My sweet mother-in-law called me last week to update us on their upcoming move. (We're all moving this summer. Us to Dallas, them to Kentucky.) Then after a pause, she asked:
MIL : "I just wanted to know if you have plans for the 4th of July?"
me: "Not yet. Why?"
MIL: "We'll be driving home that weekend after house hunting and would love to see you, the children, and the new house."
me: "You know...if you stay through the 5th you can come with us to the ultasound and find out if #7 is a boy or girl when we do. Want a sneak peek at your newest grandchild?"
MIL : paused for a moment, then "Will I be able to figure out what I'm seeing? You always send me these ultrasound pictures and I'll admit that I never see in them what you say is in them. I look and look, but I just can't see it. I keep them all and label them with the children's names, because those are my babies and I love them and that you send the photos....but will it make more sense to see it in motion?"
me: laughing "I think so. You haven't understood any of them. Even the ones we've explained in person?"
MIL: "No, dear, but that's okay. I believe you that that's my baby somewhere in the blob and love that you try."
I love her. I love that she keeps the pictures of blobs she doesn't recognize, labels and treasures them because somewhere on that black and white graininess is a baby she adores.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Monday, June 27, 2011
You Can't Call Me That
When I was growing up, I wouldn't have dreamed of calling any of the adults in my life by their first names. It don't even thing I knew that my best friend's mom was named Susan until I was in Jr High.
In our new neighborhood, the children call all of the adults by their given names. Their parents introduce me to them by saying "Rebecca, this is our daughter (trendy name). (Trendy name) this is Rebecca." I cringe every time. Then I smile sweetly, extend my hand and say "Hi (trendy name), I'm Mrs Frech." Conversation usually stops for a moment as everyone looks at me.
In a society where parents are trying desperately to be friends with their own children and their children's friends, it has become "normal" for children to think of and address adults as their peers. These children aren't my peers or my friends. They play at my house, eat the snacks I make, and tease and joke in my kitchen. I like these children, and love having them around, but they aren't my friends so I insist that they call me Mrs Frech.
I think we lost something as a society when we began blurring the lines between childhood and adulthood. The children I see who first name grown ups seem to be confused about who is in charge. They are the children who argue, whine, wheedle and try to negotiate about everything that isn't exactly their own way. It's exhausting to be around them. There is a lack of authority from the grown-ups and respect from the kids.
Respect, authority, esteem (other than self-), and honor seem to be dirty words these days. Children aren't taught to say "Yes Ma'am" or "No Ma'am". They aren't taught how to speak to adults or that it should be different than the way they speak to their playmates. They grow up to be young adults who treat their college professors and bosses in the same manner they would their drinking buddies. When they reach adulthood and a little deference would help them, they find that it's not something they can do because they've never learned how.
That's why I'm no longer answering to 'Rebecca' for any of the neighborhood kids. You may call me old-fashioned or out of step, but I'm the grown-up so you can also call me Mrs Frech.
*****I recently learned that when my husband talks about my to people I haven't yet met, he refers to me in the honorific. "Let me call Mrs Frech and see what she thinks about that." He insists that these strangers give me the esteem he feels I deserve. Why would I allow the neighbor's five year old to speak to me in any way that's below the respect afforded me by my husband?
In our new neighborhood, the children call all of the adults by their given names. Their parents introduce me to them by saying "Rebecca, this is our daughter (trendy name). (Trendy name) this is Rebecca." I cringe every time. Then I smile sweetly, extend my hand and say "Hi (trendy name), I'm Mrs Frech." Conversation usually stops for a moment as everyone looks at me.
In a society where parents are trying desperately to be friends with their own children and their children's friends, it has become "normal" for children to think of and address adults as their peers. These children aren't my peers or my friends. They play at my house, eat the snacks I make, and tease and joke in my kitchen. I like these children, and love having them around, but they aren't my friends so I insist that they call me Mrs Frech.
I think we lost something as a society when we began blurring the lines between childhood and adulthood. The children I see who first name grown ups seem to be confused about who is in charge. They are the children who argue, whine, wheedle and try to negotiate about everything that isn't exactly their own way. It's exhausting to be around them. There is a lack of authority from the grown-ups and respect from the kids.
