My mother’s hands

No one really reads my blog anymore, that’s ok. I’d post this to FB, but really i feel like it belongs in a place where someone could trip over it, but it’s not blasted into their face (like it would be on FB)


My mother is getting older. We all do. I mean I am, every second of my life. I dare say if my life goal was to get older, I would achieve it and feel very successful. She has always been very handy with her hands. Creative. My mother is not an artist in the sense that you would see her art hung on the walls of the Louvre or an art gallery in New York. Her art is in the way she can get the batter out of a bowl smoothly and easily with fast sweeps of a large white Tupperware spatula. The way she patiently, every year, tills the small plot of soil in her backyard, to plant vegetables, fruits, and beautiful flowers. The way she nurtures them the way she nurtured her kids. Patiently, and with a lot of hard work. Which I know is worth while when the kids ask if they can go get a watermelon from Grandma’s yard. my mother’s hands are not the hands of a woman who has sat idly by and watched other do the work for her. She has dug in, and done her share. More than her share. They have checked oil levels in our family car and felt for fevers. They have canned peaches, and sewn countless dresses (for me, my kids and numberless dolls). They have steadily worked at tedious work, repetitive and calming. She has scrubbed dishes, floors and tubs. She has worked, every day of her adult life. She would tell you though, there were periods she was unemployed. Which I would disagree. She has taught her children, she has loved them. She has sat with her young son on her lap and pulled out slivers from his knees. My mother has packed and unpacked countless boxes. Her hands have impulsively locked car doors for absolutely no reason as she drives down the street. Her mind is sharp, and lovely. She has held my hand, when I needed it, and sometimes when I thought I didn’t (no doubt, my kids have to get that from somewhere!) she has picked up toys and dishes, without thanks. My mom is amazing. I wish i had all the millions of amazing wonderful words to say it. I wish I could spin a terrific turn of phrase to show you the wonderfulness of it all. She’s a great person. I love her a lot. Which is like saying that a diamond is pretty. it lacks the emphasis and power you want it to.

anyway. it’s entirely too late tonight. I am feeling a little misty-eyed about my family (it being the holiday’s and all) and just thought I’d wax poetic about my mom for a bit.

Derringer Meryl [It doesn’t have to be] Out

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Just a quicky

MY week isn’t complete until someone tells me what it means to be a mom.

I like to think I’m… OPEN minded, but the truth is, that sometimes the things that the average person says could be mildly offensive.

IMO, and from what I’ve seen, mom’s who put 100% into their kids grow up with bratty kids, and are a husk their former self. Do things that YOU like to once in a while. Your children WONT wither and die if you aren’t watching them every minute. My mom had her hands full with us 5 kids and I don’t think she did a dang thing for herself, other than shower. Does that count? not really! My mom is/was an amazing mom. She was there for me all the time, and loved spending time with me. I loved spending time with her. I also spent time with kids my age and I learned really fast that kids my age were usually just jerks. I would say… 7 times out of 10. Anyway, I liked hanging out with my mom. I remember when I was like… 10 … maybe a little younger I didn’t have any money (because I was 10 and my parents didn’t do the allowance thing. If we wanted money for something we had to work for it.) and I really wanted my mom to get a new shirt. Nothing fancy (though the shirt was pretty IMO that she ended up getting) I just … I wanted MORE for her. I think my mom taught me a great lesson about considering others. I’m not always the best at it… She ended up buying the shirt for herself, but I encouraged her.

As much as I love my mom (and In case you haven’t gotten the point, I DO!) I don’t want to be the mom who doesn’t buy herself a new shirt for 10 years because the kids need school clothes and it doesn’t matter how I look as long as they look good. I’m important too. And for that matter, so Is my mom. I think she’s recovering from the post mom disorder now and takes better care of herself now, but I want to break the cycle. I may not go to the salon all the time, and I dont’ get pedicures, but I want my kids to see that not only am I their mom, I’m a PERSON. I have hobbies, and likes and dislikes. I’m not their servant, I’m HUMAN. I want my kids to know they can rely on me in a pinch, BUT that they should work so they don’t have to.

I love my kids. I love my family.

On the note of my obsession, and such… I was thinking about it this week. As I tend to do (am I obsessed with the fact that I get obsessed?) and I was thinking “i’ve done this forever” My first obsession… I would say Dolls… or reading. I still like dolls, I guess I haven’t outgrown that yet. Reading though. That burned hot and fast, and I would say by 4-5th grade I was bored with it. I still am. On occasion something captures my interest and I will read it, again and again, but usually I just can’t hack it.

Interesting? Eh.

Derringer Meryl [Updates] Out

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Give a little what what!

