Someday I'll think of you without crying....

     Time seems to go buy so fast but sometimes it feels as if things just happened yesterday.  The emotions are still raw, your chest still clenches when you think about it, and the tears still come even though by now you should be able to get a grip.
     Today marks the anniversary of the untimely death of my good friend Chris.  It has been one year since Dave called me to let me know that his best friend had passed away while on vacation with his family.  The numbing pain as I hung up the phone and immediately called his wife still sits in my chest when I think about it.  The utter feeling of helplessness when I called her hundreds of miles away to ask "what can I do for you".  All she said was "Get here" and we went. We went to be with Michelle and their four children but we really couldn't help, we couldn't do anything except grieve with her. 
    I'm trying to think of what I want to write about Chris.  I've been thinking about it for weeks, months even.  Chris was an amazing guy.  He was goofy and fun but could also frustrate the hell out of you.  He was kind, so incredibly kind.  He is an amazing dad.  I cannot write this in the past tense because he has four incredible kids who carry on his legacy.  They are caring, wonderful kids who have shown such strength and resilience in such a difficult time.  Chris is a hands on dad, his whole world revolved around his family.  It wasn't always easy for Chris to be there for his family, seeing how he worked retail and the hours can be exhausting.  He tried, he tried and cared more than so many other fathers out there.  I guess this is one of the reasons why his death is so hard.  How can you not be angry when this loving dad is ripped from his family while so many other horrible, abusive people still breath.   I see Chris in his kids' faces.  I know he is with them and I know the short time they had with him gave them the love and guidance they need to make the world a better place.
    Chris married his high school sweetheart, Michelle.  Not many people can say that, not many people can say that and still love that person more than anything else in the world.  Chris could drive Michelle nuts, frustrate her, and on more than one occasion she would just look at me and shake her head and roll her eyes.  Most of the time Dave was right there with him causing me to shake my head as well.  I always laugh when I think about us calling each other to commiserate when our husbands were sick.  Making jokes on their behalves while they suffered through colds or some other ailment.   Above all this, she loved him.  She loves him so much.  He is her heart and soul.  She talks to him all the time on Facebook.  It is a comfort to her, to share her thoughts with him.  To communicate with him in a method that he was always communicating to everyone on.  I read her posts and I cry.  I cry for her pain and sadness.  I cry because I can't help her.  I cannot fix what is wrong.  I cannot make it better.  Sometimes I feel as if I'm an intruder listening in on an intimate moment between two people while I'm hundreds of miles away.
    Chris is the first close friend I have lost.  His death brings a lot of guilt to me.  We moved away 14 years ago.  We left Massachusetts to go South to escape the cold.  It had been two years since I had seen Chris when he died.  I remember the time so vividly as he held me up and supported me while I lost it at my grandmother's funeral.  I didn't know two years later I would lose my shit again at his wake and service.  I feel guilty because it had been so long since we had seen each other.  I feel guilty because I separated my husband from his best friend when we moved.  I feel guilty because maybe I wasn't as good as a friend as Chris deserved.
    Chris's death has brought fear into my life.  Fear that the same thing could happen to my husband.  That for some unforeseen reason some day Dave will be gone and I'll be alone. Since we lost Chris, I watch Dave closely.  I scrutinize his every movement making sure he is alright.  I wake up at night and watch him, guard him in his sleep just to make sure nothing will happen to him.  I'm not strong like Michelle.  I don't think I could handle what she has had to handle.   Fear that Chris is bored and he'll have Dave come join him so they can  "kick around some ideas" together.  Hell, I'm afraid to let Dave wear purple because I know how much Chris loved it.  Fear that it could happen to me.  I'm 41 and overweight.  Since Chris died every time I get a twinge in my arm or chest I now have a moment of panic.  I think about how heart attacks in women are often silent and I have a panic attack just thinking of the idea what was once a possibility for all of us became a reality for a friend.
     I suppose I'm angry still.  Angry that he is gone, angry that people I love are suffering because he is gone.  Angry that I'm a nervous wreck about my own husband because Chris is gone.  I remember sitting in the church at Chris's funeral.  I looked up and I thought "You took him God, are you happy now?  Do you feel good about this?"  I was so angry, I couldn't get down on my knees and pray.  Asking God to take care of him.  Chris is an incredible person, we shouldn't have to ask.  You better be taking care of him. 
     Of course I am sad.  I still cry all the time.  I cry more for Michelle and the kids.  I cry for what they have to go through.  I'm sad because I miss him too.  I'm sad for Dave who lost someone who was more of a brother than a friend.  Someone who was closer to him that most families are.  There are things that make me think of Chris and out of no where I'll shed some tears.  Like not too long ago in the middle of a Guster concert I start crying because we had all gone to see them together years before.  I got all weepy playing Trivial Pursuit the other day. I have never had anyone compete against me like Chris in a game.  I don't know if I ever will.  If it hadn't been for my desire to squash his bragging in a game of Trivial Pursuit I don't think I would have gotten to know Dave as well on the night we met.  Yes the urge to beat down Chris in a board game led the way to the love of my life.
     Most of all I'm grateful.  I'm grateful to have been able to call Christian Madeiros one of my best friends for almost 20 years.  I'm grateful for Chris to have given me Michelle as one of my dearest friends in the world.  It has been my lot in life to have friends filter in and out.  I don't know why it just happens.  Somehow these two have always been there.  For some reason they saw that I was a friend worth having and they stuck around.  For that I am eternally grateful.  I hope I can continue to be the friend Michelle needs and deserves.  I am grateful for all the fun memories that we were able to make in such a short time.  I even forgive you for not mentioning me at all in the best man speech at my wedding.  I know your spirit is still with Michelle and the kids.  I know you will always be there to guide and support them.  I know everyone who has met you and loved you holds you close in their hearts forever.  I know someday it will be easier to think of you and not bawl my eyes out.  I suppose someday I'll let go of the guilt, fear, and anger.  I know for sure that I am eternally grateful to have had you in my life and the world is a better place because you were in it.

