Ugliness Before the Rain

If you’ve ever been around chickens for any length of time chances are you’ve seen them molt. It is not a pretty thing. Once beautiful birds lose clumps of feathers all over their body; exposing scrawny patches of pink skin. In particular their necks become barren leaving bulging heads on a fleshy stalk. Like I said, it’s not pretty.

During this process, if your chickens are hens, they will stop laying eggs. By this time, if you are a newbie backyard chicken farmer, you are quite distressed and scouring the internet to find what disease has befallen your birds. Not, of course, that I know this from personal experience. It’s just what I’ve heard some in-experienced people do.

Be at peace. This is no disease, just the natural process of life. Once it has run its course brand new glorious feathers will grow in, leaving your chickens beautiful again. They will also return to their egg production.

Every once in a while things have to turn quite ugly before they become beautiful.

How would we appreciate health without sickness? Joy if there were no sorrow. Could we recognize a miracle if we never saw a tragedy?

Some of the most beautiful blue sky days come after the harshest weather. Almost like we’re getting a reward for making it through, a gold star sticker for enduring through the trial.

Are we on this earth to gain promotions at work, decorate our homes with Pinterest crafts, and collect possessions? It’s what we do. We work, provide for our families, and enjoy hobbies. Though as a purpose for life, none of those things make much sense. I doubt the point of my being placed on this planet is to buy shoes and a write a book, as much as I enjoy those things.

When I was in college I always thought life would start after graduation, that was my someday. Shows how little I knew in college. Really, all of life is an education. We are here to learn from the journey, to grow from each new experience; whether good or bad. It is how we live through the day-to-day working, shopping and hobbies that matters

Sometimes it’s hard to look at an event in our life as part of the big picture. When someone tears us down, or a friend turns their back, how does that fit into the greater perspective of life and that someday after graduation? Is it worth holding a grudge? Do you really need to shout at that terrible driver? Whatever the problem is, does it warrant so much of your energy and emotion?

Another note about chickens, they like to roll in the dirt, a lot. They will roll in so much dirt you will actually start considering bathing your chickens, or at the very least hosing them off. Then the rain comes, and all that ugliness is washed away. You’re left with shining white chickens again, more beautiful than they were before.

For the people of Boston 2013 has been an emotional year. The bombing of the Boston Marathon on the city’s Patriot Day was a tragedy that rocked the people of the city to its very core. As a nation we mourned with Boston during those dark days.

It was beautiful to watch Boston celebrate when their Red Sox won the World Series at home in Fenway Park. The first time they’ve won the World Series at home in ninety-five years. Fans poured into to the streets, even to marathon finish line, shouting “Boston Strong”.

The rain had washed away the ugliness, and the sun was finally shining.

We all have trials to endure and learn from, sometimes individually, others as a community or a family. When we become battered and dirty there will be something beautiful for us on the other side. It’s just a matter of having the right perspective to see it.

Loving Life's Roller Coasters

I love roller coasters, I really do. My husband and I have been sneaking away for grown-up amusement park weekends for years now. Old school wooden coasters, sleek steal rails, hanging suspension style we’ve done it all. We love the free-falling thrill of dropping, spinning and spiraling in a well controlled manner.

I have still not learned to appreciate these same feelings in the rest of my life.

Life is not spent at an even keel. There are good moments that take us on highs, low moments can drop us suddenly and flat stretches will sometimes drag on longer then we like.

The exciting moments always seem much too brief, and the spiraling drops sometimes feel endless. 

None of it feels very controlled or safe.

What if there were no drops? No loops, cork-screws or hills. Just a nice smooth ride. Then life wouldn’t be a roller coaster would it? It would be a train ride.

There’s nothing wrong with a train. I think they’re relaxing and the ride can be very scenic. But if the track stays flat forever won’t we tire of the ride? We wouldn’t learn very much from a smooth un-interrupted ride.

Would the blandness of the mundane overshadow our fears of the unknown?

Writing a novel has been its own kind of ride. There was the lengthy process of writing the book and editing it. Much like standing in line on a very busy Saturday in July at Disney World.

Then comes sending your manuscript out to the very first readers to see if you have a story. That’s chugging slowly up the first big hill of the coaster with your heart in your throat. You know what it feels like, you look out over the entire amusement park and think ‘what have I done’ but it’s way too late by that point, you’re already strapped in.

Once you hit the first loop that’s the equivalent of getting your first positive feedback. Next comes querying for agents. Will the terrifying corkscrew of death ever end? Yes, to send you hurtling towards the ground at the speed of sound.

You get the idea, writing a book has a lot of ups and downs.

So, why do I love roller coasters?

Honestly, the first one of the day I don’t. I’m always terrified to get on that first roller coaster every trip. Going up that hill is painful, but I grit my teeth and say a little prayer. Somewhere around the halfway point of the first drop, which coincidentally is when my scream runs of out of air, the fear turns into a thrill.

That’s when I can let go of the bar, put my hands in the air and fly in total freedom.

I just don’t think a flat track would have the same effect.

Without risks, trials and pain, all the lows of life, the highs would not be as sweet. If we had no sorrow to compare our happiness to, how would we indeed know we were happy? Mondays would not be the same if there weren’t a few loop de loops.

No one really enjoys the ups and downs and downs of life. Somewhere in the beginning we were terrified and now we’ve become so jaded we ride life’s amusement park like an elevator instead of a thrill ride.

Stop waiting for the destination and enjoy the ride, because pretty soon it will be time to get off.

Grit your teeth, say a prayer and let go, knowing that with every low another high will pop up.

You can’t fly on a flat track.

Are you going to love the roller coaster?  

What We Leave Behind

February is a month of anniversaries. It marks the celebration of love, presidents and even the birth of my beautiful twin daughters. For me it also brings memories of the brother I lost on February 22, 2008.

