The Cantaloupe, The Heat, And My Mom

My mom and I sometimes had a cantankerous relationship. Because she was a cantankerous lady. And I am a cantankerous lady. She was also a bad-ass broad, and she tried to teach my sisters and I to be bad-ass broads, too. I am hoping that she succeeded, at least a little bit.

I thought of my mom this morning, because when I woke up, I could tell the day was going to be very hot (108 degrees, baby); and when I came down the stairs, I could smell the ripe cantaloupe on my kitchen counter. My mom's kitchen always smelled like ripe cantaloupe on hot summer days, because cantaloupe was one of her favorite fruits to buy in the summertime.

And I loved summertime at my mom and dad's house. There was no school and -- being that my mom was not "into" signing my sisters and I up for activities (the exception to this rule being swimming lessons, because my mom was a bad-ass life guard in her youth) -- summer was always very relaxing. My sisters and I would eat cantaloupe and watch the soaps with my Nana (who lived across the street) and read books and walk our dog and clean the house once a week. My mom was a stickler about having us clean the house once a week, which was quite fair and all, as we really didn't have to do much else, as far as chores went. We did clear the table, but we weren't allowed to load the dishwasher, because -- according to my mom -- we would inevitably do it wrong. We also washed the dog and cat bowls after they ate. And we would put our laundry away after my mom folded it and laid it out on the kitchen table for us. We weren't allowed to do our laundry, either, because my mom said that we would inevitably overflow the drain field (there were no sewers where we lived), and she was probably right about that. We were also expected to keep our stuff cleaned up, as my mom was very tidy. All in all, a pretty light amount of chores, I'd say. So, summer was very relaxing.

And that was so AWESOME, because I am a rather high-strung person in my nervous system, and I HATED school. I just HATED it. I went to Catholic school, where none of the teachers knew how to teach math, because they were all humanities majors. So, I sucked at math. Both because the teachers had no clue as to how to teach it and also because I had no natural talent in that area. I finally started to understand math when I was about 12 years old, but that was A LOT of years in which I suffered through the whole thing at Catholic school. I also sucked at science, probably also because the teachers were all humanities majors and didn't really understand science, themselves, let alone know how to teach it. In high school, I did well in both math and science, but it was a public school, where the teachers had actually majored in the subjects they taught (mostly, anyway). I also hated Catholic school because we had to wear wool skirts, no matter how goddam hot it was. And there was no air conditioning, or even fans, because -- in those days -- Catholic schools had no $$$. Now, Catholic schools charge people like a gazillion dollars a year, so I take it that maybe they can afford air conditioning (or fans, at least.) Maybe they can even afford teachers who know how to teach science and math. I bet Catholic schools still kind of suck, though, especially for people like me. I am an INFJ, and Catholic schools and INFJ's don't really go that well together, I don't think. Also, in the winter, it was goddam freezing in that school, because the boiler was always broken and my parents couldn't afford the "official" uniform sweater, so I wasn't allowed to wear my regular sweater (which was even the right color), even though there was no heat and it was goddam freezing in that school. I would be all shivering, with goose bumps, but did the humanities major teachers allow me to wear my regular sweater (which was even the right color)??? No. No, they did not. Because it was against the rules. And in Catholic schools, the rules are fucking EVERYTHING. I was so happy to go to a public high school, where I was treated in an actual Christian fashion by my secular humanist teachers. Thank God for secular humanist teachers. (Okay. To be fair, many of my public high school teachers were religious, but very few of them were Catholic. Thanks be to God.)

So, as you can see, summertime at home with virtually no activities and attire composed of shorts (which my mother sewed for us) and halter tops (which my mother also sewed for us) and cantaloupe eating and swimming in bikinis (which my mother allowed us to wear) were actually Heaven to me and my rather high-strung personality.

One of my favorite activities in the summertime was playing with the Barbie swimming pool. This was a lovely and relaxing game for me and my high-strung personality, because it was so mindless and involved Barbie, who I could always relate to. Why could I relate to Barbie? Not so much because of her magnificent boobs, but because she was -- in those days -- also bad at math. SO relatable for me. I actually thought that when I became a teenager, I would grow boobs like Barbie, so that ended up being kind of a disappointment to me, but those are the valuable lessons that childhood games teach us.

Anyway... Back to the Barbie swimming pool game.

When I was a little girl, my dad built a little deck/patio in our back yard. And when it was sweltering hot, my sisters and I ate some cantaloupe for a snack after our swimming lesson, and then we were allowed to fill the Barbie swimming pool with the hose and have our Barbies go for a swim. We weren't allowed to fill the Barbie swimming pool with actual water in the wintertime, because... Well, duh... Wintertime. But, when the thermometer went over 90 or 100 degrees in the summer, we were allowed to use actual water. And we had great fun having swimming games with our Barbies. One of my favorite games was to pretend that one of the Barbies was drowning and having another Barbie rescue her. We thought up this game after observing the life guard at swimming lessons.

Another wonderful Barbie game (that could be played in any season, because it was an indoor game, not involving water) was "Earthquake." My sisters and I would devise a makeshift townhouse in one of our baby buggies. This baby buggy would not be mine, of course, because I was the oldest and knew that this game was not really good for our buggies. My youngest sister didn't allow her buggy to be used for this purpose, either, because she was wise beyond her years. That left the townhouse to be devised in the buggy of our oft-abused middle sister, who was really nice about it. She is actually probably the brightest of the three of us, but is also the most generous. After devising the makeshift townhouse in our oft-abused middle sister's ill-fated buggy, we would arrange our Barbies in it and pretend they were hanging out at home, unaware that tragedy was about to strike. Then we would shake the buggy back-and-forth and up-and-down and scream and yell, pretending the "Big One" had hit. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, we were always hearing about the "Big One," and it seemed like an idea that would make an amazing Barbie game. And it did. Eventually, the middle Argenti sister's buggy would sway back and forth every time it was pushed, even when it was being pushed in a simple linear fashion. My sister didn't really like this development, but -- being that I was kind of a douchy older sister -- I think I convinced her that it was actually really cool that the buggy swayed like that.

So, as you can see, summer was AWESOME at my house, when I was a kid. It was fun and relaxing and SO incredibly un-demanding. I wish more kids had the opportunity to experience this kind of summer. I hated it when school started again. And I have my mom to thank for this. Thank-you mom for all of those wonderful summers. I am so grateful that the bright sun in the sky this morning and the smell of the ripe cantaloupe in my kitchen reminded me of this gift. I hope you are having a great time up in Heaven, partying it up with Chris Bruno's mom.

Oh, and here is one more cool thing my mom would do in the summer. She always read her book after lunch, and she would read it aloud to us, if we wanted to hang out in the living room and listen. These were "grown-up" books, and I so much enjoyed hearing them. One of them was Rose Kennedy's autobiography, which is so much fun! If you haven't read it, you should, even though it is old and doesn't talk about Joe and Jack's affairs. I am quite sure Rose knew about them, because she was the farthest thing from an idiot, but she told her story sans all the crap. And it is delightful! I actually had my kids read this book when they were growing up, and I think they all enjoyed it. And they learned a lot, too. Because -- after all -- there really is more to the Kennedy family than Joe and Jack's inability to keep it zipped. And those good things need to be remembered. And Rose was a DELIGHTFUL story-teller. I bet Rose and my mom and Nancy Bruno are all up in Heaven, partying together, as a matter of fact. Another book that I remember my mother reading aloud to us was "The Making Of A Surgeon." This was a book written by a surgeon, and the title is fairly self-explanatory. I found it all so fascinating and actually thought about becoming a surgeon, myself. Which I didn't, because it involved WAY to much math and physics. Even though I was a biology major and was, actually, fairly proficient in math because of my non-Catholic high school teachers, physics was never really my bag. But, the story this guy told about his journey to becoming a surgeon was incredible, and I so much enjoyed it. So, the lesson here is that you should read books to your kids that aren't necessarily kids' books or even the classics. Pop-culture stories can be quite educational and memorable for children.

Rest in peace, Mom. And thanks a million times over for everything!

Andrea Lynch Is My Role Model

Andrea Lynch is my 26-year-old daughter. I raised her, yes. But -- she is much a much better woman than I. Especially for her age. I often think kids are born with their own characters and personalities, at least for the most part. It is basically our job as parents to keep our kids alive until adulthood, allowing healthy opportunities for those characters and personalities to unfold. Andrea actually reminds me A LOT of my nana (my father's mother). She looks like her, acts like her, walks like her, talks like her. And they never even met, as my nana passed away when I was 12.

Anyway, Andrea is a stellar person. And my role model. I don't try to be exactly like her, of course. That would be silly, and unnatural. She possesses certain wonderful characteristics, though, in much more abundance than I. And I try to learn from those.

One of the things about Andrea that most stands out to me is her nonjudgmental nature. Andrea is the MOST TRULY NONJUDGMENTAL person I have ever known. I really don't know how she does it.

Andrea is a very Catholic person. She knows her faith well and practices it seriously. This leads many people to believe she would judge them -- on at least some level -- for their moral failings (or maybe it is better to say their moral failings as defined by Catholicism). But, she doesn't. At all. Really and truly. Andrea is able to be both a serious Catholic and a completely nonjudgmental person. This is a wonderful gift, because she is able to move throughout society, living her life as she believes she should, and allowing others to live their lives as they believe they should. She is kind and positive and happy towards everybody. She is able to be a true friend to all kinds of people. Unless -- of course -- you are not a nice person. And believe you me, Andrea will KNOW if you are not a nice person.

