Brothers · Death · Halloween · Musings · Parenting · Pranks

The Ghost of Meadowview Road

Image result for royalty free ghosts

We had waited restlessly from dim dawn to drizzly dark.

It was a brumal October day in Oregon that boded well for a spooky evening of trick or treating. Misty rain and heavy, grey clouds palled over the day like a heavy, wet, grey blanket. It was dismal really. A long crooked line of raked leaves lined Meadowview Road on both sides like two parallel giant snakes that had gorged themselves and couldn’t move. They lay there, trying to slither away but helpless, awaiting the monster that would ramble down the road and suck them up into its bowels.

Four year old Paul wore his ill-fitting Power Rangers costume he’d worn the year before – and all year long. He had found that the new Ninja costume he got this year did not confer the same powers, so he fell back on Old Faithful, which permanently showed off his bright red Lego socks and kept riding up his crotch, the taut row of stitches now stretched menacingly like the teeth of a snarling dog. Oh well, super-heroes have these problems too and he was not to be talked out of it. His large eyes teared up  at the thought of replacing it and big tears fell onto his chubby cheeks and dribbled onto his quaking lips.

“Fine,” Mum had said, “you can wear the darned thing.”

The air was alive with excitement. Not only did he get to wear his costume all day along with other kids, but there were bags of candy to be handed out to fellow goblins and super-heroes at dark. Paramount, was that uncle Matt was coming to the party that night. Paul loved Uncle Matt. He loved to call him Bath Matt at which point Uncle Matt would growl fiercely, attack Paul and rub his pokey stubble on Paul’s little face making him squeal with convulsive delight and wriggle to get free.

As Paul and I were unpacking our costume tote, Paul’s stubby fingers held up a white plastic gadget. It was a half-dome about 4 inches high that had a string attached to it. Draped over the plastic was a white piece of  nylon fabric with a ghost face painted over it. When activated by motion, the battery-operated Cosper would jiggle and dance enthusiastically, produce flashes of bright light, and make a horrific howl. After a fine initial scare, Paul enjoyed turning it on and off and watching it dance. It rattled against the floor which further reverberated and added to the din.

“Let’s use it to scare Uncle Matt,” said a very exhilarated Paul. We skulked around the house looking for a perfect spot. The bright windows were an impediment so we needed to find a dark place to accentuate the flashing lights. We settled for the bathroom which would be dark and enclosed – the perfect set-up. He giggled uncontrollably as he turned it on and off several times with the bathroom lights off and watched the little devil dance.

“Oh man, he’s gonna cry like a little girl!” laughed Paul till his sides ached.

I asked him to come get the table set for dinner. He set the ghost so it was ready to activate,  jumped lithely off the counter, and shut the door gently.

He hopped onto the kitchen counter to get plates then carried them carefully to the table. Dad would be home any time and Paul couldn’t wait to show him the booby trap. He grabbed the silverware and napkins.

“Mum, you’re the oldest, so you sit at number one,” he said to engineer-minded self, hopping onto my dining chair, clumsily placing a plate at my spot, and hopping off. “Dad is next, so he sits at number 2,” and he hopped onto dad’s chair, set dad’s place, then hopped off. “Then me,” he hopped onto his chair, set his place, and hopped off. He scooted brother’s high chair noisily next to my seat. “When brother is older he will sit at number 4.”

“I love it when we have masanya for dinner. Do I have to eat my salad?” he queried hopefully.

“Yes, son.” I answered absently, backing off the opened oven door as the heat rushed out. I took off the bulky silicone oven mitts after I set the lasagna on the stove to cool.

“Go get your brother please.” He tore off to their bedroom to wake his brother up. After a few minutes I heard them chattering away then galloping down the hallway headed my way.

“Wash your hands,” I hollered, and hit send on a text to Justin to get his ETA.

Suddenly, a single ear-splitting scream pierced the house to it’s foundation. My heart stopped and froze in horror. “Oh God,” I thought, aghast, and bolted in their direction in dread. They stood transfixed, screaming at the top of their lungs. Blabbering and bawling they broke out in a crazy dance around each other punctuated by more screaming.

