I’m melting…!

Seriously. This heat is ridiculous. And I live in the middle of the country. I’m not in the actual South. I’m not gasping for air in the dry heat of the desert or the sopping wet humidity of the coast.

No. I’m just a girl in Missouri who’s dying of heat!

I told Mark today that this heat makes me mad. He said that’s dumb. Why get mad about something you can’t change? As one who just might have an issue with road rage, I’m not sure HE is the one who should be dispensing that advice.

But when he asked why I would be mad about the weather, I informed him that there is No. Reason. why I should be sweating at 7:45 in the morning. Or on the short walk from my car to my office. Or sitting in my chair at my desk.

I mean, really.

I didn’t think today’s post should only include my whining complaints about the day’s temperature, so I did a quick search for songs about heat. I don’t know what I thought that would add to the conversation.

Aside from Nelly’s logic that a warm room necessarily means one should shed her clothes, the song best fitting my state of mind was Glenn Frey’s The Heat is On.


Tell me can you feel it. Tell me can you feel it. Tell me can you feel it.

No, really. Tell me that you can feel this heat. Don’t be like my co-worker who said she wasn’t warm at all yesterday. For just a moment, I considered throwing my [sweaty] shoe at her.

Then I realized that was just the heat rage speaking.

Here’s the crazy part: it’s just June! It’s probably going to get worse before it gets better.

And I know it can be worse. The hottest I’ve been is a toss-up between Disney World in August (family vacation) and Las Vegas in July (convention for work). Oh yeah, there was also Tampa in July (convention for work).

How hot is it where you live? What’s the hottest you’ve ever been?

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How do you take your tea?

One summer my cousins babysat my brother and me while we were out of school. I don’t remember the details, like if it was every day, where my parents were working at the time or even how old we were. And actually, the memories I have associated with that time may, in fact, be from summers stretched across a few years.

What I do remember are walks uptown to the drugstore, climbing the fence in the backyard to walk to the drive-in, listening to the great music of the 80s – and cooking disasters.

There for a while, the family had a grand old time laughing at our mistakes in the kitchen. I remember a broken garbage disposal, something baked without sugar, monster cookies (which most certainly were NOT a mistake – mmmm!) and a loaf of bread catching on fire in the microwave.

Now that I think about it, though, I’m pretty sure my brother and I were on our own when the microwave burst into flames. My mom never asked about the burnt spot in the door. And we never brought it up.

The cooking story from those summers that still cracks me up is about the time we made tea.

First of all, you need to know that my family is from the South. If you know nothing else about tea, I’m just sure you know that tea is – according to Miss Dolly Parton in Steel Magnolias – the house wine of the South. And my Granny (and my cousins’ Granny) made the best sweet tea you’ve ever had. The tea at our house wasn’t quite so sweet, but it was still our drink of choice. (Still is, although my mom has gotten fancy with some sort of raspberry flavoring.)

One day, my mom told my cousin to make a gallon of tea while she was watching us. And while she told her to put ¾ cup sugar in the tea, my cousin thought she said three or four cups of sugar.

Well, I won’t lie. I thought that tea was just perfect. After all, to me it tasted just like Granny’s tea! My mom was not so impressed. And to this day, we laugh about making tea with three or four cups of sugar.

I ran across a calendar of random holidays a couple weeks ago, and it turns out that today is National Iced Tea Day. And because I’m a dork (or, as Smitty put it recently, I “like researching everything under the sun”), I decided to look into the issue of tea.

According to Wikipedia (and who would know better), “the oldest printed recipes for iced tea date back to the 1870s. It is not unusual to read that iced tea was popularized, perhaps even created, at the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis by Richard Blechynden, but this appears to be an urban legend.”

So don’t go perpetuating that World’s Fair myth, because Wikipedia says it’s just not true.

I’m not sure it really matters when iced tea was invented, because, as John Egerton said, “Iced tea is too pure and natural a creation not to have been invented as soon as tea, ice, and hot weather crossed paths.”

When it comes to sweet tea (or, I suppose we can say iced tea in general, but really, who needs dirty water, as my friend Hillary calls it?), some people really do go crazy.

There’s Kristen with We Are THAT Family, who blogged, Tweeted and vlogged herself into a cow costume for free sweet tea at Chick-fil-A.

And there’s my husband, who has recently gone on a city-wide search for Lipton PureLeaf Iced Tea. You can get the individual bottles of the magical stuff (Seriously, it’s good. It does not taste like bottled or pre-made tea at all.) at the gas station, but we really need a gallon of the stuff for that man. He is, after all, the one my mom makes an extra gallon of tea for at family dinners – setting the carafe (yes, we’re fayncee) next to his plate so she doesn’t have to get up and refill his glass half a dozen times while we eat.

And then there’s this: Anita Renfroe, singing an ode to sweet tea.



If you can’t view the embedded video, click here to watch Big Ol’ Sweet Ice Tea.

As C.S. Lewis said himself, “You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.” [And yes, I am going to let myself believe he’s talking about sweet iced tea, not that nasty hot stuff in the tiny porcelain cups.]

So, tell me, how do you take your iced tea? Sweet? Southern sweet? In a Mason jar? In a wine glass? Do you make sun tea on the back porch? Do you nuke your tea bags in the microwave? Do you add fruit like my mom, or drink it straight up (don’t even get my husband started on how much he detests lemon in his tea)?

Image by House of Sims

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A mish-mash . . . not to be confused with a mash-up.

Have “mash-ups” always been a thing? Or is that a recent development in the world of pop music, YouTube videos and Glee?

Anyway, I know there’s not much lamer (more lame?) than a post full of random bits of nothing important. Unless it’s publishing a boring post that you don’t like just to post something – and then deciding to delete the post after all.

I know, I know. Blog foul. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to prematurely post – or badly post – again. But, since I already hit that low this week, we might as well just dive headfirst into this random list of stuff. (Also known as a mish-mash.)

