Another Looney Tunes Lesson? Geez!

First, a brief disclaimer:

It occurs to me that perhaps I watched too many Looney Tunes episodes as a kid (see post: Just Call Me Roadrunner). However, I'm making a valid point in my own way, so just roll with it, would ya? :)

Everyone remembers Ralph the Wolf, right? I know, I know, he looks a lot like Wile E Coyote...but he is NOT! Oh, no... THIS guy is a wolf! LOL
While Ralph is cute and somewhat harmless, as was obvious by his unsuccessful attempts to catch sheep on Sam the Sheepdog's watch; there is a similar predator in the real world that is much more dangerous.
BEWARE: The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
AKA: Fake Christians!
Yup. Unfortunately, they are not simply cartoons.
Fake: Noun: A thing that is not genuine; a forgery or a sham.
Adjective: Not genuine; counterfeit.
I suppose not all things that are fake are harmful:
Faux fur. Not so bad, saves little animals, is easier to care for. A good kind of fake.
Some things are fake because the real thing is not readily available. Like, ummmm….Fake blonde hair (hmmm….I don’t know ANYONE personally who is guilty of this).
Some are fake because, well, honestly I’m not sure why at all. Take for example:
Fake tan (ahhhhh, especially the orange version, like Snooky!)
All of these are simply imitations. Imitations of something that truly exists. None of them are hurting anyone (except perhaps our eyes in some cases).
But...I’m talking about FAKE CHRISTIANS today. This is something that truly makes my stomach turn. For grins, I did a Google search of the words ‘fake Christian’, just to see what would come up.
Here’s a good definition that popped up:
“Someone who attends church services with the intention of appearing as a genuine Christian but whose intentions are solely to misguide others on his true nature”
BA-DUM-PUM! Those are the people I am talking about!
So, this brings me to wondering WHY people would want to give the perception that they are Christian? What do they gain? If you don’t believe in the walking the walk, why would you want to pretend to?
To give people a false sense of security. That's why! To gain their trust, and then deceive them in an effort to advance themselves. Creepy, right?
In today’s world, everyone is online it seems. And in the cyber world, a person can be anything they choose to be. Much like a pedophile can hide behind the identity of a 12 year old girl, and stalk their innocent prey behind a fake photo and profile in a chat room; a fake Christian can hide behind a false identity online and paint a portrait of a holy person that simply does not exist.
We all know at least one person who claims to be a Christian, but treats people horribly, has no moral character and will use others to get ahead. Don't we?
I've witnessed 'Christians' who have extramarital affairs. I've witnessed 'Christians' who have stolen from others, who will stand in a church and speak ill of others. I've seen them backstab in order to get ahead, I've seen them turn their heads when others did wrong rather than stand up for what was right.
It's all fake. They walk around with their heads held high because they throw an envelope in the collection basket, but when it comes time to actually act on it; they choke.
Now, please do not misunderstand. I am in no way claiming to be a perfect Christian. There's no such thing. I know I make mistakes. I know sometimes I say or do things that do not represent God. I'm not pretending to be something I'm not here.
I'm simply saying that in a world where everything seems to be fake:
We have sugar substitutes and butter substitutes to cook with, and fake cigarettes to smoke and fake beer to drink...
At least something should still be authentic. Christianity.
Either you are, or you aren't. Why does their have to be gray here, too? I mean, seriously, I've got enough gray in my hair, I don't need it in my church. If you wear a cross around your neck, have a fish on your car, or ESPECIALLY if you stand at a pulpit and preach the 'gospel' to others.....dangit, I want to believe it's because you mean it! Not because it's cool, or because it makes you seem reliable...or because you want to sneak into my pasture and eat my damn sheep!
Yet, sadly, that's not the case. If only there were a way to distinguish the fake from the real deal. Like a retinal scan, or one of those little beeper things that makes stolen items set off an alarm at the store. Unfortunately, we all have our gut instinct that probably DOES set off an internal alarm when dealing with some of these schiesters...but we ignore them. We ignore them because we want to see the good in people, or we feel WE aren't being Christian if we doubt people's intentions.
Even better, wouldn't it be awesome to have the ink alarm tags (like they have on clothing) on everyone that claimed to be a Christian? And then, if they are faking it and doing something terrible, BAM! Ink everywhere!!!
Yeah, now THAT would rock!
Until one of us figures out how to do all of this, we are going to have to rely on our internal alarm system. As true Christians, we have to stick together. We have to form a reliable network and watch out for the wolves. It's sad, but true.
And for any wolves who may be reading this...Sam the Sheepdog is watching. He goes by the name of God. Maybe you have pulled the wool over the eyes of some simple human beings, and patted yourself on the back you succeeded. But, just remember...The Big Guy doesn't forget. Someday, when you least expect it, He's gonna call your number. And then???? Ohhhhhh, Lucy, you gotta lotta 'splainin to do!
Do us all a favor. Find a new gig. We have more than enough Snookie to go around, we don't need MORE fake. K?

Destructive Diva and Her Posse

Kids

They’re funny creatures.  Sometimes, I’m a little jealous I must admit, of their ability to let their minds wander to far away places that we, as adults, would never even contemplate.  Other times, however, I find myself scratching my head and thinking, ‘Man…I never thought I’d have THIS conversation!’

Case in point:

This morning, while soaking up what teensie weensie bit of sort of, kind of tolerable, not quite death-inducing humidity we had available to us at about 7am.  Yep, this is what it’s come to here in Missouri….desperate attempts to absorb a little Vitamin D by staying as still as possible and pretending it’s enjoyable.

Anywhoo, as we were outside, me on the porch swing checking emails and 10 and 5 playing with our dog, Indy, I made my way inside to grab another cup of sustenance.  I mean, coffee.  No, who am I kidding?  I mean sustenance.  This post is all about honesty, so let’s just throw it out there.  We all know I BLEED coffee.

As I returned to the front of the house, coffee in hand, I found the kids with the front door wide open, both with a look on their faces that told me something was up.  There was an idea stirring about in their tiny heads, and my stomach got that feeling that says, “Oh snap.  What did you guys do NOW?”

