A Rose In Any Other Language

I read my daughters' texts nightly. They are not allowed to have their phones in their rooms at night and they are not allowed to change their passwords so that Brian and I can have access to them. This is not an invasion of privacy. This is a safety precaution. They are still learning to navigate life, and we need to be aware of what's going on. So far, they are respectful of this and only bothered a tiny bit.

Then, Hadley pulled a quick one on us.

She began texting in Espanol. Wha--?? I only speak Dora, ya know, and she's way beyond Dora. Weirder still was the friend she was texting with--let's just call her The Sweetest Girl Ever In The Whole Wide World. I couldn't imagine The Sweetest Girl Ever In The Whole Wide World saying anything that needed to be coded. Heck. I couldn't imagine her saying much at all!

My curiosity (and my nerves) were peaked. I copied the texts and pasted them into Google translate. Y'all know what? They were texting homework. They had a conversational test in Espanol I and were practicing. Okay. So, not only do I have a good kiddo, but she's got good friends as well. Wanna know what the conversation was?

My dad teaches geography, helps with softball and golf and likes world politics and spending time our family (mi familia, Dora taught me that).

My sister is very athletic. She plays softball, likes to laugh and is social. She is eleven years old.

My mom is forty-four years old and likes to rest. 

Um ... That's what she has to say about me? Brian gets world politics; Briley gets "laugh" and "social" and I get rest?!?

I've been blogging since 2005. I've written four full-size books in two years. I'm in the middle of finishing my fifth book. Sure, I'm running behind schedule, but who doesn't? I was a regular for over a year on a local news show. I write a regular newspaper column, I write a regular magazine column, I teach full-time, and I speak to various groups all over our region. I co-produce the OKC Listen TO Your Mother Show. I attend softball tournaments and drive to golf events. And the word she comes up with is REST?

But, you know what? She's got a point.

Friday night, I took a book to bed at 8:30. It was glorious.

When she grows up, Hadley wants to study political sciences and behavioral sciences. She wants to work with the FBI in their behavioral analysis group.

She thinks she's so smart ... and she is.

After reading her texts in Espanol, I totally believe she's chosen the right field.

As for me? I'm going to bed early tonight, hoping I can turn off my alarm in the morning because of snow...

"What's This?"

Many of my more experienced mom friends tell of a time that our teenage children will all but stop communicating with us. They'll tell of a time that our teenagers will become so immersed in their own little world, that we will become spectators to their lives.

Fortunately for me, that hasn't happened with Hadley yet.

I have no words for this. 

Did I say fortunately? Pffft.

This morning as I was wrestling with my clothes, getting dressed (I do this more often now that I'm a stiff forty-something-year-old woman than I ever did as a young child learning to dress myself), Hadley came to my bedroom door and said, "What's this?"

My head, of course, was caught in my sleeve but I responded anyway, "I can't really see it."

"This, Momma. What is this?" she insisted.

I pulled my head through the proper hole and said, "Oh, socks."

She sighed so hard that my hair blew from my forehead. "No, Momma. This." Then she thrust a pair of socks at me.

"Slip on socks?" I answered, the question mark actually seemed audible.

"No," she said through gritted teeth, "THIS."

"I don't know, honey. They look like a pair of footies," note my use of a different word, "that one would wear with slip on shoes. Or at least that's the way I use them."

She rolled her eyes so hard into her head that I thought she was about to seize. "Geez, Momma. THIS." She spit the word out slowly and loudly as if she were speaking to a rude, elderly, foreigner who couldn't speak English.

I stared at her. I blinked. I didn't know any other way to say slip on socks.

With a lock of her knees, she explained herself. "This. This. This. This," each time shaking the (dare I say it) socks at me.

"Honey, I have no clue what you're talking about. I call those socks. Is that not right?" I confessed, possibly with a lump in my throat and a fleeting thought about early onset Alzheimer's. They say you can loose the simple vocabulary first.

She dropped her chin to her chest and roller her head between her shoulders, popping her neck as if she were gearing up for a prize fight or a Lincoln-Douglas Debate.

"THIS, Momma. THIS pad in the sock." Then she closed her eyes as if praying for the heavens to open and pour forth a bounty of patience as she dealt with the ignorance of the world.

"Oh," I stammered. "I think it's just a foot pad."

"Finally," she sighed as she took my padded socks with her and walked out of my room. "Was that so hard?"

Yes, child. Yes, it was hard. It was very hard.

When exactly do I get to be the observer?

Christmas Headlines

If my holidays were summed up with Headlines and Teasers ...

Sick Children Left to Fin for Themselves
With the last day of school hanging heavy in the air, parents continue to teach others' children while their own children suffer at home with a tummy bug.

Tummy Bug Take Two
As if to teach her parents a lesson about taking care of their children, Hadley, age 13, proceeds to vomit for twelve hours straight--beginning at nine in the evening; her mother is heard to have said, "Ugh."

Family Unpacks Before They Even Leave
Having their three-day sojourn to southern Oklahoma thwarted by sick kids, the Davis family repacks their suitcase so as to not haul too much stuff. It didn't help.

Heather Davis Spends Eight Hours In A Car
After leaving from Christmas with her In-laws, Davis repacks her bag to travel with her mother to Stillwater.