First, if you didn’t get a chance to read yesterday’s post before its untimely demise, here are links to my recent guest posts:

Earning my nerd status . . . again at Mommin' It Up
Last-minute cleaning for guests at I Dream of Clean (a reprise from an earlier post)
Does anyone make a Two-Year Bible? at Life's Not Always Fireflies & Hummingbirds

The strangest thing happened last week. After throwing my salsa party and then eating the leftovers for four days straight, I actually became – get this – tired of Mexican food. Can you believe it? I never thought I’d live to see that day.

Mainly because I was sure that if the day arrived that I didn’t want to eat Mexican, I was surely dead. Probably as a result of a queso incident.

But it’s true. Mark offered to take me out for Mexican food for Mother’s Day – and I said, “No thanks.”

Weird.

Speaking of too much spicy food (Well? Weren’t we?), I have a couple of stories that I am dying to tell you about the potty training that’s been going on in our house lately. But, I’m restraining myself. Literally.

Okay, not literally. Because first, that would be weird. And second, I wouldn’t be able to type. And while I don’t think you need the details – hilarious or not – of Annalyn’s transition from diapers to underwear, I am just sure you’ve been wondering about the whole process.

No? Huh. So . . . you mean your world doesn’t revolve around who went pee when and if they got their Skittle?

Oh, all right. Fine. I’ll just tell you this: a) Potty training has not been nearly as difficult as I feared, b) After four weeks, Annalyn is doing GREAT and she hasn’t had a real accident in several days, c) Despite the lovely princess potty chart I made and shiny gold star stickers my mom gave us, Annalyn has responded much better to candy. As her bribe. Because yes, I’m a briber. And last but not least, d) It turns out sopping wet Pull-Ups smell just as bad in the trash can as dirty diapers.

I think I might write a post later about what I learned throughout this whole adventure. But not until we make it through the night-time training. And that is a monster I am not ready to tackle yet!

[Although, it IS a monster we’ll be tackling anyway. Probably in about a week. And I can’t wait. Really.]

Speaking of getting up in the night with your child (No, you cannot convince me that night-time potty training won’t involve a lot of that. You just can’t.), my friend Daphne just had a baby. A second baby. Her son is three months older than Annalyn. And she just had another baby.

I know. I know, okay? I realize that many people have their babies close together, some even on purpose – and they survive. But I just don’t know how. Honestly. I cannot imagine having another child right now.

[Friends and family who have lots of littles running around, please keep your eye rolling and comments to yourselves. Because. I know.]

But Daphne now has another child. And . . . I have to admit . . . Annalyn and I both thought he was adorable!

We visited them in the hospital on Tuesday, and the whole way there, Annalyn chattered about her balloon (which is valid, as I’d gotten her a pink balloon to make sure she didn’t hijack the blue balloons for the baby) and her baby (which is not valid, but I could not for the life of me convince her that the baby we were visiting was not, in fact, hers).

Thankfully, our visit was a short one, so I don’t think the baby-is-so-cute-must-have-one-now vibes stuck with me.

And now, I think that’s enough random for one day. Stay tuned for an update on Mark’s new work schedule, summer trips I have planned, the sadness I feel about my friend who is moving across the country, and a near bee attack.

What random thoughts are filling up your head today?

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Who’ll be my role model, now that my role model is gone?

When I was in seventh grade, I had this civics teacher. He was young and single and fun and yes, I did have a stupid crush on him, okay? He taught us about important things like Vietnam and animal abuse.

I thought he was wonderful.

And then came the day I discovered that, while he may be wonderful, he certainly wasn’t perfect. I found out, through an older friend from church, that he may have smoked pot in college.

[GASP!]

Did I mention that I grew up in a conservative family in a small town? It’s true. I was sheltered. But even though I can look at that piece of information with a completely different perspective than I had when I was 13, I will never forget how disappointed I was to learn that this man I’d looked up to had done something wrong.

I imagine that’s how many people have felt over the past couple weeks with the Tiger Woods debacle.

We’ve all read the stories and heard the commentaries and perhaps even held conversations ourselves. The whole thing has started me thinking about role models and the people we look up to.

Mark heard a man on sports radio talking about Tiger Woods, and he said something to the effect of, “You just can’t trust anyone. From famous athletes to politicians to Baptist deacons, everybody has secrets. Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody is human.”

I can’t argue with that. (Especially since I’m not even sure why I put quotes around that little paragraph. Because while Mark did, indeed, tell me about what he heard, I honestly can’t remember exactly what the radio guy said. And so I made up that whole statement. Except the part about deacons. He definitely said that.)

But regardless of that guy’s exact words or if you love Tiger or hate him, all of this raises a valid point: How do we choose our role models?

In the past two weeks, I’ve seen two strong women portrayed on screen. Both hit me with a force that I found surprising; both have stayed with me and made me want to be a stronger person.

But while Sandra Bullock’s Leigh Anne Tuohy (The Blind Side) is based on a real person and Julianna Margulies’s Alicia Florrick (The Good Wife) is a composite of many actual political wives, neither is a role model. They’re both fictional, made up, not real. Even though I admire these characters, I still need and want to look up to real people, faults and all. And that’s a hard thing to do.

It’s easier to fixate on Photoshopped celebrities, characters in a book or people portrayed in movies. Those people don’t have blemishes, weaknesses, faults. They always say the right thing, do the right thing, are the right thing.

But they’re still not real.

So, even though I love seeing strong women portrayed in books, movies and TV (Julia Sugarbaker will always have a special place in my heart), I’m thankful for real people to admire. People like my mom, former colleagues, my cousins, my friends.

Even though they’re not perfect. Even though – and because – they’re real.

Who do you look up to? Have you ever been disappointed by a role model?

[For your entertainment, here are my favorite scenes from The Good Wife, The Blind Side and Julia Sugarbaker herself. And in case you didn't win today's round of Name That Tune, the title of today's post is from a song with the funniest video ever. Also known as Call Me Al.]

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And so it begins.

How does that song go again? It's the most stressful time of the year?

