tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-147234452024-03-07T03:50:05.524-05:00C & S MommyDeborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-39831052503309233882008-09-28T20:04:00.002-05:002008-09-28T20:06:31.055-05:00Moving...I am going to be posting on a new page from now on. You can find me at:<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://striving-to-be.blogspot.com/">http://striving-to-be.blogspot.com/</a>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-22271227922698163382008-07-21T13:36:00.000-05:002008-07-21T13:37:42.154-05:00An interesting thing happened on my way home from Pennsylvania...I was somewhat upset over the fact that I felt my friends did not recognize me for who I have become – so very different from the angry, aggressive girl I was in college. A fact I was hard pressed to prove after having an argument with my husband minutes after insisting I was not confrontational. <br /><br />A little history: I met Beth and Jaime (roommates) on my first day of college. I lived on one end of the hall and they lived on the other. We met during our first hall meeting. Sitting on the floor in the hallway I perked up when Beth said she was from Long Island and then Jaime said New Jersey. Kindred spirits based on geography. I spent a lot of time in their room talking, listening to music, hanging out, avoiding my roommate. It has been 12 years since that first day of college. Twelve years since the year we spent supporting each other through break-ups, crushes, hang overs, freak outs, studying crises, parties, disappointments, milestones. The most incongruous part of our friendship is that we only spent that one year together. The next year Beth went to a different school, Jaime was paired with a random girl as a roommate, I moved out of the dorms and shortly after dropped out and moved back home. <br /><br />Nancy and I had a little less history at first. She started out as Beth’s friend. I spent that whole first year being completely intimidated by her. She was always so cool and well…together. Something I so wasn’t. She and I made a better connection when she moved to NC and we started spending time together. I hate that I missed out on that first year when we were at school but things worked out anyway.<br /><br />So here I am driving home 12 years later from my girlie weekend with the only girls who have ever consistently been my friends. I spent part of the drive wondering why they couldn’t see how different I was. Then somewhere between West Virginia and Virginia I fell into that fugue state of driving – completely aware of the road and the car but my mind flying back behind me somewhere far in the past. I could spend all day writing about the things I remembered with Jaime and Beth – falling into each other with relief after making it home from the Dancehall Crashers show in Philly in the snow; convincing Jaime not to steal the apple from random old guy Bill’s house; driving home for Thanksgiving (or maybe it was Christmas) with Beth, her dad, and her brother hung over beyond reason… So many things I hadn’t thought about in years. It was then I realized I wasn’t the only way who had changed and maybe they weren’t the only ones not recognizing those changes. These girls have always fulfilled the things I needed at any point in my life. Even now I can go to Jaime when I feel especially crazy and she will always make me feel better, I can call Nancy when I am concerned about Cecilia’s behavior and she will calm me down, Beth is the one I can always turn to when I need a more laid back spin on things. I don’t think I needed an eight hour drive to remind me that I am lucky to have these girls in my life. I already knew that. I think I needed that eight hours of distance to remind me how important it is to not worry how I am being viewed and bask in the fact that I have three people (and by extension of marriage maybe even three more) who love me and care about me just because.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-25938595559243461882007-11-25T13:38:00.000-05:002007-11-25T13:41:48.696-05:00Giving ThanksFrom Wikipedia: Thanksgiving, or Thanksgiving Day, is a traditional North American holiday to give thanks for the things that one has at the conclusion of the harvest season.<br /><br />Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I think I posted last year the reasons why. The biggest one being that I love thinking about all that I have to be thankful for and finding out from other people what they are thankful for. This year, we were all together for Thanksgiving at my mom and dad’s house. Unfortunately, my in-laws did not join us until dessert but it was still an awesome day. I don’t have the big group picture yet (it is an unbelievable picture) so I should probably clarify what all together means so here is the guest list:<br />Mom<br />Dad<br />Dianna – sister<br />Rob – brother-in-law<br />Kathy – Dianna’s mother-in-law<br />Bobby – Dianna’s father-in-law<br />Michael – Rob’s brother<br />Shelly – Michael’s girlfriend<br />Jim – brother<br />Sandra – sister-in-law<br />Jake – nephew<br />Felicia – Jim’s mother-in-law<br />Juan – Sandra’s brother<br />Keith – husband<br />Cecilia – daughter<br />Sophia – daughter<br />Joanne – mother-in-law<br />Ernie – father-in-law<br />Kyle – brother-in-law<br />Kristin – sister-in-law<br />Norbert – co-worker of Ernie’s<br />Jeanne – Dianna’s friend<br />Andy – Jeanne’s husband<br />Abby – Jeanne’s daughter<br />Ella – Jeanne’s daughter <br /><br /><br />There was lots of food and drink. It was loud and possibly even slightly rowdy (to some at least). It was wonderful. I always try to quietly look into a room and “catch” people getting along. It makes me so happy to see my mom and mother-in-law holding hands huddled close talking, my two brothers-in-law talking business, my sister-in-law swinging Sophia into the air, my sister engrossed in a conversation with our sister-in-law’s mother, my brother’s brother-in-law and my husband playing that stupid Guitar Heros game in the living room, Cecilia showing off her gameboy to my brother-in-law’s brother. Having had a pretty rough week before Thanksgiving and spending a lot of time questioning God (I will share that in another post) I think, “This is what it is all about.” Here we are 20 some odd people, different and similar, linked by so many different relationships making one day the single best day of the year (at least for me personally). We all have one thing in common, despite everything, we love each other if not for the individual we are then for the individual who loves us. This day will nourish me for a long time.