Support.
It's a small word with a lot of meanings.
Support can be used in sentences to describe or explain physical endurance, mental or emotional encouragement, financial assistance or confirmation and endorsement of another.
Support usually comes with high expectations and some find themselves detesting the word. Support becomes a four letter word that should be cast out like demons.
Now I don't usually get on my soap box over this word but sometimes my feet are rebellious as they step up on that platform despite my objections.
My support issues stem more from the financial and encouragement definitions. It's called Child Support and those who owe it shudder when they hear the term while those that are owed swell with anger upon hearing those words.
I'm the latter of the two groups and although I don't swell with anger, I often find myself confused and dumbfounded over the lack of support. I have questions that I'm sure will remain unanswered until the end of time. Questions such as:
How do you spend days, months or sometimes even years without knowing what your child is doing? What fills your day so much that you are unable to pick up a phone or write a letter to find out how your child's day went, what they're interested in or how they're progressing in school?
As a parent, how can you become angry and resentful over the idea of having to give money to your child? I have not yet been able to make any sense out of this question. My kids suck money out of me on a daily basis. I sometimes feel like a mother dog trying to nurse a litter of 12. My boobs hurt and I'm tired of being the only one around who can provide the essential nutrients but guess what? I don't get up and walk away or refuse to feed their emotional and physical needs. I stay and endure the sometimes overwhelming responsibility of parenthood. If you spend a little time with them, they're actually kind of funny and that humor can make up for the constant mooching they do. My kids really do make me laugh and I never find myself regretting any of my decisions or resenting any of the responsibility. My only regret is that their dad may never know the rewards of true parenting and to me that is a remorseful absence.
It's really not that bad. Providing and supporting other human beings on a daily basis can be the most rewarding task you'll ever complete in life. It isn't a burden, it's a blessing and it is such a shame that parents who have "moved on" will never discover this gift.
Child support - To support and nurture your offspring as necessary to provide them with the physical, emotional and financial security needed and to do so with the best of your ability.
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Showing posts with label lisa lacey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lisa lacey. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
Mental Temperature
I sometimes find myself questioning my purpose and the path that I am on at the moment. I think we all find ourselves questioning the decisions and choices we make in life. Free will is often a scary privilege and one I think I often get wrong.
Sometimes I think if it weren’t for wrong choices, I’d have no choices at all but I think most of us don’t give our decisions enough time before changing them.
We all struggle with this when it comes to our children but for the last few years, I’ve found myself having more conflict over the decisions I make concerning my father. He’s been a tough one to please since my mother passed away three years ago. Making your parents happy will always be ten times as hard as making your kids happy.
When you find yourself in a position of authority over your parents, you really just have to find the humor in everyday challenges. My weekend went something like this:
On Thursday, my dad’s refrigerator stopped cooling properly. Trying to keep the situation under control as these types of issues can quickly turn him into a panic stricken mess, I calmly suggested that he meet me at the store during my lunch hour on the following day and we would simply pick out a new one. Twenty minutes and thirty complaints later we ended the conversation with an understanding of time and place to meet the next day. Between Thursday night and lunch time on Friday, I received many more calls from my dad explaining and complaining about every inch of his refrigerator. There wasn’t an hour that passed that I wasn’t made aware of the current temperature in the refrigerator. I was entertained with the many theories my dad had as to why the refrigerator wasn’t cooling properly. It was a toss up between the outside heat and the heat and air system. He was convinced that because the system had to cut on so much that it was causing a malfunction in the fridge.
Finally at lunch time, I was able to meet my dad and pick out a new fridge to be delivered the following day. We were on the last lap now; I could almost see the finish line. More calls would follow with more reports on the refrigerator temperature before I arrived at my dad’s house the following day to await the delivery men. I was then provided with a demonstration of how the fridge wasn’t working properly as I continued to remain calm. It’s an insane sort of calm that normally only parents have experienced. It’s usually a calm that comes just before the breakdown which could take hours, days or months.
At last the delivery truck pulled up just as my dad was forcing me to feel the temperature of the milk jug. The old refrigerator was removed and the brand new one was put in its place. All was right with universe as I mentally ripped through the finish line. And just as I started to throw myself a little congratulatory mental party my dad began to meticulously scan through the new fridge.
