Soccer Mom

So I’m sitting here watching my son play soccer and I’m watching all these different kinds of personalities clash together on one field . It’s a variety to say the least. You’ve got the big heads who think they are Gods gift to the soccer team and they probably are. Then you’ve got the bold ones who aren’t that great at soccer but are brave enough to try anything. Next, you’ve got the reserved ones, the ones who can play but stand back and let the bold ones and big shots take the lead and every now and then the reserved ones get the chance to show off their skills. Finally, there are the newbies. Newbies are not just ones who have never played before but they are the ones who just haven’t quite figured out the game yet.(my son falls between the newbie and the reserved one) Amazing how different they can all be yet all are soccer players playing together on the same team.

Africa I Miss You

Certain smells can trigger memories of my childhood in Africa. The smell of diesel fuel reminds me of all the taxis and wala wala s. The smell of summer rain can sometimes remind me of the sudden tropical downpours. All these little memories that get triggered remind me that no matter what. …Africa is in my blood. I will never forget you Africa!!

 

 

Motherhood

MOTHERHOOD

By: Rebecca Kennedy Green

 

Little toes, chubby cheeks

Lots of rolls, little squeaks.

Precious laughter, toothless grin

Fingers grasping, double chin.

Army crawling, drool galore

Crying baby, can’t take no more.

Splashing water, Wobbly walking

Jars of peas, barely talking.

Screams of anger, cries of pain

Mommy kisses make it better again.

Running wild, throwing food

Saying no, for being rude.

Time out corner, hugs of care

Brushing out the knotty hair.

Off to school, holding on

Pink lunchbox, ABC song.

Soccer playing, cheering loud

Little trophy, very proud.

Make up on, dresses and more

Science class, I’m a bore.

Graduation, top of the class.

Tears of relief, time flies fast.

Break ups and crying, falling in love

Moms advice, wedding dove.

Chubby cheeks, little rolls

Words of wisdom, Grandma knows.

Family together, whispered prayers

Daughter has grown, children are theirs.

Holding hands, connection is deep

Nothing said, not a peep.

Fading memories, from where we’ve been

Final breath, until we meet again.

Poem for Today

There is a light, a light that shines radiant.

Deep in my heart it rests, pouring out my soul.

Some say to keep it hidden, to keep it under control.

Should I conform like everyone else?

Should I retain it inside myself?

I say absolutely No! I will not!

I will not keep this light from changing the world.

Let it shine and let it glow,

Don’t let them tell you no.

You see when you decide to be something great.

People will turn and be filled with hate.

They don’t mean to

Their hearts are hard

They want you to stay just where you are.

So my thought for this day,

Be yourself, shine your light

Gain your freedom, with what is right!

 

 

 

My Family and I

Once upon a time there lived a family of eight, and yes you heard me right; six kids and a Mom and a Dad. We were an odd but typical American family. My mother is actually my step mom but she raised me from age five so I consider her my actual mother. Her name is, well for privacy sake, we will just call her Mother. Mother had four boys of her own and when she met my dad, we will call him Father; He was busy trying to raise me and my sister by his self. They got married and two became six, three became eight, five became …. Well you get the idea. Now there are eight and, boy, was this the beginning of an unexpected adventure of an incredible journey together; our journey to Africa.
Let us begin with one typical day in the Kennedy household. “MOTHER someone won’t let me into the bathroom” or “MOTHER someone pulled my hair.” We were always fighting over something. Then we would all rush down to the breakfast table like a pack of wild animals and start fighting over who got what food. Of course my Mother knew how to keep order in this chaos and would immediately straighten all of us out. We could not eat until we said Grace and we had to use manners. That was very important to my Mother, table manners. No elbows on the table, No chewing with your mouth open, No laughing during prayer time (that one got us in trouble the most), and No talking with food in your mouth. Amazingly enough we all cooperated; of course the spanking we would get if we did not listen was incentive to comply. We are all pretty close in age. My oldest brother was the authoritarian of the group. He tried to control everything. The next in line, well, he was the Know-it-all and still is. Then came me, I’m the oldest girl and I guess a little narcissistic. My sister is next and she is the dramatic one. There are many words to describe my next brother but I will keep it simple and say, energetic, rebellious, crazy, eccentric, fun spirited and so on and so on. Lastly is the baby brother, he was the typical youngest child, always got his way and just a little spoiled. Whew! I think I covered everybody. Oh wait I forgot the Big No, The Chief, The Warden, The Inspirer with the belt, The Ruler of the Roost, the one and only Father. He worked a lot and we were all terrified of him, especially when he was mad. He ruled with an iron fist and a wooden paddle. Despite all this we still loved to WWE smack down with him. He was our ultimate wrestling buddy. Of course this was our chance to let out our frustrations in a “loving and playful” manner. There was no peace and quiet in the Kennedy house hold. If there was no noise then something was wrong. We even continued the chaos in our sleep, from sleep walking to sleep talking. Yep this was our life, until that one day our parents sat us down for a talk, THE TALK.
The talk was, of course, a new chapter in our lives that would forever change who we were and are as individuals and as a family. You see the talk was the decision that my parents made to take us all to a foreign land, a land that I would eventually call my home; Africa. A place that smells of fried aloco and diesel fuel. The place where burnt coco beans flooded the area with such an aroma your mouth would water. Taxis crowding the road ways barely held together, People walking around with stacks of pineapples on their heads or anything they wanted to sell. Yet beyond the city were quaint villages where mud was the main ingredient for their walls and chickens and goats ran as wild as the little unclothed children. Where we were chased by mobs of kids asking for candy and shouting, “To ba boo, to ba boo, to ba boo!” (This means white man in one of the main tribal languages) This was my home. These were my people and I loved them with all of my heart. As I still do today.
The Africans taught me and my family so much. They brought us food when we had none and they invited into their homes without hesitation. They are the happiest poor people I have ever met. I saw people who only had the basics, such as one pair of clothes and shoes and shacks for houses with just enough food for each person to have a little serving live the happiest lives with no complaints and willing to help anyone that needed it. These selfless people taught me what it means to live happily even if you don’t have anything. They taught me to appreciate what I have in life instead of wishing I had more. Our family became stronger because of it and we grew together forming a bond that cannot be broken. I would not trade these experiences for anything in the world and I would not trade my family for any other family in the world. I will have to say the scariest journey that seemed like a crazy decision, turned out to be what created an inseparable family that would stick together for the rest of our lives.

