We Celebrate!

We have the hilliest neighborhood on earth. At least it seems that way when running it. Where we lived in Greenville had some massive hills, as well. One we called Killer Hill was preceded by Death Valley. This was a long stretch of unshaded road with zero breeze. By the time you reached Killer Hill, you were mentally and physically drained. But you hit that hill with determination. The prize was at the top: the end of a long run, a sense of accomplishment, an air-conditioned YMCA.

There are several ways to attack a monster hill. Some experts say to slightly lower your head, shorten your stride, and before you know it, you will be at the top. My friend, Wendy, triples her speed hoping to get it over quick. Audrey keeps her eye on the crest and perseveres. Once at the top, we don’t beat ourselves up for our slow speed. Our lack of grace does not depress us. We celebrate – throw our arms in the air Rocky Balboa style and shout, “Woo Hoo!”

Sometimes the week before Christmas seems like climbing a gigantic hill. Shopping for the perfect gifts, baking, wrapping, picture taking, card mailing, and then there’s that crazy elf! If you are a procrastinator like me, this week means late nights catching up in hopes of creating a magical day for your family.

Each year I vow to be more prepared; to start my shopping earlier, get cards out on time, put up more decorations and create Hallmark moments baking, craft-making and watching movies with my children. It can get exhausting, mentally and physically. But, of course, I don’t stop. I know the prize at the end, don’t I? Overjoyed children, a happy, smiling husband, smells of snickerdoodles and the warm glow of holiday lights… not exactly. It doesn’t always turn out this way.

Whatever your style for getting through the week before Christmas; lowering your head and steadily working, speeding through it all just to get it done or keeping your eye on the final day, the REAL prize is the same for us all. Once we’ve reached the end, we shouldn’t beat ourselves up because the gifts we chose were not the “perfect” ones. We can’t get depressed because our neighbors’ houses look much more festive than ours. We celebrate – because, on Christmas day, Jesus Christ, our Savior, was born, bringing us Peace, Love, Joy and Life Everlasting. We celebrate!

Facebook makes me feel...

Facebook makes me feel…

Guilty – for the numerous hours spent catching up with… ok, snooping on… old friends (and sometimes an ex-boyfriend or two.) Not to mention eight weeks of playing Scramble (see “Quit Staring at the Pines” http://contributingmyverse.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html)

Depressed – Oh, how greener the grass is on everyone else’s page; cleaner houses, fancier vacations, better behaved children… 

(see “Facebook Depression” http://contributingmyverse.blogspot.com/2011_03_01_archive.html)

Scared – How many times have I held my breath after posting something in fear that I may offend someone? Apologies in advance to all of Facebook Land!

Embarrassed – Did I really just post that? Example: “For the love of my friends and family and those poor girls behind me in aerobics class, I really need to stop eating chili!” Hmmm… some things just need to be left unshared.

However, FB has also made me feel…

Motivated – I love the new page “Strong is the New Skinny.” Great site for encouragement on challenging yourself and seeing fitness in a whole new light.

Joyful – Thanks to FB, I am able to see dozens of pictures of sweet, little Evan. My heart was broken for my dear friends, Matt and Heather High, as they yearned for a child of their own for over ten years. They were recently blessed with the adoption of a beautiful baby boy. I am overjoyed to see him grow and be smothered with love by two people who could not be more deserving of this great gift from God!!

Nostalgic – How fun is it to relive so many great times with people from my past whom I miss greatly! Camping trips with Girl Scout Troop 106, so many Swim Team memories (away meets, “redrum!” “burp and eat it,” straw hair and Tommy Parham stories), Trinity Youth Group mission trips to Biloxi, MCHS – Go Tribe (way too many memories to list here), Carson-Newman (Yee Haw!)… I could go on and on. J

Inspired – To do good in the world (please check out The Birthday Project. http://www.thebdayproject.com/ Robyn Bomar is a saint!)

To make super cute treat bags for Alice’s birthday (thank you Mary Kemper!)

To make travel plans for the future (Singapore is on my bucket list.)

Thankful – For everyone I have been able to reconnect with through Facebook. How wonderful it is to remain a part of your lives even though we live far apart. I love you all!

           

Thank you Facebook!!! You make me feel… happy!

