Operation: Childspeak

It can be hard trying to talk to a child.  They often have difficulty expressing what they mean or feel.  You sometimes have difficulty simplifying things in a way that your child can understand.  Communication becomes too much to worry about.  It is easier to instead just use your parental authority and tell it like it is.  Sometimes this works.  Other times, it causes your child to shut down and stop listening, or even become argumentative.  This is the last thing you want.  Communicating in this way slowly pushes your children away.  The key to good communication is what I call "childspeak".
Childspeak begins with listening.  Truly listening.  Don't listen to reply, listen to understand.  Don't get frustrated when you can't understand what your child is trying express.  Do some detective work.  With your child's limited vocabulary, what are they trying to say?  Sometimes it's easy.  "My tummy feels funny."  Your child is probably sick or feeling indigestion.  Sometimes it's more difficult.  "I don't like so-and-so."  Ask clarifying questions.  Why do you not like this person?  What does this person do?  How does this person make you feel?  Speaking with a child takes time and patience.  But through your time and patience, your child is being told that you love them and genuinely care about them.  Listening is the most important part of childspeak.
The next part of childspeak is helping your child understand.  Your child won't listen to you if they can't understand what you are saying.  Or if they're simply not interested in what you have to say.  "I need you to clean up this mess."  You probably say that everyday.  And you probably repeat it multiple times throughout the day, usually regarding the same mess.  When the 6-year old I work with needs to clean up a mess, I don't tell him to clean it up.  "I bet I can get a bigger handful than you can!"  I pick up a handful of toys and put them away.  The 6-year old rushes over to the mess and quickly cleans up, trying to pick up more toys than I do.  Children understand fun.  Make cleaning up fun.
For older kids, try to put yourself in their shoes. Why isn't your child listening?  What usually gets their attention?  I try to start a conversation by asking the boys what they are doing.  If the 11-year old is playing a video game, I'll go sit next to him and ask him about the game.  When I feel he is done telling me about the game and I know I have his attention, that is when I begin talking about what I originally came to talk to him about.  How was school?  Did you get along with your teacher today?  By asking about video games first, I was able to get the 11-year old to relax and open up about something he cares about.  This made it easier for him to continue to open up and speak to me.
It's also very important to admit when you are wrong.  By apologizing, you are showing your child humility.  You are also being an example to them.  Your child is more likely to apologize if they hear you doing so.  The same thing applies to saying "thank you", "please", and "you're welcome".  You are showing your child respect and how to respect.
The last part of childspeak is combining the first two steps.  Listening to your child and then helping them understand what you have to say.  I had a great conversation with one of the boys once after he had a good screaming fit with his mother.  I asked simple questions to figure out why he was so angry, what he feels his mother did wrong.  I then helped him understand his mom's point of view.  I told him that screaming never solves anything.  That his mother is more likely to listen if he spoke nicer.  I then told him what I used to do with my parents when I was frustrated.  I would calmly tell my parents to not speak, just listen.  The key word there is calmly.  My parents would agree to listen without speaking.  This way, I knew I had their full attention.  Instead of the annoying interjections I would normally get from my parents, I was able to fully express myself.  Once I was finished, I would tell my parents that they could talk now.  They would then calmly (key word again!) tell me how they felt about what I had said.  What I had right and what I had wrong.  Nice, civil conversations.
Childspeak is based around love.  And the best way to show love is to listen and understand.  Disagreements will still occur, but by handling a situation calmly, you can learn a lot about your children.  And your children will come to love and respect you even more. 

Giving Thanks

There are so many things to be thankful for.  I am thankful for my family, my pets, my job, my home, my health, and my favorite Italian entree, lasagna.
I love my family.  I am the middle of five kids, and each one of us is different in so many ways.  We all bring something to the table.  We have an athlete, musicians, scholars, comedians, and a manny (You know I had to throw that in somewhere!).  Despite all our differences, we get along swimmingly.  And, we have the greatest parents anyone could ask for.
And don't forget the quadrupeds!  I treat my cat like she is my daughter.  I have never loved an animal as much as I love my cat.  The family dog is pretty awesome, too.  The family cat is sweet, but annoying.
I love my job!  But you already knew that.  Yesterday, I asked the boys what they are thankful for.  The 13-year old is thankful for "having a family".  The 11-year is thankful for "family too, I guess".  And the 6-year old is thankful for "rainbows, roller coasters, trains, and skateboarding".  I told the boys that I am thankful for them because without them, I wouldn't have a job.  "What?!"  The 6-year old didn't like that answer.  "I'm also thankful to have you guys as my friends" I added with a smile.
I still live with my parents.  But I try not to complain.  At least I have a roof over my head, even if it does make funny noises in the winter.  There is food in the fridge and pantries.  Blankets when it's cold.  Fans when it's hot.  I can't complain.
I am thankful for my health, even though I tell people I'm a 90-year old in a 26-year old's body.  My health isn't perfect, and it may never be.  But it could be worse.  I could come down with consumption!
And last of all, I am thankful for lasagna because, well, it tastes good.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

