Random rantings of an adult

The imperfect tree is ready to be taken down.  It was nice to have the real thing for once but next year we will have an artificial tree.  The stress of whether another ornament will fall, worrying if it needs more water, and today's exercise of taking down those dang lights is just not worth me doing again.

Judge me if you want, I don't care anymore- I am an adult.  This is new declaration for me. I am a college graduate, a married woman, heck I birthed two beautiful children but still somehow did not feel grown up.  Despite being in my late thirties, I still feel like a kid inside who likes to be taken care of, have mom cook my dinner and not mind if I skip the dishes one night.  My husband endures this immaturity just as I accept his.  I think few people my age feel as old as we really are.

I cooked my first full Christmas meal with no help earlier this week.  No help at all, by choice.  I did not grow up in the "teamwork" decade.  Not everyone got a trophy on my soccer team.  The dinner was awesome.  I earned my "Good Housekeeping" seal and shocked my husband with my culinary skills all at once.  Good day.

As I stood in my kitchen trying to time the baking of the green bean casserole, the stuffing, the ham, turkey and glazed carrots just right I had never felt as "adult"as I did in that moment.  I was a mom telling her kids to stop running around, a wife asking my husband to take our little angels to the park, a daughter in law smiling at the regular check-ins of my well intentioned mother in law and just like that I accepted my adulthood.

The days following that moment have kept the adult moments rolling in..... a broken down care, expense for a six year old's oral surgery, acting like a shut in because it is too damn cold for anything else.  Life as an adult is a little exhausting so this weekend I am doing what many women do when a break is needed, I am going to see my mom.  

Bravery comes in all forms

Bravery takes on all different forms throughout one's day.  Today bravery showed itself in a pink tee shirt embellished with sequins and carried a well loved ol' bear named Teddy.

E went to the dentist to get her teeth cleaned and address what I believe to be her first cavity.  She was not excited and expressed outright fear a few times.  My heart chipped off a little piece when I saw her so scared.

Last night I discovered I may have been the only mom in my little circle of neighborhood friends to have talked to E about the Connecticut shootings.  She knows a man with a sick mind killed some little kids who as she put it, "could have all been my friends."  She did not show fear over that news but did when I told her we were going to the dentist.  Oh to be a kid again..

This morning I asked her to brush her teeth and she froze.  You could literally see the moment she remembered where we were going pass through her brain.  Her up up-curled, smiling lips (inappropriately slathered in a purple lip gloss that needed to be removed) went straight and then there was silence.  More silence.   In one sudden moment, she ran up stairs more excited than I thought she should be to do such a mundane task.  Minutes later she came back down with unbrushed teeth but a huge smile holding her beloved Bear.  "I'll take Bear to be brave today."  I responded with, "whatever it takes," and gave a big smile followed with, "now go brush your teeth".

Bear sat comfortably in her backpack during school this morning and she pulled him out as I parked the car at the dentist.  I did not say anything and neither did she.  We entered the lobby and Bear sat next to me in a chair while E played in the lobby filled with video games and toys.  The nurse (or a lady wearing scrubs) came out and called E's name.  She was sitting on the floor, playing with the Barbie toy and looked up at me.  She took one deep breath as she got up, grabbed Bear out of his seat and stopped to hug me.

I waited for the pleading for me to come back with her.  I waited for the long look as she walked to hand the woman's head.  To my surprise neither came.  E looked down at Teddy and said, "here we go".  And away she went.

Some days we do not need a hero we just need a little bravery to remind ourselves that heroes exist.
I have that for the moment.  Lets just hope this bravery thing carries us through her hearing she has to get a cavity filled.  yikes!

Pray, Pray and Pray some more

Let's get one thing straight.  God did not allow the Connecticut shootings.  Satan did this using a living, breathing creation of God.  His creation gave into evil, sin and darkness.  It was God's creation who gave into this darkness and it was he holding Satan's hand that shot and killed those innocent adults and those babies.

It is too easy for us to blame the guns.  That is just too easy.   I refuse to take the easy way through this grief.  The blame lies at Satan's feet and solely at his feet.  I refuse to let him off the hook and blame a stupid piece of metal.  Satan moved into the weak mind of one of God's weakest creations and created this massacre.  If guns were not available he would have chosen another method of destruction.  He does it everyday through greed, drugs, addiction, gluttony, insert your favorite sin here....

Removing the second amendment will not stop this nonsense.  Legal or illegal someone wanting a gun will find a gun.  Pray. Pray. Pray some more and then keep praying.  I am praying for the Lord's peace to wrap itself around our country and our world in addition to the families of the innocents.  The deaths are being felt far outside the boundaries that rural Connecticut town.  Hearts are breaking around this country and our world.

We must come together together and ask for the strength of Lord's love that will deliver us from this tragedy.  That's right, we ask for the Lord's grace to see us through and receive the blessings of peace and strength He will surely give.  If it sounds too easy, I offer this:  when I need grace, strength and love to fill my heart I usually need it right then and so I ask for it.  The Lord listens and responds.  We are not meant to jump through hoops to receive the blessings He wants to bestow on his believers.  He is eager to give them, we have to only ask.  It is that simple.  He did the hard work for us long before we arrived in His universe so it would be that simple.  Just accept it, shut up and pray.

Pray for the teachers, the community, the parents, the siblings, the administrators all of who will wonder if they did enough today.  They did.  Pray for our country that will further be politically divided on the issue of gun control.  We most definitely will.  Pray for the parents across the globe who are hurting on behalf the parents who lost their children today whether they were an adult or a small child.  We all are.
Pray for the unbelievers of this world who will do all they can to shift the focus away from the evil of Satan and cloud the issue with minutia.  The media is included in that need for prayer.
Just stop and pray.  Hug your babies, then pray with them.
May God bless us all.

The Blessings of an Imperfect Christmas

I think I had a real Christmas tree growing up most years.  I really do not remember.  Obviously, the real vs. fake tree is not an issue I am passionate about at Christmastime.

As an adult, I maintain the rationale that I have a lot of stuff on my "to do" list and stringing lights around tree only to have to unstring them weeks later does not sound like an endeavor to which I need to dedicate my time.  There is always that one bulb that does not work on the light strand and that tangle always kinks up when unraveling the strands.  I can feel the stress working its way into my shoulders as I type those words.

Additionally, my husband is not a Christmas person.  He just is not and after 14 years together I am okay with that as long as he does not mind the madness that sets in my house this time of year.  I set up the tree and I take it down; the same is true for the garland, Santas, snowmen, nativity scenes, candy canes, etc. I go all out just not with a real tree..... until this year.

I bought a beautiful artificial, pre-lit tree ten years ago for mine and Hunt's first married Christmas.  It was perfect but after a 10 years, a few broken limbs and lots of tip overs from kids, it was time to put it out to the plastic pasture.  I had every intention of buying a new one on sale in July but that didn't happen.  Life happened but that did not.  So this year, I unloaded the Christmas boxes and remembered I have no tree (insert gasp here).

Home Depot to the rescue and two hours later I have a beautiful 9 ft. REAL Christmas tree.  Here is the kicker I discovered when we cut the bindings after it was secured in its tray:

REAL trees are not perfect.

I let it set for a couple of days.  Friends told me the limbs would "fall" and it will be okay.  The limbs did fall, it is beautiful but it was is still imperfect.  The shape is more organic not structured, some of the limbs are not strong enough for ornaments and the limbs do not bend to fill in the gaps.  My anxiety set in and it is now only after 2 weeks with my REAL tree that I can share this story.

I struggle with perfectionism.  My house is a mess but on the surface I look pulled together.  My perfect artificial tree gave me a sense of artificial peace because it was well, perfect.  Perfect color and perfect shape equal perfection; only it does not and that is the Christmas lesson I have learned this year.

This year's imperfect REAL tree highlighted to me the unfinished stockings that I convinced I had to hand sew for my children,  The hand sewn bead work is beautiful but took me a lot of time so somewhere all the way finishing them fell off the to do list.  I have a beautiful plain tree skirt because, in my mind, I was designing the snowflake appliqués that would dance around the fabric at the base of our tree.  My list of unfinished Christmas projects goes on and on but somehow my artificial tree pulled it all together.

