A Complicated Woman

It's Time For A Change

2011-12-11T15:12:00.003-06:00

Come visit my new blog site.

Halloween Chili

2011-11-01T17:09:00.007-05:00

In an attempt to encourage a little nutrition on Halloween, I always make a big pot of chili for dinner. I let it simmer in the slow cooker, and everyone can help themselves to a bowl in between Trick-or-Treating or scary movie viewing. It’s been our tradition for years. I adore making our Halloween chili.

In a perfect storm of reasons that included a 36 hour trip to OH and back, a monster of a cold, and simple forgetfulness, I neglected to buy ingredients for my chili. I lamented this matter from a horizontal position on my couch the day before Halloween, as I nursed a wicked virus. What would I serve for Halloween dinner? My kids would be disappointed. Forgetting to make the Halloween chili was almost as bad as not serving turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. I hated to break tradition, but I had no energy to shop for ingredients or cook. Oh, well, I thought, we’ll just have “whatever.” I’d try to muster up the energy to make one of my go-to meals, like grilled cheese sandwiches. Or I’d just open a can of soup. Whatever. But still, I felt like I’d be letting everyone down.

An out-of-the-blue phone call came later that evening from a friend I hadn’t spoken to in a while. “I saw on Facebook that you’re not feeling well,” she said. “I’m going to drop off some food. You can eat it tomorrow for dinner.” It was pot of chili!

Later, she told me that while she had been making the chili, God whispered to her to bring some to our family. So we had chili after all for Halloween dinner, lovingly made by a dear friend, along with her homemade chocolate chip cookies!

That chili meal from my friend was no coincidence. It was a sweet, tender gift from a loving Father who showed me once again that He sees my needs, cares about them, and is so intimately involved in my life that He made the chili dinner happen for me. He covered all the details! From His heart through an obedient godly friend’s hands, He fed us our traditional Halloween meal, because He’s good like that. And candidly, it tasted way better than mine.

Denim Jumpers Are Not My Style

2011-08-22T11:43:00.014-05:00

I cannot believe how fast this summer has flown! This, the last week before school begins, always brings me to a place of wistfulness, and grieving the end of leisurely beach days, sleeping a bit later, etc. But I am gearing up to begin homeschooling my third-grader next week. And because I’ve been getting the usual looks askance and questions about why I am, once again, embarking on this journey, I thought I’d format this post into a Q & A based on some of the most popular questions I’ve been asked about homeschooling. Sound good?

1) Why, for the love of God, would you want to go back to having your most active child home with you every single day, when you could, in contrast, have six straight hours of freedom Monday through Friday?

Simply put, I want to soak up every precious minute with my youngest. I have a 20yo who is on the brink of moving out into her own life, and so I know how very fast these parenting years go by. Little Squirt is a joy to be around (on most days), and he is a “sponge.” Everything interests him. I want to treasure this year of teaching him, especially because he wants me to. Soon enough, he’ll be into girls, and I’ll be relegated to the “uncool.” At present, he still thinks I’m awesome.

2) Do you think the school system is the devil?

Absolutely not! I adored both Little Squirt’s kindergarten and first/second grade teachers. I loved the principal and the school. There wasn’t a thing I disliked about the system. He may go back for fourth grade. This is a personal decision, and one I feel called to by God. We're taking this year by year.

3)Do you think I'm an awful parent for wanting to send my children to school?

No. I’ve sent all three of my children to school at one time or another. And the big kids chose to attend public high school. Homeschooling is not for everyone. I would never judge anyone’s choice of how they choose to educate their children. It’s a very personal decision, and each child is unique.

4) Are you really the "homeschooling type"?

Um....I'm not sure I understand the question. Is there a stereotype of homeschooling mothers? I was my child’s first teacher, and I love him and know him more than anyone else does. I’ve homeschooled for seven years in the past. I know I can manage third grade with my youngest. Does that answer your question?

5) I guess what I was really asking is will you now wear denim jumpers and grow your own food organically?

No and no. I’ll continue to dress in my sporty/classic style, and wear my favorite Gap jeans. Or sweats on my bloated days. And I abhor gardening. I’ll still shop at the grocery store, especially Joseph’s for my favorite guacamole, and Trader Joe's for the jasmine green tea that I love. I wish I could raise a few chickens, though, since they’re so cute. But the chicken ordinance did not pass in my town, sadly. I’m sometimes lazy and make boxed stuffing and put out a bowl of grapes for dinner and call it the "vegetable." So,in other words, I will still be the same ME with all my usual qualities and quirkiness. I just will be adding homeschooling as an addition to the quirkiness.

And, last but not least, the most popular question of all:

6) Will your child be socialized?

Have you met my youngest?? The child is such an extrovert, he will talk to a brick wall! (True story.) I don’t believe that socialization best takes place during the school day in a group of his peers. Have you ever mingled in the schoolyard during recess? It's not always a pretty picture. Living real life and the interaction with people of various ages is socialization. But just so you’re not concerned about him, I'll let you know that we've joined a homeschooling group where we’ll do field trips with the other moms and kids. And I’ve signed him up for a homeschool swimming class, a martial arts class, and an Adventure Club. Plus he’s in a small group at church. He also has several homeschooling friends, and other buddies that attend school. No worries, people. He won't be raised by wolves.

So, there you have it. Here’s to a great school year for us all!

Palm Trees And Sunsets

2011-07-19T17:53:00.002-05:00

I’m thoroughly enjoying this vacation and soaking up every bit of it, especially with the realization that we will be heading back to home and reality this weekend. The past two weeks have been the perfect mix of rest and play. Super Hubs and I agree on that balance for vacations, which is one of the many ways that we fit together so well. We like to do some adventuring and exploring, but we also relish our down-time. I’ve read 6 books, and I’m guessing my husband has read twice as many. We’ve meandered along the shore, leisurely kicking the waves and gathering shells. We’ve enjoyed a date night almost every other evening, which often was just a glass of wine under the palm trees.

We do, however, have an active nine-year-old who is not content to sit for hours on the beach with a novel. Little Squirt has been up at dawn every day, asking for the agenda. I took him on a horseback trail ride, in which he proudly road his horse, Casey, up in the front behind the guide and talked her ear off for the hour. He was a bit disappointed, though, because he expected lassos and Indians. He inquired if he could take Casey home with us, reassuring the guide that he had “lots of carrots.” He felt insulted that she wouldn’t allow him to.

We’ve taken numerous bike rides on the beautiful trails, sometimes stopping to feed horses or visiting the petting zoo. We’ve gone cruising on the Vagabond, spotting dolphins frolicking in the water. Little Squirt was baffled that they didn’t jump through hoops and wave like they do at Sea World.

Rock Star has set his own pace on this vacation, sleeping in, working out, and watching sports. But he’s joined us for dinners out, walks to Harbour Town for ice cream, and the occasional beach day.

It’s been a good two weeks. For all the sunny days, starfish sightings, fabulous cuisine, palm trees and sunsets, I am grateful.

Dancing With Danger

2011-07-13T18:50:00.003-05:00

Today was apparently Sea Life Petting Zoo Day at the ocean. On my morning walk down the shore, I nearly stepped on a jelly fish. And then I ran into a beached baby sting ray. Under normal circumstances, like watching him backstroke in an aquarium, I’d find the sting ray kind of adorable. He was all flappy and scared on the sand, and trying to get in the water. But he had a stinger poking midway down his tail. And I knew that stinger could sting. That stinger could maim, even. Or kill. His cute-and-adorable act did not fool me. I wanted him incarcerated. However, a gentleman with a bigger heart for sea life than I have used a beach chair to flip him back into the water. So off he swam, in search of human prey to sting, I am certain.

Later, I was relaxing in my beach chair, reading a book with my toes in the water. Suddenly, a lifeguard down the beach madly blew his whistle, signaling beachers to get out of the water. I made sure my husband and son were safely on sand before making a bee-line to the lifeguard to find out what was what. Apparently, a sand shark was spotted by a fisherman. Sand sharks are not friendly. In fact, tangoing with one can lead to a painful death.

I ran back to my family to tell them about the sand shark, when I noticed a large crowd had formed around my beach chair. Apparently, according to my husband, a rogue eel had taken a liking to my beach chair and was swimming happily around it, when it was noticed by a some bystanders who screamed, which caused the eel to begin racing all over the sand. The lifeguard again blew his whistle, and shouted for all swimmers to come ashore while the renegade eel darted between feet. (At that point, the ocean was probably safer than the beach, but that wasn’t written in the lifeguard’s handbook.) The killer eel was eventually picked up by the tail by a very brave or very stupid vacationer, and flung into the ocean. I gathered my beach things and told my family it was time to go home.

The point of my post is that the sand shark saved my life. If I hadn’t run down the beach to hear about the sand shark, I would have been sitting in my beach chair when the eel came visiting, and that would have been the end of me. If the eel hadn’t done me in with its electric shock or however it murders human beings, I would have died of a heart attack. So I owe one to the sand shark. But that doesn't mean I want to be friends.

Actually, I’d enjoy the ocean so much more if it didn’t have all the sea life swimming in it. I’d allow the dolphins to stay because I view them as dogs with fins. But everything else can go. Except for the harmless starfish and sand dollars.

In any case, I made an executive decision that tomorrow will be a Pool Day.

Vacationing

2011-07-11T18:28:00.003-05:00

It’s Day #2 of our Hilton Head Island vacation and I am about one-third relaxed. It always takes us high-strung types a few days of down-time to fully unwind. This vacation comes after a few intense weeks. A son in a bad car accident (but okay, thank you, Lord) which led to the totaling of my little Toyota and the purchase of my new Sorrento, left us drained. And the Casey Anthony trial, which I felt an intense connection to and my subsequent deep disappointment over the verdict of acquittal (more about my feelings on that later) has made my head spin. God is always sovereign, and I am feeling grateful to Him for our perfectly-timed getaway to the ocean.

We’ve spent two days at the beach, swimming and sunning, and my corpse-white shade of skin is beginning to tan. I’ve devoured two novels, watched golfers from our master suite deck, and refereed several arguments between my sons. I watched an osprey eat a squirrel, and made friends with a little blue salamander by the pool.

I love these days, when my biggest decision is what to do for dinner. Ahhh....now for a nap.

Guilty As Charged

2011-06-23T11:20:00.002-05:00

Breaking News: I have momentarily interrupted this blog due to the Casey Anthony Trial.

I seriously need an intervention. I have been obsessed with this case for the past three years. I even drove to see The Anthonys home on a trip to Orlando last year with a friend, much to her mortification. My family is going to Orlando in November, so guess where I’m going to drag them?

In between entertaining Little Squirt with movies, beach days and trips to the library, I have been glued to my computer to watch the trial live stream. And when I’m not watching the trial, I am reading blogs about the trial or observing talking heads discuss the trial or viewing the HLN evening lineup of shows that review the trial. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when this is all over. Big sigh.

I now know so much about trial law that I believe I could pass the Bar. I could be an alternate to the alternate jurors. I am peppering my conversations with legalese like, “Objection!” and “What says the defense?” People are beginning to think I’m weird.

I have always been interested in the mystery genre of reading and tv watching. This bizarre, real life case of a FL mother accused of murdering her 2yo has pulled on my heartstrings. I am thirsty for justice!

So, I’ll be back. I’m just a woman consumed at present.

Them's Fightin' Words!

2011-05-19T12:35:00.004-05:00

Little Squirt is a peacemaker by nature. He has no fightin’ bones in his body. One day he told his older brother about some boys on the playground that were lying on top of him and wouldn’t let him get up. His tougher, wrestler older brother offered words of counsel on how to manhandle these schoolyard hooligans. He had a long conversation with Little Squirt, complete with demonstrations, using terms like, “Sucker punch” and “Forearm smash.” After a moment, eyes wide with horror, my little boy said, “But that’s not the kind of guy I am! I don’t hurt people!”

It’s so true. Little Squirt is about as sweet as they come. His heart bled to find a lonely ant in the house, and he hurried to find him a snack. He won’t step on bugs. He gets weepy during sad Pixar films. His teacher says he’s the tender-hearted child who comforts the crying in his classroom. He’s kind and sensitive to the core.

That is why I was quite surprised to find his writing assignment on “My Life As An Ant.”
“It would be cool if I was an ant because I could kill enemies and take their heads off.”

Apparently, my sweet boy has an Ant Alter Ego. Who knew??

Fainting and Trust

2011-05-10T18:58:00.001-05:00

Last night I had one of those vivid, horror dreams. In my dream, evil alien creatures were taking over the world and rounding up humans and putting them in prisons. Think Stephen King meets The Holocaust. My family was taken captive, but then they let my husband and children go free, and kept me captive. The goal of the aliens was to take over my mind and body. There were some other frightened humans wandering about along with me.

Suddenly, I saw this big, strong, handsome man. He seemed to be working at the prison. I looked him in the eyes and begged him to save me from the evil. He said he would. Suddenly, we could hear the aliens approaching. The big, strong, handsome man said to me, “Pretend to faint in my arms. It’s protection. Then the evil ones will leave.” Sounds very sexist and Harlequin-Romancey, yes? But it worked. The evil aliens couldn’t touch me when I fainted away in the arms of my protector. Then I was able to escape from the prison, and go back safely to my family. That was my dream last night.

