Language - It's meaning has POWER

I've been thinking a lot lately about language.  We are inundated by it daily.  TV, Radio, our friends, our family, our co-workers... even magazines, the internet, Facebook, Pinterest and Twitter play into my thoughts.  And as parents, we are the first examples of language for our children.  You know, that group of shorties that represent our future world leaders?

My children are 10, 8 and 7 months.  The oldest one is starting to experiment with language as a pre-teen (and mostly failing to grasp the influence she has over her brothers by using it), my middle child is learning about language in his speech classes to fix a slight lisp, and my youngest is just simply LEARNING about language because he can't talk yet.

Our language, the words we use, the body language we convey it with, even the cell phone texts/tweets/facebook messages we send... have POWER.

The other day my middle was acting a little nutty (as he sometimes does do to his ADHD and being a BOY).  I caught myself as I started to say "Settle down, you are acting like a ..." wait, did I really almost call my son a 'TARD?!?!  Where the heck did that COME from??  I am hugely against using negative words in everyday slang... like "TARD", "That's GAY", "Don't be a Baby!"... to me these are taking very special people in our world and saying they are "bad" because we use their titles in negative language.  And here I was, about to say something that I was 100% fundamentally against. 

Again.  I asked myself, WHERE did this come FROM?  How did it so easily jump into my head and almost out of my lips?!  

All I can think is that we are inundated with language from the time we get up until the time we go to bed.  I read hundreds (maybe thousands) of status updates on Facebook and Twitter each day.  I read magazines, watch the news and a select few TV shows and listen to radio nearly all day.  Words are constantly entering my head and ears in almost unconscious ways.  I know I've heard teens call each other 'Tards and exclaim "that's so gay!" at least daily via social media and other communication vehicles.  It's possible that these phrases don't even register in my brain anymore, they are like hearing "I had a crappy day today", "That was so cool, it was the SHIT", "Damn I am hungry!" ... or like my 10 year old gets chastised for saying almost daily: "That's friggin stupid!" 

But I want to put a stop to our numbing response to negative language.  I don't want my kids to think it's okay to use slang to hurt others, even in unconcious ways.

And I want to remove these and other words from my vocabulary as well.  It goes further than just cursing (which I need to work on as well).  I want to go back to the mantra, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all".  Is it really necessary to scream at the driver that just cut you off in traffic?  He can't hear you.  And you don't know what his day was like.  Maybe he's rushing from work to spend time with his wife that is in the hospital.  Or maybe his kid just got hurt at baseball practice and he needs to get there quickly.  Granted, maybe he is just a jerk that thinks his time is more valuable than yours, but regardless, screaming a malicious name or statement at him doesn't do anyting to fix him, and instead might be influencing your kids in negative ways when they hear you.  Next time your son pushes your daughter to get to the sink first to wash hands, is it okay for her to say "Hey stupid!  Watch where you are going!" ??  No, you don't want her to say that, so really we should say it either.  Right?

 

Here is my challenge.  Start listening to your words.  Pause before you speak, before you type the next status update or tweet.  Is the words you are conveying positive in nature?  Do they have unnecessary adverbs?  Isn't it just as easy and effective to say "Today wasn't my favorite, hoping tomorrow is better" as it is to say "Today was a piece of crap and I friggin' hope tomorrow doesn't suck too"?   

Furthermore,  I challenge parents take a more active role in what your kids are watching, listening to and saying themselves.  It's no fun being the UNCOOL parent, but it's our job to filter and sensor our children until they are old enough to make judgements about the world through a foundation of values and morals that WE as PARENTS instill in them.  My hope is when they aren't with you, and they are tempted to watch and say things you don't approve of, they will use that foundation to make good decisions about language. 

I am working on it day-by-day and word-by-word.  I am doing it because our children are listening, watching and mimicking who we are, how we act and what we do.  Do we want our future to be influenced by a bunch of kids that learned what the world was about via Spongebob Squarepants, Family Guy and Futurama? 

