“Learn to light a candle in the darkest moments of someone’s life. Be the light that helps others see; it is what gives life its deepest significance.” – Roy T. Bennet

Posts tagged ‘children’


What parent doesn’t want to tell their child, “you’re the best,” or “you can do anything”?

Giving out trophies en mass teaches children that they don’t need to strive for anything to be rewarded.

And when we tell our kids that they deserve the world and the world doesn’t give them anything – they shout in frustration and wallow in loneliness and lash out.

We tell them to ignore the “haters” because they are better than them. We put one above and one below and lose equal standing.

Here we create their superiority complexes.

So then a child believes themselves to be a god and can control who stays and who goes and doesn’t understand the consequences.

(In hindsight – they understand. They always do. And then they end themselves to keep from facing reality.)

But we have created this. Us, the domineering parents. The ones whose children can do no wrong, can be the best, can ignore all else.

We cannot ignore the warning signs. We cannot give our children the world because it is not ours to give. We can teach them to treat others as equals, and to love the bullies and the loners and the popular kids. There doesn’t need to be a hierarchy in our schools or in their minds.

(There can be winners and losers in games because that is healthy competition and they can strive to be the best of their own selves.)

But if our children are handed ribbons for participation, when they are dropped into the real world they will have nothing.

And their minds cannot coincide with reality because they still believe they are the best. And so it continues…and they suffer…and others suffer.

Because we didn’t get a trophy when we were their age.



Being a mother brings out the best and the worst in me.

Sometimes all I want is to cuddle with my son.

Sometimes I just want to hide in the bathroom and lock the door just to be alone and untouched for once.

Sometime I am hyper-vigilant in watching him, to the point that I can catch him before he starts to fall.

Sometimes I look away too long and he falls hard.

Sometimes he is so clean and shiny and he smells wonderful.

Sometimes I can’t remember his last bath.

Sometimes I will read him books over and over again for hours on end.

Sometimes I just hand him books to play with so I can do something else.

Time spent being a mother is time spent tearing yourself in half between selfishness and selflessness. You feel like your identity is in your child and feel lost when you don’t have them near to hold. You want to do everything “right” and never fail. You don’t want others to see your mistakes for fear that they view you as bad at mothering. You will never please everyone, least of all your own self.

Sometimes you pour all your love into one defenseless, little person.

Sometimes you cry.

But that’s motherhood.


While I look at my child as he crawls and climbs and falls, it occurs to me that I was once a child like this. 

I look back at my childhood dreams and teenage stupidities and wonder what sort of dreams and stupidities my baby will have as he ages. 

I made life so hard for my parents. I hated them at some points, even. The worse thing my child does to me is try to run away as I change his diaper. He may have a day where he hates me. It may last longer than a day and it seems so hard to believe.

Motherhood is hard. Parenthood is hard. My husband just had to do compressions on a man who committed suicide. His own mother was the one that found him, and that scares me. 

I guess all I can really do is teach my child to love and to value the fragility of life. As his mother, I want to protect him and keep him in a perfectly safe bubble, but this will make him value so little. He needs to experience the harshness of life to understand the beauty of it.

But I am afraid. I cannot help it. Forgive me.

I Have So Many…

I have so many dreams, not just the kind in which I am flying or people are dying around me and I’m just sitting there, eating bananas. I also have those dreams in which I am doing something great in the future, or something in the future, whether by your definition of great or by mine. I want to get married and have a lot children and be a cookie baker of a mother. I want to travel the world but have a home base where I can return to and know that I have security in a foundation. I want to be wise, and know people. I want to be able to look into somebody’s eyes and realize they have the weight of the world on their shoulders, and I want to be able to help them. I want people to need me for what I have to offer. I want to grow old. I want to have grandchildren and great-grandchildren all looking up to me and coming over to my house to be spoiled. I don’t want to be anything typical, I want to create a new example of typical, and when I die, people can say, “Yes, she was a daughter, she was a mother, she was a grandmother. But that is not all she was. She was the warmth of the flame, the lamp in the dark, and the smell of the sea.”

I Discovered Photoshop


He told his story like it was brand new

For the hungry children to listen to

He cleared his throat and he took his time

Because sitting there was all they could do

They left behind all their pains and worries

And imagined life as it was meant to be

As they whistled softly to the minstrel’s music

They thought of places that they couldn’t see

While the world grew colder than ever

You could see it in their eyes that they didn’t feel a thing

And the man was sad when it was over

So he sang another song and left them to their dreams

© 2011 singinthebreeze.wordpress.com

Pickle Jar

they’ll tell you life is good here and dare you to say otherwise

as they go and steal a pickle jar to hold their savings in

it’ll stay as dry and empty as it was when it was found

but it sits there to remind them to save a buck someday

is it hard to believe that destiny

brought me to this city

where children cry and cease to be

part of the living

and the women walk in the night time

wishing they would meet somebody

and the men lose hope with the fading light

and drown in their misery

they’ll tell you life is good here and dare you to say otherwise

as they stand in line for soup so that their families may eat

it will last a couple days up to a week if they wanted

so dies a hungry mother and the unborn child inside

is it hard to believe that destiny

brought me to this city

where children cry and cease to be

part of the living

and the women walk in the night time

wishing they would meet somebody

and the men lose hope with the fading light

and drown in their misery

one by one, freedom will take them

two by two, the windows will close

and near their little graveyard a vacant house will stand

boarded up and buried deep in the minds of passing friends

and on a broken shelf above their only chair

there sits an empty pickle jar that nobody could fill



© 2011 singinthebreeze.wordpress.com

Tag Cloud

%d bloggers like this: