My granddaughter phoned me on Saturday to ask if I would care for her six month old baby while she and her husband went to Las Vegas for the night. Little Jason (Jo-Jo) is such an adorable little guy, and I relished in the thought of spending time with him. While it had been several years since I had cared for one so tiny, I was confident that all would go well and that everything would fall into place in a natural manner. After all, babies are easy to care for, right?
Jo-Jo was dropped off around ten o'clock that evening, and since he had slept in the car on the way here, he had no intentions of going back to sleep anytime soon. We played for awhile, I fed and changed him, and finally got him to sleep around midnight. I then slid into bed and suddenly realized that a child of this age probably would not sleep through the night. My thoughts were not all inclusive of the events that followed.
I was awakened a little after one by a slight whimper. I quickly rushed to his side, and noticing that he was still asleep, I went back to bed. Ten minutes later I heard him again. This time I gave him a bottle, certain that it would get me (at least) another three hours of sleep; an error in judgment on my part. The whimpers went on throughout the night at one hour intervals. By six thirty I realized that it was easier to merely stay up than bounce back and forth. He, of course, remained sleeping for another two hours in total silence.
His mother had forgotten his baby food, so it was up to me to be imaginative. I poached him an egg, mashed it well, and fed him breakfast. I should say that I attempted to feed him breakfast. I discovered that he wasn't too hip on eggs and the dog ended up with the majority of it. I then tried oatmeal, which proceeded to end up with more on him than in his stomach.
Cleaned and fed I put him in his jumper expecting him to entertain himself; another false notion on my part. I turned the tv on and that allowed for another twenty minutes of joyful pleasure. I then switched him to another jumper and he became bored with that one quickly. I kept him fed, dry and tried everything to keep him entertained, but the only thing that managed to keep him quiet was holding him or entertaining him on a personal level. I stared at my unmade bed and the dishes in the sink, realizing that they were not going to be tended to anytime soon.
Experience had taught me that babies take a morning nap and an afternoon nap. Jo-Jo was unaware of this schedule. It was nearly two thirty before I was able to get him to sleep and finally attack my unmade bed and the rest of the house. While he slept peacefully, I dragged myself to get things done, hoping that he would awaken refreshed and, I guess, a bit more independent. I was thrilled when he opened his eyes and smiled at me and I felt certain that the rest of the afternoon was sure to be different.
I got the blender out and pureed some chicken noodle soup. I was glad that he found it pleasing to the taste, and apparently still famished from an incomplete breakfast, he gobbled it down. Then it all came up. Another clean up job, and I sat him down to play. Having spent the entire morning (and much of the afternoon) being switched from one form of play thing to another, he was now bored with all of them. He now required my full, undivided attention.
My granddaughter called from Vegas and asked how things were going. After I described the events of the day, she said, “That's why no one will watch him.” Now's a fine time to let me know, I thought. In the meantime, I am talking to my two daughters throughout the day, who are finding the whole ordeal quite entertaining and comical. My youngest keeps repeating that “he's only one baby, Mom,” and I am threatening to drive him to her house so that she might come to experience this simple task of caring for one lone child. (She lives in Utah).
I sat him in the kitchen and he was quiet long enough for me to get a pot roast started. His parents were expected back late afternoon, and I would be remiss if I didn't have something prepared for them. I barely got it in the pan when he required my attention once again. Giving in to his whims, we settled down together in my recliner to watch tv. Again, the television was not an acceptable form of entertainment for him, so I found myself conversing with a six month old child as the only way to quiet him.
Mom and Dad finally arrived after nine o'clock. The pot roast had been long done, and I had to turn everything off or risk overcooking it. Jo-Jo was finally asleep and I (who almost never drinks) was enjoying a vodka gimlet at the kitchen counter. I could see the look of sympathy on my granddaughter's face the moment she walked in as she said, “My God, my baby has turned my nana to drink.” I didn't have it in me to disagree.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Seniors and Their Adult Children
Parents make a multitude of sacrifices for their children; some seen and some unseen. From the moment they enter into this world they are fed, clothed and educated, and the process begins to mold them into an upstanding adult. But parenting doesn't stop there, and along with the good comes the bad, and along with the joys come the heartaches.
A parent's skills must include that of cook, housekeeper, psychologist and teacher to name only a few. They care for you when you are sick, praise you when you do well, and offer up a dose of discipline if the moment calls for it. Mom's have a special knack for making everything better, and nobody is wiser stronger or better than your dad. Regardless of the situation, whether you're in search of praise or a helping hand, you always know that you can count on them to be there for you. Then you grow up.
Once a child reaches adulthood they see their parents in a different light. Dad is still the awe-inspiring wise man, but Mom is now best noted for her Sunday casserole (or whatever your favorite dish may have been). You no longer need them, as you are now capable of making your own decisions, and as such, you conclude that they do not need you.