Thankfully, they hadn’t done anything wrong, yet.  In the approximately 47 seconds it had taken me to meander through the house, fill my cup, and return to my place of origination, though, they had apparently had just enough time to concoct an extremely whimsical idea that left me thankful that I hadn’t decided to use the restroom or anything during my brief jaunt in the A/C.

‘Mom,’ 10 says, with that slight whine in her tone that tells me I should brace myself on the nearest piece of furniture.  ‘I’m just letting Indy look around, and showing her the inside of the house from here.’  Upon further inspection, I realized that not only were both kids standing there in the doorway, but Indy was there as well, standing on my entry rug.  She had a look on her face that was obviously unsettled, and her stance told me she knew full-well she shouldn’t be in the house.  She looked at me, her brows crinkled down, and I could tell she was thinking, ‘Do I stop and play dead? Stand very still and hope she doesn’t see me?  Do I stop drop and roll? Hide under my desk and cover my head?  Which one of those emergency drills am I supposed to be doing right now? ‘

What 10 said next left me scratching my head.  ‘Mom,’ (again, the slightly whiney voice that implies, If I word this just right, and use just the right tone, maybe she will go for it) ‘Can I just bring Indy upstairs for a minute and show her our bedrooms and bring her right back down?’

OMG. Is she serious?  Indy stood there with an anticipation in her presence.  She doesn’t speak English, I’m nearly positive based upon our previous encounters with even the simplest of conversations like, “Stop eating my flowers, DAMMIT!”  However, she could tell something was up, and maybe it was BIG!

Let me just clarify why this is such a pie in the sky request.  THIS is Indy!

She is a two year old Rottweiler mix.  Actually, to be more specific, she is an adorable sweetheart stuck inside of the body of an elephant with fur.  She doesn’t realize she is a hog, and therefore it’s sort of like living with a bull inside of a china shop….ALL the time.  She has accidentally knocked 5 down with her butt upon making a sudden and unsignaled turn.  Yep, this girl needs blinkers on stalled on her butt. 

When we adopted her, we were told she was a Border Collie mix.  We were assured that they KNEW the mother, watched her be born, knew for sure she was a Border Collie mix. The small amount of tan on her made us think she was part German Shepherd.  We walked into that shop, just to look (isn’t that the way it always goes?) and 5, who was 3 at the time, walked up to a pin of puppies.  This puppy walked right up to him, turned her nose down and pushed her little bitty head right up to the cage at his face and peered her brown eyes up at him.  Then, she raised her paw and put it into his hand. 

That was it.  It was true love.  Border Collie/German Shepherd.  We could do that.  It could work.  Outside, of course, but they are both highly intelligent dogs….so win/win.

It was 4^th of July weekend, so we named her Indy for Independence Day and everyone fell in love.  She chewed up the drywall in the garage, but we forgave her.  She ate everything BUT the toys we gave her, but she was cute, so we let it slide.  She would go outside and refuse to poop, just to walk right in and poop on the garage floor.  But, again, she was cute, sooooooo……..

And then….she began to grow.  Her body lengthened and her coloring changed like one of those little 2” square washcloths that you buy at The Disney Store.  You put them in water and slowly the open up and reveal the design that was tucked neatly into that tiny package.  YUP, that was our Indy.  She was growing, unfolding, and turning into one ENORMOUS washcloth! 

As her head shape changed, we kept looking at her thinking ‘Where is the long skinny Border Collie nose?’  And then, it happened.  Her chest began to get more broad, and then her head followed, and before we knew it we looked at each other and said, “That is NOT a Border Collie!”

Yep.  We got bamboozled.  She’s a Rott.  A sweetheart, and a wonderful guard dog…but a Rott.  Once, she picked up a piece of 14" firewood and carried around like it was a tiny stick.  She was completely offended that I wouldn’t throw it for her to fetch, for fear of breaking a window or killing a passerby.  This girl is hard-core. 

Exhibit A:

As I imagined her rummaging around with her porcupine needle claws on my beautifully stained hickory stairs….or even worse, her big dopey self taking a nice little roll around on my white carpet….I must have had a look on my face that said, “Over my dead body.”

I simply raised my hand, as if to shoo her out, and Indy turned and walked right back out the door, disappointed little face drooping toward the ground. 

I could read her mind as she pouted her way back outside.  ‘Damn.  I thought that was gonna work this time. ‘  Even her cutest Puss In Boots doe-eyes cannot convince this mama to let that Neandrathal into the house. 

If it would just rain, perhaps she would see her reflection in a puddle like Bambi after the winter.  As he looked down at his own reflection, he saw antlers and realized that he was a big buck now.  Yep.  Little does she know, she is not a lapdog, and a lapdog she will never be.    Tazmanian Devil, that’s  more her speed.  Tazmanian Devil, with a heart of gold, but an inability to control her path of destruction.

That’s my girl.

Oh Snap. An Inadvertent Therapy Session

Today, I am inspired by this quote.

Why?  Because it is the honest-to-God truth, that's why!

I have recently discovered, through  my own life experiences, and without the need of expensive psychological therapy (yay, me!), that until you can truly adopt THIS way of thinking....you cannot fully be yourself.

Part of my realization happened last night, while at Zumba of all places.  I had someone come up to me after class (Wassup, girl...you know who you are!) and tell me how much she liked my blog.  She had just discovered it, and said she found herself laughing out loud at some of the posts.  She went on to tell me that she liked how honest I was, and that she liked the way I just put things out there.

To be completely honest with you, this is reasonably new for me!

Well, the putting it out there part--not the thinking it part. 

It's only been since completing 'Sit Down, Shut Up and Let Go', and being brave enough to put it out there for the whole world to see, that I have realized that I am comfortable enough in my own skin to pretty much say 'Go take a flying leap' to those who will judge me.

As a kid, I wasn't very confident.  That followed me into adulthood, I suppose, because it has occurred to me that sometimes I hampered my own 'me-ness' in order to fit in in a crowd that I never should have wanted to fit into.  It's like trying to shove an orange into a spot in an egg carton.  I'm an orange...I'm always going to be an orange.  I can sometimes be bitter.  I'm reasonably acidic, so I give some people indigestion.  Sorry 'bout that.  But, no matter what I do, I'm not an egg.  And I don't fit in there with the other 11 eggs to make a tidy little dozen.  So, I'd rather go hang out in the citrus section and wait to be picked up by the people who are looking for oranges.  :)

 If I could have a do-over, I would certainly go back and be more myself and less who others wanted me to be, that's fo sho! 

As I was completing the editing process on the book, I had a couple of people proof read it for grammar and punctuation.  My first experience with this was horrible. 

Keep in mind that I had poured 10 years into this project.  It wasn't a fictional story based on something I conjured up in my vivid imagination...

Each page contained my life.  My feelings, my thoughts, my soul.  I put every emotion I had ever experienced (some I had never admitted openly before) into those pages, all in the hopes of helping someone.  I was torn on whether to even be so honest with some of it, for fear that it could be misinterpreted; but I felt I owed it to those who may read it to be completely forthcoming...because if someone reading it could find themselves there inside of those words, then perhaps they would see that they weren't alone.  And THAT, my friends, was the whole point.

I submitted my manuscript to a woman with much more education and literary experience than myself, and sat by my computer with a nervous anticipation not unlike a kid waiting for the Tooth Fairy.  "Oh, what will she bring me?  Oh....it's gonna be good!"

Nope.  Not so much. 

At first, it wasn't too bad.  Simple grammar and punctuation, as I had suspected.  Those of you who follow my blog know that I have my own technique in these categories, which involves a lot of commas and a lot of this: ....

LOL

It didn't take long for the critiquing to hit below the belt, though.  For those who have read 'Sit Down, Shut Up and Let Go', you know that I wrote it very conversationally.  It's not a whole lot different from this blog, I suppose.  I wrote it just like we were sitting together, sharing coffee and talking about our lives.  I wanted it to be a story...my life story, of course, but a story.  Something you could relate to even if you had not had a similar experience, and one that would leave you feeling like you had walked that road along WITH me.  That way, maybe you could learn something from my journey, and it could spare you some of the pain I had experienced...making it all the more worth it.

So.  I can only describe 'Sit Down, Shut Up and Let Go' (which, btw, whose idea was it to make such a long title?  That takes forever to type) as a humorous memoir, despite the fact that it involves death and destruction.  :)  If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that though I am a very strong Christian, I also have a somewhat wicked sense of humor.  I simply can't help myself, and I feel that since God made me this way, He should fully expect me to be this way and therefore not hold me accountable!  LOL

Though the book is approximately 25 chapters of tears and pain, it also has a hefty amount of humor.  For example: 

' I hope that after traveling this road with me you can open your eyes to His gentle nudges, and place your hand in His so that He can help you.  Open your heart, your ears, and your mind as you read and try to find YOUR savior as you read about mine.  If for no other reason, do it so that he doesn't have to resort to whacking you in the back of the skull with a shovel to get your attention!'

Let's just say that this technique of honesty and humor did not sit well with my proofreader.  She found this to be very offensive and harsh, and before long, I was receiving pages covered in red changes and comments like, "Are you KIDDING me?  You absolutely CANNOT say that!"

In another chapter, I think I nearly landed her in therapy when I said:

'Still numb, floating around in an enormous body, scared to death and becoming more of a robot every day, I just kept going back.  It's kind of like how no one tells you that once you have kids, you will probably pee when you jump.  '

Now, seriously.  It's true, right?  And, let's be honest here.  If I filled this entire book with nothing but facts, it would be nothing more than a book about a baby dying.  Who in the world wants to read that?  Without the goofy humor, it would just be a story...but it wouldn't be my story.

Suffice it to say that at first, I was devastated.  I took each of her red marks to heart, and by the time it was said and done, I was defeated.  I had been SO proud of that manuscript.  It took a lot for me to put it all into words, and to re-live each of those moments as I put it all down.  Sometimes I cried so hard as I wrote that I could no longer see the computer screen through my tears.  I got nauseated as I recounted my journey with Ty, and sometimes my hands would shake with nerves as I tried to type.  Some of those details, those memories...they took me right back to that place.  All of those feelings are filed neatly in a file cabinet in the back of my mind.  I had stored them there, all color coded and tidy...But sometimes opening the drawer and letting them out was painful.  And now, I felt like I had scratched the scab off of that wound for no reason.  This woman, far more educated than little ole me, thought it was crap.

I toiled over how I could change it, alter it, salvage it somehow.  I was so overwhelmed with mixed emotions, and it was as though someone had pulled the rug right out from under me and didn't even pad my pants with Charmin first.  I was just beside myself.  It was all I could think about.  I had felt so good when it was finally done.  I felt like I had done just as God had intended for me to do...and now I felt like I was going to have to start over from scratch.  But how do you start over when you already did it once?  I mean, is that even possible?

My husband told me I was being silly and that I should simply disregard what this proofreader had said.  In fact, I never even finished reading her comments.  I just stopped.  I couldn't go any further.  It was similar to being back in high school PE class, and standing there with all of my classmates as the team captains selected their softball teams.  God, I hated that.  I sucked at sports, and was always the last one chosen.  The only time I had a prayer was if one of my friends was team captain, and chose me out of pity.  Now, all these years later, I was standing there again, tail between my legs, watching as all the overweight kids and weird kids and kids with two left feet got chosen before me. 

After my grieving was over, I decided to seek out one last person to proof that manuscript.  I was referred by a friend to a college English professor.  She had me mail her a copy so that she could physically hold it as she read it.  She was old school, and I liked that.

I was so nervous about what lay ahead.  She had pinpointed a weekend that she planned to read it, and I mailed it to her a week and a half prior to that weekend.  Imagine my surprise when she called me just days later.  She had already read it, and was finished with her recommendations. 

We set a time to meet, as she wanted to go through everything in person.  Man, I was so nervous about this meeting that I couldn't sleep.  This was it.  If this woman hated it as much as the last, I was done.  That's it. 