Family Enjoys Time Together; Wishes for Different Circumstances
Davis's Uncle Mac passed from this life to the next. His family expresses regret at his passing, but rejoices in his perfect healing.

Candlelight Service Calms Davis's Heart Before Storm
 Singing carols with her family and friends and sharing candlelight as they sang "Silent Night" helped Heather Davis, ever-graying, to regain Christmas spirit in her heart.

Teen exclaims, 'This Is The Best Christmas So Far'
After opening Christmas gifts from family on Christmas Eve, Hadley Davis makes her miraculous exclamation. Parents rejoice over positive words escaping from their teen's mouth.

'Mom, I don't feel good,' Cries Tween
Heather Davis was awoken (it's a word) by her 11-year-old Briley on Christmas morning, not with shouts of excitement, but with moans of misery.

Davis Receives Fateful Call From Her Husband
With all the urgent care offices closed due to Christmas, Brian Davis takes his tween to the ER due to high fever. Calls his wife with one word: Flu.

Evacuate Nana Plan Goes Off Without A Hitch
Davis and daughter Hadley transport Nana to sister, Rachel's home to keep her away from sickly tween (and eventual sickly husband).

Mother Daughter Share Quality Time Thanks To Hotwire
To allow the sickies to heal and the wellies to stay well, Davis and Hadley score a deal at a hotel less than half a mile from her house; both enjoy a Duck Dynasty marathon.

Good News: World's Best Aunt Wins Christmas
When Davis's four-year-old niece was denied drums by her parents, Davis purchased herself some drums and left them in the care of her niece. They both rock.

Thank You, Hadley

This morning, our pastor challenged us to not take notes during his sermon, but to write down people we for whom we are thankful.

I took notes because no one can tell me what to do.

Kidding. Kinda. I did take notes because it's hard to break old habits and he said some really cool things that I wanted to remember.

But, this challenge to think of people for whom we are thankful inspired me.

So, today, thank you, Hadley.

She's better known as Daughter 1. She's my first-born. She was wanted long before she came to be--four years, in fact, almost to the day. I'm thankful for her because she made me a momma.

For years, Brian and I tried to have babies without any success. (Brian would argue that the trying was just as important as the end result.) I was at a point in my life where I just knew I was destined to not be a momma--and that was heartbreaking to me.

There are many days since then, then I believe maybe I wasn't supposed to be a momma because quite frankly, there are days that I suck at it. Case in point, today.

I prayed that my daughter would be strong and smart and self-sufficient. So, it's my own fault, basically.

She became a teenager this week. I have to admit that so far, the years are getting better, this morning's text exchange withstanding. Or maybe it's because I'm getting used to this thing called motherhood. I've always been a slow learner.

Her birthday cake of choice was dirt cake. It wasn't, as the picture would have you believe, gruel.

But, today, I say thank you to my beautiful first born:

The one who made me a momma
The one who has mastered the art of the selfie and the silly pose

The one who is smart beyond my comprehension
The one who has my daddy's red hair
The one who has lofty goals and dreams and doesn't take no for an answer--

Thank you, Hadley.

PS--She has jeans and long-sleeve shirts. She just doesn't LIKE them.

She's my kid

Sunday morning, Daughter 1 circled the word Christmas three times in the church bulletin. 

"Ohmygoodness, Momma!" she whispered during the announcements, "I cannot wait!"

I nodded my head in agreement. This is the most wonderful time of the year. 

Tonight as we watched the first Christmas commercial (I think it was Target, and their song this year is not nearly as cool as last year's song), she said, "Don't you wish we could put up the tree right now?"

I giggled and nodded. I considered putting up the tree. Then, I changed my mind. Then, I changed it back again. 

As I sat staring at my beautiful daughter who was becoming just as giddy as I am about the whole season, she spoke again.

"I'm so excited I could pee my pants."

Just wait, baby. In 20 years, after you've become a mom, you actually will pee your pants. 

Learning to Fly

"Move, little birdie," I uttered in vain as I drove the minivan carefully beside the baby bird who was perched in the middle of the road.

"Momma!" Daughter 1 cried out looking back at the birdie still in the middle of the road. "He's hurt!"

"I don't think so," I assured her. "He's just young as learning to fly."

"How do you know it's a he?" she argued.

"You just called it a he," I reminded her.

"Yeah, but, he might be hurt," she said still looking through the back window, rolling her eyes at my gender pronoun choice.

Despite my confidence that it was just a smallish bird who was on his first solo flight, I turned the van around.

"Are we going to get him?" she squealed as I pulled over beside the tiny winged thing who still had visible down on his body.

"No," I said. "We'll just help him get to the side."

We carefully approached the tiny thing and I snapped a picture. Daughter 1 giggled at the sight and then the birdie awkwardly took off flying into the wind. This is to say that he flapped his wings as if he were trying to power a small village and floated backward, finally landing with the tiniest of thuds in the still-green grass.

"Oh my gosh, Momma!" Daughter 1 continued her giggling. "You were right!" She sounded incredulous.

We darted to the spot in the grass to check on the little guy.

We determined after closer examination against the green lawn that he was probably a she. She was probably a cardinal. She was beautiful nonetheless. I named her Rosie the redbird. My camera clicked, Daughter 1 giggled, and Rosie took off again.

