Our Fears Will Pass

Hopefully, everyone has now settled into the new school year. You've established your morning routines and, though they may not like it, children have adjusted to early bedtimes.

There's nothing quite like that first day, though. Kids in brightly colored outfits with shoes so new and clean it's hard to look directly at them. They're usually excited with just a slight side of nerves. Mostly harmless concerns plague them. Will I be the shortest one in class? Where is my bus room? How do I pay for ice cream? Ten minutes after school starts their jitters will be forgotten as they are immersed in learning the ropes of a new grade. 

Parents are a different story. Well, in my experience it has been mothers, but I won't stereotype. The first day of school many of us are a nervous wreck until those precious children stumble back off that big yellow bus in the afternoon.

It's not that I think it's going to be a horrible day. My kids go to a great school and have terrific teachers. There is just something about your children being completely out of your control that makes you feel a little helpless.

During the summer my kids stay with my sister-in-law. I knew where they were, what kind of environment and influence was around them, and I could call and check on them any time I wanted.

The school day is a giant blind spot. Just try to get a fifth grade boy to tell you what went on in his day. My girls are more forthcoming, but they have me cringing with tales of second grade drama.

I started thinking about all the difficulties yet to come; letting kids drive alone, sending them on mission trips, dropping them off at college. I'll stop there before I pass out.

If letting our children out of our sight can be difficult for us, what must it be like for heavenly father to send all of hs children to Earth?

How worrisome it must be to send children to Earth where they will be so tempted by horrible influences. He loves us so much, but we are born having forgotten him. We must re-learn the gospel and choose him.

Knowing how difficult it will be for His children, the Lord made a back-up plan, giving us a savior for our redemption. How agonizing it must be for the father to watch so many not choose freedom, but to fall.

Heavenly father has written down everything he wants us to know in the scriptures, and would love for us to call on Him any time, day or night. Like most children we never call home enough.

We often lament on how quickly our children grow up. One moment they're learning to tie their shoes, and the next they're learning to parallel park. What we forget is how swiftly the bad moments pass as well.

When our twin girls were born they needed to stay in the NICU for three weeks. The hospital was an hour from our home, and I visited every day. For the first week family members drove me as I recovered from surgery, after that I drove or waited for my husband in the evenings. At the time it felt like their stay lasted an eternity. Now looking back, that difficulty was just a brief moment that seems like a lifetime ago.

Several weeks have passed since that first day of school. All of those worries are now a distant memory. As my kids have become more confident in their classes, I too have become secure in their routines and safety.

At least as much as a mother ever does.

I will keep trying to get my kids to fill me in on the empty abyss I call the school day. In the meantime I think I'll check in with my heavenly father a little more often. As a parent I'm sure he'd like a little reassurance on how I'm doing through the day, and as a parent I could use the reassurance through the day.

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.

Summer Schedule

With the busy summer passing by so quickly, and because I will be in Chicago for half of July, I am going to cut back on my blogging for a little while. I hear the desperation in your outcry. Never fear, I will not leave you completely. For the next two months I will post every other week, so we'll all still have something to look forward to.

Until next week, happy juggling.
Chastity

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 Age of Innocence

This week my eight-year-old told me I should write about love and drama. What better topic then the third grade field trip. Third grade has been quite a change up for elementary school. It has come as quite a shock, and I think my son has noticed a few differences too.

Someone told me earlier this year that they loved my son because he was still so "childlike". What did that mean? I wasn't sure how to take it. Was that a polite way of saying he was immature? I didn't understand it fully until I chaperoned a field trip this week, and got a full dose of what is happening to the children of this generation.

Third grade is the cut off point between glue sticks and crafts and the hard work of training for standardized tests. It's also when children start becoming hardened by the impressions of the world. The age when innocence starts to fade.

The kids on the trip weren't bad or disrespectful. They were certainly energetic since it was the only field trip in over a year. What I noticed most was the language. Not coarse or cursing, but too mature. The topics, too, were not what I would expect among eight and nine-year-old's. Who had a crush, who was the man or wouldn't get "punked". They sounded like teenagers. They looked like teenagers.

Up until this year comfort was the main focus of my son's wardrobe. Now he's become concerned with the design on his t-shirt and how his hair looks. Not because he's fashion conscious but, rather he's afraid of being made fun of.

