Writings by Lynn K. Scott

All posts in the Writings by Lynn K. Scott category

Rant: Selling/Buying on Facebook

Published June 21, 2017 by lynn k scott

*Steps up on soapbox*

*Taps mic*

Hello…I’m going to say my peace about buying and selling on Facebook.  Feel free to agree (or not).  Having been an admin a sales boards, as well as a buyer or seller, this is how I see it….

SELLERS:

  • Provide the city your item(s) are in.
  • If you are willing to travel to meet buyers; say so.
  • Go in order of contact.  If someone by-passes the comments and PMs you (hoping to jump ahead of someone), let them know their place in line.
  • If listing more than one item for sale, either use the “Start Discussion” option to get out of listing a primary price OR list the most expensive item first and subsequent items/prices in the description.
  • STOP using screen shots from other groups.  It’s harder to see the item (and that’s just for starters as to why you do don’t do that).
  • READ the rules for each group.  They are there for a reason and you’re not so special that they don’t apply to you.
  • If you get permission to post something, add “Admin approved” to the beginning of your post.
  • Keep all appointments.  Do not cancel at the last minute.
  • Remove your post when it has been sold.

BUYERS:

  • Have the exact amount of money the item is being sold for.  No the seller doesn’t need to make change for you.
  • Keep your appointment and be on time! If you agree to buy something, then show up to buy it. Time is valuable; including the seller’s.
  • Be prepared to pick up the item. It’s not the seller’s responsibility to get the item to you.
  • If you respond to purchase something, be prepared to pick it up.  If you need to make arrangements for a later day/time, let them know that upfront; not after you should have been at the meeting location.
  • Ask ALL the questions about the item BEFORE agreeing to the purchase.  Do not ask them after you have agreed and set a time/location for pick up.

BOTH Buyers and Sellers need to be respectful of each other.  Times are hard.  Facebook allows free advertising and the ability to stretch our paychecks by getting rid of items we no longer need and/or want.

*Says ‘Thank You’, nods and steps off soapbox.*

LME Weddings

Published June 21, 2017 by lynn k scott

I’ve gone and done it.  I’ve started my own wedding planning business.  I attempted this several years ago, but now the timing is right.

LME Weddings & Events has taken shape and I’m in the process of building my business. At the moment, I’m still working my “day job”, but the goal is to have a profitable business within the next three years.

Yes, I’m tired of working for someone else.  It’s not even that as much as it is, while I’m good at what I do, I’m not happy doing it.  Work is currently and ends to a means.  Why not be in business and see happiness in yourself as well as your clients?  Right?

So, that’s what I did.

LME Weddings is still a work in progress; as far as the website goes.  I also have a Facebook presence.  Advertising is advertising and the more I get the word out, the sooner my business will grow.

With returning to homeschooling next year, I want to be home with my daughter.  While I may have to work for someone else during her junior high years, the plan is to be home while she completes high school.  I’m excited to finally see a dream, that’s been years in the making, taking shape and having life breathed into it.

If you’re in the Solano, Yolo or Sacramento areas, let me know how I can help you with you wedding/event planning details!

God in my life

Published June 4, 2017 by lynn k scott

Disclaimer:  This blog post will probably be lengthy, however, I feel it’s time to share how I’ve seen God in my life.

I wasn’t born into a wealthy family.  My father only had an eighth grade education and my mother only went as far as to graduate high school.  I was the oldest of three daughters and often had to help raise my younger sisters, while my mother worked two jobs and my father worked what jobs he could.  My dad was also an active alcoholic until I was almost a teenager.  Then he sobered up and stayed that way. I will say through all our hard times, my parents never accepted government assistance, although looking back, we more than qualified; at times.

My mother was the foundation of our family.  She made sure my sisters and I went to church on a regular basis.  Back then, it was what was required.  We didn’t always go willingly, but we went.  We grew up in the United Methodist Church where we attended Sunday school, were confirmed in the faith, joined the youth groups and choir.  It was the only church I ever knew and it was the church I set the standard for my future adventures in faith.

Was I devout?  Not, in the least.  I believed in God, but rarely said grace before meals, prayed or reached out to anyone in my church.  I was missing a connection.