Yes Virginia There Still Is a Santa Claus.

     I love Christmas.  I really do, I love the spirit of the season.  Peace, love, goodwill to man, and all that holiday cheer that goes with it.  I love the squeals of delight my kids let out when they come downstairs and see the presents under the tree.  I love the spark that lights up a child's eye when he sees Santa and gets to say "Hello".  Yep, I love it.  I should say I loved it.  I found this year I cringed a little bit each time the big guy from the North Pole got brought up by my ten year old son.
Why?  Why would a mother who does not want her kids to grow up too fast cringe when she hears her kids talk about Santa?    The answer is easy, not simple but easy.  I fear the up most devastation and loss my son will feel when he finds out he has been believing in a lie.  A lie I have told him and encouraged for the past ten years.
     Xander at ten years old, in the fifth grade still believes in Santa.  I mean REALLY believes.  Unwavering devotion, never questioning his existence.  He believes in Santa, the way a holy man believes in God.  There is no question, he is there, he is watching, and if I'm good he will provide.
I always figured he would sort it all out.  One day he would catch on to the bags in the closet, the paper in the garage, the boxes from Amazon taking over the house, and just put two and two together.  Isn't that what we all did?  We just kind of questioned it and asked.  I remember my mom telling me Santa was alive in our hearts and imaginations.  It was good.  I'm going to use it too, if I'm ever asked.
     There in lies the problem.  I've never been asked if Santa is real.  He just is, there is no need to ask.  I remember a few years ago we were having a frozen yogurt outside at a cafe.  The man who plays the mall Santa walked by with a clipboard in hand.  Now this guy was good, real beard, real rosy cheeks, straight up Santa.  The kids were so excited to see him with his list, checking on the kids in the area.  Of course Santa exists, we saw him when it wasn't even Christmas time.
     This year I realized how strong my son's devotion to the all mighty Santa was early in the holiday season.  He was crying about a C on a progress report.  I assumed he was upset because his teacher mom does not tolerate Cs.  Um, no.  He looked up at me tears running down his cheeks, "Mom, I'm going to be on the naughty list."  "What, wait, that's why you are crying? The naughty list?"  "Yes"  Well crap.  Looks like I need to lay off the pressure on grades a little bit and work on getting my son a reality slap.  I suppose I don't want him to get a slap.  Maybe just a poke.  I bring my concerns to my friends at work, some think its sweet, and then ones gives me a reality slap of "When he finds out the truth, he will be crushed and devastated."   "Thank you, that made me feel so much better"
     I can't go to Pinterest and find one of the cutesy letters to leave your child about who Santa really is.  Why can't I?  He's never asked if he is real.  He's never questioned it.  When he was first diagnosed with ADHD, I was told he exhibits "Cognitive Rigidity".  A firm mindset, a stubborn streak, a rigid way of thinking.  I guess this translates into a strong commitment to the man in the big red suit.
     When I think of all the fantasy characters our children grow up believing in, the one I wanted to dump first was the Easter Bunny.  I mean in my brain he just does not make sense or have anything thing to do with the season at hand.   A giant rabbit hopping around hiding plastic eggs and leaving baskets of foil wrapped candy.  At least Santa has a sleigh, and the tooth fairy has wings.  This fuzzy bunny has to make it around the world on just two feet.   Then I figured if I let that one go, the others would all go too and I just wasn't ready for that to happen.  It seems to me when you let go of Santa you let go of part of your childhood.  You let go of that blind faith in something.  To quote Josh Groban's magical holiday song Believe, "You'll have everything you need, if you just believe."  The song always makes me cry, just from the sheer beauty of the idea.  I want my kids to have everything they need.  The guilt trip isn't helping Josh Groban.
