The Legacy of Frank

He stands at the grill, spatula in hand, his few hamburgers are surrounded by veggie burgers while he is surrounded by other cooks tending to them. He wonders when he became obsolete, when his large family became too busy to attend a holiday gathering, when the meat and potatoes he worked so hard to feed his wife and children for so many years became poison, replaced by rabbit food patties. This was his post for decades. He stood at the grill, and fired up hot dog after buger after hot dog. He handed them out to adults and children alike following the question, "How do you like it cooked?" The kids would shovel in their food as quickly as possible so as to make it back to the pool in time to not miss any of the action. He was surrounded by family then. His six children, and their children (his 12 grandchildren), all cajoling, laughing, and back slapping. Today he looks around. Only three of his children are in attendance; one son with his third wife, his only daughters are the other two that came, both divorced, one still single (who will always be) and the other with her beau. Two grandchildren are present, one who has her own son, his great-grandson, a child with a beautiful smile and an infectious laugh.

He loves having them there. He has worked hard his entire life to be surrounded by family. His devotion to his family is part of his heritage. His father was an immigrant from Italy, this type of get-together is his legacy. He is saddened that the importance of family gatherings is lost on the next two generations. The swimming pool that used to be in the back corner of the yard has been filled in. He has become too old to keep up with maintaining it, and these gatherings have become so few and far between that it was never used anyway. The spans of this large backyard seems almost a waste, as nobody comes around to celebrate in it anymore.

He finds himself getting weepy as they leave. He is saddened when these gatherings draw to a close, as the next one will certainly be far into the future. Until then the house will be full of silence and echoes of times past when the bedrooms were full, and the comings and goings numerous.

As they leave he thinks, "God bless their souls". He has lived a good life. He has wonderful children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren (there are 4 now!). He has lived to see his family grow and thrive. He is proud of what he and his wife have accomplished, the legacy they have left. He pours himself another drink and begins cleaning the yard, already looking forward to the next time he will see them all.

**My grandfather is an amazing man. He is full of love. He can't sit still for very long (even though he is in his eighties), as his entire life has been an active one (he worked three jobs to support his wife and children). He is the hardest worker you will ever meet, and more devoted to those he loves that anyone I have every known. He is a veteran (United Stated Marine Corps). His Memorial Day backyard get together was very sparse this year. I was saddened by the small turnout. I am one of the rabbit food patty eaters. I seriously considered eating a burger just to make him feel better. Amusingly enough, The Good Guy confided in me later that he too had considered eating a burger so that my grandfather would feel more essential. We did have a good time, as did all of those who came.

Udder

The Good Guy's daughter (reminder: she's 8) was at the playground in our apartment complex the other day swinging next to and chatting with a little boy who is close to her in age (his name is Taylor). After a little while she came running over to where we were seated, sat down next to her father and asked:

"Daddy, what does udder mean?"

"Well, it means a couple of things, for instance, you know cows have udders, right?"

"Yeah, but, Taylor said he was going to play with his udder friends"

I simultaneously had three thoughts (while trying not to laugh out loud).

One: Poor thing, that little snot nosed brat didn't want to play with her-she's going to feel rejected*

Two: She's better off. That kid is really weird...And he can't even pronounce 'other'.(Have I mentioned how protective I am of the people I love? I don't generally have prejudices about speach impediments)

Three: This is hysterically funny, and I must share it with the blogging world.

Kids truly do say the darndest things.

*FYI: She was far from traumatized; she found something else fun to do within approximately 2 minutes of discovering (via her father's diplomatic translation) that Taylor was seeking out alternative playmates.

“How tedious is a guilty conscience!” ~John Webster

I had a piece of key lime pie before I left work tonight. I was STARVING and the cooks had already closed up the kitchen by the time my side-work was done. All that was available to me was dessert.

Now I feel guilty. Which leads me to the need to blog about guilt (I seem to be coming up short on new subject matter).

Guilt is a wonderful reaction that I have to almost everything imaginable. (And when I say 'wonderful' what I really mean is 'lousy, distressing, unpleasant, and/or annoying'). I attribute this response to my mother's cultivating it during the entire time I resided under her roof. I have no idea if she did this on purpose or if it was simply how she was raised, and therefore she passed it on to me. It is irrelevant at this point in time because guilt is something that I feel in an almost carnal manner. No amount of conscious rationalization seems to quell the unconscious need my mind has to feel guilty.

My jeans are too damn tight. Winter months in a small town in a cold climate are HELL on the waistline. Food has been my savior for as long as I can remember. I eat out of boredom, I eat when I'm upset, I eat to celebrate, I eat when I'm depressed. I have struggled with my weight for as long as I can remember. I was always the pudgy kid. Not fat, just not 'trim'. I was 'not trim' enough to be the fat friend (at least I always felt that way). Therefore, not eating junk food is an exercise in self control and will-power. I am probably the skinniest I have ever been (at least I was when winter started). So, whenever I eat crappy food, I feel guilty. Like...like I've failed somehow. I feel (seriously, one piece of pie has this effect) like my stomach is bloated and my thighs and butt have grown.

J bought me lunch today. She knows I'm financially strapped and decided we should get lunch and offered to buy. I took her up on it. Now, I feel guilty. She's just as poor as I am. I shouldn't have accepted. I suck. Moocher.

I had the kids on Sunday while The Good Guy was at work. I was exhausted from closing the restaurant and then getting up early the two days prior. And, I had to work Sunday night. I was not exactly my good-time self. I feel guilty for being totally preoccupied with the need to sleep while they were trying to get me to play. Loser.

See? I could rationalize that one piece of pie (in lieu of a meal) isn't going to make me tubby, or that J is coming into some extra money and she can afford one $30 lunch, or that the kids were fine and they needed that reading time I made them take while I snuck in a nap.

Still, the guilt lingers on.

It's okay though. I don't seem to be losing sleep. The guilt doesn't last forever. AND, I usually feel really skinny when I wake up in the morning (something having to do with gravity sucking on my stomach fat while I lie in bed).

I do wonder though, is guilt taught, or is it in-born? Is it a gender thing? Is is passed down primarily from mothers to daughters, or do sons carry the burden as well? Do fathers play a role in the passing-on of guilt? Where does religion come in? I am not religious. Spiritual maybe, religious-NO. Organized religion makes me cringe (there's another long post that may leave some offended), so that's certainly not the root of my guilt. It's an interesting phenomenon this "guilt". Does it keep us in check, or hold us back (perhaps a bit of both?)

Well, whatever. I've had two glasses (maybe 3?) of wine, and I feel the guilt melting away. I think that if I were sober, this post would be much more meaningful (Oh, goodness-should I feel guilty about being tipsy?) But, it is what it is-entertainment for me and my few loyal readers.

I would like to open my comment section to thoughts anyone may have on this 'guilt' phenomenon. Who experiences it? To what degree? How do you think it came about?

Oh, and this is a note to self more than a note to anyone reading: I intend to write a post about the book I just read, and the fact that it has inspired me to write a novel :-) No, seriously!

