Just A Normal Day

10, 9, 8...

2006-05-30T08:38:00.000-04:00

It's official!

ClubMom has designed our new header (that's a sneak peak at it on the left), they are transitioning the site this week and we go LIVE on June 2... Friday.

Technically, you should still be able to type in the http://justanormalday.blogspot.com web address and you'll automatically go to the new site. But just in case there's a glitch - because you know there's always a glitch - I'll post the new address here on Thursday, June 1.

I hope you will join me and all the other new bloggers on the ClubMom site. I know there are some blog "doozys" out there. I myself have not gotten into the blog community because I could not find any other blogs that were really meaningful. And frankly, I wasn't into a blog that lists how many diaper changes occurred in the last hour nor was I needing a site that just added to my stress level with constant complaining and general "pot stirring." But I've been amazed at the level of talent over at ClubMom. There are some really good writers talking about really good stuff and making a difference for Moms like you and me...no matter what stage of motherhood you are in.

If you like what you read, I ask you (boldly) to share the new JAND site with EVERYONE you know. My contract is only as good as the number of readers/subscribers I attract. So please don't be stingy!

And if you don't like what you read, well, click and then move on. I won't hold it against you.

You guys are an amazing, amazing encouragement to me. Without your support, I would never have believed I could do this.

Thank you for an awesome inaugural year.

Normal Mom

Click Your Heels

2006-05-23T14:23:00.000-04:00

Hellloooo friends...

I know it's been a long while since you've been updated so let me take a moment to say THANK YOU for hanging in! I've gotten all the emails asking where we've gone but believe me: I'm writing just as fast as my skinny little fingers will go. :)

Here's the scoop: effective ASAP (which remains somewhat uncertain but is definitely ASAP) this site will be absorbed by the mighty ClubMom. Think of ClubMom as the OZ of motherhood... the place where all things can be accomplished, listened to, connected, understood, etc. And although we thought that ASAP meant ASAMD (as soon as Mother's Day), Club Mom is having a bit of a time with the size of the archives here on little old JAND. You want more info? Check this out: A New Network of Moms.

So their people called me, I called my people... actually it's more like I was whining to one of my people who stepped up and volunteered but that doesn't sound nearly Anne Lamott- enough for me so let's just go with I called my people... and soon is looking more possible than not!

We're breaking down the archives now, copying them to immortal CD files and then deleting them from this site. Once the site is a little smaller, Club Mom will do their thing and you'll be automatically redirected to the Just a Normal Day site complete with a bio, cool header and advertising, oh my! (So, I just went to see Wicked at the Fox; can you tell I'm in a bit of a Dorothy zone?)

In just three clicks of the heels, friends, we'll be home again. I'll be posting essays that are catalogued on my shelves such as: The Lemonade Stand-Off, Why I Hate Grocery Shopping, Ten Things I Love About Big Kids, Coffee Talk, A Bit About Normal, Conversations with Tech, A Bunch of Boobs and Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

In the meantime, you'll just have to play that TIVO recording of Alias (did ya love it?), cast your bets for TAYLOR HICKS (he does Alabama proud!), and try to see if that's really Kate swooning in the all together too fast previews of Lost. If that's not enough, my complete website is about to become the webhost for the publishing and distribution of The Good While, my first full-length novel! Make sure you cast it into your favorites!

Normal days abound around here... Interspersed, of course, with moments of rare and beautiful life.

I Feel a Change Comin On

2006-04-27T11:04:00.000-04:00

Last week I received some most exciting news! And it has sent me into a spiral of gynormous proportion.

Effective soon, I will be posting to you from a different website as I have been hired to write for a huge internet mom network!!

So, stay tuned. When the network is launched, I will be sure to let you know. But for now, things may be a bit quiet.

Check back here in early May to read more about what abnormal things are happening to this normal mom.

Slip Sliding Away

2006-04-23T08:37:00.000-04:00

Last night I was putting Flower and Princess to bed. I was leisurely stretched on Flower's bed and giving orders from my resting place while they were flitting around the room, trying to ignore my orders.

I was beginning to get a little irritated when Princess said:

It's a good thing our bottom cracks don't go the other way. You know sideways. (ie: horizontally)

Why? I asked.

Because, she answered with complete authority, then we couldn't go down slides.

Maybe It's a Sign

2006-04-20T16:21:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to get used to the idea of this website as a business. And despite some mediocre attempts to pursue and "audience" I've never felt compelled or driven or even hardly interested in doing so. To date, my "marketing" techniques have included adding a "signature" to my emails and using shoe polish to write the web address across the back of my car.

So, my business advisor (Honey) tells me I've got to get more "exposure."

OKay, I thought, I can do a little better than shoe polish...

One week later, it arrived. My Car Magnet!

It's so cool. I "designed" it in navy and black and white. It's 16x24." It looks so professional. You can see a photo below! Aren't I so official?

I took my spanky new car magnet out to the bus and tried it on. Front, back, side? Up, down? Back again, side again? Side front? Side back? Over the wheel? Over the gas tank? Finally, I settled on passenger side door, forward and a little tucked under the side mirror. I guess I'm not exactly used to publicity, yet.

The next day, I ventured out in my newly deductible mobile billboard bus. We made our first morning stop at the neighbor's house to pick up our little carpool passenger.

"Oh! Just a normal day dot com. What's that?"

Crap. I didn't think about anybody asking me anything about it. And frankly, I'd already forgotten that it was there.

"That's my website," I said dismissivly.

"Oh? For what?"

Now that's a good question, I thought. What exactly is it I'm marketing?

"I write," I answered... purely because I could think of nothing else to say.

"Oh," she answered... not really impressed in the least.

"I'm sorry, I explained. I'm not used to people really knowing about it and/or asking me about it. It's sort of," I stumbled all over myself like the time I asked Eddie Stephens to the 8th grade Sadie Hawkins dance. It was ridiculous, "it's sort of new..."

"Well you've got it plastered to the side of your car?" she sounded genuinely confused.

"I know, I know. It's just I forgot it was there, I guess." Sheesh... get me out of this driveway. Oh, I am not so good at this. As it is already I feel awkward and shy about it. What if someone really starts asking me what it is I think I do so well or know so clearly that anyone else would care? What if I have to explain it?

Her son jumped into the car and I do what I usually do when I don't want to think about anything. I sing. Very loudly and very badly but with my whole heart and spirit. I turned up my new favorite CD (Allison Krauss & Union Station) and we blue-grassed our way on down to school. By the time we'd made it to our designated drop off area, I'd all but forgotten about the signage adorning my car... proudly advertising my insecurities.

"Hey Mom?" Techno Boy called as he slid from the car, "what happened to your sign?"

"Huh?"

"It's gone."

Sure enough. The darn thing fell off.

Somewhere between Home Depot and Lowe's, I would imagine. $65 tossed along the side of the road like the aluminum cans my Dad used to make us pick up for recycling. $65 for one person to see the web address and comment. $65 for me to understand that maybe I'm not ready for mass transit advertising.

Oh well, I thought, climbing back into the driver's seat. $65 and a sign laying by the side of the road that says: www.justanormalday.com.

Close to Greatness

2006-04-18T13:01:00.000-04:00

There is so much to say I do not know that I will ever be able to get it all down in any semblance of order. And the longer I have waited to write, the more that keeps piling on. So I confess, this blog serves only one selfish purpose: to get it all out of my head yet, to confess nothing...

I got to speak before City Council last week. Like in front of a podium and with a microphone and all that stuff. It was weird. It was also slightly intimidating. But it was well worth it. And I expect, before this whole thing is over, I will have to do it again. I can't go into great detail right now about this, but suffice it to say, if something happens to me, the evidence is in the safety deposit box. It seems I have my own personal "Deep Throat" and the war ain't about the Vietnamese. This, I think, we lead me close to something big... we shall see.

Next, I got some also really happy news that I can't talk about either!!! But it is really, really, really awesome and I cannot wait to tell you ALL about it as soon as I am sure it's a go. I can say this: never, never, never think that you do not have a calling. There is something in this world that gives you passion... there has to be! Find it, cleave to it, trust it, let it go and then wait. Faith is always rewarded. And sometimes, that is the most surprising thing about life, to me. (I am really excited!!!) And this will lead me close to you... we shall see!

Then I got some really sad news. And, you guessed it: I can't say anything about that either. Because it's private and it's somebody else's private and even though it's something that many of us can relate to, it's not mine to share. But I can say this: we are never alone. Even when we feel our most vulnerable, our most humiliated, our most stupid, our most sad... we are never alone. Inevitably, someone else is just as vulnerable, humiliated, stupid and sad as you. Maybe even more so. This, I think, we lead me close to wonder... and concern.

Here's what I can tell you... and it's pretty cool: this past week I got to walk on the ground at Turner Field, home of the Atlanta Braves. This is a very big deal because there was a time in my life - before kids, before debt, before worry - when I did nothing worthwhile except cheer for a team that went from "worst to first" in one season. Some of you baseball fans may remember when virtually everyone in Atlanta was swept away by the excitement of success from the quintessential underdog. It was hot. It was exciting. And you could make friends by hardly doing anything at all except sit on a bar deck, drink beer and chant like an Indian.

So it was totally cool that I got to walk out onto the field - never actually touching the precious grass but coming awfully darn close... to greatness.

Letter to My 12-Year Old Son

2006-04-14T14:30:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, I started writing to the children.

I couldn’t seem to get my act together enough to work on my novel. I couldn’t even get my act together enough to finish the laundry, quite frankly. But when I did have time to write, it made everything else seem bearable. And so I told myself that if I were writing to the children, I was still fulfilling some insane image of what a mom should be and could, therefore, still consider myself eligible for some future Mother of the Year type acclaim.

My resolve didn’t last too long. The first time someone at the neighborhood pool saw me coming in with the Bulldog cooler of margaritas, I figured my chances were over anyway. As always, when things got/get busy or hectic, the things that go first are seemingly the things that I love. So I can’t say as I have this great treasure trove of literature saved for my children, but I do have one or two really good letters.

Today, my baby is turning twelve. It’s just so not fair. I want to shake my hands in the sky and scream out in wonder: how?

Right now there are three pre-teen boys running rampant in the creek out back. In a few minutes they’ll come in. They’ll be wet and sweaty and have that terrible, prepubescent, I-forgot-to-put-on-my-deodorant-again smell. Tech’ll bump into me like we’re sort of related. He’ll hang a hand over my shoulder and want to know if they can all have a Nutty bar “seeing as dinner’s one whole hour away.” Sheesh.

I found this letter that I wrote to him. It’s the first in a series I did for all the kids called “We Love You Best.”

This is what I wrote for Tech:

“Dear First Born,

We’ve always loved you best because you were our first miracle… you were the genesis of a marriage and the fulfillment of young love… you changed us from partners to parents… you made us a family when we felt most alone.

You gave us projects – like crib assembly, the coffee table hunt and prenatal classes. You sustained us through our hamburger helper years, our carefree island days, our move back home and all our firsts.

You were new. You had unused aunts and uncles and enough clothes, toys and treasury bonds for a set of triplets. You were the original model for a mom and a dad who were still trying to work out all the kinks, be perfect and live nobly.

You got vegetables first, a diaper change every twenty minutes, three hour naps and all the attention.

You were the beginning…”

I read that letter today. It hangs framed in my hallway beside the two letters I wrote for his sisters.

Still, I realize, Tech is the beginning.

Of what, exactly, I cannot say. But it will be big. It might be messy. And I believe if we can see it through to the end, ultimately, it will be glorious.

Happy Birthday, Tech.

Mom
P.S. I wrote this blog on Tech's birthday a month ago.

The Long Road Home

2006-04-10T16:48:00.000-04:00

Everyone said the worst part would be the drive home.

Several people, in fact, commented about it.

I poo-pahed their negativity. We are world travelers now.

I was wrong.

We "disembarked" (I love that term; it sounds so international) on Thursday morning,exhausted and ready. We were assured that we'd leave sometime between 8 and 9:15 but that we were to be out of our rooms by 8.

At 11:15, I woke Princess (who slept peacefully on the floor where we were encamped on Level 5) and we made the slow procession back to our homeland. I saw several women shake their heads in disbelief at our little band of weary travelers. I could tell they were all thinking that there was no way they'd do a cruise with three kids and their mother, alone, no man to lift the seven suitcases into the back of our car.

I waved them off, determined that within mere moments I would be at the local Fort Lauderdale Starbucks, half way through coffee and the picture perfect image of a Mom who had it all together.

I was wrong.

We got lost. We got turned around. Princess and I both suffering from what I found out today was Strep Throat. We arrived at our first pit stop - a visit with Great Grandma in St. Petersburg - feverish and congested and trying to keep her from getting sick. We were turned away at the guard gate because of the web address for this site on my rear window. "It's considered advertising," the gatekeeper insisted and "not allowed on the property."

We got stuck in traffic and didn't make it as far as I would have liked that first night. Our hotel neighbor thought that our slamming doors were a personal affront to his need for sleep. And I, overstimulated by too many antihistimines, could not settle myself in the bed until nearly 4AM.

Twelve hours later we arrived at the Atlanta Zoo (of all the places) to meet Honey who would drive me and the kids the rest of the way.

I confess, I am somewhat a romantic. And in my road-weary delirium, I had envisioned a homecoming that involved much drama and me falling (still with fever) into the arms of my greatly relieved and heavily besotted husband.

I was wrong... again.

Honey is also sick.

And so we pressed toward home, dreaming of Tylenol PM and our own beds.

Only to be awakened by a sweep of Spring like Tornadoes that ripped though our neighborhood at 3:47AM. This event, of course, leading to another fallen tree. This event followed by a revelation that the growth on Princess' face was indeed Impetigo - she is terribly contagious and not to be sent to school. This event succeeded by Flower's vomiting in the parking lot of school and a rush back to the doctor for a confirmation of two strep-ridden children. This event dismissed by the announcement that our tree removal professional (with whom we now have a personal relationship) refuses to come back until we agree to completely clear cut our backyard.

Ahhhh.

Normal days are back.

Shhh, Mama's Tanning.

2006-04-06T16:25:00.000-04:00

This is the day I will get a tan.

I am determined about it. So much so that I will not be deterred. Do you hear me, children?

Mama is going to the pool. I am going to make Diamond proud while I create my very own suncscreen concoction that will ensure I leave this boat Hawaiian Tripically beautiful.

So don't ask me to go to the GameRoom. Don't ask me if you can ride the elevators. Don't make me come to the dining room and stop you from eating your fifth ice cream cone.

If you are bleeding, you may come near. But that... and only that... will get me out of my deck chair today. I've got 200 pages of a book to read, fourteen hours worth of ipod music to listen to and some serious melanoma to work on.

Because today is the day I will get a tan.

Now run along and get yourself another airbrush tatoo.

Toilet Water... NOT

2006-04-05T18:37:00.000-04:00

OKay -

So we made it through the Jamaican day and except for the fact that Techno-Boy didn't come "home" until 1AM, the night was uneventful.

Morning found us waking to the sound of the Captain announcing that the first ferry to Georgetown would leave in only ten minutes. I cracked one eyeball open and said an immediate prayer of thanks that we had no schedule today. It did not matter that we took this ferry or the very last one, because all we had planned was an afternoon on our own!

