When the Crazy Comes Flying Out....

Have you ever has those moments in life in which you are so ludicrously out of control that, in the midst of your words or actions, your inner voice is yelling, "Stop! Stop it! Stop it right now!", but you can't, so you just keep going, spiraling farther and farther down the path of social awkwardness with no way out?  If your answer was "no", you may not be able to relate to this post at all.  You will, however, get in a good laugh at my expense.  Here we go....

It all started a couple of weeks ago.  Some of you may know exactly what week I am referencing, since everyone I spoke to around that time was having exactly (ok, not exactly, but a relatable version) the kind of week I was having.  It's like a dose of insanity powder was released into the air and made all hell break loose everywhere it went.  Yes, I did just throw that out there - airborne insanity.  You're welcome.  Monday of said week, I had what can only be described as a total breakdown.  I mean, to the point that I looked at Gregg through my tears and said something along the lines of, "Something is wrong with me.  I'm broken.  I think I'm actually broken."  Considering I had just done six cycles of alternating crying -> laughing -> crying (and not smiling with a gentle chuckle to choking up a bit; I mean full on laughing out loud to sobbing...it was incredible) in under 30 minutes, I think this was an accurate assessment.  Gregg was horrified.  He is also terrified of having to raise our children alone, so instead of agreeing with me and perhaps driving me to a facility that handles these situations, he just kept repeating, "Stop saying that.  Don't say that."  I'd like to think that his reaction was more love than fear....we'll leave that one for now.

The funny thing is, this kicked off a week that wasn't as crazy as some, coming off of a weekend that had been relatively calm (for us, which I know is generally not the definition for the rest of the world).  So my meltdown was quite unexpected.  Except for one circumstance.  Friday and Saturday of that week was the women's conference for one of our local churches.  This group of amazing ladies is generous enough to include me in many of their events and studies, and this weekend was no exception.  I had a small role in helping out at this phenomenal event, and was so excited to do so I could hardly stand it.  Naturally, by the time things were in full gear, I was emotionally and spiritually beaten up to the point that I was seriously questioning whether I should go.  Which means, of course, that I absolutely was supposed to.  Even in my hysteria, I knew there was something I needed to hear or experience there, and the worse my week got, the more that thought crystalized.

Did I mention the speaker?  Oh, not yet?  Yeah....the other reason I know things were blowing up is just how excited I was to hear this amazing woman live and maybe even get to meet her (gasp). I'm not sure exactly what the etiquette is in the blogging world on mentioning names, but let's be honest, she's never going to read this and I didn't use her picture and none of you are paying money to humor my ramblings, so I think it's okay.  The keynote speaker for the event was none other than the incomparable Jen Hatmaker.  I know!  How awesome is that?!?  I simply adore her, and truly admire her work.  I know, just know, that we are supposed to be lifelong friends and have many hilarious conversations in our future.  I wouldn't call myself a super fan (is there even such a term?) - I have her HGTV episodes recorded, but haven't managed to watch them, yet (because I don't actually have time to watch TV, but it's on my to-do list), and I don't read everything she posts (again, time factor), but I have read several of her books and am in the midst of one of her Modern Girls' Guide to Bible Study books (if you've not done one, I highly recommend it).  So, I feel like I have a fairly good grasp on who she is, and can say with some certainty that we would get along famously (I share that sentiment with countless other women, I know).

That being said, I have to say, I've never been one to get overly starstruck.  I don't have a history of crying at concerts or freaking out over the chance to chase down a celebrity.  I stand next to Bruce Bowen every year at the Buddy Walk (he MC's, I sing the National Anthem....we're buds) and joke with him about all the people who walk through or over me to shake his hand or ask for autographs. I've run into one or two famous people in my life (not a ton, but, you know...it happens), and it's not been a primary focus of mine.  For some reason, I found myself really caught up in the fact that this woman was going to be our speaker and in the same building as me (and about 400 other women, but whatever) and would I get to meet her or get her to sign a book or ask her a question or..... It was a little ridiculous.  So, I made myself a deal.  Obviously, I was missing the point of the whole event if this was my focal point.  It was time to change focus.  As I drove to the church Friday, I gave myself a stern talking to - and decided that on no uncertain terms would I seek to meet her.  I was there to serve in whatever capacity they needed me to, and to learn from a fascinating teacher.  Period.  The end.  Let it go.

Amazingly, as I pulled into the parking lot, I felt totally calm, like the crazy powder had dissipated.  I walked in, asked where I needed to go, and got to work.  At some point, I noticed there were more than enough helpers to greet and direct attendees in my area, so I headed to one of the ladies in charge to ask if they needed help in another space.  That's when I noticed the very nice camera sitting next to her with no one to man it.  My offer to roam the venue taking pictures was met with enthusiasm, and off I went to record the event for posterity.  It was so fun!  I took shots of every conceivable area and got to meet so many beautiful and interesting ladies, chatting with anyone I could.  My heart was so grateful and happy to be there.  There is nothing quite like a building full of women who are excited and relaxed and anticipating an inspiring occasion.  I headed to the "green room" area to get backstage candids of the worship team and MC, and to do a little more chatting.  I love this worship team - they are such a talented group, and at intervals I get to sing with them, so I know most of them relatively well.  It was quite the party.  The MC was a lovely lady whom I had met at a previous event in which I was an MC, so I was excited to see her again and play a bit of personal assistant.  She had a question about door prizes, and with a promise to find the answer and get right back to her I rushed out of the door on a mission.

