Words. Grrrrrr
Sticky wickets.
I really like that word. I think it evolved from the British. There is another term I really like from the Brits. It is used to describe the complete and total lack of finding something. As in “No, not a dickey bird.”
What a great phrase. Words are so powerful. When my kids were little, I was taught that words can make or break just about any situation. I remember when the oldest, then, age 4, had to have emergency surgery. She…(she not he….and this is important) had a Right Inguinal Hernia. Girls do not normally have those. Boys, who have testicles, have them enough that it is fairly common in younger boys. Girls, almost unheard of.
Anyway, I digressed. Sorry. I do that a good bit, don’t I. It’s the way my mind works, or doesn’t work.
So, I told her… The nurse will give you a shot that will make you sleepy. While you are asleep the surgeon which is a special name for a kind of doctor will open your skin and fix the boo boo inside your belly. Then you will wake up in a strange room where there are lots of weird looking machines and you will have a green plastic mask over your face to help you breathe while you were sleeping. The nurses will be there, and you will be very scared and confused, but it’s okay. Mommy will be there right after you wake up and even though it is going to hurt for a bit, you will be fine and then I will rock you and sing to you.
The stupid Anesthesiologist comes in and tells her he is going to give her magic dust to make her go on a fairy ride.
What an ass. I actually hit him. Well, I sort of warned him first. I told him “Don’t tell her that crap! He looked at me in a patronizing way and told me that HE knew what he was doing and had done lots of surgeries on 4 year olds and his way was best. He wouldn’t stop and in a short time we were face to face shouting. Not the best situation. I don’t like stupid people to start with and I really don’t like stupid people who think they are better than me, or you.
He wouldn’t back down so I clocked him to shut him the heck up.
Yeah, they called security and all that. Course that was 26 years ago, so I didn’t have to go to jail for assault. Actually, the head surgeon told the Anesthesiologist what an ass he was, and we got another gas passer.
Words are very powerful. I have to be careful almost hourly what words I use, how I use them and to whom I am sending them.
Yesterday, Pint was depressed. Not unusual in an 8 year old. But she is going through a rough bit.
She tells me in the car (sigh….I wish she would do this whilst I can gather her on my lap and hold her and rock her and explain things, but no, she picks the car. Emotionally safer I expect.)
That she wants to be normal and live with her Mommy and Daddy like all the other kids. I explain that a lot of the kids she goes to school with are being raised by their grandparents, for various reasons.
She replies with “But I have a really rough life in some ways, cause I don’t live with my Mommy and I never get to see my Daddy.”
I come back with, I don’t know how to get a hold of your Dad, but he knows my cell phone number and it hasn’t changed in 7 years.
I said it’s not unusual for children to be raised by their grandparents. I was raised by my grandparents for a great deal of the time as my dad was very abusive.
She is crying at this point, about how much she misses her dad. I hate him. He didn’t even call on their birthdays this year.
I tell her that the child support office is looking for him, and if they find him I will get an address of where he works and we will call him. I tell her that even though she doesn’t live with her parents, they both love her very much. I tell her that they will always love her. That they just made some bad choices that made it unsafe for her and her sister to live with them.
I tell her I will always be there for her to have a safe place to live.
Later, that night, she is emotionally wrought from having all this inside her. She already goes to a counselor, so I don’t know what else to do. Find a group of kids that are being raised by their grandparents and start a support group for the kids I guess.
She does not go to bed easily on any day. She is very much ADHD. And, I hate that diagnosis. But trust me, she has it. Her father did as well. She wears the ADHD patch, which means no one at school knows she has it. The low dose patch works very well on her. She is an honor student and in the gifted program.
But at night, she doesn’t want to sleep. Her little mind will not shut down. I have been working with her since she was 6 months old to teach her how to allow her body to fall asleep.
As an infant, she took TWO ten minute naps a day, and I am so not kidding. That was it. Even at 6 months of age she was hyper. She is a constant motion factory. I have to keep her involved in something totally all the time. The computer helps, but hurts at the same time.
We have a routine every night. That helps as well. The baby, well, she is not ADHD. I go in, we read her Bible (one for young children, each chapter is a short page with illustrations), about 15 pages or so. Then we count how many pages we read. Then she turns over and I sing her song I made up for her. Then I tell her Goodnight Huckleberry, I love you. And she smiles and says I love you too Meemaw, and I leave the room. She has her night light and her Wubby and Binky. She is asleep approximately 5 minutes later.
But not Pint. First we fight about having the TV on. Then we fight about whether or not she is genuinely hungry. Even if she eats dinner and has a snack right before she gets into bed, she will say she is starving.
Then, we can escalate rapidly into hysterics, with her saying things like “I can’t believe you are starving your own grandchild!”
Or, you have ruined my life, or this is the worst day in my entire life, or words to that affect. She is quite the little drama queen.
I usually stay fairly calm throughout these episodes, using a quiet voice, telling her that I do, in fact, love her and that she will not die if she doesn’t get a snack.
Last night, she had a choice. Finish watching a TV program and no cuddle time, or turn the TV off and cuddle time. She chose the TV.
Then, when it was time to turn the TV off, she conveniently forgot the other parts. Said that she didn’t hear me say that part of the conversation, and that if she had heard it, of course, she would have picked cuddle time.
Yeah. Well. That’s not the way that goes in the textbooks. So, I stood on the ladder to the upper bunk while she threw her fit at the top of her lungs. Told her I would explain it after she was quiet enough to listen.
It only took about 20 minutes, but trust me, those are really long minutes when you have an 8 yr old in full voice.
So finally, I told her that from now on, I would make the decisions, and I would decide the TV goes off at promptly 8 p.m. regardless of what is on. That I will insure that she has her cuddle time, but that she would be mad every single night at being thwarted in her desire to watch just one more Zack and Cody or Hannah Montana. That if we had any more problems, I would simply remove the TV from her room (which I have done, so she knows this is not an empty threat).
Finally, about 10ish she fell asleep.
Parenting any child is a challenge. Parenting one with ADHD, doubly so. Parenting one with ADHD and emotional trouble from screwed up parents….Grrrrrr. Challenging does not really describe it.
I wish I could make it all better for her. But instead, I have to teach her to look inside and find her comfort with herself and God, as I have learned to do. And, she is only 8.
Pension day, off to shop for groceries. Have a nice weekend all.
Hyterical kids, Kittens and White Capri's
Hysterical Kids, Kittens and White Capri's
Grrrrr. It’s now 9:17 a.m. I had the morning from somewhere not very nice. My morning was sort of exactly but not quite like having oral surgery. You have to get through it no matter what, and you don’t want to about five minutes into it.
Like Pirate Girl, I am going to identify the kidlets according to descriptive names, cause I don’t want to use their real names. I know, some of you already know their names. But, you know.
The oldest girl, age 8, we have custody of is going to be Pint. The next granddaughter we do not have custody of, age 6, is ¾ Pint. (you do see where this is going). The next one down, we do have custody of, age 5, Half Pint. And the baby (8 months) we do not have custody of, Quarter Pint.) All but ¾ pint are from one mother, my 2nd daughter. ¾ pint belongs to my oldest daughter and her husband, she is a nurse and he is a intelligence cop in the Air Force. They both work evening turn, (for those of you east coast impaired, this means the 3 – 11 shift or thereabouts).
Pint got up on time, and immediately started crying her belly hurt. She was hungry. She was hungry because she did not eat all her supper last night, and therefore, mean grandmother that I am, I did not allow her to have her usual snack before bed. There was a point last night where she did tell me that: (my answers are in parenthesis)
You are ruining my life. (Well good. You are only 8, it’s best you find out now.)
