Sweet and Sour! Who are Sweet and Sour you ask? Well they are the two other members of mine and Wally’s family. The two members that seemed to have more input regarding where we lived than we did. For them we pay more for rent than we should, for them we take trips to the emergency clinic and pay $400 (I know – ridiculous, especially for a frugal person) to have a bladder infection taken care of on a Saturday, for them we get up at 6 am every morning. Sweet and Sour are our pooches.
Sweet and Sour are, like their names, as opposite as two dogs could be. Sweet is my baby. We got him 8 months after we were married around the time I was beginning to countdown the months until I could get off of the ‘pill’ and start thinking about having a baby. I was beginning to remind Wally of the expiration date on our 1 year agreement about waiting to have a baby post wedding. I don’t remember having the conversation about wanting a dog at all or getting one. I just remember that when he went away for a retreat of some sort we didn’t have a dog and when he came back we did.
Sweet is the epitome of his name. He is happy always, even when you yell at him. One time he did something really bad and I sat there and yelled at him and how bad it was and I made him stay in a certain spot for several minutes. He just looked at me, took it and wagged. In fact Sweet NEVER stops wagging his tail – ever. There is no one he won’t go up to and try to persuade to smile. He is nearly always by MY side and when I’m gone he will wait sadly by the door for my return. If I’m in the kitchen he’s under foot, looking up with his big brown eyes as if to say ‘love me’. Sweet is a lover.
And then there is Sour. Also one who carries his name to it’s fullest. Sour we sometimes refer to as our cat. Think of all the characteristics of a cat, well Sour holds most of them. He’s a snob, he will only let people pet him on his terms, he will go ahead and eat both sets of dog food (Sweet would never do that), he spends hours hiding under beds or the couches, has a keen interest in birds and squirrels, and he looks for heaps of soft and lays on them. Sour doesn’t know how to really play unless it’s with Sweet. He is not good socially with others from his species, when Sweet wants to meet another dog on our walks, Sour Parana bites him until he stops pulling. Wally and I believe if Sour’s thoughts were audible he’d have a potty mouth and would be smack talking us constantly. Sour essentially thinks he is the king.
Sour was brought into our home exactly 2 years after Sweet. By that time Wally and I had been married for 2 ½ years and baby fever had really set in. The only way we got away with not having a child earlier was because of Sweet. So I once again started to remind Wally that our next agreement was soon coming to an end (3 years of waiting) and it was time to … think about babies. Again I don’t’ really remember a long discussion about it. I think we actually noticed an ad in the newspaper one morning and picked Sour up that afternoon. It was obvious we hadn’t thought the whole thing through. When we arrived home that evening with Sour, Sweet had uncharacteristically gone to the opposite side of the room we were watching T.V. in and curled up facing the corner so he wouldn’t have to look at us. Needless to say Sweet wasn’t so ‘sweet’ on Sour.
Through the years, though we intended them to become additions to our family instead they have become our family. When we realized that babies of our own MAY not be a part of our future or at least not when we were hoping they would be, Sweet and Sour softened this reality and filled in the cracks a little while we awaited new horizons. If you are someone facing infertility (which I cannot claim to fully understand) or some one who’s had to rearrange dreams or put them on hold and you feel that hole of loneliness - I recommend getting a dog. I have heard time and time again from those facing these situations that (as silly as this will sound) getting a dog has healed some part of them as a result. Whether it’s waiting out an adoption, finding out that dogs are enough, or just giving them joy as they figure out where they are headed next – dogs can be your therapy.
There is so much more I would love to post about the issues regarding our desire to start a family but the funnel is clogged right now (my brain) so I’m trying to let stuff trickle out on it’s own.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Beauty unseen
Today I got some sad news. A friend of mind e-mailed me to let me know that her aunt had decided to terminate her pregnancy. Here’s the situation: her aunt is a 42 year old married woman, with a healthy 2 year old son. She met her husband late in life and they hoped to raise a family together like most couples do. Several weeks ago they found out that this baby she was carrying had Down Syndrome and most likely a few other birth defects. She was 18 weeks along. The baby was well formed, with the ability to hear and be startled by noises and was in the process of having it’s skin form (ok there’s a real name for that but I can’t tell you want it is – starts with a v).
Depending on who you are you will have an initial response: either for the mother or for the baby. Mine was for the mother, but not necessarily how you’d think I would respond. Of course I felt compassion for her, as she felt as though she had to make such a decision: to keep her child or to let it go. The fact that she felt as though she had to judge herself and her strengths within her as to whether she could indeed handle a child with special needs or not is incomprehensible. I could not fathom ever having to make that choice about myself. Am I able to care for this child? Am I the best this child could have? Will I be inflicting pain on this young life by giving it life itself? What horrible questions to have to ask yourself!
I have to believe the mother of this young life made this choice out of love (as I write this I am surprising myself with this reaction). Our automatic response is to believe that NOT choosing life is the coward’s way out. By choosing to give up the life we think that mom is deeming the child inside unlovable, invaluable and not truly sacred. But could it be that the mother was the one who felt unlovable, invaluable and unsacred? Could it be that she just did not feel capable of being the best mom this child could have?
By asking these questions I am in no way saying I agree with her decision, in fact my strongest reaction of all is sincere sadness for this family because of the loss they will experience without even knowing it. I don’t mean the loss of life – they will certainly still go through the grieving process of both the life that moved inside of mom and the dreams they shared for their family. But I mean the absence of a new kind of beauty they would have been able to experience from a brand new perspective. Trust me, if you haven’t had the chance to meet and really know people with ‘challenges’ you have been left out of an entirely different realm of this world. In my opinion the most honest and real realm there is (and I have VERY limited experience).