The Manny Diaries pt. 4

Around this time last year, my life changed for the better.  I was hired as a sitter for a family with three awesome boys.  But I don't tell people that I am a babysitter.  I tell them that I am a manny.  The youngest boy just turned 6-years old.  No babies here!  (Though I do sit on him from time to time.)

When I hear the word 'babysitter', I think of the cliché teenage girl who is on the phone with her boyfriend while the kids are running around the house causing mayhem.  That's not me.  I'm with these boys five days a week.  These boys are my walking advertisements, if you will.

I began babysitting around the age of fourteen.  I played with the kids, made sure they didn't hurt each other, put them to bed if needed, and cleaned up after them.  This usually occurred on Friday or Saturday nights.  Looking back, I feel like I was just a supervisor.  Make sure the kids are safe:  check.  Put the kids to bed:  check.  Clean up the toys before the parents get home:  check.  It was the perfect job for a teenage boy who wasn't old enough for a part-time job.  There was a point in my life where I was babysitting just about every weekend.  But that was it.  Just weekends.  I wasn't a daily part of the children's lives.

Now, twelve years later, I have three boys who are a part of my daily life, and I am a part of theirs.  For this reason, I am more than just a supervisor.  I am a friend, a big brother, a mentor.  I am whatever the boys need me to be.  Because I see these boys five days a week, I feel as though I share the important role of raising them.  And let me tell you, I'm not about to raise some ruffian hooligans!  As I said before, these boys are my advertisements.  By teaching them to do right, to make good choices and respect others, I am showcasing my role as a manny.  I am more than just a presence in the house.  I am helping these boys shape their futures.  Ten years from now, I hope to see successful, kind, and compassionate young men.  I want to see that my short time with them paid off.  I love my job as a manny.  I truly care for these boys and only want what is best for them.  This past year has been amazing.  Some days are a struggle.  And some days are perfect.  Either way, I wouldn't change a thing. 

The Golden Rule

A lot of children don't understand the Golden Rule.  I didn't when I was a kid.  Treat others the way you want to be treated.  Well, my big brother just pushed me, so he must want to be pushed back.  Obviously.  It's easy for kids to forget themselves.  They worry too much about how other people treat them.  They don't think about how they should treat others.  What's fair is fair.  He pushed me, so he deserves to be pushed back.
The librarian at the elementary school I attended used the Golden Rule all the time, but in different words.  She always told us that she would show us respect if we showed her respect in return.  This seemed to click in my young mind, and it's stuck with me ever since.  If I want to be respected, I should be respectful.  And that is how I try to live my life.
I don't know why, but it really bothers me when, while I'm driving, I let someone in front of me, and they don't wave a thank you.  How rude!  Until I realized that I rarely wave a thank you.  I've gotten much better since this realization.  I probably confuse some people.  Why is this weirdo waving at me?  I don't know him!  This is the Golden Rule in action.  If I expect people to act a certain way towards me, shouldn't I act the same way towards them?
I have been told multiple times throughout my life that I am too nice.  I also get complimented on my patience a lot.  (And my humility.)  Kindness and patience come easily when you put yourself in someone else's shoes.  I know it's hard, but the first thing to remember is that the world does not revolve around me.  Other people have their own lives too.  Other people have feelings that need to be taken into consideration.  By realizing this, it becomes so much simpler to be kind.  People act certain ways depending on what is going on in their lives.  And because I can't read minds, I decide to just treat everyone the way I want to be treated.  With love and kindness. 

