This post has been on hold for a few weeks because I thought Lucas would blog about it, but he hasn't yet, so since I have nothing else to blog about, meet our Wii Fit.
We got a Wii Fit for Christmas as our gift from Luc's parents, and it is one of the coolest things ever. No, really, I don't even like video games, but this is spectacular. Not only does it have balance games, yoga, strength training and aerobics, it is your very own personal trainer, complete with sarcastic comments and just enough of an attitude to make you feel guilty about your health choices.
For instance:
I logged in this morning after having not logged in since Saturday (only one day removed). The Wii Fit proceeded to ask if I was "too busy to work out yesterday?" You can almost hear the condescending tone, especially since Lucas has now become self-conscious about not only how much time he puts in on the Wii Fit, but about his eating habits. He even refused to go to McDonald's last week on the premise that the Wii would know that he had been to McDonald's. (Since watching Eagle Eye, he has become a little paranoid.)
But the games are fun, and this may be the only time EVER that I succeed in beating my husband at a video game. It has become my own personal conquest. Every time I get a higher score on a balance game I send him a text letting him know. And I successfully managed to make my Wii Fit age equivalent to my actual age, so I had to let him know that too. Unfortunately, he has managed to make his Wii Fit age younger than his actual age. But today I beat his score on the snowboarding game, for which he has many excuses, but I still hang on to the fact that even if it's nothing like real snowboarding, I still won!
Monday, January 12, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
the in-between phase
I hate the in-between phase. I never have enjoyed it. I have always wanted to move ahead, on to the next thing, get on with it already. But I am in a very long in-between phase at the moment, working on my degree so that I can continue with the trajectory I long ago set out for myself. In the meantime, I work part-time jobs here and there, keeping myself busy with activities, but stuck in this rut all the time of feeling like I'm still waiting for my "real" life to begin. At 26, you'd think I'd have moved past that stage by now. I revert, though, to my last post, knowing that my identity is not in what I DO, but who I am.
Anyway, while sorting through all of this yesterday, I took some time to write. And here's what crawled out of my creatively dormant state.
.the in between.
in between the earth and sky
the reasons why
all disappear…
and asking only cultivates
an attitude of fear
of knowing all the answers
and failing just the same,
of looking through the surfaces
and finding just a game;
in the winter air
the need to care
can slowly wisp away…
a breath of air that dissipates,
the lonely sigh that emanates,
the heated tongue that hibernates
until the spring appears
but in between
we catch the dream,
the falling star,
the fable;
and all the things
that grant us wings
catch up before we’re able
to open wide
before the tide
our hearts, our souls, our hands
and grasp the fleeting vision
cast out upon the sands
waiting to be gathered
by the willing and the meek
granting sparks of purpose
to the ones with time to seek
the in between
appears unseen
and waits to be discovered;
in the waiting and the wanting
lie the opened and uncovered,
where the cracks have broken open
and the truth peeks through the holes
and we see with eyes of hoping
the way back into our souls
Anyway, while sorting through all of this yesterday, I took some time to write. And here's what crawled out of my creatively dormant state.
.the in between.
in between the earth and sky
the reasons why
all disappear…
and asking only cultivates
an attitude of fear
of knowing all the answers
and failing just the same,
of looking through the surfaces
and finding just a game;
in the winter air
the need to care
can slowly wisp away…
a breath of air that dissipates,
the lonely sigh that emanates,
the heated tongue that hibernates
until the spring appears
but in between
we catch the dream,
the falling star,
the fable;
and all the things
that grant us wings
catch up before we’re able
to open wide
before the tide
our hearts, our souls, our hands
and grasp the fleeting vision
cast out upon the sands
waiting to be gathered
by the willing and the meek
granting sparks of purpose
to the ones with time to seek
the in between
appears unseen
and waits to be discovered;
in the waiting and the wanting
lie the opened and uncovered,
where the cracks have broken open
and the truth peeks through the holes
and we see with eyes of hoping
the way back into our souls
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
2008
To encapsulate a year in one blog post seems mightily overwhelming, but as an exercise in brevity, here it goes. My "top ten list" of lessons learned in 2008:
10. I am less adaptable to change than I like to think.
9. Life is a constant lesson in humility.
8. My calling in life is NOT to work with elementary school children. This knowledge increases my level of respect for elementary school teachers.
7. My identity is so much more than just what I do for a living. A crucial point to remember in upcoming years.
6. My tolerance level for ignorance and stupidity is very low.
5. Good and loyal friends are worth their weight in gold...and if I could, I would share that gold with all of them. Assuming that I either won the lottery or became a leprechaun, of course.
4. Sometimes decisions must be made that you don't want to make, because neither outcome seems appealing. And in the end, even though you chose the best solution, you may not be happy. But sometimes it's not about you.
