The relationship between blogger and reader can be tenuous. As a blogger you are making the choice to allow strangers into your life. You, as the blogger, are TRUSTING your reader to be gentle and to understand that there is a person behind the words. The problem is that as a reader it is easy to forget about the human side. And then there are comments.

Most bloggers love comments. That is they love comments until somebody disagrees with them. Then the comments disappear. This can cause a breach in the reader/blogger relationship. Some readers disgusted and disappointed, that their favorite blogger has chosen to delete opposing views abandons them. Some bloggers, crushed by the personal fervor and pointed criticism slink off into darkness and anonymity licking their bruises.

I do think that most of this hurt and bad blood comes from misunderstandings and expectations. Let me lay down the tenets of comments.

Tenet #1
This is MY blog. I have chosen to establish a little corner of the Internet and have labeled it as such. This means I can do with this space whatever I bloody well feel like. I can allow comments or not allow comments. You can read, or not read.

Tenet #2
I might, periodically, write about controversial issues. This might cause you to have passionate feelings, feelings that make you want to scream from the mountain top that “Beth is an idiot”. Well, let me clear some things up. I pretty much already know I’m an idiot so you don’t have to tell me that. Feel free to leave a thoughtful, respectful comment indicating that you disagree with me. I would be flattered that you are reading and took the time to comment. Do not leave me a foul-mouthed diatribe of how I smell, am stupid and my mother’s a goat. This kind of comment I will NOT publish.

Tenet #3
Don’t use my comment space to spam me or to somehow delicately push your completely unrelated blog/article/deoderant product

Tenet #4
I am a person. I do have a family and friends who read this blog. When you say mean things to me it hurts, I cry and sometimes my family gets angry. Ask yourself before commenting, “would I say this to her face?” If the answer is yes but still includes pointed, personal attacks than don’t leave the comment, but seek the assistance of a professional mental health expert.

Tenet #5
If your comment is filled with so many grammatical errors and bad spelling that I think YOU would look like an idiot I will not publish it. I am an English teacher afterall and I must maintain standards.

I hope this clears up expectations, lays some foundation principles with which we can build a healthy line of communication. Go ahead, comment. I promise I’ll listen.

I realize that most people don’t even know the name of their university president and definitely could not point to the guy if

they saw him. Dr. Diether Haenicke, president of Western Michigan University, was different. During the first days of every school year, while parents and students were busily moving their belongings back into their dorm rooms, Dr. Haenicke would drive around in his golf cart greeting students and parents. He was warm and friendly and you would think that he was in charge of a small high school instead of a large state university. It was important to him that the school truly felt like a home away from home and so the grounds were immaculately kept with fresh flowers constantly being planted, shrubs trimmed and grass mowed. He kept open office hours where anybody could come and talk to him about anything and these hours were published in the student newspaper every semester. It was during these open office hours that my friend Kym and I went to visit him.

At the time we worked for the residence hall system and as a staff that had faced everything from a suicide to drunken brawls we were feeling under appreciated. We went to Dr. Haenicke’s office in order to garner more benefits for student employees. Dr. Haenicke greeted us and invited us to sit down. His office was large and warm but not ostentatious. We firmly laid out our complaint. We worked long hours, we handled tough situations AND we were students and although our room and board was paid for that just didn’t seem like enough. Our argument was weak, but Dr. Haenicke never let on that he knew that. He carefully listened and then in his heavy German accent said, “So, you vould like more varm fuzzies no?” Kym and I smiled at each other, giggled, and said “yes.” He perked up, called in his assistant and in a most serious tone said “Please note that ve must plan a special dinner for a student staff.” He then turned to Kym and I and said, “Vill that be okay?” We nodded silently. He stood up, shook our hands and said “my little vhiners. Ok, ve vill do this.” Three months later the entire university student staff was invited to a catered dinner and free tickets to see Bill Cosby live. From that moment on, whenever Kym and I saw Dr. Haenicke he would hug us and say, “my little vhiners”.

Dr. Haenicke loved being president, he loved Western Michigan University, and he loved his students. You would see him everywhere and he was always excited to see you. This past Sunday Dr. Haenicke died. It feels strange to shed tears over somebody that I knew so little but his influence was felt everywhere while I was in college. He was a great educator, a wonderful administrator and WMU was lucky to have him as a president.

