I Win

If you have never seen a Mother Of The Year award, take a good look at this sweet little number. I'm sorry to inform all of you out there that I have clinched the award this year. Maybe next year, my friend.

While on my ladies trip this year, we met a great group of strangers who sat with us at dinner. I didn't signed up to eat at a huge table with people I had never met. When I chose to have a set dinner time, I had clearly stated my desire to sit with the two people I was planning to share my closet sized room with. On a boat with 2,000 other people, being at dinner with any of them seemed like torture. While boarding the cruise ship, I had witnessed plenty of people with whom I had no desire of ever talking with, let alone spending two hours breaking bread with. The Gods must have been watching over me this particular day, because the people we ended up eating our four course meals with were fantastic, entertaining and hilarious humans.

After sharing with the table that I had two children whom I had happily left at home so I could jump on a boat and drink myself silly, someone made a joke about me being mom of the year. I laughed uncomfortably and wondered if they thought I was a real dick. I don't think they did. The next night, they brought me a gift that had been lovingly made with whatever scraps they could find on the boat. These included an empty wine bottle, a cork that was drawn with a very good likeness of my face and cut up pieces of the reusable bag we had all received as a thank you from the cruise line. What was created is the award you see above. I have never won an award for anything. There were no soccer championships, spelling bee trophies or Valedictorian medals in my life. I have never excelled at anything (that sounds sad, but it's okay) and now I had a trophy. A trophy for something that I am very proud of doing, being a mom.

I like to poke fun at the trials and tribulations of parenting and I am sure that for some people, my humor falls on deaf ears. It may not be funny to some people that I share my desire to spend a day hiding in a closet with a bottle of vodka or that I ship my kids off to Grandma's house in order to take a shower and a nap. The truth is, I love being a mom. I love my kids and parenting is the one thing in my life that I feel really good at. It's also the only thing I have ever stuck with for longer than a few years. It's true that there are a million other mothers in the world who deserve this award as much as I do (my mother included), but this year it's mine. After my run, I think I will ship it off to another hard working mom and perhaps it can be touched by all the moms I love who are feeding, changing, hugging, and reading to the next generation. Hey mamas, let the games begin.

That's It, I Quit

Hold on to your granny panties for this revelation....I over-committed. Again. Remember when I needed a job where I was moving around all the time, you know, like 5 weeks ago? Yeah, about that. I loved being on my feet all day, I loved the people I worked with and I was finally getting good at it. Then Tuesday happened. We had a full day of cleans scheduled, my husband had to take the puppy to work, the kids had soccer and drama class, and the neighbor who picks up after school didn't pick up after school. When I got to my phone, 30 minutes after school ended, I had a barrage of messages asking if I could pick up or if the kids could walk home. I couldn't pick up and it was pouring rain outside. We were having a freak thunderstorm that was complete with thunder, lighting and sheets of rain that would drown a small child in five minutes flat. I scrambled to make phone calls, attempting to find out where my kids were. Did they get picked up? Were they trudging through a river, barefoot and uphill both ways? My husband confirmed that they weren't home, my neighbor confirmed that her husband was running late, and I confirmed that I was in the midst of a mommy panic attack. Drama class started in fifteen minutes, soccer in thirty minutes and my husband was home with a puppy who was full of shenanigans. I was at work. I couldn't deal with any of it over the phone and it was making me crazy.

When I got home, my kids were soaked, my husband looked ready to throw in the towel and everyone was piled in the car on their way to late starts at each and every activity. This wasn't working. That evening, I talked to my husband about an extra cleaning job I had picked up in trade for free yoga classes. He wasn't as excited as I was.
"So, now your going to be gone two full days and three nights a week? This is what you want?"

