Well, I’m sitting here playing Bejeweled and trying to think of something witty to write about, as I see I am ever so quickly sliding down the slippery slope of blog delinquency once again. 

Darn you, Facebook!  *shakes fists*

I had a “moment” last week.  You know, one of those times where you re-learn something you already know.  Maybe you’ve never had that experience.  If you haven’t, I’d say it’s probably because you are a lot smarter than me...or maybe you just don’t give a hoot.  Regardless, I find that I need a lot of repetition to “get” something.  Or at least, I need a lot of reminders. 

Last Tuesday evening Emma and I went over to her new middle school for band registration for next year.  Emma has watched her big brother play French Horn for the last 4 years and has been not-so-patiently waiting for HER turn to play a band instrument.  Her time has arrived.  She has been saying for a long time that she is going to play the trumpet—which I thought was pretty cool. 

The point of the band registration night was for the band teacher to demonstrate each instrument and then test each child’s ability with said instruments to see how well suited they are…oh, AND to get these kids all jacked up about being in band! Woohoo! 

Emma wrote down her top 3 to try: 1)trumpet 2)baritone 3)trombone.  When her turn came to try the instruments, she was able to get sound out of all three, but had the least success with the trumpet.  She could hit the lower registers, but not the higher ones.  She got some very nice sound from the baritone and the trombone, so they were possibilities, but I could read Band Lady’s face…she was thinking Em might should branch out of the brass family and venture into another land, say, perhaps, woodwind.

Hmm. 

Now, in MY mind, I’m thinking, (no offense to any of you professional clarinetists out there) PLEASE not the clarinet…those things sound excruciating when someone is learning them.  And with the noise sensory issues in our home, I was thinking, chronic major meltdowns!  Band Lady kindly asked Emma if there were any other instruments she would like to try.  Emma gave her patented shrug and looked at me.  I said, “Well, we’re here…now’s the time to try them all.  Just for fun, why not?”  I suggested she blow some air over the flute.  She agreed.  (I hope she continues to take her mama’s advice. Ha!)  Band Lady put that flute up to Emma’s lips and I must tell you that something magical happened.  The loveliest and most effortless sound came out and I think we were all surprised.  Band Lady’s wide-eyed excited response—“Wow, girl!” 

Once Em finished trying the instruments, we were asked to go discuss which one she thought she’d like to play.  Band lady’s list of most promising instruments for Emma were flute, then baritone and then trombone.  As we stepped outside to talk about it, I asked Emma, “Are you disappointed?” 

Emma: Not really.

Me:  It wasn’t what you expected was it. 

Emma: No.

Me:  Getting notes out of the trumpet was harder than you thought, wasn’t it.  Did the flute feel more natural to you?

Emma: Yes, it did!

Me:  You were surprised when you got that kind of sound out of the flute, weren’t you? <pause> (I could tell she was thinking)  What do you think about playing the flute?

Emma: Mooom, EVERYBODY plays the flute.  I wanted to do something different.  But it was the easiest. 

(In my mind, I’m thinking yes, EVERYBODY plays the flute, but EVERYBODY also plays the trumpet…take a look at the band next time…lots of flutes, trumpets, and yes, clarinets.)

We talked it over some more.  She asked me what I would do.  I told her it was her decision, that if she really would rather play baritone or trombone, she certainly could.  I was sure with practice she’d be great at any of them, honestly.  (The girl does not like making decisions…wonder where she gets that from.)

I had to chuckle to myself about how funny we are.  We, in our humanity, make our plan and then set out to put it in motion.  Often, we will close our eyes to anything other than our way.  “I am going to play the trumpet!” we proclaim. I imagine God, in His sovereignty, smiling and saying, “Wait, I’ve got something better, something that will fit you just perfectly. Just listen to that magical sound that comes from that flute when you blow! You didn’t expect THAT did you??”  She had her heart so set on being a trumpet player that she hadn’t even considered the possibility of something else.  It was all a little too familiar.

This won’t come as a shock to you, but things don’t always turn out like we plan—which is not necessarily a bad thing.  It is God’s plan—instead of your own—working its way into your life.  And it is always for the better.  We just have to allow for that possibility.  More trust and less rushing in head first with our own determined will leading us.

Emma went back in and told Band Lady that she wanted to play the flute.  (Her decision, really.)  Turns out that there are only 2 other students besides Emma planning to play flute next year. 

We got in the car to go home and she said, “Mom, I’m so excited!  I’m going to be a flute player!”

I had to laugh…and I had to laugh at myself.  We’ve all heard the saying, “If you want to make God laugh, just go ahead and tell Him your plans.”  Of course I *know* this…this “things don’t usually go how you plan”. How many times have I told God what I was or wasn’t going to do?  Rushed headlong into something with “my plan” and then either had to eat my words or clean up the big mess I had made! 

I don’t think our moment was so much about what instrument Emma would play, but more about both of us hearing God say, “See?  Trust My plan…there IS one, you know!”

Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

“It kills you to see them grow up.  But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn't.”  ~Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

Yesterday morning, after chatting with one of my dear friends, I found myself wishing nostalgically for “the toddler years”…thinking back to how easy life seemed back then.  There was no school…none that mattered anyway…no homework…no dashing around…no pubescent stress…no impending high school drama…no acne.  Only sticky toddler kisses, potty training and play time. 

Seems like life was much simpler then—or was it?  Maybe I’m having an attack of selective memory.  That happens to me a lot.

Maybe what was simpler was the outlooks of my children.  There were no big, life changing decisions to be made.  Just drawing pictures of stick people—who really weren’t stick people at all. Instead, they were circles with four lines sticking out around the circle and their flat hair drawn oh-so-carefully on top.  Writing stories about happy round stick people.  Happy little stories.  And them saying things like, “See my stick people?  They are happy.”  Lots of “Play with me, Mommy.  Look at what I made, Mommy.  Read to me, Mommy.  What is this, Mommy?”  Slower pace.  Stopping to smell the roses and all that.  Ahh, sweet simplicity.  ::sigh::

They didn’t look beyond that moment.  And I don’t think I did either.  Back when they were 4, the future seemed a long way off.  And now, suddenly, it’s HERE.  The future has snuck up on me and WHACKED me on the head.  It’s daunting.  And it seems like life is so serious all the time.  Boooo seriousness.  Boo stress.  Boo dashing about like a lunatic.

I spent so much time back then wanting to get through the current stage of life.  With the constant, “when they get older, things will be easier” rolling around in my head.  What was I thinking?!  Each stage brings its own set of challenges, stresses—and joys.  It’s funny how I used to want to speed time up and now I just wish we could slow it down.

But I am so easily sucked in by all the hustle and bustle.  Worrying about “getting things done”.  I do try very hard to relish every moment.  Because I think now I realize how fast it all goes by.  I am trying very hard to watch my kids.  I mean, really watch them. Take it all in and slow down a little.  It is not easy.  And it takes conscious effort. 

