Other People's Children

Fun Night 2011.

I stood next to a large obstacle course inflatable in the West Elementary School gym for 1 1/2 hours tonight.   My job was to supervise an endless line of children and make sure they climbed up the inflatable one at a time.

To be honest with you, I didn't start out being too happy about it, mainly because my two crabby butt children decided at the last minute that they didn't even want to go.  You may be asking why I didn't force them to go, and I might have pushed harder had we not been out almost all day shopping and running errands.  They were tired and crabby and I didn't feel much like buying $8 wristbands for two kids that were going to give me an attitude. I guess I lack conviction, but tonight I couldn't care less.

I did, however, feel obligated to show up and help since I said I would.  Oh sure, no biggie, probably 20 other people would have stepped in, but I kind of wanted to get out of the house for awhile anyway.  So, I went...and guess what?  I totally had a great time.

I love kids that talk (both of mine have selective mutism) and these kids had plenty to ask or tell me.

"Are you Mrs. Pryor?"  Yes I am, dear heart, and I love how you're so stinkin' sweet and polite.  (Being called "Mrs. Pryor" makes me giggle, I don't know why).

"You're Jordan's mom!  Jordan is in my class.  Mrs. Gordon is our teacher."  Oh I know, right?

"Did you know that my cousin and I go to the same school?"  No.  No I didn't.  I don't know you, or your cousin, but I think that's super great, sweetness.

"Will you hold my punch card/head band/plastic ring while I go down?"  Um, okay.  Sure, hon. 

"Look at the necklace/sticker/dinosaur/tatoo what I won in the prize room!"  Cool! That is SO totally awesome!

So... what are my conclusions about "Other People's Children?"

• They're sweet. 
• They're respectful.
• They listen to adults (only one kid went totally rogue, and the parents quickly swooped in to stop it)
• They're helpful to one another.
• They're a fun way to spend an hour and a half.

Mrs. Pryor  is really glad she went.

Conversations with God

I left the office this afternoon and was driving to a home visit in Northeast Wichita. 

Two of my favorite things are driving and listening to music.  Usually I'm rocking the Pearl Jam, Pink, Katy Perry or a Glee CD, but for some reason I didn't even turn the music on.  It was just starting to rain and I just drove along silently, listening to the rain hit the windshield and the rhythmatic thump of the windshield wipers.  There was also a great deal of road construction as I headed toward the area of 21st and Broadway, so it was taking twice as long to get to my client's home.
I don't let it get that quiet very often.  Like I said, usually there are some awesome tunes or else I have two kids in the back who are either singing, arguing, or trying to talk to me at the same time. 

As I sat there in traffic, alone with my thoughts, someone that I don't have a good relationship with suddenly popped into my head and it didn't take long for some negative thoughts about this person to set in.  I found myself feeling irritable, negative, self-righteous and even a little sad about my interactions with this person. However, as I remained in silence (like I rarely do) I began having thoughts that countered ever negative thought I came up with.  I think God was trying to tell me something.  The conversation basically went like this:

Me:  It's so unfair!  Why must I put up with this?
God: You know why.
Me:  I don't understand why I have to even be around this person.
God:  I want you to think of 1000 nice things that you could do to show love to this person.  You don't know the whole story.
Me: Do I really have to do this?
God:  Yes.
Me:  But it's really not fair.
God:  I didn't say it was fair.  Or easy.  Not only are you going to do nice things for this person, you're going to like it.
Me:  I have to do it AND like it?!?!
God: You got it.
Me:  What if I just--
God: No.
Me: But what about--
God:  No.
Me:  They won't appreciate it or care.
God: Do it anyway.  Are we done here?
Me:  Okay.
God:  Good.  End of discussion.

That was pretty much it, and then I was finally at the home visit.  It's a slightly rough neighborhood, but I've been there countless times, and I felt like someone had my back.  I got out of the car and got on with it.

My point? I listened and I started to adjust my attitude and thought process.  ***sigh***  Not that I had a choice.

Arguing with God is pretty pointless.

The "S" Word

I have an 8-year-old daughter who I refer to affectionately  as "Blonde Ambition."

That girl is always thinking.  She always has a plan, or an idea, and she's always two steps ahead of me.  Tell her it can't be done? She'll totally figure it out.  Tell her you'll get to it in an hour?  She'll make it work on her own.  Doubt her fashion sensibilities but reluctantly let her forge ahead? Nine times out of ten, her clothing combinations will look great.  Sleep in until 9am?  No worries.  She's up, dressed, made her own breakfast, selected and started a DVD, fed the dog and let the cat out before I've even had my first Diet Coke.

