Today I read the moving story of Cpl. Jason Dunham of the US Marine Corps. Today a battleship was christened in his honor, as he is the first Marine to receive the Medal of Honor since the Vietnam War. He died in 2004,after throwing himself on a grenade in Iraq, saving the lives of fellow Marines. I read the story with tears in my eyes.... wondering how his mother, father and sister felt on such a bittersweet day.
I stared into his picture on the screen- seeing a boy that was obviously barely a man when it was taken.
The picture, of course, reminded me of my own brother's formal portrait. Once you're a part of the extended Marine family- you know the story behind that picture. The straight, smile-less face, and the reason why. You know the secret behind that "uniform" in the picture- that it's really just the top; and that the recruits are hurried through like cattle during the picture taking process at either Parris Island or San Diego. You know that when that picture was taken, your Marine was enduring some of the most challenging and difficult days of his or her life. You know the nostalgia and pride of seeing your Marine's formal picture on graduation day- feeling so proud, but hoping you never see it on the news, or like I saw Cpl. Dunham's today.
But still, Cpl. Dunham's picture today is also a symbol of at least two other Marines who's pictures are not in the news today. And for that, I am thankful. I pray that God will bless his family.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
I'll never refold my laundry again.
I try not to use this blog to vent, or tirade. At least not usually. But really, I need to let off some steam. If you read this blog, you probably know me well enough to know that I am an absolute and TOTAL control freak. It never occured to me that this might be a character trait that might actually hurt someone's feelings, or be very disrespectful to others- until today. When I encountered myself- in the form of another human being.
I am on several committees, as I know most of you are as well. Being that I KNOW I'm a control freak, believe it or not- I've actually learned to reign in that "tendency" (I hear my girls snickering) during these meetings and environments. For the most part, I try to sit back and just do what I'm told. I'll offer to do things, but in all honesty, over the last couple years, I've learned it's best for me to just sit back and let someone else run the show so that I don't get dubbed "Hitler" anymore (high school yearbook). For that reason, I have turned down positions on the PTA even.
Well in the last couple months, I've worked on a couple of committees (which why do we really NEED 6 people to decide what color table cloths to use anyway, but I digress), and at one point was given responsibilities which align with the business I'm in. Makes sense. Being that I am probably OVER EFFICIENT, anal, control freakish and insecure (call it what you like), I poured my heart and soul into my research- aiming to bring the best possible scenarios to both organizations. On both occasions, I spent literally HOURS checking and rechecking myself. The first one, a lot of my ideas and things I brought to the table were shot down once someone else decided that after my hours of research, more research- on their part- was in order. Okay. FINE. (Freaked-out-Insecure-Neurotic&Emotional). I actually took that one in stride pretty well, under the circumstances, because I could tell that the spirit in which is was done was not bad.
However, today, put me over the edge. After shelving several important work projects in order focus on this particular upcoming deadline- I found out my two hours of research/work would once again, be dumped in order to be double-checked. This chick (me) did not take it well at that point.
What about my time? Wasted? Did someone else feel that I am not capable enough to handle the situation? Then why did they give me the project to begin with???? I felt like my time, efforts and energy had been abused and dis-respected. I wanted to cry, and almost did. I was angry. I wanted my two hours back, because I was then buried under my other work that wasn't done! (As I write this, I hear my friend Jenn saying, "Pride, Amanda, Pride", and you're right).
Since Martin was unavailable, I had to vent, or I WOULD cry. I called my sister, and unloaded the story. I even told her, "I KNOW I'm a control freak, but I would never hurt someone's feelings or waste their time that way, I mean, I know I refold my laundry, but really!"
I hung up feeling better, but still mad because at this point, I'd exerted so much energy and time in the project that I was now late to get my very important work package to the post office. As I drove, I realized it. I'm just as bad. How many times has Martin been kind enough to fold the laundry for me, only to have me go behind him and re-do it. I've disrespected his time, his efforts, and energy. My strive for perfection may have potentially hurt his feelings. Now, he's never said anything about it. But boy, he doesn't need too now. I've had the mirror put in front of my face, and I'll never re-fold my laundry again. And, I'm sorry if I've ever refolded yours.
I am on several committees, as I know most of you are as well. Being that I KNOW I'm a control freak, believe it or not- I've actually learned to reign in that "tendency" (I hear my girls snickering) during these meetings and environments. For the most part, I try to sit back and just do what I'm told. I'll offer to do things, but in all honesty, over the last couple years, I've learned it's best for me to just sit back and let someone else run the show so that I don't get dubbed "Hitler" anymore (high school yearbook). For that reason, I have turned down positions on the PTA even.