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-68960408083615370482007-11-20T16:00:00.000-05:002007-11-20T16:33:52.907-05:00Quick UpdateI am supposed to be doing laundry and cooking/preparing for Thanksgiving Day. I got on the computer to quickly look at something my friend Laura recommended and got caught up in Nancy's and Angelique's blogs, which has motivated me to finally post. I have been writing with the intention of posting but everything I have started writing I have not finished therefore have not posted. So instead of trying to finish some of the deeper things that have been on my mind I will give a quick update:<br /><br />Cecilia:<br />Cecilia is in first grade this year and loving it. She has adjusted so well and I am so proud of her. She is reading at close to a third grade level. Her writing has improved and she has such confidence. We recently went to a fall festival held at her school and my little social butterfly walked through the halls saying hello to children and teachers alike. I marvel at how comfortable she is in her own skin and pray that she hangs on to that throughout the years to come. She is just such a wonder! <br /><br />Sophia:<br />My little tornado. For me, being around Sophia is like sitting in the warm sun with an occasional cool breeze washing over me. She is such a joy. She has such a sense humor. I have so many stories about her I don't which one to choose. She sings all the time and is the queen of imitation. The other day I was standing in the kitchen talking to Keith who was leaning with one arm against the counter with one foot crossed in front of him. Sophia comes over and quietly leans one arm on the cabinet and is trying to balance on one foot long enough to cross her other foot in front of her. Having finally accomplished the stance she looks up at me with a little glint in her eye and I know what she wants so I too lean on the counter and cross one foot in front. I steal a look at her and she is starting to giggle and once I look in her eyes she dissolves into a full belly laugh, which is contagious. She loves her big sister and wants to do everything just like Cecilia. She also wants Cecilia to do everything and lets us know by saying, "Celia do it."<br /><br />Keith:<br />Keith started a new job in July and loves it. He is working for a company out of New York who opened a new office down here in Kernersville. He loves that things actually get accomplished without a meeting to schedule a meeting to discuss when there will be a meeting to problem solve an issue. I love that he comes home in a good mood. <br /><br />Me:<br />I left my permanent position at the hospital. I still work there but instead of having the weekend shift I work as needed filling in here and there. I made this move so I could work a full time, five-day a week job transcribing again. That job lasted two months for several reasons. First of all, I worked for the most evil woman walking the earth. I mean the devil is this lady's minion she is so awful. I actually got in trouble for talking to my coworkers despite the fact I was producing 1000 to 1500 lines a day. Second, transcribing is physically taxing, especially when you do not have the freedom to get up and stretch for 10 minutes. Third, it was really difficult working five days a week and it made me pretty miserable. I really missed being home and having time with the girls and Keith. I honestly think the only word that left my mouth for two months was hurry as in "hurry, get in the car we have to go to school. Hurry, get in the house we have to eat dinner. Hurry, finish up in the shower we have homework to do." It was terrible. Also, and my apologies to the feminist in anyone who will read this, I truly felt like less of a wife. Keith has always done his share of everything and I appreciate that. But I hated not being the one to make phone calls regarding our children or the other things I was doing when I was home during the week. I enjoy being a wife (I suck at it but I am a work in progress). I like cooking dinner and picking up the girls and doing laundry and having things done for when Keith comes home. I like being home when Keith comes home from work. I missed that. So, when it became increasingly obvious that things were not going to improve at my job, Keith encouraged me to quit. Now, I am picking up shifts at the hospital and gearing up to enroll in the nursing assistant program at the community college near my house. After that I may enroll in the phlebotomy course because it is more money and I will need to make extra money while I am attending school to get my nursing degree. This is a huge step for me. Over the last year I have talked myself in and out of going back to school to become a nurse at least three times. So now I am telling people that I am going to do it in the hopes that the more people who know the less likely it is for me to back out of it. I am scared but also pretty excited.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1135661059024077092007-05-18T06:02:00.001-05:002007-05-18T06:07:14.147-05:00Pretty CoolI know I haven't written in a while and I will. In the meantime, I wanted to share this it is pretty cool.<br /><br /><embed allowScriptAccess="never" allowNetworking="internal" enableJavaScript="false" src="http://dna.imagini.net/friends/swf/widget.swf" quality="best" bgcolor="#4A024C" width="340" height="240" name="widget" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" flashvars="bgcolor=#4A024C&i1=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_10DA59D2.jpeg&c1=&i2=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_2A5973C5.jpeg&c2=&i3=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-24AB72BD.jpeg&c3=&i4=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-1CC3FA29.jpeg&c4=&i5=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_7D03D4F7.jpeg&c5=&i6=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-1AF7A965.jpeg&c6=&i7=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-7353201.jpeg&c7=&i8=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-7DB16121.jpeg&c8=&i9=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-3459F62E.jpeg&c9=&i10=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-5DE3B624.jpeg&c10=&i11=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_-1121B912.jpeg&c11=&i12=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_1D28CE3C.jpeg&c12=&i13=http://dna.imagini.net/i/RESIZE_26CFB92A.jpeg&c13=&moodlabel=WILD CAT&lovelabel=HOME SOUL&funlabel=ESCAPE ARTIST&habitslabel=BACK TO BASICS&uid=332636-6509&srv=iwebcl5" ></embed> <div style="text-align:center; width:340px;height:25px;margin-top:0px; border-top:1px solid rgb(150,150,150);background-color:rgb(0,0,0);padding:5px 0 0 0; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px;"><a href="http://networking.imagini.blueorange.co.uk/vdna.php?uid=332636-6509&srv=iwebcl5" style="color:rgb(255,255,255)">Read my VisualDNA</a><span style="font-size:10px;color:#cccccc">™</span> <a href="http://imagini.net/" style="color:rgb(255,255,255) ">Get your own VisualDNA™</a></div>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-44101564864227813802006-12-19T16:51:00.000-05:002006-12-19T16:57:29.362-05:00Kleptomaniac (n): An obsessive impulse to steal regardless of economic needThe first person sent to us from the Nanny Service to watch our children was a kleptomaniac. She has not been back in our home since the end of October, however, my white-hot rage over the whole situation has pretty much prevented me from writing about it until now. So here is the story:<br /><br />I come into the kitchen on a Tuesday