Z is for Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah indeed. You know . . . my, oh my, what a wonderful day . . . I can hardly contain my excitement. The alphabet is over. That was hard. And if you have no idea what I am talking about you can be grateful. I don't know how to link all the posts together and tie them to a button, sorry. HTML is not on my resume. And the writing project didn't quite turn out like I had hoped anyway . I adopted an idea from a really beautiful writer, Sarah Markley, and couldn't really do it justice. All of her letters were profound and deep and meaningful. Mine were not so much.

Honestly, it was just too taxing to say something deep every day. I am a lot of things - most of them good - but deep isn't one of them. I am sentimental, and funny, and occasionally a cranky hag. But, not deep. I can live with that. Let me tell you my favorite five things I did learn through my project.

(1) Writing every day is a unique challenge. I enjoyed it and am planning to keep it up.

(2) The blogosphere is a broad and beautiful universe. I really had no idea. In the last 30 days I have "met" some seriously talented new friends, joined a book club, become part of a Secret Santa exchange and won a blog award. I think all of that is too cool. Just way too cool!

(3) I reject too much structure. I have to admit that's not really something that I am just learning, but this experience served as confirmation of it. I have no issues with commitment, but I want to have a certain amount of creative license. Having to write about M on a day that I was just not into it was frustrating to me.

(4) Inspiration doesn't just appear. Perhaps if I were backpacking through Europe there would be more extraordinary content for me to share, but my piece of the world is not particularly inspirational. A weekly column in a self help publication is probably not in my near future.

(5) My family is my most precious gift. Writing is a terrific outlet for me to express my love and devotion for them. I haven't stopped hugging them, kissing them and saying how much I love them, but some days my profession of undying love and admiration just freaks them out.

My once monthly posts about the cake I baked or the tooth fairy visiting are a thing of the past. I am grateful that my parents still read my blog and can see what absolutely brilliant fantabulous things there grandchildren are doing this week, but I'm just loving the cameraderie of having other readers, too. I've gotten so much out of blogging that I couldn't possibly pull back now.

There's no better time to laugh as we put One Foot in Front of the Other. Happy October!

Y is for Yesterday

YESTER

a combining form, now unproductive, occurring in words that denote an extent of time one period prior to the present period, the nature of the period being specified by the second element of the compound: yesterweek.

There are a million tainted yesterdays in my history because I am a bottomless pit of bad decisions. Spontaneous, honest, direct. All admirable qualities in the right context. But, I could be the most negative combination of those qualities EVER. I am constantly putting my foot in my mouth and saying things I should have thought through more carefully. Constantly. Like yesterday.

I'm sure I seem well put together and articulate in writing, but it's only because I have an opportunity to think about what I am going to say before it's recorded in print. That's a blessing. I'm not always so polished in spontaneous conversation and action. I have months worth of yesterdays that I wish I could "do over". So, so many.

When I was with my oldest girlfriends recently they thrilled in reminding me of a particularly rowdy weekend where I decided that the shirt some redneck was wearing was far superior to my own attire. So I traded. In the parking lot. Um yeah. Do over, please. Not a proud yesterday.

My least sparkling moment in verbal history could be when E and I were having a heated conversation about him going back to Graduate school. He was extolling the values of creating a network of like minded professionals to carry him through the next phase of his career. And right there, in our family room, in all my postpartum glory, I quip back "So you want my approval to put us $70K in debt so you can make new friends? Are you joking?" Uh, did the donkey come equipped with a rewind button? I just don't even know the person that said that out loud to the father of her children.

Imagine my recent delight to find that the formal definition of yesterday includes the phrase "now unproductive". Oh goodie! That almost seems to imply that there's no residual harm in our errant ways. No side effects of harsh words or wreckless behavior. That would just be so nice.

I realize I have been decidedly lucky in this lifetime that my carelessness hasn't been more "productive". I've never been arrested, seriously maimed in a car accident or punched in the face for bad behavior. And I have deserved all of it. And more. I do not take for granted that I have never been smacked by the cruel hand of fate and I have learned that there is no use in dwelling on yesterday. It IS unproductive. What I can do now is change tomorrow.

I can speak kindly and respond thoughtfully. I can (try to) curb my sharp tongue and brutal honesty. I can apologize quickly and genuinely, love deeply and think hard before indulging an impulse. I can not change yesterday. It is unproductive.

But every single day is a new chance to make tomorrow better. I am learning.

X is the last letter of his Name

It's not Maximillion. Not Maximus. His name is Max is and I am truly, madly, deeply in love.

I've never been more smitten with anything than I was with him in the first three years of his life. The easy to come laughs, the peaceful little sighs and the eyes that were too big for his tiny little face. Oh those eyes. They are exactly the color of his Dad's, but his are topped by long, curly eyelashes. I think the whole entire world is more beautiful when I look at his eyes.

Four years later I am no less smitten. He is witty, charming and sentimental to a fault. He has a heart bigger than Texas and is the most loyal friend. ever. He gives 110% to everything and has my most sincere admiration for his commitment. He is ridiculously funny and far too wise for his years. He talks about when he was here before and I believe every word.

He loves sourdough toast with lots of butter, mint chip ice cream cones and likes cucumbers better than carrots. His laugh can make my whole day. Every. Single. Time.

You hear how a baby can change your life, but I never knew how true that was until Max. I love you so much, Angel Boy.

