When Daddy's Away

Shaun was away on a business trip last night, and I was here at our house, overnight, for the first time by myself. He has only been away one other time since we lived here, and I managed to work in a trip to Dad and Mom's. I realize that this makes me sound quite skittish. So be it. I lived alone for a couple of years while in college, and I only recall feeling frightened once or twice. Now, after living with a man in my house for over eight years, I sense my vulnerability more when he is away. The feeling intensifies one hundred fold with each child as I also am aware of my limited ability to defend or protect them on my own. We own a gun, but I could do more damage with a meat mallet. For that reason, I decided to keep the kids with me in my room last night. Well, that and the fact that I wanted other breathing bodies in the room with me. As I lay down in bed last night, after triple-checking doors and windows, I could hear Brady making his little baby sleep noises down in his pack 'n play and could see Seth within arm's reach below me on his little pallet on the floor. I felt a lot of peace having them there with me, behind a locked door, and in a room where I could easily carry them both out of a window without much trouble. I also recognized the deep comfort of life coming full circle. As I lay there falling asleep, I could easily drift off to times in my own childhood when my dad was gone at the Navy's bidding. I can recall bits and pieces from nights when Mom kept us close to her in the same way. I slept in the bed near to her, and my brother occupied a pallet on the floor, close enough for her to hear us breathing. I never felt afraid during those times, which is probably why I don't remember many of them, though I am sure there must have been extended periods of time when Dad was away. My parents' bedroom was a haven. As early as the age of three, I can recall an image of jumping up and down on my parents' bed, brimming with excitement. As an older child, I remember watching "Little House on the Prairie" and "Bonanza" with Mom on her bed on summer days when it was just too hot to venture out. As a teenager, my brother and I would pile onto Mom's bed each night for a story from a devotional book entitled A View from the Zoo. Those were times spent with Mom that shaped me into who I am today. One of my most cherished memories from my college years is the night I stayed up until 3 AM, in the dark, talking to Mom on her bed about my friend, Shaun, and the crush I had on him. We were both so sleepy, but I can recall, even then, realizing the weight of that conversation and that night as we plotted out how I should break off an engagement and pursue what seemed to be the Lord's leading. Of all things, I can remember giggling with my mom there in the dark. I could never have known then that on a random Tuesday night ten years later, I would fall asleep to the sounds of Shaun's two sons breathing in sweet life on each side of me.

Poor Rainbow Fish

Have you read the children's book Rainbow Fish? It's one of Seth's favorites. I personally couldn't care less for the story. The moral of the story is that you will be happier in life if you share. I agree wholeheartedly with that lesson. I think it's very commendable that the Rainbow Fish gave away all but one of its most prized possessions. However, my problem is with the other fish in the ocean. They were right to shun the Rainbow Fish when he (Is it a he? I'll have to go back and look.) was swimming haughtily through the ocean, feeling awfully proud of his beautiful scales. I'm always telling Seth that no one will want to be your friend if you are mean and selfish. Rainbow Fish proves this point nicely with his attitude at the beginning of the story. I am proud to report that he does reach a place in his life where he feels lonely and regretful about the way he has treated the other fish. I've often hoped as I turned my other cheek that someone would come to regret their actions towards me. Who hasn't? This is what makes our forgiveness so different from Christ's. I digress. So, at this turning point in the story, Rainbow Fish is given some sound advice from the "wise octopus" that he should give away some of his scales in order to be happy. All true. All wise. Shortly after that, Rainbow Fish is given the chance to act on this advice, and he reluctantly gives away the tiniest of his shimmery scales to the little blue fish that he turned away early in the story. When he sees the joy that he has brought the little fish, he recognizes the peace and warmth the octopus told him he would feel. It doesn't take long for word to spread that he gave away a scale to the little blue fish. What happens next? Every one of those fish come shooting through the water like sharks at a feeding frenzy to get one for themselves. "What's this? Rainbow Fish is sharing? Let's get ours!" Sure enough, Rainbow Fish is soon rid of all but one of his scales. He seems happy at the end to have gained friends, but I pity him somewhat. He gave all that he cared about to a bunch of greedy fish. Are these the sort of friends he was after? It reminds me of the times in school when I pulled out a stick of gum in the presence of others. Or, God forbid, a bag of some sort of hard candy. Suddenly, everyone was my friend. No good feeling comes from giving away to people who are not grateful, genuine, or in need. I realize that this makes me sound selfish, so let me clarify. I love to share with my friends. I love to share with people that are not my friends. I think Rainbow Fish had the right idea. I just wish he had been given the opportunity to volunteer the scales. That poor fish was taken advantage of, and I am left wondering just how long those fish were his friends once he no longer had anything to give them. I will have to find consolation in the hope that the wise octopus, seeing that he needed a true friend who might understand his position, referred him to the boy who gave a mouse a cookie.