You are mean. ( I know. I try every day to be meaner. How am I doing?)
I hate you. ( I love you.)
I can’t believe you would send your granddaughter to bed without feeding her. (Believe it. Trust me. Believe it. Next time eat your dinner.)
I am leaving tomorrow. (yes, for school.)
You are ruining my life. (This too shall pass.)
I want a nice grandmother. (I’ll put an ad in the bargain hunter.)
Can I at least have a glass of water or is this like a prison. (This is worse than prison. You have NO rights here at all.)
Will you at least fluff my pillow? (of course I will fluff your pillow.)
Can I please have a drink? (Well, you asked nicely but no.)
I want my snack. (okay, what are you giving up tomorrow for it? TV. Computer? Karate?)
Nevermind. (that’s what I thought, good night, I love you.)
She was genuinely hungry this morning, and asked me to please hurry and feed her, which I did.
Then, I took Monster outside. We ran out of batteries for his shock collar. He knows this. He did his usual gallumping down the stairs, falling and sliding. He went over to the tractor to do his morning anointing of the wheels.
I said “the baby is crying and I don’t have time for you to be a horse today. Hurry up.” He bolted. He grazed. He looked around like it was the first time he had ever been outside. I grabbed his collar and dragged him toward the stairs. He broke away and ran. I chased him, coffee cup in hand (I have the ability to do just about anything in the world without spilling my coffee). I was yelling at him telling him to come here so I could kill him. For some reason, he did not run right over to be put to death???
I grabbed him again. Led him to the door, telling him the whole time that I had Pint inside, screaming that her belly hurt while she was trying to eat. I could still hear her cause I have the patio door open. That was bad planning on my part. At least if I had kept it closed I wouldn’t have had to listen whilst outside…
Finally, on the fifth try, I got him to come inside. The Chihuahua wanted her turn to go out. I grumbled,
“get out of my way and just go pee on the floor somewhere, I don’t have time for you this morning..”
Cause now it is 10 minutes to 8, the bus arrives at 8:34 and Half Pint isn’t even out of bed yet.
Back into the house, and no, I haven’t even gotten to pee yet. Or feed the kittens. (this comes into play shortly).
Wake the baby up. Yes, by sticking my head into her room and saying GET UP.
I know. Sigh. Sometimes, I am challenged. Normally, I like to creep into their rooms, cover them with little kisses, tickle them and wake them up gently. Today. Was not one of those days.
My stupid DVR keeps moving me from the morning news to “How it’s made”. I know it’s my fault cause I told it to tape the show, but really. It’s morning, it should know I need my news.
Half Pint gets up. I tell her to pee. The reason I have to tell her, is that genetically, she is part camel. She can go two days without urinating. And will, if not made to pee. When she was a baby, I was frantically calling the Dr because she would only have like one wet diaper a day. If that. I was always afraid she was dehydrated, even though she ate like a pig. She never was dehydrated. She just doesn’t pee often.
She comes out, I fix her a bowl of cereal, she starts eating and one of the kittens crawls up her uncovered leg and scratches her trying to get to the milk in her bowl of cereal. She is now screaming.
Pint is still doubled over with pain. Now. Remember she is 8. I am not going to 911 my brain over an 8 year old crying with pain.
I tell her to go to the bathroom. Her stomach hurts because she needs to, well, poop. And she doesn’t like salad, fruits, vegetables or fiber. She, like every other kid, prefers Little Debbie snack cakes and chocolate milk to real food.
I tell her to sit, and let it happen. She wails the entire time in the bathroom. She cannot go.
I tell her fine. You can stay home sick, but no TV and no computer. If you are sick, you are sick and will stay in bed.
She allows how she believes she can get through the day at school, but says her stomach really does hurt.
I go and get Half Pint an outfit for school. She doesn’t like it. Now, I usually don’t have that problem with Half Pint. I have that particular problem with Pint, who I make pick out her outfit the night before, and I have to approve it as she usually will pick something like orange striped shorts with a blue Adidas shirt.
I pick a cute little plaid Care Bear skirt with a cute little Care Bear shirt. I bring them in. She tells me flatly.
“I hate that skirt.” I say, “how can you hate a skirt you have never worn?” She says “I am not wearing that.”
Back to the closet I go. Grab a pair of white capri’s and a green Hello Kitty shirt. Put them on her. Tell her to go get her shoes. I already have her socks. She comes back with her Bobby Jack flip flops. I give up.
Pint is still whining about her stomach. I ask if she wants a Tums. She says yes. I go to get them, I left them on the counter in the kitchen. They are not there.
I whip into the bedroom which has the door closed. The door is closed because Monster drools. Constantly. He is a wet mouth dog. And, it’s gross. And he likes to bug the girls. And if he gets drool on them, they totally tweak, which I do not need in the morning.
So, after he goes outside in the morning, he goes straight into the bedroom with DH and I shut the door till the girls get on the bus.
He gets out as soon as I open the door. It is now 8:29 a.m. The girls are dressed. Lunch is made, but honestly I have absolutely no clue at this time what I put in their lunches. Couldn’t tell you if my life depended on it. I know at some point during the hour of screaming, hysterics and belly aches I did, in fact, make lunches. There was a mess on the counter when I came back in. They had lunch boxes, as it were, in their book bags. But, the memory is gone.
He gallumps out of the bedroom. They both start screaming….”Get away from me or you will slime me. MEEEEEMMMMAAAAWWWWWW, get him away from me.”
::sigh:::
I run into the bedroom, grab the Tums and scream at the dog, okay, rather loudly. Because DH is sound asleep in the bed, and I see it. Now, I am angry that he gets to sleep while I have to go through this. Well, the only reason that he gets to sleep is that I let him, but right now, that doesn’t matter.
TITAN ! GET BACK IN HERE RIGHT NOW. Oh yeah. Like that is gonna work on that dog. I go and grab him and jerk him into the bedroom by his collar. While that is happening the lid is coming off the Tums jar and sprinkling Assorted Berry Flavor Tums all over the carpet.
The lid breaks and falls. DH wakes up….going the, you know, man just waking up noise? “Whaaaa. Huhhh? What?”
I just growl. Look on the floor. Tell the dog to eat the tums and I hope he dies from them. Slam the door right in the middle of DH asking what is wrong.
Shake two Tums out. Give them to Pint. Tell them let’s go. The bus will be her in a second. Half Pint says
“The bus is imminent!”
She learned what Imminent means from the commercial about that new movie that is about Noah’s Ark. The one that followed the movie with Jim Carrey, Almighty something or other.
She is very proud of knowing what the word imminent means.
I say, “yes honey, the bus is imminent, now let’s go.”
They argue briefly who gets to go out the door first. I reach around them and open the door and go first, thereby ending that argument.
We walk to the end of the driveway as the bus pulls up. I realize that you can see Half Pint's color of underwear through the white capri’s.
:::sigh:::
Crickets. Forgot them.
I forgot the part about the crickets. Sometimes when I am blogging, after the kids get on the bus, I get rather carried away, and forgot one subject. I have CRS disease..a terrible thing that slowly eats away as you grow older. CRS, of course, stands for Can’t Remember Stuff.
We live, as anyone who viewed the picture with the kids on the first day of school, in a modular home. Out here, lot’s of people are going modular, since the square foot cost of new construction is roughly $150. Modulars are complete and less expensive.
It sits on a brick foundation. There is one vent on the front left corner, and a gaping space on the rear of the house, covered by a weathered and seen better days piece of exterior plywood. It is very wet under there, as we have had lots and lots of rain this year.
