The Apathy Party

I am a very politically active person. (Wish I could say the same about my physical activity level...) I like to consider myself as informed as the average Jane on matters of national politics, and much more so in regard to issues in the state of Iowa. I vote. I contact my elected officials (sometimes much to their chagrin). I read the news, keep up on current events, and like to indulge in the occasional online poll. This brings me to my musing for the day - since when did Apathy become a political party?

I just finished clicking 'yes' on a rather controversial question. After taking an online poll like this, readers are generally rewarded with the chance to see the current results. On this issue, the 'yeses' accounted for 94% of answers. 'No's' were 5%, and another 1% answered 'No Opinion.' Really? No opinion whatsoever?

I mean, it isn't like this was a complicated question with answer options that were nuanced and only subtly different. It also wasn't as though participants were awakened out of a deep sleep, blinded by a bright flashlight right in the eyes, and forced to come up with an opinion as a matter of life or death. This was a voluntary poll. You had to 1.) see the poll 2.) think about the poll 3.) decide whether or not you wanted to participate in the poll 4.) click on the link to the poll 5.) click on your desired answer, and 6.) hit the submit button. Who does all of those things only to register their opinion as 'No opinion'? Apparently a full 1% of pollsters - that's who.

I would like to say that this was an anomaly, but it's not. It seems that lots and lots of  people these days are under-informed, under-active, and (here's the crux of the issue) proud of it. I helped with a political campaign for the first time this year by making cold calls to un-registered constituents. At first I balked at the idea. I mean, how much difference can it possibly make for me (a stranger with no credentials) to call people I don't know and tell them they should vote for somebody just because I said so? Apparently, quite a lot. It turns out, cold calls from genuine-sounding volunteers makes a big difference in helping undecided voters know who to choose at the ballot - as much or even more so than pre-recorded calls from political figures. Who are these people who don't know who they want, or why, or even what party they most closely align themselves with?

After having people promise to vote for my candidate just because I sounded nice (they actually said this to me) and even asking me to tell them who else they should vote for (and making me wait while they got a pen and paper to write my suggestions down) I am firmly convinced that the two party system is no longer our political reality. No more are there just Republicans and Democrats - or even Green Party, Libertarian, or Tea Party members. I'm guessing that an alarmingly-large portion of voters could rightly say they belong to the Apathy Party.

The good news, of course, is that even if they do frustrate pollsters by insisting on having no opinion, at least these folks won't spend hours and hours volunteering for a candidate you don't like or take your parking spot at rallies. Even better, all it takes is a pleasant voice and a few suggestions to get them to swing their vote to your favor. All in all, even though I'd never join it, I guess the Apathy Party isn't all bad. And, one thing's for sure - at least they're not                     s. 

[In the interest of remaining politically neutral and not offending anyone, the last word has been redacted. Maybe I'm more suited for the Apathy Party than I thought...]

70 Days

Wow - it's been 70 days since my last post. Seriously - 70 days!? How did that happen? That's how long ancient Egyptians used to mourn for their fallen Pharoahs. Seventy days is the length of time it takes to grow a bell pepper, to hatch a bearded dragon, or create a fully developed sperm. (Thank you, Google, for those fascinating facts.) Seventy days is almost 20% of a year, 10 full weeks, spans over 3 months, and equates to 6% of my total life thus far. What on earth could have been so important for the past six million seconds that I haven't been able to find a spare hour to write? Honestly, I don't really know.

It's awfully easy to 'waste' time, isn't it? My guess is that the lack of posts these last many weeks is due, in large part, to winter. I think I have expressed in the past that I have a distaste for the cold and snow, to put it mildly. Like so many others who live in the frozen tundra, I lack motivation to do more than... well... eat, rest from eating, rest up for eating, eat again, and sleep during the winter months. I am, essentially, a bear. Now that things are starting to warm up,  I am able to take cheer from the slow, agonizing, horrible demise of the snow drifts. It's amazing how a little motivation can go a long, long way.

Another element that consumes me during the early part of the year is the Iowa Legislative Session, which lasts from January through April. I have been pretty apolitical on this blog up to now, but that is certainly not for lack of vigorously-held beliefs or first-hand knowledge about the system. In fact, I'm a lobbyist for a small-but-important subset of home schoolers in the state. Trust me - after going to the Capitol at least once a week for three months, I pick up more than enough blood-boiling potential fodder for the blog. But, let's be honest- politics isn't exactly pretty stuff. I always say that there are two things you never want to watch being made if you have to partake of them - hot dogs and laws. I'm perfectly happy writing detailed descriptions of digging in the dirt, scooping poop, and butchering animals. But, I don't believe in being indecent, so I've stuck to the more genteel things in life, and left my political fervor unwritten. Who knows - I might just get a wild hair and change that policy, but for now I'll stick with ranting in the car on the way home from Des Moines and save you all from the unpleasantness.