In this world of anti-bullying campaigns, gun-control law debates and mental illness at an all time high, maybe the answer is simple.  Language, my friends, has POWER.  Power to tear down and power to build up.  Power to teach and power to alienate.  Power to share love and power to spur on hate.  Let's put LOVE back in our language.  

Let's teach our children to use language to communicate that love to everyone they meet.  The new kid in school.  The grouchy teacher that yells in class.  The younger sibling that annoys them daily.  The kid that seems different and uncool.  The adult that seems angry and sad.  The grandparent that everyone forgets to visit.  

By teaching our kids these important lessons, we might even learn something ourselves.  We might even like who we become as a result.  At the very least, people around us will be happier, and so will we. 

Snow Day

In Texas, we don't get to claim a "snow day" very often. Okay, sometime we get an "ice day" or two, but snow is kinda foreign for us. So much so, that you will often hear people refer to ice as "snow". I grew up for a bit in Oregon, so I certainly know the difference.

So you can imagine my joy and surprise when we got the actual white fluffy goodness that can be considered SNOW and be rolled up into balls that are thrown and mounds that make "snowmen". I admit it... I was a kid again and enjoyed every minute.

Of course, we had the BEST snowman on the block, because he was a REAL TEXAS COWBOY. (thanks to my mom's cowboy hat) --- the kids laughed and played til their lips were blue and teeth were chattering. Heck, not sure who had more fun... me, the kids or MY mom! Some people never really grow up... especially when you are making mouths out of raisins.

However, I must admit, I was a bit annoyed when the weather wreaked havoc on my Valentine's weekend plans... the airlines shut down for over 24 hours and after hours on the phone with airlines, and a couple re-bookings... we were able to salvage our romantic weekend, even if it was a delayed start for a day or so. The important thing was we were together and appreciated the time we had.

The weekend was exciting, with its fair share of tragedy (not just the delayed flights). It included a VERY fantastic Miranda Lambert concert (the kids first concert ever... and they did great. Even if Nate slept through part of it, ha), a couple movies, some yummy food, and unfortunately the goodbye of my precious Nikon D90 (along with my favorite red Coach purse, Chanel sunglasses and some other personal things) when my purse was taken... but we salvaged the weekend with some ice skating at the Galleria before it was time to say "goodbye" to Papa and send him back to our other home to spend some time with our other favorite guy.

All in all... it was a fun and memorable weekend. Snow, fun, laughs, love and best of all, FAMILY. I am truly blessed.

Still my favorite times of year...

Since we'll be on the east coast for Christmas, the kids and I enjoyed a lovely early Christmas dinner at the folks house. It was just like the one's growing up and it's so fun to watch my kiddos experience the same traditions.

First off was the setting of the table and enjoying grace before digging into turkey, cranberry sauce (which surprisingly Jenna LOVED), mash potatoes, green beans and sweet potatoes. And of course my favorite, hot buttery rolls. Admit it, you are hungry now aren't you? I am just mad I forgot to bring some leftover turkey home for my late night turkey sammich. Bummer. We also prayed Papa will be home by Christmas, as I got a late night call saying that it is a possibility he won't be. We are trying to keep faith though and not get too heartbroken yet.

Next was the awesomeness of making and decorating cookies. Excuse the quality of the pics, taken with my iphone because I forgot the Nikon at home tonight in my frenzy to wrap and load Christmas gifts into the car along with two very excited children.

Finally, after much begging and pleading, we dived into the passing out of gifts (yes, Jenna and Nate were doing the begging, not me or my sister Megan! Ha. Okay well not too much anyways).

The kids were adorable, as they were more excited about the gifts they gave than what they were getting. I had taken them earlier that day with $8 each to "The Dollar Tree" and a list of people to get for and let them loose to choose what they wanted to get. They had sooooo much fun finding unique and fun things for everyone.

The prized purchases were probably the Jeff Gordan poster that Nate picked out for Papaw and the wine glasses Jenna got for me, Megan and Joe. Mine was the fake Uggs for my mom, she loved them! The funniest was the silly string that Nate got his Uncle Joe... because he's a "prankster". I think Megan was happy I had veto'd the air horn he WANTED to get Joe. LOL.

