I'm THAT Mom

I hate to admit it. But, I suppose if I'm honest, I have to admit that I've always been that mom.

As I sat on the park bench enjoying the warm summer day while watching my son play, another mom waved to her child in the sandbox and took a seat next to me. After a moment, she leaned over and said, conspiratorially, "Johnny just loves the sandbox. He seems to have a real knack for building things. He'll probably be an architect or an engineer when he grows up." She gave a little self-satisfied smile and waved to her son again.

I peered at my son who was eating sand and gave a nervous little laugh.

The woman raised an eyebrow then continued telling me about her boy. “Just look at the way he plays with those cars,” she gushed. “He’s pushing them along the little roads he built in the sand! He’s just brilliant!”

I looked at my son who was reenacting some sort of demolition derby, cars plowing into each other, flipping on their backs, flying through the sandbox, and crashing into piles of twisted metal.

Ms. Perfect Mom cleared her throat and gave a feeble, plastic smile as if to assure me there was still hope for my derelict son and my subpar parenting although she wouldn’t be willing to put money on the odds.

“How old is your son?” came her seemingly innocent question.

“He’s four,” I responded.

“Johnny’s four-and-a-half,” she said triumphantly as if being born six months earlier made her child superior in some way.

I simply smiled at her then turned my attention back to the kids.

“When Johnny was four, he started reading chapter books. What does your son like to read?”

I glanced at my child who was now purposely walking into the poles supporting the swingset. Repeatedly.

She gasped at the sight and asked me, her voice laced with horror and a hint of disgust, “What is he doing?”

I shrugged and offered, “Trying to get brain damage?”

At this point, she excused herself, murmuring something about Johnny’s violin lesson and barely stopped to scoop up her son while beating a hasty retreat from the park.

Yep, I’m that mom. I have those kids.

Most recently, my oldest son bleached his hair out white. Then he started spiking it, molding it into some sort of Flock of Seagulls ‘do. That wasn’t freaky enough for him so next, he took it upon himself to pierce his ears with safety pins. Yeah.

I hate to admit that I’m that mom because I know that normal moms wonder about me. Normal, minivan-driving, soccer-going, whole-food-shopping, card-carrying-members of the PTA kinda of moms. Moms who say things like, “My child will never do that.” Normal moms. Yeah, those moms who whisper behind their perfectly manicured hands, pointing out what a veritable failure I am.

And who could blame them. I mean, a person’s parenting ability is judged on their kids’ successes, right? If your child get straight As, you’re a good parent. If your child is an all-star athlete, you’re a good parent. If your child is a music prodigy, you’re a good parent.  If your child is clean-cut, well-groomed, and looks like a model, you’re a good parent. If, however, your child eats sand or has safety pins through his earlobes, you are most definitely that parent.

Still, my son with his, um, freakish, unique look knows how to think. He knows how to make a decision based on principals and not peer pressure. He thinks about other people; the earth does not revolve around him. He doesn’t have a sense of entitlement. He has common sense. (Okay, we’re still working on that one.) I guess I’d rather be that mom and have that kid than to have one who excels at everything he does because I’ve ensured that outcome by insisting he gets a trophy simply for participating, by making sure he’s invited to every birthday party, by fighting with teachers to make sure he gets credit for mediocre work, by protecting him from any and every possible hardship, and by drilling into his brain the idea that he deserves whatever he wants.

I guess I can live with being that mom.

Into the Tunnel of Darkness: My Colonoscopy

After having two bouts of diverticulitis in less than a year, my doctor urged me to get a colonoscopy. At the mere mention of the word colonoscopy, my butt cheeks involuntarily clenched. From what I'd heard, I knew that colonoscopies were only slightly worse than being stretched on the rack, getting buried alive, or taking your kids grocery shopping. I decided to make an appointment, but the whole "diarrhea of epic proportions and a camera shoved up my butt" thing held me back. After procrastinating for the maximum allowable time, I finally picked up the phone. (The maximum allowable time is different for men and women. Since I'm a woman and therefore not a big baby, I could only procrastinate for a year. Men can procrastinate for more than 10 years.)

When I had my consultation, the nurse explained the procedure and gave me a couple different options to prepare for the test. Prepare for the test. This is where the deception starts. In my world, prepare for the test means study and memorize how to conjugate irregular verbs in Spanish. But that's not the kind of preparations or tests they're talking about.

