Showing posts with label My Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Musings. Show all posts

Step on a Crack Break Your Mother's Back Dealing with OCD

Dealing with OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) ~ "Step on a crack break your mother's back"


Living with OCD Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Step on a crack...
My musings on life and obsessive compulsive disorder.



Sunday Food for Thought

I write with the human spirit in mind - Christians, Agnostics, Atheists, and Others:

This Sunday, I take a moment to reflect on the eccentricities of me.  Please be gracious and ignore any typos or grammatical errors today.  I will edit them later after I've had a break from writing.  Read on to learn why-

Last week my little ones and myself were baptized.  We are four, six, and forty-one.  The other members of  our family were baptized as infants in the Catholic church long before we met. They stood up for us.

I am not a religious person.  I am, however, extremely spiritual.

You might be wondering, Why?  Why haven't we been baptized yet.  Or why do it at all?

I have some peculiar answers to those questions and I have decided to share the deepest interworkings of my brain on OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I am a recovering Obsessive Compulsive. These days, it has become a popular turn of phrase.  So many people joke about it- maybe they joke because they fear it.

I expect Tom Cruise has an opinion on OCD and religion, but I digress.

Most of us can find something about ourselves that is compulsive or even obsessive.  It may be embarassing but it is unlikely that it greatly reduces the quality of your life or well-being.  My brain on OCD stifled my quality of life in many ways.

For example, as a child I had been an avid reader.  I read most of the classics by the fourth grade.  I.E.  Jane Eyre,  Wuthering Heights, Tom Sawyer, Pollyanna, Of Mice and Men, etc.  I read the Communist Manifesto in sixth grade, you get the picture. 

In college, I became incapable of reading.  I could not read the Bible, a text book, a script, or even a newspaper.  My life had changed.  I sat in class and struggled to stay awake taking explicit notes that I would not be able to study later.  I had hoped writing the information down would help my brain retain it for the test.

Before this particular OCD trait afflicted me, I made the Dean's List with a 4.0.  I was accepted into the College of Architecture and Planning.  My future looked bright.

One day, I woke up with numerous health concerns all of which grew worse with stress.  Suddenly, I could no longer read.  As I read, the words would mock me and block me from reading any further.  A simple word like 'but' was impossible to get past.  In my head, the word didn't read correctly and I'd have to read it again until it fit the right pace. 

This is difficult to explain.  It makes no sense.  As I type, I can akin it to my typing issues.

I type a sentence. I type a sentne   I type a I type a sen   I type a senten   I type a sentence.  If I catch a typo, I must immediately correct it.  I do not erase only to the misspelling.  I must erase the entire word or sentence depending on my level of stress.   Currently, that level is low.  I misspelled level like this levle.  I deleted only the last l and completed the word lev- level.  Are you with me?

This type of compulsion is frustrating.  It slows me down and takes up time, but it does not affect the quality of my life- at this time.  If I were to become obessesed with writing this post perfectly and completing it quickly, conceivably I could sit here for hours without eating lunch or dinner or cleaning the house.

Luckily, I have learned to work around these blips in my brain.  Sharing the affliction with others helps too.  Family and friends can hold me accountable.  Jokes work but shame just aggravates the disorder.  It's a very fine line.

Remember in grade school when you said, (Yes, I am talking to YOU) "Step on a crack, break your Mother's back?"  Did you step on cracks?  I remember kids jumping over them on the sidewalk, I remember other kids stomping on the cracks, still others just walked across them without thinking anything of it at all.

What did I do? I struggled.  I didn't want people to stare at me.  I didn't believe if I stepped on a crack my mother's back would immediately break.  I shut my eyes.  Sometimes, I held my breath.  I had to step over the crack to get to class.  I couldn't draw attention to myself. 

When people teased me or even just looked at me funny, I turned pomegranate.  So, I developed a pace.  Walking with my stride paced perfectly I could avoid all pre-planned cracks. If the sidewalk had cracked from the elements I could not avoid jumping or bumping into my neighbor.

As a teenager, I tried switching off my bedroom light and jumping into my bed from across the room before the light went out.  Of course, I knew this was impossible. I hoped to avoid walking on the floor in the dark.  Apparently, the monsters under my bed stayed idle until the lights were off. 

Luckily, I was a smart cookie.  I would go to bed early and read until my brother or parents came to bed then I would holler at them, "Can you please turn my light off?"  Problem solved.

OCD has nothing to do with intelligence or the ability to tell right from wrong or sanity from insanity.

Intellectually, I knew the act of stepping on a crack would not break my mother's back.  Spiritually, I believed God was watching over me.  I could pray to save her back.

But there is always that 'What if?'  What if a coincidence occured and something bad happened after I stepped on a crack?  What if something bad happened if I stepped on my floor in the dark?  Perhaps, I'd step on a spider or a mouse?  What if I read the word wrong and I failed the test?  What if I made a mistake and someone I loved died.  What if...

