Love Thy Neighbor Part 2 -Relationships

Loving thy neighbor in action rather than thought takes a lot of work. Admittedly I am not all that great at it but I have decided to try. Maybe you are like me, thinking "that sounds nice...in theory". Loving everybody as myself is a great ideal, like world peace. What can I do? How can I impact anything? I still find myself passing my own silent judgment on others based on what they look like or the situation I see them in. I see people on the street and the moment is a snapshot compared to their whole life and yet, I sign myself up to be the judge, jury and executioner even without thinking about it.

My example? A taste of my own medicine I am afraid. I would often walk around my favorite shopping center back home. It was an upscale complex with store fronts outside and classical music piped in. I always felt lighter in spirit being there, usually with toddler in tow, strolling around taking in the scenery and window displays. Being that I am a person who likes to people watch and literally notices every minor detail, I often took notice of younger women with small children who didn't appear to be married. My assumption, of course, was that these children were A) hers, B) born out of wedlock and C) had broken homes. Pretty harsh judgment huh? Heard yourself say that in your mind a few times? My "backatcha" came a few months after my husband died. My daughter and I would go out to lunch after church and this day we selected one of our favorites, Burton's Grill. We sat at a corner table, right next to an older couple. The woman was instantly entranced with my Carli. They were talking, she was smiling at my daughter intently and taking her in. I was smiling too. People are often very taken with Carli. She easily engages with people and her brilliant smile and gigantic blue eyes make it easy to forget what you were doing a minute ago. I was enjoying the exchange and the woman was looking over at me smiling back, until I put my left hand on the table. I wasn't wearing my wedding ring that day. She took notice and abruptly ended the conversation with Carli and turned her body away. I was very shocked. I wanted to scream at her "I am a widow"! How did it feel coming back the other way to me? Not too good. I don't know anyone's situation and anyone I pass judgment on based on what I see can easily not be what it appears at all and even if it is, is it mine to decide what is right or wrong?

Loving thy neighbor has more impact at home as I have come to realize. I have taken stock of my relationships and how I interact in them. How loving am I to my friends? Well, if you have known me long enough you already know the answer to the question. The truth is, I make a great associate, a pretty good acquaintance and a lousy close friend. Why? I am sure there are a lot of reasons but none of that really matters because the results are the same. I am hard to get to know. Oh sure, I will banter on for hours at parties, chat you up when I have the time, most people say I am funny and easy to talk to. If you are waiting for me to call to say "hi" you might be waiting a long time. I am very slow to return calls. I often don't ask about things or follow up on conversations like I should. I am standoffish, aloof and removed. The ones that are closest too me are the ones who have just too much persistence every time I try to deflect something that is too intimate or personal. I give them a lot of credit. They have just accepted me after all these years. I have even been mean and harsh with my words to a few. Thankfully, I have sought forgiveness and it has been received well although I would say those relationships bare scars. Loving? That could use some work.

What does it mean for me to love my friends then? My family? It means I have some work to do. Being in a relationship means there are two people working toward a common goal, a deeper intimacy. Both sides must be willing to be vulnerable and take a risk. I've been burned in the past, haven't we all. Not every experience is going to be the bad ones we've endured. Honesty, that's a big one. I have learned that I just have share what's on my heart and mind. Chips fall where they may. I have gone through so much in the last year that the pain of keeping to myself just hurts too bad to not let my friends have the opportunity to be there for me. The results? Well, they have taught me that it is okay to be open. In return, they have been more open to me with things that are hurting them. Interesting, isn't it? We get to bond and to be completely on the level, the best friendships are forged in fire anyway. I have been more willing to make phone calls rather than wait for the phone to ring and most importantly just letting people know what's going on with me and being real. It is so freeing to just be yourself and not really worry about "appearances". Even if it doesn't work out that way and you find yourself in a relationship with someone who is less than loving as a result of sharing yourself, at least you know what you've got between you and you can plan accordingly without any false pretenses.

I've learned to give people a chance. I've met some really, really nice people lately. Some I had met a long time ago and have recently let them get to know me. I participated and showed interest in them and they returned the favor. Amazing how that works. It's okay find out if someone you know, even very little is a great person to share in your life. Make no assumptions, that is my new motto. I was always resistant to letting myself get passed my own preconceived notions to get to know someone. What bondage. I held myself prisoner in my own judgment of others, what a shame. I am glad I am getting through that.