One of the options she gave me was to drink some concoction called GoLytely. Go lightly. Well, that sounds nice. It's the name of Audrey Hepburn's lovable character in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Lightly. Go lightly. It sounds nice and calm. Deception number two.

The first two choices she gave me entailed drinking some sort of vile liquid. I knew I wouldn't be able to get down, let alone keep down, any kind of disgusting drink. I had flashbacks to the many glucose tolerance tests I've taken while pregnant. Take my word on this, the technicians do not like it when you throw up on them. I asked the nurse, "Do you have a third choice? How about an xray? A blood test? Anything less um, icky?"

She said, "Well, since you're young and healthy, you could take pills instead, but we'd need to do bloodwork first to make sure your kidney function is okay. And if you opt for the pills, you need to take 32 of them and you'll need to drink 8 ounces of water every time you take the pills."

"Water I can handle," I said, relieved I wouldn't have to drink any foul fluid. Sign me up!"

So, the day before my colonoscopy comes and I begin my prep.

4:00 PM – I’ve had nothing but water all day, figuring the less in, the less out. I swallow the first 4 pills that I'm pretty sure are actually those little salt pellets you use in your water softener. I down my 8 ounces of water and wait, poised outside the bathroom door, ready to make a dash. I’m not sure how long it will take before I begin to experience the, um effects. Fearing it will happen instantaneously, I refuse to move from my post next to the toilet.

4:15PM – I feel fine and prepare to take my next 4 pills, followed by an additional 8 ounces of water. Waiting is scary. How long will it take to kick in, I wonder. Will I really be locked in the bathroom for the rest of the evening or had my friends and family exaggerated when they spoke of their experiences?

4:30PM – As I look at the clock and prepare to swallow my next four pills, I begin to feel some bubbling and gurgling in my tummy. For those of you who are new to the whole colonoscopy experience, take heed. That bubbling means – Get your butt on the toilet NOW!

4:35PM – I grab my book and head for the toilet. I can't help thinking of the Seinfeld episode when George takes a book into the bathroom with him, is forced to buy it, then the book is flagged so George can't return it. I wonder how many library books have undergone the colonoscopy prep. Then I think it’s probably better not to ponder that. (This was not a library book. I promise.) I decide this isn't too bad. I’ve had worse gastrointestinal viruses in my life.

4:45PM – I finish my business and wash my hands. As I take my next 4 pills, it hits me again. And by hits me, I mean, I not only do not have time to dry my hands, but I very nearly don't have time to pull down my pants. Oh. My. Gosh. I had no idea my body could hold that much. I see things I ate when I was five years old come out. All the partially digested pieces of grape Hubba Bubba I'd swallowed when the teacher caught me with gum in high school came out.

5:00PM – I manage to choke down pills 17-20 and pray for death wonder when the "effects" will let up. My legs are numb from sitting on the toilet. Great, I think, I'll get up and have to crawl out of the bathroom and heaven forbid the urge hit me again because there is no way I'll be able to get back to the toilet on these rubber legs. I wonder if my kids will be scarred for life if they find me lying in a pool of "effects" on the bathroom floor. I make a mental note to start saving for their therapy just in case.

7:00PM I leave the safety of the bathroom. It doesn't last long. But now I can manage to go 5 - 10 minutes between effects (effects sounds so much nicer than explosive diarrhea, doesn't it?).

8:00PM – At this point, my colon is clean enough to eat off, not that I recommend eating off colons or anything. However, those 20 salt pills didn't get the message that my colon is empty; they're still working. Since there's nothing left in my entire digestive system, my internal organs liquify and come running out instead. I've only consumed about half a gallon of water, but somehow, once in my body, that 64 ounces turned into 87 gallons.

8:30PM – You know how babies get diaper rash after having poop on their butts for a period of time? Yeah, well six and a half hours into my preparations, my butt actually burst into flames. It’s okay though, the veritable Niagara Falls that continued to flood from my body doused the fire. For the moment anyway.

9:00PM – I nearly vomit as I try to choke down the next 4 pills. Then I wonder what on earth these pills are going to do to me. I'm empty. I’m afraid if I take the final 8 pills, what’s left of my body will drain out my butt and nothing will remain of me except my earrings.