Because really, even though they might not be saying the actual words anymore, my kids are STILL saying, “play with me, watch me, what is this, Mom”.  I just have pay a little closer attention so I don’t miss it.  And isn’t that the whole point? 

 

 

"Fill your mind with the meaningless stimuli of a world preoccupied with meaningless things, and it will not be easy to feel peace in your heart."~Marianne Williamson

I have given up on the house cleaning until sometime in January...I mean, what is the point, I ask you?

My life is too insane to be able to think about it.  I have not finished half of my Christmas shopping.  I have been busy with school stuff this week for the kids.  Kickball playoffs today for Emma.  Had a pow-wow with a couple of Jacob's teachers, which was barely even semi-productive (but I did not cry!).  Teacher gifts...always a challenge.  Last minute school projects.  Will be tied up all day Friday as an "immigration inspector" (volunteer) at "Ellis Island" (Emma's school).  Lydia Lansky (aka Emma) will be trying to immigrate to America with her tiny bundle of Russian belongings...and her tuberculosis.  Yikes!  It should be fun, but it will be an all day affair. Oh, and I haven't even begun to get those very cool snapfish Christmas cards in the mail.  Forget baking.  I purchased the pre-baked box of gingerbread people for the kids to decorate.  Call me lazy...or just call me too crazy to do anything else!  Oh, and tomorrow morning Hubby will probably ask me, "Sweetie, do I have any clean underwear?"  And I will say, "Probably not...can't you just turn that pair inside out or something?"  It would be accurate to say that no laundry has been happening around here this week.

I could fill up the page with everything that needs doing.

But, in the midst of it all, I have a strange sense of calm.  Not strange, really...I know that it has to be God.  Stuff will get done.  It really will, and what doesn't get done...well, it just doesn't get done. And the world won't come crashing down around me.  It will really be okay. 

Two more days till school is out for Christmas break. 

Then.

No pressure.  No homework.  Just family.  And friends.  And Jesus' birthday.

<insert relaxing sigh here>

It's all good.

 

“A compromise is the art of dividing a cake in such a way that everyone believes he has the biggest piece.” ~Ludwig Erhard

Wednesday night, as I'm diligently tap-tap-tapping away on the keyboard trying to type something up for Jacob for homework, Clyn is in the kitchen which adjoins our computer area and he says to me, "Sweetie", (this is what he always calls me, but I know he's about to ask me for something and I'm really in no mood), "Sweetie, can you make something, some kind of treat, I can take into work to share?"  He did ask nicely.  Apparently, there are other co-workers who bring in home-baked treats from time to time??

I slowly turn my head (though it's hard to keep it from spinning all around like something out of the Exorcist) and shoot him the dagger look.  And I politely say, "Have you lost your MIND??? Do I look like I can be Miss Betty Crocker and whip you something up right quick??"  I did kinda go off on him, but man I was so tired when he asked me that and things have been so crazy lately and it just hit me all kinds of wrong.  Then I asked him, when would he like to have this "treat".  He sheepishly said, "maybe Friday??"  I gave him the "don't-count-on-it-right-eyebrow-raise" look and kept on typing.

Well, about 11:00 last night, I started feeling really bad about it.  It was 11 pm, after everyone's homework had been said and done and Clyn and the kids were in bed and the dog had been out to pee and I was tarrrrred--which is Southern for really, really tired.

Poor Clyn.  He gets so neglected.  Seriously.  I feel bad because when he walks in the door from work, it's probably like coming into some war zone somewhere.  He is exhausted and we're usually in the midst of some homework crisis and I'm cracking that whip on Jacob, "C'mon buddy, let's just get this next one done"...all the while I'm trying to get supper cooked and help Emma too and the dog's barking and the bird's tweeting.  It's crazy.  So he leaves one crazy place and heads right into another crazy place.  It can't be easy.  He probably opens the door and wants to run away--far, far away.

So I got to thinking.  He doesn't ask for much. 

And at 11:00 last night, I whip out my box of Duncan Hines Lemon cake mix and bake him up a delectable Bundt cake (thanks to the doctored up recipe from the side of the box), complete with a glaze of lemony deliciousness.  A treat any man would be proud to serve his co-workers--I think.  That means it was half-past really really late when I dragged my weary butt to bed last night, er, this morning?  So I'm still tarrrrred today.  What else is new?  

But the look on his face this morning when he saw the Beautiful Bundt was so worth it all.  Wish I had a picture.

SCORE!

"What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment.  And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new.  Right now."  ~Author Unknown

“It is not easy to stay with your loneliness. The temptation is to nurse your pain or escape into fantasies about people who will take it away. But when you can acknowledge your loneliness in a safe, contained place, you make your pain available for God’s healing. God does not want your loneliness; God wants to touch you in a way that permanently fulfills your deepest need. It is important that you dare to stay with your pain and allow it to be there….Dare to stay with your pain, and trust God’s promise to you.” ~Henri Nouwen, from his book, The Inner Voice of Love

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Most of y'all who read this fluff know we moved from Iowa to South Carolina a year ago.  In fact, it was August 10th of last year that we closed on our house here in SC.  I have been feeling pretty...hmm, nostalgic, I guess is the word...this last week.  It is strange. 

Emma still stays in touch with her closest buddies from Iowa, and I do too, although I must say I do a pretty poor job of it.  But I happened into her room yesterday as she was talking to her buds, Rachel and Aileen, who are sisters and two of her bestest Iowa friends.  <I have noticed that Emma likes to talk on speaker with her "peeps"...in her room.  I don't know why this is.>  I walked in and thought she was talking to one of her other  Iowa people and so I hollered out "Hey Mer!!".  To which Emma replied, "Moooom, it's Rachel and Aileen."  <Oh!  My bad, apparently.>  I proceeded to give them a shout out and then chat with them a bit...Emma didn't seem to mind.  At least she didn't say so.  But in those few moments, I realized just how much I miss those kids.  I seriously was choked up.  Their mom, Theresa, was one of my close friends, who I also miss a lot as well.  Is it weird for me to miss my daughter's friends?  Even though she has met some nice kids here, something just isn't the same. 

For the last year, there has remained a mass of about 10 boxes in my front room right here next to my computer desk.  Those last few boxes that I just couldn't...er, wouldn't...make myself get to.  The thought of having to sort through junk and require hubby to sort through what was his was somehow so incredibly overwhelming.  I would look at those boxes and they would stress me out.  They would invoke all kinds of angst and self-loathing.  I would aspire to conquer them by way of the "one box a day" theory and then images would flash through my mind of pulling stuff out of those boxes with no specific home for said stuff to live and....well, it just gave me a rash whenever I would think about it.  

Now as I'm sitting in my newly box-free area, I am wishing I had done it a year ago.  There are still some things I need to find a home for, but the calm that I feel in this much less cluttered space is huge.  I wish I had taken a before picture so you could appreciate the difference...and now posting an after picture seems moot, so you're not getting one.  Just trust me when I say a major load has been lifted.  Where the sudden motivation has come from, I do not know.  I mean, there's no company coming...which is what it usually takes for me to dig down deep and get into the "crisis cleaning mode", as I like to call it...or as Hubby calls it "The GO Mode".   I'm not going to try to analyze it.  I'm just glad.  I have even hung a few pictures.  My friend Lisa would be proud. 

