raising kids Archives - Page 6 of 18

February 4, 2015April 15, 2018

I wasn’t ready to be a parent

Saturday morning was shaping up to be like any normal weekend. Sleeping in, The Chad and I enjoying coffee and a bit of indulgence in our favorite MMORPG. We whipped up some breakfast for the three footers, retreated for some more quiet time at which time G and his sibling entourage asked for their 30 minutes of play time on their tablets. The Chad and I see the importance of practicing with technology as we found their standardized tests include capturing these skills, so we obliged to their request. Little did we know that G would take advantage of this play time and he would be exposed to material beyond his years. He wound up on adult sites and when we discovered his transgressions, at that moment I wasn’t ready to be a parent, I wasn’t ready for my 11 year old son to be exposed, I wasn’t ready to accept my son was growing up way too fast.

When The Chad found G fumbling with his tablet and his face stark with surprise, almost ghastly, we knew something was wrong. The Chad snagged the tablet and we began to review the history. What we saw was something no parent is ever prepared to digest.

We immediately addressed the discontinued use of the tablets and any other technology until further notice. Our daftness was slapping us squarely in the face. Assumptions that we made that our children were too young to seek out these urges were piercing us. We needed to take corrective action post haste, while too late, we had to prevent future damages.

I stood in my kitchen, gazing lovingly at my little boy, sick to my stomach. My doe eyed, chubby baby who was always happy was now exposed to something way beyond his young years. When did he start to grow up? I was choking down tears as my jaw was clenched in pain to hide my fear, my sadness, my immense concern. Reeling over what to say next. His fear pained me the most. G was more concerned about our upset, thinking that he was in trouble and not that his search yielded results that were inappropriate for him, his age. I reached out to him to tell him we are only concerned, we are not mad; we asked him what he was feeling, what he was thinking. At that moment he is what mattered, his experience, and how we explain the experience in an intelligent, objective manner.

I hunched over my sink as I continued to fight any urge to vomit and prayed. I prayed to God for wisdom, strength, clarity, on how to address our conversation with G. I prayed for understanding as to why my son was seeking out adult material on the internet. I prayed just to tell my Father of our experience and that I was so uncertain of what came next but that I trusted he had a plan.

The Chad and I ducked into our room with G to talk about the events. I wasn’t prepared for this. The Chad wasn’t ready for this.

We started off with the basics. Anatomy. In order for him to understand the gravity of the information we were about to share with him he needed to be able to hear the science. He is a science kid, we knew he would get the science. I’m rambling, much like I was that day…at moments.

After we covered anatomy we discussed the mechanics of how the anatomy operates. We paused and asked him if he had questions, we knew he was soaking in all we were telling him like a sponge. We continued down Alice’s rabbit hole as we tripped along, maintaining our diplomacy.

G explained to us that he had urges, thoughts, he was curious. Curious about what exactly. “Undressed women” he said. Composing my laughter was a struggle so I maintained a stone face at his proper choice of words in his answer. Digging more into this we found he was curious about the opposite sex, nude, as boys would be, the desire and curiosity were natural. His comfort level began to increase and he detailed how, while inappropriate for his age, he was curious and interested in “naked ladies.” So much of me was relieved at his naivety and sweetness. I appreciated his candor, his honesty, his ability to speak boldly to us at a time where we felt uneasy, knowing he was uneasy.

Explaining sex to a young boy, I thought might be easier. What was easy was explaining how none of this was wrong. His feelings weren’t wrong. His urges weren’t wrong. His curiosity wasn’t, isn’t wrong. Sex is not wrong. False expectations is wrong. False hopes, those are wrong. The expectation that sex is perfect the first time is wrong. We wanted him to be prepared for reality.

Discussing sexual intercourse with my son was not a highlight for our weekend. Discussing pornography was not what I thought would be the catalyst for our conversation into sexual intercourse. Having this discussion with my [too young] son was not what I was prepared for as a parent. I knew the day would come but I was hopeful, fairy tale hopeful, I had more time. As The Chad and I talked to him about everything we finally got into the details of what led us to this conversation. Our assumptions were that he was seeking pornography at some level, our assumptions were awful, maybe a coping mechanism. When G began to unravel the details and we were more level headed we were greeted with relief.

Comedic relief came when we digressed a bit from the topic of his searches. Pausing to allow him to ask questions, the most memorable question arose and still makes me laugh is, “why does it pop up?” As adults, we automatically go dark on our humor, but his question was in relation to pop up advertisements when he improperly clicked during his search.

My heart swelled with love and joy for his innocence and grasping for understanding at this strange new world I wish he had not yet been exposed. While at that moment I wasn’t ready to be a parent with the sobering experience of detailing sexual intercourse and the entrails that accompany, I thanked God for my son. I felt blessed in that moment that he still had some innocence, that he had such an amazing spirit and outlook. He asked questions, listened with intent. Most of all, I was [am] grateful he had both of his parents to discuss such a difficult, intimate, and sometimes precarious conversation. We both spoke to him with love, facts, and understanding of sex from each of our points of view as a man and a woman. We precluded assumptions, expectations, falsities. His father and I reassured him that there is no shame and he could continue to be open with us as he evolves and matures during this difficult time in life where everything seems to be spiraling out of control. When we felt life as a parent was spiraling out of control.

January 29, 2015January 31, 2015

It’s Cool to be a Christian

For many years I walked in shame for my faith and beliefs. Truly mortified to speak them aloud, I even went as far to recant that I ever truly believed in the first place. I thought being a Christian meant carrying this tremendous burden of shame, embarrassment, yet for years I never truly understood why. The moment was truly divine and as if God struck me across the back of the head; I was paralyzing my thoughts, my beliefs and my faith until that moment. My realization allowed me to confront that my beliefs were not about me, but about Him, my life was more than just me and that life was cool to be a Christian.