As soon as I got there, they both leaped into my arms in a single choreographed bound and buried their curly heads in my neck, tears and snot mingling freely, little chests heaving in terror. A shaky little finger pointed to the dark bathroom. Over the din and confusion, I heard the tell-tale sound of old Cosper jiggling and bumping the bathroom door ominously his lights flashing like lightning. It must have seemed that the cavernous earth had opened it’s hungry giant bowels to snatch up my boys. They were inconsolable and I couldn’t put them down the rest of the night.

Uncle Matt has never stopped laughing at this and relishes bringing up the ghost of Meadowview Road.

Acceptance · Autobiography · Curly hair · Humor · Musings · Parenting · Short story

Stubborn Curls

curls

When my Paul was about 3, he dreaded walking into new situations, especially where there were crowds. The Rancher who fathered him is rather bashful so I intelligently attributed it to that genetic frailty (I can say this stuff because he doesn’t read my blogs.)  I had to reassure Paul we would have a great time where we were going. I’d remind him of previous positive experiences. This is my child, who, without fail, would finally warm up and have a marvelous time –  ten minutes before it was time to leave!

As we pulled into a parking lot, his anxiety would reach a frenzied pitch and he’d make the declaration that he wasn’t going in, excogitating excuse after excuse. He clung tenaciously to his car seat when it was time to get out of the car. I’d finally had it up to here with  calmly reasoning, and pleading, and cajoling, and bribing, and he knew it. “What is wrong with you??!!” I would ask.

Like a whipped goat, he would finally bleat, “They’re going to touch my hair.”

The child donned a massive afro with the most darling boisterous curls.

“You get out of his car right now,” I would state rather clearly with teeth clenched and eyes narrowed. “Right now! No one is interested in touching your hair. You didn’t even comb it. I just need to cut it.”

“Nooooo…” he would howl anew.

“Then get in there! And you will look people in the eye and say halo.”

“Noooooooo…!”

I’d finally march to the building and he’d come hobbling behind me, whimpering all the way with sagging shoulders, Thomas the Tank Engine in hand. He only came because Thomas told him it was probably a good idea. At the door, I’d sigh and recombobulate my frazzled self, and whisper a thank you to Thomas.

I couldn’t believe it! In the building, like eager moths to a fire, female hands – young and old alike – would come at him squealing lustfully, “Look at that hair!” They would moooaaan as they ran their fingers through it and I would watch my child give me the death glare, his little arms crossed in fury. A particular little girl loved to fondle his curls and suck her finger.

At that moment, it always struck me as funny how a shy child would relish donning a crowd pleaser like a massive afro, then dread the attention it brought!

Africa · Anxiety · Childhood · Cows · culture · Faith · Family · Farming · Fear · Goodbye · Grief · Memoires · Military · Parenting · Prayer · Relationships · Separation · Spiritual · travel

Together Forever – Thwarted

goodbyeI.

Today the Rancher separated the 3 calves from the mothers to wean them. They are across a fence from each other. The mothers moo forlornly for their young who are frolicking carefree in the next field. Even while they chew, the heart-sick mother’s moo. It’ll be a long week hearing their pathetic bellowing.

Curly

II.

Precious family friends bid farewell to their dear son today. He joined the US Army. They dropped him off at the recruitment center, were able to stay only a few minutes, and that was goodbye. He was instantly distracted with protocol and procedures, his eager heart racing as information and orders were flung at him in rapid fire. His life will never be the same. Thank you for serving our country Dustin.

usarmy

They must be reeling. Was it a silent ride home. Unspoken fears. Is anyone even able to  complete a sentence? What a long ride, everyone engrossed in their thoughts… Their world now plays in slow motion, pauses and rewinds erratically. They are transported to a new existence without him.

Parents, siblings, grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles are all breathing deeply and sensing an undefinable loneliness. Their faith and love hold them strong. They know he will be strong. They know he will be used to be a source of encouragement and strength to many. They know he will hurt, and grow, and serve, and grow. They pray they will see him again. The tears flow freely.

 

It will never be the same.

III.

lufthansa

It’s midnight and I sit in my airplane seat athwart the aisle from an excitable lady who speaks loudly to anyone who will listen. She sits and stands several times, each time taking down her massive luggage from the overhead bin, retrieving an item or other, then asking the next person walking up or down the aisle to return it for her. Each time she held her hands in Namaste at them and bobbles her head in gratitude. She would settle in and get comfortable but in no time, she was up again. This was going to be  a long trip!