She flew longer and father and higher than before. Daughter 1 and I chased after her just in time for her to come chasing back at us, tweeting, as if she were saying, "Where are the brakes on this thing?" She battled the wind and twisted and turned before she landed in neighbor's decorative grass. Or weeds. Or garlic bed. Wherever.

We giggled some more, and she took off yet again, tweeting.

"I think she's telling us thanks for helping her learn to fly," Daughter 1 said as we walked back to the van, confident that the little bird wouldn't be sitting in the middle of the road any time soon.

"I think so too," I smiled.

"I still wish we could have taken her home," Daughter 1 sighed.

My mom, who was sitting in the van watching the shenanigans of her older daughter and oldest granddaughter said, "If you love something set it free..."

Because Daughter 1 is sorta a smart a$$ (no comments about genetics, y'all) interrupted her Nana and said, "Then I set my momma free."

"That's okay," I smiled, "I'll always come back to you."

Getting Older

It was Twinsy Day at school yesterday. My kid, who goes to my school, who is in the throes of hormonal raginess, who tends to growl at me ... She wanted to be my twin. 

We both had an "Okay Okay" shirt. We both had jeans. She had two grey-ish pairs if Chuck Taylor's. Easy enough--Twins!

Then I cut my hair. 

I love my new 'do. I have just a smidgin' of color left the rest of my hair is 100% me--grey and all! And I love it! 

Daughter 1 told me this ruined our twin experience. Her hair is long and auburn and gorgeous. My hair was now short and mousy and, well, different. 

"But it will still work for us to be twins," she said with a sigh. 

Then we took the twinsy picture. 

Then I felt old. 

She's taller than I am. We wear the same size shoes. Her boobs are bigger and higher than mine for goodness sake! 

I look at that picture, and I wonder when I got so old. When did my baby become a young woman? How did I get wrinkles and saggy eyes and a child that has been mistaken for me? (Seriously. Someone thought she was Brian's wife. Twice.)

I look at that kid, though, and realize I've raised and am raising that kid. I still feel old, but I'll take it ... As long as this smart, kind, considerate kid is the pay off. 

Giggling Uncontrollably and Inappropriately

Daughter 1's bra broke. She has more than one bra, but this was her favorite bra. It may have been her favorite bra because it's the one she can actually find, but none the less, it was her favorite bra. And, it didn't break so much as the underwire poked out. It might as well have stabbed her in the heart and left her die.

I suggested, when she told me of this at 8:15 yesterday evening, that she just pull the wire out. Well, you know that can't be done, right? Because then she'd be lopsided. Plus? It's a stupid idea, donchaknow.

source

 

 

 

"So, are you going to get me another bra?" she asked me as I shooed her to bed. I sighed.

I was weary. It's the first week of school, and we started on a Tuesday, which means that I have spent all week having super weird dreams about Robin Williams being my student and old boyfriends hiring me to coach track and stuff like that. I'm not rested. I'm tired. And now, I had to go back out and get a bra.

"I guess," I whined. "If you really can't find your other bras."

"I really can't, Momma." And she said Momma with a heavy sigh in her voice.

Brian passed by me as I was walking out the door.

"Want me to go get the bra?" he asked as he kissed my forehead.

"Nah," I responded, grabbed my keys and headed out.

Then, as I stood at the bra display, grabbing bra after bra that is Daughter 1's size, but becoming completely perplexed by the numerous kinds of bras that were at a young girls' disposal, I realized the error of my ways.

I should have let Brian go get the bra. Holy cow! If I were perplexed, his testosterone filled head might have actually exploded making the choice.

Or he would have come home with a white, knit over-your-head sports bra.

Either way, it would have been hysterical.

And that's how I came to be standing in the lingerie section, by myself, flipping through bras, giggling uncontrollably.

Here ya go, honey.

 

It's been a rough couple of weeks for Daughter 1.  We ordered her two shirts that she desperately wanted and when they came in, they were my size. Okay, okay (no pun intended), it was probably because I accidently clicked my size without thinking, but what can I say? I've had a lot on my mind. But, this little mistake made us have to frantically order the right sized shirts and hope they got her in time. Good news? They did. Bad news? We still stressed about it.

Then, we got the call from school that the two classes she was most looking forward to, Orchestra and Publications, were scheduled for the same hour of the day. She would have to make a decision. Her decision was to, sadly, give up Orchestra. Her rationalization was that eventually, if she went to law school in order to go into the FBI, she'd need to have writing skills ... and writing is her passion. So, with a sad heart, she gave up her cello.

And finally, as she flipped through the pictures on my phone, she decided that I didn't love her nearly as much as I love her sister because I had more pictures of her sister on the big water slide and had no pictures of her on the big water slide.

"Plus," she said, "You haven't blogged about me in a long time."

"First?" I said, "I do have pictures of you. This one is of you."

 

"How can you tell?" she challenged.

"Because of the order of pictures that I took."

"Well, you still haven't blogged about me much."

"Do you want me to blog about what you said when you got off the slide?"
 

"MOMMA!"

"Well, do you?"

"I don't care."

So, what'd she say? When she got off the slide, she walked over to me and said, "Oh my gah, Momma. I just tooted and water came out."

See? I blog about both of my kiddos.