Perhaps the biggest reason I've been unable to write for you - my adoring blog fans - is that I've been writing for all the rest of my adoring fans. (Or, more accurately, fans-to-be. I'm expecting my following to increase by at least a factor of 1.0000043 in the weeks to come.)  I may not have Dr. in front of my name, or any fancy initials behind it, but I can at least now say that I'm a published author. That's right - the 3rd article, on page 7, of the newly-released Chicken Soup for the Soul : New Moms is by none other than yours truly. Of course, it was first published right here on Musings, so I really do love you most of all, even if I do tend to neglect you when life gets cold and/or busy. It's nothing personal, you understand. I've just been mobbed by the media, held for hours signing autographs, and been forced to pose for countless photographs with adoring fans. Fame can be such a pain.

In all seriousness, though - I am very grateful to have been chosen to be published in the book, and even more so by all the kind words and encouragement from friends and family. (The event was even published - complete with photo op - in my two local papers.) I am also so thankful to have been able to take the last many weeks 'off' in order to rest, relax, and double up. Now, watch out world - it's time to jump. I'm praying for restorative sunshine, fascinating new personal challenges, and the chance to exercise my 'writing muscles' more often than ever before.

And, just for fun - here are some links that are relevant to this blog post: 

Kalona News Article:
http://www.kalonanews.com/articles/2011/02/19/topstory_slideshow/doc4d5c0bd11c8f4542256060.txt

Amazon Link to See Chicken Soup for the Soul : New Moms:
http://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Soup-Soul-Inspirational-Stories/dp/193509663X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1298143006&sr=8-1

To Find How Many Days, Etc. Between Two Dates:
http://www.timeanddate.com/date/timeduration.html

Chilly Chuckles

I have mixed feelings about winter. Pretty to look at, sure - but, I'm still not such a fan of any season that requires its own special wardrobe and heavy equipment just for basic survival. The combination of cold, dark, and dreariness can sometimes make it hard to stay upbeat and positive. If you're having trouble finding humor in the doldrums of winter, take a gander at this collection of cartoons. They're sure to tickle your funny bone and make your day brighter!

Iowa

I am not a native-born Iowan. For those of you who are, likewise, not from the state, you probably do not understand what this means. To be a true Iowan, at the very least, your grandparents and parents must have grown up here, and you are most likely related to at least half the people in the county. During my elementary years, I used to marvel at how everybody in my class knew who you could pick on, and who you couldn't. Family duty required you to stick up for your first cousins, see, but once you got to the seconds and 'once-removeds' the lines got fuzzy. I was the only one who wasn't related to anybody, so I was fair game for everyone.

Fortunately, I married in to an old-time Iowa family from this neck of the woods (yes - that is the proper way to describe my general geographic area), so I have learned the joys of what it means to be any relation to... As in, "are you any relation to the Farriers who live in Brighton?" Yes. Yes I am, and it feels good. I can now catch the question before the words are even fired, while they are still being loaded and the eyebrow quizzically cocked.

As much as I do love this state, and all of the down-home, wonderful, traditional elements that it embodies, there is one thing I will always despise about the land between two rivers - the winters. Our average January temperature is a balmy 17 degrees Fahrenheit, usually coupled with a thirty-mile-per-hour wind and blinding snow. And here's the thing - that's exactly what the weather was like in December, and what it will continue to be like in February. Winter is not a season here. It is an endurance trial. The best we can hope for is good company, plenty of hot cocoa, and something to smile about. The first two are your responsibility, but I hope this list, compiled from various anonymous emails I've received throughout the years, will at least help you out with the last:

You Know You're An Iowan If:

• You design your kids' Halloween costumes to fit over a snowsuit
• You have more miles on your snow blower than your car
• Driving in winter is actually better than any other time of year, because at least the potholes are filled with snow
• You've ever gotten a snowshovel stuck on your roof
• You describe 0 degrees as 'a bit chilly'
• You've ever called in 'snowed in' to work
• You've ever gone to work when you should have called in 'snowed in'
• You consider drilling a hole through 18 inches of ice and sitting on a bucket in a blizzard a sport
• You're either as white as a sow's belly (winter) or you have a farmer's tan (summer)
• You've worn shorts and a parka at the same time
• You just stick your head out the window until the ice clears so you don't have to bother with your scraper each morning
• You've ever used your heater and your A/C in one day
• Your labor day picnic has ever been moved inside because of frost
• You own a separate vehicle just for winter
• You've driven a four-wheeler or snowmobile to work or school
• You don't stop golfing for the season until the snow is deep enough you can't find your ball
• Your New Year's resolution to exercise more means shoveling the neighbor's walk as well as your own
• Despite how hard the winters all, you still love this state and are proud to call it home