Each year I sort through a few more boxes of his stowed belongings and come out with some new surprises. This year I came upon a memory he had tucked away in his wallet.

You can tell a lot about a person by what ‘s in their wallet or purse.  For instance I have large quantities of receipts in my purse for my expense reports. Call it disorganization if you want, I prefer to think of it as a relaxed filing system. Look at the details of the receipts and you can figure out the entire layout of my sales territory. Keep digging in the depths of my handbag and you’ll find clip on sparkle earrings, paint swatches and fuzzy pom-poms. It would not take a detective to figure out I have little girls that are divas, am redecorating my kitchen, and use “warm fuzzies” as a reward for good behavior.

What kind of story are you carrying around with you?

In going through my brother’s wallet I found lot’s of telling tokens. There was a club card for his favorite Mexican restaurant that was so worn out he’d laminated the frayed pieces together. His collection of home grown hot peppers was represented by a pepper postage stamp. In the window where most people keep their drivers license he had a copy of the serenity prayer. It was there behind that printed prayer that I found something incredibly meaningful.

A faded year-old Wal-Mart receipt for $108.95.

At first I couldn’t see the relevance of this slip of paper. The purchases were t-shirts, shorts and socks, hardly high value purchases. Why had he kept it? More so, why was it so worn out? There were check marks by each item and the receipt had been creased and re-creased.

It wasn’t until I checked the date and location that I remembered the shopping trip. I had been with my brother that day. It was his final trip to rehab and I had come to visit him for the day. We had gone to lunch together, walked the Old Town Mall in Winchester and gone shopping. It was the first time in years we had spent time together just the two of us, it would be one of the last.

Did he keep the receipt because that day meant so much to him? I can’t say for sure. I know that the sword he bought in a specialty shop that day is on the wall of my craft room. Doesn’t everyone have a sword in their craft room? I also know that for some reason he believed I was miraculous. He would tell anyone that listened what a fantastic mother I was. Nothing I accomplished surprised him, because he expected me to fly.

I can’t count the things my brother left behind. We have an authentic light saber, every video gaming system known to man and Matrix action figures. Beyond that, he left me the belief in adventure, an irresistible desire to rescue the downtrodden, and the determination not to disappoint his memory.

Besides what’s in my purse, what would I be leaving behind if I suddenly left this world? I never let my family leave without saying I love you, but I want to do more for them. I want my daughters to know how to be strong women. I want my son to know how to treat his wife and family one day. They all need to know how to stand up for their values and be who they are. That I believe they are stronger and more wonderful than they can ever imagine.

In this day and age we need to try and leave the world a little better off for our time in it. I don’t just mean recycling, though that is a good thing. Leave people better off for having known you. Make an impact on your family and on your world. Leave someone smiling one day when they sort through your wallet.

What are you going to leave behind?

Taking Control Through Choice

In light of recent events many of us have lost our Christmas spirit. Some feel like skipping the celebrations all together.

We need to embrace that spirit like never before.

When my oldest child boarded the school bus for the first day of kindergarten I smiled and waved like a perky pageant queen. As soon as that sunshine yellow child thief lumbered off I burst into tears.

It had nothing to do with my baby growing up, but everything to do with losing control.

For the first time I would not know what or how my child was doing all day. I was leaving him to his own devices and the care of strangers.

Even as a working mother I’d been able to call the babysitter, who was also family, at any time for updates. I could find out what they were doing, hear his voice or even stop by if I was so inclined. 

The beginning of public school changed all that.

Losing control meant gaining fear and anxiety as a parent.

As the world becomes increasingly chaotic and self-destructive we can feel overwhelmed by despair or even hopelessness. Every newscast seems more tragic then the last.

I can’t control what is happening in our nation and across the world. I can’t turn around the economy. I can’t stop senseless violence. I can’t put an end to hate.

I can control my little piece of this world.

This holiday season I can celebrate peace, charity and love. I can make my home a place of comfort and joy and teach my children how to spread goodness in their little part of the world.

If many of us choose to act in this way all of our little pieces could add up to something really wonderful.

Darkness and tragedy may be thrust upon us, but it is our choice in how we react.

What support will we give? What strength will we gain?

I adapted to having children in school as all parents do. The teachers and staff that were “strangers” are now treasured friends. In a school of 1200 students the phenomenal ladies in the office call me and my children by our first names.

How did I go from terror to trust? I chose to embrace the new environment. Really to jump in with both feet. Cupcakes for a party? Sign me up. Parent teacher conferences? Never missed one. Kindergarten Career Day? Who knew you could hold five-year-olds spell bound with a model of a clogged artery?

By being a positive presence I felt more in control of my children’s environment.

This Christmas I’m choosing to make my part of the world as bright as I can, for the sake of my family and my fellow man. Maybe no one else will notice, but I think just making that choice will give me a little more control over the fear and horror that has been reigning unchecked lately.

I will choose where I stand and I will not be moved.

What are you going to choose to do with your part of the world?

What I've Noticed...

Not so long ago I was having bad day. It wasn't jump from a tall building bad, just kind of an "ick" is this really the day I'm having bad.

For example during a business lunch one of the attendees, who had the sniffles, cleaned the serving spoon off with his finger. He could have just taken the entire dish, because none of us wanted any pasta after that. In that same two hours of fun filled selling this same attendee used the handle of his fork to scratch an itch. Inside his nose.

After leaving I'm wondering how to shake out of my funk and turn my day around. Through the intersection I see my salvation. A mecca I did not know was available in that particular small town. What did I veer across four lanes of traffic for? Starbucks!

Now anyone that knows me well, or not, knows that I don't drink coffee so this may sound like an odd ray of happiness for me. What I adore from Starbucks however, is their hot chocolate. Topped with whipped cream and a drizzle of chocolate syrup in a pretty little Christmas cup, it somehow contains magical powers that makes my day better.