Conditioned Maturity in the Face of Genetic Inferiority

I was once asked out on a date by a fellow co-worker who is easily twice my age. He is a nice man, a former hippy, and has a daughter close to my age. I handled it all wrong. Hooooey, did I handle it wrong! I wanted to classify and clarify that I would accompany him to see a movie (as a friend), but that I had no intention of "dating" him. He said that he doesn't live his life like that, that he can't make determinate statements such as "I will never be romantically involved with you". I told him that I can, and do. It was shortly after my divorce, and I knew that I couldn't placate people. I couldn't make others happy by pretending I was something other than I am. I had decided that I eventually want children, and I wasn't the least bit interested in him romantically, or sexually. I knew that I never would be for a variety of other reasons. I forget the order of events, but ultimately I told him I had to think about it, and when I finally had the courage to tell him no, he was so completely angry that he told me I was off the hook before I could have a discussion with him.

Time has passed, and we're once again comfortable acquaintences. But, something he said to me at one point during the unfolding of those uncomfortable events has stuck with me. He told me that no matter how old your body gets, you still feel young inside. As you get older, you become surprised with the old face that looks back at you in the mirror because you still feel the same inside.

I looked in the mirror today and paused. Who the hell is that woman? She's a grownup! When on earth did that happen, and where was I? Of course, when I really think about it, I've had a lot of experiences. This age (and I realize that I'm not elderly) didn't exactly sneak up on me, but...sometimes it's all a blur. I really have to think about how I got here, and when exactly I become an adult.

For that matter, when will I start acting like one?

Sometimes I act like one.
For instance: Today I had this miserable old man at a table. These people come into a nice restaurant and ask me first thing if they can order dinner and have it served to them in time for them to eat it and be out the door in 40 minutes. Ten years ago I would have said, "Um, no, but, McDonalds is around the corner. However, at my wise, ripe old age of 28 (and counting) I simply listed the quickest meals on the menu, deflected smart ass comments from the miserable old gentleman in the party, and got them out the door in their desired timeframe. I was so pleasant that I even had the old guy smiling before he left. Freakin' amazing.

Let me tell you about me at 18 years of age.
Miserable middle aged guy who frequents the grocery store where I am employed decides he doesn't owe a late fee for a video rental (despite what the computer says). I tell him that he'll have to talk to the General Manager who is not working at the moment. He says okay and walks away. A couple minutes later he comes up and says he really wants to talk about this with a manager. So, I call the manager who is currently working. Before the manager arrives I remind the gentleman (I use this word as more of a joke than anything) that though this manager can speak with him, he doesn't have the power nor the authority to do anything other than listen to the complaint.

The Guy LOSES it on me. He asks why I bothered calling the guy, why didn't I say anything before I paged him, blah blah blah.

I pretty much tell the guy he's a lunatic and that I had told him all the same stuff just minutes prior.

He insults me in some manner and then calls me a little girl.

So I respond, "Ok, old man"

He proceeds to shake his finger at me and scream (red faced and spitting). "Listen you LITTLE BITCH you're lucky I don't slap you across the face!"

*Sidebar-I'm a little girl (his words) whom he is threatening with bodily harm. Nice.

At this point my manager arrives and tells the guy not to speak to me in this manner. I forget what happened next because I was too stunned to think and this was one of those rare occasions in my life when I was rendered utterly speachless.

Couldn't.
Speak.

Back to the present: I SO could have handled that better. But, I was eighteen years old and was still working under the assumption that the biggest asshole wins.

I was wrong.

I am amazed at the pleasure I get from being calm and rational while being verabally accosted. I am also amazed at the frequency with which my calm politeness creates a certain amount of reciprocity where there was formerly a distinct lack of civility.

Yet, while the moments where I am calm and rational in the face of blatant meanness are more recurring than they once were, the moments where I want to win the battle of hard-ass still exist. I still have this pigheaded portion of my character that feels as though I need to make it clear to the other guy that I am a human being, not a punching bag. But most of all, I want it clear that they are wrong and I am right.

I've decided it's genetic. My initial, gut reaction (which I can trace directly to my mother) will always be the same, "Hey buddy-did you know you're a JERK?!" However, my conditioning is making it somewhat easier to think, "Okay, maybe this guy's dog just died, or his mom is ill, or his kid is hooked on drugs, and the only way he is making it through today is to lose control with a stranger." Then I generally achieve a placid, composed response.

On the days when I try hard and succeed in achieving the conditioned response, I see my reflection and think, "You've come a long way, baby."

On the days when I role my eyes, emit a deep sigh, and retaliate; I look at my reflection and think, "You still have really far to go."

What Begins With M?

I have willingly decided to play a game wherein I am given a letter and must list ten words beginning with that letter and what they mean to me. I happened upon the game on Steph's blog and she has given me the letter M. I will extend the same invitation to my readers as she did to hers...leave me a comment with a request for a letter if you'd like to play. Here's my list, in totally random order.

1. Margaritas - Tequila, Lime, and salt. What does this mean to me? Good times, good taste, and refreshing! I'll take them on the rocks, I'll take them frozen, and I'll take a lot of them in the right company and circumstances.

2. Mom - This is a BIG one. I could devote an entire blog to what this word means to me. My relationship with my mom has had many ups and downs over the years, but I think we've reached a place of mutual respect and understanding. She gave me the tools I needed to make it through life's bumps, and she was my best friend through childhood and the tumultuos adolescent years. I love her very much. Will I ever be a mom? I'd like to be, but we never really know what the future holds, do we? What is my relationship to The Good Guy's kids? Eventually I will probably be step-mom. I will continue to walk a fine line where I give maternal love while trying not to give anyone the impression that I'm attempting to replace mom. I realize that being a mother whose ex-spouse has a new mate must be threatening and extremely difficult. But rest assured, the other side of that dilemma is not easy either. I don't want overstep my bounds, but I also don't want to be distant and unapproachable. Ocassionally I feel like a tight-rope walker.

3. Music - I love music. Clint Black has a song (the title evades me at the moment), the chorus goes, "Ain't it funny how a melody can bring back a memory, take you to another place in time, completely change your state of mind..." Oh, how true. My music tastes are as wide ranging as my moods (and for those of you that don't know me-it's a wide range). Just the other day, I was driving somewhere, and I was in a somewhat foul mood when a Bon Jovi song came on the radio. (Laugh if you will, but all music has a place, even Bon Jovi.) I started belting out the lyrics to the song and found myself smiling away. My mood shifted. I decided that I need to make a mixed CD of songs that elevate my mood for those times when rainy day blues take over. Just a few of my selections (there are LOTS more) would include; Sinatra's The Best is Yet to Come, Springsteen's Ain't got you, Sara Evans' Perfect, Nora Jones' Sunrise, Junior Brown's Highway Patrol or My Wife Thinks You're Dead, and Kenny Wayne Shepherd's Everything is Broken.

4. Mexican Food - Yes, not only do I enjoy imbibing that Mexican beverage, but I truly enjoy the food that goes along with it. It's wonderful that as a vegetarian I can go into a Mexican restaurant and pick any meal on the menu. Does it have meat? Yes? Well, I'll just substitute that meat with some vegetarian beans please! Just the other day I had a scrumptious chimichanga at a quaint little Mexican restaurant with my sister. And, it was so big that my leftovers became dinner for The Good Guy!

5. Movies - We don't have TV. We have a TV, but it is only used to watch movies. When I left my husband (who spent a large percentage of his life planted in front of the TV) I decided that I would not have cable again. But, we do watch a movie two or three nights a week. It's a wonderful way to keep our couch potato/brain rotting time to a minimum while still having quiet mind numbing evenings.

