Jan 20, 2016 | therapy fodder, trying to raise humans
Go ahead and grab a tissue. If not for you, then grab an extra one for me.
My sensitive little nine-year-old guy spoke these very words to me today.
I looked at him and firmly said, “Absolutely not!” as if it were the stupidest thing I had EVER heard.
He looked at the ground while picking the skin on the side of his thumb with his index finger and furrowed his little red eyebrows together.
I said, “Why? Did someone tell you that?”
He nodded slowly, and without looking up, meekly said, “Yea.”
I said, “Who?” (Classic mama bear instinctive reaction. Even though the “who” is really not relevant to his hurt feelings, I couldn’t stop myself from blurting that out.)
He said, “Just some kids at school. They said my freckles are weird.”
I asked, “Are they your friends?”
“No.”
“Do you care what they think?”
“No.”
“Are their opinions important to you?”
“No.”
“Well, then let’s not worry about what they say.”
“It’s just confusing because some of my other friends have freckles but they only say my face is weird.”
I told him to say something along the lines of his freckles don’t bother him, so they shouldn’t bother them and then walk away. He smirked and said, “I know, right?”
I reminded him that he has a family who loves him and friends who like hanging out with him, and that’s all that really matters.
I am not naive enough to think my kids never tease other kids. It’s part of growing up. I took the open door Gav presented to (again) talk a bit about how words can hurt and that everyone has different things about themselves … so it’s not cool to call out people’s differences no matter what they are – and that, in fact, those are the very things we should find INTERESTING about other people. I told him I am sorry that people were making fun of his freckles. We also talked a little bit about being brave even when it’s hard – and doing things like sticking up for himself even when he feels upset. That’s a hard thing for our sensitive guy – he takes it all to heart and just takes it on the chin. Still.
It’s funny, really. This time last year, we were facing the same thing … words being used to point out Gavin’s “differences” (i.e. red hair and freckles!), and I penned this. I’ve copied it here. As parents, let’s remember the incredibly important role we play in teaching our kids right from wrong – on both big and little scales…including how words are used.
I am so tired of people using words to tear other people down – young, old, big, small, whomever. It’s not ok. Ever. Whatever happened to, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing at all.”?! That should come back. In a big way. I’ll start.
As parents, I truly believe we can start to fix this together. It is SO EASY to gently remind kids – consistently – about the power that words hold. Written words. Spoken words. Words that are shouted. Words that are whispered. Words that are muttered. They all matter. They all have an impact. Even when you can’t see what that impact is. If someone sees those words or hears those words, they will absorb them, and reflect on them. Even if it’s just briefly. Those words will have an impact to everyone who comes across them – whether you realize it or not. Encourage them to choose wisely. Always.
It is SO EASY to consistently remind our kids to not make comments about how others look, or dress, or act. It is SO EASY to remind our kids that everyone is an individual who looks different, dresses different, acts different. It is SO EASY to remind them that these differences are what make this world awesome and if we all weren’t different, we’d live in a pretty boring place. And you can bring it home by gently encouraging them to think about how they would feel if someone said [insert tease] to them and ask them how that might make them feel. Sometimes just turning them on to the impact of their words can make all the difference – awareness is a gateway to understanding and understanding can breed compassion. (Full post can be found here.)
As for Gav, he’s right back to normal. But I know he’ll keep thinking his freckles are weird. Me? I’ll continue to blow wind in his sails so he carries on with strength and builds confidence – gorgeous red hair, freckles and all.
Nov 27, 2015 | moments & memories
I was greeted today by a smiling, freckle-faced, red-head whose cheeks are blushed with the kiss of a bit too much Hawaiian sun, courtesy of a certain now 40-year-old who was a bit too lax with the sunscreen. “Good morning, 40-year-old! Happy birthday!” he cheered. “Dad’s only 39 still. But you’re 40.” Um, thanks? Hahaha.
And, so, here it is.
My 40th birthday.
A milestone.
Or, perhaps, the year I forever become “39+”?
The bridge to my twilight. (I mean, let’s be honest – 40 is pretty much a solid mid-point to life, right?)
Or, rather, as we should think about turning 40 – beginning again: The start of the second half of my life.