What I've noticed is that while this delicious over priced beverage possesses soul healing qualities for me it does little for others. My husband in fact doesn't even like the taste of it.

The magic comes in my believing.

Much like a child believes a mother's kiss will heal a wound. I believe hot cocoa will turn my day around.

Please don't argue with me about sugar and chocolate releasing some sort of endorphin's,  because I need to believe. It's a tiny thing that can make all the difference, and I hope everyone has one little thing for when ick days come to find us.

What little magic do you believe in?

Weeding the Fear Garden

Fear has gone from a tool of survival to an indestructible dandelion.

Think of your life as a nice orderly garden full of your hopes and dreams. Fear are the weeds that keep us too preoccupied to notice that the pumpkin patch is infested with squash bugs.

Normal people are afraid of things that can actually do them harm: heights, poisonous spiders, or flying. Granted you'd be pretty hard pressed to actually fall off the Empire State Building during a tour, but it's a legitimate fear all the same.

None of those things bother me. Bring on the spiraling looping steel roller coasters of death, I'm game all day long, and I'll even hang on to my breakfast.

I'll crush any spider, swat any bee, although admittedly I will do a shrieking little getaway dance if I have an unplanned encounter with a snake.

At a training class, in Chicago, I met a lady so terrified of flying she begged her husband to come drive her home. He declined to make the trip up from Louisiana in the middle of February.

 I view flying as a rare opportunity to enjoy a good book, uninterrupted by children or technology.

My fear doesn't involve creepy crawlies or hurtling to my death. In my defense there are sharp objects and masked men.

I'm afraid of the dentist.

Go ahead and laugh, you know you want to.

Usually I'll say that and people chime in "Oh, I don't like it either!"

Disliking something is not the same thing. I'm talking about the kind of fear that puts knots in your stomach and a sweat on your brow.

When I was pregnant with my oldest I went for my first dental cleaning in years. I specifically went, because I knew they couldn't do anything more then the basics while I was pregnant.

I was so gripped by terror, that on the way there I cut little half moons into my palms by digging my nails into the flesh of my clinched fists. The dentist had to keep reminding me to relax my hands through out the appointment.

Now, you probably think I'm a few flowers short of a bouquet, but how do you feel about public speaking? Did your palms just get sweaty thinking about it?

Of course my fear isn't logical, I know that. Nothing bad is going to happen to me, especially during a cleaning. Those little lectures with my inner self don't help at all.

When you to talk in front of a group they're not going to throw sharp objects at your head. If that's the case, you might want to re-think your speaking engagements.

As we gain a little perspective in our years we start to understand real fear. Losing our loved ones. Our children being hurt. The evil that exists in the world.

Once we see the big picture those little weeds don't seem so terrible.

Right before my last dental appointment one of my little girls had fallen off the monkey bars at school. Fearing her arm was fractured, the doctor sent her for x-rays.

Even though it was one of my rougher appointments, and I was plenty sore later, I didn't have time to be afraid. I just wanted them to hurry up so I could get to my baby.

Losing someone to young often makes us realize how much of life we're missing out on. If your bucket list includes trips to Fiji, Calcutta, and Moscow, but you won't set foot on an airstrip maybe it's time to pull that weed. Don't get around to your gardening too late!

There are enough truly bad things in the world to distract us from our lives. Let's start working on these fears before the squash bugs take over.

Who's ready to do a little weeding?

Painful Procrastination

Ouch. That's the best description for this week. After years of dabbling periodically in our fitness, my hubby and I had discovered we were way out of shape. Like, winded on the stairs out of shape.

So, it was time to get serious. Extreme, ninety days of seriousness. Once again, may I say ouch.

It takes at least an hour to an hour and a half every evening. Which is a lot of our "free" time. My wise husband had an excellent point though. We'd put off our health long enough, it was time for other things to be placed on hold.

That got me thinking, what else had I been putting off? It's so easy to get caught up in the daily work, cleaning, bill paying routine, are there crucial life events we're procrastinating?

My first thought was about my relationship with Heavenly Father and returning with honor.

When my son was very small we were at the County Fair, waiting for our ride on a roller coaster to start, when my precious toddler looked over at our church building just across the field.

"Mommy, Jesus is coming." He was very serious, his little brow furrowed.

I have to tell you, my heart quickened a little bit. "He is? When Baby?"

He continued to concentrate, but shrugged his tiny shoulders. "I don't know, soon."

I've made sure since then that the same conversation wouldn't be so worrisome. Even though I'm much more prepared, there's still a lot I should be striving for. Reading my scriptures daily, praying more often, the list goes on. How long will I procrastinate on these items?

Next my thoughts moved on to my family and all the things I want to do with them. Every summer we talk about taking the kids into nearby Washington D.C. to see the monuments or museums. So far we haven't gotten around to it. Or, the other historical sites in Virginia. There are lots of other things we've done as a family, but these are memories I want my kids to have. I need to stop putting it off and get it done.

Most importantly, I need to make sure I've told my family everything I want to tell them. Do my kids know why church and God are so important to me? Will my husband know how much he has inspired me and lifted me up, if I leave this earth tomorrow? Can any of them grasp how all encompassing my love for them is? Did I teach them to pray? To have faith?

I don't know about you, but I can't afford to procrastinate any longer. My fitness rehab may be painful, but after one week I'm seeing amazing results. I don't want to be in pain down the road because I procrastinated too long on other goals. Besides, what kind of fabulous blessings could be awaiting me?

What can you stop procrastinating, today?

A Recipe for Lemonade

Disappointment is never fun, but it's a part of life. They don't have your size in the shoes you want. The new movie you've been waiting months for is a dud. Your dinner plans get cancelled at the last minute. We don't like it. We may grumble about it. As adults we can adjust. Can't we?

