So far, it has been an absolutely challenging and rewarding experience raising Simon. It's strange to look at him everyday and know that what we teach him is shaping everything about him. And, it's not like going to school, where you learn a particular subject matter. It's literally everything. His words, his imitations of us, right from wrong, yes from no, the list goes on.
Teaching him yes and no has so far been the biggest obstacle, in my opinion. His attention span up to this point has been rather short, as is expected of a toddler. So, that means when we tell him "no" that he forgets about it a few short seconds later and goes back for another round. Essentially, we've Simon-proofed the house, so that he isn't drawn to the things we don't want him to touch. I think it's important that he learns "no" from us, but I certainly don't want every interaction with him to be about not touching or going near something. So, why set him up to fail?
This post is particularly about that. Over Christmas, we visited my parents' house, and my mom is a knick-knack person. I hate that, because I hate knick-knacks. But further, they're within little hands' reach, and so the grandkids all want to touch everything. For Christmas, she hosted seven adults and five children (all under the age of 6). Additionally, their living room is set up in a weird way where it could be a large room, but it's instead cramped because the furniture is just hanging out in the middle of the room.
If you're planning on hosting a party, you need to realize the type of guests you're having over, and you should accommodate their needs, if you ask me. Your house should be easy to move through without everyone bumping into each other, and if kids are coming over, you should provide them ample entertainment, so they're not touching all of your precious, stupid knick-knacks.
I got tired of every kid moving these knick-knacks and getting yelled at for it by my mom, so I simply moved the easily accessible ones up out of their reach. Also, the damn stupid, flying Santa that was hanging off the ceiling fan in the living room quickly found its way to somewhere where every adult would stop hitting his/her head on it. But, what does that lead to? An angry mom, upset that I moved things around in her house.
Well, the payment is going to be that I will simply stop visiting, if she doesn't fix the issue. Simon does not need to be set up to fail all of the time. He shouldn't be yelled at constantly for touching knick-knacks, when he's only fifteen months old and is pushing boundaries every chance he gets. Yes, he needs to learn the word "no," but it doesn't need to be the only thing he learns. It's my job to parent Simon, and so far he's turning out to be one of the most well-behaved, fun kids I've known (little biased...). But, let me assure you that he will learn life's lessons. He won't be handed everything, because that's not my style. However, at this age, his nature is to explore, and explore I will let him.
Wow, angry blog post that could have been angrier, but it felt good to at least get this off of my mind.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Ding dong!
When I was a kid, I was one of those competitive kids. The funny thing about that is I was the equivalent of Richie Rich, sans all the dough. So, essentially, my competitive nature got me nowhere. All the other kids were better than I at all of the sports I ever tried. Further, I sucked at playing musical instruments, and while I was relatively smart, there were always kids smarter than I. So, I was sorta just an average, wimpy kid strolling along.
The one thing I was very good at, though, was being a salesman. I could sell ice to an eskimo, I could sell toilet paper to an animal, and I could even sell booze to a non-alcoholic. Okay, none of those are true examples, but here's where I'm going with this...
In elementary school, we always had school fundraisers. To this day, I still don't know what I was raising funds for. I'm sure it was for better technology, books, or a bonus for the principal. Nonetheless, I dominated this arena better than everyone in the school. In fact, in 5th and 6th grade, I was the top seller each year.
I'd get all excited to go sell stuff. And, being bulletproof at that age, I did door-to-door selling. Looking back, I probably looked ridiculous. I'd walk around town with this plastic, purple briefcase (formerly used to hold crayons), and I'd present myself at every door with a giant grin. I'm sure my hair was a mess, and I could probably have used more deodorant in those days, but the neighborhoods around town loved me!
