and a parent who is home all the time, and video games, and flat-screen tvs, and a cooler car.
But then they hug ME and say that those things don’t really matter in the long run, as long as we are together. *sniffle*
So, do you know a single mom? Kids of a single mom? Chances are they’ve all had a rough go at things. They are probably having a rough go at things right this minute. Maybe. Then again, you’ve got single moms who don’t sit around complaining all day and get up and get out there and try to make it better for themselves, for their kids.
We sacrifice as much as a married mom does, and sometimes a lot more. Our kids sacrifice too, and learn that life is just different for them without a dad around.
Sure, my case is extreme. My kids’ dad lives a billion miles away, not up the street. I have my brother to rely and count on (and oh is he ever there for us) but he only has so much he can give to.
It’s pretty much up to ME to continue to give the kids what they need most, and that is the character, integrity and strength to be good people even when in the face of adversity. To make good choices no matter how difficult that may be. To understand that not having the latest and greatest doesn’t make you a nerd or a loser, but makes you appreciate life so much more.
So yeah, this year I’d like to award my kids medals for being amazing, resilient, loving, gracious. And they’re damn funny, too. I’m taking consolation in this during the times I feel like the world’s lamest mom when I’m too tired to read a book at bedtime, don’t have a spare minute to cut the edges off a PB&J sandwich, or to build a lego castle. Cause I know my kids are going to be a-okay. Even if I feel like we’re not.
***If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, GET HELP! Contact your local law enforcement agency, department of social services, or check out this site for more information: http://www.ncadv.org/protectyourself/GettingHelp.php
I almost ran over a police officer. He was cute, too (Part 2)
Posted by: mswiggie
December 3rd, 2009 >> Funny Ha Ha
Now let’s review. I’ve been sitting in my [broken] car for more than a half hour, pressing on the break pedal like mad so my car didn’t roll over a small curb into a pretty sizable ditch. I’d been crying and was pretty stressed out. My hair was a mess, my makeup was streaked and I’m sure I had a mild look of panic on my face. But then Officer Hunka-Hunka showed up. Rawr!
I casually rolled down my window as this very cute (and possibly non-married) officer approached my car.
Me: (trying to be very casual) “Oh, hello! Something’s wrong with my car. It’s stuck in reverse and I’m a little worried I’m going to roll over that hill over there.”
The officer stepped back and surveyed the situation.
“If I’d known this, I’d have come sooner” he said. I’m pretty sure he meant that if he had known that my gorgeous, beautiful self was in distress he would have come sooner to assist me.
“I was dispatched to a motorist assist” he said, as if reading my mind and saying that there was no way in heyl that he’d have hurried over because of my good looks.
I was slightly annoyed by the dispatchers choice of, well, dispatching. When I was a dispatcher, a “motorist assist” meant helping a driver who was lost, or locked his keys in the car, or maybe had a flat tire. But for a poor distraught girl whose car was going to plunge to her death off roll off of a cliff!? Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a cliff…
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Ease up off the brake and roll your car to the curb.”
“Alright,” I said, “but it’s going to go pretty fast.” He just nodded his head and started using air-traffic-control-hands at me (keep moving, keep moving). I figured he was not only handsome but brave as well to have me start rolling the car towards him. He must have an ulterior motive: get my car out of control so he can grab me out at the last second, sending us both tumbling into the grass where he begins to feverishly kiss me and then…
Oh, wait… sorry. Back to my story.
I ease off the brake.
My car goes FLYING.
I slam on the brake. It barely works.
“I don’t think that is going to work. I barely lifted my foot off the pedal.”
The officer looked over the cliff of death and came over to my car.
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Ease up on your brake and roll toward the curb. I’ll stop you from going over.”
“You’re going to stop me? Okaaay.”
Eeeassssy, eaaaasssy. LURCH!
My car flies forward toward the very-cute-and-nice-officer. He dives into the hood of my car with arms extended trying to stop it from rolling.
I’m trying to be calm. He’s shouting “Easy! Easy!” My brakes are NOT cooperating.
I wonder how many years a girl gets for running over a cop.
I lean my head out the window and say “I’m going easy but I think I’m going to run you over!”
This went on for about a minute.
And that is when he jumped out of the way and my car went “cccccrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaakkk-ccccccccccccrrrrrrrrrrrunnnnnch” on the curb. Like the Titanic sinking, my car moaned and groaned for about 5 seconds and then, all was quiet.
“You can get out now,” Super Cop said.
I wish I had stayed in my car, cause when I got my fat butt out, my car rolled a little more.
“I’m really sorry I had to call you out here for this,” I said.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “If you’d never called, I never would have been able to meet such a beautiful woman. Want to go to dinner?”
Yeah, kidding. He just looked at me funny.
“You did the right thing,” he said. “You got a tow coming?”
“Yeah I have a tow coming. And my brother. Thanks for your help.” Oh please oh please oh please give me your phone number…
“Have a nice day.” And then he left.
I looked at the bottom of the front end of my car. It was all mushed from the curb.
And I looked down the cliff of death. I could have probably rolled right on over it and not hurt myself at all. Just probably my car. 45 minutes of agony for nothing.
Maybe if I’d called 911 and said “My car is going over a cliff!” the response time would have been faster… AND maybe at the end I could have sat in the back of an ambulance with trembling hands, drinking hot cocoa with the O
fficer’s jacket around my shoulders and him tucking my hair behind my ear…
Why is it when you look your worst, the cute guys come out of the woodwork? I bet if I hadn’t had a little nervous break down and was quite calm AND was having a good hair, makeup, face day, then they would have sent Barney Fife.
He would have asked me out.