Weekend Plans...Maybe

I just got off the phone with a mother of one of my daughter's friends. She had called to ask if my daughter could go with her and her daughter to see the Chihuahua movie this weekend. I told her that my daughter would love to go and has been wanting to see that very movie. This mother then rattled off one of the best sentences I've heard in a good while: "I'd like to go on Friday...but I usually do better in the mornings so I don't know how I'll be feeling later on that afternoon. I'll just have to see how I'm feeling when it's time to go." Or something close to that. She then went on to say something to the effect of, "Maybe Friday...maybe Saturday." Now that's my kind of MOM!!

I hate making plans. I hate planning anything. I would much rather fly by the seat of my pants and make things up as I go along. The trouble I run into is that so many other people in my life are very strict when it comes to following agendas. There are so many other mothers out there scheduling play dates and events that it makes me dizzy. I simpy cannot participate. I do not like being so regimented.

Now, when our kids were babies I was like a walking-talking Swiss watch. I scheduled and scheduled and developed routines and truth be told it nearly broke me. There were definitely some benefits to it, but overall I wish I could have been more lax. I think the main reason I was such a stickler was because I was working full-time and had no other choice...if for no other reason than to try to make life a little smoother.

Having such a laissez faire mentality leaves me quite constricted when it comes to reporting to work EVERY DAY. There is nothing that ruffles my feathers more than hitting the ground running before 3:00 in the afternoon!!!

A DIY Life

How novel...an entire show dedicated to teaching people how to "Do It Yourself." Come on people...do you really have to wait until you're given permission to attempt a project? I have lived a DIY lifestyle long before Home Depot decided to help us out...even before the Home & Garden Network decided to use only its initials. If I need something done...I do it...myself. Sometimes this involves lugging way-too-heavy pieces of furniture from one wall to the other. Other times it involves opening gates in the rain while wearing high heels, a dress, and a ruined hair-do. I've even been known to hoist an over-filled Rubbermaid container up into a loft using only my sheer will and determination. Somehow the job gets done.

Mostly these jobs get done when I am all alone and absolutely forced to proceed all by my lonesome. When my husband is nearby I can always ask for his help and the job will get done. But knowing that you can Do It Yourself helps take some of the fear out of life. Yes, it is much more enjoyable to work alongside someone, and yes, chores get accomplished more quickly and efficiently with several helping hands pitching in...but sometimes its nice to feel exertion pour from our own pores and actually feel the pounding of our own heart.

There are other DIY projects that don't necessarily involve pulled muscles, sweat, and physical exhaustion. Take pampering for instance. I have always applied my own makeup, styled my own hair, and painted my own fingernails and toenails. I have gone to the salon before thinking that I was missing out on all things 'girl' after continually receiving major eye-rolling and jaw-dropping looks whenever I admitted being a salon virgin. The visit only cost me time and money and I was never completely satisfied. Don't get me wrong...I love the ideal of getting pampered...it's just the constant upkeep and cost that baffles me and wears me out.

I suppose if you have the means by which to have others do things for you then go for it. But if you don't then don't sell yourself short...you can do it...yourself!

Estate Sale

This morning found me snooping through the closets, cabinets, and bedrooms of a person who is no longer here. I was fingering trinkets and rifling through possessions that someone else called their own. I was at an estate sale. I do fine at garage sales, yard sales, and community sales. I eagerly dash from pile to pile hoping to score the perfect must-have item at a steal of a deal. But these estate sales always carry with them a heavy presence of the now-deceased owner. It's one thing to decide to sell your things; it's another to have them laid out on cardboard tables and in cardboard boxes for all the world to pick through.

It made me think about all of the things I call my own. I am thinking that I would much rather whittle down the number of my possessions now...while it's still up to ME. In the end isn't it always "the little things" that carry more sentiment rather than the "big" items or the "most expensive" pieces? To anyone else (even my closest family members) my collection of journals and notebooks may be viewed as things that could all be compiled into one giant box for .10c a piece or "take the whole box for $1.00." Oh the thought of such a travesty. For goodness sakes sell the leather couch...sell the big t.v...sell the computer, and the printer, and the dvd player...shoot...give 'em all away...but don't let a stranger lay their hands on the things that are me.

Maybe I should hold a family meeting and explain that the tiny what-not of the black and white cow reminds me of my grandmother's house. Maybe I need to emphasize the emotional tie that I have to the tiny bottle of Tinkerbell's pixie dust my mom gave me when I graduated from college. And that cedar hope chest...the one that in all likely hood could fetch a nice sum of cash...please hold on to it...it belonged to my grandmother and I can still smell it's old smell in the place where I store all of my memories of all things good...I can still remember opening it at my grandma's house and digging through it's delightful treasures: books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie; an old baby doll my mother used to play with; that tiny torquoise lock and key... It is now in my bedroom and I really want it to be in my daughter's home and then passed on from there. Maybe I should go through the house and put all of the things that truly speak to me inside that hope chest...where it is my hope that they never really leave.

Milking It

When a coworker is willing to sop up the chocolate milk that is pooling in your lap...well...you know you've got a true friend! Today, during our lunch-give-me-a-break! I managed to dump the contents of my tiny carton of chocolate milk completely into my lap...brrrr! Fortunately the majority of it was absorbed into my nether region and not, God forbid, on my new carpet! Leave it to me to be one of the first to soil it (that is if you don't count accident #1 (and I do mean "number 1") at the circulation desk, or accident #2 (and, yes, I do mean "number 2"). In one week's time somebody has accidentally "leaked" onto my brand new carpet, somebody else brought in a token from the playground on the bottom of their shoe, and somebody (moi) spilt a carton of milk. I guess it's time to take down the "Please do not eat or drink in the library" sign.

Because of my determination to keep said carpet as clean as possible I simply froze when my own accident happened. All of my dear teammates jumped to their feet and threw napkins and applied pressure to my...lap area. Grateful that I had on one of my typical black skirts I was able to go about the rest of my day without anyone else none the wiser.

I tip my hat to the women in my life who do their best to keep me at my best. Most days this is quite a chore, I know, but I so sincerely appreciate it.

Revelations

The ending, which, in a sense is really a beginning, is revealed to us in the final book of the Bible-Revelations. When reading any other kind of book I tend not to want to know how it's going to end until I get through it all and end up there. But in the book of Revelations I am flat out told that this is the end and it's coming and it's not all sunshine and roses. Recently some other things were revealed to me that had me not so anxious about getting through it all and arriving at the end. The wind has been knocked out of my sails and I feel as if I am standing on shaky ground. I suppose the old adage that 'ignorance is bliss' rings true most of the time, but I don't really think it was ignorance so much as repression that had me making up my own ending. As the author of my own life I have always looked ahead and lived with the end in mind...but always as a positive impetus to keep me going...to keep me living according to my own moral compass. And while I am a feeling a little uncertain and blue I am also a bit relieved. Part of what was revealed to me has lifted a weight that I had needlessly been carrying around. It opened my eyes to an ending that I had not known was a part of my course. Like the book of Revelations---it does have its dark and scary scenarios---but it also has a heavenly reward complete with weightless wings.

Falling for My Friends

Today being the first day of fall I took it upon myself to call one of my best friends to wish her a "Happy 1st Day of Fall!" Before I could shout out the words she spit them out to me as her initial greeting. Loving all things fall, my friend's voice was laced with giddiness. She thrives on brown and orange and celebrates her wedding anniversary during this delightful season. I think of her every time the seasons change. While I don't want to associate my friend with a pumpkin I will say this: she would be the first to change the word into plumpkin as she is the queen of self-deprecation.

There is nothing like good friends to make you smile. Who else can you call at 6:45 IN THE MORNING and share a few laughs with...knowing full well that they are not only up but en route the same as you? I love my girlfriends--I love them because we know so much about each other's lives and we never have to apologize for anything. We go way back...as far back as fall nights underneath the Friday Night Lights of our high school youth.

With the anticipation of crisper leaves and blustery days I can't help but to be anxious for a little nip in the air. I want to melt some queso and pop a cork. I want to sit with my girlfriends and giggle and snort. I want to listen and hug and listen some more. Our lives are busy and they are full, but thank God they are intertwined. Each of us have been a part of the other's lives since we were in elementary school and I am a better person because of my girlfriends. While we no longer meet on the playground to crush grub worms or make rock houses, we do call, text, and email whenever we can. We know and appreciate each other's schedules and complicated lives. And so, on this the first day of fall, I want you two to know that you are the best part about the ending of summer. I fall for you every year.

My Sunday Whine

Why is it so hard to get up and go to church? We get up and go to work and school even though we don't even want to....ahhhh but we have to. Do we really have to go to church? Hmmmm. Trying to be a good Christian parent I want to make sure that my kids are brought up in the church learning all things Godly. I certainly don't set that good of an example for them on a daily basis...not when I'm yelling at the old lady in the excrutiatingly slow car in front of us...not when another bill arrives in the mailbox...not when I lose my temper and my patience at the same time and scream at them until my voice quits. But early service on a Sunday morning? Yes...early service.

Our weekends are precious to us since we are hardly ever home due to our busy schedules. I am a self-proclaimed home-body and that still doesn't do me any good considering all that is going on. So what if during the work week we have a 30-minute commute one way...that's not bad at all...it's the rushing around like crazy once we do get home...only to fall asleep with our makeup still on and our body odor still clinging to us. Even God Himself rested on Sunday. So what is the frantic family to do? We hold fast to our belief that an example must be set and as tired as we may be we have to put God first in our lives and pray like ...well...pray really hard that He will help us stay awake throughout the sermon. Plus...where else can you go and be served wine before noon on a Sunday?

Enough to Want to Pull Your Hair Out!

