I'm in a hurry to get things done.

I rush and rush until life's no fun. That's a song by the country band Alabama and it's been playing in my head all day. When I take time to listen, I know there's a reason why that particular song is the background to my daily activities. I spend most of my time, every day, including Saturday and Sunday, being in a hurry.

I have been getting up earlier and earlier - 4:30 a.m., then 4:20, then 4:00, then 3:40. I look at the clock and immediately calculate how much time I have to drink 2 cups of coffee (and only 2). I feed the dogs, let them out, let them in, read for a while, eat breakfast, take medicine, shower, dress, put on make-up, pack a lunch, pack up my briefcase, check e-mail and go to work. Usually by 7. Sometimes earlier. I'm supposed to be there at 8. Why am I in such a hurry to get there?

I drive to work fast...too fast. Almost always 10 or more miles over the speed limit. I don't like to be passed, and I like to be in front...front of what, I wonder? Why must I rush and rush?

I open our office, make a pot of coffee, bring in the newspapers, post the day's events, make a cup of tea, start my iPod, and turn on my computer. I look at my e-mail and respond to each message as soon as it hits my inbox. Why, I wonder, must I be so fast? I look over the day's activities and calculate how to get through each meeting, deliver each training program, return each phone call, and write each curriculum (which I break down into a certain number of pages per day; as in "if I write 5 pages every day for a week, I should have half of it done by Friday"). Is someone holding me to a deadline, you ask? No, not really. Is my job dependent on getting everything done yesterday? Absolutely not. The motivation is buried deep in my crazy head.

It's no wonder I feel worn out at 5:00 p.m. But the day's activities aren't over. I drive home - again, too fast. As quickly as I can, I drop off my purse and briefcase and rush to take out my contacts and change into jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers so I can drive to the lake and walk the dogs. Rush, rush, rush.

Even the walk is hurried. I walk Amber so fast that I've had people comment that I walk faster than some people run. I think to myself, "No, that can't be true." Who am I kidding? My kids won't go for walks with me because they think I walk too fast. My husband says what I consider leisurely he considers a work out. I'm in a hurry to get things done! But why?

Tomorrow we're going to Kansas to spend the weekend with three delightfully curious boys. They'll spend the night with us in our hotel suite where we'll go swimming, decorate a haunted house, watch a movie, and eat snacks. This Grandma is going to take a lesson from her grandsons and slow down and enjoy the moment. I have much to learn from them! I don't want to be in such a hurry that I miss the wonder of discovering a giant pumpkin or a hairy caterpillar. It's time I found (and lived) new background music. Doesn't Mary Poppins sing "Go to Sleep?" Maybe that would do it...as long as I'm not driving!

Monster Cookies

Monster Cookies

Prep Time: Depends on who’s “helping” me

Cook Time 12 Minutes (usually I try to move racks half way through)

Makes: 70 ish cookies

Ingredients

1½  sticks Butter

½ cups White Sugar

1½ cups Brown Sugar, Packed

2 whole Large Eggs

1 Tablespoon Vanilla Extract

½ cup Peanut Butter

1½ cups All-purpose Flour

½ teaspoons Baking Soda

1 teaspoon Baking Powder

2 teaspoons Kosher Salt

1½ cups Oats

½ cup Chocolate Chips (dark)

A bunch of Reeses Pieces

Preparation Instructions

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Throw the first 6 ingredients in the kitchen aid.  I usually throw the butter in straight from the fridge, who can plan ahead enough to “soften” the butter. 

I never mix my dry ingredients and then add to the wet.  What a pain in the rear end.  I put the soda, powder and salt directly in the mixer while it’s going and then start adding flour.  After that, add in the oats.  I turn off the mixer and add the chocolate chips and reeses pieces by hand.  I don’t want broken pieces in my cookies, but I suppose it all ends up tasting the same.

I truthfully can't measure diameter by sight, so I will forgo the typical __inch ball directions. Scoop some dough up and put it on a cookie sheet.  I put about 15 balls on a standard sized cookie sheet. I like to use my stoneware jellyroll pans. Then bake until lightly golden.  Don’t over-bake since they will keep cooking after you pull the pan out of the oven.  I move mine to a cooling rack after a few minutes on the pan.

Relationships

As I continue my journey toward right livelihood, I consider my relationships. Becoming more aware of one's relationships, so it goes, may help me determine whether I need a livelihood that includes connection to others. The rationale is that if you're highly motivated by connection - more than, for example, accomplishments - then you'll seek a career that involves collaboration, team projects, and/or socialization.

My memory is that I had many friends as a child. Yet as I reflect back, I realize that I usually had 2 close friends and many acquaintances. As a young child, my friendships were based on proximity - if there were girls my age in the neighborhood, we became friends. I remember 2 in particular - one with whom I played "house," and the other was my partner in song and dance acts. Neither friendship lasted. One moved away; the other...I'm not sure what happened. We grew apart.