What? That's not it? You mean we're not supposed to stuff our faces and our calendars so full that we are filled with discomfort and can barely move?

Ahhhhh.

I don't know about you, but my December tends to fill up and fast. One weekend this month, we're going out of town to visit friends and family, and I am not even kidding, I've had three invitations for that very weekend already.

People, I am not that popular. This month is just that busy!

How about you? Is your planner overflowing? Is your calendar crammed full?

I know. It's hard not to get sucked into the madness. You want to fit in all your friends and family and traditions and adventures and events and excitement. You don't want to miss anything. You don't want to let anyone down.

At least, that's how I am.

I'm going to try to keep my grip on sanity this year, though. I'm going to hold on to a piece of calm. I'm going to preserve some quiet and stillness. Maybe not much. After all, just because I have high hopes for a holy holiday season doesn't mean the world of shopping and choir practice and family obligations and cookie exchanges just fade away.

But what if I just commit to a quiet time each week, or each weekend, or even - hold on, I'm about to get crazy - each day between now and Christmas? Could I do that? Could you do that?

What do you think? How can we hold on to the holy and let go of the hectic?

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What's the name of his other leg?

I laughed so hard this weekend.

On Friday, I emailed Smitty to let her know that Annalyn had been requesting her presence. More specifically, she’d been saying her name and calling her silly. Repeatedly. Unprovoked.

I figured that was the same as an invite to come hang out.

Mark also reminded me that I’d agreed to watch our 12-year-old nephew on Friday night. I decided the more, the merrier and rented a movie for all of us to watch.

[Unfortunately, it was a chick flick that Michael wasn’t impressed with – and, honestly, neither were we. But, as tends to happen with cheesy, unrealistic rom-coms, we still found plenty to mock and laugh about.]

So we watched the movie and munched on chocolate chip cookies, but the big fun came later. When we broke out the Uno cards.

See, the cable went out Friday night. And since we have cable internet access, that meant no Facebook stalking and no looking up meaningless details on IMDB. Playing cards was a last resort activity.

But oh, how we laughed! I don’t even know what was funny. I, for one, was not laughing at the score, that’s for sure. Because out of four games (one that lasted longer than the movie, it seemed!), I won ZERO. That’s right. I lost. Every single time.

And on top of that? Smitty called me old. Sure, she said that she meant to say something else. But my younger-by-six-months best friend called me old. And beat me at Uno.

And yet . . . we laughed our heads off! Both Smitty and Michael said they laughed harder than they had in a very long time. And we all had aching cheeks and sides from it.

As if that wasn’t enough, Mark and I had some friends over for dinner on Saturday night and we had such a good time! We ate a lot (a LOT) of cheesy Mexican food and some of us (ahem, boys, ahem) drank an entire two-liter of Dr. Pepper. And then we broke out the Trivial Pursuit.

And again, I lost.

But still, we laughed. We talked about our favorite TV shows (of course), my ridiculous blog (yes, this one), how Brittany and I will never be good Baptist wives (sorry), and many other possibly inappropriate hilarious topics.

The game of Trivial Pursuit may have lasted too long (You would not believe how long it took the girls to come up with Terri Hatcher or how long it took the guys to not come up with Moscow!), but the night ended too soon.

We’re going through Genesis at church, and this week we were reminded that Sunday is a day of rest. We took that to heart, so other than church, we didn’t leave the house. We took rainy afternoon naps, watched some football and some Mickey Mouse Playhouse, and ate leftovers and chili.

Nothing too funny about all that relaxing, I suppose, but the rest of the weekend was full of laughter. Just like the old man in Mary Poppins, I love to laugh. Don’t you? I know I don’t do it enough. When was the last time you laughed so hard your sides hurt?

Sadly, my new modem is not on this list.

Image from The Legacy Builder

I live in the middle of the country, but my roots are Southern. Want proof? Listen to my daughter talk for any amount of time. I guarantee you'll hear her say, "Thank you" at least three times. If not a hundred.

Because that child of mine? Is thankful.

She says thank you for her milk, thank you for her waffle, thank you for her Elmo, thank you for turning on her movie, thank you for changing her diaper, thank you for helping her up the stairs - you get the picture.

And while it is possible that she's just hooked on this phrase (similar to how she has, on occasion, been hooked on the word, "poop"), I also think it does reflect our family's attitude. Mark and I aren't perfect by any means, but we do work really hard to appreciate each other. Even in the little things.

I chalk it up to those Southern roots.

Last year I posted daily in November, writing about something I'm thankful for. I'm so glad I did that, but woo-eee, it was hard. Never has November been so long! This year I'm going to stick to weekly thanksgiving posts. I'll add a MckLinky, so you can link up your Thankful Thursday posts, too.

I've got to tell you: I'm cranky. I've been on the phone with Time Warner customer service for the last 90 minutes. And despite that hour and a half I cannot get back, a new modem and an exercise in extreme patience when the fifth (FIFTH!) customer service person I was transferred to asked for my phone number AGAIN and then had me reboot the router FOR THE THIRD TIME, my internet connection is still out of whack. I kind of want to yell at someone. So being appreciative of the little things is probably a good idea. Here goes . . .

• Absolute best part of my day on Wednesday was getting my 2010 planner. I'm not just excited to see the blank pages full of possibility - although, I am. But this year's planner came in a Trapper Keeper! Okay, not a Trapper. It does not have a velcro tab or neon colors, but it is a nice, leather portfolio with lots of pockets. It's so soft and pretty, and I want to pet it, George. And, yes, I'm an office supply nerd. That's been established, thank you very much.
• We took Annalyn to get her pictures taken on Sunday. We hadn't gone for professional photos in almost a year, because a) it's so darned expensive and b) our last two experiences were terrible. So I was kind of dreading this, but it needed to be done. Grandparents were getting antsy. And though our photo session went straight into naptime - also known as dangerous territory! - I'm happy to report that thanks to an extremely patient photographer and a highly entertaining photographer's assistant, we bought way too many super cute pictures! Seriously - who needs 64 wallets? It's not like these were her senior pictures! Although . . .
  