Respect, authority, esteem (other than self-), and honor seem to be dirty words these days. Children aren't taught to say "Yes Ma'am" or "No Ma'am". They aren't taught how to speak to adults or that it should be different than the way they speak to their playmates. They grow up to be young adults who treat their college professors and bosses in the same manner they would their drinking buddies. When they reach adulthood and a little deference would help them, they find that it's not something they can do because they've never learned how.
That's why I'm no longer answering to 'Rebecca' for any of the neighborhood kids. You may call me old-fashioned or out of step, but I'm the grown-up so you can also call me Mrs Frech.
*****I recently learned that when my husband talks about my to people I haven't yet met, he refers to me in the honorific. "Let me call Mrs Frech and see what she thinks about that." He insists that these strangers give me the esteem he feels I deserve. Why would I allow the neighbor's five year old to speak to me in any way that's below the respect afforded me by my husband?
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Hey Crazy Mama!
You said you needed Mom Cards and the random number generator agreed! I just need you to email me your contact info so I can pass it along to the sponsor.
Congratulations!
Friday, June 24, 2011
Prayers of Thanksgiving
Earlier today, my brother's car engine caught fire. He and my nephew were in the car at the time. Praise be to God that they were stopped and that my brother noticed in time to get himself and his son to safety as the car burned.
I am so grateful this evening that people are discussing what kind of auto insurance he has instead of his life insurance policy.
Thank you, God, for watching over them and giving my brother the grace to see what was happening and the wisdom to act on it.
I am so grateful this evening that people are discussing what kind of auto insurance he has instead of his life insurance policy.
Thank you, God, for watching over them and giving my brother the grace to see what was happening and the wisdom to act on it.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Did You Ever?
Did you ever go walking with the bald guy from that New York tattoo show and your childhood dog in an unidentified industrial area when suddenly there was an earth quake, and your dog got broken glass in her paws, so you had to pull your tweezers out of your hair to help her?
Yeah...let the wild pregnancy dreams begin.
Yeah...let the wild pregnancy dreams begin.
What's the Limit?
Okay, this is a serious question. What is the statute of limitations of using the excuse "We just moved"? As in, the neighbor comes over and the house is not as clean as I would wish it to be and she says "Oh, don't worry about it, you just moved."
I know that there are time limits on these things.....like baby fat. I don't think you can claim "I had a baby" as your excuse for that extra flab when your youngest is out of college.
How long do I have before my "You just moved" window runs out?
I know that there are time limits on these things.....like baby fat. I don't think you can claim "I had a baby" as your excuse for that extra flab when your youngest is out of college.
How long do I have before my "You just moved" window runs out?
Monday, June 20, 2011
Welcoming the Aliens in Our Midst
A friend of mine whose husband is in the Air Force tells me all the time, "If it weren't for that whole 'Fullness of Truth' thing, I'd probably be a Methodist by now. The Catholic churches in every place we are stationed are just so unfriendly and unwelcoming."
I used to think that she was simply unfortunate in the towns where they'd been sent.(Towns in Oklahoma, Utah, Colorado, Virginia, and Rhode Island.) I'd never seen a parish as unfriendly as she described. Then we moved to Texas.
Texas is a place which is renowned for the friendliness of her people. Those people must be going to other churches. I'm sad to say that they must be Protestant because the Catholics aren't interested in new members. In fact, as we've seen the last few weeks, they Catholic churches around here seem all full up on parishioners.
The thing is, I don't think it's just this small Texas town, or the towns where my friends have moved in the last few years. I think it's the culture within our churches. I think we have a friendliness problem in the Catholic Church.
As Christians, we are called to be welcoming to the alien in our midst. I know because I've heard plenty of social justice speeches in Catholic parishes about being welcoming to the aliens arriving from south of the border. We are reminded to open our wallets, lives, hearts, churches and businesses to those who are in this country seeking a better life. Why is it that we're never told to give the same courtesy to the aliens from other towns, states, neighborhoods? Why is it that we are not reminded that our faith requires us to make the alien feel welcome and that alien simply means someone we don't know?
It was during a discussion this weekend with my brother (a Baptist minister) that I was reminded that the people we have encountered have not simply been unkind or unwelcoming, but they were being un-Christian. It was a moment of shock when he said that to me. I'm not accustomed to thinking in those terms, but I should. Not am I being kind, generous, a good person, but am I behaving in a Christ-like manner to every person who I may encounter throughout the day? Am I making an effort to be the light of Christ I am called to be?