“It’s smaller than my old one,” he says.
“No it isn’t, it’s the exact same size,” I respond.
“The door won’t open all the way because of the door frame,” he continues.
“Well then that must mean it isn’t smaller then right?” I answer.
“It isn’t cold yet,” he shot back. And here we go, 3….2……1…..Breakdown! My mental temperature exceeded my dad's refrigerator temp by 100 degrees in less than 5 seconds.
“Daddy, they just plugged it in 10 minutes ago! Are you trying to make me crazy? Do you realize I’m one evaluation away from the crazy house? Now put your food in that box and wait for it to get cold!
“Well you don’t have to yell,” he quietly answers.
Laughter echoes through the kitchen after that and at first I’m not sure where it’s coming from but I soon realize it’s coming from my own throat. My dad only looks at me puzzled as he continues to put his food back into his refrigerator. I go back to my mental celebration only this time there’s a keg of beer in it!
Hey, it's my mental party!
Sometimes I think if it weren’t for wrong choices, I’d have no choices at all but I think most of us don’t give our decisions enough time before changing them.
We all struggle with this when it comes to our children but for the last few years, I’ve found myself having more conflict over the decisions I make concerning my father. He’s been a tough one to please since my mother passed away three years ago. Making your parents happy will always be ten times as hard as making your kids happy.
When you find yourself in a position of authority over your parents, you really just have to find the humor in everyday challenges. My weekend went something like this:
On Thursday, my dad’s refrigerator stopped cooling properly. Trying to keep the situation under control as these types of issues can quickly turn him into a panic stricken mess, I calmly suggested that he meet me at the store during my lunch hour on the following day and we would simply pick out a new one. Twenty minutes and thirty complaints later we ended the conversation with an understanding of time and place to meet the next day. Between Thursday night and lunch time on Friday, I received many more calls from my dad explaining and complaining about every inch of his refrigerator. There wasn’t an hour that passed that I wasn’t made aware of the current temperature in the refrigerator. I was entertained with the many theories my dad had as to why the refrigerator wasn’t cooling properly. It was a toss up between the outside heat and the heat and air system. He was convinced that because the system had to cut on so much that it was causing a malfunction in the fridge.
Finally at lunch time, I was able to meet my dad and pick out a new fridge to be delivered the following day. We were on the last lap now; I could almost see the finish line. More calls would follow with more reports on the refrigerator temperature before I arrived at my dad’s house the following day to await the delivery men. I was then provided with a demonstration of how the fridge wasn’t working properly as I continued to remain calm. It’s an insane sort of calm that normally only parents have experienced. It’s usually a calm that comes just before the breakdown which could take hours, days or months.
At last the delivery truck pulled up just as my dad was forcing me to feel the temperature of the milk jug. The old refrigerator was removed and the brand new one was put in its place. All was right with universe as I mentally ripped through the finish line. And just as I started to throw myself a little congratulatory mental party my dad began to meticulously scan through the new fridge.
“It’s smaller than my old one,” he says.
“No it isn’t, it’s the exact same size,” I respond.
“The door won’t open all the way because of the door frame,” he continues.
“Well then that must mean it isn’t smaller then right?” I answer.
“It isn’t cold yet,” he shot back. And here we go, 3….2……1…..Breakdown! My mental temperature exceeded my dad's refrigerator temp by 100 degrees in less than 5 seconds.
“Daddy, they just plugged it in 10 minutes ago! Are you trying to make me crazy? Do you realize I’m one evaluation away from the crazy house? Now put your food in that box and wait for it to get cold!
“Well you don’t have to yell,” he quietly answers.
Laughter echoes through the kitchen after that and at first I’m not sure where it’s coming from but I soon realize it’s coming from my own throat. My dad only looks at me puzzled as he continues to put his food back into his refrigerator. I go back to my mental celebration only this time there’s a keg of beer in it!