Coincidences are grueling.  Oprah says there are no coincidences.  Don't tell that to an OCD.  The strand of logic is broken.  If this = that, then that caused this with no relative cause to rhyme or reason.

In fourth grade, (I've discussed this before) we were given a card to fill out.  One of the questions asked for religious affiliation.  My parents never went to church, occasionally I went with an Aunt.  Distraught over the question I took it home and asked my mother what to say.  I didn't want to write n/a.  What would people think? 

"We're Christians, write that."
"We don't go to church!"
"We believe in Jesus.  That makes us Christians."
"They want to know what church we go to!  I go to different churches."
"Just, put Protestant on the line.  It will be fine."
"I don't want them to know I'm Protestant!"
"We are not Catholic.  We believe in Jesus.  You are Protestant."

I didn't exactly understand.

"I haven't been baptized. I'm not Christian."
"You've been baptized."
"When?"
"Oh, I don't know, but you've been baptized."
"Were you there?"  "How come I don't remember?"
"It was a long time ago."  "Just drop it.  I'll fill out your card."

After that, I went to church as much as I could. I had several offers to be baptized. I wanted to be baptized.  I didn't want to be a sinner.  I  had heard the stories.  But I felt my family should be there with me. I was also filled with fear.

I saw kids slammed in the head, and people immersed in creeks, and holy water splashed in faces, and hands hovered over heads...  Pastors, Preachers, Priests, Ministers, Reverends.  The only thing I didn't see was a Rabbi.

I didn't want to do something so important without my family there. 

They weren't coming.  People, asking me to persuade them to come, only stressed me out more and kicked in my fears that something bad would happen.  I couldn't think about that- it would greatly reduce my quality of life. 

Besides, what if I did get baptized and some ironic twist of fate took my life.  I know, I know, I know...   Christian friends.  Nothing to fear.  But I had something to fear, losing my family forever.
To believe or not to believe- That IS the question.

OCD was mostly controllable throughout my life; afflictions came and went.  If you'd like to learn more about them or share some of your own drop me a note and we'll swap odd stories.  thehollyjollyone@yahoo.com

In college and after, I did a bunch of Catholic stuff.  Marriage classes, counseling, and etc.  Not only must you have documentation of baptism but you must be confirmed and generally a member to take part in communion.  I'd sit in the pew as everyone filed past me.  Singled out as a sinner, oh the humiliation, oh the OCD reactions it would bring.

A twist of fate, a project  to design a church, introduced me to the Episcopalian Church.  The bridge between Catholics and Protestants.  Although I frequented many churches since the initial introduction, this version of Christianity had struck a chord of acceptance in me.

My mother once told me that she did not want to baptize me into a particular religion.  It would be my choice and not a label that someone else had imposed.

I grappled with this idea when my children were born.  I also feared death.  What if they die without being baptized.  Do I care?  Does it matter? 

The  twenty-minute ride home from the hospital after their birth was the longest drive of my life and the lowpoint of my OCD.  I am surprised that I lived through it without suffering a nervous breakdown.

I guess, I didn't.  It was insane. Totally insane... and I did it twice.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't sit still, I couldn't look out the windows, I couldn't look away from my child, I couldn't live and enjoy the moment.  OCD had taken its toll and sheer panic had taken hold.  I didn't sleep for four years.  I had to make sure the children kept breathing throughout the night.  You laugh, you think surely I jest.  I can assure you this is no joke.

When the unreligious/unchurched die my mother often says, "Don't worry a preacher was there."  "They were baptized before they died."  Who is worrying me or you?  I suppose it matters somewhere to someone but does it matter to me?  I've heard a lot of people say, "Well, it can't hurt."  That's true, isn't it?

Forget about me, I wanted to baptized the children.  No matter what they decide later on they will be saved as long as they believe in their hearts, right?  But, OCD kept blocking me.  What if I baptize them and they get killed in a car accident on the way home?

Yeah, yeah, yeah - God and such.  BUT what IF?
Oh, the irony.  Oh, the dread, how could I live with myself?

Either way, I live in fear.  I live in shame.  What if they get sick and die before they've been baptized? 

Can you feel the stress building?  It's been six long years with very little sleep.

At the height of my Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I lived with an alcoholic.  I attended AA meetings. I took away the best lessons ever, "Let go and let God" and "Live and let Live".

Choose a phrase that best fits you - it works.

I am a recovering Obsessive Compulsive.  I lived in a funk.  A fog of worry hovered over my life.

I let it go for too long.  The biggest fear I had  last week, while getting baptized at the age of forty-one, "What would the congregation think of me?"  I have become an active member of the church.  I was embarassed and ashamed that I had waited for so long.

Irony is to blame but there is something else too -

My family and friends.  What if something happens to them before they get the chance?  Do I care?  Do they?  Does it matter?  The problem is, I just don't have an answer.

I don't care what you believe or where you go or where you don't go, but I want to go with the people I love and I want them to go with me.  Wherever.

