#hashtags #craycray #imsonotcool

Let's talk about hash tags...

Have we really thought about these things? 

To me, they are just going to be like booties/shoeties and I'm never going to understand them.  I know everyone else loves them, but I'm just not cool enough. 

Kind of like when my niece lived with us and everything had an abbreviation.  I started saying
'probs' for probably, and 'cray cray' for crazy.  I mean, it was just cray cray.  If I were to use hashtags it would be:

#craycrayintheneighneigh

Translation - crazy in the neighborhood.

I found that very difficult up there, I kept wanting to put spaces in between all the words.  Is that a hash taggers beginner troubles?  #hashtagprobs

I think whoever invented the use of hashtags was some computer programmer that failed English in high school...

He or she was just confused...

Does a period go at the end of a sentance?  No, I think the beginning.  Wait, is it a period or a pound sign?  Oh yeah, I think it's a pound sign.  I think we should call it a hash tag instead of a pound sign, that sounds cooler. 

Okay, I get it.  Hash tags started with tweeters, but they are spilling out into everyday lives people.  I know hash taggers have to use hash tags in their thoughts, because I did the other day and I've never written a hash tag in my life.  That one above, my first hash tag.  But, maybe because it wasn't used on Twitter or Instagram it doesn't count.  So, I'm still a hash tag virgin I guess. 

Yesterday, I built an awesome train track for Jonah, and for reals thought to myself...  "If I had a smartphone I would take a picture of this and under it put, #bestmomever #motheroftheyear etc. etc.  (Seriously, people how do you resist putting spaces in between your words? That was so hard!) But, I don't have a smart phone.  I have a phone, I kid you not, that I saw last week in a random documentary based in a third world country where a kid IN THIS THIRD WORLD COUNTRY was using the same cell phone I use!  If it hadn't been so late I would have called some of my friends to tell them my phone was kind of a celebrity.  They make fun of my phone. Obviously they have a reason to. 

I know, I know, hash tags are search tools, it also helps people find you, think you are funny/clever/whatever and then they will follow you.  Why do we need to be followed again? 

Have you heard of 'The Five Love Languages" book?  In it, you can take a test to see what your love language is, well I didn't get a single point for affirmations.  I guess I don't need praise.  My sister scored the same in that.  We joke that we already know how cool/awesome we are so we don't need people to tell us.  In fact it makes me kind of uncomfortable when someone does hand it out.  Is that weird?  So, when I'm saying 'No, stop.' I'm not just saying that and really am fishing for compliments, I really want you to stop because it's making me uncomfortable.  So maybe that's why I don't get the whole I want 5,000 people following me concept of twitter and hash tags?  Good thing I wouldn't care about people following me, because this post shows I am not cool and would have no followers.  I guess I'm okay with that. 

Though, I'm not going to lie, there's some pretty funny tweeters out there. 

But, seriously have you really thought about how hash tagging is so trendy now?  I think it's becoming a little out of control.  I've seen some hash tags where literally the person has written a paragraph but just used incomplete sentences and hash tags instead of periods.   

I just had a fabulous idea...  I actually think it would be a fun party game to spend the evening just talking in hash tags!  A hash tag party!  Who's in??

Pet Peeves

Is it bad to post your pet peeves an a blog that is supposed to be uplifting?  :)  Pet Peeves are sometimes funny though, you know?  Maybe I have weird pet peeves.  The pet peeves I have with my kids are way too many to list, so I'll list other ones. 
*  Table centerpieces that are too tall.  I mean, dinner is not the time to play hide and seek.  We should not try to duplicate everything in a Pottery Barn catalog... notice there are no people eating at those tables... 

*  Cooking posts on blogs that have 10 paragraphs before the actual recipe, and then a picture of each and every 300 steps.  Are there people out there that really don't know how to melt butter in a saucepan without a picture?  I'm sure how I post my recipes gets on someone else's nerves too... 

*  The word "huh?"  Is it even a real word?  According to my husband, and four year old daughter it is, and now even my two year old has it in his vocabulary, except he screams it, "HUHHHHH???"   I'm pretty sure I don't mumble or mutter my words...

*  How the whole Chick-fil-a thing went down.  I am so sick of seeing stupid things on pinterest about it, and I just heard about how a college won't serve Chick-fil-a anymore.  Really?  Because one business man said he believed in traditional marriage?  How sad that people can't have opinions anymore.  I love how some mayors are trying to make it so Chick-fil-a can't operate in their cities anymore.  Isn't that kind of like a dictatorship?  If you have a different opinion than everyone else then you can't have a business here.  Isn't that what Hitler did?!?!?  Come on.  I would totally agree with everyone if Chick-fil-a was discriminating against hiring people who are gay, but I'm pretty sure they don't.  Let's not support good businesses that help people get their educations, close on Sundays to let people be with their families all because of ONE of  the CEO's beliefs.  Crazy people.  I could go on and on about this... 

*  People driving too slow in front of me.  I live by a main road that is 50 mph.  Not even kidding most people go 35-45 mph on it.  It drives me absolutely BANANAS!  It's funny because when I had only lived here two years, I was talking to some locals and telling them about it, they had lived here their whole lives and didn't know it was 50 mph.  Oh my word.  I don't typically have road rage, but get me behind a car on that road, and I want to do an illegal pass, and I probably do ride a few tails on that stretch every day...

*  Buying a new hair product and it does not live up to the price, or it is horrible for your hair.  Hate that! 

*  Junk mail.  Do I really need the same company to send me credit card offers every month - don't they get that we aren't interested by not responding every month???!! 

I think I'll stop there, I started thinking of way to many...  :) 

What's one of your biggest pet peeves? 

Strawberry Shortcake Syndrome

One day while I was driving the van listening to the Strawberry Shortcake movie playing in the back, I realized why so many women feel the need to do everything and be everything. 

