tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66519723859160059832024-03-13T00:09:05.694-04:00Buckets of Crazythe musings of a former stay-at-home mom and current teacher struggling to stay sane.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-73539014071579919282015-04-13T19:17:00.000-04:002015-04-13T19:17:30.599-04:00For My Special Snowflakes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This post is for my Special Snowflakes. You know who you are. I sometimes wonder what kind of world we live in that stalking my blog would be a fun thing for a 13-14 year old to do. Back in the Dark Ages, when I was a kid, that would be like looking up your teacher's number in the big yellow phone book and prank calling them. I am sure kids did that sort of thing in the 1980's before caller ID, but I think I had more pressing matters to attend to, like watching paint dry. <br />
<br />
You can spam my blog, stalk my Facebook page, follow me on Instagram... I certainly can't tell you how to manage your free time. But I hope someday you get a hobby that doesn't involve belittling other people, even your language arts teacher. You can't really hurt my feelings because you are just kids, but you might really do some damage to someone someday. So please learn an instrument, read a book, go for a walk... do something productive. Your time with no responsibilities will be over before you know it and I KNOW when you look back you won't think to yourself... gee... I wish I had stalked my 8th grade Language Arts teacher more.<br />
<br />
Have a nice Evening,<br />
Mrs. Bickford<br />
<br />
PS... ALL of you have a storyboard assignment you could be working on. Just saying...</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-67411040245198197602014-05-06T10:45:00.000-04:002014-05-06T10:45:30.871-04:00I Forgive You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Marlene Dietrich said, “Once a woman has forgiven her man,
she must not reheat his sins for breakfast.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately, and how people are
great at apologizing, but terrible at forgiving one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When someone hurts me I get angry, as I am
sure most people do, then I get sad, and then I wallow in some self-pity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone loves a good wallow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think to deny our feelings of anger,
sadness, and self-pity are to deny the fact that we are human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one who apologizes should expect the other
person to skip these steps unless they are not really interested in true
forgiveness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Now comes the hard part, not for the person who has made the
apology, they are done with you and on their own journey of forgiving
themselves, but the part where you have to actually forgive the person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People say “I forgive you,” like it is
something as easy as three little words placed together instead of an emotional
mountain you must climb and conquer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When you forgive you must realize that the transgression is not actually
about YOU.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People do terrible things to
one another and the root is always fear: anger, aggression, violence, hatred…
they are all rooted in fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must
have compassion for the transgressor, realize that they were filled with fear
in some way, before you can forgive them. Who among us has not experienced fear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once you remove yourself from the transgression and replace your anger
with compassion, forgiveness is on its way. Sometimes it takes time and prayer to reach compassion. Once I had to pray just for the willingness to forgive someone for a month before I was ready to have compassion for them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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After you arrive at compassion it is important to place
boundaries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You should always protect
yourself against further hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Patterns
must be broken, truth spoken, and lines drawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There need to be consequences for the crossing of those lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people mistakenly go from compassion to
forgiveness and forget this step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
are doomed to repeat the past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So you have compassion for the transgressor, placed
boundaries that protect you from further transgressions, now you must let it
go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God has a plan for each of us, and
He loves you and the transgressor equally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Do not let the idea that sin has raised you above another allow you to
punish the other person for their actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Your hurt has been real, but so has theirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best way for both parties to move on is
to allow God into the equation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If He
can forgive the sinner, than certainly you can too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may remind the other person when they
cross boundaries, you may enforce consequences, but the original sin is done
and it is not your job to punish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
True forgiveness is not constantly reminding someone how
hurt you are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a certain point the
self-pity is selfish and unhealthy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turn
your thoughts to God and what he can do to heal you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have faith that all of our trails are part of
His plan to make us better and more complete people.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t say any of this lightly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are so obsessed with instant gratification
in this world we even want instant forgiveness, and it is a process that can’t
be completed quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see resentment
all around me as a consequence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see
people wrapped in their blankets of resentment like it is a shield that will
protect them from further hurt, but in reality, it creates a barrier between us
and God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It eats away at us like a
cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seeps out of our pores and
infects our interactions with other people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
True forgiveness feels like a weight lifted off of your
soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are suddenly freer, lighter,
and more whole than you were before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Those people who have been truly hurt by the people they love know the
difference between the light feeling, which is God’s Grace working within us, and
the slow eating pain of resentment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So the next time someone hurts you and apologizes, take some
time before you forgive them and do it properly… it will change your life.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-65284546089080081212013-12-11T08:42:00.000-05:002013-12-11T08:42:22.685-05:00America voted "Most Likely to Give a 17th Place Trophy"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Statistics, and we all know that statistics mean reality, indicate that the United States is in 17th place for reading and 26th place for math worldwide. The news conglomerates are all at arms and asking questions about how we, the greatest and richest country in the world, are not in 1st place. I find this to be hilarious, since we are the country voted "Most Likely to Give a 17th Place Trophy", but if our nation is really still confused let me break it down for them.</div>
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1) Our kids are spoiled.</div>
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There is a sense of entitlement in this country that defies imagination. Our children seem to have taken that concept and really created something special out of it. Only a fellow teacher can understand the frustration of a 10 year old looking at you like you are some kind of servant they have to put up with before they can go home and do what they really want to do. If we ever want our children to be number one this would have to be the first thing to go.</div>
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2) School has to be fun.</div>
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Because life is fun right? And all of us have fun jobs that we go to every day? Surely we should make sure that every second of school is both entertaining and fulfilling for our children. This attitude, combined with entitlement, leaves teachers at a loss. Guess what? Sometimes you just have to learn your grammar by writing a million sentences. Sometimes you have to learn your addition facts by looking at flash cards. This isn't rocket science. Learning CAN be fun, but it doesn't always have to be. It sets a dangerous precedent for our children that life should also always be fun. If you look at young adults in the workplace now you can see the fruits of this technique in technicolor. I am pretty sure that in China and the other top nations school is not always fun.</div>
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3) Your schools are partly run by textbook companies.</div>
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Every year your school district pays tens of thousands of dollars for needless new books. The textbooks are not better, actually they are usually worse than the last batch, but there are new "standards" every year that need to be assessed (I will address those in a minute.) So the textbook companies, working with the government, are able to create this great demand cycle where they must create new books and materials to accommodate the ever more inane standards. Ad nauseum.</div>
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4) Common Core and other standards systems are a joke.</div>
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Every. Single. Study. says that the main problem that our children face as a country is poverty, needless poverty. Until poverty is addressed we can not have the scores we want no matter how many assessment systems we develop. Common Core was created by politicians and educators who are also politicians. If you were to ask actual teachers how to improve classrooms they would tell you what they have always told you: smaller class sizes, hands on activities, interdisciplinary critical thinking projects. Guess what? You can't write a textbook for that, so as long as we look to these assessment systems and textbook companies we will have mediocre results. We have been tricked into thinking that we NEED assessments, technology, and supplemental materials because someone wants us to BUY them. Look at the countries ahead of us on the list and tell me how many of them have the kind of technology we have in the classroom.</div>
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5) We are content to remain uninvolved.</div>
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Yes, parents, I am talking to all of us. I am not talking about the booster club or raising money for the PTA. These things are easy. As parents we have to realize that this system is a joke and care enough to do something about it. There are some educators that believe that No Child Left Behind was designed to create such a disaster in our public school system that the running of education would have to become privatized. I believe that even if this isn't true, it is the direction our country is heading in. I am not saying that children should be left behind, and that is the beauty of this argument. No one can come out against it without looking like they don't believe in special education. I do believe that no child that TRIES/WORKS/PUTS IN EFFORT should be left behind. But sometimes Johnny figures out that he doesn't have to actually do ANYTHING and teachers and administrators will bend over backwards because they have some illusive number they have to meet to get funding that year. At least Johnny is working on his critical thinking skills…</div>
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6) We don't let teachers teach.</div>
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Teaching is a profession. I did not wake up one morning and decide I wanted to be a teacher and walk into a classroom. It takes a certain set of skills and not everyone has them. Some teachers are great, some teachers are not, just like with any other profession. The solution to our education problem so far has been to limit teacher involvement in the actual planning and designing of curriculum and materials. As a teacher I have never met a textbook that I liked. As an English teacher I would create all of my own materials: vocabulary tests, unit tests, chapter activities. It was exhausting because the school required a certain number of assignments, homework, and assessments. As an English teacher I had to have as many assessments as a math teacher. Does that make sense? No. </div>
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Right now my son is in Georgia where they have Common Core. He has an excellent first year teacher who is managing having 26 2nd graders beautifully. She is given every assignment and project ahead of time. She is told how to teach each subject. While every teacher is different she is not given reign to use the skills she learned and that is a shame.</div>
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So here is my recommendation for improving American schools: Tell little Johnny that school is his job and that it is work to get what you want out of life. Don't let politicians and textbook companies determine how teachers teach because they fundamentally don't understand how education works. And… finally… let teachers do their jobs and work on solving more important issues like how we can still have poverty in a country where it is completely unnecessary. Let the government work on THAT.</div>
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I could write about this for hours… but I won't bore you. If you still can't understand why we are in 17th place, you might need to bone up on your critical thinking skills… wait… we don't teach those anymore.</div>