RAIN IS RAIN RIGHT?

Jungle Rain versus Mountain Rain

            Rain is rain right? At least to some it may seem that way, but the rain is different in the jungles of Africa compared to the rain in the mountains of America. The warm breeze that blows through the air as the warm tropical rain starts to shower your face or the cold pricks of the mountain rain stings your skin, there is a difference.

I was sitting on my porch as the rain poured here in the mountains day after day without end, the cold air and the cold rain blowing in on me in an intrusive manner. This was no fun. I had no desire to get out in this rain at all. As it seemed there was no end to this downpour, I tried to make the most out of my situation. I thought why not just enjoy it and have fun in it, like old times. Then my better judgment got ahold of me. For one, I am too old to be playing in the rain. I would probably slip and break something. Secondly, it was ice cold. If I did not catch a cold, I would have certainly been sick with something. Then it hit me, the old days when I actually played in the rain and enjoyed it. Why was that?

The old days were not here in America. I grew up in Africa, in the jungle. Jungle rain is much different. When I was younger, I would go outside and let the warm bucketful’s of rain dump over me, and when I say bucketful’s I mean bucketful’s. Rain did not come down softly or in little stinging drops, but it came down like the heaviest shower you could ever take. It was fun. You could say it is all in my head, well maybe so, but there is nothing like jungle rain. The smell of warm asphalt or bamboo trees tickling your nose as the steam rises from the downpour, is one of the few things I can say are not imaginary.

There are obvious differences between the two types of rain. For instance, mountain rain usually comes during the winter and spring months and jungle rain usually comes during the summer and fall months. Of course, it rains during other times of the year, but not like those months. Rainy season is what we call it in the jungle. It is our winter because the rain lowers the temperatures to around the 70’s or 80’s. When it rains in the mountains, the temperatures are usually below 60 degrees and the rain is even colder.

Obviously, you know what I prefer. The beautiful bucketful’s of rain are in no way out done by the icy showers of the mountains. The dark dreary gloom that usually follows unending rain seems to be non-existent with the jungle rain. For some reason rain here makes you depressed, like you are living in a dungeon. Maybe it is because you cannot get out and enjoy it. It is too cold. In the jungles of Africa, it is refreshing from the hot day and it brings with it a calming of the environment around you.

Imagine being surrounded by the lush green bush, what we call a jungle forest in Africa, with the sound of the approaching rain showering around you. The smell rises up. It is mixed with tropical trees, dirt, and asphalt roads that interweave through these jungles. Then the first warm drop hits you right in the cheek. It does not hurt but feels refreshing as the next few drops start to splash against your skin. Breathing in once again to take the steamy air in, the waterfall of rain has drenched you through. How invigorating.

Now imagine yourself surrounded by the woods of the Appalachian Mountains. The smell is quite inviting like in Africa but in a different way. Pine, bark, and moss mix together as the rain approaches. The first drop falls on your skin like ice falling from the clouds. It startles you. Then comes the shower, but not a peaceful shower, a shower of a million stinging rain drops. This is torture.

Maybe to some the mountain rain is their preference, more power to those people, but to me the tropical rain of the jungle is like no other rain in the world. From the smell, to the warmth, the rain is the most inviting rain in the world. How could rain ever be something that anyone can enjoy? This might be a question you are asking. My answer would simply be you never know how good something is until you try it. I would suggest everyone trying jungle rain.