Last time I published a post, I wrote about recently being diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Before that, I tried to find out what was wrong through the usual method of self-diagnosis: search engines. To tell you the truth, I’m not any happier to be able to put a name to it, especially since there isn’t much known anyway. Now I’m digging through the entire library of the Internet (which is, of course, absolutely huge) to find information. Continue reading
It’s only been over the past few years that I started seeing my parents as people – mostly out of self-defense, I think. I’m a 35-year-old daughter, living at home with my parents and trying to raise three kids. I’ve had to learn to bite my tongue where my parents and I disagree. In the process, I’ve also had to learn that… wow… my parents are people, too.
They have their own set of insecurities and fears, their own strengths and weaknesses. It’s amazing, really, that I never noticed these things before.
I talk about my dad a lot. I mean, anyone who walks into our house automatically knows who rules the roost. He is the ultimate king of the castle, without a doubt. I’ve looked up to my dad for years. He’s been my teacher through much of life’s difficulties; I’ve learned a lot from him, both good and bad. I think it’s natural, then, that when I started seeing my parents as people, my dad was the first one I learned more about.
Lately, however, I’ve been much more interested in my mother. We never talked much when I was younger, so learning about my mom has been a surprising experience. Looking into the past and “meeting” the person she is now, I’m realizing that much of what I learned about being a mom and a wife has come from her. I’m a lot more like my mother than I’ve ever admitted… and I’m okay with that. Continue reading
Love – how deeply that’s on my mind now. Just recently, I’ve become aware of the overwhelming love I feel for God, for my children and for others. How sad that it took so much so-called life to reach this point.
C asked me once, “Mom, what’s a dad?” He’d never really had one, you see. My husband and I separated before he was born, and at six years old, C didn’t have the answer to that question. He was trying to find it.
I told him, “You have a biological father that helped make you who you are. Then you have a dad – and a dad is the one who does the ‘dad’ stuff with you. The one who throws a ball with you, wrestles with you and so on. Sometimes, your dad and your father are the same person. Sometimes, they aren’t.” Continue reading