Health and Wellness

Just save c3p0

Yesterday I took my car into JiffyLube to get the annual Safety and Emissions Inspections. While I was there, the technician told me that I would need new brake pads on my rear brakes to pass the Safety test. I told him to go ahead and put them on so that I could just be done with the process all in one day.

After a few hours, he called me out to the auto bay, I paid $250 for all the services received (safety, emissions, oil change, radiator cap/top-off, air filter, rear windshield wiper and rear brake pads. ) He said the other technician had perfect timing as he was just walking up from taking my beloved mini-van on the test drive for the brakes.

I had papers, keys, and receipts in hand ready to be reunited with my car. It took me a minute to figure out what was going on as tech2 walked behind me and said to tech1, “Dude we have a problem. You need to call ________. I _________ (I didn’t quite hear what he said as I didn’t know he was reporting on my car)_____. The whole front side of that Honda is all messed up. I perked up at the mention of Honda as my mini-van is a Honda. I turned around and faced the guys. Tech2 looked a little shook up and immediately apologized, “I’m so sorry, I just crashed your car.” I replied, “Are you serious?” as tech1 said, “You’re messing with me.” “I’m not dude, it’s over on the other side by Beto’s. Ma’am, I’ll walk you over there.”

We took the two block walk from one end of a large parking lot around the other stores to the other and this is what was at the end of it. The brakes had failed at the nearby stoplight. The ambulance was just pulling up as the people who my guy had rear-ended had called 911. They were a couple in their 70’s and so very sweet. Their grown daughter was in the back seat resting her head on the front seat and was all shook up. (I am tempted to say she was faking, but that wouldn’t be nice – I mean really though her parents who are 25 years older were perfectly fine, but maybe she really is just fragile?)

honda2 honda

The poor kid (tech2 from JiffyLube) who had just crashed my car was on the verge of tears. While staring down at my most vital transportation, I forced a smile, grabbed his arm, gave him a half hug, and told him, “These things happen. It’s just life. Don’t be too upset with yourself. I’m not mad at you, at all. I kind of needed a new car anyway.” And then I got embarrassed and almost as an afterthought I inquired, “Are you o.k.? Are you injured?” He said he was fine and admitted he was shaken up and worried about being fired. He said, “I’m going to cry right now.” I told him he could cry in front of me any time, “I’m a mom” and then insisted, “I’ll go to bat for you; they better not fire you. Accidents happen.”

I was proud of myself for staying calm and gave myself an invisible pat on the back for being mature and keeping perspective that people matter way more than things. Period. No contest. I was also silently thanking my old therapist John, Glennon Doyle Melton, Brene Brown, and God for teaching me about shame (the damage it causes) and the value of souls.

The paramedics started loading the fifty-something-daughter onto the stretcher. She was a waif of a thing and seemed not all quite there. I would be tempted to say she has problems with drugs, but that would just be because I lived in TN for so long and dealt with so many of my husband’s drug clients. If I find out she has cancer or something I will feel really bad for passing judgement and for my honest admittance of my crime. I really need to practice NOT SHAMING and give her the benefit of the doubt. I hope she has cancer instead of a drug addiction. (Man, that is just wrong.) It could be that she really was in shock which would explain her shaking and incoherence. {I openly admit I am still working on making my first assumptions about people the good ones instead of the bad.} I got on the phone with LG to have him do the pre-school pick up for me and then called our insurance agency. I then got all my paperwork together for the officer who pulled up at least three minutes after the ambulance and firetrucks. Funny, the police department is located right across the street.

I’ve been extremely happy with the way that JiffyLube has taken care of the situation and can honestly say that this incident won’t keep me from using their services in the future. They immediately reimbursed us the $250 of services without us even asking for it, got us a rental car less then 24 hours later, and have insurance to cover our car damage. They’ve always been good to us in the past, and you know what? People screw up. Like my brother said, “The best you can hope for when people screw up is that they will make it right,” and JiffyLube has gone above and beyond at making it right. Trusting them with my vehicles in the future may make me stupid , but I think it makes me more forgiving then anything and that is way more vital to my emotional health then my IQ level.

