My Epic Year Peeps

In looking over the basket of Christmas cards we received from people this year, I feel blessed to have so many great friends. Some went above and beyond and contributed to making this an Epic Year for me. There were a few “wounded souls," however, that I had to say good-bye to. One thing I am realizing about myself is that I have a tendency to befriend the wounded so I can fix them. But, I’m learning the hard way, usually the wounded don’t want to get healed, and I end up getting hurt in the process.

But this post is about the peeps who made ‘10 really blessed for me. There were lots, but these are the stand-outs.

My Prayer Warriors, especially Valerie, Mary, Ron and my Prayer Team, who were always available to pray for me and my family at the drop of a hat. They asked, they were faithful, and I am so grateful. I’ve counted on them over and over again this year.

My Best Girlfriends (and they know who they are), who pursued me and loved me through thick and thin. They made themselves available for listening or laughter, a quick Thai lunch or evening glass of wine. Whatever would I do without my girlfriends?

Our Couple Friends, like Lauree & Dave, Kellye & Todd, Peggy & Butch, Bonnie & Joe, and Karl & Nancy, who made our Date Nights even more fun. Super Hubs enjoys them as much as I do.

My Parents, who win Outstanding Grandparents of the Year in my book. I’m overwhelmed by the ways they’ve built into my children this year, and have planned thoughtful, fun events for them with an energy level that I envy. To my offspring, they are “Santa Claus Meets Disney World.”

Chris & Cintia, my brother-in-law and sister in-law. They invited us to their Cabo San Lucas time share in October, and what a week of fun in the sun we had! We swam, relaxed, dined fabulously in the resort cliffs overlooking the Pacific. It was a magical.

My Neighbors, Sandi and Brian, who kept a good eye on Rock Star and fed him well while we were in Cabo. He thinks of them as second parents, and it was great to be able to relax, knowing he was in good hands.

Uncle John and Aunt Susan, who heard Rock Star’s longing to visit his beloved Boston, and invited him out for a week. They entertained him, encouraged him, and touched his life. His trip to Boston was the highight of his year, and that in turn blessed me.

My Yoga Instructor, Kim, who has been gentle and super encouraging. She helps me to appreciate the power of staying in the moment and appreciating what I can do instead of focusing on my limitations.

Sibyl and Ruth, spiritual mentors who have helped me to better identify God’s voice in my life and point me toward practices of spiritual formation. They are who I aspire to be.

My Pharmacist and Allergist, both who helped to improve my quality of life. My asthma had gradually gotten so bad this year that I thought chronic coughing and labored breathing was normal. I felt miserable for months. Through their combined kindness and wisdom, I am now the happy owner of a healthy set of lungs.

Jamie Ford, the author of Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet. I wrote a little blurb about his book being one of my favorites, and he commented on my little obscure blog yesterday. I was so excited that I texted some Book Club members and did the Snoopy dance. A famous author! Commented on my blog! What a great guy! He made my day, and now makes My Epic Peeps list right as the year ends.

Thank you, my Epic Year Peeps. You made my 2010 richer.

Epic Year Favorite Books

The countdown is on......2011 is almost here!
I love the New Year with its fresh new beginnings. But after a difficult couple of years, 2010 was a very good year for me, so I'm not anxious to say good-bye. I’ll call it my Epic Year, and blog about my Epic Year Favorites over the next couple of days.

Books, books books. Let’s talk about them. One of the best things I did in 2010 was start a Book Club. That was on my Bucket List of things I thought I’d do “some day,” and I finally decided to just make it happen. I invited five friends that I knew were avid readers and interesting people, and voila: The Chocolate Pie Book Club was born. (I cannot tell you how we came up with our name. It’s Top Secret, and they'd have to kill me if I let it slip.) The other members have inspired me, challenged me, and made me giggle over and over. I really think a more accurate name for our Book Club would be: Friends Who Wine And Dine Together Monthly While Discussing A Book They May Or May Not Have Read. We are, on occasion, delinquents who don’t always finish our homework. But we consistently have fun discussions, and we always, always laugh. The Book Club meeting is one of my monthly highlights.

I read a ton of great books this year. Many were chosen by other Book Club members, some were required reading from the Spiritual Formation program I’m in, and some I happened upon on my own. (I really must put together a list of favorite authors and keep it in my purse. I develop Author Amnesia when I’m in the library, and wander aimlessly through the aisles, feeling overwhelmed and confused. But I digress.) I agonized over this list, because it’s like choosing between horseradish-encrusted medallions or shrimp scampi for dinner. There were so many delicious reads for me, but I narrowed it down to my three favorites per category.

EPIC FICTION FAVORITES
The Help by Kathryn Stockett
This was, hands down, my absolute favorite fictional read of the year. I read it on vacation last summer and could not put it down. It was informative, inspiring and an absolutely delightful read.

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield
This is a devour-under-the-covers cozy mystery, complete with English moors and ghosts. So yummy! It kept me guessing until the end.

Hotel On The Corner Of Bitter And Sweet by Jamie Ford
This is a sweet, sad, intriguing love story about a friendship between a Chinese boy and Japanese girl in Seattle during World War II. I skipped a Date Night with my husband to finish this. That's how good I found it.

EPIC NON-FICTION FAVORITES
Prayer, Stress and Our Inner Wounds by Flora Slosson Wuellner
This easy-to-read compact book was filled with wise and inspiring ideas on how to pray for emotional and physical healing of self and others. Loved it, loved it, loved it! It’s a book I was longing to read without even knowing about it. It appealed to my Prayer Warrior-ness. Now I want to read every book the author has written. I want to meet the author. I want to be mentored by the author. I want to pray with the author. Short of saying I'll stalk the author, I'll admit I have been deeply touched by her writing.

Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller
The subtitle is “Non-Religious Thoughts on Christian Sprituality” and it is exactly that. I had a bit of an attitude before I read this book, and was prepared to not like it. But I was pleasantly surprised, and loved and agreed with Donald’s thoughts and musings. He writes in a down-to-earth humorous style that appeals to me. I’ve bought copies to share with several young friends.

Pray All Ways by Edward Hays
This book reinforced my belief that there is no division between the divine and the secular; that we can commune with God through all different ways. I re-read this book over and over, and a new revelation jumps out at me each time.

So, there you go. Happy Reading!

Christmas '10

I’ll be real and admit we’ve had some atrocious Christmases, the kind that are written about in newspaper columns or turned into a prime-time comedy episode. I think most people have, if they are honestly reflective.

I spent one Christmas in an ER when Butterfly was four and very sick with pneumonia. I ate a lonely Christmas dinner of a Snickers bar when she was fast asleep in the hospital room she’d been admitted to that evening. We’ve spent the holiday with relatives in which too many people were packed for a week in a small house with one bathroom. Tensions ran high, and there were some snarly moments I’d rather not remember. We’ve had awkward Christmases with hurt feelings and egg-shell walking. Last year, we lost my father-in-law the week before Christmas. We flew out to NY for the funeral in the midst of the East Coast Blizzard of ‘09, arriving back home two days before Christmas Eve. We floated through the holiday season doing the minimum and numbing our emotions. I will forever be grateful to the friends that were there for us through all of that.

