Writer's Workshop: Crazytown

This week, I am writing following the prompt: 4. Something funny your child said.

It was a year ago this weekend that Joshua came up with this gem, which I shared on Twitter:

"I was just a kid in Hollywood living a simple life, until a tornado scooped me up and put me in your belly." My kid is strange.

— Jessica Sweeney (@goaliej54) October 11, 2014

In the past year, this has evolved into something even bigger.

Joshua later explained to me that the place's true name is Crazytown. In this town, people are different, and the technology is awesome. The people are very sensitive and don't always like the sort of things that people from "here" like. But they aren't afraid to be who they are -- in fact, they're pretty proud to be different. They are very curious and inquisitive people, as well, having invented such things as the "Crazytown car," which can turn into an airplane and a submarine, and comes with every safety feature imaginable, to deal with any unfortunate situation possible. Crazytown people are pretty cautious and always want to be safe. The sensitive thing, I think.

The Mayor loves his Beanie Boos; they come
from Crazytown, too.

There are other people from Crazytown here among us, but not everyone is. Apparently, I and a few other family members are, as well as some of Joshua's friends. He values his Crazytown crew; he was so happy to be reunited with us. He often reminds me of what life was like in Crazytown ("Don't you remember that, Mom?") and is looking forward to going back when we're done here. My mom swears he must have been reincarnated.

I love that my son has so much confidence and sees so much value in himself, and that, even though he sometimes feels like he's a little different than other kids, he doesn't mind. He's proud to be different, proud to be himself. He's a leader (former Mayor of Crazytown, of course), he knows what he wants, and he works to make things happen. He has made leaps and bounds since he started preschool three years ago, but still has some sensitivities that has prompted us to get him tested for Sensory Processing Disorder (soon, I hope -- on the waiting list). Hopefully, we can get him the help he needs. In addition, he has just been diagnosed with Neurofibromatosis, which brings its own set of possible complications -- we can only pray that his case will be as mild as possible. With both disorders can come learning disabilities, but we have been blessed that Josh is a brilliant boy who is thriving in school. I think his dreams of being a television producer, or scientist, or engineer, or artist, or musician, or librarian, or race car driver, or a hockey player are not too far out of reach. Although, the fact that he wants to be ALL of them may be... but you never know! He's a high achiever with boundless energy. I hope he always stays this way. And I hope thoughts of Crazytown keep him feeling safe and happy for as long as he needs them.

I'm so grateful for my boy's wonderful imagination, and proud to be a fellow citizen of his delightful Crazytown!

Writer's Workshop: Dishes

This week, I chose the prompt: 1. Write a blog post in exactly 12 lines.

One chore I never minded was washing the dishes.
In fact, even today, I find it somewhat relaxing.
It used to be a nice break from my homework, or something to do when I was bored.
Quiet and alone in the kitchen while others watched TV shows that I didn't care for.
There's something therapeutic to me about water.
And I may be somewhat of a clean freak.
I also have fond memories of helping my Nana wash dishes.
She would wash and I'd dry and put them away.
When I got older, we'd sometimes reverse roles.
On Sundays and holidays, the women would cram into her small pantry, cleaning after dinner.
Calming, therapeutic water -- full of many happy memories.
But don't get me wrong: I'm thankful for my dishwasher!

Writer's Workshop: Photo Bomb

This week, I'm following the prompt, "5. Photographs can turn a house into a home. Share a photograph that is not on your wall, but should be…if you weren’t so lazy about actually putting it there."

When I read this prompt, I thought, now there's the story of my life! I take photographs all the time but rarely do anything with them, except maybe post them to Flickr or Instagram and possibly send them to others. If the photos are lucky, they may even make it to this blog and be seen by one or two readers. I keep telling Joshua that I am going to make some photo books, but that hasn't happened yet. I absolutely love taking photos, but the problem with taking as many as I do is that it's so time consuming to go through them all and do anything with them. Maybe it was easier back in the film days when we couldn't take 200 photos in a three hour span.

All those photos, and my poor walls are totally empty.

There are other things that I need to hang, as well: a growth chart for Joshua that I probably should put up before he stops growing, a few pieces of art that he made in school this year which I absolutely adore, two photos that I won recently, my state-fair-prize-winning photos that are sitting in boxes with ribbons attached. In fact, I have a whole closet full of potential wall decorations, but haven't had the time or energy to really do anything with them.