And let me tell you: you sure do meet some interesting people while selling stuff door-to-door. I think that's the reason the school administration got mad at me for going door-to-door. Would I do that today? Hell no; I'd probably be killed or injected with drugs or walk in on a prostitution ring or witness a murder or find a meth lab or get eaten by a Rottweiler or, well, you get it. But, people were interesting back then, and everyone was unique. I remember this one lady, for example, whose house and lifestyle were devoted to leopard print EVERYTHING. Her clothes, furniture, rugs, decorations, and even plates had leopard print on them. Or, how about the hoarder I met? That guy had paths through his house to get through it. There were so many old appliances and boxes and so many other random things, but he literally had paths you had to squeeze through in order to move around his house. Other houses were dreary, some reeked, and still some held on to the idea of hanging dead, stuffed animals on their walls. And I'll admit, there were some creepers, but I was pretty safe about that. If I felt uncomfortable, we exchanged orders and money outside where people could see us.
I had a favorite, regular customer, though. There was this elderly couple that lived a block away from my house. The husband's name was Dalton, and I wish I could remember the wife's name. They were so polite all of the time. They bought stuff they didn't even need, probably just to support the school. But, they always had snacks for me. In fact, their house was the first place I ever had a rye krisp with butter on it! My most memorable moment at their house, however, was when they gave me chocolate at Christmas time once. I went to deliver what they had ordered, and soon we were having a conversation. Next thing I know the wife brings out goodies for me, and I dive in. It turns out, and she didn't realize until I had consumed four or five chocolates, that they were booze-filled. Ha! Certainly there wasn't enough alcohol in them to affect even a baby, but that was quite the moment. She made me promise not to tell my mom about it, though. I'll never forget Dalton and his wife.
I think about this tonight because I saw some kids approach my door this evening. I didn't know who they were, but their parents were in a vehicle down the street making sure no one (or hoping that someone?) kidnapped them. I was upstairs, and by the time I got downstairs, they had already left. But, they were selling wreaths, and I just may have bought one, had they waited longer. Also, they only faintly knocked at my door, so had I not seen them out the window, I never would have known they were there.
It's great to stroll down memory lane once in a while, isn't it? I'm only 26, but I still try to remind myself of my youth. I hope those kids are successful in selling their wreaths, but one word of advice: use the doorbell!
The one thing I was very good at, though, was being a salesman. I could sell ice to an eskimo, I could sell toilet paper to an animal, and I could even sell booze to a non-alcoholic. Okay, none of those are true examples, but here's where I'm going with this...
In elementary school, we always had school fundraisers. To this day, I still don't know what I was raising funds for. I'm sure it was for better technology, books, or a bonus for the principal. Nonetheless, I dominated this arena better than everyone in the school. In fact, in 5th and 6th grade, I was the top seller each year.
I'd get all excited to go sell stuff. And, being bulletproof at that age, I did door-to-door selling. Looking back, I probably looked ridiculous. I'd walk around town with this plastic, purple briefcase (formerly used to hold crayons), and I'd present myself at every door with a giant grin. I'm sure my hair was a mess, and I could probably have used more deodorant in those days, but the neighborhoods around town loved me!
And let me tell you: you sure do meet some interesting people while selling stuff door-to-door. I think that's the reason the school administration got mad at me for going door-to-door. Would I do that today? Hell no; I'd probably be killed or injected with drugs or walk in on a prostitution ring or witness a murder or find a meth lab or get eaten by a Rottweiler or, well, you get it. But, people were interesting back then, and everyone was unique. I remember this one lady, for example, whose house and lifestyle were devoted to leopard print EVERYTHING. Her clothes, furniture, rugs, decorations, and even plates had leopard print on them. Or, how about the hoarder I met? That guy had paths through his house to get through it. There were so many old appliances and boxes and so many other random things, but he literally had paths you had to squeeze through in order to move around his house. Other houses were dreary, some reeked, and still some held on to the idea of hanging dead, stuffed animals on their walls. And I'll admit, there were some creepers, but I was pretty safe about that. If I felt uncomfortable, we exchanged orders and money outside where people could see us.