Here’s how I know no matter what your child is born with or how greatly ‘challenged’ or challenging your child is, with God you can be given what you need and then some. (It doesn’t mean it’s easy, but it is possible)…
About 6 weeks ago I took one of the guys I support to church. What happens there is his father meets us in the parking lot we strap the gentleman into the wheel chair (he can walk but is very aggressive and hits out a lot, in the chair he is easier to manage in public). He wheels himself into the church with dad (who’d be around 55-60 yrs old), his dad sets him up (with the staff right behind) and the young guy sits for about 3 songs during worship. All the while dad is giving him constant treats to keep him from hitting (not bribes, as he is at a very low intellectual level, but reinforcement and a distraction really). This guy is pretty tough on his dad and mom (physically). He’s pretty tough on most (and has a heavy arm – I know!). Here’s the thing. The day I sat behind this father sitting with his son, I had NEVER in my life seen someone love so much. That father LOVES his son. I don’t mean that he loves him therefore he ‘puts up with’ him, I mean he LOVES him - period. It pours out of his pores. If I was a softy I would’ve cried but I didn’t (which worked out considering my job at that point), but I was AMAZED and felt my heart move. This dad regularly takes his son for visits and keeps up the church routine (after the songs dad takes son out of the chair in the foyer and walks with him around the near empty parts of the church to ‘bond’). THAT ladies and gentlemen is love – beyond what any human could give to another on their own.
Now back to my friend’s aunt. Please pray for her. My heart absolutely aches for her and is so saddened by the loss of the beautiful person that was once inside of her. She hasn’t any faith and at this point God is the only One who could heal this wound. She’s a child too, just as important as the one that lived inside of her.
It’s weird. Since working in this field I have come to understand both sides of the debate. My hope will always be for life to be given. Not because it’s the right thing to do but because we need to be reminded that whether our child is physically and developmentally perfect, we should never be trying to ‘do it all’ alone.
Depending on who you are you will have an initial response: either for the mother or for the baby. Mine was for the mother, but not necessarily how you’d think I would respond. Of course I felt compassion for her, as she felt as though she had to make such a decision: to keep her child or to let it go. The fact that she felt as though she had to judge herself and her strengths within her as to whether she could indeed handle a child with special needs or not is incomprehensible. I could not fathom ever having to make that choice about myself. Am I able to care for this child? Am I the best this child could have? Will I be inflicting pain on this young life by giving it life itself? What horrible questions to have to ask yourself!
I have to believe the mother of this young life made this choice out of love (as I write this I am surprising myself with this reaction). Our automatic response is to believe that NOT choosing life is the coward’s way out. By choosing to give up the life we think that mom is deeming the child inside unlovable, invaluable and not truly sacred. But could it be that the mother was the one who felt unlovable, invaluable and unsacred? Could it be that she just did not feel capable of being the best mom this child could have?
By asking these questions I am in no way saying I agree with her decision, in fact my strongest reaction of all is sincere sadness for this family because of the loss they will experience without even knowing it. I don’t mean the loss of life – they will certainly still go through the grieving process of both the life that moved inside of mom and the dreams they shared for their family. But I mean the absence of a new kind of beauty they would have been able to experience from a brand new perspective. Trust me, if you haven’t had the chance to meet and really know people with ‘challenges’ you have been left out of an entirely different realm of this world. In my opinion the most honest and real realm there is (and I have VERY limited experience).
Here’s how I know no matter what your child is born with or how greatly ‘challenged’ or challenging your child is, with God you can be given what you need and then some. (It doesn’t mean it’s easy, but it is possible)…
About 6 weeks ago I took one of the guys I support to church. What happens there is his father meets us in the parking lot we strap the gentleman into the wheel chair (he can walk but is very aggressive and hits out a lot, in the chair he is easier to manage in public). He wheels himself into the church with dad (who’d be around 55-60 yrs old), his dad sets him up (with the staff right behind) and the young guy sits for about 3 songs during worship. All the while dad is giving him constant treats to keep him from hitting (not bribes, as he is at a very low intellectual level, but reinforcement and a distraction really). This guy is pretty tough on his dad and mom (physically). He’s pretty tough on most (and has a heavy arm – I know!). Here’s the thing. The day I sat behind this father sitting with his son, I had NEVER in my life seen someone love so much. That father LOVES his son. I don’t mean that he loves him therefore he ‘puts up with’ him, I mean he LOVES him - period. It pours out of his pores. If I was a softy I would’ve cried but I didn’t (which worked out considering my job at that point), but I was AMAZED and felt my heart move. This dad regularly takes his son for visits and keeps up the church routine (after the songs dad takes son out of the chair in the foyer and walks with him around the near empty parts of the church to ‘bond’). THAT ladies and gentlemen is love – beyond what any human could give to another on their own.
Now back to my friend’s aunt. Please pray for her. My heart absolutely aches for her and is so saddened by the loss of the beautiful person that was once inside of her. She hasn’t any faith and at this point God is the only One who could heal this wound. She’s a child too, just as important as the one that lived inside of her.
It’s weird. Since working in this field I have come to understand both sides of the debate. My hope will always be for life to be given. Not because it’s the right thing to do but because we need to be reminded that whether our child is physically and developmentally perfect, we should never be trying to ‘do it all’ alone.
