Courtesy & Other Forms Of Respect
I've been pondering quite a bit lately, on the lack of respect, honor, integrity and just plain old common courtesy. Over the next few days, I plan to talk about these things, relating some personal experiences.
Years ago, (what seems like years and years) it was common for a gentleman to "do" for a lady. Such things as assisting her into her carriage or onto her horse...okay, we won't go that far back. But do you remember men opening and holding doors, pulling out a lady's chair, polite words exchanged between the two? I believe this simpler, kinder culture provided men and women with roles in which they were comfortable. It was common knowledge what was expected of a lady and what was expected of a gent.
Things have certainly changed. I was confronted with my own questions of the impact these changes have had on our society. Have the changes all been positive ones? Or have most been negative? Are we better off or worse?
Several years ago, Michael and I ventured out with a neighbor couple. We had our 3 youngest girls with us, they had their son. It was a very, cold December night. I'm not sure why we'd agreed to go, but here we were-stepping out into below freezing temperatures. It didn't seem to matter that we were dressed in coats, hats, gloves, & scarves. The bitter cold seeped inside and clung to us. We trudged along the paths to view the Denver Zoo's Wild Lights.
As we hurried along, not many words were spoken. Talking seemed to allow too much warm air to escape making us feel colder. We oohed and ahhed just a bit, enough to seem as if we might be enjoying ourselves. Finally, Elisabeth blurted out, "I'm cold! Can we get some hot chocolate or something?"
Immediately, my friend turned to her son. "John, give Elisabeth your coat. She's cold." I was so surprised by this, it took me a few moments to believe what I'd heard. John didn't respond, his mother addressed him again. "John, when a lady is cold, a gentleman offers her his coat. Be a gentleman and give Elisabeth your coat."
Elisabeth assured her that she did not need or want John's coat. There is no way she could in good conscience have taken his coat. Michael spoke up and said that it was not necessary for John to give up his coat-he would freeze.
But this incident made me wonder. In years past, would this truly have been the right thing to do? Would a young boy of 12 be required to give up his coat for the greater comfort of the weaker sex?
Friday, September 21, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Ethan came off the bus with his hand wrapped in guaze. He must have tugged & pulled, attempting to get it off. The tight wrapping was causing redness & swelling as it was restricting blood flow. Christina asked the bus attendants if they knew why Ethan's hand was wound with guaze. They didn't.
It took a bit of work, but she removed the dressing. She found a small area that was irritated and bleeding a bit. Since Ethan can't tell her what goes on at school, she retrieved the notebook. It stated that Ethan had been picking at his hand until it bled. A bandage was applied, but he pulled it off. Guaze wrapping was then secured around it.
Picking at himself is not behavior typical to Ethan. Christina looked more closely at his hand. She noticed a protrusion. It was a tiny piece of glass or hard plastic. She pulled it out and Ethan was fine. He had merely been trying to remove a painful fragment from his skin which was the real cause of his bleeding.
I can't help but wonder what other situations does the teacher write off as odd behavior or "just Ethan" when he has a legitmate need but is unable to communicate. He doesn't eat his lunch is it assumed he isn't hungry when actually he wasn't able to pick up his burrito and bite into it. He needs it cut in pieces that he can manage with a fork. Or what about the teacher assuming he refuses to participate in the songs and finger plays, when he just can't get the hand movements on his own? He isn't capable of singing or the hand movments.
I could go on about incidents that have happened in the short time Ethan's been in kindergarten. Starting school should be a positive experience to encourage lifelong learning. Ethan has not have a positive start. This gramma is very sad.
It took a bit of work, but she removed the dressing. She found a small area that was irritated and bleeding a bit. Since Ethan can't tell her what goes on at school, she retrieved the notebook. It stated that Ethan had been picking at his hand until it bled. A bandage was applied, but he pulled it off. Guaze wrapping was then secured around it.
Picking at himself is not behavior typical to Ethan. Christina looked more closely at his hand. She noticed a protrusion. It was a tiny piece of glass or hard plastic. She pulled it out and Ethan was fine. He had merely been trying to remove a painful fragment from his skin which was the real cause of his bleeding.
I can't help but wonder what other situations does the teacher write off as odd behavior or "just Ethan" when he has a legitmate need but is unable to communicate. He doesn't eat his lunch is it assumed he isn't hungry when actually he wasn't able to pick up his burrito and bite into it. He needs it cut in pieces that he can manage with a fork. Or what about the teacher assuming he refuses to participate in the songs and finger plays, when he just can't get the hand movements on his own? He isn't capable of singing or the hand movments.
