Does a Mom of a Terrorist Go To the Funeral?

Or a dad, for that matter? Listening to the radio in the car this morning, I heard the DJs discussing the brothers who terrorized Boston; and they were playing and discussing an interview with the uncle who had just recently found out his nephews were the bombers, and that one had been killed. The DJs noted how genuinely shocked and saddened the uncle sounded, so the conversation became about how family members of terrorists react and what their feelings must be. Following this train of thought, the discussion quickly turned to funerals for these monsters, and do their parents attend.

Well, my first thought was that I had never thought of that before! Do “bad guys” who end up dying have funerals? Then I thought, well, if they do, it has to be their family who makes the arrangements, so yes, I’m sure they attend. One of the DJs was adamant that if this were his child (and I do not know if he is a parent or not) he would absolutely not attend their funeral. The other DJ was completely indecisive (not sure if she’s a parent either). As I half listened to their banter about why they felt the way they did, I, of course, began to ponder my own thoughts and feelings on the matter.

As a parent to any person who commits heinous crimes towards other human beings I can only imagine the hurt and anger you would feel! I know that if it were my child, I would take it so personally, as though I did something wrong that made them turn out this way. I would question how such much anger and bitterness overcame their soul that they could consciously and willfully hurt and terrorize innocent victims. I imagine I would be so emotionally torn, because of course you have all the animosity and outrage that comes from such an act, but you’re also still a mom or dad. What makes a parent not love their child?

I have to think I would hold a small, private service of some type for my own purposes, for closure, for a final goodbye. While I could not commemorate their beautiful life and the fact that they are now at peace, I could mourn the loss of a piece of my heart. Because while the world is celebrating the death of a monster, the mom has to be mourning the death of an innocent child she once knew.

What are your thoughts on this one? Can you still love a family member who is capable of such abominable acts? Do you still need a ceremonious goodbye? I was intrigued that the male DJ said he would not attend, and the female was unsure. Anything to that? Dads? Moms?

Does a Mom of a Terrorist Go To the Funeral?

You, Bad Guy, Are Way Outnumbered!

I will start by saying, as so many have before me, that my heart and my prayers go out to the victims of the bombings at the Boston Marathon yesterday. This tragedy that has personally struck many, is another that strikes our whole great nation. It was here at home, at an amazing, exciting, perfectly innocent event, and it shook us all and took us by surprise.

That awful attack, however, did not defeat us. It will not be our decline. You see vicious, terrible bad guy, we are strong people. And we are good people. Sometimes we seem divided through politics, and fears, and different beliefs; but at the heart we are not so different. We are not divided. We love, we care, we protect, and we are one.

You, bad guy, promoter of all things evil, may knock us down. You may scare us and hurt us, but you will not destroy us. Did you see people running away from this ugliness you caused? I didn’t. I saw brave people, strong people running towards the tragedy. Running to aid their fellow Americans, fellow human beings. I saw first responders running in to help victims, then coming back for others, because this is what they do. I saw runners finishing a long 26.2 mile race only to keep running to hospitals nearby to give blood to help their running comrades, their fellow human beings. I saw brave, kind people opening up their homes to strangers that need a place to stay while tending to family members injured.

Of course we mourn the loss of the precious ones you did get to, and we pray for healing for those injured, and we pray for the families whose lives will never be the same. We recognize the sadness and hurt you caused. But in the face of such tragedy we must, in the words of Mr. Rogers,  ”look for the helpers”, because there are always helpers. There are always those that put their own fears aside. They are willing to risk their own well being because someone needs them. Someone can not help themselves, and we, as humans, as Americans, love each other, and will ban together and do this together.

You, bad guy, are way outnumbered here. American alone is a country of more than 315 million people, and this earth has more than 7 billion human beings, the majority of which are good people with good hearts.  You are so insignificant, so miniscule. And you are not big enough to destroy us. In fact, your mean, bullying tactics will serve to make us stronger.  We as individuals are small, but we can impact our small communities, which will in turn impact our cities, states, and our nation.

