When the Holy Spirit Speaks

It's been awhile since I posted a random stream of consciousness. I think it's gotten a lot easier for me to hear the Holy Spirit speak to me and examine my own heart. So easy in fact that I argue with Him and then read scriptures that put me back in my place. But last night the Sprit wanted to talk to someone else and I could feel Him pressing me in. So I prayed and said what the hey, we are going to win the lottery and pay for all of our kids lifelong therapy anyway and I stood with my back to the ocean of wise counsel and fell in with total surrender because I am so so bad at advice that my faith that God can do a better job comes easy. I feel a digression coming on. Do not ask me to give a verse to back it up but God has not convicted me for swearing. I know that is probably a big indicator of what an itty bitty baby spoonfed Christian I am but He really hasn't. He has asked me to stop drinking. So I did. Well, He basically forced me. He gave me some kind of extreme alcohol sensitivity or allergy and then he told Jody to say he'd stop drinking if I stopped so then I just moped around whining to myself because let's be honest I have nobody to complain to. My friends just want to find a workaround "maybe you just need vodka" and "we just need to find the one thing you CAN drink" and "you just can't mix liquors" are real things my awesome friends have said. Elizabeth is actually synonymous with the word tipsy (for anyone who didn't know), meaning if I have a teaspoon of wine I'm tipsy and ridiculous and they laugh so hard and I love making them laugh and then I go home and retch and retch or else just tremble... anyway it gets ugly and I'm so sorry everyone, I love to make you laugh but we will just have to try bringing joke books to the pub. So anyway, thanks God. That rocked. You used Long Island two-fers to give us our darling first born, and now it's all over. I open LaCroix and inhale the aroma like a wine connoisseur and then sip and burp sip and burp. Be ready for lots of my heavy hitting philosophies like "wow, bubblegum is just like liquor, the anticipation is so much more fun than the experience." But God DOES still let me use bad language Which I love and use as unapologetically as a seventh grader. I do feel the clock ticking on my exteraneous vocabulary though and... it sucks. I know... sucks is a really bad word until something sucks then it's just necessary. So, anyway...I feel like I need to get back to my Holy Spirit moment. I was going to type that as HS but I figured most people would be like "what high school moment?". After my long prayer which might have involved some f bombs and grouchy shit storm metaphors I went to talk to this young person who I might know very well. And I asked some pretty good questions which I would never have thought of myself which just opened her heart up and she shared how judged she feels by Christian people sometimes. And God talked to her like she was a grown-up. He said "look honey, I know it's really easy to let culture tell you that Judgy Christians are worse than kids who just claim to be bad to the bone because at least the bad kids are honest about it but that's not truth. All of those people are the same to him. And you will need great wisdom to tell whether you're being judged or are being hypersensitive and just attributing a context to someone's words that they never intended. But I'll tell you this, I get the feeling I'm being judged sometimes. The hair stands up on my neck and I have to force myself not to overreact. My parenting style, my time management, my spiritual shallowness, my ill timed story that may or may not have required me to say "fuck" six times at Bible Study. (And she laughed.) As soon as she decided I was being real stories poured out about kids criticizing her tank top or her use of the word crap, things that would roll right off of a grown up but make a kiddo feel angrier and more rebellious. Which is just a crappy way to feel and I told her so. But then I told her some special truth straight from her loving father and I saw her soften. I told her that her path to a close friendship with Jesus will look different than other peoples but to trust the process. That she might wander off and get hurt then come back and then wander again until she learns how much better it is to be close to Him; but that is her journey and her choice and her friends need to let that be. I told her if I ditched my friends when they got judgy or they ditched me when I did there wouldn't be a church and nobody would have surrounded Brandon Reis' family with comfort and cookies and nobody would ask me how I'm doing on my Bible Study and nobody would encourage me with love and truth when marriage is hard or hug me when parenting is hard. And I told her what my life was like with three tiny children and a husband in the hospital for cancer surgery with no family and no church. It was bleak. And I saw the memories flood back because she remembers. And I told her that in that dark moment two Christians I barely knew reached out and babysat for me and made muffins for me and that is what the church is for. I told her I remembered being fourteen and not wanting to go all in for Jesus because I might miss some fun but what I didn't know was walking with Jesus and being close to Him is never really a done deal. It only happens when you reach out to Him and once you've had it, you feel very vulnerable when you wander too far because he becomes irreplaceably familiar and safe. My closing statement was simply that I love being loved by my church family. I love feeling imperfectly valuable to Sarah White. And that I'm going to be there for those people if they get cancer or lose a family member or feel lonely. And that though I'll never be so foolish as to believe I can force my kids to walk with Jesus I know beyond a doubt they will miss out on something far bigger and more valuable than ordinary friendships if they let Satan derail them from seeing the real truth. And then we both felt so much better. That's what the Holy Spirit does when He parents for me. He makes me feel better too. I did have to take a minute afterwards because it hurts every time I have to remind myself that I can't walk my kids straight to the throne room and keep them safe from bad choices or consequences. 

Bedazzle

Once upon a time Bart casually offered me a bag full of glittering jewels best known as bedazzle gems. I nonchalantly accepted and brought them home with no purpose. I briefly considered the fact that I was committing a cardinal sin according to "The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up." I can't really even remember where I put them for quite awhile. They first resurfaced on Hazels coloring/tea table. Spilling from the taut little sandwich bag and living a meaningless glueless existence for some time there. Then one day without warning their adventures began. Kait had a sleepover with two darling little crazy 6th graders. They were inspired by the glittering gems, perhaps even hypnotized. It's all speculation. Isn't everything we think we know about kids speculation? The little bag made its way to my living room where it was used in a confetti war with great glee. Unfortunately the aftermath was greeted not by the laid back Elizabeth but by the formidable Jody who announced that Kait must return every last gem into the bag or die. Yes, of course I exaggerate. As I came upon the scene of Kait with a giant broom, dustpan and tiny sandwich bag she exploded into tears and threw the broom and dustpan to the ground, sensibly clinging to the depleted bag. I mercifully helped Kait who was delirious with exhaustion and  insensibly ranting about her unfaithful friends hiding in her bedroom from the wrath of Jody instead of helping recapture the sparkling sea. I didn't think about throwing the gems away nor did I think of a purpose for them, I simply allowed Kait to toss them back on the art table for no particular purpose though I did feel a wave of ambivalence. About three days later I found an atrocious concoction in Hazels tea pot in her room. It appeared to be soapy water with yogurt floating on top in a clump (that's what it LOOKED like... we will never actually know.) and . I carried the nasty slog to the sink shrieking at Hazel about the insufferable water messes in the bedroom. I dumped the teapot into the sink with every expectation of finding water and gunk but without the slightest anticipation of finding a bedazzling array of jewels swirling down the drain at an unstoppable speed.

You may wonder what more there could be for me to say. Well, about a week later I was organizing the office and found something on top of the cabinet that gave me pause.

I texted this picture to Bart saying "look what I found, I really should throw them away shouldn't I?" Well I didn't. And a scant ten minutes later I heard the now very familiar sound of all of the gems spilling from the bag. Then muffled giggles. Then the words "tell her it was an accident." 

I did my best to make this yielding to temptation regrettable by forcing them to clean it up. And it took a whole hour. And I would use my lecture voice and say "pouring these jewels everywhere sure was a bad choice wasn't it?" And they would mutter "bad choice, very bad choice." 

To any practical adult my choice was now clear, I must throw these doomed gems away forever but I just couldn't throw them away after all that work. I sheepishly tucked them in the back of a drawer. 

I'm sure you can imagine life for the next few weeks. When I swept I found bedazzle gems. When I looked up there would be Parker playing with bedazzle gems. When I walked across the room my foot would find a bedazzle gem. You would think I'd get mad but it just made me laugh. Then the other day what should appear before my eyes?

The Evolution of Marriage and A Kitten

We happily agreed to never have cats for 14 years, now we have a kitten. 

Admittedly she is a trial basis kitten but still... She's here and it's shocking. 