A young girl walks up to the circulation desk, her hair perfectly pulled back into two small pony tails; matching ribbons in each. "Did your mom do your hair?" I ask knowingly. "Yes," she sheepishly smiles in response. I smile back and gush on and on about how cute it looks and how my mother used to do my hair when I was a little girl, etc., etc., et-barfing-cetera. Behind my smile was a green-eyed-monster chomping at the bits to force my hands across the counter in an effort to pull out the ribbons and undo the hair bands. You see, I am jealous. There...I said it. But I really don't know why. I am so split personality on this one. Allow me to try to explain:

I want to be a mom. Let me clarify: a GOOD mom. All too often I find myself slipping into the 'world's way of thinking' and that has made my life extremely difficult. Society 'tells' us that good moms are organized and doting. They lovingly prepare lunches...good lunches and they dress their children...in good, clean, matching clothes. Then there is the clincher: THEY DO THEIR DAUGHTER'S HAIR!! If report cards were to go out every now and then for how I'm doing as a mom I think I would rush to the mailbox so I could shred the evidence. Here's the breakdown:

*Lunches: toss up between too bad so sad, brave the cafeteria, or make it yourself.
*Clothes: pick it out yourself, wear it wrinkled, or go naked
*Hair: there's a brush in the car

I know what to do...I even know how to do it...but the life of a working mother (especially one who 'doesn't do mornings' all that well) is one of a never ending internal and external battle. Like a well-oiled machine that long since ran out of oil -nothing runs smoothly around here. But after years of running the hamster wheel marathon I can't help but to think that maybe, given the opportunity to stay home, I'd no longer want to prep, clean, or brush. Of course, the kids wouldn't need me to anyway...but at least, when I'm old and gray, they will be adept at making my lunches, picking out my clothes, and brushing my hair.

On Restriction

re-strict (ri strikt') vt. [see RESTRAIN] to keep within limits; confine --re-strict'ed adj. --re-stric'tion n. This definition came from Webster's New World Dictionary--the 1990 paperback edition. This is the same dictionary that saw me through college. It helped me make sense of words that were thrust upon me. I am afraid to look up the word 'restrict' today. Will its meaning be altered? Will it be exactly the same? The reason I am wondering is this: just the other morning at work I overhead someone asking another about the current water restrictions. They were wondering if they would be able to wash their car at home. When I was a kid the only times I heard the word 'restrict' had to do with my friends and the fact that, after breaking a rule, they were "put on restriction," and when there was a movie I wanted to see but couldn't because it was "Rated R for Restricted."

Nowadays I find myself using the "R word" to define my clothes (especially around the waist) and how I'm currently feeling: RESTRICTED. As a young adult it was my assumption that as I grew older I would be and feel less restricted. As an adult I am finding that is not necessarily so. For example, I often feel restricted when it comes to wanting to do certain things such as sleep, relax, or be spontaneous. Maybe it all boils down to responsibility. Did I really give up certain freedoms so that I could fulfill my longing to be married with children? It's like I jumped from PG to G totally skipping the R part of life. I don't want it to all be 'about me' but I would like to know that there is at least a part of me that isn't on restriction.

As my kids have grown older I have found myself retreating from them and paying more attention to me. Hopefully that is a somewhat 'normal' progression. I hovered and fed and cleaned and taught while they were tiny and helpless and so dependent upon me. Like the mama bird who tirelessly flutters back and forth-dusk till dawn providing for her babies--until one day she sits on the fence for a breather only to view from a distance her babies look bigger and are trying something on their own. And so she stays back -a little farther away this time (but still close enough to rush in if need be)-and notices that life is happening before her eyes...only now she can see it because she's not entrenched it in. Her labors have paid off and she actually has time to rest, relax, and be spontaneous. Her restrictions lifted she is able to fly again.

Night School

Today was one of those days where at 10:30 at night I am still in my heels, dress, and eyeliner. Tonight I did not get home until 9:30 because I had to stay in town for my son's "Meet the Teacher Night." As parents darted here and there in the hallways desperately trying to get to each class before the bell rang I was immediately grateful that I was not back in school as a student. I am afraid of what type of student I would be today as opposed to the one I was back then. Back when I was in middle school I was studious and such the people pleaser...especially when it came to my teachers (and good thing too since I have taught alongside several of them!) I was so aware of the rules and adamant about following them. I took everything very seriously and, as a result, did well.

Today, knowing what I know now; feeling what I feel now...well, I'm not so sure I'd do it all the same again. For starters I wouldn't get nauseated if I was tardy for a class. I would ask more questions and I wouldn't freak out if my papers were wrinkled. I would get to know my teachers and really pick their brains. I would not worry about trying to fit in to any one group and just enjoy being the me that I am. That being said, middle school was one of my most favorite school experiences. I've always said that if I could go back and do it again I'd return to 7th grade. I don't know if it was the freedom I felt back then, or if it was that all things good happened to me??? I can't really put my finger on it. All I know is that elementary existence is just so...well..elementary. And high school...oh such drama! Middle school was the best fit for me. I think I am stuck in a middle school vacuum as an adult. I know I'm not a child, but I don't think I'll ever really feel like a "grown up." My hormones are out of whack and I still get zits. I still get excited when one of my girlfriends calls me or sends me something in the mail (as close to note passing as we can get).

