Posts tagged ‘my life. diary’

May 18, 2011

The morning

What hour of the day would you like to spend the rest of your life?

The answer is simple for me. The first hour when I wake up. I open my eyes, scurry down the stairs to have a cup of coffee on the front porch with my husband no matter how cold or hot it is. My feet are always bare and the freshness of the day is new and untainted. Everything is in place my guitars by my desk, my treadmill down stairs, and my iPad in hand. Its a new beginning. A fresh start to all the crap that happened the day before. You can do a whole bunch of things in that hour or you can just enjoy your coffee. Either way I love waking up and not because I’m not dead but because its like a new life. Its new, fresh, never happened before except for yesterday. It cant be explained. It just is. A moment that repeats itself over and over and over. Never changing and never the same. Its the little things like the amount of sugar in your coffee or the cup in your hand that makes it different. Amazing I just have no words for it. The rest of the day is always tainted with responsibility. Things we don’t always want to do. People we feel obligated to be nice to and places we have to go or not go because of one thing or another. the trouble with the rest of the day is that it’s just trouble. Its complicated, messy. The morning is always simple.

May 18, 2011

On weight

We I was little I wore a size 16. That’s pretty big for a 10 year old and younger. I didn’t play sports, in fact I didn’t do much but watch TV and read books. The were woods to go play in so I did that a lot but never enough to lose any weight. I got picked on like every other kid that was fat or unpopular. I ate what was on my plate as I was told. I lived my life. It was no better or worse than anybody elses including the popular kids which I wasn’t.

As the years went by I started working out and learning more and more about nutrition. I have been a runner, cyclist, aerobics nut, yoga freak, bodybuilder. You name it. I have been ultra skinny, but none of that matters…really if your not happy with who you are. Now that I’m 40 and it wasn’t big revaluation that I came to this conclusion. I am happy being happy. I’m 5′ 5″ and 150. I am neither fat or skinny. I’m middle. I eat healthy, but if there’s cookies watch out….boom there gone. I ate every one. I love cookies. It’s in my genetics and there’s no way to get around it unless you have some cookies.

That’s what’s life is about. Now that’s a revaluation. I know girls that don’t eat anything and I mean nothing except lettuce. I can’t stand to be around them. Their no fun. Im not a pro athlete, or a supermodel. Im a mom who loves to eat cookies with her kids.

Why would any normal person want to deprive themselves of life. I love to cook all kinds of crazy things as I don’t like eating plain food. Some I wrap in bacon. I use heavy cream, butter, olive oil, nuts. I make gravies, sauces, and dressings. I also serve lots and lots of veggies out of my garden. I never serve bread, mashed potatoes, or rice. I don’t care for them much. The best part is the drink. I love to drink while I cook. A glass of wine makes life even better.

I read an article years a go about a super model. She was ultra thin, stunning, gorgeous. Probably a size nothing. When she quit being a model she was a size 12 and happy. She expressed that being her happy weight was the most wonderful thing. Airbrushing and lettuce is not way to live life. This article has stuck with me for years.

I try to teach my daughter that happiness isn’t determined by your weight. It’s determined by your self worth. I encourage her to make good foot choices. A carmel frappacino and a donut isn’t one of them. A strawberry banana smoothies and a one of Starbucks mini treats is a better choice. Its not weather she fat or not. She like dancing and playing. It’s better for her body if it fueled properly. I explain to her the joys of a happy weight, a happy life. One that’s made with good choices.

May 16, 2011

Perspective on raising girls

I often talk to parents about how they raise their children, daughters mostly. Mine has been a little more difficult than my son. In terms of raising her I tend to think psychologically as I wanted her to be balanced, and well adjusted.

When my daughter was two I was very new to the study of children. I should have known when she cried the first three months of her life she would be a challenge. I should have known when she skipped over the crawling and went straight to running I was in for it, but I didn’t.

When she was two and getting in trouble one day I sat her in a chair and told her to stay, like a dog I suppose. I told her if she got out of the chair I would spank her. I don’t know why. Spanking serves no other purpose than to hurt my hand, but that’s what I said. This played itself out several times and the only thing it got me was a sore hand. She never cried because her butt was covered with a diaper, but she did have fun tormenting me.

