I’ve been blessed in my life with sisters. One older, two younger and one sister in law. This picture was taken last summer when we all got together for a weekend.

Sisters fill a need in a girl’s life. If you didn’t have one you likely adopted a close friend or associate in place of one. If you were lucky enough to have one, you had a need filled long before you knew the need existed. Women need women and the meaningful relationships that result in their lives. It’s why the bonds of mother/daughter and sisters are so powerful. These relationships aren’t just handy, they’re down right convenient because no matter how mad you make your sister, how terribly you fight they are still your family and there’s that unwritten rule that family has to love and accept you no matter what.

We’re all totally different, yet so much the same. I cherish every relationship for what it is and can’t imagine losing it. My older sister was my comrade as a little girl. We played together, laughed together, cried together. I was so sad when she got married before I’d hit the dating stage as I’d always dreamed of doubling together sometime. I got to make up for that years later on a double date with our spouses. *big grin* My younger sister and I got off to a rocky start. She was just enough younger that we didn’t have the comrade bond as youngsters but she looked up to me and tried so hard to do and be all the things she saw her teenage sister doing. Only now that I have my own daughter wanting/trying to be a teen do I fully comprehend this great pull. Now that we’re both moms we seem to have the most in common and what our relationship lacked as kids it has found ten fold as adults. My youngest sister shared a special bond with me because I was old enough to be more of primary care giver to her and I adored babies. Her baby is due during the same time we will be visiting next week and while we can’t put a finger on exactly what it is, there is just something really comforting to both of us that I’ll be there for it. Then there’s the sister in law that plays a solo role because we only have one brother. She’s like the back scratcher that reaches that itch you just can’t quite touch on your own. I love talking with her, sharing stories, views, opinions and experiences. Her wit and warmth radiate from her. And I have to include my mom in the sisterhood circle because she’s always been one of the closet to me. It sounds corny and cliche to call her my best friend but in so many ways she’s always been just that - always there for me when I needed her then and now.

The unfortunate element of the family bond is that because we tend to believe there’s a no matter what clause we often treat our family members the worst. I look back on my relationships with my sisters and I can see where I was better to my friends most of the time or even complete strangers than to my own siblings. That makes me sad now. The upside is that time is a great healer and the relationships I share with my sisters now is so sweet and so wonderful.

I’m sure I wasn’t always the best sister. In fact, I’m sure the same could be said even today, but I am truly grateful for the chance to have sisters and for all they’ve given me. So to the comrade, admirer, baby doll, back scratcher and confidant I send my heartfelt thanks for helping me learn how to be a sister and how to appreciate having one.

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Family Sharing Relationships

I have a favorite saying that goes something like this: You teach people how to treat you.

When I first heard it I felt my muscles stiffen. It was so harsh and unfair, surely it couldn’t hold much truth. However, my efforts to prove it wrong ended up only proving how true it really is. It’s as if we hold a mirror up with our actions, words and decisions. Those around us will quickly learn from those things and will often throw them back at us, usually at the most inconvenient times.

I once heard a mother calling to her then nine or ten year old daughter to come into the house from play. The child didn’t want to come in and some arguing ensued. As I had recently been instructing teachers on improving their teaching skills, I was keenly aware of this concept of teaching as well as others. What I’ll never forget is the way the mother responded to the child’s exclaims of not wanting to. I heard in loud tones the words: “I don’t care what you want! This is what we’re doing right now!” I immediately pictured this same scene in future years, though reversed. A time when these words of ‘not caring what you want’ would come back to haunt this mother and she’d be stunned wondering where on earth they came from.

As with most things this concept is much easier said than done, but that doesn’t make it any less true or important. Perhaps if we stopped once and while to think about how we’re teaching others to treat us it would impact our actions, words and decisions. It seems like a reasonable start to improving ourselves and our character.

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Parenting Positive Impact Relationships Perspectives Intellectual

Influence is a powerful force. So many times we make decisions in our lives based on influence whether we recognize it or not. Many blindly give all power to influence blaming it for “making” them do or say things, or not. I have a real hangup with responsibility so that doesn’t fly with me, but even knowing each of us has the control and power to make our own decisions I readily recognize how powerful influence is.

