Happy Mother’s Day

 

Virtual flowers. Because I can’t ship them across continents to reach all the mothers who might read this. And because I can’t ship them across continents to reach my own mother.

 

Happy Mother’s Day!

Brave.

I adore the word brave. A knight fighting dragons always comes to mind. Partly because I adore fantasy novels and partly because it’s a metaphor for something bigger. It shows me that if a lone person can defeat the fieriest dragon, then I can fight the smaller, less fiery, everyday dragons I encounter.

 

I used to do it all the time. Fight those life dragons. College was a particularly brave time for me. I went to a place where I knew no one. I majored in chemistry and spent many nights wondering if I’d made the right choice. {I also fell even more in love with chemistry at the same time.} I pushed on and slogged through and had many dragons rear their fiery heads along the way. And I succeeded. I’m a knight, you know. I slew the dragon and walked off victorious.

 

I worked for a while. I loved the job, not the atmosphere where I was. It was hard. I stayed home after {Ai} was born. I went back to work a year later. Work helped me overcome my post-partum depression. Then {Ai} was constantly sick and I knew I needed to stay home. Giving my notice was one of the scariest things I’d ever done because staying home previously was a disaster. I’ve been at home ever since. The depression came back and I lived through it and won. I slew those dragons, too.

 

All this dragon slaying wasn’t easy. And I wonder if I was really brave, or just ignorant. Because bravery seems like you know you’re facing the fire-breath and do it anyway. I didn’t always know I was slaying dragons. I just did what I had to do.

 

Now, I’m wondering where my inner knight went to. Lately, I’ve felt more like a turtle hiding in its shell than liza lee grace, dragon fighter. I want my knight back. And my sword and my bravery.

 

{I saw this turtle in my neighbor’s driveway yesterday and was thinking about him this morning. Then I saw the topic of “brave” and I finally had words for what’s been on my mind all week.}

{Linking up with the fabulous Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday, where we write without worrying whether it’s just right or not. Join us?}

Today I feel invincible.

Today I feel invincible. Like I can jump and leap and soar and do anything I want. I feel like I could:

• jump out of an airplane
• write a best-selling novel
• paint a picture that will hang in museums for ages
• design award-winning runway fashion
• jump into action at any moment, any place

So which will it be?

Today…I get to jump over piles of laundry. I guess the airplane will have to wait for another day.

{Linking up with the fabulous Lisa-Jo for Five Minute Friday, where we write without worrying whether it’s just right or not. Join us?}

{note: This post was brewing in my head before I knew the prompt was jump. A wonderful, happy coincidence!}

The sort of people you have

One thing you will learn about me {if you haven’t already} is that I love baseball. I learned to love it by watching the Texas Rangers. Whenever the Rangers come into town, we try to go.  Happily for us, the Rangers were in town to kick off the new season! We went yesterday and it was amazing and soul-crushing at the same time. {Rangers pitcher Yu Darvish had a perfect game going until with one out left, the Astros got a base hit. See? Amazing and soul-crushing.}

 

But this story isn’t about the game. It’s about after the game. And the sort of people I have.

 

As the game was nearing its dramatic end, the skies were taking on drama of their own. A major thunderstorm was brewing around us. It rained lightly as we walked back to our car. Not bad, but the lightning in the near distance was worrisome. We stayed together until it started raining a little harder. I was with {Mt} and he couldn’t keep up the pace.We lagged behind while the older guys went ahead. There was one last intersection to cross and the skies opened up. The rain started coming down something fierce. And the light turned red.

 

{Aa} and the other boys made it across before the light changed. {Mt} and I didn’t. A group of people passed in front of us, and a lady said something to me about the rain not waiting for us to get to our cars. I replied, “I know! We’re parked right there. My family made it across, but I didn’t!” She jokingly replied, “Shows you what sort of people they are!”

 

I laughed and went back to watching traffic, hoping the light would change soon ({Mt} was really scared by then, plus we were soaked). I didn’t notice until we were across the street that the guys were there, waiting for us.

 

They could have taken two more steps and been safe and dry inside the parking garage. But no, they waited outside, in the downpour, for {Mt} and I to cross the street.

 

That shows you the sort of people my people are.

 

They’re the good sort.

Five Minute Friday: Rest

You know when your child turns into a he-devil (or a she-devil) and loses all memory of reasonable behavior and it’s all because he (or she) needs rest? You know it, you can tell when he’s getting to that point long before he arrives. Then you ask him to go lay down and rest. And he turns into a pigeon*

because he’s so tired he’s lost all memory of reasonable behavior.

 

Did you know it happens to us mamas, too? We get up early, make breakfast, pack lunches, get the kiddos off to school (or start our school day at home), do laundry, wash the dishes, the bathrooms, the floors. Or go to work and do all that later. We pick them up from school, go to baseball practice, piano lessons, whatever else needs to be done. We cook dinner, clean the dishes, help with homework, get the kiddos in bed. And somewhere in there, we write and craft and sew and…  Only by the time evening rolls around, we’re so tired we’re losing our memory of reasonable behavior. And the kids see it coming, and shy away from us, because we’re a whirlwind she-devil of

If it’s not “I’m not tired”, it’s “I don’t have time to be tired!”

 

And we push on because we think we have to.

