I was reading Dear Abby ...

On my key ring I have as many, if not more, non-keys than anything else. My key ring is a good reflection of who I am:  I have a Winnie the Pooh house key, I have a Baylor key chain and I have a set of my son's dog tags. 

 The other weekend, Husband and I were at WalMart and a Winnie the Pooh Halloween window decoration (ok, two decorations!) jumped into my cart. 

The cashier was commenting on how cute it was and how much she liked Pooh, to which I had to respond, "Oh, me too!" and I showed her my Pooh purse, 

in which was my Pooh wallet 

and my Pooh cell phone. 

I also showed her my Pooh house key (see above photo). Yeah, I *win* that "Overly Obsessed" ribbon!

I've had people, when they see the Baylor key ring or the dog tags ask about them and I, of course, leap at the chance to talk about my precious children. I also have a Baylor Mom window cling on my car 

as well as an Army Mom sticker. 

I've had people tell me "tell your son thank you for his service" and once I had a gentleman throw me a sic 'em in the parking lot of Kroger.  

I have such public acknowledgments of my children that its almost expected that I'll get comments.  What I don't understand is the people who feel the need to respond with with something negative. When my son  left for Basic training, I had several people take that moment to tell me about their (brother / cousin / neighbor) who went to (Vietnam / Desert Storm / prison) and who now is (an amputee / suffering from PTSD / an addict) and as a result is (homeless / divorced / incarcerated).   Vietnam and Desert Storm I can sort of understand them telling me, but prison?  In their mind, my son going to Basic training is equivalent to their loved one going to PRISON?  And yes, I am aware that sometimes Soldiers get injured in combat. Telling me about your loved one who is now a homeless meth addict because of untreated PTSD does not give comfort to a mother's heart. 

It's not just Soldiers. When my daughter went to college, I was regaled with tales of Girls Gone Wild that would stop your heart. Again, I am sorry that your (daughter / niece / cousin) went to college and ended up (pregnant / alcoholic / an atheist) but honestly. Do you really think I need to hear that?  

I was reading Dear Abby this morning and one of the letters was from a military mom who had a son deployed in a combat zone.  She was writing about people who mean well, but say stupid or insensitive or even hurtful things. I found myself nodding in agreement, and I found myself slightly comforted in knowing that I'm not alone in experiencing this phenomenon.  

I can also painfully recall a couple of situations in which I, not knowing what to say, said things so stupid and so insensitive that, 30 years later, I still flush with embarrassment.  What's worse is the memory that, even when I realized I was totally making an ass out of myself, I KEPT talking. Like *more* stupid, thoughtless, insensitive words would be the solution. I am truly mortified at myself. 

Why do we struggle so?  Why is it so hard to say, "I'll keep you in my prayers" and then *stop talking*?  Why do we feel the need to share our horror stories?  Why do we tell pregnant women about our own 42-hour labors and then tell them they'll never sleep again?  Why do we tell high school students about "that student" who applied to 20 different colleges and got accepted nowhere?  Why do we tell graduating college seniors about our neighbor's child who graduated with a BA, and $40,000 of student loans, and is now waitressing at IHOP?  

I'm sick of it. I'm sick of receiving it -- please, unless I ask, do NOT tell me about your nephew who didn't come home from Vietnam or tell me about your cousin who was killed by a drunk driver while partying over Spring Break. I'm not your therapist. I'm a mom. I'm a mom with a deployed son and a college daughter. I can visualize enough horror without your help.  

Talk to me about my kids -- heck be quiet for two seconds and I'll *start* a conversation about my kids!  I love talking about them. I've got the key ring items and the car stickers to show that. Ask me about them, how they're doing, when they're coming home. But don't "bond" with me by telling me horror nightmare stories. 

In return, I will also try to remember that a hug is sometimes all that's required. I won't necessarily assume you want to hear my words of wisdom (ha!) and I'll offer a prayer and I'll remember that in silence, people can open up --if they want to. Sometimes, people don't WANT to bond or have a relatable moment.   And that's ok, too. Some days I don't want to be Mom Of A Deployed Soldier. I just want to be Overly Obsessive Pooh Bear Enthusiast.  

When I say stupid, insensitive things (and I will), I hope I will be forgiven.  When someone feels the need to share a "let's bond" horror story with me (and someone will) I pray that I am able to smile and understand that it's coming, not from a place of hurtful intentions, but from good intentions. 

Ask me about my kids. Ask me what new additions there are to the Pooh Collection. (There will be. Guaranteed!). Ask me if there is something specific I would like you to keep in your prayers. Tell me about YOUR kids. Laugh with me, hug me, share in my Pooh obsession.  But please, don't tell me nightmare horror stories about things that I'm already aware of (and afraid of).  

And forgive me when I do to you the very same thing -- when you tell me your concerns about something and I respond with, "Oh, did I ever tell you about my cousin who ..."  

I am working on learning when to listen, when to speak -- and what should,  and shouldn't, be spoken. Sometimes words are unnecessary. Sometimes superficial chatter is the most appropriate thing. 

And always, Pooh talk is welcomed. Just ask the poor cashier at Walmart who made the mistake of telling me she was a fan of the bear!