One of the best things to come out of my Olympic viewing experience was my new favorite line. Peekaboo Street was ripping on Julia Mancuso big time and she topped off her tirade by emphatically stating that Mancuso needed to "Lose the Tiara!" (Of course that same day Mancuso got the last word as she traded her tiara for a sparkling gold medal, but that's beside the point.)
Lose the tiara. Good line for when one comes up against those holier-than-thou or I'm-more-worthy-than-you-to-take-up-space-on-this-planet-types. Mostly I don't associate with a whole lot of those kind of people, but I probably could name a few names. And then there are those special kind who actually wear literal tiaras. Not in the sweet way Lorien did when she took her tiara-topped girls out to see The Princess Diaries, but in the weird way that tells the world "I was the queen of cheese way back in '87 ('78?) and I've still got the tiara to prove it (read, I still wear it publicly with pride)."
But then I got to thinking about it and I realized that since most of us folks with normal lives don't really have that problem, the line I really need to add to my arsenal is the following, "Find Your Tiara!" One of my deepest wishes is that a number of my dearest friends, who are really the most amazing of women, could just look in the mirror and see themselves as the rest of us see them, and not just through the twisted reflection of their own too-critical eyes. We are our own harshest critics and when we dedicate our lives to the care and keeping of families--whatever form they may take--it's easy to sort of lose ourselves, and not just in the good way. We forget who we are when we focus on our failures and overlook our own strengths.
So the next time one of my friends starts beating herself up I'm going to gently remind her, "Find your tiara." Or maybe I'll go invest in a drawer full of plastic tiaras and just leave one on her doorstep and encourage her to wear it with pride. We should all spend some time finding and freeing our inner princess.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
My name is Dalene and...
(Disclaimer: So sorry Julie, for this blatant rip-off. I don't intend to plagiarize, but there are no other words.)
I live in the land of sobriety (or at least a semblance of), but I need to talk about addiction. Currently I am addicted to blogging. Usually I am too busy to while away this much time in the land of blog, but I am sick and my house is a wreck--a downright DCFS-worthy wreck--and this beats soap operas and bon bons hands down. Other addictions I deal with include quilting, fabric shopping and getting lost in a good book. I have also done e-Bay, but thankfully I'm recovered from that.
Mirriam (or was it Webster?) defines addiction as "the compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal." Granted I'm using the term "substance" a little loosely, but I think I've got "compulsive" down pat. I'm not brave enough to even consider withdrawal, however, I'm sure there would be well-defined symptoms if I did.
I don't want to minimize real addictions to physically harmful substances, but I think the rest of us are fooling ourselves if we don't admit to our own addictions. We manifest those subtle symptoms of avoidance behavior and self-medication--which can be just as mind-altering--in a number of ways. Like the secret bowl of shrimp salad in "The Ladies Auxiliary," we've each got some guilty pleasure that we devote a little too much time and energy to and that we would be unwilling to give up cold turkey.
The stress of taking care of four children, one husband, four cockatiels, one rabbit, a bearded dragon and a beta fish (not to mention four houseplants in various stages of demise), and a four-bedroom home--in addition to trying to appear competent at my job while working with a bunch of computer literate kids half my age and still attempting, on occasion, to make a difference in the world--has become a bit overwhelming. Who is going to take care of me? So I self-medicate in blog therapy, mostly because I don't have the energy (or the money) for some really good retail therapy. Am I a bad person?
So, I'm calling a good old session of BA...Blogaholics Anonymous. But any sort of "holic" is welcome. Now is your chance to come out or come clean or whatever. What mind-altering therapies do you subscribe to when your life just gets to be a little too much?
I live in the land of sobriety (or at least a semblance of), but I need to talk about addiction. Currently I am addicted to blogging. Usually I am too busy to while away this much time in the land of blog, but I am sick and my house is a wreck--a downright DCFS-worthy wreck--and this beats soap operas and bon bons hands down. Other addictions I deal with include quilting, fabric shopping and getting lost in a good book. I have also done e-Bay, but thankfully I'm recovered from that.
Mirriam (or was it Webster?) defines addiction as "the compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal." Granted I'm using the term "substance" a little loosely, but I think I've got "compulsive" down pat. I'm not brave enough to even consider withdrawal, however, I'm sure there would be well-defined symptoms if I did.
I don't want to minimize real addictions to physically harmful substances, but I think the rest of us are fooling ourselves if we don't admit to our own addictions. We manifest those subtle symptoms of avoidance behavior and self-medication--which can be just as mind-altering--in a number of ways. Like the secret bowl of shrimp salad in "The Ladies Auxiliary," we've each got some guilty pleasure that we devote a little too much time and energy to and that we would be unwilling to give up cold turkey.