I married at just 18-years old.  I had no support, but my family went through the motions of my marriage anyway.  Needless to say, they were right, along with everyone else, and my marriage was doomed to fail.  One thing I did take seriously, was my marriage vows; esp., ’til death do you part’.  Little did I know, that vow almost cost me my life.

If you haven’t guessed, my (now) ex-husband was extremely abusive.  There were two separate times he actually tried to kill me.  In the six and a half years we were together, we had four children.  I was a typical abused wife, caught up in the cycle of violence.

I believed if I had dinner ready on time, I wouldn’t have gotten yelled at.  If I wasn’t so tired, from being pregnant, the house would be cleaner and I wouldn’t have gotten hit.  I believed him when he said he was sorry.  “It won’t happen again.”  If there were ever famous last words, those were it.

We attempted counseling.  It was couples counseling, in addition to individual sessions. When your therapist tells you privately, “have a bag packed and be ready to leave at a moment’s notice”, you might want to read into how serious the danger level is.

Yet, I had two small children and I had no place to go.  No one knew of the abuse; esp. not my family. My mom didn’t even find out until I was pregnant with my fourth child and we woke up to our house on fire.  We ended up staying with my parents again; which my ex-husband made for a less than amicable time.

I had been journaling about the abuse and hid the notebook under my mattress.  When we moved out, I forgot about it.  Months later, my mother found it, read it, and called me crying asking if I was being abused.  I broke down and admitted everything.

I had attempted leaving before, but my ex-husband convinced me to come back; esp. after he cleaned out our bank account and left me financially broke.  I had little choice (or so I thought).

I will spare the rest of the details I can remember. I used to cry myself to sleep asking God, “what did I do to deserve this”?  The abuse only escalated.  It got to the point, I ended up having to leave my children behind, in order to survive.  My youngest son was only a few months old.

I left again and ended up staying with a guy I barely knew.  I had no job because my ex-husband told the restaurant I worked at that I abandoned my children and they felt the need to tell me to go home and be a better wife and mother.  Wow!  I was floored.  I felt like enough of a failure without my boss and coworkers passing judgement on me.

One day, when hopelessness was overwhelming, I made the decision to just end it all.  I went and bought a bottle of sleeping pills.  It was the easiest way; just go to sleep.  Little did I know God had other plans for me.

I carried out my plan.  I didn’t leave a note.  Got a large glass of water and began swallowing three pills, at a time, until the bottle was empty.  I laid down on the floor, with a pillow and blanket, and planned to go to sleep forever.

I fell asleep and then felt convulsions.  It was like I was having a nightmare and I couldn’t wake up from it.  I heard in my mind, “you’re not going to die today.”  I continued to have convulsions, as if a doctor had paddles to my chest and was yelling, “CLEAR!”  I have no idea how much time passed.  It was dark outside, I woke up, still alone and thought, “I can’t even kill myself right”.  However, after that ordeal, I did believe I wasn’t supposed to die that day and never attempted to take my life again.

Long story short, I ended moving to California.  The state I grew up in had horrible domestic violence laws.  They didn’t have anti-stalking laws.  I had no protection.  Once my ex learned of my change in states, he chose to give the children to my mother and followed me.  I lived several years looking over my shoulder.  I even arranged for someone else to check my post office box, in case he would be waiting for me one day.

Skip ahead years later, and I remarried.  My children were still with my mother.  I would call and speak to the kids, but they wanted me home and it wasn’t possible.  Anger and resentment festered from them.  I was losing my children and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  I admit it.  I was a bad mom.  I wasn’t strong enough to stand up for myself and it cost me my children.

I did have one more child.  My second husband had no children and I had to prove to myself I wasn’t a horrible mother.  With the abuse factor removed, I didn’t suffer the severe depression I had with my other children.  I wasn’t hospitalized for postpartum depression, as I had been twice in the past.

My mother and I chose not to tell the children about their half-sister.  They resented me so much already.  I knew them thinking I just left to start another family would be first on their mind.  I knew this because that is what their father had told them.  He eventually left California and returned to my home state to get custody of our children.

Meanwhile, when my youngest was 5-months’ old, I started looking for a church to go back to.  I was missing something.  I was so alone.  I found a United Methodist Church, close to home.  I took my little one with me and walked into Wayside UMC for the first time.  I figured, if it wasn’t for me, I could use the baby as the reason I had to leave.

