Her stock value.

I hate to say it - but Sarah Palin's stock value just went up in my book. Still not going to vote for her. But I have to give her MAJOR moxie credit. Especially for the Weekly World Update. Oh my lanta.



PS - Um, besides the scenes with Marky-Mark, Sarah Palin, Adele, Tina Fey & Amy Poehler, the rest of SNL was yuck. Maybe it's a pale by comparison thing - nope - they just sucked.

Nesting...

I'm not sure why I've always wanted to be a bird. But I have. Every time someone asks whether I'd rather be a fish or a bird (I think it's a question in the Book of Questions) it's an easy answer. Being able to soar above everything. Flying free. Using the wind to buoy me up and learning how to control it to drive me higher.  Birds are used in many instances to 

So when I found a package at my door two days ago with a gift from my friend Kat, it seemed fitting to find a nest carefully wrapped up in the packaging.

It wasn't a surprise to find the nest. I knew she had been working on it and that, in the end, I would be the grateful recipient of it.  However I was surprised at how overwhelmed I was to actually hold it in my hands and then place it on, above my heart.

See, the draw for me to the life of the bird comes from the notion that it would bring freedom and peace. In the midst of this place I'm in right now (both emotionally and physically) there are moments where I long to walk outside, spread my wings, and take off.

The nest reminded me, so sweetly with it's two small eggs, that my choices to stay at home with the boys, provide them with my own version of refuge, and make an attempt to raise them, are valid. As we've investigated new directions for our family, and I've tried taking out my wings again, the nest has been a welcome reminder of the real one that exists and the decisions that brought it to be.  The freedom that I've had this whole time.  

Thank you Kat.  

His heart is a feather.

Notes from the wall near the spa. Grandpa's hand.

Most mornings at my grandparents house you'd find my Grandpa, Bob, enjoying the early morning in his spa. Built as an add-on to the house the spa room reminds me a lot of the house I lived in when I was a kid, if only because it has dark paneling. The lid to the spa itself is the covered in brown vinyl. It smells musty, and after the spa has been running it smells a little like a sauna. The spa came with the house and while I doubt it was a buying point for my Grandpa, it sure turned into a treat for him. Which made it a treat for all of us.

Some mornings, when I'd rise early enough, I'd find myself sitting in the kitchen eating Honeycomb, which was always on supply at their house, and listening to the soft sounds of my Grandpa singing from his spa. Now, you had to be careful. Grandpa sometimes treated himself to his spa time al fresco. Since the kitchen was adjacent to the spa room he'd come wandering in the room, still humming, with his towel around his waist. "You're lucky Shellgirl. I remembered my towel this morning." His skin was always so white and pruny. His gray-white hair would be swirled in different directions and it always made me wonder if he might have ben swimming out there, instead of soaking.

Then he'd walk through the house, finishing his song. He'd usually tease my Grandma by grabbing hold of her, twirl her around a little, and sing her a line. Always the same song. In the spa. In the hall. With her. Eddy Arnold's Cattle Call. Silly and simple song.

And my Grandpa thought himself a silly, simple man. At least in the years I knew him best. The truth is, as usual, much more complex. A devoutely religious man my Grandpa had a quick wit, an active mind, and a sharp tongue. He once chastised me publicly during a discussion about parades and then marched out of the room in a successful move to end the conversation. I still have a mix of emotions when I think back on that moment. It stung like a slap.

Yet I couldn't have asked for a better man to have in my life. Every child should be able to get love from whoever is willing to give it and my grandparents shared it with us in large doses. Mediated of course by smaller doses of life lessons and discipline. Some people are lucky enough to have two sets of grandparents who love and treasure them - at least in some version. My Dad's parents never played a large part in our life. Mostly because my Dad's Mom died when I was young. And because my Dad was never close to his Dad. It made us even more fortunate that my grandparents were willing to love us and share their life. Add to that the close proximity in which we lived for the first 14 years of my life, until they move out of state.

I realize that my relationship with my grandparents is not the same one that everyone has with their own grandparents. And that even within my own family there is disconnect and discontent. I cannot control that though, even though I've tried for years. Grandpa knew about it and it weighed heavily on his heart. In his own way he tried to love everyone. I know it wasn't easy for everyone to see past his expression of religion, or his stout opinions. Trust me, I know. Still, you knew what to expect.