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Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-74082831903202072132013-11-08T09:50:00.000-05:002013-11-08T11:37:57.096-05:00Marriage is for Me: a response<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There is a blog post that went around earlier this week entitled Marriage Isn't for You. While I applaud the writer who obviously poured his heart and soul into the post, I am troubled by the fact that it is so popular. In my opinion, giving marriage advice after a year and a half is like the parent of an 18 month old child giving parenting advice. I have been married for ten years and I would not even begin to give advice to other couples, because, like parenting, each relationship is different and needs different things. The premise of the original post is that marriage isn't for you, it is for the other person. Your job as a spouse is to love, support, and nurture the other person and to do so selflessly. I do agree that your job as a spouse is to love, nurture and support, but you can't do any of those things if you have not taken care of yourself first. One of the major pitfalls of marriage can be relying on your spouse to make you happy. The reality is: no one can make you happy, only <b><u>you</u></b> can make you happy. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As a younger woman I was selfless. I took care of my husband and my children and literally spent no time during the day thinking about myself or what would fulfill me as a person. Unfortunately what can happen in that situation, if you don't think about yourself, is that you become a non-person. People get the impression that you don't have needs or desires and that your happiness is derived from doing for other people. Now don't get me wrong, I enjoy taking care of my family, it is my job, but it isn't ME. When my children leave the house or find their own diversions I refuse to be a mother that is left with nothing. I am (usually) happy to support my husband in his endeavors. But when a person is selfless it is easy for their spouse to believe that their endeavors also fulfill their partner.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The blog poster also recounted a time when he was selfish and resentful and his wife responded with love and understanding until he came to the realization that he should stop thinking about himself so much. In an 18 month marriage I imagine this period was short. It may have seemed interminable to his spouse, but in reality 18 months is no time at all. When you are married there can be months and years where one spouse doesn't think of the other the way they should. Is it a good idea, then, to respond with love and understanding for a couple of years while your spouse is selfish and resentful? I personally don't think so. When you get married you should do so with the person that "brings out the best in you". It is a tired cliche, but one that has survived for its inherent truth. My husband and I challenge each other to be the best versions of ourselves. That process can be painful, uncomfortable, and frustrating. The key for us is <u><b>trying</b></u> to love each other through that process.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Marriage is difficult. When the Bible was written the average life expectancy was that you would survive until your mid-thirties. So if you got married, as a woman, between the age of 12 and 14 you might get ten years of marriage if you didn't die in childbirth or your husband didn't die of old age at 35. To say that there are different challenges now to married couples is a huge understatement. I got married at 22, and if I live to be 72 that means I will have been married 50 years by the time I die. That is an incredibly long time to be with the same person. The idea that two people will be able to grow together and face the challenges of life for 50 years is an amazing idea. I am not saying that it is an insurmountable challenge, but certainly one that can not be considered easy. When I think of the challenges that my husband and I have faced in the first ten years: children, moving, unemployment, financial hardship, stressful family dynamics, it is overwhelming to think of 40 years.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We live in a society that isn't particularly honest about anything. We are inundated with images of romantic love that are, frankly, ridiculous. ( I can't even imagine how many marriages Nicholas Sparks and the <i>Twilight </i>Series have ruined.) When I am my most unhappy I am comparing myself to other people or wondering why my life isn't more like the fiction represented in books and on television. I am just now, at 32, starting to figure out what makes me happy, what fulfills me, and taking time for myself. I have to force myself to sit and think, slow down and breathe. When I take care of myself properly I am more patient with my family. When I get enough sleep I love my husband more. These are simple concepts, but difficult to implement in a world where everyone is in a competition to explain how little time they have. It is an excuse, one we need to escape the perfection that society requires. In my opinion the best way to live, especially as a married person, is to do the next right thing. Sometimes the next right thing is to call my husband and apologize for being short with him. Sometimes the next right thing is going to the gym. If I really search my heart I always know what the next right thing is: the challenge is doing it.</div>
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Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-58014802704445205542013-08-16T11:20:00.000-04:002013-08-16T11:21:40.321-04:0010 Years Later<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I got married a month after my 22nd birthday. I had just graduated from college, never had a real job. My husband was my third serious boyfriend and I met him when I was almost 19. At the time, I felt like most college grads in their early twenties. I knew everything. If someone had told me not to get married so young, to take life's changes slowly, that there would be time enough, I would have pitied them. They might have had problems and obstacles, but that would not happen to me. I was too smart, too well prepared. I loved too much. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If I could see that girl now, in some sci-fi back-to-the-future way, I think I would just shake my head and give her a hug. There was nothing anyone could have said or done to prepare me for life. I am a dive in and doggie paddle kind of girl. Teaching kicked my ass. Parenting is wonderful, but three children in 4 years does not add to anyone's sanity. I wanted to have all of my children before I turned 30. I needed to have a masters degree. We needed to buy houses and cars. If you try to tell someone in their twenties that all of those things really don't matter, that life is long and days are beautiful, they can't understand.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I remember my wedding day very clearly. It was hot, and I was happy, but apprehensive. I couldn't really eat and the limo driver made us late. I waited outside the church for what seemed like an interminable time before it was my turn to walk down the isle. I cried repeatedly, during the ceremony, during my vows, during speeches, during the father-daughter dance. I was both happy and a little sad that my childhood was officially over. It seems a little strange that 10 years later I feel like adulthood is really beginning. 10 years of limbo… packed full of emotions and milestones. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I look at my Facebook page I see hundreds of happy faces, happy families, perfect relationships, perfect children staring back at me. I look at my own Facebook page and it looks the same. I don't write about the truly difficult times because I know people don't really want to hear about them. But that omission makes my Facebook, my photo album, my memories, in some ways, inauthentic. It gives the impression that if you do things in a certain way that life will be perfect. I find myself looking at friends who have been married the same length of time, or with children the same age as mine, and wonder what I am doing wrong that I don't look that happy all the time. Lately, I look at those people who have moved recently and wonder how it is that they are so happy in a new place where they know no one and have to start all over. But it is all an illusion. Those people have their own struggles behind closed doors that don't make it on their Facebook page, just like mine stay hidden behind smiles and posts about fabulous weather. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The truth is I don't know how I have stayed married 10 years, and I don't know if there is a secret formula for staying married 10 years more. I love my husband and my children, but that is no recipe for success. I am still trying to figure out who I am, and I really hope that in 10 years I will have a better idea. I hope that my husband will continue to love me, even when I change. I hope that my children will be happy and healthy. I hope that they won't make the same mistakes I did unless they have to. </div>
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Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-67844036366379405052013-07-16T12:11:00.000-04:002013-08-16T11:38:36.971-04:00The Natives Are Restless...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
children do not tolerate isolation well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am trying to pace myself with setting up our new home, so I
occasionally take breaks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they see me inactive for more than two
minutes the questions start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can
we go outside?” “Can we go to the park?”“Can we watch a movie?”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grace then always adds, “Is it snack
time?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear that child never
does anything but think about food when she is bored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she is BORED.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When they are older I will be able to give them a task to do, but now at
3,4 and 7 years old, normal tasks can become dangerous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any cleaning tool can be a weapon, or a
tool for disassembly as I am frantically trying to assemble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>During
times like these, I fantasize about having some of those lobotomized children
that can sit in front of the TV for hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would settle for 20 minutes right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, as I was cleaning I
witnessed a zombie war, a family of very dysfunctional, whining children (none
of them wanted to play the mom… hmmmm…), and hide and seek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only reason why I knew they were
playing hide and seek was because as I was walking into the kitchen I heard a
small voice say, “Hi mom,” and there was Lily curled up in an impossibly small
shelf of the TV cabinet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had
even managed to close the doors around her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had one of those triumphant preschool smiles, and I
hated to dash her sense of accomplishment, but she was on a GLASS shelf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I eased her out of the cabinet slowly
and admonished her for climbing on the furniture, and immediately realized that
if she was in the TV cabinet that the other kids might be hiding in even more
dangerous places. However, they had forgotten about the game and left Lily in
the cabinet to wait and figure out that they had moved on to some kind of spy
game.</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>While
I love my kids, I am ready for school to start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I was cleaning the grout in my bathroom with a scrub
brush and high-powered steam cleaner, I wondered how women did these kinds of
chores in the 1950’s and 1960’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My grandmother had seven children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How did she get anything done?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were so many more chores too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The clothes all had to be ironed, food made from scratch,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>only ONE TV with no Netflix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thought is impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I picture a Mad Men-esque scenario with
Paul as Don Draper coming home from a long day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would expect food on the table, and that I would have
showered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I would have
been institutionalized back then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I guess now is not so bad, considering the shrieking coming from the
playroom right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It certainly
beats being expected to do my vacuuming in high heels…</div>
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Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-57755047480941771242013-07-14T19:05:00.002-04:002013-07-14T19:05:48.541-04:00the last year...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
It has been a little over a year
since my last post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even
know where to begin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In April of
2012 our lives were turned upside-down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My husband lost his job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Anyone who has been through this
before knows the pain and anxiety that this brings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a significant amount of money in the bank and renters
for our home, so it was “easier” for us than it is for most people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, here we are, more than a year
later, savings gone, house in short sale, living in a different state.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When it became apparent that we
were going to lose our health insurance and could not afford COBRA, which is
horrifically expensive, I got a job teaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We figured it would take, maximum, six months for Paul to
find a job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, it took
ten months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were many “final
interviews”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul was flown to
Pennsylvania, Iowa, Georgia, Texas, Tennessee, and Wisconsin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time we waited with baited breath
to find out if he got the job, and each time we were disappointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
When Paul finally found a job he
moved down to Georgia and I stayed in Virginia to finish my teaching contract.