Nice pose.

I realize those are two minor things to be thankful for today. But it's what I've got for now. I'm sure I'll think of 27 other things I'm way more thankful for as soon as I hit "publish." Maybe I'll write them down for next week.

What are you thankful for today?

Breakfast, snack or both?

I mentioned this on Facebook last week, but I bought a box of Golden Grahams for a late-night snack. This would be a fine idea, except . . . I've eaten them for a snack and breakfast and, well, I've eaten the whole box!

Do you like to eat cereal for a snack? For breakfast? For both?

Image by x99elledge.

Shaky, shaky...

When I was a freshman in college, my roommate loved Elmo toys. She'd worked at Toys 'R Us, I think, and also had a young nephew to spoil - between the two, she'd really become fond of the annoying red muppet. And so she had a Tickle Me Elmo. And a Tickle Me Cookie Monster, or whatever he was called.

And she kept them in her bed. Where she occasionally would roll over on them in the middle of the night.

That's a weird thing to wake up to, let me just tell you.

I'm having flashbacks to those days, because Annalyn was given an Elmo & Cookie Monster Giggle Ball (yes, that's it in the picture), and when I accidentally sat on it, well, I'm sure you can guess what happened.

Yep. "Giggly, jiggly! Shaky, shaky! Ha, ha, ha!"

That link is not an affiliate link, by the way. Because I am not advocating anyone buy this thing.

And how was your weekend?

I guess the time was right for us to say…

Extra credit to anyone who can name that song (in the title).

Do you make plans? I do. I’m a big planner. I like making plans. But sometimes – as in, right now in this very moment – I’m really not sure why I bother.

Let me start with the good parts of my weekend. Because despite that Debbie Downer statement, there were some.

Annalyn spent Friday night with my parents, because I had an awards dinner to go to for my job. On my way home from work, I found my car driving itself to the mall and parking in front of Macy’s. An interesting choice on the car’s part, really, because I didn’t have time to shop.

I also didn’t have anything to wear, really. I mean, what is cocktail attire, anyway? No, that’s not a good question. I know what cocktail attire is, and it’s lovely. I just don’t really have anything that fits the criteria. Anything that fits, at least. (Boo.)

So, my car took me to Macy’s, and I decided that I could just run in for a minute. Twenty minutes, to be exact. That’s how much time I gave myself to make a quick pass through the dress department.

First I had to find it. Why do all the dresses – regardless of size – need to be grouped together? In the opposite end of the mall than the rest of the clothes in my size? I don’t understand.

I mean, I get it when Target puts the diapers in the back of the store, with hopes that I’ll be tempted by 90s love song CDs, Halloween candy and drugstore makeup. But Macy’s? What am I going to be tempted by? Teeny bopper clothes in the juniors section that wouldn’t have even fit me when I was a junior?

Uh, no.

Well, despite this irritation and the ticking clock, I actually found a dress. It was beautiful, it fit well enough, and it was on clearance. The magic word! I’m happy to tell you that my lovely $110 dress cost me less than $30.

So, that was good. And the event was fun. My company went home with four awards from our local public relations organization, and I got a free dinner. The kind with the fancy green beans – you know, the ones Mark won’t touch. Mmmmm.

And, most importantly to me, I got to hang out with friends from my agency days afterwards. That was fun. I miss those guys!

On Saturday morning, my alarm failed me. And so I failed my friend and college roommate, Lisa, who was in town. We’d tentatively planned on meeting for breakfast that morning – after she ran a marathon and I got out of bed. Unfortunately, though she did, in fact, run a marathon, I did not get out of bed. In time, that is.

Sleeping in was nice, though. When Annalyn normally wakes me up at 7 a.m. or earlier on the weekends, opening my eyes to read 10:03 felt like a miracle.

Running over a piece of metal on the highway, which punctured our gas tank, did not feel like a miracle, however.

Yep, that’s right. On our way to pick Annalyn up from my parents’ house, we went and broke our car. Our paid off car. Our not-great-but-gets-me-to-work-and-back car. Our car that we can’t afford to replace for another year car. That one.

Needless to say (although I’m saying it anyway), our Saturday plans of getting Annalyn’s pictures taken and cleaning out the garage went by the wayside.

We’re still in the process of figuring out what we can do – and what we should do. If our insurance covers the problem, then everything will be fine. If it doesn’t, though, we’ll have to trade our broken, leaking car for a new one.

That was not in the budget.

The good news is we think we’ve figured out how to avoid renting a car for at least a couple days. We can definitely make do – even with our crazy schedules – with one vehicle. And based on what I’ve read about comprehensive insurance, I think (?) it will cover the damage. We’ll see.

Sunday was better than Saturday in so many ways. Our church is holding our annual missions conference this week, so choir sang a fun song about hearing the call of the kingdom. And then Annalyn attended her first birthday party that wasn’t for a relative. It was fun – although Evel Knievel was determined to join the big kids on the giant bounce house instead of staying in the toddler area.

And now I’m getting ready to watch this season’s episodes of NCIS with Mark. And eat some chicken. And mashed potatoes. Because I love them. (potatoes and NCIS and Mark)

Oh, and the title? The first line of “Love of a Lifetime” by Firehouse. Cheering me up immensely this weekend, despite the pesky car troubles, was the fact that I heard not one, but two, songs by Firehouse on the radio. (You are quite welcome for that link. How about that hair, huh?)

Because, we know our dreams can all come true with love that we can share. Yep.

Apologies. Or not.

When I was in high school, my mom read an article. It was about women and communication and I don’t know what else. What I know is that she was compelled to share something from that article with Smitty and me.

Or maybe it was just me, and then I told Smitty. I’m not sure. It’s been a while, so I don’t really remember. I just know that Smitty and I have never forgotten this little lesson.