I may be the only Gospel some people ever read. Is the Christ I teach them about a person they'd like to get to know?
I used to think that she was simply unfortunate in the towns where they'd been sent.(Towns in Oklahoma, Utah, Colorado, Virginia, and Rhode Island.) I'd never seen a parish as unfriendly as she described. Then we moved to Texas.
Texas is a place which is renowned for the friendliness of her people. Those people must be going to other churches. I'm sad to say that they must be Protestant because the Catholics aren't interested in new members. In fact, as we've seen the last few weeks, they Catholic churches around here seem all full up on parishioners.
The thing is, I don't think it's just this small Texas town, or the towns where my friends have moved in the last few years. I think it's the culture within our churches. I think we have a friendliness problem in the Catholic Church.
As Christians, we are called to be welcoming to the alien in our midst. I know because I've heard plenty of social justice speeches in Catholic parishes about being welcoming to the aliens arriving from south of the border. We are reminded to open our wallets, lives, hearts, churches and businesses to those who are in this country seeking a better life. Why is it that we're never told to give the same courtesy to the aliens from other towns, states, neighborhoods? Why is it that we are not reminded that our faith requires us to make the alien feel welcome and that alien simply means someone we don't know?
It was during a discussion this weekend with my brother (a Baptist minister) that I was reminded that the people we have encountered have not simply been unkind or unwelcoming, but they were being un-Christian. It was a moment of shock when he said that to me. I'm not accustomed to thinking in those terms, but I should. Not am I being kind, generous, a good person, but am I behaving in a Christ-like manner to every person who I may encounter throughout the day? Am I making an effort to be the light of Christ I am called to be?
I may be the only Gospel some people ever read. Is the Christ I teach them about a person they'd like to get to know?
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Now and Then
The alarm went off this morning at 6:30 and I watched my beloved get out of bed for his early morning walk. I was so grateful for a few more minutes of warm snuggling under the covers.
The sunlight began to stream through our bedroom window and I reminisced about a morning 15 years ago when I awoke to gray skies and drizzle and burrowed into the pillow, smiling in anticipation of that long walk up the aisle awaiting me at 6:30 that afternoon.
As I stretched, fluffed the pillow and decided that 10 more minutes wouldn't kill me, I thought about that languorous stretch at the end of the day all those years ago. The skies had waited until the festivities were over before they finally opened up and poured. We laughed as we shook the water from our hair in the hotel room. I took the hottest shower ever to get the tons of hairspray out of my hair, slipped on the hotel's terry cloth robe, and just stretched out the kinks and tension of that long and joyful day. I stretched out on the bed and sighed contentedly while he showered, and I reveled in my new-found status as his wife.
The next morning was a delight of late sleeping and room service breakfast. I still dream about those waffles from time to time. I don't know what was in them, but I've never had their equal. I was debating trying to duplicate them this morning when I heard the front door open and my sweetheart's returning to me. He was greeted by a thunder of small feet pounding down the stairs, and then tearing towards our bedroom.
Instead of the quietly spoken "Good morning" of fifteen years ago, we were feted with a chorus of voices our love has created. We were kissed, hugged and congratulated by the direct results of that dreary gray June day.
We had no idea the things we set in motion as we spoke with nervous voices and affirmed for family, God and each other that we were each other's for the whole of our lives. I could never have predicted the overflowing of love and emotion that would fill me when he walks through the door, or how it has grown stronger with each passing year. I could not have foretold the calm and peace his voice brings me except when it sends that little shiver up my spine. I would not have even imagined the gift of this joyously large family or ever thought that our simple love could multiply in so many ways.
This morning, I kissed my beloved as he walked out the door on his way to the office and counted myself among the very luckiest of women because I'm the one who gets to welcome him home in the evenings.
Fifteen years growing together, a houseful of children, a rich and colorful history, and now we're on the threshold of this whole new adventure together. I can't wait to see where it takes us, my beloved and me.
The sunlight began to stream through our bedroom window and I reminisced about a morning 15 years ago when I awoke to gray skies and drizzle and burrowed into the pillow, smiling in anticipation of that long walk up the aisle awaiting me at 6:30 that afternoon.
