I've Turned Into My Mother

I remember watching movies with my mom when I was little, even as a teenager, and looking at her like she was crazy when she would - inevitably - start to well up with tears. She cried when she was happy, she cried when she was sad, she cried when she was touched. I didn't get it.

And now, years later, it's happened. I don't know if it's getting older, or becoming a mother or what, but somewhere along the way someone flipped a switch. I cry when I'm happy, I cry when I'm sad, I cry when I'm touched. I can't seem to stop getting all misty-eyed. Case in point: someone posted this video, from a couple of years ago, of a little girl on America's Got Talent. It's just a four year old girl singing. Okay, she's arguably one of the cutest four year old singers ever, but still. Tegan wanted to watch it again and again and again and again, and by the time she ran offstage to hug her parents, my eyes were leaking. Every time. Every single time.

I'm my mom. But I guess if I have to be someone else, my mom's not a bad person to be....

Adventures at Target

So, I got an email tonight - just a run-of-the-mill, informational type email - and the sender seemed to have an attitude.  I was complaining to my husband that she didn't have to be so snotty about it, and he looked at me and said, "What is the matter with you?  Why do you want to get into it with everyone lately?"

Um.

I guess I have been extra .... passionate ... lately.    Really, can I blame some of it on lack of sleep?  To show that I'm really not out to "get into it with everyone" I decided to post a more lighthearted blog, the kind that I started with when I first started blogging:  a slice-of-life story of me and the kids.

I had a $50 Target gift card that I've been wanting to spend.  We didn't get to go this past weekend, for various reasons.  I was going to go with the kids yesterday on my birthday, but.... well, we didn't.  Also for various reasons.  Today I was determined to go, and the kids all wanted to go too.  It took until 4:00 in the afternoon, but finally we went.  I helped Everett count out his change, the older boys also grabbed some cash, and off we went.

Our first hurdle was getting the proper cart.  Tegan is currently very, very particular about riding in carts.  We needed to find the kind that has the two big seats in the front, the kind that is big and heavy and almost impossible to push, but one that would fit both her and Everett.    A nice older lady was looking at us (people often look at us when we go out, I guess because most people don't have four kids), overheard our conversation, and told us that she saw the cart we were looking for near the other entrance.  We thanked her, and headed to get our cart.

Paxton climbed onto one of the big concrete balls, because a trip to Target isn't complete without climbing onto the big concrete balls.  He sat on one and thoughtfully said, "These balls seemed so much bigger when I was little."  Spencer laughed, because Spencer always laughs when someone says "balls."

We got our cart, and the next twenty minutes was spent playing musical seats.  Tegan in, Everett in.  Everett out, Tegan in.  Tegan out.  Everett in but standing.  Tegan in, but dragging her feet on the floor.  Everett out.

We looked at office supplies first, because I get really, really excited about things like dry erase markers.  A new package of colored, magnetic markers into the cart.  Then we walked through the women's clothes where we (and my apologies to any of you who like them) laughed at all the jean leggings.  I wanted to try something on, then wondered aloud how I'd manage it alone with the kids.  Paxton and Spencer promised they'd be in charge of the littler ones, and told me to try on whatever I wanted.  So I did.  And I was a little irritated that the girl working at the fitting room was in the middle of a personal phone call both when I entered and exited.

Hmh.  Maybe I *do* want to get into it with everyone.

It was about that time that I realized that I couldn't really shop for myself.   It was just too difficult.  Not because anyone was doing anything wrong... just because 5 people + end of the day + tired mom = not very conducive for browsing.  I was already kind of sensed out, the kids were wanting to go in different directions, and we were all getting hungry.