I admitted that I don't know what I want. It changes all the time and I take on too many jobs for one glaring reason....I want to prove that I am worthy. Worthy of a nice home, a great husband, money in the bank that I don't work for, and worthy to live a blessed life. I don't know who I need to prove it to, but I feel like I need to prove it. Very rarely does my husband question why I do the things I do and when he does, I know it's not working.
"I like having you as a stay-at-home mom. I like that you are writing and taking care of the house. I can make money, that's not a problem."

It's only a problem for me. A problem that I have been obsessing about for the entirety of our marriage. I stayed home when my kids were babies, worked minimum wage jobs as they got older and have never made as much money as my husband. It's a pride thing. We are in it together and he is supportive and I have let it become my issue. So, I quit. I quit my cleaning job. It's one of those lessons in life that makes me crazy because I want to commit to everything, forever, and be great every single day. This time I get to commit to letting it go and finding the joy in that.  

Image courtesy of careerrocketeer.com Check out their awesome post about how to quit a job the right way. http://careerrocketeer.com/2011/03/resignation-without-reservation-the-how-tos-of-quitting.html

Beach Living

I was at the beach on Sunday and it reminded me of one particular item on my bucket list, live on the beach in Hawaii for one year. I have told my husband this will happen and at times he is excited, then just a few months later he says something awkward like "Well, I'm going to miss you."

My plan was to wait until my kids have moved out and are capable of buying their own milk. I'm hoping by that point they are also driving places without my assistance and scrubbing the toilet they shit in without me paying them to do so. It's a dream, you see. At that point we would sell our house, purge all the shit we don't need and move to Hawaii. I want to rent a bungalow on the beach and write. That's it. That's the dream. Will my husband work? Don't know, don't care. That's the joy of bucket list items, they don't have to make sense in their infancy. Will we be able to afford it? Don't know, don't care. Does my husband want to go? While I do care about this part, I honestly don't know. He is a Utah boy through and through. He loves winter, skiing, our crazy liquor laws and he has a successful business, that I doubt he would want to relocate for the purpose of validating his neurotic wife's crazy whim. I think my crazy whims are the reason for his high blood pressure, so I completely understand. He has put up with me calling from Hawaii and telling him I found a house to buy, planning a four day Florida vacation one week in advance, and showing up at home with gallons of paint and a really great plan for one room or the other. He's a saint, is what I am getting at.

As I have stated, the details aren't all planned out. My hope is that I will be a paid writer at that point and that I will have throngs of human beings clamoring to read my next novel. The reality may be completely different. I may end up scrubbing toilets at Starbucks again and wishing I would have pursued a degree in veterinary science so I could retire without wondering how to pay for my Depends. My kids may never leave my house and I could end up as a recluse with a 42 year old gamer who smokes weed in my basement and yells at me every day at 5 pm regarding his meal options. I could end up getting stung by a jelly fish during our next beach adventure and swear off bodies of water in any form. In that case, we would be living in exactly the right spot for us. Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

My dream to live on a beach has been raging inside me since I attended massage school 17 years ago. My plan was to graduate, be hired by the most prestigious hotel/spa in Maui and live the dream of rubbing tourists' zit ridden backs while learning how to surf. Instead, I was recruited by a spa in Vegas that was a cement slab in the middle of the desert, where the only thing I learned was how to avoid dating guys in bands. It was a great lesson, but I feel I could have picked it up on an island just as easily. I then met my husband, moved back to a land locked state and smothered my beach dream. Problem is, it just won't shut up.

Every time we vacation on the sand, my heart aches to stay and I visualize myself sitting on a deck overlooking the ocean. I want to go barefoot all day long and call my flip flops slippers. I want to grow fruit in my backyard with little to no effort and have the salty breeze ruin every bit of metal on my bungalow. I want to be writing in the morning while my husband has a golf game, after which we we would barbecue fish on our patio and talk about the days when we had kids to keep us entertained. In my mind, it looks like a movie, but in my heart it feels like my future.