As the years passed the same situation presented itself over and over again in different scenarios mostly in the form of us screaming at each other. I never quite understood why until now that she would do anything her father said but fight me tooth and nail over the smallest thing.

Never does she have conflict with her father. If he asked her to do anything she does without complaint, because she knows this will pit him against her mother. If she severs their bond then she can becomes the leader. This can be her tribe. Dad always sides with mom but as a young child she never stops trying.

It’s just recently I hear people referring to their families as a tribes. It is the most accurate statement that can be made about the family unit. We are tribes. Preindustrialization, and modern man both men and women had roles to play. Although in the fifties era,  the Beaver Cleavers showed great signs of the separation of men and women in the home. Men went to work, they were hunters of food, protectors of the home. They were builders. The foundation of the very tribe in which they belonged. Women were the gatherers, the ones that nurtured the children into their appropriate place within the tribe. Women supplied the essence of tribes very life. Everybody has a job and they were clearly defined.

In the case of a mother and daughter. A daughter is meant for these things. I believe genetically. She is born to nurture, to supply the very essence of leadership that will one day support and guide her own tribe. Without her no tribe can exist. Now that’s not to say that boys and men do not serve the same functions in their roles but it’s clearly another essay. Females no matter the age are meant to do great things and conflict arises when there are two making the same soup.

My daughter from birth genetically, I believe, is a leader. All girls are. She wants to lead to take control of the tribe. She fights for this. She wants to make the decisions, and tells me no when she doesn’t like mine. It creates conflict, fights, a struggle between her very nature to be a leader and her age. This explains a lot about why little girls like dolls. They are playing the role of leader. Preparing for the day when she posses her own tribe.

When my daughter was three or four she wanted to pick her own clothes to wear. She wanted to make decisions, chose what she wore, what she ate, what cup she drank out of. These were all critical decisions that prepare her for life ahead. I let her do all these things. It actually makes my life easier. Now her choice is clothing hasn’t always been the best but it covered the parts of her body that needed to be covered so it was fine with me Because it is her peers that will judge her new look with blatant truth, I do not have to be the bad guy. It is her peers that become my greatest ally. They judge harshly and allow me to play the role of nurturer instead of dictator. They hurt her feelings when they say her outfit is ugly, or she’s fat, stupid, etc. To resolve this I get to tell her she is an individual, beautiful, brilliant. I get to educate her on proper nutrition, fashion, the three R’s of education. She turns to me and I become the hero, the caretaker, the wise one. It works in my favor every time.

As my daughter got older she found new ways to assert her leadership. She got bossy with everybody. The kids on the playground, our son, nana, papa, but never dad. She would tell her brother he was sick and he needed to stay in bed and home from school. She would command him to eat his veggies. Don’t throw sand at the playground someone could get hurt. Don’t go up the slide that way it’s not safe. She was being a mother and rightfully so. She is born to do this genetically, nurture, care for, emotionally tend to. We praise our daughters for these traits. We encourage these traits. This is her way of learning how to prepare for the future. How to be a mother. She immolates us because genetically that is what she is supposed to be learning in these early years.

As my daughter moves into the teen years she is afford more freedom to make tougher choices, more responsibility. She recently had to research a new school and find out if its a fit for her. She made the final decision and it coincided with mine. It worked naturally the way it’s supposed to. We have fewer fights because we work together for the greater good. I encourage her to make mistakes, take risks. She need only hear about my experiences but learn her own lessons.

I know a women that has three girls the oldest the same age as mine. She tells them how to dress everyday How to wear their hair. In fact she does it for them. They make no choices. None. They are told what sports they can play. The mother rules every aspect of their life. They have no freedoms. They are servants to their mothers will. Now this is extreme, but look forward ten years and picture what I see….rebellion and lots of it. Their mother has told me great, fantastical stories of her own rebellion but had not learned a single lesson from it.

There is not need to cuddle your child. The dress them, feed them, or rule with a heavy hand. Children by design know their path and are willing to tell us if we would only listen.