Crickets, as a species, apparently really like wet. We have enough crickets to feed an army of whatever it is that eats crickets. They are little black things, about ½ inch long. I do not want them to grow bigger.
They are getting into the house. Does anyone know what kills crickets? I have looked in the insecticide aisle at Wal Mart, and there is nothing called cricket spray.
I am thinking maybe chickens eat crickets. I worked on a chicken farm when I was a kid. It stank to high heaven with chicken guano. I do know that chickens eat just about anything in the world, including their own guano. It took me years to be able to eat chicken again after that little experience. It should be an episode on Dirty Jobs. But, I don’t want to run out and buy some chickens if they don’t eat crickets. I also don’t want to build a chicken house.
I want to, and need to build a shed to house the tractor. The old metal shed, which was brand new, not old, blew into the cow field two weeks ago.
We looked at the old budget last night. No room for building supplies. Damn.
The baby came home yesterday with her “VERY FIRST PHONE NUMBER” it is 1100. She doesn’t know the name of the little girl who gave it to her, and she doesn’t know the area code or prefix, but she knows the 1100 ! She is very excited. Maybe today, she will find out who the phone number belongs to LOL.
Nightmares struck again. Both kids again. Into our bed. Incredibly crowded conditions. I took the baby and went into the older kids room, and we both crawled into the lower bunk. I slept there until about 5ish, then went back to my bed, where there was a wee little section of my side of the bed unoccupied. I slid into the 8 or 10 inch space, turned on my side, retrieved my pillow from the floor where it had fallen, and tried to get another hour or two of sleep.
I cannot remember when I last slept the whole night through. If its not the kids, it’s my bladder. I know, TMI. But, about every 3 hours, regular as clockwork, I have to get up and pee.
Today, we have to pick up the other grand from school ½ hour away. She gets picked up at 2:30. The other two get off the bus at 3:40. Then we have to leave for karate at um….4:30. Then leave at 6 for home, arrive at 6:35 and cook dinner, then bath kids, then Pappy has to leave at 8 to take the other back to her house and wait for her Dad to get home at 10:30.
That will be at least ¾ tank of gas. Whee. What is that. One, two, three, four complete round trips into town. And, there is no way to avoid it. None. Well, maybe if I took the other two out of school at 2 o’clock, then went to pick up the other grand, then went to my daughter’s house until Karate, then went back there, made dinner and waited till 10:30, but that would put us home at 11 or just after, IF he is on time, and that is too late for the kids to get to bed.
:::sigh:::
I have been sighing a lot lately.
Today is the day where I can no longer safely put off doing laundry. When the kids were first born, 30 years ago, I used to enjoy putting their little, adorable outfits away.
No longer. Did you know when you have girls, the normal sorting of laundry includes one extra load? It does. Trust me. You have darks, lights, bleachable whites, non bleachable whites, towels and PINK/REDS.
You cannot do the pink/reds with anything else. And, we have lots of pink/reds.
It’s not just the washing and drying that irritate me. I really hate the putting away. As well as the matching up. Girls have lots of clothes. Even little girls. It’s all my fault. You know, doing shopping at Wal Mart, and hey, “how cute is that??” And, it’s on clearance !!
Grrrrrr.
Even though I stopped doing that, I am doing so well at not doing that, that I didn’t even go school shopping, per se. I did inventory of their closets and decided that they didn’t need school clothes. Which is weird, figuring the oldest went to a catholic school and wore uniforms for the past three years. She should have had NO clothes. Not true however. She has lost a lot of weight. She is now wearing the size she wore in kindergarten, and she just started third grade. Oh, I bought them each two new outfits, because you have to have at least one or two new things for school. It’s an American tradition.
I figured out about 12 years ago that it’s better to do the school shopping at the clearance section. See, when school starts up, it is still really hot. And, the school clothes are all winter things. So, if you buy the clothing in the school clothes section, you are buying jeans and sweaters for winter. When it’s gonna be 85% outside on the first day of school. What is wrong with that picture??
So, I shop the summer clearance for school clothes. Then, about Octoberish, the school clothes go on clearance, and I buy their winter clothes, and it works that in our area, it is just starting to get too cold to wear summer stuff. Saves me about $500 a year or better.
I am good at squeezing a buck. I have to be. We live on DH’s pension. Although the federal government is pretty good to disabled vets, we could do with a bit more money. It sounds really great, you know, high 30’s per year, tax free.
Trust me, it doesn’t go far. Not when it’s actually just above the federal poverty level. When we were kids, 38 thousand a year was GOOD money.
Milk is $4.25 a gallon.
I am watching the news this morning as I blog. There is a kid, looks to be about 16ish. He drew a picture in class cause he was bored. It is of a gun, and one person shooting another. He and his mother (she works in a prison) don’t understand why he was suspended for three days. So Fox News puts them on the air in an interview. The claim to just not understand.
Hello.
Are you at all aware of the world you are living in? He didn’t draw a picture of a cool pistol. He put people getting shot in the picture.
I do not feel that the school overreacted. How are they to know? They have a duty to protect all the other kids.
The world just gets weirder and weirder every day.
Now, I have to go research how to kill lots and lots of crickets.
Have a great day everyone. Sorry, not too humorous today. I must be off my feed.
Cows, Kids, Crickets and Nightmares
Blessed quiet. A cuppa. The morning news. Crickets and cows. These are the some of the beautiful things I am blessed with. Kittens gallumping around, playing with dust, or air, or each other. Doing funny things, mostly which cause unusual noises.
I could use a good glass of wine, but alas! It’s only 8:59 a.m., and even for me, that’s a bit early.
The kids were a bit fractious this morning. I love that word fractious. And, it perfectly describes my morning.
Last year, we arose at 6 am. I had an entire ½ hour to myself before I woke the kidlet up to get ready for school. We had to leave the house no later than 7:15 to get her the ½ drive to school and me to work.
Now, the bus arrives more or less promptly at 8:34 a.m. Which means I can sleep in till 7:30. Doesn’t mean I should.
To awake at 7:30, I set the alarm for 6:30. Because I keep rolling over and hitting the snooze button. For an entire hour. I really don’t like getting up.
I have never in my life had trouble sleeping. It’s getting up that’s the problem for me.
Both babies were up in the middle of the night. The youngest had a nightmare. Her screaming woke the older one up. I heard the screaming through the baby monitor, but by the time I managed to come to enough consciousness to realize what was happening, find my glasses, find my slippers, get out of bed, climb over the MONSTER, who even though he is not my dog, insists on sleeping on the floor on my side of the bed, watch out for the Chihuahua who has now jumped off the bed (she sleeps under the covers, behind my knees), cause she is a nebshit who thinks she had to know every single thing in the world that is happening, and made it through my bedroom exit, into the living room, hoping there were no dog toys left out to trip me up (big dogs have big dog toys, do not step on them, they hurt), into the baby’s bedroom….
To assuage her fears, which didn’t work, then pick her up, realize she is too heavy (I am still mostly asleep and will do anything within the realm of possibility to return to my bed quickly), put her down and say “go get in my bed you can sleep with us”..so she runs off to get into our bed…..
Which prompts an immediate and angry waaaaiiiiillllll of gargantuan proportions because the next thing I heard was….
“Sissy is ALREADY in your bed, I can’t sleep with Sissy!”
:::sigh::::
Because when woken up by the baby’s nightmare screams, the older one promptly got out of her bed and raced to get into our bed.
Now I have three people screaming at me, and two dogs jumping around, one large, one small. I tell DH to please be quiet, two screaming is one more than I can handle at 3 a.m.