I've learned to say "I'm, sorry" a long time ago. Mostly, now I try to acknowledge my shortcomings with people. I try to share my knowledge of my limited communication. I tell them I am working on it. Although, telling someone you are working on something means you really have to be working on it or it just feels like a lie, for both of you. I am trying to be better. Why? I want the people in my life to know I love them and I do value the time in my life that they have been with me. All of them, no matter how little I know them, they are in my life for a reason and that reason is for me to love them in whatever way I can. Maybe it is just sharing photographs of kids, saying a kind word, wishing well, offering to pray for something. Maybe it is an occasional coffee or lunch. I can be much more in depth too. The important thing is to love the people in your life in whatever way they will let you and be ready to do it.

Loving my neighbor starts with the ones closest to me, my family and friends. I love you guys!

Love Thy Neighbor

Everyone has heard the quote "Love Thy Neighbor" or at least The Golden Rule "Do unto others". Interesting that when people quote these two phrases that they will inevitably leave off the rest of the sentence "as yourself" and "as you would have done unto you". In a world of bumper stickers, T-Shirts and banners that all scream for us to "Celebrate Diversity", "Give Peace a Chance" and be "One Human Family" you would think we would be doing a great job of this. I mean, people seem to be buying into the hype. They are putting these things on their bodies and cars. How are we really doing? Honestly, I would say not too well. Let me explain...

I am living on a very small island right now, 2 miles by 4 miles to be exact. I get the benefit of seeing society operate on a micro-scale. It's pretty interesting considering Key West considers themselves such an open community. What I see a lot of is passivity and tolerance, not too much in the way of love. Recently we had Pride Fest. A 5-day, yearly celebration of being gay I guess. There really is a more meaningful event behind this festival but it seems to be lost down here into something else. What I observed during that week about how people treated others is really what got me thinking about our two "mottos". Hundreds descended on this tiny island to celebrate. If you weren't downtown, you didn't really see too much going on but that is very hard to avoid and people came early on in the week to make a vacation out of it. Seems logical. The descent came with an undertone or an attitude by a lot of vacationers. Kind of a "it's our town" for the week and a sense of entitlement that came from being there for the celebration toward the locals and others. It gave pride a new meaning to me and not in the good sense. But not to leave out anyone else in the non-love was a man that seems to creep up on busy intersections pretty regularly around here, the "God Hates Fags" guy. His guy repulses me on so many levels. The biggest one is that he wears the banner of Christianity while holding his signs "God Hates Fags" and "God Brought The Oil Because He Hates Fags". First of all God doesn't hate anyone. In fact, Jesus was the one quoted in "Love thy neighbor as thyself"! Second of all, there are no oil spill effects in the Keys at the time of this writing thing so the other sign he carries is just silly. I want to make my own signs and keep them in my car so I can stand next to him when I see him. My signs would say "Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself" and "Let He That Has Not Sinned Cast The First Stone" and make arrows that point to him. I wonder how he would feel about that?
Adults behaving this way toward each other is having effects on our children in how they behave toward each other. I call this the "Me First" syndrome. Since we aren't loving each other, we are loving ourselves more. We are getting our due, exercising our rights, putting ourselves first. My next example is two children at the zoo while I was there with my mother and Carli. We were wondering around looking at alligators and crocodiles. The dad had reached the pen of alligators first and he was calling his children to come look. We were walking over as well. One child shoved my 3 year old out of the way while the other one ran right into me without so much as a glance back as I stumbled to regain control of my knees. The look on Dad's face was one of "they're just excited". I understood. This is how it is in their home. His permission for his children to assault people and not apologize told me everything I needed to know about him...Me first. His kids get it. When you want something, you want something and you want it first. Meanwhile, I tell Carli we have to wait our turn and everyone needs a turn. That's just me. I know that she knows that because when children shove her out of the way or step in front of her view of something, she looks up at me and says "We need to wait our turn, Mama?". I say yes and silently think about shoving those children out of her way. Where has the love gone?

My final example is one of a waitress in a breakfast place recently. I was having breakfast and was being waited on by an older woman who, in my mind, should have probably chosen another career given her lack of friendliness and courtesy toward me and my daughter. Nevertheless, I was kind to her in the same way I would have if I had been given good service. She didn't spill anything on me and she got the food to the table hot. As I was eating her manager was barking an order at her. I heard her reply "Stop talking to me that way!". What she said make me think. Stop talking to me that way implies that this attitude toward her was ongoing, not a one time thing this morning. Her frustration in her voice told me she'd had enough. I guessed her attitude toward me in the form of her customer service was not about me but about her work environment. I suddenly felt sorry for her. Who wants to be barked at while they are trying to do their job? I am glad I slowed my mind down enough to assess the situation rather than react. If I had said something quick and sharp or complained to the manager about the lack of customer service I would have made a bad situation worse for her just because I wasn't getting a smile with my coffee. Not really a big deal in comparison to the situation. I could definitely argue that I was owed a good attitude while I was there, I was a customer after all but none of this was about me in the first place. Why make it about me? Would it have made me feel better to see her berated? Would my omelet have tasted better? I doubt it and I would have further ruined someone's morning.