I was almost too old to be riding a bike but at fourteen I had no other means of transportation. I had a green ten-speed that had been a hand me down from my older sister. It wasn’t fancy but I didn’t mind. My friend Laura lived just outside of our subdivision entrance and even though my mother normally didn’t like me riding past her line of sight, this seemed harmless.

I don’t really remember what Laura and I did that summer afternoon but I suspect it focused on talking about boys at our school. Dinner time was fast approaching and the sun was low. I climbed onto my bicycle and began my trip home. It was warm and muggy and my skin stuck to the plastic of the small seat. The air felt good as it whipped through my light t-shirt and cotton shorts, so I pedaled faster, confident in my skills.

Each house was neatly tucked behind trees and rolling hills and my ten-speed easily managed the changing terrain. At fourteen, the strength and energy it takes to ride up and down hills was readily available and my legs pumped easily. As I crested the last of the big hills I took my hands off the handlebars to wipe the moisture off of my face. The bike began to waiver, I quickly lost my balance and before I could react, me and the bike went tumbling down the hill.

I stood up. There were no cars to be seen in either direction. I was safely hidden from view by anyone in a house due to the towering pines. I looked down and saw raw, bloodied skin from my calf to my butt. It was simple road rash, but it was bad. I stood there unsure of what to do. I had never been hurt this badly without a “grown-up” near at hand. How could I have let this happen? Where was my mommy? What should I do now?

I gingerly swung my leg over my bike but it was obvious I was not going to be riding home. My skin was sticky with blood and the pain and soreness was quickly setting in. I’d have to walk the last 1/8 of a mile. I felt small and shameful as I slowly crept into the driveway. I had taken my first shot at independence and failed. My mother would never allow me to do anything alone ever again – of this I was sure. I knew the hysterics that would be waiting for me behind our front door. I decided right then that I would not cry. If she knew that I had been scared, that I had faltered I would be a prisoner the rest of my life. I would laugh at it all and prove to her that I was grown up.

I opened the front door and quietly walked into the kitchen. I confidently said “hi”. My mother turned around and shrieked. “OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? ARE YOU OKAY? DID YOU BREAK ANYTHING? SIT DOWN. NO!! DON’T SIT DOWN, STAND UP! WAIT – I’LL GO GET THE PEROXIDE.” I don’t really remember what happened after that, but I do know that I did not cry.

That muggy, sticky, summer day marked my first step towards adulthood. It is the moments when things go horribly wrong and your reaction to them that builds an adult. It is failing, falling, floundering and learning to regain your equilibrium that ushers in being a “grown-up”. I wonder if I will have the same fortitude my parents had to send me out alone on my ten-speed to face the unknown when it is Lucy’s turn to start her path into adulthood.
_____________________________________________________________
Wish me luck as I enter this month’s Write Away Contest at Scribbit.

Valentine’s day is not a big holiday in our house. We don’t decorate, David and I don’t make special plans. Heck, we’re lucky if we both remember to buy a card. In the greater scheme of life there are bigger, more important holidays. However, this year I have so many fun ideas for Valentine’s day I want to do them all. I thought I would share a little collection of great recipes I’ve found over the past couple of weeks:

This is one I’m actually going to do myself. It is homemade chocolate covered “heart” pretzels. It looks super easy and yummy. This idea is from Make and Takes and if you aren’t already checking out her great craft ideas you are missing out.

This is a recipe for red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting which looks like the perfect cupcake recipe if you are trying to impress. I’ve been thinking about making these for David’s office.

This is a great recipe for school because it is a bar recipe. Valentine’s day blondies with M&M’s. So sweet, cute and easy. I might make these too.

And then finally this lovely entry by Ezra Pound Cake – These heart cakes are far too much for me, but so lovely to look at.

Happy Valentine’s Day Y’all!!
————————————————————————————————
My mother emailed me instantly this morning to remind me of a marshmallow Peeps recipe she had seen in a magazine. Although I’m sure this is not the one she found I did think this was a cute idea and makes you think of all the fun things you can do with Peeps. With every holiday season bringing it’s own style and colors of Peeps the possibilities are endless.