I know some people don't like church.  I know some people fear it.  I know some people feel ashamed. I know some people don't care.  I know lots of those people have Jesus in their hearts and lots of them don't but most of them are good people, either way.  What I don't know is if any of it matters.

Some people need more.  I needed more.  A heavy weight has been lifted from my back.

Now, I can not only live and let live but also let go and let God.

If my children choose something different, that's okay. 
If they go astray and come back another day, that's okay too.

I no longer have to worry about the What if's.  For me, no matter how many cracks I step on, it's in God's hands now.  I can't change fate.

Years of habits will take years to break- don't be surprised if you catch me pacing my steps to avoid the cracks.

And what did the congregation say?  "Congratulations on your baptisms." 

That was that, so simple, so easy, and so many fears washed away with a simple splash.

This Sunday, I breathe easier than last. 

What's on your list?  Keep moving forward!

New Year's Out of the Mouths of Babes - Ask Amanda

More from Ask Amanda Advice for Moms


First thing out of her mouth New Year's Day- No 'Good Morning'.
She must have had a sad night.


New Year's Out of the Mouths of Babes - Ask Amanda Advice for Moms
Ask Amanda, the funny things kids say.


"Mommy since Jake and Sam are going to grow up am I?"
"I don't know what you mean?  Of course!"
"Last night you said Jake and Sam are going to get a year older but you said nothing about me!"
"Huh?  Oh!  You mean because I said in the New Year Jake will be seven and Sam will be eighteen?"
"Yes, but you said nothing about me.  Am I going to get  older too?"
"Awww.... Of course!  You'll be turning five this year."
"Good because when  you were talking you said nothing about me."

Then...

"Jake, I'm going to be five this year!  I'm going to make my second birthday on Easter like Jesus because he has two birthdays."

These are a few of MY favorite things: cute pictures for Pinterest

My Favorite things include adorable baby bunny picture and Christmas tree in snow

Not necessarily in any order, (I've been suffering from writer's and crafter's block lately, so if I have to organize them it will turn into the post that wasn't). My favorite things include baby bunnies, a spider, and Christmas Trees. Enjoy!


Christmas tree in snow with colored lights for Pinterest.
Christmas tree in snow with colored lights.

1. Snow covered Christmas Lights on Evergreen Trees.LOVE how the light glows under the snow.




Cute puppy for Pinterest.
Can you smell the puppy breath?

2. Puppy Breath. 'Nuf said.




Book by Robert Kraus How Spider Saved Halloween.
Book by Robert Kraus, How Spider Saved Halloween.

3.  Halloween! Inspired by my favorite book ever. I LOVE the illustrations. I love the story about bullying. Kraus writes several books in the Spider series. Check my pages above for more info.




Santa painting for kids to make.
Jake's journey in art started here.

4.  Inspired Art. My son comes from a line of artists, but art isn't his thing. He is a straight A+ student- except for an A- in art. When my daughter and I paint and craft, he plays computer games. The other day, he sat down and painted this portrait of Santa!  


He used the entire page. It is truly amazing - "A Kid's Perspective of Santa". His Uncle designed the characters and worked on 'Call of Duty' Black Ops for Activision (among other things).  

If the Presidency thing falls thru, I think he might just have a back-up plan. I  LOVE that it isn't just a picture of Santa in the middle of the paper.



kitty paws for Pinterest.
Kitty paws.

5. Kitty Paws. Especially, touching my chin.



Hot Air Balloon photos.
Hot Air Balloons.

6. Hot Air Balloons. 
Here is a local Balloon Voyage anyone can experience.



Bunny ears, I adore this picture! :)

7. Toddlers. I think we are 3 and 5 here. Wow, 4 and 6 is so different. See that Balloon in the background? It's the Energizer Bunny which brings me to...




Easy no sew Joseph and Mary costumes from choir robes.
Cute Baby Bunny.

8. Bunnies. I just LOVE them. I miss my sweet fuzzy, cuddle bunny. Kids, cats, turtle, bird = no time for baby bunnies.  Maybe when the kids leave the nest. Wait, I'll be how old? 


Reminiscing is good too.


*This is one of my very first POSTS. If any of these images are yours, please let me know so I can give proper credit. 


Recommended Reading:


Birthday Party Game for Kids

Leo the Late Bloomer*

A Wish to Be A Christmas Tree*







ADS DISCLOSURE: We've partnered with some wonderful advertisers who may sponsor blog posts or send us samples to test. Some companies pay us to review their products.

*We also use affiliate links, if you make a purchase we get a tiny commission. Kids Creative Chaos participates in the Amazon LLC Associates Program*, an affiliate advertising program designed to provide a mean for blogs to earn advertising fees by linking to Amazon properties, including, but not limited to, amazon.com, endless.com, myhabit.com, smallparts.com, or amazonwireless.com. We also offer Tapinfluence, Google Adsense, SoFab, and Izea ads here. Thanks so much for helping us keep the lights on! :)


What's for Christmas? Teen Heartbreak-Part One

Teen Heartbreak and Advice for Girls: Beware of Holidays


Teen Heartbreak and Advice = Beware of the Holidays
Teen Holiday Heartbreak.
A big-fat break-up wrapped with a puke-colored bow and sprinkled with salty tear-sparkles, that's what.

