Too Old for Cheap Tampons

I've decided I'm too old for lots of things I used to put up with. Like cheap tampons.

Early on in my adult life, I learned the lesson that just because my parents could afford to provide me with clothes from Talbot's, it doesn't mean that at age 22, I could continue to do so.

That discovery was made during a very embarrassing trip to Talbot's to return about $600 worth of clothes I couldn't afford. Lesson learned: look at the price tags. Mama ain't here to do it for me any more.

Five Minute Friday: Kissing the Face of God

I am currently enamored with the Christmas song, "Mary Did You Know?" Here is a link to the song if you're not familiar. It's worth a listen.

What has captured my thoughts is the line, "And when you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God."

What could that have felt like? To kiss the actual, physical face of God? And to have it disguised as a child?

Did she know? 

Could she comprehend? If not, when did the pieces fall into place? At that first miracle at the wedding in Cana? At what point did she really know what ... or whom ... she was dealing with?*

But what occurred to me the other day is that I kiss the face of God every day. Every time I kiss my children ... every time I kiss my husband ... every time I kiss the top of one of my children's friends heads ... I am also kissing God.

We are God's sons and daughters. Adopted, yes, but no less family. No less kin. No less image-bearers.

I wish I remembered that more when my kids are fighting. Or disobeying. Or procrastinating. Or pouting. Maybe that's my Christmas wish for myself this year. Don't see them as little bickering gremlins with a crappy attitude.

Look into their eyes, smile, and kiss the face of God.


[*Note: Bad grammar. I know. Get over it.]

Five Minute Friday: Good-bye Hair

{Today's 5 Minute Friday word prompt is "reflect."}

Last night, I spent quite a while looking back through photos of me over the last three years. Not because I entirely enjoy seeing myself in photos. I honestly despise a lot of them. My skin is blotchy, my weight see-saws between Hot Mama and "crap, another pair of pants I can't breathe in." And I have made a few (well....more than a few) really heinous fashion faux-pas over the years. I am frequently Ann Hathaway from The Devil Wears Prada before her Stanley Tucci makeover, sans the onion bagel.

But I was looking back through these pictures because I'm cutting my hair off today for the first time in about three years. Three years ago, my darling husband asked me to grow out my hair so he could see what it looked like long.  Because then it was really short.

So I did. I kinda wanted to see it, too.

So it grew.

And it grew.

And it grew.

Until now it is longer than my hair has ever been in my life. But you know what I discovered?

Long hair is a lot of work! At least mine is.

Five Minute Friday: INTO the Mouths of Babes

When my son Jordan was born, Herb looked at me and asked how Sarah Bernhardt and I ever had a child together. I thought maybe his mouth just looked big because the rest of him was so small. We took to calling him "Peanut" because he was tiny ... and refused to put on weight.

But the gi-normous mouth remained. It and the stuff he has put in it became the stuff of family legend.

Jordan — my "failure to thrive" baby — the one who would eat and not gain weight to the point where the doctor said instead of milk he thinks I produced cloudy water —is now an off-the-charts linebacker of a kid. He passed his older brother in height and weight about 2-3 years ago and hasn't stopped growing.

Let's look at his dietary history and see if we can figure out why...

Five Minute Friday: The Beautiful Ugly

This isn't our tree, but it's pretty darned close.

We have a cherry tree in our front yard. It's a very strange tree and is, frankly, kind of ugly. The people who lived here before us were avid gardeners, and they did some lovely things in our yard ... which we have promptly destroyed with four boys and two dogs ... or taken out to make room for baseball, swingsets, and a vegetable garden.

But this weird, ugly cherry tree remains. Apparently the previous owners tried to graft together two different types of trees. One is "upright" — meaning that the branches to up and out like most trees do — and one is "weeping" — meaning that the branches kind of droop. I don't know what was supposed to happen when you grafted together these two trees, but I'm pretty sure this ain't it.

We have half a tree that grows up, and half a tree that droops toward the ground.

The branches on one side are straight, and the branches on the other side are twisted.

Half the tree blooms white, and half the tree blooms pink. (That's a really weird sight to see.)

But then last year our little ugly cherry tree surprised us. It produced cherries.

Lest you say, "Well, duh. That's what cherry trees do," let me say that we have been in this house through 11 springs and summers, and it wasn't until last year that our weird schizophrenic tree produced cherries.

Why now? I don't know. But it show me in a very real, tangible way that something beautiful and sweet and unexpected can come out of a whole bunch of ugly.

[The term "The Beautiful Ugly" is from Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts.]

Summer@Home: What I Learned, Part 2

In addition to what I learned about stuff ... what I could do without, and what I really missed ... I learned a lot about relationships and the people around me.