I need more hours in the day, and probably more sleep.

It also doesn't help that our current home is temporary -- an apartment to stay in until I can save up some money to buy a house. But that doesn't mean I can't make it more homey while we are here. So, I'm feeling a little motivated now (thanks, Mama Kat!). I think wall decorating needs to be my next big project.

For the sake of the prompt, I went through some photos online and chose a few I thought would look good on my walls.

Perhaps a cute collage with these two (Beluga whales are such hams!):

2011

2014

Maybe a more creative photo of Joshua:

Or some owls in our newly-decorated, owl-themed bathroom (the boy loves his owls):

And some other of our favorite animals, for good measure:

It will take a little time and effort, but I am sure we'll be able to find the right photos to make our house feel like a home. Now, to buy some frames...

Writer's Workshop: Heart, Melted

Following the prompt: 1. The last time my heart melted was because…

My son is a total sweetheart. He's always telling me how much he loves me and worries about me when we are not together. With pride, he helps me around the house and at the store. He's a mama's boy, and my right-hand man.

(Well, left-hand, I suppose. He has to stay on that side because he's a lefty; otherwise we'd be bumping each other's arms all the time.)

I love to see how he treats others. He held open the door, unprompted, for a woman in a wheelchair when we were in Disneyworld. In addition, he struck up a conversation with her, smiling that great big smile he has, and made her smile, too. A card from one of his teachers included the line, "Thank you for always being so polite." He gets along with nearly everyone. He truly views everyone as his friend, and is very kind and outgoing.

(Well, most of the time.)

I love age six because he can do so much, and is getting old enough to have really interesting conversations with me. We're reading and doing math problems together, and it's a really exciting time in his life. He was a great baby, but in all honesty, I don't miss the infant stage at all. However, I do have a confession to make.

I was looking through some of his toddler photos recently, and my heart completely melted. Like mini marshmallows in a cup of hot cocoa.

Cases in point, from age 2:

There was a video, too, which was the real kicker, but I can't find it now. Anyway, he's still a cutie, but ermahgerd. Can't he go back to being that little like, once a month or something?

Writer's Workshop: Letting it Go

This week, I am following the prompt: "2. If there was one thing you could change about yourself, what would it be? Why can’t it change?" Actually, there are a lot of things. But lately I am choosing to concentrate on the things I can change, and accept the rest.

I love the song "Let it Go" from the movie Frozen.  I know, it's one of those songs that everyone's kids have sung a million times, ad nauseam, but I have never gotten tired of it.  The words really speak to me.  In fact, Elsa's personality really hits home for me.  And not just because the cold doesn't bother her (yeah, I'm possibly the only person around enjoying the below-freezing temps right now).

Elsa is different.  She has something about herself that she doesn't want anyone to know, so she stays hidden.  She is also afraid of hurting others, and most likely of being hurt herself.  But the fear makes things worse, and she is caught in a cycle of hiding and berating herself.  She even hides from her dear sister and best friend, and once her parents are gone, she is left alone.

I can relate to this to a degree.  I don't have any secrets or magic powers that I am hiding, but I understand what it's like to be afraid to express myself, to hide from others or not speak because I am afraid others won't like me.  But as I avoid eye contact and social situations, I alienate myself, and the more I do that, the more I feel alone.  The more I feel pity for myself and feel like no one likes me.  In reality, I am just sending out signals that I don't want to socialize or even that I am not friendly.  That isn't who I really am.  I want to break free from that cycle.  I'm actually working on it now, and making some good progress.

There is part of me that feels I need to "be the good girl [I] always have to be."  Manners and proper behavior and saying the right thing and being pleasant and neat are just some of the things drilled into my head.  I find myself extremely self-conscious, judging myself constantly, but really, I am watching through someone else's eyes.  "I should" is really "they would think I should."  As soon as I feel a pang of guilt, I now know the drill.  Where is it coming from?  Is it because you think someone would disapprove?  More than nine times of out ten, that's the issue.

I want to be like Elsa.  I want to let it all go, I want to be free.  I want to slam the door on what no longer serves me well.  I want to stop worrying, stop feeling guilty, stop stressing out.  I don't want to feel awkward and shy anymore.  I want to go out into the world, to explore and be myself.  I want to live this life to the fullest, because, quite frankly, I am not getting any younger and it's about time I did something with my life.  Most importantly, I want to feel like I have good something to offer the world.  I want to find what that is.  I don't want to be afraid to love and be loved -- in whatever form it comes.  Because I know that love heals and overcomes and will always win.

