Tragedy

This week a friend from my hometown lost his six-year-old son in a horrific accident.  This is the second time in just a few years that someone I've known for a long time has had to bury a very young son.  Their families have been shattered by sudden tragedy.  Dear God.  My heart is broken and so full of pain for their loss.

I never know what are the words to say, what to write, what to hope, what to pray.  I wish I knew that what I did say helped, or at least wasn't wrong.  But these are incredibly selfish thoughts.  This is basically hoping that I get some kind of pass, some kind of reassurance that I haven't failed at sympathy, when I should really be focusing all my thoughts and energy away from me and toward those in the proverbial eye of the storm.

I do wish there were anything that could be done or said to help ease the pain and the suffering, yet I know there is really nothing anyone can do.  Their world will never be the same.  They will learn how to go on living, but there is no "healing" or "getting through" and especially no "getting past."

Zeke, my friend's son, was riding his bike when he was killed.  My son Luke, only a couple months older than Zeke, learned to ride his bike the same day Zeke was struck.  As much as I want to be over the moon that Luke FINALLY did it on his own, my heart aches for my friend every time Luke rides his bike, or even mentions it.  I'm constantly aware of the things I've been taking for granted that are going to be like salt in the wound for Zeke's family, as each thing happens without him and with a gaping absence instead -- the first day of the school year, folding laundry and finding some of his clothes, taking his a favorite cup out of the dishwasher, an empty seat at the table, an empty bed, a family vacation -- the infinite list of all the things that make family life, now heinously lopsided by the absence of an integral part.

I hate it.  I. Hate. It.   I won't even ask "why?" and I certainly won't attempt to paper over the pain with stupid and meaningless clichés.  These are the times when life makes no sense.


P.S.  If you are reading this, any thoughts and/or prayers for Zeke's family and everyone else involved or affected would be appreciated.

To Lighten the Mood

So, it's been getting pretty deep over here on the blog and I think it's time to infuse a little fun for a change.  I love summertime.  It is one of my all-time favorites.  Not just my favorite season, but one of my favorite things ever. 

In honor of this, I will now post my playlist for this summer.  These are the songs that have been on repeat on my iPod for the past month.  I make no apologies for any lack of musical taste this may seem to show on my part.  Just find these songs and listen to them and think of all the best things about summer.

Here they are, in no particular order.  You're welcome.


Nova Baby by The Black Keys
Where I Want To Be by The Danderous Summer
Fly Over States by Jason Aldean
You and Me by Dave Matthews Band
Wild Ones (Feat. Sia) By Flo Rida (I'm not apologizing for this, but it is not kid-appropriate)
Everything You Do by He is We
Mountain and the Sea by Ingrid Michaelson
Springsteen by Eric Church
Do You Remember by Jack Johnson
Friday Night by Lady Antebellum
Melody by Kate Earl
Stay by Lisa Loeb
Last Request by Paolo Nutini
Days Like These by Jason Aldean
Saturday Morning by Rachael Yamagata
White Lies by Stacy Clark
Tim McGraw by Taylor Swift
Somebody Must be Prayin for Me by Tim McGraw
Go On by Jack Johnson
Next Girl by the Black Keys
Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen (I realize I will hate this song in another month or so, but I'm still okay with it right now)


Obviously I realize that taste in music is highly personal, but what is your all-time-favorite summertime song?  I'll check it out and see if I should add it to my list...

A Synonym for Deliberate

I've been thinking about the title of my blog.  I've been thinking of how funny it is that when I named it I was trying to convey the total randomness of my thoughts and life and writing.  I didn't (and still don't) have a theme or a focus for this blog, other than just getting thoughts out of my head.  However, I did feel the word "random" was overused, so I chose some words that meant random.

When I started this blog, I did feel as though so much in my life was haphazard.  I had an almost-two-year-old and a not-quite-four-year-old and when you have kids that age, everything seems like chaos.  Just when you think you've figured out a routine or something that works, that stage has passed and you're trying to figure out life (or even dinnertime) all over again.

My kids are five and seven now.  Sure, there is still plenty of chaos and unpredictability, but the moment-by-moment insanity is not nearly as bad.  Despite outbursts of crazy boy-energy, we have settled into more of a.... I won't say "routine," but maybe a "mutual understanding."  I no longer feel like everything is a spiral of randomness.