Nate got an awesome Charades game for kids and we all played it. It was so much fun and many laughs were had by all. We got some good video of it too that I plan to post to youtube or facebook soon. I am still giggling.

The only sad part was missing Aunt Misty, Uncle Chris and little Chase. Hopefully next year we will all be together. Seeing the cousins play on Christmas morning will be like being a kid all over again, I am sure.

I am off to cuddle with the kids and watch some Nutcracker Ballet on TV. The kids love it as much as I do. Next two days will be crazy with our whirlwind of packing to get ready for our trip.

Next stop is Disney and the beautiful Christmas Lights, stringing popcorn and cranberries for the Christmas Tree, and awaiting the arrival of the big guy.... Papa (oh and Santa too). Haha.

Be Merry

I know... I know... I suck at blogging these past few months. I assure you I miss it and I feel like my creative brain is begging me to get some writing in.

Many of you know that I have been in a legal battle with my ex for a long time, so that has also hampered my writing, as anything "can and will be used against you" in a court of law (ha). Therefore, my creative energy feels extremely censored under that kind of negativity.

I write about my memories, my life... what I've learned and experienced. Much of that is being put on hold right now, so I apologize for feeling less than inspired these days.

But that all being said, life is good. Better than good. It's GRRRR-REAT! (Yes, I invoked some Tony the Tiger there... I hang out with the under 10 crowd entirely too much these days).

The kiddos are keeping me busy (and happy) with all the holiday madness. I think 7 and 5 are the perfect age for Christmas. Old enough to understand the true meaning of the holidays, but young enough to still believe in it's magic as well.

We went to see Santa the other day at the Bass Pro Shop in Grapevine. They do such an awesome presentation of Santa and other fun things for kids. I am really impressed each year when we go, especially when you consider it's ALL FREE! The Santa pictures, playing with the lazer rifle game, the electric racecars, even the horse drawn carriage outside. And as a photographer, I loved it because the photo ops there were ENDLESS.

I strapped on my trusty Nikon D90, geared the kids up in hats, scarves and gloves and off we went. Three hours later I had about 100 pictures and two very happy but tired kiddos. I also had a little boy that went from wanting a Nintendo DS from Santa to wanting a Red Rover B-B gun (oi vey!) and a little GIRL who instead of wanting anything girly, wants a fishing pole and a crossbow in pink camo. Well, atleast that will make their soon-to-be stepdad happy, since he's an avid outdoorsman. But mama bear is LESS than pleased. I think I am outnumbered though.

This time of year always reminds me of our Christmases growing up. We never had much, but I still remember it being magical, no matter what we found under the tree that morning. I was never disappointed, as whatever Santa brough seemed to be JUST right. I hope my own kids will have the same memory about Christmas when they grow up.

This year, instead of digging out all the ornaments and doing the "fancy" tree, we plan on getting a REAL tree and making all of our decorations. I am really looking forward to this. We are going to string cranberries and popcorn and make construction paper and ribbon ornaments. Hang candy canes and paper chain garland. I am excited about our "Charlie Brown" tree. Of course I will be there taking pictures to make sure we have the memories captured forever. But I hope the feeling of family togetherness will burn in the kid's memory as well. This will be our first Christmas in our blended family and we are all looking forward to it so much.

Okay, enough holiday rambling... I thought it would be fun to share some of your favorite/memorable childhood "Santa Gifts". Here are a few of mine. Be sure to comment and post yours as well!

1. Age 7 - royal blue blowdryer (I was BIG time with my own blowdryer for my curly hair! Ha)
2. Age 12 - A cassette tape (NOT dubbed from the radio) of Poisen "Look what the Cat drug in"
3. Age 15 - A CD player and black knee high boots (I was cool I tell ya)


Have a merry Christmas and Happy (but SAFE) New Year all my friends. I promise to be more faithful to my blog in 2010. (I won't even put it on my resolutions list, so that way I REALLY WILL do it) LOL.

xoxo

Learning. Loving. Living.