     My son is a very serious little guy, but at the same time very immature.  He is going to go off to Middle School next year and I worry about how he will manage.  Middle School is a wasteland of preteen emotions and hormonal confusion.  I know, I've taught 7th grade for 8 years.  I worry how my children will manage in this unforgiving destination.  This worry hit me over the head, every time I heard him say "Its okay Santa will make it in his workshop".   At first I just cringed a little each time. Then my imagination of what will happen to him if older nonbeliever mean kids get a hold of him.  I thought maybe I need to help him, save him from the devastation.   I started dropping clues to maybe insert a little doubt into his withstanding belief.  "Well I don't think elves build electronics or licensed Disney characters"  "I think they may have copyrights."  Yes I used copyright law as a method of doubt.  Scary thing is, it made sense to him.  I would have to buy those presents so Santa doesn't get sued.  I kid you not, he is worried about Santa getting sued for copyright infringement.
     There have been times over the years when my kids have wanted random things that are not easy to get.  For example Japanese import video games.  Thinking, if you can look up the existence of a limited edition Japanese import of a Kirby game, you would be able to question the logistics of Santa.
      I admit I have always encouraged my kids to stand up for what they believe in.  To enjoy life, and keep that sense of wonder with them.  I hate that they are growing older and that sense of wonder will diminish.  I hate that I feel like my child will feel devastated when he learns the truth.  On the same hand I don't want him to be the only 11 year old in 6th grade waiting up for the tooth fairy and writing letters to Santa.    I think one of my biggest issues with this situation is my own feeling of total hypocrisy.  I want them to stand up for their beliefs but not their fantasies?    I want them to enjoy their childhood but end part of their imagination.  How can I have both? How can I take away joy and want them to have it at the same time?
     This year I figured I needed to do a couple things to maybe shake up the beliefs without it resulting in total devastation or me yelling from the rooftop "I'm a bad mother I've been lying to you for years."  It was like my own secret operation to make it easier for me to deliver a reality slap.  I needed them to meet me halfway in this.  Give me the opportunity for my Santa is in the hearts of all children speech.
     At first I was subtle I didn't mention writing letters to Santa, I requested Christmas lists for the kids to share with their grandparents.  Good job.  Subtle, right?  Then Xander came with the envelope and asked me how many stamps he needs to mail his list to Santa .  He wrote it out twice so Grammy and Santa could have a copy.  Maddie didn't send one, she figured he would get Xander's and come here with stuff for her anyways.  Okay more aggressive measures are needed.  I left all the wrapping paper I was going to use in the back of the car.  They would see it and put two and two together.    I didn't disguise my handwriting on the tags on the packages.  Surely at 9 and 10 my kids know my handwriting by now.  I mentioned stocking stuffers more than once to people around me in casual conversation, thinking little ears would pick up on the topic.   I even pulled the money card.   "Your aunt makes more money than I do, that's why your cousins get more presents.  I cannot afford to buy everything on your list. "  Still the subject was a moot point.
     Christmas morning we were unwrapping all of our presents.  I was holding my breath waiting for the question that never came.  The wrapping paper went unnoticed, the tags were not even a blip on the radar.  Even when my husband said, I didn't put any candy in your stocking because you asked me not to, nothing was said.  My children were blissfully ignorant to all of my scheming.
     I give up.  I will let them live in this state of blissful ignorance.  I suppose there is nothing really wrong with it after all.  They are happy.  They love Christmas and all the magic of the holiday season.  They still believe if you are a good person, good things will come to you.  I hope they never stop believing in that one.  You win Santa.  You can stick around.  You can take call the credit for me running around like a madwoman every holiday season looking for that random toy that Maddie wants and no one has, you can be the bringer of candy and junk that I try to limit in the house.  You can still be part of the reason for the season.  Maybe my life will be less stressful if I believe in imagination and wonder just a little bit more.
     One final note, watch out Easter Bunny.  I'm gunning for you this spring, your eggs are numbered.