6. Money - The root of all evil? I don't think so. The root of many problems? Yeah, I'll agree with that. I don't want to be wealthy, just comfortable without a mountain of debt. I don't think I would ever be comfortable if I was wealthy, I would have a constant sense that others have suffered (and continue to) so that I may live in excess. However, I watched my parents struggle to make ends meet their entire lives, and I don't want that for myself. So, I'm going to school to be a therapist of sorts. I'll make a modest living while helping people. I'll stay away from Walmart, and I'll frequent as many locally owned non-corporate shops as I can. Then I'll be able to sleep at night.

7. Merlot - Generally not my favorite wine, but I like it just the same. I prefer Chianti and Shiraz. I've never been much of a white wine drinker. I stick to reds.

8. Memories - I love photographs. I love reminiscing with family and friends about good times we have experienced together. I love the idea that a loved one is always with you as long as you have memories of them.

9. Maybe - What a great word. It gives the speaker time to think before commiting to an answer one way or the other when unsure. I use it with the kids regularly. I'm somewhat new to this parenting thing, and I need time to think to myself; is that really a good idea?

10. Master's Degree - Ugh. I need a Master's degree to become a licensed Art Therapist. However, at the end of next semester I will only have a Bachelor's degree after two and a half years of schooling and I need a break. I'm burned-out. My plan (keep your fingers crossed for me) is to get a job, work for a couple of years, and return to school part time for my Master's if I can't find a job that makes me happy and accepts my current qualifications.

That was fun. Let me know if you want to play.

The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who can't read them. - Mark Twain

I love books. If I was wealthy (monetarily speaking) I would have my own private library. I am capable of losing all track of time and spending hours on end in a book store. I remember as a kid that my dad would take me to a wonderful bookstore near his home and tell me that I could pick out a book. Then we would part ways. I would go to the section of the store that had books at my reading level, and take great care to make the decision of which book would be coming home with me. Generally I was incapable of narrowing down my options to just one, (there were hundreds to choose from!) so my father would give in and allow me 2 or 3. The poor guy, how do you say no to a kid that is begging for books? He didn't stand a chance. I read them all voracioulsy. To this day I love the feeling of getting lost in a book. I love all of the potential that a trip to the book store holds. I love the sensation of so many options and so little time. I love that I can connect with people through books. Secretly, I'm always a little disappointed when I complete a book because the story is then over.

This year I had no idea what to get my mother for Mother's Day, so I did what I always do when I'm at a loss for gift giving ideas; I went to the book store. I spent at least an hour pawing through the merchandise, reading jacket covers and trying to use self restraint when making selections. Several times I asked for help at the sales counter when I recalled a portion of a title that had been recommended to me, but came up short when trying to recall the author's name, or the entire book title. I bet they love that!

While I was there a bus load of teenagers came in. I overheard various discussions (because, quite frankly, these kids were EVERYWHERE), and I gathered that these kids were from somewhere in NYC. There were cell phones going off left and right, MP3 players blaring in various ears, and groups of kids taking up entire ailes so that I had to walk around them to get to where I needed to go. I couldn't stop smiling. These kids were shopping for BOOKS! Not all of them where thrilled with the idea, but many of them were very serious about making their selections. They were in the store for almost as long as I was, and when they were ready to leave, the check out line was a mile long. I'm not a teacher. I couldn't be, my patience level is nowhere near the required level. Still, expanding minds excite me! The concept of adolescents choosing to read makes me giddy. I truly believe the potential in all of us is enhanced by expanding our minds. I also believe that books are one of the main resources we have for mind expansion. I was beaming!

I did (of course) find a gift for my mom. I also found one for my grandmother, one for someone I can't name because he/she reads my blog and (of course) one for myself.

Incase anyone is interested, the following were my selections:

For Grandma: A cookbook titled, "Splenda". She's daibetic. I thought it would be helpful. Besides, she's lived through enough Mother's Days and birthdays that she has a home full of trinkets and everything she wants or needs. She's a very practical, wonderful woman.

For Mom: "Falling Through the Earth, a memoir" by Danielle Trussoni. My mother's husband has severe PTSD resulting from the Vietnam War. Living with and loving him is no easy feat, but she remains loyal to him and continues to be devoted him. This book is a memoir of a woman whose father never really stopped fighting the battle he was immersed in while in Vietnam, and her choice to stand by him when everyone else gave up on him. I thought it appropriate.

For me: "The Wisdom of a Stary Night, Using the Power of Great Art for Self-Awareness" by Sharon Marson. This book was inexpensive and I had to have it. The book is a compilation of various pieces of art accompanied by introspective questions such as, "Who is in your inner circle?", and "What runs through your veins?" Art and personal growth are at the forefront of my life right now. I am one semester away from getting my degree in Creative Arts in Therapy, and this book resonated with me. For seven dollars, how could I pass it up?

For the person who will remain nameless: I can't say of course!

Bipolar

I struggle with how much to articulate my frustrations. I don't want to be a Negative Nancy, but I also don't want to deny my true feelings-that's how you get an ulcer. Here's a little sample of the thought processees I am undergoing this evening (keep in mind as you read this that it is REALLY late and I'm very tired, but my mind won't shut down enough for me to be capable of sleeping).

~5 people go out to dinner at a nice restaurant where dinner averages $15 a plate. They sit at a table for over an hour and accumulate a bill of $20. FIVE people, TWENTY dollars. How much of a tip do they leave? $3. This is no joke, this is my reality.
Bright Side: A couple with a small child goes out to dinner, they're friendly, not at all demanding, the baby is ADORABLE and their bill comes to $70. They leave a $25 tip. This is also my reality.

~According the the custody agreement the kids should be with their father. Instead their mother decides that she is a better judge than anyone else (including their father and the court system) of how the kids should spend their time so she keeps them. She lets one have a sleepover with two friends while the other sleeps in bed with her and her boyfriend all night long. In the best interest of the kids? I don't think so. Anything I can do about it? Not a damn thing.
Bright Side: The kids still go to their father's, though not as much as they should. While there, they see how a rational, giving, sincere, loving, and reasonable person interacts with others.

~One of the sweetest people I work with can't stay after our shift and have a drink with me because her husband will accuse her of any number of deplorable actions. She deserves better. I can't tell her that it will all work out okay. I'm not sure it will.
Bright Side: She's healthy?

~The witch waitress at work still has an attitute problem.
Bright Side: I have been strong enough to not light into her with the wit and anger I have been amassing while "maturing" and "bettering myself". It takes great strength to overcome the need to tell stupid people that they suck. I am strong.

~I don't want to be so damned negative all the time. I don't like constantly grinding my teeth and feeling powerless. Chocolate and red wine are the strongest substances I use. They are my last line of defense. They aren't working.
Bright Side: As frustrated as I am, I am going to crawl into bed with a loving man who adores his children enough to continue to be level-headed despite mounting adversity and disappointment. He is as devoted to me as he is to his children. And...there is always more chocolate and wine.

No one can understand the truth until he drinks of coffee's frothy goodness. ~Sheik Abd-al-Kadir

I remember the first time a sip of coffee didn't cause me to cringe. Up until that point coffee was a substance with a phenomenal aroma that caused me (on many occasions) to stick my head into a bag of coffee beans and breath deep. However, the taste, to me, was god-awful.

The day I left my husband I showed up at my father's doorstep sniveling and sobbing. You know that crying that takes over you until you're left hiccuping for breath,and doesn't generally happen to anyone after they've past the age of 3? That was the state I was in.