The article – and my mom – said that when expressing sympathy, we should not say, “I’m sorry,” because that implies that we are somehow at fault. And when you’re talking to someone whose grandma died or who lost her job or who just had a bad day, do you really want to take responsibility for that situation?

No, of course not. So the article – and my mom – encourages women (who are the worst offenders of over-using the sorry phrase) to say instead: “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Warning: You must practice this before using it in real life. Because if you just say it offhand, you’re going to sound rude. Uncaring. Flippant. It takes work to use that statement and actually sound sincere.

On the other hand, sometimes apologizing is the right thing to do.

Last week, Annalyn was whining on our ride home from the babysitter. I’m pretty sure nothing was actually wrong. And I say that because I had offered everything from toys to music to silence to kisses to cheerful voices to a threat to pull the car over Right. Now.

Surprisingly, that last one was not what she was looking for.

No matter what was wrong, I couldn’t handle the whining. Not again. Not that night. And so I snapped. I hollered at my baby girl, “Stop! Whining! Now!”

Well, it worked. She did quiet down. And for a split second, I was satisfied, thinking I’d done the right thing by being consistent and all discipline-y. But in the very next second, I felt terrible. I had completely overreacted, and a few moments of silence isn’t worth treating my little girl poorly.

And so I apologized. I said, “Annalyn, I’m sorry. Mommy is sorry for yelling at you. I love you.”

Sometimes apologizing is the right thing to do.

The time I learned, five years later, that I had inadvertently hurt a dear friend? I apologized.

The time I misspelled the name of a prestigious award my company won – in dozens of news releases? I apologized.

Every time I realize that I was impatient with Mark or steered him wrong with (probably unsolicited) advice? I apologize.

Despite the reminder to not apologize for things that are not my fault, I’m not one of those people who refuses to apologize for anything. No. If When I hurt you, when I let you down, when I accidentally hit your car door with mine in the parking lot – I will say that I’m sorry. And I will mean it.

But some things I will not apologize for. I will take responsibility for them, but I will not apologize for them and therefore imply that they are wrong.

Values. Morals. Beliefs. Dreams.

Hmmm . . . one of these things is not like the other, right?

I think most of us have some values, morals and beliefs strong enough that we would not apologize for them, would not back down when challenged. Faith. Patriotism. Work hard. Tell the truth at all cost. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. They might take different shapes and colors, but we all have something.

For me, though, having a dream, a desire for more, a drive to be better, do more, get there faster is one of those things. I will not apologize for dreaming.

What are you talking about, Mary?

Well, thanks for asking. Now I don’t feel quite so bad unleashing a little rant on you. (Why did it take me so long to get here? I don’t know. That may be a deeper question. Or not. Maybe I just like to talk a lot.)

I have had seven jobs since I graduated from college. Eight years ago. Yeah, I can do the math, and yeah, that sure is a lot of jobs.

Has my career path been frustrating? Absolutely. Have I cried gallons of tears over my desperation to leave a certain job, to get a certain job, to just learn to love a job, any job? Oh yeah. Do I have to fight a tendency toward bitterness and despair (and possibly a little bit of melodrama) when I look at my resume or consider my uncertain future? Yep.

But you know what? I won’t let it win. I won’t give up. I won’t stop trying. I won’t stop looking for the right fit, the right job, the place for me, the thing I’m called to do. I won’t stop dreaming.

So if you are feeling the urge to tell me, “Just be happy you have a job,” or “There are a lot worse companies out there,” or my personal favorite, “You don’t like this job either? Have you ever thought that maybe the problem is you?” – don’t bother.

I won’t listen anyway.

What do you dream about?

There is no spoon.

Two of the blogs I read – This Mom’s Wired and Dinkypops No More – have made Thursdays their official day for listing random thoughts from the week.

I say if it’s good enough for Sarah and Brooke, then it’s good enough for me.

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• Over the three-day weekend, we took a little road trip to visit friends from college who we hadn’t seen in a few years. It was so much fun catching up and just hanging out. Not so much fun? The four-hour drive with our kiddo. And so we learned that given the choice between a whining toddler and listening to “Five Little Monkeys” over and over and over, these two parents will choose the monkeys.
• Something about having four new friends to play with this weekend gave Annalyn the nudge she needed to let go and walk on her own all weekend. She even stood up in the middle of the room – something she’s been trying but unable to accomplish for several weeks now. Yay!!!
• It’s really cute when Annalyn adds a “y” to random words. In particular, I couldn’t help but laugh when she sobbed about wanting to go “homey” when we put her to bed in a strange (to her) crib Sunday night. She also occasionally says “uppy” when she wants to get up on my lap and “trashy” when she decides any piece of paper belongs in the garbage.
• Some friends really are friends forever (yes, I really am channeling Michael W. Smith right now). We hadn’t seen our friends in a long time, but it really only took a few minutes to pick up where we left off. And we didn’t even have to spend all our time together reminiscing. (You know how it is with some old friends: all you have to talk about is the good ol’ times, right?) Not us. We talked friends and church and jobs and parenting and politics and swine flu and pregnancy and movies, and even though Annalyn wasn’t the only one ready to sleep in her own bed, we could have spent another two or 10 days hanging out.
• On Sunday night, I finally watched The Matrix – a mere 10 years after it was released. Mark watched it for the first time with our friends, and I still remember the night they all went to see the second one in the theater and returned slightly stunned from an unexpectedly graphic scene. As we sat on the couch, watching this movie that they’d all scene numerous times, I couldn’t believe I’d missed it! This is definitely an example of a classic (or at least, very popular) movie that I somehow hadn’t seen. At least I don’t have to put it on my list with Goonies.
• On our way home on Monday, I had the best lunch EVER. Maybe not ever, but seriously, it was good. I wish I had a picture to share, but sadly, I could only manage carrying my purse and the diaper bag into the restaurant. So just take my word for it – that buttery roll? The bacon-infused green beans? The ginormous chicken strips? Dee-lish.
• And yes, I’ll be re-joining Weight Watchers tomorrow.