Besides making friends with girls who lived nearby, I also sought out those with whom I shared an interest. I recall spending time with a girl who was considered odd by most of our classmates, but she was smart and we both loved to read so we would ride our bikes to the library every day during the summer. I particularly loved the freedom that came from riding so far from home and picking out books that I selected...no parent to assist or guide me. What autonomy!

In junior high, my 2 closest friends were girls from my church. We were in youth group, confirmation, and creative dance together and frankly, were pretty stuck up. We thought we were "all that" and weren't kind to the other girls at church. The 3 of us went to camp together in 7th, 8th, and 9th grades and acted the same there. We had a ball, but were oblivious to those who weren't in our clique. As fondly as I think of them today, I feel terrible for the way we treated the other girls.

I had many friends in high school. Slumber parties at my house, eating my mom's homemade tacos, staying up all night playing "heavy as a rock/light as a feather" and talking about boys were common weekend activities. I often felt as though I was coordinating our weekends - talking on the phone for hours arranging who would drive, who would pick up whom, what we were going to do, re-arranging it all if someone couldn't come, and then calling everyone again. I spent a lot of time on the phone. Which really is ironic since today I detest talking on the phone.

Although I maintained friendships with some of my junior high and high school friends through college, there were few. And even fewer after I got married. A couple years ago I remember reading The Girls from Ames and wondering why my friendships didn't last. Perhaps partly because I moved away from my hometown, but is there more to it than that? I wonder if it's because I married someone outside our group, or if it's because I quit drinking, or if it's just that we no longer had the same interests.

I've had great friends at work, but when I leave a job, I tend not to continue the friendships. We've had friends in our neighborhoods, but when we move to a new house, those friendships end. We've traveled with friends, but no longer see them. I've made friends when we've shared common interests - riding motorcycles, for example - but we stopped attending group rides and the friendships have dissipated.

So where does this leave me? First, I recognize that I have sustained a relationship with a man for 31 years which is quite a feat! I've also got great connections with my adult children and love nothing more than spending time with them. Shopping with my daughter, watching football with my son, celebrating every holiday with my son, daughter, son-in-law, and grandkids - these are the activities I love most.

I have a few very close friends and am happy when we meet for coffee or lunch, but I no longer feel compelled to join every group, go out every weekend, or attend every social event. It's important to me to be connected to the people I work with, and I enjoy teaching groups of people, but socially, I'd much rather be a part of an intimate gathering than a large party. I like working collaboratively, but am as happy pursuing solitary activities. I need both - a few supportive friends AND the freedom to be autonomous and solitary. I don't think there's balance in this - sometimes I want to be with people and sometimes I want to be alone. This week I happen to have a schedule that is packed both professionally and personally and I find it draining. Next week is likely to be quieter and then I'll miss the busy connectedness of this week. If I keep striving for balance, I'll go nutty. Much better to see the bigger picture and enjoy what is. Now that would be something to aspire to!

I tried to spend some time playing outside with my boys this weekend.  They love to explore and collect while they're outdoors. Foofer was gathering sticks from the front yard to make a pile on Friday night. 

 On Sunday morning, Luke was getting ready to close our swimming pool for the winter, so the boys and I went out in the backyard to play.  In between adding chemicals, Luke made a compost bin for the boys.  Ner has been asking for one for weeks.

 Then the boys enjoyed filling the bin.  I sure hope it works.  I guess we will see in a few months.

 After lunch today, I helped the boys build their Geo-Trax cities.  I tried to make a separate loop for each boy, so they didn't fight too much. 

 Then we looked for bugs.  Geebie is fascinated by the katydids.

 Ner was looking for worms (for the compost?)  Maybe, but most likely he just wanted to poke and prod the poor creature until it died.  Luckily for the worms, he didn't find one.  On Saturday, Ner and Foofer found a slug and decided to give it a bubble bath.  Needless to say, it had expired by the end of that experience.

All in all, it has been a beautiful weekend.  Now its time to start homework and grading so that we will be ready for a new week. 

Just like Mom

I feel guilty that I haven't posted in a few days, but this week has been killer and next week isn't looking any better.  I started Cognitive Coaching training Thursday and Friday, and while the information has been fascinating about how to help people by mediating their thinking, I am mentally exhausted.  Meanwhile, it was also parent teacher conferences this week for both my school in my teacher role and for my son's school in my parent role.  That effectively means that I got to work an extra 8 hours this week while trying to coordinate with my husband, so that he could fill in the gaps where I normally pitch in.