I could go on about incidents that have happened in the short time Ethan's been in kindergarten. Starting school should be a positive experience to encourage lifelong learning. Ethan has not have a positive start. This gramma is very sad.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Skies of Blue, Clouds of White
"I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world"
Each time the words of this Louis Armstrong song play, my mind is flooded with the same memory. Hilary and I are in the car together. My fingers are fastened ever so tightly on the steering wheel. For a moment, tension creeps up my back& lifts my shoulders. My neck muscles feel strained as I rembember. Then the peaceful words wash over me. Louis' strong, deep voice evokes a calm.
Minutes earlier I'd been sitting on the front porch enjoying the warm, summer sun of August. Little 5 year old Hilary, was playing out back on the monkey bars. She appeared beside me, cradling her arm. Tears filled her eyes, and spilled down her rosy cheeks. She'd fallen and I suspected her arm was broken.
I don't know why I was so uptight. It wasn't as if I hadn't rushed to the emergency room before. Broken bones, poisoning, stitches...typical ER stuff. But this was my happy, little Hilary. She was the baby and her first trauma experience. She looked so sad.
I left the other kids home with their dad and off we went. Immediately, I snapped off the radio. The extra noise was an irritation. But Hilary protested to the silence. "Please turn some music on, it helps me not think about how bad my arm hurts." I looked over. Her brown eyes were red and pleading.
"Ok, what do you want to hear?" I expected her request to be one of her favorite Christian sing-along CD's. Nope, she wanted Louis, with his deep, raspy voice & strong, jazzy trumpet. I popped in the CD and out came "What A Wonderful World."
"I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world."
She calmed down almost immediately. As the song ended, I hit repeat and we listened again. It is a wonderful world.
I need to dig out my Louis Armstrong CD. Yes, for Hilary. She is 15. We are back in the car. This time, she is the driver and I am the passenger. We both need Mr. Armstrong's calming effect.
(Oh, and yes her arm was broken. It was her first, but not her only broken bone.)
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world"
Each time the words of this Louis Armstrong song play, my mind is flooded with the same memory. Hilary and I are in the car together. My fingers are fastened ever so tightly on the steering wheel. For a moment, tension creeps up my back& lifts my shoulders. My neck muscles feel strained as I rembember. Then the peaceful words wash over me. Louis' strong, deep voice evokes a calm.
Minutes earlier I'd been sitting on the front porch enjoying the warm, summer sun of August. Little 5 year old Hilary, was playing out back on the monkey bars. She appeared beside me, cradling her arm. Tears filled her eyes, and spilled down her rosy cheeks. She'd fallen and I suspected her arm was broken.
I don't know why I was so uptight. It wasn't as if I hadn't rushed to the emergency room before. Broken bones, poisoning, stitches...typical ER stuff. But this was my happy, little Hilary. She was the baby and her first trauma experience. She looked so sad.
I left the other kids home with their dad and off we went. Immediately, I snapped off the radio. The extra noise was an irritation. But Hilary protested to the silence. "Please turn some music on, it helps me not think about how bad my arm hurts." I looked over. Her brown eyes were red and pleading.
"Ok, what do you want to hear?" I expected her request to be one of her favorite Christian sing-along CD's. Nope, she wanted Louis, with his deep, raspy voice & strong, jazzy trumpet. I popped in the CD and out came "What A Wonderful World."
"I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world."
She calmed down almost immediately. As the song ended, I hit repeat and we listened again. It is a wonderful world.
I need to dig out my Louis Armstrong CD. Yes, for Hilary. She is 15. We are back in the car. This time, she is the driver and I am the passenger. We both need Mr. Armstrong's calming effect.
(Oh, and yes her arm was broken. It was her first, but not her only broken bone.)
Saturday, September 15, 2007
As we walked towards the gate, Hilary hugged me and ran to catch up with the other girls. I paid my 5 dollars and attempted to pass through. The lady, and I use that term loosely, who was the gatekeeper was scolding the cheerleaders. The teens were respectful, in spite of the attack. At this point the cheer coach walked up and the two adults began an unpleasant exchange of words.
