Hello. My name is Becky. And I am the FORMER mayoress of a city I like to call Passive-Aggressiva. It's not a title I'm proud of. But I am happy that, for the most part, the word "former" is a huge part of where I am today.
I'm not big on confrontation. At all. Actually, I loathe it.
Back in the day, if I wanted someone to know I was upset with them, I'd post a very cryptic (translation: passive-aggressive) post about it on Facebook. Usually, it was pretty dang obvious to the intended recipient. Other times it caused others to question if they'd done something wrong or not. It took me way too long to see the immaturity in my behavior. A long time, and a lot of unnecessary hurt.
It embarrasses me to admit that I actually thought it was cute to act that way. Look at me -- publicly shaming someone on the internet because they hurt or upset me.
I would slap the crap out of my younger self if I could.
So much regret.
Bottom line these days? I don't play like that. I would hope that as adults, we can all be grown ups and address a problem head on.
Basically - - nobody wants to watch that drama play out in real life. Or on social media. It's petty and small. And y'all - - I'm sorry that I used to play that way.
But snark? - - I ain't giving that one up just yet. *wink* It's in my lifeblood. Still.
Sunday, December 17
Tuesday, November 14
Adult Children Loving Their Parents and Parents Loving Their Adult Children
I guess God thought I needed a heaping dose of perspective. Because He heaped it on me. So much of it.
I'm going to give you the most condensed version I know how. In other words, a potential lengthy post. But I'm going to try.
Both of my parents are in poor health. My mom has been sick for pretty much my entire adult life. Hers all started with a simple abdominal hernia back in 1990 (?). Enter staph infection. Open wounds. Home health. Diabetes. Toe amputations. Cellulitis. Chest pain. Back pain. Crappy knees. Being cut from stem to sternum. She's a hot mess. (She won't argue with any of that. She knows.)
Dad has heart problems. And Diabetes. He's had quadruple by-pass surgery. Stents. Heart caths. Congestive heart failure. Serious stuff.
I know way more medical jargon than I wish I did. I also know what role genetics will play in my future. Good times.
When they moved 90 miles away, I had a tiny coronary of my own. Figuratively speaking. I knew that it would present new challenges. But they had their reasons. And they're adults. So - - get after it. They were happy and it's hard to argue with that.
Enter a few random and stressful health scares. All do-able. And so far so good.
Until a week and a half ago.
Dad called me to tell me he was bringing mom over to the ER. I talked him into using the ER in their town. Which was initially a good idea. Except "THE" (as in the only) CAT scan machine was broken. And a clot needed to be ruled out. She needed to be transported over to my town. I talked Dad into staying home and agreed to meet the ambulance at the ER. She was admitted with the beginnings of pneumonia and what they thought was cellulitis. It's complicated. But anyway, they admitted her.
He traveled back and forth to see her.
She was slowly getting better and on the verge of getting dismissed. That's when she let me know that he was DRIVING HIMSELF OVER because he was having trouble breathing and experiencing chest pain.
He's hard-headed. We had that conversation today.
Praise God we had that conversation today.
Because yesterday, I wasn't sure we'd ever have another conversation again.
He was admitted Sunday night.
Monday morning, I went to visit them both. Conveniently on the same floor of the same hospital. I saw Mom first. We were both worried that we'd heard nothing from Dad. I went to investigate.
He wasn't on the same floor. He'd been moved to ICU. He'd been sedated and intubated. I was called into the little room. The room where bad consults happen. According to his cardiologist, he was very sick. Critical. He needed surgery right then. Did I consent? Did I want life-saving measures? I needed to sign paperwork.
HUH?
(When exactly did I become the responsible adult? I didn't get the memo.)
I walked into ICU and broke down. I'll never be able to un-see him hooked up to so many wires. A machine breathing for him. Him slumped over. I get a knot in my throat just thinking about it. I was able to hold his hand, kiss it and tell him I loved him as they wheeled him away.
Critical. Minute to minute.
I don't care how strong in your faith you are, moments like that rock you to your core. And my mom still didn't know what was going on.
In the meantime, Mr. B had arrived. This man is a rock, y'all. A freaking rock. Strong and comforting. (I married way out of my league, but we can talk about that another time.)
We went together to tell my mom. Her doctor had prepped her for it and was delaying her dismissal until my dad got out of surgery. We cried. I called her pastor who prayed with us over the phone.
We waited in ICU waiting for his doctor to talk to us after the procedure.
He made it out of surgery okay. No blockage. There is no cure for congestive heart failure though. His doctors are working hard at finding the best treatment for him. It won't be easy. But he seems very determined to do the work.
It's been an exhausting couple of weeks. But I still have both of my parents. And I'm so grateful for that. Dad gets another night in ICU, to play it safe. Then hopefully just a couple of days in a regular room. I know he's probably already itching to get home to his pups. And Mom.
It's hard to watch your parents age and experience health problems. I'm sure it's hard for them to slowly relinquish control to their kids as we help them navigate this portion of their life on this earth. It's an interesting place to be as their "kid."
All I know is I had the privilege of spending the day with my dad. I got to help him and love him. And I'm so glad. I needed it. I think he may have needed it, too. His tell? When I told him I loved him, he didn't reply with "thanks." He told me he loved me, too.
I think I may actually sleep good tonight.
I'm going to give you the most condensed version I know how. In other words, a potential lengthy post. But I'm going to try.
Both of my parents are in poor health. My mom has been sick for pretty much my entire adult life. Hers all started with a simple abdominal hernia back in 1990 (?). Enter staph infection. Open wounds. Home health. Diabetes. Toe amputations. Cellulitis. Chest pain. Back pain. Crappy knees. Being cut from stem to sternum. She's a hot mess. (She won't argue with any of that. She knows.)
Dad has heart problems. And Diabetes. He's had quadruple by-pass surgery. Stents. Heart caths. Congestive heart failure. Serious stuff.
I know way more medical jargon than I wish I did. I also know what role genetics will play in my future. Good times.
When they moved 90 miles away, I had a tiny coronary of my own. Figuratively speaking. I knew that it would present new challenges. But they had their reasons. And they're adults. So - - get after it. They were happy and it's hard to argue with that.
Enter a few random and stressful health scares. All do-able. And so far so good.
Until a week and a half ago.
Dad called me to tell me he was bringing mom over to the ER. I talked him into using the ER in their town. Which was initially a good idea. Except "THE" (as in the only) CAT scan machine was broken. And a clot needed to be ruled out. She needed to be transported over to my town. I talked Dad into staying home and agreed to meet the ambulance at the ER. She was admitted with the beginnings of pneumonia and what they thought was cellulitis. It's complicated. But anyway, they admitted her.
He traveled back and forth to see her.
She was slowly getting better and on the verge of getting dismissed. That's when she let me know that he was DRIVING HIMSELF OVER because he was having trouble breathing and experiencing chest pain.
He's hard-headed. We had that conversation today.
Praise God we had that conversation today.
Because yesterday, I wasn't sure we'd ever have another conversation again.
He was admitted Sunday night.
Monday morning, I went to visit them both. Conveniently on the same floor of the same hospital. I saw Mom first. We were both worried that we'd heard nothing from Dad. I went to investigate.
He wasn't on the same floor. He'd been moved to ICU. He'd been sedated and intubated. I was called into the little room. The room where bad consults happen. According to his cardiologist, he was very sick. Critical. He needed surgery right then. Did I consent? Did I want life-saving measures? I needed to sign paperwork.
HUH?
(When exactly did I become the responsible adult? I didn't get the memo.)
I walked into ICU and broke down. I'll never be able to un-see him hooked up to so many wires. A machine breathing for him. Him slumped over. I get a knot in my throat just thinking about it. I was able to hold his hand, kiss it and tell him I loved him as they wheeled him away.
Critical. Minute to minute.
I don't care how strong in your faith you are, moments like that rock you to your core. And my mom still didn't know what was going on.
In the meantime, Mr. B had arrived. This man is a rock, y'all. A freaking rock. Strong and comforting. (I married way out of my league, but we can talk about that another time.)
We went together to tell my mom. Her doctor had prepped her for it and was delaying her dismissal until my dad got out of surgery. We cried. I called her pastor who prayed with us over the phone.
We waited in ICU waiting for his doctor to talk to us after the procedure.
He made it out of surgery okay. No blockage. There is no cure for congestive heart failure though. His doctors are working hard at finding the best treatment for him. It won't be easy. But he seems very determined to do the work.
It's been an exhausting couple of weeks. But I still have both of my parents. And I'm so grateful for that. Dad gets another night in ICU, to play it safe. Then hopefully just a couple of days in a regular room. I know he's probably already itching to get home to his pups. And Mom.
It's hard to watch your parents age and experience health problems. I'm sure it's hard for them to slowly relinquish control to their kids as we help them navigate this portion of their life on this earth. It's an interesting place to be as their "kid."
All I know is I had the privilege of spending the day with my dad. I got to help him and love him. And I'm so glad. I needed it. I think he may have needed it, too. His tell? When I told him I loved him, he didn't reply with "thanks." He told me he loved me, too.
I think I may actually sleep good tonight.
Tuesday, October 24
This whole "Me Too" thing...
I am so irritated.
Brace yourselves, friends. I'm about to go there. The place I vowed to stay away from. Political/Social hot button topics. And this one oozes hypocrisy.
I'm sure many of you have heard of the "Me, Too" campaign. If you're on social media at all, you are likely seeing so much of it. Traditionally, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. A quick Google search will give you all kinds of information. But the actions of a few high profile celebrities have brought the issue to the forefront.
Let me start with this - - I take sexual assault VERY seriously. And I honestly feel like I have credibility when it comes to the topic. For a couple of years, I worked with the local rape crisis center as a "crisis intervention specialist." That's a fancy title for someone who works with victims of sexual assault, incest, abuse, etc. While I hold a bachelor's degree in psychology, I'm not a psychologist or a licensed counselor.
My job was to help victims navigate the process. Many times, that process (for staff and volunteers) included meeting victims at the emergency room. We had an agreement with the hospital. When a victim came in, we were contacted. If it was during business hours, whoever was available would go over to the hospital to greet the victim. After hours, we worked on-call. I went on several calls. And a few still linger in my head.
At the hospital there were at least two, possibly three, Sexual Assault Nurse Examiners. I won't go into the details. It's a lot. And those nurses are freaking amazing. They are trained to collect evidence.
We would explain the process to the victim and whoever accompanied them to the E.R. We would discuss evidence collection, how the process worked with law enforcement, expectation with the legal system, what to expect in the days to come, etc. And we would offer our services to them free of charge. It was an amazing program.
I'm not entirely sure how the program works today. I know the agency is still in town, but they've expanded their umbrella of services to include those who identify as LGBTQ and the issues they struggle with. I don't understand linking the two. Especially since we were taught, for so long, that sexual identity has nothing to do with sexual assault. For that matter, neither does sex. Sexual assault is about power and control. (And let me be clear, I have NO problem with services being offered to the LGBTQ community. None.)
Sexual assault and incest are violent and ugly. They steal dignity. It can flat out destroy a person. I saw the consequences every day I worked there. It was an honor to be an advocate for those whose world had just been turned upside down. Or those who had pushed aside events from their past and finally had summoned the courage to speak out.
On that note...
The way the definition of sexual assault has evolved makes me absolutely sick. And it minimizes what, I feel, is true rape or incest. How in the world can you compare the brutality and violence of rape with someone who may have had their butt grabbed by some guy? Or some person at work who tells a dirty/inappropriate jokes? Or someone who stared at your chest? How is that the same? Someone please educate me. I know those things are wrong, wrong, wrong. No denying that. And I truly believe they need to be called out on their behavior.
I've had my butt grabbed.
I've had my chest oogled over.
I've heard plenty of dirty jokes. I've probably told a few. (I totally have.)
I'm not triggered. I don't feel the need to shout out, "Me, too!"
I'm angry. I'm angry for the fourteen year old I worked with who was violently raped by an acquaintance. I'm angry for the gay service member who was suicidal over memories that haunted him over years of childhood incest. I'm mad, y'all. Mad.
I'm angry with the Hollywood hypocrites who had no issue, FOR YEARS, in accepting roles from the perv who "assaulted" them. Whatever to get or keep the job. Right? I'm upset with him for abusing his power. See the theme here? Power and control. It's not about sex. I'm mad at the sudden onset of outrage from the political elite. I'm angry at any woman who is using this "Me, too" thing to garner attention.
Look, if someone grabbed your butt in the bar or in the office, you weren't sexually assaulted. Not in my opinion. Were you the victim of some very inappropriate behavior? Uh, yes. Of course. But stop saying "Me, too." Because I can assure you, it pales in comparison to so many of the actual victims I worked with.
You do not have to agree with me. And if you can present a credible argument against my words, please reach out to me. Maybe I need educating. I don't know. But right now, I've had enough.
What's sad is there are some legitimate "Me, too's" out there... And they need help. Legitimate help. They need advocates. They need a safe place to talk. I'm safe, y'all. If you need to talk, you know how to find me. If you're local, I'll meet you for coffee. I'll take a phone call. I'll offer a shoulder to cry on. I'll try to help point you in the right direction and help you get counseling. If you need to speak out and are afraid to, track me down. I don't play with this topic. Not. At. All.
Victims, I've got you.
And with that, I'll climb off of my soapbox.
Brace yourselves, friends. I'm about to go there. The place I vowed to stay away from. Political/Social hot button topics. And this one oozes hypocrisy.
I'm sure many of you have heard of the "Me, Too" campaign. If you're on social media at all, you are likely seeing so much of it. Traditionally, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. A quick Google search will give you all kinds of information. But the actions of a few high profile celebrities have brought the issue to the forefront.
Let me start with this - - I take sexual assault VERY seriously. And I honestly feel like I have credibility when it comes to the topic. For a couple of years, I worked with the local rape crisis center as a "crisis intervention specialist." That's a fancy title for someone who works with victims of sexual assault, incest, abuse, etc. While I hold a bachelor's degree in psychology, I'm not a psychologist or a licensed counselor.
My job was to help victims navigate the process. Many times, that process (for staff and volunteers) included meeting victims at the emergency room. We had an agreement with the hospital. When a victim came in, we were contacted. If it was during business hours, whoever was available would go over to the hospital to greet the victim. After hours, we worked on-call. I went on several calls. And a few still linger in my head.
At the hospital there were at least two, possibly three, Sexual Assault Nurse Examiners. I won't go into the details. It's a lot. And those nurses are freaking amazing. They are trained to collect evidence.
We would explain the process to the victim and whoever accompanied them to the E.R. We would discuss evidence collection, how the process worked with law enforcement, expectation with the legal system, what to expect in the days to come, etc. And we would offer our services to them free of charge. It was an amazing program.
I'm not entirely sure how the program works today. I know the agency is still in town, but they've expanded their umbrella of services to include those who identify as LGBTQ and the issues they struggle with. I don't understand linking the two. Especially since we were taught, for so long, that sexual identity has nothing to do with sexual assault. For that matter, neither does sex. Sexual assault is about power and control. (And let me be clear, I have NO problem with services being offered to the LGBTQ community. None.)
Sexual assault and incest are violent and ugly. They steal dignity. It can flat out destroy a person. I saw the consequences every day I worked there. It was an honor to be an advocate for those whose world had just been turned upside down. Or those who had pushed aside events from their past and finally had summoned the courage to speak out.
On that note...