So, today I picked my kids up from school in the rental van, and we headed over to retrieve our belongings from our crashed van. The whole way to the collision shop Bella and Sophia said all they cared about was saving C3p0. He’s had a spot on our dashboard for the better part of 8 years and is quite handy when it comes to identifying our vehicle among the hundreds of other minivans in the parking lots of the many family-friendly establishments we frequent. You know: church, wal-mart, the city pool, library, grocery store, sporting events, etc.

Bella was one happy camper when they retrieved C3p0 from under the front seat of the car.
Sophia was even happier, but refused to pose.

Now I know they are kids and don’t get all the ramifications of securing a new car loan and locating and purchasing a new car, but I have to say that I was proud of my kids and their concern for c3p0. In the past 24 hours they haven’t complained about me being on the phone constantly or having to ride everywhere squashed in dad’s sedan. They’ve just rolled with the punches and showed concern for the drivers involved in the accident; they’ve been helpful and have joined us in laughing about the whole thing. My most parental pride came, however, from their main concern being for a $5 sentimental trinket. They embraced it way more then the brand new rental with all the bells and whistles. It’s days like today when I pat myself on the back and say, “Way to go Alice, you aren’t totally failing as a parent.” Maybe someday they will grow up to care more about the crasher of their car then their car too. I hope so.

The best news today was from JiffyLube’s District Manager. At the rental car place he told me that they would most definitely not fire Mark the driver. The insurance company low-balled our offer and we really really don’t want to go back into a car payment after 10 years without one, but as we figure out the details, I am going to set C3p0 next to my laptop to help me remember what is really important. Once again the kids are the teachers and the mom is the student.

And here is a great argument for why when your kids start driving you should want them in a vehicle with a trailer hitch.

Here is the other car. Barely a scratch.

Lessons from the trail: family bikeride

Man, I can’t wait for spring.

The following pictures have a funny story
that you would never guess just by looking at them.

One summer day, the year before last, a mother got really greedy
and decided that her family could ride their bikes
farther then ever before.

She wanted to make it from home to the nearby waterfalls.
It was only 16.5 miles round-trip.

Every family member, but her, complained the whole way.
The mom didn’t understand, she was having the time of her life.
Even the oldest daughter who was used to running all the time seemed to hate every minute.

At mile 6.5, (1.7 shy of their destiny) the mom cut her losses
and finally told everyone they could turn back.
The mother was so disappointed. The father was almost dead.
The kids vowed to never ride again.
But, to this day, all but the mom
are still all heard to brag of that long family ride
a few summers back.
(The mom is still waiting for the family conquer expedition.)

They still ride together as a family often
but never ever more then ten miles at a time.
The mom now sticks to the long distances by herself.

The moral of the story:
Sixteen miles for one person might be a piece of cake,
but just because you are that person
it doesn’t mean that you can automatically
expect your family to be as capable.

The other thing that we learned:
Together time is the best time to make memories,
even if everyone is in physical pain.

I want to be happy.

Last year I read Stephanie Nielsen’s post on “happiness is a choice“.
[As some of you may know Stephanie was in a life-altering plane crash.]

I marvel at how the hardest trials in our lives teach us the most necessary lessons.

Here is a great quote from her memoir Heaven is Here:
{Go here, for my book review.}

“But even with all that others were willing to offer me, I realized along the way that ultimately nothing they did could make me happy. I felt comforted by family and my faith, but peace was different from happiness. At first I thought stubbornly that the only thing that would make me happy was for my life to look like it did before the accident. But no one could give that to me, and no one else could make me happy. Happiness was my choice, and though it is hard won, I am the only person who can stand in the way of it.”

I wholeheartedly concur that happiness is a choice. I often hear people complain about their lives and I understand that complaining is a tempting choice (one I give into often), but I guess I have learned the hard way that complaining doesn’t accomplish anything. In fact, if anything, complaining does nothing but make everything seem worse.

I concur that happiness is a choice, but I like how Stephanie put it: It is hard won. I don’t think we just say, “O.k. I am going to be happy,” and then we are magically happy. I think that we say, “I am going to choose happiness,” and then we alter our choices to make sure we are happy. It requires a lot of exercise to do this, but I have found that I have become a lot better at happiness as I have matured.

Here are the ways I have changed to become a happier person:

I try no to complain and count my blessings instead.
I take care of myself and no longer feel guilty about it.
I try to live vulnerably.
I have positive self-talk and work every day on loving myself.
I change and set healthy boundaries and try to live with love in my heart for everyone around me. (This is definitely the most difficult.)