It was my first time in an airplane and here I was flying clear across the world. I looked out of the narrow window at the twinkling lights way, way below. The engines whirred in the background and my ears hurt from the pressure. I saw my face in the reflection and I remembered my dear family at the airport, noses and hands plastered to the other side of the cold glass when they’d taken me as far as security allowed. I’d touched my nose and hands to each one, and we mouthed our farewells. So close, yet so far. My mind swirled with mixed emotions as I clutched my blue carry on-luggage with BOAC written on it in large bold letters. My dad had owned that bag for close to twenty years and took it on all his oversees travels.

I couldn’t believe I was leaving. Where was I going? Weren’t there colleges back home? How does one even navigate an airport. I would be navigating 4 international ones in twenty four hours. How would I know if I was flying the wrong way? What was I doing? Who’s great idea was this? I had turned back to see them for the last time. Some were crying, some where covering their mouths in shock, some staring in disbelief. I pulled down the white plastic window cover and tried, in vain, to get comfortable in the small seat. I fiddled with the the seat belt and watched the safety videos studiously.

Dustin leaving today make me think of what that drive home, twenty four years ago, must have been like for my family. A couple of quick decades and a child is ready to take off on their own into the big wide world? What on Earth!

Did they say much in the crowded car? Did dad try to break the silence with bad jokes that fell flat and they returned to the strained silence? I remembered my parents’ words: Find God’s people and you’ll be okay; you are strong; the Lord is with you. I knew they were praying and that was like their collective arms around me, blessing me, sending me out into what was unknowable to them but part of a beautiful plan of an all-knowing God for my life. And He could be trusted.

What was it like to pull into the gates at home? I know how it’s been when I pull into the property for the funeral of a family member. Even the air feels different. It’s just not right. A huge piece of the whole is missing. What was it like for them to walk into my mostly empty room? I’d given most of my stuff away and packed my essentials into a green and black plaid suitcase dad gave me. Did their hearts feel like my sparse room? It’s like an empty shell after a critter molts and leaves it.

In the words of Ritu Ghatourey, “Goodbyes make you think. They make you realize what you’ve had, what you’ve lost, and what you’ve taken for granted.”
And life is never the same…
chickens · Country Living · Farming · mothers · Nature · Parenting · Photography · Relationships · Single parenting

New Mama

chickens

We call her Naked Neck. Everyone that sees her says, “What’s wrong with that one?”

I have nine chickens and she is the smartest of them all. One of my huge white chickens, Big Mama, was sitting on a pile of 6 eggs for about a week. Next time I went to the coop, Naked Neck was sitting on the eggs. I don’t know how she worked her way into this position. Big Mama was sitting on 2 eggs in the next box. Trickery? Negotiation? Did I say she was smart? No bird-brain here. It seemed this faithful little mama never moved. Every time I was in the coop she was in the same position, night or day.

I was borrowing the space where my chickens were living and I had to move them to my own coop when it was ready. Big Mama had her 2 chicks. I moved the rest and saved Naked Neck and Big Mama for last, not wanting to stress them and the babies out. The moving deadline was fast approaching. I moved Big Mama with the 2 chicks and she took a licking, even though it was just a few days since all the hens were one happy family before being separated, and she’d been high in the pecking order. I was nervous about moving Naked Neck, suspecting the other chickens would attack her and that she would be more vulnerable while defending her chicks or eggs.

Not only was I  unsure how Naked Neck would take to sitting on her eggs in a new location, my mother’s intuition told me they would hatch any day. The final day came and I had to do the dastardly deed. At that point I didn’t even know how long she’d been sitting on that pile. Seemed like 6 months to me. Chicks hatch in 3 weeks. I’m the genius that had no idea when my own babies’ conception or due dates were. I’d looked at the calendar and made very wild guesses. They came sooner or later, though I could swear one was way over-cooked. I’m not saying which one.

The Rancher and I wondered if the eggs were duds and she was just wasting her time. So he judiciously grabbed one of the eggs and cracked it open. Dag-nab-it! There sat a fully developed chick ready to hatch any time. I wanted to kick rocks but there were none in sight. So painful, too late.

He gently picked mama up despite her protests. There, under her, were 8 eggs and the tiniest chick I ever saw!