This Christmas was amazing. We spent a laid-back Christmas Eve as a family, playing Apples To Apples, dining out, enjoying a Devotional together around the Advent wreath, and then watching A Christmas Story in front of the fire. Little Squirt kept a vigil by the computer, tracking Santa’s journey on NORAD. Children of the Millenium are a bit more techy than children of the 70s. I used to scan the night sky for a red light, which, in retrospect, had to be an airplane. I’d scream, “I see Rudolph!” which would be my parents excuse to bounce me into bed for the night.

The big surprise gift of the Christmas Day was Little Squirt’s Bearded Dragon, who was quickly whooshed from Butterfly’s bedroom to the family room early on Christmas morning. Actually, we were all suprised by Little Squirt’s non-reaction. We thought he’d be over-the-moon joyous, as he’d talked of nothing else for the last month. But he said he knew his BFF Santa would come through for him, and he wasn’t surprised at getting the Beardie. Later, after we’d gotten Rex the Beardie situated in Little Squirt’s bedroom, my youngest came down the stairs with big, sad eyes. “My dragon doesn’t like me. He always wears a frown when he looks at me,” my tender-hearted child said.

We spent Christmas afternoon at my parents' house with family. It was warm and fun and relaxing. We enjoyed a dinner of lasagna, beef stew and cupcakes. I had a sing-along at the piano with my two-year-old niece, and we watched a wrestling match between Little Squirt and my four-year-old nephew. Good times.

Now it’s over for the year. All the weeks of shopping, planning, baking and wrapping, and it’s over in one fell-swoop of a 24 hour period.

Meeting Flame-O

Little Squirt wants a lizard for Christmas. Not just wants. He covets, he longs for, he's begged for a lizard! The lizard is actually a downgrade, as his original want was for a pet dinosaur. After we explained to him that dinosaurs are obsolete, much like the VCR, and they don’t sell them at Petco, Little Squirt decided he’d settle for a lizard. He’d seen one he liked when we were in Cabo San Lucas in October. This little stalker had perched on a wall in the restaurant we frequented on the beach, and watched my son for the entire meal. He was there again later that week, and Little Squirt thought it’d be fun to have a pet lizard just like the Mexican one that would run all over the walls of our house and scare his friends. I informed him about the reality of pet lizards living in terrariums. He was disappointed, but still persisted.

We did a little research. I polled pet shop employees and friends, and Little Squirt read a book from the library about lizards. We decided on a Bearded Dragon. Little Squirt confirmed his decision by asking Santa, both in person and by letter. He told me, today (and I quote), “I won’t have delight on Christmas morning if Santa doesn’t bring me a Bearded Dragon.” So how could we say no?

With Little Squirt in school today, Super Hubs and I set up a terrarium, then made a visit to Petsmart. There were four baby Bearded Dragons available. Three were hanging out together on a rock and being all cliquey. I really hate cliques. The fourth little guy was the tiniest, sitting by his lonesome self in the corner. He was the newest. He’d just flown in from FL by Fed-Ex a few hours before, and was trying to warm up. I’ve always had a heart for the underdog. We took him home and called him Flame-O, the name Little Squirt has chosen for his new pet-to-be.

While Super Hubs added a big rock and cactus to the terrarium, I bonded with Flame-O. He closed his eyes and melted into the palm of my hand. I couldn’t see him breathing, and thought he was dead. “Oh, dang the luck, I've killed Little Squirt’s $60 Christmas dragon, ten minutes after leaving the store!" I thought. I’m grateful that Flame-O opened his eyes just then, or I would have had a breakdown. Apparently he was just taking a little nap.

I think Flame-O is acclimating well to his new living quarters, considering his traumatic cross-country trip last night by air. He’s living covertly in Butterfly’s bedroom until Christmas. Currently, he’s sunbathing on his rock underneath the UV light by the heating pad. It’s 80 degrees in his pimped-out crib, and I’m feeling kind of jealous. Did I mention he has his own pool? If it weren’t for his diet of live crickets, I’d consider moving in with him.

Super Hubs and I have always let our kids get pets of their choosing. I am a firm believer in letting children wonder and learn about responsibility and the beauty of creation by taking care of a living creature. Pets are part of the making of a happy childhood, in my opinion. They do come with a cost of time and mess, but happy memories are priceless. Le’ts hope Flame-O makes years of memories with my boy.

Moose And Black Ice

Having lived in the Midwest since I was 5, I am accustomed to brutal winters. I really don’t mind them so much, although, given the option to move to Hawaii, I’d trade my Uggs for a lei faster than you can say “Waikiki Beach.” But, for now, like typical Midwesterners, we make do, don our winter woolies, whine and complain to our neighbors, and get through the coldness like soldiers. Soon enough it’ll be spring again.

But the worst thing about the winter, in my humble opinion, is the hazardous driving conditions the bad weather brings. This morning was one of those times when we opted to stay home all day because of the blizzard the night before. We’d been “living” at church for the past four days for Little Squirt’s long rehearsals. He was in the children’s choir as part of the two-night Christmas show. He was tired from being out late several nights in a row, and we were tired. I canceled a church meeting, and we decided to enjoy a comfortable Sabbath at home in front of the cheery fireplace.

But Rock Star begged to go to church. He wanted to drive himself, but I was a bit leery. There was a few inches of snow on the ground, and the winds were howling. I worry about my teens when they drive in the winter. As an aside, I also worry about my teens when they don’t drive in the winter. I worry about my teens in general, no matter what they are doing or not doing. Somebody’s got to do the worrying in the family, and I do it really well. So it’s become my job. In character, I told Rock Star, “No.” No driving today.

But he continued imploring. He wanted to go to his youth group and see his friends there. Please, couldn’t he take the car? He’d gotten up early and showered, even. Super Hubs backed him up and said the roads seemed to be clear. It was two against one. So I thought and I worried and I thought some more. And I felt guilty about saying no. It wasn’t as if Rock Star wanted to take the car to hit the strip bars. He wasn’t asking to pick up supplies to make crystal meth with his friends. He’s a good kid who simply wanted to go to church on the morning after a blizzard, and he promised he’d drive carefully. And what good parent doesn’t allow their teenager to go to church? So I relented. But then I lectured him on everything I could remember about winter driving. I covered black ice and defrosters, driving into a skid and avoiding moose collisions, just for good measure. I could have passed as an employee of the DMV with my safety tips. My anxiety melted away as Rock Star nodded his head intelligently. Who was I kidding? He probably only heard, “Blah blah blah blah blah blah.”

He drove off with the car, promising to text me upon arrival. Twenty minutes went by. Then another ten. I texted him, “R u there yet?” The clock ticked, my anxiety rose, and then Super Hubs received a text. Rock Star had hit some black ice on a side street close to church. The car fishtailed, and hit a fire hydrant. The bumper was smashed on one side. He was otherwise fine, but shaken.

Super Hubs drove to church to bring him home, and then took the car to the shop. As Rock Star came in the door, I bit my tongue to keep from saying, “I told you it wasn’t a good idea to drive today!” Instead, I hugged my tearful son, feeling so grateful he hadn’t hit a semi or gotten badly hurt. Bumpers can be repaired.

But the whole point of my post is this: In the animal kingdom, the injured member of the pack is viewed as a liability to the other members. The weak one is often left behind or killed by the members. But not in my little pack. In a crisis, my kids come through for each other. Little Squirt, horrified that his big brother was in a car accident, weepily made him a card, covered with hearts: “You are my buthr. I dont wot you to git hurt. P.S. I wish you a mare Crismus.” Butterfly called her bro from college, speaking words of encouragement and advisement, as only big sisters can do.