Have you ever really listened to or watched one of those? 

In one way, it's kind of awesome, total womens lib.  Girls can do anything!

On the other hand, they are "perfect:"  they cook, sew, dance, sing, own businesses, are pretty, have perfect hair, are kind and thoughtful, etc...   

I love that these shows and movies teach good things, but no wonder a lot of women have the super mom syndrome, it's been ingrained in us since we were children. 

That Strawberry Shortcake... 

Like no one's watching...

you can buy this print HERE

So, I've been on Etsy a little bit this morning looking for some quotes and this one kept coming up.  Then, after the billionth time seeing it, it hit me, instead of that sign, someone needs to make a sign that says,

LIVE! like no one's watching.

I mean, sure, we should dance like no one's watching  - but more importantly, we should live like no one's watching. 

I think lots of us make choices based off what people will think of us...   Some people blog based on what others will think of them....  We may choose what to put on from our closets based on what others might think of us...  What we drive.... What we plant in our front yards... What comes out of our mouths... What we buy... What cell phone we use... Where we go... Etc... Etc... Etc...   You get the idea.

Really, who cares what other people think of us? 

We should always be true to ourselves and LIVE like no one's watching...





Bad day?

I was talking to someone who was having a bad day, as I left, I said, "I hope your day gets better..."

"I don't think it could get any worse..." she replied.

"Well, things can always get worse," we both said at the same time.

Then I had a thought, not truly profound, but true:

"It could always get worse, but things will always get better."

Isn't it true?

You know... "This too shall pass..." "It's always darkest just before the dawn..." "Time heals wounds..."

Cliche but true.

Things will get better. Maybe not the better that we were hoping and planning for, or the better we expected - but it always gets better.

Sometimes we have to choose to make it better, and sometimes it's a waiting game for better to arrive.

But, it does, and it will.

Sigh...

Tonight I typed up four 'to do' lists complete with little squares next to each item for me to put a little 'x' in once I finish them.

I taped them on the wall.

They aren't even complete...

I couldn't bear to add anything else to them.

It's overwhelming.

One 'x' at a time, I guess.

I think I'm going to convert to being Amish. Life seems simpler that way.

But, I'd miss all the things on my 'to do' list.

Well, except for the cleaning the kitchen item.

But, even if I was Amish, I guess I'd still have to clean the kitchen.

I think all the party planning things on my to do list would be simplified. Barn raisings wouldn't require much effort.

Do the Amish use fondant?

I am Woman

hear me roar. (Two posts in one month with a Helen Reddy reference...)

Last night, before heading up the stairs to shower, my belly was going to drive me insane with it's itchiness! With skin stretched to the max, this is a common occurrence. The itching was on the very underside of my belly; the part I can't see, the part that touches my thighs when sitting, or walking up stairs.

I remove my clothes to get in the shower, and I find blood on them, a warning sign for any pregnant woman. Upon closer examination, it looked like the bleeding came from my thigh. I looked at my thigh and saw a trace of blood, but no wound. I called John up the stairs to investigate. I couldn't see the underside of my belly, so someone had to check it out.

In my efforts to relieve the itching, I had scratched myself raw in one area, and when climbing the stairs, the place where my belly and thigh met was where the blood rubbed off.

As my husband got me some toilet paper to hold on my scratch, I was feeling a little annoyed (from a scratch?!).

"Please tell me," I ask him in an annoyed tone, "what do men have to go through, or put up with? What pains do you have to bear in this life?"

He paused at the entrance of our bathroom, "Ummm... we deal with hormones." He smiled.

"Your own?" I ask, "Try again."

"We have to deal with teenagers." he said.

I roll my eyes, and just look at him.

"We have to work." he said.

"Yeah, women work too - and have babies, and periods, and deal with other womanly issues, all at the same time. Cry me a river."

He could tell there would be no good answers in this conversation, and as he walked out of our bedroom, he said, "Hey, Eve ate the apple first..."

"Thanks!" I called after him. While I showered, I thought about how easy men have it.

It's funny that that was my evening, and then this morning, I read this post on this blog. Read it. You can even read it now, and come back here if you'd like. It's about being a woman, and the divinity within women. I loved it. Really, we women are awesome, the potential we have within each of us is amazing. I mean, hello, we can multi-task for heaven's sake!

Seriously, I think women are so powerful! We were divinely designed to be powerful.

One of my favorite quotes from the post I read this morning was this:

"She isn't less than, or more than, the next woman or man. She is her own entity which becomes cheapened when compared to others. When following the promptings inside of her soul to do whatever is important for her own life plan she simply has no equal."

I've felt that way for a long time now. I stopped comparing myself to others a long time ago, because I realized there is no other woman like me, and there is no other woman like you. There is no one to impress, but yourself. There is no one to compete with, but the forces trying to make you not follow the promptings you receive. I've been given a special set of talents, and you've been given a special set of talents, and when we follow through with those we have "no equal" because we don't share the same set of talents to compare. When we follow through with our talents, potential, and the "promptings inside our soul," we might as well be wearing our super woman capes.

Because, we really are super women.

And, occasionally, super women forget they are super women, and whine about scratches on the underside of their ginormous pregnant bellies.

Change

Here are a few of my very random thoughts on change...

CHANGE - EXHIBIT A

As I mentioned in my previous post, we've been going through boxes in our garage that have moved with us the billion times we've moved, and I found this comic I cut out for John a long time ago.

I admit it, I used to think I could change my husband. Guilty as charged.