The way the definition of sexual assault has evolved makes me absolutely sick. And it minimizes what, I feel, is true rape or incest. How in the world can you compare the brutality and violence of rape with someone who may have had their butt grabbed by some guy? Or some person at work who tells a dirty/inappropriate jokes? Or someone who stared at your chest? How is that the same? Someone please educate me. I know those things are wrong, wrong, wrong. No denying that. And I truly believe they need to be called out on their behavior.
I've had my butt grabbed.
I've had my chest oogled over.
I've heard plenty of dirty jokes. I've probably told a few. (I totally have.)
I'm not triggered. I don't feel the need to shout out, "Me, too!"
I'm angry. I'm angry for the fourteen year old I worked with who was violently raped by an acquaintance. I'm angry for the gay service member who was suicidal over memories that haunted him over years of childhood incest. I'm mad, y'all. Mad.
I'm angry with the Hollywood hypocrites who had no issue, FOR YEARS, in accepting roles from the perv who "assaulted" them. Whatever to get or keep the job. Right? I'm upset with him for abusing his power. See the theme here? Power and control. It's not about sex. I'm mad at the sudden onset of outrage from the political elite. I'm angry at any woman who is using this "Me, too" thing to garner attention.
Look, if someone grabbed your butt in the bar or in the office, you weren't sexually assaulted. Not in my opinion. Were you the victim of some very inappropriate behavior? Uh, yes. Of course. But stop saying "Me, too." Because I can assure you, it pales in comparison to so many of the actual victims I worked with.
You do not have to agree with me. And if you can present a credible argument against my words, please reach out to me. Maybe I need educating. I don't know. But right now, I've had enough.
What's sad is there are some legitimate "Me, too's" out there... And they need help. Legitimate help. They need advocates. They need a safe place to talk. I'm safe, y'all. If you need to talk, you know how to find me. If you're local, I'll meet you for coffee. I'll take a phone call. I'll offer a shoulder to cry on. I'll try to help point you in the right direction and help you get counseling. If you need to speak out and are afraid to, track me down. I don't play with this topic. Not. At. All.
Victims, I've got you.
And with that, I'll climb off of my soapbox.
Thursday, October 19
All the thoughts. Heavy hearts.
Sit back and grab your coffee or favorite Sonic beverage. This could be a lengthy one. Me? I have my Diet Cranberry Limeade and a lot on mind. I have to get it all out.
I don't know where to begin.
Maybe over the summer.
I was struggling. A lot. As a mom. And as a friend. Praise God the wife thing was going so well. Still is. Love me some Mr. B. But as a mom, I was struggling.
I can't go into it too much detail because while I overshare often about my kids, I recognize their need for privacy in such a public world. Let's just say that about an hour before I was scheduled to get on a plane and head to a conference out of state, some things surfaced that literally knocked my feet right out from under me. While all the "stuff" that led to this moment had been building progressively over the summer, I was not prepared for it to shift so quickly.
We got some quick answers and luckily, God has really blessed some changes that were made.
As the plane taxied down the runway, I popped my earbuds in and fought back the urge to sob uncontrollably. I took a deep breath, asked God to guide and guard my husband and kids in my brief absence, and then cranked up my workout playlist. Yes, the workout one. Because I needed loud music. And I clearly had not been using it to workout.
I went on to attend an AMAZING conference and make a new friend. And my family would have epic fun while I was gone. Bless. Bless all that.
But friends. Summer can be ever so isolating in West Texas if you don't have a pool or a membership to a pool. And when you have an active kid with all the friends and all the invites and then a kid who prefers the isolation of his room - - I was stuck like chuck. Then you see the pictures of your friends living it up. Together. Don't misunderstand me. Please. I understand fully that we aren't going to get invited to everything. And that's really okay. We can't all do everything together all of the time. Life just doesn't work that way. I learned, the hard way, to not let that get to me.
Leaving our church home a little over a year ago would bring both blessings and heartbreak. We knew God was calling us out of our comfort zone. Since 1995, we'd worshiped in that church. We got married there. We lived through infertility there. We celebrated two adoptions there. Our babies were dedicated to God there. Our friends were there. But God had other plans.
Change is hard. Being obedient to God isn't always the easy road.
We were invited to attend Journey Bible Church. And on our first Sunday there, we felt like we'd finally come up for fresh air. We immediately felt a sense of family. We felt welcome. We were truly able to worship together as a family. Through music, the preaching of God's word, fellowship - - church, the way we felt like God had designed it to be. Flawed people loving flawed people. We were home.
Leaving a very large church for a much smaller one would introduce a hiccup for me. The friend thing. Sure I would find new friends. But I would have to be intentional about maintaining old ones. And that would prove to be difficult. I still struggle, but I'm finding that God is slowly blessing our obedience.
In the midst of all of this, I watched several friends endure some really tough life events. One friend lost her boutique in a bad storm in June. Another friend lost her father. Some friends experienced betrayal on a level that absolutely boggles the mind. Our best friends moved out of state.
The enemy knows where the chinks in our armor are. And he capitalizes on them. Divide and conquer is his M.O. What a fart-knocker. Seriously. Could he be a bigger tool?
The doubt consumed me.
Was I good enough?
Why do I feel invisible?
What is wrong with me?
What was God thinking in trusting me to raise these two boys?
And I told nobody.
I had never felt more alone and more isolated. So much of it, my own doing. Because I didn't reach out and ask for help when I felt like I was beginning to sink. How arrogant of me to wait for someone to notice. Especially when I was trying really hard to hide my heartache.
I was in a funk. A bad one.
But God is faithful, y'all. Always.
What a privilege it is to carry our burdens alongside friends and family. To pray for them. To pray with them. To ask God to intervene when all seems hopeless. To have them pray for you. To reach out to you.
Friends, both old a new - - with fresh eyes and an open heart.
This day had so much hurt. But so much love at the same time. There was unexpected loss and renewed relationships. Family. Friends.
I love you guys. And I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for putting up with me. I can be a handful. So much sass. But a heart that doesn't know how to really quit. That love comes from Jesus you guys. He gets me through.
I leave you with this amazing new song by Matt Redman. Hope - - One Day. No more tears. No more shame. No more walking through the shadow of death. No more cancer. All of this will change when we see Jesus face to face.
Perfectly Imperfect, Flawed, Forgiven and Loved,
~b
I don't know where to begin.
Maybe over the summer.
I was struggling. A lot. As a mom. And as a friend. Praise God the wife thing was going so well. Still is. Love me some Mr. B. But as a mom, I was struggling.
I can't go into it too much detail because while I overshare often about my kids, I recognize their need for privacy in such a public world. Let's just say that about an hour before I was scheduled to get on a plane and head to a conference out of state, some things surfaced that literally knocked my feet right out from under me. While all the "stuff" that led to this moment had been building progressively over the summer, I was not prepared for it to shift so quickly.
We got some quick answers and luckily, God has really blessed some changes that were made.
As the plane taxied down the runway, I popped my earbuds in and fought back the urge to sob uncontrollably. I took a deep breath, asked God to guide and guard my husband and kids in my brief absence, and then cranked up my workout playlist. Yes, the workout one. Because I needed loud music. And I clearly had not been using it to workout.
I went on to attend an AMAZING conference and make a new friend. And my family would have epic fun while I was gone. Bless. Bless all that.
But friends. Summer can be ever so isolating in West Texas if you don't have a pool or a membership to a pool. And when you have an active kid with all the friends and all the invites and then a kid who prefers the isolation of his room - - I was stuck like chuck. Then you see the pictures of your friends living it up. Together. Don't misunderstand me. Please. I understand fully that we aren't going to get invited to everything. And that's really okay. We can't all do everything together all of the time. Life just doesn't work that way. I learned, the hard way, to not let that get to me.
Leaving our church home a little over a year ago would bring both blessings and heartbreak. We knew God was calling us out of our comfort zone. Since 1995, we'd worshiped in that church. We got married there. We lived through infertility there. We celebrated two adoptions there. Our babies were dedicated to God there. Our friends were there. But God had other plans.
Change is hard. Being obedient to God isn't always the easy road.
We were invited to attend Journey Bible Church. And on our first Sunday there, we felt like we'd finally come up for fresh air. We immediately felt a sense of family. We felt welcome. We were truly able to worship together as a family. Through music, the preaching of God's word, fellowship - - church, the way we felt like God had designed it to be. Flawed people loving flawed people. We were home.
Leaving a very large church for a much smaller one would introduce a hiccup for me. The friend thing. Sure I would find new friends. But I would have to be intentional about maintaining old ones. And that would prove to be difficult. I still struggle, but I'm finding that God is slowly blessing our obedience.
In the midst of all of this, I watched several friends endure some really tough life events. One friend lost her boutique in a bad storm in June. Another friend lost her father. Some friends experienced betrayal on a level that absolutely boggles the mind. Our best friends moved out of state.
The enemy knows where the chinks in our armor are. And he capitalizes on them. Divide and conquer is his M.O. What a fart-knocker. Seriously. Could he be a bigger tool?
The doubt consumed me.
Was I good enough?
Why do I feel invisible?
What is wrong with me?
What was God thinking in trusting me to raise these two boys?
And I told nobody.
I had never felt more alone and more isolated. So much of it, my own doing. Because I didn't reach out and ask for help when I felt like I was beginning to sink. How arrogant of me to wait for someone to notice. Especially when I was trying really hard to hide my heartache.
I was in a funk. A bad one.
But God is faithful, y'all. Always.
What a privilege it is to carry our burdens alongside friends and family. To pray for them. To pray with them. To ask God to intervene when all seems hopeless. To have them pray for you. To reach out to you.
Friends, both old a new - - with fresh eyes and an open heart.
This day had so much hurt. But so much love at the same time. There was unexpected loss and renewed relationships. Family. Friends.
I love you guys. And I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for putting up with me. I can be a handful. So much sass. But a heart that doesn't know how to really quit. That love comes from Jesus you guys. He gets me through.
I leave you with this amazing new song by Matt Redman. Hope - - One Day. No more tears. No more shame. No more walking through the shadow of death. No more cancer. All of this will change when we see Jesus face to face.
Perfectly Imperfect, Flawed, Forgiven and Loved,
~b
Tuesday, September 26
Friendship Deal-Breaker
Recently, one of my friends (who teaches at the college level) gave an interesting writing prompt to her students. Here is what she shared on Facebook:
Then she challenged her Facebook friends with the same task of answering that question.
I had my fingers on and off the keyboard. Then I finally commented that it warranted a blog entry.
So here goes...
It's interesting. Because I have had very few friendships break up. Let me explain. I think we first need to define what, to us, is a friend. Because I have lots of "Facebook friends." I have a whole lot of acquaintances in real life. To give you the title of friend is a pretty big deal to me. And honestly, it wasn't something I really understood until I was WELL into my adult life.
I had friends growing up. But none were really solid, mature relationships. Because - - well, I wasn't a solid, mature person. I always struggled being friends with females. I could relate to guys so much easier. Girls, in my experience, were catty and mean. Jealous. Nasty. Held grudges. It was never easy.
I was one of those girls who developed early. And I just kept on developing. Most girls hated me for that. Truly hated. Guys noticed. Some were pretty obnoxious about it.
I developed some pretty wicked self-esteem issues and I would say that I had a very negative body image issue. I hid behind clothes that were too big for me. As a matter of fact, I'm in my mid-forties (holy crap, how did that happen) and I'm just now learning to dress for my size, throw my shoulders back, and stand tall. Confident in who I am.
But back to the friend thing.
I made some friends in college. Ride or die friends? Well, maybe a couple. Lots and lots of social friends. People I knew, hung out with, and stuff. But people that knew the inner workings of me? Not really. I found that most people disappointed me. They let me down. They cast me aside when a better offer came along. They didn't include me in their group dates because my boyfriend ran in a different circle.
I only dated one guy in college. Seriously dated. And it lasted two years. It ended rather abruptly after he graduated and went into the Air Force. He actually broke my damn heart. I've heard through the grapevine that he's like a Colonel or something now. And really, he was a great guy. He just knew that I wasn't the one. Ewwwww. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Why did I even let this go there? I actually struck gold one week after I graduated from college. Hello Mr. B! I'll post more about how we became Mr. and Mrs. B another time. It's quite a story.
But friends...
That not being included thing stung. A lot. Still does. Facebook has made that worse. Because of stupid tagging and inside jokes. I hate that crap.
Grown up friendships are very different. So I'm going to use that as my reference to answer the original question. What's my deal-breaker? For authentic friendships. What can make me run the other direction?
If you've thrown me under the bus for something, I'd give myself a pretty safe distance. But if you were driving the bus you threw me under? Bye. Seriously, bye.
What do I expect? Honesty. Loyalty (within reason, I understand priorities), Respect, and Love.
I've had many acquaintances come and go. Some are due to distance. Others are due to straight up incompatibility. I've said it a million times, I think we can have seasonal friendships. Seasons change. Lives change. Priorities change. Life happens.
I had an awesome group of friends that met weekly to scrapbook. We had a firm agreement. Politics was off limits. Religion was really limited to curiosity questions. (We were very diverse.)
Politics. Oh Lort. Not a deal-breaker as long as you aren't an asshole about your beliefs. Again with the respect thing.
I've been through hell and back with a friend. We had to "go in the tunnel" to work our crap out. It wasn't pretty. But I'm so glad that we did.
I have a very small group of women I'd go to if a crisis crept up.
I know who to call if I need a glass of wine or a cup of coffee and a good conversation.
I know who to call if I need to pray about something.
I know who to call if I need to belly laugh at an inappropriate movie.
I know who to call if I get a kidney stone in the middle of the night.
I know who to call to bury the body of the bus driver.
I have those people in my life. And I'm not afraid to sic them on you if you hurt me. And I will straight up cut you if you hurt them.
Deal-breaker? You have to REALLY screw up to get out of my inner circle once you're in. It's simple. Stick with the code and we'll be fine.
See why I couldn't squeeze all that in a comment box? Heh.
In class, I asked students to write on this prompt: "What's your 'deal-breaker' in a friendship? What would you consider something so bad that you'd back away from the relationship?" Before the students got started, one of them asked me, "What's YOUR deal-breaker?"
Then she challenged her Facebook friends with the same task of answering that question.
I had my fingers on and off the keyboard. Then I finally commented that it warranted a blog entry.
So here goes...
It's interesting. Because I have had very few friendships break up. Let me explain. I think we first need to define what, to us, is a friend. Because I have lots of "Facebook friends." I have a whole lot of acquaintances in real life. To give you the title of friend is a pretty big deal to me. And honestly, it wasn't something I really understood until I was WELL into my adult life.
I had friends growing up. But none were really solid, mature relationships. Because - - well, I wasn't a solid, mature person. I always struggled being friends with females. I could relate to guys so much easier. Girls, in my experience, were catty and mean. Jealous. Nasty. Held grudges. It was never easy.
I was one of those girls who developed early. And I just kept on developing. Most girls hated me for that. Truly hated. Guys noticed. Some were pretty obnoxious about it.
I developed some pretty wicked self-esteem issues and I would say that I had a very negative body image issue. I hid behind clothes that were too big for me. As a matter of fact, I'm in my mid-forties (holy crap, how did that happen) and I'm just now learning to dress for my size, throw my shoulders back, and stand tall. Confident in who I am.
But back to the friend thing.
I made some friends in college. Ride or die friends? Well, maybe a couple. Lots and lots of social friends. People I knew, hung out with, and stuff. But people that knew the inner workings of me? Not really. I found that most people disappointed me. They let me down. They cast me aside when a better offer came along. They didn't include me in their group dates because my boyfriend ran in a different circle.