I've realized that being deliberate is not only important, but necessary.  With the way I respond to the boys' questions and behavior, I can't just wing it.  I have to put thought into it and purposely choose the way I react and the  motivations for my reactions.  I want to make sure that I'm teaching them to think for themselves and to use discernment and make wise choices, but also to enjoy the hell out of life.  Most kids don't learn that by accident.  Some do, but don't I want my kids to remember that they learned at least some of that from me?

With my thoughts and my writing, I've also realized I've become more intentional.  Not that I've lost any of my craziness, not that I have everything figured out, and not that I know what I want to be when I finally grow up; I do feel that I am a little more focused about what I think and what I (try to) write about.  Where before, the thought of being deliberate seemed unattainable and therefore overwhelming, now being deliberate seems like a welcome necessity.

I obviously don't know what the future holds.  I don't know what life has in store, nor do I know how long this stage will last with the boys.  I could wake up tomorrow to an almost five-and-a-half-year old and a several-months-past-seven year old who have changed everything and feel like I'm starting all over again.  I could lose all sense of focus and go through another phase where I don't know what I think about most things.  Because of all this (and also because I'm ridiculously sentimental), I'm not going to change the name of my blog.  I'm going to leave it and see where life takes me. 

I do, however, realize that there is no reason to cling to randomness when a little bit of intention is appropriate and necessary.  I'm learning to live with both the antonym and the synonym of deliberate.

The Opposite of Empathy

em·pa·thy   [em-puh-thee]  
Definition:  The intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another.
Antonyms: apathy, misunderstanding, unfeelingness


I read an article a few years ago that cited a study that sought to find the most basic and universal human emotion.  I can't remember what they were trying to prove that it was, but what they determined was that empathy is the universal emotion that all humans are born with.  (Side note: I tried, but could not find that article again.  However, if you Google 'empathy in babies,' you can find references to this type of study.)

Obviously, not every person is empathetic.  Babies can outgrow empathy for a variety of reasons.  Lately, though, I've been wondering if some people are purposely taught to not show empathy.  I mean, I can understand that people in some circumstances would lose empathy pretty easily.  Children who are abused or neglected are not shown empathy and those scars can wreak havoc on psychological wellness.  I'm not talking about those people.  I'm talking about people who seem to be okay, to whom nothing terrible or abusive has happened, who live an "average" life, yet seem completely incapable of feeling even a tiny twinge of empathy.

I get that with different life experiences people have different points of view, different thoughts, different opinions, and different ideas.  What I do not get is making the leap from, "Well, we disagree." to "Well, you are a terrible person because you disagree with me."  We've all seen it or heard it or even experienced it over the past couple years.  Disagreements quickly turn into stereo-typing, name-calling, demonizing, and worse.

This concerns me for many reasons, but mostly because it seems many of us have lost our ability to empathize with others.  To me it seems that some have even been taught that empathy is wrong or bad or should be avoided at all cost.  It seems some think there is no way we should try to put ourselves in the proverbial shoes of someone else or try to see a situation from their perspective.  Why should we?  We know everything, understand everything, and have it all right.  If someone thinks differently from us or their life is different from ours, they are bad and it is all their fault. There are people I encounter or see in the news who seem to have been taught all of the above.

What baffles me about this is that, with as many choices as we have in life and as much as I believe in personal responsibility, there are so many things out of our control.  For example, I did not choose my parents, and yet I have amazing parents.  I did not choose where I was born, and yet I was born in a location that is comparatively safe and offers a decent amount of opportunity.  Conversely, there are many born to parents who do not want to be parents and in places that are dangerous and where opportunity is scarce.  Some are born privileged and some are born relatively privileged  and some are born with nothing.

Thinking about all this reminded me of a blog post I read recently over here at this link.  As soon as I read the following sentence, I knew I would remember it forever:  "At its heart, recognizing privilege is simply recognizing that your life experience is NOT universal." - Dianna Anderson  This is exactly what I'm getting at.  Other people have not lived the same life I have lived.  If they disagree with me on something, they have that right.  Yes, it is difficult sometimes when I do not understand why someone could think about something so radically different from the way I think about it.  Yes, it can feel like criticism or even rejection when someone expresses a difference of opinion.  However, if I don't at least try to see where another person is coming from, if I can't empathize despite disagreement, where does that leave me?