There has to be a way.....

I suppose there has to be a way.  I'm not entirely sure of the way.  Seeing I have been trying to 15 years I don't think that I know what way is up any more, or for my case down.  Yes, I am talking about the never ending battle to try to lose weight. I'm sure people are tired of hearing me whine about it and then catch me eating chocolate two days later.  Heck I know many more people are struggling with issues far greater than having to buy clothes in the WOMEN'S section.  I guess my problem really became a frightening realization a few weeks ago when a doctor told me people with a BMI or higher only have a 35% chance of living to 65 years old.  Um, what!!!!  So basically if I don't get myself under control I won't live to be the age of my mom.  Holy shit, I mean holy fucking shit is that a scary thing to hear.  You would think after hearing that I would run straight to the treadmill.  I didn't.  I think I might have run straight to the ice cream.  
So why is it that I am my own worst enemy when it comes to taking care of myself?  Why is it that I know I should stay away from sweets but I eat them with pure enjoyment?  Why is it that I know I should go to the gym more but yet I lost my sneakers for a week? 
People will take you the secret to weight loss is simple, "eat less move more".  If it was that simple why are so many people overweight?  The thing that most people don't realize is that when you are lugging around an extra 75 pounds moving more isn't easy.  In fact it hurts like hell. It just aches.  I cannot really describe it except to say when I see someone running on prosthesis or learning how to walk again I cannot help feel like a big cry baby.  I mean seriously why can't I do this?  I watch my dad struggle to breathe when he walks and can he can barely move.  I have no idea how the man manages to tie his shoes.  I watch him plan his day around his next meal and the only activities he enjoys focus around food.  I am disgusted and horrified with his behavior of throwing it all away rather than take control of his diabetes but yet don't I do the same thing?
I feel like I've been trying to lose weight for 15 years but I feel like I've been stopping myself from being successful just as long.  In 2001 I earned a Master's of Education in Health Promotion.  I'm literally a master in health.  I should be skinny.  I should be healthy.  Instead I'm confused.  I am so confused about what is the way to go to achieve health.  Do I banish sugar from my life?  Do I take anything made with wheat and throw it to the birds?  Do I pound down shakes three meals a day and lose my sanity?  Do I join Weight Watchers for the 11th time since I was 19 years old?  Clapping at people getting to goal while secretly wishing they would burst into flames.  Yeah best to stay away from that one.  Do I resort to taking medication to kill my appetite?  Medication where a side effect is hallucinations.  Hmm maybe I'll see cupcakes chasing me and I'll run from them.  Nah the truth is I'd chase them down and win.  Do I resort to weight loss surgery?  Do I put my life at risk under anesthesia because I can't put down the cookies?  Scary huh?  I am actually considering it.  I went to a session on bariatric surgery.  I wasn't turned away.  I was welcomed.  I'm actually considered a candidate.  Again, holy fuck how did I get here?
Well surgery is not an option, not because I'm afraid to die.  It is not an option because obesity is not considered a medical condition in South Carolina and my insurance won't pay for it.  Considering how much I've spent on other weight loss plans over the years, it would be a deal but not right now.
I suppose I need to figure out what to do.  I suppose I need to do it on my own.  I suppose I just cannot give up on myself. 
Tonight, I'm starting over again.  I'm going to exercise with a friend and someone who has been called a "miracle worker" helping people lose weight.  I'm still upside down on what to put in my mouth.  I think tomorrow I'll start with just no processed foods and more vegetables and see how we do from there.  Starting tonight I will not be my own worst enemy, I will be my own best ally.  I have to be.  I'm the one who got me here I'm the one who has to get me out. I just wish I had a map.  A easy to read, easy to fold map, "Follow the path to weight loss".  Kind of like a weight loss version of Candy Land.  Follow the path to get out of the Candy Cane Forest and the Gumdrop Mountain.  Just follow the path and you will come out of Candy Land.  At the end of the path there were be  Oneder Land,  The Bikini Zone, and the Forest of Full Length Mirrors.  I think I might be on to something.  I suppose I might need to make my own path in this game I'm playing again.