I have to say, I wasn’t dreading this particular milestone.
There’s a lot that comes with 40.
There’s a lot I’ve learned and experienced.
There’s a lot I’ve yet to learn and experience.
There’s a lot I love.
There’s a lot I get out of bed every day for.
And there’s still so much I want to do.
It’s a nice mid-point, really. A nice pause to stop and appreciate how good life is and the goodness that’s yet to come.
There’s a certain self-confidence that comes with 40. You know who you are. You know who you’re not. You know what you can do. You know what you want to do. And you know what you don’t want to try. And you’re (hopefully!) mostly good with who you actually are….after all, you’ve spent 40 years becoming who you are today, right now, at this very point in time.
You know you are loved. You know people who love you for everything you are, and everything you’re not. They love you for your 40-year-old self.
You know that love grows. Exponentially throughout your life, from the moment your parents watch you take in your first breath.
You know the importance of a few good friends.
You know the importance of family.
You know that love can survive across thousands and thousands of miles.
You feel quite young in spirit. Even if you’re a little rusty getting out of bed in the morning.
You still know all the words to your favorite songs from high school and college. And your favorite dance moves to accompany your singing. (Much to the embarrassment of your significant other and / or kids.)
You look wistfully at your old basketball (or insert younger-year passion here) shoes and know that it’s not a terribly smart idea to lace them up again. If only to safeguard your pride. And to spare your kids’ embarrassment.
You know what you like.
You know what you don’t.
You know you should exercise more. You know you should work less. Yet, neither really happens. (Maybe 40 will be my year!)
You choose fruit or salad over French fries as a side with lunch. Then still sneak some fries from your kids’ plate.
You eat kale instead of romaine lettuce. And actually like it.
You prefer strangers to call you “miss”, but at 40, you face the reality that you are actually a “ma’am” to a 16 year old behind the counter at the Gap. And because you’re fabulously 40, hopefully, you’re gracious even if “ma’am” doesn’t quite sit well with you.
You know how to dress yourself for you, not for the trends. You know your body and how it wears clothes. You know how to make yourself look your best – finally. (Be honest – overalls and high-waist jeans never look good on anyone!)
You acknowledge your flaws. And have the wisdom to figure out what’s worth working on and, frankly, what’s not.
You appreciate criticism because it can make you a better version of yourself. And you’ve got enough experience to know when it matters and when to take it to heart. And when you can mentally tell people to shove it.
You know you aren’t everyone’s “cup of tea”. And that’s ok. You’re good with leaving high-schooling and mean-girling to the high schoolers. And pray every night that your own kids skip the drama altogether.
You know there are shitty people out there. And you know it’s OK that they are not your “cup of tea”.
You know wrinkles will come. Treat them kindly. Sunscreen and some good moisturizer will let your life’s roadmap shine through in its best light. You earned these wrinkles – age gracefully. Please, for the love of God – age gracefully!
You know that the wrapper or wrapping paper is never as good (or bad!) as what’s inside. In all things. People included.
You know enough to let people be who they are. You don’t try to change them.
You know your inner voice and your gut have got things to say. And you know enough to listen.
You know the value of good manners.
You know the value of having strong morals and, well, values.
You know that a good attitude, dedication and hard work can get you farther than you ever thought possible. Even if you aren’t Ivy League. And even if math takes you longer than most people.
You appreciate your parents (or whomever raised you) for everything they did to help make you who you are today. And you know you can’t thank them enough.
You know life is good, even when it’s hard. And you know you should appreciate this more.
You know when to be selfish.
You know when to give more of yourself.
You know how to read people, and try your hardest to always assume positive intent.
You know that sometimes you have to force yourself to smile. And that that’s ok.
You know what’s worth fighting for (and when). And you know when it’s better to walk away.
You know your voice. And you use it well.
You realize your kids are getting older. So you slip your hand in theirs and breathe in their youth every chance you get.
You know that being yourself – and being true to yourself – is perhaps the greatest legacy you can leave behind.
You have experienced your life’s greatest love, and hopefully, live that love every. single. day.
You know life’s greatest joys.
You know life’s greatest sorrows.
