How many types of people are there in the world? That's a tricky question. Some may say that, like snowflakes, no two people are alike. There are tall people, short people, dark people, light people, small people and large people. But with each of these physical-types comes a behavioral type. There are funny people, stupid people, smart people, compassionate people...and then there are assholes.
We can breakdown personality traits and physical characteristics, apply some mathematical equation and come up with a literal answer to my figurative question. But, I shall make my answer to my seemingly simple question general: There are only two types of people. Good people and bad people.
Good people care about the well-being of others. They are giving, loving and supportive. They are educators, providers and mentors. They abide by the Golden Rule and give others the tools they need to succeed in life. They help build bridges, pathways and confidence for others.
Bad people care about the well-being of themselves. They are conniving, evil and degrading. They are dictators, takers and power-hungry. They abide by the rule that in order to look good, you make others look bad. They take away people's confidence and don't think twice as they throw people under the proverbial bus and proceed to drive over them. They build barriers and break down others' senses of worth.
Whether it's in one's personal life or workplace...these two types of people exist.
What I have learned in both aspects of my life is that only I can determine my worth. Others can add to my sense of worth - or try to take away my sense of worth. But I choose who to listen to and I choose who to believe.
I have been blessed with some amazing people in my life. There are many who have been inspirations to me. They have - directly or indirectly - helped me define my worth to myself. My father, my soul sister (you know who you are), my son's Godmother and friend, my partner in life, my son, my siblings, my Little and her family. They have all taught me and continue to remind me to be the best me that I can be.
While my personal inspirations have helped define me, my professional mentors have helped guide me. I will forever be grateful to a wonderful woman who, as my supervisor, encouraged me to learn. Gave me the tools I needed to grow and saw something in me that others refused to see. It is her faith in me and my abilities that I am able to get up everyday and go to work. It is her continued guidance (though she is no longer my supervisor) that reminds me that I fall into the 'good person' category. It is her ability to build people up while others tear her down that inspires me to not only be the best person I can be, but the best boss I can be, the best friend I can be, the best mom I can be, the best wife I can be...the best person I can be. A true mentor turned friend.
I am a good person. I am a smart person. A loving person. A giving person. A loved person. Nobody can take that away from me. They can try. But who always wins in the battle of good vs. evil? Right.
So, as Jerry Springer would say, "Be good to yourself....and each other."
Monica Stoneking
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Church vs. State; Bill vs. Bible
There are many types of people in the world. Just like snowflakes, no two are alike (similar, yes...the same, no). No matter who you are, what you believe, where you live or who you love...everyone deserves to be happy. But, some can't see past their own nose (or their Bible of Convenience) to see that their actions, their beliefs and their arguments are going against everything they preach.
There are ignorant people, patient people, pompous people, and forgiving people. People come in all shades, sizes, and sexuality. There are homosexuals, heterosexuals, bisexuals and asexuals. And there are homophobes. There are those who determine the law and those who follow the laws. But, it seems that those who are making the law don't care about the people who are law-abiding.
For decades, the fight for gay rights has been waging. And just when our country takes a baby step forward, a landslide awaits to push the issue to the back burner. The issue at hand? That a marriage 'should be between a man and woman'.
My question is why?
And there are many answers. Most reference the bible. Because Leviticus stated, "Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind: it is abomination." Says Leviticus.
So many right-wing leaders look to their bible to influence laws. A Bible of Convenience. If you want to find support for your argument - no matter what it is - look no further than the Bible of Convenience.
Shame on you lawmakers. Where is the separation of church and state? How many politicians have come out announcing an affair? Isn't adultery a sin? Perhaps we should take away their health benefits and their right to be married.
According to the Bible of Convenience, women should not be allowed to vote. Black people should not be allowed to vote. Blacks and whites shouldn't sit next to each other, let alone love each other. Prostitutes should be hanged and homosexuals will automatically go to hell. Better start praying now.
But to who? What God would deny a person the ability to love, the ability to commit themselves to each other, to proudly benefit from that partnership? I believe in God, I just don't know his or her name.
MY God wants equality. MY God wants you to love and be loved. MY God wants you to treat others as you would like to be treated. THAT is what religion should be about - the Golden Rule. So, I ask you Mr. Lawmaker who's wife could not bear children: Should you be allowed to be married? After all, the purpose of marriage between a man and wife is procreation, right?
And what about you Mr. Redneck Bumpkin who beats the crap out of his wife because she didn't 'obey' you? Do you deserve to have a certificate of marriage? We have grown men marrying 15 year olds, men with multiple wives and men who cheat on their wives every chance they get and THEY are allowed to get married?
Of course, because a man is not laying with another man. Thanks Leviticus and all of your followers in the Bible of Convenience.
I am a woman. I am a heterosexual. I am Caucasian. I am a mother. I am a wife. But, the only thing that is truly important is that I am a person who loves and is loved and believes that everyone has the right to the same.