I’m proud of my little pack. Rock Star felt the love.

Waiting......For A Long Ago Birth

It was the perfect night, if you didn’t mind the cold. I certainly didn’t. Not last night. One hundred luminaries guided the way to the chapel, where we were treated to a beautiful Advent service. It was led by the team that leads my spiritual formation program. The spiritual director of the program is a woman whom I’ve admired for a long time. She’s also an accomplished author whose books I’ve read, over and over.

Super Hubs and I were a little in awe as we were invited back to her home for a Celebration. Her beautiful house was nestled amid a grove of large, snowy pines. We enjoyed delicious food and wine by the toasty fireplace. She was warmly hospitable, and truly present to everyone in her house. The real deal.

Last Christmas season, her writings inspired me to resurrect our Advent Wreath. It had been camping in a box in the basement for the past 14 years, when we left our childhood Catholic faith for an evangelical, non-liturgical church. A longing in me had surfaced to begin celebrating the rythms of the church year and teach them to my children. This author helped me to see this as a spiritual practice, and to appreciate the thrill of inhabiting the story of the Christian year.

So, for the second year in a row, my Advent Wreath proudly sits in the middle of my kitchen table for the month. We light the appropriate candles over dinner, read a devotional with the kids, and pray together. I am pretty militant about making my family eating dinner together on most nights. I asked, the other evening, over a lit purple candle, for specific names of people that we could be in prayer for. Rock Star shared a name that was on his heart, and Super Hubs and I did as well. Little Squirt shook his head. “I’m not going to just pray for one person,” he said. “I’m going to pray right now for everyone in the entire world.” And he proceeded to say a long, 8yo-literate prayer that covered all people on the planet.

So, if you are reading this, know that the faith of a little boy brought your name straight up to God one frosty evening last week.

Thanksgiving Wth Smooth Stones

It was one of those magical holidays that seemed all Northern Lights and double rainbows.....

Butterfly came home for Thanksgiving break with Boyfriend, and I was thrilled to have all my babies sleep under one roof again. There’s something truly restful in rest when I can lie down for the night, knowing that my family is safe and accounted for. Until you have that experience in motherhood, you really don’t understand. I had a good few days of laughter and yummy food with the family, and heartfelt talks with my daughter.

On Thanksgiving morning, I stuck the buttered-up turkey into the oven, and we went to my parents for a lovely brunch. We arrived home three hours later, and the turkey was done to perfection; perfectly cooked and golden brown. I’ve only made about five Thanksgiving turkeys in my life, because most years we eat elsewhere. But when I make a turkey, it’s usually an education in patience. The turkey never seems to cook as quickly as it’s supposed to, and the popper is a tease who just suggests, by popping out, that the turkey may be done. Or it could be lying, and the turkey is still dripping a pink fluid and harboring botulism. It can be confusing and frustrating, but this year was the exception. The turkey was moist and tender and scrumptious as soon as we arrived home and were ready for it. It was beyond easy. Every dish seemed delectable this year, and Little Squirt, who was my kitchen helper, took all the credit.

When looking for some candlesticks the day before, I had found a bag of smooth stones in my cabinet. I placed three by each place setting, and, during dinner, asked each family member to think about times over the past year that they were grateful for. Amazingly, there was no rolling of the eyes from my teens. The tallest to the smallest participated with earnest. Each was thoughtful and contemplative as they shared stories of gratitude, and tossed their stones into the basket at the centerpiece. At the end of the dinner, the basket was full to the brim with smooth stones; visual remembrances of God’s love and provision for our family. And I saw deeper into the hearts of each of my children.

Our close friends came for dessert, later, and we sat in front of the fireplace and stuffed ourselves with various pies and cheesecake. It was the perfect end to the evening.

I’ve had some miserable holidays over my lifetime. We’ve been bombarded, on some Thanksgivings, with illnesses, annoyances or dysfunctions. But not this year. This year was pretty Norman Rockwell. It was magic.

Fun In The Frigid #3 & 4

I said I’d post about every Fun In The Frigid Date Nite, I’m combining #s 3&4, not because I’m woefully lazy but because life got woefully crazy. I had a paper to write, a 3-day retreat to attend, and Thanksgiving dinner to plan......I won’t bore you with the details.

Date Nite #3 occurred on one of those evenings when Super Hubs and I felt every one of our 29 (ahem) years of age. We had both been sitting comfortably in our easy chairs, debating if we should go out or not. It was a cold evening, and we feeling tired and achy and old, and wondering if there was maybe a Senior Center somewhere nearby where we could play a little bingo and gum some rice pudding. But then I thought of my parents, who are 68 and 70, and who still travel the world and ride camels and cross country ski and go para-sailing in Hawaii. Super Hubs and I are considerably younger, yet here we sat wondering if we should just stay home and knit afghans from our rockers. Pathetic. So, with new resolve, we primped and drove to Houlihan’s.

Houlihan’s is my favorirte “fall-back” restaurant for those evenings when my brain is tired and I can’t think of anywhere new and exciting to try. I enjoy the urban-feel atmosphere, and the food is a bit fun and edgy. I had my mandatory Date Nite Drink and a couple of my favorite small plates; the stuffed jumbo ‘shrooms and the white bean and artichoke hummus. Super Hubs had his usual something-made-with-beef.

I’m glad we got off our lazy buttskis and went out. It was a peaceful evening of shooting-the-breeze. I always have some kind of drama that I need to process, and Super Hubs is always a great listener. It’s a lesson in Mutuality: I’m his favorite Drama Queen, and he’s my favorite Therapist. Dysfunctional? Perhaps. But it works for us.

Date Nite #4 was last night. We shared our time with one of our favorite couples, Dave and Lauree. We’ve been friends for over a dozen years with this beautiful couple. Lauree is the sister I never had, and I know Doug thinks highly of Dave. The men are friends independently of Lauree and I, which can be rare with couple friends. Often times it’s the women creating the friendships, and the men just tag along for the ride. We ate yummily and gab-fested, and went home filled, both body and soul.

So there you are. Two dates in a nut shell.

Fun In The Frigid #2

I really hate it when LIFE interferes with my blogging time. Busy busy, so busy. But here goes with my recap of our Fun In The Frigid #2, four days tardy.

As much as I love date nights in which Super Hubs and I can catch up and enjoy each other, my extroverted heart loves to share our date nights with other people. We were invited to have dinner at the home of our dear friends, Peggy and Butch. Our other equally dear friends, Bonnie and Joe, were also invited.

Peggy, Bonnie and I were all part of a church drama team together for five years, so our friendships go way back. We have shared stage time, stage fright, learning and (mortifyingly) losing lines of scripts together. Peggy can make me laugh always. She is the friend I am most likely to get arrested with. I’ve never actually been arrested, but if I did, my guess is that Peggy would be with me at the time and a willing accomplice. (I hope, if she reads this, that she takes that as the high compliment it was intended.) And I think Bonnie might be there with the getaway car. Just a thought. But I truly believe she's that kind of friend.

The men went to spend time in the living room doing whatever it is men do at a dinner party, while the three of us women drank wine and caught up in the kitchen. I’ve had so many wonderful time with these women over the years, but we’ve not seen nearly enough of each other recently. It was sooo good to reconnect.

We ate tummy-yummy pineapple curry chicken, rice and carrots, and topped it all off with chocolate and mango sorbet. Then we relaxed with my favorite drink of all time; Chocovine. I discovered this heavenly combo of chocolate and cabernet on my trip to Florida last year. (Honestly. Why couldn't I have been the first genius to bottle this decadent concoction?? Duh!)

