I’ll be as strong as a mountain,
Or weak as a willow tree,
Anyway you want me,
Well that’s how I will be.

I’ll be as tame as a baby,
Or wild as the raging sea,
Anyway you want me,
Well that’s how I will be.

In your hands my heart is clay,
To take and hold as you may.
I’m what you make me, you’ve only to take me,
And in your arms I will stay.

I’ll be a fool or a wise man,
My darling you hold the key,
Yes, anyway you want me,
Well that’s how I will be,
I will be.

It’s been so long… I still think of you often and, as you know, drop in to say hi on occasion. I’ve just been insanely busy with work, school (both mine and The Boy’s), Immigration, IRS, apartment hunting, all while making as much time as possible for my husband and son, and maintaining a household. (I almost broke a sweat just writing all that.)

I miss writing. I miss the blogging community. I miss you, Rambling On, and I want to come home.

Love,
Lottie

I love you, Michael, and I will spend the rest of life doing everything I can to show you just how much. *smooch*

You Make Lovin’ Fun
Fleetwood Mac

Sweet wonderful you,
You make me happy with the things you do,
Oh, can it be so,
This feeling follows me wherever I go.

I never did believe in miracles,
But I’ve a feeling it’s time to try.
I never did believe in the ways of magic,
But I’m beginning to wonder why.

Don’t, don’t break the spell,
It would be different and you know it will,
You, you make loving fun,
And I don’t have to tell you you’re the only one.

You make loving fun.
You make loving fun.

joebartonwouldliketoapologize.com

(Every apology is a link, so keep clicking.)

Joe Barton is a fucking idiot!
(and that’s being kind)

There’s something I want to say here: words that keep brimming up in my head and won’t shut up. I’m reluctant to write them down; I cringe a bit at the thought of posting them; they’ve become such a cliche that it’s embarrassing to even think them. I never imagined that I’d say these words as anything other than a joke. I never imagined I would say them with any sort of sincerity or passion.

But if we don’t draw Mohammad, the terrorists win. — Greta Christina

Please read Why I’m Drawing Mohammad to gain a greater understanding of this.

Drawing by Sam Knight

Meet in the Middle

Diamond Rio

It was 700 fence posts from your place to ours
Neither one of us was old enough to drive a car
Sometimes it was rainin’; sometimes it would shine
We wore out that gravel road between your house and mine

I’d start walkin’ your way; you’d start walkin’ mine
We’d meet in the middle, ‘neath that old Georgia pine
We’d gain a lot of ground, ’cause we’d both give a little
Ain’t no road to long, when we meet in the middle

It’s been 7 years tomorrow since we said our vows
Under that old pine tree; you ought to see it now
Standin’ in the backyard remindin’ me and you
That if we don’t see eye to eye, there’s something we can do:

I’ll start walkin’ your way; you’ll start walkin’ mine
We’ll meet in the middle, ‘neath that old Georgia pine
We’ll gain a lot of ground, ’cause we’ll both give a little
Ain’t no road to long, when we meet in the middle

Babe I love the way we work it out
That’s what love is all about

January 23, 2009: The company I was working for laid off several hundred employees, myself included. Although I was frightened and uncertain about what the future might hold, there was one thing I was absolutely sure about: I wanted out of Texas!

I considered a few places and was almost settled on Portland, Oregon. I asked my best friend and chosen sister, Bonnie, if she would store some personal things for me until I was settled in someplace. She agreed and said that she would also “store” my son and me. Her offer came right after I had learned that Oregon’s unemployment was among the highest in the country at the time. The cost of living was also quite high. I didn’t know anyone there; I was just going to wing it, relying on a severance package, a tax refund and some unemployment benefits.

Shortly after I accepted Bonnie’s offer, she emailed me to say that her husband, Dale, had an idea: He would fly down to Texas, rent a truck, help us load our things, and drive us and our belongings to Minnesota. I was beside myself with gratitude! I had originally planned to take what I could fit into allowable luggage and leave the rest behind. We didn’t have much, but it was ours, and keeping it meant that we didn’t have to start from scratch once we were in our own place.