I Am Not My Body pt.2: Labels

Last week, while doing his homework, the 13-year old made a discovery.  He knew that he had ADD, but he never really understood what the letters stood for.  All he understood was the 'attention' part.  He came downstairs proclaiming "I know what ADD is now!  I have a disorder?" to which his mother came up with a brilliant reply:
"You don't have a disorder.  You have a superpower.  Your ADD is your cape."
My boss mom and I then tried to explain to the 13-year old the good things that his ADD gave him.  He is better at multitasking, he is very intelligent.  And what amazes me is that this bright young man gets straight As in school.  That in itself is a super power to me.
I was diagnosed with ADD about a year or two after graduating high school (which explains why I almost didn't graduate.).  For the next year or two, I blamed everything on my ADD.  I would tell people, "I'm ADD.  It's what I do."  Looking back now, I realize how ridiculous I was being.
First of all, I am not ADD.  I have ADD.  A mental disorder is not a label.  A person isn't bipolar.  They have a bipolar disorder.
Think of it this way.  I get migraines.  Therefore, I am a migraine.  Doesn't make sense, right?  So why label people with mental disorders as ADD/ADHD.  I am not a migraine.  I get migraines.
So, "I'm ADD" was the first wrong thing I said.  The second was blaming my ADD for the way I acted.
Again, I am not ADD.  My mental disorder does not control me.  I have ADD.  I also have a cat.  And a car.  As difficult and expensive as it gets to keep my cat in good health or my car in good shape, I am still in control.  If my cat gets sick, my life may cycle around her.  If my car breaks down, my life changes, but only until the car is fixed.  If my ADD tells me to look at the stain on the ceiling that looks like Robert de Niro instead of listening to my professor's lecture, I tell my ADD no.  Mr. de Niro can wait.
I am not ADD.  I am not anxiety.  I fight to control my ADD and anxiety.  These are my superpowers, that I am in control of.  I am Philip.  I am not my body.

Boys Will Be Boys

Boys are messy.  Boys are loud.  Boys are energetic.  Boys will be boys.
Boys think they're tough.  Boys make funny noises.  Boys will be boys.
Boys can be sweet.  Boys can have potty mouths.  Boys will be boys.
Boys will lust after women.  Boys will take advantage of girls.  Boys are controlling.  Boys will be boys...?
We've been hearing a lot on the news about men sexually harassing or assaulting women.  There are some who would say that this is just the nature of the male sex.  They can't help themselves.  Men will be men.  Those people couldn't be more wrong.
Something that really boils my broccoli is when people brush things aside with an excuse such as "He's a man, what do you expect?" or "All men are just idiots".  I've been hearing that a lot in my adult life.  But I don't say anything.  I just smile and nod while inside I wonder, does this person consider me an idiot?
Believe it or not, men actually can control themselves.  They can be decent human beings.  It's all dependent upon the way they are raised and the choices they make.
I was raised to treat everyone with respect, to treat everyone the same.  It didn't matter what someone looked like.  It didn't matter if someone was mean to me.  I had to treat everyone kindly.  To this day, I still try to treat everyone with respect.
Having worked with children as long as I have, I have heard a lot of little boys repeat words that they probably shouldn't be repeating.  Not just swear words.  I've had to explain to kids why they shouldn't talk or joke around about their private parts or, even more importantly, private parts of the opposite gender.  This is psychology by Philip:  If a child is permitted to joke around about sensitive topics, such as private parts, they are basically being taught that they have no boundaries when it comes to human anatomy.  This makes them more comfortable with talking about the opposite gender in crude ways.  This in turn may (key word may) lead to these children growing up still not knowing boundaries.
While I was working in a restaurant, a lot of my co-workers, male and female, would talk about their or someone else's bodies.  I was usually the one trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.  It just shocked me how casually people talked about sex, and with so much detail.  It seemed as though people were only thinking about the body and not the person behind the body.
I could rant about this all day.  But I won't.  While raising your children, just remember:
Boys are messy.  Teach them to clean up after themselves.
Boys are loud.  Teach them to be considerate of those around them.
Boys can have potty mouths.  Teach them the correct ways to use (or not use) certain words.
Boys will be boys, but that doesn't mean they have to be idiots.