In retrospect it might have been better if I had followed him, but hind-sight
is 20/20.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned what it is
like to be a single working mom, something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the hardest, most demoralizing,
frustrating thing I have ever done in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lost our renters in May because, though they signed a 4
year contract, in Virginia, military personnel can break their lease if the
military moves them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Civilians
like us had to pay a break of lease fee and find renters for the home we were
living in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
We are still in the short sale
process with our home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has also
been a demoralizing, frustrating process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The bank has no obligation to tell us anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have requested paperwork, then
more paperwork, then told us we have to be delinquent on our mortgage, then
told us we have too much money, then told us to re-submit our paperwork.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won’t know until September if they
will even let us continue with the short sale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through all of this I have learned some very valuable
lessons, ones that I will carry with me my whole life.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Life can get worse, even when it is bad.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Life is not fair, and the hardest part is
maintaining your own sense of morals and ethics even when people are not
treating you properly.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Not everyone will appreciate the sacrifices you
make, so make them in the spirit that they are a gift for which you will
receive no thanks.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>NEVER EVER judge someone based on your
perceptions of them, especially single mothers and the unemployed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have no idea what they are going
through.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t tell you how much it hurt around the election when
people would write Facebook updates about President Obama winning the election
because all of the lazy unemployed people taking advantage of the system had
plenty of time to vote, while ‘working’ people had to be at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me, being unemployed is MUCH
worse than holding a job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got to be that mom that forgot to make cupcakes for my
son’s class on his birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got
to be that mom that the teachers chased down to sign a permission slip for a
field trip I forgot about.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got to be the mom who comes home from work with no energy
or time for her own kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My kids got to be the ones who could not buy the pictures
from picture day because we couldn’t afford them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My kids were the kids who didn’t go to birthday parties they
were invited to at school because we couldn’t afford to buy presents.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I learned many lessons, and I am still learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be honest I am ready to let someone
else learn lessons for a little while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I need a break.</div>
</div>
Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-40007632397191798642012-06-16T10:55:00.003-04:002012-06-16T10:55:53.031-04:00My Perfect Vacation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have recently spent a lot of time fantasizing what it
would be like to get a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Living in such close quarters certainly makes quiet time to myself a
valued commodity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love my
children, however, they are little energy vampires, and by the time I put them
to bed I am completely wiped out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I remember watching “Date Night” and Tina Fey’s character described a
mother’s fantasy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wanted to
eat lunch in a hotel room with no one touching her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right now that sounds perfect…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you ask a parent if they are taking a vacation, please assume they are taking it without children. Going out of town with children qualifies as a "trip", not a vacation. If you are those nauseating parents that have "vacations" with their children and couldn't imagine having fun without them, I don't want to hear about it. My children are a lot of fun, but coordinating naps, sleeping arrangements, potty time and food for a 6, 3, and 2 year old is a logistical nightmare. Goodness knows I forget things at home, and when we leave the house it is even worse. No, for me a vacation is without children...and in this case without a husband too. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dream vacation:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 1: Arrive at my destination with the knowledge that my kids
are healthy, happy, and well cared for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I would then like to turn off my cell phone for the remainder of the
trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would like to remove all
the clocks and disable my email.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t want anyone or anything telling me what to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would like to spend the rest of this
day in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to
talk or have anyone talk to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
want to be still and quiet and read a book.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 2: On my second day of vacation I want to do something
outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love hiking and I would
love to try kayaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to do
this until I am too tired to continue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 3: The third ideal day would just consist of
eating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would like really good
food where I don’t even consider the calories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I would also like to go to a beauty salon where I can get my hair cut. My hair is currently a nightmare.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 4: Take a really long yoga class and get a massage. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Return home to a clean house.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a simple person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t need anything fancy or expensive to make me happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right now silence and stillness are
worth more to me than anything I could buy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This has been the most difficult year of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am grateful for all of my blessings,
but I am aware that all of the change and sacrifice have taken a toll on
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the tide turns there will
be new difficulties to replace the old ones, and I hope to be able to accept
them with grace, if I am not in the loony bin by then.</div>
</div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-62120398448455768422011-12-22T12:16:00.000-05:002011-12-22T12:19:18.569-05:00A Little Christmas Fun: Top 7 Creepiest/Awkward Christmas Traditions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Another blog by a fellow mom made me think of this list:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u><b>My Top 7 Creepiest/Awkward Christmas Traditions: (In no particular order)</b></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The song, “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”</b>: </div><div class="MsoNormal">This song is on a CD of Christmas music that I listen to with my kids, and now I have an urge to toss it out the window. My children are completely confused by this song. My 5 year old wants to know if the song his about me, his mommy, or about another mommy. He is extremely concerned that I could be kissing anyone but his father. My 3 year old has it in her head that it is the father that sees the mother and Santa kissing, so I am picturing a shotgun situation every time she asks questions about it like, “Why is the daddy creeping down the stairs?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Elf on the Shelf:</b> </div><div class="MsoNormal">We have one, and I like that my kids behave better when he is here, but I still think he is creepy. I am old enough to know that he is not really watching me, but I have seen too many horror movies to really be sure….</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The song, “Baby It’s Cold Outside”:</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"> I truly believe this is a song about a man putting ruphies in a woman’s drink. Here is an excerpt with the really disturbing part in bold. For those who are not familiar with the song, the woman is singing the first line and the creepy man is singing the part in parenthesis.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My mother will start worry<br />
(Beautiful, what’s your hurry?)<br />
My father will be pacing the floor<br />
(Listen to the fireplace roar.)<br />
So really I'd better scurry,<br />
(Beautiful please don't hurry.) <span style="color: red;">Once the flattery doesn’t work…</span><br />
but maybe just a half a drink more.<br />
(Put some records on while I pour.)<br />
The neighbors might faint<br />
(Baby it's bad out there.) <span style="color: red;">He moves on to warning her….<br />
</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Say what's in this drink?</b><br />
(No cabs to be had out there.)<br />
I wish I knew how<br />
(Your eyes are like starlight now.) <span style="color: red;">Meaning, the drugs are working…</span><br />
to break this spell.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red;">Run. Get some help!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I believe that after this song is over she passes out and my only hope is that her pacing father gets in the car to look for her…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sitting on Santa’s Lap:</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the days of yesteryear, when people trusted one another, and the culture of fear we Americans have cultivated was still in the future (Thank you Dateline and 20/20… seriously, everything can kill you.), taking your child to sit on a strange man’s lap seemed like the thing to do right before Christmas. Now, even though Santa might have the best of intentions, I can’t help but feel strange about putting my child on his lap. I don’t know him… and I am always telling my children not to talk to strangers, but here I am putting my children in Santa’s arms. Not only that but then I have to pay $20 for a picture of the whole strange situation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Secret Santa:</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Now this tradition is not quite creepy, just awkward as far as I am concerned. Usually you end up pulling the name of someone you don’t really know very well and then you have to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what to get said person that doesn’t require you to spend a ridiculous amount of money. I know there are some terrific secret Santas out there, but I am not one of them. I know the recipients of my gifts have always been a little confused, maybe even annoyed… like “What was she thinking?” Can’t we just buy gifts for our friends and families, people we supposedly know and be done with it?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Office Christmas Party:</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"> When I was a teacher, our “office” Christmas party was $25 a head (tacky) and “Santa” was the principal who was WAY to interested in people sitting on his lap. I am sure there are places where people like their co-workers enough to spend $50 on a crappy dinner and sexual harassment, but I have never worked there. I really feel like there are very few situations where imbibing alcohol with your boss is a great decision, especially since the invention of Facebook. Wouldn’t most people like to get a check for their share of the expense of the party and then be done with it? I know I would. Then maybe I could buy a dress for the party with my friends. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Reindeer Poop/ Snowman Poop:</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">Someone actually gave me Reindeer poop last year as a gag/fun gift. Gag is right! I understand that other people are probably a lot more fun than I am, but I can not bring myself to eat something fashioned to look like feces. To each his own, right? What is next? Easter Bunny poop? Should I start giving bags of raisins to friends as family as an Easter gift? I really think there are some things that should just be left well enough alone. </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So if you have any ideas about other creepy traditions I would LOVE to hear them!</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-11423465471393185622011-12-06T09:42:00.000-05:002011-12-06T09:42:27.944-05:00How we did it…paying off $32,800 in 10 months…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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</div>I have had lots of requests for more information about how we paid off our debt in less than a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are lots of financial gurus out there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We picked Dave Ramsey’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Total Money Makeover </i>as our template for success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had heard good things, and I liked that it focused on giving back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also enrolled in Financial Peace University, a 12-week class that helps people with no financial background understand things like investing and retirement plans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was an English major in college and graduate school, so I never took a business class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking back I definitely wish that I had… <div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dave Ramsey suggests that you start your Total Money Makeover by putting away $1000 in the bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We already had close to $10,000 sitting in our savings account and were really uncomfortable parting with all of it, so we decided to keep $5000 in the account at all times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That left us $4000.00 to start paying off our debt.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Budgeting has become a monthly activity in our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul and I both participate, that way the ownership of our budget is on both of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still pay all of our bills online, but I pay for almost everything else with cash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been studies that prove that it is harder to spend cash then it is to put something on a debit card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is even easier to put something on a credit card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have envelopes that contain my budgeted amount for each category, like food and medical expenses, and I do not use my debit card except for gas at the pump.