Ahh.....date nights with friends and Chocovine. My favorite things. And the Frigid wasn’t so frigid. The Frigid was actually a bit balmy. Perfection.

Fun In The Frigid #1

The Season of Cold has begun in the Midwest. This chilly, gloomy time of year has the potential to turn the gleeful into glum. But Super Hubs and I won’t let that happen! We are here for you, faithful reader, to keep your spirits up with our weekly date night recaps: Fun in the Frigid. We will encourage, inspire, or annoy you with our antics as we search locally for interesting eateries. We’ll enthrall you with our tales of middle-aged madcapped mania, as we seek to amuse ourselves on frosty weekends.

I’ll give you a bit of a preview of our harum-scarum antics, just to wet your whistle. This past Saturday night was our first ever Fun in the Frigid date. Having a taste for something classic, we headed to Morietti’s, where we dined on margherita pizza and washed it down with a yummy Cabernet. Feeling sleepy after the wine, we arrived back home by 8:30p. By 8:40p, I was dressed in my jammies and watching recorded episodes of CSINY, while Super Hubs dozed on the couch.

I know, I know. Craaa-zzzzy! That, my friends, is how we roll. Stay tuned for more excitement from week to week. We will get through this wintry season together! Until then.........

It Just Goes To Show

A forgotten Birthday $50 gift card yielded Little Squirt a Ben10 play watch and an Iron Man robot.

Ben10 watch & Iron Man robot play value = about 2 1/2 hours.

A sweep under the stove to do some deep cleaning yielded a clown nose, paring knife and clarinet. (Don't ask. It must have been from an epic party we hosted in our younger years.)

Clarinet play value = a full week and still going strong.

There’s got to be a lesson in there somewhere. (Other than the fact that I need to sweep under the stove more than once a decade.)

Sipping, Swirling, And A Taste Of Smoke

Last night Super Hubs and I attended a Wine Tasting Event hosted by a local liquor store at our town’s country club. We dressed up and went with some of our dearest friends. And what a night we had! Tables were set up by wine vendors who brought a sampling of their choicest bottles of wine. My friend and I tasted all over the room. We sniffed, swirled, sipped and swallowed from table to table, dumping the leftovers as we went, so we wouldn’t need to be carried out of the place.

I love wines and wine connoisseurs! Each vendor proudly taught us the history of the vineyards, and were quite knowledgeable. We kept a checklist of our favorite wines for future reference. My friend enjoys trying new wines as much as I do, so we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

I usually find wine experts to be chirpy, quirky and fun; one of my favorite people-types. And they were, except for one particular vendor, whom I’ll call Wine Nazi. He wasn’t chirpy or fun, and he was quite offended that I ate a piece of chocolate before trying his pinot noir. He likened it to brushing one’s teeth before drinking oj. I wholeheartedly disagreed. Chocolate and pinot noir is my favorite combo and antioxidant boost! It’s nearly a health drink, for goodness' sake! Wine Nazi was appalled when I asked which was his favorite “sipping wine.” He balked that wine was for drinking with meals, not for merely sipping. Then he rolled his eyes in a pompous kind of way. When I accidentally dumped my wine into his water pitcher instead of the waste bucket, Wine Nazi looked enraged. I thought he was might call for reinforcements to escort me out of the building. I scuttled off to the next table.

Scotch Guy completely made up for Wine Nazi’s rude behavior. Scotch Guy was my favorite vendor of the evening. My friend and I had never tasted scotch, and he was delighted to introduce us to his love. Scotch Guy taught us to take a sip, roll it on the sides of our tongue, and then slowly swallow. He said there would be a taste of smoke at the end. He queried us on our experience. Did we taste vanilla? A smokey pine flavor? A peppery warmth? No, after the initial gagging, I tasted...... leather. And cotton balls. Then.... ivory soap with a hint of..... sweat. And then... pine-sol.... mixed with smokey bacon. Then I gagged again, and spit the scotch into the dump bucket. And then I involuntarily shuddered.

Scotch Guy seemed a bit disappointed at my experience, and so was I. I had been hoping to become a Scotch Drinker! There’s something classic and elegant and British about drinking scotch. I had pictured myself sitting by a fire in a library somewhere in England, regally sipping scotch while wearing an argyle sweater; a large hunting dog dozing at my feet. Dang! I would not become a Scotch Drinker and get to drink Scotch in England. I felt bummed. But Scotch Guy kindly gave us each a free cigar cutter as consolation. I love getting free things! I’ll probably use it to trim down the pretzel logs I buy for Little Squirt’s school snacks. Or I can serrate my new lipstick that comes too pointy.

After all the wine and scotch sipping, my friend and I were famished. We joined our hubbies at the table and gorged on roast beef, cocktail meatballs and bread, then madly tweeted about the experience. After our meal, we visited a few more tables, and then it was time to go home.

Just when I thought my evening couldn’t get any better, I won a raffle! It was a Major Award! I was proudly presented with a paperback book on the history of scotch. I was thrilled! A free cigar cutter and my very own Major Award that I won by myself! It was almost too much happiness to process.

What a night! Good friends, good wine, and a good Scotch Guy. Except for Wine Nazi, it would have been perfect.

Dress With An Anaconda Attitude

Yesterday I went into a store changing room to try on a dress. I have a few dressy events coming up, and I thought it was time to update my formal wardrobe a bit. Things were going smoothly until the dress' zipper was halfway up my back. And then it stuck. It was enormously stuck, much like Pooh in Rabbit’s front door after he had gorged on too much honey. Thankful for my yoga classes which keeps my muscles stretchy and my limbs limber, I reached my arm way back and grabbed that zipper. I gave it a good yank in both directions, about several hundred times. But it would neither go north or south. So I tried a different approach. I attempted to wriggle the dress downward, squeezing in my stomach muscles, but had no luck. Dang! I should never have consumed that extra cinnamon roll for breakfast. I was being punished for my gluttony!

A slight tremor of panic began to creep up my nervous system. I wasn’t into full earthquake panic yet, but I felt a little quiver that would escalate into full-blown panic if I didn’t exit this dress soon. I am claustrophobic, and I began to imagine this dress like a hearty cluster of super-power kudzu that would soon creep all over my body and choke the life out of me. Like an anaconda. “Women Murdered By Plum-Colored Taffeta!” I imagined the headlines.

I took a deep breath, trying not to panic. There had to be a solution that did not involve my death or extreme humiliation! There was no one else in the changing room to assist me in my predicament. I brainstormed some options:
- I could toddle to the checkout like a foot-bound Japanese lady of the last century, point to the price tag and say, “I’ll take this.”
-I could text my 16yo, who was waiting for me in a nearby electronics store: “Emergency! Stuck in dress!! Bring pocket knife and rescue Mom in changing room!” but I knew he’d pretend his phone had been on silent.

I needed to get out! Out of this dress before I had both an asthma attack and a psychotic episode! I was beginning to panic. Think, think, think. What to do? what to do?

Suddenly, a possible solution dawned on me like it was sent down from Heaven. I had one thing in my purse that I carry with me wherever I go. It’s been my lifesaver and hydration-bringer. It has empowered me to face the world on many a day. It is my lip gloss, and it would not fail me now! I took the tube from my purse, reached my arm back, and slicked down the zipper. It moved effortlessly, and I pulled off the dress.