We hobbled toward the breakfast buffet and I took the first long look over the deck to the Cayman Islands. It was not as mountainous as Jamaica and not as ram-shackle. The buildings are brightly colored and the coastline alternates between coral and sand.

I was just taking a sip of the iced latte (which is NOT by comparison, anything close to what I am used to but nevertheless does contain caffeine!) and I heard a small voice beside me say: Look Mommy! Toilet water!

The parents that were escorting this wise observant soul looked, as I did, in confusion at their child. He was probably three, tow headed blond, Mickey mouse visor pulled down close to his eyebrows and pointing at the big, blue sea.

I started to crack up.

It does look like toilet water.

It looks like someone dropped a huge, blue-dye, powder ring into the ocean and turned all the water the same bright blue that we create in our very own toilet bowls. Except it is far more beautiful than any toilet bowl could aspire to.

We took a cab, driven by a woman with five children, three grandchildren and a penchant for a little beach called Sea Grape. We hopped out and immediately found ourselves ankle deep in sugary white sand, a toilet water sea calling out to us.

Fifteen trips between our chairs and the water, kids neatly wrapped in life jackets, goggles, snorkles & fins, photos having been taken, rentals having been secured, Nana having FINALLY washed clear the sunscreen from Flower's right eye, two floats lost and retrieved... then I sat down. And I actually floated atop the blue toilet water. I looked over the edge of my foam pillow at my son snorkeling like a pro ten or so yards away. I watched the coral underneath me swaying with the small ripples. I watched Nana as she walked back and forth with Princess to the towels for another face wipe.

I sighed deeply.

What a beautiful, beautiful fifteen minutes it was.

God's Most Beautiful Creation

2006-04-03T18:03:00.000-04:00

Note to self: if you are ever in Jamaica (mon) and find your way to the Ocho Rios Dunns River Falls, make sure you are not climbing this thing with your mother, two small children, or a child with a broken arm.

Yes, it is beautiful. Yes, it is majestic. Yes, it is large. But here's the thing no one tells you: it's hard.

This is not your average water fall, friends. This is a major, fast flowing, white water rapid kind of waterfall. With gushing water so fast that a small child could be swept away. This waterfall climbing is the kind of thing that would NEVER happen in the US. There'd be a law suit in the first fifteen minutes.

And here I am... white haired Nana, 40 pound Flower, high anxiety Princess and broken armed Techno Boy.

The blessing about this whole thing were the four strangers who had the great misfortune of being in front of our little family on this great adventure. I do not know their names. I do not know that I will ever be able to repay them for their endless kindness. But I will try to make them immortal through this blog.

Kind Stranger number 1 took Nana in hand and literally lifted her 600 dad-gom feet. Kind Strangers number 2 and 3 (both women) took Princess by either hand and guided her the whole way. They turned Princess tears and anxiety after the first 100 feet totally into hand and actually found themselves all singing together through the next 500 feet. And Kind Stranger number 4 (a chest barreled kind of guy) along with Tammy, our guide, helped me get Techno Boy up this whole thing with only one arm.

I look back at the paperwork now, as I sit typing this, searching for the disclaimer that says: you're crazy if you think you can do this in your situation! But NO! It's not there, at all.

Ahhh, praise God, we made it nonetheless, and now, I sit at this computer station, Mohito by my side (a double, no less), missing my Honey and praising the Lord God Almighty for His most beautiful creations: kind and wonderful, selfless human strangers.

Tomorrow, we dock at the Caymans.

Rock and Roll

2006-04-02T11:08:00.000-04:00

This rocks!

And I mean back and forth and side to side and front and back and all over again.

I cannot believe the mammoth size of this thing. I imagine most of you have probably already been on a cruise. Didn't just about everyone go for their high school graduation? So I'm not really telling you anything when I say that this ship rocks ... in every sense of the word.

Rock walls to climb, salt water pools...if that's your thing, I don't even know how many jacuzzis, and the buffet! Sheesh.

As soon as the kids found out what we were doing, the first thing I said was: And guess what? ALL THE FOOD IS BUFFET!

Honey hates buffet. He thinks it's the worst kind of wasting money to spend 9.95 on a plate of food. If the kids and I ever have the chance to convince him to go to buffet, then he will sit there for an hour just to be sure he gets his money worth.

I feel a little differently about buffet. I think you're paying for the choices, right? And with kids, how can it be better than to have lots of choices.

So we're buffeting, we're swimming, I ran this morning on the outdoor track (one side of the boat was like running up the mountain - as in against the wind - one side was like running down). Nana's sitting with the girls by the pool, Techno-Boy's hanging out with Nice Kid. :) He's already made a friend. I'm blogging and waiting for someone to bring me a Mimosa.

You were all RIGHT! Not only can I see TWO other cruise ships close at hand (hence the loosening of my anxiety about sinking), not only have I already had my latte this morning, not only did I sleep like a babe, but there is someone on this ship that I know! And someone I know well! An old, old friend... the mother of my first best friend. A woman I spent an entire summer with and a dear, kind and gentle spirit. It's like touching home every time we bump into each other!

Stay tuned for more tomorrow...

Rock on, little boat, rock on.

Oh What a Beautiful Morning...

2006-04-01T09:36:00.000-05:00

Except for the moment when my mother began to have chest pain and the moment when we ended up at some small town dive in South Georgia for lunch and the moment when we couldn't find the hotel, everything went fine yesterday.

Today, however, is a different story. Flower started throwing up about 2AM. Of course I have some pediatric immodium and some pediatric Pepto, but none of that was staying down.

The car battery is dead and I am waiting for tow to jump us off.

Nana seems to have temporarily lost my passport (hence the chest pain).

Techno Boy woke up only to remember that he left his PSP in the bathroom of the last gas station we went to last night (in Ocala).

...

...

...

April Fools...

We're fine. We're swimming. We're eating Cherrios like it's a breakfast of champions and we're on our way in little less than half an hour.

To the boat!

Irie, Mon

2006-03-30T07:13:00.000-05:00

It's Spring Break!!!!!!!!!! I have three commenters now!!!!!!!!! :) :) :) And we're going on vacation!!!!!!!!! Tomorrow!!!!!!!! To the Caribbean!!!!!!!!!!

You wish you were me, don'tcha? (Except don't forget that I'm the one who got sick in the middle of a dinner party and ended the weekend in the ER with my kid and his broken arm.) I know, I know, you still wanna be me this week, that is for sure!

Nana is going with us. It's me and the kids and Nana. We are driving to Fort Lauderdale tomorrow morning (stopping 1/2 way in Orlando), hopping on the Royal Caribbean Enchantress of the Seas (sounds enchanting, huh?) and sailing away. Ahhhh, I can feel the warm Jamaiican breeze now, mon. Pass me a margarita, please.

I'm slapping that web adress on the back of the car again and praying all the way we don't break down in St. Augustine. Last night my friend Double Mint tried to assuage my anxiety about big things in water (don't ask) by telling me that there was no way that the cruise ship I happened to be on would be the first to sink in a hundred years. I just raised my eyebrows at her and said: have you known me long at all??? That is exactly the kind of thing that would happen.

So y'all pray for us. Pray we'll have safe but adventurous travels about which I will blog each day (depending on the strength of the tequilla, mind you) from the middle of the dad-gom ocean. Watch for us blowing through your city!

Happy Spring Time!

We're 1!

2006-03-27T11:03:00.000-05:00

Okay - I missed it!

Our anniversary was last week... March 22!

And I have to confess something to you guys...

I have Blog Envy. It's bad. Sometimes I go to other people's blogs and I am overcome by the number of comments. Yards and yards of comments...

Is there anyone (okay, besides my sister, close friends and family) out there?

Or did I lose everyone with the fractal chaos blog?

I'd just like to know who YOU are ... if you're there.

Hello?

Anyone??

Anyone???

Present Chaos

2006-03-27T10:00:00.000-05:00

There's a lot of theory out there about chaos. I've been reading some of it lately. Ioanna Miller and Greywolf (do you love that?) Swinney have a fascinating article on the web called the Human Dimensions of Chaos Theory. It's a little light beach reading if you need something for Spring Break. There's also a great site at Fractal Chaos, if Human Dimensions is just too simplistic for ya.

Basically, these people study movement of the universe and life and try to analyze whether there's truly any purpose to it. Newton, and many other physicists of his day, believed the world existed like a giant clock. God's purpose was simply to wind the thing and then watch while we humans try to make sense of what happens to us.

The thing I like about the Fractal Chaos site is that it attempts to reconnect Science and Religion and actually purports that "new discoveries in the science and mathematics of Chaos research are revolutionizing our world view. They reveal a hidden fractal order underlying all seemingly chaotic events. The fractals are intricate and beautiful. They repeat basic patterns, but with an infinity of variations and forms."

Okay - so if you haven't yet had your morning coffee, this might not be the time to ponder the cosmos, God's infinite plan and how you fit in. It is, however, a great time to tell you about what happened this weekend:

Honey is currently serving on a committee at church. The committee is made up of people who are elected by our church leaders and members. They are entrusted with the process of searching for a new Senior Pastor. There are eleven or twelve who serve on the committee, it's a long-term assignment and it's a pretty big responsibility.

Saturday night, the committee and their spouses, came to our house for dinner.

It was lovely. I had huge yellow gladiolus in my Southern Living at Home pitcher. My house was spotless, thanks to my new best friends who are professional cleaners. (I used Honey's old tactic to get this one passed. He used to always tell me - whenever we went to Home Depot - that in order to complete a project, one must have all the right tools. This, of course, was his way of justifying the purchase of any power accessory his heart desired. This weekend, I told him that in order for me to complete this project I needed the right tools, too, and their names were Carlos and Divinna and they were coming on Saturday morning at 10:30 to help me clean the house.) The food was beautifully prepared and presented, the beer was cold, the wine chilled and the tea sweet.

You can imagine a roaring fire, lots of good conversation and me... running upstairs to put the girls to bed but instead having to detour to the john because suddenly (and without warning) I was violently ill. And I mean such that no person should see. Terribly, nastily, gut wrenchingly sick.

With twenty people in my living room.

Eventually, Honey appeared at the door of the bathroom curious about where I had disappeared. At this point, I am lying on the cold, hard, bathroom tile with sweat pouring off my nose and a wad of toilet paper clutched in my hand.

Needless to say, I never made it back downstairs. Honey covered fairly well until someone accidentally insulted our parenting skills. This wonderful woman suggested that the reason it was taking me "so long to come down from putting the girls to bed" was because, perhaps, they weren't minding me very well. And at that, Honey turned me over like a man negotiating for immunity in a criminal trial. "Actually," he said, "she's fallen (cant you just hear it... and she can't get up?) ill. She's terribly sorry not to be able to see you all off." Smile, smile, usher them all out the door. Thank you for coming.

And as if this wasn't enough for one weekend, Techno Boy broke his arm.

I don't know why I am surprised. It's been a year since his last traumatic event. Why would I even think that we could go on Spring Break sans injury or incident? After four and half hours in the Emergency Room, he is back at school with a cast and a sling. When I dropped him off at school this morning, his friends were helping him unpack his back pack.

You know the routine, boys, I called over my shoulder. Help him out.

As I drove back home to await an appointment with the pediatric orthopedic specialist, I am remembering a comment that someone said to me once a few years ago. She said she no longer had the energy to be my friend because of the "self-propelled chaos" in my life.

Today, I am taking issue with that statement.

Chaos happens, people.

A few years ago, my sister fell into the pit at an Oil Change and Lube shop. She fell into it. Like ten or so feet down. This past year two trees fell on our house, my car lost a transmission, a fuel pump and a tire. I've been stranded on the side of the road three times. My kid has lost a finger, broken a wrist and now an arm. I have puked in the toilet while guests enjoyed white barbecue chicken and a lovely pinot.

None of this is self-propelled. Not one time did I have anything to do with these blips in my cosmic screen.

But, for whatever reason, these things befall me. Just like these things befall you. Because life is messy and if we don't learn to embrace this chaos, we can never "pass though that de-structured state, and discover what happens on the other side. Chaos is definitely part of the process of creativity. It generates new order spontaneously from deep within itself."

I don't know when our world decided that "control" was good. That our rigid structures and beliefs will lead us to contentment. I am telling you, I used to believe in all that control. I used to try to manage it. The only thing it gave me was heartburn and anxiety.

I am a very lucky woman for many reasons. One of those is that I have a step-dad who taught me early on the value and importance of staying flexible. When the cows got loose from the pasture and wandered the neighborhood, when the horse was brought into his workroom o be spared the oncoming rain, when the Irish Setter ate the bumper off of his Porsche 911, when a daughter's heart was broken, when a daughter's leg was broken, he always said the same thing: "you just gotta leave a little part of your day open for these sorts of things."

It's as true today as it was back then.

And no greater testament to the "presents" of chaos.

Magnolia Queens

2006-03-22T09:27:00.000-05:00

Every new mom needs a fan club.

This is a thing I have decided the hospital should really be focused on teaching you before you leave the maternity ward. One of the "exit interview" questions should be: do you have any people? Any fans? Anyone who will come over and not judge you because you're still in your pajamas at 11 and no one's cleaned up the waffles? Anyone who will scoop fallen popsicles off the sidewalk and lick them off for your children? Or tell you you're not yourself when you don't even know if you can recall what "your self" used to be. Do you have a Randy Jackson "dog pound?"

I had nothing like this when Techno Boy was born. We were alone (which turned out to be quite lovely) living on Hilton Head Island, far from family and surrounded by retirees. When Princess came along, after we'd moved back to my hometown, I made sure to get myself some people.

We met one Thursday morning at the public library. It was me, a woman I'll refer to as Farmer, my sister-in-law (I'll call her Flo) and Lola. We were about a dozen people with about 20 kids and we were determined to form ourselves into a local chapter of this "organization."

In short, we did. We became so large that our chapter ended up sistering five more local branches. We had playgroups, Ladies Nights Out, book clubs, scrapbooking clubs, cooking clubs, recipe exchanges, park days, etc. It was a huge success - in corporate terms - but even more fantastic in personal terms.

Eventually, we convinced Diamond to quit her day job and join us in our adventures. And at some point we added a few East Cobb Queens I'll call Silver and Forrest. Then Farmer read the Sweet Potatoes Queen Book of Love and it was all downhill from there.

Somewhere along the way, we decided we needed a dance routine. I think Lola was the start of that. Her step-mother could sew beauty pageant sashes and so we had five made - complete with "Magnolia Queen" sewn in gold thread across the front. Then we got together our costumes and our music and, don't you know, we actually came up with a whole twelve minute dance routine - which we performed LIVE both at the Milledgeville Skating Rink and "On the Green" outside our shared vacation condo complex in Florida - to "Shake Your Groove Thing." (Thanks largely in part to Nana - whom we dubbed the Queen Mother - and her fantastic choreography.)
It was so silly that it was just exactly what a bunch of new moms needed: laughter, lightness, beer and sequins.

I miss those Queens a lot. Now, our children are growing so quickly. They have homework and Girl Scouts and different friends. We are all caught up in the minutiae of our daily lives, making our marriages work (or at least working awfully hard at it), taking care of our parents and trying to stay the course.

I will never think back on my children's babyhood without remembering those other four Magnolia Queens. And I could not end this Queenly Trilogy without a mention of the ones to whom I must credit my only real, live, beauty pageant sash.

It's stashed in my bedside table drawer,

right next to my rhinestone tiera.