You knew to expect the cattle call in the morning. You knew to expect that he'd offer you strange conglomerations of juice. You knew he'd offer a sharp retort to something you said but then always squeeze you extra tight when you left.

And you knew, at least I did, that when he left it would be life changing.

Happy Birthday Grandpa. I know you are happy wherever you are. Just wish you were here still.

Random thoughts...

I just finished that lengthy post, and as posts do I started off with a different idea to write about than what I actually decided to do.

That being said I wanted to through a couple of things out there that are on my mind:

I cannot quite decide how I feel about the people who failed to heed hurricane evacuation warnings and are now begging for help. Part of me is pissed at them. Part of me feels sorry. I keep reminding myself that I live in an earthquake prone area where, when one happens, we received state and federal aid. Yet if I had specific warning I'd be outta here. Yet, haven't we had warning? Hum....this is a tricky one.

Watching all the Lehman Brother's employees file out of their jobs makes me sad. Reminds me of the Enron movie. Again I'm torn. Am I saddened by this or am I unsympathetic given that the failings of Lehman are being blamed partially for participating in the huge housing bubble that I've disliked since day one?

Jillian Barbari. Really? I'll borrow some observations made by Matt at WTHIM when I say she seems solipsistic.

Comparing the Metrolink train crash to America's 9/11? Please stop. Please.

Fwd. Accountability

So this morning I made a huge mistake. I turned on the news.

I rarely watch tv. Even more rare is the time I take to watch the news. And this morning I remembered why.

The first fifteen to thirty minutes are filled with despair laden stories that both break your heart and keep your finger from pressing the channel change button. I've already been teary this morning about Lehman Bros. (not their actual 11 filing but the filing out of all their employees), the cute old man on GMA who talked about his unpaid oil bill, the final number of deaths in Chatsworth, and the damage in Texas.

I hate the news. Not the actual happenings, both good and bad, but rather the machine. And this includes all of us. See, every time I turn on the tv to watch the news I'm telling them that I need them to bring me the messages of the world in the way they deliver them.

One of the other ways we fuel the news machine was discussed in two fascinating stories by NPR's On The Media this weekend. Called Stick Up and Pass it On the pieces focused, using the current election campaigns, on two of the most effective ways that news gets spread, often times with a heavy twist away from fact. Having seen and read more forwards than I've ever wanted to I am still never surprised when I open one. I have intelligent friends and family, and yet I receive emails that are sometimes just absurb, and other times dangerously factless and illogical.

Now I do not want to sound hypocritical. I've forwarded things. Usually heartwarming stories about what kindergartners say in their classrooms, but sometimes a political message. Every time I've sent something I've read it carefully, and added my own comment at the start. And I check my facts. But as the story Pass it On mentions, even with several options to check facts (i.e. PolitiFact.com, Snopes) people still fail to do this and send on potentially damaging information (political or not). I am unsure why people pass on stories at all before checking facts. As far as they can. I mean, there are so many stories out there that I wouldn't want my name attached to, even in an email.

It's so easy for us to get mad at the news for their sometimes skewed stories - but why aren't we held more responsible for the news we've spread?

Stalemate

I have a feeling that this period of time will be one, several years from now, that I look back on and smile at.  Smile because the boys were at such a wonderful age.  That I could take them on the bus, hide under the kitchen table, or teach them the words to ABBA's Mamma Mia and every experience they eat up.  Then they look at me with their bright eyes and smile.  I won't always get that smile.

But mostly I think I'll look back at this time and smile because I'll remember thinking that I'd never get past this point in my life.   This point I'm at right now.  Where decisions need to be made, plans laid, and actions taken.  Yet with each one I feel as though I'm at a stalemate.  For me, it's a crummy place to be.  I like beginning and end.  I like problem and solution.  I like checkbox and check mark.  

One of the hardest things is organizing my mind.  I am usually an incredibly organized person but right now I feel like the right-side of my brain is in protest with the left.  And my mouth is in mutiny with the rest of my body.  