Dog Days Of Summer

This maniac goes by the name of Oliver. It's been twelve years since we had a puppy around and the experience is eerily similar to having a baby. You forget how hard the first year is and decide to do it again. Sometimes more than once. Our old pup Colt headed to dog heaven two weeks ago after a long battle with stomach cancer and arthritis in his hips. It was one of the most difficult decisions we have made, but watching him struggle to get up the stairs and lose control of his bowels was heart wrenching and we knew it was time. My husband was with him as the vet placed the needle in his leg and he went to sleep for the last time. We all cried and reminisced about the dog who had seen both our kids come home from the hospital, licked their faces as they learned to crawl and taught us all about companionship. He will forever be in our hearts.

After a couple of weeks of coming home to a quiet house with no one meeting us at the door or licking up the extras from our meals, we knew we wanted another dog. We spent a few days researching breeds, checking the Humane Society website and looking at ads on KSL. My husband was drawn to pups who looked eerily similar to Colt and I wanted a small breed that wouldn't shed as much and may have a longer life span. Twelve years may sound like a lot, but when it's over and your furry friend isn't there, you wonder why pups don't live to the ripe old age of eighty.

We decided to check out two pups last Saturday and bring one of them home. The first stop was to see some tiny little guys who were a crazy mix of twelve different breeds and could fit in the palm of your hand. In the picture, I was sure this was the pup for us, they were black and white and the owner had done a great job at painting a rosy picture of the puppies situation. However, when we got there, the vibe wasn't right and even after holding them, we didn't think we would be back for the little guys. They were clearly being sold too early and at six weeks, they needed their momma more than they needed to be shoved off to new owners. The next stop was just a few miles down the road to see a hound dog who had been adopted, but couldn't stay with the family due to pet restrictions in their city. When this little fur ball came bounding up to us, I couldn't imagine leaving without him. He took to us right away and the owner was thrilled to have found a family who could love and care for the pup that she was unable to care for.

As you can see, he has the sweetest eyes and a set of Dumbo ears that are great at hiding what a little shit burglar he really is. He chews on everything, pees at random and prefers to shit on the deck because his tender little paws don't like wet grass. His stance is deceiving and he constantly looks like he needs to take a dump. I spend my days following him around watching his butthole for just the right pucker, so I can scoop him up before anything lands on the carpet. It's worse than potty training a kid. He can't be left alone without being roped in one particular room and the makeshift baby gates I am using look more like a tornado came through and upturned coffee tables and couch cushions. There is a litter box he wants to eat out of, couches to chew and shoes that he pulls under the dining room table to gnaw on while avoiding our watchful eyes. We are all exhausted and thoroughly in love. He sleeps in between my husband and I, sometimes with his entire body covering my head. He has that new puppy smell that is more delicious than any new car smell that I have ever encountered. The best part is that he's teaching us all a lesson about life....when one love leaves there is always more love around the corner.

My Monkey Business

Image courtesy of http://mrmarksclassroom.com

My business, your business, our business, monkey business, mind your own business.....I understand all of these concepts. Problem is, I don't always abide by them. Case in point: A close family member was recently in a destructive relationship. Initially, I liked the guy and I honestly didn't know how bad it was for a very long time, but when I became aware, I made it my business. Why? Here are just three of the thousands of reasons. 1) abusive relationships piss me off 2) my family is the most important unit in my life 3) I have a tendency to be very protective. Overly protective. Scary protective.  What did I do? I had a heart to heart with this family member about why she chose to stay, what it was like and whether or not she thought she had options to leave. She was in an emotionally abusive relationship, but she didn't see it. It was too close. When I pointed it out and reminded her of what an amazingly bright and beautiful person she really was, she decided to leave and take control of her life. Was it my business? No. Did I make it my business? Yes. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. It's a fine line to walk and I would venture to guess that most people would label me as nosey and over protective. I'll wear both badges.