So, in the battle of Church vs. State, I have faith in the law. The Bible of Convenience has no place in my government. Respect. Dignity. Fairness. The right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Those are words in MY bible.
There are ignorant people, patient people, pompous people, and forgiving people. People come in all shades, sizes, and sexuality. There are homosexuals, heterosexuals, bisexuals and asexuals. And there are homophobes. There are those who determine the law and those who follow the laws. But, it seems that those who are making the law don't care about the people who are law-abiding.
For decades, the fight for gay rights has been waging. And just when our country takes a baby step forward, a landslide awaits to push the issue to the back burner. The issue at hand? That a marriage 'should be between a man and woman'.
My question is why?
And there are many answers. Most reference the bible. Because Leviticus stated, "Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind: it is abomination." Says Leviticus.
So many right-wing leaders look to their bible to influence laws. A Bible of Convenience. If you want to find support for your argument - no matter what it is - look no further than the Bible of Convenience.
Shame on you lawmakers. Where is the separation of church and state? How many politicians have come out announcing an affair? Isn't adultery a sin? Perhaps we should take away their health benefits and their right to be married.
According to the Bible of Convenience, women should not be allowed to vote. Black people should not be allowed to vote. Blacks and whites shouldn't sit next to each other, let alone love each other. Prostitutes should be hanged and homosexuals will automatically go to hell. Better start praying now.
But to who? What God would deny a person the ability to love, the ability to commit themselves to each other, to proudly benefit from that partnership? I believe in God, I just don't know his or her name.
MY God wants equality. MY God wants you to love and be loved. MY God wants you to treat others as you would like to be treated. THAT is what religion should be about - the Golden Rule. So, I ask you Mr. Lawmaker who's wife could not bear children: Should you be allowed to be married? After all, the purpose of marriage between a man and wife is procreation, right?
And what about you Mr. Redneck Bumpkin who beats the crap out of his wife because she didn't 'obey' you? Do you deserve to have a certificate of marriage? We have grown men marrying 15 year olds, men with multiple wives and men who cheat on their wives every chance they get and THEY are allowed to get married?
Of course, because a man is not laying with another man. Thanks Leviticus and all of your followers in the Bible of Convenience.
I am a woman. I am a heterosexual. I am Caucasian. I am a mother. I am a wife. But, the only thing that is truly important is that I am a person who loves and is loved and believes that everyone has the right to the same.
So, in the battle of Church vs. State, I have faith in the law. The Bible of Convenience has no place in my government. Respect. Dignity. Fairness. The right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Those are words in MY bible.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Biodegradable Gossip
We all have fallen victim to gossip. We hear it around the water cooler. We get reports from TMZ. Our mothers, mothers-in-law, the neighbor in apartment 3D. What makes one gossip and what makes one listen to it?
Gossip can originate from anywhere. A disgruntled employee. A cowardice ex. A nosy, chatty Cathy. Over time we learn who to ignore. We know to take certain things coming from a certain person's mouth with a grain of salt. We know to wait for a beloved cup of coffee until the office snitch leaves the break room.
Gossip has different levels of ignorance. For example, if the National Enquirer is your bible, you have a very loose definition of reality - the entire publication is a form of gossip - flat-out lies.
The next level of gossip can be compared to People (or 'Poop-le' as it's referred to in my house). There is some truth to the stories, but they center around celebrities who make their living off of getting into and staying in the spotlight. They WANT to be the talk of the town. Any press is good press.
But the fine line between fact and fiction is sometimes tough to decipher. Every lie starts somewhere. Every story has an origin. And every person has their own perception as to what is fact and what is fiction. It is what his or her audience chooses to believe that is important to them.
If you want to get the best gossip in town (especially in Podunkville, KANSAS), visit the local coffee shop, bakery or gas station. There is no privacy in these towns. Everyone knows everyone else's business and has an opinion about it. In these towns gossip is actually a source of news.
However, gossip in the real world is not real news. It's people telling stories to get attention. If they wanted to share real news with people, they would be reporters on the local television station. Individuals who gossip do not realize that what they are doing could hurt someone or someones.
There is a scene in the 2008 movie, Doubt, where a woman confesses to Philip Seymour Hoffman - playing Father Brendan Flynn - that she is guilty of gossiping (there would be a line out the church door if everyone went to confession for gossiping). He takes her to the roof of the building (no, not to kill her - spoiler alert) and proceeds to shred a down pillow. As all of the feathers traveled with the wind to find a resting place, he tells the woman her gossip, her stories, her lies are like those feathers...they are out there and she can't get them all back.
In discussing this scene, a very wise woman looked at it from a different angle than Fr. Flynn. "What if the feathers represented gossip that was spread about you? You can either spend your time trying to round up the feathers, stressing about the falsehoods or you can let the feathers fall where they may and realize you have no control over what others say about you."