I had a favorite, regular customer, though. There was this elderly couple that lived a block away from my house. The husband's name was Dalton, and I wish I could remember the wife's name. They were so polite all of the time. They bought stuff they didn't even need, probably just to support the school. But, they always had snacks for me. In fact, their house was the first place I ever had a rye krisp with butter on it! My most memorable moment at their house, however, was when they gave me chocolate at Christmas time once. I went to deliver what they had ordered, and soon we were having a conversation. Next thing I know the wife brings out goodies for me, and I dive in. It turns out, and she didn't realize until I had consumed four or five chocolates, that they were booze-filled. Ha! Certainly there wasn't enough alcohol in them to affect even a baby, but that was quite the moment. She made me promise not to tell my mom about it, though. I'll never forget Dalton and his wife.
I think about this tonight because I saw some kids approach my door this evening. I didn't know who they were, but their parents were in a vehicle down the street making sure no one (or hoping that someone?) kidnapped them. I was upstairs, and by the time I got downstairs, they had already left. But, they were selling wreaths, and I just may have bought one, had they waited longer. Also, they only faintly knocked at my door, so had I not seen them out the window, I never would have known they were there.
It's great to stroll down memory lane once in a while, isn't it? I'm only 26, but I still try to remind myself of my youth. I hope those kids are successful in selling their wreaths, but one word of advice: use the doorbell!
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Big Yellow Taxi
They say, "You don't know what you've got until it's gone." Well, I've decided that I'm not going to listen to "they." Instead, I think we should live our lives enjoying what we have, so we never have to wonder what we had when it's gone.
It's funny how prime time television influences us. I usually just shrug off most shows as soap operas. You know which ones I'm talking about (*cough* Grey's Anatomy *cough*). But, as I get older, I'm starting to analyze the stories a little bit more and put them into a real life perspective. Do I believe that hospitals have a bunch of staff that basically just has one big orgy year after year? No. But, the writers of these shows do actually provide some basic life lessons.
Just this morning I overreacted to something so petty. Then, I got in my car and headed to work frustrated by the morning. It was a damn garbage can. I let a garbage can, an inanimate object, one that is so belittled that it holds my garbage, get to me. And then, half way to work, after I was alone in my car and thoughts, I felt terrible. I became selfish and angry at home, threw a little tantrum, and now I was regretting it.
There was a time when life was a lot less stressful. "Those were the days," I thought to myself. Then, I remembered that was back when I was young, naive, and reckless. Prior to even those times, my life sucked; I lived under my parents' roof, and they treated me like the garbage can I mentioned above.
So, now I ask myself: How can I let the little things in life not bother me anymore. I preach to be people about life being about the bigger picture, yet I've fallen into the trap of small things tripping me up. From today forward, I am making a promise to myself, and I will stick to it. The thing is though, I have to lay things out in order to stick to them. So, at the end of six months, I plan to look back to today and feel better about the previous six months than I do about the current previous six months.
This will be umbrella attempt, though, not just about one piece of the pie. I intend to feel better when I wake up each day and when I lay my head down each night. Physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The war with myself will start being won by the better me, and not the me that dreads some days.
I never plan to know what I've got when it's gone. What I've got is what I want, and that's not something I'm willing to lose.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
87
I've been meaning to blog again for quite some time, but I never seem to make time to do so. Today, I decided to blog, once again. Unfortunately, the topic I want to blog about isn't bright, but it's not grim, either. It's more about a person and our shared experiences. It's a small piece of a very big chapter in my life that hasn't quite ended, but the end is sort of stuck, waiting for time to pass.
Those of you who know me closely may have heard me reference an elderly lady that I once took care of. I met her when I was 9, she 71. Yesterday, she turned 87. Rewinding a bit, it all started when I saw that she needed help getting off of a local transit bus while carrying too many grocery bags for such a small person to handle. The rest is history.
About 6 years ago, she was put into a nursing home to rehabilitate after a fall. The very day she left the nursing home ready to be on her own, she fell again. She hasn't left the nursing home since. To the rest of the town, during her life, she was the most annoying, demanding lady you could run into. Because I was 9, I didn't really see that. I saw a different type of person, one looking for some sort of friendship. And what's funny, now that I look back, is she sought friendship with me, because I was too naive to try and take advantage of her belongings or money, for what little she had anyways. And, so long as she took me out to eat once in a while, I was the happiest friend in the world.