morning and Keith asks me what I did with the knives. He goes on to explain that he can’t find four of our knives. I tell him not to worry I will call V and ask her where she may have put them. Then he tells me that we are also missing spoons. That, of course, gives me pause because why the hell would we be missing knives <em>and</em> spoons – strange. After a minute, I tell him that I will call R (the owner of the Nanny Service) to let her know that we are missing things. I ask Keith if he looked in the other drawers for the knives and spoons, as V may not have realized where things went. He said that he had been through the whole kitchen and had made sure Cecilia hadn't taken them. It probably took another full minute for it to fully register in my head that V had taken these things from our home. At that point, I go into my bedroom and check my jewelry to see if anything is missing. It all appears to be there. <br /><br />My conversation with R does not go exactly as I thought it would. She is not outraged by my news, nor does she appear upset. In fact, she seems pretty unfazed by what I have told her. She tells me she will check with V, as she is sure there is a reasonable explanation for the whole thing. I get off the phone feeling confused and completely invalidated. I wasn’t wanting an all out emotional outburst from R but a little indignation would have been nice. As I go through my normal morning routine, the gravity of what is happening begins to envelop me like a thick fog. My confusion gives way to such intense anger I can barely breathe. The person who I allowed in my home, who I trusted with my children, stole from me. I could barely see straight. I called Keith and raged at him for a while and we agreed that regardless of V’s explanation we would never be able to trust her again and she would, of course, not be allowed in our home. After many phone calls, including one with V that night and the next morning, we realized that V was never going to admit what she had done and we were never going to get our stuff back. R (who later apologized for her lack of reaction to our initial phone call chalking it up to being caught off guard) placed a new sitter and I tried to get past daydreaming of running V down with my car. <br /><br />Well, getting past it was clearly not going to happen because over the next few weeks I discovered more and more things missing. V had stolen two t-shirts (one a workout shirt), two tank tops (one of my favorites and one workout top), one pair of workout capri pants, one pair of workout pants, a bra, a brand new sweater (never worn), and a gym bag (to apparently carry it all in). Plus six knives and 5-6 spoons. I tired to make light of it. I tried to laugh about it. I dreamed of tearing her little head from her petite little body. The last straw came when I discovered an outfit of Cecilia’s missing. It was all I could take. Stealing from me is one thing stealing from my child…I had no idea the level of rage I could achieve. As I traveled to these new heights of fury, I tried repeatedly to get in touch with R. The only thing I was taking solace in was that V was not working for R anymore. R was going to let her go not because she stole from me (she couldn’t really prove that) but because she broke her contract by working for a family that she interviewed with through the service. Evidently, V didn’t limit her stealing to just material things. As Keith sat on the couch with his jaw clenched silently raging (he is not a yeller like me), I informed R about the latest items taken from our home. Her reaction was slightly better this time. However, in this conversation R informed me that V was still working for her because she couldn’t prove that she was working for that other family. I naively thought that she would have, at the very least, informed the other family that V was accused of stealing but she didn’t do that either. In fact, to make matters worse, the mother of the children V was still watching was going to become R’s business partner. It was all too much for me. Keith and I started discussing alternatives to our current situation because I kept questioning what R was keeping from us about our new babysitter if she wasn’t going to inform this other family about V. <br /><br />So now Sophia is in a daycare center two days a week and Cecilia goes to an after school care program one day a week. So far things seem to be going well. The daycare center is a four star center with a superior rating. Sophia cries when I drop her off but she seems pretty happy when we pick her up. After our first experience with Cecilia, we are a little nervous. I am keeping an eye out for personality changes in Sophia…nothing yet thankfully. Cecilia’s after school program is great. It is not affiliated with her elementary school unfortunately, as that one was full. It has been three weeks and overall, we are pleased. For right now at least. <br /><br />As for R, she left me some guilt-laden message about doing her “best” for us and how sorry she was that she couldn’t “accommodate our needs” and that she would be sending a gift card to us to cover our “material loss” from V of which I have yet to see. Cecilia asked why V wasn’t babysitting anymore but didn’t seem too upset over it. She was also a little confused about being sent to the ASP but she is enjoying it too much to really care. I still dream of running into V and beating the ever-living crap out of her, which is actually progress if you think about because I don’t want her dead anymore…Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1161988497478477422006-10-27T17:30:00.000-05:002006-10-27T17:34:57.496-05:00I ran so hard...This time I knew it was coming. Watching the clock waiting for the phone to ring. All I wanted was to hear her voice on the other end telling me that everything was fine. Joking about how Rob handled it all – come get the car Rob passed out and bumped his head – the dumb ass. But it wasn’t her it was him. The pause told me what I already knew but he still had to say the words and a little piece of me died with hearing them. Yesterday Dianna knew but I didn’t want to believe it. God wouldn’t do this to us. Not now when so much is going on. Not when we were all praying so hard. Not again when they wanted this so badly. I couldn’t go see her right away. Waiting for Cecilia’s swim lesson to finish I ran on the treadmill. I ran so hard chasing down something to say to her. An answer for her. Anything, really, that would make it better. I ran so hard and still couldn’t catch up to any logic. I went to her and held her saying nothing. We cried together again. Again. Again. AGAIN! Why again? I want to understand. I want to believe that this is nature and not something bigger punishing us. All these things going through my head. Things I want to apologize for: I am sorry that there is a part of me that is relieved that she told everyone and I don’t have to go through this with her alone again. Relieved that I can be a little bit more selfish – a little less strong – a little more sad because she has other people to lean on. I am sorry that I want so desperately for her to try again because I know (I have always known) what a wonderful mother she will be and what a wonderful father Rob will be. I want her to try again because I believe that it will be different – successful. And selfishly I want her to try for me too. I want so desperately to be an aunt to her child. To live up to the standard she has set through my children. I want to be as good as her – or at least close. But who the hell am I? And what does it matter what I think? But most of all I am sorry for not being able to fix her pain. For not being able to say or do that one thing that will take her sadness away. And trust I would do anything – even carry the pain myself – to release her for even just a moment. But it is her burden to carry while the rest of us get to watch powerless. I imagine that if each one of us has our own personal hell that would be mine – watching the people I love struggle while I stand by unable to help.