This Year Will Be Different

Every year, my New Year's Resolutions go a little something like this.
Dec. 31: I resolve to-
1. Clean up the entire house and always keep it neat and tidy.
2. Remain patient and calm with my children, never raising my voice.
3. Cut out all refined carbs from my diet.

Jan. 1:
I start out cleaning my closet. In five minutes, I am sitting in a pile of old pictures and notes from my BFF from City Park Elementary laughing until I cry.
Within a few hours I have yelled at my children three times and my husband once, because OMG I need chocolate!!!
My diet goes well until, oh, about lunch. Then I dig up every piece that I can find of Christmas, Halloween, and Easter candy (yes, there is still some of that in my house).

This year is going to be different. My resolutions will be a little less constricting and hopefully easier to accomplish. I plan to TOP it off in 2013!
Next year, I resolve to be more:
Thoughtful - Write a note of thanks/encouragement/love to one person every day.
Organized - Execute one project from Pinterest a month to help make my household run smoother. I think I have pinned around 40,000 ideas and have tried 3. So 12 will be quite an accomplishment.
Punctual - This is where the previous two will be useful.

Let's hope this will last past lunchtime tomorrow! :0)

Happy New Year Everyone! May your 2013 be truly blessed!

I Went Straight

I sat at the stoplight. To the right were a gazillion errands- Goodwill, grocery store, Christmas shopping. Straight ahead- the park.
Looking in the rear view mirror, I saw my children, the warm sunshine bathing the tops of their heads. They were quiet, each engrossed in their current obsessions- one on the iPad, one on my phone.
The light turned green.
I went straight.

TELL ME!

“ME FIRST!

Over a sandy hill he flew and…

Kerplop.

He landed face to face with a small creature with a bump on her nose and fur on her toes.”

Wait.

I lower the book I’m reading to Ford and look at my feet. Neatly clipped and painted toenails and…

Gasp!

Hair on my toes! Just like the “sand witch” Pinkerton runs into. How did I miss that? And how long have I been walking around with hairy toes frightening small children and grossing out my friends? More importantly, why didn’t anyone TELL ME?

There have been other times someone didn’t tell me:

Leaving the Student Center one day at Carson-Newman, I ran into the super cute kicker from the football team.

“Hey Bryan,” I said tilting my head and flashing a flirty smile.

“Hey, Libby,” and he headed straight into the building.

Next along came Ore, also an attractive football player.

“Hey Libby! You have something on your face.”

Not something. A gigantic chunk of chocolate was perched on top of my upper lip. Nice!

“Thanks for telling me, Ore!”

After teaching private swim lessons, I talked with my student’s mother for at least five minutes. I turned to her daughter to say goodbye.

She said, “You have a big booger on your nose.”

Really? Thank goodness the 7-year-old had enough decency to TELL ME!

Cliff’s college buddy came by the house one day when Alice was little. I was enjoying the mature, adult conversation after spending all day with a three-year-old playing Princess dress up. About 20 minutes into the visit, I realized I was still wearing the large, plastic dangly earrings with the beautiful pink and purple “diamonds.”

“Why didn’t ya’ll tell me I was still wearing these?”

“I just thought you wanted to dress up for Cisco.”

Seriously?

I think it is sweet that my friends want to spare my feelings by NOT pointing out my flaws…

However, if you EVER see me with hair on my toes, boogers on my nose, chunks of chocolate on my face or questionable, tacky jewelry on my body,

Please

TELL ME!!!!

Disabled

I just saw the most moving commercial. A Down Syndrome boy sits alone in a dark room. He says, "They stare at you. They point and yell things at you. They say you are different." He wipes tears from his face, and my heart is breaking for this poor, disabled kid. He then says, "It is fantastic!" The most adorable smile spreads across his face. The next clip shows him with a medal around his neck, hoisted high in the air by his fans at the Special Olympics. Disabled? Not with that attitude.

Here's To You, Class of '92!

The Boot Camp class I sub for contains a wide range of participants from beginners to regulars who could run circles around me. One night, I was attempting to motivate them when I said, “Don’t worry about the other people in class. This is your workout. What you put into it is what you get out of it.” Then I said (hold onto your seats cuz this is pretty profound), “Just the fact that you are here…”(long pause) “…is good.” That’s all I could think to say. Super inspiring, right? That’s ok. It made them laugh, which is good for your core.

Saturday night was my 20-year High School Reunion. If I had taken some time away from singing karaoke, I would love to have given this toast to my friends:

“MCHS Class of ’92, the fact that you are here is good! Many of our classmates are missing tonight. Some wanted to come but couldn’t. Others are not here simply because they were worried about the other people in class. Maybe they were afraid of how their careers or family lives would compare. Or maybe they felt they needed to lose weight or couldn’t find the right clothes or shoes to wear. Twenty years ago we all had visions of how our lives would look today. But we all know life has a way of making all kinds of twists and turns from those starry-eyed days of our youth. I think Patrick O’Connor and I vowed to start a law firm together (stop laughing).