I only dated one guy in college. Seriously dated. And it lasted two years. It ended rather abruptly after he graduated and went into the Air Force. He actually broke my damn heart. I've heard through the grapevine that he's like a Colonel or something now. And really, he was a great guy. He just knew that I wasn't the one. Ewwwww. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Why did I even let this go there? I actually struck gold one week after I graduated from college. Hello Mr. B! I'll post more about how we became Mr. and Mrs. B another time. It's quite a story.
But friends...
That not being included thing stung. A lot. Still does. Facebook has made that worse. Because of stupid tagging and inside jokes. I hate that crap.
Grown up friendships are very different. So I'm going to use that as my reference to answer the original question. What's my deal-breaker? For authentic friendships. What can make me run the other direction?
If you've thrown me under the bus for something, I'd give myself a pretty safe distance. But if you were driving the bus you threw me under? Bye. Seriously, bye.
What do I expect? Honesty. Loyalty (within reason, I understand priorities), Respect, and Love.
I've had many acquaintances come and go. Some are due to distance. Others are due to straight up incompatibility. I've said it a million times, I think we can have seasonal friendships. Seasons change. Lives change. Priorities change. Life happens.
I had an awesome group of friends that met weekly to scrapbook. We had a firm agreement. Politics was off limits. Religion was really limited to curiosity questions. (We were very diverse.)
Politics. Oh Lort. Not a deal-breaker as long as you aren't an asshole about your beliefs. Again with the respect thing.
I've been through hell and back with a friend. We had to "go in the tunnel" to work our crap out. It wasn't pretty. But I'm so glad that we did.
I have a very small group of women I'd go to if a crisis crept up.
I know who to call if I need a glass of wine or a cup of coffee and a good conversation.
I know who to call if I need to pray about something.
I know who to call if I need to belly laugh at an inappropriate movie.
I know who to call if I get a kidney stone in the middle of the night.
I know who to call to bury the body of the bus driver.
I have those people in my life. And I'm not afraid to sic them on you if you hurt me. And I will straight up cut you if you hurt them.
Deal-breaker? You have to REALLY screw up to get out of my inner circle once you're in. It's simple. Stick with the code and we'll be fine.
See why I couldn't squeeze all that in a comment box? Heh.
Wednesday, September 13
He is his father's son...
It's funny how adoption works. You know, how God just works it out. We get the kids we were supposed to get.
When Justin was born, he had a head full of dark, dark brown hair. I always highlighted mine, but I immediately stopped. Because I wanted him to look like me. So I (temporarily) ditched the highlights.
Then Cameron was born with super blonde hair. And blue eyes. Just like Dad.
We got that a lot. People were often shocked to find out our boys were adopted. Justin looked like me and Cameron looked like David.
But personality wise - - Justin is David and Cameron is me.
Cameron and I are all go, no quit, work a room, social butterflies. Justin and David are not. SO not. Not in a bad way. They have friends. They'll go out in public. They'll semi-socialize. But given a choice - - being home and not being peopley is it.
Yesterday, I was perusing Instagram when I saw a friend's pictures of her adorable daughter doing her cheerleader thing at the middle school both boys go to. Only now, the school is so big, only 8th graders get to go to the pep rallies. I forgot that their games were on Tuesdays. So naturally, pep rallies would be on those days.
When I saw the pictures, I nearly died laughing. Not at the beautiful cheerleader. No way. She was adorable. But I was laughing knowing that Justin was probably in there. I even joked that I could imagine seeing his eyes roll right past the video in the gym.
Fast forward to after school. Here was the conversation.
Me: Hey, Dude. How was school.
Justin: It was alright.
Me: Was there a pep rally today?
Justin: Yes.
Me: Did you get to go?
Justin: Mom, I had to go. They made us. I didn't have a choice.
*cue me giggling*
Me: You didn't care for it, huh?
Justin: Not at all.
So I told David about it. He went on about how much he hated pep rallies in high school.
*insert my fake shocked face*
Y'all. I lived for that stuff in junior high and high school. So much that I tried out for (and was voted in as) my high school mascot my senior year.
I spent a week at cheerleading camp (where I won the mascot spirit stick, thank you), I helped paint banners during the summer to decorate the gym, I helped decorate the gym, I had my dad make me cool props for the games, I sweated my butt off in that un-airconditioned gym, I was at every game, I posed for a gazillion pictures with kids... I lived for it and absolutely loved every second.
I don't have an athletic bone in my body. So when I jammed my finger in my very first (and only) junior varsity basketball game (during warm up, I should add) I quit basketball and signed up to be a manager. Because I loved it. I loved being there.
I even managed track so that I could go to track meets. Who loves track meets? Me. I kept those girls hydrated, at their starting blocks on time and I loved every dang second of it. Well, except for the distance runners who ALWAYS puked. Gross.
So my oldest detests it all. And I married a guy who isn't much of a fan himself. He'll got to Ram Jam with me. But we go in two cars. Because he and Justin cheese it when the festivities end.
\
Cameron and I walk over to the football game and sit in our same reserved seats. We're on our third year now. He missed his very first game last week due to a family commitment. But me? I haven't missed a single one yet. My goal is to get a not-yet-existent perfect attendance award for football games when I'm in my 90's or something. I want them to cheer on Grammy B for sticking it out and being loyal to her guys. Because Rams, y'all. Go Rams, Go!
I love my time with Cameron at the football games. I love watching him interact with players on the field after the game. I love the looks he gets from the players' moms when he asks them to sign his t-shirt. He loves those boys. Cameron is all in with his Rams. And so am I.
So it all has worked out. The son that doesn't look much like me acts like me. And vice-versa for David.
And it's all okay.
We're happy. We have fun.
When Justin was born, he had a head full of dark, dark brown hair. I always highlighted mine, but I immediately stopped. Because I wanted him to look like me. So I (temporarily) ditched the highlights.
Then Cameron was born with super blonde hair. And blue eyes. Just like Dad.
We got that a lot. People were often shocked to find out our boys were adopted. Justin looked like me and Cameron looked like David.
But personality wise - - Justin is David and Cameron is me.
Cameron and I are all go, no quit, work a room, social butterflies. Justin and David are not. SO not. Not in a bad way. They have friends. They'll go out in public. They'll semi-socialize. But given a choice - - being home and not being peopley is it.
Yesterday, I was perusing Instagram when I saw a friend's pictures of her adorable daughter doing her cheerleader thing at the middle school both boys go to. Only now, the school is so big, only 8th graders get to go to the pep rallies. I forgot that their games were on Tuesdays. So naturally, pep rallies would be on those days.
When I saw the pictures, I nearly died laughing. Not at the beautiful cheerleader. No way. She was adorable. But I was laughing knowing that Justin was probably in there. I even joked that I could imagine seeing his eyes roll right past the video in the gym.
Fast forward to after school. Here was the conversation.
Me: Hey, Dude. How was school.
Justin: It was alright.
Me: Was there a pep rally today?
Justin: Yes.
Me: Did you get to go?
Justin: Mom, I had to go. They made us. I didn't have a choice.
*cue me giggling*
Me: You didn't care for it, huh?
Justin: Not at all.
So I told David about it. He went on about how much he hated pep rallies in high school.
*insert my fake shocked face*
Y'all. I lived for that stuff in junior high and high school. So much that I tried out for (and was voted in as) my high school mascot my senior year.
I spent a week at cheerleading camp (where I won the mascot spirit stick, thank you), I helped paint banners during the summer to decorate the gym, I helped decorate the gym, I had my dad make me cool props for the games, I sweated my butt off in that un-airconditioned gym, I was at every game, I posed for a gazillion pictures with kids... I lived for it and absolutely loved every second.
I don't have an athletic bone in my body. So when I jammed my finger in my very first (and only) junior varsity basketball game (during warm up, I should add) I quit basketball and signed up to be a manager. Because I loved it. I loved being there.I even managed track so that I could go to track meets. Who loves track meets? Me. I kept those girls hydrated, at their starting blocks on time and I loved every dang second of it. Well, except for the distance runners who ALWAYS puked. Gross.
So my oldest detests it all. And I married a guy who isn't much of a fan himself. He'll got to Ram Jam with me. But we go in two cars. Because he and Justin cheese it when the festivities end.\
Cameron and I walk over to the football game and sit in our same reserved seats. We're on our third year now. He missed his very first game last week due to a family commitment. But me? I haven't missed a single one yet. My goal is to get a not-yet-existent perfect attendance award for football games when I'm in my 90's or something. I want them to cheer on Grammy B for sticking it out and being loyal to her guys. Because Rams, y'all. Go Rams, Go!
I love my time with Cameron at the football games. I love watching him interact with players on the field after the game. I love the looks he gets from the players' moms when he asks them to sign his t-shirt. He loves those boys. Cameron is all in with his Rams. And so am I.
So it all has worked out. The son that doesn't look much like me acts like me. And vice-versa for David.
And it's all okay.
We're happy. We have fun.
Tuesday, September 12
Kicking it old school...
My garage door opener broke. Because of course things break in this house. All the things. All the time. Break, break, breakity, break. I had just pulled in from the ASU football game Thursday night and pushed the button in my car to close it. I was getting out as it closed.
And just like that, I thought I was about to die.
I heard a loud snap. I ducked, y'all. Because something gadgety was trying to kill me.
When I realized what it was, I was thankful that wire didn't pop me in the head. That would have hurt.
So I went inside to spread the good news to Mr. B.
He was super thrilled that something else had gone wrong with The Money Pit. (That's what we call our house now. For future reference, TMP.)
For the first day, the mister braced it open so I could get out. I ran errands and stuff. Then I would have the kids get out of the van, go punch in the code, and open Mr. B's side of the garage so we could get in. You would have thought I asked them to solve world peace or something. The exhaustive sighs that came from them.
Bless their hearts.
That was my one of my jobs growing up. We didn't have fancy garage door openers. Shoot, we didn't always have a garage. It didn't matter though. Rain, sleet, snow, gale force winds, millions of degrees outside, my brother or I got out and opened the door. And we stood there and waited for the family truckster to be tucked safely away and we'd roll the door back down behind us.
Other jobs we had that involved "manual labor" were changing the TV channel and adjusting the volume. We were the remote control to all twelve of our channels.
And let me tell you, lawn mowers haven't always pulled themselves for you and you just basically guided them effortlessly through the thick grass. We pushed those beasts with all our might. And my dad was a stickler for bagging the grass. Only he would have us dump the cut grass in the bed of his truck. Then, because we smelled and there wasn't room for all of us in the cab, we'd ride in the back (with the loose grass) to some mystery destination where we'd sweep the truck bed out.
Only we usually didn't get all of it. And then our family would feel the need to go on a road trip to see the grandparents. In the truck. And guess who got to ride in the bed of the truck. That's right, load up, kids. A few hours in that hot truck with grass in our eyes. And no benadryl. We couldn't afford luxuries. And in case you've ever looked, there are no seat belts back there. I can't believe we did that.
It was a rough life. We're lucky we survived.
So count your blessings, boys. You hopped out and entered a four digit code. Oh the humanity...
After being trapped in our home for a few days (which wasn't the worst thing ever) the garage door people were able to come and fix it. I am free to lurk about town again.
And the kids are able to rest their index finger. Because it was hard to get out and enter that code.
And just like that, I thought I was about to die.
I heard a loud snap. I ducked, y'all. Because something gadgety was trying to kill me.
When I realized what it was, I was thankful that wire didn't pop me in the head. That would have hurt.
So I went inside to spread the good news to Mr. B.
He was super thrilled that something else had gone wrong with The Money Pit. (That's what we call our house now. For future reference, TMP.)
For the first day, the mister braced it open so I could get out. I ran errands and stuff. Then I would have the kids get out of the van, go punch in the code, and open Mr. B's side of the garage so we could get in. You would have thought I asked them to solve world peace or something. The exhaustive sighs that came from them.
Bless their hearts.
That was my one of my jobs growing up. We didn't have fancy garage door openers. Shoot, we didn't always have a garage. It didn't matter though. Rain, sleet, snow, gale force winds, millions of degrees outside, my brother or I got out and opened the door. And we stood there and waited for the family truckster to be tucked safely away and we'd roll the door back down behind us.
Other jobs we had that involved "manual labor" were changing the TV channel and adjusting the volume. We were the remote control to all twelve of our channels.
And let me tell you, lawn mowers haven't always pulled themselves for you and you just basically guided them effortlessly through the thick grass. We pushed those beasts with all our might. And my dad was a stickler for bagging the grass. Only he would have us dump the cut grass in the bed of his truck. Then, because we smelled and there wasn't room for all of us in the cab, we'd ride in the back (with the loose grass) to some mystery destination where we'd sweep the truck bed out.
Only we usually didn't get all of it. And then our family would feel the need to go on a road trip to see the grandparents. In the truck. And guess who got to ride in the bed of the truck. That's right, load up, kids. A few hours in that hot truck with grass in our eyes. And no benadryl. We couldn't afford luxuries. And in case you've ever looked, there are no seat belts back there. I can't believe we did that.
It was a rough life. We're lucky we survived.
So count your blessings, boys. You hopped out and entered a four digit code. Oh the humanity...
After being trapped in our home for a few days (which wasn't the worst thing ever) the garage door people were able to come and fix it. I am free to lurk about town again.
And the kids are able to rest their index finger. Because it was hard to get out and enter that code.
Thursday, August 31
Rough Morning
It seems like the more I make myself vulnerable with parenting and stuff, the more the enemy attacks me.
I sent out a group e-mail to both boys' teachers last night. Just kind of giving them a background. I went to bed, feeling pretty good that I'd checked that off of my to-do list.
Then this morning, all hell broke loose. It was rough. It was ugly. It was hateful. It was all part of living with a kid who deals with anxiety. He's normally an AWESOME kid. But sometimes, it takes a bit to get there before his medication kicks in. This morning was no exception. He was being pretty nasty to me when I flat out lost it. Maybe he needed to see me cry. He needed to know that I have feelings, too. Because he cried.
So the car ride to school was a big cry fest.
This is where I'm thankful for engaged leadership at the school. Our principal is out there, front and center, at drop off. Every morning. He stopped what he was doing and took over.
More tears from me once I drove off.
Then I get home to a barrage of answered e-mails from his teachers telling me how amazing he is in their classes. How helpful he is.
More tears.
God's got this kid, y'all. I know He does.
If you have an extra minute or two, will you pray for him? And his teachers? And any other adult in his life? I always ask God to put the right people in his path everyday.
I know today will get better. I have complete confidence in how he's being treated at school. But I have even more confidence in a sovereign Father who wants the best for us.
See, I told you guys that it wasn't all sunshine and glitter up in here. We are not the perfect family. But we are going to keep loving big.
Love y'all. Thanks for loving my family. And for putting up with a lot of nonsense from me. My squad is pretty dang amazing.
I sent out a group e-mail to both boys' teachers last night. Just kind of giving them a background. I went to bed, feeling pretty good that I'd checked that off of my to-do list.
Then this morning, all hell broke loose. It was rough. It was ugly. It was hateful. It was all part of living with a kid who deals with anxiety. He's normally an AWESOME kid. But sometimes, it takes a bit to get there before his medication kicks in. This morning was no exception. He was being pretty nasty to me when I flat out lost it. Maybe he needed to see me cry. He needed to know that I have feelings, too. Because he cried.
So the car ride to school was a big cry fest.