Quotable Quotes

Sometimes I like to flatter myself into thinking that each and every blog post I write is 100% though-provoking, life-changing, earth-shattering brilliance. (Well... maybe more like 90%. Everyone has an off day.) Fortunately, however, I have several live-in humility inducers (ages are 10, 6, and almost 4) who remind me on a daily basis that I may not be quite as witty and intelligent as I sometimes fancy myself to be. After all, having to be told for the umpteenth time which person likes mayo, who owns the Cinderella panties, and how to turn on the video game machine tends to highlight my cognitive failings as quickly as any graduate school entrance exam ever could. To their credit, my children do boost my ego when it comes to my snuggling, cooking, and owie-kissing skills. You know - the really important stuff.

At any rate,  I do really enjoy sharing my world with y'all, but once in a while it's nice to invite in a 'guest writer,' so to speak. I mean, why struggle to make up something pithy and witty when I can just borrow what someone else has said (with due credit included, of course)? So, here is my quotable quote for you today.

This one always strikes right at the core of who I am. It makes the light inside of me burn brighter. Glow hotter. Get bigger. When I read it, the nebulous, tattered robe of excuses and fear falls away and I am tempted to go! do! be! with a new vigor and urgency. I hope it does the same for you. For, like Ms. Williamson said - you were designed to be something wonderful. Now go out and live it!

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
                                                                                    -- Marianne Williamson

My Favorite...

My favorite thing about the holiday season when I was a kid was the food. My family has a lot of terrific cooks, and we never lacked for good things to eat. However, this was the time of year when even my mom outdid herself and our cuisine went from fantastic to over-the-top. It always started with a traditional Thanksgiving, which is my favorite meal of the year, and ended with a spectacular array of finger foods artfully arranged for our annual New Year's Eve Movie Night. Stuffing and mashed potatoes with creamy gravy to start things off, and cheese ball, pickle-cream-cheese-and-ham wraps, and finger sandwiches to wrap the season up. It doesn't get much better than that.


But, best of all, was all the stuff in the middle. My mom had a special recipe box that she kept just for her Christmas goodies. Some families have sugar cookies and almond bark pretzels. We had decadent fudge, rich truffles, and delicate, hand-painted chocolate masterpieces, among many other things. The cooking started the week after Thanksgiving with my mom's chunky, aromatic, flavorful fruit cake. After chopping and measuring and mixing and baking, we wrapped each cake in rum-soaked cheesecloth and put them aside to age. While some people joked about the terror of receiving a store-bought fruit cake for Christmas, these were coveted and highly sought after gifts in our community and extended family.

The next weekend we always moved on to pumpkin bread, chocolate-cherry-thumbprints, and my great-grandmother's special oatmeal, chocolate chip, raisin cookies. Each person would be assigned a corner of the kitchen and a recipe, and we'd always end up clucking playfully at each other over who took the last stick of butter, and chuckling about how my dad could get powdered sugar on every square inch of his work area. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the warmth and smell the sweet goodness of those baking days.

Of course, there was also a lot of work involved. (It is only now, that I am a mother, that I understand how much time and energy my mom put into those endless weekends.) However, even when finances were lean, my grandfather was very ill, we had too much scheduled and not enough time to complete it all, and giggly little girls had been replaced by surly, moody teenagers, those weekends were an important tradition that we held on to, and that I will always treasure.

This year I am determined to pull out a few special recipes (most of which are the ones I loved so much as a kid) and share them with my children. I know that what I do with them will never be the same as the special time that I shared with my parents, but I want them to have great memories of us being together in the kitchen just like I had. Who knows - maybe someday it will be their favorite childhood memory of the holiday season as well.

Silly...

When was the last time you did something truly silly? I don't mean a little risque, like wearing navy socks with black slacks or trying takeout from somewhere other than your usual place. I mean stopping traffic, strangers craning their necks to get a better view, what-in-the-world-were-you-thinking silly. Bet it's been more than a day or two. In fact, if you're like most people, you probably do everything you can to not get into those types of situations. There is safety in conformity, and it feels nice to be like everyone else. But, there's also something to be said for standing out in a crowd - for being willing to take a chance, do something bold, and be different.

