Thursday, June 27, 2013

Rise and Shine

Rise and Shine,
And give God the Glory Glory
Rise and Shine, 
And give God the Glory Glory
Rise and shine, 
And Give God the Glory Glory, 
Children of the Lord...

This little ditty from fourth grade VBS at Church of Our Risen Lord literally came out of my mouth this morning. Literally. I woke up singing this with a strange urge to throw my arms out a la Maria from the Sound of Music.

I have not been in VBS in probably a hundred years. I normally open one eye slowly, and test the air to see if I smell my coffee brewing before I open the other eye. I hit snooze a ridiculous number of times. I most assuredly do not bounce out of bed, nor does singing cross my mind before noon.

Funny how our brains let little tidbits bubble up from faraway folds. Every verse of this song was in my head, from start to finish. And as perplexed as I was by this start, every piece of my day had a different feel than the norm. I found myself saying "get to" versus "have to".  I let people in in traffic, without thinking pissy thoughts. I could go on and on about how very calm and Zen I felt, but it would start to get annoying after a few more examples. My sister would probably call it a God moment :)

Peace and Zen and "Get to" moments, buttercups. XOXO

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Ducks are Jerks, and You Rock!

Charming little ducks, right?

No. Jerks. Complete jerks who have no idea that they are supposed to move to the right to let someone pass on a trail.

Usually when this happens with people who are in matchy shirts, I give them a little grace. But today, this was the last little bit of easy cement at the end of a fourteen mile ride in wind and a little rain, and I. Needed. This. Bit. To make it up the hill without wheezing like my pug after she chases her shadow. I needed it, and yet they waddled as if they were the only ducks on the trail. Hmph.

This was mile ten-ish. This is why I get out of the house, even though I could be doing laundry or cleaning up pug vomit stains or any number of exciting tasks.

I see deer and an astonishing array of birds. I always manage to see or run over a snake, even as I try to avoid rolling over them. I see clouds roll over, and forget that I am tired as I watch them move. I also manage to see the same people most days, no matter what time I choose to go. Strange, how we must be on the same rhythm.

An old friend posted on Facebook the other day that she had run two miles in forty-four minutes. She sounded almost apologetic about it, but said she was just starting to exercise.

I didn't write it (but I may still), but when I saw her post, my first thought was "YOU ROCK." Every post she writes about working out or running, I think it again. "YOU ROCK." Utmost admiration for everyone who just does it. One foot in front of the other, or one push of the pedal, that is how you start. And then you make little tiny goals for yourself. Run for a whole song. Run for three minutes without stopping. Run for four minutes without stopping. Run to that tree, that frikking tree that seems to be moving further away, for the love of God. And before you know it, you are a runner. Or a cyclist. Or a swimmer. Whatever, you choose, it starts with that one step.

I see one woman on the trail who has transformed herself. Yeah, she has obviously lost a lot of weight, and I see her run much more than I see her walk. The transformation goes further, though. She runs with her head up. When I first saw her, she walked with her head down, maybe watching one foot in front of the other. And now she runs proud. Pretty cool, because she obviously took the first step.

I just hope she watches out for those damn ducks. Jerks.

Peace and sweat and one foot in front of the other. XOXO

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Pug Life

Help me out here. HE gets the haircut, and I get saddled with the cheesy bandana?

Don't. Say. One. Word.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Coming up for air.

I'm baaaaack.

Happy Father's Day to us :-)

...and to us :-)

No really, I tend to go underground around Father's Day. One of those holidays that makes me all envious and weepy and all around bitey. My father had amazing potential but it all got lost underneath the crushing heaviness of addiction. My father memories are chock full of broken promises and empty bottles. My stepfather actually told me the week after he married my mother that he didn't want another kid and had no intention of taking on the father role. Looking back, I was Timesboy's age at the time, and I can see with a wide-eyed clarity how crushing that was to a kid. Quite sure when I open that Pandora's box someday in therapy, there will not be enough kleenex boxes to mop up the tears.

And then I watch my kids struggle with navigating the challenges of their relationship with he-who-must-not-be-named. Heartbreaking, but nothing I can do. All I can do is love em, and have faith that they are stronger than the hurt. They have fifty percent of my DNA, so I have strong faith in this.

That being said, I should not have gone underground on Father's Day. I probably also should not have told the grocery store manager that I hate Father's Day and to suck it when he kept talking about Father's Day as I bought my berries and milk. I should not have gone underground. I should have praised the single mamas who wear two hats, being mom and dad every day. I should have taken the day to be thankful for all of the fathers out there who are doing their job. I should have lifted up the men who step into the daddy shoes when the biological daddies fail to. I should have given love to the ones who pay the bills for kids who aren't theirs, even as the 'real' daddies cry broke when they aren't. I should have given kudos to the family friends who step up, the uncles and the male figures who act as dads when they are not. These guys, the ones who don't have to show up, they are the ones that I should have been concentrating on. My kids are surrounded by men who step up to the plate every day, and I hope they are soaking in the love and the lessons from these men. These guys deserve the cards and the ties and the six-packs of beer. Every day, not just Father's Day.