I shared these feelings with two close friends both of whom rolled their eyes and looked at me like I was crazy.  Words failed me when I tried to explain why perfection mattered to me so much.  That is when I realized that maybe it shouldn't matter at all.  If I am not given the words to speak those feelings maybe I should take the hint they should not be said.

The end of 2012 is birthday of my authenticity.  I quit a good job with great benefits to establish my own business.  I have laid my vulnerability on the table and gone all in to create a better life for myself and my family.  I have never felt more exposed, ever.  My Christmas house usually feels perfect.  This year it feels REAL and it is something I am having to get used to everyday.  I am not meant to be perfect, I am meant to be me with all of my imperfections.  This lesson may be my Christmas miracle.

This One is for Nancy

Adolescent girls all over the world today are playing with their best friends.  More than half of them are plotting on how to stay best friends forever.  How will they find brothers they can marry?  Where will they live and raise their kids together?  Most of these girls are just dreaming.  Things like that do not happen in this world, it is too perfect.  Except it does every now and then.  It did for my mom, Jennifer Lewis McDaniel and her best friends Nancy Widle McDaniel and Connie Woodman McDaniel.  It happened for them and because of it mom’s childhood friends make up a significant part of my childhood memories.  Each of the friends had two children and the six of us played like friends, fought like siblings and love each other unconditionally as the family we are.

We lost Nancy early this week.  Cancer’s mean, vile and disgusting presence in this world took her from our family.  It was a ugly fight and we are thankful she is no longer in pain.  But her departure from our physical world is hard for me to comprehend.

She loved me, I know that.  She was not an emotional person but she was good to the core.  I remember her not making us stop playing kickball in her long hallway until after Chris and I had kicked a picture off the wall.  After.  Then she raised her voice to say “take it outside”.  And we did.  The orchard was her front yard.  We had a lot o room to kick. But she let us play,  she let us be kids.

Nancy accompanied my sister on her first beach trip.  We have the picture of Nancy pushing the stroller and Shelley’s chubby cheeks almost concealed the baby girl smile but not quite.  Nancy was not our mother’s friend, was our second mother.  Chris and Eric did not mind sharing.  They got two sisters out of the deal.  Shelley and I will do anything for our brothers even today.  Every breathe taken this week has been a prayer for the two of and her families.

Nancy loved Disney World.  One of her last wishes was to visit there.  I hope the Heaven she is experiencing is much like the Greatest Place on Earth” and she gets the VIP pass so there are no lines.

I hope the streets are lined with beautiful flowers for her to enjoy.  Nancy was gifted with a talent for creating beautiful floral arrangements.  My sister, Shelley and I were blessed with this gift firsthand when she did the flowers for our weddings. 

Painted ceramics, cake molds lining her kitchen walls, crafts for the Mid Valley Bazaar, Christmas gingerbread men wrapped in plastic delivered every Christmas season were trademarks of Nancy.  Hers were home made Gingerbread men whose arms and legs tore off they were so good, they did not break like store bought cookies. 

Every Christmas season is a display of Nancy’s projects and her love of the season.  She did Pinterest projects before any of us know what Pinterest was.  

Nancy was a Valley girl. Nearly every street holds a story her and mom could repeat, it seemed every house had a memory they could recount.  The Valley was always her home.  She spent a few years in Uvalde, a few in George West but make no mistake, this was her home.  She was born here, she fought for her life here and she will return to the Heavens with her heart rightfully buried deep in the rich Valley soil.  On her heavenly ascent to she got one last look of the palm lined streets of the Rio Grande Valley and I bet she smiled.

A Little Walk and A Big Lesson

Leaving my office job has afforded me the time to walk E to school each morning.  We live about 5 blocks away and it is nice to take that short walk each morning with her six year old hand in mine.  Everyday there is a new topic to discuss.  Today's topic was "Do you believe in ghosts?".  I tried to skate it because if I said "yes" bedtime would be a nightmare tonight.  I almost said, "no" just to move on to the next subject but then she interjected that if ghosts weren't real then what about the Holy Ghost?  Now we had a discussion on our hands so I did what any good parent with only 2 blocks left on their walk would do: punt.  

"What do you think?" I asked. 

She replied, "I think God is real and so the Holy Ghost must be real so there has to be some ghosts floating around.  I just hope they are nice."  I smiled and squeezed her hand three times.  That is our secret sign for each other, three squeezes one for each word of I Love You.   

We arrived at the school's steps, I kissed her six year old head, let go of her little hand and asked her to be brave and take on her day.  She wrapped her arms around my waist and gave a very determined hug then ran up the steps.  I stopped for a moment and watched her walk inside the doors.  I then turned and started the lonely walk back.  

At that moment, a white mini van pulled up next to the school.  A mother with worry lines chiseled across her forehead, driving a van sounding like it is about to break down lovingly reached over to her son riding illegally in the front seat and placed the sign of the Cross over his body.  She sealed the blessing with a light kiss to his forehead and then he opened the door.  It all happened in the span of a minute but has left a lasting impression on me.  

If appearances count for anything, the mother I saw dropping off her son and I live in different worlds, at least for now.  But we are all in this together and we live each day with whatever faith and determination we have, using them to derive our strength for what ever may come our way.  I enjoyed the quiet walk home, empty handed but fulfilled.  

One of those days. Waffles, anyone?

"Through perseverance the snail reached the arc."

Today was one of those days.  One of those that I do not know if I want a "do over" or simply be thankful that it is almost over.  It was harsh and loud.  "I want waaaffffffffffllleees".... that is how it started at 6AM.

B's feet hit the floor and instantly Hunt and I wake up and wait for the running jump onto our bed.  B used to jump in and snuggle up but things have changed, he wakes up hungry.  In case we did not hear he first request he promptly repeats it over and over over again until we relent and get up to get his beloved waffles into the toaster.  I have started buying them at Costco because his appetite does not waiver, he wants waffles all day, every day.

Ella wakes soon after because the TV is too loud much like B's whining.  The steroids they pumped into my system when my water broke so early worked.  His lungs are just fine.

The whining and tears did not stop this morning and my stress level never lowered.  We fed off each other.  I actually loaded B up and took him to the doctor's office this morning to see if he had an ear infection.  The pediatricians checked B's ears and offered a sympathetic, "Sorry mom, they are clear and not the problem.  He is just 2."  Thanks.

The single token given at the end of the appointment that is usually traded in for a bouncy ball was instead used for an Avengers sticker.  Big mistake which meant an instant regret for the cranky 2 year old.  His next 20 minutes were filled with tears and crying over not getting the bouncy ball.  My time was spent turning up the radio while driving and hoping he would fall asleep and finally calling my mother.  Don't judge.  When at the end of one's rope a safe bet for anyone is to call mom.

Mom had no grand advice to give so I hung up and pulled in to a kid friendly restaurant.  My plan B was to i) stop tears, ii) stop pulling hair out (mine not his), iii)  tire him out until he collapses from exhaustion and sleeps most the afternoon.  This, of course, included an ice cream cone after lunch.  Two seconds after the cone was consumed he was asleep.  And he slept and slept and slept.  Three hours total of blissful napping.  Then he wakes up......

I won't go through play by play of the entire day but rest assured the latter half of the day matched the first.  Then it was birthday time for a preschool friend.  B and his daddy showered, dressed and I dropped them off at the party for fun.  E and I were enjoying some bad TV and frozen pizza when the phone rang.

It seems that dirty diapers can spoil a party.  I got a call to come pick them up B was stinking up the place.  I suggested he find a friend who was there with her daughter and get some wipes and a diaper.  Crisis solved.  The phone rang again..... it was too messy to handle so E and I loaded up and picked up Stinky and daddy.  He did stink, it was messy and the day just keeps getting better.

We hosed B down, and eventually, finally, got our babies in bed.  Day is done.

Tomorrow will begin with more waffles and end with more angelic, sleeping faces.  I will try and keep my calm and am sure I will lose it at some point.  I pray I am forgiven for those slips and the kid's therapy bills will not be too high.

Just as the snail reached the arc through perseverance, we will get through the terrible twos and sensitive six year old stages.  One waffle and drop of syrup at a time.

Spiderman's Mom

Here goes something...  I cannot say "nothing" because this is about my life and my life is something.  Tomorrow is my first official day of a new beginning.  Foster Solutions, llc has been formed to help address all of your water consulting needs.  It is my goal to have a client signed in December.  I basically have until Dec. 21 to make that happen.