Basically, she's a really good kid and I'm proud of how independent she is...but I don't like her use of the "S" Word, nor do I appreciate the "1980's Valley Girl" tone by which she dare speaketh the "S" word in my presence.

No, it's not what you're thinking, and be glad about that that, but her particular "S" word offends me none the less.  The "S" word I'm referring to is the word "SERIOUSLY."

• Jordan, I need you to get changed and ready for ballet class.  (SERIOUSLY, MOM? I'm kind of busy playing with Pet Shop Toys).  Oh, yes.  Quite serious.

• Hey, Sissy!  It's time for you to shut off the computer and get your math paper done?  (SERIOUSLY, MOM?  I'm right in the middle of something!)  Yes, serious as a heart attack, princess.

• Jordan, your CD is too loud!  Please turn it down. (SERIOUSLY, MOM? But I love Taylor Swift!)  I like her too, just not at that volume.

• Jordan, it's not nice to treat your brother that way!" (You SERIOUSLY expect me to apologize after he's been antagonizing me all day?!  NOT FAIR!")

Basically, I've grown to dislike this word immensely, and I tell her so.  It's not even as much about the word as it is about the tone of voice.  I often remind her that I'm her mother, not one of her little cohorts, and I expect to be spoken to respectfully. No eye rolling, no sighing, no sass, no United Nations negotiating tactics,  just compliance.

"Well, DUH!" she responded one day, complete with eye rolling and disrespect.

Well, at that moment, I found a word I disliked MORE than "seriously," and guess who got grounded the next day?

(Well, DUH!)

(Disclaimer:  You need not email or message me with comments about how the sassy apple doesn't fall too far from the sassy tree.  This I already know.)

Mother of the Year

I'm never gonna win the "Mother of the Year" award.

Consider this: I don't think anything labeled "certified organic" has ever passed my children's lips. * Occasionally we have Cinnamon Toast Crunch for dinner. *  Sometimes I lose my cool, and when I tell my children I'm getting an "energy drain," they know they've pushed me to the limit. * They know more about I-Carly, Big Time Rush, Miranda Cosgrove and Victoria Justice than I would prefer that they know. *  I refuse to let my kids jump on the neighbor's lawn mattresses, and if the kids (or the neighbors) think I'm a meanie goat, so be it. 

That's fine.  I refuse to be too hard on myself.

It's not that I don't have standards.   Oh, I have standards, but "standards" and "perfection" are two entirely different entities.  If you want advice, you can buy parenting books or read magazine articles.  You can listen to family members or complete strangers on everything from potty training to how to get into an Ivy League university.   There is no shortage of advice and opinions out there. 

***WARNING:  This post contains some sarcastic materials that may not be suitable for all readers.***You should pay SPECIAL attention to the childless, as well as to those who have not turned out a quality product (read: adult child) because they typically know more than anyone on how you should be raising your children. ****

Okay, that was uncalled for.  True, but uncalled for. :) 

Basically, I parent from the hip and that works for me.  I'm not looking for perfection, or a mother of the year award.  I listen to my heart and my intuition, and I act accordingly.  I will continue to decide what my priorities are.  I will have victories and I will fall short, but I'll do my best.

I love my children. I have high expectations for my children.  I want them to take responsibility for their own actions, and to understand how their actions and choices affect them and the people around them.  I want them to be kind and compassionate human beings.  I basically want the world.  We all do.

As mothers, we all do the best that we can, and I think that's good enough.  At least, it's good enough for me.
.

Goodwill Hunting

It was just kind of one of those days.  (You can substitute your own list, if you need to).

Lack of sleep. *  Too many phone calls. *  My son had a bad day at school and I talked to his teacher for a long time. *  One of my clients cried when she learned that her guardian, a trusted friend, had been stealing money from her for at least four years.  I found myself crying along with her and her family members in her livingroom.  We were all sobbing. *  There was just kind of a gray cloud hanging over things.

Unable to process anymore, I finally shut things down at the office and decided to head home.  As I headed north on Oliver, I impulsively decided to pull into the parking lot of Goodwill the clouds started to part.  If you know my affinity for Goodwill on a regular day, you know that no one had to twist my arm.

I went inside, and as always, felt my stress level start to subside immediately.  I started to relax.  Some people step into Goodwill and see junk.  All I see are possibilities.