Deep Fried Couch Potatoes

Shaun left ESPN on the other night, and since this channel serves as fantastic white noise for me, I left it on while I went about my business. I don't hate sports, but ESPN is overkill for me, so I really pay closest attention to the commercials, which are usually very funny. Well, a commercial for a new Madden video game came on, and it caught my attention because I was just sure it would be hilarious. There was a group of gangly teenage boys competing against a group of sluggish adult men to attain whatever the prize is for winning a virtual football game. They were all outfitted in traditional wannabe attire (aka huge-mungous jersies of professional football players), so I was hanging on their every word. And then the commercial went on...and on...and on. And it wasn't funny. And it started to make me feel sad. Then realization dawned. This was not a commercial. This was an actual show where we could watch other people play a video game. I am more than a little out of the loop, so the rest of you may have seen this show before. It's entitled "Madden Nation." Appropriate. So, we are not just an overwhelmingly lazy nation. We are now lazy on top of lazy. We don't even want to play the video games anymore. We are content to just watch a group of losers play them for us. This may pose a threat to our nation's gastrointestinal health. We want to have cake, eat it, but really wish someone else would just digest it for us. It might be too difficult from our recumbent positions on our comfy couches. As my son's pediatrician pointed out, it's difficult to poop while lying down.

The Comfort Index

I find meteorologists amusing. I am not poking fun at the profession itself. I have no idea what it takes to be a meteorologist, but I know I don't understand half of what they are talking about, so it must be some tough stuff. The thing that makes it all funny is how desperately each news station tries to make the weather report seem suspenseful and thrilling. It seems that the weather report makes or breaks which station each of us will choose. However, this must be a very difficult popularity contest. I would liken it to a chili cook-off. In the end, we are all getting chili, but there may be a few different ingredients sprinkled in each pot. Those ingredients will, of course, ultimately alter the entire chili experience. My favorite new "ingredient" included in one of our local news station's weather report is the "Comfort Index." This scale ranges from something like "Very Comfortable" to "Weeping and Gnashing of Teeth." They may use different terminology. At any rate, assuming the temperature, humidity, pollen count, mold spore count, rainfall predictions, and our approximate distance from any tropical disturbances is not enough to help us decide how comfortable we may be on a given day, this station is boldly stepping out and predicting it for us. It's a thesis statement for the entire weather portion of each evening's broadcast. Just like that, they managed to reduce their pot of chili to only beans. The irony to me is that this new predictor of my comfort level eliminates my need for any of the other jibber jabber about the high and low pressure systems, cold and warm fronts, or record lows and highs. Why do I really need to watch and try to comprehend all of the other factors involved in tomorrow's weather? All I'm really after is how comfortable I will be in the coming days and weeks. Careful, careful meteorologists. This new, watered-down approach to weather forecasting may leave the sports guy looking like the spiciest pot of chili. And that could cause meterologists everywhere to feel a little uncomfortable.

Toys for Tots. Really?