For me, it's usually not a choice. I tend to have what we have started calling "Annie Moments" at least once every few months. I can't seem to help it - all too often I find myself in some sitcom-esque situation, not entirely sure how I got there, and even more hazy about how to extricate myself gracefully before things get even worse. I have, for example, inadvertently used the 'members only' steps at my state capitol building and ended up (two small children in tow) at the back entrance to the senate chamber. Yep - peering in hesitantly right behind the President's desk. Of course, there was also the time at my local hardware store where I reached up to gently feel the nap of some lovely berber carpet, only to find myself seconds later being surrounded by yard after yard of the stuff as I helplessly watched the entire roll unwind at my feet. 

Though these situations tend to leave my husband shaking his head in bemusement, I have learned to take them in stride. Turns out, you cannot die of embarrassment. In fact, beyond the initial sting, it doesn't even hurt at all. And, in the process, you get to see some wonderful sights, meet some very lovely people, and build a repertoire of stories that are always crowd pleasers at parties and events.

Don't get me wrong - I don't mean to suggest that you should throw off all social norms and rules for decency in order to stir up trouble. However, next time that delicious little thought of, "I wonder what would happen if..." sneaks into your consciousness, you might just consider following it through to its natural conclusion. At worst, you'll find yourself a little out of sorts and a few minutes behind schedule. Then again, you might just end up with an adventure under your belt and find out that embarrassment really isn't a terminal condition, but merely an occasional symptom of a life well lived.

Who Am I? Why Am I Here?

Every once in a while my children say things that catch me off guard. Most of the time they're funny. But, often they also carry a deeper, philosophical significance that makes me see the world in a different light.

Not that long ago, my middle daughter was sitting down to a meal and moodily poking around at what she found on her plate. (Of all of our three girls, she's the most likely to be a tiny bit picky about food.) It was clearly apparent that she wasn't happy...

In all of the hustle and bustle of getting lunch on the table, gathering everyone from the farthest reaches of the house, and tidying up the kitchen, I ended up (as usual) hollering out every name that I could summon to the tip of my tongue, and assigning them in a more-or-less random fashion to whichever child (or cat) was closest. I think I even called my youngest daughter by her grandmother's name at one point.

After everyone was seated and our food had been blessed, I encouraged my little reluctant diner to give the new food a chance.

Me: Try it, sweetheart. You'll like it!
Her: How do you know?
Me: I'm your mom. I know you. I know you'll think it's good.
Her: You don't know me. Sometimes you don't even know my name...

Well, she certainly had me there, didn't she? Of course, I'm not suggesting that my momentary amnesia when it comes to names was an indication that I don't know my own children. However, maybe sometimes we do make unfair assumptions about people. Perhaps we get to the place of being so sure that we already know someone, that we stop trying. Maybe it isn't that that we don't know each other, but that we become overconfident that we do know someone that causes children to feel misunderstood, married couples to drift apart, and colleagues to frustrate one another.

But, as bad as it can be to stop trying to get to know someone, have you ever considered what happens when that someone is you? I've come to the place where I'm starting to ask - have I boxed myself in? Am I missing out on opportunities to learn new things? Have new experiences? Be a better person? Have I limited myself because of what I assume to be true about me?

My daughter's statement was a funny but potent reminder to me that it's not fair to stop listening, stop learning, stop getting to know the people around us. But, as much as we owe the courtesy of continuing to learn to other people, we also owe it to ourselves. So, if you'll excuse me - I'm going to go try something new. You never know - I just might find that I like it!

Finish Up Friday

It's Friday, and that is reason to celebrate! (You know - technically, every day is reason to celebrate, since it represents another opportunity to spread joy, fulfill your purpose, and make the world a better place. Just food for thought...) Even with gloomy financial reports, nasty weather forecasts, and an overflowing inbox, it's hard not to smile on Friday morning. What is it about Friday that makes us all in a better mood than any other day of the week?

I know - the standard answer is that it's because it's the start of the weekend, and everyone likes weekends. However, maybe Friday is our favorite because it's as much about wrapping up the workweek as it is about opening the gift of Saturday and Sunday. For me, Fridays have a different feel to them than any other days of the week. I can leave a file open or an email unsent on a Wednesday afternoon, but on Fridays I become a superhero - Andrea the Finisher.

This is no small feat. I'm much happier opening up new projects (and cans of worms) than I am wrestling them down, tying up their loose ends, or putting them bed. However, the thrill of starting something new never really can compete with the deep sense of satisfaction that comes from finishing well.