First I saw this gorgeous, lush contemporary floral print in a think black metal frame in a color scheme that I had been recently coveting.  It was new with tags and appeared to be an overstock from Target. $14.99.  Score!

Next I found some large (like 11x16) floral and art books at $1.99 each.  Very aesthetically beautiful and appealing.  The score so far?  Peace and tranquility: 2.  Stress: 0

Finally, I found a brand new Sunbeam stand mixer in it's original, unopened box.  It was probably somebody's duplicate wedding gift that they didn't get returned.  $ 9.99.  I got it home and it's indeed unused and in perfect condition. It was just in time for my daughter to ask,"Can we PUH-LEASE make cupcakes or some chocolate chip cookies?  (Sure. May I please put my purse and keys down and rest for a few minutes first, sweetness?)

My point?  After an hour at Goodwill, I came home feeling refreshed and de-stressed.  I realize this isn't everyone's idea of stress relief, but each to their own, right?  There's really no accounting for taste. :)

So, we ordered a pizza, and we're going to relax for the rest of the evening.  Maybe we'll make some cookies and my daughter will be happy.  Maybe I'll watch the movie "Goodwill Hunting" so I can sob my eyes out like I do every time Robin Williams' character has the scene with Matt Damon where he keeps saying over and over, "It's not your fault, son."

On second thought, I've had enough tears for today.  Maybe I'll watch something like Spongebob Squarepants and try not to take life so darn seriously.

Practical Intuition

I haven't always listened to my intuition.  It was always there, of course, but I think I just chose to ignore it and to hope for the best.

What a pity, because I think it might have saved me alot of time...and some major hair,  fashion, and social faux pas.   (Did I really wear those geriatric shoes?  What in the world did I let that freakish little man do to my hair?  Why did I say that?  Was it true? Was it necessary?  Was it kind?  )  Ouch, ouch, and ouch.

Seriously though, I think women are sometimes apprehensive about listening to their intuition, or their "gut instinct" because it can feel uncomfortable. What happens when we intuitively know that something isn't good for us, or isn't working?  It's important though, in terms of personal safety, deciding who we trust our children with, deciding if someone has our best interests at heart, and for many other reasons.  I think even if you choose not to listen to what your intuition says, you know.  You always know.

Reversely, I've wasted alot of time denying what truly worked in my life because I didn't want to inconvenience anyone else or make a fuss.  Kind of just going along to get along.

Not good.

I don't think I fully embraced my intuition until I had kids, and more specifically, until the first time one of my babies got sick.  I mean, what mother hasn't picked up the phone at 2:00am or on Christmas Eve, knowing full well that something isn't right, and yet tried to decide if they should call the pediatrician?  Luckily, it gets easier after that first call, but many new parents (myself included) feel insecure.  Eventually though, you learn to recognize the signs of the fevers, the ear infections, and eventually you know it's strep throat before they even send it to the lab.  Yes, mothers rule the world.

My point?  I think practical intuition is important.  I've had many instances recently when I didn't listen to my gut, and it turned out badly every time.  Reversely, I've also consciously chosen to listen to my intuition and it was absolutely dead on accurate both for me, my family, and my clients.

I think I'm going to get quiet more often and really listen to what my gut is telling me.  I'm also going to stay away from geriatric shoe choices. :)

Hollywood: Urban Decay?

I used to be in awe of celebrities.

These days?  Not so much.   They can yell at people, sit inside of life-sized incubators for days at a time, neglect their children, and act like they're above the law.  It doesn't really impress me much.   They're just ordinary people who have extraordinary jobs.

The truth is, they're really not that much different than the rest of us, except that they're airbrushed to perfection, make a ton of money and live out the drama of their lives in the public eye instead of behind closed doors in suburbia.  Unfortunately, for many of them, that doesn't always go spectacularly well.

Naturally, Charlie Sheen comes to mind, and I'm not sure what ticks me off the most about this train wreck.  I really think Charlie Sheen is basically an aging playboy who thinks he's cooler than the rest of us.  That's his goal, to set himself apart from us mere mortals.  To me, it's outrageous, and the sound bites are really bad.  

So let's break it down:

"I’m tired of pretending I’m not a total bitchin’ rock star from Mars."

Keep telling yourself that, bucko.  People may feel sorry for you because you because you're a total lunatic, and possibly mentally ill, but I'm not getting a feeling that you are inspiring much jealousy among the masses.  It actually might be funny if it weren't so darn sad.

"You can't process me with a normal brain." 
 You got that right.  Those of us who currently possess even a semi-normal brain are just not getting this.