I think about how Jody and I got married almost flippantly, expecting our ground rules to never change because people hammer this thing into your head that people don't change. That's not actually true. Everyone changes. It seems like over time, the monotony and predictability became stale and unsatisfying to both of us. Jody got more hobbies. I got more friends. We still love each other like crazy but we are neither one the people we married and I say roll with it. Just live.

Saturday morning Jody strolled around the kitchen cradling the kitten like a baby and crooning like a star crossed lover to her...it's shocking. I stop and stare every time he tells me a funny kitten story. I keep waiting for the other shoe to fall but this tiny kitten is rapidly crumbling our reservations into a puddle. As Hazel carries her purring limp body around like a sack of potatoes I think to myself... How have we never had a cat? 

As Eden does homework with a kitten sprawled in her lap obviously relaxing every bit of stress from her... I think Eden has needed her for years.

As Kait parades her friends through the house to show them her kitten and begs us to keep her, I sit in wonderment at her first interest in an animal in her entire  11 years. 

And as Nick bounces into the car after a long day of school announcing that he has become a writing machine cranking out a half of a page and using vocabulary words to boot about this nameless cat I feel secure in the blessing we opened our hands to. 

Hazel Sweet Basil goes to preschool

I remember trudging down the path behind my house five years ago, a giant baby belly dragging me down into the crusher fine and stabbing my feet like little knives. Everything was hard and felt painful and unfair. Many more mature people in this world, accept their responsibilities with grace and practicality. Not really so much in this heart. I have always kicked up a fuss about unplanned and difficult events. I considered a fourth baby just such in the abstract stage of parenting that we call pregnancy. I remember my mom's quiet and complete understanding, my sister's staunch gung-ho practical support, my friend God-Sib's mildly jealous confidence in the beautiful future before me, my friend Bart's mild dismay and laughing dismissal of my complaints, my friend D's startled yet grounding replies to all of my groanings. They all knew how lucky I really was. And so when this one was born, God poured gushes of love into my heart that spilled over onto her downy head like liquid gold and our hearts were sealed.
So, naturally today I needed my support again, and they knew. It's all about me I guess. As I laid cuddling my sweet girl last night, I tried to keep it light asking her how excited she was for her first day of school. She knew. She smoothed my cheek and said, "but you will have such a fun morning and I'll be home really soon." I said "actually yes I will, I get to have breakfast with some friends." She smiled and asked me where and when I said Huckleberry her reply melted me again "Aw, I love The Huckleberry!" That's my friend. My little chum. My faithful companion and best self esteem booster anyone has ever met. This morning Jody suggested that I was dressing up for breakfast with my friends. Ah. My friends who have seen me birth a child and covered in spit up with my hair sticking out on end and often without deodorant or my teeth brushed.... those friends. Nah, honey you dress up for the one who thinks you are beautiful. The little sparkling child who has told you how beautiful you are since she learned how to talk. The one who is swept away by your beauty every time you wear earrings or eyeliner. Who true to form, glanced up from her cheerios and gazed into my eyes this morning and said "you're so beautiful Mom."

I gave her a bath, fluffed her golden crown of hair with self made bangs and helped her into her favorite outfit and new sprinkle toe shoes. She looked in the mirror and said "I want a flower in my hair...". 

I
And as she nervously scooted into her class next to her best friend Mya, they clasped hands and walked to their new world. 

Harry Potter and my blessed child

After I wrote this blog, I wondered if it was newsworthy and sent the text to our local newspaper. A reporter loved it and called to interview Kait about her magical night. Unfortunately our hero was never found. Here is the article:
Random Act of Kindness News Story

I'm not sure if I even have a point to half of my parenting choices but sometimes the kids have interesting outcomes.

Kait begged me to pre-order her a "Harry Potter And the Cursed Child" book at various bookstores over the last few weeks but I steadfastly refused. I had two retrospectively foolish reasons. One, pre-ordering steals the excitement and anxiety of whether you will get one. Two, books don't sell out. This is the digital age, half of us have kindles and most buy books second hand or go to the library. Case in point, Kait has an entire set of hardback Potter books I bought at a thrift store for $1 each.
Kait became hooked on the idea of going to a midnight release party and researched all of the local bookstores for the very best, very most exciting party. After hearing B&N anticipated hundreds of people, she settled on 2nd & Charles.
Let me pause to say that nobody in my family has ever participated in a midnight release of anything. So we picked up her bestie with Kait in full regalia. Her enthusiasm was boundless. When we walked in I knew we were golden. Maybe 50 people milled around playing trivia and drinking butter beer. I figured they had hundreds of extra books. Kait won their costume contest handily with her saucy complex replies to every question she was asked about Potter and won a poster.

Finally, 12:00 neared and we stood in line doing the countdown to midnight like a bunch of loons. As we approached the counter I saw about half of the people being turned away. Dread. It turned out they were only giving people pre-ordered books. I got annoyed and asked the woman why nobody had told me that in the last three hours. She looked guiltily around and said "we only found out 2 minutes ago." We walked out and little Kait held back tears. I called B&N and they told me I had about 20 minutes. I decided to make a night of it, then I made a wrong turn. Ugh! Exactly 20 minutes later, by hook or crook we arrived at Barnes & Noble. The doors were locked. Our shoulders drooped. I felt so guilty for refusing to pre-order. A group of young millenials were standing around laughing and holding their bags with their Potter books and one girl yelled out for us to bang on the doors. We tried to no avail, so then she suggested we move closer to the registers and bang there, so we did. Finally, a manager unlocked the door shaking his head no. I begged him pretty please to sell her a book with my most soulful puppy dog look and the chatty girl in the background threw out reasons for hem to say yes. He weakened and said he would check the cafe and see if they still had a till open. He came back sorrowfully shaking his head and I admitted defeat, promising to bring Kait back the next day. She somberly headed for the truck and that same noisy girl yelled out a suggestion to try Boulder Bookstore. I had a feeling it was too late so I said "I think I'm giving up." I reached out to pull my door shut and a young man in business slacks and a white shirt was handing me the book. "Here you go ma'am have a great night." I stuttered which rarely happens and said "can I pay you?" His eyes wavered and then he looked in my back seat and said "no." Kait hadn't even processed it. I waved the book in her face and said "go hug that man! Go hug him right now!" As tears ran down my cheeks, Kait ran to the guy and hugged him. The group of young people erupted in oohs and ahs. She ran back to me and grabbed the poster and bounded out of the truck like a spring and ran back to him. This moment brought the house down with cheers and clapping. I can't really say how cool it was for him to see more value in making a little girls night and acting on it than hanging out with friends and taking home his new book. Thanks guy in the gray pants and white shirt. You were a very unexpected and exciting part of Kaits life.
Here she is the next morning all snuggled up with her book.

Harry Potter and my blessed child

After I wrote this blog, I wondered if it was newsworthy and sent the text to our local newspaper. A reporter loved it and called to interview Kait about her magical night. Unfortunately our hero was never found. Here is the article:
Random Act of Kindness News Story

I'm not sure if I even have a point to half of my parenting choices but sometimes the kids have interesting outcomes.

