tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21094545116270023502024-03-05T09:16:06.817-06:00Irish Writer MomThe journey of a writer turned mother, who is trying to find her inner writer again!Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-46068088195011720002022-10-28T11:04:00.004-06:002022-10-28T11:04:28.071-06:00Many Names, One Purpose.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaC_l9m1vcNBZu_sKu3dHRsljeWXJU2oem7eRS9Qczo2pP9gZjwHoAEmBA8RBq_g61vhlNSVsJhtYDwMwWUrbRBxK5lHZMmKb9kG-mqtvYE5bH56YXzjpqcVTVjNDf1RLAT5TMwuyIu-2AprhsTj7IaiCwBnFNho6tYIQT3b3udSUGxZZ6X3iR029U/s4096/Polish_20221028_110908425.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3075" data-original-width="4096" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaC_l9m1vcNBZu_sKu3dHRsljeWXJU2oem7eRS9Qczo2pP9gZjwHoAEmBA8RBq_g61vhlNSVsJhtYDwMwWUrbRBxK5lHZMmKb9kG-mqtvYE5bH56YXzjpqcVTVjNDf1RLAT5TMwuyIu-2AprhsTj7IaiCwBnFNho6tYIQT3b3udSUGxZZ6X3iR029U/w640-h480/Polish_20221028_110908425.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />I was born and raised catholic, as were my siblings. We made all of our sacraments and attended Catholic School. Once we reached a certain age we were allowed to make our own decisions when it came to religion and our faith. I strayed away from the church as I didn't agree with all of the beliefs. One particular reason I chose not to attend church on a regular basis was because of my mother. My mother was all but divorced from my father. She met another man who raised me from before the I was born. They built a life together. However my mother was viewed as a sinner and felt like an outcast in a place that had once given her comfort. Although she did not attend mass regularly she continued her faith outside of the church. All of these years later my mother has still maintained her faith. Till this day she still prays her Rosary faithfully.<p></p><p>After meeting my husband and more importantly his mother I began attending church again. Not because I was pressured, but because I was ready to give it another try. My husband came from a very religious family, and he was so far away from his home. A part of me had hoped that us attending church would make him feel closer to his family and Ireland. We would later marry in the Catholic Church, baptize our children Catholic and have them attend religion class so they can make all their sacraments. Even with all of this, I still felt disconnected from the Church.</p><p>Recently I started saying my Rosary again. In a time of darkness, it has given me comfort. It makes me feel at peace when I'm surrounded by chaos. I think I'm starting to understand why both my Mother and Mother-In-Law prayed it so faithfully.</p><p>This past weekend I said my Rosary. Afterwards, I held it in my hand and let it fall from one hand to the other. I didn't even realize I was doing it. It made me think about how important these beads were for Catholics. It made me wonder if other religions had something similar to our Rosary. I spent some time on Google and I was quickly engrossed in articles. I knew many Christian religions prayed the Rosary. The rosaries may be the same, but the prayers said are different. I became fascinated with what I was learning.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj--9ZwriFJp22IoFyz_suza46cdq5rdRlygJ_YDaUbgJa9Q2B_Ex-sACY9ZWyPUTqT9jLqyZr9SiwxoAcEjTV5hOTZya3pjEuJmcZAVSVmz0GVpLyQUK1SmISER3tfM0UciaTCIyudGvGOMjDyhTr4yJaYOYQjz8Hj-cblKaTZAA9zVkpibRpKTkXC/s1280/rosary-1211064_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="1280" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj--9ZwriFJp22IoFyz_suza46cdq5rdRlygJ_YDaUbgJa9Q2B_Ex-sACY9ZWyPUTqT9jLqyZr9SiwxoAcEjTV5hOTZya3pjEuJmcZAVSVmz0GVpLyQUK1SmISER3tfM0UciaTCIyudGvGOMjDyhTr4yJaYOYQjz8Hj-cblKaTZAA9zVkpibRpKTkXC/s320/rosary-1211064_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>While many Christian religions pray the Rosary, non-Christians use prayer beads as well. Depending on the culture the number of beads vary and have special symbolism. The design of the prayer beads may differ by religion, but they all serve a common purpose. They all serve as a sacred tool for counting blessings, affirmations and repetitive prayer.<p></p><p>In Christianity, the term Rosary comes from Latin meaning "<i>rose garden</i>". Roses are the symbolic flower of the Virgin Mary. The traditional Christian Rosary consists of 59 beads connected to a crucifix. Three small and two larger beads connect to the pendant and are followed by five decades or segments of 10 beads each with a larger bead between each. Catholics pray The Our Father, Hail Mary and The Glory Be, however prayers recited vary by religion. Rosaries are often made of wood, crystals and semi-precious gemstones. They are often given as a gift for holy sacraments and the deceased are often buried with them.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1056" data-original-width="950" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdE8f0QsXQRUYB1deDyhGOGWfLBV2aHEU1QOmpmNcMOIUQgljPdyLJ8FoBI6XRThXDhSLov2_lTN4mN3GT7tYYxNHmMp7rl5Gw2S3--0BLYX5_oKrIXIAgXxpV3ma01h5U50sbZeevsJBOChDKJgKcfZpEFJmbwnIoSY7uGY5PUtkKWyRv4hhE9sN/w288-h320/cedar-mala-prayer-beads.jpg" width="288" /></div><span style="text-align: left;">In Buddhism and Hinduism the practice of praying and meditating is done with </span><i style="text-align: left;">Japa</i><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><i style="text-align: left;">Malas</i><span style="text-align: left;">. The term Japa is Sanskrit and means "the muttering of a mantra". The term mala means "circle". Japa Malas traditionally have 108 beads. This is a sacred number that symbolizes the wholeness of the universe. It is believed that if a string of Japa Mala beads break its' purpose has been filled. Mala beads are usually made from the seeds of Evergreen trees. If someone compliments a person's Japa Mala it is tradition to gift them the beads. This represents the practice of not being attached to things or their meanings. </span></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1096" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj9Y4ve_8g792kL8D-dTYrv-59NVvv32cjPiQ5CC5xolagPfGYPSBRFA7urXBkYzrciUSC8fnDMrVedukpCbToRbH7X5q8hlUIPGSzMhtT1qMrTKolIcs7SAP7RN6sAzFXOTDOetgtlCXTyCIQpxrG8IyveGpjc8Rcx3WEcWKu_OWdn_mLn2Omi3Mp/w315-h320/Mabon_1080x.jpg" width="315" /></div>Some Pagans use prayer beads as a part of their ritualistic practice. The beads usually symbolize the four elements. They are made of natural materials associated with fire, water, earth and air. They contain marker beads for the eight sabbaths and the 13 Lunar cycles of the year are often included. A pendant such as a moon symbol or triquetra are often attached. Practitioners use the beads as a counting aid to facilitate visualization and meditation.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62AIwq6-XnMYJA74T7y9Weus8x09Ce_lbFLp89-xIoaq3XExCC1FRUxhTMMBI-WOtF64D_x5yApXhPbhL9_Pj2bmJF3uARk8-MirBUxRJtSQn4e18i9HlZ3RDLkMS2Oxb9LMEV33aPbTcR1_pxO-MgPUwoWhbfxNif0gDLkpXx8ZqkB3Jt7IQUs9n/s2000/il_fullxfull.1610465429_ssbo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62AIwq6-XnMYJA74T7y9Weus8x09Ce_lbFLp89-xIoaq3XExCC1FRUxhTMMBI-WOtF64D_x5yApXhPbhL9_Pj2bmJF3uARk8-MirBUxRJtSQn4e18i9HlZ3RDLkMS2Oxb9LMEV33aPbTcR1_pxO-MgPUwoWhbfxNif0gDLkpXx8ZqkB3Jt7IQUs9n/w400-h400/il_fullxfull.1610465429_ssbo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>In Islamic culture prayer beads are called <i>Misbaha</i> or <i>Subha</i>. Misbaha is Arabic for "praise to God" and Subha translates to "glorify God (Allah). The most common ones have 99 beads divided in three sections of 33 with a tassel at the end. Each of the 99 beads represent each name of Allah. Users recite the 99 names of Allah, while others repeat the three versus of Allah's glorification and praise (Tasbih, Tahmid and Takbir) each 33 times. Many use the beads as a source of comfort when stressed or anxious. Just like other religions these beads are often made of wood, glass and gemstones. Subha are a common gift, especially to those returning from Hajj (pilgrimages).<p></p><p>The prayer beads of all these cultures are beautiful. During my research I was able to see some of these beads of different religions in person. They were all special to their owners, and they were all beautiful. We need to quit feeding into religious stereotypes and look at the person. We really are more alike than we think. As soon as we realize this the world will be a better place.</p><p><br /></p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-56975924756844607152022-01-16T20:41:00.003-06:002022-01-18T07:27:46.268-06:00An Immigrant's Struggle<p></p><p data-pm-slice="1 1 []">Lately, my husband has taken up writing and started his own blog. He has always been an excellent conversationalist, willing to share a story or impart some wisdom to anyone willing to listen. Often, people have told him he should become a politician or write a book. Thus <em><strong><a href="https://www.thebanteringbarman.com">The Bantering Barman</a></strong></em> was born. Thanks to everyone for encouraging him (I say that with 73% sincerity and 27% sarcasm). I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t jealous of his writing. It comes so naturally to him. He sits down to write his blog, and the words pour out. There is no second-guessing or writer’s block. He makes it look effortless. When all is said and done, his posts are eloquent and heartwarming.</p><p></p><p>He writes about what he knows and, more importantly, what he loves. He writes about his first home and the Immigrant experience, or at least his experience as an immigrant. Almost 30 years ago, he left Ireland and made America his home. He worked, he played, and he eventually started a family. He put down roots here, but his heart will forever be in two places. His raw emotions translate into beautiful prose.</p><p>Being married to an immigrant has its ups and downs. He gave me an amazing extended family, which accepted this Yank with open arms. I have the privilege of spending a few weeks every summer in Ireland. I get to call one of the most beautiful countries in the world my second home. One of the most special benefits is my kids are dual citizens. They will always have two countries to embrace and call home. There are so many reasons being married to an immigrant is so special.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDKYErfTUcBjZftyluiG-ls36Ubjx4yp_VLjVhZ_eCytx_JFMXh0XxHAZX3W0c98YxiNiuXyLZNat0dr3gMMhdgqYTnzuP-Mw5iQKjbBx7biY_oPL4NS6T0UBs4ls07bhW4nfCqjSoAExpwwXZfwHRRjbnrUwNBhWCBG-n4EPfx4eUKVjxDGNPQ9dG=s1080" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="1080" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDKYErfTUcBjZftyluiG-ls36Ubjx4yp_VLjVhZ_eCytx_JFMXh0XxHAZX3W0c98YxiNiuXyLZNat0dr3gMMhdgqYTnzuP-Mw5iQKjbBx7biY_oPL4NS6T0UBs4ls07bhW4nfCqjSoAExpwwXZfwHRRjbnrUwNBhWCBG-n4EPfx4eUKVjxDGNPQ9dG=w400-h299" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from home in Kerrykeel, Co. Donegal</td></tr></tbody></table>There is only one downfall. Heartache. Not only his. My heart often aches for him. No matter how long he has been here, there will always be a longing for Ireland. A piece of his heart will always be there. The few weeks spent in Donegal during the summer are never enough. Every trip home for him, he notices how things have changed. It may look different, yet the feeling is the same. It’s true there is no place like home!<p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtVlfhaqKydeMPJvu6h_jPxyNzGEdGXiC3T47sqfbwO1kmb9zZsEUQunAe1_qduoMbp8g9sYjeN2ax1bJGBJyuQXJNM6x8XXFVPDM64ACSuFzEdrcBnQxawu2YW1CPev7PDeeEnj8ceMXUa8teO249xIsDccKlWtrvf-Wz9l2oqc5-fVJe3ZFb6TgG=s1080" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="1080" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtVlfhaqKydeMPJvu6h_jPxyNzGEdGXiC3T47sqfbwO1kmb9zZsEUQunAe1_qduoMbp8g9sYjeN2ax1bJGBJyuQXJNM6x8XXFVPDM64ACSuFzEdrcBnQxawu2YW1CPev7PDeeEnj8ceMXUa8teO249xIsDccKlWtrvf-Wz9l2oqc5-fVJe3ZFb6TgG=w400-h296" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">McAteer Family 2019</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">Harder for him than being away from those rolling green hills and his beloved lighthouse is being so far from his family. A big family, it is! His parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews are all still in Ireland. My family has embraced him and he tolerates our craziness, but I know it is not the same. Holidays are spent with my family, while he video chats with his. I cannot even imagine how that has to feel. To ease some of his homesickness, I feel like I overcompensate to make each holiday perfect. I’m not sure how well it works, but he puts on a good show.</div><p></p><p>This year, Christmas was extra hard for him. Actually, it was hard for his whole family. They lost a great man on Christmas Eve. Covid made it impossible to get home for the funeral. One of his biggest fears throughout the pandemic came true. He has been concerned he couldn’t get home in an emergency. I was devastated for him. Watching his uncle’s funeral on Facebook, I felt helpless. There was nothing I could do to ease his pain. Covid has kept him from his family for nearly three years now. As we plan our next trip, all I can do is pray that borders stay open and we stay healthy.</p><p>So many people emigrate for countless reasons; they make a new home and build a new life. They are grateful for all that they have in their new homes, but it is not without a price. Immigrants sacrifice so much and leave so much behind. Regardless of their reasons, their new lives are not without heartache. Being married to someone whose heart is in two countries is difficult, but it is easy either. I do my best to be empathetic. I love living in a town full of immigrants. Because of what I have learned from my husband, I see them and wonder who they had to leave me behind, and imagine how hard it must be. I don’t know if I could have ever been as strong as they have had to be. I know that a little kindness and empathy go a long way.</p><p>If we all showed that the world would be a much better place.</p><p><br /></p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-55901142112448948162021-11-01T10:19:00.002-06:002021-11-01T10:26:51.410-06:00Sprinkle Kindness Like Confetti!<p>November is here, and with it comes the hustle and bustle of the Holiday season. Everyone is making their lists and looking for the perfect gifts. Parents are going into debt to make sure that each holiday season is better than the last. Months of preparation for one day. A day that is over in the blink of an eye. We get caught up with the December holidays; we forget to enjoy November.</p><p>In November, I always try to take time to recognize all the things I have to be grateful for. In the past, I usually did a “30 Days of Gratitude” challenge. I would post each day about something in my life that I was grateful for. What sounded like a simple task was more difficult than I expected. When making my list, I found I needed to dig deep within myself to find 30 things I was grateful for. So many things were obvious, such as family and friends. However, it made me realize how much I took for granted. The freedom to read any type of book I choose or the ability to choose which religion is best for me. I am grateful for so many things that I hadn’t even thought of. I highly encourage everyone to make a list of thirty things you are grateful for. It might just change your perspective.</p><p>This November, I have decided to show my gratitude a little differently. Instead of a daily post expressing the different things I am grateful for, I am going to do something small every day to spread kindness. I have been blessed with so much (even though it may not always feel like it); I want others to feel some of the kindness I feel daily.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_w61IttQzrxWNU6ificO9ve8T39xwZKzEIwnJSt3voVDwDHEPVbb4tEj3YxvIFWJ6bhyevjwsbDHYTaE7GI73VUS0101Azu5HU6o7RXCWFNMhRtAcGWWabImR-B1b1NlFKfwH20h75wI/s794/Kindness+Calendar.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="615" data-original-width="794" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_w61IttQzrxWNU6ificO9ve8T39xwZKzEIwnJSt3voVDwDHEPVbb4tEj3YxvIFWJ6bhyevjwsbDHYTaE7GI73VUS0101Azu5HU6o7RXCWFNMhRtAcGWWabImR-B1b1NlFKfwH20h75wI/s320/Kindness+Calendar.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I made a calendar with daily acts of kindness. I would love for everyone to download it and spread kindness with me. These tiny acts of kindness could make a big difference in someone’s day. You can download the free <a href="https://drive.google.com/uc?export=download&id=1Yt5i2gYA1Rm-IKIsBjMbBolQ57-cEC6V" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">KINDNESS CALENDAR HERE</a>.<p></p><p><br /></p><p>Let’s sprinkle kindness like confetti!</p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-17485427737238441942021-10-26T17:51:00.000-06:002021-10-26T17:51:48.372-06:00Decisions, Decisions!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMmEcF_GWezSNeylNy1Kd216kRrJ51tRwXxzvwPCM5LbIszSQF39Lj-eC7pO6MJGRa1RL-ytUPpkY67MPO9DvhW6cDu_fgQkLBKNjEX3dAWUqMM3rM2xs1cSDxUNH9mxe56JwKuB6dI0/s1512/Fiona+McAteer+and+Vivian+Kramer__01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1441" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMmEcF_GWezSNeylNy1Kd216kRrJ51tRwXxzvwPCM5LbIszSQF39Lj-eC7pO6MJGRa1RL-ytUPpkY67MPO9DvhW6cDu_fgQkLBKNjEX3dAWUqMM3rM2xs1cSDxUNH9mxe56JwKuB6dI0/s320/Fiona+McAteer+and+Vivian+Kramer__01.jpg" width="305" /></a></div><br />School has been in session for a few months and most children are getting back into their daily routines. Parents, teachers and most kids are happy that schools are open. Kids are getting a much-needed sense of normalcy (whatever that looks like in their schools).<p></p><p>With fall upon us, many kids are deciding what they want to be for Halloween or what they should ask Santa. Others are deciding what the next step is in their education. Of course, this is a big decision for high schoolers, but I am not talking about high school kids (not yet anyway). I am talking about 8th graders trying to decide where they want to attend high school. This may seem like no big deal to some people, but for others, the decision is daunting. Not everyone has access to quality education. </p><p>Now because I am a wee bit OCD, when our school hosted a virtual high school question and answer session last spring for 7th graders, I took part. I immediately begin researching our options. Throughout Saint Louis, there are many great high schools, as well as some not-so-great ones. The school gave the kids a packet with the schools broken down by type. There are many religious, private, magnet, charter and public high schools in our area. The options seemed endless. They also gave detailed descriptions of each school with application information and potential costs. My kids’ school went above and beyond to make sure that these kids had the information they needed to narrow down their search.