Reflections

A few things have happened over the past few weeks that have given me pause for reflection.  When we are born, many say we are on a pre-determined path in our lives.  We have our fate, our destiny, our course all mapped out and ready to go.  Perhaps, we do live on a certain tangent within the Universe.  Maybe that is simply not true.

In any event, I was recently questioning my role in the Universe.  More particularly, I was also wondering if deep down I am a good enough person and even though I make mistakes, I wondered if perhaps I am not always the "good" person I seek to be.  

I try to be the best possible version of me.  Not just for my own "selfish" reasons, but so that I can pave the way for my children to follow their own paths.  Not only do I wish for them to grow up to "function in the real world", but I want them to be good people.  I desire my children to be the kind of giving people in the world, the ONE that may just make a difference in someone's life.  I want to demonstrate a multitude of times over the ripple effect of a good deed carried out, the impact of a pay it forward, or how wonderful a "kill 'em with kindness" act brings out the best in them.

Recently, an adult had me question whether I was a good person or not.  Rationally, I should never have doubted myself in this particular instance.  However, because I was sort of already under the weight of my own emotional elephant, okay - I was a little down in the dumps - I allowed my irrational thoughts to entertain my core person within.  

I was torn.  I was sad.  I have done so many good deeds for this person and his/her family, that I wondered why they would challenge me so.  Now, do not get me wrong - I do not expect any amount of good deeds done to erase any accountability for a wrong action; however, I know in this instance that there is much more to the story and I stand firm in my position.  Yet, I allowed this incident to get the better of me for a few days.

I have come to realize the POWER OF ONE.  Yes, I put that in caps for a reason.  Emphasis added.  POWER OF ONE.  I allowed one person to completely derail my well-being for a few days.  No matter how many times I reaffirmed my side of the story to myself and reassured myself that I had not wronged anyone; I still felt sad and questioned my virtues.

Reality then set in.  Yes!  POWER OF ONE.  You have heard it from me before, and now you will hear it from me again.  Instead of dwelling on this negative situation in my life, I have given myself a nice swift kick in the rear.  I will turn my frown upside down.  

POWER OF ONE.  I will focus on the positive.  I know in my heart that I am a good person.  I know that I feel good about paying it forward.  I try to find many creative and many straight-forward ways to pull off good deeds.  

POWER OF ONE.  What's that famous quote about casting a stone and watching all the ripples you create?  Yes.  

I started looking outwardly from me, with reflections.  In this past week alone, I have seen examples of local friends paying it forward and it so warms my heart.  One friend was the recipient of a cake from another.  One friend has a group effort going to continually remind and offer new opportunities for others to pay it forward.  One friend's father was severely injured and the offers to provide help keep pouring in day after day.  Another friend received a coupon for a coffee from another.  One friend started a new fundraiser to keep her deceased brother's legacy alive by providing sports scholarships for young kids.  Another friend kicked off a scholarship to keep her son's memory alive with the support of the community.  Our own Curvy Girl, Mandy, started a group to engage each others' children this summer in all sorts of memory making to be had.

So, after my rainy day party on myself, I came home yesterday to collect the mail.  I received an envelope with a very beautiful, but youthful/juvenile cursive writing addressed to me with no return address.  I opened the envelope to find a very endearing card with a 8.5 x 11 typed letter thanking me.  Yes, a letter of thanks for being me.  The card was signed:  <3 A Friend.  My heart melted, a smile took over my face and my cloud lifted.  Someone did an act of kindness and paid it forward to me!

POWER OF ONE.  

All I can say is please do not ever question your ability to make a difference in the life of someone.  What you view as a small act, may in reality be the one thing that changes someone else's day or their outlook, or quite possibly even their life.

Queen Bee

Kate blogged about it yesterday and I have blogged about it before. It's one of the side effects of this age of technology we live in and I am certainly not done reflecting about it, although I have matured a little where this is concerned and tried to figure out how I can make technology and social media work for me.

It's about how far gone we are from where we need to be, as sisters, as wives, as mothers and friends. How we lost our ever-loving minds? When we can let a text message derail a friendship or a perceived slight on Facebook affect our opinion of someone, we have indeed.


