Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Taking Daffodils To Her Teacher


I haven't had an experience like that in quite some time, dark clouds entering my home after school in the form of sullen teenagers, who are darkly positive that mean old mom has had absolutely no life experiences and is clueless about the norms of today.

Hmmm. I haven't always been such an isolationist, that came with having emotionally troubled children to raise, too embarrassed to be out in public, what with temper dysregulations and other off-putting activities.

I did once have an active, vibrant social life that I'm just not gonna dig back within to describe, truthfully I'm right happy nowadays with seclusion. It's only seclusion from society. My big ole family precludes much human seclusion.

After sitting for supper, a thaw began in the teenage hearts, by bedtime it was palatable once again. 17 year old Sabrina's been a rock, a steady calming influence on younger teens here, pointing out the ignorant choices and attitudes she felt she must've demonstrated at that age.

"High school isn't everything," she's been stating. Indeed, I barely remember anything about high school other than the peer pressure crap. That said, I'm still friends with my buddies from back then, especially John, Mac, Floyd, Barbara, Patti and Dottie. Dottie'd called me Saturday, I was so thrilled. She's my original garden inspiration, that summer I was pregnant with Sarah nearly 40 years ago, Dottie taught me how to plant. I've been obsessed ever since. We'd met each other at the start of high school, 1969. Now she lives behind my brother Gary, on the water in Hampton, Virginia.

During my wait time for Sabrina's MRI, I read a stack of gossip magazines with open-mouthed horror. I know I was gaping like a church marm, but Honey, I was appalled.

The rag mags calling Heather Locklear and Demi Moore old and past their prime, washed up once-popular starlets. I think they're super gorgeous. If society calls them aging, then I must be a doddering, elderly old crone. The younger beauties weren't getting any better of a deal, discussing their fat thighs (Hello? Stick figures?) and bemoaning their options that eliminate any sort of a decent life beyond fake tans, fake teeth and fake plastic sacks in their chests.

Look at all the self-medicating famous deaths? They call themselves over-anxious and stressed, and zone out permanently on Xanax, Valium and Lortabs. They couldn't have survived one minute of my uber-stressful life with zero entourage and outside pressures.

It's ultimately very sad as a society that we feed our amazingly complex bodies with bad food, chemical highs, and alcohol lows.

Has no one ever heard of asking God for strength, wisdom and perseverance? How does anyone think I've survived a single minute around here?

Am I really that out of touch? Or can I hope to be a role model for my daughters, hoping and praying they won't fall into such a superficial, empty and frightening lifestyle?

You aren't your looks, you are comprised of intelligence, interests, a mind and a beautiful soul.

I have 18 spectacularly gorgeous, ravishing actually, daughters. Most are grown now, only three still at home. My daughters know they're lovely, I tell them so constantly, they don't need some guy to have to do so. But more importantly, I've stressed education over beauty. I point out their intelligence often as well. "You're so dang smart...fill in the blank." Even if they marry very well, they still need the inner knowledge that they are self-confident and very capable of earning a living, of having accomplished something, of having earned their high school diplomas or college degrees.

They literally are stunning and bright, and it behooves me to remind them of that especially when they teeter on the brink of The World that would try and dissuade them of their inner knowledge.

I strive to teach them to live beneath their means, shopaholics don't really exist in our family, they've surely never seen me ever browse in any store. I know that some of my kids drink and have experimented with drugs. I know they've fallen into the self-medication route as grown-ups. They know that I don't approve, I'm hoping maturity will kick in eventually, an understanding and a comprehension of what's driving them to do that, to make poor choices.

I've had grown kids repeat what they'd learned in therapy or in church, or coming out of my big mouth...I'm just glad, that on some level, they were listening.

"Seriously, Mom? You're like a super annoying tape recorder in my head," they've complained.

That makes me proud of me.
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