I tell both girls to EXIT my bed. They are both going back to their beds. All the 56 feet from one to the other, they are protesting, rather loudly. Okay, crying. I tell the older one, just please get back into your bed, I will be there in a minute after I calm your sister down.
Thankfully, she does. Well, first she says,
“Can I get on the computer while I wait?”
Oh. Let. Me. Think.
“NO”.
DH is already back asleep. Nice for him I guess.
Put the baby back into her little Dora bed. Calm her down. Rock her whilst sitting on the floor, wrapping my safe grandmother arms around her little scared body as she lays in bed. She goes fairly quickly back to sleep.
Go into the older one’s room. She, the ADHD kid, is now wide awake.
:::double sigh:::
Climb the ladder, standing on it, quietly and calmly tell her, “honey, tomorrow is a school day, you have to go back to sleep or you will have a really bad day in school.”
She can’t go to sleep, she is scared. Okay, I will sleep on the bottom bunk till you go to sleep.
I climb into the bottom bunk.
I go back to sleep. The dog puts his very wet face on mine. Please go sleep with daddy you dorky dog. Please.
I awaken about 45 minutes later to quiet. They are both still asleep and it is 4:15 a.m.
Back to bed I go. My bed is lots more comfortable.
Till the alarm goes off at 6:30.
Get out of bed. There is a kid in there with me. I don’t know when, or how, but the oldest one at some point, revisited the bed.
Wake her up, tell her to get up and go to her own bed. Instead, she says, I will be on the computer. Okay, I am too tired to argue anymore.
Realize that it is only 6:30 and I can go back to sleep. Reset the alarm, because I already turned it off, instead of snoozing it.
I know, if I am aware enough to reset the alarm, I should have just simply gotten out of bed.
One major fight this morning. The oldest one is vacillating between wanting to be a boy, or accepting the fact that she was born a girl. I will let her do this, up to a point. The point is whenever it really pisses me off. Its sort of an ambiguous point I know, but then, you’ll have that.
This morning, we reached that point almost immediately.
She wanted a pair of baggy shorts like the boys wear. She doesn’t own any (nor will she). So, it was her idea to cut off a pair of her baggier capri’s so they would resemble baggy boy shorts.
And, the fight was on.
I said, wear your Nike basketball shorts, they are baggy. No. Not good enough. They have to be jean shorts.
I have that headache, the one that sort of starts in the middle of your back, between your shoulder blades and then crawls slowly and painfully up the back of your spine into your neck and eventually to your brain and your brain just hurts the rest of the day….?
I say, if you cry anymore, your eyes will be red and ugly, and all the kids on the bus will no that you were acting like this.
She doesn’t care.
I say, if you wear that, everyone will laugh at you.
She doesn’t care.
I say, if you don’t get dressed right this second, I will take your computer away!
I win.
Desperation breeds bad parenting. Threats, cajoling and whatever it takes to get them on the bus on time.
I haven’t made their lunch yet, gone to the bathroom or had my coffee.
Arrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhh !
But, I finally did get them calmed down, dressed, fed, teeth brushed and on the bus with lunches packed, faces clean and no tear tracks.
A successful morning for the second day.
Now, the house to clean, inventory to take of the almost empty pantry and frig. I have yogurt in there that expired two months ago. Ewwwww.
Have an unemployment meeting at noon, have to go to the bank (1/2 hour away), go grocery shopping, buy the baby a pair of size 12 shoes (why do kids feet grow one size between buying school shoes and the day school starts?) get gas for the mower and make it home by 3:30.
Hi ho hi ho it’s off to run I go.
Oh, the picture of the cows? We live near a large Black Angus Farm, called Summitcrest Farms. They just opened the field next to us (the same field our shed blew into two weeks ago), to the cattle. So they are grazing and sleeping.
There may be a link there. The baby’s bedroom window is approximately 18 feet from the barbed wire fence. The herd has been sleeping outside her bedroom window for the last three nights, and every single night, she is having nightmares. I think she is hearing them in her sleep. She will get used to it. It beats an airport.
First Day of School
You’d think, but you’d be wrong, that I cried. I had emotions, certainly. But trust me on this, after 25 years of putting kidlets on the bus, or getting them out of the car for their very first day at Kindergarten, I have finally gotten to the point where I feel only relief.
I know none of them has ever suffered a complete nervous breakdown over the event. I know that tens of millions of children have survived the first day of kindergarten. I know the school staff will take very good care of my babies.
Hard hearted old biddy ain’t I? :::grin:::
And, at the assembly on Friday, I saw all the shining faces of the kindergartner’s and their scared parents. Some looked like they were ready to cry just being at the assembly, and I am talking about the parents. As did I with my oldest, who is now 30 !
Some, with three or more children, and they were putting their oldest child in school, looked harried, frazzled and kind of happy.
I can relate to that. Speaking of the oldest, I just got off the phone with her. She just dropped off her only child for her first day of first grade. She was a little, um…not weepy, but definitely affected.
I could never home school. I have a lot of respect for those mom’s who do, but good grief! I remember that special on Discovery or TLC about the family with 16 (then 17) kids. She homeschooled. And looked like she was stoned all the time. She walked around with a beatific smile on her face 24/7.
Honey. Please. I am happy for you that you can do that. I, on the other hand, cannot wait for them to start school.
There is only so much you can do with a five year old who already knows her alphabet, can count to a hundred, surfs the internet (with appropriate security settings) takes care of her pets on Webkinz and Neopets, dresses animated girls on Bratz and Barbie.com; is starting to read, and can work the remote for the satellite TV system better than her Pappy.
She needs school.
I was a little nervous about public schools. This school is brand new, and they have total lockdown during the day. You can enter the school through open doors, but then the only place you can get to is the office. I approve of that. To go further, you have to be buzzed in by the school secretary. They have different drop offs for the different ages. The K-3 drop off (which covers both my kidlets, one in K and one in 3) is designated, and there are two adults at the curb where the bus stops, two halfway down the 20 foot sidewalk to the locked door, and two at the door to hand the children through to the teachers, all of which are waiting inside the doors to form the lines to go to the classroom. Very well supervised.
The classes at the private Catholic school were smaller. Well, you have to make compromises I guess. The public school is free, (except for the tax base) and the private school is $300 a month. On retirement income, that makes a difference. So public school it is!
We met her teacher who has only been teaching two years. She is single. And excited. And vivacious.
I like two kinds of kindergarten teachers. The young ones like described above, and the older, slightly um…rotund’ fiftyish ones who are the epitome of a grandma. They are comfortable to hug, give a feeling of security to at least my kids and usually are pretty soft spoken. They don’t put up with any guff from the students and very seldom get overwhelmed.
My baby babysat all three of the older grands the other night for us. After the Karate Testing, she had the 8, the 6 and the 5 year old, plus her other niece, age 3 whom she had just picked up from N.C. for the week.
DH and I had a wedding reception to go to. We were gone from 5:30 to 8 pm. Halfway through, the baby called me and said “When are you going to come home. I am going to put a bullet through my head.” ROFL
At the testing, two of the kids were outside the karate center, running up and down the sidewalk yelling and screaming and generally being kids. She was outside watching them. It was my 5 yr old and the niece from NC.
I walked out and said “HEY!. Stop that right this SECOND! Both of you, inside NOW and sit down or I will give you a time out!”
They immediately stopped, went inside and sat down. She looked at me and said
“How do you DO that, I have been telling them for 15 minutes to stop that and go inside, they just look at me and laugh.”
DH said I have a ‘look’ and a ‘voice’ that brooks no argument. It’s a mom thing I think.
I think the baby five year old will be just fine. She didn’t want to go this morning. I had to give her the pep talk. About being a big girl and how much fun school will be. It’s not a lie, but she at least has a few years ahead of her until the viciousness starts up.
