I’m hoping this quote is true in my case of dealing with my step-family.
Who is this Jean De La Breyere who wrote the quote anyway? It seems he was a 1600s French philosopher and moralist who was noted for his satire. So, does that make this quote some tongue-in-cheek advice? Nah, I know better. I’ve lived through difficulties that did cause amazing things to manifest.
Anyone have advice on tactfully dealing with an adult step-child who can’t get her life together? She always needs financial help, won’t work outside the home, and has divorced twice in a decade? I love this young woman. She is generous, loving, and has a wonderful sense of humor. She would give you the shirt off of her back, wake at 3 a.m. to help a friend in need, or hold your hand at a scary doctor visit. So, I’m completely confused as to what my role is in this situation.
I’ve decided to follow my mom’s and dad’s advice and step back, hush, and let my wise husband deal with his daughter during this time of her second divorce from a man who is abusive emotionally (and could be physically, if he’s been drinking). I won’t resent my husband or his decisions because that is his child. I have two grown kids of my own. How would I feel if one of them got himself or herself into that type of trouble?
Yeah, I know.
Step-parenting is hard and full of gray areas. When in doubt, I’m going to trust my intelligent and loving husband’s choices because he is smart enough to know how much is too much, I trust.
I have many readers of this blog; might you share your ways of dealing with blended families? I’d love to hear them. Comments must be approved before appearing on this post, so if you tell me you’d rather keep yours private, will do!
Thanks, and best of luck in all of our blended families. Love you guys!
I’ve never believed in spirits or otherworldly things . . . until two days ago. I’ve been on this earth for 53 years and am, for the first time, freaked out by a spiritual matter. My daughter took a selfie from her cell phone of herself and her three kids on Halloween night. The kids weren’t even dressed in costumes. They sat in the car in their other grandma’s driveway off of a country road with little traffic. What showed up on the picture was ghastly and hard to write off as a fake. My daughter, C, said she hadn’t altered the photo at all.
Here it is:
Sitting in my grandson’s lap is an eerie visage of a woman staring back at the camera. Hard to miss, huh? I told you, I’m not one to “look” for these kinds of things. I’m a major skeptic with a degree in science, so this literally kept me from a decent night’s sleep when I received it from C.
What do you think? Do you see it? Do you believe in ghosts? What DO you believe?
The picture does NOT do this soup justice. It’s the easiest and tastiest potato soup ever! Basic flavors but FULL of flavor. Served with a loaf of freshly baked sourdough bread. Whole house smelled heavenly. Recipe below:
2 lbs Russet potatoes, chopped into 1 1/2″ cubes
1/2 C chopped yellow onion
1/2 C chopped celery
1 Can Evaporated Milk (NOT Eagle Brand type but Evaporated Milk)
4 Tbsp butter
3 Tbsp flour
Salt and Pepper
1 box chicken stock
Combine potatoes, onion, and celery into a large bowl. Add flour to coat. Add salt and pepper – pinches. Let sit for about ten minutes. Meanwhile, melt the butter in a soup pot. Add potato mixture and coat in butter. Add chicken stock and bring to a boil. Add evaporated milk and bring to boil. Simmer on low for 20-30 minutes or until potatoes are done. Stir occasionally. For a thicker soup, use a whisk to break up some of the cooked potatoes and stir into the soup’s juice. Add additional salt and pepper to taste. Serve with topping of bacon pieces and grated cheese if desired. This is my personal favorite potato soup recipe. It’s chunky and has a nice semi-thick base. Serves 4
They call at two
They call at three
Makes no real difference to me.
The dead . . .
They care not what time I am forced to rise
They care for nothing
Where are my scrub pants
Dirty from the last prep
Come, the dead urge me
I answer, after finding new pants
Soon you will be
Lovely as can be
And all because of me.
Just another day with death.
I don’t get it. Why do adults cheat when there isn’t real reason to? Example: I play bingo at a local community spot once a week. One older woman uses cards from weeks past that didn’t have wins . . . and she uses them in present weeks to “improve” her chances at winning a bingo. We noticed her playing extra cards with ink already on them, and we were told by those sitting next to her that she does this but when confronted, she merely became frustrated and threw away her current game.
I ask you, why does she do this (or try to) week after week? She isn’t destitute. She has a car and plenty of food. So, why lie and cheat? She knows better or she wouldn’t have to hide her actions.
The winnings are paid from the nonprofit company’s cash drawer that holds the other players’ game money. They paid for their games for the present night and aren’t lying or cheating but “Ethyl” is. She’s cheating the nonprofit out of funds that could be used to help people in real need, and she’s cheating her fellow bingo players who might have a chance to bingo the HONEST way. Ugh! Makes me angry.