With all of that floating around it was brilliant to read Liz's comments about organization over at backwards attraction.  Now not only do I value her because of her life-saving kill.the.gluten recipes but also as a kindred spirit in this world of mental disorganization.  Her words illustrated, all too keenly, the place I feel.   I do exactly what she refers to - a list of 500+ things I could do, some that I should do, but few that I will do.  Then I end the day wondering where my time went, what success I found, and how to gear myself up for another day of openendedness.  

So here's my list for today.  Don't scoff at it.   Hopefully I'll end the day with a clear vision of what I've done and it will all help to move me from a sense of stale to the place where I can look back and smile.  Thanks for the inspiration Liz.

To Do List:

- thank you notes for Walker's birthday/UT trip

- 2-3 blog posts on AinB

- drop off overdue "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" movie to library

- one hour of job search stuff (preferably during nap time)

- dinner

- put pictures on CD for Neighborhood Church class

- swim with the boys (and hopefully Eric too!)

Simple is the new pink!

Since I rarely log onto my actual blog and rather view all things from the omnipotent Google Reader or Blogger Dashboard I hadn't realized that my blog is loading SO slowly.

Turns out cute isn't always functional.  And I've always been a function over form kinda gal.

When I have the time, and the desire to use that time for this purpose, I will find another fun form that also is functional!  In the meantime - sorry for the slow.

Buyers Beware

In the past few days I've spent more time at stores, grocery and other, than I usually do in an entire month.  I've been searching out some items for a class I'm teaching and have been enjoying the hunt.  Yesterday I felt absolutely dismayed at the state of our human existence after one excursion and I found myself compelled to bestow my opinions on everyone (you, the reader).  Part of me would like to print out this note and stand outside of stores handing it out.

Dear Sirs and/or Madams,

Thank you for choosing to shop at ________.   I am about to shop here as well and hope we both have a good experience.  

I'd like to take a moment to introduce you to some basic shopping etiquette in order to make your time, but mostly my own, more pleasant. 

Let's talk first about shopping carts.  How fortunate we are to live in a country where carts are provided for us, at no charge, in order to make purchasing easy.  It would seem that if a store is polite* enough to provide carts for you, that you should return the courtesy by placing the cart back in one of the designated areas.   This is not difficult as there are usually multiple options for cart return.  If you find this is a problem for you, then park your lazy butt next to the cart return stall so that you can both pick up and return a cart with little effort. Oh, I know it's a fun challenge to your creativity to see how many wheels you can pop up onto the curb to see if the cart will stay or go - but couldn't that same time be spent walking the five to ten feet to the return?  And shame on those of you who fail to even attempt creativity and resort to the assumption that because a cart has four wheels it must be a car and somehow deserving of it's own parking space.  With the exception of a physical disability** there is no excuse for leaving your cart anywhere other than the cart return. If you do have a physical disability - or even if you don't -  ask for help when checking out.  They provide it for free - no tipping necessary!  

Once you've procured your shopping cart, and have a game plan for properly disposing of it when you're done, please take a moment to get off our your cell phone before entering the store.  I know those fancy new bluetooth devices allow us to walk around like robots - always connected to someone, somewhere, somehow.   Still, being on your phone distracts you while you are attempting to shop (and please, don't try to tell me this doesn't happen to you) causing one or both of the following:

(1) greater likelihood*** of purchasing unnecessary items because of lack of focus 

and/or

(2) stopping mid-aisle to finish a conversation while appearing to be intently staring at the 

products causing cart traffic jams or others to wait for you to notice them so that they can grab the item your cart is, no doubt, stopped in front of.

and/or  

(3) a slow, unaware pace as you walk around the store****, leaning into your cart with one hand pushing and the other hand, elbow on the cart, supporting your cell.  If you had eyes in the back of your head you'd see people glaring at you as they try to navigate around you.

Now I realize that we are all-important beings and I myself have wandered around the store, cell in hand, bluetooth in ear, doing my best at multi-tasking.  It doesn't work - for any of us. Not to mention the fact that grocery stores (and stores in general) were once places where you bumped into your neighbors, or chatted with the produce person about the latest arrival of white peaches - none of which you can while phoning.  