It's easy to love and to give to those we like and those we know well. It really takes no effort at all. After all, our friends and family members are our neighbors. Everyone who isn't you is your neighbor, or at least that is the intent of the quoter. But what about the neighbor who we don't agree with? The neighbor that we think lives a life that is not in accordance to our own values. Do we love them anyway? Do we talk badly about them in front of our children or to others?
These quotes are made because they really are hard. Loving thy neighbor and doing unto others takes us out of the equation. That means to love everyone, I have to consider everyone as important as myself. It takes a lot of self sacrifice and forgiveness. That is what I see that is lacking, in my own life and certainly how I witness the treatment of others. How are you doing with that?

I wish we were a society working towards "doing unto others" but I don't really see that at work. I see this only being conditional to being like-minded rather than just well....doing it. Challenge yourself. Extend forgiveness and a clean slate to that coworker you can't stand. Let someone cut you in line go without getting mad or saying something about it. When you want to tell your spouse about the next door neighbor who has done that thing that drives you nuts one more time, stop. Who is hearing this and what's in it for you to complain about anyway? When your children want to treat others with disrespect, make them stop and say "I'm sorry". Strike up a conversation with someone who is much different than you. You just might learn something and they may learn something from you. You would be amazed how good you will feel when you just let yourself go and put others first.

The Importance of Discipline?

I have always understood that good boundaries with children will help them understand that rules need to be followed, kind of like "good fences make good neighbors". It was my natural and logical understanding that a child couldn't obey rules they didn't know they were there to be followed. Made sense to me. If they know them, they will adhere. Right? Anyone who has endured toddler hood with one of their own knows the answer to that question.

The problem with young children as they mature into little people who start to think for themselves is they start to follow a simple decision making process when they run into a fence, a rule if you will. It is called selective hearing. I have seen this played out several times with my 3 year old, Carli. Being someone who can't stand repeating herself, it amuses me and annoys me to no end when I find myself giving the same instructions at least 3 times before she stops what it is I have asked her not to do. For instance, she loves to take everything out of closets, namely the bathroom. We have been over this bathroom boundary 100 times and yet it does not stop her from doing it again. Did she forget about the "no bathroom" rule? I doubt it. Was she just so overcome by her own compulsions that it didn't occur to her? I hesitate to think that is the case more than she made a decision to do what she wanted over the wishes of her mother. She wanted to "get away with it".

For most of us who do administer some sort of discipline or handing down consequences for actions, we begin to realize this is not a one time thing. Telling your children to get off the arms of your sofa seems to be a regular reminder rather than the obligatory "time out" followed by the steadfast adherence to the "sit right on the sofa" policy. It is tiring, all consuming, frustrating and sometimes seemingly hopeless to discipline. Especially for young children where the discipline for today's infraction is a success and it will subsequently be a dismal failure the next time. I have found myself sometimes wondering if all this is really doing...anything at all. Do the parents who just seem to not really do much in the way of setting boundaries have it better than those of us who are insistent on setting rules and limitations and thus following that up with a consequence? Do "free range children" have it better? Is there more harmony in those homes? I say no. They have dire consequences. They create children who grow up to be adults with no concept of laws, moral code and a sense of doing the right thing. They are the people we meet who are always thinking they are the exception to the rule. You have met them over and over. No accountability, and always shirking responsibility. What makes me so sure? See an example.

Joran Van Der Sloot. Any of us who were not familiar with his involvement in the Natalee Holloway disappearance are familiar with him now. He is a killer. A callous, unrepentant predator. So far he has been connected to two murders of young women he met in casinos, there could be more. I am not going to recount his ghastly deeds. What I want to dissect is his parents' reactions and his behavior during the investigations he was a person of interest for. I think it sheds a lot of light on how he was raised and what came of him as an adult and the apparent absence of discipline and direction as a child.

Joran was arrested for the disappearance of Natalee Holloway in Aruba 5 years ago. What astonished and infuriated me while watching the news of him was his attitude toward the police, investigators and even the very crime he was charged with. Most people, faced with being charged with a murder they didn't commit would be very scared, anxious and completely willing to comply...unless they had something to hide. People who are innocent but know something will usually tend to tell something that is as close to the truth as possible, leaving out the information they do not want to share. People need to tell the truth in order to remember pertinent details. Joran not only lied about his whereabouts, Natalee's involvement with him in the wee hours but he changed his story countless times. He enjoyed sending people on a wild goose chase only to find out he was not telling the truth. His reaction? A smile. He enjoyed toying with the investigators. His reaction to them was one of dimissal. It gave his ego a great boost to frustrate the people in authority over this situation. He was letting them know he was in control. He saw them as below his level of intelligence. He has had a lot of practice with this. You don't come about this type of behavior, at this level over night. He was too confident in what he was doing. He more or less did the same thing with the investigators in Peru but his charade didn't last long and he soon unraveled. Why? Something was missing. The key piece of his game was no longer there. His father.