A few weeks ago I was reading a book that described a powerful scene where influence played a nasty hand. It made me think on my own life and how many times I may or may not have done something that wasn’t me but that I felt pressured to do for appearances or acceptance of peers. In the book, it was a traitorous blow from one brother to another and the consequences were devastating. In fact, neither ever truly recovered from that split decision that was made more for the friends present than for the one making it.

Sometimes you know when you have a profound influence on another person, sometimes you don’t. I think I prefer the ones where I don’t know because you don’t have any reason to ask the ‘what if’ questions. Take my youngest sister for example. I knew the influence I had in her life and consequently I frequently wonder how things might have been different if I had been around longer for her. You see, I was ten when she was born. Having a ten year old daughter now is a stark reminder of how baby crazy girls can be at that age. All my daughter wants to do is babysit for people and hold babies. So it was with me and the timing was perfect to have a new baby sister. I treated my baby sister like my own china doll and she received it very well. In fact, it used to infuriate my older sister because she’d always choose me over her; a personal triumph for me that I secretly relished. Moreover, because she was so much younger than me I don’t remember any sibling struggles or frustrations like I do with those closer to me in age. Our relationship was always different, bordering on parent like for me. I was her protector, her nourisher and a lot of the time her care giver. And then I moved a thousand miles away to begin my new life as a wife. She was only ten and I can’t help but catch myself in thought sometimes about how my influence may have helped her if I’d been around a little longer, especially have a ten year old daughter now.

When I think about my own life and people who have influenced me, my feelings and decisions I find myself smiling. Some have added needed drops in my confidence bucket even though they never knew it. It makes me happy to remember those unseen and unknown influences and even happier to think I may have done the same for someone else sometime. I hope I have.

There’s the famous saying that you may not mean the world to everyone but to someone you may mean the world. I think that’s a good thing to remember when thinking on the intricate web of influence. I think it’s important enough to stop and think about once and while, to take inventory of the type of influence I am on those around me and to work on being the best one I can be, to be a lifter instead of a leaner.

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Family Parenting Sharing Emotions Relationships Motherhood Potential

Sometimes sayings and quotes take root in my heart and plant themselves. Sometimes they’re meaningful, sometimes they’re silly, sometimes they’re even misquoted but none the less when something strikes me they become permanent fixtures in my thought garden. One of these includes the advise that when you truly love something you must let it go. If it comes back to you it’s yours to hold and love forever. If it doesn’t, well the opposite holds true. I don’t remember when or where I heard it but something about it stuck. If you ask my husband today, he’ll tell you it stuck with him too because I hit him over the head with it over 16 years ago. *wink*

It was Christmas Eve of 1991 and we were sitting in his car in my parent’s driveway. I wouldn’t look him in the eye, didn’t want my tears to betray me. I’d made it through the entire anguished evening with his family; endured all the little jokes about future grandchildren and how promising things looked for it with fake smiles and quiet nods, not one tear or indication of how hard it had been to sit there. I’d have been smiling with them under different circumstances - I’d have been smiling if it’d been only a few weeks earlier.

It had been anything but a typical courtship covering a thousand miles, hours of phone calls and daily mail. This was the second time in two months when he expressed feelings of uncertainty. My heart was done with the yo-yo. There had been so many confirmations of this being what he wanted and yet there was this nagging concern that caused him to keep his distance just before he’d see me again, his conviction giving way to fear and uncertainty. Commitment can do that to even the best of men. Now the pattern was repeating from the Thanksgiving holiday, but in my heart I knew if I handled it the same way it would end on the same happy note and we’d be right back here again just a few more months down the road. No, I was done.

I’d played those words over and over in my head all day, ever since he shared his returning doubts. I knew in my heart it was the only thing to do, to force myself to do. Keeping my head down, I weakly said that I’d heard once that if you really loved something you had to let it go, that if it came back it was yours and you loved it with all your heart forever, if it didn’t it wasn’t meant to be. Silence. I took a deep breath and told him I was letting him go. I choked back a sob and waited for a reaction. It felt like several hours passed before I heard anything.

“But I’ll still get to see you and spend time with you while I’m home on Christmas break right?”

“No.”