May 14, 2011

Schools

When we bought our house my kids were three and four, so my daughter would be stating school in the fall. I either didn’t think to at the time or didn’t care to check into the local schools. I wasn’t concerned about the districts grade point average, or the income level of families that attended. Those things are important to me now, although I’m not moving or selling my house.

Public education in California is a joke just like most state run agencies here. You can get free lunches, free bus passes, free everything if you just smear the truth a little bit. People do, and I don’t blame them because this is a tough economy to live in. California is expensive.

My daughter went to public school through fifth grade. I had complaints the whole way. The amount of teaching time that was taken away from the English speaking students to tutor and teach the none English speaking kids, even if they are illegal immigrants. The lack of homework, my daughter has been threatened, degraded, and insulted by a teacher.

The federal government says ever kid has the right to an education even if they are illegal. Ok, then teach my child Spanish in kindergarten. Instead my child has playtime while Spanish speaking get tutored in English. My daughters fifth grade teacher has tenure so he could threaten and insult the kids all he wanted to. The school board does nothing. I told her if his behavior was inappropriate to walk out and call me, she did. Still nothing was done. The school wouldn’t even put her in another class, because changing classes was against policy. My hands were tied. I took her out of the state funded public school system.

Charter schools.

I drive my kids fifteen miles one way to take them to a charter school. There first year there is almost over and it has been the best thing that ever happened to my daughter. My son could care less, school is school and he easy going so he makes friends everywhere. Now my daughter is the smart one. If her mind isn’t challenged she is a raging bitch. She fights, slams doors, is mean, won’t do anything you ask her. She’s out of control. She needs the challenge, and when she gets it she in perfect, amazing, incredible. My son on the other hand needs motocross. Without it he’s just sad. He withdrawals from the world.

It’s the end of the year and time for re-enrollment. Most of my daughters friends a going to a new charter school. She bummed. I told her I would consider it but she had to do the ground work which meant writing emails and calling the school for information. Now the charter school is sponsored by fender guitars for music and vans for the uniforms. Sounds good. The guitar lessons which are not part of the academics but rather an after school program are affordable but my daughter is not nor does she want to be a musician. I’m not sold. The tutoring programs are only available for a price, but there free at the school she attends now. Still not sold.

I don’t want to burst her bubble. I don’t want to let her down. She deserves a lot and works for it. What about science, math, English, history I asked her. You gather information on that and we will discuss it. She emailed the school a very professional letter questioning their academics. We haven’t gotten a reply and I don’t suspect we will. Her friend that is going there invited her to the orientation. She went and questionedthe teachers on the topics of academics. The blew her off. The only thing that the website talks about is farming. It’s an agricultural middle school. That’s all you get from the website besides the music after school program. My daughter came home disappointed and made the decision she didn’t want to go. She would rather make new friends than follow her current friends to a school that had no academic programs. Funny, she has the goal of taking trigonometry by the eighth grade. Im proud of her.

The lesson learned here is that not matter how beautiful the website. No matter how enticing the words like, academic, knowledge based, state certified, award winning programs are they are still words and prove nothing. I didn’t have to tell her no she came to that conclusion herself. Again I am proud of her for being the woman I know she is becoming.

May 14, 2011

Drama

Let the drama begin said the conductor to the audience. Just like that the orchestra begins and every player has their part. That’s how it goes. There is one conductor and everyone else has a role to play.

My daughter is eleven and has hit the age of drama. I consider myself lucky that she’s not the causing it. I would like to think that a healthy childhood leads to less drama. I have always told my daughter she is beautiful inside and out. She’s a little vain. I have always told her she is intelligent. Home and public schooled her. I have always kept it real. If she was being a bitch. I told her she was. If she wronged someone I made her apologize even if it was a small indiscretion. When someone was taking her lunch I made her stand up for herself. She did. When she got in a fight. I praised her for defending herself. She was in the right to do so. When her feelings were hurt we talked about it. I explained how life works and she is not now or will ever be the center of attention for everybody all the time. And, when it comes to drama I just won’t tolerate it. Jealousy, controlling, anger, bossy, you know all those things that wrap drama up in a nice little package agitate me to no end.