When she arrived, she was perky and happy.  She sat right down at my kitchen table and I made her a cup of coffee.  So far, so good.  Surely if she was going to crap in my Cheerios, she wouldn't accept a cup of coffee right?

As we went through the manuscript, page by page, the only thing I saw circled was commas.  The only notes written in the margin were things grammatical.  Could it be? 

She went page by page with me, laughing as she went because I was 'comma happy'.  When we were finished, she said exactly what I needed to hear.  She simply said, 'I dont' think you should change a thing, other than these commas.  It took me a little bit to catch on to your style of writing.  Once I did, I like it!  If you were to change this manuscript, it would no longer be YOU.  You should leave it exactly as it is.'

I can't tell you how happy this made me.  I needed that positive feedback.  I needed someone to understand what I was trying to do, and appreciate it for what it was instead of hacking it to death.  I know, without a doubt, that this woman was put in my path so that I would not give up.  God wanted me to get this book done, and He knew that I needed a pick-me-up.  That God, He knows stuff.  :)

Before she left, she kindly offered me a bit of advice.  "Now, you now you are going to have critics...right?"  I knew exactly what she meant.  Any book with a Christian message is going to be scrutinized.  This is one thing I am perfectly comfortable being criticized for.  When it comes to The Big Guy, I'm confident.   Me and Him, we are BFF's.  No one can take that away from me. 

I found my confidence again, and within days that manuscript was in the hands of the publisher.  The road that led me to that place also made me realize that I needed to be that way in my daily life.  I realized that I didn't need to change, I simply needed to be myself...obnoxious as it may be to some...and those who like me will like me for who I am.  As for the rest, well, who cares?  There will never be a time that everyone in the world loves me.  Or you, either, for that matter.

So, seriously, why waste precious time scratching and clawing for something that isn't going to happen?  Personally, I'd rather spend it being me....knowing that the people who surround me can appreciate me for me (or at least tolerate me), and everybody else will make themselves feel special by criticizing us and pointing fingers and judging.  And in the end, they will be left wondering who THEY truly are....because they wasted their time trying to figure ME out instead of finding THEMSELVES.
Boom-shaka-laka!  How's THAT for an epiphany?

So, thanks, Eleanor Roosevelt.  I wish I had read this darn quote a long time ago.  You know what, though?  I have found ME again.  I found my laughter, I found my happiness, and I surround myself with people who can appreciate that.

Wow, this turned out to be a really, really long blog post.  Sorry about that!  Hey, good things take time.  Or, perhaps I ramble.  It's a toss up, it could go either way.  But the moral of the story is:

Be who you are.  And don't apologize for it.  As long as you are kind, well-intentioned and honest...that's what truly matters.  And as for those people who try to bring you down...

LIFE'S TOO SHORT.

End of Discussion.

(That will be $100 for this therapy session, please.  I take cash and credit cards.)

Health Food Nazi

What is it with people?
I mean, if you DON'T know me, but you are trying to sell me something...please do not say things to offend me.  Seriously, you are NOT helping your case any.

The kids and I went into a local health food store today.  It is fairly new to our town, and about the size of a bedroom.  However, I was on a mission for one item...ONE.  Uno.  Some of you already know that my family and I are health nuts.  I don't wear Jesus sandals, and I don't have dredlocks. I'm not what I would classify as 'granola', but we do shop at places like Whole Foods, we eat organic, and we use things many of you would laugh at like all natural deodorant and toothpaste.  I loooooove health food stores, and healthy grocery stores.  I actually enjoy walking up and down each aisle, looking at each item.  I make my husband mad when we go on vacation, because I always want to go to the local grocery store and explore.  I know, I'm a dork.

The other thing you may know is that I have some super crappy food allergies as a result of a candida yeast overgrowth.  I can't eat anything fun like wheat, oats or rice.  That means no bread, no pasta, and no cake or pie. 

Now that you have my backstory, I shall continue.  So, I found these recipes for 'raw' desserts.  Excited about the possibility of actually being able to participate in dessert again, the kids and I set out for the one ingredient I didn't have in my pantry:  Coconut Butter.

I know I have seen this at Whole Foods, but that's nearly an hour away.  In a pinch, and with a desperate excitement I was trying to contain, we walked into this bedroom-sized store. 

The owner IS what I would call granola.  She immediately spotted us on the sidewalk, before we even entered the store.  As soon as that little bell jingled, she was out of her seat and ready to help.  I told her what we were looking for, and as she walked toward it (she literally only has two free standing racks, creating two aisles...so we weren't exactly on a grand expedition here...she begins a conversation that I found offensive.

"So.  You've heeeaaaaaarrrrrdddd of coconut butter?" She says to me, looking over her shoulder like I was a freaking moron who had just recently  learned to function in society.  I wanted to shout at her, "Look lady.  This ain't my first rodeo.  I know what all this stuff in your store is.  I didn't just down a Big Gulp and put my cig out on your doormat, then walk up in here in a cloud of smoke, acting like a health nut."

Thankfully, I refrained from saying all the things I was thinking, and simply agreed with her.  She walked to the aisle, where two jars of this coconut butter sat.  I picked it up, and she stood watching me like a nervous mother, waiting to be told her kid is cute.  I flipped it over to find the price tag, because, let's be honest--it's gotta be worth it.  $14.  Yup.  $14.  I sat the jar back on the tiny shelf and told her, basically, thanks but no thanks.  She looked at me with a desperate look in her eye, and I told her that I didn't $14 need it, because I can substitute coconut oil, which I have at home. 

She proceeded to stammer around about how it was so good for you, blah, blah, blah.  It only went downhill from here.  She asked if we had been in the store before, and I kindly told her we had been in right after she opened.  I told her we would take a look around before we left. 

She then began her high-pressure sales techniques.  'Isn't there anything ELSE you may need?'  she asked.  I wanted to tell her that I just went to the grocery store yesterday, so my pantry and fridge were all stocked up.  I didn't, though, because I was still trying to be nice at this point. 

She then stood in front of us, almost blocking our path, and asked if my kids had all of their vitamins?  'Yup, we're good.'