I could feel the shock register with him even though my face was turned to the window the tears running freely down my cheeks now. He confirmed at least once more that this was it, that I didn’t want to see him again. I said not until he’d made a decision about us, I couldn’t keep doing this. Then I got out of the car and walked alone to the door. I never turned around.

It’s been 16 years since he made his decision. He told me that after a lot of speeding, emotions and self-talk he’d decided it all came down to whether he could picture a life without me in it and if that was what he wanted. I guess sometimes we all need to be pushed out of our comfort zones to find answers for ourselves, or at least learn which questions to ask.

I’m not sure where the time has gone. I can’t figure out how it changed the innocent and childish faces in the wedding photos to the now middle aged parents that stare back in recent photos. Those early faces were so carefree, so young, so unable to comprehend what marriage and family really meant. The faces that look back at me now have some wrinkles of worry, a glimmer of wisdom, and smiles of true joy. Time is a magical thing.

So to my Blake, I tell you on this wedding anniversary how truly grateful I am that you choose to come back to me. Letting you go then was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. We’ve been through many things together that were equally difficult since, but at least we’ve been through those times together. Thanks for coming back. You can rest assured I’ve still got a firm grip and I’ll keep holding on tight.

Other related articles:

To My Sweetheart
15 Years Ago Today
Secrets of a Happy Marriage
The Best Christmas Gift
Why Marriage is Like Computers
What Made Me Fall For Him

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Family Emotions Relationships Marriage

No, I’m not talking about the health related ones, though they are no less important. I’m referring to the communication and interaction aspect of strokes. A stroke of a knife can cut the flesh, but the stroke of words can cut the heart. Physical hurts heal even though some may leave their mark in the form of a scar, but emotional wounds to the heart are another matter entirely. Yet we are far more careless with our words than we are with physical influences. Why is that?

Too often we speak without thinking. Too often we share our views and opinions without solicitation. Too often we disgrace the name and reputation of others with gossip and rumor. Too often we use verbal harshness to get what we want. Too often we desecrate the name of divinity. In short, too often we tear down instead of build up.

Words are indeed powerful. They have the ability to lift, raise, beautify, comfort and nurture. And as with all things they have the opposite abilities as well. When you think of the simplicity of a name much can be learned. To hear your name spoken in the positive tones makes your heart soar with pride and security. I don’t have to write the emotions that are invoked when you recall hearing your full name called in “that tone” because you know exactly how it made you feel. Is it any wonder that one of the first commandments given was not to take the name of the Lord in vain? Yet that is trampled under the feet and tongues of men today as much as every other harmful tool of verbal power.

I was struck by a talk on this subject a few years ago. The stark comparison of the speaker who spoke of how the same mouths that spoke prayers and sang praises in beautiful song would yell or speak unkindly. I thought of my own voice and my own tongue. I thought on how I frequently use both for praying and singing but never thought about how I used them in defiling and damaging ways. The title of the talk was “The Tongue of Angels” and to say it left it’s mark on me and my heart would be an understatement. I’ve been keenly more aware of my words and although I’ve got so far to go I’m now on the journey of improving my tongue.

You’ve heard the saying many times “different strokes for different folks” and it’s the truth. I’ve recently been teaching charm classes again and it brings to the surface so much of this topic as I strive to teach my students rules of engagement and common courtesies. Then as I was out catching up on some blogs last night I watched some video clips of a recent blogging convention. My eye was caught by the familiar scene of the convention center room with round tables in hotel ballrooms, their chairs occupied by people of all types, but what captured and held my attention was the one that sat at a table without a laptop. It was a stark reminder of how keystroke minded communication is these days. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that many of the people in that room where having conversations with one another, maybe some even at the same table but with instant messaging, e-mails, comments and blogging. Nearly every person in the video clip had a laptop on the table or in their laps, and it’s why the one who didn’t stood out. Our teens may not carry their laptops around like their adult counterparts yet, but they do carry around their phones and I’ve known many a youth who was having a conversation with the person next to them using their thumbs instead of their mouths. It’s an interesting phenomenon that bears both pros and cons.