We stayed and I eventually became a member of the church.  Even though the church reminded me of the church I grew up in, I still hadn’t made any close connections.  I went through the motions, but it wasn’t 100% what I was looking for.

In June 2007, my father, whom I’ve always had a strained relationship with, was diagnosed with Stage-4, stomach cancer.  He was given three to six weeks to live.  I called him while he was in the hospital.  He had forgotten he had an older daughter; he thought I was my sister playing a joke on him.  After five agonizing minutes, he finally remembered who I was.  We spoke til he got tired.  It was the last time I was speak with him.  He died exactly three weeks from diagnosis.

A few years later, I reconnected with my sister.  A sister that I didn’t speak to for 10 years.  Yet, after all the abuse and loss I had already experienced (which was glossed over quite a bit), my 37-year old sister was diagnosed with Stage-4 breast cancer. Diagnosis:  less than a year.  My mother and I prayed, but we were also facing reality that her breast cancer was aggressive and odds of recovery were slim to none.

After her passing in June of 2012, I was lost.  I had survivor’s guilt.  I stopped going to church.  No one called to check up on me.  I didn’t feel missed or cared for.  I flew home to bury my sister, flew back to California and had to pretend my life was fine.

Let’s add insult to injury and have my youngest sister call me one morning while I was at work.  Seems my mother was rushed to the hospital with food poisoning.  After some testing, it was determined it wasn’t food poisoning.  She had a bowel blockage and required emergency surgery.  My mother never made it out of surgery as she died on the operating table because she didn’t have a small blockage; all of her intestines were dead. She couldn’t be saved. My mother passed away one year and 13 days after I buried my sister.

To say I was angry with God was an understatement.  Nothing made sense.  I was being punished and I didn’t know how much more I could take.  My older children, except for my first born, didn’t want anything to do with me.  If I didn’t have my youngest at home, I don’t know what drastic steps I would have taken.

I became guardian to my two youngest nieces.  They were my sister’s children, whom my mother was raising.  Life was turned around.  There was a huge struggle to bring two children to California.  Resources weren’t there, but I felt this is what I had to do. Raising two more children, trying to mourn my sister and mother and a family who had a huge adjustment factor, was more than I could handle.

I am thankful for my friends on Facebook.  Ironically, they became my only support system.  Some were friends I knew personally; others were strangers.  They were the only beacon of light, during those dark days.

I would attend church sporadically.  Everyone was nice, but no one really tried to know me other than the polite exchanges we had before service. There was still a disconnect. My nieces eventually returned to my home state; without my consent.  That’s another story, for another time.  With the way the events played out with my nieces, it ended my relationship with my youngest sister; my last relative in my nuclear family.

I began to look for other churches to attend.  I tried to stay within the United Methodist community.  It was all I had ever known.  I also tried some non-denominational churches and even went back to Wayside a few times.  I joined another local church; but that lasted about a year.  It wasn’t the right fit.  Nothing was right.  Nothing made sense.  I gave up.

A couple months ago, I began another search for a church to call home.  I had exhausted all the options within the local United Methodist organization.  I Googled some local churches and found one within a couple miles of my home.

What caught my attention was they spoke of relationships and not religion.  They also offered hot coffee.  Ok, was it wrong, I was drawn in by coffee?  I figured, I could use a free cup of coffee, listen to the message and just leave if it was like all the rest.

I was pleasantly surprised.  I’m used to a “welcoming” committee, but it seemed everyone who first saw me, made an effort to say hello.  After the service, I several people came up to me and wanted to get to know me.  It wasn’t what I expected.

I returned week after week.  I even joined a weekly Bible study group.  While I don’t share much at church or within the study group, it’s been nothing but a positive experience.

With this June being the fifth angelversary of my sister’s passing and the fourth angelversary of mother’s passing, I don’t feel as alone this year as I have in previous years.  I can attribute that to attending Harvest Community Church – Fairfield.

Again, I left a lot of details out of the struggles of my first marriage, the abuse, the nightmare of family court and the memory loss from the abuse.  However, I believe there is a purpose for all of this.  While I don’t know God’s plan for my life, I trust in Him.