Kait begged me to pre-order her a "Harry Potter And the Cursed Child" book at various bookstores over the last few weeks but I steadfastly refused. I had two retrospectively foolish reasons. One, pre-ordering steals the excitement and anxiety of whether you will get one. Two, books don't sell out. This is the digital age, half of us have kindles and most buy books second hand or go to the library. Case in point, Kait has an entire set of hardback Potter books I bought at a thrift store for $1 each.
Kait became hooked on the idea of going to a midnight release party and researched all of the local bookstores for the very best, very most exciting party. After hearing B&N anticipated hundreds of people, she settled on 2nd & Charles.
Let me pause to say that nobody in my family has ever participated in a midnight release of anything. So we picked up her bestie with Kait in full regalia. Her enthusiasm was boundless. When we walked in I knew we were golden. Maybe 50 people milled around playing trivia and drinking butter beer. I figured they had hundreds of extra books. Kait won their costume contest handily with her saucy complex replies to every question she was asked about Potter and won a poster. Finally, 12:00 neared and we stood in line doing the countdown to midnight like a bunch of loons. As we approached the counter I saw about half of the people being turned away. Dread. It turned out they were only giving people pre-ordered books. I got annoyed and asked the woman why nobody had told me that in the last three hours. She looked guiltily around and said "we only found out 2 minutes ago." We walked out and little Kait held back tears. I called Barnes & Noble and they told me I had about 20 minutes. I decided to make a Run for it, then I made a wrong turn. Ugh! Exactly 20 minutes later, by hook or crook we arrived at Barnes & Noble. The doors were locked. Our shoulders drooped. I felt so guilty for refusing to pre-order.
A group of young millenials were standing around laughing and holding their bags with their Potter books and one girl yelled out for us to bang on the doors. We tried to no avail, so then she suggested we move closer to the registers and bang there, so we did. Finally, a manager unlocked the door shaking his head no. I begged him pretty please to sell her a book with my most soulful puppy dog look and the chatty girl in the background threw out reasons for hem to say yes. He weakened and said he would check the cafe and see if they still had a till open. He came back sorrowfully shaking his head and I admitted defeat, promising to bring Kait back the next day. She somberly headed for the truck and that same noisy girl yelled out a suggestion to try Boulder Bookstore. I had a feeling it was too late so I said "I think I'm giving up."
I reached out to pull my door shut and a young man in business slacks and a white shirt was handing me the book. "Here you go ma'am have a great night." I stuttered which rarely happens and said "can I pay you?" He looked in my back seat and said "no." Kait who was drowning in sorrow hadn't even paid attention to our conversation. I waved the book in her face and said "go hug that man! Go hug him right now!" As tears ran down my cheeks, Kait ran to the guy and hugged him. The group of young people erupted in oohs and ahs. She ran back to me and grabbed the poster and bounded out of the truck like a spring and ran back to him. This moment brought the house down with cheers and clapping. I can't really say how cool it was for him to see more value in making a little girls night and acting on it than hanging out with friends and taking home his new book. Thanks guy in the gray pants and white shirt. You were a very unexpected and exciting part of Kaits life. 

Time to get the kids back on track!

Hey everyone! There's about a month until school starts and Adapted Mind gave my kids a free month of math. We love it because they took a grade equivalency test before starting and it tailors their work to skills they need work on. I'm very happy knowing my kids are working on their math this summer in an effective and targeted manner. Check it out! 

http://www.adaptedmind.com/link.php

God-Sib

I'm not huge on reading about birth these days but an article caught my eye and all of the old familiar lingo was comfortable and easy to read and I slipped into it like a comfy sweater. Then I came across this delicious morsel and I smiled. It was a cat who got the cream smile because I lived this and it's one of my favorite memories. I'm not as close to everyone who was there for me anymore but life happens and they have moved on which I don't resent or fight. I choose to celebrate what was and accept what is. In that moment of that season my "God Sibs" surrounded me and it was beautiful. I captured the paragraph and sent it to the one who I'm still close to and I felt her smile as she read it.

"In English, at least, we know that gossip, used as a noun, was first applied to the women who attended their neighbors’ childbirths. Although the word took on negative connotations, it originally comes from god-sib, that is, god-sibling: the woman who you’d name as your closest friend, and the godmother of your child. In early America, once a woman’s postpartum recovery period was over, she’d host a party for the god-sibs who had helped her during labor. They spoke of gathering around the “groaning table,” in reference to a table creaking under the weight of the food piled atop it and to the groaning of a woman in labor."

My God-Sibs cheered my baby right out taking pictures and laughing like heaven. Then, days later the ones who couldn't make it to the birth in time gathered around me and celebrated and drank champagne and ate coffee cake and passed my little munch around squeezing and crooning and swaying like a bunch of clucking hens at our brunch. Just saying "We did that old school!" made me incredibly happy. 

I'm probably the most nostalgic human alive. 

Source: http://www.christianitytoday.com/women/2016/july/lets-be-honest-labor-is-kind-of-trauma.html

Bee, Wasp, Yellow Jacket sting remedy

Hi All, I just want to post this really quick because the yellow jackets are off the hook lately. My mom figured out how to stop the whole effect of a bee sting. This is for normal people, not people allergic to stings. 

About two weeks ago my sister and my friend got stung multiple times and their misery was on and on for days. They both kept sending me disgusting pictures of their disfigured hand and leg. I was like you guys! This is gross but I guess if it helps you somehow I will look at these awful pictures. I tried comfrey and some old dry plantain growing at the park on my friend but she said it was just soothing, didn't actually help. My sister said the same and went to my moms house. They sat around discussing what she "should have done". Mom said she wondered if hydrogen peroxide would work since she had successfully treated brown recluse bites with it. 

Well, as fate would have it, the next day Mom got a good double sting on the inside of her arm. So she tried it! 

I was so thrilled to hear this that I started texting all of my friends. And then dun dun dun dun!!! Hazel got stung. I rushed my shrieking sobbing child inside and plunged her hand into a brimming cup of peroxide. She stopped crying and asked for a Popsicle. I was amazed. We sat there for a long time soaking her hand just in case. Finally I lifted her hand out and the only mark was a tiny white dot. 

I was ecstatic! Then I doubted myself. I had just seen on the news that 90% of stings in Colorado are yellow jackets but still... Was that really a yellow jacket? Fortunately Hazel's protective father had killed the little bugger so I went out in the yard and hunted the carcas down. I compared it to Internet images of yellow jackets and concluded it was indisputably a yellow jacket. 

And now you know. We need little bottles of hydrogen peroxide in our purses, our cars and definitely in our camping supply containers. I just read on some other blog it stops poison ivy. 

The Grind

Every year Kaitlyn's birthday seeps up my last bit of give. When it's complete, I prostrate myself and reach with my fingertips for the finish line otherwise known as the Last. Day. Of. School. And I whine. I moan. I groan. I cry. Because I am not a grown up deep inside. I am a child with tired little dusty feet dragging myself home at the end of a long school day wishing to never repeat that misery again. That child inside me knows how they feel and frankly being on the mom end with a child's heart makes it almost impossible to make them finish. 

And as I sat in the corner of Kaits classroom watching the amazing slide show of their year, I saw her push her glasses up her nose and smile that Kait smile. She's so little but so big and here we go with middle school. I gazed at her and felt a little piece of my heart break. I'll miss this little girl with a big determination who loves Harry Potter and snap circuits. I took her picture with her teacher and Ms. Travis shook her head and said "I just wonder what she's going to be." I winked back tears and said "a teacher like you of course!" She shook her head and said "I just don't know about that. She's a very confident and mature young lady." I sucked back tears for the fourth time and nodded. Ms. Travis saw Kait and loved her for all that she is. 

I gazed around the room at all of the kids I never got to know and all of the parents who I've never met and totally pretended to be busy caring for Hazel. I'm not a social butterfly in schools. I blame my uncomfortability on those homeschooling years I always talk about. I don't walk my kids up and socialize with the principal. I don't make photo copies for teachers or attend PTA meetings. 

Of course, someone recognized me. I can only assume I have a very distinctive face. It happens at least once a month that I'm staring at the face of a complete stranger who remembers me from a distant brief encounter. And it's really stressful to try and remember them quickly and not be awkward.  I don't know why but it just saps me. Put me somewhere safe with familiar faces and Jody's arm around my waist and I will shine but enduring that brunch without crying over Kaits adorableness or offending strangers was hard. That makes me sound like such a pansy but it's true. 

I made my way to Nick's classroom and saw Ms. McKinsey. I'm so sad for Nick to leave her. She's such a great teacher. She has loved him like a mother and drawn great things out of him and it's all I could have asked and more. She said my note made her cry. I think I'm sick for feeling satisfied by that. Why must I provoke nostagia and play emotions like a fiddle with my pen? Why is perfunctory  thanks never enough? So, she stamped his heart with love and sent him on to fourth grade. Between his amazing soccer coach and his lovely teacher, Nick was launched into summer floating on a puffy cloud of inspiration.