Maybe my children have been sheltered. They don't watch movies that weren't meant for grown-ups. We pause the DVR recordings of the crime shows we like until they've left the room. Even though my daughters are only six, they wear clothing that covers their bodies. My son has never played a teen rated video game. There are even certain "kids" shows, I don't let them watch.

They may not know it yet, but I have given my kids a tremendous gift. I have given them their childhood. Yes, compared to his classmates, my eight-year-old is more childlike. He enjoys riding his bike, building tents out of quilts and daydreaming about ninjas. Mint chip ice cream can still turn a day around.

My girls like nothing more than to have a sleepover on their brother's floor on the weekend. All three kids still love to pull a chair up to the kitchen counter and help me make pancake batter.

On the flip side, my son is one of the most responsible kids I know. Even other adults have commented how they can trust him with certain tasks without hesitation. On the field trip, while other kids were spending their money in the gift shop on as much candy as they could get, he bought something for his sisters and something special to remember the trip by. Then he asked me if I'd like to get anything.

I don't tell you all these things to brag about what a wonderful kid I have. He has his rotten moments too. Like any good big brother he torments his sisters on occasion. Every hour on the hour. You should also stay clear of him when he's hungry. It is not pretty.

My point is that a child can be mature and still enjoy their childhood. It's our job, as the adults in their lives, to insure they're getting that childhood. They only get to have that playful innocence the first time around. We need to make sure that their environment in not propelling them into adulthood on fast forward.

Third grade should be a time for recess and dodge ball, not love and drama. At the rate things are going there will be a reality show based on hard core eight-year-olds owning the halls of the elementary schools.

How childlike are the children in your life?

Road Ninja

The era of the road warrior is over. I practically live in my car, and to survive I have become a road ninja. Stealthy, wise, and vigilant a road ninja slips through traffic avoiding aggression and the insanity of other drivers.

Being in sales, I spend eighty percent of my work week on the road. Add in baseball games, scouting, cheer practice and church activities and I'm clocking some serious behind the wheel time. You could say I'm familiar with the gas pedal.

Armed with a floor full of empty water bottles and backseat boosters I have been witness to, and had near misses, with all kinds of mayhem. Just today there was a three car back-up pulling out of a gas station. After several minutes with no movement I looked ahead to see a pedestrian across the street waving, and having a conversation with the lead car. He couldn't hear so he took out his phone and started texting to the driver. A road warrior might have developed a nervous tick or spoken some very un-Christian words in a snarling voice. However, as a road ninja I took a deep breath and shook my head. Being the third car in line there was nothing I could do, and it would make for a good story.

Road ninjas have to be ever watchful for the careless and reckless driving of others. Spending so much time on the road I can now see the signs of someone who is getting ready to swerve into my lane or cut me off. Cars that are pulling out from side roads are dangerous "snipers" that can never be trusted. The problem with being so vigilant, is that it can make me a terrible passenger. Drivers that don't see major windshield time, tend to take in the sights when they drive. If you're viewing the scenery you're not likely to see that car ahead of you that's getting ready to thread the needle between two tractor trailers. Most of our cars have a spot worn in the passenger side carpet from me pressing on my imaginary brake.

Strategy is a key part of the road ninja arts. First is routing. The commonly known route is not always the best one. Sometimes encountering less traffic can be a very good thing. A good back road, as long as you're familiar with it, can save time and peace of mind.

The second strategy is defense. When it comes to highways and byways, the best defense is avoidance. The road warriors of old might have bullied their way through heavy traffic. The wise ninja stays away from distracted cell phone users, maneuvers past swervers and keeps a safe distance. More times than I care to admit I've glanced away from the road for a second, only to have to slam on the brakes when I look back up. Just inches and a prayer have separated me from the next car's bumper. If you're ever coming out of Petersburg, West Virginia by the Pizza Hut, those black skid marks on the road...yep, they're mine.

The more frequent case is the car that is following so closely you can't actually see the front of their car in your rear view mirror. Even a veteran can become shaken when the sound of squealing tires is coming from directly behind you.

It seems like navigating the roadways isn't all that different from making your way through life. Don't follow the crowd, keep your eye on people that are wrapped up in themselves and could be a danger to you. An imaginary brake isn't going to stop anyone, you have to speak up. Most importantly be aware of your surroundings, all the time. A little prayer never hurt either.

So, are you still an old school aggressive road warrior? Or do you have the stealth of a road ninja?