On the pro side, I personally find that typing more has made me more aware of my words. When I write something, I go back over it many times and find several places where I edit, re-edit, scratch entirely, etc. The result is that I’ve been fine-tuning my communication and presentation skills. I have to think things through before I commit them to text and sometimes just seeing them in text and re-reading them sheds new light too. I have seen a stark improvement in my writing since I began blogging two years ago. Another advantage for me is the ability for my words to keep up with my thoughts thanks to hands and a mind that learned how to type. And I can do it without writer’s cramp, white-out or an eraser. (A post for another day is a rant on how many people, especially youth today, don’t acquire this skill. Hunt and peck methods were never efficient, but in today’s world I can’t hardly imagine the person keeping up without this skill.)

On the con side for me are many of the opposites. While it is considerably more efficient for me to communicate via text it is far less personal. I find it takes concerted effort on my part to continue working at other communication skills of speech and conversational interaction. I worry about the new generation who are not being taught verbal communication and social interaction skills. Another downside is the ability of doing things because one can without ever questioning if one should. And here we are full circle back to the double edged tongue.

Whether in keystrokes or voice, our words have great power. My goal is to make my strokes those of love and kindness in the lives of those around me. It’s part of working on my life, the masterpiece.

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Emotions Positive Impact Relationships Blogging Deep Thoughts Intellectual

I’ve been thinking about how to start blogging my memories ever since I wrote about them last week. Today I was chatting online briefly with a friend from High School. We’ve actually gotten to know each other better since we graduated than we ever knew each other as classmates. I mentioned that I blended in with the walls pretty well in school because I was so shy. I suppose his response shouldn’t have surprised me but in a way it still did to read that he remembered that about me. I guess that part of me is so changed into the person I am now that I’ve always hoped others would forget it too. But it’s part of me and it’s what’s on the brain right now so I’ll share a few memories of that quiet kid I used to be.

I have to preface all of this with a constant question in my mind. It’s one of those “How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop? The world may never know.” kind of questions. I’ve always wondered how my life might have been different if I’d lived in different places, or more specifically not moved when I was a young girl. You see, when I was born and up to the ripe old age of 7, my family lived in Preston, Idaho. Now if you’ve seen Napoleon Dynamite you’re going to be laughing your backside off about my internal struggle but I’ll share it all the same.

My parents owned and operated the Plaza Motel which was right next door to the Popp’n Pins bowling alley. My mom and dad are probably amazed right now that I pulled that name out of the archives so easily. But I actually remember a lot about those years in Preston. I especially remember Kindergarten and first grade. I remember that I was a cute little girl that was well liked by her classmates. I didn’t have any enemies or kids that were mean to me. In fact, I remember very specifically laying our coats down against the wall of our first grade classroom during the winter as there were no hooks on our wall. Several boys had a habit of burying mine with theirs. One day, I remember Ricky coming up to me and asking me if I knew why so many boys put their coats on top of mine and when I said no he explained they did it because they liked me and thought I was cute. I blushed as deep a pink as my dress but inside I glowed like a thousand watt bulb with the compliment. I remember catching him looking at me with a big grin more than once and loving every moment of it. I have a similar memory of Kindergarten and my mom switching from the half day every day to the all day every other day program for a short time. When I went back to my half day class I was grabbed up in the biggest bear hug by one of the girls who exclaimed with glee, “Oh goody, goody gumdrops!” over and over. I can still hear her in my head. Further, my peers perceived that my family was rich because they owned the motel. Which was one of like four businesses in the entire town. Okay maybe more than four but again, have you seen Napoleon? The point is, the perception, or at least my interpretation of it, was that I was one of those popular kids - well liked, privileged, etc. If we had never moved I may have been a smug Summer Wheatly (sp?) kind of girl.

As it turns out, my parents sold the motel and moved to a small farming community after my first grade year. The closest town was Rexburg, about 8 miles away. While I was delighted that we finally had our own home everything changed. No one knew me or my family, they didn’t own any landmarks and consequently big changes were in the cards. I was a nobody, a new kid, an outsider. While the kids of my “neighborhood” readily accepted me and were kind with fun friendships forming, the kids at school were not. For a child who never experienced a move, doing it for the first time at age seven was brutal. Most of the kids at school in my class were mean and made no bones about not accepting me as the outsider. I got ‘new girl’ sneers and jeers to my face as well as behind my back, and I was excluded from circles of friends along with their games and activities. I was too young to know if I had tough or weak skin, I just knew I was very confused because this was so opposite of what I’d known in school previously. I wasn’t a totally ninny because I remember yelling one day to most of the class that maybe I’d move back where I came from anyway and then they’d be happy and so would I! It wasn’t until I broke the ice playing the coveted sport of soccer at recess that I was accepted as one of the group. For the record, one aspect the movie got right about Preston is the sport…tether ball was the only thing outside rollerskating I’d had exposure to. But the good news is I had a knack for it and I was pretty good, comparatively speaking, so from that point on things took a positive turn.