Now that my daughter is a little older, boys and drama are beginning to be an issue. She comes home from school and always tells me the latest. She bosses him around; he wants to break up with her; she not happy with him; he’s talking to another girl. Your getting the picture…right. We laugh about it quite a bit. My daughter always get caught in the middle between her friend and her friends new boyfriend of the week. She to is part of the orchestra.

Drama is nothing more than low self worth, self esteem, self value, however you wish to say it. I wonder how a perfectly normal, cute girl ends up this way. I could speculate that either her parents were to busy with their life or jobs to attend to her emotionally, or that they were just not educated enough on the matter to do so. Either way her she is causing drama and heartache for herself that will last a lifetime.

Being jealous and controlling is like taking flowers away from bees. You will never get any honey. The only person that suffers is you. Everybody else leaves, moves on. It defiantly sends you spiraling down further into you self loathing pit. Then where are you at. Alone in your room crying, eating ice cream which will make you fat not to mention feel that much worse about yourself. Why? Why go down that road? Don’t get me wrong it’s entertaining the daily gossip. It is.

I heard Jillian Michael’s say “Why chose failure when success is an option.” it’s a good question and applies to everything. Now I can’t stand Jillian Michaels for no other reason than I just don’t like the sound of her voice, but the statement holds true.

So the moral, why be jealous, controlling, bossy, you know. When you could just be happy. Why self loathe when you could be beautiful. Why cry when you could laugh? Why choose failure when you can be a success and not a psychological mess?

May 14, 2011

Segregation

I brought it up a couple of times and thought I would hit the note today.

I don’t remember much about being a little kid. We lived in a small town just outside Tulsa, Oklahoma. There was a long road that lead to our neighborhood of perfect brick houses, and all white people. I didn’t think anything of it then and I didn’t until I was in college.

You had to pass through the black neighborhood to get to ours, though they were several miles apart. I remember the tricycles on the front lawns which were not manicured. The wood that made the houses was not well painted. They were poor. There was one particular house that faced the road as we traveled down it. It wasn’t set to far back so you could see the old black man in his rocking chair on the front porch. He always waved. I’m sure he is long gone now, but I always remember his face smiling; his worn hands waving. He is a fond memory.

Our neighborhood had it’s own elementary school and since there was no black families there were no black kids. I must have been ten when they built low income housing in the farthest back part of our district. It definitely riled up some people. Not only did they not want that type of house they didn’t want the blacks moving in. One did. People referred to them as niggers and burnt crosses. The typical hate crimes though I doubt anyone was ever arrested. It was thirty years ago, and though I would like to say we have come a long way in society its probably not the truth even with a black president.

In college I took some cultural anthropology and worked with a girl who was black. She was great. I liked her, but lord let the demons lose if you brought up the word segregation. We weren’t friends to long after that. I was curious then about her family history. I wanted to see the other side. To know her opinions. My mistake and I never mentioned it to anyone again. She did kind of taint the pot a bit. I know it’s a sensitive topic and maybe I wasn’t that sensitive in my approach back then. But looking back I had no idea about her past or how she had been treated as a person.

I never realized how much my past affected me until my son was in kindergarten. even though I was a small child the actions of others had made their mark. My son, the very first day of school had found a best friend. He would come running up to me and give me the highlights of the day. Tell me about playing basketball, or chase. At no point did he ever tell me the kid was black. Nope never mentioned it, because it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t care. He didn’t see this kid defined by the color of his skin. At no point did he say I met a nigger today. Nope, his friend was just like any other kid, and one that had a lot in common him.

One beautiful afternoon I was a little early to pick up my son, so I parked and waited by the gate with several other parents. All of different races. When the kids came running out my son introduced me to his new friend. He’s black was the first thing that popes in my head. Couldn’t you find a white friend? That’s what I thought, and right there I realized how much growing up in that small town affected me.