Don't Waste My Time

This time a year ago, I was working between 8-10 hours a day, 4-6 days a week.  But that's all I was doing.  While I was at home, I would waste my time on Facebook, playing video games, watching TV, or sleeping.  Usually sleeping, to be honest.
Now, I am working three jobs (one with random hours), I try to visit with my Little Brother every week, I blog every Thursday, I dog sit on occasion, and I dabble in the photographic arts.  I am also active in my church and volunteer at my church.  I could use a break!  So what do I do?  I consider the unused hours between everyday life and bedtime.  Call me crazy, but I'll soon be signing up for an online college course.  And I still apply to weekend child care jobs, despite my three jobs.  What is wrong with me?!
This year, I realized that are a lot of minutes in a day.  Why waste them?  I have found positive ways to spend my time.  Through my jobs, I'm not only making money, but I'm also helping the children I take care of.  I have become a part of their lives, someone to look up to.  Visiting with my Little gets me out of the house doing fun things.  I have the opportunity to be a good example to a child who needs a positive male role model in his life.  And yet, my Little has been the example for me.  While volunteering at church, I have learned more about myself and what I am capable of.
Am I tired?  No.  I'm exhausted!  But it's all worth it.  My life has changed so much this past year, for the better.  And I feel that this is the result of not wasting my time.  I am living life, loving life.  I live life differently than most people, but I enjoy what I do. 

What the BLEEP?!

One day, at the tender age of four years old, I called a kid an unkind word.  My older sister told my mom and I got to taste dish soap for the first (and last) time.  A couple of years ago, I was talking to my mom about this incident.  I didn't understand why I got my mouth washed out for calling someone a name.  My mom told me that I didn't just call someone a name.  I used the 'F' word. 
The word that I haven't used since that day 22 years ago is 'fraidy cat'.  (Notice that 'fraidy' starts with an 'F'.)  My older sister had told my mom that I had said the 'F' word. 
Needless to say, as a child, I was very careful about what I said.  If a fun-hearted name calling resulted in me drinking suds, what would something really vulgar result in?  Like poopy-face?  Or fartknocker?  Then I entered middle school.  It was like everyone was speaking a different language. 
My mom had taught my siblings and I to ask her or dad if we didn't know what a word meant.  So I knew better than to repeat any of the words I was hearing, especially after seeing the teachers' reactions to them.
Next came high school.  The language got even worse.  There was no way to get away from it.  Even after graduation.  I was surrounded by profanity at work and at college.  It just comes out so naturally from some people, without a thought.
So it came as no surprise to me when the 13-year old accused me of being a hypocrite.  In a previous post, I explained the 13-year old's "What the What" jar, in which he receives a token every time he curses.  (I'm proud to say that I haven't used it in a couple months.)  One day, after I put a token in the jar, the 13-year old confronts me.  He felt that it was unfair that he couldn't curse.
"You're an adult," he said.  "You curse all the time when you're not here."
Wow.  Just wow.
I guess I can see where he's coming from.  He probably hears profanity all the time in school, on the street, on TV, on the radio.  To him, it truly is an adult thing to do.  I tried to convince him that I did not use foul language.  He didn't believe me.  It honestly hurt my feelings, being accused of something I don't do.  But like I said, I can see where the 13-year old was coming from.
I believe that using profane language is plain dumb.  What does it accomplish?  Isn't there a better way to express yourself?  Shut the front door, there is a better way?  Well by golly, see if you can figure it out for yourself.

Adventures in Babysitting

I rarely have a boring day working with the boys.  We have fun days.  We have angry days.  We have silly days.  Every day is different.  I never know what to expect.  My favorite thing about the boys is that they always make me smile, even if it's not on purpose.
For the sake of this post, the boys will be known by the following titles:
The 5-year old will be known as 'French Fry'
The 11-year old will be known as 'His Majesty'
The 13-year old will be known as 'M'