Well in the last couple months, I've worked on a couple of committees (which why do we really NEED 6 people to decide what color table cloths to use anyway, but I digress), and at one point was given responsibilities which align with the business I'm in. Makes sense. Being that I am probably OVER EFFICIENT, anal, control freakish and insecure (call it what you like), I poured my heart and soul into my research- aiming to bring the best possible scenarios to both organizations. On both occasions, I spent literally HOURS checking and rechecking myself. The first one, a lot of my ideas and things I brought to the table were shot down once someone else decided that after my hours of research, more research- on their part- was in order. Okay. FINE. (Freaked-out-Insecure-Neurotic&Emotional). I actually took that one in stride pretty well, under the circumstances, because I could tell that the spirit in which is was done was not bad.
However, today, put me over the edge. After shelving several important work projects in order focus on this particular upcoming deadline- I found out my two hours of research/work would once again, be dumped in order to be double-checked. This chick (me) did not take it well at that point.
What about my time? Wasted? Did someone else feel that I am not capable enough to handle the situation? Then why did they give me the project to begin with???? I felt like my time, efforts and energy had been abused and dis-respected. I wanted to cry, and almost did. I was angry. I wanted my two hours back, because I was then buried under my other work that wasn't done! (As I write this, I hear my friend Jenn saying, "Pride, Amanda, Pride", and you're right).
Since Martin was unavailable, I had to vent, or I WOULD cry. I called my sister, and unloaded the story. I even told her, "I KNOW I'm a control freak, but I would never hurt someone's feelings or waste their time that way, I mean, I know I refold my laundry, but really!"
I hung up feeling better, but still mad because at this point, I'd exerted so much energy and time in the project that I was now late to get my very important work package to the post office. As I drove, I realized it. I'm just as bad. How many times has Martin been kind enough to fold the laundry for me, only to have me go behind him and re-do it. I've disrespected his time, his efforts, and energy. My strive for perfection may have potentially hurt his feelings. Now, he's never said anything about it. But boy, he doesn't need too now. I've had the mirror put in front of my face, and I'll never re-fold my laundry again. And, I'm sorry if I've ever refolded yours.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The Backyard Money Machine
Now, I know I've blogged along this line before... if not here, in the blogosphere, then a million times somewhere in my sub-conscious.
But friends, let me tell you. I live with Curious George. A living, breathing, little octo-monkey who burns calories and energy at a rate that could light up the great state of Texas. His appearance would shock you, as he is not small and furry; but rather, a smooth, sweet skinned little boy with mischievous blue eyes, plump little cheeks, and a winning little smile and laugh that can both endear and drive one batty. He never MEANS to get in trouble.... it's just that everything is just so DARN INTRIGUING. Forget toys- they hold little to no interest for him, usually. He's much more enamoured with the the little things in life. For instance- his day would not be complete if he did not stop every five steps on the way to Mason's bus stop, to look at a rock, or oooh- a flower, or even better, an empty soda bottle that litters the alley. PURELY AMAZING- and it turns our walk past six houses into a 10 minute ordeal. And the idea, of washing your hands in the sink- why, that's just amazing, too, and no hand-washing is complete without looking underneath the sink to see exactly where all that water disappears too.
Imagine my consternation today, as I had quite the dreaded explanation to present to Martin. While I was on the phone with the swim instructor- I heard Coen go into the backyard. That was not a big deal, as it's free reign, properly secure, and open territory to them. However, upon hanging up, and writing the swim dates on my calendar, I heard the door slam, and little feet padding across the tiled floor. He grabbed my hand, and was blabbering in nearly three-year-old gibberish something about the "wind blow" and other words I couldn't decipher. I could tell it was urgent, and so followed him through the kitchen, and to my surprise- to the garage. He pointed to the garage door opener, and told me to open the door. I'm thinking, "Okay, ball went over the fence"..... I follow him into the empty lot next door, still trying to figure out what he's saying. It finally clicks when I see the yellow paper "kicket" (ticket) lying in the dirt. Said "kicket" is a piece of yellow Monopoly money. Dread feels my stomach, and I run, with Coen following back into the house. You see, it's not just any piece of yellow Monopoly money. It is a piece of Monopoly money from a limited edition, collectors STAR WARS Monopoly game. That belongs to Martin. And is very old.