Ugh.  We walked around the corner to the next, and last aisle.  Seeing nothing I needed, and certainly not at her high prices, I was ready to leave.  We walked toward the door, which is by her register, where she sat, perched and waiting to pounce.

Fabulous.  She sat there like a turkey vulture, and I felt like a possum struck by a car...wounded but  not dead, watching her circle above me....waiting.

Her next question appeared innocent enough at first.  She asked the kids if they were ready for school to start.  "Oh yeah, I'm ready." Said 10.  "Are you getting bored?"  The lady asked.  I laughed, and said, "Yeah,they keep saying they are bored and there's nothing to do.' 

Little did I know that this apparently means that I let my kids sit around and play video games all day or something, because this woman's response was remarkably assuming.  "Yeah, it just seems like kids don't know how to play anymore, doesn't it?"

SERIOUSLY?  Anyone who knows me knows that my kids are extremely creative.  They play outside constantly, we do not own video games, and they are very limited on their television programs.  In fact, they are only allowed to watch a television show after I have watched it and approved it.  They are only allowed to watch a couple of shows per day....the rest of the time I expect them to be playing and being creative.

Oy.  I couldn't get out of this store fast enough.  At this point, surely this woman could see that my blood pressure was rising, right?

Oh no.  Apparently, I hide it super well.  As we finally got to the welcome mat, and I got my hand to the door, I thought I was home free!  Newp. 

She was still scratching for a sale, and asked me one more time if I was sure that I didn't need anything else.  I told her I was sure, and tried to escape.  It was then that she said, "Oh, it's too bad I'm out of newsletters.  I would give you one...but I'm out."
Then she pointed at a little rack of magazines.  I had already seen them there, and knew they were the same free health store magazine that I normally pick up at my regular health food store.  She tried to get me to take one, but I already had one foot out the door, literally. 

I told her that I already had it, and she had the nerve to ask me, "Well, you already told me you haven't been here since I first opened.  How can you have THIS one?  It's the new edition."

OMG, seriously?  This woman could apparently argue about anything.  She forced me to tell her that I get it at another local health food store.  At this point, the door was all the way open, and I was walking out.  She still wasn't done, though.  She pointed out the Healthy Planet newspaper on the bottom shelf.  'What about that?  Do you have that?" 

'Yep.  I get that at Whole Foods.' 

'Oh', she said.  With this, I shewed the kids out the door and back to the car.  Holy cow, the nerve of some people, I thought.

In 3 minutes time, she tried to push vitamins at me, offended me by implying that my kids don't know how to play on their own, and then all but called me a liar when I said I already had the free magazine she was offering.

Needless to say, I won't be back.  I'm pretty sure I will drive 20 minutes to my normal health food store. 

It's things like this that make me hate people.  LOL

Ode to Espresso

They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.
The problem is, what if you don't think your problem is a problem?  Is this a problem?

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?  Just making sure you're still with me.  :)

It's innocent enough, really. It's not hurting anyone.  I don't pressure others into trying it, and I don't miss work or social events because of it.  If anything, I believe it enhances my personality, my drive, my stamina, my Me-ness, if you will.

Sure, I do drive while it's effects are still in my system.  Hell, often, I'm driving my kids around WHILE I'm doing it.  It's the first thing I think of when I open my eyes.

Lately, I'm dreaming about it (seriously).

My tolerance has increased, so I often need another fix in the afternoon.  There have been rare occassions when it has happened a third time, around 5 pm...but that's normally only if I am heading out to go to zumba and need a little kick in the pants.

It's coffee.  Not just Folgers people.  I'm talkin, the hard stuff. 
It all started so innocently.  We were vacationing with many of my husband's family.  The older siblings would hover around the coffee maker, just waiting for that trickle to begin.  I looked at them like a bunch of crackheads; standing in heated anticipation, cups clentched in their hands.
WTH is wrong with these whack jobs?  I thought.

Until I surrendered.  I had a small cup, just out of curiosity.  I only tried it once.   Like heroin, apparently it's grip is tight.  That was it. 
The next morning, I stood in line like a baby bird, waiting for mama to chew up the worms.  Where was mine?  Would there be enough?  'OMG, what is happening????' I asked myself.

And now, 8 years later, I'm a hardcore junkie.  I refuse to give it up.  You are not the boss of me.  You cannot make me.

I was so happy when a little drive thru coffee shop opened in my town.  Having no chains like a Starbucks or Kaldi's, this was like Heaven had finally shone down upon our small community.  The Coffee Cabin had a drive thru window on each side.  It was a tiny little place, but the menu was endless.  I quickly became spoiled by the beautiful espresso-filled creations that came from Sarah and Connie's impressive minds.  Each day, they would feature a flavor on their board.  Sarah, the master-mind behind most of them, was very innovative.  I became completely obsessed with her iced Americano, as it came sweetened to perfection, with just the right amount of cream.  I've never found another barista who can even come close. 
Sadly, the Coffee Cabin closed its doors when the economy's decline became too much for them to recover from.  I was so obsessed, and had become such good friends with the owners, that I actually launched a Save the Coffee Cabin rally.  We hung flyers, it was featured in the local newspaper....people were making donations and we all worked to save our little cup of heaven. 
The building itself has been relocated, and sits vacant in the lot of a nearby grocery store.  Each time I pass it, I think of my daily trip after dropping my daughter off at school.  If there were some sort of family emergency, and the Open sign was not lit when I approached, I honestly felt a twinge in my soul.  OMG...How can this be? 
I'll admit, some days I was there more than once.  My kids loved to go thru that drive thru and toss coins into the tip jar that sat on the windowsill.  Sarah and Connie knew to take cover, as 5 was quite the flipper of the coins, and someone could easily lose a front tooth should they be silly enough to let their guard down during tip-tossing time. 


I'm embarassed to admit that I have a reoccuring dream in which Sarah returns to the area and opens another coffee shop.  I wait with anticipation as she prepares my iced Americano, and we catch up on all the latest gossip.  Each time, I am so elated, and all is right with the world.  Then I wake up, and am so disappointed that it was just a dream.  This is quickly followed by the "What the Hell is wrong with me that I am dreaming about coffee AGAIN?" phase.  It's sort of like the stages of grief, but relating to coffee addiction.