I suppose it could be worse.....

For the past year my family has been currently trying out the multi-generational living arrangement.  I suppose that is a nice way of saying "we are living with my mother."
This past month marked the one year anniversary of selling our home in Florida and moving in with my mom in South Carolina.  Why you wonder?  Unlike many people who have been forced to live with family due to financial constraints that is not the case here. We had jobs and a home that we could pay for.  We were not altruistic in our move.  My mom is not ill nor does she need help.  As a matter of fact my mom is the most independent woman I know.  It was not a case of my husband running away with his secretary and leaving me to start over with two kids.  As a matter of fact I brought him with me, that poor SOB is going nowhere fast.  So I am sure you are wondering why in the world did you sell your house, pack up and go move in with your mom? 

I suppose the answer is pretty simple.  I wanted my kids to grow up near at least one of their grandparents.  I wanted my kids to grow up being close to their cousins and family.  My mom had recently moved to South Carolina and my sister and her family were already here so it seemed like a good decision.

When I think about it I suppose the answer may not be as simple as I thought it was.  Another reason I wanted to move was I wanted to give my husband the opportunity to pursue his dreams of writing.  If we were living without a mortgage then that was an option.  He could take the time he always wanted and work on the great American novel.  In truth I was trying to squelch the fear that in 10 years I didn't want him to look at me and say "I gave up my dreams because of our family."  Do I think he would do that?  No, but that doesn't make me not fear it.

I think I was ready for a change of scenery as well.  I felt the need to start over.  A year or so before we decided to move one of my strongest friendships crumbled apart and I felt like I lost the ground beneath my feet. There were overwhelming feelings of hurt and loss.  Could I have repaired it?  I don't know.  In all honesty I'm still not sure what happened.  Move out of state because of a friendship ending?  No, that isn't why.  This is not the reason. It did make me look into the current status of my life.   Many of my friends were moving away themselves.  We were all changing in our lives, marrying, divorcing, getting new jobs, and growing up.  I felt like I was ready for a change.   I didn't want to be static so we decided to be fluid.  To go with the flow and see what happened.

So here we are a year later living in our multi-generational home.  Its been an interesting year. My kids are making friends and they are happy.  Dave never did write his novel but he tried and that was all that mattered.  I'm glad we moved.  I love being close to my sister and mom again but I miss my friends.  I miss the companionship of hanging out with the girls.  Heck I am now even going to group exercise classes to talk to other adults and I probably go to the grocery store to talk to the people at the deli counter way more than what is considered to be normal.  If someone knows the secret of making friends as a grown up I'd love to hear it.