Not Me Monday

Today was not one of those days when I wish I hadn't fought the urge to stay in bed and try again tomorrow. That would be lame and unbecoming of a girl like me with so much fire and passion for life. I greet each and every day with a cheery smile and some chirping birds tying my apron strings. Right?

And I would NEVER have excused myself from a conversation at drop off this morning with a total lie. Not me. I couldn't look right in the eye of another Mommy and say I had to dash off for a meeting when in all actuality I just think she is dull and superficial. So.not.me. Never. And I definitely wouldn't have been planning to go to Starbucks with the extra time I had on my hands after getting away from her.

Most certainly, I did not lament to my colleagues that my Canadian client is an effing beotch without disconnecting our phone call first. Did not, did not, did not. Not only do I not EVER curse, but that would be so unprofessional and it was not me. I love all of my clients and think they are brilliant, witty and highly overqualified for their positions. I could never bring myself to think something like that, much less say it out loud to multiple people without making sure the line was clear.

And if I had been out of the office all last week with undiagnosed crud I would be ALL OVER getting caught up and right on top of my projects. Yesiree I would. So it couldn't be me that has been daydreaming all day of the upcoming holidays, baby showers and what I am going to do for Christmas cards right down to whether or not I'll buy personalized postage stamps this year. Ohhh noooo. I am way to committed to my profession to be distracted like that. I am all there, totally present, all day every day and never dilly dally. Never. Not Me.

Most importantly, I would never have welcomed a homework meltdown as the perfect excuse to ship them off to bed early. Never. I welcome all of their pathetic tantrums as a growing experience and would have rationally discussed the problem well before I sent them straight to bed. Oh yeah.

You can head to MckMama's too and join in the Not Me Monday fun. It's so fun to see what everyone has NOT been doing!

W is for Want

It wasn't that long ago that I could have written a three page list of things I wanted.

• chocolate leather riding boots
• Buttery gorgeous Coach bag
• FLIP video camera
• trendy cotton scarf
• CHI flat iron
• 800 thread count sheets

You get it. Lots and lots of things. And then I decided I didn't care anymore. And I don't. That much. I haven't given up on that one Coach bag, but generally don't want anything more than I have.

In our car on a Sunday afternoon I know that I have every single thing I could want. He loves me, respects me and shares the care of our sweet children. They're healthy, happy and still think we're great. The car has four tires, a running engine and carries us safely to our activities. We park in the garage of our home that's warm, clean and comfortable.

It would be dishonest to say that I don't wish for new lip gloss every other Thursday and a beautiful new piece of jewelry on our anniversary, but I want for nothing. How blessed I am. Truly, truly blessed.

V is for Victory

The gym is crammed full of tiny girls bobbing to Miley Cyrus and we don't know any of them. She is timid and overwhelmed. I pass her off to the high school cheerleader in charge of the tiniest and pretend that I think it's all fine. I have to attach myself to the concept that if I am not nervous she won't be nervous. It's hard to stand by and watch her discomfort. I fear it will be harder later if I don't let her build courage each time she has the opportunity.

I stand by for a little while. Just to be sure. And it clicks. She's fine and happy. And I'm fine and happy. Happy for her. And happy for me. She's doing her thing. And I must say. Her thing is just too dang cute. Good job, baby girl! You make me so proud. See The Video Here

U is for Unsettled

What would they say if they wrote my obituary today? So gloom and doom, I know, but it crosses my mind more than it should. Both of my parents have shared with me this week some unsettling comments on loved ones who are either not faring well or have left us long before. The challenge of both of those conversations for me is very specific and directly related.

Two upstanding, intelligent, God loving men from the deep South have or are leaving behind a legacy of bitterness and contempt. Because they were alcoholics and they hurt their children. Oh, that breaks my heart. Breaks. My. Heart. I hurt so much for those men and their legacies.

While I am not an alcoholic (I thank God for that, I do) I fret deeply over the legacy that I would leave if my departure from this life were untimely. I am not so blinded by grace that I don't think it's possible. It so is. And I desperately want EVERYONE who touches me to know how much I care. My unsettled sense of me comes from desperately wanting to only be remembered for good. Is that possible?

I want E to know that he is God's greatest gift to me. Ever. He could very well be the reason I am not an alcoholic or drug addict (thank you, babe!). He is quite obviously the reason that I have two healthy, breathtakingly beautiful children. He is the reason that I try to curb my destructive impulses, why I love more deeply than ever and why I smile most days. He is absolutely everything to me. Will he only remember that I don't know how to log into our checking account or will he remember that I adore him and tried to show him every day?

I want my babes to know that they offer me a more gorgeous view of the world than I ever even thought would be possible. I love their hands and feet and charming smiles. I cherish all of the drama, the books we read over and over and the prayer that the three of us made up on a trip to Tallahassee three years ago that mentions their Daddy and their dogs. I selfishly need to know that I haven't offered a careless criticism that they'll remember me for if I weren't here to apologize. I need so badly for them to know that they are my reason without spoiling them rotten in the interim. That's a tough one.

My girlfriends have to know that while my current world looks like just a party of four, that I would have never gotten to this happy place without them. Never. Some of them were there before E and I know they would each be there for me in a minute after E if that beautiful corner of my world should end. I need them to know how much I appreciate their interest in my family, my career and my well being. A chat with one of my girls has so often been the difference in a no good rotten very bad day and a memorable moment. I desperately don't want to be only remembered for my strong-willed, to the point, say what you don't want to hear attitude. If I weren't here to say "I'm so sorry" I would want them to remember me for generosity and my genuine love of their company. I need them to remember me as "That Friend". The one that loved them endlessly.