So - I encourage you to make this Friday count! Finish up a project you've been procrastinating on. Send that difficult email. Make that dreaded call. I am determined to do something today that will enable me to get out my big red pen and make a giant, bold, satisfying check mark next to some lingering project that's been on my mind and my desk for far too long. After all - that project deserves to rest in peace, and I am ready for some peace of mind and rest as well...

Five, Ten, Fifteen

Here are the five best tips I try to implement when life gets crazy and I am running thin on resources. They take 10 minutes or less per day, but reap big results if you'll stick with them for 15 days. I call them my Five Rules of Ten for Fifteen Days.

1. Go to bed ten minutes earlier than you usually do. Even the busiest person can make this happen. Most people are sleep deprived, and research shows that it affects our productivity and health more than we realize. If you feel tired during the day, have a hard time waking up, get drowsy while driving, or fall asleep in front of the TV - chances are, you're not getting enough sleep. Giving yourself an extra ten minutes will ensure that you get to sleep sooner, and can get to all of the important stages of sleep faster. By adding just ten extra minutes for 15 days, you're going to be getting two and a half extra hours of sleep. Who couldn't use that!?

2. Get ten minutes of exercise each day. Thirty minutes, three times a week is best, but ten is better than nothing. Park farther away than you usually do. Walk in place during half of your favorite show. Or (my favorite) - put on an upbeat song or two and dance like no one is watching! Even if you flop back on the couch after exactly 600 seconds every one of those 15 days, you'll have exercised almost the same amount of time as if you'd have done the 'required' 30 minutes, three times per week. See - little things do add up!

3. Take ten less bites of food at supper. Challenge yourself to dish up what you normally would eat for supper, and leave at least ten bites on your plate each night. If each bite is a tablespoon in size, that equals about 2/3 of a cup. The could mean 160 less calories (plain mashed potatoes), 190 calories (stuffing), or even 300 calories ( ice cream). Even if you just cut 100 calories per day, you'll be eating 1500 calories less in those 15 days, which equals almost a half a pound of weight loss!

4. Laugh at least ten times per day. Not only are you no fun to be around when you're not making the time to laugh, but you're also imperiling your own health. Laughter releases feel-good hormones, lessens stress, burns calories, and even boosts immunity. Whether it's a simple chuckle, or a roaring belly laugh, getting your giggles out helps you and the people around you. Who knows - having ten good laughs a day for 15 days might just change the world!

5. Engage with your loved ones for ten minutes every day. What do I mean by 'engage?' Think of it this way - it's the difference between talking to your spouse while you're busy cooking dinner, and talking to your spouse with your full attention. If you really want to tell your loved ones that you care, engage with them using all of your focus. You'll be amazed about how much better you'll be able to communicate, and how much closer you'll feel with just ten simple minutes of real conversation a day for 15 days.

Here's to New Beginnings!

Happy New... Month! We're 30 days early for the official New Year hoopla, but I can't wait that long. Seems to me that December 1st is just as good of a day to celebrate our past and eagerly anticipate great things to come as January 1st. So, here's to new beginnings! It's a new day. It's a new month. And, it's a new start for me.

There are only 10 days of voting left in the Good Mood Gig contest. While I know that there will be other criteria used to pick the winner, if it was based on who had the best bunch of people supporting him/her, I'd win for sure. Heck - I already feel like a winner because of your help and kindness, and I can't thank you enough.

We may not have the most votes, but ours are sure heartfelt and genuine, and I think that counts for a lot. So much so, in fact, that I started thinking - maybe I'd better be doing some serious preparation for this job. Sure, I can talk the talk, but can I walk the walk? Could I really post a feel-good blog every day? Am I really the right person to be Sam-E's next Good Mood Blogger? Guess it's time to find out.

So - Merry Christmas. Or, Happy New Year. Or, maybe just Thank You. Whatever you choose to attribute it to, from now through December 10th, when voting ends, I've decided to do a good mood post every weekday. It's the least I can do to let you know how much I appreciate your support. Plus, I'm hoping you'll give me some feedback and let me know what you think. (You do know, of course, that once the voting stops you all become my editors and proofreaders, right? This is a life-long gig you've gotten yourself into. Anyone out there wash windows or give good advice on retirement investing?)

But, here's the thing...according to several studies that I found online, approximately 92% of New Year's resolutions fail. You don't want to become a tragic statistic, do you - your good intentions rubbed out by crushing odds? There is hope, however. As far as I can tell, there have never been any studies done on the percentage of New Month resolutions that fail, so let's make some magic!