Once the Cabin closed, I was forced to purchase an espresso machine.  I had moved way past the standard brewed coffee phase, people.  If it ain't gonna grow hair on your chest, then it is NOT for me! 
I've gotten better at my own creations, but they just can't compare to the ones in my dreams.  The ones that were once reality.  The ones that lit up my mornings, and sometimes my afternoons, and occassionally left me driving while double-fisting espresso. 

So, yes, I guess when you put it all down on paper, it may appear as though I have a problem.  I don't shoplift.  I don't really drink.  I don't smoke.  I have never tried drugs (it's a good thing, right?).  It's my thing.  My vice.  My heroin.  My crack.  My ..... oh hell, who am I kidding?  It's the thing that helps me survive all the absolute chaos that comes along with being a busy mom, a wife, a business owner, an author, and all the other stuff that people apparently feel I am perfectly capable of handling!  :)

Don't worry.  When I begin to lose control of my facial expressions, I know I need to back off.  I know it's not normal for the nerve in one eye to begin to twitch until it impairs vision.  I've acknowledged it, and I avoid it now.  LOL

But there's that happy little place when you are still physically tired, yet mentally wired, that seems to be juuuuuuuuust riiiiiiiiight.  And, as I type this and my kids rush to the porch to tattle on each other and both continue to raise their voices to speak over one another as they report the other's wrong-doing.....
I'm wondering if a third cup would be going too far?????

:)

WWYDIJWRUTYOTS? Confused Yet?

We’ve all seen the bracelets, bumper stickers, t-shirts that say WWJD?

For those of you who still haven’t figured out what this means, it stands for

What

Would

Jesus

Do?

Meant to serve as a  reminder to the person wearing it (and those seeing it) to try to be more Christ-like, it has probably become a little ho-hum for most of us  now.  We’ve been there, done that. 

I think we should spice it up a little bit.  I’m thinking of launching my own line of products with a brand new slogan.  It will provoke thought, start conversations and turn some heads.  Are you ready????

WWYDIJWRUTYOTS?

Catchy, right?  I mean, admit it, right now you are scratching your head and contemplating whether or not I have totally lost my mind up in here, right?

It stands for:

What

Would

You

Do

If

Jesus

Walked

Right

Up

To

You

On

The

Street?

Kinda snazzy, right?  Think of the looks you would get!  SNAP! 

Sometimes, I think it is better to pose THIS question to people rather than expect them to ACT like Jesus by asking WWJD.  I mean, let’s be honest, not a whole lot of us are super successful at being Christ-like.  I’m workin my tail off, but most days I’m pretty sure I make Him shake his head.  J  You know He is thinkin, “Girl, seriously.  WHAT am I gonna do with you?”

WWYDIJWRUTYOTS?

At first glance, it just looks like I let a cat climb across my keyboard!  People would think you got your T-shirt from the clearance bin at the T-Shirt Hut at the Outlet Mall!  LOL

But, if you stop and think about it, what WOULD you do?  Personally, it would be a multi-staged process.

Step 1:  Mouth drops open

Step 2:  Look over shoulder for Candid Camera

Step 3:  ‘Are you talkin to me?’

Step 4:  Pregnancy-induced urine incontinence becomes evident

Right about now would be the point where it would begin to get embarrassing (seriously, worse than the tinkling??)  I am confident I would be so caught up in the moment that I may actually squeeze the life right out of Him.  How many of you remember the Bugs Bunny episode with Hugo the Abominable Snowman?  Yes you do, think about it!  The one where the big snowman picks up Bugs Bunny and says “I will hug him and squeeze him and I will call him George!”

Yep.  I’m pretty sure it would be THAT kind of hug.

Soon, though,  the reality would set in.  Even though I try to live my life in the best way possible, I would start to get the ole nervous belly right about now….thinking of all the things I’ve done in my life that weren’t so awesome. Seriously, do you think He saw all that? Right about now, I’d be ready to reach into my bag of tricks and pull out the little Mind Eraser wand Will Smith carried in Men In Black.  Hmmm…..think that works on the Big Guy?  DANG!  You’re probably right.

The only down-side I can find to WWYDIJWRUTYOTS? is the sheer length of it.  I mean, that’s gonna be one heck of a big t-shirt.  And forget putting that on a cooler cup or a bumper sticker.  More like a whole cooler, or a banner!  LOL

I’m gonna work on this….You guys would buy a shirt, right?  :)

In the meantime, maybe we should all ponder just WWYDIJWRUTYOTS? That way we can all feel comfortable in knowing that, if it happened tomorrow, we could HUG HIM, AND SQUEEZE HIM, AND CALL HIM GEORGE! 

It could be like a Flash Mob….but with Jesus in the middle! 

Call Me Roadrunner

As many of you already know, I have recently released a book.  In the past 3 weeks or so since it has been released, I have been working hard on getting it out to the public.  I have book signings scheduled, I'm working to get it into the newspapers, and I was blessed enough to even be featured on Fox 2 News for the STL Moms segment!!

While it may sound goofy to some, I am feeling a little overwhelmed with the responsibility of getting it out to the people who need to read this book.  God put the words of this book into my heart, and I can only assume He expects me to actually do the work to get it out, too.  LOL

I had an awesome experience Sunday, after my appearance on the news on Friday morning.  I was so overwhelmed by it, it inspired a blog post on the book's website, sitdownshutupletgo.com.

Of course, in typical fashion, it was humorous and silly.  I mean, come on, let's not expect total seriousness from me here.  I have decided to share it with you, too, since I think it's important for ALL of us to remember that even God isn't serious all the time!  We all need to lighten up, loosen up and live a little. 

So....here goes!  MEEMP, MEEMP!!!!  (relax, you'll understand soon)



I recently received this awesome note from a reader through the Sit Down, Shut Up and Let Go Facebook page. As I read it, my eyes teared up. It is hard to put into words what this means to me, knowing that somehow, some way, God used little old me to speak to her. Weird is truly the only way to describe it! LOL
Karen wrote:
I saw your appearance on fox 2 and I immediately searched my kindle for your book. I told my husband that I think I was meant to read this book. Reading your story made me feel like my life was being written down. Although my daughter died from SIDS, her due date was May 5th as well. Different years. But I had so many of the same emotions. I also have a Jacob and a Mattie. Thank you so much for this book.