How do you choose happiness? I would love to have more happy tools in my arsenal.

Oh and I love this song from the broadway show No, No, Nanette.

But it sure was a bummer when I figured out that the song was full of one really big lie.
We can absolutely be happy even when other people aren’t.
In fact maybe that’s the most important time to choose it for ourselves, when others around us are always miserable because misery loves company and who wants to be the miserable company.

Changing from the inside out.

You, like millions of other Americans have one big resolution this year: lose weight.

I’m here to tell you that if you don’t want to be unsuccessful like most of the other Americans will be this year, you’ve got to do something different. Lay off the Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, Slim-fast, South Beach, HCG, and all the others you’ve tried before. Don’t even go there. Don’t go buy the gym pass either. Quit wasting your money.

What makes me the expert? Thirty-five years of fat, that’s what. I am just like you. I’m a forty-year-old mother of four who has carried around excess weight since I can remember. I tried everything and even had short-term success with many of them, but the answer isn’t in what you are putting into your body or what you are doing with your body. The answer is in your heart.

How can you trust me? Well, you don’t have to trust me. I may not be trustworthy. I could go on a binge and gain every pound back tomorrow. And, yeah, I am pretty sure I could find a way to gain thirty pounds in just a day. Honestly I still have forty pounds to lose to be at optimal health but I know a big secret.

Let me tell you about the fifty pounds I have lost. I’ve kept it off for two years. I could credit my running or even my calorie counting and those two things do deserve a good portion of the credit, but the real secret lies within my heart. This secret is not one that you will find on any shelf of any store in America, or the world for that matter. You can’t buy the secret.

The secret is real change. Real heartfelt change.

Oh, you don’t want to sign up for that? Can’t say that I blame you. It’s not easy. In fact it’s a whole lot harder then filling up a Walmart buggy with the latest in weight-loss like the rest of the Americans. Guess what? It’s o.k. if you aren’t ready. It really is. Let’s revisit this whole thing next year. Actually, let’s just call January off limits, and revisit whenever you decide you are ready. Don’t worry, I will keep on loving you just the way you are.

But. But. There is always a but. (And a butt unfortunately.) You need to know one thing. It’s going to hurt to hear it so let me preface this with a big hug. Doesn’t that feel nice? Hold onto that feeling because here comes the slap in your face.

You don’t love yourself.

O.k. I am hearing you call me a liar. I deserve whatever you are going to dish out. The message-bearer is always the one at stake, but it’s a risk I want to take because someone has to tell you the truth. And that someone is going to feel really good when you finally get what you really want.

Let me be your Mike Sufferidini. That guy changed my life.

You see, my brother’s good friend, Mike, he called me out on Facebook. I can’t remember the context, but a few years back when I was negatively criticizing all my health-nut friends, he had the guts to say something like this:

“Alice, you sound like you have given up. You aren’t too old. It’s never too late.”

I was raging mad. If only I had a few dozen eggs to throw at his house. Or his head. Oh, forget, the eggs…I needed knives.

But. He was right. After a few weeks of pouting and raging and crying, I had an awakening.

What was my problem? Why was I trying to justify my weight? Why was I so envious of others? Why was I willing to lie to myself and tell myself I was really just a better mom then all those ladies who spent so much time running? I knew it was a lie. I knew I was just being fat and lazy.

What I didn’t know is the secret: I wasn’t fat and lazy. I was scared to death. I was broken. I was sad. I was a living vessel of conflict. My heart was the problem. No, not the clogged ventricles. The secret parts of my heart that carry all the emotions were the problem. The pain that I had hidden away there for all these years was the problem. I thought it was hidden well when I stuffed it into the secret compartments in the first place but the pain was seeping out through the cracks and causing me to over-eat and under-exercise.

So, when I look at you with your extra hundred pounds. I don’t have anything but love because I get it. I get where you are and I get where you need to be and I get how hard it is going to be for you to get there.

After you are done being mad, please believe me when I say that the secret is in changing your heart. You’ve got to get the pain out. You can’t let the seeps continue with their contamination because it is killing you.

If you purge it, weight-loss will come.

It’s in the heart. It’s different for everyone, but I promise you, when you are ready, you will find the pain that is holding you back. My only hope is that you won’t wait any longer. Not because it’s January, but because your change is ready and it’s beautiful.

What if you made resolutions every day?