After being ushered in and embraced with concerned hugs from both my father and step-mother, I was provided with a cup of coffee while I told them of my decision. I drank the whole thing (it was a REALLY big mug, these are coffee people) and asked for more. It was wonderful. The taste (she had added just the right mix of cream and sugar to please my tastebuds), the feeling of the hot mug in my hand, and the fact that it gave me a focal point for my gaze while I was pondering how to verbalize my emotion, were reasons why this sweet and strong nectar seemed to take the edge off of such a heart wrenching moment.

Today The Good Guy and I had time to kill while the car was being serviced. We walked around town and stopped at a small bookstore with a large selection of greeting cards. We each found several that we couldn't pass up, so we made our purchases and headed to the only coffee shop in town. While there, we sipped mochas and nibbled biscotti and lemon pound cake as we wrote notes inside of our card selections.

As we sat in the shop, with a gentleman using a laptop to the left of us and a man reading a newspaper to the right, I couldn't help but wonder...What is it about coffee shops? What is it that brings people together to sit and relax while drinking a stimulant? What is it that makes people perfectly comfortable to meet up with someone new, or and old friend, or a business associate, or to sit alone? What is it that makes us able to break the ice with the unassuming question, "Would you like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime?"

I suppose that if I pondered long enough I could come up with meaningful answers to these (somewhat rhetorical) questions, but part of the fun is in simply accepting. I love the aura of a coffee shop. I love that I am comfortable doing any of the above things, and that I am comfortable doing so for hours on end.

I should add that I do my best to frequent small privately owned coffee shops instead of the monster corporation that is Starbucks. I always try to help the little guy whenever possible. That's not to say that I never go to Starbucks. I'm not perfect.

Anyway, I digress...I'm glad that I joined the club of people that enjoy coffee, and all of the experience that comes with it. Before I had that sip of my step-mother's perfect mixture I had yet to experience the community sensation I get while sitting with my friends in our local coffee shop. Perhaps for me, it's the association with having the strength to make an immensly difficult decision. Whatever the reason, it's nice to know that wherever I go, I can always find someplace that serves coffee. I can take time to gaze into my mug as I ponder my next move, and I will have some comfort as I do so.

The Kindness of Strangers

I have to where a neck tie to work. It's nowhere near as humiliating as the floppy bow tie I adorned at my first waitressing job ten years ago, but the need to be careful to not dip it into patron's water glasses was new to me. After several occassions wherein I dragged my tie through food and/or greasy liquid, I asked The Good Guy for a tie-tack, knowing he would have one. I didn't know however, that it would be in the shape of an F-16 (a fighting falcon is its nickname, so I've been informed). It was a gift to The Good Guy from his father, who was in the United States Air Force. I wear it for function, and know very little about planes or jets, etc. The shape was irrelevant as it was purely funtional.

I waited on a patron several weeks ago who was very talkative about my tie tack. He was involved in building F-16s and various other planes/jets (whatever) before he retired. He fired off LOTS of information that didn't sink into my brain, as I was mentally surveying my tables in order to determine my next move at each one. However, his enthusiasm was infectious, and I liked him. His wife boasted that when they had lived on Long Island, he could name the type of plane flying over head just from hearing the sound. It was pleasant to wait on them as it always is when the patrons are personable and friendly. The gentleman mentioned in passing that he would bring me in an F-18 tie tack the next time he and his wife come for dinner. Though I said that it would be great, I didn't for a moment expect it to actually happen.

Friday night he and his wife came back. They were waiting at the bar for a table to be ready when I walked by. I stopped to say hello, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a plane-shaped tie tack. It was similar to mine but had two tail wings (I think that's what they're called). He told me what it is (a Hornet or an F-18), and told me that I could keep it. His wife asked in amazement, "You remembered?!" then touched my arm and said, "He must really like you because he never remembers anything".

I can't even begin to put into words how touched I was by this stupid little trinket. It wasn't about the tie tack (though I will keep it always as a reminder of this occasion). It was about connection. As I said before, his enthusiasm was infectious, and I caught it. I don't even know this gentleman's name, but he was kind and offered this simple gift to someone who showed interest in what he had to share. He had knowledge, and enjoyed imparting to an interested party. We were simply two people who had a friendly conversation.

I can't seem to articulate it, but this simple gesture was, well...selfless. It was simply a nice thing to do. He got nothing out of it beyond more conversation (and a really big smile). The reward was connection to another person. That's it. He didn't expect more.

And now whenever I look at the Hornet on my tie, I will think of his friendly gesture and smile. He gave me that.

Rainy day doldrums.

The air was crisp, the sky a shade of blue-grey which seemed to be disputing whether the clouds would part and allow the sun to shine through, or burst, saturating the shuffling bodies below.

To the most vigilant among us, the balmy breeze carried jumbled sensations. There was the unmistakable jovial nature of the marginally organized horseplay. Yet, the undercurrents of insincerity and hostility were evident. The feeling of bridled furry has become familiar. The hope that a remedy exists for unseen wounds has become a decayed yearning.

In the diner, the waitress emits an aura of broken dreams and failed potential. The french toast is bland like the unfulfilled promise of the day which lay before us. He purchases breakfast for the mother and her young son at a booth in the corner as an anonymous thank you; their contagious and innocent enjoyment of one another infecting the negligable number of patrons sparsely populating the eatery.

The lonely ride home is an exercise in restraint. The tears come too easily, and once they begin, cessation will be elusive. The evening ahead will be full of obligatory smiles and banter. The bulge held in my pocket late in the evening as I drive home will not be enough to generate a respite for the financial oppression which lingers overhead like an ever-present and pregnant storm cloud.

Still, the morning holds promise, tomorrow budding with potential. The sun will once again crest the horizon, and with it will come a new beginning, a cleaner slate. All that lies between today and tomorrow are unformulated dreams.

Where do I begin?

It's amazing that my life is so damn full right now, yet I don't know what to write about. I guess part of it is that I enjoy holding my writing up to a certain standard (believe it or not) and at this point I feel as though I will fall woefully short of cohesion. Therefore, I will provide my loyal readers with what I hope will be a somewhat entertaining and illuminating update on the various tidbits of life which I currently have on my plate...

-We spent 5 hours in the emergency room last night; from midnight until 5 this morning. The Good Guy has some weird pain that won't go away, and the doctors can't seem to figure out the problem. We have no health insurance, so he's minimizing his participation in a number of tests they're offering forth. Great, juuust great. I worry. It's a trait passed on from my mother who would constantly lecture me that I needed to call if I was going to be late, because 1 minute past the moment I was due to arrive home she'd have visions of me dead in a ditch somewhere. So, as we were dressing to go to the hospital, it was The Good Guy (the one who's sick and in pain) who was consoling me that it would be alright. Sometimes I am such. a. chick.

-The kids should (legally and rightfully) be with us tonight but their mother is holding them hostage. It would be small and petty of me to use any of the numerous adjectives and expletives that come to mind when I think of her lately, so I'll refrain (besides, The Good Guy reads my blog and he wouldn't appreciate my choices).

-I turned in my thesis! Sadly, it's total crap. It is by far the worst piece of written work I have put my name on since returning to school. I had a great concept, but I couldn't seem to find an eloquent manner in which to pull it off. So, I gave a half assed presentation and turned in an atrocious piece of research. My final paper does not by any means make it obvious that I read about a billion articles on the subjects of art therapy, adolescents, at-risk youth, group homes, drama therapy, writing therapy and the use of all of those therapy approaches with adolescents. I shudder to think that my 4.0 GPA is in jeopardy at the end of my fourth semester after working my ass off for two years. But, it is what it is, and in the long run, what will a 4.0 vs. a 3.9 get me? A higher paying job?-No. Sometimes my perfectionism is simply a means for my genetically inferior stomach to cause me pain via self induced stress. It's just plain stupid.