Eden is so 13. Her year ended with an art  piece at the district show which I found out about a week late, followed by a friend telling me she won an award which they noticed in the middle school newsletter and showed me for proof on the spot. A couple weeks later, as my sister ran to award ceremonies for her middle schooler, I was oblivious to my daughter accepting yet another art award at her school as well as various other recognitions that she mentioned vaguely as "a ribbon" and a "certificate for something" this morning but refused to show me. She's a great kid. Her authenticity, blatant scorn of societal filler and recognition without money prizes is hilarious... refreshing... I really hope she never changes. It's weird for middle schoolers to have a picture taken with their teacher so Stella is a stand in for Mr. Townsend, the one who drew out Eden's great talent and saw her which pushed her on to build her artistic talent.

As a side note, I am still in a feud with her history teacher, Mr. Brand who is holding a stunning portrait Eden spent at least 50 hours on hostage and not returning my emails.

Hello Summer. Here we go.

Don't tell anyone about this but...

If I were to try to express what I bring to the table in a church crowd it would be... uncomfortable laughter, gentle gasps, a high regard for everyone's Christian walk in comparison to mine and a gritty, self reproach laden desire to laugh at the worst things. I'm also highly regarded for my parenting skills, alcohol tolerance and house keeping expertness. I didn't think you'd go for that but it felt nice to say it just once. But I AM a better blogger because I do blog therefore I AM.

I joined a Bible Study full of fresh young mommies with hearts a burstin with love for their very young children recently. I felt trepidation for a variety of reasons. The pastors wife would have me under the microscope, nobody in there has a 13 year old at home and well, see above. So somehow, one day, someone told a story about a toddler trying to cuss. Which I had to top. I'm competitive in all things, even cussing toddlers. I am as fond of monopolizing conversations with embellished stories as I am of blogging said stories in even more exquisite detail. So I lifted my voice and announced that I had the worst story. I saw them hesitate and then I hesitated because I realized I was going to have to drop the F-bomb either six or eight times in the retelling of this suddenly not so inspiring story. If there's one thing I can say for myself, it's that I have follow through. I say that as I stroke my chin wondering why I'm trying to make it sound like its a good thing in every situation. Anyway, I considered my options which were none and awkwardly plunged into my already regrettable story. I went hard and fast into my story hoping if it was quick, it would be less scandalizing.
"Well, I got so frustrated while trying to restring some blinds that I finally yelled f--k f--k f--k and Eden began running in circles chanting it over and over at the age of 2. Nobody laughed. Some pasted on frozen smiles. Some scooted chairs and took sips of coffee. Finally after an excruciating silence, the leader clasped her Bible and plunged back into the study. I felt a war within myself to hold to my authentic self or to melt into the floor so I could be myself somewhere less awkward.

I recently read an article that talked about the kinds of people in your life and realized just maybe I'm this one:

• Negative Influences. There are people who are wonderful, interesting, bright, and creative. And yet, for some reason, I am negatively influenced when I am around them. It’s not that they themselves are bad people – it’s that I make bad choices when I’m around them. For some reason or another, hanging out with them is not conducive to my success. These are the trickiest people to identify, because there’s nothing about them that’s bad or easy to rationalize avoiding. It’s how they influence you that tells you about whether or not it’s a good person to have in your life.

Because I have... friends and well... For instance, just the other day our church hosted an appreciation banquet for the volunteers on Cinco De Mayo. All my poor friend had to do was say in passing how sad it was that we couldn't have Margaritas there. 

I said no worries honey, I just hand squeezed 10 lemons and limes. We can have one before we go! She wasn't planning to drink before a church event... But here I was holding out the forbidden fruit. I won't drag this story out, let's just say that I think I didn't shake up the margaritas very well and somehow consumed a whole glass of tequila in 30 minutes. I was wasted. My husband and friend thought I was kidding. Theirs didn't even give them a buzz. Well as soon as we got to the event the Children's ministry director came over... And the preschool director...and I chatted too much, too close and I think they sniffed out puffs of tequila. I don't know if I'm still on the volunteer schedule or not.
I got home and fell into bed in my dress. My honey jokingly asked if I planned to, you know, brush my teeth, put on pjs... I said I thought I would take off my sweater. The next morning I got up and he cough/laughed and said "you really slept in your clothes!" I gave him the most condescending look I could muster and announced that I feel blessed to not be constricted by society's norms. What I wasn't really thinking through was that my friend from the night before was stopping by with some folding tables for a garage sale... Which incidentally never materialized... And as we stood chatting in the driveway we avoided the elephant in the room until I took a bow and said "yes I'm still wearing the same dress." That story got combed over so many directions on a girls night out that I finally had to declare the story over. It's over. It'll never be over. I have drinking dresses. They have built in bras and feel like a nightgown when I get home. I'm sure if everyone were honest they do too.

While I'm on a roll, I'll just save one of the funniest text message histories in my life while planning the Bible stories for Kids Week at our church.

 Eleanor: Aster, I am reporting on the meeting you missed. A quick summary is that Mindy pronounces Tubal as "Two Ball" which gave me unstoppable giggles. 

We also think the time estimates are pretty accurate. 

And are trying to decide the best method for dividing the task load. 

Aster: Got it. 😂

Eleanor: Yep Two Ball Cain was a cool guy. And of course Mindy had to beg my child to read the mysterious first half of a Bible verse that the curriculum strongly discouraged us from including in the lesson. It was about how Cain had sex with his wife and Enoch was born. Now my child knows all about Enoch's origins thankfully. 

I swear I don't know anybody who can just read plainly written words and turn a VBS curriculum into a combination of frat humor and sex Ed.

Except... Mindy

Aster: I feel like I really missed out. 

Eleanor: I couldn't really say. I'm a bit of a story teller and I'm often accused of exaggerating.

Mindy: I made her child look up inappropriate bible verses. 

I think it went well. I can come hang out with your kids too sometime if you want Aster! I think your super spiritual husband would be okay with it. 

Aster: Oh sure he would. 

Eleanor: I do think it went well if your goal was to examine the scripture closely. 

Mindy: I mean, really. When they advise you to NOT read it... How can you resist. 

Aster: He's pretty liberal when it comes to that stuff. He offered to play the part of David dancing naked if we'd like. 

Bible-ish. That's his slogan. 

Eleanor: Oh perfect! We can put that in the scene with when Noah gets drunk and his sons get naked with him 

Aster: This will be a memorable VBS

Mindy: So, where did we land on including the sex verse in our show?

Aster: VBS NC-17 LOL

Eleanor: the Children's director would be curled in a ball biting a pillow right now 

"I don't know what happened! They were just moms!"

Mindy: Can you imagine if we put the amount of time we put into funny texts into our VBS planning....

Eleanor: 😂😂😂

Aster: 😂😂😂 Lives would be changed. Instead of just undies.

Goodbye

I'd never said goodbye to someone I loved. I didn't know it would hurt so terribly... that I would have tears spring to my eyes without warning a million times a day for months slowly lessening but never seeming to stop. I didn't know that there would be moments and spaces in time left empty forever. Or that sometimes I would cry without processing a single thought other than an expression on his face. I had no idea that it would take two years before I could tell my daughter that he loved mushrooms and apricots (not together) as we walked through a produce section without crying. That it would take years before I could tell a story about him without giving up entirely in a sea of tears. I didn't even suspect that his death would drive me to suicidal thoughts or binge eating. I hadn't the faintest idea of how much I loved him or even really how much he loved me. 

But here I am 2 years and four months later, wishing he was here to be my dad and laugh at me playing a mad scientist in a silly church skit just like he always was when I was a kid. 

I told Jody goodnight tonight and I pressed my face into his shirt just to smell him. And I love him. I know I do. But it scares me that for now, I don't even know how much. 

Living

I propped my hip on her kitchen counter and began straddling an imaginary chasm. Seemingly without effort we each contributed guiltlessly to our heretical conversation feeding off of one another's transparency like drunken sailors. We came to no conclusion and both felt slightly bewildered at the end wondering if we had just been transported to a dramedy sitcom and were waiting for canned laughter or if we were supposed to cry. 

