My Salvation Lies in Your Love

The weeks and days leading up to Christmas found me growing more and more reluctant to celebrate it. After all, it's not really the day Jesus was born. It's a pagan holiday the Christians decided to adopt as their own to witness to those who've never heard of Jesus. Plus, I try to celebrate Jesus every day. 'Try' being the operative word. Christmas to me has become a time when my kids get to be greedy for useless (euphemism) and I have to come up with my own wish list so I don't get useless (euphemism). It's touching commercials on TV so I'll buy their useless (euphemism) and decorating contests to make me spend money on useless (euphemism). It's wasting my time putting up a tree only to come back down three weeks later, leaving a huge dried up mess on my living room floor. It's my bank account slowly emptying due to poor budgeting and barely affording the gas to make the obligatory trip to Colville and back.

When I was a child I absolutely loved Christmas! Mainly because I got to be greedy for useless (euphemism), but also because my mom loved it. I remember Burl Ives on the record player and A Very Special Christmas compilation album on cassette. Our stockings would start filling weeks before and of course we had the fun tradition of helping decorate the tree. Every year I got a new ornament for my very own and I remember my brother and I trying to guess the wrapped presents under the tree (a skill I became very good at). I wasn't taught to believe in Santa Clause, but we still had our Santa traditions. My parents would place unwrapped presents under the tree Christmas eve after we'd all gone to bed. The purpose...to occupy the early risers while Mom and Dad slept. Presents weren't allowed to be opened until Mom and Dad drank their coffee, we had eaten a complete breakfast with eggs and bacon and hashbrowns, and the table was cleared and dishes were done. Then the passing out of presents, and the orderly opening of them one at a time starting with either oldest to youngest, or vice versa. And never did we open all our presents on Christmas eve like all my friends did, like I always begged. Only one was allowed to be opened the night before. Same goes for baby Jesus in our nativity scene. He didn't appear till Christmas morning.

In my cynical bitterness two nights ago I realized how lucky I'd been as a child. I have only one memory of spending Christmas with extended family. Every other Christmas through childhood and adolescence consisted only myself, Mom and Dad, and brother (who of course moved away and was replaced with various foster children). How does that make me lucky? My parents went to such great lengths to create memories for us. I was reminded of this when my niece, Madeline, called yesterday morning and my mother answered, "Merry Christmas ho ho ho!" To which Maddy replied in like manner. I then called my brother, James, who answered his phone, "Merry Christmas ho ho ho!" To which I replied in like manner. A Dad Wilson-honored tradition. With my own children, I started out with great intentions, wanting to pass down the great traditions and memories my mom and dad gave me except they had all the trimmings of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins every year! I filled the stockings, did my best to get them ornaments, remembered to hold presents from wrapping, and definitely, most definitely had to give them as many presents as my brother and I had under the tree.

Enter bitter ungratefulness.

I got a divorce and soon faced Christmas alone. What happened to all those gifts carefully wrapped and appreciated? All over. All. Over. ALL OVER. Everywhere! The benefits of having extended family so close also means CRAPLOADS of CRAP! I love that my children can be blessed with things that I can't afford to get, but where the (EUPHEMISM) do I put it all? I don't have time to sift through all their old things like I used to and purge what they no longer play with. Getting the tree out and lighting it is no longer special when there's no dad there to help...it's IRRITATING. And my perfectionism only squelches their decorating creativity. "No, don't put it there that's too close. No, no that doesn't go on yet! Sigh...just let me do it." The only reason I get it out is to satisfy them! And who gets to bring it down and put all the cra...stuff away? Me! Yes that's right! You're right! You guessed absolutely right! This Christmas Eve found me with a glass of wine, sitting on facebook, procrastinating the snacks I'd bought to fill their stockings (to fill their appetite during the obligatory trip to Colville where the real stockings from my mother were waiting). Christmas had turned into one expensive day of obligation. And I was hating it. I went to bed in my daughters' room (by their request) and woke with a stiff neck and back (not the greatest mattress).

My children had emptied their stockings and were waiting for me to empty mine. Chloe had noticed prior to "the" day that I never fill my own stocking. She decided to make her own presents and partnered with my mom to fill it this year. I took it off its hook and prepared the performance of emptying it and looking excited and surprised. My mom had put cute Christmas earrings inside and Chloe had taped some papers together to make a book. So I guess I should read it right there because that would make her happy. So I did. So I will copy the exact words (with correct spelling) for you. 