I don’t consider myself a racist person, although I was and probably still am defined by the actions of the past. I met the mom and we chatted while the boys ran around us playing. She was a beautiful lady. She had heard so much about my son, as I had hers. We laughed about the stories the boys told. Talked about the up coming field trip. Made a play date for the weekend. Had a great time. Other than the color of her skin, she was no different than me. This was a moment of freedom for me. I unfairly judged based on my childhood experiences which I though I had left in my childhood.

I read a study not to long ago that had been recently done. Children don’t see color. Children don’t have hidden agendas. Children don’t see race. They don’t judge. Children see friends. They see playtime. Children only learn to hate, or judge through the actions of adults. As adults we should embrace their wisdom, hear their actions as their voice a small. Often times I feel my children are smarter than I.

Do I wish my past was different, no. I have fond memories of the man in the rocking chair. Do I wish people were treated different, with equality, respect. Yes. People should be judged on there individual character, there actions. We can learn volumes from our children’s actions if we open our eyes. I am glad to have the experiences I have and to live new ones through my children’s lessons.

I hope I did not offend here. That as always is not the intent. I simple wanted to share my story. My life experience.

May 13, 2011

Genetics

Have you ever thought about who you are? The person you were born to be. There’s a code that makes you just like the code that makes the program I write on. That code is obvious when you have your fathers nose, or your mothers eyes. Your personality comes out in the code when your mom says, “Your just like your father.” It’s true you are. This is a story about one kids code.

A boy seven years old was not allowed to see his father anymore. The mom had grown to hate the dad for whatever reason. The court ordered visitation but she refused. She was mean and vicious. I know a lot of women like her. At this point she had moved out of state, remarried and wanted to leave the past in the past which meant not contact for the son with his dad. How does this benefit anyone?

As the years went by, and there has been ten, the boy grew out of control. He learned to speak his mind. He did crazy insane things unlike his stepdad who liked fishing, watching tv, being mellow. They couldn’t understand how the boy had gone down this road. They had tried to be good parents. What they didn’t get was that genetically the boy was extreme, crazy, was ready and willing to meet everyday at 110 mph. She couldn’t handle him anymore.

The phone call came. I’m sending the boy to visit. I can’t handle him. He’s out of control. I laughed when I heard this. The stories perfectly represented my husband and my son. Both extreme. Both crazy. That’s what I love about them. They are willing to take the world on at a 110 mph. It’s who they are genetically. It who the boy is.

My son with with same father. Before my son rode motocross he didn’t participate in school. In the first grade he was failing. I didn’t make the connection until after motorcycles came into his life. His teacher called and asked why he was participating. He grades were improving over night. He was 7 then. When he was 8 he told me, “it’s ok if I die out there mom.” He meant that every word. He’s 10 now and not only is he a great rider, but a great student. He takes responsibility for his actions and he has earned the respect of many. He’s a great kid.

Because me and his dad get along so well we have stayed together over the years. We have a great marriage. My son gets to do all these things because he is genetically just like the man that’s raising him. If my son had to hangout with a guy that liked fishing he would be a trouble maker. He would find some negative way to vent. He would have no choice.

I’m just a little curious what’s with moms. First, the only one it hurts is the kid 100% of the time. You slept with the guy, and got knocked up now be responsible. Boys need men. Men should raise boys. They need their genetic fathers regardless of your pissed off attitude. I know this doesn’t apply in every case, men who abuse. You get the point.

How do boys learn to be men? My son called his friend a pussy little cry baby the other day. I’m not sure I agree with his verbiage, but it was the truth. I let it go. One day my son was training for a race he crashed. We were all there, me, the EMT, other riders. He was screaming. i asked him several times if he was ok. He couldn’t hear me. I screamed at him, “Stop your damn crying, be a man and tell us where the he’ll it hurts.” he did, and he has ever since.

The 17 year old was out he for three weeks. I think he thought it was going to be all California sun and fun. Not at my house. If it ain’t motocross I ain’t going and that includes the beach. Thats what we did. We had our toy hauler then and lived in it on the weekends. My son doesn’t take weekends off. He serious about his business. He doesn’t screw around. I respect that and he has earned my respect and the right to dictate what we do on the weekends.