A Whole Bunch Of Nothing

My diamond on my engagement ring keeps snagging on things, and I'm afraid of losing it. I lost my original diamond when I was five months pregnant with Daughter 1. It killed me because I just knew that people would think I was some knocked-up, unwed teenage mother--never mind that I was thirty-years-old. So, I'm currently wearing my anniversary band, which I love, but it makes me feel like I'm being unfaithful to Brian. Like I'm advertising I'm not married, but I do celebrate anniversaries or something like that. Who knows why my brain operates the way it does.

I know! I know! My brain operates the way it does because I don't get enough sleep. I just don't. For reasons I'd rather not disclose and unfortunately have nothing to do with covert activities or state secrets, I'm waking up every night/morning at three and staying up for about a half hour. Then it takes me another half hour to go back to sleep. Then I wake up two hours later. I wish I could be a glamorous spy like Jammie Lee Curtis in True Lies. I already know how to do a strip tease. C'mon, CIA, gimme a chance!

I had lunch last week with two of my favorite bloggers, Stephanie of Hugs, Kisses and Snot and Sabine of Sabine of Suburbia. If y'all aren't reading them, you should be. They were both in the cast of Listen To Your Mother | Oklahoma City. You'll love their stories--and those stories go live tomorrow on YouTube! I've had a post-lunch, thank you message started to them but every time I get on Facebook to finish it and send it, someone else bongs a message to me and I get distracted. Y'all owe Stephanie and Sabine an apology for my tardiness.

This week, I dropped Daughter 1 off at another Summer STEM Academy. She's already having so much fun. It's just weird leaving your child in a college dorm. Just. Weird. There's no possible way that the baby who crawled out of her baby bed at eleven months is old enough to be left on a college campus. But, that's exactly where she is ... learning about food. Having a great time.  Instagramming pictures of her "second ever dorm room." Whatever, kid. Your room will always be in my house, you got it??!?

And finally, my cousins are coming today! Our moms are sisters. We grew up doing a lot of stuff together--trips to St. Louis, heckling our moms when they had a car wreck, you know stuff like that. I have a big chunk of my book Crazy On Board devoted to our antics. In fact, my own momma is currently reading the book and laughing as we speak. (It makes me feel weird when people read my book while I'm around.) I can only imagine that my mom is reading about the time my cousin Whitney and I busted a mob ring in St. Louis. We went to KFC afterwards. It was a big party. In honor of Courtney and Whitney being here, we're eating fried chicken. You only wish your cousins were as cool as mine are.

I'm hoping they let me dress them alike this week.

Let It Go ... Not The Song

"I don't like talking to people," D1 said as we got into the car to make our way to the STATE university for her week-long Summer Science Academy. 

"I know," I nodded. "Neither do I most of the time, but I do it anyway."

We had this conversation a dozen times on our way there.

And just before I left her for the week, we had that conversation again. 

And she hugged me like she used to hug me before she got all cool and teenagery and stuff. 

And I came this -><- a="" an="" baby="" back="" campus="" cannot="" car="" close="" et="" flippin="" for="" i="" in="" leave="" my="" on="" p="" saying="" the="" to="" university="" week.="" whole="">

But I didn't. 

I snapped a picture of her being teenagery instead and walked her to the commons where she said, "I don't like talking to new people." I nodded.  Because I couldn't talk, I nodded.

Then I left her with a couple of other girls and a college mentor where they began discussing and cussing The Fault in Our Stars, both the book and the movie.

I choked back tears and threatened the lump in my throat to stay where it was as I waited for the elevator. If I could just get on the elevator and make my way down the four flights, I'd be good.

I stepped into the elevator and pressed 1. Then I bit my lip and told myself to pull it together. I could still hear the group talking about how sweet Gus and Hazel were and how hard they cried when he just wasn't in the movie/book anymore.

And then I pressed 1 again, but I wasn't moving.

And I pressed it again and again and again. When it was clear after thirty-two presses that I wasn't moving, I pressed the door open button. Nothing. I pressed it repeatedly a dozen times. Nothing. I pressed every button to no avail. I ran my hand down the button area ala Buddy The Elf and got nothing. I even pressed the alarm. It made a lame ding, ding, ding sound. I barely even heard it. 

Finally, I called the campus help line. Since it was Sunday, I got an automated system that promptly hung up on me. Twice. I pressed the elevator help button and got this sound: Wah Wah Wah. So, I pulled the director's number from my back pocket and called her. Right after she promised to get me out, the electricity went out.

So, I Instagrammed it. 

I also took a selfie (which showed just how black it was), and I texted everyone I know. 

This is the response from my hubby who was still at D2's softball tournament (they won, BTW):

So much for concern from the father of the baby I was abandoning at summer camp!

Finally, twenty minutes later, a campus policeman showed up and struggled at manually opening the door. I would have helped him, but I was in the middle of a text to my friend, Denise. 

I bolted down the stairs and sped away. I texted D1 to take the stairs the whole week. And then I drove away. I let my baby and her mandatory-stair-climbing dorm go. 

When we were making summer plans, we had inadvertently scheduled D1 and D2 for camp at the same time. Initially, I was worried. Then I was excited. Some alone time for momma? Yes. I just had no idea it would come so quickly ... or in hot, dark elevator. 

