I sat down to write today with a couple ideas in mind. I could write my obligatory New Year's Resolutions post, or I could write a post recapping 2012. I could also write a post about Christmas and all the fun that entailed (snow!!!). However, I don't know what I want to accomplish in 2013 quite yet. When I started thinking back on 2012, I literally couldn't think of one significant thing that happened to me. Scary, right? And I have determined Christmas for two 26-year-olds without children is kind of like a piece of cake with no icing. There is definitely something left to be desired.
The one thing that did come to mind when I was thinking about all of the end of the year activities that have been happening lately is that I feel like 2012 has been a really weird year for my family and me. We spent the first half of the year still very much feeling the effects (or is it affects? I for some reason have never figured this out) of my mom's cancer diagnosis that happened in May 2011. My mom was pretty sick the first half of 2012. There were numerous doctor's visits and trips to M.D. Anderson to try to get her health under control. The first half of the year was awful to be honest. It was hard. In turn, I don't really remember much about those months. I guess part of coping for me is focusing on each individual day as if those twenty four hours are the only ones worth worrying with.
In January of this past year, I did find out I had been selected to coach in the Arkansas All-Star volleyball game that they hold at the U of A campus each summer. I remember being so excited that I was voted to be a coach. I remember worrying that my mom would not be healthy enough to come watch me at the game (the match was in June). I remember feeling so much like a teenager again - wondering if my mom would be able to be somewhere I wanted her to be. It was a bummer.
However, the second half of 2012 certainly turned around. My mom's health has improved so much since a year ago. My mom was in fact in attendance at the all-star game this past summer, and she has continued to feel better and get stronger ever since. If you didn't know she had cancer, you would never suspect it. I am so proud of her for hanging in and fighting to get healthy. It wasn't easy or pleasant for anyone involved, but it was necessary.
2011 went from good to bad on April 22nd when my mom was diagnosed. 2012 followed the exact opposite pattern because of my mom's successful treatment. The past two years are evidence that I have no idea what 2013 will hold. I don't know what will happen in these next twelve months, but I do know that whatever it is, it will be what is supposed to happen. There will be good things and there will be bad. Regardless of the circumstances, a year from now when I sit down to reflect on another year, I want to feel like I have done my best to appreciate all the days of 2013 - the good, the bad, the indifferent. I think it's important to be present for every kind of day that might come along. It makes the good better and the bad a little less. The indifferent days in between must be for catching your breath.
Maybe I just wrote my New Year's resolution post after all.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Vulnerable
I am really terrible at being vulnerable. It was difficult for me to even type the word “vulnerable.” Vulnerable. Vulnerable. Vulnerable. Ick.
This past week has been hard. The shooting in Connecticut has rippled in the minds of a lot of us, and I can’t seem to calm the ripples.
I am not the best at handling terrible happenings. When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I was in high school, I adopted a really weird and twisted way of coping with bad news. Whenever I love someone so, so much, ( I’m talking love beyond measure, love without limit, love like the kind of love you are lucky to have), I imagine that person dying. Yes, I said dying. I go so far as to force myself to consider different ways that person might die. I envision myself at their funeral. I make myself imagine my daily routine without them being a part of it. I feel like I have to experience the worst before it actually comes. When my mom was sick, I was so scared she would die. The thought of losing her literally made me physically ill with fear. In an attempt to prepare myself for the worst, I tried to experience the worst. At the time it seemed like a logical approach. I felt the need to beat bad stuff to the punch. If I had already thought of the most terrible thing in the world happening, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if it actually ever happened.
After my mom recovered when I was in high school, I quit thinking these awful thoughts. For a while, I didn’t feel the need to prepare for some sort of catastrophe. Unfortunately, when my mom was diagnosed again in 2011, the thoughts came back. However, now I have expanded my death visions (what a cool name by the way) to other people. I tell myself this is a good thing, really. It just means that I have more people in my life to love. The weird thoughts have expanded to my dad and Cody. (Side note: I have a killer eulogy for Cody if he ever kicks the bucket). I know. I know. It’s not funny. I’m pretty sure this confession is enough to make me sound like I am completely unstable. Maybe I am.