I tried twice to respond to her message, and my computer has completely freaked out both times. I had half a book typed in that little box, and suddenly it just locked up! FINE! I’ll fix you…I’ll make it into a Blog Post! Nah nah nah nah boo boo!

So, here we go. Karen, this one’s for you!

God.
Maybe He is different for different people. I’m really not sure how all of that works, since on most days, I am only ONE person. LOL
I don’t know what He is like to you…for all I know, maybe He is super serious. MY God, though, is one heck of a funny guy. As I read Karen’s note, I couldn’t help but think of how crazy it is the way that it worked out. For her to see that 3 minute interview on the news….For her to not only have the gut feeling that she should read it, but to actually act on it. Then, as she read, to learn that so much of my story mirrored her own. THAT, my friends, is no coincidence.
I believe with every ounce of myself that God puts things like this on our hearts all the time. An attempt to get us to HEAR Him, FEEL Him, and acknowledge His presence in our lives. It’s an attempt to steer us in the right direction. After all, He knows where He hopes we will go. But, once in a while, we turn the map upside down and get ourselves all screwed up. Then He has to get up from the Control Desk and devise a plan to attempt to help us without FORCING us to do it..because He gave us Free Will to be screw ups if we so choose. J
So, as I was attempting to respond to Karen’s note, it occurred to me that MY God reminds me of a certain cartoon character. Stick with me here…I’m not completely out of my mind. I don’t think.
My God is quite a character. He has a wicked sense of humor, and comes up with some pretty creative ways to get my attentionl
My God reminds me of Wile E Coyote. Yep, I just went there. He pulls all sorts of tricks out of that box marked ‘Acme’, and sneaks out into my path to set them in my way. Then he crawls off into the bushes and waits…and waits….and waits. He watches me, undoubtedly laughing, as I, like the Roadrunner, stop in my tracks and investigate the bait. Sometimes, I am quick to identify His fingerprints, and know for sure that it is His doing. Other times, I am so caught up in the nonsense in my head that I blow right on by with nothing but a ‘Meemp, Meemp!’
Those are the times when I am sure He scratches His head and says, “Really?” Then He goes back to the drawing board on what it is going to take to get me to stop and see what He wants me to see.

He never blows me up or drops an anvil on my head, thankfully. But, He has been known to resort to throwing sticks of dynamite in my surrounding area when all else fails. I have learned to do my best to hear Him, as to avoid the risk of losing a limb in the process. Sometimes, though, I still miss His initial attempts. The best that I can do is ask Him each day to be patient, and to be obvious. I really do talk to Him just like I talk to you, smarty pants comments and all. He made me this way, surely He isn’t surprised. After all, He is my BFF. He gets who I am, and loves me despite it. LOL

So, Karen, THANK YOU so much for sharing your story with me. While it is super crazy to think that I was involved in God’s shenanigans, I am so extremely excited by it, too. It has taken me 11 years to get to this place in my life. Those years have been full of pain, fear and uncertainty; but eventually all of that brought me to a place of more wholeness than I ever could have foreseen. I’m so glad you chose to listen to your heart and follow it. There must have been something there you really were intended to read. That God…He’s a funny guy. And life is a wild journey…especially when your God is a rascally coyote.

Summer Sibling Superness

So.  Here in the good ole center of the USA, we are experiencing what some would call a heat wave.  I prefer to call it SSW:  Super Shitty Weather.

Now, I feel compelled to let you know that it is normal for the weather to suck in Missouri this time of year.  However, normal suckiness is a max of 90 degrees, and disgustingly humid.  I mean, like, rolled in honey, sweaty gooey humid.

The last two weeks though?  Yup, kinda makes the normal weather seem dreamy.  We've hovering between 105 and 110 most days, and with the humidity it truly feels like I have been sitting in a flipping sauna.

What's my point with all this?

O-M-G---------
It's been too darn hot for the kids to play outside in the afternoon.  For 10, that's not such a big deal.  She can grab a book and be happy as a clam indoors.

5, however....Lordy that kid needs to be able to go outside and be free.  One with the elements.  Buried up to his waist in sand as he fabricates something utilizing a dead wasp, a broken hula hoop and 5 blades of grass. 

We have spent each morning outside for an hour or two....but about the time he gets all settled in in his playing and has ridden approximately 100 laps around the house on his bike...We both begin to look like we have been slathered in baby oil and it's time to bring him in.  A couple hours is not enough for my little McGyver. 

The result is something that can only be described as torture.  Moodiness, crabbiness, pissy pants..none of these are an accurate portrayal of the atmosphere inside of this house.  Try as they might, 10 and 5 just cannot cohabitate for days on end without a break.  They try their best, but they just can't do it.

It all starts out rosey in the morning.  But by lunch time, tempers are beginning to flair.  That's when it all unravels.  She gives him looks like he is an absolute moron.  He takes something from her room just to aggravate her.  She proceeds to yell and scream, even though the thing he took from her room is something she has not had physical contact with in at least 6 months....because it's the principal of the thing at this point.
I am considering buying myself a shirt with vertical black and white stripes, a really loud whistle, and some white gloves.  At the very least, surely the whistle (if blown loud enough) would cause temporary hearing loss and I could have a few minutes of peace and quiet.

For example:  Today we made a quick run to a clothing store. I simply needed to return a shirt.  5 was taken in by the jewelry racks.  So many shiny things he could shove in miscellaneous pockets of his cargo shorts...so many possibilities for things he could forget in said pockets that would wind up in my washer....ALL on a rack that spins in circles.  Get out of town!  HEAVEN! 

10 was trying to convince me that earrings that went all the way to her shoulders were completely appropriate for her age.  When I gave her the 'Oh no you di-ent' look, she quickly stammered through an attempt at justification. 