I desperately need my family (this is intended for my biological and married families - they are the same to me) to recognize that they inspire me all day. Every day. Their faults, their triumphs, their acceptance of me in all my disheveled splendor. There is a certain comfort and confidence that only comes with knowing that you're loved unconditionally by someone who would actually pick you up if you were stuck on the side of the road or in the emergency room. No questions asked. And to be loved like that by more than one someone feels so good. I want to be remembered as thoughtful, and appreciative and hospitable to them. And openly recognize that I am not always so good at that. Please remember me for how much I love you and not my long list of shortcomings.

A spoiled, selfish girl is where I started and I am trying desperately to shake unsettled. I want to leave a legacy that reflects how deeply I feel gratitude and how very, very much I love my life and all of it's glorious pieces and parts. Each of them. I hope you know who you are. I'm slightly unsettled that you may not . . .

Friday Feisty

Blogs are a printed version of our true selves, right? I have seen some blogs this week with some bang up nifty themes and well, quite honestly, I am just not that cool. An entire blog about lighthouses. Really? That takes some commitment kids. My blog is about me. And my family. And the life issues that plague me. Like today.

I have been entirely in my house for the last 5 days. That hasn't happened for me since I was on bed rest over 5 years ago. Hated it then. Hating it now. I was perky yesterday. I had some medicine, got cleared of a swine flu diagnosis. Life was good. Not so hot today. My perky clearly wore me out. I felt better yesterday than I do today and I am a little pissed about it. It's Friday and I am ready to move on from my sick bed. I am sure it would offer E some relief as well. The poor guy.

And another thing. The first couple of days of my ill induced stupor had me all cozy and loving that my home was a haven for me when I was not well. That's over. I moved my command post from the bed to the dining room and I'm thinking it's time for some sprucing. And deep cleaning. Cause I can't even offer an explanation as to why my stainless steel refrigerator doors look FILTHY. Like you may not want to touch that without gloves. How do these things happen?

If I were feeling better here are the things I would do, post haste:

(1) Clean those refrigerator doors. I will NOT walk out of this house without that happening. It's truly sick.

(2) Go to the library and get the October book for my reading group. Yep, the library. And I'm gonna get my own card. No more buying every single book the kids and I want to read. Novel idea, I know.

(3) Get my car washed. It needs to a spruce even worse than I do.

(4) Go to Michael's and buy a shadow box for the Yosemite pinecones that are still sitting in a shoe box on my fireplace from our trip in AUGUST. And I'd buy something fall. Some pumpkins or candles. Or both.

(5) Call back my severely retarded client in Canada. I am hiding behind sick to avoid telling her what I really think of her and I will definitely need to feel better than THIS to have that call with her. Bane of my existence. That program sucks. A lot.

Well, I should probably call her before I head out? Seeing as how I'll need my job to pay for the shadow box and the Gold Wash. Just mentioning any of it makes me want to get back in bed. Sick sucks. So lucky to have a blog to vent to. My trusted assistant just doesn't seem to care today.

Have a good weekend, friends. I'll be my usual fabulous self soon. I hope.

Flashback Friday - Cousins Night Out

My husband has the coolest group of cousins, a lot of them! We love to spend time with them when we can and it's always a good time when we get together.

We're getting ready to see his darling cousin Michelle when she's here in a few weeks for her baby shower. That's right. Another sweet baby in the family. Oh goody! Her pending arrival makes me remember the fun we've all had at our last few get togethers and makes me wonder if we can pull together another one (with caffeine free root beer, of course).

Whaddya say cousins? A date for October? E and I will host. Let's talk. Enjoy the Flashback! Love you, K

Letters to Someone

Dear Maui:

Oh, I hear you calling my name and I miss you too, Pretty Girl. I am more than a little sad that we can't spend time together this year, but you are my friend. I know you understood when I sought to teach the babes a life lesson this summer and took them camping instead. In hindsight, there are lessons to be learned on a sunny beach, right? It wasn't personal. I would have rather been lounging with you. Trust me! You've been so so good to me for so long and I know we will be reunited soon. Next time we're together I think I'll bring some friends. Remember all those wild and crazy peeps who were there with E and me 10 years ago? That's right. Party time, sistah! I am planning, and waiting, and dreaming. Please save a Lava Flow for me. I'll see you soon.

Mwah, Your Forever Loyal BFF

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Dear Friends with September birthdays:

I am awful, I know. Little Miss "Never Forget a Card" has fallen off the Hallmark wagon. If it's any consolation at all - you are not alone. I haven't sent a single card in September. Birthdays, Anniversaries . . . I have somehow missed them all. No excuses. Only remorse. Please forgive me. Our October compadres may just hit the jackpot as a result of my horrible guilt. I know that doesn't do anything for you. I'm just sayin'.

xoxo - Still Thinking of You, Just Not on Paper

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Dear Daytime Television:

I'm just not sure we can be friends. I do love me some Regis & Kelly and you have single handedly kept me from going bonkers in bed for three days (well, not quite. My blog is VERY current), but you are filled with so much trash. Did I really need to know that Mackenzie Phillips had sex with her Dad a LOT? I am thinking no. That's just freakin' creepy and I have made it for 35 years without knowing that. I very well might have scars from that one. And I can't even offer an explanation to why I am watching Clifford the Big Red Dog when there is no child in sight here in the land of quarantine. You make me a little crazy you big plasma dream. I know you have the ability to deliver news, and I did only learn about the flooding in my BFFs Atlanta neighborhood because I was hanging with YOU, but I think we need a break. Like I need to go back to work. And you need a rest. For a very long time.