February 23, 2009: Dale arrived in a Penske truck, right on schedule. By 8:00 or so the next morning, we had finished loading everything we wanted to take, and were on the road. The trip took nearly two full days, and we arrived at the lovely home of Bonnie and Dale one year ago today. We were made to feel comfortable and welcome, and that has been the case ever since.

I had no idea how long I would be unemployed. I suppose the reality of how bad the economy was hadn’t registered with me. I thought I’d be working again in a month, maybe two, but certainly by summer. Boy, was I in for a shock!

Despite my diligence, I was still unemployed when New Year’s Eve rolled around, and I had a minor melt-down. I was beginning to feel defeated and hopeless, like I had let everyone down. I couldn’t find work, my husband and I couldn’t live on the same continent, and even if we could, I didn’t have our own place for him to move to. Our son, fast approaching adolescence, needed his dad around and was missing him more than ever.

Everything was coming down on me and I felt like I was being crushed by it.

I cried and poured my heart out to Bonnie and Dale. They were patient and reassuring, and I was able to pull myself together and get on with the day.

Later that afternoon, I worked up the courage to ask Bonnie about something that had been heavy on my mind: What if there was a way they could help get Mike here for good? This is something I struggled with; asking seemed so huge and I didn’t want to presume on our friendship. On the other hand, I wanted to trust our friendship enough to ask, and to know that even if she couldn’t help for some reason, she and I would be OK. So I asked Bonnie if she and Dale might consider being joint sponsors to Mike.

Anyone filing an immigrant visa petition must also be willing and able to sponsor the immigrant. To do so, the petitioner (me, in this case) must meet certain income requirements. Since I could not meet the income requirements, I would need to have a joint sponsor who could. Until Bonnie and Dale came along, I knew absolutely no-one that I could ask to do that.

Sponsorship of an immigrant to the U.S. is a contract with the government, and not something to be entered into lightly. Bonnie and Dale slept on it, gathered some information and had a few questions answered. Before the following working day had ended, Bonnie emailed me saying that they were on board, and asked what we should do next.

The following few weeks were spent gathering the documents and information needed to file the petition. We finally got everything together and mailed it to the United States Citizenship and Immigration Service on the 13th of February. Bonnie and Dale even loaned me the $355 filing fee, which I agreed to repay as soon as I received my tax refund.

Earlier that week, I had attended several job interviews, one of which resulted in a second interview being scheduled for the following day. The interview was with a stable company that could provide multiple opportunities for growth and advancement. That’s the one I wanted! My second interview was on Wednesday, February 10th, and I was told that they would make a decision by the end of the week and contact me the following Monday.

It didn’t even take that long! At around 4:00 Friday afternoon, I received a call from the HR department. I got the job! The one I had wanted more than any other job I had recently applied for! I only needed to pass a drug screen and criminal background check, and the job was mine!

I start working on Monday, March 1.

Things are clicking, right? Click, click, click… But wait, there’s more: Yesterday, Bonnie came in from work with the mail, and handed a couple of items to me. I froze when I saw the return address on one of them. It was from USCIS! Already? It hasn’t even been two full weeks! But there it was — the official Notice of Action, Form I-797C from the Department of Homeland Security! This is the document that I file along with the next petition for Mike’s K-3 visa, which will allow him to come live and work here while we work through the rest of the immigration process.

Yes, that’s right! After nine years of being in love and living an ocean apart, my darling husband could actually be here by this summer. I’m not holding my breath, of course. These things take time, but everything seems to be clicking right into place, so why not hope a little? One thing I know for sure is that the next time we see each other, it will be for keeps. This is it — no more goodbyes!

None of this would be possible, mind you, without Bonnie and Dale. They have gone above and beyond the call of friendship, sharing their home with us for over a year and agreeing to co-sponsor Mike so that we can finally be together, once and for all. Their patience and generosity still amazes me because it exceeds that of anyone else I have ever known. I could go on about how wonderful they both have been, and continue to be, but even if I had the vocabulary, mere words would be completely inadequate. It is through these two amazing people that Mike, Sam and I have come to know what it’s like to be part of a loving and supportive family: one that genuinely cares about our happiness and well-being

Bonnie told me, shortly after we arrived here this time last year, that she wanted our lives to be better than they’ve ever been. Well, that has certainly come to pass. I have a nice, secure job with a stable company, we’ll be moving to our own apartment in June and my husband can finally come and live with me! All that aside, though, I have found friendship that I never knew existed, and the unconditional love of a family that I know I can trust — something that has never come easy to me.