Go ME!

I hear you asking...why hasn't she hung anything on the walls??  I have hesitated to hang things on the walls for a couple of reasons.  The main one being that I hate (with an indescribable passion) my living room furniture and in the spirit of potentially getting new furniture, I hesitated to hang things because, what if the new furniture would require a new room arrangement?  Then I'd have to rearrange wall hangings and then you've got those pesky holes in the walls and then, and then...  I tend to feel that if I hang something, I am then "married" to it and it must remain.  But I came to the realization that, sadly, there was no potentially new furniture on the horizon and so, let me just get moved in to this house already! 

If I'm honest, I would have to say that even after a year, I don't really feel "plugged in".  I love being here in terms of location (closeness to family and ocean) and I have made a couple of special new friends.  But I really miss the connections we had made in Iowa and have, at times, felt quite lonely.  Though my loneliness has been of my own making.  

I recognize my tendency to retreat after a move...though somehow that awareness doesn't necessarily prevent the retreat.  Something inside me seems to just kick in to some kind of auto-pilot mode and I do the things I absolutely must at that moment.  The rest...anything that requires any sort of emotional attachment or emotional output on my part...gets placed on the back burner for another time.  Which is when, exactly?

I know, poor pitiful me, right?  Sounds like I really need to get a life.  Stop whining and get on with it, right?  Well, maybe finally getting "moved in" will head me in the finally getting "plugged in" direction.  I'm tired of living in a state of "putting life on the back burner" and just simply surviving. 

With that in mind and as the new school year approaches, I am making New School Year's Resolutions: 

Move in and live life! 

Hang some pictures, already! It's okay if I have to move them later...there's spackle for that.

"I love to think of nature as an unlimited broadcasting station, through which God speaks to us every hour, if we will only tune in."  ~George Washington Carver

I knew I smelled honeysuckle when I was out walking the other morning.  I stopped in my tracks and looked around to find it.  That yummy deliciousness filled my head and immediately carried me back to my childhood.  It immediately relaxed me and made me smile.   

It's a smell, all floral and sweet, that reminds me of summer and fun and no responsibilities.  Of long days spent playing and then seeing the lightening bugs start to light up at dusk.  I remember pulling the blooms off the vine and pinching the bottoms to pull out the center of the flower to get a taste of the nectar.  I always thought that the yellow ones tasted sweeter than the white ones. 

Yes, I realize it's a wild growing vine that people probably consider a weed, and it's also probably considered a nuisance to many folks.  Just one more thing in your life that you are going to have to deal with.  It got me thinking. 

What if we overlook the things, or people, in our lives that, on first glance, seem to be a nuisance or a weed we need to be rid of?  We might just be discounting some of the most beautiful things in our lives.

Look closer. 

Stop and smell the honeysuckle.

"You know, sometimes love isn't fireworks. Sometimes, love just comes softly" ~Sarah Graham to Marty Claridge in "Love Comes Softly"

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So I watch the Hallmark channel occasionally.

Hubby just shakes his head at me, cause I'll be all teary-eyed watching some Hallmark movie.

The other day, I happened to catch a bit of a movie called "Love Comes Softly"--which I have seen before.  It stars Katherine Heigl, of Grey's Anatomy fame, as Marty, and Dale Midkiff as Clark.  It could be described as a chick flick meets Little House on the Prairie.  Hardship and love on the frontier.  It's what I call a "feel good" movie--with some great lessons along the way.  The movie is based on the novel of the same name by Christian fiction author Janette Oke.  It is the first book in a series of 8--none of which I've read, but that's beside the point.

As I said, I've seen this movie before, but somehow I had missed this exchange between Marty (heroine) and Clark (love interest).  Clark's first wife died, his barn has burned to the ground and yet, he remains strong in his faith and hopeful about the future of his farm.  Marty can't understand why...why would Clark pray to a God who allows bad things to happen?  I loved Clark's answer.

He talks about his daughter Missy, and how they may be walking along together, even holding hands, and she might fall.  Even when he's holding on to her.  He didn't cause the fall--he didn't want her to fall.  But he is there for her.  As her daddy who loves her, he helps her back up and loves her.  It's the same way with God. 

Clark tells Marty,  "The truth of God's love is not that he allows bad things to happen.  It's his promise that he'll be here with us when we do."

I'll go with that.

On the heels of my mountain retreat last weekend, here's something to think about:  Where do our perceptions of beauty come from?

Watch this:

Made you say "hmm" didn't it.  Yep, I thought so. 

The (very hilarious) woman, Margot Starbuck Hausmann, who spoke at our retreat last weekend, showed this clip as a segue into one of her talks.  As the clip ended, I heard a collective gasp make its way through the room.  I sat there, mouth hanging open, ready to catch some flies.  I was completely blown away.  I leaned over to my sweet friend Kathy and said, "Well, if they can do all that, then what in the world do they need live models for?  They can apparently just computer generate them!"  Seriously.  It is shocking that THIS is what we see, every day, as the "standard of beauty" for women.  This air-brushed, computer generated, new and improved, "perfected" end result.  When, all the while, lying there underneath, is a "real" woman, zits and all.  Just like you and me. Only she has been molded and shaped into something that no longer resembles her true self.  Does she even recognize her true self?   

Dove is right:  It's no wonder our perception of beauty is distorted.

And this is what our daughters are learning:  Who they are is simply not good enough in the eyes of the world.  They must cover it up.  They are unacceptable.  They are unlovable.  They are not okay as they are.

This is the message to us, as women, as well.  Don't think that just because you are beyond a so-called "impressionable age" that you are unaffected.  Oh, far from it.  We, as women, are bombarded with these images all day long, everywhere we look.  We are bombarded by TV, radio, magazines and the voices of others around us.  As square pegs, we are told that we must fit into a round hole.

We live in a world where sex sells and thin is beautiful.  These things are important, we are told. 

Clear skin.  Name brand clothes.  Hollywood hair.  22" waists.  Sex = Love.  Size 0.  Fresh breath.  White teeth.  Plenty of money.  DD boobs.  The "right" job.  The "right" car.  The "right" nose.  The "Better Homes and Gardens" perfectly clean home.  The "right" schools.  Et cetera, ad nauseam. 

So what is the result of that in the lives of many young women?  Boob jobs.  Depression.  Anorexia.  Bulimia.  Self-hatred.  Self-mutilation.  At the very least, poor self-esteem and not being who we were meant to be.  Even as we are striving and striving, we lie to ourselves, telling ourselves we can never measure up.  And we start to believe the lie.  I start to believe the lie.

It's so easy to get caught up in all that stuff.  And I am as guilty as the next person.  Probably guiltier than some.  

Here's where I have to change my perceptions.  I need look at myself the way God sees me. 

Yes, I'm going there. 