 

 

A Place to call “Home”

Published April 7, 2017 by lynn k scott

About a month ago, I was searching for local churches.  With the cost of gas, driving back and forth to our old church isn’t really feasible.  While I adore the pastor there, I still don’t feel like I did when I attended the church I grew up.  Mind you, I’ve been attending this particular church on and off for 11 years.  I started attending when my daughter was only five months’ old.

The problem I was encountering, was I wanted to stay within the United Methodist community, yet I had been to all the surrounding churches, heck even joined one, and they just aren’t for me.  What was I to do.  I feel a calling to go back to church regularly.

Facebook, with its, “suggestions”, based off my Google search, showed me nearby churches.  There was one, very close to my home, awesome reviews.  It promised to have coffee (don’t judge me on my caffeine neediness), fellowship and to feel welcome.

Sounds like a lot of churches, but I thought, heck, it’s just me.  I can walk into church, grab some coffee, and listen for a bit, right?

Well, I did just that.  However, I was greeted by several people.  Lord help me and my horrible ability to remember names.  I’m just awful about that.  Yet, they showed me to the coffee, SCORE, introduced several people to me, and were genuine.

It sounds silly, but that’s what I needed.  Not just pleasantries, but a sincere welcoming, caring about you being there.

My other concern was a traditional service.  This was a non-denominational church and I’ve had some experiences with them and had been less than impressed.  I’ve spent over 40 years singing hymns in church.  Contemporary elements were for special services, normally by the children.  Yet, the music they play is what my daughter is being exposed to at her private, Christian school.  Another comfort level met.  I know some of these songs.  I hear some on the radio too!

Just to interject, I’m becoming a huge fan contemporary Christian music.  I can say, Chris Tomlin, is my favorite singers.  His songs speak to me.  My current “addiction” song that he sings is, “Amazing Grace:  My Chains Are Gone“.  It combines one of my favorite hymns and a contemporary twist.

Last Sunday, my daughter joined me for service.  She actually joined the kids’ group during the service; virtually unheard of.  You’d think she was a fly and I the paper.  She had a wonderful time.  I stayed with the adults, of course, and heard the Message (aka, Sermon).  It’s relayed in such a way that it follows scripture but can be applied to modern times.

I now look forward to attending service every Sunday.  I am making local friends and I feel like a truly belong.  It’s almost silly.  At my old church, I typically the only one with visible tattoos.  I felt I needed to keep them covered as much as possible.  My new church, there are several people with arm tattoos and it’s just another level of welcome; in my eyes.

I am blessed to have found Harvest Community Church at this time in my life.  I believe it’s where I am meant to be.

All in the View

Published April 7, 2017 by lynn k scott

Daniel Angeles:  an artist, my (writing) muse, my friend.

This particular piece will highlight some of his work as it pertains to my life.  Dan has an uncanny talent for painting what people are feeling.  His vision, brought to life with strokes of a paint brush and water colors that in turn, revive memories, elicit emotions and can put feelings into perspective.  I know my world wouldn’t be as bright or beautiful without Dan in it.

So the journey with paintings begins…

all better bearThe “It Will Get Better Bear”.  While I knew Dan prior to his drawing this piece for my sister, Kathi, after her breast cancer diagnosis, I never fathomed it would become her memorial tattoo or the face of the Kathi Cares Program.  This simple teddy bear, meant more than words could adequately express to Kathi, my mom and to me.  Again, THANK YOU, Dan!

I can’t speak to Dan’s motivation as to how his thoughts transcend the mental plane and make their way to canvas, but he creates such works that one can’t help but take a “Trip Down Memory Lane.  Trip Down Memory LaneLooking at his work, you see your past, the memories become vivid. Painful or joyful, the feelings return as the mind wanders to a place in time that is just for you.

Sometimes you have to do what you have to do to get by.  I know as I have grown older, moved across the country, remarried, buried my father,  sister and mother, I am constantly evolving.  Sprouting New BeginningsIt seems I am always “Sprouting New Beginnings”.   When I feel my life is turning upside down, when I am having a bad day, perhaps even slumped down on the hall closet floor, having a good cry, it’s not long before I feel the bloom of life opening the a new chapter on my life.