I want to feel more like "I don't care what they're going to say," but to let the storms die down. (Unless a fight needs to be fought. Sometimes, that is necessary.)  Let's be kinder to ourselves, and to others.  Let's celebrate the parts of each other that make us all special so no one ever feels like they have to hide.  Let's live happy and fulfilling lives, and allow others to do so, as well.

And let's get some more snow over here in southern New England.  I haven't even gotten to build a snowman yet this winter! ;)


Side note: After I wrote this the other night, I got an email from Sandy Hook Promise about their "No One Eats Alone" campaign to help end social isolation in middle schools. In theory, it sounds great, although if some kids are just introverts, it may not make them feel very comfortable. At any rate, sometimes just feeling accepted and knowing someone cares is enough to relieve the feeling of loneliness. To find out more about the program, please click here.

Writer's Workshop: Where I'm From

This week, I am following the prompt: 1. Complete the “Where I’m From” poem. (template here)

This was a hard one, but something I wanted to complete once I saw the template and examples, as I am on a journey toward higher self-esteem and self-image. There are so many pieces that add up to form who I am, but I tried to think of the main things that have really shaped me, or that have been important, interesting or endearing to me. I'm sure I'm missing something, but here's my attempt at it.

My birthplace

I am from the calculator and the computer bought for me at a young age by my Papa and my father, who both recognized my love of math and technology, and encouraged it.

I am from the cross-stitch, the paint, the pencil, the joy of creating, handed down by my Nana and my mother.

I am from the music: the dance parties or the soothing sounds, both putting me in the best of moods.

From the many choruses I enjoyed being part of for over twelve years. From the love of harmony, the vibrations that blend us so perfectly that it feels like Heaven on Earth when we hit them just right. From never wanting to sing the melody or be the star, but always wanting to be the supporter -- in other areas of life, as well.

I am from leftover scraps of pie crust sprinkled with cinnamon, rolled, and baked just for me. From Christmas cookies, especially the rum logs and gingerbread bells. From broccoli casserole and Swedish apple pie. From fantastic bakers, and excellent cooks.

I am from every other weekend at my father's house. From chili burgers, burritos, and banana splits. From midnight walks and strolls along the beach. From Newport Vanderbilt mansions and fancy restaurants and playing croquet at Clement Moore's old summer residence.

From put your napkin on your lap, sit up straight, and keep your elbows off the table. (Though, sometimes, I forget I'm from there.)

I am from quiet people who can tear up at just about anything on television -- both happy and sad.

I am from the funniest people, the "smart ankles" who can't keep quiet if something strikes them as hilarious (bonus points if it's punny). From impersonations and belly laughs and getting in trouble in school for laughing too much -- not out of disrespect, but because funny things are everywhere. (Just ask Dr. Seuss.)

From "you can be anything you want when you grow up" and "you're full of bologna."

I am from "Jesus loves me" and "love one another" and "the greatest of these is love." From a heart of service, compassion, and respect toward all my brothers and sisters, regardless of who they are and where they have been.

I am from Rhode Island via relatives from Colorado, Connecticut, and North Carolina. From Native Americans (Apache, we think) and ancestors from Mexico, Ireland, Scotland, England, Denmark, and Germany -- many of whom were here before the United States was even a country.

From the Pearl Harbor survivor, the Civil War families fighting against each other, the American Revolution patriots.

I am from Little House on the Prairie and other history books and biographies. From a great interest in politics. From watching C-SPAN with my Papa and working as an intern in the State House.

I am from the fascination with and appreciation of other countries and cultures.  From the love of traveling, seeing new places, and meeting friendly people.

I am from the skier and swimmer and one-time Colorado State Champ Little League catcher, and from the avid sports fan, who somehow together created a hockey goalie.

From baseball players and Red Sox fans. From summer nights on Papa's porch, sitting on the swing while listening to the crickets and the ball game.

I am from the countless photo albums opened at the holidays, the laughing at outdated fashion trends, the perfect capturing of both everyday and special moments.  From the love of both reliving and capturing those moments.

From black and white photos of Irish teenagers with wide grins and curly hair and cheerful commentary written on the back. From beautiful, posed women with dark hair and fancy dresses. From men in military uniform. From big family parties, once held quite often.