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1159539122459354252006-09-29T09:10:00.000-05:002006-09-29T09:12:02.473-05:007 out of 21/148 out of 324I ran my second 5k on September 16th. This was a race at the hospital where I work. When I first decided to participate I had not planned on telling very many people. Of course, word spread that I was planning on racing which put some pressure on me. I met up with my friend, Sheila, who is a real runner. She has completed a couple of marathons and half marathons. She was with a couple of other ladies who are runners with Team In Training (for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society). My two friends from MRI were there also. My main goal for this race was to be able to pace Sheila for most of it. Well…luck happened to be on my side and Sheila was a little off her game having been sick the week before. I actually managed to stay ahead of Sheila the whole race and paced Sonya, who is also an accomplished runner. I finished one minute faster than my first race. I was 7th out of 21 in the female 30-34 group and 148th out of 324 overall. Not too shabby. Next is a 10k. <br /><br />Yes, I am fully aware that I am slightly addicted now.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1158196783097181872006-09-13T20:12:00.000-05:002006-09-13T20:19:43.116-05:00And a little toy surprise too!I did it!! I ran my first 5k. The WHOLE thing. I was so nervous and came so close to backing out a few times. My friend from work was supposed to do it with me but he had something going on that day. My goals were to run the whole thing and to finish in under 30 minutes. Both of which I did. I even won a little trophy for coming in first place in the female 30-34 group. As I suspected, and just confirmed, I was the ONLY female 30-34 but that is okay. I came in 39th place out of 54. Overall I am pleased. I am ready to do my second 5k on Saturday. I am actually hoping to do this one with one of my friends from the hospital. I am hoping to pace her as best I can. However, she is a real runner so I may be setting myself up. Anyway…here are a couple of pictures:<br /><br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/390/1342/320/Deborah%27s%20First%205k.jpg" border="0" /> <img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/390/1342/320/Deborah%27s%20First%205k%20%288%29.jpg" border="0" /> <img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/390/1342/320/Deborah%27s%20First%205k%20%2810%29.jpg" border="0" />Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1154752012383641232006-08-04T23:25:00.000-05:002006-08-04T23:26:52.396-05:00Five things...We were talking at work about the five totally selfish things we would want for ourselves right now. It took me a full 24 hours plus to figure it out. Here are my five:<br /><br /><ul><li>Lime green VW Bug</li><li>Singing lessons</li><li>A big kitchen with top of the line everything and all the gadgets I can think of</li><li>Writing something (an article or book) that is witty and thought provoking that people reference in conversation as a “must-read”</li><li>A whole new wardrobe after I lose all the weight I need to</li></ul>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1154233028952195852006-07-29T23:16:00.000-05:002006-07-29T23:17:08.966-05:00Yes, it is a little drafty up here on my soapboxAs I type this I am so mad I can barely speak. I just read an article on MSN.com about “the outrage” sparked by a picture on the cover of Baby Talk magazine. People were actually upset over the picture of a baby breast-feeding on the cover. The main picture is a profile of the baby with part of the breast shown. This is the state of the world today. Brittney Spears can pose naked in all her highly airbrushed pregnant glory with only her hands covering her breasts and we find that acceptable. Show part of a breast with a baby covering it and everyone works themselves into an uproar. One woman went so far as to say her concern was her 13-year-old son seeing it. I bet the same ignorant woman convinces herself as she drifts off to sleep at night that her precious son is not being exposed to worse through the violent, sex filled video games that are out now and ever so popular. God forbid she may have to explain to her son the natural process a mother’s body goes through after pregnancy. What will he want to know about next?? How the baby was conceived? <br />What blows my mind even more is that even women who breast feed or have breast fed in the past are opposed to this particular magazine cover. They also admit to not breast feeding in public because of the comments and judgement passed on them. I am having such a problem with this mentality. I guarantee these are the same women snickering behind their hands and sending superior glances at each other when another mother admits openly that she has decided to bottle feed her baby. Before I even go on I need to state for the record that I only breast fed my first child for a couple of weeks and my second not at all. I also have a very rigid stance on women breast feeding children old enough to say, “Hey mom how about that boob, I’m thirsty.” However, I do not oppose breast feeding in and of itself. In fact, I give women credit when they are able to breast feed. I would much rather see a baby at his mother’s breast than to have to hear said child screaming bloody murder because they are hungry but cannot be accommodated because “well what would people think?” And what exactly do people think? “Oh imagine the nerve of that women providing nourishment for her child?” Huh?The article also states that some people feel that the uneasiness is also felt by women whose husband may not be comfortable in the presence of a woman who “whips out her breast” in order to nourish her child. Crazy. I am positive it is because these women have had an experience where they were out in public and witnessed a mother make an announcement that she will now be exposing her breast for anyone who was interested. I am certain that women then did a little shimmy for the benefit of all who may be watching her and her naked breast before she began feeding her child. Now we do need to bear in