Since my mom’s most recent diagnosis, I do feel like I have made some strides in a positive direction toward dealing with cancer or death or elementary school shootings. I have made a more concerted effort to focus on the present and the people in my life who I do love so much. I make myself appreciate the moments that things are so perfect. I also read a lot about people who have had to cope with some sort of grief. Recently, I was reading Kelle Hampton’s blog, entitled “Enjoying the Small Things,” in which she writes about the shooting in Connecticut and dealing with loss and love. In the blog, Hampton quotes the book Daring Greatly by Brene Brown in which Brown says:
“Don’t squander joy. We can’t prepare for tragedy and loss. When we turn every opportunity to feel joy into a test drive for despair, we actually diminish our resilience. Yes, softening into joy is uncomfortable. Yes, it’s scary. Yes, it’s vulnerable. But every time we allow ourselves to lean into joy and give in to those moments, we build resilience and we cultivate hope. The joy becomes part of who we are, and when bad things happen—and they do happen—we are stronger.”
I don’t think that quote could be more fitting for me and for anyone who loves someone. I spend so much time preparing for something that may never happen. I have been “test driving” despair since I was 16. I worry and worry and worry about the awful, instead of just living in the beautiful right now. I have squandered entirely too much joy. It makes sense that enveloping yourself in the good emotions of this world will equip you for the bad emotions. I have spent too much of my life with the exact opposite approach (i.e. death visions). I have to do a better job at being vulnerable and being grateful that I have so many people to love.
When I read that quote for the first time, I thought of all of the families of those children that were killed. I assume that being a parent, especially to a 6 or 7 year old, forces you to be vulnerable unlike any relationship you have ever experienced. I pray that those families did not squander joy. I hope they spent every minute with those babies loving them and needing them and appreciating them. I hope that they never once guarded themselves from the pure joy that being a parent allows. I hope that the parents and grandparents and sisters and brothers in Newtown leaned into the joy that each of those kids brought to their lives. I hope there wasn’t a moment of joy squandered, because when you stop and think about it, it is truly all we have to do. To love each other. And experience the joy of today. And be vulnerable. We have to have faith that eventually all that love and joy will in fact become part of who we are.
Vulnerable. Vulnerable. Vulnerable…it was easier that time.
This past week has been hard. The shooting in Connecticut has rippled in the minds of a lot of us, and I can’t seem to calm the ripples.
I am not the best at handling terrible happenings. When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and I was in high school, I adopted a really weird and twisted way of coping with bad news. Whenever I love someone so, so much, ( I’m talking love beyond measure, love without limit, love like the kind of love you are lucky to have), I imagine that person dying. Yes, I said dying. I go so far as to force myself to consider different ways that person might die. I envision myself at their funeral. I make myself imagine my daily routine without them being a part of it. I feel like I have to experience the worst before it actually comes. When my mom was sick, I was so scared she would die. The thought of losing her literally made me physically ill with fear. In an attempt to prepare myself for the worst, I tried to experience the worst. At the time it seemed like a logical approach. I felt the need to beat bad stuff to the punch. If I had already thought of the most terrible thing in the world happening, then maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if it actually ever happened.
After my mom recovered when I was in high school, I quit thinking these awful thoughts. For a while, I didn’t feel the need to prepare for some sort of catastrophe. Unfortunately, when my mom was diagnosed again in 2011, the thoughts came back. However, now I have expanded my death visions (what a cool name by the way) to other people. I tell myself this is a good thing, really. It just means that I have more people in my life to love. The weird thoughts have expanded to my dad and Cody. (Side note: I have a killer eulogy for Cody if he ever kicks the bucket). I know. I know. It’s not funny. I’m pretty sure this confession is enough to make me sound like I am completely unstable. Maybe I am.