No sooner did we settle her into the new coop than she scattered her eggs all over the place and proceeded to follow her meandering baby around. It was a frigid morning so El Ranchero collected the eggs and promptly set them in an incubator to maintain their temperature and hopefully bring them to term. 2 days later, a loud little peep-squeak hopped out of its shell in the incubator, stuck her head way up in an attempted stand and yelled, “Are you my mama?” She flopped over right away. Now what were we going to do? I wasn’t going to have chicks in my house again after last spring.

HE had set them up in MY closet claiming it was their best chance at making it. MY closet. In no time, they stunk to high heaven. I mean odious. In MY closet. I decided there and then not to get attached to the little loud tyke as his chances of a long fulfilling life were nil if it had anything to do with my closet.

The Rancher came to the rescue again. He took the little thing and set it under Naked Neck. Mama walked away and hunkered down on the first chick. The Rancher set the newbie under her again. And again. He’s a stubborn one and she’s a smart one so she let the little squatter in after a few more tries. They were a happy little family.

2 days ago, another little dinosaur hatched. Man they are loud. It was a mini-naked neck and the cutest thing ever!

No closet!

I knew we were pushing our luck with the little yellow guy since it had been several days but I marched it to the coop. I hoped mum would recognize herself in it till I realized she probably had never seen herself. Hmm. The new chick instantly started following Big White Mama.

Big Mama was having none of it. She pecked hard at the chick which was the size of her own head. I shooed her away, indignant, and she flew across the coop. Little Naked took off after her. This wasn’t good. I scooped her up and followed Naked Neck. Mhhh… How to approach? Was this going to be a rear or front entry? I thought rear would be safer for me. Mama scooted away with her two babies in tow. She then hunkered down and I ushered Naked Necklet in. Mama scooted away again. Oh dear. This was a creature only a mother could love and here was mama rejecting her own ugly likeness.

5 tries later, Necklet marched right in and did whatever they do under there. Success!

Later in the day I paid them a courtesy call to see how things were going. I took the picture above – and look, there’s Big Foot in the background in his typical pose, except he’s normally going the other way! Necklet is all fluffy and happy on the left, she is saying, “I found my mama!” She keeps casting longing glances at Big Mama but I suspect that will abate with time. Maybe she can have aunty time down the road.

I have six more eggs in the incubator. I don’t know how much more of this Naked Neck with tolerate but I’ll keep trying. She is being awfully gracious considering I don’t know what I would have done if people kept sneaking me new-born infants just because I had just had one and was in the mode.

If all else fails, I hear there is a recipe out there for fully developed chicks in the egg. Hmm…

 

IMG_20180405_153805277.jpg

This guy was hatched this morning!

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/frigid/

African · Anxiety · Autobiography · Childhood · Corporal punishment · Daughters · Family · Fear · horror · Kenyan · Kids · Parenting · Short story · Spanking

Panacea for Bashful Pupils

Image result for 1973 GTV FREE IMAGE

I bolted towards dad as soon as I saw his car in the parents’ parking line at Muthaiga Primary School. There weren’t any cars left. I hopped in beside him and settled into the edge of the seat with my massive orange rucksack still on my back. My feet barely touched the floor and my fingers braced my little body from slamming into the dashboard.

I was full of information and it was a while before I noticed he wasn’t talking much as he wound around the scenic road on the way home. “What’s this for?” I asked, making conversation, pointing to a straight green twig sitting on the dash.

It all started innocently enough. School got out at 3.15 pm and the huge mass of kids spilled out of classrooms. Those that were being picked up from school gathered behind the yellow line several meters from the main gate. Beyond that, parents were to park and walk through the gate to pick up their students. It was a great time to catch up with friends and always a little sad to watch them leave one by one. It was always best to be picked up somewhere in the middle. That way you had time to play but weren’t last to be picked up. The line monitor was a strict teacher with a huge belly. His belt seemed to hang on to the straining hem of his shirt for dear life.  He marched back and forth along the yellow line, looking for errant feet to whack back with his yard stick.

This Friday afternoon, a spectacle unfolded. A bright shiny red sports car sped past the parents’ line, revved its engine and squealed past the gate. Its driver impressively spun a tight U-turn  in the compact space, kicking up rocks and dust before coming to a screeching halt. The line monitor had to duck for his life but he composed himself and walked up to the car, obviously to tell the driver this was not the place to wait for kids. I watched with bated breath, expecting him to whack the fancy car with his yard stick. I noticed him talking to the driver who stepped out holding a rag and began to proudly buff the car. Pretty soon they were chatting it up and a small crowd gathered around the beauty to admire it, all thoughts of rules and yellow lines now out the window.