                         

Top 10 Reasons I Love Being Married to Cliff Miller

10.          He does his own laundry (yep, folks, its true!)

9.            He’s pretty darn cute, if you like the Val Kilmer in a uniform look (oh, and I do.)

8.            He doesn’t expect me to make him breakfast every morning. ;0)

7.            It’s much easier to spell my last name now.

6.            He details my car. (I do try to stay clear of him while he does this. It is not a pleasant task.)

5.            He LOVES my football color commentary. “Ooo! They have red eyes!”, “He should cut his hair.”                  “Ha ha, he said ‘the tight end penetrated the hole.’”

4.            He “Ceeps us safe.”

3.            He puts up with my drama.

2.            He’s an incredibly protective, involved, fun-loving daddy to our two little punkin heads.

And the #1 reason I love being married to Cliff Miller is:..

He makes me laugh! 

“Sexiness wears thin after awhile and beauty fades, but to be married to a man who makes you laugh every day, ah, now that’s a real treat.” Joanne Woodward

Happy 10th Anniversary Baby!

I love you soooo much!

No Excuses!

There is no arguing. Exercise is good for us. The benefits of an active lifestyle are numerous: Increased energy, blood pressure control, weight maintenance, improved mood…

Do I really need to continue?

We know it’s good for us, yet we make all kinds of excuses. (I’m including myself here.)

Here are some leading excuses and why you can’t use them (because these people didn’t).

“I don’t have time.”

In 2010, my sister, wife and mother of two young, active girls, worked a full-time job teaching and received her Master’s Degree in Special Education from the University of Tennessee with perfect grades! Oh, and she also trained and ran a 5K that March. I’m pretty sure she also volunteered for the Special Olympics, coached her kids in basketball and cooked nutritious dinners every night. Yep, she is Super Woman and my hero!

You can ALWAYS find time to exercise!!

“Gym memberships are too expensive.”

Walking is free. YMCAs have scholarships to help those who are struggling financially. Being healthy cuts back on medical expenses and decreases sick days from work. You can’t afford NOT to exercise!

“I’m too old.”

Meet Dot. She takes water aerobics regularly and walks the track with her husband. She’s 80.

Meet Joe. He beat my half marathon PR of 2:07. He’s 70.

I wish you could have met Francis. He took whatever aerobics class was available in the mornings at the Y. He did what he could in class then went home to tend to his horses and take a dip in his pool. He died at 87 doing what he loved. It was the way he always said he wanted to go. I miss you Francis!

“I have a bad back, arthritis, hip issues, hang nail, etc. etc.”

You would never know this to look at her. You may even miss seeing the left side of her face droop and her eye momentarily close on occasion. You definitely would never expect that this super sweet, upbeat, always smiling, beautiful lady has a… BRAIN TUMOR. Yes, that is what I said, a BRAIN TUMOR! But Sue does not use this excuse to confine herself to the couch (which, honestly, I probably would do… seriously, a brain tumor!!). She is a regular at the Y and an inspiration to everyone who knows her. (Side note: if you have a brain tumor, please check with your doctor before exercising. Sue did.)

Nancy won the battle against lung cancer over 11 years ago. Unfortunately, it left her with one functioning lung. ONE LUNG! Is she sitting on the couch? Nope.

Tonya has MS. Her short-term memory fails her frequently and she is never sure how her body will react from day to day. But on a daily basis, she does what she can.

Heather was born with only three-fourths of her right arm. She takes Yoga. I watch her valiantly attempting each pose and suddenly my worry of how my hiney looks in the Bound Warrior Pose seems petty.

I have changed the names of a few of these courageous people. Not because I need to protect them, just because I’m not sure what some of their names are, to which Tonya (or Tina, or something) says I probably just have MS. LOL! A sense of humor is obviously key to overcoming obstacles!

So what are doing still sitting at this computer? Get up and get moving! No excuses! :0)

You've Got (Real) Mail!