Adult children become so wrapped up in the here and now that they often forget about Mom and Dad, seeing them as merely the shells by which they came into existence. They forget that Mom gave up purchasing that new cookware so that they could have a new pair of shoes or that badly needed uniform for the softball team, or that Dad had to work double shifts just to pay the mortgage. Although their own lives may be an exact duplicate of the one their parents lived, they become so focused on their own responsibilities that they lose sight of the fact that their own parents once did the same for them.
As parents age, and their children leave the nest, they cling to one another. For some, this is a wonderful time in life, when they can enjoy each other and do all the things that they were never able to do while raising children. For others, it is a time when tragedy strikes. If a parent is alone, or one is struck with an illness, it can be a terrifying experience. An, although it is a time when they should be able to reach out to their children, many are left to fend for themselves. They become overwhelmed with loneliness, many of them sinking into deep depression.
When I was a teen my grandmother broke her hip and was confined to a hospital bed in her home, which she shared with my uncle. Every day my mother would drive the ten miles to her house to care for her while he worked. When another woman (who was not yet a senior) fractured her tailbone and was bedridden, her own son couldn't drive two miles to visit her. Had it not been for her friends, she could have starved, as a family member didn't think her injury serious enough to warrant his attention.
I have senior friends, many of whom live alone, either due to the death of their spouse or a divorce earlier in life. When a senior lives alone, there is no one to call for help should an emergency arise, and the lack of frequent communication could well be the difference between life and death. A neighbor of mine lay on the floor for four days after she suffered a stroke because no one felt it necessary to check on her. Odder still, is the fact that she had the stroke on Thanksgiving. How can a family not miss the presence of their mother or grandmother on such a holiday?
Many seniors are quite self-sufficient as the result of good health and having cared for themselves most of their lives. Since they have always exhibited such qualities, adult children tend to assume that they will continue to do so. What they fail to realize is that repairing that roof isn't as easy for Dad at age seventy as it was at age forty, and Mom bending down to clean the oven at sixty-five (or pushing that heavy steam cleaner across her carpet) is a lot more difficult than it was in her younger days. What were once considered small tasks for your parents may be major undertakings in their senior years, and a little time spent offering them your help could well allow them a better life, and (perhaps) even a longer one.
Retirement is something that most people begin planning in their thirties, and good planning most often results in a lucrative lifestyle when the time comes. Sometimes, however, the end result is not what was expected and many seniors are left to pinch pennies merely to survive. When was the last time you checked to see if your aging parent had enough to eat, or whether or not they had everything that they truly needed, such as their medications? Medicare is not provided for seniors until age sixty-five, and even then it does not cover all medical costs. Are you even aware of your parents' financial status?
While you were growing up, your parents kept a number of 'secrets' from you. There may have been times that money was tight, but they never divulged it you. If Mom was sick with the flu, or suffering from a migraine, she still packed your lunch and got you off to school. And you seldom saw Dad miss a day of work, because he knew that he had bills to pay and a family to support. Just because your parents don't ask you for help, it doesn't mean that they don't need it. Having spent so many years protecting you, it may be difficult (if not impossible) for them to ask for help. Don't assume, that just because everything appears okay, that it truly is.
No matter who the parent is, or what form of parenting they exercised, they are your parents. Mother's Day and Father's Day are for them, not for your spouse. Holidays are meant for family, and your parents should be at the very top of your list of invites. Birthday's come once a year, and it's impossible to know exactly how many more your parents will have. I suggest that you take time to honor it, as any one of them could be their last. Sometimes all it takes is a simple phone call to let them know that you're thinking of them and that you care, but do take the time, because you never know when it's going to run out. Remember that the love and the gratitude that you show your parents may one day be the path that your own children take.
A parent's skills must include that of cook, housekeeper, psychologist and teacher to name only a few. They care for you when you are sick, praise you when you do well, and offer up a dose of discipline if the moment calls for it. Mom's have a special knack for making everything better, and nobody is wiser stronger or better than your dad. Regardless of the situation, whether you're in search of praise or a helping hand, you always know that you can count on them to be there for you. Then you grow up.
Once a child reaches adulthood they see their parents in a different light. Dad is still the awe-inspiring wise man, but Mom is now best noted for her Sunday casserole (or whatever your favorite dish may have been). You no longer need them, as you are now capable of making your own decisions, and as such, you conclude that they do not need you.
Adult children become so wrapped up in the here and now that they often forget about Mom and Dad, seeing them as merely the shells by which they came into existence. They forget that Mom gave up purchasing that new cookware so that they could have a new pair of shoes or that badly needed uniform for the softball team, or that Dad had to work double shifts just to pay the mortgage. Although their own lives may be an exact duplicate of the one their parents lived, they become so focused on their own responsibilities that they lose sight of the fact that their own parents once did the same for them.
As parents age, and their children leave the nest, they cling to one another. For some, this is a wonderful time in life, when they can enjoy each other and do all the things that they were never able to do while raising children. For others, it is a time when tragedy strikes. If a parent is alone, or one is struck with an illness, it can be a terrifying experience. An, although it is a time when they should be able to reach out to their children, many are left to fend for themselves. They become overwhelmed with loneliness, many of them sinking into deep depression.