Hey, it's my mental party!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
When Kids Become Parents
My mother was the absolute core of our family. Her personality and overall presence demanded immediate attention and she was who we all looked to for approval, guidance, advice and answers. In June of 2005 she was diagnosed with cancer and it spread quickly through her lymph nodes. Six weeks later she was released from the hospital after successfully responding to radiation and chemotherapy. The morning following her release I received a frantic call from my father. My mother was hemorrhaging and my father was helpless. I only lived a mile away but by the time I arrived she had collapsed to the floor and a pool of bright red blood surrounded her. It was the most traumatic event I'd ever endured and it took years for me to recover and reach a certain peace concerning her death. My father has never recovered. He has never found peace. At times it feels as though he's a ghost just floating through life looking for his purpose, trying to find his way home, grieving the loss of the other half of his heart and soul.
Transitioning into a parent of a parent was a very confusing and painful event. I fought it every step of the way reassuring myself that my dad would "snap" out of it. I convinced myself that he was just going through the grief process. I was also dealing with my own intense grief and the grief of my children. My mom left behind four grandchildren that loved her dearly. If God was testing me, I was failing miserably. I tried everything with my dad. Compassion, understanding, empathy, sympathy, pity, anger, tough love...you name it, I tried it. I did everything I could think of to get my dad to care again. He gave up on life after my mom died and it became my job to take care of him.
Over several months and years following my mother's death, my dad slowly stopped doing the normal things that people do everyday. He would go weeks without bathing, changing clothes, buying groceries, cleaning house...the list goes on. As slowly as this began to happen, my role began to change as well. Before my mom died, my dad was the person that helped me clean my gutters, mow my yard, fix my car and was always the general "handyman" around my house. This was especially true after my divorce. When rainwater would spill over the sides of my gutter, my dad would bring his ladder over and make sure that every leaf and limb was removed before he left. When I couldn't find time to keep up with the lawn, my dad would spend hours mowing and trimming without ever complaining and at least once a week I'd look out my window during one of my parent's many visits to see my dad underneath the hood of my car checking the oil and water. Provider and protector was the role my dad held for 33 years until the death of my mother.
Suddenly I found myself in the same position I was in as a mother of four children. I had to constantly ask my dad if he had taken a shower or mowed his yard. I was constantly harrassing him to clean his house and go to the doctor. There was rarely a day that went by that I didn't have to ask my dad if he had managed to do some simple task or another. Even simple things like eating or grocery shopping became a topic of conversation usually ending with me reprimanding him for not achieving the task.
It has taken 3 years for me to finally realize something that I wish I had realized in the very beginning. The mistake I had been making with my dad was putting a question mark at the end of my sentences. Recently, I went to the store and bought three things. A dry erase board, markers and a pill dispenser. The dry erase board is a sectioned off as a calendar so I was able to create a day to day agenda for my dad to follow. Certain days are shower days, others are cleaning days and some days are chore days. I have to attach consequences to this daily chore list or my dad won't follow it (just like a child). If he doesn't complete what is on his list for that day then in return, I refuse to accompany him to the doctor or pay his bills. I took over his checking account and bill paying a year ago. I know it sounds mean but it's the only thing that has worked so far. My dad seems to operate better with a routine. The daily agenda creates a routine for him and once he got past his tantrums, I think he appreciates and welcomes this routine. Just like with a child, I've had to make good on a couple of my consequences but it only took a couple of the "putting my foot down" scenarios to show my dad that I meant business. This is still a work in progress and it's still too early to make any real assessments but I plan to keep posting and updating our progress. We've only been practicing this new formula for a few weeks. I've also had to take control of his medicine because he wasn't taking it properly either. I now have two pill dispensers that I trade out each week and give to my dad with all of his medicine already placed in the daily dispenser.
I'm not sure exactly what I can say or advice I can give to people in the same position as I find myself but I can say, KEEP TRYING NEW THINGS! If one solution doesn't work, think of something else and try it. For some people, it may be necessary to stop asking their parents if they've done something and begin telling them that they have to do it. It's hard and it's awkward in the beginning but just like your children, in the end it's for their own good!
