Kids Can Solve The World's Problems

Our breakfast conversation was centered around a health care story that was on the Today Show. They (the liberal media--gasp!) were showing a story on how the health care system is riddled with problems and is deteriorating. Porter made a comment that people shouldn't expect anything better than how they voted. He said, "If you vote for a bad president with bad ideas, what do you think is going to happen?" Then he said, "I think politics is really bad."

Later, our conversation transitioned to Miley Cyrus and her recent twerking. The kids expressed their disappointment in her departure from Hannah Montana. They were fans. I said, "Yes, she trying to be overly-sexy." Porter said, "What? Overly-sexy. She's not even sexy." Madison said, "We're not going to her concert and no one should."

The interesting part of this is that I try not to give them my opinions. When they were discussing both topics today I would say, "What do you think about that?" I'm fascinated by their insight and ability to make their own decisions. They did pretty good.

Treading Water

I was able to use my sister-in-laws sewing materials to bring back these personalized blankets for the kids. Actually she made them, but the kids loved them and I had a gift to bring back to them. Lane won't sleep with his, because he's afraid he's going to pee on it.

What a week. Spent most of it up in Pleasant Grove working for my brother to earn a little extra cash. I was paid much more than I was worth, but at this point I will accept it. Fortunately, so many people have been helping me out and I'm making it one day at a time. I have been given money, food, gifts, and even a car that I can buy cheap. I got back to Vegas late Friday night, but at least it was with a vehicle. I think I'll have to ride the bus once in a while just to keep up on my "Bus Stops" series as it has been such an enlightening experience.

I always feel optimistic about the future and things getting financially better. I think it's important to remember that finances are not always the most important thing to "get better". I was so excited to pick up the kids on Saturday morning after not seeing them for a whole week. It is truly amazing what a happy spot they can be in life and how motivating they can be. They are so sweet and happy and grateful. I always tell them I want to remember the times we struggled together so that we can be grateful for the successes. I am impressed by how easily children adapt.

Even in a studio apartment these boys find so many imaginative things to do. The pantry used to be filled with an overstock of food. Now they use it to build forts and bedrooms on the shelves. They dig out our costume bucket and play superheros. They've found a "fort" in the bushes outside and spend hours in there. They like to collect potato bugs, ants, and worms. Rocks are even fun. I put all of their "fighting" toys in a bucket and they'll take those outside and chase each other. The pool, the library, baking bread and cookies, and Burger King a stones throw away, make for cheap entertainment and time together.

Madison is still emotional and struggles. She lashes out by being too rough with the boys. They think she is mean. She has gotten better, but really puts up a wall to keep everyone. I had a good talk with her today, but it breaks my heart how sad she is. She broke down crying and repeated again her wish for her family to be together. She doesn't feel like anyone loves her and I think that's because of her pain. I tried every which way I could to help her understand how much her Dad, her Mom, and her Grandmother, and all of her relatives love her. She doesn't believe it. I worry about her self-esteem and self-worth. She eats too much and it's obviously a coping mechanism for her. She asked to be put in the school counseling program again, so I'll get her signed up for that. Porter said he wants to do it too this year. I'm glad they have it. I know for Madison, it helps her to be able to talk to someone. It really helped her last year.

I know that every child always says they only want their parents, but as a parent it's heart wrenching not to be able to give them what they want. I don't mind that we can't have "everything", but I do hate that I have 5 and 7 year olds asking, "Can we afford this"? I try not to take them food shopping with me because I hate to have to tell them we can't have something--even if it's not much. Porter burnt his toast and felt so bad because I have been harping on them not to waste food. He told me he was going to eat it anyway because he knows I can't afford much food. That makes me want to cry that my children are worried about wasting a piece of toast. I laughed and told him I could show him a trick my Dad used. I've told them how poverty stricken  my Dad's childhood was. He showed us how to scrape off the burnt part of the toast. He was rather excited about that.

I'm also amazed at how much I can do without. I haven't bought sandwich bags or specialized cleaning supplies. Instead of 409 I use Windex. Oh the tragedies. LOL. And, you can wash a load of dishes in just hot water. Laundry doesn't need as much soap and many times, not every outfit needs to be washed. I have been able to temporarily do without a phone and even power. We drink water out of the sink instead of bottled. The humorous part of all of this is that these are First World problems. Many people throughout the world would love to have my "problems".