When I was a teen my grandmother broke her hip and was confined to a hospital bed in her home, which she shared with my uncle. Every day my mother would drive the ten miles to her house to care for her while he worked. When another woman (who was not yet a senior) fractured her tailbone and was bedridden, her own son couldn't drive two miles to visit her. Had it not been for her friends, she could have starved, as a family member didn't think her injury serious enough to warrant his attention.
I have senior friends, many of whom live alone, either due to the death of their spouse or a divorce earlier in life. When a senior lives alone, there is no one to call for help should an emergency arise, and the lack of frequent communication could well be the difference between life and death. A neighbor of mine lay on the floor for four days after she suffered a stroke because no one felt it necessary to check on her. Odder still, is the fact that she had the stroke on Thanksgiving. How can a family not miss the presence of their mother or grandmother on such a holiday?
Many seniors are quite self-sufficient as the result of good health and having cared for themselves most of their lives. Since they have always exhibited such qualities, adult children tend to assume that they will continue to do so. What they fail to realize is that repairing that roof isn't as easy for Dad at age seventy as it was at age forty, and Mom bending down to clean the oven at sixty-five (or pushing that heavy steam cleaner across her carpet) is a lot more difficult than it was in her younger days. What were once considered small tasks for your parents may be major undertakings in their senior years, and a little time spent offering them your help could well allow them a better life, and (perhaps) even a longer one.
Retirement is something that most people begin planning in their thirties, and good planning most often results in a lucrative lifestyle when the time comes. Sometimes, however, the end result is not what was expected and many seniors are left to pinch pennies merely to survive. When was the last time you checked to see if your aging parent had enough to eat, or whether or not they had everything that they truly needed, such as their medications? Medicare is not provided for seniors until age sixty-five, and even then it does not cover all medical costs. Are you even aware of your parents' financial status?
While you were growing up, your parents kept a number of 'secrets' from you. There may have been times that money was tight, but they never divulged it you. If Mom was sick with the flu, or suffering from a migraine, she still packed your lunch and got you off to school. And you seldom saw Dad miss a day of work, because he knew that he had bills to pay and a family to support. Just because your parents don't ask you for help, it doesn't mean that they don't need it. Having spent so many years protecting you, it may be difficult (if not impossible) for them to ask for help. Don't assume, that just because everything appears okay, that it truly is.
No matter who the parent is, or what form of parenting they exercised, they are your parents. Mother's Day and Father's Day are for them, not for your spouse. Holidays are meant for family, and your parents should be at the very top of your list of invites. Birthday's come once a year, and it's impossible to know exactly how many more your parents will have. I suggest that you take time to honor it, as any one of them could be their last. Sometimes all it takes is a simple phone call to let them know that you're thinking of them and that you care, but do take the time, because you never know when it's going to run out. Remember that the love and the gratitude that you show your parents may one day be the path that your own children take.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Why Would a Mother Give Up Her Child?
I was nine years old when I first learned that I had been adopted. Consumed with a feeling of “never quite belonging,” it appeared to give credence to the already arduous fear within me. Naturally curious about my roots, I confronted my father with the inevitable question: “Where did I come from?” And he did what no parent should ever do; he lied. He claimed to have had no knowledge of my life prior to bringing me straight home from the hospital. It left me with an emptiness that I would spend years trying to fill.
As the years moved forward I felt stagnate; locked into an environment that I had no control over, and aching to know where I belonged. My father was never around, either putting in long hours at the railroad or out farming the forty-plus acres on the farm. My mother, on the other hand, seemed to mimic every step I made, and several that I didn't. By the time I was eleven I was being called names that I couldn't even understand the meaning of, and I was constantly being threatened that she was going to “drop me off at the Dorcas Home,” the only children's home in the vicinity. When I was alone I would daydream about my real parents. I used to pretend that I was the illegitimate child of the royal family, and that (someday) someone would come looking for me. When I wasn't daydreaming I was praying. But, as a child, I could not understand why God allowed me to endure such pain, or why he failed to provide me a way out of it.
I will never know if it was luck (or fate) that my best friend in junior high school would end up knowing my real mother. I was fifteen when I finally met her, and the ultimate question had to be asked: “Why did you give me up?” She padded the story well as she told me how we had lived in an apartment over a fish hatchery, and how my adopted mother said that she could give me the things that she could not. While claiming that she had no income, I later discovered that she was, in fact, employed at a local factory during this time and was well paid. I can't remember if this was before or after she showed me pictures of her Mustang convertible and her home in Scottsdale, Arizona (complete with pool).
As the years moved forward I never lost the stigma that had been attached to me. I had one mother that gave me up, and another who resented me. I felt certain that my childhood played an important role in my continuous search for love, and it was well played out in my failed marriages. The more mistreated I was by a man, the more I seemed to adhere to him. Rather than obtaining a lasting love, I was merely clinging to borrowed hearts.