God.  The Creator.  Loves me because He created me.  Loves all of us with our big noses, wide hips, post-baby pouches, PMS, crazy hair, bad skin, messy houses, beat up cars, cottage cheese thighs and Mom jeans.  And He looks at us and calls us beloved.  He calls us His children. He delights in us.  We are loved.  Not because the world gives us its stamp of approval, but because the One who created us says we are worth loving.  We can't clean ourselves up and make Him love us more than He already does.  And that's enough for me.

So here's what I've decided:

I am a curvy girl and I like it.  I love that I'm a goofball.  I am imperfect, but I do the best I can.  I am a loving wife and mother.  It's what I do.  I'd rather hang with my kids than swish the toilet.  I don't want to be who everybody else says I should be.  I like that I can make people laugh and can laugh at myself.  I am imperfectly perfect.  Oh, I definitely have my moments where I forget that I am okay as I am. Sometimes I forget that I don't have to be "good enough".  I still want to be liked and accepted.  And I get in that weird funky place sometimes.  And I do so long to look cute and to fit back in my size 10s.  But I know that even if I never get back in those size 10s, I am valuable, beautiful and loved.  Zits and all. 

That's what I want to model for my daughter.  If I'm not okay with who I am, how can I expect her to be?  I want to be the voice cheering her on, saying, "YOU ROCK!  I wouldn't change one thing about you!  Don't try to be someone you are not!  Be who God created you to be!"  And I defy anybody else to tell her anything different. 

Hmm.

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"The truth, even though I cannot feel it right now, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God's eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity and held safe in an everlasting embrace... We must dare to opt consciously for our chosenness and not allow our emotions, feelings, or passions to seduce us into self-rejection." ~Henri Nouwen

"It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness."  ~Leo Tolstoy

"When in doubt, make a fool of yourself.  There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth.  So what the hell, leap."  ~Cynthia Heimel, "Lower Manhattan Survival Tactics"

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My funny son.  Today, he has nicknamed his sister and her friend "Loud and Louder". 

And I have to say, I completely agree.  Except I might even go one step further and call them "Louder and Loudest". 

I realize they were only trying to have some fun, driving the Barbie car around the house, through the kitchen, through the computer room (right behind my noise sensitive child, no less), through the foyer...hollering all the while.  Literally hollering.  It's no exaggeration.  Who am I to try and stop a little 9-year-old girl fun?? Who am I to stop Barbie and her friends from driving right under my feet while I am slaving away over the post-sleepover pancakes and turkey bacon?  But then Jacob comes off with the Loud and Louder comment and all I could do was laugh.  Oh the things my kids say.

This afternoon, Emma and I went to a birthday party for one of the boys in her class.  It was held at the boy's church and there were gobs of people there...kids and adults.  Emma had asked me if I was going to stay at the party.  I think she was very afraid that she would be the only girl there.  We are getting to "that age", after all.  I told her I would stay if she really wanted me to.  (She did.)  Turns out there was only one other girl from their class there and the others were boys from their class and some other friends of the boy.  The other little girl's mom decided to stick around too.  They were going to play kickball, eat pizza and cake (when have I ever turned down cake??) and do presents, etc.  When they were picking teams for the kickball game, the birthday boy's mom asked if I was going to play.  I said sure, why not.  What's a little humiliation among a bunch of 9 and 10 yr olds?  No biggie. 

Keep in mind, I have not played kickball since I was probably in the 6th grade.  That was a little while ago.  And I don't know about all of y'all, but I have some pretty scarring kickball memories from back in the day.  It's like one of those recurring nightmares where you get up to kick and you totally miss the ball altogether and end up flat on your back (a la Charlie Brown---Aaaaarrrrrrgh!  Good grief! Darn you, Lucy!!) or you suddenly look down and realize you're in your underwear or you are the last pick or whatever.  I was never picked first.  Yeah, I know, boo hoo, poor me.  Granted I was not very athletic.  But I was always SO nervous when it was my kick.  Oh the pressure!  It's vastly different playing kickball as a 38 year old woman.  All that anxiety of looking like a fool is SO over.  I am a dorky gal, and proud of it!  And that, my friends, is quite liberating.

I had a blast today.  The mom of the other little girl and I were the only moms to play.  (The birthday boy's dad was "all time pitcher"...not a bad gig.  I forgot what a workout kickball could be!)She and I both agreed that it was so much fun.  Looking a fool and all! 

Oh to know then what I know now.  Be willing to look foolish.  Be willing to laugh at yourself.  Enjoy whatever it is you are doing in that moment.  Find the joy.  Take chances.  So what if you fall flat on your back when you take that chance.  What's the worst thing that could happen?  Get up and laugh at yourself and get on with the business of having fun.  You never have any fun if you walk around being scared all the time--You never have any fun AND you never learn anything.  Who knew you could learn so much from a game of kickball?

I'm not sure if Charlie Brown was persistent or just plain dumb.  Actually, I think he was really a very clinically depressed individual.  But, whatever.  At least he took the chance and believed that maybe, just maybe, TODAY would be the day he would actually get to kick that ball.

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"Many great ideas have been lost because the people who had them could not stand being laughed at."  ~Author Unknown

"Eliminate physical clutter.  More importantly, eliminate spiritual clutter."  ~D.H. Mondfleur

"The sculptor produces the beautiful statue by chipping away such parts of the marble block as are not needed - it is a process of elimination."  ~Elbert Hubbard

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Post-pox report:  Emma went back to school today.  Looking adorable as always.  Secretly, I think she was happy to be going back.  She would never say so, but a mother can tell these things.  She only ever developed pox on her trunk and two on her leg.  So that's pretty darn mild, if you ask me.  She was very happy to NOT be itchy anymore!  YAY!  Mom is happy for her.  Now we wait about another week or two to see if Jacob will break out!  (Here's me singing the old ketchup commercial...."ANTI-CI-PAAAATION.  Is making me wait.")  Looking forward to the day when we will be sickness and disease free for a bit!  Say a prayer, y'all!

Let me preface this next paragraph by saying that I have not completely unpacked/organized stuff in my new house. Don't be shocked, y'all!  Frankly, I find the whole thing rather overwhelming.  I have a history of procrastination.  SHOCKER.  Don't know if anyone else can relate to that.  Some of my OCD friends probably can't...I have always wished to be a little OCD so I could counteract the procrastination, but alas, it is not meant to be.  The only thing that is going to counteract the procrastination gene is hard work, plain and simple.  So, for the most part, I have spent a good bit of time over the last four months, sitting here at the computer looking around saying, "When is all this crap going to unpack itself and find itself a new spot to live in my house??  Because I sure don't know where it should go!"  <Insert big SIGH here>  Then there's the vicious cycle of beating yourself up for not having tackled these things because you KNOW that if you just DID IT, that it really wouldn't take that long and you'd be a much happier camper.   Why oh why. 

So before we spiral down into the vortex of negativity, here's the time in the blog where I have to give a MAJOR shout out to my friend, Lisa.  HOLLA! 