And that's when it happened.
The Game Changer Moment.

Before I go any further, let me set this up by reminding you that I was on an adrenaline high, happy to have survived my week and make it to an event I had been looking forward to....a lot.  I was moving quickly, with my mind racing ahead to the person I needed to find and information I had to get.  And I am basically always super high energy, even more in social settings.  Also, I was in the back of the church, in an area that was not part of the main setting.  As I burst out of the doors, to the right was the hallway leading back to the venue and to the left was a short hall, then entryway with double doors that open to the back parking lot.  These doors are locked and require a code to open from the outside.  Stay with me.  I'm about to land this plane.

I rushed out of the room, prepped to turn right, and something to the left caught my eye and I heard a light rattling of the doors.  I skidded to a halt and turned to look left.  There, locked out of the building not 30 feet away, stood none other than Jen Hatmaker herself, waving and smiling.

The longer I live, the more I am convinced that God has an unrivaled sense of humor.  And sometimes, when He's throwing us a bone, He decides to get a chuckle out of it.

Girls, what happened next is indisputably one of the most embarassingly unrefined social interactions of my adult life.  Actually, my entire life.  I completely flipped out.  Like, to the nth degree.  It's like I was possessed.

In the history of doors, there has never been anyone as excited to open one as I was in that moment.  I cannot believe I am even going to describe this..... Mid-swerve, I flung my arms up in this L shape (you know how cheerleaders do that move with their arms fully extended, one up and one out? That was me, but with completely open jazz hands) and opened my mouth....the only word to describe the sound that came out is "trill".  I trilled this "Ah-ha-HA-ha-ha!" pattern, then took off for the door at a speed that any character on The Walking Dead would envy.  Seriously, the way I raced for that entryway you would think that she was escaping a zombie horde as opposed to standing in the afternoon sunshine at the back of a church simply because she couldn't open a locked door.  As I was running, I was literally telling myself to "calm down right now, you idiot!", but I just couldn't.  I was already laughing (out loud, which I'm sure made me look even more sane) when I got to the door. I ripped the door open with a resounding "HI!" and let her get almost all the way into the building before stepping just a little too close as I chirped, "Of course!" in response to her thank you.  I then opened my arms and asked, "Can I just hug you?"

Oh my gosh!  Oh my gosh!  Make it stop!  Who does that?  Who accosts someone that way?  A crazy person, that's who.  I am a crazy person.

And apparently, awkward hugs are my go-to move.  I'd love to say this is the first time this has happened, but it isn't.  Last year, at a school board meeting, I hugged the assistant superintendent. It was only the second time I had ever seen or spoken to her.  In my defense, I used to work for the school district, so am often hugging people when in that building.  And she did walk towards me with one arm out to the side (she was carrying a folder and trying to hand it to the person next to me, so I may have misinterpreted that a bit).  And, in addition, I was really tired and saw her out of the corner of my eye, so reacted before the identity of the person I was reaching for had fully registered.  At that point, it would have been more awkward to try and stop myself, so I just went all in and wrapped her up in a big ol' bear hug.  I believe her startled reaction was, "Oh! Okay.  We're doing this."  To which I replied, "What can I say?  I'm a hugger!"  Shanie, who (bless her) is a Director for this district and has to work with these people, so I had to promise not to let on that we're friends, was beyond the ability to breathe through her laughter when I sat by her and explained what had happened.  She looked at me in confusion and asked, "Are you a hugger? How did I not know this?"

No!! No I am not a "Hugger"!!  That's not a descriptor I would use at all!  I just couldn't think of anything else to say in that moment to help excuse my weird behavior.  I only hug people I know well.  Or, apparently, that walk up to me in professional settings.  Or for whom I open doors.  Yeesh.

Back to Jen.  I did redeem myself a bit when I directed her to the bathroom, I think.  And I cheerfully took pictures of her and anyone who requested it.  We had a lovely discussion on gardening and eggplants and recipes, which may have helped her not feel the need for a restraining order - though I did kick off that topic with the pronouncement that I would bless her by sharing the knowledge of my favorite thing about her.  When I said that I was sure she heard that all the time, her answer was, "Actually, I don't.  No one ever says that to me."  Fabulous.  Glad to be the first.

You'll be happy to know that my favorite Hatmaker fact is that she quotes Bon Jovi lyrics to her garden plants.  I know.  I am so deep.

Through tears of mirth, one of my friends to whom I related this story was commenting on how Jen would never believe that I actually lead worship or speak in public or write.  Yes, of this I am aware. Thank you for pointing that out.  I'll just stay categorized as the insane fan with no social skills or restraint who did a spirit dance then attacked her in a doorway; and out of the profound lessons in Seven, came away with 90s music references.  Stupendous.

After meekly asking for one pic of the two of us on my phone, I stayed away from her for the rest of the event, with the exception of walking her to her car Friday night.  It was late and she was parked back there alone (obviously I knew where she had come in).  Even crazy people have some manners and safety awareness.