For children disappointment can be crushing. They can't always see the big picture, and a major let down can shake their faith in people. As a parent you never want to see one of your kiddos hurting,  let alone all of them.

This week we had plans to go away for a few days while I had some down time in my job transition. Our kids were thrilled at the prospect of staying in a hotel, and most of all visiting the amusement park in Hershey Pennsylvania. As their parents, anything we say is gospel law. They couldn't imagine that the trip would not come to pass.

Life happens though, and my husband's vacation request was not approved. We'll still be able to go, just not until late August. I might as well have told my kids we'd never be going on vacation again. A few weeks, sounded like a few centuries to them. What's worse, is that one of my girls had fallen asleep as soon as we had come home that evening, and she slept right on through until morning. She wasn't awake when I told the other two we were postponing the trip. I had to watch another little face fall the next morning when I explained it all over again.

My counter offer to my kids disappointment, was making lemonade with Mom. After all, I had cleared my schedule. Why not make the most of our time? I'm always jealous of the fun stuff my babysitter gets to do with them. We would take our nasty lemons and make the best lemonade ever.

This summer I have become a Pinterest addict. If you haven't checked out the website I highly recommend it. That's where we gathered the rest of our ingredients. I scoured through my Pinterest board of kids crafts and summer activities and found the most interesting ones for our list. Ranging from sidewalk paint and salt art to snake bubbles. Then we hit the dollar store for supplies.

Stir in some pool time, ice cream, and a trip to an inflatable indoor playground and you have a deliciously sweet lemonade.

We've made some wonderful memories, and I'm fairly certain that their faith has been restored that we will be making that trip to Hershey sooner rather than later.

The whole experience has made me wonder, though. As "mature" grown-ups, how often do we make the best of things? Do we just take life's disappointments on the chin and move on? If so, maybe all those little lemons are leaving a sour taste.

If we're crushed to see our children's sadness at disappointments, I'm sure our Heavenly Father feels the same way about us.

Why not make lemonade a little more often? I'd be happy to share my recipe.

Evolution of Heroes

When we moved into our house, four years ago, our son was getting ready to turn five. He was completely infatuated with Batman. Because we're the most awesome parents ever, we decorated his new room in a bat cave motif complete with a life size wall sticker of the caped crusader and a bat logo over his bed. Now, with his ninth birthday approaching this week fictional super heroes have lost their appeal. He'd rather have a room that's more grown-up. Something cool and mature. You know...Star Wars.

As we become adults we stop noticing who our heroes are. Those that inspire and uplift us. It becomes rare that we name those influencers, both large and small. In our children, however, it is easy to see the evolution they go through. From super heroes and cartoon characters to family members, teachers and members of our community. Kids show their adoration through mimicing, collecting, and devotion of their artwork and allowances.

Whenever his uncle comes home from Afghanistan, my son greets him dressed in his own set of "official" camouflage fatigues. Every care package we send over seas during Uncle John's deployment gets a scenic crayon picture complete with an American flag waving atop the mountains. At the ripe old age of eight, he may not know how to put into words that he's proud, but he know's how to show it.

The newest influence in my son's life is one I've become quite impressed with too. This spring was our first season of baseball. Quite a switch from juggling soccer balls, but an enjoyable one since my husband and I know a lot more about swinging a bat then scoring a goal.

We were convinced that our little slugger could benefit from a baseball camp this summer. In the fall he'll be moving up to an older league that could be intimidating if he didn't have a little more coaching. He wasn't sure about attending a camp, it was a little out of his comfort zone. With a little of Mom's gentle sales persuasion tactics...okay, maybe there was a deal made involving some Legos, he agreed to go.

The camp we chose was with the Woodstock River Bandits, our local Valley League team. The Valley League is known as "The Gateway to the Majors", and college players come from all over the country to spend their summer playing ball in the Shenandoah Valley.

For one week campers spent three hours a day working on drills and games to improve their baseball skills. Sounds pretty standard, right? What made the week great, was that the camp was run by the River Bandits coaches and players. What made it exceptional, was the devotion and heart those players put in to the camp. They didn't just show up to put in their time. The Bandits were enthusiastic about sharing their love of baseball with those kids. They went out of their way to make sure every child was included and made to feel like a winner. Best of all the campers walked away with new friends to look up to.

My son loved baseball before, but now he leaves and breathes it. Especially River Bandits baseball. At the end of camp all of the players signed his baseball. It couldn't be more precious if it was made of gold. He wants to put it on a stand with a picture we took of him and his favorite player, #18 Taylor Rakes.

The very next game we attended after camp, my son was sure to take along some of his money to buy a River Bandits hat. He had to dust off a few cobwebs first, his money box never gets cracked open. To him it was worth it though, to have a hat just like the team.

During the game one of my little girls and her friend chased down some foul balls and wanted to get them signed. The opposing team's bullpen had been coarse and foul mouthed whenever we passed by, a bit intimidating for tiny 6-year-old girls. By comparison the River Bandits were happy to see their young fans and jumped to accommodate our request for autographs, chatting up my bashful girls.

Maybe I caught them at the right time, but I never heard any foul language or bad attitudes, and we were down quite a few runs. Certainly during camp there was nothing but positivity in their speech and actions. I'm very pleased with the players that the River Bandits organization has brought to our community this year. I'm even more pleased that my children are finding heroes that don't need capes.

Where will you find a hero that inspires you today?

Reverse Logging

First, let me apologize for not posting last week. Everything is fine, and thank you to all of those who checked up on me. I've been uprooted from my day job and transferred to a different division. The post for last week had a little too much attitude in it, so I decided to scrap it until I was in a better mood.