I am from my father's slide shows, and the first camera he gave me in elementary school. From my step-father's SLR camera, which I used to take a photography class in middle school.

From, as long as I can remember, constantly framing new photos in my mind whenever I would see something beautiful or interesting. From spending hours looking at other people's photography in magazines, especially National Geographic and Sports Illustrated.

I am from these places and so many more. Now it's time to discover where I will go next.

Writer's Workshop: My Window

This week, I am following the theme: 3. Write a haiku about what you see out your window.

Cars, a parking lot

Neighbors smoking on their deck

I miss my old view

The old view, last February

Unfortunately, sometimes you have to sacrifice some good things and some comfort to get to where you need to be, and to be truly happy. It's a process, but I know it will happen. And I can't complain; while the current view from my office isn't as beautiful as the view six months ago, the backyard view isn't exactly shabby:

Got woods? Check!

And the front patio is perfect for roller hockey!

Writer's Workshop: The Joshua Show

This week, I'm following the prompt: 4.) Hand your child a camera and share life captured from their perspective

I've done this prompt before, but I felt it was worth repeating, as Joshua always has something interesting to bring to the table. I didn't hand him a camera, per se, but I did go hunting on his iPhone (my old phone, which he uses as an iPod). For a while, he was into taking videos of himself, a little Vlogging, if you will. Here is life captured by my crazy kid.

The all-important instructional video:


Obviously bored while waiting for the bus (Bat Ring!):


The ever-popular funny face selfies:


And cars! (Well, car.)


The self-proclaimed "Mayor of Crazytown" has been hard at work.

Writer's Workshop: What Did You Call Me?

This week, I'm following the prompt: 3.) The last time someone called you a name.

It was about five years ago. A bunch of my friends and I were in a bar, having a great time, when I decided to fight the crowd to use the facilities. I pushed my way through a bit, until I came to a group of guys who were blocking the hallway.

"Excuse me," I said politely.

"Hey, watch out for that linebacker behind you," one guy said to his friend.

A linebacker? I knew I had a lot of weight to lose, but I was hurt. Normally, I wouldn't say anything, but I decided to speak up. The Guinness made me do it.

"A goalie," I said.

"What?"

"I'm a goalie. An ice hockey goalie. I don't play football," I corrected him.

And then they were all interested, or maybe just embarrassed because I'm not sure they meant for me to hear. "Do you play for Providence College?" and other questions.  I just smiled and walked away.

I'm not sure I could name a linebacker if my life depended on it... but go Patriots!

Even though I was proud of how I handled the insult, this exchange bothered me for a long time. Even after losing over 30 lbs, that comment and countless others before it have dug deeper than the weight. They made me feel so un-beautiful, un-feminine, un-wanted. Things I have struggled to and wanted to feel ever since I was an awkward and goofy-looking young girl. All I've ever wanted was for people to like me. But now I know it's not always that important.

I am tired of letting others make me feel bad about myself. They have no right; they don't know a thing about me. If I am being a jerk, then yes, I hope someone would make me feel bad. But it's not right to criticize something I have no way of changing, or that may be hard to change. Or that may only be bad in their eyes. God apparently didn't want me to be a supermodel, but He may have some other, more fabulous plans for me. I'm tired of people making me feel so crappy about myself that I don't have the confidence to find and succeed with those plans.

I'm constantly reminding my child to be kind to everyone. Kindness and respect are so important. When we were on vacation, he voluntarily, and without my immediate attention, held the door open for a woman in a wheelchair. And made her smile. I had to choke back tears as I told him how proud I was. You got it, kid. Always do those things.

I also know now that it's up to me, too. To not let these insults control me, especially in a case like this where it's not someone constantly bothering me. (Unfortunately, it hasn't always been that way.) It's hard, because I am so sensitive, but I can always change the way I perceive what people say. And I have the right to stand up for myself or get help if a situation is out of control.

I guess if I look at my story now, I can give it a positive spin. Calling me a whale would have been another thing, but a linebacker is strong and athletic. And they were ready to believe I was still in college!

Day-um... I am good.

Writer's Workshop: My Pumpkin and Our Patch

This week, I'm following the prompt: 5.) Show us your pumpkin patch.