I was relieved when the bickering stopped and I could pass through the gate. As I found a spot on the cold metal bleachers, the words of these two women replayed in my mind. I was disappointed in their behavior. Did they realize the impact their barbed, disrespectful words had on the young people watching?
Why had I arrived 30 minutes early? It certainly wasn't because I loved soccer. I was pretty certain that in 2 1/2 hours my back would sorely complain at having sat for so long without support. Speaking of support, where were the other parents? I mentally counted the players from both teams, warming up on the field. I added the number of cheerleaders & poms. More than 50 students were involved in this event. Not counting friends, siblings, grandparents or other significant people, if only one parent from each family represented showed up, shouldn't I be able to find 50 spectators? Again I pondered what messages we, as adults, were sending to our children.
"Ladies & Gentlemen, please rise for our National Anthem." The voice from the P.A. system startled me. I rose and turned to face the flag. As the rousing music rang forth I noticed hands on hearts, hats removed, everyone standing at attention. My eyes began to tear. My thoughts turned to my father-in-law. He was a fighter pilot in the Korean War. He witnessed the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air.
Below the flag was the concession stand and the restrooms. At that moment, a gentleman exited the latrine. He immediately turned, removed his hat, placed his hand on his heart and began singing along. Patriotism was still alive.
After the game began, a few more parents and students filed into the stadium. I listened to various conversations around me. I was a little embarrassed at some of the things I heard. Right before the 2 minute warning of half-time, one parent began screaming, "Stop the clock! Stop the clock!" The announcer must have been tired of hearing the complaints, shouts, and insults. He addressed her shouting.
"The clock is not stopped unless the referee signals. There was no signal." I would have been ashamed for being so obnoxious. This parent was not and yelled back, "that was why I was yelling at the ref! I wanted him to signal." I cringed. A group of 20 or so students had gathered to watch the game. They turned their heads in unison to see that this parent was from the opposing team.
The cheerleaders began a cheer. I clapped along. I noticed a girl wearing her softball jersey. She tapped the boy sitting next to her and said, "it's the cheerleaders job to get the crowd enthusiastic about our team, to cheer them on and support them. Come on and get with it." He did, as did most of the other students.
I hadn't noticed the couple sitting behind me. They must have come during the 2 minutes before the half. I took note when the woman spoke wearily, "I guess I can sit through a few more cheers." I wanted to turn and see who she was-hoping it was not the parent of a cheerleader. It wasn't. As she continued talking loudly, I realized her son was a soccer player.
The signal for the end of the half rang out. The cheerleaders gathered and sat at the edge of the field. This woman spoke mockingly, "what are they doing sitting down? Where is our half-time entertainment?" It was obvious that she was annoyed at having to endure what she perceived as silly girls.
I churned inside. I wanted to swing around and tell her that the reason the cheerleaders were sitting down on the field is because they were supporting their school. The poms were making their way to the field and it was the poms who danced at half time. The cheerleaders and poms were there to cheer and encourage not only one another, but mostly to support the soccer team. I wanted to tell her to ask her son if he appreciated the support he got from the poms and cheers. I wanted to tell her that my son played on the Varsity Lacrosse team for 4 years in high school. He and his team would have been thrilled and overjoyed to have the support of the cheerleaders. My son told me on numerous occasions how encouraged he felt when he heard his own dad's shouts of cheer from the sidelines.
I didn't say anything. I was too busy getting my camera out to videotape my daughter's pom routine.
My thoughts would not be quiet. As I heard this woman again, I wanted to whip around and tell her that I'd sat here watching her son play for the last 45 minutes. I'd cheered & clapped. Where had she been during most of that first half? Could she not respect my daughter's 2 minutes of dancing? Did she think I was there because I was a huge fan of high school soccer? I was suprised how angry I was. Then it hit me.
Was I any different than the cheer coach who tried to defend her girls from the barrage of words hurled at them by the gatekeeper? I understood her passion. I didn't understand the adults who chose to be disrespectful of our kids and others. Were my thoughts towards this woman as wrong as her words towards the girls? Did this count as righteous indignation?
The coach who'd argued with the gate keeper hadn't raised her voice. She had been reasonable. The coach had merely pointed out that the woman just needed to ask the girls politely and they would comply. I don't think she'd intended for the exchange to go on as long as it had. The gatekeeper had continued to disparage the girls as if they'd been naughty children. She fired back that the rules were the same from year to year and these girls knew them. The bewildered coach interrupted that many of the girls were new to the squad and this was their first game. The gatekeeper didn't care, didn't believe it. She seemed bent on proving that teenagers were miserable creatures. I wonder if the coaches reaction emerged from her shock at the disrespectful behavior from this adult. The same disappointed confusion I felt throughout the game.