The stress of taking care of four children, one husband, four cockatiels, one rabbit, a bearded dragon and a beta fish (not to mention four houseplants in various stages of demise), and a four-bedroom home--in addition to trying to appear competent at my job while working with a bunch of computer literate kids half my age and still attempting, on occasion, to make a difference in the world--has become a bit overwhelming. Who is going to take care of me? So I self-medicate in blog therapy, mostly because I don't have the energy (or the money) for some really good retail therapy. Am I a bad person?
So, I'm calling a good old session of BA...Blogaholics Anonymous. But any sort of "holic" is welcome. Now is your chance to come out or come clean or whatever. What mind-altering therapies do you subscribe to when your life just gets to be a little too much?
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Do as I say...not as I do
Just the other day I got the cold clear message that my blogging activities are not going unnoticed by my children. While they have very specific rules for their time on the Internet (only talk to people you know, never share personal information, no chat rooms or myspace, etc.), I wonder if the effectiveness of establishing said rules is becoming undone by none other than me.
Recently, at a family dinner, I overheard my 10-year-old daughter telling my sister-in-law about her mom's friend Rebecca. I started listening intently, wondering who of my friends she had mistaken for Rebecca. She then went on to explain it was Mom's friend from the Internet and she has these two really cute kids the same ages as my sister-in-law's kids and they match right up with her Jake and Sadie. My non-blogger SIL gave me a rather funny look--like the one we give my mother when she starts referring to celebrities by their first names--which I ignored because I was rather more alarmed that my daughter had observed my tendency to talk to strangers and share somewhat personal information over the Internet.
Now although I have never met Bek personally, I do think we have some mutual friends (or at least our friends have mutual friends). And because a lot of what I've read on her rather frank blog really resonates with me and we have briefly corresponded a couple of times, I would definitely consider her a friend, in the cyber-sense. I'm also fairly certain "Bek" is who she says she is, and not some sick-o 56-year-old man. I think I'm pretty safe with the occasional trips to her blog and I don't mind leaving her a comment or two. No harm done.
But I'm shocked to see that my daughter has observed enough of my on-line activities to pick up on the nuances and even a name or two. I wonder if my actions have been heard much more loudly than my words. What if Lindsay now thought it was OK to correspond with people she didn't know and started sharing family information with complete strangers? Would I be all right with that? Absolutely not!
So now what? Do I wait until the midnight hour when all have gone to bed to blog? Do I wait till no one's home and then rush down to steal some "me" time on the computer? The hypocrisy of saying, "This is OK for me to do, but not for you," is a little beyond me. If I were capable of telling a lie with a straight face I could tell my kids we all went to high school together. But I can't. I guess for now I'll just have to be careful about who's looking over my shoulder. And be extra careful to behave myself when I post. But that almost takes all the fun out of it!
Recently, at a family dinner, I overheard my 10-year-old daughter telling my sister-in-law about her mom's friend Rebecca. I started listening intently, wondering who of my friends she had mistaken for Rebecca. She then went on to explain it was Mom's friend from the Internet and she has these two really cute kids the same ages as my sister-in-law's kids and they match right up with her Jake and Sadie. My non-blogger SIL gave me a rather funny look--like the one we give my mother when she starts referring to celebrities by their first names--which I ignored because I was rather more alarmed that my daughter had observed my tendency to talk to strangers and share somewhat personal information over the Internet.
Now although I have never met Bek personally, I do think we have some mutual friends (or at least our friends have mutual friends). And because a lot of what I've read on her rather frank blog really resonates with me and we have briefly corresponded a couple of times, I would definitely consider her a friend, in the cyber-sense. I'm also fairly certain "Bek" is who she says she is, and not some sick-o 56-year-old man. I think I'm pretty safe with the occasional trips to her blog and I don't mind leaving her a comment or two. No harm done.
But I'm shocked to see that my daughter has observed enough of my on-line activities to pick up on the nuances and even a name or two. I wonder if my actions have been heard much more loudly than my words. What if Lindsay now thought it was OK to correspond with people she didn't know and started sharing family information with complete strangers? Would I be all right with that? Absolutely not!
So now what? Do I wait until the midnight hour when all have gone to bed to blog? Do I wait till no one's home and then rush down to steal some "me" time on the computer? The hypocrisy of saying, "This is OK for me to do, but not for you," is a little beyond me. If I were capable of telling a lie with a straight face I could tell my kids we all went to high school together. But I can't. I guess for now I'll just have to be careful about who's looking over my shoulder. And be extra careful to behave myself when I post. But that almost takes all the fun out of it!
Friday, February 03, 2006
I'm a good mom
Like many of you, I like to take the occasional guilt trip over my shortcomings as a mother. However, recent headlines have convinced me that my kids don't have it so bad. Here's why:
1. Although my children have been discovered in many places--wandering the aisles of Wal-Mart (I was inside the store as well at the time), walking naked down the street (never past the age of four), and, thrice, at various stages on their way to the school where my husband teaches--they have never been found outside wandering by the freeway in the middle of the night. In the middle of winter.