 

I’m telling you mamas now: REST. It’s okay. Take a few minutes when you need it. Before you need it. If you have a few minutes for a breather, take it. Even if you have to lock yourself into the bathroom. You won’t turn into a pigeon and your family will thank you for it.

 

Rest. It’s necessary. It doesn’t make you a failure.

 

*Picture taken from our copy of Mo Willem’s Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus. This is actually our second copy because the first was so well-loved it fell apart. I highly recommend this book!

{linking up with the fabulous Lisa-Jo and Five MInute Friday, where we write for five minutes without worrying if it’s just right. Join us?}

In which I talk way too much about my hair

It’s interesting, really. How much I love my hair and how much I don’t care about it at the same time. Ask me what my best feature is, and I'll tell you every time: my hair.

It’s auburn. It used to be more red; it has turned more brown over the past year or two. It’s not uncommon for someone to ask what brand I use in my hair and/or what shade. With a smile, a flip of my hair, and a voice sweeter than sweet tea, I say, “It’s natural.” Gets them every time. :)

It’s straight. It’s sleek. It doesn’t hold a curl. If I wanted a fancy hairdo for a fancy event (like braids or curls), then I would not wash my hair for a few days before the event. Before styling, I'd spray liberally with hairspray and mousse and sometimes gel. Then style and spray on top of that. Even then, for curls, it might last an hour. I don’t do fancy styling much any more. Well, I don’t have a reason to, but if I did, it’s just too much work. Long and flowy fits me much better.

I’m a low maintenance kind of gal. Which is why I like long hair better. No product necessary. Just brush and go. Or pull into a ponytail. Or twist into a bun. I’m the queen of buns – I can even keep my hair up with a pencil, if it’s long enough. It just fits me…calm, relaxed, casual.

Even though I love my hair so much, I don’t believe in spending a lot on it. I buy shampoo from Target. I get my hair cut at Great Clips. There was a time that I actually went to a stylist; I had more complicated style that I didn’t trust Great Clips to replicate well. Short with lots of choppy layers. But even then, I only paid $25. And a few months later, when I realized the style wasn’t working for me, I started growing my hair out and it’s been Great Clips ever since.

I’ve been growing my hair out for a while now. I’ve donated to Locks of Love before; if I can help someone by doing something as easy as cutting my hair, then I'm all for it. I was going to donate a long while ago but when my hair got long enough to donate and still have long hair left over, I decided I loved it that long and kept it.

Last week, while in the shower vainly trying to get the last of the shampoo out of my hair, my mind was jumping faster than a Mexican jumping bean. I was thinking about life, and love, and God, and what I need from the grocery store, and there was still shampoo in my hair. And then it jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave: HOW SELFISH AM I?! I’m here, complaining about shampoo and there are people who don't have hair. And if I can help them, then why am I not?

I think it has something to do with what I read in Proverbs the other day: “Do not withhold good from those who deserve it,when it is in your power to act.” {Proverbs 3:27, NIV}

So I blow dried my hair {something I almost never do – low maintenance, remember?} and went to Great Clips. My favorite girl wasn’t there; it should have been my first sign to come back later. But the girl who was available was cute and friendly and had the same name as my niece. Besides, there’s a first time for everything, right? 

I sat down and told her what I wanted: I'm donating my hair; cut a 10 inch ponytail to donate; even up the rest with light layering. The final cut should be just below the shoulders. So she started cutting. And cutting. And cutting. I was beginning to wonder how much more she was going to cut. My final style? This:

 

   

Yep. It’s ABOVE my shoulders. My ponytail to donate? 13 inches. {I figure my hair should be about 5 inches longer than it is.} Lesson learned. Cute, friendly, good name does not equal good listener.

At least it looks good. And my hair will grow back. For some reason, it’s been as easy to manage as long hair. I’ve had short hair before and had to use clips and sprays and pomades to get it to stay out of my face. This time, it falls into place and looks great. I love long hair, but this style is beginning to grow on me. {Pun totally and completely intended.}

Just in case you were wondering, here’s the “before” pictures.

 

  

 

Why don’t you think about donating? Change things up! Be adventurous with your hair and do good at the same time. It’s what I call win-win. This time I'm donating to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. I’ve donated to Locks of Love a couple times. Both are good organizations. Most Great Clips locations will give you a free cut if you donate to Locks of Love – and even send in your donation for you. It’s worth asking about. {I did not take advantage of it this time since I had already decided to donate to Pantene. But I have in the past.}

{Legalese: No, I was not compensated for this post. Even though it sounds like the kind of post that should get compensation. Want to know more about me and compensated posts? Click on “legal” at the top of this page. This post falls in the “unique experience” category.}

The handshake

A little silly story to share...

We're eating lunch at TGI Friday's. {The kids are horrified; today is Sunday. But that's not what this story is about.}

We're nearing the end of the meal, and {Mt} goes to use the bathroom. While he is gone, we practice giving handshakes to the other boys. {Handshaking is an important skill that many have never been taught. We practice with the boys when we have a few spare moments.}

{Mt} comes back, sits down, trying to get my attention: "Mommy, Mommy, Moooommmmyyy...."

I ignore the whining. "Let's shake hands!" I give him a great big handshake.

{Mt} continues: "...I can't reach the sink in the bathroom."