As I drive up to the house, I stop to get the mail in my car. (Just ran six miles at the Y but can’t walk from the garage to the mailbox…) I see an off-white envelope sticking out from the middle and get excited. It’s the kind of mail you know immediately is personal, not advertisements or bills. I flip through and see my name written in the familiar calligraphy-style penmanship of my sweet mother-in-law. I do manage to pull the car into the garage before ripping into the envelope like it was Christmas morning. It’s a card with a beautiful scene of two little girls hugging. But the content is the real treasure. I tear up as I read the heartfelt words she so carefully scripted on both sides of the card. The personally handwritten note is an art this precious lady has perfected.

Social media has enabled us to send messages of support and encouragement to loved ones quickly and without the cost of a stamp. I thrive on the daily support of my friends and family through emails, texts and FB messages. (How did I ever survive before my smartphone?)

But there is just something about the handwritten note sent by snail mail. You can hold it, read it over and over and store it away in an old shoebox. Every time I open that dusty old container, I relive the excitement those personal letters of love gave me the day I received them.

Cards from Nana on my birthday, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Groundhog Day… (seriously, she sent a card for everything… and I love them all!)

Nanny and Mama’s letters of concern and support.

Daddy and Papaw’s words of advice and encouragement.

Missi’s hilarious jokes and an occasional five dollar bill. (She knew how much that meant to a poor college student!)

Going through these precious relics makes me thankful that I am a pack rat!

Today, I purchased some old fashioned note cards and a book of stamps.

Keep an eye on your mailbox, friends and family! But don’t be afraid to park in the garage first and get a little exercise. :0)

Just Keep Swimming and Forget the Boogers!

It’s inevitable. You get 30 or 40 snotty kids in a pool swimming laps, and there are bound to be boogers floating around. I distinctly remember dodging the nasty little things during countless hours of swim practice growing up. As disgusting as it was, it didn’t stop me. I loved swimming. It was who I was.

The older I get, the more those floating boogers gross me out. So I stopped swimming. And not just in pools. I don’t swim in oceans because a shark could bite off an appendage. And in the lake, I risk an amoeba entering my nose and eating my brain. That just leaves the bathtub. Flip turns are impossible there, so I’m out of luck.

So far this year, a calf injury, back issues and plantar fasciitis have made it difficult to do anything with impact. Swimming is an excellent exercise, especially for individuals with injuries. So, off to the pool I go to face my fears of those icky balls of snot.

Wearing my new reversible Speedo, I stand at the end of the lane and place goggles over my eyes. I take a deep breath and think of two things.

1.         I have the lane to myself. No snotty kids = less chance of floating boogers. They probably aren’t even there.

2.         If they are there, just keep swimming and forget the boogers. They are harmless (Thanks to chlorine!). The only way they can hurt me is if I think about them.

When I’m finished, I remember all the reasons why I love swimming. How could I have let something so trivial keep me from an activity I love dearly?

What “boogers” are keeping you from doing what you love or know is good for you?

Many people say they want to run or work out in the gym, but they fear people will judge them. They don’t want anyone to see them in their spandex worried people will laugh if they run slow. Or they are afraid someone will make fun of them in the weight room if they happen to use one of the machines wrong (for example, the triceps extension).

1.         People who see you running outside are thinking they should be out there, too. And others in the gym are focused on their own workouts, not you. They probably aren’t laughing or even looking at you.

2.         If someone does laugh, forget about them. The only way the opinions of others can hurt you is if you let them.

So keep swimming, keep running, tackle those weight machines and Forget the Boogers!!

Who Will Keep You Company?

In Shawshank Redemption, Andy Dufresne rebelled against the guards and was thrown into isolation for a whole month. When he emerged from “the hole,” he had a smile on his face. His penitentiary friends were confused. How could he be so happy after spending thirty days by himself with no human interaction?

Andy explained, “I had Mr. Mozart to keep me company.”

I often wonder if I were ever thrown into isolation, who would keep me company?

Would it be:

Candace constantly tattling on Phineus and Ferb?

Those Angry Birds flying all over the room?

Aqua singing “Barbie Girl”?

Snookie… doing whatever it is she does?

Or Negative Chatty Cathy from Bunko complaining about her MIL, the waitress at O’Charley’s and her ingrown toenail?

With that kind of company, I’d surely be crawling around the room trying to melt into that Yellow Wallpaper.