Boys suck.  You know they do- even if you have one of your own. It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Try telling that to a heartbroken teenage-girl after her first boyfriend breaks up with her thru a text message three days before Christmas.

She thinks I have ESP. Perhaps I do, whatever you call it I have an Extraordinary Mother's Instinct. I saw it coming.  In fact, I've been there more than once. Although, I must confess, I am happy with the end result; I cannot bare the pain I see in her eyes.

At the beginning of the semester her Honor's English teacher called to say she is failing English (the fifth English Teacher in a row).  We discussed options and made the tough decision that extra-curricular Jazz Band would have to go. Said boy = Jazz Band.

One tiny paragraph stood in her way between passing class and extra-curricular activity bliss. Three weeks ago her Honor's English teacher called to say she is still failing English. One tiny paragraph stands in her way blocking her from passing with a D-!  The same paper.  Teacher loves her, "I cannot comprehend this."

"Me too", I lie.

I struggled with what to do -with what to take away.  The teacher says she is an excellent student. Teacher has no explanation for the outcome. She's tried everything. So have we. Band is all consuming...

Well, at least I thought it was band, but of course it was said boy.  Did I mention that boy's suck?

So, we grounded her until second semester and exiled her from band for the rest of the year.  You cannot go anywhere but 'Sucky Boy' can come to our house.  He can go to Thanksgiving, to the Family Office Party, he can come hang and watch movies, go to lunch, go sledding- you get the drill.

He couldn't find the time.  He didn't want to come over to our house.  He kept asking her to do things that he knew she couldn't do- frustrating her beyond words. Elevating her anger with her evil parents. "Why does he keep asking me to do stuff he knows I can't do?"  I knew the answer but I kept my mouth shut.

I wanted to say, "Because he knows you can't and this way he can keep stringing you along.  He gets to keep you on a rope and still have his fun."  Instead, I said, "What are we going to buy 'Sucky Boy' for Christmas?"  Wait remove the quotes I didn't say that exactly.  I politely used his name and smiled sweetly waiting for ideas to throw my hard-earned money away- on a boy who can't even use the telephone to speak words.

That's right- there aren't any late night 'I love yous' or 'Sweet Dreams' no 'I just needed to hear your voice'- Just some crappy text that say things like,  "What Up?" or "Okay Then".  Is this modern love and I'm just an old-fashioned old lady at forty-one?

My instincts were correct as usual.  Apparently, 'Sucky Boy' had his eye on someone else.  In my daughter's absence he's been spending time with 'the other woman'. I remember holidays with my boyfriend.  He went everywhere with me.  I didn't find out he was a 'Sucky boy' for years!

Her 'Sucky Boy' says, "I can't wait until January when you aren't grounded."

Excuse me? Wait for what?  Good riddance, fair weather friend.  
Merry Christmas 'Other Woman'.

And then technology hit the fan-  He changed his Facebook status and seconds later an influx of text messages filled her inbox. "OMG!" and "What's going on?" "Are you okay?"  Every time the phone vibrated she cried.

We did what any awesome parents would do; we took the phone away. But I'm a sucker and I let her use mine to text her best-friend.  Minutes later it zinged to remind me I had a unread message.  Sucky Boy was texting her back.  "Y wut?"

I'm angry at myself for giving her my phone.  Angry at her for texting him "Y?"  And angry at him for sucking so much. Really? "Y wut?"  He's such a lame.

So, I'm thinking, 'Thank you for ruining our holiday stupid boy and a true, heartfelt Thank you for ending it now rather than after the holidays which would make you look even more sucky in my eyes. And a GREAT BIG THANK YOU for saving me the money of purchasing an awesome gift for an unworthy recipient.'

What do you think? Is it better to break-up before the holidays or try to be 'polite' and do it after to save feelings? I had a boyfriend who would break up with me before my birthday or Christmas so he didn't have to buy me a gift. "For Reals."

I dedicate this post to all the texting teenagers out there.  Write a letter.  Use your voice. Even if your 'Sexting'   it is still a detachable relationship.  IT'S NOT REAL. It's too easy to type, "It's over."  Why not try saying that eye to eye?  Man up now before it is too late because many men never do.

Look for Part Two next week, "Why Sucky Boys Make Me Cry"





Bigfoot is a Ho' - Jake's Jokes for Kids

Jake's jokes and funny things kids say.

Jake's jokes for kids and the funny things kids say.
Jake the jokester.

Jake's Jokes: The Joke might have been on Jake, but it cracked us all up. Last night, I listened to Jake read for the first time since the teacher told me he reads and comprehends at 12th grade level. It is amazing- he rarely slows to sound anything out- even the words that give me pause. My tears fell on the pages of his book while he read aloud.  And then tonight...
 