My friends of various faiths, Judaism, LDS, Catholics, were all staunch with their affirmation in their beliefs, as if they paraded like the emperor in his new clothes. I could not fathom the realism of being myself, in my own skin, with my own beliefs with all the looming disgrace of being me. I never understood, not until I was 35. I felt like Moses, having lived this long in my life with no spiritual intervention and then wham, this life. The life I love came to me. Realization came when I saw how the veil was torn. I saw His grace, love, sacrifice.

That.

That epiphany defined the genesis of shame and embarrassment. Our culture, society, those who truly do not get what being a follower of Christ truly entails, defined who a Christian was “suppose” to be, who I was suppose to be amongst my peers. The skewed and obtuse perceptions, interpretations, and teachings create this shame; finding yourself kicking a toe in the dirt, a low hung head and sheepish voice claiming, “Yeah, I’m a Christian. I believe.” You know that moment, you have felt that burning into your soul. Chills quiver through your existence that you might be rejected by your peers for loving something greater, desiring Greater. Dare you speak a whisper of your faith, the succeeding actions from your audience are of heavy sighs and a possible eye roll. Pity.

As of late I have seen such a beautiful and genuine emergence of “cool” Christians; wearing their flaws on their sleeves, these broken people shout to the heavens how much they love Him, love themselves, love others. These folks aren’t kicking the dirt, they are initiating a new breed, transcending the stereotype. Escaping the traditional fire and brimstone, maladies of classical hymns by a choir on Sunday that would showcase who we wanted to be and hiding who we really are as a people. Sinners.

I ran into a friend from church the other night while dropping the kids off for their Wednesday night life groups. Our encounter humbled me ever more. She told me, “I love your writing. Keep writing. I know very few people who are our age that get it.”

She got it. She got that I got it. Praise God. Maybe my age, our age has everything to do with faith, our faith. Relinquishing the fear of judgment from others, which is a mortal reflection of insecurity and personal fear. Grieving our former selves, loving them all the same as they have shaped us into the people we are today, bounding with love, benevolence, calm and a bit of whimsy.

As I progress into my elder years and I have accepted that life is more than just me, I want, I lust, I desire more of this life, my life, the life of and for my children. Communing with people, tendering a love the way He did, and exploiting the whimsy for life by unlatching the societal norms, the harnesses confining our being.

Some 25 years ago I was confined to my grandmothers Pontiac, the travel from her home in Eloy to my childhood home in Chandler felt like an eternity in her car. The endless stretch of desert was like a sea of beige back then, littered by the occasional eye candy of a billboard.Â Cruising along as a passenger I remember battling for the radio station.Â She had her presets, Christian music, as I say that in the most childish, sarcastic voice…possibly with an eye roll. While I, on the other hand, fought to listen to Top40 pop. I was an 80s child, dear God, anything but old hymns. I could feel the yawns and an overall feeling of sleepiness with the suggestion of the organs playing in the background.

Christian music was not what it was today. The bestÂ you could get was Amy Grant, but she was like Debbie Gibson, catchy but you would be caught dead listening to her.Â Yesterday’s Christian is not today’s Christian. My grandmother is a perfect example that Christians today are not as they formerly were. Grams was, is, the strongest woman I know in Christianity. A warrior of faith, love, sacrifice and selflessness; her grace for the love of the Lord has evolved so magically and enviably. Today she rocks her Christian stations, the same one’s I do, she even does so in her Ford Mustang GT convertible. She has helped me embrace the evolution of owning brokenness. Shattering my own veil that I have a perfect love in an imperfect world.

Listening to the traditional hymns and psalms in my grams’ car was reminiscent of the shame, the culture, the secret we all bore but never uttered. Our hidden heathen, God truly forbid we ever let the bastard roam free amongst all the other hidden heathens, declaring our humanity. How could we display the truth outside these ecclesiastic moments; broken people, sinners, lovers of the Lord existed as a singularity. Not today. Today’s music, I can crank in my Jeep with the top down, all windows down and never feel ashamed to be broken, to love worshiping out loud. Bands like Lifehouse, P.O.D, Jars of Clay, FlyLeaf, Switchfoot all derive their music from strong faith, religious roots and stream into our homes on traditional Top40 radio. I have even become THAT parent. While I still have my normal radio stations I find myself cringing and changing the channel when I truly hear the lyrics. These words playing into my children’s ears, minds, and then they are spouting them. Last thing I want is my seven year old daughter spouting off about menage a trois from Katy Perry while riding in the Jeep. So when they ask for “Greater” by Mercy Me…

Cool.

What is on the other side of your cool? What about your faith, what quality causes you angst? Are you in the disavowal stage? Accepting who we are and in our faith does not mean that we are, for lack of a better term “Bible thumping.” We can be who we are, be in our beliefs, and share the good Word just like we share small talk. Like breathing.

How can life be cool to be a Christian; just do these three things. Get over it! Get over what you thought you knew. Find a home that tells the story of the Bible, but be ready. The story is a romance, a love story of a Father who so loved his children he sacrificed his only son. Get under it! Serve your community, serve the way Jesus did, because you know this life is not about you. Get with it! Be with other people who love God. Do life with these people. Because what is this life if you cannot share with others? In my walk, I have found more people, friends, who have helped me redefine my cool.

January 15, 2015

The Secret to a Successful Marriage is in the Sauce

weddings, The Five Fish, KariewithaK, Karie Herring

Last night while trolling Facebook I couldn’t help but to comment on a status about how a cheap wedding leads to a successful marriage. Being that I can’t help my flippant self I commented about how its not about the wedding but its about the after-party and the honeymoon. Yes, I have a dry sense of humor, much like a fine Bordeaux. I digress. My husband and I just celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary and have been together 18 years. We have a secret sauce for our successful marriage; trial by fire with various traumas that require us to come together as a united front. You want to know if a marriage is successful, go from the frying pan to the furnace to see how they handle a crisis.

