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Thursday, October 16, 2014

#whatthe?


Listen. Right now, right this very moment, I'm sitting at my computer (duh!) and eating animal crackers. For legit, I've lined them all up like a circus train. And I'm inspecting them as I ingest them. You know, to see if I can tell what animal they are. It's an epic morning. This is what my brain does when I take migraine medicine at 4:00 am. It makes me think all weird. Well, and BE weird. Nice.

But really, here's the thing.

Because I have a thing I really, really need to discuss.

No shenanigans. No animal cookies. This is serious.

Here goes...
You know The Husband has an affection for butterflies, right? Well, I've never told you this, but he has a Butterfly BFF. Oh, yes. Yes, he does. Her name is Mary. And she's lovely. They work together (kindof). Wow. That makes it sound weird. But really, it's not weird. Other than the butterfly obsession and all.

Guess what? They call each other and talk "butterflies". I'm. Not. Kidding.

And just so we're clear, it's only Monarch butterflies. That's their specialty.

And here's where the awesome bumps up a level. People know, they know, about their butterfly love. It's crazy. You know why?


Because friends are now buying them customized butterfly gifts. Nice ones. Encased in glass. It may have been suggested that I could buy a special light to mount above the case. You know, to shine down and illuminate the butterflies. Ah, heck no. No, no, no.

Here's my question-- Why, oh why, could he not be obsessed with BMW's?

Seriously.

And this morning, in between my cookie eating, and just because I'm snarky, I asked The Husband if he wanted to wave goodbye to his friends. The butterflies. Let it be known that he was not pleased. Not even a tiny bit.


Happy Thursday, my friends.

I think I'll name them. I'll get back to you on that.


Tuesday, October 14, 2014

And Just Like That, She's The Favorite Again



We stand outside waiting for the bus. And we wear jackets. Because today is Fall in Texas. Just this one day. That's as long as it usually lasts.

And the Baby Child, the one I've pinned all my hopes and dreams on, decides to do something uniquely awesome.


She picks acorns right off the tree. Holding the cup in her mouth allows her to use both hands. She has to tip-toe reach for the branches because she's so tiny.


She giggles while she holds the cup by her teeth. And she jumps from branch to branch. All while I take her picture. Because this, this right here, is so beautiful, I memorize the shape and sight and sound of it all.

And just like that, I forget that she's in junior high. I forget that most words out of her mouth are aimed to make me feel like an idiot. I forget that I hate this age. Because, acorns! It's joy overflowing. And I want to hold this moment forever.

And just so we're clear, these two:
Stole my phone and took weirdo pictures. They are definitely not the favorite. Nope. Not at all. No acorns for them.


Friday, October 10, 2014

Hair and Other Stuff


Have we ever discussed my hair? No? That's a shame. Because there's tons to say. Let's start with this-- I loathe washing it. Like, I avoid it because I hate it so much. Truly. I'm not even going to tell you how long I can go between hair scrubbings. It's an extraordinary amount of time. You'll be jealous. I just know it.

The root of the problem is that I have so, SO much hair. It's thick, it's long, it's everywhere. You wouldn't believe the tendrils that fall out every day when I brush it. I could fill the earth with stuffed pillows of hair. I'm not kidding. My sister has even more than I do. And we go to the same hair-cutter-person-gal. She "thins" it out every time. I lose 10 pounds just from a hair cut.

There's long hair everywhere you look around here. The next time you're over at my house, just rub your hand along the carpet. Hair. That's what you'll find. We could sell it as a commodity. It doesn't really help that I don't have proper working vacuum, but that's a story for another day. Or not.


The Baby Child has a crazy obsession with shampoo. She can't seem to find the energy to walk upstairs to her own bathroom. So, she showers in mine. The other day I realized that she's created a salon in my shower.


And no, I don't know why this collection is here. Parent Rule #3 "Don't ask, because you don't want to know."

***


Have you ever tried to make plans with a teenager? It's maddening. They're so all over the place. And I'm soooooo NOT. I'm a Type A planner. 'Spontaneous' is a bad word. So, imagine how difficult it is to get your teenagers to verbalize some sort of time table to you. I don't think it's even possible.

For example, I know they have plans tonight. My people and their friends. There's a rehearsal, and a met up (my house?) and dinner and a drive-in. That's the jist. Even though I know it's futile, I called Teenager #1 this morning to see if she had ANY idea how the night would run out.

I couldn't really get the teenagers to discuss anything because they were giggling so hard. There's a mobile mammogram truck in the high school parking lot. They think it's the greatest thing ever. Their friends have all gathered together to discuss how that actually works. Oh geez.

I sighed and hung up the phone.

***

When was the last time you really felt loved? For me, it was yesterday. People gave me gifts! It was the most unexpected and extraordinary thing.


A beautiful friend bought me acorn salt and pepper shakers. Say to the what?! They're too cute for words. And my sister (who is an awesome gift-giver) scored me an exquisite old, chippy window pane. I nearly cried with joy.