The title:  Your Family! (With picture of me, Elijah, Isabelle, and Chloe)
Page 1:  Your family is there for you, no matter what you do. (A heart in the middle of the page and a picture of me with a lawn mower and a girl with a toy mower)
Page 2:  Your family is there for you at night. (Two people looking up at the stars with one saying "look")
Page 3:  Your family is there in the morning. (Two people sitting at a table eating cereal)
Page 4:  The most important thing about your family is...They love you!!! (picture of me and the kids again)
Page 5:  The End!! (Happy Christmas written inside a heart)

Along with the book was another picture that read "I love you no matter what you do!" With a picture of Chloe and me inside a heart. Something we often say to each other.

Well, needless to say, my Scrooge was melting away. The drive to Colville was tolerable and as soon as we walked in the house the warm memories of why I ever loved Christmas had returned. The stockings, the "Santa" gifts, breakfast cooking on the stove, the kids playing Santa and handing out the gifts. We opened them youngest to oldest this time and Elijah cracked us up every time it was his turn. I had a wonderful day. Some day, instead of hurrying to get to my mom's Christmas, I'll be able to give the children my own Christmas. Until then, I get to appreciate the memories I have and they are making.

And now I get to sift through all the crap they no longer use to make room for all the new crap.

Not Less. Just Different.

Every so often I'm blessed to fall into a deep and profound conversation with my son. They have become few and far between and I was starting to think that maybe I had seen the last of them until tonight. Tonight it happened accidentally by way of trying to convince him that he should wear pajamas to bed instead of the jeans and t-shirt he wore that day (this started around the beginning of school) as well as switching from his fall-weather hoodie to his winter coat. I saw the look on his face and realized exactly what I was asking of him. Adjustments are hard for anyone, but nearly impossible for Elijah. The boy just lost a good pal. He took Emmett for walks around the block every day after school and this week...well, he has gone for a walk around the block every day after school. Now I'm asking him to CHANGE out of his nice warm JEANS into freezing cold PAJAMAS AND wear this BIG HUGE COAT to school EVERY DAY? I offered a compromise. I wasn't going to push the pajamas issue if he started wearing his coat. He asked me if I knew what his dad said about him wearing jeans to bed. I didn't. He says it's weird. 

Temple Grandin has become an inspiration in our household. I've watched the movie three or four times now and referenced it a few times since. Saying goodbye to our dog, Elijah asked about a part in the movie when a horse died and Temple asked where it went. So he wanted to know where Emmett would go. I tried to help the kids cope by telling them the same thing Temple's teacher told her. To try to remember Emmett when he was alive. We're still working on that. We're still sad.

I had tried to explain to Elijah that most people wear pajamas to bed. It's not weird that he doesn't, but different. Guess what he said back to me? "Sometimes I like being different. Just like...ahhh (pounding his head) what is it?" The lightbulb went off in my head. Temple Grandin? "Yeah, just like Temple Grandin. She was different." Different, but not less. That phrase was repeated a few times during the movie and one of the main things that spoke to me. Different, but not less. So I hugged him and kissed him and told him that I love him for being different. That I'm proud of him for being different, and if different means he wears jeans to bed, then go ahead.

He almost changed his clothes for me just to make me happy. Almost! 

Rare Moments Treasured

Elijah is an interesting character. When he's excited, he'll rock from side to side and gesture in odd ways. He has sound effects for everyday physical actions. Like running for instance, he will make the woosh sound quietly to himself. He used to follow up his jokes with a rimshot (you know, budum-ching!). When hearing a stern tone from his father, he audibly gulped like in the cartoons. He'll talk to you if he wants; won't if he doesn't, but if you bring up a video game he likes, you can't shut him up. He went through a phase where he'd greet me or his nana by running straight into us, almost knocking me down a few times from behind. Elijah is diagnosed with high functioning autism.

In Pre-Kindergarten, his teacher had asked if he had ever been evaluated for autism. He would stiffen if she tried to touch him, or physically guide him away from something. I remember a day after school when he came to me to pick him up (he was a very small 5-year-old). He laid his head down and melted in my arms. I stood there in the midst of all the children and all the staring parents with my eyes shut, rocking him back and forth. Those moments were very rare and very special.