It's Not You, It's Me

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Dear Hot Dogging Athlete that I Love to Pieces:

Nice work on the field this weekend, sir. I appreciate that you were taking notes when I missed a practice AND a game while I was with my girlfriends. That's hereditary. But I appreciate even more that you made up for missing me by being a 7 year old dynamo on the baseball field. Your extraordinary effort in pitching, that big hit over the second baseman's head and the diving catch to make the final out - you make me the proudest Mama in Fall Ball. All my multi-tasking and fuss just falls away when I watch you strut your stuff. You are one cool kid. Can't wait for your next game.

All My Love, Your #1 Fan

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You can head to ShortMama's to see her Letters to Someone and link to her bloggy friends letters, too. Always entertaining!!!

T is for Two

If you read what I write very often (thank you, Mom and sweet Megan) then you know that I am endlessly grateful for my marriage. More and more lately I realize that I am completely awed by and enamored with the concept of my children having two parents, because I didn't. My parents have not been a couple since I was four years old and my general opinion of that is that it sucks!

I do, however, need to qualify a couple of things. First, and foremost, I am not judgemental of couples that cannot make it work. Heaven knows that being married is only slightly less difficult than being a parent. The reason I am so grateful for my own marriage is because I believe there has been some divine intervention mingled with our struggles. It's certainly not because we are perfect and know how to do this just right. I don't think that couples who don't make it are failures. I think it's unfortunate that there wasn't some common tie there that made them want to fight like hell, but I don't think at a very general level that divorce is wrong. Some people really aren't meant to be together. My parents for example and my second clarification. They are both outstanding, amazing human beings, but if you know them both then you understand my own comedy version of what it must have been like for them to be in a marriage together. Since I was too young to remember them as a couple I choose to see them as a cartoon. A very pathetic, although hilarious cartoon. Really. Not. Meant. To. Be. And that's OK. So I'll move on . . .

I adore the idea that my children are growing up with two parents. Two parents for me is a huge statement. I don't mean a Mom and a Dad sharing a sink and both being there for Thanksgiving. I mean you get the same answer no matter who you ask. We are two equal halves doing whatever it takes to make these sweet peas turn out right. At least we're trying. And if we're doing anything right at all then our kids will know that home is the one place they can turn when it's not going right for them and it won't matter who's there when they're ready to talk. There are two of us who love and support them unconditionally.

The other half of my family equation has been taking on the majority of the work this week while I am sick. We worry constantly about our sweet baby girl getting sick. Her asthma triggers in such a way that a fall flu can take her OUT for weeks, literally. That's not cool. So I've been quarantined. And #1 of our twosome is doing it all. He's making lunches and doing baby girl hair ~ complete with bows. He's driving back and forth and checking homework. He is letting me rest and caring for them so completely that it's a little unnerving.

But that's the beauty of two that leaves me breathless. I would do the same in a minute and although it's not expected by anyone it is cherished beyond words. Two could be the most precious number in the world to me. It's solid. And true. And my greatest love. I love you, two.

S is for Sick

I am sick. Really sick. Like my head is too big to lift off of the pillow and sit on my shoulders all alone sick. No fun. This is the 3rd day I've had on these pajamas. That is it's own version of sick. I know.

I'm working a little today, resting a little and watching I Love Lucy. That's good stuff. I would still watch TV if there were shows like that on network television now. Lucy was one funny lady.

I'm thinking I need to get up and wash these sheets and do my best to kill the germs that are living in my space, but a nap sounds better. I hate sick, but naps are oh so good.

R is for Recap

Weekends always get in the way of my blog time and this weekend was no exception. I've said before that I am disappointed in my choice to blog through the alphabet. Sarah did it so beautifully and I wanted to be like her. I'm not. In so many ways. But the thing that I most definitely am not is dedicated. And she is dedicated. I am dedicated in limited quantities and broad brush concepts. Not dedicated to the day to day commitments that I lose interest in.

Remember when I said I was finicky. I am. And I am NOT loving following the template of the alphabet and blogging it every day. I am falling off of my blogging wagon. I just keep reminding myself that there are only 26 letters and I can do ANYTHING 26 times. Particularly if I committed in print to doing it. While I am finicky, I am not a quitter. And so much fun is happening in my bloggy world how could I possibly turn my back on it now?


JennyMac at Let's Have a Cocktail granted me an award. Really? That's too cool. I mean way too cool. I've mentioned Jenny's Blog before and follow her constantly. She is sassy, articulate and hilarious. Just my kinda girl. Thank you so much, Jenny. I love you long time.

Chris at Just A Girl was trying to track down this darling family rules idea from another blogger she saw and she found it!!! Good for her. It is a terrific project and I am already wondering how I can use it myself. Chris doesn't know this, but she is constantly on my mind. I fawned over her Organization Station last month and finally got my own version of perfect installed in my kitchen over the weekend. It's not quite as fab as hers, but I also don't need a mudroom. I live in sunny Southern California and just have a cabinet inside the kitchen door that works. I had to say that to make myself feel better. I swoon over her mudroom, but don't want to NEED IT because my kids clothes are covered in snow. We've all got our own issues.

Super cute Michelle shared some three month photos of her darling son, Tyler. I love anyone who is so shamelessly in love with their son. I have had a sip of that juice myself. I am a little smitten with her guy, too. He reminds me of Max at that age. I need to find a photo and put them side by side. First born boys are so special and I love following Michelle falling in love with him. Absolutely adorable.