Where was the loyalty, respect, and support for the school and students that I'd seen for the flag and National Anthem? I am proud of the youth. They displayed integrity throughout the night. These are not the kids who give teenagers a bad name.
I was relieved when the bickering stopped and I could pass through the gate. As I found a spot on the cold metal bleachers, the words of these two women replayed in my mind. I was disappointed in their behavior. Did they realize the impact their barbed, disrespectful words had on the young people watching?
Why had I arrived 30 minutes early? It certainly wasn't because I loved soccer. I was pretty certain that in 2 1/2 hours my back would sorely complain at having sat for so long without support. Speaking of support, where were the other parents? I mentally counted the players from both teams, warming up on the field. I added the number of cheerleaders & poms. More than 50 students were involved in this event. Not counting friends, siblings, grandparents or other significant people, if only one parent from each family represented showed up, shouldn't I be able to find 50 spectators? Again I pondered what messages we, as adults, were sending to our children.
"Ladies & Gentlemen, please rise for our National Anthem." The voice from the P.A. system startled me. I rose and turned to face the flag. As the rousing music rang forth I noticed hands on hearts, hats removed, everyone standing at attention. My eyes began to tear. My thoughts turned to my father-in-law. He was a fighter pilot in the Korean War. He witnessed the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air.
Below the flag was the concession stand and the restrooms. At that moment, a gentleman exited the latrine. He immediately turned, removed his hat, placed his hand on his heart and began singing along. Patriotism was still alive.
After the game began, a few more parents and students filed into the stadium. I listened to various conversations around me. I was a little embarrassed at some of the things I heard. Right before the 2 minute warning of half-time, one parent began screaming, "Stop the clock! Stop the clock!" The announcer must have been tired of hearing the complaints, shouts, and insults. He addressed her shouting.
"The clock is not stopped unless the referee signals. There was no signal." I would have been ashamed for being so obnoxious. This parent was not and yelled back, "that was why I was yelling at the ref! I wanted him to signal." I cringed. A group of 20 or so students had gathered to watch the game. They turned their heads in unison to see that this parent was from the opposing team.
The cheerleaders began a cheer. I clapped along. I noticed a girl wearing her softball jersey. She tapped the boy sitting next to her and said, "it's the cheerleaders job to get the crowd enthusiastic about our team, to cheer them on and support them. Come on and get with it." He did, as did most of the other students.
I hadn't noticed the couple sitting behind me. They must have come during the 2 minutes before the half. I took note when the woman spoke wearily, "I guess I can sit through a few more cheers." I wanted to turn and see who she was-hoping it was not the parent of a cheerleader. It wasn't. As she continued talking loudly, I realized her son was a soccer player.
The signal for the end of the half rang out. The cheerleaders gathered and sat at the edge of the field. This woman spoke mockingly, "what are they doing sitting down? Where is our half-time entertainment?" It was obvious that she was annoyed at having to endure what she perceived as silly girls.
I churned inside. I wanted to swing around and tell her that the reason the cheerleaders were sitting down on the field is because they were supporting their school. The poms were making their way to the field and it was the poms who danced at half time. The cheerleaders and poms were there to cheer and encourage not only one another, but mostly to support the soccer team. I wanted to tell her to ask her son if he appreciated the support he got from the poms and cheers. I wanted to tell her that my son played on the Varsity Lacrosse team for 4 years in high school. He and his team would have been thrilled and overjoyed to have the support of the cheerleaders. My son told me on numerous occasions how encouraged he felt when he heard his own dad's shouts of cheer from the sidelines.
I didn't say anything. I was too busy getting my camera out to videotape my daughter's pom routine.
My thoughts would not be quiet. As I heard this woman again, I wanted to whip around and tell her that I'd sat here watching her son play for the last 45 minutes. I'd cheered & clapped. Where had she been during most of that first half? Could she not respect my daughter's 2 minutes of dancing? Did she think I was there because I was a huge fan of high school soccer? I was suprised how angry I was. Then it hit me.