John had his own sense of style when we were dating (he still does). A lot of his clothes had holes in them, he wore baggy jeans with lots of pockets, and he really only had a few outfits. My roommates would joke, "I wonder what John will wear tonight, outfit A, B, or C?" Really. That happened. What's funny is that that was one thing I liked about him. He wasn't concerned about being the nicest dresser (Even though, now I know he probably thought he was a nice dresser in that skater, snowboarder kind of style he was trying to pull off. Right down to his thumb ring. Oh my.), and was confident enough in himself to wear a white shirt to church that he had been wearing for 5 years, holes and all. I knew he wasn't high maintenance and I guess I liked that fact. And, really, I thought I could change him into the preppy dresser I wanted him to be after we got married...

The fact is, the only thing I was able to get rid of were the baggy jeans, the holey clothes, and the thumb ring. (Though he held on to those things for quite some time, he did stop wearing them.) I wasn't able to get rid of his personal likes and dislikes. What's up with that? After we were married, we would be leaving to go to a friends house, dinner, or to church, and I would say, "I'm not leaving until you change your shirt (shoes, belt, socks, etc. whatever it happened to be that time). Really, I did that, I admit it.

A while ago, I heard a few of John's sisters say, "Our other brothers have all changed, but we know Johnny will always be the same." I don't know if that was my wake up call, but I decided to stop trying to change that about my husband. I was wasting our money on clothes he wasn't wearing, and really, I realized I was fighting an unimportant battle. (Kind of like I gave up on keeping his part of the closet organized, it just isn't important enough to fuss over.) Would I still like my husband to be a really nice dresser, or keep his part of the closet organized? Yes, of course. Do I really care anymore? No. (However, I am still trying to get him to change the way he folds clothes, because that is a space issue. The way he folds clothes is not only messy, but you can't fit as much stuff in your drawers. I'm still teaching him after 7.5 years of marriage the CORRECT way to fold clothes. His response? "We aren't in the military." Who knows, maybe one day I'll give that battle up too... but I don't think so.) I think in the early days of our marriage I thought that what John looked like was a reflection of who I was too. Like, he was a part of me, and people might judge me based on what he looked like? Isn't that so lame? Obviously, I don't feel that way anymore, and I think you know how I feel about people judging. I was trying to change him to fit the mold of the kind of dresser I envisioned. I needed to be the one to change and accept his own individual style, and still be attracted to the original fact that he's not high maintenance.

Will I still occasionally comment on what my husband is wearing? Of course. But, only if it's really atrocious, or a blatant mismatch, etc., and I simply state the fact, and that's it. He can wear it if he wants, but I feel like I have to do my wifely duty and tell him that it's not okay to wear pants that have a large tear in the crotch. (he thought no one would be able to see...) I was trying to change my husband, but really it was me that needed to do the changing.

CHANGE - EXHIBIT B

A few weeks ago, I was trying to call my sister, but she didn't answer her cell phone. She now lives in my Dad's empty house, so I tried the land line, and got the nice lady's voice on the phone repeating, "This number is no longer in service..."

I hung up the phone and just sat there on my couch, phone in hand, staring at my orange painted walls. I knew my dad was going to be canceling the phone, but I had forgotten, and it was an odd feeling dialing that familiar number and hearing that recording.

You see, my parents have had the same land line phone number my whole life. Always. I grew up in the same house, and our phone number never changed. No matter where I moved across the country, I knew I could call that number and reach someone; my mom, my dad, a sibling who might be over for dinner, or at least my dad's voice on the answering machine. The same number. It may not seem like a big deal to you, and I can't say it's a BIG deal; but it's different... it's new... it's sad... it's change.

Sad over a phone number? It was weird, okay? There is something about calling the same number your whole life, and all of a sudden it not be there anymore. I mean, I probably could even recite the sounds the buttons make as you dial that number.

I'm sure it's not just the number that makes me a bit nostalgic. It's just another change that has happened from the seemingly trickle down effect of my mother's death. Sure, my dad has a new number if I want to get ahold of him, he's still there, technically speaking. But, in a way he isn't. It's different. He's not leaning against the kitchen cabinets talking on the phone, or sitting on a stool in the kitchen, or lying in his bed, or in the garage. It's like the change of a simple phone number is symbolic of something else. I guess it's hard to describe. But, once again, it's a change.

CHANGE - EXHIBIT C

Last week, I prepped Mallary to give away her pacifiers to a baby at church on Sunday. Sometimes, she would say, "no," and other times she would be on board. I was a little nervous on Sunday morning, and almost forgot to bring her two pacifiers to church.

After I got Mallary from nursery we went to find the baby. I handed the pacifiers to Mallary to give to the baby's mom. I could tell she was a little hesitant as she totally paused looking at them, and I knew she wanted to put one in her mouth. With a bit of prodding and help she handed them over.

We gave her lots of praise, but she was still a little worried about them when we laid her down for a nap after church. It took her longer to fall asleep for her nap, but she just sang and played, and didn't throw a fit for her pacifiers.

It's been a few days, and today when I put her down for her nap she didn't even mention them. For the past couple of days, when we put her to bed she would say, "Baby paci."

I think it's harder for a parent to take away a pacifier than it is for the child. Taking it away seems like your taking away part of what makes your baby a baby. But, she's not a baby anymore. Just more change.

CHANGE - CONCLUSION

Every day we deal with change in one form or another. Today, I dealt with my jeans being a little too tight. (Though, that's one change I'm not really celebrating, but oh well.) Who knows what change I'll be dealing with tomorrow? But, one thing is guaranteed; I'll be presented with another change tomorrow, presented with the opportunity to change, or needing to work on something else I want to change about myself.

Change schmange. :)

I tried to be June Cleaver

Yesterday, I tried to be June Cleaver. Minus the getting gussied-up part; I knew there wouldn't be time for that, and I think I've only worn pearls once in the past two years.

I was cleaning up the living room with Trevan while Mallary was napping, and I had this grandiose image pop into my head of surprising John when he got home that night with the living room being cleaned and vacuumed, the second Christmas tree getting decorated, the kitchen cleaned, the kids already having a bath, and a gourmet meal on the table. (Part of the meal that I actually got done can be seen HERE.)