Happy 2014 everyone.
One of my goals this year is to write every day.
I hope this will evolve into my awesome place.

As my followers know, this is my third blog. Three times is the charm. Oh, shoot, I just remembered it’s actually my 4th blog. Oh well, I’ve never had a normal experience in my life. Maybe four will be my charm.

Who watched the ball drop last night? Was anyone else disturbed by Jenny McCarthy and her hubby making out on camera like they were drunk teenagers? Gross. Even more disturbing though was Miley Cyrus standing all alone at midnight along with Ryan Seacrest and several other performers. The whole lonely parade of celebrity was just pathetically sad to me.

As I have been catching up on facebook this morning I have enjoyed reading everyone’s New Years greetings. Many have shared their resolutions. I wondered how many would actually have success. So many people want to change, but never really seem to find lasting success…myself included.

So, even though I still plan to make goals this year I’ve decided that every day I will make one resolution for myself and tackle my changing one day at time. I will keep you updated.

Today it’s only noon and I’ve already succeeded at my goal. Jump into a post and share it without getting this blog perfect first. I’m getting this published before heading out to the movie with the family.

It’s going to be an awesome year. I look forward to sharing the journey with you.

Leave me a comment and let me know what you’d like to see on this blog.

Being the Change Sucks Sometimes

be the change So I have this friend. Well, I guess I should say that I HAD this friend as she has told me that we are no longer friends. This friend is the best friend I’ve ever had. She’s a great person. A really great person. She is kind, thoughtful, gentle, hard-working, loving, beautiful in and out, smart, a total clean freak/germaphobe, a great mom, selfless, and easy to get along with. She is extremely spiritually-minded and a great example of faith and Christianity in action. She has been there for me countless times in my life when no one else was.

She also has flaws. I won’t tell you what they all are as it isn’t necessary to the story, but I am intimate with her flaws. “Be the change you wish to see in the world,” is one of her favorite quotes. The ironic thing is that she is sometimes very closed off to change. As long as I’ve known her (which is a long time) she resists change, especially in herself. For a long time I thought she didn’t need to change. I thought she was perfect and that I was the one with problems, but I’ve come to my senses and realized that I was bamboozled into believing this lie.

She needs to change. I need to change. Everyone needs to change.

The hard part about change is that when you do it, it effects other people. That is why marriage counseling is so totally awesome. It helps people change together! Changing together is miraculous. I have seen the most significant changes over the years but none are more important then those that my husband and I have made together.

They need friend counseling. They really do. I am embarking upon the second round of no-contact with this friend in the past ten years. It’s because we don’t know how to change together. It seems we can only change apart from one another. I don’t like it, but it is the reality of our friendship.

I have spent a lot of time thinking about this friendship and how to handle it. It seems I am ill-equipped. This friend is very closed off. She doesn’t like to talk about her problems. She doesn’t like to admit her weaknesses. Sometimes I wonder if she is even aware of them.

On the other hand, I am a very self-aware person. I love to talk about myself. Talking is one of the greatest ways that I learn, second only to writing. I will share anything and everything with pretty much anyone. I struggle to contain private information.

You can see how this creates a problem in our friendship. It pretty much goes like this:

me: “I am so sick of my husband.”
her: “My husband is so fantastic.”

me: “I have been so depressed.”
her: “Let me help you with your depression.”

me: “I am so sick of being poor.”
her: “We just bought a house for $50,000 less than it is worth.”

me: “How are your kids doing?”
her: “They are perfect little angels.” (As they tear each other’s eyes out in the background.)

me: “You are going to be so house poor with that huge house.”
her: “Oh but it’s so worth it.”

her: “I am so glad you guys are happy.”
me: “We are happy.”
her: Whatever she needs to say to make sure I know she is happier.

I just couldn’t take it any more. I couldn’t play the game. I knew from past experience that she doesn’t like to be called out. I also know that when I tried to change and quit complaining/over-sharing we ended up with nothing to talk about. You can see if you have two “hers” in the same conversation it won’t get very far. I didn’t know what else to do to fix it for myself. I would be miserable every time I hung up the phone. I quit taking her calls. I quit calling her. We live in different states now but if we still lived in the same state I would have avoided her physically also.