Amanda:  Is Bigfoot real?

Jake:  (As it sounded to my ears) No!  He's just a great, big Ho' Axe.

Mommy:  (Worriedly) What's a Ho' Axe?

Sam:  Hoax!

Daddy:  Ho' Axe...  And SAM figured it out first!

Mommy:  Hoax!  He's a hoax?  It depends who you ask.  
Jake, great sounding out of the word, but we pronounce it Hokes.

Jake:  Ohhh...  It looks like Ho' Axe. (laughs)

I really like thinking about Bigfoot being a great, big Ho'...       Axe.


See more Jokes for Kids in our tabs above.

P.S.  Last night I warned him that if you don't ask for help you may misread a word your entire life. For me it was laughter. Lawter. I can't see it without reading Lawter.  Thank Goodness we caught this one before it was too late.

Toothfairy Burglary? Includes free toothfairy and teeth clipart

Tooth fairy... the saga continues with Teeth printable.


This really happened.
teeth clipart tooth fairy
A full set of teeth makes for a lonely tooth fairy.

 I think I will write a book called "The Toothfairy Sagas", it will include all the free toothfairy clipart.  I know back-story is frowned upon in the blogosphere but you need a little info.  So...

Jake lost another tooth.

Okay. So, in a past life I lived with an alcoholic. If booze came into the house it lasted less than 24 hours nevermind how much of it entered. Thank goodness the past is the past.

My S.O.and I  have a liquor cabinet above the fridge and another above the microwave.  We have lots of liquor.  His Dad sends us various things from various countries that he visits and we purchase rum, vodka, even whiskey to make mixed drinks for New Year's Eve or other celebrations. We have liquor as old as our oldest child who is twenty-two. The cabinet has survived two teenagers without a locked door.  Needless to say... we don't really drink. I guess I should throw some of it out but that requires work.

This info may seen irrelevant, but I figure some may assume 'I got my drink on'- that would explain a lot.

Now, those of you who know us personally might become fearful as you read this, but I think I solved the mystery. So hold your breath until the end.


Wait, don't, it's kind of a long story, you might die.


THE SAGA BEGINS...

During the trip home from a holiday party last Saturday night, Jake lost another tooth. It was late. We were tired!  It was the day I took all of the kids sledding for the first time after a long day at a craft fair. When he held his tooth up in the air with a big smile- my smile turned upside down.

I must stay awake until he went to sleep or worse wake up in the middle of the night. Luckily, he was worn out and fell asleep quickly.

Around midnight I snuck into Daddy's wallet, snuck into Jake's room and tossed (yes, tossed) a dollar at his face quickly returning to the warm bed awaiting me.

I slept. It was to be a spectacular night for sleeping. No one would wake me up!  Everyone was so tired.

When what to my wondering ears should I hear?
But a boisterous crash at the top of the stairs and several loud bangs that brought me to fear.

Earlier in the evening I could not sleep for fear- no one had remembered to lock the front-door.

Begrudgingly, I drug myself out of bed, headed downstairs and found I was right as my feet hit the foyer floor.
I trodded back up and fell fast asleep until ...

All of a sudden I arose from my bed, threw off the blanket, slammed my feet on the floor and flew out the door. I shouted at Daddy but he did not care. "Go away, go away, I'm trying to sleep!" He began to swear.

As I approached the hall I saw the stairway gate crashed to the floor.
I shouted to Daddy, "Please wake-up! I think someones here."

He mumbled and grumbled and closed his eyes tight.
"I'm sure its the cat.  Now come back to bed it's the middle of night!"

Of course, I couldn't listen.  I must see for myself.  So, I ran to the kid's room where...

Jake had been sleeping, "Hey Mommy she came, but this time she forgot my tooth!"
"Jake did you hear that?"
"Did you try to go downstairs?"
"Hear what?  I woke up because you're yelling."
"Shoot!"  At least he didn't suspect me the tooth fairy.

I ran to my teenager's room where she lay- fast asleep.
I switched on her light, tore open her covers-
and sure enough she was sleeping, just like the others.

My mind could not rest so in a flash; I ran back downstairs.

Grabbing a roll of holiday wrap, held up like a bat-
Looking in closets, behind chairs and under couches- all I ever found was the cat.

Until...

The sliding doors in the kitchen were unlocked and slightly open!

I held my gift wrap tightly and started to shiver.
This detective work is not for those with a lily liver.
No wet footprints dirtied the floor.
No water from melted snows tickled my toes (that's right, snows).

So, still clutching my wrapping, I ran back upstairs defeated and scared.

Amidst the snoring, I quickly uncovered a rather difficult clue.
At the end of the gate was a Budweiser bottle cap in a Christmas-red hue.

Was it a drunken Christmas mouse?
No one here had any beer at the party.
We don't have any beer in the house.

My first thought was fear.
My second one anger.
Tooth Fairy is having a very bad year.


Toothfairy Free Clip Art cute with wand
The Tooth Fairy.