Back in her college days, Andrea had a Latina friend who told me, "Andrea has the sixth sense." And I think this is true. Andrea just kind of knows about people -- whether they are good or bad. She does get a sense about them -- very quickly. She doesn't make a lot of noise about it, but she'll let me know if she thinks somebody is shady. And at least 9 times out of 10 -- probably more like 10 times out of 10 -- she has been right.

Andrea also has a very well-guarded tongue. She is quite observant, but she is not quick to speak. Andrea could work in the most sensitive of places -- the CIA, the NSA, Hollywood -- and be completely trustworthy with the most sensitive of information. Of course, you could get nothing by her, either. But, you would know that she wouldn't shoot off her mouth about your business.

One final thing I would like to mention about Andrea is her work ethic. The girl just loves to go to work. Absolutely loves it. I have never seen anybody love to go to work like Andrea. And she works hard. Really, really hard. Harder than I ever have.

Again, please don't think I am bragging here. Because Andrea really is my role model. These things I have mentioned are things that I don't think I taught her specifically. They are things that have just developed over time, and which I would do well to learn from and emulate.

My Schubertiade Moment

My beloved dad passed away when my daughter, Bridget, was a sophomore at Thomas Aquinas College in Santa Paula. We live in San Diego. My parents lived in Redwood City. Santa Paula is in between those two places, so we made arrangements to pick Bridget up en route.

Now, Thomas Aquinas College (TAC) is sort of a sophisticated place. Kind of formal. I am neither sophisticated, nor formal, as you may well have surmised if you have previously read this blog. My daughter is more sophisticated and formal than I, however, which is probably one of the reasons she chose TAC. Every time I went to visit her, though, I kind of blundered around. I always felt like an elephant in the room, so to speak. Though it is a lovely place, it is not my kind of place. And this particular visit went -- typically -- awry for me, but in a more extreme fashion than usual.

Thankfully, the staff and students at TAC -- though tending to conservative formality and impeccable propriety -- are also very polite and forbearing of their visitors. And some of them, I suspect, are my kindred spirits. They just hide it well.

Anyway, the day of our arrival happened to coincide to a school-wide event known as the Schubertiade. It's this fancy type of classical music performance -- basically the polar opposite of a Van Halen concert -- where many of the students perform lovely classical pieces for their teachers and confreres. It is held in the library -- which, at TAC, is a VERY formal building -- and most all of the students attend. If you are a student at TAC, you had better attend the Schubertiade. And if you don't, you had better either be studying or doing your work-study job preparing dinner in the kitchen.

As we pulled up to the school in our minivan, Bridget happily greeted us and led us proudly into the library for this wondrous event. Those of you who know me are laughing very hard right now, thinking of me at such a thing. I have avoided classical music, at basically all costs, throughout my whole life. And my kid -- MY KID, for heaven's sake -- is excitedly pulling me into a Schubertiade. I mean, isn't this supposed to work the other way around?!?! I really don't know what happened. All three of my kids -- ALL THREE OF THEM -- are classical music afficionados, happily PAYING MONEY to go to the symphony.

I have to admit, though, that it was lovely. The performers were all dressed up, playing melodious things on pianos and stringed instruments (no synthesizers or electric guitars here). The student body sat all about the main floor of the library and on all the walkways that rise up from and surround the main floor of the library. Everybody was quite serious and respectful and quiet, as you would expect from properly raised young people. And -- okay -- the music was pretty good, I admit.

Bridget took us upstairs, since the main floor of the library was full. We were sitting on the third floor walkway, which overlooked the musicians below. And then...

It happened.

My elephant in the room moment.

In my purse was a zhu-zhu pet. Remember those? They were all the rage for a while. They were these little battery-powered hamsters that ran around and made a variety of cute noises. I had brought this zhu-zhu pet with me in order to cheer Bridget up because her grandpa had passed away, and she was sad. I didn't realize that it could turn itself on. Well... Maybe it didn't turn itself on, but something in my purse must have bumped up against it. And turned it on. On the third-floor walkway of the library, overlooking the main performance area of the Schubertiade, it started making all of its cute little squeaky, squealy noises inside of my purse. You could hear the little wheels going 'round and 'round. I reached into my purse to turn it off, but I couldn't figure out how. Zhu-zhu pets had something like 15 buttons, most of which were covered with "fur", and I couldn't find the one that would turn the thing off.

Down below me, a handsome young man in a tux sang away beautifully in a foreign language (I'm not sure which one), while a lovely young lady in a pretty dress elegantly accompanied him on a shiny black grand piano. I'm sure they could hear the squeals. I'm quite sure of it. But, they did not flinch. Neither did anybody else. Not really, anyway. Although, I did detect a few sly smiles from my kindred spirits in the audience. I was starting to get a bit desperate, though, so I pushed the elevator button. My goal was to toss it in there when the doors opened. Bridget, seeing what her mother was about to do, and realizing that the situation would only be made worse if the squealing, squeaking zhu-zhu pet were to ride up and down and up and down in the elevator during the amazing vocal performance that was concurrently taking place, grabbed the thing out of my hands and proceeded to hurry it down three flights of stairs and past all of her friends and teachers (to whom she had been so much looking forward to "showing off" her family). She looked so cute, cupping the little toy in her hands, quietly but quickly fleeing the scene. She kind of looked like Cinderella as she ran out of the ball. Now, more of the nice young people were overtly smiling and trying to stifle giggles. None of the faculty or staff looked amused, though. But, they were polite and pretended not to notice anything -- in the true Catholic tradition of charity towards tuition-paying parents.

I did not see anymore of what happened. But, Bridget tells me that when she finally got downstairs, the first door she got to was a fire exit, so she couldn't go out that one without setting off an alarm. She did find an alternate door and took the toy -- still making noise -- outside. I guess one kind faculty member saw her distress and -- thinking that she was holding a real live rodent -- went over to offer his assistance. That was very nice of him. Don't you think?

Anyhow, the Schubertiade continued on and was concluded without any further disruption. Everybody clapped politely and exited. Nobody said anything rude to me, or even acted as though anything unusual had taken place.

Was I embarrassed? Of course. But, over the years, I have learned that I am prone to causing embarrassing situations -- even when striving to the utmost to avoid them. I have found that it is really better for all involved if I just keep my cool.  So, I just laughed. And sent in a donation.


(Hop over here to read Bridget's side of the story)

White Space

I should probably not read blogs when I am tired, which is what I've been doing lately. I should probably not write when I am tired, which is what I have been doing lately.

Oh, well.

I was going to write about writing erotica. I have not actually written erotica, but I have some thoughts about writing it -- were I to do that -- which I wanted to express here. Maybe I will do that in my next post. If I ever did actually write erotica, I would probably do it in some other forum, under a pseudonym. So, if you would want to read my erotica -- should it ever materialize -- you will have to let me know and I will tell you where to find it. I think it would be quite good, and not lame. Most erotica is pretty lame, these days. I think my mom would have been excellent at writing erotica.

Anyway...

Instead of writing about erotica, I am going to write about a mom thing. The other day, I was reading the blog of a homeschooling mother of several children. Her kids have been busy with a variety of activities during these long, hot summer days, so she has had a lot of time alone. She writes: "....the house is mostly empty and I'm understanding how people who send their kids to school and work from home (Writing erotica, perhaps? JUST KIDDING! She did not say that. I am just being a wise-ass.) are able to accomplish so much. The rhythm definitely offers a great deal of white space."

Maybe I was in an overly sensitive mood when I read that statement. But, that statement seemed to me to be just a little bit judgmental and just a tad ignorant. It's kind of like this mother has allowed herself to feel inferior to these other mothers who send their kids to school and work from home and seem to get so much more accomplished than she does. And then she tells herself that she doesn't have to feel inferior about not getting as much accomplished, because these other women are sending their kids away every day. And -- it seems to be implied -- that she is patting herself on the back because she doesn't send her kids away. She goes to the trouble of keeping them with her, which is -- in her mind -- inherently superior.

It could very well be that this mother did not mean to be at all judgmental in what she said. Here is the thing, though: WHY DOES SHE EVEN HAVE TO SPEAK ABOUT THESE OTHER MOTHERS, who send their kids to school and work from home, AT ALL?  She doesn't. She could just say that her kids are off at wonderful summer activities, which means she has lots of wonderful time to herself to get many things done. No comparison needs to be made to any other mothers. No mention needs to be made of any other mothers and their choices and their lives. Because these other mothers -- the ones who send their kids away to school and rejoice when summer vacation is over -- love their kids every bit as much as the homeschooling mothers. And they also feel plenty stressed out -- even with all their "white space."

Now, I have gone to school and taught school and sent my kids to school and homeschooled. And -- yes -- there is more "white space" when the kids go to school. But, let me tell you, the hours between 5:30 and 7:30 AM and 3:00 and bedtime are no picnic. Those hours are much, much, much harder when you send your kids to school than when you homeschool. As a homeschool mom, you get a lot of flexibility as to how school is done by your children. You can load up certain days with more assignments and lighten things up on other days, according to what else is happening in your life and your children's lives. You don't have bring junior home from soccer practice late in the evening and make sure the math assignment gets finished. You don't have your long weekend -- during which you are taking your family on a long-anticipated camping trip -- surprisingly usurped by a project that the teacher sends home at the last minute because she decides that you have all this time since it's a long weekend. You don't have to spend every Thursday night with your teary little girl, making sure she is ready for the dreaded weekly spelling test. You don't have to rush around in the morning finding missing shoes and trying to get that kid who just doesn't like breakfast to eat breakfast and then helping him clean up when he barfs because he really doesn't like breakfast. You don't have to cope with make-up work when your child is out sick for a week with the flu. SENDING YOUR KIDS TO SCHOOL IS DAMN STRESSFUL, in ways that homeschooling is not. Homeschooling my kids was WAAAAAY easier than sending them to school, even though I didn't have much precious "white space."