PART 2: What I learned about relationships

I learned that help can come from places you don't expect. 
There's a clique in my neighborhood. I'm not really "in" it, but I'm not exactly "out" of it either. My kids don't go to the neighborhood elementary school. They don't play tackle football at the local park, which seems to be the thing to do. None of them goes to my church. So I've always kind of skirted the edge of this group of women who have a lot in common with each other, but not necessarily with me. 

But that doesn't mean that when I needed them, they didn't come through. One gave Sandy countless rides to and from football practices. Several ran to the grocery store or would even text me from the store: "I'm here! Do you need anything?" They brought meals and returned books to the library.

One gentleman in the neighborhood — the father of a friend of mine — drove Joshua and Jordan to school for two weeks while Herb was traveling. My across-the-street neighbor and I got to know each other a lot better, and we even did a Bible Study together this summer.

I learned that my neighbors have got my back just because that's who they are. I hope I get to return the favor.

Summer@Home: What I Learned

People keep asking me, "When are you going to write the 'what I learned' blog?" It actually started before the driving restriction ended. They seem eager to hear how I was changed by seven months not being able to drive.

I actually started writing this post a couple of months ago. But I got a ways into it and realized something:

I won't know what I've learned until it's tested.

When you are in school, you can sit in a classroom every day, read the assignments, do the homework. But until the test comes, you can't really separate what you've learned from what you've merely been present for.

It's the same way with my seven months of no driving. I could tell you about the experiences I had while not driving. But I can't really write about what I learned — how it changed me — until I'm back in the driving world. Until it's tested.

There's a part of me that thinks that two weeks in is still too early. I don't yet know what will migrate from short-term to long-term memory. But I'm tired of people asking, so here goes.

I'm not going to explain all of them at once because this would turn into more of a dissertation instead of a blog. So I'm splitting my lessons learned into two groups:
1. My relationship with stuff.
2. My relationships with people.

PART 1: My relationship with stuff.

Summer@Home: I Remember...

On September 11, 2001, I took my son to daycare like many working moms, then came home to begin my work day. I remember walking past my bedroom door when the phone started ringing. It was my sister, which was not unusual.

"Where does Stuart work?"

Now that was unusual. No hello. No how are you doing. Just straight to the point ... where does our brother Stuart work?

"I don't know. In Manhattan somewhere. Why?"

"Turn on your TV."

"Stace...what's going on?"

"Just turn on your TV."

Summer@Home: Sleepless Night

Another Sleepless Night by Janet Lavida

It's 10:40, and I can't sleep. I can't even think about sleep right now. So I think. And I write. 

Isn't it funny how two of your own kids can be so alike ... or so different. We have two distinct pairs of boys.

Pair A: Number 1 and Number 3.
Dark hair, thin as a rail, very little temper to speak of, but passive aggressive. Will look you in the face and tell you what they know the right answer is ... then turn around and do the opposite.

Pair B: Number 2 and Number 4. 
Blond hair, blue eyes, and solid as rock, both of them. And a temper ... whoa Nellie! Do they both have a temper. If I had a nickel for each time either one of them has said they hate me (or I hate them) or I'm the worst mom in the world, I'd be relaxing on a beach somewhere with a piña colada in my hand.

You want to know what the kicker is?

Numbers 3 and 4 are the full bio-brothers. But they have nothing in common.

Summer@Home: I'm a Bad Christian

Confession: I make Christians blush.

I find this terribly amusing since I am one.

But sometimes I don't act like it. And that's a good thing. At least in my over-rationalizing mind it is.

I have many dear, amazing, wonderful, godly, funny, sweet Christian friends who have been Christians all their lives. Who have never known a life of debauchery and deep personal sin and been heartbroken over it. That is not to say they haven't had struggles. I know they have ... struggles I'm not sure I could handle. Struggles they could only handle because of their faith. But our life stories, while they ended up at the same place, had very different paths.

So sometimes, frankly, I identify with non-Christians more readily than Christians.  

Didn't Jesus dine with tax collectors and prostitutes?

Kind of like when I was under 30 and a single mom. I identified more with the "mid-singles" group at church than I did the "young singles" group. While my age classified me as one, my life didn't.

I like friends that I can laugh with, til wine squirts out our noses.

Oh, crud. I just admitted that I drink wine. (And beer. And sangria. Oh, golly, do I like a good sangria. Read all about it here.)

Does that make me a bad Christian?

Summer@Home: The Bliss of NOT Being at Home

We went on vacation this summer.

To many people, that's not a monumental statement. However, we don't actually go on vacation very often. We visit family at their homes. Or we visit family homes when the owners are not there. But I can only count three real vacations we've been on since Herb and I were married just over 10 years ago. This year was one of them.

