I would like to tell you a little story about what a precious little pumpkin I have. Right now, he is three years old (and some change) and I believe he’s at the cutest age yet. Every day he says something or does something that causes Jeff and me to look at each other in disbelief and then laugh our butts off. This morning was no exception. I got a call from Colten when I was already at work. I got up at the butt crack of dawn to go to a spinning class and had just settled into my desk. His response to my hello was, “We’re lazy bums, Mom.” Apparently he and his daddy were still in bed! Mind you, I had already been up for nearly three hours.
Granted, his daddy coached him on what to say, but it was still SO cute to hear coming from him. Then, the cutest thing was when he asked if I was jealous. I can’t express to you how adorable he sounded or how cute he was when he busted into giggles after I began laughing at how cute he was.
Jeff then went on to tell me that he and Colten had just woken up and had gotten into a pillow fight. After that, he started to gather up MY pillows to apparently add to his comfort in my absence. At this, Colten told him something to the effect of, “No, Daddy, don’t take Mommy’s pillows!” It doesn't seem like a big deal since I wasn't even there, but there is a clear reason why he found this act to be so offensive. Plainly put, it’s because Mommy finds it offensive:) You may not know this about me, but you have to understand that I am extremely particular about my pillows. My pillows are MY pillows. Apparently, Jeff can’t tell difference between all of the pillows on our bed (about 8 to 10) as to which ones are his and which ones are MINE. I know this by the fact that every time I come to bed after him, or any time he makes the bed, I have to fish my pillows out of his side. Sometimes, to the detriment of his sleep! This is a common occurrence for us…I snatch my pillow, he gets mad that I took his pillow, I get mad that he doesn’t already know that it was my pillow, and the cycle continues. It’s an idiosyncrasy of mine, I know. I guess it comes from growing up in a house with four kids. You have to learn to stake your claim and be willing to defend it!
So, all of this just illustrates the point that three year olds pick up on everything! Even when you think they aren’t paying attention, they are! At least in this case, it was a good thing. I have a little advocate. But it goes double to remind me that he’s listening and taking everything in, and I need to try more than ever to be a good role model to him, my little precious pumpkin!
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Realizing on a Wednesday
Have you ever felt like everything happening in your life was being orchestrated just to reach you and make you see something that you had been missing? But I don’t think that actually covers it. Not just to “see” something, but to realize something you could never before grasp.
Anyone who is a parent would understand this kind of realization. The gravity of which, I couldn’t anticipate. Intellectually, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a parent. I even summoned up my deepest feelings to imagine how I might feel about my child. But when I became a parent, I realized that I couldn’t have imagined the capacity of which I would love my son, or the responsibility that came along with it. Becoming a parent changed me so profoundly that it was as if someone had turned the lights on, when I hadn’t even realized that I had spent my entire life in the dark before that moment.
There are many levels of discovery and realization. Some can be monumental, like becoming a parent. Some can be more subtle, as if you suddenly realized that the jumbled mess of your life wasn't really a mess but a masterpiece, intricately intertwined in such a way that you couldn’t have gotten there by accident. This type of realization has also happened to me before.
Sometimes I can be very hard headed. Unless there are numbers and science and logic to back it up, I can be quite the cynic. Although, that is probably too harsh of a term for what I am, I would say that I am more so pragmatic. I guess that is why I became an engineer. But sometimes life unfolds in such a way that God’s purpose can’t be mistaken.
My mother and father have been married for 36 years now. The feat of which does not escape me. So, I grew up with the impression that I would never be divorced, and that those who did divorce either didn’t try or didn’t enter into the marriage with the gravity it required. Needless to say, I found myself in that very place. At the age of 25, I got a divorce. No matter the surrounding circumstances, it left me in a tailspin. I felt like I had let myself and everyone I knew down. I felt so alone and depressed. It was a very hard time for me.
I was living in South Florida at the time. I had lived away from home and away from my family for a number of years. However, the year prior to my divorce and the toughest stage of my life, my parents decided to also move to South Florida. This was not a casual decision for them. They, and pretty much all of the rest of my family, had lived in Dallas their entire lives. At the time, I couldn’t have anticipated how much I would be needing them. It was just nice to have them close. But then, my life got nearly too difficult to bear, and my parents were able to be there for me when I needed them most.