There's a small percentage of Americans that never actually have to work a day in their lives. The rest of us will be punching a clock for the majority of our natural lives. Depending on how broke we are, will determine how hard and how much we will have to work.

Everyone has stories to tell. It starts in high school waiting tables, pumping gas or taking orders at the drive-thru window. Maybe it's even younger working on the family farm or delivering the newspaper. I've never actually lived somewhere that had paperboys, but I'm sure it exists other then on television.

I worked two jobs through college to pay for living expenses. I'm still paying for the actual cost of college. Unless it was an emergency, I swore after graduation I would never eat Raman noodles again. Little did I know the happiest poverty was yet to come.

Combining two incomes should improve your financial situation. Unfortunately you're also combining two sets of living expenses. We discovered in the first year of marriage that our income would not stretch to cover a vacation.

Enter our short lived career in reverse logging.

What we did might sound a lot like planting trees, but it was much more labor intensive and hardcore then simple landscaping.

To prevent erosion around streams and creeks, the government provides grants to land owners to plant large numbers of trees in these riparian areas. In true red-tape bureaucratic style, there's about seventy-four steps to planting government trees.

First, a small hole is made and the stick with roots, think about twice the size of what your kid brings home for Arbor day, is mashed in and covered. Then, the next person drives a stake into the ground beside the tree and places a protective tube over the stick, cable tying it to the stake. Are you still with me?

The next team member comes along and places a 3'x3' fabric weed square with a slit in the center over the tree. Most importantly the fabric has to be shiny side up, according to government specs. We once had to re-do half a field that did not meet the check box. After that we learned to chant "sunny side up" as we laid the mats. Each mat had to have every corner folded in and a staple driven through it into the ground. Not necessarily difficult, but excruciating on the back.

The crowning piece was a little birdie net that went on top of the tube to keep birds and animals from eating the trees.

There's a couple things you should know to put this logging project in perspective. Planting a few trees on a lovely spring day sounds like a charming way to make a little extra money. We planted 750 to 2500 trees per farm in wind, rain, mud and bone-chilling cold. There were a few days we could work in our shirt sleeves, but they were few and far between. It was more common that we would lay thirty mats, and then sit in the truck for five minutes to warm up, and then lay thirty more mats.

Now, a dozen years later, my husband likes to tell these stories to our kids. He wants them to know that the mother they always see with hair and make-up done, heading to work in high heals, is capable of manual labor.

He especially likes to tell them about me walking through a truck stop to the ladies room. To stay warm and dry, I would layer my husband's brown coveralls over my coat, jeans, sweatshirt and long johns, paired with massive insulated boots. I stomped down the hallway like a brick wall. The roughest of truck drivers and bikers stepping aside in reverence, or fear.


The following year we still couldn't afford a vacation, so we went on a "free" time share weekend. All we had to do was take part in a ninety minute presentation. After being held hostage for three hours, I would have gladly planted trees again before accepting another deal from that particular devil.


Everyone has experiences like this. The waitressing job that kept you on your feet so long you had to go into the walk-in freezer to get your wedding rings off your swollen pregnant fingers. Or the teacher that delivers pizzas and DJ's weddings so he can provide a better life for his family. Maybe you're there right now. Whether you know it or not, you are making someone very proud. 


What story does someone tell about you? 

The Wedding Story of Life

Tis' the season for showers, bird seed, and floating bubbles. That's right people, it's wedding season. I've recently been asked to be a bridesmaid, something I haven't done in ten years. Believe it or not I'm completely stoked, not because I have a love of teal taffeta, but because I adore the bride. It's an honor to be asked, plus I think this is going to be a really special event for our family. Now after all that warm fuzziness, I have to be honest, my next thought was that I better start hitting the gym. I'm going to be standing next to my cousin who is about as big as my little finger, and the bride who's the "after" of my Jenny Craig commercial.

Weddings offer so many opportunities for entertainment. My cousin drug her father up the aisle and then had a cow moo during the middle of the ceremony. Unfortunately, as guests we sometimes miss the best parts of the event. The story that unfolds later.

During the set-up of my sister-in-law's wedding, her fiance left with the keys to her car. That normally wouldn't be a big deal, except large portions of the decorations were in her trunk. Using good old fashioned American ingenuity, I shimmied through her half open window and folded down the back seat to access the trunk. Yes, this was prior to the birth of my three children.

At that same wedding the groom realized just minutes before the processional that he had forgotten the CD of the bridal march. The home owner scrambled through their limited music collection. Would the bride really walk down the aisle to Wayne Newton? Luckily, I have a freakish obsession with the cannons. I find them relaxing, okay? There was a full disc of wedding music in my car, and it was unlocked.

Some of the most ridiculous wedding moments I've heard of, come from my own wedding. What can I say, I was young and didn't plan well, but it made for a memorable day.

Bubbles were just coming into fashion for weddings, but were still a bit expensive. I was wearing way too much hairspray to let our guests surround us with sparklers. Still, I was not interested in spending hours packing birdseed into tiny little bags. My bright solution? Fill a birdbath with seeds and each guest could grab a handful to toss. Simple enough. I failed to take the groomsmen into account.

My husband's dearest friends lifted the top off the birdbath and dumped the entire thing on our heads. I had to take down my hair on the balcony of our hotel room that night, to shake out the six cups of birdseed trapped in the intricate up-do. It was in our pockets, ears, shoes, anyplace you can think of.

I won't go in to detail about what they did to the car. My car, that my trusting husband left unlocked with the keys in the ignition. It was epic, I'll say that much. Even after a trip to the car wash, it was a conversation starter at every rest area we stopped at on our honeymoon.