Perhaps you're someone who was told (and then believed) that you were going straight to hell if you accepted a certain type of person... that the only way for you to be true to your beliefs was to hate certain other people. I get that, as I have sometimes been guilty of believing what I was told instead of what I knew to be true.  I understand how fear can cloud our judgement.  But what if, for just a second, you set that aside?  What if you pretended/imagined/visualized that things were not the way you've always been told and tried to think about something from the perspective of someone with a totally different life experience?  What if you could really try to feel what it must be like to live and function in that experience?  Would it be so easy to hate/condemn/reject them?

I feel like I am kind of rambling now, but I have been thinking about this so much lately that I had to write about it, even if it is a long, ramble-y, post.  I just wish that we could all take a step back from our own experience and practice empathy.  To  me, living in apathy, misunderstanding,and unfeelingness seems like a pretty unpleasant alternative to taking the time at least try to identify with the feeling, thoughts, attitudes, and  experience of others.  Think of how different things could be if we would stop embracing the opposite of empathy.

My Dad is a Feminist

I can only imagine what would be my dad's somewhat confused reaction if he were to read this title.  It makes me chuckle a little to think of the reaction of my mom or anyone else who knows my parents.  I know what many people who know my dad are likely to think of when they read or hear the word "feminist," so I'm sure they would all think this must be some kind of crazy joke.

It isn't.

I recently read this blog post by Dianna Anderson over at Rachel Held Evan's blog, and I can't stop thinking about it.  (Yes, I may have a serious girl-crush on Dianna Anderson's brain, but that is not the point here.)  I just love how Ms. Anderson is able to articulate how her faith and views of feminism go hand-in-hand.  I also love how she was able to strip away some of the noise and present her views in such a simple, well-thought manner.  The following excerpt really stood out to me:

What I tell people, though, is that feminism is a big umbrella – there are pro-life feminists, there are feminists who are anti-porn, there are feminists who disagree with each other on any number of policy issues, but there’s one common thread: feminists believe that women are human beings and deserve to be treated with the same dignity and respect as men do.

As I was thinking about this, I realized that part of the reason it is so easy for me to identify with this sentiment is that, at least by this definition, my dad is actually a feminist.

My dad may be a lot more conservative than I am, but the belief that "women are human beings and deserve to be treated with the same dignity and respect as men do," is absolutely one of his core values.  Growing up with my mom and sisters, I never once felt that my dad was disappointed that he didn't have a son (although on some level never evident to me he may have been).  I never once heard him say that either of my sisters or me could not do, say, try, or be anything because we were girls.  He always supported us. He always encouraged us.  He always made sure we knew we were loved and he was proud of us.

One reason this realization about my dad's feminist status seemed so odd to me at first is that when I was a teenager, I was not allowed to go on a date unless the guy asking me out called my dad and asked permission.  I always thought this came across as though he was very controlling and didn't trust me to make my own choices.  Some might even say that it was an assertion of some kind of patriarchal dominance.

Now, however, I realize that it was actually one of the best things he could have done to show me how much he valued me as his daughter.  I realize that to him, if a guy didn't even have enough respect to call my dad and ask him if he could take me out for pizza, the chances that said guy would truly respect me were pretty slim.  As of today, I've been married for eleven years to a guy who had no problem calling my dad, even though when I first told him about it he laughed and thought I was kidding.  But he is a guy who has never been anything but respectful to me in the fifteen years I've known him.

I now realize that all the things my dad did that might have seemed on the surface to be a man putting his proverbial foot down when it came to his female offspring, were actually things that showed how much he valued me and loved me.  These things are evidence of how much he respected me and how far he was willing to go to ensure that other men in my life showed me respect and dignity as well, all before I was quite up to the task of demanding it for myself.

My dad taught me to fish and mow the lawn and drive a nail and refinish furniture and make pizza dough.  He expected me to go to college and to work hard and to pull my weight.  Certainly my mother gets a lot of credit for the person I've become.  But my dad, with the way he has always treated me with respect and, in doing so, taught me that my gender really had nothing to do with my abilities -- he gets the credit for turning me into a feminist.  Whether he intended to or not.



