Not long ago I was looking through stacks of old family photos. I giggled at pictures of my mom and her "groovy" hairstyles, of family vacations with terrible 80's clothes, and annual Santa pics that never fail to be terrible and/or hilarious (other than the overpaid gray haired man that seems to always look best in the picture. Go figure.) It made me remember each place and the fun or drama that occured on that outing, and I realized that no matter what happened in that picture, it didn't change the current relationships today.
Let's talk about that. Let's talk about the drama. The quarrels that for some reason coincide with the family entity. Why? Why do the people we love the most, the people that really are blood-bound to you, why are they the ones that we so commonly find fued with. I mean, it may make for good television, there's a game show that thrives on it, ha. But why? A friend of mine could call me a cotton-headed-ninny-muggins and it hurt, but if a family member calls me the same thing, it cuts even deeper. And after that whack of the family tree branch, how are we supposed to respond? We just wait 10 years and see it in a picture and remember how we got over it? What happens after the picture? How do we truly get over the bumps and bruises caused by the family tree? A bit heavy. Sorry.
Here's my theory to why we feel the need for peace: I blame Full House.
The Tanner family would feud and tattle throughout the entire show, and with the dramatic cue of cheesy instrumentals, an unflattering camera close up, a lap sit, a profound "moral of the story" and group hug later - everything was fine. Darn you Tanner family. Darn you.
Now Rosanne, now THAT is a little more realistic. After every episode (one can manage to choke down that is) you couldn't help but think about what prison those kids were going to end up in in future seasons. Bickering, arguing, the occasional redneck brawl or runaway case, and they just accepted eachother's crap and moved on!
Maybe a hybrid is what we need here. Danny Tanner needed a beer belly and to ignore his kids more, Rosanne needed to hug more, and the cheesy moral should be coupled with a healthy dose of acceptance of crap.
I can't change the thorns on my family tree. I can't grow wings and fly away from my family tree. I am blood-bound to them, for better or worse. Sticks and stones are nothing compared to the words that fly off family limbs sometimes, but wounds heal, and at the end of the day, family is the only thing you can truly count on. That fact is what happens after the picture, what gets you through the leafy pain caused by the people we love the most. That fact is what you have to cling to. Until, after 10 years, you sit in a place of peace remembering the strife you overcame.
Cue cheesy instrumentals. ;)
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Mission: Friend-cation
Okay, so out of refusal to be "that girl" that posts on the world wide web rants that involve real people, I'd like to carefully phrase today's entry in the form of a question, and replies are, of course, welcome.
Note: The parties involved are still loved and respected, if said parties are reading this, please do not take offense and know that we love you guys dearly - we can all agree that this question is a good one.
Let me preface: You see, my sitcom life had one of those days that would quite possibly win a daytime Emmy this past weekend. It started with the phrase that ASKS for trouble: "Let's do something spontaneous this weekend..." *Dum Dum DUUUUUUUMMMM* Sigh. Yes. Silly me planned a "spontaneous" outing to the river this past weekend. Spontaneous trips are mine and my husband's forte, we once thought a "2.5 hour trip to Wichita Falls" would be fun... on my husband's new CROTCH ROCKET..... 4.5 hours, 3 mental breakdowns, 1 tear stained helmet, and 1 very unhappy big-butted wife later we completed our mission - still married! Ha! So we know how to survive a roadtrip together. Now, here's where it gets complicated. This trip to the river we thought would be best spent with another couple, some GREAT friends of ours that we love and appreciate so much. I will say no more other than we never made it to the river and that I gave tacky and awkward whole new meanings. Now, here's the question: Is it a good idea to vacation with good friends?
Again, please answer, and feel free to add your own experiences, just don't be "that girl" - ha ha!
Note: The parties involved are still loved and respected, if said parties are reading this, please do not take offense and know that we love you guys dearly - we can all agree that this question is a good one.