Was I any different than the cheer coach who tried to defend her girls from the barrage of words hurled at them by the gatekeeper? I understood her passion. I didn't understand the adults who chose to be disrespectful of our kids and others. Were my thoughts towards this woman as wrong as her words towards the girls? Did this count as righteous indignation?
The coach who'd argued with the gate keeper hadn't raised her voice. She had been reasonable. The coach had merely pointed out that the woman just needed to ask the girls politely and they would comply. I don't think she'd intended for the exchange to go on as long as it had. The gatekeeper had continued to disparage the girls as if they'd been naughty children. She fired back that the rules were the same from year to year and these girls knew them. The bewildered coach interrupted that many of the girls were new to the squad and this was their first game. The gatekeeper didn't care, didn't believe it. She seemed bent on proving that teenagers were miserable creatures. I wonder if the coaches reaction emerged from her shock at the disrespectful behavior from this adult. The same disappointed confusion I felt throughout the game.
Where was the loyalty, respect, and support for the school and students that I'd seen for the flag and National Anthem? I am proud of the youth. They displayed integrity throughout the night. These are not the kids who give teenagers a bad name.
Friday, September 14, 2007
A Contradiction
I enjoy a good, hot cup of coffee. I don't mind paying a little more for expensive beans to fresh grind every day. Add some creamer (or better yet real half & half) & I'm in heaven.
I was very disappointed when Coffee-Mate quit making Vanilla Nut Creamer. This wass my all time favorite. After trying another brand with great disappointment, I decided to buy half & half. I noticed one carton on sale so grabbed it and headed home. Big mistake! This is what I purchased:
I don't know if you can read the label, but it says "Fat Free Half & Half" How is this possible? Half & Half by definition is half cream/half milk. To be legally called Half & Half the butterfat content must be between 10.5% and 18%. So how can they call it fat free???
After reading the ingredients I'll tell you. This so-called half & half is made from skim milk. Yep, you read that right. Skim. I don't buy skim milk to drink, why would I want the watery stuff in my coffee parading around as if it was lovely, light cream?
Tommorrow I'm starting my day with rich, strong, straight,black coffee.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Pitter Patter
If you've been reading here for awhile, you know of my love affair. I try not to let a day go by, without taking him for a spin. He's always available. He waits with anticipation, in his cozy garage, until we connect and off we go. This particular day was no different.
I was in a bit of a hurry and was thinking more of my destination than the time spent together. I turned the key, pushed the start button, shifted into 1st, and revved the engine. What was that? It sounded like he was complaining. Rattle, rattle. I revved again. It was a bit quieter. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. How could he betray me like this? We've only been together for 18 months. Isn't this still the honeymoon phase? I take such good care of him, shouldn't he be purring like a well fed cat?
Hmmm...He does sit quite low to the ground. I had hit that speed bump, in the dorm parking lot, a bit hard. I'd heard a small scrape as I passed. But what is enough to cause damage? Had I knocked something loose? I didn't have time for this! Get over your hurt feelings and let's move on-I have things to do.
I pulled out of the garage and into the street. Clunk. What was that? It sounded like a piece of metal hitting the pavement. I reversed back into the driveway. With the engine running, I opened the door to the house. "Do you hear that? It's making an awful rattling noise."
Michael suggested it might be the air conditioning. I switched it off and revved. Nope. It was still clattering. His advice was to leave my friend at home and take the Suburban. Grrr...my pride wouldn't let go.
I marched into the street to see if I could find anything. This was laying in the street.
It didn't look like anything that belonged to my car. I wondered if somehow it fell out of my car. I could think of only one place it could have been hiding. I grabbed a flashlight to make an inspection. I peered in the 1st hole. Nothing. I looked in the second. Inside it appeared as if something had fallen into the pipe. I pulled this out.
It all make sense now. A certain little boy is fascinated with cars. He also loves to figure things out. My guess is, at his height he took a look at my car. He saw two perfectly good holes and wondered what should go inside.
Sitting right there behind him were some fine looking tools that fit nicely. He must have popped them in place feeling very proud of himself. (Thanks Ethan for getting my heart racing!)
Once removed, the rattling subsided. We drove off in harmony once again.
If you've been reading here for awhile, you know of my love affair. I try not to let a day go by, without taking him for a spin. He's always available. He waits with anticipation, in his cozy garage, until we connect and off we go. This particular day was no different.
