Open Eye

Disclaimer: This is a plea for human decency and an open eye for compassion. The names of the schools are irrelevant. I am not contesting the final score of a high school football game. In fact, if the students who won deserve congratulations for playing with such heart.

This past weekend, a friend of mine and her friend took their children to an “away” football game. One of the children, a twenty-two year old, physically handicapped, sports lover is fully confined to a wheelchair. Her family makes attending these events a priority because of the enjoyment they experience together. This game put two rivals head-to-head, like Donaghy against Banks (If you don’t watch 30 Rock, they are super-duper rivals.), like Perry the Platypus and Dr. Doofenshmirtz (If you don’t watch Phineas and Ferb, they are super-duper rivals.), like Captain Kirk and Kahn (If you don’t watch Star Trek, I’m through with you.) Needless to say, the winner of the game obtains bragging rights over the opposing team until next year’s game.

The car they drove had a handicap tag, and they followed the signs for the handicapped parking. The parking attendant, however, refused them use of the designated parking lot. The mother of the handicapped girl pointed out the handicapped parking sticker, though it was already prominent. They were again denied the closer parking, claiming that it was only for the home team’s handicapped only and directed them to the opposite side of the entrance, far from the visitor’s seating.

This might not seem like a big issue to some people. Just walk the extra yardage and deal with it. But when you have struggled to lift the weight of an adult into a car, a 50 pound wheel chair into the trunk, a 20 pound pack with everything you might or might not need in case of an emergency, and a million pound smile to make sure the other “normal” children and friends know that everything is okay, even when it’s not, saving a few yards of strenuous walking means a lot.

And what about the child? She tries to be as independent as she can, but there are challenges, like using the restroom and reaching things that people with legs and arms can reach without procuring another person, that wears on her spirit, whittling away her self-esteem and self-worth. Sometimes, it’s easier to manage these oppressive feelings, but when something happens and they slap you in the face, there is no way to pretend you didn’t feel the sting.

This was not the only handicapped family turned away from the designated parking area.

Dear Parking Lot Attendant,
Shame on you.
Shame on you for allowing a sports competition to affect your sense of human decency.
Shame on you for hardening your heart so you don’t know when to practice compassion.
Shame on you for turning away those who openly need help.
Shame on you for acting superior to other human beings.
Shame on you for making everyone in those cars and vans struggle unnecessarily when they have already struggled so much.
It would have cost you nothing to direct the cars with a handicap sticker to where they belonged, which means that you chose to be cruel for the sake of cruelty.
Shame on you.

Because this may seem like a generalization, I note, it was one adult who treated multiple people this way. It’s so quickly, though, that one person can turn into fifty, fifty into a hundred, and for that reason, I am writing this. I call resolution, that we, as a community, won’t let the degradation of other human beings spread. I put forth my hope that this was a one-time event, that this was one person’s warped sense of school pride, that this type of behavior will not be accepted.

Is this rivalry between two schools a legitimate reason to treat people so poorly, handicapped or not?
The answer to this question—no matter your religion, no matter the color of your skin, no matter the label on your car, no matter how prominent your last name is in the community, no matter how much money is in your bank account, no matter how much talent is in your little finger—is a resounding No.

If you thought for an instance otherwise, please check yourself.

Is any reason a legitimate reason to treat people with cruelty?
The answer to this question—no matter your religion, no matter the color of your skin, no matter the label on your car, no matter how prominent your last name is in the community, no matter how much money is in your bank account, no matter how much talent is in your little finger—is a resounding No.

If you thought for an instance otherwise, please check yourself.

Life is worth more respect than you give it sometimes, even if it doesn’t look the same as yours.

Blue’s First Beach Trip

Husband, Husband’s mother (GiGi), Blue and I went to the beach.  It was Blue’s first time and the results are as follows:

  • Blue loved, I mean LOVED, the sand. It fascinated him.  All things he discovered in it fascinated him, like grass, old bottle tops, and cigarette butts.  Public service announcement: If you smoke on the beach, please, for the love of God, trash your butts somewhere other than NATURE where others will be.
  • He tolerated the ocean.  He didn’t like water crashing into his face for some reason.  He did, however, like the calmer water where he could splash at it at his leisure, which by the way, is adorable.
  • Pools are the way to go with little Blue, especially if they have a “beach style entrance” and fountainy things in the super shallow part.
  • It is very, very hard to keep a napping schedule on vacation.
  • To my and Husband’s surprise, it is very hard to find a covered floating device for small children in large, beach souvenir shops. (Husband finally found one at Target…Wierd, right?!)
  • I love the privacy and cooking situation in condos.
  • I love the Publix grocery store.
  • Don’t forget to bring/buy salt and pepper and cooking spray when getting food for the length of your stay.
  • While succeeding in making small spaces look larger, mirrored walls also make me self-conscious and prevent me from living in my state of self-image denial.
  • I love beach sunsets.
  • I love beach breezes.
  • I love the smell of saltwater in the air.
  • I loved pulling out a shirt to wear this morning and it still smelled like a beach breeze.
  • I love the feel of the sun on my shoulders.
  • I use the word “love” a lot.
  • I look hot in sunhats.  Also, the sunhat was a good idea because when Blue wouldn’t wear his sunhat, I could remove mine a create a semblance of shade.
  • One-legged seagulls warm the cockles of my heart.
  • If you wear glasses, invest in a pair of prescription sunglasses. They saved my bacon! (You can get cheap ones from Zenni Optical’s website.  Like $20ish)
  • Fresh seafood is so much better than any other seafood on the planet.  So. Much. Better.

Wow, there are more bullets than I thought there would be.  I guess I had more things to say than I thought. It was such a good time, and I’m so thankful for Husband and GiGi being so awesome and helpful with Blue.  Great company! Great trip!

I’ll end with a photo display of our trip.

Laters!

~Mea

DSC_5605 DSC_5648 DSC_5679 DSC_5713 DSC_5727 DSC_5811 DSC_5934 DSC_5954

JULY?!

July is here.  Where in the world did my year go?  I suppose it’s orbiting around the eight month old wonder. Blue is growing too fast.  I told him yesterday (because he can understand and contribute to our conversations) that he needed to start growing down rather than up because Mommy’s heart is going to crack when he gets too big to give her hugs.

We went on a trip together, Blue and I.  On the way to our destination, we had to pull on the side of the highway because he decided to poo Every. Where.  Then he was hungry.  So I fed him in the green, green weeds flanking the Louisiana highway. About an hour later, Blue was not to be consoled.  So I found a large souvenir shop where he and I both found our own alligators. See?  (As tempted as I was, I did not take Sasquatch the Alligator home with me.)

photo 4

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We had a lovely time with my good friend, her two children, and her mother.  I had a gorgeous room, which was where I decided that I liked painted brick.

photo 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(He was just playing adorably.)

 

 

There are great thrift stores called Red, White and Blue in New Orleans and in a little town just over the Mississippi River called Gretna.  The profits benefit veterans and they have great stock.  Blue racked up!  Also, I want to marry Whole Foods.

And…yup…That is all.

Later!

Father’s Day Awesomeness

We Rocked Father’s Day.  Now, let me preface with this: Husband and I don’t do Valentine’s Day and such because we believe in showing each other we are awesome everyday, but since it was the first for each of us this year, we celebrated Mother’s and Father’s Day with as much abandon as we could muster.  So to recount the events, I’ll begin here:

Blue woke up at 5:30am. I jumped up and let Husband sleep.  Present number 1 (because it wasn’t my morning).

He woke at 7:30am.  His job for the day?  Play with Blue.  I did the grocery shopping and came home with breakfast.  Then, I started cooking Special Father’s Day Lunch.  I don’t cook a lot, Guys.  So…Present number 2.

Three and a half hours later, we had a lovely salad, homemade chicken pot pie, and red velvet cupcakes for dessert.  I bought the cupcakes.

 FD 1 FD 2

After lunch, Husband played video games while Blue took his afternoon nap.

When he woke up, we went outside to play, where I got these sweet memories:

 FD 3

And

FD 5

Winston the Pup was there, too, but he doesn’t stay put for long.

Then we went inside and listened to Wilco’s Hotel Yankee Foxtrot on wax.  Present 3.

FD 4

Husband likes to collect mugs so Present 4 was just that.

FD 6It’s from this Etsy store if you like it.

Because it took me almost 4 hours to cook lunch, dinner was pizza.  Husband didn’t want to wait that long for me to cook something else.  Thank God.

After dinner we played with Blue.  The most memorable game: Improv Finger Puppet Theatre.

Husband isn’t the GO-TO-A-RESTAURANT-&-WAIT-2-HOURS-TO-SIT-DOWN kinda guy, so instead we stayed in, and though he had to wait 3 and a half hours for a mediocre chicken pot pie, at least he got to use his own bathroom during the wait.

I hope he feels like we love him more than our luggage because, in fact, we do.  He makes our family a Family.  He stands strong when I need a LeanTo.  He’s makes me laugh, and he makes me feel pretty.  He’s the best dad.  He’s my Favorite.  And all those Halmark-type things.  Happy Father’s Day, Husband.