"CBS picked a fight with a warlock."

Translation:  How dare they fire me?  (Who cares about the cast and crew and their families that are going without a paycheck?  Oh, right.  You've never lived paycheck to paycheck.)

"C’mon bro, I won best picture at 20. I wasn’t even trying. I wasn’t even warm."

 Translation: Clearly I deserve $2 million dollars per episode.  I'm getting warm now...really...I'm about to blow your mind with my talent and all of the interesting thoughts that come out of my mouth.

I’m so tired of pretending my life isn’t perfect and bitching and just winning every second and I’m not perfect and bitchin’.”
Translation: Wow, I'm so freakin' cool.  I can get two "goddesses" to live with me because I'm the best multi-million dollar meal ticket in town right now. (As long as the money is green, the chicks will line up around the mansion.  That money might better serve you better in rehab).

“If you borrowed my brain for five seconds, you’d be like, ‘Dude! Can’t handle it, unplug this bastard!’ "It fires in a way that’s maybe not from, uh… this terrestrial realm.”

Rest assured, dude.  You are definitely from an extraterrestrial realm.

 "If you’re a part of my family, I will love you violently."

 According to many news reports, yes.   Thanks for the warning.  That's what they make domestic violence shelters for.

“I’m sorry man, I got magic and I’ve got poetry in my fingertips, you know, most of the time, and this includes naps."

Finally!  We do have something in common.  I love naps!  Naps are so bitchin'!

"I was banging seven-gram rocks, because that’s how I roll.  I have one speed, I have one gear: Go."

I bang 7 Diet Cokes a day.  Take that, loser!

“Look what I’m dealing with, man, I’m dealing with fools and trolls.”

How good of you to be so long suffering.   It's definitely you putting up with fools and trolls, and not the other way around.  If you're not careful though, you could wind up underneath a bridge with some real trolls and some lower class goddesses.

"The only thing I’m addicted to right now is winning.”

 If only this were true, if only this were true.

I think I'll end it here.  I think I've made my point.   I hope Charlie Sheen gets some help, because he's *Definitely. * Not.  *Winning.  



 

Wal*Mart: My Suburban Utopia?

Oh how I long to be a normal person.

No nonsense.  Sensible shoes.  Maybe a career as an accountant.  Possibly Fox News.   (Okay, let's not get hysterical, wink wink.).  No obsession with neighbors who jump on a mattress set on their front lawn.  That type of thing.

The thing is, I don't think that normal people voluntarily spend 3 1/2 hours at Wal*Mart on a Saturday evening.  No husband.  No kids.  Just leisurely walking around, living the dream.   I left at 8:30pm and rolled back in around midnight.

The truth is, I have a brain that longs to be creative, even in environments that don't inspire much creativity at all.  I also have a need for quiet time to myself to indulge this thought process.  There's so much noise during the week, and shutting down my highly sensitive brain is problematic.  Therefore, as demented and sad as it may sound, I can even make a trip to Wal*Mart a creative experience.

Last night Craig, Brandon and I went out for the evening for a lovely dining experience at Chili's and then to World Market and Target.  I think almost anyone could be inspired at World Market and most certainly Target.

But Wal*Mart?  It's hard to put "Wal*Mart" and "Utopia" in the same sentence, but I'm going to try...tonight at Wal*Mart I:

• Planned a new color scheme for my home (mango orange, tan, and teal blue). Decided on pillows, paint samples, curtains, candle sticks, mirrors, art, etc. and at the end of the trip I purchased nothing.  NOTHING.  Just looking and thinking creatively was enough for me. 
• Planned a new outdoor patio area, landscaping, etc. in my mind.
• Decided maybe I should have some Mango Orange nail polish.
• Planned an impromtu birthday party for the kids' Sunday school class tomorrow.  Purchased mini cupcakes and a fruit tray.
• Thought about in my mind what I should have made from scratch.  (I'm a recovering perfectionist).
• Emotionally validated at least two clerks.  (I'm going to get that "social worker" stamp removed from my forehead.)  I'm not a licensed therapist folks, I just see what I see. ;)
• Read greeting card after greeting card and tried to pick one for a friend. (Too stupid, too sappy, to blah).  Finally found one.  Designed my own line of greeting cards in my mind.
• Having a birthday party in a few weeks at The Museum of World Treasures.  Planned the invitations in my mind and looked at all the supplies that I might need to make them.  Probably won't make them, but it was super fun to think about it.

