A Wise Man Once Said...

Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.

~Oscar Wilde

Woman? Me???

Um, recently, someone referred to me as a "woman". I was like, "Who -- ME?" I think I may have even turned around to see if there was a woman behind me.

I don't know why... but it sort of bugged me the entire day. I always refer to myself and my friends or sisters as "the girls". We even have "Girls' Night Out"... not "Women's Night Out".

Being called "ma'am" doesn't bother me in the least bit. In fact, I accept it as a form of respect. But -- WOMAN? That's what I call those ladies whom, y'know.... are my mother's age! (no offense, Mom...)

When did I grow up?

The Girl Pallbearer

At my friend's father's funeral last year, there was a Girl Pallbearer. It stood out to me at first because I had never seen a girl pallbearer before. Then again, there's no reason it can't be a girl, right? I guess it's just another one of those things that we typically think falls to the men. I think it's sort of cool, actually. Have any of you seen a woman pallbearer before?

That brings me to another question. What other "jobs" do you typically see fall to a man, even though there is no reason a girl couldn't do it? (and I'm not talking about a man in the workplace, woman in the kitchen type of debate discussion...so don't go all women's lib on me here...)

Ok, so now that I've got Pallbearer on the brain, here is a phrase from a song that is now stuck in my head!!! (Bonus pts if you know the reference!)

I had a dream that I had to drive to Madison

to deliver a painting for some silly reason

I took a wrong turn and ended up in Michigan

Pallbearer road took me to a giant tire swing

Little Mis-Behavin? Me?

Saw this sign posted behind the counter at the Sunshine Cafe last week.

I laughed when I read it - and of course had to take a pic for the blog. Perhaps it's because I don't consider myself a "well-behaved woman". Don't get me wrong; I'm not like some "evil" woman or trouble-maker or anything. But definitely not some bun-sporting, wool-wearing prude either.

I showed it to three friends of mine. Here were their reactions:

"That's Awesome! Totally an Emma-Blog-Thing!"

"Hmmm [complete with furrowed brow]. What does that mean?"

Then this from a man...

"Perhaps making history isn't always a good thing."

What the Freak?

What do you think? Funny sign? Poor Taste? Women should be proper? WHAT??? TELL ME NOW!!! I'm dying to know!!!

Becoming a Woman. Period.

The other day my friend and I were discussing maturation and embarrassing moments of tweens' & teens' lives. It reminded me of one of mine. I laughed so hard that I cried as I told him about it. I told him I was going to blog about it. His response? "Wow. Maybe you oughtta just keep that one to yourself." Nah! What's the fun in that???

In 6th grade, I entered Heritage Middle School, feeling so grown up to be leaving Elementary School behind. I remember the awkward maturation "discussion" that was held one afternoon as all of the boys piled into the science labs, and all of the girls were ushered into the math rooms.

The girls' "lecturers" were the school nurse, a secretary from the front office, and a math teacher. They were going to collectively teach us what Becoming a Woman was all about. During their lecture, the Nurse indicated that we will all mature at different stages - and that if any of us were to ever "mature" during the school day that she has some "supplies" down in the nurse's station. The Secretary pipes in and says that we can also come down to the office and explain that we "need a dime" and that she will understand it is for the "vending machine" of tampons and maxi pads in the restrooms. She states that she will provide such said dime with "no questions asked". I make a mental note.

Being the overachiever that I am, I started my period that year, though luckily it was a Sunday morning. Cramps were so bad, I thought I was going to die. But the rule in our home was you didn't miss church unless you were throwing up or had a fever. So, off I went with the family to Sunday worship services. I spent almost the entire church experience in the fetal position on the sofa in the foyer. My mother checked on me periodically, no pun intended.

After about 4 days, it seemed Aunt Flo had packed her bags and went home. Whew, I thought. I'm glad that is over. Guess again. Apparently, Aunt Flo was just taking a quick break. For, as soon as I got to homeroom that Thursday morning, she had returned. I panicked. I was unprepared. I quickly approach BaldTeacher and explain to him that I need the restroom pass. "Negative," he replies. "You know the rules. This is first period -" how appropriate, I thought. "and I don't give out bathroom passes during first period Homeroom." I tell him it is urgent. Request denied.

I return to my seat, and quickly whisper to BFF-Stef what is happening. She affirms that BaldTeacher is a Jerk (well - she had a better name for him). She comforts me by giving me her jacket to wear around my waist and reminds me that I just need to go down to the office after class and "ask for the dime".

The bell rings and I am off to the office. Lo and behold, CuteBoy1 & CuteBoy2 are sitting there waiting to see the principle about the fight they had just been in. A different secretary is working that day. I give her the code, whispering to her that I need a dime. Secretary2 is clueless. In her loud grating voice, she asks, "For what? What do you need a dime for???" I again, trying to keep my voice down, whisper I need "the dime" and added a little head nod, as if to say "it's the code!"