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiynbwfRrAiD2xbGz0CN42JiYRk0GWXntZQdLBI1SEFd7l_Ua_ueGnoDwP9mVtdpHRVUDxuxX42OLmWM-Np_QkH85wFZumrXWS3wqcwmQVta3iRBjMFnJiPQyC-A-AbxvTXFZJz55Az6s/s2048/IMG_20210331_124557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1538" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiynbwfRrAiD2xbGz0CN42JiYRk0GWXntZQdLBI1SEFd7l_Ua_ueGnoDwP9mVtdpHRVUDxuxX42OLmWM-Np_QkH85wFZumrXWS3wqcwmQVta3iRBjMFnJiPQyC-A-AbxvTXFZJz55Az6s/s320/IMG_20210331_124557.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>After going through the information with my daughter, she narrowed it down to a handful of high schools she was interested in. So the next step was for her to shadow at her top choices. I reached out to the schools to find out about visiting. Most wanted her to visit in the fall of 8th grade, but a few extended invitations to visit. She spent days shadowing students and getting a glimpse of high school life. Each visit ended with a t-shirt and other branded goodies. I know it has been a long time since I went to high school, but I do not remember shadowing various schools. However, I am positive I did not get any swag from anyone while I made my choice (I’m not sure I remember having a choice).<p></p><p>As she visited schools and narrowed down her top choices, my worry set in. Are her test scores high enough? Will her essays impress the admissions people? Does her IEP affect their decisions? My biggest concern is how will she handle it if she does not get accepted to her top choice? I never want her to feel that she is not good enough. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFy96DhQbnsdJp8bLcP39LUfzjPeAbWlN3Zi0DOwHfhaRaLima-W0kt8w93r5J2MC6zxYxxEcRNWDPjiMwFV9Vv3oJYxdavtZFvVCep2xAEe-C-jDIbdpXG1P49ZdB9QoXa1wk3Kc0OYg/s2048/IMG_20210409_122404_Bokeh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1538" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFy96DhQbnsdJp8bLcP39LUfzjPeAbWlN3Zi0DOwHfhaRaLima-W0kt8w93r5J2MC6zxYxxEcRNWDPjiMwFV9Vv3oJYxdavtZFvVCep2xAEe-C-jDIbdpXG1P49ZdB9QoXa1wk3Kc0OYg/s320/IMG_20210409_122404_Bokeh.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I also never want to be the reason she is disappointed. Her top choices all ended up being private schools. My anxiety went into overdrive. Can we afford this additional expense? Where can we make cuts to make this happen? How do we make this simple wish come true? Fortunately, one of my OCD tendencies is to research. I scoured the websites of her top choice and spoke with friends who had recently been through this entire process. I might have even cried a little. In the end, I learned that they all had financial aid. Based on my research, we will qualify for something; just not sure how much yet. Knowing that help is available and that my husband always “makes things happen” has eased my anxiety a wee bit. I have learned a lot over the past few months. If you remember anything from these ramblings, please remember that there is money out there. Do not let your fear that you can’t afford a school keep you from applying.<p></p><p>The applications are in; the essays are complete, and financial aid forms are submitted, so now we wait! We wait to see where the next chapter in my daughter’s educational journey will take her. We will know in Mid-December if she gets accepted to her first choice school and if we can make her wish come true. Until then we are going to enjoy the holidays and all the special 8th grade moments!</p><p></p><p></p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-1190462533502462712021-09-29T20:13:00.001-06:002021-09-30T08:22:04.937-06:00Say Cheese, Even When You Do Not Want To!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDWXCXr_0-4KuCarRS97X4SJQps-FojeXlH9_F3FGd5Iyxwuwkp9E2c6PdDv1ufq8aXBAKJfDiTK_acHRDlQieBlsfYAV7AtXgCg5qkSyqyNi8UrB9SdXLDQ_jyUyIH-rNmrlc8JGP5o/s2048/IMG_20210919_123611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1538" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDWXCXr_0-4KuCarRS97X4SJQps-FojeXlH9_F3FGd5Iyxwuwkp9E2c6PdDv1ufq8aXBAKJfDiTK_acHRDlQieBlsfYAV7AtXgCg5qkSyqyNi8UrB9SdXLDQ_jyUyIH-rNmrlc8JGP5o/s320/IMG_20210919_123611.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>This month we celebrated my mother’s 80th birthday. With the pandemic safety
measures, we held small gathering. We wished we could have invited the world
to celebrate all the greatness that encompasses our mom, but to protect her and
others, we kept it to a few key people in her life.<p></p><p></p>
<p>Now it is important to understand a few things about our mom. She hates
being the center of attention and she HATES having her picture taken (I will
come back to this later). My teenage daughter broke all the rules and lied to
my mom to get her to my house. Once she realized we deceived her, she declared
my daughter would “get hers”.</p>
<p>Despite her resistance to celebrating her birthday and parties, she admitted
having a good time. Her low-key celebration comprised food, cake, and the ever
important Coca-Cola. Most importantly, this meant catching up with some of the
many important people in her life. That was our ultimate goal for her. She
enjoyed the day and did not roll her eyes at us once. We take that as a win!</p>
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RKBrl6792QvHW5_cz4ZxcToRGxvz44L3uBhxh9tS-AFijwa_9q5LSS_lyKJ5zKOhchKaQa0YdpijVAYmLmevc1hImvMrk89gKiiJZWWbAb0NMLYitJ7X76O6gSp_39ZXfNs46paJJXI/s828/IMG_20210915_092955_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="823" data-original-width="828" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7RKBrl6792QvHW5_cz4ZxcToRGxvz44L3uBhxh9tS-AFijwa_9q5LSS_lyKJ5zKOhchKaQa0YdpijVAYmLmevc1hImvMrk89gKiiJZWWbAb0NMLYitJ7X76O6gSp_39ZXfNs46paJJXI/s320/IMG_20210915_092955_01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Now let’s go back to her extreme hate of having her picture taken. When you
try to take her picture, you are guaranteed to get one of three faces. You
might get a mean glare, a photo of her looking away, or my personal favorite a
photo with her hand over her face. It’s common knowledge that you will end up
with a comical picture of my mom. A picture you didn’t want, but never knew you
needed (for a good laugh).<br /><p></p>
<p>For the party, my daughter took on the task of making a collage of pictures
of her grandmother over the years. She did a fantastic job despite the lack of
pictures. There were plenty of photos of her before she had us, but an obvious
lack of them since. Somewhere in her life, she started hating the camera. As my
daughter sorted through the pictures, I was sad for her and the rest of my
family. There were so few pictures of her with us or her grandchildren. I
promised myself I would take more pictures with my kids (although we already
take a lot). I do not want my kids to look back and wish there were more
pictures of me.</p>
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjL4KLcfgZ_lwqaXUIW_gdZnNtsX2fE0iA4o_gL1yz8orb0KmX3hDc2J7bJyvwRa6eR4-zmZWhtUtKX1T-h17UUHdkDe4YyiZA3_5VmYCMuDWvgS8JVdJL2548X00cFUElXlbubXgbobk/s2048/IMG_20210919_163243__01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1614" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjL4KLcfgZ_lwqaXUIW_gdZnNtsX2fE0iA4o_gL1yz8orb0KmX3hDc2J7bJyvwRa6eR4-zmZWhtUtKX1T-h17UUHdkDe4YyiZA3_5VmYCMuDWvgS8JVdJL2548X00cFUElXlbubXgbobk/s320/IMG_20210919_163243__01.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>Mothers, please come out from behind the camera and have your picture taken
with your kids and by yourself. Don’t leave your family wishing they had more
pictures of you. This is a regret that you can prevent.<p></p>
<p>I also promised myself I would be better about taking pictures of my mother
even as she protests. I HAD to be better. One day she will not be here for me
to take her picture. This is a regret I do not want to live with.</p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-3802483028185928182021-08-27T12:04:00.001-06:002021-08-27T12:04:22.652-06:00Sometimes The Best Things, Are Unplanned<p>Guess who’s back, back again. Mary’s back, tell your friends! If you did not
sing that in your best Eminem voice, it made little sense. (Man, I love some
90s Hip Hop!) I haven’t blogged in a few months, and now it is August already!
Summer, other projects and making family memories took priority.</p>
<p>Despite Covid restrictions and precautions, this summer was probably one of
my top favorites! Due to quarantine requirements, we could not travel to
Ireland to spend time with our family. It was a devastating blow to all of us,
especially my husband, who is longing to be in Donegal with his parents and
siblings. We haven’t seen them since 2019.</p>
<p>I decided to make the best out of the summer and try to ease everyone’s
disappointment. For the first time, we got a pool membership. We quickly
learned to stick with weekdays at the pool to avoid larger crowds. The water
truly is a happy place for my kids. It was wonderful to watch them challenge
themselves in the water. I especially enjoyed watching my son. Every day, he
became a little more confident in his abilities. I am in awe of the strides he
made. My daughter has always loved the water, but she pushed her limits as
well. The downside of the hours spent at the pool was that there was not enough
high SPF sunscreen to keep my pasty Irish kids from burning. I can only assume
the sun reflected off of my pale legs and burned them. While the pool has given
us some super fun days, we had other grand adventures.</p>
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvaYNwUpMNygktyjM6juluFZU2Nhxo-zwk5QEDBz2gCNOYjYc2E9CnCnDOtBaVnIF3cjErwE5Vosr6IxDjKQiw5zWrWt8XqpgZt4wB_klf-BOSl2bDQTWsWPPuvgrwDpHHVPdyy6Afjo/s1393/IMG_20210612_122709__01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1393" data-original-width="1188" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicvaYNwUpMNygktyjM6juluFZU2Nhxo-zwk5QEDBz2gCNOYjYc2E9CnCnDOtBaVnIF3cjErwE5Vosr6IxDjKQiw5zWrWt8XqpgZt4wB_klf-BOSl2bDQTWsWPPuvgrwDpHHVPdyy6Afjo/s320/IMG_20210612_122709__01.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>My son has never had much of an interest in sports, but stepped far out of
his comfort zone and joined a baseball team. There is no better baseball town
than St. Louis, and no better team than the Cardinals. I am a diehard St. Louis
Cardinals fan. I always knew they did great things for my city, but this summer
they blew me away. My son played for The Redbird Rookies, a program sponsored
by the St. Louis Cardinals. It was an AMAZING program for St. Louis residents.
The program was free for children and supplied the uniforms and equipment.
(Cleats and gloves were optional). It is a co-ed non-competitive program that
teaches the fundamentals of baseball, while also teaching the importance of
health, education, mentoring and cultural arts. They had several off the field
events that were both educational and fun. Kids could earn prizes for attending
these events and completing small activities. The end of the season included a
health fair at Busch Stadium where the kids collected fantastic prizes and
gifts. They handed out book bags with a generous amount of school supplies. The
Cardinals definitely made baseball possible to kids who might not have
otherwise had the means.<p></p>
<p>My son went out on that field never having swung a bat and terrified of
being hit in the face with the ball. With the encouragement of the great
coaches and his friends, he learned to hit, catch, and throw. Most importantly,
he built confidence. I loved watching him grow and get better each week. I was
amazed by the skills he developed over the eight-week period. He got hit with
the ball several times, including in his face, but he definitely developed a
love for baseball.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihF4XFXB5TFHIJ6nQ5pLlScKyIAyW8TiGCG3AMyDztstGjlZZ7wBuUnJUBBQgAsAYqlGmXEnYNWXmHYfwNpbklqjA3_ycLv5-QmXGYT0ty3PkkjKlPrdPhtZW3M7r_wC4xWqn46PWJVFA/s2629/IMG_20210617_105009__01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2629" data-original-width="1196" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihF4XFXB5TFHIJ6nQ5pLlScKyIAyW8TiGCG3AMyDztstGjlZZ7wBuUnJUBBQgAsAYqlGmXEnYNWXmHYfwNpbklqjA3_ycLv5-QmXGYT0ty3PkkjKlPrdPhtZW3M7r_wC4xWqn46PWJVFA/s320/IMG_20210617_105009__01.jpg" width="146" /></a></div>My daughter also stepped out of her comfort zone this summer. She spent a
week working as a group leader at a vacation Bible school. She had a group of
toddlers and came home exhausted every day! I thought to myself, welcome to my
world! She also attended a couple of summer camps at a high school she is
interested in attending next year. She has done Irish Dancing nearly her whole
life, and never had much interest in trying anything else. This summer she
attended a cheer camp and the high school’s dance team camp. These differed
completely from what she was used to. It was a challenge for her and she found
some aspects of the routines difficult, but she embraced it. It opened up a new
world for her, and she now is considering trying out for Cheer for her final
year of middle school and in high school. All I want for her is to do what she
loves, but not regret not trying new things! While Cheer wouldn’t be my first
choice of activity for her, I am thrilled that she is now considering branching
out and trying new things.<p></p>
<p>As an almost vaccinated family, we decided we could safely travel a little.
We took a weekend trip to Louisville, where we did some Irish Dancing, bet on
some horses and learned how they make baseball bats. It was a super fun
weekend. I highly recommend that people visit Louisville if they have never
been. There is something for everyone!</p>
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCu1fd7VzoJ__5so2yL9tEJrq4YHMhOdFgWe3xc8xtIloYOvToM0T7UHVkWWNli0FF2Kq8UU4yHnIVZr8y3YQMM9thHn_nk2o4YGZ9yZrYVaIsw6T7lsVqKZMeVLaw7XthPv7uxfSiic/s1080/FB_IMG_1625776977720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCu1fd7VzoJ__5so2yL9tEJrq4YHMhOdFgWe3xc8xtIloYOvToM0T7UHVkWWNli0FF2Kq8UU4yHnIVZr8y3YQMM9thHn_nk2o4YGZ9yZrYVaIsw6T7lsVqKZMeVLaw7XthPv7uxfSiic/s320/FB_IMG_1625776977720.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The highlight of our summer was taking a much needed family vacation. We
visited my best friend and her family in sunny Los Angeles. Like the rest of
the world, Covid kept us apart for a year and a half. I know poor me, but in 40
years of friendship we had never been apart that long. What was supposed to be
a relaxing week with friends was anything but! Our gracious hosts went out of
their way to make sure that we were never bored! Our whirlwind week consisted of
watching fireworks from the roof, riding rides at Santa Pier (where my husband
rode his first-ever roller coaster), soaking up the sun at the beach, an
outdoor movie night, and a jammed pack day of fun at Knott’s Berry Farm.
Everywhere we went was an adventure that we will never forget. However, I think
we spent our best day at the house. The kids had a water balloon fight on the
trampoline while also being sprayed with a hose. The kids, ranging in age from
toddler to teen, had a blast. It was also AMAZING to lie in bed next to my best
friend talking and laughing, just like when we had sleepovers as kids and
teenagers. Los Angeles is full of so many attractions, yet the best times were
spent together and were inexpensive. It was a pleasant reminder that sometimes
the best things in life are free (or almost free).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6fq17zdJ5YVAwxszdqFeoKzhBedBU1rJVGXlhzjp0qRw-ANTz0Cjq1fZ3Oelo72hc8UK24WJbuSiq0wtkxEnxsJeMZ-lnesw8-8DYXxVOpdQMrtTDNEWRVhaHkT5JLpuU5lSEDP_W9ow/s2048/IMG_20210827_122755_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6fq17zdJ5YVAwxszdqFeoKzhBedBU1rJVGXlhzjp0qRw-ANTz0Cjq1fZ3Oelo72hc8UK24WJbuSiq0wtkxEnxsJeMZ-lnesw8-8DYXxVOpdQMrtTDNEWRVhaHkT5JLpuU5lSEDP_W9ow/s320/IMG_20210827_122755_01.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p>This may not be the summer we expected, but it was definitely the summer we
needed. We all grew as individuals, but also as a family. New things and
opportunities were discovered. We spent quality time together and learned to
make the best of our situation. This summer was definitely full of new
experiences and beautiful memories. I hope the rest of my family remembers it
as fondly as I will.</p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-1357703840929774772021-07-01T20:09:00.001-06:002021-07-01T20:09:16.275-06:00New Blog Coming Soon<p> Hello Friends, Family and Feisty Followers...</p><p><br /></p><p>While working on other projects, hanging with the family and life overall being hectic I have missed a few months of posting!!! However, I will be back in July with a new post here!!!</p><p><br /></p><p>I hope you will drop in!!</p><p><br /></p><p>See Ya Then!</p><p><br /></p><p>Mary</p><p>The Irish Writer Mom</p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-78705772433170585512021-03-21T20:04:00.001-06:002021-03-21T20:52:56.765-06:00The Forgotten Women of 1916<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1Ne_Couew-diWM61ormmttZ8_SApzJ59uV2XJYDPSPMnpDRGjLuMZNltpXASZqTRmuHHW59okHAZIXDHYy4teEFHHWPQlfL2rlEoOVEPPw_rRqoiC9AiWcw5ygsTbMazQ2_uchU3XJ0/s1600/Cumann_2Bna_2BmBan_2Blogo_2048x2048.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="879" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1Ne_Couew-diWM61ormmttZ8_SApzJ59uV2XJYDPSPMnpDRGjLuMZNltpXASZqTRmuHHW59okHAZIXDHYy4teEFHHWPQlfL2rlEoOVEPPw_rRqoiC9AiWcw5ygsTbMazQ2_uchU3XJ0/s320/Cumann_2Bna_2BmBan_2Blogo_2048x2048.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Cumann na mBan logo <span style="text-align: left;">© theirishstory.com</span></span></div><p></p><p></p><p>It’s March!! Usually, this is one of my favorite and busiest months of the
year. Normally I would drive my kids to a multitude of Irish Dance performances
and parades. There would Irish music, parties, family, and plenty of craic.
However, we are still in the midst of a global pandemic. Around the world, St.
Patrick’s Day will be quieter. There are still many things to celebrate in
March. It is both Irish American Heritage Month and Women’s History Month.
There are so many women who have contributed to both Irish-American History and
Irish History.</p><p></p><p></p>
<p>Irish history is filled with triumph and tragedy. In all the hardship and
battles, Irish women have been front and center. During the famine, Irish women
used every resource available. When their husbands could no longer work or
worse, women took over working the same jobs that were killing their husbands.
