Hair!

If I never hear the word hair again, it will be too soon. You see - I have three daughters. And, they all have hair. And that hair - it has to be brushed. I know - none of those things are startling revelations in and of themselves, but there is a deeper meaning behind each one that has led me to consider encouraging them to enter a Buddhist monastery, but only for the haircut and to save on laundry expenses. Let me explain.

First off - I have three daughters. You know - girls. That means they have feelings. Lots of them, and they like to express those feelings. All the time. Out loud. I usually don't have conversations, per se. Instead, I'm often on the receiving end of a rapid-fire, three-fold conversational assault. The pre-teen fires, and I volley back, simultaneously returning a query from my seven-year-old. We continue this parlay for whole minutes at a time, while I dodge the constant tommy-gun prattle that my four-year-old deftly aims my direction. To put it lightly, they like to talk about what they're thinking, feeling, and experiencing. They are each very strong, but none is what you might call the silent type. That's because they're daughters.

The next deeply unnerving truth in my life - my daughters all have hair. Yes, I'm glad they have hair, especially in light of the fact that the oldest was nearly bald until she was 2 1/2. But, those days are gone. Now, they're all fully-tressed, each with lustrous, healthy, gorgeous heads of hair. One has highlights that would make even the most skilled hairdresser weep with jealousy. One has hair so benevolent and compliant that it can practically curl, shine, or French-Roll on command. The other has such perfect, uniform, ringlet curls that we literally have to schedule an extra fifteen minutes into our errand-running days, just so we aren't made late by all the people who stop to compliment her. In short, these girls have got it going on in the hair department. Why, you ask, does that make me want to weep copiously and head for the hills? Simple - with great hair, comes great responsibility, which leads me to point number three.


Hair must be brushed. Seems simple enough, doesn't it? But - let me assure you - when you combine point number one (girls who love to talk about what they're feeling) and point number two (girls with tons of hair of varying temperaments), it makes you really start to reconsider the full ramifications of point number three (that hair must be brushed). Sure, the act of hair brushing itself is simple enough. But, so is changing a flat tire, unless it's 32 degrees, raining cats and dogs, and the cars are honking and speeding by your head, mere inches away. This, in a nutshell, is how I've come to view our daily grooming ritual. I feel like I've got post-traumatic stress disorder from my previous run-ins with tangles, tender heads, and tantrums. It's gotten so bad lately that I've begun contemplating alternatives to the dreaded morning ritual. Perhaps they don't really need their hair brushed every day after all... I'm sure they would look very good in hats... How long does it take to do cornrows?... Hmmm...

In the interest of full disclosure (and, mostly, to make sure you don't think ill of me or my wonderful children), I should note that we have tried every tangle spray and different brush type in the universe, but to no avail. And, though I do sincerely (ardently, feverishly, fully, and earnestly) hope that my children will grow out of their tenderheadedness, I don't look for that to happen any time in the near future, since I still suffer from the dreaded disorder myself. We generally run a pretty tight ship around here when it comes to behavior, but I don't blame the girls for their vociferous reluctance to get their hair brushed. I, on occasion, still let a mild utterance or shriek fly when encountering my own tangles, after all.

So, there's nothing left to do but restrain myself from drastic measures, and keep enduring the screaming, struggling, fighting, flailing, ouching, oohing, ahhing trio, until their tresses are tamed, or baldness becomes the new style for little girls. After all - I have three daughters. They all have hair, and hair must be brushed. And so, we soldier on together.

Ready, Set, WRITE!

I like to blog. I like to send emails. I like to do Facebook updates. I even like to compose letters in my head that I would send to famous people about great injustices that I think have been committed, and how they could (and should) be made right. (Mostly, these are in the form of scathing rebuttals to my congressman about the trite and pandering general communiques he sends out. Sometimes they are also letters to food companies about their insistence on including calories in their otherwise-perfect desserts.) In short, I love to write.

I know most people do not feel the same way, and that's ok. Except, well... it isn't. I'm an English teacher. It is our goal in life (there are whole fraternities and international organizations devoted to it) is to encourage people to communicate, and to communicate well. Yes, I admit that I sometimes get hung up on being an eagle-eyed punctuation Nazi, but what I most love about reading and responding to people's writing is getting a chance to know what and how they think. That, ultimately, is the goal of writing. It is an act akin to opening up your brain and letting people probe about its inner reaches. 'Cause, here's the thing - there is a story inside each of us. No one experiences the world exactly like you do. No one has the same history as you, input as you, understanding as you, or insight as you. Who you are, what you know, and how you live your life is spectacularly unique! Kudos to you.

Now - share it with the world! Today is the perfect day to start translating that magnificent life inside your head, outside your head - so that everyone can enjoy it. Go on - spit it out, already! If you love art, do art. If you love music, do music. If you love dance, do dance. Don't know what you love? Well - maybe you should give writing a try. Really - it's not hard to do. You don't have to start well, or follow a format, or punctuate and spell correctly. Just sit down and see what comes out of you. I bet you'll be pleasantly surprised, and that will encourage you to continue. At the very least, you will be putting to use the skills some dedicated English teacher taught you, thereby making him/her very happy. Come on - if you don't want to tell your story for my sake, or your own sake, do it for the English teachers!

Ok - maybe that didn't do it for you, and you need more of a buy-in to get you started. How about this - I challenge you to join me (and hundreds-of-thousands of others) who are participating in National Novel Writing Month. NaNoWriMo is a chance to spew forth the stories within you with reckless abandon. The ultimate goal is the completion of a 50,000 word novel by 11:59:59 on 11/30. There are no winners or losers. No one gets a prize at the end. The rules are whatever you make them. No one has to read your novel but you. You are only competing with yourself, and your own desire to share your story with the world. It's free, easy, and good for your brain. Best of all, there isn't a single calorie involved!