If you feel as though this is too strict for you, then at least adopt the following rule:  Do not talk on your phone while attempting to check out at the register!  If you surveyed cashiers I am sure that number two complaint (if not number one, which I am almost positive would be people who haggle over sale prices) would be trying to ring someone up who is on a phone call. Directions have to be given and re-given, questions asked and re-asked (Do you want paper or plastic?  Excuse me, paper or plastic?).  Not to mention the total lack of acknowledgement that often occurs when the cashier is not greeted, thanked or even given eye contact.  

Shopping should at the least be a successful experience, but hopefully fun as well.   In doing the above I believe that your experience, my own, and the other shoppers will be greatly improved. 

-------------------------------

*I realize that the stores reasons for providing a shopping cart may have more to do with increasing the amount of goods purchased rather than pure politeness.  But still courtesy is involved.   

**And yes, being prego counts as a temporary physical disability in my book.

***such a fun word to type but it always looks wrong...

****much like the way you drive your car when you talk on the phone.  And yes, there were a lot of footnotes.  This will be my last one I promise!

Commenting

One of my favorite splurges of time is to read Feminist Mormon Housewives.  Regardless of how I feel about a topic I always leave with something to chew on for the rest of the day.  Today I made my first comment, which I realized after hitting the send button, looked more like a blog post than a comment.  I can be a bit wordy (sorry FMH readers).

Well, I'm turning lemons into lemonade!  Since I haven't been in much of a blogging mood, preferring to stick to blogger stalkdom, I'm cutting my comment into a blog post!  Genius! Ok, maybe not genius.  

I did expound on one point below which is indicated by color.   And here is the post I am responding to - which in a nutshell talks about what freedoms we allow our children, in the midst of parental paranoia and parenting peer pressure, in order to help them grow into the adults we hope they will be.  

Perfect timing for this post. Yesterday my boys and I went for an adventure. We walked passed our in-perfect-working-order car, up the hill and three blocks to the local bus stop. We were just going to the library, a mere 3 or 4 mile jaunt, but taking the bus made the difference between errand and adventure for all three of us. (Not to mention killing some time with is high on my priority list)

On the way home we sat at the bus stop for what I realized was longer than I was comfortable with. The library is smack downtown of my uber-Republican, SUV driving, little town - and the bus stop is right in front. As I watched cars drive by with people who glanced out at us I started wondering what they were thinking. The voice of my insecurity (which sounds a lot like me when I was 14) started popping up. Then I looked at my kids. They sat proudly, eyes wide open watching for the #284, grasping onto their $.50 bus money, all while chattering away about what they might see on the bus ride home. It pushed all my own socially driven voices away.  In fact, I found myself hoping that these early experiences will somehow shape their attitudes later in life regarding the same subjects.  

Not to mention that we walked away from the 'adventure' today having only spent $2 ($1 each way for my fare), used public resources, AND learned some math, literacy and social studies.  The boys (on our 3 mile walk later last night) saw bus signs where they recognized the #284, realizing the bus route could take us from the city where we listen to music in a park ALL the way to our own library.  They learned that four quarters equal a dollar which equals the fare.  They learned to listen for the station name to be called out so they knew when to get off.  It still amazes me what we got in just those twenty minutes total on the bus.  

My driving factor  as a parent is that want my kids to be able to strong, independent, capable people (especially in their teens and beyond). I want them to know their own personal boundaries, recognize their own discomfort in situations and respond, to know their own voices, and trust themselves. This means I have to keep my own anxious, unreasonable voice quiet so they can hear themselves. I practice this now by letting them climb on the playground equipment without following them around like some underpaid bodyguard. Even though I want to be the bodyguard. It’s taken me some time, and still does on a daily basis, to realize that the chance of the things happening in real life that I play out in my head are relatively slim. Still I too need to trust myself, differentiate between anxiety and real concern and act accordingly.

Pollyjk (a fellow commenter on the site) made a good point - that there are differences in parenting based on situation, location and circumstance. It’s always hard to look across the grass and wonder if what you are doing is right or wrong in comparison. What I got most from mfranti is that as parents we seem to have lost sight of our own instincts as parents. We cater to the demands of our kids, the voices of society (tv/video in particular), and the all too familiar adult peer pressures. Where our parents, or even generations back, might have been considered too lack with parenting (slumber parties galore) we’ve 180′d to an overprotective place. This place doesn’t serve us or our kids any justice since it teaches us to be driven by fear.