-The lyrics to a Tori Amos song popped into my head this evening at work as another waitress PISSED. ME. OFF! "I want to kill this waitress..." I could hear Ms. Amos pleading with me, "If I did it fast, you know that's an act of kindness..." The details of the incident are too tedious and uninteresting to spell out, but rest assured that I was in the right and she was totally wrong. By the end of the night, the high and mighty witch apoligized, but my respect level for her has taken a tremendous nose dive.

So...I guess I need to work on FORGIVENESS in keeping with my bettering of myself mantra.

Oooh! My next post will be about my decision to expand my wardrobe and accessorize! Simple, yet exciting. And I'll bet I can maintain both cohesion and entertainment value within the confines of that subject. Stay Tuned!

Kids Are Gross

I won't devote another post to the wonderfulness that is my boyfriend, as I fear anyone that has become a regular reader may get sick of hearing just how great he is should I continue to brag. But, I have to post this photo and mention that I came home to 2 dozen red roses out of the blue the other day :-D Aren't they BEAUTIFUL?

And yes, that is my bra drying in the background. I guess I didn't frame the shot very well. I didn't notice it until the photo was posted. It took so damn long to load that I'm not cropping it and putting it back-I simply don't have the patience. Focus on the FLOWERS people, the FLOWERS.

The Good Guy and I took his kids and J's daughter to a local lake resort town this weekend. The weather was what I would call perfect. I could wear a t-shirt and jeans without being cold or hot. In the infamous words of Goldilocks, "It was juuust right". It was the kind of summer/spring day when I don't realize that my delicate milk-white skin is frying to an angry shade of pink. I do it at the beginning of summer EVERY year. Duh. Time to break out the lotion. My skin will be on fire for the next three days, and then it will all peal off while I spend 3 days looking like a lizard.

Anyway...the kids decided to play on a playground next to the beach. While The Good Guy and I were sitting on a bench making googly eyes at each other the kids called me over in excitement to show me their buried treasure (the kids have each inherited their father's penchant for being a jokster). When I arrived to their location under what they refer to as a "climbing structure" they unearthed some stray pretzel pieces that had been deposited in the sand by some drunken teenager or stray toddler, and acted as if they were golden coins. I joked that it was a great find, blah blah blah, and went back to the bench to accompany the good guy in soaking some rays. (He was smart enough to wear a hat-so as not the get burned).

Then, it happened. I turned to look at the kids and noticed that they were....CHEWING!!!! Aaargh! GROSS! The kids range in age from 5-8. We had just come from a nice (somehwhat expensive) breakfast, and they KNOW BETTER. Blech! The good guy made them all sit on the bench, calmly told them they all knew better, mentioned that they may get ebola and have their tongues fall out of their mouths (I'm embelishing here, he's nowhere near as dramatic as I), and after sufficient time to think about how stupid their actions had been, let them go back and play.

Kids are so gross. They pick their noses and wipe it on whatever is close by (sometimes that includes their tongue). They lick the bottom of their shoe when dared to by their older sister (This happened on the car ride home-the boy apparently didn't learn his lesson while sitting on the bench). They try to eat food by shoving it through their face instead of into their mouths. They role around on the grimy floors without a single thought about germs and dog poo deposited by wayward shoes. They pick up unrecognizable objects off of the ground only to find out that it is petrified animal droppings. Yet, they're such innocent, honest, vulnerable, and adorable creatures that you can't help loving them to death.

The Girl (she's 8 years old) is old enough and precocious enough that she tries to deny that part of her that is first and foremost honest. She has an awareness of self-censorship, and uses it sometimes conciously, sometimes not.

There was a split second today when I think that honest part broke through the censorship. On the ride home, as I noticed that my skin was glowing as if on fire, The Good Guy was commiserating with me as I complained that I make the same mistake every year. He said, "I still love you, even if you're sunburned". This is a pattented line that he uses whenever I do something stupid. Immediately from the backseat, The Girl said, "Me too!" A split second later, when censorship kicked in she quickly retracted by saying, "well sort of". I simply chuckled, knowing that she struggles with how much she can openly love or care about me while maintaining loyalty to her mother. I have no doubt that she loves me in some manner, and she and I will probably spend the next 10 or more years ironing out the kinks. I do everything in my power to make her (and her brother) understand that I am not trying to take the place of their mother. I did not birth them, and I didn't raise them, and I won't take credit for doing either. They do know that they can come to me for nurturing, and I think I do a fairly good job of letting them choose the pace at which our relationship progresses. Still, it felt good, even if only for a fraction of a second, to be loved :-)

This is Heavy Stuff...Proceed at Your Own Risk

One of my intentions upon initiating myself into the world of blogging was to attain some form of catharsis when all else fails and I need a release. Thus far I have avoided all topics that carry a great deal of weight because, well, this is the internet. I'm sure that if someone was really interested, they could trace this blog back to me. This is the reason I changed my picture. I don't need to be flaunting my face to the masses! What on earth was I thinking?

This brings me to the subject I intend to explore this evening. I'll try to stay within the realm of hypotheticals and metaphors, but I have very little optimism regarding my potential success.

I am in love with a man who has two children from a previous marriage. If there is one universal truth, it is that divorce makes people ugly (that's a metaphor for really mean and nasty). If you mix hurt feelings, broken promises, unfulfilled expectations, finances,splitting of property, kids, and opinions on child-rearing into a blender (again this is metaphor-nobody should throw kids into a blender) the liquid you're left with is more of a virulent sludge than a nectar (again with the metaphors-go me!).

It seems to me that The Good Guy's ex-wife, even after two and a half years of separation is still consuming sludge as a prominent staple in her diet. Now, I realize that I am not an impartial third party. I have a stake in all of this. I have this trait (good or bad-I'm not really sure) of being pitbull-esque when it comes to the people I love. When the people I love are being hurt or threatened, I get...well, into attack mode. Mind you, I'm not convinced this is an ideal stance, but it's who I am.

For instance: NOBODY tortured my little sister like I did. I was ruthless, it's amazing that as adults we speak to each other, because I was awful. My point is, the second anyone else messed with her I was ready for a school yard brawl. I would have gone all jets vs. sharks on their sorry asses. I'm sure this is common, but I never outgrew the us vs. them mentality.

Here's the irony: The Good Guy has been a wonderful mentor to me when it comes to attempting to see other points of view. He has the most amazing ability to be calm, rational, and patient in the face of unrelenting adversity by attempting to understand the other person's intentions, experiences, and emotions. I have no such ability, but I have certainly improved. I have watched him return one blow after another from his sludge slurping ex with a sincere smile and the offer of a handshake (again these are all metaphors). He has received spit in his eye on almost every attempt (this is a metaphor-sort of). Perhaps the most infuriating portion of all of this has been his unrelenting understanding and defending of this woman's actions. He refuses to speak of her in a derogatory manner, and makes it clear that in his presence he would like me to follow suit. He has attempted, throughout all of this, to take the high road. In doing so, he still has integrity, and not a soul can take that away from him.