Tonight finds me weary and yet excited. I played "grown up" as I got to meet all of the teachers who are a part of my son's life. There are several that he speaks very highly of and of whom I pray make an impact on his future. But, playing "grown up" has me praying he will succeed. It also has me waiting for the dryer to buzz so that I can take the football uniform out and go to bed.

With tomorrow being picture day for my daughter and I --along with my son's very first football game ever-- I'd have to say that adolescence isn't all that bad. Let's just hope and pray for a good hair day and a chance to play ball.

Meals in Thirty Minutes or MORE

4:30-6:45…2HOURS and 15 MINUTES!!! That is how long it took me to prepare a meal for my family. It did not turn out tasty either. Everyone was nice and kept their mouths shut; unfortunately this did not help with the eating part of the dinner. You see, whenever I make one of my four regular meals I am always asked why I can’t seem to whip up something different. And so, to show them how much I care, I prepared a meal unlike anything else I’ve ever created before. This one called for ingredients I had never even heard of before. In fact, I had to ask three different people in the grocery store what and where something was. A couple hundred dollars later I walked out of the store with real ingredients and an actual plan to cook them.

I’m a little slow when it comes to trends, but I am now ready to jump on the Rachael Ray bandwagon. Just the other day I caught a few minutes of her show and decided that I wanted to make the dishes she made that day: I thought that I would start off with something “simple” and likely to be eaten by my kids. I decided upon the Sausage with Garlic Lentils and Roasted Tomato Bruschetta. This was the first time that I had ever eaten and or prepared lentils. At one point I had four different timers ticking at once.
I am guessing that I did it wrong as they tasted like the little circles of paper that fall out of a hole punch. I tried measuring and pouring all of the ingredients first-into those tiny clear glass bowls-just like they use on t.v. After our meal, while cleaning up, I noticed a small bowl still filled with olive oil…ooops.

I chopped, I grated, I halved, and I poured. I rinsed, I roasted, and I simmered. I used our good plates and I focused on the presentation. I watched everyone chew, wince, and swallow. I cleared the table, scraped the majority of my work into the trash, and then I washed the dishes. I fell onto my bed – lights still on – and I fell asleep. Two minutes later the phone rang and I came to my senses…lentils work best when poured in a wooden bowl with candles set on top of them, and bruschetta is best when spoken aloud in an effort to impress others with an Italian word.

General Admission

I spent last Friday night in the grandstands at my former high school's homecoming football game. For years I chanted for our team, our mascot, and our school colors. But last Friday had me wearing different colors and cheering for a different mascot!" As far as fashion goes the new colors looked great...and I would gladly purchase some fan attire. But it just wasn't the same. Even though the game was held at "my" former stadium...I felt disconnected. I love watching the game so that part was fun, but as far as feeling the guttural urge to holler "DEFENSE!!"...well, I never really got there.

My kids and I sat right next to the 'student' section so that in itself was quite entertaining to say the least. I kept glancing over trying to read each face wondering which 'parts' they were playing. I tried to guess who was the (insert name here) of my high school class. I realized that they weren't acting immature...they were just acting their age. I wondered what my own kids would be like at that age. I remember living for Friday night football games. It was all about the boys and being seen and seeing others. The air was always crisp and energized. The darkness was always palpable.

Last night as the girls' mums jingled and the air horns blew I knew that I was in 'their' world...the world of high school. Last night I also knew that I was no longer one of them. Instead of accidentally on purpose scooting past a certain someone hoping to be noticed-I was doing my best not to make any eye contact whatsoever as I sandwiched myself between my son and daughter. Please don't see me -please don't see me I chanted to myself. My pants were too tight (not by choice) and my purse was too heavy (both major tell-tale signs that I was so far removed from being one of 'them' ). I chatted with the mothers of the players instead of the players themselves. And now, guess what, next Tuesday I will officially be sitting in the stands as the mother of a player myself...and I am fully ready to yell all night long...because when I do it'll be for my 8th grader!

Ants In Our Pants

We have ants in our pants...really. It seems that the little creatures of the Earth will stop at nothing to seek sustenance. Unfortunately they are finding it in our dog's food bowl, in our pantry, and in our piles of both clean and dirty clothes. I have resorted to washing our clothes, ants and all, and then folding them outside on the porch-after slapping each article of clothing as hard as I can against either the house or the porch railing. I have to pick and pinch the little suckers one at a time to ensure they don't make their way into our closets. (That delicate procedure did not work by the way---the ants thrive in places like dirty clothes hampers). Then again, if it didn't take me a full week before removing the dirty clothes the ants might not have stood a chance. Then there is the issue of folding and hanging the clothes right away that I have neglected to do ever since I officially "quit" my "job" of good wife and good mother when I realized that, yes, I would in fact be working for the rest of my life. Like the movie title, "Something's Gotta Give," something just had to go and I chose housework as the thing. But the weird thing is I still do it-though not well, or, quite frankly, willingly.

