I've been trying to work with Abby lately, trying to teach her about being thankful. I feel like I've really ruined this one and should just throw in the towel. But no, I will stick to my guns until my kid is so stinkin thankful that she oozes gratefulness like Eli's nose oozes snot.
So here's what I've tried so far:
1. Watch the Veggie Tales "Madam Blueberry" and talk about having a thankful heart. Try to remember the words to the song at bedtime. Remind her in the mommy voice, "have a thankful heart," (or else, I think silently).
2. Pray before our meals, and pray at bedtime, emphasizing that we're thankful for stuff.
3. Threaten to take away all her toys, clothes, books, movies and make her eat only bread and water until she can learn what she's thankful for.
Okay, that last one might have been done in a fit of frustration and exhaustion. I try really, really hard not to make threats or promises I can't follow thru on, really.
Then it dawned on me. Hey genius, what are YOU thankful for? Do you even know? Do you share it with your kids?
Ouch, talk about feeling a little sheepish.
Baa.
So I'm vowing from this moment forward to be thankful, daily and out loud. I'm not going to make it a huge event. Trumpets blaring, "Attention children, Mommy has a proclamation: Today I'm thankful for my coffee." But really what I need to do is simply check myself. Instead of complaining about how cold it is I can remark on how thankful I am that we have a warm home.
And I am.
So that's my first thing I'm really thankful for. I'm thankful for my warm home. Four walls, a floor and a roof. Heating, carpeting, running water, etc. It's warm in here, it's safe, we're a family in this home. I look out the window sometimes right before I go to bed at night and I'm thankful for my warm home. I think about homeless people, and homeless families, teenage runaways and single moms and my heart cries for them. How cold these nights have been, how harsh, snowy, windy, miserable. I'm thankful I have the same place to come home to, I'm thankful for the security that my kids feel. I pray they never have to worry about where they're going to sleep, or where their next meal will come from. And I pray for the families out there who do worry about that. For the mothers whose hearts are burdened with the pain of knowing they don't have a place to call home. And I pray my kids grow up with that same empathy for those that are truly in need.
And I think they will. It just takes time for them to learn. I don't want them to have to learn harsh life lessons, like the fact that there are homeless families, kids who don't eat, child abuse, hatred, and murder. But they will. And I will be right here to talk about it with them. To hug them if they cry about homeless kids without toys. Because I'm their Mom, and that's my job, good and bad. And I'm thankful for that too, so very, very thankful.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
My sappy song memory
When I married my wonderful husband 10 years ago our first dance was to Lonestar's "Amazed." Yes, it's a country song, but we listened to all kinds of music when we were dating, and I really liked the tune and the words. I felt like the song was about us (sappy, puppy love). Jeremiah and I even tried a fancy spin me out and watch my 8-layers-of-tulle-skirt-flow-in-the-breeze move. It was magical!
But that's not my sappy song memory today.
It's actually the song my Dad and I danced to. It's not really a Daddy-Daughter dance kind of song and I've always felt a little like I had to explain it. But then again it was my wedding (I mean "our", sorry Jeremiah, our wedding) and I didn't have to explain nothing to no one! We danced to Billy Joel's "Always A Woman." It's no "Butterfly Kisses" or "Sunshine of my Life," but it's the first one that popped into my mind.
There's a reason for that.
For as long as I've lived (seriously, 31 years with a few skipped here or there) my parents and I drove to Omaha, Nebraska to visit my paternal Grandma, and then on to Iowa to visit my Mom's parents. I can remember making the trip, first in a baby blue 1978 Buick station wagon, then in a 1985 Civic hatchback. (Talk about going from a mansion to a cottage!) Now, I'm an only child, so family trips were nothing short of wonderful for me, no one to share the backseat with, no one to fight with. My mom would line the back seat with blankets and pillows, toys and snacks and it was like having a tour bus minus the bathroom. We would leave late in the day and my Dad would drive thru the night while my Mom and I slept. I can remember the smell of the coffee from my Dad's green Stanley Thermos when he would pour it into his little travel mug. And his music. So as not to wake my Mom or me, my Dad would put on headphones and listen to his music while he drove. Softly coming from the headphones I heard The Eagles, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Richie, and The Best of Billy Joel, Albums 1 and 2, among others. For some reason, Billy Joel sticks out in my mind. Always has, always will. When I got older and he bought the Best of Album on CD I would swipe it from him and listen to it in my room.
