Posts tagged ‘pride’

May 30, 2011

Memorial Day

I never really think to much about this. As it turns out it’s just another day off, although today I chose to come into work. It’s the first time I have worked this particular holiday in eight years.

As always I sat on my front porch drinking coffee with my husband, reading emails, playing words with friends, checking groupon. The usual stuff. Not thinking anything about the day. It just a day. Then…….my iPad started beeping with all the site subscriptions I have. Everyone was writing about Memorial day in one way or another.

The lives that have been lost; the lives that have been forgotten. The injured. The found. Every life has a value to someone. Every person has been loved. Everyone gone remembered in some way by someone.

I work with Marines. I have lost friends, and acquaintances to war. I remember them often. The smile on their faces. The sound of their voice. The kindness in their hearts. The things they loved to do with their free time: skydiving, sailing, rock climbing, biking, etc. They are all amazing men.

At work guys don’t speak of the war much. I never really ask. Their home. There with family and the war is in the past, although I hear my share of stories.  Most are amazing and totally different than what you hear in mass media. It makes you wonder, so I no longer watch stories about the war.  The Marines are proud and I am proud of them.

I have meet boys who are now men that have lost their sight, their arms, their legs, the normal mental state. I used to feel sorry for them. I don’t anymore. They are proud of their misfortune. Proud of the job they have done. Willing to do it again without regret.

I don’t think about all I am grateful for everyday. I should. We have many freedoms that others don’t.  I should be more grateful. It’s a shame we need a day to celebrate the one who sacrificed. Those who have lost their lives for our benefit. Those who have sacrificed their lives for the ones they love. The country they love. It’s a shame that as a people we forget. We get so involved with the day to day we simply don’t have the time to remember. At the very least we have today.

In loving memory of my friend.

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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 16, 2011

Gratitude

I’m not a great writer, but I enjoy it. I’m not very good at telling stories either but I’m trying. I hope you get from this story the joy I got from hearing it.

I work all day Sunday and the best part of work is the conversations. Most of the time the chatter is about nothing more than what guys did Friday and Saturday night. It’s always interesting, drunk stumpers, raging parties, but yesterday was different I meet a guy who had just come home from Afghanistan. I know lots of guys that had been though I don’t usually ask them about their trip. This guy shared part of his.

It’s easy to take for granted that we have running water and electricity. We have had it all our lives. When ever we feel like it we can use the bathroom, take a shower, wash our hand, have a drink. It nice. We can turn on the light and read a book to our children, put on a night light when our children are scared of the dark, have motion detectors out side to secure our property. Water and electricity alone gives us the life of royalty many wish they had.

It is my understanding that for the most part people around the world want what we have. What we take for granted, and it’s not just the basics like water, electricity. It’s everything. It’s safety, protection, rights, education, freedom, shelter, and these are what we consider basic rights. Then we have more above and beyond the basic needs, iPads, computers, cars, money, nice clothes, toys, and time to spend with our family. When you lay it out like this we truly are kings and queens like no other in history.

The man I talked to lived in a remote area of Afghanistan for seven months. There was no water or electricity. No bathrooms, no showers. For him it was an amazing experience. They built schools and kept the village safe. They helped where the could and the people appreciated it. The form bonds with the elders and are greatly missed now that they a gone although another group has come to take their place.

As the guy was telling me about all that they didn’t have and how they wanted to be like us. I had only one question. Is gratitude a hard concept for his daughter to understand. (I had noticed her walking by with him before he came in to get his hair cut. She was about the age of my daughter and I was a little curious.) He smiled, and I knew the story would be great.

As he did his duty in a country that very little he found that the people were basically happy. They appreciated even the simplest things. When he would call his daughter and tell her how the kids had no toys, no game stations, nothing that we have the daughter wanted to do something special. Over the years they had bought there daughter build a bears from the places they had traveled. She had a fine collection of thirty or more. With the help of her mom she boxed all of them up and shipped them to her dad. For every bear her father gave away he took a picture to send to his daughter. In her room she has all the picture of the happiness she brought into this world. She was unselfish and kind. She found a way to relate to those less fortunate than her. She gave without any expectation of monetary return.

The dad said the kids were happier than you could imagine. They didn’t believe that some would do something so generous. The shared this new found joy with their friends. This is a type of gratitude that most of us will never know. Most of us will never visit a third world country and see the face of a young child smiling with gratitude, but today I wish I could.