Back to the ants: Since using up all of the real ant spray I have resorted to other modes of annihilation such as: a mix of Bleach and water, Febreeze, Wet Wipes, and mopping (desperate times call for desperate measures). Nothing quite did the trick. So now we all just coexist with the ants. I now keep my dog's food bowls on a plastic serving tray that is filled with water (a very effective moat mind you) so the ants now drown upon entry (be careful what you wish for....). The mop stays out in plain sight instead of gathering dust behind a door (this is a great piece of decor for when unexpected guests show up--you can just point to the mop and say, "Pardon the floor...I was just getting ready to mop when you showed up...") and then dismiss it thereby giving your guests the impression that "housework can wait...you are so much more important..."

Every now and then I'll get a stinging jolt in an obscure location while going about my day. That is when I realize that despite my shock and awe ant warfare drills a rouge survivor held fast and clung to the inside of my pants. It is times like these when I actually look forward to winter--when the ants go underground and we don't sweat as much--thus making the laundry loads lighter.

I Don't Have it Maid

Today an email came across my screen at work. It was part of a long feed between members of the library world. It was from a woman who lives and works in Houston. She mentioned that due to the mandatory evacuation orders she was forced to leave behind all of her books, data, computers, info, etc. Yes, the lives of our loved ones are the most important things that matter. But to a writer and a book lover the very thought of losing paper and information, manuscripts, and drafts...well...it is just about unthinkable.

But it did get me thinking about just what does matter. I have been wanting to not necessarily get rid of, but at least pack up and put away all things that clutter my home, my mind, and my life (don't worry, I'll poke holes in the lids so the kids can breathe)...(it's a joke people...a JOKE!!...well, sort of). Do I really need to display everything that I own? Must I continue to collect paper and dust? But then I am left with the even larger question: Where will I store all of the stuff that I think I must keep but no longer need? Should I box things up and let the critters enjoy them? Will their empty spaces only invite more stuff? I struggle between wanting to decorate my home with all the things that make it ours (okay...mine) and wanting nothing more than furniture and food.

My belongings are an extention of me but really they are a token of who I once was. I have molted alot since "then" and even still have some shedding to do. No matter how much I would love to come home to a house filled with white furniture, white carpet, and white curtains... (and a maid)...the fact of the matter is this: it is just not my 'season' to live that way. Instead I come home to a house filled with brown furniture, stained carpet, gritty concrete, and no curtains (I must say that I did not want curtains in this house as they would block my view and ultimately-at least once-have to be cleaned)...(and NO maid).

I know that life is not about washing the dishes...I KNOW that...but the problem is someone has to wash the dishes or else there is no life. I don't want to spend what little time I have at home at the sink. And yet, there I stand...I have the wet line across my shirt...belly-level... to prove it. I know that life is not about having a pristine home filled with clean, white belongings...I know that is not even a remote reality for me. But I also know that cleanliness matters...organization matter...family matters. Today I had the luxury of getting home before the evening news. I had thought ahead and washed all of the dishes this morning so that when I got home I was able to focus on other, more important things...like writing this entry. I also had time to bathe and preheat the oven...the pizza will be ready in 23 minutes. Paper plates are as close to a maid as I get.

Time Out

Wishing I had something to say but I am too exhausted to think. I don't know why I am so tired...I got plenty of rest last night. I could barely stay awake after lunch today. When school let out I sat up in the very top row of stadium seats at the middle school and watched football practice. Every now and then the sun would duck behind some clouds and a mild wind would blow. This cooled things off a bit,but just as soon as it did the very wind that cooled me off blew away the clouds blocking the sun and had me holding up my umbrella again. I did not mind though. It was such a relaxing moment sitting up there. I let go of all thoughts and plans and just watched. The field was green and the whistles were loud. The coaches were focused and the boys were intent on proving themselves. I could have sat there until the moon shone.

I am right at the point where I need to stop and breathe or else everything will start sticking to me and weighing me down. The pace of our days and evenings is starting to pick up and I can't afford to be a slave to it. I want to make the most of these days where my kids are active and enjoying what it means to be a kid. I pray for endurance, patience, understanding, and guidance. I know I'll need each of these attributes to make it through this year. As long as I can find a way to exist on four hours of sleep and a Nutigrain bar I should be okay.

In the Middle

I wore a skirt...a black skirt. I tried to look and feel pretty and professional. Big mistake. You see, I am in a quandary about what to do with my "look" lately. It seems that I am living out an eternal Venn Diagram of an existence. In the left circle I have blah clothes and shoes. In the right circle I have dressy dresses, cute pants, and marvelous high heels. Then there is the center circle...the one with a little of the left side of life and a little of the right side of life. That is where I am--the mixed up middle. I am holding on to my pretty clothes but am being forced out of my fabulous shoes. This presents quite the fashion faux paus. I just can't "do" flats with knee-length skirts. I need the elongation and stature heels afford me. In flats I am just that: flat...flat and short. Boring.