My mom installed a love a reading in her children. Artwork depicting books in different facets speaks volumes to me.  There are times that I am literally Turning the Page“Turning The Page” in my personal book of life.  I have seen the personal growth in myself over the last several years.  Life sometimes has a way of making you experience what you never contemplated.  I can’t say I have had the best reactions to what I have endured.  Weather the StormI can say I have grown and I do my best to see the positives in situations now.  It’s all about how you “Weather the  Storm”.  This one made me smile in particular.  I swear, it’s lucky I’m a verbal alcoholic, because if I drank every time I said I would, my liver would not be happy with me.  But a few times, yes, a glass of wine has helped me through some rough times.  Ok, it took the edge off til I was ready to deal with whatever it was.

I know that there is still much more to experience.  I know my trials are not over.  There will be more to deal with.

Counting the DaysI am “Counting the Days” until I am able to finally meet the man who has brought me endless smiles and plenty of (happy) tears.  Who made my sister feel special and loved with the drawing of bear.  “The Burning Question” will be what will I ask Dan to paint for my 50th birthday.  I will be treating myself to my own very own Dan Angeles painting. Actually, I have already decided on a topic.  It will be up to Dan if he is able to display my request in watercolor:  “The Impact of Friendship“.

“Underneath It All”, I cannot imagine my life without Dan.  I’ve said it before, but my life wouldn’t be complete without his amazing artwork, his support and his thoughtful words.  My heart will forever harbor a special place for such a caring soul.

Underneath it all

Breaking the Cycle is Painful

Published April 3, 2017 by lynn k scott

As a survivor of domestic violence, the effects can continue years later after the abusive relationship has ended; especially, if children are involved.  This recounting may seem a bit rushed, however, it would turn into a book if I added the overwhelming details of the hell that was my life.

I am struggling, almost 20 years later, to quell the ghosts of my past and break the cycle of abuse.  I have four children from a previous marriage and I rarely speak of them, with the exception of the oldest, because I’ve been kept from them.  Their father has basically convinced them I decided not to be a mother any more and that’s why I left.  As if!

I spent six long years in a very abusive and escalating marriage.  I married young, had low self-esteem and had four children in six years.  I was verbally, financially, mentally and physically abused.

I actually didn’t realize I was a battered wife, until I took a college psychology course and we covered domestic violence and “The Cycle”.  I was learning about my life.  It was mind-numbing at the time.  My life could have been a case study in my psych book.  Talk about mind-blown!

I was typically cut off from friends and had little contact with my family.  I had no money of my own and had to ask permission to buy anything.  I couldn’t go out alone, without permission and needed to be home when expected or I would be in trouble.  Even certain songs, such as Wilson Phillips, “Hold On” or Ace of Base, “The Sign”, were off limits. Walking on egg shells was my life.  I tried to be perfect so I wouldn’t get in trouble. Such a fallacy in that train of thought.

Pretty stupid…didn’t even know I was being abused.  I thought it was normal for the husband to get mad at his wife for not cleaning the house at 8-months’ pregnant.  After all, if I hadn’t been so lazy, I would have had dinner ready for him after working so hard all day.  When he lost jobs, it was because I had bugged him at work. I deserved the screaming, beratement, bruises, slaps, and hair pulling.  I believed him when he said he was sorry for throwing a baby rattle at my thigh so hard it swelled around the impact site (just one of many examples).

Years later, I did journal about my existence and the horror story I was living. I was good at keeping this horrific secret.  The only way my family found out was because we had stayed with them briefly and I forgot to take my notebook out from under the mattress.  I learned to hide my journaling because it made my ex-husband angry to see in writing what he was doing to me.

Over the years the violence increased.  We tried marriage counseling.  That led to separate counseling sessions.  In turn, it led to the doctor telling me to keep a bagged packed at all times, because my ex-husband was a ticking time-bomb.  He told me I was in danger.  Funny how the mind tricks us into thinking we can handle certain situations. Even after he attempted to smother me, twice, I stayed.  He denies that fact, but it did happen.