The Chad and I were a very tumultuous couple when we were initially courting. Fighting over the most trivial issues and concerns. We both have Type-A personalities, Einstein brilliance, and a will that won’t break. Spliced with our youth, we were a recipe for disaster. Aside from that, we love(d) each other unconditionally which prompted us to spend the rest of our lives together. Our marriage for the first years was a lot of fun. We enjoyed a great amount of freedom just the two of us. Traveling, socializing and exploring what new adventure we would take on next. The next big adventure happened to be having kids.

Crisis number one.

By all means our first crisis of having a child is not negative, but as young 20somethings having a child is crisis management because your entire life changes. Late nights having drinks are now late nights of your child taking drinks…of breast milk. Building dreams are now replaced with building dream palaces for your child. Fashion and couture are replaced by burp cloths and onesies. Adjusting to having a child can be hard if you struggle letting go of your old self, which both of us struggled with a bit. We still wanted to be “THAT” couple. We still wanted to be ourselves, but with having a child you have to evolve, which means your marriage does as well.

Crisis number two.

Evolution of self and marriage. Personally, I struggled embracing and juggling all my jobs. Wife. Mother. Woman. Food source. Business woman. Sex kitten. Karie. Suddenly my self was a swirling smorgasbord of uncertainty. I didn’t know how to handle all these people, responsibilities, who came first was my child, but I needed to make sure I was able to care for him. My husband needed attention, but I needed to make sure I had taken care of G which meant I needed to be in tip top shape. An internal argument of Darwinism, which came first the chicken or the egg. I began to get lost in myself and the search for who she was and is. Somewhere in there our marriage started to become disoriented.

Crisis again.

In all the disorientation we really complicated matters as I found I was pregnant again. Our son was barely eight months old and now I was pregnant again. The crisis threat level was now about to go supernova, but we were able to bear down. Coming together we grieved the loss of ourselves and that our dream included these extensions of ourselves, extensions of our love, our children, our new world. Just as we were finally comfortable again we were hit with devastating news that our pregnancy was doomed and I would miscarry at home. Not an ordinary miscarriage though, this was a premature delivery with labor pains, pushing in order to counteract the pain, a battle I fought alone through blood, anguish, loss and solitary despair. Yet another crisis, but one I chose to conquer on my own.

Looking back I probably should have included The Chad but I know his heart and I wanted to spare him the horror that I was experiencing. The war I waged through my loss that late night and early morning in my bathroom is not one for any human to experience, ever. I just couldn’t bear to see his pain, our pain, maybe I was selfish but I couldn’t let him have that memory. From that day forward I got lost again. I battled with postpartum depression. Somehow The Chad and I were making it through, maybe by grace.

Crisis hit again as we came to arms with my mental capacity to overcome depression and how the medication nearly destroyed my life, more evolution of selves. We then became that couple as we sought counseling. Barely married six years, late 20something, early 30s, suburbia yuppies seeking counseling. How cliche I thought. So gauche. I ate my thoughts as we discovered so much about ourselves, our marriage, our family in those sessions. We learned to become a united.

Sitting on a couch bleeding your emotions of anger, rage, hurt, sadness, brought forth so much information, elightenment and respect for each other. Though we had to get through the emotional grenades and gun cocking and firing at one another, we saw light, we saw each other. We saw we were people, with faults, with love for each other. The moment of truth came when we went to bed after a session and we said it was time to move on, too much damage was done that we could no longer swim to shore in a sinking ship. Admitting love for each other but that we might be better off without the other for the sake of our child.

Laying under the sheets, looking at each other through clenched jaw muscles and tears, breathing through the pain that felt as if gravity would crush me, I saw lifetimes pass by, almost as if on fast forward. We both took a deep breath and went to sleep, stubborn love saying goodbye.

The next morning we agreed divorce was not on the horizon, we made the commitment to work on our marriage, ourselves; we were finding a way to let the wounds heal and move forward. The path was not easy, the hurt, the pain, almost numbing. No one said this would be easy. We wanted this, we chose this life; love isn’t easy, life isn’t easy. Anything of value does not come easy but through hard work and a great deal of effort. Boundaries were set and agreements were made, compromise, understanding, and we started to listen to each other again instead of placing blame.

Progress was being made. We were at a pivotal point when we found we were pregnant again, pregnant again with twins. Crisis.

This crisis really was an eye opener as we melded as a team. Twins taught us about how two people should and can truly be different, yet so similar. G defined this ideal. For eight months I told him Seth and Sara were “in my tummy.” I understood two people. His understanding was that Seth and Sara was one entity; imagine his surprise when he saw two baby carriers the day we came home. He guffawed as he pointed at each of them and asked why there were two, we had to tell him one was Seth and one was Sara. His innocent outlook about his siblings was the definition of our marriage and how I would raise him and these two blessings. Individually plural.

The Chad and I struggled with various other marital struggles that arise as you age and life lobs softballs of challenges. The single most important fact was that we were the same people, changed by the events and environment of our experiences. Admitting we loved each other and we wanted to make it work, took acknowledging that our marriage, our family was not about us as individuals, but about the other person. Compromise was admitting when you are wrong, no matter how much damage you took to your pride. Communication was about taking out the fault, the finger pointing, having a poignant conversation about facts, proposing solutions that worked for everyone, including the kids, especially the kids, even if that meant looking to divorce.

Our most recent crisis was financial. The timing aligned with the world financial crisis. Like most couples we could have fought endlessly, but we chose to talk. We talked deeply, passionately, about our future, our family like we never had before. Setting aside differences in the goals we had, ideals we learned based on how we were raised. The Chad lost his job and I was barely making enough at the bank to keep us afloat. We were drowning, but we did not fall victim to our misfortune, we banded together, set out a plan. Family came first, the kids were our primary concern and we were making every effort to ensure this would not affect them in the least.