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>We sold our van.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a nice Toyota Sienna with all of the bells and whistles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I LOVED the van, but we owed $15,000 on it, which was way more money than we had in the bank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul took the van to Richmond and sold it returning with a 2001 Honda Odessey that he paid for in cash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not the car of my dreams but it runs very well and is reliable, which is what is really important.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>We used the money that we paid every month for the car payment, around $300 to start paying off our debt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also cancelled our cable, which saved us $100 a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our budgeting helped us to save an additional $300 a month, mostly through cutting back on Starbucks, my Target addiction, and eating out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That $700 a month was applied to our debts in this order.</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 80.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>$1200 on a Best Buy credit card </div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 80.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>$4500 for Ford’s school tuition at OLMC</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 80.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>$6,000 in student loans for my graduate degree</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 80.0pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">-<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>$8,129 on Paul’s car</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>We went through our exemptions and changed them to make sure we would get a reduced tax return at the end of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This added about $300 to Paul’s paycheck at the end of the month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We used our tax return from 2010 to pay Ford’s school tuition in cash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So with the $1000 between our past cuts and exemptions we just plugged away at our debt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We also used Paul’s bonus this year to finish off paying for his car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Our last source of extra income was to decide to move out of our home and move, temporarily, into the apartment over my in-laws garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have been so blessed to have the opportunity to save this money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Paying off our debt is far from the last step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our budget, like a good diet, is with us for life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We put away $100 a month for car repairs, $100 a month for Christmas gifts, $40 a month to pay for our property taxes at the end of the year, and the list goes on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are spending the next two years saving money so we can put 20% down on a house with a reasonable mortgage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually we will sell our home in Williamsburg, but not until the economy recovers and we can break even on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we finish saving money for our new home we will begin:</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">A.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Investing in our retirement - $700 a month</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">B.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Putting away money for the kids’ college- $500 a month</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">C.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Paying off our mortgage- ????</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The goal is that we will be able to live with the security that we can retire and send our children to college without the heartache that many people are living with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This fasting period from spending has really helped me to see a few things more clearly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First… I miss my dishwasher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will never take that for granted again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But on a more serious note, the consumerism in our country is OUT OF CONTROL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I look back and see that I was just waiting for that next thing to spend money on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels good to have the latest electronics, a really nice car and expensive clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think that I was irresponsible, but in the long run that nice feeling was outweighed by the frustrating desperation that we were trapped in a situation where we would never be able to save money for the kids’ college or put away something extra for retirement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I would always have that sick feeling in my stomach as I paid for a cart full of things at Target that were a great price on sale, but that I really didn’t need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so tired of feeling guilty about spending money on myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I have a clothing allowance and BLOW (money that you get to spend on yourself) every month, so the guilt has vanished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids have a clothing allowance too, so I don’t need to stress when they suddenly don’t fit in any of their shoes, or they decide to grow mid-season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that I know we have money socked away so that we can pay for car repairs when they come up, or new tires if we need them, helps me to sleep at night where before I would lay awake and stress about our savings account that never seemed to grow. We give away more money now then we spent on my van payment last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because we have more than enough… </div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-10519526245217679252011-11-30T09:33:00.000-05:002011-11-30T09:33:01.106-05:00A New Kind of Christmas…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This Christmas is going to be different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still have to swallow back a little regret when I think of Christmas in our house… There isn’t enough room here for a full sized tree, and most of our Christmas decorations are buried in our storage unit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There simply wasn’t enough room here, plus I totally forgot to pack some of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This is also the first year that I have finished my Christmas shopping before Dec 1<sup>st</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t have to borrow from savings or put any money on the credit card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels so great to have budgeted for Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have any anxiety about how this month will go budget-wise, and I don’t feel like I over-spent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our Christmas morning has never been extravagant, but this year it is going to be more modest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids have so many toys, and we are so incredibly blessed, I don’t want them to focus on the presents this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are trying to do something Christmas-y every weekend as a family to make some really meaningful traditions rather than gifts.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Speaking of traditions, Elvis, our Elf on the Shelf has made a re-appearance to great success this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ford has been talking to him, and wants to write him a letter to explain his school behavior and how he is going to try harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t believe the difference.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last year he threw a shoe at Elvis because he was convinced he was not real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what changed, but I am not complaining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His belief only makes it better for the younger kids.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Besides Ford seeming to actually believe in Santa this year, my best present is being debt free this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We worked very hard, and it took us less than a year to pay off $32,000 worth of debt including our cars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having more money in our budget makes it possible for us to save more and give more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We give first, and that is a huge change to our budget this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I so admire those people who give a full 10% of their income to the church or charitable organizations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope someday we will be able to do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For now we are giving and we are able to save 30% of Paul’s income a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having our focus in the right place has given me so much peace of mind, I don’t really need anything for Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is really the first year that I feel content… and that is pure GOLD as far as I am concerned.</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-70228526998530372932011-09-02T15:27:00.000-04:002011-09-02T15:27:04.895-04:00Blood Magic by Tessa Gratton<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I was in the 8<sup>th</sup> grade my best friend was a storyteller, by which I mean I could sit and listen to her tell stories for hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were in plays together and liked to listen to Broadway musicals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had an amazing voice, could draw beautifully, honestly there wasn’t anything about her that wasn’t artistic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say people are drawn to their natural opposites, and Tess was mine. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tess gave me books to read that completely changed the person I was becoming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am the tree hugging, flaming liberal I am today because my best friend in middle school had more common sense than most of the adults I have known.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is an old soul.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Blood Magic</i> I could hear her voice inside my head reading it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was so much of her in it that I could recognize, and the best part is that it was really well written.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be honest, the genre she is writing in is not my cup of tea anymore, hasn’t been for years, but when I started reading her book I couldn’t put it down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t say the same for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo</i> or any of those <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Twilighty</i> books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While their content might be interesting to some, I find myself cringing when I read the dialogue or internal monologues of the main characters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tessa’s book is different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has a rich sense of language that comes from having read voraciously since she was a child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her setting, which is as much a character as the protagonists, is beautifully rendered without being cheesy or boring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The book also has a natural flow, which is a difficult feat for most writers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of stopping and starting, staggering along as she unfolds each event, there is a real sense that every chapter, each line is planned and specifically placed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I might be biased as a reader because I really care about the author, but I am generally more inclined as a person to be critical of literary endeavors. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I am truly looking forward to the next installment in this series</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-26328292068713796822011-08-29T13:30:00.000-04:002011-08-29T13:30:52.917-04:00Life Post-Irene…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> Last week my son started kindergarten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t think I would cry, but there I was, blubbering away in the car line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ford turned to me and said, “Don’t worry Mommy, I’m still little.” I smiled at him through tears as he got out of the car wearing his uniform and big backpack and wondered where the last five years went.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Last week I was working on a new system for getting ready in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to have all of the kids dressed and ready and in the car by 7:30am so that Ford can be in his classroom at 8am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have a 4.2 cubic ft fridge, two bar sinks, and a microwave to work with for breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine feeding your family with the equipment you would find in your average dorm room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am lucky that my in-laws have been taking care of dinner, but I am going to get creative soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sure there is a toaster oven dinner cookbook out there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Last week I was alternating between being grateful that my family has been given this opportunity to hit the reset button, and missing my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are putting our priorities in order and learning to live with fewer, more important things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I really miss my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is just a dull ache when I think about it, rather than the sharp pain when we were moving, but it still feels like a wound that hasn’t healed yet.