I must add a sidebar here that he and I are in complete and total agreement to NEVER make disparaging comments about the children's mother in their presence. I had a mother who rode on the "your father is a worthless loser" bandwagon and I have no intention of hopping on board. Quite the contrary, we encourage friendly conversation about her, pictures of her in their room, and thoughtful gift giving on the appropriate occasions (and on others for that matter).

I must also add that my best friend (J) is going through a divorce, therefore I am simultaneously viewing the point of view of a mother and the father in this situation. Because of this, and due to The Good Guy's stance, I have thus far been somewhat successful in keeping a seething hatred for this woman at bay. However, she is now threatening to take away some of the already limited time he spends with his kids-in violation of their custody agreement. She claims that her lawyer has given the "it's legal, so go ahead" ok. When the custody battle was fought, he relented to less custody than he felt he was entitled because he was of the opinion that a long, drawn-out legal battle would help nobody (I'm having a difficult time with eloquent wording this evening). He gave his ex the benefit of the doubt and assumed that she would ultimately come around and realize that the kids will be best served by maximizing time with both parents.

He was wrong. It's been two-plus years. She's getting more self-rightous, and self-serving as time goes on. Mind you, she doesn't seem to see it this way, she's convinced that she is the only advocate for the kid's best interests.

I fear The Good Guy's patience has neared the end of it's rope.

Again, I realize I am biased, but I'm also a realist (ask anyone who knows me-It's true). Nonetheless, The Good Guy is one of the most loving and devoted fathers I have encountered in my entire life, and I have no doubt that many people who have less of a bias than I would share the same sentiment.

This is tearing him apart, and I have no idea what to do.

My hands are tied. They're not my kids. That seething hatred is bubbling to the surface, and is close to being unleashed into the world. This is one of those occasions when I wish my emotions had an on-off switch. I imagine that indifference would feel a great deal better than this constant feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I'm not using metaphors when I say this is all making me physically ill. I don't have any idea what to offer him, and I feel as though this is one of those times when he needs me most.

This situation sucks, and the solution is elusive. How's that for stating the obvious?

I'm finding myself incapable of wrapping this post up in a nice little bow (which is what I like to do). I could go on and on, but I'll end here, with a plea to the karma Gods that this situation end without hatred. Hatred is ugly, and I don't want to own it, but I feel it taking over all of us. No good can come of that.

Oh, and since I handle stress by using humor, I offer this challenge: See if you can count the number of metaphors in this post. Hint: I didn't point them all out!

A few of my favorite things

I wrote a really long, meaningful, and introspective post this morning, but my computer ate it. I transferred it to Word to check for spelling and grammatical errors and word shut down. I'm not computer savy enough to retrieve it, so I'll chalk it up to the powers-that-be sending me a message: "BAD POST". So, if this post has grammatical snafus, I apologize-I'm too scared to give Word a second chance

As I was putting clean sheets on my bed this afternoon, and continuing to procrastinate writing my thesis paper which is due NEXT WEEK!!! I had a pleasant thought. I'll do a happy blog and list some of the simple things that life has to offer which give me great joy. The order is completely random and the list is not all-inclusive:

1. Turning in a final paper or exam at the end of a semester. The metaphorical weight lifted from that experience is immeasurable.

2. Climbing into a bed at night which has clean, crisp sheets.

3. Eating home made chocolate chip cookies after they have cooled enough to not burn the roof of my mouth, but are still warm, and the chocolate gooey.

4. The sensation I get from completing a work of art which I am proud to have brought to fruition, whether it's a painting, a drawing, a baked good, a scrap book page, or reorganizing a room.

5. Being stuck indoors with the man that I love, and nowhere to go on a snowy day.

6. That cool breeze that is just enough to give relief from the heat on a hot summer day.

7. That little bell in my car which reminds me that my headlights are on, so I don't have to come back to a dead battery later and have a mental breakdown. I thank my car every time. Seriously, I say "Thank you" out. loud. every time.

8. Toddler laughter. That infectious from the gut, gleeful sound that only children can create.

9. Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate.

10. Getting in the last word when someone is being stupid. You know, that last word that gets bystanders going "Oooh, she told you!"

11. When I stop my car to let someone cross the street, and they are clearly grateful, as if I made their whole day.

12. Waking up in the morning with The Good Guy, and knowing that nothing is planned, and we have nowhere to be. We can make decisions as the day progresses to go or not go wherever we choose.

13. Singing at the top of my lungs in my car to a great song on the radio knowing that nobody can hear how awful I sound.

14. Going on a road trip and not making a single wrong turn.

15. The smell of lilacs, hyacinth, and lavender. And the color purple!

16. Good food. I love food. (I could so easily weight 300 pounds!)

17. Fireflies and the sound of crickets on a summer night.

18. Bonfires and smores. (Notice a trend here? Chocolate and food?)

19. Sitting around with family members, laughing and sharing cherished memories.

20. That feeling of getting a hug from someone I love when I really, really need it.

Now I have to go wait tables. Let's hope some of my other favorite things (good tippers) frequent the restaurant this evening.

Der

I must begin this post with the claim that I am not an idiot. I may be a little air-headed on occassion, but I'm not an imbecile.

It was Friday night, it was close to closing time, and a three top came into the restaurant. I was busy with another table at the time, so the bartender sat them and took their order for me (he's always a huge help). The party consisted of two guys and a girl-they ordered soup and salads. Since the bartender had taken their order, the first contact I made with them was when I brought the soup to the table.

As I set the soup down, one of the gentlemen asked me, "You don't by any chance have any matzah do you?"

Now, before I tell you my response, I have to add that he had a straight face and that I am not well versed in Jewish culture. Also, it was the end of the night, I was tired and busy, and I knew it would be a while before I could go home. My brain was slightly fried.

So, I looked at him quizzically, because quite frankly I had no idea what he meant, and said (get ready this is good!), "Mozzarella?"

As soon as the word was out of my mouth I wanted to suck it back in. Der. MATZAH!
The gentleman just uttered "nevermind" and I joked, "oh, that, no we don't have any".

Needless to say there were no more jokes (he was indeed joking), as I walked away I heard some commiserating laughter and a "Whew!" As in, "BOY did that fly over her head!"

I really dislike looking like a fool. So, two lessons were learned:

Lesson 1: I need to become more informed about the rituals of cultures that are unlike my own.
I've researched the need for matzah at Passover, the not using leavening, and the historical reasons for this, so at the very least I've gained a little knowledge due to my embarassment. I firmly believe in learning from one's mistakes, and try to do so.

Lesson 2: Think before you speak, woman!
This is a concept I have been working on for as long as I have been able to speak. There have been numerous occassions over the course of my life where I have had to pry my foot out of my mouth. This event was just another friendly reminder to process information before succumbing to the need to open my big mouth.

This and That

It's been a while since I last posted. I've been busy, and have had a difficult time determining the best subject matter for my next post. I think I'll incorporate a couple of experiences into an "I'm really lucky to be me" theme.

My best friend in the world (in addition to my sister and The Good Guy) is J. J and I met when I moved one town over from the small town and house where I had resided for the first thirteen years of my life. Though my new home and school district were approximately 15 minutes away from the former, it was like a different universe. I hated everything about the experience, and it took me several years to forgive my mother for this horrendous disruption during my already tumultuos adolescent years.

Through a series of impermanent friendships and acquaintances J and I became friends. We have different personalities, but we balance each other out very well. It's hard to describe a friendship and connection that has grown over (Oh my GOODNESS) approximately 15 years. We have been through a whole lot together and apart.