In 1980 I found myself more than 2000 miles away from everyone I ever knew. My adopted mother had passed away and my father had focused his life on a woman twenty years his junior and had no room for me or my offspring. My husband had left me, I was living in an apartment that I was about to be evicted from, and I had nowhere to turn. Out of desperation, I phoned my biological mother, who now lived only a few miles from me. Her suggestion to me was to "take my children and go to a shelter."
Waking up to the world with no money, no education and five children to support frightened me beyond belief. I spent every day working on a plan, and most nights were spent crying. Little did they know, however, that they were the strength that kept me going. I promised myself that, no matter what, that I would keep them together and that they would never know the affliction that is bestowed upon an adopted child; or rather, an unwanted child.
The two years that followed were truly rough, but I looked straight ahead and kept focused on what had to be done. Things were so dire at one point that I attempted to join the armed forces; all of them. Since I had no one to care for my children during basic training, they suggested that I give up custody of them. The military was no longer an option. I worked a lot of temporary jobs, but I eventually got my GED, enrolled in college and landed a permanent position with the state of Arizona, and I never let loose of my children during one moment of it. I had faced the biggest challenge of my life, but I came out of it a winner.
All of these feelings were brought back to the surface recently when “someone I know” turned her five year old daughter over to her ex-husband. She calls it “shared custody,” but those of us who know her know that that is merely an excuse for not wanting to live up to her responsibilities of being a parent. Allow me to share with you a brief synopsis of the facts surrounding her life . . . . . .
While still married, this woman turned her ten year old daughter over to her mother-in-law for the purpose of “obtaining an education.” Reportedly, the child was supposed to go home every weekend but these swiftly dwindled, and she remained with the grandmother throughout high school and eventually graduated.
The couple separated more than seven years ago and a year or so later she became pregnant. At thirty-five, she was no more prepared for a child then she was at nineteen (when the first once was born). She managed to get the husband to sign the birth certificate, although everyone knew that he was not the biological father. Now, totally on her own, she needed someone else to take the baby occasionally so that she could “get some rest,” or merely “because she needed a break.” Then she had to have breast augmentation done, which required someone watching the child again. Then came more surgeries and more excuses. When a new man entered her life her total focus was on him. She would leave her child for days at a time, with no contact, while she entertained her own fantasies.
Recently, she began a relationship with a doctor (or so the story goes). She walked away from her apartment (and its contents) and turned her daughter over the ex-husband (a twice convicted felon with an alcohol problem), excusing that she “wanted her daughter to know a father because she never did.” Taking these two men into account, I would think that the “doctor” would be the better role model.
I have never been one to condone abortion, but moreover, I cannot comprehend how any woman can go through childbirth and not have more concern for the child that they bore. Life is full of odd occurrences, and there are times when a mother has to give in to what is best for the child. This is not one of them. This is the result of one woman giving in to her own pleasures, and her own daughter merely doesn't fit into the plan.
Children are a precious commodity, and those of us who have been blessed with them have a responsibility to be the best that we can be. Motherhood is a challenge, and despite the Dr. Spock's and the Dr. Phil's of the world, the only way to raise them is through the heart. Those who are incapable of being a parent should exercise the use of birth control, and not let the errors of their own lives become the downfall in the life of a child.
As the years moved forward I felt stagnate; locked into an environment that I had no control over, and aching to know where I belonged. My father was never around, either putting in long hours at the railroad or out farming the forty-plus acres on the farm. My mother, on the other hand, seemed to mimic every step I made, and several that I didn't. By the time I was eleven I was being called names that I couldn't even understand the meaning of, and I was constantly being threatened that she was going to “drop me off at the Dorcas Home,” the only children's home in the vicinity. When I was alone I would daydream about my real parents. I used to pretend that I was the illegitimate child of the royal family, and that (someday) someone would come looking for me. When I wasn't daydreaming I was praying. But, as a child, I could not understand why God allowed me to endure such pain, or why he failed to provide me a way out of it.
I will never know if it was luck (or fate) that my best friend in junior high school would end up knowing my real mother. I was fifteen when I finally met her, and the ultimate question had to be asked: “Why did you give me up?” She padded the story well as she told me how we had lived in an apartment over a fish hatchery, and how my adopted mother said that she could give me the things that she could not. While claiming that she had no income, I later discovered that she was, in fact, employed at a local factory during this time and was well paid. I can't remember if this was before or after she showed me pictures of her Mustang convertible and her home in Scottsdale, Arizona (complete with pool).
As the years moved forward I never lost the stigma that had been attached to me. I had one mother that gave me up, and another who resented me. I felt certain that my childhood played an important role in my continuous search for love, and it was well played out in my failed marriages. The more mistreated I was by a man, the more I seemed to adhere to him. Rather than obtaining a lasting love, I was merely clinging to borrowed hearts.
