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What Movie Is Your Christmas Most Like?
Friday, December 16, 2005
What's your Christmas?
Friday, December 02, 2005
Perception is . . .
The author of another I blog I read wrote about her experience with a mom she perceived to be affluent and uncaring for her child . . . the mom was at Starbucks with three kids, one throwing a temper tantrum the entire time. Comments enused . . . a back and forth between bloggers, assuming that the mom was uncaring, unloved, and spoiled . . . the child the same. I have been troubled by this blog . . . for in describing the scenario, I could see myself.
I guess what troubled me so much were the assumptions about the woman. Just because someone is wearing nice clothes, driving a nice car and visiting a nice Starbucks in a nice part of town with a child throwing a tantrum, doesn't mean they are miserable and a bad parent. And one doesn't have to be of limited means to teach their children values, manners and the like.
Maybe the mom just needed to get out of the house for a while for her own sanity . . . even though she knew that one of her kids was out of sorts. Maybe she chose the local Starbucks because she could visit with her friend for a bit, but not worry about ordering lunch and having to leave before it arrived because of an upset child. Maybe she chose the local Starbucks because many patrons come in, get their fix, and leave . . . and an upset child won't be a monstrous distraction to most. Maybe she wanted to meet at Starbucks and not at her house, even though it would have been easier to have the kids at home, because she just needed a change of scenery, even if for only a few minutes. Been there, done that, all of the above.
Maybe her son has some challenges, and while they are working on them, he sometimes comes across as rude or otherwise troublesome. But it's really of no one else's concern, and she shouldn't have to explain him to everyone on the street. Maybe others don't understand that she's not really ignoring him, or isn't uncaring. Maybe more public exposure is what the son needs to learn to live in his environment. But once again, he made a scene. And maybe she goes home and cries in her loving husband's arms because of the love they have for their son, and the struggles they know he faces. And they feel helpless. Google "scensory processing disorder" or "the out-of-sync child" and maybe you'll gain some insight. Been there, done that.
Maybe she isn't over-cocktailed or over-medicated. Maybe she has a great marriage, a wonderful husband, and faith in a God who will comfort and protect her, and faith in a Holy Spirit who will shower the family with love, strength and the power to endure. Been there, done that . . .
Maybe we shouldn't be so quick to judge . . .
I guess what troubled me so much were the assumptions about the woman. Just because someone is wearing nice clothes, driving a nice car and visiting a nice Starbucks in a nice part of town with a child throwing a tantrum, doesn't mean they are miserable and a bad parent. And one doesn't have to be of limited means to teach their children values, manners and the like.
Maybe the mom just needed to get out of the house for a while for her own sanity . . . even though she knew that one of her kids was out of sorts. Maybe she chose the local Starbucks because she could visit with her friend for a bit, but not worry about ordering lunch and having to leave before it arrived because of an upset child. Maybe she chose the local Starbucks because many patrons come in, get their fix, and leave . . . and an upset child won't be a monstrous distraction to most. Maybe she wanted to meet at Starbucks and not at her house, even though it would have been easier to have the kids at home, because she just needed a change of scenery, even if for only a few minutes. Been there, done that, all of the above.
Maybe her son has some challenges, and while they are working on them, he sometimes comes across as rude or otherwise troublesome. But it's really of no one else's concern, and she shouldn't have to explain him to everyone on the street. Maybe others don't understand that she's not really ignoring him, or isn't uncaring. Maybe more public exposure is what the son needs to learn to live in his environment. But once again, he made a scene. And maybe she goes home and cries in her loving husband's arms because of the love they have for their son, and the struggles they know he faces. And they feel helpless. Google "scensory processing disorder" or "the out-of-sync child" and maybe you'll gain some insight. Been there, done that.
Maybe she isn't over-cocktailed or over-medicated. Maybe she has a great marriage, a wonderful husband, and faith in a God who will comfort and protect her, and faith in a Holy Spirit who will shower the family with love, strength and the power to endure. Been there, done that . . .