Do you ever miss being a kid? I'll admit that I really don't think about it much. My childhood was fun and full of drama at the same time. Interspersed with the happy moments of playing with my friends until dark and drawing hopscotch on the sidewalk, is the memories of my mom sitting in a corner of a dark room crying and having potato soup every night for a week because there wasn't enough to eat in our house.

Childhood was somewhat bittersweet for me. I grew up not knowing my real dad. I fell madly in love with my mom's first husband, who eventually cheated on her, got mixed up in drugs, and died a homeless vet roaming the city streets - hardly father of the year. And then I spent my pre-pubescent years scowling at my mom's second husband and picking fights with him throughout high school. I took all my resentment out on him, and although sometimes he deserved it, most of the time he didn't.

But I also remember holding all-day dance contests in my cousin's front yard, complete with a sheet of cardboard to "break-dance" on to the tunes coming out of our "boombox". Fun times. And sitting on the back patio in the scorching sun eating a popsicle, feeling it drip down my arms and onto my bare legs and then jumping in the pool to rinse it all off. While inside the house my family was falling apart.

For a kid with a childhood like that... the good memories were a lifeboat to happiness.

The resilience of children has never been more clear to me than when I became a mom. Wiping tears from faces that just got skinned from falling off a bike, kissing a papercut that has already begun to heal but needs a batman bandaid, well just because it feels better, and playing barbies with my daughter because she had a fight with her best friend --- these are the moments when my heart breaks because more than anything I want to protect my children from any pain. But then five minutes later they are up and running and laughing again... whatever hurt received quickly forgotten. And that makes me smile.

I realized tonight that I am doing a good job of protecting them and encouraging happiness, because despite being involved in a nasty custody dispute with their father, my children are oblivious to it. I fill their days with activity and stories and love and kisses and hugs - tucking them warmly into bed at night, so that they don't doubt for one second that they are loved and cared for. They don't have to worry about whether mommy is sad again or whether there will be something new on the dinner table tomorrow night. They have the security to know that their every need will be met.

Does their mom sit in a corner and cry? I'll admit that sometimes I do, but it's when they aren't around to see or worry about it. Have I worried about where I'll find food to put on the table? Since becoming a single mom, yes I have been there a time or two as well. But it's not something they ever see or realize. I protect them so that they can do what kids are suppose to do... play and learn and experience the wonders of our world.

And somehow, through them, I am getting to experience my childhood over again - well at least the good parts. That's my reward for being their mom.

Weeeee!

Is there anything more free than this?

Jenna doing what she does best

Say Cheese

We grew up in front of the camera, so it's no wonder we now choose to stand behind it. Me and my sisters are obsessed with taking pictures. I think we have literally documented every major, and not so major, moment of our lives, since the point our parents bought us our first very own 35mm camera (actually I think mine was a 110, do they even make those anymore? What about Advantix... whatever happened to those? Ha).

But I digress.

Picture-taking, documentation, photo albums and finally scrapbooks have encompassed so much of our memory-making, that they have not only chronicled the memories of our lives, they have become a PART of the memory-making.

Somewhere along the line it went from being a hobby to being something I could actually make some money doing (in order to pay for the outrageously expensive equipment I drool at while browsing photog sites online).

And unlike those fiercely loyal photographers, I have no loyalty to brand. I've tried Canon and Nikon, Olympus and Kodak. I have probably tried a version of every camera-making brand in the U.S. at some point. As long as it takes a crisp photo quickly... well I am happy.

So I am excited to break in my early christmas gift from my boyfriend, my Sony Alpha A-200. Already I am impressed with the quality of photos... and what better excuse to harrass my children like celebrity paparazzi, than making them help me break in the new cam.

Jenna was less than thrilled. All the rest of my photographs of her were of the back of her head or her hands in front of her face "Brittany"-style. Sigh. Better luck next time.

Nate on the other hand was a more willing participant. I will spare you the extreme closeups of the taco meat from dinner hanging out of his mouth while he cheesed it up for me... and instead give you the most gorgeous blue eyes I've ever seen (apologies to my blue-eyed boyfriend, but he is a close second).