M likes to keep to himself for the most part.  But over the summer, I like to think that we became buddies.  We went to Hershey Park one day.  M and His Majesty were arguing over who got to sit next to me on the roller coaster.  I had them guess what number I was thinking of.  M won.  So I sat with him.
While waiting in line, I don't remember what we were talking about, but M and I had a disagreement.  M raises his voice a little and asks "Do you want me to make a scene?"  Before I can reply, he says, clapping his hands once "Aaand cut!" as if he is a director ending a scene.  I have never been so proud of that boy!  That joke my day!
His Majesty is always fun to be around.  He's got such great energy and an awesome sense of humor.  He's one of those kids that likes to hide and then jump out and scream when you least expect it.  He's not very good at hiding, though.  (Don't tell him I said that!)
His Majesty can be quite bossy, though, thus the nickname.  He likes it when I say "Yes, Your Majesty."  He smiles, but then catches himself and says "please".  One day, I took the boys to this awesome playground.  His Majesty asked me to throw away his Capri Sun pouch (without saying please).  So I said "Of course, Your Majesty".  His Majesty glared at me and said "Not in public, Philip!".
The jokes this boy tells!  He loves 'Yo Momma' jokes.  We were telling each such jokes one day.  His Majesty starts out with "Yo Momma's so ugly, when One Direction saw her, they went the other direction."  I fought back with "Yo momma's so fat, she uses a boomerang to put on her belt."  French Fry then chimed in with "Yo Momma's so fat, she wears a yellow hat!"  French Fry won.
Speaking of French Fry...I spend most of my day with French Fry.  He randomly started calling me 'Nugget Head', so I call him French Fry. I'll often say his name to get his attention, then repeat it a couple more times.  I'll then say "French Fry!".  He looks up from whatever he is doing and says "My name's not French Fry!"  But, I got his attention!  Works every time!
French Fry loves playing on the computer at the library.  He usually plays Reader Rabbit, but the other day, he played The Berenstein Bears.  While listening to one of the stories, French Fry calls me over to tell me that Brother Bear had just said a bad word.
"He said 'shut up'!  Freak you Brother Bear!"
I told French Fry to use kind words then quickly went off to a corner of the library to bust up laughing.
French Fry also loves swimming.  One day, I took all three boys to the pool.  At one point, French Fry informs me that he has to poop.  So off he goes to the bathroom.  Fifteen minutes later, he's still in the bathroom, so I go in to check on him.  I know right away which stall he is in.  I follow the sound of splashing.  I get him to unlock the door for me.  He opens the door, stark naked, water and and toilet paper all over the floor.  He walks over to the toilet and pulls out his bathing suit.
"I didn't make it in time.  I need to wash my bathing suit."
Ok, Philip, stay calm, I think to myself.  I obviously can't let French Fry back in the pool.  So I fetch his clothes and begin dressing him.  We get his undies on (backwards) when he slips out of my grasp and runs out of the locker room.  He runs around the pool in nothing but his backwards underwear.  I catch him on his way to the parking lot.
Needless to say, we had a long talk on the way home.
As you all know, I love my job.  I love these boys.  They bring so much joy into my life.  We have our struggles, but we're always able to work through them. At the end of the day, M, His Majesty, French Fry and I are the best of friends.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

Can Mormons Wear Hats?

I was born and raised a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormon church.  Growing up in the suburbs of Baltimore and D.C., there were plenty of Mormons to go around.  But when I was 15-years old, my parents moved my younger siblings and me to the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.  I was the only Mormon in the high school.  I started to get asked a lot of questions.
The most commonly asked questions were:

• What do Mormons believe?
• Are Mormons Christian?
• Where did the name 'Mormon' come from?

In short, Mormons believe that Jesus died on the cross to atone for our sins and through him, all mankind may be saved.  I believe that answers the first two questions.  The name 'Mormon' comes from the Book of Mormon, a set of scriptures that goes hand in hand with the Bible.
But those aren't the only questions I've been asked.  I'm not here today to preach.  I'm here to clear up any misconceptions you may have about the Mormon church.  In order to write this post, I asked my fellow Mormon friends, via Facebook, what kind of off-the-wall questions people have asked them about their faith.  They did not disappoint.
Let me start off, however, with the more common, yet still strange, questions.

How many moms do you have?
I love answering this question!  I joke around with the person asking.  "I only have one mom.  My dad has 17 wives, but only one of them is my mom."  This is a joke, of course.  My mom is my dad's one and only wife.
You may be wondering why I get asked this a lot.  Well, back in the 1800s, some members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints practiced polygamy.   This practice also ended in the 1800s.

So what about the show 'Sister Wives'?
I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the LDS church.  The family on 'Sister Wives' are members of the FLDS church, 'F' standing for fundamentalist.  Some members of the early LDS church disagreed with the change in marriage policy and branched off into a new sect.  Their name may be similar, but they are not Mormons.  The LDS church is the original, true-blue Mormon church.


Do Mormons celebrate holidays?
Yes, yes they do.  It is the Jehovah's Witnesses that don't celebrate holidays.