Gossip doesn't go away. Once the stories, lies and untruths are spoken or written, they live forever. They, like the feathers, are out there, scattered, unable to be retrieved. But, unlike the feathers, they don't dissolve. Gossip is not biodegradable. Recyclable, yes. Biodegradable, no.
Gossip can originate from anywhere. A disgruntled employee. A cowardice ex. A nosy, chatty Cathy. Over time we learn who to ignore. We know to take certain things coming from a certain person's mouth with a grain of salt. We know to wait for a beloved cup of coffee until the office snitch leaves the break room.
Gossip has different levels of ignorance. For example, if the National Enquirer is your bible, you have a very loose definition of reality - the entire publication is a form of gossip - flat-out lies.
The next level of gossip can be compared to People (or 'Poop-le' as it's referred to in my house). There is some truth to the stories, but they center around celebrities who make their living off of getting into and staying in the spotlight. They WANT to be the talk of the town. Any press is good press.
But the fine line between fact and fiction is sometimes tough to decipher. Every lie starts somewhere. Every story has an origin. And every person has their own perception as to what is fact and what is fiction. It is what his or her audience chooses to believe that is important to them.
If you want to get the best gossip in town (especially in Podunkville, KANSAS), visit the local coffee shop, bakery or gas station. There is no privacy in these towns. Everyone knows everyone else's business and has an opinion about it. In these towns gossip is actually a source of news.
However, gossip in the real world is not real news. It's people telling stories to get attention. If they wanted to share real news with people, they would be reporters on the local television station. Individuals who gossip do not realize that what they are doing could hurt someone or someones.
There is a scene in the 2008 movie, Doubt, where a woman confesses to Philip Seymour Hoffman - playing Father Brendan Flynn - that she is guilty of gossiping (there would be a line out the church door if everyone went to confession for gossiping). He takes her to the roof of the building (no, not to kill her - spoiler alert) and proceeds to shred a down pillow. As all of the feathers traveled with the wind to find a resting place, he tells the woman her gossip, her stories, her lies are like those feathers...they are out there and she can't get them all back.
In discussing this scene, a very wise woman looked at it from a different angle than Fr. Flynn. "What if the feathers represented gossip that was spread about you? You can either spend your time trying to round up the feathers, stressing about the falsehoods or you can let the feathers fall where they may and realize you have no control over what others say about you."
Gossip doesn't go away. Once the stories, lies and untruths are spoken or written, they live forever. They, like the feathers, are out there, scattered, unable to be retrieved. But, unlike the feathers, they don't dissolve. Gossip is not biodegradable. Recyclable, yes. Biodegradable, no.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Blizzard of Oz Part 1 and 2
A long time has passed since I last graced everyone with a new post, new insights into the world and new idioms regarding stupid people. But, in my defense, I've been a wee bit busy. I left one job, put my house on the market, moved within a stone's throw of my parents and my in-laws, got a new job, have a mortgage and rent to pay, had to find a new school and new doctor for my son. Then I fell down the stairs, majorly injuring my back three weeks after starting my new job. Suffered through the holidays and then I face-planted onto a coffee mug, suffered a concussion and the cycle continues.
So, from here on out, I blame the concussion. And to all of you who think I should be sequestered to my home...let me remind you that three years ago, I broke my shoulder after agreeing to a night in. How? By being yanked by and tripping over our dog KoKo. So, isolation won't work. To those of you who think I should wrap myself in bubble wrap, a fine and funny suggestion - but, I would probably suffocate on the plastic.
I have said before and I say again, I am the luckiest unlucky person I know.
This year, the Midwest was plowed with two major snowstorms in one week. And if you haven't had the pleasure of visiting the booming metropolis of (insert name of town), KANSAS, let me tell you that hell did, in fact, freeze over.
During the first Blizzard of Oz, I was traveling to Podunkville A for my job, monitoring the weather radar the entire way. I arrived safely to that flat plain of a town and headed to Wheatville B as the light snow started to pick up. As I began my presentation in WB, I completely lost my voice, came down with bronchitis and cursed the unlucky Gods for thrusting me into the 10th Circle of Hell.
Because nobody wanted to make any decisions on cancelling the remaining events for the week, I had to wake up on Wednesday morning and try to beat Dorothy and the Blizzard to One-Horse Town C. I really wanted to make it home. I willed my husband's low-rider, two-door bachelor mobile to trudge through...to get me back to Missouri...to civilization.
No such luck. Just outside of One-Horse Town C, the snow was blowing so hard and the number of cars sliding off the road got to be too much. It's hard to concentrate on the road when you are hacking up a lung and your eyes are stinging from a fiery fever. So, I decided to pull over in "WalMart is Our Entertainment" Town D and prayed (well, hoped, since I was in hell) that the Comfort Inn had a room available (because while the Horseshoe Inn across the highway looked quaint, I didn't want to take a room away from a 'working girl' who may be snowed in).