I held my head up as I left the changing room, handed the dress a salesclerk and said, “This dress doesn’t work for me.” Then I perused the store for a little longer and (I am not making this up) bought a cute pencil skirt.

Sinfully Slothful

I get sinfully lazy while on vacation. My body kicks into Relaxation Mode, and with the increased melatonin due to the constant daily sunbathing, I have very little energy to be productive. Plus we’ve been spoiled to death by the lovely maid service. I haven’t had to make my bed in a week. When we get home from dinner in the evening, our shades are drawn, pillows plumped, and the remote is cozily tucked into the corner of a bed sheet. The Turn-Down Fairy visited!

It’s been a beautiful week. I have soaked up every tranquil moment in this beautiful Cabo resort cradled in a hill by the seashore. I have been grateful for the hard-working staff who have been friendly and served us so selflessly. I have relished every delicious meal that I didn’t have to prepare myself. And I have loved spending time with Bro-In-Law and Sis-In-Law whom we thoroughly enjoy but rarely see as they live in Denver.

Tomorrow we fly home, and I look forward to hugging The Teens, whom were absent on this trip. And I’ll jump into autumn a little more rested.

Paint And Peacocks

We had fun painting pottery by the beach pool. I painted a sunflower plate, while Little Squirt splashed color onto a dinosaur bank with great labor, carefully choosing each paint. He later added a dog to his art work. The gentleman who works that area will detail our art with a fine brush, and fire them in the kiln. Today we will pick up our finished pieces and have little mementos of our trip.

Our resort buildings face a coastline with waves that are brutal and without mercy. The Pacific meets The Sea of Cortez, which makes for a strong and dangerous undertoe. Swimming is forbidden. But we’ve walked along the shore and watched the cruise ships sail.

The owner has some exotic wildlife which roam the grasses by our building. Two black swans mingle with two white ones. There is a pair of peacock and several flamingos. Little Squirt has been carrying around a sketchbook all week, and his favorite art subjects are the tame swans. I must read him E.B. White’s, “The Trumpet of the Swan” when we return home.

I’m getting a little spoiled by ordering yummy things poolside whenever I have a craving. The resort makes a delicous virgin Bloody Mary with a strong flavor of lime. I also love their chips with homemade guacamole, and the cute little quesedilla triangles. Little Squirt has discovered a passion for the classic Shirley Temple.

Ahhh....vacation.

Food And Transportation, Cabo Style

We are staying in a sprawling resort, where the colonial Mexican-style buildings are built into a cliff. Our condo is in a building that is 7 numbers away from Bro-in-law and Sis-in-law. There are 5 pool areas and 3 restaurants. Large “golf carts” navigate the tiny cobblestoned roads and hills. To get to any area that is not walkable, we just pick up a phone. Within minutes appears a golf cart and driver, ready to take us wherever we want. Little Squirt thoroughly delights in riding in these golf carts, giggling when the driver backs up toward a precipice. I’m certain we will be dumped over the edge!

I love food. Have I mentioned that before? I especially enjoy local cuisine prepared by a chef and consumed in a distinctive ambiance. Such as seaside, por favor. We ate lunch on the other side of Cabo at the sister resort on Saturday. We sat at a beachside restaurant on and watched a cruise ship pass by which made my quesadillas so much more delicious than eating them at Taco Bell.

Last night we dined outside at one of the resort restaurants, surrounded by hundreds of tiny white lights and a rose-colored sky. I had a taste for Italian, but it seemed so wrong to eat ravioli in Mexico, so I had the Chilean sea bass instead. At least Chile is on the same continent.

Tonight we will eat in our condo and dine on frozen chicken strips, microwaved with flair. Little Squirt has undiscriminating taste, and it’s his dinner pick tonight. (Sigh.)

Cabo San Lucas

Sometimes I know undoubtedly that God is head-over-heels thrilled in blessing His children with unexpected pleasures. This is one of those times that I get to be the beneficiary of His goodness.

We are in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. By “we” I mean Super Hubs, Little Squirt and Super Hub’s bro and his wife. Bro-in-law invited us for a week’s visit at his time share in this paradise. This invite came recently, and out of the blue. “Cabo for a week in October?? Why, sure!” We have our own stunning condo with its immense balcony that overlooks the tri-pool are and mighty Pacific beyond.

This trip comes perfectly timed after a busy month of work, ministtry and kids’ activities, and some stressful junk. It’s a week to slow down, breathe deeply, soak up the sun and local atmosphere, and regroup. Ahhhhh..........24 hours after arrival and my Type A is heading down the alphabet already.

More later. I’ve got a sunset to catch.

Back Off, World.

The picture below is not of a figure in a burqa. We don’t require burqa-wearing in our home. We have quite the liberal dress code, actually. The picture is of a blanket that is “hiding” an 8yo who doesn’t want to hear a bed time story.

The picture at the top is of the same 8yo, “hiding” under my bed skirt because he didn’t want to wear a particular shirt to school that I had chosen for him because it was chilly.

My 8yo has a sweet, happy disposition almost always. He’s the sunniest child I’ve ever known. When life gets frustrating for him, he doesn’t scream or cry. He hides somewhere, anywhere; in a closet, behind a couch, under a blanket or bed skirt. The invisible bubble over his head reads: “Back off, World. I’ve had enough!”

Frankly, I get that. There are many days I’d love to lay on my carpet, head under my bed skirt. Back off, World. I’ve had enough! (Do they sell burquas to women to wear on days when they’ve had enough?)

Hello, Fall

Autumn is here, and with it come my conflicting feelings. I'm a Summer girl at heart. Even my coloring is "Summer." Yet I do appreciate the changing leaves, the cooler nights, the demise of the mosquitoes. I enjoy apple-picking and making stews and soups. I love lazy Sundays of reading books to the low drone of televised football games and wearing cozy sweaters. So, if you cannot be Summer, you might as well be Fall.


An Autumn Greeting
"Come," said the Wind to the Leaves one day.
"Come over the meadow and we will play.
Put on your dresses of red and gold.
For summer is gone and the days grow cold."

Sisterhood

I was an AOPi Sorority girl in the days of Big Hair and The Mullet. The Preppie Look was popular; our collars raised north, though a few free spirits on campus dressed like Madonna. Blue eyeshadow abounded; the bolder, the better. We fast-danced to Michael Jackson, and slow-danced to Whitney Houston, piped from our cassette players. Reagan was president, times were peaceful, (Sing it, “We Are The World.”) and the future looked bright. It was a very good time to be a college co-ed.

Sorority Sisterhood was sweet. We had a beautiful newly renovated, newly decorated sorority house. We rotated rooms and roommates every semester, sharing class notes and padded-shouldered sweaters and heartbreaks. We’d primp together for parties while blasting “Paradise By The Dashboard Light.” In moods of sappiness we’d light incense, drink forbidden Riunite in plastic cups and talk about boys while listening to The Carpenters.

We attended numerous toga parties and barn dances and road-trip formals. We raided Fraternity houses for their composite pictures, built floats for the Homecoming Parade, and whooped it up at football games. And in between the fun we squeezed in Rituals and philanthropies, homework and classes, walking together the distance from house to campus while we shouldered heavy backpacks.

Having brothers back home, I relished the Sisterhood. We had each others’ backs. There was always someone around and available to join you in whatever you were doing, from watching the soaps to walking home from the library after dark. It was a unique bond and I knew it was special.