Since my mom’s most recent diagnosis, I do feel like I have made some strides in a positive direction toward dealing with cancer or death or elementary school shootings. I have made a more concerted effort to focus on the present and the people in my life who I do love so much. I make myself appreciate the moments that things are so perfect. I also read a lot about people who have had to cope with some sort of grief. Recently, I was reading Kelle Hampton’s blog, entitled “Enjoying the Small Things,” in which she writes about the shooting in Connecticut and dealing with loss and love. In the blog, Hampton quotes the book Daring Greatly by Brene Brown in which Brown says:
“Don’t squander joy. We can’t prepare for tragedy and loss. When we turn every opportunity to feel joy into a test drive for despair, we actually diminish our resilience. Yes, softening into joy is uncomfortable. Yes, it’s scary. Yes, it’s vulnerable. But every time we allow ourselves to lean into joy and give in to those moments, we build resilience and we cultivate hope. The joy becomes part of who we are, and when bad things happen—and they do happen—we are stronger.”
I don’t think that quote could be more fitting for me and for anyone who loves someone. I spend so much time preparing for something that may never happen. I have been “test driving” despair since I was 16. I worry and worry and worry about the awful, instead of just living in the beautiful right now. I have squandered entirely too much joy. It makes sense that enveloping yourself in the good emotions of this world will equip you for the bad emotions. I have spent too much of my life with the exact opposite approach (i.e. death visions). I have to do a better job at being vulnerable and being grateful that I have so many people to love.
When I read that quote for the first time, I thought of all of the families of those children that were killed. I assume that being a parent, especially to a 6 or 7 year old, forces you to be vulnerable unlike any relationship you have ever experienced. I pray that those families did not squander joy. I hope they spent every minute with those babies loving them and needing them and appreciating them. I hope that they never once guarded themselves from the pure joy that being a parent allows. I hope that the parents and grandparents and sisters and brothers in Newtown leaned into the joy that each of those kids brought to their lives. I hope there wasn’t a moment of joy squandered, because when you stop and think about it, it is truly all we have to do. To love each other. And experience the joy of today. And be vulnerable. We have to have faith that eventually all that love and joy will in fact become part of who we are.
Vulnerable. Vulnerable. Vulnerable…it was easier that time.
Monday, December 17, 2012
A Gun for a Gun?
I found myself in the new Cabela's in NWA this weekend. Cody and I were buying a Christmas present for his father when we wandered into the gun section of the store (at Cody's request). I am not a gun person. I was not raised around guns. My family owned a gun that was never brought out of its hiding spot because my parents did not think guns and kids mix very well. Sunday afternoon in that store I paid a lot more attention to the folks interested in guns than I would have on a normal basis. After unthinkable happenings like what occurred in Connecticut, it is impossible not to reconsider the attitude and laws our country has about firearms.
As I looked around the store, I saw a whole lot of the same thing. I saw a lot of men. I saw a lot of camouflage. I saw a lot of shirts with sayings like "Git r done" and "If it flies, it dies." I saw a lot of tattooed forearms. I saw more than one Confederate flag. I saw a lot of wide eyes and goofy smiles on the faces of adults who looked like a kid on Christmas morning. I saw people browsing toys, not carefully considering the purchase of a dangerous weapon. I saw a lot of people who did not need a(nother) gun. I saw a lot of people not considering a semi-automatic weapon for any other reason than it looks cool and it would shoot stuff real hard. In that store, I couldn't help but feel like I was witnessing a microcosm of America. A society that wants guns to play with, not to defend ourselves with. A society that wants guns to show off in a shed in the backyard, not to hunt animals with. A society that feels more powerful or like more of a man if you can list the plethora of weapons you own. A society that has lost track of owning guns as a necessity, rather than for fun.
Before we get all up in arms (pun intended), know this. I most definitely believe that people should be able to own guns. On a regular basis, I want the government to dictate as little of my everyday existence as possible. I understand the Constitution, and I know that it includes "the right to bear arms." However, I don't think our Founding Fathers had in mind semi-automatic assault rifles specifically designed to kill a lot of people in a little amount of time as the type of arms they were guaranteeing their predecessors to bear. Assault rifles are not necessary for normal people. They should not be legal. I realize that making them illegal will not keep people from getting them, but I think the message of the law is more important than the actual implementation thereof. We need to start changing our attitude about guns. Our current situation is clearly not working for us.