The leader of the nonprofit told her he knew about her antics and to stop them or she would not be welcome back to our bingo games . . . then low and behold, he caught her “saving” already-played games for future nights. He made her throw away her current cards as she used them.
It’s like babysitting an unethical kid. I suggested we kick her out weeks back but the leaders are trying to give her a chance to shape up. Yeah, right.
Liars and cheaters really tick me off.
There’s nothing innocent about it. Nothing cute about it. And nothing “ok” about it. Ethyl, stop it!
I need to hang around with my real friends – ones who are ethical, honest, and play fairly. I think I’ll do a little reading from a book by the Dalai Lama about treating other creatures with respect and care.
Wish me luck. LOL.
I woke at 3:30 this morning with a thought running through my head; write. I’ve been reading a book about how to get a first draft written in just 30 days. Well, I’m taking longer than 30 days but it’s working. Feels good to be on this decade-long project again with a fresh eye.
Are you one of the millions of Americans who think he/she has a good book in his/her head? If so, start it. Don’t sit paralyzed because you think you need an extensive outline or a dozen developed characters to start. Just begin writing and see where it takes you. If nothing else, you’ll enjoy the process. There are no hard and fast rules.
Writing has come naturally to me since I was a young girl. I churned out poetry, stories, and goofy limericks. Recently, I’ve penned some hilarious Senyru poems (like a haiku but funny and usually about people).
Want to share what you have written? Send me a note and maybe I can offer a suggestion or two. Let me know in the comments section below. I have many subscribers to this blog, so I can’t help all.
Take away? Please put your fingers to the keyboard and express yourself. I’ll leave you with a Senyru poem for the day (5-7-5 syllable lines). Have an awesome one!
Nurse Anne took samples
Samples of pee to the lab
Her work pissed her off
LOL! Sorry it’s tacky but it’s what I came up with in the moment. Bye, all . . .
Hi guys! Here’s me in a quickie costume. My bestie and I went to a MAJOR scary haunted bus tour then onto a haunted house.
Here we are before the trip:
We are one happy pair, eh? Here is a pic of us with a frighteningly real girl who had her mouth sewn almost closed. (shiver)
Fun night but Becca and I wound up crying in her driveway at the end of the night. Why? Because we were belly-laughing at goofy crap we had seen that night and how we reacted to it all. From my driving to her screaming, “Shit!” when a monster lunged at her (in front of eight 10-year olds) . . . we had a ball.
Suggestion – do something fun with a best friend. It changes your whole week. Love y’all~
The hours after a Bipolar Mixed Episode are like watching a scary movie. I keep my hands over my eyes and peek through my fingers. What unintentional damage did I do this time? Who did I reach out to and spill my (very personal) guts to? How many mean and demeaning things did I say to my husband? Did others notice my expression and down-turned eyes when I had to leave the dinner we were attending? If it hits me while I’m in public, I have to find a way out of the people because my mood definitely shows in my face. No playing “just fine” at these times. Many times, I’ll blog. Writing has always been my outlet. Even as a ten year old, I wrote “escape” poetry. I finally took you guys along with me last night during an episode (you lucky people). 😉 Well, today is a new day, and I broke the mood cycle with sleep. Life still isn’t perfect but at least I can deal with things differently today.
Bless you, my readers and subscribers. Have an awesome day ~
It’s been a day of hard issues. Please forgive my disjointed organization of thought. I’m taking you with me on a bout with Bipolar Mixed episode. I have depression paired with anxiety at the moment. I feel anger, rage actually. I want to die. Not to threaten it but to actually do the deed. I don’t because of my two kids and my mother. I love them too much to put them through a loss like that, so I’m stuck in this mental illness with no real way out. Meds work most of the time. Not tonight. I feel lonely – like I am ultimately responsible for myself, and I hate that. It’s scary and a lonely place to be. I’ve always been a sheltered child and then a sheltered woman. One of my problems is that I can’t organized my thoughts to keep a job for longer than a year but also can’t receive government aid (as income). It’s a terrible cycle which causes me much anxiety and depression. Here is how it starts – the bipolar/mania cycle. As I type, the words on the screen are blurry, and I make a lot of spelling errors. I long for the long seep. The end of all of these roller coaster of emotions. Medications can only do so much for me. I’ve dealt with this for nine years. I’m TIRED of fighting with it. I hope I can sleep tonight. I hope when I wake, it’s a happy new day. But I don’t know. I hang in the abyss of a universe with stars blinking brightly, hurting my eyes. I float too closely to the planets. It’s sometimes hard to breathe in this dark vast space. Other times I get lungs full of fresh air. Hope is all I have. It stays somewhere deep in my core, a tiny flame that doesn’t seem to go out even when high winds or heavy rains cover it. I am inwardly thankful for that flame. It promises another day that might be a good one. One with sunshine on my face and bird songs in my ears.