During the Aruban murder investigation, Mr. Van Der Sloot was right there. He, at first, appeared to be the kind of dad anyone would want, to be there come what may for their child. To see my point in how Joran got to where he is today, you need to look further. Joran's father did a lot for him in those coming months. He was tireless in helping the world see that his son was innocent. Who wouldn't, right? I'd spend every last dime I had and probably not sleep if Carli were in a situation where she seemed to be the sacrificial lamb for a terrible crime that had been committed...if she were innocent. Mr. Van Der Sloot did something else. He tried to work the system to get his son exonerated. He threw money at it, he used his political clout in Aruba, he hired the best lawyers, his own investigators, but he wasn't really trying to prove Joran's innocence. He was trying to get him out of the trouble he was in. There is a big difference. You see, Joran knew that is exactly what his father would do. He had a lot of confidence in that. Why? Because Daddy had done that before, many times I would surmise. He didn't for one second, question whether or not someone would help him. He knew whom he could count on....only now his father is dead. The Peruvian government is not anything that anyone he knows can circumvent, no one is throwing money at this, no one is in front of a camera, tearfully pleading on his behalf. In fact, at the time of this writing, I don't believe his mother has been to Peru nor has he spoken of her. Interesting...the Joran of today is afraid for his life, scared and left on his own. That must be terrifying if you've never had to live out the consequences of your actions before, especially as an adult having to do this for the first time.
The relationship with Joran and his parents, his coming to know how they would react came from a long history in his upbringing. These behavior patterns start very early. I can clearly see how this all started in the Van Der Sloot home. I see how this can start as I observe children interacting with other children at the playground and their parents' reactions to their behavior toward others. The culprit? Passive Permissiveness.

Passive Permissiveness is easy. I find myself contemplating it often, to be honest. I am tired, I am often sick of saying 'no'. I even try to count in my mind how many times I've told Carli that word in a given day. I think it is the most commonly used word I have uttered as of late other than the word 'yes' when I hear the name, Mom, coming from my daughter. I can hear the name Mom at least 50 times before lunch, I swear. Point being, maintaining order is a great task when it comes to our children's behavior. Sometimes, it is easy to just overlook an infraction because you just can't "go there" one more time. Passive Permissiveness is an easy pattern to fall into because it's easy. What's the harm, right? Well, easy patterns are of course easy to fall into, especially when working parents come home from a long day at the office. You had meetings that ran late, your boss was unhappy with your report, coworkers and employees misbehaving. The last thing you want to do, over dinner, when sitting down for some peace and quiet is to have to dole out instructions for something you have told your children not to do for the one millionth time! I understand it all perfectly, I was there. I came home one night after a long day. My then toddler wanted to play with the salt shaker. I had told her countless times not to play with it. I always took it away from her when she did. This time I handed it to her to keep her quiet. I just wanted to be left alone. I knew what I was doing but I didn't care. It became very hard to train her not to reach for and play with the salt and pepper at the table after that. In later, similar situations involving condiments for entertainment at the table it became a battle of wits and tempers with her when I said no. Why? Because she had learned in certain situations I would relent and she wanted to find out how to make that happen again.

Does it really matter? I would submit, it does. Not keeping our children in check and holding them accountable creates grave behavior patterns that cannot be reversed over time, either by them or by you. Not holding children accountable means you are going to try to make situations go away, like trying to explain to a teacher why your child's report isn't done on time. What is the harm in that, really? Your child doesn't understand that when you don't do what you need to do on time, you get an "F" and you teach them that it is okay to lie and get around rules if given a set of circumstances. Do you really want to model behavior that you would usually punish them for? It's so easy to spackle over things rather than deal with them but over the long haul, both you and your children will pay for it. Joran's parents never intended to create a monster. Little chips in the mortar, one at a time, over the years make the brick wall crumble.

The Ugly Dream

Last night I had a nightmare. I don’t often remember my dreams, never mind have nightmares. It woke me up out of my sleep at a little after 4AM. Struggling to go back to bed, I couldn’t help but analyze what it meant. It was a very graphic dream, in many way revolting and repugnant but the analysis proved worthwhile even if I lost some sleep.

The dream started off at night. I was out with some friends at a rock club seeing a band play. Not real friends, dream friends. The kind where you are best friends in the dream and you wake up realizing you have no idea who they are in real life. It was very dark, kind of Goth-like. We decided to leave the club and walk around the city. That brought us to a subway. We descended the stairs onto a dank subway platform. The walls were streamed with condensation and the lights were dim. Grime lightly coated the walls from floor to ceiling. There was no one there, just me and my dream friends. We decided to jump from the platform onto the tracks. We started walking away from the subway station toward the black tunnel of the underground subway system. Surprisingly, I was not afraid. It felt exhilarating. Into the dark we went. We found a dimly lit hallway to the left of the tunnel. As in most dreams, suddenly my crew of friends disappeared and I went into the hallway by myself, curious by the noise I heard down the corridor.

Wide-eyed, I walked toward the noise. I realized as I was walking that the walls had turned to dirt. Everything was dirt. The sides, the ceiling, the floor, all dirt. As if someone had just started digging and made this hallway. The scene never changed. The entire cavern was dirt and it was lit by construction lights all the way through. The noise was getting louder. I started passing people. At first they looked disturbed and possibly homeless. Not unusual I thought for a makeshift hideaway in a subway system. I kept walking, a little on guard but still eager to see what lie ahead.

What I encountered as I came to a room at the end of the hallway was, to say the least, unnerving. There were people everywhere in this large dirt room. In fact, the hallway wasn’t really a hallway but a passage way to an integrated system of hallways and rooms. I looked around the room at people in varying degrees of decay and death. Some grotesquely injured, eyeless, horribly wounded but they were still living. I know this as they were all talking but I couldn’t make out what they were saying over the collective noise they were making. It looked like a battle scene after a bomb explosion. I kept walking onward down the hallway. The corridor system only went one direction, downward. It got darker and dirtier as I went. Dust hung in the air and I somehow lost my shoes. Barefoot, I went on trying to avoid decaying people, blood and human excrement. I was horrified by what I was witnessing but I needed to see what lie ahead. It was like a bad car accident, you want to look away but you can’t.

As I walked on the hallways got narrower and darker. The construction lights were farther and farther apart and it was hard to see. The rooms got more and more crowded with people. This time they were not decaying, they were angry. Posters and defaced pictures of families hung on the walls. The posters were scrawled with accusations and profanity, hastily written and fastened to the dirt walls. The pictures of happy families had similar writing on them and images written over the faces. The people were yelling at me, pleading their case for why they were there. Their behavior was disturbing, they chaotically ran about, yelling, trying to be heard and pointing to the posters and pictures for me to see. I was trying to read them, to take it in and hear their complaints but my mind was rushing about. The hallways and rooms were so small, it was hot and I was starting to panic. My head turned right and I saw a teenage boy, hair black as pitch and dirty trying to play a broken black electric guitar.

My mind slowed down and I came to. I had to get out of there, a girl was yelling at me as I turned around and started running. I had to find my way back. The people and the very walls of the caves were telling me that I couldn’t get out. There was no way but I didn’t listen. As I found hidden stairways, I went up. I knew if I went down, going up would get me out. I was desperate to find my way back to the city streets. As I found stairs, I used them, ignoring the voices that told me I couldn’t leave. Desperate to be spared I cried out to God, “Lord, please save me! Please get me out of here!” My last staircase brought me to a train station but I was not on the platform, I was in a baggage room and I had to squeeze through a tiny door where your luggage comes out to be free. It didn’t look like I’d fit but I was desperate to try. I was not alone others had found their way out and they were getting through. I scrambled to the doorway and stuck my head in. It was a struggle but I made it. The next thing I knew, I was in a courtyard of an outdoor shopping center. It was filled with tourists on cruises who had ported for the morning. They were all walking around discussing how great their vacations were going with one another. I walked up to a vendor selling wind chimes and bought a gigantic wind chime made out of kitchen utensils and pot lids. (Okay, this is a dream don’t forget) I took the wind chime and started walking home, barefoot and dirty, toward my parents house. I was anxious that they would be worried as it was now 8AM in the dream and I had been gone all night without so much as a phone call.

I woke up feeling unsettled. What could all that mean? I was so glad that I was able to get out in my dream. Most dreams like that involve running in circles and into dead ends until you awake with a start but in this one, I saw it out to completion. I was saved by God. He showed me the way out. I lay in bed, eyes open, wondering where all this came from. The decaying, disfigured people, the posters and pictures, the shouting. What did it all mean? I started to drift off again when my mind began sifting through the images like a shoe box of postcards. I saw what was there and I heard what the people were saying. They were grief-stricken by their lives. The accusations on the posters were about them and what they thought their loved ones had done to cause them such pain. The defaced pictures were their families, and the writing and the images on them was a constant reminder to the people in the caves that the smiling faces of well put together families, to them, was a lie. The injuries and decay I saw was the outward manifestation of how the dying people felt on the inside. The cave was their hell, their entrapment in their pain. There was a way out but they didn’t know it was there. They never bothered to find it. They had resigned themselves to the dark, dirty cave. They sealed their fate in their own mind. Prisoner to their grief.