For the time being I’m grateful that my kids are 4 and 3. The issues we face now will set the groundwork for later emotions, esteem, etc - but overall rank minimal on the fear scale. Soon enough the larger issues will be here - and I hope that we’ve both laid enough groundwork and that I’ve learned to trust myself and them by that time.

5.8

A 5.8 earthquake just hit - with it's epicenter too close to our home. Fortunately we were on the freeway and I only thought sometime was wrong with my tires. When I got off the freeway and saw everyone outside of their houses and buildings I knew it was something other than my tires.

Oh. I was hoping to leave CA with no earthquake experiences. I'm not a fan.

Still, another earthquake today happened today - it was actually much smaller and less damaging on a world scale. It happened in our family. Eric's work has decided, given the economy, not to promote the people it had scheduled to promote...including Eric. They will do the promotions at the end of the year. Which is still wonderful - but not what we were told and expecting. Eric's already been doing his new job - and will still do it since people now know to call him.

Oh. I thought this roller coaster ride was over. I'm not a fan.

Sinful

The boys and I are headed to Vegas to have a sinful time!  Ok, no boozing, gambling or any of the other myriad of sins you can gleefully encounter in Vegas - we're just going to have a sinfully good time meeting baby Addie.  

In related news - my posts have been slow and rather blah lately.  Hopefully after the upcoming wedding I'll have more time, increased energy, and writing skills.  

Armed

Today, during our wonderful walk of the city, I realized something. A double-standard it seems.

A man in front of us was holding his female companion's arm.

I was holding Eric's arm.

For some reason as I stared at the man's hand holding on to the back of her arm I found myself offended that he would hold onto her that way.

It took me a couple of blocks to get over his gesture and then several more blocks to realize that I had been holding Eric's arm in almost the exact same position.

Why did it seem to me that the same hand grip I had for balance and connection was somehow his way of expressing of control?

Family Blog

We've changed a bit on our family blog - namely the blog host - and because of that several people who had our blog in their reader lost their feed.  Even though the name did not change, the RSS Feed did, so reenter our blog name to make sure it's feeding.

So if you read our family blog, make sure you update your blog so that you can catch-up on our family!  I have MUCH posting to catch up on but that won't occur until after San Fran!

Bennionland Adventures

And if you are reading my blog for the first time - you should be warned that it's like me. Sometimes a little random, sometimes a little long-winded, sometimes funny, and sometimes brutally honest.  Considered yourself welcomed - and warned :)

Rice-A-Roni

They are lying.

The real San Francisco treat has nothing to do with Rice-A-Roni!  It's having my breakfast while sitting at the computer over looking Chinatown and the Financial District from my window.

I rose at 7:00am (which was a feat in itself given the night of "business bar hopping" that occurred last night) and watched as the city greeted it's day.  For a while the streets were flooded with men and women in business wear trudging from the subway, buses, and near-by sweet condos to work. 

From here I can see a park in Chinatown where a group of about 15 women did some sort of playground exercising before starting their Tai Chi.  A man in his office across the way from him has waved several times - maybe he's worried I am going to jump.  Not likely.  The fact that I am sitting, perched on the desk which is shoved up against the window, staring out at the city from 24 floors up is amazing.  

What a way to start my 30th year.  I have done so many things in just one night of being here that I haven't done in my whole previous 29.  Not all of them are sinful either!  Like getting up this morning and walking down to the Chinese market to get milk for my breakfast.  Then having a ten minute conversation with the adorable old man behind the counter who wanted to explain why their fresh oranges and mangoes were so much better than the banana I was looking for.  

Eric is here for a conference - which holds absolutely no appeal.  Still I am going to whip out my former marketing skills and head down there later to keep him company.  Let's see how many pumps I can sell!!   He is done tomorrow afternoon and we'll have a great time wandering the city together.

What a treat to be here.  

Pyschaw

That is the closest spelling to the sound I am making with my mouth.

See, I ran my mile in 9.27 today.  With little change in my energy out-take.  According to the experts that exist in the WWW a good mile is 6-8 minutes.  A great one being 5 minutes.  I think I can get to the good level.  