Now, I don't want to embarrass her or anything, but...she deserves her props!  She came to see me last Thursday and stayed until yesterday.  The house was in its usual state of disarray.  Only much worse because of the pox, among other things.  I wouldn't let just ANYone in my house in such a state.  But there are certain folks who love you anyway in spite of your crap.  Thank God I have a few!  Y'all know who you are.  Long story short...I have made major progress!  Thanks to her help.  Sometimes you need someone to say to you, "Do you REALLY love that??"  "That" being the Elmo VHS tape that no one has watched in at least 7 years.  OR the textbooks you saved from college.  OR the unused 100 pieces of Tupperware cluttering your cabinets.  I could go on.  It's a lot easier to let go of stuff when there is someone there saying that to you.  Lesson learned:  Surround yourself with things you love--Things that make you smile.  It feels good to let go of the clutter that has been weighing me down.  I am sitting here at my clutter-free computer desk.  With my flowers and the framed picture of my favorite quote that Kristi gave me looking back at me and making me feel happy.  To my left are boxes that have stuff in them that still doesn't have a "home", but they will.  Soon.  Progress, one step at a time!

I also happen to know that when you begin to eliminate the physical clutter, you begin to eliminate the mental clutter.  And by physical clutter I do mean the crap that fills your home, but I also mean your physical body.  I know I feel better mentally when I exercise consistently.  I feel better mentally when I make better food choices.  I feel better mentally when the laundry is caught up and my bed is made.  I just do.  They go hand in hand.  One directly effects the other.  Is it too late to make a New Year's resolution?  I suppose mine would have to be this:  Eliminate the mental and physical clutter a little bit each day.  In a year's time, I'll be a much happier person.  And a lot lighter in more ways than one.

"Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them."  ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

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I was just thinking about how much power words have.   How words can move me to laugh.  To cry.  To feel someone else's pain.  To think.  To be amazed.  To make a change.  To cause anger to bubble up.  To make one choice over another.  To take action.  Or not.   

I love quotes.  I love scripture.  I love reading all of your blogs.  I love writing my blog.  I love reading novels.  I love music lyrics. (Y'all are already well aware of my LCD...see #17 on "thankful list".)  I love to talk.  I love to listen.  Words paint pictures in my head.  Spoken or written.  It makes no difference.  They affect me.

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"I love writing.  I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions."  ~James Michener

"The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit."  ~Proverbs 18:21 (NIV)

"Words, when well chosen, have so great a force in them, that a description often gives us more lively ideas than the sight of things themselves." ~Joseph Addison

"Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones." ~Proverbs 16:24 (NIV)

"For words are magical formulae. They leave finger marks behind on the brain, which in the twinkling of an eye become the footprints of history. One ought to watch one' s every word."  ~Franz Kafka

"Kind words may be short... but their echoes are endless."  ~Mother Theresa

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"May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer."  ~Psalm 19:14 (NIV)

This passage of scripture made a pretty powerful impact on me as a young (and very word UNconscious at the time) teen growing up in the Methodist church.  The church we attended in our small (I mean, one stop light small) Southern town was pastored by a really lovely soft-spoken man named Ellis Bedsworth.  Every Sunday morning during the service, before he gave his sermon, he would kneel down on one knee beside the lectern, in his big robe he always wore, and pray this scripture.  It is probably my most vivid memory of our time at that church.  (Okay, well that and the old dude with the bad comb-over that my brother and I used to crack on all the time.)  But his act of humbling himself that way every Sunday without fail, made me think...What you say and how you say it, and what you think in your heart truly matters.  Be cautious of your words.  I find that I don't heed this advice often enough. 

"What is wrong with you?  Why don't you understand that??"  ~Shirley Boone, my 6th grade math teacher

Ouch.  Thanks to those words, I have had math phobia from that day to this.  I'm not kidding.  That woman was pure evil.

"Cause you know, that even when it ain't alright, it's alright." ~My Dad

This is just one of my Dad's many "isms" that immediately put me at ease.  But I love this one a lot because it's his way of reminding me that in the scheme of things, when things seem like they are crazy and overwhelming, there is God's big picture that we cannot see and we have to cling to the fact that regardless of whatever is happening in the "now" picture, it fits somehow into the "big" picture.

"I love you, Mom."

Nothing compares to those 4 words right there.  Nothing.

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In as much as the words of others have power over me, MY words can have power over others.  I can inspire.  Encourage.  Belittle.  Create joy, pain, hope.  Cause division.  Break relationships.  Or mend them.  Speak truth or perpetuate lies.  All that is within my power.  How I choose to use it is up to me. 

Just a little something I was thinking about.

"The trouble with most people is that they think with their hopes or fears or wishes rather than with their minds."  ~Will Durant

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Y'all will just have to excuse me for a minute today.  I'm having "a moment". 

SIDEBAR:  Hmm, how to describe what "a moment" is.  Could be "A-ha" or "Something hit me like a ton of bricks" or "I'm having a minor breakdown" or something along those lines. Basically, it's a moment in time where I have to think about something for a little longer.  Marinate, if you will. (Thanks Lisa). To sit with something and let it really soak in.  If you know me in "real life" you've heard me use the phrase "I'm having a moment" hundreds of times. 

I'm not trying to get all "religious" on you.  Frankly, I think people who are "religious" are missing the point.   But I have been thinking about something this morning while I was out walking (yes, I am finally getting my ever-enlarging booty moving in the sincere hopes that it will, in fact, begin to shrink.)  And you should know, that my faith in God is the core of who I am.  I'm not claiming to "know it all".  I'm certainly far from perfect.  But I am a Christian.  I make no apologies for that.  So if y'all are reading this and thinking I'm getting kinda freaky, well that's okay.  Read on or not, but in order to marinate in this, and really get down to the nitty gritty of it for myself, I have to write it. 

So I was walking along, podulating (listening to the pod) and I began to really listen to the words of the song that was playing.  I listen to a lot of different kinds of music.  Huge variety of tunes on the pod.  Today, I was going with a very cool Christian musician named Jonathan David Helser.  He is the son of a man I have known since I was probably 9.  His father (a musician and minister) and my father (also a minister--definitely NOT a musician) have, over the years, done ministry together and though I haven't known Jonny well, I have come to know his music.  And now he and my younger brother, who have both gone into the "family business", along with my older brother, have ministered together from time to time.  It's really kinda cool to have the second generation going.  Anyway, so I have Jonny's album (The Awakening) on the pod and I am walking.  God Is Love is the name of the song.  Powerful song.  Part of the lyrics go like this:  "I will live out the dreams You've placed in me.  Shout down the walls of fear.  Nothing is impossible for those who believe that God is love.  God is love.  God is love.  I won't be afraid.  God is love. God is love.  Nothing is impossible."

This got me thinking.  Two things.