Watering Carpet Trees

I'll admit it, I spent the early part of this week praying for rain. Not for the sake of my garden, it hasn't even been plowed yet, let alone a single seed planted to be in need of water. I was praying for rain because we were down to our last crust of stale bread, and a cup of yogurt that was a day a way from expiring. Call me a bad Mom, but I was hoping our Monday night baseball game would get rained out. My prayers were answered. Don't worry we have like twenty more games this season. Missing that one night, though, eliminated the need for a midnight grocery run and the overflowing hamper blues.

Most life jugglers face the challenge of making a choice at some point that will be unpopular with themselves, or their family. Rather than do that we hope for miraculous divine intervention. We know we can't possibly make it across town from badminton practice to Chinese checkers club in 2.7 minutes, so we hope the checkers coach will come down with the flu and cancel practice. If the decision is taken out of our hands we don't have to be the bad guy, right? Or maybe we just don't want to be responsible for the decision. Maybe my kid is destined to be the next Chinese checker Olympic Champion, and I'm destroying his chances by skipping too many practices.

Spring is a jam packed season. The school year is still in full swing, we have a full calendar of activities and beautiful weather beckons us outdoors. My ever growing to-do list has been cast aside. I think there are small oak trees sprouting out of the carpet from lack of vacuuming. They stand as a tribute to all of the un-answered rainstorms I've prayed for.

There is more and more pressure to work an extra full work week, and provide a host of events for your family. The guilt of not having "well rounded kids" keeps us from saying no. We fail to see that sometimes the whole family needs a break, and sometimes a skipped practice or game is better for us as a whole. With or without the rain. Finding a reasonable balance in our lives can provide a measure of sanity. We have to be brave enough to pray for the rain.

Sometimes we just need our decisions to be validated. If I keep up the pace of spring I will drop from exhaustion, but how do I choose which child's activity should be skipped? Cub Scouts or Cheertastics? What do I let slide, mopping or my expense report? One missed activity might put our peace of mind back on track. If a husband, virus or even Heavenly Father would intervene I could eliminate a few things from my plate without making the unpopular decision. The choice was taken out of my hands, but the needed results were there.

In this overloaded society we shouldn't feel guilty about praying for rain. In fact, we shouldn't feel bad about making the choices we need to in order to keep balance in our families. Since we're not wired that way quite yet, I'll keep my fingers crossed and one eye on the sky.

Are you brave enough to pray for rain, or do you need to water your carpet trees?

Horizontal Stripes and Plastic Indians

Right now in America there are great quests happening. Important, life changing quests. That's right, it's time to shop for a swimsuit. There will be thousands of pages of magazine articles dedicated to tips and tricks for finding "your perfect suit". Talk shows will model this season's hottest styles for hiding your problem areas. You gentlemen might compare this to hunting down your perfect lawn mower. The biggest and baddest model that will give your yard that Wrigley Field look.

The strategy is to walk a fine line between shopping early when selection is best and waiting for the first sale of the season, so you don't pay full price. Then you must deal with the sea of options available, halter top, boy shorts, zero turn, fifty inch deck, horizontal stripes...not on your life! All 4,783 magazine articles will tell you horizontal stripes are going to make you look wider. Who on earth wants that? If you're not careful you could end up looking like your grandmother only thirty pounds heavier or mowing your back forty with a push mower.

What happens when you can't find what you're looking for? Despite mighty shopping marathons and Internet searches into the wee hours of the night you've come up empty handed. Do you settle for second best? You could just wait it out another year. Or, do you come up with a new solution.

The perspective changes a little bit when children are involved. My son, bless him, follows in my husband's genetic footsteps. I had rather hoped my kids would get a height boost from my side of the family, but so far it is not to be. Caden just fits into a size eight dress pant, and when I say just I mean it won't button past May. For his Easter outfit we tried eight styles and four purchases. The best fitting pair came only four inches past his toes. He wore his regular Sunday suit with a new shirt and tie for Easter. I'm contemplating dusting off my Mom's old sewing machine and my equally dusty Home Ec sewing skills.

That was a search that met in compromise, but sometimes in the world of childhood that won't do. Take for instance in second grade when students were to build their own Native American housing model. My son made a beautifully painted teepee with weeds from our yard as prairie grass. It was A+ quality work, but little Jim Bob's Dad had gathered real sticks from the woods to make a fire ring and Jim Bob's Mom got plastic cowboys and Indians to set all around his tent. What did Jim Bob actually do on this project?