"Here we all are in our late 30's and early 40's with one foot on the old us from our 20's and early 30's when all was right in our worlds, when mothering, scrapbooking and starting home based businesses like Mary Kay and baby slings felt exciting and fulfilling."

"The other foot slips awkwardly around on the future us of our 50's who we are told will experience the feminist awakening and travel alone for pleasure and spend every penny on grandchildren and hair."

"But do we want to dive into the present?"

"The empty transitional self stays home too much, tries to find fulfillment in social media (the Diet Coke of relationships) and no longer cares about laundry or eating broccoli with dinner or basically anything... spending an inordinate amount of time reading timehop and wondering if we used to be that happy or if we were faking it."

"While deep down we know that all of the versions of ourselves just need to draw close to God but we can't because we're so saddled with very heavy emotional baggage we are clinging to like a crazy lady carrying all of her groceries inside in one trip."

You know when men ask "Oh you saw her today, how is she? What did she have to say?" Well... Now you know.

The day I realized Americans obsess over bathrooms

I ask you a question, are you distracted by issues engineered to cause enmity in America? I am not a fan of the bathroom drama because I think it's polarizing. A quick uninformed recap: Transexual people make a big deal about going into ladies bathrooms which I presume they've been doing for years, then everyone else makes a big deal as though they can actually make and enforce laws against it and I'm over here like... What is everyone even talking about? You do know we are the most privileged country in the world to have this many bathrooms right? America probably has more toilets than people. It's insane! And frankly, I'm not nearly as worried about everyone's safety in the restrooms as I am about our lavish waste. How many stalls do they make for the men's bathrooms that stand empty while all of us ladies with our little kiddies in tow cross our legs and stand and wait? Who thought up this elaborate bathroom scenario where my husband with three daughters stands within 20 feet of 20 toilets uncomfortable with every option. I'll stop here short of announcing that all of the public restrooms in America should be reconfigured. I'm no engineer but it's dumb. 

I don't see any outcry against homosexuals going in bathrooms with heterosexuals so all of the hooplah has a very hollow ring for me. I think sex designated restrooms are an archaic, ridiculous, weird, pointless exercise. If we are worried about transexuals getting beat up in the men's rooms or just feeling out of place and girls being targeted by pedophiles through the loophole, maybe we need to think bigger. Maybe we need restrooms for everyone with fully enclosed stalls. Maybe we need a little privacy, not a million special exceptions. Maybe we should conserve and think wisely. You know, the more elaborate we all get with our restroom expectations, the more we pay for whatever we buy at these stores. 

Here's the other thing, forget all about the sexual preferences and just picture yourself in Target on any random day. Ok who do we see? Moms with their kids (boring), dads with their kids(out of control), grandparents with their grandkids (going broke), goofy teenagers way over the top with the PDA and excessive junk food purchases, single young professionals buying keurig pods, a BIKER!? Wow, that is interesting he's with a little girl in a pink tutu. Let's hope she wasn't kidnapped! Ok now go in the bathroom. Who is there? All of those ordinary people. Now enter the dastardly pedophile. He walks in... Damn there's a scary biker in the ladies room with his little tutu clad beauty helping her into the stall instead of sending her in there alone because he's welcome to do that now. The pedophile looks for an easy target but his eyes meet the steely gaze of the biker. Game over. Let's try a different scenario. Lucky pedophile enters and finds easy prey but he knows a man or woman could walk in at any second. Not so easy as it was when only women were coming in here. Let's try again, pedophile gets caught in the act by me. I scream like a girl and men run into the ladies room without inhibition. After all they are welcome here now. Men are bigger scarier and stronger than me. And most of them are dying to be a hero. 

In conclusion, this is just about the dumbest argument I've ever seen America get into and I contend that the bathrooms will be neither more nor less dangerous. The danger could increase for older kids and teens but it will certainly decrease for toddlers and small children. As long as the men keep the restroom clean and start carrying pocket knives again like any self respecting American, I say come on in. Make the pervs squirm. And about the transgender movement. I have no idea why they care which bathroom they're in because I don't as long as it's clean. But come on in! What we really need is gender neutral bathrooms with fully enclosed stalls like Israel and a neutral hand washing area. 

I will clarify that changing into gym clothes at school is a whole different ball of wax. No boys allowed! 

Hold them tight

Today Eden put her hair in a messy bun and left it. She did the same thing yesterday. It's a small step toward becoming the confident woman I see emerging. Morning after morning I have driven her to school for these two years of middle school. Her journey has been at times excruciating and at times amazing. One agony was in watching her come out of her bedroom wearing something beautiful or exotic for school and then at the last possible second retreat and change into something plain or ordinary and walk out the door with her shoulders hunched. It killed me. I couldn't convince her she looked amazing. Day after day I would watch her put her hair into a bold messy bun or braids only to jerk it all down on the drive to school and drag her fingers through a kinky mess then put on a bored expression and walk into school. I tried to see into her heart and imagine the struggle of wanting to express yourself confidently in a big school and then losing the nerve. I never went to middle school. I don't know what she's gone through. That makes it harder. It reminds me of my kids getting a virus and then catching it myself. If only I'd known how miserable they were when they caught it and not after! Oh Eden, I so wish you hadn't had to survive such a grueling experience. I wish I had focused so much more on lifting you up than complaining about how heavy you were getting. 

So I dropped her off and she said she loved me and walked inside, no drama, messy bun intact with her comfy clothes on. I have waited and waited for this day. That's when I realized something was happening with the car in front of mine. A mom and daughter were outside by the passenger door and the mom seemed flustered. The daughter seemed undecided then started to walk away and the mom stood there for a second watching then began walking around her car to the drivers door but then the girl said something and and the mom looked up. They both tried to walk opposite ways around the car back to one another and then finally the girl bumbled her way back to her mommy. She pressed her face into her mothers shoulder and the mom wrapped her arms tightly around her. I felt tears and said "oh baby" to myself just like I was that mom. The scene reached my core. Gone are the days of idle speculation, judgement and morbid curiosity. Here are the days of solidarity, support and finding the familiar in a stranger. 

When you stand at the threshold of parenting a middle schooler listen to me. Every time they throw you a curve ball, hug them and keep loving and stay consistent. They are essentially going through another toddler stage, trying everything you broke them of as toddlers and are just as desperate for your quiet solid strength and comfort now as they were at 2. Don't forget to hold them tight. 

Fist bump to the random lady in driveline. You are such a good momma.

A Product of My Environment

Yesterday I was driving to pick up a mid century dresser for Eden to resell. I guess I've passed the baton. She seems to have the Midas touch. That phrase always makes me think of tire stores... So I mulled over the man's address while observing he had been the most laid back seller in all of history... More on that later. I thought "hm Terry St.! I bet that house is a hundred years old! What's the best way to get a tour? I know, I'll be reserved but enthralled." I pulled up to the craziest claptrap old house since D. Herbert and I would stake my honor, if he had been relegated to a townie life, I'm certain he would have lived in such a peculiar contraption. There seemed to be fences of various heights and materials running everywhere with holes cut in circles for apparently no reason. My eyes darted every direction trying to discern the purpose of all of these things. Why didn't I take pictures!? He grandly swept open the most ornately carved door I've ever seen on the tiniest little cottage imaginable and propelled me inside with pomp. He expected me to be amazed and yes I was but perhaps in not the way he anticipated. The little cottage had been hacked and chopped on, removing low ceilings, creating vaults and beams...an added entry room, walls were painted colors that made me flinch and knick-knacks galore. Strange knick-knacks, like head mannequins with wigs, a bucket full of ancient umbrellas, geckos and southwestern cacti, a magenta plush couch, all of the feathers from an owl in a glass case, a small rodent skeleton and of course a chihuahua locked in a bedroom because if he let her out she would "get me." Everything in my house falls into four categories; somebody's castoff, handmade, a gift or Jody bought it. So meeting this man in his strange little home comes naturally to me. I've bought thousands and thousands of dollars worth of stuff from all manner of people just like my father before me and his mother before him. He showed me the first dresser which was crammed so tightly with belongings that I felt a sinking dread. People, buyers don't want to see what's in your drawers... any kind of drawers. My mind calculated 10 minutes to unload that thing... no way. We moved on to the Kent Coffey piece I had actually come for and it was loaded to the gills as well. My heart sank. I told him I would take it and he spontaneously decided to give me a tour. I had tried to appear politely disinterested but he was oblivious. We did the tour. Apparently every owner in its history had tinkered excessively with it while keeping copious notes in a large leather satchel which was always passed to the new owner. The clock was ticking but he rambled on with inconceivable details finally coming close enough to me for a poof of alcohol to hit my nostrils. Every friend I have would have freaked ou about their vulnerable position alone in a house with an inebriated stranger. I didn't, but I did observe that must be why he was so chilI about me changing my pickup time three times. We all have fears but that one just isn't mine because I've always been more comfortable around men. I spent most of my childhood in the company of men and I know the bad ones. I drifted in and out of the monologue until he mentioned that an herbalist had once lived there and planted the whole yard in herbs... my ears perked up. We finally returned to the dresser and he slowly began unloading drawers. I strolled out to the front porch absently waiting and he brought me the first drawer. My eyes landed on a plant. And something started humming in my brain. 