1. What are the dreams that God has placed in me?  

2. What are the fears that I have that keep me from living out those dreams?

We all have dreams.  Whether you believe they were placed there by God is up to you.  I always wanted to be a wife and a mom.  I am thankful that I have been able to do that.  And I love being a wife and a mom.  That was my dream from the time I was a little girl.  Are there other dreams in there?  Dreams hidden away?  Is there a new dream?  I'm thinking on that.  Looking back, there are other things that came along when I was younger that I think I chose not to do because I was afraid I wouldn't be good enough to do them.  So the fear creeps in.  Fear of rejection.  Of failure.  Of disappointing someone else.  Of what others will think.  You start believing the lie.  And you start building your own personal wall of fear...brick by brick.  Then you don't try those things that come along.  You miss awesome opportunities. 

Who told me to be afraid?  To build the wall?  Only me. 

I often tell my kids when I see fear taking hold,  "What is the worst thing that could happen?"  It is easier to give advice than to take it.

I can't change the missed opportunities of the past, but what I can do, NOW, is recognize that the fear exists and see it for what it is.  It is a wall.  A wall that keeps you from getting to the dream on the other side.  But it is not an impenetrable wall.  You can tear it down, just like you built it--brick by brick.  But you have to do some work.  And you might need some tools, say a crowbar or pick ax.  And you might need some help and support.  (Think Women of Brewster Place and all those determined women breaking down that wall in the rain together.)  So, I'm marinating in all that.  Soaking in it and seeing what I think of it all.  Do I have more dreams?  How will I face the wall of fear and shout it down?  Will I let it stay and keep me from some exciting stuff?  What am I going to do about it?  Here's what I'm thinking:  

If perfect love drives out fear, like the Bible says, and if I believe that God is perfect love and if I believe that God lives in me, then there is no room for both God and fear in my life.  Think of it as sort of an equation.  Like this:  GOD ≠ FEAR. 

One of them has to go.  And driving God out is not an option.  

I'm lettin' that marinate.

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1 John 4:18 "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love."

"The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together." ~Erma Bombeck

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I am afraid.  I am faced undeniably with the mortality of the people around me.  Most specifically, my father-in-law. 

I have reached the age at which you begin to recognize the fact that your parents--and the parents of your spouse--aren't going to be around forever.  It is incredibly painful. 

I was probably 14 years old when I first met my hubby's dad.  Here's a frightening thought:  I have known him more than half my life.  He was an avid hunter and fisherman up until about maybe 7 years ago when his physical limitations started to get the better of him.  I remember when I was a teenager and I would go out fishing with my then boyfriend/now hubby, wanting to make a good impression on his dad.  I have never been one to love the slimy scaly feel of a fish between my fingers.  But because I loved my boyfriend, I would go.  Hubby's dad is a take no prisoners kinda guy.  He will ask you anything...appropriate or inappropriate.  He will say it just like it is and have no shame about it.  You've gotta love that in a person.  Truly.  We don't necessarily see eye-to-eye on certain things, but we agree to disagree.  I have learned over the years to appreciate him and enjoy his certain brand of humor.  And I have also learned to let a lot of things just roll off my back.

My in-laws are an integral part of who I am and they made my hubby who he is--they raised a wonderful son.  They love me and have always treated me like one of their daughters.  And though my hubby's dad has been known to be a bit of a crotchety old dude, he is a lovable old dude.  He is 83 years old.  I have watched him physically decline over the last several years.  There have been times when I have been extremely frustrated with him--before he was so sick and when he was so crotchety--and most recently I have come to a place where I sincerely love him and see him as an aging man who is coming to terms with that very fact and my compassion for him has kicked in to overdrive.

He is struggling with some pretty significant medical issues at the moment.  And it is at this moment that I see the divine providence of our moving back to within a day's drive.  

So why am I afraid?  Maybe I am afraid of feeling the pain that I remember feeling when my granddaddy passed away 16 years ago.  Maybe I am afraid that I won't know how to comfort my hubby while he is dealing with his hurt about his father's sickness or when he loses his father.  Maybe it is too scary for me to think about losing my own parents.  I don't know.  What I do know is that reality bites sometimes.  And I have to find a way to deal with what is.  I am the kind of person who avoids pain when I can.  I avoid confrontation.  I am a procrastinator by nature.  And when I am confronted with the realities of life--and death--my choice would be avoid, avoid, avoid.  This is too close to avoid.  Aging and dying is a part of life.  It is part of something bigger than us.  God's big picture.  Who am I to question God's big picture?  I do trust completely in God's big picture.

And so I don't ask God "Why".  I ask, "Help me get from here to there.  Help me deal with what comes day by day."  And I know He will.

"Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time."  ~J. Lubbock

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Every time Friday rolls around I have this immediate sense of relaxation.  My whole body just goes "ahhhhh." 

Seriously.  Every Friday.  Without fail.  The week blurs by and suddenly, it's Friday again.  And I'm doing my Friday Happy Dance.  No, I won't demonstrate it for you now.  But thanks for asking.  Some things are private, you know.  Sheesh.

Maybe it's corny, but I always look so forward to spending time with my hubby and kids on the weekends.  Sleeping in.  NO homework.  No rushing.  Just hanging.  A bike ride.  Acting silly.  Cooking out.  The good stuff of life.

Recently we've enjoyed having quite a few visits from folks on the weekends.  I'm digging this hospitality thing!  We never had many visitors in Iowa.  Hmmm.   Now we live in a "cool" place and they're coming in droves! 

Last week, we had my precious friend Kathy (of the annual February mental health retreat fame  Spring is Coming?? ) and her family.  It was so much fun.  Of course it always seems like there isn't enough time!  Love you, Kath!

This past weekend we went to visit my sis-in-law Paula and had a blast.  Boy we were really packing in the fun stuff.  Went to a zoo, a pumpkin festival, the Halloween costume store... and that was all on Saturday!  Aunt Paula is the "fun" aunt.  Every family should have one...the cool, single aunt who dotes on her nieces and nephews.   She is also Zoey's "mom"...Jiffy's cousin, who has visited with us here before.  But I digress. (shocker) We laughed.  We ate.  We had fun.

My point is that weekends were designed to RELAX.  I know this is a foreign concept for many, my hubby included, as it is difficult to truly relax and let go of the all the "stuff" that weighs on you on a daily basis.   I realize that relaxation is different things to different people.  But for us it's spending time with people we love and not thinking about the "other stuff".   Everybody needs time to regroup.  Try it sometime.  Your body will thank you and then you can come up with your OWN Friday Happy Dance. 

"The most precious jewels are not made of stone, but of flesh."  ~Robert Ludlum

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Party Pants is on her third sleepover this week.  It's only Thursday night.  Tonight they are at our house.  I must confess I am being way more lenient with the "back-to-back" sleepovers than I would be if we weren't moving in 6 days.  Gotta let her get time with her peeps!  I am totally at her mercy.  Am I still going to be able to call her Party Pants when we get moved? [Insert raised eyebrow here]

Two more farewell gatherings coming up.  I hope I can make it through without totally falling apart.  People are so kind to want to give us a warm send off.  I have adopted a somewhat cheesy, yet applicable, perspective to help me get through:  I have a treasure chest.  And in this chest I have assembled quite a collection of precious people.  Each place we have lived, I have been able to add a few more to the chest.  They are rare and valuable treasure, and I get to take them with me wherever I am.  I am very blessed indeed!  Looking forward to adding some more in South Carolina. :-)  Call me goofy, but I guess it's just a bit of self-preservation.