And when I was catching up on comments I saw that ShortMama had something to say about my P is for Politics post. I respect her opinion and like to read about her cowboy Levi and her sweet little girls. I appreciate that she reads what I write and actually cares what I say. The challenge I always have with controversial topics is that I don't really want to "get into it" with most people. I certainly don't want to tangle with someone like Amanda who I like so much. That's what husbands are for :)

But I do want to clarify something - I am NOT saying that everyone who doesn't agree with President Obama is racist. I so, so, so am not saying that. There are certainly things he has said that I can't stand behind. What I AM saying is that I am mortified by the lack of respect that is being spread in our Nation, particularly the lack of respect that is shown for the President. Racist or not, the leader of the most powerful Nation in the world deserves the respect that every other President has been allowed. Period

There are lots and lots of good things going on in my blog world and I am so happy to have found so many cool new friends. Only 8 more letters of the alphabet and I am back to being random! What I'm best at . . .

Q is for Quiet

It's so quiet. Too quiet. There is NO noise in the house. No low level Phineas & Ferb and puppy dog toes on wood. No Star Wars vehicles firing against shreiking protest at Disney princesses.

Quiet.

Has she suffocated him with only a pink poodle pillow and a sly grin?

Did he lock her outside and and the paper boy swept her away?

Quiet.

I forgot. They're not even here. They had a sleepover. Both of them.

Hallelujah!

Oh what should I do with such unexpected bliss? Sleep? I can't. Run? I don't wanna. Coffee and paper? Maybe . . .

Oh, I know. I'll clean. So sad. So true. To clean the floors without immediate footprints on shine and vacuum without begging someone to move is it's own form of therapy.

Thank you to Grandma & Grandpa for my clean floors. I Love You

P is for Politics

I don't write about politics. I don't want to be judged for or categorized by my political views. It never really ends well and I choose not to go there outside of my home. Until now. I can't quite get over something and don't think I can be quiet about it any longer. If you don't agree with me then stop reading. Free speech and all that.

Recently I stood in my kitchen and cried over the division in America. That's pathetic. It was when our private Catholic school called on a Sunday afternoon to let us know that we could "opt out" of our children arriving at school on time and viewing the Presidential address on education. Are you kidding me? Did anyone call my parents at home when it was time for Ronald Reagan to make a speech that would bore us out of our Jr High minds? No. It was never considered. Ever. Did we shield the recently adolescent population from George W. Bush's ridiculous grammar and ignorance on global events? Nope. They saw the whole thing on network television and replayed over and over on YouTube. Even typing this fires me up so much that I am willing to get right in the face of any right wing racist jack ass started all the hoopla. IT IS WRONG.

Will I declare myself a fully liberal Democrat who thinks Obama is the messiah? Absolutely not. You won't ever see a bumper sticker on my car promoting the change that he promises. I think believing that one man can fix an entire nation's problems is just as ignorant as thinking that if you play the lottery every week you'll eventually win. Not my thing. The odds are simply against us. Change will happen when everyone decides to take responsibility for themselves and their children. All of their children. All of the time. THAT would be a positive change. And raising a generation of gracious, well educated children would go a long way towards encouraging change in this country. And THAT is my problem.

Our kids, MY KIDS, are being brought up in a world where respect is a rare commodity. The man that WE THE PEOPLE elected to run our country deserves respect. Whether or not your Great, Great Granddaddy would roll over in his grave (yeah, I said it. I grew up in the South. I get it) to see a black man addressing the nation is irrelevant. He IS the President. He deserves our respect and support. And our children deserve to learn that an adult in a position of authority should not be disrespected. Never. Ever. Not their bus driver, their crazy aunt, the President. It doesn't matter. The person in charge is there for that moment for a reason and they are biologically required to respect and obey. The idea that they can "opt out" of that requirement is ludicrious to me. Even when their parents didn't vote for him.

I am not, nor will I ever, say that you have to agree with every single thing that comes from any leader's mouth. I certainly don't. What I can't tolerate is that there's an entire generation of Americans who are being led to believe that the democratic system is irrelevant and respect is directly linked to personal beliefs. We're not going to survive like that people. It just won't work.

Stepping off my soapbox now. Have a nice weekend

Letters to Someone

My friend Amanda does these letters every Thursday and I laugh and laugh every single week. Having some extra pent up frustration myself this week, I am jumping on her band wagon and capturing her McLinky. Here are my Letters to Someone:

Dear Alarm Clock ~

You are evil and rude. It's still dark outside, I'm snuggled up to the one and I love and there you go blasting your noise to the world. Do you know what it takes to cover the circles under these eyes every damn morning? Is it possible that we could make a deal? You nudge me gently with a warm cup of coffee in your hand and I let you live another day. Deal?

Quite Grudgingly Yours,
The Truly Tired Mama Who's Life You're Ruining

Dear Fundraising Chairperson ~

Bless your heart. I know you signed up for your post because everyone needs something to do. But, my goodness. Really? We all pay an obscene amount of money each month for our neatly pressed, uniform clad angels to occupy the hallowed halls of their school AND we additionally pay a stipend that guarantees the school fundraising dollars. Do you really think I am going to haul my kids around the neighborhood in a wagon to peddle chocolate covered peanuts and curling ribbon? Please get a clue and stop sending home notes. I'm losing patience. And by the way, my gift wrap is from Target. They have great patterns and it goes on sale. Often. Back off.