Once I got through that difficult time, I found that I was ready to move on. I was hesitant to go though, because I didn’t want to leave them behind when they had come all that way to be with me. Here is where God tied the bow for me and then hit me over the head so I could see His work. I hesitantly chose to move to Mobile. The same week that I told my parents this, my mother learned that they would be closing her office there in Florida. She had transferred there from Dallas and gotten a promotion by doing so, since that was a division that was only located in South Florida. So, guess where they chose to relocate her division when they closed that office? Back to Dallas, back home! As if that weren’t enough, the move date set by her work was the same week that I had already planned to move myself. And they paid to move her back as well.
Signed, sealed, and delivered.
All of this is to say, that I have had the experience of coming to important realizations in my life. Realizations that I couldn’t have otherwise imagined or that I would have otherwise stubbornly missed. So, the benefit of my experience has taught me to not let these things go by unnoticed, because sometimes there are greater meanings to the normal occasions in life.
Anyone who is a parent would understand this kind of realization. The gravity of which, I couldn’t anticipate. Intellectually, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a parent. I even summoned up my deepest feelings to imagine how I might feel about my child. But when I became a parent, I realized that I couldn’t have imagined the capacity of which I would love my son, or the responsibility that came along with it. Becoming a parent changed me so profoundly that it was as if someone had turned the lights on, when I hadn’t even realized that I had spent my entire life in the dark before that moment.
There are many levels of discovery and realization. Some can be monumental, like becoming a parent. Some can be more subtle, as if you suddenly realized that the jumbled mess of your life wasn't really a mess but a masterpiece, intricately intertwined in such a way that you couldn’t have gotten there by accident. This type of realization has also happened to me before.
Sometimes I can be very hard headed. Unless there are numbers and science and logic to back it up, I can be quite the cynic. Although, that is probably too harsh of a term for what I am, I would say that I am more so pragmatic. I guess that is why I became an engineer. But sometimes life unfolds in such a way that God’s purpose can’t be mistaken.
My mother and father have been married for 36 years now. The feat of which does not escape me. So, I grew up with the impression that I would never be divorced, and that those who did divorce either didn’t try or didn’t enter into the marriage with the gravity it required. Needless to say, I found myself in that very place. At the age of 25, I got a divorce. No matter the surrounding circumstances, it left me in a tailspin. I felt like I had let myself and everyone I knew down. I felt so alone and depressed. It was a very hard time for me.
I was living in South Florida at the time. I had lived away from home and away from my family for a number of years. However, the year prior to my divorce and the toughest stage of my life, my parents decided to also move to South Florida. This was not a casual decision for them. They, and pretty much all of the rest of my family, had lived in Dallas their entire lives. At the time, I couldn’t have anticipated how much I would be needing them. It was just nice to have them close. But then, my life got nearly too difficult to bear, and my parents were able to be there for me when I needed them most.
Once I got through that difficult time, I found that I was ready to move on. I was hesitant to go though, because I didn’t want to leave them behind when they had come all that way to be with me. Here is where God tied the bow for me and then hit me over the head so I could see His work. I hesitantly chose to move to Mobile. The same week that I told my parents this, my mother learned that they would be closing her office there in Florida. She had transferred there from Dallas and gotten a promotion by doing so, since that was a division that was only located in South Florida. So, guess where they chose to relocate her division when they closed that office? Back to Dallas, back home! As if that weren’t enough, the move date set by her work was the same week that I had already planned to move myself. And they paid to move her back as well.
Signed, sealed, and delivered.
All of this is to say, that I have had the experience of coming to important realizations in my life. Realizations that I couldn’t have otherwise imagined or that I would have otherwise stubbornly missed. So, the benefit of my experience has taught me to not let these things go by unnoticed, because sometimes there are greater meanings to the normal occasions in life.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Less than 5 minutes...
You know, there aren't many things not involving a microwave that can be done in less than 5 minutes. At the current rate I've been running I couldn't even run a half a mile in less than 5 minutes. I know I can't put my makeup on in the morning in less than 5 minutes...I know because I've tried. But this blog is (hopefully) written in less than 5 minutes. Or maybe I just wanted to see how many times I could type "less than 5 minutes" in less than five minutes:)
My friend Patrick started a blog (http://oamaam312.blogspot.com/), so I just had to post something too, in you guessed it...less than 5 minutes.
My friend Patrick started a blog (http://oamaam312.blogspot.com/), so I just had to post something too, in you guessed it...less than 5 minutes.