So when it came time to pick a song for us to dance too I already knew which one I wanted. True, if you listen to the words, it's not a Daddy-Daughter dance song, but I liked the tune, and it has a special place in my heart.
So I feel a little conflicted about this next part.
The other day I turned on the TV early in the morning and stumbled upon this:
But that's not my sappy song memory today.
It's actually the song my Dad and I danced to. It's not really a Daddy-Daughter dance kind of song and I've always felt a little like I had to explain it. But then again it was my wedding (I mean "our", sorry Jeremiah, our wedding) and I didn't have to explain nothing to no one! We danced to Billy Joel's "Always A Woman." It's no "Butterfly Kisses" or "Sunshine of my Life," but it's the first one that popped into my mind.
There's a reason for that.
For as long as I've lived (seriously, 31 years with a few skipped here or there) my parents and I drove to Omaha, Nebraska to visit my paternal Grandma, and then on to Iowa to visit my Mom's parents. I can remember making the trip, first in a baby blue 1978 Buick station wagon, then in a 1985 Civic hatchback. (Talk about going from a mansion to a cottage!) Now, I'm an only child, so family trips were nothing short of wonderful for me, no one to share the backseat with, no one to fight with. My mom would line the back seat with blankets and pillows, toys and snacks and it was like having a tour bus minus the bathroom. We would leave late in the day and my Dad would drive thru the night while my Mom and I slept. I can remember the smell of the coffee from my Dad's green Stanley Thermos when he would pour it into his little travel mug. And his music. So as not to wake my Mom or me, my Dad would put on headphones and listen to his music while he drove. Softly coming from the headphones I heard The Eagles, Stevie Wonder, Lionel Richie, and The Best of Billy Joel, Albums 1 and 2, among others. For some reason, Billy Joel sticks out in my mind. Always has, always will. When I got older and he bought the Best of Album on CD I would swipe it from him and listen to it in my room.
So when it came time to pick a song for us to dance too I already knew which one I wanted. True, if you listen to the words, it's not a Daddy-Daughter dance song, but I liked the tune, and it has a special place in my heart.
So I feel a little conflicted about this next part.
The other day I turned on the TV early in the morning and stumbled upon this:
This is Fyfe Dangerfield's version of "Always A Woman to Me." The TV was still on BBCA from Jeremiah having watched Top Gear the night before and so it happened to be that I was watching The Graham Norton Show. I was fumbling with the remote, about to change the channel when I realized what the song was the guy was playing. I don't know who this guy is, I don't watch The Graham Norton Show ever, but I stopped, and I watched. I felt a little guilty, like I was cheating on my Billy Joel version, but I really like this song. I found it on YouTube, and I've watched it a half dozen times. It's not better than the original, it's not worse. It's what a cover tune should be. Honest to the original, but with a little bit of the musician's own personality thrown in. Not to improve it, but to make it their own. So it's okay if I like them both. The song will always remind me of my Dad, no matter who sings it.
I don't really remember much from my wedding day. I have little snippets here and there, but I can remember the opening chords as they started to ring thru the room, and I remember that when I was dancing with my Dad that I didn't care what people thought about my song choice. It was just us, dancing to one of my favorite songs, and I was his little girl in the back seat.
Monday, January 10, 2011
What am I thinking?
What am I thinking? I'm not a girl who gets things done. I think I used to be, but now I'm not so sure. I was always a bit of a procrastinator, my husband can tell you whenever I had a paper to write or a big test to study for in college I would put it off by cleaning. I once had a huge paper due for my psych nursing class and I suddenly decided to catalog and rearrange our DVD and VHS (yes VHS) library.
When did I become so unmotivated? So scatter brained? So unable to finish a task? I would like to blame it all on my children, but I don't think they are the cause, I think they just contribute to the final results (or lack thereof). I reminisce about the days before I had children and I think, "if I only knew then what I know now." I wonder why my house wasn't spotless and perfectly organized, no clutter on the counters or spoiled cheese in the back of the fridge. What did we do with all our money? Why didn't I get eight hours of sleep every night, workout for an hour every morning, eat well balanced meals, drink eight glasses of water, read a new book a week and spend time in my Bible and prayer everyday?