She has performed at a Karate tournament in front of about 10,000 people at age 2 ½ so I think she will be fine. She has a tendency to be very quiet and contemplative when she is in a situation which is unfamiliar. She will cry after she sees me, and tell me all about how scared she was, but it is very important for a child to learn to handle strange situations and new things.
They tell you that now about babies too. They tell you to not run too quickly when the baby is about 3 months old and starts fussing. They say (I hate that term) that the baby has to learn to ‘self comfort’.
And, it’s quite true. I remember arguing with the latest pediatrician about the length of time you wait. I think about 120 seconds is fine LOL. She recommended five minutes. Yeah. Like I am gonna leave a 3 month old baby to fuss and cry for five minutes.
Get real lady. I have trouble waiting the 120 seconds! You are talking about the grandma who leaves a baby monitor in their room till they are graduated from high school LOL.
I think that’s one of the good parts about custodial grandparenting. I have, actually, learned a few things through the years. And, that helps a lot.
I have learned that taking a kid to church regularly will help them in high school when they are presented (okay, now grade school) with some hard choices to make, like smoke or not, drugs or not, alcohol or not.
I didn’t do that with the first two, and one of them went to drugs.
I learned that (see previous post) kids have to fail to know what it’s like. You cannot always tell them that everything they do is wonderful. You are not helping them to learn if you do that. Only say “good job” if it really was a good job. They also have to fail to find out why they must again try to succeed.
My second one, the now and sometimes heroin addict didn’t learn that lesson. When the oldest two were raised, I did everything the way the experts said to do. I was supportive, non critical, non judgmental and politically correct. I didn’t use the term YOU HAVE to do this, I always said “this NEEDS to be done” to allow them to make the choice.
What a crock of shit that was. Now, I am more inclined to say “GET YOUR ASS IN THAT ROOM AND CLEAN IT NOW!”
When my second one left for college, she was the star of her high school. She was the 4.0 plus student who was voted most likely to be working at NASA after college.
She got to college and was totally overwhelmed with everything. She didn’t have the discipline, the responsibility or the drive. She had never failed at anything. Everything came easy for her. Then, when the “stuff” hit the fan, she didn’t rise to the occasion. She caved. And turned to drugs and alcohol to make her feel better.
I will take some of that responsibility. I didn’t prepare her for the big, bad world out there. I didn’t let her fail. I didn’t let her make bad choices and then suffer the consequences. And then, when she did make bad choices as an adult, she had babies, and we protected (are still protecting) the babies from those bad choices. Only now, we ONLY protect the babies. We are now, 28 years later, not protecting the mom from the effects of her bad choices. Lessons to be learned are hard, even for us old people.
So, as her five year old starts kindergarten, she was put on the bus, by me, the custodial grandmother. I did not drive her to school as she asked. I told her that she would be fine. That her big sister would be sitting right behind her in the seat. I told her that she would have a great time in kindergarten. I told her that this was the first step in a long journey to adulthood, and that she would survive it. I told her she would love school, and that I was very proud of her for being such a big girl.
And, now, proving I really am affected, I will tell you truthfully, that as I write this down, and it is safe to do so, I am crying.
Go in peace. I have a house to clean now and 8 hours of a day to fill up with something now that I don’t have ANY kids underfoot for the first time in 30 years. What the heck am I gonna do?
The Nature of Failure
I am handicapped. Well, sort of. I am socially challenged. Of course, I am speaking “tongue in cheek”. I remember a girl I was training about, um, 6 years ago. She was a student at the local high school, in the ‘DH’ class. DH stands for Developmentally Handicapped.
She threw a fit one time, in the middle of the restaurant which was, at the time, full of people. I pulled her outside. And, had a talk with her.
The first thing she threw at me was…
“Hey, I am handicapped. You cannot expect me to act like other people.”
Wrong statement chocolate chip cookie.
I sort of, in a controlled way, said, “I don’t care one whit about your so called handicap.” She looked back at me, very confused.
I said, “I am handicapped too. Did you know that?” She looked even more confused. I continued, “I am socially handicapped. I have a very low tolerance for stupidity. It makes me very angry. I don’t like people for the most part. I don’t like talking to them, I don’t like training them and I certainly don’t like dealing with them. They tend to really piss me off 99% of the time. My husband is physically handicapped. My daughter is emotionally handicapped. My other daughter is chemically challenged which means she is a stupid junkie who’s brain is fried. One of our cooks is bi-polar. One of our other cooks is language challenged. She can’t freakin read English all that well because she is German. I am raising a grandkid who is ADHD. Why don’t you take your stupid Developmentally Handicapped label and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, okay?”
Then I walked back inside.
Three years later, she came to me and told me that was one of the more profound things she had ever heard.
Now THAT is really sad, LOL. But she told me that it made her realize that she had been using a medical diagnosis as a crutch her whole life, and that it had held her back. She thanked me, which of course, embarrassed me to no end, because, well, I am socially challenged.
I am not even sure where this blog came from. I think deep down, each one of us is handicapped in some manner. It’s called being human. None of us are perfect, after all. Each one of us carries our own little foibles.
I am sick and tired of being politically correct. What a weird society we live in now. Heck, you cannot even flip off the idiot in front of you who cuts you out of your parking space in Wal Mart anymore without risking something.
Does it come down to lack of accountability? I mean, come on. Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, Britney Spears. I call it children who weren’t made to be accountable for their actions from very early on.
Parenthood is often difficult and rampant with built in pitfalls. We, as parents, carry a child or father a child and then watch the burgeoning stomach of our beloved. Then, when the delicate little baby is born, we fall head over heels in love with the squalling, eating, pooping little baby.
And that love continues. There can be a point at which that stops, but that is another blog.
I remember the kids as they grew up. Blog readers of mine know we are on the second go around, kidlet wise. We are raising two grandkidlets, girls, ages 5 & 8. But the first set of kids, well, they aren’t all that old that I cannot remember.
Coming home from school. “I HATE MY TEACHER, she is MEAN to me.” My response was, “better learn to deal with her cause wait till you get your first BOSS if you think she is mean!”
No, I do not have all the answers. Trust me. One of those kids turned to drugs. And that put me (is still putting me) through hell.
But, I did try to make them accountable for their actions.
I think society and technology play a large part in the raising of today’s children. And, we as parents, are infinitely busier. Maybe not busier, busy in a different way. An absent way. And, there are too many things waiting in the offing to entertain our children. Entertain, not teach.
Three of our grandgirls tested in karate yesterday. Two, the 8 year old who lives with us and the six year old who lives with her parents both tested for a red belt, only one belt away from a black belt. Now, a black belt 6 and 8 year old is a pretty awesome thing.
The 6 year old did much better than I would have predicted. She was very worried about the test. The form is quite complex and that is a lot to remember when you are only 6 ½ years old. She did really well. I am proud of her and told her so. The red belt form is very long, and takes a good bit of learning. She tried hard and succeeded. She deserves accolades for doing so.
The 8 year old, on the other hand, should not have passed. She stopped three times during her form part of the test. She hadn’t practiced much this time around. Part of that was my fault, in that, due to the recent move, she hadn’t attended Karate her usual three or four times a week for the past few months. Part of it.
But a lot of it is her fault. She didn’t practice. And, she is a very smart, very gifted child, to whom many things come very easily.
Ooooh, sticky wicket there ! Am I wanting my child to fail? Damn skippy I am. Because, you see, that’s what happens in real life when you don’t perfect your skills or you rely on a crutch. You fail.
But, the judges passed her.