The similarities and differences between Eva and Wally
Ok so there have been times in the past 8 years of marriage when both Wally and I have wondered how we could be so wonderfully matched together – only by God’s design.
And then there have been just as many times through the years we have wondered who’s hair-brained idea it was for us to get together?! In so many ways we are alike, for example: our faith, morals, introvertedness, desire to do our best in life, being content with the small things in life.
Yet there are so many other ways we are completely different. Here are just a few:
• I NEVER close Tupperware containers properly – this drives Wally crazy!
• I love to take any possible chance to hang out with pretty much anyone - Wally thinks long and hard before committing to any social gathering and his preference would be home (most of the time).
• When we diet Wally loses 13 pounds the first week - I gain 2.
• I have a HUGE desire to travel and would love to backpack across Europe - Wally’s preference would be a Sheraton
• I won’t hesitate to wear clothes off of my laundry pile with a boat load of wrinkles (I’d just throw a hoodie over top) – Wally will not wear a shirt that looks like it got left behind from the wrinkle patrol
• I think you should wear your jeans at least 3 or 4 times before washing them (I’m a bit frugal) – Wally wears a pair twice and to the wash they go
• Wally thinks going to the movies is a social activity – I think it’s one of the most anti-social activities you could do
• Wally hates country music – until recently it was really the only music I listened to
• I’ll eat food past the expiration date if it looks ok – Wally is much more particular
• If Wally does the dishes you can be sure they are clean – if I do them you can be sure you’ll get leftovers from the last meal
• Wally thinks before he talks – I’m not nearly as skilled at this
• I think next year we should move to a foreign country and try a new culture – Wally is looking for a job here
O.k. so these are just a few examples of how we are different. A few of Wally’s school friends have commented on our differences but have said at the same time how much we are also so much alike and right for each other. That doesn’t always come naturally…
Recently I shared with Wally my longest and deepest desire to take a few weeks (ok initially I asked for a few months) to go and serve abroad, perhaps with little brown orphans in an under privileged country some where (I have a heart for orphans). This has been a loooooong time dream for me that I gave up on when we married (I figured there would be our own children to take care of soon enough). For the longest time Wally said he couldn’t let me go. He didn’t want to risk me getting hurt or killed or something else terrible happening while he wasn’t around to be there for me. I tried to convince him that I’d be ok but he wouldn’t by it. So I let it go a little and just tried to remind him that this was my heart’s desire and hope. It took a few months, but one night when we were joking around I had gotten out of him his blessing for me to go for not one day longer than 3 weeks. I was ecstatic! I am.
You see that’s what helps our marriage work: realizing the other person’s hopes and calling. It’s not always easy to give up our wants but if you want to continue to grow in that relationship sometimes you have to let go a little, right? I didn’t want to let go of my dream and Wally didn’t want to let go of his desire to hold onto me. It would be easy to bolt in the other direction and say ‘I’m going to do it anyway’ (I’ve wanted to do that a million times), but how would that bring us closer to one another? I don’t think it would.
As much work as it seems to be when you are so different I am going to count myself lucky to have someone that compliments me, challenges me and loves me the way my Wally does. (Even if we frustrate each other to no end!)
And then there have been just as many times through the years we have wondered who’s hair-brained idea it was for us to get together?! In so many ways we are alike, for example: our faith, morals, introvertedness, desire to do our best in life, being content with the small things in life.
Yet there are so many other ways we are completely different. Here are just a few:
• I NEVER close Tupperware containers properly – this drives Wally crazy!
• I love to take any possible chance to hang out with pretty much anyone - Wally thinks long and hard before committing to any social gathering and his preference would be home (most of the time).
• When we diet Wally loses 13 pounds the first week - I gain 2.
• I have a HUGE desire to travel and would love to backpack across Europe - Wally’s preference would be a Sheraton
• I won’t hesitate to wear clothes off of my laundry pile with a boat load of wrinkles (I’d just throw a hoodie over top) – Wally will not wear a shirt that looks like it got left behind from the wrinkle patrol
• I think you should wear your jeans at least 3 or 4 times before washing them (I’m a bit frugal) – Wally wears a pair twice and to the wash they go
• Wally thinks going to the movies is a social activity – I think it’s one of the most anti-social activities you could do
• Wally hates country music – until recently it was really the only music I listened to
• I’ll eat food past the expiration date if it looks ok – Wally is much more particular
• If Wally does the dishes you can be sure they are clean – if I do them you can be sure you’ll get leftovers from the last meal
• Wally thinks before he talks – I’m not nearly as skilled at this
• I think next year we should move to a foreign country and try a new culture – Wally is looking for a job here
O.k. so these are just a few examples of how we are different. A few of Wally’s school friends have commented on our differences but have said at the same time how much we are also so much alike and right for each other. That doesn’t always come naturally…
Recently I shared with Wally my longest and deepest desire to take a few weeks (ok initially I asked for a few months) to go and serve abroad, perhaps with little brown orphans in an under privileged country some where (I have a heart for orphans). This has been a loooooong time dream for me that I gave up on when we married (I figured there would be our own children to take care of soon enough). For the longest time Wally said he couldn’t let me go. He didn’t want to risk me getting hurt or killed or something else terrible happening while he wasn’t around to be there for me. I tried to convince him that I’d be ok but he wouldn’t by it. So I let it go a little and just tried to remind him that this was my heart’s desire and hope. It took a few months, but one night when we were joking around I had gotten out of him his blessing for me to go for not one day longer than 3 weeks. I was ecstatic! I am.