Because this is me, that's why. So I'm a little scatter brained. It's hard to believe that someone as self-centered as me (yup, self-centered, not in an egotistical, reality show kind of way, but merely someone who grew up as an only child, never having to share or think about siblings) could be so dim sometimes. You would think I would be a total type-A personality, organized, efficient, motivated. Don't get me wrong, I have my moments, there are certain areas of my life and home that run like clockwork, but most of the time it's a little cluttered. Cluttered in my home and my brain. And I won't lie, having young children definitely doesn't help. I often start a project only to be interrupted by snack time, the end of nap time, a skinned knee or simply just a request to "come play with me."
So why on earth, with the long list of half finished projects and things-yet-to-be-done around here, would I do something like start a blog? Maybe I like a challenge, maybe I just like to hear myself talk (see my typed words?) Do I have deep insight to life as we know it? Nope. Growing up as an only child I learned to talk to myself, some times my voice was the only one I heard for hours. I've always narrated my life a little, like an episode of "The Wonder Years." I actually used to be quite a writer, humorous and creative. Those who know me know I can talk for awhile (um, until I loose my voice?) and I would like to think I'm pretty funny. My best stories? Why, the stuff that happens everyday, of course. Stupid things I do around the house, funny kid stories (I will try not to bore you with my endless supply of poop stories), the fabulous interactions between husband and wife, so on and so forth. I can only hope to keep up on my blogging. And maybe, just maybe, if I write about stuff it will somehow motivate me. Motivate me to finish the projects I write about. Perhaps I will stay a little more accountable if I know I have to put stuff out there. Maybe writing my thoughts some where will help clear out some of the clutter in my brain! So that's what I'm thinking. See, it's working already.
When did I become so unmotivated? So scatter brained? So unable to finish a task? I would like to blame it all on my children, but I don't think they are the cause, I think they just contribute to the final results (or lack thereof). I reminisce about the days before I had children and I think, "if I only knew then what I know now." I wonder why my house wasn't spotless and perfectly organized, no clutter on the counters or spoiled cheese in the back of the fridge. What did we do with all our money? Why didn't I get eight hours of sleep every night, workout for an hour every morning, eat well balanced meals, drink eight glasses of water, read a new book a week and spend time in my Bible and prayer everyday?
Because this is me, that's why. So I'm a little scatter brained. It's hard to believe that someone as self-centered as me (yup, self-centered, not in an egotistical, reality show kind of way, but merely someone who grew up as an only child, never having to share or think about siblings) could be so dim sometimes. You would think I would be a total type-A personality, organized, efficient, motivated. Don't get me wrong, I have my moments, there are certain areas of my life and home that run like clockwork, but most of the time it's a little cluttered. Cluttered in my home and my brain. And I won't lie, having young children definitely doesn't help. I often start a project only to be interrupted by snack time, the end of nap time, a skinned knee or simply just a request to "come play with me."
So why on earth, with the long list of half finished projects and things-yet-to-be-done around here, would I do something like start a blog? Maybe I like a challenge, maybe I just like to hear myself talk (see my typed words?) Do I have deep insight to life as we know it? Nope. Growing up as an only child I learned to talk to myself, some times my voice was the only one I heard for hours. I've always narrated my life a little, like an episode of "The Wonder Years." I actually used to be quite a writer, humorous and creative. Those who know me know I can talk for awhile (um, until I loose my voice?) and I would like to think I'm pretty funny. My best stories? Why, the stuff that happens everyday, of course. Stupid things I do around the house, funny kid stories (I will try not to bore you with my endless supply of poop stories), the fabulous interactions between husband and wife, so on and so forth. I can only hope to keep up on my blogging. And maybe, just maybe, if I write about stuff it will somehow motivate me. Motivate me to finish the projects I write about. Perhaps I will stay a little more accountable if I know I have to put stuff out there. Maybe writing my thoughts some where will help clear out some of the clutter in my brain! So that's what I'm thinking. See, it's working already.
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