In case you are wondering, the lesson/topic of the weekend was phenomenal and punch-you-in-the-face convicting.  Over 400 daughters of  the King laughed and cried and learned.  I am still processing her material and doctrine, and actually have many thoughts that I will share in a later correspondence.  Because, let's face it, none of you could take me seriously at this point.  I can't even take myself for real.

It's humbling to know that, at any age, you can geek out with the best of them.  Gregg's next national sales meeting is in Hollywood, and we have plans for me to join him there for a few days of getaway time.  I am already praying that we don't experience any celebrity sightings.  I obviously cannot handle it.

Solidarity, sisters.  Everyone loves hugger.

Ok, maybe loves is a strong word....tolerates?

Some people are worth melting for...

So, as promised, I have put together a follow-up blog complete with photos to prove I truly did venture into the world of wagon decorating to deliver on the Mommy delirium Frozen wagon promise.  It actually wasn't all that traumatic.  And the wagon came out pretty cute, too.

I hit Hobby Lobby during its duly-appointed time slot on the grid of insanity that is my schedule. Side note: Did you know that there is an app for this place?  And that they always have an online coupon?  It's a good one, too - like 40% off of an item!  And their Christmas section is already in full swing and on sale!  And that no matter how many people are shopping or waiting in line, they only man two registers at a time.  The staff is super nice, though.  So, there's that.

I digress.
Shopping.

I had allotted 40 minutes to get in, get shopped, and get out.  Yes, I am a total rookie.  I'll pause here to give the Hobby Lobby veterans a chance to wipe the tears of mirth from their eyes and collect themselves enough to continue reading.  We all good here?  Okay.

Realizing my mistake immediately upon seeing the checkout lines, I grabbed a basket, straightened my shoulders and charged ahead at a pace any mall walker would envy.  I gave myself a stern talking to about not getting sidetracked by all the aisles of sparkles (there is so much to look at, and all of it shiny or poofy or patterned), choosing to listen instead to the repeating voice of Steph's advice.  "Don't get fancy, sister", she admonished, "just slap some glitter on that business and be done with it."  Roger that.  Glitter is a go.  It's nice to have friends that understand our limitations without making us feel bad about them.

I quickly decided that this was not the time to get in over my head and try to create a masterpiece on the fly.  My solution was direct - I headed straight for the Christmas department and raced up and down the aisles, grabbing everything that was white, silver or sparkly blue.  I snagged three different types of snowflake ornaments, two packages of fake snowballs and some tinsel.  I blasted my way through the feather boas and quilt/toy stuffing.  I accosted HL staffers for help with glittery spray paint and spray adhesive.  I re-accosted another staffer for help with the tiaras (apparently, they are quite concerned with the likelihood that rampaging brides will steal $12.99 tiaras right out of the wedding zone, thus placing them in a locked case...like they are the most valuable thing in the store). I fidgeted my way through the checkout line wait, downloading of the magical coupon app and excited questioning of the very enthusiastic cashier.  I headed out the double doors, arms loaded down with $68 of supplies and a determination to decorate a wagon to be proud of if it killed me.

Naturally, I called for reinforcements that evening, bribing Pledge Ashley with promises of dinner.  I already had the wagon washed and prepped for glitter paint when she arrived, and we sprayed that puppy down with vigor.  Once it dried, we filled it with stuffing to approximate snow and then got to work picking out snowflakes.  Sweet Friend looked at me all wide-eyed and asked, "Where's your glue gun?'  Seriously?  I stood blinking at her for about 30 seconds, until she threw her hands up in exasperation, exclaiming, "How do you expect to craft without a glue gun?"
First of all, I never actually "expect to craft".  Ever.
Second, since when is "craft" a verb?
You'll be quite impressed (or horrified) to know that we did indeed secure four beautiful snowflakes to the wagon using Kinesiotape - it's that colorful stuff you see on marathon runners and Olympians.  I use it all the time as a PT....and I happen to have it in blue.  I knew we needed something that could stick to a plastic surface covered in glitter paint.  Booyah!

Emry's reaction was priceless.  Her excitement and wonder and appreciation were beyond anything I deserved.  We put a singing Olaf as the passenger, dressed her in her Elsa costume and tiara and headed to the parade of a lifetime.

                                            Look at that smile!  Best outcome ever!

The picture doesn't do the amount of sparkle justice.  I'll be cleaning glitter out of my car for months.  Just as I started to wonder if we had overdone things a little, we got to school, unloaded and made our way to the classroom.  The oohs and aahs over her outfit and crown and braid were adorable.  I headed to the gym to drop off the wagon, and was so very grateful for the crafting effort put into her little float.  These wagons were incredible.  They were colorful and creative and impressively themed.  In the corner of the gymnasium was a mother/grandmother team with a glue gun (apparently a common tool), building a mast onto a pirate ship wagon.  I kid you not.  It was epic.  And a bit scary.  My glitter paint didn't seem so out of control at that point.

The "parade" was just as precious as we expected it to be.  Parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts and teachers stood in the parking lot clapping and smiling and taking pictures while patriotic music blared from the lone speaker and our little darlings marched around the designated route.  Emry was so proud, waving and smiling as she marched by pulling her creation and occasionally shouting orders to the easily distracted little boy in front of her.  Those sweet little showmen walked around the assigned circular path no less than 137 times.  I am not even kidding.  I guess the school figured since we had put so much effort into the wagons, we would enjoy watching them go by over and over and over and over......