So, that was most of my shopping trip.  For me, it was relaxing and super fun.  No utopia for sure, but a few hours of creative distraction.

Spring Break Instructions for Suburban Dads

Spring Break Instructions For Suburban Dads:
1.  The kids should change out of their jammies at least every two days.

2.  When you've been home all day and your work weary wife gets home from saving the world at 5:45pm, DO NOT ask, "So what's for dinner?"

3.  When your wife says, "What do you MEAN, what's for dinner?" an appropriate response would be, "What I meant was, lets go out for dinner, sweetness." (Nice save!  That's what I thought you said.)

4.  When we run out of dinner plates, cereal bowls, and like--forks-- it would be prudent to load the dishwasher.  The detergent is in the cabinet, under the sink, on the left.

5.  After the dishes are loaded, you'll need to go ahead and wash the pink Moon Sand down the drain as well.

6.  You know how I feel about the mattress neighbors.  Enough said.

7.  Resume normal activities.

Generation Why?

Baby Boomers just have a different value system.

Case in point?  My (almost) 65-year-old mother has really high expectations in the area of customer service.  She likes to chit chat and make small talk with any unsuspecting clerk, waiter, or grocery carry out kid. She takes it very personally when she attempts to make small talk in a restaurant or department store and the person does not return an equally friendly exchange.  Once we were in Goodwill together and afterward she commented that no one greeted us when we came in the door.  (Mom.   It's Goodwill.  Not Neiman Marcus on commission.  For the record though, the staff at Goodwill has been historically friendly.  I'll never bash my Goodwill peeps) XOXOXO. 

Back to topic...

I get it.  Part of our daily civility as a society is casually chatting with the clerk at Quik Trip, or having someone at a store go out of their way to help you, or building a rapport with a great waiter for the hour or so that you're there.  It has the potential to totally enhance what might be an otherwise ordinary experience. When the exchange goes well, everybody feels good.  It's a win/win.  Fine.

That may not always be good enough for my dear mother though...

She recently shared a story that I found so hilarious that I literally could not stop laughing.  Stomach hurting, pants peeing laughter.   Here goes:

She stayed overnight in Winfield for three days and made three sequential trips thru the McDonald's drive thru, as this is my grandfather's favorite breakfast.   She had the same young (read: Generation Y) customer service girl for three days in a row.  I will now break it down for you here:

Day 1

Mom:  "Hi, I'm from Garden City!  How are you? (Okay mom.  Really?  Seriously?  You sound nuts!)
Clerk:  Stares blankly at Mother.  Does not respond.  Silently slides the debit card and hands it back, now looking in the other direction.

Day 2
Mom:  Hi there!  Did you work all weekend?  You look tired! (Sigh.  Mom, don't tell people they look tired.  It's kind of a polite way of saying you look like dog crap.)
Clerk: Now stares in utter disbelief.  Does not respond.  Silently slides the debit card and hands it back, now looking in the other direction.

Day 3:
Mom: Good Morning!  Well, I'm leaving town.  You won't be seeing me around here for awhile! (You may be way too invested in this, Mum.)
Clerk: Doesn't look up from the register.  Silently slides the debit card and hands it back, looking in the other direction. 
Mom: Peels out of the drive thru.

Follow up counseling and recommendations:

• Yes mother, that's really weird.
• I agree, some people don't have social skills.
• Of course you were nice to her.  You should never be rude to anyone who has access to your food. We've talked about this.
• Maybe the whole thing was a little too much for her though. Does she really need to know you're from Garden City (?)  Just sayin.
• Maybe she was having (three) really bad days (?)
• Maybe she has social anxiety (?)
• Maybe you're trying too hard (?)
• I'm personally fine with it when they hand me back my card and say thank you.

So, maybe it's a generational issue? Boomers vs. the Generation X's, vs. the Millenials?

Or just the perfect storm (Overzealous mother + clerk having a bad day = disaster?   Who knows?

Luckily, for my  mother's peace of mind, people of all ages usually adore her and give her as much good service and irreverent non-sensical chit chat as her heart desires.  (She sat outside the dressing room at Kohl's this past weekend and chatted with random strangers and store clerks for 3 hours while I tried on clothes.)

"Oh, you're from Salina?  How lovely..."
"You worked on the surgical floor in 1963?"
"You used to work with Gladys at that old department store in Winfield?"
"How old is your grand daughter?  I have three grandchildren, and they all have birthdays this month..."

 As my mother's "go-to" Life Coach, the kindness of strangers makes my life alot easier too.  





