Forgiving Is Hard to Do

Forgiveness is such a wonderful sounding word.  However, it's one of the hardest things I've ever done -- and refused to do, on too many occasions.  At a wedding a few years ago, the ancient priest's homily went something like this as he looked right at the bride and groom:

"Forgive.  Forgive.  Forgive.  Forgive.  Forgive.  Forgive."  And it went on like that until I got the feeling that he was trying to drill something into our heads.  (I'm quick like that.)

That is fantastic advice for a newly married couple -- and everyone else in the world, married or not.  The more I read up on the topic, the more I see the refrain that if you refuse to forgive someone, no matter how heinous the act, it only hurts YOU.  YOU end up carrying the wound around with you, reliving the pain of it all as YOU replay it in your mind over and over.  And over.  (I'll stop now, but you get the gist.)  YOU end up living in an ugly tenement of the past, not enjoying the fresh opportunity of the present.

I've been thinking about using meditation to quiet my mind jam-packed with millions of thoughts.  Perhaps that would be a good mantra for me to repeat, "forgive, forgive, forgive, forgive."

Here's one New Year's resolution for 2008:  forgive, forgive, forgive, forgive, for the next 365 days, into infinity and beyond.  And I'll try to forgive myself while I'm at it, for extra credit.

LibbY

2008 Better Be Great!

OK, so I'm not much of a poet, but that captures my thoughts.  2007 has been a rough one for lots of people, not just Britney Spears.  For starters, one of my dearest friends lost her beloved mother which turned her life upside down emotionally, geographically and financially, while another parted ways with both her long-term boyfriend and what used to be the perfect job.  Don't worry, I'll stop there before I risk depressing you (and myself) any further.

On the flip side,  I am grateful for so many great things that happened for me in 2007 -- some as simple as losing that pesky baby-weight and running a 10K without arriving home afterwards in an ambulance.  On a deeper level, I've developed one of the most meaningful friendships of my life, watched my little dude move from babbling babyhood into a little boy who is more than half my height and can say, "Sam want Mommy."  And I'm  so fortunate to have a husband more supportive than I could have ever dreamed possible.  

However, I've got to say that the 2007 highlight has been truly finding God in my life, my everyday life, something I have never had before which has made me happier, stronger, and hopefully kinder and more forgiving to my fellow man.  (Of course, this is a work in progress, so don't expect angelic behavior from me all the time in 2008.)  For that I have a faithful friend to thank for both educating and encouraging me every step of the way, as well as my ever-patient husband.  

So thanks for the good times, 2007!   Let's take the good and try to leave the bad behind and let it go.  Bring on 2008!

LibbY

Phew!

What a relief!  Christmas is over for yet another year, even though I am still addressing cards as if it wasn't.  The deadline has been met once again, and I'm ready for a vacation.  How 'bout you?  I think hospitals, mental hospitals that is, should have a special wing called the "Christmas Trauma Center," a place to nurse injured feelings, heal disappointments because it wasn't like the Norman Rockwell painting envisioned, and relieve guilt over the inevitable family strife.  The CTC should also have a mammoth bouncy house with boxing equipment where people can work off their pent-up emotions and leave them behind.  No one should be allowed to wear red or green, especially not together.  And, of course, the griping that takes place in the CTC stays in the CTC.

I usually enjoy the build-up to Christmas more than the actual day itself, but this year was so different.  It was such a kick to watch Sam quiver with excitement when he saw that Santa really did bring him Annie & Clarabelle, the Tommy trains he had asked Santa for on every visit.  (And there were many.  For the scoop, see earlier entry for the "Santa Crawl.")   For once I could not have cared less what I got.  I got the best gift ever -- watching the sheer joy on his face as he discovered each toy and then  danced with excitement while we hacked through walls of plastic to free the coveted toy inside.  He got so immersed in playing with each one that he would forget that there were still tons left to open.  At two he's still too young to be greedy -- yet!  Well, maybe that is not so true.  Today he kept demanding to "open presents," despite the fact that he was tripping over his mound of new ones.  We have a budding capitalist in the making, folks!

Well, off to finish up on the Christmas cards so I can then get started on a round of thank you notes.

LibbY

Aaaaaaaaah!