Yesterday, I was pulling out some of Seth's workbooks to do with him. I know...I just can't break free of the whole teacher thing. At any rate, at least he still enjoys learning. School hasn't ruined that for him yet, but that's another topic for another day. So, ANYWHO...he requested that we work in his sticker book, which I approved of since it's logical, educational, and entertaining thanks to bright colors and cartoon dogs and such. The premise of the book is that you master a concept by peeling off stickers from the middle pages of the book and placing them on pages where there are matching shapes, colors, numbers, or whatever the educational topic happens to be. These books are supposedly made for children (hence the bright colors and cartoon animals). At first glance, it seems genius for those of us looking for a way to keep our kids entertained in restaurants or in the car, which was the reason I bought the book in the first place. The books aren't messy, they have hundreds of stickers (seemingly minutes of entertainment), and they are quiet. On the contrary, these are actually just another example of a child's plaything that reads "ages three and up," but should instead read, "ages three and up when assisted by a child age twelve and up that can locate the stickers that correspond with the correct pages, successfully peel them off, and not be distracted by the fifty other stickers on the same page separated only by a thin line." Yes, once again, someone has created entertainment for a child that requires my help. If I wanted to participate in entertaining my child at the restaurant, I wouldn't have spent ten bucks on a sticker book. I would have, instead, taken a Sharpie marker, drawn two dots and a smile on my finger tips and performed a finger puppet show.

I realize that I run the risk of sounding like I don't want to spend time with my son. That is not the case at all. I believe very strongly in the value of quality, not quantity, time with my kids. I try to set time aside each day to play with them so that they will know that they were more important to me than a clean floor or a dust-free home. But let's be realistic. I buy toys and said sticker books, so that my kids will also know I value taking a shower each day. It is just as important for them to be capable of entertaining themselves for at least short periods of time. Knowing how to be peaceful and content while alone is an important life skill. My thoughts when I am buying toys orbit around that very idea, and I know I am not alone. This is the same philosophy from which stems the age-old phrase, "Find something to do." So, why is it that so many toys require so much help from an adult? Since Seth turned six months old, I found that many of his toys only succeeded in frustrating him if left on his own while playing. If you know Seth, you know that he has a low tolerance for frustration, but it's still a valid point. From ride-on dump trucks that require hand-eye coordination to lower the seat after dumping out blocks to Play-Doh "fun" factories that call for twenty pounds of force to turn clay into spaghetti, it seems that the box should read "mommy not included."

So, what does it take for a toy to be a truly great toy? Simplicity. The best toys are simple. Kids are often more entertained with the box than the toy, because there is so much possibility in that box. This is why blocks and dolls are timeless toys. It's fun when Mommy and Daddy play along, but it's not necessary. I'm still glad I bought the sticker books and the dump trucks and the Play-Doh, because there's a lot my boys will learn from playing with those things. In fact, yesterday, we learned a lot about shapes from playing with stickers. All I'm saying is, let's be realistic and quit labeling these toy packages and books "ages 3 and up." Let's make some more toys that don't require batteries and mommies to play along. I just want the chance to opt out and take a shower, cook a meal, or read my Bible once in a while, because the Lord knows better than I do that all of these toys that require my assistance are only increasing my need for Him. Maybe that's the point.

Buyer Beware

I love lists. I love making them. I love crossing things off of them. I have seen a book titled Lists to Live By and felt deeply intrigued. So, I've decided to make some lists here on my blog...mostly just for entertainment. I'd like to begin with my personal list of banned businesses. Let me explain. I have very strong feelings about customer service. I try to be reasonable, however, I get deeply upset by excessively poor work ethic or outright rudeness when I am a customer or consumer at a business establishment. I DO understand that people have bad days, but I will be honest and say that I don't have much sympathy. I have worked at a variety of locations as a part-time employee, including fast-food, clothing retail, and a grocery store. I know that rudeness can be found on both sides of the cash register. As an employee at any one of those locations, I have been treated like a child with my finger in my nose. So, I do understand that it is not always easy to put on a happy face. In fact, that's really not even a source of irritation for me. I do not expect to be entertained or even welcomed into any business. I only want to be served professionally and as efficiently as possible. With that said, I have been known to ban businesses. Because I know that people are what make or break any company, and people are inconsistent, I am always willing to give a place a second chance. However, if I deal with the same problem more than once at a location, they are forever banned. Does this solve anything? Absolutely not. However, it does make me feel better. Just for kicks, here are the businesses that are forever banned (and you would be wise to heed this list as a warning for yourself):

1. Chik-fil-A on Evans St. in Greenville, NC
2. IHOP on Evans St. in Greenville, NC
3. CVS Pharmacy on Firetower Rd. in Greenville, NC
4. Meijer on Hwy 135 in Greenwood, IN

Endangered Species: These businesses have nearly pushed me over the edge, but some places are difficult to ban because I love them so much.
1. Sonic in Holly Springs, NC for taking twenty minutes to make a kid's slush
2. Kid 2 Kid in Apex, NC for hiring teenagers with SAT scores as big as their bra sizes which is
easier to assess since their bras are literally more visible than their clothes.