Then this very morning, my daily devotion from Streams in the Desert was all about fainting.
“What do you do when you are about to faint physically? You cannot do anything. You cease from your own doings. In your faintness, you fall upon the shoulder of some strong loved one. You lean hard. You rest. You lie still and trust........And that is all God asks of you, His dear child, when you grow faint in the fierce fires of affliction. Do not try to be strong. Just be still and know that He is God, and He will sustain you, and bring you through.”

Thanks for the dream and the next-day affirmation, God. I love it when you speak clearly.

Keeping The Nest

2011-05-05T16:52:00.006-05:00

My daughter told me today that I need to blog more so she has something to read over the summer. I’ve been quite MIA on the writing front lately. I’ve been camping in a season of dryness, feeling uncreative and wordless. But since my daughter asked, I will write about her.

Butterfly just officially finished her last class of her sophomore year of college today. This marks the halfway point of her undergrad career. How is that possible? It seems like yesterday I was dropping her off for her first semester, and crying a bucket of tears on the six hour drive home. I seriously did. I cried for much of the semester, come to think of it. With my firstborn so far from home and my youngest finally in school full-time after years of homeschooling, it was a lonely season. I had full days to myself for the first time in 18 years and I hated it.

“Dude!” I can hear you exclaiming. “What the heck is wrong with you? Nobody hates having full days to themselves!” Well, I did. And it wasn’t as if I lied around eating bonbons. I did loads of volunteer work, wrote, took a yoga class and hung out with friends. But here’s the odd little fact about me: I love being a mother. I'd wanted to be a mother since I was five years old. And before I was a real mother I mothered plants, pets and my baby brother. After my kids grow up I’m certain I'll be mothering my grandchildren, my friends and the odd stray cat that ventures on my front porch. If I could be a Professional Mother, I would be. Call it retro or passe or Donna Reed Days Gone By. I don’t care. It’s who I am.

Back to Butterfly. She isn’t coming home this summer. She was blessed to get a great job at an amusement park in OH where she’ll be working with her friends and boyfriend. She’ll be paid well and will stay on campus. I’m happy for her, because I know it’s going to be a one-of-a-kind experience. Do I feel an emptiness in my heart that she won’t be with us this summer? Absolutely! I enjoy our girl-talks, movie nights and lunches out for hot wings. But the half-way mark of her college career means she’s moving closer to that day when she moves out forever. And so I need to begin letting go now.

Dang it! Before I had children, when I imagined motherhood, I pictured snuggling with baby lotion-scented infants, wiping runny noses, and kindergarten art work hanging on the fridge. I didn’t imagine the good-byes. However do the mother birdies do it?

Happy Easter!

2011-04-24T09:46:00.004-05:00

Oh, give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
His steadfast love endures forever.
The Lord is my strength and my song
And he has become my salvation.

The right hand of the Lord has triumphed,
The right hand of the Lord is exalted!
The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone; This is the Lord’s doing and it is marvelous in our eyes.

This very day the Lord has acted:
Let us rejoice!
God’s name be praised!

From Psalm 118

Birthday Eve Musings

2011-04-12T17:53:00.002-05:00

Here I am again. The sun will soon set, the night will come, and at 8:30am tomorrow morning, I will officially add another year to my age.

I never wanted to be one of Those Women who fall into a depression with each approaching birthday; counting every wrinkle, complaining about their added poundage and creaky bones. But candidly, I’ve become one of Those Women this past year. I am feeling convicted that one of my most commonly used phrases has been, “I’m getting old” (said with a dramatic sigh of disgust).

But beginning with this year, I want to celebrate each day in a deeper way. No more negative self talk about aging. I want to embrace this next age as a gift, because, in reality, it’s better than the alternative. I feel fit and youthful and excited about the future. The past few years have been the most creative of my life. I am wiser and more comfortable in my skin than ever in the past. I know who I am, what I like and why, what doesn’t work for me, how to choose friends wisely, how to dress best for my body type. I know my passions, my goals, my worldview. The first half of my life was a lot of guess work, but now I have things better figured out. Would I want to go backward? No. I like being where I am in life, and I am (on most days) proud of who God has grown me to be. Maturity is one of the gifts that we only receive with time. I’ll take that over youth.

If I had to pick one area I’ve grown in since my last birthday, it’s been in my ability to be honest. I have had more honest conversations with God, others and myself than ever in my life. It’s been freeing to let go of the people-pleasing and discover a more authentic and healthier way to live.

God has been good. He has given me so many moments-as-gifts since my last birthday. These are a few of my favorites:

~Weekly date nights with my favorite guy
~Gathering for prayer with my Intercessory team, in whatever “closet” we can find
~Long discussions about books over wine with my Chocolate Pie Book Club
~Watching my youngest dance with my niece and nephew
~Lazy days spent reading by the ocean in Hilton Head
~Late night talks with my teens hanging out on my bed
~Fabulous sunset dinners in Cabo San Lucas with my family, Chris & Cintia
~Cooking and laughing side by side with my Cool Chicks Cooking Club
~Drinks and heart-to-heart talks with my closest girlfriends
~Every retreat with my Transforming Community
~Prayer walking with my youngest at a crisis shelter
~Kisses from my sweet little Murphy nieces
~Monday morning writing dates with a friend
~Receiving a surprise diamond ring from my husband at a silent auction
~Dancing with my brother to “We Are Family.”

What else? I’m probably forgetting a whole bunch of great moments, since I’m getting older. (Oops. There I go again.) It’s time to pop my evening fish oil capsule, and be on my way. Thank you God, for giving me life!

Spring Break

2011-04-02T14:25:00.003-05:00

Spring Break. Oh, really? I’m struggling to figure out where the spring is hiding, and definitely needing a break after being a one-woman entertainment committee for the past week. I’ve provided my youngest with lots of friend time, movie dates, and even an afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese. That’s love for you. And I’ve got witnesses, just in case he ever has a memory lapse down the road, and questions my motherly devotion in therapy.

Then we went east for a few days. Not south where the sun shines and the ocean beckons, but east to OH where it actually began snowing at the exact moment we arrived at our hotel. Uh, Spring Break?

We were there to visit Butterfly at her college, and I’d weather anything to see my kid. (Pun not intended, but clever nonetheless.) We enjoyed a hibachi dinner with the family, Butterfly’s boyfriend and her two roommates while the snow fell. Little Squirt logged in lots of swim time at the hotel pool, and Rock Star sat through three criminal justice classes, giving him a taste of college in a year and a half. He loved it.

Too quickly, we were on the road again, driving back home, the standard “Good-bye, Daughter” lump in my throat. It’s an odd thing, this life transition. It’s nearing the end of Butterfly’s sophomore year in college, yet each separation feels fresh and raw, like an old wound that begins bleeding again after the scab is torn off. Rock Star will be leaving the nest as well, soon enough. Saying good-bye to my children feels so wrong.

I don’t like this kids-growing-up thing, I want a Life Rewind Button for my birthday. I’ll take the year ‘03 back; homeschooling the first two with the baby in my arms. That was a good year for this mommy.

I’m reading Joyce Rupp’s Praying Your Goodbyes, and I quote, “Goodbyes will always be with us. So will hellos. Praying a goodbye can bring us to the doorway of new beginnings. The seed of resurrection in our souls will grow again.”

Easter season is a good time for me to remember this.

Butter Me Up

2011-03-22T17:38:00.003-05:00

I’ve gotten bitten by the Spring Cleaning bug in a beastie way. I’m tackling drawers, closets and rooms that have evaded my purgation all winter long. I’m being ruthless in my disposal. It’s all going, going, gone. Bwa-ha-ha.

I am not a hoarder by any means. I prefer to go lightly through life tossing the old, the outgrown, the no-longer-useful. But with a family of five, you collect quite a few of the olds, the outgrowns, and the no-longer-usefuls over the winter months. Now that I have a bit of time and inclination, I’m sorting and stacking like a preschooler on caffeine.

Yesterday I attacked my Cookbook Cabinet with relish and gusto, prepared to part with at half of the forty-odd cookbooks I’ve collected over the years. But in the end, I could only say good-bye to six, and even that just about killed me. I have a great emotional attachment to my cookbooks. Each comes with stories, a piece of our family’s history, and an ample amount of food stains. I find many of my recipes on-line, yet I still use about ten of my cookbooks regularly. But the rest are too precious to part with. They would probably only net a few dollars in a garage sale, but they are priceless to me.

The ones that didn’t make the cut still haunt me. One was a cooking-for-one book that I purchased when I moved out from my parents’ house and into my own apartment at 22. Determined to begin living as a responsible adult, I came home from my nursing job at Children’s every night to cook a hot meal. I cooked through the entire book, sometimes sharing a meal with a friend or a date. That book was my teacher.

There was a basic cookbook that came into my marriage with Super Hubs. He cooked for me for the first time on our fourth date, which coincided with Valentine’s Day. He made such a wonderful veal piccata that I was intimidated by his mad culinary skills. I had no idea his mother had talked him through each step by phone.

I parted with a vegetarian cookbook, when I went through my brief Earth Muffin stage in the 90s. I served my husband and toddler a form of tofu almost every night until Super Hubs put a stop to it. I haven’t opened the book since.

I gave away a couple of Martha Stewart’s because I don’t care for her cooking style. (Sorry, Martha.) And remember Oprah’s cook, Rosie, who was launched into 15 minutes of fame and came out with her own cookbook? I never actually tried anything in it, so out it went.

Every other cookbook will remain safely in the cabinet, until either we move or I die and my offspring decide to purge my non-valuables. I guess I won’t need them at that point.

Keep Watch, Dear Lord

2011-03-16T16:49:00.005-05:00

Sometimes, I have no words, even in prayer. My heart simply bleeds for the people of Japan, beloved children of God, as events go from bad to worse. Earthquakes, tsunamis, nuclear power plant meltdowns.

I offer to the injured, the grieving, the homeless, the frightened, the workers, the caregivers, this classic prayer. To all who suffer:

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep.

Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.

(From the night service of Compline, The Book of Common Prayer)

Hello, Gorgeous!

2011-03-15T12:43:00.003-05:00

I’ve got spring fever, my friends. Yep, I’ve got it bad. The snow has melted, the days are lengthening, and yesterday I saw my first crocus popping out of the earth. It’s always a big day for me when I spy my first crocus. It gives me hope and makes me long to grab my flip flops.

I happened upon a sweet little poem that describes my sentiments perfectly.

First a howling blizzard woke us,
Then the rain came down to soak us,
And now before the eye can focus -
Crocus. ~Lilja Rogers

The Bright Sadness

2011-03-09T17:20:00.004-06:00

I just returned from a three day retreat for my Spiritual Formation program. This fourth retreat marks the half-way point. It’s been a full year since I began the journey with these fellow sojourners, and I have another year to go. The little book case in my library is filled with the twenty books I’ve purchased and read so far as part of this program. Some have been required reading, and some of the books I’ve been drawn to and subsequently devoured vocaciously. They’ve challenged me, filled me up, and acted as spiritual companions; authors who have been seasoned in soul formation and will “walk alongside me” whenever I pick up their books.

My other spiritual companions are the fellow retreatants whom I see at the quarterly retreats. I’ve grown to truly love some of them. We’ve quickly gotten beyond the surfacey talk to deep soul matters, and they are closer to me than family. Each time we meet, though, is bittersweet. I’m thrilled to see them, catch up, and hear how God is working in their lives. But each retreat flies by so quickly. My heart feels heavy during the Leaving Service on the last day, knowing we’ll soon say good-bye; someday for the last time. But then again, I have hope that I’ll see them all in Heaven.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the day that ushers us into the Lenten Season. It is filled with the bittersweet knowledge of our mortality and sinfulness, yet with the hope of redemption.

“A journey, a pilgrimage! Yet, as we begin it, as we make the first step into the “bright sadness” of Lent, we see~ far, far away~ the destination. It is the joy of Easter, it is the entrance into the glory of the kingdom.” (Alexander Schmemann)

A wise mentor has suggested that the Lenten season is a time to seek God with all of your heart. Is there a way that you are holding back from God? What is one step you can make to begin to return to Him? I am using this season to fast from something personal that has been “cluttering” my soul. My hope is to create more space for God’s presence, so I can love Him with all of my heart, soul, mind and strength.

May God fill you with hope, my friends.

Book or Nook?

2011-02-23T16:47:00.004-06:00

Super Hubs loves his Nook, and he’s been trying to get me to change teams. But I won’t budge. Reading the Nook makes me feel like I’m cheating on the library. I understand all the benefits. It’s light and portable and can fit in my purse. I can upload it with e-books and take it on our annual beach vaca, instead of packing the usual eleven hardcovers that weight down our car. It’s current and trendy. I get all that. I really do. But can you read it in the bathtub? I think not.

The Nook reminds me of Rosie, The Jetson’s robotic housekeeper. She was able-bodied and efficient, and got the job done. But Rosie had no soul. That’s what an E-reader lacks for me.

Real books have souls. They have artful covers which attract me, and a comfortable, musty smell like a grandmother’s attic. They become soft and and worn with time and love. They exude a sense of history; the gift inscription from a mentor, the pencil scribbling on p.36 from my eighteen-month old, the water stains from an accidental dunking. They fill my book shelves, adding a colorful, homey coziness to my house and giving people a sense of who we are by what we read. They are friendly for a snuggle under the covers.