Dancing Queens/Persistent Gods

2006-03-21T11:32:00.000-05:00

When the Gods (in whom I absolutely don't believe in but use because it makes for a nice start to this story) conspire against you, they can be pretty persistent...

Three, possibly more, months ago I hastily made dinner plans to eat with a couple that we have always loved but never known. It was one of those rush-rush, they're going into the building, we're leaving the parking lot, kind of moments in which dinner together sounded like a lot of fun.
This forty-five second exchange turned into at least five emails. A date was chosen. And then that date was rescheduled. A few times, I think. Another five emails were exchanged. Sunday arrived and quite frankly, I held my breath to see if we would actually pull this thing off. The Babysitter crossed our threshold and we were off to meet... at a restaurant that apparently no longer existed. Honey drove up and down the highway three times looking for the place we all knew used to be there but was no more... and me, with no cell number and no way to reach the other couple.

The short end of the story is that we did finally connect. In the parking lot of a Shell gas station, laughing about the possibility that we should have never planned this event at all. And if it would be acceptable to now have dinner at Bojangles, which happened to be adjacent to the gas station.

The thing is, here were two more amazing humans I didn't really know prior to Sunday night. And one of them a Dancing Queen.

I just have to tell you about this mom. She's about my age... (ahem)... okay, a little younger but still in the ballpark. She joined an adult hip-hop dance class after her children were born. She says she danced for years as a child and just thought it would be a great way to stay in shape and have fun.

She never knew that a recital was involved.

Now, in a few weeks, she'll don a costume, get on stage and shake her groove thing! Like, really in front of other people... who paid MONEY...

It's a far cry from my own groove shaking experience at the Milledgeville Roller Rink.

I LOVE it.

Fire spinners and dancing queens all in the same weekend!

Bravo, my friend, bravo!

And don't let the Gods get you down.

Little Queens

2006-03-20T09:53:00.000-05:00

I used to be very insecure about my relationships. I'm one of those people who was/is always expecting other people to leave. In fact, a few years ago, I was so freaked out about it that I actually did to myself that which I was afraid would eventually happen anyway... anyone know what I mean?

Over the last few years, I've been really working on that. I know I'm still pretty high maintenance... my girls know it too. But nights like last Thursday really help me to see that we need lots of people in our lives... they are like little Queens of the Universe, if you will allow me a metaphysical moment, and what they can contribute is so awesome.

I got to experience this over and over this past weekend (which I would have shared with you in a moment by moment manner but the stupid computer is still bugging and so I had to wait to get to the office so I could tell you about it all.)

Thursday night I drove to Atlanta. And for all my incessant talk of living in the city, I have discovered that it's a good damn thing I don't. How in the world does an exit ramp proceed on so long that you actually have four different exit options! All I want to do is find Cheshire Bridge Road. It shouldn't require two stops for directions, a desperate phone call to Honey (whilst whiddling away the time remaining on my cell phone who's charger I have left in the other car), and a drive by direction. I mean I actually rolled the window down and did one of those "Help me, smile, help me" little waves to the person in the next lane.

How hard can it be when the directions look so easy? And where are all those people going?

Finally, I found the restaurant. (Honey talked me through it just seconds before the cell battery died.) As I walk into the dark tavern, I am greeted by people I used to work with. Immediately, I am transported back to a life I scarcely can remember. It was 1990 and I was fresh off my post college receptionist position, looking for a "career." I wandered into this little recruiting office and was almost immediately hired by the recruiting office. I remember I sat down at my new walnut desk with my small windows through which I could watch the window washers hanging like puppets across the Atlanta skyline. I had my very own office, I had a door, I had income and I had... a selectric typewriter?

Flash forward four years. I am pregnant with Techno-Boy. Honey and I are relocating and I am about to retire... temporarily, of course. I remember feeling sad about leaving the wonderful people I had gotten to know over the four years I was there. I also remember thanking God because, quite frankly, I had never worked for an entire office of highly successful, driven, competitive, aggressive women before. (It should be noted that- to date -I have never worked for an office of highly successful, driven, competitive, aggressive women again. This may be because I am absolutely terrified of the environment... or it could be that there is no other place like this one and I can't seem to figure out exactly how to go back to work there.)

But Thursday night, the little Queens of Peachtree were there. Dressed in their finest, raising a glass to the general merriment of everyone in the room, freely talking about recent plastic surgeries, and welcoming me back to the fold.

I love these women. I have a chance to see them from time to time and to work with them on occasion. There seems to be a running joke about when I will return - like the prodigal daughter, of course - to the inner sanctum of this office. And I certainly can't say that it will or will never happen.

But the thing I find when I am with them is this: what an amazing bunch of humans we women are. I sat smack in the middle of two women that night who were as different from each other as hot and cold. I sat near a women who is about to embark on a true adventure of self-discovery. I met a woman who has been to Thailand and now knows how to "spin fire." (And I got to watch her actually do it!) I talked with women whose children are living in other countries, married, getting married, about to be born, lost and searching for home. I met a belly dancer, for crying out loud.

I used to think it was important to have one good friend. In fact, I would say I pretty much banked on that with an assurance that was Biblical in proportion. I do agree that all women need confidants and sister-friends. But if that's all we have, we are so missing the boat.

There are people out there who may not be a soul mate... but good grief, they can spin fire! How cool is that? There are people out there who may not be like you... or me... but that certainly doesn't mean that you ... or I... can't enjoy and celebrate them.

I'm so sorry that I didn't understand that before. I'm so sorry for all the times I totally dismissed someone because I didn't understand them. Or perhaps, more accurately, because I was too afraid to understand them. Afraid that their "Queenliness" would somehow be greater than my own. Afraid that my bowing and scraping would not be sufficient. Afraid that admitting their worth and value would somehow diminish my own.

Thank you, Queens of Peachtree, for reminding me of how fantastic it is to be in the company of royalty.

(stay tuned for more Queenly talk.)

Come Go With Me

2006-03-15T09:58:00.000-05:00

If you ever dreamed of writing, here's a chance...

This, straight from the head of marketing for ClubMom!

"For those of you who aren’t familiar with ClubMom (www.clubmom.com), it is the website where millions of moms go for real-mom information, mom-to-mom connections, and rewards.

Available Opportunities
We are inviting you to apply for any of the opportunities summarized below. Furthermore, we would be most appreciative if you would blog about these opportunities, spread the word to your network, and generally help us find the best Moms possible to fill these roles.

1) We will start out launching a number of topical blogs on clubmom.com. Initially, we’re aiming to have ten blogs but that number can change based on the quality of the applications that we receive. We are looking for diverse voices on diverse topics including blogs on pregnancy, homeschooling, single moms, starting a new diet, celebrity gossip, family finances, running for office, making a difference, and other topics based on your recommendations (additional topics and descriptions are included on the application form).

Compensation: $500 per month for each topical blog (5 posts per week will be expected); in addition, 10,000 ClubMom Points per month which can be redeemed for great rewards from the ClubMom Rewards Catalog including gift cards, spa services, movies, etc.; plus performance based bonus

2) We will also launch The Best of Mom Blogs Editorial Round-Up. We are looking for someone to launch this blog who has a great and distinct voice and, hopefully, someone who has already developed a following for her existing blog. This round-up will describe and point to the most interesting and compelling Mom blogs – in and outside of ClubMom. Thanks to Lisa Williams for coming up with this great idea at the Menlo Park, CA meeting!Compensation: $1,000 per month; in addition, 20,000 ClubMom Points per month; plus performance based bonus

We have also just launched the ClubMom Blog. Applications for the above mentioned opportunities are available on this blog - http://blogs.clubmom.com/clubmom/ and are due by March 30th."

Come on, ladies. I know you've got some things to say!!! I'm going for it... y'all come go with me. $500 will buy a lot of whatever you need... diapers, wipes, tuition, beer.

E-mail me and we'll "tawlk."

Work, work, work

2006-03-14T11:41:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you guys, but this working thing stinks.

Here I sit, back in the saddle, looking at four bank statements that need reconciling, three orders that need processing and shipment overseas, an inch worth of contacts that have to be sorted, a new e-commerce program we're about to launch and a styrofoam cup of cold coffee.

I'm supposed to be sleeping in. I'm supposed to be lamenting the state of our union. I'm supposed to be meeting my friends at Starbucks, dropping by Thema's to change a diaper, going to IKEA with Diamond.

Sigh.

Three more weeks...

Faith (and a Little Help From the Geeks)

2006-03-09T10:17:00.000-05:00

I'm baaaaccckkk...

I'd like to say that the reason I haven't written is because I had decided not to write anything until I had something really brilliant to say. I mean, surely, you all must get as tired of hearing about these normal days as I get living them.

But the truth is, my CPU nearly died. We had a Code Blue (read: crash) in our IT department (read: living room) and had to rush the body into emergency surgery (read: geek squad). Thankfully, we were able to resuscitate (read: reload) the thing. But we were not able to stop the bleeding (read: loss of data). Still, my CPU is strong, even in its aged condition. It fought back mightily and has given me another day to save for the upgrade.

Then, of course, there's been the wood pecker. It's taunting me. It's taken up residence in my best and favorite dogwood and is beating the h*ll out of my tree. I called the extension service only to discover that red headed woodpeckers are protected. This means I can't shoot it. So, get this, we wrapped the trunk of the tree in tin foil... yeah, because that's what the extension lady said would scare the bird away. Tin foil. I can't wait for the covenants board police to get a load of this one.

Then Flower got sick and I lost my mind over Teacher Appreciation week and decided to quit my job.

But the really big news is what happened last night. And I guess you could say that the geek squad and my little friend Faith conspired together to save you all from yet another blogless day.

Faith is a little girl I've known since she was born eight years ago. She's very unique. Kinda quiet. Painfully independent. A little stubborn.

Faith's mom has Multiple Sclerosis.

I remember seeing Faith riding on her mom's walker when she was a toddler. It's one of those walkers with a seat. It reminds me of those "Turn Out" highway sections on PC1 in California. Like if you need to get out of the traffic, there are these enlarged medians where you can pull off the road and observe the view. That's what Faith's mom's walker is like. She can just pull over anytime, have a seat, and watch the view.

But when Faith was a baby, she was always on the seat. Her mom, smiling a big, broad, can-you-believe-I-have-a-baby kinda smile, just pushing Faith along and dragging her own dying feet behind her. This woman used to stand a head taller than anyone around. She had a willowy, ethereal sort of quality about her that was enhanced by the fact that she also was a lyrical flutist.

Faith is too big to ride on her mother's walker now. And her mom has moved to a wheelchair recently. Her feet having totally betrayed her.

Every week, I teach (ha) Faith in an evening kids program at our church. And every week I ask the kids in my group for prayer requests. It goes something like this:

Me: Anyone have prayer requests this week.
Princess: Me! Me! I do. Please pray that my rash will go away.
AB: Me! Me! Please pray that my friend (insert friend name here) will be able to spend the night.
Blondie 2: Me! Me! Please pray for my mom's headache.
Faith: Me! I have one. Please pray for my mom to walk.

Sometimes the kids have prayer requests. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes they don't even listen long enough to hear me ask the question.

But, without fail, Faith always asks prayers for her mom to walk.

And we always pray for Faith's mom to walk.

And this is the thing I realize (last night) about faith:

it never stops.

It keeps hoping and dreaming and believing. It keeps praying, even against odds. It keeps moving forward with determination. It keeps going on and on and on. It never accepts the obvious answer. It lives,

despite all evidence that this world is dying.

I don't know about you, but I think we all could use a little more Faith.

All's Right with the World

2006-02-28T09:17:00.000-05:00

what a morning...

the voting public came to their senses and chose Drew and Cheryl...

and to top it all off Travis picked Sarah...

*sigh*

now we can all get back to our normal days...

Power, Pow-Pow-Powah

2006-02-24T09:55:00.000-05:00

I have a confession to make.

When I started this on-line journal, there was a part of me that wondered what sort of fame and power it would bring. I'm not proud of that, by the way, but I have to confess it did occur to me. Ironically, I've found that I'm not really desirous of any "fame" that has come as a result of this site. In fact, what little notariety I've received has mostly been embarrassing. If someone comes up to me and makes a comment about this blog or that, I find myself quick to run the other direction and pretend like they aren't talking to me.

To date, I can't say as it's brought me any power. Although, I haven't taken a chance to see what I could produce if given the opportunity.

Today, that's about to change.

I did think, from time to time, that when the opportunity presented itself, it would be for some great and meaningful purpose. Perhaps I could start one of those roving internet emails that calls for an end to the Iraqi war. Or maybe I could incite people to stand up against the "Big Brother" mentality of government. Specifically traffic cameras. Does anyone really believe that those things are only for monitoring the traffic? Traffic in this city stinks. Do we need cameras on every traffic light to determine that? I thought I could also use this site to bring people to their knees in a true and humble understanding of the Gospel. That was a lofty goal, seeing as God is in control of everything including those folks that He brings to himself. Sheesh.

Nevertheless, the moment is here. I am inclined this morning to use my un-tapped blogging power and influence to affect a great American story...

Dancing with the Stars.

I know, I know. You don't watch it. Nobody watches it. I can't imagine, with nobody watching a show, why USA Today would refer to Dancing with the Stars in their article entitled "Is Thursday Must See TV Again?"

It must be all about Survivor, right?

It can't be that people everywhere are latching onto a television show which (excepting the scantily clothed women) is appealing to the entire family. It can't be that Moms and Nanas, alike, watch the show because they are desperate for a twirl around the floor with any man who can rumba. It can't be that our boyfriends truly enjoy watching the leggy and favored Stacey or that they secretly dream of whipping that passo doble cape around their own shoulders.

On a night when there were lots of other things to watch (say, the Olympics maybe) I found it quite interesting that the restaurant TV where Honey and I sat, was tuned to Dancing. And most everyone I talked to this morning, was flipping back and forth... to watch Dancing. And while I know that American Idol has trained us in the art of "The Vote," I can honestly say they never motivated me to get up off the couch. (And I love Kelly Clarkson, 'bout as much as Princess does.. but that's a whole 'nother blog.)

So here's the deal, friends.

I'm beggin you.

On behalf of the little brother who's probably lived most of his life in the shadows. On behalf of his hugely pregnant wife, who (bless her heart) is there each week looking like she's about to explode. Because of the chemistry between former strangers who have clearly become friends. Because of the humility that leads a competitor to say: "vote for whomever you like, just be sure to vote." Because of the obviously better choreography and on behalf of every cowgirl who's ever wanted to "Save a Horse..," you've just got to vote for Drew and Cheryl.

You do not, however, have to admit that you actually watch the show. Nobody even has to know. Just click here and vote.

Now, with this out of the way ...

onto World Peace.

The Soft Surprise Surprise Party

2006-02-18T10:48:00.000-05:00

I've gotten a few emails about my birthday and what I did. So I thought I'd send a post out about last weekend.

The truth is, my girls were busted. Ratted out by a sick and demented Bubba who had only hours before assisted in the birth of his fourth child. Plus, he had the flu. I can't really blame the guy... he was clearly not in his right mind. Thelma, Lucy and Ethel tried hard to keep up the charade. And I didn't say a word. That was my first mistake.