School shootings scare me. They scared me as a student, and scare me more as a teacher. I don't think there is anything anyone could have done to stop that crazy person from entering that school in Connecticut last Friday. However, I know that the answer to decreasing gun violence cannot be making guns more accessible. We cannot answer violence with more violence. We do not need to arm teachers. More guns must equal more gun deaths. I don't know the answer, but we owe it to all of the people who endure terrible tragedies like in Newtown, CT or Aurora, CO or Littleton, CO to look for some different answers.
As I looked around the store, I saw a whole lot of the same thing. I saw a lot of men. I saw a lot of camouflage. I saw a lot of shirts with sayings like "Git r done" and "If it flies, it dies." I saw a lot of tattooed forearms. I saw more than one Confederate flag. I saw a lot of wide eyes and goofy smiles on the faces of adults who looked like a kid on Christmas morning. I saw people browsing toys, not carefully considering the purchase of a dangerous weapon. I saw a lot of people who did not need a(nother) gun. I saw a lot of people not considering a semi-automatic weapon for any other reason than it looks cool and it would shoot stuff real hard. In that store, I couldn't help but feel like I was witnessing a microcosm of America. A society that wants guns to play with, not to defend ourselves with. A society that wants guns to show off in a shed in the backyard, not to hunt animals with. A society that feels more powerful or like more of a man if you can list the plethora of weapons you own. A society that has lost track of owning guns as a necessity, rather than for fun.
Before we get all up in arms (pun intended), know this. I most definitely believe that people should be able to own guns. On a regular basis, I want the government to dictate as little of my everyday existence as possible. I understand the Constitution, and I know that it includes "the right to bear arms." However, I don't think our Founding Fathers had in mind semi-automatic assault rifles specifically designed to kill a lot of people in a little amount of time as the type of arms they were guaranteeing their predecessors to bear. Assault rifles are not necessary for normal people. They should not be legal. I realize that making them illegal will not keep people from getting them, but I think the message of the law is more important than the actual implementation thereof. We need to start changing our attitude about guns. Our current situation is clearly not working for us.
School shootings scare me. They scared me as a student, and scare me more as a teacher. I don't think there is anything anyone could have done to stop that crazy person from entering that school in Connecticut last Friday. However, I know that the answer to decreasing gun violence cannot be making guns more accessible. We cannot answer violence with more violence. We do not need to arm teachers. More guns must equal more gun deaths. I don't know the answer, but we owe it to all of the people who endure terrible tragedies like in Newtown, CT or Aurora, CO or Littleton, CO to look for some different answers.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Without a Paddle
A few days ago I started to write about a really sweet thing that my husband did for me recently. I recounted the experience and described how great of a man Cody is. I professed how grateful I am for him, and pretty much made myself nauseous talking so nicely about my husband. I obviously didn’t post that ridiculous display of love. Not my style.
However, I do remember the last sentence of my discarded blog going something like this: “I realize most of you will roll your eyes at all of this love stuff, but I should probably post it anyway in order to be able to revisit these thoughts when my husband does something stupid in the near future.” Guess what? I was right.
Monday night we had a crisis at the Prater Casa. No, I’m not sure crisis covers this. Maybe a better word would be a debacle, a disaster, a catastrophe, or an emergency of epic proportion. Those might cover it. We had an issue, folks. The details of said issue I am not going to delve into simply because this is a family blog (I realize this is not actually a family blog) and I don’t want small children being scarred for life (as I am). I will tell you that I was home alone when this homeowner’s nightmare occurred. I will reveal that we ended up removing a sink and a rug from our home. I had to purchase more than one mop, a jug (yes, jug) of Lysol, and rubber gloves (no, I did not own any of those things beforehand. Domesticity is not my style either). And I will also tell you that I called my husband in a more desperate-almost-crying-but-more-just-freaking-out state than I have experienced since I have had the pleasure of calling Cody my own.
Oh, and the last and most important part of this story for you to know is that it was all my husband’s fault. Regardless of his side of the story, it was all his fault.
I have since recovered for the most part from this craziness. We ended up enlisting a plumber (by the way, call the plumber the first time you have an issue or you might flood your house) that came and fixed our problem for less than a hundred dollars. After the fact, everything is fine, as is the case with most everything in this life. After the stress of the event passed, I couldn’t help but laugh. I went from one extreme to the other of the emotional spectrum with my husband all within a matter of hours. Thankfully, I have also found myself back in the happy medium area with Cody that I exist in the vast majority of our time together.