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today I am writing in a room at the Great Wolf Lodge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our suite is actually bigger than our apartment in Hampton, so I am really enjoying the king sized bed and all the extra space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids have LOVED the water park, well Lily hates it, but she doesn’t like the water much to begin with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are here because we evacuated the day before Irene hit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We live on the water now, and the threat of a category 2, 3, or 4 hurricane was just not worth the risk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stayed with my parents in Williamsburg for the storm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wind really sounded like it would blow the entire house down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The water crept up in the yard at my in-law’s house, but thankfully did not even reach the same level as Isabelle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few more miles inland and the storm could have caused serious damage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being without power in 90 degree heat we decided to take a little vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So here we are….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our room has wi-fi and air conditioning, which seems like a little slice of heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will head back to Hampton tomorrow, power or not, but for now we are comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be more grateful for my little apartment this week than I was last week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kids will be more grateful for their beds and toys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all of the damage I have seen on television and Facebook I am so grateful that we were spared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My prayers go out to the less fortunate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have been there…. This is our house near Fredericksburg after Isabelle.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jgsAKVOqIT8/TlvMfSu8SFI/AAAAAAAAABw/XMQ7XnBAzhA/s1600/DSCF0030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jgsAKVOqIT8/TlvMfSu8SFI/AAAAAAAAABw/XMQ7XnBAzhA/s320/DSCF0030.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QUvLjqoGw4o/TlvMkSY0ZMI/AAAAAAAAAB0/pJX5vwX368Y/s1600/DSCF0019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QUvLjqoGw4o/TlvMkSY0ZMI/AAAAAAAAAB0/pJX5vwX368Y/s320/DSCF0019.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-54999350589422195302011-08-09T12:56:00.000-04:002011-08-13T08:12:47.117-04:00Moving...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">You know when you get that feeling in your gut, where you know life is going to change in a huge way and you don’t know if you are ready? I am there right now. We are moving in two weeks, well less than two weeks really. We have had our house up for rent for 2 months and we had resigned ourselves to the fact that it just wasn’t going to work out this summer, and then, when we got back from vacation, we had an offer. The renters are perfect and they will be great to the house. I have no worries there. I just can’t stop crying… I NEVER thought it would be this hard. I moved constantly as a child and I don’t remember it ever bothering me. Every corner of this house has a memory of my children. I brought two babies home from the hospital and laid them in cribs here. I decorated my daughter’s room with butterflies, and she still tells me it is perfect for a princess.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You might wonder where we are moving. My in-laws have an apartment above their detached garage. It has two very large rooms and a bathroom. There isn’t a kitchen, but, let’s face it, I make most of our meals in the microwave anyway. We will be living there. Our plan is to live there for two years. We will save money, pay off the rest of our debt, and buy a new home, closer to them, putting down 20%. We will be closer to Ford’s school in Newport News, and about the same distance from Paul’s office. Right now, Ford is 5, Grace is 2 ½ and Lily is a year old. When we move Ford will be 7, Grace will be 4 ½, and Lily will be 3. I know they will barely remember this whole experience, so if it turns out to be less than ideal, it will be just a minor blip on their radar… so the problem isn’t them… it’s me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We built this house with our growing family in mind. We picked out the flooring and fixtures. Paul and I spent an entire day debating on the siding color and how it would coordinate with the window shutters. I had the nursery painted yellow. We fenced in the back yard and put in a swing set for our active son. Each time I found out I was pregnant I planned a room for my child. I sat in that room and dreamed of their little faces, chubby knees, and sweet smiles. I feel as if some of that love and anticipation is stored in these walls, like I can touch them and get some of it back. I remember exactly where Grace learned to walk, and where Lily learned to crawl. I nursed Lily in the same chair in her room every night for the first year of her life. I think that if we were going to have more babies this wouldn’t hurt so much, but it seems like the closing of a beautiful chapter and I desperately wish there were more pages. I know the next chapter is going to be wonderful and exciting, but it is hard to let go of what I love so much.(cue crying here)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ok.. so in addition to all this sappy emotional turmoil I am also realizing that we have accumulated an enormous amount of crap in the last 4 years. I have parted with the better part of the baby stuff, but there is a lot of other “stuff” that I have to decide THIS WEEK if we are going to keep, toss, or store. My brain is about to explode with the enormity of it all. The apartment is about 1600 square feet and mostly furnished, and we live in a 2700 sqft house. Normally I would actually enjoy all of this sorting, but Paul is out of town, of course, and I had food poisoning yesterday, so I am less than thrilled about all of the sorting. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I know all of this falls into what Paul jokingly refers to as “rich people problems”. I mean really, there are so many really important things going on in the world right now. We are so incredibly blessed, not only with wonderful opportunities, but fabulous supportive family. I am going to put on my big girl panties and take an inventory of all I have to be grateful for… gazelle-like intensity isn’t easy, but I am sure the payoff is going to be fantastic. In two years we will literally not have to worry about money again, barring some kind of disaster, and that is worth a lot of heartache now.</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-45991882574001633452011-07-27T11:31:00.000-04:002011-07-27T11:31:49.465-04:00People Who Steal Your Money… or Write Books on Parenting…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I have literally spent HUNDREDS of dollars on parenting books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bought books about getting my children to sleep, ADHD, discipline, and how to care for your baby/toddler/preschooler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With my second child, Grace, I think I bought seven books about sleep techniques.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (She didn't sleep more than 2 hours at a time until she was 6 months old.) </span>Some of them promised me that my child would sleep in days; some stated that if I let her cry she would be damaged forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Baby Whisperer</i>, implied, rather snarkily I might add, that I was a lazy parent because I could not do the method she swore would work, and didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The "pick up, put down" method, according to this book, ensures that your child always feel safe. So every time they cry in the crib you pick them up, and when they settle down you put them down. Supposedly, after time, the child finds confidence that you are there and sleeps. Or you pick them up and put them down until you cry, which is what I did. I have to honestly say I tried this method for three days and did it until I cried, so for two and a half or three hours each time, and my child never gained confidence, but I certainly lost sanity. The author's next suggestion was that I actually sleep in the crib with her, so that book was permanently put down.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I am sure SOME of these books work some of the time, but my opinion, as a mother of three kids who has read most of the books on the market is that they are full of sh$t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not use that kind of language lightly, but I would like my money back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What many parents do not understand is that most of these books are not written to help parents, but to make money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They imply that you are stupid, incompetent, or worse so that you feel you “need” the advice they have given. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What parents should realize, and what I didn’t understand until I had spent the money, is that you really don’t have to have ANY qualifications to write a book on child rearing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was surprised to see how many of the books I purchased about discipline were written by PhD’s who used lab experiments to prove their methods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Here are some books that I WOULD recommend.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Raising your Spirited Child </i>by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sleepsense </i>by Dana Obleman</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I could write the list of books I thought were rubbish, but there are too many to name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of them might even work on different kids, but not on mine…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The ONLY ingredient that I think will help parents to get through difficult situations with their children is humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran across a fabulous book today entitled, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Go the F*ck to Sleep</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It really addresses the stress and frustration most parents feel when they are sleep deprived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If sleep deprivation doesn’t make you very angry, this book will not be nearly as funny for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The best part is you can find it on youtube.com<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>read by Samuel L. Jackson. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FeKxIaG_f_c">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FeKxIaG_f_c</a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Make sure your kids are asleep before you turn this on though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The language is terrible.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I looked up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Go the F*ck to Sleep</i> on Amazon.com and it recommended other titles I found equally amusing and lighthearted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will also be reading<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, <span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Raising-Perfect-Child-Through-Manipulation/dp/0061759570/ref=sr_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1311602682&sr=1-12"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Raising the Perfect Child Through Guilt and Manipulation</span></a></span></i><span style="color: black;"> <span class="ptbrand">by </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Elizabeth-Beckwith/e/B0024JI91C/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_12?qid=1311602682&sr=1-12"><span style="color: black; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Elizabeth Beckwith</span></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am Catholic after all…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My advice, and this comes completely free, is that you know your child best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t buy a book to give you permission to do what you think will work with your child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We live in a day and age where EVERYONE has an opinion about how you raise your kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before the deluge of parenting books, moms fed their babies how they wanted to, potty trained when they wanted to, and didn’t worry about what the “experts” would think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guess what? The experts never raised your kid…</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-53220763286784053982011-06-30T12:47:00.000-04:002011-06-30T12:47:57.090-04:00Please don’t say…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Here are my top 10 things NOT to say to a mom, stay-at-home or otherwise in no particular order: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>1) You have the hardest job in the world.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are VERY few people who actually say this sincerely, and it is patronizing to pay lip service to a woman who has chosen to stay home with her children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trust me, I have a couple of degrees, I know what a hard job is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If someone truly understands the 24-7 nature of parenthood, the demand on parents today to give their children everything, and the complete lack of unaccompanied potty breaks then they don’t really use this phrase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They usually say, “I remember having<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>___ kids under 5. It was tough, but totally worth it.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>2) Boy you have your hands full.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thank you, I know that I have several children with me and they may, or may not, all be paying attention at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know if you have ever tried to herd cats, but it is roughly the same concept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you want to tell me I have beautiful children, or that you think they are smart or funny, please do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can take a compliment any time, but responding to your comment just about hits the limit of my multi-tasking abilities.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>3) You look great for having three kids.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">CRINGE!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know how to take this comment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that it is usually sincere, but comes off as a back-handed compliment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you mean that I look a little fat, but that is OK because I have had three kids? When I hear this comment a little voice inside my head says, “Now that I know you have had three children it seems acceptable that you look the way you do.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time I hear it I want to go buy a gym membership I can’t afford and some really sexy high heels.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>4) I don’t believe in medicating children.