Father’s Day Restraint Cont…

Okay, I’m doing pretty well at not giving Husband presents, but I’m failing miserably at not showing other people. I figure it can’t hurt, since HE can’t see it. He doesn’t read this blog, so I’m going to show y’all to help alleviate the need to show him. Does that make sense? HERE IT IS!!!!!

Father's Day

Yes, that is a piece of wood with pictures on it!!! This is now covered in antique matte Mod Podge, and it looks wicked. 9 days and Husband gets to see it! CAN’T SIT STILL!

Now, I’m going to get Things ready to send to CP while I wait for Father’s Day to get here.

Laters!

Father’s Day Restraint

I totally thought Father’s Day was this coming up Sunday.  I’ve been stressing out trying to get everything finished.  Good news: I have a whole ‘nother week.  Bad News: I have a whole ‘nother week before I can give Husband PRESENTS.  I am so bad about buying presents early, and then giving them to their intended before the celebration causing me to have to buy MORE presents or end up looking like a poo poo head at said celebration.  I struggle with this. Every. Year. And now, with the very first Father’s Day looming up for the man with whom I’m smitten, I’m at war with myself.  Justifications are easy to come by.

1: His shoulder really hurts and causing him to have a bad week.  Therefore, he needs something to remind him that we love him so.

2: He is in the middle of his busy season at work and is unable to find a silver lining.  Therefore, he needs something to remind him that we love him so.

3: He didn’t like his enchilada he had for lunch.  Therefore, he needs something to remind him that we love him so.

4. The series finale of FRINGE rocked my world with awesomeness. Therefore, we should celebrate with something to remind Husband that we love him so.

See? What’s a girl to do?

I have to remind myself that his birthday, my dad’s birthday, father’s day, and our anniversary are in June and July.  That if I give him Things now, I will have no money for extra Things to replace Original Things in light of mass events coming up.  This is logical reasoning.  I will be strong.

Well, maybe just the Wilco vinyl…  But that’s ALL…

Harsh

This week, I made a plan. It goes like this:

1) Make an outline that is more than just “and then THIS happens”.

2) Organize all the scenes I have so far and make them flow.

3) Get first 10,000 words to Crit Partner.

4) Write! Even if I think it sucks at the time.  KEEP GOING!

So, I set out to accomplish this plan.  I’ve been working on this for 2 years now, so I’ve not seen everything I’ve written past-wise in a while. Then I didn’t write at all during the end of the pregnancy and, come to find out, I have postpartum depression.  Don’t continue on the same story when you’re crazy, by the way.  From experience, your characters become crazy, too.  What I should have done was start a new story while I was crazy and seen where THOSE characters could go.  Oh, well, hindsight and all.  I’m getting better, by the way, which is why I could make a plan and carry it out. I might elaborate in a person post later when it’s not so fresh and I can process.

So I read what I wrote in the beginning, and boy, did it stink big dung piles.  Harsh, I know.  I was melodramatic and campy.  It was like reading a soap opera. I over-explained. I wrote multiple descriptions for EVERYTHING. Every gesture was over-dramatized.  I wanted to know when I was going to get to the plot, and I wrote the scene!

Harsh

And then it came.  A light in the darkness.  A scene that showed rather than told.  A conversation that exposed just enough. A metaphor in just the right spot.  Something of which I was proud to read.

I saw a change in my writing.  Progress.  It gave me hope.  I know that what I read at first was…well…it was bad, but I also knew that I had it in me to write well and I had to write badly at first to get there.  All it took was practice.  Practice.  PRActice.  PRACTICE!

Doing what I want to do A LOT.  How’s that for gratification?

Pretty dang great…once you see the progress.

A little something about me: I like quotations.  A few words that hold a mouthful of meaning.

This one about writing applies to me:  “I don’t like to write, but I love to have written.” ~ Michael Kanin

For me, the satisfaction comes after you pour yourself on paper, sit back, and think This is good.

Gloria Steinam also laid out my feelings into a neat little package when she said, “Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don’t feel I should be doing something else.”

Too true, Steinam.  Too true.

A Girl’s First Mother’s Day

I  experienced my first Mother’s Day last weekend, and, I have to say, I like this holiday.  I’ve never felt unappreciated or unloved throughout the year, but the results for being a mother on this particular day worked completely in my favor.  For example:

Mothers Day 2

 

This would be the largest steak I’ve ever seen in my entire life.  This steak is so large, it could offend a vegetarian.

See those vegetables on the plate?  Asparagus, mushrooms, AND peppered BACON chunks.  Husband’s concoction of which I was all-too-happy to test.

While Husband created this culinary masterpiece, he told me and I quote, “I don’t want you to do anything today but enjoy our son.”  What?! No laundry? No dishes? No cooking or cleaning?  BEST. DAY. EVER.