I'm not ashamed to say I shed a few tears as I watched.  She looked so grown up and pleased with herself.  Her face lit up every time she went by and saw us waving.  Her wagon, her dress, her hair....all were exclaimed over and complimented the entire morning.  When the parade was over, my little ice princess ran full tilt towards me, leaping into my arms and wrapping herself around me with abandon.  She hugged me tight, whispering in my ear, "Thank you, Mommy".

Oh, my heart.  Talk about a moment to freeze in my memory forever.
Who knew stepping outside of myself, of my comfort zone and preferences could be so rewarding?

I may even buy a glue gun....

Probably not.

Solidarity, sisters.  Life is art.

Another Day in the Life.....

So, I'm having guilt and some self-imposed stress because I made a deal with myself to blog more often, and I am failing miserably at this so far.  Thus, I decided today to share with you my journal entry from this morning.  Yes, I still manage to journal most mornings in spite of my insanity.  And, yes, I am opening those thoughts up to you, my friends.  It's getting real up in here.  Ready?  Ok!

"9/23/14

Yesterday was both rough and refreshing, which is odd to say, as I struggled through the day trying to survive on two hours of sleep following a night up with vomiting Emry.  She's such a little trooper, she really is.  Through all the dry heaving and puking she never cried once.  Just got a bit fussy.  And basically, all I did was hold her....all day.  I did work a bit - scheduling, supervising, checking e-mail...but mostly, I held her.

I'm not good at that often enough.

She was in Heaven.  She excitedly told everyone we spoke to (because we had to phone all grandparents or speak when they called and spread the news that Princess was sick) that she was skipping school to stay home.  Each person asked some variation of the question, "Is Mommy staying home with you?".  To which she would proudly reply, "It's just me and her!"  It was like rays of sun and rainbows and tangible joy pouring out of her.  Talk about uplifting...and humbling.  I know I could never do anything, be anything good enough to ever merit this kind of status and adoration from such an incredible little miracle.  What a gift.

The icing on her cake was the arrival of her Elsa dress.  She completely flipped out when we opened it.  And she looked like a dream when she put it on.  I got so enamored with the intense Day of Mommyhood and cuddles and her contagious excitement and twirling and posing and playing that I completely lost all sense of reality and somehow promised to create a Frozen themed wagon for her preschool parade.

This Thursday.

Heaven help me.

I have lost my ever-loving, can't-craft-to-save-my-life mind.  What was I thinking?  It's like I shifted into a parallel universe for the day.  I even built a break into my schedule for today so I can go to Hobby Lobby for supplies.  What?!?!

As I started to panic a little, getting overwhelmed by the insanity of my schedule and length of my to-do lists (because my stuff doesn't fit on only one list....and I have issues with losing lists), the little voice in my head went all retro on me and started singing "Have a Little Talk With Jesus".  I tried singing it to Gregg, which was challenging because the male and female vocal parts overlap, as do the lines - so one person can't do it justice.  Oh well, it's in my head now.  And it made Gregg laugh and shake his head over the soundtracks in my head.

Then I pulled this verse:
                      John 15:17 - This is my command: Love each other.

If I do nothing else today (I mean, I'll do tons today....so let's say if I do nothing else well), doing this...showing love to others....that is a great accomplishment.

Always.

So:
Patients, here I come.
Meetings, here I come.
Errands, here I come.
Carpool, here I come.
Hobby Lobby, here I come (yikes).

It's another day in the life.
And I love it."

There it is, my loves.  My morning musings, without polish or premise.  They're a bit discombobulated, but it was early and I was only halfway through my first cup of coffee.

I'll follow up with my Hobby Lobby adventure and final wagon result soon.  Just know that this will involve glitter.

Solidarity, sisters.  Every day is an accomplishment.

 

A Fond Farewell

Summer is over!  Well, I mean, summer vacation is over.  I realize the official first day of Fall is several weeks away, and that here in South Texas we are still in for ridiculous extremes of heat until Thanksgiving. Still, school has started (Praise!), so we can pretend.

The Friday before school started here, I actually had a pretty open day (shocking, I know), so I did what I always end up doing on a day that isn't too scheduled - I planned to do all kinds of organizing and starting-the-new-school-year-off-right projects.  Almost simultaneously as the project planning began, I promptly threw such ambitions out the window (not so shocking) in order to hold a brief (well, it was supposed to be brief) church event planning meeting, do one of the Girls a solid and watch her kids for a bit, and put together an end-of-summer river day for my boys and some of their friends.  I just can't help myself.  It's like a compulsion.  And then I wonder why my house is a disaster, my to-do list never shortens and I can't ever pull off Pinterest-worthy anything.  I'm never bored, though, so there's that.

At some point that Friday, I had 13 children go through my care.  I know.  I am ridiculous.