My first book collection ever was my Nancy Drew mysteries. I shelved with pride every new yellow-spined addition to my collection from the time I was eight years old. I still have that collection sitting on the top shelf of my current bookcase. It’s “priceless” to me. I feel an an emotional connection to a real book, and that’s the key difference.I feel no emotional connection whatsoever to the Nook. We can’t ever be friends.

Don’t get me wrong. I think Kindles and Nooks are incredible inventions. If only I’d thought of them first I’d be blogging their praises from my beach house in Maui. They have their place in current culture for sure. I will use one when I travel. But there’s no contest between a Nook and a Book. It’s like choosing between a digital pet and my sweet cat, Peppermint.

I’d love to pontificate some more, but I’m off. I have a yummy hard-covered mystery I’m dying to finish. Pardon me while I grab a cup of Earl Grey and dive in.

Love Is....

2011-02-17T17:10:00.003-06:00

It’s been a week of L-O-V-E, and these are the highlights.

Last Friday, I went with my Valentine for some OUTREACH LOVE to a Fundraiser Dinner at my Jesuit priest bro’s school. He is the founder and president of this college-prep school for inner city high school students in the south side of Chicago. What a gracious display of love to see over 500 people gathered together to support these kids! The event coordination was astounding, as this school was transformed into a banquet hall of beauty. Everything was top-notch, from the valet parking to the beautifully decorated gym, transformed into an elegant dining room, complete with gorgeous centerpieces and place settings. The cafeteria became a quaint lounge, with an entertaining jazz band and drinks donated by the Wirtz family, owners of the Black Hawks.

We sat for dinner with my parents, dined on beef medallions, and browsed the items for auction. We met some amazing people, danced, bid, laughed, and had an incredible time. In the end, over $300,000 was raised for the school on this evening. My bro was overwhelmed by the generous support. That’s him in the pic, dancing with his (slightly older) sis.

The next evening was a night of FOOD LOVE. My new cooking club and I gathered together and chopped, sauteed and baked away to some jazzy tunes and lots of laughter. We shared delicious hummus, soups, popovers, caprese, brownies and bread pudding. I made some new friends and look forward to our event next month. There’s nothing finer than Girlfriend Time, when accompanied by good food and wine and uncensored conversation.

But nothing beats FAMILY LOVE. Since we had a full weekend, we stayed in for Valentine’s Day, and shared a “red” meal with the boys. I go a little crazy on the holiday, sprinkling candy hearts and pink confetti on every available table top. My oldest son gave me a pound of my favorite Junior Mints. My youngest proudly presented me with the tiny heart pillow he sewed with the help of my mother. And my husband........I’ll just say that he was overly generous and upstaged my gift-giving by leaps and bounds, as is usual.

Wishing you lots of love in your life, my friends!

What?? I Swear I'm Behaving!

2011-02-10T19:02:00.006-06:00

Super Hubs and I have season tickets to the theater. The first show of the year happened to fall on Super Bowl night, which we didn’t realize until several days before. I got a lot of razzing from friends for “dragging” my husband away from the game, but here’s the reality: He didn’t mind because the Bears weren’t playing. And Super Hubs is a rarity in that he’s a straight man who loves musical theater. In particular, he loves "Guys and Dolls." He’s is my kind of guy, and I’m his doll, and I love being married to a man that sits beside me at the theater while everyone else is in front of the tube.

My parents also have season tickets to the same shows on the same evenings. We requested the same night as they, thinking it would be a fun date night out together. And it was. My parents’ reserved seats were exactly two rows behind ours. We met beforehand and chatted, and then Super Hubs and I had our alone time and space in our seats, and they had theirs.

What I didn’t anticipate, however, is how having my parents sit two rows behind me made me behave better than I normally would. It wasn't their issue; they are very nice people. But I mentally morphed into an 8yo, feeling self-conscious when I stretched out in my seat or whispered to my husband. And then there was the glass of wine I had at Intermission during "Guys and Dolls." My parents ended up staying in their seats during the break. But Super Hubs and I sipped our wine surreptitiously behind a pole near the bar, anxious that my parents would see us and judge us as sinful for drinking on a Sunday. Again, it’s not my parents’ fault. In fact, my dad would probably order a beer and join us. It was just an example that I am completely neurotic.

Super Hubs and I went to a movie a few years back that was rated R. Our former pastor and his wife happened to sit directly behind us. I kept fearing I'd suddenly develop Turrets or have an epic popcorn spill. And during the “intimate” love scene, I wanted to hide under my seat. It felt as if God was sitting behind us with furrowed brow.

In any case, I absolutely love having season tickets to a theater! It's great fun, and I look forward to the next performance. But I’m pondering if I should offer my parents our seats next time, and we’ll sit behind them. That might cure at least a bit of my self-consciousness.

2011-02-10T19:01:00.001-06:00

Snowpocalyse

2011-02-01T11:13:00.004-06:00

I’m battening down the hatches and doing a lil Blizzard Baking today. We’re expecting a Snowpocalyse in Chicago, and that’s snow joke!

I usually don’t do a whole lot of weather-fretting. I don’t even remember the legendary blizzard of ‘99. I have absolutely no recollection of it at all, so it must not have been more than a blip in my week that year. Our power lines are underground so they are rarely impacted by the weather. But I’m thinking today, what if the power goes out? What will we eat? And that thought led me to drag out the bread machine and make peasant bread.....which inspired me to make two dozen corn muffins....which gave me a yen to bake brownies....and then I experimented with a new beignet recipe, frying up 32 little fritters (minus the four that I ate with my coffee). One baking idea just snowballed into another.

Today would have been my grocery shopping day, so I don’t have tons of food items in the house. But if worse comes to worse, we can always survive on my baked goods and peanut butter for a week. Plus we have cereal. And some garlic croutons. Then there’s the pet food......in other words, we have quite a few edible options before we resort to cannibalism.

My boys are hoping for a Snow Day tomorrow, and I am assuming they’ll be off. Super Hubs thinks his place of work will shut down at noon, bringing him home by train from the city around 3ish. We may have a cozy couple’a days with a fire on the hearth and some lovely family time.

The pets are already prepping. The cats are cozying up in the afghan, and Rex is sunbathing on his rock, the lucky dude. And the dog....he’s just happy snuggled at my feet.

Snowmaggedon away. I'm ready!

Buon Apetito!

2011-01-27T17:46:00.005-06:00

I found a recipe book I’d forgotten I had. Super Hubs’ grandmother had written a cookbook for her adult children of their favorite family recipes, and I received a copy, shortly after we’d married. It is simple in its form; handwritten on plain white paper, in the beautiful loopy cursive that girls born in the beginning of the 20th century were taught.

Admittedly, I’ve tried very few of the recipes in the 22 years we’ve been married. Grandma was a 1st generation Italian, and I would be reluctant to put some of the dishes in front of my picky children. Like Squash & Eggs. Or Squid in Tomato Sauce. And some of the ingredients I am not quite clear on. Like Ceci. (Chickpeas?) Or 1/2 lb. Perciatelli in 11/2 lengths. (Do I bring a ruler to the grocery store?) Cicoria. (Dandelions. Do I pluck them from a field?)

But I absolutely love the historical significance of this cookbook! Grandma wrote an interesting little blurb underneath many of the recipes. “...I must remind you that it is a tradition (underlined once) to eat lasagna on Easter (underlined thrice). The variety of meat in the sauce is always served as a second course.”

Grandma was an amazing cook, filling the stomachs of her six children several times a day. My mother-in-law cooks very similarly, and I’ve been the blessed beneficiary of many of her meals over the years. I’ve made several of Grandma’s dishes, such as her Cauliflower & Macaroni, and Chicken Cacciatore. Surprisingly, they were fairly simple, using a simple base of tomato paste and browned garlic.

I recently acquired a new (old) recipe of Grandma’s, not present in her cookbook, sent to me by Super Hub’s cousin. Steak Pizzaiola. I followed the recipe exactly, and it was to die for.

Thanks, Grandma! Buon Apetito to us!

Date With The Dean

2011-01-22T14:28:00.004-06:00

After a week of nursing my back, nursing my sick Little Squirt, and nursing a kitty with conjunctivitis, I was treated to an evening out on Thursday, by the former Dean of the college where Super Hubs works.

It wouldn’t be a January evening in Chicago without record cold temps. It was -8*, the coldest night of the year so far. I would venture to guess that next December 31st we will still be referring to that evening as the year’s coldest. Even for Chicago, it was phenomenally, ridiculously frigid. I layered clothing upon clothing, and packed the backseat of our car with blankets, preparing for the worst. (I feared an Epic Car Fail on the freeway, with AAA ignoring our calls. Super Hubs and I would be stranded and shivering all night, our frozen bodies not discovered until the morning. It was not a way I intended to spend our Date Night.)

But we arrived in the city without incident, other than when all the traffic on the Kennedy came to a complete halt. Apparently the President of China had just arrived, and we all needed to sit in our cars for 15 minutes without moving while his motorcade drove through.

We met a few of Super Hub’s co-workers at Tavern at the Park for drinks, first. It’s always interesting for me when I am around the co-workers. They are brilliant academics with all sorts of degrees and opinions and interesting travel experiences. I find them fascinating and intense, and occasionally intimidating, as they discuss something like their experiences of teaching a class in Uganda, and I’m all, “Well, that sounds like fun! I’ve been busy taking my cat to the vet.” I spent a big part of the hour enjoying my appetizer. (Flatbread with prosciutto, figs and gorgonzola, sprinkled with truffle oil. Oh. My. Gosh.)

Our little party than headed to the Harris Theater to join the rest of the party for a jazz concert. If jazz was a food, it’d be melted butter. Mmmm...so yummy, smooth, comforting! I am completely enamored with jazz, and thoroughly enjoyed the concert, after I silenced my phone alarm. It goes off every 12 hours at 8 and 8 without fail to remind me to take my asthma med. It’s a responsible little thing, even ringing persistently if my phone is off. So, because I have no idea how turn the alarm function off my phone, I sat through the first half hour of the concert anxiously awaiting for the sound of my alarm so I could rapidly silence it. My quick-fire finger managed to quiet the alarm as soon as it rang. No one was the wiser, except for Super Hubs, who glared at me.

For the final fun of the evening, we made our way over to the former Dean’s beautiful home. It was breathtakingly cold as we parked on a side street and walked the block to the condo. The doorman directed us up the elevator, and we entered the unit to an intimate party. We were here specifically to help entertain the Hong Kong program people. We spent a month in Hong Kong with the kids back in ‘01, and I can talk Hong Kong with the best of them. We shared delicious stew, corn bread and salad overlooking the sparkling winter sky through the bay window. It was magical.

Splat!

2011-01-15T17:44:00.005-06:00

My back went out on Thursday night, which wasn’t a huge surprise. I had the typical warning signs: Odd, random muscle pains shooting up my back and down my leg, and an inability to put on my boots. Seriously, I realize that I am slowly getting up there in years, but I workout and do yoga and should be able to bend over and put my shoes on my own middle-aged self. So, when my muscles are too tight to allow me to do something less successfully than the average 2yo, I might as well see a billboard flashing: “Warning! I Can See Your Future And It Looks Sedentary. Prepare To Infirm.”

My back issues usually arise after I have been A) Lifting something Wonder Woman would have been better equipped to carry or B) Not processing stress in a healthy way. I’ve had all sorts of advice regarding chiropractors, exercises, ice vs. heat and yada yada yada. But I know myself well. I’ve had issues with my back since I was 16, and it just takes two days of rest with drugs and a heating pad and I’m good as new.

Being the high-energy sort, it just kills me to lie on the couch for two days straight. But I try to receive it as a gentle time-out from God, putting a little pause on the pace of my life. I attempt to stay peaceful, respect my limitations, and let the unimportant things go. If I need to disappoint someone, life will still go on.

In the midst of my endeavors to be all Zen-like and gentle with myself, my Type A self still managed to accomplish a few things. I......
....finished this month’s Book Club read.
....finished this week’s People magazine.
....nagged and threatened the boys into writing their Christmas thank you notes.
....skyped with my college daughter.
....updated my address file.
....set the dvr to record some movies for my youngest.
....fretted about several incomplete projects, and came to no worthwhile conclusions.

But tonight I am done with the infirming. I will drag my gimpy self off of the couch and into a lovely restaurant to have dinner with friends, hobbling all the way. But it will be worth it. I need my people back.

Creating New Space

2011-01-11T19:48:00.004-06:00

Without spending gobs of money, I’ve made a few decorating adjustments here and there to the room formerly know as The Library. It’s currently being called Mom’s Prayer Room, or Dad’s Office When Mom Lets Him In. I’m attempting to make it more homey and zen-like. But giving me the go-ahead to decorate is like giving the Mouse the Cookie. One purchase snowballs into another purchase and a bunch of ideas, and I’m never done.

My quest to decorate this room began when a friend, who was moving out of state, gave me one of her beautiful pictures to hang on my wall. With the pretty new art work in place, I began to loathe the sofa. Its throw pillows irritated me because their color was now all wrong. So I bought some new throw pillows whose style made me feel peaceful. So then the sofa looked good, but that made me hate the chair. We can’t buy a new one right now, so I found a cozy white throw to hang over it. That made the chair more tolerable to me. So then the sofa and the chair looked good, but I began to abhor the lamp. I’ve lived with the lamp in this room for the past four years, but suddenly it revolted me to an insane level. It became an eyesore, completely draining my energy every time I entered the room or even thought about it.