By the time I was my daughter’s age, in fourth grade, things were much closer to the life I’d known in Preston and I was happy. I even had a boyfriend, and he was one of the popular and privileged, “rich” kids whose daddy was a big name farmer in the area. Remember how association acceptance worked? When you’d be accepted in different social circles just for who your friends were? Oh wait, that’s not a thing of the past. Never mind. Anyway, aside from the petty girl games that come with the age and a few rough patches with it, life was good. That’s when the next blow struck. I was uprooted again when all the kids my age were combined into one big sixth grade class at a middle school in town.

Sixth grade changed everything…again. I was now another face in a classroom of kids I’d never met, this time things were more equal but still really intimidating. Most of us were new to each other. However, that year largely defined the rest of our school experience, reputations and friends. Worse was I lost my association powers because my friends and I were separated into different homeroom classes. In fact, after a few weeks of school my best friend informed me that she’d found a new best friend and so couldn’t be my friend anymore. It was a sign of things to come because I never again associated with those early friends from grade school. I’ve always regretted that. But I fell back into a pattern of quiet uncertainty. I met one new friend that became my bosom buddy through the worst years of my life - a.k.a. Junior High. But the pattern of quiet was set and wouldn’t budge much until I got involved in drama my last couple years of High School.

It’s funny looking back because I see a recurring pattern of starting new, rising to the challenge and starting over. I’m not the shy, quiet and insecure girl I was in school anymore but I remember her very well. There’s a lot more to me being quiet than I can share here and this is already a book so I’ll close and save the other thoughts for another day. Suffice it to say there are good things about being quiet too.

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School Relationships Blogging Memories

So many things are calling for my attention this morning but my mind is likely to explode if I don’t find a way to get some of these thoughts and memories out. So the laundry, dishes and vacuuming will have to wait while I attempt to organize and store these thoughts here on my blog - my personal pensieve.

The memory mumble in my head has been building for a while now. The culprits for the growth include: 1) watching my daughter and remembering life at her age, 2) being in touch with old classmates, 3) reading. All three seem to have recently collided in the same space of my mind.

My daughter is 10 this year. She reminds me frequently that she’s really almost 10 1/2 because she’ll be 11 this fall. What she doesn’t know is that I need no reminding. Nor does she comprehend how well I understand her feelings of wanting so much to hasten growth not to mention the emotions of girl troubles and boy crushes. But I do remember and watching her experience it is like reliving some of my past on a regular basis, which until recently I’ve completely underestimated the power of. This is intertwined with viewing photos yesterday of some old classmates at my last high school reunion that I didn’t make it too. I saw a picture of one of my best friends when I was her age and it brought back a flood of memories. Then last night as I was reading, I was struck with the harsh reality of how many things we do in our lives because of influence or peer pressure and how that impacts our lives, the lives of others and the memories we lock away.

Lock is an intentional verb in the concept of storing memories. You see I’ve recently come to the realization of how I’ve locked in so many memories, expectations and criteria based on association and timing. Sadly, many of those were done automatically when I was the least capable in my life of looking beyond myself - namely, high school. As I looked through pictures of classmates from a few years ago I found myself thinking terrible things like, “wow, they sure got fat”, or “woof, time has not been friendly to them”, or even “they look as mean and stuck up as they ever were.” These aren’t the things I think when I meet people every day now, I don’t hold them to this standard. And then I thought on how I was being so harsh in my judgments and expectations simply because of association. The fact is, I knew these people when they were teens. The fact is, teens are self-centered and egotistical and often down right unkind. The fact is, teen bodies haven’t been impacted with age. I didn’t think I was a terrible teen, I still don’t. But I concede that I was totally wrapped up in myself, my own fears, anxieties, self conscious worries, etc. Heck, I never wore a short sleeved shirt to school or shorts because I was so sure everyone would notice my horrifically bony elbows and knees. It never even occurred to me that they wouldn’t notice my imperfections because they were so focused on their own. And I certainly never thought on the physical state of maturity and age, I just took for granted that my body would always be the same and therefore only focused on the things I didn’t like about it. This is where hindsight becomes so valuable and we’re back to that reality of not truly appreciating what you had until you no longer have it principle.