J's mom died of breast cancer when we were 15. I had only met her once or twice and she was already pretty sick by that time. To this day I regret not having spent more time with her, I wish I could share memories of her with J, as J has finally reached a point where she seems comfortable talking about the subject; it was impossible for her for many years.

Before J's mom died, J made some self destructive adolescent choices. I remember feeling like I was beating my head against a wall while I tried to make her stop doing these things that were causing her harm. But at that point we were both too young to realize that she needed more help than I could offer. She had spent several years watching her mom slowly die, and it affected her profoundly. But...through it all we remained loyal friends, and one hand cared for the other as we offered each other a shoulder to cry on, or someone with whom we could share a fantastic laugh.

The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. With my mom being in the hospital, the semester drawing to a close, and my ambition being at an all time low I have been in one heck of an emotional slump. I haven't had a whole lot of time to spend with anyone, J included.

There's something to be said for women's intuition, and for close emotional connections. I came home the other day to a basket of mums, a bakery bag containing a fresh baked brownie and a sugar cookie, and a card from the best girlfriend one could ever imagine having, telling me that I've made it through worse, and that this too shall pass.

J has her own version of chaos happening right now. She's juggling two kids, an ex-husband, a job, and a pending acceptance or denial into a rigorous and somewhat prestigious college program. Yet, she found the time to brighten my day. She's simply a wonderful friend, and I've asked her on numerous occassions, "What on earth would I do without you?"

I am currently doing an internship/independent study in a local in-patient psychiatric facility. I assist in running an art therapy group for adolescents. The length of stay in this hospital is generally pretty short-a couple of days to a couple weeks. Therefore I don't frequently see the same kids every time I attend. However, there is one girl who has been in every session I have attended and she continues to blow me away. I'll call her Sara. Sara has anorexia, and makes it obvious in the art therapy group that she is working her proverbial butt off to get healthy. Her art creations have been numerous, and her introspection rivals that of any fully functioning healthy adult I've ever known. I won't go into details because these sessions are very personal and private, and I owe the kids a very high level of discretion. Some of these kids really take huge risks by sharing what they do, and Sara is at the front of the pack.

Sara reminds me of J. She has a really tough battle ahead of her, but she is clearly strong enough to come out on the other side healthy and thriving. I don't mean to diminish the hurdles and bumps that Sara and J have run into, and will continue to experience on their journeys-there will be many.

I just mean that they both embody admirable traits. They both inspire me. They've both made me maintain my focus on what is important in life. I'm a lucky lady.

Oh how sweet he is.

How sweet is my boyfriend? How many men do you know who would do this?

I have had some kind of wierd dry skin thing happening on my legs for months now. It itches like hell, and I haven't had enough self control to keep myself from scratching to the point of bleeding. I know it's bad and all but I can't stop! It's awful. The Good Guy makes a point of telling me to stop scratching when he notices. This has been helpful because at the very least he shames me into ceasing and desisting the self mutilation.

Today he had to go to the mall for something. While he was there he went to Bath and Body Works and asked the lady there what she had that would help my "condition". He came home with some exfoliating cream and a moisturizer. He said that the sales lady now knows all about my affliction, but if it doesn't work we should go back and she'd give us a refund or we can try something else.

Just to recap: with no prompting from myself, and without my requesting him to do so, The Good Guy went into a chicky girly store full of creams and scents and sing song sales girls in gingham to find a solution to my discomfort.

See why I call him The Good Guy? He's a keeper.

Random Thoughts

I am drunk and I deserve to be.

My mom had emergency surgery on Wednesday night. The result-a colostomy bag. It's temporary, but none the less, it's been one of her worst fears, as stomach problems run in the family.

I now have a need to learn the proper spelling of words like paratonitis.

I feel like a walking bundle of raw nerves.

I saw a sign outside of a pizza joint in a small town last week that boasted "We now have mini tacos" and I wondered how many additional people had come in because of the sign.

Chocolate is my best friend and worst enemy.

My sister is nothing like me, but I don't know what I'd do without her.

I may be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

I read a blog today about brownies making someone's kid's dreams come true. I need a brownie.

I think my spelling is amazing considering the amount of tequila I have imbibed this evening. (is that how you spell tequila?)

Thank goodness for Merriam-Webster.com

I am looking forward to summer. Sunshine (I imagine) will do me a world of good.

I have begun to wonder if I am bipolar. Wouldn't that be funny?

Amanda Rose is a blog I happened upon the other day. She blogged during a night when she had a terrible mood. I left a comment that things are almost always better in the morning. I wish it was morning.

I'd leave a link to her blog if I had any idea how-if you want to know, check the comments on my last post.

I'm not a negative person, I'm just in a serious funk.

My mom is in a hospital bed with a bag connected to her stomach, collecting her poo and I'm feeling sorry for myself.

I need a brownie.

I'm going to bed-I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning. Here's hoping I wake up refreshed and much more positive. Good night all.

Sometimes all it takes is something small.

I mentioned in my last post that I'm a child care worker. I have a part-time job supervising (I refer to it as babysitting) adolescent boys in a group home setting who have been placed there by the court because they've broken the law or because they need to be removed from their home due to a lack of supervision or parental control. Currently I'm relief staff so I just fill in small gaps in the schedule where the full-timers are unavailable. This also means that the kids know I'm not entirely up to date on all of the current rules and attempt to take advantage of my lack of knowledge at every turn. I have to be on my toes, they're a manipulative bunch.

I've had this job for about three months and I've worked on average one shift a week. The pay is AWFUL. I chose the job not for the pay, but for the experience. The experience has been less than rewarding the majority of the time. I have a difficult time discerning what I should offer these kids. Since my ultimate goal is to go into therapy, my instinct is to seek out the reasons for their moods, try to offer them alternatives to bad choices, and attempt to reason with them respectfully. However my job, really, is to make sure they follow rules. Basically, as I mentioned before, I'm a babysitter. It's not very rewarding. I want to offer them more than my position permits but I'm not there enough to give them more than guidelines. If I'm too nice they walk all over me, if I'm too strict, they dismiss me as cold and uncaring. I still try to walk a fine line between nurturer and enforcer as I think they really need both.

The other night I felt like I made a miniscule impression, but it felt great. One of the kids asked me to help him with his vocabulary. I helped him once before, and he got a 100%. He was thrilled, so he asked for my help again. I must add here that I helped, I did not do the work for him. He's behind his grade level in reading comprehension (among other things) so the sentences he has to complete are somehwhat over his head. I go about helping him by translating the sentences for him. He then scours the list looking for the best word to fill in the blank. I found that if we do it this way, he seems to retain the definitions rather well. While we were muddling through he complained that he was never going to use these words. He felt that this was a huge waste of his time as he is never going to travel in circles with people who use words like zealous and pandemonium. I told him that at the very least he could use these words with someone who looked down upon him in his future. I set up a scenario wherein he goes back to his neighborhood and uses one of these vocab words in the presence of this person. He could then quiz the hypothetical jerk as to whether or not they know what the word means. When they don't he can say something like, "At least I'm educated, why don't you go back to the ghetto?"

I realize this may not have been the best textbook approach, but I tried to offer him something that would be motivating to him personally.

It worked.