What are you waiting for!?  I'm already 740 words into my novel - Duckworth For Congress. It's all about intrigue, mystery, romance, politics, and space invaders. At least, it might be. I haven't decided yet. Guess we'll see where the next 29 days and 49,260 words takes me. It would really do this English teacher's heart some good to know that she had inspired someone to pursue the act of artful communication. So, check it out - and be sure to leave me a comment about how you are choosing to share your story with the world. Ready, set - WRITE!

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Finishing Well

I recently engaged in a very personal and meaningful ritual - my annual eve-of-the-hard-frost harvest. It is my chance to go out and love the plants I've tended so carefully one last time, and reap their final benefit to me for the season. It is a sad thing, in many ways, but not without its joys. Yes, I will miss the warm breeze and the feel of sun-baked soil under my toes as I picked ripe tomatoes from the garden for supper. But, I will not miss the sweat-dripping, head-pounding, mind-numbing monotony of pulling weed, after weed, after endless weed. Can I get an amen on that?

This harvest, ostensibly, is simply an act of salvaging what little good is left on that patch of dirt before it gets abandoned. In the past, that is exactly how I've thought of it. This year, however, I'm trying to be more contemplative. (Apparently I am going to get in touch with my inner philosopher in my thirties. Who knew?) Though harvest is about salvaging what is useful, it is also a time to reflect. I made sure to focus, as I picked the last few peppers and tough-skinned eggplant, at how abundant our garden had been this year, how nicely it looked because I took the time to keep it maintained, and how many happy hours it had provided me. I guess you could say that the ritual this time was focused equally as much on the figurative fruits my little plot had provided in life, as it was on the literal ones it had provided for my table.

More than that, however - beyond living in the glorious abundance of that moment, or reflecting on the goodness and benefit of the many months prior -  I also turned my thoughts to the future. Most importantly, I turned my efforts to it as well. You see, in the past I have never put my garden to bed well. Like a thief fleeing from the scene of a crime , I tended to pluck my goodies and run for the hills, leaving the fallout of tangled vines and withered weeds to be worried about the following spring. This year, I left only a clean, bare patch of dirt behind in order that I might be productive next spring when life is bursting forth, rather than scrambling to prepare.

Yes, my garden has been good to me. I planted peppers and egg plants, and harvested wisdom and life lessons. Funny how it works that way, isn't it? Perhaps there are more similarities than we care to admit between finishing a growing season well in your garden, and finishing a growing season well in your life. Babies grow up. Friends move away. Jobs come and go. Relationships change. I don't claim to know all the answers, of course (far from it!), but maybe some of the lessons I learned while scratching around in the dirt this year might be useful as you face your own seasons of life. For example:

This year, I chose not to close my eyes to the inevitable change that the chilly air around me signaled, because the warmth of my eagerly-wished-for sunshine cannot protect me from the frost.  I chose to recognize that sometimes you have to clear things out of your life in order to leave clean and fertile soil for something new to grow - even if those things have been fruitful for you in the past. And, though the freeze may have robbed my garden of the chance for any further growth this season, it certainly doesn't mean that it did the same for me. After all - the end of one season always signals the beginning of another. I'd say, all in all, it's been a good harvest, and I'm very grateful for the fruitfulness it has provided in my life.

Kelly

Every once in a while you get a do-over in life, and it is awesome. While I have been blessed with family, friends, and acquaintances that are incomparable in both quantity and quality, I have had very, very few besties in my life. I've got my family besties, my hubby bestie, and my life-long girlfriend bestie. Besides that, I have had only one other, and that didn't end well, I'm very sad to say. It has grieved me for a long time, and I have often felt regret over the loss of the relationship, and sadness to not have that other close friend my life. It was good while it lasted, but I had resigned myself to never again knowing the joy of an all-out, souls-bared, pedal-to-the-medal, life-changing bestie again. Then, I met Kelly.

Kelly loved me from moment one, in a way that was both comforting and off-putting at the same time. She accepted me. She encouraged me. She knew me, and it was unnerving. I couldn't hide from Kelly, but I realized that I didn't want to - or have to - either. Somehow this brazen, brash woman was telling me all the truths I didn't want to accept and the advice I didn't want to hear, and I found myself loving her for it.

So, because of our exciting, wonderful friendship, we did all the usual exciting, wonderful things that friends do. She painted my bathroom. I helped her load her moving truck. We stood over the kitchen sink and ate chicken salad on romaine lettuce. We talked about parents and parenting, children and chickens, husbands and humanity. We cried together. We laughed together. We sweated together, and then cried and laughed about that together too. It was awesome.

And then, one day, we did tie dye, and ate snackies, and she moved across the country. Here it was - happening all over. My bestie was gone, and I figured I would once again be left with regret over the loss of the relationship, and sadness to not have that other close friend my life. But, that's where I'd be wrong. Kelly may live 869.7 miles away, but I have learned that true besties never really leave you, even when they go away.

Kelly still talks me down, though it's via email, phone, or instant messages these days. Her handiwork is still evident in my life - both figuratively and literally - and I often find myself chuckling over shared moments we had together. We may not have lazy Monday afternoons and pop-in craft and chat sessions, but at least we can still share special occasions, like today. You see, it's Kelly's birthday. I wish we could have spent the day together, watching our children play and solving all the world's problems. But, that's kind of hard when you're this far apart. Instead, I'll cherish memories, look forward to the fun we'll have together in the future, and I'll share with her one of the best gifts I ever received - this really great gal named Kelly. Happy birthday, bestie! Thanks for being awesome in my life.