Let me preface: You see, my sitcom life had one of those days that would quite possibly win a daytime Emmy this past weekend. It started with the phrase that ASKS for trouble: "Let's do something spontaneous this weekend..." *Dum Dum DUUUUUUUMMMM* Sigh. Yes. Silly me planned a "spontaneous" outing to the river this past weekend. Spontaneous trips are mine and my husband's forte, we once thought a "2.5 hour trip to Wichita Falls" would be fun... on my husband's new CROTCH ROCKET..... 4.5 hours, 3 mental breakdowns, 1 tear stained helmet, and 1 very unhappy big-butted wife later we completed our mission - still married! Ha! So we know how to survive a roadtrip together. Now, here's where it gets complicated. This trip to the river we thought would be best spent with another couple, some GREAT friends of ours that we love and appreciate so much. I will say no more other than we never made it to the river and that I gave tacky and awkward whole new meanings. Now, here's the question: Is it a good idea to vacation with good friends?
Again, please answer, and feel free to add your own experiences, just don't be "that girl" - ha ha!
Friday, August 12, 2011
Homelessness (2 of 4)
To introduce this week I have to paint you a comic book mental image:
On the cover, you see a homely, Cinderella-before-the-ball sort of character, tall, brunette, great hair. She has a confused look on her face as she sits in front of a sewing machine while holding a pan of burnt cookies, and a bucket of cleaning supplies sits beside her completely untouched.
Flying in beside her you see a dashing blonde figure, with a smile, a hot pan of delicious looking homemade bread, a squeaky clean floor gleaming in the background beside a bucket of soapy water, and a basket of clever and completed art projects.
In bold letters flash the words: "Super Wife Shelters The Homeless"
The End..... ha ha!
This week we have had the honor of staying with probably the best wife ever and her very happy husband, that my husband and I call great friends. The dashing blonde figure would be the wife, and that comic book scene is literally what I have walked in the door to almost everyday. She does it all, and to perfection. Their hospitality has been amazing, and her offers to fix breakfast before work, and do our laundry, and invite our city-dog over has been above and beyond. No unhappy city wife here folks.
These amazing gestures have taught me a really painful lesson though... humility. I'm the one that is used to making people feel at home. I mean, I certainly don't do it with the ease that Super-wife does, I quite honestly didn't know a person could bake bread and that it comes without twisty-ties, but I do enjoy hosting a good party and making sure people are happy at my home. I'm the one that offers to do things and help people, laundry is quite possibly my cryptonite, but if a plate needs to be taken, a cup filled, a blanket needed, I'm there man. So being the one it's done to has been difficult for me.
You know, in several accounts it says that Jesus Christ washed the disciples feet the night before His crucifixion. Peter responded like I feel I am now, "No! You will never wash my feet!" Jesus explains that He must and then says something profound as he explained that he is the master, and they are his students, "I am giving you an example to follow." Sometimes it's hard to let yourself be ministered to when you spend so long doing the ministering. But when you stop someone from following the example we've all been called to follow, we're taking away an opportunity for them to minister! The Lord has taken this week to humble his servant, I see that I am no greater than my master, and a sweet wife to who extended her generosity helped me see that.
Week 2 of being homeless: Complete... with clean feet. John 13:6
On the cover, you see a homely, Cinderella-before-the-ball sort of character, tall, brunette, great hair. She has a confused look on her face as she sits in front of a sewing machine while holding a pan of burnt cookies, and a bucket of cleaning supplies sits beside her completely untouched.
Flying in beside her you see a dashing blonde figure, with a smile, a hot pan of delicious looking homemade bread, a squeaky clean floor gleaming in the background beside a bucket of soapy water, and a basket of clever and completed art projects.
In bold letters flash the words: "Super Wife Shelters The Homeless"
The End..... ha ha!
This week we have had the honor of staying with probably the best wife ever and her very happy husband, that my husband and I call great friends. The dashing blonde figure would be the wife, and that comic book scene is literally what I have walked in the door to almost everyday. She does it all, and to perfection. Their hospitality has been amazing, and her offers to fix breakfast before work, and do our laundry, and invite our city-dog over has been above and beyond. No unhappy city wife here folks.
