It was a beautiful spring afternoon when my sister called, regarding a question about her new puppy’s pedigree. She is the proud new puppy parent of a (then) 10-week old Doberman (Don Vito, or as I like to call him, “The Don”), and was interested in finding out if there were champion bloodlines in his family.
I know that both of my dogs have champions in their lineage, and I was pretty certain their pedigrees would display that. I searched through all the names of my German Shepherd’s family, from his parents to his great-great-grandparents. There were a few numbers and abbreviations here and there, but nothing that said “Ch.”, which would indicate a champion dog.
I was pretty sure my Gordon Setter’s pedigree would offer more insight. “It’s in the gun room, so I’ll have to be quiet,” I whispered over the phone to my sister. Our gun room is across the hall from my daughter’s room, and Gabriella was taking a much needed nap at that particular time. I turned the safety knob on the gun room door and walked in. Immediately, something caught my eye…
“Ewww!!” I gasped. “There’s a big nasty black spider on the ceiling!” (No matter what, everytime I enter a room, I always look up...just in case!)
“Gross,” whined LeAnne. She and I share the same cosmic fear of the nasty little eight-legged beasts. “Just don’t look at it.”
“I can’t help it,” I hissed. Brodie’s pedigree was sitting on top of an old entertainment center that Charlie converted into a bookcase and game-call display. I quickly reached for the certificate and scanned it over, all the while keeping my eye on the little unwelcome visitor. “LeAnne,” I said gravely through clenched teeth. “I think it’s following me.” Indeed, the little monster was making a beeline from the center of the ceiling toward me. It was like it was asking for trouble. Did this thing really want to mess with me? Most likely, it knew I was terrified of it and would at least get a laugh or two out of seeing me run out of the room, flailing my arms about like a sissy.
“Oh, yeah – they will chase you! People say they don’t, but they do!” I could hear LeAnne’s heart racing for me. I stood in a frozen panic, my eyes darting around the room for a weapon. For a brief second I thought, I could always shoot it off the ceiling…
“What do I do?” I whimpered.
“Spray it with something!” Now LeAnne was the brave one. I followed her orders and thankfully found a can of furniture polish sitting on a footstool nearby. I bent down and scooped it up, ignoring the fleeting thought of the spray nozzle not working correctly. Holding the can at a shaky forty-five degree angle, I sprayed the polish toward the unsuspecting little menace. The mist fell short of the ceiling by about a foot.
“Oh no! It doesn’t work,” I cried as the spider changed directions once again, speeding towards me.
“Keep trying! Throw something at it! Smack it with your shoe!” LeAnne gave a plethora of advice on how to take the maniacal little thing down, but in the end, my only weapon of choice was the furniture polish.
“What am I going to do?” I felt close to tears at that point. “I can’t reach it, and I can’t just leave it in here! It’ll find someplace to hide and I won't know where it is!”
“Give it another try,” LeAnne cheered me on. So I did. And this time, I jumped while I pressed the nozzle down. That gave the spray enough oomph to reach the spider, and it immediately lost its grip on the ceiling. Of course, I screamed.
“EWWWWWHHHHOOHOOHOO!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!”
“SSSSHHHHH!” LeAnne tried to silence me. “The kids are sleeping!” I was in no mood to care initially, but then the thought of Gabriella and Aiden being woken up by my screams after only being asleep for a half an hour began to sink in. That would not be a good thing.
Fortunately, the spider clung on to its silky butt-strand that was so dexterously attached to the ceiling, and carefully began to lower its nasty ass to the floor. Meanwhile, it threw in a couple of pysch-outs as it swung from its….uh….rope, like Tarzan, and made feeble attempts at trying to bite me. Brodie now joined me and watched the little acrobat lower its way down towards the floor.