When Facebook started taking over the free world, I was bitter. Like, really bitter. Like, annoyingly bitter. I am woman enough to admit this now -- I acted like a toddler. I kicked, I screamed, I took my toys and went stomping home.

I felt myself losing my grip on relationships, I felt that very "realness" on which I base myself entering a forum where I would be misunderstood. I felt, mostly, abandoned -- like everyone had run off to a new arcade to play Dance Dance Revolution while I was just getting the hang of Burger Time.

I think I get it now. If you can mange your involvement in such things -- social media, specifically -- they can be an enhancement to your relationships. Right?

RIGHT?

Okay, at the start of this problem, we have screens. Big ones, little ones, tablet sized ones. Computer monitors, televisions, iPods, an iPad, my freaking phone, as I have come to refer to it. Screens at the gas station, at the subway station, dancing around our heads at restaurants. We buy almost all of our retail goods via screen as the clerk sells them to us via another screen.

We need these screens, it's okay. I have also come to terms with this -- this is our society and I can't run from it, change it or minimize it. It just is.

So I started thinking, how can I use social media to help me to connect not only to others, and to my children, but also to myself? A little movie called Mother Nature's Child fell into my lap and the thoughts started running through my head.

I started reasoning that people feel more connected to themselves and others when they are connected with the Earth. To connect with the Earth, you have to spend time in nature*.

* This might be a good time to mention that I live on a parcel of land so small that I toss my neighbors a stick of butter when they need to borrow some, and they walk a few steps out their door and share cookies through my kitchen window.

For my family, in order to connect with nature we have to pack it up and go find some.

I told my kids we were hitting the trails this summer -- we are going to visit as many Massachusetts State Parks as humanly possible. We will make a giant map and put little flags on pins and mark our travels.

I was infinitely more excited about this than they were...until I mentioned that they could bring their friends. So now we had a real plan.

But then of course, there is the issue of communication. How do we let our friends know where we are going? And how do I communicate to people that I am a more-the-merrier kind of gal so they can invite their friends too? Would that mean I would have to give everyone directions? What if I change my mind because of the weather? And what exactly IS the weather report?

The template is obvious. The internet. Social Media.  Facebook. It brings the whole experience full circle, right back to the screen.

So I invented a little project I am calling The Hive :: A Place to Bee. It exists in the form of a Facebook page and I am hoping people in my community will use it as a place to see where this Queen Bee** is headed in nature. I am hoping that in between those two screen -- the ones I am trying to detach from and the ones I am using to connect with, we can have amazing shared experiences and create memories for a generation of kids who is far more likely to experience such things via YouTube than they are in real life. That is one thing I simply won't accept.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

For other uses, see Queen bee (disambiguation).

Carniolan queen bee with attendants on a honeycomb.

The term queen bee is typically used to refer to an adult, mated female that lives in a honey bee colony or hive; she is usually the mother of most, if not all, the bees in the hive.

**I like the idea of being a Queen Bee because I love being with millions of kids, I mother them all like my own and I am incredibly bossy. Plus, I have always loved and respected bees and so it's a title I wear with pride and reverence. Plus, I call every kid Honey.

I am genuinely hoping that people will meet us at beaches and mountains, trails and streams, to throw open our car doors and let the kids fly out. I want them to tumble down hillsides and step in mud, to scale steep inclines and jump into lakes with their clothes on.

I want my kids to be kids -- while being around other kids -- and if it means I have to micromanage the experience through social media, then I guess that's just the reality of our lives.

If you are interested in staying up on my colony's Summer 2013 whereabouts or if you are looking for an inexpensive nature-based road-tripping alternative to summer camp for your kid(s), find The Hive :: A Place to Bee on Facebook and follow along while we explore the Bay State from Stockbridge to Boston :-)

Losing Touch

I think we are losing touch. With how easy it is to reach someone, I think we are missing key points in truly being in touch with someone.

Remember the phone? All you could do on a phone was call a person and talk to them. 

Voice to voice. 

Tone to tone. 

You could explain things more easily and had nary a finger cramp. You could catch where they were lead astray more quickly and fix or back peddle at the sound of a "hurrumph". There was a dance you could do on the phone, keeping everything in check. Hanging up you knew where you stood. Maybe it wasn't always a good standing- but you knew the placement of your feet.