I stewed on the whole idea for about three days. I didn't tell Honey I knew. I didn't tell the girls I knew... although they correctly assumed that I'd picked up the clues Bubba left strewn around the room like dirty laundry. But nobody said a word and so I just let the whole idea bang around the brain a bit. Then I got some bad news from my family. Then I got a call from an old roommate with more bad news. Then I got cancer news about a friend. All of this arriving on my doorstep within a span of about six days. Then I got PMS. And since we've already established my penache for big falls, let's just say I busted ass sitting on Thelma's bed one Sunday afternoon.

With tears akin to post partum behavior - which rightfully belonged to someone else at that moment - I just told them I knew all about "The Great Escape" and I couldn't pretend not to know anymore because, based on my current bank of emotional deposits, I just wasn't sure I could pull off the "surprise!" And although a day at the cabin sounded very lovely, perhaps I should just stay home and do laundry and catch up on my blog and pretend like the earth isn't about to shatter into pieces and swallow me whole.

Then Thelma said that they could just go away without me... since they all had permission from their husbands for a day off.

Now that got me to thinking... and seeing as we could pretend that it wasn't really about my birthday at all... maybe they all needed the break... why should I make them stay home and do laundry... well, I quickly changed my mind about that whole thing.

Then Honey told me to update the Quicken bank records with the Online Bank Records and there it was: my birthday present. Two of them, in fact. Kinda hard to miss when it's right there in blue and white.

I called Honey. Thanks for the i-pod, I said. Whaaaat? The i-pod. It's online. The debit for the i-pod. I love it.

Then Flower accidentally told me about the purse that she made for me and Princess asked me to help her wrap my new scrapbooking markers. Honey stopped just short of asking me to order my own cake but did ask me to get him the number for the bakery.

We went to the mountains - me and my girls - for a beautiful afternoon of Diamond's chicken salad, playing cards, jacuzzis, newborn babies and rag magazines. Nobody mentioned that there was anything particularly special about the random date they had selected for this get-away. We came home that same evening.

I was surprised to find there were six men sitting in my kitchen. Each one was waiting for the return of a wife who had been at the cabin with me all day. My kids had magically disappeared for the night. Honey had gotten out my grandmother's china. There was a table laden with flowers and food. We all watched a little bit of the Olympics.

And I went gently

into that good night.

Thank you all for getting in one soft surprise.

What a lucky girl I am...

to have so many beautiful friends...

(top left: Diamond, Big Red/Lucy, Thelma & P, Sharon, Double Mint/Ethel, repeating)

Romance, Showmance

2006-02-17T12:16:00.000-05:00

Seeing as its my birthday (have I milked this thing enough, yet?) and all, I never really got much into Valentine's Day. But this past Valentine's Day, I have to say, surpassed all other's.

Lemme just tell ya.

Honey e-mails me last week (because I told him I wanted to be treated at least as good as his clients) and asks me if we could meet over lunch to talk about some of his latest proposals (Honey's in sales). I e-mail him back and let him know how lucky he is that I've just had to cancel my lunch appointment with Pat Conroy (who had agreed to mentor me in the publishing of my epic novel). Perhaps I could fit him in between 11 & 11:30.

In the next e-mail, he dutifully acknowledges my greatness and generosity and promises to make it worth my "most valuable time."

He picks me up at 11:15. We start driving through the beautiful back Atlanta roads with all the romantic huge tudor looking houses and I pretend we are driving through some excessively wealthy London neighborhood where it looks like everyone has gardeners. We roll the windows down and listen to my first Faith Hill cd. My SIL gave me this cd because it features a secret songwriter (and mother of 5 children) who has been discovered by Faith and is probably now living out her dream which may or may not include a gardener. It's meant to be inspiring. Somedays it is.

Honey says he's just taking the long way to the restaurant and I start to get clear on the reason why he is such a fantastic sales person... does he drive his clients all over historic Atlanta? do they get to listen to CDs? Then the sun bursts through and lights up a long expanse of green between buildings and I really don't care about how Honey sells advertising, just so long as he keeps at it.

We arrive at the deli close to the office. I step out to an aroma of cold cuts and salads and a grill that can fry up delicious panini breads with hot meat and melted cheese. It's loud, it's busy, it feels like lunch in The City.

And we wait.

And we wait.

And we watch CNN on the overhead TV reading the news over the closed caption. We talk about the man who is sitting alone at his table clearly making a stand against the coupleness of Valentine's Day by refusing to budge from his seat even whilst the line of patrons grows out the door.

And we wait some more.

And then we can't wait any longer.

Because we both have to be back at work in fifteen minutes.

So we go back to the car, drive across the street and dine on the finest that

MacDonald's has to offer.

But there were no kids. The place was virtually empty. I'm guessing that most dates (or clients) don't see the potential of an empty MacDonald's for lunch.

That evening, I made dinner for my family... hamburgers and french fries, to be specific. What's good for the goose and all...

Honey helped Techno-Boy with decimal conversion and I gave the girls a manicure.

Then it was kisses and hugs and good-nights.

I went to bed thinking how great it was to just simply be with the people I love... (okay, like love tonight, right now, a moment in which I actually happen not to be frustrated).

Who needs romance when you can have a quarter pounder, some nice music, a spring afternoon and easy homework?

Being Special

2006-02-16T10:28:00.000-05:00

So I didn't die at 40. Which is a very good thing. And since I am still among the living, I suppose I will press on.

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been a crazy week and now I am preparing for the "Flower Fair" on Saturday. My very own itty bitty baby turns 7! It's got me thinking of so many things I can hardly get them down before they've skittered off my brain.

Here's a freaky thing about Flower.

After I cried for several weeks, I started telling people that I was pregnant with Flower. Mainly I broke the news while nursing Princess and holding tightly to Tech's little hand. It was fun to watch the reactions I got... sort of a pattern that went something like this: pity, confusion, awe, fear, pity, confusion, awe, fear and so on. As if I didn't realize that I held a six month old baby in my arms who would not let go of the breast long enough for me to take a dad-gom shower!

When I called my sister to tell her about the impending arrival of yet another niece or nephew, she did the unthinkable. She, like, gasped, like, OUTLOUD.

Then, she started to describe this evening she'd had with some girlfriends. They'd gone out one night in The City (I love this about people who live up north; they all refer to New York City as The City; it's hats off to those folks who live there... anyway) and they'd run across this street peddler who was telling fortunes and reading palms and all that freaky stuff that we all really like to wonder about. So my sister throws her hand out there and the woman says the following:

"there will be another child; I see flowers; this child will be very,
very special"

(Isn't it just so dramatic?)

Off and on, I'll remember this sort of curious thing about little Flower. And I wonder if I treat her a little differently... because she's my baby, because her nature is so easy, because of something a little old woman told my sister on the streets in The City. And if I'm honest, I think maybe I have.

But the thing is this: every child is very, very special. Even the ones who throw temper tantrums, stomp their feet, fling their arms out in desperation, whine, make mistakes. And I wonder, when your children came/come into the world, if you imagine a conversation in which God whisperes in your ear "this child will be very, very special..."

would you raise them to be so?

One

2006-02-13T10:35:00.000-05:00

...

there it is. The completed countdown.

All that anticipation and yet

the only thing I noticed yesterday was the beauty of that full moon,

and a sunny snow storm (which is highly unusual in Georgia!),

and the smooth warm flavor of a hot cup of coffee,

and a slim Flower hug,

and my far away sister's voice,

the taste of Pop's warm apple pie,

a great Grey's Anatomy, (man! that show can grow on 'ya).

Hmmmm.... no earth shaking? no sky falling?

In short,

it was just a normal day...

in which I happened to turn 40.

Two

2006-02-10T12:14:00.000-05:00

It's the expectations that always get us... isn't it?

I don't quite know what to expect as this countdown continues. I'm not sure that I am expecting anything at all. But other people are. I can feel it.

The kids... Honey... everyone who stops to ask me "are you ready?"

Ready for what?

The eclipse? The earth shifting on it's plates? The stars falling? The end of the war? The return of "Alias"? Is it something that dramatic?

A friend called this week in tears because she did not meet the expectations thrust upon her. Techno-Boy had to face a teacher who laid out expectations that he didn't quite listen to. I, myself, fell down yet again on Sunday because the expectations were too great a burden for me to remain standing.

And still, my phone rings with callers who seem to have caught the sniff of something mighty. Something curious to develop in only forty - eight hours.

Sheesh.

Let's just get on with the whole darn thing, shall we?

I need more popocorn...

We're down to

two.

Three

2006-02-09T11:47:00.000-05:00

Something secret is going on...

I don't exactly know what it is...

But I think it has something to do with this weekend. Sunday, to be specific, February 12th.

Hmmmm...

Maybe it's me...

Maybe I'm just imagining it...

Maybe I've had too much coffee or not enough chocolate...

Maybe I'm being conned... (isn't it great to have "Sawyer" back?)

From the way people are acting, I'm beginning to wonder if there will be some sort of eclipse. Or a comet shower. Or a revolution. Gasp!

We shall have to wait and see... together...

Pull up a chair. Let's watch.

(I hope I don't run out of popcorn.)

The countdown begins...

Three...

Try

2006-02-07T10:16:00.000-05:00

Try not to make it worse.

Remember? That was supposed to be one of my mottos for this year. One of the greatest spiritual mandates ever spoken can be translated to read something as simple as try not to make things worse.

This week, that's been tough.

I went to my Weight Watchers weigh in and gained weight. Even though I took off my shoes, my jacket, my ballcap, my watch, my sunglasses and my hairclip. Still, I couldn't stop Miss. B from giving me that "you can do it" smile from behind her crop-top counter. I wanted to hate Miss. B.

I mean where does she get off with her little patronizing response? Did she know I was on vacation this week? Eating thick yummy bacon prepared by my WCF cook? Did she know I was forced to drink two glasses of wine with every dinner? Who can say no when the Ferrarri Carrano is being passed around the hollandaise sauce?

Then I really wanted to hate myself.

And that made me mad so then I decided not to think about that at all.

Try not to make it worse has done one good thing for me this week.

It's helped me not freak out. With old friends. My siblings. Their spouses.

You know, I've thought a few times this week about the Olympics. I 've thought it would be nice if there could be an Olympic event for marriage. Can't you just imagine it? What if every few years someone came along, hung a medal around your neck, played your anthem (would it be I Will Survive? or Eye of the Tiger?), and awarded you for making it yet another year?

I truly think there should be more anniversary parties and fewer birthday parties... of course this new insight could have something to do with my approaching 40th... still, why don't we throw ourselves anniversary parties?

And why don't we talk about it when things aren't going well?

Why do we feel we have to hide behind closed doors of looking good?

...

...

Try not to make it worse means letting go of the why's and not making it always about enlightenment.

Maybe sometimes it's just about compassion.

And letting a person know you're beside them.

"P"

2006-02-02T10:23:00.000-05:00

There just isn't anything more precious in this world than a newborn baby.

I held one in my arms last night.

7 pounds, two ounces of hope eternal is what it was like.

No matter what the day held... and I can promise you it was a doozy... when my arms felt the feather light automatic curve of that fresh baby, it was like springtime in the dead of a cold, rainy winter.

Everyone was full of hushed chatter. Talking about sleepless nights and PIT drips and the wonderful gift of "No Info" on the hospital chart... they didn't do that when I had my kids. Now you can elect to keep your hospital record off the computer system so that when all the aunts and uncles and cousins and in-laws and neighbors and city councilmen and church friends stop by to see ya, they're told you're not there! "No info" is revealed. And in case it's been a long time since you happened to deliver a child, let me just remind you of the value and importance of sleep and uninterrupted quiet afternoons... especially when there are three other children at home.

Anyway, everyone was chattering (at least those of us who were privledged enough to know the secret location of said family) and all I could think was: "this baby's head is as big as the apples I eat for lunch." TINY. Tiny ears, tiny elbows, tiny chin. Long fingers. Long neck.

I got a peak at some wise old eyes.

I was reminded of Techno Boy when he was a newborn. He had that wise look about the eyes. Like he knew everything already and what were we in such a state about? Like he'd been sitting up in Heaven for generations just waiting for his turn to be born. Like calm and peace and abundance and spirit and every zen or feng shui thing.

(Sometimes, Tech is still like that. )

This baby had that look. That Bob Marley "Every Little Thing is Gonna Be Alright" kind of look.

I couldn't help remembering all the beautiful things a newborn brings into the house (like fistsfull of determination, a first smile, belly laughs and, of course, the baby smell). And naturally, I couldn't help thinking about how long it's been since my world was focused on the simple tasks of nursing, diaper changing and keeping the crayons off the wall.

I pulled that baby up to my nose and took a deep breath and wondered why I didn't appreciate my babies more. Why does it take a third or fourth or even fifth baby to help you realize how important just holding them is? Why can't you realize that on the first baby - when you have the time? There won't be a lot of time just to hold this baby. Because there are so many other babies that will need attention. It just doesn't seem fair.

So I think I will have to come and help Thelma hold this baby. Because I don't have any other babies and really, someone needs to do it. Right?

Welcome... to Thelma and Bubba's new love... a boy... with such a good Catholic Irish name that I think I will just have to call him "P."

The Look

2006-01-30T13:05:00.000-05:00

Feminist notions aside, it is not a bad thing to look good when your car breaks down. I was totally reminded of this as I sat at the red light this morning. My first thought, naturally, was about the saftey of my children. I mean there we are - stalled between Target and Publix - commuters and Moms late for work or school FLYING down the highway like it was the The Indy track. Sheesh! You people can just slow down.

But my second thought was this: ... Thank you God I have on The Look today.

You know - the look that you want other people to see. The one that says "I am so together I could actually pull off the finger snap today, honey." That's the look.

I had on my pale tan slacks (over the Spanx, of course) , my chocolate V-neck sweater (everyone says it makes me look thinner), chandeleir earrings (aren't they the rage) and a bedazzled clip (sometimes, to honor my friend, Lola, I get bedazzled things. She used to love the bedazzler.). Putting my muddled life at risk, I hop out of my stalled car. I'm not sure why I did this. There was no reason for it. I just thoughtlessly opened the door and stood outside the vehicle for two seconds. As if shaking out my legs and standing would somehow make me more able to evaluate the situation.

It did.

Within two minutes, three men have stopped to help me out of the middle of the freaking intersection where my kids are now happily ensconsed thinking they don't have to go to school today. (Silly little children.)

I mean totally the nicest guys.

They stop traffic and push my SUBURBAN across two lanes of highway into the Publix parking lot. (I did try to talk them into pushing me over the Starbucks because, really, if you're going to be stuck somehwere, it should be at Starbucks. But that meant they'd have to go three lanes across oncoming traffic to the left instead of two to the right and it did seem a little bit more dangerous.)

I applied the brake and stopped neatly in my Publix parking space, hopped out to say thank you and I swear they had all disappeared. One waved and shouted to ask if I would be allright. I shouted back thank you and knew I'd call Honey immediately. And that was it. He got in his car and drove away.

We women have many gifts, I determine as I pop back into the car and break the news to Techno-Boy that Papa is on his way to take them all to school. Sometimes I think we're so damn busy trying to find more or different gifts, that we don't realize the ones we all ready have. Like people in our lives we may never know who will stop to help push a car out of the intersection. Or will get out of bed to come take your kids to school. Or who will remind you that true feminists use every available resource.

Even if it means wearing The Look from time to time.

SundaNormal, II

2006-01-27T10:54:00.000-05:00

Boy, is it nice to be back in the sun.