Only by grace were we able to survive. If we had not connected as people and respected each other through adequate communication and compromise we would have probably been divorced years ago. I am ever thankful for each of our crises, decisions, I hold no regrets. The magic sauce for our successful marriage came in the form of hard work, commitment to do what was right, even if doing the right thing meant divorce, and above all else we had love. Today I love The Chad more than the day I married him, I am more in love with him than the day we met. I could not have asked for a better man to partner with in this adventure we call life.

January 8, 2015April 15, 2018

What Getting Fired Taught Me About Faith

I loved my job at the bank. I love my beliefs, my God. The two, however, did not love one another, a constant battle that resulted in my being fired. My family began to suffer due to extenuating and unnecessary demands for my time at work. I was engulfed in my ambitions to climb this imaginary ladder to a pinnacle with no peak. Best efforts to rise above, think outside the box to improve processes and mitigate negative customer impact resulted in negative blow back. I had to pay taxes for being a woman in the corporate game where I refused to fall on my knees in an act of fellatio to the men that controlled the future of my career. A hidden blessing came from my termination, a lesson about having faith.

What I lacked was faith.

On this day one year ago I was subject to a bank sanction for my transgress questioning regarding neglect of escalated customer files. Toe-to-toe with senior leaders, respectably inquiring of laxity on such high profile reviews. My bold actions came with an expense as my career teetered with my every breath. The sanction was harsh based on my principal to forgo a meeting with my superior and his superior. As a woman I felt bullied, ganged up on and terrified to be in a closed door meeting with my boss. He was repugnant with violent outbursts, mistrust, berating actions, I feared him. So with that, the sentence was issued for 12 months where I was hamstrung to initiate any emails to anyone above my pay grade and in the event any of my actions were seen contrary to senior leadership direction I would be subject to termination.

Devastated. I held strong as I choked down the pain and a bit of my pride. Upon returning to my desk one of my employees saw me distraught and offered comfort. She stood strong in her faith and offered to pray with me, right then, in the office. Her prayer offered comfort and strength in a time where I was floundering without. Keeping my composure was out of the question. I gasped for air through tears, heartbreak and the overwhelming amount of love and kindness from my subordinate.

What I learned in that moment, in that prayer, in my retching state, was how out of control the events were and how little I could control; how I needed to have faith.

The months following resulted in frustration, anger, my patience began to wear thin at home due to my restrictions in the workplace. Struggling to deal with these frustrations, they were improperly misdirected to my family. I began to dive deeper into scripture. I sought comfort and relief in prayer to pacify my unrest and provide answers. Everyday I prayed for a new job. Praying to be away from the tyrant who I had to answer to on a daily basis. I prayed for him to gain wisdom because his doltish ways made me want to slap my palm to my face, repeatedly.

My prayers were being heard, as each day I found more strength to tolerate my job. Job interviews were rolling in and my outlook was positive and the bleakness began to subside. However, offers for said jobs were less than forthcoming. By this time I was a month into my corrective action and I attended a conference on prayer. Bold, direct prayers were what we needed and while those prayers are not always answered right away or the way we want them to be answered, an answer will one day come nonetheless. So I stayed the course and kept on with my prayers. I was a step closer to understanding and gaining faith.

Staying the course led me into the mouth of the serpent on June 19th, 2014 as my employment was terminated from Wells based on violation of their ethics policy. The policy that I so strongly upheld based on the vision of the organization. Great irony and peace was found in my termination, and on that day my faith was made stronger. I prayed to escape the confines of the misogynist who I believed controlled my future and career. Granted my release was through termination, I was able to identify my blessing; my faith was cemented in the fact that this one event would transform my entire being and life.

How deluded I was to think such horrific thoughts that this puny, mortal man would carry such a weight. My God carried more weight and power than he did. On that day I felt an amazing peace and strength as I shook my former boss’ hand and I wished him well. Even though I was the one who was terminated, I had the strength, class and happiness to accept my fate. That was faith I had felt in the Lord as He guided me through that moment.

From that day I have had nothing but faith.

I prayed each day to guide me through, to show me where I needed to be in life and with my family. Prayer for assistance through my unemployment, to provide financially. I asked to be shown what He was willing for me in my life. Pleasantly surprised by the answer of I had extra time on my hands, so I began writing again. A love I have forgotten to resort to when my brain was overflowing with words and thoughts. Think Dumbledore and his Pensieve. My writing has helped open doors for me that I had previously left dormant, my expression let me explore gifts I never exploited previously. The world was a keystroke away.

Prayers showed me how deep my faith truly was when I asked to provide for my family, my children, especially when Christmas was around the corner. So I made the struggling decision to tithe, at the ten percent, when I had so little. My meager earnings I was bringing into our home was what little I could do to honor my Father, but it was enough in His eyes. Gigs began to roll in, finances began to improve little by little, Christmas was in more than an abundance. He saw me through, God deepened my faith by showing me his great will for me, my family, my life.

Time was utilized more wisely as I began volunteering more at my church. Applying my knowledge in various capacities benefited others and I was beyond joy to help so selflessly. My nature is benevolent with every fiber, so I was eager to share my dexterity in a multitude of areas within the organization that so deeply touched my life. This is what he was calling me to do.

Fleeting moments would wave over me of panic, grief, fear. I would be celebratory with joy, overcome by anger, frustration, and then emotional exhaustion. While I would have momentary lapses and succumb to the weakness, faith is what carried me through. Praying in the heat of that moment got me through. God, carried me through. I was meant to feel the pain, to work through my feelings, I needed to learn what He was telling me. The uncertainty was all part of the learning process. Learning to have unwavering faith in the face of our darkest moments. Moments that we would dwell upon, share with others; misery loves company, but I just couldn’t share with anyone else but Him.

When I would apply for positions I was more than amply qualified for, hear nothing in response to those applications, I learned to have faith. When I questioned why I didn’t get those jobs, my daughter would come to me and beg that I not go back to work as her eyes welled with tears, I had faith. When finances began to strain, I dug in with my tithing and never faltered, I had faith and then He provided. Hebrews 11:1 speaks of faith, “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” I hoped for happiness, success, freedom. All of those were provided for me because I prayed enough, believed in my bold prayers enough, had enough faith that this wouldn’t be easy, but my outcome would be the most beneficial.