Yesterday I headed out to Home Goods, an establishment that is an enemy to our retirement plans. (Whenever I enter that store, I find at least thirty-two items I absolutely have to have that I never knew I needed until that moment. It has all kinds of adorable home accessories in all kinds of colors, and I could stroll around there for hours just looking.) I found a lamp that was perfectly my French Country/Eclectic taste, and I brought it home. It makes my room look so much better. I love it! But now I’m bothered by the side table.....

Spiritual Formation is similar to Interior Design, I’m learning. A sinful pattern I’ve lived with for years suddenly begins to repulse me. It doesn’t feel comfortable anymore with the Me that I want to be. I see it glaring and want it rooted out and replaced with something lovely. So God and I work on that. And then something else begins to nag at me; I recognize that a certain relationship is not a positive influence on me. Or I could make better use of a particular block of time. Or........the list goes on.

The spiritual practices of Silence, Solitude and Prayer, specifically, breathe new life into my soul. God is doing a little interior designing in me, and He has an unlimited budget. I am all for that!

A Lizard Tale

2011-01-08T15:27:00.003-06:00

A crisis of magnificent proportions was averted last night. Whew! I barely survived the stress!

Little Squirt had had a friend over to play in the afternoon, and was quite zealous in showing him his bedroom and Beardie. Later, after dinner, when I went up to the bedroom to feed Rex, I noticed a weird odor. It turned out that Little Squirt had left a glow-in-the-dark dinosaur under the hot bulb on Rex’s terrarium, and the rubber dinosaur was melting. Rex was curled up in the corner of his tank, not looking good at all. Oh no, was he dead?! My heart dropped.

I called Super Hubs to come quickly and help me assess the Beardie. He poked at him gently. Rex opened one eye but wasn’t moving. Usually he runs over excitedly to eat the greens that I prepare for him, and at least watch the crickets jump by. But not last night. He continued to lie curled up in the corner, ignoring all the going’s on around him. This couldn’t be good! Was he slowly dying from the noxious melted dinosaur fumes? He rarely eats the crickets, preferring to stay skinny with the Beverly Hills salad diet. Could he be starving himself to death? Did Beardies develop anorexia nervosa?? My mind raced.

I left Super Hubs upstairs to tend to the Beardie, feeling heartsick. When it comes to pets, my husband and I have particular, unspoken roles. I buy and care for the pets, while he disposes of the dead ones, and finds new homes for the unruly. It works for us. I’m too tenderhearted to deal with dying or wayward creatures.

I went downstairs and prayed for Rex. Prayer is my thing, my gift, my passion. So I prayed Lazarus prayers, that God would raise him up out of his “sick bed.” I didn’t see any reason why God would have a problem with that. This little lizard has slowly won my heart, in curious ways. I pleaded to God for the sake of Little Squirt’s Beardie, as I know how brokenhearted my son would be without his beloved pet. I didn’t even want to imagine telling him.

About fifteen minutes later, Super Hubs called me from upstairs. Rex was totally back to himself! He was happily munching on salad in the corner of his tank, looking fit as a fiddle. Super Hubs thought that maybe he hadn’t been dying after all. He thought perhaps the Beardie had been catching an odd evening nap, or possibly had curled up because he’d been cold.

I don’t know. I prefer to think of Rex as having had a miraculous healing by God. I now look at him with tiny bit of awe, wondering what it’d been like to hang close to the edge of the Other Side. Had he heard harp music, seen a light, been beckoned by an angel? Hmmm. We’ll never know. I’m just so grateful he’s okay. And Little Squirt has no idea of any of the events of the evening. He’d been innocently playing wii in the basement the whole time.

Squeamish No More

2011-01-05T17:10:00.005-06:00

I’ve been Director of Operations to Project Bearded Dragon now for about three weeks, and I’d call it a successful career so far. In other words, he ain’t dead yet. Little Squirt is the Hospitality and Activities Director and BFF to the Beardie, while I come alongside, providing financial support and overseeing clean-up and provisions.

The little reptile guy is growing me as a person. For example, I now run a cricket motel, dishing up yellow cricket food once a day to keep them alive.......so they can be eaten by the Beardie. And I actually cheer for the Beardie when he catches them. Who knew I’d have a taste for blood? I used to be an Insect Pacifist, carrying bugs from the house to be set free outside. It ruined my day if I stepped on an ant. I’d agonize that the little ant parents would grieve forever that their little ant child never came home. But now here I am, happily raising crickets for lizard food.

I’m also keeping meal worms in my fridge, right next to the salad dressing. I’m not even bothered by it in the least. That’s right, Me The Germaphobe, who’d rather forget her wallet than her hand sanitizer.

I don’t know if any of this is good or bad. What I do know, though, is that Little Squirt is deliriously, head-over-heels in love with his new pet. And sometimes your love for your kids overrides your phobic stuff.

Living, learning and growing, one day at a time.

Salsa On A White Shirt

2011-01-01T16:58:00.010-06:00

It’s the first day of the New Year, and I’ve already spilled salsa on my white shirt. In past years, my Perfectionistic Younger Self might have received that spillage with dismay, perhaps fretting that it was a prediction of Mess and Frustration in this New Year. But not my Wiser Sightly-Older Self. With a quick whoosh of my stocking-stuffered Tide-To-Go stick, my shirt looks laundry-fresh. And I like to think, if I believed in omens, that the salsa-on-white predicts Spontaneity and Creativity in the months to come. Possibly even Passion and Zeal!

There are a few more tips I would give to my Perfectionistic Younger Self, if I could scrounge up a time machine and give her a few bullet-points to focus on this year. I would tell her:

~Don’t wish the winter away in your longing for spring. Enjoy the sun sparkling on snowflakes, the warmth of the cozy comforter, the marshmallows in the cocoa. Each day has it’s gifts. Slow down, notice, and appreciate.

~Don’t stress about unimportant things, like the drawer that’s untidy or the shabbiness of the chair you are hoping to replace. Your kids don’t care and God won’t ask you about those things. You can have a more perfect home when they move out. Look them in the eyes and enjoy them now. They’ll be grown and out before you know it. One of them almost is.

~Family dinners are sacred. Guard them jealously and make them happen. They matter more than a flurry of scheduled activities. The shared stories, laughter and prayer time is crucial for your childrens' sense of belonging. You’ll see lasting fruit in their lives from those dinners. Trust me.

~If you don’t like a group, then quit. It’s not for you, and that’s okay. Most things are less important than they seem at the time. Life is too short to agonize about what people think. And on that note; only take advice from the prayerfully wise. You’ll recognize them as the ones with your best interests at heart.

~Guard your tongue. You don’t have to have the last word, quickest wit, most impressive story. Just shhhhhhh more often.

~Remember and pursue your childhood first loves, like art and theater, writing and friendships. You’ll stay a more interesting person.

~One day last summer, my yoga class took our mats outside. As we lay on the grass on our backs, I watched the puffy cloud formations in the sky. I realized I hadn’t done that since I was a child. Do more of that this year. A lot more, my Perfectionistic Younger Self.

I'm hoping my Wiser Slightly-Older Self heeds this counsel as well, and has a Creatively Passionate, Sparkly Snowflake, Untidy Drawer, Casserole-Eating, Wise, Quiet, Child-like, Puffy-Cloud 2011. Happy New Year, my friends!

My Epic Year Peeps

2010-12-30T13:44:00.009-06:00

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

2010-12-28T13:08:00.005-06:00

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

2010-12-27T12:45:00.005-06:00

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

2010-12-16T16:34:00.004-06:00

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

2010-12-12T19:42:00.003-06:00

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

2010-12-06T13:27:00.004-06:00

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

2010-11-28T17:11:00.004-06:00

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

2010-11-21T19:18:00.005-06:00

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

2010-11-10T16:43:00.003-06:00

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

2010-11-02T19:17:00.004-05:00

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

2010-10-29T16:33:00.004-05:00

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

2010-10-25T10:43:00.014-05:00

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

2010-10-23T16:47:00.005-05:00

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

2010-10-14T16:49:00.002-05:00

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

2010-10-13T18:13:00.004-05:00

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

2010-10-11T18:55:00.004-05:00

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

2010-10-09T19:58:00.004-05:00

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.

2010-09-24T16:57:00.002-05:00

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

2010-09-22T16:44:00.003-05:00

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

2010-09-13T20:22:00.009-05:00

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

2010-09-07T17:18:00.003-05:00

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?

2010-08-30T14:48:00.003-05:00

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?

2010-08-22T11:36:00.007-05:00

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

2010-08-17T20:11:00.003-05:00

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

2010-08-11T15:31:00.004-05:00

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

2010-08-03T16:04:00.005-05:00

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

2010-07-30T18:41:00.004-05:00

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

2010-07-26T16:00:00.003-05:00

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!

2010-07-22T15:27:00.004-05:00

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

2010-07-20T16:04:00.016-05:00

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

2010-07-19T15:29:00.004-05:00

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

2010-07-17T17:27:00.001-05:00

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.

What Lurks Beneath

2010-07-16T15:25:00.007-05:00

Another gorgeous day in Paradise! We spent our usual 5ish hours on the beach this morning with Little Squirt. There was a lovely breeze which kept the shore temp comfortable. When I arrived back to the villa to shower after our beach time, I found Rock Star still sleeping. It was 3pm! Good morning, Sunshine! Apparently his shark-fishing expedition last night wore him out and he needed 15 hours of sleep.

Speaking of that, here’s how I felt about him and Super Hubs going on a shark-fishing boat yesterday: Apprehensive. Uneasy. Above average with concern, even. My vast Shark Knowledge Base comes from watching the epic movie, Jaws. In it, a Great White terrorized the waters of Long Island, eating jolly vacationers, clueless residents, a fishing boat, and a helicopter, if I remember correctly. And the Great White’s baby continued the family tradition a few years later with another mass murdering spree along the coast in Jaws II. Based on reality? I’m certain it must be, because we all know that Hollywood never fictionalizes anything. So all I could think about, while my husband and first-born son were in the middle of the Atlantic, was a Great White munching the side of their boat. (Cue the Jaws theme song.)

But, as it happily turned out, they arrived back to the harbor safe and sound. My men spotted hammerheads, Atlantic sharpnoses and spinner sharks. Not a Great White was to be seen, which is a relief. But here’s what gave me pause this week: Just when I thought I was aware of all the dangers lurking in the ocean, I learned I was wrong. Alligators apparently don’t just stay put in the lagoons around here. Not to be outdone by the Vacationers, they occasionally enjoy a day at the beach themselves.

Lord have mercy! A 'gator sharing the waters at the exact time we were in the same waters just a few miles down the beach.....let's just say I'm enjoying quality time planted in my beach chair for the rest of this trip.

Zen-ing With Zeal

2010-07-14T15:17:00.002-05:00

We have friends from home that happen to be vacationing nearby this very week, so we met up yesterday at the beach, then strolled into Harbour Town after dinner. Little Squirt was thrilled to have playmates join his frolicing. We watched the sunset over the sound and ate ice cream cones from the Cinnamon Bear.

My hair is bleaching out, I’m burned in odd places and sporting a raccoon tan. I’ve finished four books and a pound of fudge. I’m forgetting to floss, staying up way past my bedtime, and permitting my boys to be messy. It’s all part of the vacation experience, so I refuse to feel guilty.

It’s Day #4 of our trip, and I’m feeling myself relax and unwind at last. No hurry, no worrry. Maybe the hot southern sunshine is melting my brain cells, but I’m stress-immune and I love it. This Tropical Mama is just sitting back, hanging loose and letting the little things go. Who cares if there’s a foot of sand in the trunk of our car? Who’s fretting that my youngest has drunk nothing but root beer since we hit Kentucky? Not Mellow Moi! Pour me another glass of pinot and and let’s have a Tranquility Toast, shall we?

Beginning To Feel The Peace

2010-07-12T14:54:00.004-05:00

I indulge in an Orgy of Eating while on vacation, which is an important part of my Soul Care Experience. For serious. I believe it’s good, when ever possible, to simply live in the moment.....tasting and enjoying the colors and textures of the food, and being grateful for those pleasures. No worrying about calories, or the price, within reason. Crab bisque, blackened mahi with pineapple salsa, and a crisp savignon blanc was my repast last night. I consumed it at Topside at the Quarterdeck, one of my favorite restaurants in the world. It sits above Harbour Town, and overlooks the sound. Super Hubs and I eat here every single visit to the island, while watching the boats.

We spent another day at the beach, where I finished two more books, took a long walk rescuing sand dollars, spied a horseshoe crab, and buried Little Squirt.

As I viewed the sign at the Lifeguard station this morning, I had an inspiration. What if I got my own big ol’ Lifeguard sign and stuck it in my kitchen, giving family and visitors fair warning on my daily disposition and mental outlook?
On Duty- Me. (Mom.) Duh!
Hours- 8-6:30, then I’m done and punched out for the day. Go bother Dad after that.
High- 8:45am will be my best mood, then it’s all downhill from there.
Low- 4:30p. Got the grumpies. Don’t even talk to me. Slowly back away from The Mommy!
Messages: Be open minded and kind to your siblings. Keep the counter tops clean.
$500 fine for eating food in the living room.

What do you think?