I will be sad for the victims of your act of terror, and for their families. My heart hurts for the running community who has tragically lost a few of their own. I do not underestimate the healing and prayers it will take to move forward in a different life after loss. But I will and I do encourage my family, my friends, and my community to look for the helpers. To be the good in the world. Be the helpers. Maybe we cannot be in Boston helping these victims, but we can be the good to others facing trials and tragedy near us. We can be strong and join together to fight the bad guys and get through it all with good and love in our hearts. We will use your lessons, you vicious bad guy, to reinforce in ourselves and in our children the gifts of kindness, compassion, and love.

You, Bad Guy, Are Way Outnumbered!

Guest Post- Roller Coaster

One of my blogs was published as a guest post on United for Adoptions today. Check it out! 

Guest Post- Roller Coaster

It’s 2:12 a.m., I’m awake, and I’m not happy about it. And what’s worse is I’m not happy with myself for being not happy about being awake. What?! Yes, I awoke at 1:47 a.m. to my husband whispering loudly (because he was freaked out by our daughter sneaking in so quietly so as not to scare us), “What?! Bella, what’s wrong? What are you doing up?” So I wake up to find a little girl peering over me silently, which totally freaked me out! “I’m scared” she says, “Can I just sleep down here?”

Many parents would just say to climb on in bed with them, but we have a full size bed not conducive to family co-sleeping. Yes, that is done on purpose. My husband and I like sleeping close and alone. We neither want, nor need the wide-open field of space between us that the “luxury” of a king size bed provides. Our children have beautiful, comfortable rooms decorated to their liking designed specifically for their sleeping needs, and we believe that’s where they need to be. But that could be a whole other post about all of that. I just know that would be a common reaction to my dilemma. Just let her sleep with you, and everyone could get back to sweet dreamland and all would be right with the world. Except that with my little tumbler in the bed, somebody, or really the two people who actually belong in the bed, would be kicked and hit at just the moment slumber may find us again, or we would be so hot from the body heat, that peaceful rest would not find us.  Yes even my mom, who has had Bella sleep over many a night, and who always believed it was harmless to just let her climb in, has learned that if you let her sleep “with you”, you will end up on the couch, and the purpose of the co-sleeping is completely defeated. Not to mention that the child has never been good at falling asleep when anyone is in the room with her, so you all end up being awake forever talking, because she doesn’t stop. Her brain never stops!

The other reason that just letting my scared little munchkin into our bed is not the best choice is that this is a fairly common problem we are trying to figure out how to get a handle on.  Tonight the issue was because we started a movie for the kids that my husband swears she has watched before, and it got “too scary” for her. Since I was in the middle of rolling her hair for her big cheer competition tomorrow (yes, a huge reason she really needs a good night of sleep) she and I moved our operation up to her bedroom and she watched a funny movie on her Nook to take her mind off of the other.  So I finished her hair, she finished the movie, and we got her all settled into bed. At that point she was already working herself up to having a bad night because she was afraid that she would be afraid from that scary part in the movie. She was so scared that she would have bad dreams that she was afraid to go to sleep. So we said our prayers, I turned on her dream light, and promised to check on her in a bit. I kept my promise, as I always do, and checked on her around midnight when we went to bed, and she was sleeping peacefully. Until 1:47 a.m.

The thing is, this happens so often. She’s afraid to go to sleep because she’s afraid she’ll have bad dreams. She’s afraid of the nighttime, she’s afraid of being alone. When this happened just a few nights ago she asked me why we have to have night. Why it can’t be light all the time so the world would be less scary. Her dreams are scary, and very real to her, so I can understand her being afraid of having one. She used to be (until about 2 or 3 months ago) afraid of cheetahs, and alligators. She was sure they would climb into her upstairs bedroom window and eat her while she’s sleeping, because she had a dream about that. I’m not sharing any of these things to ridicule my sweet, innocent child, I just don’t understand. And believe me she tries to help me understand. Tonight she told me she was having a “blank dream” and she woke up because she was afraid it would turn into a bad dream about the scary movie. Why? Why can’t it turn into a funny dream about the funny movie?! “Because that’s how my brain processes things, Mommy. I’m just a kid, and that’s just how my brain does it.”