And at 40, you know both are still ahead.
Happy 40th to my fellow 1975 babies. Happiest of birthdays to you all.
Cheers!
Nov 19, 2015 | yup, i really did that
Judging solely by the number of Starbucks “You are Here” mugs that have been added to the Clark collection, you can tell 2015 was one travel-filled year. (And not for leisure.) How many have we added? Fourteen. As in, this year, between Kenny and I, we have business traveled to 10 cities we’d not been to (or through!) before, plus the four Walt Disney World parks ones we picked up on a long weekend there in May. And this doesn’t count a replacement mug for the New York City mug I broke – I am getting that in December to celebrate my last work trip of the year.
Making the point another way: Kenny and I have not been in our house together for two consecutive weeks since June.
Yeeeeeeaaaaa.
Good times.
I am freaking tired!
Like loopy tired.
Like I-was-well-rested-in-the-year-following-my-kids’-births-compared-to-this tired.
And, lucky for you, dear reader, I have a pretty hilarious story to show you just how fried I really am.
On Monday, my flight was delayed to the point that I got stuck on a red-eye that delivered me straight into a 10-hour meeting (15 minutes after the scheduled start time.) No, I didn’t sleep on the flight. I am the worst on red-eyes. And no, my room wasn’t ready, so I had to put on my work clothes in the Hilton’s lobby bathroom. For the benefit of my co-workers, I did slap on some deodorant. I am nothing if not classy. (Big props to my boss for having the world’s largest Dunkin’ Donuts coffee waiting for me!).
Fast forward to last night. I thought I’d be “efficient” and stay at an airport hotel by JFK so I didn’t have to get up super early and commute to JFK from Manhattan – figured I could use an extra night’s sleep after the red-eye debacle. The super short version? Let’s just say I am more of a Manhattan vs. Jamaica, NY kind of girl (who knew!?). The slightly extended version? I didn’t realize my super-chatty-to-the-point-of-creepy cabbie didn’t turn on the meter until it was way too late, at which point I pulled up Google maps to make sure the blue dot was actually following the route to my hotel (it was). I paid him $70 in cash after 1.5 hours in his hot, smelly cab (which should be fun for reimbursements), and went into the hotel lobby, which, until this point was the light at the end of my hot, smelly cab ride tunnel.
I was greeted by a dude holding a pizza (presumably to deliver to a guest), while the gal behind the counter argued with her boyfriend about cheating on her. Oh yea. Boyfriend was there, too. And lucky for me, his drawers were hangin’ out the top of his pants. Nice – a room and a show. Totally a value-add. They should market this.
She said, “One second, sweetie.”
TO ME.
Not to her real “sweetie”.
I mean, why waste the term of endearment on THAT CHEATER, right?
She then turned her attention back to her man and I stood there with the pizza guy like a jackass. I wasn’t sure what to do. I wasn’t crossing her – I saw her in action. Hahaha. Luckily, another employee came out and helped me. He offered me some take-out menus before before physically going up to the fifth floor to check on my room to make sure it had been cleaned (always a great sign), and I was on my way.
Let’s just say the room didn’t make my night any better, but given the ISIS / Times Square video that was re-released about 30 minutes after I left my Times Square hotel, I figured I could hack some (potential) fleas and a lumpy pillow.
Morning came and I took the hotel shuttle to the airport. All of that was mostly uneventful, and I left JFK on time. Unfortunately, we got delayed in Seattle for a bit, then went on our way.
I realized about mid-way through the 23 minute flight from Seattle to Portland that I hadn’t really eaten all day. Great.
By the time we landed in Portland, I was super hungry. As in – I needed to eat before I got home hungry. Against my very best judgement and in the face of all of the signs the universe was sending that I just needed to get home and relax for five minutes, I swung through the drive through.
The guy said, “Ok, that will be $10.47.”
I paused for a moment and thought, “That sounds really expensive.” but just went with it because we don’t often frequent drive throughs. Inflation’s a beast, right? Haha.
I pulled around and handed him $11.
He handed me $3.53 back and proudly counted out the ones as he handed to me.
As I pulled away, it clicked that he gave me crazy change for a $10.47 bill paid for with $11.
I panicked.