“Get it, Brodie,” I commanded. “Kill it! GET IT!” Brodie wasn’t having it. Instead he sniffed at it and then sighed, which gave off just enough wind to propel the spider to the floor. I quickly annihilated the beast; with what, I don’t remember. Something big and heavy, I’m presuming. And I think something in the form of a few swear words poured out of my mouth, rather unexpectedly. I’m not sure. It’s all so cloudy to me now…
LeAnne gave me an ostentatious “hoo-rah” as I announced my victory. I was proud of myself for claiming my stake and taking the bad guy out. It’s not everyday a girl over-comes her fears and shows people what she’s made of. And I hope that spider saw my unwavering fortitude with all ten….or twenty…of his beady little eyes!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Couldn't Say It Any Better
Charlie and I receive a daily devotional booklet in the mail from RBC Ministries every month called 'The Daily Bread.' Every night before dinner, we take turns reading that day's scripture. It is our alternative way of praying before we eat. Tuesday, June 10th, was a very heartfelt passage, and I'd like to share it with all of you.
"Loving Our Grown-Up Children"
"Now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love." -1 Corinthians 13:13
When children reach adulthood, most parents have an opinion about how their offspring have "turned out." Some are proud of everything their kids have done, while other parents express misgivings or disappointment about the choices their children have made. How can we continue a positive parenting role after the birds have left our nest?
In 1 Corinthians 13, often called "the love chapter" of the Bible, Paul writes that the greatest gifts of speaking, understanding, and sacrificial service are worthless without love (vv.1-3). Love itself is a foundation of winsome behavior, and its influence never ends. "Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; loves does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seeks its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all thing. Love never fails" (vv.4-8).
When our children no longer seek our advice, they still value our love. In every stage of parenting, it's not only what we say but what we do that counts.
- David McCasland
"Loving Our Grown-Up Children"
"Now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love." -1 Corinthians 13:13
When children reach adulthood, most parents have an opinion about how their offspring have "turned out." Some are proud of everything their kids have done, while other parents express misgivings or disappointment about the choices their children have made. How can we continue a positive parenting role after the birds have left our nest?
In 1 Corinthians 13, often called "the love chapter" of the Bible, Paul writes that the greatest gifts of speaking, understanding, and sacrificial service are worthless without love (vv.1-3). Love itself is a foundation of winsome behavior, and its influence never ends. "Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; loves does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seeks its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all thing. Love never fails" (vv.4-8).
When our children no longer seek our advice, they still value our love. In every stage of parenting, it's not only what we say but what we do that counts.
- David McCasland
Friday, May 16, 2008
Temper, temper!
Some time ago (I believe it was around the 13 month-old mark), Charlie and I got a glimpse into the days of the Terrible Twos. Gabriella became a bit rebellious and very adept at demonstrating her frustrations through screaming, crying, whining, and throwing herself on the floor. It seems that once she was able to walk on her own, her sense of independence flourished. If things didn’t always go her way, and you caught her on a bad day, look out!! Temper tantrums were inevitable.
Last month, one of those days fell blindly upon us. Everything was going just fine; Gabriella and Aiden and I had spent the morning running errands, singing songs in the car, and even spending a few moments outside in the fresh, spring air. It was getting close to Aiden’s lunchtime, and I announced that it was time to go inside. That’s when all H-E-double hockey sticks broke loose.
First, Gabriella started screaming and running away from me. Not an easy task, running after and trying to catch a toddler while holding a 5 month old, 17 pound baby in your arms. I did manage to fetch her by the arm before she ran into the landmine field (skillfully laid out by our dogs, Brodie and Tank). We somehow made it into the house, amidst kicking, feet dragging, pretending to fall, and desperately clinging to the front porch banister.
Next came the Nonsense Game, as I like to call it. (That’s when Gabriella points to an object, while saying the name of it through whiney pleads [“Glasses! Glasses! WAAHH – glasses!”]. I have her say please and then I give her the object. She reaches out for it, then draws her hands back and cries out, “No! No! No! No!” I put the object down, and she asks for it again, this time a bit more fervently and with more pomp and circumstance. The scenario is repeated many times.)