There was also letter writing. That was a thought out process. If you were getting out the stationary and putting a stamp on an envelope, you were going to compose something. No 3 seconds to "send" button. You would re-read and fold and maybe not seal the envelope for a day. A lot of rethinking and rewriting could happen. Sure- it went in the mailbox and sometimes a wave of panic could wash over you (and also a bit of a thrill. It was out there!) But again, time. Time to work with your words and savor your thoughts. And if it was just too long to write or too hard to explain- again, the phone...

"Hi! It is me. Fine, how are you?" 

I rarely have an email that starts like that. I never have a text that starts that way. I mean- you saw on FB that I had a funny morning, right? You thought that post was interesting from the Huffington Post. You can see my kids are growing like weeds. But do you know how I am doing as an individual? Anyone can paint a picture.

I am fine, by the way. New job. Some stress. 

Oh, and a smidge of broken heart because friendships end when people don't talk. Verbally.

I will often drop a fb post or a text to check on people. I could say I am guilty of it, but really- social media makes us capable of being in touch with so many different people. I think it is a plus in so many ways. You see that they went away! You help suggest things when asked. You can do a drive by- "I was thinking of you!"- post and they can drive past and respond. I do love it. A lot. <3 Especially because I am not much of a phone person. Also, my close friends and I have waves of long emails back and forth which I love. Reminds me of letter writing days. They come and go depending on how busy life is for one of us.

I am guilty of forgetting those not on FB, though. Of not sending pix to my mom or my mother in law. Or not filling a non FB person in on my life. 

What? We moved 6 months ago!!! I didn't tell you? I thought everyone knew... Oops.

All I am saying about our new technology is this...

When a text gets weird and you are re-explaining something? Check in.

If you write something more than "Saw your car!" or "Did you get that Groupon?" and it doesn't get a response in a textly manner? Check in.

If something has upset you, don't hit "send", hit "call". 

I have called a friend long distance to straighten something out from our emails that I couldn't for the life of me figure out. Why was she was so upset? When I called her I was astonished to hear her answer. I never fathomed it. I would have never known, and at that moment it was everything to her and I was oblivious until she could say it. And her voice could wobble in my ear. And I could remember who we were. And yes, of course, I would fix it because I knew I needed to step up for a friend whose voice sounded like that.

Who you gonna call?

(don't say it)

Guest Blogger: Heather Mazzaferro - Bullying; A Personal Journey

I had trouble trying to decide from what perspective to write this blog; as someone being bullied, someone who has bullied or as a mom of a child that has been bullied. I am saddened and ashamed to say that I have been a part of all three of these groups.

Who among us hasn’t bullied? The definition of bullying is; to use superior strength or influence to intimidate someone, typically to force him or her to do what one wants. I’m confident that I have, at some point, bullied my son into trying a new food at dinner time or even in a conversation with a friend, been adamant that my point of view was clearly the correct one.  I’m not proud of it. I’m also not proud of the fact that I bullied someone when I was in 7^th grade. I remember the incident very clearly. My poor friend started her period in school. I taunted her, making fun of her on the way home. She was crying by the time we got to her driveway. It makes me cringe to this day thinking about it. I have no excuse for it except that I was being bullied myself by some 8^th grade girls and it made me feel better to do it to her or even that I was walking home to an environment of being bullied by my father. I can’t even tell you which one it was.  As an adult I apologized to that friend, who ironically didn’t remember the incident, though I carried it in my heart all these years.

The second I hear the word bully, it takes me back to the cafeteria at Gallagher Junior High. My home life was a mess, and a flicker of promise came to me when I was chosen to be on the Pop Warner Dolphin’s Cheerleading Squad. I was elated. It seemed like a normal teenage activity in my not so normal world. It was validation that I could do something right. Unfortunately for me, a group of older cheerleaders on the squad were rooting for someone else to be chosen, someone more popular, with perfectly feathered hair, who fit in better than I did. I was sitting at lunch one day and 4 or 5 of these older girls came over to my seat and surrounded me. They said, “Come here, we want to talk to you.” I followed them over to the staircase, and one of the girls said to me, “We don’t understand why you were chosen over her. We want to see what’s so special about you. Do your cheer. Right now.”  I was mortified. In front of the entire cafeteria, in a meek voice, trembling with embarrassment and fear, I did the cheer. They stood there with their arms crossed sneering at me. When I finished they told me to do another one and when I was done, they all shook their heads and collectively agreed that I sucked and they didn’t understand why I was picked. And they walked away.  I was humiliated and deflated and I will never forget how they made me feel. I have run into one of these girls over the years, as her nephews were friends with Dante. She was pleasant to me, vaguely remembering me from school. She had kids of her own, and I often wonder if deep down she recalled who I was  and maybe, hopefully felt embarrassed by her behavior. I could only hope that she had the same feelings that I did about being mean and that it wasn’t just something that was so normal to her and I was just another one of her ego boosting victims.

Fast forward 29 years and here I am consoling my 8 year old. I have to answer the question through tears, “Why mom? Why were they mean to me? I was just having fun.”  I have to find a balance between staying calm and rational and wanting to lash out to protect my child. As someone who has bullied, I know the feelings of remorse that manifest and because I was bullied, I know the damage that happens and it never goes away. So what do I do? I do the only thing I can.  I teach my son tolerance. The definition of tolerance is; being patient, understanding and accepting of anything different. This generation is growing up with reality shows that glamorize people who are overweight, teenage and pregnant, Italian, Amish, hoarders, superstars, addicts, The Next Top Model, gold miners, fisherman, or just Kardasian. It’s a direct juxtaposition to our job as parents, to teach our children that everyone is different and unique. Each person in an individual and if someone offers something opposite to what our normal is, it’s okay. Yet they are inundated daily with the categorization of people, what makes them different and the criticisms that follow.

We all know that our home is our first school. It’s where we learn the basics and where we should be learning this important coping tool. Our parents are our first teachers. Coming from a broken, beyond fixing home, I completely understand that not every house is equipped with one let alone two parents who are capable of teaching tolerance.   As someone who has had experiences from both sides of the bullying fence, I am grateful that I can have a conversation with Dante so he knows he’s not alone in how he feels and if he’s ever in a situation with friends that are bullying and prod him to join in, that he will remember not only how he felt on the receiving end of the misdirected hate, but that his mom has been as well. Although I would never wish both perspectives on Dante (if anyone EVER sees or hears of my son bullying, I expect a prompt phone call, text, email, Facebook post, ASAP!) it has helped me to exercise my tolerance, in many different instances in my life. Even adults get bullied and it feels no different at 41 years old than it does at 8 years. My Grandmother used to say, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” No truer words have ever been spoken.

Dreaming (Again)

With the forecast predicting a possible 4-8 inches of heavy, wet snow; or wait, perhaps the other weatherman just said 8-12 inches, I am dreaming of my warm, balmy days of summer.  Like many other hardened New Englanders, by the time I reach March, I am done with winter.  Old Man Winter, we have put up with you since November, so it is time to pack your bags and move on along to the other hemisphere.  Capiche?

Who's with me?  Let's start a lynch mob on kicking the snow, the ice, the artic temperatures and everything else that goes along with winter right on out of here.

I am dreaming of summer days: 

• Long days of supremely warm rays of sunshine, the rays that naturally bleach my hair to various shades of blonde without paying my beloved hairdresser every six weeks.

• Long days followed by steamy heat radiating off my driveway and warming my hot pink pedicured toe-nails (no worries, I am too cheap and do it myself).

• Long days not buried beneath layers of long sleeves and fleece coupled with more layers of fleece and sheepskin boots.  Oh and winter jackets and stretchy mini-gloves.  Who could forget the scarves?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

• Long days with multi-layers of reapplied sunscreen with the smell of baked sunscreen coupled with fried skin (those who know me make fun of me for my 30 and 50+ sunscreen selection).

• Long days ended with friendship and smokey fire pits.

• Long weekend days lounging at the soccer fields with friends who have become next to family.

• Long weekends spent grilling, sharing a beer and swatting off mosquitos.

• Lazy days counting the dragonflies and saying hello to those I miss.

Inasmuch as I am not ready to bare this ghastly white skin, nor am I "bathing suit ready" (when the reality are we ever?!?), I am ready for longer days to come. 

Somehow eating a tomato and basil salad for dinner comes easier when it's 70 degrees outside.  Sure, the produce comes from a local farm and not shipped in from Colombia and gone are the hibernation needs to store comfort food on your thighs.