So, I pulled up, checked in and went to work unloading the car and preparing it for the blizzard. I'm a planner. I'm a thinker. I'm a doer. In preparation of SnowStorm 3000, I packed my boots, gloves, ice scraper, hat and enough cold medicine to put a normal human into a coma.
As I looked around the itty-bitty car, I realized I did not pack something to cover the windshield. So, I took my company's banner (it was an old, out-dated one) out of the backseat, covered the front of the car and put plastic bags over the side mirrors. I felt on top of things. Totally ready for whatever Mother Nature cast upon the armpit of America.
I got to my room (yes, a handicapped room on the 4th floor, who knew?) and logged onto my computer to begin work as I chugged NyQuil to make the pain go away. I listened to the howling of the wind - oh wait, that was the sound of the Kardashians on the boob tube in the background. I stressed about work. I stressed about my sore throat. I stressed about my husband, my son and two doggies an hour and 45 minutes away. But, I figured, the blizzard will pass and I could see them the next day.
Right.
I felt like death warmed over. There was nobody coming or going. And there were four semi-trucks stranded on the ramp leading to the non-plowed highway. I wasn't getting out.
But, I needed more medicine. I needed alcohol. I needed something.
After debating for about 20 minutes whether to brace the wind, I decided to make the trek to the WalMart one block down. How bad could it be? I packed the essential gear. But, what I failed to UNpack were my boots. They were sitting nice and cold in the snow-covered compact car. Smart.
So, I donned my tennis shoes, layered up and made the hike anyway.
And yes, WalMart was open.
I bought a large ice scraper, more gloves, a winter jacket for $9, more cold medicine, a book and food because I knew I would be staying another night in the luxurious "WalMart is Our Entertainment" Town D.
And luxurious it was. Coughing. Hacking. More snowfall. Then snowplows. Then the sun came up and I ventured out to see what I had to dig out from. Awesome.
The snow was so thick. The piles were so high. I went to work in my new WalMart jacket. I couldn't get into the car because the snow was halfway up the low-rider doors. So, I dug. I pulled the banner off the car, the bags off the mirrors and kept digging until my toes were numb and was able to get into the car to start the defrost process. Hi boots.
I rocked the car back and forth. I burned rubber. I swerved, weaved, bobbed and encouraged little Blackie (the car was named by my son) to get us home to our family. I think I even promised an oil change and car wash. What can I say? I was high on NyQuil. I had a concussion.
I finally made it home, notifying staff along the way of what events were and were not cancelled. But, I was back home. Able to enjoy the weekend (albeit sick) with my family.
Then, rinse, repeat...Mother Nature decided to make a sequel. Typical. It sucked worse than the first one. So, my Michigander friends, enjoy the Blizzard of Oz in all its glory. And if you see Dorothy, you can keep her...she's a real bitch. And her little dog too.
So, from here on out, I blame the concussion. And to all of you who think I should be sequestered to my home...let me remind you that three years ago, I broke my shoulder after agreeing to a night in. How? By being yanked by and tripping over our dog KoKo. So, isolation won't work. To those of you who think I should wrap myself in bubble wrap, a fine and funny suggestion - but, I would probably suffocate on the plastic.
I have said before and I say again, I am the luckiest unlucky person I know.
This year, the Midwest was plowed with two major snowstorms in one week. And if you haven't had the pleasure of visiting the booming metropolis of (insert name of town),
During the first Blizzard of Oz, I was traveling to Podunkville A for my job, monitoring the weather radar the entire way. I arrived safely to that flat plain of a town and headed to Wheatville B as the light snow started to pick up. As I began my presentation in WB, I completely lost my voice, came down with bronchitis and cursed the unlucky Gods for thrusting me into the 10th Circle of Hell.
Because nobody wanted to make any decisions on cancelling the remaining events for the week, I had to wake up on Wednesday morning and try to beat Dorothy and the Blizzard to One-Horse Town C. I really wanted to make it home. I willed my husband's low-rider, two-door bachelor mobile to trudge through...to get me back to Missouri...to civilization.
No such luck. Just outside of One-Horse Town C, the snow was blowing so hard and the number of cars sliding off the road got to be too much. It's hard to concentrate on the road when you are hacking up a lung and your eyes are stinging from a fiery fever. So, I decided to pull over in "WalMart is Our Entertainment" Town D and prayed (well, hoped, since I was in hell) that the Comfort Inn had a room available (because while the Horseshoe Inn across the highway looked quaint, I didn't want to take a room away from a 'working girl' who may be snowed in).
So, I pulled up, checked in and went to work unloading the car and preparing it for the blizzard. I'm a planner. I'm a thinker. I'm a doer. In preparation of SnowStorm 3000, I packed my boots, gloves, ice scraper, hat and enough cold medicine to put a normal human into a coma.