Help a Girl Out?

You may recall that I have a history of pleading and begging for help when I enter contests with ridiculously big prizes, and ridiculously-low odds of winning. I don't know what it is that compels me to do such things, except that I really love a challenge, and I am an eternal optimist. Well, that - and the fact that I've been incredibly blessed with supportive, encouraging, willing participants in my big-dream schemes. (This is where you come in.)

Reader's Digest magazine has piqued my interest with a contest entitled "Your Life: The Reader's Digest Version." Compelling, no? Anyway - as you (my faithful readers) can attest, I'm nothing if not capable of writing on, and on, and on about my life. The gauntlet that RD has thrown down, though, strikes fear into my very soul: in this contest, you're only allowed 150 words. 150 words? Seriously!? That's like asking a knight of olde to go into battle armed with a butter knife and a pizza box shield.  I use more than that 150 words to order at a drive up window - and that's just when I want a snack. Hmmm...

After 1,549 edits, I have finally compiled an entry that I *hope* will be provocative, powerful, and popular. Better yet, it meets all the criteria, and I even finished with three words to spare. :) Wanna help make my dream come true, and my bank account $25,000 bigger? (Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease....)  Here's what you can do:

1.) Go to facebook.com/readersdigest. Click 'like' on the page, and proceed to the contest tab.
2.) From there, find my story! It's called 'Sunshine'. Or, you can search by author's name (Andrea Farrier). VOTE FOR ME!!!!
3.) Repeat daily between now and November 15th.
4.) Share this information with everyone you've ever met, and ask them to do the same.
5.) Savor the warm, fuzzy feeling of knowing how much I appreciate your help. :)

Only the top 100 vote earners will be considered for the grand prize. So, I've got to make sure my entry gets to (and stays in) the top 100.

Judging is based 35% on originality, 35% on adherence to the contest theme, and 30% on persuasiveness. The theme of the contest is to share a lesson, simple advice, funny moment or other story from your life.

The grand prize winner will receive $25,000 and be published in Reader's Digest. The top ten runners up (and the readers' choice winner with the most votes) will receive $2,500 and may be published in Reader's Digest.

Do you think we can do this thing? I think we can! I have faith in you and am grateful for every little vote. Ready? Set? Click!

Thanks everyone!!!!

Presenting My Findings

I was chatting with my husband on the phone today and he told me how sweet our youngest daughter has been to him this morning. Before he leaves for work each day he always goes in, kisses the girls, and tells them goodbye. Typically, he gets snores, snorts, drool, and grumbles in response (especially from me, I'm ashamed to admit). But, apparently this morning our four-year-old opened her deep, dark eyes for a moment, smiled the biggest smile you can imagine, and told him how much she loved him, and couldn't wait until he got home from work again. Then, she insisted on one more hug before rolling over and going back to sleep.

Fast forward about an hour. The same, sweet child had come into my room sometime in the interim, and snuggled down in bed next to me. I awoke to see her precious little face, and I wrapped my arms around her, marveling at what a miracle each and every new morning is. After a moment, she opened her deep, dark eyes, stared intently into mine, and said, "When are you making shrimpy noodles for me?" Hmmm... Somehow that didn't go like I thought it would. But, that's okay, because a mom is not a dad.

Dad is fun and spontaneous. Dad is the bringer of treats. The taker to new places. The fun driver. The adventure seeker. The excitement in an otherwise monotonous life. Dad has cool stuff that is off limits and infinitely  more appealing because of it. Even though he is a grownup, he still buys stuff just for the pleasure of having it - the quintessential definition of a toy. Plus, to my girls at least, Dad has gifts and talents that they can only dream of. Not only can he fix any broken item and always find the right battery or bulb, but his mysterious anatomy allows Dad to pee outside. Awesome.

Mom, on the other hand, is not so spontaneous. Mom is the maker of food. The everyday chauffeur. The monotony in an otherwise exciting life. Mom has ordinary stuff that is (at least, in the minds of the kids) common property and infinitely more expendable because of it. Mom never was a child, and only buys things that are useful, necessary, and on sale. Not only is Mom the essence of prudence, but her anatomy doesn't do any cool tricks except, apparently, for enabling her to find things.

Look, I watched 'the film' in fourth grade and paid avid attention to the wonder and magic of the female reproductive system. I understand fallopian tubes, and ovaries, and complicated hormones as well as the next gal. Yet, despite three pregnancies, two ultrasounds, and full-color photographs of the exploratory surgery to my lower abdomen (I'll have to explain later), I have yet to understand how a uterus helps women find things. But, it must be so. No one wanders around my house plaintively whining, "Daddy, can you help me find my..." And, I'm certainly not the one who constantly asks the other members of the household where things are. Nope. Quite the contrary - apparently I am the one who always knows where things are (or, at least, should).

Naturally, I have concluded that beyond just being able to create and grow a baby, a uterus must also be a tracking device. Someday a white-coated scientist will discover a little, blipping microchip-like structure embedded deep inside a womb, and the mystery will finally be solved. Mind you, for such a find as that, it will have to be a female scientist, of course.

Until then, I will be content to not be able to water the flowers anatomically. I will also be more than happy to be the finder of lost things, the ho-hum helper, and the maker of shrimpy noodles. Dad may get the morning and evening hugs, but I get all the rest while he has to be at work. The greeting he gets tides him over until he returns home again at the end of the day. The greeting I get is filled with the promise of hours and hours together. Dad's spontaneity and my monotony make a fine balance for our family, and one that serves us all very well. In fact, I think you'd be hard pressed to find a better combination. And I should know - apparently I'm equipped to find anything...