What really got me into a muddled mess was thinking about never giving these classmates a chance. I locked in my memories of them at their best or worst and that’s where they live in my mind. It’s why I’m so shocked when I find out how many kids some of them have or how nice they are now that they’re adults and I’d be equally shocked to learn anything negative about my personal heroes and the few I put on pedestals. I’m ashamed to admit it, but to this day there are two girls whose names make me cringe when I first hear them. It was a silly thing that happened clear back in 7th grade when they made fun of me for not having any boobs when I refused to give them my math answers. But it made its mark on me because it hit on the area of physical bodies and so many insecurities I battled with every day being so skinny and nothing but a straight highway. I’m sure neither one remembers it and I’d guess that both would feel terrible today to know how much it devastated me. And that’s the point. Kids are mean. Sometimes they’re just stupid and do and say things without thinking. Most of the time they do or say mean things just to impress someone they’re with because they want so much to be accepted and feel important. This peer pressure makes kids do things they wouldn’t do on their own and often things that are uncharacteristic. This describes the scene I read last night in my book and it made me really think hard on my own locked memories. Moreover I wonder how many people have locked memories of me doing or saying something that was hurtful to them that I’m not even aware of? And wouldn’t I like the chance to be redeemed or make things right?

I’m not sure if this post is really going anywhere or not. I just know I have a lot of thoughts and feelings regarding the many memories in my head right now. As my husband’s 20 year reunion comes up this summer I see and hear so many shallow things regarding these locked memories. Some are so bitter that they have nothing but complaints and unkind things to say. Others purposely attempt to live in those days past because they were the height of their glory days. All I know is that I’ve grown SO much as a person since my school days and the person I am now is the one I’d like my classmates to know, not the growing, insecure teen I was. That means I have to look at each of them with different eyes too. So why is association memory so difficult?

I’ve definitely identified some things I need to work on, namely my own lock box of memories. Maybe it’s time for me to find a key and allow those babies to move around a bit, rub up against some new memories in my mind. Perhaps I’ll start unlocking those trapped memories here in some more posts on specific memories; try to view them in a new and different light. It’s funny what you choose to remember and how when you start thinking on those things other memories find a way of spilling out. It’s part of who we are - a natural process. But if I want to keep growing as a person I think I need to air out some of these memories. Besides that, they’re not all bad. In fact, I’m sure I’ll be surprised at how many good ones are hidden under the locked ones. Hmmmmm that’s something to think about.

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School Sharing Emotions Relationships Parenthood Blogging Reading Deep Thoughts

A myriad of thoughts run through my mind at this statement. It applies in so many places. Today I’m paying for last night’s decision to stay up and read until 2:30 AM. I could share how quickly one forgets the life of the independent young adult who frequently stays up late and how much changes when you grow older and your body forgets to recuperate as quickly as it did then. But the real purpose of this post is to share how much I have forgotten in a wonderful book I recently read for the second time.

It’s possible that I was just competing with my husband, or maybe it was just sympathy pains for him, or maybe even it was just the misery of knowing how I don’t sleep when he’s away but whatever the reason I stayed up until just after 2AM this morning reading. He’s on a business trip to NY. I could insert another memory lapse here on how quickly I forget how much I hate being away from him. I’m not one to give way to panic but when the call of his arrival reached the point of being nearly an hour late I started to think about all those things you shouldn’t. So I called his phone but went right to voicemail. I calmed myself saying that his phone must still be off and thus it was probably a delayed flight. This reasoning and my reading passed the next hour without much worry, but as the third hour approached my mind started wandering again. I tried so hard to push my 5 year old’s words to his nightly prayer out of my head when he prayed that if his daddy died that Jesus would be with him to help him. He was probably just trying to find the right way to express his concern through prayer but it started to make me uneasy. I picked up the phone and tried again. It rang. And rang. And rang. Finally he picked up in a soft voice I nearly cried for the relief of hearing it. He asked me if I had not gotten his message to which I replied I hadn’t even checked as I’d had the phone by my side since 9PM and it never rang. He apologized and said he’d called twice and left a message the second time. Now I was the one who felt bad as it was now nearly 2:30AM in NY and he would have to be up and going in only 3 short hours. I don’t know if the phone settings were the culprit or what but I was just so happy to hear his voice and know he was okay I didn’t even care. I sang myself to sleep at about the same time I knew he was waking to start his day. How quickly one forgets the comfort of simply having your loved on by your side and within reach.

