I salute you! Read and you'll know what I'm talking about.

When I was a young girl, I thought my parents to be utterly mean for hiding sweets from us. Back then, during the communism era, sweets (or any other material goods for that matter) were rare treasures. Anyone that grew up in a large (or medium, semi-large, somewhat medium, okay even small ones) family knew that sweets, even sugar was something good that happened to you maybe once a year if you were good. (the translation of the word good in this context means if the communist party felt generous enough to allow sweets in the store for longer then ten seconds twice a year, and if they were really generous give one orange per child at Christmas time- which I remember that to have happened two times in nineteen years). For many years during my childhood those were the only times I ate oranges, or to be more specific, one small slice.

Now lets fast forward few years. I find myself not only fully understanding my parents but following in their foot steps as I too hide favorite sweets from the three black holes my grown children seem to posses when it comes to deserts. It’s also the only cleaning they ever do without being asked.

Last night I made another berry cobbler but had none before bed time.(Menopause gives hot flashes when sugar is involved, yes, I’m there and I feel like the world is about to end). This morning I woke up smiling and thinking of that wonderful berry cobbler I made and how good was going to taste with a cup of tea. Instead of cobbler I was greeted by an empty, dirty, pie dish and I remembered yet again why my parents hid sweets from us.

Your family never did that to you? Are you sure? Maybe you haven’t found their hiding spot but believe me, they hid nice chocolates, or candy, pieces of cake or other such things like alcohol, waiting for you to go to bed so they can find a little joy in one glass or two.

Well for those of you who had parents that hid sweets and for those of you who are now hiding pieces of cake or other such goodies from your prodigies, I salute you! Cheers and try not to loose your head before the wonderful Christmas Day;)

God Bless:)

Who is the one corrupting, really?

It’s a truth most of us don’t take time to think about it. Who is corrupting who, the adults or the children? Let me clarify.

In a child’s world there is unconditional love, laughter and joy, purity of mind and speech, honesty, and LOADS of forgiveness. When an adult enters a child’s world (-birth-one-two-three-four-five-six year olds) they find all the qualities I mentioned earlier and then some, despite the temporarily expressed frustrations they express from time to time. But you’ll never find a double crossing child, someone who plots your murder, stabs you in the back etc, gossips about you, etc. In their world everyone is welcomed.

Now let’s take a look at the adults world, our world, we who consider ourselves mature, smart, clever, enlightened and so on. Anyone pure who enters our world is hurt and manipulated, destroyed and taken advantage of. We kill (body and soul), manipulate to get our way, hurt, lie, pretend, ignore, cheat, etc, and HARDLY forgive. Our love is conditional and often not genuine. When children enter our world they pay a great price, but when we enter theirs we receive forgiveness and unconditional love. Any damaged child is most likely damaged by an adult. Not one adult is damaged goods because of a child. Why is that?

Why are we corrupting their world? If we are as smart as we think we are? Why?

At the age of 18, not longer a child, not yet a complete adult either, Meleah, my daughter entered the work field- a company in Seattle which made social media games.

“I expected the adult world to be full of mature people, and I was intimidated by that. But when I heard them cursing, just to curse, I was deeply let down.”

As we talked about this let down the “mature world of the adults” brought in her life, a few things became clear; cursing is a form of verbal violence and of a lazy vocabulary, adults are frustrated beings with no parent to instruct them, and overall, not at all that smart. If you know my daughter you’ll also know how liberal in thinking she actually is, however, lately she is starting to believe based on her observations that conservative ways, at least some, are less dangerous and destructive than those of a deeply liberal view. Why? How come?

“Although deeply flowed, the christians are searching for truth and life meaning in one direction, a more uniform direction, as they collect and put the puzzle pieces together.

Although deeply flawed, the others search in every direction with a deeply controversial and far less open minded ways than otherwise announced, it gets so utterly confusing and unpleasant that leaves me skeptical of their ways.” -These are not her words just paraphrasing our philosophical conversation we had this morning. They grew up in a conservative background and like all teenagers rebelled, but Chet and I love when I see our children question everything not just accept ideologies because society or mommy and daddy tolled them to do so. Why? Because adults, despite of their belief system, are the ones corrupting everything, not children, and that’s criminal.

What do you think? Do I have a point in my opinion? Are there memories, or incidents you experience that attest to what I wrote? How about experiences which may contradict the above statement?

Have a great weekend and let’s try to be better adults starting with us.