This is where I'm thankful for engaged leadership at the school. Our principal is out there, front and center, at drop off. Every morning. He stopped what he was doing and took over.
More tears from me once I drove off.
Then I get home to a barrage of answered e-mails from his teachers telling me how amazing he is in their classes. How helpful he is.
More tears.
God's got this kid, y'all. I know He does.
If you have an extra minute or two, will you pray for him? And his teachers? And any other adult in his life? I always ask God to put the right people in his path everyday.
I know today will get better. I have complete confidence in how he's being treated at school. But I have even more confidence in a sovereign Father who wants the best for us.
See, I told you guys that it wasn't all sunshine and glitter up in here. We are not the perfect family. But we are going to keep loving big.
Love y'all. Thanks for loving my family. And for putting up with a lot of nonsense from me. My squad is pretty dang amazing.
Wednesday, August 30
School Body-Slam
Let me get this out there first - - I love our school. I love the teachers. I love the administration. Love, love, and more love.
But I miss the simplicity of summer. The break, as a parent, that I get from needing to correspond with teachers is much needed. And it's about two weeks into the school year, when grades start to show up on the online reporting system, that I start to realize that it's time for ME to go back to school. When I start getting those auto-generated e-mails because a grade is THAT bad, then I know I waited too long.
The first one came today.
It was a lovely two weeks.
But bless his heart, he does math about as good as his mama. Toss in some anxiety about not being good enough or smart enough or worried that someone is judging you or lots of other things. Add in puberty and trying to figure out who you really are. Are you still a kid? Are you a man? Are you just another awkward middle school kid? What? We don't know. We just do our best to parent through this and team up with teachers.
I am still, 100%, Team Teacher, y'all. For real. I should have t-shirts made up for conferences. They would say This parent is on your team. #teamteacher If I didn't think that would come across as a total butt kisser, I would get right on that. I don't complain about them. Because frankly, they are doing a job I can't.
So - - here I am again. The fun part of first day of school pictures is over. Reality has kicked in. I've initiated first contact with my first teacher of the year. And so the cycle repeats.
Oh, what I'd give to be back on the big boat, floating around in the Caribbean with a fruity beverage in my hand listening to a steel drum band. Or listening to the rain gently fall on the roof of a cabin in the mountains as the thunder rolls through the canyon. But alas, I hear the notification of e-mails coming in and alarms reminding me to get my butt out of bed in the mornings.
Reality. It body slammed me today.
The first one came today.
It was a lovely two weeks.
But bless his heart, he does math about as good as his mama. Toss in some anxiety about not being good enough or smart enough or worried that someone is judging you or lots of other things. Add in puberty and trying to figure out who you really are. Are you still a kid? Are you a man? Are you just another awkward middle school kid? What? We don't know. We just do our best to parent through this and team up with teachers.
I am still, 100%, Team Teacher, y'all. For real. I should have t-shirts made up for conferences. They would say This parent is on your team. #teamteacher If I didn't think that would come across as a total butt kisser, I would get right on that. I don't complain about them. Because frankly, they are doing a job I can't.
So - - here I am again. The fun part of first day of school pictures is over. Reality has kicked in. I've initiated first contact with my first teacher of the year. And so the cycle repeats.
Oh, what I'd give to be back on the big boat, floating around in the Caribbean with a fruity beverage in my hand listening to a steel drum band. Or listening to the rain gently fall on the roof of a cabin in the mountains as the thunder rolls through the canyon. But alas, I hear the notification of e-mails coming in and alarms reminding me to get my butt out of bed in the mornings.
Reality. It body slammed me today.
Greetings from the bathtub...
Today's entry is brought, courtesy to you, from my bathtub.
You're welcome.
So, it's 10:30 ish and I'm soaking in my tub. Why?
1. Because I can.
2. Nobody is here to walk in on me.
3. My muscles are sore from 738 million lunges I did yesterday.
We recently had an "incident" in our home where our water heater broke. It didn't just break. It flooded our house. And I don't want to go off too much on how (said in a whiny voice) inconveeeeeenieennnnnnt it has been because I actually have perspective.
Two weeks without hot water while we had a very nice, tankless, one installed is no big thing. Four of those nights were in a hotel. I went to the gym and showered there once because I really wanted a hot shower and I needed to shave my legs. I even boiled two large pans of water once and sat in about an inch of water so that I could shave.
Then there was Harvey. Who, was, a jerk. The devastation is bad. Like stupid bad. And I know personally of people who have driven down to the South Texas area with their boats to help with rescues. Because that's what we do in Texas. We act on our love. I don't have a boat. But I have money I can donate. We all do our part.
I'm going to be careful here because I made a promise not to be political. I'll keep this as neutral as possible. But I'm going to scream, because that's the only way I know to respond to "these" people.
WHO PROTESTS, IN FLOODED WATERS, A SITTING PRESIDENT WHO HAS COME DOWN TO SEE THE DEVASTATION FIRST HAND, AND PROMISES THAT HE WILL DO WHAT HE CAN TO MAKE SURE TEXAS GETS THE HELP THEY NEED? WHO. DOES. THAT?
I'm still mad, but I'm going to rant a little more.
Who cares what shoes FLOTUS wore? Really? She came. And if neither of them did come, oh my. The hell there would have been to pay. I understand waiting a few days to come down here. Because nobody wants to get in the way of the action. And this is still a very volatile situation. For goodness sake, people are dying. A first-responder died. A mother died saving her baby. Senior citizens were sitting in waist high water.
Neighbors are helping neighbors. Strangers are helping strangers. People outside of Texas are coming to help. To all of these people, thank you. Seriously. Thank. You.
There are lives who have forever been changed. There are homeless. There are jobless. There are small touristy towns who will take years to recover. Donate to reputable organizations. Do your research and give where you feel led to give. Don't let anyone undermine where your dollar goes. Pray that God blesses that donation.
I'm done ranting.
That is why I can't complain about going without hot water for a few days. It's not right.
In order to keep it real, here's what I'm "complaining" about for y'all. When I went to get in the tub, I had to clean it first. Because someone in my home, not Mr. B, used our tub. It's a big tub and yes, somewhat luxurious. So I can't fault anyone wanting a soak. But please, for the love, do not attempt to "manscape" in my tub. And certainly not with my razor. And DO NOT use my favorite bar of Perfectly Posh soap.
I gagged a little.
I applaud tending to the garden. Just, please. Not in my bathroom. I'm feeling a bit traumatized. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around there being a garden in the first place.
This has forced me to bust out my Passive-Aggressive Notepad. It will soon be taped on the offender's bathroom mirror.
South Texas - - we love you. We are praying for you. We are sending supplies. We are sending money. We hurt with you. We hurt for you. We pray that our God will be merciful and put the right people in your path.
Hugs and Love,
A Mama in West Texas
You're welcome.
So, it's 10:30 ish and I'm soaking in my tub. Why?
1. Because I can.
2. Nobody is here to walk in on me.
3. My muscles are sore from 738 million lunges I did yesterday.
We recently had an "incident" in our home where our water heater broke. It didn't just break. It flooded our house. And I don't want to go off too much on how (said in a whiny voice) inconveeeeeenieennnnnnt it has been because I actually have perspective.
Two weeks without hot water while we had a very nice, tankless, one installed is no big thing. Four of those nights were in a hotel. I went to the gym and showered there once because I really wanted a hot shower and I needed to shave my legs. I even boiled two large pans of water once and sat in about an inch of water so that I could shave.
Then there was Harvey. Who, was, a jerk. The devastation is bad. Like stupid bad. And I know personally of people who have driven down to the South Texas area with their boats to help with rescues. Because that's what we do in Texas. We act on our love. I don't have a boat. But I have money I can donate. We all do our part.
I'm going to be careful here because I made a promise not to be political. I'll keep this as neutral as possible. But I'm going to scream, because that's the only way I know to respond to "these" people.
WHO PROTESTS, IN FLOODED WATERS, A SITTING PRESIDENT WHO HAS COME DOWN TO SEE THE DEVASTATION FIRST HAND, AND PROMISES THAT HE WILL DO WHAT HE CAN TO MAKE SURE TEXAS GETS THE HELP THEY NEED? WHO. DOES. THAT?
I'm still mad, but I'm going to rant a little more.
Who cares what shoes FLOTUS wore? Really? She came. And if neither of them did come, oh my. The hell there would have been to pay. I understand waiting a few days to come down here. Because nobody wants to get in the way of the action. And this is still a very volatile situation. For goodness sake, people are dying. A first-responder died. A mother died saving her baby. Senior citizens were sitting in waist high water.
Neighbors are helping neighbors. Strangers are helping strangers. People outside of Texas are coming to help. To all of these people, thank you. Seriously. Thank. You.
There are lives who have forever been changed. There are homeless. There are jobless. There are small touristy towns who will take years to recover. Donate to reputable organizations. Do your research and give where you feel led to give. Don't let anyone undermine where your dollar goes. Pray that God blesses that donation.
I'm done ranting.
That is why I can't complain about going without hot water for a few days. It's not right.
In order to keep it real, here's what I'm "complaining" about for y'all. When I went to get in the tub, I had to clean it first. Because someone in my home, not Mr. B, used our tub. It's a big tub and yes, somewhat luxurious. So I can't fault anyone wanting a soak. But please, for the love, do not attempt to "manscape" in my tub. And certainly not with my razor. And DO NOT use my favorite bar of Perfectly Posh soap.I gagged a little.
I applaud tending to the garden. Just, please. Not in my bathroom. I'm feeling a bit traumatized. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around there being a garden in the first place.
This has forced me to bust out my Passive-Aggressive Notepad. It will soon be taped on the offender's bathroom mirror.
South Texas - - we love you. We are praying for you. We are sending supplies. We are sending money. We hurt with you. We hurt for you. We pray that our God will be merciful and put the right people in your path.
Hugs and Love,
A Mama in West Texas
Tuesday, August 22
Woman Law
***From the archives. I found several drafts of blog posts that I never published here. This one made me laugh. And stands true today. I think this was originally dated in 2010.
From one woman to another: Thou shalt not tell another woman's husband or significant other how much something costs. Or ask how much something costs in front of them. You are setting your woman friend up for disaster. This is a major violation in my book and grounds for dismissal from the friend program.
From one woman to another: Thou shalt not tell another woman's husband or significant other how much something costs. Or ask how much something costs in front of them. You are setting your woman friend up for disaster. This is a major violation in my book and grounds for dismissal from the friend program.
Boundaries With Your Children
I know I've written about this before, but I can't find it. I *think* it was for the paper. But it's not on my computer. Maybe that means it's time for a fresh look at a common issue. I know it's heavy on my heart because I see so many friends and acquaintances struggle with this. So let's just dive in...
Boundaries. Some people have none when it comes to their kids. None. I'm going to address a few questions I've heard or seen in parenting.
1. Does you kid call the shots in your home? Do you have control?
I'm not talking about making your kid your butler or anything. But do you establish rules and enforce them? Because you have to do both. Set the rule. Follow through. Now I KNOW all too well how tough it is to follow through. The easy way is to cave in. Because grounding kids from their devices or from playing outside or whatever is often punishment for us as well. I really get that. And honestly, I've caved before. And I'd bet those little boogers walk around the corner and put a tally mark in the air for another one they've managed to manipulate their way out of.
We work really hard to be the authority figures both in and outside our home.
Let me ask you this: Do you prepare more than one meal in your house at dinner time because one of your kids hates what you're serving? You know, God forbid someone actually consume a fruit or vegetable? I've done this before. And I'm embarrassed to admit that. That has changed, though. I serve up a batch of take it or leave it. How hungry are you? Now, if Mr. B and I are really hungry for a food I know the kids hate, I don't make them eat that. But that's not that often anymore. I try to schedule those meals for when I know they're going to be away. Let them eat what you cook.
Do they go to bed and get up anytime they dang well please? Do they control your television? Do they dictate when you go places and do things? Do they decide where you eat out? No. No. And, NO! Knock it off. If you don't have a life because your kid is a little home bully, you have nobody to blame but yourself. Take the control back.
Kids crave structure. In the absence of it, they will walk all over you. Your kid is not the boss of you. Do you hear me? I'll say it louder. YOUR KID IS NOT THE BOSS OF YOU! Go practice saying that in front of the mirror.
2. Are you trying harder to be your kids best pal than you are at being their parent?
Knock that off, too. Quit trying to be the cool mom. I'm not even kidding. Remember that movie "Mean Girls?" Remember Regina George's mom? Don't be that mom. Look her up on youtube. I hope you didn't have children because you were looking for a pal. Your job is to parent. Not be their bestie. I understand being a fun parent and having the house where the kids want to go. But not because they know they can walk all over you and you are there to cater to their every whim.
I want our house to be a safe house. Where kids feel loved. But dang it, they are going to know that there are rules. I'm not the cool mom who cusses. (Well, not intentionally.) I'm not gonna turn my head so they can take a swig of wine. Or let them go shut the door to their room and watch nasty stuff on the computer. I will pop in. I will look at browser history. I will look at the phone. But I will not serve up drinks on a platter and let them talk crap to me.
Garbage in = garbage out - - And that can be toxicity they hear from YOU!
And lest you think I'm up on my soapbox, know that I mess up. Often. Hey, I called that guy in my road rage post a dick head. Out loud. With my kids in the car. They thought it was funny. I actually had to apologize to them. I don't need them regurgitating my words that aren't appropriate.
Regarding their closed doors and looking at their phones. Invasion of privacy? Sorry, wrong excuse. While I have proper boundaries when it comes to nakey stuff and the like, this home (and its contents) are owned by Mr. B and me. If we are paying for it, we have the right to make sure it's safe. Parenting in the technology age is hard, y'all. Those little turds are quick. And often ahead of us on the learning curve. Stay informed. Stay plugged in. Stay in the know.
There is absolutely a time to laugh and have fun with your kids. Please, please, please do that. Laugh. A lot. There will be a time when you guys can actually be fantastic friends. If you're still raising them, this isn't the time.
And oh my gosh, be approachable. Have solid conversations with them. Don't cringe and pawn off a discussion you think the other parent should handle. Do they have a sex/development question? Let them ask. If you don't know the answer because you don't have those parts, then tell them you don't know the answer and have them ask the other parent.
Have them put their phone down while you're in the car. You have a captive audience! Ask questions. Have conversations. Learn something about them. If their head is buried in their phone, guess what? They aren't learning how to drive or get anywhere. Or how to react (properly) when you get cut off.
Oh how I know how much you want your kid to like you. But this just in. Some days (or lots of them during puberty) they aren't going to like you. And *insert shocked face here* you aren't going to like them either. But love them. Oh dear parent. Love your kids.
It's time.
Take control back if you've given it away. Take it back. Do not take crap off of them. Join me in trying our BESTEST to raise the future generation of moms, dads, leaders of this country. Teach them to love. Show them to love. Everyone. Whether they agree with you or not. Love. Love. Love. Teach them to be respectful. Demand respect. Not just for you, but for any adult in their life. Use ma'am and sir. Please and thank you.
But more than anything. Love. Love those little twerps. This is your one shot. Go out there and slay this parent thing. I know you (we) can!
Boundaries. Some people have none when it comes to their kids. None. I'm going to address a few questions I've heard or seen in parenting.
1. Does you kid call the shots in your home? Do you have control?
I'm not talking about making your kid your butler or anything. But do you establish rules and enforce them? Because you have to do both. Set the rule. Follow through. Now I KNOW all too well how tough it is to follow through. The easy way is to cave in. Because grounding kids from their devices or from playing outside or whatever is often punishment for us as well. I really get that. And honestly, I've caved before. And I'd bet those little boogers walk around the corner and put a tally mark in the air for another one they've managed to manipulate their way out of.