In addition to consulting my heart and mind continue to wander to other areas where I would love to play.  My end goal has always been to pick Ella up from school two days a week.  That has not changed but I am adding to the list.  I want to empower women to realize their dreams.  Yes, I have been reading Brene Brown and Whitney Johnson but my head has always been in that space.  Those two among others that are filling it with amazing stories of strength and courage.

Santa is not the only one who can make his list and check it twice.  I am making my dream list and will be dream dating them one at a time.  Perhaps I will end up where I started on this journey with a better appreciation for it all.  Or maybe, just maybe I will introduce to you a more defined and refined me to you.  Either way, I determined to continue to make my life something.  Nothing is not an option,  especially with Spiderman as a son.

A Mother's Love

I just read my cousin's story of finally getting their baby girl in her arms after an adoption half way across the world (see MotleyCrew.com).  I am lying in bed, crying like a toddler myself. It is an ugly cry that is requiring me to sit up because all the tears and snot are not allowing me to breath. 

Heather, my cousin,  has been in knots for months because she just wanted her baby home. She and all of her family wanted their new family member to join us.  She just wanted her baby girl.  

In following their story,  my mind was transported back to when Boone was in the NICU.  Obviously, it is not the same thing but bear with me.  I remember getting the call that despite his nurses saying he may be able to come home just the day before that Boone needed another night with them.   This happened more than once. The NICU staff was top notch but they cannot control a hormonal, emotional new mother. Especially one that just spent over 4 weeks on strict bed rest to get him here safely. No, there is really no match for those emotions. At least I did not think so til I read Heathers story. 

It seems to come down to this:  our babies really are pieces of our heart that walk around outside of our bodies.  We, as mothers, are never really whole again after we love a baby whether we physically birthed that child or prayed for their arrival from across the globe.   We are made whole again only in the brief moments when they let us hold them in our arms. 

When I got that call on that day, that B was not coming home,I broke. I had stayed so strong throughout the bed rest, his emergency birth, the initial stages of my recovery but in that moment I was broken. 

I wanted my baby home. I wanted him with me, home, not in a bed that was not his own, not in a room that wasn't in my family's home.  I wanted him for all selfish reasons because obviously he needed to stay and get stronger.  I can't argue that breathing on your own is overrated.  But the thought of one more night of not smelling his baby head or studying his little hands and feet for hours on end was a lot for me to take. Not too much but a lot.  

Weeks ago Heather finally got her call to come get her baby.  Their journey was a bit more involved than 20 minutes up Mopac but the emotions the same.  

Yesterday Heather and her family got to bring Amelia "home".  Not yet toAmerica but one step closer.  The pics and videos of the "final scoop up" amid Amelia's cry is a lot to take in especially when there is an emotional connection. But the smile on Heather's face and the worry/exhilaration in her eyes is that of a mother plain in simple. I know it well.  Our babies are home. 

Welcome to the family, Amelia!  

South Plains Stories

One sign of a good, loving home is the ownership of rooms.  The room I claimed as a child is still “Wendy’s room”.  My trophies line its bookshelves and my pictures hang on the wall.  In the closet, you will find each and every one of my Michael Jordan posters safely stored.  He will always be a hero to me despite his little gambling problem.  Who can ever forget the poster that was the length of his arm span (i.e. big) with the William Blake poem printed below Jordan’ image: “No man soars too high if he soars with his own wings”.  Good times.

This weekend my family was welcomed into the childhood home of a friend.  I was a little nervous about being company for 4 days in anyone’s home but my worries were misplaced.  I knew it would all be okay when I was shown around and introduced to the three spare bedrooms each decorated in the personality of the child that once lived there 30 plus years ago.  It was in no way creepy; Fluffy the childhood pet was not stuffed in the corner with glass eyes.  My friend’s room had light and airy linens and a white down comforter.  It was so her, even today.  There were tons of pictures of her 80s big hair and stylish hats that made their appearance in the early 90s.  To her it was home, to my family and I it was comfort.

I was then shown her sister’s room and her brother’s room both decorated as an older brother and sister’s room should look.  The love was evident in the care her parents showed in keeping their kids welcomed in their home.  It then hit me, that this small token is a sign of a loving family and a healthy home.  There are other signs; I know that but this is one that stood out to me and one I needed at the time.  

My mom and dad’s house is comfort for me.  My home is in Austin but my roots are buried deep in South Texas and it is there that I turn to for strength.  This weekend I could not be in my parent’s home but my friend’s was the next best thing complete with Josie’s burritos for breakfast (if you know anything about Lubbock then you know what I am talking about).  

We ended the weekend with big hugs and a promise to return.  I have a new “home” on the South Plains and another blessing to add to my long list in this life.  

PS: They even loved having Boone around..... which proved our hosts were also solid grandparents.  He is easy to love but his energy is hard to accept at times.  I am his mother so I can say that- don't judge me.

A grand design for baby teeth....prove me wrong

My family, unfortunately, has been touched by quite a few deaths in the last year.  Some  familial departures hit uncomfortably close to home.  I will own up to the fact that for a bit I was an emotional mess.  This is not something I chose to hide from my children.  B is as oblivious as any two year old but E was a different story.  She is my highly sensitive and ridiculously bright child.  There was no soothing her sympathy tears with, “Mommy will be okay.”  I was hurting and she was hurting and to be blunt together we are still adjusting to a new normal. 

All of that is the long way to say I gave E the same speech I was given as a child about God’s “Big Book” up in the Heavenly skies.  To save your time and my weak computer battery, the basic idea is God keeps a book with every living creature’s name in it.  Beside each of our names in this Big Book of Life is a date.  When that date comes it is your time to leave this world.    Live each day as if its your last, yada, yada, yada.

Let’s now fast forward to the current drama unfolding in my home.  It is not a struggle to accept death but rather my daughter pleading for an end of life.......for her baby teeth.  E is six and a half and everyone of her baby teeth is still firmly planted in her gums.  She really wants to loose a tooth just like everyone else in first grade.  I mean she really wants it.  Daily she swears she feels a wiggle, I double check and have to crush her dream.

This has been going on for weeks and last week I got to the end of my proverbial rope. My grasping for sanity sounded a little something like this:

Me: remember when we talked about God’s Big Book of Life

E: Yes

Me: Well, God even has a plan for your teeth, Ella.  You will lose them when..*interruption*

E: Mom, save it, God does not have a book of teeth.

Me: How do you know that?

E: (roll of her eyes) Please mom.  okay? Please.

She still has not lost a tooth.  She has stopped whining about it.  I am calling this a win.

My Rugged Ol' Friend

The pressures of life are heavy.  The Spirit that must carry us through has no choice but to swell inside our bodies us to keep us afloat.  All the breaks in our hearts, minds and even ego are made whole again by the Spirit.  When we surrender, we gain the strength we need to take that additional step that seemed unthinkable.  When we surrender we lose every bit of self we convince ourselves daily we need.  Losing one’s self is scary even if the result is something greater.

There is a reason the cross is made of wood.  If it was meant to be showy, it would be made of gold to serve as a reminder of the worth of God’s love.  If it was meant to reflect the beauty of God’s creation and love it would be made of mirrors.  You get my drift.  It is not made of impressive or expensive material.  The cross is made of wood and for good reason.  

When life hands me troubling news, stressed moments and hair pulling activities I have only one choice: Nail it to the cross and walk away.  It is then no longer my worry and I have only my future moments to face. 

Wood is sturdy, strong and real.  The cross has withstood the weight of the sins of the world, surely my small worries of this world will not break it.  

I did not come up with this on my own.  One Sunday morning with a heavy heart I wandered into a church.  I yearned to hear a hymn and what I found was the soundtrack of my conscience.  The minister, Dr. Paynter, had just lost a parishioner to a senseless shooting and was trying to come to terms with it all.  It was real, honest and not for show.  His message was clear: it is not for us to understand and that is too hard understand itself.  We have a choice: be bitter or believe.  His advice was “Nail it to the cross and walk away”.  

The words rang true to me.  They still do today.  I am not perfect.  I am not a perfect mother, perfect wife or perfect employee.  Each night in my silent minutes of unraveling, I picture myself nailing my faults to the ol’ wooden cross and it gives me hope for a better tomorrow.  Who knows maybe one day I will trade it in for a crown.  

I Wake Up!

It is never quiet in my house at bedtime.  Ever.  Seriously.  

But once the kids are tucked in, I have some very precious quiet time.  I value silence and gain strength from it in some ways.  In the quiet moments I make peace with my myself, my doubts and demons.  I reflect, accept and then am able to move forward.  Eventually I fall to sleep every night hoping that I will wake up to one of my favorite things ever....  It is a little like Christmas Eve every night.   

 Each morning I awake to hear *thump* followed by swift little footsteps in the hall above me and down the stairs.  Boone is making his descent to greet the day.  Once his footsteps reach the kitchen it is a dead-on, two year old sprint to mommy and daddy’s room.   The minute he steps past the threshold he loosens his smile a bit so he can speak and boastfully announces, “I wake up Mommy, I wake up!  He then jumps on top of me and after a quick hug asks me to turn on Oswald.  The special moment ends and the day begins but what a glorious beginning it was.  It makes my day every day.

Family Tradition

A picture is worth a thousand words......

E created this her first week of school.  I was not surprised.  Her little brother had chomped down on her arm in a two year old psycho rage just days before school started.  The imprint of his bite was visible for days.  She was a little upset.  

Approximately 31 years ago, my sister experienced the same exact rage from her little firecracker of a sister......me.  Even back then I was a perfectionist and over achiever; I bit her upper arm so hard my bite imprint is still visible today.  The apple never falls far from the tree.

Totally Dorking Out!!!

I am so lucky that I continually get to add people to my "personal heroes list" all the time.  I am fortunate to come into contact with so many who have positively impacted my life.

A recent personal hero is someone I have never met, Dr. Brene Brown.  She is a stud.  I went to her latest book reading at Book People and was one of a few hundred to show up and listen.  Her books, including her latest, Daring Greatly, have impacted my life in such positive ways I would need to start a whole new blog to name them all.  Bottom line: don't be afraid to be vulnerable, we must confront shame to feel joy, NO ONE is perfect- NO ONE so get over yourself and start living life.  She also quotes White Snake in her latest book.... what is not to love?

Background:
When I started this blog I was scared to death.  There was not and still is not anything scarier in my life than putting my writing out there for all to read.  I mean, my family always loved my writings but c'mon they also never told me I needed a style makeover in high school.  (Think poodle dog perms...need I say more).  The day another personal hero and dear friend, Ms. Alma Lehman, passed away I decided it was time to put myself out there.  Maybe it was my way of staying connected to her through the airwaves that may reach to the Heavens--you never know-- whatever, I wanted to publish.

Tonight I was bold and sent BRENE BROWN, PhD (who read my blog) a link to this page.  She is a busy woman on a book tour, dealing with kids at home, probably working on her next book by now but I thought maybe she would have some downtime at an airport and maybe, just maybe, she would check Twitter.  She did!!  She read my blog and also made my day.

Here is the lesson, be bold in your life, be brave.  I want to bottle the feelings I have right now but I cannot so instead I will have to do something more daring tomorrow.  I will be Daring Greatly.

Thank you, Brene.  If you ever want to catch up when you visit Austin you know where to find me.  :)

Be Brave

My daughter is sensitive.  And by sensitive I mean that she trotted off the basketball court DURING a game and ask that I not yell out her name because, "it upsets me," she said.  For the record, I was yelling something along the lines of "Get your hands up E.  Defense!!!"  I told her I understood and sent her back on the court.  I kept my mouth shut and she blocked a shot.  Lesson learned.

Seriously, E is more sensitive than most and it has opened up a world I never knew existed.  There are millions of feelings in this world and E feels every single one.  The tone of your voice can ruin her day.  We are working on her listening to the words people say and not how they say them.  I am hoping this will keep her in sports.  She comes home twice a week thinking her gymnastics coach is mad at her.  It does not enter her mind that one may need to yell with 25 girls running around in a gymnastics class.

A month into the school year she told me she did not like the saying, "have a good day".  That was a shocker because that is what I said every morning as I gave her a kiss and sent her on her way.  E thought there was too much pressure on her if she "had" to have a good day everyday.  Her exact words were along the line of, "but mom everyday is not going to be a good day.  Some days are better than others and I don't want to let you down".  She is six.  Six years old and I swear that came out of her mouth.

So I took a few days off from sending her off with any saying.  Then one day it came to me.  Be Brave.  I told her to "be brave" and asked her to remember that I loved her.  For someone as sensitive as Ella it is hard to take chances.  Heck, it is hard for anyone to take chances.  Some of us just wear the fear of taking a chance more on our sleeve than others.  Be Brave.

Bravery will enable her to ask a new friend to play.  Bravery will get her through having to read in front of the class.  And bravery will help her finish out the day when she gets homesick.  I am taking my own advice and trying to be brave in my own life.   I wish the same for everyone I love.  Imagine if we all stopped living in fear and did one courageous thing.  Odds are if you do one courageous thing it will lead to another.....  Be Brave! 



 

Mini Mac

My sister is petite and nice and genuine everyday not just when its convenient.  In summary, she is my opposite in many ways.  My parents and our extended family raised us right but Shelley came out nice too.  I envy that in her.

As children she was always "on".  She loved Center Stage and everyone loved her being on it.  I stayed in the background and jumped rope or something else where I would not have to make eye contact.  Somewhere, at some point, that changed.  I think it may have been when I out grew my older "little" sister.  I assumed the role of being the protector because I was expected to be.  Even though I was as thin as a rail I was taller and therefore I stepped up and became "Big Mc".

Shelley always feels things to the core of her being.  Injustice is not accepted or tolerable and will bring on tears.  While I am plotting how to respond or react Shelley clinches her fist, grits her teeth and says, "That is not right!"  The she goes to a sleepless night asking herself why/how some people can be so mean.  I love her for the realness that she possesses.

I have always said that together Shelley and I combined would really make the perfect person but separate we lack a little bit.  I truly believe that.  If I gave her a little of my backbone and she gave me a little more of her sensitivity we could rule the world.  Please do not misunderstand: I feel and am very sensitive but I tend to deal with the situation at hand and feel the emotion later.  It is not at all healthy but that is my way.

Shelley feels, Shelley loves and she never gives up on things.  We have gone through ups and downs in our paths.  There are times we did not connect and other times when we got real with each other.  She has always wanted more from our relationship and I continue to try and let down that protective guard but she is my sister and I am still her protector in many ways.  At least, I think so even when it is plainly obvious that I am not.

One day I hope to be the sister she wants and deserves.  I hope to be more like her.  I do not give her enough credit; of course, neither does she.  Tonight she is on my mind.  Tonight I am reminded that she and I share the same blood and our heart can beat as one.  I love her and hope she knows just how much.

GONE

E spent all last week with my parents.  The time away provided a small amount of time for us to connect with Boone a little deeper than usual and for E to make fabulous memories with my parents.  During the week I found myself really missing E.  The mornings were a bit more smooth but a piece of my heart was not here.  I now understand the saying that your kids are like a piece of your heart that walk around outside of your body.

I found myself thinking about how it would be like when she got home.  Boone was missing his sister so much last week I just knew we would see hugs and kisses when she returned.  And we did see all of that adoration for the first 10 minutes of the reunion.  Now it is all GONE.

I am able to type this tonight because I put the kids to bed early....B without dinner.  It was that bad.  He bite her, she hit him.  He flipped his plate of food over (hence the no dinner part), spilt his milk and had a mouth so smart it deserved a degree.  I was neither amused or impressed.  Ella did her part to egg it on but mostly she tried to stay out the way.

Gone are the thoughts of my children loving on each other on this the first night of their reunion after a week apart.  Gone is my patience after dealing with their constant bickering.  Gone is my week and now we will begin another.  My heart is whole again but now where did my sanity go?

Where's My Safety Net?

Boone looked thoroughly confused as I sat him on the little potty seat that sits atop the regular toilet seat.  He looked from side to side and then asked, "Where's the seat belt?".  My husband and I laughed and tried to explain one was not needed but B was not so sure.

To his credit, the little seat was fairly new to him.  Most of the time we use the little potty to try and get him to go but still him wanting some security on a new venture is a familiar feeling for us all.

I could go farther with this lesson but think the story is cute enough to just end it here.