I swallowed hard and my eyes threatened to pop when I caught sight of the driver and realized it was my uncle Steve. This was terrible. He was beaming and showing off his new 1973 GTV. I wanted to die and must have shrunk to half my size with embarrassment. My heart was pounding in my ears and I feared I would faint. I swallowed hard and ducked behind a small group of taller kids when I saw him panning the crowd. I knew he was looking for me.

I was transfixed, cemented to the ground, the pounding in my ears getting louder and louder. This was the worst day of my life. What a terrible thing to do to a ten year old. What was I going to do? One thing was for sure, I couldn’t walk out there and very well get into that car. I tried, I stared at my dirty shoes, that just this morning I’d polished till they shone. I willed my tiny two-ton feet to move, but they were cemented to the ground. I looked bashfully around me and noticed with horror that, with time, the crowd was getting smaller and smaller as kids were picked up. I studied and memorized every crevice in every nail on my trembling fingers.

After what felt like an eternity, I jerked my head up in surprise as I heard the infamous engine roar to life. I mechanically tilted my head 2 degrees to the right and about screamed for joy as he peeled out, leaving his admirers in a cloud of dust. I breathed a full breath and my feet came to life, breaking into a happy dance. ‘Thank you Jesus!’ I muttered, ever so grateful, oblivious to  a small gang of boys beside me driving their imaginary sports cars, screeching as they shifted their gears.

After another eternity, just a handful of kids stood behind the line. No cars lined the parent parking line. I’d never been there that late. This couldn’t be good. I was hungry and very tired. ‘I hope I don’t have to sleep here,’ I thought to myself, looking around for where I might nest if I needed to. All of a sudden, my heart leaped when I saw dad pulling up. I’d never been happier. I grabbed my dusty cardigan off the ground and flew past the yellow line before he could get out of the car.

I hopped in beside him and settled into the edge of the seat with my massive orange rucksack still on my back. My feet barely touched the floor and my fingers braced my little body from slamming into the dashboard.

I was full of information and it was a while before I noticed he wasn’t talking much as he maneuvered the scenic road on the way home. “What’s this for?” I asked, making conversation, pointing to a straight green stick sitting on the dash.

“Did you see your uncle Steve at the school?” He asked quietly.

“Ya.” I answered quickly.

“Did you know he was there to pick you up?” He persisted.

“Ya,” I said less quickly.

“How long was he there?”

“A long time.” I murmered, going back to studying my nails.

“Why did you not go to him?” He was getting quieter and slower in his speech.

This was not going to be good. Needless to say, the stick was a switch, fresh-picked just for me. I jumped and screamed to the rhythm of a sound whipping, punctuated by, “This,” Whap! “Will,” Whap! “Teach you to hide,” Whap! “When-I-send-someone-to-get-you,” Whap! “And-waste-my-time” Whap! “Having-to-stop-what-I’m-doing-so-I-can-come-get-you-myself.” Whap, whap, whap!”

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/panacea/

Anxiety · Attraction · Battle at Kruger · Buffalo · Caregiving · Dementia · Family · Health · herd · Hormones · Lions · Maturity · Oxytocin · Parenting · Photography · Photos · Prayer · Psychology · Relationships · Self-Regulation · Tattoo · Teepa Snow · Tribe · YouTube

Meant to Belong to a Herd

 

Part I: OXYTOCIN

I took a magnificent Dementia class by fellow occupational therapist Teepa Snow. She taught a contact technique to use on people with dementia. She elaborated that it led to the release of Oxytocin, a hormone produced in mammalian brains.

I call it our herd hormone.

I later learned it controls social recognition among like kinds, and is involved in attraction, orgasm, and bonding. It affects factors like trust, generosity, and eye gaze. “An oxytocin nasal spray caused men in a monogamous relationship, but not single men, to increase the distance between themselves and an attractive woman during a first encounter by 10 to 15 centimeters” (Scheele et al, 2012). Sheep injected with Oxytocin inhibitors did not show maternal behavior towards their young whereas virgin sheep injected with Oxytocin exhibited bonding behavior towards strange lambs (van Leengoed, Kerker, & Swanson, 1987).