I'm starting something new that's a bit challenging but really exciting today. What about you? What have you been putting off, getting around, giving in to, or just flat out ignoring that you're ready to take on? Whether it's losing a few pounds or gaining a few friends, I invite you to join me these next ten days in doing something new for yourself. The journey of a thousand miles begins with just one step, and what better day to start strutting our stuff than today?

Stuff!

You  may have noticed that I am looking a bit thinner these days. You see, in the last few months I've lost close to 1500 pounds... of things, that is. You'd think that getting rid of nearly a ton of stuff would make a remarkable and significant difference in the appearance and functionality of our home. Alas, that is not quite the case. In fact, I'm sad to say that there are still piles on many of the flat surfaces, way too many clothes and toys, and a garage full of mysterious items with dubious histories and even more questionable futures. (Just how did a family of five end up with eight broken bikes, and what made us think they were all worth saving?) But, I'm making progress.


I come from a long line of packrats. (Sort of a disturbing mental image when you picture it literally - isn't it?) My paternal grandmother lived through the Great Depression, and saved things because of a real and rational fear of having to go without.  My grandfather on the other side was a farm kid, and knew the value of a bit of twine or a length of wire in a pinch. I think it's fair to say that the sound logic behind the saving has gotten weaker with each passing generation, though the desire to collect has not. Granted - everyone in my family manages our possessions with enough order and organization to ensure that they don't become a real problem in our lives. However, I sometimes have to ask myself whether I am the possessor or the possessed.

A dear loved one recently passed away. Long after she had settled her accounts, had her say,and  made her peace, she had one last burden that she couldn't seem to shake. With a heavy sigh late one night, she made me promise that I would help go through her home after she passed because she was worried that people would judge her harshly for all of the things that she had. I have never looked at my 'stuff' the same way since.


In a way, it was frightening to think that someone's last worries on earth would be about something so trivial. But, if I'm really honest with myself, I must admit that that's probably what I would worry about in that situation as well.  I sensed more deeply in that moment than ever before that stuff can be a blessing, or stuff can be a curse. It's all in the way you look at it. It was an amazingly liberating experience.

Since then, I've had a different perspective. I supposed it's possible that one of those broken bikes in the garage might be worth fixing (old me), but I can guarantee that not a single one of them is worth worrying over (new me). So, I got rid of them. I got rid of things I thought I could use, things I thought I might use, things I thought I would use, and even things I thought were way too special and sentimental to ever be used. And, boy - did it feel great! Around our house, we've started calling it "getting flexible". I've heard some call it lightening the load, de-cluttering, de-junking, letting go, giving up, and even getting free.Whatever you call it, I'm just glad that I'm the one who possesses my stuff these days, and am determined to never again let it possess me.

Readers' Favorites Series - Playing Grownup

Please enjoy these re-posted blogs - the top 5 favorites of my readers. Happy reading!

 

Well, here I am attempting a second time to write a post with more of myself included. I am no longer pontificating... have stepped down off the soap box. Is it more human and approachable this way? Perhaps I'll consider this a group therapy session. After all, you must be reading this blog for a reason. If it's to search to answers, I can only tell you, in all honesty, that I do not have them. But, perhaps we can discover some together. I'll go first.

Hi. My name is Andrea, and I feel under-equipped to deal with life. I suppose there are so very many more things I could admit to - over eating, over sleeping, over doing. But, I think I've come a long way by being able to really distill what's going on down to such a pithy and provocative statement. You see, I've always been the one able to handle it all. Keep all the balls in the air. Keep all the plates spinning. Now I've come to realize that those things are what the analogy implies : games - just part of an act. It looks good (and feels good) on stage, but when the makeup comes off and the costumes are put away at the end of the night, there are still children to raise, souls to save, bills to pay. Life is not the circus act.

My best friend and I (both of us turned 30 this year) were wondering together on the phone the other day why no one warned us of what it means to be a grown up. Why did no one tell us how serious and earnest this thing called life can be? Why did no one think to warn us that we would endure indescribable difficulties even as we enjoyed unparalleled joys? Why didn't anyone let us know that this is what it would be like? I've been trying to abdicate my adult responsibilities for years, but they keep coming back. All this time I've had the sneaking suspicion that this thing called life is perhaps a bit more serious and taxing than I wanted to let on.

For my friend, it all started with her first vacuum. You see - it wasn't her mother's vacuum. It wasn't borrowed. It wasn't temporary. It was hers. Forever. You don't buy a vacuum unless you need it. You don't need a vacuum unless you have a home. You don't have your own home unless you're a grown up. See the connection? To this day I think that vacuum causes her pause on good days, panic on bad ones. It's a sign that she - all of us, really - is inextricably engaged in the forward march of life, and that can be a sobering thought.