Maybe we shouldn't be so quick to judge . . .
Monday, October 24, 2005
Carpool Meltdowns
How do explain to a seven year old that it really isn't his fault (entirely) that the family we carpool with no longer wants to carpool with us and and has already found another family to carpool with for the five mile trek to school?
One phone call (don't call home, call me on my cell phone, said the dad), a unilateral decision that supposedly the kids aren't getting along (something I supposedly somehow failed to notice during the drive home every day). No "let's talk about this," or "we're concerned." Just, "we're not carpooling anymore."
My son had nightmares for a few days, fearing that our ex-carpool-ees were banishing him from school.
It has really troubled me also - if they just didn't want to carpool, let me know. But this whole "the kids aren't getting along" without any willingness to talk, and without the slightest consideration for the issues now raised for our family at having to reschedule our lives without warning to now handle all of the driving has, quite frankly, rattled me.
I'm not sure why I am so upset - perhaps it's the lack of closure, so to speak. I see a missed opportunity to teach conflict resolution to the kids (if that really was the problem). I see lack of consideration. I see selfishness.
And I always thought playground politics involved the kids, not the parents.
One phone call (don't call home, call me on my cell phone, said the dad), a unilateral decision that supposedly the kids aren't getting along (something I supposedly somehow failed to notice during the drive home every day). No "let's talk about this," or "we're concerned." Just, "we're not carpooling anymore."
My son had nightmares for a few days, fearing that our ex-carpool-ees were banishing him from school.
It has really troubled me also - if they just didn't want to carpool, let me know. But this whole "the kids aren't getting along" without any willingness to talk, and without the slightest consideration for the issues now raised for our family at having to reschedule our lives without warning to now handle all of the driving has, quite frankly, rattled me.
I'm not sure why I am so upset - perhaps it's the lack of closure, so to speak. I see a missed opportunity to teach conflict resolution to the kids (if that really was the problem). I see lack of consideration. I see selfishness.
And I always thought playground politics involved the kids, not the parents.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Face time
"Find her face, Austin"
Austin is five years old and in kindergarten as at an early childhood school for the visually impaired where I volunteer. Austin is an albino, and has some sight, and he is taught to "use" his sight. It can be easy for a visually impaired person to rely on their other senses and not develop what limited sight they do have. One of the things they teach the visually impaired children is to find the face of the person they are speaking with. It helps for identity purposes, and helps strengthen the vision they do have.
"Find her face." I wonder how often I speak with someone without really looking at their face; seeing their features, the feelings, the experiences that are displayed. Am I so caught up in my own world that I don't take the time to really "see" the person with whom I am talking. Could it be that me, a fully-sighted person, "sees" less than the visually-impaired child who is being taught to find the face of the person speaking to them?
Find her face, Katie
Austin is five years old and in kindergarten as at an early childhood school for the visually impaired where I volunteer. Austin is an albino, and has some sight, and he is taught to "use" his sight. It can be easy for a visually impaired person to rely on their other senses and not develop what limited sight they do have. One of the things they teach the visually impaired children is to find the face of the person they are speaking with. It helps for identity purposes, and helps strengthen the vision they do have.
"Find her face." I wonder how often I speak with someone without really looking at their face; seeing their features, the feelings, the experiences that are displayed. Am I so caught up in my own world that I don't take the time to really "see" the person with whom I am talking. Could it be that me, a fully-sighted person, "sees" less than the visually-impaired child who is being taught to find the face of the person speaking to them?
Find her face, Katie
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Blog Voyeur
I find myself utterly fascinated by the blogs of other I do not know. Obviously, one's blog is out there for the world to see, but I wonder how many people follow blogs without ever acknowledging to the author that they have become a fan. Probably millions. I have persons whom I have never met, and likely never will, but whom I feel like I know from my visits to their blog.
It's a curious thing, this blogging.
It's a curious thing, this blogging.