As I stretched, fluffed the pillow and decided that 10 more minutes wouldn't kill me, I thought about that languorous stretch at the end of the day all those years ago. The skies had waited until the festivities were over before they finally opened up and poured. We laughed as we shook the water from our hair in the hotel room. I took the hottest shower ever to get the tons of hairspray out of my hair, slipped on the hotel's terry cloth robe, and just stretched out the kinks and tension of that long and joyful day. I stretched out on the bed and sighed contentedly while he showered, and I reveled in my new-found status as his wife.
The next morning was a delight of late sleeping and room service breakfast. I still dream about those waffles from time to time. I don't know what was in them, but I've never had their equal. I was debating trying to duplicate them this morning when I heard the front door open and my sweetheart's returning to me. He was greeted by a thunder of small feet pounding down the stairs, and then tearing towards our bedroom.
Instead of the quietly spoken "Good morning" of fifteen years ago, we were feted with a chorus of voices our love has created. We were kissed, hugged and congratulated by the direct results of that dreary gray June day.
We had no idea the things we set in motion as we spoke with nervous voices and affirmed for family, God and each other that we were each other's for the whole of our lives. I could never have predicted the overflowing of love and emotion that would fill me when he walks through the door, or how it has grown stronger with each passing year. I could not have foretold the calm and peace his voice brings me except when it sends that little shiver up my spine. I would not have even imagined the gift of this joyously large family or ever thought that our simple love could multiply in so many ways.
This morning, I kissed my beloved as he walked out the door on his way to the office and counted myself among the very luckiest of women because I'm the one who gets to welcome him home in the evenings.
Fifteen years growing together, a houseful of children, a rich and colorful history, and now we're on the threshold of this whole new adventure together. I can't wait to see where it takes us, my beloved and me.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
I'm Just Not Telling
"So, do you have names picked out yet?"
I must get asked that question a couple times a week, most recently by the two pregnant ladies at the pool who had just said they were looking for ideas and that my children all have such interesting names. I see what you're doing there....but no, we have nothing definite planned.
The Computer Guy and I tend to lean toward more off-beat names and then settle on something a bit closer to normal. We've been told that our baby names are all over the place, following no discernible pattern. I'd agree with that. I've never once thought, "the children are named 1, 2, 3, and 4....I wonder what would sound good with that." I know people who do, it just doesn't occur to me. We tend to think of each new person as an individual and think about what name we like for them.
The truth is, I do have a name I'm feeling comfortable with for #7, provided she's a she and not a he (we find out in 3 weeks), but it's a bit out there. I prayed about guidance for names, because I'll be honest with you, I'm running out of fresh ideas, so I asked God for a suggestion. I got a pretty clear answer, and while it's possible He's messing with me a la Horatio, it's possible that He's serious. It's not a name that was ever on my radar....ever. I mentioned it to my husband who reminded me that while God can suggest things, we still have free will. So, I told my teenager who usually shares my off-beat appreciation for things. She's not sold on it. Then I found out that a person with that name had her cause for sainthood opened on the date of conception. Could she be offering to look out for our newbie?
Am I losing my mind? Possibly. The thing is, we have one girl name I like and he's not sure that he cares for. He has a girl name he likes that I think is way too common. We have a couple boy names we're tossing around for fun right now. Because this is one of the fun parts of parenthood. We get to pick their names. For a moment in our imaginations, they can be anyone we want them to be before we settle down to who they are.
In the past, we've told people the names we were considering only to be forced to listen to diatribes against names we loved and advice on what names would be a better choice and why. We're on #7. Just this once, it would be nice to get to pick one and use it without a chorus of opinions. I'd like to just say "this is our new baby, ________." People can roll their eyes and whisper about it behind our backs, but I doubt anyone will say "really?" to our faces. That will just be his/her name and the world will smile back, because it's hard not to smile when you look new life in the face.
So, this time we're going it alone. We're keeping it to ourselves and maybe from the children (because they blab, the big-mouths). I can guarantee you only one thing, it won't be Horatio.
I must get asked that question a couple times a week, most recently by the two pregnant ladies at the pool who had just said they were looking for ideas and that my children all have such interesting names. I see what you're doing there....but no, we have nothing definite planned.
The Computer Guy and I tend to lean toward more off-beat names and then settle on something a bit closer to normal. We've been told that our baby names are all over the place, following no discernible pattern. I'd agree with that. I've never once thought, "the children are named 1, 2, 3, and 4....I wonder what would sound good with that." I know people who do, it just doesn't occur to me. We tend to think of each new person as an individual and think about what name we like for them.