Every job has tasks that you don’t like doing. When I was a project manager it was budgets, as a teacher it is grading homework, and as a mom it is laundry. It is a never-ending task that is just annoying. The minute you finish it you have to start again. As a result I wait until I ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO do laundry to get it done.

Recently, David bought me two of these wire laundry hampers from “The Container Store” for our bathroom and I instantly fell in love. First of all, even my husband knows the difference between lights and darks and so now the laundry is pre-sorted. Thus, it removes one step in the hated laundry process. To be honest, if I had the space I would buy a third one for towels, but my closet just isn’t that big. Second, they have wheels. Do you see those on the bottom? Well, for a woman with chronic back problems this is a miracle from God. As soon as one gets full I simply wheel it into the laundry room, toss everything in, and wheel it back. It is such a pleasant experience now I’m surprised little animated blue birds aren’t singing on my shoulder while I’m doing this.

I still hate doing laundry but having the laundry pre-sorted and using these lovely baskets defnitely Works For Me

I awake Saturday morning, I walk into the kitchen and ask David, “Do you want me to make you something for breakfast? omelet? oatmeal? anything?” David easily responds, “Nah, I’m not really hungry.”

I DECIDE TO MAKE BREAKFAST FOR MYSELF

I pull the bacon out of the fridge and then the eggs and then IT BEGINS.

David: oh, are you making yourself an omelet? (with longing in his eyes)
Me: Yes, would you like one?
David: Yeah, that looks good
Me: No, problem. (I make him an omelet)
Max: MOMMY I WANT EGGIES TOO!
Me: ok, I’ll make you some eggs
Lucy: I want a waffle Mommy – I’m hungry!
Me: ok, hold on, I’ll get that going
Lucy: Are you making bacon? I’d like some bacon
Me: ok, I’m making bacon. Does anybody want Juice?
David: I’d like a cup of milk
Max: JUICE!!!
Lucy: No.

Everybody finishes, pushes away from the table and leaves. I am now staring at a table full of dishes, two dirty skillets, a messy kitchen AND I STILL HAVEN’T EATEN BREAKFAST.

A day will come, a new dawn, a morning when I will get out of bed and make breakfast for myself — and no one else.

The latest Momversation is about breastfeeding and since we can’t all seem to get enough of this subject lets talk. I support breastfeeding and I think it is wonderful and I was a complete failure at it.

As any new mother I was anxious about labor, childbirth, being a mother, meeting my baby and all the other stuff that goes with new motherhood. Lucy was born five weeks early. Not early enough to be truly worried but early enough that when she was born she couldn’t breathe. Her rib cage strained up and down and at times I was amazed her ribs could withstand the pressure. Everybody reassured me not to worry and that this is common. As a new mother I didn’t know any better so I didn’t worry. It is only now when I look back at pictures of her connected to an IV, a breathing tube and monitors that I realize how not-normal it really was.

I couldn’t hold Lucy right away or even try to feed her. She needed oxygen and she needed to have her breathing stabilized. It would be several hours before I even saw her again and even longer before I could try to feed her. I held her small body in my arms, assumed the position and she latched right on. It was amazing. And then the burning, sharp, piercing pain followed. I couldn’t breathe. I instantly pulled her away. Surely it is not supposed to hurt this bad. The La Leche League was quickly dispatched. At one point I had my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, my sister-in-law’s mother, two La Leche League ambassadors, my husband, myself and Lucy all in the room at the same time. Oh, and I was naked from the waist up. My nipples bleeding and tears streaming down my face. I cried every time Lucy had to eat. I desperately wanted this to work. The La Leche League couldn’t help me. They didn’t know why it hurt so bad. Lucy latched perfectly but I was most definitely in severe pain and there was no denying that I was bleeding after only 24 hours of breastfeeding. We tried different positions. We tried meditating before nursing. We tried Vicodin. We tried pumping (which hurt equally as bad). I went home confused and Lucy was losing precious weight. She was at about 5lbs when we brought her home and was given the instructions that she could not drop below.