As I looked around the itty-bitty car, I realized I did not pack something to cover the windshield. So, I took my company's banner (it was an old, out-dated one) out of the backseat, covered the front of the car and put plastic bags over the side mirrors. I felt on top of things. Totally ready for whatever Mother Nature cast upon the armpit of America.
I got to my room (yes, a handicapped room on the 4th floor, who knew?) and logged onto my computer to begin work as I chugged NyQuil to make the pain go away. I listened to the howling of the wind - oh wait, that was the sound of the Kardashians on the boob tube in the background. I stressed about work. I stressed about my sore throat. I stressed about my husband, my son and two doggies an hour and 45 minutes away. But, I figured, the blizzard will pass and I could see them the next day.
Right.
I felt like death warmed over. There was nobody coming or going. And there were four semi-trucks stranded on the ramp leading to the non-plowed highway. I wasn't getting out.
But, I needed more medicine. I needed alcohol. I needed something.
After debating for about 20 minutes whether to brace the wind, I decided to make the trek to the WalMart one block down. How bad could it be? I packed the essential gear. But, what I failed to UNpack were my boots. They were sitting nice and cold in the snow-covered compact car. Smart.
So, I donned my tennis shoes, layered up and made the hike anyway.
And yes, WalMart was open.
I bought a large ice scraper, more gloves, a winter jacket for $9, more cold medicine, a book and food because I knew I would be staying another night in the luxurious "WalMart is Our Entertainment" Town D.
And luxurious it was. Coughing. Hacking. More snowfall. Then snowplows. Then the sun came up and I ventured out to see what I had to dig out from. Awesome.
The snow was so thick. The piles were so high. I went to work in my new WalMart jacket. I couldn't get into the car because the snow was halfway up the low-rider doors. So, I dug. I pulled the banner off the car, the bags off the mirrors and kept digging until my toes were numb and was able to get into the car to start the defrost process. Hi boots.
I rocked the car back and forth. I burned rubber. I swerved, weaved, bobbed and encouraged little Blackie (the car was named by my son) to get us home to our family. I think I even promised an oil change and car wash. What can I say? I was high on NyQuil. I had a concussion.
I finally made it home, notifying staff along the way of what events were and were not cancelled. But, I was back home. Able to enjoy the weekend (albeit sick) with my family.
Then, rinse, repeat...Mother Nature decided to make a sequel. Typical. It sucked worse than the first one. So, my Michigander friends, enjoy the Blizzard of Oz in all its glory. And if you see Dorothy, you can keep her...she's a real bitch. And her little dog too.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
So Many Things...So Little Time
Yes, hello and welcome to 2013. Happy New Year blah blah and all the other niceties people exchange at this time of year. At the end of the year, every media outlet tries to capture an entire year of newsworthy events into a half-hour show (unless you're NBC and you give Hoda and Kathy Lee way too much time to gab). Every family (except for mine this year) tries to capture every milestone or not-so-newsworthy event into a typed form letter mailed to everyone on their Christmas list.
I used to do that. I used to take joy out of sharing the ups and downs, the funnys and not-so-funnys, the happiness and heartbreaks. This was my moment to write, to brag about my family. This year? Not so much.
There is too much stuff to sort through when trying to determine what makes a Christmas letter, a 1/2 hour special, or even a blog. Determining the rankings of pivotal events and highlights of one person's year - let alone a child's, a husband's and two dogs' - becomes more of a chore, a job with no pay. And like in any medium, there is minimal space. Try cutting an entire magazine spread into a 600 word column with just enough space for a 2x2in picture. What can you truly capture?
So, thankfully, my blog, my wonderful blog - that I fail to update on a regular basis and that has only 3 followers - can be as long or short as I want it to be. 2012? Let's begin.
January - was going to move to Kalamazoo, Michigan - for no real reason, just to get away from certain people. We did not.
February - Union employees went on strike embarking me on a 4-month down spiral of health, home time and happiness. Happy f'n Valentine's Day to you all too.
March - Official strike begins in Michigan and I am hammered in the media. Voo-doo dolls made of me hung around picket signs. Self-esteem shot to hell. Begin the journey of officially becoming Eli's parents, not just legal guardians.
April - Strike still going. Humor is waning. Third time getting massive pneumonia, but opted out of Red Cross insurance and Blue Cross Blue Shield won't cover my treatments because I had a 'pre-existing condition' (PNEUMONIA). $3,000 lesson learned.
May - Strike is over! Strike is over! Monica can breathe easy. But, Rick and Monica begin wondering if we need to move back to Missouri.
June - It's official! Eli Joseph Moore legally becomes Eli Joseph Stoneking. Monica puts in her 2-month notice and Rick and Monica begin their job search in Missouri.
July - The 4th of July! Dad and Eli and Kaeli and KoKo move back to Kansas City for good. They stay with Rick's Mom and Step-dad (another book could be devoted to that situation) until Mom finishes her job. THEN Monica heads back to Michigan sans family to put the house on the market, paint (the entire freakin' house per our fired realtors' suggestion - termination comes later), put down new flooring, continue job search all while finishing her job.