The truth is, I do have a name I'm feeling comfortable with for #7, provided she's a she and not a he (we find out in 3 weeks), but it's a bit out there. I prayed about guidance for names, because I'll be honest with you, I'm running out of fresh ideas, so I asked God for a suggestion. I got a pretty clear answer, and while it's possible He's messing with me a la Horatio, it's possible that He's serious. It's not a name that was ever on my radar....ever. I mentioned it to my husband who reminded me that while God can suggest things, we still have free will. So, I told my teenager who usually shares my off-beat appreciation for things. She's not sold on it. Then I found out that a person with that name had her cause for sainthood opened on the date of conception. Could she be offering to look out for our newbie?
Am I losing my mind? Possibly. The thing is, we have one girl name I like and he's not sure that he cares for. He has a girl name he likes that I think is way too common. We have a couple boy names we're tossing around for fun right now. Because this is one of the fun parts of parenthood. We get to pick their names. For a moment in our imaginations, they can be anyone we want them to be before we settle down to who they are.
In the past, we've told people the names we were considering only to be forced to listen to diatribes against names we loved and advice on what names would be a better choice and why. We're on #7. Just this once, it would be nice to get to pick one and use it without a chorus of opinions. I'd like to just say "this is our new baby, ________." People can roll their eyes and whisper about it behind our backs, but I doubt anyone will say "really?" to our faces. That will just be his/her name and the world will smile back, because it's hard not to smile when you look new life in the face.
So, this time we're going it alone. We're keeping it to ourselves and maybe from the children (because they blab, the big-mouths). I can guarantee you only one thing, it won't be Horatio.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
It's Kinda Gross If You Think About It
One of the elderly ladies at church rubbed my belly today. I know it's pretty much just sticking out there....kind of a lot for just shy of 15 weeks. No, there aren't two in there, as I've been asked several times in the past few days. Yes, I'm sure.
It's the belly rub that bothers me the most. First, because I don't know the woman....as in never seen her before in my entire life. So, her laying hands on me was a bit unexpected. Secondly, she didn't even say 'hi' or acknowledge me in any way. She rubbed my belly and said "Hi little baby" Then smiled at me and walked away.
Sigh.
Here's the bad thing about that, aside from some stranger touching me unexpectedly. The baby isn't that big yet. It's not anywhere near the top of the 'bump'. All she was rubbing were fat, skin, and intestine. The baby is still pretty low, like below my belly button. This strange woman came up and rubbed my fat and all I could think after getting over the moment of shock was "please don't let it jiggle." Yes, that's what I thought. Please don't let this random stranger know how fat I really am....don't let it jiggle.
Yes, #7 is groovin' and kickin' and doing all kinds of exciting things, but the movement she felt this morning? The "kick' that greeted her hand? That was last night's baby back ribs and pregnancy gas. Somehow I don't think that's the kind of thing she really wanted to lay hands on this morning.
It's the belly rub that bothers me the most. First, because I don't know the woman....as in never seen her before in my entire life. So, her laying hands on me was a bit unexpected. Secondly, she didn't even say 'hi' or acknowledge me in any way. She rubbed my belly and said "Hi little baby" Then smiled at me and walked away.
Sigh.
Here's the bad thing about that, aside from some stranger touching me unexpectedly. The baby isn't that big yet. It's not anywhere near the top of the 'bump'. All she was rubbing were fat, skin, and intestine. The baby is still pretty low, like below my belly button. This strange woman came up and rubbed my fat and all I could think after getting over the moment of shock was "please don't let it jiggle." Yes, that's what I thought. Please don't let this random stranger know how fat I really am....don't let it jiggle.
Yes, #7 is groovin' and kickin' and doing all kinds of exciting things, but the movement she felt this morning? The "kick' that greeted her hand? That was last night's baby back ribs and pregnancy gas. Somehow I don't think that's the kind of thing she really wanted to lay hands on this morning.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Well, Hello There!
This afternoon, as I was reading the Little Red Caboose to #5, I felt the familiar squiggling feeling against the inside of my left hip bone. #7 was moving around and making him/herself felt for the first time.
I love the early day wigglings. They are a secret moment shared between me and the baby, too small for anyone else to notice, they are mine alone to enjoy.