Of course, you could say that I am being all judgmental here. And you would be right. The thing is, though, that it is possible to think about and speak about and write about our life choices without bringing up other people and their life choices and making comparisons. We can just say, "This is what I decided to do and this is how it's working out for me." And we can realize that we really don't know what goes on in other people's homes and in other people's hearts.

"...a simple, flawed human being. He's strong...

...and smart and tough, but he's going to make the wrong decisions and trust the wrong people. And he has no out -- he can't put on a cape and fly off."

This is how Ben McKenzie describes his character -- Detective Jim Gordon -- of the upcoming TV show "Gotham" in an interview for "Entertainment Weekly".

Years ago, when I was a young woman, this statement wouldn't have struck me as anything particularly insightful or terribly brilliant. But now that I am older -- a 51-year-old mom with three young adult kids -- it strikes me as both insightful and brilliant. And it is also strangely comforting to my menopausal heart.

Why?

Because, when I was a young woman, I liked to think of myself as strong and smart and tough. Lots of people told me I was those things. I was a little bit proud of it, I guess, when I think about it now. And maybe I was those things, to some degree, anyway. And when I started having kids, at the ripe old age of 25, I wanted to be all of those things for them. I wanted to be the best mom. And I had this idea that because I was strong and smart and tough that I somehow wouldn't blow it, at all. I remember sitting in my hospital bed, with my first little baby in my arms, and not wanting any harm to ever touch her. I was afraid. I was afraid of all the crap in the world. And I resolved -- as I sat there looking at her little face and feeling the weight of her against me -- that I would use all of my strength and smarts and toughness to somehow get her to adulthood unscathed.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

As a mom, I have made many wrong decisions and trusted many of the wrong people. And I have really beaten myself up for these mistakes, especially when I see how they have hurt my kids. I have been tempted to cynicism. I have been tempted to trust no more. There have been times when I have been plagued by self-doubt when there is an important decision I have to make.

And when I read the statement that Ben McKenzie made, regarding Jim Gordon, that he is a "simple, flawed human being," while at the same time being "strong and smart and tough," I realized what I have been missing. I have failed to authentically accept my human weakness -- especially in regards to my role as a mother. Maybe I am -- and maybe I am not -- strong and smart and tough. I don't know, really. But, even if I am, my human frailty is going to enter into the equation. And I will inevitably make decisions that are wrong and trust people I shouldn't.

So, as I sat in that hospital bed with that new baby all those years ago, I grasped onto a completely erroneous notion -- a notion that I have never fully relinquished. Maybe it's finally time to get real. Maybe it's time to finally make peace with myself about this, because I want to live my life with confidence and joy, even with the knowledge that I am going to screw certain things up. I'm going to make the wrong calls, and not have the option of putting on a cape and flying off. And maybe this is really okay.

So, I would like to thank you, Ben, for the advice that you probably didn't even know you were giving.

Can't wait for "Gotham"!!!

P.S. -- The "EW" interview also states that the first scene Ben shot for "Gotham" involves him driving a 1970's-era Chrysler. This is a very cool thing for me, as my family owned a 1970's-era Chrysler. It had this BIG OLE' HONKIN' engine, and was ABSOLUTELY AWESOME for peeling out from stop signs in my hometown. A teenage girl's dream car, if you will. I wonder if Detective Gordon gets to peel out from stop signs in his Chrysler. It would be a shame if he doesn't. ;-) 

For The Older Mamas Of Older Kids

I came across this in someone's blog the other day:

     "The beauty of a big family is that if a mother regrets something she did when she was young and imprudent, she might just have a chance at a redo with a younger child.  The corollary is that I don't have the luxury of doing what some of my friends are doing as they settle into an empty nest.  I can't look at the regrets, confess the mistakes, be forgiven, and relax in the grace.  I have more children to raise."

I don't take issue with what she says about the "beauty of a big family."  But, as the mama of a smaller family, with older children, I have a few comments.

My kids are 25, 23, and 21.  Admittedly, I am not exactly an empty-nester.  My oldest two are girls, and they both lived away from home during college, but returned after graduation.  They still live at home, while working and carrying out their young adult lives.  This is fine by me and my husband.  They are good young women, and are a pleasure to have around.  My son is presently away at college, but returns for Christmas and summer breaks.  He is about as far away from home as he can get without leaving the continental United States, so we don't really see him at all during the times when his school is in session.

I can tell you for sure, though, that even if nobody lived at home during any time of the year, I could never "look at the regrets, confess the mistakes, be forgiven, and relax in the grace."  Okay.  Maybe I could do the first three things on this list, but never the last one.  And I bet a lot of mamas in my position feel the same.  I don't think most mamas can ever just fully "relax in the grace."  And do you know why?

Because when a mama looks at her adult kids -- when she sees their struggles, their pain, their heartaches, their failures, their shortcomings -- she is going to (in part, at least) blame herself.  She is going to wonder what she could have done differently.  And this blaming and wondering is not going to ever completely go away.  It will stay with her, for as long as her children have difficulties in life.  And, let's face it, who doesn't have difficulties in life?  We all do.  So, basically, a mama will never completely "relax in the grace."  She will never completely stop second-guessing at least some of the things she did while raising her kids.  That's the way a mama's heart works, whether she has one child or a dozen.  A mama's heart is a mama's heart.  It is always concerned.  It always feels its responsibility, no matter how empty the nest or how old the children.

Of course, this is not to say that there aren't special joys in being the mother of adult kids.  It's fun to see what your children do with themselves when they grow up.  It's very enjoyable to relate to them as adults -- with adult conversation and activities.  For example, I really enjoy having movie dates and shopping trips and lunches and weekends with my daughters.  And it's great fun when my son regales me with tales of college friendships and escapades.  My kids also have pretty darn good sense, and have been known to give me great advice when I am confused about a decision I need to make. 

In my circle of friends and acquaintances, though, there are many big families.  And, occasionally, there are assumptions made about us mamas of smaller families, whether our children are small or grown -- assumptions that might be just a tad bit unfair.  So, let's not forget that being a mother -- though great fun and quite rewarding -- can be very difficult.  And it can be just as difficult on the mother of a smaller family, on the mother of older children, as it can be on the mother of many.  And mothering -- including worrying and fretting about our mistakes -- really never, ever ends. 

Next Summer, I Am Getting A Bikini

If I'm still alive and kicking, anyway.

But, don't worry, I won't be wearing it to any public places.

It's just that we have, in our backyard, what is known as a dough-boy pool.  It's one of those above-ground pools, which is composed of a metal frame and a vinyl liner.  You get into and out of it via an attached ladder.  The one we have is fairly large.  And it is wonderful.  We live in a canyon in SoCal, where it gets roasting hot in the summer months, so this pool is something which my family enjoys immensely.

As a "more mature" woman, I always buy one-piece bathing suits.  Why?  Well, you know how it is.  Stretch marks from childbearing, a few drooping parts, some rolls where there used to be smooth tightness.  All the signs of age and experience.  And I wish to spare others the sight of such phenomena, as a general rule.

But, this is the thing.  One piece bathing suits are a pain in the ass.  You have to haul them up over your whole non-smooth, slightly rounded, middle-aged self and straighten them out painstakingly.  And getting them on and off when your skin is damp?  Don't even talk to me about it.  Also, with all the fabric, they tend to drip a lot more when you emerge from the water, which is quite inconvenient if you have to go into the house for some reason.  Your tummy stays pale all summer long, too.  How sad is that?  Because even if you're not going to attempt to rock the half-shirt look, a white tummy staring you back at you from your mirror during July is just depressing.

Therefore...

I am getting a bikini next summer.  Only to be used in my own backyard, in my own dough-boy pool.  Yes, my family will have to deal with it.  But, I have faith in their ability to suck it up. 

And if you want to know what finally inspired me to come to this conclusion, here is a little story:

The summer after I graduated from high school, I was privileged to spend five weeks in Europe.  During one week of the trip, I was a passenger on a Greek cruise ship that was equipped with a swimming pool.  The ship stopped at various Greek islands, where we were able to disembark and (often) go to the beach.  It was a fantastic time.  And one thing I noticed were the various older ladies wearing bikinis.  One of these women, in particular, I will never forget.  She was probably in her 70's.  She was not overweight, but she was quite "wrinkly."  She had wrinkles and sags and bags everywhere, like most women in their 70's probably do.  But, she boldly wore her bikini to the ship's pool.  She swam and splashed and sunbathed enthusiastically and unashamedly, along with her companions.  I had never seen anything like that in the States.  I was really impressed by her confident, fun-loving, youthful attitude.  Another thing that impressed me about the situation was that none of the European travelers seemed to notice or care.  And I found myself being slightly sad that we, in the good old USA, aren't more like these easy-going Europeans.