The gauntlet had been thrown. There was no way we were turning in a teepee without plastic indians. The quite obvious point we were missing is that this type of play is no longer consider politically correct. After searching through every gift shop, gas station and toy aisle in a three county radius I was hysterically beginning to wonder if I could pass off ninjas and firefighters with out my son noticing. When there in a dusty corner of a dollar store was the last known pack of cowboys and indians. I grasped them to my chest and dashed for the register like I had found the only nourishment left on the planet after Armageddon. My son would not know disappointment this day! Plenty of other days, but not today!

Interesting how the drive to succeed in a quest changes per individual. Generally I will bide my time or find a creative new solution if I can't find what I'm looking for. We have an ancient dresser that is falling apart, but a new one is not in the cards right now. Enter built-in shelves for the closet and some storage bins, and we have a cheaper answer. If something is important to my husband he will keep searching until he finds exactly what he's looking for. That's how he got such a great wife. If it's not a big deal he'll take the first thing that comes along. That's how we got his last truck. Or do I have those two things backwards?


Maybe that's how we should take on life too. This is the path we're creating for ourselves. Why just settle when you could be out finding what you want. Whether it's more time with your kids, a spiritual make-over, or a new career path, go on that quest.Create a solution or hunt it down.

After all, you don't want a ninja outside your teepee do you?

And the Parent of the Year Award Goes to...

Not me! Why is it just when you think you're getting a handle on all the balls you're juggling your kids remind you that you're really losing your grip. Any thoughts you have that you might be on top of things is a complete illusion. If you think you're doing a good job as a parent, hold on to your hat, your kids are about to throw you for a loop.

This past Tuesday I had a plan for the evening. Famous last words. The boys were headed off to Cub Scouts, leaving the girls and I to a quiet house and a few chores. The girls decided they would take their shower before picking up their mess, but they wanted to use my shower. My poor husband doesn't actually own anything according to our kids. It's Mommy's room, Mommy's bed, Mommy's shower, Mommy's tub, even the car is mine. The truck and van are "our's", they belong to the whole family. Daddy gets the clothes on his back and the tools in the garage.

I made the deal and allowed the girls to head off to my bathroom while I caught up on some administrative work. Why the two of them like squishing into that small shower is beyond me. Five minutes later from the opposite side of the wall I heard terrified screams in stereo. Before I cleared the doorway I could make out the words "It's bleeding! It's bleeding!". The room looked like a scene from a B rated horror flick. Macy had jumped out of the shower and was frantically flailing her hand about, throwing streaks of blood on the walls and floor. Her sister was staring in wide eyed terror through the clear shower curtain. With out pausing I pulled a bath towel off the rack and pressed her hand tightly in it while guiding her to the sink. She was sobbing to hard to understand so I asked her sister what happened. Makayla pointed to my razor, which had gone from the top of the shower to the floor. "It fell." That's all I got.

Trying to pull off the towel to wash the wound was no good, there was too much blood pouring out to see anything. We switched to paper towels, but they soaked through in seconds. It was time to go to the emergency room. I sent Makayla to get dressed as fast as possible while I slipped one of my t-shirts over Macy, wet hair and all.  Makayla met me at the car wearing a yellow t-shirt sporting a  neon rainbow, navy and pink hand-me-down sweat shorts and chunky brown boots with no socks. She cut me off before I could say anything. "I was in a hurry, I grabbed the clothes on top!" What could I say, other than "Great job, honey."

It was a struggle strapping Macy into her booster seat. She was terrified of going to the hospital and apparently wanted the neighbors to know about her predicament. Trying to calm her down her sister and I sang church primary songs. She became less vocal, but no less scared. Halfway to the hospital I checked in with my husband at scouts. He wanted to know if I was sure she needed to be treated at the ER. Looking in the rear view at the napkin she had soaked through most recently, I was certain.