Bedtime
The sun has set . . . gone to another part of the world, they liked to say. It wasn't moonlight glowing through the slats of the blinds covering the windows . . . though, it was more fun to think that than acknowledge the less poetic reality of the over-illuminating pulsations of the street lamp streaming into his bedroom.
The dinner-time giggles had subsided. It had been an especially engaging evening meal. With dancing jazz notes skipping around the room, they broke bread. Mom, can I be finished, he said, satisfied and exhibiting the tell-tale signs of boredom once what one moment was entertaining, the next moment was no longer.
Bathtime was followed by stories . . . the Daddy-kind of stories, each dragon, each dinosaur with a different voice. A yawn . . . then another . . . his head buried in his pillow. Day is done.
It was her turn now. The soft dim of the night-stand lamp let her know he was asleep . . . though his restlessness let her know he had not yet arrived in the Land of Nod.
As she snuggled in next to him . . . only for a brief wish good night . . . a small kiss is followed by a blessing . . . Lord, keep him safe and healthy.
As her lips lovingly brush his cheek, his eyes flutter and he turns toward her. A smile lights up his face. Even in slumber he seems to know she's there . . . that indescribable connection between mother and son.
Her heart swells as his smile penetrates her being. Life . . . work . . . the conflicts often torture her mind. Yet, it is the inherent response in the dusk of a day from a small boy to the love of his mother that is her tonic. Her peaceful resolve. Basked in the slatted glow of the street lamp, she acknowledges all is good.
The dinner-time giggles had subsided. It had been an especially engaging evening meal. With dancing jazz notes skipping around the room, they broke bread. Mom, can I be finished, he said, satisfied and exhibiting the tell-tale signs of boredom once what one moment was entertaining, the next moment was no longer.
Bathtime was followed by stories . . . the Daddy-kind of stories, each dragon, each dinosaur with a different voice. A yawn . . . then another . . . his head buried in his pillow. Day is done.
It was her turn now. The soft dim of the night-stand lamp let her know he was asleep . . . though his restlessness let her know he had not yet arrived in the Land of Nod.
As she snuggled in next to him . . . only for a brief wish good night . . . a small kiss is followed by a blessing . . . Lord, keep him safe and healthy.
As her lips lovingly brush his cheek, his eyes flutter and he turns toward her. A smile lights up his face. Even in slumber he seems to know she's there . . . that indescribable connection between mother and son.
Her heart swells as his smile penetrates her being. Life . . . work . . . the conflicts often torture her mind. Yet, it is the inherent response in the dusk of a day from a small boy to the love of his mother that is her tonic. Her peaceful resolve. Basked in the slatted glow of the street lamp, she acknowledges all is good.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Stormy Weather
Wow . . . what amazing thunder and lightening. The power of weather in Kansas is something I had forgotten in all of my years away. The most incredible clouds roll in and the lightning strikes zig-zag through the sky with wild abandon. Thunder crashes around - clasps lasting more than a few seconds.
I can sit and watch the storms for hours. It doesn't just rain in eastern Kansas; mother nature produces an incredible show. I look for the infamous funnel clouds; wait to hear if any tornado sirens go off (so far, none).
My kids complain about how boring it is the midwest ( . . . those wild sons of the Confederacy I birthed!). Kansas may not have the skyscrapers, the subways, the lights, the history of the east coast to amuse and entertain. We have the good-old fashioned kind of entertainment that can only come from summer in the midwest.
I can sit and watch the storms for hours. It doesn't just rain in eastern Kansas; mother nature produces an incredible show. I look for the infamous funnel clouds; wait to hear if any tornado sirens go off (so far, none).
My kids complain about how boring it is the midwest ( . . . those wild sons of the Confederacy I birthed!). Kansas may not have the skyscrapers, the subways, the lights, the history of the east coast to amuse and entertain. We have the good-old fashioned kind of entertainment that can only come from summer in the midwest.
BLAM!