Friday, August 5, 2011
RE: Shanna
I am a writer. I am?
I suppose we all have the capacity to be a writer. Don’t we? After all, it’s not like singing, where I often have dreams of auditioning for American Idol and making it to Hollywood (!...?) to my shock, and then horror. That is because I am of the distinct impression that I’m not a very good singer. Even when I belt out Toni Braxton in my shower (you know, where the acoustics are the most flattering) and as much as I try and stretch my voice, my own vanity has to admit that it doesn’t sound fantastic. On a good note though (pun intended), I wouldn’t categorize my singing disability as tone-deafness. For instance, I have the capability to blend my voice very nicely with a chorus, or with the radio in my car. So, I do have that going for my singing aspirations. But my point is this. You can’t fake a good singing voice. That is, unless you are a commercially promoted, bubble gum pop tween with a team of synthesizers on hand to fake out your undiscerning audience.
Writing, however, is another story (there again with the puns.) Sure, there are those people who simply have a talent for writing. You have probably paid or thought about paying them at one point to produce a paper for you. But in my opinion, even the layman could slop something on a paper and eventually form a well written essay/story/book/blog given enough rounds of editing. Now, if grammar wasn’t a strong suit, I could see how this may be painstaking and time consuming, but still achievable for even the most helpless among us.
So, the real question is, where do you draw the line? When might you consider yourself a writer? Because I think I have established that we are all writers if we so choose to be one. Perhaps will and ability are intermingled here. In my case, I have always had a dread for writing, so I simply didn’t have the will. I had a problem with focusing my random thoughts into one congruent paper/story. Obviously, I still have that same problem. But somewhere along the way, I realized that I had the ability to rein myself in, and was actually able produce good writing. That, paired with my knack for grammar and love for words, translated into my writing for pleasure. I guess that leaves me now with the will and ability to write. So, I’ll bite the bullet...
I am a writer.
I suppose we all have the capacity to be a writer. Don’t we? After all, it’s not like singing, where I often have dreams of auditioning for American Idol and making it to Hollywood (!...?) to my shock, and then horror. That is because I am of the distinct impression that I’m not a very good singer. Even when I belt out Toni Braxton in my shower (you know, where the acoustics are the most flattering) and as much as I try and stretch my voice, my own vanity has to admit that it doesn’t sound fantastic. On a good note though (pun intended), I wouldn’t categorize my singing disability as tone-deafness. For instance, I have the capability to blend my voice very nicely with a chorus, or with the radio in my car. So, I do have that going for my singing aspirations. But my point is this. You can’t fake a good singing voice. That is, unless you are a commercially promoted, bubble gum pop tween with a team of synthesizers on hand to fake out your undiscerning audience.
Writing, however, is another story (there again with the puns.) Sure, there are those people who simply have a talent for writing. You have probably paid or thought about paying them at one point to produce a paper for you. But in my opinion, even the layman could slop something on a paper and eventually form a well written essay/story/book/blog given enough rounds of editing. Now, if grammar wasn’t a strong suit, I could see how this may be painstaking and time consuming, but still achievable for even the most helpless among us.
So, the real question is, where do you draw the line? When might you consider yourself a writer? Because I think I have established that we are all writers if we so choose to be one. Perhaps will and ability are intermingled here. In my case, I have always had a dread for writing, so I simply didn’t have the will. I had a problem with focusing my random thoughts into one congruent paper/story. Obviously, I still have that same problem. But somewhere along the way, I realized that I had the ability to rein myself in, and was actually able produce good writing. That, paired with my knack for grammar and love for words, translated into my writing for pleasure. I guess that leaves me now with the will and ability to write. So, I’ll bite the bullet...
I am a writer.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Dunker
I made my way to the back of a long, gray metal tube and meekly settled into one of the back window seats. Although I was alongside eight of my peers, I felt completely alone. We sat perched about ten feet above a large, deep swimming pool by a system of cables and pulleys. All of this was designed to simulate a helicopter crash and would capsize upon entering the water.
The two-hour bus ride to the Marine Corps air station that morning would do nothing to calm my nerves. The fact that I was not in this alone was of no distraction to my fears. The truth was that I was terrified. I was on my way to a military aviation training evolution in which the main training aid was the 9D5, affectionately known as “The Dunker.” It was designed to train aviators for the worst, including how to fight the urge to panic.