I should pay it forward and make someone feel loved today. How about we meet at the high school for a mammogram?

***

And just in case you haven't seen the buzz around the web, the Mormon movie opens today. Check the website here to see one near you.

I can't imagine why that film crew didn't choose this family to follow around. What a spicy little film that would make.

***

Happy Friday homies.
Feel the love. And the hair.



Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Write It On The Wall


I attended my first Women's Conference when I had just 2 little girls at home. I stayed overnight at a hotel with my mom and cousins. It felt like Hawaii. My soul soaked up every word and every moment.

During the Conference, I attended a panel lecture hosted by grown-up moms. Women who had been mothering so much longer than me. I watched them with awe, just knowing they had all the answers and could show me the path to march as a parent.

And now? I'm one of those women. The ones I assumed had it all figured out and plotted on a map. And guess what? I didn't have a clue then, and I still don't today. Mothering and parenting are a mix-as-you-go type of deal. A live and learn.

One mother on that Conference panel offered the audience her best piece of advice. I still remember it to this day. Here it is: "Never do a job so well that no one notices it's been done." Let's give an internet fist-bump.

So, I'm going to tell you one of the ways I make sure that "Everyone notices the job has been done."

I write a quote on the bathroom wall.

Ta-Da.


I'm a quote collector. I have scads stashed in a book. And every time I clean the bathroom, I write a new one on my wall. Sometimes I've even let my girls do the writing. Once it was The Husband's turn. Tells you how often he cleans the bathroom. Wink, wink.

There are times I make it fancy, and others that I just slap it up there. Yesterday I wrote down a pretty lengthy quote. It replaced, "Love is a Verb", by Stephen Covey.

All you need is a dark wall and some chalk. Wipe it off with a cloth when your ready to switch it out. I'm fairly certain this is the only way anyone knows this area of the house gets cleaned. New wall quote=Clean for the moment.

I was looking at these words on the wall today and realized that they're powerful. I think I've shared them before. Maybe? I can't remember. So, I'll just share them again. I believe I originally found this on Pinterest. Maybe? The raspberries are my own :)


And when I offer up the words, "Change the world.", I mean the world right where you are. Within the walls that house you and your people. That's the world. The whole of it. In every day that you get up and do it All. Over. Again!, you change it. For the better.

In all that you do that goes unnoticed. All the mundane, tireless acts you perform without any thanks, that is you speaking your truth. Don't stop. Don't you dare. Because you are right where you're supposed to be. The center of it all.

Be strong. Show courage. Breathe.

And don't forget to write it on the wall.



Saturday, October 4, 2014

Sa Junk


There's this thing I do. It's sort of so ingrained, it's just my life. And yesterday I wondered, "Sa, you should be talking about this. Your thing. Your way." Am I the only one that talks to themselves? Most of the time I think it's a normal thing to do. But maybe it's not. I think this is what teenagers do to your brain.

Here's the deal. I do pain and pills (it's so cute they both start with P's) all day. Weird, right? To me its just life as usual. Migraines and hip pain (that is unexplainable and can't be diagnosed). Pain is my co-pilot. And so, pills are my best friends. Have been forever. But, the average over-the-counter stuff? Pfft. Those are vitamins. I'm at a much higher pay grade.

And let me just stop you right here from giving me a lecture or advice. Especially about migraines. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, I haven't tried, considered, tested for, etc.  When someone new finds out that I have a headache Every. Day., they get real wise and think they know more than someone who has lived this way for 20 years. Oh, you silly people. You're funny.


Every 6 months or so, my pain doctor convinces me to try another round of "injections". That's just code for-- put you under and inject some sort of nerve block in your joint with a needle as long as a wiener dog. The end.

But, here's what I really, really want to tell you about. There is this moment. This glorious, beautiful moment. It happens when they transfer your hospital gown clad body onto the operating table and they strap oxygen onto your face. And then....oh and then...they shoot some sort of miracle drug into your IV. This is the stuff that will eventually knock you out, but it takes a beautiful while to do so. Yipee!

But listen up. Super close. Lean in. For about 30 seconds, I. Love. The. Entire. World. That juice is golden. I have never ever, ever, ever felt so good as I do in those 30 amazing seconds. In that blip of time, I have prophetic visions. Most of the time, they boil down to this: I would be a way better mom if I could run this through my blood stream all day long.

Maybe my new nickname should be Junkie. That's got kind of a crafty twist to it. Oh, I know. It can be my "Street Name". Like, I'm bad to the bone. That up's my cool factor by like, 120%. Maybe my teenagers will like me better if everyone starts calling me Junkie. Actually, how about Sa Junk? That's got Street Cred all over it! I like it. Lots and lots. Sa Junk. I'm so cool now, I may just start using emoticons in my texts. (Probably not, I hate when adults use those.)