2. Unlike the mother who threw overnight parties so she could hit on her kids' high-school-aged friends--I try to keep a safe distance and make sure my kids' friends are home at a reasonable hour. Although I am not opposed to feeding them or cheering for them at sporting events. And I don't serve alcohol at my own parties, let alone my kids' parties. I don't even serve caffeinated beverages.
3. My youngest son used to routinely tell people who called on the phone that I was away shopping and had left him home alone, even though I was just outside or in the shower or somewhere where I couldn't hear the phone ring. But I have never gone to Las Vegas or Disney World or anywhere else fun for an extended period of time while leaving my kids home unattended. If one could accuse me of anything it would be that I just don't leave them often enough at all.
4. I have a hard enough time coughing up the $25 to $35 co-pay for a necessary visit to their pediatrician or the friendly neighborhood orthopedist. You won't catch me forking over thousands for the latest trend in plastic surgery for my daughter. Or, like some parent at my boys' school--coral implants to help a child grow horns so he can pretend he's a satyr. It's not like teenagers need more help feeling awkward or weird during their high school years.
5. I have no desire to be a contestant on reality TV in order to screech at someone else's kids and husband, jiggle my body fat in front of live cameras, eat rotted animal entrails or get in catfights with the girls over some prize or another. I limit the ways I embarrass my children to the following: Driving a mini-van, asking about their social lives, applying sunscreen thoroughly, and just being me. It's not like I need extra help being a geek.
5a. I would never, ever dress up exactly like my cursing, under-dressed, over-tanned, bleached-blonde airhead teenaged daughter to appear with her at American Idol auditions. Ever.
6. My kids aren't even allowed to shoot people virtually and I'm the queen of the "mean moms," so I don't think I'd find myself in the following situation: One mother of an elementary-school student just got charged with child endangerment because she allowed her son on numerous occasions to take his own loaded gun to the elementary school he attended (and where she was employed) and offered the excuse "It's his gun; he can do what he wants with it."
7. I won't even start with those heartbreaking stories of mothers who hear voices in their heads that tell them to hurt their children. I am very grateful that although my kids may drive me to distraction, that's about as crazy as it gets around my house.
8. I have never, ever--and never will--utter the words "I hope your kids give you a taste of your own medicine someday."
So, moms out there, lay the guilt down for a day and celebrate. Our kids will probably turn out OK. Eventually. And things most certainly could be a lot worse.
1. Although my children have been discovered in many places--wandering the aisles of Wal-Mart (I was inside the store as well at the time), walking naked down the street (never past the age of four), and, thrice, at various stages on their way to the school where my husband teaches--they have never been found outside wandering by the freeway in the middle of the night. In the middle of winter.
2. Unlike the mother who threw overnight parties so she could hit on her kids' high-school-aged friends--I try to keep a safe distance and make sure my kids' friends are home at a reasonable hour. Although I am not opposed to feeding them or cheering for them at sporting events. And I don't serve alcohol at my own parties, let alone my kids' parties. I don't even serve caffeinated beverages.
3. My youngest son used to routinely tell people who called on the phone that I was away shopping and had left him home alone, even though I was just outside or in the shower or somewhere where I couldn't hear the phone ring. But I have never gone to Las Vegas or Disney World or anywhere else fun for an extended period of time while leaving my kids home unattended. If one could accuse me of anything it would be that I just don't leave them often enough at all.
4. I have a hard enough time coughing up the $25 to $35 co-pay for a necessary visit to their pediatrician or the friendly neighborhood orthopedist. You won't catch me forking over thousands for the latest trend in plastic surgery for my daughter. Or, like some parent at my boys' school--coral implants to help a child grow horns so he can pretend he's a satyr. It's not like teenagers need more help feeling awkward or weird during their high school years.
5. I have no desire to be a contestant on reality TV in order to screech at someone else's kids and husband, jiggle my body fat in front of live cameras, eat rotted animal entrails or get in catfights with the girls over some prize or another. I limit the ways I embarrass my children to the following: Driving a mini-van, asking about their social lives, applying sunscreen thoroughly, and just being me. It's not like I need extra help being a geek.
5a. I would never, ever dress up exactly like my cursing, under-dressed, over-tanned, bleached-blonde airhead teenaged daughter to appear with her at American Idol auditions. Ever.
6. My kids aren't even allowed to shoot people virtually and I'm the queen of the "mean moms," so I don't think I'd find myself in the following situation: One mother of an elementary-school student just got charged with child endangerment because she allowed her son on numerous occasions to take his own loaded gun to the elementary school he attended (and where she was employed) and offered the excuse "It's his gun; he can do what he wants with it."
7. I won't even start with those heartbreaking stories of mothers who hear voices in their heads that tell them to hurt their children. I am very grateful that although my kids may drive me to distraction, that's about as crazy as it gets around my house.
8. I have never, ever--and never will--utter the words "I hope your kids give you a taste of your own medicine someday."
So, moms out there, lay the guilt down for a day and celebrate. Our kids will probably turn out OK. Eventually. And things most certainly could be a lot worse.
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