Our oldest, Ian, is going to college in the fall. So honestly, we don't know how many more of these "everyone is here together at the same time" vacations we're going to have. So we splurged and went to Hilton Head Island for a week. It was my favorite vacation spot when I was growing up. I had so many fond memories of Hilton Head that I wanted to share it with my kids.

One of the things I didn't really expect was how freeing it was for me to be on vacation with the family. Other than the drive up and back — which Herb had to do on his own — it was easy for me to forget that I couldn't drive. For the most part, when we went anywhere, we were all going together. No disappointments for the kids from hearing, "I'd love to take you, but I can't because Dad's not here."

And we were bicycling distance from the grocery store.  Hallelujah and pass the peanuts! I could go to the grocery store. By. My. Self. I'm not sure that I ever actually did. But just knowing that I could was enough.

And it was a Piggly Wiggly, no less! You can't beat that with a stick.

[Piggly Wiggly ... yet another amazing memory from my childhood! But I'll write about that another time.] 

There were two particularly memorable events from our vacation that I'd like to share.

Summer@Home: How NOT to Run Fast

First of all, I apologize for wimping out. I've stopped counting the days of my Summer@Home because it just served to remind me that there have been too many days between posts.

Which means that I'm not writing enough.

Which means that I'm frittering the summer away this year just like every other frickin' year.

I don't need the guilt, so I stopped counting.

Sue me.

Anyway, one thing I have been doing this summer is attempting to get back into shape. After my little "episodes" got under control and I got my sea legs again, I decided to start running. So, not wanting to take it slowly or anything, I signed up for the Peachtree Road Race.

Summer@Home Day 44 — Meet Diane

Day 44
Yesterday evening, I bought a car. You may be thinking, "That's an odd thing for a person who is legally prohibited from driving to do."

You see, my car died a little while back. You can read her obituary here. Thelma was a good girl and served our family well. But when she breathed her last on the side of Highway 9 in Roswell, we knew that it was not in our future to try to resuscitate her. Again. So we had her towed to No Longer Bound where she is now a member of their "Cars for Recovery" program.

But we leave on vacation on Saturday, and  not too long ago it occurred to us that we would need to rent something to drive. Thelma had always been our go-to girl for family trips. Just last summer we drove to Maine and back with all four boys, our dog, five bikes and three kayaks. Herb's sedan just wouldn't cut it, even with just the boys and dog. So we rented a minivan. For more than $500. 

I almost cried.

Five hundred dollars to rent a car I didn't want? I mean, heck. I couldn't even write it off as an extended test drive. I've decided I'm an SUV girl, not a minivan girl. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) But that $500 could be put towards a car I really did want.

That pissed me off just a little.

OK. More than a little.

Summer@Home Day 26 — Can Lightning Strike Twice?

Day 26
Words should be measured carefully before they are spoken. Frequently you do not know their import until it is too late. Once said, they cannot be unspoken, no matter how much we wish it were so.

Let me explain...

When I was pregnant with my now seven-year-old, we went to a Braves game. Now, you must understand that I am a huge Braves fan. Obsessive, some would say. Given the opportunity I would rather be at Turner Field than just about anywhere else. 

However, in this particular instance it was a day game in late June. I was six months pregnant, and I was ready to go home. We were on the right side of a 4-0 shutout going into the eighth, so it looked good for an on-time departure. 

Until the Orioles scored in the top of the 8th. And then three more times in the top of the 9th. By the bottom of the 9th, our four-run lead had disintegrated into a tie ballgame. 

Late June in Atlanta when you're very pregnant is enough to make even the most die-hard baseball fan weary.
 

Andruw Jones

Andruw Jones led off the inning, and the fans in the stadium rose as one. He was still in his prime and a force to be reckoned with at the plate. He and the longball were well acquainted. Exactly the person you wanted at bat at a time like this.

At that moment I spoke words that live with me to this day. 

"Andruw Jones, If you hit a home run right now, I'll name my baby after you!"

I screamed. I chopped. I prayed.

Summer@Home Day 25: Making Ghee

Day 25
One consequence of not driving is that I'm at the mercy. Of whom or what varies from day to day. Sometimes it's my schedule ... or  someone else's. Sometimes it's circumstances (like getting stranded at Publix). And sometimes it's a craving and a recipe.

Um... a recipe?

Yes. A recipe.

You see, I love Indian food. Samosas. Chicken Tikka Masala. Lentil Soup. Things made with goat and curry and ingredients I can't readily identify.

Sing with me now ... These are a few of my favorite things!

