Bandwagon Approaching - Listen to the Music!

Today I will not jump on any bandwagons. Instead, I will read the music and the lyrics, find my rhythm, and march the road to the beat of my own drum. ~ AZ Mom of Many Hats

I am not one to jump on bandwagons. I never have been.

It’s not that I think there is something wrong with standing for a cause – there isn’t. It is a very noble thing to support what you think in your heart is the right thing. Society has improved and evolved by people standing together and standing up for what is right.

My issue is with bandwagons.

Bandwagon has a couple of definitions.  It’s exactly what the name says – a wagon that carries a band.  It’s also a cause or group that appeals to people because of apparent success. Both definitions have a draw factor.

Should we jump on bandwagons blindly though?

It is ingrained in my personality to not simply follow for the sake of following.  That is not me, not my own personal style, and not my need.  But, I know that there are those who want and need to be a part of the latest thing.  This is not a lacking or a flaw; it is simply part of who they are.  However, whether we resist the popular pull or feel drawn to it, I don’t think we should jump onto bandwagons blindly.  There is danger in that.

Would you board a train, a plane, a taxi or a bus, simply because you liked the song that was playing over the speakers? 

If you answered this question with “yes” – you are much braver than I am, and I wish you a safe trip.  But, my own answer would be "no".  I would want to know more about the driver, the vehicle, and the destination.   

Bandwagons are much like these vehicles.  They have tremendous appeal, popular support, and often celebrity endorsements.  They play a great song. Not that this is bad… but this appeal can overshadow the sense of responsibility as individuals to find out information about the events surrounding the bandwagon.   There are questions that should be asked before joining in.

Do we know all sides of the story?

Do we know who is at the reigns?

Do know where the wagon is heading?

After asking these questions, if you are comfortable with the answers you find, then climbing on may be what your heart tells you to do. The band on the wagon may be playing your song. It is a good and noble thing to follow YOUR heart.

For me, however, I have a need to investigate and contemplate.  Wagons are great for some, but I need to reflect upon what is right and true to my heart.  Often it is the song that is blaring from the wagon that matches my heart.  However, I need to know that I am in control of my participation. So, I will listen to the music and the lyrics, find my own rhythm, and march down the road to the beat of my own drum.

What do you think? Do you jump on bandwagons?

Thanksgiving Tradtions

I am big on tradition.

Part of what makes the Holidays special to me is a sense of carrying on and passing down family customs and rituals from year to year. Whether it is having a special meal including scalloped potatoes on Christmas Eve, making "Grandma's Bunny Cookies" on Easter, or decorating my parents' mountain home to the hilt for the 4th of July celebrations, there is a feeling of connection to the past as well as to the future in all of these traditions.

You would think that since I am a "Mayflower" girl - my lineage is traced back to Stephan Hopkins who signed the Mayflower Compact, I would follow the same Thanksgiving traditions from year to year. You'd think that every year, I would relish in customs passed down from my forefathers and foremothers that "officiated" and prepared the family's Thanksgiving celebrations.

Well, this is one holiday celebration in that I have broken the tradition of "tradition".

Now, don't get me wrong, I would love to have a set routine every November. It might make this particular holiday a little easier to plan for. But as I have grown older, life has allowed me opportunities to swerve from a predictable celebration each year. I'd like to tell you about a few of them

The first Thanksgiving that I broke the ranks of ritual came when I was just a teenager. I had the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania. I was blessed by being welcomed into the home of a very dear friend and an amazing family. It was my first experience of food other than the Thanksgiving "fare" that I was accustomed to. To my surprise, in addition to the turkey, potatoes and green bean casserole, there was an Italian fare of pasta and sea food as well. The cold weather of the east cost was very different than the warm California weather I was used to.