The game continued on, with a different object every so often, until I had enough and began to ignore her. That made her really crabby. Pretty soon the Nonsense Game turned into the Oh No You Didn’t Game (her screaming at the top of her lungs and me saying, “Oh, no you didn’t!”). That’s when I picked her up, marched her into her room, and placed her in her crib. I told her I’d had enough and didn’t want to listen to her anymore. By that time, 45 minutes worth of temper tantrum had gone on, and it was only escalating.
I called Charlie in desperation. He offered to come home and I seriously considered it. However, since it wasn’t an emergency, I elected to call the doctor’s office instead and see if this spat was a cause for concern. It just didn’t seem quite normal to me – I often give up on my temper tantrums after a good half hour at the very most.
The automated secretary told me to press option two in order to speak with the nurse at the pediatric office. I was delighted to hear a friendly voice after the torture I had been through. I told her my name and explained my situation as calmly as I could; that I had a 19-month old daughter who had been throwing a horror-film type screaming fit for over an hour, that she wouldn’t calm down, and I just wasn’t sure what more I could do for her. “I can bring the phone in her room if you’d like to hear her,” I offered with all the generosity in my heart.
“No, no…that won’t be necessary. I only have a five month old at home, so I’m not quite sure what you’re going through-“
“Oh, just you wait!” I promised her.
She forced a chuckle, and I could hear her swallow hard. “Ok, I’m going to put you on hold and ask the other nurse what you should do. Just a minute.”
As I waited, I checked in on Aiden (who had gone down for his nap shortly before I brought Gabriella to her room), and then headed outside to breathe in some fresh air. I observed the looks on people’s faces as they drove by our house and hit the sonic boom that was emanating from Gabriella’s window. What a set of lungs that kid has! Finally, I heard the phone click, followed by the confident, matter-of-fact voice of the nurse.
“Ok, Mrs. Williams? This is what you need to do. First of all, make sure your daughter is in a safe place where she can’t hurt herself or others during her tantrum.”
“Ok,” I responded a little uncertainly. “She’s in her crib.”
“Great, that’s a good start,” the nurse said. “Now, take her to a chair. Tell her that is the time-out chair, and that she has to sit in it and calm down. Tell her that once she has calmed down, then you will talk to her. Then you need to explain to her why her actions are unacceptable.
It struck me then how blatantly naïve this woman was. “What?! Ma’am, my daughter is 19 months old. She is not going to understand that at all.”
“Well,” she went on in her sing-song voice, “the other nurse has a two and a half year old son, and she said that’s what works for him. Just give it a try, and if you need help, don’t hesitate to call us back.”
Yeah, because you’re a tremendous source of wisdom and assistance thus far.
“Alright…I’ll try,” I promised. And with that, I hung up the phone, walked down the hall to my daughter’s room, took a deep breath, and opened her bedroom door. There she was, her tear-streaked face as red as a bing cherry, screaming her lungs out. She stood up with her arms out and I picked her up, set her on the floor, and walked her over to her rocking chair.
“Gabriella, this is the time-out chair,” I pointed idiotically to the rocker that once belonged to me. I wonder how many time-outs I had to sit in this chair? Did I even understand what a time-out was? “I want you to sit here and think about what you did. When you...uh...calm down, then I’ll talk to you.”
I was met with a torrent of blood curdling screams that only a temper tantrum can fashion. I quickly exited her room and turned to shut the door, only to see Gabriella running at me with the most pitiful look on her face. It was a look of anger, frustration, confusion, and distress. How could I let that little girl continue on like that? Honestly, I couldn’t stand the shrieking and bawling, but it broke my heart to let her carry on so. Then all of a sudden, it got quiet. What the…?