It all started with my three kids, of course....and one of my nieces was in town....and the sweet lady from church who came over to meet had her two grandkids....and Steph needed help with two of hers, one of whom is her sweet, adorable, tornado of a son, Aaron (who should probably count as three kids, but I did only count him as one - some of you may know him from the I'll Be Second blog).....then Mel's son came over to hang with Luke and play until Luke's buddy and his brother came over (because the brother and Mel's son are BFFs)......Drew's two friends entered the picture later.  It was chaos, complete and utter chaos.  There were kids everywhere - running, jumping, coming in and out, getting snacks, asking for water.... Aaron was supposed to have OT that morning, and since his OT and I are friends and co-workers, she braved the nonsense to get in a therapy visit.  Brave girl.  And he actually did very well, considering the chaos.  I was quite impressed with him and his ability to maintain his composure without getting too overstimulated or agitated with all the noise and distractions.  He did lose it briefly after his session, though, expressing his displeasure via the clear I-am-done-with-this act of beaming Emry in the face with a cucumber.  I am not even kidding.  I think we've established that I can't make this stuff up.  He also single-handedly demolished all order in my kitchen in a matter of 45 seconds or less, which is how he snagged the cucumber and got a shot off before I could catch him.  It was epic.  Points for style, coordination and comedic timing.  I could barely control my laughter as I attempted to corral/console/admonish.

Luckily for Steph's precious hubby, I am married to his soul mate, so I barely batted an eye when he showed up to get kids two hours late.  I finished cleaning peanut butter off the blinds (don't ask), threatened and loaded kids and dog into the suburban, then headed out to get the first of Drew's friends to join us. Hypothetically speaking, we may or may not have been a tad overcrowded in the suburban, and Luke may or may not have ridden in the back with the dog, under strict orders to lie down and not get Mom pulled over.  Maybe.  In theory.  Regardless, we made it in one piece, and I had Drew's other buddy meet us there so as not to endanger anyone (else) with overcrowding.  If that was indeed the case.  Here's the crew that survived the ride.

Don't count them.  Just trust me.

From this point on, the party started for real.  I don't know that I can adequately describe the intensity of swimming, fishing, wrestling, kayaking, turtle hunting, hot dog eating, laughing, cavorting, treasure-diving craziness that ensued.  They had a BLAST!!  And you know what?  So did I.

I was the only adult in the mix.  They were my only guests.  So, my focus was different than it usually is when we have tons of people out there or I am visiting with friends.  My sole purpose that day was to give them an amazing send-off out of summer.  I had a more intense period of one-on-one Emry time than usual.  She is hilarious!  I mean, I knew that, but got to see it up close and for longer than a few minutes at a time.  We held hands and walked into the rapids....suddenly, she stopped, tugged on my hand, and exclaimed in a loud voice, filled with joy, "Oh! I just LOVE the water, Mommy!"  She was literally beaming from the inside out.  At one point, she was wearing her pink life jacket and purple goggles that were on crooked and smushed her ears into weird shapes.  She stood, poised to leap into the rapids and shoot by me so I could catch her as she roared past (one of her favorite games).  Her pre-jump proclamation was, "Get ready, Mommy!  I'm gonna swim to you.  I'm gonna swim to you, like an angel!" (fist pump to emphasize).  

In that moment, my heart just soared.  

Bliss is the word that resonated through my very bones.

I looked down the river to the boys yelling and laughing and splashing, and an amazing peace washed over me.  I listened to their plans to catch the ultimate turtle, and their promise he would be mine to keep and name.....and I felt so very blessed.

I laughed and I swam and I got a good dunk or two in during the wrestling matches.  

I fed them hot dogs, and didn't worry about whether they were organic.

I let them eat Cheetos and Oreos and drink CapriSuns without checking sugar content.

I cut up a watermelon and let them eat it in the river.

I let the bigger boys stay in the water to fish and play Marco Polo as the sun went down.

I let go - of expectations and worries and should-have-done's and perfection-seeking, list-making neuroses.

It was sublime.

It was amazing.

It was the perfect end to summer.

And if Paradise includes curly-haired angels with flowered swim suits and mis-sized purple goggles.......

I'm all in.

We threw the turtle back, though.  I draw the line at Salmonella.

Solidarity, sisters.  I can tell you my love for you will still be strong, after the boys of summer have gone (Come on, 80's music fans!)

The Ice Bucket Cometh

It's nearly the first day of school, and I, for one, couldn't be more ready.  Summer has been fun and fabulous, but the tiny portion of my soul that belongs to the struggling-to-survive remnants of my former Type A personality can no longer handle the chaos.  I need routine and structure and consistency.....along with the chaos of all the sports schedules hitting us.  Our family master schedule (which I color code per person for activities) looks like a clown threw up on it (because apparently, I think clown vomit is bright and multi-colored).

Social media is a veritable smorgasbord of back to school pictures, quotes, videos and blogs.  Some are sentimental.  Some are hilarious.  Some are.....let's say, different.  But all are being trumped by the phenomenon sweeping the virtual nation.  I know you've seen it.  You may have participated in it.  It's the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge.  And I think it is absolutely beautiful.

People from all walks of life and every age are getting on board and allowing friends or loved ones to dump large containers filled with icy water over their heads.  They then issue the challenge to do the same to their friends and the cycle continues.  The challenged have 24 hours to respond.  Missing the deadline results in an expectation to pony up a $100 donation to the ALS Foundation.  Many people are choosing to do both.  It's brilliant.  It's hilarious.  And it's making a difference.  Since the challenge began, ALS has received over $15 million dollars in donations - way over it's usual pull.