I put my markers back on the shelf, then waited while they browsed through the toys.   An hour and a half after we got there, we left, without a dime of my $50 spent.  The boys all bought themselves a soda, I bought Tegan her requested pack of Cheetos at the register, then we all got back in line after Everett counted his change again and saw that he had enough to buy a package of gum too.  It was busy by then, and we'd gotten behind a women with about 72 items in the 10 item or less line, so I left the big boys in charge of Everett while Tegan and I went to the little in-store Starbucks near the registers.  Bummed that I never did buy anything, I treated myself to a caramel frappucino, the kids climbed on the balls again, and we finally headed out to the car.

I struggled opening Tegan's Cheetos, the bottom of the bag exploded, and it rained Cheetos all over the floor of my Sequoia.

And we all lived happily ever after (And I will bring my husband the next time I go to Target)

Guilt

From Dictionary.com:

Guilt
1. the fact or state of having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, esp. against moral or penal law; culpability.
2. a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.

My Protecting Natalie post, which turned out to be the second most-viewed blog I've ever written*, elicited this response from one of the moms who read it.

"...it heaps on the mommy guilt by the shovel full..."

She went on to say that perhaps instead of feeling sorry for the child, that I should have shown more compassion and understanding for the mom, and that my message would have been more well-received if I'd illustrated with my own short-comings as a mother.

She was not alone in her thinking, as the lengthy and exhausting exchange - much of which took place all over my Facebook wall - with another mother ultimately proved. Apparently I came across as harsh and judgmental, reprimanding instead of caring.

I'm going to have to be okay with that.

Protecting Natalie was about the children. If I'd wanted to write a commentary about my thoughts on that particular woman, I would have called it "Natalie's Mother." If I'd wanted to confess my own many sins and make everyone feel better, I would have called it "My Own Failures as a Parent." Simply put, I didn't write that particular post to soothe and validate and pat on the back every mother who's ever had a bad day - which, of course, is every mother - but to speak out for a child. Does that make me uncaring? I don't think so. But if I have to choose between seeming uncaring towards adults and making a valid case for children?

I will choose the children. Every. Single. Time. And without apologies.

My intent was absolutely not to heap guilt on anyone, but in a way, hearing that reinforces the truth of what I was saying.  Truth sometimes hurts.  When I go to church and I hear a message or lesson or scripture that hurts, that steps on my toes and makes me uncomfortable, I know that it's one I needed to hear.  And chances are, the more uncomfortable it makes me, the more I needed to hear it.  The same is true for essays and articles on parenting and kids and unschooling.  While validating, group-hugging, Kumbaya-singing pieces are nice sometimes, the growing comes from the hard stuff... the stuff that makes me want to wince with its honesty and truth.

And here's the thing:

I do myself, and my children, no favors by giving into guilt:  mommy guilt or otherwise.  Why are we so hard on ourselves, especially when it comes to parenting?  What good can possibly come from wasting time and energy dwelling on bad past decisions?  Isn't it just yet another self-serving excuse as to why we can't move past it, can't do better, can't be the parent that we really know, deep deep down, that we want to be... that we know we should be?

I'm not going to feel guilty for my past mistakes (or future mistakes for that matter), and I'm not going to make excuses for why I can't do better, right now, today.  If I have feelings of guilt, or inadequacy, or regret, I need to GET THE HECK OVER IT and do better the next time.  It's not about me, it's about them.

It's not about me,

It's

About

Them

*Number one is still Offensive, Defined, and I'm proud of it, so check it out if you haven't. :)

I've Learned

I turn 37 today.  I like the sound of that.  Just as I enjoyed the latter part of my 20's, I am enjoying inching toward 40 as well... in fact, even more.  The grey hairs, the furrow lines, the extra 5 pounds and all.  Here are a few things I've learned in the past year:

1. I shouldn't drink wine while I'm on my laptop.  Or water or coffee or tea or any other sort of beverage.  This one is so important, I got to learn it over and over again.

2.  Sometimes I need to give people more credit.  And sometimes less.

3.  People really do come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  If it's for a reason, sometimes the reason is quickly apparent, and sometimes it takes a long time to figure it out.  But it's there.