I, on the other hand, didn't have the sense to pause and consider the implications of my first vacuum. I was very young and idealistic when I plunged headlong into life. It wasn't until sometime after a college degree, two home purchases, a brand new car, three children, and a dying loved one later that I started to have the sneaking sort of panic that my friend's small appliances stirred up in her. Now I find myself very much entrenched in this thing called life, and feel ill equipped to handle it. Who am I to hold the hand of the dying? What do I know about helping those left behind in their grief? What words can I offer to bolster my brave husband, who faces the world with the weight of his family on his shoulders each day? Where will I go for the wisdom to bring forth these children that I feel so fiercely proud of and responsible for? How did I end up here?

Some days I think I'll wake to discover that it's all been a game of house. We (the good children, intently engaged in our play) will be called back to reality by our parents. We will put aside our drama and aprons and vacuums and go have a snack under the watchful eye of a capable and caring adult. Our vain striving over who is in charge, which person says what, where things will go, what we will do... it will all be forgotten. After all - if we are honest with ourselves in the deepest and darkest places in our hearts, we somehow sensed all along that it is foolishness to pretend we are really adults, didn't we? True enough, but what can be done about it? Therein lies the trouble.

And so, I will continue to be a little girl her mother's high heels. I will pray for wisdom in bringing forth and carefully preserving the treasures in my husband. I will shore him up on the days when I can see that he is a little boy in his father's tie and suit jacket. At least there is much comfort to be found in knowing that I am not playing this game alone. I will trust the promise God gave me that when I open my mouth, it is in wisdom, and the teaching of kindness will be on my tongue. When that promise is stretched thin and looks like it will run out, I will go to Him for a fresh slice of truth and a cold glass of grace. (Perhaps there is a kind parent who watches over this game of house after all...) I will guide and guard, praise and raise, teach and treasure my children each and every day. And, I will never, ever tell them what it's like to be a grownup - how earnest and serious life can be, and what indescribable difficulties and unparalleled joys you discover along the way -  because they deserve to discover it on their own.

Readers' Favorites Series - Out of the Mouthes (and Other Orifices) of Babes

Please enjoy these re-posted blogs - the top 5 favorites of my readers. Happy reading!

The other night, while hurtling down the interstate at 70 miles per hour, I heard my precious toddler say to me from the back seat, "Here, mom." I knew her hand was groping forward in the darkness, with a special gift just for me. Sometimes in these situations I get stuffed animals to keep me company, pictures my adoring children have drawn for me, an offer just to hold my hand. Awww....

Of course, as much as I like to focus on the precious moments of parenting, I must admit that more often than not I am being handed trash, unwanted food, bits of miscellanea dug from the depths of a car seat, used Kleenexes, etc... But this time, it was even better. This time, the gift my two-year-old handed me was a booger. It took me a second to figure it out. I fumbled in the dark, trying to find the tiny little 'nugget' in her hand. Once I got it up front with me, I felt it carefully.  A lost tooth? Bit of food? Hmmm... round, smooth...Is this... is thisss.....? I couldn't help it. I found myself actually saying aloud, "Honey, is this a boogie?" To which she happily replied, "Yets, mommy." Hmmm... I thought so.

There was a time (not that long ago, believe it or not) when the idea of being handed a booger would have been enough to dampen my spirits, to say the least. Truthfully, however, it hardly even blips my radar these days.  It's not that boogers aren't gross, but they don't even rank in the top three anymore of nasty stuff I've handled. Who am I kidding with the past tense there? Really, it's nasty stuff I handle almost every day.

Case in point - my youngest is working on potty training. Tonight she sat on the potty for 2 hours straight. I, of course, had to sit with her. (Those of you who aren't parents might think that I am complaining. Actually, I was overjoyed to have spent my evening perched on the edge of the tub. Each moment she sits on the toilet gets us one step farther away from diapers, which is where much of the yuckiness that I must touch originates.)

Anyway, we successfully made pee pee in the potty (yeah!), but it came at a price. In order to not fall in, she had to lean all of her weight on the heels of her hands, which she had rested on the toilet seat. Periodically (anywhere from every 2 to 5 minutes) I was asked to kiss her owie hands. Though I resisted as long as possible, it became clear that this was becoming a stumbling block to achieving our ultimate potty goals. So, I did it. I puckered up and kissed, essentially, the butt of every person in  my home. And you thought boogers were bad.