It's all the rage in self-help books these days; mind your own business, let people learn their own lessons, stop being an intrusive bitch....I'm not sure that last one was ever written, but you can keep that idea for free. Most of the time, I agree with them. Social media has made it too easy to be so far up everyone else's ass that you forget wipe your own. We all know how complicated your relationship is, how no one appreciates you and your financial history down to the last penny. I get it, we are all waiting for payday and no, you aren't the only one who eats ramen noodles for dinner. Everything is everyone's business and it takes Jedi manuevers to keep from giving advice or taking advice about every single status update. There are times I have to duct tape my hands to my desk to keep from posting "Stop buying stupid shit" or "Why are you dating guys who are complete fucking tools?". That wouldn't be my business. Those people are acquaintances and their problems are not mine to navigate. But my family? It's different.

It's like I'm Italian the way I feel about family. Mob boss status. I'm the Tony Soprano of la mia famiglia and I mean business when it comes to how my family is treated by other people. Especially people who claim to love them. I tend to go against the teachings of self help gurus and I make it my business. Is it wrong? Maybe. Should I stop? Probably. But I won't. It's a part of my genetic makeup, like my unruly hair and the way my left eye is smaller than my right eye when I smile. Sometimes it's appreciated and sometimes I am loathed, but I know I am always living in my truth. New self-help book idea...."Your Business Unless You're Related To Me". It has an annoying ring about it, don't you think?

My Giving Challenge: Culture and Flowers For A Friend

Day 17: Culture

If you don't live in Utah you may not be aware of the other holiday we celebrate, July 24th. It's yet another excuse to spend hundreds of dollars on fireworks, fight off crowds to watch mediocre parade floats and bail on work. I think the last one is the whole reason for this season. We celebrate this holiday in memory of the day the Mormon pioneers came to settle the area and steal land from the Native Americans. (Don't quote me on the details.)

Monday evening we headed Downtown to check out the Days of 47 rodeo, which my husband has wonderful memories of attending as a young child. There were horses clomping down main roads alongside compact cars and tepees set up around the enormous arena built to house our professional basketball team. We saw Native American dancers, cowboys, wagons and children on pony rides. It was an interesting mix of past and present.

From the time she was young, my daughter has been drawn to Native American dancing. When she was two years old, we attended a rock and gem show where we watched a group of Native Americans performing tribal dances and ceremonies. She was in love. She spent an entire hour standing in one spot watching intently and swaying to the music. That is quite a feat for toddler. We bought her a CD and it was played in our car for many months following, she would ask to hear "her drum people music". I think it's a previous life thing. As soon as she heard the drumming at the event, she dragged us all to the group of dancers performing out front. They were dressed in beautifully beaded outfits, moccasins and headdresses. As we sat and enjoyed their performance, I noticed the youngest dancer grab her father's hat, place it in front of the dancers, and put a dollar bill inside. She was grinning from ear to ear as she scanned the crowd for others who may drop money in the hat.

Our kids were mesmerized as they watched one male dancer perform. He used up to fifteen hoops wrapped around his body to recreate different animals, birds and even an alligator. It was breathtaking and as he finished up, I pulled a five dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to my son. When the dance concluded my little guy happily ran up and placed the money in the hat along with the other bills that were blowing precariously atop the brown cowboy hat. It was a small token of thanks to the wonderful dancers who shared their talent with us that evening.

Day 18: Flowers For A Friend

I don't remember birthdays. It's one of the qualities that I am not proud to admit to, along with forgetting the names of people who I have met numerous times. I'm a huge supporter of name tags that give me all the information I need to know when we run into each other so I don't feel like a fucking idiot every time. First name, last name, job title, birth date and how we know each other. There are exactly ten birthdays I do remember and they include the people I live with, the people I grew up with and my Grandpa Robertson's birthday, which happens to be the same day as my daughter's.