In spite of this, there are critics out there who are upset with this "trendy" bit of fundraising and are picking it apart to point out why it's not a good idea, or is too silly, or is just feeding American narcissism even more.  I've read several articles where the author has either admonished the public to "quit dumping water on your head and just give the hundred bucks" or has used the defeatist logic that it won't raise enough money to make a difference anyway.  To any of these thinkers, I'd just like to say, "You've missed the point."

Because as someone who works very closely with families fighting off terminal or permanent or heart-breaking conditions, I can pretty much guarantee to you they don't see it that way at all.  Here's why:
1) It's not just about the money.  It's also about awareness.  And to create awareness, you have to get people's attention.  And to get people's attention, you have to create something fun or shocking, and make it something they can share.  How many of those dumping water over their heads never heard of ALS before this challenge?  How many children are asking questions and learning about this tragic condition?  How many friends are discovering the peers in their midst who have lost a family member to this disease, but just hadn't shared that information?  How many individuals and families feel a little less alone now that the world is looking at their illness?
2) It's about purpose.  God bless Pete Frates and his family.  His determination to make a difference and his support network's participation in putting out this idea are creating a legacy he probably never imagined.  I watched his video and bawled my eyes out as his mother sat looking into the camera with her unwavering stare while she explained their frustrations and the journey they are on.  I have no doubts she has days where she screams at the sky, "Couldn't you have picked someone else's son?"  I also have no doubts she couldn't be prouder of hers.  And she is determined he will leave his mark on this world, that his suffering will serve a higher purpose.
3) It's about community.  For now, and in this, the shivering masses are united in purpose.  Your neighbor, your brother, David Beckham, the cast of Grey's Anatomy.....all are joining in and experiencing the same situation.  When's the last time that happened?  The shrieks and laughter and gasps erupting from our collective selves are echoing across the nation.  The donations are pouring in from all over.  We are a team. We are stepping outside of ourselves, and teaching our kids to do the same.  We are caring for our brother. And it's all voluntary, and done with joy.
4) It's also about the money.  I don't know about you, but I happen to think $15.6 million is a lot of money. I also happen to think that every fund starts with a dollar.  If we all held to the philosophy that a drop in the bucket never matters, no fundraising or savings plan would ever work.  You've got to start somewhere.

As much as we may want to, we don't always get to pick our battles....especially the really hard ones.  We just get to pick how we react to them, and how we allow them to shape us.  I admire individuals who choose to use their stories in ways that will make the world a better place.  I am humbled by the strength of those who are dealt a terrible hand and still use it to trump their circumstances.  They are the true heroes of our age.  Of every age, really.

When Gregg and I participated in the challenge, Luke got to dump the ice on our heads.  In the video, he is literally dancing around in gleeful anticipation of "icing" his parents.  It's hilarious, and I've had many people comment on it.  The part no one saw, however, was his interest in discovering what the challenge meant and his complete focus on the video explaining it.  Every time he sees our video or tells the story, he'll remember its significance.  As Drew dances around, begging to be challenged, he clarifies that it's not just to get cold - he wants to help get rid of bad diseases. Emry, ever watchful, asks if it helps "kids like the ones Mommy helps".

Yeah.  They got the point.  And they'll remember it.

Hopefully, we all will.

Solidarity, sisters.  A tidal wave can start from a bucket.

Lemons vs Limes

So, let me begin by expressing my need to come to you, my friends, in confession of yet more of my fallacies.  I feel I owe some penance, seeing as how I have managed to go a ridiculously long time without writing (not a global tragedy, I know, but still….), thus once again proving how easily distracted I am and how much I suck at my whole “word of the year” thing – that word being discipline.  Um, yeah….not so much.

Summer just throws me off completely.  The constant lack of structure and changes to daily schedules makes my brain hurt and leaves me, at times, incapable of rational thought.  On the flip side, we are having an incredible fun-filled and active summer season, so there’s that. 

For example, last week, Gregg and I got to have an impromptu date night – on a Tuesday!  I wasn't as fascinated by the day of the week as much as he was, but he kept saying, “It’s a Tuesday evening,” so I thought it merited mentioning.  Maybe there’s a marriage or date night clause of which I am unaware stating what an exceptional circumstance this is.  He may know something I don’t here.  If any of you are aware of such a distinction, please feel free to enlighten me.  I’m always up for learning something new.

I digress.

Back to Tuesday Date Night.

Both boys were unexpectedly invited to last-minute sleepovers at friends’ houses, so I called my parents, wrangled a grandparent slumber party invite for the Bug, and texted Gregg to be ready for a date night extravaganza (ok, I didn't use exactly those words – he rolls his eyes at overly-flowery phrasing, and let’s face it, extravaganza sets the bar a bit high for a week night dinner date……unless it’s in Paris.  Then extravaganza is exactly the right word, don’t you think?).  We got all the dependents to their respective locations, changed clothes (I even wore a dress), and headed to a lovely local restaurant downtown.  It’s one of those places we rarely go because, well, kids.  After a few stuttering starts at attempted conversation (it always takes us a few minutes to warm up and get going in the cadence of normal adult conversation.  We’re so used to all of the start/stop interruptions and distractions that it takes us a few tries to string together multiple complete sentences.  Sometimes, I just stop talking in the middle of a story, like there’s a phantom interruption.  Which, to be honest, I don’t think is a real thing.  Like phantom limb pain – that’s a real thing.  It is, trust me.  My thing is probably just more proof that my attention span is ridiculously lacking….a fact made more obvious when there are no children around to blame).