John Lennon said it best: “When I was 5 years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy.’ They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”

So don’t worry about the other people in class. This is your life. What you put into it is what you get out of it. Put happiness into it.

Here’s to you, Class of ’92! You are here, and it is good!”

To all of our classmates who were not there, we really missed you and hope to see you next time.

PS- I say we all wear our pajamas to the 25^th. Whatchya think?

I Have Nothing To Wear To My High School Reunion

Who doesn’t want to look great for their 20-year High School Reunion?

I have had months to plan (ok, 20 years- we’ve known this day was coming, right?) So, less than a week away, I had hoped to have lost ten pounds, perfect highlights in my hair, a beautiful manicure, and an even tan. Of course, finding just the right dress was the most important of all. Instead, I have gained five pounds, am sporting about 50 Shades of Brass in my ‘do, have grown-out, chipped nails and four different tan lines. After dragging my poor children through the mall for hours, becoming increasingly depressed in each fitting room, I came home empty handed.

Last night I dreamt one of my front teeth fell out, leaving a gaping hole in my smile. According to a good friend, this “could suggest there is a fear of getting old and undesirable.” Ya think? One of the stores I unsuccessfully shopped in was Forever 21. It was a busy place. Guess I’m not the only one trying to hold on to my youth.

As we entered the 300^th store in our shopping venture, my daughter began to whine, “Not another one!” Exhausted and frustrated, I spun around on my heels and pointed my finger at her. “This shopping trip is not about you. Quit being so selfish.” I immediately became aware of the three fingers pointing back at me. And the trip to Tennessee is not all about you, Libby. No one cares what I wear, how my hair looks, or even if I possess all of my teeth. Evidently, going home brings out the kid in me – the egocentric, selfish one.

On the way home, I reminded myself of the real reasons I am so excited about this reunion- reconnecting with incredible friends, some I have known since kindergarten, meeting their families, reliving old memories and creating new ones. Our 10-year reunion was a blast! Honestly, I don’t recall what anyone was wearing. What I do remember is talking, laughing, and bustin’ all kinds of moves on the dance floor with an awesome group of people.

After my little temper tantrum and eventual revelation in the mall, I decided to make do with whatever is in my closet. I did find a couple of things that could work – as long as I stand in one place all night without moving or breathing. Sigh… Well, Vanessa has assured me I am welcome to shop in her closet. It’s comforting to know that even after 20 years, some things never change. Thank you sweet friend!

I’m still not certain what I will be wearing to my reunion. However, there is one thing I am sure I will have on… a SMILE (that, at the moment, contains all of my pearly whites)! 

MCHS Class of '92, I can't wait to see you!!

The Kick Butt Dance

I am a Daddy’s Girl.

When my Daddy’s sister passed away almost 20 years ago, I found him in his room lying on his bed. I crawled up beside him and laid my head on his shoulder. I said, “Just tell me if you want me to go away.” He turned to me with tears in his eyes and said, “That would be like telling a butterfly to go away.” At my wedding, Daddy and I danced to Butterfly Kisses. It was beautiful.

Naturally, when Alice was born, I had high expectations of her relationship with her Daddy. Cliff’s amazement at the birth of his baby girl and his unconditional love were immediate.

Unfortunately, Alice did not attach to her Daddy so quickly. I blamed myself. I nursed her, changed her diapers, got up at night with her. I did everything for her. I never gave him a chance. The older she got, the more it upset me that they didn’t have the kind of daddy/daughter bond I thought they should.

Last February, Alice’s elementary school held their 2^nd Annual Princess Ball (AKA Daddy/Daughter dance). The first year went well. I wasn’t there. This year, I was the Princess Ball Committee Chair. I had to be there. For months, I planned and got increasingly excited about witnessing “The Dance,” that magical bonding moment between my loving husband and his little girl.

The night of the Ball, I made sure Butterfly Kisses was the last song played. I couldn’t wait to capture the super sweet picture of Alice and her Daddy holding each other in their arms, spinning around the room, laughing.

For most of the night, the girls ran around with their friends, leaving the dads standing awkwardly by holding cups of punch and tiny purses/shoes/headbands. As the last song began to play, I searched all over for Alice getting increasingly frustrated as precious seconds ticked away. I finally found her and pushed her onto the dance floor with her Daddy. I tried discretely to capture the moment with my camera but couldn’t get a good angle. Suddenly, Alice stomped off the floor, plopped into a chair and began to cry. Cliff just shook his head. I asked her what happened, and she whined about wanting to go home with a friend. The song ended, and I was furious that the magic moment was ruined. I yelled at her and sent her home with her disappointed Dad. I finished my duties with a heavy heart and cried all the way home.