SIDEBAR A:  I just have to say that I think I am totally addicted to Sundried Tomato and Basil flavored Wheat Thins.  I know, I know.  They were on sale at the local "mom and pop" grocery store...2 boxes for $5...I just couldn't resist.  Thank goodness one of my precious friends (treasure!) was over this afternoon and helped take care of some of them for me or I DO believe I would have eaten the ENTIRE box.  Good Lord!  What is happening to me??! OY!

SIDEBAR B:  Clyn comes home Tuesday!  Woohoo!

Counting down and packing my treasures!

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together?  I guess that wouldn't work.  Someone would leave.  Someone always leaves.  Then we would have to say good-bye.  I hate good-byes.  I know what I need.  I need more hellos."  ~Charles M. Schulz

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I've gotta say I'm with the "Peanuts" guy on that one.  I hate good-byes.  I'm about to get a lot of hellos. 

I've been mulling over this blog for over a week now.  Needing to write about it, but not being able to.  Feeling too many different feelings all at once starts making me feel kinda schizo, you know?  (NOTE: No offense to those true schizophrenics out there.)  But until I can really vent things, talk them through, I start to feel like I'm about a 12 on the crazy scale, which only goes to 10!

It's all a big lead in to say one simple sentence: 

We're moving. 

It's rather surreal to see the words in print.  I mean, this IS happening to someone else, right??!  No, it's us. 

Again. 

I'm starting to lose track of the moves. 

I moved around a lot as a kid.  Being the daughter of a Methodist minister, my Dad moved churches every couple of years.  The longest we lived anywhere when I was growing up, was 5 years.  That was an eternity.  And the moving just became a big part of who I am.  It forced me to jump into new environments, head first.  Just suck it up and make a friend.  I mean, even now, I'll make friends with the person in the grocery store line, or the post office line or at the airport, or just the lamppost, for Pete's sake.  I'm not picky.  People are fascinating.  I'll talk to anybody.  But all the moving, it's made me who I am.  And for that, I'm grateful.

But when I realized that my high school sweetheart, whom I had met during the "eternal 5 year period",  and I were headed for matrimonial bliss, I got to thinking, "Hey, here's a guy who's lived in the same house since the first grade...I'm going to get to set down some roots!  Finally."  No such luck.  His work is pretty specialized and so it has taken us to a variety of places.  You go where the work is. And so, the nomadic spirit lives on.

We've lived in Iowa for 4 years.  That's pretty long for us.  We lived somewhere for 6 years before.  Usually we are on the 3 year plan.  This time, we've made it 4!  Not too shabby.  This time, we get to go to another new state.  This time, it's South Carolina, near to our beloved North Carolina.  This time, it's less than 5 hours from our parents.  This time, we get to say good-bye.  Again.  It's hard--even when you are a displaced Southerner in the Midwest and the move takes you back to the South. 

As hard as I try to keep my distance emotionally from people, because I know that eventually we ALWAYS move and I will have to detach and I don't want to be vulnerable to that kind of pain, it doesn't work.  I can't help it.  I just love people.  I can't help but feel attached. 

So this move is bittersweet.  

Bitter: I am devastated because one of hubby's sisters lives here and we've loved living near her and her family and I have some precious friends here who I will miss terribly! 

Sweet: I am so excited that we'll be less than a days drive from my parents.

Bitter: I am heartbroken because my daughter is heartbroken to leave friends she's known since kindergarten. 

Sweet: I am thrilled that we'll be living near the beach!!! 

Bitter: I am sad to leave a wonderful school, neighborhood and friends.

Sweet: I am SO looking forward to having a mild Southern winter again!!   

I could go on and on. 

It's like my sweet Emma said. "The hardest part is telling my friends."  She's so right.  You find out you're moving.  You begin to process it yourself.  You tell one friend and the wound is just ripped open again.  Every time you tell someone else, you relive those feelings.  The wound doesn't get a chance to close. It hurts.  There's no avoiding the pain.  You just have to walk through it. 

And it's not only the people.  It's all the junk that goes along with moving.   The cleaning.  The house-selling.  The house-repairing.  The house-showing.  The house-purchasing.  The switching of schools, utilities, cell phones, drivers' licences, insurance, blah blah blah blah blah.  OY!  It hurts my brain to think about it all.  It's exhausting.

But it's right.  Amidst all the emotional upheaval and drama that ensues when you are in the moving process, I am at peace with our decision.  Bittersweet as it is, it's right.  It's painful and scary, but it's right.  We will all be okay.  Things will come together.  They always do.

I hate good-byes, so I don't say good-bye.  I say, "See ya later".  

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"How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."  ~Carol Sobieski and Thomas Meehan, Annie

"If your house is really a mess and a stranger comes to the door greet him with, 'Who could have done this? We have no enemies.' "
   ~Phyllis Diller

"Have you ever taken anything out of the clothes basket because it had become, relatively, the cleaner thing?"
   ~Katherine Whitehorn

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Here's a shocker...I'm not gifted in the housekeeping department. 

(Again with the clutter, you say??  Afraid so.  Yes, it is a recurring theme.  Get used to it, or go read something else.) 

It is a problem I had hoped to master by now, seeing as I'm 37 and all.  I have tried many times over the years to "make" myself be more organized.  More anal in my house cleaning.  I have read books on it and tried different systems--these of course, only added to my clutter.  Because you KNOW that having a spotless home would make me a better wife, mother and person in general, don't you?  A cluttered home somehow makes you a failure in the aforementioned areas, right?  Twisted, I know.  But somewhere along the way, I came to believe this was true.  Why?   

Oh, I can do it...for a limited time only.  There are just so many OTHER things I could be doing.  Other things that I deem way more valuable than a shiny toilet bowl and no dust bunnies under the couch.  I have been on and off the wagon more times than I can count.  I can do it in "fits and starts", as I call it. Like when company is coming over, for example.  That tends to provide me with the necessary motivation to get things looking presentable.  I mean, there are only SO many doors you can keep closed, people!!  That's when my hubby looks at me with a cheesy grin and says, "Hey babe, we should invite people over EVERY weekend!!"

But to no avail.  

It goes WAY back.  All the way back to my childhood.  (Doesn't everything??)  Oh, my poor mama, bless her heart.  I must have given her a rash like you wouldn't believe!  I remember many a time her telling me, "Joell Marie, you are not going ANYwhere until that room gets cleaned up!!"  When they start whipping out the middle name, well, you know they mean business.  I did hate the room cleaning.  Now I can only reminisce about the time when my room was the ONLY thing I was responsible for keeping straight!  Ha!

Ahhhh, those were the days...And let me just take this moment to say, MOM I am so sorry I didn't help out more growing up.  I certainly understand now how much work you did for us and how exhausted and exasperated you must have been most of the time!  Love you, Mama! 