If there is a season my son and I love, it is Autumn. We love the cooler weather, colorful foliage, and of course -- pumpkins! Pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin donuts, pumpkin coffee... Autumn is great, but it makes me fat. We also enjoy decorating with pumpkins. Pumpkin lights, ceramic pumpkins, pictures of pumpkins (his favorite thing to draw), pumpkin towels, pumpkin spice soap... if it has a pumpkin on it, we probably have it around the house. It's no surprise that Josh's favorite color is orange, and that my nickname for him is "Punkin" (a combination of pumpkin and punk, which he can definitely be sometimes).

So, it makes sense that one of our favorite Autumn activities is going down to the pumpkin patch. We have a tradition of going to Schartner Farms, taking a hay ride out to the corn maze, and picking out some pumpkins. It's always a great time.

Ready for the tractor!

The kids maze

Creepy corn stalks in the maze

How do we get out of here?

There is a new theme every year. This year's was sports, complete with a Green Monstah!

And Tom Brady, of course!

I snacked on a fresh apple, Josh danced with his farm animals, and we had a lovely hayride. The life!

Inspired by Kat's post, here's a look back through the years at a boy and his pumpkins:

2013

2012

2011

2010

Stay tuned for photos of our other favorite Autumn event, the Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular at Roger Williams Zoo in Providence!

Writer's Workshop: Recess

I wasn't sure what to write for any of the prompts this week, so I chose one from the week of August 28th, which I had wanted to choose at the time, but never had a chance to write. That prompt is: 5.) It happened during recess... Plus a little rambling. ;)

Whenever I post a photo to Instagram that displays a stone wall, I inevitably get a comment from someone outside of New England who appreciates our lovely and very abundant collection of them. I think they are gorgeous, but more than that, they bring back some great memories of good times when I was growing up. And they always remind me of my elementary school's playground.

When I was in elementary school, I usually used recess as a chance to get out all of the extra energy I had built up from sitting still and concentrating (for the most part) for so long. I loved flipping over the high bars and climbing on the other playground equipment. For some reason, we had a lot of tires everywhere for climbing and crawling. We even had this contraption made of tires strung on chains on which as many of us as could fit would climb while two others would jump on the chains and try to knock us all off. So fun, but maybe not so safe. For some reason, it's not there anymore.

Jump rope was always fun, too, especially the kind where two people would swing the rope, one would jump, and everyone would chant highly inappropriate rhyming rhythms. And there was always good old fashioned playing in the mud and somehow winding up in poison ivy (which I was, thankfully, somehow not allergic to, even though I'm allergic to the rest of the world).

Sometimes, though, I just wanted to enjoy my outdoor time quietly. I think this may have started after I sprained my ankle, or broke my arm, or broke any number of my fingers. I used to bring in little Cabbage Patch Kid figurines and could usually get one of my quieter friends to join me. We'd use the stone wall, which was falling apart in some places, as a little house for the figures. Some of the pieces of the wall even worked to make furniture for the house. We'd make up all kinds of stories and have a great time. I could have spent hours just playing in a stone wall with some little plastic dolls. Maybe it was therapeutic or something, I don't know, but it was my happy place.

Now this is the part where I lament that kids these days don't know how to have fun just using their own imaginations, right? Except, my son does. He will sit for hours making up stories with his Lego Duplos. (He calls the current series "Chicken Tornado." We're on episode 5.) In fact, he's making up stories and songs and engaging in imaginative play all the time, just like I did. He's taking pictures and videos (he has quite the "video selfie" collection right now) and drawing his "inventions." I love this stuff, too. Every once in a while, he takes a break to play Angry Birds or watch Disney Junior, but not for too long, and they usually end up giving him more ideas for his stories. It's been very cool watching him grow into this really interesting person with whom I have a lot in common, who is constantly reminding me of things I loved from my childhood.

My old elementary school is now closed, recently sold to someone who is going to make it into condos, or a hotel, or something like that. It makes me sad, because it was such a good school. Joshua just started Kindergarten at a newer school in that district a couple of weeks ago. Tonight, he brought home a book from the school library and I noticed something familiar inside the cover: it was a stamp from my old school's library. My heart was warmed. I can't wait to see all the good times he will have at his school, and all the wonderful memories he'll make. Especially at recess.

Writer's Workshop: Setting Sun

3.) A blog post inspired by the words: setting sun

Driving home by bridge

Sun setting over the bay

Goodnight, Rhode Island