That may be the single most ridiculous rabbit trail of my life…..I apologize.  Especially to any phantom limb pain sufferers.  I really wasn't trying to be flippant.

And now I’m lost.  Oh….dinner conversation.  Hang in there.  I promise I have a point.  Or at least an end to the story.

We were thoroughly enjoying our evening out – drinks, appetizers, a bubbly waitress named Candy (I jest not – she was delightful, even though I couldn't stop singing under my breath, “My name is Candy and I taste so sweet; you get a cavity each time we meet…” Anyone? Other children of the 80’s and 90’s?  Anyone at all?).  I even held on to enough self-control to order salad instead of steak smothered in blue cheese (discipline finally kicking in).  Not only did I order salad, but I chose to forgo the dressing and just asked for lemon slices.  My self-control knew no bounds.  Then came the hiccup.  Candy looked at me with the sweetest (ha!), most helpful expression and asked, “Is lime ok?”  She stood there, pen poised above her tablet, anticipating my affirmative response, ready to bounce back to the kitchen and place our simple order.

So, now I had a quandary.  Because lime is actually not ok.

It’s not the same, not really, and if I had wanted lime on my salad I would have asked for it.  Just like on the rare occasions I order a Coke, I want a Coke….and, no, Pepsi won’t work.  And when I introduce myself as Rebecca, that’s my name.  The one I answer to and have my whole life.  So, no, you may not call me Becky (I’m always surprised when people ask this.  It makes no sense.  Do you want people to substitute for your name?).

I sat, mentally arguing with myself.  Do I refuse the lime substitution?  Do I change my order to a less healthy dressing choice?  Do I forget the whole salad thing and order the steak?  Or do I just settle for something I didn't really choose, accepting it this time, thus making Candy’s job easier and preventing any more time out of date night conversation?  This particular restaurant does not have lemons, something I learned on a Girls’ Night a couple of years ago (and actually still get made fun of for when someone remembers it, because that time I did make it a hill to die on, engaging in the Unacceptable Substitutions lecture with our poor waitress that night), I had just forgotten that fact since we hadn't eaten there in so long (which, now that I think about it, may have been intentional on the part of my girlfriends or the restaurant itself, given the intensity of my lemon tantrum.  If memory serves, I think one of them actually ended up popping down the street to the store to sneak lemons in to me.  Not one of my best moments, I am aware.).

You’ll be relieved (or perhaps bored) to know I took the road less argued this particular evening.  I smiled pleasantly, nodded at Candy, and decided I could survive a lime-sprinkled salad for once.  It’s date night, after all.  On a Tuesday.  Why rock the boat?

Why indeed?

How many times have we dealt with the substitution crossroads?  Have you had those days?  Those times when you had your heart set on something, or your path set a certain direction, and time or circumstances or people derailed you with an offer of something….less, and the expectation that it should be ok.  Sometimes, we need to bend, and to give someone else’s suggestion the priority.  But other times….. There are hills to die on and expectations we should hang on to no matter what.  There are days when the search for the genuine trumps a surrogate every time, and when generic isn't going to cut it.  Our hearts beat for true love, joy and fulfillment, and nothing else will do.  Our souls are made for legitimate relationship – with Father, with others who have a positive presence and with intimacy that cannot be faked…..not for long, anyway.  Our hope is built and our faith holds strong when we refuse to settle for imitations or seek counterfeit comfort. 

Candy skipped off to the kitchen, pleased with uncomplicated table service.  I was a little disappointed, but also proud of my decision to be an adult and accommodating.  I looked across the table at my handsome husband, and before I could speak, he lifted his hands up, shrugged his shoulders and said, “What’s that about?  Why do they assume lemons and limes are interchangeable?  I mean, it’s like Pepsi and Coke.  Not the same.  Not the same at all….” Followed by, “You should write a blog about this, babe.  Seriously.  Lemons vs limes and all the annoying substitution attempts out there.”

I fell in love with him all over again.  Just when I think he can’t surprise me…..BAM!  The power of Tuesday Date Night manifests.  He totally gets me.

Plus, it’s the first time he’s ever weighed in on a blog.  So, naturally, I was inclined to acquiesce to his request.  Please tell me someone got that reference.

Solidarity, sisters.  Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby.

Because it's Father's Day

                                                   My dad cuddling with me at 3 weeks of age

I have to do a written tribute for Father's Day this year, for many reasons - two of them being the best, most loving dads a girl could ask for.  One I was born to and one I married.  And I thank God for them every day.  Because they really are incredible men.  And supportive husbands.  And fantastic fathers.  And really good sports - I mean, really.  It can't be easy playing the steady to the comedic drama fest that is our life.