After several months she messaged me and asked me what was up. I replied,

I have avoided you and it really isn’t cool of me but I’ve been felt it necessary for my own well-being. In one simple sentence of explanation: “It’s not you, it’s me.” I’ve missed talking to you too but the peace of mind I’ve gained has outweighed the benefits of broken companionship. I haven’t been able to pinpoint my issues exactly and I haven’t wanted to hurt you so I’ve just avoided it. Not very mature of me but it is what it is. I can’t even give you a complete explanation as, like I said, I haven’t figured it out myself. The best I can give you are two things. 1 – I feel like we have had an unequal friendship. I have shared with you too much and you’ve shared too little. 2 – I have issues with comparison/competitiveness and for some reason you put those into high gear for me and it was causing me a lot of heartache. It has been easier for me to tackle this part of me that I detest by just avoiding you. I didn’t and don’t know how to address this with you and truthfully it’s made me a lot happier to not talk to you as much. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had but our relationship is somewhat toxic for me emotionally (not because of you because of me). I feel like we lack honesty and the kind of intimacy I want from my friends and I don’t think you will be comfortable with the change it would take to make our close friendship healthy for me. I love you______. You are like a sister to me. I’ve missed you and I’ve prayed for you. I am the first to admit that I suck at relationships. I wish I was better at it, but being so far away and because they don’t make friend therapists I think this way is better for now.

letting_go_by_Ursylla

I wasn’t trying to say goodbye, but I did give her the out. I was really saying I need more from you, and if you can’t give it then it’s probably better this way.

I didn’t hear back from her. I then got a message on Facebook from a total stranger telling me that I was an evil person who treated this friend so badly. How dare I hurt her when she has never done anything to hurt me?

I promptly told this extremely codependent random person to mind her own business and immediately texted this friend to let her know I had been reprimanded by so and so (later she told me it was her sister-in-law) and that I was sorry if I hurt her with my reply.

This friend in true to form fashion immediately gave me a lengthy explanation about how she wasn’t really gossiping about me (because she’s perfect, right?) and then informed me that we would probably just be better off without each other. I told her that whatever she wanted as fine. That was it. End of story.

cool_quotes_about_change_life-change-quote

So for the past couple of weeks I have been pondering on this end of friendship. I can’t help but feel like I am in high-school again. It feels so wrong. I feel like I should try and fix it.

I’ve decided that I did the right thing. I can’t change this friend. I can only change myself. I could try to keep living in her facade but it was just harming me and ultimately it was probably harming her too.

I needed more and she just couldn’t give it. She probably needs something from me that I just can’t give: like acceptance of her unreality for starters.

She’s a good person. I’m a good person. We just aren’t really good for each other and that’s o.k.

I’m moving forward. I believe I’ve been much clearer in stating my needs to her than she has with me. If she ever thinks that she can be what I need, she will know where to find me. I would love to be what she needs if she can start living in reality.

The one thing that I really wish I would have said to her and didn’t though is this reply to her telling me that she can’t just sit around being vulnerable and waiting for me to call her. I wish I would have told her this. Vulnerability is not your strong suit. You haven’t been the least bit vulnerable. Ever. If you ever want to be vulnerable, you know where to find me. I’m right here with my heart always hanging out for all to see.

Change-Quotes-9

I have had to really examine myself if what I am experiencing with this friend is jealousy. It is easy to become jealous when one person is always talking about how wonderful her life is and the other is a total realist. I don’t think that it’s jealousy. It’s just that I feel like I’ve finally grown past being the friend who is the one being helped. A friendship takes two people who are willing to admit that they need help. Maybe she never needs help. Maybe she is perfect? Or not because perfect people only exist in their own world. It is just really psychologically and emotionally trying for a person like me who throws all her flaws out to the world to be real with people who don’t seem to understand.

Loving my Enemy – Literally

I’m a sucker for humanity. I love touchy-feely stories of love, hope, kindness, and self-sacrifice.

I love stuff like this, this, and this.

Contention makes me a little uncomfortable. I can handle it but it just sets my heart at unrest. Because I’m a Mormon I’ve experienced some pretty intense contention directed at me. I’ve been called a bigot for standing for traditional marriage. (I still self-talk myself through one really personal de-friend not because I am hurt but I am sad I may have really hurt someone else with my unwillingness to change my religious views.) I’ve survived an anonymous commenter on my old blog who for years always told me how stupid I was for my beliefs. (She/he is the reason I don’t have commenting open on this blog – I just don’t need anonymous stalkers who are cruel.) I’ve been teased by one of my very best friends about getting magical underwear after attending the temple for the first time. (I flipped her off – not my finest moment. I still love you friend, if you happen to be reading. Glad we can agree to disagree.)