You see that’s what helps our marriage work: realizing the other person’s hopes and calling. It’s not always easy to give up our wants but if you want to continue to grow in that relationship sometimes you have to let go a little, right? I didn’t want to let go of my dream and Wally didn’t want to let go of his desire to hold onto me. It would be easy to bolt in the other direction and say ‘I’m going to do it anyway’ (I’ve wanted to do that a million times), but how would that bring us closer to one another? I don’t think it would.
As much work as it seems to be when you are so different I am going to count myself lucky to have someone that compliments me, challenges me and loves me the way my Wally does. (Even if we frustrate each other to no end!)
Arrest her for false advertising!!!
Have you ever been afraid to tell someone a truth about yourself because you’d be accused of false advertising?
For example, I go to a gym. It’s a part of a chain of gyms targeted at women who would never normally go to a gym. It’s designed to be simple to use, easy to access and give the feeling of acceptance to anyone, big or small, that walks through the door. It is successful at this. Very successful. Before I was introduced to this gym through a friend I wouldn’t never considered stepping up and joining a gym.
Why? Well, to be honest I’m no muscle woman (shocking, I know). I have no aspirations to be one. I just wanted to go to a place to get active, hopefully lose a few pounds and feel better in my skin. I didn’t want people to find out I went to a gym, look at me and say ‘Oh well that’s nice, good for you!’ While really looking at my thighs and thinking ‘I’d hit the Thigh master a few extra minutes today honey!’ (That happened to me this morning on the elevator).
About the false advertising ... At this gym you get a t-shirt each time you’ve reached the hundred visit mark. So there are 100, 200, 300, all the way up to 1000. One day when I was at the gym I turn to my left and see a 400 pound woman sporting a 600 visit shirt. I’m kinda saying to myself at the time ‘Um, lady are you sure you got the right shirt? You can’t possibly have made 600 visits and still have that much weight to lose? And isn’t that bad advertising for the gym – they obviously didn’t think this t-shirt thing through at all.’
I know it sounds horrible but that’s what I thought the first time I saw it. Then this morning I was walking to the gym and I was contemplating a few things and I realized that I am indeed doing the same thing, only in a different way. Here’s how: I’m a Christian. (Oh my goodness I can’t believe I said that!). And for the most part I am not the type people would guess to be ashamed of it and really I think if it wasn’t for myself (and a few others that I know) I probably wouldn’t mind sharing my secret. Another reason I hesitate to share this about myself because I feel like I come across too many people that think because we share the same faith we'll like each other, OR that because we have differing core beliefs we won't. I don't ever want that to be the assumption, I miss out on too many great people that way.
Here’s the thing, I’m not ‘there’ yet. I still yell at people when I’m driving, look at others as less than myself, don’t take the time to smile and engage people in conversations when the opportunity arises. I’m just not there yet. I AM the 400 pound woman that has had the 600 visits to the gym without any tangible evidence to prove it.
So the question is: do I wait then to become everything a good advertisement is before I start sharing with others about the coolest discovery of my life? Perhaps the lady at the gym has improved her health in a million ways I can’t see (and since I don’t have before and after shots of her innards I’ll have to guess that they ARE better now than they were before). Maybe she has developed a confidence that has changed her life in others ways. It could be that she came into the gym weighing 600 pounds and I should just shut my big fat yap already!
Who knows? My best guess is that I need to stop waiting for perfection to come and just get out there and be the best I can be the best way I know how. Be a real person. If the 400 pound woman at the gym came up to me and shared her story, her challenges and triumphs, don’t you think I would listen? Probably. Because by sharing her story with me I get an ‘in’ to the road she’s traveled and I would see her with my heart rather than my eyes and maybe in some way, big or small, that would help me continue the journey - whether I look like a 600 visit patron or not.
For example, I go to a gym. It’s a part of a chain of gyms targeted at women who would never normally go to a gym. It’s designed to be simple to use, easy to access and give the feeling of acceptance to anyone, big or small, that walks through the door. It is successful at this. Very successful. Before I was introduced to this gym through a friend I wouldn’t never considered stepping up and joining a gym.
Why? Well, to be honest I’m no muscle woman (shocking, I know). I have no aspirations to be one. I just wanted to go to a place to get active, hopefully lose a few pounds and feel better in my skin. I didn’t want people to find out I went to a gym, look at me and say ‘Oh well that’s nice, good for you!’ While really looking at my thighs and thinking ‘I’d hit the Thigh master a few extra minutes today honey!’ (That happened to me this morning on the elevator).
About the false advertising ... At this gym you get a t-shirt each time you’ve reached the hundred visit mark. So there are 100, 200, 300, all the way up to 1000. One day when I was at the gym I turn to my left and see a 400 pound woman sporting a 600 visit shirt. I’m kinda saying to myself at the time ‘Um, lady are you sure you got the right shirt? You can’t possibly have made 600 visits and still have that much weight to lose? And isn’t that bad advertising for the gym – they obviously didn’t think this t-shirt thing through at all.’