I have thought of that lady from time-to-time, over the years.  This summer, though, as I hauled my one-piece swim suit up and over my fifty-year-old frame, I thought about her a lot.  And I decided, "Dammit. I can have a bikini, too.  And I will have a bikini.  Next summer."  Although, I am not as brave and admirable as that lady on the Greek cruise ship, so y'all don't have to worry about seeing me in it.  Unless "y'all" are my husband and kids. ;-)

Mothers Judging Mothers

I read a blog post recently by a stay-at-home, homeschool mom in which she bemoaned the fact that homemaking seems to be turning into a lost art.  She wondered if, not too far into the future, the art of homemaking will be something only read about in fictional tales of yore.  And she seemed to be aiming at least a little bit of negative energy at the women of whose homemaking efforts and skills she disapproves. 

I am a stay-at-home mom, too.  I also homeschooled my kids for many years.  And I have enjoyed my life.  Are there things I regret, things I wish I had done differently?  Yes.  Do I see the negative side of homeschooling, as well as the many ways in which it benefited my kids?  Yes.  Do I romanticize homemaking?  No.  Well, at least not as much as some other people seem to.  Can I be kind of a rebellious bitch?  Yes.  Definitely.

So, in the spirit of rebellious bitchiness, here is the way I look at things.

First of all, many years ago (when I was a little girl), most women were home the majority of the time, but it was often out of necessity more than desire.  For example, there was no Trader Joe's, or any type of food that could be prepared conveniently and in little time.  Women had to cook from scratch, for the most part.  There were no dish washers.  The dish soap was not as good, thus necessitating more scrubbing.  Stores such as Target -- which provide a variety of relatively inexpensive clothes -- did not exist.  Women had to do at least some sewing.  There were no cotton/poly blends, so most clothes had to be ironed.  A lot of people didn't even have clothes driers, thus time had to be spent hanging the wash out on lines and then taking it back in.  Floors did not have easy-to-clean finishes.  They had to be stripped of their old wax and re-waxed regularly.  Same with the wood furniture.  Freezers had to be defrosted about every week -- manually.  This meant emptying the freezer of its contents, turning it off, filling it with pots of boiling water, and then cleaning up the melting ice before it got all over the place.  Baby bottles needed to be sterilized every day, because this was before pediatricians realized it really wasn't necessary.  Doctors also required mothers to prepare baby formula daily using sterilized water   Some women did nurse their babies, but it was not as common back then as it is now.  And women who did nurse their babies generally didn't do it for very long.  A lot of families only had one car, too -- usually used by the dad of the house to get to work -- which really put a crimp in the style of any mom who wanted to leave the house regularly.

So, when I see women criticizing other women for not attending properly to the art of homemaking, but instead working and bringing their kids to many after-school and summertime activities, I get a little annoyed.  Especially when some of these critical women are bringing their kids to PLENTY of extra-curricular activities, which take up plenty of time.  In fact, I have seen these critical women bristle when other, even more "traditional" women criticize them for putting their kids into too many sports and stuff.  I mean, COME ON PEOPLE, maybe we should mind our own business and allow moms and dads to make their own decisions about their own kids and family styles.  Maybe when are tempted to look to long and hard at others, we should instead turn our gaze to Ben McKenzie in "SouthLAnd."  Um... I mean... to our own business.

I will close out with a little personal history.  My dear cousin and her dear husband have three kids (now young adults) who are about the same ages as my three kids (also now young adults).  Her kids went to school and did many sports and activities.  They weren't home all that much.  Their mom was not overly-concerned about the state of the corners of her kitchen floor.  She also worked two days a week in a wonderful career field in which she excelled (and still excels).  On top of it all, this remarkable mother earned a teaching credential while raising her kids.  I, as I said, did homeschool.  My kids were involved in activites, but not quite as many.  I was a tad too concerned about the state of the corners of my kitchen floor.  Did my kids turn out better than hers?  Not at all.  Not one teeny, tiny little bit better.  All our kids are wonderful kids, making their way in the world as responsible, happy young adults.  Would people rather come to my house than hers?  Is my house warmer and more welcoming?  Again, not at all.  In fact, most people would rather go to her house.  The food at her parties is better.  And the atmosphere is full of fun.  My point?  Creating a wonderful family and a wonderful home can be done in many ways, including by ignoring the "art of homemaking" to a very large degree.  It is the loving welcome that matters, not the organization of the linen closet.

In my opinion, anyway. ;-)

 

Mamas, Kiddos, And Summertime

Summer is here! The kiddos are off school and at home.  The days are slow and stress-free.  Right?

Haha...

I was reading, this morning, one mom's ponderings about parents (especially mamas) and kiddos and summer.  She seems a little frustrated by the fact that she hears mamas complain about having their kids at home all day with them during this special season.  She is a little miffed that some of these mamas are quick to put their kids into every kind of summer activity, so that -- presumably -- they will not have to deal with said kids.  She blames this apparently selfish attitude on the part of mamas on the sin of pride -- of wanting ones own way and not being willing to put others (like our children) before ourselves.

This particular mom, whose ponderings I was reading, homeschools her own kiddos.  She also has many kiddos.  She is a wonderful mother.  She is a very good person.  I don't mean to come down unfairly on her.  But, I have a little bit of a different opinion about this situation.  And, occasionally, I think I might have some Texas blood in me, as I enjoy "mixing it up" a bit.  (See:  Stand With Wendy and Battleground Texas and all that.)

So, here I go, throwing my iron into the fire.

I did homeschool my three children, but not until they were going into the 5th grade, the 3rd grade, and kindergarten.  My youngest did not actually enter a formal classroom situation until after high school.  I spent the first couple of months after he had gone across the country to attend college lying awake at night, wondering and worrying about how he would do and recounting to myself everything I had not done well enough to prepare him.  He is now entering his junior year, and he has done just fine.  Thanks be to God.  Until we decided to homeschool, though, my older children (both girls) attended public school.  It was a lovely public school.  We didn't homeschool because the regular school was bad or because we are religious zealots.  We are Catholic, but we are basically middle-of-the-road people.  My children, though, expressed a great interest in being schooled at home.  And because there were many social opportunities in our area for them, and because I had been a teacher myself, I decided to give it a go.  As it ended up, I was a "homeschool mom" for 13 years.

Having had my kids attend regular school before I homeschooled them, though, did give me an opportunity to compare and contrast the two situations, including the whole "coming home for summer vacation" phenomenon.

And I don't think mothers who get annoyed by their kids when those kids are home all day, every day for summer break are selfish or prideful.  They are not bad mamas in any way, shape, or form.  They are just dealing with a transition that is difficult -- for both them and their kiddos.

When they are in school, mamas and kids have their routines.  Kids know what to expect and what is expected of them both during the school day and when they arrive home in the afternoon or evening.  They see the same people every day -- their friends, their teachers, the custodian, the lunch lady.  Mothers have their routines, too, whether at their jobs (if they work outside of the home) or in their role as stay-at-home-moms.  In their routines during the school year, these moms do not have to see to their kids each and every minute of each and every day, and they probably spend the majority of their time either with other adults or alone.  And please know that when I say these things, I am not judging anybody's choices.  I am not saying it is better or worse to have a job outside the home or to stay at home.  Each woman must make her decisions based on her own personality and circumstances. 

When summer arrives, though, everything changes for both the mamas and the kids.  If mom works, there is a new childcare arrangement to which the children have to adjust.  If mom stays home, suddenly her daily household schedule is upended by the presence of her children.  And it is probably a lot noisier in the house than during the school year.  It is a huge adjustment for the kids, too.  They go from having a highly structured day to having either no structure or very little.  So, even though mama loves her kids and enjoys being with them, she is bound to go a little nuts -- whether she works outside the home or not.  And the kids are bound to go a little nuts, too.  And when you put the stress of the mom together with the stress of the kids -- and you throw some summertime hot weather into the mix -- some fireworks are bound to result.  This is not selfish or prideful.  This is normal human emotion.  No wonder the mom is out signing her kids up for all kinds of summer activities and camps.  She wants to save her own sanity, yes.  And saving ones sanity is not selfish.  But, she's also thinking of her kids -- that they will be happier and have more fun and even have some new experiences.

It is a nice thing, though -- and probably most moms would agree with this -- to be able to spend time at home with your kids during the summer in a peaceful way.  So, I would like to offer a few suggestions which, believe me, came from learning things the hard way.  I hope they will be useful to you.  If they are not, feel free to discount them.

I think the first two or three weeks of summer break are the most difficult.  Be patient with yourself and with your kids.  Trust that things will get better.  As for daily activities, the following is what I found most helpful:

I would try to have an idea in my head of how I wanted the day to go.  I tried to get up in the morning and shower before my kids were awake.  If they all got up and started running around and playing loudly and fighting with each other before I had my shower, well... I could be a little short-tempered.  After I had my shower, I would get my coffee.  Then the little people would usually start getting up.  I did not allow rough and loud play at this time of the day.  Why?  Because I could not take it.  So, I would assist each one in dressing and hair combing, as their age and maturity level required.  Then they would have breakfast and we would chat.  After breakfast, they brushed their teeth.  Then they were allowed to watch a bit of TV (something kid-friendly) or read or play with their toys.  While they did these things, I would clean up from breakfast and do any other chores that were necessary so that I could feel at least relatively organized.  Sometimes the kids would start to fight.  I would stop them.  Why?  Because I could not take the fighting.  (Yes, mamas, I am pretty convinced that you should not have to put up with your kids fighting.  I mean, all kids fight, but you don't have to put up with it.  You are worth more than that.)  After I was done doing what I needed to do, I would take the kids somewhere, bringing along a snack.  We would not go anywhere fancy -- just out of the house.  They enjoyed the park most especially.  They also liked the "duck pond."  But, even a little walk around the neighborhood could be fun.  Once a week, or so, we would perhaps go to a kid-friendly museum or to the beach or to the lake that is near our home.  Then it was usually time for lunch. 