Disclaimer:

Although the story is completely true after some digging I remembered a clue. All of the children claimed not to recognize said bottle cap.  "Did you find it outside playing in the snow and put it in your pocket?"  I just couldn't let it go.  "No, no, no!"

I seem to vaguely remember the littlest one collecting a cap after a late, November trike ride. It was shiny, she liked it.

Although I assumed she threw it away, I suspect said cap came here to stay.


Recommended Reading:


Toothfairy Failed

Toothfairy Failed Again

Dear Tooth Fairy*

The Night Before The Tooth Fairy (Reading Railroad)*




Peeping Tom? Still Suffering from a Load of Junior High Lack of Self Esteem

Confessions of Self Esteem Issues in Junior High

Remember how you hated junior-high - we all suffered with a lack of self-esteem. Here is my story. Enjoy!

spongebob band, self esteem
Sponge Bob in Marching Band.


Hey you, I see you there. Are you a Peeping Tom? Junior High is the worst. Are you still suffering from a lack of self-esteem? We all struggle with life in those awkward teen years. Here's my take.

Shh...  Don't tell anyone. I like to window peep, strike that, make it love.  I love to window peep especially during the holidays.  Driving thru the city with the clever vise of looking at Christmas lights, I secretly spy on families thru their picture windows. It's neat to see what they are doing -to notice their dining room decor or their living room doings.  I'd never hop out of the car, knock on the door, and scream, "Hey, I'm watching you!"


No, I'd never do that.

Why do we like to know when someone reads our blog?  Why do we ask them to advertise our button to share the love?  Two years ago, when I launched my blog I worried about who might see or read it.  I got a few blog hoppers who asked me to visit their blogs. I discreetly perused other blogs for ideas and ways to improve mine.  I never left a comment.  I didn't want anyone to know I had stumbled upon their most personal thoughts.  Mostly, I wondered why I would want other bloggers to read my blog.

I wanted readers, fans, followers, anything but bloggers...  Now I get it.

Bloggers are our equals.  Bloggers will become friends.  Friends will become followers and fans.

So, why do I still hide much of the time?  Most bloggers know I've visited because they keep track. I look at many blogs everyday following anyone who asks me to, and I visit other blogs, but I only read a few.  One of my favorites is "I'm a Lazy Mom".  Why?  Because, I am a lazy Mom.  It validates my life.  It makes me feel okay with my lazy, little secrets.  In a recent post she discusses cleaning the stove off with a vacuum.  Been there, done that!  I peek in her window a couple of times a week -she didn't ask me too- but I'm sure she doesn't mind.

Why, then, do I feel uncomfortable about peeking into a blog that is written by someone I know in real life?  I've read several blogs written by friends and acquaintances from high-school, but I rarely go back for more.

 A girl, okay a woman, I went to school with, blogs regularly.  Apparently, she's been doing it for awhile.  I pop in and covet her header, her followers, her style. I knew her in high-school. We weren't exactly friends, but we weren't enemies either. At least, I don't think so.

I don't really know much about her. Whenever I talked to her, I liked her, but we rarely talked. I heard an occasional hearsay comment about this or that from her brother or my boyfriend who were best friends.  I made assumptions about her through hearsay as I expect she did about me.

Cheerleader clipart, self esteem,  junior high

She was a cheerleader and I was band-geek.  A cool, band-geek I might add.  I played the bass guitar in Jazz Band.  The point is we had different interest and different classes. The last time I remember having her in class was in eighth grade, I think.  Oddly, I sometimes confuse her with another girl.  I think this is because they were both nice to me at times, and I didn't know what to do with it.

You see, I felt geeky most of the time. Yep, I know we all did; too bad  we didn't know that then. Both girls were pretty and popular.  Apparently, I was too, but I didn't understand that back then. I was an awkward skinny, terrible-toothed, little girl until the fourth grade. I got cuter for a second, and next thing I knew I was a chubby puberty-bound girl with a fat face.

The summer before seventh grade apparently something changed.

Bert and Ernie Picture
Bert and Ernie.

Seventh Grade.  Yuck.  All of the elementary schools meet up.  New faces. New friends.  New people to tease me.  They called me "Jimmy Carter" and "Big Lips".  I smiled a lot and had, get this... big lips.  They told me I had bushy eyebrows like Brooke Shields and a uni-brow like Bert.  I guess today that would be considered bullying?

I was clumsy.  I could  can trip over nothing.

I plucked my eyebrows to nothing.  Oh, how I wish I had Brooke Shield's eyebrows to sculpt today.  Please explain to me how having "Brooke Shield's" eyebrows transpired to lowered self-esteem?

Advice for Teens who struggle with self-esteem: My story

The first thing my husband said to me when he saw me - you and your lips remind me of Angelina Jolie. (Wonder if he still thinks that two kids later?)  Brooke Shields?  Angelina Jolie?  Smiling all the time?  Aren't kids nuts?  Today, those things make me blush.  What extraordinary, backhanded  compliments for a middle-aged, overweight, has-been.