"Do you think that's a comfrey plant!?" I asked very excitedly. I have always wanted my own comfrey plant so badly. 

"Probably so!" He answered.

His answer seemed too prompt and enthusiastic but I remembered his inebriated state. 

"Does it get little blooms?!" I asked hopefully.

"Sure it does" he said carelessly.

I felt like he was just telling me what I wanted to hear. I pulled up a pic of a blooming comfrey. "Like that?"

"Yes! Just like that!" He said. 

I inwardly rolled my eyes at his effusive tipsy behavior.

"Why? Do you want to dig it up?" 

"Yes! Can I really have it?"

"Sure!" A drunk man will give you the shirt off his back.

We loaded the dresser and he acquired a kitchen spoon to dig up the plant. Apparently he had already given his yard tools to his grown kids. We tried digging but to no avail. He went back inside and returned holding a buck knife with easily an 8 inch blade. He flashed it sheepishly and said "don't be alarmed by my tool, my son gave it to me as a present... He did two tours."

I laughed and said "just don't tell him you cut dirt with it. My brother is a knife guy too. 

In retrospect, I think most women I know would need smelling salts at this juncture but enormous hunting knives have always been a part of my life and it was only in the hand of a harmless happy guy. I would find a baseball bat more alarming. He handily dug up the comfrey and delivered it to my grocery bag and I came home with the happiest smile ever on my face. 

My night wasn't over, I still needed to go to Highlands Ranch. I had no anticipation for this. Highlands Ranch is just a maze of cookie cutter houses. I drove the hour there wishing I could still call my dad and chat him up about my escapade but alas he's far happier where he is and I don't wish him back for my pleasure. 

When I turned into the neighborhood I realized it was a gated community. That's not exactly common in Colorado though I have encountered it here and there. Then I saw a sign advertising new builds at three times the price of my house. I felt a little curious but not excited. When I pulled up at the house the most amazing chandelier I have ever seen was shining through a transom window above the front door. I sat and stared. I was in love. I rang the bell and she opened the door seeming unaware of her house but my thrill could not be contained. I was standing in the middle of a DWR catalog with five beautiful children milling around. I have been in a lot of houses. Probably 75 a year, but this house was flat out my favorite. Well, Tory Bond had a close second but only because her kitchen wasn't done yet. Had it been done that old 4,000 sq foot rambler probably would have won.

(Update 6-26-16 Tory sent me this 😍

https://www.houzz.com/ideabooks/55685315/list/my-houzz-fresh-update-for-a-midcentury-ranch-in-denver)

I've been counter shopping with some friends and that is one slab. Can you even imagine? It's like 8x12.

Look what she did here.

Isn't that fancy!? I love fancy things! 

She showed me the kids new computer area and I asked if she shares her ideas on Pinterest because it's just beyond fabulous. Her husband was rolling his eyes throughout. I could imagine his thoughts. "Oh no! A crazy lady came to buy the table at 8:30 at night and she's never leaving!" But his wife was so encouraging and gracious I guiltily tuned him out.

I got a little brazen and invited myself into her dining room with a hand made walnut dining table and clicked away.

I was basically delerious with delight and she made the mistake of saying "oh you have four kids? We would probably be best friends if you lived closer." Because we ARE best friends now. It's a done deal. Don't even joke about that amazing lady! 

Unfortunately I failed to take a decent picture of her entry light. But here's what I got. See her stair railing? Love it! 😍

All of her lighting was from Restoration Hardware, you know that magazine that I always embarrassingly drip drool on when it arrives? Her family room had this crazy... oh I don't know... 8 foot light fixture that looked like it had candles all the way around. I wish I had just clicked one more time... I felt like a horrible gawker... Click click click with my iPhone so although it looks like I was on a photo spree I DID try to hold back. Fun night. Oh, and I did buy her old table. I love it. 

This morning I emailed her to ask if I could blog my pics and she graciously acquiesced. Then I got a text from the comfrey guy wishing me happy gardening. They will always be my friends even if we never meet again. 💜

Addendum:

I got an email from my new BFF in Highlands Ranch (we chat all the time) and first of all, her husband is a GC and designs and oversees construction and remodels in all of "Denver's hip zip codes" (I'll be incorporating that phrase into my vocabulary stat) and he watched me make a total fool of myself over his house never mentioning it. I find this really admirable and funny all at once. She said they only went as modern as suburbia would go. Sigh. Apparently there's all of these amazing houses all over Denver that I will never see the inside of. My life is hard. She sent me pics of her new custom kitchen nook table because we chat all the time. 😉

The Challenge

Every day someone dies without telling people what those people meant to them. No personal message from beyond to read, smile at, cry over or be inspired by. I know most people think of it the other way, after all the deceased can't hear what you wish you had said but...that person is gone and they don't need your affirmation anymore. And so I offer this challenge. Sit down and tell five friends what they mean to you in the written form. Bless them with your words. Sound scary or weird? I'll double down. Here's ten friends who sustain me and I really wanted to write five more but I doubt anyone will read a blog this long as it is.

1. 

She tipped her wan face and smiled. She always does that. It's like she's attempting to minimize her struggles without words. Exhaustion and stress etched new lines in her lovely face. I know it's lovely because she's the only woman I've ever coerced my husband into calling pretty. He ordinarily brushes off beautiful women with a dismissive critique of their large nose or mouth. I imagine it's so I never think he's comparing me to them but somehow it just makes me wonder if my nose is ok.  Her arms hung heavy at her sides; excitement had carried her here and dropped her like a package too heavy with the bottom starting to give. Here she had crash landed into a new and beautiful chaos. Everywhere I looked, I saw a flawless design choice accompanied by something incomplete her husband had decided to do himself. The weight of his "to do" list sat on her shoulders mightily, and I wondered if he knew how much she loved him. My eyes drifted to her beloved German Shepherd surrounded by moving boxes and yoga mats. Would he recover use of his back legs? He made it to the new house I whispered to myself bracingly as though that would be enough to put wings under him. I've never seen a family who loves their pet so dearly and I wrung my hands at the thought of them letting him go. My mind swam through oceans of enormous mountains this family had moved to realize this dream of the perfect house in the perfect spot with the perfect salon business and the perfect schools. "Nobody ever does this, right?" I thought for the hundredth time. Am I too complacent? Too lazy? Does this kind of drive and ambition not epitomize the American Dream that I apparently have no drive to strive for. But she looks so drained I countered to myself. So exhausted and overwhelmed with only a hazy memory of the last two years. I quickly organized kitchen drawers, knowing she would be back to fix them later but rationalizing that it was better than standing around doing nothing. I glanced over at her peaceful slightly delirious happiness as she put away her pots and pans and all of my analyzing evaporated. Thank God this girl was finally home and I was there to hug her and drink a beer and eat chocolate pastries with her and say "I can't believe it all really happened" and "this is so exciting!" over and over sounding idiotic to anyone except a sleep deprived zombie. Oh sister wife and future nursing home roomie, we've walked all of the roads together haven't we darling?