In a few weeks, #7 will be big enough to be enjoyed by all, and I will be unable to sit without a child's hand resting on my belly as they get to know their newest sibling. But for the next couple weeks, #7 will be doing a joyful dance that is for me alone, a secret moment for just the two of us to enjoy.
Hello, #7. I'm so excited to get to know you at last.
I love the early day wigglings. They are a secret moment shared between me and the baby, too small for anyone else to notice, they are mine alone to enjoy.
In a few weeks, #7 will be big enough to be enjoyed by all, and I will be unable to sit without a child's hand resting on my belly as they get to know their newest sibling. But for the next couple weeks, #7 will be doing a joyful dance that is for me alone, a secret moment for just the two of us to enjoy.
Hello, #7. I'm so excited to get to know you at last.
Control Freak
Renters are moving into our Oklahoma City house tomorrow afternoon. I'm desperately trying to be okay with this. It would be different if we had sold the house because it wouldn't be ours, but it still is...there are just strangers who are going to be living in it. It doesn't help that they've already asked for permission to repaint my kitchen because "That color is atrocious."
I like to be in control. I like knowing what is happening and when, and I'm not super trusting of other people with my stuff. That's why the last few days have driven me up a nearby wall. We hired a handy man to get the house ready for the renters. He's a friend who does all kinds of small odd jobs and we know him well....that doesn't change the fact that I don't get to inspect the work before I write the check. I just have to trust him that the bedrooms are painted, the new dishwasher is in and working, the carpets are clean and that everything is in peak condition.
I keep reminding myself to just breathe. It will be fine. This is his job and why we hired him. My poor pregnant body doesn't do well after 3 1/2 hours in the car, so driving that twice in one day would leave me prostrate for days afterward. We hired him so I wouldn't have to worry. The poor guy has been answering my pestering text messages for 2 days now. "How's it going? Is the paint the right color? Does the dishwasher fit? Did you get the stain out of the carpet in the hallway?" and so on. He's patient and understanding that I need some sort of death grip on things for my own sanity. I think he's going straight to Heaven on the merit of being patient with super-controlling pregnant women.
The new people move in tomorrow and it will all be done or not. They've lost everything they own in the recent tornadoes and are happy just to have a place to live. I'm happy that they've found a haven, but freaked out for me. God is teaching me lessons in letting go and trust. I hate it when He does that.
I like to be in control. I like knowing what is happening and when, and I'm not super trusting of other people with my stuff. That's why the last few days have driven me up a nearby wall. We hired a handy man to get the house ready for the renters. He's a friend who does all kinds of small odd jobs and we know him well....that doesn't change the fact that I don't get to inspect the work before I write the check. I just have to trust him that the bedrooms are painted, the new dishwasher is in and working, the carpets are clean and that everything is in peak condition.
I keep reminding myself to just breathe. It will be fine. This is his job and why we hired him. My poor pregnant body doesn't do well after 3 1/2 hours in the car, so driving that twice in one day would leave me prostrate for days afterward. We hired him so I wouldn't have to worry. The poor guy has been answering my pestering text messages for 2 days now. "How's it going? Is the paint the right color? Does the dishwasher fit? Did you get the stain out of the carpet in the hallway?" and so on. He's patient and understanding that I need some sort of death grip on things for my own sanity. I think he's going straight to Heaven on the merit of being patient with super-controlling pregnant women.
The new people move in tomorrow and it will all be done or not. They've lost everything they own in the recent tornadoes and are happy just to have a place to live. I'm happy that they've found a haven, but freaked out for me. God is teaching me lessons in letting go and trust. I hate it when He does that.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Overheard
I was in Ikea two days ago buying shelves when I overheard a conversation between two well dressed 20-somethings. (I admit to following them for a few minutes to catch the end of this exchange.)
Him: You know my mom hasn't worked in like 6 years?
Her: Really? What is she doing instead?
Him: Nothing. She just stays home and sponges off my dad.
Her: She doesn't do anything at all?
Him: Oh...she like cooks and cleans stuff and spends all his money.
Her: And he's okay with that?
Him: He seems to be. I don't know why though. I'd be p*$$ed as hell. I mean.....why can't she get a real job?
Her: Weird. Maybe she's good in bed.
Him: Ewww. That's my mom you're talking about.
Both laugh and then change the subject.