So, I confuse these two pretty girls because they both complimented me during Junior-High.  One spoke to me for the first time after gym in the locker room.

"Are you trying out for cheerleader?"
I blushed.
I laughed.
I said, "No!", as if it were the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard.

It was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard.

Why would she ask that?  Was she teasing  me?  Of course not.  At that moment, I lost a potential new friend.  She later became one of my best-friends, best-friends.  I never really talked to her again.  How rude and nasty she must have thought I was... I bet she never knew I thought she was beautiful and untouchable, someone who couldn't possibly want me as a friend.

Tortoise Shell Glasses
Tortoise Shell Glasses.

Back to the blogger.  I think she once told me she liked my clothes.  Another time, my hair. Preposterous! I think both girls were in that eighth grade English class.  I didn't care for the snobby, preppy teacher and the feeling was apparently mutual.  One day, she asked if anyone knew what kind of glasses she was wearing. The other girls, fashionably aware, raised their hands.




My best sweater came from Sears and had my initials neatly embroidered on the front.  The preppy teacher called on me!  I figured she picked on me to humiliate me.  I looked around and thought, "Of course, they know the answer!"  Why didn't she call on them?  I had no idea so I blurted, "Bifocals"?  I don't know.



Wow.  No... apparently not bifocals.  If the teacher didn't like me before...  Yikes.

Everyone laughed, but I didn't get the joke.  I was red from ear to ear.
'You're so stupid,' I thought to myself.

Now, I get it.  Oops!

The irritated, English teacher called on one of the prettier, popular girls.  The girls whose hair and clothes I coveted, their smiles, and bubbly personalities, and their confidence.

"Tortoise Shell?"

"TORTOISE SHELL!  What the heck?"

The teacher looked back at me.

"I've never heard of that!"

"Of course you have," she grunted. (She thought I was a royal b who purposely said bifocals to make a mockery of the situation. I didn't even know what bifocals were. To me, they were just a type of eyeglasses.)

No, I really hadn't. I may have looked like a fashionista in my garage sale, K-mart, Hill's, and Sears clothing, but I'd never even been to a mall until eighth grade.

My mother always ironed my clothes. I obsessed that everything matched perfectly all the way down to my socks.  I appeared to be a preppy.  Other kids would call me a 'Prep' with a nasty glint in their eye.  I didn't really know what a prep was, but I sure knew I didn't want to be one.  Unfortunately, even though I couldn't afford Ralph Lauren, Gloria Vanderbilt, or Nike's in eighteen colors I was a prep.

In retrospect, the teacher probably called on me because she assumed such a stylish, popular, pretty, young girl would know the answer.  Again, I cast a stone against them (all three of them) without warrant or intention.

I dated boys because they asked me too; rarely because I wanted to. I didn't want to hurt their feelings.  It never lasted long.  They moved on when they realized nothing was about to happen.  So when a cute boy asked me to the carnival I decided to meet him there.

We waited in line to ride the octopus and he combed his hair.  He combed his hair in glare of the adjacent car.  He wore a comb in his pocket.  That was that.  End of story.  Back then, I heard this girl, now turned blogger, liked him and was upset with me.  If you know anything about me, you know I am nothing if not naive.  Again, I cast a stone.

My boyfriend was a hussy.  He told stories on himself all the time.  He told stories about blogger-girl.  She unknowingly cast a stone against me or maybe not.  Maybe it was intentional pay back.  Maybe it never happened.  I don't know.  I don't care.  It never mattered.

I always liked blogger-girl's point of view; apparently, I still do.

I follow her, but I try to hide my visit when I see myself show up on the Blog-Frog button.  I feel my face burning like I am doing something wrong.  What if she thinks I am spying on her?

The truth is, I like her blog.  I like her style.  If I didn't know her personally, I'd be telling her how awesome I think her blog is and how much I enjoy her postings.

Oh I don't know... she probably thinks she is lazy and imperfect but there are different levels of imperfection to consider here.  It seems she likes nice things.  It looks like she takes care of herself.

I am a lazy, mom blob.  I don't know if we'd ever be friends in the real world, but I really like her blog; it makes me smile. I read it whenever I get the chance. Is it because I enjoy peeping into her life- seeing how her life turned out? Or is it because her writing entertains me and her anecdotes often bring a tear to my eye or have me laughing out loud?  You decide.  It's a great blog, so I'll share a link, http://www.sellabitmum.com I'm tired of deleting my visits.




Don't worry, I sent her a head's up so she can read this too. This is my Olive Branch for the week.  'Tis the season go out and extend your own Olive Branch today.

This post is dedicated to my teenage daughter who will one day understand what it means to feel beautiful.


You Might Also like:  What's on Your Mind?


Recommended:

Teen's Guide to World Domination*

Teen Pages






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Ask Amanda "Mommy You Look Beautiful"

Sweet words out of the mouths of babes, Ask Amanda for Advice


Amanda has opinions. In this "Ask Amanda" column, we share her advice and quotes. She's got some doozies!