Hug your babies

I am thankful it is not my place in this world to judge and punish those that do wrong against their fellow man.  I am so thankful (and they are lucky) that Jerry Sandusky, the Colorado shooter, and any other man, woman or child that is causing harm against children, our fellow man or any innocent soul does not have to answer to me.  My first thoughts are:  Shame on you, shame of all of you for stealing an innocent’s childhood, exploiting vulnerability and just mean a plain ol’ meanie.

I am not strong enough to shoulder their burdens or live with knowing the depths of their guilt and sicknesses.  Each time a crime like theirs is exposed our collective humanity is weakened somewhat.  Slowly, demented souls expose the depths of depravity that humans can dwell in and that weakens us as a whole.  For every level of sin one may reach, someone else will go one deeper.   

It is our responsibility to rise up against this evil and protect our families while we gain strength through each other’s generosities.  Trust should be earned before given freely and that is a lesson we must teach our kids. 

I have faith that this latest scandal shall pass, we will begin to heal but we will never forget.  I truly hope my little corner of this great, big world remains untouched for a bit longer.  I want my babies raised worrying about skinned knees, bad hair days and the occasional pimple on picture day.  I pray they do not have to deal with the massacre of classmates or try and understand the bad choices of adults they know and trust.   

Faith, hope, love is all that remains and above all these is love.

Summertime Blues

I remember endless Summer days as a child.  My sister and I would spend all afternoon nearly every afternoon playing in the neighborhood with the neighborhood kids.  We even called ourselves the 5th Street gang and we known to put on a show or two.  There were kickball games in the street.  We would all yell "CAR!" as a warning to get out of the road when a car turned our direction.  We collected the ball when we heard the warning, stepped to the curve and as the car passed we would wave to the driver and he/she would drive back.  How rare is this today?  It would not happen in my neighborhood.

Other days found us rollerskating in driveways, the Marinkovichs had the steepest drive and most fun to maneuver in skates.  Endless loops were made around that driveway to Olivia Newton John's, "Lets Get Physical".  Some days found us at my grandparents or on the farm with dad or at the swimming pool.  I do not remember being bored even though my mom may have different memories.

Today's world is one where the kids are not safe to play unattended even in my "good" neighborhood.  And even if it was "safe" it is just too damn hot to go outside most afternoons.  My poor fair skinned babies can't take direct sunlight for long.  I joke (kinda) that we could have been cast in the Twilight series movies.  We are a white family and its not just our ethnicity.  

I do not miss just the Summers of my youth, I miss Summer in general.  Americans work hard, I get that but in my perfect world we would get a "Holiday" like in Europe.  A time to enjoy our families and the world around us without the stress of work, endless email and the guilt associated with being a working parent.  I have my kids in camps or with sitters from 745AM til 5 PM everyday.  I tell myself they are having fun and/or don't know any better but I know what they are missing and my heart breaks for what they are missing which is one of life's simple pleasures: Summer.

"It no working"

E is lucky enough to get to spend this week all by herself with my parents.  I have to admit I am a little jealous.  She is having a great time and making precious memories.  We are trying to do the same with Boone here in Clarksville.

So much appears to go unnoticed when we are juggling two kids in everyday life.  As we drifted off the sleep last night with B in between us I whispered to H, "you know, he really is a cute kid." And I mean it.  His little personality is really cute and now that he is winking my heart has found yet another reason to melt.  (For the record: Normally we have a childless bed but B could not sleep without Ella and I did not put up much of a fight when he asked to sleep with us.  I am not sure he even had to ask.)

Tonight's dinner included B's favorite, rice.  He wanted a "big fork" so I handed him a kid's spork.  You know, half spoon and half fork.  Anyway, after a couple of attempts he handed it back to me in his almost crying voice with a sense of urgency and the volume rising, "It no working, mommy.  It no working."  I handed him a spoon and all was right again, "I do it, mommy", but it got me thinking....

B's couple of minutes trying to unsuccessfully get an eating utensil to work was similar to few of my days recently.  I pray for strength because sometimes it feels like things aren't working for me.  Very much like B's example I am using the wrong tools to do the job or am just too anxious to get the tools I am using to work properly.  I can just hear my angels laughing because I probably sound like my two year old, "its no working!"

So cheers to the wisdom of two year olds.  I learned something about myself to night.  Slow down and do it right or change what you are doing.  It really is not hard to be happy.  May all your, "is no working"s" turn into "I do its" as soon as possible.

Is There Life Out There?

Often when I get to the end of my rope: hard work week, busy weekend with active kids, groceries to be bought, bills to be paid, laundry to do and put away, etc.... I start to hum Reba McEntyre's song from so long ago, "Is there life out there".

"Is there life out there, so much she hasn't done.  Is there life beyond her family and her home.  She's done what she should should she do what she dares?  She doesn't want to leave she just wonders is there life out there"


Those may not be the exact lyrics but they are what I sing in my head.  I love my family, my kids, my little life in this little corner of this small world.  I love it yet sometimes I just want to scream!!!!!!!

Today I ran to the store for some last minute, unneeded, dinner ingredients.  At the time, we had neighborhood girls over to play with E who were shrieking as 6 years olds do, Boone was whining about being left out, the pile of laundry to put away was giving me an evil eye and I honestly just needed an out.  I got to the store, bought the stuff I told myself I had to have along with a bottle of wine for later and a 12oz. Coke.

Three weeks ago I gave up Coca Cola.  I took up tea and and have been fine but today I just needed a coke.  I told myself 12oz. does not hurt anyone and bought it without a stitch of guilt.  I started home which is about three blocks away but instead of making the turn to my house I kept going.  I found a shaded spot a couple of blocks up, rolled down my windows, opened up the local magazine I picked up, popped the top on that coke can and simply took time to enjoy being me.  Was this selfish?  Absolutely.  Do I care?  Absolutely not.  The whole episode took no more than 20 minutes but I was a changed person (although the song is still in my head).

Most of society has adopted time outs as a way to discipline your children.  When needed, the child is seated in an out of the way place and told to breathe, calm down and take a time out.  The child sees this as punishment.  It is ironic.  The same timeout a child fears is the one thing a mother craves.  So today I took mine.

The babies are now in bed, dinner is cleaned up and my wine glass is filled.  AHHHHHH!  I am breathing, I am collecting myself after dropping pieces of sanity across my home all day and although the song is still playing in my head I can now just enjoy the tune.  Cheers!

Reconnection and it feels so good

A childhood friend of mine posted an old photo online today.  It was a framed photo of her and her 4 closest friends from the 5th or 6th grade.  I recognized the faces because they were my friends too.  The only problem is I was not in the picture.  My family moved after I was in the fourth grade.  I commented on the photo that if my family had stayed I would have been in the picture.  It made me a little sad and brought back the feelings I had after we moved about how much I missed my friends.

My "new" life was great and I have lifetime friends from that part of my life as well but you never forget your firsts and I haven't.

The friend who posted the picture is someone I still consider my best friend from early childhood.  It is a blessing that she and I have reconnected via Facebook of all things.  The photo got me thinking about how different my life could have been and could be.  I do not live with regrets and admittedly have lead a blessed and full life but it could have been much different.  I will not allow my mind to go further than that; it would be pointless.  

I am connected to each of my early childhood friends and am keeping my fingers crossed we can do a reunion at some point in the future.  Imagine all we have to discuss since the fifth grade to the present.  I love that no matter the miles that separate you if it is meant to be you will always find your way to back to those who love you and who you love.  Cheers to my Mid Valley friends!

Some days you are a cricket...

I stepped on a few crickets today.  I was not trying to be cruel and was not blood thirsty but I live in Austin and the city is being invaded by the little creatures.  The Capitol is worst than most spots in the city and that is where I have been the past 2 days.  You cannot walk more than a few steps without encountering one.  My son hates bugs and is having a very difficult time adjusting to the new jumping visitors he encounters on sidewalks around the city.

As I heard the familiar crush of the cricket's exoskeleton under the toe of my designer heels and saw the yellowish guts spread out when pressure was applied I realized I have something in common with the little guys- some days you are the cricket and some days you are the shoe.  Lately, I have felt more like a cricket.  I am at a crossroads with my life/career and feel pressure from all sides.  Every working mother can identify with what I mean.  This morning I was in a Capitol office visiting with a good friend and a cricket made his presence known during the short visit.  My friend was totally distracted so I got up to step on the bug and get him out of the conversation.  I swear he danced around my shoe.  No matter what angle I tried he would narrowly escape and jump to the other side of my shoe.  My friend even commented on the little dance until ultimately my size 10 won over his will to live.