August - Monica goes back to Kansas City and reunites with her boys and girls and also stays with Rick's Mom and Step-Dad while resuming the job search. To avoid shooting herself in the brain...Monica stays with her parents' at the end of August until she returns to Michigan (there was no logic in that decision as there is no lesser of two evils on that front). Monica also fights with movers when negotiating for the best price.
September - Monica travels back to Michigan with Eli to finish out her contract work with the Red Cross. Again, not completely thought through as Eli's former daycare would not take him for those two weeks. With the help of the wonderful Cumberworths and Rita Olive (and my 'Lil Priscilla) Eli was well taken care of. Nothing like celebrating your birthday alone in a crappy hotel room (my birthdays have always sucked). Movers are a no-show. Monica fights to get reimbursed. Rick comes up to Michigan to help move our crap by renting a U-Haul and becoming a certified truck driver.
October - YEAH! No staying at the parentals'. We move into a temporary townhome (still way too close to the parents...but further away than their BASEMENT!). We are able to celebrate Eli's 3rd birthday in style...on a TRAIN with a special party and family members. Then, as frugal as Monica is...made Eli be a conductor for Halloween.
November - Monica starts her first day at her new job which entails a lot of traveling throughout the state of KANSAS. The job is tough, the pay is good. But, gives a new appreciation to the beauty of Michigan. Still trying to sell the house in Michigan. Drop the price per suggestion of our fired Realtors. Then we survive Thanksgiving with two sets of grandparents and can't wait to return to normal and have our own Stoneking holiday.
December - Happy Birthday Rick! (and Baby Jesus) Eli shows his true 3-year-old self while trying to shoot a promo with Grandpa and other kids. Rick and Monica are learning that the 'Twos' aren't so terrible. The 'Threes' are totally AWESOME. Love hearing "I don't wanna." "No ." And full-body temper tantrums are all the rage. Got to fire our incompetent realtors who didn't know the difference between promoting a property and 'placing an ad in the poorly-read newspaper'. (But, they DID know the difference between a pond and a 'wet land area'). Now we have a fantastic realtor and were able to close out the year on that note. Then we celebrated New Year's Eve by going to bed at 9.
Happy New Year Everyone!
I used to do that. I used to take joy out of sharing the ups and downs, the funnys and not-so-funnys, the happiness and heartbreaks. This was my moment to write, to brag about my family. This year? Not so much.
There is too much stuff to sort through when trying to determine what makes a Christmas letter, a 1/2 hour special, or even a blog. Determining the rankings of pivotal events and highlights of one person's year - let alone a child's, a husband's and two dogs' - becomes more of a chore, a job with no pay. And like in any medium, there is minimal space. Try cutting an entire magazine spread into a 600 word column with just enough space for a 2x2in picture. What can you truly capture?
So, thankfully, my blog, my wonderful blog - that I fail to update on a regular basis and that has only 3 followers - can be as long or short as I want it to be. 2012? Let's begin.
January - was going to move to Kalamazoo, Michigan - for no real reason, just to get away from certain people. We did not.
February - Union employees went on strike embarking me on a 4-month down spiral of health, home time and happiness. Happy f'n Valentine's Day to you all too.
March - Official strike begins in Michigan and I am hammered in the media. Voo-doo dolls made of me hung around picket signs. Self-esteem shot to hell. Begin the journey of officially becoming Eli's parents, not just legal guardians.
April - Strike still going. Humor is waning. Third time getting massive pneumonia, but opted out of Red Cross insurance and Blue Cross Blue Shield won't cover my treatments because I had a 'pre-existing condition' (PNEUMONIA). $3,000 lesson learned.
May - Strike is over! Strike is over! Monica can breathe easy. But, Rick and Monica begin wondering if we need to move back to Missouri.
June - It's official! Eli Joseph Moore legally becomes Eli Joseph Stoneking. Monica puts in her 2-month notice and Rick and Monica begin their job search in Missouri.
July - The 4th of July! Dad and Eli and Kaeli and KoKo move back to Kansas City for good. They stay with Rick's Mom and Step-dad (another book could be devoted to that situation) until Mom finishes her job. THEN Monica heads back to Michigan sans family to put the house on the market, paint (the entire freakin' house per our fired realtors' suggestion - termination comes later), put down new flooring, continue job search all while finishing her job.
August - Monica goes back to Kansas City and reunites with her boys and girls and also stays with Rick's Mom and Step-Dad while resuming the job search. To avoid shooting herself in the brain...Monica stays with her parents' at the end of August until she returns to Michigan (there was no logic in that decision as there is no lesser of two evils on that front). Monica also fights with movers when negotiating for the best price.