I've been spammed!!!!! I cannot believe my blog has been spammed!!! I do not sit and write often enough, nor have I shared my blog with family and friends (not for any particular reason), so when I logged on today and saw two comments on my latest blog, I was excited . . . someone had found me!
Then I saw the screennames . . . both from payday loan web sites. So much for being "found."
I couldn't believe it . . . blog + spam = BLAM!!!!!
Then I saw the screennames . . . both from payday loan web sites. So much for being "found."
I couldn't believe it . . . blog + spam = BLAM!!!!!
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Just Breathe
Jud made it through his first two days of 5th grade . . .
Breathe
We have already received a phone call from his teacher about two issues on the second day of school . . .
Breathe
I have already sent two emails to his teacher describing Sensory Integration Dysfunction and how it affects Jud's life . . .
Breathe
Spent an hour looking for our copy of The Out-of-Sync-Child to lend to Jud's teacher . . . no luck finding it, will probably buy another . . .
Breathe
Have talked to Jud and reassured him that the school year is not already ruined (despite his dire prediction that it is) . . .
Breathe
Have cried on Terry's shoulder about how much love we have for our son and how difficult it is to see him struggle with life - not learning - but life . . .
Breathe
God, grant us the strength to be supportive, loving parents, and grant Jud peace with his surroundings, and help me to remember to BREATHE
Breathe
We have already received a phone call from his teacher about two issues on the second day of school . . .
Breathe
I have already sent two emails to his teacher describing Sensory Integration Dysfunction and how it affects Jud's life . . .
Breathe
Spent an hour looking for our copy of The Out-of-Sync-Child to lend to Jud's teacher . . . no luck finding it, will probably buy another . . .
Breathe
Have talked to Jud and reassured him that the school year is not already ruined (despite his dire prediction that it is) . . .
Breathe
Have cried on Terry's shoulder about how much love we have for our son and how difficult it is to see him struggle with life - not learning - but life . . .
Breathe
God, grant us the strength to be supportive, loving parents, and grant Jud peace with his surroundings, and help me to remember to BREATHE
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Girl Talk
One of the somewhat troubling realizations I have had since I have left my job at the law firm is that I have no idea how to speak to women. I have worked in a male-dominated field for long enough that I am more comfortable talking about work and sports with guys, than I am just conversing about kids, life, etc. with women. I did not socialize with women in my office, only the men - I was one of only a handful of women attorneys, so there weren't many opportunities. Outside of work, I really only had acquaintances, I now realize.
Getting together with "the girls," whomever the girls de jour may be frightens me. I can talk to people, but not with them. My social conversations have always been in the limited and guarded confines of the office.
At playgroup, I find myself at a loss for words, not knowing what else to say. Or find myself talking too much - because I want the other women to like me. It is as if I am out of practice. I need to go to the conversational batting cages. For someone who is never at a loss for words in most situations, I find my words almost meaningless when I am with a group of women. Let me talk about the latest court order, and I am great. Ask me about my latest shopping conquest, and I don't know what to do.
Perhaps I am trying to hard . . . I want to be the woman on her cell phone with a friend at 8:00 in the morning in carpool line (what in the world they are talking about at that hour is beyond me . . .). I want to be the one people call just to chat (though, admittedly, I'd have to work on that one - given my playgroup tongue-tie-edness).
I know in my heart, it will come in time, this bonding with other women . . . it just takes practice.
Just stop me when I start talking shop . . .
Getting together with "the girls," whomever the girls de jour may be frightens me. I can talk to people, but not with them. My social conversations have always been in the limited and guarded confines of the office.
At playgroup, I find myself at a loss for words, not knowing what else to say. Or find myself talking too much - because I want the other women to like me. It is as if I am out of practice. I need to go to the conversational batting cages. For someone who is never at a loss for words in most situations, I find my words almost meaningless when I am with a group of women. Let me talk about the latest court order, and I am great. Ask me about my latest shopping conquest, and I don't know what to do.