Craving Peace

2010-07-11T15:47:00.007-05:00

It’s Vacation Time- the very best part of my year! Four out of five of us are on the beautiful island of Hilton Head, South Carolina, my home-away-from-home. I have been coming here almost annually since I was nine years old. My grandparents lived on this island, so I grew up spending several weeks here every summer and the occasional Christmas or Spring Break. My grandparents are long gone, as is the quietness of the island. But some of my favorite things here have remained the same for the past 30 years; Harbour Town with its lighthouse and Gregg Russell Live, CQs with it’s fabulous dining, and the spotless beaches. I have been to beaches all over the world, and Sea Pines Beach remains my very favorite.

Butterfly is not here, marking a milestone as our first family vacation without her. She is a collegiate now, and opted to stay home and work, banking money for her next semester. My parents are keeping her company as is our Barky VonShnauzer and the cats, so she’s good. But I miss her. I am maternal to the core of my being, and I feel disquieted when one of my chickadees isn’t in the nest. It feels like I’m missing an appendage, much like the poor starfish I saw on the beach today. But Butterfly is growing up, so I need to let her.

We spent our first vacation day today being peaceful. I really mean it. I refuse to be a Highly Strung Type A Overachiever on this trip, and I told Super Hubs that this very morning. No hurry-scurrying to be the first family on the beach and the proud rulers of the best parking spot. No setting a rigid agenda to make certain every inch of our time is filled with responsible vacation activity.

I want to rest, care for my soul, and find myself again. I’m feeling a little beaten-up. The truest parts of who I am and what I am called to do have been buried behind people-pleasing this past year. I am drained from some dysfunctional relationships, which has made my Joy-Ometer hover at Very Low. Adding to all that is some grief and loss. Super Hubs and I have lost a father, an aunt and an uncle in the past 6 months. It all adds up to Weary Us.

So here’s my daily Vacay Agenda: Love my family and care for my soul. That will mean whatever I feel like it means for the next two weeks. We will enjoy some bike rides, walks on the beach, and a 500 piece puzzle. I will rest, read, pray, and eat fabulous food.

This afternoon I finished a yummy novel from my beach chair. Then Little Squirt and I took a long walk, rescuing beached starfish and sand dollars. It was good. Tonight Super Hubs will take me on a Date Night, and I’m hoping it’ll include fresh seafood. And good wine. Could I be that lucky?

Happy Fouth, Friends!

2010-07-05T18:13:00.003-05:00

Happy Fourth of July to my friends!
Here are my family’s weekend’s highlights:
-Eating an al fresco Chinese food dinner with some long-term friends.
-The Lakeside Festival with it’s extravagantly high ticket prices for some chintzy carnival rides on scarily outdated equipment. But there was cotton candy, so the whole thing was worth it.
-Watching Little Squirt sing “Free” with the Children’s Choir on the church’s main stage. The little ones were all precious and adorable and so serious. I always cry watching my baby serve his church in this way.
- Eating grilled steak and sweet corn on a patriotically-decked table at my parents' house. Then watching a beautiful fireworks display from the sidewalk near their home.
-Seeing familiar faces at my community’s endlessly long parade. It was hot, folks. I like hot and am not complaining. But after 2 1/2 hours of sitting there, I was wiped out.
-Our traditional “perfect” dinner for those summer evenings when I should BBQ but don’t have the energy: KFC drumsticks, mashed potatoes and biscuits.
-Stealing some moments here and there to almost-finish "Confessions of a Prairie Bitch."
All in all a wonderful holiday weekend.

MIA On A Friday Night

2010-06-28T10:30:00.008-05:00

Panic ensued in the middle seat of our minivan on Friday night. I turned and faced Little Squirt. He was furiously digging through his Spiderman wallet, and then turning it upside down and giving it a shake. “I can’t find the Toys R Us card!” he wailed. My heart sank.

Earlier in the day, a late birthday card had arrived from Aunt Liz and Uncle Nick, enclosed with a $30 gift card to his favorite store. Little Squirt was thrilled to the gills and wanted me to take to him to Toys R Us that very minute to shop. I had pressing things to do that didn’t include browsing a toy store. So I gave him a couple of options: We could skip his Vacation Bible School picnic that evening, in lieu of a pizza dinner and shopping with his gift card. Or we could shop sometime over the weekend.

It took Little Squirt two seconds to decide that he preferred a pizza dinner and Toys R Us shopping spree that evening. He waved his gift card high in the air. “I’m gonna buy a snorkel and flippers for the beach!” he said excitedly. Knowing his propensity to lose everything in his possession, I offered to hold his gift card for safekeeping. But he declined, begging me to be allowed to keep the gift card in his Spiderman wallet like a big boy. At least, though, I talked him into letting me keep the wallet in my purse so nothing would get lost. He wriggled with excited anticipation through the rest of the day.

A few hours later, he, Super Hubs and I shared a thin-crust sausage at our favorite pizza joint, and then Little Squirt dug around in my purse and pulled out his wallet. He removed some of his birthday cash and played with it for a bit. Then, wallet in hand, he followed us to the car, and we headed to Toys R Us.

That is when the gift card became MIA. I, too, turned the Spiderman wallet inside out, searching its every little pocket. Then I searched through my purse, hoping it had just fallen out of wallet in there, and landed on a soft Vera Bradley cushion. We looked all over the car. We called the restaurant to see if the gift card had been found on their floor. But it was undoubtedly gone.

Little Squirt’s eyes welled up with tears, and his voice shook with disappointment. “It’s lost! I can’t believe I lost my special gift card!” My felt awful for him. I am chronically only as good as my saddest kid, and my little guy was so very sad. “Now I can’t buy a new snorkel!” he cried.

Super Hubs had been quiet throughout the drama, and I was wondering what he was thinking. Was he annoyed that we had scheduled our precious Friday evening plans around spending a now defunct gift card? Would he lecture his little boy on the virtues of responsibility?

My husband made me proud. He chose to lavish his child with love and grace. “Little Squirt,” my husband said. “Forget about the gift card. I’m going to give you $30. And we are going to Toys R Us. You can spend the money however you want.”

My little boy sat up straighter in the car with a huge grin. “Thanks, Dad!” he said with joy. We arrived back home one hour, one snorkel, and two flippers later.

Sometimes daddies just love to give. My God is like that, too. Sometimes He showers me with good things, even when I'm not deserving of them.

Revealing

2010-06-23T17:06:00.004-05:00

I picked up my new eyeglasses yesterday, and I feel like a new version of myself entirely when I wear them. I morph from Silly Ol’ Me to Sophisticated TV Reporter with a snap of a eyeglass case. They just may be Magic Specs!

I attended my monthly Book Club meeting last night, where we dined on Chinese food and discussed a Pearl S. Buck novel. I wasn’t my intelligent best as I consumed beef satay and egg drop soup. I confused Japanese facts with Chinese, and substituted character’s names with my favorite desserts. I had nothing clever to contribute until I put on my glasses, and my IQ seemed to sneak up 20 points. It really was remarkable! Just ask my Book Club friends.

And aside from the clarity of mind that my new specs seem to bring, I can see distance objects with more precision and focus. I hadn’t realized I was seeing blurry until my Magic Specs showed me the improvement. What I thought proudly was a UFO Landing Pad on our front lawn is apparently just a Big Lawn Bald Spot from frequent kid football games. Dang! I was looking forward to a book deal.

Here’s a little irony: I am doing a Beth Moore Bible study with some awesome ladies. And we are studying Revelations. This week we pondered, “What is God revealing to me in my life?” This study lines up with a God Hunt I’ve been on for a while. I look around, wonder, and journal: Where is God working in my life? What is making me feel the most alive? Through which relationships and experiences am I sensing His love?

The more that I ponder and wonder and invite God in to my questionings, the better my life vision is becoming, and I am knowing what to move toward. Relationships are right-sized, and blurry situations are fine-tuned into perfect focus. My discernment is increasing abundantly.

I am in a season of letting go. Letting go of some things in my life that aren’t serving me well anymore. And, on the flip side, embracing the activities and relationships that have my best interests at heart, feel life-giving, and bring me joy. It’s finding God in my God Hunt. Or seeing life with my Magic Specs.

"Vision: The art of seeing the invisible." (Jonathan Swift)
I believe it just takes lots of practice.

Finally Seeing Straight

2010-06-18T17:04:00.006-05:00

My poor mother is has been blind as a bat since grade school, wearing thick corrective lenses. So I blessedly won the genetic lottery by inheriting my father’s eyes. Same blue-gray color, same superhero Spidey vision. I’m in my 40s and have never needed glasses. But I had noticed, for the past few years, some vision changes and my compensations related to them: Squinting to read in dim light. Avoiding paperbacks with small print. Straining to see long-distance. Noticing less wrinkles than I actually have. (Or is that called denial?)

But, being a Master Procrastinator, I avoided getting my eyes checked. I pridefully wanted to see how old I could possibly get before I needed correction. Could I make it to 85? 90? If there was a Guinness Book World Record, I wanted to beat it!

But yesterday, after insisting that we have good vision coverage and should use it, Super Hubs dragged me in to see our family opthamologist. I’ve taken my kids to see him many times, but I’ve never personally been the victim of the scary gizmos and eye drops, so I was a tad apprehensive. But our kind doctor put me at ease as he gently had me look through a series of lenses, read letters on a wall, and then scanned my eyeballs to make certain I was really human and not a lizard. (I think. I watch “V.”) Then he sat back, declared my eyes healthy, but said that yes, I could use some correction and wear glasses as needed for distance and reading. Then he showed me shelf upon shelf of frames to choose from. Awesome. Shopping!

I tried on The Cool, The Scholarly, and The Marmish. The Weird, The Weirder and The So Not Me. Butterfly ultimately helped me land on a pair of fun, square magenta frames that I think are so very Moi. They are adorable, and I just may wear them more than I actually need to.

Now I’ll have glasses like most everybody I know. I am somewhat reluctantly joining the very large club of Citizens With Not Perfect Eyesight. But it makes me feel like a grownup.

Little Boy Love

2010-06-15T16:37:00.002-05:00

Little Squirt turned 8 over the weekend, which created a large amount of carousing and glee. He’s been counting the days since May, honest to goodness, and could hardly contain his excitement that the Birthday Weekend Spectacular had finally arrived. His peer party was held at Chuck E. Cheese’s, just as it was last year. When given a list of party venue options, he said with conviction, “Chuck E. Cheese again, Mom. Duh!” If it was worked last year, surely it’ll work this year, right? Logic. So Chuck E. Cheese’s it was, which Super Hubs, as a former Catholic, swears is one of the nastier levels of Purgatory. But Little Squirt had fun, and we survived.

On Sunday, the actual really real birthday, my 8yo sang with our church’s Children’s Vocal Team for all three services, and then toasted the finale by sharing cupcakes with his vocal teammates. Then it was on to a family birthday celebration with the grandparents, who brought the piece de resistance of the gifts; a brand new big boy bike. Eyes shining, he road the two-wheeler down the sidewalk past three houses, got a little nervous in the rain, then turned around and walked it back. “It’s great!” he said. “But I’m going to rest now.” New Bike Jitters.

My baby turned 8. (Big sniff.) How did that happen so fast? This child was supposed to take his time with the growing, and allow me to savor each little milestone. He, my sweet daily-joy-bringer, calls me his “Best Friend” and says he will live with me forever. I know better, but I’m soaking up the love while I can.

Karate Kelly

2010-06-09T17:35:00.005-05:00

I went out to meet some peeps at one of my favorite pizzerias last night for a Breast Cancer Fundraiser. We talked and laughed, and it was so good to get out and get me some Girlfriend Time. After we finished eating, my friends wanted to go sit at the bar and listen to their friend’s band which was beginning to set up. I was feeling really tired and decided to head home.

I hadn’t been able to find parking close to the restaurant, and so my car was several blocks around the corner and down the road in our little city’s downtown area. It was 9ish, and getting dark. The street was mostly deserted, except for a few unsavory-looking characters that hung back in the shadows. An overactive imagination is one of the many curses of my right-brained inclination, and as my ballet flats click-clacked down the sidewalk, my mind concocted all sorts of horrifying scenarios that had to do with my vulnerability and certain death. It didn’t help that I feed myself a steady diet of CSI Miami and Criminal Minds.

I began to hear footsteps that synchronized with mine. I slowed, The Monster slowed. I sped up, and so did he. I did a 360 spina-round, but couldn’t see anyone following me. Still, I didn’t think a perpetrator would deliberately make himself visible. Assuming that a swift kick to the shins would be pretty laughable to him with my ballet flats, I fished around in my purse to feel for a “weapon.” What would be appropriate and deadly? Should I squirt him in the eye with my teeny bottle of my Coco Chanel? Repulse him with a swat by a used kleenex? Throw breath mints, aiming hard for his groin? Ugh. I was completely defenseless!!

Finally seeing my car, I hurried in and took a deep breath. Whew. Crisis averted.

Today I saw Kung Fu Panda with Little Squirt at the local movie theater that shows freebie summer movies. And it got me thinking about Kung Fu Kelly, who’d be able to fight off perps with a swift chop to the kyusho point. Or at least know some basic self-defense moves. So I’m going to investigate taking a class or something.

Criminals- BEWARE!

Sing it with me!
“Everybody is Kung Fu Fighting...ooh ah
Your mind becomes fast as lightning...ooh ah
Although the future is a little bit fright'ning....ooh ah
It's the book of your life that you're writing. “

Oh, These Splendid Months

2010-06-04T16:51:00.002-05:00

Summer break! My favorite time of the year! (Cue brain to evoke images of homemade popsicles, beach chairs and family drive-in movies.)