Saturday the 14

Daughter 1, like every other tween and teen with a heart and blossoming bosoms, has been excitedly waiting for The Fault in our Stars to come to a theater near her. 

She and a friend worked for days--literally--to establish a day and a time they could go together. They finally decided Friday the thirteenth at 7:15 would be the best time. 

"You're going with us, right, Momma?"

Well, why not. 

I read the book in two days, forsaking laundry and cooking. I thought of ten thousand reasons to back out and let her and her friend go by themselves, but ultimately, I decided that it wasn't just a movie for me and my girl. It was a gift. 

My girl is almost a teen. Increasingly, she's becoming more and more independent. She's taking high school credits next year. She's leaving on Sunday for a week at college! She's forming her own opinions that are informed. She's growing up. 

So, I continued to forsake laundry and cooking and personal tasks like bathing so that I could spend the evening, invited, with my girl. 

My Friday the thirteenth? It was wonderful. I caught a glimpse of my sweet little, tender-hearted girl. It's been a while since that girl had invited me to be with her. 

Then we woke up Saturday and she ran out of deodorant and wouldn't use mine because it had touched my outs. And she couldn't decide with shoes to wear. I suggested her Toms, but that was stupid because, you know. Thirty minutes later she walked out if the house with her Toms on. And we didn't fix anything she liked for breakfast because we clearly don't love her and we made her wake up early to go to her sisters softball tournament because her sister is our favorite. And the wind was blowing. So, you know, there was that. 

But my Friday the thirteenth was great. 

21st Century Kid

Raising a kid in these days of a high-tech, hand-held lifestyles is really difficult. As a momma I have to compete with every single piece of information (and misinformation) in the whole wide world, also known as the WWW.

When I was a kid, my new information, also called The Evening News, came in small doses at 5:00. Usually, at this time, my daddy was watching the news with a cold Miller Light in his hand while my own momma finished up our supper. My sister and I usually played outside until we were called in for dinner. At that time, I'd get the news of the world, as presented and censored by my parents.

Today, with the flick of their index fingers on the mouse or the tap of their thumbs, my daughters can find out anything their little hearts or minds desire--or don't desire. As a parent in this era, Brian and I must be vigilant at keeping the lines of communication open so that our modern daughters know that no matter what, they can and should come to us about anything. 

And in that respect, it's never been easier to communicate with our kids. With those same overused index fingers and thumbs they can reach us at any given time with a phone call or a text. Fortunately, at our home, the smart phone has been instrumental in our keeping the communication lines open. 

I'd like to think that my girls could talk to their daddy about anything that they would talk to me about as well. In fact, up until Friday night, I'd have laid good money down with Vegas odds makers that they were just as comfortable speaking to me as they were their daddy about any given subject--including girly subjects.  

Then this happened:

On Saturday we went shopping. Both Brian and Daughter 1 agreed that it should be a momma-daughter date. 

Sister Sleepover

"Can we have a sister sleepover?" Daughter 2 asked as she bounced around the living room. Knowing that she had not had good sleep since the last day of school and knowing that she'd likely be driving her sister nutso, I passed the buck to Daughter 1, who would have to be sleeping with her.

"Can we have a sister sleepover together?" Daughter 2 asked her sister, who was sitting on the couch, half dozed and quite possibly with drool coming from her mouth since she hadn't had good sleep since the last day of school.

Daughter 1 shrugged her shoulders and mumbled, "Don't care." Then she stood up from the couch and said, "C'mon."

Forty minutes and three dozen yells of "Calm down!" by her three family members, Daughter 2 finally settled and The Daughters went to sleep. Before I went to my own bed a couple of hours later, I peeked in at my sleeping beauties. They were back-to-back in the middle of the bed. I imagined that Daughter 1 had gotten ugly with a wild Daughter 2 and they'd gone to sleep pouting. None the less, their breathing was synched up and I wished for them at that very moment that they'd always remain this close, not necessarily literally, but for sure figuratively.

Eight Nine Ten hours later, I woke up to a quiet house. Brian was already at the gym (he's such a good man) and The Daughters were still asleep. I peeked in and found Daughter 1 completely wrapped in her comforter and her sister, sprawled in the middle of the bed, uncovered.

In my attempt to cover Daughter 1, I woke her.

"I was just trying to cover your sister."

"She doesn't want covers," she told me in her sleepy voice.

"She might," I argued. "It's really a cold day out."

Daughter 1 really didn't care. She got up to pee and to seize possession of the remote control. I brushed my teeth and went back into her bedroom to cover her sister and found this:

 

She had covered herself.

"See?" I said as I called Daughter 1 back to her room to show her that her sister did want covered.

"Yeah," spouted back Daughter 1, "I wanted a bed to myself we can't all get everything we want."

Except that ... Daughter 2 ended up in the middle of the bed, by herself with all the covers. I guess good things come to those who sleep in.

Happy New Year, Take Two

Seriously, my alarm must not be working. I really only want to wake up at 6:00 a.m. and get some writing or yoga or mediation or a shower by myself worked into my day. I've set my alarm every single day to do this and so far, I've woken up at 7:42, 9:33, and today at 8:24. I'm not hearing my alarm. Brian assures me that it's going off. He also assures me that I'm turning it off. I have no recollection of this mess at all. Brian also says that maybe I'd hear the alarm if I went to bed before midnight and didn't play on my phone right before I went to bed. But, what does he know.