Perhaps I am trying to hard . . . I want to be the woman on her cell phone with a friend at 8:00 in the morning in carpool line (what in the world they are talking about at that hour is beyond me . . .). I want to be the one people call just to chat (though, admittedly, I'd have to work on that one - given my playgroup tongue-tie-edness).
I know in my heart, it will come in time, this bonding with other women . . . it just takes practice.
Just stop me when I start talking shop . . .
Monday, July 18, 2005
Where I've been
bold the states you've been to, underline the states you've lived in and italicize the state you're in now...
Alabama / Alaska / Arizona / Arkansas / California / Colorado / Connecticut / Delaware / Florida / Georgia / Hawaii / Idaho / Illinois / Indiana / Iowa / Kansas / Kentucky / Louisiana / Maine / Maryland / Massachusetts / Michigan / Minnesota / Mississippi / Missouri / Montana / Nebraska / Nevada / New Hampshire / New Jersey / New Mexico / New York / North Carolina / North Dakota / Ohio / Oklahoma / Oregon / Pennsylvania / Rhode Island / South Carolina / South Dakota / Tennessee / Texas / Utah / Vermont / Virginia / Washington / West Virginia / Wisconsin / Wyoming / Washington D.C. /
Go HERE to have a form generate the HTML for you
Alabama / Alaska / Arizona / Arkansas / California / Colorado / Connecticut / Delaware / Florida / Georgia / Hawaii / Idaho / Illinois / Indiana / Iowa / Kansas / Kentucky / Louisiana / Maine / Maryland / Massachusetts / Michigan / Minnesota / Mississippi / Missouri / Montana / Nebraska / Nevada / New Hampshire / New Jersey / New Mexico / New York / North Carolina / North Dakota / Ohio / Oklahoma / Oregon / Pennsylvania / Rhode Island / South Carolina / South Dakota / Tennessee / Texas / Utah / Vermont / Virginia / Washington / West Virginia / Wisconsin / Wyoming / Washington D.C. /
Go HERE to have a form generate the HTML for you
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Freda
One of my favorite radio programs when we lived in Virginia was "The Don and Mike Show," an irreverent afternoon talk show. The program was sassy, sometimes gross, but always funny, funny, funny. It was just the type of mindless entertainment I needed for my long commute home. To say I was a loyal listener is an understatement. Don Geronimo, one of the personalities, lived not far from us in Great Falls, and his family belonged to the same country club we did. Although I never really knew him, after eleven years of listening to the show, I felt like I did know him and had a connection with him.
When we moved to Kansas City last year, I was disappointed to learn that the D & M show, which is syndicated, was not on any KC station. Bummer for me. But I did keep up on the show when, much to my delight, they finally had an official web site with archives, pics, etc.
I just learned today that Don Geronimo's wife, Freda, was killed in a car accident over the weekend in Ocean City, Maryland . . . the same place we were just a month ago on vacation. Freda was a frequent guest on the show, and I loved reading her blog on the Don and Mike website.
It has hit me like a ton of bricks . . . like I have lost a friend. I wish I could be in VA to listen to the radio and hear the tributes. It's been hard enough living in KC, but it becomes more challeging when I learn that things aren't the same in VA. I want to think of VA as exactly how I left it (though I know better) - but tragedies such as this remind me that things change, no matter how much it hurts.
My thoughts and prayers are with the Sorce family. I know that they know there are millions of us out here thinking of them.
We'll miss you Freda.
When we moved to Kansas City last year, I was disappointed to learn that the D & M show, which is syndicated, was not on any KC station. Bummer for me. But I did keep up on the show when, much to my delight, they finally had an official web site with archives, pics, etc.
I just learned today that Don Geronimo's wife, Freda, was killed in a car accident over the weekend in Ocean City, Maryland . . . the same place we were just a month ago on vacation. Freda was a frequent guest on the show, and I loved reading her blog on the Don and Mike website.
It has hit me like a ton of bricks . . . like I have lost a friend. I wish I could be in VA to listen to the radio and hear the tributes. It's been hard enough living in KC, but it becomes more challeging when I learn that things aren't the same in VA. I want to think of VA as exactly how I left it (though I know better) - but tragedies such as this remind me that things change, no matter how much it hurts.