In the locker room after, I spoke calmly and quietly and privately to her as she changed. I said, “you know you should have failed that test.”
She looked at me. I continued. “You forgot some of your form, you got turned around and your moves were not very well executed.” She said, “But Meemaw, I passed.”
And I said, “I know honey, but you shouldn’t have. I think that you are going to be practicing at home each day from now on, if you want to continue in Karate.”
Now, I am not a football dad, or a soccer mom, or even a karate mom. I have, until now, left it totally up to the kids to decide when and where they dedicate themselves. I don’t really watch them practice, usually using the time to run to Wal Mart so I can grab whatever is on my list of the day without kids trailing along.
I don’t push. I don’t prod. I don’t say, do better. I am not a cheerleader for their delicate little psyche’s.
That is the instructor’s job. Not mine. I don’t interfere with his job, and he doesn’t interfere with my parenting. That works for me.
I did go to the instructor, (and the judges,) with whom I have a very good rapport. I said to him…
“please don’t ever do that again.” He already knew. He asked why. I said, “you know, you aren’t doing her any favors when you pass her. Everything in this girl’s life has come way to easy for her. She doesn’t have to study to get straight A’s in school. She sees something one time and remembers it. She is usually good at whatever she attempts. If she doesn’t learn the lesson of nothing ventured, nothing gained at least ONE time while she is still little, she won’t learn it until it’s too late.”
Now, I don’t want him to fail her if she deserves a promotion. That’s not fair either. But, I do not want any of her teachers or instructors in any part of her life to pass her when she doesn’t earn it either.
So, I will gently remind her that the competition out there is FIERCE. She is going to tournament in two weeks. She will be competing against other’s who train daily, and are very good. She wasn’t very far away from the State Champ last tournament season. At her last tournament, she kicked the current State Champ in her age group’s BUTT in sparring. She scored 8 points to the girls 3 points. She was a sparring machine dressed in her little sparring gear. She punched, she kicked, she scored! She made toast out of the girl.
She wants to be State Champ this tournament season. She has a chance. A good chance. But, she needs to work for it. We will see how badly she wants it I guess.
Parenting is really hard. Because it is not just your job to feed, clothe and love your children. You must also prepare them for the big and bad world out there. Not so easy to do. And, you have to do it without breaking them down, without hurting them, without scarring them for life. You have to empathize, criticize and cheer them on.
I really do think we should have a manual. Sheesh!
Specie Challenged Dogs
My Saturday mornings are way different now. Sometimes, I miss the old house, the largeness of it. I really miss my old decadent bathroom. Oddly enough, my new bathroom is about the same in that I have the deep soak tub, a shower which is the same size as a standard shower/tub, has the two seats in it. And, of course, there is a toilet. What I am Missing is the double vanity, a lot of counter space, a towel cupboard and about 60 square feet. Oh, and a color TV with cable.
I miss that a lot. I am a newshound. I like to keep the TV tuned to Fox News. I used to watch CNN, but really couldn’t stand the format, the anchors or the liberal bias.
When, in preparation for the day, I could turn the news on, it made me feel better.
Now, you may think that my TV is on 24/7. It’s not. Maybe a total of an hour a day. That’s why it was so important to have that stupid TV in the bathroom. When you don’t have a lot of time, even 10 minutes of the news can help.
The one thing I did like was Saturday mornings. HGTV has Saturday mornings which show all the garden and landscaping shows.
My secret passion is landscaping. Hardscaping. Growing things. Planning things.
So, I would fill the soak tub with really hot water. Those of you who have read previous blogs already know that there is only one setting on my hot water tank. Cranked.
I was raised, from age 4 until age 8 in Japan. My mother was a big fan of the Japanese Soak Tub. We actually attended the public baths, where you enter into a locker sort of room, there are several benches and a bunch of ‘cubbies’ where you put your clothing. There is hot water and soap and a few buckets. You undress, wet yourself with water, scrub down, rinse off and then totter off to the tub room.
When you entered the one we attended, the beginning was like a lake bed, water was one inch deep and slowly the depth and the temperature both increased. The kids would stay in the tepid end where they could keep their little heads above the water and the adults would gravitate toward the deeper ends, for a nice soak and a gossip.
Well, anyway, I like good hot baths. I don’t stay in them all that long, one can only stand really hot water for so long without boiling yourself.
So, I would set the TV to HGTV. Disrobe. Climb into the tub with no water. Turn on the water to a semi comfortable temp, and let it fill with me already in it. Turning off the cold slowly until there wasn’t any by the time the tub was half full.
Lay back with a good cuppa Starbucks and watch the Garden shows. It was my finest hour.
The candles were lit. The lights were low. It was very romantic and it was just ME and HGTV.
Well, now.
I get up. Climb over the gate which keeps the MONSTER in the bedroom. The monster is DH’s stupid dog he bought in February last. He is what? Let me count. 9 months old. He weighs (sigh) about 150 pounds right now. DH and son thought that it was funny when he was about 40 pounds (a very long time ago) to teach him to chase one of the cats when they said “here kitty kitty”. I did not think it was funny then, I really don’t think it’s funny now when he does it whenever he hears the word Kitty.
He doesn’t hurt them in any way. He just chases them. And to have a 150 pound behemoth running through my house is very much a not funny situation.
Anyway, to keep him contained, I have a baby gate up across the room. We have to have the baby gate because, being unreasonable, I will not sleep in a room with a closed door and babies in the house. Nevermind that the babies just turned 5 and 8 respectively. They will be babies until the day they move out. I have to be able to hear every move they make all night long with my subconscious.
The five kittens, (now four, one was given away already), the Chihuahua and the Monster all sleep with us. As well as the occasional kidlet who has a bad dream. It can get a wee bit crowded in there. We should probably upsize the bed to a king from a queen.
So, first out of bed, (always me) has to take care of personal necessity, then climb the gate, go get a cup of coffee, put in on the dryer in the laundry hall, go into the bedroom from the master bath side, the master bath having two doors, one into the laundry room and one into the bedroom, grab the gate and really quickly go back through the bathroom and put the gate up on the other side before the dogs get around there from the other path.
The kittens food and litter box are resident in our bathroom. The dogs will feast from both. (gross). The kittens have the run of the house, but they are the only life forms who can fit through the gate (an accordion type). The older cats simply jump the gate, the dogs are stuck.
Now, I have to take the dogs out. There are horses next door. And, an electric fence. The monster doesn’t really try to bother the horses, but he now thinks he is a horse.
I am so not kidding. His very first glimpse of the horses impressed the hell out of him. He looked, turned his head, and paused, the actually did a double take. A dog doing a double take is a funny thing. So is a male dog peeing on an electric fence. (I think I need professional help).
So anyway, our back yard is about um…800 feet long. The horses are right next to us. IF they are in the pasture and not the barn, he runs right over to the fence to visit. Then, he pees, does his other business, and …
Starts acting like a horse. He grazes. He is so stupid.
So there I am, coffee cup in hand, in my pajamas, yelling at the monster trying to explain to him that he is not a horse, and is not supposed to graze. He is supposed to do his business, then come straight to me and be taken back inside. I know, I could put him on a leash, but my shoulder would be dislocated daily if I did.
Because, well, there are other horse behaviors that he mimics. His current favorite is to stand quietly grazing, then with no warning or reason, break into a full gallop.
I know, dogs don’t gallop. Tell him. Then he and the horses will have a race down the entire 800 feet of our back yard.
When I finally bring the horse/dog into the house, it is my Chihuahua’s turn. I cannot take them out together. He well, there is no delicate way to say this. He pees on her. She is just too short, and you know how dogs are. And females. She is female. So when she sees him doing something, she has to go and find out what it is.