And then I will leave you with a shot of my boy showing off his battle wounds. He got into an altercation with the swing at school. He swears the swing looks worse, but I am not so sure.

Like a Virgin

I was eight years old when I learned about the "birds and bees."

It was a sunny afternoon, I had just dropped my backpack down at the front door and went straight to the kitchen for a snack. My mom was in there getting some stuff ready for dinner, I could hear my little sister in the back room playing with her dolls.

"Mom, what's a 'virgin'?"

She looked up from the stove at me with wide-eyes and then slowly narrowed them, spatula in the air. Her shoulders slumped and she said, "Give me just a minute here and we'll talk about that. Where did you hear that word?"

"I was at Bible Class today and they kept talking about 'The Virgin Mary'. Why did they call her a 'virgin'? ... Oh and I heard it on a T.V. show the other day too, but that time they were talking about a guy at their school."

She quietly finished making dinner, set it to the side to stay warm and told me to come sit on the couch in the living room. She brought a pencil and a pad of paper with her. Man, she meant business. This was not going to be any explanation.

Curiously I looked at her as I sat down, feeling a bit apprehensive at her seriousness.

A few diagrams later she had thoroughly explained the female reproductive system, the male reproductive system and how they delicately worked together to make a baby. Following that was a stern lecture about how this process was meant by God to be an act between a husband and wife that loved each other.

And then she began to cry.

Tell an eight-year-old little girl that a penis goes in a vagina to make a baby and THEN start crying... and you have pretty much engraved the moment into her mind forever. And possibly scared the living day lights out of her.

The reason for the tears was soon explained. My mother put her hand on my shoulder as tears streamed down her face and said that sometimes people who weren't married fell in love and made babies. That it was NEVER a mistake, it just wasn't the way God intended it and made it much harder for everyone involved.

A light bulb began to go off in my head. I realized that most kids probably don't remember their parent's wedding day like I did. I remember it because I was 3 years old on that day. And the man I now called "Daddy" didn't actually meet me until I was old enough to know I was the only kid in nursery school that didn't have a daddy.
I looked at my mom and I started to cry too. "Who is my daddy?"

She hugged me and told me that someday when I was old enough to know, she would tell me more, and if I wanted to meet him, that she would be okay with it. For now, my Daddy was the man that came to every school program, that took us to the zoo, and who was the only person I wanted when I fell off my bike and skinned my knee. She said that making a baby didn't make you a daddy... loving a child like they were your own did.

Finally I sighed and wiped my tears, looked back down at the drawing my mother had made me. An hour or so had passed since I had gotten home from school. From the drawings I looked back at my mothers face, eyes rimmed red with tears, but with a soft smile on her face.

"But, I still don't know what 'virgin' means."

At that, my mother started laughing and so did I.

Blackberries & Big Wheels

We use to pick blackberries together, her and I. I didn't like blackberries, but it was fun picking them along the railroad tracks beside our apartment complex. Our fingers would be stained deep purple, her tongue and lips would match. I still like rasberries better.

She had chubby cheeks and the sweetest smile. Made even sweeter by the silver caps in the front. You never see kids with silver caps anymore... I guess they use something else now? We weren't suppose to walk by the railroad tracks, but my mom didn't seem to be around much during the day when we were out playing. As long as we were home by the time the street lights came on, we were free to play at our own pleasure. (Not something we as parents have the luxury of doing today).

"Mandy, you want to play Barbies with me?"

Sigh.

Faintly I was tempted to go play my favorite game with my little sister, but then again, I was 10 now. I was too old for Barbies.

"Let's play Flashdance instead"

"No, you always hog the living room floor"

We would bicker back and forth like this all the time. We didn't really have anyone else to play with, but with five years age difference between us, there was little choice. We were stuck together. Most of the time I was annoyed by her constant presence. Sometimes I was grateful to not be alone.

Especially late at night. In the dark.

Or when I came home from school and my mom was crying in a corner. Overwhelmed by life and betrayal. I'd take my sister's hand and we would go outside into a world of make believe. Where we could be anything we wanted and go wherever our imaginations could take us. Far away from being poor and sad.