My thoughts and prayers are with the Sorce family. I know that they know there are millions of us out here thinking of them.
We'll miss you Freda.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Play Group Failure
The start of the play group did not go well. There were supposed to be four of us, but the woman who was to lead the group really did not have a child to fit the age group (born in 2004) - it had been a typo that led to her being named leader. Being the one who is always willing to step up to the plate, I offered to have the first play group at our house.
But now what was I supposed to do? I contacted the other two moms . . . and then panicked. Was I supposed to have food? What if no one showed up? I decided I would have bagels and coffee. I don't think I slept much the night before - I've been less stressed out arguing in front of a judge. The morning of our first play group, I went out early and bought bagels. I brought out the rarely used coffee maker - we just never make it at home. I moved the family room table to create a play area. And then Sam and I waited.
The other two moms arrived . . . first hurdle overcome. But from the start, the chemistry wasn't there. I am at least ten years older than the other two . . . and I am the only one with other children. No one ate or drank anything. One mom, after about 45 minutes, announced she had somewhere else to be. But we agreed to get together again . . . I was disappointed, but thought maybe that's what play groups are like. Maybe I expected too much . . .
So we did get together, two weeks later, and this time we added another mom and baby. Londa had heard about us at church, and called me - I liked that she took the initiative to seek us out. The second play group was not too bad, but again, was somewhat forced. By the third get together, we were getting last minute cancellations, or cancelling all together.
I was sooooo frustrated. All I wanted was to be in a play group - how come I can't make it work? I wanted/needed that adult interaction . . .
After a few more weeks, another mom joined us. Like me and Londa, Katie is not a new mom in her twenties . . . we clicked. I hate to call us the "older" moms, but the reality is, we are! Soon, it was just me, Kate and Londa getting together with our kids . . . maybe it will work. The others stopped coming altogether.
I still feel a bit like a play group failure . . . like maybe if I had done something different at that first play group, it would have worked out. But my head tells me that even play groups can't be forced. Either you have chemistry or you don't. And just because we had kids the same age, did not mean we would bond. I realized that it takes more than a child to make a play group. What has worked for the rest of us is that we are close in age and have similar interests. We have some similar life experiences. And, yes, our kids are the same age.
But now what was I supposed to do? I contacted the other two moms . . . and then panicked. Was I supposed to have food? What if no one showed up? I decided I would have bagels and coffee. I don't think I slept much the night before - I've been less stressed out arguing in front of a judge. The morning of our first play group, I went out early and bought bagels. I brought out the rarely used coffee maker - we just never make it at home. I moved the family room table to create a play area. And then Sam and I waited.
The other two moms arrived . . . first hurdle overcome. But from the start, the chemistry wasn't there. I am at least ten years older than the other two . . . and I am the only one with other children. No one ate or drank anything. One mom, after about 45 minutes, announced she had somewhere else to be. But we agreed to get together again . . . I was disappointed, but thought maybe that's what play groups are like. Maybe I expected too much . . .
So we did get together, two weeks later, and this time we added another mom and baby. Londa had heard about us at church, and called me - I liked that she took the initiative to seek us out. The second play group was not too bad, but again, was somewhat forced. By the third get together, we were getting last minute cancellations, or cancelling all together.
I was sooooo frustrated. All I wanted was to be in a play group - how come I can't make it work? I wanted/needed that adult interaction . . .
After a few more weeks, another mom joined us. Like me and Londa, Katie is not a new mom in her twenties . . . we clicked. I hate to call us the "older" moms, but the reality is, we are! Soon, it was just me, Kate and Londa getting together with our kids . . . maybe it will work. The others stopped coming altogether.