I cracked open the door and peeked in at Gabriella. She stood there with her binky in her mouth, cradling her blanket, and rubbing her eyes. My heart finished breaking into a million pieces as I sauntered in and scooped up my little peanut. She rested her head on my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my neck. She stroked my hair and let out a shaky sigh. I held her tight and desperately fought the lump in my throat.
“Time-out chair,” I muttered to myself. No, I think the blanket and binky and the hugs work just fine.
Last month, one of those days fell blindly upon us. Everything was going just fine; Gabriella and Aiden and I had spent the morning running errands, singing songs in the car, and even spending a few moments outside in the fresh, spring air. It was getting close to Aiden’s lunchtime, and I announced that it was time to go inside. That’s when all H-E-double hockey sticks broke loose.
First, Gabriella started screaming and running away from me. Not an easy task, running after and trying to catch a toddler while holding a 5 month old, 17 pound baby in your arms. I did manage to fetch her by the arm before she ran into the landmine field (skillfully laid out by our dogs, Brodie and Tank). We somehow made it into the house, amidst kicking, feet dragging, pretending to fall, and desperately clinging to the front porch banister.
Next came the Nonsense Game, as I like to call it. (That’s when Gabriella points to an object, while saying the name of it through whiney pleads [“Glasses! Glasses! WAAHH – glasses!”]. I have her say please and then I give her the object. She reaches out for it, then draws her hands back and cries out, “No! No! No! No!” I put the object down, and she asks for it again, this time a bit more fervently and with more pomp and circumstance. The scenario is repeated many times.)
The game continued on, with a different object every so often, until I had enough and began to ignore her. That made her really crabby. Pretty soon the Nonsense Game turned into the Oh No You Didn’t Game (her screaming at the top of her lungs and me saying, “Oh, no you didn’t!”). That’s when I picked her up, marched her into her room, and placed her in her crib. I told her I’d had enough and didn’t want to listen to her anymore. By that time, 45 minutes worth of temper tantrum had gone on, and it was only escalating.
I called Charlie in desperation. He offered to come home and I seriously considered it. However, since it wasn’t an emergency, I elected to call the doctor’s office instead and see if this spat was a cause for concern. It just didn’t seem quite normal to me – I often give up on my temper tantrums after a good half hour at the very most.
The automated secretary told me to press option two in order to speak with the nurse at the pediatric office. I was delighted to hear a friendly voice after the torture I had been through. I told her my name and explained my situation as calmly as I could; that I had a 19-month old daughter who had been throwing a horror-film type screaming fit for over an hour, that she wouldn’t calm down, and I just wasn’t sure what more I could do for her. “I can bring the phone in her room if you’d like to hear her,” I offered with all the generosity in my heart.
“No, no…that won’t be necessary. I only have a five month old at home, so I’m not quite sure what you’re going through-“
“Oh, just you wait!” I promised her.
She forced a chuckle, and I could hear her swallow hard. “Ok, I’m going to put you on hold and ask the other nurse what you should do. Just a minute.”
As I waited, I checked in on Aiden (who had gone down for his nap shortly before I brought Gabriella to her room), and then headed outside to breathe in some fresh air. I observed the looks on people’s faces as they drove by our house and hit the sonic boom that was emanating from Gabriella’s window. What a set of lungs that kid has! Finally, I heard the phone click, followed by the confident, matter-of-fact voice of the nurse.
“Ok, Mrs. Williams? This is what you need to do. First of all, make sure your daughter is in a safe place where she can’t hurt herself or others during her tantrum.”
“Ok,” I responded a little uncertainly. “She’s in her crib.”
“Great, that’s a good start,” the nurse said. “Now, take her to a chair. Tell her that is the time-out chair, and that she has to sit in it and calm down. Tell her that once she has calmed down, then you will talk to her. Then you need to explain to her why her actions are unacceptable.
It struck me then how blatantly naïve this woman was. “What?! Ma’am, my daughter is 19 months old. She is not going to understand that at all.”