12:00AM – The hollow shell of skin that used to be me gives up, crawls to bed, and passes out, knowing I won’t need the bathroom for the next 5 weeks because there’s absolutely nothing left in me.

10:30AM – I arrive at the doctor’s office and take a seat in the waiting room.

11:00AM – I consider slapping the person sitting next to me, popping her gum, and talking loudly on her cell phone.

11:30AM – They finally call me back to a room and ask me a litany of questions.
“Is there any chance you’re pregnant?” I laugh so hard, I snort.
“Do you wear glasses or contacts?” No.
“Do you have dentures?” No.
“Do you have a hearing aid?” What?
“Do you have a hearing aid?” What?
“Do you have a hearing aid?” I decide this nurse doesn’t have a sense of humor and give up.
She has me change into a hospital gown so they can have easier access to violate me, and starts an IV.

12:00PM – I’m wheeled into the room where the magic happens. I look around for the buttcam and see some ominous-looking tubes. The anesthesiologist comes in and takes my blood pressure. It’s 612/438. “Are you nervous?” he asks. “No”, I reply, “I do this every couple weeks for fun.” The nurse tells me to turn onto my side (you know, for easy access), and the anesthesiologist injects his drugs into my IV. The last thing I remember is hearing Secrets by One Republic playing in the room, and thinking it’s a good thing they aren’t playing Baby Got Back.

12:30PM – A mean nurse is trying to get me to wake up. Apparently, she’s been trying for a while because she seems impatient and frustrated that I won’t open my eyes. I want to tell her to go away and let me sleep. I’m a single mom to six kids, for crying out loud. I need this rest! But I can’t wake up enough to form the words. I feel the need to pass gas and think to heck with being a lady. I'm afraid if I hold back I'll likely explode. At some point, the doctor came in and told me that although I have diverticulosis, it isn’t too bad and there are no polyps or any other scary things in there. Then he tells me I don't need to come back until I'm 50. I've got 8 years and 1 month to prepare for my next preparation.





So folks, the moral of this story is - just do it! Make the appointment and do it! Yeah, the preparation sucks, but look on the bright side, you'll lose a few pounds, have something to blog about, and will be able to put your mind at ease about colon cancer. Colorectal cancer is one of those things that's curable if it's caught in time. Suffering through stage 4 colorectal cancer is much, much worse than a colonoscopy. Oh yeah, and buy some diaper wipes and maybe even some Desitin for your prep. A butt on fire is not a happy butt.

Math Sucks

For those who have read my blog for any amount of time, you know that I’m not mathy. In fact, I think I may make Jimmy Buffett’s Math Sucks my theme song. And this is my favorite cartoon ever.

I barely passed math in high school and now I have to help my students with math more than any other subject. Some days, I can understand why we teach it. Some days, I can tell my students, “Yes, you really will use this in your adult life.” I was helping my sixth graders learn how to set up proportions and figure out tax and tips and discounts. It was stuff we use all the time. I could honestly say with certainty that they will need this knowledge later in life. I mean, you don’t want to waste money on the buy-one, get-one deal for generic canned tomatoes when the coupon for the name brand tomatoes is the better deal. You need math to figure out this stuff. Unless, of course, you marry a rich person who takes you out to dinner so you don’t have to buy tomatoes at all, which is clearly the best solution.

And then there are times, like today, when I was helping my eighth graders solve two-step inequalities and graph them. When was the last time, you thought to youself, “Hmmmm, I must graph the solution to -6x – 18 > -12. I simply need to know the answer immediately!”? Have you ever, in your adult life, needed to graph an inequality onto a number line? Ever? Of course not!

I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it though. Today, a student asked me, “when you multiply or divide by a negative, aren’t you supposed to flip the sign?” At the beginning of the year, I would’ve looked at them, completely dumbfounded, and said something like, “How the crap am I supposed to know?!” Today, however, I looked at him and said, “Is this what your math teacher told you?” When he nodded in the affirmative, I concurred, “Why yes, yes, you do.” Then I frantically searched through the book to double-check. My students are none-the-wiser these days. They think I’m brilliant. (Yes, it does make me feel good to know I can hold my own with twelve-year-olds, thankyouverymuch.)

So today, while I was helping my students study for their test on solving and graphing two-step inequalities, they asked me, “Why do we have to know this stuff?”