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I think it is FABULOUS that you don’t feel the need to medicate your children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please feel blessed that they do not have any difficulties that require medication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, until you have walked in the shoes of a woman who has made the decision to medicate her child, I would suggest that this remain an unspoken opinion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have not cried with her on a particularly bad day, or felt her exasperation when every other child is able to do something her child cannot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have not read every book on the disorder in question and tried every parenting technique to the point that your bedside table looks like the childrearing section at Barnes and Noble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because if you had done all of these things I am pretty sure you would at least have enough compassion not to make this statement.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>5) I hate it when people post everything their kids do on Facebook.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">First of all, I am not interested in everything everyone else posts on Facebook either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once you become a mother your life revolves around your children, especially if you are a stay-at-home mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From 8am-7pm most days I spend about 30min total with another adult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t talk on the phone much because the kids go crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Play dates are great, but I spend most of my time taking care of the kids rather than visiting with other moms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same goes with the park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am starved for a little adult time, so if my pathetic attempts to “talk” to my friends on Facebook are ridiculed by those who think my day is boring, t,hen I suggest those people with more “important” lives remove me from their friends lists.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>6) Are those all YOUR kids?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I never know why people feel the need to ask this question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am talking about strangers now, not people I am having a conversation with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most days I have four children under 6 with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think that is a crazy number of children, though it is out of the ordinary, especially in Williamsburg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why people need a lengthy explanation of which children are mine and how old they are in the middle of the supermarket I will never understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>7) How old are you?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When did it become appropriate to ask a lady her age?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously… why in the world does the random guy at Chick-fil-a want to know how old I am?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>8) Are you STILL breastfeeding?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is usually prompted by my one-year-old frantically pulling at my shirt yelling, “May may”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, is apparently not a good enough answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People then want to know when I am going to wean her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I usually tell them that I am aiming to have her off the breast by college and then they shut up.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>9) Are you done having children?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why do people want to know about my husband’s vasectomy or the status of my uterus?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can understand a friend asking this question… but it is kind of personal for people to want to know about my sex life after having talked to them for 5 minutes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>10) And you still had more children?</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t have the easiest kids in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They aren’t blobs; they aren’t particularly good listeners and they are very active.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But YES I had more children even though my first was active and not a good sleeper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had more children even though my second was difficult to breastfeed and milk protein intolerant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love EVERYTHING about my kids, even the stuff that drives me crazy… and I would have more children if it weren’t for that damn vasectomy….</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-760979057255304632011-06-24T09:17:00.000-04:002011-06-24T09:17:25.198-04:00Supermom Has Left the Building….<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> It seems to me that every mom I know is harried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t matter if she works or stays at home, her life has some element of chaos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself standing in the shower, when I am able to get one in the morning, contemplating all the things that I need to do during the day, and then during the week, and it is just impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some days I don’t want to answer the phone or check my email because it might contain just one more thing I need to do, or forgot to do, and since I am teetering on the edge, I might fall over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what is over the edge exactly, but if it is less chaotic than where I am standing now, I might have to take the plunge. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My mornings this summer are much easier than when I have to drive a child to preschool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By 9am I have 3 kids dressed and fed and another one dropped off at the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I want to get any housework done I have to do it while Lily is napping around 10am until she wakes up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she does get up I have about an hour to an hour and a half to run any errands that need to get done or take the kids to the park or library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 12:30pm I make five lunches, feed four kids and put three down for naps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ford takes a rest and I am exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I clean up after three meals a day, make three, try to do laundry, clean the bathrooms, go grocery shopping, dust (well not really, but in theory), vacuum, clean the hardwood floors, run errands...</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As I write it all out it doesn’t seem like a lot of work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t add in the countless interruptions, both good and bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grace wants me to play tea party. Ford needs some help with his pirate ship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A child is having a melt down because something is not going the way they want it to (<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I must admit sometimes it isn’t the child but mommy having that meltdown</span>).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Lately I have been wondering what it would be like not to be harried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If things just got done when they got done and I just stopped worrying about doing everything “right”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder what it would be like to just let go of that last little scrap of control I have been holding on to, trust that everything is going to be all right, and fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to remember my time with my kids as something really special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When I look back on my week I can add up about 3 total hours that I spent on myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This does not include sleeping or eating, but pure ME time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get this time, usually in 10-15 minute spurts, sometimes it is just a cup of coffee before the kids get up in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last night I went to the movies with my sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That kind of time is the most precious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually my ME time out of the house is at Trader Joes or Target.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The movie wasn’t fantastic, but the company was… and it made me feel like an adult again.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are big changes coming… super big… (and no I am not pregnant again, so don’t ask).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hopefully our lives will move towards that not-harried, peaceful, Zen-like experience that I need for our family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The theme of this year is: Simplify… I have a herd of gazelles grazing in my yard (<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">if you don’t understand this reference that is OK, but you might want to check out Dave Ramsey’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Total Money Makeover</i></span>) and a serious plan to peace….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to be Supermom anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I tell people about my life their eyes get wide and they say, “Wow… I don’t know how you do it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know how I do it either, and it is usually a survival of the fittest situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead I want people to say, “Wow… that sounds like a great week.” … and mean it…</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-36435375989498801992011-06-02T15:34:00.000-04:002011-06-02T15:34:48.222-04:00What not to wear, or what to wear…..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I come to you, valued readers, for some really important advice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been pregnant or breastfeeding since March of 2008, and here we are, in 2011, and I find that I am almost 30, the mother of three small children, with no idea how to dress myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grace, at 2, has more fashion sense than I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knows exactly what she wants to wear every morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mommy, I wear a princess dress- a pretty dress for a princess.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I got married I dressed primarily from Ann Taylor Loft since that is pretty much the young teacher’s uniform store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time I walk in there now I shudder a little to myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband thinks I dress like a child, but caring for babies is hard work, and I don’t know how to do it in a skirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My uniform is usually a tank top, jeans and flip flops… sometimes sneakers if I know I will be walking a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not a sexy uniform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not interested in being sexy most of the time, but now and then I would like to look a little more “put together”.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So the question is…. Where do you shop as a 30 year old mother-of-three?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have lost all the baby weight from #3, so all of my “fat” clothes are too big.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My clothes from before all my children look ridiculous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I basically need an entirely new wardrobe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really wish there were a service out there that could just tell me what to wear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not interested in being creative or standing out of the crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just want to look pretty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess my only option is to go wander around the outlets going from store to store… too young, too old… and then buying my kids some new clothes because at least they always look cute…</div><br />
</div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-13237238064271348842011-04-12T10:46:00.000-04:002011-04-12T10:46:09.161-04:00Telephobia...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">My mother and sisters are afraid of spiders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t really mind them if they aren’t crawling on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brother is afraid of people who don’t make maintaining themselves a priority. My husband is afraid of vegetables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all have our fears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The thing that gives me the heebie-jeebies is the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate it and I am afraid of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> There are more people with telephobia out there than you might think. </span>Here are my top 5 reasons why:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">5. There is no escape. The cell phone can reach you anywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the past, when I wanted to avoid someone or a responsibility, I could just stay away from the house and they could call and leave messages, which isn’t the same as saying “no” on the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the time I have to mentally prepare myself to make or receive certain phone calls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cell phone calls are kind of like a sneak attack. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have trouble saying “no”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some people can say this word without even thinking about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have found that I can only say it on special occasions and rarely on the phone.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">4. Phone stalking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone has their personal phone stalker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes it is that friend that just calls and calls, and other people are married to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes when I am alone I want to be ALONE and the phone makes that impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than take the hint that I have not answered the phone, these lovely individuals just call repeatedly until they get through.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">3. I count rings… When I was in high school I worked at a Chinese restaurant called the Lilac Blossom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boss was a total tyrant and used fear and humiliation to get us to work harder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you were a hostess you were only allowed to let the phone ring three times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it rang more than that you KNEW she was going to be right around the corner to tell you how lazy you were, [loudly] “Izbae (she couldn’t pronounce Elizabeth), whya your sista smarrta than you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What you do up there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe I call your sista and she do your job? The phone ring 4 times, disturb whole restaurant, you answer right away.