We work really hard to be the authority figures both in and outside our home.
Let me ask you this: Do you prepare more than one meal in your house at dinner time because one of your kids hates what you're serving? You know, God forbid someone actually consume a fruit or vegetable? I've done this before. And I'm embarrassed to admit that. That has changed, though. I serve up a batch of take it or leave it. How hungry are you? Now, if Mr. B and I are really hungry for a food I know the kids hate, I don't make them eat that. But that's not that often anymore. I try to schedule those meals for when I know they're going to be away. Let them eat what you cook.
Do they go to bed and get up anytime they dang well please? Do they control your television? Do they dictate when you go places and do things? Do they decide where you eat out? No. No. And, NO! Knock it off. If you don't have a life because your kid is a little home bully, you have nobody to blame but yourself. Take the control back.
Kids crave structure. In the absence of it, they will walk all over you. Your kid is not the boss of you. Do you hear me? I'll say it louder. YOUR KID IS NOT THE BOSS OF YOU! Go practice saying that in front of the mirror.
2. Are you trying harder to be your kids best pal than you are at being their parent?
Knock that off, too. Quit trying to be the cool mom. I'm not even kidding. Remember that movie "Mean Girls?" Remember Regina George's mom? Don't be that mom. Look her up on youtube. I hope you didn't have children because you were looking for a pal. Your job is to parent. Not be their bestie. I understand being a fun parent and having the house where the kids want to go. But not because they know they can walk all over you and you are there to cater to their every whim.
I want our house to be a safe house. Where kids feel loved. But dang it, they are going to know that there are rules. I'm not the cool mom who cusses. (Well, not intentionally.) I'm not gonna turn my head so they can take a swig of wine. Or let them go shut the door to their room and watch nasty stuff on the computer. I will pop in. I will look at browser history. I will look at the phone. But I will not serve up drinks on a platter and let them talk crap to me.
Garbage in = garbage out - - And that can be toxicity they hear from YOU!
And lest you think I'm up on my soapbox, know that I mess up. Often. Hey, I called that guy in my road rage post a dick head. Out loud. With my kids in the car. They thought it was funny. I actually had to apologize to them. I don't need them regurgitating my words that aren't appropriate.
Regarding their closed doors and looking at their phones. Invasion of privacy? Sorry, wrong excuse. While I have proper boundaries when it comes to nakey stuff and the like, this home (and its contents) are owned by Mr. B and me. If we are paying for it, we have the right to make sure it's safe. Parenting in the technology age is hard, y'all. Those little turds are quick. And often ahead of us on the learning curve. Stay informed. Stay plugged in. Stay in the know.
There is absolutely a time to laugh and have fun with your kids. Please, please, please do that. Laugh. A lot. There will be a time when you guys can actually be fantastic friends. If you're still raising them, this isn't the time.
And oh my gosh, be approachable. Have solid conversations with them. Don't cringe and pawn off a discussion you think the other parent should handle. Do they have a sex/development question? Let them ask. If you don't know the answer because you don't have those parts, then tell them you don't know the answer and have them ask the other parent.
Have them put their phone down while you're in the car. You have a captive audience! Ask questions. Have conversations. Learn something about them. If their head is buried in their phone, guess what? They aren't learning how to drive or get anywhere. Or how to react (properly) when you get cut off.
Oh how I know how much you want your kid to like you. But this just in. Some days (or lots of them during puberty) they aren't going to like you. And *insert shocked face here* you aren't going to like them either. But love them. Oh dear parent. Love your kids.
It's time.
Take control back if you've given it away. Take it back. Do not take crap off of them. Join me in trying our BESTEST to raise the future generation of moms, dads, leaders of this country. Teach them to love. Show them to love. Everyone. Whether they agree with you or not. Love. Love. Love. Teach them to be respectful. Demand respect. Not just for you, but for any adult in their life. Use ma'am and sir. Please and thank you.
But more than anything. Love. Love those little twerps. This is your one shot. Go out there and slay this parent thing. I know you (we) can!
Monday, August 21
Shepard Smith
I used to like Shepard Smith. I thought he was hilarious. He was so passionate about breaking news. Especially weather. I suppose that's what got him the gig at Fox with being the actual breaking news dude. He covers breaking news. *He* does. Mostly *him.* Primarily *him.* And he's got these REALLY LARGE monitors. (Methinks compensation for shortfalls.) It's become quite obnoxious. The way he prances around the studio, going from over-sized monitor to over-sized monitor...
I haven't watched the news in forever. None of it. Because it's awful. And biased. And sensationalized. And a whole lot of other fancy word things. So today, because I have no special eclipse goggles, I turned on the tellie to watch the coverage. Fox is somewhat my go-to for stuff like that.
I could not get Shep's coverage off of my T.V. fast enough. The dude is drunk with power. And a little too fanatic about breaking news. And hello? The eclipse is breaking news? Uh, no. It's been all over social media. So one would assume the news has been covering it, too.
Shep was in usual Shep form. He was singing, y'all. I cringed, felt a little sorry for him, and switched to CNN's HLN. It was there that I was subjected to listening to Bonnie Tyler attempt to sing her old song, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" from a Royal Caribbean cruise ship about to steer into optimal viewing of the eclipse. Oh my. Bonnie. Bless her heart. She could belt that song out back in the day. Her voice is significantly raspier these days. And it may have made my ears bleed. Other than that, CNN's coverage was pretty good. I got to see images of the eclipse what I couldn't see at home. It was fun watching people's reactions.
Anyway, back to Shep.
Before the kids were born, and even when they were little, I was a prolific news watcher. When bad things I happened, I was glued to the news. Specifically 9/11. I watched that stuff for weeks.
Then Shepard started covering hurricanes. Oh. My. Gosh. He cracked me up. So much. I found breaking news so interesting back then. My buddy Tammy (another stay at home mom) was always watching the same stuff as me. We'd call each other and laugh at Shepard. This following clip was no exception. I can't remember who called who. All I remember is seeing it happen live, and then one of us called the other and howled into the phone, "Oh my gosh! Please tell me you just saw that." And we laughed and we laughed. Here, laugh with us. We saw this happen live, y'all.
Behold...
Hurricane Winds Knock Shepard on His Arse
It still sends me into fits of giggles. After this, he promptly returned indoors where his stupid self should have been in the first place. Bless his heart.
I hope none of you killed your eyes.
Happy Solar Eclipse Day.
Good times.
I haven't watched the news in forever. None of it. Because it's awful. And biased. And sensationalized. And a whole lot of other fancy word things. So today, because I have no special eclipse goggles, I turned on the tellie to watch the coverage. Fox is somewhat my go-to for stuff like that.
I could not get Shep's coverage off of my T.V. fast enough. The dude is drunk with power. And a little too fanatic about breaking news. And hello? The eclipse is breaking news? Uh, no. It's been all over social media. So one would assume the news has been covering it, too.
Shep was in usual Shep form. He was singing, y'all. I cringed, felt a little sorry for him, and switched to CNN's HLN. It was there that I was subjected to listening to Bonnie Tyler attempt to sing her old song, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" from a Royal Caribbean cruise ship about to steer into optimal viewing of the eclipse. Oh my. Bonnie. Bless her heart. She could belt that song out back in the day. Her voice is significantly raspier these days. And it may have made my ears bleed. Other than that, CNN's coverage was pretty good. I got to see images of the eclipse what I couldn't see at home. It was fun watching people's reactions.
Anyway, back to Shep.
Before the kids were born, and even when they were little, I was a prolific news watcher. When bad things I happened, I was glued to the news. Specifically 9/11. I watched that stuff for weeks.
Then Shepard started covering hurricanes. Oh. My. Gosh. He cracked me up. So much. I found breaking news so interesting back then. My buddy Tammy (another stay at home mom) was always watching the same stuff as me. We'd call each other and laugh at Shepard. This following clip was no exception. I can't remember who called who. All I remember is seeing it happen live, and then one of us called the other and howled into the phone, "Oh my gosh! Please tell me you just saw that." And we laughed and we laughed. Here, laugh with us. We saw this happen live, y'all.
Behold...
Hurricane Winds Knock Shepard on His Arse
It still sends me into fits of giggles. After this, he promptly returned indoors where his stupid self should have been in the first place. Bless his heart.
I hope none of you killed your eyes.
Happy Solar Eclipse Day.
Good times.
Road Rage
There was a little incident on our way to drop Cameron off this morning.
We were headed down the road and it was time to get in the turn lane. The dude behind me was in some kind of hurry to hang out at a red light and had already cut over. I guess my turn signal confused him. But whatever.
Strike one.
I waited and then changed lanes after his royal highness was safely in his lane. My turn signal still on. Then I waited behind him at the red light. He in his muscle car, revving his engine (I was SO impressed) and me in my minivan. The light turned green and he spun his tires taking off. And his car kind of did that thing that young guys think is cool. It shifted or something. I don't know. What's the name for that? Drifting? Sliding? Spinning? I'm clueless.
Strike two.
So he's in front of me and I'm pretty sure he could tell I was irritated. He switches lanes to get behind a big concrete truck. It confused me at first because I thought he was in some kind of hurry. Then when I passed by him, he darted back into my lane, revved his engine again and got right up on my bumper.
Strike three.
I did what you aren't supposed to do. With my kids in the car. I slammed on the brakes. School bags flew out of seats. And I grinned as I watched that a-hole practically put his cute little ride on it's nose while braking.
He went flying around me after that. I shouted out, "That's right, Soccer Mom don't play!"
He had North Carolina plates and a short haircut. Most likely military. I wish I'd gotten his plate number. I'd call the base here in town and turn him in.
Don't let my minivan confuse you. Ever. You may think I'm a dork. But I know how to drive. I've been doing it for thirty + years.
What a tool.
We were headed down the road and it was time to get in the turn lane. The dude behind me was in some kind of hurry to hang out at a red light and had already cut over. I guess my turn signal confused him. But whatever.
Strike one.
I waited and then changed lanes after his royal highness was safely in his lane. My turn signal still on. Then I waited behind him at the red light. He in his muscle car, revving his engine (I was SO impressed) and me in my minivan. The light turned green and he spun his tires taking off. And his car kind of did that thing that young guys think is cool. It shifted or something. I don't know. What's the name for that? Drifting? Sliding? Spinning? I'm clueless.
Strike two.
So he's in front of me and I'm pretty sure he could tell I was irritated. He switches lanes to get behind a big concrete truck. It confused me at first because I thought he was in some kind of hurry. Then when I passed by him, he darted back into my lane, revved his engine again and got right up on my bumper.
Strike three.
I did what you aren't supposed to do. With my kids in the car. I slammed on the brakes. School bags flew out of seats. And I grinned as I watched that a-hole practically put his cute little ride on it's nose while braking.
He went flying around me after that. I shouted out, "That's right, Soccer Mom don't play!"
He had North Carolina plates and a short haircut. Most likely military. I wish I'd gotten his plate number. I'd call the base here in town and turn him in.
Don't let my minivan confuse you. Ever. You may think I'm a dork. But I know how to drive. I've been doing it for thirty + years.
What a tool.
New Morning Routine
I'm not going to lie, when my alarm sounds at dark-thirty in the morning, I don't wake up all Snow White-ish with birds chirping and looking all gorgeous and fresh.
I have bed head. Because apparently I throw down when I sleep. I mean that stuff. And my breath could choke a buzzard. And I grumble. A lot.
But I limit the snooze button to once.
Then I'm up.
I go turn lights on for the zombies in the other rooms who rock the stuff out of sleep like their mama. Well, one of them does. The one we have to get up for.
He has fifteen minutes to get up, brush his teeth, get dressed, put in his contacts, grab his bag and go. We all try to pack our bags the night before. It alleviates so much stress when trying to get out of the door the next morning.
We have to leave the house at 6:45. I realize most of you do this on the regular. But I don't. And it's hard.
Cameron has to be at the pool at 7:00. Actually, he has to be dressed and ready to go at 7:20. But he also has to walk to the pool from drop off. It's only a couple of minutes to walk, but still. His coach does. not. play. And I'm not tangling with him. We will be disciplined and structured. So 7:00 it is. When the doors open.
Since Justin doesn't have to be at school until 8:15, we have ourselves a little conundrum that I found the perfect solution for. He's not in sports or athletics. And 8th graders don't have to take P.E. Which seems wrong, but whatever.
It doesn't make sense to drive back home and wait for him to finish getting ready and leave again.
Sooooooooooooooo, here's what we do. He puts on his gym clothes and packs his school clothes in a gym bag. He and I drop Cameron off at the pool at 7:00 and then we head to the gym to go workout.
That's right, y'all. I've already been to the gym today. And so has Justin. And guys, Justin kicks it into beast mode at the gym in the morning. Mr. B and I were so impressed. Who knew he'd be a morning exerciser? He's in a good mood, smiling and everything. And since he doesn't get to go to lunch until 1:00, he drinks a Muscle Milk on his way to school which has a whole lot of protein in it.
Those endorphins. They're magically beautiful.
He will be able to stay fit during this school year because he's staying active. And it holds me accountable. He's jonesing to start weights. Baby steps, Young Padawan. We'll get there. Let's focus on cardio for a bit and then we'll work in the weights.
He gets ready for school in the locker room and then we head out and he arrives ON TIME! In a good mood.
Preparation is key. We have to be ready to bust out of here first thing in the morning. Which means I also have to get in bed at a reasonable hour. Which is a HUGE change for me.
We're off to a good start. I really want to maintain this schedule. It's good for all of us. We feel good. We're happy.
Y'all go have an awesome Monday. It doesn't have to suck because it's a Monday. Go find something positive about today. There has to be at least one thing...
I have bed head. Because apparently I throw down when I sleep. I mean that stuff. And my breath could choke a buzzard. And I grumble. A lot.
But I limit the snooze button to once.
Then I'm up.
I go turn lights on for the zombies in the other rooms who rock the stuff out of sleep like their mama. Well, one of them does. The one we have to get up for.
He has fifteen minutes to get up, brush his teeth, get dressed, put in his contacts, grab his bag and go. We all try to pack our bags the night before. It alleviates so much stress when trying to get out of the door the next morning.
We have to leave the house at 6:45. I realize most of you do this on the regular. But I don't. And it's hard.
Cameron has to be at the pool at 7:00. Actually, he has to be dressed and ready to go at 7:20. But he also has to walk to the pool from drop off. It's only a couple of minutes to walk, but still. His coach does. not. play. And I'm not tangling with him. We will be disciplined and structured. So 7:00 it is. When the doors open.
Since Justin doesn't have to be at school until 8:15, we have ourselves a little conundrum that I found the perfect solution for. He's not in sports or athletics. And 8th graders don't have to take P.E. Which seems wrong, but whatever.
It doesn't make sense to drive back home and wait for him to finish getting ready and leave again.
Sooooooooooooooo, here's what we do. He puts on his gym clothes and packs his school clothes in a gym bag. He and I drop Cameron off at the pool at 7:00 and then we head to the gym to go workout.
That's right, y'all. I've already been to the gym today. And so has Justin. And guys, Justin kicks it into beast mode at the gym in the morning. Mr. B and I were so impressed. Who knew he'd be a morning exerciser? He's in a good mood, smiling and everything. And since he doesn't get to go to lunch until 1:00, he drinks a Muscle Milk on his way to school which has a whole lot of protein in it.Those endorphins. They're magically beautiful.