After lunch, I would let them watch a little TV while I cleaned up and rested a little.  Maybe I would have some tea.  Then I would usually read to them.  I read to them even when they were perfectly able to read by themselves.  I would read all sorts of things.  There was only one rule.  The reading material had to be interesting TO ME.  Yup.  TO ME.  Of course, it had to be interesting to them, too, or else they would start cutting up.  While I read, they could draw or color or play with blocks or lego-type things.  After reading, they did what they wanted to do while I did what I needed to do.  But, what they wanted to do could not involve destruction or ungodly levels of noise.  As they got older, this was an ideal time for them to practice musical instruments or even listen to music.  I tried mightily to get them all to appreciate Bon Jovi.  And, by God, I succeeded.

If it was a hot day -- as it usually is here during the summer -- we would often go to the community pool during the later part of the afternoon.  If you don't have a community pool, you can usually arrange some sort of water-play outside of your home, even if you just have a small patio.  When I was growing up, my mom used to put my sisters and I in our swim suits and we would play on our porch with our Barbie pool and Barbie dolls for hours at a time.  My favorite thing was to pretend the Barbies would be involved in near-drownings and have to save each other.  A Ken doll would come in handy for this game.

After this, everyone would be getting kind of tired, even me.  But, as it is with moms, the most tiring part of the day was yet to be lived -- dinner and clean-up and bed time.  So, I'd get the kids dried off and dressed and put them in front of the TV.  What would they watch?  For this time of day, "Emergency!" was a favorite.  All my kids loved "Emergency!"  They also loved "Lost In Space" and "Wonder Woman."  These shows are great choices while you're making dinner.  Your kids will be glued to the screen and you can drink a beer and throw some burgers together.  Or hot dogs.  Or chicken, if you want to be all healthy about it.

Hopefully, dad will be coming in about now.  And, hopefully, mom and dad like each other.  Perhaps they can cooperate in getting the kids fed, having a bit of family time together, and accomplishing the bedtime routine.  Then they can neck on the sofa before passing out from exhaustion. ;-)





  

The Making Of Beds

I have not spoken about this online before now, as I just didn't know what to say.  On December 7, my mom went in for elective heart surgery to replace her aortic valve.  Things have not gone well, and she is still in the hospital, with a long road ahead.  So, if you are a praying type of person, please keep her in yours.  Good thoughts and well-wishes are also much appreciated.

That leads me to my story. As I was making my way about my house this morning, doing what moms do -- laundry, dishes, tidying up -- I went into my daughter Bridget's room.  She has been gone for several days, having a lovely visit with friends out on the East Coast.  I began to make her bed, so it would look all nice and inviting for her when she returns.  Her bedspread is of an old-fashioned variety, like the kind my mother has always had on her own bed.  It is a white cotton, with raised patterns of flowers and a decorative fringe around the edges.  Bridget told me a couple of years ago that she had wanted a bedspread like this since she was a little girl -- one like her grandma's.  So, I got it for her as a Christmas gift that year.

And as I smoothed this bedspread out over my girlie's bed this morning, with the warm sun shining in through the big windows, I thought about my mom and the rituals she created around the making of beds when I was growing up.  Our bedding always consisted of the following:  white linens (fitted sheet, flat sheet, pillowcase) -- never any other color; one blanket during the summertime and two in the winter -- always the type of blanket with the satin edging; and a formal bedspread -- never a throw or comforter.  When we were small, my mother made all the beds every day.  EVERY DAY.  And when we were bigger, we were required to make our beds every day, in the way that she carefully taught us.  The fitted sheet was to be smoothed out and the flat sheet was tucked in with tidy square corners at the bottom of the mattress.  The top of the flat sheet was folded down over the top of the blanket(s).  The blanket(s) and flat sheet were tucked under the mattress all along the sides and bottom.  The bedspread was then laid over everything and folded down at the top.  The pillow was then plumped -- not a step to be skipped -- and laid at the top of the bed.  Lastly, the part of the bedspread that had been folded down was pulled over the top of the pillow and tucked in behind it.  Thus, all you could see was the pretty bedspread from the top of the bed to its foot.

Now, this bedmaking technique was required on Sundays -- no exceptions.  During the week and especially on Saturdays, though, a slight variation might be allowed.  This variation consisted in doing everything exactly as stated above, but the bedspread could be folded in thirds, neatly and precisely, at the foot of the bed.  My mother considered this the "less formal look," hence the "never on Sundays" rule. 

Each evening, also, had its ritual concerning the bedding.  Between 5:00 and 5:45, as my mom was preparing the dinner, one of us kids was assigned the task of "pulling down" the beds.  If the bedspread was covering the entire bed, it was pulled down and folded in thirds (as described in the above paragraph).  The blanket(s) and flat sheet might also be folded back -- neatly, always neatly.  And the pillow was again plumped.  Thus, all was arranged for a tired little (or big) person to go to sleep at the end of the day.

It is probably apparent to you that my mother has always been quite the homemaker.  And one of the things that makes me especially sad about her hospitalization is the fact that I know she is missing being at her house and doing all of the things she enjoyed doing there each day.  My mom has never considered any of these things to be onerous duties.  She has thoroughly enjoyed her role of making the home a clean, lovely place to be.  And, even though I have not emulated her entirely, her example has been of enormous value to me in creating my own home for my own family.  And the remembrance of my mom's ways has always given me a happy heart.  Nobody's growing up is a perfect thing -- and sometimes my mom's "extreme homemaking" could be irritating.  But, it was also heartwarming -- and a valuable skill not easy to learn or emulate.

Some Thoughts About Blogging

I read a beautiful mom's beautiful blog post yesterday.  She spoke movingly about her eldest child's recent wedding and how proud she is of her lovely family.  She also discussed how, over the years, many people have been critical of her for the lifestyle she has chosen -- that of a devoutly Catholic homeschooling, homemaking mom.  She told of the conclusion she has come to -- that she is no longer going to let the naysayers get to her.  She has decided that listening to and getting upset by the negative voices is a waste of her time and energy. 

"Kudos!" I thought.  And then I was going to comment on her blog post, telling her how much I was moved by it and how happy I was for her that she has decided not to let the meanies get her down.  And I found that she had closed the comments -- not allowing anybody to say anything to her about that particular post. 

And I sort of snickered.  I mean, I guess that's one way to handle it.  You can't let people's negative comments and opinions affect you if you just don't allow them to say anything to you.  Right?

Now, don't get me wrong.  I, too, am a very sensitive person.  I like people to be happy with me and say nice things to me.  I don't like bullies -- cyber or otherwise.  I sometimes get teary if I feel unjustly criticized.

But, this is the thing.  This lady is a fairly high-profile blogger.  She seems to be willing to put herself and her family "out there" on pretty much a daily basis.  I have recently been doing that, too.  And I figure that if you are going to do that -- if you are going to posit your thoughts and opinions on religion, politics, friendship, education, marriage, family life, etc. on a public blog, then you need to allow other people to speak to you.  Even if they don't agree with you.  Even if they think you are downright wrong about stuff.  Otherwise, it isn't really fair.  You get to say your side -- quite confidently -- but, you accuse others of being hurtful if they disagree with you.  It's almost like saying, "My way or the highway."  It's like saying that you aren't willing to consider that you might possibly be even a little bit wrong in any of your choices.  This strikes me as maybe a little bit prideful.

Now, I'm not saying we have to put up with people who are being purposefully rude.  Comments that are just nasty should be deleted -- unceremoniously and without tears.  Some people who travel the world of cyberspace are simply looking to be mean.  They are not interested in any real exchange of ideas.  But, we should work on not letting those people get to us.  Their opinions about us don't matter, because they aren't looking to have an intelligent discussion.  They are just looking to make us cry.  And, if we cry, we let them win.  And they are not worth the price of the kleenex we blow our noses on.

But, if reasonable people disagree with us about things -- even if they are a bit vociferous about it -- they can be worth listening to.  As I was raising my kids, I made certain choices and judgements about what would be best for them.  I was pretty confident in those choices and judgements.  And, as I look back with hindsight now, I can see that I was very wrong at times.  Even as I was feeling quite righteous.  And there were people who did try to talk to me, who disagreed with me.  In my zealous self-confidence, though, I ignored them -- to the detriment of myself, my husband, my kids, and my family life. 

Just because we feel passionately about our ideas does not guarantee that we are correct in our conclusions.  So, if you are raising kids, I would encourage you to listen to the voices of others, voices that might differ from your own.  Yes, in the end, your choices are yours to make.  But, other people might have more insight than we want to give them credit for, even if they might strike us as unfairly critical in their tone.  Most of us, after all, don't really consider how we are going to come across when we give an opinion.  That doesn't mean those opinions aren't worthwhile. 

And if someone really has a hard time with people who post contrarian comments on her blog, maybe a nice diary of the old-fashioned book variety would be a wise investment.

So, My Daughter Says That I Am A...

...Feminist.

Huh???

Well...perhaps I am.  A little bit.  Maybe.