What if my company included:

James Taylor singing “In My Mind I’m Gone to Carolina,”

Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy dancing gracefully around the room,

Hummingbirds happily sipping their red-colored sugar water,

And Jesus sitting by my side engulfing me in his aura of Peace and Love?

Yeah, I could enjoy that kind of isolation.

Big Orange T

I was driving behind a truck today with four big orange Ts arranged on the tailgate. Cool! Another Tennessee fan! I wanted to connect with them, but how? There were no outside signs on the Explorer to show that I, too, was a Tennessee fan.

I could show them my purse across the lane. But the Ts were too small to see.

“Nice orange purse, crazy lady.”

I was wearing UT shorts. However, I was certain the police would be alerted if I stood up and pressed my butt against the window.

I could write “Go Vols” on a piece of paper and show it to them. A pen was nowhere to be found. I gave up.

We came to a stop light, and I looked over their way (cuz I’m nosy like that). The passenger smiled at me, waved and mouthed, “Go Vols!” I waved back, excited to make new friends through this sacred connection. But how in the world did she know I was a Tennessee fan, too? The light turned green and I was perplexed. Maybe it’s telekinesis or something. When your blood runneth orange, you instinctively recognize a fellow Vol Fan.

Stopping at the next light, I check the rearview mirror… And the mystery is solved! Staring back at me is the big orange T on my baseball cap, prominently displayed smack dab on my forehead. 

Treasure Box

To me, they are rocks. They get in the way when I vacuum and hurt really bad when I step on them.

To Alice, they are treasures; diamonds, crystals, precious gems. She spends countless hours lining them up and sorting them by color. She carefully places them in front of various Barbies, Zhu Zhu pets and Build-A-Bears as the ultimate tea party favor. They are kept in a delicately carved wooden box her Daddy gave her. She loves them very much.

To the self-important lap swimmer, they are “old people” who take up two extra lanes for water aerobics. Evidently, this inconveniences him in the last five minutes of Master Swim Team practice. In a loud, rude tone, he voices his complaints and sends degrading, mocking glances their way. This very much upsets me.

To me, they are precious gems. I watch as they swim to the side and turn towards me, waiting for instruction. Lined up around the edge of the pool, they resemble Alice’s collection of treasures. Each one beautiful, unique, invaluable. I love them very much.

My anger towards Grumpy Master Swimmer turns to pity. His misconceptions of these lovely people keep him from ever knowing the treasures that they are. They are grandparents, retired teachers, world travelers and cancer survivors. They have made a support system among themselves, and they love and protect each other. I pray one day, when Grumpy Swimmer has aged and can no longer compete with the younger crowd, when he is retired and getting up to attend water aerobics is a highlight of his day, that he will be respected and treasured by others who are more understanding and patient.

We all have our own spaces where we keep our precious gems. Thankfully, God holds every one of us in His treasure box (even Grumpy Swimmer).

God, Where Are You?

Faith tells me there is a God. But I need sensorial proof. I want to see, hear and feel Him. (I suppose it’s okay if I don’t smell Him – but anyway). I’ve read several books lately that describe spiritual revelations; visions, out of body experiences, bright, pulsing lights heating up the spine creating a roadway to divinity. The authors were able to reach a heightened awareness of God by practicing yoga in Ashrams, taking long walks through beautiful foreign cities, visiting museums and ancient cathedrals and meditating for hours. These well-written stories have propelled me on my own spiritual journey of finding inner peace and hopefully bringing me eye to eye with God.

Unfortunately, being a mom of two young children with limited time and resources, for now there will be no trips to India, visits to Chartres Cathedral or all-day meditations sitting criss-cross applesauce on a mountain top. My journey is contained to JJ’s yoga class at the Y, early morning jogs around Lost Creek and short bursts of meditation wherever I manage to find myself alone. But I’m determined to see God as the authors did, so these avenues, however menial, will have to do.

I begin my quest for oneness with God by taking a yoga class. With intense focus on breathing, stretching, mind/body awareness and balance, I was sure to have a revelation. It starts out well. My body is strong, and the quiet music and soft lighting allow my mind to settle into a calm state. That is, until I catch a glimpse of my butt in the mirror. The extremely awkward Bound Warrior pose reveals my hiney at a very unattractive angle.

Strike One.