Catch of the Day

Music has always been quick to penetrate my heart and mind. Without realizing it, I often tag moments in my life while listening to a song. Later, when I hear that song again, I am immediately taken back to a random, but always significant moment in my life. So much happens to a person in thirty years of living, and I am always so thankful for these little glimpses into otherwise forgotten moments. Today, I found the CD we used as a sort of soundtrack for our wedding ceremony. As I listened to it, I was flooded with memories from that day. Regretfully, I know there are so many things I don't remember. Out of those that I do, my "catch of the day" would have to be the five minutes that revolved around a drop of black cherry soda that escaped a can and landed on my dress...my unblemished, perfect wedding dress.

Shaun and I were alone with my parents in the fellowship hall of the church where our reception had just taken place. All of the remaining guests were standing outside waiting to pelt us with heart-shaped, bird and earth-friendly candy as we ran to our getaway truck. The moment was already a cumbersome one for me. I am a person who does not like to be overwhelmed by emotion when there is an audience present, and here we were at the end and beginning of a day that would seem to divide my life into two halves. Even now there are too many metaphors, too many words that could have been said at that moment to the parents who gave me life and taught me how to live it abundantly. In the most bittersweet way, they were giving me away. As a parting gift, my mom handed me a six-pack of black cherry shasta, a tradition she had started when Shaun and I were dating and would leave their house. Mercifully, one of the cans had a leak, and a tiny drop of deep, red soda dropped onto my dress as I took the cans from her. I couldn't breathe for a moment. All of the emotion I had been feeling was now concentrated onto this intruder. What happened next I will never forget. Somehow, seemingly without leaving my side, Dad produced a napkin, which he meticulously began to fold into a very tight triangle. With a steady hand, he touched the very tip of the instrument he had fashioned to the tiny drop. Instantly, it seeped into the napkin, leaving no trace on my gown. I can easily recall how amazed I was. Just as he had done so many times when I was a little girl, he had swooped in and "made it better." It seemed like a small incident at the time, but it has stuck with me all this time as one of my favorite memories of my father. The next five minutes should have been more memorable, but it's all a blur as I struggle to remember them. I know we ran out of the church through raining candy because I have seen pictures. I know Shaun's truck was destroyed by a crazed bridesmaid who should never be allowed to touch bananas or junior mints again. I know the truck read, "Just Married," but only because you could still see the words on the side of the truck at the right angle even a year ago when Shaun finally sold it. Yet it is the drop of cherry soda that stuck with me. The very next solid memory I have is the silence in Shaun's truck broken by his simple introduction, "Hello."

Open Wide and Say "AHHHHHH!"

I've finally become egocentric (and lonely) enough to believe that others might willingly stop their own lives and read some of the random thoughts I have during the day. Deciding to start a blog is kind of like when I gave in to wearing capris. It was only a matter of time. I fought it, but capris and blogging stuck around long enough to begin to look normal. It doesn't help that I'm a recovering teacher turned stay-at-home mom with a predisposition towards being critical who spends approximately eleven hours of each day with small people who cannot yet appreciate my opinions or sarcasm. Yes, pity my husband who has to talk to people all day only to come home and have to drink from a firehose when he asks how my day was. So, to save my sanity and my marriage, I will use this blogging medium as a whipping boy. Keep in mind as you read that I don't claim to be an expert on anything. I realize all of the time just how little I know and how thankful I am that I waited just five more seconds before I opened my mouth. Maybe as I type, I can unload and still have a chance to think before I "speak." Okay. Firehose loaded. Open wide.