I was driving around town with Bridget (my 22-year-old girlie) one day.  We were doing things like going to The Dollar Store and Starbucks.  It was great fun, as she is very entertaining.  And we started to talk about actresses.  I said that I think it is cool how actresses these days are so very diverse, as compared to when I was a kid.  When I was growing up, actresses -- typically -- seemed to be required to be caucasian, with large breasts, small waists, and tiny noses.  They also tended to lack well-developed muscles, as that was generally considered to be unfeminine.  Now you see actresses of different races and mixed race, with larger noses, figures that aren't 36-24-36, and some pretty epic arm muscles.  And these actresses are portraying beautiful and sexually alluring characters.  I mentioned how on "SouthLAnd" -- yes, there I go again with "SouthLAnd" -- one of the characters who had bit of a "romance" with the character of Officer Ben Sherman (if you can call any of the things that Officer Ben does with women "romance," in the traditional sense of the word) was an absolutely beautiful girl, but not your "typical" Hollywood type.  Racially, she appeared to be some lovely combination of black and white, or perhaps black and Latina.  She was rather petite, but strongly built.  And she had a great figure -- although with a bust to hip ratio not traditionally seen amongst women who play sexy females in movies and TV.  This actress's character -- besides being one of Officer Ben's "love" interests -- was also a cop.  And the woman was AMAZING in the role.  So, not to belabor my point anymore, I expressed to Bridget my delight that Hollywood is beginning to appreciate and cast a more diverse group of women to play characters that are both smart and attractive.  Based on this opinion of mine -- combined with other things I have been saying lately -- Bridget told me, "Mommy, when I was growing up, I never realized what a feminist you are."

I am sorry if I did not quote you in a totally exact fashion, Bridget.  I have done my best to be accurate.

Anyway, this made me laugh.  I asked her, "Do you really think I'm a feminist?"  To which she replied in the affirmative.

I had never been called a "feminist" before -- in my entire life.  In fact, most women think of me as the opposite.  I mean, I eschewed having a career to be a wife and mom -- in the 80's, mind you.  And the majority of women I knew were quite incredulous that I would do that.  Most of my friends who worked sincerely wondered how I wasn't bored being at home with the kids.  I was pretty much seen as the "anti-feminist" amongst my peers.

So, I began to wonder -- both aloud and silently -- about my "feminist" self.  And I came to a couple of conclusions.

My first conclusion is that I am just sort of a rebel.  If the people I am around are one way, I tend to go the other way.  And when I was young, most women were into the feminist sexual revolution in one way or another.  So, I just had to push back.  And, in more recent years, I have been around women who tend to be, for lack of a better term, "militant traditionalists." So, I have had to stake out an opposing position, just for fun.  Yeah.  I am sort of a pain in the ass. 

But (and this is my second conclusion), if my rebel nature has a more reasoned aspect to it, maybe it is this.  I like to look at things fairly.  I like to be treated fairly and see others treated thusly.  And I hope that all women can be appreciated for their unique qualities -- physical, mental, and spiritual.  I have seen the feminist movement and the "militant traditionalist" movement both try to define the female nature too narrowly.  One of these viewpoints would almost have us throw out any concept of femininity and the value of motherhood, while the other proclaims that women who have careers and don't stay with their children 24/7 are denying their femininity and shirking their true duty.  I don't find the truth in either of these extremes.  And I don't want my daughters being put "into a box" as far as their life choices go.  I want them to be able to dream their dreams, have their goals, and make their plans -- without a false view of womanhood interfering.

I will now sum this post up with a little anecdote.  When I was growing up, my favorite TV shows were "Dragnet", "Adam 12", and "Emergency".  I so much wanted to be a cop or a paramedic, and I mentioned this to my father one day when I was probably about 9 or 10 years old.  He replied, "I don't think they allow women to do those things."  Now, lest you get the wrong idea, my father did not come across as being opposed to women doing those jobs.  He was just stating the facts, as he knew them.  But, I was appalled and horrified.  I did not want to be a nurse or a stewardess or a secretary or a teacher (although a teacher is what I did become).  I wanted to be a cop or a paramedic.  And the thought that being a female -- and only the fact of being a female -- would keep me from one of those careers was devastating.  Now, I do believe that a woman needs to be able to fulfill the requirements of a job -- including the physical requirements -- in order to be allowed to do it.  And that, in the end, is why I didn't choose to become a cop or a paramedic.  I just didn't feel that I was up to snuff in the physical strength department.  But, this experience of being told that I couldn't do a certain type of work solely because of my gender probably caused me to develop whatever feminist leanings I do possess.

So, here's to all the ladies!  I hope you will all be appreciated for your beauty and be allowed to dream your dreams, whether those dreams are of hearth and home or breaking down a door with Michael Cudlitz.  #SouthLAnd  ;-)

Persuasion, Acceptance, and Friendship

There is a friendship that I had once upon a time.  Although, I am not sure I can consider it a true friendship.  I did enjoy this person's companionship, and I believe she enjoyed mine.  But, I often felt as though I were more a "project" than a "friend."  As with all friends, there were issues on which we disagreed.  They had to do with the usual things moms talk about -- parenting techniques, nutrition, medical issues, finances, home management, religion, politics...

Now, I don't mind back-and-forth discussions with people.  I enjoy entertaining various ideas about various topics.  I usually don't mind friendly disagreement; and I am quite content to "live and let live."  (Although, one area where I admit that I have no patience whatsoever is Conspiracy Theories.) 

With this particular friend, however, I often had the feeling that what she really wanted -- and the ultimate goal of her relationship with me -- was to win me over to her way of thinking.  I often felt that she put up with me mainly because she was hoping to "save" me from the error of my ways.

Last week's election got me to thinking about this "friendship."  It got me to thinking about the nature of friendship, in general, and how friendship, persuasion, and acceptance are interconnected.

As no two people are exactly alike, it is normal to have disagreements with our friends.  No two people are going to see things in precisely the same way.  And, because of this, we will sometimes have discussions with our friends in which one will try to win the other over to his or her way of thinking.  And this is all good.

But, in the end, if you are truly a friend to someone, you will like that person whether or not he or she disagrees with you about certain things.  Maybe even important things.  You will seek out that person's companionship because of genuine affection.  You will actually and truly accept that person just as he or she is.  You will not feel a continuous need to change or "save" that person.

At least, that's the sort of friendship I want.  The sort of friendship I wish to both give and receive.  That sort of friendship is a true gift.  And it is, most likely, rare.

Maybe it is because I have had a few dealings with people who you might say were "not of good character" that I look at friendship this way.  If I can trust you, if you are a person of good character, if you are an individual of good-will who is good to people, if you are kind-hearted, if you accept me as I am, it really doesn't matter so much to me if you share all my beliefs.  

And I want to feel that you are my friend because you actually like me and enjoy being around me -- whether or not we agree on everything.  I don't want to be your project.  I don't want you to be mine, either.  I just want to be your companion on this journey through life.

Monday Morning Almanac

There is a lovely Catholic mom who is named Elizabeth Foss. She has a blog that I love; and she always does these Monday Morning Almanac things. So, I thought I would try it, too. But, I am a little different than her -- so, my post will be different, too... Hope you enjoy!

I FIND MYSELF:

*Noticing God's Glory:  There is algae growing in my doughboy pool and in my birdbath. There is a gigantic orange spider living in its intricate web on the sliding door which leads from my kitchen to my back yard. And there is a 15-foot ant trail going from the outside of the house, through the garage, under the wall that is between the garage and the inside of the house, and into the downstairs bathroom. Once inside the bathroom, the ants circle around its perimeter and go back out the way they came in.  Now, if you really study these things, instead of just trying to kill them off -- you cannot possibly freaking tell me that their is no God. No offense, or anything...

*Listening To:  Van Halen. There is no better way to keep the passion alive in your marriage than by listening to Van Halen, either by yourself or with your spouse. People could save a lot of money on marriage counseling if they realized this simple fact. Rock on, Eddie...

*Clothing Myself In:  Tennis shoes that have holes in them. Jeans that, though they may not be perfectly sexy, fit. A yellow cotton LL Bean t-shirt. And a pink hoodie with navy blue stripes around the cuffs, waistband, and the inside of the hood. I look like an Easter egg on top. But, after I shower, I will put on one of my Harley shirts...

*Talking With My Daughters About:  How dudes sometimes suck, but that there are also plenty of nice ones. My advice to them is to find one of the nice ones -- one of the nice ones who is also hot. I mean, why sell yourself short?

*Talking With My Son About:  Army ROTC and how cool the whole military thing is. I refuse to be one of those nervous nelly moms, as that attitude would not be in conformity with my Van Halen-listening, Harley-t-shirt wearing persona.

*Thinking And Thinking:  About sex. Yeah. I'm Italian.

*Pondering Prayerfully:  Three of the nicest people I have known in my life have worked for -- or been volunteers for -- Planned Parenthood. Go figure. The Lord loves to challenge us, doesn't he?

*Carefully Cultivating Rhythm:  Zumba. Have you ever heard of it? A mix of aerobics and Latin-type
dance moves. I try to do it at least four times a week.

*Creating By Hand:  Sorry. I just don't do this.

*Learning Lessons In:  How to let my house be a little bit messy. I am kind of a neatnik. Well...I am a total neatnik. But, this makes everyone else in the family sort of frustrated. So, I am learning to happily appreciate messes that are happily made by people who are baking, quilting, scrap-booking, putting together fashion outfits, and working on music.

*Encouraging Learning:  One of the drawbacks of homeschooling and sending my kids to good Catholic Colleges? They have not had a lot of exposure to people of different "stripes." I am trying to rectify this. After all, people of different "stripes" can be a hell of a lot of fun.

*Begging Prayers:  One of my daughters is experiencing significant health challenges. Pretty tough when you're a fun-loving 22-year-old. If you're a praying type of person, please say a little one for her. If you're not a praying type of person, please hold her in your thoughts.