 

The Best Thing(s) About Turning 40

Turning 40 was traumatic for me.  Actually, 39 was worse.   Although I found myself blessed beyond measure in many ways, there were tears, and doubts, and lots of internal questioning: 

• Who am I?  
• What do I really want to do with my life?
• How do I reconcile the past while simultaneously embracing the future? 

I really did experience some type of mid-life crisis at age 39.  People tried to be reassuring ("Oh, it's just a number," or "Aren't you a bit young to worry about this stuff?) and that type of thing, but for me, it was very real. 

I think it's only natural to evaluate where you are in life at certain points, but if you tend to over think and over analyze things like I do, that's not always good either.  Fortunately, I was able to find some meaning in many areas of my life, and this helps me to move forward.  While I in no way have it "all figured out," these are the things that I find to be true:

• You find out who truly supports you and has your back, and it's not always who you think.
• You forgive your parents (if you need to), knowing that they did the best they could with the knowledge and resources that they had to work with at the time.  If you want to go one step further, you can heal any wounds by parenting your own children the way you fully needed to be parented.
• You forgive your self (if you need to), know that you did the best you could with the knowledge and resources that you had to work with at the time.
• You forgive God (if you need to), realizing that He has wept over anything bad that has ever happened to you.  You were never really abandoned or forsaken.
• You realize that only person's approval that you truly need is your own.
• You realize that even though it doesn't always seem like it, you always have a choice.  Even not making a choice is choosing by default.
• You emotionally let completely go of "The One (or ones) That Got Away."  Given where you were in your life (and where they were) at the time, there's a high probability that it wouldn't have worked out anyway.  You accept this closure, heal your heart, and wish them well, knowing that all is right with the universe.
• You  realize that when someone is rude, closed off, dismissive, condescending, or whatever, that it's usually a pattern of behavior in their life that has very little to do with you, so you need not taken it so personally.
• At the same time, you don't always have to accept long suffering.  Sometimes it truly is okay to detach with love and decide you will no longer accept someone else's abusive behavior. 
• You realize and accept natural endings to things and you don't feel bad about it.  Sometimes a friendship, a work related situation, a church affiliation, or whatever it is, just needs to come to the end of its season.  Really, it's okay.  Don't put off the inevitable.  Then you can move on to some kind of perfection that truly does work for you and the other party involved.
• You can blog about your life and bore folks to tears.  It's awesome!

She had me at hello.

I have this thing about my hair.

I don't spend much cash on clothing, shoes or accessories. I'm a major bargain shopper, and if I spend more than $20 on any one item, it's extremely rare.  I typically make a special trip to Goodwill every week or so to check out the brand new shoes that they they get in that are overstocks from Target, JCPenney's and wherever.  I once got a brand new pair of Skecher athletic shoes for $3.99, and I'm not even kidding. 

I don't get my nails done.  I've had approximately three manicures in my entire existence, and that includes the one I got before my wedding.  Don't get me wrong, I love to be pampered, but generally it's just not a huge priority.

My hair is a different story.  It's the only thing I am willing to really splurge on.  The only problem is, I'm also a procrastinator.  Therefore, I will often wait until I'm in a crisis mode before I try to get in with a hairdresser (family holiday, book signing, etc.) and by then it's usually too late.  Therefore, the longest I've ever stayed with a stylist is about 2 years, and then, due to the aforementioned crisis mode, I end up making a change, calling a new salon and basically getting "potluck" for lack of a better term.

I know.  It's ridiculous.

During the last self-imposed crisis, I called Planet Hair and was assigned to who I refer to affectionately as "The 21-year-old hairdresser."  (Almost 21, at least 62 pounds, blonde, and intimidatingly beautiful.  Lives in a loft in Old Town.  Going to Vegas with her best girlfriends for her 21st birthday).  I was like, really?  Seriously?  I'm old enough to be this chick's mother.  She's going on 21.   She has feathers weaved into her hair.   Could she really do a decent job?

Well, in spite of all my reservations, this girl had me at hello.  She had me at hello.

So stinkin' cute.  An amazing talent.  Funny and charming.  And totally for real. 

• "It was hard to go to a small school and watch alot of other kids get handed everything on a platter.  I had to work for everything I had.  I'm glad I did though.  At least I appreciate it."  (You. Complete. Me.)

• "You're hair is so perfect." (It's okay, sweetness.  You're already getting a tip.)

• "I just love your stories!" (Keep it up, this is really good stuff.)

• "I just know great things are going to happen for you, Michelle!" (I'm now sniffling).