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Have you caught up with any old friends lately?

This is my associate, Jazz Hands.

Do you all watch Psych? It is one of my favorite TV shows.

(Yes, I'm talking about TV again. My brain has shut off for the weekend and does not plan to resume functioning until sometime tomorrow morning.)

Anyway, as the banner says, it’s about a guy who pretends to be a psychic but is actually just highly observant. His best friend Gus is a pharmaceutical sales rep by day and fake psychic sidekick by night - or days when he's not selling pharmaceuticals. As Shawn, the main character, says in the first episode of this summer, “You know the Mentalist, right? It’s like that.”

Like most shows in cable networks, Psych doesn’t follow the regular programming seasons. Fortunately for me, this means it was perfectly timed to start its season just as my beloved So You Think You Can Dance was winding down.

Just in case you haven’t been watching this hilarious show, which is, admittedly, a formulaic cop/detective show but also chock-full of pop culture references that crack me up every time, here’s a sample of the funny-ness you’re missing:

• A gentleman of leisure never packs his gun next to his socks. It’s uncouth.
• Here I was thinking you’re Thomas Crown. But you’re just Remington Steele. Does that make me Laura Holt? Do you think a guy likes me wants to be Stephanie Zimbalist? Maybe.
• There’s something weird about every family. It’s what makes America great.
• Note to self: be rich some day.
• I have peeps, Shawn.
• You have two peeps, and one is made of marshmallow.

See how funny that is? (What? It's not as funny taken completely out of context? Surely you jest . . .) Oh, and you're wondering about the title of this post? Well, Shawn has a habit of introducing Gus with crazy names when they're investigating a case. And Friday's episode gave Gus the best name ever: Jazz Hands.

This weekend I went to see The Ugly Truth with Smitty, watched my taped (yes, on my VCR) episode of Psych, rented 17 Again, ate way too many carbs, spent many hours with Little Miss WalkWalkWalk and, oh yeah, spent time with both sides of our family. More on all that later.

How was your weekend?

Don’t make me pull this car over.

Sometimes Annalyn is naughty. Actually . . . these days, she’s naughty fairly often. Her most recent misbehavior of choice is spitting. And screaming is a pretty close second.

We’ve been having what you might call “discipline issues” at our house.

Since Friday, though, I’ve found that – surprise, surprise – immediate and consistent consequences really make an impression.

The thing that I’m having to get over is that handing out immediate and consistent consequences is darned inconvenient!

Don’t worry. I’m getting over it. So over it that I have, in fact, pulled the car over, gotten out and walked around to her side, and dealt with the problem.

It’s not fun, but it seems to be working. This week (so far . . .) she has been sooo super sweet! I had to work late tonight, and when I got home, all she wanted to do was hug me and kiss me and sit on my lap.

Now that’s something I could stand more of!!

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On another note, Monday night was the last chat for our Me, Myself & Lies study. I hope those of you who participated got something out of it. I really enjoyed our chats and hope to visit with you ladies more!

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And on yet another topic, Monday night was also the day that Mark broke his healthy (or, at least, uninjured) streak. He fell at work and badly sprained his ankle. We know for sure it’s not broken because he got the privilege of sitting in the emergency room for six hours. Putting him home at 4:30 a.m. That’s in the morning!

Poor guy. At least they gave him crutches this time.

(Yes, this time. He may or may not make a habit of getting injured . . .)

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How’s your week going?

You say I’m crazy. I got your crazy.

Next weekend, I’m going to a blogging conference called She Speaks. Technically it’s a conference for women called to write and speak in ministry, but they’ve added a blogging track. And since those are the classes I’ll take, I’m calling it a blogging conference.

I am So. Excited.

On the other hand, as I sit here at my computer, I’m wondering why I ever signed up to go in the first place. I feel so inadequate and small, and the view from my couch doesn’t help. I see blocks scattered on the floor, laundry stacked in a basket, books laying next to the bookshelf and dishes on the dining room table.

Going online to read my favorite blogs makes it even worse. Some sick, sad part of me is compelled to check my stats over and over; and then, even worse, compare them to the subscriber numbers I can see in Google Reader for other blogs.

I can’t compete. They’re cool; I’m not. They’re thin; I’m not. They have four perfect children; I don’t. They don’t yell at their kids, their houses are clean, their careers are amazing (and they’re younger than me!), they write way better than I do, their hair is prettier than mine, and on and on and on and . . .

Hold the phone. Who let the crazy out? Let’s pull it back in now.

I know I said that the Me, Myself & Lies study is hard, but it’s not been for nothing. I am learning something! Those things that I was letting spin me out of control are not true.

Well, okay, other people’s houses might be cleaner than mine. But who cares?

Because, the fact that I’m going to this conference is a total God thing. I had no idea how I was going to pay for it, and I happened to mention it in passing to my boss. My boss, who is running a company in a struggling industry in a difficult economy; the same one who said the company would pay for it as professional development! That offer came out of nowhere and just about knocked me off my seat! (Wouldn’t that have been good for the career – passing out in the CEO’s office?)

Clearly, I can’t take it lightly that I am going to this event.

After all, I remember what happened in February at Blissdom. When I got all freaked out about how cool and together and smart and funny and WHATEVER everyone else was – and missed out on a lot of fun.

Besides, it turns out that I’m not the only one freaking out a little bit. Somehow, that is so encouraging. Well, their freaking out is a little encouraging (misery loves company or something), but most inspiring is the way these women reframe their thoughts and focus on the good things God has planned for us at this conference.

• Lisa talks about clicking – or not – with new friends at conferences.
• Lysa writes about competing with and comparing ourselves to others in ministry.
• Holley shares that sometimes God has to tell her “Enough” with the insecurities and fear.
• Shelly talks about how going to this conference is out of her comfort zone.

So there. I’m not going to panic. I’m not going to wear my insecurities to the party. I’m going to pack my cutest outfits, my laptop and my new business cards, and I’m going to connect with blog friends, meet new friends and learn a whole lot about blogging and online ministries.