So, in order to maintain my own standard of dressing, I continue to dress up as much as possible. But there is yet another problem...I work in an elementary school library. Today found me on the floor of my workroom shuffling through plastic bags filled with Big Books...literally on the floor-skirt fanned out beneath me...my black skirt (now grey with dust). Fortunately I wore-get this-ballet Crocs with said skirt (I know...I need an intervention-pronto!) because during outside bus duty it poured down. It was then that I was actually glad that I had decided (against my better judgement) to forego looking decent from the knees down. Oh, and when I drove over to Johnny's Feed Store after work to buy a 22 pound bag of chicken feed I didn't even have to worry about what I stepped in.

Yup, it's true what they say, you can take a girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl. The only problem with this is that this country girl don't work in no barn (although it sometimes feels like it).

...And Many More...

Today is my 38th birthday. In a way it seems odd to me that I've only had 38 birthday parties...38 cakes...38 days that were all mine. Before I even got out of bed my husband wished me a Happy Birthday. Before I left the house this morning my kids wished me a Happy Birthday. On my way in to work I received two texts and one phone call--I felt like a giddy girl. Once I got to work it was announced over the live broadcast that today was my birthday! Every kid I saw today wished me as much. I received cards and emails and more phone calls and texts. There were even a few surprise gifts that came my way. Wow! I had no idea. To be loved and appreciated and, quite frankly, simply thought of, made my day. Even though it rained on me early in the morning and I had bus duty after school--even though I sat in the bleachers in the heat of the day--I wouldn't trade it...all of those things meant that I had a place of employment that I treats me like family...that I am able to watch my son on the practice field...that I am living a life...a good one.

After football practice the kids and I met my husband at one of favorite little dives and slopped up some great tasting Mexican food. When we finally got home there was a gift bag dangling from my backdoor's doorknob. I felt like I did whenever I spotted an Easter egg as a child. My sister-in-law had left me a delicious smelling Yankee candle (vanilla cupcake) and in so doing made me feel special. As my key unlocked the door I could hear my answering machine singing "...Hap-py Burrrrrrthdaaaaay dear..." I leapt across the kitchen floor wanting to grab the phone before one of my bestest friends hung up. After chatting away with her outside I came back into the house to find a "Happy Birthday" banner in the window along with our special birthday candle and yet another gift bag...this one from my family. My husband and kids sang to me and it felt good to have the three of them there--my true gifts. The card they picked out for me almost melted me and then they surprised me with the ultimate gift...a gift card to Barnes & Noble...JACKPOT!!! Could my day get any better?!

The best part of my evening was watching my daughter whispering to her dad...conspiring to make my day. I watched her (though she did not know it) emulate me...trying so hard to create a special memory for me in the best way she knew how and with what little available she had. These are the presents that have been worth waiting for and for them I am eternally grateful. And that in itself gives me every reason to look forward to each birthday to come...and many more.

Crapp-a-ccino

As I sit here with my back up against the wall –literally-I am waiting for my laptop to come to life. It is apparently exhausted and my guess is it will revive itself just about the time I need to leave to pick up my daughter from a birthday party. I am at Barnes & Noble trying to look and feel like I belong here—that I fit in. But I don’t. For starters I’m not savvy enough to snag a table next to an outlet; but I did find a bench, in an obvious shunned-from-the-group location, with an outlet in the wall behind it. It was one of those outlets where the actual plug part of it is dangling from the wall-the lower portion cracked and screaming,“Touch Me and You Die!” I threw caution to the wind and stuck my battery cord into the top part. For the first eight minutes I wondered if it was actually “hot” as my computer screen remained black and I could not detect a hum of any sorts. So, what is one to do while waiting for their computer to come on? I started writing by hand all of the things that I wanted to type. When my computer finally woke up I was able to type a paragraph and then it was, as predicted, time to shut down and leave.

I got off to a bad start when I tried ordering a cup of coffee. I was startled when one of the guys behind the counter asked for my order-uh…I-want-a-caramel—uh---I-mean-a grande-caramel-frappaccino I nervously shouted back as if all of the words were one long one. I knew that I couldn’t just say “coffee”…I mean, even I am hip enough to know that. I also knew that since I was at Starbucks I might as well get some flavor going…and I really like caramel…so I threw in the “grande” part to show my knowledge of all things Starbucks and ended up with a cold beverage. If I had wanted cold I would have asked for a Coke. Then it came time to pay for the mystery concoction … with all 12 of my gift cards. It took seven of them to pay for the drink. So here I am, left with a drink that I didn’t even know that I didn’t want.

I think I’ll use my last five gift cards and buy a Starbucks travel mug; that way I can fill it with my brewed at home Folgers-French Vanilla thankyouverymuch-and then I won’t have to get all stressed out as I seek to relax.

Meep Meep!