He will be able to stay fit during this school year because he's staying active. And it holds me accountable. He's jonesing to start weights. Baby steps, Young Padawan. We'll get there. Let's focus on cardio for a bit and then we'll work in the weights.
He gets ready for school in the locker room and then we head out and he arrives ON TIME! In a good mood.
Preparation is key. We have to be ready to bust out of here first thing in the morning. Which means I also have to get in bed at a reasonable hour. Which is a HUGE change for me.
We're off to a good start. I really want to maintain this schedule. It's good for all of us. We feel good. We're happy.
Y'all go have an awesome Monday. It doesn't have to suck because it's a Monday. Go find something positive about today. There has to be at least one thing...
Friday, August 18
First Day of School Success
Here's a run down...
1. We made it to school on time. And holy crap. Look how much they've grown in two years!
2. The traffic was CRAZY for both drop off and pick up. Newbs jack it up every time. Well, Newbs and Morons. You'd think by middle school, people would have the procedure burned in their brain. Wrong. I'm sure I've got a whole other post back in the archives where I incessantly complain about this. I'll see if I can find it. I ended up dropping both boys off WAY before the actual drop off spot just so they wouldn't be late.
3. I was able to score a quick meeting (mid-morning) with the head cafeteria lady about ONE of my kid's issues with overspending at lunch and how could we put a stop to that. Found the solution! I filled out a quick form and voila! No more snack bar or extra items unless he has cash. Boom. Problem solved. Our lunch budget just shrunk. Yay us! Haha, one kid who has zero impulse control. You're on a cash only basis from here on out, Brother. You just got played.
4. I was finally able to go get my nails done. And have coffee with a good friend. All the smiles.
5. The bottom fell out of the sky about the time elementary school let out. It was a slow drizzle by the time middle school let out. And nobody melted on the way to the car. But it rained, y'all. Hard. And the thunder sounded so beautiful. Of course when I got home, not a drop. Ugh. But it's cloudy again today. So fingers crossed! Let it pour.
6. BOTH boys had a great day. Only one teacher complaint. I reminded him that some teachers have different techniques in establishing control on that first day. Let's give her a little bit before we write her off as "worse than the angry pregnant teacher from last year." The first day can be more stressful than others. And who knows what she'd just dealt with in the class before. Or at home. Or just life. So we agreed to cut her some slack.
7. For the most part, we all got to bed at a reasonable hour. I, however, am a slow learner and managed to find crap to do. I had lists to make of all the things I needed to do today.
8. No homework policy this year. Oh my yes. Yes. And yes. Teachers teach, parents parent. I love it. They'll still have to study for quizzes and tests. And they can do extra practice work. But the policy is no homework. This alleviates the pressure so stinking much. I will have rested kids who are ready to learn the next morning. And the homework battle goes away. Because they've been doing school ALL day. Their brains and bodies are worn out. This gives me such much of the happies.
9. Our lists for more stuff wasn't too excessive. I'll get some time this weekend to put together some teacher goodies. Not cookies. They get that stuff from errrrbody. I'm talking about post-its and dry erase markers and red grading pens. Stuff they can use. Because good grief, they aren't in this profession to get rich. They're in in to teach kids. My kids. And I don't want them to sacrifice too much of their own $$ that should go to support their own families. Love on your kids' teachers. (Even the angry pregnant ones. Especially the angry pregnant ones!)
10. My oldest smiled. A lot. Which is such a blessing, you don't even know. He struggles with anxiety and depression. Big time. He LOVES his Spanish teacher. And not just because she gave him Mexican candy. He said he can tell he's really going to learn a lot in there. But that smile, y'all. Oh my heart. I cried many tears over the past four months trying to figure out how best to help him. I think a medication change and getting back to school, a schedule, and his friends was just the trick. God is good. This is scary stuff for parents. Scary. Pay attention to your kids. When something isn't right, get help. Listen to me. Get. Help. I don't want any of you guys, or us, being another statistic. Have conversations. Be involved. Ask questions. Lots of them. Check their technology devices. Love them. Love them hard. Love them when they are the hardest to love. And if you EVER need to talk. You get a hold of me. We'll talk. We shouldn't have to do this alone and we should never be embarrassed.
I've got that to-do list I made at midnight to tackle.
Happy Friyay, Y'all!
*muah*
1. We made it to school on time. And holy crap. Look how much they've grown in two years!
2. The traffic was CRAZY for both drop off and pick up. Newbs jack it up every time. Well, Newbs and Morons. You'd think by middle school, people would have the procedure burned in their brain. Wrong. I'm sure I've got a whole other post back in the archives where I incessantly complain about this. I'll see if I can find it. I ended up dropping both boys off WAY before the actual drop off spot just so they wouldn't be late.
3. I was able to score a quick meeting (mid-morning) with the head cafeteria lady about ONE of my kid's issues with overspending at lunch and how could we put a stop to that. Found the solution! I filled out a quick form and voila! No more snack bar or extra items unless he has cash. Boom. Problem solved. Our lunch budget just shrunk. Yay us! Haha, one kid who has zero impulse control. You're on a cash only basis from here on out, Brother. You just got played.
4. I was finally able to go get my nails done. And have coffee with a good friend. All the smiles.
5. The bottom fell out of the sky about the time elementary school let out. It was a slow drizzle by the time middle school let out. And nobody melted on the way to the car. But it rained, y'all. Hard. And the thunder sounded so beautiful. Of course when I got home, not a drop. Ugh. But it's cloudy again today. So fingers crossed! Let it pour.
6. BOTH boys had a great day. Only one teacher complaint. I reminded him that some teachers have different techniques in establishing control on that first day. Let's give her a little bit before we write her off as "worse than the angry pregnant teacher from last year." The first day can be more stressful than others. And who knows what she'd just dealt with in the class before. Or at home. Or just life. So we agreed to cut her some slack.
7. For the most part, we all got to bed at a reasonable hour. I, however, am a slow learner and managed to find crap to do. I had lists to make of all the things I needed to do today.
8. No homework policy this year. Oh my yes. Yes. And yes. Teachers teach, parents parent. I love it. They'll still have to study for quizzes and tests. And they can do extra practice work. But the policy is no homework. This alleviates the pressure so stinking much. I will have rested kids who are ready to learn the next morning. And the homework battle goes away. Because they've been doing school ALL day. Their brains and bodies are worn out. This gives me such much of the happies.
9. Our lists for more stuff wasn't too excessive. I'll get some time this weekend to put together some teacher goodies. Not cookies. They get that stuff from errrrbody. I'm talking about post-its and dry erase markers and red grading pens. Stuff they can use. Because good grief, they aren't in this profession to get rich. They're in in to teach kids. My kids. And I don't want them to sacrifice too much of their own $$ that should go to support their own families. Love on your kids' teachers. (Even the angry pregnant ones. Especially the angry pregnant ones!)
10. My oldest smiled. A lot. Which is such a blessing, you don't even know. He struggles with anxiety and depression. Big time. He LOVES his Spanish teacher. And not just because she gave him Mexican candy. He said he can tell he's really going to learn a lot in there. But that smile, y'all. Oh my heart. I cried many tears over the past four months trying to figure out how best to help him. I think a medication change and getting back to school, a schedule, and his friends was just the trick. God is good. This is scary stuff for parents. Scary. Pay attention to your kids. When something isn't right, get help. Listen to me. Get. Help. I don't want any of you guys, or us, being another statistic. Have conversations. Be involved. Ask questions. Lots of them. Check their technology devices. Love them. Love them hard. Love them when they are the hardest to love. And if you EVER need to talk. You get a hold of me. We'll talk. We shouldn't have to do this alone and we should never be embarrassed.
I've got that to-do list I made at midnight to tackle.
Happy Friyay, Y'all!
*muah*
Wednesday, August 16
Crisis Averted!
We did it, y'all. We did it.
I got Cameron to Sport's Clips around 10:00 this morning. But it was nearly a bust. Their credit card machine was down. I never have cash on me. Never. I asked if they'd take a check. Yes. But guess what? My checkbook was in my purse. At my house. Because I had my wallet.
*facepalm*
Seriously?
I booked it over to the ATM and grabbed some cash. (I also ducked in to Market Street to grab a Starbucks. Because of my reality. I needed some juice, man.)
Made it back to Sport's Clips and they called him back two minutes later. Whew.
I guess he wasn't too angry about his haircut (which is MUCH shorter than he prefers) because he suddenly became agreeable on tennis shoes. Actually, we compromised. We settled on Chuck's. Because he's a swimmer, he doesn't need running tennis shoes.
Winning.
However, the swim jammers (those tight swim trunks that reveal way too much "shape") were no longer for sale. Dang it! He's supposed to have those by Friday.
Losing.
To the Interwebs... God bless Amazon Prime.
Back to winning.
The lessons learned, y'all. They're real. I have the additional gray hair to prove it.
We are ready for school to start tomorrow. Not emotionally. But we have what we need. At least until after school tomorrow when we get never before seen supply lists. Those always happen.
Let's do this. Brace yourself for back to school pictures with fake smiles.
I got Cameron to Sport's Clips around 10:00 this morning. But it was nearly a bust. Their credit card machine was down. I never have cash on me. Never. I asked if they'd take a check. Yes. But guess what? My checkbook was in my purse. At my house. Because I had my wallet.
*facepalm*
Seriously?
I booked it over to the ATM and grabbed some cash. (I also ducked in to Market Street to grab a Starbucks. Because of my reality. I needed some juice, man.)
Made it back to Sport's Clips and they called him back two minutes later. Whew.
I guess he wasn't too angry about his haircut (which is MUCH shorter than he prefers) because he suddenly became agreeable on tennis shoes. Actually, we compromised. We settled on Chuck's. Because he's a swimmer, he doesn't need running tennis shoes.
Winning.
However, the swim jammers (those tight swim trunks that reveal way too much "shape") were no longer for sale. Dang it! He's supposed to have those by Friday.
Losing.
To the Interwebs... God bless Amazon Prime.
Back to winning.
The lessons learned, y'all. They're real. I have the additional gray hair to prove it.
We are ready for school to start tomorrow. Not emotionally. But we have what we need. At least until after school tomorrow when we get never before seen supply lists. Those always happen.
Let's do this. Brace yourself for back to school pictures with fake smiles.
Tuesday, August 15
Time to Eat a Little Crow
You know how yesterday I was all smarty-pants, braggy, mom of boys, who has it SO easy and was only going to do my minimal back to school shopping and preparation today - - two days before school starts - - without issues.
Holy crap. Not the case. Not even close.
Here's the thing. I hate shopping for myself. Add in a couple of boys who have eleven hundred million thousand other things they'd rather be doing. I hear ya, kids. Me, too. I hate dressing rooms. I hate not knowing what size I need to look for. I hate cringing at the price I'm going to have to pay for clothes they will grow out of. Or "accidentally tear holes in." I hate all the things that shopping entails. And just because my list was small, don't think that my day didn't suck.
The oldest was awesome.
The little, not so much. He likes to browse. A lot. And he has a flair for the expensive items. And his taste is a little too thuggy for my liking. That made shoe shopping stop dead in its tracks. I called David and verbally tagged him. This is the second incident of this sort with him and I'm politely bowing out. I'm actually saving both of our sanity is what I'm doing. Also, the kid is 5'2" and weighs 90 pounds. He's a tall, super skinny, drink of water. Buying jeans for him is a straight up nightmare. Is there a super skinny, slim jean for a tall 12 year old boy with basically no body fat? The answer is a resounding NO. You have to use those button thingies on the sides to cinch them up tight.
We left without jeans.
I came home and ordered them online. *fingers crossed*
And haircuts? Oh silly me. Perish the thought. Lot's of back to school haircuts happening today. I might as well grab my Kindle and go tomorrow. Because that didn't even happen today.
We did get all of Justin's clothes, shoes and backpack. And he was tickled to death. Cameron got a few shirts and his backpack. So the day wasn't a total bust. Much was accomplished.
But I want to make this all official. Shopping for back to school clothes is not easy for anybody. I retract it all. I'm sorry if I misled you.
After all of that, I have to go back to Academy tomorrow to try to find swim jammers and goggles for Cameron. Go ahead, stores. Take all my money.
*sigh*
I'm not ready for school to start!
Holy crap. Not the case. Not even close.
Here's the thing. I hate shopping for myself. Add in a couple of boys who have eleven hundred million thousand other things they'd rather be doing. I hear ya, kids. Me, too. I hate dressing rooms. I hate not knowing what size I need to look for. I hate cringing at the price I'm going to have to pay for clothes they will grow out of. Or "accidentally tear holes in." I hate all the things that shopping entails. And just because my list was small, don't think that my day didn't suck.
The oldest was awesome.
The little, not so much. He likes to browse. A lot. And he has a flair for the expensive items. And his taste is a little too thuggy for my liking. That made shoe shopping stop dead in its tracks. I called David and verbally tagged him. This is the second incident of this sort with him and I'm politely bowing out. I'm actually saving both of our sanity is what I'm doing. Also, the kid is 5'2" and weighs 90 pounds. He's a tall, super skinny, drink of water. Buying jeans for him is a straight up nightmare. Is there a super skinny, slim jean for a tall 12 year old boy with basically no body fat? The answer is a resounding NO. You have to use those button thingies on the sides to cinch them up tight.
We left without jeans.
I came home and ordered them online. *fingers crossed*
And haircuts? Oh silly me. Perish the thought. Lot's of back to school haircuts happening today. I might as well grab my Kindle and go tomorrow. Because that didn't even happen today.
We did get all of Justin's clothes, shoes and backpack. And he was tickled to death. Cameron got a few shirts and his backpack. So the day wasn't a total bust. Much was accomplished.
But I want to make this all official. Shopping for back to school clothes is not easy for anybody. I retract it all. I'm sorry if I misled you.
After all of that, I have to go back to Academy tomorrow to try to find swim jammers and goggles for Cameron. Go ahead, stores. Take all my money.
*sigh*
I'm not ready for school to start!
How to Back to School Shop for Boys
So little prep work needs to be done to ready ourselves for the school year. Because I'm the mother of boys. Middle School boys who aren't 100% into their looks yet.
Here are their needs:
Jeans (NOT shorts, because they don't like them. Which I find very odd because I have an aversion to wearing pants at all.)
Tennis shoes (one pair, they don't care)
New backpacks (because the ones from last school year have holes in them)
Here are my add-ons:
Haircuts
Socks
We have done none of these things yet.
I've purchased school supplies, sporadically, over the summer. I even have a school supply closet in my house. I have just about everything they can possibly need. I will send them with a pencil, a pen, notebook paper and a folder to bring home their specific lists from teachers. I'll hit up the closet and hope for the best after their first day. WHICH IS THURSDAY!
We were going to do those things today, but I was 100% not productive this morning and then managed to get myself a migraine this afternoon.
So Tuesday is the magic day. We will shop for their needs and my add-ons on Tuesday. I expect a fair amount of complaining. They hate shopping. I hate shopping with them. But they've got to try on those jeans and shoes. In my perfect world, this excursion will only involve three stops. A department store for the jeans, sporting goods store for the shoes (and possibly some hoodies and socks), then next door to Sports Clips for a quick haircut. Boom. Done.
At least that's my dream. I dream big. Thank the good Lord above He didn't give me girls. He knew I would not be able to do that. I saw several moms posting about shopping trips out of town with their girls. I shuddered a lot and thanked God for my smelly boys. I'm spoiled.