God Bless:)

Good morning:)

 

I shot and put this little video together yesterday for everyone to enjoy. Take a few deep breaths, for life, lives in the depth of a good, long and deep inhale/exhale. Meditate on life and don’t fear death who’s always hovering nearby, waiting.

When we take the time to notice life all around us, it’s impossible not to smile. Some of you may disagree with such a statement usually because you may have a tendency to focus on the shadows and not the sparks of life, shadows manifested in fear of what may happen, or what others will do or say, etc. I’m intimately familiar with such shadows, I too experienced them far too frequently in the past, but recently they have diminished in intensity quite a bit. The sparks of life are found in the morning sunshine or a drop of rain, the love shared in a hug, the knowledge that we’re not alone (even if we all need moments of solitude), the fact that God is personal (some of you disagree with this one and that’s fine, no worries), etc.

Such life sparks I had recently experienced in a parent moment (those with teenagers or those of you who had teenagers will know what I’m talking about) a few weeks back, the type of moment when at 2 am you stand by the door, arms crossed, waiting for your child to step through while going in your mind through all the disciplinary methods applicable for the situation in hand. Then a broad smile (which quickly I had to make it vanish as soon as the child made its presence) washed over my face as I thought:

“Carmen, like many parents before you and long after you’re gone you’re in the midsts of a fantastic moment, a moment that one day will become a memory, make it a good one. Because you’re still alive you get to care, love and discipline (teach) your child even in these types of moments. Walking through that door in a few seconds will be the human being you’ll leave behind once you’re gone who’ll make a good impact in this world. This temporary and momentary failure on his/her behalf does not determine the man/woman this child of mine will become. I get to experience fatigue and frustration because I care because I love because I’m a mother and I will never regret that.”

Taking a deep breath in with the smile still plastered all over my face and in my heart, I lived the moment at its full potential. I didn’t use to feel the same way before I nearly died. I took such moments and made them about me. But I wonder how many times God, in His love, had his arm folded, waiting by the door for us, loving us more because we were a product of BOTH failures and successes, neither diminishing our value and potential. We were loved because we were His/Hers. (God to me has a very feminine presence, unlike the traditional Christian teachings).

When my child walked in I showed that I cared, not that I was disappointed in who they were, I reinforced the house rules and tolled the child why (school the next morning, dangerous souls lurking in the night, soals that already made their own choices to hurt others, but ultimately the discipline came because we (Chet and I) loved the child). The child apologized because it saw love and the rest of the night I slept well knowing my child was safe in bed but mostly the child knew he/she was loved. And ultimately that’s what matters most of all in this world- the sparks of life-love.

God Bless you today:)

Who’s child is this?

Humor for those of us with kids:)

So you get married, or not, and have children. You go through the heart burns, morning sickness, heads in the toilet while vomiting, stretch marks, swollen feet and sometimes face, head, brain, in fact, let’s just toss in the whole body, why not? Through the pain you think:

“It will be all worth it! If it’s a girl we’ll do this, and she’ll be that, just like me. If it’s a boy, he’ll play soccer and be the best doctor the world will ever see. So it’s all worth it.”

You give birth and you’re in love. Sure there is the pain from the stitches and your boobs hurt like someone stomped on them a thousand times but you’re raising a mini you or a mini husband and it’s all worth it. They grow up and begin to show individual personalities. You are cheering the boy from the sidelines of a practice soccer game, dreaming of a future superstar, and you see your boy picking up leaves, daydreaming, while the game is going all around him. He has no clue why he’s there and why people are so obsessed with a ball. Your jaw drops and you ask yourself:

“Whose child is this?” Then you hear your husband say:

“I guess he’s not much into soccer.” And you turn around realizing, this must be part of his DNA.

Then you raise your daughter and you dream of buying her dresses and having lots of grandchildren, until one day she comes home dressed all in black, swearing up and down she’ll never have children. And you think:

“I had no idea she owned anything in black!” And you’re saying your good by’s to any future grandchildren you hoped for. Then you hear:

“She’s just like my grandma. She always loved animals and didn’t care much for human beings” And you realize at that moment:

“Is there any part of me in them?”

Then comes the third child, a spitting image of yourself. As he becomes his own person you recognize one of your brothers in his looks and another in his facial expressions and with a glowing expression you say to yourself:
“Well it took me three tries to get it right:)))))))”

So if you don’t see a part of you in them just yet, keep trying:)))))))

God Bless:)

 

P.S. Sorry for the typos, I seem to be losing word memory, I look at the words and I have a harder time each day remembering the spelling of the simplest of words. If the automatic spell check didn’t catch it, no chance for me to catch it. Ta, da.