Photoblog - A Camping How-To

 Last week I introduced a new type of post on Musings entitled 'Cheaterblog', where I borrowed (stole) a really good idea and presented it to you - my readers. This saved me valuable time and brainpower that I was able to put to use for such important things as websurfing, watching movies, and Spider Solitaire. You should expect to see further such posts in future.

Following those themes of flexibility and trying new things, I've decided to create yet another new type of post for my Musings - the Photoblog. Up to this point I've included only one image per post, usually taken off the internet - a habit for which I am fully expecting to be sued, jailed, or written a very nasty letter eventually. Before that happens, however, I thought I'd at least try throwing in a few of my own feeble photos. Voila - the photoblog...

A Camping How-To

 Have you ever wanted to go camping, but not known how to go about it? Do you dread the preparation it takes to get a family ready for a weekend outing in the woods? Or, are you just overwhelmed by the thought of undertaking such an expedition? Dear friends - camping needn't be a chore! Just follow these easy steps, and you'll be enjoying the great outdoors in no time!

Step 1: Preparations at Home

 Before you set off for the weekend, you'll want to be sure that you've left everything at home in tip-top order. Doing the little things like shutting windows, turning off the hot water heater, and making sure that no electronics are left running will save you money and peace of mind in the long run. Oh - and don't forget to leave plenty of food and water for your pets. The new 'self feed' systems are very convenient. 

The next step involves gathering the items you'll need for your weekend. While packing up your supplies, it's important not to go overboard and pack too much. Generally you'll know it's time to stop just before the liftgate no longer shuts. If you have extra room in the back, you've forgotten something. Go back and start over. 

 Step Two: Travel

 Now that you're all set, it's time to start your adventures. A map (or GPS), clean windows, and plenty of snackage are important for the drive - especially if you have children. The first two can be skipped entirely and still result in a successful trip as long as there is plenty of the latter. Since space might be an issue, you will want to emphasize the fun of 'snuggling' before you set off. Also, take pictures of traveling children early in the trip (before they are angry at you and one another). The best time to snap a candid shot of your happy tots is right before you pull out of the driveway. 

Teaching children to look at the beautiful things all around them out the windows not only helps them develop a keen sense of observation and an appreciation of the splendors of the great outdoors, but it also provides microseconds of silence and prevents you from having to play the license plate game for the entirety of the trip. Things you might teach them to look for include interesting buildings, beautiful scenery, and roadsigns that will be helpful to get you back on your intended path after you get lost.

Step Three: Arrival and Setup

Upon arrival, it's important to follow all of the required protocol for the campground in which you'll be staying. Usually this is simply a matter of filling out some paperwork, providing a method of payment, and then spending 25 minutes trying to get the registration card (3 x 5) to fit into the rigid plastic sleeve in the campsite marker (2 x 4). It will usually be close to dark by the time this is done.

Of course, the rest of your setup varies widely, depending on your method of camping. Those who have RV's simply pull into their space, press a button to level the vehicle, then (and this is the most important part) figure out which way to point the satellite in order to pick up the best TV stations. If you are not fortunate enough to have such a camping rig, you can at least hope to be related to (or make friends with) someone who is. The availability of indoor plumbing in the middle of the night is a powerful motivator for relationships.

 
For old-fashioned campers (like us) setting up the tent takes anywhere from approximately 30 to 234,345,054 minutes, depending on how long it's been since your last camping trip, and how much your children try to help. It will most assuredly be dark by the time you attempt this feat, making it all the more challenging and rewarding. Anyone can set up a tent in broad daylight. It takes a real outdoorsperson to best all those poles and stakes in the pitch black.

After your shelter is set up, the next step is to make it homey and comfortable. Hanging pictures, installing custom curtains, and re-carpeting are not advised. The usual method involves throwing sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows inside, and falling into a heap in your grubby clothing. Regardless of how careful you are in putting bedding inside, it will go from this:

to this: 

in a matter of hours. Don't worry too much about it. Order can be restored, and the loss of blankets throughout the night is one of the natural mysteries that goes along with camping. 

Note: site selection has a lot to do with how enjoyable and memorable your trip will be. The best campsites will provide both qualities. Some will be pleasant, but soon forgotten. Others will be memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. The subtle and crucial differences between memorable and enjoyable can sometimes be hard to anticipate. For example, selecting a sight close to the train tracks might *seem* like it would fulfill both criteria. However, after the 15th train has passed 20 feet from your tent in the middle of the night (horns blaring and lights flashing) you will realize that this trip might be heavy on the memorable, but light on the enjoyable. The best you can hope is to keep a positive outlook, take some interesting pictures, and plan on sleeping in when you get home. 

Step Four: Food
 There are many schools of thought when it comes to camp cooking. Some say that 'roughing it' requires the exclusive use of cast-iron cookware over an open fire. Others take advantage of the conveniences available through modern technology and rely on cook stoves, electric skillets, or state-of-the-art, built-in convection ovens when they're in the great outdoors. While I can see the benefits and detriments of all of the various options, I have found one fool-proof secret for camp cookery: bacon. Regardless of the meal, time of day, camp setup, or weather, bacon is a proven winner. Observe: 

Camper Without Bacon

Camper With Bacon

 Note the smile in the second picture. And the bacon. Other foods, of course, can be added to the meal. Toast and eggs are a particularly good choice.

Step Five: Entertainment
While the exercise it takes to setup your campsite and the consumption of bacon alone can be enough to ensure a successful outdoor experience, most people choose to engage in other forms of entertainment as well. Common camping pastimes include hiking, fishing, biking, sightseeing, and trying to find firewood.