With first dances, cake cuttings and socializing with distant family members my husband and I never had time to eat anything at our reception. Never fear, our family took care of us and packed a cooler with all the best snacks and finger foods. When we got to the hotel we were starving and couldn't wait to dig in. Except in all the craziness of leaving the wedding we'd grabbed the wrong cooler. All we had were extra broccoli and carrot sticks that had not been on ice all evening. Not exactly a pleasant smell.

At five minutes till midnight my groom and I rolled into a local McDonald's and super sized ourselves a first matrimonial dinner. I was stilling wearing my hairpiece, and we hadn't cleaned out any of the aforementioned birdseed yet. To say we were stared at would be a mild understatement.

The crowning jewel of the night, however, came right after we left the reception. Tradition holds that when the bride and groom leaves, the rest of the wedding party piles into cars and follows them through town honking, cheering and raising a general commotion. Our wedding party was exceedingly good at this task. As we were ending our rounds through town we passed a gas station where two not-so-distinguished country gentlemen were rolling out of their pick up truck. One looked up and with out missing a beat yelled out "You fool!".

No matter what hysterics take place backstage during your wedding or catastrophes that go seen or unseen by the guests you will be just as married in the end. Best of all you'll have some great stories to tell one day, when you're writing a blog about weddings during the week of your thirteenth anniversary. Who wants a boring "everything was perfect" story to tell?

Life, like our weddings, isn't perfect. That's what makes it a good story. It doesn't matter if you're a millionaire or a pauper. If your house is spotless or a mess. In the end we all meet the same maker, it's just about the story we have to tell.

How interesting is your story going to be?

Going the Way of Christmas

How do you teach patriotism? What can you do to show your children, or your fellow Americans, what the flag, the fourth, and the fallen mean to you? How do you explain that Memorial Day weekend is more than the public pool opening and hot dogs on the grill? Can they understand why Uncle John had to go to Afghanistan and why we hold our hands over our hearts when we sing the anthem?

Each holiday has taken its turn becoming commercialized. It seems Christmas decorations go up in the stores as soon as the back-to-school displays come down. Valentine's is more about selling overpriced candy then sharing our love. Now the patriotic holidays are taking their turn. In a country where the pledge of allegiance's appropriateness in schools is debated, children are losing sight of what patriotism means. Memorial Day is toted as the unofficial beginning of summer. Television ads and stores stock displays with charcoal, coolers and flip flops.

My kids have learned about Betsy Ross in school and colored pictures of flags, but do they know why they're off from school on Monday? They have a hard time understanding why it makes Mommy and Daddy so proud to see our local veteran waving the flag all weekend from the interstate bridge in town.

So, how do we combat society's bland patriotism? I'm doing my part. I married a man born on Veteran's Day, have a nephew born on Flag Day, and I gave birth to our son on the Fourth of July. Beat that.

The only problem was convincing my oldest that the fireworks were for our nation's birthday, and not his.

I gave my children a little patriotism quiz while I was writing this post. Turns out, thank heavens, the family influence is a lot stronger then the glossy advertising world.  All three knew that Memorial Day was a holiday to remember all the soldiers that have died fighting to protect us. My oldest could tell me the meaning of the flag. No one was quite sure why we cover our hearts for the pledge and the anthem, but they knew it was very important. I was an especially proud Mama, even more so because they all knew that without soldiers we couldn't be safe and happy.

If I had to give a simplified definition of freedom, being safe and happy would be it. This Memorial Day we're free to be any kind of example we want. I hope we choose to teach the value of freedom  over flip flops and suntans.

What are you going to do this weekend to keep Memorial Day from going the way of Christmas?

A Pirate Goes Camping

I seriously considered writing a post entitled "Unfortunate Swimsuit Decisions and Tragic Tattoos". After spending a week in warmer climates I was an unlucky witness to a multitude of both. I have three children, two of which came at the same time, and a love of all things chocolate. I know the importance of shopping for a flattering swimsuit. It is my firm belief that many people, both male and female, grab a suit off the rack, put it on and strut out to the pool or beach with out ever looking in a mirror. At least I hope they don't know how they look. I digress, crayon sketched tattoos of mangled mermaids and poorly worn Speedos are not my focus this week. These observations were made because of something that has become very precious to me and my husband, relaxing time away.

I know what you're thinking, that's great for you, but not everyone can flit off to the beach. Well most of the time neither can I, but it doesn't matter where you go it's the peace you get when you arrive. Several years into our marriage my husband and I were stressed to the max and money was tight, which probably added to the stress. Our solution to a relaxing getaway, camping.

It sounded like a good idea at the time. Just thirty dollars a night and a borrowed tent, what could be better? Famous last thoughts. With everything packed and ready to go my hubby came home late from work with an eye injury. You may not have noticed, but telephone lines are wrapped with a wire. While working on a telephone pole that guide wire had sprung loose and stabbed him in the eye. Go ahead, cringe. Had we been a little older and smarter I would have insisted on going to the emergency room, but we weren't so bright and we were desperate to get away. After twenty minutes on the road he was blinded by tears and in a good deal of pain, so we pulled over at a Wal-Mart and I went in to search for a solution. I knew his patience was waining so I raced through the pharmacy aisles scanning the shelves for anything that might help. My solution, eye drops, pain killers and an eye-patch padded with tissues. If a peg leg and a parrot would have helped I'd have bought them, I was beyond desperation.

The pirate routine bought us some time. We were able to get to the campground and set-up the tent, but then he was done. He collapsed on the empty floor of the tent in pain, while I unloaded the truck and established our campsite by the beam of the flashlight and prayed. Exhausted I stumbled through the woods to the showers and prayed some more. Settling the dog under the truck and zipping us into the tent I was finally done. Oh, and did I mention I prayed?

Saturday morning broke sunny and beautiful. I was woken by a very large rock in my back, which was a bad sign considering we had been sleeping on an air mattress. My hubby cracked his good eye open and then gingerly lifted his patch. There was a slight dot that looked bloodshot, but no swelling and no pain. The prayers of the faithful were answered.

