Thanks To All This Hallow’s Eve

Thanks to all who celebrate Halloween with trick-or-treating ON October 31st. (Because that is the date of Halloween, after all.)

Thanks to all who turn the light on, who engage in conversation with their neighbor’s children and enjoy the harmless fun.

Thanks to all who give safe, fun treats and to those who refrain from handing out toothbrushes, fresh fruit and Sun Chips.

Thanks to all who don’t make rude comments to the teens who dress-up to join in the fun. As long as they’re dressed up in the spirit of the season, what’s wrong with a little free candy?

Thanks to all who dress-up in silly or (slightly) scary costumes to answer the door.

Thanks to all who decorate their houses with spooky and fun.

Thanks to all who respectfully quit their trick-or-treating at a reasonable hour.

Thanks to Publix for having buy-one-get-one for Halloween candy the entire month of October. You saved me a boatload of money this year.

Thanks to the drivers who will drive that much slower and be that much more aware tonight.

Thanks to the fun-makers and not the mischief makers. This world needs more fun and so much less mischief.

Thanks to my kids who will graciously share their candy with me this evening – especially anything with chocolate and coconut.

Thanks to all this hallow’s eve.

No. I Won’t Be Taking Medical Advice From My Neighborhood Grocery Store Bagger, Thank You Very Much.

I love my beloved Publix store. I love their BOGOs. I love their produce. I love their Publix brand products. I love their employment policy and how they employ the disabled. I love the cashiers and most of the baggers.

Ok. Make that…

All of the baggers, except one.

I don’t dislike him. I don’t dislike how he bags my groceries.

I dislike his small talk.

I’m sure his personal challenge involves social skills. I commend Publix for putting him in a social position so he can work on these skills. But he irks me, all the same.

“I don’t know what this is but I find that Melatonin 2.5 milligrams works best for me when I need to get to sleep,” he says, holding up my box of natural sleep-aid for the world to see.

I know. Having difficulty sleeping is not a tragic secret never to be revealed. But my kid was standing right there. Maybe I don’t want my kid to know I’m popping pills to sleep. And maybe I don’t want to take medical advice from my neighborhood grocery bagger.

“Did you know this is loaded with hydrogenated oils,” he lectures, holding up my can of Reddi-Whip (and it doesn’t, by the way) “Hydrogenated oils are really bad for you.”

“Do you really like this?” He’s holding my box of Kashi cereal. “I think it tastes like twigs.”

“My dog hates these things.” He’s holding my package of Pedigree Jumbones. “You should try rawhides. They last longer.”

Ahhh, no. Rawhides aren’t the best thing for dogs. But I keep my mouth shut. I remember what happened last time.

We were walking to my car. He insisted, despite my protests, on loading my groceries. (At Publix, they’re all trained to push your cart to the car.)

“What a beautiful, sunny day,” I comment. It’s an innocuous statement. It’s sunny. It’s warm. I figured it was a safe statement.

No.

He then goes into a tirade about our drought (this was a few summers ago) and the adverse effect it’s having on our environment and how people continue to waste water and how the fines should be steeper and on and on and on.

And on.

Yes. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut with this particular bagger.

And I firmly, very firmly, grasp the shopping cart when he insists on taking my bags to the car.

Jane’s True Confessions Or Secrets That Aren’t Secrets Anymore

1. I have pre-dated posts  in order to create certain patterns on my homepage calendar that highlights post dates. (For any fellow OCD bloggers out there, this sentence makes perfect sense.)

2. I let the television babysit my children from time to time. Ok. More often than I’d like to admit. (Wait. I just admitted it, didn’t I?)

3. Yep. I’m that lazy mom that forgot to send in the two dozen baked goods, individually wrapped, for the Fall Festival this year. And not for just one kid. For two. Yep. That’s me. Oh. And I didn’t sign up to volunteer for the booths, either. (What is wrong with me?)

4. Oh, yeah. And I’m also the mom that forgot to send $1 with my kids to school for Hat Day raising money for Breast Cancer Awareness and Research. (Boy, I suck.)

5. I throw together a bunch of pre-prepared stuff (canned soup, frozen vegetables, grilled chicken in shrink-wrap packages) and pass it off as homemade to my husband and call it one of my creations. (God, I hope he doesn’t read this!)

6. I have regrets. I wish I didn’t. But I do. And I can’t seem to shake them off. Like #7….

7. I really messed up. I wish I could do it all over again, but I can’t. I’m so sorry I xxxxxxxxx. I didn’t mean to xxxxxxx. But I did. And for that, I’m truly sorry. (I’m so glad I got that off my chest.)

8.  My teen thinks that I don’t know things that I do. She forgets that I was a college freshman once, too. Yep. I know what is going on in your dorm room, on the weekends, in and out of class. I know. And I’m not saying one thing. Nope. Nada. Nothin’. My lips are sealed. I can play dumb like the best of ’em.

9. I hide my favorite ice cream (Ben & Jerry’s) on the second to last shelf of the freezer. Hidden under bags of vegetables.