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 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 11, 2011

Walk a mile

Walk a mile in my shoes

I was listening to pandora last night, Everlast. There is nothing I don’t like about his music. It has a southern soulful sound to it. It has a sense of meaning to me. I can relate. A song from Eminem came on, beautiful. I’m not a huge fan of his music but this particular song influenced me. If you get a chance listen.

I don’t pretend to know anything, no nothing at all.
I don’t pretend to be smart
I don’t pretend to be tall

Life has afforded me great things
But great things need life
I have failed them all

I’ve tried so hard
The tears I have wept
The promises I’ve made
The lies I’ve kept

I suppose this sums up the life each one of us has had to lead at one time or another. Those are not the words from is song. I didn’t want to copy. From the very poor to the very rich life is complicated. Money doesn’t change that or make it better. Emotionally it is the about the same, extracting the from the equation those who are insane, mental, you get the point. No matter who you are or what you do you have to dealt with the human plight of emotions. Walk a mile in sorrow, happiness, fear. I know there are you’s out there that can’t relate, can’t feel another’s pain because you have never faced the tragedy. You will in one way or another. You have in your on way.

When I was little I lived on the outskirts of tornado alley. I grew up in segregation and I’m not that old. I have seen devastation. I have had a friend die at the hands of a bomb in Afghanistan, been addicted to drugs, lied for the benefit of me, and never made amends for the things I did to another. I have been made the fool, made a fool of you. I have cheated; I have deceived. I have done terrible things as part of my life.

I have help a friend, showed kindness where there was none. I have cared about issues, stood my ground in the defense of others. I have brought two beautiful children into this world. I have cried for your pain, and lent a hand to the fallen. I have apologized for the feelings I hurt, and felt compassion for the wrong doings of others. I have brought happiness, love and joy where there was sorrow. I have done good things.

That should be about a mile if indeed it can’t be measured. You know me better, but there isn’t much there that is different from you. Maybe you weren’t addicted to drugs or seen a disaster first hand. Both are unique, tragic. The disaster is an act of mother nature. Tornados are amazing, incredible things until they destroy your home. Drugs. I loved them, but they destroy your life. Most who used will agree in one aspect or another. Segregation afforded me perspective. A mile in the shoes.

Nothing I have done that follows me down the road I am on serves regret. I don’t hide from the past. It doesn’t torment me. I don’t let it. My miles have been long. It’s been a dusty road. One that feels no sorrow for my pains. I don’t want it to. I made all my choices. I stand by all my decisions, every one no matter how stupid they were.

Walk a mile in anyones shoes and you will see that they are much like you. Every emotion we have is called the same. Everyday begins and ends the same. Every mile is measured the same. It’s what we do with those emotions that make us different.

May 5, 2011

Anna

I have always written. I suppose when I was younger I wrote as a way to make sense of my life. A way to cope with my youth. When I was sad I wrote about sad things and when I was happy I wrote happy thoughts. it seemed straight forward. I don’t i ever really put much thought into it. I did it because it was something that freed my mind and potentially got rid of emotions that would have been otherwise bottled up.

The is a time of year that comes when summer is ending and the skies are turning gray that i feel a sense of sadness, a longing for something. I look for answers, for meaning. There must be something there my eyes just can’t focus on. I long for purpose. i want to understand. It is also in this moment my mind feels clear, renewed, fresh. This is my favorite time of year and it never last long enough. There is a part of me that wants to keep these feeling with me always, and a part that is relieved it is gone. It drains me. Its everything and nothing. Its all encompassing and all letting go.

I have written so much; so many words have left my pen. So many thoughts have crossed my path. Each one making me who i am now. The influences have shown through, memories have taken there proper place, emotions danced in costumes larger than life across the landscape.  Every word, every thought, every moment. Its all gone

I knew that when i moved 7 years ago from my tiny duplex in to my home i threw away everything in my garage. I didn’t open the boxes. There were lots. Books from college, papers i had written, journals i had kept. All of it gone. It was a conscience decision.  The feeling of purging the past and starting new, fresh, clean. I didn’t think twice then about letting all of it go. I don’t miss it. I don’t want it back.