Wrapping her hand back in the bath towel I carried her into the hospital. If you want quick service with no waiting in an emergency room, carry in a crying child wrapped in a bloody towel. We were instantly taken back to a room. The nurse we had was absolutely amazing, she took great care of my baby and put her at ease. It turned out that only one finger had been cut. Yeah! I hadn't been able to tell because I couldn't get a good look at it. To Macy's great joy there was no sewing involved, only because there wasn't enough material to work with. Basically she peeled her finger like a potato. There were no edges to pull together and  there was nothing to clot, hence the continued bleeding. Using a special pad from the surgical unit that causes clotting and would seal off the wound, her hand was bandaged into a mitten. Special precaution was taken because if she bumped the injury and broke it open the bleeding would start again. Without the special sealant the bleeding could last for hours.

Maybe it was the twin connection, because they certainly never had time to discuss their story, but both the girls stuck with the "it fell" version for the rest of the evening. It was nice to see them stick together, but not against me! Both Caden and Makayla insisted on riding home with their injured sister and helping her get buckled into her seat. The one silver lining to the whole incident, seeing siblings show their love and concern for each other.

When her father carried her to the car that evening Macy told him really it was Mommy's fault. "It was Mommy's shower and Mommy's razor. She was the one who let us in there." Thank you Macy. I was already feeling the guilt of this incident, thank you for icing the cake. Should they have known better then to climb up and get my razor? Absolutely. Does that mean it doesn't need repeating from time to time? Apparently not. Does it also mean that I should be paying more attention when my girls are in the shower? Of course. So thank you Macy for waking me up and giving me a reality check, and for giving me a large dose of guilt to carry around. I've been so preoccupied with toting them around to activities and managing their school load that I'd started to overlook the simpler details of their daily life that keeps them safe.

Beware, if you're getting comfortable with how you're managing life a curve ball may be coming to knock you off balance. Would it take bloodshed to refocus your priorities?

Leave a comment below if you enjoyed this post!

You'll Have to Wear Orange

If you ever want to understand just how complicated we make our lives, take a look at things through the eyes of a child. To our beautiful children the logic of how the world works is quite simple, a+b=c. It is we, the grown-ups, that add in the what-ifs, contingency plans and endless obstacles that have us wondering if our youth will be in therapy for much of their natural born lives.

On a recent road trip our entire family was loaded snugly into my husband's truck for the three hour ride. When accelerating onto the interstate the truck's engine became very loud. Yes, it's got a hemmie. It sounded like we were going very fast. The conversation went like this:

A little girl gasping from the backseat, "Daddy! You need to slow down."
Daddy, laughing, "Why?'
"You're going to get arrested!"
 "So?"
"You won't be able to get the food you want and you'll have to wear orange!"

To my pink loving picky eater there could only be one fate more terrible...having to wear brown. For her it was a very simple thing, breaking the law equalled a loss of freedom. Which in turn meant losing the two things she adored most, fashion and cheese pizza. How would this scenario be different for an adult? What runs through your mind when you're in danger of being pulled over for speeding? If you've ever been in danger of such a thing. I myself would not be familiar with that feeling of heart pounding, gut wrenching, cold terror. Nope, not a clue what it's like.

Fear and tension over the initial pullover. Where is the money going to come from to pay for this fine? What is my husband/wife going to say? Is my insurance going to go up? Am I going to lose my insurance? Am I going to lose my licence? Will this effect my job? I'm going to be late picking the kids up from school. They'll be stranded. What if starts to rain? What if they don't know what to do? What if they start walking home and a stranger abducts them in a white unmarked van with out of state plates?

Maybe that last part was a stretch, but you see where the overcomplicated human mind goes. We think up extra stress for ourselves. Are there real issues we need to plan for and think through? Absolutely. Do we need to think about the minuscule details, weighing out every pro and con of each and every daily decision we make? I'd rather be stabbed in the eye with a spoon. You're probably thinking right now, "Of course I don't do that, it's ridiculous!". You do it with out even realizing it. Somewhere in the development of mankind our survival went from clubbing our food to worrying about life's what-ifs. There's nothing wrong with being prepared for the worst or even the slightly bad. However, our day is not full of life altering decisions and preparations for Armageddon and should not be given the same level of attention. 

Should I have the salad for lunch? I'm going out tonight, so I'll probably have a big dinner, and the salad will be nice and light. But the burgers are on special for $5, that's half the price of the salad and I'm trying to save money. I wonder what everyone else from the office will think if I get a big greasy burger? I wonder what they're getting? This is a great example for the "Will it Matter Rule". Normally I'd say in twenty years is this going to matter, but in this instance I can say next week will this matter. If not, then you're over complicating it.