Sitting in my seat awaiting my destiny, I thought back to an acronym mentioned in orientation. D.O.R. - which meant that we all had the option to Disenroll On Request, without reprimand. A big deal for the military setting I was in.
It played over in my head like a dream; I would get up and say that I was simply uncomfortable and be saved from this prospect that had brought me nightmares for months. Looking back, I try to remember if it was my will to succeed or fear that kept me from leaving my seat that day.
I tried to match the countdown in my head with that of the instructor's. However, it was unsuccessfully replaced with the rhythm of my heart pounding in my chest. The drop to the water was fast in contrast to the moments beforehand. However, the eight-second wait thereafter, in which we were to remain still and allow for all movement to subside, seemed like an utter eternity.
The chlorine from the water stung my nose at first and flooded me with self-doubt. The water, though inviting, sent a chill through my body. In that threshold of time my life stood in balance, without breath, without fear. I couldn't help but wonder, would a real helicopter crash go this way, this smoothly? Then I realized that it was the answer to that question that was the cause of my fear. Fear of this day, and of a job that would have me flying in potentially dangerous situations.
I unfastened my seatbelt and fought my way to the exit and freed myself of the mock helicopter. As I broke the surface of the water, elation filled me. I overcame.
I often draw strength from the lessons that I learned at The Dunker that day. I would probably describe what I learned there as the first life-lesson I faced as an adult. It's funny, because I even have a shirt to commemorate the experience. It reads, "Panic in a can" and "I will survive because of the 9D5."
I now know that self doubt and uncertainty are an all too prevalent part of life. But more importantly, I learned that it usually bridges the gap between where I am and where I want to be. So, I found strength in my weakness, and formed a roadmap of how I would overcome difficult situations in my life, one bridge at a time.
Monday, August 1, 2011
The Better Me, and Lammas?
For you fun-loving critics…here’s two days in a row!
I would like to lament about llamas. Actually, it’s supposed to be Lammas, I only assumed it was llamas. Who could tell the difference? Lammas happens to be Merriam Webster’s aptly timed word of the day, since today is August 1st, or Lammas Day in some English-speaking countries. But who ever heard of Lammas Day? It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with a certain furry long-necked mammal.
In case you were wondering…Lammas Day is a festival of the wheat harvest or the feast of first fruits. Another one of the celebrations continued on from the pre-industrialized world, where we actually had a hand in the food we ate, and the expression “the fruits of your labor” was a more literal one.
But am I really here to give a history lesson or a lecture on the laziness of…well, me and I would say, our society as a whole? No. It really just serves as a lesson to show how volatile my focus can be. By this, I mean I am distractible. Though, I prefer to say that I am inquisitive. Which is true, but it also is a testament to the fact that something as inconsequential as a word of the day e-mail can redirect me from something else that I “should” be doing. This also snowballs on me at times. Like my education on Lammas today. Of course, I had to find out what it was, but in the process of reading up on it, I also came across a chain of interesting tidbits of knowledge which I also took a quick interlude in.
This leaves me to wonder if I am only capable of achieving/learning something when there is something else that I would prefer to do less. If I’m being brutally honest with myself, I would have to say this is mostly true. However, there is something I read once about procrastination that I try to hold to, since I know being hard on myself is a precipitator to my procrastinating tendencies. In essense, what I read is that a leopard need not change his spots to be more effective, but that he can learn to be more effective by using those spots to his advantage. This is to say that although I could be more effective if I didn’t procrastinate, I can still use my avoidance and redirecting procrastination traits to my advantage as well. For instance, I can produce a blog for a second day in a row. Had I not put off that “something else”, I probably wouldn’t have gotten to the blog.
Ok, so I know that I am still slinging excuses your way, but these are internal debates I have with myself all the time. I am always seeking the better me and analyzing how to accomplish that. When I was a child, I would often sleep in and therefore leave for school too late. So, while I was walking to school, I would always imagine how much further ahead I would be if I had left on time, and then I would try and catch up to the “better me.” I think I am still doing that in my life today in some respects. If I could only catch up to that better me. I wonder where I could be.
And, would I still know what Lammas was?
I would like to lament about llamas. Actually, it’s supposed to be Lammas, I only assumed it was llamas. Who could tell the difference? Lammas happens to be Merriam Webster’s aptly timed word of the day, since today is August 1st, or Lammas Day in some English-speaking countries. But who ever heard of Lammas Day? It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with a certain furry long-necked mammal.