So pyschaw to that other post.  

(And no TJ, there will be no Jonas Brothers.  If only you were close enough so I could slap you.)

Thank you Miley Cyrus!

Or is it Hannah Montana?  It's rare that someone admits so readily to having two personalities and I've never quite sure which one to address.

You might think my 'Thank you' is really going to be another pissy tirade about the naive Miley taking risque pictures when she should appreciate her role as a teen role model.

Actually the biggest issue I have with this picture is that she looks like a vampire at best and the Joker at worst.  

That's besides the point.  I do owe Miley/Hannah a thank you.   Last week I hit a personal milestone.  Many of you know that I've been making a pilgrimage to the local gym every day for the last eight months in an effort to make peace with myself.   While I've gone every day (minus a few when the kids were sick) I haven't seen the results I expected.   So it's been really hard to continue with my quest.

And then last week I tried something new.  Running.  I have never been a runner.  Between my asthma and the 'I can't do it' thoughts that run through my head I have just stayed away from it. I think the last time I ran a mile was in junior high.

So, knowing that I tend to move with the music, I thought 'What if I put on a song that I always rock out to, set it to repeat, and see how long I can make it.'   And that's where Miley comes in.  I love (yes, even at almost 30 years old) the song Rockstar.  It's the only song I know of hers and I happened to hear it at the gym one day and had to download it.

The song is 2.54 minutes.  I listened to it five times and before I knew it I had run a full mile - under 11 minutes!

And yesterday I tried it again!  This time I ran the mile in 10.03 minutes!

It has changed my perspective.  Maybe I haven't lost the weight I wanted to (yet).  Maybe I am not the size I wanted to be (yet).  Still, I have done something that I never thought I could do.   It's now got me inspired to try and drop that time over the next few months.

Thanks Miley.  Now I'm a Rockstar!

Quake

Did you feel it?  

I sure did.  No, you probably didn't.  It was internal.  

A quake that is still sending small aftershocks through my body.

It's happened before.  Four years ago was the biggest.  That one nudged my whole self.  It did not take me off my foundation, though some believe it has.  It just caused a crack. 

Crack.  There it is again.  Crack.  

A rift that some do not take the time to understand.  A crevice some refuse to bridge.  And in these post-internal-quake moments I find myself shaking in my core at what might come next.  The places these cracks might take me, my friends...my family.  

Please give me strength to see past these cracks myself, to build my own bridges, to keep people close beyond differences - and more friends like this.  

21

21 has always been my favorite number.  So it shouldn't be a surprise that when I opened my dashboard to change my countdown calendar the result was 21.   21 days that is.

21 days to the change from 20-something to 30-something.

21 days and then I have to chose a different age bracket on surveys.

21 days and I'll be the age I first remember my parents being.

21 days and I have to put 30 into the treadmill at the gym when it intrusively asks for my age.

21 days and nothing will change, and yet everything will.

21 days and I'll be 30.

I've known for 29 years that I'd turn 30.  Or at least hoped I'd turn 30.  Back in the day 30 was old age.   (I'm not really sure what 'day' that was - but it makes me feel better to type it.)  This past year the realization of turning 30 has sunk in more and more.  Days to my birthday pass by, friends turn 30, clerks at the store comment when asking to see my id....

I'm not afraid to turn 30.  I'm not afraid to leave my 20's.  Surprisingly.  I tend to be more of a status-quo person so the fact that I am looking, anxiously, towards a change is new.  And that's the point.  Turning 30 opens up a new decade of life to live.  The loves lost, bad decisions, hard lessons, long nights of soul searching, and general uncomfortableness in my own body that were a part of my 20's have concluded. 

Sure I'll soul search in my 30's, I'll need to get used to my 30 year-old body (Susan brilliantly posted on this), I'll lose love, and make bad decisions.  This time I get to do it with 29 years of knowledge.  With that knowledge comes a sense of empowerment.  It is as if July 14th will come and in waking up I'll shed the layers I built in my 20's in order to rebuild in my 30's.