In our family, one of the chief pleasures of camping (or any other get-together, for that matter) is card playing. I don't mean to brag, but we can pretty much beat the pants off any anyone, at any game, at any time of the day or night. Ever. Just sayin'

Playing cards while camping requires only a few things. The right supplies (note the card try - a *must* in our game of choice),

Finesse (look how carefully he's settling that card into the tray),

And, enough room (both for the cards to be laid out, and for the egos of the players. The latter is much bigger.)

Caution: playing too late into the night can sometimes cause a nasty case of card zombieism. The initial warning signs include:

Euphoria at winning,

Exhaustion,

And full-blown zombie symptoms.

The only known cure is to beat the pants off the afflicted persons (figuratively at first, literally if it's a particularly nasty case). Be sure to keep some sort of proof of your win, because poor card playing and excellent lying often go hand in hand. (Publishing the results on a famous blog with millions of readers world-wide is a nice added precaution.)

Step Six: Packing Up and Heading Home
Eventually, the fun of camping is overcome by the financial need to get home and back to work. That, or lack of sleep from the passing train will compel your physical body toward home and bed, sometimes even bypassing your brain and any conscious thought entirely. Either way - at some point you've got to clean up the mess - er, campsite - you've made. One final photograph of your site will serve as a pleasant reminder of your trip. Cuteness during the pic is both hard to come by (after not showering or sleeping) but nice to include if possible. Note how adorable the duo in this picture is...

 The first step to cleanup is to empty the contents of the tent. After that has been done, you may take the tent down. Failure to complete step one will almost assuredly complicate step two, and make it even more unlikely that your tent will fit back into its original packaging. This is, by means, necessary for a successful camping experience, but does provide plenty of opportunity for bragging rights. If you are unable to shrink an entire shelter back into a nylon bag the size of a loaf of bread, you can always use a duffel bag, suitcase, or plastic tote. For those of you who engage in one of the latter activities, just note - you are not as cool as my rockin' husband, who has been successfully re-rolling our tent into its original packaging for 12 years. Just sayin'.

After your site is empty and your vehicle is full, it is time to get on the road. But - don't despair. The fun of your few days of camping will not soon be forgotten, especially since it takes approximately ten times longer to clean up and unpack than it did to actually take the trip. But, such is the life of an outdoor enthusiast.

Step Six: Gratuitous Photos
I had a few more pics that were just too cute to not include. Enjoy!

  

Cheaterblog - 99 Things

 Once in a while you've just got to take the easy route. A blog I follow had the following list, and invited others to post it and share the fun. Don't know who first came up with it, or how they decided what things to put on or leave off the list. There are a few things I would add, for sure!

Anyway - the things that are in bold are the ones I've done. My grand total was 47 - respectable, but not quite half. Someday I'd love to visit all the exotic locales listed!

I'd sure love to hear about your adventures. Feel free to email or comment if you want me to expand on any of these.  If you copy and re-post, send me your blog address so I can see 99 things about you too!

1. Started your own blog (obviously)

2. Slept under the stars (just last week!)

3. Played in a band

4. Gone to Hawaii

5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain (Took a 30 min. walk on a part of a mountain, but I'm counting it.)
9. Held a praying mantis (just last week also!)
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a thunder and lightning storm (no better place to watch then from my upstairs living room because of the eight-foot-tall windows)
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables (and canned them too!)
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train

21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill (not since I was in college - FYI)
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb (and bottle fed it)
26. Gone skinny dipping (no comment...)

27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice

29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise.

33. Seen Niagara Falls in person.
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors (another cheater one, since my living relatives still live in the area)
35. Seen an Amish community. (I live the Amish dream, baby!)
36. Taught yourself a new language

37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke.
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight (not NEARLY as often as I'd like, though!!)
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater

55. Been in a movie

56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business (not really, but I was an independent contractor and had to pay my own Soc. Sec. taxes. Does that count?)

58. Taken a martial arts class 

59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies

62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy (my doggie blanket. It's ragged and stained, but it's mine.)

70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten caviar (ew. My husband's family eats it with cream cheese and Ruffles potato chips. Not terrible that way.)
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been a passenger on a motorcycle -

79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book (kinda. I was published in a book... Does that count?)
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car (only to have it hit a deer and be puked in by all 3 children within 2 months of owning it.)
83. Walked in Jerusalem 

84. Had your picture in the newspaper (internationally, even)
85. Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (one of my particular favorites)
88. had chickenpox
89. Saved someone's life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous

92. Joined a book club
93. Got a tattoo
94. Had a baby (three times. 100% natural. I'm particularly proud of this one)
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee

Applied Mathematics

Well, I got sidetracked again. Go figure. I was 3/4 of the way through a rather inane post when I got a touch of writer's block. Thinking that a bit of inspiration might do me some good and get the juices flowing again, I checked in on some of the blogs I follow. Guess it worked. Not only are the words and inspiration coming fast now, but prayers and a few tears are as well. I continue to be blown away - time and time again - by how much need there is in the world, and how relatively easy it is for ordinary people to meet those needs, if they're just willing.

In less time than it takes to watch a TV sitcom, I read about a couple who rescued a child from a life of certain poverty and neglect, and are bringing her up in a home filled with love, joy, and goodness. I read about missionaries in Haiti who struggle with feelings of guilt as they enjoy a wholesome, but modest, meal. Despite the fact that they are dedicating their lives to helping those around them, and making a tremendous difference every day, it still pains them to know there are thousands in their city who are malnourished and starving. I also read about a young midwestern girl who put her fears and sheltered upbringing behind her in order to touch the lives of desperately-poor Mexican villagers. In just thirty minutes, from the comfort of my own couch, I read about movers and shakers. Life changers and life savers. People who are passionate, and committed, and live life with an open throttle and no regrets. And, they are all.just.people - just.like.me.