What did I do wrong? How can I fix this? I have failed my family by not molding Alice into a “Daddy’s Girl” fostering Hallmark moments between the two of them. And tonight, “The Dance” was ruined.

A few days later, I was clearly shown this relationship has nothing to do with me. It cannot be forced into my idea of what it should be. With lots of love, time and commitment, this bond will create itself in its own magical way. Walking into the kitchen that morning, I finally get to witness “The Dance.” Alice and her Daddy are holding arms, spinning around the room, laughing hysterically as they try to kick each other in the butt. We affectionately call it “The Kick Butt Dance.” It is chaotic. It is loud. It is beautiful! 

Today, I Will Tell Her

Any present I give my mother on this day seems inadequate, and is never on time. I want to show her what she means to me. However, no object on this earth could properly convey my feelings. The new Hallmark commercial I keep seeing made it all clear. I will TELL her!

I will tell her...
God gave me the Best Mother in the whole world!

I will tell her...
I am hard on myself and question many of the decisions I make. But, because of the incredible example she set for us, Missi and I know, deep down, we are excellent mothers.

I will tell her...
I am happy, because that is all she wants for me.

I will tell her...
I have her "look" down pat, both of them actually. The one that made us say, "oh crap, I'm in trouble!" and the one, without a single word through the sparkle in her beautiful blue eyes, told us she loved us more than anything in this world.

I will tell her...
I hear myself say, "Because I'm the mom, that's why," and "If a frog had wings, it wouldn't bump it's butt." I dance around the kitchen and embarrass Alice. I lick my finger and wipe chocolate off Ford's cheek. I stopped a random mom the other day and asked if I could borrow her daughter. She was my neice's size and I needed to see if a shirt fit. I will talk to pretty much anyone, anywhere. I love to sew and watch birds in the back yard.
I am becoming my mother... And I LOVE It!

I will tell her...
I don't call as often as I should, but I think about her every single day!

I will tell her...
I am proud to be her daughter!

Happy Mother's Day to the most amazing mother ever!!!!

It Begins With Dora

Alice had a great time at the sleepover. It didn't surprise me that she was tired, but the reason for her exhaustion did.
"Why didn't you sleep well?" I thought I knew this answer.
"You know how I can't sleep without Dora." The stuffed Explorer with an over-sized head was as big as Alice when she entered our family five years ago. "Some of the girls made fun of her, because it's a baby show. So I just put her away." Alice tucked her head in her arms, and the tears began.
It broke my heart to see my sweet angel struggling with this awkward stage of childhood. So what do I say now? Encourage her to let go of her "lovie" and avoid being tagged as that "weird girl" who still loves Dora? No mother wants her child to be a social outcast. Or should I advise her to stay true to herself no matter what anyone else says? She DOES still love Dora.
I cheated and did both.
"You should never change who you are just to please someone else." Words I wish hadn't taken me 38 plus years to internalize. "But the next time you go to a sleepover, you don't have to take Dora. You could take Hello Kitty." (Whom I understand is still cool in the eight-year-old scene and also has an unusually large head.)
Without missing a beat, my wise baby girl replied, "No, I'd just rather spend the night with someone who loves Dora, too."
And the student becomes the teacher.

I Hate Valentine's Day

"If I could be anything in the world I would be your teardrop because I would be born in your eyes, live on your cheeks, and die on your lips."
-Unknown

Excuse me while I barf up my bagel…  What does that even mean?

I secretly hate Valentine’s Day. Until I met my husband, I NEVER had a Valentine of my own. February 14^th just meant being surrounded by a bunch of nauseously happy couples exchanging cheesy lacy pink hearts and overpriced red roses.

Even after fourteen years of celebrating this day with Cliff, I still get a squirmy feeling in my stomach on Valentine’s Day. It’s a little depressing that he doesn’t write me sticky-sweet love poems, plan romantic, candle-lit dinners and gaze lovingly into my eyes. Then I remember… I don’t even like that stuff.

One day last summer, I ran into the curb at the Y and caused a slow leak in my right front tire. That Sunday, I found Cliff in the garage. He was dripping with sweat, working hard to inflate my tire with his bicycle pump. He knew I wanted to meet a friend to run and he wanted me to be safe. These images of my precious husband, the constant concern for my safety, the sacrifices, and small, everyday gestures of his love are what fill my heart.