A few years back when I attended the LDS Women’s General Meeting in SLC some anti-Mormons got sneaky and handed out their propaganda inside tissue packets. The attendees just thought someone was doing something really nice by handing out the tissues and were accepting them in droves. The meetings can get pretty emotional when you start feeling the influence of the Holy Ghost and tissues are always a welcome commodity. I am not afraid of a fight. Once I figured out what was going on, I gathered up all the tissues I could find and took them back to the lady on the corner with the wicker basket. I said calm yet firm, “I would never in a million years come and crash your church gathering and hand out crap against your church leaders.” I filled her basket back up with my stack of retrieved tissues and walked away. She was speechless. For the next two hour meeting I sat with a lump in my heart feeling like I should have been more kind. I let her offend me and I should have just showed her love and invited her inside to see what she was so threatened about.

This past Saturday we took our kids back to Salt Lake City for General Conference. Kids under eight years old aren’t allowed to attend and so LG took our older three girls into the Conference Center and I took Caroline across the street to listen wherever we could park ourselves. (We ended up in the basement of the Visitor’s Center in an almost empty theater with stadium seating – Rock on!) There are always a lot of protesters on the sidewalks and we passed one particularly vocal one. He was saying things like, “Your underwear is dirty. You are not saved. You are fools. You are deceived.” You know – the typical. I got a thought, “Go give him a hug.” I chuckled. No way! He was so loud and everyone couldn’t help but give him attention while passing by, there was no way I was going to put myself up for a lashing like that especially with Caroline in tow. I walked on. We watched the meeting and then passed him again while going to meet back up with LG. The thought came again, “Go give him a hug.”

As we sat and waited for LG at the end of the sidewalk I couldn’t shake the impression. Once he and the girls arrived I told LG, “I’ll be right back, there is something I have to do.” He questioned knowing I am never afraid to stick up for myself and probably a little afraid he might have to pick me up from jail, “Alice, what are you going to do? Are you going to get into trouble?” “No, no”, I assured him. “Just give me a second, I will be right back.” I ran back to the protester with the beard, the Mormon temple clothes wrapped around his wrists and the sign that said, “You are going to hell.” Now a really large crowd had gathered. I chuckled a prayer up to God, “You’ve got a sense of humor, you know.” And then I prayed the hug-receiver wouldn’t hit me. I walked right up to him as an obvious person on the opposite end of his views. Amazingly he quieted. I looked him in the eye and said, “Can I give you a hug?” He looked dumbfounded. As he answered I closed the space to not get fully rejected. He said, “I don’t think my wife will appreciate that.” I said, “How about a half hug then?” I quickly wrapped my left arm around his back and squeezed his left shoulder as he watched suspiciously. I explained, “I try to always follow any promptings that I get and this morning my prompting was to give you a hug.” I’ll give him credit as a human. He wasn’t mean. He didn’t hit me. He didn’t yell at me. He smiled. I smiled back and then returned without incident to my waiting husband relieved that he wouldn’t have to bail me out. It felt good to love my enemy.

I hope God doesn’t ask me to do something crazy like that again, but I hope if he does, I’ll have the courage.

I stole this photo off the internet. Oh internet police, please be kind. I needed a visual to match the story. My protester was right inside that gate on the left. Not shown in this photo…although that kind of looks like it could be him on the right sans his 5 other signs and temple clothes.

Funny side story. Abigail told her seminary teacher about this exchange on Monday and I guess he shared it with several of his classes. On her way home from school a lot of her friends asked her if I was the one who had hugged the protester. I guess I have a reputation as the crazy lady. I guess that is why I can still love my enemy….I can relate to them. I get their craziness and I get their passion. Even if we have polar opposite views, I mostly get that we share humanity and that is a beautiful beautiful thing.

Your Kid Needs You To Fill in This Blank

I tell my kids I love them all of the time, but I rarely tell them them what I love about them. Honestly I hadn’t even thought about it until I just read this powerful post. {Trust me, you won’t regret hitting that link and taking the 60 seconds to read it} The post offers one simple suggestion that the author gleaned from another article. {Isn’t it funny how we bloggers just recycle all the good stuff over and over again?} This time the recycled goods is a jackpot of a fill in the blank for parents.