In reality, sometimes our summer breaks past have looked more like this: Air conditoning breakage, sibling squabbles and a kitchen ant infestation.

But so far we are off to a good start. Butterfly’s been home from college for a month, and I have thoroughly enjoyed our girl time. Rock Star took his last final on Tuesday, finishing his sophomore year well, I say with pride. And Little Squirt is now a graduate of first grade, a thought that made him weepy until I reminded him that he will have his same wonderful teacher for second grade. Then we went to Sonic for lunch where he at his favorite mozarrela sticks and rootbeer, to celebrate a year done well.

Ahhh summer. Soaking Up My Kids Time. A more peaceful, Zen-like existence. I love it. Freebie movies, library reading programs, travels in the minivan to the beach, mosquito bites, sticky watermelon fingers; bring it on. I am sooo ready.

Dreaming. Patio Furniture Style

2010-06-01T17:39:00.001-05:00

We spent the majority of Memorial Day roaming stores all over town in search of new patio furniture. And, thankfully, we had success! I, for one, was thrilled. As Super Hubs and I de-bubblewrapped the chairs, my industrious teens put the table together in about 30 minutes, which I then crowned with my big bowl of growing herbs. Team work.

Our New Patio Furniture Visions:
Me: Cozy family meals al fresco, and stolen date nights of wine under the stars.
The Teens: None. They have no New Patio Furniture Visions.
Super Hubs: A ginormous credit card bill and ghastly mosquito assaults.
Little Squirt: A ginormous cardboard box house, complete with sleeping bag carpet.

We’ll see.

Career Counseling

2010-05-28T14:39:00.004-05:00

Little Squirt asked me this morning what profession he should pursue when he grows up. He still has one week left of the first grade, so I admire his ambition to vision-cast his future at the tender age of 7.

I encouraged him to think of his dreams and passions, and consider following them.

“What are passions?” he asked.

“Passions are things that you really love. What do you really, really love?” I asked him.

“Well,” he said, after thinking deeply, “I love toys and I love candy.”

You gotta love a man who is real about the pinings of his heart. May God bless my little boy's endeavors to pursue a field of candyland dreams! Or toyland ambitions! And knowing of Little Squirt’s Midas touch, it’ll be an incredible ride.

Hello Again

2010-05-24T15:58:00.005-05:00

And I’m back, with a little pop quiz.
And here it is:
I took a little break in blogosphere because I
A) wanted to experience life without writing about it.
B) spent time outdoors in the lilac-scented breezes rather than indoors on my laptop.
C) was in an uncharacteristically private mood.
D) All of the above.
If you guessed D, you are correct and I give you an A+. Be proud. If you guessed any other letter, you are partly correct, so I’ll give you an A for effort because I am nice like that. But be less proud.

But let’s play Catch-Up on a few of my May highlights:
I celebrated Super Hubs’ birthday by serving his favorite Italian beef sandwiches to a few old and dear friends who gave him verbal cards, speaking love and affirmation into his heart.

I went to a 3 day retreat that was so spiritual and meaningful that I struggle to even put words to it. Let’s just say that it’s given me a paradigm shift in how I will do ministry from here on out.

I’ve lavished spending time with Butterfly while the boys are in school; talking, doing yoga, talking about doing yoga, and sharing favorite books. It’s been so good.

I’ve nursed a sick Little Squirt for several days, who demanded little but sprite and marathon Nickelodeon. He seemed to improve over the weekend, and I sent him to school today to enjoy the annual Olympic Day races. Imagine my surprise when his pediatrician’s office called this morning with a positive strep report, forcing me to hunt him down among a sea of blue t-shirts at his school’s Olympic fields. I thought he’d be heart-broken that I dragged him home before lunch, but he was okay with missing Olympic Day when I promised popsicles and more Nickelodeon.

So that’s my May in a nutshell. Throw in some bi-polar weather and the ending of my favorite LOST, and you’ve pretty much got the complete picture. Except for the parts that I’m being private about. (See letter C of pop quiz.)

Singing The New Phone Blues

2010-05-11T17:25:00.006-05:00

(Cue guitar cords.) I’ve got the New Phone Blues.......do do do do.

I loathe learning new technology, as I posted here. I know it’s inevitable and good for me to keep current, but I don’t have to like it. Right?

A truck dropped off a box this morning containing some scary new gizmos. My daughter handed me a pink one, and said it was my new cell. If I hadn’t known for a fact that she’d picked it out for me, I wouldn’t believe it. This doo-dad looks like it could launch a spaceship if I push the wrong button. I’m not kidding. I’m kinda scared.

When Super Hubs discussed buying new phone last week, I chose not to be part of the Family Cell Phone Discussion. I said that Family Cell Phone Discussions were not interesting to me. And, besides, I was trying to catch up on some episodes of LOST. So I opted out of the Family Cell Phone Discussion and trusted my Teens to pick out a good one for me, and now look at the hot water I’m in! I’ve got a scary-looking phone with a bunch of teeny buttons I cannot read and options I don’t understand. And now I’m going to have to break out the tutorial and actually read it if I want to be texting my friends anytime soon. And LOST is on tonight. Dang.

Kung Fu Kelly To The Rescue

2010-05-09T17:14:00.005-05:00

Mothers of America- It’s our day! Let’s own our Motherhood with pride, put our feet up on the couch and expect to be waited on hand-and-foot. We’ve earned it, for Heaven’s sake! This is especially true for the Single Mothers. They are the true heroines, and I hold them in high regard.

Motherhood is my most worthy calling, and I’ve loved almost every minute of the past 19 years. I didn’t enjoy middle-of-the-night feedings, or public tantrums or teenage drama. But the mothering moments that stretched me to my physical and emotional limits are overshadowed by the millions of snapshots that gave me unadulterated joy. There are so many of those, thank you, God.

I often wonder how my children will remember me when I’m gone. What will they say about me to their children? And on my worst days, I wish I could enter their minds with a big fat eraser.

But I got a glimpse of Little Squirt’s heart at his school’s Academic Night last week. There was a Super Parents Wall in his classroom, in which the children renamed their parents, and gave them Super Powers. There, in the center of the wall, was a hand-drawn picture by Little Squirt, of a blond lady wearing pink, standing in a pose that would make the most agile stork jealous. She stood on one leg, the other stretched out in the air in a perfect L. Her name was Kung Fu Kelly, and her Super Power was “Doing Yoga.” (Has my child seen my embarrassing rendition of Warrior II??)

But I will be Kung Fu Kelly for my children any day, fighting off the world’s evil with my Super Power Yoga! If that’s what it takes to keep my babies safe, you bet that I will.

Ms. Bossy Pants

2010-05-05T12:29:00.002-05:00

Little Squirt has a nemesis in his classroom named Anna*. (*Name changed to protect the innocent nemesis.) Anna has been the bane of his existence for the past few weeks. Little Squirt is in a multi-age classroom, and she is the 2nd grader his 1st grade self has been partnered with. He can’t stand her. Every day after school, I get an earful on the car ride home about Anna, whom he calls, “Ms. Bossy Pants.” He says she’s always telling him what to do in a domineering tone of voice. He says she completely ruins his day every day.(I’m thinking he and Anna will someday marry.)

Yesterday, Little Squirt told me yet another story in the continuing saga of Ms. Bossy Pants. She had apparently criticized his hand-writing, told him not to speak so loudly, and ordered him to get in the lunch-line quicker.

“Little Squirt,” I said. “The next time Anna tries to tell you what to do, just say, ‘Talk to the hand, ‘cause the ears ain’t listening.’”

My 7yo son stared at me with an embarrassed look on his face.
“Mom,” he said “You are way too old to be saying things like that.”

And She's Home!

2010-05-03T17:15:00.003-05:00

Just as I began to adjust to a testosterone-heavy house, my daughter came home again. She finished her first year of college already. It’s crazy how quickly that happened! One day late last summer, we dropped her off, and then I cried for the month of September, and now she’s home. And in between those months, I parented two boys, applied for a job I didn’t really want and then turned down, buried my father-in-law, went to FL, took in a cat and returned the cat, ran many miles on my treadmill, and ate a lot of tapioca lunch pudding. I did other stuff, too, but those were the highlights.

My husband, my youngest and I made the marathon drive to OH and back to reclaim Butterfly last week. Super Hubs was a Man On A Mission, and the mission did not include rest stops. But I needed sweet tea, and fortification, and then subsequent stops because of the sweet tea. And Little Squirt cannot sit in a car for 6 straight hours without a break lest he’d climb the ceiling. So the Driving Nazi allowed me 7 minutes per rest stop breaks, and Little Squirt and I had to scramble in and get our business done promptly. Whew. The pressure!

We made it to OH, and Butterfly blessedly had all her gear packed up. We loaded the van with some help from The Boyfriend and The Friends, and we were back on the road in 45 minutes. Fourteen hours from when we left our home in the morning, we pulled into our driveway. We were home with our daughter!

I am thrilled to have her back with her myriad of hair supplies, and friends who call day and night. She adds a lot of energy to the household. And she is adjusting to living within the family structure again, as we figure out curfews and boundaries. She may be leaving again soon for a job in OH, so I’m holding her being here loosely. But in the meantime, it’s wonderful having all three of my babies sleep under the same roof.

She Left Happy Fairy Dust

2010-04-28T17:38:00.008-05:00

My sweet mother-in-law was in town from CT for a four-day visit. Even with the death of her husband just four months ago, she still remains the most positive person that I know. The glass is always half-full in her world. Well, I want to drink her half-full glass of Koolaid and live in her Happy Place because she always sees the lovely side of everything! And spending time with her is like downing a Red Bull drink of Happiness; my spirits perk right up. How I needed that visit from her! As I am coming off of some draining relational craziness in my life, I am realizing one important thing about me: Having gracious and contented people in my life is important to my mental well-being. They color my world Happy and point me to the beautiful work of God in my life. They remind me of all that is good. I can catch the Bitter Bug very easily when I am around angry, negative people. I wish I was immune, but I am not. I know, I know; it’s not a stunning psychological break-through or dissertation-material, but it’s real in my life at present. So I am grateful for the simple moments spent with my sunny mother-in-law; browsing shops and watching movies and cooking meals and discussing good books; my life looks rosier after her visit. It was sooo good for my soul. Thanks, Mom, for the gift! Please live forever, okay?

As an aside, I had my parents over for dinner on Saturday night so they could visit with my mother-in-law. I had told Little Squirt ahead of time that all three of his grandparents would be eating dinner together around the dining room table with him. He adores his grandparents with a love so big that it cannot be contained in just his heart, and it oozes out and shows itself in his sparkly eyes and bouncy muscles. He jumped up and down with glee and said, “Which of my grandpas is coming? The Dead One or The Live One??”

21 Random Reasons....

2010-04-22T16:50:00.004-05:00

....why I think my husband is the greatest:

1) He reminds me of my beloved, sweet, kind grandfather. Not in a creepy way, but in a feels-so-comfortable kind of way.
2) He does the math homework with the kids.
3) He is a voracious reader of all genres which makes him one of the most interesting people I know.
4) He believes the best about me and defends me when I need an advocate.
5) He does the vacuuming so I don’t have to.
6) He’ll go see chick flicks with me and pretend to enjoy them. Maybe he actually does?
7) When I wanted to adopt a baby, he said, “Let’s go search the world and find ours.” We did that three times.
8) He got up to feed our babies in the middle of the night when I needed my sleep.
9) He has raised the bar high in the way he loves our daughter. If she chooses to marry a man like her father, she knows she’ll be blessed.
10) He drops what he’s doing to play ball with our sons.
11) He offers to give me a back rub almost every night.
12) He’s a safe listener for me to process my stuff.
13) He encourages my woman-friendships and girls nights out.
14) He truly wants me to pursue my dreams.
15) He is godly. The real deal. This I know to be true.
16) He makes me laugh every day.
17) He has served his church faithfully for 14 years without expecting any thanks.
18) He cares about the well-being of his widowed mother.
19) He brought me my favorite creme brulee for my birthday dessert.
20) He works selflessly for our family.
21) He does all the car and lawn maintenance. You gotta love that about a man.

He is a treasure of a man, and the greatest proof of God’s love for me.

Happy 21st Anniversary, Babe!

You Don't Live Here Anymore

2010-04-21T12:54:00.009-05:00

I am grateful to the State of IL for their stimulus incentive- appliance rebate! It was just the motivation we needed to trade in our dinosaur of a fridge for a sleek new model.

I’ve been wanting a new refrigerator for years. I inherited Old Fridge when I moved into our home a decade ago, and we had a mutual loathing for one another. It’s been, as therapists call it, a dysfunctional relationship. From the chronically jammed ice maker, to the exterior scratches hidden by Little Squirt art, to the cramped interior with it’s perpetual coat of grime, the fridge was a boil on my kitchen’s backside. And I know it didn’t like me, because every time I opened the door, it’d hurl a frozen food object at my head. But Old Fridge kept food cold and was functional, and we cannot just purchase New And Improved at a whim, so we tolerated one another; Old Fridge and I.

But with the new of the stimulus incentive, I grabbed a girlfriend last Friday, and dragged her to Lowe's. We did a tour down Refrigerator Lane, opening and examining and pondering. In the end, we chose a Whirlpool thingie with French doors, bottom freezer and sterling silver finish. Best of all, I can still attach with magnets all the art that Little Squirt vigorously creates. Once purchased, I spent the weekend before the delivery frettting that New Fridge would be too tall, since I’d forgotten to heed any measurements. My bad.