All in all, I am feeling rather stressed, and I don't even want to talk (let alone think) about next week's agenda. So tonight I did something I love more than anything in the whole world!  I grabbed a nice, restful book (Mitford series by Jan Karon) and sat in a bubble bath.  This is my go to destresser.  After getting out, I decided to check the blog and see what Mom was up to, and I was pleasantly surprised. 

I didn't realize our childhoods were such mirror images. 

1. I loved to read. I read a lot of classics (including many of my mother and grandmother's old books)
2. I loved, loved, loved A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  I also loved the Little House on the Prarie books.  I remember feeling so grown up that I could read them in first grade.
3. I loved to put on song and dance routines with my best friend. We did Les Mis about a million times.  I think our parents finally drew the line when we reenacted it with Barbies!
4. I had a hate-love relationship with piano. Started lessons at 7, and continued for about 10 years. I remember wanting to quit, but Mom wouldn't let me, that was the one thing that she forced me to do.  I would get so mad about practicing and pound the keys so hard, but the madder I was, the better I played.
5. I had a banana seat bike that I'd hop on and pull my friend around on her rollerskates.  We spent most of our time outdoors making potions and forts, climbing trees, and exploring our neighborhood.
6. I loved animals. I begged for a cat for so long, finally my mom brought home the cutest little black kitten. We named him Boo.
7. I loved animals so much that I cried my eyes out when any animals got hurt in movies, but I wasn't the least bit moved when the people died.
8. I thought I'd become an assassin. In fact, I disliked the kids in middle school so much, I was devising ways of extracting poisons from plants in order to kill them. I checked out library books all about poisonous plants.
9. We had a creek near our house - I loved to play there - usually trying to locate animal life and study it.
10. My younger brother and I played many different board games. I always cheated, but he rarely caught me.
11. And finally, my favorite thing to do was lay in the bathtub with sunflower seeds, and a good book, reading and eating until the water got cold-then I'd drain and refill and keep on reading. 

I guess that's a case study of Nature being stronger than nurture.  I wonder how many of these will crop up in my boys' childhoods?  I'm looking forward to finding out.

P.S. - the picture Ner made on the computer and it was just so cute that I added it   

Childhood Dreams

Articles and books about finding your true calling or right livelihood urge readers to begin the journey by thinking back to what they loved to do as a child. I find that when I'm put on the spot to remember, my mind goes blank. I think, "What did I like to do? I can't remember a thing. Or is it that I didn't like to do anything? Oh my!"

I recall very little about my preschool years other than having a children's Bible study at our house and loving the music. "The B-I-B-L-E! Yes that's the book for me! I stand alone on the Word of God, the B-I-B-L-E!" At 3 or 4 years old, I didn't have a clue what that meant, but I loved the tune and I sang my little heart out.

Here are the activities I remember loving (not in order of importance):

1. I loved to read. My favorite Christmas gifts were Bobbsey Twin or Little House on the Prairie Books. And Santa stuffed my stocking with them. I still remember getting up early to discover new treasures to read!
   
2. I loved, loved, loved Little Women and read it at least 5 times. I pretended to be Jo. Same for Christy. I pretended to be Christy.
   
3. I loved to put on song and dance routines with my best friend. "Eleanor Rigby" was a favorite song when I was 8.
4. I had a hate-love relationship with piano. Started lessons at 7, hated them, quit at 8, begged for lessons again at 9 and continued for about 10 years. I can't play piano anymore but it was my #1 stress reliever and I miss it. If I was sad, I played piano. If happy, I played piano. Depressed? Piano. Mad? Piano. You get the picture. I'm so glad Melonie has my piano now and there's nothing I love more than to hear her play.
   
5. I had a white and pink bike that I'd hop on Saturday morning and rode and played until Mom called me in for dinner. My bike's name was "Flicka" because I had just read the book, My Friend Flicka.
6. I loved animals. I used to pore through the "D" encyclopedia, looking at all the dogs. I traced them, studied the breeds, memorized facts about them.
   
7. I loved animals so much that I cried my eyes out when my uncles shot the gophers in the horse pasture. My grandma tried to reason with me, "But Debbie, the gophers make holes in the pasture and if a horse steps in it, it will break its leg and then the horse will have to be shot. You don't want that to happen, do you?" Of course I didn't, so knowing that the gophers AND the horses were going to die just made me cry harder.
8. My aunt thought I'd become a veterinarian.
9. We had a coulee near our house - I know not everyone calls them coulees - it was a little wildlife area with a creek. I loved to play there - usually acting out Little House on the Prairie. I liked to pretend I was Laura. Mary was too prim and proper.
10. My older brother and I played marathon monopoly games. We were incredibly competitive. Those games would go on for days. I always wanted to win but I don't think I did.
    