Wish me luck. I will only throw them some mom eye once. After that, I'll have a dance off. In the store. With loud music. Probably mid-late 80's. And I won't care one bit. Because I have the moves.
Let's do this, Boys...
Here are their needs:
Jeans (NOT shorts, because they don't like them. Which I find very odd because I have an aversion to wearing pants at all.)
Tennis shoes (one pair, they don't care)
New backpacks (because the ones from last school year have holes in them)
Here are my add-ons:
Haircuts
Socks
We have done none of these things yet.
I've purchased school supplies, sporadically, over the summer. I even have a school supply closet in my house. I have just about everything they can possibly need. I will send them with a pencil, a pen, notebook paper and a folder to bring home their specific lists from teachers. I'll hit up the closet and hope for the best after their first day. WHICH IS THURSDAY!
We were going to do those things today, but I was 100% not productive this morning and then managed to get myself a migraine this afternoon.
So Tuesday is the magic day. We will shop for their needs and my add-ons on Tuesday. I expect a fair amount of complaining. They hate shopping. I hate shopping with them. But they've got to try on those jeans and shoes. In my perfect world, this excursion will only involve three stops. A department store for the jeans, sporting goods store for the shoes (and possibly some hoodies and socks), then next door to Sports Clips for a quick haircut. Boom. Done.
At least that's my dream. I dream big. Thank the good Lord above He didn't give me girls. He knew I would not be able to do that. I saw several moms posting about shopping trips out of town with their girls. I shuddered a lot and thanked God for my smelly boys. I'm spoiled.
Wish me luck. I will only throw them some mom eye once. After that, I'll have a dance off. In the store. With loud music. Probably mid-late 80's. And I won't care one bit. Because I have the moves.
Let's do this, Boys...
Friday, August 11
More Changes and Updates
So, here I am again. The absent blogger.
A few events have transpired lately that have led me to make a few changes and my approach to writing. I'll try not to bore you with the details. But I'll see how I can best update you.
Most of you know that I have been doing some freelance writing for the local newspaper. I REALLY appreciate the opportunity they gave to a never-before published writer. I wrote about mom stuff and thoroughly loved doing it. The feedback from readers of the actual, physical copy of the paper were wonderful. I usually posted links to those columns on Facebook. (Save one that I hated the way I was edited.)
I have decided to part ways with the paper. For a couple of reasons.
1. They couldn't afford to pay me for my column anymore. I spent the last year-ish writing for free. Because I love writing. I love my audience. And honestly, I love being published. It's a writer thing. It's validation that your work is appreciated.
The paper changed ownership a few times and eventually, the editors that I'd grown to love left. The ones who believed in me and often complimented me on my writing. I loved that. And I miss their presence at the paper terribly.
But let's be honest. In this electronic age, the direction of a printed paper is changing fast. We have the world at our fingertips. So when they say they can't afford me, I want to believe them. But when I see what I think are "stupid" columns that they chose to keep, I can't help but wonder. *coughcoughweeklywinecolumncoughcough* Whatever.
2. This one was the real kicker for me. It's no secret that I'm a pretty conservative person. I don't particularly call myself a Republican anymore. Because I think politics in general have lost their collective minds. I have my specific set of beliefs and I really believe in surrounding myself with people that think differently than me. Respectfully disagree. (Translation: Don't be an a-hole about it and we're cool.) I digress. Recently the paper reposted an article written by one of their writers from the main paper. You can research it and figure it out. I don't want to mudsling. When I read the column, I sat there with my mouth flung open. I knew, right then, I couldn't be associated with them anymore. It was time to part ways.
My work is my work. And I want it to stay that way. I am not opposed to freelance work for other blogs or publications that are specific to my subject matter. But I will no longer participate in writing for anyone that is so openly opposed to how I believe. Line drawn in the sand.
I try, REALLY hard, to keep politics out of my writing. And my posts, likes, comments on Facebook. I haven't always been that way. The arena is just too downright hostile. And I don't want any part of it.
So what's my plan?
I plan to keep writing. But instead of it being put in print for free, I'll put it here for free. I'm going to try VERY hard to keep this blog updated like I used to. Then my ultimate goal is to let go of my excuses and get back to work on a book.
If you enjoy reading what you get here, please share it. I'd love that. And I totally understand if you want to give me more time to get some more consistent posts under my belt. Today, I have a ton of ideas to write about. Which always happens when I have a lot to do. Which is something I'll try to write about this weekend.
You guys have been absolutely amazing. I can't thank you enough for your loyalty, belief in me, loving me, encouraging me and just listening.
This is real life up in here. I'm not going to gloss over anything. I'm going to continue to show you the good, the bad and the ugly. All of it. Not "Debbie-Downer" style. But real.
So buckle up, Cupcakes. We're going to do this.
Love Y'all!
*smooches*
A few events have transpired lately that have led me to make a few changes and my approach to writing. I'll try not to bore you with the details. But I'll see how I can best update you.
Most of you know that I have been doing some freelance writing for the local newspaper. I REALLY appreciate the opportunity they gave to a never-before published writer. I wrote about mom stuff and thoroughly loved doing it. The feedback from readers of the actual, physical copy of the paper were wonderful. I usually posted links to those columns on Facebook. (Save one that I hated the way I was edited.)
I have decided to part ways with the paper. For a couple of reasons.
1. They couldn't afford to pay me for my column anymore. I spent the last year-ish writing for free. Because I love writing. I love my audience. And honestly, I love being published. It's a writer thing. It's validation that your work is appreciated.
The paper changed ownership a few times and eventually, the editors that I'd grown to love left. The ones who believed in me and often complimented me on my writing. I loved that. And I miss their presence at the paper terribly.
But let's be honest. In this electronic age, the direction of a printed paper is changing fast. We have the world at our fingertips. So when they say they can't afford me, I want to believe them. But when I see what I think are "stupid" columns that they chose to keep, I can't help but wonder. *coughcoughweeklywinecolumncoughcough* Whatever.
2. This one was the real kicker for me. It's no secret that I'm a pretty conservative person. I don't particularly call myself a Republican anymore. Because I think politics in general have lost their collective minds. I have my specific set of beliefs and I really believe in surrounding myself with people that think differently than me. Respectfully disagree. (Translation: Don't be an a-hole about it and we're cool.) I digress. Recently the paper reposted an article written by one of their writers from the main paper. You can research it and figure it out. I don't want to mudsling. When I read the column, I sat there with my mouth flung open. I knew, right then, I couldn't be associated with them anymore. It was time to part ways.
My work is my work. And I want it to stay that way. I am not opposed to freelance work for other blogs or publications that are specific to my subject matter. But I will no longer participate in writing for anyone that is so openly opposed to how I believe. Line drawn in the sand.
I try, REALLY hard, to keep politics out of my writing. And my posts, likes, comments on Facebook. I haven't always been that way. The arena is just too downright hostile. And I don't want any part of it.
So what's my plan?
I plan to keep writing. But instead of it being put in print for free, I'll put it here for free. I'm going to try VERY hard to keep this blog updated like I used to. Then my ultimate goal is to let go of my excuses and get back to work on a book.
If you enjoy reading what you get here, please share it. I'd love that. And I totally understand if you want to give me more time to get some more consistent posts under my belt. Today, I have a ton of ideas to write about. Which always happens when I have a lot to do. Which is something I'll try to write about this weekend.
You guys have been absolutely amazing. I can't thank you enough for your loyalty, belief in me, loving me, encouraging me and just listening.
This is real life up in here. I'm not going to gloss over anything. I'm going to continue to show you the good, the bad and the ugly. All of it. Not "Debbie-Downer" style. But real.
So buckle up, Cupcakes. We're going to do this.
Love Y'all!
*smooches*
Tuesday, April 25
Happy Bath
Because of a semi-meltdown yesterday, I knew it was time for a happy bath. I need to soak off the bad and absorb the good.
I poured in some epsom salt. Then I mixed some Peace and Calming essential oil by Young Living with a little bit of grapeseed (carrier) oil. Oh my. It was heavenly.
I watched an episode of Seinfeld on my iPad while I soaked. Which made me laugh. Out loud.
Then I slathered on some body butter which contained more Peace and Calming in it for my restless legs.
More heaven.
I slept like a baby.
Until Roscoe started throwing deep meows in my ear at 4:30 this morning. That must be when he hooks up with his lady friends. I sent his orange furry butt outside and then I fell right back to sleep. AND, because of boss status, I got the kids to school on time this morning. And nobody raised their voices.
I also read a quick devotional about letting go of anger and fear. Interesting timing. God knows.
Tuesday - - let's do this. I can only imagine how epic this day can be once I get my caffeine fix. Which is coming...
I poured in some epsom salt. Then I mixed some Peace and Calming essential oil by Young Living with a little bit of grapeseed (carrier) oil. Oh my. It was heavenly.
I watched an episode of Seinfeld on my iPad while I soaked. Which made me laugh. Out loud.
Then I slathered on some body butter which contained more Peace and Calming in it for my restless legs.
More heaven.
I slept like a baby.
Until Roscoe started throwing deep meows in my ear at 4:30 this morning. That must be when he hooks up with his lady friends. I sent his orange furry butt outside and then I fell right back to sleep. AND, because of boss status, I got the kids to school on time this morning. And nobody raised their voices.
I also read a quick devotional about letting go of anger and fear. Interesting timing. God knows.
Tuesday - - let's do this. I can only imagine how epic this day can be once I get my caffeine fix. Which is coming...
Monday, April 24
A Diamond in the Rough
Do women have mid-life crisis? Crises? What is the plural of crisis?
I always thought it was just dudes. And they bought shiny sports cars. Or did other unthinkable things. I had my hair cut slightly different. Well, if you call the beginnings of an undercut (google undercut pixie) a mid-life crisis, then that's where I am. At least I'm finally trying to do something different with my hair after a gazillion years of basically the same style.
I'm going through some stuff. Maybe I'm finally growing up. I don't know. Some days I still like to walk around outside in my socks and then tell my parents I did that. 46 and still rebelling. Like a boss.
My ability to tolerate BS has hit an all-time low. I'm just done with crap. I see right through most of it.
Hang on. I just looked down at my "old lady hands" and noticed I'm in desperate need of lotion. BRB.
There. That's better. Nice and moisturized. And I stirred the spaghetti sauce. I'm a mult-tasker. And I did that fast, huh? Yes, be impressed.
So, I'm tired of all kinds of things.
I know what I want.
I want to make much of Jesus. I want to study His word. Every day. Make time with Him a priority. I don't always do that. But I'm working on it. Part of that is plugging in at church. Not just attending. But getting involved. We've recently joined a body of Believers that I feel like will enable me to do just that. Plug in. I don't want to be behind the shadow of anyone. I don't want the spotlight. But I don't want to lurk in the shadows either. I want to serve.
I want to be the best wife I can possibly be. Friday is our 17th anniversary. He has put up with my insanity for a long time. And while he's a dude, he truly is my best friend, confidante, lover and provider. He takes such good care of me and our kids. We have a special anniversary trip coming up that I'll tell y'all about later. I'm looking forward to having him all to myself. No kids. Wheeeeeee!
And oh how I want to be a good mother. I learn everyday. These not so tiny humans need me. Even though they think they don't. They do. They need to see Jesus in me. They need me to teach them how to adult even when I don't feel like adulting myself. They need to see and experience grace and discipline. Much of both. Given and received.
I also want to cultivate quality friendships. The older I get, the less I am about quantity. I want quality. I don't want half-assed relationships. I don't want to be a friend of convenience. Not to others, not for others. All in.
I want to be more secure in who I am. And Whose I am. I grew up feeling incredibly insecure about myself. I was teased. A lot. I had my body type made fun of. A LOT. That started in the 8th grade when I saw a picture of me in a tight (yet modest) tank top. I was on a church mission trip. We had taken a side trip to see the Atlantic Ocean. While it was summertime, it was still cold there. I wasn't real educated about how my body being cold could be easily seen by others. And I'm not talking about normal goosebumps. But yes, bumps. My lights were on. Full beam. The picture taken of me was put on a slide show after the trip. I think it was an innocent submission. But there I was, freezing, looking at the beautiful ocean, about to poke a hole in the camera lens with my high beams.
Everyone laughed.
I cried.
It didn't stop there. I was picked on relentlessly after that.
So I hid behind large clothes. Even after an amazing plastic surgeon "made less of me" on the operating table. My shoulders continued to slump and I hid.
I began changing that over the past year by making a few changes. I've started buying clothes that fit me and I started working out in January. I'll get there. I feel better. So there's that.
The bottom line?
I think God is working in my life. He's showing me where I'm supposed to be. Who I'm supposed to be. What I'm supposed to care about. What I'm not supposed to be concerned with. Jesus gave His life on the cross for ME. And you. And He's got my attention. The polishing/refining process can be painful. But I can only imagine what's on the other side of that process.
So here I am. Just another sinner, saved by grace. I fall down and fail often. Bear with me as I grow.
I always thought it was just dudes. And they bought shiny sports cars. Or did other unthinkable things. I had my hair cut slightly different. Well, if you call the beginnings of an undercut (google undercut pixie) a mid-life crisis, then that's where I am. At least I'm finally trying to do something different with my hair after a gazillion years of basically the same style.
I'm going through some stuff. Maybe I'm finally growing up. I don't know. Some days I still like to walk around outside in my socks and then tell my parents I did that. 46 and still rebelling. Like a boss.
My ability to tolerate BS has hit an all-time low. I'm just done with crap. I see right through most of it.
Hang on. I just looked down at my "old lady hands" and noticed I'm in desperate need of lotion. BRB.
There. That's better. Nice and moisturized. And I stirred the spaghetti sauce. I'm a mult-tasker. And I did that fast, huh? Yes, be impressed.
So, I'm tired of all kinds of things.
I know what I want.
I want to make much of Jesus. I want to study His word. Every day. Make time with Him a priority. I don't always do that. But I'm working on it. Part of that is plugging in at church. Not just attending. But getting involved. We've recently joined a body of Believers that I feel like will enable me to do just that. Plug in. I don't want to be behind the shadow of anyone. I don't want the spotlight. But I don't want to lurk in the shadows either. I want to serve.
I want to be the best wife I can possibly be. Friday is our 17th anniversary. He has put up with my insanity for a long time. And while he's a dude, he truly is my best friend, confidante, lover and provider. He takes such good care of me and our kids. We have a special anniversary trip coming up that I'll tell y'all about later. I'm looking forward to having him all to myself. No kids. Wheeeeeee!
And oh how I want to be a good mother. I learn everyday. These not so tiny humans need me. Even though they think they don't. They do. They need to see Jesus in me. They need me to teach them how to adult even when I don't feel like adulting myself. They need to see and experience grace and discipline. Much of both. Given and received.
I also want to cultivate quality friendships. The older I get, the less I am about quantity. I want quality. I don't want half-assed relationships. I don't want to be a friend of convenience. Not to others, not for others. All in.
I want to be more secure in who I am. And Whose I am. I grew up feeling incredibly insecure about myself. I was teased. A lot. I had my body type made fun of. A LOT. That started in the 8th grade when I saw a picture of me in a tight (yet modest) tank top. I was on a church mission trip. We had taken a side trip to see the Atlantic Ocean. While it was summertime, it was still cold there. I wasn't real educated about how my body being cold could be easily seen by others. And I'm not talking about normal goosebumps. But yes, bumps. My lights were on. Full beam. The picture taken of me was put on a slide show after the trip. I think it was an innocent submission. But there I was, freezing, looking at the beautiful ocean, about to poke a hole in the camera lens with my high beams.