Nonetheless, I will continue to have my alarm set for six in the morning and will do my best to not hit snooze, but to wake up and be productive instead. It's part of my monthly challenge.

The other part of this monthly challenge is twenty miles. D1 and I plan on walking a total of twenty miles this month. This is because we need to get moving and because she'll be starting golf really soon and she's taking a trip over Spring Break and needs to be ready to walk a lot. So far, we've done zero miles.

January 1 was the first, and we just chilled out. January 2 was yesterday, and I was in Tulsa doing this:



(Happy belated Creme Puff Day, by the way.)

I feel confident that we'll get our twenty miles in for this month, just probably not until school starts back.

And I do believe that this post sums up the beauty and the beast of what we call Christmas Vacation. During the school year, we go non-stop, ninety-to-nothing, pedal to the metal, balls to the wall (well, one of us anyway) that when Christmas vacation rolls around and the holidays and all of their obligations are out of the way, we collapse and our bodies go into full-blown rest mode and nothing else matters. It's a beautiful thing because we need it. It's a beastly thing because it's not endless and we have to get back into the swing of things just as quickly as we got out of the swing of things. Not that we're swingers ... despite what some have assumed based on my book title alone. (We're not. So there. Stop emailing me.)

Saturdays I'll be blogging about our progress, so you can rest assured that even though I'm not daily blogging about how we're meeting (or missing) our challenges, I'll keep you informed weekly. You're breathing easier already, right?

So, even though 2014 has started, I call a do-over on my monthly challenge on January 6. Until then, don't call me before 9 a.m..

My Favorite Things: Christmas Programs

One of my favorite things during this particular time of the year are the Christmas programs. Daughter 2 was in our church's program last Sunday as a singing Mary--she added the singing part. This week, she'll be a dancing Anna--they gave her permission to dance. I'm sure it's a mistake that won't be repeated in years to come. (Fingers crossed there's not any twerking.)

Daughter 1, though, because she's older, has the opportunity to perform with her school orchestra. This concert is the all-city concert, which means that both middle schools and both parts of the high school will actually perform. The end of the evening concludes with the senior high's full concert orchestra playing several Christmas familiar carols and the audience is invited to sing along.

Daughter 1 has been practicing her cello part over and over and over again. I love the cello. A cello solo or cello in a group--large or small--is a beautiful, mellow sounding instrument that will bring tears to your eyes and goosebumps to your flesh. But I'll tell you what: When the cello part is played in isolation? You will think a cow is in labor in your front room.

At the concert, Daughter 2 sat--I use the term loosely because she's a wiggler--between me and my own momma. She whisper-chatted a dozen or so times about who was wearing what, which bass player had a Santa hat on and why the others didn't and how could we all get out of that place if a violin randomly caught fire. It's always exhausting entertaining to sit next to her at these sorts of events. 

I did notice a pattern in her whispers and wiggles. As each song began, she'd lean over and asked, "Momma? Do I know this song?" 

And at each song, I'd hiss whisper back, "I don't know. Why don't you silently listen and see?"

Finally, when the senior high orchestra took the stage and were warmed up, they began their first number, "Winter Wonderland." Daughter 2 squirmed in her seat and faced me, "I know this! I KNOW THIS!" There was not a hint of a whisper in her voice. 

Then the first verse of "Winter Wonderland" began Daughter 2, in her best American-Idol Audition voice belted out, "Sleigh bells ring! Are ya listening?" She was so loud, I jumped.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

"Singing along," she whispered back before continuing in full vibrato, "In the lane, snow is glistening!"

"Hey!" I whispered as I threw my hand over her mouth, "This is a time for listening."

"It's a time," she said wiggling away from my hand, "For singing. It says so right there." Then she pointed to the program before continuing the song, "Gone away is the new bird!"

You know what? I just let her sing. 'Tis the season, y'all!

#ThankfulThursdays: If it needs to be done

Photo Credit

Last week, we met another family from our church at our local homeless shelter to help serve the evening meal. The church provided the food. We just needed to serve it.

Daughter 2 had served this summer at the same shelter. She was nervous about going back because she hated to see the children there who had no place else to be. Daughter 1, who is always so cool and pretty much knows everything there is to know, snorted and asked her, "Would you rather them be at the shelter or sleeping in a car?" She had a point, but she also had an attitude that made me wonder if #ThankfulThursdays had been effective at all.

We arrived, and we served. Daughter 1 floated between serving  cupcakes and visiting with the residents. Daughter 2 and her little friend from church (a member of the other family) visited with the residents and had a grand ol' time.

We had to serve and run because D2 and Brian had a meeting at her school, and D1 and I had a meeting at our school.

As we drove away from the shelter, I asked D1 what her thoughts were about serving at the shelter.

"It was good," she said.

"Do you have any thoughts about it?" I asked, obviously fishing for blog fodder as well as evidence that #ThankfulThursdays had not been in vain.

"What kind of thoughts?" she asked me back.

"Do you think you'd want to serve dinner again?"

"If it needs to be done, I think we should totally do it again."

And ... there was my proof.

If it needs to be done ...