I was in a bit of a hurry and was thinking more of my destination than the time spent together. I turned the key, pushed the start button, shifted into 1st, and revved the engine. What was that? It sounded like he was complaining. Rattle, rattle. I revved again. It was a bit quieter. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. How could he betray me like this? We've only been together for 18 months. Isn't this still the honeymoon phase? I take such good care of him, shouldn't he be purring like a well fed cat?
Hmmm...He does sit quite low to the ground. I had hit that speed bump, in the dorm parking lot, a bit hard. I'd heard a small scrape as I passed. But what is enough to cause damage? Had I knocked something loose? I didn't have time for this! Get over your hurt feelings and let's move on-I have things to do.
I pulled out of the garage and into the street. Clunk. What was that? It sounded like a piece of metal hitting the pavement. I reversed back into the driveway. With the engine running, I opened the door to the house. "Do you hear that? It's making an awful rattling noise."
Michael suggested it might be the air conditioning. I switched it off and revved. Nope. It was still clattering. His advice was to leave my friend at home and take the Suburban. Grrr...my pride wouldn't let go.
I marched into the street to see if I could find anything. This was laying in the street.
It didn't look like anything that belonged to my car. I wondered if somehow it fell out of my car. I could think of only one place it could have been hiding. I grabbed a flashlight to make an inspection. I peered in the 1st hole. Nothing. I looked in the second. Inside it appeared as if something had fallen into the pipe. I pulled this out.
It all make sense now. A certain little boy is fascinated with cars. He also loves to figure things out. My guess is, at his height he took a look at my car. He saw two perfectly good holes and wondered what should go inside.
Sitting right there behind him were some fine looking tools that fit nicely. He must have popped them in place feeling very proud of himself. (Thanks Ethan for getting my heart racing!)Once removed, the rattling subsided. We drove off in harmony once again.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Grandparents Day
Since I didn't grow up celebrating Grandparent's Day, I wondered when it first became official. National Grandparents Day was created in 1978 by a federal proclamation, passed by Congress and signed by President Jimmy Carter. According to the National Grandparents Day Council, Grandparents Day has a threefold purpose:
-To honor grandparents
-To give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children’s children.
-To help children become aware of the strength, information and guidance older people can offer.
I also found out that there is an official song for Grandparent's Day:
"A SONG FOR GRANDMA AND GRANDPA"
by Johnny Prill
Chorus:
Oh Grandma, Grandpa, you know that I love you
I love all those little things that you say and do
A walk through the park, a trip to the zoo
Oh Grandma, Grandpa I love you
Verse One:
Going to a ball game, fishing on the lake
Eating Grandma’s cookies, boy they sure taste great
Going to the circus when it comes to town
Eating cotton candy and laughing at the clowns
Chorus:
Oh Grandma, Grandpa, you know that I love you
I love all those little things that you say and do
A hug and a kiss, a ride home from school
Oh Grandma, Grandpa I love you
Verse Two:
Spending time together, talking on the phone
Happy birthday presents, chocolate ice cream cones
Photographs and memories, picnics and parades
Saying that you love me in so many ways
Chorus:
Oh Grandma, Grandpa, you know that I love you
I love all those little things that you say and do
The stories you tell, things I never knew
Oh Grandma, Grandpa I love you
Oh Grandma, Grandpa I love you – I love you – I love you
So Happy Grandparents' Day!!!
Since I didn't grow up celebrating Grandparent's Day, I wondered when it first became official. National Grandparents Day was created in 1978 by a federal proclamation, passed by Congress and signed by President Jimmy Carter. According to the National Grandparents Day Council, Grandparents Day has a threefold purpose:
-To honor grandparents
-To give grandparents an opportunity to show love for their children’s children.
-To help children become aware of the strength, information and guidance older people can offer.
I also found out that there is an official song for Grandparent's Day:
"A SONG FOR GRANDMA AND GRANDPA"
by Johnny Prill
Chorus:
Oh Grandma, Grandpa, you know that I love you
I love all those little things that you say and do
A walk through the park, a trip to the zoo
Oh Grandma, Grandpa I love you
Verse One:
Going to a ball game, fishing on the lake
Eating Grandma’s cookies, boy they sure taste great
Going to the circus when it comes to town
Eating cotton candy and laughing at the clowns
Chorus:
Oh Grandma, Grandpa, you know that I love you
I love all those little things that you say and do
A hug and a kiss, a ride home from school
Oh Grandma, Grandpa I love you
Verse Two:
Spending time together, talking on the phone
Happy birthday presents, chocolate ice cream cones
Photographs and memories, picnics and parades
Saying that you love me in so many ways
Chorus:
Oh Grandma, Grandpa, you know that I love you
I love all those little things that you say and do
The stories you tell, things I never knew
Oh Grandma, Grandpa I love you
Oh Grandma, Grandpa I love you – I love you – I love you
So Happy Grandparents' Day!!!