4.  Going on roller coasters is ten times as fun when you get to enjoy it with your kids, especially when it's their first time.

5.  Thinking is good.  Too much thinking is not good.  Thinking at 2:00 in the morning when I can't sleep may or may not be good.

6.  If there's a trailer parked in the street, I will back into it.

7. There are people in my life that I will never understand, and I need to be okay with that.  Another one I get to learn over and over and over.

8.  For years I thought I needed to develop a "thicker skin."  I do not.  I need to learn to learn to be comfortable with the skin I was given.  I am sensitive for a reason.

9.  Sometimes it's best to remain silent. Sometimes it's not.

10.  Life is messy.  Beauty can be found in the chaos, in the calm, and in everything in between.

Happy Birthday Eve to Me

An odd day today, for the last day of my 36th year.  Lots of reasons to be frustrated and stressed, and four reasons to be sublimely happy.  Tonight I choose happiness.

Protecting Natalie

Natalie is a beautiful little girl with long dark hair and huge brown eyes. She is three years old, is an only child, and doesn't go to preschool. Natalie, her mother and I were sharing a waiting room with Paula, whose favorite thing is reading; Diane, who is a special ed teacher; and Scott, who mostly kept to himself but was very friendly when spoken to. The reason I know more details than normal about my fellow strangers-in-waiting is that little Natalie was serving as the social director, introducing herself to everyone, asking questions, and just generally being a friendly and vivacious three year old.

Natalie's mom was tired; I could see that just by looking at her. Tired and most likely stressed, and possibly feeling beat down by life in general. I say that with sincere empathy, because I don't know what kind of hand she's been dealt. I don't know her life story, and I don't know where she's coming from.

All I know is that she was treating her daughter very unkindly, and her daughter didn't deserve it (not that any child ever does)

She was short and impatient as she spoke to her, and the first time she actually yelled - when Natalie stood up on her chair - she yelled so sharply and abruptly that everyone in the room looked up from what they were doing.

"Sit DOWN! And leave that poor lady alone!!"

Undeterred, Natalie sat down, and picked up a book.

"Can I read this to you?" she asked her mother.

"You don't know how to read," her mother snapped. "Just sit there. And sit there quietly."

That was when my heart truly broke for her, for this innocent little girl who I'd never seen before and would never see again.

I was called to see the dentist then, but she didn't leave my mind. Later, when I was at the checkout desk scheduling my next appointment, I felt a tiny presence beside me. A little hand suddenly appeared on the desk next to me, holding a pink ball covered in suction cups. I turned to see Natalie looking up at me. I said hello and told her what a cool ball she had. She smiled at me, stuck her ball on the desk, and plucked it off again.

As I was finishing up with the receptionist, one of the dentists came by and showed her how to throw it against the wall in the hallway. They were playing, and laughing, when her mother came around the corner.

There you are!
Stop throwing that!
I don't care what he said!
Give me that ball!

The last image I had of little Natalie was of her crying because her mother had taken her ball, and was demanding that she say "please" and ask nicely before she would consider giving it back.

I don't remember getting reprimanded a lot as a child, but I do remember how it made me feel. Some incidents, as many as 30 years ago, are as fresh in my memory as if they happened yesterday. I still remember when once as a kid I really needed to tell my mother something when she was on the phone. I knew she was talking on the phone, but I also knew that I just. couldn't. wait. So I "Mom. Mom. Mom"'d her until she put her hand over the phone, looked me in the eye, and yelled, "Shut UP!" I still remember how ashamed I felt, how devastated. I still remember that sick, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

My husband tells of a time when he was helping his mother change the sheets on the bed. He was holding the edge of the mattress up, and slipped and dropped it on his mother. She yelled at him for the mistake, called him a "little sh*t," and he was so crushed he ran off to cry. He'd learned not to cry in front of her, because that would lead to his being called a crybaby.

If we can remember these isolated incidents with such clarity, what must a girl like Natalie grow up feeling? How indelibly those negative words must be marked on her soul.