I just stopped for a moment in the aisle with my mouth hanging open. That didn't used to be called sponging, it was called "being his wife." I particularly liked how he couldn't just be okay with it because he's okay with it, but she has to be doing something else to earn her keep.
It was such an honest look at how the younger generations view my life, because I too "just" cook, clean and spend "his" money. Please may my own children never talk about my in such disrespectful ways.
Him: You know my mom hasn't worked in like 6 years?
Her: Really? What is she doing instead?
Him: Nothing. She just stays home and sponges off my dad.
Her: She doesn't do anything at all?
Him: Oh...she like cooks and cleans stuff and spends all his money.
Her: And he's okay with that?
Him: He seems to be. I don't know why though. I'd be p*$$ed as hell. I mean.....why can't she get a real job?
Her: Weird. Maybe she's good in bed.
Him: Ewww. That's my mom you're talking about.
Both laugh and then change the subject.
I just stopped for a moment in the aisle with my mouth hanging open. That didn't used to be called sponging, it was called "being his wife." I particularly liked how he couldn't just be okay with it because he's okay with it, but she has to be doing something else to earn her keep.
It was such an honest look at how the younger generations view my life, because I too "just" cook, clean and spend "his" money. Please may my own children never talk about my in such disrespectful ways.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Packing Heat
I couldn't fall asleep last night. My sweet Computer Guy had returned to Oklahoma to oversee the last of his office's move. That meant I spent the night alone in the house with the 6 children.
I laid in bed last night, unable to relax, listening to all the sounds of the new house and asking with each one "house, child, or something else?" I thought about how soundly and easily I sleep when my husband is here and how much I trust him to keep us safe. I hadn't even noticed the house noises at all until he wasn't here, then it became my job to listen and they kept me up.
I'm a little in awe of how easily he wears that mantle of responsibility. When I'm in charge, I mentally count the steps from myself to every child. I plan escape routes and double check doorknobs. I put my phone on the nightstand in case I should need to call for help. I figured out where my husband had put our guns and put them in a place where I could reach them faster and easier, because if someone comes through the door, I'm not looking for a step stool.
It was only once I knew where the guns were, and that I could protect us all if needed, that I started to relax. I'm not a big woman, and I can't take anyone in a fight, but I'm a darn good shot. I've had gun rights discussions with many people who say that the very idea of weapons makes them nervous I get their point, but disagree. The guns in our house are an equalizer between my size (or my teenager who's also a damn fine marksman) and anyone who might come through that door. I slept a little easier last night knowing that size doesn't matter and that I can protect my children. I've been told by anti-gun people that I could call 911 in case of an emergency, and they're right, but how much damage would be done before help got here? I guess I'm Texan enough to know that I can handle any bad guys I meet, and I'll call 911 to tell them where to collect the remains.
I'm ready for my husband to come home tonight so that I can again sleep easy, but if he's held up, I take comfort in knowing that I can easily fill his shoes.
I laid in bed last night, unable to relax, listening to all the sounds of the new house and asking with each one "house, child, or something else?" I thought about how soundly and easily I sleep when my husband is here and how much I trust him to keep us safe. I hadn't even noticed the house noises at all until he wasn't here, then it became my job to listen and they kept me up.
I'm a little in awe of how easily he wears that mantle of responsibility. When I'm in charge, I mentally count the steps from myself to every child. I plan escape routes and double check doorknobs. I put my phone on the nightstand in case I should need to call for help. I figured out where my husband had put our guns and put them in a place where I could reach them faster and easier, because if someone comes through the door, I'm not looking for a step stool.
It was only once I knew where the guns were, and that I could protect us all if needed, that I started to relax. I'm not a big woman, and I can't take anyone in a fight, but I'm a darn good shot. I've had gun rights discussions with many people who say that the very idea of weapons makes them nervous I get their point, but disagree. The guns in our house are an equalizer between my size (or my teenager who's also a damn fine marksman) and anyone who might come through that door. I slept a little easier last night knowing that size doesn't matter and that I can protect my children. I've been told by anti-gun people that I could call 911 in case of an emergency, and they're right, but how much damage would be done before help got here? I guess I'm Texan enough to know that I can handle any bad guys I meet, and I'll call 911 to tell them where to collect the remains.
I'm ready for my husband to come home tonight so that I can again sleep easy, but if he's held up, I take comfort in knowing that I can easily fill his shoes.
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