The great loss of something so wonderful...

I've been working with teenagers for 15 years. About a month ago I found out that one of the teens I worked with had died from a drug overdose. He died in 2006 but I hadn't heard until now. I was struck with an intense sadness. Two weeks later a former student of mine committed suicide. He was 21 and had struggled with a crack addiction for most of his young adult life. It makes me so sad. I'm so sad at the lost potential of who these young men were and what they were becoming. When I walk into a classroom at the being of a school year I am excited to meet each of my students. In a year we spend a lot of time together and we learn a lot about each other and I love them. I love the rawness of who they are; the emotions, the creativity, the humor and the glimpse of who they are going be as adults. When I think of these two boys I remember them and the potiential I saw in them. What a loss. It's so sad that they will never reach the full potential of who they were. The drugs dragged them down and ruined them.

I'm saddened even more when I realize the struggle they both had. I believe Ky committed suicide because he wanted to break free of the drugs and he couldn't. His addiction ultimately beat him down. I can't even imagine the struggle. Both of these boys were always trying to get it right with themselves, with God and those around them.

Recently one of my neighbors caught her husband having an affair. Again I am struck by the brokeness of people and it makes me sad. I am sad for her and her family but I mostly sad for her husband. I am sad because he also struggles, like the boys, making a bad decision that ultimately has long term consquences. He is still living and breathing but I would bet anything he is as broken hearted as the two boys.

All these things remind me of the love God has for us and the patience. I sit here crying for these people and their brokeness; saddened by the lost potiential of who these people could be and I wonder how great is the love God has for us that He know how broken we all are. He knows our struggles and He patiently waits for us to come around. How sad He must be when we don't reach our full potential.

My husband loves a good joke... or what he perceives is a good joke. Every night he climbs into bed before me and plants himself in the middle of the bed. Every night I climb in and say "Can you move over a little bit?" Every night he responds by extending his arm until its hanging over the edge of the bed and says "What? I'm hanging off the edge" Every Night.

One night I respond with "This isn't funny anymore. We have been married for over 8 years and just for fun lets say there are 300 days in the year. That means I have heard this joke about 2400 times. It's not funny anymore."

Him - "I'm aiming for 10000" HA HA HA

This is my husband. The man who puts the kids toys under my pillow at night before I come to bed. I've even found a few between the sheet and bed. So I should have known...

Yesterday he calls me from work and asks what is a mill. Mill... a unit of measurement? A place that grounds wheat into flour? No... MIL. Somebody read my blog. Somebody who has been asked numerous times if he read my blog finally did. "Are you mad?" NO. "What did you think?" NOTHING.

Should have known...

I had a roast in the crockpot when he got home. "Would you like me to check the roast? Don't want to dry it out. It will keep cooking if we turn it off. Look at the thermometer it's close lets take it out..." On and On and On...nope not mad... full of one liners and ready to milk it dry...

just like all the other jokes...

How done is done

When you get married you both bring different customs and practices to the marriage and sometimes they clash. This became blatantly clear when I watched my MIL clean the kitchen floor with the dish rag and put it back in the sink. My Mother would skin my hide if I did that. Most of those things are resolved in the first couple years of marriage but there are always a few differences that linger. If they linger long enough they become issues.



We have an issue with cooking meat in our house which was clearly illustrated a couple of Christmas' ago. Both my parents and my husbands Mom were here to celebrate. My Mom and I had spent the day carefully preparing the turkey. Everything was taken into consideration; how long to thaw it out, how heavy was it, how long would it need to cook and when did we want to eat etc. The potatoes are finished. The gravy made. The vegetables are done and the salad is on the table. The turkey is checked... by my MIL and husband. They took the turkey out earlier then my Mom and I had planned. The meat thermometer had not reached the poultry finished line; it was close but not there. My Mom did not believe the turkey was done and the cooking time and meat thermometer supported her position. She left the room visible upset. However, that turkey came out and was eaten. We survived but it shows the different backgrounds we come from. My family... wait until the thermometer gets there... don't take any chances... it's better dry than under cooked. His family... you don't want to over cook... it will keep cooking even after you take it off the heat... close it good enough... if the rest of the meal is ready the meat is done.

Another thanksgiving we are at my husbands Aunts. The whole family is there and they ask my husband to carve the Turkey. As he cuts into it he realizes the turkey isn't done. Like really isn't done. It's bright pink on the inside. Still slimy. Most people would have put it back in the oven. Not his family. They (my husband) cut off the parts that look done and served it up. Even if I hadn't been pregnant and experiencing some morning sickness I wouldn't have eaten that turkey. Hello- its still raw! I made darn sure Grandma didn't put any of it on my daughter's plate too. She looked at me strange but that's pretty usual.

This particular difference has become an issue. I don't know how many times I have cut into a piece of BBQ to see... not cooked enough... pink chicken or especially pork... still fleshy and put it into the microwave. He even likes his french fries a little on the undercooked side and he gets so offended when I say anything or microwave things. He once told me that he wouldn't cook anymore, after I suggested he ask for a second opinion before he declares something done. That's great! So my options are eat raw meat or do all the cooking.