I know it sounds horrible but that’s what I thought the first time I saw it. Then this morning I was walking to the gym and I was contemplating a few things and I realized that I am indeed doing the same thing, only in a different way. Here’s how: I’m a Christian. (Oh my goodness I can’t believe I said that!). And for the most part I am not the type people would guess to be ashamed of it and really I think if it wasn’t for myself (and a few others that I know) I probably wouldn’t mind sharing my secret. Another reason I hesitate to share this about myself because I feel like I come across too many people that think because we share the same faith we'll like each other, OR that because we have differing core beliefs we won't. I don't ever want that to be the assumption, I miss out on too many great people that way.
Here’s the thing, I’m not ‘there’ yet. I still yell at people when I’m driving, look at others as less than myself, don’t take the time to smile and engage people in conversations when the opportunity arises. I’m just not there yet. I AM the 400 pound woman that has had the 600 visits to the gym without any tangible evidence to prove it.
So the question is: do I wait then to become everything a good advertisement is before I start sharing with others about the coolest discovery of my life? Perhaps the lady at the gym has improved her health in a million ways I can’t see (and since I don’t have before and after shots of her innards I’ll have to guess that they ARE better now than they were before). Maybe she has developed a confidence that has changed her life in others ways. It could be that she came into the gym weighing 600 pounds and I should just shut my big fat yap already!
Who knows? My best guess is that I need to stop waiting for perfection to come and just get out there and be the best I can be the best way I know how. Be a real person. If the 400 pound woman at the gym came up to me and shared her story, her challenges and triumphs, don’t you think I would listen? Probably. Because by sharing her story with me I get an ‘in’ to the road she’s traveled and I would see her with my heart rather than my eyes and maybe in some way, big or small, that would help me continue the journey - whether I look like a 600 visit patron or not.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Humble Pie . . . yuck!
Today I had the privilege of having a taste of the fore mentioned dessert. It was not my favourite…
Today I was at training for the new job I’m at. It was the final day of several. I was hired along with another girl as a support worker in a home for people with developmental disabilities. This is the field I have gone back to school to pursue.
I have to be completely honest and admit that it was not my initial choice when looking at programs to take. I knew that I wanted to work with kids (as I have always worked with children in some capacity and LOVED it). I also knew that I liked working in small groups or one-on-one with people. Another concept I was taken with was that of being a believer in the ‘under dog’. I had previously taught piano for about 10 years before returning to school. I didn’t do it because I had any remote love for music (at least not what I was teaching), but I did have a love of teaching and revealing talent to a student that they were unaware of. I learned through this experience that it wasn’t the kid who picked up the lessons quickly that was gifted, it was the one that didn’t but tried all the harder because of it. They were the ones I taught for. Seeing the ‘light bulb’ go on when they got something that they couldn’t do before. Or when they did what they never thought they could. THAT was why I taught.
That is what I wanted in my new endeavor, to teach and be taught in unexpected ways.
When I went perusing the college books for programs that would give me this I found what I thought would be the perfect fit for me. Educational Assisting: working with children who have varying degrees of learning, behavioral or developmental disabilities. It sounded like a perfect fit. The catch was that the only school that had a specific program for that was a few hours away. For a couple of weeks we considered that option. After much thought I decided to go with a the college Wally went to that offered a more general field along that line and then had a 1 year post grad. I could do later. The first time I read up on that program a few weeks earlier I looked at the ad for it and the picture and I thought ‘Wow, you have to be a certain kind of person to do that – I couldn’t do it’. I thought highly of people that could stand to do such work and deal with such people. I have no idea how or why but after a few weeks I decided on that vary program. I figured if this was the only way to where I needed to go I would have to toughen up quick. ( I do love a challenge though and perhaps that was in the back of my mind – overcoming my own insecurities).
I went ahead with this program with blind faith that God would give be exactly what I needed (whatever that was). The truth is most people that go to school for this (Developmental Services) have some sort of experience before hand, I just wanted to learn about something … anything.
What does all of this have to do with Humble Pie? Well, as I was saying I was at training today with another new co-worker. She is a young lady around 20-21 years old. She’s pretty much the opposite as I was at that age. Fun loving, free spirited, a bit immature perfect outside appearance and in University. She’s not studying the field we’re working in (as many of the people where I work don’t). She’s picked it up as a part time job while she’s in school and figuring out what to do with her life.
When I first met her and heard a bit about her I thought ‘Why did they hire you? You don’t even care about this field. You don’t know anything about it, and besides the guy with aggressive behaviours is going to break you in two during your first shift.’ Tisk. It was harsh but I’m trying to be honest here. It bothered me that I was going to school to work ‘in the field’, spent all of this time studying and here I come to find out that I didn’t even need to – they’d hire ANYONE.
Anyway, through out the past couple of days I’ve spent a lot of extra time with just her. Driving, lunch breaks and in group work. I have come to find out that in my most highly regarded opinion: this girl is much more equipped to do this job than I am (even though she says 'dude, totally, and like' far too often). She has amazing ideas, a great attitude, stick-with-it-ness that I know I wouldn’t have if not for my pride. SHE is why they hire people that aren’t students because they care too, and because much of the time they already have it in them (much of mine only grew from knowledge). I know that I couldn’t have done this job before I went to school, let alone when I was her age. Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out for it now …
You see I’m used to being the best. This is not meant in a cocky way at all. What I mean is that I always try to figure out the best way to do something. I work hard to do it and I am used to gaining the respect of those I work for and with. Where I work now, I am humbled beyond what I thought was possible. I am the student always, not just taught by my co-workers but so much more by those I support (by the way they don’t care how hard you work but by how much you respect and care for them - that doesn't come in a book). These people are not angels, they are not perfect, they don’t get me all soft and cooshy inside (no more than anyone else). The truth is they can be frustrating, physically and mentally exhausting, and constantly pushing me to my limits. I doubt I will ever be ‘the best’ at this job (this drives me crazy!!!), but I am determined to be MY best at this job and keep my heart open to learn. Deep down though I know I’ve been led to this place for a reason. I know that if I never worked another day ‘in the field’, every second I’ve spend in school and on the front line has been worth it and has forever changed me.