To provide a little more substance to our history, she is very much like a grandmother to me. I can tell you countless stories about her life, her family, and also share endless memories of all of the fun things we did together. I'll bet you I rearranged the furniture in her house 200 times in the 10 years she lived there since I've known her. I can't imagine how many times before that in her then 70+ years she had either done the same or convinced someone else to do it for her.
We used to eat out a lot. Servers instantly sighed when we walked in the door, because she usually took about 3-4 hours to eat, and her order was very particular. Similarly, we ordered in pizza often, and we always called for a new pizza almost every time, because "something was wrong with it."
I'm really not doing justice to our history, mostly because my mind is distracted with what this blog post is really about. Someday, maybe, I'll write out more of our history so you can have a chuckle.
Yesterday, she didn't know who I was.
Just like that, 16 years of friendship, gone. Dementia has taken over.
I sat there, talking with her like I usually do. I reminded her of who I was and brought up some of our memories to try and spark something. But really, she just sort of agreed with what I had to say, and looked like she was almost "forced" to believe me, because I was bringing up accurate facts about her interests, tastes, etc. Before I left the nursing home, I spent a few minutes alone in her room (she was in the dining room during my whole visit as it was supper time). I looked around, thinking to myself, "This is what it could be like in 50 years, or sooner, or later." Her earthly possessions have been whittled down to a few pictures and stuffed animals; the rest (bed, entertainment center, so on...) will be there waiting for the next person to move in when she passes.
I guess the point of my blog post is this: Spend every damn second you can making memories. Does my tie-around from above make sense? Nope. Spend every damn second you can making memories so that you're remembered, even when you can't remember yourself.
Take it easy.
Those of you who know me closely may have heard me reference an elderly lady that I once took care of. I met her when I was 9, she 71. Yesterday, she turned 87. Rewinding a bit, it all started when I saw that she needed help getting off of a local transit bus while carrying too many grocery bags for such a small person to handle. The rest is history.
About 6 years ago, she was put into a nursing home to rehabilitate after a fall. The very day she left the nursing home ready to be on her own, she fell again. She hasn't left the nursing home since. To the rest of the town, during her life, she was the most annoying, demanding lady you could run into. Because I was 9, I didn't really see that. I saw a different type of person, one looking for some sort of friendship. And what's funny, now that I look back, is she sought friendship with me, because I was too naive to try and take advantage of her belongings or money, for what little she had anyways. And, so long as she took me out to eat once in a while, I was the happiest friend in the world.
To provide a little more substance to our history, she is very much like a grandmother to me. I can tell you countless stories about her life, her family, and also share endless memories of all of the fun things we did together. I'll bet you I rearranged the furniture in her house 200 times in the 10 years she lived there since I've known her. I can't imagine how many times before that in her then 70+ years she had either done the same or convinced someone else to do it for her.
We used to eat out a lot. Servers instantly sighed when we walked in the door, because she usually took about 3-4 hours to eat, and her order was very particular. Similarly, we ordered in pizza often, and we always called for a new pizza almost every time, because "something was wrong with it."
I'm really not doing justice to our history, mostly because my mind is distracted with what this blog post is really about. Someday, maybe, I'll write out more of our history so you can have a chuckle.
Yesterday, she didn't know who I was.
Just like that, 16 years of friendship, gone. Dementia has taken over.
I sat there, talking with her like I usually do. I reminded her of who I was and brought up some of our memories to try and spark something. But really, she just sort of agreed with what I had to say, and looked like she was almost "forced" to believe me, because I was bringing up accurate facts about her interests, tastes, etc. Before I left the nursing home, I spent a few minutes alone in her room (she was in the dining room during my whole visit as it was supper time). I looked around, thinking to myself, "This is what it could be like in 50 years, or sooner, or later." Her earthly possessions have been whittled down to a few pictures and stuffed animals; the rest (bed, entertainment center, so on...) will be there waiting for the next person to move in when she passes.
I guess the point of my blog post is this: Spend every damn second you can making memories. Does my tie-around from above make sense? Nope. Spend every damn second you can making memories so that you're remembered, even when you can't remember yourself.
Take it easy.
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