What to say about the Sundance Film Festival?

First, let me assure you that the perks enjoyed as a result of a career in entertainment are nothing to "hurrumph" about. There is a certain joy in coming down to breakfast and a cook who, although she seems to foster a little of what I ignorantly refer to as West Coast Freaky, readily and happily offers you an assortment of wonderful goodies for breakfast. I mean, let's be real... celebrity or not, fresh french toast with thick yummy bacon cooked by someone else is a treat.

And waking to a view of mountains that make our beloved southern topography weep with envy, is also worth the trip. Much though I love the South, we just can't compare ourselves to the Rocky Mountains. My heavens, it is beautiful out there. Peaks covered in soft white blankets, blue sky reaching to infinity, starry nights silent in reverence to all that is natural and Godly. Wow.

We saw some movies that were outstanding (Sherrybaby); some that were good (The Illusionist) and some that truly stunk (Cargo). We saw stars who were warm and welcoming (Rosie); weird (John Malcovich; legendary (Dennis Hopper & Neil Young - thinking of Bubba and Jaycee) and talented (Maggie Gyllenhall - surprise!).

Overall, the Sundance experience is a hotbed of opinion. Everyone wants to know your's and everyone seems willing to share their's. I can't count how many times someone asked "What do you think?" And for someone who loves an opportunity to spout seeds of perspective, I have this finally to say: I'm glad to be home, taking care of my own children, talking to real people, eating Tator Tot Casserole leftovers and driving Princess to the dentist.

After all, we're just people trying to get by... made famous only by those who profess to love us. Wide screen or not.

Take me back home, steel bird, where the sun is shining and I only need a light sweater to enjoy the day.

SundaNormal

2006-01-24T13:05:00.000-05:00

This is the first shot I've had at an Internet connection... more to come... but for now, here's a taste of Sundance:

It's Tuesday at about eleven am. I am recovering from sleep deprivation as a result of a two AM night and dry, mountain air. There are big and beautiful wicker woven, low slung, cotton covered chairs... one of which I have fallen into with little hope of removing myself. There's also the classic brown leather sofa - compelte with leopard print pillows. The marble coffee table in front of me is covered in star snacks... Rice Kristpie trears, Reeses cups, Doritos. champagne and water bottles. Johnny Cash is playing quietly in the studio space where a small, bespeckled thirty something guy sits waiting to go to work.

Word is Rosie's on her way up the stairs.

And in trying to think of something interesting to say, what I really want to ask her is whatever happened to the Rosie barbie? My only hope for a normal, interesting toy that truly reflects the average, normal, extraordinary woman (sexual orientation, not withstanding).

As I sit, here she is... thinner than I expected, orange jacket, torn jeans, long hair. And it's so normal, you can't even imagine. Everyone is being introduced, I type and the flashes go off. In two weeks, you'll be able to see these photos appear in Entertainment Weekly magazine. Ten minutes later and she's out the door.

And I don't know whether the Rosie doll will ever make a reappearance.

Oh well, back to the video game in the corner and another round of the Galaga challenge.

Until John Corbett gets here, anyway.

What is Normal, Anyway?

2006-01-20T10:43:00.000-05:00

So I don't know about you guys, but this week's been pretty normal.

Let's see...

On Monday (rated R)

evening, Princess was finishing her award winning report for her accelerated class which is due today (Friday). She comes to me asking if I can help her add some photos to the bottom of her report. She'd particularly like some photos of Mayan people, thank you very much. (She also requested chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast this week... Princess knows exactly what she wants...) Being the supportive mother that I am, I said sure - that I'd help her find some photos of Mayan people and we'd "clip art" them right to her paper. Excitedly, she leads me to the link to which her teacher has directed her.

As we are scanning the document, Princess says "Oh Mommy! Skip that part. It's not appropriate."
"What?"
"It's bad. Don't read it."
"What is it?" I ask confusion and disbelief playing raquetball in my mind.
"It's about a man having sex with a Bassett hound."

Yes, yes, that is exactly what she said. I can assure you of this because I asked her to repeat it twice!

An immediate scanning of the site did, in fact, reveal that Princess was right. And you can be sure that Honey took that paper right to work with him and has spent this week in contact with the school. An oversight, we feel sure, but nevertheless an oversight that has quite affected normal (?) conversation in our house this week.

On Tuesday (rated PG)

Techno Boy came home and asked if we could adjust all our evening plans to drive over to Trinity Church where the school basketball team would be playing.

I entertain this thought for about thirty seconds because I love basketball. I'm not any good at it... in fact, the only real acclaim I have on the sports front is the acclaim that comes with making a high school buzzer shot at the last second into the opponent's net. That also happens to be one of the only shots I ever made.

Anyway, Tech wants to go to this game but Honey's got a meeting tonight and I've got a headache and it's raining and cold and I'm thinking it's a night for Tator Tot Casserole and some roasted marshmallows. So I decline the invitation and then Tech says: "I guess I won't get my upgrade."
"What?"
"Mr. Teacher says that everyone who comes to the game tonight gets to replace their lowest homework grade with a 100."
"What?" I ask confusion and disbelief playing raquetball in my mind. "That hardly seems fair."
"And last week," Tech continues, "you got three bonus points if you went to that game."
Yes, yes, that is exactly what he said. I can assure you of this because I asked him to repeat it twice!
So I have spent the entire week leaving messages for the Mr. Teacher who bumps kids up a notch if they support his team. What is that??? Like the project and the homework and the reading logs aren't enough? An oversight, I'm sure, but one that has resulted in discussion about favoritism and expectation and fairness.

On Wednesday (rated G... unless you're an angst ridden pre-teen male)

I worked, I drove carpool, I tried to speak to any school administrator about any of the things that had gone on Monday or Tuesday, and I went to church. Cause that's what we do most Wednesdays.

Our church offers dinner (at prices cheaper than MacNasty's) and a number of evening programs on Wednesday night. The girls go to choir, Tech goes to Bible Study, we eat dinner together...sort-of... and then I volunteer in an evening program in which the girls participate. Except not this week. Because they didn't want to go this week. And Honey was there and he said he'd take them home early and I could work and wait for Tech to get out of Bible Study. Halfway to the program I'm working without my kids, and not for the first time that day, I feel a distinct but ever so subtle coolness on the inside of both my thighs. It occurs to me, again not for the first time today, that something "just ain't right." I reach back and feel around the seat of my britches but still don't notice anything amiss. Until I reach a little farther and yes, ladies, my seem is split and my backside is all kinds of blowing in the breeze. In all kinds of all day long.

Even though everyone assures me they can't see anything, I take off my jacket, tie it low around my hips and press on.

After the kids program, Tech and I are climbing the stairs to leave the building. He was behind me......... the poor kid was thoroughly disgusted.

Another fine "Mother of the Year" moment.

Yesterday was Thursday (rated S for Sad)

and I went to dinner with an old friend. At 52, she's decided to leave her job, leave the city and leave her marriage.

I prayed and prayed on the way to that dinner. I bet you're thinking I prayed for wisdom and compassion. I bet you think I prayed for clarity and for the "right words." Nope. I prayed selfishly. I prayed that I wouldn't want to go with her. Because by this point in the week, I'm thinking it's not such a bad idea!

Today is Friday (Praise the Lord)

and the many normal moments of this day are yet to unfold.

But I do know this: tomorrow is Saturday which means I have to go for my first Weight Watchers weigh-in (oh joy) and then Sunday morning... I'm flying out of town.

Next week's posts - live from Park City, Utah and the Sundance Film Festival.

Just one normal week after another.

Updates Now Available

2006-01-17T10:00:00.000-05:00

Just about everyday I get that little note on my computer screen. "Windows Updates are now available for your computer." I love that. It's so simple and so efficient. Wouldn't it be nice if life came with little updates you could download into your brain bank and integrate into your life?

With that in mind, I thought I'd take just a second to update this blog.

As you can tell, I've been playing around with websites quite a bit. (I think I have finally settled on the right design.) I've added links and other pages which I hope you have explored!

By nature, blogs are supposed to be short and sweet. And since I tend to ramble, I added an Essays page for those longer diatribes. I hope to get some sort of organization to them so that current and archived messages are collected in themes.

Also, check the novel link from time to time. I will post new excerpts every few months or so.
I have decided to keep both http://www.justanormalday.com/ and http://justarnormalday.blogspot.com/ so that you can use whichever site you like best.

I love your comments... just like an actor on stage feels the response of the audience, I would love to hear from YOU from time to time. Don't be afraid to email me at my new address: normalmom@comcast.net or to add comments on the blog site. The best way to do this is with the blogspot site although it's also available with the .com site. Either way you do have to log in and create an account.

So that's it. You can hit "Restart" now and all this information will be permanently imbedded in your memory bank...

Don't you just wish?

Happy Monday,
Normal Mom

Meeting Places

2006-01-14T14:24:00.000-05:00

I have received so much good advice in my life that it is like waves through my subconscious mind. Once I went to a wedding shower and the “game” was to provide one piece of advice for the bride to be. I wrote on for a page and a half (poor bride). Not because I had anything worthy to say… but because so many other wonderful words are embedded in my brain.

I shared some of them a few blogs ago. Even Blondie (yeah! a new Blog character for you) stopped me at church the other day and quoted back to me the classic: “you don’t have to like it; you just have to eat it.” Still a great response to kids who whine about the flavor of their veggie du jour.

One piece of advice I’ve been hanging on to lately is also about the kids… particularly the older ones. Loosely translated, it goes something like this: like what they like, see what they see, be where they are. I don’t think there’s a parenting guru out there who would disagree with the importance of flexing this muscle a little as our kids grow older.

Now, I failed miserably in this effort when my kids were little.

To read more of this essay, click here.

Stuck In Wal-Mart

2006-01-07T13:05:00.000-05:00

People have real strong feelings about Wal-Mart. Have you noticed that? You either hate it or you love it; there seems to be no in-between. It's kind of like Pigs In A Blanket. If you like pigs in a blanket, you really like them. There's no lukewarm love for pigs. And there's no wishy washy Wal-Mart fans, either.

We (okay, I) happen to love Wal-Mart. It has so many pluses. Like for one: you can buy absolutely anything there. For two: there are tons of places to hide if you happen to get spotted by anyone you don't want to see. Three: there's no dress code. Nobody cares what you're wearing in the Wal-Mart. Four: Wanderability. I love to wander when I shop.

Okay, so the other night, it was late and we were driving home from Phil and Sharon's in Woodstock, and Honey starts this game.

It's called "If you were stuck in Wal-Mart..."

(You fill the rest of the question with whatever sounds good.)

Here were some of our choices: "...where would you sleep?"

Tech said he would sleep in the PS2 department with cases of peanuts and Diet Coke. Princess said she would get a tent and a lantern and a sleeping bag and all her favorite clothes and carry all of that to the milk-free products aisle. Flower said she would get all the bean bags together and jump off the highest shelf and sleep right in the middle of the squishy pillows. I said I would get the most expensive blow up mattress and the most expensive sheets and take that to the wide screen tv department and watch the entire first season of Lost. Honey said he would jump into the beanbags with Flower.

And: “…what would you buy and who would you buy it for?”

Flower said she’d buy me a new lamp since Princess was flingin’ her boa around and knocked it off my desk. Princess said she’d buy me a book light, like the one Santa brought her, so that I could read in bed like she does. I said I would buy a wide screen television with surround sound… for the kids, of course. Techno-Boy said he’d buy all the PS2 games for his best friend, Red. I don’t remember what Honey said but I’m quite sure it had something to do with peanuts or beef jerky.

Then I asked "If you were stuck in Wal-Mart...what would you say over the Loudspeaker?!"
Honey said he would say: "Would the owner of a pink Durango, license plate HOO-CHI please report to your vehicle. Your lights are on." Princess said: "I would say 'Hey! All you people who eat milk cannot come into my section of the store!" Flower said: "Hello." Tech paused. Then he lowered his voice, put his fist around his mouth like a microphone, exhaled deeply and said "Luke, I am your father."

That is still cracking me up.

What's A Motto? Nothing. What's A Motto With You?

2006-01-07T12:18:00.000-05:00

This is one of my favorite lines from the Lion King. It's when Pumbaa and Timon are singing Hakuna Matata to Simba. Timon, the wise cracking meerkat says "Hakuna Matata" ("No Worries") is their motto. Pumbaa, the slightly slow warthog asks What's a Motto? And Timon responds, "Nothing. What's a motto which you?" And then the two beloved animal characters crack up at their own humor.

It's a classic moment in animated history. Almost as good as the hula dance number they put on to distract the evil hyenas.

But distracting evil hyenas - that's another story...

I like mottos. We all have them. Quirky little statements that become like mantras in our daily lives. Sometimes they come from books, songs, scripture. If you think about it, you've probably got some you use without even thinking about it.

I use them all the time in our house. For example, here's one of my favorites: Just because someone says so, doesn't make it true. I use this one a lot when the kids are talking about who said what mean thing to them on the playground. You know...

Flower: Johnny said I'm stupid! Mom: Are you stupid? Flower: No. Mom: Just because Johnny says so, doesn't make it true.

OR... Tech: Susie said I'm ugly. Mom: Are you ugly? Tech: I don't think so. Mom: Of course, you're not! Just because Susie says so...Tech: doesn't make it true.

Here's another one I like to use at dinner time, especially when I am serving vegetables: You don't have to like it, you just have to eat it.

Here's one I use on myself ALL the time (particularly when I am about to embark on some really wonderful, really creative, really time consuming project. Maybe like deciding to remodel the kids' bathroom, make Christmas goody bags for every kid in Flower's class, start a uniform exchange program at Tech's school, re-design the girls' school literary magazine and paint the foyer): Just because I think it, doesn't mean I have to do it.

It being the New Year and all, I've been thinking about some mottos for 2006. Wondering if I really took the time and energy to focus on just one or two things, if I really used some sayings to help refocus myself I might get to the end of the year having actually changed some old patterns of behavior. And, of course, thinking about what those patterns are lends itself to some obvious motto choices.

I could go with a derivative of the one I use at the dinner table. I don't have to eat it, just because I like it for example. This could be a good one when I am reaching for the box of Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls. There's always the old standby Just Say No (thank you Nancy Reagan) which I guess, continues to be an important motto in areas of self-propelled insanity. I also happen to like the one I heard recently on my favorite radio station.

It's the Christian talk radio station I listen to every afternoon called New Life Live. I like this program because they take regular people calling in with specific issues of struggle. The hosts and guests then provide perspective from a Christian standpoint. I like this program because it is mainly about grace, but it's also about being responsible. One of the hosts there uses a motto I think I might adopt for 2006. It's simply Do the Next Right Thing.

Sometimes it's so hard to do the next right thing because I'm always thinking of the end result. I get so far ahead of myself worrying about how or when or why, that I forget to break it down to bite size pieces. Of course, I have perfected the art of teaching my children how to live their lives doing the next right thing... one shoe, then the other; one page of homework, then the next; one more bite of green beans, then the rolls.

But it's hard, as an adult to do the same for ourselves. We think Little Debbie equals twenty pounds. We think less income equals gotta move. We think hurt feelings equals never speak to them again.