I try to rid my psyche of this self-defeating negative body image and resume my Pranayama breathing. However, this is hard to do when you are trying NOT to inhale toxic fumes drifting over from your gaseous neighbor.

Strike Two.

We finally reach the relaxation portion of class. The instructor tells us to lie on our sides and get nice and comfy. In a soothing voice, she advises us that whenever we feel stressed or anxious, we should get into this very position until we reach a relaxed state.

Strike Three, and I’m out!

I manage to stay quiet, but my entire body shakes and tears fill my eyes from holding in the laughter. Seriously? I picture my husband coming home from work finding me in the fetal position on the kitchen floor, dinner half cooked and the kids running circles around me. “But this is what my yoga instructor told me to do!”

God, where are you?

My next attempt at making a connection with divinity was early one Saturday morning. I woke up before anyone in the house, the sun just beginning to makes its appearance. Normally, I would try to go back to sleep, but this time I decided to take advantage of the quietness. I lay in the Corpse pose (they really need to rename this), flat on my back, palms facing up. Concentrating on my breathing, I try to clear my mind. From what I understand, pushing aside superficial thoughts, worries, guilt, etc, will open up the recesses of your mind allowing God to reveal Himself and speak to you. So when things like “we need pull ups and milk,” “would navy blue walls be too dark in the hallway?” and “if I don’t clean the bonus room today, I may possibly lose one of the kids in there,” pop into my head, I push them out. But they keep coming back! One after the other. I begin to think that it is impossible to NOT think. I keep trying, however, until finally I realize I have sung the theme song to The Beverly Hillbillies in its entirety, TWICE. I give up!

God, where are you?

Clinging to the hope that this meditation thing could work, I realize there may be something to how you do it; sitting somewhere peaceful in the lotus position. I grab a blanket from the closet and head to the back porch. It overlooks the water and is abundant in birds, squirrels, ducks and other wildlife, certainly very peaceful. Pushing the couch and table out of the way, I sit on the blanket facing the serene landscape. With Ford taking a nap and Alice glued to the latest episode of “Good Luck, Charlie,” I hope to have ample time to calm my mind and open my soul to the eyes of God.

Perched on my sit bones, trying not to slouch, breathing deeply. Inhale… exhale… inhale…

Whack, whack, whack – it’s like a slap on the forehead as the A/C unit winds itself up prompting me to worry about it breaking down, AGAIN.

I shake it off. Inhale… exhale… inhale…

Creeeeeek, the porch door opens. “Mama, why are you sitting on a Christmas blanket?”

“I just thought it’d be fun.”

“Oh. Can I have a popsicle?”

“Sure.”

I try to squash the guilt I feel over letting her have even more sugar and get back to breathing. But it isn’t working. I could add a mantra to my meditation. However, I’m not sure what time Cliff will be back from riding his bike. If he finds me sitting on a fleece Christmas blanket in July on the floor in front of perfectly good furniture saying “Ommmm,” I am certain he will speed dial the nice men in white coats to come get me.

So I try breathing again. Inhale… exhale… inhale…

And there goes the creeking door again. I don’t even open my eyes, trying to ignore the patter of tiny feet moving toward me.

“Mama?” He’s so close to my face I can smell his nap breath, musty and sweet at the same time. I exhale a sigh of resignation and open my eyes.

God, where are you?

Sticky baby boy hands on his knees, peanut butter smeared on his cheek, the perpetual bruise on his forehead, peering in anticipation at me with those beautiful cornflower blue eyes.

I smile.

Oh, there you are!

Friends Don't Let Friends Shop With Kids

My super generous friend, Amy, took care of my children yesterday so I could grocery shop alone. It was wonderful!

I thought the older they got the easier shopping trips would be, but I was wrong. My two highly energetic kids seem to think Wal-Mart is their personal amusement park. I’ve learned to navigate the aisles to avoid the toy department. The problem is not them asking to buy everything. “Do you have any money?” puts a halt to that… most of the time. But once there, balls will be bounced, bikes will be ridden and every button of anything that talks will be pushed until the entire department sounds like a creepy Poltergeist meets Toy Story movie.