They did whatever they could to put a little food in the family’s stomach. This
often meant starving themselves.</p>
<p>I recently read <em>Rebel Sisters</em> by Marita Conlon-McKenna. It is a
great novel about the famous Grace Gifford and two of her sisters. I have
always loved the story of Grace and her marriage to Joe Plunkett inside
Kilmainham Gaol. The book discussed the Gifford sisters’ various roles during
the 1916 Easter Rising. I found myself compelled to look more at the role of
women in the struggle for Irish Freedom.</p>
<p>The early 20th century saw women emerging from their roles as wives and
caregivers, and becoming involved in a large array of social issues including
women’s education, women in the trade unions, and of course the women’s
suffrage movement. Many also became involved in the Irish Nationalist Movement.</p>
<p>In 1913, a group of women gathered to discuss the possibility of forming an
organization of women who would work with the Irish Volunteers. April 2, 1914:
over 100 women gathered in Dublin to discuss the role of women in the lead up
to the revolution, marking the formation of Cumann na mBan (The Women’s
Council). Cumann na mBan is an Irish republican women’s paramilitary
organization, whose constitution made explicit references to the use of force
by arms. The organization’s primary objectives were to advance the cause of
Irish liberty and to organize Irishwomen in the furtherance of this objective,
to assist in arming and equipping the Irish men for the defense of Ireland, and
to form a fund for these purposes. They called it ‘The Defense of Ireland
Fund’. Branches dedicated to the Cumann na mBan’s constitution quickly formed
across Ireland. The women who made up C n mB (short for Cumann na mBan) came
from diverse backgrounds. While most members were white-collar workers and
professional women, a considerable amount of recruits were working-class women.
Over time, some members split off to join other Associations, but the ladies of
the Cumann na mBan were not deterred.</p>
<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUwc4SRu9umQcyr_7IYPhN6oSoFY0ve7VgjfceQTM_hYotDughNyvzCliTAjBqEQ1DyKnISy2QtshyrbEU4X8xd9ba8sDcI9PVsknWl1GWeIXscelIjbO95iU_S4TPFatfJnpdue8CQI/s809/Cumann_na_mBan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="809" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsUwc4SRu9umQcyr_7IYPhN6oSoFY0ve7VgjfceQTM_hYotDughNyvzCliTAjBqEQ1DyKnISy2QtshyrbEU4X8xd9ba8sDcI9PVsknWl1GWeIXscelIjbO95iU_S4TPFatfJnpdue8CQI/w320-h206/Cumann_na_mBan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Cumann na mBan marching ©Irish National Museum</span></td></tr></tbody></table>In April 1916, C n mB integrated into the <em>Army of the Irish Republic</em>
under the leadership of Pádraic Pearse and James Connolly. By nightfall on the
day of the Rising, women insurgents from the C n mB had established themselves
in all but two major rebel strongholds throughout Dublin. Throughout the Easter
Rising, women played many pivotal roles. Although their roles are unfortunately
largely forgotten. A majority of women worked as Red Cross workers, couriers,
or secured rations for the men. Other women gathered intelligence on scouting
missions, carried messages, and carried explosives and arms from one stronghold
to another. In the chaos, it was easy for the women to navigate Dublin
inconspicuously. Some Cumann na mBan members also belonged to the Citizens
Army, which led to them being combatants in the rising. They loaded weapons,
and many were snipers. Even upon surrender, the woman had important roles. They
organized the evacuation of buildings and destroyed incriminating documents. C
n mB member Elizabeth O’Farrell acted as an intermediary between the two sides.
Under escort by the British Military, she delivered Pearse’s surrender order to
garrisons still fighting around Dublin. No women rebels were killed but a
gunshot badly wound sniper Margaret Skinnider. When the Rising was over,
seventy-seven women from the Cumann na mBan found themselves imprisoned in
Kilmainham Gaol. They released most women within a few weeks, because British
authorities had little desire to intern a large cohort of women. One woman
Constance Markievicz who claimed to have killed a police constable, was
sentenced to death. They later released her on amnesty in 1917.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgttFo5O4ZREUUh6-h9WvysLu6c7L6GO95jwFQuOgaI0PR5PsL5VkBMG03_lz5O2TTzF2vgGjK2dtEQwzwCp2iv-XIXdqwHf4dwlS9cKGebbSvD-gUDleefDFTi9lPbJZXYxBDAOjo5xm4/s1192/d0c23c_11e06ce29d1b43508bf0a4b023e29202_mv2.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1192" data-original-width="824" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgttFo5O4ZREUUh6-h9WvysLu6c7L6GO95jwFQuOgaI0PR5PsL5VkBMG03_lz5O2TTzF2vgGjK2dtEQwzwCp2iv-XIXdqwHf4dwlS9cKGebbSvD-gUDleefDFTi9lPbJZXYxBDAOjo5xm4/s320/d0c23c_11e06ce29d1b43508bf0a4b023e29202_mv2.webp" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Margaret Skinnider ©Irish National Museum</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p></p>
<p>The rising had ended, but for the women of the Cumann na mBan there was
still work to be done. Members continued to fight for Irish freedom and women’s
rights. They took a leading role in keeping the memory of the 1916 leaders
alive. The women organized prison relief and canvassed for Sinn Féin in the
1918 general election, in which Countess Markiewicz was elected Teachta Dála.
During the Anglo-Irish War, members hid weapons and provided safe houses for
volunteers. In 1923 the government of the Irish Free State banned the organization and opened Kilmainham Gaol for women prisoners. Women’s
involvement in the rising led to them taking bigger roles in Irish politics and
the continued fight for a United Ireland. The boldness of the C n mB set the
stage for women throughout Ireland. They no longer stood back while the men
fought. They opened doors for women like politician Bernadette Devlin-McAliskey
or more militant women like IRA member Mairéad Farrell. Whether they were members
of Cumann na mBan, the IRA, or Politicians, these women molded Ireland into
what it is today.</p>
<p>The organization stayed active during the Troubles and through the present
day. Today they are a proscribed organization in the United Kingdom under the Terrorism
Act 2000, but are not currently listed as a Foreign Terrorist Organization in
America.</p>
<p>Regardless if you agree with their tactics or not, the women of the Cumann
na mBan were pivotal in securing Irish freedom. In a time where women were
finding their voices, yet still took a back seat to men, they proved themselves
to be worthy counterparts. Women fought alongside men. Their involvement
was a fundamental reason the rebellion was truly revolutionary. These
women were not only rebelling against British rule, they were also rebelling
against the norms of women’s place in society. It is reasonable to believe that
without their support the leaders of the 1916 Easter Rising may have needed to
surrender sooner. Like many women around the world, these Irish freedom
fighters could no longer wait for the government to do what was right. They
knew they had to help bring about the change they wanted. Their means might not
have been the best, but at the time they believed they were necessary. One of
the most important lessons to learn from the ladies of the Cumann na mBan is
that women are capable of anything we set our minds too, even if it seems
impossible.</p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-28007767349791779252021-02-12T18:52:00.001-06:002021-02-12T18:54:20.224-06:00Love Should't Hurt! <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4nIq0lOslFdshibtRd8TQiJ7GrCRiwu54qFulEpLPraQwsMz2HpH_UnLFakxsNUXaHF56I7-yB0XUyKei378QDZzzmE0HqeT6LmCw3CqJumXwjrz-BZEXvE5nrb9FO6ds5g3nq-Px0EQ/s547/dmoestic-voilence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="520" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4nIq0lOslFdshibtRd8TQiJ7GrCRiwu54qFulEpLPraQwsMz2HpH_UnLFakxsNUXaHF56I7-yB0XUyKei378QDZzzmE0HqeT6LmCw3CqJumXwjrz-BZEXvE5nrb9FO6ds5g3nq-Px0EQ/w304-h320/dmoestic-voilence.jpg" width="304" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal">February is upon us and everyone’s mind will be on
Valentine’s Day. Dinners, cards, chocolates, and romance will be on the agenda
this month. For some lucky couples, an engagement may be in the works. Romance will be in the air for many couples
of all ages. While some will celebrate the month of love, the harsh reality is for many Valentine’s Day
will be anything but romantic. </p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">February is also Teen Dating Violence (TDV) Awareness Month. Teenagers are dating earlier than past generations, whether in group settings or as individual couples. Often this occurs without parental knowledge. They are maturing faster than ever and are taking part in adult activities. </span></div><p>As parents, we want to protect our children every minute of the day, but we have learned that it is an impossible goal. When our teens explore relationships and eventually start dating, we worry about so many things. Naturally, we are concerned about sex, pregnancy, and broken hearts. We pray they remember everything we taught and preached about consent and safe sex. One of the last things that crosses most of our minds is abuse. In fact, according to LoveisRespect, a national nonprofit resource aimed at empowering youth to prevent and end teen dating violence, 81% of parents believe that teen dating violence is not an issue, or admit they don’t know it’s an issue. Unfortunately, that is because we assume it won’t happen to our child. We assume our child would not abuse another person. We don’t ponder Teen Dating Violence because we equate relationship violence as an adult problem. It is not something discussed regularly as a teen problem. Unfortunately, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Teens are experiencing TDV at an alarming rate. </p><p>Teen Dating Violence affects adolescents between the ages of 12 and 19, and comprises four types of toxic behavior. Physical abuse, sexual abuse, psychological aggression and stalking are all acts of TDV. These behaviors occur both in person and electronically. Statistics show that one in three adolescents in the United States have been in an abusive relationship. Think about that statistic for a moment; that means 33% of any school. This is terrifying! According to The Center for Disease Control (CDC), approximately one in 11 female and one in 15 male high school students report having experienced physical dating violence. They also report that one in nine female and one in 36 male high school students have experienced sexual dating violence. On average, 26% of females and 15% of males are victims of Teen Dating Violence before the age of 18.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7p2gWoAhEH1I5Oi0oGxd8IfzHz_hQvmndiSyliCjREthW2Sr0qmm15ECTURD7WjQgyhtCLb9ElwEY5xSHMDtn4gqEbEuDVUlxV1K7rnPIvSdhz7m8tEHB7QcPBja5cMjR9VU99hjAdA/s668/image-20160301-31027-k3v4n8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="442" data-original-width="668" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-7p2gWoAhEH1I5Oi0oGxd8IfzHz_hQvmndiSyliCjREthW2Sr0qmm15ECTURD7WjQgyhtCLb9ElwEY5xSHMDtn4gqEbEuDVUlxV1K7rnPIvSdhz7m8tEHB7QcPBja5cMjR9VU99hjAdA/w320-h212/image-20160301-31027-k3v4n8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Teen Dating Violence is a serious public health crisis. However, the above statistics are not completely accurate as TDV, like domestic violence, is under-reported. As upsetting as these statistics are, the lasting damage is much more terrifying. Victims of TDV are more likely to take part in dangerous behavior such as using tobacco, drugs, and alcohol. They may develop eating disorders. They are at higher risk of depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts. It also has the capability of impacting their relationships into adulthood.<p></p><p>How did we get here? First, there is a definite lack of education and resources available for parents and teens. Many schools removed sex education from the curriculum. With that, teens are no longer learning about healthy relationships or consent. School counselors are there, but teens don’t utilize them. They aren’t being told they can. In a perfect world, our kids would talk to us about relationships; however, that is not always an option for all children. My kids know that if they are not comfortable coming to me, they have several close “aunts” or “uncles” they can turn to. I would rather they turn to a trusted adult than get terrible advice or false information from another teenager. </p><p>We don’t discuss Teen Dating Violence like we do Domestic Violence. Advertisements for shelters, and for help-lines are regularly on television. We hear horrific stories on the news and watch triggering scenes in movies. However, all the above almost always depict adults. Why? How come we do not see commercials for TDV help-lines? Why don’t we see teen dating violence depicted in movies? It’s because it is uncomfortable and comfortable. No one likes to feel uncomfortable. However, sometimes people need to feel uncomfortable to realize what is happening around them. </p><p>As always, education starts at home. Talk to our children about consent. We need to talk to them about sexting, stalking, and abuse. We need to open the lines of communication, no matter how uncomfortable it makes them, or us. As parents, we have to stop saying things like “Boys will be Boys.” We need to stop telling our sons and daughters that “He hit you because he likes you”. We are literally telling them what every abuser tells their victim. I did it because I love you. <b>Stop! </b>Stop telling kids it is normal to hit someone you like or to be hit by someone who likes them. Also, it is important to remember that kids learn about healthy relationships from their parents. They emulate what they see and hear. If a daughter hears her father verbally abuse her mother, she may eventually become numb to it, and consider it acceptable behavior. </p><p>Now is the perfect time to talk to your children about Teen Dating Violence. They are never too young. Talk to them about abuse; emotional, verbal, physical, and sexual. Let them know they can come to you, and that you are always there for him. Teach them how to not be a victim. Most importantly, teach them that <span style="font-size: medium;"><b>LOVE SHOULDN’T HURT</b>!</span></p><p>For more information on Teen Dating Violence and Prevention, please visit the websites below.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.loveisrespect.org/">National Teen Dating Abuse Helpline</a><br /></div><p></p><p><a href="https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/intimatepartnerviolence/teendatingviolence/fastfact.html">CDC-Teen Dating Violence</a></p><p><a href="https://www.teendvmonth.org/">Teen Dating Violence Month</a><br /></p><p><a href="http://thatsnotcool.com">thatsnotcool.com</a><br /></p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-88112078121568031282021-01-11T16:25:00.000-06:002021-01-11T16:25:39.094-06:00Rediscover Yourself This Year!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGF4M654-Rg8HfR5AcfH48Q5UTHuIrpF0Znm8oq8QbKn930yQ8BCw2i0OideevmnA0HVmfwIby9RtGtTgflAu3lXZtJ9FemlQf3F3qRV1BDqZAgL-zDOibyd5vG5jQCZv1_FDDMtfl5d4/s1200/new-year-resolutions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1200" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGF4M654-Rg8HfR5AcfH48Q5UTHuIrpF0Znm8oq8QbKn930yQ8BCw2i0OideevmnA0HVmfwIby9RtGtTgflAu3lXZtJ9FemlQf3F3qRV1BDqZAgL-zDOibyd5vG5jQCZv1_FDDMtfl5d4/w400-h223/new-year-resolutions.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>It is the time of year where we all make those ridiculous New Year’s
Resolutions. We proclaim to the world that we are going to eat healthier, work
out more, and be a better person. I am guilty of declaring “A New Year, A New
Me”. There are always some over-achievers who stick with those resolutions. Or
so they claim. I am not one of those people. Very seldom do I make resolutions,
but I do occasionally challenge myself. In 2019, I committed to a thirty-day
yoga challenge. I completed it. I actually did yoga for 365 days straight. This
is possibly the one time in my life that I could be considered an
over-achiever. My resolution this year is another challenge, but I want my
female readers to take this challenge with me.</p>
<p>As wives and mothers, we sacrifice so many things for our families. It is
our decision and we do it out of love. We do it with grace. Last year families
made more sacrifices than ever. No matter what sacrifice we have made,
sometimes we feel unappreciated. The sacrifices made are different for each
woman, but there is one we all have in common. We have all lost a part of our
identity.</p>
<p>When I got married, I went from being Mary to Lucky’s wife. A few years
later, I became Fiona’s mom, and then John’s mom. Often I am known as Mrs.
McAteer (to which I politely remind people that is my mother-in-law’s name).
Whenever possible, I encourage teens to call me Mary. It feels right to me.</p>
<p>Don’t get me wrong, I love the title of mommy and wife; but sometimes I miss
being Mary. Sometimes I forget who I was before I had my family. I forget the
things that made me who I was. I left behind things that I enjoyed doing. I set
aside some of my dreams, to ensure that others’ dreams could come true. Nobody
asked me to do this, it somehow happened. It is what mothers do, even when they
do not realize it. If you look within yourself, I am sure you can find a part
of yourself that you have lost. Lately, I have realized that these missing
pieces aren’t gone. They are waiting for you to rediscover them.</p>
<p>This year I am challenging myself and my readers to rediscover a part of
themselves. One that you have hidden away. Reacquaint yourselves with positive
aspects of your life pre-mommy life. If you used to draw, pick up a pencil. If
the club was your thing, gather the girls and dance the night away. Find a
piece of you that has been missing, we all have at least one. Most importantly,
I challenge you to realize that it is alright to put yourself first (without
feeling guilty). Carving time out for yourself can only strengthen your
relationship with your family. We may even discover something new about
ourselves.</p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-89046739062232006022020-12-31T16:04:00.001-06:002020-12-31T16:11:36.967-06:00Farewell 2020<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKVP36stcPBtxrNjCD_QZhC5LtkUgjUYehHsPA1LzDaFLfF1AuqK7E5vFuJcLybNt9drVZECmruvQZy7Xop3aNNHzuDZjIfButiHXZiR-WXy4ag1sW4lUZYxMfFdsXU5DAofPOxoNyGc/s1288/20201231_155738.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="822" data-original-width="1288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAKVP36stcPBtxrNjCD_QZhC5LtkUgjUYehHsPA1LzDaFLfF1AuqK7E5vFuJcLybNt9drVZECmruvQZy7Xop3aNNHzuDZjIfButiHXZiR-WXy4ag1sW4lUZYxMfFdsXU5DAofPOxoNyGc/s320/20201231_155738.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Here we are on New Year's Eve. I am sure we can all agree that 2020 has been a year we will never forget. A year full of change. News stories like we have never seen. Our grand children and great-grandchildren will be reading about this year in their history books. They will have so many historical facts to read about. No matter where you are on this beautiful planet, one story will be the same. <div><br /></div><div>All too often we focus on our differences. We do not notice the things that we have in common. We allow too many things to separate us. Religion, Culture, Gender, Sexual Identity, and skin color are too often used to judge people. We see these things, and we judge. This year we all shared something. The whole world suffered from a pandemic. No one was safe. It didnt discriminate against anyone. People of all skin colors were touched. People of all genders and sexual Identities suffered and died. People of all religions mourned. People of all countries were scared. The whole world was united for a common cause, Fighting Covid. </div><div><br /></div><div>I hope in twenty years the children of the world will look at 2020 and realize we are more alike than we could ever imagine.