I know that my best friends' birthday is in July, but I can never remember if it's the 25, 26, 27, 28 or one of the other 31 days of the month. Last year, I sent a text to her husband to find out the exact day and a year before that I called her sister. I'm surprised they haven't turned me in for being the worst friend on the planet. Her birthday is coming up soon and once again I didn't know when to call and share my horrid rendition of Happy Birthday. Here is a little insight about my friend, she hates attention, doesn't like to get gifts and promises me that it's no big deal that I don't know the exact date of her birthday. That must be true, because she still takes my phone calls after eight years of this bullshit. Yesterday, I wanted to do something special for her, so when I did my grocery shopping, I picked up a large bouquet of wildflowers to bring to her that evening. She would never spend money on flowers for herself and in all the years I have known her, she has never had fresh flowers at her house. When we arrived for dinner, I placed the flowers on her counter.
"Who are those for?" she asked.
"You. Thanks for being such a great friend.." I said.
"Oh, they are beautiful, but you don't need to bring me flowers."

Nope I didn't need to, I wanted to.

Check out my newest article on mythirtyspot.com. It's all about being baby hungry and knowing it's too late.
http://www.mythirtyspot.com/2013/07/when-its-too-late-for-baby-number-three.html

My Giving Challenge: Ugh, Blah and Love

Day 14: What is a gift?

It was destined to happen, right? The day where I was so busy, so overwhelmed, and could't see how or where I would fit in giving a gift. That was today. I needed to do payroll, get some writing assignments sent off and get back home in time to clean up and make dinner. As I retrace my day, I can see many times where I gave a gift, but not with full intention and then I got all fucked up in my head and say "Well, that doesn't count." Picking up a drink for my hubby, taking a check to the bank so he didn't have to, making food, cleaning and laughing with my kids. This is a running theme in my life. I have a tendency to undervalue what I do and see the greatness in others when they do the same thing. Even after working for a few hours, coming home to play with my kids, making spaghetti dinner for my family and cleaning up the kitchen, I told myself I hadn't given a gift. I had failed. I would have to start over and begin with Day 1, as they recommend in the book. I was overwhelmed with the thought of starting over after being almost halfway through my challenge.

Then I remembered one of the gifts I had read about in the book, the author had made her husband dinner one evening. It was big for her because she struggled with MS and had been unable to cook, clean or even leave her house alone. Here is what I told myself....I make dinner every night and I don't have MS and I need to do something bigger and now I have failed. I almost allowed it to get me so bummed out that I contemplated quitting the challenge all together.

After a couple of days to get over myself, I realize that I did give my family a gift by making dinner and that regardless of how big or small it may seem, it is a gift. I learn a lot about myself through this blog and this challenge especially, today I learned that what I expect from myself is sometimes ridiculously unreachable.

Day 15: The Job No One Wants

I have a few jobs around my house that I detest tackling, ie; scrubbing bathtubs, cleaning showers, making beds and dusting blinds. I would imagine that most people who work, whether at home or away, have a few things they avoid doing or begrudgingly tackle only when its absolutely necessary. At our small business, its pulling items. There are rows and rows of bins and numerous pages that need to be done, which can take anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours depending on sales. It's monotonous. Wandering the warehouse, pulling bags out of bins and realizing after an hour that you still have two more pages to go before you throw yourself off the roof. It is right up there with scrubbing tubs, for me.

Saturday's at our house are usually spent at home getting chores done or taking the kids on an outing. This weekend, my hubby had to work and I had a couple of hours to spare before a party, so we all went to the warehouse together. My daughter wanted to work, but no one wanted to pull the 7 pages of items that needed to be shipped. That would be my gift today. I took the pages and left my family in the cool office while I tackled spiders and heat in the warehouse. I actually enjoyed myself. I daydreamed about what my kids would be like when they grew up and where I would like to travel. It's amazing how shifting my attitude from "UGH" to "HOORAY", changed even the most lackluster job.