I could not see that my happiness, success, and freedom was within me, God given. I just had to see what made me happy was being myself and not letting others try to change who I was, who I am. I just had to see that my success was in the eyes of the beholder; three priceless sets of blue eyes who saw that I could create in my kitchen what Van Gogh did on canvas. More so was the partial stranger who read this blog and sang praises of the raw beauty in life and the emotions I painted from writing about those moments.Â I found an immense faith in being fired when I learned to see. I just had to see that my freedom was in letting go, relinquishing control of a life so out of control, having faith of His greater plan for me.

January 1, 2015January 1, 2015

Walking with God

My tone has changed as of late. If you have been around me long enough, you know that the holy roller seems a bit fetched, if not out of character for me. I was likely to quote Andrew Dice Clay before I ever quoted scripture. Oh! I digress. Funny thing about character is how we evolve. Changing with the seasons, age, enlightenment of our environment, as if a light switch was turned on in a room of pure darkness. Life for me seemed to be spiraling into that room. I was not walking with God as I am today.

Walking wasn’t easy either. I tripped along thinking karma would float me along through the nethers of the universe. A magic carpet ride of listless engagement on my part, that basically if I lived a decent life and acted as a decent person everything would turn out alright. Even if I effed up royally, in the end my karma bank would be in the black.

Or so I deluded myself to believe.

The deeply human part of me was calling for something bigger, to be a part of something bigger. My purpose was far greater than anything I could imagine. Not that I would break out into a leotard jumpsuit of red and blue with fabulous hair like Linda Carter (who was friends with my grams by the way), more so that I knew my purpose in the mortal realm was temporary, there was more to life than me.

Truer words could not have been spoken to me one summer evening while visiting my brother. The Chad and I sat out on the back patio slash balcony of my brothers home in Northern Arizona in a small town called Show Low. His home is on the side of a mountain with breathtaking views. Overlooking a bluff, Show Low creek, and sprawling meadow lands with tall, wild grass, spotted with feral sunflowers, littered with sage and speckled with wild horses, elk, and an occasional jackrabbit. A view so picturesque, one could only paint with their imagination. We sat in the cool night air listening to the pines whistle in a monsoon storm as rain patted on the roof above.

Our conversations were light and airy, typical chit chat to warm up the tone of the evening. Just then, my brother fired a grenade into the conversation. “When I die, I want to know that my sister will be joining me for eternal life. I want to know you will be joining me in heaven. I love you Karie and I am concerned you don’t have salvation and we won’t be together forever.”

Sweet Jesus.

He took my breath away as I sobbed. I knew exactly what he was saying and I knew my life needed a change. We discussed the outlook of karma, living a good and honorable life, being good to others in spite of ill will or harm. Further discussion about how The Chad and I have embraced various religions and their sound beliefs. Not that anything was wrong with Christianity, but at the mention one might be confused with extremists due to media exploits.

For the years leading up to this moment I was engulfed in a rat race of desperation to grapple to the top of an imaginary corporate ladder. Hyper-focused on a goal that would offer me what? Happiness, success, notoriety within the corporate realm? Further separated from my family in order to serve the overlords of big bank. Aching in my heart, a burning in my chest, my eyes bled tears as my soul felt as if it were ripped open to expose a truth I had been denying myself.

Our discussion tripped further down Alice’s rabbit hole yet rose towards the Kingdom.

The next morning I attended church with my brother for the first time in over 15 years. His pastor spoke of living a life under the idea of karma, a life devoid of the Holy Spirit. Could he have been at our table on the balcony last night? I took communion for the first time in over 20 years, I was a small girl shortly after my baptism when I took part in this ritual to honor my Savior. Fighting tears to prevent others from seeing my brokenness as my brother and I held hands during the service and worship. I left the service that day feeling a sense of redemption, as if I came home.

The week after was a struggle. My renewal was tested as I returned to work and I struggled with situations that would push my every limit. I prayed to tolerate my boss just a few days longer. Yearning to be in the word again, to hear what my soul was craving, I needed strength.

So I found my home at Central that upcoming Sunday. I walked in alone and afraid, my uncertainty felt like a 600 pound gorilla. The message was more than appropriate and befitting to where my situation lay. After the service I knew I had found my home. Week after week I attended and sat in the seats alone. I took the time to soak in the message, but felt an emptiness that I couldn’t share my new understanding of the world. My life felt like it was moving forward but my marriage was askew.

The Chad is the love of my life, but I felt as if we were not connecting on the same plane. Mostly due to my Sunday absences. So we felt a strain, until my prayers were answered. Praying for Him to touch Chad, open his heart and mind. He agreed to attend with me, upon the condition I kept the hellfire, brimstone and flames at bay as he entered the worship center. Pft, as if I had a say with The Big Guy on what happens.

His decision was not light, but he was surprised at his lack of spontaneous combustion as he entered the worship center. We discussed at length the message our senior pastor shared and he thoroughly enjoyed the rich history that came from the simple Bible teachings. One of the many qualities that drew me to Central.

My heart was full and my soul lightened as I could share this evolving part of my life with my best friend once more. Our conversations engaged a new level, we saw changes with our children, this new life we were living was infectious. Even our best friends joined our fellowship and our relationship with them changed. A strength, peace and love we had never felt before engulfed our way of living. Transforming our professional lives. Infusing our spirits.