While my life has always had a substantial, overt female influence, I've got to give kudos to the man who had to live in Estrogen World with three very strong personalities and their hormones, two of whom were relatively loud and outspoken, one of whom has a more sensitive heart => thus has always been prone to bursting into tears with somewhat alarming regularity.....especially when she's losing at family game night (sorry, Mom. You know I'm speaking truth in love).  Hats off to the man who handled an existence of accents and music, dancing and fighting, exotic foods and foreign concepts with aplomb.  It couldn't have been easy, especially since his upbringing was so devoid of all those things.
And he only has one brother.
So, you know, no concept of girl stuff.
Yet, he found a way to navigate the murky waters of parenthood - and parenthood of a firstborn girl, no less.  He learned to coach girls' soccer, despite never having played the sport himself.  He found the creativity and energy for stories and giggles, cuddles and tears, family vacations, sporting events and dance recitals galore.  He learned to use every conceivable piece of recording equipment developed in the 80's and 90's, and woe be to him if a battery didn't have enough charge to make it through an entire performance.  He survived slumber parties full of screaming, giggling girls who stayed up well past reasonable hours.  I'll never forget my 13th birthday party.....We were wired, of course, and rolling with laughter as one of my friends performed midnight cheer routines while wearing Medzma's balloon-stuffed bra.  Unbeknownst to us at the time, there were two different boy sleepovers happening in our neighborhood that night as well.  At separate times, each party snuck over and wrapped our house.  The second group was so bold as to ring the doorbell upon completion of the task.  Naturally, my dad came barrelling out of his room to the sounds of our fading shrieks as we oh-so-wisely unlocked the front door, threw it open, and ran screaming into the front yard and street - clad only in our tiny pj's.  In December.  At three o'clock in the morning.
I actually thought he might stroke out that night.

He survived, as dads do.
He also managed to survive:

• teaching me to drive a five-speed standard car
• multiple proms and homecomings
• letting me out of the house in a bikini
• the highs and lows of a teenage girl's dating life
• cheerleader tryouts (only once - I didn't make it. It may have scarred him for life)
• volleyball and track injuries and triumphs
• the world of dance 
• graduations - high school, college, grad school
• my first out-of-town vacation with a boyfriend
• my wedding - and all that entailed

Each step of the way, he had to redefine himself as Father, growing or shrinking the role as the occasion demanded.  And while I can't say I always agreed with the way he did so, I can say I'm so incredibly grateful that he did.  It made all the difference.  It colored all my memories.  It shaped my life and expectations and sense of self.

I married a guy who, at first glance, is almost polar opposite of my dad.  Gregg is outdoorsy and active, playful and competitive, all about practical application and the bottom line.  My dad is introverted, a little anti-social at times, academic, kind of sedentary and full of esoteric facts and information that is often completely weird and not something we can relate to (love you, Daddy).

And yet.....

My husband, love of my life and father to my three beautiful children, grew up in a country setting with one brother, mostly male cousins and a hard-working single mom.  He'd never even set foot in a dance recital before he met me, yet managed to brave The Nutcracker twice (because I was in it) the year we started dating.  He has endured performances, drama, accents, foreign foods and traditions, hormones and spontaneous recreations of iconic musical numbers without batting an eye (or at least without developing a twitch).  He embraced Fatherhood head on (luckily, with a two son warm-up before Hurricane Emry arrived) and rises to its challenges with regularity, strength and patience that sometimes astounds me.

When Luke began to play soccer, he stepped in to coach, in spite of never having played the sport himself.  He's helped coach Drew's team every season save one.  When Luke decided he wanted to take hip hop lessons, he showed up to every recital or competition, video camera in hand, ready to record the three minutes our son was in after sitting through four hours of all the girls - and he did this for four years.  When Emry was born he learned to love pink and to change diapers even when intimidated by the parts he was cleaning.  He's even found the courage to mangle his way through a curly ponytail or two.

He coaches our sons in football and basketball.

He teaches our daughter to swim.

He drives kids to school every morning he's in town.

He fishes with them, and tickles them, and doles out hugs and high fives.

He prays with them every night at bedtime.

He can dunk a basketball or pretend cookie in imaginary tea with equal skill.

Gregg holding three-week-old Emry

I watch my daughter blossom every time he tells her she's pretty, or smart, or strong.

I watch my sons stand taller when he takes them to shoot hoops, and then comes in bragging to me about what each of them did well.

He naturally reinforces their sense of self, even as he watches them grow and develop.  I watch the subtle shifts in his relationship with each one as they mature.

He'll redefine himself as Father, growing or shrinking the role as occasions demand.

He'll continue to be an integral part of their core, their memories and their expectations.

And it will make all the difference.

Because we are genetically encoded for this.

We are, at our very core, created to crave this concept of Father.  To look up to, seek assurance from and find approval in Him.

To know that we are loved, and protected, and special.

To feel the strength and security that comes from a daddy who blesses us with his presence and his unconditional love.

I applaud the men out there who are doing this to the best of their ability, who are successful in imparting any measure of this to their wives and children, and who continually strive and sacrifice to this end.  You are appreciated, and you are bestowing a gift that cannot be overstated onto the generations to come.  Thank you. We love you, even when the noise and chaos and drama overwhelm our ability to say so.

Remember that......

Solidarity, sisters.  You are beloved by your Father.