Then, I usually have to hose her down.
She, is almost 10. and Sneaky. Very sneaky. She will run about the yard lifting her leg. I know, I have tried to tell her that female dogs don’t lift their legs. See above dog who thinks he is a horse. I don’t think I communicate all that well with dogs.
So, after she anoints every single leg of the trampoline (12) and the slide, and all the tires of all the bikes and motorcycles, and the four wheeler and the tractor, she then runs over past the propane tank and tries to sneak under the barbed wire.
She also doesn’t listen all that well when I call her. So there I am, coffee in hand still, yelling at her. SPIKE! Come back here right NOW. I mean NOW. Get over here. Don’t you run under that fence.
Sigh.
I really miss my old Saturday mornings.
and, The Cat Got Out, Part Two...
Kindergarten to College
The baby turns Five tomorrow. School starts for the just turned 8 year old tomorrow. They are both girls. I have to constantly say this fact, because their mother, my daughter, gave them both gender neutral names, LOL.
The baby is excited. She will be starting Kindergarten this year. Since we have moved, they are NOT going to be going to the Catholic school that the older one has attended since Kindergarten. I am a bit nervous about them going to public schools, although the district we now reside in has a brand spanking new school from K-12 which was only built two years ago. I have met some of the staff and they all seem excited to be teaching. I view that as a good sign, even though the school district as a whole is not rated very high on the State school report card. I think they are in the “needs improvement but didn’t do as well as they should have” category.
They do have a gifted program for the primary grades which starts in 1st grade which is pretty phenomenal. Most schools don’t do gifted till at least 6th grade or above.
Buying school clothes was fun. We just had uniforms at the other school. Of course, it’s a bit more expensive !! But, there is no tuition either, so it all works out.
Yesterday, I took MY baby to register for college. Due to the “Lucky”???? fact that DH is a disabled vet and we live on a pension, she qualified for everything. AND, since she is going to the local State University, the grants covered the entirety of her tuition and books. THAT was lovely.
A couple of funny things happened. We were sitting there, and this kid from a local school was also registering. He was what is called out here “a stout boy” which doesn’t imply fat, it means stocky, well muscled and probably a football player. He was sitting a few feet away. They called his name.
He got up and MINCED across the floor. Literally. Walked on his tiptoes. As though, um…sort of like when you slide your high top tennis shoes onto your feet, but your feet don’t go all the way in, and you then have to WALK your feet into the shoes? That’s how he walked.
Aside, I said, in a sort of whisper to my daughter “That was hard to keep a straight face during…” and looked over. She was quite literally holding her hands over her entire face, doubled up with laughter and trying hard to NOT let that poor boy know.
Then we are sitting in the financial aid person’s office. The daughter looks at me and says “you like have BLOOD all over your face !!”
I am like, WHAT? WHERE?
And wondering where the blood is coming from. Did I suddenly enter into a zone of extremely low pressure and am bleeding profusely from both ears? You’d think that I would NOTICE something like that?
I have on my usual going somewhere type outfit. A blouse, easy to put on with a skirt which ends just above my mid calf. Old female 50ish year old hippie clothes.
The financial aid lady is bent down behind her desk looking for a paper which we need to fill out.
Quietly, but laughing the entire time, she tries to direct me where to wipe my face with the hem of my skirt.
Okay, you had to be there.
But, she is now a student. No classes before 10 am. No classes getting out later than 8:10 pm.
Lucky girl. So then I drop her off at her bio mom’s. The girl had tried to live with her older brother and his wife, it didn’t work out. So, she had moved back into her moms with her two half sisters, mom and step dad.
She was busy painting her new room. Getting excited about going to college and all.
Gets there, gets dropped off. Goes inside. Brother and Brother’s wife are there. They tell her its impossible to go to college for no money. Funny, cause we just did it. She just shrugs it off.
Her mom tells her there must have been some catch.
Her stepfather starts a big fight and kicks her out.
This baby has tried her whole life to make people happy. Why they must all rain on her parade is beyond me. She is such a good kid. Level headed. Funny. Intelligent. Caring.
I hate them all.
So, she came out. Her boyfriend brought her.
And, yes. I told her she could move in. I don’t know that she will. Her grandparents (my inlaws) live a short distance away from her bio mom. But, she doesn’t really want to live with her grandparents, who are older, and quiet.
I told her we could bunk the babies and she could have the little one’s room. Now, if she accepts, I have to figure out how to inform the baby that for her 5th birthday she will probably lose her bedroom. But, she would rather have her Aunt anyway. Ahhh. Life.
I hope she can find a place to be, whether it is at home with us, or somewhere else, where for the first time in her life, she will not be pulled, stressed and emotionally challenged.
That is the life of a co-parenting situation. There is LOTS I haven’t put here. But suffice it to say, her life has not been emotionally easy.
But, she is my baby, (via painless birth and marriage) and I love her and will do whatever I need to do to make her happy. She deserves that.
Just who is this God person anyway?
Just who is this God person, anyway?
Lately, in having to explain to a four year old, and an 18 year old who has never really been exposed to religion much, as well as the normal everyday parenting of an rather gifted just turned 8 year old who asks loads of questions and then runs to the computer to look up, and then argue with, all of my answers…
I HATE it when that happens. This month has been challenging in a myriad of ways.
I have been challenged to codify my own personal belief infrastructure regarding God, the world as a whole, mankind’s role in said world, whether or not I believe in aliens. I have been asked about my “paranormal” experiences in my misspent youth. Let us start with God. A good place.
I minored in college in Religious Studies. A common joke, but a true one, then and now, “the quickest path to Atheism is to study Religion as a scholar.”
Now, I do not mean Theology. I do not mean Seminary. I mean Religious Studies, which is exactly what it says. The study of Religion. Not God. And BOY HOWDY is it a busy subject.
And, of course, wanting to fit in, I did in fact, fall away from God. I could have simply fallen away from religion, but no, I do things the HARD way. I fell away from God. (Don’t worry, I came back.)
So, just who is this God person anyway?
We have an extensive (roughly 3000 books) personal library. Well, by we, I mean ME. I read. Excessively. I learned to read constantly whilst in law school, broke and working three jobs raising two toddlers. I couldn’t afford lunch, so I would study, walking the streets of Portland, Oregon while I read huge tomes balanced precariously in my two hands. Using my peripheral vision (which to this day is quite acute), I would walk around pedestrians, avoid oncoming vehicles and wait at red lights, never taking my eyes off my textbooks. I lost a lot of weight, increased my muscle tone and got my studying done all at the same time. I also garnered a lot of curses and weird looks.
Anyway, the said library goes from the venerable Bede to Asimov.
So, the kidlet (age 8) and the manboy (age 18) both are at the point where they are trying to reconcile a lot of ideas. It is called youth.
One of the ideas is.
Why, in the Bible, does it say that everyone has to be a Christian to go to Heaven when they die.
And, I cannot answer ANYTHING simply.
Well firstly, we don’t actually go to Heaven when we die. It clearly states that all will be judged at the end, and until then will be as a instant to the ones who are dead, but they basically just don’t go anywhere until the Second coming of Jesus Christ. (I’m not quoting Scripture because I haven’t memorized the entirety of the Bible. I will leave it to PD to find the appropriate Scripture if he feels the necessity to argue any of my points. I am winging this one so feel free to tear it apart. That’s what blogs are for anyway!)
So then, what is the Bible that says all these things?