I can't do anything about Natalie. And I can't do anything to change my past mistakes with my own kids. What I can do - what we all can do - is to remember that feeling we had as kids, to remember that with each time we yell or belittle or cut them down in any way, we take away a piece of not just their happiness, but of their soul. That each time we're less than kind to our kids that we risk damaging not only who they are right now, but who they're going to be. That just because we're the ADULTS, we have the responsibility to love, nurture, and protect not just our own children, but all children. If we as adults can't treat them with kindness and respect, how will they treat each other? How will they treat their own kids? When does the cycle stop?

As I was finishing up this blog, I received a comment on Facebook telling me that I needed to stop judging Natalie's mother. And I'm not. This really has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with an innocent and defenseless baby who did not deserve to be treated that way. We need to stop letting political correctness stop us from saying the things that need to be said.

We need to be adults. We need to start treating our kids better.

Yes, even when we're sleep-deprived.  Even when we're sick, when we're fighting with our spouses, or when we're stressed about finances.  Even when we're having a really crappy day, and the last thing we want to do is be patient and kind to anyone.  Because we are the grownups.  Because if we don't do it, no one else will.  Because somewhere along the way, someone decided that it was okay to treat kids with less respect than we'd treat fellow adults.

It's not okay.  

Think of the last time someone hurt your feelings.  The last time someone said something truly unkind, or unnecessary, or mean.  The last time someone really insulted you, or belittled you, or was even just less than supportive.  Think of the last time someone said something to you in anger, something that was so cutting that even if you knew they regretted it and they instantly apologized, you will carry the scar the rest of your life.  Have the feeling?  Now imagine that you've gotten that hurtful treatment and you're 3 years old.  Or 5.  Or 12.  You're still figuring out the way the world works.  You're still figuring out who you can really trust.   You're still figuring out how to treat people.  You're still figuring out emotions, and self-worth, and social nuances.  You're still figuring out where you fit in.  You're still figuring out your own sense of YOU.   How do you feel now?

Let's break the cycle today.  For ourselves, for our kids, and for Natalie.

Sleep Deprivation and Science Centers

I haven't fallen asleep before 2:00 AM for several nights now.  And last night, all three boys spent the night with friends, where they too stayed up past 2:00.  First thing this morning, they went to a science class about electricity at the Science Center, while I got to go to the dentist to get my tooth drilled for an hour and a half.  (I wonder who had more fun?)

It was a tired group that reunited at the Science Center this afternoon for playing, building, exploring, and Gift Shop browsing. While I was dragging my feet - which were feeling a little like lead I might add - as we later walked out to the parking garage, the kids all got a second wind, and nearly took flight as they ran across the grass.  Oh to have that energy.

They're not immune to sleep deprivation's effects though, as one has presently retreated to his quiet little space, and another has cried no less than four times since we've been home.

:(

My tooth is now aching, there was just very nearly a brawl over popcorn, and bedtime (my bedtime) can't come soon enough.  I've got several blogs in the works though (thank you not-very-nice mom at the dentist for the inspiration) and I'm looking forward to posting them when I've had a couple more hours of sleep.

In the meantime, another batch of cell-phone pictures....

On My Phone

Suddenly being camera-less and laptop-less has made me more fully embrace the picture and computing capabilities of my phone, such that they are. I was looking through the 500+ pictures in my phone's gallery, and I realized how many I snapped over the past few months that had never been shared. And really, what's the point of a picture - even a questionable quality, hastily shot cell-phone picture - if it's never shared? So here are just a few random and happy memories from fall till now, in no particular order:

Real Life

I have a couple of specific memories from my home-ec class in Junior High.  I remember making spaghetti:  We took it out too soon, and it was crunchy.  I remember making chocolate chip cookies, and I remember that my friend got reprimanded because it was her idea to add twice as much flour than the recipe called for, hoping to make twice as many cookies.