It is funny how a 4 bedroom  house can start to feel cramped with a family of five.  I suppose after a year a palace could start to feel small.  Sometimes I worry that I have regressed.  I mean I live with my mom. Wait...  I live with my mom.  I'm almost 40 and I live with my mom.  God there really is no good way to say that.  I am staring 40 down and I am living with my mom.  Yeah maybe in an effort to avoid further regression I think a home of our own will be in in order very soon.

The real reasons

I suppose everyone has their reasons for trying to lose weight.  I know I should say the reason I want to lose weight is to improve my health, be more active, and live longer.  Sure those are all wonderful, healthy reasons to lose weight.  I suppose they should be reason enough.  Honestly for me they are some of the reasons but they aren't all the reasons.  I don't even know if they are the most important reasons why I want to lose weight.

When I think about what I want to accomplish by losing weight there are many other reasons that come to mind.....

For instance, I don't want to be the fat mom.  I don't want my kids' classmates to snicker when they see me. I am definitely not concerned about being considered a MILF by any stretch of the imagination but I don't want my kids to be embarrassed of me.  I'd rather them be embarrassed by my behaviors rather than my size.  

Speaking of kids I want to be able to go to a parent-teacher conference and not have to size up the kid sized chair I'm expected to sit in.  Anyone who is a parent with even a slight weight problem has had to make that decision.  "Do I sit there and risk breaking the chair or do I sit there and risk having that chair permanently stuck to my ass for the rest of my life?"  It would be great to just be able to sit and not worry.

I'd like yoga pants to not be my best friend.  Yoga pants have become the greatest invention for the overweight since peanut butter and chocolate came together.  Yoga pants are wonderfully delusional. They have a type of exercise in the name but yet they are perfect for the inactive.  They are long, stretchy, and even have this panel that eliminates the mighty muffin top.  Yes yoga pants are my best friend.  I'm somewhat ashamed in my love of my yoga pants.  I do make the effort and wear them to actual yoga class but I also find, well I wear them all the time.  I suppose I'm ready for a new best friend.  I want my new best friend to be a short skirt.  Not some mini but a nice above the knee skirt that I can slide on and say "Damn my legs look good".  Even better, feel good when I'm wearing it.  Pair it up with a nice pair of leather boots and damn that will be a nice new best friend.

Speaking of clothes.  I don't want to be afraid of the dryer any more.  I need to lose weight so I can put my clothes back in the dryer rather than live in fear that if they are dried I will lose that precious centimeter or so that makes them fit.  When I do laundry my house starts to look like a bad thrift store. My clothes are hanging everywhere that I can find to dry them.  Well everywhere except the clothesline outside.  I don't want the neighbors to see that much fabric at once.  I must lose weight so I can use the dryer again and use the dining room chairs for sitting not for drying.

I need to lose weight so I can wear stripes on my clothes not have them embedded in my skin from my jeans that just don't love me anymore.  Sure all clothes can leave lines on your skin no matter how skinny you are but I don't want to have to give my jeans a pep talk before I get into them.  "OK jeans I won't put you in the dryer tomorrow, if you don't cause me to lose a toe by cutting off the circulation to my foot." Seems fair.

I suppose I'm vain.  I want to lose weight to look good.  I want to go into a store and buy clothes from the normal section.  I don't want to have to go find the women's section, which is for some reason is always next to petites.  Yeah cause that's a wonder for self esteem.  I want to go into Victoria's Secret and buy pretty bras and panties again.  I don't want my color choices to be regulated to cream, black and white.

I think most importantly I want to lose weight so I can inspire others to do the same.  I want to follow through with this journey that has seemed to have taken 15 years.  I want to say "I did it" "I did it without drugs or surgery."    I want people to know that if I can do it they can to.  I want to be strong and fit.  I want people at the gym to watch me work out and think "Wow that's awesome" rather than "Oh bless her heart look how hard she's working."  Ladies of the south I know what that means and I am not amused.