mind that regardless of what it is being used for a breast is a sexual part of a female’s body for a male and has no other use but to titillate them. Therefore any glimpse of it may send him into a blinding fit of desire where he may loose all control and therefore not be responsible for his actions. Seriously though, what planet do these people come from? I have no doubt that there are sick people who get pleasure out of breast feeding in public. But that is a whole other issue beyond the natural occurrence of a female’s body producing milk that is meant to feed her baby – the operative word being natural. Basically what people are conveying is that we are perfectly comfortable sitting in a movie theater surrounded by perfect strangers as we watch a steamy sex scene that was once only suitable for soft porn but we get squeamish when a woman discreetly uncovers her breast to nurture her child. Oh the horror!! Breast feeding is a natural part of motherhood. It has nothing to do with sex or the desire to expose one’s self. Just like I would expect a non-nursing mother to feed her child from a bottle publicly if it is lunchtime, I would hope the same for a nursing mother whose child feeds from her breast.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1154034615794095802006-07-27T16:09:00.000-05:002006-07-27T16:10:15.810-05:00Phone conversation with my mother-in-lawI discovered something so amazing (actually two things) while having a conversation with my mother-in-law this morning. We were having our weekly conversation where we cram the goings on in our lives in a 15-minute phone call while she is on her way to work. These phone calls start off with, “I know you are busy so I won’t keep you,” and consist of how are the babies? Her. And (insert name of child here) did the funniest thing the other day. Me. In between we may talk about our upcoming schedules or plans that we may have made. The idea to get through these conversations is to answer the question you were asked and add in another question that has nothing to do with the original question. It is kind of the way my sister and I talk normally so I have no problem handling these conversations though sometimes I do have to close my eyes for five minutes after getting off the phone (I am not sure if that has to do with the course of the conversation or just who I am speaking with). The calls then end with the realization that we are going to need to place another phone call to each other at a better time to solidify plans or just to have a normal leisurely, give and take conversation that does not include an “On your marks, get set, GO!” mindset. Then we figure out the best time to talk, say our love yous and goodbyes and hang up. The insanity of these calls is not lost on me nor is the knowledge that I will be repeating roughly three-quarters of what I just said to her as well convincing her that she did indeed tell me the latest about a particular subject. However, we continue to have these conversations regularly. <br /><br />Today I actually benefited greatly from one of our beat-the-clock conversations even though it was really no different. The topics were my dad who had surgery the beginning of this week and Keith’s upcoming weeklong training in CA at the end of August. While simultaneously discussing my dad’s amazing capacity to tolerate pain, whether Cecilia would like to see the Wiggles at the coliseum the day she is staying with them while I am at work and Keith is in CA, and how I got someone to cover my hours so I could have that Sunday off I made a comment that kind of embarrassed me and I tried to explain before she realized what I had said. The comment was, “Even though I am working until 11 I am so looking forward to coming home to an empty house that Saturday night.” I then tried to explain – quickly – that it was not that I was happy that Keith would be gone. Before I could get the explanation out my mother-in-law was readily agreeing with me stating that you had to be selfish with your time after you had kids. That is when it dawned on me – I am a selfish person. I also realized that I am not completely comfortable with that and tend to make excuses or feel guilty about it but I will deal with that another time. Right now I am just so excited because I have never in my life even considered the possibility of being selfish. I have always been the type of person who would stay on the phone for hours with a friend while she cried about breaking up with her boyfriend for the 40th time that week even though I had to get up early for work the next day. The person who kept all the phone ringers on high and my cell phone on my nightstand just in case. But ever since having kids I have stopped being that person. Granted the few friends that I have don’t really have boyfriends to break up with or late night drunken encounters with tuna fish cans and have to be rushed to the ER but still. Now only one phone in my house rings. My cell phone stays in the kitchen when I am sleeping and even sometimes when I am awake and forget it when I leave the house. And when I have that very rare free time (husband and kid free) I usually take advantage of it by curling up on the couch with a glass of wine and a book. I may even turn the phone off. I have learned the splendor of saying no and it is just not a good time. It took having kids – little people to whom I devout much of my time and energy – to truly understand the beauty of being selfish with my time. It may not be much to some but for me I find it indulgently wonderful!Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1153764271788205892006-07-24T12:56:00.001-05:002006-07-24T13:04:31.806-05:00Seven YearsIn a week, I will be celebrating my seven-year wedding anniversary with Keith. It is so crazy that it has been seven years. On the one hand, the time has gone by so fast it feels like we just met yesterday. On the other hand I think, “Good Lord we have been together forever! How have we not killed each other?” I often say that Keith should be sainted just for putting up with me at all nevermind for vowing to spend the rest of his life with me. <br /><br />Like with every other annual event that takes place in my life, my upcoming anniversary has me reflecting on the past 8-9 years. I am a little awestruck with how each experience – good, bad, and indifferent – allowed me to arrive here. Whether a person believes in fate or God or something else all together the fact is when you go back and connect the dots forward, from who you were to who you are now, it is hard to believe that there wasn’t some otherworldly force guiding you (or in my case shoving me) on this very specific path. <br /><br />If someone had asked me nine years ago where I would be today I would have never said here. Here as in NC and here as in married with two children. I never dreamed of getting married. Having kids was something I just figured I would eventually do. I wanted to get out of NY and go back to school and that was about as far as my plan went. Then Keith came into my life. Our story is certainly not a love-at-first-sight-sweep-you-off-your-feet kind