Yesterday I had lunch with five of my AOPi Sorority Sisters, with whom I’d reconnected through Facebook. We met at a midway-point restaurant. It had been over two decades since I’d seen four of them, but we caught up on our lives over pastas and salads. We reminisced and laughed at old pictures. I cringed at my hairstyle and wondered about the young man with whom my teen self was laughing. (Who was he?? I have absolutely no memory of him!)

Twenty-someodd years from college graduation to the present is a lot of living. It’s a multitude of hairstyles and hair colors and fashions. It’s fledgling independence and budding careers, marriages beginning and sometimes ending, and babies born and raised and launched. It’s a thousand relationships and experiences. It’s quite a bit to share between six chatty ladies at a two hour lunch. But we touched on the highlights; the marriages, the children, the jobs. And we plan on another reunion in two months, and making this a regular event.

On driving home, the song came to my mind that we’d sing as we’d pass around the Loving Cup.......
We'll pass the loving cup around
We won't pass a sister by
We all drink from the same old cup,
In Alpha Omicron Pi,
Oh you and I shall never grow old
While this fair cup is nigh.
Here's health, here's wealth,
Here's happiness......
In Alpha Omicron Pi

Ahhh......good times. Special times.

Entertainment For This Real Housewife

Everyone needs a little harmless guilty pleasure. Mine is watching The Real Housewives shows. I happened upon the New York one by accident last year. I was ironing and turned on the tv as background noise. Fifteen minutes into it, and I was hooked. The NY women were on a vacation of some sort, and arguing with one another. I listened intently and felt a bit scandalous, like I was eavesdropping through a backyard fence.

A few weeks later, the Real Housewives of New Jersey premiered, and I have watched two seasons of that “train wreck.” The DC Housewives are about four episodes along, and the Beverly Hills franchise begins in October. Oh, so many more episodes! Oh, so much more entertainment for my cerebral cortex to process!

Now before you judge me as shallow and slothful, let me say that I record the episodes and watch them while I workout. And I’m very purposeful with my time on most days. I have children who keep me busy, volunteer work, a program of spiritual transformation, and I’m writing a book. But a girl’s got to unwind, you know?

In reading some blogs about The Real Housewives, I see I am not alone in my fascination with this series. So what is the appeal? Personally, I find people fascinating. I love to study them and observe what makes them tick. And the Real Housewives series gives me an upfront, personal view right smack into their homes and personal lives. Some of the women are sadly dysfunctional with behaviors that make me cringe, and, money and notoriety aside, I wonder whatever possessed them to allow themselves to be filmed. From what I’ve read, the shows have caused stress cracks in already shaky marriages, and have set their children up for embarrassment and ridicule. But a few of the women are kind and giving and wise, and I learn from them by watching the way they relate to their friends, work out their conflicts, and own their stuff. It’s like free counseling.

Let’s call if science. I’m just doing my science, folks. And it’s a lot more fun than it was in high school!

Where'd The Sun Go?

What is that sound? Oh, silence! I’d quite forgotten what silence sounds like! I’m alone in the house for the first time in 4 months. My kidlings are all in school this week, and I’m in a place of happy with Butterfly being back at college. She’s good, so I’m good.

It was a spectacular summer filled with swims in the lake, weekly movies, dates with friends and dining al fresco. We vacationed on a tropical island as a family, and Super Hubs and Little Squirt spent some father/son bonding time at a camp in Upper Michigan. It was a season filled with sunshine, peace, and healthy, life-giving friendships. Whew! No drama. I am refreshed, restored and ready to tackle this next season of my life. I see some exciting projects on the horizon; blurred edges beginning to form.....sailing closer......here they come. I’m ready to board! More on that later.

I acquired new glasses early in the summer, which was a turning point of sorts for me; an admittance that certain body parts may not be functioning quite as they did when I was a youngster. So I’ve been wearing my glasses mostly for reading, and I’ve taken a liking to them because A.) they help me see more clearly and B.) they are a cute and trendy fashion statement. We enjoy reading together, my glasses and I. But I’m still trying to get in the habit of wearing them when I need to.

A few days ago I relaxed in the morning with a cup of coffee and the paper, and then I realized that I didn’t have my glasses on. I grabbed my purse, put on my glasses, and continued reading the paper. But the room seemed a bit dusky, so I turned on the light and scanned the paper. Ten minutes later, Butterfly entered the room, started at me for a few seconds with concern, and then asked, “Mom, why are you wearing your sunglasses in the house?”

(Sigh.) My mother used to do spacey things like that all the time and I swore I never would. But now I’m all merrily reading the newspaper with my sunglasses, and pondering why the print is dark and blurry.

My eyes are aging, my brain is aging, but it’s all good. I’m owning it, and thankful that, for the most part, my body is working darned well. 40s are the new 20s, don’t you know? And a little fish oil, white tea and ginkgo biloba on a daily basis will become part of my new regimen. Along with keeping my prescription specs in a different place than my shades.

Rat Who?

I have been trying to soak up every last bit of summer. One of the many blessings of having an 8yo is that I get to live the life of an 8yo all summer long, right alongside him. We spent 3 sunny days on the beach last week; he frolicked in the lake, and I relaxed with a book.

On Wednesday evening, I took the train downtown all by my lonesome to meet Super Hubs. When I say “lonesome” I am being ironic. I relished the solitude from my comfy upper platform seat, watching the towns rush by my window, and devouring a yummy novel. Super Hubs met me at the Chicago station, and we grabbed some sandwiches and strolled to Millenium Park. We met my b.i.l. and s.i.l., sat on blankets by the orchestra pit, and enjoyed the delicious repast; good cheeses and apricot chutney spread on French bread, Italian subs, fried chicken and white wine. We listened to the symphony on this perfect summer night, encircled by magnificent high rises. Bro and Sis are a lot of fun, and we laughed til our cheeks hurt.

When the concert was over, Super Hubs and I walked the 5 blocks to the parking garage. The weather was magnificent as the light softly faded; a comfortable 72* with no humidity or bugs. When we were one block from the garage, I heard a pitter patter right behind me, and I turned to see a little rat scurry by. It came just inches from my flip-flopped foot, and I shuddered! Then we came upon two more ugly rats, one chasing the other, in the parking garage.

I am a suburban girl, and other than Petland, up to this point I’d seen only one other rat in my life, over 20 years ago. It was a ginormous one that lived by the dumpster in the backyard of the apartment Super Hubs lived in while we were dating. I am not usually squeamish about rodents. We’ve had pet hamsters and gerbils, and I loved “Ratatouille.” But disease-infested city rats that feast on garbage? A big fat UGH!!

It had been a perfect summer evening, except for The Rats. If our Date Night was a fairy tale, what is the moral of the story? I pondered as we drove home, and I had an epiphany: Ignore the vermin in my life. There is so much beauty from day to day, marred only by annoyances, inconveniences and toxic people. I’m going to choose to celebrate the sunshine and music and laughter. The Rats? I’ll pretend I don't even see them! Rat Who?

Insanity. Don't Knock It Until You've Waited For A Red

I was Insane this morning. I proudly own my Insanity. It worked in my favor today, which isn’t always the case.

At 0520, I was sitting in the only car in the parking lot of Little Squirt’s school. It was quite dark and silent. I believe I was the only one in the entire neighborhood actually outside. I was there to wait for the distribution of the school year parking passes, and I wanted a coveted Red one.