2.

"Yes! I finally found my comedy club partner" I muttered to myself as I wiped tears of laughter from my face yet again. Apparently she had been languishing in Florida for years! Just wandering around picking up turtles and taking them home as pets. She might have also been working full time and raising children but that part is a bit fuzzy. Besides, the past is in the past. 

Our opening act is just a series of unanswerable questions our husbands have asked us when they momentarily confused us with Siri. 

"What time does Walgreens open?"

"Is parking allowed here?"

"Is that my coworkers son?" 

"Is the cable box not working?"

Ok Siri wouldn't know all of the answers either. 

Then we just move straight into recreating text message conversations. 

"Are you joining me in prayer that today's track meet will be cancelled for weather?"

"Wherever two or more are gathered, there am I in the midst of them." 

"Ok what did we do wrong? Is God not listening?!"

"I think it was just a 'no.'"

We add a dash of dark humor.

"I see women who run away in a new light these days."

"Me too."

"I'm not sure I can adult any more."

"Me either."

"Jesus take the wheel."

"Amen."

Ok that's not verbatim but we should have said it all just that way. 

We pick it up and look at the bright side.

"So now I have tension tamer tea and I'm in bed for the night at 6pm."

"I think you're making good choices."

It's how we deal. 

Girl you are such a crack up. I love you to the moon. It's like we've always known each other we just hadn't met yet until recently. 

3.

"Talk about first world problems" she texted. Her frustration had again mounted only to be buried in guilt as she unfairly judged herself. I smiled ruefully and wrinkled my forehead. "I had a meltdown about the stupid kitchen and had a good cry today" she wrote. I looked at the text trying to imagine what would help. "Oh, I had a big meltdown cry yesterday! Tomorrow you will be numb."  The emoticon reply 😣. 

"Oh gee Elizabeth" I tell myself, "you always sound like you're competing when you try to relate. Give it up. You have no finesse." I could feel her achy heart sending waves of frustration straight to me. I knew so much more than she had sent in two texts. We had already tirelessly discussed every scenario, option and conundrum for weeks while I chipped in my own conundrums pschoanalyzing my kids, husband and dog seven different ways as if either of us were actually accomplishing something. We are one another's complacent sounding board to talk every situation, decision and experience over until it's been thoroughly hashed like a roadkill put through a meat grinder. Finally accepting for the moment that I didn't have an answer for her on the kitchen (I think I was having a whiskey which often reveals truth) freed me up to do what I profess to do best, don my comedian hat. It's a well known fact that I am the only person in the world who thinks I am profoundly funny and witty. It works for me in the long run though, through a back door entertainment effect on people that I prefer not to call "laughing at me." Announcing I have no solution is very soothing in a reverse psychology fatalistic kind of way. "Shoot I do not know what to do but that's definitely a real problem girlfriend, you are not imagining it. Maybe you should just make wallpaper out of $100 bills and invest in some gold serving dishes so nobody notices your granite got chipped by the philistines who used to live there and chuck the whole remodel." Ok so I didn't actually say that to her but it would have been funny.  Chum, maybe today you will finally have the epiphany that the things you judge yourself for are actually your strongest assets. You're a fabulous researcher and a detailed planner and that is a recipe for success and personal satisfaction. I can't wait for tea at the new counter as you reveal some crazy life experience that makes my toes curl like eating a bowl of baby octopus.

4.

Her voice across the line was wooden, telling me where we were heading with only a hello. My grip tightened on the steering wheel. "I can't fix it" I chanted to myself. She had combed over each grade on each paper for each course and wasn't even a little bit happy. In the last six weeks I had ridden her roller coaster of panic, triumph and dread with each challenge, victory and new obstacle. I won't deny that she in turn valiantly attempted to keep her mouth shut as I ceaselessly vented about my own problems silently begging her not to give me advice or expect me to soften my opinions. It was an uncharted territory. At the age of 38, she charged off to college never mentioning it to me beforehand. "She's doing it all" I marveled to myself as I hung up having made not the slightest meaningful contribution to the conversation but hopefully conveying confidence and support. With teenagers, a workaholic husband and a household to run, her heart begged for meaning and now her ship has sailed. My mind struggled with her decision, instinctually trying to poke holes in it to see if it was going to hold water. She stood firm. I felt a deep respect for her even as she drifted away on her big adventure. I rocked in doubt as I stood on the shore. Should I do that? Do I want to? No, I need to write and write and write. But the ride looks so amazing and unforgettable love, you will make it. I'm so proud and amazed and so are your kids. 

5.

Her sunny voice floated over the line like a springy sunflower blowing in the breeze. Always so impossibly cheerful and optimistic. Always sharing choice bits of her life painted in a rosy glow so as not to drag anyone down. I wormed under the veneer reminding her it was safe here. Even human sun rays sometimes need to let off some steam. Slowly, the big story unfolded. Hmm, another baby makes 7. Oh, a new real estate business in the works. Wow, three kids in a play with the children's theater. But back to number 7. The lucky number 7. Who do I know besides this woman and soul sister with enough energy and optimism to raise 7 happy babies? As usual I plow in going off half cocked saying whatever pops into my head. "God doesn't make mistakes but man... How's the morning sickness? You are really going all in girlfriend. I remember the burst of love for Hazel at birth and I wondered, does that really just keep happening to infinity?" Her reply was gracious and without censure "Yes, it does" she said simply. "Is it a boy or girl? I asked.  She always knows. " A girl I think." A child wailed in the background and our rapid fire 7 minute chat abruptly ended. I stood in the middle of Marshalls staring blankly at my dream food processor. Oh love, you are so regal and strong and beautiful. I've never known a harder working, harder loving woman with more resilience. Your laugh lines will be beautiful someday and more genuine than any person I know. 

6.

She had a high point and she was real, shining with joy, she skidded to a low one and she was still more real, expressing the feelings we all hide. It never seemed to fail to take my breath away. What would she say to me next that I would take weeks to process and finally recognize and accept in myself as well?

You've all had that friend... the one you love so much you just want to pretend you are besties when you know it's a stretch and she probably already has ten more? But you just talk about her all the time super familiar like she drops by for coffee twice a week even though you haven't seen her in a month aside from the time she whistled at you in front of the eye doctors office? Ok maybe I'm being a little too specific. There were a couple days where I actually laughed so hard at her Instagram posts that I felt like a stalker. "Oh goody she posted!" I shouldn't really use that term since she's the girl who had stalkers and restraining orders at one time, but I've never been lauded as a shining example of tact. She has the rare quality of exuding exactly who she is and wearing it with an air of indifference; neither shame nor pride. While many people confuse, worry and irritate me with their airs I feel like when I see her, she smiles right from her soul and I try to give the same in return but I find myself lacking. There you go love, You're in my blog. I'm sure you are so pleased and thrilled. I love you so much I wish I could shrink you down and keep you in my pocket. Is that creepy?

7.

 "Want to meet at Sweets Monday? My treat!" 

A smile lit my face. Is there any higher compliment a friend can pay than to spend their time and money on you? A friend who has seen you behave your worst but always sought the best in you. I cannot name a friendship I get more vulnerable about. I always think, "she's probably had it with me after this one." And she always gives me a weary smile and a hug and pats my little head because she's like 8 inches taller and 20 years wiser than me. Sometimes I wonder if she forgets all of my drama or what that process looks like but I do not wonder long enough to ask. After all, I've read George and Martha a hundred times and "Martha didn't say a word" speaks volumes to me. Oh girl, is 8 years a lifetime? I don't remember who I was without your vulnerable yet strong and wise influence. I love the way you face each obstacle in life and chisel away with determination. I don't know how often I speak of you as my example. 

8.

My phone buzzed with the only personalized ring aside from Jody. I don't know how that happened but it does put an extra wing in my steps to make it for her. Within seconds we were both moaning and exclaiming over the idiocy of a volleyball club, dissecting how my child discovered online school and declaring that our cups are empty, we have nothing left to give and we do not know what fills the cups... Even as we filled one another's cups with empathy.