Do the Next Right Thing is just a great way of saying: focus on one bit at a time... and leave the big picture up to the One who can see the whole thing. Less income? Cut out the Starbucks (ouch!). Hurt feelings? Ask for forgiveness. Little Debbie? ... okay, well, maybe it doesn't apply here.

My other motto for consideration is from Anne Lamott: Try not to make things worse. In her book Plan B, Further Thoughts on Faith, she says this: "Driving home, I tried to hold on to what I'd heard that day: that loving your enemies was nonnegotiable. It meant trying to respect them, it meant identifying with their humanity and weaknesses. It didn't mean unconditional acceptance of their crazy behavior. They were still accountable for the atrocities they'd perpetrated, as you are accountable for yours. But you worked at doing better, at loving them, for the profoundest spiritual reason: you were trying not to make things worse."

This will be harder for me. The truth is I'm not very good at loving my enemies (which in most cases really means loving Honey, the kids and the terribly disorganized person in front of me at the Self Check-Out in Kroger). I'd much prefer to talk about them in whispered tones over dinner and a few margaritas. I'd rather shun them and cold - shoulder them and pretend like they don't exist. I'd rather not eat Swiss Cake Rolls than have to engage with someone who's hurt my feelings. I'm a fine line-in-the-sand kind of girl, if you get my drift. I like to think that God doesn't like the people I don't like and that somehow he and I are on the same team.

And for that very reason, Try Not to Make it Worse has got to be a 2006 contender. Because if left to my own devices, I can make it worse. And frequently, I will.

It's settled, then. 2006 is the year of Do The Next Right Thing AND Try Not to Make it Worse.

Lord, help me.

Ready, Set, Go!

2006-01-02T17:07:00.000-05:00

Woo-hoo what a pahhhttttyyyy!

Here are my favorite things about our annual New Year's Eve soiree.

#1) My house is packed. We had over 100 people jammed into the three floors that are our basement, main and upstairs levels. Bubba, Thelma's husband, maybe thought it was a little too crowded... seeing as he had to wait fifteen minutes to get to the buffet. But still, I don't think there's anything better than filling up every room with real, live people. Real, live kids running everywhere. Real, live neighbors catching up. Real, live school friends meeting each other's families. Real, live cancer survivors connecting. Real, live parents talking tips and strategies. Real, live high school acquaintances being surprised to see one another again.

It's awesome.

#2) The party is over in two hours. That's the deal. Two hours and then you have to leave! Don't you love that? In fact, if you're still here at the 2.5 hour mark, I hand you a white garbage bag and you are now part of the clean up detail. (That usually ensures a mass exodus at the appropriate time.)

Every year I hear these two comments: how brave you are to host a family event this size! And I always say this: it's only two hours! We can do anything for two hours! The other thing people want to know is if they really have to leave at two hours. And I always say this: yes.

But that's part of what makes it fun. There's no lingering around and wondering if you've stayed long enough. You're in, you're out. Party over.

#3) We ALL make out the guest list. So Honey and I invite 15 families, Techno-Boy invites 15 families, Princess invites 15 families and Flower invites 15 families. Some of the folks they invite, I've never even met before.

For example, early on, some tall, blonde, beautiful woman walks in with four kids. I have no idea whatsoever who this person is. But she, immediately recognized me and called me by my maiden name. Turns out, her oldest child is The New Kid in Tech's class this year. Tech invited he and his family. Turns out, I knew this Momma in High School. Wow!

And the other great thing is that we always end up with such a fantastic assortment of people. It's not just everyone that we normally hang out with. But everybody comes and somehow connects and it's so fun to watch.

#4) The best fireworks in town happen right in my backyard! 150 sparklers were passed out at "midnight" and although the heavy humid night kept a smoke layer hanging over the heads of our guests, the whole backyard danced with children writing their names in sparkler fire. It was so cool. Watching from the upper deck, it was like a little river of red, yellow and blue flames. Everybody followed the rules, only Bubba got burned (Bless His Heart) and I got to watch fifty little faces lit by crackling sparkler flames and pure blessed wonder.

#5) On New Year's Day, we woke up with Phil and Sharon having spent the night and our phone ringing off the hook with people calling to say what a great time they had. Nana came by to take the girls to a movie which left Honey, Tech and I free to pretend we were just a family of three. Thelma came over to pick up her table, brought me coffee from Starbucks and stayed til dinner. I scrapbooked all afternoon while Honey put away all the holiday decoration.

I can't imagine a better way to start the New Year.

Ready... set... go!

Celebrate at 8!

2005-12-30T07:32:00.000-05:00

I am getting so exicted!

It's almost New Year's Eve! And despite my disdain for the end of things... I LOVE the beginning of things! And it's about to be a whole, fresh, unused year. That's something we celebrate around here.

I think this will be our fifth or sixth or maybe seventh year of Celebrate at 8! It started when the kids were real little and we couldn't get a babysitter. I don't know why calling sitters at the last minute never works for me...

Anyway, we went over to Phil and Sharon's and had our own little party. We had whistles and blowers and hats and all manner of celebratory gear. Then, someone had the great idea to set the clock ahead four hours and so at 7:59PM we counted down to "midnight." Hence, Celebrate at 8!

(I love that about little kids...they just don't know any different than what their parents say. Ahhh, the Golden Years.)

There we were - our two little families, blowing our brains out on party trinkets and shouting Hallelujah! for a brand new start.

Over the years, Celebrate! has grown. It's still a party for kids. We still count down to eight o'clock and jump around pretending like it's midnight...even though none of our kids buy the stories we feed them anymore. Everyone usually goes home by 9 or sometimes 10. But tomorrow, there's likely to be fifty families here. Everyone's invited. Sometimes I send invitations but sometimes I don't. It's open door... come as you are. And I LOVE it! There will be people everywhere, (hopefully) enjoying themselves, (peacefully) breathing a sigh of relief for the end of the Christmas season, (thankfully) moving on to the business of normal days.

There are only three rules:

1.) Bring a bite of something to share.
2.) Keep up with your own kids and your own beverage.
3.) And set your watch ahead four hours.

S'mores and Sparklers at Midnight!
(just e-mail me if you need our address; party starts at 7)

It's Over, The Final Christmas Observation

2005-12-26T21:37:00.000-05:00

I don't like to exercise. It's kind of a joke around here, really. I used to say the only running I ever did was to the mailbox and back. But that ended up causing me to sweat too hard, so now I send the kids. (Ain't that what they're for?)

And I especially don't like to exercise the soul. For heaven's sake, that just slap wears me out.
Lately, writing this blog has been like a Jane Fonda video (see how long it's been?) for the Soul. I feel like I've run a marathon.

Tonight on our way home from the in-laws which, despite my sarcastic tone really was quite enjoyable, I swear I hardly said a word. Honey's kind of freaked that there's something wrong...like he said the wrong thing again, bless his heart. All I can think is that I need quiet. Stillness. Silence. Space.

Since I decided to focus on the positive aspects of this holiday, I have felt forbidden from griping one damn time. I know I did fall down once; with the tree limbs lying all in my basement, I thought I was a little entitled. But I have tried to stay true to the test.

Let me just say, that in addition to the trees falling down in my yard, there has also been a computer crash at work, two more open houses, three family visits, serving at two church services, shopping, returning, shopping some more, a choir party, a babysitter that never showed up, sick kids, and an e-mail from an old friend whom I'm still gets it?

But you know what else?

There's also been a whole afternoon drooling over office curtains with Diamond in the Grand and Wonderful Ikea. I have been entertained with recitations by my children ('Twas the night before Christmas, and Lowe's was lockin' the door. Mama ran really fast, but we don't know what for".) I've had a fabulously fat lunch complete with Mimosa's and Fried Green Tomatoes with my Sister, Kath, and my Mom. There's been pure joy over gifts that don't compare to what their cousins got or what their friends will brag about...you forget how quickly Christmas goes from being about Christ to being about the kid who got the best and most incredulous gifts. There's been a concert of surprising talent at Eddie's with Big Red and The Yank, Thelma and Bubba and Thelma's brother and his wife AND Knitting Kath. There's been an apron I really wanted and two e-mails from family who truly, truly loved their gifts.

Overall, I'd say it's been right nice.

And I'm damn glad it's over. Hallelujah, friends.

I'm going to lay down now and watch my soap.

Happy New Year.

Tell Me Why, A Christmas Observation

2005-12-21T12:00:00.000-05:00

You know, this just gets me.

How is it that educated people can produce a brat? How is it that we let our children – those we birth and those we live with – grow up to be such dis-respectful, back talking, ugly pre-adolescent teenagers?

I mean I get the part that we’re all born in sin. And I agree. I even get the point that children come into the world with a certain design or plan, if you will. Characteristics that don’t even come from us… we wonder, sometimes aloud, at where little Susie gets it? We joke that it must be our spouse’s side of the family.

Recently, I have felt consumed by the plight of the child. Not the poor in body, nor the poor in health, nor the poor in circumstance, even. I'm worried about the poor in spirit.

This came to a head tonight when, as Honey was putting Techno-Boy to bed, Tech confessed that he didn’t want to go to school tomorrow. This is not like Techno Boy at all since he decided this year, barring any loss of appendages, he would win the "No Absences Award" or die trying.

Turns out, some kid – older than Tech - has been bullying him around every six or eight weeks. And Tech’s starting to get a little tired of it. Honey tells me all this as we sit down to watch Survivor (ironic, isn't it?). And before you can say "Mama Bear", I am livid.

(This reminds me of a book the kids have called Yours Truly, Goldilocks. This children's book is a series of letters between and amongst all the sweet little fairy tale friends in 'the woods.' Two wolves get in on the action and plan a dasterdly deed that will rid the forrest of all the sweet little fairy tale friends. In the end, guess who comes to the rescue and kicks the wolves' behinds? That's right... Mama Bear.)

Ironically, this whole thing also coincides with a conversation I had last week with another Mama Bear who's daughter is being ripped a new one by none other than a staff child.

And what's being done to curb the behavior? Apparently not much.

You should have seen me. I envision I must have looked like some kind of raving Medusa with snakes coming out of my head and bull horns errupting from my ever-present-twisted-hair-in-a-clip.

It's insane! These children will someday grow up to be adults. How in the world can we expect that they will treat the world kindly when they clearly aren't being taught this message today? While they live in our houses? While they are still under our influence!?

Oh... I am mad. I am hopping mad, in fact. And I want to kick some little alternate personality behind. Or better yet, who can I call to kick some alternate personality behind for me?

As I pace around the living room trying to rationalize my animal instinct to protect my child, a blur of the nativity scene flashes in my red eyes. And I am so far ahead of myself that I'm in mid-sentence before my brain processes the visual it has just received.

Mary.

Then, for a brief instant, I think I will have a glass of wine. I breathe. I breathe loudly. The dog looks up from his resting place by the window. I huff and I puff.

I go to the kitchen to fix a glass of something and think of Mary. And I think it is a damn wonderful thing that, painful though it is to watch our children deal with hurts, we don't have to watch our children be nailed to a tree.

My breath starts to sound normal and then, for some unexplainable pinball machine reason, my brain skips over to that kid who won the national essay competition a few years back.

The question was: What is wrong with the world today? And the kid wrote: I am.

I read somewhere that we're all Swiss cheese... we all have holes. Currently, my kid is the punching bag for someone else's kid who doesn't know what to do with his holes.

That's sad.

And it is not acceptable.

But it happens.

None of us is perfect. Not one of us is mistake free.

That is what I will tell Techno-Boy.

Because it is exactly why we even need a savior.

This is my Christmas Observation.

The Truest Twenty Minutes, Two Christmas Observations

2005-12-18T23:01:00.000-05:00

There have been a lot of endings this month. Y'all know how little I like that.

One of the things that has ended is my three-year term as a Deacon at church. Now, lest you get all impressed, let me assure you that the Deacons really don't have any power at our church. They are not the decision makers. Basically, we serve on a bunch of committees, move the flowers from sanctuary to sanctuary, pass out flyers, and collect the money. Basically.

I volunteered to give the devotional at our last meeting. And then the trees fell on the house and the Public Works man came out and declared our creek "a mess" and quite frankly,the only devoting I was able to concentrate on was the devoting of my time to the insurance company.

So I begged off.

I'm not sure that I didn't beg off out of fear. Out of worry that I might get teary. After all, it is the end.

So last night I was toying with the idea of what I would have wanted to say, had I not had good excuse to back off of saying it.

I think this would have been it:

"Three years ago, as I was putting my children into their pajamas, I got a phone call. It was from an old friend Â a woman I had known as a youth, since my Senior High days, and one I had known as an adult, through several years of Bible Study. She asked me if I would prayerfully consider accepting a nomination to be a Deacon at our church.

I was stunned, to say the least.

I had always considered the Deacons to be those tall and distinguished individuals who ran around like SantaÂs elves, to use a seasonal analogy, and got everything done through powerful persuasion, spiritual integrity and mature righteousness. These were people who had far better church clothes than I did. What in the world did they want from me?

Three years ago, I was still a person who really liked to please people so I said (rather meekly): 'Okay. How much time do I have to Âprayerfully considerÂ this?'

'Twenty minutes.' She said.

After some verbal recriminations that I wonÂt repeat, I agreed to spend the next twenty minutes in some level of consideration Â and I hung up the phone. Then, I do what all good Christians do: I panicked.

I walked back into the bedroom where my husband was diapering our two-year Flower and told him of the conversation. I relayed to him that I had exactly eighteen minutes to discern if this was GodÂs will for me. IÂll never forget his response. It was one of those very rare moments that surprise you, when the reason God matched you with your spouse is perfectly clear. He said: sit down. LetÂs pray.

What my friend didnÂt know (and what I had momentarily forgotten) was that I had been in a difficult spot for the past few years. I had grown a business that was consuming my life. I felt little direction from the Lord as I slaved hours at home trying to meet the needs of too many people. I felt overwhelmed with stepping away from the business, even though I knew I needed to; what in the world would be my excuse? How could I justify all the 'free time?' How could I just simply walk away when I had nothing better to walk towards?

After fifteen minutes of prayer, I did feel better. Buwasstill wasnÂt clear.

And then I remembered the prayers I had lifted to God for the previous six months. The prayers that I had prayed without reservation or pride. The prayers in which I had begged that God would show me His way, show me His path, reveal His plan. The prayers that promised I would listen, even if it meant staying in the business I no longer felt called to, even if it meant stepping out in faith, even if it meant doing something I felt uncomfortable doing.

Yes, sometimes IÂm kind of Âdistracted.

Now, at the end of my term, itÂs so easy to see. Not only did God provide a way (and a reason) for me to fly out of a situation that had spiraled beyond my abilities, He provided a place for me to land. The Deacons didn't want me. God did.

During the last three years our little Deacon groups has overcome a lot. We have seen changes in our leadership that we could not have predicted when we began this journey together. We have witnessed friends, even families, at odds with each other. We have been angry, we have been hurt, we have been forgiven and we have served this church - a place that means more to me than very few of them could remember and even fewer will ever know.

Personally, I have felt uplifted by our endurance. I have been blessed to be a part of a growing ministry and, equally, to be forgiven for bad bulletin boards.

I have passed on giving a devotional during our meetings nearly 35 times. It's taken me that long to stop ignoring God's call to write this one.

So I want to say thank you to my fellow deacons. But most of all to our Father.

For NOT giving me more than twenty minutes to think my way out of obedience."