These changes were not without a cost of pain or death. A slow and excruciating death to the person I once was in order to envelope my life with Christ. Spiritual warfare at some level raged on between my old self and the person I was becoming. My career began to change on the most drastic levels, so much so that being fired is just what He wanted to truly ensure my proper path in life. Even then I had unrest. Bouts of darkness as I would retreat to my head with thoughts of not being good enough, a failure, self deprecation seemed to be normal. Prayer seemed in vane. Staying the course because there was no turning back. Following Christ came with a stigma that seemed to spark shame at the mention to others, hushed tongue…I am a Christian. Realizing so many had brought shame to the the true word of God, Christ; their misinterpretation would not be my shame, I would sing the praises of what being a follower of Christ truly represents.

What He was telling me taught me about faith, hope, patience, trust and love. In all of this was whimsy. Life seemed to have a bit more spontaneity and I found a new appreciation for people, community, and the richness we offered each other as a collective. Above all else he showed me that had I stayed my course I would have found more pain than happiness, more destruction than what we were building as a family, and the semblance of myself would be far from recognizable.

As a follower of Christ, walking with God has been the most rewarding and challenging transformation to my life and that of my family. With every change comes the exit, or death, of the former self.Â I wouldn’t change my choices for the world and am ever grateful for the summer evening on my brothers balcony.

December 30, 2014April 15, 2018

Honoring Family

Family is one of my most precious commodities. The holidays always seem to make me feel nostalgic and crave my family ever more. I am the oldest child and I considered myself rather close to my siblings and my parents. The Chad used to harass me about cutting the umbilical cord to my mother when she and I would partake in our monthly conversations while living in Albuquerque. Looking back, I see this was awkward for him as he was not close to either of his parents growing up, while I was close to much of my family. I see being close to my family as a way of honoring God, by honoring my family I am doing what feels right in my heart and in the eyes of the Lord.

My Mom and Dad, we talk rather frequently either on the phone, via text or I try to stop in and visit when I can. I suppose I am doing as the Lord has asked, “Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you.” (Exodus 20:12) My father and I have a beautiful rekindled relationship. We were never very close, but today we are and he is such a strength and light in my life. He brought me an amazing wisdom professionally and lifts me up personally. I have found great knowledge in learning more about myself by interacting with him, learning from him and learning to be a better mother, wife.

I am rather close to my grandmother, my father’s mother. She is someone I look up to on many levels. A fighter, a prayer warrior, God fearing woman and lady. She is always well kept, adorned with jewelry, the lightest touch of rouge, and I can always smell a new perfume on her. Her perfumes are the one thing I vied for as a young girl, she hooked me on the classic Lauren by Ralph Lauren circa 1978.

One afternoon this past November I had the most priceless opportunity to spend almost an entire day with my grandmother. Her home still smelled as it did when I was a child, while the dwelling and it’s locale completely different through the years, the smell remains the same. We swapped a few stories and then I sat like I did as a young girl, entranced in her many parables of love through the ages. Tears began to sweep across my face as she spoke so candidly and lovingly of my grandfather. I could still smell a hint of my grandfather in this new house as we discussed his antics. A warm, earthy, musky scent that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The smell was comforting in spite of my feelings. I felt an emptiness as we both paused, his presence and lack thereof was so heavy and grand, the true patriarch of our family.Â Despite his passing I know my relationship meant that much more to visit my grandmother, to honor my grandfather, to honor her. His passing would not suggest that we have any less of a relationship.

Imagining a life without family and extended family would not behoove me. Confusion waves over me as I attempt to understand family who choose a distant life; to not have a close relationship, to be out of touch, estranged. The Chad and I have family who are not engaged in our family, they choose to not be active participants and rarely if ever keep in touch. I struggle deeply with these family members choice to be absent, more over to be absent from my children’s lives. Such a deep loss to miss out on watching these young people grow, evolve, and come into their own. I could not fathom a life devoid of generations of family, the stories, the experiences, missing their love and friendships.

I suppose had life been that way for them during their younger years, that the cycle of being with kin would be continued. Maybe I am the exception; to have had the opportunity to spend so much of my youth with a great deal of my family that I am in tune with them on many levels, through generations, and now with my children’s engagement in the same fashion.

Christmas Eve was indicative of the various lifetimes, spanning the ages through storytelling, reminiscent of my former childhood. My aunts and uncles were swapping stories of years past. Suddenly I was transported to a time where I could recall this same revelry as a child and a tremendous amount of joy filled my heart being with my aunts, uncles, cousins, my Dad and my grandmother. Memories danced in my head as the same laughter carried me to a time where we lit luminaries on this same cold evening. Moments flashed before me as I was of similar age to my children, adoring how my aunts and uncles were so in love with one another at such a joyous time. Laughing, joking, carousing around the Christmas tree and I watched in awe so hopeful to one day experience this same love and rejoicing in the name of our Father.

Which brings me back to why family would choose to be nonexistent in each others lives. Emptiness creeps in as I begin to imagine this life. I’m saddened by family who make such a drastic choice. I suppose in some way The Chad and I have made this choice. We chose to move to Arizona to be closer to my family and left New Mexico for the toxicity we experienced while living in that environment. Today we see that our choice was ours and was not malicious, healthy, but we see the toxicity even more so now from afar. So I find myself praying that one day the hearts of our family would be healed so they could see past their own pride to come visit as we have done for so long.

Family is such a funny thing. I never saw the mechanics of how the dynamics worked in a family. I just thought we were all one, and one for all. Yes, I suppose very fairy tale-esque of my beliefs, an optimist by heart.

As an adult I see the mechanics more clearly. I share these same dealings and workings with my children. I do not shelter them from the pain and suffering sometimes felt and inflicted by the ones we love. Maybe I share more for the simple fact that they should not be as I was, living a fairy tale of lies that family will always be present in our lives. Family isn’t always joyous, despite our best efforts.