*Keeping House:  Trying to do less of this. See "Learning Lessons In" above.

*Crafting In The Kitchen:  Thank goodness for Trader Joe's.  That's all I can say.  Chopping and measuring and sifting and I just don't see eye-to-eye.

*Loving The Moments:  When my husband gets a little smile and a little twinkle in his eye that make him look just like he did when I met him 27 years ago.  This happens a lot when he listens to Van Halen.  Long live Eddie...

*Giving Thanks:  That I get to be a wife and mother.  Couldn't want anything more.

*Living The Liturgy:  Advent is coming.  I'm not sure exactly when, but I know there will be an announcement in the church bulletin.  If I miss it in the church bulletin, I will know it when I see the purple stuff in the church.  Then I will make sure to go to Confession.  Maybe I will even get an Advent wreath for my house.  I say this every year, but it has not happened yet.  Well -- maybe it happened once or twice.  A domestic decorating goddess, I am not.

*Planning For The Week Ahead:  This is basically pointless, as life has taught me many times.  But, I absolutely have to get the oil changed in the minivan.

Being A Mom. Being Overwhelmed. Situation Normal.

A lovely Catholic mother of nine was recently talking about feeling overwhelmed.  She seemed to be of the opinion that if she was doing things as God wanted her to do them, she would not feel thus. 

Ahem... NO.

As the very wise Father Buckley has stated:  Just because you are a Christian doesn't mean that you will ride your surfboard on a continual wave of joy all your life.

True that...  And so, if you are a mother, you are going to feel overwhelmed sometimes.  It doesn't mean you are doing anything wrong, at least as far as being a Christian is concerned.  Especially if you have nine children -- or even one, for that matter.  Motherhood -- as well as any other vocation -- is going to leave you feeling overwhelmed from time to time.  Or even quite often.

First, let's remember that thing called "The Fall."  It happened in the Garden of Eden.  And nothing has been the same since.  If you are a Christian, you believe in "The Fall."  And if you are not a Christian and you don't believe in "The Fall," I bet you would still be willing to admit that a lot of things in this world, for some reason or another, seem awfully "f-d" up.  So, even if we are doing the very best job we can as mothers, we should not expect smooth sailing all the time.  And, perhaps, if we can accept the imperfections and frustrations inherent in life -- and even the feeling of being completely overwhelmed at times -- we will actually have more peace of mind.  Because at least we won't be beating ourselves up by blaming these normal feelings on our supposed shortcomings as Christian women. 

Stuff happens... You know?

One day, when my kids were 4, 2, and newborn, I awoke to the following.  The 4-year-old had peed in her bed, the newborn's diaper had leaked all over my bed, and the 2-year-old had thrown up sometime during the night (apparently without waking up) -- leaving me to find her, her bed, and the wall next to the bed absolutely covered in dried barf.  And I am not good with barf -- ask any of my kids.  I can take massive arterial bleeding better than I can take barf.  My husband was hurrying out the door to work as I discovered all of these things, so he was unavailable to help.  I cried.  I didn't know which mess or which child to attend to first.  I was all bleary-eyed, exhausted from taking care of the new baby during the night.  Did I feel overwhelmed?  You bet your little backside.  Did I feel this way because I was lacking something in my relationship with the Lord?  No.  I was feeling this way because there was pee and barf all over my house, and I was the only adult present. 

Another day, I thought I was finished with meals and messes for a little while.  If you are a mother of three little children, you will know that life is a constant whirlwind of meals and messes.  I was looking forward to some quiet playtime with my kids.  But, as I walked into the kitchen, I discovered that my then 3-year-old daughter had colored the bottoms of her shoes with blue marker and walked ALL OVER the white kitchen floor.  I wish I could say that I had a sense of humor about the whole thing, but I did not.  A massively poopy diaper followed by blue footprints all over my white floor were not my idea of a good time.  And I felt -- OVERWHELMED.  Again, not because of my lack of a spiritual life.  Simply because I was very tired and there were these freaking "decorations" covering my linoleum.  Yes -- that is what my daughter told me she was doing -- "decorating" the floor, because white was boring. 

Now, I admit that having a good prayer life will help you through these difficult times as a mom.  But, life is life.  And the world is fallen.  So, when s**t happens to us as moms, and we feel overwhelmed, we shouldn't beat ourselves up over it.  Jesus felt overwhelmed, too.  Remember how he used to try to escape the crowds for a while, to have some peace and quiet prayer time?  Of course, the people always managed to find him in his places of respite -- just like our kids always manage to find us. 

Admittedly, it is wise for us mothers to look at how we are structuring our lives.  It is wise for us to examine our daily routines and our expectations of ourselves and others.  At times, we can find ways to do things more efficiently, leading to fewer occasions when we feel stressed to the max.  And we should examine our spiritual lives.  They are important.  A positive spiritual life can definitely help us deal with difficult circumstances in more positive ways.  Just like Jesus taking his quiet prayer time apart from the crowds helped him in his mission on earth.

But, life is life.  It can be overwhelming.  I think it's healthy to accept that.  So, let's just say a little prayer, do the best we can from day to day, and try to remember that "this, too, shall pass..." 

 

This Whole Titus 2 Thing...

For those of you who don't have any idea what this means, there is a book in the New Testament which is The Letter of Paul to Titus, and we more mature women are told the following:  Bid the older women likewise to be reverent in behavior, not to be slanderers or slaves to drink; they are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be sensible, chaste, domestic, kind, and submissive to their husbands, that the word of God may not be discredited.

This passage seems to be floating around the Catholic lady blogosphere, so I thought I'd toss in my two cents.

Now, I will be the first to admit that St. Paul and I have had our troubles over the years.  He has often annoyed me with all his seeming demands on women.  I find his personality irritating.  And if he and I had lived at the same time, I probably would not have converted to Christianity if he had come to my community to teach.  I most likely would just have gone home and continued with my previous lifestyle.  On the other hand, if St. Peter was the one who had shown up in my town, I would have been all over getting baptized.  But, with a little help from my classically educated daughter, Bridget, and giving more consideration to the culture in which St. Paul lived, I am not so inclined to be as frustrated with him these days.

Now, I am no Bible scholar, but I have realized a few things.  The first is that St. Paul seems to have had a rather high-strung personality.  Therefore, it is possible that more mature menopausal women -- who were assertive and energetic and possibly argumentative -- got on his nerves, causing him to come down on them in a way that seems a bit harsh today.  Secondly, he also admonishes the older men and the young men in a fashion very similar to that in which he instructs the "older women."  Nobody ever talks about that, so it could be that St. Paul is getting a bum rap.  Maybe he was not a chauvanist pig.  Maybe the people who take what he says out of context to further their own agendas are the chauvanist pigs.  Just sayin, ya know???  I also find it rather interesting that he doesn't specifically admonish the "young women."  So, I guess they get to do what they want???  Or, maybe he was a little sweet on them and so didn't notice their faults???  (kidding, kidding... I am Really.Just.Kidding... maybe...)  Also, due to the scholarly research that my daughter did for her Senior Thesis at Thomas Aquinas College, I have learned that St. Paul actually acknowledges that women have a great deal of authority -- buying, selling, acquiring property, and many other such things.  So, when you really look at it, he is not calling for women to be doormats.  I think he just wanted the Christians, including the "older women," to inject some degree of sanity into the crazy, partying society in which they lived.  And I believe his rather caustic personality makes it seem as though he was a very harsh taskmaster.  If he lived today, I think he would be a Mixed Martial Artist -- and we all know that the very best MMA fighters are really big softies underneath.

So, as one of these "older women," I look at it this way.  We can be fun.  We can laugh.  We can wear cute clothes and go to the salon for hair color, manicures, and pedicures.  We can even get tattoos and blast Van Halen while doing the dishes.  But, we should love and care for our husbands and children, showing them daily how much we value and enjoy them.  We should try to greet others who cross our paths with warmth and a smile.  We should try to be charitable towards all.  We should listen more than we talk and avoid, at all costs, gossip and behavior which excludes and hurts others.  It is my opinion that women can be among the most beautiful and comforting of all God's creations.  On the flip side, though, we can be among the most hurtful.  Let's try not to forget this.  Let's try to be the best of who we were made to be.  Because, maybe, this is what Titus 2 is really all about.

Being Young With The Young

"....a child's deep longing to know that they are known, that the old were once young, once saw the world large, that for that one evening hour, a story bridge spans the wide river of decades and for a spell, we are one, children together." -- Ann Voskamp

I love Ann Voskamp -- blogger, author, farmer's wife, mother of many.  And these words of hers, which I read today, really made me reflect on motherhood, on fatherhood, on what helps our children grow into good adults. Now these words are part of a larger article, in which she speaks of how much her children enjoy hearing the stories of her own childhood, and how it is so important for our children to understand how we relate to them, how we remember, how we understand because we have been in their shoes.

When we think of how to be good parents, many things come to mind.  There is so much to be provided for -- physically, mentally, spiritually.  And we want to be good examples to our children, we want to teach them right from wrong, we want to keep them out of trouble, we want them to have bright futures.  All very good things; but, sometimes, it is hard to know how to do this.  And there are points, as our children get older, when we might not like what we see.  And when we don't like what we see, we might feel sad, angry, despairing.  We might yell or preach or punish.  And we hope we will be successful in our efforts to correct what we think needs correcting.