“Can’t you just shut your brain off?!” I want to scream, because I’m frustrated. “Why do you have to process it at all? It’s just a dumb movie you didn’t even watch 15 minutes of, and you watched an hour and a half of something funny after it, so process that!” I’m thinking. And believe me, I was biting my tongue practically til it bled, because I was so annoyed with now being wide awake (obviously, since it’s 2:58 a.m. and I’m up writing my little heart out), and neither of us will be well rested for tomorrow, and once again I’m just a big fat failure of a mom because I just don’t know what to do to make this better, and to help her feel safe. And then I’m even angrier with myself for getting upset, because I know it’s not her fault. I know she’s just afraid and doesn’t know what else to do. And that’s my job, to help her. I feel so bad for her, I hate that she’s scared, and I hate even more that I don’t know how to solve the problem. I can comfort her by speaking softly and sweetly, by stroking her hair and rubbing her beautiful face, but that doesn’t make the big problem better. That’s the biggest issue here…I suck as Bella’s mom because I’m not equipped to handle this brain of hers. Or I sometimes don’t feel like I am. I know God sees it otherwise, because He entrusted her to me, and He trusts me to raise her. And Lord knows I’m trying my hardest. But when my best isn’t good enough, what’s a mom to do? Bella knows I’m frustrated, as much as I try to be patient. I don’t want her to feel like she can’t get me up when she needs me, but I want her to learn that’s she’s ok, too. Nothing terrible has ever happened to her, Daddy and I are right here in the same house, with our door open. If you call out to us we can hear you easily. It’s our job to listen and be aware. Daddy is a great protector, and will not let anything happen. And cheetahs and alligators are not breaking in the window at 2 a.m. I have taught the poor child to say prayers to God to take away these scary thoughts; she has a dream catcher and a dream light (which was a life saver for a little while). Tonight my brilliant idea, or so I thought, was for her to imagine that she built a robot (because that is her dream) that is packing those scary thoughts and bad dreams in a box and pushing them way to the back of her brain. Then the robot will bring forward the box of happy, funny thoughts and memories and will start unpacking those and showing them to her. Of course tonight the girl who could go to “Bella World” and go to the mall and hotel there and marry Obi Wan Kenobi there in the middle of the night decided to be all practical on me, and said with a giggle “Mom, I’m pretty sure there’s no robot that could really do that, but it was a good thought.” Ugh! Mommy’s trying here sweet girl!

It’s 3:27 a.m., and thankfully she, along with the rest of the house, is sound asleep once again. I have vented my frustration, I have prayed over my baby, as well as the rest of my family, and I have thanked God for this sweet miracle He entrusted to me. I have thanked Him for making my best good enough for her, and for picking up the slack where I just can’t be enough.  And now I think it’s time for this tired mommy to have a bowl of cereal to quiet my rumbling tummy and get back to dream land for just a few precious hours of zzzzs.

My munchkin had library day at school today, and what book does she bring home? “The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Seashore Creatures”. Yep, that’s my girl! Who would this little Kentucky girl be if I hadn’t introduced her to the beauty that is the ocean, the beach? She had her toes in the sand at just a few weeks old. I had to start her off right! And I love that, at only 7 years old, my sweet girl prefers to read non-fiction to learn about things she loves. I think she’s already smarter than me! Shh…don’t tell her that though. It will go straight to her pretty little head!

 

Yoga Pants...Not Just For the Gym Anymore

True confessions time, ladies! Do you wear your yoga pants everywhere? Have you ever had a day of just wanting the comfort of the workout wear without the discomfort of the workout? Or perhaps you just leave them on after your morning at the gym? I admit it, I’m guilty! I have totally, shamelessly been guilty of this discretion. I wear yoga pants when I’m not doing yoga! Mostly I am guilty of leaving them on after a morning fitness walk and workout, knowing the only places I’m going that day are to pick my daughter up at school, and to take her to tumbling or Cheerleading…at the gym. Um, I’m just going to the gym again, so why get all dressed up, right? Right, sometimes!