In 1980 I found myself more than 2000 miles away from everyone I ever knew. My adopted mother had passed away and my father had focused his life on a woman twenty years his junior and had no room for me or my offspring. My husband had left me, I was living in an apartment that I was about to be evicted from, and I had nowhere to turn. Out of desperation, I phoned my biological mother, who now lived only a few miles from me. Her suggestion to me was to "take my children and go to a shelter."
Waking up to the world with no money, no education and five children to support frightened me beyond belief. I spent every day working on a plan, and most nights were spent crying. Little did they know, however, that they were the strength that kept me going. I promised myself that, no matter what, that I would keep them together and that they would never know the affliction that is bestowed upon an adopted child; or rather, an unwanted child.
The two years that followed were truly rough, but I looked straight ahead and kept focused on what had to be done. Things were so dire at one point that I attempted to join the armed forces; all of them. Since I had no one to care for my children during basic training, they suggested that I give up custody of them. The military was no longer an option. I worked a lot of temporary jobs, but I eventually got my GED, enrolled in college and landed a permanent position with the state of Arizona, and I never let loose of my children during one moment of it. I had faced the biggest challenge of my life, but I came out of it a winner.
All of these feelings were brought back to the surface recently when “someone I know” turned her five year old daughter over to her ex-husband. She calls it “shared custody,” but those of us who know her know that that is merely an excuse for not wanting to live up to her responsibilities of being a parent. Allow me to share with you a brief synopsis of the facts surrounding her life . . . . . .
While still married, this woman turned her ten year old daughter over to her mother-in-law for the purpose of “obtaining an education.” Reportedly, the child was supposed to go home every weekend but these swiftly dwindled, and she remained with the grandmother throughout high school and eventually graduated.
The couple separated more than seven years ago and a year or so later she became pregnant. At thirty-five, she was no more prepared for a child then she was at nineteen (when the first once was born). She managed to get the husband to sign the birth certificate, although everyone knew that he was not the biological father. Now, totally on her own, she needed someone else to take the baby occasionally so that she could “get some rest,” or merely “because she needed a break.” Then she had to have breast augmentation done, which required someone watching the child again. Then came more surgeries and more excuses. When a new man entered her life her total focus was on him. She would leave her child for days at a time, with no contact, while she entertained her own fantasies.
Recently, she began a relationship with a doctor (or so the story goes). She walked away from her apartment (and its contents) and turned her daughter over the ex-husband (a twice convicted felon with an alcohol problem), excusing that she “wanted her daughter to know a father because she never did.” Taking these two men into account, I would think that the “doctor” would be the better role model.
I have never been one to condone abortion, but moreover, I cannot comprehend how any woman can go through childbirth and not have more concern for the child that they bore. Life is full of odd occurrences, and there are times when a mother has to give in to what is best for the child. This is not one of them. This is the result of one woman giving in to her own pleasures, and her own daughter merely doesn't fit into the plan.
Children are a precious commodity, and those of us who have been blessed with them have a responsibility to be the best that we can be. Motherhood is a challenge, and despite the Dr. Spock's and the Dr. Phil's of the world, the only way to raise them is through the heart. Those who are incapable of being a parent should exercise the use of birth control, and not let the errors of their own lives become the downfall in the life of a child.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Family Values
Do family values really exist anymore? Our children are supposed to live by example, but is it really enough? Is it enough that you spend years of your life molding them with the inherent intent to turn out some fine upstanding individuals, only to spend your weekends visiting one in prison while paying rent to avoid another from moving back in?
In the 50's and 60's the average family unit consisted of two parents and 2.1 kids. Dad had his job (which at that time was substantial to support a family of four) while Mom maintained the home and chauffeured the kids to their necessary activities. Kids had chores and responsibilities and there were consequences if they faltered. Perhaps Ozzie and Harriet weren't the perfect example of life back then (for those of you old enough to know who they were), but life had a sense of normalcy.
With the 60's came the first great rebellion. There was Woodstock, the Vietnam War and woman burned their bras to make a statement. Divorce was no longer a sin and neither was giving birth to a child out of wedlock. Draft dodgers headed for Canada, and young men who didn't want to assume the responsibility of an unborn child went another direction. The world was changing.
As we entered into the 80's we saw drugs taking a prominent spot in society. The generation of kids that would sneak a drink had passed, and were now replaced with those wanting to experience a new kind of high. Dad no longer need to worry about locking his liquor cabinet. He now had to worry that his child wouldn't be found in an alley dead from a drug overdose.
Family pressures, the economy and an array of unverified reasons have paved a path of destruction for the family unit. Where families once never spoke of divorce, it is now a part of life. As of April 2009 the marriage rate stands at 7.5 while the divorce rate stands at 3.6 percent per 1000 people. Everyone has now been affected by divorce in one manner or another. Single parents are no longer the minority but the majority. Single Moms and Dads must now hold a job, maintain a house and know where their children are at all times. Discipline has taken on a whole new presence, as a simple spanking could have you explaining yourself to a police officer, or a judge.