Lately Elijah has been very "huggy." It's not that he's NOT a hugger...it's just that they're usually those 12-year-old side hugs or a couple pats on the arm with an awkward "heh." Maybe it's because I've been so busy, but every day when he comes home he finds me, gives me a hug, and tells me how his day was. Tonight I had music practice at my church. I came home after the kids had gone to bed, but Elijah heard me and got up. He hugged me and then hugged me again. He asked me all sorts of questions he had already asked me multiple times during the day but had forgotten on account of his short-term memory (I've read hydrocephalus can cause that). He started asking me a question and then started over and then started over again, as he is known to do and then hugged me again. He gave me a long, tight hug. One of those hugs that melts away the whole day and gives you that short burst of energy. I've told him over and over how much I love his hugs, so he knows that is a way he can show me love.

I walked him to bed and I lay by his side and we chatted for a bit, hugged, chatted, and hugged some more. In the midst of our chatting I told him how much I loved him. That no matter what, even if he makes a mistake, even if he is angry, that his dad and I still love him. He stared into my eyes (and not slightly to the right of them like usual). I could see the love (and not the normal hint of confusion mixed with a far off look). It reminded me of the horrible dream about his death. I woke up crying uncontrollably and went into his room to watch him sleep. He woke up and patted my arm softly, and still half asleep, comforted me. "There, there." He offered to sleep with me that night so I would feel better and blew me a kiss when he went to his dad's house.

My son isn't typical. He isn't standard. He's odd, repeats himself, rocks back and forth, walks in circles around my kitchen, has occasional ticks, and doesn't know how to socialize with his peers...but I'll bet you anything he knows how to express his love better than any other 12-year-old kid when he wants to.

Why I Celebrate Easter

Why I Celebrate Easter

By Jessica Carson

If I were to reveal to you all the mistakes I've made in my life, all the bad choices, most of you would think, "Wow, how can she call herself a Christian?" And perhaps you have a point. I'm not necessarily following Christ when I make these choices. But when I figuratively stumble, or faceplant it, or "catch a digger," God is right there to figuratively pick me up and figuratively dust me off. Always! His mercy (not giving me the punishment I do deserve) and grace (giving me the reward (salvation) I don't deserve) is never ceasing. And it's all because of what Jesus did; the life he led, the death he died, and most importantly, the resurrection he...resurrectured. I realize a lot of you do not wish to believe the words I just typed, and that's a choice I must respect. My choice is life. Abundant life. God's life.

He is there to pick me up and dust me off. And He tells me exactly what I tell my children. "Do better next time."

I hope you have a wonderful Easter. I hope you get to spend time with family; color, hide, and find Easter eggs; and I hope that you would reflect on the life you lead. What changes can you make? What is a change you have made that you are proud of? What can you do better? And be sure that if ever it strikes your fancy to visit a church, I have a 7-passenger van. You can come with me.

Happy Easter!

Daily Grace Inspirations from Joseph Prince Ministries

"God’s Word says, “And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist.” (Colossians 1:17) The Greek word for “consist” means “held together”. In Christ, all things are held together. And that is why when Christ is the central figure in your life, you will have it all together. Your mind will be held together. Your hopes and dreams will be held together. Your family will be held together by the cords of His love."

Thank you, Jesus!

Chronicles of an Ex-Wife or I'm Starting To Get It.

I thought I had made an effort to see things from the new wife's perspective, but I've been thinking recently. I was too busy presuming that she would never think to even try to see things from my perspective. Well, I guess that's her responsibility. Mine is to learn and to grow and to love. Here is a woman seemingly in love with a man who has three kids. Her goal is to get along with these kids so that her relationship with this man can continue harmoniously, because in her mind, this has real potential to progress into marriage. This man was once married to the mother of said kids, and may or may not still harbor feelings for her. So she is faced with two obstacles: 1. Win over children. 2. Be sure the mother is no longer in the picture.

Here's my perspective. I am a woman who was married for nine years with three children. I have witnessed at least three women in and out of this man's life before the new wife came along. Two of them had interaction with my babies. I'm not thinking of his happiness. I'm not thinking of her happiness. I'm thinking of this strange woman playing family with MY CHILDREN.

But, you see, she has to. She has to play family. She has to become involved and interested in their lives. She can't be disconnected or detached. At least that's what instinct tells her. I still haven't decided how healthy it is for a new partner to be thrown into the children's lives. Finding and subsequently losing a new partner can often mean confusion and disappointment for the children involved. It's a scary thing, which I imagine can be easily forgotten in emotions and excitement of a new love.