Yes, I said sometimes! The thing we have to be very careful of is getting too comfortable in the yoga pants and forgetting that certain situations call for certain outfits. For example, just recently my daughter had an inauguration celebration in her classroom at school, and all the kids were expected to dress up (girls in dresses, boys in shirt and tie) for their formal luncheon and ball. They were allowed to bring one guest (parent) who was also asked to dress formal, as were the volunteers who would act as dignitaries, servers, and assistants. The kids were all so excited, and so proud of their fancy clothes; and the parents made sure to participate and share in their enthusiasm for this extraordinary event. All but one, that is. I will give this mother due credit for arranging child care for her toddler and for showing up for her son. But that is as far as I’ll go. This mother showed up on the red carpet for a formal luncheon in yes, yoga pants! Seriously? Oh and her yoga pants were accompanied by untied running shoes, a t shirt, and a baseball cap! She did not even attempt to “dress up” her yoga pants at all! Being the Pollyanna I tend to be, I have tried to come up with every possible explanation to excuse this seeming lack of good judgement, but I just can’t. I thought maybe she’s a fitness instructor, but there are restrooms everywhere, including the school, where she can change. Maybe she just came from her workout and was running a little behind. Nope, not good enough. This was a one time event you need to plan a little better for. The only explanation would be that she does not own one single outfit that is not workout gear. That’s it! That must be what happened. Because I cannot imagine a mother showing such disregard for her child, and such a lack of respect for the teacher that she would just ignore the required dress code without a very plausible reason. Yoga pants are not always ok!

Ladies, we know we work hard, we play hard, and we parent to the fullest. Our husbands should just appreciate all that we do for our families, and not worry about what we’re wearing while doing it, right? Um, maybe sometimes. Just don’t wear out the yoga pants welcome. Sure, they can really look great on you…when you’re going to work out. And I bet your husband thinks you’re super sexy in your workout gear, going to take good care of your body! But does he want to see the yoga pants all the time? And what message are you sending about your self and the value you place in you if you aren’t even worth the time it takes to get dressed. I remember a time when I became an office manager in a medical facility. The dress code for my position was business attire or scrubs. I knew the managers in the other offices opted for scrubs since they were quick and easy and required no thought, and minimal time. I personally felt that wearing scrubs every morning gave the appearance of laziness, and I didn’t feel much like a manager. If I woke up in the morning, threw my hair in a ponytail and put on scrubs, I felt like I didn’t value myself, my position or my employer. I felt as though I would be taken less seriously than if I wore business wear. So I chose to get up early enough (4:45am in this case since I worked an hour away and had to be there by 6:45) to ensure I had time to shower, style my hair, apply my makeup, and dress for success. And when I walked into my office I believed I commanded much more respect from my employees and patients than if I had come in all scrubby. Well, the same holds true for our yoga pants days. Yes, of course they’re ok for some days. I admitted I love my yoga pants, I love the comfort they offer, the ease of dressing, and I even kind of like the way they look on me. But I also love the way I feel when I change from my workout wear and put on something that shows my style, that makes me walk tall and feel proud.

Yoga Pants...Not Just For the Gym Anymore

I Am a Perfectionist, I Am Not Perfect

In the spirit of true honesty, I’m going to confess. Hi, my name is Andrea, and I am a perfectionist. No, I do not believe by any stretch of the imagination that I am perfect. And I do not judge others who do not strive for perfectionism the way I do (well, not too much). I mostly am critical only of myself, perceiving anything less than perfect as a failure. I do tend to be a little hard on my child, well children really, as well. My daughter gets more of the brunt of it as she is with me all the time, but my stepsons have been privy to my nagging when their behavior is not quite what I had in mind for the three little darlings. It’s not that I criticize any of them for their “shortcomings”. I mean, what kind of perfect parent would do that? I understand they are children and are learning, and I like to think I am encouraging and uplifting. Is it wrong to encourage them to give it their all, to be the best they can possibly be? Is it so bad to expect impeccable manners and respect for their elders? And I am certainly happy to dole out the praise and compliments for a job well done.