Happy Late Father's Day to all of the good ones. Peace and love and microbrews and bad ties. XOXO

Thursday, June 13, 2013

That hot.

Me- "Hey, did you know you put your toothpaste in the fridge?"

Timesboy- "Yep."

Me- "Umm, why?"

Timesboy- "Haven't you read the back, Mom? Store below eighty-six degrees."


Thursday, June 6, 2013

Monchichi and a bit of anesthesia

Monchichi by lucaohman
Monchichi, a photo by lucaohman on Flickr.

So, I had a boob job today. *SNORT*


Anyone who knows me knows that I have spent my life from eighth grade on trying to get rid of the boobs, so that first sentence is a LIE.

But, I did have general anesthesia for the first time in my life. This was a truly strange experience.

Several things were strange. First, apparently I was the first person that my primary nurse knew who had an eyebrowing plucking/rogue German ancestry chin hair plucking/teeth cleaning/face washing contingency in place in case I went into some long term coma from a freakish anesthesia reaction. It's not that I am vain or that I would even care if I was in a coma, but I would not want my monkeys to think that I was a monchichi when they came to see me. I thought everyone would have something like this in place, along with the Medical Power of Attorney. Which I have in place. Ahem.

Second, apparently I need to act up more. Suck air in and tear up, or complain a little about the IV and hawt attire. I need to request more heated towels and pillows and different magazines. I did none of this because I really just wanted to get through so that I could find a cup of coffee. For the love of God.

Third, General Anesthesia is NOTHING like Grey's Anatomy or any other show. There is no blurring of the edges as you drift off. Nope. There is an "I am going to put the mask over your face', and then ninety minutes later a different nurse standing there as you ask when they are going to put the mask over your face. An abrupt loss of a chunk of time. My new nurse did tell me that her husband kept talking about his 'B Danka Dank' while he was coming out of his first time with anesthesia. Pretty sure I did not do that for numerous reasons, one being I had to Urban Dictionary that one. I hope I didn't say anything awful or tell them about my dream last night involving a deceptively violent bullfrog with sharp teeth. Oh well, that is why they get paid the big bucks, right?!

Fourth, apparently there is a lingering issue with mental fogginess even after you can walk and talk. I heard five or six different nurses and doctors say "No major life decisions for the next couple of days". Doh. I can't even finish a compound sentence out loud, much less buy a car or change my will.

And finally, I don't really look like a monchichi. This is the anesthesia speaking.

Goodnight, buttercups. XOXOXO

Thanks @ lucuahman

Monday, June 3, 2013

One with the blueberry.


One of my favoritest (If Sarah Palin can make up words, so can I...) people struggles mightily with insomnia. Not just a little bit of restless legs or to-do lists on his mind, but full on trying to function on an hour or two a night.

He has tried everything, with varying degrees of failure. His newest thing is awareness. Mindfulness. He was telling me about it today, and talking about being aware in everything that he does, especially what he eats. Really tasting every bite that he eats, and appreciating what he is tasting.

While  the Insomniac was telling me about eating mindfully, I unsuccessfully tried to hide the container that I had hurriedly scarfed my sammich from. I pointedly put my Lavender Kombucha in between us, as if waving a flag of mindfulness to make up for said sammich scarfing. Let's be honest, you HAVE to be aware and mindful to appreciate Kombucha- otherwise you would think someone was giving you fizzy vinegar to poison you.

Later, I was eating my blueberries, and he brought up the mindfulness again.

I know, they are blackberries. I ATE the blueberries, okay?!

Me- "I am one with my blueberries."

Favorite Insomniac- Laughs. Then earnestly, "Really?"

Me- "Ummmm, yeah. No. Really, no. If I think about blueberries, they are kinda gross, pop-squishing in your mouth. But I am totally down with being one with blackberries and raspberries."

Favorite Insomniac- Laughs. Probably is aware that he wants to throw my blueberries at me.

Me- "They were organic though. So there."

Saturday, June 1, 2013


"Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them."
                                                       -A.A. Milne

When Superteen was little, she loved dandelions. I was granola, her dad believed the only good dandelion was a dead dandelion and that chemical warfare was a good thing, and the poor kid in the middle just wanted to admire her pretty yellow garden. She would wake up in the morning, look out of our huge picture window, and clasp her hands together in excitement.

"Look at my bootiful garden!!"

Those dandelions would spring up overnight, raising their heads defiantly even after he poured poison on them after my girl went to bed.

Life is kind of like dandelions. Some stuff just springs up, no matter how we try to get rid of it. I could probably take a lesson from Superteen, clasp my hands together, and learn to look for the garden in my weeds. Because it is there, even if it is not the one that I was intending.

Peace and love and pretty yellow flowers, friends! XOXO

Life moves fast

I used to have reservoirs just a few steps from my wee cottage's front door. Full of bears, squirrels, deer, foxes, and a few animals I ...