I still feel a bit like a play group failure . . . like maybe if I had done something different at that first play group, it would have worked out. But my head tells me that even play groups can't be forced. Either you have chemistry or you don't. And just because we had kids the same age, did not mean we would bond. I realized that it takes more than a child to make a play group. What has worked for the rest of us is that we are close in age and have similar interests. We have some similar life experiences. And, yes, our kids are the same age.
Friday, June 24, 2005
On moving to Kansas City
We moved about a year ago from a beautiful suburb of Washington, DC to Leawood, Kansas, a suburb of Kansas City. Terry and I are both from Kansas City, so in one way it was coming home. But neither of us really ever lived in Kansas City as "adults" and so it has been a totally different experience. And we are seeing Kansas City in a different light. We miss Virginia terribly, and are kind of surprised that after a year, we still don't feel "home" in KC.
One thing we find so interesting about our South Johnson County suburb is that everyone is fixated on what subdivision you live in. It becomes part of your identity. When people ask you where you live, the answer invariably is by subdivision. It's listed in our church directory, it's listed in our school directories. I haven't figured out why subdivisions are so important. We never had that in Virginia, it was always just what city/town you live in. And it doesn't seem to be a status thing - most of the neighborhoods around us are relatively comparable in sizes of house and price. Though maybe I'm missing something.
A curious thing, living in Kansas . . .
One thing we find so interesting about our South Johnson County suburb is that everyone is fixated on what subdivision you live in. It becomes part of your identity. When people ask you where you live, the answer invariably is by subdivision. It's listed in our church directory, it's listed in our school directories. I haven't figured out why subdivisions are so important. We never had that in Virginia, it was always just what city/town you live in. And it doesn't seem to be a status thing - most of the neighborhoods around us are relatively comparable in sizes of house and price. Though maybe I'm missing something.
A curious thing, living in Kansas . . .
On Starting a Blog ... and joining a playgroup
As if I have time to be writing . . . I thought staying home with my kids, and giving up (for the most part), my legal career, would afford me some time to do all of those things I have been putting off for the last ten years . . . like putting my pictures in scrapbooks and organizing our closets. Oh well . . .
But one thing I have realized since I have stopped going into an office every day is that I have no idea how to be a stay at home mom. So many thoughts pop into my mind for a book for women (or men, for that matter) who give up careers to stay at home, that I decided to start writing them down.
So here goes . . .
Why the title, "Confessions of a Play Group Novice?" Because I joined my first play group this year - following the birth of my third child, and I realized I had no idea what I was supposed to do. What do we talk about? What do we do? Do I serve anything to eat or drink? What if no one shows up? For ten years, since the birth of my first child, I've been hearing about play groups.
"oh, she's in my play group" "my play group is going there" "they've been friends since play group" "I'm in three playgroups"
What the heck have I been missing? You see, since I worked full time until the birth of my third child, I never had the time or, really, the opportunity, to be in a play group. So when our church Mothers of Young Children group had Play Group sign-ups, I was right there in line . . . ready to learn about this mysterious thing called a play group. Thus, the name of the blog . . . stay tuned for my adventures, so to speak, as a play group novice.
But one thing I have realized since I have stopped going into an office every day is that I have no idea how to be a stay at home mom. So many thoughts pop into my mind for a book for women (or men, for that matter) who give up careers to stay at home, that I decided to start writing them down.
So here goes . . .
Why the title, "Confessions of a Play Group Novice?" Because I joined my first play group this year - following the birth of my third child, and I realized I had no idea what I was supposed to do. What do we talk about? What do we do? Do I serve anything to eat or drink? What if no one shows up? For ten years, since the birth of my first child, I've been hearing about play groups.
"oh, she's in my play group" "my play group is going there" "they've been friends since play group" "I'm in three playgroups"
What the heck have I been missing? You see, since I worked full time until the birth of my third child, I never had the time or, really, the opportunity, to be in a play group. So when our church Mothers of Young Children group had Play Group sign-ups, I was right there in line . . . ready to learn about this mysterious thing called a play group. Thus, the name of the blog . . . stay tuned for my adventures, so to speak, as a play group novice.
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