“Well,” she went on in her sing-song voice, “the other nurse has a two and a half year old son, and she said that’s what works for him. Just give it a try, and if you need help, don’t hesitate to call us back.”
Yeah, because you’re a tremendous source of wisdom and assistance thus far.
“Alright…I’ll try,” I promised. And with that, I hung up the phone, walked down the hall to my daughter’s room, took a deep breath, and opened her bedroom door. There she was, her tear-streaked face as red as a bing cherry, screaming her lungs out. She stood up with her arms out and I picked her up, set her on the floor, and walked her over to her rocking chair.
“Gabriella, this is the time-out chair,” I pointed idiotically to the rocker that once belonged to me. I wonder how many time-outs I had to sit in this chair? Did I even understand what a time-out was? “I want you to sit here and think about what you did. When you...uh...calm down, then I’ll talk to you.”
I was met with a torrent of blood curdling screams that only a temper tantrum can fashion. I quickly exited her room and turned to shut the door, only to see Gabriella running at me with the most pitiful look on her face. It was a look of anger, frustration, confusion, and distress. How could I let that little girl continue on like that? Honestly, I couldn’t stand the shrieking and bawling, but it broke my heart to let her carry on so. Then all of a sudden, it got quiet. What the…?
I cracked open the door and peeked in at Gabriella. She stood there with her binky in her mouth, cradling her blanket, and rubbing her eyes. My heart finished breaking into a million pieces as I sauntered in and scooped up my little peanut. She rested her head on my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my neck. She stroked my hair and let out a shaky sigh. I held her tight and desperately fought the lump in my throat.
“Time-out chair,” I muttered to myself. No, I think the blanket and binky and the hugs work just fine.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Cute comments
I got a kick and a boost of confidence out of the following comments that my sister, LeAnne, and Mom left on my last blog post (Cease, fire, cease!!):
cookie725 said...
The best part about this story, is as it was happening, she calls me... When I got on the phone, Jen is in one of those giggle fits that are SO cute and contagous -- but manages to get out "So, I think the fire department is on the way to my house!" *more giggles* Life IS always interesting, and I have great little stories like this to not only make me laugh, but make my day as well. Jen, I love the hell outta you!!
April 24, 2008 12:22 PM
mar5128 said...
I can just see you running through the house, over Aiden, looking out the windows, checking everything out, yet basically tiptoe-ing because the Gabbers is dozing. Then, after reading LeAnne's comment, I can just hear the giggles!!!!! You always did have the best laugh. So.....when are you going to take my suggestion & WRITE A BOOK????!!!!???? I love you, Jen
April 25, 2008 5:20 AM
cookie725 said...
Ah Jen, you really do have the best laugh -- it's like therapy!!! :)
April 25, 2008 5:42 AM
Thank you, ladies! That was really very sweet and made me feel really good.
Write a book? Hmmm....
My mom has been after me since I can remember to write a book. Problem is, I've started a few, gotten partially through the first quarter of it, then lost interest and tossed it aside. What would I even write about? What do I know well enough to put pen to paper and be confident enough that people would buy my book and read it? I like to write about things I know, because it is much easier to, in fact, write and get my point across clearly.
So when am I going to take the advice/suggestion? Already have. Baby steps, though...
cookie725 said...
The best part about this story, is as it was happening, she calls me... When I got on the phone, Jen is in one of those giggle fits that are SO cute and contagous -- but manages to get out "So, I think the fire department is on the way to my house!" *more giggles* Life IS always interesting, and I have great little stories like this to not only make me laugh, but make my day as well. Jen, I love the hell outta you!!
April 24, 2008 12:22 PM
mar5128 said...
I can just see you running through the house, over Aiden, looking out the windows, checking everything out, yet basically tiptoe-ing because the Gabbers is dozing. Then, after reading LeAnne's comment, I can just hear the giggles!!!!! You always did have the best laugh. So.....when are you going to take my suggestion & WRITE A BOOK????!!!!???? I love you, Jen
April 25, 2008 5:20 AM
cookie725 said...