Friday, September 07, 2007
Sarabeth
It's hard to believe you're a senior in high school. It won't be long before you pack up your treasures and are off to college.
When others played in the sprinkler, you were happy in a bucket of water. I am proud of you for staying true to your convictions, for not going along with the crowd. March to the beat of the drum you hear-as you’ve always done. Dance to the music played for you. Know that I'm always here for you, but trust God above all else.
It's hard to believe you're a senior in high school. It won't be long before you pack up your treasures and are off to college.
When others played in the sprinkler, you were happy in a bucket of water. I am proud of you for staying true to your convictions, for not going along with the crowd. March to the beat of the drum you hear-as you’ve always done. Dance to the music played for you. Know that I'm always here for you, but trust God above all else.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
I had an encounter yesterday.
I had the privilege of meeting a lovely lady IRL (in real life) from blogland. Those of you who read her blog will be envious. Mopsy from Lifenut invited me to a unique little coffee & tea shop. For many, Mopsy has achieved near celebrity status in blogland. She is an excellent writer, clever, witty-if you haven't read her blog, check it out.
I took my camera to get a photo of the two of us together, but was too busy chatting & being entertained by her 3 youngest children to remember. Her boys were very charming while they ate their chocolate donuts and chocolate milk. (Who wouldn't be charming with that much chocolate?) Beatrix was a doll!
Mopsy is just as pretty in person as she is in photos. She has shared so much of herself via her blog, it was as if I met up with an old friend. Thanks Mopsy for the coffee and a lovely morning.
I had the privilege of meeting a lovely lady IRL (in real life) from blogland. Those of you who read her blog will be envious. Mopsy from Lifenut invited me to a unique little coffee & tea shop. For many, Mopsy has achieved near celebrity status in blogland. She is an excellent writer, clever, witty-if you haven't read her blog, check it out.
I took my camera to get a photo of the two of us together, but was too busy chatting & being entertained by her 3 youngest children to remember. Her boys were very charming while they ate their chocolate donuts and chocolate milk. (Who wouldn't be charming with that much chocolate?) Beatrix was a doll!
Mopsy is just as pretty in person as she is in photos. She has shared so much of herself via her blog, it was as if I met up with an old friend. Thanks Mopsy for the coffee and a lovely morning.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Monday, September 03, 2007
Signs Your Teen Is Text Messaging Too Much
Hilary is social. She likes to talk. She talks in her sleep. Now that she has a cell phone and unlimited text messages, most of her chatting is done via her thumbs. (Okay, the whole family has unlimited text messaging. And yes, this the preferred method of calling my family to dinner.)
I should have known when her fancy little phone never left her fingers that she was probably text messaging too much. (Or when she dropped it in the toilet.)
The second clue should have been when I overheard this conversation:
"So how many text messages have you sent this month?"
"Oh, like maybe 500."
"Maybe? Just check."
"Ok, I have used 497. What about you?"
"3011."
Did she really say 3000? This month isn't over yet. She has over a week to break this record.
The other night we got into a discussion about embarrassing moments. We all agreed that sending a text message to the wrong person was the worst. Sarabeth had plenty of these faux pas-when she sent me a text message saying, "guess who El is having lunch with? Josh." She then promptly sent it to Elisabeth instead of me. Hilary couldn't recall having one of those moments.
The next morning she comes upstairs carrying her phone looking puzzled. "I had a very strange message on my phone when I woke up. All it said was, 'what?' I figured I must have sent someone the wrong message. So I checked."
Apparently, she received a text message after she'd fallen asleep. It stirred her enough that she picked up her phone and sent one back-without ever waking up! My daughter can now say she has officially text messaged in her sleep. I wouldn't recommend it. Although she did text two real words, the rest was in indiscernible dream language.
I think it may be time to cut back on text messaging. It's one thing to talk in your sleep, only your family hears, but when she starts talking text message for the world to hear...who knows what she might say? And really, who's going to believe the excuse that she didn't know what she was doing?