Yep - not a superman or wonderwoman among them. They have fears and doubts. Misgivings, weaknesses, imperfections. They have them all. But, somehow they don't let that stop them from rushing headlong in the direction of their hearts. It makes me wonder what more I can give. What more I can do. What more I can be. Yet, that's not how these people think of themselves - as ones who give, and do, and live abundantly. No, the overriding theme from these men and women who have profoundly challenging lives and who have witnessed unspeakable things, is gratitude. More than that - it is gratitude about what they have received, even beyond the gratitude at what they've been able to give. And, I'm not talking about false-modesty gratitude, where someone flashes an insincere grin and quips about how they're, "...just happy to be able to help..." These people have bone-deep gratefulness for their daily blessings - no matter how meager they may seem to someone like me. They are overcome and overwhelmed by how honest-to-goodness wonderful their lives are. It gets me to thinkin' - perhaps they're on to something.

So, now what? I'm on fire more than ever with a realization of how much need there is, but I'm also equally ablaze with the fact that little-ol'-me really can make a difference in the world. The big question is - how? Should I emulate their awesome examples by rushing out and adopting a child? Planning a mission trip? Moving to a third-world country? Maybe. Or, maybe not. Perhaps it is not the actions of these everyday heroes that most need to be duplicated, but the attitude. What if - just go with me on this for a second - there was an outbreak of gratitude in our hearts and homes? Would that, alone, be enough to make the world a better place?

I think so. In fact, it all seems like a rather simple issue of arithmetic, if you ask me. Let me explain: I often find myself saying, when I'm feeling particularly happy with how my life is going, or see something in the news about how hard someone else's life is, "I have so much." And, while that's true, it is also a rather loaded statement. Most often, these four little words are a superficial and glib way of excusing myself from having to think too hard about either my own blessings, or the sufferings of others. Like a rote and disconnected prayer, I say it to absolve myself from responsbility, hoping the phrase itself will invoke someone else to provide the solution to a problem I don't want to acknowledge.

Mathematically, however, the statement takes on new meaning. "I have so much" is not the dismissive solution we may think it is. Instead, it is a problem in and of itself - a problem that begs to be solved. Think about it - how much is 'so'? Substitute a variable for that crucial little word, and it's easy to see that this common phrase is not a matter of economics, or morality, or theology. It is basic algebra, and by solving for 'x' we might just be solving some pretty big problems.

See, it is only once you know what you have, that you truly start to become rich. When we can honestly take stock of our blessings - and choose to be grateful for each and every one - we are able to quantify the goodness of our own lives. That 'so' from the glib phrase abov,e that slips out so easily, is not an unknowable variable, but a distinct and unique quantity for each and every one of us. Once we know it, it both compels and empowers to us to act. Like I said - simple math: The difference between our quantity and what we see in the lives of others equals how much need there is. It also shows us just how much we really do have to give, which is often much more than what we would have imagined.

So, I say, if we want to change the world, what we first need is an epidemic of gratefulness. May the act of acknowledging all the good things in our lives spur us to also see the need we don't want to admit exists, as well as our abundant ability to fill it. Looks like those folks really were on to something after all - the humble act of being grateful can lead you to the most wonderful of blessings...

But giving thanks is a sacrifice that truly honors me. If you keep to my path, I will reveal to you the salvation of God. - Psalm 50:23

 

The Pajama Conundrum

I have *finally* finished the last two (of many) loads of laundry today. Hooray! Every week I marvel at how five people can wear so many clothes - and we're not even layering yet! As I watch the stacks grow ever higher, it never ceases to amaze me that the pajama pile is usually the highest for each of us. Granted, that's partly because PJ's are kind of the standard uniform for home schoolers. However, it got me to wondering - how many sets of clothing does a person need exclusively for drooling and dreaming in? Come to think of it - how many clothes does a person need at all?

This is kind of a dangerous train of thought for me, and I often get myself into trouble when I start to ask such questions. You may recall that I have blogged in the past about my struggle with 'stuff'. I used to have a real problem with it. ("Hi. My name is Andrea. I'm a stuff-a-holic.") Like most recovering addicts, I have becoming something of a zealot, much to the chagrin of those around me. I don't try to be preachy, but sometimes I can't help it.

Over the last two years our little nuclear family has been through a lot - much of it spiritual, and perhaps a tad cerebral as well. The long and short of it is that we have been searching for who we are, and what we're supposed to be doing in life. In that process, we've seriously considered everything from building on to our home in order to have more space available, to packing up and moving to a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. (I'm still praying earnestly for that last one to come true, by the way. Just a heads up.) Anyway, in the process of examining every possibility, God has asked us to lay everything at His feet, and hold nothing sacred but Him. This is why I'm wondering how many nightgowns we really need.

I have never felt more rich in my life than I do right now - when I have the least amount of items that I've ever owned. I gotta tell you - it's a good feeling. My home is less cluttered. My schedule is less cluttered. My heart and mind are less cluttered. And, my relationships (including with God) are less cluttered than they ever have been before. The open space that was created when I got rid of so much junk has since been filled with wonderful things. It's enough to make me want to rent a dumpster, open wide the doors and windows, and chuck all of the rest out, in order that I might be emptied to be even more filled with God's goodness.