Ah Jen, you really do have the best laugh -- it's like therapy!!! :)
April 25, 2008 5:42 AM
Thank you, ladies! That was really very sweet and made me feel really good.
Write a book? Hmmm....
My mom has been after me since I can remember to write a book. Problem is, I've started a few, gotten partially through the first quarter of it, then lost interest and tossed it aside. What would I even write about? What do I know well enough to put pen to paper and be confident enough that people would buy my book and read it? I like to write about things I know, because it is much easier to, in fact, write and get my point across clearly.
So when am I going to take the advice/suggestion? Already have. Baby steps, though...
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Cease, fire, cease!!
It's that time of year again. Everyone is burning trash and having bonfires in their yards...and their neighbors, upon seeing the plume of smoke, are calling the fire department or 911 in a panic, thinking someone's house is on fire. I think I've heard Bear Lake's siren go off at least four times this week (we only live about a mile and a half away from the hall). Not sure how many of the calls were false alarms - I'd say at least half.
Tonight, our friend Jim and his sons, Jimmy & Mike, are coming over. I decided that since they can't make it for dinner, I'd whip up some cookies for them instead. I turn on the oven to 350 and let it preheat. Now granted, we have a Caloric oven; however, it was here when we moved in 3-1/2 years ago and I couldn't tell you how long it was here before that. It is a bear to clean, and it always seems to cook off leftover drippings everytime we turn it on. Such was the case today.
Here I am, mixing away my oatmeal chocolate chip cookie batter when all of a sudden, our smoke alarm goes off. I grab a dish towel, leap in a panic over Aiden (who's sitting in his chair), and run into the hallway, fanning away before the noise wakes Gabriella up from her nap. (Naps are precious these days, as we are journeying through the terrible twos, and lack of sleep only makes the situation worse.) After repeating this scenario for the third time, I decide to open some windows and turn the ceiling fan on "suck." No sooner do I hang the dish towel back on the oven handle and return to spooning my cookie batter onto baking sheets, then I hear another alarm...only this time, it's Bear Lake's fire siren!!!!!!!!
"My GOD!" I cry out! I run out the front door, down the porch steps and out onto the lawn to survey the house. Nope...no smoke there. I run back into the house and go to the kitchen window. I slide the screen over with all my might and hang my upper body outside, craning my neck to get a look at the basement door. Ok, good...it's not the dryer. (Our dryer has been making these horrible noises - the bearings are pretty much shot, and I thought maybe it had caught on fire.) I run through the house, sniffing the air, checking electrical outlets, whatever I can think of. Nothing. I turn on the emergency scanner. False alarm - someone's burning trash again. *sigh*
Life...you gotta love it. It's always interesting.
Tonight, our friend Jim and his sons, Jimmy & Mike, are coming over. I decided that since they can't make it for dinner, I'd whip up some cookies for them instead. I turn on the oven to 350 and let it preheat. Now granted, we have a Caloric oven; however, it was here when we moved in 3-1/2 years ago and I couldn't tell you how long it was here before that. It is a bear to clean, and it always seems to cook off leftover drippings everytime we turn it on. Such was the case today.
Here I am, mixing away my oatmeal chocolate chip cookie batter when all of a sudden, our smoke alarm goes off. I grab a dish towel, leap in a panic over Aiden (who's sitting in his chair), and run into the hallway, fanning away before the noise wakes Gabriella up from her nap. (Naps are precious these days, as we are journeying through the terrible twos, and lack of sleep only makes the situation worse.) After repeating this scenario for the third time, I decide to open some windows and turn the ceiling fan on "suck." No sooner do I hang the dish towel back on the oven handle and return to spooning my cookie batter onto baking sheets, then I hear another alarm...only this time, it's Bear Lake's fire siren!!!!!!!!