I think I just wasn't born organized, you know?  While my mom wasn't a neat freak by any stretch, I don't remember our house being messy.  So I didn't grow up in a pigsty--other than my room, that is.  So, if I didn't learn to be a messy, then I must have been born that way, right?  Ah, sweet mystery!  I do ponder it from time to time...now being one of those times.  I would LOVE for my house to be "company ready" all the time.  But I am starting to believe that it just ain't gonna happen.  Am I giving up or am I just being realistic?  Do I sense some self-acceptance here?  Perhaps. 

Yesterday's "fit" occurred when I piled 6 loads of laundry in the car and took them to the laundromat to do them all at once because I am so behind from all the" lice laundry".  Never mind there are still at least 6 more loads yet to be done covering my laundry room floor.  But, $19 later, at least all the sheets, comforters, pillows and mattress protectors are clean now.  Who knew you couldn't do a load of laundry for $1 anymore?  But hey, I don't think I've been in a laundromat since 1992...Really, I don't want to hop down that bunny trail today...I could rant about my laundry for days.

Today's "fit" took place in the garage.  There was a manic clean out going on in there this afternoon.  I was like a crazy woman.  Hauling every item out onto the front lawn.  Tossing stuff into the "dump" pile like mad.  I was merciless.  I kinda like it when I get like that.  It's a little bit of a power trip.  Then, when it's all said and done and I can walk through the garage without my feet sticking to the floor or without falling over some bike, scooter, roller blades or helmet, I must say I feel quite a rush.

It begs the question, with a raised eyebrow, why can't this be a daily occurrence?  It's a "thing that makes ya say, hmmm" with index finger curiously pointing to chin. 

I have often blamed my lack of organization on my lack of space.  True, I don't have a big house, but I have had houses bigger than the one I currently live in and they were equally as cluttered.  I have blamed it on my busy schedule, but there are plenty of people WAY busier than I am and they can manage.  They certainly can't ALL have maids!  I really only have myself to blame.

So, I guess I will have to just accept the fact that my house will never be perfectly clean.  I'm not a bad wife, mother or person.  If my friends love me, they will love me in spite of my messy tendencies and truly, my kids don't really care.  My husband, however, does like clean sheets, one side of the sink empty, and a trash can that isn't over-flowing.  I do try to accommodate him in those areas, because it's really not too much to ask. 

Let's just say I'm a work in progress...just like my house.  ;-)

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"At worst, a house unkept cannot be so distressing as a life unlived."
   ~Rose Macaulay

When adversity strikes, I often will say to myself, "Okay, what have we learned from this?"  I happen to believe there is a lesson in everything. 

I've got the grill fired up.  Gettin' my grill on. Got me some chicken kabobs and a couple of burgers going on the grill.  It's smelling good.  I'm smiling to myself, thinking about how much I'm going to enjoy my kabob. 

POOF.  pause.  POOF again. 

It's a noise I haven't heard before while grilling.  I ponder it.  Bend down, do a little examination of the grill.  Suddenly it dawns on me: 

I've run out of gas. 

SIGH.  

As I watch the temperature slowly decline on my little temperature gauge,  (love that feature on my grill, by the way.  Thanks, Kenmore.)  I hang my head. What to do? 

I have two choices:

1.  Take my kabobs inside and figure out a way of cooking them to make them taste good NOT grilled.

2. Unhook the propane tank and road trip it to Wal Mart for the old propane tank exchange.

Either way, I've got to stop midstream and change my plan. My apple cart has officially been upset. 

I choose option 2.  I decide I just can't make my kabob taste good any other way.  Thankfully, I live very close to Wally world.  And it isn't a HUGE inconvenience.  But it is certainly annoying and it is cutting in to my evening and delaying my kabob enjoyment.  To make a long story short, I get to Wally world, trade in my tank and get back home all in less than 25 minutes.  Get that bad boy hooked on and I'm good to go.  Back to cheffin' up my kabob.  (I like that word kabob. Kabob. Kabob. Kabob.)

So it begs the question, what have we learned here?  Besides the fact that I like to say kabob. :-D

Have we stretched our patience a bit?  Maybe.  Have we learned to be a better boy scout by being prepared?  Probably.  Have we gotten a little lesson in inconvenience vs. real adversity?  Sure.  Delayed gratification?  Definitely. To let the small stuff be small stuff and not let an inconvenience get you down?  Uh huh. 

But, I think the most important thing I learned is that I make good decisions.  Grilled was most definitely the way to go.  :)

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"If you break your neck, if you have nothing to eat, if your house is on fire, then you got a problem.  Everything else is inconvenience."  ~Robert Fulghum

"How can a society that exists on instant mashed potatoes, packaged cake mixes, frozen dinners, and instant cameras teach patience to its young?"  ~Paul Sweeney

Have you ever noticed that it’s easier to get moving when there’s something there to motivate you? 

Case in point: 

I've been looking in my laundry room recently.  I mean, looking in there and then turning right back around and walking away.  I've been hoping for some inspiration to strike me as I darkened its door. I have gone so far as to separate the laundry into its appropriate piles...Towels, darks, lights, etc.  Baby steps. 

Blah, blah, blah...I know that I rant about my laundry "problem" a lot, but it's one of my (many) continuing stumbling blocks to domestic happiness.  (Question:  What part of me thinks that laundry is one of those tasks that you do it once and then you don't have to do it again for a long time?  Answer:  The crazy, in denial, delusional, part.)   

My laundry room is probably the room in my house that I both love the best, and hate the most.  I hate it because it is the room that causes me the most distress and I love it because it really is a great laundry room, as laundry rooms go.  It has a nice big closet in there and a tile floor.  It has a long rod in there to hang up your "non-dryer" items.  It has a sink in there, with some storage both above and below. And it has a toilet.

Herein lies my motivation. 

I go "look" in my laundry room this morning for my sports bra, which has been hung up to dry, because it is delicate.  (I'm going to make the most of this beautiful day and get out there and get moving.  But I've got to contain the girls.)  So, in my sock feet, I enter the abyss that is the laundry room to retrieve said sports bra, and lo and behold! I step in something wet.  Something wet. Hmmmm... 

Right near the toilet. 

Right near the pile of towels waiting to be washed. 

I look at the floor. 

I look at the toilet.  

For those of you who are squeamish, I won't go into any great detail.  But let me just say, the toilet had overflowed.  And, upon examination, for good reason.

Suddenly, I have all the motivation I need to wash some towels and declutter the laundry room.  Frankly, I am actually pretty glad I had NOT washed them.  Towels are very absorbent, you know.  

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"The secret of getting ahead is getting started, breaking your complex overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks and then starting on the first one." ~Mark Twain

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HEAD LICE UPDATE:  After allowing a couple of days to pass, and upon thorough examination by the school nurse yesterday, Emma is delared lice-free.  Didn't have to RID X after all--but glad I have lice killing shampoo on hand, just in case!  You never know!