I'm thinking of starting a club (I tend to do that a lot). The "Beautiful 30 Seconds" Club. Only true, experienced members can join. You get a Street Name when you enroll.

I'm giddy.

Enjoy your weekend, my people.
Take some pills and think of me.



Monday, September 29, 2014

I Am A Paper Towel


I spy something with my too-large-for-my-face eye.
It's a mess.
The same variation of the crap I pick up Every. Single. Day.


I know if I really analyzed this for one holy, hot minute, I'd know that this problem comes down to my lack of parenting skills. But I'm pretty adept at deflecting those kinds of thoughts.

But this morning, I sat on my couch and looked around.
And I realized this: I'm the quicker-picker-upper.
I am a paper towel.
For legit.

When you boil it all down, that's all there is.
This mantra: I got a college degree so I could pick up after my family, all day long.
Without anyone ever noticing.

Again.
I am a paper towel.

Good grief, that's awesome.


**Here's a thought: Let's start a support group for us Paper Towel Moms. We'll call ourselves The Towlettes. You with me?

Our first order of business will be an "off-site retreat". Far, far away.
You know, to set up the rules for our club.
And maybe get a massage.
Being a Paper Towel is exhausting.



Sunday, September 28, 2014

Sa Said


Did you know that most everyone (who's anyone) calls me Sa? It's true. Well, those that know and love me well. The Husband called me by that name on Facebook last week and a whole bunch of peeps were confused. Sa is me. I am Sa.

One of the twins could never say my full name, Lisa. And she just cut it down to the quick. And Sa was born. Or started. And now it just is. As if I've always been Sa and nothing else.

Child #2 drew this acorn portrait for me during our summer road trip. She folded it up and gifted it to me. And if you know anything, I mean anything, about 15 year olds, you'll know that any gift is precious and rare. So of course, it was framed.

Here's what Sa is saying. Or thinking about. Just right now. Roll with it:

* I want to paint my piano. But I promised my mother I wouldn't ever, ever, ever. It's my childhood piano and I think it would look smashing in glossy white. Maybe an airy turquoise? I'm not sure where I would gather the energy to paint that monstrosity, but it would be epic. I'd just have to hide it whenever my mom came over. No biggie.

* Speaking of energy...The Husband offered up my favorite quote of the week. Maybe the month? Just yesterday, we were sitting on the couch chatting, and he said, "No wonder you're so tired all the time. It's all that thinking you do."
Yes. Why, yes it is. I'll work on toning it down. Because, duh.

* Child #2 announced to her church group that she has extra nipples. Uh huh. She really did. Please don't tell me this is shocking behavior from one of my kids. It's really run-of-the-mill ordinary, and you know it. I really didn't ask for many details. Because, why? I only asked for clarification that she did NOT provide a visual display.

* You wanna know what I lay in bed and think about at night? Well, at least lately? Open kitchen shelving. For reals. After my mother brain scrolls through all the ways I'm a failure (man, that's a habit I wish I knew how to kick!), then I turn to important world issues. Like open shelving. It's all over Pinterest. Have you noticed? I love it. I really do. But here's the thing. And it's a big thing....What about the dust? All those dishes and shelves would get dusty. No? I don't think I could handle it. So for now, I'll keep my cupboards. No worries.

* The Baby Child no longer waves at me before she gets on the bus. We used to have this way. This thing we did. She would turn and wave at me right before she boarded. I would wave back. Now? She jumps on without a second thought. It makes my heart sad. I'm tempted to rent some 3rd graders every morning who will pretend they think I'm the awesomest mom in the world before they get on the school bus. You want me to get you some too?

* I totally think I could make a skirt for myself. I don't know how to sew. Not really. And the sewing machine I own was my mother's in high school. It barely works. But, I'm positive I could do it. How hard can making a skirt really be?

* I am gifted at many things. You know this already. But there are some things I do that just ring "superpower". Like, my brain remembers phone numbers. With alarming exactness. But my favorite super gift? Pawning my kids off onto my sister. I'm kinda a master at it. Just sayin'. Yesterday I got her to take her kids, 2 of mine, and an extra friend, to the zoo. And then to a restaurant for dinner. It's like our Saturday Way. The Husband and I sit on the couch and catch up on all our shows, and my sister entertains all the kids. Hey. It's not my fault my children would rather be with her than me. I'm just gifted like that. Maybe I could write an ebook on my methods. Hmm.

* If I can't paint my piano, I'm going to paint my back door. I'm so super close to doing it. Turquoise? That's not too crazy, right?

* Child #1 is a senior. I know you know. But, gah! That fact hits me at least 3 times a day. And I'm sad. I try to avoid that line of thinking, but I can't. She's become this super cool chick and I like her. What will the house feel like in a year when she isn't living in it? Tears, people. And heart palpitations.


Sa has said.
I hope you enjoyed.
Feel free to share your thoughts on open shelving. Or the color turquoise.