I think being an inspiration would be pretty awesome.  I want to inspire my family to eat right and get healthy.  I want my kids to be active and strong.  To understand that cookies are not a food group and that fruit really is a wonderful thing.  I want to have a way of life that develops into a healthy way of life for them so they do not have to ever have a pep talk with their jeans or fear the dryer.

I suppose I want to be my own after photo rather than always be behind the camera.  I want to smile at the person taking the picture without reservations or hesitations of what it will look like.  Smile big and say "Look out world, here I am."

Starting Over...

I suppose we all have reasons for starting over.  I suppose we all have things we are starting over.  This is the time of year when people decide to renew, refresh and resolve.

For instance, I am starting over on this little blog of mine. It has been so long since I wrote a blog post I wondered if the site was there or if I would even remember my log in?   Why am I starting over?  Well basically because I feel like writing.  Why now?  That one is easy,  I mentioned starting a blog to someone and was so horrified that I never post in it I felt the need to start posting again.  The embarrassment of her seeing my blog that has well, nothing posted to it in a year was enough to get me to start over.

When we start over we are energized, we are committed, we are going to get it done this time!!!  Woo Hoo!!!  Who am I kidding? When we start over we are also embarrassed about having to start over, struggling with doubt because we didn't accomplish what we wanted the first time, and we have this underlying feeling of worry.  Worry that we will not accomplish what we are starting over again.

I think this could apply to all new beginnings.  Whether it is a new attempt to lose weight, quit smoking, or as something as serious as starting over from a divorce or loss.  Obviously there are many different degrees of starting over.  My decision to start writing on my tiny ambiguous blog is minuscule in comparison to someone who is starting over from a tragedy such as having everything they know swept away in Hurricane Sandy or losing someone you love.  I cannot fathom the strength and determination to have to start over from a tragedy of that magnitude. I am continually humbled by the strength of people who can start over from devastation.

I believe when we start anything over we start with a decision to change.  We realize that our current state needs to change and we are going to do that by starting over.  I suppose any change to what we are currently doing is starting something over.  I suppose taking the first step is the best way to start.

I suppose they aren't going to hell

I am a firm believer that spiritual beliefs should not be forced onto anyone.  There are so many different religions and spiritual beliefs out there; who am I to tell anyone what they should believe?
This belief was met with some resistance when I did not have my children christened or baptized.  In fact I almost caved into the pressure and had them baptized by one of Dave's coworkers.  He is a local preacher who is a nice man but is also one of the most intolerant people I have ever met.  It was my mom who opened my eyes, "Michelle what kind of God would send a baby to hell because he/she wasn't baptized?"
She was right and I do not regret my decision.  That being said.
I am a very spiritual person.  I am trying to raise my children to be spiritual without forcing them into a belief system.  We teach them, love, respect and peace.  I feel that is the foundation for spirituality.
Well today we were talking about all the words that start with the letter G.  All of a sudden Maddie says "oh that bad G word"  " What bad G word"  Both kids at the same time "God"  oops.
Thinking more about it, they were associating the bad word as when we tell them not to  say "Oh my God" or "God damn it".  I explained that it wasn't God that was the bad word but how you said it.  Then I got hit with the question that I knew was coming next  "Mommy who is God?"
I had that moment of doubt.  "Am I neglecting my kids' spiritual growth because I don't make them go to church every Sunday?"
I don't think so.  We had a nice conversation on the way to school.  All about how people believe that God created the world and the universe.  How people believe different things and some people go to church to share those beliefs.  Maddie started talking about how her friends so to church on Sundays and why don't we go.
I explained to them that you can still believe in God and not go to church.  They seem fine with that and for that I am happy.
I explained to them that when they get older we will visit different churches and pick one that they want to go to.  I have to admit I didn't think I would be having this conversation so soon with the kids.  I think it was great.  I want my children to grow up to be tolerant and respectful of others.  I don't care if they ever go to church as long as they live their lives with love and kindness towards others.