Today was so fantastically incredible that I don't want to go to bed and let it end.  My in-laws and sister-in-law graciously volunteered to keep Sam ALL DAY LONG so I could get some LibbY time.  I sure did take them up on it, and it was woooonderful!  I actually didn't even see Sam at all today because he is at my in-law's house and I am staying at a hotel down the street.  I think there has only been one other day since he was born that I didn't see him at all.  

It was so refreshing to do exactly what I wanted when I wanted to do it with no compromises, schedules to follow, meltdowns to monitor, or obligations to be anywhere at a specific time.  I couldn't even commit to a massage appointment, I just wanted to be free!  It was nothing less than a little slice of heaven, even though I didn't know my way around Dallas at all.  Now I sure do, and the local economy has received a boost!

Alright, I must admit it.  The day is over.  It is 11:30 and well past my bedtime.  I'll give myself the Sam treatment.  It works for him for closure, why shouldn't it work for me?  

OK, it's time to wave goodbye to the day, LibbY.  Wave bye bye!

LibbY reluctantly waves at the screen and pushes "publish post."  Bye bye, awesome day!

LibbY

My, How Things Have Changed!

I have definitely noticed how radically my everyday life has changed in the last two and a half years, but by now I'm pretty much used to the "new normal."  However, once I get outside of my comfort zone of home/park/Baba Noba/Targy, which is extremely rare, I notice the change as starkly as the red line on a pregnancy test.  (Translation:  For those of you who are not fluent in Sammacky lingo, "Baba Noba" is B & N, and "Targy" is Target.)  

Taking a three and a half hour flight with Sam the other day was one of those bright line tests.  I used to love to fly; I've always been such a travel fiend that even driving by an airport got me excited.  Now it is the subject for a nightmare.  Just thinking about it makes me start sweating.  By the time we got through security which was like traversing the Amazon in stilettos but not as fun, I was already hot and bothered (in an angry, indignant kind of way.)  However, in the interests of my blood pressure and general merriness level, I will spare us all of painfully rehashing the inane details.  

I used to savor the time on flights to write cards, browse through magazines that had piled up, and lose myself in a really good book, sometimes finishing one and starting another.  This time I knew better.  I didn't even bother to put my copy of "Eat, Pray, Love" in my carry-on, even though I was was dying to dive into it on p.87 where I'd left off.  After all, I was right at the part where she describes all of the carb-o-licious food that she was devouring in Rome.  The book is so addictive, but I knew too well that the only time I would pick it up would be to wipe apple juice off the cover.  

Instead, my backpack contained a pile of "Tommy" books (Tommy is Thomas the Tank Engine for those who are not on a first name basis), ten Tommy trains, two leaky sippy cups, and a partridge in a pear tree.  (Just checking to see if you are really reading this.  It was really a mushed up banana.) 

Well, right after we got on, he started asking for the Baby and rubbing his eyes.  JACKPOT!  That meant he was going to go to sleep!  Shoot!  Maybe I should have packed that freakin' book after all and not been such a pessimist.  Was I going to be forced to read and re-read the Sky Mall catalog for the next three hours?  No such luck.  I was not fortunate enough to have that problem.  

Plot twist.  Sam spent the entire flight awake and miserable, unable to fall sleep.  Oh my.  Of course the toddler across the aisle slept like a rock, despite Sam's moaning.  However, later in the flight his mother confessed that she had given him half of a Children's Dramamine tablet half and hour before the flight.  Hmmn...  (Note to self:  Google Children's Dramamine before return flight.  Also ask pediatrician about the use of taser guns on children over age two.)  Anyway, it was one of the longest three hour segments of my life.  Instead of being relaxed and rejuvenated when we arrived, I was strung out, sweaty, and so tired my eyes hurt.  All I needed was a few shots, and I was ready to for bed.  Too bad it was 10:30 AM local time.  

LibbY

  

December: Repeat With Sounding Busy-ness

Yes, folks, that is my take on "Joy to the World."  Bah humbug perhaps, but I do love Christmastime.  The problem is that we often lose track of the "reason for the season," understandably so because no one has a spare second to contemplate it.  