I remember a little bit more from my shop class, but it was mainly because the teacher was the cool kind of teacher that chatted with us about non-school related things.  I remember he told me once that I was "introspective," and I had to go home and look it up.  He was right.


I remember that I complained about getting smoke in my eyes once when I was using a word burner, and he immediately burst into song, 
"They said someday you'll find

All who love are blind
Oh, when your heart's on fire
You must realize
Smoke gets in your eyes"

(a band called The Platters, sometime in the '50s.  In case you were wondering)

I did some cooking projects, and some sewing.  I built a birdhouse and made a leather belt.  I was shown how to do a budget and balance a checkbook.  Yes, I was introduced to some "life skills" - albeit in an artificial environment - in school.   But did I learn them?  

I learned to cook and bake from my mother, who made at least a dozen kinds of cookies at Christmas, and patiently explained the intricacies of making homemade bread or pasta or when I asked.

I learned about building things and fixing things and creating things from my father, who has the mind of both an engineer and an artist.

I learned about money and checkbooks and debt when I was a 19 year old newlywed making minimum wage.

I learned about parenting when I had my first child (NOT, shockingly, from the week of carrying around a 5 lb bag of flour "baby" in my high school sociology class)

Okay, you're saying, those things can be learned at home, but things like math and reading need to be taught in school, or at least with a structured curriculum.

Really?

My earliest memories of reading involve being read to, again by my mother, who read aloud to me long after I could read on my own.  She involved me, and I learned.  My earliest memories of learning to really appreciate reading came not from school but from my own devouring of Beverly Cleary, Carolyn Keene, and Judy Blume.  Later on I would graduate to Emerson, Thoreau, and Shakespeare, not because I had to but because I wanted to.   Because reading is like breathing... if it hasn't become a chore, and if it isn't forced against someone's will.

Paxton, who learned to read at 5 without a single lesson - and without ever setting foot in a classroom - has read two Boxcar Kids books in the past 5 days.  Spencer, who learned to read even younger -  also without a single lesson - is frequently found on the computer, reading about medical cases he learned about on Dr G;  or researching about what kind of training he needs to operate a construction business;  or gathering information to build his case about the next pet he wants to get.  

And math?  Few things fill me with such dread and anxiety as remembering some of my upper-level math classes.  My history with high school math ended very, very badly... with confusion, humiliation, and tears... visits to the guidance counselor, a class dropped mid-semester, and a teacher telling me that I was shutting doors for myself.  And that I would never live up to my full potential.  And that I would ultimately be a colossal failure at life.  

All because I dropped pre-calculus.  

This was in 1991.   And yes, I'm still bitter.  (Okay, okay, she didn't use the words "colossal failure," but the rest was verbatim.)

And I can't help but wonder:  WHY was that class so important exactly?  What did I gain besides greater fear, a blow to my self-esteem, and a really unpleasant memory?  20 years later, I still don't have an answer.  I don't use advanced level math.  I use basic math.  I add and subtract.  I do simple multiplication (most of the time on a calculator)  I figure out percentages and basic fractions.  And I still, to this day, no matter how many times I do it, have to ask my husband the amount I need for 3/4 cup when I'm doubling a recipe.   My brain is wired for words, not numbers, and isn't helped by the math phobia I acquired from my years in public school.  

For my children, that is not an issue.  They won't have those phobias, or hang-ups, or bad experiences.  They're learning math like everything else:  naturally, from the real world.  Basic math is everywhere.  If they're like me, they'll likely never need more than that.  If they WANT to go into a math-related field, they'll seek more, and learn it, and enjoy it.  Otherwise, they'll learn to appreciate math in the same way that I've finally come to appreciate it:  not as something to dread and fear, but something that's a useful and necessary tool, something to aid in their shopping, and building, and baking, and budgeting.

Real life (and real learning) cannot be duplicated in a classroom.  It just can't.  