My hope is that as we welcome 2021, that we remember all the things we have in common from those different from us. I hope that when you reflect on 2020 you not only remember the negative, but that you remember the good things that happened this year. I know it may be hard right now to find positive things from this year, but if you look at your families and more importantly within yourself I promise you they are there.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsOHEY0jJM5b_JB6pJa0ujJhp6mYTNvhrBhtd3TJPaC4_pFt2jJcz4oesGXS-dXwbncx-wEvjFv51ZDv_m6Ta3IfiFF82gZCICKHd9qU-hcbO69y4v6KbhAUfRJ1PeeVdv_TnUiHPQDo/s1080/20201231_104925.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="1080" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQsOHEY0jJM5b_JB6pJa0ujJhp6mYTNvhrBhtd3TJPaC4_pFt2jJcz4oesGXS-dXwbncx-wEvjFv51ZDv_m6Ta3IfiFF82gZCICKHd9qU-hcbO69y4v6KbhAUfRJ1PeeVdv_TnUiHPQDo/s320/20201231_104925.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-88020719529313230982020-11-17T20:04:00.000-06:002020-11-17T20:04:58.260-06:00Finding Gratitude in Chaos.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRIEEEBOMb8zcZJW1RWcel4tSikJhfHCvIhxSBLOWZ9IvqgrkRN0dWEdRZ0o2fHujNeS3ZEIQcTDC_BKI2MVoXXYHD3GjTZ-QMoeUCyZmarbzTFswZ1CVFI16Yvn-98Ba0rQBb-g3u4FM/s512/gratitude.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="320" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRIEEEBOMb8zcZJW1RWcel4tSikJhfHCvIhxSBLOWZ9IvqgrkRN0dWEdRZ0o2fHujNeS3ZEIQcTDC_BKI2MVoXXYHD3GjTZ-QMoeUCyZmarbzTFswZ1CVFI16Yvn-98Ba0rQBb-g3u4FM/s320/gratitude.jpg"/></a></div><p>With a month and a half left in the year, 2020 is shaping up to be the longest and weirdest year in history. The news has been full of one tragedy after another. There have been wildfires and protests around the world. Almost 200 hundred innocent people were killed by a horrific explosion in Beirut. We can't forget the murder hornets. There have been many Iconic deaths this year, but none more notable than that of the Honorable Ruth Bader Ginsburg. We had the world's longest Presidential election, and throughout all of this, we faced a global pandemic. </p><p>In a year that has literally been one of the worst years in my life, I am still trying to look at the positive things. I am still trying to reflect on all the reasons I have to be grateful. When I sat down to think of things I was grateful for, I struggled at first. All of the usual things came to mind. Of Course, I am grateful for my family, friends, home, and heath. Don't get me wrong, these are the most important things in the world to me. I have the best family and friends in the world. They stand by me and support me no matter what. They have shaped me into a better person. I am blessed to have them in my life. I am blessed to have them in life.</p><p>I wanted to look deeper. I wanted to find things I didn't realize I was grateful for. I was looking for things that were less obvious to me, things I never thought about being grateful for. Things I have taken for granted. I found so many things, I took for granted. Music, books, and traditions were a few of the many things I came up with. I also wanted to look at this year. Even though this year has been utterly awful for a multitude of reasons, I wanted to find something positive in it.</p><p>This year I have developed an appreciation for little things such as toilet paper, but more than that I developed a great respect for people who work in stores. They take so much crap from the public and still show up every day. I have a new appreciation for every minute I get to spend with the people I love; even if it is only for five minutes. I am cherishing every single minute because I do not know when I will see them again.</p><p>We have always lived a hectic life. Between the kid's activities and my husband's work schedule, sit down family dinners are not a regular occurrence. With the pandemic forcing us to slow down we have had more family dinners and game nights. As a family, we discovered new stuff about each other, as well as about ourselves. It has been nothing short of marvelous. While we missed out on such much this year, we gained so much in return.</p><p>As we sit down with our loved ones this holiday season, take a moment to look around you. Be thankful for everything you see. The big stuff, but be grateful for the small stuff as well.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-38444980105568005022020-10-05T11:29:00.006-06:002020-10-06T20:44:00.544-06:00A Letter to My Teenage Daughter...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9fK7yit9I5QFNPSC52NKZzoqdZCrr460s5HoEYgIwboWp_sKQBVrySL5I6jp1qsDVQc_TxQwd-_Ktu1kJvNAXfpfdJlmeMpPml0wGI7lqQOVU2MBXB1_AwOE8iwBA3G13s-eAP16yi0/s453/FB_IMG_1601904700565.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="453" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9fK7yit9I5QFNPSC52NKZzoqdZCrr460s5HoEYgIwboWp_sKQBVrySL5I6jp1qsDVQc_TxQwd-_Ktu1kJvNAXfpfdJlmeMpPml0wGI7lqQOVU2MBXB1_AwOE8iwBA3G13s-eAP16yi0/w320-h309/FB_IMG_1601904700565.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Today is your Birthday! It seems like yesterday I held you in my arms for the first
time. This sweet Irish lassie who melted my heart the minute I laid
eyes on her. You needed me to do everything. You relied on me to
fulfill your every little need. I spent countless nights watching you
sleep, praying that I would be the mother that you deserved. I worried
that I wasn’t doing things right. I begged God to protect you from
illnesses and keep you safe. I didn’t know how I would protect you from
all the things that could go wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>I blinked my eyes, and you started crawling and then walking. You needed me less but still needed me for so much. Before I knew it, you started dance class and found something you loved. You made new friends, including your best friend. At an early age, you showed such commitment and work ethic. You found a passion for dance and thrived. You were the cutest little Irish dancer I had ever seen. Your first performance, your first competition, both made me cry. You were growing before my eyes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before long you started school. You were so excited. You gathered your supplies, put your uniform on, and began your academic journey. I was prepared for you to cry when I dropped you off. What I was not prepared for was for you to smile and wave goodbye as I left. You may not have cried, but I did. This was the moment I comprehended how quickly you were growing up and that you wouldn’t need me forever. With each year you became more independent. You were finding your way in this crazy world.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG724kfW44X7QSE-wrvsnDcAcKWKL0b9YG1FvBTvFHyuDuADS8pNoi9yKn7aWt5rkL8ZhZZz90J7ToeN5Tz9QfjGs1WP0coL-K3PcH3kUcwM9dH63hulW9jgaOP-OCF-aNMz5_37dUlDg/s1280/IMG_11741.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG724kfW44X7QSE-wrvsnDcAcKWKL0b9YG1FvBTvFHyuDuADS8pNoi9yKn7aWt5rkL8ZhZZz90J7ToeN5Tz9QfjGs1WP0coL-K3PcH3kUcwM9dH63hulW9jgaOP-OCF-aNMz5_37dUlDg/s320/IMG_11741.jpg" /></a></div>You developed new friendships, tastes, and opinions. Even though I don’t always agree with them, I respect them. You have surrounded yourself with friends, great friends. They are a wonderful group of young ladies that any mother would be happy to have around their daughter. They are kind and are always there for you. These are the kind of friendships I hope you will have throughout your life. I am sure you will have friends I don’t like in the future. I just hope I have given you the tools to weed out the friends that don’t have the same values that you have. You have been an excellent judge of character thus far, I have faith that you will continue to use good judgment. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I have watched you grow and mature, you have changed so much. However, all the things that make you so special have stayed the same. Your heart is pure gold. You love everyone and your heart breaks when you see someone suffering. You love volunteering and serving other people and animals. You stand up for kids being bullied. You cheer on others even when it is against you. Your friend’s wins are more important than your own. You are empathetic, compassionate and so very kind. My dear, you feel everything so deeply. As your mother, I have been blessed to see all these wonderful qualities that you possess. I know I am biased, but others see them in you as well. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GQz1I2x_IcqjTr99vws7147bzFQ3PcCmQcFjr9cizuEjjzwqykBcJlDb-tpc19aieqXxDpy8T3KC9jGK2Cp0OS-6iVYPKuexjn25ogFIbtLS5mNeEnWHd52NU09wLip6_SU-Sk2bKj0/s2048/20191121_163147.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1625" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GQz1I2x_IcqjTr99vws7147bzFQ3PcCmQcFjr9cizuEjjzwqykBcJlDb-tpc19aieqXxDpy8T3KC9jGK2Cp0OS-6iVYPKuexjn25ogFIbtLS5mNeEnWHd52NU09wLip6_SU-Sk2bKj0/w266-h335/20191121_163147.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div>Now here we are, you are now a teenager. I have such mixed emotions. I am sad because you are no longer my baby girl who cried when I left the house. I am sad because you are closer to adulthood that you are to a baby. I am nervous because the teenage years can be full of heartache and angst. At the same time, I am excited because I can’t wait to watch you grow and see all the amazing things you will do. And believe me, you will do exceptional things. You have always wanted to make the world a better place, and I think you can. I know you can accomplish anything that you set your mind to.
aak back and have regrets. Even with all the fun, you will have it is important to take school seriously. Work hard like you always have. To make your dreams come true, you need an education. Remember, you can be both smart and popular. Popularity is a tricky thing. It can be a blessing and a curse. Being popular isn’t everything, it does not make you a better person. In fact, it has been known to make nice girls mean. I have no doubt you will be popular, just use your popularity for good. Always remember how it feels to have your feelings hurt. Do you want to make someone else feel that way? </div></div><div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIETVkIxAiQsGj595Ii_nZ1BOVMHbnXm6UAE71lLjbJWFbpvC_kM3MyAf5s7ngOgee-83iV3qlTw_rqj8LVBLlUMZgJIaVbr8Ml0zllbfZT66W1W83bEJig3YZ1JHpLDbiEa2-10ujGJ4/s2048/IMG_20201005_090306_356.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIETVkIxAiQsGj595Ii_nZ1BOVMHbnXm6UAE71lLjbJWFbpvC_kM3MyAf5s7ngOgee-83iV3qlTw_rqj8LVBLlUMZgJIaVbr8Ml0zllbfZT66W1W83bEJig3YZ1JHpLDbiEa2-10ujGJ4/s320/IMG_20201005_090306_356.jpg" /></a></div>Soon you will have your first boyfriend or girlfriend.
We have always taught you that Love comes <span class="pwa-mark">in many forms, </span>and
we support you no matter who you love. Whatever love looks like for you, we just want you to be happy. As long as they
are good to you and treat you right. I
hope you trust and believe us. You will break some hearts, and <span class="pwa-mark">your heart will be broken</span>. It may feel impossible,
but your heart will heal. Make sure you keep it open, don’t let one
looser keep you from happiness. Just don’t rush it. Trust your gut
and make sure they are worthy of your love.<p></p><div><div>The next few years will be full of emotions and pressures. Just trust your gut, work hard, and enjoy the ride. Most importantly know that we love you and are here to help you get through it all. Enjoy the Ride!!</div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Love,
Mom<br /></div></div></div></div>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-15894263356836211002020-08-24T20:31:00.002-06:002020-09-11T15:28:07.704-06:00Friends By Chance, Sisters by Choice!<div data-pm-slice="1 1 []">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOM7T3BxhbcrKS7BP80amvDzkSe1k6b9QW5LhiHUxL5UkGhS2XOE-NcFrxUPurXDpAsk4WmtcOPd11k0d_yHd4YnGat8TA0gz0dUk3VqqdMdqcu8s5eRvCGMvmEt-3RjAmfdR11rpexRw/s1600/M%2526a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1247" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOM7T3BxhbcrKS7BP80amvDzkSe1k6b9QW5LhiHUxL5UkGhS2XOE-NcFrxUPurXDpAsk4WmtcOPd11k0d_yHd4YnGat8TA0gz0dUk3VqqdMdqcu8s5eRvCGMvmEt-3RjAmfdR11rpexRw/s320/M%2526a.jpg" width="248" /></a>As I get older, I think a lot about my friendships. I’ve pondered what makes a good friend. Why did I choose the friends I have? The insecure part of me questions why they chose me as a friend. Over the years I have lost friends and gained some fantastic new ones. It is just par for the course. Out with the old and in with the new, I suppose. One thing that I know for certain is that I have cherished all my friendships both past and present; and given them my all. When it comes to friendship, I go all in.<br />
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Everyone has that one friend. They always have your back and they know you better than you know yourself. They tell you what you need to hear, and not what you want to hear. They come into your life abruptly, and they never leave. They aren’t just friends; they are family.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwe9P2dxHTeZs7zF7jLRP7fEn2UkB7dPa7eNOS_2ivWvYXJTimS4OzkzBoB7IMylZFI7XguWyw6MjzmOadatcQ7gUpQPVgbJSxbBcuYVmR2q7jVz2aY-1AgpLVWlojtJbfJa8oyX0wxDs/s1600/M%2526B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1156" data-original-width="996" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwe9P2dxHTeZs7zF7jLRP7fEn2UkB7dPa7eNOS_2ivWvYXJTimS4OzkzBoB7IMylZFI7XguWyw6MjzmOadatcQ7gUpQPVgbJSxbBcuYVmR2q7jVz2aY-1AgpLVWlojtJbfJa8oyX0wxDs/s320/M%2526B.jpg" width="273" /></a>I don’t have one friend like that. I have two. I am doubly blessed to call two of the most beautiful women in the world my best friends. They aren’t just beautiful women; they are both absolutely gorgeous. Their genuine beauty lies on the inside. Cliché, I know, but it is the absolute truth. They have enormous hearts and would do anything for the people they care about. They are so kind and nurturing, both amazing mothers. They make me want to be a better person every day. They also remind me of the kind of mother I want to be. They are both raising amazing kids that are as precious to me as their mommies are. They are excellent role models for my children, especially my daughter (who loves them nearly as much as I do).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrITHXzJ4zqgiyoJVRPZkdTEibiStwA4ViBe1ZhnkUlP-hdOx3xcGVRH5M7NsKoNBWi8cswOQKdMceLjArxw5hOGkBpMC0rdmbpU9l8yOaz4H41lOMO2Bf0TzbZ4Ailc9y5UgmrDx2p4M/s1600/FB_IMG_1598306336571.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrITHXzJ4zqgiyoJVRPZkdTEibiStwA4ViBe1ZhnkUlP-hdOx3xcGVRH5M7NsKoNBWi8cswOQKdMceLjArxw5hOGkBpMC0rdmbpU9l8yOaz4H41lOMO2Bf0TzbZ4Ailc9y5UgmrDx2p4M/s320/FB_IMG_1598306336571.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I have had a lot of friends throughout my life. Some who I thought of as best friends (or very close friends), but unfortunately for whatever reason we grew apart. We all got older, and often life got in the way. Some got what they needed from me and moved on. Others didn’t have small kids at home, and when my ability to go out and party disappeared, so did they. Not all of my friendships over the years have come to complete ends, some just became acquaintances. A birthday message on Facebook, a Christmas card, or a random text lets us know the other person is still around. Sometimes I hope to kick start the friendship that was once so important to me, even when I know it wasn’t important to the other person. I try not to let it bother me, but sometimes it stings. I take it personally, even when I don’t want to.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcGne8EeGq6x37ZOqPAfT2BsWFsH39LWWK_Q9WmZ_2QGa_sI3rpxGT1XOhBib378Idra5g_o1tFvvj_RuBdfSBqMyqKf6ACu8eQ6aV5njTqamckfgqKCum1ShbjKh6ubDdxho8lh5fjs/s1600/FB_IMG_1598306878861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcGne8EeGq6x37ZOqPAfT2BsWFsH39LWWK_Q9WmZ_2QGa_sI3rpxGT1XOhBib378Idra5g_o1tFvvj_RuBdfSBqMyqKf6ACu8eQ6aV5njTqamckfgqKCum1ShbjKh6ubDdxho8lh5fjs/s320/FB_IMG_1598306878861.jpg" width="320" /></a>That is the difference with my two best friends. Even when they both lived out of state we remained close. After years of friendship, we have had minor disagreements (all family bickers), but we have never had a major fight. They have never betrayed me, and I have never betrayed them. At least I hope they have never felt betrayed by me. These two strong women have endured so much loss in their lives, yet they never lost themselves. They have faced grief and trauma head-on, and they came out the other side stronger. We have been through breakups and losing parents. I have held their hands through it all and they have held me up in return. Even with all the tears, there have been a million more laughs. I had the honor of standing with them as their Maid of Honor on their wedding days. Of course, they both stood with me as well. I could have never married without them both there. I was in the room when one of them gave birth, and they both would have been in the delivery room with me, had I not had c-sections. They have literally been there for almost every adult milestone. My son is so lucky to have them as his Godmothers. But it goes way beyond that. Most people cannot say that they have been best friends for their whole life. I can! These ladies came into my life at very different times and in very special ways.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5UQJrdUs6OIQrU3dxT-oXFAWk5kn3NFc-Gk1-T3grP1C5cZ07LqjNiItEp8ZAG5dO7JlF20vkt-ZaqSGbZgRzq_Str07pRtV9Bwjzrefn6zg7RSuk1yEnfSiLmdV63b_CQQleKcKjeg/s1600/m%2526A2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="471" data-original-width="604" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy5UQJrdUs6OIQrU3dxT-oXFAWk5kn3NFc-Gk1-T3grP1C5cZ07LqjNiItEp8ZAG5dO7JlF20vkt-ZaqSGbZgRzq_Str07pRtV9Bwjzrefn6zg7RSuk1yEnfSiLmdV63b_CQQleKcKjeg/s320/m%2526A2.jpg" width="320" /></a>When I was two years old, my mom took a job in a flower shop. Her boss, who would eventually become her best friend, had a daughter my age. Well, not quite my age, she is a whole six months older than me (which is very important now that we are older)! We grew up doing nearly everything together. We took dance, swimming, and ice skating lessons together. Full disclosure, we sort of took ice skating. If hiding behind the lockers and eating snacks during the lesson counts, then we definitely took ice skating lessons. We had so many sleepovers, where we put on fantastic shows or presented fabulous art made from junk. We took lots of road trips and sang along to the same song by <em>Chicago</em> over and over. After watching the movie Mannequin one too many times, we thought we had found our calling. We ate pickles until we were sick. We went on walks “collecting” the most beautiful rocks. We even found an interesting way to dispose of cookies we didn’t want to eat. Almost every memory of my childhood includes her. Most of my favorite adult memories include her, too. She is the mother of three wonderful boys that I am proud to call my nephews. She makes being a “Boy Mom” look like a breeze. Her boys are three of the sweetest little gentleman I have ever met. They are genuine reflections of her. Her best traits have been passed on to them. Her boys are some of the luckiest children in the world. Not only is she an exceptional mom, but she spent her life following her dreams. Yet another thing she makes look easy. Her commitment to her craft helps keep me focused on my own. Reminding me to keep writing, even when I do not get the results I want. As kids, we bickered here and there, but we always had each other’s backs. Sadly, I do not remember the day we met; but the beauty of it is, I don’t remember a day that she wasn’t in my life. 40 years later and she still makes me laugh non-stop. 40 years of friendship has made us more than best friends. We are sisters.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIahl0zvQV8kyyrKRJ28y3Fpi2M0HUzzhmGuPJg6yC_k2QvXhAOXeBEGGtnw7MGah4a_yoFnkrKIjCTlMJ92FzZ-FlHQcsNqftbxdGPzZT427a29H-xTBaOmzdK9LcvFcO0LTqwY3SMS0/s1600/M%2526B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIahl0zvQV8kyyrKRJ28y3Fpi2M0HUzzhmGuPJg6yC_k2QvXhAOXeBEGGtnw7MGah4a_yoFnkrKIjCTlMJ92FzZ-FlHQcsNqftbxdGPzZT427a29H-xTBaOmzdK9LcvFcO0LTqwY3SMS0/s320/M%2526B2.jpg" width="221" /></a>Now my other sister I haven’t known for 40 years, but I have known her for more than half of my life. On our first day of freshman year, two girls ended up in the same homeroom. We also had the other six classes together. We had no choice but to be friends. The Universe threw us together. Okay,<br />
maybe it was school admins! Whoever it was I am eternally grateful that she was put in my life. When I changed schools, there was no way I was doing it without her. So what did we do? We convinced her parents it was the best idea in the world. We were right! While we had great times at our first school, all of my best high school memories involved her at the second school. After high school, we remained close. We went to so many parties and clubs. I mean a lot of clubs. We were V.I.P. (at least in our minds), but we were definitely V.I.B. (very important bitches). She became a mother before me and I am in awe of the mother she is. She embraced motherhood and raised amazing girls. One who has grown to be one of the most AMAZING women I have ever met. She is everything I could hope my daughter grows up to be. She is strong, compassionate, intelligent, and brave. All traits she got from her beautiful mother. I have had the pleasure of watching her grow from newborn to this amazing woman. I take so much pride in it. Not because I had anything to do with it, but because I can say that my best friend did that. When I look at her, I see my best friend. I see everything that I love about her encompassed into another human being.<br />
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I could go on about these two AMAZING women forever. They are the world’s best friends, amazing mothers, and just fantastic humans. I do not know where I would be in my life without them. No two people outside of my family have been there for me more than they have. I am who I am today because of them. There is no way I could ever pay them back for all they have given me in my life. The constant love, laughter, and support they have given me is unbelievable. I am so thankful that our paths crossed so many years ago. I hate to think who I would have turned out to be without their influence.<br />
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While I may not remember or understand the dynamics that brought us together, I thank God every day for giving them to me. I cherish them so much and hope that I have given them at least half of what they have given to me.<br />
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Over time, friendships change; but genuine friendships will weather every storm and last forever.Over time, friendships change; but genuine friendships will weather every storm and last forever.<br />
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Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-66545297834869841482020-07-27T14:45:00.000-06:002020-07-27T14:45:37.595-06:00My Dear Son, Thank You for Being You!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilP20TQrxhUCFfAvyVwxG6DMCDZRSfS7RvsZHgmv_E-POCIz5_0nqzgdMYSyEXA-pQYO7I2DOzuSFcfOQzcFY_8cjOIE7F2DCqJn2blsVXhmM9VOYD297W7T-sgh6XgEHr_RBpgBda6OM/s1600/IMG_20191109_0008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="1600" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilP20TQrxhUCFfAvyVwxG6DMCDZRSfS7RvsZHgmv_E-POCIz5_0nqzgdMYSyEXA-pQYO7I2DOzuSFcfOQzcFY_8cjOIE7F2DCqJn2blsVXhmM9VOYD297W7T-sgh6XgEHr_RBpgBda6OM/s320/IMG_20191109_0008.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
When I envisioned my family it looked very different from what I got.