I have had 4 nightmares in the past 2 weeks about this very morning. Nightmares in which I didn’t hear my alarm clock on this momentous morning, slept in and couldn’t get a parking pass. After each nightmare, I’d wake up in a tachycardic sweat. Let me explain: A parking pass at my son's school is like a ticket to a rock concert in the world of the schoolyard. People fight for these parking passes. They get up at the ungodly hour of 0500 to have a chance to obtain these parking passes. They sit in a car in a dark parking lot hours before the parking passes are distributed, to be one of the first in line. It's a necessary annual ritual of the bizarre. It’s every mom for herself.

We live a bit too far for Little Squirt to walk to school, yet too close for him to need the bus. So I drive him every day. The school has an organized "pick up" system that is envied throughout the district. There are three dismissal times and assigned parking spaces along the drive way. The Red parking pass enables me to park in my assigned space, enables LS to be dismissed at the first bell, and then we can zoom home without any hassle. No long car lines, no jockeying for position in inclement weather, no trying to spot my child in a sea of children from a street corner. But once the parking spaces are filled, there no more parking passes. (Shudder.)

This morning I sat safely in my car until 0525, when another car pulled into the lot. The other mom and I walked to the front door of the school, formed the beginning of a line, and sat down on a blanket for a long wait. Two more parents showed up a few minutes later, one a sweet friend who brought me a Starbucks coffee and blueberry muffin. We chatted. A few more parents trickled in.

By 0700, a long line looped around the corner. By 0715, the principal opened the door and welcomed us in. I was first. I asked for a #7 Red pass. First Bell, First Parking Space by the door where LS is dismissed. I got my #7 Red pass. Score One for the Insane Mother!

In summary, I waited for two hours by the door of my son’s school this morning. Crazy sauce? Absolutely! But you already knew that. And I got the freakin’ #7 Red pass. Sometimes Insanity works.

A Dog Day Of Summer

He isn’t attractive. His manners are gauche. His social ineptitude is sky-high. And frankly, he’s dumb. Box of Rocks Dumb.

He arrived right before Christmas, the same year we lost our beloved pug. We were a family of four, back then. He was the other half of a litter of twins, and his brother was deaf. We had wanted a female short-haired red dachshund. We came home with a male long-haired dapple. The breeder called him “Funny Face," so I couldn’t resist this little pup, and promptly wrote out the check. “Funny Face” made me laugh, and I’m all about the humor.

There are days when I want to be dog-less, I’m not gonna lie. Like when Rudy gets a stomach bug, and I am cleaning the carpet from one end of the house to the other. Or when he snacks from the cat-litter box, contributing to his fetid breath. Or when I find my garbage cans knocked over, and half-chewed chicken bones or dirty tissues all over the house. Or during Barking Palooza; the annoying, nails-on-a-chalkboard yippy-yapping that occurs every time the door bell rings. He has absolutely no discernment. Friend or Foe or Housefly? He indiscriminately woofs at them all.

But he loves his family with a passion, and for that, I can forgive all his character flaws. He wriggles excitedly when we return from a 30-second jaunt to the mailbox. He falls into a deep depression when we leave town without him. He refuses walks, hiding under the bed when he sees his leash, not wanting to miss one second of the exciting goings-on of our household. And he’s been fiercely protective of Little Squirt since babyhood, guarding him day and night, always vigilant for Bad Danger lurking around his boy.

Happy 11th Birthday to Rudolph, the Black Nose Doggie-Dear. Barky Von Shnauzer. Sir Stinkinpoopin. Our beloved furry family member, Rudy. We love our Roodles!

Wild Men

The campers are home and just in time! I morphed into a Workaholic Cyclone with wheezy lungs, going from room to room, decluttering, straightening and organizing. When Little Squirt is home, I live the life of a Phlegmatic 8yo. But while he was away, I took advantage of the Squirt-Less time to engage in Project Home Reorg. It was, thankfully, a mad success, and I’m grateful to my daily protein shakes for the energy boots. But my asthma was kicking in full-steam by the end of the weekend from all the dust.

My guys had a wonderful time, and I am so grateful for the opportunity they had to get away to the beautiful wilderness, have some daddy/son bonding time, and engage in real manly activities. Little Squirt generally lives a quiet life in the suburbs, where “roughing it” means walking to the park as opposed to biking. He plays soccer, video games, and a has a myriad of safe, scheduled activities. Rarely does he get to let loose, get dirty, and channel his inner Wild Man.

That’s one of the many things that makes this camp so special. There was a whole lotta Man-Wilding going on. My son and his dad got covered in mud from head to toe while catching crayfish and frogs in the rain. They canoed, climbed a rock wall, shot bows and arrows and BB guns. They made s’mores by a camp fire, hike through the woods, and slept in a cabin. I’m quite sure not a lot of teeth-brushing went on! It was all fun and naturey and boyish from start to finish. I’m not sexist, and I have many women friends that love to camp and adventure and climb walls. Good for them! It’s just not me. I’m a Girly Girl who loves a daily shower and a regular pedicture and eating lovely shushi at the mall. So I am beyond grateful that Little Squirt has a daddy who will take him to camp and love on him and indulge his every boy scout-ish whim for a few days.

(But why in the name of all that is Holy was my baby allowed to ride solo in a kayak? On a river?? This wasn’t Disney World, for Pete’s sake!! Oy.)

I Need Filter Camp

We’ve been home from vacation for 5 days, and what a vacation it was! Two weeks of gorgeous weather spent reading on the beach, bike riding on trails paved with moss-covered trees, and eating fabulous food oceanside. We fed turtles, spotted dolphins, went boat riding, and meandered through the beautiful harbour filled with yachts and lighthouse. Our holiday was such a blessing, truly. We don’t often get the pleasure of a two-week vacay, but it worked out this year. I prayed, rested, soul- searched and healed. It was a gift.

On arrival back to reality, I had a 48 hour turnaround time to get Super Hubs and Little Squirt all ready for Father/Son church camp in the wilds of Michigan. They made the 9 hour drive up to the boat launch on Wednesday, where they were escorted across a river and through the woods to our church’s scenic, rustic camp in the U.P. I miss them like crazy, but keep imagining throughout every day all the fun they are having. And all the danger they are in.

I have an over-active imagination. On most days, I can use that super power for good. It enables me to dream and create and think outside the box. But, on the flipside, it can backfire on me like too much cabbage. All the “what ifs” go popping through the right hemisphere of my brain, jump into my mouth and fire straight into my children.

So when Little Squirt woke up on Camp Morning worrying about bears breaking into his cabin, I knew he didn’t get that idea from Super Hubs. And when he fretted that the boat taking him to the camp would speed so fast he’d fly out into the water, I suspected my mellow, easy-going kid was channeling my anxiety. Perhaps it was the prayer I’d prayed over him the night before: “Dear God, please protect my son from snakes and bee stings and sun burn...."

So my wonderful, left-brained, logical, practical husband pulled our youngest aside, and reassured him. He said there was nothing to fear, that he would be by Little Squirt’s side every moment. Just like God. And off they drove to camp, father and son.

And I’ll remember my husband’s reassurance to Little Squirt, and I’ll try not to worry.

19 Years Ago Was A Big Day For Me

This is my first-born, the child who made me a mother. She is my guinea pig kid, the one that has paved a smooth way for her brothers. I cannot believe it's been 10 years since she first made her appearance, forever changing my life for the better.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BUTTERFLY!

Hey- Watch It!