Now normally I wouldn’t welcome fill in the blanks. I swear that the blank state of my mind (not the blank line on the paper) was the real inspiration for the naming of the “fill in the blank”. I can’t tell you how many times in my life I stared down at a question on a test and silently screamed, “C’mon brain, fill in the *^$# blank! I know the answer is in there somewhere.” I guess I have finally arrived. It only took parenting for me to have a cinch of a “fill in the blank”. I can’t go wrong with this one.

Oh, so you didn’t click the link and now you are totally curious? O.k. I’ll tell you, you lazy-linkers, but trust me the other article says it much more articulately. All you have to do is say this to your kids: “I love to watch you _ _ _ .” [Fill in the blank with whatever applies.] See what I mean? It’s a parenting jackpot. You can’t go wrong.

I just went into my photos to find one appropriate for this post and I came up with all kinds of ideas.

“I love to watch you ride a skateboard.”

“I love to watch you blow bubbles.”

“I love to watch you hit your sister.” (O.k. maybe that one isn’t so good, unless you are raising future boxers and then it would be your own personal gem.)

The originally cited article tackled the difference between nightmare and great sports parents. It too is a great read even for the parents with non-athletic kids. Basically it communicates that kids don’t want to be critiqued, they want to be loved and supported. Don’t we all?

I remember one time after I pulled off a significant event at the kids’ school, my husband said to me, “I love watching you in your element.” I still tear up just thinking about him saying that and it was over a year ago. It made me over-joyous that he recognized my actions and affirmed them. With one simple sentence, he perfectly communicated that he was happy to be an integral part of anything I did even if it was just to watch from the sidelines.

Last Saturday while attending my 11-year-old niece’s soccer game I witnessed something really disturbing. A soccer coach belligerently took personal jabs at a 16-year-old referee. He told him he sucked and had no business reffing. He then said, “You have no social skills” among a myriad of other insults.

It’s one thing to tell the ref about a bad call you observed and another thing entirely to verbally abuse a person. Watching this out-of-control coach made me sick to my stomach. After the parents starting joining in too, I hollered from the goal-zone where I was sitting, “Chill out.” A few minutes later as the game ended, the coach walked down my direction and yelled at me to take my “chill out” and shove it. Oh, no he didn’t!! I stood up and called down all the powers of calm from the universe. I walked over to the coach who kept yelling at me to remove myself from his sideline. I calmly said, “I am just a mom here watching a game, I am not here to support either side but the side of the kids. You are being a very bad example to every kid out here. That referee can’t be a day over 16 and I am here to advocate for him.” The parents all started in on me about how bad of a job the ref did, how he is in a role of an adult so he can handle it, la la la. I didn’t even want to be that close to them, they made me sick. I said, “I’m not here to argue. I am just here to be a juvenile advocate”, and then I calmly walked away. On the outside I was a perfect picture of character, on the inside I was shaking like a leaf.

I couldn’t help but think how powerful it would be for every one of those maniacal adults to read the above article about nightmare parents. How sad it was for each of their kids to know that losing a game 6-0 could have the power to turn their parents into insulting and aggressive idiots. After that game not one of them could even tell their kids in honesty that they loved to watch them play because their cruel actions spoke way louder than their words.

Now, I am not here to peg me (the perfect parent) against them the non-perfect parents. We all have dark and light and my dark moment was just three weeks earlier when I railed into my fourteen-year-old after her soccer game for not playing to the best of her ability. As she walked with her dad to his car (to avoid me) after my good licking on the sideline, I felt like crap. I immediately called her and apologized but the damage had been done. We talked later with her and our other girls and they all told me they didn’t need my opinion about everything. I over-critique and they complained that I even over-compliment. The nerve! Ouch. They didn’t know exactly how to tell me, but what they really were saying is this: “Mom, all we want to hear is that you love to watch us play.” Thank you parenting article for making my duty clear and for giving me the right words. All I have to do is fill in one blank for the rest of my life. I can’t wait.

Lessons from the trail: Arriving

I started running 22 months ago. When I started I was 235 pounds and couldn’t run a lap. I am now 190 pounds and have run a half marathon without stopping. My pace has fluctuated but has consistently increased. It’s been a long haul, but I have not quit. I have laced up those running shoes no matter what almost every T,TH,S for two years. When I started I thought if I could just run a 9 minute mile, I’d be happy. I was lucky to get a 14 minute mile back then.