My son will be a great man someday. Not because he is my son but because he is with his genetic father. They have a lot in common. They are meant to be together for life. They are meant to learn from one another.

I’m not saying that step parents can’t get the job done. They can. What I’m saying is that holding you child to punish a parent on damages the child genetically. Man up. Be a responsible human. Quit being a cry baby.

May 13, 2011

God

I’m going to venture out on a limb today and talk about God. My mom told when I was little that you don’t talk about religion or politics. I don’t. I rarely ever bring it up. Not even with my husband. Politics sends him on a rampage. He’s that guy. He listens to talk radio all day, so he is pretty well informed and has a strong opinion. I respect that, though our opinions differ on a lot of topics. Like most of us he sees the world his way, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I see the world mine, and we both agree to disagree. It keeps the peace.

God is something we both agree very strongly about. Not in the general go to church every Sunday sort of way though, and I am going to apologize right now if I offend you. Stop reading at any time.

When I was little I went to church most Sunday’s. We got dressed up and after church my mom would cook a feast. We all sat down at the table and made a picture perfect family. Nothing bad happened to me at church so it’s not where my opinion comes from. My opinion is based solely on the crazies out there.

The other day when I was at jury duty a man approached my in the parking lot. There was about a hundred people waiting to get in the building so I wasn’t intimidated. He wanted to talk to me about God. He was in his mid 20’s and was wearing a nice suit, and got one sentence out, before I went off.

First, (and I pause because I want to make sure he is listening.) you are not old enough to preach to me about god. I seriously doubt you have any worldly knowledge on the topic. With that I walked away. I’m sure he is a fine young man, but that’s the point he’s a man.

The bible is a book and like any other book it is left to ones interpretation. That’s the problem. Interpretation has lead us to war, rape, pillage, destruction, brain washing, etc. Interpretation is opinion. You have one and so do I. There is no other topic where interpretation enrages me as much as it does here.

I believe in god. I pray. What’s not to like about it. I have done the just this time god. I promise I will never do it again, until I do. It makes me human. I don’t pretend to be better than other people, I’m not. I follow the ten commandments especially the not killing people part. I try to do nice things and see other peoples side of the story. I’m a decent person I think. I might be wrong.

God is not the problem. Man is, and he’s frickin crazy, nuts, insane. I know that this may not apply to you, but it does apply to those who are. Take this war in Afghanistan, Palestine, Egypt all in the name of god. What about those catholic priests raping boys. God there to. What about the Mormons. Multiple wives, compounds, throwing young men out on the streets. God. Now I know Catholics and Mormons who are great people. In fact they are awesome and I am proud to know them. Only the nut jobs apply here, but there are enough of them to make me stay out of the churches and away from the cloth.

Who am I to judge you on your life. You have to do whats right for you. Make opinion where you have none. Follow your heart where ever it leads, but if it leads you into a church I’m not coming. When my dad retired he ran right to the church and became a pastor. He took some classes and boom he’s a pastor. Nothing wrong with that. He always wanted to go to seminary school. My grandma is the same. She’s 94 and watches the God channel all day. That’s fine. I have a client who’s a youth pastor. He’s awesome. I dig that that guy. None of this offends me, but I am not now and will never be willing to have a conversation about your interpretation of the bible. Nope never. God makes people do and say crazy things. Im not getting sucked into that.

Now that I’m thinking about I dated a guy when I was about 20. Everything was fine till he found God. We broke up. He wanted me to go to church with him every night, nope not doing it. He wanted me to take of Sunday’s from my job, nope not doing it. He turned crazy preaching all the time. I left. It’s simple. There is no other thing on this planet besides mother nature that has wrecked more havoc than mans interpretation of god. I want no part of it.

If all this means I am going to hell well then I hear they serve beer, sign me up. I don’t mean to make light of the situation. I respect your beliefs. I took a couple of classes on world religions in college. They were fascinating, and people are crazy.

May 13, 2011

From flowers we feast

I don’t pretend to be anything I am not. One thing that I am not is a gardener. I don’t have a green thumb so it is by chance that my garden is doing great.

