Posted by Leigh on October 27, 2008
I ran across an inspiring blog post this afternoon when I got home, and I just wanted to draw some attention to it.
The First Day of Your Life by Chris Guillebeau
Here’s something to consider:
Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
You’ve heard that before, right? Maybe it’s like Time Is Money – something we nod our heads to before we get back to all the stuff we have to do.
Hearing that today is a new, unique day at the beginning of a new week naturally implies both good news and bad news. In the spirit of realistic optimism, we’ll take the bad news first.
Bad News: You’ll never get today back. Once it’s gone, that’s it. On to tomorrow.
Good News: Right now, the day (and the whole week) is ahead of you. The choice is up to you: spend your time doing things that are unimportant or uninteresting to you, or spend it on things that move you closer to who and where you want to be.
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When we’re children our days are spent playing and having fun, always being warned by adults that some day we will have to grow up. We use our imaginations and spend time doing anything that intrigues us.
As we get older, our imaginations seem to wane a bit and we are overcome with responsibilities, the time to have fun and play seems to be over. The days rush past in a blur of to do lists, meetings and bill paying, we forget to take the time to stop and smell the roses.
As adults, we need to take back our lives and find the time for fun. Step back and look at how you spend your days and cut out all the things that are unnecessary. Spend more time with your family, especially the children and the elderly. Sometimes putting things off leaves you with regrets. The kids grow up so fast that it seems suddenly you turn around and your baby is a teenager, then an adult. The elderly, your parents and grandparents won’t always be around. I regret nothing in life so much as missing a last visit with my grandfather before he died in June. We knew he was getting bad, but I kept putting it off saying I would take the kids to see him on Saturday instead, he died Thursday. I knew how he loved to have the kids visit him, my last visit a month before he died was the one thing he talked about all those weeks spent in the hospital, he told everyone about it. (I was the only grandchild that took the time to take my children in to see him - a man with 18 grand kids, 28 great-grand kids, and even a few great-greats.)
Some things shouldn’t be put on hold, no matter how busy your professional life is. No one ever died wishing they had spent more time at work!
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Posted by Leigh on September 24, 2008
My maternal grandfather, Grandpa John, was self-employed. He first owned a construction company that specialized in steel building construction, then when my mother, his daughter, married my father, Grandpa handed over the construction part of the company to him. Grandpa then just did excavating, that’s all I ever remember him doing, as the construction company turned into my father’s the year I was born.
It was always Grandpa on his dozer, he was the most sought after excavator in the area. I remember a time when I worked at the local gas station/deli, I was in high school at the time, and I over heard these two guys talking. One was looking for someone to put in a basement and a new driveway for him, and the other guy told him that he needed to get John R. out there to do it, because he was the best there was. I, of course, had to put in my two cents and agree with the guy, stating that yes John was the best, and he was also my Grandpa. Grandpa did end up doing that basement. I don’t think I had ever been more proud than to be a part of my family at that time. Everyone and respected knew Grandpa John.
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Posted by Leigh on September 10, 2008
My father got me out of bed last night because he couldn’t sleep. Luckily I wasn’t sleeping either, but reading instead. (I find I sleep very little since we moved in here.)
He wanted to know what happened to me. “You used to be such a fighter. That’s how you got your reputation as the family bitch.”
He’s right. I am the family bitch. (Pardon my language, but there really isn’t a better word for it.)
I know I’ve referred to myself as the black sheep of the family on the blog before and it’s true. I was never one to follow the pack. I’m the middle child, the middle of three daughters. My older sister is five years older than me, and when she was informed she was getting a baby sister, she told my parents she’d rather have a puppy. She was spoiled rotten, as the only grandchild at the time, and they all lived with my grandparents and my uncle and his former wife. Six adults and one child in a house makes for a spoiled child.
My parents got their first home just months before I was born, so not only had my sister lost the constant attention of four other adults, she had to deal with a new baby sister taking her place also. So from the time I was born, I had to be a fighter.