Today's kids have X-Boxes, DS players, cell phones and computers. God forbid that any of these be used for educational purposes. Being cool no longer consists of lighting up a cigarette, and “fitting in” now means lighting up a joint or snorting a line. Single parents are overwhelmed by all of the responsibilities placed on them, and it's easier to merely say “yes” than to deal with the drama surrounding the actual request. Or, merely ignore the situation completely. Then there are the required weekends with the other parent, where each and every child takes full advantage of the limited time and uses every guilt measure available to them to get their way with the noncustodial parent. It's a never-ending circle of playing one parent against another.
Divorce, the economy, peer pressure, and society as a whole have all played a role in the changing family unit. Parenting should not be included in this list of culprits, yet it must be. A lack of parental supervision can be contributed to the staggering increase in teen pregnancies and overall drug use. It can also be blamed for children carrying weapons to school. Know what your children are doing. Take an active part in their lives and be a parent, not a friend. Praise them when they do well and don't be afraid to stick that DS player in the closet when they misbehave. Any child from the age of three should know how to pick up their own toys, and teens will never be be able to hold a job if they cannot accomplish simple tasks at home. Make them accountable and, although they may hate you in the moment, they will thank you once they become adults.
In the 50's and 60's the average family unit consisted of two parents and 2.1 kids. Dad had his job (which at that time was substantial to support a family of four) while Mom maintained the home and chauffeured the kids to their necessary activities. Kids had chores and responsibilities and there were consequences if they faltered. Perhaps Ozzie and Harriet weren't the perfect example of life back then (for those of you old enough to know who they were), but life had a sense of normalcy.
With the 60's came the first great rebellion. There was Woodstock, the Vietnam War and woman burned their bras to make a statement. Divorce was no longer a sin and neither was giving birth to a child out of wedlock. Draft dodgers headed for Canada, and young men who didn't want to assume the responsibility of an unborn child went another direction. The world was changing.
As we entered into the 80's we saw drugs taking a prominent spot in society. The generation of kids that would sneak a drink had passed, and were now replaced with those wanting to experience a new kind of high. Dad no longer need to worry about locking his liquor cabinet. He now had to worry that his child wouldn't be found in an alley dead from a drug overdose.
Family pressures, the economy and an array of unverified reasons have paved a path of destruction for the family unit. Where families once never spoke of divorce, it is now a part of life. As of April 2009 the marriage rate stands at 7.5 while the divorce rate stands at 3.6 percent per 1000 people. Everyone has now been affected by divorce in one manner or another. Single parents are no longer the minority but the majority. Single Moms and Dads must now hold a job, maintain a house and know where their children are at all times. Discipline has taken on a whole new presence, as a simple spanking could have you explaining yourself to a police officer, or a judge.
Today's kids have X-Boxes, DS players, cell phones and computers. God forbid that any of these be used for educational purposes. Being cool no longer consists of lighting up a cigarette, and “fitting in” now means lighting up a joint or snorting a line. Single parents are overwhelmed by all of the responsibilities placed on them, and it's easier to merely say “yes” than to deal with the drama surrounding the actual request. Or, merely ignore the situation completely. Then there are the required weekends with the other parent, where each and every child takes full advantage of the limited time and uses every guilt measure available to them to get their way with the noncustodial parent. It's a never-ending circle of playing one parent against another.
Divorce, the economy, peer pressure, and society as a whole have all played a role in the changing family unit. Parenting should not be included in this list of culprits, yet it must be. A lack of parental supervision can be contributed to the staggering increase in teen pregnancies and overall drug use. It can also be blamed for children carrying weapons to school. Know what your children are doing. Take an active part in their lives and be a parent, not a friend. Praise them when they do well and don't be afraid to stick that DS player in the closet when they misbehave. Any child from the age of three should know how to pick up their own toys, and teens will never be be able to hold a job if they cannot accomplish simple tasks at home. Make them accountable and, although they may hate you in the moment, they will thank you once they become adults.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day
Friends and family will gather today for a traditional barbecue. The women will slip off to take advantage of a sale at the local mall while the guys sip on their beers and claim to be watching the kids. It’s a simple day of no work and all play, but how many will actually take note of what Memorial Day means?
Memorial Day has been around since 1868, and it is meant to commemorate the men and women who gave their lives for our country. Throughout history these brave souls have stood on the front lines, offering up their lives in order that we might continue to live in a free society. They have fought alongside soldiers from other countries, and have waged battle despite their differences of opinion.
Our fathers and grandfathers fought in two world wars. They forged through the trenches of Germany and the jungles of Vietnam. Today our sons and daughters stand in battle in the deserts and hills of Afghanistan and Iraq. For them there are no barbecues or cold beers. Instead of smelling the aroma of a well-cooked steak, they will endure the stench of hot sand and burnt gunpowder. Instead of enjoying the embrace of a loved one, they will rely on their fellow soldier to watch their back.