Today, I also received a much needed phone call from a friend who had just finished reading the last few weeks of blog posts on here. She called to let me know how amazing she thought my writing was and how she wanted to share it with everyone she knew. I was having a grouchy evening and it meant so much to me to hear that she was reading, enjoying and sharing my blog. When I feel like punching a wall, the Universe sends me the love I need. It's no accident.

Day 16: Saying I Love You

We hear it all the time, make sure to tell the ones you love how much you care about them before it's too late. A few years back, it almost was too late. My sister was in a terrible head on collision on the interstate while she was headed to work one morning. The roads were covered in snow and she was bumped by a semi-truck which sent her spinning into oncoming traffic. It happened that fast. One moment she was driving to work and the next moment she was trapped in her car with shattered glass filling her mouth and a broken femur. There is no way to explain how bad her car was damaged except to say that the insurance adjuster didn't believe my mother when she told him that my sister had survived the accident. Had I told her the day before that I loved her? Had I talked to her in the last week? I don't know. I don't remember. And that is not okay with me. I never want my family or friends to wonder if they were loved, to wonder how I felt about them or question how important they are in my life.

My gift today was a phone call and a text message to two people I love very much. I don't want to miss a single opportunity to share that with people in my life.

Today, I also received a phone call from someone I gifted last week, thanking me for the package he received in the mail. It was heartwarming to hear his voice and know that the small token I had given was appreciated. Giving is also about receiving....receiving thanks without saying "It's no problem" or "It wasn't that much". Instead I received the gift of thanks with "You are welcome." The end.

My Giving Challenge: Sharing Strength and Giving My Time

Day 10: Sharing Strength

As most of you read on the post called Brotherly Love, http://www.busybeinghappy.blogspot.com/2013/06/brotherly-love.html my little bro recently moved over a thousand miles away and is building a new life in Florida. While I didn't go that far, I did move out of state when I was 20 years old and there are few things in my life that have been quite as difficult. Being away from my support group, learning how to navigate a new city and a loneliness, the likes of which I had never known, were just a few of the struggles that made me homesick on a daily basis. There were many times I called my mother sobbing and asking permission to come back to my life in Utah, I wanted her to tell me that it was okay to give up. She refused. There was something I was meant to learn, she counseled me, and I needed to give it a year. She has never been short on good advice. I persevered and in the process met new friends, learned how to survive being laid off, and met the man whom I would spend the rest of my life with. I will always be grateful to my mother for pushing me to make the best of that move.

My brother is learning these lessons now and while I haven't spoke with him in a couple of week, I imagine his trials may be weighing him down the same way mine did all those years ago. There is nothing more frightening than having the initial excitement of a new adventure morph into the reality of being so far away from home. I have been there and I wanted to share with my brother what my mom had shared with me in my darkest hours, perseverance. I sat down and wrote my baby brother a card, included were my struggles of being away from home and how pushing through that fear will reap the rewards of strength. It seemed small and gigantic all in the same breath. The gift of love from a thousand miles away.

Day 11: Giving My Time

I consider myself a stay at home mama these days. While I do spend a few hours a week helping at our business and a couple hours a day writing, the majority of my time is focused on the caring and raising of my children. It is the most rewarding and heart wrenching job I have ever had. Most days are not filled with stress free excursions or endless snuggles, but with the tedious task of correcting, teaching and monitoring behavior. There are bedtimes and chore schedules and the feeling of being a taxi driver to two freeloaders who show their appreciation by rolling their eyes and complaining about fairness. I'm clearly a masochist because I love every second of it.

Today I wanted to give my kids the gift of my time, uninhibited by phone calls, emails or throwing in a load of laundry. I planned an afternoon at the local bowling alley with my mom and the kids. My son complained about not wanting to go and my daughter was eager to know when we would be home so she could check her iPad and text her best friend. I didn't let it get to me. We paid for two games, strapped on some smelly shoes and chose silly names that would let us know who was next up to knock down the pins. I was Mommy Pants, my mom was Silly Silver Gran, my son was Super Macho Man and my daughter was Happy Panda. It turns out, she would be anything but happy for our first game. I left my phone in my purse, minus the 30 seconds I spent letting everyone on FB know I was bowling with my munchkins, and we hung out.We ordered soda and chicken strips and we laughed. Some of us threw fits and stomped away from a gutter ball with angry faces, but we were together. We were a family.