That really is just it. So many people do this. I see them every day. They create internal, mental “hells” for themselves and almost subconsciously imprison themselves. As they stay in it, they get worse, never better. Downward they go, angrier and sadder they get. Unable to understand, there is a way out.

Grief comes in all forms. Deaths of loved ones, lost relationships, dysfunctional families, innocence of childhood lost, all kinds of grief. It is as simple as people mourning something they can’t have back or fixed. I found the way out in my dream and in my life. I cried out and asked God for help.

I find myself in the barrenness. Hot, solitary, looking for rest. One foot, the other. The sand scorching with every step. No matter what direction I look, it all looks the same. No view is different. I lose my sense of balance and orientation. I keep walking, where is the end? It will be a long walk. I prepare my mind. I sit down and ponder. If it's all the same, what direction is one better than the next? Out of the darkness of night it comes. I am walking, I can see it. At first it doesn't seem real. I look, take it in and smile. If it is real, just a drink. I can't stay long. I sip, pour it over my body and feel it run. Every line and corner it finds. Cooling, comforting. Another sip and then I must go.

I need to find the way out of this vast emptiness.The water, it feels so good! I take more in. Another splash to my parched face. A trickle down my neck, it finds my heart and seeps in. The refreshing is almost too much. Surely I will awake tomorrow and find it gone. If it will be gone, should I dive in? It looks so peaceful. To feel the water surround me, saturating, taking the heat and the sting of sun away. What will happen when I have to go? Walk on and find a way out of this desert? Walk on to find the end or is the end, the way out through the water? Oasis or new life?

Without thinking, I sit down at the water's edge. The moon's reflection ripples with the wind. Dazed by it's beauty, I put my feet in. The water feels better than I hoped. I"ll walk in just a little I think. It feels as though the water and I become one with each step forward. I want to lower myself in but I wonder, what is beneath the surface? I can't see the bottom. Should I turn back? Get out while I still can? I think it's not too late but I can't move. I need the water. Frozen still, I stand. Contemplating a dive, I try to weigh the outcomes. The hot breeze and walking on or a swim in a beautiful pool of water in the middle of all this nothingness. In mid thought, I dive in. I plunge beneath and almost inhale. The cool tingle of the heat leaving my skin and a long exhale under the water. I don't want to surface.

Why I Hate Norman Rockwell

For the second time in one weekend I found myself in maternal bliss, fawning over my beautiful daughter and being mesmerized by her smile. Not just any smile but a grin so big that it takes up her whole face. She was having a great time. I love those moments. They are the memories that you want to capture in a thousand pictures and the feelings you have that say "this is why I became a mother".

The first time was at the Miami Children's Museum. We took a long ride up to Miami from The Keys of Florida on Friday afternoon. She did beautifully in her car seat in the back. She watched her DVDs, chirped questions to me as I drove and in no time we had made our 3 hour journey. We checked into the hotel and Carli was thrilled to press the buttons on the elevator and see our room. She ran around the hotel room very excited about her "Special New Building House". I told her we were going to the Children's Museum in the morning and that they had big toys that we could play with. She was over the moon. So over the moon that she didn't go to bed until 9:45 PM and woke up at a startling 5:30 AM. I tried to talk her into going back to sleep and gave up at 6. I knew that without enough sleep her mood could go either way. We got to the museum and she was so happy to play in their playground on the swings until it opened. As soon as 10 AM came we scurried in the front door. Paying our fare we started in. She was in heaven and I was snapping pictures as fast as I could and as long as she could sit still. A Norman Rockwell moment, we were playing and talking like we were a harmony in a song. Maternal bliss.

As we were winding down our tour Carli wanted to take pictures in the instant photo booth. I am not sure what happened between paying for the pictures and sitting down but my special little angel turned into a fire breathing meltdown of a dragon. Thankfully her screaming in the booth looked like smiles in the photos and my toothy grin was actually a grimace trying to hold my flailing dragon still during the photo op. I waited impatiently for the photos as she was crying and screaming that they were hers and she wanted them. I gave her half and kept my half which made her shrill so loud you'd have thought I slapped her across the face. I grabbed my little monster by the wrist and told her we were going home. This seemed to jar the tantrum loose but by then I was done. We left 5 minutes later and she cried and whined aside from a brief 45 minute nap in the car, all the way home. I parked my car in front of my landlord sitting on her porch while I practically dragged my over tired, crying, screaming dragon up to the apartment so I could quickly get her bathed and to bed. What a day. How did that Norman Rockwell picture look again?