This links contains post affiliate links.


Ask Amanda advice form kids is the best on beauty.
Ask Amanda for the truth.


My significant other never, ever says a word when I have a bad hair day or when I have a bad face day or when I have a bad bloat day. So, it came as quite a surprise when we were out to lunch and he grimaced, "Did you remember to comb your hair today?"

At first I thought it was a joke. I had looked in the mirror before I left and thought 'I look better than usual'. I had even made the extra effort to apply make-up.

Whenever I'm sick, I tend to look better than when I'm well. I rarely wear makeup. If I have something to do outside the house, I might throw on mascara and lip stain. But, I'm sick, I go the extra-inch and add powder or (my new favorite thing) eraser by Loreal. It was cold. My hair felt slightly frizzy, but I felt good about my overall appearance in my flawless wrinkle remover.

Aghast? I have no wrinkles- just a few seniority lines on my forehead and at the corner of my eyes from scrunching my face into smirks far too many times. By the by, I got this makeup stick for free. It normally retails for around $30; a price I would never pay for anything, much less for makeup.

Chris grabbed a glob of my hair, "It looks like Jake's does in the morning, all mangled." Quickly searching the inner depths of my brain, I wondered...  Did I remember to comb my hair today?

Yes! I combed my hair with a brush with no handle. My brush is always walking out of the bathroom. It never stays in one place. Amanda screamed, "Don't brush my hair, don't brush my hair!" So, I brushed her hair right after I pulled the little wiry, oval thru my bangs and sides. She took off into another room and I made chase.

Amanda's hair looked beautiful when I dropped her off at pre-school.

Before meeting up for lunch, I combed my fingers thru my sides and pulled my hair back with sunglasses.I plan to invent lens free hair-glasses one day. Headbands hurt and make me feel like Hillary Clinton. Did I brush the back of my hair? Signs point to No.

I can't wash my hair everyday or it turns brittle and breaks into a thousand tiny pieces all over my clothes. It has nothing to do with hair product or styling equipment its just always been crappy hair. I washed it, put it in a scrunchy, started blogging and fell asleep.

Yes, Kathy a scrunchy! (Kathy, once posted on her Facebook page that she was not aware scrunchies were back in style. She wasn't speaking of me, but I resemble that remark.

Oh, I know the real answer, but ponytail holders break my hair. Scrunchies are so much nicer for the lazy likes of me. I woke up around 2:00 a.m. and pulled the scrunchy ponytail out. If only I had taken a picture of the mess. 

So, the next morning, I decided to tame the wild hairs with a curling iron.

"Why are you doing that," asked Amanda.

"My hair is yuck and I look ugly," I replied thoughtlessly.

"Well, I don't think you look ugly. I think you look beautiful, Mommy."

This from a rotten little, mean-girl, my arch-nemesis. Instead of crying, I said, "Thank you."

"Yea, 'cuz did you know, I know that you always look good? You can ask me anytime and I will tell you."

"Thank you, Amanda! That is so sweet. I love it when you are nice to me."

"You're welcome 'cuz it's true. Mommy, you look beautiful, you really do."

The expression on her face was priceless. I'm sure mine was too.




The Toothfairy Fails Again and Free Clipart

Our tooth fairy saga continues with more free fairy clipart printables for you.

tooth fairy printable clipart and fun stories
The Tooth Fairy is watching.

So, the toothfairy struck again. 

(Be sure to click around for free clipart)

Last night before going to sleep, Jake informed me that he lost his tooth...  literally. He refused to go to sleep until we found it. Mommy won the battle. I explained that the Tooth Fairy had a list of all the teeth that came out each day. Every time someone lost a tooth a bell rang at her house. She knows she is behind schedule and will surely come to our house first (in other words; GET TO BED).  

On his way to bed, Jake grumbled, "If the tooth fairy doesn't come tonight, I'm over it!"

Around midnight, I tripped over some shoes, fumbled to turn the volume down on his television, and did the necessary deed. He rolled over and looked at me! So, I calmly kissed him good night and went back to bed.

This morning, the noisy Daddy woke him up. Daddy found the money sticking out of a pillow and handed it to Jake. When I entered his room to get his clothes, Jake held up the empty baggy. Confused, I asked him if the tooth fairy had come.  

"No!"
  
"No?  Where's your tooth?" 

"I told you, I lost it!"

"Ohwww...  I thought you lost the whole bag!  You lost just the tooth?"

"YES! She didn't come. She didn't take the bag!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes; I have $2, but I think Daddy just gave it to me right now!"

"?#$% ^&!"

Well, I don't know about Jake, but I'm over it. Next time it is Daddy's deal.

Post Note:  
To his credit, Daddy tried to explain he had found the money under the pillow, but what kid is gonna believe that?


Recommended Reading:


The Night Before The Tooth Fairy (Reading Railroad)*


The Tooth Fairy Failed