Number 1:) I am always stunned and amazed when I can look back and see that everything I need is freely given, even if I don't know that I need it.

Number 2:) Maybe things have to end so that we can have the persepctive of hindsight.

These are my Christmas Observations.

P.S. Go to the new site: www.justanormalday.com

Wake Up Calls, A Christmas Observation

2005-12-15T14:17:00.000-05:00

You know, I was starting to think that things were going along a little too smoothly.

Last night, I woke up at 2:43AM. I don't do that very frequently. Going to sleep is another issue. I can lay in bed for hours wandering the what ifs of my mind, pinball machine like distractions from decorating the office to remodeling the entire first floor. Usually, though, once I go to sleep, I stay asleep.

There've been a few times I've woken straight up in the middle of the night. Once when Princess (don't you know it) was having a febrile hallucinatins about ladybugs in her room. Thirty seconds after my eyes open, she started screaming.

Once or twice or three times, maybe, I woke up in the night only to brush against my husband or find him unconscious due to insulin shock issues.

Last night, I woke dead up and thought - in my deeply southern, Selma, Alabama way - something just ain't right. Within about a minute there was a popping sound and then silence. The power shut down. I felt uneasy and shook Honey. He got up to check the alarm system and while he was standing across the room from me, I felt the ground shake and a metallic crackling surround the Northwest Corner of my bedroom.

I jumped out of bed and ran across the room and then a terrible rumble died down in a tremendous THUMP. The house shook again. All the kids called my name. The dog ran out of the closet and we stood - just for a milisecond, our brains trying to catch up with our fears.

TWO oak trees are now laying in my backyard. One is perilously perched on an old dogwood but will probably drop across my side yard, the neighbors yard and my fence. The other is sticking inside my basement window which was shattered into a thousand specks of glass.

There is glass inside the tb cabinet. There is glass inside the Barbie Airplane - like INSIDE the plastic so that the plaene rattles when you shake it now. There is glass imbedded in our sofa slip cover, underneath the computer keyboard.

This is the 5th tree that has fallen on our house in 18 months. Why?

Because we live in a neighborhood that has a lovely little creek running through it.

It's so nice. In the spring time, you can hear all the bullfrogs singing from it. Sometimes at dusk or dawn, you can see small famlies of deer wandering down it, peering up at you from their wise old eyes. In the summer, the kids like to cross it - over the trunk of the first tree that fell - and try to catch crawdads.

When it rains, you can white water raft the creek rapids. We could charge people! And that sweet little lovely brook becomes a ten foot wide, five or more feet deep, plummeting downhill river.

And it's taking our trees with it.

One after another.

So this morning, I have talked to three neighbors, our homeinsurance carrier, the contruction crew, the tree removal company, the city manager, the city engineer, the city manager for hydrology and run off, AND my co-worker who phoned this morning to tell me that the computer system at my office is crashing.

Ahhhhhh.

Breaaaaaathhhh.

You know, I gotta go and sweep glass.

And while I'm picking pieces of it out of Barbie's updo, here's what I'm thinking: what if it had been in the middle of the day and my kids had been in their playroom? What if the tree had burst through our roof? What if my deductible was more than $500?

We call them "wake up calls," don't we?

The moment when we realize how terribly worse things could be?

I'm glad we get them.

I just wish they'd stop happening in the middle of the night!

Oh well, back to sweeping.

P.S. A reminder: my new web address is www.justanormalday.com! It's a complete web site and the future site of all postings. This site will become a Just A Normal Day archive. Effective January 1, all blogging will be posted on the new site.

Life Goes On, A Christmas Observation

2005-12-14T09:08:00.000-05:00

Well, it's been a few days...

Honey has resigned his job of six years and will start a new one in January. Techno-Boy has been battling a terrible cold for more than a week. Princess is desperate for patched jeans from Santa. Flower fell out of the car.

We've had a terribly bloody nose, busted chin and split lips. Last night we added vomiting to the mix as Flower has come down with a flu bug. We've incredible amounts of sinus congestion and high levels of stress. We went to the dentist; Honey needs a crown. I still can't move my neck to the left after Falling Down. We have another 10 days of school and my Boss is travelling to Germany to possibly sell his company.

Fourteen holiday cards have arrived in the mail. We've been to four "Open Houses." My mother's husband's mother passed away and my step-father turned 65. My sister's dog died. My brother, Bo's, kids got sick in the middle of dinner. My great niece (Cookie) is expecting her second child and I still have teacher's gifts to buy. I am going broke from Babysitter fees.

Jingle Bells, Silver Bells, Chestnuts are roasting and still, life goes on.

Normal Days come in all shapes and sizes. We bide our time and make it through one after another. Somewhere in between, we pick up coffee, groceries and dry cleaning. We fill our tanks with gas. We make more plans for more normal days. We wait, expectantly, for the events of tomorrow's normal day.

Even at Christmas, life

still

goes on.

P.S. I also launch the NEW Just a Normal Day site... check it out: www.justanormalday.com!

Here to Stay, A Christmas Observation

2005-12-09T07:00:00.000-05:00

Last winter was one of the worst seasons of my life. I actually dropped my basket, so to speak. Walked out of church in the middle of service, got in my car and drove away.

To my humor (and relief, really) I discovered that I had left without a penny. Since I had also lost my Debit card (something I tend to do pretty regularly, by the way), I had little hope of getting any pennies. In addition, my drivers license had expired three weeks earlier on my 39th birthday. I had only a quarter tank of gas.

I sat in the car, tears streaming down my face, and started to crack-up. Where did I think I was going? And how in the world did I think I would get there?

Looking back, I know it was God's way of keeping me close. What I desperately needed was a good, solid nap. Or a long, hot shower. Or a week at a spa in the Bahamas.

I took the nap option, crashing at a friend's empty apartment for six or eight hours. As I am repeatedly telling Princess, things always seem better when we are well-rested.

The next weekend, I went to an Emmaus event for my sparkly friend Diamond. And somehow that night, God's warmth seeped back into my wintery thoughts. He promised me, yet again, that He would always be with me. I remember singing that night like my life depended on it. And feeling the smooth flood of possibility for the first time that whole winter.

Things got better; another normal day came and went.

Six months ago, I finally stepped out and did something I've always wanted to do. I used my kids as the excuse, telling myself that a journal of their lives would be fun to record.

This blog was born.

Two months ago I entered that contest and won. I got to go and observe the published world... something I never would have even had the chance to be freaked out about if this blog hadn't started writing itself.

Last week, one of those writers e-mailed me with words of incredible encouragement and faith. I was so stunned, it took me nearly a week to e-mail her back. And when I did, she returned my note only hours later with even more encouragment and direction and kindness. I was so damn overwhelmed I had to print the thing out on paper so I could hold proof of it in my hands.

(Thelma wants to know if I am expecting her to put me on such a pedestal after my novels are published. I told her yes, I did. For at least fifteen minutes, please.)

This week, I sat in the carpool line at Techno-Boy's school and this woman tapped on my window. I don't know this woman well. We don't have much in common except this: we can get real with each other real fast. I don't remember her husband's name (I doubt she knows my husband's name either) or what grade her girls are in but within thirty seconds of my rolling down the window to say hello, I learned this: she's gone back to school (at 48) because she said she was tired of ignoring God.

Tonight, I met another writer. She sat slap across the table from me at church. I've never really had a conversation with her. She seems nice. Like everyone else who's trying to fit in. And tonight she starts talking about finishing her book that she wrote in six freaking weeks. She was so shy with it. She said we could read it if we didn't tell her how bad it was. Then she smiled and lowered her eyes and said we could tell her how bad it was, she was ready. I thought it was lovely and so I didn't tell her anything about what I do. It's brave when someone comes out like that - you don't want to cloud their moment.

Life can get pretty hairy sometimes. It's easy to get overwhelmed with the normal things like homework and hermit crabs, sleepless or sick children, even marathon bedtime routines, fear, anxiety, worry, slow trains, new jobs.

But sometimes you can get surprised. By things like encouraging words from a stranger; a soft bed that isn't yours; truth spoken in the carpool line; or friends who promise they're in it for the long run.

Usually, we have to stop long enough to listen in order to hear the surprise.

It's so worth the stillness.

You can make it another normal day. And several normal days later you can look back and see that there is a plan. There is a design. There are possibilities. No matter how long the dark winter.

God always keeps His promises. This is one of my favorites: I'll never leave you...

even if you try to run away.

"Doc" the Halls, A Christmas Observation

2005-12-07T16:14:00.000-05:00

Christmas decorations

don't have to be

red

or

green...

This is today's Christmas Observation!

Divine Rights, A Christmas Observation

2005-12-04T16:06:00.000-05:00

So there I am: dressed in one of my finest, hair sprayed... I've even got jewelry on. And I'm running late. Surprised? I've got exactly twenty-seven minutes to get out of the house, down to Atlanta Bread, eat and get to my tour of duty. You see, several weeks ago, while under the influence of ocean waves, a single cosmopolitan and lots of uninterrupted quiet time, I agreed to help Thelma with the Christmas Tour of Homes. (It's quite the thing, in my small town, dahling.)
As I start down the stairs, I hear Flower crying in her bedroom.

Prostrate on the floor, she is crying quietly.

What is it? I ask sitting criss-cross applesauce beside her.

She lifts one leg in the air.

She's wearing her footie pajamas - her favorites. Sharon bought these for her a few years ago and she wears them all the time. She wants to wear them in August, as well. She eagerly anticipates winter, not so much for Christmas but so that she can wear her footie pajamas! And now, she has outgrown them. Four toes are sticking out the end. And it's just a little more than Flower can take this morning.

Really, I'm kinda sad about it too.

I check my watch.

I'll get you some more jamas today, I say, picking her up in my lap. But I have to go now, if I'm going to have time to do it. (Actually, I needed to leave thirty minutes ago if I'm making a stop at Target but ... I am superMom, in this moment, and I am "faster than a speeding bullet"... okay, sort of.)

Dashing into Target for some sleeper pajamas and a gift ornament I gotta take to next week's Open House, I've got nine minutes to spare. Don't you know it, Target is packed...

with kids...

and...

wait a minute, I know that person in line...

and that one...

and that one...

Suddenly it dawns on me that all the check out lanes are lined with kids I've never met and adults I've known for years.

Immediately, I think is thank you God, I am dressed. (Because it's not unlike me to dash into Target in my ripped up Levi's, Georgia sweatshirt and a ball cap.) The next thought I have is what are these people doing? And was that my church bus I saw parked in the lot?

I locate a familiar face - one I've known for a hundred years - or at least since my babes were small enough to be in the church nursery which seems like a hundred years but was more like last week. It's Divine... as in the Divine Ms. M.

Divine is a small woman with bigness all about her. She runs the nursery, she runs the whole darn wing of nursery, in fact and it's big. In addition, she runs the after school program for a big whole lot of underprivileged kids (that would be these in the Target at the moment) and her smile is big enough to light the lives of all the children she blesses. She has big hugs for every little person she sees. She has big concerns for their lives, hopes and dreams.

What in the world? I ask.

Divine smiles as she packs more shopping bags in around the little girl in her cart. It's Christmas! she says.

Turns out she makes it happen so that these kids - all of them - get $100 from this after school program. And then, matched with an adult volunteer, she takes these kids Christmas shopping. They can buy whatever they want with their $100. So I'm thinking: wow. Wouldn't Tech love that? $100 to spend on video games. And Princess? $100 to spend on clothes. And Flower? $100 to buy one of every stuffed animal.

Then I notice the boxes in Divine's cart. Yeah, there's one or two toys but there's also clothes for her little ward's Momma and something in another kids' cart for his big brother. One boy bought a jewelry box with a rose on it for his grandmother and another picked out a picture frame for his sister.

These kids probably have nothing like your kids and my kids have. They probably could use new coats, new mittens, socks and tennis shoes more than toys.

But Christmas, I realize as I rush out to make my Historical Tour Guide commitment, for these kids is about freedom. A freedom that time and money shared gives them only once a year. Freedom from what is needed; freedom to give what is desired.

Later in the day I had a moment to think about my Target dash. And you know what, it wasn't the kids' faces I remembered.

It was the adults.

Divine especially... and her crew of 30+ volunteers. All of whom set aside their morning, to help a kid - one who probably had no sense of money management or dollar value, one who may not have even known what they wanted to buy, so overwhelmed they would have been with the choices. For these adults, standing in line after I don't know how many hours of shopping, getting sitters for their own children, or giving some of their own precious shopping time to a child they might never have met before, Christmas was about doing the right thing. The selfless thing, the simple thing.

It was a divinely right moment, I think. And one that I happened to stumble across because Flower has holes in the feet of her footie pajamas.

Christmas Observation: If I hadn't been right there in that moment, I would have missed the joy of all 60+ of their precious faces.

Falling Down, A Christmas Observation

2005-12-02T10:06:00.000-05:00

Last night Honey and I got a sitter and went out. We picked up a couple of salads at one of the small neighborhood delis and went to the Forum and Information Meeting about the future of the girls' school. (That's what you do with date nights when you get older... go to meetings.)

In a hurry to make the meeting because we were running late, the heel of my boot gets caught on the curb and I fall down. And I mean no hands to brace the fall, shoved in as they were to my purse at that moment. My right shoulder takes the brunt of a whole lot of weight and my right temple slams into the concrete and bounces off...twice.

Now here's the thing.

I fall down... all the time.

Once, when Tech was about 6 months old, I slipped on the steps from our Hilton Head apartment. Yeah, that's right... every new mom - first time mom - only 6 months into this gig - nightmare. Tech is cradled in my arms as I go down on my knees and my hip.

Then there was the time I fell down a flight of stairs, knocking 4 year old Techno Boy out of the way as I tumbled to the concrete clinging to Princess' car seat. She was, praise God, strapped in.

The time when I lost my best friend and fell down was the worst, I think. No physical damage there... just soul and heart and spirit damage. Loss that I thought would never go away. And still, nearly four years later, causing such pain. No, not so often, but definitely deeply. That was a hard fall.

Every month I fall down. Honey has it scheduled in his blackberry and he knows it's coming. Those times I fall down in anger and resentment. At what, I am still not sure. Me and God, we're working on that. But nevertheless, I know this: it is a fall down from who I want to be.

And this is the other thing:

Every time I fall down, Honey is there to help me.

And I'm always able to get back up.

This is my Christmas Observation:

thank you, Jesus.

Sincerely Wrong, A Christmas Observation

2005-12-01T10:43:00.000-05:00

I know it's not politically correct anymore to say "you're wrong." But I wonder, is it okay to say "I'm wrong"? Cuz I was. And if there's one thing I learned the hard way a few years ago, from an old and lost friend, was the importance of being able to say those two little words as soon as I realize I need to say them.

People have asked me before what it's like to write. And I love being able to answer that with one word: surprising! Sometimes I am so surprised by what I write, that it affects me in the same way it affects someone who reads it. That's what Huddle Up has been for me.

I wrote that blog with the intent of trying to verbalize exactly what it is that makes the Holidays hard for me. I really wanted to be able to understand it. I wanted to be able to express it with the right words. I mean everyone I know already knows that I don't like this time of year - that wasn't it. I felt like I really needed to say why. So I wrote that blog in about thirty seconds. It just poured out like hot steaming soup. And the thing is - on it's way to the bowl, some of that soup splashed around on my bare fingers and burned me.

I was surprised.