Today was going to be a good day. It is my late husband's birthday and I wanted to keep things upbeat. Church started earlier than usual for us because I wanted to go to bible study. A new and dear friend was teaching and she had text messaged me about coming. I hurried into the shower with my little buddy close on my heels as usual. I scarcely shower by myself any more. Not that I mind, at least I know where she is and what she is into! I ran some shampoo through her hair, a little soap, shaved my legs and we were off. The class was wonderful, service was great. I picked up a beaming Carli at Sunday school and we went off to the grocery store, which is our favorite errand to do together. Next we planned to make sugar cookies. Carli had been nagging me to make them with her since she keeps seeing this recurring commercial of a little girl making cookies with her mom. Why not? This will be great! Some of my fondest memories of my mom and me are baking in the kitchen. We made pretzels once together with my little brother. It took a while but we had a great time doing it and it seems that baked goods are always better with a little extra love in them from your mom. I ferreted out all the necessary cookie supplies and started off creaming butter and sugar. I was explaining everything as I went. Next was mixing the dry ingredients. I gave Carli the cup of flour and told her to pour it in the bowl. The first cup went great but the second cup went everywhere when I took too long handing her the cup and she jerked it out of my hand. I cleaned it up, handed her another one and decided this would be a great lesson in cooperation and working as a team. That went right by her as by now we were rolling out dough and cutting out cookies when she yelled at me for cutting one without her. I sternly informed her that if she couldn't cooperate, she'd be done helping mom make cookies. Next were the sprinkles. I told her she could put the sprinkles on the cookies. Multi-colored sprinkles like you would put on ice cream. She was very excited to be the "Sprinkle Girl". The first sheet went well. There were more sprinkles on some and not on others but mom quickly fixed that. I can't help it, I have Monk-like OCD sometimes. Everything has to match and be level and symmetrical. I am trying to let that go, but I digress. The second sheet happened so fast I had no time to react. I put the second sheet down in front of the Sprinkle Girl and she took the top of the sprinkles off and dumped them on the first cookie. Sprinkles rained everywhere from the jar. I grabbed the container from her and tried to pick up sprinkles and evenly distribute them to the other cookies, never mind what was on the floor and counter. A terrible thought shot across the bow of my thinking. Without warning the statement "she ruins everything" came to mind. I thought of her lack of cooperation during cookie time and the meltdown and car ride home yesterday. I stopped myself mid-thought. Why would I think that? She doesn't "ruin everything" she is 3 years old, a baby still. She is just doing what people her age do. Then I got to thinking, what was it about her behavior that caused me to think like this? It was my ideal that unfortunately a lot of us try to live up to. These picture-perfect, June Cleaver moments where everything is pristine, wholesome and good. No one acts up, spills anything or has meltdowns because they are over tired. In the Norman Rockwell paintings everyone is exactly the way perfect would be. Lovingly looking at each other, happy. A captured time forever framed in glass in a gallery. Wouldn't life be wonderful it were just like that? A frozen perfect moment on a canvas that everyone could look up to and say "why can't my life be just as it is in this picture?" Because it isn't. Life is full of bumps, crying, and unexpected things. Tired kids, traffic, that appointment you forgot about until just now, that bill you forgot to pay happens to everyone. No one in a Norman Rockwell painting has these problems because one moment is stilled by paint into an ideal for us to admire.

My black -and-white thinking is the bane of my existence. It isn't all bad because one unexpected thing happens. Sometimes it takes an ugly thought to pry open my mind into looking at my own behavior. Carli loved the museum, the hotel and the ride up to Miami. The cookies came out great, she told me they were good and we had a lovely dinner after we baked them. Near-perfect, precious time spent with my daughter and a splash of life thrown in. Just like it is supposed to be. I hate Norman Rockwell.

Mother's Day Blues

Everywhere I turn are signs for Mother's Day. "Remember Mom", "Send flowers for Mother's Day", there are countless commercials on TV and radio these days, clamoring for everyone's Mother's Day business. Normally, I'd be anxious about Mother's Day but for different reasons than this year. I am sad and anxious this Mother's Day because it is the first one I will be spending as a single mother. Oh sure, Carli will make me a card or something and her school is having a Mommy and Me Tea Party this Friday but it isn't the same. No one will be shopping for me on Carli's behalf for sappy, heartfelt cards and presents. There won't be any dinners to be taken out to this Sunday for me. I guess what is sticking in my craw is no surprises this year. What ever is done for me this Mother's Day will really be done by me for Mother's Day. I am not feeling sorry for myself, mind you and it isn't about the presents. It is about who is missing to celebrate it with me, Greg, my late husband.