Even now as I bloggety blog away, I should be doing a host of different things that I need to do before leaving town at the crack of dawn on Wednesday -- addressing over 100 cards (no time for a meaningful scrawl on the back), taking a wog (walk/jog) on the treadmill to burn off the scrumptious cannoli I ate last night, packing for Dallas, wrapping presents, baking, ordering last minute presents online, and the list goes on.  You know!  

Isn't it funny that our expectations of what can get done in the space of a few weeks in December is ridiculous, far more than any other month of the year?  And does all of this "busy busy-ness" translate into a deeper appreciation of the meaning of Christmas?  I think not.  

 This year I am trying to force myself to participate in only that which I truly want to, not because I feel somehow obligated.  It's nice to feel sincere.  And it's quite liberating -- I highly recommend it.  I haven't perfected the technique by any means, but it has forced me to slow down and listen to myself more than usual.  That in itself is progress.  

Yesterday for the first time ever, I heard the bells of the Salvation Army ringing and couldn't bring myself to scuttle by without slipping a $5 bill into the collection box.  It felt good, better than any mocha latte buzz.  (No disrespect to almighty Starbucks intended.)  Perhaps it's time to revert back to using the true words, "Repeat with sounding joy."  I think I'm onto something here...

Joy to the world!

LibbY

Hark! The Herald Grandparents Come...

The Saminator has been particularly happy lately because Grams and Pops are in town!  It's neat to see for so many reasons, especially because this is the first time he has really been old enough to clue into who they are.  Now he waits by the window for them to come by in the morning and only wants to eat the special "Gram's yogurt" that she lifts from the breakfast spread at her hotel.  It just doesn't matter that it is the same ole Yoplait we have here at home. Thank God she showed up with four today, so we can stockpile the precious commodity before she leaves tomorrow!  Oh come let us behold him, he can't take a nap if he knows they are downstairs.  The snooze would mean some lost bonding time with them.  

So today, with love in their hearts, they were forced to go to Steinmart during his nap just so he would go to sleep.  I won't tell him (and you had better not either) that the wonders of Steinmart were the real big draw in getting them down here in the first place.  Let's wait until he is in kindergarten and can take it like a mini-man.  A bitter two-year-old is a tough thing to stomach -- and, more importantly, to deal with on a day-to-day (and night-to-night) basis.

It has also been unseasonally balmy lately.  But, really, the high 70s in mid-December?  Am I going to be forced to admit that there is a shred of truth to Al Gore's "A Convenient Fabrication?"  Please say isn't so.  Well, we may as well enjoy it.  We can deal with the political repercussions later on a day when it is snowing outside and we are housebound anyway.

Off to read a book, write a book, clean the house, wrap presents, and/or take a shower before naptime is up in an hour.  Man, I'm tired just thinking about all that.  I'll decide what to do after my own nap.  In the oft-quoted words of Scarlett O'Hara, "[Naptime] tomorrow is another day!"

LibbY

Happy Holi-daze

 Why do I already feel so behind when it is only December 5?  I did the math - there are still 20 whole days 'til Christmas.  In college that was more than enough time to cram for five finals AFTER catching up on the all of the reading I'd slacked off on.  I know I sound like an old fogey (and some of today's college students would say I am at my ripe old age), but the season has taken on a life of its own, far more commercial than the birthday party Christmas was intended to be.  I've been shopping for ages, stockpiling things as I see them, and actually have a cute little "Christmas notebook," so I can be uber-organized yet festive.  (Check out the $1 aisle at Michael's.  Good things are found there, especially if you like Mary Engelbreit's stuff which I do.)

I don't really get the whole watered-down "happy holidays" thing either.  What could be so offensive about the phrase "Merry Christmas?"  If a Jewish person wished me a Happy Hanukah, I don't think I would take offense, especially since it is friendly greeting usually given with warmth.  I am all for respecting religious diversity, but I can think of many far more offensive things that people could greet me with other than some well-intentioned good tidings.  I will let your mind wander to come up with some examples.  OK, here's a couple.  "Hey, stupid!  I was hoping you'd never show up!" or something like this, "Man, you sure took your ugly pills this morning, didn't you?"  You see what I'm saying?  THAT'S not nice, not nice at all.  In fact, it is downright insulting.  