10. I love all the faithful, amazing, wonderful readers I have out there who read me more than I read them. I haven’t been much of a reader lately. My life has been a bit topsy-turvy. But I love you all, just the same.

Ok.

That wasn’t much of a confession.

But I had to say it.

I do.

Love you all.

Could You Be A Sister Wife?

I’m not sure I could.

I don’t watch Sister Wives religiously. (Ba-dum-bum. Chhhh!) But I have seen a few episodes, most recently, the one when they go back to the husband’s hometown for the first time as an open polygamist family. His friends from high school were very frank about their feelings towards him, then and now. Some were favorable. Some not so much.

The episode began to nudge me into a direction about how I feel. On one hand, it goes against everything I feel about monogomy. And to be fair, they think of themselves as monogamous. Their monogamy is just not my monogamy. On the other hand, wouldn’t it be nice to have that kind of help, friendship, incredibly close comradery with other women. Women who would totally get my frustrations with my (our?) husband, kids, life. But then, I go back to the first hand and think about theological concerns I have with the faith. So, that’s where I stay.

I’m conflicted. For myself. The shows Big Love and Sister Wives have pushed me out of my comfort zone. And that’s ok for me. It has, however,  stirred my passion for tolerance and acceptance of others who may not believe as I believe.

And it got me thinking.

If polygamy were legal, between age-appropriate and consenting adults, wouldn’t it be that much easier to prosecute the Warren Jeffs of the world? Think of all the people who could openly come forward with pertinent information regarding the abuse of young girls.

Behind closed doors, between age-appropriate, consenting adults, I don’t really care what happens. It doesn’t affect me.

What hurts us all is the abuse of young girls, forced to marry or young boys, forced out of their homes.

Horrible cults will never go away. We should always prosecute and condemn those who take advantage or neglect the welfare of our children. But if two (or three, or four…dare I say more?) adults fundamentally believe in a plural marriage? Who am I to judge?

Ok.

So now you know my fuzzy opinion.

What’s yours?

Sign Seen At A Local McDonalds Play Area

 

I’m surprised they let us in!

 

 

Facebook Status Updates I Wish I Had The Guts To Post

1. I’m just a lazy @$$, sitting on my couch eating Cheetos and watching TV while the rest of you are running marathons and getting your best time. Ever!
2. You have your health, a job, your kids aren’t doing drugs and your husband is faithful. Quit your whining!
3. What a busy weekend! There isn’t enough room to list all the parties I was invited to and you weren’t!
4. I honestly don’t care about what computer game you are playing or what your top score is.
5. If you just posted that you’re at the local pub, the newest gourmet cafe or snazzy boutique and you didn’t ask me to come along? Please. Just stop typing.
6. I’m in the grocery line. The woman in front of me is paying with coupons and exact change. I forgot laundry soap. I don’t want to get out of line. Still waiting for the lady in front of me. Boy, I’m so hungry. Oh yay! It’s my turn. Great. There’s a price check. So, I’m still waiting. Is this boring for you? Yep. Me, too.
7. You’re having a fight with your boyfriend. Fine. I get it. It happens to all of us. But if you’re not going to tell HIM how you feel, please don’t tell all of us.
8. Just a little unsolisited advise. Their is no spellchek or grammer chek on Facebook. Proof you’re posts.
9. Boundaries people! I don’t want to hear about your day 0n the toilet.
10. OMG. If you have time to post your time at the 1/2 way mark of your marathon maybe you should put the phone down and try to beat the course record. You might have more to brag about at the end of your race. Just sayin’.

The Little Poem That Always Pushes Me Through

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done,
     But, he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
     Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
     On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
     That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
     At least no one has done it”;
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
     And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
     Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
     That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
     There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
     The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle it in with a bit of a grin,
     Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing
     That “couldn’t be done,” and you’ll do it.

~Edgar A. Guest
 

I memorized the first verse of this poem when I was in high school. It has been a mantra, of sorts, throughout my life. My parents were naysayers. I’ve had bosses and friends who always saw the glass as half empty.

 I’ve held onto this encouraging bit of prose for dear life and it always gets me through.

So, when there is no one around to be your cheerleader, pull out this poem. And remember that I shared it with you.

Because I think you can do it, too.

I’m Saying Goodbye To Fair Weather Friends

I’ve been popular. I’ve been not-so-much. I’ve had an insanely complicated amount of friends. I’ve had three or four truly close friends.

Sitting here, in my forties, I’ve looked back at my friendolution with wonder and awe.

Elementary School – A plethora of friends. Popular among the girls because I wasn’t afraid of the boys. Popular with the boys because I was a crazy tomboy. Snakes wrapped around my wrists, climbing trees, playing kickball and racing bikes – all wearing a dress (with shorts underneath, of course.)

Middle School – Down to a few close friends. An awkward, yucky phase in my life. It suddenly wasn’t cool to like school and I still liked it. I loved it. It was my escape. So, I closed myself off and hid in the library whenever I could. Books became my true friends. Books and Stacy, Jill, Sharon and Rita, that is.