My point?

I was too judgemental.  The 21-year-old Hairdresser rocks.  She had me at hello.  Now if I can just talk her into taking me to Vegas with her....

The Man Blouse

It all started this past Friday afternoon.

I had a business-related lunch with this "slightly senior" gentleman at a local Wendy's Restaurant.   As we set down to our hamburgers and started to have a discussion, I found myself unable to look away from this guy's shirt.

Luckily, he was doing all the talking and not really making eye contact with me, so there was no social awkwardness involved at all as I slowly ate my hamburger and stared up and down at the large purple paisley print and the disproportionately large collar of his button down shirt.  It kind of had an "Austin Powers" type of vibe to it, for lack of a better description.  (He also had a shag haircut to match, so at this point I'm assuming this whole look is deliberate).

"Maybe it's vintage," I thought to myself.  "Maybe he bought it in 1967 and still thinks he rocks it.  Fine.  It's an odd cut, but an interesting pattern.  The collar is HUGE and the lavendar paisley pattern is not subtle in the least.  It looks like...it's almost as if...it reminds me of...think...think...think...."

Then the truth struck me, and I found the words that I wanted to scream out loud...

 "A MAN BLOUSE!"  OMG!  IT'S A FREAKIN' MAN BLOUSE!    That's it, that's what it has to be.

So I return to the office, determined to get to the bottom of this.  I google "Man Blouse" and what I suspected has been there all along: 

Man Blouse:  "A button down shirt with a pattern or style that gives it a rather feminine quality."

Of course!  It's all making sense now...the man blouse phenomena is out there in our society.


A few hours later I headed to an upscale hair salon in Old Town.  The girl had just shampooed me and sat me in the chair when I looked around to see two more men nearby wearing...what else... Man Blouses!  Their Man Blouses were more of a cottage floral pattern with darts and velvet trimmed pockets.  I was like, wow, this thing is for real.  These guys were rocking their Man Blouses too, with no apologies.  Just two cool guys being awesome, secure, happy-go-lucky guys, Man Blouses and all. 

I learned something that day.  The Blouse does not make the man, but the man can definitely rock the Blouse...and that seemed so right to me just then.

Then I proceeded to have a conversation with the "almost 21-year-old" hairdresser who is going to VEGAS with friends for her 21st birthday and LIVES IN A LOFT IN OLD TOWN.  ***Sigh***  (This whole situation warrants it's own post, but I'll save that for another time...)

Friday was just about more than I could take.     

What happens in Vegas (and at Grandma Shirley's) stays there...

My mother, by her own admission, was not the perfect mother. (Seriously, what mother buys their child green denim jeans from Sears?)  Yes, I was extremely fashion forward, even back in the day, so be jealous, but back to topic...

I, in turn, was her equally less-than-perfect, introverted, highly sensitive child who played alone in my room with vinyl paper dolls, a Donny and Marie record player, and a whole gaggle of fun and engaging imaginary friends.  Hey, it was the 70's.  They didn't medicate kids back then.    

Anyhoo, while I was strongly bonded to my mother, our relationship was a struggle (read: screaming at each other, fighting over my clothes, etc. (Yeah, Mumsy.  Like the green denim jeans were SO much better than my mini skirt and black lace formal.) My point? There was often a lack of mutual understanding that went well into my college years.

Flash forward to the birth of my children.  So what happened?  My less-than-perfect mother morphed into the physical manifestation of the perfect grandma right before my very eyes, and I love it.

There is so much laughter.  So much joy.  So much fun.  Grandma Shirley is up for anything with the kiddos and the unconditional love is mutual.  So what's my policy?  What happens at Grandma's house stays at Grandma's house.  Candy?  (Bring it).  Sleep in a tent in the living room?  (Fine by me).  Stay up till midnight? (Sure, I won't be there).  McDonald's for breakfast and lunch? (If you must).  52,000 piece lego sets or puzzles spread over the house?  (Whatever).

If they're happy (and breathing) when I pick them up, it's all good with me.  When mom loves on my babies, she's loving on me too...and that's pretty perfect for all of us.
   

What Price Dignity?

Dignity. 

What does dignity mean to you, and can you put a price on it?  Personally, I don't think so.  I sure know of some people who deserve to be treated with some though.   Being treated with dignity and respect is something that I think all of us deserve.  Unfortunately, in my field of work I see people being deprived of it all the time.

I don't mean to sound sanctimonious, but I'm totally passionate about this particular topic.  It kinda ranks right up there with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I think all of us should have the opportunity to be the best that we can be, regardless of what we bring (or don't bring) to the table.