11. And finally, my favorite thing to do was snuggle in my bed with a plate of molasses cookies, a good book, and my mom's hair dryer, blowing the hot air on my legs while reading and eating. Heavenly!
    

What a wonderful childhood!

A Journey to Right Livelihood

Finding my true purpose in life - a calling, if you will - has been my lifelong search. I remember a church camp activity when I was 13 years old. On a section of a bamboo cross, each camper was to write a one word description of his or her greatest challenge. My word was "discontentment." Inside the piece of bamboo, we were to write what we were seeking. My word was "contentment." I kept that piece of bamboo for years, thinking I would display it when I finally felt content. The bamboo is long gone, but almost 40 years later, I continue to seek contentment.

In high school, I remember taking the career aptitude tests and meeting with the guidance counselor with anticipation and excitement. He was going to reveal to me the careers I would be good at and I would finally feel some sense of direction. As he reviewed my scores with my mother and me, he summarized, "Deb could be anything she chooses to be." I was crushed. I didn't hear those words as an opportunity but rather, as some kind of black hole. I thought, "What kind of guidance was that? Now what am I supposed to do?"

My name - Debra - means "seeking one" in Hebrew. The symbol is a bee. Bees, so the explanation goes, are always seeking, buzzing from activity to activity. This so aptly describes me that I had a bee tattooed on my left shoulder. However, in my constant movement, flitting here and buzzing there, I'm often left with a vague sense of unease - as though I'm not quite fulfilling my potential.

Recently, I came across the notion of "right livelihood." According to Thich Nhat Hanh, this means, "finding a way to earn a living without transgressing ideals of love and compassion....Our vocation can nourish our understanding and compassion, or erode them. We should be awake to the consequences, far and near, of the way we earn our living."

For Lisa Kivirist and John Ivanko (Rural Renaissance: Renewing the Quest for the Good Life, 2004), right livelihood has meant having the freedom and autonomy to pursue multiple "careers," from photography to farming to gardening to running a bed and breakfast. The underlying foundation for them was to be able to "work together on an intimate, daily basis, living closer to the land." I envy their connection to one another, their work, and their land. And yet, I know I cannot simply imitate their lives.

Deepening my relationships with my husband, children, grandchildren and extended family has become increasingly more important to me as I get older, and I continue to seek ways to do that. At the same time, work that is intellectually challenging, socially satisfying, and financially sufficient is also important.

In the past 3 years, I have read many memoirs, magazine articles, and books about individuals who change careers to find more meaning in their lives. Sometimes they want to have time for new hobbies; sometimes they realize the importance of spending more time with family, oftentimes they are burned out and switch careers entirely.

A few months ago, I read "The Happiness Project" by Gretchen Rubin in which she documents her concerted attempt to seek happiness in one year's time. In the spirit of Gretchen's book, I have decided to take a year to pursue my right livelihood.

I will consider questions such as:

• Is there really one best livelihood for each one of us or is it possible that there are many callings?
• Is it possible to separate one's livelihood (career) from one's physical, mental, relational, and spiritual self? In other words, if one feels "right" physically, mentally, etc., will one's career also feel right? And conversely, if one feels "off" physically, mentally, etc. will one's career also feel off?
• Does one's right livelihood change as one ages? I know, for example, that my interest in being an executive director of a non-profit 10 years ago is not something that I'd be interested in doing today.

To begin this journey, I believe I need to look at my past, my childhood. Some of the questions I'll consider are:

• What did I like to do as a child?
  
• What were my favorite subjects in school? What did I like to read?
  
• Who was I close to? What were my relationships like?
  
• What kind of person was I? What was my temperament?
  
• How did I address my spiritual needs?
• What was my health like?
  

After I review my childhood, I will consider where I am today, and finally, I will move on to where I hope to go in the future. I don't know if this will help me discover my right livelihood. My hope is that by documenting my journey, I will discern patterns and discover direction for my future.

I wonder if you'll join me?

A Fine Line

I just saw the headline of an article on Google News before I sat down to type.  It read "Limits Urged on TV for Children Under 2".  While I know that too much exposure to TV or any other sedentary mindless activity is something I should discourage, how do you remove such a staple of American entertainment from your child's life.  And, really, when it comes right down to it, what aspect of parenting should (or should not) be regulated?  Raising your children well is one of the hardest jobs out there, yet we provide no requirements to parents for learning how to do this job.  Instead we just judge, condemn, and punish parents who do a bad job.

Lord knows, I am not a perfect mother.  Our family is busy; while I am scrambling to get my children in the door, start cooking a nutritionally balanced meal, and ensure that backpacks get checked for homework and important notices, my 18 month old son is usally watching some sort of children's television program.  He particularly gravitates towards Yo Gabba Gabba and Backyardigans; and you know what, I'm fine with it.  It probably makes me a horrible parent in some camps, but face it people - there are bigger fish to fry. 