Sometimes we can add so much stress to our lives it can actually rub off on our children's and cause their simplistic logic to become intense. A few years ago I was preparing for a visit from a higher up manager in my company and the strain was getting to me, as was the rambunctiousness of my twin daughters. Before I could reprimand them my son, who was five at the time, harshly put them in their place.

"Girls be quiet! If Mommy doesn't do well at work tomorrow she'll get fired. We'll lose our house, our toys, EVERYTHING." After a moment of silence I decided I was projecting a little too much tension on my babies and it was time for a break. He still had easy three point logic, but no five year old should know what "fired" means.

Before the twins entered kindergarten I spent six months worrying about the decision to put them in separate classes. I asked teachers for opinions, parents of twins and of course googled it. They needed to develop their own interests and personalities, make their own friends. I stared at the ceiling at night imagining a first week of sobbing separation anxiety. The first day of school came and the girls rode off on the bus like princesses to the royal ball. When the terrible twosome arrived at school they went to their separate classrooms without a second thought and have never looked back. I nearly bled out from a gastric ulcer for nothing.

So what can we learn from the innocence of children? Don't make everything so complicated. In the grand scheme is this decision going to matter? If it's going to make you a better person, a happier person and a stronger member of your family, then it's a good choice and you can move on. As long as you don't have to wear orange.

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Impatiently Waiting

I am a professional waiter. Not a food server in your favorite dining establishment, but a sitting, gathering dust lingerer. It's my job as a pharmaceutical representative to wait for a doctor until they have a free moment to sign for samples and speak to me about drug information. We all know how busy health care providers are these days, the wait time can make your trip in from the parking lot fell about as recent as the dinosaurs reign.

Not that we don't all have our turns at waiting. In their lifetime the average American spends eight hours waiting for red lights, two years on hold and two to three years waiting in line, much more if they go to Disney World. As a professional I am pleasant and serene as I pass the time chatting with anyone who walks by or browsing magazines. Heck, I'm downright chipper. On the outside. All this practice should make me terrific at biding my time, but it seems to making me worse.

My husband points out that I should take it in stride, after all I'm getting paid regardless, right? Has he seen my to do list? I need to make the most of my day. When I come out of an office it feels like a slow motion scene in a movie suddenly going to live action. Let's move people, it's go time, work to do, errands to run and kids to raise. I don't even have the patience to go inside a store for a drink, it's drive-thru all the way. Heaven forbid there be a slow car in the left hand lane of the interstate that a little gentle persuasion can't convince to move over. Video clips that can't download instantly on my phone are skipped. DVR is a beautiful thing, I can watch a week's worth of shows in two hours.

Some might say I'm a classic example of a driven technology focused Gen X who wants everything right now. I would argue that I've spent too much time waiting and it's made me more than a little unbalanced. Not to mention that the quality of the waiting has not always been the most pleasant.

A particular instance comes to mind where I was kept waiting in the rudest way possible. At an office I was visiting for the first time, when I approached the counter the receptionist was on the phone and motioned for me to step back from the counter. Several patients entered and joined the line as she continued her ten minute conversation about broken marriages and cat fights at the VFW casino night. Finally hanging up she waved the line forward. Being first I bounced forward with a bright smile, only to be cut short when she announced loudly across the room "not you". My smile faltered only slightly in my embarrassment as I stepped aside. Once everyone else had been helped I looked up hopefully, but she needed to open up all the mail first. Before she was finished two more patients came in. Maybe after all this it would be my turn? I could check-in and find out if they even needed my services? No, it was not to be. I had been standing at the receptionist desk for more than thirty-five minutes when she stood up and glared at me. "I'll be with you in a minute." Then she walked away. Seriously. I couldn't help myself. The professional calm, cool, and collected exterior cracked. Even my good Christian nature slipped a little. I announced to her retreating back, and the waiting room of patients that were starting to look sorry for me, "No, no you won't", and I walked away. Call my behavior childish, but I think we should all be able to expect some common decency and respect.

I was thinking about all this when a telemarketer called tonight for a charity. Normally I try to get off the phone as quickly as possible, hanging up if I have to. This time I stayed on the phone, listened to the schpeel and politely declined. When I wished the gentlemen a good evening he said I was the first happy person he'd spoken to all day. That's just sad. He waits for someone to pick up the phone all day and one out of a hundred wasn't rude. I'll bet he uses the drive-thru too.

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