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So at home, when I am running for the phone, I am counting wondering if a short, dictatorial Chinese woman is going to pop out of one of my closets if I don’t answer it in three rings.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">2. You can’t read people over the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They say that 80% of communication is visual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can see people’s expressions and their eyes to see if they are agreeing with you or just paying you lip service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put my foot in my mouth constantly and I count on visual cues to let me know that I need to apologize, retract my statement, or retreat.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned it from my mom!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ok, so we blame a lot of things on our parents, but this one I can definitely claim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we were little it was our job to answer the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think my mom ever did it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had to say, “Hello, this is the Rennix residence, how may I help you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would then tell my mother who was calling, since the phone was rarely for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think we eventually saw that my mother would tense up when she was on the phone and use her “mom on the phone” voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was older I could even tell who she was on the phone with based on how natural her voice was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think every mom masters that transition of, “(angry/frustrated) Haven’t I told you… ring ring… never to… ring ring… climb on the furniture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to your room…ring ring… (sweetly) hello?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will say that caller ID has made phones much easier to navigate, but I always feel terrible when I screen a call… </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So now that everyone I know that reads this blog knows I am neurotic, and that it is my mother’s fault, I am ready to overcome my fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Friday I will officially become a Pampered Chef consultant, and I will have to use the phone every day to call people I don’t know and ask them things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am hoping that my anxiety will eventually ebb, and maybe by the time I am ready to re-enter the work force I won’t have to filter my job search by phone use…</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-39684336851259666182011-04-01T21:05:00.000-04:002011-04-01T21:05:12.841-04:00The Debt Monster<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">About two months ago I was looking at our budget and I thought to myself, “Things have got to change.” We can never seem to get ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we moved to Williamsburg the economy was just starting its downward spiral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went from making money every time we sold a house to not being able to sell our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went from steady raises and big bonuses to no raises and smaller bonuses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we bought our house we bought down points and got an interest only loan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed smart at the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t plan on living in it for more than 5 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had our sights set on a gated community. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now reality…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We are not irresponsible with money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have never bought anything we couldn’t afford the payments for… but we also have always spent ALL of our money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We always planned to put more away for retirement and save for the kid’s college, but unless we find a money tree, the likelihood of us finding hundreds of extra dollars isn’t too high.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So things needed to change.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We bought a book, started a debt snowball, and we are now about a year away from paying off all of our debt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When that is done we will start seriously saving for retirement and the kid’s college funds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I am grateful that we are moving in the right direction, the only thing that I keep thinking is that I wish we had started this sooner.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This is why….</div><div class="MsoNormal">I will use my brother Christopher as an example… he is 25 years old.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
If Christopher would like to retire at 65 he as 40 years to save for retirement. If he would like to retire on, let's say 50,000 a year (which wouldn't go too far, but it is a round number) he would need 625,000 to have that amount per year when he retires. In order to save that money he needs to put way 178.75 EVERY month until he is 65. He SHOULD be contributing at least that into his 401K but it is important, even as young as he is, to open a Roth IRA as well.<br />
<br />
Paul is closer to 40 years old. We would like to retire on 100,000 a year (hopefully the house will be paid off by then). That means we need a nest egg of $1,250,000. If we want to retire with that amount we need to put $1313.75 away EVERY month... which honestly is not going to happen. Do you see how important it is to save early? If Christopher wanted the same retirement he would need to put 357.50 away every month.... We already put 400 a month away, but we are going to up that to 700.00 a month when our debt is paid off, which will give us about 60,000 a month when we retire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hopefully, when I start working again we will be able to put away more.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We also need to plan for college…. We have three children and I would like them to be able to go to school relatively debt free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will promise the kids 4 years of college and 15,000 every year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they want to spend more it will be on their dime.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">60,000 per kid…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>249.48 a month for Ford, and 155 each for Grace and Lily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to put away $560 a month for college.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And the GRAND TOTAL is… $ 860 extra dollars a month for retirement and college savings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any money left over will be put in savings…. I guess the good news is that after our car is paid off we will have that much extra money to work with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just wish we had thought about all this sooner!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you want more information about how we started our debt snowball look here..</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <a href="http://www.daveramsey.com/new/baby-steps/">Dave Ramsey</a></div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-64639178572077301082011-03-31T16:34:00.000-04:002011-03-31T16:34:50.067-04:00Bikini Body<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JF44YI8e0OY/TZTfAq6_82I/AAAAAAAAABc/bKqaaBVgHu0/s1600/beach15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JF44YI8e0OY/TZTfAq6_82I/AAAAAAAAABc/bKqaaBVgHu0/s320/beach15.jpg" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bikini Body</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This year I turn 30 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a mother of three beautiful children and a wife to a wonderful husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year I bought a bikini.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every year my family goes on vacation to the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Ever since my son was born I have worn a one-piece bathing suit or a tankini, even though I find them uncomfortable and it is nearly impossible to find a full coverage bathing suit that doesn’t make me look like I am under 50.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The truth is: I have horrible stretch marks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I slathered on every advertised cream, drank tons of water, and watched my weight with my first pregnancy, but genetics can be stronger than will-power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was left with a beautiful baby boy and a completely scarred stomach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, how I cried when those first stretch marks appeared, somewhere in my 8<sup>th</sup> month of pregnancy, and were quickly followed by many, many more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I was ruined. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Now that I think back to my pre-pregnancy body I realize I was never satisfied with it either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was never skinny enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was always some flaw I was desperate to be rid of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had that body now I would be in 7<sup>th</sup> heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that is the curse of youth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some time, a couple of months ago, I was looking in the mirror and I thought to myself, “This is the best you are going to look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You might as well enjoy it.” So I decided to buy myself a bikini. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are some that are likely to be horrified.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I certainly don’t look like a super model… or maybe I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Check out these pictures of “real” moms Cindy Crawford and Julia Roberts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am certainly not implying that moms without stretch marks<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>are not real… they are just very, very lucky.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1181379/Welcome-Mummy-Tummy-Club-Julia-Roberts-Actress-bares-stretch-marks-heroine-real-women.html">Julia Roberts</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-499338/Cindy-Crawford-reveals-stretch-marks--shows-shes-human-all.html%20">Cindy Crawford</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Here are some pictures of me in a bathing suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first one at the top of the post is from me when I was 15. I was 19 in the picture directly below. The third was taken on my honeymoon when I was 22, and the fourth was taken the summer before I was married. I am five months pregnant in the last at 27. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tG1FpnyPPOs/TZTfDes3fGI/AAAAAAAAABg/NoJ32bYhwWw/s1600/beach19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tG1FpnyPPOs/TZTfDes3fGI/AAAAAAAAABg/NoJ32bYhwWw/s320/beach19.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <div class="MsoNormal">I remember being very upset for this picture, both before and after it was taken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought that I looked fat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was convinced there were “rolls” on my stomach.</div></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture was taken in Antigua on my honeymoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not let my husband take many pictures of me, but in this one I made sure that I had a sarong over the “fat parts”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I had known how lucky I was then.</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qAiW_kCPvMs/TZTfPll47AI/AAAAAAAAABo/MghesZwKQOY/s1600/DSCF0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qAiW_kCPvMs/TZTfPll47AI/AAAAAAAAABo/MghesZwKQOY/s320/DSCF0024.JPG" width="319" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In this picture I am 5 months pregnant with my 2<sup>nd</sup> child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was pretty comfortable and confident in this bathing suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish I could have bottled that confidence for after my daughter was born.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t write this as a pity party for me… more as an awakening that I am finally growing up and into my skin, literally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be worried that someone is judging me, but at the same time I am proud of myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I won’t look back when I am 90 and wish that I had appreciated my 30 year old self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>30, consider yourself appreciated! FYI I will add a picture once I have a tan and a bikini I love.</div></div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-72828925691440483462011-03-11T17:32:00.000-05:002011-03-11T17:32:20.411-05:00Out of the mouths of babes...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
Last year I was pregnant with Lily and watching three kids in addition to my two children, all under the age of 5. Somehow, only having four children at my house is even more exhausting. Grace and the little girl I watch are both two, and I thought it would be easier to take care of two 2 year olds rather than two babies. Instead, they seem to be getting more difficult. Both little girls are still under two and a half, but they are both potty trained. Logically one would think that this would be easier than having children in diapers, but it is actually harder. Both girls go potty every 15 to 20minutes. This involves toilet paper, dumping, wiping, hand washing, and sometimes shrieking if they touch each other. During this process, my youngest, Lily, is determined to get in the bathroom and participate in the action. At nine months she can already throw toys in the toilet.<br />
<br />
There is nothing cuter than little girls singing. A few days ago, while we were waiting for a prescription for Grace (which is another story in itself), I encouraged the girls to sing. Grace was trying to touch the little girl I watch, and she was trying to bite Grace. Grace sweetly started,<br />
“Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye, go to sleep little…. (devilish grin) poop,<br />
you’re my baby, you’re my baby, you’re my sweet poopy poop…”<br />
<br />
These are obviously not the correct words to the song. The fact that my “not-yet-two-and-a-half” year old can replace words in a song with ones she knows are inappropriate is just beyond me. Today at a play-date she told me she had to go potty, and since she wore a ridiculous frilly pink dress she needed extra help. I followed her out of the room where the moms were talking and she stopped and headed towards the kitchen. She did not, in fact, need to use the bathroom, but wanted a snack and knew that I would get up immediately for a potty emergency, but probably not for a snack request.<br />