Even if we manage to stay clear of the toy department, my children are still able to find their own fun. Any island of merchandise becomes the center of a race track. If they can sit, stand or climb on it, they will. The wide frozen food aisle is used for practicing cartwheels, dance moves and sliding like a rock star, air guitars playing wildly.

One day I noticed a mom blissfully pushing her cart while her four children walked dutifully beside her. The calm, obedient children watched my out-of-control rug rats with wide eyes as if they had encountered a freaky, misplaced mini-circus. How did she get them to walk beside her like well-trained golden retrievers? Does she drug them, threaten to beat them, bribe them with candy? I wanted to ask her, but Ford was hiding in one of the ten circular clothes racks, and I had to watch for movement so I could grab him before some pedophile did.

Yesterday, I didn’t have to chase anyone through the meat department and was actually able to think about what I needed. Walking through the pet aisle, I spotted a variety of leashes. Hmmm.

 Thank you, Amy, that was FABULOUS. :0)

In God's Time

I loved “Little House on the Prairie” as a kid. I daydreamed about traveling back in time to visit Laura, Mary, Ma and Pa. I’d bring with me modern-day items that would rock their world. They would think my Cabbage Patch Doll was amazingly lifelike, putting their little corn-silk dolls to shame. I would dazzle them with my flashlight. “We could dance to Pa’s fiddle in the barn at night without the lantern setting the hay on fire!” Forget Pa’s fiddle. Wait till they hear The Charlie Daniels Band on my Walkman.

After careful consideration, I decided it would be a bad idea to bring a TV. It would be too much for them. How could they begin to comprehend seeing someone live on a tiny square screen thousands of miles away? They haven’t even figured out how to get water a hundred yards up hill into the house without buckets yet. I’d have to take it slow and possibly hold back a few things lest they declare me a witch and burn me at the stake.

And, my, how things have changed since I was a kid! What would they think about our technological advances today? I remember the telephone episode where Mrs. Oleson was the switchboard operator. This new-fangled contraption, along with Mrs. Oleson’s love for gossiping, caused all kinds of strife, including the near break-up of a marriage. What kind of effect would Twitter have on these people? Albert would regret tweeting about the 15 fish he caught in the swimming hole when the entire town showed up with their cane poles. Nope, it wouldn’t be wise to jump too far ahead of the times. There are just some things these people aren’t ready for.

This brings me to the question: What things are my great grandchildren going to have access to and knowledge about that would be too much for me to understand? The Ingles never dreamed of talking with Mary in Mankato at the Blind School from Walnut Grove. Seeing her on Skype would be unimaginable. It makes my brain hurt to think what communication will be like a hundred years from now.

One day it dawned on me as I was driving (Can you see Nellie loose behind the wheel of a convertible Miata? Watch out, Willie!), that this same concept is true in my spiritual journey. There is so much about God, the Bible and prayer that I cannot seem to wrap my tiny, unimaginative brain around.

Up to this point, I have been ashamed to admit that I have a hard time completely understanding what I have been taught about God and the Bible. Some of the stories seem too farfetched for me to believe. Really, someone could build a boat that held that many animals and none of them ate each other over a forty-day period? I’m fairly certain that the stomach acids of a great fish would completely destroy a person after three days. And Moses parting an entire body of water with a little rod is hard for me to picture. (I know, lightning is going to strike me down for questioning the validity of these stories, but I have to be honest here.)

Prayer is a concept I most likely will never grasp. How does God hear all of our prayers, especially when a majority of mine are silent ones? Is it like in Bruce Almighty with the post-it notes? Morgan Freeman never did reveal how he answered all those pleas to win the lottery. And the whole free-will versus God-has-everything-planned-out-before-we-are-born thing goes beyond my comprehension.

I suppose just as Nels Oleson was not ready to learn how to utilize Facebook to market his mercantile business (“Like us, and you could win a free tiller!”), I’m not quite ready to understand exactly how God works.

And that’s where Faith comes in. Thank God (literally) for that little seed planted so long ago in my heart that has kept my beliefs strong all these years, even when my head is in total chaos. I will continue to search for answers and pray as I always have. That is the only way I will grow spiritually. But I can relax, knowing that the answers are out there, and I will one day receive them all… in God’s time.