of romance. It is also not some drama-filled saga with an epic ending. We were just two people with different backgrounds but the same basic upbringing heading in the same direction just on different paths. I guess you can kind of say we were looking for each other but we didn’t know it. Well at least I didn’t know. For him to tell it he knew from when he met me. How we wound up together is something I still marvel at. I have been asked so many times how I knew I wanted to marry Keith and I get somewhat strange looks when I answer. The truth (and what I always answer) is that I started figuring out all the things that annoyed me about him and they didn’t matter. I knew my life would go on if we weren’t together I just didn’t want to be without him. Not really an answer that brings to mind scenes from “The Notebook,” but our history, in it’s own right, is very touching. Not because it has the makings of the next greatest love story but because it’s ours. And seven years later I can still say the same things…well sort of. The things that annoy me about him matter a little more at times and I go through periods when I think that maybe my life wouldn’t go on without him in it. But the basis of my love is still the same just way more enriched.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1151985010302787102006-07-03T22:46:00.000-05:002006-07-03T22:50:10.333-05:00Running: A State of Mind?So I read this article from a guy who started running late in his life (kind of like me). The basis of the article was why people run and it really got me thinking. I started running because finally I could. I pretty much had something to prove to myself. Mainly, I wanted to prove that the true reason I didn’t run before was physical and once the physical aspect holding me back was rectified I could do it. It seems so simple – running. How hard could it be? Well… Hard? Not necessarily. Humbling? Uh, yeah. I started last summer sort of but have been doing it regularly since January and I LOVE it. I didn’t at first and felt so many times that it was time for me to throw in my proverbial towel and just resign myself to the fact that running isn’t for everyone. But I persevered and here I am running a total of 3 miles (one mile at a time with two laps of walking in between) and walking one mile in between. I am so proud of myself and feel a true sense of accomplishment I have not felt since I danced regularly in high school. “…the miracle is that we had the courage to start…” I love this quote from the article because that is exactly how I feel. I made it so public that I was going to start running that I felt for a while that I had set myself up to fail. Every day that I went running and couldn’t get over the 4-minute run/2-minute walk mark I felt like such an ass for sharing with sooo many people that I was going to run. I probably could have stopped at that point. Technically I had proved that I could run – I mean 4 minutes of running is nothing to dismiss when you never ran a day in your life. But I kept going and that article has got me wondering why. The reason of because I could had long since ended and had been replaced with something else I just didn’t realize it until now. The article suggests that maybe we are running toward something or away from something. For a while I joked that I was running toward a skinnier me (not really joked because it was true). Now, though, there is something so much more to it. Yes, it is the sense of accomplishment and the competition I have going against myself (complete with trash-talking), but it is so much more. <br /><br />I have re-read the article a bunch of times trying to figure it out. Nothing was coming to me and I was getting quite frustrated. I sat here staring at the article when this jumped out at me:<br />“Our running shoes are really erasers. Every step erases some memory of a past failure. Every mile brings us closer to a clean slate. Each foot strike rubs away a word, a look, or an event which led us to believe that success was beyond our grasp.”<br />And I thought YES! That is it. I am running away from the ugly things in my past. The things that have shaped the more negative aspects of my personality. The times that I had been underestimated and gave up. The times I was told that I wasn't enough or even worse that I was too much. I love the thought of that – the idea, the symbolism – it gives me chills. It makes me feel I can accomplish things. Maybe a healthier self-image? A better career direction? Mental health? I haven’t figured it out yet but I think the more I run the closer I will get to it.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1148951638110292532006-05-29T20:06:00.000-05:002006-05-29T20:13:58.126-05:00Pictures<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/390/1342/1600/T-K%20Graduation%20(17).jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/390/1342/320/T-K%20Graduation%20%2817%29.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/390/1342/1600/Cecilia%20(9).jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Graduation day.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/390/1342/1600/Sophia%20(2).jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/390/1342/320/Sophia%20%282%29.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Sophia.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1148950572075486512006-05-29T19:40:00.000-05:002006-05-29T20:02:19.146-05:00Well this is a little confusing...I haven't been able to write because I haven't been able to focus long enough to express exactly what I am thinking. I start to type but my brain is in such a jumble that it comes out as these random thoughts that make absolutely no sense. So I have all these things happening and no real outlet because my mind is a mess. Which is strange since that usually happens when I am inundated with less positive things and that is not really the case. Anyway...here is a quick update so I can feel a little connected with the few people who may happen to read this:<br /><br /><ul><li>Cecilia graduated from preschool last week. It is so very exciting and scary. I felt okay with having a kid in preschool but now I have a "school-aged" child which is a little freaky to me. Stupid, I know.</li><li>I am really liking my job in the ER. It is busy and I have lots of use. It is also pretty rewarding. It seems like almost everyone has an appreciation for the role I play throughout my shift and at least one person thanks me at least one time during my shift. But that is also a mixed bag because being where I am and doing what I do just makes me want to do more. Be better. Kick myself in the ass for putting off going back to school. So as much as I like my job I also kind of hate it because I want...well...more.