I answered, “You don’t. But I had to learn this garbage in junior high, so now I’m making you learn it too just so I can experience a little vindication.” They merely stared at me blankly until I had them look up the word “vindicate” in the dictionary, thus effectively moving us on to Language Arts. Voila!

The Top Ten Reasons Why Valentine's Day Sucks

I’ve never been a big fan of Valentine’s Day. When I was single and dating, I never knew what to expect or what was expected of me? Should I get my boyfriend a card? Homemade cookies? Something more? Cologne? How much should I spend? I don’t want to go overboard and make him feel bad if he just got me a card. I don’t want to do too little if he spent a lot of money. (It can be very nerve-racking.)

CONTINUE READING HERE!

I'm REALLY not cut out for Dating

I’ve been on my own with the kids for over two years now. I’ve been officially divorced for a year and a half. I’ve been thinking about dating lately. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it in theory.

I’m far too busy and wouldn’t know where to start meeting people.  I’d feel too guilty leaving my kids to go out for the evening when it seems like I don’t have enough time with them as it is.  And I’m not keen on the idea of introducing anyone to my kids at any point in the future.  I can’t imagine anyone else becoming part of their lives.  Still, I guess I’m feeling lonely.  Well, mostly I just feel overwhelmed with responsibility.  I could never have imagined just how hard it is to juggle everything and be the sole caregiver to six kids along with being their provider as well.  No time off, no every-other-weekend breaks, not even dinner out by myself or with friends now and then.  My ex hasn’t worked in over a year.  I doubt he ever will.  So, yeah, I mostly feel extremely overwhelmed.  But now and then, when I have a minute to sit down and take a breath, a twinge of loneliness creeps in.

Those aren’t the only reasons why I’m only theoretically considering dating.  Another big reason I can’t imagine actually going out with anyone and getting to know them is that I don’t think I would like anyone who was idiotic enough to like me.  I’m not an easy person to get along with.  I’m impatient, I have no tolerance for stupidity, and I like things to be done the right way – my way.  I want help, but I want to do it all myself.  I hate being stuck in a rut, but I hate surprises even more.  And if a guy caters to me and is the most sensitive, thoughtful, kind, compassionate person, it irritates me that he’s too girly and I wish he’d just tell me off and put me in my place when I’m being a snot.  Then again, if he did that, I’d probably cry that he was insensitive and didn’t care.  So, really any guy who would want to put up with that neurosis has got to have some sort of mental disorder, so I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be interested in him.  Also, where I live, the guys I’ve seen tend to wear baseball caps, drive pickup trucks, say “all y’all”, and are missing several teeth.  Then there’s the fact that I’m old and fat and have six kids.  Anyone who’d be interested in this amazing hotness is clearly blind and on drugs.  I don’t think I’d want to date someone on drugs.

And even more importantly, let’s say I got desperate and decided I liked pickup truck driving, “all y’all” saying, toothless druggies.  What on earth would I have to talk about on a date?  Seriously, I just had a lengthy conversation on Facebook about how Ruby wouldn’t let Max use scissors or glue, or fly a kite because he was too little, but she sent him to the grocery store by himself to buy eggs for her.  I was discussing cartoon rabbits, for crying out loud!  How long could a conversation about Bubble Guppies, Sid the Science Kid’s annoying grandmother, and Dr. Doofenschmirtz’s latest ‘inator last?  I can just imagine the stupefied look at any potential date’s face as I regale him with SpongeBob quotes.  “Psst, Squidward, I’m working in the kitchen… at night!  Hey Squidward, guess what. I’m chopping lettuce… at night!  Look at me, I’m swabbing the bathroom… at night!  Ow, I burned my hand… at night!”

“Look, all y’all, I’m walking out the door… at night!” would be his response as he made a beeline for the exit.

Tweet from the Heart

Follow @DietCokeUS on Twitter and this Wednesday, February 8, retweet Diet Coke's Heart Truth tweet. For each person who re-tweets Diet Coke’s The Heart Truth® tweet on Wednesday, Feb. 8, Diet Coke will donate $1 to the Foundation for the National Institutes of Health, up to $100,000, in support of The Heart Truth® and women’s heart health research and educational programs.