After our call I couldn’t sleep as my mind and heart were still racing and now that I knew he was safe those crazy sounds, that only come out when you’re feeling alone and vulnerable in the dark, started. So I kept reading. Just after midnight I’d reached a point where I couldn’t put my book down and had to finish it. What’s really interesting is that I’ve read this book before, and I remember I really liked it. I’ve even seen the movie based on the book and liked that too. Yet, I remembered almost nothing about this book! Almost page by page I was astonished that I’d forgotten this part or that and how the movie was NOTHING like the book. In fact, beyond recognizing a few main character names and general story line of an innocent victim who gets his vengeance in the end, the movie was a completely different story from the famous book. The book of which I speak is The Count of Monte Cristo. It is a popular favorite among high school English teachers and the copy I was reading was in fact the old paperback my husband still had from such a class. I had read this book for the first time about 11 years ago when going back to school for a teaching degree. Our professor had told us that nothing did a soul as much good as reading or re-reading a classic piece of literature at least once or twice a year and thus one of our assignments was to read a classic. I remember being transfixed by the book and loving it, yet these 11 years later I had forgotten nearly everything.

I’m so glad I took the time to re-read this wonderful classic and if you haven’t read it before or if it’s just been a while I strongly suggest you make time to read it. I have so much more to say about it but as it’s time to go pick up my son and this post is already so much longer than I intended I’ll have to save it for another post. In all my forgetting things, at least I can still remember when school gets out. *wink*

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My friend, Kailani, shared the sweetest post this morning about the tender and simple shows of affection with our kids. It struck a chord with me. Not only because I’ve been there with my own daughter, but also because my son is still in the acceptance stage of this show of affection.

As my daughter is growing I’m learning that although she is becoming resistant to any show of emotion/affection in public or in front of her peers she still craves it. She still asks me to tuck her in at night and she absolutely beams when I call her my princess, baby or anything else complimentary. In fact, just last week I tucked her in giving her a kiss and telling her that she will always be my beautiful princess. She said, “Mom, can tell me that again tomorrow night? Oh, but mom, don’t tell anyone that you do that.” I smiled and gave her a big kiss, wished her sweet dreams and retreated from the room. They grow so fast. In a few more years I’ll have a cat:

Children as Pets - The Cat Years

I just realized that while children are dogs - loyal and affectionate - teenagers are cats. It’s so easy to be a dog owner. You feed it, train it, boss it around. It puts it’s head on your knee and gazes at you as if you were a Rembrandt painting. It bounds indoors with enthusiasm when you call it.

Then around age 13, your adoring little puppy turns into a big old cat. When you tell it to come inside, it looks amazed, as if wondering who died and made you emperor. Instead of dogging your doorsteps, it disappears. You won’t see it again until it gets hungry — then it pauses on its sprint through the kitchen long enough to turn its nose up at whatever you’re serving. When you reach out to ruffle its head, in that old affectionate gesture, it twists away from you, then gives you a blank stare, as if trying to remember where it has seen you before.

You, not realizing that the dog is now a cat, think something must be desperately wrong with it. It seems so antisocial, so distant, sort of depressed. It won’t go on family outings. Since you’re the one who raised it, taught it to fetch and stay and sit on command, you assume that you did something wrong. Flooded with guilt and fear, you redouble your efforts to make your pet behave.