The other day when I was writing my thrown away entry, I wrote about different relationships people around me have with their significant others. We all spend our lives watching other people navigate the often times difficult responsibility of building partnerships. I don’t know how Cody and I have learned to weather the storms of life together, but we have. Furthermore, we have learned to weather the storms without hurting each other anymore than the circumstances we are having to endure. I realize we are young, but I contend that in this small window of time Cody and I have experienced our fair share of adversity. Cody is not perfect, and neither am I. But at the end of the day, no matter if we are sopping up sewage with our bare hands or weighing the option of having a child together or trying to cope with life-changing news, it’s comforting to know that I am not left to fight those fires on my own. I take comfort in knowing that Cody is present and willing to fight for me and for us no matter what obstacle we face. Cody is a good person and perhaps the best teammate I could have ever drafted (err, married) to have a successful run in this world. I appreciate him a lot...Even though he flooded my house. And tried to blame it on me. And quite possibly altered the gaseous makeup of my pantry forever. And kept me from watching Teen Mom 2. And still hasn’t exactly come right out and apologized for the whole mess.
Other than that, I love him. Sort of.
However, I do remember the last sentence of my discarded blog going something like this: “I realize most of you will roll your eyes at all of this love stuff, but I should probably post it anyway in order to be able to revisit these thoughts when my husband does something stupid in the near future.” Guess what? I was right.
Monday night we had a crisis at the Prater Casa. No, I’m not sure crisis covers this. Maybe a better word would be a debacle, a disaster, a catastrophe, or an emergency of epic proportion. Those might cover it. We had an issue, folks. The details of said issue I am not going to delve into simply because this is a family blog (I realize this is not actually a family blog) and I don’t want small children being scarred for life (as I am). I will tell you that I was home alone when this homeowner’s nightmare occurred. I will reveal that we ended up removing a sink and a rug from our home. I had to purchase more than one mop, a jug (yes, jug) of Lysol, and rubber gloves (no, I did not own any of those things beforehand. Domesticity is not my style either). And I will also tell you that I called my husband in a more desperate-almost-crying-but-more-just-freaking-out state than I have experienced since I have had the pleasure of calling Cody my own.
Oh, and the last and most important part of this story for you to know is that it was all my husband’s fault. Regardless of his side of the story, it was all his fault.
I have since recovered for the most part from this craziness. We ended up enlisting a plumber (by the way, call the plumber the first time you have an issue or you might flood your house) that came and fixed our problem for less than a hundred dollars. After the fact, everything is fine, as is the case with most everything in this life. After the stress of the event passed, I couldn’t help but laugh. I went from one extreme to the other of the emotional spectrum with my husband all within a matter of hours. Thankfully, I have also found myself back in the happy medium area with Cody that I exist in the vast majority of our time together.
The other day when I was writing my thrown away entry, I wrote about different relationships people around me have with their significant others. We all spend our lives watching other people navigate the often times difficult responsibility of building partnerships. I don’t know how Cody and I have learned to weather the storms of life together, but we have. Furthermore, we have learned to weather the storms without hurting each other anymore than the circumstances we are having to endure. I realize we are young, but I contend that in this small window of time Cody and I have experienced our fair share of adversity. Cody is not perfect, and neither am I. But at the end of the day, no matter if we are sopping up sewage with our bare hands or weighing the option of having a child together or trying to cope with life-changing news, it’s comforting to know that I am not left to fight those fires on my own. I take comfort in knowing that Cody is present and willing to fight for me and for us no matter what obstacle we face. Cody is a good person and perhaps the best teammate I could have ever drafted (err, married) to have a successful run in this world. I appreciate him a lot...Even though he flooded my house. And tried to blame it on me. And quite possibly altered the gaseous makeup of my pantry forever. And kept me from watching Teen Mom 2. And still hasn’t exactly come right out and apologized for the whole mess.
Other than that, I love him. Sort of.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)