Can I remember everything that happened to me?  No.  Why?  I was diagnosed with Battered Women’s Syndrome when I was hospitalized for depression.  To this day, almost twenty years later, I believe my ex-husband to be a mortal threat to me.  So many memories are gone.  I remember bits and pieces.  I hardly any happy times even though I know there were some. I’ve even forgotten some of the precious memories I had of when my children were small.

I do remember one Christmas Eve that my mom called.  She called to tell me my ex-husband had been arrested for attempted murder.  He had beaten a woman he knew, in the face, with a BRICK!  What started it?  She owed him $50.00.  WOW!  That was worth disfiguring her, a long recovery and incompetent police work that led to a whopping “E” felony (the lowest felony charge).

Ironically, I remembering being happy.  For the first time, I felt safe and I was already 3,000 miles away from him.  Oh, I didn’t mention that, did I?

Through a serious of what can only be described as a family court circus, my ex-husband gained custody of our children.  Back then, police reports covered nothing.  I was “mistaken” about the abuse.  “He wouldn’t do that”, an officer had told me regarding my unlawful imprisonment (in my own home).  After all, I had been in the ‘psycho ward’ at one point.  I wasn’t reliable to know what I was suffering at his hands. The police were good about discussing my hospitalization in hushed tones.  They ate up every word of his charismatic lies.

The time came, many years later, when I left under the cover of darkness; before the morning sun came up.  My mom was with me at Greyhound.  She was the only person who knew I was leaving the state; headed for California.  At least California took a stance on domestic violence.  New York didn’t even have stalking laws back then.  Lucky for him; bad for me.  It was legal to terrorize someone and those who did it; knew it!

Fast forward several years.  I learned to be independent.  Learned I could have a healthy relationship and I didn’t need to be beaten or abused to be “kept in line”.  Learned I didn’t need to have permission to go have a drink with my coworkers.  That took years of asking my then boyfriend (now husband), if “it was ok”.  It took constant reminders from him saying, “you don’t need to ask my permission”.

I eventually remarried and had my fifth child; his first.  I needed to prove to myself I was not a horrible mother.  I needed to know I could take care of a baby; that I wasn’t worthless as a woman.  That there was a man out there who wanted me; damaged as I was, with four children.

I hid my youngest daughter’s birth from my other children; after they started speaking to me again.  They were living with my mom because my abusive ex-husband followed me to California; luckily he went South and I was up North.

I was afraid the kids wouldn’t understand about their half-sister.  When they found out, they didn’t.  I started a new family without them.  I couldn’t disagree.  I didn’t set out to. Over the years, my oldest son, was the only one to really engage me.  My other children were awarded back to my ex after he was released from prison.  He had rights after all. Who cares a psychiatrist said my oldest daughter, who was my spitting image, was in danger of being abused because she looked like me.  The courts sure didn’t.  Way to go there law guardian.  I think he forgot he was assigned to look out for the welfare of the children…I digress…

The court was the only blinded fools who could not see my ex-husband gained custody to make me pay support.  The kids never saw the money.  Never saw the hell he put me through.  Never saw me struggle to eat with unrealistic support payments. New York makes the non-custodial parent pay til the children are 21.  That finally ends this year. However, the on-going circus that is family court, is a punitive place.  There is no justice for the children.  There is only name-blaming and punitive-ordered support.  It would have been an undue burden to prove my youngest son was still in school.  He quit and has been working for over a year.  Oh, he’s getting married too.  That will disqualify my ex from support.  My other son moved out, which would have done away with that support, except my ex-husband failed to legally report it to the court; and of course, no repercussions there.  Let’s not talk about the $3,000.00 in braces I am paying for that were never put on my daughter.  Family court…the biggest joke in the free world!

Another time hop to the present where my oldest child is about to be a father any day now.  Sadly, he believes I am not entitled to be alerted before the rest of Facebook.  I apparently, have some misconstrued entitlement issues, simply because I’m his mother. Insert where I didn’t get to speak to him for 10 years and hid the fact he had a sister. Where because of my status, as his mother, I’m not facing the hard truth about my past. He insists on “keeping it real” for me.

His reality has never seen me sink to the floor in the closet, while trying to get to work, questioning what I could have possibly done to be treated so horribly.  Question why my ex was allowed to go unpunished for all his misconceptions.  I know he committed disability fraud, but proving it was another story.  No one wants to stand up to him.  He is the perfect abuser and loves his “authority”.