PS.  Happy Father's Day, Dad.  I love you.  I didn't say it the other day, but you're one of my favorite people too.

Girlfriends

When I was growing up, I really only had a few friends.  These friends were my BFFs and I loved them and spent as much time with them as possible.  We did everything together and were always trying to coerce our parents into letting us spend more time together.

Of course, as invariably happens with girls, things change.  Families move, we grow up, new BFFs come and go.  It's difficult not to take these changes personally.  She likes her more than me, spends more time with her than me, is more like her than I am, gets to hang out with her more than I do.  There are so many questions.  What did I do wrong?  What should I have done/said/given/been to keep her as my friend?  Losing a friend from childhood or those awkward tween/teen years can be devastating.

As an adult, I've been lucky enough to acquire some new "BFFs," if you will.  Girls who are there for me, accept me, encourage me, inspire me, and are kind enough to share their lives with me.  One of the big things I've learned from them is that having friends who have plenty of other friends is wonderful.  There is so much freedom in knowing your friend is not dependent on you for everything and that you have at least several other people you can call if necessary.  Conversely, it is wonderful to not feel like you are imposing too much on one friend or expecting too much of one friend.

A couple years ago I started hosting some parties at my house I call "Girlfriend Appreciation Parties."  I invited friends from growing-up and work and church and other random places I meet people.  I wasn't really sure of what to expect when I started doing it, but it has become something wonderful.  Sometimes I have ten to fifteen people show up.  Last night, I had only three guests.  Regardless of how many or how few ladies attend, one thing I always come back to after one of these parties is how nice it is to spend time talking and laughing with other women.

I've come to realize how important is this interaction and conversation and confession and commiseration. We may be very different or pretty similar.  We may be mothers or not mothers, employees or SAHMs, not that far out of high school or surprised at how long ago we graduated from college.  But we are all women, so what we have in common almost always outweighs our differences.

I've so loved getting to know the ladies who show up and gaining this appreciation for having a variety of friends.   No, every friend you make is not going to be a kindred spirit or inseparable companion.  But there is nothing wrong with that.  In fact, it's a wonderful thing.  I now realize that even if a girl isn't your best friend or even a very good friend, you can appreciate each other and learn from each other and support each other.  You can drink a glass of wine together and shoot the breeze over whatever you may happen to have in common.  You can offer each other the gift of time and understanding.  No pressure.  No expectations.  Just offering each other the time to talk and discuss and share mutual fears and laugh.  And, even if this only happens occasionally (or even once) between you, you're all better for it.

Can I Do It?

I really need to get back into writing.  I have a friend who is a technical writer who says that having to write for her job has ruined her for the writing she used to do for herself.  I think I've realized that is what has happened to me.  Trying to figure out the correct way to write about things that went wrong and then trying to explain how we will attempt to correct and prevent them can be exhausting.  Add to that the dealing with multiple groups of people reading over what I write so they can tear it apart and tell me what they would like to see written differently, well,  that can be really disheartening sometimes.  Especially when I disagree with them and they disagree with each other.

Although, if I'm honest, my job isn't the only thing that keeps me from writing on my blog.  When I think about possibly doing another month of writing every day, I feel a little guilty.  I mean, I do work full time, so even when I am working at home, I'm not really spending time with my kids.  Then there are t-ball practices and family commitments and other things that take up my non-working time.  Then there is the fact that Ryan works on the weekends so our only time together is weeknight evenings after the boys are in bed.  I feel like taking the time to write every day would be a bit selfish and just not that do-able.

However, I do have some time on the weekends, after the boys are in bed.  I typically use this time to tidy up, catch up on the laundry, and clear out the DVR.  What I need to make myself do is use at least one of those nights for writing.  I really need that creative outlet, and since I am not even a tiny bit artistic or in any other way creatively talented, writing is pretty much all I have in that regard.  And when I go back and read old posts, like my Polka Dot Bathing Suit one or my Seafoam Green Couch post, I realize that I used to actually not suck at writing.  One night per week.  That's not too much to ask.

But can I really make myself do it?  I guess we will find out.  Friday is only two days away.