She was my perfect neighbor with perfect children who had s'mores with us and sleepovers but never crossed boundaries. I lived it and loved it for 2 1/2 years. But It didn't end there, when I moved she brought me food and when my dad died she filled my kitchen with food from who knows who all again and when she realized I was wallowing in a sea of grief she gathered me into her arms and carried me to Costco so my family could keep on eating. No judgement, no fixing, just pure empathy like a balm on a wound. And always always she and her husband have caught us when we fall. Chum, I can't imagine how lonely and hard it would be to do this Colorado thing alone without you. You're my family. 

9.

"Ready for a puppy yet?
I want a poetic story where you take your dog to a park and meet a young widower with four precious children. And the little boy loves your dog and invites you to their house. And you and the dad get embrarrassed but neither of you have the heart to say no. So you wind up in their house and spill spaghetti all down your shirt and he's trying to clean you off and the scene freezes with you standing there completely infatuated and utterly mortified. Then the little two year old girl starts tugging on your hand and you look over and your dog is drinking out of their toilet. Anyway, that's the general gist of it."

"Hahahahhahaha! 4 kids tho ??"
"Well yeah, you're getting a late start 
Then you can have a big family and only have to endure pregnancy once. And all through the romance everything is perfect but you keep having flashbacks of all of your crazy failed relationships. And then you get scared and try to break up but the 2 year old has a life threatening emergency and you save her life and realize you can't live without them. And that's a wrap. But at the end you call me crying and thanking me for your perfect pooch because it's a Stella baby."

Say hello to my friend since childhood with the infectious giggle and cleverly referred to by my dad as my twin.

She's the friend I call my alter ego who took the opposite path. Every time we talk, we remind each other not to be jealous of the others life as though that's a command one can obey. Love, I'm so thankful for you. You lead me back to Jesus every time we talk and I get a dunking of His love all while laughing hysterically at your dry wit and marveling at your life journey.

10.

"It's a strep throat cake for Eden!"

"A what!? Oh my gosh!" I fell backward in shock and laughter. For real?! Oh my gosh! Tears pricked my eyes at the thought of all of that time spent to cheer my sick kid. 

I used to pray for a friend, any friend with a kid Hazels age who wasn't uptight, didn't have strict schedules, liked the Zoo and just a half a dozen or so other criteria. So they packed up and moved on out from Tenessee. Thanks God! I appreciate that! On with the tea parties and zoo trips and playdates while the mommies discuss the middle schoolers, preschool rates and how to lose five pounds without trying because trying is crap! Thanks for being willing to answer a prayer love! You're a blessing and hoot! Here's to the day we march these little girls off to preschool together just like I dreamed. 

My Job

Learning what is my job has been my focus the last couple of years. As a life long fixer and confronter and bosser, I've turned over a new leaf. It doesn't come easily. It's so natural for me to intervene and insert myself into things that I talk to myself a lot these days. "Elizabeth, whose problem are you worrying about? Is it your problem? Can you fix it? Should you fix it? Is this a prayer item?" This is a running monologue in my head. Whether I'm thinking about whether someone might need vitamins, to work on their temper, to be kinder, to decide about their injured dogs future, how to recover from a heartbreaking loss, how to navigate a scary illness, how to find a husband or a million other things that come at me, the only true answer is pray. I can't live their journey. I can't hand out shortcuts. Most of the time if I'm honest, I don't know the shortcut. So I pray. And sometimes I say stupid stuff anyway but I'm a work in progress. I never feel a thrill of success from intervening in someone's life like I do from seeing the Holy Spirit intervene. He's amazing. So if you ever see me bite my tongue. Pat me on the back. It's hard! 

Haters gonna hate

I spend too much time reading opinion pieces. It's kind of a little way I challenge myself. Not really to see if they can make me agree nearly as much as to see if their stump has purpose and if I can like them regardless of their message. What it seems like I see in an increasingly strident voice is a demand for change in people's hearts. Seriously? When did that ever work? So I'm just going to say it #blacklivesmatter #supportlgbt #99% #syrianrefugees #therealdonaldtrump... a lot of you have great hearts but you've missed the point. We cannot force morality of any version on everyone. Any time we resort to manipulation, righteous judgement, riots, angry marches, guilt trips or lecturing we have already lost. You may not want to hear it but you and I are more similar than you want to think. You see, we both have creeds, strong beliefs, passions, the welfare of the vulnerable and regrettably,  a tendency towards force. We have the desire to force because we are human. What I've realized in my short meandering life is that handing someone a spanking in a debate never brings the reward that serving someone in need does. Setting an expectation of a society doesn't bring satisfaction like extending grace undeserved. And now I will address the "you don't understand" comeback. I grew up in a double wide with a melting particle board floor. I rode in 20-40 year old vehicles with holes in the floor and sometimes rusty gas tanks. I had one bra that I hand washed so it would last. I got called lots of names, from hick, to hillbilly, redneck, lesbian, whore, bitch and even annoyingly though harmlessly halfpint and shorty because I never grew to an average size. I was never popular or pretty or by the worlds standards extraordinary in any way. And in highschool I got the shit beat out of me until it hurt to walk and I was black and blue by the meanest girl I've ever laid eyes on. I grew up without air conditioning in the south and lived on a farm hauling hay until I was so hot I got sick. Then I worked at a fruit stand sitting in the sizzling heat all day. Then in an office as the lowliest employee who had to do everything nobody wanted to do. I remember being lambasted because someone else had to wash out the coffee pots and it was beneath them. And then called into the wealthy president of the company's office to discuss my inappropriate t-shirt being worn in business casual office while he knew very well I made half the money of the rest of the employees. 99%ers this one is for you. I loved that boss and I was proud to work for him. He challenged me to RISE! I went home and changed into a lightly stained button down on my lunch break and purposed to try harder albeit with a bitter taste in my mouth. It didn't feel fair but that's what pushes you on.  I had no college degree nor was I in school to become something because I was so tired from working two jobs I just didn't have the energy. I was just crawling along driving my dodge neon home to my slightly creepy apartment with a crazy cat lady roommate and grungy carpet. Does any of this sound familiar? I will spare you the devastation of crashing my car and going on foot for weeks while trying to save up my deductible for repairs. I guess my great privilege came when I married a guy who had crawled his way along getting knocked down over and over by hardships and heartbreaks much worse than my own in many ways but who pressed on with strength rarely witnessed and provided for me to be a "stay at home mom with no education" which half of America disdains. So, maybe I haven't experienced the hardest stuff, maybe being black is just a whole lot harder, but I've been judged, worked in the heat doing full manual labor, been beat up and treated like a servant and a second class citizen. And I say so what. Because thank GOD their problems are not my job. Besides, their treatment of me is NOT my identity and I have no urge to change the people who mistreated me. It was a journey to let those offenses go. Now I want to change the way I respond to mean people because they will never go away. I do try to surround myself with a different kind of people but that might not always be possible. And in all honesty even the dearest people I surround myself with will not "support" everything I believe in and do nor should they. LGBTer's that's for you. I can and do very strongly respect and love you but I won't support your mission. Authenticity and integrity are so much more valuable to me than approval of other people. If I were only friends with people who supported my pro-life passion and changed their Facebook profiles to show it, I would be rather lonely but it's a huge part of who I am and I show it proudly. In light of the inevitability of haters, I've read books about dealing with conflict. Because people are mean. And let me tell you, if they hate you because you're black or poor or Syrian, they probably hate me because I'm conservative or another person because they are rich or gay or pretty or fat. Hate is a poison that often starts with a seed of anger. Beware, because a lot of you seem dangerously angry.  Hate is a pity. America should call it a poverty that evil exists but reacting in anger continues the cycle of hate. So the next time you want to get on a stump about anything, show love and teach people like MLKJr did. "You'll catch more bees with honey than vinegar." 

They say the deepest need of every human is to be understood. Unfortunately human nature and individual experiences makes that something we may only ever truly receive from God. Mayhap that was His intention all along.