Charmed, I'm sure,
On the Way to Destitute and Homeless with Well Educated Children

Dear Sophia ~

Oh princess . . . First the hair. Not a cool move, but I had to let it slide. Anyone who says "because I want to look like Grandma" is bound to get off the hook. You clever girl. But the disasterous morning routine every single day is getting old. School starts at the same time each weekday morning and sleeping an extra half hour won't fly. Also, you wear the same thing every day. A meltdown over exactly which pair of white socks are most comfortable is unacceptable. My heart hurts all day after I scream at you, but a girl can only take so much. Pretend like you love the socks and no one gets hurt. Capish?

Much Love,
Your Rapidly Losing Patience Hairdresser and Laundress

Dear Kramer & Kate ~

You idiots are starting to get to me in a very big way. I know that we're dog people and we take photos of you just like you're our children, but come on. You know there's nothing in the lunch box when you drag it out of the backpack, but then you haul it under the table to eat the empty ziploc bag. I know that Costco dog food has more nutritional value than that and the holes in the lunch box are a little ghetto. Just because I don't stomp on your paws when you're sleeping doesn't mean I don't notice. You should start being more careful. I hear Michael Vick is home again and looking for new companions. Hmm mm - get it?

Puppy Dog Kisses to You Both

If you've got something to say to someone special you can head over to ShortMama's and link up, too. It feels good!!

O is for Octopus

If I had six more arms would it be enough? Can any overachieving, deep loving, hard working woman ever have enough time and resources? I'll say no. Even if I were an eight legged creature who didn't need to catch my breath to survive it wouldn't suffice.

Arm One is for loving ~ calm those fears, kiss those tears, tell him he's the one

Arm Two is for working ~ sign here, fly there, pretend you're having fun

Arm Three is for homemaking ~ dust this, bake that, adjust the frame just right

Arm Four is for memory making ~ look this way, step over there, can I upload these tonight?

Arm Five is for playing ~ apply sunscreen to him, find a hat for her, the tickets are right here

Arm Six is for resting ~ close the shutters, lock the door, a quiet moment's near

Arm Seven is for friend keeping ~ send the card, make the call, the effort is so crucial

Arm Eight is for me ~ care for your skin, keep your teeth clean, aging is just brutal!

Knowing that six more hands won't help I'm going to have to keep moving with the two I am lucky enough to have. It would be nice though to have an extra one to hold my drink while I'm trying to take a photograph and wrap a birthday gift simultaneously . . .

N is for NOT

It is NOT a good morning at 1307. Grrrr

I am NOT interested in making lunches out of nothing. Again.

It is NOT charming to me that my 5 year old cut her own hair. I do NOT want to take her to get it evened up because I am NOT sure the end result is going to be flattering.

I do NOT want to take 3 ibuprofen for this headache just so I can drive them to school. It is NOT exciting to me that I have a stack of to do's on my desk that I am NOT going to get through today, although I will NOT eat lunch.

It is NOT my favorite thing that I committed to blogging through the alphabet every week day in September. I am NOT a quitter, but this is NOT what I want to do right now.

I am NOT proud of myself for being such a crabby bitch. Tomorrow will NOT be this bad.

I'm NOT so sure

M is for Mmmmmmm

All things delicious to me

Marriage
the center of my universe and the root of everything good to me.

Mommy
the most difficult, exhausting, rewarding and honorable title I have ever held. It defines me.

Mrs M
I am inspired to be the other half of something good. Being Mrs. means that I am part of something bigger than myself and doesn't allow me to be selfish. I need that and delight in hearing it out loud.

Memories
The moments are a rush and greedily absorbed. Only the memories remain when the moment is over and are what we have to cherish at the end of each day.

L is for Living

Lucky us. If you're reading this you made it through another weekend and so did I. I consider myself blessed for that. Fatalistic is a word that I consider often. What does it really mean? In my mind it means that you believe that everything is destined to come to a tragic end. If that's the case then I could certainly be qualified as fatalistic. I heartily believe in happy, but I am skeptical about happily ever after.

Spending time with old friends and new acquaintances is a sobering reminder of the challenges and beauty of living day to day. Dating, dirty divorce details, single parenthood . . . The list goes on and on and it's exhausting. How can living be sooooo good and so painful simultaneously? How does an uncertain life become a better one?


I live happily and comfortably. I love my husband and children unconditionally, work hard and play often. I've heard we make it look easy. It's not, but we try hard. My friends are turning to me for advice and I have none. Not because I am not brilliant (because I SO AM ~ wink, wink) but because I think everyone's version of good is different. I've not walked a mile in their shoes and don't want to pretend to know what it will take to make it work for them.


Am I grateful to be living here and now?


You really have no idea. Really.


Do I know how to make great last or make not great go away?


Not at all.


I am living right now with all of my heart, wherever I am. Tomorrow I will give what I've got to that. The alternative to life on Earth does not scare me, but this is too good to pass up while it's mine. I am madly in love with the chance to live here and now will do whatever I can to cherish what I have. That's the advice I want my friends to take. Life is too short not to.

The living moment is everything. ~ D.H. Lawrence

K is for Kinship

KINSHIP: relationship by nature, qualities, etc.; affinity

Can it really have been 9 years since I have been in the same room with all of these women? It's not possible. We've shared elementary school, high school graduation, BIG adventures, some marriages ;) and the birth of babies. They are KIN to me.