3. Family is one of the most powerful forces in existence...through thick and thin they are still your family. No matter what. Forever. And ever...
2. There is a very good reason to only get married one time: weddings. The light at the end of the tunnel is marriage...which is the greatest and most rewarding challenge I have ever undertaken.
1. Life swirls and changes around us every second of every day, and its unpredictability is part of the excitement and terror of living. It means that above all, I am not in control. I will be learning this lesson every day of the rest of my life.
10. I am less adaptable to change than I like to think.
9. Life is a constant lesson in humility.
8. My calling in life is NOT to work with elementary school children. This knowledge increases my level of respect for elementary school teachers.
7. My identity is so much more than just what I do for a living. A crucial point to remember in upcoming years.
6. My tolerance level for ignorance and stupidity is very low.
5. Good and loyal friends are worth their weight in gold...and if I could, I would share that gold with all of them. Assuming that I either won the lottery or became a leprechaun, of course.
4. Sometimes decisions must be made that you don't want to make, because neither outcome seems appealing. And in the end, even though you chose the best solution, you may not be happy. But sometimes it's not about you.
3. Family is one of the most powerful forces in existence...through thick and thin they are still your family. No matter what. Forever. And ever...
2. There is a very good reason to only get married one time: weddings. The light at the end of the tunnel is marriage...which is the greatest and most rewarding challenge I have ever undertaken.
1. Life swirls and changes around us every second of every day, and its unpredictability is part of the excitement and terror of living. It means that above all, I am not in control. I will be learning this lesson every day of the rest of my life.
Friday, December 19, 2008
the age of innocence
Thanks to the snow day today (which I feel was somewhat unnecessary), yesterday was my last day at work. Because of changing schedules and financial situations, I won't be returning to my job with the YMCA after Christmas break.
So I've been reviewing what I've learned this past semester in the presence of these kids. The conclusion I have come to is that the age of innocence no longer truly exists in this selfish, chaos-ridden, morally declining world. I realize that I grew up in a state of relative naivete, not knowing or caring about "adult" topics, like swearing or using the middle finger or liking the opposite sex or watching movies with anything other than a PG rating. I led a sheltered childhood, protected from the world of divorce, abuse, homosexuality, drinking, drugs, and any other toxins that may have invaded my young, impressionable soul.
But the kids in my program weren't so lucky. I had a 5-year-old get a detention for saying the F word in his classroom. I had a first grader tell me she had to go to court and pick which of her parents she loved more to decide who to live with. She told me she was going to pick her mom because her mom loved her more; when I asked her if she loved her dad, she said, "No, because he doesn't really want to be a dad." Almost half of the kids were from divorced families, with step-brothers and sisters coming out the wazzoo. I had an 8-year-old ask me if I had seen the movie The Day After Tomorrow, assuring me that it wasn't scary; he would know, he watched it. I had a 7-year-old get an iPod with the new Indiana Jones movie installed on it for his birthday. I had an 8-year-old who couldn't read, spell, or do math problems; who bit my assistant's arm; who hurt other kids; who couldn't control his anger; who was really only looking for some positive attention most of the time. Virtually none of my kids knew how to respect an adult or listen when another person was talking.
I really and truly fear that we are entering a state where morals and values are going to change significantly; that right and wrong are going to become more black and white, and therefore more controversial. Perhaps my standards are set too high; perhaps I have unrealistic expectations of childhood based on my own experiences; perhaps the world is going to hell in a handbasket. I do think there is hope for all of our kids, but this society, this generation is making it hard to find amid the vulgarity and outright meanness running rampant in schools today. I don't want to shield my kids from the world, but I want them to know what certain words mean: respect, honor, boundaries. I want them to be safe and happy and somewhat ignorant of the underside of humanity, at least for a little while.
Don't kids deserve to have an age of innocence?
So I've been reviewing what I've learned this past semester in the presence of these kids. The conclusion I have come to is that the age of innocence no longer truly exists in this selfish, chaos-ridden, morally declining world. I realize that I grew up in a state of relative naivete, not knowing or caring about "adult" topics, like swearing or using the middle finger or liking the opposite sex or watching movies with anything other than a PG rating. I led a sheltered childhood, protected from the world of divorce, abuse, homosexuality, drinking, drugs, and any other toxins that may have invaded my young, impressionable soul.