You and 23 Others Like This

I’m a Woo Hoo Girl! In the middle of an aerobics class, I get wound up and can’t help but shout “Woo Hoo!” I was talking to a girl at the Y, and she said how much she liked so-and-so’s class because she was calm and didn’t talk too much or hoot and holler. I told her she might not want to take my class, then. “Oh, are you a Woo Hoo Girl?” Yes, yes I am.

I’m a people pleaser. The “like” button is my friend. When I see that someone “like”d what I said, it makes me happy! One of my blog posts got 23 “like”s. Woo Hoo!! I suppose this could be a good trait to have, but it has also been debilitating. I’m so concerned whether people like me or not that I’ve altered my personality at times. Whenever I post something, a status update, a blog post or even a comment to someone else’s post, I get anxious. I have turned my thoughts into words and put myself out there. What if I offend someone? What if they think I’m stupid? What if they don’t like me?

One day in high school, I was riding in the car with my mother. Evidently, I was having some concerns about someone who didn’t like me. “You know, there are people who don’t like your grandfather.” What??? That’s absurd! Everyone likes Papaw! He was former Mayor of Athens, a war veteran, radio personality, newspaper columnist and current McMinn County Trustee, to just name a few of his positions in the community. When we’d go out to dinner it would take forever to get out of the restaurant. Papaw would know everyone and take the time to stop and talk to them. Seriously, how could anyone not like him?

Chuck Redfern was a devout Christian, committed Republican and avid UT fan. He didn’t hesitate to share his ideas and positions. No person on earth could have these convictions and not be opposed by someone. So what is the alternative? Back away from what you stand for so you don’t offend anyone? For my grandfather? Not a chance. He wouldn’t have been the person he was if he was concerned about pleasing everyone.

So, while I get a little nervous and hope no one skips my class due to my overzealous personality, I will not change who I am. So, if you like me, great! If not, well, there’s always so-and-so’s class.

I am who I am. And to that I shout, Woo Hoo!!!!

Lights Out

8:45 – Lights Out.

Everyone begins to wander around the house, and we all end up on the back porch. I sit down, and Alice crawls in my lap. Cliff and Ford stand watching the light show the storm is putting on. I think how nice it is that we are all out here together as a family. The night air is cool and the absence of electronic noise is peaceful.

One big, deep, satisfying breath, and the lights are back on.

8:48 – The kids rush back in to watch “Charlie Shakes It Up,” Cliff flips the Miami/Dallas game on, and me, well, those scrabble games are not going to play themselves.

It was nice while it lasted.

What If They Make Fun of Me?

It has begun. My daughter is only seven and already asking, “What if they make fun of me?” Understandably, I want to provide her with the armor she needs to protect her ever-developing ego. As much as Alice loves being on stage in front of large groups of people, I am certain there will be plenty of embarrassing situations ahead (as I type this, she is “singing” in the playroom… yep, she’s gonna get teased.)

So, I polled my wise friends on Facebook. “What are some books, quotes, etc. for building up my daughter’s sense of self, increasing her defenses against potential attacks on her character?”

Victoria said, “Be pretty when you can, witty if you must, but gracious if it kills you.” And “Speak your mind, even if your voice shakes.”

Mary told her daughter, Karen, “Some children just do not feel good about themselves and have to say mean things to others.”

Debra quoted one of my favorite versus, Philippians 4:13 “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Mendy is a fan of the great Dr. Suess, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”

Sue offered to send her son, Luke, to take care of anyone who was mean to Alice. Thanks Sue!

Krista advises her daughter, Keira, “Be friends with those who uplift you and make you feel good about yourself. If they don’t, they are not worth your time.” (Krista, I bet she gets it better than you think she does, even as young as she is.)

I also will be checking out some suggested books soon: Queen Bees and Wannabees, American Girl books, specifically The Care and Keeping of You and The Feelings Book and the Chrissa American Girl movie. Dr. Seuss’s Oh, The Places You’ll Go was the one book mentioned that we do have. We’ll be digging that one out.

Great advice from some very wise women. But will all this be enough for her?