"My GOD!" I cry out! I run out the front door, down the porch steps and out onto the lawn to survey the house. Nope...no smoke there. I run back into the house and go to the kitchen window. I slide the screen over with all my might and hang my upper body outside, craning my neck to get a look at the basement door. Ok, good...it's not the dryer. (Our dryer has been making these horrible noises - the bearings are pretty much shot, and I thought maybe it had caught on fire.) I run through the house, sniffing the air, checking electrical outlets, whatever I can think of. Nothing. I turn on the emergency scanner. False alarm - someone's burning trash again. *sigh*
Life...you gotta love it. It's always interesting.
Monday, April 14, 2008
New venture for Charlie!
Ask and you shall receive?
Charlie has been on the hunt for a new job since Aiden was born. At first, not a lot of people were hiring. Then came a few prospects, but nothing real promising. About a month ago, Charlie heard through the grapevine that one of his friends, a boss at National Steel, would hire him in a heartbeat if he was interested in leaving Corry Contract. So Charlie took his resume over and welded a couple of components for the owner to look at. His work was so seamless and clean, the owner wanted him in there the very next day! Of course, Charlie is obligated to put in his 2 weeks notice, so he can't start until the 21st, but he was flattered nonetheless. We prayed every night for the right job to come along, and I really think this one is it. Not only does it offer a cleaner environment for him to work in, better pay and benefits, but it offers hope for the future - something Corry Contract could not even fathom.
Other than that, not much is new. Short post today, as I have a ton of emails to answer and a few chores to do while it is still naptime! Take care all!
Charlie has been on the hunt for a new job since Aiden was born. At first, not a lot of people were hiring. Then came a few prospects, but nothing real promising. About a month ago, Charlie heard through the grapevine that one of his friends, a boss at National Steel, would hire him in a heartbeat if he was interested in leaving Corry Contract. So Charlie took his resume over and welded a couple of components for the owner to look at. His work was so seamless and clean, the owner wanted him in there the very next day! Of course, Charlie is obligated to put in his 2 weeks notice, so he can't start until the 21st, but he was flattered nonetheless. We prayed every night for the right job to come along, and I really think this one is it. Not only does it offer a cleaner environment for him to work in, better pay and benefits, but it offers hope for the future - something Corry Contract could not even fathom.
Other than that, not much is new. Short post today, as I have a ton of emails to answer and a few chores to do while it is still naptime! Take care all!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
LIFE (short word, short altogether)
Today is actually warm enough for me to take the kids outside for a walk. I can't believe it - I am actually going to set foot outside other than getting in and out of the car!! Woo hoo!! Hey, simple pleasures, folks - simple pleasures. Life is full of them.
Yesterday, Charlie came home crabby. On Tuesday, he was approached by the bosses and asked what it would take, money-wise, to make him happy where he's at. To put it in plain English, they were offering a raise and asking him what he wanted. He came up with some figures that night, and when he went in yesterday, they did a 180 on him and basically told him to forget it - there'd be enough overtime coming to satisfy his needs. So he came home, depressed and feeling worthless, and it immediately affected me. I don't like to see him like that, nor does he deserve to be treated that way! Mostly, there's nothing I can do except offer advice; sometimes I know it's easier for me to tell him something than to actually endure the situation in his shoes. I told him that he's not stuck there unless he lets himself. I told him to take a few days off and look around - get his name out there, see who is hiring and what they have to offer. He half-heartedly mumbled "Thanks," and I felt brushed off. Then we were both pouty - him about work and me about feeling unappreciated. During dinner, neither of us spoke a word. Gabby did most of the babbling until finally, Charlie spoke up and said, "It really stinks that both of us are in a bad mood at the same time. We can't even rely on each other to cheer us up."