I work with a woman named Gloria Boisvert whose story was featured in 2009. You can read it/watch her video HERE. This is a cause that's close to her heart, literally. And it illustrates that heart disease can hit anyone. Gloria is this tiny woman who is in good shape, yet she needed to endure an angiogram followed by angioplasty and placement of a stent, and then emergency coronary artery bypass surgery to restore blood flow to her heart muscle. She was one of the lucky ones.

Check it out and take a second to retweet @DietCokeUS's Heart Truth tweet this Wednesday!

Thanks!

One Small Act of Kindness - Week Four

Here's another idea for my ongoing acts of kindness project. Donate blood. While running errands today, I spotted a mobile blood donation bus set up in the parking lot. I really wanted to finish my shopping and get home. I was tired from running all over the place for the better part of the day, and I was looking forward to going home, and vegging out with my book for a while. But something tugged at me and made me stop at the donation site. What the heck, I decided. I've been out all day, what's another few minutes?

I had Austin, Lex, and Brooklyn with me. When we stepped into the bus, a technician asked who was donating. I spoke up and then Austin offered to donate as well. We learned that you have to be sixteen years old with a parent's permission to donate. Austin's seventeen, so he happily signed up for his first time.

Unfortunately, I was deferred because my temperature was too high at 99.6. I'm pretty sure I'm not getting sick and the elevated temperature was due to the fact that the air conditioner in my van went out on the way to the store and since my window is also broken, it was pretty darn toasty in my car. But still, they can't take chances, so I couldn't donate this time. Austin, however, was able to donate.

I know not everyone is able to donate blood. That's okay. This is just another idea you can use. Or not. Maybe this will spark your own ideas. Take a minute to write what kind things you've done lately. Don't feel self-conscious that you're bragging about what you've done; do it to inspire others and let people know that it isn't hard to make a difference. :)

I'm not cut out for Dating!

A few days ago, Savannah texted me. "Mom, he asked me out!!!" referring to the boy she'd been talking about nonstop for the past week.
I immediately replied, "Yay!"
About two seconds later, I came to my senses and realized what I'd just written. What was wrong with me. Yay??? What was I thinking? What happened to those days of normal, rational thinking when boys said hi to my daughter.

I quickly texted back.
“I mean, aren’t you a little young? Yes, yes, you are. You’re too young.  Tell him thank you, but you’re not allowed to date until you’re thirty.”
Then I added, “Make that thirty-five.”

I don’t think she was amused.

Savannah asked me if her boy…, her boyfr…, her boyf…ugh, her friend who is male could come over here Friday night.

“You want to bring him here? To our house? Where we live with all your brothers and sisters? You remember your brothers and sisters, right? And you still want him to come over?” I asked incredulously. Maybe the thrill of this crush had melted her brain. Normally, Austin and Savannah don’t even want to bring longtime friends home because you never know what the little kids are going to do, but it’s pretty much guaranteed that they’ll do something embarrassing.  But she insisted she wanted him to come over here and meet everyone. 

So this young man came over this evening in his truck.  He drove.  He can drive.  By himself.  As we sat outside, eating what passes for pizza down here in Florida, this boy started talking about how he hurt himself while jumping over a chain link fence.  Being completely sensible and not one to jump to conclusions, I only thought for the briefest moment that he’d probably injured himself running from the police after knocking off a liquor store.  He went on to explain that he and some buddies had been “‘gator fishin’”.

“‘Gator fishin’?”  I inquired.  “As in fishing for alligators?  You’re a native Floridian, aren’t you?”

“Yes ma’am, fishing for alligators.”

“How does one fish for an alligator, and more importantly, why would one fish for an alligator?”

“Oh you just do it like you would fish for saltwater fish.”

“Ahhh yes, yes, how I would fish for saltwater fish,”  I said like I was an expert saltwater fisherman.

“And then there was this time my friends dared me to kiss a baby alligator, so I did.  And it clamped down on my mouth and we couldn’t pry its mouth open even with a knife.”

“Oh, so you give in to peer pressure and you’re stupid?  I mean, ouch, that must have hurt.  Did you need stitches?

“I don’t hang around with those guys anymore because they turned into real rednecks.  They shot a squirrel and cooked it for dinner.”

I threw up in my mouth a little before asking, “And these are the stories you tell people when you meet them for the first time?”