Why can't Mormons drink caffeine? 
This is up to personal interpretation.  I know plenty of Mormons who chug a Mountain Dew on a daily basis.  My family tries to stay away from caffeine.  Caffeine is addictive.  How many people do you know who can't start their day without a cup of coffee?  They can be quite irritable until they get their daily dose of Starbucks.
Speaking of coffee, that is something Mormons are not allowed to drink.  Mormons have a policy, for lack of a better term, called the Word of Wisdom.  The Word of Wisdom promotes a healthy lifestyle for members of the LDS church.  Things included in the Word of Wisdom are no smoking, no alcohol, not over doing it on red meat, and no coffee.  It's my personal belief that not partaking in any of these things leads to happier, healthier life.

Now on to the bizarre questions:

Can Mormons wear hats?
I don't see why not!

Do Mormons still drive horse and buggies?
Um, no.  We drive cars.  Actually, the official car of the Mormon church is the 15-seater mini van.  (Another joke!)
Funny story, though.  When my older sister was in Driver's Ed, her instructor told the class that there were only two groups of people in America that did not drive cars:  the Amish, and the Mormons.  My sister corrected her, of course.

I think it's ridiculous that Mormons don't accept blood transfusions! 
Again, that's the Jehovah's Witnesses.  We Mormons love life.  So, please, should the occasion arise, give me a blood transfusion!

Are Mormon girls allowed to wear makeup?
Of course!

When did the Mormons break apart from the Amish?
This question caught me off guard.  A co-worker asked me this when I was working at a restaurant.  The Mormons were never a part of the Amish faith or culture.

Now on to the really crazy questions that my friends posted on Facebook:

Do they force you to have babies?
Wow.  Um, no.  Is that a thing?  Can you be forced to have a baby?

Are you a baby killer?
Again, wow.  Who would even think to ask such a question?  One of the Ten Commandments states "thou shalt not kill".  No, Mormons are not baby killers.  And yes, we still follow the Ten Commandments.

These last two questions take the cake:

Do you really have to roll naked in your meat before you cook it?
I don't.  I don't know of anyone who does.  But I won't judge.  And, no, it's not in the Mormon guidebook.

 
Do Mormons really believe that when you die, you go to the moon to teach 8ft. Quakers about Joseph Smith?
As awesome as that would be, it's not true.

The moral of the story is:  Don't believe everything you hear!  If you have a question about the Mormon church, who better to ask than a Mormon?  Can't find a Mormon?  No problem!  Just visit mormon.org and chat with a missionary.  But don't get crazy with your questions!  Just remember, Mormons are human too.  They're not that different from you.



 

Text Speak: What Did You Just Say?

Call me old fashioned.  I still have a flip phone, an iPod, a GPS, and a digital camera.  Not all in one device.  I have four separate devices.  It may surprise you to hear this, but I use my phone to call and text people.  And that's about it, other than occasionally using it as an alarm.
Call me old fashioned again.  When I text, I use proper grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure.  I capitalize letters, use Oxford commas, and, yes, I spell out every single word.  No silly acronyms from me.  Not even an LOL!
As much as I love writing, I often have difficulty expressing my feelings and opinions in a way that my readers can understand.  I especially find it difficult to express myself in text messages.  I'll send a text and worry that the person receiving the text will think I sound bossy or angry.  I may or may not have a small addiction to exclamation points...
When 'text speak' became a thing, I was still pretty young.  I never really got into it, though.  And now, as an adult, I am paying the price for missing out.  I don't understand what other people are trying to express.  Everyday, I find myself on Google.  Today, I googled 'WYD'.  I have seen 'WYD' multiple times on Facebook and I finally got around to looking it up.  'What you doing?'.  Well no wonder I could never figure out what it meant.  That's not even correct grammar!
What's the point of text speak anyways?  Does it really save you that much time?  What are you going to do with that extra 8 seconds you saved by typing 'brb' instead of 'be right back'?
Now, I'm not hatin' on anyone who uses texting short cuts.  No, I'm just expressing what I feel.  With real words.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've 'got to go' assist my friend who is 'rolling on the floor laughing'.  I mean, who does that?