I have faith. I have a hope that one day all our families will be able to share with one another once more. We can all celebrate again, together. Holiday’s can be spent together, with each other, carousing around dinner tables, experiencing the revelry as we trip through memories past. Or as I said, maybe I am the exception to see such a tremendous strength in the power of family, a legacy to pass on to our children and their children. “Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them! He shall not be put to shame when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.” (Proverbs 127:3-5)

For now I keep the faith. I never falter or get angry, more sad and disappointed, I make attempts to understand the point of view of these relatives who have made the choice to be estranged. I still honor family with cards, emails, texts and phone calls. I still reach out. My hope is that one day we can agree we have differences and embrace our differences as family, set aside our anger and our pride, to come together for the inheritance of our children and their children. Family is but our legacy.

December 23, 2014December 29, 2014

We Fish you a hairy Chris-moose: Merry Christmas

From our family to yours, Merry Christmas. We hope you all have a wonderful conclusion to your Chanukah and beginning to Christmas tomorrow. Please be safe and enjoy your loved ones. May your days be filled with laughter, joy, love and life. We will be off celebrating the birth of the Son and our Savior. Much love to you all!

Merry Christmas from The Five Fish.

December 7, 2014December 8, 2014

Mothers Be Good to Your Daughters

The dream of having a daughter was never donned in my world. Not that I am or was opposed to having a daughter. More or less, I struggled with the possibility of her repeating my life cycle. A strong willed baby girl, young woman, grown woman who would struggle in this world with her extroversion, can-do attitude, intellect and beauty. To me this was a recipe for disaster. So I ate words. I ate words about “never wanting children” and I ate my words with “only wanting boys.” My mother’s curse.

You know because boys are such much more fun. You know because boys you only have to worry about one penis and not an entire world of penises; penises that are vying for your willful, intellectual, beautiful daughter. Yes….this thought entered my head. What I believed about having a daughter was not at all what I thought or dreamed.

I initially thought there was some magic, maybe a feeling of mystique with having a baby girl. When I first laid eyes on her I knew she was beautiful in that ugly, alien newborn baby sort of way. She was a perfect baby. Very seldom cried, her twin acted on most of this for her. She was always smiling. She was always happy. For some reason this began to anger me. Her blissful happiness oozing from her, she was like a sickened Disney movie which erupted all about my house. Pink and purple despite all my best efforts to rid our world of these hideous stereotypical colors that would define her as anti-feminist.

Stewing in feeling of love and loathing for this little girl. I found myself snapping at her more as she grew older and more aware in her world. Barking to rise above. Snippy at an ounce of err for being youthful, childlike, a little girl.

How dare she!

This is a woman’s world. We have no room for games. Skipping. Dolls. We are about business. Wearing the pants and shouting f*ck you to any Tom, Dick and Harry for their neanderthal attempts to belittle the feminist. We are the sinew of every facet; the great influencer.

Until I realized how Grimhilde I was behaving towards my daughter. My behavior was deplorable and not one of a mother who birthed such a magical creature as a daughter. But why? Why do mothers behave so poorly to daughters? Or worse, glorify them to the point that they are so delusional to the reality of the world they become prima donna princesses with “entitlement” tattooed upon their brows. My daughter was undeserving of my behavior and I began to take a moral inventory, reflect upon my actions and behavior, what was the genesis?

The disturbing reality came down to origin. You see I was raised by my mother as my parents divorced when I was barely 10. By no means am I blaming my mother, much of what happens is based on environment. My mother was raised by her mother who was raised by a step-mother who lacked compassion and intimacy. So my mother was the recipient of a very business like mother, receipt of hugs was seldom, if never happened at all and thus history repeated herself with me. Time slowly changed with my mother and she became a bit more physically affectionate but it was awkward, even as an adult her affection is still a bit foreign to me.

My mother also was not a girly girl by nature. She was a Tom boy, who wanted to join the Peace Corp and save the world by burning one bra at a time. Yes, that was my James Taylor, John Denver listening mother. Makeup, curling irons, fashion, heels, this was not in her repertoire. Stitching, sewing both fabric, humans and caring for the ill was my mother. I love her so.

But as a vain, struggling to fit in, intellectual young girl and woman, wearing makeup and being hip on the latest fashion and trends from Tiger Beat were vital. Of which these suffered poorly. As I mentioned, my parents divorced as I was heading into my tween years, before they were even considered tween years. I had already spent a fifth of my life caring for my younger siblings due to my parents complete lack of familial interaction. Mom checked out emotionally with the divorce, struggling to earn a living to support three small children and Dad was off courting a familiar love and climbing his excelling corporate ladder chain. Somehow parenthood landed square on my eight year old shoulders. Dolls, skipping, earrings, makeup, fashion were all cast aside.

Many years I struggled with a lack of a true girlhood. Only realizing how much I struggled while raising my own daughter. The overall absence of a strong feminine figure in my life caused such a dramatic void that I began to resent my own daughter for the opportunities she was afforded. I saw myself very business like with my interaction with her. The awkward affection. I resented she had a mother and father, but never making this connection, never understanding my feelings of anger, jealousy, bitterness and envy.

How could I have been so blind? How could I have been so oblivious to how I was treating my baby girl? Fueled by my own anger and frustration for my own circumstances, I was blinded to how I was bequeathing the same future to her. This was my golden opportunity to transform the maternal paradigm. I prayed for Sara. I prayed for her to have a better mother who could let go of the anger of not having someone to instruct and depict makeup application, hair styles and trends, fashion statements (or lack thereof), to skip with to the front of the grocery store, to speak life and beauty without seeming insincere or pained at the task. To allow her to enjoy being a little girl playing with dolls, embracing her feminism with throat punches to the boys, showing her to cross her legs and sit properly all while wearing a skirt and picking out the best shoes. Loving her the way she deserved to be loved.

I grieved.

Then I woke anew. Ready for the challenge to be the woman she needed; to help be her first role model of a woman. Guiding her in the struggles she would face as the foremost influence to mankind. When I say I grieved I truly grieved. A piece of me died one day. I said goodbye to my inner little girl who didn’t get to enjoy all that Sara has and will enjoy. I grieved the woman I once was; the anger, the bitterness, the sadness I carried because of the shame I felt for wanting to be that little girl and how I felt so wrong for wanting to be a little girl. I had to be strong, youth was seen as a weakness at a time when no one else was strong for me or my siblings.