It was then that I recognized the similarity of my life to his insect world.  I spend my day jumping around trying to get where I want to go sometimes even dancing around issues to avoid the interaction I am dreading to have and ultimately I get crushed by the weight of my day.  It is only after I get home with my family and dip into the cold water of the neighborhood swimming pool that I come back to life and find the will to go on and make another go at it tomorrow.

I am working on finding my way to the grassy area where no shoe will crush me and I wish the same for the crickets; however, I will continue to crush any that come under my foot.   My son appreciates my efforts to get them out of his way.

Damn Weeds

First,  apologies to my father.  I actually bought these "weeds" for a centerpiece for my birthday party.  Growing up as a cotton farmer's daughter I should know better but honestly the selection at Randalls is less than ideal.  Really it was all they had besides roses and I did not want roses for my birthday.

I remember vividly my dad cursing the weeds in the corn fields while I looked out the window and saw a spattering of cornflowers.  "Damn weeds" will always be in my head.

Even now at thirty seven I bought these with a twinge of guilt. I carefully cut their stems and silently offered a prayer for all the field crops that succumbed to the relatives of plants I held in my hands.

My little neighborhood party was a success.  The flowers died the next week.  All is right in the world again.

Happy Birthday to Us (Air Kiss)

As of tomorrow, my family will have celebrated 3 birthdays.  Momma is tired.  Where has the time gone?  I am 37 (gulp).  To begin this new chapter of my life I choose to do something drastic, I gave up drinking Coke.  No, seriously I really did.  I has been about 16 days.  I will admit I cheated an had a little on Sunday but it was for medicinal purposes, I swear.  And I only drank about 1/3 of the $1 McDonald's Coke and poured the rest out on the curb.  The caffeine withdrawal has not been too terrible because I have begun drinking ice tea.  I order unsweetened and I add my only small amount of sugar just to make myself feel in control.  The shakes have been minimal and the 5 pounds I have lost far make up for the migraines.  5lbs!!!

My birthday was Sunday.  H was in a bad mood so I literally put my "Birthday Girl" crown on my head that was left over from the 5 year old's party last year.  I wore it all day (except church) even to the grocery store.  People are so nice when they realize you are royalty.  I then called my neighbors and told them homemade ice cream would be served at 530.  It was delicious.  And wearing my "Kiss the cook" apron with my crown was a great idea.  Everyone followed the direction and greeted me like we lived in LA with at least an air kiss being given upon entrance.  It was a grand evening.  H needs to learn I can throw a heck of a party with or without him.  Some days he is just lucky to get an invite. :)

Tomorrow my baby girl turns 6 years old (double gulp).  I remember when she was 6 days late and I had convinced myself that she was holding out because she did not want to meet me.  I just knew after listening to me for 9 months or 5 months- when do babies grow their ears anyway?--she had heard enough and thought she could do better.  I am totally serious.  After all, I had already survived Baby Anorexia.  That, of course, is when you are starving but cannot eat because you know you will puke it up.  There is no need to look it up, I came up with the name myself and have not had time to add it to Wikipedia yet.  I swear it exists.  I think I even emailed Oprah offering to come onto her show and discuss this REAL problem that was not discussed in polite circles.  She ended her show before we could work out our schedules.......

E eventually entered this world screaming and has not stop making her presence known since then.  I told her on Saturday we were going to church Sunday morning and her first response was, "I know just what dress to wear".  That's my girl.  Of course, it was a black velvet number that I had to explain was reserved for Christmas and Winter occasions.  That was a fight (she is MY daughter and a bit hard headed and opinionated) but eventually the red checked, sleeveless watermelon applique number won out.  Never underestimated the power of momma..... or blackmail with the promise of homemade ice cream later.

Happy birthday to all the Geminis out there.  May both your personalities have enjoyed your special day.  B, my Pieces son, has adopted all of our birthdays as his.  It works for him, he is 2.  There is plenty of time for him to get to celebrate just once a year when, of course, we will have ice cream.

Pinch Me

I am in a dream like state these days.  I am not fully asleep but am in disbelief that my reality is what it is.  In the next 5 days I have 4 photo shoots.  Over lunch I secured a spot as a spokesmodel for a local sunglass company and this morning I accepted a spot in a runway show next week.  The organizer of the show said I would be the designer's most mature (i.e. the oldest) model but I will also be the tallest.  So most likely I will literally be looking down on the other models both because of my height and my insecurities.

What am I doing?  I am a wife, mother of 2 and full time professional.  So when I ask myself the question, "What am I doing?", I answer with a smile that I am living a dream.  There are great under eye concealers on the market these days to hide the dark circles.  And I just signed up for a kickboxing class that begins in June to work off some fat, get toned and relieve my stress by hitting something.  Nothing feels better and if you have not tried it you should.

I do not know where this new journey will lead but I will follow it as long as I can.  Each step of the way I will breathe a silent prayer of thanks.  I have always wanted to model; most tall girls do.  I flirted with it in my 20s but shied away for a lack of confidence and drive.  The older I get the more confident I become and more driven I am.  I will be obnoxious as an old woman. 

One interesting part of this gig is how many people want to see me naked.  I have had two kids.  My modesty went away with my bedrest adventure but my class and integrity are still firmly intact.  Seriously, this business has not changed much in ten plus years but the good news is neither have my basic beliefs and principles.   

An opportunity to live my dream has presented itself again and this time with the support of my family I am taking this chance. I am jumping in the thick of it, grabbing it by the ears and taking it down. When all is said and done I will have no regrets.

Big City Lights

I may have lived in the city a little too long; or as one friend pointed out maybe just long enough to appreciate certain things.  I swerved for a squirrel this morning.  (My dad just fainted)  I actually swerved for a squirrel.  In the back of my mind, I said "Ohhhh watch out,  Sandy" as I steered away from the little rodent.  Sandy, of course, referencing the squirrel off Spongebob SquarePants.  I am a little embarrassed, a little proud and a little freaked out to be completely honest. 

Who is this city dweller that has taken over my body and mind?  Squirrels are rodents.  They are rat like animals that can cause havoc and lots of damage.  In the country, you shoot them for sport or to get them out of your attic.  In the city, apparently you swerve to save them. 

This comes one week after I had a "Toast to Our Tree" party.  My 100+ year old Post Oak tree died and we removed all of her limbs on Saturday morning.  It just did not seem right not to have a party in her honor and toast her for all her years of life that brought us shade, comfort, etc.  My neighbors loved it, I am pretty sure anyone outside of Austin thought I was nuts.  For the record, I did not literally hug the tree.

Austin has been my home since 1997.  I have lived here longer than anywhere else in my life so I think it is time to call it home.  My roots are still buried deep in the cotton fields of our family farm; that will not change, but my home is in Austin.  So when I swerve for squirrels or hug a tree or attend a party to celebrate some fictitious holiday created by Austin natives (i.e. Eyeore's birthday party) I think I can hold my head high.  Mom, don't worry when I hold it high I will also shake it because.... well, just because.

Toasting My Tree (who wasn't supposed to die)

My beautiful 100+ year old tree has gone to the big forest in the sky.  I am saddened by her loss and a little ticked off about it too.  I am not asking "Why?" because I know the answer: the drought and we built a house around her.  She is a Post Oak and they are very touchy.  My husband says, "it is just like a woman".  We were told the new distribution of weight on her root system is something she must not like so she died.

That last part is a bit I am a little bitter about frankly.  We went to great expense and lengths to protect her during the building process.  We built our entire dream house around that tree.  We have over 40 windows in my home and the majority of them look out onto the tree.  She provides shade for my children's rooms and simply beautiful views for the rest of the house.  She was not supposed to die.

Now I have to buy window coverings for the second floor but we will not have to buy any firewood for a while so I guess it is trade off. Some of her wood will be donated to the local park to use in rebuilding a historic pool house.  Some of her will be used for stools around our fire pit.  And I plan to cut a thin slice of her off her us to keep in the house.  We will carve our initials in the wood along with the date as a reminder of the year the tree did not live up to her bargain.  She was not supposed to die.  