48-Hours

Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is take my medication.  I take two pills to help lessen my anxiety and help me get through the day.
I've missed doses here and there before, but usually of just one of my pills.  I may have pill A, but I forgot to refill pill B.  A couple weeks ago, however, I went two days without taking either pill.  That's 48-hours of me, alone with my thoughts and fears.
I had already called for the refills to be...well...refilled.  But, you know how it is.  Life has a way of grabbing you by the ears and whisking you away.  My life had become pretty hectic.  So I forgot about my refills.

Day 1
The first day of being unmedicated went fairly smoothly.  I had to drive a friend to a doctor's appointment.  I acknowledged the fact that I didn't have any pills to take and told myself I would pick them up on the way home.  That didn't happen.  Life had me by the ears.
It was a perfectly normal day, up until the evening.  I began to feel light headed and nauseous.  My arms and legs got a little shaky.  This had happened before.  Just a side effect of missing one of my pills.  No worries.  I'd pick the pills up in the morning.

Day 2
This was a rough day for me.  It started out like a normal day, but as the day went on, I began to get more and more agitated.  My thoughts began to randomly race around like my brain was trying to win the Indy 500.  I was sitting there, eating dinner, asking myself how I had survived this long.  How was I ever going to pay for school?  I think I need a new car.  Where would that money come from?  Why am I still single?  (To be fair, I'm always asking myself that question.)  I became so overwhelmed with fear that I just wanted everything to end.  I wanted to go to bed and never wake up again.  Yeah, it was pretty intense.  On top of that, the nausea, shakiness, and light headedness had only gotten worse.

The next day, I woke up, ate breakfast, and went straight to the pharmacy.  I was still pretty anxious, but by dinner time, I was back to being myself again.  I had, and have, the same doubts and fears, but they no longer consume me.
The important to thing to note from my experience is that I realized I was not okay.  I realized I needed to get my medication.  I have heard of people, young and old, who decide they are all right, that they don't need to take their medications anymore.  It could be true.  Some people actually do outgrown their mental illnesses, or learn how to live with them.  But the choice to quit medicating is not yours to make alone.  You should always talk to your doctor first.  Get there opinion.  Schedule a follow-up appointment so your doctor can see for themselves how you are doing.
After the 48-hour experience I had, I now know that, as much as hate to admit it, I need my medicine to get through my day.  The next time I run low on pills, I will be grabbing my own ears, thank you very much, and taking myself to the pharmacy.

Adulting: The Worst Decision I Never Made

After ten years of practicing photography, I feel confident in my ability to take good pictures.  After thirteen years of babysitting, I feel confident in my ability to work well with children.  After only one year of blogging, I feel confident in my ability to express my feelings through written word.  But after nine years of being an adult, I am becoming less and less confident in my ability to survive.
Many questions come to mind:

• Why can't I work my dream job without going to college?

• Why are other adults so weird?

And, most puzzling of all:

• Who was the genius who invented money?

Needless to say, I have been struggling at 'adulting' lately.  I want to get my own place, I want to finish school, I want to jump straight into my dream job.  What's holding me back?  Money!
In order to get an apartment, I would need to get a third job.  To continue my education, I would need to get a fourth job.  And a fifth job.  By then, I won't even have time for school.  So maybe I should just quit my jobs (note to boss:  I'm not quitting any time soon!  Don't panic!) and take out a loan...or seven.  That way, I can finish school, get my dream job, and spend the rest of my life earning money to give back to the bank.  This is the American dream, people!
And don't get me started on the privileges of being an adult.  As a child, I longed for the day when I could finally eat a bowl of ice cream without someone telling me I couldn't.  Now that I can, I find that I shouldn't.  I've got to stay healthy.  My quick metabolism is quickly slowing down.  All that ice cream just sits in my gut.  Most men have a beer belly.  I have a mint chocolate chip belly.
Now, back to school.  I hated high school with a passion.  I couldn't wait to get out of there.  Now, I wish I were back, not in high school, per se, but back to going to school for free.  Back to the teachers handing out free copies of the textbooks.  Back to $2 cardboard pizzas instead of $15 salads.  Ok, scratch that.  Maybe I don't miss the food so much.  But you get my point.  I miss the days when things were handed to me on a cheap green, plastic tray rather than having to pay for my silver platter.
The worst thing about an adult, though, is that I had no choice.  Adulthood was thrust upon me.  High school graduation, which should be one of my proudest memories, is now one of my greatest regrets.  I didn't choose the adult life.  The adult life chose me.  And it chose poorly.