Our time together is as easy as if there had never been one lost weekend since we were together. We laugh, we cry (only because we laugh so hard!!!), we reminisce (and then LAUGH) and connect on such a deep level it's as if we have always been in the same town and have each other over for dinner every Tuesday. Oh, if only it were true

For this moment, for this weekend I will take whatever I can get. I love being with family.

J is for Jiminy Cricket

Remember Pinnochio's conscience and his guide? I had that once. My Nanny. It's been two years since I saw her alive and it breaks my heart every time I think about it.

I am, at times, irrational and sharp tongued. I make poor choices, use the most terrible language and judge quickly. I AM the naughty and selfish marionette that Jiminy was sent to protect.

She was God's gift to me to discourage those habits and remind me that there is honor in kindness and gentility. I truly possess none of my own. I still hear her voice in my dreams and talk to her in my prayers. She still calls me Sunshine when I hear her. She was my biggest fan, but also had no fear in telling me when I was wrong. She spanked me ONCE when I was a child and I was devastated. Disappointing her was my equivalent of the earth not turning. She's more than half the reason that I am an upstanding citizen and decent human being now. The other half I shared in "E is for everything". How blessed I have been to share life with people who make me want to be a better me.

I do not mourn for my conscience. She believed so deeply that her time here was temporary and longed to be with others in our family that didn't stay as long. I don't begrudge her that. She gave me everything in her that was good while she was here and taught me enough about selflessness that I could never wish her here instead of there. I just can't. Mourn is not the right word, and more often than not I can find myself smiling when I am remembering her.

I do miss her horribly and wish my babies had been able to spend more time with her. I would like to hold her hand in church again. Just once. I miss that. It must be time for me to be a real human being. No fair

I is for In Touch

Facebook is a love/hate relationship for me. I gave it up for Lent this past year and it was an enormous sacrifice. Pathetic, I know. The conflict is my love for being in touch with everyone vs. the amount of time I waste looking at friends' photos of people I'd never otherwise see. There are worse issues to have. I understand.

When I moved to California in 2004 my Nanny mailed me a handwritten letter every single week. I cherished that more than anything in my life at the time. It was then that I decided I would always be in touch. I didn't want to lose my connections after I relocated 3000 miles away to a place where I knew no one but E. On a good day I can still say that I am really good about being in touch. But there are connections that can't be made as easily after time and distance take hold.

Enter Facebook. Two days ago I became a "friend" with my college roommate. I have not seen or spoken to her since I left Tallahassee 15 years ago. We had some amazing times together and I have absolutely no hard feelings toward her. Time and distance took their toll on our relationship and we lost touch. Her name has come up a few times recently as my close girlfriends and I prepare for our Girls Weekend. I couldn't remember if she had a reason not to want to connect with me. How sad life is sometimes. Now we have reconnected and I am thrilled. I love looking at the photos of her 8 month old son, Bryson. It feels good to be back in touch.

Human contact makes the world go round for me. I'm a hugger, hand holder, cheek toucher. Not everyone, but I am sure I would touch your arm if we met. It's me. Don't judge. In touch is a phone call out of the blue or a well timed greeting card. Being in touch is what fuels me and drives me through the days when all of the people in my world seem like aliens. Facebook chat will never replace that, but it's a great starting point. Today I might be in love.

H is for Hand Holding

"Pooh!" Piglet whispered.



"Yes, Piglet?"



"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw.



"I just wanted to be sure of you."



Is there anything more geniune than the innocent, gentle touch that lets you be sure of your companion? Be sure you make the time to hold a hand today. Someone may need to be sure of you.

G is for GOOD

Too good to be true

It's the phrase that plagues me constantly. I somehow can't reconcile that everything that I have and love is really mine. My greatest fear in life is that someone in heaven is going to do an audit and realize there's been a terrible mistake. I don't deserve a life this good

How do I get past that?

I work hard and give with my whole heart to my family and friends. I genuinely try every single day to make myself worthy of the good life. Yet still lurking in the back of my mind is the fear that it could all disappear at any moment. I'm just not sure that I am good enough to deserve how good everything else is in my life.

If I listened more closely to God would he tell me the answer?

Do I really want to know the answer?

The only answer I can come up with on my own is that maybe a glad heart makes me worthy of all that is so good. I want it to be so. I will live it. I will cherish the good. I will always work harder to be good. Life is too good not to.

F is for Fall

Fall is my favorite season. Everything seems right when the days are a little cooler and everyone is falling away from the madness of summer and into the more ritualistic calm of autumn. A few of my favorite things about fall . . .

College football - GO SEMINOLES!!


Back to school clothes


Chili and cornbread


Cozy sweaters


Blankets over cold toes on the couch


Brisk mornings


Hot chocolate for dessert


Looking forward to the holidays



Every season holds it's own magic and every year there is something new and exciting about each one as my kids explore their own agendas. In my own heart fall is always the favorite. Can hardly wait!!!

E is for Everything

There is no truer statement in my life. Everything I have, everything that makes me happy, everything I love ~ I owe to my "E".

The house at the beach, the brand new car, the diamond earrings; all because of E. These things are very literal. He works hard and takes good care of me and our family. I do owe all of those things to him and cherish them all. But they could each disappear in a second and I would still have everything.

The warm~hearted, hilarious seven year old athlete with a thing for Star Wars.

The darling blue eyed princess that bathes her Barbies in the sink.

The warm touch and unspoken words of love that come with trust and time.