By the time my younger sister came along, when I was just three, my older sister and I had never gotten along. But she was ready for the new baby, she was allowed to help take care of it, while I wasn’t. It was about then, so my parents tell me, that I started getting into trouble.
I never took it out on the new baby, my younger sister, but always went after my older sister instead. I was “the problem child”. The one that wouldn’t listen, that talked back and always did my own thing. Not that this was a bad thing, at least in my opinion. It made me who I am today.
Growing up I probably felt dad’s belt across my backside three times as much as either of my sisters. I got to the point where I’d just tell him to smack me, because I wasn’t going to do what he asked me to. So I took the paddling, and then did what I wasn’t supposed to, and took another paddling for it.
By the time I was five, I had probably had more stitches, than most people ever get, usually doing something I shouldn’t have been doing. I was also the one that caused the most damage.
I was seven when I shoved my older sister, who was twelve at the time, through a glass door. She may have gotten the stitches that time, but I think my butt was more sore than hers when dad was done.
I should also mention that I was the smallest of us three girls, not height wise, as I’m actually the tallest now, but weight wise. (We pick on each other now, my older sister got the good hair, I got the good body, and my younger sister got the good job… Together we’d make the perfect woman.) Anyways, I was a scrawny little “stick child”, while both of my sisters were stocky in build. It may have been a disadvantage when we were younger, but now I’m envied for it.
Over the years, I caused lots of injuries to mostly my older sister. When we both became teenagers, Dad quit trying to referee our fights and got to the point where he’d just let us fight it out. As we were girls it usually came down to lots of teeth marks and pulling hair. I did blacken her eyes quite a few times though, but her teeth seemed to be sharper than mine…. lol…
When I was sixteen, and my older sister finally moved out of my parents house, the fighting between me and my younger sister picked up. She ended up with a few stitches and even a few broken bones. My favorite episode being when I broke three of her fingers, because she woke me up. Mom had told her to wake me one afternoon because I had to work, but she woke me by lifting my head off the pillow by my pony tale. I don’t think she ever touched me again after that, not that I can blame her. It’s really hard to get along when you have two broken fingers on one hand and one on the other.
Then after my I married my first husband, I had to be a fighter to survive. Only he taught me to fight better, not by teaching me, but by me having to defend myself and my young son. But as I’ve grown up, my penchant for violence has diminished, I’ve learned that words can work better than fists, but well, they’re always there for back-up just in case.
I was the first daughter to ever stand up to our sometimes over-controlling father. I’ve put my dad in his place a few times over the years. But I’m also the closest one to him, probably because I’m the most like him. (Although, I’ve never hit my kids.)
I finally defeated my first husband with words, not fists, and got out of that relationship. Only to have him force himself back into my life. It took a few more years before I got rid of him totally, but again it wasn’t done with violence, although sometimes I think it should have been.
Over the years I’ve used my fighting attitude to get things done my way many times. Even my current husband can’t one up me when I set my mind to it, although he is a cunning guy. Sometimes I get into fierce debates just for fun, usually when I’m bored out of my mind.
Okay, so to get to the point of this post….
On Friday when this latest mess started, the fight kind of went out of me. I had it stuck in my mind that I had to be nice to these people because the fate of my family rested in their hands. It’s wasn’t just me on the line anymore, but my husband and children also.
Last night’s little talk with my father put things back into perspective to me. He told me to quit feeling sorry for myself and to come out swinging! And he’s right!
The fate of my family and my house, doesn’t rest with these idiots, the dealership, the mortgage brokers or any of the rest. It rests with me. So why was I being nice and trying not to step on anyone’s toes, when I should have come out swinging then. I’ve never been one to wait around while other people decided my fate, I’ve always made my own path.
So “No more Mr. (or Mrs.) Nice Guy”, it’s time that we do things my way! And right now, I feel for the first poor soul to tell me it can’t be done! I’m just waiting for the phone to ring now, not nervously as yesterday. But anxiously!