And I promise, when I get back, I will tell you all about the cool things I’ve learned and new friends I’ve made! Believing in myself and having a darned good time at She Speaks is going to work for me.

[As always, for more Works for Me Wednesday, visit We Are THAT Family.]

Crossing the Line

UPDATE: All right, friends. I promised you my story, so here it is.

I grew earlier than most of the kids in my class. Including, most notably, the boys. But also the girls. And that height gave me an advantage when it came to the sport of basketball.

Enough of an advantage, for a couple years, to make up for chubby legs and a painfully slow run. And, oh yeah, my asthma.

But by the time I entered high school, I still had chubby slow legs and an inhaler on hand at all time. But I wasn't necessarily the tallest girl on the team.

[I know, Smitty. I was never taller than you. But for a while I was one of the tallest girls. And then I wasn't. But I still loved wearing your size 9 tall jeans in 8th grade. That one time? Remember? Yeah. I loved those jeans.]

Anyway, I played on the freshman basketball team, even though, like my height, my skills had really peaked about two years earlier. Our coach was a mean, hateful, philandering man. And I didn't like him much (if you couldn't tell).

Well, one night we were in a neighboring small town, getting our adolescent butts kicked on the court. I have memories of our coach practically screaming at us at away games; I'm not sure if that happened on this certain night or not. But either way, tensions were running high.

So when I was running my darnedest down the court - behind everyone else, remember, I was slooow - and flat out tripped over my own two feet, I shouldn't have been surprised when my so-called friends and teammates laughed hysterically.

Picture this: There I was, chubby and wheezing, trying so hard to make it from one end of that court to the other. Trying to be good. (Oh, how I tried.) And somehow, I just tripped over my Nike high tops. Falling FLAT ON MY FACE.

Oh, you know what? That's not true. First my knees slammed into the floor. Then I fell flat on my face.

Apparently, as legend goes, I tripped near one of the many painted lines on the court. This coincidence, of course, prompted my evil coach to yell - for the whole world (and the boys team) to hear: "Watch out for that line!"

Cue the hysterical laughter. Cue the years of teasing from so-called best friends. Cue the mysterious title of today's post.

Ah, high school. Bruised knees and a bruised ego. Memories. Glorious memories.

Whose idea was it, anyway, to dredge up these things?!

Right. Right. Well, anyway, that was the last year I played basketball. And that was most definitely one of my most embarrassing moments.

You like?

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A co-worker and I were discussing how weird it is that a common ice-breaker is to have each person in a newly formed group share his or her most embarrassing moment.

That's weird, right?

So how about we share ours today? Because we're not a new group here . . . c'mon! We're more like family here on this blog!

I promise - if you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine.

Actually, that's not true. I'm going to tell you my most embarrassing moment no matter what. As soon as I get more time this afternoon. But it sure would be less painful if you shared yours, too . . . I'm just saying!

Walk On By.

Yesterday, we had two - count 'em, two - therapy appointments. Believe it or not, neither session included a couch and memories of my childhood.

No, we had two different physical therapy appointments for Annalyn. I was actually excited for them since we've had the major stroller development.

The first appointment went well until the last 10 minutes. That would be the time when Miss Judy (as we call the therapist) decided to force Annalyn to take a few steps toward me. She even provided a sticker to motivate her. It had Hello Kitty on it.

But strangely enough, after an hour of showing off and playing with the therapy toys, and about two hours past her normal naptime, my sweet, calm daughter was not interested in taking a few more steps.

And she, ahem, let us know about it. Loudly. I'm sure you know what I mean.

So that wasn't the best end to Therapy Appointment #1. But overall, Miss Judy was appropriately impressed with Annalyn's progress.

The second appointment was a full evaluation by a state therapy program that we've heard great things about. They actually come to your house for therapy sessions, and of course, as a state program, it's a lot cheaper than the top children's hospital in our area.

It turns out that I really don't pay attention to my child. Because if I did? I'm sure I would have known how to answer questions like "How many blocks can she stack?" "Can she follow two consecutive commands?" "Can she match an object to its picture?"

By the end of that appointment, I felt like I didn't even know what "object" and "picture" even meant anymore!

Thankfully, I didn't have to reflect long when asked, "Does she share well? Take turns with toys?"

Ummm, not so much.

Anyway, the good news and bad news is that Annalyn does qualify for their services. Good, because I'm anxious (to say the least) for this walking progress to continue. Bad, because the eval confirms that she is, indeed, very far behind in her development.

On the bright side, her cognitive development is above average. As if I needed a test to tell me that!

(C'mon. I'm telling you about how my 20-month-old can't walk. Let me talk about how smart she is for a second at least!)

Anyway. Therapy Day went well. And in just over a day, I will have the privilege of hearing a legend sing. At least that's what I'm told. Leroy Van Dyke is known for, among many other things, what Billboard magazine calls "the biggest country single of all time": Walk on By.

I know it's going to be a fun concert. But the thing is . . . I don't actually know this song. I don't think it's the same as this Walk on By. And it's definitely not this Chicago song that I keep thinking of, which apparently does not even share the song's name.

So this week, from pushing a baby stroller named "Beep Beep" to listening to an 80-something-year-old man sing the Auctioneer Song, walking on by works for me.

What I Learned from Summer Vacation

Why do I feel like I should be sitting in a classroom with my fading tanned legs sticking to a hard plastic chair as I type that? Oh, yeah, maybe because learning from a vacation is that ultimate essay prompt that takes most of us back to middle school.

Thankfully this post does not include acne, big bangs or angst-ridden crushes on boys six inches shorter than me.

Anyway.

After traveling out of town for an entire week and taking a few days to recuperate reflect, I’ve come up with a few insights into myself, my child and the world.

Yup. I’m deep that way.