In case you were wondering…Lammas Day is a festival of the wheat harvest or the feast of first fruits. Another one of the celebrations continued on from the pre-industrialized world, where we actually had a hand in the food we ate, and the expression “the fruits of your labor” was a more literal one.
But am I really here to give a history lesson or a lecture on the laziness of…well, me and I would say, our society as a whole? No. It really just serves as a lesson to show how volatile my focus can be. By this, I mean I am distractible. Though, I prefer to say that I am inquisitive. Which is true, but it also is a testament to the fact that something as inconsequential as a word of the day e-mail can redirect me from something else that I “should” be doing. This also snowballs on me at times. Like my education on Lammas today. Of course, I had to find out what it was, but in the process of reading up on it, I also came across a chain of interesting tidbits of knowledge which I also took a quick interlude in.
This leaves me to wonder if I am only capable of achieving/learning something when there is something else that I would prefer to do less. If I’m being brutally honest with myself, I would have to say this is mostly true. However, there is something I read once about procrastination that I try to hold to, since I know being hard on myself is a precipitator to my procrastinating tendencies. In essense, what I read is that a leopard need not change his spots to be more effective, but that he can learn to be more effective by using those spots to his advantage. This is to say that although I could be more effective if I didn’t procrastinate, I can still use my avoidance and redirecting procrastination traits to my advantage as well. For instance, I can produce a blog for a second day in a row. Had I not put off that “something else”, I probably wouldn’t have gotten to the blog.
Ok, so I know that I am still slinging excuses your way, but these are internal debates I have with myself all the time. I am always seeking the better me and analyzing how to accomplish that. When I was a child, I would often sleep in and therefore leave for school too late. So, while I was walking to school, I would always imagine how much further ahead I would be if I had left on time, and then I would try and catch up to the “better me.” I think I am still doing that in my life today in some respects. If I could only catch up to that better me. I wonder where I could be.
And, would I still know what Lammas was?
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Pardon Me While I Quibble
I have just gone on an enlightening round about to some of my favorite blogs of yore and it has left me wondering why I stopped blogging. I do know the answer though. There are actually several. They all focus on the fact that I've had a lot going on. But the truth is, when someone tells you "...I've had a lot going on," it's just their kind way of telling you that other things have happened and I've forgotten about you or whatever it was I was supposed to do for you. Harsh, but almost always, at least partially true. Trust me, I know these things. How? You ask. Well, I don't know. But don't tell me that I'm the only one who feels this way.
Sure, we don't set out to forget about the people or the things we care about, but it still happens. For me, I go through a routine shutdown period. Whenever life gets a little hectic, I withdraw a little. It's kind of like when the power is lost at a hospital. The generators kick in, but they only power up the essential items. Well, I do this emotionally. And I know it would be best if I didn't shut out my friends when I needed them most, but I do. So, this perpetuates my inability to stay connected. Just take a look at my track record.
But enough about all that, and to use an infamous moniker of a favorite professor of mine… “Hopping back off the rabbit trail…” I don’t know why I always try to treat blog entries like a counseling session. I guess I always feel the desire to divulge about my long absences from writing, but I haven’t the slightest clue why. Perhaps I don’t feel that I have anything more interesting to say. Although, I'm pretty sure I could find lots to talk about in my life right now. Or even come up with some brilliant randomness sure to entertain. But I can’t get to the quippy day to day stories I prefer until I quibble about my absence. So, there it is.
Sure, we don't set out to forget about the people or the things we care about, but it still happens. For me, I go through a routine shutdown period. Whenever life gets a little hectic, I withdraw a little. It's kind of like when the power is lost at a hospital. The generators kick in, but they only power up the essential items. Well, I do this emotionally. And I know it would be best if I didn't shut out my friends when I needed them most, but I do. So, this perpetuates my inability to stay connected. Just take a look at my track record.
But enough about all that, and to use an infamous moniker of a favorite professor of mine… “Hopping back off the rabbit trail…” I don’t know why I always try to treat blog entries like a counseling session. I guess I always feel the desire to divulge about my long absences from writing, but I haven’t the slightest clue why. Perhaps I don’t feel that I have anything more interesting to say. Although, I'm pretty sure I could find lots to talk about in my life right now. Or even come up with some brilliant randomness sure to entertain. But I can’t get to the quippy day to day stories I prefer until I quibble about my absence. So, there it is.
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