In the past, I had become bitter that I was always alone on this special day meant for lovers. Then, I realized, Cliff truly is my One and Only Valentine!

Oh, by the way, I still hate Valentine's Day...

Shiny, Happy?

Athens Jr. High auditorium: I have returned! As contestant #8 of the Jr. Miss Pageant, I glide up to the stage in a flowey, sparkling gown. "Libby Lingerfelt, McMinn County High School!" (But we're 38, what are we doing here?) Anyway... I join the other girls and turn to face the audience, beaming in all my gloriousness. I spot an ex-boyfriend. Bet you regret letting this one get away, don't you! ;0)
We leave the stage to prepare for our talents... My talent! Crap! I haven't practiced at all! That's okay, I'll fake it. They'll never know. I put on a white, K-Mart purchased dress and rush out to perform. I do like 20 lindys, shake my shoulders and smile, just knowing they are in love with my shining performance! You're welcome- kiss, kiss!
Exiting the stage, I rush to the dressing room and stop short in front of the mirror. The fluorescent lights penetrate the super thin fabric of my dress. The square shape of a dickey is revealed underneath, not unlike cousin Eddie's famous fashion faux pas. They had to have seen it on stage! How embarrassing! I have to leave and never return! Running out of the building, I hear people yell, "Come back!" "Don't leave, it's time for presence and composure!" " Where are you going?" "Mama, I'm hungry."
What? Oh, thank God that was a dream!
Making breakfast for my starving children, I can't shake the akward feeling of the dream.
So what was the purpose? All dreams have one, right?
Maybe it was saying I occasionally feel fake or artificial; that I'm afraid some sort ugliness underneath the shiny, happy smile will be revealed in a most public and humiliating way...
Or, it could just be a warning to never buy a white dress from K-Mart.

Epiphany

Lunch is over. Ford picks up his clean plate and dutifully places it in the sink, then heads for the playroom. Alice hops up, leaving her half-eaten dish on the table. She twirls out of the room, gracefully leaping over a pile of naked Barbies discarded in the middle of the foyer. I am left standing in the kitchen with the stark realization that Cliff and I have managed to produce carbon copies of ourselves. One organized, safety-conscious boy; one creative, free-spirited girl.

Like many other moms, I am the hardest on the child who is most like me. Her reluctance to clean her room or eat her vegetables makes me crazy. She never knows where her shoes are, and if there is something she really wants, she will push, and push, and push until I absolutely lose my mind! Right now my mother is reading this, nodding her head in agreement. “Yes, Elizabeth Jane, I feel your pain!”

Today is my birthday. It is also the Feast of the Epiphany, celebrated worldwide as the day the Magi reached baby Jesus. By offering valuable gifts to the child, they revealed to the world that this, indeed, was the Son of God. On this day, the most precious gift was “unwrapped” for all the world to receive.

Last week, I had another kind of epiphany. Researching a blog post (currently unfinished), I read something that absolutely filled me with joy. Leonardo da Vinci was known as a “chronic procrastinator!” Halleluiah, this is the best news I have heard in a long time! In 2010, 8.5 million art lovers visited the Louvre. No doubt, the Mona Lisa, the most popular painting in the world, was on their itinerary. Looking at the masterpiece, we see beauty, mystery and a sense of calmness Leonardo da Vinci was known for. What we can’t see with the naked eye are the many layers underneath the final work of art. It is believed that it took da Vinci around seven years to complete the captivating portrait, changing the position of her hands, possibly removing a bonnet. I supposed I’ve always envisioned great artists poised at their medium with confidence, completing their works of art in a timely manner. It never occurred to me that at any time they doubted themselves, changed their minds about what they were doing or felt disparage over their own lack of completeness. They had a gift and shared it with the world.

My entire life feels like an unorganized mess of unfinished projects; a folder of incomplete blog posts, piles of pictures I have yet to place in a scrapbook, bags of material ready to be sewn in creations not yet conceived, and a Personal Trainer test waiting to be scheduled. I berate myself for my laziness and lack of focus. What is my gift to the world?

Later in the afternoon, I pass by the playroom. Stacks of dolls, shoes and squinkies litter the floor. Upstairs I hear laughter. When I reach Alice’s room, two fancily dressed children come bursting out. “We’re having a fashion show!” They are dressed in tutus, gloves, and Mickey Mouse ears. Brother and sister bonding; a happy sight for any mother. That is Alice’s gift; imagination and a love for make believe. She is sharing it with her brother. One day, I have faith, she will share her gift with the world.

My epiphany is this. We are all born with the gifts God gives us. It may take time; days, months, years, and there may be many layers formed before our gifts are revealed. But they are there! Have patience and know that God has given us all our own special gifts, ready and waiting to be unwrapped for all the world to receive!