Boy did I get a wake up call this weekend, though. Lord, help my sweet little girl, as my perfectionist ways are rubbing off on her; and I’m not sure I’m equipped or qualified to prevent it. Report cards came home last Friday afternoon, and I reviewed Bella’s while she was playing with friends. Much to my surprise, hers was slightly less than perfect (and you have no idea how hard it is for me to even admit that, because then that must mean I’m not a perfect parent! Yeah, I have issues!).  Then I was even more surprised, and angry with myself, for being disappointed that the child had a couple “very goods” mixed in with her “excellents”. Really Andrea?!  A “V” in music is just not going to hold her back from going to college, and a “V” in conduct does not mean she is the worst behaved, most disrespectful being that ever graced that first grade classroom (ok, so I’m a little dramatic too). Get a grip lady! So I conceded that the progress report was in fact phenomenal and that I had much to be proud of, but I wanted to hear her take on it. So in the car the next morning when I casually mentioned that I had gotten her report card, she, of course, asked how she did. I remained mostly neutral, if not positive, and just stated the facts. Instantly my poor child was in tears, so disappointed in herself for not being perfect! While a little piece of my heart smiled at her need to do better, the rest of it just shattered in a million pieces.

I believe being a perfectionist may not be a bad thing completely, as I know Bella will always give it her best, and will likely succeed at all she does. The problem is, I know from my own personal experience she will also miss out on so much in life for fear of failure, or something less than perfect. And this is what I strive to change. This is why I confess to my shortcomings, so I can let go and help her be her best, accepting that her best may not always perfection, and that’s ok.

In my younger days I was a competitive gymnast. Some days I thought I was good, but most days I just didn’t believe I had talent. My family would tell you a different story, and probably my capabilities would too. I wanted to be so good, in fact I wanted to be perfect! I loved gymnastics, lived and breathed for it. I dreamed of being an Olympic gymnast, and even had my sights set on going to Los Angeles in 1984 (was I even old enough, I’m not sure, but it’s what I wanted). I had the best cheerleaders supporting me and believing in me. But I just didn’t believe enough in myself. I was afraid I wouldn’t be perfect, so I just didn’t do it. I just quit.

I was a good student in high school (though I didn’t really believe it then), and got accepted to my two top colleges of choice, the University of Florida and Stetson University. I was on my way to law school, right? Wrong! Because what if I went away to school and failed? Yeah, I better just stay in my comfort zone and attend the local community college, and hang out with the same friends (at least the few who were also going to community college or who had not yet graduated) who knew me and accepted me with all my flaws and imperfections. Another missed opportunity due to my perfectionist ways, my fear of failure.

As I said before, being a perfectionist does not mean you believe you are perfect, it means you set a very high standard for yourself, and achieving anything lower than that standard is just not good enough. It means living in fear of failure, that you may not be able to do something at the highest level, so you just don’t do it at all.

I have done a lot of great things, and fun things in my life, and I’ve been through situations that have taken so much strength and courage. I have had success and faced failure. So I am not admitting my shortcomings here because I have regrets, or because life has been so rough for poor little me. I am not a person who lives in the past or lives with regrets, because there is just too much good all around me to worry about that. And my life, despite my fears and lack of confidence, is turning out more perfect than I could have imagined. In spite of my pursuit of perfection, I have failed at things. I have picked myself up and moved on, and it has been good. I know that I am not in control, that God has a perfect plan, and that things will work out. I confess my perfectionism as a “problem” because it is just now hitting me the impact it has on my child. I want her to strive to do her best in life, but I don’t want her to miss out on life because she might not do it just right. And more than anything I never want her to believe that she is not good enough, or that what she does or how she behaves is a disappointment to me. Of course I want great things for her, but the greatest thing I want is for her to know that, whatever course her life takes, she is loved unconditionally. I want her to know that she will make mistakes, and she will do some things imperfectly; but the only way to fail is to never even try.

 

 

I Am a Perfectionist, I Am Not Perfect