I started to pull into a parking spot and was going to walk in to return the money.
Then I thought – yes, I literally gave it this much thought (which may explain why I am so tired! haha!) – “Well, I don’t want him to get in trouble, so I will go back through the drive through.”
And I did.
Rolled right up to the speaker and said, “Hi. You gave me too much change, so I am just in line to give it back.” Like the slightly smug do-gooder I almost was.
Until I looked at my receipt.
And realized DUDE SAID $7.47, not $10.47.
So, he had, in fact, given me just the right change.
In fact, he was probably thinking, “Why the hell did this lady give me $11 for something that cost less than $10?” which could explain his over-exuberant dollar bill counting when he handed me the change. In hindsight, it was probably a math lesson from the drive-through dude.
There were two cars ahead of me.
No one behind me.
I DID consider backing out of line.
But then I thought that might be on video, and going viral for awkwardly trying to back out of a semi-circular drive through lane isn’t really on my bucket list.
And after telling the guy he screwed up over the drive through loud speaker, I couldn’t just do a drive by and yell, “Never mind – you were right!” through the open window. After all, he’d worry for the rest of his shift that his register would be short and I would be ‘wanted’ for stealing extra change. There would have to be a giant mea culpa with some receipt evidence… no, just too much of a super long story / song and dance.
So, you know what I did?
I donated a dollar to the fast food place.
Mhmmmm.
I drove right up and said, “This was folded up with the other ones. Have a great day!” and drove off. Because it was, in fact, folded up with the other ones.
Needless to say, I can never go there again. Not once more.
And now, I will go enjoy a lovely dinner with my family and retire early. For the benefit of everyone around me. Except maybe that fast food place. They made out like a bandit. If bandits were after $1 donations.
Oct 13, 2015 | moments & memories
With her brother at a friend’s house, and her neighborhood friends out on the town, we had a very antsy Grace on our hands this past weekend.
“Mom, I’m boooooooooooored,” Grace whined.
For the record, this is the most annoying thing a child of mine can say to me. You’re bored, really? Perfect. Then I am throwing out every single toy, craft, crayon, book, electronics item and making more room for Daddy’s shoes. Instead of giving my standard, “Cool – let’s get some trash bags and pack up your toys!” reply, I opted for my usual Plan B response.
“Ok – give me some ideas that sound fun to you,” I said.
Grace asked hopefully, “Can we decorate for Halloween?”
“Sure,” I said. Virtual high five for this idea – it knocks out two things in one: occupying Grace and crossing something off my To Do List.
Kenny got the decorations out and gave Grace a small stack of outdoor stakes and told her to go to town. She squealed with delight.
Fast-forward about 60 seconds and we have the delightfully festive scene above. As in a clump of garden stakes vs. spreading the Halloween love around our small property. As in this is pretty much the extent of decorating her so-bored-self did. As in the boredom fizzled fast. That, my friends, is a visual representation of the power of the doorbell and a friendly face mere moments after making your parents drag out the Halloween decorations because you’re so bored. Hahaha!
“Ok, Mom – I’m dooooooone! Look – I made it into a little pumpkin patch. Well, with ghosts, too, I guess. Going to play now, byeeeeee!” Grace gleefully shouted as she ran around the side of the house with her friends. And so it begins. And so it begins.
Sep 29, 2015 | moments & memories
Four years ago today, I started this blog. It’s been a fun ‘side project’ – you know, something to occasionally fill some spare minutes between working, momming, being a wife, playing chauffeur, running a household, etc., etc. Haha. (OK, OK. I actually just do it to avoid cleaning.)
In all seriousness, if you’re reading this – thank you. It means a lot that you take a few minutes from time-to-time to see what’s happening out here in Portland. In case you’re not familiar with how going west coastal came to be – check out this post – and then click the links at the bottom for a trip down “How the Clarks became Portlanders” memory lane.
If you like reading this blog – it’d be awesome if you could share it with a friend (or two) (or 10) – have them like the going west coastal Facebook page. I’ve been mulling over the idea of writing a book (because I totally have time for that – hahaha!) and I can only assume strong readership of my blog would be a good thing if I pursue that.
Thank you!