Everyone laughed.
I cried.
It didn't stop there. I was picked on relentlessly after that.
So I hid behind large clothes. Even after an amazing plastic surgeon "made less of me" on the operating table. My shoulders continued to slump and I hid.
I began changing that over the past year by making a few changes. I've started buying clothes that fit me and I started working out in January. I'll get there. I feel better. So there's that.
The bottom line?
I think God is working in my life. He's showing me where I'm supposed to be. Who I'm supposed to be. What I'm supposed to care about. What I'm not supposed to be concerned with. Jesus gave His life on the cross for ME. And you. And He's got my attention. The polishing/refining process can be painful. But I can only imagine what's on the other side of that process.
So here I am. Just another sinner, saved by grace. I fall down and fail often. Bear with me as I grow.
Monday, April 17
A Sarcastic Conundrum
I have a reputation for being a bit sarcastic. Or a lot. Yes, a lot.
I was once told by someone that they didn't understand sarcasm and didn't find it an endearing quality in a friendship. Said person "broke up" with me during that conversation. Hey, we don't all click. So it's cool with me.
But here is where the problem is: Do you waste sarcasm on someone who doesn't get it if there isn't an audience of someone who does?
My argument is: Yes. You use the sarcasm. Never waste the opportunity for a sarcastic remark. Because, that receiver of said sarcastic remark just might be out with other friends and relay your comment. Then the other friends will get to snicker. I wouldn't want to deny someone a good giggle. I'm a giver that way.
Now, there's an exception. Or two.
I try, really hard, not to be cruel. I don't pride myself in being mean. That's not nice. If your sarcasm hurts someone that bad, don't do it. Know your audience.
Others straight up don't have the mental capacity to understand sarcasm. Think Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory. While I like to watch Sheldon endure what his buddies dish out, there are others where it would just be mean. Don't be a meanie.
There's a time and a place. Remember that.
And if your friends are THAT sensitive, well, I guess you truly have a problem. Unless they break up with you.
Sometimes you just gotta laugh. Even if OU does suck. *snicker*
Okay, sometimes I can be a jerk, too. I'm sorry. Sort of.
Don't be jerks. Or wusses.
Stay in school, kids. Just not OU.
Oops, I did it again.
*smooches*
I was once told by someone that they didn't understand sarcasm and didn't find it an endearing quality in a friendship. Said person "broke up" with me during that conversation. Hey, we don't all click. So it's cool with me.
But here is where the problem is: Do you waste sarcasm on someone who doesn't get it if there isn't an audience of someone who does?
My argument is: Yes. You use the sarcasm. Never waste the opportunity for a sarcastic remark. Because, that receiver of said sarcastic remark just might be out with other friends and relay your comment. Then the other friends will get to snicker. I wouldn't want to deny someone a good giggle. I'm a giver that way.
Now, there's an exception. Or two.
I try, really hard, not to be cruel. I don't pride myself in being mean. That's not nice. If your sarcasm hurts someone that bad, don't do it. Know your audience.
Others straight up don't have the mental capacity to understand sarcasm. Think Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory. While I like to watch Sheldon endure what his buddies dish out, there are others where it would just be mean. Don't be a meanie.
There's a time and a place. Remember that.
And if your friends are THAT sensitive, well, I guess you truly have a problem. Unless they break up with you.
Sometimes you just gotta laugh. Even if OU does suck. *snicker*
Okay, sometimes I can be a jerk, too. I'm sorry. Sort of.
Don't be jerks. Or wusses.
Stay in school, kids. Just not OU.
Oops, I did it again.
*smooches*
Friday, April 14
Essential Oils
I'm becoming one of those people. You know, the "I have an oil for that" person. I'm running with it. I've dabbled a little here and there. I started my journey a few years ago when I was working a conference and got a raging migraine headache. Since I was basically helping run the conference, I couldn't bail. And I couldn't take my usual meds. The essential oil ladies offered up some help. And bam! It worked. I've bought a few here and there since. But lately, I've begun to embrace the oil life. I have a friend who is all about the oil. And I needed her advice.
I joined the gym in January (don't stereotype me.) I've been mostly faithful in going. Except this week. I've been in a mood. Like filthy brown mood ring. And going to the gym would have been the best thing for me. But that's a post for another day. And there's probably an oil for my craptastic mood I was in.
Anyway, when I started back at the gym, my restless leg problem came back. Can any of you relate to restless leg syndrome? It happens mostly at bedtime. My legs hate my life and I CANNOT keep them still. It's like they are wired to something electrical. They don't hurt. But I have the constant urge to move them. I know you think it's weird and like a made up "illness." It sounds bizarre, I know. But it's real. And it's my struggle.
So I asked my oil lady if she had any tips. Because I'm SO over just adding another medication to my regimen.
Oh goodness, friends. Her first suggestion worked. The blend is by Young Living and it's called Peace and Calming. I add some drops to coconut oil (the carrier oil) and apply generously to my legs at bedtime. My dry legs are getting moisturized and the oil is doing its job. Bless that. And her. Because I can be still.
Last night, I used their "recipe" to make a roller-ball of oils for sleep. Mr. B and I both used it last night and it was heavenly. Very calming. Not girly. Not over-powering. Just - - chill.
I also made soap today.
So, I'm the oil lady, y'all. I'm seriously digging me some essential oils. I don't care if you think I'm weird. I probably have an oil to help you with your skepticism. I'll check into that for you. Because bless you for thinking I'm weird.
I joined the gym in January (don't stereotype me.) I've been mostly faithful in going. Except this week. I've been in a mood. Like filthy brown mood ring. And going to the gym would have been the best thing for me. But that's a post for another day. And there's probably an oil for my craptastic mood I was in.
Anyway, when I started back at the gym, my restless leg problem came back. Can any of you relate to restless leg syndrome? It happens mostly at bedtime. My legs hate my life and I CANNOT keep them still. It's like they are wired to something electrical. They don't hurt. But I have the constant urge to move them. I know you think it's weird and like a made up "illness." It sounds bizarre, I know. But it's real. And it's my struggle.
So I asked my oil lady if she had any tips. Because I'm SO over just adding another medication to my regimen.
Oh goodness, friends. Her first suggestion worked. The blend is by Young Living and it's called Peace and Calming. I add some drops to coconut oil (the carrier oil) and apply generously to my legs at bedtime. My dry legs are getting moisturized and the oil is doing its job. Bless that. And her. Because I can be still.
Last night, I used their "recipe" to make a roller-ball of oils for sleep. Mr. B and I both used it last night and it was heavenly. Very calming. Not girly. Not over-powering. Just - - chill.
I also made soap today.
So, I'm the oil lady, y'all. I'm seriously digging me some essential oils. I don't care if you think I'm weird. I probably have an oil to help you with your skepticism. I'll check into that for you. Because bless you for thinking I'm weird.
Saturday, January 7
Freezing... For real.
I am freezing my butt off. It's 18 degrees outside y'all. Eighteen. Some of you north of, oh, maybe Interstate 20 don't get my frustration with that number. That is some nasty, slap you in the face, cold weather. There are deer that live in a field by our house and it stresses me out that they're going to be very cold tonight. How do they stay warm? Because that doesn't look like a super heavy coat of fur.
Our fur babies are inside. All four of them. In our room. Mr. B is next to me, snoring. Moe is in my office chair, bathing himself. (He's weird when he does this, and it's loud.) Gus waited for Mr. B to fall asleep before he would climb on his legs to call it a night. Roscoe is running from Gracie. She's chasing him relentlessly. I think he likes it though. They go into our bathroom and play in the empty bathtub. I'm not sure any of my cats are playing with a full deck. Maybe they're in survival mode like me. We do what we can to stay warm.
Look, the struggle is real. We get MAYBE a month of winter down here. And that's a scattered month. Next week, it's going to be back in the 70's.
I'm just sad for the deer. And all of the other critters trapped out in the bitter cold. I wish I could call them up to the house, introduce myself as a friendly, and tell them to just warm up in the garage overnight. I could scatter some hay or something and have a makeshift barn. Then I'd make the kids sweep the deer doo doo out of the garage in the morning.
Now it's seventeen degrees. Fun. Please let this finally kill the mosquitoes.
I'm going to bed. With my heavy down comforter and electric blanket. And feel bad for the deer. Bless them. Bless the cute ones with the white spots on them. And their mamas.
My brain goes weird places when I'm tired. On that note, I'm out.
Goodnight fans.
Goodnight stalkers.
Goodnight deer.
Goodnight Gracie.
Our fur babies are inside. All four of them. In our room. Mr. B is next to me, snoring. Moe is in my office chair, bathing himself. (He's weird when he does this, and it's loud.) Gus waited for Mr. B to fall asleep before he would climb on his legs to call it a night. Roscoe is running from Gracie. She's chasing him relentlessly. I think he likes it though. They go into our bathroom and play in the empty bathtub. I'm not sure any of my cats are playing with a full deck. Maybe they're in survival mode like me. We do what we can to stay warm.
Look, the struggle is real. We get MAYBE a month of winter down here. And that's a scattered month. Next week, it's going to be back in the 70's.
I'm just sad for the deer. And all of the other critters trapped out in the bitter cold. I wish I could call them up to the house, introduce myself as a friendly, and tell them to just warm up in the garage overnight. I could scatter some hay or something and have a makeshift barn. Then I'd make the kids sweep the deer doo doo out of the garage in the morning.
Now it's seventeen degrees. Fun. Please let this finally kill the mosquitoes.
I'm going to bed. With my heavy down comforter and electric blanket. And feel bad for the deer. Bless them. Bless the cute ones with the white spots on them. And their mamas.
My brain goes weird places when I'm tired. On that note, I'm out.
Goodnight fans.
Goodnight stalkers.
Goodnight deer.
Goodnight Gracie.
Tuesday, January 3
Hello 2017!
Hi, y'all.
New year.
New goals.
Blah, blah, blah.
So here's the deal - we're three days in and people are already on my nerves. Why? Because everyone has to have an opinion on something. Everything is wrong with everything. And I'm tired of it. Some examples:
We can't have resolutions anymore or we'll get made fun of. For real. It's a thing. Look, I get that a lot of resolutions seem lame. But perhaps, for five seconds, consider the date. January 1st is a fresh start for a lot of people. And if that's what it takes for you to decide to lose weight, read more books, watch less television, whatever, then go for it. I like the idea of fresh starts. I like goals. I like setting them. And If I want to set a few goals for 2017, then I'm going to do it. If you don't like it? Go sit back down in your "I'm better than that" corner and have a blast looking down on the goal-setters. We'll all just be over here resolutioning our little hearts out. Because we don't care what you think. Have fun not trying to make yourself better. Or at least not telling us that you are. Because, you know, accountability and all that.
Another - - if you smoke weed or do other things that could potentially be harmful for your body or brain cells, please don't lecture me about my diet sodas. Or that I shouldn't eat red meat. Because there are less cares I could give about your "educated" opinion. Seriously, go hang out with Al in one of his super homes and chat over the whole global warming thing. Puh-lease.
Handslappy Christianity - - oh Lort. She went there. Yes. I. Just. Did. I saw it posted this morning. And I was like, oh my goodness. Here we go again. Christians being all judgy of other Christians. I'll say it now and I'll say it loud - - knock it off. If I see a pretty picture with a Bible verse on it and I want to share it on Instagram, I'm going to share it and hope that maybe God uses it to bless someone's day. I know that it's not the Scripture in it's entirety. Oh do I know. Do you know anyone who preaches THE ENTIRE BIBLE in every sermon? No. It doesn't usually work like that. So settle down on your self-righteousness. Love that God's word is out there. And people are sharing it. (This one was a huge face-palm for me thing morning.) Look, Christians - - love Jesus, love others. That part isn't hard. Careful with that plank in your own eye... (Oops, I did it again. Heh.)
I don't know. In today's age of "safe spaces" and all that, I'm just tired. Everything is wrong. People are wrong. You can't say that. You can't think that. Love animals more than you love other humans.
Here's the deal. I'm going to fail. A lot. This year is no exception to other years. But because I'm somewhat of an optimist - - I'm still going to set some goals. And you know what else? I'm going to celebrate when I succeed. And when I fail, I'm going to pick myself up, dust off and start over again. Or re-evaluate.
So you go rock the snot out of 2017. Be proud of who God made you. Set some goals. Don't set some goals. We're all just out here doing our best to put one foot in front of the other one. Some days are harder than others. Back off on the haughty derision and throw a sister some support. We could all use a little more encouragement.
I'll try to post more than twice a year. But don't call that a goal. It's my reality.
Love y'all.
*muah*
New year.
New goals.
Blah, blah, blah.
So here's the deal - we're three days in and people are already on my nerves. Why? Because everyone has to have an opinion on something. Everything is wrong with everything. And I'm tired of it. Some examples:
We can't have resolutions anymore or we'll get made fun of. For real. It's a thing. Look, I get that a lot of resolutions seem lame. But perhaps, for five seconds, consider the date. January 1st is a fresh start for a lot of people. And if that's what it takes for you to decide to lose weight, read more books, watch less television, whatever, then go for it. I like the idea of fresh starts. I like goals. I like setting them. And If I want to set a few goals for 2017, then I'm going to do it. If you don't like it? Go sit back down in your "I'm better than that" corner and have a blast looking down on the goal-setters. We'll all just be over here resolutioning our little hearts out. Because we don't care what you think. Have fun not trying to make yourself better. Or at least not telling us that you are. Because, you know, accountability and all that.
Another - - if you smoke weed or do other things that could potentially be harmful for your body or brain cells, please don't lecture me about my diet sodas. Or that I shouldn't eat red meat. Because there are less cares I could give about your "educated" opinion. Seriously, go hang out with Al in one of his super homes and chat over the whole global warming thing. Puh-lease.
Handslappy Christianity - - oh Lort. She went there. Yes. I. Just. Did. I saw it posted this morning. And I was like, oh my goodness. Here we go again. Christians being all judgy of other Christians. I'll say it now and I'll say it loud - - knock it off. If I see a pretty picture with a Bible verse on it and I want to share it on Instagram, I'm going to share it and hope that maybe God uses it to bless someone's day. I know that it's not the Scripture in it's entirety. Oh do I know. Do you know anyone who preaches THE ENTIRE BIBLE in every sermon? No. It doesn't usually work like that. So settle down on your self-righteousness. Love that God's word is out there. And people are sharing it. (This one was a huge face-palm for me thing morning.) Look, Christians - - love Jesus, love others. That part isn't hard. Careful with that plank in your own eye... (Oops, I did it again. Heh.)
I don't know. In today's age of "safe spaces" and all that, I'm just tired. Everything is wrong. People are wrong. You can't say that. You can't think that. Love animals more than you love other humans.
Here's the deal. I'm going to fail. A lot. This year is no exception to other years. But because I'm somewhat of an optimist - - I'm still going to set some goals. And you know what else? I'm going to celebrate when I succeed. And when I fail, I'm going to pick myself up, dust off and start over again. Or re-evaluate.
So you go rock the snot out of 2017. Be proud of who God made you. Set some goals. Don't set some goals. We're all just out here doing our best to put one foot in front of the other one. Some days are harder than others. Back off on the haughty derision and throw a sister some support. We could all use a little more encouragement.
I'll try to post more than twice a year. But don't call that a goal. It's my reality.
Love y'all.
*muah*
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