September - Monica travels back to Michigan with Eli to finish out her contract work with the Red Cross. Again, not completely thought through as Eli's former daycare would not take him for those two weeks. With the help of the wonderful Cumberworths and Rita Olive (and my 'Lil Priscilla) Eli was well taken care of. Nothing like celebrating your birthday alone in a crappy hotel room (my birthdays have always sucked). Movers are a no-show. Monica fights to get reimbursed. Rick comes up to Michigan to help move our crap by renting a U-Haul and becoming a certified truck driver.
October - YEAH! No staying at the parentals'. We move into a temporary townhome (still way too close to the parents...but further away than their BASEMENT!). We are able to celebrate Eli's 3rd birthday in style...on a TRAIN with a special party and family members. Then, as frugal as Monica is...made Eli be a conductor for Halloween.
November - Monica starts her first day at her new job which entails a lot of traveling throughout the state of KANSAS. The job is tough, the pay is good. But, gives a new appreciation to the beauty of Michigan. Still trying to sell the house in Michigan. Drop the price per suggestion of our fired Realtors. Then we survive Thanksgiving with two sets of grandparents and can't wait to return to normal and have our own Stoneking holiday.
December - Happy Birthday Rick! (and Baby Jesus) Eli shows his true 3-year-old self while trying to shoot a promo with Grandpa and other kids. Rick and Monica are learning that the 'Twos' aren't so terrible. The 'Threes' are totally AWESOME. Love hearing "I don't wanna." "No
Happy New Year Everyone!
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Gone But Not Forgotten
Everyone - no matter their age, gender, sexuality, status, color - has met someone who has had a major impact on their life. Sometimes, that impact can be a negative one. Sometimes, many times, that impact is a positive one. I have had both in my life. I have had the unfortunate experience of meeting - and dating - someone who single-handedly changed the direction of my life. His character, his words, his actions led me to believe I was a nobody, I wasn't deserving of happiness, I would never amount to anything.
And yet.
I then had the fortunate experience of meeting and befriending someone who single-handedly changed the direction in which my life was going. His character, his words, his actions led me to believe I was a somebody, I deserved happiness, and that I held the world in the palm of my hand. If not for this wonderful man, I would not be here today.
I met this person when I was at my lowest. He saw something in me that I didn't see in myself. His friendship brought me not only happiness, but a sense of worth. He was my shoulder to lean on, my sounding board, my competitor when it came to sarcastic quips. But, the most important gift my friend gave me was the ability to find love, happy love, true love.
He enabled me to take off my insecure blinders and trust people. He paved the way for me to find my husband. For that I will forever be grateful.
Sadly, I lost contact with my friend. Even in the age of Facebook and other social media avenues, I hadn't spoken to him in more than five years. But, as it is with true friends, I knew that if we did connect, we'd be able to pick up right where we left off. Unfortunately, we will never be able to pick up where we left off.
My wonderful friend - a son, uncle, husband, dad and friend - passed away last month. I found out a month after the fact and for this I am sad. The world has lost a beautiful human being. A person who truly inspired me and many others to be true to ourselves, to treat others with respect.
I am sad that he is gone, but I am thankful for having met him. I am thankful for his friendship. I am thankful for the ongoing gift of life he gave me. I truly believe I will see him again, that I can show him how I turned out because of him.
RIP my dear friend. Your dad, uncle and PaPa welcome you home.
And yet.
I then had the fortunate experience of meeting and befriending someone who single-handedly changed the direction in which my life was going. His character, his words, his actions led me to believe I was a somebody, I deserved happiness, and that I held the world in the palm of my hand. If not for this wonderful man, I would not be here today.
I met this person when I was at my lowest. He saw something in me that I didn't see in myself. His friendship brought me not only happiness, but a sense of worth. He was my shoulder to lean on, my sounding board, my competitor when it came to sarcastic quips. But, the most important gift my friend gave me was the ability to find love, happy love, true love.
He enabled me to take off my insecure blinders and trust people. He paved the way for me to find my husband. For that I will forever be grateful.
Sadly, I lost contact with my friend. Even in the age of Facebook and other social media avenues, I hadn't spoken to him in more than five years. But, as it is with true friends, I knew that if we did connect, we'd be able to pick up right where we left off. Unfortunately, we will never be able to pick up where we left off.
My wonderful friend - a son, uncle, husband, dad and friend - passed away last month. I found out a month after the fact and for this I am sad. The world has lost a beautiful human being. A person who truly inspired me and many others to be true to ourselves, to treat others with respect.
I am sad that he is gone, but I am thankful for having met him. I am thankful for his friendship. I am thankful for the ongoing gift of life he gave me. I truly believe I will see him again, that I can show him how I turned out because of him.
RIP my dear friend. Your dad, uncle and PaPa welcome you home.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
If My 3 Year-Old Ran the World
Bill Cosby said it best when he declared, "Kids say the darnedest things." People related to it so well that they developed a low-cost show catching children on camera saying things that make most parents cringe. My son is no exception to this notion.