I was 19 when I met "E" and I was one wild mess of a girl back then. Careless. Irresponsible. Unfocused. He has spent a lot of time saving me from myself in the last fifteen years. I'm sure he had no idea what he was in for. I am eternally grateful for his patience and acceptance of my wreckless love for him. We'd have never survived without them both.

I want to be a better person every single day. I have everything I never knew I wanted. Everything is because of "E".

D is for Disney

2009 is the year of Disney for us.

At 7 and 5, our children are the perfect ages to enjoy all the magic that is Disney. We bought annual passes at the beginning of the year and are doing our very best to take full advantage of the opportunity.

It does not go unnoticed by me that there are children and families who have never been to Disneyland. I recognize that our ability to go anytime we want is truly a blessing.

We are doing our best make sure that our babes recognize that, too. The memories we're making as a family this year are priceless. D is for Disney on Flashback Friday. Have a great weekend!

Riding the Tram with Nana

Belle asked her to hold a birthday with for her brother - xoxo

Clowning around with Woody

Soaking wet from Splash Mountain

C is for Choose

Choose what side you're going to be on. Right now.


I physically say this to myself. A LOT. I am spoiled. And unrealistic. And can find myself headed down the most pathetic pity party path ever if I don't occasionally talk myself out of it. I have a good friend who asked me recently -

"How do you do it all and you're still so happy about it? You amaze me."

I was embarrassed by the compliment and made a joke and told her I was faking it. I always joke when I am embarrassed. We laughed and went about our business as if that were the truth.

But it's not. And I'm not. Faking it. I choose to see the good in everything that I have to avoid the pity party that lurks behind every door.

Do I wish some things were different or better? Absolutely.

Am I better served to actively recognize that I have got it made in so many ways? Positively.

I want a housekeeper that keeps the laundry done, the dishes out of the sink and the floors clean.

I choose to be thankful for my warm and sometimes beautiful home near the beach. I choose to be grateful for the food that made the dishes dirty and the traffic that keeps my floors from sparkling. It means we are nourished and I am not alone.

I wish my kids would clean up behind themselves, always use their manners and remember that they should brush their teeth every.single.day without being asked twice.

I choose to fall to my knees and thank God for the home where they feel safe to leave a mess, their imaginations and personalities that overlap their manners sometimes and their healthy little bodies that sustain their energy.

I think sometimes it would be nice to have that husband that sends flowers for no reason and calls me on Tuesday afternoon just to tell me that he's thinking of me.

I choose to love like crazy the husband that God gave me and praise him for being such a great Dad to our children and for paying our bills on time every month. I choose to make time for him, just him, so that we can constantly reconnect and remember why we became a couple in the first place.

I'd like to have slimmer thighs, better hair, more patience and that new Coach bag.


I choose to be happy that the body and mind I have are carrying me through the most amazing time of my life.


I'm still working on something to divert my attention from the handbag . . . No one's perfect.

B is for Brave

I've always been a jump in with both feet and learn how to swim later kinda girl. I am not bragging. It's definitely caused some trouble in my lifetime. However, bravery is not really an issue for me and I tend to think it's natural for everyone. But since I am learning this month I am trying to recognize that not everyone is the same.

Case in point - my spunky little blue eyed girl. I call her spunky when she is singing at the TOP OF HER LUNGS at home or in the car. Or when she is dishing it out to her older brother and his eyes are begging me for mercy. She is no shrinking violet. Here. But get this girl in a new situation and she is the tiniest church mouse you've ever seen. Today is her first day of school at St. Edward's.

Bless.Her.Heart.

On the way to orientation yesterday she was all big and bad seeing her brother off on his first day. Sassy walk, a quick hand over the shoulder as he departs for class . . . Spunky. We get to her classroom for the meet and greet with her teacher and she won't even walk inside. What? She is plastered to the wall in the hallway furiously shaking her head no. Where's the little chick from the drop off line? Forget about spunk kids, we've got a problem.

I realize that it's scary for her and I want to be there for her.

Well, actually I WANT to say

"Suck it up, sister and get in there. This is only the beginning."

BUT, the Super Sweet Mama in me says

"Come on Baby Girl. Show me how brave you are."

Now my girl may not be inherently brave, but she sure does love a challenge. I know what it takes and now she's gonna rise to the occasion. And she says

"No. I'm not brave. I don't want to."

Oh brother . . .

How do I teach brave? What do I need to learn to be able to say it right to her?

If I could hug her tight and transfer brave to her sweet little heart I would. But I can't. And it hurts. I don't want her to be afraid and nervous and unfriendly. I want to see her throw half a wave over her shoulder and say

"See Ya, Mama!"

But, I'm just not sure I'm brave enough to let her go.

A is more than Aardvark

I've hinted before that my blog has become something more important to me lately than it was when I began. It's still a great vehicle for me to brag about my kids (I mean who doesn't love that!?!?!), but the practice of writing is therapeutic for me and gives me something to focus on besides the hardships of corporate life and how much I detest laundry. I have convinced myself that writing is better than watching TV and it is building an awareness and a sharpness in me that I've been missing.


With all of that in mind, I asked Sarah if I could borrow her fantastic idea for a month long writing exercise. She published Learning My Letters at the end of last year and wrote her way through the alphabet. I don't have nearly the writing talent that she does, but I liked the commitment of the exercise and the scope of the project. With her blessing I will be writing my own version of the alphabet in September. The timing seemed right as both of my favorite subjects are heading to school and I am learning more and more every day about the woman God intended for me to be. Please follow me throughout September for One Foot in the Alphabet.



I've definitely got some learning to do.



Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. ~ Henry Ford