I'm starting off by making my 30th year as experience-full as possible.  In totally me form I've composed letterhead (including a logo! yes, I crack myself up) which I'm using to write letters to all my family and friends.  I'm asking that instead of gifts they help me create an extraordinary year.  Build a memory with me, share an experience, broaden our relationship, etc.  

I recognize the reality that July 14th will roll around with little change.  The boys will wake up and beg me to make them breakfast.  E will head to work - and then on a business trip later that week.  TJ will still be across the country. My letterbox full of 20 year-old memories will still sit on my shelf.  I'll still cry at commercials and get nervous that when I dance in my house someone might be watching.  I'll get disappointed at myself and laugh at myself a little too much.  Those things might not change this decade either.

Still, in 21 days I will take a deep breath and plunge into this next adventure in life.  30.  And I hope for 10 years of good perspective, meditation, and interaction.  I have a feeling my 40's will be here before I know it.  

Consider yourself served...

It would seem there is a little bit of confusion in the world still about the difference between service and selfishness. Or maybe it's just the world that I am surrounded by.

I had an interesting conversation today with a friend. One of the things we talked about was how often people, we were talking specifics but it's true in general, label something as service when the real motivation behind it is selfish.

That was wordy. What I mean is: Person A does something with the intent of getting something and yet labels it as service.

I found myself reviewing the claims of service our friend has made over our relationship - and then I stopped myself. Because of course I've done the same thing.

The more I got thinking about this the more I hated to realize how often ulterior motives play into behavior. Maybe it's because I wanted to justify my selfish service, but I hit upon something. The hybrid of service and selfishness.

Self-serving. Now if only I'd come up with that first.

Like a hybrid car self-serving combines the best of both selfish acts and service. You've done a little bit of good but you haven't relieved the problem of dependence on ego lubrication.

For example I became an aunt for the first time yesterday (see, that's a self-serving statement). I would love to hop in the car under the premise of going to see Adeline Joy. The truth is that the reasons for going would both be to celebrate her birth, be with the new parents AND celebrate my new auntiehood, bask in the warmth of holding a new baby, and sneak in visits to all my friends.

The dirty little secret for me about self-serving isn't that I do it, or that it exists. It's that people decorate it up and try to pass it off as service. At least when someone is being really selfish they usually don't dress it up. In fact most selfish people are quite honest. Too much sometimes. But at least you know what you're getting.

Self-serving acts of "service" drive me crazy. It's the person who does nice things for people and then tells all her friends about it. Or who reminds you of a "favor" granted in order to ask for reciprocation. I have no problem doing nice things for people who do nice things for me (or even people who don't). I trust that when I need help people will reach out because of how they feel for me, not because they think they have to.

Maybe self-serving is too restrictive of a title - but it seems fair to me. Just don't gift wrap it as something else. Last I checked, none of the appointed saints actually lobbied for their own sainthood.

My Personal Parenting Proclamation

I, the mother of my childrens' bodies and the wife of my husband's soul, solemnly proclaim that our marriage and my parenthood of you is divine. It's divinity is honored daily in the actions I take, the words I speak, and the lessons we learn together.

I declare that my role as a mother does not diminish my role as a wife or as an individual. Instead my role as a mother does requires that I re-evaluate priorities in order to care best for my family as well as take care of myself. As an individual I chose to become a wife and chose again to become a parent. With those choices I accepted the responsibility of you, my children, and of partnering with you, my spouse.

I believe it is the combined solemn responsibility of us as parents to nurture and teach our children as well as to provide for their basic (and sometimes complex) physical needs. I believe that each marriage, each partnership, must come to an agreement on how the roles and responsibilities of parenting and partnering play out on a daily, weekly, and monthly basis.

Mothers and Fathers - parents in any form - will be held accountable for their children. Society is built and destroyed by the children we raise. Parenting practices will live on in our children who will at one point decide what to do with them. Our rearing of them effects the way they treat the earth, the relationships they have with other people, and their fundamental beliefs of themselves. It is an incredibly challenging and sacred opportunity that we have engaged in.

I challenge myself to find ways each day to celebrate my role as a parent, my role as a wife, and my individual person. It is my shared obligation to care and provide for the souls of my children. It is my responsibility to care and provide for my own soul and needs, to ask for help when I need it, to seek and use resources, and to allow the time for these.