With joy in our hearts we bounced out of our tent only to be slammed back by...what exactly was that smell? It was so overwhelming we couldn't immediately distinguish the acidic stench that was burning our eyes. Then it hit me. During the night we had yelled at the dog to be quiet and settle down. Surely he had not been sprayed by a skunk while tied to our truck, in our campsite, in the middle of a very crowded campground. We peeked out at the pooch. He kept his nose in the dirt and wouldn't make eye contact. Yep, that's exactly what had happened.

I don't know about you, I pack a lot of things when I camp, but not skunk remedies. Checking out the camp store the closest thing we could find was V-8 juice, and it wasn't cheap. We bought two bottles and rationed it out between the dog and the truck tire that had been in the line of fire. Low and behold it worked. I'm telling you, the Lord helps those who help themselves, and He was definitely helping us.
 
Our day went on to be fabulous. It was the first time we spent just completely relaxing together, no activities, just sitting under some trees reading magazines and taking naps. I might have put enough effort forth to paint my toenails and later we went fishing, but the point is we took time to quiet our minds and check ourselves out of reality for awhile. The peace and sanity we gained that day was life saving. It didn't matter that we were camping in the woods, we could have been on a beach or at a park. The experience is what counted. The fact that there were challenges in our path made it all the more worth while. Things that come to easily also come with less meaning.

Take time for yourself, your marriage, your sanity and don't let anything stand in your way no matter what ridiculous thing pops up. Even if it means taking a pirate camping. Maybe it's the very thing that could save you from a disastrous swimsuit decision or tacky tattoo.

So, when are you going to find a little peace?

Why I Write

The problem with writing a blog, or with any writing really, is that you continually have to come up with new material. It's especially intimidating when coming off of a blockbuster week like "The Peanut Butter Sandwich" post. Last week drew two hundred and thirty-four readers. Do I know two hundred and thirty-four people? I began the year with just twenty-five views a week, and I think at least five of those were from my husband. How did that happen in just eight weeks? There was a five month plan in place, not a fifty day plan.

If you'll indulge me I'd like to share some thoughts on why I write or more specifically why I dream. It will help us figure out how we got here in just eight weeks, and hopefully give you a few ideas about your dreams.

Everyone has that superstar life they imagine for themselves where they're the next singing t.v. super star or accepting an Academy award. Maybe in your daydream you've just won the Super Bowl and now you're going to Disney World. In those dreams we have million dollar homes and private jets. Those are your just for fun dreams, but then you have two other levels of dreams that are there to inspire you and build your faith.

Level two dreams are how we build lives. This is the house with the white picket fence, the dog and 2.5 children. You could also call this your expectations for life. I always knew I would have a house and a family and that we would find ways to provide. My husband on the other hand wasn't sure he would even have a double wide in his parent's backyard. You could say I'm the optimist in the family. In fact if my glass is half full, his is three-quarters empty. So, I make my plans, say a prayer and drag my husband along. Things have a way of working themselves out. Going to college, getting married, even vacations could be considered level two dreams.

Some people live their whole lives with no level one dreams. These are things that other  people do. We can almost see ourselves living out these roles, and once upon time, when we were kids, maybe we dipped our toe in the water. It might be that you've always wanted to own your own business, live in France, or act in a local theater company. For me I've always wanted to write a book. Heaven knows I've had all these stories bouncing around inside my head long enough. Why bother having these kinds of dreams though? Aren't we just setting are selves up for heartache? There are bills to pay and children to raise, it's not like you can just go off an do any of these things. Well it turns out you can. I know people who have done all of the things listed above.

I've dreamed of seeing one of my stories on a bookstore shelf for many years. There's actually a seventh grade English teacher who's probably very disappointed she hasn't been thanked in the acknowledgements of my first novel yet. (I'm very sorry Mrs. Norris) It wasn't until I met a published author that I finally got to work on my manuscript. I can't say he was normal, because he was very odd, but he was just a regular guy with a family. Surely if he could do it I could at least try. It took nearly three years of writing during stolen late nights and sacrificed vacation days, but I finished what I started. I have a completed edited novel. That's not good enough, my dream was not to write a book and stick it away in a closet. I want to write as a career. The more feedback I get on the novel the more I want to write. There are so many characters I need to bring to life. The only thing I knew to do was live as if the dream was going to be our new reality. Now, instead of dreaming I'm making plans. Those plans have led to the expansion of this blog and will hopefully take me all the way to the bookstore.

What dream can you start living? Is it really that far out of reach or can you start making plans for your new reality. I know why I write, do you know why you dream?

The Peanut Butter Sandwich

Do you remember your first friend? Chances are you're thinking about the buck-toothed kid that you grew-up next door to or the little girl in braids you met in kindergarten. If you take a look closer to home though you might find an even earlier friendship.

Your brothers and sisters are your first friends, enemies and hopefully the only people you ever try to maim or kill. My brother was all of those things to me. I often think fondly of childhood memories or cringe at the near misses we escaped, but this coming week offers me a special opportunity to do so. This Wednesday will mark the four year anniversary of my brother's death. All week I remember the adventures we had as children. After all no one really knows your childhood experiences like a sibling, someone who lived those experiences with you.