At one point in the evening, my good friend Eric called.  I told him that Savannah had a boy over and he instructed me to give him a message.  “Take two fingers and point at your eyes, then point at him,” Eric told me.  It wasn’t exactly the same as an overprotective father with a shotgun, but it’ll have to do, I guess.

Honestly, he seems like a nice boy and the fact that he was willing to come over here and brave the masses says a lot right there!  Still, Savannah’s never going anywhere in a car with a boy, no matter how nice he is.  She can just live with me forever.  We’ll get cats.  And drink tea.  And watch chic flicks every night.  It’ll be fun.

Because We Moms Like to Talk About Pregnancy

We're Going to Hollywood!

My parents got me and my kids three-day passes to Disney World for Christmas which is awesome because, as it turns out “the happiest place on earth” is also one of “the most expensive places on earth”. Yesterday, I took my kids to Hollywood Studios. We had a ton of fun and I learned a few things about my family as well, so really it was an educational trip.


1.  I learned that I have absolutely no patience or tolerance for people who drift along in their own little world, completely oblivious to everyone else on the planet. Why must people suddenly stop in the middle of a crowded sidewalk to look at a map? Is it so difficult to consider the 80,000 thousand people behind them and walk 2 steps over to the side, out of the way?

2.  I have absolutely no tolerance for people who try to spoon me while standing in line. Especially because not one of them was a cute, single man!  Do these people have no concept of personal space? These are the same people who stand there watching their children smash into my butt repeatedly without intervening. By the end of the day, I resorted to turning around and coughing until it sounded like my lung would fall out, then stammering an apology and mumbling something about tuberculosis.

3.  I wish I had Austin’s quick wit. As we walked toward a ride, a Disney cast member looked at Brooklyn and said, “Hello, Princess.” Without missing a beat, Austin replied, “Hi!” in his best 'princess voice.'

4.  I may have a slight problem with competition. After going on Midway Mania (a ride where you wear 3D glasses and shoot at arcade style targets to accumulate points) I slid out of the car and immediately asked my kids their scores. Upon hearing the numbers (and realizing I’d beaten them) I whipped my 3D glasses down as if I was spiking a football in the end zone, jumped up, did a little dance and cheered, “I beat you! Yes! Ha! In your face!” My kids (and a few hundred spectators) looked at me like the parenting failure I am.

5.  My kids have amazing ingenuity. Because Brooklyn was too little to go on Rock’N’Roller Coaster, we took turns watching her while we used ride swap tickets. When I got off the ride and walked over to where Austin was watching Brooklyn, I saw that he had created a makeshift Tic-Tac-Toe game using small leaves for the Xs and bits of tree bark for the Os. The grid was constructed of small palm fronds. What a great idea to keep her occupied and it beats the heck out of the game 'Punch me in the arm until I can no longer take the pain.' (I said they had amazing ingenuity; not that their ideas are always great.)

6.  As self-reliant as I am, it’s sometimes hard to do everything myself. I hate to admit this one. Hate it. I’m used to taking care of everyone and everything and it bothers me to no end when I drop a ball. I give the advice to lighten up and give yourselves a break. I tell other parents not to worry over every little mistake. It’s not a big deal. And I wholeheartedly believe this wisdom I’m spouting. But I have a hard time accepting my own advice. I remembered my camera. I even remembered to charge the battery and make sure the memory card was installed. I remembered to go to the bank and pull out some cash for food. I remembered to go to the grocery store and get some granola bars and fruit snacks to have on hand in case the little kids got hungry instead of spending money on snacks in the park. I remembered to pack water bottles. I remembered to give Clay his penicillin before we left. But I forgot the tickets. When we were only fifteen minutes away from the park, we had to turn around and go home for them. I beat myself up for hours about this (and it was only partly due to the fact that Savannah was driving on the tollway and now I’d have to white-knuckle it even longer.)


7.  I should never ask Austin and Savannah to hold my camera for me. Last night, after getting home, showering the germs of a million people off me, and getting my kids to bed, I sat down and looked at the pictures I’d taken throughout the day. There were about thirty close-ups of random people on my memory card. If you happened to be at Hollywood Studios yesterday, there’s a good chance I have a picture of you on my camera (especially if you were dressed oddly or had a goofy expression on your face or were picking your nose.)