But, Ann Voskamp reminds me of something that, in my opinion, might be the most important thing in helping our children "turn out" well.  And that is -- letting them know, as each and every year goes by, that we can see things through their eyes and feel things through their hearts because we have been there.  We should let them know how we have been there.  We should tell them our stories.  And we can also "be there" with them in the present tense.  We can share their experiences with them by allowing ourselves to "be" in our youthful minds and hearts.  If we allow ourselves to be our "young selves," we can more authentically understand them.  And if we truly understand them, maybe we can guide them in a way that doesn't make them feel quite so much like we are obstacles in the way of their freedom.

How do we do this?  Here are a couple of my ideas -- for whatever they're worth.

TV shows.  These can often be a bone of contention between parents and children, especially as the children start to get older and aren't really "children" anymore.  There might be themes in popular TV shows that young adults like to watch which are problematic for some parents -- sexual situations, LGBT issues, violence, story lines that question our political system or traditional family values.  I am speaking of such shows as "Glee," "Modern Family," "The O.C.," "Angel," "Bones," and "SouthLAnd."  The characters and plot-lines in these shows do, at times, "push the envelope" a bit.  So, what are we parents to do?  My favorite approach is to watch the shows with my kids and -- while not totally losing my adult persona in a way which would be undignified -- to see them through young eyes, to see them as a young adult would see them.  Now, I admit, this is not hard for me.  I am not easily offended by "Hollywood" and I really do enjoy a lot of these shows.  Actually, I enjoy "SouthLAnd" MUCH more than my kids do.  But, the benefit I have found in this approach is that my kids will actually talk to me about what they like and dislike about these shows.  If they see that I am not offended by the characters and stories, if they see that I am actually enjoying and appreciating them, they will share with me what they enjoy and appreciate, how they are touched by these works.  This helps me understand them a little more; it helps me to be more empathetic.  And if I feel a little guidance is called for, our discussion doesn't become a battle, because they know that they are free, when all is said and done, to have and express their own ideas.  At least, this is my goal.  Things aren't always so easy, but this is what I work toward.  I want them to know that they are free to make their own choices; but, I hope that they are at least willing to entertain some of my opinions, knowing that I want their happiness.  And it is just simply a lot of fun to enjoy watching a TV show with my kids, without having them worry about me judging it, or judging them for liking it.  They see me just being a person, rather than an "authority figure" -- and this can go a long way in helping my relationship with them be a positive one.

Now, onto something a bit more difficult -- Young Love And Relationships.  I am 49.  I have seen and experienced a lot, in terms of love and relationships.  I have seen many young (and not-so-young) people be hurt by being with the "wrong" person, by being in the "wrong" relationship, by reacting the "wrong" way in a romantic situation.  I myself have been hurt by these things.  So, when I see my young adult kids begin to wade into these waters, I sometimes have the overwhelming urge, because of my "great maturity" (ha-ha) to turn myself into a "life preserver."  And they really do not appreciate this too much.  And I don't blame them.  So, again, I try to reside in my youthful heart.  I try to see things through my youthful eyes.  Because my youthful heart and my youthful eyes are not dead.  They might be buried under a lot of debris, but they are not dead.  And when I let my youthful self live and breathe again, I remember that I wanted my own parents to respect my need for independence in the area of romantic relationships.  And I remember that I survived my bad experiences.  I survived my heartbreaks.  And it is in the experiencing and surviving that I earned whatever maturity and understanding I now possess.  So, maybe I need to let my kids have their own experiences, while showing them that I trust that they, too, will survive -- and flourish, even.  If I protect them too much, maybe I am just communicating a lack of trust in their judgment and resilience.  Definitely not what they need.  So, perhaps, remembering my own youth, I need to step back a little and just make sure that I am ready with a listening ear and a good supply of chocolate in the cupboard.

It is hard to be a young adult.  It is hard to be the parent of a young adult -- to know when and how much to hold on, when and how much to let go.  An art, definitely.  When we see our kids hurting, we want to fix it.  When we see them making mistakes, we want to stop them.  When they tell us their "wrong" opinions, we want to make corrections.  So, as I reflect on this, as I reflect on my own reactions to my own kids, the more I am drawn to remembering my own young adult self, to letting that young adult self live again -- and allowing her to be with, listen to, and speak with those kids a little bit.

That Whole "Fifty Shades Of Gray" Thing

I am going to do some serious stepping in it today.

I am not speaking as a philosopher or a theologian or a therapist.  Just a middle-aged, mostly Italian lady, who had a really down-to-earth nana.

There has been much cyber-space mud-slinging by nice Catholic ladies lately.  Over what?  These "Fifty Shades Of Gray" books.  (I know you are supposed to underline titles of books; but I don't know how to do that on a word processor, and none of my kids are home to help me.)

I admit that I have not read these books.  I did read a couple excerpts online, but the online store did not allow me to read the truly "juicy" parts.  I was allowed to read about the first kiss the dude gives to the lady, though.  Not really the way I roll.  Much hair pulling, head yanking, and artless tongue thrusting, as I recall. Ewwwww.  The writing style was also not what I would describe as "literary".

Anyway, my understanding is that after you get through the first several pages, the books are mainly about rather kinky, rather uncomfortable sex.  And it is also my understanding that a lot of Catholic and Christian mommies, middle-aged and otherwise, are really enjoying these stories.  This is leading to a lot of outrage on the part of some of the friends and acquaintances of these mommies.  They are basically taking to the internet to loudly denounce their wayward sisters. 

Now, lest you misunderstand me, I am not asserting that these books are a good thing.  I am also not saying they are a particularly bad thing, as I usually do not make judgements like that about books I haven't actually read.  And I really do not care to read them, at least not at this point in my life.  Maybe when I am in the rest home in 25 years, they will be a nice diversion....  Tee-Hee....

But, what I want to say is this.  Denouncing your friends on the internet is not kind.  It is not helpful, either.  If you are concerned about your friend, for whatever reason, a quiet, polite, personal conversation is the way to go.  When Christian ladies denounce other women in the realm of cyber-space, it brings to mind the image of that prohibition lady -- what was her name, anyway? -- taking her axe to the barrel of booze.  Not very attractive.  Not very sexy.  If you want to convince your friends that these books are not the way to be a sexy wife, you'd better be a good example of a sexy wife yourself. ;-)

And don't get yourself bent into a pretzel shape if your friend tells you that reading these books helped her sex life.  I am no therapist, as I said, but maybe you can think of it this way.  After 20 or more years of  breastfeeding, changing diapers, wiping butts, cooking meals, doing dishes, driving the soccer carpool, falling into bed exhausted at the end of most days, maybe she forgot that sex used to actually be fun, instead of something for which she has to stay awake an extra half an hour.  Because, after all, she does love her husband.  Maybe these books reactivated that part of her brain, brought back some nice memories of when she couldn't wait to get that guy into bed.  I'm not saying your friend wants to be handcuffed, or whatever.  And I'm not saying she doesn't want sex to be a warm, loving act.  But, according to actual therapists, a little fantasy can be a positive thing for a woman.  As long as it doesn't get out-of-hand.  As long as it's not masking relationship issues.  I know some of you will strongly disagree with this, and that's fine.  My point is, it might be best to stay out of the sex lives of your friends.  MYOB, in other words.  Or, at least listen carefully before jumping to conclusions.  Then, if you have any advice to give, give it gently and charitably.  And not over Facebook, for Heaven's sake.

Oh, yeah.  I just remembered.  That prohibition lady?  Her name was Carrie Nation.  And you know what happened with all that.  "Those who don't remember history are doomed to repeat it."

The War Between Women

There seems to be a lot of hoopla right now concerning Mrs. Romney, wife of the Republican candidate for president.  Apparently, Mrs. Romney has been accused of something along the lines of never working "a day in her life."  And now, the entire Sisterhood of Women in America seems to be engaged in a type of civil war, and I think it's more than a little nauseating.

I am going to speak here in generalities.  I don't mean to offend any specific people here.  And this is only my opinion, for whatever it's worth, if anything at all.

Women need to stop attacking each others' choices.  Women need to stop being offended by other women who make different life decisions. 

I am a housewife and mother.  I am happy I made that choice.  It suits my temperament, my energy level, my interests.  It is what I really wanted to do.  Nobody pressured or forced me into making this decision.  It was mine, and I own it.  This is what makes it work for me when times get tough.

But, other women have different temperaments, energy levels, interests.  I respect that.  And I respect their freedom to be mothers with jobs or careers outside the home.  I have seen women make this choice and raise wonderful children. 

Some people speak of  the War On Women.  I am speaking of the War Between Women.  And I would like to see a truce.  Let's look at it both ways.  The Silicon Valley working woman who supposedly insulted Mrs. Romney did have a point.  Working outside the home is very different from working inside the home.  I have done both, and I know this to be true.  So, if said "feminist" feels that Mrs. Romney can't relate effectively to a great number of today's women, perhaps she has a point.  But, it would also be fair if women who work outside the home can see the value and amount of labor being done by women in the home.  After all, if you have both kids and a job, you are paying someone to do at least some of the work you would be doing if you were at home.  This is not meant to be a judgement or an insult.  It is just a fact.  But, I do admire women who raise families and hold outside jobs.  They work very, very hard.  Probably harder than me.  And some of the best doctors, dentists, teachers, retail workers, insurance agents, bankers, artists, etc. that I have come across are women who are raising kids.  And I value their presence in the workforce.  It has benefited me greatly.

So, here's to the Sisterhood of Women in America.  I hope we can all learn to appreciate each other, draw from each others' strengths, and help each other in our needs.  Let's lift each other up, instead of tearing each other down.