You may not be able to catch as many flies with vinegar as with honey, but who wants to catch flies anyway? I just want my house back, and at this point in time, I don’t care how many toes I step on. Things are going to get done, instead of just talking about them getting done!
I guess we all sometimes lose ourselves when things like this happen, but we’ve just got to look back and remember who we are! If I can play Russian roulette with an angry drunk (my first husband) and come out on top, these bankers and business men don’t stand a chance - do they? Only no guns will be needed this time, as word can cut just as sharply, especailly when it comes to reputations!
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Posted by Leigh on August 18, 2008
It happens to the best of us as we age, suddenly we find ourselves acting more and more like our parents. The same words start spewing forth out of our mouths, the same mannerisms, lots of similarities.
But not everything we do is like our parents. Back when I was growing up my parents planned out everything! A day at the local amusement park took a month of planning, first tickets had to be ordered by mail to get a few bucks discount, then you had to have a trip ticket draw up by Triple A, to avoid all road construction. And on the day of the planned outing everyone was up at 6am packing and getting ready. It always made the trip seem like something extra special, even though it was the same park we went to yearly.
This is where Russ and I differ, from my family at least. On Saturday night we decided to take Ariana to an amusement park (David ended up going to the beach with my parents afterall). We got online and looked up a few of the local (western Pennsylvania) parks, we check prices and park hours and narrowed our choices down to two, Delgrosso’s Amusement Park in Tipton, PA or Idlewild Park in Ligoneer, PA.
Yesterday morning we woke up at 9am and decided to get ready to go. We decided on Delgrosso’s as it’s closer and a smaller park - thus a shorter day. We got ready, gathered up what we needed, and suddenly changed our minds. We checked two more parks on the internet, eastern PA parks and quickly dismissed them, as we had no “puppy sitter”. And decided once again that Delgrosso’s was our destination. We put the dogs in the garden shed with all their toys, beds and all that, their little home away from home. (and it keeps them from having to be in their kennels all day.
Then we set off. About 30 minutes into our drive, we changed our destination and headed for Ligoneer, and Idlewild Park, not quite two hours from home. No map, no directions, just our (hopefully good) memories of the last time we drove down there.
We got lost. Well, not really, we just had a disagreement over whether we needed 30 west or east. Russ choose, but he choose wrong. Good thing we have smart phones, as a quick look up of the park website gave us a map and we got back on track.
We reached the park at 1pm, my mom would have had a fit had it been a trip she planned. All my life, we’ve always been the ones waiting in line for the park to open. But we were fine with it, we skipped around the park from one end to the other, letting our daughter pick our path and what she wanted to do. Another thing my mom wouldn’t have been able to handle. She always had a route planned so that we got to see everything in the park in our alloted time. But her routes always left everyone exhausted halfway through the day because it was rush, rush, rush…
We had planned to leave at 6pm, but Ariana wasn’t ready, so six came and went, and we kept on riding. Well, at least until Ari drug me on ‘the spider’ right after eating a big bowl of ice cream. That put me out of riding shape after that, and as Russ doesn’t ride anything that goes in circles, 90% of the rides were out of the question. So we let her pick one more place to go (luckily, it was the ball pit in Jumpin Jungle) and we headed there. It was almost time for the park to close, so she played around until they shut it down and then we headed out.
We missed our turn off once again. Something that would have had my parents driving in circles until they found the road they were looking for, but no big deal for us. We were on route 66, we knew where it ended up so we stuck with it. Then as we saw signs for things that were closer to us, we changed routes and just went with it. Which ironically got us home in under an hour and a half, when it had taken us over 2 hours to get there. But then this is how Russ and I have always traveled. We never have a set plan, or a map route marked out. We just get in the car and drive, hoping for the best.
So I guess as far as traveling goes, we will never turn into my parents. Now if only my father’s voice would stop coming out of my mouth when I’m yelling at my children!
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