Though he was six years older we were forced playmates, because, we lived in the country, and our nearest neighbors could be spotted only through binoculars. Living on a farm gave us a super-sized playground with fields, forests and barns to explore. We could often be seen racing across the hills on his dirt bike. When I was very small I would ride cross legged on the gas tank holding on to the handle bars. (Safe, I know) As I grew I rode on the back of the bike hanging on to him. I couldn't begin to count the number of bumps, bruises and burns we obtained from motorcycle crashes. Who knew that two people on a dirt bike doing X-Games style jumping could be so risky? The force of that wipe out is nothing in comparison though to hitting a petrified cow patty at fifty miles an hour. Didn't know manure could turn to stone did you? Well it can, and when it does it can send a motorcycle and its riders flying through the air. Unfortunately you miss the whole flying part. One moment you're on the bike, the next you're slamming into the ground, and the next you're bloody and limping pushing a busted bike back home.

Just like with other childhood friends I didn't always play nicely with my brother. I can remember him chasing me through the house, I'm not sure what I'd done, but I'm sure it was a doozy. Reaching the brand new bathroom I slammed the door and locked it behind me. He hit the door so hard it cracked. That was it, the fight was over. We had to work together to patch and paint the door before our parents got home. On another occasion I'd grown so tired of his picking that I hid in the hall coat closet to surprise him. I'd been in there for quite some time when he jerked the door open to scare me. It worked. I was so startled I punched him right in the face, knocking him to the floor. Our parents were painting the living room, and could barely cling to their ladders they were laughing so hard.

My very best memory of my brother contains no blood or bruising and I think about it all year not just on February twenty-second. Even though we were not affectionate siblings I know he loved me. Not because of all the things we did together as children or because of the great lengths he went to in order to attend my college graduation. It's not even because of the trust he put in me with helping with his health and addiction issues in the last few years of his life. I knew of his love because of a peanut butter sandwich.

When I was around nine and he was fifteen my parents were going out for the evening and just the two of us were staying home. It was a warm summer evening and he and I were making sandwiches for dinner to eat outside on the picnic table. Around that time I'd developed an affinity for ham and cheese sandwiches on lightly toasted bread. Yes, I was an odd child and a very picky eater, but that's beside the point. I had already toasted my bread when I realized we were out of ham. Now my Mom, being a mom, insisted that I not waste perfectly good bread. Which I understand now, at the time I thought she was a lunatic it was just bread. The only sandwich materials we had were pimiento cheese and peanut butter, not even any jelly. A battle ensued between mother and daughter, which ended with Mom and Dad heading out for the evening and me having a peanut butter sandwich on now cold hard toast. I was completely distraught. Picking at my nasty sandwich in tears while sitting across the picnic table from my big brother. Suddenly he leaped up and grabbed the monstrosity.

"Haha, I've got your sandwich!" He ran across our back yard carrying it high above his head laughing. I still remember his red and white Hawaiian shirt flapping behind him. I gave chase just to see what he was going to do. When he reached the fence at the far side of the yard he sent that peanut butter sandwich sailing into the field, scattering wild eyed cows. Shrieking with delight I perched on the black board fence in my bare feet. He had saved me. We never said anything else about it, not that evening or in the next twenty-one years before his death.

It warms my very soul to see my children interact in a loving way. My daughters are best friends. They hold hands when they're scared and take care of each other at every turn. That is when they're not screaming bloody murder and smacking one another. Their brother tolerates their affection and will let them play Legos with him from time to time. Always though my favorite is to see him cheer them up after a bad day, he can't stand to see them sad. Sometimes he'll even offer the coveted sleepover in his room.

As the years go by many of us lose touch with our families. Differences and arguments can drive siblings apart as can miles across the globe. Shared blood shouldn't be the only thing that brings you back together. Remember your very first friend. The one who's been there since the very beginning, and knows all the wacky things you did as a kid. Actually encouraged you to do those weird and wacky things with them. You weren't just born into the same house, you were born into a friendship.

So who loved you enough to throw your peanut butter sandwich?

Special thanks to everyone that has shared my blog on Facebook. It's the main reason I got to 1,000 hits so quickly. Please feel free to use the comments section below or send me an email with your thoughts!

A Happy New Year

I have read dozens of articles on how to get fit, organized and financially savvy in the new year. While I have resolutions involving all of those things they aren't the main focus of my plans. I want 2012 to be my year of happy, and I'm taking all of you with me.

This is not another story of "count your blessings, you're so much better off than all the other poor saps". While there is a good chance that's probably true, I would be judging things at face value. We can't know what hidden demons anyone is facing. I recently read a blog entry, of a normally wildy funny and caustic writer, where she described the deep depression and self-hurting or "cutting" she had been experiencing. This blogger was ashamed and terrified to reveal this side of herself to her huge loyal following. Her posting was answered by thousands of supportive comments and tweets, by her shocked and relieved friends and fans. I say shocked because so many of them were in disbelief that such darkness was hiding behind a lively mask. The relief came from the many that suffered their own depressions and felt completely alone until they heard her voice.

January and February are the grey months. The joy and excitement of the holidays are over with nothing to look forward to until spring. Even the sunniest among us can fade this time of year. So take care of yourself. Do something everyday to make yourself smile. Take a deep breath. Do it again. Listen to your favorite song. Turn it up and sing along. At the top of your lungs. If you're not in your car, dance too. Get enough sunshine. Listen to kids books on CD while you drive. Even if you don't have kids. Drink orange juice, it's sunshine in a glass. If you're not eating enough veggies, take a vitamin. Never mind, take a vitamin anyway.

Once you've boosted you're happy rating a little bit, I'm begging you to spread it around. We have no idea how many of our friends, neighbors and even the complete strangers we run into everyday are suffering. They may have the two car garage and the shiny family photo on the wall, but we can't see the pain that lies within. So everyday in 2012 pass on a little happiness. Smile extra brightly at the grumpy cashier. Text a friend or send them a message on Facebook wishing them a good day. No I don't mean a blanket message out to all your 'peeps'. I'm talking about something special to let that person know they are not alone. A few simple goofy words.

You never know what a little sunshine could do for a person. Maybe you'll change their day, or maybe you'll change their whole year.