If there is a ball of any shape or size anywhere on the beach, it will inevitably find its way to my head. I have been konked by footballs, nerfballs, and ping pong balls daily for the past two weeks. I’m a ginormous flying object magnet, perching innocently in my beach chair with a book on my lap and my tootsies in the water. If I come home from vacation stupider, we’ll chalk it up to that, as opposed to my blonder hair.

But I’m not complaining. I’d rather get a clocked in the head on the beach than non-clocked not on the beach. Comprende? My mantra has always been: Any day on vacation is better than any day at home.

My Beach Reads

My appetite for books is insatiable, especially when I am in Zen Vacation Mode. I have finished 7 of my 11 beach books. People have been asking me for titles, so here they are, along with my little reviews:

THE FICTIONS
The Help by Kathryn Stockett.
This is my Book Club’s pick for the month, and definitely one of the best books I’ve read this year! I loved it for so many reasons, and cannot wait to dish with my Book Club girls in a few weeks. I devoured this book through 6 states on the drive down, and a few hours on the beach. It’s about Black maids who for white families in Mississippi during the beginning of the civil rights movement. It’s beautifully written, unfolding the story through three different voices. It opened my eyes to a slice of history in our country that I don’t like to think about. I writhe at racism and social injustice. But this book pointed toward hope, love and powerful motherly influence.

Little Bee by Chris Cleave
Another page-turner that I couldn’t put down! This novel was also told through two different voices; a Nigerian teenage orphan, and a British woman. They met during a horrific experience on a beach that forever intertwined their lives and changed them. This was another book that, after I read it, made me appreciate all the good that I am blessed with. I now want to read Chris Cleave’s first book, INCENDIARY. A woman on the beach was reading that one and highly recommended it.

Black Out by Lisa Unger.
A vacation would not be a vacation for me without an assortment of yummy thrillers, and this one did not disappoint me. A happily-married mother of a preschooler has a past. That’s all I’ll reveal. The story is full of flashbacks and twists and turns. It was an ooey-gooey, stay-up-late-to-finish kind of read. One that gave me delicious goose-bumps from my sunny beach chair. I love it when I discover a mystery writer with more titles to her credit. I had come upon Lisa Unger's name in a book review, couldn’t find that exact book at the library, but picked out this one instead. If you love thrillers, check this out.

THE NON-FICTIONS
Praying With The Church by Scot McKnight
I picked this up at a retreat I attended last spring, hoping to learn more about fixed-hour prayer. This book succinctly describes the What, the How and the When, and examines the different styles of prayer in the Catholic and Protestant churches. I found it very helpful.

Together In Prayer by Andrew Wheeler
Okay, I may be biased because I am good friends with the author, but I believe I am reviewing from a place of truth. This is a must-read for any church small group! I have been involved in many church groups over the years where the community prayer time is chaotic and confusing and feels empty and competitive. Andrew writes eloquently about how to pray effectively in community, giving very practical guidelines. He is really helping to shape a culture of unified, life-giving prayer in our church, and I am thrilled he can now share this with the masses through his book. May many churches be blessed through him!

Sabbath by Wayne Muller
If there was a book during this season of my life that I would imagine God dropping down from Heaven to land on my doorstep, this would be it. A friend loaned this to me, probably because she received a Divine Whisper in her ear. "Give this to Kelly and soon!" This book is definitely one of the best books on the Sabbath that I have ever read, giving suggestions throughout of how to create sacred time, space, and rest. I need to run out and buy a copy for myself, and then make a plan for a weekly Sabbath in my harried life. Yes, God, I heard you!

In The Name Of Jesus by Henri Nouwen
This book was homework for the Spiritual Formation program I am engaged in, but I’m grateful for the push to read it. Henri (whose books I adore) writes about Christian leadership from a vastly different viewpoint than I usually hear from the pulpit. He writes about Christian leaders' temptations to be relevant, spectacular and powerful, and how this is a contrast to the life Jesus led. I'd love to believe that church staff lead from an outflow of their spiritual formation. I'd also love this to be required reading for Christian leaders. Henri was wise, humble and godly. He clearly practiced what he preached.

And that’s my list so far. I loved them all! Now excuse me while dive into Snowflower And The Secret Fan.......

Cruising For Dolphins

Little Squirt and I had a Mommy/Son Date last night. We took a sunset cruise on The Vagabond. It was a gorgeous evening, and we hoped to spot some dolphins. We sailed out of Harbour Town under a tropical moon. I sat back, sipped a glass of white wine and enjoyed the sailing experience as Little Squirt ran about the boat with two tow-headed children.

It was supposed to be a dolphin cruise, and the poor captain did his darndest to stalk the dolphins, bringing us into their usual hanging-out habitats. But the dolphins were shy and snotty and elusive, refusing to show themselves to the sailing tourists. The poor mortified captain apologized, saying that in 20 years he’d never led a dolphin cruise without seeing any dolphins. He was completely baffled. Where the heck were they? That led my imagination to wander.....I thought about the movie, "Jaws" and half expected a ginormous thud on the bottom of the boat. Maybe a Great White with a taste for blood was lurking in the waters! “Dun dun. Dun dun.........”

But as we sailed toward a shrimp boat, the captain spotted an Atlantic bottlenose dolphin and her doe. He moved our boat closer to the shrimp boat so we, the faithful tourists that had paid money to see a dolphin, could catch a glimpse of an actual dolphin. And that’s what we got. Just a glimpse, and a big snoot-full of salty sea spray.

Little Squirt was disappointed. He wanted to know why the dolphins didn’t swim up to the boat, sit up on their tails and wave and say hello. I explained that this wasn’t Seaworld, that real dolphins in the ocean don’t behave like that.

“Then we should catch them, train them to do tricks in a pool, and bring them back to the ocean. Then when people are on a dolphin cruise, they would get to see a show!” he reasoned. Hmmm. My child had a good point. A possible future business venture for me, enabling us to permanently live in this Paradise? I'll noodle on it!

The captain apologized at the end of the 2 hour cruise, saying that they’d give us each a voucher for a free cruise this week, since the dolphin sighting was so lame. My precocious 8yo raised his hand and loudly asked the captain, “Since we’ll get a free cruise, could we get free snacks and drinks, too??” Hmmm. Another good point. A free glass of pinot grigio would almost make another lame dolphin cruise worth it.

Butter Baby Me

I wanted a nightcap last eve; just a simple little nightcap to finish my evening. In particular, I wanted a Butter Baby. I had a lovely pink-tinged vision of relaxing with my husband in a cozy oceanside hotel bar, sipping the creamy drink. We’ve been with a very active Little Squirt almost 24/7 for the past few days, and we needed a little bit of time alone to catch up and unwind.

We went to two different island bars to hunt down my request, and if it hadn’t been so late, we would have gone to more. Butter Baby yield= 0. Menus full of pina coladas and mojitos and flavored martinis. But no sensible nightcaps.

We ended up at a hotel bar right on the beach; the Tikki Lounge. (Why is there a bar called the Tikki Lounge at every tropical destination?) We sat under the stars, palm trees gently swaying in the breeze, and listened to a man sing Jimmy Buffet tunes. But all they served were fruity tropical drinks, which I am not a fan of. So I surrendered to a margarita on the rocks, which was as girly-drinky as I was going to get.

No Butter Baby, but no matter. It’s a lovely vacation, and I’m not going to complain about a beachside margarita on a gorgeous July evening.