That is what my daughter asked me yesterday on Easter Sunday. This following a horrible EF-3 tornado with sustained winds of 135-165 MPH that ravaged a 15-mile long, half-mile wide stretch of the north, northeast part of our town. We live in Murfreesboro, TN, and this tornado hit Friday, Good Friday, at about 12:30 p.m.
In 2005 we lived through Hurricane Katrina, and though our rental home was gutted, my office was destroyed, and the kids' school was flattened, we came out unscathed, and the home we lived in at the time, though a mile from the beach, and a trailer, no less, was undamaged!
Thursday night lightening hit one of my tallest trees, and the top half of the tree fell in my yard Not on power lines, my car or the house, just in the yard.
Less than two weeks ago, a small tornado clipped the edge of my neighborhood severely damaging the Boys and Girls Club, a bank, and a shopping center.
Three weeks ago there was a huge fire in my neighborhood. A neighbor lost his valuable collectible automobiles and the shed that held them.
In 2001, we experienced three earthquakes in Anchorage, Alaska. And we just missed an avalanche.
I thought I was ready to be off of Prozac. Who was I kidding? I have a Serotonin deficiency – it doesn’t make me a crazy person. It makes me a person with a chemical disorder, and I’m tired of apologizing or being embarrassed about it. As my dear old psychiatrist Dr. Hamilton told me, “If the Serotonin is your problem, you’ll know in about two weeks of being on Prozac.”
He was right.
So why do I still sometimes feel weak and guilty about taking this prescription drug, which does not make me high and does not make me low? It simply keeps me from being anxious, riddled with discontent, and constantly feeling the “flight or fight” syndrome. It keeps me balanced.
I tried to stop taking it when my insurance changed and before my new insurance kicked in. I figured, do I really need it? I mean it’s been almost three years, do I need to take it anymore? Answer: Yes! Most definitely, yes!
It’s becoming increasingly evident that there are simply no cut and dry answers when it comes to single parenting. Lately I have been at such a huge loss for direction and possible actions to take to control of my 12 and 13 year olds.
Some of our experts here at FWW have offered some great pointers and advice; Elizabeth Berger’s insight and words are helpful and this article in particular gave me some clue as to the affects of divorce on my children, but I still feel lost.
And the hardest part sometimes is that there seems to be an issue or issues every single day. Part of me wants to throw in the towel. Part of me feels like crying morning, noon, and night. I feel like I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
If it’s true what they say — that children need two parents to develop into healthy, productive adults — then I’m screwed.
Being a divorced mother of two younger children (12 and 13 years old) I find that I have to figure out how to separate myself; divide myself into two people. It ain't easy. On the one hand I want to nurture, coddle and offer up the world to my children. But on the other hand I must discipline, guide, direct and forget about being their friend and accept that they may just hate me some of the time. Ouch.
A few years ago, I introduced my two children to Mean Mommy. It worked for a while. Mean Mommy only came out when my children were misbehaving, and she wasn’t very pleasant. Luckily for them, Nice Mommy warned them. “If you don’t stop doing that, Mean Mommy is going to come out.”
I was not in New York City that horrible fateful day in September 2001. I was married, then, however. We lived in Alaska at that time, and I remember watching as our country’s borders were crossed so easily and as those planes kamikazed into our Twin Towers. Things began to change the most, then, I think.
Living in Anchorage, Alaska, at the time, I was slightly removed from the lower 48 states, but it still hurt. It still frightened. It still broke my heart. It was, at that time, I think, that American families began to stop what they were doing and take an assessment of the lives they were living. We began to see the value of nesting. Our homes were viewed as our sanctuaries far away from danger, or so we had thought. I am quite sure that the residents near and around Ground Zero did not feel safe for a long, long time.
Since September 11th, we have watched our world crumble and fall in many ways. WorldCom comes to mind for me. My ex bought 20,000 shares of that stock right before it plummeted and failed. Wow, what a waste of our hard earned money, but my ex always was much more about the future, tomorrow, what would happen years from now.
Last night I met a couple who was celebrating their 36th anniversary.
We were dining at a favorite Japanese restaurant, so my son and I were joined by two other parties at the hibachi grill. Thirty-six years of marriage, and they looked happy, peaceful.
I noticed Judy and Eddie because Eddie ordered for his wife. This wasn’t a controlling gesture. I watched, and I saw that he ordered for her as a sign of respect. She had wine and he ordered a Japanese beer. I ordered a Japanese beer, so we both nodded and lifted our bottles slightly when our waitress brought our drink order.
He ordered their meals, but I noticed he turned to her to quietly confirm and make sure he was getting it right.
Eddie was going bald and wore glasses. Judy had lovely skin and the sweet face of woman who’d been loved and respected properly for 36 years. Or had she?
I began to wonder about their relationship. I gained some insight when our cook asked them if they had children or grandchildren. Judy softly shook her head and said “no.”
We can only hope. What does President Obama bring to our highest executive post, really?
A loving marriage for one. You can see it. You can feel it.
Two young children who are experiencing something no other child in our country has before – their African American father is now the president. And he says to them that they are the reason he wanted to be president, to make the world a better place for them and for all children. That’s some kind of powerful statement.
The potential for another child? Maybe. Wouldn’t it be nice for a baby to born in the White House.
Youth. His, hers and the girls.
Hope. Absolutely. I decided to vote for Barak Obama after I read his interview with Rolling Stone magazine. That interview started me on a quest to find out who he was and what he was made of and, most importantly, what motivates him. I found out: family, generosity, belief in a better tomorrow.