But, that's the problem. I honestly don't know where to stop. I wasn't being rhetorical in asking how many jammies a person needs. I think that, as a modern, middle-class American, I am not well equipped to make a decision like that. Here's just one reason why: according to an article by MP Dunleavy of MSN, one in ten households in this country rent storage space - almost double what it was 15 years ago. Considering that houses now have, on average, 60% more square footage than they did just a generation or so ago, and the number of people living in those houses has gone down 20%, you have to wonder what they're all squirreling away. I bet at least some of it is PJs.

Want another reason why I'm ill-equipped to make decisions about physical possessions? I recently came across a blogpost about a beautiful and challenging book by photographer James Mollison, entitled Where Children Sleep. In it, there is no spin. No storytelling. No statistics or guilt trips about modern American life. Instead, there are only pictures. On one side of each page is a photo of a child from somewhere around the world. On the other side, a picture of where that child sleeps. What stunned me was the near-absence of personal belongings in most other countries, and the overwhelming glut of it in pictures from the United States. Even (or - more accurately - especially) in images of  children in the U.S. who are living in abject poverty, there is still stuff everywhere. It is clear that most modern Americans are well 'equipped' for life, but are we better off for it?

So, what's a gal to do? I suppose, in trying to decide how much stuff our family really needs, I could follow Madison Avenue's suggestion and buy even more clothing, in even more luxuriant styles, and with even bigger price tags attached. But, I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed for us. On the other hand, we could divest ourselves of all of our worldly goods, though the winters in Iowa do get a bit cold to be without any pajamas at all. Plus, a decision like that would only further my reputation as a zealous ex-addict.

Instead, I'm trying to take a more balanced approach. We clean out rooms and closets frequently - considering the difference between 'need' and 'want' as we do so. We weigh the pros and cons of each item we own or buy, including how much time and energy it will take to properly care for it. We remind each other (and ourselves) that we don't have any responsibility to our inanimate possessions, and that we only want to surround ourselves with things that truly bless and enrich our lives. We pray. We ponder. And, I blog - in hopes that you (my faithful readers) will know exactly how many sets of PJs (or anything else, for that matter) each of us really needs. I do sincerely want to hear your opinions and thoughts. And, if you could get back to me before the next laundry day, I'd appreciate it even more.

Happily Ever After

Once upon a time there was a girl who was scandalously young, and a boy who was terribly new to the adult world. They met at a birthday party, fell madly in love, went through a tumultuous serious of dating breakups and get-togethers, got married, and have been facing the challenges of the world side-by-side for the past sixteen years. Doesn't exactly sound like a typical fairytale romance, does it?

Today marks the sixteenth anniversary of when my husband and I first met. I was 15 3/4 years old. He was 18. At the time, we thought we had the world by the tail. Now, I cannot believe what absolute infants we were, a fact made all the more frightening since our oldest daughter is only four years away from being the same age I was way back then. Wow. According to statistics and every predictor imaginable, we should not have survived as a couple. There have been several times when even we didn't think we were going to make it. Yet, here we are. Still together. Still in love. How can such a non-fairytale beginning have led to a happy, successful marriage? I'll tell you how - fairytales are lies.

In the fairy tale, the hero rides in and saves the damsel in distress, sweeps her into his arms, and they ride off into the sunset.You'll notice, the author never follows them and shows what life is like five, ten or sixteen years later. There are a couple of very good reasons why. First off, damsels in distress (who are unable to rescue themselves, or put themselves in stupid situations to begin with) rarely make good wives. While it's true that wives will often find themselves facing daunting challenges, married life requires them to be able to slay many of their own dragons, fight many of their own daily battles, and still have supper on the table by 6:00. A helpless wife = a hungry hubby, which is not a pretty picture.

Secondly, husbands in real life are no less the hero to their fair ladies than the men in fairy tales are, though their respective defining qualities couldn't be more very different. Heroes in fairy tales expect to fight one epic battle, and be adored as the strong, silent type for the rest of their lives. In the real world, it is their dogged pursuit of the daily grind, and a willingness (no matter how difficult) to open up and communicate those messy little things called 'feelings' that makes a man appealing. A one-hit-wonder, wordless hubby = a wrathful wife. Also, not a pretty picture.

Don't get me wrong, I know couples who have had the fairytale romance. Their every 'first' was magical. Their every look was adoring. Their every role and duty, perfectly fulfilled. From the outside, their life was enviable and beautiful. However, very few of these couples have marriages and homes that are still intact. Turns out, riding off into the sunset as a storybook hero and damsel can really burn you in the end.

But, don't be discouraged. Fairytales are not the only books on the shelf, and there is hope when it comes to love. Just look at us! You see, I come from a long line of romantic rebels. They are the pirates and pioneers, discoverers and dreamers, ruffians and rogues of the soulmate story. One set of grandparents met on a blind date, where my grandmother rode 30 miles on the running board of a car - holding on for dear life - to have supper with the towering hunk she would marry a short time later. (A wedding that took place, by the way, just one day after her 18th birthday and graduation from high school.) They lived on the ragged edge of poverty - gambling their last quarter in a pool hall for a couple loaves of bread and some meat for the stew pot - before becoming the ordinary, solid, ho-hum progenitors I know them as today.

My other set of grandparents only dated for three months, and went to a burlesque show on their honeymoon. My mom and dad were high school sweethearts who married way too young and still hold hands when they take strolls together. Other notoriously-mismatched couples with inauspicious beginnings that are near and dear to my heart include a woman who broke off an engagement in order to pursue a man she had just met, a couple who corresponded for months and ended up getting married after having only seen each other once, and a fifteen year old who never believed in love at first sight until it happened to her. That last one, by the way, was me.