I remind myself of all of the things I do have. My kids are healthy. My brother lost his three year old daughter to cancer, and I truly believe he would have spent the rest of this life in my situation if he could have kept her here. I have so much help from family they give me enough to keep me from drowning without robbing me of these rich experiences to grow. I have friends all over who offer encouraging words, love, and support. The best thing to consider is that this may well be one of the most challenging experiences of my life, yet if it is the worst I ever face I will have lived a very blessed life.

The Bus Stops Here: You Only Die Once

A tall, heavyset man stood alone, watching his son climb a brick wall to chase after my son, Lane, who had already been walking up and down the three-foot retaining wall, pretending to balance like he was on a tightrope high in the air.

Lane and I had just trekked the last mile to school after a 25-minute bus ride from our house. The man and I were the only parents waiting outside the gate. I wasn’t feeling especially talkative—social anxiety, the usual—but I felt like I should say something. It was the start of a new school year, and I regretted not getting to know more parents when the twins were in kindergarten. It had gotten harder over time. The other parents grew more familiar with each other, and I felt more like an outsider.

I hesitated, weighing whether to start a conversation. His hair was slicked to his head with sweat beneath a worn baseball cap, and he looked like he could really use a haircut. At least 6'3", he wore a shirt that had to be a triple XL, stretched over a round belly. He was a big man, but evenly built.

“What’s your son’s name?” I asked.

“Ethan,” he said quietly. He was polite, answering softly. We chatted as we watched the boys play, and after a few minutes, I offered, “I’m Liz.”

“Brian,” he volunteered.

“Is Ethan your first? Or do you have other kids?”

“I have an eight-year-old and a nine-year-old,” he said.

We kept talking—about school, the kids, the chaos of mornings. I mentioned how lucky I’d been to have a mother-in-law who worked with my kids so they were more than ready for kindergarten.

“My wife worked with them a little bit,” he said. “I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, does your wife stay home with the kids?” I asked.

He pressed his lips together and gave the slightest shake of his head. “No. Not anymore.”

There was a pause. He looked down for a second. “She died. She’s not here anymore.”

I felt the floor shift a little under me. I tried to stay steady, even in moments like this. “How did she die?” I asked gently.

“She overdosed in June,” Brian said. He let out a long breath, like he was finally saying it out loud.

I was stunned. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” was all I could manage.

“Yeah…” he nodded slowly, almost like he was agreeing with me, or with himself, or with no one at all.

“How’s Ethan handling it? He’s so young.”

Brian’s face tightened, and his eyes glossed over. I thought maybe he was going to cry. Then he let out another big breath.

“They’re actually doing pretty well,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not doing so good though.”

There it was. The break in the dam.

I tried to steer us out of the heavy silence. “Do you have help? Anyone supporting you with the kids?”

“No one,” he said. Still in the storm. And I got it. In Vegas, so many of us live without ties, floating just above survival.

“That must be really hard,” I said. I hesitated, then added, “Look, I work from home… and if you ever need someone to watch the kids—” I trailed off. I didn’t even have a car. I lived in a studio apartment. What could I really offer?

But then I remembered how I was raised. My parents always said, share what you have. Don’t leave until the work is done. Maybe this wasn’t exactly that kind of moment—but I knew what my dad would have done.

So I straightened up and said it again, more firmly. “No, really. If you ever need help, I’d be happy to. I can only imagine how hard it is.”

He nodded, lips tight again. More parents began to gather as the gate opened. We called to our boys, gave them hugs, and watched them disappear into the schoolyard. Kindergarten goodbyes.

I started to rush for the bus but stopped and turned back. “I wish I could say something,” I said. “‘Good luck,’ or ‘Hang in there’—but really, there aren’t any words that make it better, are there?”

Brian looked at me, softer this time. “No,” he said. And for the first time, I saw empathy in his eyes—for me.

“Well,” I said, “don’t be a stranger. And have as good a day as you possibly can.”

He smiled politely and whispered, “Thank you.”

As I walked toward the bus stop, I thought, I’m so glad I have my trials, and not someone else’s. I looked at the people passing by and wondered—what are they carrying? What hurts in their world today?

Everyone is hiding something behind their smile.

We should all be a little kinder.

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The Bus Stops Here series started because for a time I did not have a car and would take public transportation. I had the opportunity to have rare glimpses into random lives of every day people. I feel like taking a moment to understand someone else's life helps me to closely examine my own. Every person has a story, a lesson, a legacy. Though I don't always meet people at the bus stop anymore, I do still find the lives of every day people fascinating and love to share their stories.