Greg was not a good present giver. This always bothered me. I would lament about Mother's Day, birthdays, Christmas every year. I would hope that one of these times, he would do something really special, that he would go all out and really "wow" me. He never did. My friends would get jewelry, trips to the spa, and surprise weekends away. Not me. I usually got whatever he could pick up last minute or gifts from BJ's Wholesale Club. One year I got a space heater for Christmas. Practical? Yes. Romantic? No. I never let on that I was disappointed. He was very sensitive and I didn't want to hurt his feelings but the lack of planning and forethought always made me feel like I wasn't worth it. It wasn't the intent but it was the result.

We had problems communicating because we needed to feel loved in different ways. I like presents and physical touch. He liked compliments and time spent with him. This was very difficult for me as I didn't think I needed to fawn over him and bring in a marching band in my house whenever he did his quarterly dish duties and getting me to sit down and watch twenty year-old reruns of Magnum P.I. when I had laundry to do and lunches to make was nearly impossible and it made him sad. I didn't see the value in what he wanted. Being the kind of Plain John kind of guy he was, he didn't see the big deal about presents and surprises. He thought I was being silly or materialistic. It wasn't that way for me but I couldn't get him to see it. He didn't see the value either. I often wondered why he wouldn't just do it to make me happy, I am sure he felt the same way. Hindsight being what it is, I spend a lot of time thinking about these things when special days come up now.

I can't beat myself up, it's over. I have often longed for a day when I could just yell "DO OVER!" like when I didn't like the outcome of something when I was a kid. You don't get those as an adult. Life is unfair that way. When I sold my house I had to pack up all of my belongings and what ever was left of Greg's, along with our daughter Carli's prized possessions, most certainly her play kitchen. I was having lots of flash backs about things that I packed. One of those things was a lifetime supply of bath salts and bubble bath courtesy of BJ's Wholesale from my husband for Christmas. That was about all he got me. I was really upset at the time but I didn't let on. Bath products?! Well, I do take a lot of baths in the winter to warm up, but still. I laughed as I packed up what was left of it. I did enjoy it after all. He knew it was something I'd use. He liked to give practical gifts, things that were useful. He just wanted me to use what he'd given me instead of wearing some trinket once or twice and banishing it to the jewelry box never to be seen again. I do that a lot actually. He made fun of all of my handbags and scores of jewelry. I have too much of that stuff and I tire of it easily. He paid attention to my habits. More than I knew. Carli's play kitchen was the first real project of a gift that we gave Carli. Christmas Eve we put it together after she went to bed. No problem we thought, it should take an hour or two at the most. We poured drinks and got busy. As I kept pulling parts out of the box I started to see that the parts were lettered into the triple letters. This was not a good sign. A few drinks and four hours later we were almost done. Alas, one of the last parts was missing drill holes that it needed to finish the job. Greg wanted to put it back in the box and return it but we came too far. "Go get your cordless drill" I demanded. I was so tired, I just wanted it to be over and go to bed. Up from the basement he came with drill and drill bits in hand. He fumbled around with the bits, trying to figure out what one to use. "Just stick the drill bit into the hole the screw is supposed to go into in the other piece of wood and then you'll know what size bit to use", I couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that. "Well, excuse me Bob Villa" he shouted, feeling a little sheepish that his wife had outsmarted him in the Tools department. He did as I said, we completed the kitchen and Carli's Christmas was saved. She loved it then and she still does. Every time I see her play with it, I remember all that it took to put it together.

I gave up on presents and surprises and the last Mother's Day Greg finally got it right. He did get me a practical gift but it was also very meaningful to me. He got me a potted Gerber Daisy plant. He knew I loved them and he wanted me to be able to plant them so I could enjoy them year over year. I cried. I thought it would be wonderful to be able to water my daisies and tell Carli how she and Daddy had given them to me so many years ago. It was the nicest thing he ever got me. It showed me that he was thinking about what I really like and what I would enjoy. Not to mention, he really wanted me to get on that flower bed out in front of the house. Okay, so he had an ulterior motive but it was still really thoughtful. I cherished that plant. I will never forget that Mother's Day. I was my last one with Greg and my most memorable. Thank you for thinking of me, Honey.

There will be new memories on Mother's Day, I know. This one will be hard but they'll get easier, right? What I will do is dress me and my lovely daughter up and go to a nice Mother's Day brunch after church. I might even ask someone to take a picture of us at the table. Maybe a walk on the beach afterwards and call my mom. Then it will just be another Sunday.

Dads, Kids, Significant Others please, make it as special as you can for Mom. She deserves it. You just don't know how many of these you will be celebrating together so treat it like her last, for me and for Mom.