Throughout the past six weeks or so as we've done our #ThankfulThursdays, I've hoped that The Daughters will grow in two ways:  That they are more grateful for the life that they have, and that they are aware of the needs of others.

Sunday morning, I was visiting with my friend Lee. Our girls are close in age and have played softball together for several seasons. She said she loved the Get Well Soon cards that we did because it was so simple and so easy.

That's yet another lesson I want my girls to know: Being grateful, serving others--it doesn't need to be a big production. We don't need to be rich to do it. We don't need to make it a huge ordeal. We just need to do what we can.

"If it needs to be done ... " Good words to end our #ThankfulThursdays.

#ThankfulThursdays: Bless The Beasts And The Children

Last week, I said we'd be serving a meal at our local shelter. And we still will be doing that--only we'll do it this week. I just looked at my calendar wrong. When I discovered that, I mentioned to The Daughters that I was off a week and wondered what we could do for #ThankfulThursdays this week.

Daughter 1 quickly piped up and suggested we go to volunteer orientation at the SPCA.  She'd been once before and loved it. Daughter 2 squealed with delight at the thought of getting to play with the kittens all day long. I was less enthused. I love animals. I do. I just love my own animals. And I've got a very soft heart, and I had visions of Brian leaving me and the thirty dogs I brought home with me on the side of a dirt road.

Nonetheless, I signed us up to be trained on Saturday, and we headed out. After training, Daughter 2 had to go to softball practice, but Daughter 1 and I returned to the shelter that afternoon.

What you have to understand about Daughter 1 is this: She's a socially anxious child. Being around people, new situations, different situations, changes in routine--these all make her very anxious. This anxiety results in angry outburst, disrespectful tones and passive aggressive behaviors. But, when she's around animals ... She's a different girl. She knows that when she loves on an animal, that love will be returned. There's security for her in that. During the time we spent at the shelter, the anxiety that is almost ever-present within my child? It was licked off of her face by a very excited doggy.

We decided to each take a dog out to exercise. When I ended up locked in the cage with the leash around my ankle, I decided to just help Daughter 1 with her doggie. We exercised him, we played with him, we loved on him, and he loved on us right back.

As we walked through the very loud kennels selecting which dogs we'd socialize, I'd read their profiles. I was saddened by how many of them read "owner surrender." I know that there are circumstances under which owners can no longer care for animals. But I'm also realistic and know that a lot of times the animals are sad castaways when they are no longer fun or cute or just get in the way. You can't claim to value life if you don't value all life.

So, for #ThankfulThursdays, think about the way you can help the voiceless animals in your society. You don't necessarily have to volunteer your time--but I can tell you this much: You will be changed.

Most shelters run off of grants and donations, receiving very little if any government funding. You could donate money.

Most shelters always have a wants or a needs list. This can include anything from food, paper towels, litter, snacks, plastic Hellmart sacks, sheets ... If you ask them, they'll tell you what they need most.

What can you do on this #ThankfulThursdays to help the voiceless beasts of the world?

I was reborn. As a sucker.

I missed Mother-Daughter lunch at Daughter 1's school--this is a whole "Why She Needs Therapy" post in itself considering that I am at Daughter 1's school every single day. So, I told her we'd have a whole Mother-Daughter day on Saturday. We'd eat at her choice of restaurants (Olive Garden, or The O.G. as we call it), we'd hit up the mall (to get a new cord for my MacBook) and we'd just have a load of fun.

Our first stop was the ice cream shop. Because. It's good ice cream. Then we headed to The Mall.

It's been a long time since I've been to the mall to actually browse. Normally, I run into the Apple store and run right back out. I'm not a mall person. It's too crowded; it's too busy; and, I just don't like to shop. Weird, I know. It could easily be a part of my "Why I Need Therapy" posts. But, I sucked it up and went anyway.

Our first stop was See's Candy because they give you a free piece of candy with every visit. And I ended up picking up a Christmas gift while I was there. This reminded me that I needed to head to Spencer's to get another Christmas gift. That store is not nearly as funny when you're a grown-up accompanied by your tween daughter. Not funny at all. I snagged that particular Christmas gift and got out of there quickly because Daughter 1's questions got harder.

Then we just browsed around until it was time for our Genius Appointment at the Apple Store.

Before we got too far into the mall, we were stopped by Dana. Dana is from Israel and proudly had the Israeli flag displayed at her kiosk, which sold skin care products made from the salt of The Dead Sea. Daughter 1 has several major projects in school about Israel, so we asked Dana about Israel. She politely answered every question and followed it up with, "Now, this lotion comes also in a honey-scent if you prefer that."

Before we left there, she'd offered us two of the hand-care gift boxes, normally $99 each, for the low price of $19.99 for both of them.

"I come to America to help women achieve softer skin and healthy nails. I hope you let me help you."

Dang. She was good. She let it slip that offering it to us at that price would mean she would have to pay some out of her own pocket. My one nail did look healthier and $20 was a small price to pay to help her American dream come true. We thanked Dana and walked on.

I told Daughter 1 we should be proud that we were helping people make their way toward a happy American life.