My husband and I always talked about having four kids. We always said we
wanted two boys and two girls. I didn’t get my little cookie-cutter
family, but what I got was so much better.<br />
<br />
In 2007, I was blessed with my beautiful daughter. She was the most
awesome baby and is now a pretty amazing tween. She makes being a mom
easy! She is definitely my greatest accomplishment. I could brag
about her for days, and in another piece, I will, but this one isn’t about
her.<br />
<br />
We didn’t get our four kids for a multitude of reasons including finances,
age, and infertility. My first pregnancy was a beautiful surprise.
I was just engaged and wasn’t even thinking about being pregnant. My
second pregnancy didn’t happen as easily. After a year of trying to
conceive, followed by tests and blood draws; I started Clomid. A year on
Clomid, a cocktail of vitamins, and giving up caffeine, I finally conceived my
youngest child. We were elated. The frustration was finally over.
Our family was growing.<br />
<br />
At nine weeks pregnant, I woke up with the most horrific pain I had ever
felt in my life. After going to one emergency and being transported by ambulance
to another, the pain had gotten so severe that they placed me on a morphine
drip. My entire body ached to the touch and I couldn’t stop
vomiting. The doctors didn’t know what was wrong, but the baby was still
all right. I eventually consented to exploratory surgery. I now
was at risk of losing my baby. During the procedure, they discovered that
I was bleeding out, and my abdomen was filling with blood. My ovary and
fallopian tube were dead. I had a Salpingo-Oophorectomy. In
layman’s terms, I had my ovary and tube removed. I had an ovarian cyst
rupture, causing my ovary to torsion killing it n my tube. Since my
placenta had not developed yet, the baby was feeding on an ovary. We
prayed that it wasn’t the one they removed. I began taking hormone pills
and seeing my doctor weekly. In the meantime, my doctor prepared me for
the possibility of miscarriage. Each week we defeated the odds, and one
day I was no longer considered high risk. Although I never stopped worrying, I
finally allowed myself to hope. In October, that hope turned into
happiness when my beautiful baby was born.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oyvKx0fJqS4U8rcWDbLC1tgBC9g-lzTgb8Qy2zXae4AZGa5xOrAXAtSOzsPnNezF5a4Xa-tOKuuDUkvTpj6Do9jWeYhI5HLiZwtgNZ9lpldZl2klBkGxXTx1DAERbqDtjzmDhJ5pW4c/s1600/FB_IMG_1595878276666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="960" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1oyvKx0fJqS4U8rcWDbLC1tgBC9g-lzTgb8Qy2zXae4AZGa5xOrAXAtSOzsPnNezF5a4Xa-tOKuuDUkvTpj6Do9jWeYhI5HLiZwtgNZ9lpldZl2klBkGxXTx1DAERbqDtjzmDhJ5pW4c/s320/FB_IMG_1595878276666.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
While the family I had imagined included boys, the reality was that I had
wanted another daughter. I cried when I found out I was having a
boy. I knew how to play with barbies and have tea parties. I didn’t
know how to play cars and Army men, nor did I have the desire to learn.
Everyone was telling me how lucky I was to be having a boy. Despite every
“boy mom” telling me how wonderful little boys were, I just wasn’t feeling
it. Some women were meant to be a mommy to boys, I just felt I
wasn’t.<br />
<br />
This did not mean I didn’t bond with him. The moment I held my son in
my arms, I was in love. He was this tiny little miracle baby that I
thought I would never meet. I loved him with all of my heart, but I
didn’t feel the special mother-son bond that everyone talked about. He
was a very sweet but needy baby. He was always happy but could be
quick-tempered. He nursed more than I ever thought was possible. He
definitely made me second guess myself. How could I possibly take care of
these two beautiful kids? Could I give my daughter the attention she
deserves while meeting the needs of this little one? I never convinced
myself I could, but it all worked itself out. However, I still hadn’t
developed that special bond that everyone was bragging about. There was a
powerful bond, but it felt no different from the one I had with my
daughter. Why did I not have a special bond with my son? I loved
him so much that my heart could explode, but I felt the same way about my
daughter. I decided to quit worrying about this so-called special bond
and enjoy every minute.<br />
<br />
Before I knew it, he was sitting up and had developed a big
personality. His smile was contagious and could light up the room. He
was a funny little guy who loved to make people laugh, especially his
sister. I was even a little jealous of how much he loved her. From
day one, she was his favorite. Even as a newborn in the hospital he tracked
her voice, turning his head to whatever direction she was in. Their bond
was truly the sweetest.<br />
<br />
He grew faster than I ever thought was possible, or maybe it felt that way
because I knew he was my last baby. He loved giving kisses and his
smooches were the BEST! One day when he was just learning to walk, he
waddled over to me and placed a hand on each cheek and kissed me. After
that, I was a goner. I then knew what everyone was talking about when
they talked about the love between mom and sons. He then just kept hugging
and giving me kisses from there on out. His nonstop desire to cuddle me,
his need for me when he became overwhelmed had shown me that indeed there was a
special connection.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7s4_bedLNiPMjOqYAGZ1xFB1TtA7IkIL10dc3wV3UlUjUrw10i3y-C0dUHH8e9zYew-KsbJ2VXh7tH2UPtBIbsrEkQhDV5eArmMYeRpbPc3gkEMN6LUNN9NE-TVaeoR8y7ta57r7SAAE/s2032/JohnAge7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2032" data-original-width="1424" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7s4_bedLNiPMjOqYAGZ1xFB1TtA7IkIL10dc3wV3UlUjUrw10i3y-C0dUHH8e9zYew-KsbJ2VXh7tH2UPtBIbsrEkQhDV5eArmMYeRpbPc3gkEMN6LUNN9NE-TVaeoR8y7ta57r7SAAE/s320/JohnAge7.jpg" /></a>As he has gotten older, our bond has grown. He absolutely prefers me
for almost everything. I will admit he prefers playing some games with
daddy. Remember how I said I had no desire to play cars and army men?
Well, I still don’t! That doesn’t mean I don’t play them, it just means I
suck at it, and he knows it. We have found plenty of things I am good at
playing, or at least he pretends that I’m good at. Maybe he is just
taking pity on me.<br />
<br />
Raising a boy has been a challenge, but so rewarding. Although his
heart is huge, my son is small in stature. Like every mother, I am protective
of my kids, but nothing brings out the mama bear in me more than protecting this
little guy. I am raising a guy who walks to the beat of his own
drum.<br />
<br />
He has long hair that he loves and has no desire to cut it.
He is very particular about it. I’ll just say she prefers it curly.
He doesn’t care when people mistake him for a girl. He is also very
particular about what he wears. His socks can’t be bumpy, and his pants
shouldn’t touch his shoes. It makes me crazy, but we have learned to
adapt to his quirks. He is just living his best life and being true to himself.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVx8TXOy0t2uB_ScHECl0yfZQm1XlG6sDBaHveGNje4Y2_iRlUGcS5YCkklxRQJQ9zbe88BFYnMCC0NEUlenlxR2b354OcgBEIIyp8IxW0ujIZpj2rOCn1VKwtvvtjAtFYVRatkQm-vs/s1600/FB_IMG_1595880907788.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVx8TXOy0t2uB_ScHECl0yfZQm1XlG6sDBaHveGNje4Y2_iRlUGcS5YCkklxRQJQ9zbe88BFYnMCC0NEUlenlxR2b354OcgBEIIyp8IxW0ujIZpj2rOCn1VKwtvvtjAtFYVRatkQm-vs/s320/FB_IMG_1595880907788.jpg" width="240" /></a>One thing about my wee man is he has very strong opinions. He knows
what his interests are. When he likes something he can be obsessive about
it. He has a very one-track <span style="text-align: center;">mind. I have learned how to spend
quality time with him while fostering his interests. For the past six
years he has been OBSESSED with all things fire department; books, shows, toys,
clothes. You name it; he loves it. We eventually began visiting
firehouses regularly. First locally, and then when we traveled. He
now has an extensive collection of fire department patches from around the
world. The firemen he meets are always impressed with how much he knows about
the engines, tools, and gear. Six years later, he still dreams of being a
firefighter. We have tried to expand his interests, but he always pushes
back. So I work hard to come up with new creative ways to cultivate his
love for the fire department.</span><br />
<br />
He isn’t interested in the things most boys are into. He enjoys
playing house with his sister. He isn’t interested in superheroes or
playing sports. He enjoys watching the St. Louis Cardinals and Blues with
me, but I think it is more because it’s something that I enjoy. He is
extremely sensitive to other people’s feelings and cries when anyone in our
house cries. Even when he is hurting, he tries to make those around him
feel better. My boy knows exactly when I need a hug or kiss.
Although he tells me he loves me a million times a day, it is always at the perfect
time. His love is the best medicine.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WxLycykw0NCMb2gsasJxb9W0Pu3aP6Fc-7CU78JgrNbiPwkNKAxY-nc8CfQK5N-TwBAFWE-tff5cVdDZ3CRMPqU5jkbcqQOZT83UjVx7U4KGBm3mA9Rce3TtjpxzzfTcvJc9Q6ppQDQ/s1600/FB_IMG_1595878098300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WxLycykw0NCMb2gsasJxb9W0Pu3aP6Fc-7CU78JgrNbiPwkNKAxY-nc8CfQK5N-TwBAFWE-tff5cVdDZ3CRMPqU5jkbcqQOZT83UjVx7U4KGBm3mA9Rce3TtjpxzzfTcvJc9Q6ppQDQ/s320/FB_IMG_1595878098300.jpg" width="320" /></a>We have developed the most special and perfect relationship. I’m not
sure if it is that same mother-son relationship that everyone talked
about. I don’t think it is. Because this kid I am raising is so unique and
special that there is no way he can fit into any stereotype. Not even
one about a mother/son relationship. I am more than okay with that.
