Battling Addiction

I'm addicted to facebook. There, I've said it...wrote it, whatever. I love that I can reconnect with old friends and make carefully written comments on peoples pages. I want to see who wants to be my friend today and what long lost classmate has opened an account. I'm finally done with the games that challenge your friends since they take up an enormous amount of time (and since I'm never happy unless I'm number 1). But, I still have to check my account at least 3 times a day. I spend too much time fretting over writing witty one liners in my status box. I'm finding that it takes up way to much of my brain and I can't manage to get the things I do want done. I need to go on a facebook diet. I think once a day will be very hard for me but will be the best thing for me. Maybe if I can do that I'll be able to graduate to every other day. All I know is that it's sucking the life out of me as I pour my life into it.

The Power of the Pen

Since the middle of 7th grade, I've wanted to be a writer. I wrote a simple little poem that opened my eyes to the power of the pen. My teacher wanted to submit it in a local contest but seeing as it would shed light on the dark shadows in our family closet...my mom quickly declined. It was a sappy 10-lined subtle little blurb about my desires to be loved by my step-father. Had I known that turning in that 5 point assignment would mean turning my world upside down, I think I might have gladly taken an F.

It was the early 90's, the age of telepathic communication, so my mom left a message at school for me to call her that fateful day. Clueless of my teacher's intentions, I called and she had my head for lunch. I could feel her red-hot embarrassment through the phone. What made me decide to "run away" that day was the threat, "You wait until I tell your father!". Even though it was one of those oldie but goodie threats it came with some fire and yeah, I wasn't about to wait around for that. Fearing I'd never see my 14th birthday I didn't take my bus home and went along with my just-as-fearful friends to a nearby safe place we learned about in a school assembly video. Turned out the "safe place" didn't know the first thing about being safe so they stuck us all in a little storage room with cartons of cigarettes while they called my parents.

Thankfully, it didn't turn out as bad as I'd envisioned (well, not that day) but it did ignite a passion in me for the written word. And my life, well, gives me a lot to write about.

Sorry, The Rent's Late

Ever so slowly, I'm trying to make my way out of the wonderful world of Babyland. Maybe it's because my littlest one is my last one that it's been so hard to do anything adultlike. If there weren't pesky bills to pay, I'd be content just marveling over the walking (and crawling) miracles that are my children.

It really seems like days ago that my 11-year old was a baby. I remember how I'd always carry him around because even then I knew that he'd soon be too big. My youngest is now 11 months and he must get atleast a hundred kisses a day. It's crazy because I'm home with him all day and yet I still can't get enough of that sweet smiling baby face. I've got a camera within reach just so that I can record these precious moments as my memory betrays me. Thanks to Sony, they'll all have their childhoods digitally embraced.

Don't get me wrong, they do and will get on my nerves and I look forward to an occasional night out, but I'm truly enchanted by my little chickadees(which is probably why God blessed me with 5 and not 10 because I'd never get anything done!)

Low Risk, High Return Investments

An investment company, etrade or ameritrade (?) broadcasted a commercial that caught my attention. It went something like this: The narrator (a Law & Order actor) seriously described a seemingly happy couple, "both 30-years-old, just finished graduate school with 2 kids." He posed this question noddingly, "behind?". Taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone as he explained how without a sizable "nest egg" for retirement they (meaning me) shouldn't, couldn't, wouldn't be satisfied with life. Despite the twisted message, it was terrific marketing...preying on the insecurities of my family's financial future.

Truly, I'm disturbed by the thought that the way to "catch up" in life is to "live" for the future. Nothing against a cushy savings in stocks and bonds, I mean, I prefer to save, not spend myself. But there's something wrong when, "Look, Mommy bought you the new gadget of the month!" is code word for "I Love You". Thankfully, I know that money isn't everything and is so unreliable and uncertain. The only real investment worth the time and effort are my relationships. Spending my interest with those I love boasts both low risk and high returns. I'd like to see ameritrade try to match that!

Yes, They're All Mine!

I have 5 kids. I know because I take a head count every time a waitress asks, "How many in your party?". It really doesn't seem like a big deal until a curious bystander asks, "are they ALL yours?". Lately, I've been annoyed by those oh-so-witty observers who've brilliantly deduced that, "they don't look alike". Right, is there an award for: My mama ain't never teach me no tact! If there is, I'd like to order a case. I don't know, maybe the media's to blame since families are usually portrayed in a one-dimensional order (Mom, Dad, 2 children, living life).

As I explain to Ms. Trying-To-Be-Nice-But-Just-Plain-Nosy that some of my children are adopted, I'm overcome with a sense of regret. With the general public breathing down my neck in the grocery line, I feel the obligation to dispel the accusations that play in my head... Somehow, by explaining my "noble" choices of adoption, I'm not involved in a "condemnable" game of musical daddies. But, I realize that while I dodge the arrows of scrutiny at the check out counter, I myself, fling dagers of judgment on other moms trying to do right by their kids. Besides, who am I trying to impress? First hand experience teaches me that life doesn't fit neatly in a box labeled PERFECT.

In our rudely interrupted public appearances, I've realized that you can never take a person for face value. We all have a story. I don't have to explain myself for what I believe to be your approval. Or step on you so that I can boost myself up. I know my story and, "Yes, They're ALL Mine!"

Mind Tactics

In efforts to prevent my already squishy brain from becoming a complete mound of mush, I'm beginning this blog. It's weird to start something like this because it's part of something so profoundly global when I'm probably the only one that will ever read this. Even so, the pressure is enough to prod me to at least write legibly. Hopefully if this blog lives on through the cyber ages of my children they'll be able to scroll through and see what Mommy thought about before she lost her mind...