High School – Back to tons of friends again. I was on the swim team, involved in student government, sang in the choir and the select ensemble and tried out for school plays. I loved sports, so I hung with the jocks and the cheerleaders, too. I had friends in every stratosphere of high school. Being an intellectual was swinging back to cool at my school. Especially if you could help your friends with their homework.

College – The pendulum swings back to a choice few friends. But then, I was a bit obsessed with my boyfriend by this time and overwhelmed with the freedom of young adulthood and college life. My choice few friends were all I could handle.

Young adulthood and beyond – Sometimes lots of friends. Sometimes not. But I’m still not good at allowing friends to drift in and out of my life. I wonder. I obsess. What did I do wrong? Why doesn’t Lori call anymore? Why am I always the one who has to contact Drew? Why is it always tit-for-tat with Grace?

There are some friends that have drifted out that I am relieved to be rid of. Doesn’t that sound harsh? But it’s true. The psychic vampire friends. The ones who were exhausting to be around in the first place. Or the ones whose expectations I could never meet.

Then there are the friends, just a couple, that I still wonder about. Still pine for. Why did our friendship have to end? Was it something I said or did? What happened that I missed?

But through my friendolution, one truth remains the same. I have no use for the fair weather friends. To be my friend you must stick with me through thick and thin. Loyalty is paramount. Kindness is crucial. Compassion is a must. Patience and understanding will take us far. I make mistakes but I own them. I’m not afraid to apologize.

The friends who have dumped me because: I divorced. I wouldn’t gossip with you in the teacher’s lounge. I changed jobs. I moved 10 miles away. I got re-married. I had kids. I didn’t have kids. I moved out-of-state. I might as well have moved out-of-state. I wouldn’t stay at your teeny, tiny condo. I got sick and you thought I was faking it. (Seriously? What did I see in you?) I went to college. I chose to be a stay-at-home mom.

All of you?

Good riddance.

I don’t need any fair weather friends.

Pot Shops Ordered To Close Even Though They’re Legal. Where Do You Stand?

I just read an article on msn.com about federal authorities ordering pot shops in California to close even though they’ve been legally open for 15 years.

This topic has always fascinated me. For the record, I have never imbibed. Ever. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. I don’t judge those who do. But smoking, of any kind, is just not for me.

However, from what I know/read/learned about pot smoking it seems to me a fairly innocuous pastime. Certainly no worse than drinking alcohol. But then I hear from some experts and law enforcement that marijuana is a gateway drug, leading to bigger and scarier things.

I’ll never forget the look of horror on my parents faces when I told them I completely understood (in all my 16 years of wisdom) pot smoking. “At least you get something from it,” I said, “Cigarette smoking is like pouring dirt into your lungs. At least from pot, you get high.”

Listening to my brother-in-law (who has worked with the DEA and ICE) his stance is very black and white. It’s a drug. It’s illegal. It leads to more crime and harder drugs. It should be outlawed entirely.

I’m still on the fence.

So, I’m curious.

Where do you stand, dear reader? (Ahhh, I feel a poll coming on…..)

Item #174 From The List Of What NOT To Say To An Adopted Child

I know you meant well. I know you were, in your feeble way, trying to make my child feel comfortable.

But you didn’t. You made him feel singled out and confused.

When assigning a Family Tree project and addressing your group of children, just talk to the whole group. Use words like “family” and “parent” and “grandparents” as if everyone in the group has a family and a parent and a grandparent.

Because we do!

We all do. Families form in different ways, to be sure. But you don’t need to single anyone out. Each child will find a way to complete the assignment that fits for him.

And if my son had brown hair and blue eyes like his father you wouldn’t have even considered saying…

Item #174 – “That’s ok, #1son. Just use the information from the parents you live with now.”  And when you saw the confused look on his face (because he understood the assignment until you tried to “clarify”) you go on to say, “Not your real parents but the parents you live with NOW.”

Real parents? Are you kidding me?

We are his real parents. We may not have physically given him his 46 chromosomes but we have given him food, shelter and love from the moment we first held him in our arms.

We were there for his first tooth. We rushed him to the hospital when his fever spiked to 106. We laughed with his infectious laugh. He held our fingers, one in each hand, before falling asleep those precious first few nights. We held him when he cried, when he was sick, when he wanted simple cuddle time.

We took him to pre-school and proudly watched him at his kindergarten graduation with adorable cap and gown. We jumped up and down when he rounded third base to score the winning run. We read with him every night. We worry about every sniffle. We stand on the porch watching him walk two houses down to a friend’s house, hiding behind the pillar, hoping he doesn’t see.

We know to give him his medicine during pollen season. We anticipate his frequent bloody noses when the weather is dry or the pollen is high. We know that he is allergic to certain antibiotics. We have his pediatrician on speed-dial.

We are his real parents. We are as real as it gets. His biological parents made a heartfelt, incredibly difficult decision to allow us to be his real parents. And we will be forever grateful.

Our son has a family. A real family. To call his own. He knows who his parents are. Who his siblings are. Who his grandparents are. Even his great-grandparents. So, no need to explain things to him.

He knows who his real family is.

No need to clarify.

Just wanted to let you know.