That thought came at about 2pm, and Mallary wasn't up from her nap yet.

I still had to mail off an order (that I finished filling only hours before, containing 73 hair bows, and 15 headbands), go to the store to restock on some supplies for my business, decorate the tree, vacuum, clean the kitchen, and start dinner. Not including the time it takes to be a mother to two children during all of that. (In case you don't understand that last sentence - as a mother, you have to calculate in at least an extra 20 minutes to get something done, depending on the task, to stop and help your children with something, give someone a time out, fix a snack, change a diaper, clean up a mess... this list really could go on and on.)

Let's just say the pressure was on - but I was determined to do it all!

Needless to say I only mailed the order, got my supplies, cleaned the living room (though it was dirty by the time John got home), decorated part of the tree, and we ate dinner at 7:30. Plus, the gourmet meal I planned turned into only a main dish and baked sweet potatoes.

I was a little disappointed that I didn't get it all done, but you know what? I didn't care. I knew I had given my 100% to the day. So what if my day didn't turn out like June Cleaver's would have? June Cleaver also didn't make a ton of hair bows and headbands and take care of her kids in the morning either.

My thoughts of wanting to be June Cleaver for the day reminded me of a post I started a while ago but never posted because John happened to read it before I was done and said I sounded defensive and angry (I was neither). Well, I'm going to post it now because it fits in this topic.

Back in the summer, I was in a spin class, and the instructor said, “Oh, this is a tough one. I want you to give me 100 percent.”

“I can give you about 94,” I said out loud.

The story of my life.

I know I have talked about this with more than one person, but seriously the whole 100% effort kills me, because I don’t feel like I can give that in everything I do. It’s kind of like you can never get 100% of your knee completely shaved… isn’t that so annoying?

Here’s some history.

My parents never pressured us to make straight A’s, didn’t punish us for lower grades, etc. They just asked that we do our best. They even loved me when I got two D’s in college (D minus in Statistics - I was so proud of that D minus - seriously). I know I didn't always do my best, but that was what we were expected to do.

My older sister was a track/cross country star in high school; she may even still hold some records there. Well, my juvenile mind figured out that if I never tried my best in track then I could never really compare myself to her. I guess, I figured if I lost, I could say it wasn't because I wasn't any good, it was because I didn’t really try, so no one would be able to compare us. I knew if I wasn’t doing all my workouts then I could never say I wasn’t good. I was afraid that if I tried my best and lost then I knew I wasn’t very good. Yeah, that was a total loser mentality. I was satisfied with just placing - second and third were okay with me. What a bum for not giving my 100% to see what I could have really done. La- hoo-ser! (My volleyball coach in high school accused me of not trying my best, not really wanting it bad enough. With that, I did try my best. I think she may have thought I had too much fun in practice, making it look like I wasn’t trying my best. Hey, I just like to have a good time in what I am doing.)

Some of my days can be pretty overwhelming. I don’t feel like I can give 100% as a mother, an entrepreneur, a wife, and a housekeeper all at the same time, all on the same day. The nights I get a well-balanced meal on the table; we’re talking two vegetable sides, a healthy main dish, a fruit, and a dessert (how did my mom do it???) I feel like I should get a mommy award equivalent to an Emmy, an Oscar, or a Nobel Peace Prize. Seriously. There are those nights I get in bed, and sigh a sigh of “I did it,” knowing I was able to find some resemblance of balance and get things done. Then, there are those nights I crawl into bed (at 2 AM) feeling heavy from all the things I didn’t get done and need to do the next day.

If I had the time to focus just on business, I know I could get more clients, and be more organized. If I could focus on just being a mom, maybe Mallary wouldn’t be as crazy… Or if I even took more time when I blogged; writing rough drafts and proof reading, my writing would be better. But, life is not perfect, and I'm not perfect - it is a constant balancing act. Perfection is not attained in this life, and people beat themselves up over it every day.

My mom did not keep a spotless, tidy house - there were always piles of laundry, stacks of papers, etc. - it wasn’t her talent. Did she give 100% to try and make it tidy? Who knows? I feel like she did her best. But, who cares? She gave 100% in being our mom. She was there for her children, for making breakfast at the crack of dawn, for making dinner for us, for teaching us, for loving us, for supporting us, and trying to raise good people. She gave 100% in the things that mattered.

That’s what I have come to realize. I just need to focus on the important things, give my 100% to the things that matter. I now realize, that I can’t keep a spotless house while raising my children, running a business, and living life. I won’t always have a huge meal on my table every night, and I just can’t compare myself to my mom. She never tried to run a business while doing everything else at the same time, and I know she would tell me, “You’re doing better than you think you are.”

I've heard the saying that a person is going to judge you first on your appearance, and second on what your house looks like. Well, my mother taught me that we shouldn’t judge. I hate when people apologize for their messy house. Do they think I am going to like them any less because they have a pile of laundry in the corner, or they have dishes in the sink? I promise, I'm not like that.

Sometime after my mom died and I started my business. I stopped apologizing for my house being a mess. Does it still bug me sometimes? Yes! Do I wish it were clean? YES! But, why should I apologize for living? I remember people coming to the door when I was growing up, and mom saying before opening the door, "hurry, take your back packs upstairs." I've heard people apologize for their children's back packs being in an entry way or a living room floor. I understand you want to teach your children to take their things to their rooms, but to apologize because someone is seeing their backpacks? Are they trying to hide the fact that their children go to school? When I see a back pack in the floor, you know what I think? "Oh, so and so must be home from school." Never do I think, "I can't believe that they let their child just leave their back packs in the floor!" So silly.