But I don't really dare trying to make anything that exotic at home. I'm a Nervous Nellie when it comes to cooking ethnic foods. I figure there's always something the recipe isn't telling you, that I would know instinctively if my name were different. But I'm one of "you white people" as one of my Indian friends calls me. So I feed my cravings at various Indian restaurants in the area.

A few days ago I logged onto AllRecipes.com and I saw this:

Their featured recipe was Curry Stand Chicken Tikka Masala in all its day-glo organge glory. Five stars out of five, based on 111 reviews.

Side note: The reviews are always my litmus test. If I'm looking at two recipes and one has 5 stars based on 500 reviews and one has 5 stars based on 2, I'll go with the 500. Call me a sheep. I don't care.

Do I dare? 

Summer@Home Day 12 — Not Stranded Anywhere

Day 12
I haven't driven since February 10 due to a medical condition. Many days I have felt trapped in my own house. There have been days I not only didn't go anywhere ... I didn't step outside.

Today was not one of those days, although it easily could have been.

My husband left for Maine today. Our oldest is graduating from high school on Sunday — long story as to why I'm not going, too — so I'm at home with the other kiddos for 48 hours and no wheels. Did we sit around the house all day?

Nope.

Summer@Home: Day 6 — Stranded at Publix

Day 6
Have you ever been stranded somewhere? It's a pretty helpless feeling. To have somewhere to go, but no way to get there?

Yesterday, Day 6 of my Summer@Home, I got stranded at Publix. Not on purpose, but kind of out of necessity. You see, grocery shopping these days is a "do it when you have the opportunity" kind of thing. The trips are not always planned. Sometimes the opportunity just kind of  pops up, and you  run with it.

Summer@Home Day 3: UPS Drivers, Beware!

Day 3

My friends are coming to my rescue in various ways during my Summer@Home. My dear friend Cathy invited Joshua and Jordan to join her boys for tennis lessons and do all the driving. [Shout out to Cathy! Lifesaver! Doin' the happy dance!]

Yesterday, I was able to break from work and go watch, which was a treat. I'd never seen either of them play. I was surprised at how naturally it came to them. They were doing quite well, and it was just their second lesson. And I got to sit in the shade, sip iced tea, and chat with other moms. Heaven...

But when we got home, I almost died laughing. And I soooo wish I'd taken a picture. But outside our garage door, it looked something like this:

Summer@Home - Day 1

Day 1
My summer at home has officially begun. School let out five days ago, so most people might consider that the official beginning of summer. But for me, summer began today — the day my husband went back to work in the office and I stayed home.

If you don't know me, you may not realize the significance of this. I have not driven since February 9, 2013. On February 10 I had the first of a series of fainting and dizzy spells that occurred multiple times a day for a month until my doctors were able to get a partial diagnosis and find medicines that would help. I passed out for the last time on March 13, so I am not allowed to drive again until I have gone six months without an episode. September 13 is my magic date.

So with school out, and my husband back at work, I'm starting a new — albeit short — phase of my life. At home. All day. Every day. All...summer...long.

Showing His divine sense of humor, and just in case I was thinking about cheating, God decided to call my car home a couple of weeks ago. So even if I wanted to, I couldn't hop in my car and take an illicit jaunt to the grocery store or ice cream stand.

I am truly stuck.

Kill me.

RIP Thelma

I'm not a car person. I don't really care that much about what I drive. I've only bought one new car in my life that I really cared about: a 2000 VW Passat Wagon. I was a single mom, and it was the first car I'd ever bought on my own, with my own money, without having to check in with anyone. I loved that car in a way that was not entirely natural.

I traded in my beloved Passat in 2005 to get a 2000 Suburban with 66,000 miles on it. Herb and I were expecting Jordan — boy #4 — so a third row became a necessity. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make. But I cried a little.

It's Official. I'm Old.

Confession: I'm 41 years old.

But in my mind, I'm somewhere in the 16 - 20 range.

I can go to the grocery store, walk out with several bags of groceries that I paid for with a piece of plastic, and marvel that they let me do it. I feel like I've gotten away with something.

I look at these little mini-me's, and cannot believe that God thinks I am responsible enough to raise them. That anyone thinks I'm responsible enough to raise them. I can't keep a plant alive for a month, much less children for 20+ years.

I remember what my sister said about the moment she realized she was old. I was driving my car to the mechanic's, and she was following behind me to bring me home. She said that when she looked through her windshield at me, be-bopping along to some music on the cassette player (her words, not mine) she decided that she was old. If she was in sixth grade when I was born ... and I was now driving my own car ... that would make her ... oh, never mind. In her mind, she was old.

That moment just hit me on Friday.