New Fridge was delivered on Monday, and all went well. Old Fridge was so scummy and begrimed, I winced when the delivery men opened it up. I fully expected them to balk, “Ma’am, we ain’t putting this piece of garbage on our truck,” and drop it on our front lawn. But they were the non-judgmental sort, and replaced Old Fridge with New Fridge without batting an eyelash. I admit to feeling a pang of guilt as I saw Old Fridge being hauled away, destined to go to the Refrigerator Cemetery. But the guilt left in a flash, and I welcomed New Fridge to the family.

New Fridge is beautiful. I think all my other appliances envy the attention I’ve been giving her. She is spotlessly clean and completely organized. She’s a bit shy, but she let me snap a picture of her interior. (No, she is not a sideways fridge; the pic just refused to flip. Yes, that’s an emergency bottle of savignon blanc in her door. I have stress in my life, so don’t judge me. And notice all the fresh fruit and juices? See?? I’m a good mommy!)

I believe New Fridge and I are going to have years of a healthy, functional relationship.

Birthday Week

2010-04-19T09:55:00.003-05:00

Birthday Week is over, and it’s now back to business. I seriously need to get some work done. But what a week it was!

My heart’s desire was to spend my birthday in God’s gift of creation. After a breakfast treat of stuffed French Toast with blueberries, Super Hubs and I headed to an arboretum. It was a gorgeous, sunny day in which the spring flowers were peaking. We strolled through the maze garden, watched bluebirds frolic, and took a tram ride through the grounds. We soaked in the daffodil glade, spotted a Golden hawk, and deeply appreciated the brilliant magnolias in full bloom. Spending my birthday with flowers and birds was the exact gift my soul craved!

Later that evening, I was Birthday-Kidnapped by some Anonymous Abductors. They were a group of my friends whom I barely recognized, as they were wearing plastic glasses with noses and moustaches. They took me to a charming little French bistro that specializes in crepes of all kinds. I dined on crepes filled with ratatouille and chicken with goat cheese. We had a bottle of wine, and shared desserts of a fruit crepe which I enjoyed, and a chocolate, banana and caramel crepe that I absolutely adored and have since dreamed about. I will eat those every night for dinner in Heaven!

I have the most wonderful friends! In addition to the Anonymous Abductors, I’ve had my buddies stop by all week with a flowering plant, ingredients to make yummy root beer floats, and offers of meals out. We ended the week having fish tacos and margaritas at an authentic Mexican restaurant with a favorite couple whom we’ve known forever. They are like family. I’ve been abundantly blessed with good friends, and I love them all.

Rock Star shared my Birthday Week, and he turned sweet sixteen. Super Hubs picked him up from school, and they went straight to the DMV where my son successfully passed his Driving test and received his license. We celebrate at his favorite pizza joint, and then he grabbed a friend and headed to the car with the keys for his Maiden Voyage. He had a Best Buy gift card threatening to burn a hole in his pocket, and he needed to do something about that. And have an excuse to drive.

Now 2/3 of my children can drive. God help us and save us all.

Wearing The Sash Of Mommy-Guilt

2010-04-15T18:49:00.009-05:00

If it wasn’t bad enough that I turned another year older this week, to add insult to injury I’ve been labeled Worst Mommy in Little Squirt’s classroom, I’m certain. I will wear the crown and sash with humility, because I surely deserve it.

I missed the Young Authors Party at his school today. I remember getting information about it, writing the date my calendar, and thinking at the end of last week, “Oh yes, next Thursday is my son’s Young Author’s Party. I will surely attend with pride, because I love my son and am a Concerned Parent Who Is Supportive Of My Child’s Education.” And that’s the last I remember of it. The whole thing completely slipped out of my mind and vanished, much like my tabby does to the backyard when we leave the sliding glass door open. Simply gone...

...until Little Squirt came home from school and dumped a bag of books out of his backpack. I gasped, my heart dropping to my stomach. “Your Authors Party! I missed it!!” I said horrified. “Yeah, you did. But that’s okay, because while the other children read their books to their parents, I read my books to the principal instead.”

Oh, dear God. Now, in addition to his teacher, I’m fearing that the principal of the school is passing judgment on me! I’m being labeled a Neglectful, Inattentive and Unconcerned Parent who let her little boy sit alone at the party like an orphan child. In reality, they are probably very nice women who are not judging me at all. But I’m judging me. How could I have forgotten a special day in his life like that??

I told Little Squirt that we would have a Young Author’s Party of our own. I made him a root beer float, and he read all his authored books to me. He, my sweet little grace-giver, completely forgave me. My child is amazing that way. Now I just have to forgive myself and move on. If this happened to a friend of mine, I would remind her of all the ways she is a wonderful mother, and tell her to let it go.

So maybe, Young, Energetic Teachers of America, a reminder of special events a few days before they occur would be helpful. Some of us are oldish Mommies in Mid-Life who are dropping estrogen at the same rate the windchill drops in January off Lake Michigan. We get forgetful. We need reminders. And sweet, grace-giving children who allay our guilt as they sip root beer floats.

Good-Bye To 29 Plus

2010-04-12T17:54:00.004-05:00

On this eve of the last night of a certain year of my life, I am contemplative. I am looking back on the past year and remembering the good moments, the sad moments, the proud moments, and the awkward ones. I laughed, I grieved, and I cringed. I was stretched in ways that I never hoped to be, but I grew. Life, in all it’s forms, is such a gift! Although I wince at the thought of adding another number to my age, it’s definitely better than the alternative. So thanks, God, for another year!

Capturing some key moments that took my breath away:

A cat in the drywall
A cactus “hug” every morning in Arizona
Ruth Barton books
Small plates and wine with girlfriends at Houlihan’s
Fondue and a diamond ring
Diamond Head
A luau at The Royal Hawaiian
A kiss by a tropical waterfall
The Fourth of July Jeopardy drama
Butterfly’s Graduation party
Zebra-print dorm decor
“Julie and Julia” with a medley of sympaticos
A gift of homemade cinnamon bread
“Winnie-the-Pooh” readings with my youngest
Cooper’s Hawk Restaurant
Spa Bleu
A one-hour massage with a friend
Piping hot coffee with whipped cream made by my mentor
My husband blessing his father
My husband euologizing his father
Holding my niece for the first time
Friday night dates
Yoga class
Tearful phone calls with my prayer warriors
Wine-tasting through FL
Indonesian Peanutbutter Dip
Watching a downpour on Daytona Beach
A play at The Goodman Theater
“Shutter Island” with my teens
A Book Club beginning
Retreats
Monthly Prayer Huddles with the Intercessors
Alexandra Stoddard books
A Seder
Gathering my extended family around my dining room table
A pink hydrangea

And in this next year, I want to learn to dance in the rain........

Oh Please, Let It Be True!

2010-04-07T17:31:00.005-05:00

I went to a Seder last week, held by a Messianic Jewish congregation made up of Jews and Gentiles who believe that Jesus is the Messiah foretold by the Hebrew prophets. Rabbi Dan led the Seder, and it was one of the most spiritual moments of my year so far.

Besides the beautiful story of Passover; the holiday commemorating God’s deliverance of the Jews from slavery in Egypt, the congregation then recognizes Jesus as the Lamb of God whose crucifixion allows us to enter into new life with God. The Passover story, the traditional food, and the warm, welcoming fellowship reminded me of this: At the core, I wish I was Jewish. Messianic Jewish, to be clear. And here’s why:

-The Jews get to be God’s chosen people; the blood line through which Jesus was born. How cool is that?
-They can claim ancestors such as Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Let me just say that none of my ancestors were mentioned in the Bible.
-They deeply know their roots, and I admire that.
-They inhabit the story of the Israelites from season to season, becoming intimately familiar with God’s plan of redemption. They remember it; they live it; they teach it to their children.
-The community that I witnessed at the Seder was close-knit and family-like, and I believe Christians churches could learn from them.

And here’s a little-known fact about me: I think I have some Jewish blood going back to my Czech European roots. My aunt, who was in the midst of a genealogical study before she died, told me this. I can only hope.

Eastertide

2010-04-05T17:01:00.004-05:00

The Resurrection of.....my Savior.....the earth.....some relationships.
I am grateful.
Peace, Friends.

Sans Offspring

2010-03-31T17:30:00.004-05:00

We had a rare kid-less day. Rock Star is still in Boston getting water-logged. The East Coast has gotten hit with some horrific storms, but I don’t think it’s dampened my son’s vacation in any way. (Pun intended. Aren't I clever?) Little Squirt is still spending time with his Fairy Godmother and her family; cavorting at the Museum of Science and Industry, where I’ve heard he has driven a similated plane around the world. Now he’ll never want to come home.

Super Hubs and I drove our kid-less selves up to Lake Geneva where we browsed charming little shops and spent $10 on a jar of salsa. We ate lobster bisque for lunch, and then sat on a bench and watched the windsurfers. It was 79 degrees and sunny, and we pretended we were on vacation.

I love being a mother; it’s truly my favorite thing to be. But every now and then, it’s fun to just be two. (Don’t tell my kids. I wouldn't want them to feel badly.)

Solo Child Tour Agenda

2010-03-30T19:41:00.005-05:00

Aahhh.....Spring Break. Rock Star is having the time of his life in Boston. I keep getting texts from him, saying things like, “Not coming home ever,” and “Hot girls here. Can I stay longer?” Even though the East Coast has been deluged with a rainstorm to beat all, he is more than content to having his own Parent-less, Brother-less vacay.

Little Squirt has also been relishing being a Lonely Only, and we’ve attempted to plan a daily event. On the first day of his Solo Child Tour, we ate dinner at his favorite pizza restaurant. He told his father, when Super Hubs walked in the door from work, “Dad- good news! I don’t have to set the table because we’re going out for pizza! I get to pick (the kind) and you get to pay!”

We visited Medieval Times where Little Squirt soaked up every bit of the Middle Ages happenings. He wasn’t so fond of eating tomato bisque without a spoon, but he watched the Jousting Performance with wide-eyed wonder and a bit of apprehension. “Did that knight really die??” he exclaimed, brandishing his new light-up blingy sword.

Brunch with the Easter bunny and cousins was how Little Squirt spent Palm Sunday, and Build-A-Bear and Rain Forest Cafe with friends was Monday's agenda. Even with a menagerie of animals to choices, he picked a Camouflage bear to add to his growing collection. He dressed him in a carefully chosen Batman costume, and named him “Luigi.”

Tonight he is having a sleepover at one of my BFF’s home. He calls Lauree his “Fairy Godmother,” and she has a trip for them to a Chicago museum planned for tomorrow. So it’s been a fun and full week for my youngest, and I worry how he is going to adjust back to normal life next week with its ordinariness. Maybe it’ll help if he sticks Luigi in his backpack to accompany him to school.

Spring Break

2010-03-26T17:30:00.001-05:00

Now begins Easter Break. Child #1 is away at college, Child #2 is heading to Boston, and Child #3 is thrilled that he will get to be a Lonely Only for the week. We have a smorgasbord of activities planned for him to guarantee a non-lonely, non-boring week.

Rock Star is presently at the airport, sitting at the gate, waiting for his flight. He will be staying with our very cool aunt and uncle who live in Boston. Rock Star has been itching to visit that fair city for a while now, because his favorite band, Dropkick Murphys live there. I don’t know if he has his brain wrapped around the size of Boston, and expects to run into them at a local diner or something. Who knows? But when our uncle offered to host Rock Star for Spring Break, he jumped at the chance.

I am thrilled to be raising a daughter along with sons, and variety is only one of the many reasons. But one way in which they seem to be from vastly different planets is because of how they pack. Butterfly came home for Spring Break with 7 pairs of shoes and enough fashion scarves to make pretty a savannah-full of giraffes. Rock Star, on the other hand, threw two pairs of jeans, a coupla’ t-shirts and his undies into my suitcase. On second thought, he added a cosmetic bag containing his toothbrush and deodorant. And that was that. He’d completed the task in 4 minutes, and there was enough room left in the suitcase to smuggle Little Squirt to Boston, if we were inclined. (We decided no.)

So now as my middle child sits by his lonesome at the airport gate (with his ipod attached to his ear, no doubt), I worry. It’s his first solo trip. Will he indeed hear the boarding announcement, with his ipod attachment? What if he misses his flight? Will he know enough not to accept a ticking package from a random passenger? What if he leaves his carry-on at the gate? Will he then be bored on the plane, and throw pretzels at the flight attendants, thus committing a felony, which will cost us his collge-savings in attorney fees??!

Oh, so many worries!! It’s a shame that I gave up wine for Lent. Now I’ll have to relax tonight with a glass of lemon water.

Loving Literature

2010-03-24T17:01:00.008-05:00

It’s my Year of Living Selfishly, and I’m trying to do some things that I’ve always wanted to do but never thought I had time. Or I’ve intended to do them Someday. Later. My father-in-law’s death made me realize that I need to stop and smell the lilacs a bit more and turn Someday into Present Day. So I am taking up yoga and saying YES to the random vacation and trying to eat more Indian food. (I absolutely love curry.) And I’m going to splurge for my birthday and buy a fabulous painting to put over our bed. My self of last year would have balked and thought, “Why waste money on a work of art that very few people will see?” But my current self in the Year of Living Selfishly says, “My husband and I shall see it every night. The blues and yellows are the color combo that soothe my soul the most, so we’ll indulge.”