So you see, while I'm not exactly condoning the method in which this relationship was formed; reached; established. I'm remembering that we are all humans with real emotions; real hopes; real fears. I can't sit over here stewing because whatever didn't happen the way I wanted it to. Whatever did happen. Life is happening and I can't control every little bit of it. I can only control how I respond to it. So when I speak of the new wife to my children, I am slowly losing that twinge I once so heavily felt. She is a part of the family. When my children go over there, they are a family. I get to think of her as just a girl who feels she has found her happiness, and hope that she can richly add to my children's lives.

Time to Regroup

I'm attending a Christian divorce support group called Divorce Care. This is my second time through the 13-week session. Yes, it's been four years, but I've learned that it can take up to five to really heal from a divorce. It's a good reminder of what I've always known and at one time practiced. I subscribe to their daily emails, each one an encouragement and lesson to help us grow spiritually through this awful process. This one especially has stood out because I find it's where I repeatedly trip up (Note the paragraph in bold). I thought I'd share.

Resetting Your Expectations
Day 27

You have certain expectations in your daily life. Expectations of yourself, your children, your family members, your friends, and your former spouse. Until you stop and think about it, you may not realize just how high your standards are for yourself and for those around you. To move forward into the future, you need to learn to reset your expectations.

Consider how much you are asking of yourself and how much you can actually handle. Also, do you expect more from others than is realistic under the circumstances of your divorce? If you find yourself getting upset because someone does not live up to a certain expectation of yours, then maybe it's time to back off and reset that expectation.

Dr. Jim A. Talley says, "You expected somebody to do something. That person didn't do it, and you get mad. What makes you even madder is that person doesn't seem to give a rip that he or she didn't do it. Now you're really hurt, and you begin to boil on the inside. You shift at that point to real bitterness. You have to go back and reset your expectations to what you can control and deal with. You can't force other people into your expectations."

Reset your standards to a place where you can function, and examine your motivation for having that expectation in the first place.

"People may think they are doing what is right, but the LORD examines the heart" (Proverbs 21:2 NLT).

Heavenly Father, sometimes I expect too much and for the wrong reasons. Show me how to reset those expectations to a healthy and productive level. Amen.

Chronicles of an Ex-Wife

I used to blog (on a different site) about life lessons, mistakes I've made (boy I've made some), and how I planned to overcome them. I used to focus on my own actions and reactions to how I was treated rather than the treatment itself. Of course if I was treated negatively, it would affect me. I would hurt. But I still would try to gain knowledge of my own character and attempt to grow from whatever I experienced. Somewhere along the way I've fallen off this track. I've justified whatever impulsive actions I made on the basis of, "But he did this!" or "She said this!" Where I once committed those people to the laws of sowing and reaping, aka karma, I now have taken things into my own hands...thus reaping my own actions.

I could easily account for all the nasty, abusive things done to me. I could easily justify all the horrible, nasty things I've done in return; but as justifiable as they may be, they were still horrible and nasty things. They were still bad decisions. The right decision would have been to continue on the higher road, no matter how much pain I endured. I still would have my character to stand on. Not only do I look at my present character and see a deflated replica of what once was admirable, now others who I highly respect do too. "But...but they don't know the whole story!" No. Doesn't matter. I made a choice. "But...she has no idea everything this man has done!" No. Doesn't matter. I made a choice.

I made a choice to befriend an untrustworthy person for what I thought was the benefit of my kids. I made a choice to disclose certain feelings and thoughts to this person; to divert down a road of bitterness and gossip with this person. Yes, I know. "But...! But she stabbed me in the back!" Doesn't matter. I made a choice.

I made a choice to take matters into my own hands. To attempt to shine certain lights on actions taken against me, or just actions in general, that I'm sure were hidden from the new woman in the picture. "But...she has no idea!" Doesn't matter. Not my responsibility. If I were to start over with someone new, I would want my past mistakes erased too. "But...! But he lies!" Not my business. She has chosen deceit.