Wow!

When I got home from the class that night, a young man delivered medical equipment for a new resident of mine. I shook his hand at the door and commented that he had a great, firm handshake. I have a thing about handshakes and frequently request a redo if I get a limp one.

“Turns out firm handshakes elicit Oxytocin release,” I said to him as we were setting up the equipment, eager to teach him what I had learned.

“Dude!” he exclaimed, “I AM the Oxytocin man!”

“What do you mean?” I asked, taken aback.

“I love Oxytocin so much I have it tattooed on my shoulder!”

“I’ve got to to see it,” I said wide-eyed, leaning in after looking over my shoulder to make sure my husband wasn’t walking in on me gawking at the delivery guy taking his shirt off. I expected pretty calligraphy of the word.

People! The guy had the chemical formula of Oxytocin tattooed down his shoulder and clear across his chest! Mind. Blown!! I squealed in delight and disbelief as I snapped the picture below, quite like a giddy school girl.

Needless to say, I stood transfixed (10-15 centimeters further away) and stared at him in rapt attention as he assembled the equipment and taught me about Oxytocin.

Part II: CO-REGULATION

Fast forward to co-regulation, a term I recently learned. You might be familiar with self-regulation which has to do with self-monitoring so as to control our own emotions and behavior. Self-control requires time, thought, and deliberate decision making (a top-down process.)

Co-regulation, on the other hand, entails herd members influencing each other’s emotions and behavior. It is the “continuous unfolding of individual action that is susceptible to being continuously modified by the continuously changing actions of the partner” (Butler & Randall, 2013). American social worker David Belford says, ““being with“… [emphasis mine] can help co-regulate the other person more quickly because it bypasses our thinking brain (bottom-up processing).”

Co-regulation is fundamental to all human relationships from conception to death. We become stable human beings if we receive healthy regulation from our primary caretakers. If not, “we struggle with our own regulatory challenges and may turn to drugs, alcohol, sex, food or other externals to regulate our anxious or depressed systems. If this goes on long enough, we can find ourselves in addiction. Living in isolation or addiction is self-destructive, while turning to responsive people to soothe our pain is constructive.” (Katehakis, 2017). Katehakis asserts that co-regulation is a main reason why adults are in relationships.

Part III: ADRENALIN

This is an abbreviated version of what is, hands down, my favorite YouTube video in the world. Please take a minute to marvel at it.

This video has over 79 million views! 66 million are mine. What you don’t see is that at one point in the course of the scuffle, the baby buffalo falls into the grateful jaws of a crocodile! Not only is he officially having a bad day, but he doesn’t stand a chance!

Imagine that you, mum, and dad are strolling along at Kruger National Park, enjoying some family time by the river when a pride of lions waylays you. Before you now it, you are squealing for your life as the lions mount, claw, and bite at you. You have no idea what hit you in the watery brawl before you are dragged and pinned helplessly onto shore. Mum and dad are off at record speed and you are dead meat. The lions growl and snarl with drooling, primal pleasure. It’s a wonder you can hear it over your visceral groans. The uproar intensifies as they tear at you despite your failing fighting efforts. You are a sorry match for these killing machines.

Adrenalin floods your heart and the earth thunders to its deafening rhythm. Boom. Boom. Boom! The drumfire should be fading along with your draining life, yet it gets louder and louder, rumbling, stampeding. It’s not just nature’s greedy heartbeat as she gapes her ravenous jaws, it’s the hooves of a hundred irascible kin on a rescue mission. Boom. Boom. Kaboom!

Suddenly, your neck is released and surprised lions are flying in the air. Kicked cats are whimpering and scampering for their lives.

All because your tribe came back for you. It’s a fuming , foaming sea of them. You can’t make out mum or dad for the massive, cranky herd. You’ve never seen so many, never heard such enraged bellowing. It’s dizzying. And it’s all for you. That’s the power of belonging!

It gives me chills EVERY TIME.

I, for one, am just dipping my feet in the warm ocean of these beautiful concepts and can’t wait for an exploratory swim.

Have an Oxytocin rich day!