For the last five years I have spent every weekend going to motocross with my son. Now life has afforded me a break. My daughter wants a social life and I am happy to oblige. She deserves it and I like staying home on the weekend.

My backyard was dirt and nothing else. Years ago I ripped everything out with the help of my golden retriever. She ate most of it. The sprinkler system is gone which is fine I don’t miss it, so I have to water by hand. I do this every morning at 7. It’s peaceful and I get to inspect all the new life and the damage from the bugs.

I for no other reason than the cost of lettuce I turned my whole back yard in to a vegetable garden. That’s how it started, lettuce. I love lettuce and I don’t want to pay a lot for it. So we set a plot dug the land with a shovel, made pretty little rows, planted seeds. It was fun. Something to do for a weekend. No big deal.

The next week came a I have to tell you I love a shovel in my hands. I love to dig in the dirt, so dig, dig, dig I did. As the days past I found that I had dug up my whole back yard with a shovel. I planted seeds, worked the ground, inspected the bugs, and even sought professional opinion. I took part in the process. I sowed the ground and I am excited about the outcome.

I now for a fact that I have enough produce back there to supply my whole street even after the bugs eat their share. I don’t mind the bugs. I don’t care if the have a great supper it might be their last. I don’t spray insecticides, but I go after them pretty fiercely. The pincer or earwigs are the worst. They destroy everything. I would rather have snails.

I think what really excites me about the whole thing is I am learning hands on. Amazing things happen over night. A whole new world opens before my eyes every day. I began planting in the middle of March and now it is the middle of May. At this point the only thing that my garden has produced is lettuce and spinach. The bugs eat a lot of the spinach but I am happy with what they have left. It’s easier to share than it is to be pissed off about it.

The plants are so big now. The tomato plants have flowers, the squash and zucchini plants have flowers etc.etc. I didn’t know that it is from the flower that the fruit comes. It’s the same with my orange and lemon tree. Flowers. At this point I feel that I kind of sound dumb, but I honestly never knew this. I also didn’t know you could east squash and zucchini flowers. Im excited to try this.

From the flowers we will feast, and a feast it will be. There will be plenty of zucchini, squash, Swiss chard, spinach, lettuce, arugula, carrots, potatoes. I also have a full of array of herbs. Truth be told I can’t wait. I have been experimenting with all kinds of herbs and vegetables in preparation for this day, and I must say I have done a fairly decent job. The chefs would be proud.

From flowers we will feast.

May 11, 2011

Write about a mistake you can learn from?

There are so many to chose from. When I read this I thought it would be easy. A huge mistake I learned a lesson from. I guess all the little mistakes add up after a while.

I watch parents. I listen to what they have to say. I respect the fact that most try to be the best parent they can. Kids don’t come with handbooks. We all heard this from our mothers. Now that we are parents we understand. There is one thing that I find I learn the most from my kids. I say I’m sorry when I’m wrong.

When my parents were wrong and they were a great deal of the time. They never apologized. There word was law regardless. We had no voice and even if we did it meant very little. I see kids that face this situation all the time.

Kids have opinions, ideas about the world. They see through fresh lenses. They learn from us and god willing they learn something decent. I have bad habits. I say stupid things and pretend to know things I don’t. I don’t pretend to be a good mom, but I try.

Over the years I have apologized with tears in my eyes for being wrong. I didn’t listen. I jumped to conclusions. I got mad. I punished when I should have been praised. I wanted it my way, and I didn’t want them to see my shame. I was and am superior to them. I’m not.

Being wrong is part of life. It’s who we are. I don’t mind being wrong these day. In fact I cherish the moments when I can show humility. I have learned that this is not a dictatorship. It is a relationship and like a marriage or a friendship, and it has to be treated as such. I have to let my children make the wrong choices so they can make the right decisions. I am only here to help guide them down a decent path. Open their eyes to my experiences and let them make their choice based on that.

Children have a voice that should be heard. They are individuals who are nothing like us. It doesn’t always have to be done my way. There way might be better. Apologize it will bring a world of gifts. Children forgive like dogs. Lol.

For the mistakes I’ve made I have learned to apologize. I have learned to let go and move on. My children are great teachers.