Transitioning into a parent of a parent was a very confusing and painful event. I fought it every step of the way reassuring myself that my dad would "snap" out of it. I convinced myself that he was just going through the grief process. I was also dealing with my own intense grief and the grief of my children. My mom left behind four grandchildren that loved her dearly. If God was testing me, I was failing miserably. I tried everything with my dad. Compassion, understanding, empathy, sympathy, pity, anger, tough love...you name it, I tried it. I did everything I could think of to get my dad to care again. He gave up on life after my mom died and it became my job to take care of him.
Over several months and years following my mother's death, my dad slowly stopped doing the normal things that people do everyday. He would go weeks without bathing, changing clothes, buying groceries, cleaning house...the list goes on. As slowly as this began to happen, my role began to change as well. Before my mom died, my dad was the person that helped me clean my gutters, mow my yard, fix my car and was always the general "handyman" around my house. This was especially true after my divorce. When rainwater would spill over the sides of my gutter, my dad would bring his ladder over and make sure that every leaf and limb was removed before he left. When I couldn't find time to keep up with the lawn, my dad would spend hours mowing and trimming without ever complaining and at least once a week I'd look out my window during one of my parent's many visits to see my dad underneath the hood of my car checking the oil and water. Provider and protector was the role my dad held for 33 years until the death of my mother.
Suddenly I found myself in the same position I was in as a mother of four children. I had to constantly ask my dad if he had taken a shower or mowed his yard. I was constantly harrassing him to clean his house and go to the doctor. There was rarely a day that went by that I didn't have to ask my dad if he had managed to do some simple task or another. Even simple things like eating or grocery shopping became a topic of conversation usually ending with me reprimanding him for not achieving the task.
It has taken 3 years for me to finally realize something that I wish I had realized in the very beginning. The mistake I had been making with my dad was putting a question mark at the end of my sentences. Recently, I went to the store and bought three things. A dry erase board, markers and a pill dispenser. The dry erase board is a sectioned off as a calendar so I was able to create a day to day agenda for my dad to follow. Certain days are shower days, others are cleaning days and some days are chore days. I have to attach consequences to this daily chore list or my dad won't follow it (just like a child). If he doesn't complete what is on his list for that day then in return, I refuse to accompany him to the doctor or pay his bills. I took over his checking account and bill paying a year ago. I know it sounds mean but it's the only thing that has worked so far. My dad seems to operate better with a routine. The daily agenda creates a routine for him and once he got past his tantrums, I think he appreciates and welcomes this routine. Just like with a child, I've had to make good on a couple of my consequences but it only took a couple of the "putting my foot down" scenarios to show my dad that I meant business. This is still a work in progress and it's still too early to make any real assessments but I plan to keep posting and updating our progress. We've only been practicing this new formula for a few weeks. I've also had to take control of his medicine because he wasn't taking it properly either. I now have two pill dispensers that I trade out each week and give to my dad with all of his medicine already placed in the daily dispenser.
I'm not sure exactly what I can say or advice I can give to people in the same position as I find myself but I can say, KEEP TRYING NEW THINGS! If one solution doesn't work, think of something else and try it. For some people, it may be necessary to stop asking their parents if they've done something and begin telling them that they have to do it. It's hard and it's awkward in the beginning but just like your children, in the end it's for their own good!
Why do Kids Yell?
Why do Kids Yell?
Are They Insane?
If adults began screaming uncontrollably, running throughout the house, beating up family members and throwing random objects, we would almost immediately be arrested or admitted to the nearest psychiatric ward. However, if you are under the age of 12, this behavior is a form of communication. Is it more productive than calmly sitting down and talking things out for hours? Probably not, but I think it is probably just as effective. At the end of a fifteen minute screaming match, my two middle children have finally prevented the other one from beating on the drum during a television program.
Communication. Who says it has to be civil?
www.lisalaceyonline.com
Are They Insane?
If adults began screaming uncontrollably, running throughout the house, beating up family members and throwing random objects, we would almost immediately be arrested or admitted to the nearest psychiatric ward. However, if you are under the age of 12, this behavior is a form of communication. Is it more productive than calmly sitting down and talking things out for hours? Probably not, but I think it is probably just as effective. At the end of a fifteen minute screaming match, my two middle children have finally prevented the other one from beating on the drum during a television program.
Communication. Who says it has to be civil?
www.lisalaceyonline.com
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