That stuck in my head like glue. It repeats over and over. He's right. What good is a relationship, any relationship at all, if you can't rely on each other for support, love, understanding, and acceptance? Sometimes we get so caught up in our own thoughts and emotions, that we can't be bothered with things, good or bad, that are happening to those around us. Instead of taking a step back and looking at how we can help each other, we put ourselves first and to hell with what the other person is feeling. When we could be helping each other out and talking through our problems, we're pushing each other to the side for a time and place that is more convenient for us. And you know, that's not right.
Life is too short for pettiness, grudges, and selfishness. I had really no right to be in a bad mood yesterday. Charlie didn't mean to make me feel unappreciated; he was just working through his own dilemma. How could I expect him to be as chipper as a blue bird and automatically put on a happy face? And how could I justify my blue mood? As his wife and friend, I should have brushed those bad feelings aside and focused on Charlie. Maybe I could have done more to make him feel better about himself. Maybe I could have coaxed more communication out of him and given him ideas on what he could do to remedy the situation. But I didn't, and for that, I feel awful. I apologized profusely last night and today, and while Charlie has forgiven and forgotten, I can't say the same of myself. I do not want to be like that again.
So the next time you're in a foul mood and someone approaches you, stop and think: "Am I taking my emotions out on this person, or am I asking for them to just listen to me?" How you vent your feelings is just as important as venting! And it may sound cliche, but whenever I catch myself working up to a crabby, I find myself asking this lately: WWJD?
Yesterday, Charlie came home crabby. On Tuesday, he was approached by the bosses and asked what it would take, money-wise, to make him happy where he's at. To put it in plain English, they were offering a raise and asking him what he wanted. He came up with some figures that night, and when he went in yesterday, they did a 180 on him and basically told him to forget it - there'd be enough overtime coming to satisfy his needs. So he came home, depressed and feeling worthless, and it immediately affected me. I don't like to see him like that, nor does he deserve to be treated that way! Mostly, there's nothing I can do except offer advice; sometimes I know it's easier for me to tell him something than to actually endure the situation in his shoes. I told him that he's not stuck there unless he lets himself. I told him to take a few days off and look around - get his name out there, see who is hiring and what they have to offer. He half-heartedly mumbled "Thanks," and I felt brushed off. Then we were both pouty - him about work and me about feeling unappreciated. During dinner, neither of us spoke a word. Gabby did most of the babbling until finally, Charlie spoke up and said, "It really stinks that both of us are in a bad mood at the same time. We can't even rely on each other to cheer us up."
That stuck in my head like glue. It repeats over and over. He's right. What good is a relationship, any relationship at all, if you can't rely on each other for support, love, understanding, and acceptance? Sometimes we get so caught up in our own thoughts and emotions, that we can't be bothered with things, good or bad, that are happening to those around us. Instead of taking a step back and looking at how we can help each other, we put ourselves first and to hell with what the other person is feeling. When we could be helping each other out and talking through our problems, we're pushing each other to the side for a time and place that is more convenient for us. And you know, that's not right.
Life is too short for pettiness, grudges, and selfishness. I had really no right to be in a bad mood yesterday. Charlie didn't mean to make me feel unappreciated; he was just working through his own dilemma. How could I expect him to be as chipper as a blue bird and automatically put on a happy face? And how could I justify my blue mood? As his wife and friend, I should have brushed those bad feelings aside and focused on Charlie. Maybe I could have done more to make him feel better about himself. Maybe I could have coaxed more communication out of him and given him ideas on what he could do to remedy the situation. But I didn't, and for that, I feel awful. I apologized profusely last night and today, and while Charlie has forgiven and forgotten, I can't say the same of myself. I do not want to be like that again.
So the next time you're in a foul mood and someone approaches you, stop and think: "Am I taking my emotions out on this person, or am I asking for them to just listen to me?" How you vent your feelings is just as important as venting! And it may sound cliche, but whenever I catch myself working up to a crabby, I find myself asking this lately: WWJD?
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