Video retrieved from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XGvj7NxMMMU on 10/20/17

Scheele D., Striepens N., Güntürkün O., Deutschländer S., Maier W., Kendrick K., et al. (2012). Oxytocin Modulates Social Distance Between Males and Females. The Journal of Neuroscience, 32, 46.  PMID 23152592.doi:10.1523/JNEUROSCI.2755-12.2012.

van Leengoed E., Kerker E., & Swanson H. (1987). Inhibition of Post-Partum Maternal Behaviour in the Rat by Injecting an Oxytocin Antagonist into the Cerebral Ventricles. The Journal of Endocrinology, 112(2), 275–282. PMID 3819639.doi:10.1677/joe.0.1120275.

Butler, E. A., & Randall, A. K. (2013). Emotional Coregulation in Close Relationships. Emotion Review, 5(2), 202–210. http://doi.org/10.1177/1754073912451630

Katehakis, A. (2014) Co-Regulation. Mirror of Intimacy, Daily Reflection October 8, 2017 via email.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/release/

culture · Cussing · Kids · Parenting · skating · Swearing

Please Weigh In

That’s my son about to unfold a Christ Air into the sunset. In his dreams.

Going to a skate park is number one on his list whenever he is asked what he would like to do. We are fortunate to have 3 pretty awesome ones around us. The one above, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, sadly is not one of them.

My two boys love their bikes, scooter, and rip-sticks, and are pretty fly on those on a skate park, no pun intended. I feel their excitement mounting after we park as they retrieve their wheels and put on their helmets.

But I’ve found that there’s a darkside to all this, again, no pun intended (the darkside is the bottom side of your skateboard). See, my guys are groms or grommets. In other words, they are ams. (Newbies for those looking at me cock-eyed). They don’t have very fancy moves yet. The goal is to become a sick ripper. This is risky business so you must avoid slams which could have deleterious outcomes such as a swellbow. Incidentally, my boys have broken about three bones apiece and not a one at a skate park. Another important goal is not to be a snake, i.e. a person that cuts other people off.

buck

 

The older kids at the park make me think of swaggering young bucks sprouting horns. They dominate the park with their glorious moves, and worse, with their attitudes and crude language. We learned pretty early in our skate park career that they love to hear themselves talk. It’s very strange to me to hear expletives coming from young mouths. They seem to be trying it on for size and coolness. They overuse  it and try to outdo each other.

It also bothers me at some deep level. A few years ago, I told my boys what the main cuss words in the culture were and what they meant. I also made it abundantly clear that they were not to use them. There was no need for them and there were many, many alternative words to express oneself.

I am curious to hear various adults’ approach to this problem (if you consider it a problem) in public. Please weigh in and share how you do or would handle handle kids swearing in public, particularly in the absence of their parents or responsible adults. I am particularly interested in more creative approaches than glaring at them or banging their heads together.

photos retrieved from:

1. goodfreephotos.com/united-states/california/los-angeles/skate-park-by-the-ocean-in-los-angeles-california/jpg.php on 10/16/2017

2. https://www.dreamstime.com/stock-photo-young-buck-deer-nub-horns-black-eyes-wet-nose-brown-white-fur-image58792408 on 10/17/2017

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/risky/

 

Anxiety · Christian · culture · Family · Kids · mothers · Musings · Parenting · Relationships · sad · Single mother · Single parenting · Spiritual

I Don’t Need You

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“How do you do it?” her new friend gasped incredulously. My kid sister Jackie was at a children’s birthday party and had just shared that she was a single mum.

She got this reaction almost every time.

This time an extraordinary sense of ownership welled inside her. “I do it just fine with the Lord.” She knew this wasn’t a fashionable statement but it slipped right out of her mouth before she could stop it. She felt strangely galvanized inside and her chest puffed out slightly.

Kayla was seven now. She was the hardest yet the best thing that had ever happened to Jackie. Kayla’s dad walked out on them when she was about two. To be honest, Jackie can’t imagine what life would be like with him around. My heart warms every time I observe these two for any length of time and I marvel at what a fool he was to have walked out on this.

I love the amazing and simple life they’ve created for themselves. Jackie works a few days a week as a therapist. She walks Kayla to school in the mornings and they chat about wanting a cat, the naughty boys at school, anxiety about going to the doctor for shots, and everything in between.