</li><li>Building on the previous point I still haven't the faintest idea what I should go back to school for. I have considered taking a few classes and just seeing where they lead. But then I think I don't have the time or the finances to really do that. And despite knowing that I would benefit just from getting back into it, I thirst for an actual path - a set goal - knowing what the prize will be at the end. </li><li>I haven't been able to run too often but I have definitely gotten better. I am running/walking a total of three miles - two of which are running in half mile increments. It is pretty exciting because I feel better with the running (a little more natural). I think part of why it is easier is because I have lost some weight so I am hauling a slightly less fat ass around the track. But of course, once again, it is bitter sweet because now I feel like I am not losing fast enough or running well enough. I truly am my own worst enemy. </li></ul><p>I have more going through my head but nothing I am willing to write about yet. </p>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1143736039493351962006-03-30T11:26:00.000-05:002006-05-29T20:03:03.626-05:00Teeth are the devil’s minionsSo I had to have three teeth refilled on Tuesday because the old fillings were breaking and blah blah all that nasty talk about decay and bacteria and abscess. Yuck! Anyway…besides being cranky over having to pay a small fortune my mouth now feels sore and stretched and just overall unhappy. I am at the point now where I wish I had just left it alone since it seems to be bothering me more now than it did before I had 12 instruments and two sets have hands poking around in there. As far as I am concerned having teeth is overrated.<br /><br />On a better front (I think)...I got the unit secretary job in the emergency room I interviewed for forever ago. It has been so long since the interview that I had basically talked myself out of wanting it. I was just reaching the It-wouldn’t-have-been-a-good-schedule-I-don’t-know-what-I-was-thinking point when they called. Now I am a bundle of questioning, second-guessing nerves. Once I get all the information I know I will feel better but until then…. UUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1141748892714846322006-03-07T11:26:00.000-05:002006-03-07T11:28:12.730-05:00Chasing down a slimmer meBefore she wasn’t even in sight but now I can see her. She is in the far off distance and she has the energy to run around with my kids. And that is keeping me moving. I have been “running” for the last few months on and off but have been trying to get serious about it the past few weeks or so. I use the term running loosely because I am doing this run/walk program type thing to build up my endurance, which is nonexistent, and because I have never run before now. I am following a program from some running guy and it was going pretty well until I had to run for five minutes straight. I thought I would die before I was even close to the five-minute mark. Although I lived my motivation died a quick but horribly painful death. A couple of girls I work with are runners of the stick thin variety. They have offered for me to go running with them but I would sooner nail one foot to the ground and run in circles for eternity. I keep trying to explain to one of them that trying to heft all this extra weight on these thick but feeble legs is just not working out for me and that I am unable to get past the three minute run mark. I tell her that it is the equivalent of her carrying me while she runs. She of course finds that hysterical the skinny bitch. I say this in good fun because she has really been helpful with her faith in me. I get into all of this because last night she challenged me to run five minutes one time in my “3 minute run/3 minute walk five times” cycle. She said to picture myself chasing after her so I could kick her ass for even suggesting it. So after I put Sophia down for her morning nap I reluctantly got on the treadmill wanting to do it but preparing myself to fail. Instead of picturing my friend, I pictured the slimmer me I was talking about before. Well I didn’t run five minutes…I ran six and then I ran four 3-minute cycles. (Right now in pure joy I am doing the cabbage patch dance.) I did not find “THE ZONE” that everyone who runs talks about but I did discover the runner’s high. That feeling that I accomplished something. Despite the monotony of running on a treadmill I actually got somewhere. I feel pretty damn cool right now.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1140102015786154552006-02-16T09:57:00.000-05:002006-02-16T10:00:15.823-05:00Jumping on the BandwagonFollowing Nancy's lead, I have created a Johari Window. Contribute if you would like:<br /><br /><a href="http://kevan.org/johari?name=debwitten" target="_blank">http://kevan.org/johari?name=debwitten</a>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1139853826322733862006-02-13T13:01:00.000-05:002006-02-13T13:03:46.386-05:00Trying to look at the positive<p>Things that sustain me:</p><ul><li>Hearing Sophia’s baby laugh</li><li>Cecilia randomly saying “I love you, mommy”</li><li>Finding out that when I was at one of my lowest and lonliest points someone loved me (even if I didn't know it at the time)</li><li>Having my sister to talk to everyday </li><li>Keith marrying me when he knew I was crazy and still loving me now despite the fact that I am even crazier</li><li>Random calls from one of my closest friends just checking in (Thanks, Nancy!!!)<br /> </li></ul>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1138721704007584312006-01-31T10:29:00.000-05:002006-01-31T10:35:04.026-05:00Don't worry this will only hurt for a second.I have always had the hardest time asking for help, especially when it involves my mental stability/health. Actually, I don’t often share that side of my life to many people. I also know that nobody but a professional can really help in the way I need it. The actual seeking of help instills such a deep, crippling fear in me. Not that I haven’t had therapy before (my mom divorced when I was young; my whole childhood was spent in therapy) but it is different now. My fear is not of the help but more about being exposed as the fraud I am. I pride myself for presenting my mentally healthy façade to everyone I come in contact with (including my family). Keith is the only one who really knows but it is so clearly out of his realm that I feel more that it was a mistake to reveal so much than relief that I finally have someone who shares the whole secret and still loves me. Some people may think that it would have been impossible to hide this from him but to a large degree that would underestimate that ability to hide that I have honed for years. Faking normalcy is not that big of a deal in and of itself, it is what it represents to other people that makes me feel so...well, fraudulent. It is a mystery to me why but I often get the opportunity to give advice to other people; I dare say pretty decent advice sometimes. To my ears it is so rational sounding and I realize the impression I give people – the impression that I am so normal, so together. It makes me wonder if most counselors, therapists, head shrinkers are actually crazy people masquerading as sane harbors in their patient’s turbulent sea of madness. Handing out these sensible solutions, advice they themselves can’t follow or implement in their own lives, to needy people just looking for something or someone to grasp onto. Does it ring as false in their heads as it does in mine when I do it? The few times I have lost my composure (to my mom or sister mostly) I have made them feel so uncomfortable that I struggle to get myself together to satisfy their need to not believe I am crazy. And with a sheepish “Sorry I don’t know what happened there” apology from me we continue on the comfortable path of “what we don’t talk about doesn’t exist.” So what happens if I stop faking? What will everyone think? What will they do? What will <em>I</em> do? Who will I be if I am not the person I built for the outside world?Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1134746213880154622005-12-16T09:58:00.000-05:002005-12-16T10:16:53.896-05:00Christmas AngelsThis week has been an amazing lesson for me in the kindness of others. After my horribly stressful week last week I have been trudging through this holiday season with my eyes closed and a “just get me through it” attitude. This week some of the girls that I work with showed me that a little bit of thoughtfulness can go a long way. One of the things that has been stressing me out is the upcoming Christmas season and being able to have presents for the girls (Cecilia mainly) on Christmas Day. As much I understand the “reason for the season” I am not blind to the fact that Cecilia, at age five, is going to expect Santa to come through with some cool new things for her. Having to shell out a phenomenal amount of money to get the heat fixed put a huge damper on our Christmas shopping. Being a pretty even-tempered and happy person at work (no really), I think the girls were taken aback by my falling to pieces last week when I found out about the cost of fixing the heat. All I could think about was Christmas and trying to figure out what we could do. Anyway…These beautiful women surprised me with gifts for the girls. Six people that I have only known for three months dipped into their own wallets to make sure that the girls would have some presents under the tree on Christmas morning. And I don’t mean any old thing. They shopped for brand new toys…things that they have heard me say Cecilia was interested in. I was shocked speechless. I have worked in a lot of places with a lot of people but never has anyone ever done anything so thoughtful for me never mind a whole group of people. These ladies have touched my heart in a way that I will never be able to verbalize. It’s not about the presents because we honestly would have made do with whatever we were able to buy and Cecilia is a good girl and would have been happy. But the fact that these people that I barely know would think to do this just…it still makes me speechless.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1134254606565557302005-12-10T17:39:00.000-05:002005-12-10T17:43:26.603-05:00Merry **!#!(*! ChristmasI am writing to say I have nothing productive to write because I am in such a foul mood I can't even stand to be around myself. Things are not merry. Things suck. I hate this holiday season more than life!! I want to skip this whole season and just let 2006 start with the hopes that it HAS to be better than this year. Hoping at this point is about as effective as wishing on stars. <br />Sorry for all the negative energy. <br /><br />I am really writing in hopes somebody has something uplifting and positive to say/share with me.Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1132801501067626582005-11-23T22:03:00.000-05:002005-11-23T22:05:01.083-05:00I am supposed to be thankful and all I can feel is stressed…This time of year, at least from my understanding, is supposed to be a time to reflect on all the things that we are thankful for. I am all about reflection and feeling thankful for that matter. I love this time of year when I can sit down and really think about the people and things I am grateful to have in my life. It makes me even happier when I catch myself saying something out loud about being grateful and nobody looks at me with fear flashing in their eyes thinking I am next going to take out my bible to start thumping. However, this year all I feel is stress. There have been so many sad things happening around me. My friend’s mom has cancer, my other friend’s dad is in the hospital not in good shape, some other personal stuff with me and with my family members. I just feel like it is all too much to handle. I want to be thankful for the fact that I have friends to worry about and family to be around but all I can think is AAAAAAHHHHHHHAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!! I feel selfish. Like I want to fix things for other people so I can get back to reflecting on my life. Isn’t that the dumbest thing?Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14723445.post-1132152438852910392005-11-16T09:44:00.000-05:002005-11-16T09:47:18.863-05:00The Doubt Comes Marching In...<p>Keith, Cecilia, and I went to see the school on Monday. It was everything we hoped for and then again it wasn’t. The fact that the school didn’t measure up is not the fault of the school or the faculty the blame completely lies on me. Inside my head lives the ideal school I would send my children to. It has the perfect combination of discipline and disorder. It would allow children to be children yet foster the desire to “grow up” but not be “grown up.” There, Cecilia, and eventually Sophia, would be in an environment where she could be herself and learn all the necessary things required for life. In my head, the parents would be involved but not too involved. They would be friendly but not cliquy and we would all have our “place” within the school dynamic. It’s a lovely place in my head, really. I am, however, rooted in reality (at least about this) and I know that school doesn’t actually exist. Not to say there aren’t good schools out there but when trying to decide if I am going to uproot Cecilia from all that is familiar and comfortable the school has to be better than good. So these are the questions I am dealing with now:<br /><br />Will the change be too much for Cecilia to handle?<br />Will she be too far behind and unable to catch up with the other kids?<br />Do I really want to trap Sophia in the car for a total of two hours a day trekking back and forth from the school when Cecilia’s current school is right down the block?<br />Is the problem I have with Cecilia’s progress the school’s fault or mine and Keith’s for not working more often with her as far as practicing her writing, etc?<br />Am I being too critical because of my personal feelings about the other parents and the director?<br />Will changing schools accomplish what we hope with her academic progress as well as her attitude?<br />If we change schools and she can’t catch up and doesn’t adjust well, what do we do then?<br /><br />Keith and I have decided not to make any final decisions until we get Cecilia’s evaluation from her present school next week. Until then I guess I will just keep stressing. Having to be responsible for another human being really sucks sometimes. <br /> </p>Deborahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281990496479905745noreply@blogger.com1