Only realizing now, that as a parent, we think so much relies heavily upon the father figure, which to some degree carries a truth. However, I see now how impactful mothers being good to their daughters, and sons too, will shape who they are to become as adults. The love, support, and influence of a mother will either perpetuate the paradigm or result in a shift for our children and how they raise their children. I can only hope to be a better mother; to give my baby girl all she needs and wants in a woman role model and mother. May God continue to bless me with wisdom to bestow upon her and our legacy. Thankful I was able to realize how my parenting as a mother was only going to hurt us both. By grace I was changed to be better for her, be better for us.

December 4, 2014August 16, 2015

Hours of Play Wonder Forge

I am so enjoying watching my kids grow up, their various interests and what piques their inquisitive minds. They are really into board games now which I am truly enjoying. Family game night is something that we have been enjoying with their new found fondness. Not all games however are created equal. I have noticed over the years how many board games are geared more towards girls. While they have boys marketed on the cover, the game ultimately is a “girls” game as my boys would say. This year my kids were wowed with the awesomeness of Wonder Forge.

Wonder Forge raises the bar of creative games for preschoolers to adults; the games engage children physically, socially, and creatively, celebrating the “can do” attitude in all children. In 2007, the founder and his creative types came together to develop these extraordinary, original play experiences for kids and families.

So my boys love board games but Candy Land and Chutes and Ladders are not so much their forte these days. At age 6 and 11 there is a bit of an age gap, but not enough that they don’t have similar interests. Even though Seth is barely over toddler age he is rather advanced with his game play, he is reading and enjoys challenges like checkers and chess. G is advanced as well, he’s a fan of backgammon and we are finding he enjoys our Trivial Pursuit, but he’s still too young for such a challenge.

Wonder Forge offers games that are mentally stimulating as well as fun!

We found the Star Wars Face Off Dice game was an excellent fit for G and Seth to play together….well and The Chad. Their sci-fi geek meter was going crazy when they saw this game. Using the force or the dark side this game of strategy with the face filled die of beloved Star Wars characters is action packed and a fast play. Rolling the dice and racking up their points they were boisterous and laughing the whole way through. Plus, we can take this game on the go with us. Everything packs into the head and we can take it anywhere which is awesome when we go camping.

Another gem was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Foot Clan Street Fight game for my Sethers. A traditional style board game where each player rolls the dice to move through the manhole covers to find the missing Turtles. Admittedly, my boys love pizza and ninja turtles so this was a win-win all around where in the game they could uncover the famed meals of the turtles, pizza. While this is somewhat boy geared, my daughter could definitely get in on the action with the multi-player option. Plus, she subjects them to her girl games rather often so this was a nice change of pace for my male dominated house to enjoy “boy stuff” as Seth called it.

I love that the Wonder Forge family of games has something for everyone. They follow the story line of the favorite movies and characters but do not limit their audience to just a certain group of children. The games incorporate fun for the whole family by embracing fun in all ages. The games start for ages as young as three on up. Whether you are looking to add to your family collection of board games or gift that child who loves to play and flex their imagination and strategy skills, the Wonder Forge family of games is sure to be a hit.

Disclaimer: Participating Blogs were not compensated for this post. This event is in not administered, sponsored, endorsed by, or associated with, Facebook, Twitter, Google, Pinterest. Contact karie@thefivefish.com if you have additional questions or concerns.

December 2, 2014April 15, 2018

Share The Love with Compassion Brands

The anti-bullying movement has been on the rise, more and more people are sporting their pride through passion. While purple and indigo are wonderful colors, not everyone would enjoy flaunting the color to indicate their support. On The Five Fish quest to find unique, functional and amazing gifts we found fashion, with a statement. The statement is of love, no more hate, hope to make a difference; what better way to make a difference than to make a statement in fashion.

We are a family all about love and equality. Sporting a trend of kindness and love where we believe everyone is created equal no matter what. What better way to boast our support of the anti-bullying movement, having a small aversion to purple and indigo is through stylish fashion that we found in Compassion Brands.

Compassion Brands is more than just fashion for a cause. Compassion Brands is fashion that makes a difference with a financial contribution, a charitable donation with each purchase as a reminder for those who see the brand and wear the brand that they are not alone. Bullying was chosen by Compassion Brands because of the role it plays in society and is not limited to children on playgrounds; bullying is prominent to every facet in our society and plagues our world as a whole. The simple solution of their brand: Be kind to yourself and the people around you.

So Compassion Brands has a great message on their apparel and jewelry. I received the 20 inch double necklace with Swarovski crystals. The first chain has a heart with a message on the front: Live with Love. The second chain has the anti symbol to promote anti-bullying. I love the message! In my home we have a message, Love God, Love People, Do Stuff. Compassion Brands epitomizes what The Five Fish support, loving others and yourself including all of our differences; my kids have fully embraced this message and sport their support to share with other kids their age.

Whether you are looking for fun apparel or jewelry or that unique gift for your gift recipient who supports making a difference for the greater good, Compassion Brands is sure to please. With the gorgeous 18K gold necklaces and bracelets accented by beautiful Swarovski crystals and the more hipster leather bracelets to the more masculine rubber and paracord bracelets. Or if your fashionista prefers apparel choose from any of the over half dozen cotton tanks displaying messages like: Mind Over Matter and Love Your Selfie.

Great for stocking stuffers or that excellent accent gift. Compassion Brands is affordably priced ranging from as low as $10 to as much as $150 for some of the jewelry that they have gifts for everyone for all budgets.

Disclaimer: Participating Blogs were not compensated for this post. This event is not administered, sponsored, endorsed by, or associated with, Facebook, Twitter, Google, Pinterest. May contain affiliate links. Contact karie@thefivefish.com if you have additional questions or concerns.