1. As much as I tell myself I’m over my worry problem, really, it’s just around the corner, waiting to consume me. After my parents picked up Annalyn, I was knocked over by anxiety. The combination of leaving my daughter for four days and knowing that she would be flying on a plane without me was just too much.
2. Praying and leaning on Jesus is still the answer to my worry problem.
3. Taking motion sickness medicine (at least the over-the-counter kind) does not keep me from feeling nauseous when flying. It turns out reading SkyMall is the only way to distract me from the motion sickness.
4. Mark and I are mountain people, not beach people. Please don’t get me wrong! We are so very thankful for our vacation, and we had a great time. And the ocean? Even on a rainy day, it is beautiful. But I think most people tend to enjoy and appreciate either the beach or the mountains – and we’re the put on sturdy shoes and hike up a trail kind instead of the fling off the flip flops and walk in rocky sand kind.
5. I could have been a dolphin trainer. Seriously. I realize an overweight Midwestern girl who just admitted she prefers the mountains may not be who you think of when you think “dolphin trainer.” But not too many years ago (okay, many years ago), I thought a lot about pursuing a career in training dolphins for children’s therapy. Since I don’t enjoy the science, though, I assumed that career path was not for me. Turns out that having a psychology degree qualifies a person to train dolphins, though. Psychology, as in the subject I once majored in and actually did minor in. I don’t think I still want to be a dolphin trainer, but this realization kinda, sorta rocked my world.
6. Cheese grits are good stuff. (This is less something I learned on vacation and more something I knew but had forgotten.)
7. I am the only person in my family without an unlimited texting plan. Therefore, I am the only one whose phone bill will be unusually high next month, since my brother and mom decided texting was the easiest way to communicate between our hotel rooms.
8. Traveling with three people means a lot of luggage. And when one of those people is too little to carry her own suitcase and diaper bag? Well, let’s just say we did not have enough hands in the airport! (Three suitcases, three tote bags, one purse, one stroller, one car seat – and no, we cannot juggle.)
9. I love the timber industry. Okay, not really. But I love seeing the tall, skinny pines lined up in perfect rows. Even though I am fully aware that companies who make paper or something have planted those trees, I like looking at those trees and imagining that God is just as concerned with straight lines as I am.
10. It does not matter how clean you leave your house and how often your friend checks on your cats. If you neglect them for 8 days, they will pee on your kitchen counter.

What have you learned lately? This post is linked to OhAmanda’s Top Ten Tuesday and Musings of a Housewife’s What I Learned This Week.

Hello, Monday. How did you get here so fast?

I realize it would be better to write, “How did you get here so quickly?” but I really felt like saying fast.

How was your weekend? Mine was busy, so as usual, I don’t have much blog brilliance for you this morning. Let’s just go with a list . . .

• First, we will have a live chat tonight at 8 p.m. CST to discuss Me, Myself & Lies. ALL are welcome, and you’re welcome no matter where you are in the study. Let's get back to cleaning out our thought closets!
• This weekend's scrapbooking retreat was a success. I finished 26 pages, or 13 layouts. Oh, all right, fine. So I still need to go back and journal and fancy them up, but the pictures are slapped down onto pretty paper. So I still call that a success!
• And wow, the facility we were at was fantastic! I’ve done a handful of scrapping weekends, and this place was by far the best I’ve been to. If you live around these parts and like to scrapbook (or craft something – it’s for quilters, cardmakers, seamstresses, anyone!), I highly suggest you check out Maple Memories in McPherson.
• Since I consider chips and salsa to be our fifth food group, it’s no wonder Annalyn also appreciates the salt and the spice. But it always cracks me up just how much she loves chips and salsa – or, as she was calling them last night, “bips and dotdot.”
• And speaking of my baby girl – we’ve had a major development. Starting on Friday night – and huge thanks to her Aunt Smitty – Annalyn started walking behind her baby stroller. She even let Smitty hold her hands and walk her around the house – something she’s refused (complete with going limp, flailing around fits) to do with us for these last 8 months. Then on Saturday morning, she decided that she actually enjoyed walking behind her “beep beep strawer” (that’s the stroller, to those of you who don’t speak toddler) and hasn’t stopped since. Honestly, after months of frustration, this feels like a miracle. Especially since it’s happened just days before we go back to the physical therapist to see if she’s made any progress!
• Last – and probably least – I had a 3-hour drive between the scrapbooking retreat and my house. And after several nights in a row of not nearly enough sleep, I needed help. Of course that included a gigantic Coke from McDonald’s, but I also found a burst of energy by listening to my Mamma Mia soundtrack. I just love that movie.

And that’s all. How’s your Monday? Manic? Monotonous? Mild? Moving? Something that doesn’t start with “m” or make me think of an 80s song?

Photo of bips and dotdot by Photo Mojo.

And I still haven't found what I'm looking for . . .

We had a full weekend. Lots of blog-worthy activities. I even have pictures related to these events.

But Monday posts are hard for me to write. I don't know. Maybe it's just part of my work-week-aversion. Maybe it's because I try to limit my Sunday computer time.

Maybe it's because our weekends are usually busy, and by Sunday night, I'm tired.

Take right now, for instance. I'm writing this on Sunday night, glad my headache is fading, watching Jim Gaffigan talk about bacon on my TV, and wondering how early I can go to bed and not be weird. Tiiiired.

So, for today, this is what I have for you: a little story about Google.

On Friday, I decided to make some changes to my blog. You may have noticed. But it didn't all work out right, and I couldn't figure out how to fix everything to my liking. So I went to the master of all things: Google.

Before I could type in my full search term, Mr. Google tried to guess what I was looking for. I typed, "how to," and Google came up with:

How to tie a tie
How to kiss
How to get pregnant
How to lose weight
How to make a website
How to write a resume
How to draw
How to solve a rubix cube
How to write a cover letter
How to get a passport

I just thought this was interesting. I'm assuming these must have been the most common how-to searches on Friday afternoon. I'm just wondering . . . do you think the same people were searching for instructions on kissing and getting pregnant?

Anyway.

My question for the day is: What is one thing you'd like to learn how to do?