One Small Act of Kindness - Week Three

A couple days ago, Savannah and I were sitting in the waiting room of her orthopedist. It’s a large, wide-open room and at the time, we were the only ones occupying it. After a few minutes of waiting, an elderly woman in a wheel chair rolled through the doors. She came to stop right next to us. I mean, she was as close as she could possibly get without actually crashing into us. I gave Savannah a sidelong glance meant to convey the following thoughts: She’s got the whole, entire, empty room and she chooses to sit on top of us? Personal space, lady!

Savannah shot me a raised-eyebrow, dubious look back. I carefully avoided eye contact with the woman because obviously, only crazy people get so close for no particular reason. The fact that I wasn’t being very neighborly only played at the fringes of my mind as I studiously ignored the woman. Although, honestly, it wasn’t really a conscious decision to avoid the woman; it just sort of came naturally. It’s not that I don’t like talking to people, but I guess it’s simply easier to stay in my own world with blinders on to everything else.

Then she dropped the magazines that had been perched on her lap. Without thinking, I reached down, scooped up the scattered pages and handed them back to her. She thanked me and said, “You’re so kind.” I didn’t feel very kind, however. I felt ashamed that my first instinct was to avoid all contact. I decided to remedy that. I smiled and we started talking. I learned that she’d been a chemistry major back in the day and she had to walk upstairs to do her labs and a girl in her class had had polio and couldn’t walk so every day, four guys would carry her upstairs so she could participate in the labs, and bathroom doors are too heavy, and the train tracks from here to Louisiana were damaged in Hurricane Katrina and hadn’t been repaired yet, and if she was running the world, things would be different. The conversation was mostly one-sided, but I think she was just happy to have someone to listen to her chatter.

This encounter gave me the idea for this week’s small act of kindness. Talk to a stranger. At least once this week, don’t take the easy way out. Make an effort to connect with another human. You never know, perhaps they live alone and are lonely for conversation. Maybe they’re depressed and wondering what’s the point. Maybe they’re an angel walking among us. Sure, sometimes it can be uncomfortable stepping out of our zone like that, but you never know the effect it might have on another human being. So give it a try.

And as always, please share your ideas and experiences here. What you have to say could inspire another individual and give them an idea. And thank you to all who have taken time to comment on the past couple weeks’ posts.

Having Fun at the Table

Since we've moved to Florida, our lives have changed quite a bit. Some things, although they seemed like a curse at first, are now looking a little more like blessings. When we first moved, I refused to sign my kids up for sports. First, I wasn't sure where or how to sign them up. Secondly, I didn't have the money to pay for registration fees and uniforms and such. Also, being new to town, I didn't have any friends with whom to carpool. I wasn't sure how work was going to go and how much time I'd have to devote to a sports schedule, especially with no friends to help me out by getting a kid to practice now and then. I felt like I was depriving my kids by not letting them participate in baseball, football, dance, softball, hockey, etc. But now? I feel a little differently.

The good thing that has come from this is that the seven of us have dinner together every night. I've always made it a priority to come together at the dinner table, but when the kids are involved in activities (even with my one activity per kid rule), we end up catching a lot of meals on the fly which can be less-than-healthy, expensive, and stressful. For the past six months, my kids and I have sat down to a meal together and it's given us the chance to connect in ways we wouldn't have otherwise. In fact, we eat outside on our screened-in porch half the time. We couldn't do that back home in Chicagoland!

Sometimes we share the best and worst parts of our days, but for the teens this generally deteriorates into, "The worst part of my day is playing this game and trying to think of the best and worst parts of my day". More often, we just goof around, tell jokes, talk about silly things that happened during the day, and laugh with each other. It may not make for deep, profound conversations, but it relaxes us, lets us enjoy each other's company, and enables us to simply unwind and laugh while sharing a meal. In fact, just last night, my five-year-old Brooklyn looked at seventeen-year-old Austin and said, "If you were a girl, you'd be pretty."
"Um, thanks, Brooklyn?"
This was followed by a monster burp courtesy of Clayton.

Yeah, we're classy that way. But we have fun together. So, what are your favorite dinnertime traditions? There's an article on Subway's Fresh Takes on Family Time site right now that talks about how one family has a different theme for every week night to make dinnertime fun and give them something to look forward to while waiting for the weekend. Check it out. And while you're there, submit your own fun family traditions for a chance to have your story featured on the site and/or a chance to win a Subway gift card!

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