Of course, this is just one small example of the problems that we face as parents in today's society.  It's a case of damned if you do, and damned if you don't.  If I didn't let my toddler watch television, he would find other ways to occupy his time - meaning he'd be destroying the plants, terrorizing the cats or his brothers, or falling off of objects he's climbed onto. (Yes he still does all of these things, just less often)  I could spend all of my time following him around, and become a helicopter parent, but that would just stunt him in the area of self reliance and decision making.  So I turn to television as a fun way to keep my baby occupied just long enough for me to chop up the veggies that I'm sneaking into his dinner.  Hey - at least I'm saving him from the weight gain of frequent fast food dinners.

The Power of "Un"

When I was 30 years old, I began having joint pain. It came on suddenly and unexpectedly. I woke up one morning and couldn't use my right thumb. The pain and stiffness were unbelievable. Then it disappeared.

A week later, I developed unexplainable pain in my right shoulder. Had I slept on it wrong? No. Had I bumped it into something? No.

As the days went by, the pain continued in an unpredictable pattern. Not content to stay in one joint, it was constantly on the move - from hand to foot, jaw to hip, right side to left - unstable, unruly, and uncontrollable. Six months and many doctor visits later, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis.

For the past 20+ years, I've managed this unrelenting illness with medication, diet, and exercise. Sometime I thumb my nose at it and decide to learn to ride a motorcycle...and then ride it to California! Other times I lay on the couch, not able to sit up or tie my shoe. For most of the 20 years, no one besides my family would even know I have this illness.

But frankly, it's becoming more difficult. I do what I can when I can, but I am way-laid more often by the severity of the pain and the accompanying fatigue. Sometimes I look at my hand and think, "How can pain in these three fingers cause so much misery?"

Unfortunately, the illness leads me to withdraw from those I love as going to work and getting through the day takes all the energy I have. Unapologetically, I decline most evening invitations as the fatigue overcomes any desire I might have for going out. Sometimes, even my plans for writing this blog get de-railed by the illness.

Are there new medicines I could try? Thankfully yes. Will this disease go away? Probably not. Will I write about this again? It's a painful subject (pun intended), so chances are unlikely. I intend to keep fighting the power of un.

Cleaning

                I have a love-hate relationship with cleaning.  I love the sense of accomplishment and the feeling of organization, but I really, really hate doing the work.  No, that’s not quite right.  I really, really detest picking up; the actual cleaning part doesn’t bother me at all. 

                Some of my best childhood memories are of Saturday morning cleaning.  I remember the lemony smell of Pledge as I polished the legs of tables and chairs.  I loved watching the dust motes float through the sunshine, waiting for me to exhale and send them spinning off in new directions.

                My mom was the picking up police; you had hardly set something down before she was there demanding that it be put away.  Our house was always neat and tidy, something I took for granted as a child.  Now as an adult, I wish I had adopted that skill from my mom, instead I chose to rebel against her uberorganized world.  My house is never really picked up.  I’m the queen of moving my piles around, or finding places to stash things.  I can’t ever quite make up my mind about where things should go, so I am constantly moving items from one cupboard to another.  It drives my husband bonkers. 

                On Saturday morning, Foofer and I spent about 3 hours cleaning the house.  By the end of the ordeal, I could look around at the relatively spick and span atmosphere and feel good about our accomplishments.  I don’t think I will ever be the housekeeper that my mother is, but for a few moments in my bright, sunny, clean living room I could see the dust motes dancing through the air and try to reconnect with those childhood memories.

Me and Photos

I finally activated my facebook account. I resisted...a long time...because so much of my life is spent on email that I didn't want one more technological obligation. And also, there's the profile photo. And I'm not photogenic. At all. And I'm not kidding.

Here is the photo from my facebook page:

This picture was taken by a professional photographer for a work function. I told him, "I always look goofy in pictures." And he said, "I've never failed at getting a good picture of every person I've photographed." And then he proceeded to work his a__ off! I'm not kidding when I say he took at least 100 shots before he found a usable one - and it was this one. I think it's okay. But my family doesn't think it looks like me at all. Notice my eyes. The left one is definitely bigger than the right. And I'm smiling kind of goofy. In real life, I either don't smile at all or I smile so huge that my eyes get all scrunchy. That's what the photographer said, anyway. He said, "You're either on or off - there's no in between with you, is there?" And I guess there isn't.

But a few months ago, when Mr. Man and I went riding (which put me in a good mood), I didn't balk when he took this picture of me:


With my skull cap and biker t-shirt, I think this looks more like me. Mr. Man says he likes both pictures ("They're both you." And this is one more reason why I love him). I like this one. And I'm pretty sure my kids and grandkids would say, "That's Mom/Grandma!"