Throughout all this, I really did make attempts at rebuilding my character. I listened to a show devoted to the perspective of the step mom. I invited them to functions and when it looked as though my daughter would miss out on an event because she would be at her dad's, I suggested she invite the new mom. Of course these things are either overlooked by, or unknown to them. Doesn't matter. In their eyes, whatever mistake I make screams in comparison and from here on out, whatever I do will give them cause for accusation, which should completely justify me to question their character. But doesn't that defeat the purpose of this life lesson? It is my responsibility to question my own character and my own motives. It is their responsibility (whether they accept it) to question theirs. And it is the responsibility of those who have turned away from me without coming to me first, to question their own.

I've accepted God's grace. It's time I let go of the actions taken against me and give it up to God as well. They deserve to walk in grace just as much as I do. Someday restoration will come. I have to believe that and I have to do my part to achieve that. My part isn't to show them I'm not horrible. My part is to not be horrible. I'm not going to become a doormat again. I'm just going to make better decisions.

Make sense?

Discipline

I want to be disciplined, not because it's expected of me, but because things need to be done. When I look at all my responsibilities, I realize everything I do is expected by an outward source. I cook dinner because my children need to eat. I go to work because I'm expected to go to work. I study to learn when I have a teacher to assign me something. When there is no expectation, I do nothing. I know people who will not stop to rest until their house is tidy. They will not sit to watch TV until their self-assigned tasks are complete. I want to be like that! Yet instead, I sit here and type. I didn't drink alcohol until my late 20s not because it was poison for my body, but because abstaining was an outward expectation. Then I observe those claiming not to believe in any higher power also abstain from intoxicating substances. So what is the difference? Why can't I be that disciplined? Once any outward expectations are lifted, I slump like a rag-doll into a pile on the floor. I have no inner discipline. Well...I'll say I have no consistent inner discipline. How do I start?

Ranting

Here are some things that I am good at: I am a good mom. I am a good friend. I am a good person. I am not always these things.

Sometimes I promise a bedtime story and get sucked into the wonders of the intrawebs until it is too late and the children must get to bed. Sometimes I lose my temper. Either way, I apologize and vow to do better.

I am not good at calling friends to check up on them. I am better a being taken care of, than taking care of others. Sometimes I go too far with my joking and feelings get hurt. Whatever the case may be, I apologize and vow to do better.

Sometimes I gossip. Sometimes I allow bitterness to creep into my heart. Sometimes my tolerance is stretched, and I lash out in bitter sarcasm. Sometimes I make really big mistakes, too big to confess publicly. In all of that, I check myself and vow to do better.

I really try to allow others these same do-overs. It's really sad that some do not allow these of me.

Early Morning Memories

I was lying in bed not sleeping (as I tend to do at 4:30 a.m. these days) and this memory came to me:

Maybe it was two years ago? Maybe three? We were having tacos and Isabelle suggested having hot chocolate with our dinner. So that's what we had. The real struggle came when the little 6 or 7-year-old refused to eat her taco because there was lettuce on it (she doesn't like lettuce). I could feel this tension starting to build. For some reason I had the idea to cut the tension by thanking her for the good suggestion to have hot chocolate. She got this proud look on her face, picked up the taco, and took a bite.

Sometimes I'm a good mother. :)

Fight! Fight! Fight!

I promised this blog on my Facebook and now I feel like a dork for doing so, but a promise is a promise.

Remember back in junior high school when word got around the school there'd be a fight in the park and after class we all went running out there to see what was going on? I remember the two guys with intense rage and a hint of fear on their faces, all the kids around them yelling, egging them on. I was so intrigued and just wanted the fight to get on so I could see someone get punched. I think I eventually left because all they did was face each other and occasionally yell some sort of threat. I think I stopped attending those fights after that. I didn't really care. But there's something about a fight that makes people stop and watch.