As I grew into adulthood, for many years I took on the job of cooking the meal. The first year that I was married to my husband, I decided to go all out. I made stuffing from scratch, pies from my Halloween pumpkins, fresh apple pies, and a huge turkey. I wanted to honor his Italian heritage, so in addition to the entire traditional menu, I prepared a lasagna. I cooked for what seemed like days, to prepare a meal for twenty of my family members in the small kitchen of our first home. I carried that tradition for the first few years of our marriage.

But as my husband's career advanced, we were required to relocate. We found ourselves in Texas, a state where we didn't know anyone, at least not at the time of our first Thanksgiving there. Eventually, we found other "orphan" families who were also there without friends and family, and we became each other's adopted families. Since by that time we had three small children, traveling back to be with our families was both too expensive and too difficult. So we began sharing our Thanksgiving meal with our Texas family. Each brought a new dish or variation of a dish to the meal. This tradition lasted for the five years that we lived there.

Since moving to Arizona, there hasn't been any true tradition of how we spend the Holiday. Some years we have traveled to my home state to be with my family. Some years we have stayed in Arizona with my husband's family. I have not prepared the meal for the last seven years. Since my day is not spent in the kitchen anymore, my husband and I have started our own tradition for the two of us. Regardless of which state we are in, we have participated in charity walks or runs on Thanksgiving morning. This year it is a 10 mile charity run in Arizona.

So, even though tradition is important to me, I would never change the fact that my Thanksgiving traditions change from year to year. No matter what I have done, or where I have been, I have been surrounded by people that I love and am thankful for.

Isn't that a big part of what the day is about?

The Baby Pooped on My Party Clothes!

Oh...It seems like yesterday.

We had just spent the summer with my parents. I couldn't wait to be back home with my husband whom I missed terribly. My girls, likewise missed their daddy and were anxious to be home with him.

We boarded the plane looking fresh and crisp in our nice white summer clothes. The girls were wearing matching white shirts with sweet little green frogs that I had just happened to find in all three sizes. I was wearing crisp white linen shirt and white cotton shorts that showed off my summer tan. Two of my girls sat nicely reading the books we brought for the trip, and I sat next to them with the youngest seated on my lap. We were quite a site, and I must admit, I did feel a little bit proud of how put together we looked.

Two hours and forty-five minutes of the three hour flight had passed. My three girls could have been mistaken for the angels in the heavens. I was daydreaming of the re-uniting of our family in the airport, my husband admiring his beautiful family and looking adoringly at me......then it happened. That unmistakable sound, that unforgettable feeling - the diaper blowout! Not just a small leak, but the absolute, debris all over the highway, ridin' on the rims, blown tire of the diaper mishaps right in my lap - just as we began our final approach. I had no choice but to sit in my seat, baby, poop and all, and worry about cleaning it up later.

In an instant, the beautiful family portrait had been shattered by a faulty diaper unable to stand up to the challenge of a still nursing baby. -Moms, I think you get the gist of this.

Sometimes it seems like life flows so smoothly. We feel like we have everything under control. Jobs, family, relationships, friends, you name it, we got it. But then something happens that rattles us; maybe even shakes us to our core. There is a sudden shift and the things we held together so efficiently appear to fall apart. We are left standing in a pile of the pieces of our life, not knowing where to start to put it back together.

But in time, we find that first piece to pick up. We dust it off, smooth some of the shattered edges and begin to build again. Piece by piece, we re-construct our selves. Maybe our lives will never be exactly as they were. But what we learn through the process of rebuilding can make us stronger than we were before. We shore up the walls of our lives with the perspective, empathy, sympathy, knowledge, strength, wisdom, and compassion that we have gained through our trials. We, in a sense, become a new and beautiful creation.

Now in the scheme of life a dirty pair of shorts is certainly not a major life crisis. It certainly has not been the biggest crisis in my life. Every one of us struggles with trials every day. Some may be bigger than others, but never the less, they are all difficult.

I challenge you to reach out to someone you know that may be struggling. Send a note, post a response, make a phone call...your experiences may help that person through theirs.

P.S.
Back to the shorts....they never were exactly the same. But on the bright side, they ended up matching the green frog shirts!