And I think Alexandrois heard me. Alexandrois had come from Greece, and he looked as if he might be a direct descendant of Zeus. Dang! He was hot. Plus, Daughter 1 is kinda obsessed with Greece, particularly ancient Greece and she peppered him with questions. I just stared. He was as hot as the almonds he was selling at his mid-mall kiosk. You know his family has been in agriculture in years, and he was so excited to come to Tulsa, Oklahoma to help people discover the deliciousness of nuts. We offered us jalapeno almonds, mesquite almonds, cheddar almonds, pizza almonds, pork chop almonds, coconut almonds, and chocolate covered almonds. He answered all of Daughter 1's questions, kept feeding me free samples and offered us a pound of authentic Greek almonds for only $29.99 $19.99 $9.99 $4.99 because he liked how interested we were in his homeland, and he was very homesick.

Fortunately it was almost time for our Genius appointment. I say fortunately because I was almost out of money. I tried to avoid eye contact with other kiosk members. Really, I did. But, Arezoo--a sweet girl who came from Iran wanting to live the American dream--was smart. She snagged Daughter 1. "Would you like for me to fix your hair?" Quick as a wink, she plopped Daughter 1 in her chair and straightened her hair with a revolutionary new tool, The PTY Hair Straightener. "Which one do you like?" she asked Daughter 1, totally ignoring me. Then she plugged in the peacock straightener and showed Daughter 1 how to curl her hair with a straightener. Daughter 1 glanced over at me with longing in her eyes.

It's so pretty y'all. 

I was resolute that we didn't need a new straightener. "It's only $299," Arezoo told us. I shook my head. "I can sell it for $199," she offered.

"We have to go get our computer looked at," I responded, easily. Then, Arezoo made a very aggressively bold move. In one swift action, she flipped Daughter 1 and her cutely polished hair from the chair and set me and my frizzy locks in her chair of magic. She offered a price that was lower and then another price that was lower and another price that was lower.

"We have to go get our computer looked at," I whimpered, quickly loosing my strength. Y'all? She was playing with my hair! Truth be told, if she had played with my hair just one minute longer, I'd have paid $499 for it. I bolted from her chair. "WE HAVE TO GO GET OUR COMPUTER LOOKED AT!" Then I grabbed Daughter 1's hand and we raced to the Apple store but not before Arezoo gave us her "card" and bottom dollar price.

I wanted to help Arezoo with her American dream. I really did. But I need my computer. And we had to draw the line somewhere, right? And besides that, we really did have to get our computer looked at. Really. As I stood in line waiting for my genius, I felt my smooth-as-silk hair. But, I had to get my computer looked at! I had to! I needed my computer looked at, and the line had been drawn.

Fortunately for Arezoo, we drew the line after we went back and got our Peacock-feathered hair straightener. Y'all? I was helping her live the American dream.

#ThankfulThursdays: Two For One Post

Last week was a blur. Is it finished? I don't remember much of it because we were so, so busy! Our project last week was to make Get Well Cards and take them to the hospital for the nurses to deliver to patients who could use a pick-me-up. It was evident between softball, cello, The Tulsa Run and such, we didn't get around to making the cards, so we bought them and wrote sweet messages in them.

Then, we got sick. And by "got sick" I mean, we got really. Really. Sick. All of us. The cards are signed, sealed and ready to be delivered. There was a time when I figured one of us would end up in the hospital--yes, we were that sick--and I hoped I had to wherewithal to not only take care of my family but to grab the cards on our way out the door. Alas, or Hallelujah!, we escaped going to the hospital, and the cards are still on our table. After I disinfect them with massive amounts of Lysol, we'll deliver them.

In the meantime, it's next week. Or it's this week. Or it's now. Whatever. This week, our schools launched their canned food drives.

The Daughters love to drag out our wagon and go door-to-door in our neighborhood asking for canned foods. And they'll still get to do that.

We also have a great opportunity to feed the hungry through our church.

But, I wanted The Daughters to understand just how expensive groceries can be. I gave them $10 to spend at our local Aldi's Store and told them to buy food for their schools' canned food drive.

Daughter 1 surprised me. She said she wanted to buy a meal. In her mind, a meal is macaroni and cheese. Instead, she bought two cans of vegetables, two cans of beef stew, instant potatoes, pre-made gravy, a box of stuffing and some macaroni and cheese. Of course. The only reason she bought the beef stew was because she didn't have enough of her $10 left to buy a main course. She felt good about her purchase, but also came to the realization that she'd feed a very small family one meal with her $10.

Daughter 2, however, had one motive in mind: Get the most items for her money. Her class set a goal to collect 150 items. She not only wanted to meet the goal, but she wanted to win. I'm not sure what they'd win, and neither did she, but that didn't' matter. What matters is winning.

Initially, she was going to purchase thirty boxes of macaroni and cheese. Then, she realized that while that would be thirty days of macaroni and cheese, she'd get bored of macaroni and cheese, and she put some back and bought some stuffing instead, which she would eat for thirty days straight if we let her. Then she put back two boxes of the stuffing and bought a box of spaghetti. Even though she doesn't like spaghetti, some kids do, and when Momma makes spaghetti it lasts for days. Maybe she was thinking about others after all.

So, be sure to contribute food in whatever way you can and make them smart contributions. And when this season of #ThankfulThursdays is over, remember to continue to give food. In February those food baskets are long gone, but the hunger isn't. 

For next week, we'll be delivering bottles of water to our local homeless shelter. I hope you'll join us for #ThankfulThursdays!