Size 6X

I love clothes. As a little girl, my mom sewed most of my clothes and I loved going to the fabric store, looking through pattern books and picking out fabric. I thought I was special because I didn't have many store-bought clothes and there were no worries that another girl would show up at school wearing the same dress that I wore.

I was a small girl. I remember my mother saying, "I wish you were a 6X." It seemed I stayed a size 6 for a long time, and those were baby clothes. 6X were big girl clothes - more fashion appropriate for an 8 year old! The day I finally fit into 6X, I felt so grown up! There were so many options for big girls and one of my favorite pastimes was paging through JC Penney and Sears catalogs.

Sizes 7-14 were uneventful. I don't recall anything special about my clothing during those years, except for my first and only pair of bellbottoms - they were supposed to look like the American flag - red and blue stripes, and white stars - and I adored them. (Hey - I said I loved clothes, not that I had fashion sense!)

Throughout junior high and high school, my mom and I made bi-annual excursions to Fargo (the big city) to do my fall and spring wardrobe shopping. We would be on the road by 6 a.m., eat breakfast in Tower City, and shop all day at the mall. I would stock up! And I couldn't wait to wear every outfit to school. I felt so fashion forward! My most memorable outfit was a pair of yellow pants with a black and yellow striped sweater. I must have looked like a giant bumblebee but I felt so pretty!

In college, away from home for the first time, I didn't just gain the freshman 15 - more like the freshman 30. And for a 5'2" girl, that's a lot of weight. So I jumped from sizes 5/6 to 13/14 quickly, painfully, and self-consciously. This was not a fun fashion era for me.

By the end of my sophomore year, I lost the weight and began to enjoy clothes again. I subsequently got married, had children, started a career, and all the while, wore the same size - cute, trendy items all found in the junior department.

When I turned 40, I began to wonder if I should still shop in the junior department. After all, I certainly wasn't a young woman anymore! But I thought the clothes were cuter than those in misses and they fit me well, so I continued to get my jeans, shirts, sweaters, and dresses there. Until I noticed that most of the shoppers were 14 year old girls looking for homecoming dresses with their mothers.

So I moved on. I found a couple stores that had clothes that fit well and were cute yet appropriate. I especially loved the Loft....until this year. I've found that at age 52, I'm once again in between - I don't want to look like I'm trying to be 25 yet I want to look fashion forward.

Last night, Mr. Man and I went shopping at our favorite casual clothes venue - Eddie Bauer. And as we tried on various shirts and sweaters, I resisted a pair of boyfriend jeans, thinking they were way too young for someone my age. The sales clerk saw me and said, "Do you want to try them?" To which I replied, "I think I'm too old." She pointed to her manager (who is at least 10 years younger than me) and said, "She's wearing them right now. They're not too young for you." That's all it took. I tried them on, I asked Mr. Man what he thought, he gave me a nod, and guess what?! I'm wearing them now. I chuckle to myself to call them boyfriend jeans, though. After all, my "boyfriend" and I have been married for 31 years.

I'm not sure where my fashion adventures will lead me, but I'm sure that whatever age I am, I'll keep looking for my 6X!

It's the Small Things

I paid the bills last night.  I'm the official financial caretaker at our house.  If I don't know how much money we have, I assume we have some; then I spend it (you know the old adage ass you me-except in this case its ass luke me). Anyways, I balanced the checkbook, added up the bills, and scraped together enough to hold us until the next pay day.

After watching all that money bleed from my bank account, I'm not always in the best of moods.  My solution is to destroy things.  Specifically, I destroy the bills that have been paid.  While this is helpful for multiple reasons (the secure information stays secure and I don't forget which bills have been paid and which are pending future payments), the main purpose is to de-stress.

It almost becomes a mini celebration.   I snatch the envelope from the pile, lift it high into the air and slam it onto the floor.  With each new THWACK, my tension eases a little more; by the end of the tossing I've started to develop a small smile.  

The next step is to gather the paid bills and begin tearing them apart.  The physical act of ripping through debt is almost delightful. Usually at this point I feel the need to slam the torn pieces to the floor once more.  Finally, I save my account updates, roll my chair away from the computer, and walk away, stomping the shredded bills in my wake.  I know that I will have to clean them up at some point, but getting in that last dig just feels so good.

Soul Soothing

Here is where I spend most of my time:

This is where I work. And if I'm not there, I'm probably here:


Driving to and from work, or to and from teaching, or to and from meetings, or to and from the grocery store...you get the picture....

Here is where I'd like to be:

And here:

I love walking the trails with Mr. Man and the dogs. We try to go every day and it soothes my soul! Even when it kills my hand...because Amber pulls so hard...and then I have to run to keep up....and then my feet start to hurt...and then I start to sweat....I did say I love this, didn't I? Keep reminding me....