Secretary2 remains oblivious as she continues to question my motives in her abrasive nasally tone. At this point the nurse happens to walk into the office. I practically grab her as she walks past and plead, "I need a dime". Secretary2 looks at nurse inquisitively as if to say, "do you know what she is talking about?" The light bulb comes on, and the Nurse says, "Ohhh! A Dime! Come with me!"

The nurse escorts me back to her little corner office and offers me an array of feminine hygiene products. She also asks if I need to call my mom for a change of clothes. "Yes please," I reply practically in tears. I make the call, and NurseMom is on the way. CuteBoys are still in the front office awaiting their trial & sentencing. Soon I hear my mother enter the office.

"I brought a change of clothes for my daughter," she announces in this booming voice that just seems to echo through the corridors of time. "Geesh," I think to myself. "Could she be any more embarrassing?" The answer to that was, Yes. The secretary shows her the way to the nurses' station, wherein she produces a HUGE Brown Paper Grocery sack containing the change of clothes. Real discreet. At this point I am mortified at what CuteBoys must be thinking.

I use the restroom in the nurse's office, make the quick change and hand NurseMom the soiled clothes back in the grocer's bag. I guess I should just be grateful it was a brown paper sack and not a see-thru gallon size "freezer" bag.

I am sure my face was stained as scarlet as my clothes as I was paraded back through the office in front of CuteBoys. I could hear their whispers but did the best I could to avoid their stares. I shared my last class of the day with CuteBoy1 & CuteBoy2, and sat right in front of both of them. Totally humiliating. I always wondered what they thought about that day.

Moral of the story??? There are a few actually.

1) Be more prepared in life - as depending on others, such as BaldTeacher and Secretary2 will often just lead to disappointment.

2) I should have simply told BaldTeacher the truth. "I'm having my period and need to go to the restroom." Chances are at hearing the word "period", I would have been permitted to go anywhere I desired, so long as I stopped talking about it.

3) Remember this incident, and try not to embarrass my own daughter, should one day she need to call home. I mean, seriously, NurseMom - what were you thinking???

Oh - and By the way - my friend told me that the only thing he really remembers about his maturation "class" was that afterwards he asked one of the girls if she would trade "pamphlets" with him. Ha Ha Ha. Smart move. Probably could have profited from it - charging the other boys for a "glimpse". Too bad she said No.

Mother's Day

I am the worst daughter on the planet! So, yesterday was Mother's Day, which really meant more work for me - ha ha. Got up, got the kids up, got ready for church (work). Had to play the piano for the children who sang to their Mothers at church(work). Afterwards, went home, made a nice "Mother's Day Dinner" of pot roast and gravy, creamy homemade mashed potatoes, and sweet corn (more work, work, work). Then I had dishes to do (work).

I was so exhausted, that by 6 pm I had to lay down to take a well-deserved Mother's Day nap. Being that I don't have family around, I didn't really have any place to be. Besides, I "worked" really hard that day, and didn't I deserve a nap? Being a single mom, no one else was gonna do anything for me on Mother's Day, right? So, this was my gift to myself.

At this point, I tell the kids I'm going out for the count and if I so much as hear loud laughter, clamorous chatter, or boisterous bickering, severe punishments will be handed out. Of course, they know the drill. They are well aware that when Mom doesn't get her Sunday nap in, the whole week goes to H-E-Double Hockey Sticks in a handbasket!

Anyway, I was so focused on me that I totally forgot to call my own Mother!!! I thought a lot about her throughout the week as well as throughout the day. If we lived close by I am sure I would be the sort of daughter that would cook her dinner or something (I was always the brown-nosing goody-goody). I meant to call her in the morning, but I thought she might be at church, and I didn't want to leave her a message. A voice-mail Mother's Day wish would be sort of lame, afterall. "Nah," I thought. "I'll call her when I get home from church." Well, all of the "work" set in and I had so much to do. Then I was so tired, and thought, "I'll just lay down for a few minutes, and call her when I get up." However, I ended up sleeping for about 4 hours. By the time I got up, I realized that she would be heading off to her graveyard shift at the hospital, and Mother's Day was officially over!

So there you have it...me...the worst daughter. Could it really get any worse than that? Yes!!! Because when I got to work this morning and opened my email, I found that I received an email from her on Mother's Day! My grandmother, Velma Louise Lawson Griffith had passed away in 1980, from Diabetes. My youngest sister hadn't even been born yet. My own mother was only 27 years old at the time. Her Mother's Day email was a tribute to her mother. Here she was lamenting her own mother, and I didn't even have the decency to honor my mother, who is still alive!

So, I ponder that this morning. If I were 27 years old (that would be 7 years ago) and my mother died, how would my own life be different? I can't imagine not having my mom around for the significant events in my life. My mother was there for me when my children were born, or shortly thereafter. My Mother was able to attend baby blessings at church. My mother was able to come to each of their baptisms, and several of their birthdays, even though she lived far away. My mother was there when I had surgeries. My Mother even came from other states to babysit my children so I could go out of town, or attend week-long trainings at work.