Real life is at home.  It's in the backyard: taking care of the chickens, pruning the trees, and putting together a swingset.  It's in the kitchen: baking, and cooking, and experimenting.  It's on the couch: curled up with a good book or an interesting movie or a sewing project.  It's in the office: paying the bills, scheduling the dentist appointments, and responding to emails. It's in the driveway: changing the oil, checking the tire pressure, or creating a chalk mural on the pavement.

Real life is out on the town.  It's shopping.  It's libraries.  It's parks.  It's museums.  It's zoos.  It's restaurants.  It's post offices, banks, and dry cleaners.

Real life is out in the world.  It's traveling.  It's exploring.  It's discovering.  It's giving.  It's learning. It's sharing.  

My parents were wonderful, and taught me many things, but I was still in school for 8 hours a day, every day, until I was 18.  I didn't get to experience the real world until I was an adult.  My kids are living it, and enjoying it, and learning from it, right now.

My 2011 Dream Board

I'm not a fan of Oprah Winfrey - not even a little bit - but I do have to say that I love her little "dream board" creator. I first discovered it last year, played with it for an entire day, and printed and immediately tacked up my creation when I was done. Today I decided to do an updated version in honor of the new year.

I used a few of the same pictures and sentiments from last year, and a few that were new.

My dreams/visions/aspirations for 2011:

Faith - I feel like I'm at a crossroads with my faith right now.  It's been on my heart in a major way, and something needs to change.  Or get shaken up. Or turned upside down.  Not because I'm doubting it, or weak in it, but because..... well, I don't know why yet.  I just know that no matter what this year - or life - brings, it needs to begin with faith.   I have to start there.  So that's in the middle.

Love - Second to faith has to be love, and in particular my family.  These five people that live with me are my heart and soul and my rock.  This year, like every year, is about them.

Freedom - I couldn't do what I do, or live the way I live, without tremendous amounts of freedom.  Freedom to keep the kids out of school, freedom to parent them in the way we choose, freedom to enjoy the earth, freedom to explore, to learn, to embrace, to discover.  Freedom TO BE.  I never take advantage of our freedom, and only seek and appreciate it more and more.

Explore - Exploring is a running theme of unschooling in general... all of LIFE is an exploration!.... But this year, it also refers to a trip that's been a long time coming:  a nearly month-long drive and visit back east this summer.  It's a big trip for a lot of reasons, one that we weren't ready to take until this year.  My hope and prayer for this trip is that it's a smooth, memorable, and enjoyable trip for all six of us.

Gratitude - I can always have more gratitude.  A few specifics this year:  1) gratitude for the ability to pay off our debt.  It won't be completely paid off in 2011, but we will be very very close by the end of the year.  I feel a LOT of emotions when I think about that, but it begins with gratitude.  And 2) gratitude for our home.  I've been guilty this year of getting mopey and whiny and ungrateful for our house.  We were not intending to live here longer than a year or two, and it therefore never felt like "home."  I want to move so very badly.  I get frustrated by the market, frustrated by all the people walking away from mortgages which drives our value down even more, frustrated with the feeling of being "stuck."  Frustrated that the kids can't all have their own space.  I need to stop.  We're here for right now, for whatever reason, and this our house.  I want to appreciate it, and I want to make it beautiful and comfortable and make it our HOME. (Yes, four years after we moved in)  This is the year I will do that.

Believe - Simply because none of it will materialize unless I believe in it.  Corny,  but true.

Balance - Along with gratitude, another thing I am constantly, constantly seeking... especially this coming year.  Balance between work and play, solitude and fellowship.  Balance of mind, of body, of spirit.  Balance between being mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend... and just me.

Create - In regards to that balance, I'm not me unless I'm able to create.... something.  This year, I'm excited about seeing two big writing projects through to completion:  one on my own, and one with a friend.  I'm also looking forward to lots of blogging and lots of picture taking (once I get another camera)  Oh and I plan on more cupcake creating too.  For me, creating usually begins with pen and paper, which is why I chose the picture I did.  Coffee always helps too.