Tonight we are hosting a happy hour in our side yard to toast the tree before she is cut down tomorrow morning.  I am supplying some champagne for our neighborhood to toast her in a final goodbye.  Many neighbors have enjoyed her for years and years.  I am sure they blame us for her demise.  That is why I am also going to have tequila.  Tequila kills everything from brain cells to bitter feelings.  I myself will be drinking the tequila.  The tree was not supposed to die. 

I am not a tree

I will soon turn 37.  While it is a privilege to grow old it is hard to stomach while it is happening.  37!  I am having trouble getting my mind around that number.  To add insult to injury my metabolism has up and left.  She left no goodbye note, did not give me 30 days warning prior to her departure.  She just left.  Rude!

And of course, this is coming at a time when my modeling adventures are really getting started.  I need my flat tummy and toned arms and know I am going to have to work it.  Now, I know that are a few haters out there.  Yes, I know I was blessed to have my high metabolism for so long.  I also know I am far from fat so spare me the compliments, sneers whatever you are sending my way.  This is life and it is mine and I will deal with it like I deal with everything else- one day at a time. 

Those close to me know I have a rule that I will listen to you whine, complain, etc once for as long as you want.  When we speak again I expect you to have taken one step to address your issue.  It does not have to be some life altering thing but one step.  A perfect saying to summarize this approach is "If you do not like where you are then move.  You are not a tree."  Simple, perfect yet sometimes hard as Hell to do. 

So I whined and complained for a couple of days and now have a plan of action.  I dug out my old smelly tennis shoes and started walking hills in my neighborhood.  The 30 minute walks I have added to my schedule give me a little peace and a heck of a work-out.  I have cooked for 3 nights in a row this week.  That is a big deal for me.  We are at the end of the month and my pantry is virtually empty but I was surprised what I can cook when I get a little creative in the kitchen.  Last night I baked the chocolate chip cookies that have been staring me down in my pantry.  I gave each family member one to enjoy and brought the rest to work.  And of course, at work I have given up elevators.  I march up and down six flights of stairs several times a day and feel it each and every time. 

My tummy is not flat yet and I loathe sit-ups so it may never be again but I have taken my step and it has not killed me.  I am not a tree. 

Mia Harper

Mia Harper is in B's daycare class.  She, according to B with his limited vocabulary, is responsible for all his woes, aches, smiles, drama and bruises.  When I ask who did you sit by at lunch he quickly answers, "Mia Harper".  If I ask what happen to his arm when I notice a bruise or red mark, "Mia Harper hit me".  If I inquire about his snack, B answers, "Mia Harper ate it".  I think it is funny he doesn't just say "Mia" but it is ALWAYS "Mia Harper". 

One morning I pulled into the daycare's parking lot at the same time as the Harper family.  B went nuts when their car door opened.  "Mia Harper, Mia Harper, Mia Harper, mommmmyyyy".  I hurried and got B out of the car so he and Mia could walk into school together.  Of course, as B's mom I gave the little 2 year old a good once over.  She is a cute little girl with curly brown hair, cherubic cheeks that maintain a slight flush and a very confident walk even for a two year old.  Her mom is a petite woman with a warm smile and the same curly hair as her daughter. 

The four of us approached the door together.  B points at Mia and says "Mia Harper" while looking up at me as if to say, "that is her mommy. That is the girl that terrorizes me".  Mia looked at B and said, "Hi Boone Foster".  I stayed composed but man, that was a funny moment.  I gave her mom a grin and said, "So this is Mia Harper......"  I left a pause for dramatic effect and continued, "I have heard all about her."  Mia's mom without hesitation answered, "And I have heard of Boone....everyday".  So there it was. 

I cannot tell you what I mean by "it".  Maybe the realization that my B is not an angel.  Maybe it is that he has this whole little life I am not a part of during the day.  Maybe it is that the comment means B is a part of another family and friendship out of our family.  Perhaps it is the realization and confirmation that my baby boy it growing up.

Boone and Mia tussled over who walked in the classroom room first and then once in each claimed their own center.  These are two strong kids, two Alphas trying to fit in one classroom.  Daycare teachers are just not paid enough for what they do.

That afternoon I arrived to collect my precious, angel baby boy and found him in his socks (without his shoes).  We picked up his shoes and he sat for me to put them on when all the sudden Mia Harper is by my side.  "I do it for Boonie," she says.  And I watched as she slipped his shoes on and secured the Velcro  loosely.  "Thank you, Mia Harper," B said as he got up to go and then we left. 

It was so sweet and touching.  The two I thought terrorize each other are also friends and learning kindness.  Once home I was still smiling from what I witnessed when B took off his shoes.  He had a blister on his toe offering further proof my baby is growing up.  I asked B, "What happened?".  His response without hesitation, "Mia Harper did it.  Mia Harper hurt my toe".  And just like that all was well in the universe again. 

the Boy Scout Bandit

 Craigslist is a great thing.  One can buy used couches, used clothes, toys, cars,etc.  The national news too often reminds us you can also find used women (aka hookers/escorts) and murder victims through their social site.  I do not use it for those latter purposes but have been known to buy and sell household items now and then.   At one point, we had a couch, bed, bed frame, table, washer and dryer all off Craigslist.  Living in Austin is expensive and my household is notoriously cheap. 

Last weekend I found a Kindle reader for sale that I had to have for my own.  The owner and I talked through text messages (that sounds so ridiculous) and made plan to meet up and make the deal.  I have a few rules about doing deals on Craigslist and one is that I do not go to someone's home if I can help it.  Public places are always best when it is possible.  Obviously, if I am buying a couch I do not expect the owner to haul it to a store parking lot but I did not think it was too much to ask when purchasing a hand held e reader device. 

The plan was to meet at an HEB and make the transaction there.  Remember I did this all through text so I should not have been surprised when a 15 year old kid approaches me and pulls an Amazon box out of his back pack.  I should not have been surprised but I was and now I also felt old.  After inspection, the Kindle looked perfect so I asked why he was selling it.  His answer, "my sister does not want it."

"Does she know you are selling it?" I asked. 
"She didn't take it to college; she left it in her room" was his response.  To which I responded, "you didn't answer my question."  He finally assured me she was okay with it and who I am to stand in the middle of some good ol' sibling rivalry if he was lying so I bought it.

I was so excited to get it home and get it going. Fast forward two hours later when Amazon.com representatives told me, "Ma'am this device was reported stolen."  Insert jaw drop her.

The kid looked like boy scout but then again so did Ted Bundy.  I summoned up my best mom tone and call the little thief.  I left the most direct voicemail I could telling him I would do a reverse look-up on his number and report him to not only Craigslist, Amazon but also his parents.I told him this was not a joke, and I was not amused.  I then called Amazon back after remembering I had the Amazon box the device had been mailed in to its owner before getting swiped by the Boy Scout Bandit.  Amazon was amused but not helpful; however, because I was trying to do the right thing they gave me a $30 voucher. 

Long story short: the kid called back freaking out with tears in his voice saying he had no idea.  He said his sister came clean that the Kindle had mistakenly been delivered to their house and she did not return it.  She told him to sell it and she would split the cash with him.  Nice.  He then offered to mail my money back to me.  The Boy Scout Bandit was actually just a Boy Scout after all. 
Later that day I got a text from him saying, "I don't want you to think I stole it or something.  I don't steal".  And my faith was restored that there are good kids out there and some not so good older sisters.  (My older sister is awesome for the record.)

And guess what arrived yesterday....my new Kindle.  I put the voucher to good use. 

Just Another Reason Why I Will Never Be Rich....

Her name is Jessica.  She is yet another reason I will not ever be rich.  She also reminds me of something I really like about myself.

Big Boy B crawled out of his for the first time 3 days after he turned 18 months.  That night he did it 3 more times right in front of me.  That was also the night he started sleeping in a big boy bed.  His crib has remained in a corner of his room and many nights he asked to sleep in it over his new bed.  "I wan' Boonie bed,"  he would say at bedtime.  I resisted calling his new bed a "Big Boy Bed" because well, B is my baby and I do not want to push him into that "big boy" territory any earlier than necessary.  Regardless, I have been successful in keeping him out of the crib since that night. 