AKA: the one where I discuss why I work Customer Service.

Most people don’t say “OH I LOVE to work Customer Service!” Because we can all admit, people can be big fat jerky jerks sometimes, which sucks. No one wants to deal with someone who is angry. I don’t like angry people, and while there are people who do, they are probably some sort of masochist and have jobs doing something else that is kind of kinky.


anyway. I work it because I need to. Not like it fulfills me in a way that nothing else can (which again, kinky sounding?) It just is something I need to do, because, well we all do what we need to survive.

I just wonder sometimes if those people who call someone in a call center realize that talking on the phone isn’t these people’s passion. It’s a job. They do the best they can, and then they go home. No one in a call center (save supervisors maybe) go home thinking “how can I make my job better?” Nope. You go home and you try not to think about the fact you’re going back tomorrow. Typically anyway.

If you’re lucky like me, you work in a marvelous wonderland of free diet coke (you should be hearing angels singing at this point) and nice coworkers, a super CEO/CFO who just make you want to come to work. It’s still hard. VERY HARD for me to not just stay at home (though I know it’d be bad for us) but, it’s nice that if I HAVE to work, to work some place where people are funny and joke, like I do, and they understand you’re a human, and that you have needs. and the phones are so nice (that is the people on the phones, that you talk to) that you don’t mind that your break is only 10 minutes. You know that the office functions like a well oiled machine, and everyone is happy and willing to help…

it’s amazing.

I feel bad for my former Verio Co-workers. They lost some of their pay, and their differential is completely gone. How sad. 🙁 No commentary on the company’s choice, i don’t want to get in any sort of trouble for that. It’s just unfortunate for my friends.
In any case…

I am happy. Which feels odd. After being 7 different shades of miserable for over two years, it feels good, and scary to be happy. Which I realize is stupid. (HAHA) but I have been trying to eliminate a lot of my negative self talk, and remove my ideals. Not like Ideals like being a good person and what good people do. But I seem to think that my house needs to be spotless and that my kids should always be clean and dinner should be cooked and kids should be happy, etc etc…

I can’t force things to be perfect. I feel like I’ve been trying to shove a square peg into a round hole for 2 years. I’ve been trying to balance things out. Trying to make things like they were before. Before we had kids, and it’s been frustrating me that I can’t make it that way. But that’s just how it is. I can’t be the mother my mom was, because quite frankly, I’m not my mother. I can’t be the perfect wife, but I can be a pretty damn good one 😉

Like Mal says:

Mercy is the mark of a great man.
(stabs Atherton)
Guess I’m just a good man.
(stabs Atherton again)
Well, I’m alright.

I guess I’m just a good wife, good mom, and good person. That’s ok, and sometimes I’m great, sometimes I feel PERFECT (or as perfect as I can be) and I am happy, that’s great. But– I can’t be like that all the time. It’s not possible. Not even if I stayed at home. Not even if I cloned myself. I’m not lazy, I’m not stupid, I’m not anything but Imperfect. And Scott Loves me that way.

I need to love me and my imperfections too.

Derringer Meryl [BREAKTHROUGH] Out

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Working Mommy

I was just thinking about how being a working mommy is hard. I was thinking about how there MUST be other women in my ward who are also working as I know other working mommies exist (I have several friends who are working mommies, and several co-workers as well) However I began to think of my ward and how I’d say there are probably 10 mom’s that are my age in my ward… and out of them, I don’t believe any of them work!

So much for that idea!

Derringer Meryl [a dying breed] Out

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I feel weirdly compelled

To post this again. I feel like It screams a sort of forgiveness that is important to remember. To remember for our family, our friends, everyone.

Hate Me, Blue October

It’s easy to give up on people. It’s easy to say “I can’t do this anymore” and walk away. I hear this song from his mother’s point of view. Which you may not hear her at the beginning of the song, but the following message was left for the main singer by his mother… “Hi Justin! This is your mother. I was just calling to see how you were doing. You sounded really uptight last night, it made me a little nervous. I just want to make sure you are really okay and wanted to see if you were checking in on your medication too. You know I love ya. See ya! Bye Bye!” Isn’t that like a mom? Even though her son was sick, and he was often hurtful towards her, and self destructive…. she put herself out there. To love him anyway. I feel like I keep repeating myself with this blog sometimes. especially in relation to this song… I wish i could echo any of it’s sentiments accurately.

I know my mom is like his mom. I hope I can be like that too. I know in some small ways I am. I know my mom made sure I took my medicine, made sure I got the help I needed. I know she cried with me (still does) when I feel like I’m breaking apart. I know my mom is there for me. I hope I can be as great as she is. As supportive, as loving.
Derringer Meryl

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