Last week, I had a really great “I’ve finally arrived” moment. It went something like this: I was trudging along the trail, doing the best I could and running at what I thought was my typical 10-11 minute per mile pace. I glanced back (as I typically do in case there are any rapists following me) and saw three serious running ladies running towards me all in the latest running fashions. Their fluorescent colors were a dead give away that they were out to own that trail.

I knew they were coming for me. I steeled myself for the assault. Even though they were a good half mile back, I just knew they would be running past me any second. They wouldn’t be sweaty or even winded…they would just fly on by like all the real runners so often do. I told myself for the thousandth time that it didn’t matter. I was on the trail just like them. I was a runner just like them. Heck, we were all wearing the same long distance runner’s water belt and I even had on a fluorescent pink shirt. Showing up is what really mattered, but then something magical happened…they didn’t pass me. I kept on running and forced myself not to look back again. I focused and ran my little heart out. My running app alerted me that I had run another mile. My pace was 8 minutes 30 seconds. What??? No wonder they hadn’t passed me. Several more minutes went by before they finally did pass me. I snapped the above picture (mentally and literally) as the moment was a beautiful one for me.

I took off my headphones and hollered, “I’ve been waiting for you guys. You better pick up your pace, it took you a lot longer than I thought it would. You must be at the end of your marathon.” Yes, I haggled them. I’m obnoxious like that. I think it is always a good thing to show the skinny runners that us fat runners are serious about our sport too. They chuckled and passed on by as I slowed to snap their perfect silhouettes against the sunset. One lady took a second to turn back and say, “We just started, you’ve probably been out here longer than we have.”

I put my phone back away and ran along behind them for a long time. I ran right behind them for another mile until it was time for me to turn around. Tears came to my eyes as I couldn’t believe that I somehow managed to run at the same pace as the ladies in the big league for several miles. I didn’t know how that could even be possible. My feelings of pride and self-satisfaction alone powered me the two more miles home when I was stunned to see I had run seven miles at an average of 9.3 minutes per mile. Those girls had put a little pressure on my mind and my body and my legs had responded with ease. I had upped my pace by about a minute per mile and I had gotten pretty dang close to my original “I will have arrived when I get there” goal.

A few days later I ran five miles in a row with my coveted nine minutes per mile pace and last Thursday I ran another four at a 9.5 minutes per mile pace. As I go out and work hard on the trail to keep a hold of this faster pace it is challenging. I am at a new level of competition. It’s competition with myself to see if I can perform at my fullest every time I get on the trail without other runners chasing me and putting on the pressure. I can’t stop thinking of those three runners and thanking them for the push that I didn’t even know I needed.

And my lesson from the trail: I arrived but the fierce sense of satisfaction only lasted for a short moment. I now have a new arrival goal, so I plan to try and just enjoy the journey, it lasts a lot longer than the arrival.

Sunday Pin – Compassion

I just read a really great book called Out of My Mind by Sharon Draper. It is an extremely eye-opening and touching story about a very bright girl with extreme physical limitations caused by Cerebral Palsy. I love books that give me a greater understanding of the people who share this world with me. This book left me with a great desire to be even more kind to those with special needs.

compassion

This book also left me with a very distinct impression: I felt to tell my 14-year-old daughter to seek out a certain peer who may need some more compassion because of his/her special needs. I don’t know if she will do anything about it, but I hope that when the time is right, the spark that I instilled will grow into a fire that she won’t be able to ignore. I know my Abigail has a great amount of compassion. I remember her third grade teacher being astounded because she would seek out a classmate who was confined to a wheelchair. She was so impressed by Abigail being a true friend to the girl.

If I can give my kids anything, I want them to know and understand compassion. I want them to be the kind of people who make this world a better place for others, especially those who are the most downtrodden.

I love love love love THIS back-to-school talk where it is suggested that parents read to their children each year. It beautifully articulates great truths about compassion. Compassion is the greatest thing we can ever give. If you haven’t read the talk at the link, you need to right now. If you haven’t had this talk with your kid to teach them compassion, you need to not wait one more minute.

This world needs more compassion. A lot of it. Let it begin with me.