But how could any rational person do that? It's nasty. It's gross. It's unsanitary. Yep, it sure is. But, parenthood is all about taking risks to improve your odds. You don't survive this game without nerves of steel and an immune system to match. I've been in training for so long that I've got my game face on, and nothing is going to stop me this close to the goal. (Besides, since I do the housework I know the toilet got cleaned a mere 24 hours earlier, and I didn't really make contact with her hand. Jeesh...That would be disgusting.)

I am hoping that at some point in the future I will gradually stop having to handle such things as boogers and diapers and toilet seat hands. God willing, barring a career change into nursing or wastewater treatment, I will eventually stop having to deal with anyone's bodily functions but my own. Until then, I will continue to willingly reach back when someone says, "here, mom" from the back seat. Be it bottles or boogers, toys or trash, valentines or vomit (and I am sooooooo not making that last one up), I am always willing to lend a helping hand. After all, I've already kissed my pride good bye, and watched my overinflated sense of self importance be flushed down the toilet. What more could I possible have to fear?

 

Readers' Favorites Series - Menu Minimalism

Please enjoy these re-posted blogs - the top 5 favorites of my readers. Happy reading!

Tonight we're having beef for dinner. Each afternoon around 4:00, I seem to know that much, and not much more. Despite four or so years of being a vegan, the hub for my meal planning still comes down to which animal gave its life in order for me to eat, at least for supper. (The rules for lunch, of course, are totally different.) Anyway, so I find myself with a cut of meat in hand (sometimes literally) and no other plans. Oh, I could go for the usual side dishes that I fix every other night of the week, but is that the kind of person I want to be - a mac and cheese user? A woman with a frozen vegetable habit? Is that how I want my children to remember me!?

I could go old school - meat, potatoes, and a vegetable. This suits my 1950's housewife fantasy nicely. (Funny thing, that fantasy. Never once has my house become magically cleaner, my children more polite, or the shows on my television more G-Rated just because I put on a frilly apron and high heels. Go figure. It has once induced my husband to ask for a mixed drink, however, upon returning home from work. ) Besides just the all-American appeal, the trifecta meal planning method also does make for some darn tasty eats. Alas, it also invariably requires me to rummage in cupboards, dig through the freezer, and uncover a bag of taties that's been sitting too close to the window (sprouting), or too long in the dark (moldy). Curses, foiled again.

Never one to do anything in moderation, I then swing back to my hippy-trippy days, seeking to recall what were once the superstars of my kitchen reportoire, but which will now just be side dishes for my slab-o-meat. This, I am sure, is exactly how ex-Country stars feel at having to follow up children's singing groups and local talent shows on County Fair stages across the nation. So, will it be black beans and rice? Rice and red beans? Spanish Rice and refried beans? (Perhaps I am beginning to see why I am no longer a vegan. Hmm....) A quick thumb through my tattered New Farm Cook Book doesn't yield any appealing solutions for tonight, though it does remind me that the people who think I'm crunchy-granola now just don't even have a clue about ol' Earth Momma Annie at the height of her broomstick skirts and Birkenstocks days.

All of my freezer-fumblings, fifties-fantasies, and Farm cookbook remembrances have cost me an hour, and yet I am nowhere closer to having a side dish in mind. Meat and....? Meat and.....? Let's face it, I'm going to rely on my same old standbys that I always do. It will be meat and canned corn, probably with tortilla chips, because that's how we roll around here, baby. Why? Because we always seem to have canned corn and tortilla chips around, and I know that my famiy will eat them. Sometimes I might throw in some cilantro, or serve some salsa up on the side, but when it comes to supper I've got my Fave Five (give or take) ingredients that see me through. They are my go-to items, and as long as they never let me down, how can I turn my back on them?

It's good to know that I can still whip up a pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy and broccoli with cheese sauce that would make the Beav's mom proud. Or, that my quinoa tabouleh recipe is still where I can find it should the need arise. (I can't help it - I'm chuckling here because I know good and well that at least three people reading this blog will not only mangle the pronounciation of that dish, but also spend several seconds wondering if perhaps I just made up some gibberish words to make myself look hippyfied. One of you might even Google it.)

Tonight, I will have beef and canned corn and tortilla chips. Tomorrow night I will have chicken with mac and cheese and a frozen vegetable. The night after that I will mix things up and have lamb with canned corn and mac and cheese (tricky,  no?). But - here's where the 1950's potluck mentality meets with my creative flower child - the next night, I shall have a casserole. And everyone knows, that it's no holds barred on casserole night...