Why should I apologize for the fact that my kids had fun playing in the living room today? Why should I apologize that my children were creative today and broke all the crayons into little bits and there are coloring books on the floor? I shouldn’t. And, neither should you. Our houses aren’t just houses, they are homes, and we live in our homes. Not just exist in our homes, we LIVE. Living involves messes. (SIDE NOTE: Please don't think that I think it is okay never to clean your house, because I am totally not saying that - just that my house isn't going to be perfect the majority of the time - and it's okay. One night the nieghbor girl came over and looked at our clean living room, and said,"Wow!" with her eyes all wide. I knew immediately what she was thinking; she usually only sees our house when the kids are awake. I said, "You didn't think I let my house be messy all the time did you? We clean up the living room every night, can you believe it gets that messy just by the next day?" She just shook her head and smiled.)

I came across an article that had this statement in it, "when you lose someone dear to you, it becomes evident to you what's unimportant." To me, worrying about the mess my kids made today is unimportant. In the next ten minutes I can either wash windows or play with my kids, I can send emails or make hair bows - I typically can't do it all - all in one day.

I've figured out I can't give 100% to everything that I want to give 100% to. I just need to focus on what's important, and give my 100% in the ten minutes I am cleaning my house, in the 10 minutes I am playing with my kids, or in the 10 minutes I have to work, or in the 5 minutes I have to do my hair (do pony tails count as giving 100%?). I know when I'm not giving 100%, and I know when I can do better.

We can't always be June Cleaver (well, I can't - maybe you can) and we have to be willing to let the unimportant things go. What’s unimportant to me won’t necessarily be what is unimportant to you. And, we shouldn’t judge each other on what those things are. What works for me might not work for you, and vice verse.

I think we can have and do it all - but we can't have it all be perfect, or do it perfectly all the time. We can just try our best and be our very own versions of June Cleaver.

Maybe, Jane Cleaver?

Image found here.

Point to the fridge

A while ago, my friend Becky had a post on her blog about family mottos.

I’ve always wanted John and I to do a family mission statement to keep on our fridge. I imagined my kids as teenagers asking a question and I could just point to the fridge and say, does it go along with our family mission statement?

Seriously.

I had to come up with quite a few mission statements in college, my Entrepreneur class, my Facilities Management class, and others. I know I heard about families having mission statements in one of my classes, and always liked the idea. I don’t know how I came across this, but I found Cold Stone’s core values, and I may make them part of my family’s mission statement:

1. Do the right thing
2. Be the Best… Be #1
3. Bring out the best in our people
4. Profit by making people happy
5. Win as a team

I think those are great.

Seriously.

Then, I was thinking about it, and really I could just post a picture of Christ on our fridge. Isn’t that our mission, to become like Him? That’s what I am trying to do and what I am trying to teach our children. I could also put a picture of my mother as our mission statement on the fridge. As a result of becoming more like her, I know I would become more like Him.

picture found here

I don’t think it matters if you believe in God or not. If to you, Jesus is just a fictional story about a man. Well, it’s a story about a man who loved everyone unconditionally, even gave his life. He fed the hungry, took care of the sick, he was forgiving, and he served tirelessly. Wouldn’t the world be such a better place if everyone tried to be more like that, and we were teaching our children to be like that? So, whatever your religion, if one at all, I think the mission is to become better people - to be better human beings.

So, whether the picture on your fridge is Mother Teresa or your own mother, I think it would be great to have a picture as our family mission statement, Cold Stone’s core values would be implied.

Anyone out there have a family mission statement or motto? I think it would be fun to hear some.

Don't let his age fool you

picture found here

Usually when bed time rolls around, I am totally ready to take my mother "hat" off for the day. On most nights, John takes care of the whole bed-time routine and my only job is giving hugs and kisses. I occassionally fill in, or when we are in a hurry we sometimes divide and conquer.

John worked late on Friday, so I had to report for bed time duty. I really don't mind it all that much, but am usually so tired (or just can't bear to listen to Mallary scream for the 1,000th time that day) and John doesn't mind taking over, so he does. Although, I don't really know who puts who to sleep. A few nights a week I have to go wake John up to get off of Trevan's bed.

So, I changed a diaper, put on jammies, read a few stories, held Mallary for a few minutes and put her in her crib. Then on to Trevan. Helped him find the tag in his pajama pants, told him to go potty, took the cap off of the tooth paste for him (oops forgot to brush Mallary's teeth, oh well, I don't claim to be perfect), read him a story, talked about him being scared in the dark, said prayers, and then a great conversation was started.

"Mom, why did God make ants?"

"I don't know Honey." I was ready to retire for the evening.

"You know." He said in his high pitched squealy voice that came out sounding like 'youuu knowww.'

"I do?"

"Yeah, to fix the grass," he stated very matter of factly like, "and to carry away our crumbs."

"Oh, of course." I replied.

This conversation carried on.

"Why did God make pill bugs?" (I honestly had to look up that word to make sure we were actually calling them by the right name)

"I don't know."

"You know, (youuu knowww) so they curl up in a ball when we touch them."

"Oh, right. Of course."

He asked me about a few more, but I can't remember what they were.

"Why did God make caterpillers?"

"I don't know."

"You know. So they would turn into butterflies."

"Hmmm... I think you're right."

Thoughts of the day

I'm going to share one of my birthday presents with you for the thought/s of the day.

GO HERE

I hope you have some tissues handy.

Happy Saturday!

Thought of the day

This picture hung in my grandmommy's kitchen and I always found myself reading it over and over when I ate at her kitchen table. Even as a young child I could recognize its great message.

We aren't quite sure who made it. It wasn't my grandmother, but we know it is REALLY old. On the back, written on masking tape it said, "Sissy's when Sister is done with it." (My mom's family called her Sissy. She was the only girl with four brothers.)