Some days I feel like Wile E. Coyote trying to catch the roadrunner. Just the other morning, while pouring what I still call Lucky Charms (they are actually Marshmallow Mateys--the cheaper, bag version of the real deal...it even says on the bag, "Compare to Lucky Charms") into a small red, plastic bowl, I could not help but to compare it to when the coyote pours that perfect pyramid of Acme Birdseed into a bowl in the middle of the road with the high hopes of finally catching the roadrunner. I, too, have been known to buy the latest gimmick that is advertised to "make my life easier." I have such high hopes that this time things will be better.

Take the beginning of the school year for example. I already knew what to expect. I already knew things were going to be hectic and time would no longer be something we had on our hands. I knew this. Even still the reality of it all hit me square in the face. No matter how much I psych myself up--no matter how many prayers I pray--no matter how many deep, cleansing breaths I take...I just can't seem to catch up. Just like the coyote, who despite his best laid plans, I feel defeated every single day. There are even days when I wish that darn anvil would just knock me out cold. But, alas, I trudge on; and that "roadrunner" called life runs just ahead of me-stopping every now and then to stick its tongue out at me and then burst farther ahead leaving me in a cloud of confusion.
But, like Wile E. I always seem to bounce back day after day despite the falls and near misses of the day before.

This year has us getting home later than ever almost every night of the week. We are busier than we have ever been. And we are only two weeks into the school year for goodness sakes! But with some lucky charms and a Wile E. spirit I have high hopes that I can get a grasp on this year...or at least get it to slow down long enough for me to catch up to it!

Just Right

Once upon a time there were 3 bears...sound familiar? Well I felt like I was living out this fairy tale as I was shopping for shoes. Everything was either a little too big, a little too small, a little too expensive...nothing was ever just right. Sometimes an 8 fit...other times a 9 1/2 fit...what is a bargain hunter to do? You see, I am extremely intimidated by the "maul" and all of its perfect displays and pricey items. I feel uncomfortable knowing that everyone else can afford the goods. For one reason or another I always feel like I snuck into a club and am trying to take it all in before being found out.

That is why I shop the strip malls...the outlets...the Marshalls of the fashion world. I feel comfortable among the disarray. I feel like a card carrying club member in these stores. In a way I feel like I am rescuing the clothes that just didn't make the "mall cut." Here is where I finally stumble upon Goldilock's cottage. And if I rummage through it long enough I often find something just right for me.

Coming Unglued

I absolutely loved the way my fake nails made my hands look. They made me want to cook, and clean, and point, and direct. They gave the impression that I was sophisticated and clean. They were the perfect French manicure with the slightest hint of pale pink yet still fresh white. They looked real. I was craving "a look" the other day and could not get to Walgreens fast enough after the work day ended. I found a box of "real short" nails for under $5 bucks and drove home on a mission. These nails came to the tip of my own finger and even then I filed them down a bit. The shine and thickness of the nails had me looking like I just stepped out of a salon.

I eagerly went to work the next morning ready to stare at my hands as I went about my day. I know, it sounds so vain...and it is...but I couldn't help it. I had been feeling yucky about myself and thought this would pick me up. Throughout the day I noticed I spent the majority of my time fiddling with my nails and I was constantly aware that they were attached to me. They really started to bug me as I could not dig in on any one project-be it opening a Coke or fastening a bracelet without a little hesitation. Let's face it...as much as I wanted to feel pretty it was a fake attempt. I came home and ripped those babies off that night. It felt so liberating to be free of them. My hands immediately looked stubby and boring but I was able to do the things that I needed to without feeling fragile and breakable.

My daughter asked me if I had ever worn fake nails before and I told that when I was in high school we used to have Lee Press On Nails and they came in all sorts of colors (I didn't remember French Manicure being one of them). I told her they all came to a point and there weren't "active length" nails until much later on. I can remember finding a fingernail here and there on the carpet or kitchen counter when visiting other people's homes as the "press on" part of it wasn't that impressive.

I knew when I was gluing on my fingernails that they would drive me nuts, but I did so anyway. I guess I just wanted to pretend for a while...I wanted to be like "everybody else." A lesson was learned and I can now say that while it was fun playing "dress up" with my hands, I think I'll just stick with being me.

Coming Unglued

I absolutely loved the way my fake nails made my hands look. They made me want to cook, and clean, and point, and direct. They gave the impression that I was sophisticated and clean. They were the perfect French manicure with the slightest hint of pale pink yet still fresh white. They looked real. I was craving "a look" the other day and could not get to Walgreens fast enough after the work day ended. I found a box of "real short" nails for under $5 bucks and drove home on a mission. These nails came to the tip of my own finger and even then I filed them down a bit. The shine and thickness of the nails had me looking like I just stepped out of a salon.

I eagerly went to work the next morning ready to stare at my hands as I went about my day. I know, it sounds so vain...and it is...but I couldn't help it. I had been feeling yucky about myself and thought this would pick me up. Throughout the day I noticed I spent the majority of my time fiddling with my nails and I was constantly aware that they were attached to me. They really started to bug me as I could not dig in on any one project-be it opening a Coke or fastening a bracelet without a little hesitation. Let's face it...as much as I wanted to feel pretty it was a fake attempt. I came home and ripped those babies off that night. It felt so liberating to be free of them. My hands immediately looked stubby and boring but I was able to do the things that I needed to without feeling fragile and breakable.