I wasted so much time looking for some bond that everyone else had, that I
didn’t even see what we had was so much more special.<br />
<br />
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<br />Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-39136344542686526182020-06-24T21:31:00.001-06:002020-06-24T21:31:58.336-06:00Mothers I Stand with you....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUoQ8vWcGFE-YpAxHXxPhhAR6ylLnT6ecMNxtXtkgszJUhxZ_dpWCM96tfTM7KqvgWwYuBWxwVHTu5pXebelydevejZAonzfnJs4islK-aoiyUXLTCQG9jGm7wbOBjX4wB7cp2rW5OFs/s1600/FB_IMG_1593053824263.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="578" data-original-width="800" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUoQ8vWcGFE-YpAxHXxPhhAR6ylLnT6ecMNxtXtkgszJUhxZ_dpWCM96tfTM7KqvgWwYuBWxwVHTu5pXebelydevejZAonzfnJs4islK-aoiyUXLTCQG9jGm7wbOBjX4wB7cp2rW5OFs/s400/FB_IMG_1593053824263.jpg" width="400" /></a>Like every mother from the moment, I found I was pregnant I began to worry. I worried about how I would protect my kids. Would I be a good enough mother? Could I keep them safe? I feared that I would not be able to provide everything they needed. I was scared that my abundance of love would not be enough. I was always afraid. I was so focused on all the things that could go wrong, that I couldn't see the things that were going right. I often forgot to imagine all of the great possibilities. While what I worry about has slightly changed as they get older, I know that these worries will continue until I take my last breath. Even with all of my worries, I know that some mothers worry way more than I could ever comprehend.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYstmqxX-NNzcciCrqvRmPz0aLqse88w6bVbmvkmwYpDRCQ3XKJsYIWnkcD25iz2VZw4rQpkCh69atk3p2TRddehkZ9NfRY__OqNQXB89TRMuxyoWKewr1c2_ZeuN_ZpjsM8w4hAx54Y/s1600/FB_IMG_1590799196881.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="916" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRYstmqxX-NNzcciCrqvRmPz0aLqse88w6bVbmvkmwYpDRCQ3XKJsYIWnkcD25iz2VZw4rQpkCh69atk3p2TRddehkZ9NfRY__OqNQXB89TRMuxyoWKewr1c2_ZeuN_ZpjsM8w4hAx54Y/s320/FB_IMG_1590799196881.jpg" width="251" /></a>You see, my children are white. They were born with privilege. It is a privilege that no amount of education or money can buy. Their skin color will afford them more than they will ever comprehend. I will try my hardest to make sure they understand the privilege that they have. Although how can one truly comprehend that their skin color alone protects them from so much hatred? I have talked to them since they were very small about equality. We have discussed the oppression that so many endure on a daily basis.<br />
<br />
To the mothers with children of color, I am so sorry. I will never say that I understand your fear and pain. I could never understand! Saying I do, only negates your feelings. I have fear, but it will never compare to the fear you have because my children are white. Sadly, I know that my children are viewed differently than yours. My kids can complain about the injustices in this country without being told to go back where they came from, despite being the children of an immigrant. When my kids stand outside of our home, they don't have to worry someone will call the police on them, because they don't look like they belong. My kids can walk through the store without someone assuming they are stealing. Most people won't see my son walking towards them and clutch their purse, or cross the street. They can play with toy guns. They can watch birds. They can barbecue in the park, and they can jog without fear. They can do these things because their skin color is not seen as a threat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0A5CzILuH2aFNQr5f2P6DIXHGGCo6L8JdRTURpJh5a7BkEjhO08b-b6h4w05tQUp7ICiQmcmIU-pIQVMYeey_qxxkavOHRh635Z2aTvIGLqxxNE4Aj1MJks7MUMZ55fTnoYF1ZtgOs0/s1600/FB_IMG_1590812484191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1228" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0A5CzILuH2aFNQr5f2P6DIXHGGCo6L8JdRTURpJh5a7BkEjhO08b-b6h4w05tQUp7ICiQmcmIU-pIQVMYeey_qxxkavOHRh635Z2aTvIGLqxxNE4Aj1MJks7MUMZ55fTnoYF1ZtgOs0/s320/FB_IMG_1590812484191.jpg" width="280" /></a></div>
I am sorry that your beautiful children are seen as a threat. My heart breaks for you! I cry for your fear and pain. I will keep teaching my children that evil comes in many forms. We have police in our family and as friends, whom we greatly respect. I will teach them that the police are there to help them while making them understand that some police do not have the best interest at heart. I vow to you that I will continue to raise my children to speak up when they see something wrong. I will teach my children to acknowledge their privilege and implore them to use it for good. To use it to help others who endure prejudice of any kind. We will continue to stand up for other people's rights regardless of skin color, religion, or sexual identity. I will continue to have tough conversations with them. I will do my best to answer their questions and when I do not know the answers, I will reach out to you for guidance. I will not raise my children to be color blind. I don't want them pretending to not see our differences. I want them to see all of the beautiful colors God has created. I want them to acknowledge and embrace the beauty of those different from them.<br />
<br />
I am not perfect, and I will falter, but I will continue to educate myself in hopes to make the world a better place for your grandchildren. One where your fears are less and your children's skin color will be seen for its beauty and not as a threat. Until then know that I see you, I hear you, and I stand with you.<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-60938868535728314092020-05-09T22:01:00.000-06:002020-05-09T22:01:59.784-06:00Missing my mom on Mother's Day!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4S9_EiQV3joi7myvPOlyzbAoNuNaKMf4oZb9__T5B0-ecW7sibJL4BIpsxB73dkPuzFjAPR9qr2xmBMvFPSHvgIloJhaWHsfVExgXDgkb-GC84LRHlu-OLAkCSVRynaao2ItS61z-aUs/s1600/mothers-day+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="651" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4S9_EiQV3joi7myvPOlyzbAoNuNaKMf4oZb9__T5B0-ecW7sibJL4BIpsxB73dkPuzFjAPR9qr2xmBMvFPSHvgIloJhaWHsfVExgXDgkb-GC84LRHlu-OLAkCSVRynaao2ItS61z-aUs/s640/mothers-day+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Although Mother’s Day may <span class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="be celebrated" data-pwa-heavy="false" data-pwa-hint="Passive verbs make your writing less direct. Try to use an active verb instead." data-pwa-id="pwa-66203AABCE70345D0FF0A44C9C2C8698" data-pwa-rule-id="PASSIVE_VOICE" data-pwa-suggestions="">be celebrated</span> on <span class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="different dates" data-pwa-heavy="false" data-pwa-hint="Can you use a stronger adjective than 'different'" data-pwa-id="pwa-A425C76431891B3AD955F85C4D24D0E4" data-pwa-rule-id="WEAK_ADJ" data-pwa-suggestions="original dates">different dates</span> around the world, the sentiment is always the same. Mothers are a special gift. Traditions vary by culture and family, but they almost always involve special meals and gifts.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdP6CWibVzSbWedcK50kN-Etdyq3tnQvleC43HUZPPHG23vgKlb3EpE2L_kfrhpt4k_789sauOSrUzLEtE8dTAMN04lW-mViWQT6Lta-mI4Bzya56V-RlX_nHPETn2WJNqUB62fPHMrvw/s1600/20200509_222522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdP6CWibVzSbWedcK50kN-Etdyq3tnQvleC43HUZPPHG23vgKlb3EpE2L_kfrhpt4k_789sauOSrUzLEtE8dTAMN04lW-mViWQT6Lta-mI4Bzya56V-RlX_nHPETn2WJNqUB62fPHMrvw/s320/20200509_222522.jpg" width="240" /></a>Our tradition is simple yet perfect. On Mothers’s Day we all flock to my mom’s house. My family, my sister’s family, my brother, and his girlfriend all gather to spend time with her. My mother is not one to have people make a fuss over her, and we respect that. However, we still shower her with cards, gifts, and <span class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="most importantly " data-pwa-heavy="false" data-pwa-hint="Readability may be enhanced by removing this" data-pwa-id="pwa-EB70E7DBB700D9FBE843615E4A578271" data-pwa-rule-id="READABILITY_1030" data-pwa-suggestions="(omit)">most importantly </span>our love! My brother barbecues for her or she gets her favorite fried chicken. There is no fancy dinner or high priced gifts, just the love of a family for its matriarch.<br />
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This year Mother’s Day looks different for most people. Sadly, many people have had to say goodbye to their mothers this past year. For others, <span class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="spelling" data-pwa-dictionary-word="Covid" data-pwa-heavy="false" data-pwa-hint="Unknown word: Covid" data-pwa-id="pwa-E0F2BD1FBEE5681DD825F4FEB88052EC" data-pwa-rule-id="SIMPLE_SPELLING" data-pwa-suggestions="Hovid~Ovid~Covad~Covi~Coid">Covid</span>-19 might keep them from seeing their moms. Fortunately for me, my mother is still with us, but I’m still very sad that we won’t get to gather around her this year. My mother is immunocompromised. Two years ago she suffered a stroke. This turn of events turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Because of her stroke, we found out she had stage one non-small cell carcinoma of the lung. They <span class="pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="" data-pwa-dictionary-word="It was discovered" data-pwa-heavy="false" data-pwa-hint="Passive verbs make your writing less direct. Try to use an active verb instead." data-pwa-id="pwa-E74202666425C97B5436D780C61D44A2" data-pwa-rule-id="PASSIVE_VOICE_TO_ACTIVE" data-pwa-suggestions="I discovered it">discovered</span> it very early and thanks to radiation she is beating it. However, between this and her emphysema, she is too high risk for us to visit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNc8Vy3MpgJPSu60B0tLDNZv92kyLg9lkjl0MW8PJwyUYGuzZp-0Sb_qf4j7VQqXxjZQIYZL-UR3acbqPvMTkCx9Cmz6qX8NSel7JTmpC7-jZ9chZAGtZYq19L1ME8SISHcnCfjnZki4/s1600/MOM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="720" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTNc8Vy3MpgJPSu60B0tLDNZv92kyLg9lkjl0MW8PJwyUYGuzZp-0Sb_qf4j7VQqXxjZQIYZL-UR3acbqPvMTkCx9Cmz6qX8NSel7JTmpC7-jZ9chZAGtZYq19L1ME8SISHcnCfjnZki4/s320/MOM.jpg" width="320" /></a>Even as an adult, part of me believed that she was invincible. Her cancer diagnosis threw me into a reality I really wasn’t ready for. The reality that she is getting older and won’t be here forever. This was a harsh pill for me to swallow. One of the hardest things for me to accept was that she had signed a DNR. I understood why, however, my heart <span class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="style" data-pwa-dictionary-word="was broken" data-pwa-heavy="false" data-pwa-hint="Passive verbs make your writing less direct. Try to use an active verb instead." data-pwa-id="pwa-F677D4B07F64639323854F18C9A5410D" data-pwa-rule-id="PASSIVE_VOICE" data-pwa-suggestions="">was broken</span>. Over the months following her diagnosis, my sister and I attended most of her appointments. Often I would fill out her Medical History forms for her. One day I filled out the forms, checking off all of her procedures and diagnoses. I realized how much my mother’s small 4-foot, eleven-inch body had endured over the years. At that moment I resolved that I could not expect her to undergo any more procedures if she did not want to. She had been through so much in her life. I knew that while it broke my heart; I had to accept her decisions.<br />
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I always thought I cherished the time spent with my family. I realize now that I enjoyed these family moments, but I didn’t truly cherish them. Now every moment I spend with my mother is a blessing. Each moment is a moment that I almost did not have. So now I soak up every second.<br />
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Like so many others, <span class="pwa-mark pwa-mark-done" data-pwa-category="spelling" data-pwa-dictionary-word="Covid" data-pwa-heavy="false" data-pwa-hint="Unknown word: Covid" data-pwa-id="pwa-D54F41F431458250049641D8B4F19F52" data-pwa-rule-id="SIMPLE_SPELLING" data-pwa-suggestions="Hovid~Ovid~Covad~Covi~Coid">Covid</span>-19 is stealing days with my mom that I will never get back. I know that I am lucky that I can still call her for Mother’s Day, but I will miss the physical contact and seeing her face. No matter how much I miss her, I am not willing to sacrifice her health, so we will celebrate Mother’s Day from a distance. I will do my best to make sure my mother knows how grateful I am for all the times she fought for me, for making sure I had what I needed, and for all of the life lessons she taught in me. I am a better person because of her. The one thing I know for sure is that if I can be half the mom she is, my kids will be okay.</div>
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<br />Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-27643379245764661762020-04-06T20:52:00.001-06:002020-04-06T20:52:26.798-06:00The Fight of My Life.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><span style="color: red;">*</span><span style="color: red; font-weight: bold;">*Before I get to the main blog I want to say this is a very
personal blog that I wasn't sure I would ever publish. I thought that if
I ever did, it would need to be the right time. In light of the current
situation in our world, I feel that now might be the right time. I also
want to say that this blog deals with my battle with depression, and that might
be a trigger for some. If you feel it might be upsetting to you, please
stop reading. Take care of yourself both physically and mentally, and know that
there is help only a phone call away.**</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It's a silent disease. People you know have it and you may be unaware. You do not always know unless they want you to know. Some are experts at hiding it. Even if you know, you can't fix them. You most definitely can not tell them how to get better. Even if you think you understand; YOU DO NOT! Depression affects over 300 million people around the world. I am one of them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">I have battled with depression from an early age. If I
try to pinpoint when it first began, I would have to say it was in elementary
school. I remember walking to school and wondering if I died who would
come to my funeral. I spent time thinking about who would cry, or if
anyone would even care. I realize now I became obsessed with the thought,
but not enough to ever talk to anyone about it. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="border: none 1.0pt; font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt; padding: 0in;">My high school years were filled with typical
teenage angst. I was not unpopular, but I wasn’t super popular
either. I seemed to fit in with a wide array of people, so that was a
bonus. I wasn’t a big joiner, but I did do a few things. I now wish
that I would have done more during my high school experience. I will say
that my high school years were not without tears. I definitely felt
things on a deeper level than most of my friends. I remember going to the
doctor because I was sleeping so much and it worried my mother. After
some blood work my doctor declared I was fine. I was a teenager who
wasn’t getting enough sleep. Looking back now I know that my constant
exhaustion went along with my depression. I went to dances, football
games, and even teen nightclubs. I did all the fun stuff teenagers
did. I had a lot of boyfriends. Some were super nice and others were
assholes. Unfortunately, I never felt worthy of the nice guys, and I
often felt like I deserved how the assholes treated me. I felt worthless
and unworthy of love. I often felt no matter what I did, it was never
good enough. Because I felt I wasn’t enough, I sought out attention in
the wrong ways. I allowed people to use and mistreat me; in hopes that would
make me worthy of love. Makes sense right? It made me fun, but no
more worthy of love. This behavior continued after high school. But I
compounded it with drinking and occasional drug use. I’m not saying that
I didn’t drink or try any drugs in high school. After high school the frequency
definitely increased. As addiction runs in my family, these were
definitely risky choices. At the end of the day, I came out of that stage
without addiction. Many of my friends were not as lucky.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">While my experimentation was short-lived, my
reckless behavior was not. I was only happy when I was out all night long
drinking and dancing. When I wasn’t out, I would wonder what my friends
were doing? Were they having fun without me? Why didn’t they call
me? Did I do something wrong? Did they even like me anymore? I
couldn’t get the thoughts out of my head that they were having fun without me
and talking about me behind my back. It was an awful dark and sad place
to be. Yet, it was a place I couldn’t help but go to. I wish I
could say that this behavior has passed, but sometimes it rears its ugly
head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">I opened my medicine cabinet a million times
and thought of all the ways I could make the pain go away. Thank God my
mind always convinced me I wouldn’t do it right. In my mind, I always
ended up hospitalized or incapacitated, but the demons were still there.
I would become a burden on my loved ones and leave them in a constant state of
worry. My love for others has always pulled me from the darkest
places. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Every breakup was crushing for me.
Even when I didn’t even like them that much. I would stay in bed for days
on end. I cried until there were no tears left. All the while
obsessing about what my ex was doing. I believed that it was better to be
in a bad relationship than to be alone. I stopped chasing losers and
found relationships with stability, loyalty and love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="border: none 1.0pt; font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt; padding: 0in;">And here I am in the present. I’m
married and have two amazing and beautiful children. But my sadness
didn’t end when they joined this world. I can look at them and be in awe
of these perfect beings I am blessed with. My heart is so full that it
could burst, and yet I can still be sad. That’s when it hurts the most.
How can I be anything but happy with all the gifts I have? Then
everything inside me screams that I am a terrible mother and that they deserve
better. How can I be what they need when I’m feeling this way? They
deserve a mom who can look at them without ever being sad. They deserve a
mom who gets out of bed every day because she wants to, not because she has
to. I have great days, and I have good days. When I have a bad day,
it is bad. Throw some terrible days in the mix, and you have a whole
myriad of emotions. They have seen me in these moods, and it is
unfair. They shouldn’t have to ask me why I am sad, I should be asking
them. Another reason why I often think they deserve a better
mother. But they love me unconditionally, moods and all. That
unconditional love is the greatest love I have ever felt. Most days that
love is enough. My kids laughs, smiles, and bad jokes are enough.
Those hugs and kisses are the best things in the world!! Unfortunately,
there are still bad days. Days where I am surrounded by all the people I
love the most and still feel alone. Those days are the hardest. My
heart wonders how I can be surrounded by love but be so miserable. </span><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="border: none 1.0pt; font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt; padding: 0in;">I may never know the answer to that.
There are many things I may never understand about myself. I know that I
still get depressed, but I no longer cope with it in destructive ways. I
cry and I might withdraw, but I no longer wonder if the world would be better
off without me. I don’t look for things in my medicine cabinet to ease my
pain anymore. I just push through. I have lost friends to this
disease because they couldn’t fight any longer. I don’t fault them
because their darkness and pain became too great of a burden for them to
bear. They left behind people who love them, who miss them, and who will
grieve eternally. Not a day passes that I don’t miss my dear friend and
wished that I could have helped her. </span><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="border: none 1.0pt; font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt; padding: 0in;">One thing I know for sure is that sometimes
the ones that seem the happiest are the ones that hurt the most. Check on
your friends and family. They might be suffering in silence. Their
burden may become too much to bear. Your act of kindness, your shoulder,
your conversation might be the light in someone’s darkness. </span><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="border: none 1.0pt; font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt; padding: 0in;">I posted this now because people who suffer
from anxiety and depression, and even those who don’t might find this quarantine
to be more than they can handle. Reach out to someone each day and
connect with them. Now is a great time to reconnect with someone you have
lost touch with. April is National Month of Hope, now more than ever people
around the world need hope. Let’s reach out and spread a little sunshine into
the world. </span><span style="font-size: 13.0pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">If you or someone you know is
suffering, you are not alone. Please reach out to the National Suicide
Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or visit the <a href="http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/">National Suicide Prevention