Sometime before my mom died I saw the picture leaning randomly against something in a bedroom at her house. I asked her if I could have it, and I could see the doubt in her face. "It's not your style," she said. "I know but I really like it," I replied. She said, "we'll see," and that was the end of it.

Later, after she died, I saw it again, and asked my dad if I could have it. No one else wanted it, so I got it!! I updated it with a new frame, had a mat cut, and took out all the yucky staples that was making it rust and reblocked it. (I saved a lot of money doing it myself!! At least $300 that is!!) It will hang in my office/workspace as a helpful reminder for me. I really love it, and I really love the message.

Every day I get a fresh start. I hope to make the best of it!

Joy

"Joy is not in things. It is in us."

- Benjamin Franklin

The Gathering Place

My mom reading to Trevan in her bed.

If my mom was alive she would not appreciate these pictures of her being posted for all to see, (she would say she looked like the Wicked Witch of the West) but I took this picture because it shows something special to me.

In most homes the common gathering place is a kitchen. My dad’s most common statement about a kitchen is, “why do people buy and build homes with such small kitchens?” My dad added a bigger kitchen on to our house when I was in college, and he often says, “we have couches in two rooms of this house, but everyone ends up standing around in the kitchen.”

In my home growing up, and up until my mom died, we had another gathering place, mom and dad’s bed. It’s a small double bed, (small in my book, but perfect for their little bodies), but there was plenty of room for us girls to gather together to chit-chat with our parents. The brothers weren't part of this ritual for some reason. I remember once my parents bedroom door was part closed, and my oldest brother Jeryl asked a question through the door, we told him he could come in, and when he did he looked kind of uncomfortable like he didn't belong there or something, it was pretty funny. I was thinking about this recently, and it’s funny that a bed can bring back so many memories.

As a young, scaredy-cat child, my parent’s bed was a place of refuge for me. When I woke up in the middle of the night, where did I go? Straight to my parents bed (except for the times when I stayed in my bed and called for Dad. The boogey man might have gotten me had I ventured down the hallway...). I always went to Dad’s side first, but on the rare occasions I couldn’t wake him, to mom’s side. When I was really scared, I climbed in-between them, where I felt the safest. As a scaredy-cat teenager or adult, my parent’s bed was still a place of refuge for me. If I ever spent the night alone in their house I would sleep in their bed with the phone next to me, and lock their door. I think it was only within the past few years that I stopped doing that. I guess that’s where I felt it was the safest.

I remember staying home from school sick, sitting on their bed, and mom giving me a small plate of applesauce with my pills crushed up in it. I also have so many memories of sitting on their bed watching or helping mom fold laundry, and she did a lot of laundry (usually my job was to help match dad’s socks).

I have even more memories of talking on the phone in their room sprawled across their bed or sitting on the floor leaning against their bed. Back then, we only had two phones in the house, and neither was cordless, so our telephone conversations had to take place in the kitchen or mom and dad’s bedroom. I distinctly remember taking that first phone call before our first date with my boyfriend in high school. He called while I was in the shower, someone came and got me because they knew I would be mad if they didn’t, so I stopped mid-wash and sat on the floor against my parents bed with a towel wrapped around me, suds still in my hair, dripping on the carpet while I talked. I also remember the giddiness that ensued afterwards. I think back to the summers, and I can picture us talking on the phone lying across their bed. Mom usually sat on the edge of the bed with her back against the door while she talked, Marianne or I would sprawl across their bed and talk, and talk, and talk. Later on, the door would be shut, and you could often hear this while talking, “MAKE SURE TO ANSWER THE BEEPS!”

I’m not sure when my sisters and I started this, but we had a habit of congregating on mom and dad’s bed in the morning or at night, or just whenever. Maybe it started way back when, when my parents came into our rooms and talked to us when we went to bed. Mom asking what we learned that day, or to name one nice thing we did for someone that day, or one nice thing someone did for us. Dad would try to crawl into our rooms to scare us, or come in and tell us his distorted fairy tales. Maybe once they stopped doing that, we started going in their room, I don’t know. I remember hearing a quote once, no idea where it came from or who said it, “If you talk to your children when they are younger, they will talk to you when they’re older.” Maybe that’s what happened here.

When coming home to visit from college, and especially at Holidays, when my parents went to bed, we followed them. We hung out on their bed, talking and laughing, until dad usually pulled the plug by announcing he would be putting on his night gown and unless we wanted a show, we had better get out. Or something like that. (And, yes, a night gown - one of those men’s sleep shirt things, I’m telling all the family secrets.) Sometimes, we would end up back on their bed even after that. In the mornings when we woke up, the first place we’d go was their room (mostly just the years when my mom had cancer, before then she was out of the bed a lot earlier). We’d sit and chat on the bed, and when there was more people in the house, it almost seemed like it wasn’t time to move until everyone had joined us on the bed. It was also nice because if our kids would wake up, they instinctively knew to go to Grandma and Papa’s room (or because we wouldn’t get out of bed, they went to where they knew someone would pay attention to them.) My mom would entertain them while we slept in (sleeping in is 6:30 or 7am in my family, Trevan used to wake up at 5:30). She would read to them, let them play with her jewelry, or other little trinkets she had in her room. Eventually, we would join them in her room. Even when mom came to stay with us when Trevan was born the chit-chat on the bed ritual continued. The night before I had him, I laid on her air mattress (a large feat for a large pregnant woman) talking until she kicked me out, because she said I needed to get my rest in case I was in labor (which I was, I had told her I was feeling funny. I woke her and John up a few hours later.). Sometimes at their house if it seemed everyone had disappeared downstairs, you would know to look in my parent’s room, if they were there on the bed talking, I’d feel like I had been missing the party.

Even in college my roommates and I often had a tendency to pile up on each other’s beds and talk before retiring to our own. I remember one roommate we had to kick out of our room a lot so we could go to bed. (Any roomies want to make any guesses? Hint: the three of you that might know have yet to comment on my blog.)