My daughter asked me if I had ever worn fake nails before and I told that when I was in high school we used to have Lee Press On Nails and they came in all sorts of colors (I didn't remember French Manicure being one of them). I told her they all came to a point and there weren't "active length" nails until much later on. I can remember finding a fingernail here and there on the carpet or kitchen counter when visiting other people's homes as the "press on" part of it wasn't that impressive.

I knew when I was gluing on my fingernails that they would drive me nuts, but I did so anyway. I guess I just wanted to pretend for a while...I wanted to be like "everybody else." A lesson was learned and I can now say that while it was fun playing "dress up" with my hands, I think I'll just stick with being me.

In My Hands

I feel doubly blessed...not just for having children, but for having a son and a daughter. Last night I did the snips and snails thing but tonight I needed a little more sugar and spice. After being in a blue mood for a while I decided to treat myself to some fake fingernails compliments of Walgreens. As soon as we got home and the kids started in on their homework I snuck off to the bathroom for a cheap girl's manicure session. I ended up with glue (I just know there is mostly SUPER glue in that little tube) everywhere except where it needed to be. This meant that had I wanted to go into the business where stripping away one's fingerprints was a necessity I very well could have applied tonight. This is where my daughter comes in. I needed her to pry the skin underneath my nails from the hardened glue on my fingers.

She absolutely loves to do all things "medical" and promptly set to work with an orange stick, some clippers, and a determined look on her face. Her only disappointment was in the fact that I had not bought her a set of fingernails in a box. (Can't you just see her in band with long, fake nails?!) (Of course she wouldn't be playing seeing as her flute is still being repaired--cha-ching!). She managed to get my hands looking and feeling much better in no time. She would have jumped at the chance to pamper me from head to toe but I insisted she finish her homework.

You see, my daughter is always wanting to make me feel better. She is always the one who looks at me with knowing eyes and rushes over to pat me on the back while whispering, "...it's alright Mama...it's alright." While my first instinct is to be angry at myself for not being the comforter, my next emotion is one of gutteral love. To have a child be there for you is quite a humbling experience. My daughter is the one who always tries to 'make it better.' She routinely offers to give me massages or make meals for me. She is the one who, several years ago, gave me the priceless gift of wonder: having always been the one who created the magic of Christmas mornings I got the treat of a lifetime--one morning during the month of December, my daughter got up real early so that she could turn on all of the Chrismas lights in the house so everything would be twinkling when I woke up. I absolutely love our Christmas tree and lights and always string lights inside all over the place. I had not walked into a room lit up with the wonder of Christmas magic since I was a child. This simple act meant so much to me and I carry it with me wherever I go.

From football tosses to fake French manicures it is evident I've got the whole world in my hands.

Play by Play

Tonight I pushed my way through the humidity and figured the mosquitoes would be hard pressed to find a part of my body that wasn't already swollen from other mosquito bites. I welcomed the sweat and relished every moment I spent outside--throwing the football and running plays with my son. I yelled "Hut!" and waited until he was just about to cut to the left and turn back in anticipation of the perfect spiral (this girl can throw). I caught almost every pass he shot back my way. I had the first hint of a jammed finger (hadn't had one of those in years) but toughed it out. I lobbed 'em high and I threw 'em wide working to make him jump and reach. Every now and then I managed to time it just right...and when he connected it was thrilling. I cannot even begin to imagine what it must feel like to be one of those guys on the field--how utterly exhilerating.

But, then again, to be the mom is quite an amazing feeling in itself. To be able to receive such satisfaction just in the knowing that your child is growing and becoming. So is this "one of those moments" where you realize "it was all worth it?" All of those times when he shook and bobbed his head (you just knew it was intentional) every time you tried to comb his hair when he was two, three, and four years old? Every time you needed a few moments of quiet only to have it blasted away by the sound of sirens from all of those gifts of noise from loved ones? Yes...I'd have to say it was all worth it. They do grow up and become such neat individuals. Yes, they are still noisy, and yes they are still dirty, and now they won't even let you come near them with a comb---but they are all the parts of you you wish you were. They make you glow from within and they give you reason to be proud.

And, it is because I want for him to experience so many things in his life, that I willingly offered to throw the ball. I hope that I am always there to help him out...and I hope that he will always want to play.

False Labor

Webster's New World Dictionary defines labor as such: physical or mental exertion; to work hard; to move slowly and with difficulty; (and my new favorite definition): to suffer (under a false idea).

I finally have a name for the mysterious ailment that has been haunting me since I was a young teen...it's called labor! I have been suffering undering the false idea that I would not have to work for a living!!! What an epiphany!! And so, on this national holiday, I put my feet up and relished the fact that while I was moving slowly and with some difficulty I was not exerting myself at all. In fact, I think my way of celebrating this Labor Day actually contributed to my moving slowly and with difficulty!! I love holidays!!!