There was a story. I have only written a few stories. There was one though about Anna. She was beautiful. Over the years I have seen her face, her longing, her emotions. I see her so clearly. I have kept her close. The story was short and I don’t remember the lines. She sat in the most comfortable chair, worn over the years. Laughter, happiness sorrow, they all rested with her.  A blanket nesseled by her side. Woven by her hands brought comfort. She waited, not a moment went by. The silence embraced her. There was a window, tattered curtains, that looked to the fields surrounding her tiny home. With that she is gone. The words missing.

If I had kept one thing. A story, an impression, a thought, a feeling that encompasses everything. Anna’s story would be the one. I have her with me now, though only a memory.

May 3, 2011

Dear John

Dear John

I do not know your name, but that is no matter does nothing it change.  We meet only a short while ago and the impression that was made is genuine. I was excited when we met that you life offered such enthusiasm. You are dedicated and took serious the endeavors laid out before you.
This is impressive in every person, so it is not the reason I write.

It was by chance that we meet for a second conversation and like any we got to know each other a bit. I felt knowledgeable when we chatted because you took the information that I had to offer to heart.  You listened and thats a rare quality. I fear it is not one that I possess and its not for trying. I just find it hard. You are genuine on that matter and like others, i am sure, you made me feel important. I am at loss for words to say, although i must admit i admire you a great deal.

In times of times we pass people by if only for a short moment and though the impression you have made will not last a lifetime it will last long enough to put motion in place. For days now your influence has plagued me though not like a disease that i wish to be rid of. Rather you are a constant thought turning the wheels in my mind. It seems to come at the appropriate time. I needed just this very thing. I had stopped, lost sight, turned blind. You, not even a friend or an acquaintance but just a mere person walking down the same small part of the road, have shown your presence in several things i have not only written but have done.

As time passes and new arrangements are made your influence will dissipate, vanish. Should our roads continue to cross you will become the norm and not the cherished as you are now. Today though I wanted to thank you. You have made a difference. The impression is appreciated; that should not go unsaid.

Sincerely

January 9, 2011

Dance, Dance, Dance

It just seemed fitting to post on some of the topics I have missed: Don’t give up, Fear, oh yes an Aha moment. These three phrases speaks volumes.

Don’t give up and Losing interest.

Life is tough. You know it and I know it. Some days it totally sucks, and others are the best days of your life.  When I was very little I wanted to be a stock broker, but I knew that I would never be a mom if that was the path I chose. My final decision was to be a mom. I have never regretted that choice. I lost interest in being a stock broker. Life changed.

Being a parent is amazing and I absolutely dig my outlook on it. First, I can now talk to myself and it is perfectly acceptable. It also help to wear a bluetooth in your ear. When my kids were babies I would have whole conversations with them as I pushed them around the store. Of course they were to young to respond to my adult conversation, but I had someones undivided attention to tell my troubles to. Let me just say that talking out loud solves more problems that just keeping them locked up in your mind. A problem pondered upon is a problem unsolved. This is exactly the reason we tell our troubles to our friends, jot them down on paper.

Second, you can do anything your kids do and get away with it. Kids love to run down the isles of Costco, which is one of those buy in bulk warehouse stores. Jumping on the bed or other house furniture is great fun to. Dancing to a song you hear where ever you are. Making ridiculous faces to the people driving by. Lying in bed all day and feeling good about it. My all time favorite now that my kids are older, embarrassing them in public.

Having kids can change your life for the fun. I would never do any of these things if I didn’t have kids. It would be unacceptable. That’s just all there is to it. People would think your mad, crazy, loony. Even now that my kids are older I think out loud. They frequently ask who I am talking to and I always reply to them although there is no need for them to listen.  I have also learned that others opinions of me means little if anything at all. What’s important here is to have fun. I love acting like a kid.

Kids are naturally curious about everything around them.  My kids have gotten me to go through the mosh to catch frogs. It was a tom sawyer day pants rolled up to my knees and all. Make birds fly. Have you ever run into a crowd of birds and watched them fly away. Or laid on the beach and just let the waves wash over you. How about dancing on the coffee table.  Kids will boost your confidence to do these things. Make all your fears go away. They are totally an AHA moment.  I would have missed out on so much of life if I had not had kids.

Again still sick so Im not editing. Sorry if my thoughts Are not complete Thanks for reading