5 proceeded to find the most gaudy, God awful women's ring that was a darn octopus.  It was about an inch and a half long, in bright colors, and probably at least an inch wide.  I could just seem some lady, about 85 years old, wearing a gold jacket and matching elastic waist band pants.  Cigarette hanging out of her mouth with ashes about an inch long, SHE would wear this ring.  And, here stands 5, with this magnificent specimen in his hand.  "Oh mom.  How many dollars is THIS?"  Before I could even answer through my laughter, 10 proceeded to exclaim (rather loudly), "Seriously?  That is a girl ring.  YOU are not a girl.  I cannot believe you are even asking about that.....blah, blah, blah....'  The rest was a series of statements that dripped with disgust, and I proceeded to block them out. 

When I advised 5 that the crazy octopus costs $12, his eyebrows immediately shot up and he said, "OH!"  and promptly hung it right back up.  Done with that!  He was then completely taken by a two toned blue plastic watch that was so big it could have served as an eyepatch for a pirate.  Or a 5 year old.  "Now, you can't tell me THIS is for a girl.  It's BLUE!"  He quickly remarked.  Of course, she proceeded to stomp all over that, too.  "This is a women's store.  Therefore, everything in here is for WOMEN!" 

You see where I am going with this, right?  This is what I have been dealing with for 2 weeks. 
 I love them so much, and am so proud of what great people they both are.  But, seriously, something's gotta give.  That, or I am gonna start putting MYSELF in time out.  Perhaps I should ground myself to my room.  I think I'm gonna try that!

Crap!  First, I would have to get a television for my bedroom. 
And a margarita machine.
Or a wine fridge.
Or, depending on the day, BOTH!

And I would need to install a fire escape, just in case I decide to completely evacuate the building.  You know, if the yelling gets to be too much even with the door closed and the tv turned up really loud.  That would be safer than diving from the second story.

Dammit.  This is getting to be out of my budget.  I didn't factor in construction cost when I first began tossing this around.  Perhaps I would be better off just buying earplugs. 

Karen Walker Freedom Syndrome--A Disease to be Proud Of!

Why does it have to be such hard work to be a good person?

I mean, seriously. It would be so much easier to just be an A hole all the time.  There is such a fine line between being "honest" and being an "ass hole".  Sometimes it's just downright overwhelming. 

Sometimes I am exhausted by the thought process that is entailed with just a simple conversation.  Sometimes it feels like work to just exist, because I have to keep my mouth shut when I want to open it....
Sometimes, I just want to be a total Karen Walker and just say what I think with absolutely no consequence because everyone already KNOWS I am an asshole.  THAT would be sheer freedom, my friends.

You remember Karen.  The crazy ass assistant to Grace on Will and Grace.  She was a sexy-dressing, reasonably crazy, loud-mouthed b*****.  But, somehow, even though she said exactly what she thought, you couldn't help but love her for it.  She said what she meant, and meant what she said.  There was no beating around the bush with Karen.  Nope.  No sirry.

Apparently, the only time this is acceptable in real life is with true friends.  Apparently, the rest of society will think you are a terrible person if you are so vocal and honest.  :(  Boo.  Cuz that was gonna be super fun, right?

So, in the case of family, acquaintances and strangers---I must bite my tongue.  There are only a few people that fall into the category of 'able to handle complete honesty.'  Dangit.  I feel sorry for the people in THAT group....they may get hit kinda hard if I have a bad day with family or acquaintances, huh?  Lucky them, those rare few who fall into the category of "Hooker Faces". 

It's that crap where you have to pretend to like someone you don't.  Or pretend to care about something you don't.  OOOOOOR, when someone else has to do to this to YOU.  And you know damn well that they could give a flyin rat's behind about it...but it's proper to act like they do.  AAAARRRGGGHHHH!

I just don't like it.  Damn you, Political Correctness.  Damn you, Social Acceptability!  DAMN YOU! 

This makes me think....
Today, we have a 'syndrome' for everything.  We have Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD, for those who get depressed in the winter.  We have catch-all syndromes like Irritable Bowel Syndrome for every single person who gets constipated or gets diarrhea but doctor's can't figure out why.  You know, because it's some kind of consolation for the people with a bad belly every day of their life to at least have a name for it...even though it solves absolutely nothing and brings no relief whatsoever. 

We have ADD, ADHD, LMNOP and lots of other syndromes.

Now, listen, I am in NO way making light of these 'syndromes.'  Please remember, my own son had Down Syndrome.  I am not making fun of people here.  I'm simply making a proposition for the rest of us.

If nearly everyone in America has been diagnosed with some sort of something-or-other...

WHY, oh why, can't we have a super useful syndrome that is similar to Tourette's, but allows us to be completely honest with no recourse?  You know, for the rest of us. 

I hereby nominate a new syndrome for review by the FDA, NRA, AMA, or whichever A determines what a real syndrome is....

Karen Walker Freedom Syndrome....

Just think of it.  The Freedom.  Freedom to tell your boss what you really think of how the same pair of dress slacks have magically become high-waters because she thinks no one will notice that she has put on 35 pounds and keeps hiking them up higher to her "waist" because then she could NOT have possibly gone up 4 sizes because her pants still fit.  Guess what, honey...we can see your ankle bones and those hairs you keep missing on them that are so long they can be braided into an ankle bracelet at this point!  YOUR PANTS ARE TOO SMALL.  And those are not CAPRIS, you are not fooling anyone!

Oh, the things you could say to your sister-in-law about what you really think about the casserole she brings to 4th of July.  Or your cousin and the way her kid behaves when she turns her back and that little Satan Spawn begins to dive bomb other kids off the back of the sofa.  Ooooooohhhhhhhhh.......


Yup.  That's it.  I'm looking into this.  Watch out people.  I am about to get a diagnosis that I can feel good about. 

I love you, Karen Walker.  I raise my mid-morning cocktail to you.  :)  Dammit, why can't I  be a good mixologist.  I could totally create a cocktail called the Karen Walker.  Sour, harsh, one that burns all the way down....yet has a surprisingly sweet aftertaste and leaves you wanting more. 

Shit, I could be rich!