Lifeline</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-12816688334378647612020-03-07T16:42:00.000-06:002020-03-07T17:52:36.608-06:00Friendship in Famine, an Under-told Story.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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March is American Heritage Month. You can not have Irish American History without Irish History and even a little American History. Now I haven't been to school for a year or so, but there was a definitive lack of Irish history. I am assuming it is still the same because my daughter has yet to come home excited to tell me what she has learned from school about the homeland of her father and other family members. Maybe I am wrong, but I think what I learned from my textbooks went something like this. There was a famine, potatoes were bad and Irish people died. Then we moved onto the next unit. The Irish may have been mentioned when we touched base on Immigration, but since I already knew how my family got here, I probably paid little attention.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-tV5X1d_T8nvuCNmvfxb0dhvYjE0JkvpkRyOB-uqrSteshJZ4GeHnVLRCe3JuW2MzEbKUEb1WZYvY5ztbXf4n6m0teylReUjMbRNzxCqE_jWup5_iP3WLICIUWNO4UCFxLGVQ9d5cM4/s1600/Irish_potato_famine_Bridget_O%2527Donnel.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1103" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn-tV5X1d_T8nvuCNmvfxb0dhvYjE0JkvpkRyOB-uqrSteshJZ4GeHnVLRCe3JuW2MzEbKUEb1WZYvY5ztbXf4n6m0teylReUjMbRNzxCqE_jWup5_iP3WLICIUWNO4UCFxLGVQ9d5cM4/s320/Irish_potato_famine_Bridget_O%2527Donnel.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
There is so much more than our History textbooks taught us. While I could write for days about historical facts and myths, I'm only going to give a few key facts. The Great Famine, AKA The Great Hunger or more commonly by Americans as the Irish Potatoe Famine began in 1845. A fungus-like organism spread across Ireland ruining about half of the potato crops that year, and nearly three-quarters of the crops for the next seven years.<br />
(The same fungus had attacked American Potato crops from 1843-1844). This had a catastrophic effect on the population. First, it is important to understand that the potatoes were very important to the Irish, especially the poor. Potatoes were nutritious and calorie-dense, making them very filling. They were easy to grow in the Irish soil. Rural Poor were almost exclusively dependant on the potato for their diet. Second, the rotten crops led hundreds of thousands of tenant farmers to be evicted due to not being able to pay their rent. Sadly, people were starving to death, yet large quantities of food were being exported to Great Britain. This is one reason many believe the Famine was a Genocide. Before it was all over in 1852, roughly One-Million Irish men, women and children died of starvation, malnutrition, and other related illnesses. At least another million were forced to leave Ireland as refugees. While all of this information is readily available for anyone who cares to know more about the tragedies of the Famine, it leads me to one of the most interesting facts I found.<br />
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1847 was the worst year of the famine and is commonly referred to as "Black 47". Across the sea in America, the story of the Irish struggle touched many but for the people of the Choctaw Nation, it hit home. In 1847, despite living with their own hardships and poverty the people of the Choctaw Tribe donated $170 (would be approximately $5000 today) to relief efforts. They were compelled to donate all they could after they had experienced so much poverty and loss along the Trail of Tears. They felt a connection to the Irish people because both groups had suffered so much loss. Such a selfless and generous act from a people who themselves had so little. Quite the contrast to American History books who referred to Indigenous people as savages.<br />
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Let's fast forward to the 20th century. In 1990 members of the Choctaw Nation participated in a Hunger Walk held in County Mayo, Ireland. In 1992, Irish delegates walked the 600-mile Trail of Tears to help raise money for World Hunger. In 1995, then Irish President Mary Robinson visited Choctaw Nation to thank them for their generosity and she was made an Honorary Chief. Now we get to my favorite part!! In 2017 the <b style="font-style: italic;">Kindred Spirits </b>monument was dedicated and unveiled by Gary Batton, Chief of Choctaw Nation, Irish Delegates and a large delegation from Choctaw Nation. The monument consists of nine, 20-foot tall stainless steel Eagle feathers (no two feathers are alike). They stand in a circle to form a bowl shape; symbolizing a bowl of food. This beautiful sculpture is located in Balick Park In Midleton, County Cork, Ireland.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRwxhAnS4JLeOdwcl-FtROAVk5HVCdQyYxkElDXdAwwZOLeosTp3HPapH84qXJgoFVF7P4yarKhAccwbEsV7Xs5pvOsMgK39bMBS8rr_LV7mrV1nYubW5u-ohTXkAE5GSZ7X3R78Uk3Sg/s1600/RAiswXx.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRwxhAnS4JLeOdwcl-FtROAVk5HVCdQyYxkElDXdAwwZOLeosTp3HPapH84qXJgoFVF7P4yarKhAccwbEsV7Xs5pvOsMgK39bMBS8rr_LV7mrV1nYubW5u-ohTXkAE5GSZ7X3R78Uk3Sg/s640/RAiswXx.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Kindred Spirits Sculpture,<br />
Midleton, Co. Cork, Ireland</td></tr>
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Choctaw Chief Gary Batton said, "<i>The Irish and Choctaw are bonded by the difficulties they have </i><i>endured and the resilience they have shown.</i>"<br />
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173 years ago a small act of kindness forged an unlikely but beautiful friendship. If these two cultures can come together in solidarity, why can't the rest of us? I guess there is so much history around the world that directly impacted the United States, meaning not everything is deemed History class worthy. one would think that the relationship between the first residents of our land and one of the largest diaspora groups would be worth teaching.<br />
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Regardless of your heritage, you are probably not accurately represented in American History textbooks. The stories are never told fully or accurately. Therefore it is up to us to teach the next generation where they came from, so they have a better understanding of where they are going and how they got there.<br />
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<br />Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-17699510860225648742020-02-19T18:10:00.000-06:002020-04-07T12:43:44.149-06:00My Parenting Reality!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxL9ckbFhHVkBSJ9ADRsQKGTokEOk_etGpDbdy5E-rVHcJRcMG93q_Xz3OYgTBK9F6hsx1YDDEAgXVegis7G_jwIEfId4ioHuAO4Acuhks4B6FG3rPW1qroaSK4enVJ-zkNmKpFh1jql0/s1600/june-cleaver.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="570" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxL9ckbFhHVkBSJ9ADRsQKGTokEOk_etGpDbdy5E-rVHcJRcMG93q_Xz3OYgTBK9F6hsx1YDDEAgXVegis7G_jwIEfId4ioHuAO4Acuhks4B6FG3rPW1qroaSK4enVJ-zkNmKpFh1jql0/s320/june-cleaver.jpg" width="320" /></a>Like most women, I had visions of the kind of mother I was going to be. I envisioned myself a bit like June Cleaver. Perfect in nearly every way. My house would always be clutter and dust-free. I would cherish the time I spent making lunches and cooking dinners. I would always be happy and full of energy. I would have the perfect children; who never got in trouble and excelled at everything they did. I just knew they would be little geniuses. I thought school would be easy for them, and homework would be a breeze! I just knew that they would have impeccable manners. When we were out in public they would be the envy of all of the other parents, because they were so well behaved.<br />
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Every day we would have amazing adventures, just like Mary Poppins. I would enjoy every joke and story they told me, even if I had heard them a million times. My love for them would be so strong that I would never be annoyed by them. I swore that if by some crazy chance they needed to be corrected, that I would never raise my voice at them. I thought that I would miss them every second that they were away from me.<br />
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Most importantly I had a superhero complex.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZTTGbwej0PqHymKkHgiGvxdTgnVx-ad5M8hdXlEf5dvudU3_l2ZMqZIjKcQubqOXUDG7vcUWWbyFUfS-fNrtP5ViTtebSz3708sh9-D95HM0A5m-m8bSCAmF3Guz__4xJY37x2PeMk0/s1600/635662097112858501-supermom2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1600" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZTTGbwej0PqHymKkHgiGvxdTgnVx-ad5M8hdXlEf5dvudU3_l2ZMqZIjKcQubqOXUDG7vcUWWbyFUfS-fNrtP5ViTtebSz3708sh9-D95HM0A5m-m8bSCAmF3Guz__4xJY37x2PeMk0/s200/635662097112858501-supermom2.jpg" width="200" /></a> I knew that I would be able to protect them from all the awful things in the world. I would shield them from everything that is wrong with humanity. They would never know pain, fear, or heartache. Mostly, I swore I would never let them down.<br />
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Then there is my reality. I am so far from perfect, that if you google imperfect mother; you will see a picture of me. I'll be wearing yoga pants and a messy bun. My house is lived in. It is far from being on an episode of hoarders, but it won't be featured in any magazine either. There is cat hair, and kids, and toys everywhere! You might even find a pile of laundry in the living room since my kids have deemed it the best place to change clothes. Then there are the toys. Legos, fire engines, and fire gear are strewn from one end of the house to the other. Generally, we pick up every night before bed, but some nights I can't be bothered. My wee boy will just bring it all out the next morning anyway. I also quickly realized I do not enjoy making lunches and dinners every day. I don't cherish the time spent in the kitchen cooking a meal that the smallest food critics promptly turn their noses up at. No one told me that kids would actually want to eat twenty times a day. That's a lot of love poured into food that most likely will end up in the trash!<br />
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Then there is school. I never realized how difficult choosing which school to send my kids to would be. Finding a school that would help make them functional well-rounded people who won't live in my basement forever. After finding the right choice for us; I realized that my children are not the geniuses that I presumed they would be. Don't get me wrong they do not eat glue, but school is not the breeze I dreamed it would be. Fortunately, they love school, but it isn't without challenges. I have intelligent kids, but the struggle is real. Thanks to wonderful teachers, it was discovered that I have a child who learns differently. She gets services and thrives in school, but it is a struggle I never wanted for her. On a positive note; because of this, she takes pride in everything she does. She has developed a positive attitude and a great work ethic because she realized nothing will be handed to her.<br />
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I listen to them talk about the same things over and over, while smiling and pretending to care. I mean who doesn't love an episode of<i> Chicago Fire, </i>but no one wants a recap of every episode several times a day. There is a voice in my head screaming "WHO CARES!", but the excitement on his sweet face keeps it at bay. His passion for all things Fire department is endearing.<br />
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Now we come to the point where you judge me as a parent. Believe me, no one judges me as much as I judge myself. I'm not gonna lie, I don't always miss them when we are apart. When they are at school I think about them and I worry about them, but I do not miss them. Not even a little bit! I used to feel guilty about it but then I realized they need a break from me as much as I need one from them. I know they are in a place they love, and with people who love them. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. They are right. I appreciate them a lot more when I have had a break from them.<br />
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Overall I have great kids, but there is no chance they will be canonized into sainthood. They talk back, they yell, they beat the crap out of each other, and sometimes they just lose their minds! Here is a shocker, I yell at them. I yell a lot! Sometimes they cry, and sometimes I cry. When all is said and done we still love each other. Somedays they are big old jerks to me, but when they are with other people, they are kind, respectful, and well behaved. At the end of the day, that's all I want.<br />
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The hardest realization is that no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to protect them from this awful world. I can kiss their ouchies, and hold them when they cry. Since I can not be with them every day I can't protect them from bullies and hurtful words. They will lose friends and feel betrayed. They will suffer from broken hearts and the loss of loved ones. I pray every day that I am never a source of their pain. I want them to grow up and always have good memories of me and our relationship.<br />
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My goal as a parent is to raise independent, empathetic people who will have coping mechanisms to navigate this insane world. I also just hope that they have felt enough love and support to always be true to themselves.<br />
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One thing I have learned as a parent is to not sweat the small stuff. More importantly, I have learned to stop comparing myself to other mothers. No matter we appear, most of us are struggling at least a little. Even when it looks like everything is perfect. Which brings me to the most important thing I have learned. There is no such thing as a perfect child, mother, or family. Perfection is not an obtainable goal, nor does it exist. When I realized this, I started to see my family more clearly. While they aren't perfect, they are perfect for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0Bj29QI8QmsRwfbgzplcALvgiDFCVyqafbL4Qi1T3h20FSdeF0EaoGQK7dNcYb1V4RF2PJXnODL9TFQ7UeSfYf7lC3cVIwVC9UJwhKhJjQvwj5Dbvd8ZICNzpXDvRVovRvlBp3YVDQk/s1600/IMG_1716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0Bj29QI8QmsRwfbgzplcALvgiDFCVyqafbL4Qi1T3h20FSdeF0EaoGQK7dNcYb1V4RF2PJXnODL9TFQ7UeSfYf7lC3cVIwVC9UJwhKhJjQvwj5Dbvd8ZICNzpXDvRVovRvlBp3YVDQk/s400/IMG_1716.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">McAteer Family 2019</span></td></tr>
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<br />Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-16266484278535785142019-02-28T10:55:00.002-06:002019-02-28T11:10:38.527-06:00My Body, My Art! (February Favorite-Re-post)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjn5DcEIEMlAosoNyNrLBU-zVWxULgwyi6X7aSNhA7dE75WkaGc5SwKA2qKDvMQfI_mh6oY4_PMtrY1XCBoDDsTwSw0eki5WyggUhjqIHGqJCh3Vp8h3oY8-dXEyMb1LtgBv22tWavnQ/s1600/IMG_8562-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520675764236153282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjn5DcEIEMlAosoNyNrLBU-zVWxULgwyi6X7aSNhA7dE75WkaGc5SwKA2qKDvMQfI_mh6oY4_PMtrY1XCBoDDsTwSw0eki5WyggUhjqIHGqJCh3Vp8h3oY8-dXEyMb1LtgBv22tWavnQ/s400/IMG_8562-1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 20.8px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhpoCRI2Rpz0zjQo0X6ZwSrbgK9-KLyVPc4eDdWpYiai_XgnAtShenvY9fHVK3ILyZjuzY8dQa6-uqtwR8_ke1k-3QVrY2xFYXHLypwMv0-bowRvnlD18OGkmGHekzHIgrOIYlnqvVCo/s1600/IMG_8562-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></a></span>
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<span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The world is divided into two kinds of people: those who have tattoos, and those who are afraid of people with tattoos.<br />~Author Unknown</span></span></div>
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In this modern world, we live in, I am always amazed by the amount of discrimination people suffer, at the hands of others. There are racial slurs to describe people of every skin color, people are made fun of because of their income bracket, and are teased because of their hair color. Religion, sexual orientation, and physical appearance are all excuses people use to hurt one another. While I obviously am not an expert on discrimination based on skin color, I have suffered its effects. Growing up in an inter-racial household I saw the discrimination first hand. While it was not directed at me, it affected me. I saw what people did and how they judged my parents. Words and looks were very hurtful. I gave kids many reasons to make fun of me growing up, but I always tried to remain the person I was and not change myself to make anyone like me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLHOjJl4WXBCRwLVRGrG9vX2UF2HhLZUZRAwY1no6Fsb5oJXwpVSDzXHaEDh60EUqP4RBptGkWcJWESiYcFftUT8wA8TEXlnstjwgEMxcstVTgwi96p4yNd_eWTJt8Y5WLGbVhfeZAe4/s1600/tattoo_gallery_5_Francesco_2.gif"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520678701431758722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLHOjJl4WXBCRwLVRGrG9vX2UF2HhLZUZRAwY1no6Fsb5oJXwpVSDzXHaEDh60EUqP4RBptGkWcJWESiYcFftUT8wA8TEXlnstjwgEMxcstVTgwi96p4yNd_eWTJt8Y5WLGbVhfeZAe4/s400/tattoo_gallery_5_Francesco_2.gif" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 202px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 231px;" /></a>But this post is not about Black and White, it is not about income levels, and it is not about sexual orientation. It is about another reason that people look at me and my friends and judge. It is about Body Art or Tattoos.<br />
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People around the world have been tattooing themselves for over 5000 years. Skin was the first canvas for art. In early days tattoos were thought to align a person’s soul with Gods purpose. They were also believed to increase fertility and virility. They were used to delineate <br />
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hierarchies and define roles within tribes. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb72mpUBoAw5kHlt76yGjp6Qybu7626G9wmJtMt8wwA_j9koLr2p6CujwTLFoQODSo1133OpqFZ_-oHtig-RinmOLXsDv0uqS58sHKPg-kd-ZEGcV5js20Jx8gfvUvwAzs-pjnkacKi-0/s1600/FB_IMG_1551373685526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="768" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb72mpUBoAw5kHlt76yGjp6Qybu7626G9wmJtMt8wwA_j9koLr2p6CujwTLFoQODSo1133OpqFZ_-oHtig-RinmOLXsDv0uqS58sHKPg-kd-ZEGcV5js20Jx8gfvUvwAzs-pjnkacKi-0/s320/FB_IMG_1551373685526.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
They were used as clan markings, to determine who was a friend and who was an enemy on the battlefield. Throughout history, tattoos have been used to express magical, spiritual or religious beliefs and personal conviction. Some were markings of honor, while others were means of memoriam. They have been cultural traditions or a means of freedom of expression. Those who donned tattoos were always regarded with reverence.<br />
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So when did tattoos become an unacceptable tradition in our society? When did it become ok, to judge a person because of the ink on their body? People with body art are stereotyped as trouble makers, rebellious, degenerates, low-class or trashy. While tattoos are widely seen as unacceptable, people are even more judging of a woman with ink. It is sad and very unacceptable when one of the first things an application asks is if you have any visible tattoos! Is this legal? It is illegal to ask one’s sexual orientation, religion, or race; so how is this an acceptable question?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIlYpys0TCMneHe6F-b9MZk83c19BgDYdzHIE6fTdh9dViefItJUgApK2nydI2TJplzvqVrzRFR-lvX9bJ55H0c71zl3w0d4RvKK4wy1L2eqxDeu3CTIX8guiZYWvaEc_2gmAoZ9KVOE/s1600/tattoo-wallpaper.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520673212154969186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIlYpys0TCMneHe6F-b9MZk83c19BgDYdzHIE6fTdh9dViefItJUgApK2nydI2TJplzvqVrzRFR-lvX9bJ55H0c71zl3w0d4RvKK4wy1L2eqxDeu3CTIX8guiZYWvaEc_2gmAoZ9KVOE/s400/tattoo-wallpaper.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 229px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 305px;" /></a>I have several tattoos, some visible and some not. I have some family who love them and have their own tattoos and others who just don’t get it. My ink was not done while drinking, they were not a dare, and they were not a rebellious act. They were all personal conscious decisions. They do not make me any less intelligent, talented, or feminine. Each one represents a major aspect of my life. They tell a story. I do not regret a single one of them. The tattoos do not make me who I am, but they are a part of me.<br />
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So before you judge someone with ink, ask yourself why are they tattooed? Better yet ask them. You never know the reason or the symbolism without asking. I’m quite sure they will be happy to tell you about them. Then maybe you will have a better understanding of the person before you judge on appearance alone. It is very hurtful.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-2Qsd6HiKeq0u2booy0gRE5UooJSWKJ5mXLVVUxPXLp3z78-1DuKxe3dXJQMTgJo0lcV2nCq1-u237h4kOxyLb_X_A9J6oCXfkRoJrfxiT5sDBWuXo9l6DgA7qzA4mqrDP46DNikNu4/s1600/tattoo_gallery_5_Francesco_2.gif"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickmFFHm9OXe-AoVjkaMZKn_V-pREOdla8veK5uHjK82viiRS5AQZZxFH6xsrB0WQ5l62ioP_rk6lTWDHQJtvoFUAt3OfFrm9urg2em2d3WinZ9o8oOxlRSkWqlVjmrVMp7Vcj8YiXYuM/s1600/Tattoo_by_miss_o_photography.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520679447671297522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickmFFHm9OXe-AoVjkaMZKn_V-pREOdla8veK5uHjK82viiRS5AQZZxFH6xsrB0WQ5l62ioP_rk6lTWDHQJtvoFUAt3OfFrm9urg2em2d3WinZ9o8oOxlRSkWqlVjmrVMp7Vcj8YiXYuM/s400/Tattoo_by_miss_o_photography.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 224px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 149px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Remember when the designs are chosen with care, tattoos have a power and magic all their own. They decorate the body but they also enhance the soul.</span><br />
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~Michelle Delio<br />