Joy -  It's all about the joy

Inspire - Finally, and perhaps one of my biggest goals for the year... Not only do I want to continue to be inspired by the amazing people I have in my life (many of whom live in my computer) but I want to inspire others as well, in any way I can.  My unschooling voice has gotten bigger and more confident as I've grown, and I'm thankful that I'm able to use it to connect with others.  And from a practical standpoint, last year I started formally studying wellness and nutrition, and decided to lay the groundwork for a future yoga/wellness/holistic health venture.  I've completed the nutrition portion, (in the sense that I've completed the required amount of hours that I committed to - not that I will stop learning about it!)  and will begin the yoga teacher training in just a couple of months.  By the end of the year, I want to be sharing both of them with others, and hopefully inspiring someone along the way.

Perspective

I don't make New Year's Resolutions, but I do love to set goals (and lists; I love lists), break them up into pieces, and work every day to get there. If I were to make a resolution, it would be the same one year after year... not because I fail at it and need to resolve to do it over again, but because I think it's just that important:

Don't sweat the small stuff.  And it's all small stuff.

It's an old adage, to be sure, but a good one. I still have the book on my shelf somewhere, dusty and dog-eared,   moved from house to house... packed, unpacked, and packed again.

It's been at least a decade since I've read it, but I like knowing that it's there... to remind me.

Not that I really need a book to remind me, as life is replete with reminders.  I had my first such reminder of the year yesterday, January 2nd, and as it turned out it carried into this morning as well.  I was sitting at the kitchen counter, wasting a colossal amount of time doing important internet research on my laptop, and drinking a mudslide, when Tegan climbed up onto my lap.  I'm not sure what happened exactly, whether she lost her balance and reached for the counter or what.  Or maybe I shifted her on my lap and she accidently bumped it; I truly don't know.  All I know is something fell off the counter, and there was a crash - the crackling, cringe-worthy kind - and I knew something had broken.  It took me a minute to realize what it was, because I was more concerned about my laptop, as I have a somewhat bad history with my laptop and adult beverages (or any kind of beverage)  But my laptop was fine.  My camera, in pieces on the tile, was not.  The lens was broken, the body was broken, the whole thing was rendered useless.  Now, I'm not into "things", but if I had to choose, my camera would have been one of my top three favorite possessions.  

And I was looking at it, and I was looking at Mike (who was examining it, and muttering, and periodically reaffirming that it was indeed completely ruined) and I felt..... fine.  

It's just a camera.

It was a complete accident, and accidents happen.  Even if it wasn't.... even if she'd grabbed it and THROWN it onto the floor, for whatever reason... my getting upset would not change the fact that it's still small stuff.  Am I happy that I just lost a $600 camera?  No.  What I'm happy about is that if that's the worst of my problems right now, I'm doing pretty well.  I have nothing to complain about.  There are actual problems in the world.  A broken camera is not one of them.  There was a time when we would've run right out and gotten another, courtesy of Visa, but that impulse is gone.   Instead, we'll do without a camera for a bit, save up some money, and replace it in a few months.  And when we do, it'll be nice, and I'll be excited..... and it'll still be just a camera.  Like all the other "stuff" we may use - and enjoy and appreciate, sure - it just doesn't matter.   Life isn't about things.

And just so I'd have a nice little post-script - I got up this morning, anxious to get to my faithful laptop to get started on this blog.  It made a horrific noise, like a helicopter waiting to take off, froze, and has so far refused to start back up.  It's been on borrowed time since the first wine incident (which may or may not have had anything to do with the same two people who were in the near vicinity for the camera breaking) and I believe it's time I face that the fact that it's going to need to be replaced sooner rather than later too.

So I'm using one of the desktops, sitting on an old, damaged office chair, with half of the seat's cloth ripped away, and huge chunks of stuffing pulled out.  

And I'm truly, and deliriously, happy.

I am blessed.