Treating someone with dignity can take many forms.  An encouraging word.  A fighting chance.  An opportunity.  Allowing someone the dignity of having a dream, regardless of whether or not it ever comes to fruition.  Too pie in the sky?  Too bleeding heart?  Maybe.  Personally, I don't want to deprive anyone of hope.  I know what that feels like to have someone tell you no, or not believe in you, or say it can't be done.

I know someone who has more obstacles than I can imagine, yet has a better attitude and outlook on life than I or many other people will ever have.  However, people try to shut this person down and close the door at every turn. 

So I just wanted to say on behalf of this person:

*I believe in you.*

*I support you.*

*I will cheer you on.*

*Where there's a will, there's a way.*

*God has a plan for your life.*

Okay, I'm over it.  Thanks for indulging my sanctimonious rant.

Trouble in Suburbia

I regret to announce that my son is requesting new parents.

Again.

I don't know if we should take out an a classified ad, post fliers around the neighborhood, or just advertise his request on Facebook so that hopefully he can get an upgrade to a newer, younger, and (hopefully for him) a more lenient set of parental units.

Everything was business as usual until I announced it was bedtime.  The conversation went something like this:

Mean Mom: "Brandon, it's time for you to get ready for bed, sweetie"
Son: "No!  I get to make choices too, and I don't want to."
Mean Mom: "Yes, you do get to make choices about many things, but not about what time you go to bed, so scoot."
Son: "Fine!  That's it!  Tomorrow I'm leaving this house for good."
Mean Mom: "Where do you plan to go?"
Son: "I don't know.  I'm moving out to go live with some new parents!"
Mean Mom:  "You're going to get new parents?  Maybe we should give them a call now so they'll know you're coming."
Son:  You don't even know their phone number! <<arms folded across chest>>
Mean Mom: "Good night." <<smiling to self>>
Son: "GOOD NIGHT!"


Wow.  Mr. Crabby Pants.  I think it's time for Spring Break, and perhaps a blood sugar check.

The Birthday Calendar

Where in the world does eight years of childhood go? (Or 40 years of life for that matter, but that's another post).  Although it seems impossible, I must tearfully accept the inevitable fact that my dear little twins are turning eight this year.  No longer my tiny premature infants (4lb. 11oz. and 5lbs. 9oz respectively), they are heading full steam ahead towards tweendom.  All in the blink of an eye.  Poof!

Now before we walk too far down the winding road of sentimentality, let me give you a reality check.  These kids, like other children their age, know the score.  They are having a birthday, they are total rock stars, and they know exactly what that means for them: presents, birthday parties, cards, presents, school parties, cake, birthday dinners, and did I mention...PRESENTS?!?!

Enter the Birthday Calendar.  Jordan began dutifully keeping a calendar on March 1st and checking the days off.  Each morning she consults with her brother, and then there is a big announcement, "Only 27 more days...only 21 days left, Mommy... only 19 more days until our birthday, Mommy.  Some days there is a backlash when the remaining days on the calendar are counted and recounted.  "REALLY?  SERIOUSLY?  THERE ARE STILL 22 DAYS LEFT?" <<insert the sighing and eye rolling>>> I JUST CAN'T WAIT MOM, I REALLY CAN'T WAIT THAT LONG!"

Am I the only parent who begins to panic when the days count down?  Birthdays are hard work for moms, especially those of us on a budget.  The shopping, the planning, emailing the teachers to coordinate a party date and time, arranging to take off work, trying to decide what kind of birthday party to have and where, how many kids to invite, and most of all trying to make our kids dreams come true while trying to rein in their expectations.  Pump it Up? (We did that a few years ago, sweetie.  Fun, but kinda pricey).  Chuck E. Cheese (Really? The pizza makes Mommy nauseaus, but... we'll see.  Wait, we did that last year, remember? You each took one friend? read: dodged a bullet on that one) A slumber party? (We could probably do that.)  BRANDON: "I DON'T WANT A SLUMBER PARTY, I WANT MY OWN PARTY WITHOUT ANY GIRLS!!!! (So we want to try two separate parties?  ***Audible Sigh***  I need to rest now, guys.  Go get your mother a Coke. Bring the Tylenol too.)

So, the birthday calendar gains more momentum with each passing day, and I suppose that means dear old mom needs to figure something out, and soon. Mommyhood is hard work.  I think I'll go lay back down for a little bit while I figure that out....