Last night I had the pleasure of taking my children to the Spokane fair with some other friends and their children. We did the whole fair thing, rides, animals, food, booths, etc. My kids wanted to try some games and now that I'm a grown up, I understand why my parents hated letting me play those fair games. I did my best to convince them to try out the spin art booth instead, that way they're guaranteed a prize! (You know, you squirt some paint on a piece of paper for the guy to spin around and voila! Art!) We found three open spots right next to each other and I was digging in my wallet to pay the attendant when loud voices distracted me. To my right were two very angry, snarling people. It looked like a couple fighting; the shorter, Latina-looking lady and not-much-taller guy yelling at each other. It sounded as if someone intervened and the guy suggested in his angry way that they take it outside the fair. Well that satisfied me, so I relaxed a little until a split-second later, fists started flying. This was happening only a few feet away from us, so I calmly lead the children in the opposite direction to wait it out before we returned to our art project. I couldn't understand why the other customers just stood there captivated by this violence while the entire time I kept wondering when the weapons would surface. The mob had even bumped into a few working on their masterpiece and moved around behind the booth. I kept waiting for it to calm so we could return, but it continued! Up popped this white guy out of no where with blood running down his face who I later was told was on the ground getting kicked in the head by all these people. I steadily inched further away, but kept my eye out to make sure the fight didn't come toward us. Finally someone in uniform as well as the biggest black man I'd ever seen (or maybe he was just in hero status at that moment for me) arrived and the fight was ended, the not-much-taller guy yelling "Call me when you get your green card." We made our art pieces and our way out the fair gates. Note: While before this fight occurred, that game where you squirt water to fill the balloon until it pops was just a startling annoyance, but afterwards turned into a PTSD symptom. Also note: On our way out, we crossed paths with the same guy in uniform and biggest black man I'd ever seen and I wondered if the fighters had been escorted out the same gates we were now exiting. My nerves were on edge until we were safely in our van.

Being one of those regular "clubbers" I've witnessed my fair share of brawls. They are never too bad, but it isn't fun being on the dance floor when all of a sudden you're getting pushed all the way to the other side of the room along with everyone else by two drunk guys until the bouncer jumps in, stomping all over your feet. I never really was afraid of those fights and eventually learned to look for the first clear escape to get out of the way and let it dissipate. Then there was Double Dribble.

I was working a remote at the Double Dribble for Live 104.5 two winters ago with my cohost DJ Manic who had been spinning that night. We shut down the club and I hung out there while they put all the equipment away (I would've helped, but I don't think they trusted me touching any of it). It's always a challenge to get everyone to leave because they usually are drunk and don't want to go home, so when I started to hear weird, drunken wailing, I just figured it was some girls whining about having to go out in the cold. Everything got packed up and we said our goodbyes. I headed toward the front of the club while they exited through the back. As I stepped outside, I heard more wailing and noticed some very drunk people, so drunk one of them was being held up while he walked, eventually collapsing not far from me. However, when the person next to me said on the phone that there had been a stabbing at the Double Dribble, the picture became much clearer to me. I started to panic. I couldn't get to my van because it was in the same area from where those people were coming. It was a wall of stab victims I would have had to walk through. Plus, I had heard that the actual stabbing took place only a few feet from my van. I walked back toward the club, but saw no one inside. I called Manic, but no answer. I called anyone else that had been there, no answer. Finally Manic called me back and I told him what had happened. He had no idea and had been trying to get the station vehicle unstuck from the snow in the back, so he told me to meet him back there. After they freed the car, he and I walked back to the front while I tried to warn him about the scene out front. By then the police were there and those panicky feelings started up again. There was the guy who earlier had been assisted by his friends, his blood soaked into the packed snow on the parking lot. Manic tried to calm me down, grabbed my hand, and commanded me to walk. Don't stop, just keep walking. A police officer tried to stop us and ask if we saw what happened and Manic told me to keep walking. We had to walk over this huge bloody spot in the snow and I started whining, but Manic said to keep walking. We made it to my van, said a very short and frightened goodbye and I drove away. It took a few days to get over that one.

I've been lucky enough to have missed out on the shooting that left one man dead outside a well-known Spokane bar last Halloween, and other violence that has happened downtown. Now that I think about it, I really don't know why I continue to stop in those places, and I'm sure I'll have family members and certainly my boyfriend questioning this as well. I was brought up in very sheltered and small towns where the most violence we witnessed were two guys or girls yelling angry threats at each other with the rest of us spurring them on. But take it from this girl who has never witnessed a drive-by, a club shooting, gang violence, never been mugged, never been raped, never been threatened by any violence whatsoever that if a fight breaks out in a public place, to walk as far away from it as possible because as the woman next to me at the spin art booth said, "Bullets don't have names."

(I think that means they aren't assigned to specific people, or...um, something.)

Abused

Something that's been on my mind for a while:

The abused react...as abused.

I watch a married couple, two people very close to me, two equally wounded individuals from very different backgrounds, go back and forth snapping at each other on a regular basis. From my perspective, neither of them hardly ever has ground to react in such a way, but the response is so knee-jerked, there hardly is time to really think whether they are justified.