It seems silly that a bed can have such significance in someones life. But, maybe it is that safe feeling of being close to the people you love while starting or wrapping up your day together that makes for these bed pile ons. I don’t ever remember leaving a bed pile on at home or in college and being unhappy, or mad. They were not places to fight, they were places to discuss, reminisce, laugh, or cry together. Maybe they were our therapy sessions, instead of a couch, we had the bed.

After my mom died, going upstairs and sitting on my parents empty bed was very emotional. I can’t remember if it was before or after my mom died, but she was in the hospital, and I decided to straighten my parent’s bedroom, and one would never think making a bed would be so sad. I miss not having those late night or early morning chats sitting on their bed, and I’m sure my dad misses us there too, even though he pretended to be put out sometimes that we were delaying his shut-eye time.

Before John and I got married he talked me into buying a king-sized bed. “So there is enough room for all of our kids,” was his reasoning. Now, he hates the bed, and wants a smaller one. I say, “No way!” There already isn’t enough room when we have little visitors show up in the middle of the night, or when Trevan climbs on the bed in the morning to wake us up (one of my favoritest things ever). There are definitely those times when the kids end up in our beds that I wake John up to take them back to their own beds, but usually when I hear Trevan shuffle in our room in the dark, or when Mallary is sick and can’t sleep, I welcome them with open arms, just like my parents did to me.

I guess I’ve started my own little gathering place.

Happy Mother's Day

My mom holding Mallary

“If I were to die today, what would my children remember about me?” A bit morbid, I know, but I often consider this thought. It is scary to think of how your children will be raised if you were to die. I know mine are still young, but would they remember anything about me? Would Trevan remember I taught him how to use good manners? Is Mallary just going to remember what my back looks like when I’m working on the computer? Will she remember me rocking her and singing to her? Will the sound of a sewing machine remind them of their mother? Will the TJ Maxx or Marshalls logo make Trevan think of me? Will they remember how often I threw up my hands in frustration while sighing my famous sigh at having to clean up another mess? I’m hoping that they would at least remember my laughter or their silly mommy dancing in the kitchen or in the car. I really do worry what would happen to my children if I were to die. What kind of influence can I have on their lives if I am not around? What stories will they hear about me? Will they know how much I loved them? What my dreams were? What kind of people I hoped they would become?

The possibility of dying and not being able to teach my children the things I want them to know scares me. Am I the only one? What am I leaving them to remember? What lessons will they have learned from me? Do I have the things I want them to know written down somewhere?

After losing my mother last year, I thought about these things even more. I mentioned before how much I treasure my mothers letters to me, and being able to have her journal to read anytime I would like to. Well, last year on mother’s day I started a new tradition of writing a letter to each of my children on Mother’s Day. I will compile them someday and give them to them. So, if I were to leave earlier than I’d hoped, they would know at least a little bit about me, the things I love and believe, and how much I loved them and felt so very fortunate to be their mother. Having had just lost my mother, in each letter I included a little something about Grandma and something that she taught me. That will also be part of the tradition to help them learn a little bit about her and how much she loved them.

One year ago, the first weekend of April, I had my last real conversation with my mother. We were up visiting for conference weekend. We watched conference in the living room as my tiny mother slept stretched out in her make shift bed on the love seat, listening to her snoring come and go. She rested a lot that weekend. I wished I had kept a journal then and written all of this fresh when it happened. I remember her waking up to greet us and exchanging kisses, her playing in the floor with Trevan for a little while, and her wanting to see the scar on my back from my most recent mole removal surgery.

When you know your mother is dying, you find yourself a bit desensitized from the constant resting and discomfort while at the same time wanting to curl up next to her and sob. You try to focus on everything else going on around you to distract you from the sadness (desensitizing myself as a way of coping). I tried to focus on conference that day, because the moment I let my mind drift back to my mother asleep across the room, the tears would start to come.

Later that afternoon Mom had been resting on her bed, and I went up and sat on Dad’s side assuming the normal position, one foot tucked under me, the other one resting on the bed rail.

I am sure I asked how she was feeling, and I am sure she asked what was going on downstairs. That weekend mom wasn’t really carrying on long conversations, and the conversations were kind of random.

“Mom, can I look at your buttons some time to use for some of my crafts?” I asked. That wasn’t the real reason I was there, but I had been thinking about it.

Silence for a little while. Intermittent, random conversation.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer, and I started to cry, “Mom, I’m just so sad.” “Aren’t you just so sad, and frustrated that you have to deal with this?” “Doesn’t it just make you mad?” I can’t remember all the other things I said, but I just let it go. “You deserve to enjoy growing old with dad, and doing all those things you wanted to do.”

My mom was quiet for a few seconds then started, “Your father and I have shared so much. We have had so many special moments through this that I wouldn’t trade for anything. There have been so many miracles.” Then she got emotional, “I just feel so sorry that he has had to deal with all of this.” She got a little more emotional, “Holly, soon I get to see a lot of my family that I haven’t seen in a long time, and look forward to meeting some I have never met before. I will miss my grandchildren, and it makes me sad I won’t get to see Trevan and Mallary grow up. I love my grandchildren so much. I know I’m a child of God. I know that He loves me.”

There was more conversation like this, but I can’t remember any of it. There was silence for a while, and then my mom said, “Make sure to stay on top of your weight. I know it’s hard when you’re nursing.” (I think she remembered we had just had a conversation on the phone about me trying to lose weight) “Ummm, mom, I’m not really worried about it, it will be easier when I stop nursing.”

More silence, and then mom breaks it by saying, “Let’s go look at the buttons.”

I really wasn’t ready for our conversation to end.

“Mom, we don’t have to do that right now.”