Well children, the Bible is a library. It is a collection of books written over many years, perhaps thousands of years. It began with what is called by scholars, the Pentateuch. Being the first five books of the Old Testament, it was translated (commonly believed) in the 3rd Century BC. The entirety of the Old Testament is called the Septuagint, most of which was translated after the Pentateuch, but not to far after. The name Septuagint is derived from the number of Scholars (either 70 or 72) who did the translating from Hebrew into Greek. As in all Libraries, the Bible contains many different styles of writing, and many different authors.
Back to Christianity. The Torah is the same as the Pentateuch. It is the foundation of Jewish Law. So Jews and Christians both believe the same up to the end of Chapter Five of the Bible.
The Koran. Has many of the same ideas, but is supposedly the word of God as given to the prophet Mohammed, or Muhammad. Whichever. Doesn’t accept the Holy Trinity.
Why can only Christians go to Heaven?
Here is where it gets fun. Since even the experts don’t know, I took a vacation from reality and devised my own little scenario for this one.
God, in his Infinite Wisdom created everything. (Take a break, I haven’t figured out WHERE God came from or how you can create yourself. If I had, I would be filthy rich and on T.V.)
He gave mankind FREE WILL, to believe or not to believe.
And, of course, many chose NOT to believe.
Throughout the Bible, over and over again, ad infinitum, there are stories of people falling away from God and worshiping false idols.
Then God tries to bring His people back by various ways and means. This scene repeats itself completely throughout both Old and New Testaments. Adam and Eve, the Exodus, the flood, and there are many others.
Historically, scholars show that Christianity has its roots in Greek and Roman Theology as well as the Druids, the Sun worshipers etc.
I maintain that all of those religions have their roots in God. I think that they are all man’s inventions to create a god when he fell away from GOD. Bits and pieces are remembered throughout generations, and, so, when man again begins to question where did we all come from and how did we get here, he borrowed from bits of lore and pieces of hand me down information, and of course, gets it wrong.
This premise is, of course, based totally and wholly upon the belief of mine that God came before anything else and that the Bible is in fact, writings which were inspired by God via the Holy Spirit. If you don’t believe that, then don’t read my blog anymore.
So, God, getting really TIRED of man being so dense, sees this wonderful creation He made, and all these little man things running around forgetting who made them and why they were made. Time and time again, His creation has forgotten about him. He sets Man straight again and again, and yet, these pesky little man beings continually turn His word around and bastardize it, they change it and start worshiping other things which are based upon His teachings, but aren’t quite right.
I think that the other religions are examples of this. Mankind in part, falling away from God and then reusing PART of what we once KNEW, adding to it, subtracting from it and changing it around to suit a certain portion.
It would irritate me certainly. I am not even a really egotistical person, but sheesh! I don’t think God made us just to serve his own feelings of greatness either. I do believe we were created for a reason, but only God knows what the reason is. I am content with that. I do not seek to be God. Nor do I wish to understand the mind of God.
Finally God gets a bit um, irritated at man for being so dense. So He causes Himself to be born as a man so that he can actually come down and SHOW all of us idiots what He was talking about which is the perfect way to live.
I do believe that we are all supposed to believe in God. I think that is the beginning and the end. God said “I am the Alpha and the Omega”. Can’t get much simpler than that. Start with Me, end with Me.
Now, I do realize that the Muslim readers will take umbrage at my theory. Muslims believe that there is only one God and that Muhammad was His prophet. But I don’t believe that. I do believe that there is only one God. I don’t believe that Muhammad was His prophet. I believe that Muhammad changed it around, another one of those pesky man beings who was looking for answers and got it wrong.
I think the Bible was around for a lot longer than any scholars believe. I think it predates everything. So there.
Back to Christianity. So here comes God. Born as a man. But still God. Goes about, telling everyone how to do it right this time. Figures we are too stupid (and, He is right of course, He is GOD) to get it without being shown in person as it were. Gives us the formula.
Mankind, having free will, again screws it up.
Now we have more sects of Christianity than we can keep track of. And, separate from Christianity, we also have other religions who worship something other than God. White magic, Satanism, Kabala, Scientology, etc. As well as those sects of Christianity which really twist it around, Mormonism, David Koresh and his group, some of the Christians who use poisonous snakes in their worship ceremony, and I guess you could again put Scientology and Kabala in there, they claim to not exclude Christians.
Bit confusing isn’t it?
So, at the Last Judgment, do good people go to heaven if they aren’t Christians. I don’t think they do. I don’t think they are cast into the abyss with Satan, but I do believe it just ends when they die. There is no afterlife in Heaven for those unfortunate souls.
I do think God has a timeline. I think it will be the second that every person who has attained the age of reason, (and we don’t know what age that is) has been EXPOSED to the teachings of Christ.
Now, I don’t know exactly how this will happen. I would say that with the population growth, it is an impossibility. However, we now have the internet and global T.V. So, maybe not impossible.
The very second that the last person who remains ignorant of the sacrifice made by Jesus Christ is made aware of it, and chooses to accept it or reject it, I think that will be the beginning of the End so to speak.
Whether only Lutherans, Baptists, Church of Christ or Catholics will be chosen for eternal life, I have NO CLUE !!
I think probably at the END, anyone who believes that Christ died for our Sins will be acceptable to God, because, as stated at the beginning, my entire premise is based upon belief in the Bible as the Word of God. And, it says that if you believe in Jesus and accept the sacrifice He made, you are acceptable. So there. I don’t think there is ANY OTHER criteria that will be used. The Bible says it is simple. I believe it will be Simple.
I don’t think those who also believe that Mary was the ever virgin Mother of Christ will be excluded simply because they ask Mary to pray to Jesus with/for them. I really believe it will come down to brass tacks. Did you believe that Christ was God, died for your sins, was crucified, died and was resurrected. Yes? Then you get in.
I believe that those billions born BEFORE Christ will be judged based upon the Old Testament.
I do think, although I am not a fanatic about it, that the commonly held belief of the so called ‘rapture’ will happen in some way. It does say that Jesus will come “like a thief in the night” to gather the faithful to Him.
I don’t know about Revelations. It is Apocalyptic literature, written in metaphor. There are those who believe that every prophesy will come true exactly as written. I have read and enjoyed the “Left Behind” series, it is hard to put down. Good writing. But so it Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons. Just because something is well written does not make it true.
I read both as fiction, and enjoyed them enormously. They did both send me to the Bible to refresh my knowledge and for that I thank the authors. But I do not believe every word that they wrote. There are many inconsistencies in both.
I don’t know if the end will be as set forth by John. Last I heard, no one was even sure WHICH John wrote Revelations. They all pretty much agree that it was written in a cave on the island, but the jury is still out as to WHICH John it was.
Maybe it will be as Tim LaHaye writes. Totally true to Scripture. Maybe not. I guess we will have to wait it out and see.
And yes, I know there are inconsistencies in the Bible. It is FULL of them. But, I still believe that the Bible is the INSPIRED Word of God. So don’t try to convince me otherwise.
Well, there you have it. Dawn’s version of the questions I have been asked this week.
Take care all. Have a great weekend.
Politics and Voting
Good People. The dumbing down of America.
I know, not a politically correct title. Sorry.
Recently, I have been reading a lot. Okay, that’s a lie. I have ALWAYS read a lot. Lately, I have been reading in a more political manner I suppose.
Not talking particularly to politics, but in general. Although not enrolled anymore in an institution of higher learning (darn it), I still consider myself a life long student. I would say scholar, but scholars to me, are by definition learned. I am somewhat smart, but do not consider myself learned.
Hearing all the political hype lately on the drive by media I was reminded of an old (I do mean OLD) email I got some twenty or so years ago. So, I went and looked it up. Not in my emails, no one keeps twenty years of emails except perhaps the IRS.