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Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-28670356947402252792019-01-10T13:41:00.000-06:002019-01-10T13:56:07.620-06:00A New Year, A New You!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcphKgQpB-ziek_j3gTM3hqRbDgaitZlUPL7iv9wlXtKwVjTfUwqKBPgec0ZnYrJEI5SH5qSgUzLxOJRW-XB92IDgTR4dTpNa9pRN3UsxyRHLC2wlK78BFoAsuWW3NmnL1xtnTBcw6sR4/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="188" data-original-width="268" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcphKgQpB-ziek_j3gTM3hqRbDgaitZlUPL7iv9wlXtKwVjTfUwqKBPgec0ZnYrJEI5SH5qSgUzLxOJRW-XB92IDgTR4dTpNa9pRN3UsxyRHLC2wlK78BFoAsuWW3NmnL1xtnTBcw6sR4/s400/download.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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2019 is here! I am sure everyone has started or at least declared their resolutions for the year. Some of the most common resolutions made by people include spend less money, quit smoking, and find a new job. Eat healthier/diet is the most common resolution accounting for 71% of resolutions. These resolutions are great and can help lead to a happier and definitely a healthier lifestyle if kept. There lies the problem. According to U.S News, roughly 80% of resolutions fail by Mid-February. How does one succeed at keeping their resolutions? I have no answer. I will say I think it is important to declare your resolutions because it is something you truly want to do, not because it is the trendy thing to do. I do not like to call them resolutions, I like to call them goals.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mO87mAiSAfEoo-K2yM8ybeCumj_RT62r5EcxQZy3cSSiYQNcaxvvw5BEe4OSR3bqTga0k3AuLYbNyybKLy35dUZ0GqgOqjZXXCRNF1G0gML5kSrcFqNEELr8iGqH7rJ9t2bAP0I08to/s1600/scale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="600" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mO87mAiSAfEoo-K2yM8ybeCumj_RT62r5EcxQZy3cSSiYQNcaxvvw5BEe4OSR3bqTga0k3AuLYbNyybKLy35dUZ0GqgOqjZXXCRNF1G0gML5kSrcFqNEELr8iGqH7rJ9t2bAP0I08to/s320/scale.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I myself have set some goals for the new year. Some things I think I can easily accomplish and some things that may be a challenge. First I want to lose 10 pounds. I know that 10 pounds is not an over ambitious goal however, I have never met a bag of potato chips that I did not love. Okay, that is a lie! I despise Salt and Vinegar chips. I also have a deep love for Starbucks, so we shall see what I accomplish on this goal.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EB3J3_lHng-rHu7TLGcCv_weqfA53oJK9GvJQVqrGo4gjj2WSmK08EDJzK2SyOeUf-hg_RLcjCy3oaAvOdFiv4ytyldhBhYYOdyJSnLF6eVhwZ8fINCJ-JDmHcGFwXtKN0zmDSV-D3w/s1600/20190110_132130.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1393" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2EB3J3_lHng-rHu7TLGcCv_weqfA53oJK9GvJQVqrGo4gjj2WSmK08EDJzK2SyOeUf-hg_RLcjCy3oaAvOdFiv4ytyldhBhYYOdyJSnLF6eVhwZ8fINCJ-JDmHcGFwXtKN0zmDSV-D3w/s320/20190110_132130.jpg" width="275" /></a>Anyone who knows me knows that exercise is not my forte! I don’t mind walking with family or friends, but the idea of going to the gym sounds AWFUL! I wonder why those 10 pounds will be so hard! This brings me to goal number two. I have always wanted to do Yoga. Now with the kids in school, I have the opportunity to take a class. I have started a 30 day Yoga Challenge at home. I love it so far; even the days where my kids help me (although those days are less productive). My Wee Man does Yoga at his school and loves it. So he enjoys helping me. If I can complete my Challenge then the next step will be to find myself a studio and start my Yoga Journey.</div>
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This brings me to the goal that I am most excited about. I am going to start writing again. This year I have vowed to write every week. I now have Writing Wednesdays. Ahh…. Alas, the reason you are here! I have restarted my Blog, which sadly fell to the wayside years ago. I will blame parenthood, but there were a lot of factors that led to me not blogging. Something most people don’t know about me is that I have a manuscript. I am excited to work on it and hopefully finish it in this lifetime. Will it ever be published, I have no clue. I just want to be able to say I wrote a book, which has been a dream of mine since I was a child. I also hope to get back to freelancing for magazines and newspapers. For me, each time I am published feels as AMAZING as the first time. I miss that feeling. I miss telling stories and engaging strangers around the world with my words. With this blog, I hope to open up conversations about all sorts of topics that interest me as a writer, and hopefully you as a reader. I will take topic recommendations,</div>
and hope you will give feedback! So please share my blog, and engage with me as I get back to my writing journey!!<br />
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These are my 2019 goals? What are yours? Please comment below and share your resolutions or goals with us!</div>
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<br />Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-69079059393572849222010-12-22T11:19:00.000-06:002019-01-08T13:04:05.142-06:00Happy Holidays!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsR5Ea8YMukW7ObCAZKa27wymExVabQSjZYhALKgwcXKVwrZIPYItFw5ZJ6taezJGNJVQ1S4mwAlQYt1rYox-ADBfi2As2QmbbrDrvpX6M1EZnaPrGBe8OMl176QDd7GCprsv7lAdBo1k/s1600/happy-holidays.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsR5Ea8YMukW7ObCAZKa27wymExVabQSjZYhALKgwcXKVwrZIPYItFw5ZJ6taezJGNJVQ1S4mwAlQYt1rYox-ADBfi2As2QmbbrDrvpX6M1EZnaPrGBe8OMl176QDd7GCprsv7lAdBo1k/s400/happy-holidays.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553558091861583426" border="0"></a><br />2010 is almost gone. During countless conversations and hours spent on social networking sites I have come to the conclusion that the general consensus is that people are ready for this year to be over. For most people 2010 has been a year of loss. There have been loved ones lost, jobs lost, relationships lost and some even say their dreams have been lost. This year has definitely had some disappointments, but fortunately for my family there have been more ups than downs. When I look at this year I will try to remember the good times and not dwell on the bad ones. I will remember that my best friend in the world had her first beautiful baby, my daughter started school and I got to attend her first school programs and watch her grow and learn before my eyes. How she had her first Irish Dance class. I will remember my furry baby Patches joining our family. I will remember that although it has not been without struggle, that my husband began pursuing his dreams. I could go on, but I will stop as these things mean nothing to most of you. I implore all of you to look back one 2010 and remember the good memories and not dwell on the bad. DO NOT let the downs shape who you will be for 2011. No matter how bad you feel 2010 was for you, remember that it was worse for others, and be grateful. I still have a roof over my head, food on my table and a beautiful, loving and supportive family by my side. Did all my dreams come true this year? Certainly not! I look at it this way…….Whose did?<br /><br />Do I believe that at the stroke of Midnight on January 1, 2011 that all my problems are going to be gone? NO! Its gonna be a rough few months for my family. People have to pick up the pieces of the crappy year that has passed. However I know that for 2011 to be better for me. I must be proactive. And thats what I plan to do! Every year I make countless New Year’s Resolutions that never get keep. Most I do not even start. My resolutions for the coming year will be to stay positive, expand my family, write more, finish “projects that have been started (although that falls under write more) and help those who may not be as fortunate as myself. I will continue to support The Backstoppers but would like to volunteer at a women’s or children’s shelter. What will you do to make 2011 a better year for yourself and those in less fortunate?<br /><br />Happy Holidays from my family to yours!!<br /><br /><script>document.write(unescape("%3Cstyle%20type%3D%22text/css%22%3E%0Abody%20%7B background-image Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-48775047565010697852010-09-24T19:40:00.000-06:002019-02-28T11:00:48.230-06:00My Body, My Art!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjn5DcEIEMlAosoNyNrLBU-zVWxULgwyi6X7aSNhA7dE75WkaGc5SwKA2qKDvMQfI_mh6oY4_PMtrY1XCBoDDsTwSw0eki5WyggUhjqIHGqJCh3Vp8h3oY8-dXEyMb1LtgBv22tWavnQ/s1600/IMG_8562-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520675764236153282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjn5DcEIEMlAosoNyNrLBU-zVWxULgwyi6X7aSNhA7dE75WkaGc5SwKA2qKDvMQfI_mh6oY4_PMtrY1XCBoDDsTwSw0eki5WyggUhjqIHGqJCh3Vp8h3oY8-dXEyMb1LtgBv22tWavnQ/s400/IMG_8562-1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhpoCRI2Rpz0zjQo0X6ZwSrbgK9-KLyVPc4eDdWpYiai_XgnAtShenvY9fHVK3ILyZjuzY8dQa6-uqtwR8_ke1k-3QVrY2xFYXHLypwMv0-bowRvnlD18OGkmGHekzHIgrOIYlnqvVCo/s1600/IMG_8562-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></a></span>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The world is divided into two kinds of people: those who have tattoos, and those who are afraid of people with tattoos.<br />~Author Unknown</span></span></div>
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In this modern world, we live in, I am always amazed by the amount of discrimination people suffer, at the hands of others. There are racial slurs to describe people of every skin color, people are made fun of because of their income bracket, and are teased because of their hair color. Religion, sexual orientation, and physical appearance are all excuses people use to hurt one another. While I obviously am not an expert on discrimination based on skin color, I have suffered its effects. Growing up in an inter-racial household I saw the discrimination first hand. While it was not directed at me, it affected me. I saw what people did and how they judged my parents. Words and looks were very hurtful. I gave kids many reasons to make fun of me growing up, but I always tried to remain the person I was and not change to make anyone like me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLHOjJl4WXBCRwLVRGrG9vX2UF2HhLZUZRAwY1no6Fsb5oJXwpVSDzXHaEDh60EUqP4RBptGkWcJWESiYcFftUT8wA8TEXlnstjwgEMxcstVTgwi96p4yNd_eWTJt8Y5WLGbVhfeZAe4/s1600/tattoo_gallery_5_Francesco_2.gif"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520678701431758722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLHOjJl4WXBCRwLVRGrG9vX2UF2HhLZUZRAwY1no6Fsb5oJXwpVSDzXHaEDh60EUqP4RBptGkWcJWESiYcFftUT8wA8TEXlnstjwgEMxcstVTgwi96p4yNd_eWTJt8Y5WLGbVhfeZAe4/s400/tattoo_gallery_5_Francesco_2.gif" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 202px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 231px;" /></a>But this post is not about Black and White, it is not about income levels, and it is not about sexual orientation. It is about another reason that people look at me and my friends and judge. It is about Body Arto or Tattoos.<br />
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People around the world have been tattooing themselves for over 5000 years. Skin was the first canvas for art. In early days tattoos were thought to align a person’s soul with Gods purpose. <a href="http://marinastattoos.com/img/history/maori_chief_large.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://marinastattoos.com/img/history/maori_chief_large.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 232px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 176px;" /></a>They were also believed to increase fertility and virility. They were used to delineate hierarchies and define roles within tribes. They were used as clan markings, to determine who was a friend and who was an enemy on the battlefield. Throughout history, tattoos have been used to express magical, spiritual or religious beliefs and personal conviction. Some were markings of honor, while others were means of memoriam. They have been cultural traditions or a means of freedom of expression. Those who donned tattoos were always regarded with reverence.<br />
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So when did tattoos become an unacceptable tradition in our society? When did it become ok, to judge a person because of the ink on their body? People with body art are stereotyped as trouble makers, rebellious, degenerates, low-class or trashy. While tattoos are widely seen as unacceptable, people are even more judging of a woman with ink. It is sad and very unacceptable when one of the first things an application asks is if you have any visible tattoos! Is this legal? It is illegal to ask one’s sexual orientation, religion, or race; so how is this an acceptable question?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIlYpys0TCMneHe6F-b9MZk83c19BgDYdzHIE6fTdh9dViefItJUgApK2nydI2TJplzvqVrzRFR-lvX9bJ55H0c71zl3w0d4RvKK4wy1L2eqxDeu3CTIX8guiZYWvaEc_2gmAoZ9KVOE/s1600/tattoo-wallpaper.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520673212154969186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmIlYpys0TCMneHe6F-b9MZk83c19BgDYdzHIE6fTdh9dViefItJUgApK2nydI2TJplzvqVrzRFR-lvX9bJ55H0c71zl3w0d4RvKK4wy1L2eqxDeu3CTIX8guiZYWvaEc_2gmAoZ9KVOE/s400/tattoo-wallpaper.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 229px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 305px;" /></a>I have several tattoos, some visible and some not. I have some family who love them and have their own tattoos and others who just don’t get it. My ink was not done while drinking, they were not a dare, and they were not a rebellious act. They were all personal conscious decisions. They do not make me any less intelligent, talented, or feminine. They all represent a major aspect of my life. I do not regret a single one of them. The tattoos do not make me who I am, but they are a part of me.<br />
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So before you judge someone with ink, ask yourself why are they tattooed? Better yet ask them. You never know the reason or the symbolism without asking. I’m quite sure they will be happy to tell you about them. Then maybe you will have a better understanding of the person before you judge on appearance alone. It is very hurtful.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-2Qsd6HiKeq0u2booy0gRE5UooJSWKJ5mXLVVUxPXLp3z78-1DuKxe3dXJQMTgJo0lcV2nCq1-u237h4kOxyLb_X_A9J6oCXfkRoJrfxiT5sDBWuXo9l6DgA7qzA4mqrDP46DNikNu4/s1600/tattoo_gallery_5_Francesco_2.gif"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickmFFHm9OXe-AoVjkaMZKn_V-pREOdla8veK5uHjK82viiRS5AQZZxFH6xsrB0WQ5l62ioP_rk6lTWDHQJtvoFUAt3OfFrm9urg2em2d3WinZ9o8oOxlRSkWqlVjmrVMp7Vcj8YiXYuM/s1600/Tattoo_by_miss_o_photography.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520679447671297522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickmFFHm9OXe-AoVjkaMZKn_V-pREOdla8veK5uHjK82viiRS5AQZZxFH6xsrB0WQ5l62ioP_rk6lTWDHQJtvoFUAt3OfFrm9urg2em2d3WinZ9o8oOxlRSkWqlVjmrVMp7Vcj8YiXYuM/s400/Tattoo_by_miss_o_photography.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 224px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 149px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Remember when the designs are chosen with care, tattoos have a power and magic all their own. They decorate the body but they also enhance the soul.</span><br />
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~Michelle Delio</div>
<br />Irish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2109454511627002350.post-13985628420598191722010-08-26T16:16:00.000-06:002019-01-08T13:03:20.943-06:00The Price of Freedom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDj0QSCutwjfJsbV_58I5c0ymbPvqk4tPf7yA5U8lMatMXSWUZBYSTQW_2-lVMzMSfFoevQ0S_8O3X9o0dKiIOzB9QyLNTk1uSECR_2rrcPWlwuLuzkIw4jecqTEVXAr8C5Nf8OOrLiw/s1600/votes_for_women.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 265px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgDj0QSCutwjfJsbV_58I5c0ymbPvqk4tPf7yA5U8lMatMXSWUZBYSTQW_2-lVMzMSfFoevQ0S_8O3X9o0dKiIOzB9QyLNTk1uSECR_2rrcPWlwuLuzkIw4jecqTEVXAr8C5Nf8OOrLiw/s400/votes_for_women.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509846515937230546" border="0"></a><br />I would like to say that somewhere in my lineage the women of my family were part of the Women’s suffrage Movement. It’s a nice thing to believe that my mother’s great-grandmother fought to give me some of the rights I have today. I am not sure if they did or not for two reasons. First, my family immigrated to America around the time or shortly after the suffrage movement, and second from my research it would seem that women involved in the suffrage had a bit of money. Which my family most definitely did not. They fought for right’s that many women take for granted, specifically the right to vote. These strong motivated women paved the way for women to have the right to earn the same wages as the men in their lives. Which ironically, I have yet to witness. Many feminist may not like what I will say but Hey, they gave me the right to free speech as well.<br /><br /><br />I by no means intend to demean what they have done for women of the past, present and future generations. Their actions leave options for my daughter that she would not have had otherwise. She can get an education, she can vote for the president, or even inspire to be the president of the United States. She can even be a homemaker if that is what she chooses.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19oxaAw7Hro-HGjeO5opUay0SP0dLkmECl_vtv4lim5R03yHqNKwsS6YtfCiiYN92JYNQR5nomOmdZ4X2hJri_EY_b_JjFgg9rZ0w9l9X2ElLACTBXr0pkpIskmiSQypHPCuWKlWwo2I/s1600/housewife.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19oxaAw7Hro-HGjeO5opUay0SP0dLkmECl_vtv4lim5R03yHqNKwsS6YtfCiiYN92JYNQR5nomOmdZ4X2hJri_EY_b_JjFgg9rZ0w9l9X2ElLACTBXr0pkpIskmiSQypHPCuWKlWwo2I/s400/housewife.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509846827072886610" border="0"></a>Now I get to the part that people may not like. What price as women are we paying for these freedoms? Prior to the 1970’s it was acceptable for women to be housewives. I believe now that the more politically correct term is homemaker. During the 70’s some women began to believe that homemakers were not treating women and men equally, and that women should do whatever job they were able to do no matter what their marital status was. Thus diminishing the work that a homemaker does. As a homemaker myself, I know the extent of work I do. While I do partake in viewing a certain daytime soap, I do not sit around all day watching soap operas. As a homemaker, my first priority is caring for my daughter. Children learn through play, and I am her first teacher. We have structured activities, such as art, gross motor, musical, fine motor and quiet activities. Like in a pre-school setting, there is a balance of free play and adult guided activities. Do I have Lazy days? Sure! Does my daughter suffer from this? Absolutely not!<br /><br /><br />According to The National Association of Child Care Resources & Referral Agencies (NACCRRA), the average cost of childcare for an infant ranged from $317 to $1123 a month (depending on the state). According to this study Childcare in Missouri averaged around $464, which seems low because I know people who paid way more than that a month. It seems to me that unless you are a well paid executive in a company, the price of child care is about equivalent to the average income. This makes me feel like I would be working for free (which I have done, and am not a fan of). Let’s see how many men would work for free. I am not going to go into statistics about the cost of insurance because we all know too well, how un-affordable it is. So on the average income; it is almost impossible to pay for both childcare and insurance. Can’t get insurance if you do not work (not always then either), and can’t work with no child-care. So it is a vicious cycle for some, who are not as lucky as others.<br /><br /><br />My husband and I made the decision for me to stay home with my daughter. We decided it was the most beneficial option for her as well as the most economical option for the household. This decision does not come easy. Since I am not actively seeking work, I cannot receive any state funded healthcare; unless I become pregnant. Even in that case I better hope my husband had a bad year financially to fall into the approved income levels. So basically with one income we cannot afford health insurance, but with two we make too much. Seems highly unfair, considering jobs I have had in the past were not required to offer insurance. I can see why it is so hard for some people to get off of government aid. People who do not try to help themselves, but those who do try (and make hardly anything) get their benefits snatched from under them. Why even try then?<br /><br /><br />I had a conversation with a guy one time who told me that healthcare is earned. Is he crazy? What does my almost three year old need to do to earn insurance? He then said, that if my husband wants me to stay at home, then it is his responsibility to provide healthcare. I tried to explain that my husband works two jobs. His job supplies insurance for him and he pays for our daughter. Insurance for me is almost $700 a month (due to my age), and that is not feasible. With his second job, we now have insurance for all of us, however in this bad economy when he is laid off, he may not make the hours he needs to cover the insurance, and Cobra is crazy expensive. He basically told me that well, get a job or do without. UGH!!! Wait till he has kids!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPeAx2Lp9hU_MjH4j7Lha6TjsjM6QIhUGbzMxmlYVPoXumSWo_T6vHuV0_UpdhV_IQ4NSqu3_jQmklkInU5eb3628IlQw08CMt1dlqpZTn-37c0-kehAcw0T5k9vZdvqFrq2r38RrcKJE/s1600/vintage_mother_kissing_baby_in_bassinet_poster-p228172032069912881tdcp_400.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 338px; height: 338px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPeAx2Lp9hU_MjH4j7Lha6TjsjM6QIhUGbzMxmlYVPoXumSWo_T6vHuV0_UpdhV_IQ4NSqu3_jQmklkInU5eb3628IlQw08CMt1dlqpZTn-37c0-kehAcw0T5k9vZdvqFrq2r38RrcKJE/s400/vintage_mother_kissing_baby_in_bassinet_poster-p228172032069912881tdcp_400.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509847003803988914" border="0"></a><br />I guess what I am alluding to is that while women gaining the right to vote, work and other great achievements in the history of women, we lost the freedom to lead the simple lives that many of our grandmothers and great-grandmothers cherished so much. We have been forced to let other people raise our children without being scrutinized for our decision. I am a housewife, I am a homemaker, I am a SAHM, I am a WAHM, whatever you call me, I am proud!!<script>document.write(unescape("%3Cstyle%20type%3D%22text/css%22%3E%0Abody%20%7B background-image %3A%20url%28%22http%3AIrish.Writer.Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17530749556289267357noreply@blogger.com0