After lunch, I took a nap.  A NAP!  The best part?  I woke up on my own! Husband, his mother, and Blue went outside to swing.  (So sweet!)

Then, Blue decided he wanted a nap.  This is how he fell asleep:

 

Mothers Day 4

 

~<3~

 

When he woke, Husband wanted to read him a story, and I was able to photograph these great images I will cherish forever:

Mothers Day 5

 

Mothers Day 3

 

OH AND THEN… I got presents!!!

 

Mothers Day 1

AND

Mothers Day 6

 

Not to mention the sweet, reaffirming words and spontaneous hugs from my Other Half that reminded me that I am exactly where I belong.  In this family.

I’m humbled and amazed.  Thank you, Husband, for loving me so well.  Thank you, Blue, for being happy and healthy and such a cool kid.

Finally, thank you, Readers, for allowing me to gush to you about the Best First Mother’s Day to ever happen.  I have a lot to live up to on his first Father’s Day.  Any suggestions to make it just as special as he made my day?  I need all the help I can get!

~<3~

Mea

And Now I’m Back from Outer Space

Hey, Guys! I bet you’re wondering if I fell off into MommyLand, if I still care about goals and writing and creativity, if I still shower or if hygiene has been replaced with baby throw up and poop. For those of you who thought, “Well, no, Mea. Actually I didn’t even know you were gone”, you have my permission to skip to the next post now.

For everyone else, I now know the wheat from the shaft. Ha! Just kidding!

So, I had a baby. A wonderful baby boy. He’s amazing and is Husband’s doppleganger-minus the beard. Husband is emmensely proud that Blue looks like him, beeming every time someone mentions it.

Currently, Blue is 5 months, and I just feel like my head is screwed on straight. Tomorrow, I may feel differently, but today, I’m okay. The hormones–the very same ones that weren’t so bad during pregnancy to the point that I thought, “What’s all the hormone hubbub about?”– attacked me with avengance post labor. The Baby Blues, as the books call it, aren’t quite blue at all. Sometimes, they would be fire yellow or wicked red or hard black. I would seethe and cry and yell and, then, just when you want to jump out the window from being in the same room with me, I would become unnaturally numb or laugh because I knew I was being rediculously crazy and there was nothing I could do about it. The Baby Blues also had nothing to do with my Baby. He’s laid back, rarely cries, and is so patient. But “Baby Blues”–amazingly awful and misnamed.
The funny thing about being crazy, your writing is not the same. My voice changed. my characters were as insane as i was…am?… Needless to say, I was unable to get things right. But now that I’m feeling stable…I want to give it a shot again. I ask myself when and it seems that the earliest my work will allow is at the end of May. I’m so very ready to write again. I’m giddy with planning!
I also owe you a book review. I have two I’d like to share that have really inspired me during this hiatus. That’s coming up next. So, yeah, I’m back, and I think y’all are great! Did I miss anything good?

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Pooped

I will soon write a review for a book that I read and loved, but until I am not tired all the time, this will have to do…

2 weeks and 6 days until my due date!!!

AND! A little story…

There once was a very pregnant woman with two dogs who she loved very much.  After a long day at work, the woman came home and fed her lovely pups and then took them for a romp in the yard.  The pups ran and played, and all three were very happy.  When it was time to go inside the house, the pups ran ahead, reaching the front porch and inviting red door before the pregnant woman could waddle up the concrete steps.  She opened the door, watched to make sure both pups made it inside, and stepped into the living room.  Suddenly, her ankle itched.  Because the woman was very pregnant, she found it more convenient to use her other foot to scratch the offending itch.  When her right foot came in contact with her left, she felt a strange sensation–something foreign with the consistency of mud or…

Immediately the woman went back outside to the light of day and discovered that her shoe was not the only thing on her foot.  Sometime during the running and playing and walking back to the house, the woman had stepped in poop.  She supposed, as she cleaned her shoes and legs with one of her husband’s dirty work towels, that this was bound to happen eventually since for the last few weeks she could not see her feet. The path she walked was from memory, not from sight.  She reentered the house with her mutts spastically reacting to the microwave siren sporadically shouting that dinner meat was defrosted, but all the woman could think about was getting clean.  She lumbered into the shower, then out of it, and then to the kitchen to finish cooking dinner.  Her husband was there, waiting with a big hug and a sweet kiss for his unborn child and wife.  Though still exhausted from the work day and the unexpected, unwelcomed, poop experience, the woman returned to her state of happiness because nothing–not even caked-on, e coli-infested poop–could steal her joy.   THE END