I have been able to call my mother and "cry on her shoulder" and she would listen without criticism. Many times, I would already be in tears, unable to speak when she picked up the phone. Before I could even get a word out, she would say, "What's wrong, Emma?" I would listen as she gave advice, and offered up words of wisdom and comfort and peace. I would hear her as she would say, "You can do hard things" and "Put your trust in the Lord", and "You don't have to do this alone". I have just went through the hardest two years of my life. I kept my burdens a secret from most of my siblings until my divorce was final. But my mother knew all along, and she worried and she prayed, and she offered up her support. How could I have gone through all of this without my mother?

And why is it fair that I get to have my mother here to support me, and she doesn't get to have hers? I don't know the answer to that. And truthfully, my mom isn't the sort of person to feel sorry for herself to even ask that question. I realize that most of the strength I do have, I have because of my mother. Most of the talents I have are because of my mother and her encouragement. Many of the good things I do in my life are because of the things I have learned from my mother.

So, today, the day after Mother's Day, I want my mom to know that I love her and appreciate her for everything she has ever done for me, for everything she didn't know that she did for me, and for everything she will continue to do for me and for everything she will continue to be.

I love you mom! Hope you had a great Mother's Day!!!

Emma

Inner Strength

One's perception of "inner strength" is relative, depending on one's background, life-style and experiences.

For example my Grandmother, Velma Louise Lawson Griffith, felt that being a "strong woman" meant having a strong hand with her children. It meant not showing emotion in public. It meant never having to apologize even when she knew she was wrong. It meant working hard and never complaining. Anything other than this, was what Grandma Griffith viewed as signs of weakness. She wanted to be a strong woman. I think this was common of her generation. Perhaps it stems from being a child of the Depression Era. Have you noticed that these people never smiled in their photographs? I remember an old black & white photo of some of my ancestors; all of them bearing stoic expressions. Definitely a product of the Depression; even the photo is depressing. No one looks happy.

My mother was a Baby Boomer. For clarification, Baby Boomers are those born between 1946 - 1963. Then women discovered "the pill" and our nation began to see a sharp decline in births. My mother was born in the midst of this. She can remember when she was "allowed" to wear pants to school. Girls wearing pants to school? Women taking birth control pills? What's next?Shaving legs? Going to college? Working outside the home? That's exactly what happened. Feminism was unleashed with a vengeance. Women of this generation were said to be "strong".

It's true that I come from a long line of "strong women", and I feel this pressure to be strong myself. I was raised to have my own opinions. I was raised to think for myself, and to have enough confidence in myself to stand up for the things I believe in. In this respect, I feel I am just as strong as my mother, and her mother, and her mother's mother. But the inner strength I desire, or sometimes need, goes well beyond that.

Some days it takes all my inner strength to get up out of bed, or to do the laundry, or even cook dinner. It takes all my inner strength to put a smile on my face and go to work in the morning or to church on Sundays; to face the world. It's not depression. I've been there before, and that can be dark. This is more...exhaustion, maybe? I suppose some would call it laziness or lack of motivation. Perhaps those words are more befitting. Or maybe it's because I look at my life today and realize I am in a place I never imagined I would be. Maybe I'm just feeling overwhelmed by it all.

Sometimes, when someone tells me that I am a strong person, I want to scream, "I don't feel strong!" I watched the "Emma Smith: My Story" movie last week. It was sort of apropos to the way I had been feeling. The motif was all about Inner Strength. The quote that sticks out in my mind most is "We don't just have strength, we have to find it." I had to remind myself that only I can determine my own happiness. If I lack motivation, I have to be the one to find it. If I feel weak, it is up to me to find strength.

I also like that quote because it says we have to find strength. The notion that we have to find it, indicates that it is lost, which in turn indicates we had it to begin with. God sent each of us here to earth with an innate sense of strength. However, it is through our mortal experiences in which we become chiseled down and lose that strength.

Now that I have reminded myself of this, I have to ask, "What am I doing to find strength?" The answer is all of a sudden very clear. I am already doing it. I am doing things each and every day to find strength. Strength comes through prayer, it comes through scripture study. Strength comes by way of others, through the tender mercies of the Lord. I know that I am meant to live where I live, have the friends I have, the church calling I have, the job I have and the family I have so that I can find strength. These are all tender mercies. The Lord has placed these people and these things in my life to remind me that I am not alone, and that I was not meant to do it alone. When I have no more strength to give, I can rely on the strength of others. This is the Lord's way of telling me he loves me, and that I am a child of God. And it is having this knowledge above all else, the knowledge that He loves me, that continues to give me strength.

Finding strength, I have come to learn, is a process. It's the whole, "one step at a time", "precept upon precept" process. When we learn that we are strong in one area of our life, we can move on to something else. It's not so much that we are strong in all things all the time, but more so that we continue to find strength in the little things and build upon those.

The point is we keep trying. We learn from our mistakes, we learn from our experiences, then we make a choice. And often the choices we make are more about the choices we leave behind.

And sometimes, just making the decision to choose is enough strength in and of itself - even if that choice is simply going back to bed.