For 48 hours I dreaded feeding her. Every time she cried for food I cried. The sense of helplessness, mixed with the anxiety of being a new mother and sheer exhaustion pushed me to my brink of emotional ruin. I was falling apart and David could no longer bear seeing it. If I gave up I was admitting failure. I had failed her. I had failed myself. I couldn’t give up but I couldn’t continue. The normally, in control, decisive, get it done woman that David had married had dissolved into a crying, emotional shell of a person incapable of a coherent thought. David held me in his arms and said, “I support you regardless of your decision, but you need to do something because this isn’t good for anybody”. I was miserable. Lucy was miserable. I decided to bottle feed. David ran out and bought formula that night. Lucy and I quietly nestled into our recliner and I fed her.

The next morning I woke up scratching. My skin felt like it was on fire and itching all at the same time. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. What I saw was horrifying. I was covered in a bright red rash from my neck to my waist. It covered everything including my arms. Overnight I had developed Mastitis. Truly, a sign from God.

I say all this because for a long time I accepted every guilty glare and every snide remark that was ever tossed my way. I accepted the shame, the guilt, the failure of not breastfeeding. But now that I have perspective – well, it was the right decision for our family. David loved having the opportunity to feed the kids on Saturday mornings and have his own special bonding time. I instantly became a much more relaxed mother. Our family regained its equilibrium.

I support breastfeeding and I support mother’s who want to breastfeed in public. I just ask that for the rest of us – those who tried and failed – compassion, grace, and kindness.

Sometime around February when the Dallas winter is starting to wane and you can begin to see spring around the corner I forget that I miss the snow. I never imagined I would be the kind of person who likes living in a “sun” state. As a matter of fact I wrote in my senior year of high school that in ten years I would be living on the East coast. Hmm, yeah, didn’t quite work out that way. As all you cold state people begin to bemoan the long winter season, I wanted to provide you with a list of why you should appreciate living in a cold state.

Top Five Reasons For Living With Snow

1.) It’s beautiful. No two snowfalls are alike. Some snow floats down as if it was a holiday postcard from heaven. Other snow streams out of the sky like a torrent of ice bullets singular in purpose and destruction. Some snow coats and blankets and other snow whips and burns. Each is beautiful in its individuality and glory of nature.

2.) It’s quiet. You can’t describe the peace and stillness snow can bring. It muffles, insulates and dampens every ambient noise for miles. After a large snowfall you can walk outside and hear your heartbeat. There have been nights where I’ve stood in my parent’s backyard when the air was so quiet and still you could hear God breathe if you listened.

3.) It’s festive. The reason why I miss snow the most from October-February is because it just doesn’t seem right for the weather to still be warm. Lucy’s first Halloween it was 96 degrees in Texas. There is NOTHING festive about a 96 degree Halloween. I’ve hosted Thanksgiving dinners where we had to have the air conditioner running because it was 80+ degrees outside. Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas are supposed to be cold and preferably white.

4.) The clothes. Okay, for those of you living in cold states you are going to laugh at this, but just stay with me. It is fun to buy matching gloves and scarves. It is always exciting to break out your old box of sweaters and usher in your winter wardrobe. It is as if you bought new clothes, but you really didn’t. Long pea coats, cute boots, leather gloves, big sweaters, cute hats, ear muffs, flannel PJ’s, flannel sheets — the list of things I no longer own or wear is huge. I used to own turtlenecks in every color of the rainbow – now I own 2. That is right I own 2 turtlenecks.

5.) The kids. My biggest sadness about living in a warm state is all the winter things my kids won’t ever experience. The glory of sledding all day on a Saturday. Sledding until you have soaked through a pair of jeans and two pairs of long underwear and your chest stings a little bit as you breathe that cold, heavy air as you climb back up the hill. The rush of warmth as you stand in the doorway to your house and strip all your wet clothes off – right there in the hallway – and your mother hands you a mug of hot cocoa. Ice skating with friends on their backyard pond. Spontaneous snowball fights on the school playground that border on torture. Going to bed one night knowing that it is fall and waking up the next morning to 6 inches of snow and the knowledge that winter has started.

It was 56 degrees today and sunny. Tomorrow it will be 68 degrees and sunny. We didn’t get one snowfall this year in Dallas and I can feel Spring knocking on our back door. We might get one more really cold snap, but I suspect our winter is over. Cheer up my northern friends, you still have a reason to buy new winter clothes now that they are on sale.