She was already out of the bed and walking out of the room. Wiping my eyes I followed her down the hall and down the stairs. “Mom, we don’t have to do this right now.”

She got in the floor and started rummaging through the white cabinets. “Mom, I can do that.”

“Why is your mother in the floor?” (I knew my Dad was going to say that as soon as he walked into the room.) “What is she doing in the floor?” “Mary, get out of the floor.” (yes, out of the floor, not off)

“Dad, I asked her about buttons… I didn’t mean right now… already tried…”

That evening, saying good-bye to my mom was so hard. I think I put it off as long as I could. I hugged her and just held on knowing it would probably be one of the last times. I cried as John backed the car out of the driveway, and I cried off and on the whole trip home.

Mom was put in the hospital soon after that, and passed away about two weeks after that weekend.

You’ve seen those deathbed scenes in movies and on TV, the person dying seems to always have some message for the people they are leaving behind. Last words of wisdom, making people make promises, etc. I expected it to be like that. Mom didn’t say a lot in the hospital, she was kept pretty sedated because of her pain. During that last week while sitting by her bedside, part of me expected her to all of sudden wake up and have some last words of wisdom for us. She didn’t do that, and honestly, I was a little disappointed. Didn’t my mother have any last words of wisdom to leave me? Didn’t she want me to promise to do something?

How silly of me.

Seriously, just within the past few months I realized that my mother didn’t need to leave me with any last words, or advice. She left me with her life full of examples of how I should be living. She didn’t need to make me promise anything; she’s taught me my whole life. I know what she would expect of me, and what she would hope I would be doing. I don’t know why I thought she would feel the need to add anything more.

The only thing she really said while in the hospital was, “I love you.” I think that was the only thing important enough to her for her to muster up the energy to say. Though, I really didn’t need her to tell me that, I knew she loved me - she spent my whole life showing me and telling me that she did.

Hopefully, my children will be able to say the same of me.

"Neglect not the gift that is in thee"

I've been working quite a bit this week and have some fun new products (shown above). Yesterday, I was finishing an order of bows, and all of a sudden I had this thought to try and make them a different way. I thought to myself, "No, I tried that before, and it didn't work remember?" I tried it anyway and voila! I have a new method of making bows!! It saves me a tiny bit of ribbon, but it saves me a lot of time (and some frustration)!! I am excited about making bows again!

This is the thing. This past year I have totally witnessed my talents multiplying. Like in the Bible, in Matthew 25, it talks about taking your talents and gaining more. I have totally seen this in my life so much since starting my business. Sure, I have always been crafty, but since starting to craft I have come up with stuff that I had never thought of before, and probably would have never thought of. Sometimes I will be making something, and the idea of two new products comes to me. I know that is all part of the creative process, but had I never been making that certain product, who knows if I would have come up with the next two. It's a reminder to use my talents, so my talents will grow! That certain talent will develop more, and from exercising that talent, I will gain other talents.

If there is something we are good at (and we are all good at something) we should use it! Use it or lose it baby! For example, I have never been a fantastic singer, I think I can sing, but it isn't anything to write home about. I mean, I can carry a tune and pick up harmony, etc. But, one day singing to the radio or at church (I can't remember) I thought to myself, 'I used to sound better than this.' I was in concert and show choir in high school, but I quit my senior year. So, all through high school my voice was getting exercise, after I quit there was no more training (other than in the shower or the car). I know my voice is not as good as it could have been, had I kept singing since high school. It still probably would be nothing to write home about, but I know I would sound better. That's one reason I like to plan parties so often, because it keeps my brain thinking in party mode - keeps my party planning muscle fresh. If I stop thinking about planning weddings, and learning about planning weddings, then the ideas won't come as easy to me. It's a simple truth.

Seriously, we use it or lose it. We use it, we get better.

So, what's a gift you have that needs a little exercise?

(The title of my post is from 1 Timothy 4:14)

Scaredy Cat?

I was lying in bed last night listening to John snore (if there was a soundtrack to my life, snoring would be half of it) and I started thinking about the book review post. I thought about how we can spread out in all directions if we want to, but sometimes we let fear stunt our growth.

Fear of failure, fear of rejection, fear of not being accepted, fear of being judged, fear of not being good enough, and so on. Don't you think we do that sometimes?

There is a scripture I love in the New Testament, it is 2 Timothy 1:7, "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and love, and of a sound mind."

I think when we embrace the power within us (our talents and abilities?), and employ our sound mind (our knowledge?), and leave our heart open (to learn new things, and loving makes us larger people) we forget about the fear and become unstoppable!

The older I get, the less fearful I have become, but there are definitely times I have to remind myself, "Okay, I can do this, they can only tell me, 'no.' I do know what I am doing, it will turn out fine." "I don't care what people think." etc.

I think once we put our fear aside, we can really make things happen!
I feel my branches spreading out already!

GOOOOOO TEAM!

Happy Easter

Recently, my friend's daughter was not accepted to a private, non-denominational Christian school because she is Mormon, and they don't believe that Mormons are Christians. It is sad to me that as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints we try to be Christ-like in all aspects of our lives - to be as He is, and people still think we aren't Christians.

I like this video that bears testimony of Christ and what we believe.

I believe in Christ.

I am trying to be like Him.

Yes, I'm a Christian.

More on Marriage

Speaking of marriage.

Here are some Quotable Quotes I liked from the Reader's Digest this month.

"I used to believe that marriage would diminish me,

reduce my options.

That you had to be someone less to live with someone else,

when, of course,

you have to be someone more."

-Candice Bergen

"For two people in a marriage to live together day after day

is unquestionably the one miracle the Vatican has overlooked."

- Bill Cosby

"The formula for a happy marriage?

It's the same as the one for living in California:

When you find a fault, don't dwell on it."

-Jay Trachman

"A happy marriage is the union of two forgivers."

- Ruth Bell Graham