I can't say that I recommend the path that we have traveled. I know it's extremely unlikely for us to still be going strong. I don't advocate for very young couples, very short engagements, or correspondence courtships. Then again, I don't advocate against them, either -at least in some cases - since love can grow from very strange beginnings, and not even the time-honored fairytale romance has the formula exactly right.

For us, things have worked because we are stubborn against the troubles of the world, and yielding to each other. We are uncompromising in our commitment to our marriage, and spend a lot of time compromising on everything else. We are fierce fighters, and frequent forgivers. We pray together and play together. We say, "I love you" often, and "I'm sorry" even more so.  And, we try to enjoy every moment that we get in each others' company, just like we did sixteen years ago. Here's to my real hero husband and a life-long romance that is nothing like a fairytale.

Movement

I've missed you!!! Have you missed me? I don't know how it happened that this blog dropped off the face of the universe for four months. (17 weeks, give or take. Seriously, what was I thinking?) Worse yet, anyone unlucky enough to have actually chanced a visit or two in that duration was greeted with my last post, which was about my daughter getting sick.

So, there you have it. In my irresponsibility I have gone and left my Musings covered in puke for the past one hundred and twenty-three days. (That, by the way, is why we can't have nice things around here.) I understand if you're upset. But, before you boycott the blog entirely and nickname your neighbor's messy, lazy dog "Andrea", the least you can do is listen to my excuse. Here goes:

I, like many people my age, have been struggling to find myself. Or, reinvent myself. Or, get in touch with myself. Or, whatever new-fangled thing people call it these days. I don't think it's a mid-life crisis per se, but our family has definitely been in the process of trying to figure out who we are, who we're supposed to be, and how to cover the distance between. One thing my husband and I have discovered - we're not kids anymore, no matter how much we may feel like it inside. I have waxed eloquent [whined] in the past about what a shock it is to discover that you have become (much to your consternation and bewilderment) a full-fledged grown up. On the best of days, it can feel like swimming in jello from the moment your feet hit the floor in the morning until you fall into bed in an exhausted heap at night. More often, though - when the going gets really tough - adulthood is downright immobilizing.

Let's face it - isn't movement one of the things we're most concerned with, after all? Am I making progress? Am I getting anywhere? Did I take the gifts and talents I was given and use them to inch closer to my goals today? Did I move my little bundle of self and the unique treasure I contain a little bit further down the road?   Really, they're all terribly important questions, but also terribly hard to  answer. My problem, all too often, is allowing myself to believe that associating  with the 'right' movement will move me in the right direction. Sound like double talk? Allow me to give you a couple of examples.

I've always wanted to be a part of The Urban Homestead Movement. According to an article from the 'Edible East Bay' e-zine, it's a movement that's come of age. How exciting! Sounds perfect for someone like me, who is also coming of age, so to speak. What draws me to this movement is their advocacy for local sustainability, wise use of the land, back-to-basics lifestyle choices, reinvention of traditional community values, and a dress code the typically includes bib overalls and floppy hats. These are people who are speaking my language - let's keep things simple! I did a bit of research and was almost convinced to sell everything I own except my canning jars and garden tools, and move to an old abandoned warehouse in downtown Chicago, when I smelled a rat.

You see, Urban Homesteading is becoming more and more popular. So popular, in fact, that people are now arguing (threatening lawsuits, if you can imagine) over who started the thing in the first place. And, since the two main contenders in this 'which came first' battle have slightly different approaches and ideals, their followers passionately and emphatically choose camps just as readily as they do. There are "Blumian" Urban Homesteaders, and "Dervaes" Urban Homesteaders, among many others. Seriously? How would I choose? What if I found myself (just like in a scene from Westside Story) facing down a gang of known Blumies, ready to steal my garden gloves and spill my seeds, just for being a Dervee? I mean, just think of the possible ramifications of wandering into the aquaculture building of a rival homesteader on accident on your way to a farmer's market. Do I really want to throw my lot in with people who think they can trademark and capitalize on back-to-basics and bib overalls? Hmmm....

Ok, so the Urban Homestead Movement is out, at least in its entirety. I can still follow the Organic Movement, the Slow Food Movement, the Homeschool Movement, the Unschool Movement, the Attachment Parenting Movement, or a million others that have tangents that interest me. Better yet, I can go to Wikipedia and get a list of over 100 other recognized social movements. Surely one of them will be the perfect fit - right?

Can you see why I haven't had time to blog? It seems that the act of seeking of the right and perfect movement to follow will ultimately leave you spinning your wheels. Now, I'm not saying there aren't good things to be found in each of these pursuits. And, I'm certainly not mocking the dedicated, sincere individuals who keep such important goals, traditions, and lifestyles alive. In fact, it is within these many movements that we can most often find the encouragement, support, fellowship, and inspiration to move our own lives further down the road each day. Plus, I will be eternally in debt to the Urban Homestead Movement (whoever may have started it) for making floppy hats fashionable again. Thank you.

Ultimately - and, here's the important part - the problem with joining any movement is that my path is not your path. And, I'm becoming more and more convinced that there ain't no way that we're all meant to herd together and roam around in packs our whole lives. We may have the opportunity to walk together for a while, or have a similar route or destination, but just as each of us has a unique and special treasure within, we also have a unique and special road to follow.

That, my friends, is really what our family has spent the past four months pondering. Thanks for your patience during that time. I don't know that I have answers to give or any real light to shed on the subject. All I can tell you is this - I appreciate the role each of you has played in our journey this far, and we'll keep you posted step-by-step as we learn more. I sure hope you'll do the same for us.