Whoever declared the 'Terrible Twos' the worst part of parenting, obviously didn't let their kids live long enough to see the age of three. Three year-olds are coming into their own. They're learning what they like, what they don't like...what they can get away with. Nice to know my son fits the pattern perfectly.
The new phrase in our house is "I don't wanna Mommy." This can be an answer to 'Let's go eat breakfast!', 'Bathtime!', or more head-shaking worthy 'Wanna read a book before bedtime?' And it doesn't end with one declaration of his stance. He has learned to shake us off, give us a 'go-die' look and proclaim that he 'isn't happy' as he stomps up the stairs.
He will make a great manager someday.
One thing we've learned to do is bribe our son with the sticker system. If he receives a certain amount of stickers placed strategically on the refrigerator, he receives a prize. A coloring book. A toy car. A new movie. But, it's gotten to the point where my son could give two craps about a little sticker if he is able to maintain his stubbornness and win the battle of 'me vs. Mommy.'
Not to leave my husband out, he is just another pawn in the game of winning. My son can be so cute, stating matter-of-factly that my husband is 'his best friend'. That Daddy is a handsome prince and he loooooves him. And just when my son feels that he has buttered my husband up enough to join his army in the battle of 'NOT' eating - he pulls out the 'I'm not eating Daddy.'
And the following conversation ensues:
"Eli eat your."
"I don't wanna Daddy."
"I don't care if you don't want to. You have to eat your."
"I'm not eating Daddy."
"Well, if you're not going to eat, then you can go up to your room and go to bed."
And as he stomps up the stairs, I swear I smell victory on my son as he makes his way to his room filled with toys, books and his beloved Eeyor. AND he got out of eating vegetables.
Again, he will make a great leader someday. A passive-aggressive, stubborn leader who will either charm the pants off of minions who will be eager to follow or annoy them to the point of submission.
Think if everyone ruled this way. Pay compliments when needed. Make people feel loved and appreciated. Raise havoc when the outcomes aren't the desired ones. Dig in the heels when you feel absolutely adamant about the point at hand.
Three-year-olds call a spade a spade. They call it like they see it and they don't care or even know if some one's feelings get hurt. They just want to get from point A to point B in the easiest way possible and they will do whatever it takes to get what they want - two-hour long screaming fits are just a drop in the bucket.
Hopefully by the time my son reaches the workforce, the temper tantrums will subside. But, who am I kidding? We've all had bosses who have had times when theirs can rival any three-year-old's temper tantrums.
Whoever declared the 'Terrible Twos' the worst part of parenting, obviously didn't let their kids live long enough to see the age of three. Three year-olds are coming into their own. They're learning what they like, what they don't like...what they can get away with. Nice to know my son fits the pattern perfectly.
The new phrase in our house is "I don't wanna Mommy." This can be an answer to 'Let's go eat breakfast!', 'Bathtime!', or more head-shaking worthy 'Wanna read a book before bedtime?' And it doesn't end with one declaration of his stance. He has learned to shake us off, give us a 'go-die' look and proclaim that he 'isn't happy' as he stomps up the stairs.
He will make a great manager someday.
One thing we've learned to do is bribe our son with the sticker system. If he receives a certain amount of stickers placed strategically on the refrigerator, he receives a prize. A coloring book. A toy car. A new movie. But, it's gotten to the point where my son could give two craps about a little sticker if he is able to maintain his stubbornness and win the battle of 'me vs. Mommy.'
Not to leave my husband out, he is just another pawn in the game of winning. My son can be so cute, stating matter-of-factly that my husband is 'his best friend'. That Daddy is a handsome prince and he loooooves him. And just when my son feels that he has buttered my husband up enough to join his army in the battle of 'NOT' eating - he pulls out the 'I'm not eating Daddy.'
And the following conversation ensues:
"Eli eat your
"I don't wanna Daddy."
"I don't care if you don't want to. You have to eat your
"I'm not eating Daddy."
"Well, if you're not going to eat, then you can go up to your room and go to bed."
And as he stomps up the stairs, I swear I smell victory on my son as he makes his way to his room filled with toys, books and his beloved Eeyor. AND he got out of eating vegetables.
Again, he will make a great leader someday. A passive-aggressive, stubborn leader who will either charm the pants off of minions who will be eager to follow or annoy them to the point of submission.
Think if everyone ruled this way. Pay compliments when needed. Make people feel loved and appreciated. Raise havoc when the outcomes aren't the desired ones. Dig in the heels when you feel absolutely adamant about the point at hand.
Three-year-olds call a spade a spade. They call it like they see it and they don't care or even know if some one's feelings get hurt. They just want to get from point A to point B in the easiest way possible and they will do whatever it takes to get what they want - two-hour long screaming fits are just a drop in the bucket.
Hopefully by the time my son reaches the workforce, the temper tantrums will subside. But, who am I kidding? We've all had bosses who have had times when theirs can rival any three-year-old's temper tantrums.
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