And I wasn't entirely sure that I liked how that felt.

Then I had an "a-ha" moment.

Here it is: I could like the holidays. I don't have to hate them. I could change my mind. I could choose to have a different attitude. I could let it go.

I let that idea percolate a bit and then my cell phone rang.

I picked it up and heard Princess' tiny voice on the other end. (Have you ever talked to your kids on the phone? It's amazing how, away from your site, precious they sound on the phone. It really pulls at the heart strings. There's a new Mom Tip for ya... when you think you might lose it with the kids, go outside, pick up your cell and dial the house. Spend a few minutes talking to your children on the telephone and see if it doesn't change your perspective.)

Okay, anyway, there's Princess on the other end of the phone telling me - quite calmly I might add - that she left her lunch at home. In about .0005 seconds, I am so proud of her. She is quiet. She is composed. She is trying hard not to cry. This is really good for Princess. Because leaving her lunch at home and being forced to eat something other than 99% fat-free Turkey Chili for lunch is not part of her daily plan, I can guarantee you that. And we all know how invested Princess is in the daily plan.

Nevertheless, it's 9:10 and I am two miles from the office but twenty miles from home.

I'll do my best, I tell her, but if you have no other lunch by 11:30 you will have to eat the school lunch. What is it?

She asks the front desk ladies what's for lunch. I wait anxiously in prayer that it's not pizza day (Princess is allergic to milk).

I hear a sniffle. Mommy? It's chicken on the bone.

E Gads!

I am on that lunch like white on rice, let me tell you.

I scan the brain for solutions... and call Thelma.

Welcome Home, I say. I need your help.

It occurs to me, while I am relaying the sad, lunch saga to her, that there are probably several people I could have called in this crisis. Even after I had narrowed down to the ones that don't work, are close to home, wouldn't hang up on me.

Suddenly, I am in the huddle and I am calling for a punt play that involves someone else taking time out of their day to save my child from chicken on the bone.

Exactly the thing I had lamented in my Huddle Up post. Exactly the thing I said never happens during the holidays.

I LOVE this about God. I LOVE to get just a real loud spiritual knock upside the head. It's obvious, you know? You don't doubt it. In this case, what I heard loud and clear was this: You (that'd be me), my precious child, are sincerely wrong.

I pulled into work and thought: maybe, if I try real hard to just think about the positives, if I try to see something good every day from now until Christmas, I could have a whole new Advent. I could be truly thankful for this season. What a gift that would be ... to me and from me. Wow.

All of this to say: I am starting a Blog Series this month. It's called Christmas Observations and I am going to try to write about a new Christmas Observation with every post from now til the 25th.

It'll be an exercise in being sincerely... something, hopefully, other than wrong.

Thanks and Giving

2005-12-01T10:40:00.000-05:00

Thanks for giving me a chance to hear more about you!!!! I LOVE knowing what you are thankful for. Every day I go to see if anyone else has added their list and you know what? It's been a blessing (even just the six who have commented) to me...

Huddle Up

2005-11-27T20:04:00.000-05:00

Before I say word one about Christmas, I have to say three more things that I am thankful for:

36) Chemotherapy
37) Babies being baptized

and number 38) having a bunch of kids in my backyard jumping on the trampoline (with no serious injury) and overhearing one of Tech's friends say: Man, your Mom makes great brownies.

Now, I suppose it's time I address these Holidays.

Most people who know me at all know that I don't much care for the Holidays. And most people who don't know me very well will probably assume that it's because of the commercialism.

They'd be wrong.

Sure, the commercialism is a drag. But it's not really the issue... for me anyway. The truth is, Christmas comes the same time every year, people. They don't change it around. There's not much you can count on in this life - except some of the little normal day things, I guess and this: Christmas will come on December 25. You can plan ahead. You can avoid the commercialism. You can shop in May. There are lots of little things we can all do to not get sucked in by the "No Financing Until 2020."

For me, the difficulty is this:

All the things I work so hard to accomplish throughout the year seem to get pushed aside at Christmas.

For example, I really want to get better at being kind to my belly. It looks as though we're going to be together for a while. I might as well make an effort to befriend it, instead of berate it. But at Christmas, it just seems to get bigger. And how can I befriend it, when it has the possibility of being larger than my chest and that was not really the plan?

For another example, I really want to learn how to say No, right? Y'all have heard me say it before. But let me tell you, if you have a hard time saying No every other day of the year, you better not start in December. Every time you turn around there's another thing to say Yes to. Talk about your cold turkey failure.

I am also working hard at learning to breathe and slow down. Guess what? If I slow down this month, I could get run over. And probably by some normally wonderful person who has lost temporary control of their "self" and cannot be held responsible for nailing you while you stood unknowingly between she and the very last Holiday Barbie. How can I blame her?

Here's another one: I want to stop doing things out of obligation, confusion, boredom and/or guilt. I want to learn to discern where I am being called and to act accordingly. Try explaining that to Aunt Lucille when she calls to invite you to dinner with twenty-seven relatives you only see once a year and who's names you can't remember.

The tricky part is this: there's no preparation. It just comes on you. There's no moment when we (Christmas celebrating people) all huddle up, put our arms around each other and say: Okay, here we go. Let's sing it out loud, let's try to keep it simple, if you get into trouble, call me; I'll flank you around on the outside and drop the casserole/cookie swap cookies/ babysitter gift/ extra tape/ right in your zone. Ready? Break!

It's just every freaking man for himself!

And that is so NOT Christmas.

The truth is God spent quite some time preparing Himself to join us on this planet. He didn't just decide one afternoon to chuck the whole thing and give us another way out. It was planned. Far, far, far in advance. And He waited until just the right moment... until just the second that Man (that's you and me) could actually have a shot at "getting it."

What do we do to prepare for the Birth?

We shop. We socialize. We exchange cookies. We shop some more. We say Yes to all the good things we (probably) should say Yes to. We volunteer. We might sing a little ... but only til we've heard O Come, O Come Emmanuel too much and then we stop singing even just a little. We meet and greet. We bake, we do pot-luck, we have teas and coffees and "Open Houses."

I wonder, sometimes, what might happen if Christmas was about Less rather than More.

What if we cancelled all our evening meetings for the month of December. What if we had no parties, no socials, no cookie swaps, no performances, no playgroups, no concerts, no athletic banquets? What if we saved all our singing until the week before and then sang loudly and with passion? What if we all agreed to give three gifts to our immediate loved ones? Only? (No cheating!) What if we planted a tree instead of bought one? What if we collected toys, clothes, gifts every month and then just delivered them in December? What if we spoke gently - instead of hurriedly - with each other?

What if we actually got still? In a Holiday Huddle sort of way. What if we stopped?

Can you imagine?

That would be Christmas, the way (I'm guessing) that Jesus would imagine.

In January, we can all get back to our Normal Days.

Giving Thanks

2005-11-25T09:17:00.000-05:00

for

1) Canned sweet potatoes
2) Honey cooking breakfast for the kids every morning
3) Grace
4) Friends who have taught me the value of forgiveness
5) Smokey fireplaces
6) Loud, country music
7) The smell of a clorox clean bathroom
8) The power of prayer
9) My thick, large, old cell phone
10) School Plays
11) Being alone in my own house
12) Honey's travel perks
13) Tech's sense of humor
14) Good dreams
15) Princess' smile
16) Cheap(er) gasoline
17) The smell of fresh paint
18) Fit free days
19) Stretch jeans
20) Top-Notch Turkey Dressing
21) Blue skies
22) Golden leaves on oak trees
23) The first bud of spring
24) Movies at the theater with popcorn
25) 1/2 caf, grande, sugar free vanilla, non fat lattes
26) On-Line shopping
27) Hot showers
28) The Apostle Paul
29) A rousing debate ... or just a good old fight
30) Epidurals
31) The freckle in Flower's eye and her jamaiican accent
32) A good cry
33) A beach condo
34) My Jacklyn Smith haircut
35) This on-line journal and everyone who reads it

Use the Comments section below to add a few things for which YOU are thankful.

Scarlett O'Screama

2005-11-22T10:12:00.000-05:00

I think I am going to change Princess' codename. I mean, not really, but if I could have had taken the time to think it all out beforehand, I would have named her Scarlett.

I remember one time when Techno Boy was little - like two? - and I needed to go back to work for a little while. We found this wonderful sitter - someone who had all the right answers. She lived in a little townhouse close to the city and had a daughter the same age. We spent several hours together getting to know each other. I remember she even smelled like soap, which is a smell I really like.

Anyway, turned out she was psycho. The soap smell was a cover-up.

I remember sitting in her kitchen where she had asked me to discuss Techno-Boy's disobedient behavior. She began a tight-lipped and strained tale of how my son wanted to wash his hands too much, how he wanted to use the play plates for lunch and how he liked to run down the hallway.

I asked her if he was physically out of control. She said no. I asked her if he was disrespectful with his words. She said no. I asked her if there was some reason that he should not be allowed to wash his hands? She said no - except that she didn't want him to. I asked her if she had any ideas about why he should act so unacceptably. And then (I'll never forget this) she said: the reasons for his behavior are not significant. The point is you have to break a child's will in order to make them compliant.

I reached down to my purse and pulled out my checkbook. I wrote that woman a check for childcare. I stood up, gathered Tech's diaper bag, picked my child up in my arms and walked to the door.

It was nice to meet you, I said politely. I wish you luck in your business. We will not be back tomorrow.

And I walked out that door.

Now. I think kids do need shaping. They do need guidelines. They need to understand that certain behavior (such as five star fit pitching in the parking lot of the chinese restaurant) is not acceptable and will gain them no favor. But I do not believe that wills are to be broken. They are to be shaped, bent, defined and used for the power of good.

Or atleast that's what I have thought until this point.

The wonerful thing about Tech is that he was bendable.

I am not so sure about Scarlett.

The good news here is that I have no doubt she will never be convinced to do anything she does not want to do. I can very clearly see her telling her girlfriends that there is no way she's going to go blah, blah, blah and they'll never be able to convince her otherwise. This, I see, as a good thing.

But jeez, I just want to eat chinese food.

No big deal.

We can have mexican tomorrow.

It is, after all, another day.

Tell Me A Story

2005-11-17T08:27:00.000-05:00

This idea has been brewing in my head for several weeks now and is perking right out to be a nice smooth blend.

Ready?

Guest blogging.

I know it's not new. People do it out there ALL the time. But I thought I'd give it a try.

So here's the deal: send me an email about your normal day experience. You can either write the whole darn thing yourself or you can ask me to write it out for you. Either way, we'll post your story on this blog! I'll set you up a CODE name (if you don't already have one!) and I have final say on what get's published (you didn't think I was going to let go of complete control, did you?) but we'll do it together.

We ALL have stories to tell.

And I want to hear yours.

Santa Momma

2005-11-16T08:49:00.000-05:00

Last night, I came downstairs after putting the kids to bed. Honey was at a church meeting. It was quiet and dark in my kitchen. Except for the oven light. We leave the oven light on 24 hours a day. Something about having the oven light on feels more homey... even in the middle of the afternoon.

So my eye wanders around the counters scattered with homework folders, notebooks, to do lists on scratches of paper, deposit slips, lunch box remnants and this: a single piece of paper laying atop the black stove under the homey oven light. It's a letter. I start to read:

Dear Santa,

As you’ve probably seen through your crystal ball; I’ve been very good all year round. Even though I deserve more, I only want 5 things…

1. An ipod
2. one of those fake light sabers on the computer
3. Star Wars Battlefront 2(video game)
4. a psp
5. laptop computer

In conclusion, if I got all five of these things, it would probably be the best Christmas of my life. But if I only got 3 of those things [preferably 1, 2, and 3] that would be great to. I know that you are tempted to give me a truck load of things but please Santa, only a few things.

Your favorite child
Techno-Boy

P.S. These things are in order of likeness. Call me, we’ll do brunch. :)

Here's the thing: He KNOWS. I had to confirm the terrible truth exposed to my innocent second grader on the bus years ago. Some kid named Scotty burst his Christmas bubble between Glenridge and Sarsen Streets.

So his letter is to me.

The charm of it almost makes me want to buy him every one of those high end tenchnical gadgets on his list.

Almost.

Forget Me Not

2005-11-10T16:38:00.000-05:00

Here's how our bedtime routine goes:

7:55 PM Me: Girls! 5 more minutes.
8:00 PM Me: Girls! Upstairs. Time to brush teeth.
8:01 PM Flower: Can I have some water?
8:01:05 PM Princess: I need my Zyrtec!
8:01:10 PM: Flower: Can I have ice in my water?
8:01:11 PM: Princess (while dancing around the kitchen): Me too!
8:02 PM: Honey: Is Lost on tonight?
8:02:15 PM: Tech: Can I watch Lost with you guys tonight?
8:02:20 PM: Princess: How come I never get to watch Lost?
8:02:21 PM: Tech: Cuz you're too little?
8:02:22 PM: Princess: (puts hands on hips and bows up) Am not!
8:03:00 PM: Tech: (considers the challenge and dismisses it) Whatever.
8:03:01 PM: Honey: (from the living room) Did you set the DVR to record?
8:03:02 PM: Tech: I can do it!
8:03:03 PM: Flower: How come I'm always the littlest?
8:03:04 PM: Princess: Cuz you were born after me.
8:04 PM: Me: Who's getting the water?

Can you guess why it is that our children don't actually get into the bed until 8:55?

"There's entirely too much talking in this house!"

That's what I shouted from the top of the stairs last night at 8:45PM.

That and then this: "Unless you are brushing your teeth, please shut your mouth!"

8:45:01: Tech: Mom? Did you say shut-up?
8:45:02: Me: No. I did not say shut-up?
8:45:03: Tech: I think Steve's gone.
8:45:04: Me: Honey! Please come help Tech find the hermit crab.
8:46: Flower (with toothpaste running down her chin): I'll help find Steve!
8:46:01: Princess: Steve's OUT!? What if he pinches me in the night?!!
8:46: 02: Me: Steve is not out. He's just hiding.

All of this for the singular goal of getting kids into the bed. Not jumping on it. Not somersaulting to it. Not under it looking for babydoll pj's. But actually in it... really at any point, now, before 10 o'clock would be nice.

I try to breathe and tell myself: this is the normal routine. This is part of the ceremony. This is what they'll remember when they grow up.

(I can imagine them sitting around the dining room table over thanksgiving reminiscing about what kind of olympic talent they had in stretching bedtime to nearly one whole freaking hour! Didn't we just make Mom crazy with the bedtime thing? Laughter will bubble from their throats and I'll deny that I ever lost my cool.)

Finally, they are under the covers. I check the clock in the girls room: 8:55. Right on time.

We say our prayers. Flower prays for the victims of the hurricanes, Princess prays for her friends at school, Tech prays for a girlfriend.

Honey runs downstairs to turn on Lost while I finish the tucking.

I lean down to kiss Flower goodnight... one more time... she's a cheek kisser. She doesn't like that kissing on the lips thing. Princess is my lip kisser. She'll plant a smacker right there on your lips if you get anywhere close to her with them. But Flower likes the cheek.

I turn my cheek to her. Exhausted. Worn out by a long day and the fifty-five minute routine.

Flower dabs her tiny lips to my enormous cheek, stretches her smooth arms around my neck

and whispers: "I'll never forget you, Mommy. Ever."

I love bedtime.