Now if only I could get the taste of that nasty pie out of my mouth!
Today I was at training for the new job I’m at. It was the final day of several. I was hired along with another girl as a support worker in a home for people with developmental disabilities. This is the field I have gone back to school to pursue.
I have to be completely honest and admit that it was not my initial choice when looking at programs to take. I knew that I wanted to work with kids (as I have always worked with children in some capacity and LOVED it). I also knew that I liked working in small groups or one-on-one with people. Another concept I was taken with was that of being a believer in the ‘under dog’. I had previously taught piano for about 10 years before returning to school. I didn’t do it because I had any remote love for music (at least not what I was teaching), but I did have a love of teaching and revealing talent to a student that they were unaware of. I learned through this experience that it wasn’t the kid who picked up the lessons quickly that was gifted, it was the one that didn’t but tried all the harder because of it. They were the ones I taught for. Seeing the ‘light bulb’ go on when they got something that they couldn’t do before. Or when they did what they never thought they could. THAT was why I taught.
That is what I wanted in my new endeavor, to teach and be taught in unexpected ways.
When I went perusing the college books for programs that would give me this I found what I thought would be the perfect fit for me. Educational Assisting: working with children who have varying degrees of learning, behavioral or developmental disabilities. It sounded like a perfect fit. The catch was that the only school that had a specific program for that was a few hours away. For a couple of weeks we considered that option. After much thought I decided to go with a the college Wally went to that offered a more general field along that line and then had a 1 year post grad. I could do later. The first time I read up on that program a few weeks earlier I looked at the ad for it and the picture and I thought ‘Wow, you have to be a certain kind of person to do that – I couldn’t do it’. I thought highly of people that could stand to do such work and deal with such people. I have no idea how or why but after a few weeks I decided on that vary program. I figured if this was the only way to where I needed to go I would have to toughen up quick. ( I do love a challenge though and perhaps that was in the back of my mind – overcoming my own insecurities).
I went ahead with this program with blind faith that God would give be exactly what I needed (whatever that was). The truth is most people that go to school for this (Developmental Services) have some sort of experience before hand, I just wanted to learn about something … anything.
What does all of this have to do with Humble Pie? Well, as I was saying I was at training today with another new co-worker. She is a young lady around 20-21 years old. She’s pretty much the opposite as I was at that age. Fun loving, free spirited, a bit immature perfect outside appearance and in University. She’s not studying the field we’re working in (as many of the people where I work don’t). She’s picked it up as a part time job while she’s in school and figuring out what to do with her life.
When I first met her and heard a bit about her I thought ‘Why did they hire you? You don’t even care about this field. You don’t know anything about it, and besides the guy with aggressive behaviours is going to break you in two during your first shift.’ Tisk. It was harsh but I’m trying to be honest here. It bothered me that I was going to school to work ‘in the field’, spent all of this time studying and here I come to find out that I didn’t even need to – they’d hire ANYONE.
Anyway, through out the past couple of days I’ve spent a lot of extra time with just her. Driving, lunch breaks and in group work. I have come to find out that in my most highly regarded opinion: this girl is much more equipped to do this job than I am (even though she says 'dude, totally, and like' far too often). She has amazing ideas, a great attitude, stick-with-it-ness that I know I wouldn’t have if not for my pride. SHE is why they hire people that aren’t students because they care too, and because much of the time they already have it in them (much of mine only grew from knowledge). I know that I couldn’t have done this job before I went to school, let alone when I was her age. Sometimes I wonder if I’m cut out for it now …
You see I’m used to being the best. This is not meant in a cocky way at all. What I mean is that I always try to figure out the best way to do something. I work hard to do it and I am used to gaining the respect of those I work for and with. Where I work now, I am humbled beyond what I thought was possible. I am the student always, not just taught by my co-workers but so much more by those I support (by the way they don’t care how hard you work but by how much you respect and care for them - that doesn't come in a book). These people are not angels, they are not perfect, they don’t get me all soft and cooshy inside (no more than anyone else). The truth is they can be frustrating, physically and mentally exhausting, and constantly pushing me to my limits. I doubt I will ever be ‘the best’ at this job (this drives me crazy!!!), but I am determined to be MY best at this job and keep my heart open to learn. Deep down though I know I’ve been led to this place for a reason. I know that if I never worked another day ‘in the field’, every second I’ve spend in school and on the front line has been worth it and has forever changed me.
Now if only I could get the taste of that nasty pie out of my mouth!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Not too much sex in this part of the city . . .
If you haven’t guessed it by now, Wally and I ended up in what is essentially a retirement village. Wrinkleville has a population of approximately 3000 with 11 buildings in an area smaller than a city block. As I mentioned before it has all the amenities, I quickly realized why.