Another thing that I have always wanted to do is join a Book Club, but it felt like a luxury that my schedule could not afford. But, in this Year of Living Selfishly, I decided to start up one myself. I invited several friends that I know share my passion for reading. They are interesting, knowledgeable, and read a variety of genres. They are the friends who hand me a copy of novel and say, with sparkling eyes, “You have got to read this!” Or they listen with interest when I describe a book I’m enthralled with and ask, “Can I borrow it when you’re done?”

Our little group met last night, and discussed The Girls of Riyadh over Thai food and wine. I thoroughly enjoyed dishing about the book and hearing my friends’ perspectives and learning and growing. It was an evening of celebrating three of my life-long favorite things: Friends, books and food. I had so much fun that I kicked myself for not doing this a decade ago!

I found a fantastic book club website that gives all kinds of tips and ideas, and book recommendations. We are going to meet monthly, taking turns choosing the books and meeting place. If you are a book lover, I highly recommend joining or founding a book club.

“I cannot live without books.” (Thomas Jefferson)
I am so glad to have found some comrades who feel the same!

Bouncing Is What Tiggers Do Best

2010-03-22T11:27:00.003-05:00

I have been lacking in Pep & Vinegar for most of this week. Super Hubs and I have battled a congested sinusy-thing for a good 10 days, which has caused subsequent sleeplessness. Either I cannot sleep because I cannot breathe, or I cannot sleep because my spouse cannot breathe and therefore snores. I don’t thrive well on little sleep. I get passive and unproductive.

Yesterday I had one and a half cups of coffee when I woke up, and then a bottomless cup of very strong coffee during the two hours I was at church meetings. My cup was never quite empty; I just adding a little more coffee and a little more cream and so forth. By the time I got home, I realized I was strung out on caffeine. I experienced jitters, a racing mind, and I couldn’t relax enough to read the paper. My frizzly-jizzly self broke a glass while cleaning up the kitchen. I jumped about the house with grand schemes to accomplish much, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate long enough to get anything done.

We had friends over for dinner that evening, and I was still wired those five hours later. I felt like Tigger on speed, although my bouncing now took the form of verbal diarrhea; talking rapidly with stream-of-conscience wordiness. I had an out-of-body experience in which I could see my Highly Caffeinated Tigger-On-Speed Self yammering away to my friends about everything without taking a breath, and I wanted to yell, “Shut up, already!” but my Tigger-On-Speed Self paid absolutely no mind. My poor, long-suffering friends.

My mind was still a live wire up until around 5 this morning, when I suddenly crashed, right in time to get up for the day. (Big sigh.) Now I’m foggy-brained and passive and lethargic. I considered drinking coffee to revitalize my Pep & Vinegar, but I don’t want to create the same vicious cycle. I think that yesterday I used up all my allotted energy for the month. It’s all downhill from here. I’m getting on my Eeyore.

The Prayer Of St. Patrick

2010-03-17T21:27:00.003-05:00

It was said that St. Patrick prayed the Breastplate hymn every morning. The entire prayer is very long, so I've only included a few verses:

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through the belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation....

...I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me....

...Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day from this Irish lass to my reader friends!

Oh, My Aching Everything!

2010-03-16T17:32:00.001-05:00

ACHOO! (Pardon me while I blow my nose.)

I have had a nasty upper respiratory virus for the past 5 days. It seems to be stronger than a cold but less virile than the flu. I don’t know what it is, but I’m calling it a Wannabe Flu. I think I caught it from my daughter, who passed it on to me with her good-bye hug as she headed back to college last week.

Usually, at the first sign of an illness onset, I use my Anti-Virus Arsenal of Airborne, green tea & probiotic yogurt. That no-fail triad combination usually nips it in the bud, and I feel better by Day #3. But this Wannabe Flu has shown great resistance to my wellness attempts. My no-fail failed! The Wannabe Flu has cursed me with a fever, sore throat, congestion, and general malaise. It’s now Day #6, and I’m fearing I’m getting a sinus infection.

Because we share a bed along with toothpaste tube, it was inevitable that Super Hubs would catch this from me. He came home from work yesterday with the same drippy red nose that I’ve been sporting. After dinner, we asked our teen boy to do the dishes and tend to our little boy. We put on our jammies, downed some motrin and benadryl, and crawled into bed with a pile of books we hoped to make a dent in. By 8pm, we were fast asleep, lights still on.

Ahh.....romance.

Catatonic?

2010-03-12T17:27:00.001-06:00

I will, no doubt, be the neighborhood Crazy Cat Lady in my old age. And I’m okay with that. There’s something about felines that tug on my heartstrings a little more than any other animal. (PLEASE do not tell my dachshund I said that! I love him. I do! But he's not a cat.)

I’ve been proudly owned by seven kitties thus far. A few were strays that we fostered for a while, then they moved on to new homes. And there was one who wouldn’t stop leaving nasty things on my bed as she was too lazy to make a detour to the litter box. It was a deal-breaker for our relationship, and she was promptly moved to new quarters. It broke my heart.

Currently I have two gorgeous, well-behaved kitties, but I was open to a third. When a friend’s father recently died, leaving three cats homeless, I agreed to adopt one. Miss Tabitha arrived yesterday; a dark brown tabby with stunning green eyes. I’ve barely gotten to know her, as she has spent the past 10 hours hiding behind my washing machine, catatonic-like. She has been traumatized since the death of her daddy. Super Hubs and I will spent our Friday evening doing some large appliance moving and calling on Rock Star, our Cat Whisperer. I’ll keep you posted.

Oh, Father Time- How Could You?

2010-03-09T12:20:00.002-06:00

Butterfly and her boyfriend spent the past 5 days at home, squeezing in some time with us during Spring Break before her Lacrosse practice gets underway. We spent Friday night as a family, watching dvds of the kids as babies. My thoughtful Super Hubs had all of our family videos converted to dvds as a Christmas present for me. It had been years since I’d seen these movies of the kids, and I came away with two conclusions:
1.) Some of my hairstyles in the past 2 decades should be illegal.
2.) It’s crazy how quickly time passes.
As I watched my Past Self hold babies, celebrate holidays, and vacation, I wanted to reach into the tv and grab those years back and slow them down.

The little pig-tailed strong-willed beauty I watched toddle around with a sand pail now goes to college two states away. And when she comes home for her quick visits, I have to share her with family and friends. She’s away, more than she’s here.

The sweet, solemn infant boy with exotic eyes who lied around like a lump still lies around like a lump. But he’ll be getting his Driver’s License next month, and he just went to his first High School dance with a date.

And my last child, the one whose babyhood I was going to savor to make it last forever? It didn’t work. He’s now 7 going on Middle Age and wants to shave. He believes he’s too old to cuddle since he’s in first grade.

Sigh. Where...when...how did life go by so quickly when I didn’t want it to? I loved those moments of young motherhood! Are the best years gone?! I’ve been wrestling with these thoughts all week.

Okay, Time. You will not scoff at me! You may win in the end, but I’m not going out without a fight. The years to come (and, please, God, let there be many) will be blessed. This I know.

"I am not afraid of tomorrow, for I have seen yesterday and I love today."
-- William Allen White

The Dip's Favorite Dip

2010-03-03T17:15:00.007-06:00

One of my absolute favorite things about my vacation to FL was eating a yummy Indonesian dip I was served at a beachfront cocktail party. It was nestled in a plate of raw veggies, and I completely ravished it, even dribbling a flew blobs onto the white carpet. (You cannot take me anywhere without an Embarrassing Occurrence. I swear, I am worse than a 3 year-old. Just ask my friends.)

I have since acquired the recipe, and decided to try my hand at making it. I feared it wouldn’t taste nearly as scrumptious without the scenic ocean view and tropical breezes evading my senses. But I was oh so wrong! This recipe is every bit as magical when eaten from the ho-hum monotony of my mid-western kitchen.

I have made the dip twice now, in hopes it would entice me to eat more veggies. Which it has. But then I began dipping in pieces of French bread, then moved onto tortilla chips, and then Oreos. (Big sigh.)

Here’s the recipe. May you enjoy it as much as I do!

INDONESIAN DIP
2/3 c. crunchy peanut butter
6 T dark brown sugar
1/2 c. lemon juice
4 T chili sauce
1 tsp. soy sauce
Combine all ingredients. Refrigerate at least 24 hours before serving. (If you can wait that long, you are far more of an Integrous Rule-Follower than I, and I shall salute you.)

The Long Red Road

2010-03-01T16:47:00.003-06:00

Yesterday we went to see a matinee performance of The Long Red Road at the Goodman Theater. We drove down to the city with our friends, Peggy and Butch, and enjoyed lunch first. I adore the Goodman Theater because of its cozy quaintness, charm and intimate seating. We were able to get front-row seats and sit just a foot away from the stage. I could have reached out and touched the actors! (But I didn’t. No worries there. Super Hubs was vigilant to see that I behaved myself.) Being up close to see the mannerisms and expressions of these brilliant performers at so evocative a drama was thrilling and deeply personal. I love to act; hence, this art form makes my heart soar.

The matinee patrons were an interesting motley group of largely AARPers The lady above me spilled an entire bag of M&Ms which trickled down the steps with a kerplunk, kerplink, kerplunk, and were then kicked under the seat by a man down the row. Another senior dropped her cell phone from the mezzanine onto the back of a man sitting on the main floor. I heard a ringing sound throughout Act 1 of the play, which I recognized later as coming from the hearing aid of the woman sitting next to me. Ahhh.....I felt young and spry for the first time in a long time. Thank you, Theater Patron Seniors!

When the performance was over, we happened to run into the playwright, Brett C. Leonard. Can I express how thrilling that meeting was for me? I shall try. It.Was.Profoundly.Exciting.To me!! I babbled to him about how amazing I felt the play was, using eloquent verbiage such as “awesome” and “super.” Though I sounded like a star-struck 13-year-old, he was gracious and humble and seemed sincerely touched by our encouragement.

How I love the theater! I must get season tickets somewhere someday soon. (Note to self: Put that on my Bucket List.)

"I regard the theater as the greatest of all art forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another the sense of what it is to be a human being."
Oscar Wilde

Brothers

2010-02-25T19:06:00.005-06:00

My boys have a Love/Hate relationship. On most days is would appear that Hate is the driving force. But I know better.

Little Squirt worships his brother. Surreptitiously messing around with Rock Star’s guitars and poking him in the ribs with light sabers is only his masked attempts for attention and emulation.

Rock Star also secretly adores his baby brother, although he’d rather be strung up by his guitar strings than admit it.

Little Squirt got into the car yesterday after school. He was upset because a bigger child had pushed him down on the playground during recess, and he wondered aloud what to do if he encountered that same hooligan again.
“If that kid picks on you one more time,” Rock Star said. “Tell him that your brother is a High School wrestler. And if he messes with you, I’m going to mess with him!”
Little Squirt beamed.

A family favorite poem:

Brothers
I had a little brother
And I brought him to my mother
And I said I want another
Little brother for a change.
But she said don’t be a bother
So I took him to my father
And I said this little bother
Of a brother’s very strange.

But he said one little brother
Is exactly like another
And every little brother
Misbehaves a bit he ssid.
So I took the little brother
From my mother and my father
And I put the little bother
Of a brother back to bed.

(Mary Ann Hoberman)

Finding Balance, Limb By Limb

2010-02-22T17:11:00.006-06:00

I engaged in the age-old art of yoga last Friday, when I took a class that a friend offered in her home. For over an hour, as the instructor led us, we stretched and posed and took deep relaxing breaths to the accompaniment of Zen music. We centered on God as our breath of life, as the instructor spoke to us of us of gently honoring the body our Maker created for us. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and spiritual experience from start to finish, and I plan on signing up for the 8-week class.

I had been formerly been intimidated by yoga, having taken an advanced class at my health club a decade ago. The 20-something uber limber instructor would yell out names like, “Eagle!” and morph her body into a convoluted pose that I was no way in Hades able to imitate. I felt limber-challenged and uncoordinated and kept getting sharp, shooting pains throughout my back. I took that as a sign that God was not calling me to be Gumby, so I happily quit the class.

But this yoga instruction at my friend’s house was fun and safe, and I left feeling deeply relaxed and more confident in my body. Except for one thing: I have almost completely lost my sense of balance. I have no idea where it went or when I left it. But it’s gone. I found this out when I could barely do The Tree without knocking my classmates into a domino effect. Even the 70-year-old woman, who had to keep stopping to take hits from her oxygen tank, was able to assume The Tree pose for longer than I. It was embarrassing.

This distresses me greatly, because I used to have an amazing sense of balance. I was able to jump 2,100 times in a row on the pogo stick when I was 10. If it had been an Olympic sport, I would have won the gold. I was also able to balance for eternity on the bongo board. As God is my witness, I could have stood without falling on the bongo board from my middle school years straight through college without stopping once, except to break for nature calls. I was a Stellar Balancer, back in the day. So what the heck happened?!

I am bound and determined to get my balance back! Wherever it went, I shall hunt it down and make it return. And I’ll become super bendy like the lady in the pic above, stretching my limbs into positions they haven’t reached since the womb. That shall be me in a year, doing The Bridge on a beach in the warmth of the sun. (I’m especially juiced up about the beach part.)