I've never been a big fan of the whole "Xmas" shorthand either.  If you take the Christ out of Christmas, why bother with the holiday at all?  Why don't we just call it Commercial Day and have it in June?  Well, my opinion abruptly changed when I read recently that the term "Xmas" did not originate in a holiday circular from Target.  Way back when, the Greeks came up with the shorthand of "Xmas" because their Greek word for Christ starts with an X.  Xristos, I think it is spelled.  So you just never know, do you?  So in case you were wondering, now Xmas is 

a-okay with me.

Happy Hanukah, merry Xmas, and good tidings to everyone!

LibbY

The Santa Crawl

Finally Sam is old enough to "get" the magic of Christmas, and I'm treasuring every nanosecond of it.  We have already bonded with Santa three times -- once at the mall, then on board the refreshingly uncommercial "Santa Train" over the weekend, and today at the Children's Museum.  They say three times a charm, but it is only December 3rd, so I'm sure I'll be charmed into buying many more sets of two 3 x 5 pictures for a mere $27.99.  Sucker!  Oh, well, I have wasted money on far stupider things for sure.  

So many laps, so little time.  Instead of a drunken Pub Crawl, we'll be doing the world's first Santa Crawl.  Perhaps I could write a guide book rating the various Santas in the area on friendliness, appearance, entourage, comfort of lap, and ability to deliver the line "ho, ho, ho" with a ring of authenticity.  Thankfully Sam is armed with not one, not two, but three Christmas sweaters to spread among his picture-taking opportunities.

I do wonder whether Sam will start getting picky one of these days.  "Sam want the OTHER Santa" or "Sam like other Santa's lap."  I don't want any Santas getting their feelings hurt or getting laid off or anything because of us playing the field, so to speak.  I don't remember ever going to see Santa as a kid.  I guess I was too busy walking to school barefoot in five feet of snow, each way of course.  It's a different world now, plain and simple.  That's OK, though.  I don't want to relive my childhood; I'm having too much fun watching him live his.  

Long live the Santa Crawl, now an annual family tradition.  Bring on the Santas!  Next Santa, please!

LibbY

"I Want Daaaaaaaddy"

I never thought I'd hear those words from my little Mama's boy.  Much to my chagrin (and even embarrassment), I've been hearing them lately -- a lot.  I know I shouldn't let my feelings be hurt by this current phase, but I just can't help it.  Objectively I know it is totally normal and healthy for him to adore his dedicated daddy who felt unappreciated for so long.  I guess it's my turn to feel unappreciated now.   He is 2 (Sam, not Daddy), and I am 40, which should make me more mature than him and infinitely more understanding and wise.  But feelings aren't always terribly rational, especially the negative ones that gnaw away at you or kick you right in the stomach, almost knocking the wind out of you.

I'll confess to you another tidbit.  This one is worse and even more embarrassing.  He has even said, "No Mommy!"  Is the child that I carried for nine months (ten, really) to whom I dedicated the last two and a half years of my life out-and-out rejecting me?  Is he a mini-teenager or what?

Of course, things change come Monday morning.  When I drop the little stinker off at preschool, the carpool person practically needs the jaws of life to pry him out of the car.  He practically hyperventilates at the though of being separated from me for three hours.  And of course I feel so sad for him and wait until his little head disappears into the school before I bolt, just in case he wants one last look at Mommy.  Or maybe I am the one hoping for one last look at him.  

Sanity returns.  FREEDOM washes over me like a tidal wave, too huge and awesome to comprehend.  Off I go to zip around -- to work out, shop, and return some junk I bought the last time he was at preschool.   Ten minutes later, I realize that I  am still listening to Veggie Tales and sheepishly put in the Barenaked Ladies.  And before I know it, I am looking at my watch, counting the minutes until I can squeeze my little man and present him with his favorite "Chick Delay" nuggets.  As I pull up in the carpool line, there is the best sight in the world waiting for me --  the beaming smile on his face as he practically pulls his  teacher over to the car.  His teacher often comments, "He asked for you a lot, but we were able to distract him."  I admit it, I can't help beaming like a big ole goofball, too.

I guess it's OK if he likes Daddy more on the weekend.  Just one trip through the carpool line more than makes up for it.

LibbY