I use to hold her down, pinning her arms under my knees, straddling her and tickling her until she nearly peed her pants. She would squeal. I loved the feeling of power and dominance I had. Sad, but oh so true. Little did I know she would grow up to be about 5 inches taller than me. I wouldn't attempt that trick now, I assure you.
But I was fiercly loyal and protective as well. One day, two little nieghborhood girls yanked my sweet little sister from her big wheel bike by the hair of her head. I was sitting on the top of the stairs playing when I witnessed this. I ran down them two at a time and yanked one of the little girls off the bike by her pigtails and grabbed the other one by the hand and told them to never touch my sister or her things again or I'd make them very very sorry they did.

They ran away crying. Straight to their mom. About 15 minutes later, a very large woman with over-bleached blond hair and blood-red finger nails grabbed me by the arm and started yelling at me about being a role model and not bullying little babies (ha, her "babies" were the biggest bullies in our apartment complex). I christened her "Bleachy Mama."

She had the intended effect though. She scared the crap outta me. I ran home and told my mother what happened.

The next chain of events will be forever carved into my memory. My 95 pound (if that) mom grabbed a baseball bat from our toy box and stomped down our stairs towards Bleachy Mama's apartment, with me and my sister following at her tail.

Banging on the door with the bat (nice one Mom!) she had the fiercest look in her eye (don't mess with a Mama Bear's cubs). I don't remember my mother's exact words to Bleachy Mama, but it was somewhere along the lines of "don't touch or talk to my daughters again or I'll kick your fat ass". Actually I am pretty sure those were her exact words.

The two little girls stood behind there mama with wide eyes. I am sure we had a similiar look on our faces as this all transpired. Then Bleachy slammed the door in my mom's face and we went home.

Funny thing is, about 3 months later... we were all best friends, picking blackberries together by the railroad tracks. I ended up teaching one of those little girls how to dance to my Cyndi Lauper tape I dubbed off the radio. They never asked to ride my sister's big wheel and I don't ever remember seeing Bleachy Mama again.

The Heart of Home

Growing up, my favorite room of any home was the kitchen. It was big and bright and shiny. Just made you want to step in the picture, sit down at the counter over a cup of coffee and 'shoot the shit' as my mom use to say.

My love for the kitchen started when I was a child. That is the first place we headed after school every day. Me and my sister would grab a snack and sit at the counter, kicking our shoes to the floor, laughing and giggling over girlish secrets. Mom would be at the sink doing dishes, or pealing potatoes, or drinking some coffee. She'd ask us questions and make us feel important with her genuine interest in our day.

And I wasn't the only one that loved my mother's kitchen. Inevitibly at a party, family gathering or social event in our home, everyone would end up in the kitchen... snacking, drinking, laughing and sharing. That room was always warm and inviting and full of the smells of food and coffee and sweetness.

Some of my favorite stories my mother ever shared with us was while she cooked dinner and we sat at the counter listening to her and asking questions. I remember my one main chore was to unload the dishwasher everyday... I did the dishes and my sister did the silverware (she was 5 years younger than I).

That was me and my mom's time to chat. Many a confession was made in that kitchen. She found my first hickey on my neck at 15, when I was leaning in the sink washing my hair. Oops. Ha. And that's usually where the report card was presented for review and usually praise, but sometimes a stern lecture.

It's where I told my mom I lost my virginity and where I smeared mayonaise on my sister one day as a joke and we had a full on fight with the whole jar (not recommended... mayo smells really gross when it makes contact with skin). It's where I read my acceptance letter to college, introduced my parents to my future husband and also where he asked them for their blessing to marry me. I learned to cook under the watchful gaze of my mother. It's where I told my mom she was going to be a grandmother. And where I hugged my mom and sisters right after we found out their father (the man who raised me) died.

Candles have been blown out, tears have been shed and wiped, songs have been sang, kisses and hugs have been shared and secrets have been told... all sitting in the kitchen.

It's no wonder it's my favorite room of the house.