I am dreaming.....again, of another winter season coming to a close.  Winter boots being stored in the far corner of my basement, mismatched gloves thrown in a box in the oft-chance they will find a mate miraculously over the summer months. 

Days of flip-flops, shorts and bug spray have to be abound.  Right? 

Buddy Up :: A Love Letter

I have been wanting to write for quite some time now about how important my exercise buddies are to me. If you don't have one of your own, go get one, like, right now. Hands off though -- I have about 4 or 5 of them and I need each and every one desperately so I can't share.

Having a friend to call when you need a partner in crime -- well, it's my one and only fitness tip. I can't tell you what exercise to do or for how many minutes because I sinceerely believe that enjoying your movement is the key to everything, and having a friend to share it with is the key to that enjoyment. Puzzle solved.

Frankly, my buddies are my lifeline when it comes to all things fitness and without them I can see how it would go....I would forever be lying on a yoga mat in front of a Richard Simmons VHS tape, eating leftover cold pizza and drinking a beer. At least with my buddies, we save the beer as a reward for our 6 miles power walks.

These buddies are only a quick text away and their answers to the following questions is always a resounding yes:

Hey -- wanna take a looooong walk?
Wanna go to kickboxing?
Wanna walk the dogs? (ok, the walk-the-dog buddy always says no but maybe if she reads this blog today, she will start saying yes)
Wanna swim across the lake?
Wanna go to hot yoga?
Wanna jog on side-by-side treadmills and gab?
Let's meet at the track in an hour.
Get your ass over here and we'll do some hills.

I am lucky knowing that if I throw this bait in the water, I have a sure thing waiting on the other shore. Ha. A shore thing.

I learned a little bit last week about my love language, and prior to that I never gave much thought to how important words of affirmation are to other people, so I wanted to publicly affirm my love and admiration for the people who not only share my committment to fitness, but who also take time out of their busy lives to spend some time with me while doing it.

Thank you exercise buddies, for being so spritely and fun. You make sweating my ass off much more enjoyable.

xoxoxo

Quirky Gurrrrrl

I want to give a shout out to the girls out there. I love them all. Even the lame ass ones that make other people's girls cry. Someone did them a disservice at some point. My love for them is that they can turn it around. (If they don't and they become mean women, well then I will be honest. I hate them.)

In my heart today is a shout out to the "quirky girl". The beat of their own drummer girl. The "anyone can play with me if I wish to be around anybody, which maybe I don't, but check back with me later" girl. The girl that doesn't quite match, thank goodness. The girl who sticks up for the little ones, for herself, for ants (but maybe not stink bugs), for snakes, for pickles.

My mind is on my middle- and I don't mean my gut, for once. My middle child is turning 8. I have written about her before and I have decided to repost that today for my blog. I also wanted to add a few cool resources out there that give great advice on books and movies and great women to talk about with your daughter:
Mighty Girl is on Facebook. Like it and make it apart of your daily feed. A friend told me about it and I enjoy it.
Random House's great picks for girls for some books.
PBS has top picks on books as well.
PBS dedicates a whole section to understanding and raising girls. (PBS, I love you. I LUUUUUURVE YOU!!!!!!)
Dove is on board! They have a whole campaign going on I missed because I fast forward commercials.

So, just some stuff. Of course, the number one way I am focusing on raising my girls to be who they want to be, as best I can, is allowing myself to be me. Not commenting in a negative manner at my reflection. Sharing what I am good at and expressing that to them without boasting. Lots and lots of story sharing and dialogue. I do a multiple dialogue choice approach with my children when my kids are in a bind. I find giving my kids a very loose script, they can then know how to approach a friend, teacher, pest, and get across their feelings and thoughts more effectively. I cry around my children. I can't help it because when I praise them, I cry. When I talk about something that is hard for them, I cry. (Usually I retain my normal voice, but I sometimes get all squeaky) I let them know when I am nervous or when I am having a struggle. They are starting to give me advice. How about that? I am human with them as much as I can be. That includes making mistakes. That include apologizing. (I loathe apologizing. I know. Nice quality, no? Well, I seem to have passed it on.) We can always grow. I like doing it as a family.

Without further ado...................

My previous post about Evelyn in case you still have some coffee left to sip.