Derailment and Perspective

Looking at the calendar this morning, I was surprised to realize I haven’t written or posted a thing in well over a month.  All I could think was, I’m sure glad I don’t try to earn a living off this gig…life is simply too full of derailments!

The day of my last post, we got word from the governor of Oregon that gatherings of 250 or more were banned.   Over the next week and a half we watched our freedoms drop away at a frightening speed…no gatherings of more than 25…10…none outside of one’s home.  Churches shut down and businesses were shuttered.  Those many days had us on pins and needles, wondering about our own businesses and the people who work for us.

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Life in the Chum Bucket

 


This week I’ve been musing on the raising of teens and just what a dangerous endeavor it can be.  I suppose parenting in general, really.  It’s this seemingly never-ending cycle of need and rejection that starts in infancy, cruises along, and really hits its stride in the preteen or teenage years.

Teens are funny creatures.  No longer children, yet not quite adults, they reel you in with need and vulnerability, firing off every nurturing mama-nerve you possess.  When one’s baby is struggling, it’s a visceral response that comes out.  We want to help.  We want to offer wisdom. After all, we have a lot more life experience to draw from.  

So we start momming.

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A Few Thoughts on Perfectionism and Leaders Who Lead

When I decided to jump back into the blogosphere, part of the deal I made with myself was to stop obsessing over every post.  As a recovering perfectionist, I do tend to obsess at times, and with my writing it manifests as going over a draft multiple times, finding just the right words, the right pictures, changing words and formatting and just generally tweaking.  One post could take me hours to get just so.

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Purpose and Personal Bubbles (2019 Beautiful Truths #2)

Few creatures are as vicious and unpredictable as the human teenage female.  While homeschooling can offset some of the stereotypical teenage behavior issues, it is not a magic bullet, nor does it negate normal human crappiness.  As my youngest was entering the high school class in our homeschool co-op, I was disheartened by the goings on in her peer group.  There were friendships that had imploded, hormonal angst ran rampant, and just plain mean-girl shenanigans were happening. 

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The Magical Power of Carrots

“Have you ever thought about trying some positive motivation?”

My friend’s words were spoken gently, with a hint of hesitation. Even so, I bristled. Spouting off some lame excuse, I ended the conversation, hung up the phone, and nursed my stinging pride. Positive motivation? What did she think I was, some screeching harridan, oppressing my children with my negative parenting? Harrumph!

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Shooting Blind

Aiming carefully at my subject, I shot blind. Lifting the camera, I squinted at the LCD screen but could still see nothing; the brightness of the mid afternoon sun rendered it worthless. I tried again, choosing my angle with care, holding perfectly still. When the breeze died down enough for the vibrant, violet bloom to still, I pressed the shutter once more. Shrugging, I walked on, waiting for the next flower or critter or bit of beauty to catch my novice eye.

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Who Knew?

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When I became pregnant for the first time, having endured several months of fertility treatments, I was confident that I knew exactly what I was getting into. I’d read books and articles, I’d studied other parents in my sphere, and in my youthful arrogance I was sure I’d be the perfect mama.

Then, after birthing my daughter, reality walked up and b*#ch slapped me, knocking me flat on my smug posterior leaving my ego bruised and bloody.  Dazed, I realized I didn’t know squat.  This motherhood gig was HARD.

Who knew?

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When You’re Ready to Throw in Your Mommy Hat

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I swore at my son the other day.  Well, not exactly at him, more at his disability and how much work it puts on me.  Even as the words flew from my lips, I knew I should be horrified.  Ashamed of myself.   Instead, all I felt was a bone-deep weariness.

I’m tired.  So, so tired.

I’ve been at this homeschooling gig for over 15 years now.  Most of those years have been a struggle with varying degrees of language disabilities.  It’s hard.  My youngest two, who are not learning disabled, have been given the dregs of my time, attention, and enthusiasm.

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