Especially earlier on, Jackie’s life was peppered with regrets wishing life had played out differently. She’d known all along he wasn’t great marriage material but had mercurial hopes of some future together. News of Kayla’s very presence in the universe had rocked Jackie’s world and filled her with dread. This was not her plan. She could terminate the pregnancy and continue her life like nothing had ever happened. No one would ever need to know.

I distinctly remember her phone call to me shortly after she found out. I was crestfallen and lost for words to respond to her announcement. We had an unspoken pact that we’d save ourselves for marriage. I couldn’t imagine the angst this was causing her. She was the youngest of  seven siblings and with humility, boldness, and dignity, she called every member of our family to tell them. She called her pastor and told him. She went before her church and told them. She was embraced with the associated grief and swallowed up with love and acceptance. She was overwhelmed with the love of God’s family. I couldn’t have been more proud of her, worlds away. It tore me up that I couldn’t even hug her or hold her beautiful face.

I ate up pictures she sent of herself as her bump progressed. She was gorgeous. And afraid. And sad. And excited. And oh, so remorseful. This was not what she wanted…

The first year was a blur. She had a horrendous birthing experience. Then Kayla had to go to her dad’s house for visits every other weekend. How Jackie dreaded that. She sent her off with instructions to him. And clothes. And food. “Here’s some pain medicine, she’s teething so she needs it every 3 hours. And don’t forget to use the barrier cream. She had a terrible rash last time.”

He was a man of very few words but was he even listening? She paced her house the whole time her baby was gone. She cried herself to sleep and awoke ten times before morning dawned. Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Was he with his drinking buddies again? She was ready to pull her hair.

Jackie would sob with relief when they finally got back. She kissed her chubby cheeks with a million teary kisses and held her close, thinking her heart would burst. She hated that, subconsciously, she would start the dreaded countdown till Kayla would leave again. Within a few months Kayla would actually cry for him when he dropped her off. Jackie didn’t know what to do with that. Fortunately, she was easy to redirect. Still, with consternation, she would open the diaper bag and find that things she’d carefully packed away and given instructions on, were untouched. It made her want to shake him.

And then one day he fell off the face of the earth. No call, no words, no goodbye. She heard that he had left the country and wasn’t coming back. She wanted to dance with glee. Then a new grief hit her: the loss of a dream. That can strangle one as mercilessly as the death of a loved one.

She ploughed through the banal experience of child-raising. It was peppered with constant reminders that she was alone. There were more blatant aspects like buying a piece of property and building a home: every signing appointment, every minute detail regarding the home – from qualifying for a loan to choosing counter tops, roofing, doorknobs, lighting, flooring. It would have been so helpful to have someone to run decisions by.

They talked about him now and again. Kayla asked where he was and when he’d be coming back. She asked if it was anything she had done. She wondered if he thought of them. “Will I be the only girl in the world without a daddy?” She would sob and disconsolately throw herself on her bed. Jackie answered her questions gently, thoughtfully, honestly.

She perpetually found herself having to explain, in one circle or another, that he wasn’t in the picture. Always, an awkward silence ensued along with an attempt on her part or the other person’s to recover some semblance of dignity.

Jackie snapped back to attention as the herd of screaming party goers stampeded into the room to open presents and sing Happy Birthday. She smiled through the whole affair as, almost beholding on a screen, she reviewed how good God had been to her despite immense hardships. He had seen her through. And that beautifully!

He HAD met her every need. He had helped her overcome the poignancy of her wants that He didn’t fulfill. He had housed them, healed them, provided for them. He had protected them, comforted them, delighted them. God had done more than Kayla’s dad could ever have done had he stayed in the picture. Of course she longed for a physical consort, a life partner. Someone to laugh with and encourage her. Someone to help her discipline and train this handful of a child.

But she solidly learned that she had all that and more. All her fountains were in Him, Psalm 87:7. He was a fountain of constant cleansing; a fountain of refreshment that slaked her every thirst; He astounded her when He thundered like the Niagara with power in her life; He delighted her when He filled her and her daughter with levity and delight in life.

She determined that she would raise her daughter to know that she had a Father who loved her more than anything. She had an identity and a family. She was whole and lovable, incredibly made, wanted and chosen before she was delicately knit together in her mother’s womb. She was pursued and desired, cared for, and delighted in just as she is.

Always. Tenaciously. Unconditionally. Loyally.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/loyal/