Only now you’re dealing with a cat, so everything that worked before now produces the opposite of the desired result. Call it, and it runs away. Tell it to sit, and it jumps on the counter. The more you go toward it, wringing your hands, the more it moves away. Instead of continuing to act like a dog owner, you can learn to behave like a cat owner. Put a dish of food near the door, and let it come to you. But remember that a cat needs your help and your affection too. Sit still, and it will come, seeking that warm, comforting lap it has not entirely forgotten. Be there to open the door for it.

One day your grown-up child will walk into the kitchen, give you a big kiss and say, “You’ve been on your feet all day. Let me get those dishes for you.” Then you’ll realize your cat is a dog again.

- author unknown

From the day this cute writing was shared with me it etched itself into my memory. I’ve referred to teens as cats ever since. *wink* Here’s hoping I have a few more kitten years with my baby girl and enough wisdom to truly relish the dog years with my boy.

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One of our favorite family things is spending time discussing daily events and details around the dinner table. My daughter is the queen of social interests and frequently charters discussions about work associates and all things social. Well, last night a teaching moment presented itself during our discussion. My daughter started asking her dad about some of his co-workers however, the way she brought up who she was asking about left much to be desired. Her dad told her how much better it is to use a person’s name rather than personal traits or habits. He helped her see that it could hurt someone’s feelings if they heard you saying things like “the guy who smokes”, or “the guy who likes cars”, etc. instead of their name, just as you wouldn’t want someone to introduce or describe you using similar criteria. She wasn’t doing it in a mean way she just wasn’t thinking about it and it caused me to reflect on how important it is to teach our kids such basic principles. It’s such a small thing yet it carries deep impact.

Names are important, how we use them are important. No one likes to hear their names associated with negativity, whether it’s an unkind disciplinary tone or garnished with rubbish and rumors. And regardless of how often you hear it, there are no exceptions to the rule shared by my husband. Ironically, just a few weeks ago the primary exception by most was the topic of discussion in a lesson I attended. It reminded me of the importance of how we treat one another. A few of the class shared their experiences having siblings with a disability like down syndrome. They said how much it hurts them to hear others always list the disability before or in place of their name because we’re all of equal importance and we’re all first and foremost humans, children of God. I know I would cringe if someone aired my dirty laundry or personal weaknesses as an introduction in place of or in front of my name. Further, you will be hard pressed to find anyone with a disability that doesn’t use the nicest words and compliments to describe those around them. I wonder who has the greater handicap.

I repeat, names are important. I remember hearing an answer once to a question once that stuck with me. I don’t remember the exact question, but it had something to do with coming up with one thing you’d like most to give to your parents if you could. The answer given was to honor their name and never bring it shame. How well we would all do to remember such a basic concept. What a wonderful world this would be if we made promises to ourselves and others that their names would be safe in our home.

It seems to me that one of the things we continually seem to lose in today’s world is basic respect and civility for one another. There was a time when men honored their own names as well as those of others - a time when honor was most precious. I was reminded of this time in a book I just read placed in the late 1800s. Even when something major was known about someone, it was not shared even within a family relationship. Privacy was respected and people didn’t feel it their job to share another’s private affairs. Today it seems that few people can open their mouths without it being to discuss another person’s mistakes or dirty laundry behind their backs. It’s not that these people are bad people either, in fact I know many a wonderful person who struggles with this often not even recognizing how often they do it. For them it is rarely a malicious decision, it is merely a learned behavior repeated so often that it becomes unnoticed and acceptable.

It’s not acceptable. They say what goes around comes around and I have found this to be true. I know people that I will not share things with because they have loose tongues. I remember my mother stopping me dead in my tracks one day while repeating things I’d heard another say by her sad countenance and response that she wondered what that person said about her behind her back. It was a sickening feeling, instantly shedding new light on things for me. And I will NEVER forget the day I was complaining to a new temp at the front desk about our new director only to turn around and find him right behind me. I vowed that day never to put myself into such a pickle again!

I’ve shared it before, but the reality is if any one of the three rules are a “no” you keep your mouth shut:
1) Is it true?
2) Is it kind?
3) Is it necessary?

If those are too hard to remember there’s the golden rule of doing unto others as you would have done unto you. Or better yet the old adage, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” But above all, I think starting with the importance of names is a good place to begin. If we can respect and keep safe our own family name and that of others within the walls of our homes, I think we’ll be on the right track.

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