I watched a young mom whose daughter throws violent tantrums and will hit her and throw things at her and instead of disciplining, the mother will react as if the daughter should instinctively know her feelings are hurt; as if the mother has taken all this personally, which to be fair, is probably very difficult not to do.

I myself sometimes react to my argumentative daughter defensively, even responding in sarcasm or condescension, immediately regretting my choice. The way I treat my mother sometimes takes me by surprise and I have to turn around to apologize.

Having apparently gotten into a heated political discussion with someone I care about on Facebook (I say apparently because I was not aware it was heated at all until I read her latest response), I had to take a step back and think. Why is she reacting this way? Why does she assume my tone is what she thinks it is? Perhaps she is a wounded person? My statements, completely neutral in my mind, were probably taken as angry and lashing out at her.

It's so very curious to me. I wonder if I stop reacting as if abused, how that would affect my day-to-day thinking and interactions with other people? But how do I stop?

I'm On A Boat! Boosh Cruise for Autism 2009

Boosh Cruise for Autism 2009: Let's go on a cruise, but make it for autism! It just doesn't sound right, but this is the second year for the benefit and it has met with great success allowing the younger, "clubber" generation to party on a boat for a good cause. Created by Jade and Charissa Cardwell whose son is diagnosed with autism, the Boosh Cruise for Autism has provided a great opportunity to educate young people about this condition whilst helping families affected by this disorder gain knowledge about what is available to them.

This benefit is not the sophistocated, grown up, cheese and wine tasting event you'd expect. Rather, it's a Derailer and glow-stick club atmosphere and put on by two DJs who decided to use their immense talent for this social cause. It's full of all different types of people with the common goal to have fun and enjoy headlining DJs MC Squared (Jade Cardwell) and DJ Fusion along with other known Spokane DJs. Proceeds from the cruise, raffle ticket sales, and even glow sticks all go toward Autism Society of Washington, Spokane chapter.

This is my second time attending, and I walked away with so many resources and the feeling of support for my own experience parenting a high-functioning autistic child. My thanks to the Cardwells and Spokane After Dark for putting on the second annual Boosh Cruise for Autism!

I have a son

I have a son who, when forced to wear his new glasses for 10 minutes, will tear down everything I hung on his bedroom walls and throw them in the garbage because he's so mad at me. I have a son who eventually came into my room to give me a hug and tell me a story about his nana's (my mother's) dog who was visiting for the day. He took a picture with me in the photo booth at Chuck E Cheese and even gave me some of his tickets for my birthday. I have a son who, when we got home, dug everything back out of his trash and let me help him hang it back up on his walls. Including our picture from tonight.

You guys!

Okay, so I just posted on Jason Mraz's blog. Now all I have to do is wait until he reads it, discovers my magnificent and engaging writings, and proposes.

It's gonna work, guys!

Summer Lovin

Some nights, like this one, I enjoy a walk with the sounds and sights of the outside and wish to be walking hand in hand with my love. We'd pause on the corner sidewalk, listening to the cars go by, looking at each other with only the street light to help us see, and he'd lean over to kiss me. A long, slow, soft kiss.

But First...

My son, Elijah is the first to wake every single morning. He makes his bed, gets dressed, brushes his teeth, applies his deodorant, and washes his face. Then he comes into my room to announce that he has completed his morning routine. His motivation for getting ready so quickly is so he can play his video game for the rest of the morning until it is time to leave. So after I question him to make sure he's completely ready (and, more recently, tell him to change out of his long sleeve shirt because of the weather), I permit him to play his game. "Ok," he replies, "But first..." and then he leans over to give me a big hug.

Prank the boss! Giggle.

Hi Scott,

I hope your vacation is going well. I just wanted to let you know that I’m having trouble with my transcription software. I’m waiting to hear back from Chad about this and hopefully things will get fixed soon. Also, you might have heard about the big hail storm we had yesterday! Thundering and lighteninging and everything! I certainly hope the weather is beautiful where you are. Today, though, we woke up to four feet of snow! The city is practically shut down! Well, we went in to work anyway because we knew how important it was to keep the office open. Also, there were some electrical issues/fires in the Spokesman Review building next door and I guess they had to evacuate, but don’t worry, we remained here working away while you golf on your much needed and deserved vacation! We even have had the maintenance people telling us to leave the building because of this earthquake…actually that might have something to do with my computer problems (lol). Really though, don’t worry. We’ll stay until 5:00 p.m. Have a great vacation and we’ll see you when you get back (maybe)!