Memorial Day (like all holidays) has become too commercialized. Instead of being a day of remembrance it has become a day of celebration. People have become more concerned with having a day off work then honoring those who are responsible for the very freedom that we enjoy.
Today, when you cut into that steak or bite down on that burger in the solitude of your own backyard, remember a soldier. Because without them, we wouldn’t have the luxuries that we enjoy today and everyday.
World War I Casualties 137,000
World War II Casualties 495,000
Vietnam War Casualties 58,228
Afghanistan War Casualties 1,154
Iraq War Casualties 4,300
Memorial Day has been around since 1868, and it is meant to commemorate the men and women who gave their lives for our country. Throughout history these brave souls have stood on the front lines, offering up their lives in order that we might continue to live in a free society. They have fought alongside soldiers from other countries, and have waged battle despite their differences of opinion.
Our fathers and grandfathers fought in two world wars. They forged through the trenches of Germany and the jungles of Vietnam. Today our sons and daughters stand in battle in the deserts and hills of Afghanistan and Iraq. For them there are no barbecues or cold beers. Instead of smelling the aroma of a well-cooked steak, they will endure the stench of hot sand and burnt gunpowder. Instead of enjoying the embrace of a loved one, they will rely on their fellow soldier to watch their back.
Memorial Day (like all holidays) has become too commercialized. Instead of being a day of remembrance it has become a day of celebration. People have become more concerned with having a day off work then honoring those who are responsible for the very freedom that we enjoy.
Today, when you cut into that steak or bite down on that burger in the solitude of your own backyard, remember a soldier. Because without them, we wouldn’t have the luxuries that we enjoy today and everyday.
World War I Casualties 137,000
World War II Casualties 495,000
Vietnam War Casualties 58,228
Afghanistan War Casualties 1,154
Iraq War Casualties 4,300
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Re-keying Locks
I recently had to face the task of replacing all of my keys, including those for my car, mailbox and house. Since money is always an issue, I sought the cheapest way out. I had heard of the re-keying kits, and online sites and videos made it seem like a snap. Besides, by re-keying my locks I could have one key for my entire house, and that sounded pretty enticing to me. So, I was off to Home Depot to purchase the kit.
I was quick to notice that not all lock companies offer a re-keying kit for their products. Fortunately, I had always purchased Kwikset locks, so that was in my favor. I was also surprised at how cheap the re-keying kits were. For a mere $13 I could do all four locks on my house (though they cam equipped with sufficient materials for six locks. This was less than the cost of one new lock. I was in hog heaven.
Back at home I assembled everything I needed and lined everything up in a methodical manner on the dining room table. I removed the first door lock and sat down to achieve my goal. I laid out the directions and began to read: "using provided tool, press according to figure A to unlock." Okay, that was easy enough. Now it says, "Using other end of tool, insert and compress clip." Duh! What clip?
I headed for the computer and began searching for some hands on instructions. I finally found one on Youtube that seemed to adequately describe the locks that I was working with. I pulled up the video only to find that it had been pretty much filmed in the dark. The instructions were the same, but there was still nothing to clarify where this infamous clip was located. I found another video. The picture was clear, but the "clip" was not.
I spent three hours surfing the web and fondling a doorknob, and I still hadn't found the clip. While I consider myself an intelligent woman, I came to the conclusion that one capable of accurately following these directions was of a much higher intelligence than I. I carefully repackaged the kit (adding some of my own packaging tape) and made the trip back to Home Depot. After obtaining my refund I returned to the hardware department and picked out two brand new locks for my backdoor. (The front door had a bolt lock, so it could wait). I looked through the selection of Kwikset locks and even found some on sale. I looked past the sale items and bought two Defiant locks, descriptive of the way I felt.
After spending half of my day running to Home Depot, surfing the web and looking for a non-existent clip, it took me twenty minutes to replace both of the locks on my back door. I don't have one key for my entire house, and I will have to fumble with keys every time I come home, but I retained my sanity. I tip my hat to anyone brave enough to take on the task of re-keying locks, and praise anyone capable of finding that darn clip!
I was quick to notice that not all lock companies offer a re-keying kit for their products. Fortunately, I had always purchased Kwikset locks, so that was in my favor. I was also surprised at how cheap the re-keying kits were. For a mere $13 I could do all four locks on my house (though they cam equipped with sufficient materials for six locks. This was less than the cost of one new lock. I was in hog heaven.
Back at home I assembled everything I needed and lined everything up in a methodical manner on the dining room table. I removed the first door lock and sat down to achieve my goal. I laid out the directions and began to read: "using provided tool, press according to figure A to unlock." Okay, that was easy enough. Now it says, "Using other end of tool, insert and compress clip." Duh! What clip?
I headed for the computer and began searching for some hands on instructions. I finally found one on Youtube that seemed to adequately describe the locks that I was working with. I pulled up the video only to find that it had been pretty much filmed in the dark. The instructions were the same, but there was still nothing to clarify where this infamous clip was located. I found another video. The picture was clear, but the "clip" was not.