These amazing gestures have taught me a really painful lesson though... humility. I'm the one that is used to making people feel at home. I mean, I certainly don't do it with the ease that Super-wife does, I quite honestly didn't know a person could bake bread and that it comes without twisty-ties, but I do enjoy hosting a good party and making sure people are happy at my home. I'm the one that offers to do things and help people, laundry is quite possibly my cryptonite, but if a plate needs to be taken, a cup filled, a blanket needed, I'm there man. So being the one it's done to has been difficult for me.
You know, in several accounts it says that Jesus Christ washed the disciples feet the night before His crucifixion. Peter responded like I feel I am now, "No! You will never wash my feet!" Jesus explains that He must and then says something profound as he explained that he is the master, and they are his students, "I am giving you an example to follow." Sometimes it's hard to let yourself be ministered to when you spend so long doing the ministering. But when you stop someone from following the example we've all been called to follow, we're taking away an opportunity for them to minister! The Lord has taken this week to humble his servant, I see that I am no greater than my master, and a sweet wife to who extended her generosity helped me see that.
Week 2 of being homeless: Complete... with clean feet. John 13:6
Friday, August 5, 2011
Homelessness (1 of 4)
What do you get when you add 1 crooked bed, 3 million square feet of country dirt, 30 minute commute one way, 1 unhappy city dog, 1 unhappy city wife, 1 happy husband, and hours of male bonding? My first week being homeless. That's what you get.
The crooked bed was tolerable, comfy when you ignored the slanting of your body throughout the night, and hey, it was a bed and not a lumpy couch! (The crookedness was caused by a broken box spring mattress that was discovered halfway through the week. We were committed to it that far, good soldiers finish strong.)
The 3 million square feet of dirt - not so cozy or tolerable, but with close-toed shoes, was manageable.
The 30 minute commute one way - great time for talking and off-key duets, so who can complain - oh wait, our wallets at the gas pump weren't so cheery.
The unhappy city dog - really just solidified our notions that our precious dogter is not meant for dirt and bugs and the constant noises at night. I woke up at 2 am and peered out the window at my inside-dog forced outside to see her in the dirt, laying down, and her lil city dog head pop up and look for which night creature and/or leaf made a noise this time. Poor thing got no rest.
The unhappy city wife - played endless hours of solitare and freecell in a room with no wireless internet capabilities or cable. I embraced my weeklong stone age with early bedtimes and only one tearfilled breakdown. Success.
The happy husband made the rest of the not so happy-filled circumstances totally worth it. I admit that my dirt-covered flip flops and groggy pup were nothing when I was able to see the hub so happy. He missed his dad, loves using his muscles for outdoor chores, loves talking politics and religion, and all of which he was able to do to his heart's content :) Ergo the male bonding that tied the whole week together.
Week 1 of being homeless: Complete... with dirty feet.
The crooked bed was tolerable, comfy when you ignored the slanting of your body throughout the night, and hey, it was a bed and not a lumpy couch! (The crookedness was caused by a broken box spring mattress that was discovered halfway through the week. We were committed to it that far, good soldiers finish strong.)
The 3 million square feet of dirt - not so cozy or tolerable, but with close-toed shoes, was manageable.
The 30 minute commute one way - great time for talking and off-key duets, so who can complain - oh wait, our wallets at the gas pump weren't so cheery.
The unhappy city dog - really just solidified our notions that our precious dogter is not meant for dirt and bugs and the constant noises at night. I woke up at 2 am and peered out the window at my inside-dog forced outside to see her in the dirt, laying down, and her lil city dog head pop up and look for which night creature and/or leaf made a noise this time. Poor thing got no rest.
The unhappy city wife - played endless hours of solitare and freecell in a room with no wireless internet capabilities or cable. I embraced my weeklong stone age with early bedtimes and only one tearfilled breakdown. Success.
The happy husband made the rest of the not so happy-filled circumstances totally worth it. I admit that my dirt-covered flip flops and groggy pup were nothing when I was able to see the hub so happy. He missed his dad, loves using his muscles for outdoor chores, loves talking politics and religion, and all of which he was able to do to his heart's content :) Ergo the male bonding that tied the whole week together.
Week 1 of being homeless: Complete... with dirty feet.
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