The boys have been admiring it all week, and Martin has tolerated them doing so, allowing them to play at the kitchen table with the tiny ships, tokens, and game pieces. They have been in awe; and now, I know- that given "George's" great idea to give the game a try outside, in the 40 mph Texas wind- my neighbors will be in awe as well.
As I said, I tore around the corner, screaming to Mason to hurry, and help me. It looked like a money machine in the backyard, as we scrambled to gather the precious money, and even more precious, the game cards- Tatooine, Naboo, Curasant......AGGGGHHHHH. I almost threw up thinking about how in the world I would tell Martin.
After checking around the fence, the empty lots, and stepping in a huge pile of mud, I came back inside, and lined up the cards, to see what was missing. So far, I think there is only one card missing. Maybe that one fell out of the box during the move. Yeah, that's it.
Thank goodness, he took the news pretty well. Much better than I would've. Wonder how the man in the yellow hat would handle this one?
***UPDATE: Martin went out to mow the lawn last weekend, and moved the stack of lawn chairs on the back porch. Later he would ask me what I thought he found underneath.... (I'm imagining a rattlesnake, but NO) the TWO missing game cards, and the instructions to the game- weathered and water logged, but legible. Phew.
But friends, let me tell you. I live with Curious George. A living, breathing, little octo-monkey who burns calories and energy at a rate that could light up the great state of Texas. His appearance would shock you, as he is not small and furry; but rather, a smooth, sweet skinned little boy with mischievous blue eyes, plump little cheeks, and a winning little smile and laugh that can both endear and drive one batty. He never MEANS to get in trouble.... it's just that everything is just so DARN INTRIGUING. Forget toys- they hold little to no interest for him, usually. He's much more enamoured with the the little things in life. For instance- his day would not be complete if he did not stop every five steps on the way to Mason's bus stop, to look at a rock, or oooh- a flower, or even better, an empty soda bottle that litters the alley. PURELY AMAZING- and it turns our walk past six houses into a 10 minute ordeal. And the idea, of washing your hands in the sink- why, that's just amazing, too, and no hand-washing is complete without looking underneath the sink to see exactly where all that water disappears too.
Imagine my consternation today, as I had quite the dreaded explanation to present to Martin. While I was on the phone with the swim instructor- I heard Coen go into the backyard. That was not a big deal, as it's free reign, properly secure, and open territory to them. However, upon hanging up, and writing the swim dates on my calendar, I heard the door slam, and little feet padding across the tiled floor. He grabbed my hand, and was blabbering in nearly three-year-old gibberish something about the "wind blow" and other words I couldn't decipher. I could tell it was urgent, and so followed him through the kitchen, and to my surprise- to the garage. He pointed to the garage door opener, and told me to open the door. I'm thinking, "Okay, ball went over the fence"..... I follow him into the empty lot next door, still trying to figure out what he's saying. It finally clicks when I see the yellow paper "kicket" (ticket) lying in the dirt. Said "kicket" is a piece of yellow Monopoly money. Dread feels my stomach, and I run, with Coen following back into the house. You see, it's not just any piece of yellow Monopoly money. It is a piece of Monopoly money from a limited edition, collectors STAR WARS Monopoly game. That belongs to Martin. And is very old.
The boys have been admiring it all week, and Martin has tolerated them doing so, allowing them to play at the kitchen table with the tiny ships, tokens, and game pieces. They have been in awe; and now, I know- that given "George's" great idea to give the game a try outside, in the 40 mph Texas wind- my neighbors will be in awe as well.
As I said, I tore around the corner, screaming to Mason to hurry, and help me. It looked like a money machine in the backyard, as we scrambled to gather the precious money, and even more precious, the game cards- Tatooine, Naboo, Curasant......AGGGGHHHHH. I almost threw up thinking about how in the world I would tell Martin.
After checking around the fence, the empty lots, and stepping in a huge pile of mud, I came back inside, and lined up the cards, to see what was missing. So far, I think there is only one card missing. Maybe that one fell out of the box during the move. Yeah, that's it.
Thank goodness, he took the news pretty well. Much better than I would've. Wonder how the man in the yellow hat would handle this one?
***UPDATE: Martin went out to mow the lawn last weekend, and moved the stack of lawn chairs on the back porch. Later he would ask me what I thought he found underneath.... (I'm imagining a rattlesnake, but NO) the TWO missing game cards, and the instructions to the game- weathered and water logged, but legible. Phew.
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