Happy April 1st!

Jessica

People

I want to go back to school and learn. I want to learn about people. Why people do certain things, say certain things, act a certain way. I love to watch people. I stare and wonder.

Last night I went to Ceour d'alene to see an 80s cover band. Wow! Look at all those people running up to dance to some shitty version of Billy Idol's Rebel Yell! Look at that older version of me one day acting all cute and flirtatious! Look at that nerdy girl with the glasses singing along with the song, but has no idea what the words are! Why does she keep singing along? She's obviously not even close to mouthing any vowels and syllables that would form any type of word. Look at her, she's singing along to the next song...and she STILL doesn't know the words! Weird! She looks like she had braces at one time. Her teeth are perfect, but she holds her mouth as if she still has those metal brackets in her mouth. Maybe she has clear braces on. Oh! She's sitting across from that chick with huge knockers who walked in a while ago. How interesting. Here's this nerdy woman and her nerdy husband having a conversation with the epitome of what would have been the "popular" girl in high school and her "popular" boyfriend. I wonder if Nerdy Girl is just so elated to even be sitting across from her, or if she's wondering, as am I, if Popular Girl's boobs are real. You know I saw you glance down, Nerdy Girl. Oh no, she spotted me staring, shit! Now I'm going to have to find a new subject because she keeps making eye contact with me. Damn it. Ahhh, there's weird dancer girl still dancing with no one as if she's feeling the music all through her body. Yes, the music of the 80s. She looks thin on the bottom, but her boobs combined with the too-short sweater she's wearing gives her a muffin-top effect. She's dancing awfully close with Skinny Girl in a little white tank top and camo pants. Hmmm...I wonder...

The girlfriend of the friend of the guy I came with seems like she's getting a bit drunk, but she's only had two glasses of wine. Maybe she's just a little more personable now that her own girlfriend has arrived. She has this funny obnoxious laugh, and seems to laugh at anything. Like, even if my friend quietly said something across the table that she couldn't have heard, she still guffaws as if he's the life of the party. Huh. I have to go to the bathroom.

There's no paper in my stall! "Excuse me, would you mind terribly helping me out?" I ask my neighbor who's been peeing since I walked in. She drunkenly replies and a handful of paper appears under the stall partition. I give her my thanks and finish my duties (heh, doodies). Oh, and here she appears, Weird Dancer Girl! The girl I've been curiously watching on the dance floor since the band started! Wow, I got my toilet paper from her! I almost feel as if I've encountered a celebrity! Up close and personal!

Ahhh, Nerdy Husband is singing along with Judas Priest and he actually knows the words. Nerdy Husband, you've redeemed yourself, but your wife needs to Google some songs.

I'm noticing a weird trend with these Ceour d'alane-80s-cover-band goers: Not-so-hot guys with playboy-bunny-material girls. WEIRD!

This cute blond walks by and spots her friend, rushes up to him, and they do their little fist bump and jazz hand-ish greeting. And they're so excited to do it! They have such happy expressions on their faces during and afterward! She sits across from him and I wonder; coworker? Old school buddy? I don't have that great of view of her because my friend's friend's head is in the way.

Ohhhh there's the MySpace table! You know they're all taking pictures together for the sole purpose of uploading them to MySpace, or facebook, pick your poison. I'm not judging. I do it too.

Heyooo, looky at Weird Dancer girl and Skinny Camo Pants girl. Looks like they've "found" each other, if you know what I mean. Hee hee! Lesbian PDA in effect! I often see this happen in the clubs (the hardcore PDA, not the lesbianish hardcore PDA), but in a bar? To a cover band? Funny. Awww, Weird Dancer is dipping Skinny Camo Pants girl. How sweet, but it looks like SCP girl is leaning back just a little bit too much for Wasted Weird Dancer g....OHHH she dropped her!! Girls, I'm sorry, but everyone saw that coming.

So now this inebriated old lady has to be escorted out of the bar by our waitress and a police officer, the entire time telling our poor waitress her whole life circumstances. Oh, but the waitress is so sweet, nodding her head and adding her, "M-hmm" and "Ohhh" when appropriate. We want to leave but because we've all had a couple beers, no one wants to risk driving away with cops around, so we wait. Finally, after they tow the old lady's car away and the police drive away, we are free to go and take the long journey back to Spokane.

This, my friends, was a fantastic night.