A month or so ago, I was teaching a Boot Camp class. Let me just say, jumping jacks and a mother-of-two’s bladder do NOT mix! That’s right, I peed my pants. I tried to be subtle and take a look. No puddle (thank God!) but there was a big dark circle in the crotch of my hot pink running shorts. I stood there with my legs crossed in front of a large group of adults still doing jumping jacks and tried not to cry… It was not awkward at all… I thought about running away and never coming back, or I could just make a joke about it and get it over with… But maybe they hadn’t noticed yet (haha, yeah, right!) Instead, I sent them upstairs to the track to run a few laps, and then sprinted to the front desk. “Lynn, help!” What was she supposed to do? Dig out some replacement shorts from Lost and Found? Ewww. She tried to find something to wrap around my waist, but no luck. She reassured me it wasn’t too bad (good friends know when to lie), and I had no choice but to go back and face the music. As the group streamed down the stairs and back into the gym I had only moments to gather myself… “What if they make fun of me?” Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, a door opened, releasing a treasure trove of wisdom that had been carefully collected over the years. Words of advice and encouragement from some very important people in my life were right there for me in my time of need.

“In the grand scheme of things, this is really no big deal.”

“They are more worried about themselves than what’s going on with you.”

“Laugh about it. Don’t take yourself too seriously.”

“Toughen up. You have a job to do. Get it done!”

“You’re not alone. That’s happened to me, too.”

“You are a great instructor! It will all be okay!”

It was like having Mama, Daddy, Missi, Papaw, Angi and all the people who have ever loved me pick me up and get me through a potentially ego-damaging moment. With my “support team” by my side, I made it through the class. And no one made fun of my incontinence (at least not to my face). Now I know the next time I teach class I will be wearing the armor of supportive love and advice… along with a pair of dark-colored shorts.

Evidently, the careful guidance I received growing up from so many different people; parents, grandparents, my sister, coaches, teachers, and friends, was enough for me. I have to trust it will be enough for Alice.

I Do Know Where My Keys Are

They say money can’t buy happiness, but I believe it bought me sanity. I purchased this hook 12 years ago for five or six dollars. It has saved me hours of searching for my keys, and that makes me happy!

So I bought this little drawer organizer at Target for about $8. I’ll sleep better tonight knowing I will always be able to locate the cute red heart stamp. Check back with me in a week or so, and we’ll see if it still looks like this.

Maybe my next project should be the bonus/sewing/guest bedroom.

Now, what one item can I purchase to make this better? Yikes!

"Where's My Phone?"

“Where is my phone?” Some of the answers have been: second shelf of the pantry, back bumper of the Explorer, rolled up in the bounce house (that took a whole weekend to figure out), and on the floor in my closet (not sure how I ever found it in there).

This is my purse.

What you can see: Blue socks (for an impromptu ice-skating or Monkey Joe's trip), a gigantic Hershey Bar (never leave home without chocolate), two VBS forms I haven’t turned in yet, nail polish, tissues and Band-Aids.

What you don’t see: Loose change, a green bouncy ball, chewable Imodium (a long-distance runner’s staple), a piece of glass that Alice wanted to put in her “treasure chest,” two expired coupons, and the top to my perfume bottle, among other things.

Here is my closet.

Now you can see why it was a miracle I found my phone in there.

The junk drawer.

How am I supposed to know whose number that is? Or why I even wrote it down???

The file thing on the right was an attempt at organization at one point. Tucked back in there somewhere is a plastic baggy with my broken engagement ring in it. You might think this picture was taken in December. Nope, I still haven’t sent my parents their Christmas presents from Alice. So now every time I need the cutting board, I reinitiate my guilt of being a lousy daughter.

As you can clearly see, I have problems with organization and neatness. My life would run so much smoother if I could find the shoes that go with the wrinkled pants that I don’t have time to iron because the ironing board is covered with fabric scraps and fur. I would always be on time if I didn’t have to search for the invitation with the directions on it, my music for class or the registration forms I have yet to fill out. I would be a much happier, less-stressed Mama if things were neat and orderly.

I can’t take a picture of it, but my mind seems to fit in right along with my purse, closet and junk drawer. If I can get what I can see in order, maybe my head will follow along. I make excuses of not having enough time to organize, being a busy mom and all. But if I am able to play Scramble for eight weeks, I think I have the time.

My good friend is convinced I have ADD. But I am certain I suffer from another ailment: LAZY. Now, if they just made a pill for that.