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.

My Other Mothers

We live over 300 miles apart, but my mother is always with me. Looking back at me in the mirror, I see her easy smile and caring eyes. When my daughter says, “That’s not fair,” I hear my mother’s voice say, “Life’s not fair.” Sitting on the floor playing Monster Trucks with Ford, I remember the endless games of Candyland and Uno Mama played. And when I wrap my arms around my children and smother them with kisses for the 1,000^th time that day, I feel her unconditional love engulfing us all. Every day, every decision, every special mothering moment, she is with me.

Today, I realize that she is not the only mother who is a constant part of my life. As I move throughout my day, I catch little glimpses of all my “other mothers.” These beautiful, strong women who have taught me many lessons and have helped shape me into the mother I am today.

Vacuuming the living room, I think of Mary Giltnane. Angi, Levi and Jena’s mom loved completing this chore… at the butt crack of dawn! She merrily zipped around the house while we all tried to sleep in after being up all night playing “Light as a Feather” or whatever.

Cleaning the kitchen takes me back to the Griffith’s house. One night after dinner, Judy reminded Kara it was her turn to load the dishwasher. As any teenager would do, Kara protested, claiming it was unfair since she had a friend over. Judy remained calm, but was insistent that Kara be responsible.

Sweeping, I recall Mrs. Horton chasing me out of her yard with a broom when I stuck my tongue out at Diana. No one would mess with her baby!

When I put on lotion, I make sure to rub plenty onto my elbows. Sharon Benton taught Nikki that soft skin was an essential part of any beauty regime.

Cleaning the playroom, I remember being in awe of Kelly McLemore’s mom. How did she not kill us after that pillow fight that left her room covered with a million feathers?

Watching my neighbor’s teenage daughter begin to drive, I can hear Tamara Mason’s mom saying, “Be careful, so and so had a wreck on that road,” no matter what road we were going on.

On a bright, sunny day, I remember walking beside Carla pushing Scotty in the stroller on our way to pick up Suzi from school. Next to her I felt safe, comfortable and just as loved as I did next to my own mother.

Now I wonder, what memories are Alice and Ford’s friends going to have of me? Hopefully not chasing them out of the yard with a broom! :0)

Happy Mother’s Day to my beautiful, strong, generous, incredibly loving mother, Alice!

And to all my Other Mothers, I love you, too!

Church and My Baseball Cap

I went to church this morning in my baseball cap.

I sang Halleluiah, said the Lord’s Prayer and shared the Peace in my baseball cap.

I even took communion with a big orange T mounted firmly on my head.

Years ago, I would have never worn a baseball cap to church. It felt disrespectful, and I was pretty sure someone in the congregation would “Tsk-Tsk” me in their thoughts, if not tell me directly, “Shame on you.”

This morning I slept a little longer than I meant to. I quickly put together a dish for the potluck and got the kids ready. Soon it was time to go. Because I had not taken a shower the entire day before, I was sporting a fairly greasy hairdo. In the past, I would’ve just skipped church all together. Embarrassed of my poor hygiene and too ashamed to wear a hat, I would’ve missed Pastor Will’s inspiring “live Easter day everyday” sermon. I wouldn’t have tasted the yummy broccoli salad, eaten the mystery quesadilla thing that turned out to be really good or devoured that delicious rice crispy dessert with the dark chocolate on top. I totally would’ve missed out on the delightful conversation with a couple that I hadn’t had a chance to get to know. How could I let my vain insecurity keep me from so many of God’s blessings?

Well, this time I didn’t. And as I dipped my finger in the Holy Water and crossed my forehead (right under the brim of my UT baseball cap), I heard God speak loud and clear to my heart. He didn’t say, “Shame on you.” He said, “I’m glad you’re here.” And as I walked back to my seat, I’m pretty sure I heard Him whisper, “Go Vols!”