But the kids in my program weren't so lucky. I had a 5-year-old get a detention for saying the F word in his classroom. I had a first grader tell me she had to go to court and pick which of her parents she loved more to decide who to live with. She told me she was going to pick her mom because her mom loved her more; when I asked her if she loved her dad, she said, "No, because he doesn't really want to be a dad." Almost half of the kids were from divorced families, with step-brothers and sisters coming out the wazzoo. I had an 8-year-old ask me if I had seen the movie The Day After Tomorrow, assuring me that it wasn't scary; he would know, he watched it. I had a 7-year-old get an iPod with the new Indiana Jones movie installed on it for his birthday. I had an 8-year-old who couldn't read, spell, or do math problems; who bit my assistant's arm; who hurt other kids; who couldn't control his anger; who was really only looking for some positive attention most of the time. Virtually none of my kids knew how to respect an adult or listen when another person was talking.
I really and truly fear that we are entering a state where morals and values are going to change significantly; that right and wrong are going to become more black and white, and therefore more controversial. Perhaps my standards are set too high; perhaps I have unrealistic expectations of childhood based on my own experiences; perhaps the world is going to hell in a handbasket. I do think there is hope for all of our kids, but this society, this generation is making it hard to find amid the vulgarity and outright meanness running rampant in schools today. I don't want to shield my kids from the world, but I want them to know what certain words mean: respect, honor, boundaries. I want them to be safe and happy and somewhat ignorant of the underside of humanity, at least for a little while.
Don't kids deserve to have an age of innocence?
Thursday, December 4, 2008
a rant
OK, I just need to rant for a few minutes here.
With the Christmas season in full swing, the kids at my school have been discussing their anticipated gifts, and although the majority of my particular group is in grades 2-4, they were almost all talking about getting CELL PHONES for Christmas.
If you can't tell by the capitalization in the previous sentence, I find this ridiculous. Why on earth does an eight-year-old need a CELL PHONE? As if your parent doesn't know where you are and when you need to be elsewhere. As if you do anything when you're eight that requires you to have a cell phone. It makes me sick. These kids have things like iPods and PSPs, and as if that isn't already an excessive amount of expensive technology, they think they need cell phones too.
I'm sure that my thoughts and emotions about parenting will change once I actually become one, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to buy my eight-year-old a cell phone. But who knows what else it will be? In the (approximately) 10-15 years before I actually have an eight-year-old, the world might just go technologically insane.
OK, and now I must remember that these are not my children and I don't have to live with them.
The most ironic part of the title of this post is that my new cell phone is called the Rant.
With the Christmas season in full swing, the kids at my school have been discussing their anticipated gifts, and although the majority of my particular group is in grades 2-4, they were almost all talking about getting CELL PHONES for Christmas.
If you can't tell by the capitalization in the previous sentence, I find this ridiculous. Why on earth does an eight-year-old need a CELL PHONE? As if your parent doesn't know where you are and when you need to be elsewhere. As if you do anything when you're eight that requires you to have a cell phone. It makes me sick. These kids have things like iPods and PSPs, and as if that isn't already an excessive amount of expensive technology, they think they need cell phones too.
I'm sure that my thoughts and emotions about parenting will change once I actually become one, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to buy my eight-year-old a cell phone. But who knows what else it will be? In the (approximately) 10-15 years before I actually have an eight-year-old, the world might just go technologically insane.
OK, and now I must remember that these are not my children and I don't have to live with them.
The most ironic part of the title of this post is that my new cell phone is called the Rant.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
being a christian
For most of my life I've felt like I had a pretty good handle on what it means to be a Christian. Growing up with it helped. I had no sudden epiphanies, no real moments of shock or surprise, just a continual depth of understanding and knowledge that the root of my Christianity is in my own heart, no one else's.
But there are some fundamentals, right? I feel like I've had several conversations lately that have challenged me on this, on explaining what it means to be a Christian--not just calling yourself one, but actually being one.
On Friday at school, one of my little first grade girls was wearing a shirt that had a big Tweety Bird on it and said "Jesus is the tweetest." I made a comment to my assistant that I would never send my child to school in a shirt like that. He asked why and I told him that although I am a Christian and am not ashamed of my beliefs, sending your child to school in a shirt like that is just a cry for negative attention and mockery, and why subject a 6-year-old to that? He made a comment that he is a Christian too, but then proceeded to tell me that he doesn't "believe in the whole church thing...or the Bible, really."
Everything in me wanted to fight at that moment, to tell him why he was wrong (because his logic was not good), and to explain to him that the Bible and the Church are two fundamental properties of Christianity. Sure, you can be a Christian without going to church (although not a thriving, growing one), but there's really no way you can claim Christianity without a basic belief in the Bible. Otherwise it becomes a story, something along the lines of a fairy-tale with extraordinarily impossible events which lend an air of incredibility to the whole plot line of Christianity. If I don't believe the truth of the Bible, I have no foundation upon which to stand.
So many people are "Christians." So few of us actually are.
But there are some fundamentals, right? I feel like I've had several conversations lately that have challenged me on this, on explaining what it means to be a Christian--not just calling yourself one, but actually being one.