Busy Boys

As my children are getting older, my days are getting fuller.  It seems like we are always running from one activity to another. This is probably a good thing for my kiddos, since their natural proclivity seems to be gravitating towards one form of electronic entertainment or another.  Ner would play Spore 24 hours a day if I let him, and while he uses the word devastated correctly in context (as in: "Mommy, that creature nearly devastated my tribe!") I don't want him to turn into the stereotypical fat, nerdy, teenager ten years from now. 

In any case, for the last few weeks our days/evenings have been booked.  Tuesday nights are soccer for Foofer and Cub Scouts for Ner.  Wednesdays we go from football practice to gymnastics. We get a little breather on Thursdays, but there is always a game, an activity, or a purchase that needs to be made on the weekends.

Today we added two field trips to the mix. Foofer and Daddy went on the preschool Pumpkin Patch trip. They had so much fun and came home with two pumpkins!

Ner and I went to his school Camp Day.  He goes to an environmental magnet, so many of the school's lessons and activities have something to do with the natural world.  We both had a great time, and for lunch we got to roast hotdogs and marshmallows over a campfire!  What could be better? 



Although my boys and their activities keep me busy, I'm proud of my sweet, well-rounded kiddos. Twenty years from now I'm sure I will look back fondly at these memories and miss the chaos.  I'll try to remember that and cherish the moments I've been given.

Grandpa's Trunk

For 10 years, we lived in an old 3-story house. It was built in 1912 and we filled it with antiques appropriate to the period. One of my favorite pieces was my great-grandfather's trunk. I'm not sure how I ended up with it, as he and my great grandmother lived in my home state of North Dakota while I was in Nebraska. How did it get here? Did we ask for it on one of our trips home? Or did Mom and Dad bring it down, thinking I would want it in memory of my great grandparents?

However I got it, I loved it. I loved the dark green color, the musty smell, the old yellowing paper peeling away from the back and sides. I loved its heaviness, the worn leather straps used to haul it. But mostly I loved it as a backdrop for my seasonal decorations.

I set it in the corner of the foyer with the lid propped open. Mr. Man cut a piece of plywood that fit across the top and I'd layer it with holiday and other seasonal fabrics, and then arrange monthly decorations and lights on it. White cloth with red cardinals in January, red cloth with an assortment of hearts in February, green cloth and clovers in March, and so on.

We no longer live in that old house and this summer we said goodbye to the old trunk. But I still love to decorate each month.


With Halloween fast approaching, I decorated a hall table with my usual assortment of fall items. It's not the same as Grandpa's trunk, but it still makes my heart sing.

Yummy!

Foofer and I were looking for something fun to do last night, so we decided to make some fall brownies.  All this really means is we grabbed a box of brownie mix and "doctored it up", but we both had fun mixing while Daddy took pictures.

We used a triple chunk brownie mix, and added a heaping tablespoon of peanut butter-because who can resist the chocolate/peanut butter combo.  I reduced the oil because of the pb, and we ended up needing extra water. 

I loaded the mix into the mini loaf pan. (Love this pan! It cooks everything in about 20 min) Foofer had fun decorating the tops with reeses pieces, and Geebie stole a few reeses pieces to munch on.

In the end, we got exactly what we were hoping for: a good time and some delicious fall snacks to devour. 

Falling Trees and Other Conundrums

Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself that my mom is a real person.  I mean, I know she's a real person, but I forget that she has a life of her own that existed long before I ever came into the picture.

As a kid, I don't think I ever realized that fact.  It was like the "If a tree falls in the forest, and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?" theory; if my mom is not around, performing mom-ish duties, does she really exist? 

As an adult, our relationship has evolved, and I can see from a more logical and objective point of view; but part of me still wants to selfishly cling to the idea that my mom is my mom and that is the extent of her role. 

 I still watch her to see how she reacts, trying to use her life experience as a map for my own. I still crave her support and approval, wanting to live up to my own ideals of her expectations. I still see her as a guide to what a mother should be, modeling my own motherhood on the memories of my youth and the way she continues to mother me today.

Although neither of us is perfect, I can't think of anyone else I would rather emulate; there's no one else who can quite fill the role of Mom.

Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

Mondays. I really really don't like Mondays. I almost said hate but that sounds too hateful. And this morning it drizzled all the way to work and although the sun eventually came out, I didn't leave the building until 6 p.m. A long day of work - and though productive - it was still long. And I was pretty beat by the time I walked out the door. Reminds me of that tune, "Mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this." Only thing is, my mama would say something like, "You work too much. You need to slow down. It's too hard on you." Or some variation thereof.