I honestly had thought my son and I were beyond this.  He retains his passive-aggressive nature and he is verbally and mentally abusive to me.  He cannot see he treats me the same way his father did.  He has never hit me, but he prefers to cut me with words and will wait for them to heal before he begins again.  While I love all of my children, with all of my heart, I will not allow the cycle to continue!

I have set boundaries.  I am of worth.  I am entitled to respect.  It’s hard when you need to force that lesson upon your child(ren).  We should be celebrating a very exciting chapter in his life.  Yet, he chooses to “allow” me crumbs of his existence and I am not a charity case. He has no idea the true trauma I have experienced.  He has no idea how many memories I have lost due to abuse.  He has no idea what I have gone through.  If he feels he is entitled to judge my actions, I pray he never has to make life-altering decisions where his family is concerned.  You see, had I not boarded that bus all those years ago, his anger wouldn’t be aimed at me.  He sorrow would be visible as he shared his life achievements at my grave.

Please help break the cycle.  Share this story.  Share your story.  Silence is the enemy.

 

Her First Date

Published March 19, 2017 by lynn k scott

Yesterday was a big day in the life of my daughter.  In addition to it being opening weekend for the movie, “Beauty and the Beast” (which I highly recommend seeing), it was also the day my daughter had her first “date”.

You might be wondering why I would put “date” in quotation marks.  Well, it’s simple, really.  My daughter and her “boyfriend” are both 11 years old.  Yes, you read the correctly; 11 years old.

No this isn’t the days of yesteryear, no I’m not accepting her dowry just yet, so let me explain.  My daughter, better known as “the lil miss”, on social media, has known this boy for several years and they are friends.   Just a couple weeks ago, he got the nerve to ask her to be his “girlfriend”, via note.  She accepted.

Part of the reason, we, the parents are indulging this a bit more, is because, her boyfriend’s family will be PCSing (military move), across the country, in a few months’ time.  While they will keep in touch, we know not much will progress further than this “date”.

The other mom and I, who are also friends, always joked, they would be each other’s first date and they would go to the movies.  Little did we know, her son would get the courage to admit he liked my daughter, and that my daughter would reciprocate the same for him.

Seeing as they are moving, which is breaking my heart at losing another friend, I asked if they had planned on seeing Beauty and the Beast; as I was planning on taking my daughter.  We agreed that would be a good idea and give us more time to spend together before the impending move made it more difficult to have free time.

We agreed to meet for lunch, because her boyfriend originally wanted to take her out for a steak dinner.  His mom talked him into pizza.  Good thing too.  One, it’s too pricey for this type of first date and two, my daughter doesn’t like steak.  lol

Both families arrived at the pizza place.  The boy presented my daughter with a single, long-stemmed, red rose, with a yellow ribbon and a small teddy bear.  He told my daughter, he got her a rose because that’s the type of flower in the movie they would be seeing.  Insert *AWE* right here.  The young couple sat at their own table, while both sets of parents and his sister sat and had their lunch two tables away.       20170318_191547.jpg

Lunch finished and we all drove to the theater.  Let me tell you, when they anticipated, “Beauty and the Beast” being a huge hit, they weren’t wrong.  All I can say is, “Thank you, Fandango”!  We arrived over an hour early and it was still packed.  My daughter’s date was given some money so he could purchase their concession items by himself.  Luckily, I was there to give an alternative drink option to the requested slushie, as the machine was out of order.

The kids sat by themselves and the rest of the families sat together.  It was cute.  They had their space, but not even hand-holding occurred.  Everyone had a great time and some memories were made.

While I believe 11 is a bit young to date, there are dating rights of passages that inevitably will come.  We, the parents, are teaching our respective children what to expect on this highly chaperoned “date”: thoughtfulness, courtesy and respect topping the list.

After it was over, my daughter and I discussed the day.  I let her know, that while she wouldn’t be doing much of this anytime soon; esp. after they move, that this was they way she should expect to be treated for all her dates.

In a world where are kids are growing up so fast, I am more than willing to do a bit of hand-holding and overseeing certain areas of my daughter’s growth.  I don’t want her to be naive, but proper exposure is a good thing.

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