I’m having difficulty wrapping this up, so I will close by simply thanking Bonnie and Dale for everything they have done for our family and for welcoming us into their own. I am confident that our friendship will continue to grow and strengthen throughout the coming years, and I will do everything in my power to make it happen.

People like Bonnie and Dale make the world a better place, and I am better off for having them in my life.

Children are worthy of respect.

Novel concept, eh? Children are individuals; they are thinking, feeling human beings with minds and ideas of their own. While we may have no idea where they’re coming from sometimes, or why they do some of the things they do — especially during adolescence — children and teenagers deserve to be treated with the same dignity and respect afforded to those members of the human race who just happen to be older than them.

Being an adult does not entitle me to belittle or devalue someone simply because s/he is a child.

My son will be thirteen in less than four months. He is experiencing a lot of physical and psychological changes, and sometimes I feel like I don’t even know him. He is moody and cranky a lot of the time, even rude and disrespectful. Much of what I say to him goes in one ear and out the other, and sometimes his logic fails me. But snide, condescending responses to these things will only drive a wedge between us and broaden the gap in our communication.

It is my responsibility as an adult and a parent to model the type of behavior I expect from my child.

Adults are not automatically worthy of respect from children.

Respect is earned, and that applies to adults as well as to children. I will never insist that my son respect someone who disrespects him. That is not to say that I will allow him to behave disrespectfully toward another person, regardless of age. Not respecting someone and behaving disrespectfully toward that person are two different things. We can be courteous or civil to people whom we do not respect — it’s an important part of functioning in society. But if you want to be treated with respect, which I believe goes above courtesy or civility, then I’ll need a reason other than your date of birth.

If you want respect, then behave respectfully and respectably. Talking down to people, making them feel stupid or embarrassed for not seeing things your way or for not knowing or understanding something that seems obvious to you is not only disrespectful and hurtful, it is a form of emotional abuse that can permanently damage someone’s self-esteem, especially a vulnerable child.

Questions are good things.

I’m glad that my son is inquisitive, and that he comes to me with questions. I have always encouraged this and will continue to do so, regardless of how difficult his questions may become over the years. It keeps the communication flowing, and that is a vital part of any parent-child relationship. It’s important to try to give honest, straightforward answers whenever possible — even if the answer is, “I don’t know, but let’s look it up and see what can find.” I think this shows children that we’re interested in them, even if the topic doesn’t interest us that much.

On the flip side, my mother seemed irritated by questions. She seemed to regard them as some sort of intrusion, like answering to the likes of some snot-nosed kid was utterly beneath her. Even questions designed solely to make conversation or show interest were met with obvious annoyance and sarcastic responses. I learned at a very young age not to ask questions unless I wanted to be hurt and humiliated. I will not pass that lesson along to my son!

Different just means different.

Try telling that to my mother. She never seemed to understand that individual people have individual preferences and ways of doings things.

Wait, I take that back. She does understand that. What she does not seem to understand is that these kinds of differences do not make anyone inferior to her. Different just means different, and preferences cannot be incorrect by definition. There is more than one way to fold a bath towel, and none of them are right or wrong. They’re just different. Some people prefer mayonnaise, some prefer mustard. Neither preference is incorrect or inferior.

With my mother, there was never any room for individuality. As for me, my son’s emotional well-being and self-esteem are far more important than what he prefers to put on a sandwich, or having my dishes stacked to precision.

These are just a few lessons I learned from my hypercritical mother. I no longer have a relationship with her. The last and final straw was when I took my son back to my hometown and stupidly attempted to reconcile with her.

Nothing had changed. If anything she had become even worse over the years. She was just as controlling and critical of me as she had always been. But when she started directing her venom toward my son, I knew that it had to end. I simply refuse to subject my son to it. Shared DNA does not equal a healthy relationship and I will protect my son in every way possible from the effects of abuse in any form.

Do I always get it right? Absolutely not! I am talking to myself here as much as to anyone else. I hope that sharing this publicly will help to make me even more conscious, and accountable as well. I love my son more than anything in this world, and I want to do right by him in every way.