So instead of coming home and turning on the TV and vegging out on the couch, Mr. Man and I took the girls (our 2 dogs) for a walk on the horse trails. We watched the sun set and the full moon rise and water on the lake glisten. We laughed when Scarlett (min-pin) pounced on the tall grass, because "it could be somethin'!" We caught up on each other's day and came home feeling calmer, refreshed, and content.

My mama said there should be more days like this! Thanks, Mom!

Cozy Contemplations

The steady drips of a good soaking rain are lulling me tonight.  I'm greatful for the rain, not only do we need the moisture, but it makes me relax and look forward to the cooler, cozier weather that will arrive shortly. 

Fall is my favorite time of year.  I love the chilly nights and warm days, I love the reds, oranges, and yellows that dot the landscape, and I love the sound of Christmas music lilting in the air. 

Christmas music you might say?! Ever since I was a little girl, Christmas music started early.  According to our traditions, anytime beginning in August is appropriate to scroll down to the xmas playlist on the ipod and let the yuletide tunes rip.  If you haven't at least listened to an Amy Grant album by the 1st of October, then something must be dreadfully wrong. 

So the cool weather beckons, the chill of autumn etching the trees with color, and I'm getting cozied up with my hot cocoa, a good book and my favorite songs.  I learned from the best, we let the chestnuts roast and the sleigh ride begin, even if there isn't any snow to be found.

Ode to Manure...And Other Earthy Fragrances

At the end of September, beginning of October, I begin a hunt for the best candles I can find that smell like Autumn - and so I have a collection of pumpkin spice, pumpkin gingerbread, caramel apple, and spiced cider fragrances - all of which I light at the same time, because I think more is better!

This morning I was up at 4 a.m. (middle-age insomnia, I swear!), and I lit my candles and drank coffee while I waited for the kids and grandkids to get up. I made french toast and Canadian bacon for breakfast and my oldest grandson said, "Grandma, that french toast smells so good!" It did - sweet and buttery and crusty - perfect with butter and maple syrup (although they prefer Log Cabin). And Canadian bacon from the CSA was perfectly thin, seared, and so bacon-y that the house was full of good smells.

After the kids and grandkids left, I took the dogs for our daily walk on the trails around the lake. I had a bit of a headache, and although I didn't really feel up to a walk, I knew it would be good for me...and definitely needed by the dogs. Within 10 minutes, my headache was gone. And I know why.

The ground was wet from yesterday's rain and the fallen leaves and dying grasses smelled like sweet, sour decaying humus. I love that smell! Especially the cottonwood leaves which always drop first. And in the distance I caught a faint odor of cow manure and I thought, "What could be better?! Birds singing, leaves rustling, nature smelling - all's right with the world." Happy Sunday, family!

Can't We Just Dip In A Toe First?

I started thinking about doing a blog about a year ago - as a way to write regularly, journal my constant search for meaning in life, and most importantly, reach out to my daughter who lives 400 miles south and my mother who lives 600+ miles north.

Melonie, my son-in-law, and 3 munchkins are visiting this weekend and she and I were up at 5 a.m., drinking coffee and getting caught up with one another's lives. She said she had an idea for a book. I said, "What about doing a blog?" She said, "You've been talking about that for a year, Mom." To which I replied, "But I'd like to do it with you."

At this point, I would have made another cup of coffee and contemplated longer...maybe 6 more months. Not Melonie. She's a doer, that girl! She said, "Okay. Let's do it." By 7 a.m., she had it up and running! Meanwhile, I made breakfast, offered a comment about the color, drank more coffee, offered a thought about the font, and simultaneously thought, "Really, can't we start slower? Maybe dip in a toe first?"

So about the name: Plain Great Women. She asked me, "What do you want to call our blog?" After much silence, then brainstorming, then more silence, we settled on Plain Great Women because

• we both live in the Great Plains - me in Nebraska; her in Kansas.
• we're plain speakers - in other words, we don't mince words and are unfortunately, not known for our tact. People generally know where they stand with us; and reason #3:
  
• I think she's plainly great!
  

There's one more reason for the name. We're hoping we can get my mother to join in - so we'd have 3 generations sharing ideas, asking questions, giving advice...three wise women! And, like us, my mother lives in the Great Plains, plainly speaks her mind, and is a fabulously great woman! Let's see if we can keep those toes dipping!

Jumping In With Both Feet

We've been talking about it for months, and we've finally decided to take the next step.  My mom and I are starting a blog.  My main goal for this endeavor is to keep in touch with the women who matter most to me: my mom and grandma.  Mom's been trying to convince me to start a blog for over a year. Since my family lives 5 hours away, it will be a good way to share the activities, challenges, and joys of my three boys. I just hope that I can live up to the expectations and continue to post.