I spent three hours surfing the web and fondling a doorknob, and I still hadn't found the clip. While I consider myself an intelligent woman, I came to the conclusion that one capable of accurately following these directions was of a much higher intelligence than I. I carefully repackaged the kit (adding some of my own packaging tape) and made the trip back to Home Depot. After obtaining my refund I returned to the hardware department and picked out two brand new locks for my backdoor. (The front door had a bolt lock, so it could wait). I looked through the selection of Kwikset locks and even found some on sale. I looked past the sale items and bought two Defiant locks, descriptive of the way I felt.
After spending half of my day running to Home Depot, surfing the web and looking for a non-existent clip, it took me twenty minutes to replace both of the locks on my back door. I don't have one key for my entire house, and I will have to fumble with keys every time I come home, but I retained my sanity. I tip my hat to anyone brave enough to take on the task of re-keying locks, and praise anyone capable of finding that darn clip!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Mother's Day
I wish that I could have known the person who perpetrated the idea of there being a day to celebrate mothers. Julia Ward Howe must have had a very warm heart and must have realized the commitment and the unwavering sacrifices that her mother had made. In spite of the reluctance to set aside such a day, Julia continued her quest by holding Mother’s Day meetings every year until an acquaintance finally took her seriously. It wasn’t until 1914, however, that President Woodrow Wilson declared Mother’s Day a national holiday.
My mother passed away over 30 years ago, yet never a Mother’s Day goes by that I don’t think of her. It was hard at first, and I remember having to leave church services one year because I could not control my tears. And, without hesitation, my mind always falls back to that September day when I came to realize that she was gone. At twenty-six I was far too young to lose my mom, and despite any disagreements that we may have had, I was not prepared to lose her.
Mom and I weren’t particularly close. In fact, there was little that we agreed on, and yet every Mother’s Day I offered her up a gift, a card or some appreciation of the years that she gave. You see, Mother’s Day was about what she had done for me, not about the things that she didn’t do, and I never failed to honor that, no matter how slight the gift. And, while all of the cards were signed “With Love,” I cannot recall my mother ever once telling me that she loved me, or me telling her.
Before my mother died she left a note asking my father to take care of my five children and me. That may not have seemed out of the norm if it hadn’t been for the fact that I had a brother and that she made no mention of him. Despite the years of bickering and disagreements, my mother approached death thinking of me. I had lived my entire life never even knowing that she loved me, and yet it was all poured out in one simple scrap of paper.
I miss all of the things that my mother and I could have had. I still hear her voice and smell the scent of her perfume, but I cannot touch the hand of the one person that no one can ever replace. I look at my own children and wonder if they will share that feeling when I am gone or if they will feel relief in knowing that I am no longer a nagging part of their lives. Will they miss me? Will they come to know that, no matter what I did, that I did it because I believed it was the best for them? Will they know that I loved them and how much I ached to be loved in return?
Mother’s Day is celebrated the second Sunday of May every year. This year, hug your mother! And, no matter how much it hurts, or how much out of character it may seem, tell her that you love her. There are no guarantees in life, and whether your mom is 36 or 76, there is no way to be certain that she will be around for the next Mother’s Day.
My mother passed away over 30 years ago, yet never a Mother’s Day goes by that I don’t think of her. It was hard at first, and I remember having to leave church services one year because I could not control my tears. And, without hesitation, my mind always falls back to that September day when I came to realize that she was gone. At twenty-six I was far too young to lose my mom, and despite any disagreements that we may have had, I was not prepared to lose her.
Mom and I weren’t particularly close. In fact, there was little that we agreed on, and yet every Mother’s Day I offered her up a gift, a card or some appreciation of the years that she gave. You see, Mother’s Day was about what she had done for me, not about the things that she didn’t do, and I never failed to honor that, no matter how slight the gift. And, while all of the cards were signed “With Love,” I cannot recall my mother ever once telling me that she loved me, or me telling her.
Before my mother died she left a note asking my father to take care of my five children and me. That may not have seemed out of the norm if it hadn’t been for the fact that I had a brother and that she made no mention of him. Despite the years of bickering and disagreements, my mother approached death thinking of me. I had lived my entire life never even knowing that she loved me, and yet it was all poured out in one simple scrap of paper.
I miss all of the things that my mother and I could have had. I still hear her voice and smell the scent of her perfume, but I cannot touch the hand of the one person that no one can ever replace. I look at my own children and wonder if they will share that feeling when I am gone or if they will feel relief in knowing that I am no longer a nagging part of their lives. Will they miss me? Will they come to know that, no matter what I did, that I did it because I believed it was the best for them? Will they know that I loved them and how much I ached to be loved in return?
Mother’s Day is celebrated the second Sunday of May every year. This year, hug your mother! And, no matter how much it hurts, or how much out of character it may seem, tell her that you love her. There are no guarantees in life, and whether your mom is 36 or 76, there is no way to be certain that she will be around for the next Mother’s Day.
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