He got this big grin on his face and said "Yeah, that's a good point, now that you put it that way". I couldn't believe how his eyes lit up. I stirred something in him with that simple hypothetical that didn't involve anything more than wit. He completed the homework without complaint and with new zeal. I was amazed. It felt like something out of the movie "Dangerous Minds" or "Lean on Me". They don't teach you things like that in therapy class. They say things like, "meet the client where they're at" (called the Iso principle). Aside from the terrible grammar, this saying has always been a mystery to me. But that day I think I got it. I could have gone on and on about his potential, about all of the things he can accomplish if he sets his mind to it, but he would have scoffed. He's a 17 year old kid whose girlfriend is 13, his mom is a drug addict with a revolving door of boyfriends, and his older brother was in placement before him. By the age of 9 he had dealt drugs with his mom's boyfriend and stolen cars. He lives in reality and knows he's not going to Harvard, he'll most likely be in placement until he ages out. He plans to be a mechanic. He loves cars. He has a plan to make an honest living staying out of trouble. I think that's amazing in and of itself.

I don't mean to act as though he doesn't have potential, but I believe in being realistic. There is nothing wrong with having a desire to be an auto mechanic, and if I can motivate him within the realm of where he wants his life to go (as long as it involves good choices), that's what I'll do.

Right or wrong, I'm proud of what I offered him. I've never seen his eyes light up like that. I've never seen him that interested in his school work. I left that night with a little more of a skip in my step.

It may be self serving, but helping him really helped me. It gave me a reason to keep trying to walk that line between confidant and disciplinarian. I think we both had a new glint in our eyes that night.

My Many Colored Hats

I wear a lot of hats. I don't mean this literally as I only own one hat that I think is the least bit flattering (a gift from The Good Guy who has more fashion sense than I). What I mean is I have an enormous amount on my plate at the moment. I feel like I play several different roles, and I'm beginning to question my ability in all of them.

The following is a list of my hats. The list is not all-inclusive as I can't possibly name all of the metophorical hats I wear. These are simply the most prominant at this point in time, and in random order, certainly not by level of importance:

Hat 1: Full Time Student.
It sounds simple enough. Go to class, study, do homework, get a degree, make money. Right? Sure. Except, going to school as an adult who needs to take care of everyday monetary obligations is more complicated than it sounds. First of all there's the two hour commute 4 days a week. That's 8 hours a week in the car while time is a precious commodity. Not to mention, have you SEEN the prices of gas? Then there's the fact that I have much less time to work, so not only do I have normal every day bills, but I also have tuition, and rapidly mounting charge card debt because the money coming in is less than the money going out. Then there's the fact that I am a perfectionist and have a mental breakdown if I get anything below an A. I start hyperventilating if I believe my 4.0 is in jeapordy. Yes, I have a 4.0, so how can I possibly believe that I'm not good in this role? I'm scared, what if it's all book smarts? What if I get out into the field and find out that I just spent the last two years, and $30,000 to find out that I make a lousy therapist but a great student? I have a semester and a half to go and I'm burned out. For instance, right now I should be doing homework not staying up past 11:00 to vent into cyberspace.

Hat 2: Waitress
I waited tables for a summer to put myself through college the first time around (longer ago than I care to admit). I hated it. I wanted to quit by the end of every shift until I counted my money and realized that I would bring home as much money in one evening as I brought home working a 30 hour week in the grocery store where I had been employed for 5 years. I vowed after that summer that I would not wait tables again. The stress was too much, and quite frankly, I wasn't all that good. Well, when I broke my marriage vows and pursued a divorce I guess I was on a role. I broke the waiting tables vow, and here I am-a freakin' waitress once again. While my waitressing ability has improved I'm far from "super server girl". I have good nights and bad. For instance; I waited on a couple and their two kids last Friday night. The little girl was 10 and the boy was about 6. The little boy was a talker and I didn't have a lot of tables so I spent quite a bit of time conversing with the kid. As they left, the mom approached me and said it had been the best experience they had ever had in a restaurant, and that I was an excellent waitress. I was flattered. Tonight was an entirely different story. I was overwhelmed with 3 tables. No good waitress is overwhelmed with 3 tables for crying out loud! I had the Jewish 3 top-father, mother, and son. I approached the table, said "good evening folks", and was greeted with "CAN WE ORDER NOW?" before I completed the word "folks". They hadn't waited long, and they saw me delivering food to the table next to them, so it was rather obvious that I wasn't sitting around picking my nose. I knew at that moment I was looking at 10%-max, and I was right. Then there was the party of six. Five men and one woman-it was her birthday. The list of faux pas commited at this table was extensive. I forgot several drinks, forgot to serve a side dish with one of the meals and had to be reminded, spilled water, and forgot to bring bread. Horrific service. I'm better than that, but for some reason my head simply was not on straight. I was lucky. The table was comprised of at least 4 people who had waited tables before, and had stories of bad nights to share. It was a table of kindred spirits who tipped me 20% though it was not deserved. It was pity, but at this point in my life I need it so bring on the sympathy tips.

Hat 3, and perhaps the most complcated as well as stressful: Pseudo-Parent
The Good Guy and I are not married, therefore his kids aren't my step-kids. There is no fancy title for my role, and frankly, I tire of referring to them as "my boyfriend's kids". So, for the purpose of labeling this hat I went with pseudo-parent because though I don't have an official title, I am very much involved in their lives. I go to their school functions whenever my schedule permits it, and they truly seem to appreciate this. I'm half of the parenting team when we have custody and they understand that I have as much authority as their father. I make rules, and I enforce rules. I offer guidance and nurturing as well as punishment. However, parenting someone else's kids is no easy task. I think I'll devote an entire blog to this situation, as it warrants a lot of time and explanation. Let it be said, right now, that this is the heaviest and most beautiful hat I currently sport. Sometimes the weight is unbearable, but I don't know what I'd do without it.

Hat 4: Live-in Girlfriend
Student, waitress, pseudo-parent, childcare worker (I'll discuss this another time) and the grand finale for this blog is The Good Guy. This wonderful man endures the wrath that comes with the stress of my many hats. He is my sounding board, my confidant, my chef, my financial assistant, my masseuse, my shoulder to cry-on, and a great deal more. Currently I don't offer him as much as he offers me. I am a basket case. I am prone to unforeseen angry outbursts, fits of tears, and inability to make a decision. He takes it all in stride. Don't get me wrong, he's not perfect, but he puts up with a lot. He is supportive of my decision to go back to school, and doesn't hold a grudge when I blame him for a bad mood which usually has nothing to do with him. He puts up with much more than I could. I realize that I haven't always been this way, and that it won't last forever, but living with me right now can't be easy-he's amazing.

I had somewhat of a panic attack the other night. I gave The Good Guy a teary earful about my being horrible at parenting his kids and not being cut out for this role. However, that was just the hat that I happened to be wearing that evening. Had I been wearing my waitress hat, my breakdown would have involved my horrific waitressing skills, and the fact that I don't have any choice right now but to stick it out-we really need the money. Looking back it was a ludicrous freakout. I was (still am) exhausted. I've been living at this pace for almost 2 years and it's catching up to me. I'm tired of being broke and tired and feeling guilty because I'm not pulling my weight, and I'm scared to death that this gamble I'm taking with school won't pay off. What if I don't get a job? Then what? Back to waiting tables, or bagging groceries, or selling furniture, but with enormous loans to pay off? I'm scared that none of this will pan out, and that I've screwed us by sinking us into a financial abyss.

But...I still have good days; days when he makes me giggle, days when I can't stop smiling, days when the light at the end of the tunnel is in sight and my confidence is high. On these days I know that I'll be fine. Since these days still endure, I know I'm doing okay.