The mall can service almost every need you have, from filling your prescriptions to outfitting you with a brand new scooter, or some brand spankin’ shiny new handle bars for your shower (in case you are a little shaky on your feet). In Wrinkleville there is a bus arriving perfectly on the half hour to whisk you downtown (if you are into furthering your horizons). It’s a place where the grass is always green (literally), and you can find daily aquafit lessons in the summer – free of charge. A person that is a few steps away from the grave really couldn’t ask for more!
A few days after we moved into our 7th floor apartment in our new village we were being introduced to the Benchwarmers in front of our building by our parking buddy. One lady told us “You won’t ever have to worry about moving again. The only way they get you outta here is in a body bag – ha!” Wow, thanks for giving us the heads up Bernice. I immediately pulled Wally aside and made him promise me that we would indeed leave this place walking with our own two feet. He promised.
Here are a few things we’ve learned after having lived in Wrinkleville for over a year:
People around here don’t stray too far from home.
Proof: Last Christmas Eve we had a large snowstorm pass through. The roads had been covered and the city was moving slow. I had gone out early in the morning to the grocery store (a good 50 paces away) and on the way back to our apartment ran into our neighbour. She was asked how the roads were. I said “Well the side streets around here are still fairly covered but Main Street (which is about 75 paces from our building) is clear, just stick to the main streets and you’ll have no troubles.” She looked at me as if I’d just come off of a rocket from Mars then replied: “Well, I certainly don’t plan on going that far!”
People here only recognize you in the context they are used to seeing you in.
Proof: We have 2 pooches. We walk them three times a day. People have come to know them very well. When they see us walking they don’t actually see us, they see the pooches. There is one little old lady that makes sure to remember and say each of their names every time she sees them. Once a friend was with her and she was doing her best to recite the pooches’ names but she was trying so hard to get them right the other lady thought she was trying to remember our names. We continually say and believe that people around here don’t give a hoot about us, just the dogs. “Where’s the ‘team’? You don’t have the dogs with you tonight? Where are the boys? Oh hello, I didn’t recognize you without your dogs!” We’ve even had perfect strangers see the dogs in the elevator with us and say: “You must be the couple with the two little doggies I’ve heard so much about!” (The person who said this didn’t even live here!). And several other times we’ve be walking without the furballs and the people who normally greet us with a bright smiling hello, don’t even give us a glance.
People here no longer struggle with their body image.
We moved in at the peak of the summer season. The outdoor pool was open and as I mentioned before aquafit was in full swing. I had an invitation to join our first night here. I briefly considered going (I am a social person and had no social circle). However, I’m not the type of person that will run towards the chance to prance around in a bathing suit, or swim in icy waters so I didn’t end up going. I soon learned that any reservations I had about my body being on display were unfounded. Though I am about 20 pounds over weight and have scars that look like I have roughed the waters of giving birth (even though I haven’t), I really had nothing to be ashamed of. The ladies here definitely had something to teach me. In Wrinkleville there is no shame over sagging skin, wrinkles in places you didn’t think wrinkles could be, or body parts that had escaped their original origin. It was all fair game for display and there was no need to hide it. I still chuckle to myself when I see the ladies walking ever so slowly to the watering hole in their loosely draped housecoats with a good portion of their nearly expired bodies on display. I guess I have a lot to learn…
The mall can service almost every need you have, from filling your prescriptions to outfitting you with a brand new scooter, or some brand spankin’ shiny new handle bars for your shower (in case you are a little shaky on your feet). In Wrinkleville there is a bus arriving perfectly on the half hour to whisk you downtown (if you are into furthering your horizons). It’s a place where the grass is always green (literally), and you can find daily aquafit lessons in the summer – free of charge. A person that is a few steps away from the grave really couldn’t ask for more!
A few days after we moved into our 7th floor apartment in our new village we were being introduced to the Benchwarmers in front of our building by our parking buddy. One lady told us “You won’t ever have to worry about moving again. The only way they get you outta here is in a body bag – ha!” Wow, thanks for giving us the heads up Bernice. I immediately pulled Wally aside and made him promise me that we would indeed leave this place walking with our own two feet. He promised.
Here are a few things we’ve learned after having lived in Wrinkleville for over a year:
People around here don’t stray too far from home.
Proof: Last Christmas Eve we had a large snowstorm pass through. The roads had been covered and the city was moving slow. I had gone out early in the morning to the grocery store (a good 50 paces away) and on the way back to our apartment ran into our neighbour. She was asked how the roads were. I said “Well the side streets around here are still fairly covered but Main Street (which is about 75 paces from our building) is clear, just stick to the main streets and you’ll have no troubles.” She looked at me as if I’d just come off of a rocket from Mars then replied: “Well, I certainly don’t plan on going that far!”
People here only recognize you in the context they are used to seeing you in.
Proof: We have 2 pooches. We walk them three times a day. People have come to know them very well. When they see us walking they don’t actually see us, they see the pooches. There is one little old lady that makes sure to remember and say each of their names every time she sees them. Once a friend was with her and she was doing her best to recite the pooches’ names but she was trying so hard to get them right the other lady thought she was trying to remember our names. We continually say and believe that people around here don’t give a hoot about us, just the dogs. “Where’s the ‘team’? You don’t have the dogs with you tonight? Where are the boys? Oh hello, I didn’t recognize you without your dogs!” We’ve even had perfect strangers see the dogs in the elevator with us and say: “You must be the couple with the two little doggies I’ve heard so much about!” (The person who said this didn’t even live here!). And several other times we’ve be walking without the furballs and the people who normally greet us with a bright smiling hello, don’t even give us a glance.
People here no longer struggle with their body image.