<br />
Ford is really not to be outdone by his little sister. A “bad Ford” keeps coming in the house and doing naughty things. He also told me before we went to a fundraiser, “Looks like somebody is going to have another baby.” I am not pregnant, and actually thought I was looking pretty good. I told him that it wasn’t polite to tell a woman that.<br />
“Do you know why Ford?”<br />
“Yeah, because then the lady thinks that she looks fat.”<br />
“So…”<br />
“Mommy, you look a little fat.”<br />
<br />
Gotta love those kids…<br />
</div>Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-48901858129764661672011-01-03T15:49:00.000-05:002011-01-03T15:49:09.188-05:00When I grow up….When I grow up….<br />
<br />
When I was a little girl I remember an adult telling me that she didn’t really feel grown up. “You feel the same,” she said,” even when you get old. Sometimes I catch myself in the mirror and think ‘Who is that old lady?’” I thought she was ridiculous. I spent my entire childhood waiting to be an adult, and now, at almost 30, I still feel the same way I did when I was 16. I remember how 30 seemed so old then, and frankly it still feels old to me, but probably because I am in denial.<br />
<br />
I might feel a little older when I figure out what I want to be when I grow up. I got my undergraduate degree in English and my parents insisted that I get a “practical” degree to go along with it. I chose a minor in secondary education. It took me two years to figure out that I didn’t want to be a teacher. Two pretty miserable years I might add. I did what any reasonable 24 year old does when they find their first career path to be lacking… I went to graduate school and immediately got pregnant. I say immediately because I got pregnant somewhere around the second day of classes. So I finished my graduate degree while pregnant and then with an infant. My husband was concerned, being in business, that my MA in English with a concentration in writing and rhetoric, wouldn’t have any market value, but I assured him, as any 24 year old would, that there were lots of opportunities for editors in Northern Virginia. Too bad we moved to Williamsburg, and then later, too bad the market crashed. <br />
<br />
I have searched for jobs several times in the last three years. I was hired once, only to be downsized almost immediately. I had an interview at a local high school, but I can’t say I am upset that I didn’t get that job. So now I stay at home with my three beautiful children and it is hard for me to think of another way to earn an income in addition to taking care of three children under 5. I watch another child during the week, and that helps a little, but is hardly a career. I feel my brain slowly disintegrating. I also have a small editing business, but there aren’t a lot of people looking for editors right now. <br />
<br />
So now I have been thinking I will start a little sewing business and see where it takes me. I have been making clothes for my daughter and some Christmas presents. Surprisingly few people know how to sew and even fewer can make an actual garment. So I am learning, and sewing, and learning some more. I have even started to learn to smock. One of my great-great-grandmothers was a seamstress and supported a whole family with her craft. So I might just shelve my degrees and become an entrepreneur…or I might change my mind again… I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-83970153136096867152010-12-17T09:54:00.000-05:002010-12-17T09:54:58.683-05:00Our Elf on the Shelf Disaster…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z_2Mo4721jY/TQt5nTtZf1I/AAAAAAAAABQ/8bdET2w_77w/s1600/IMG_2875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z_2Mo4721jY/TQt5nTtZf1I/AAAAAAAAABQ/8bdET2w_77w/s320/IMG_2875.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I have been desperate this Christmas season to find ways to help my son stay off Santa’s naughty list this year. He has been atrocious. My latest idea has been to purchase an “Elf on the Shelf”. It is a cute idea. The set ran me a ridiculous $30 for an elf and a book, but as a parent of a naughty boy, there is no price too high for good behavior. The elf came and Ford named it Elvis. The book details that there are only two rules: You cannot touch the elf or he loses his Christmas magic and the elf is not allowed to talk to the children. Ford IMMEDIATELY said that he knew the elf was fake and that he wanted to hold Elvis. How, might I ask, did I get such a jaded four year old? Elvis was already on top of the computer armoire when Ford arrived home from school. I was SURE he would not be able to reach it. I was wrong.<br />
<br />
That evening Ford came running in, triumphantly waving Elvis and yelling, “I have ALL his Christmas magic” in a classic cartoon villain voice. Nice. I sent him to his room and hid Elvis and when he came downstairs I said that Elvis had disappeared. Ford seemed alternately nonplussed and worried that the elf was no longer in the house. The next morning Elvis was at the top of the Christmas tree with a note from Santa explaining that he was giving Ford another chance to be a good boy.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, Elvis has done nothing to improve Ford’s behavior. Apparently Ford decides when Elvis can see him and when he can’t. I forgot to move him to another place last night and Ford was disappointed when he hadn’t moved in the morning. I told him that the weather had been too dangerous for Elvis to travel to the North Pole. So at this point I am out $30, am stuck trying to remember to move an elf every night, and my child doesn’t seem to care that Elvis, Santa, God… ANYONE is watching him. At his age I would have been a neurotic mess trying to make sure I was good for everyone, terrified that Santa or the elf would be disappointed in me. I can’t decide if I am happy that Ford didn’t inherit my people pleasing tendencies, or if I am just plain tired….<br />
<br />
His sister, on the other hand, seems determined to out-do Elvis. Her climbing skills have really improved in the last month or so, and every time I leave the room I return to find her standing on some piece of furniture, or clinging to a bookcase, or shut in a closet, or emptying the pantry, or stuck behind the couch. As with her brother, no amount of time out or other penalties seem to phase her. It is a good thing she is so darn cute. She doesn’t understand about Elvis yet, but I am pretty sure next year he will be watching yet another naughty child…Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6651972385916005983.post-231909697911165622010-11-10T21:46:00.000-05:002010-11-10T21:46:51.003-05:00Singing on the Train...It was windy outside when my mother woke me up for school. I could hear rain pummeling the metal storm shutters we closed every night over the windows for privacy. <br />
“The news said there is a tropical storm coming. What did they say at school yesterday? Should you still go?” my mother asked. <br />
“I don’t know,” I answered. I knew what to do if there was an earthquake or a tsunami, but a tropical storm?<br />
“The rain is coming down sideways.”<br />
I sighed. When the rain came down sideways I left my umbrella in my bag. It was useless. The wind would only turn it inside out. I would have to wear the purple slicker my mother bought me. What an embarrassment.<br />
“You should probably get ready to go, just in case.”<br />
I heard my mother rouse my sister and brother and carry the baby downstairs. Meg waited in my doorway. She is not a morning person. We had to take a shower together in the ofuroba, a Japanese bathroom, so as not to waste water. My mother cleaned its tiled walls nearly every day to cut down on the mold, which grew anyway. I longed for a soak in the tub, but that was only for special occasions. It was too expensive to heat the water every day. Meg and I took turns reaching for the towels placed just outside the door. It was useless for both of us to get cold. Japanese homes are not usually insulated so the cold seeps in. I could see my breath in the hallway as we raced into my parents’ bedroom, doors closed to conserve the heat from the kerosene heater. There we would find our school uniforms, neatly pressed, waiting on the bed.<br />
I poked my head out of the paper, shoji, door that separated my parents’ bedroom from the family room and kitchen.<br />
“Anything from the school yet?”<br />
“No. Your breakfast is ready.”<br />
Could you please call? I wondered to myself silently. My mother would never call. She never called anyone. She never spoke to anyone she didn’t know. Once my brother brought a Japanese woman home from the park. She was a newly converted evangelical Christian, eager to practice her English and spread her faith. When my brother buzzed the intercom to let my mother know he was coming in the gate with a new friend she yelled, “I don’t speak English” into the receiver and refused to open the door until the visitor was gone.<br />
I sighed.<br />
We ate our breakfast in silence and then dutifully piled in the car. On the way to the train station I glanced at the clock, 5:37am. We were never going to make the 5:40 train. The station seemed more crowded than usual. It smelled like cigarettes and hair gel, the kind old men use to slick back their hair. There would be a greasy film on the train car windows. We were stuffed, like marshmallows in a plastic bag, onto the train. Sometimes it was so crowded my feet left the ground.<br />
No one sings on the trains in Japan. No one speaks. No one looks directly at another human being. We were in complete isolation. Sometimes my blue eyes or my sister’s wildly curly hair attracted attention. Children on their way to school would point at us- gaijin, foreigners.<br />
Once my garish, enormous, turquoise Beverly Hills 90210-lunch box got stuck in the doors as they closed. I was mortified. An attendant violently shoved the lunch box in with a baton without even a glance in my direction. <br />
I clung to my adopted little brother who looks almost Japanese even though he is Korean, so small he was frequently pulled out of the train with the departing passengers. He would then blend into the crowd, making it nearly impossible for me to find him before the doors closed and the train left. Once I did lose him. The rule was for him to wait at the train station until I could take a train in the opposite direction and retrieve him. I called “Chris-to-pher” into the crowd several times. No answer. My palms began to sweat as I imagined his scared lost face as our train pulled away from him. I tried to see over the other passengers, but there was not enough room for me to turn my head. Suddenly there was an umbrella poking out between two people. They grunted in frustration and tried to move away. The umbrella was soon followed by a hand, and then a squished little face. As Christopher poked and squirmed he inched is way closer to where Margaret and I were standing. When he was safely wedged between me and Margaret he said triumphantly, “I used my umbrella,” and smiled hugely. Nothing ever phased him for long. When little old Japanese women asked him questions in department stores he would grin at them and speak in complete gibberish. They probably thought he was retarded, a fact we reminded him of often when he was a teenager. <br />
While I was in middle school I believe my sister Meg’s sole mission in life was to embarrass me. At first she tried little things, speaking in a slightly raised voice, pointedly smiling at passengers who refused to look at her. I would beg her, plead with her, to stop. Once we were picking up her uniform skirt from a department store in Yokohama. All of our uniforms were hand-me-downs from other, richer, students, except hers. I was already jealous. Christopher, who believed it was as much his mission to annoy Meg as it was hers to annoy me, began to taunt her.<br />
“I’m not touching. I’m not touching.” He jumped in front of her and waved is little fingers in her face. Before I could respond with a motherly scolding Meg began to hit him with the box that containing her brand new skirt. This went on for several minutes, my begging, her hitting, and him shrieking. I am sure it was a confusing sight to the passengers waiting for the red train that day. Two gaijin ganging up on a little Asian boy. <br />
At this time in our lives we were convinced that my mother knew everything, had spies everywhere. So, when we arrived home that evening, we sheepishly told my parents what had happened. As we learned from my brother who lied, badly, constantly, there was usually a lesser punishment for children who came clean immediately, rather than waiting for the parental unit to find out. Dad explained that misbehavior could impact him at work if his commanding officer was notified that LCDR Rennix’s children were acting up on the trains. From then on I lived in constant fear that we would get my father fired. I also think we were grounded, a punishment more humiliating than harmful.<br />
No one sang on the trains, except my sister.<br />
“STOP in the name of love…BE-FORE you BRE-AK my heart… Think it O-OVER.” <br />
I could hear it, but I couldn’t believe it. Margaret was belting out the same line over and over again. She didn’t know the rest of the song. There was enough room on the train that morning for her to incorporate dance movements as well. The other passengers pretended not to notice her.<br />
“Meggie, pul-eeze stop”<br />
“STOP IN THE NAME OF LOVE,” she motioned for me to stop then held her hands over her heart. “THINK IT O-OVER,” she pointed to her head in time with the music. <br />
Though Margaret has a pretty singing voice now, she was decidedly tone deaf as child. This, accompanied by jerky dance movements, created what I now consider a comical picture; but at twelve I thought my life was over. My father would be fired and I would get in trouble for failing to control the situation. Christopher was no help, doubled over with laughter. He didn’t care if people looked at him. Margaret eventually became bored with her game, but I remained humiliated.<br />
Our trip consisted of three different trains, a total of forty-five minutes, and then a one mile walk up to St. Joseph’s International School in Ichicowa-cho. Public buildings are always on the tops of mountains in Japan where no one can grow anything. The trains usually run in the valleys with buses that bring people from valley to peak. My parents believed that the buses were too expensive, so we walked. The tropical storm lashed the train car with heavy waves of rain. When we disembarked (30 minutes late) at the last station before our hike the wind picked up. The rain ran down the streets and stairs that led to the school in small rivers. Stores were barely open, storm shutters still closed with the faintest light inside visible through cracks in the doors. When we finally reached the school it was well into first period. I half expected school to have been canceled so we could turn around and go home, but it wasn’t. In the office the principal asked for our excuse for being late.<br />
“There is a tropical storm,” I said hopefully. “We thought school would be canceled.”<br />
“A tropical storm. Exactly. Not a typhoon. You are tardy.” He said tardy like we had committed a capital offense. I had never been tardy before. I could not even imagine what punishment it entailed. As it turned out, tardy meant we went to class with a stern warning to come to school on time. I was sure I would have to show the tardy slip to my mother. But my siblings and I agreed that just this once we could forgo our policy of total disclosure and keep the tardy slip to ourselves. It was one of the only things we agreed on for most of my adolescence.Elizabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03844548423448949293noreply@blogger.com1