If I had only known I needed to get food poisoning once to stop the arguments. Things have been a little different since early this summer. We were camping with his mom (who always takes his side on this. "I like mine a little on the rare side" and always seems to be around when it happens. ) and my husband starts cooking up the bacon. Within hours we are all pooping. Thank goodness the girls never ate any. They also didn't eat any potato chips the night before but food poisoning from potato chips sounds a little weak when there is bacon involved. We come home and poop. Three days of pooping with a combined weight loss of 15ish pounds and we know it's food poisoning. The chills and stomach craps. No more said. The doctor confirms it and gives us meds.

A couple days later we are good until... the BBQ starts again at you guessed it... at the MIL's. He hands me a piece of pork saying "This one is cooked the most."

I cut in and there it is... undercooked pork chops... still fleshy... still bleeding... alot. I say "This isn't done."

MIL says "I'll trade maybe there is another one that is done more. I like mine on the rare side."

Husband "I'll put it back on the BBQ"

What? Trade? Back on the BBQ? Never in all my years of marriage has either of these options been available. Gone is the defensiveness in it's place I have accommodation. Finally!
When I go to a restaurant I am asked "How would you like it done?" Somehow my preferences at home were never really acknowledged; until food poisoning. My answer has never changed and never will change. "I would like it cooked, please... No not kicking... Cooked." and I may just start getting it that way.

RUDE

A few months ago my daughter and I were leaving the public library and she noticed a teenager with a very large affro sitting by the door.

"Mommy, he has big hair!!!"

A couple of months ago we were in Ikea and she noticed a wheelchair and asked what it was. The elderly couple stopped shopping to show her how it worked and explain what it was for. They were very gracious with their time and explanation.

My oldest daughter is old enough to notice differences and sometimes comments. These comments are innocent observations that sometimes carry some awkwardness.

Recently I made a comment that was tackless and she repeated it. I was told that I was teaching my daughter to be rude. I took great offense to the accusation so lets talk about rude.

Yes, I was rude in front of my daughter. I told a family member they needed a shower. I was tackless by saying it in front of other family members including my daughter. I regret saying it in front of everyone and I would hesitate to repeat the scenario. However, this person needed a shower and was getting on a plane shortly.

What is rude?

Is it more rude to tell someone they need a shower or knowing refuse to shower leaving the lingering BO smell behind you for everyone to enjoy?

Is it more rude to lay down in the guest room for a nap during the day or fail to stay awake in the living room and end up sleeping on the couch snoring all day?

Is it more rude to sleep in the living room snoring loudly for hours on end or watch TV beside someone who is trying to sleep?

I honestly don't know if this person planned to shower that morning or not. Eventually they did and I don't know if I influenced that choice or not. I do know I should have kept my mouth shut or at least exercised more tack.

I'm sure this individuals perception of the weekend is different that mine. From my point of view it was rude to consider flying on a plane with lingering BO. It was rude to sleep on the couch and chair for hours on end in a common room snoring so loudly that people could not hear the conversation or TV. It was rude to tell me how to parent my child. From their point of view, it was rude of me to comment on their hygiene, especially in front of others. It was rude of me to allow my children to listen to music while they were trying to sleep and it was rude of me to turn the TV up so I could hear it over the snoring.

So what is rude? Is there a degree of rudeness and who gets to decide?

7 degrees of seperation

There are events in our lives that make time stop; sometimes its just for a second. These events aren't always tragic but many of us can remember where we were when we heard about JFK's assassination, the Berlin Wall coming down, Columbine, 911. I don't remember JFK's assassination but I do remember watching the news about the wall and I remember coming home from work and being horrified as I watched live news coverage of kids fleeing from their school. I remember driving to school to coach volleyball and hearing about a plane flying into the north tower. I remember thinking that is must have been a little plane that lost control then hearing the rest of the story after volleyball practice in the staff room. I remember watching the replays on TV. I remember these events; I remember where I was, what I was doing and I remember the feelings I felt. These events were significant. I am saddened for the families even though I didn't know them.

Recently in Calgary there was a horrible murder-suicide. 5 people were killed; 2 of them were children. There was one survivor; a little girl who is the same age and shares the same name as my youngest daughter. When the investigation was done, it was concluded that the father was responsible. Why? Why would someone do that to their own family? I remember where I was when I heard. I remember what I felt and thought. I remember grieving for the grandparents and the little girl. I remember thinking about the last moments this family experienced.

I also remember calling my friend and learning that this family, the one in the paper, was closely associated with my friends. I didn't know the Lall family but I do know people that did. Suddenly the horrific events happened are only 2 degrees of seperation from me. They had friends and family who loved them. My friends have pictures of them in their childhood albums sitting around the table. They have pictures of their families together, 3 generations, sitting on the front lawn enjoying an evening together.

When you hear something like this on the news you are disturbed, shaken, saddened. You are also removed. When you know someone who knew the family, you are disturbed, shaken and saddened on a whole new level. But when you knew the Lalls you grieve. You remember a lifetime of who they were and how they were a part of your life.

My heart goes out to my friends... who have lost their friends.