Hilary is social. She likes to talk. She talks in her sleep. Now that she has a cell phone and unlimited text messages, most of her chatting is done via her thumbs. (Okay, the whole family has unlimited text messaging. And yes, this the preferred method of calling my family to dinner.)
I should have known when her fancy little phone never left her fingers that she was probably text messaging too much. (Or when she dropped it in the toilet.)
The second clue should have been when I overheard this conversation:
"So how many text messages have you sent this month?"
"Oh, like maybe 500."
"Maybe? Just check."
"Ok, I have used 497. What about you?"
"3011."
Did she really say 3000? This month isn't over yet. She has over a week to break this record.
The other night we got into a discussion about embarrassing moments. We all agreed that sending a text message to the wrong person was the worst. Sarabeth had plenty of these faux pas-when she sent me a text message saying, "guess who El is having lunch with? Josh." She then promptly sent it to Elisabeth instead of me. Hilary couldn't recall having one of those moments.
The next morning she comes upstairs carrying her phone looking puzzled. "I had a very strange message on my phone when I woke up. All it said was, 'what?' I figured I must have sent someone the wrong message. So I checked."
Apparently, she received a text message after she'd fallen asleep. It stirred her enough that she picked up her phone and sent one back-without ever waking up! My daughter can now say she has officially text messaged in her sleep. I wouldn't recommend it. Although she did text two real words, the rest was in indiscernible dream language.
I think it may be time to cut back on text messaging. It's one thing to talk in your sleep, only your family hears, but when she starts talking text message for the world to hear...who knows what she might say? And really, who's going to believe the excuse that she didn't know what she was doing?
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Job
No, I didn't go out and get a job. I have been reading the book of Job. Have you read this book in the bible? The poor man lost his family, his house, his livelihood-basically everything. Afterwards, his body broke out in sores from head to foot. Can you imagine the pain of raw open wounds? I've had bad days, but not this devastating.
But isn't it interesting that what started Job's troubles is God bragging about him? Am I living my life in such a way that my heavenly Father stands in heaven boasting of my integrity? Could that last difficult trial have been His way of showing me off? And yet my response was not what He had hoped. I endured, maybe complained. I allowed myself to become stressed out, forgetting God's sovereignty. Of course had I known that my trial was just to prove how much integrity I had, I'd have performed better. Ah, but this is where it gets sticky. That trial did indeed show what I was made of, how much integrity I really did have (or didn't.)
A trial is a good thing. It is a guage that shows me what my relationship looks like. I can see clearly whether or not I really trust God or whether I just think I do.
Whew! I've got a long way to go.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
Another Tearful Phone Call
Elisabeth was on campus this morning to finish her paperwork for her fall semester. She didn't really want to be there. She's been struggling with a back injury and the treatments are painful. The doctor says this is normal and the injections will cause more pain before it feels better. But today was the final day to finish up the paperwork.
So the phone call goes something like this:
"What are you doing, Mom?"
"Just emptying the dishwasher, what about you?"
"Yeah, I finished up my paperwork." I can tell her voice sounds funny.
"Great! Where are you? Are you still at school?"
Her voice cracks.
"Yes....(pause)...they won't let us leave. I don't know what is happening." At this point, I can tell she is starting to cry.
"What is going on?"
"They say we are on lockdown and I can't go to my car. My back hurts real bad and I just don't know what is going on."
I do my best to console her not really sure what is going on. I hang up the phone and turn the on the t.v. A report of the lockdown is on the screen.
Police were chasing armed robbery suspects. A crash occured near the campus and the armed suspects fled on foot. The campus was locked down as police continue to search for the suspects. I text message my daughter to let her know what is going on, I know she is too teary to talk. And now we wait. This isn't the same world as when I was growing up.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Dumb
Boy do I feel dumb!
I recently emailed the editor of a local T.V. news program. I also view their news website. In the past few months, I'd noticed a lot of editing errors. For example:
A Muder Suspect Was Apprehended
Crocs to agrees to buy Bite Footwear
Another news headline had Israel spelled "Isreal"
I received a reply to my email that it was being sent to the "proper People." Those proper ones must have laughed their heads off when they read my complaint. I hadn't bothered to proofread before so smugly sending it. There before me were 2 glaring typos. Hmmm...pride goes before a fall.
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