Last week Hunt put B's beautiful baby crib on Craigslist.  It did not take long to sell and last night a 7 week old baby, Riley, spent his first night in B's crib.  I hope he had sweet dreams.  Jessica is Riley's mom.  She looked very young and Riley was her second son.  She looked like any young mother from a small town in Texas.  Jessica told me they lived way out in the country, it took them about an hour to get to downtown Austin.  They were driving a Chevy Dooley truck- a good indication that she was telling the truth. 

I instantly recognized the exhaustion in her eyes and the love on her face as she inspected the crib.  I fought the urge to hug her and instead I pointed out the minor points she may see as imperfections like where Boone started cutting his first teeth.  I ran my fingers over the teeth scrapes and got a little emotional.  I told her I could have painted over them but I did not want to do that.  I couldn't do that.  She gave me a slight smile and tilted her head to me.  I could tell she understood what I was feeling.

Jessica and her husband decided to make the crib part of their family.  H could not be home when they came by last night so I was handling the transaction alone. She asked if I would take $10 less than our asking price.  I agreed and her husband started taking the crib apart; I left the room. 

Long story short: I not only took $10 less than the asking price I also packed her a bag full of B's baby clothes to take with them.  She was dumbfounded when I pulled out the bag of clothes.  "Don't you have family that needs this?" she asked.  I explained that I knew a lot of people who may need them but she had crossed my path today and she could take them if she wanted them.  Tears filled her eyes.  She and I sat down like old friends and we went through the clothes. 

H got home, I told him about the transaction.  I also told him about me giving her all the clothes.  "Weren't you taking those to the resale shop for credit?" he asked.  "I was," I responded with a smirk.  Jessica needed the clothes and I was in a position to help.  As I told her, I would rather give things to people I know are grateful and will use them than sell them just to make a few bucks.  We are on this Earth to help each other along our paths.  Last night my path crossed with Jessica's for a reason.

I come from a long line of givers and I am thrilled I inherited that family trait.  My Nannny would be proud.  I like that and I wish Jessica a good night's sleep. 

Box of Treasures

My husband calls me a hoarder.... I am over it.  I like to keep things; not empty wine bottles or dirty diapers or anything of that sort.  There is no need to check your local  listings, I will not be on A&E anytime soon but I do have stuff.  He refuses to accept that he does too but we are different in that his "stuff" stays packed away in the attic.  He does not care to look at it, read any of it or acknowledge or honor it in any way.  I mean c'mon, who wouldn't want to frame their award for "Most Likely to Get A Date to Anything".  Yes, it did at one time exist within the KA Order (aka fraternity) and my beloved won it one semester.  I am so proud.
Anyway back to me:   I think wanting to keep your stuff hidden is a bigger issue than wanting to be surrounded with things you love.....just sayin'

We have decided to rent our house out sometimes as a way to make some extra cash.  Austin has some high profile events and we live downtown so it is kinda a no brainer.  In the spirit of full disclosure I have to admit that secretly I pray these helps me to be able to stop working some day.  Every dollar helps.....  To prepare for the guests that will eventually enjoy our beautiful home I am clearing some things out.  We will have to remove most personal belongings so if I do not clean things out now ALL of my treasures would be exposed in that cleaning exercise so I am getting a head start.  I am also saving myself the headache and frustration of hearing my hubby take deep sighs and keep repeating, "Really Wendy?" when he makes another load to help me pack.

Last night I found a plastic storage bag filled with letters and cards.  My heart stopped for a second and I was transported back to a time in 2010 when I was one my extended hospital bed rest.  I was not able to fully sit up and so my reach was very limited.  I placed the cards and letters I received from friends and family in a storage bag and kept them tucked in the side of the bed.  When I needed some encouragement the loving words so many of you wrote me were easily within my reach.  

You know the end of the story, Baby B was born, I was released and the healing and journey of life began for the Fosters.  I was not sitting up yet when I was discharged.  My back could literally not support the weight of my head providing further proof that I have a huge brain.  Needless to say I did not carry any bags in the door and really did not care where anything ended up at that point.  I forgot about the bag until I discovered it last night.  I was so happy to find that treasure and rediscover the precious memory of my time on bed rest.  I am sure you think I am crazy but being chosen to go through that journey provided me with much reflection and feel a sense of calling. 

I sat down and read every single card and letter.  Every line, every word.  Then I smiled.  I am loved.  I transferred the storage bag filled with love to a memory box (one of many) for safe keeping.  Some things do not change; I want to keep those within my reach.

My Yesterday

“Mommy look!!!” I lifted my head up just in time to see Ella spinning herself, stomach down on the doctor’s chair with legs lifted high and arms stretched out. She got through one rotation before hitting the exam table and starting in with the expected tears. B, at this time, is screaming that he wants to go home. “No doctor Mommy, no doctor”.


Ella recovered in seconds and decided B may stop screaming if the lights were turned off. Then laugh if they were turned on…. A disco effect was soon in play and B was officially freaked out and climbing up in my arms for safety. I am yelling at E to stop it and telling B to calm down. Where was the damn doctor?

B went from being sprawled on the floor kicking to trying to turn the door knob while on his tippie toes. He also spent a lot of his time pulling at my knees saying “Up Mommy, get up” with a very stern look on his face like “Are you not hearing me woman?????” The only time he was calm was if I stood up held him. I would have done that all day if my sciatic nerve was not threatening me to seize up at my next movement. I could not stand up and hold 32 pounds. It just was not happening. Ella was trying to help but she keep trying to discipline B by saying, “Little boys who scream don’t get Christmas.” That was not helping his screams and damn those Love and Logic parenting classes. I must be using that line of reasoning (Little children who ____ don’t get ____” ) too much for E to catch on to it so quickly. I tried to make a mental note.

By the time the doctor walked in 25 minutes late she found me sitting with my head buried in my hands while my elbows were resting on my knees, barefoot on her exam room floor. B was lying in front of the door screaming for a baseball that was left in the car. Ella was lying on the exam table like a patient waiting for an exam. She had just explaining to B he was not having to get a shot…until he was 4 then he would get LOTS of shots. Bstopped screaming for his baseball, looked at me and said “No shots, no shots, Mommy!!!!” The screaming resumed. I laughed; it was all I could do. I was tired. B returned to the floor.

He was knocked by the opening door and he scrambled to my lap. The crying instantly stopped. The doctor opened with her usual perky, “How are we in here?” I answered with my smart ass comment of, “do you have a doctor’s note on why you’re late?”; she politely laughed as did I but I was completely serious.

B has a hernia and will need day surgery to have it repaired. He doesn’t care; the doctor gave him a bouncy ball after the appointment so he is happy for now. Ella was upset she was left out (who knew day surgery was so popular?) so she also got a ball and now I had 2 happy kids. Great.

We loaded up and heading somewhere to waste time for an hour until Ella had her doctor’s appointment. I tried driving a while to try and get them asleep but with $4 a gallon gas I couldn’t afford to go too far so I opted instead for a playground near E’s appointment but not before finding a Sonic for a large coke. The kids of course, woke from their drowsy state while in the drive through and asked for food. Two Wacky Packs and one large Coke later we found the playground. There was a shaded bench for me and lots of room for the kids to burn some energy. We parked, unloaded, and brushed all the French fries that were spilled from the Wacky Pack out of my car then made the 200 meter walk to the playground. I got seated, opened my iPad to read and notice E walking up to me. “I have to go potty, Mommy”. She did not like my suggestion of picking out a tree to go behind so we loaded up AGAIN, wrestled the park’s basketball out of B’s hands- he is screaming again- and head off to find a potty. I decided to go straight to her appointment; there is a potty there and a very small playground in the back year area of the office. We unloaded again; I found a place in the shade, B jumped directly into a sand-pit type area (I offered a silent prayer that it was okay for him to play in it). I pointed E to the potty and she looked at me straight faced, “I don’t have to go anymore”. WHAT?

E and B went off to play in some Bamboo trees that lined the yard. Apparently, she also gave him a lesson on Presidents because soon she went back to her appointment and Boone was trying to whack down trees. I got up and ran to him grabbing the stick he was using as a dull axe telling him to stop and asked what he was trying to do. He replied, “I Abe Lincoln, Mommy”.

I jerked him up while thinking “my kid is a genius” and brought him with me for a time out. He was quiet….too quiet…. He was sipping my coke. Nice.

The day eventually ended. I convinced the kids it was bedtime at 730. Lights were out all over the house by 9PM. I survived.