We moved in at the peak of the summer season. The outdoor pool was open and as I mentioned before aquafit was in full swing. I had an invitation to join our first night here. I briefly considered going (I am a social person and had no social circle). However, I’m not the type of person that will run towards the chance to prance around in a bathing suit, or swim in icy waters so I didn’t end up going. I soon learned that any reservations I had about my body being on display were unfounded. Though I am about 20 pounds over weight and have scars that look like I have roughed the waters of giving birth (even though I haven’t), I really had nothing to be ashamed of. The ladies here definitely had something to teach me. In Wrinkleville there is no shame over sagging skin, wrinkles in places you didn’t think wrinkles could be, or body parts that had escaped their original origin. It was all fair game for display and there was no need to hide it. I still chuckle to myself when I see the ladies walking ever so slowly to the watering hole in their loosely draped housecoats with a good portion of their nearly expired bodies on display. I guess I have a lot to learn…
Movin' on up . . .
Once I started back to school Wally and I knew there was something we HAD to do, and soon: get our house ready to be sold. We knew that there was no way we could keep up a mortgage, pay twice the tuition, books and commuting. We were already paying twice as much in cars/gas/parking as we were in mortgage payments. We knew the smart thing to do would be to sell the house and move to an apartment where the school was located. Our goal was to get through school without any debt. If we were starting over we were going to do it smart.
The first semester I was in school we fixed up the house as I went to school full time, worked every waking moment I wasn’t studying, Wally completed his first co-op. I remember this being one of the most stressful times for us. We knew that we had only two months from the completion of my first semester to get the house sold (and hopefully get what we were asking for in the process - by the time that semester was over we only had enough money to get us through 2 months and after that we didn’t know how we were going to live). The house went on the market on a Monday (a week after I was done) and sold the Friday, for only $1900 under our asking price. Whew!! We had 3 weeks to find a new place and move out.
Just to give a bit of context to the situation I have to tell you that Wally and I had pretty much lived in the same place all our lives. The town we were in only had a population of around 2000 people, and the city we were moving to had a population over 350 000. A big change for us - to say the least! We had never lived in an apartment building, taken a city bus, done much city driving, or lived over an hour away from our parents (my parents lived 2 blocks away). We were infants to this new world we were entering. However we did it anyway.
We didn’t even know where to start looking for a place to live. We had heard a few things but not enough to really know where was a good area and where wasn’t. We soon found out. We checked out a couple of places and settled on one. The rent was decent, the apartment nice, it was on a bus route, and it had a dog park close by (he have 2 pooches), what more could we want? We had all the paper work signed and ready to go in to accept the place. Wally was going to drop it off on the way home from school that day. At lunch he mentioned to his school pals the place we’d be moving to. 4 sets of eyeballs dropped to the floor. One friend told him that we simply couldn’t move there. Apparently it was one of the roughest parts of the city, lots of gang activity, crime and all that fun stuff. So we were back to square one . . .
Fortunately the friend that told us we couldn’t move there sent us a link to a building complex. So we set an appointment to check it out. It was quaint, safe, had a mall right there with all the necessities and once again on the bus route - we took it on the spot. As we got in the car to drive home we both felt a huge sense of relief and excitement that we finally found our new home, but then I began to notice something . . . there were a lot of people with walkers, canes and white hair roaming the sidewalks. After the fifth or sixth one I thought to myself ‘Oh dear, what have we done?’
The first semester I was in school we fixed up the house as I went to school full time, worked every waking moment I wasn’t studying, Wally completed his first co-op. I remember this being one of the most stressful times for us. We knew that we had only two months from the completion of my first semester to get the house sold (and hopefully get what we were asking for in the process - by the time that semester was over we only had enough money to get us through 2 months and after that we didn’t know how we were going to live). The house went on the market on a Monday (a week after I was done) and sold the Friday, for only $1900 under our asking price. Whew!! We had 3 weeks to find a new place and move out.
Just to give a bit of context to the situation I have to tell you that Wally and I had pretty much lived in the same place all our lives. The town we were in only had a population of around 2000 people, and the city we were moving to had a population over 350 000. A big change for us - to say the least! We had never lived in an apartment building, taken a city bus, done much city driving, or lived over an hour away from our parents (my parents lived 2 blocks away). We were infants to this new world we were entering. However we did it anyway.
We didn’t even know where to start looking for a place to live. We had heard a few things but not enough to really know where was a good area and where wasn’t. We soon found out. We checked out a couple of places and settled on one. The rent was decent, the apartment nice, it was on a bus route, and it had a dog park close by (he have 2 pooches), what more could we want? We had all the paper work signed and ready to go in to accept the place. Wally was going to drop it off on the way home from school that day. At lunch he mentioned to his school pals the place we’d be moving to. 4 sets of eyeballs dropped to the floor. One friend told him that we simply couldn’t move there. Apparently it was one of the roughest parts of the city, lots of gang activity, crime and all that fun stuff. So we were back to square one . . .
Fortunately the friend that told us we couldn’t move there sent us a link to a building complex. So we set an appointment to check it out. It was quaint, safe, had a mall right there with all the necessities and once again on the bus route - we took it on the spot. As we got in the car to drive home we both felt a huge sense of relief and excitement that we finally found our new home, but then I began to notice something . . . there were a lot of people with walkers, canes and white hair roaming the sidewalks. After the fifth or sixth one I thought to myself ‘Oh dear, what have we done?’
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