On Friday at school, one of my little first grade girls was wearing a shirt that had a big Tweety Bird on it and said "Jesus is the tweetest." I made a comment to my assistant that I would never send my child to school in a shirt like that. He asked why and I told him that although I am a Christian and am not ashamed of my beliefs, sending your child to school in a shirt like that is just a cry for negative attention and mockery, and why subject a 6-year-old to that? He made a comment that he is a Christian too, but then proceeded to tell me that he doesn't "believe in the whole church thing...or the Bible, really."
Everything in me wanted to fight at that moment, to tell him why he was wrong (because his logic was not good), and to explain to him that the Bible and the Church are two fundamental properties of Christianity. Sure, you can be a Christian without going to church (although not a thriving, growing one), but there's really no way you can claim Christianity without a basic belief in the Bible. Otherwise it becomes a story, something along the lines of a fairy-tale with extraordinarily impossible events which lend an air of incredibility to the whole plot line of Christianity. If I don't believe the truth of the Bible, I have no foundation upon which to stand.
So many people are "Christians." So few of us actually are.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
believe
This morning I had a conversation about Santa Claus.
Usually when Santa Claus comes up in conversation people are quick to denounce their belief in him, saying, "Oh, I stopped believing in Santa since I was, like, five," or something to that effect. But this morning I talked to a second, third, and fourth grader about Santa and how each of them believes that he exists. Who else eats the cookies? Why else is he at the mall? How come my dad hears the reindeer on the roof every year?
As adults, it's easy to listen to these questions and logic everything away. Seriously, your parents eat the cookies, it's a guy getting paid to sit in the suit, your dad is lying to you. My mom likes to tell us that when she was a little girl she truly believed she heard reindeer on her roof and saw Santa's sleigh flying away from her house one Christmas Eve. I think part of her wants to believe it still, and she's 61 years old!
So today I did not dissuade my kids from their discussion. I did not try to reason with them; instead I told them about my mom, and their eyes grew wide--another adult giving supporting evidence to the case for Santa Claus. For once I allowed myself, for a few moments, not to be a skeptic, and to wonder what it would be like if there really was such a character as Santa, and to get caught up in the childlike excitement in my kids' voices.
I love the movie Miracle on 34th Street. (Lucas doesn't know yet that we are going to have to watch it this Christmas, and probably every Christmas from here on out.) Part of why I like it so much is that it puts all our doubts to shame. What on earth is wrong with believing? What harm would it do to put aside skepticism, if only for a month or two, and encourage the belief?
There is intention behind our belief; I am attempting to put the wonder back into my heart. Where it went, I can't say, but it comes back bit by bit, on threads of spiderwebs, on flurrying snow crystals, in frozen sunrises and faded sunsets, in two-year-olds' laughs, in the intricate patterns of the branches dancing in the wind.
Believing with your lips is easy. I can say it all I want.
Believing with your heart is harder.
Usually when Santa Claus comes up in conversation people are quick to denounce their belief in him, saying, "Oh, I stopped believing in Santa since I was, like, five," or something to that effect. But this morning I talked to a second, third, and fourth grader about Santa and how each of them believes that he exists. Who else eats the cookies? Why else is he at the mall? How come my dad hears the reindeer on the roof every year?
As adults, it's easy to listen to these questions and logic everything away. Seriously, your parents eat the cookies, it's a guy getting paid to sit in the suit, your dad is lying to you. My mom likes to tell us that when she was a little girl she truly believed she heard reindeer on her roof and saw Santa's sleigh flying away from her house one Christmas Eve. I think part of her wants to believe it still, and she's 61 years old!
So today I did not dissuade my kids from their discussion. I did not try to reason with them; instead I told them about my mom, and their eyes grew wide--another adult giving supporting evidence to the case for Santa Claus. For once I allowed myself, for a few moments, not to be a skeptic, and to wonder what it would be like if there really was such a character as Santa, and to get caught up in the childlike excitement in my kids' voices.
I love the movie Miracle on 34th Street. (Lucas doesn't know yet that we are going to have to watch it this Christmas, and probably every Christmas from here on out.) Part of why I like it so much is that it puts all our doubts to shame. What on earth is wrong with believing? What harm would it do to put aside skepticism, if only for a month or two, and encourage the belief?
There is intention behind our belief; I am attempting to put the wonder back into my heart. Where it went, I can't say, but it comes back bit by bit, on threads of spiderwebs, on flurrying snow crystals, in frozen sunrises and faded sunsets, in two-year-olds' laughs, in the intricate patterns of the branches dancing in the wind.
Believing with your lips is easy. I can say it all I want.
Believing with your heart is harder.
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