 My house needed to be vacuumed, there was laundry in the washer, and I had yet to start a writing assignment that was due in a few days, but my gift could not wait. I want my kids to know that my time is worthy of them, not just my friends or my work. The gift of time is a gift of love for my children.

Please check out my post on The Power of Permission and read through the other inspiring stories of people who gave themselves permission.
http://www.lizzieg.com/category/power-of-permission-project/

My Giving Challenge: A Prayer, A Gift For Me, and Rolls

Day 7: A Prayer
I don't pray. There was a time in my life when I was active in an organized religion and a time immediately after that when I gave up on anything spiritual. I am only now beginning to find a happy medium that works for me and prayer hasn't been something I have implemented into my spiritual journey. I have a strange idea that it has to look a certain way, me on my knees in a floral nightgown next to my bed with my hands in just the right position and specific words being said in order for God to hear me. I don't wear floral nightgowns.

Last week, a wonderful woman passed on to the other side and she was married to a man who has been a huge part of my families' life. He has now been a widower three times and is one of the sweetest, most loving men I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. As I was getting ready for bed Friday, I thought about the funeral services I would be attending the following day and I felt an overwhelming need to say a prayer for this man who just lost his wife. I didn't kneel and I probably didn't say exactly the right words, but I said a prayer for him. That was my gift for the day and I am starting to think that maybe God doesn't care what kind of pajamas you wear when you talk to him.

Day 8: A Gift For Me
Don't get your panties all bunched up over the title of this day, I know what you are thinking. "Isn't it about giving to others?" The answer to your question is that this challenge is about giving, period. I am not planning to spend the next two weeks treating myself to hundreds of gifts or forgoing giving to others, but I am starting to believe that old adage about filling your own bucket. Saturday was a draining day. After fighting with my son about going to a birthday party (what kid would rather stay home??? MINE), attending a funeral and coming home to mountains of laundry and a hungry family, I was wiped out and I didn't have a clue how or what to give to anyone else.

After fulfilling my duties, I told my hubs that I was going for a run. I haven't been running in weeks and if I couldn't run I planned to walk, crawl or hide under the neighbors shrubs. Regardless, I needed to get out of the house, by myself. It sounds crazy, even to me, but going out into that stormy evening and moving my limbs felt better than any therapy I have ever paid for. I didn't take my usual route and I ended up at our local lake, but instead of rushing back to the long list of responsibilities I had waiting at home, I sat by the edge of the lake. I watched birds float overhead and clouds roll across the sherbet colored sky and I stopped worrying. There are only a handful of times when I allow myself to be unproductive, to watch the world go by and it felt like a gift. A gift to me.

Day 9: Rolls
My grandma did everything. I could fill a 300 page book with all the amazing things she accomplished in her life, as a parent, a grandparent, a runner, a friend and a caretaker. She was inspiring and I thought she would live to be 100 years old. There would be plenty of time for me to learn all her recipes, make a quilt with her, hear about her marathons and eat her food. She had a brain aneurysm on Christmas Day five and a half years ago and passed away.

I have been missing her terribly lately and on Sunday I was thinking about all the times we use to go to my grandparents' farm for Sunday dinner. My cousins, aunts and uncles would be there and we would eat and laugh and play games until the sky got dark and we begrudgingly went home. My grandmother always made her whole wheat rolls and anyone who ate them will tell you that those rolls were the highlight of the meal. On Thanksgiving, we never noticed the turkey or the gravy, we wanted to know where the rolls were. As a kid, I thought every grandma made rolls with wheat that she had ground that morning and in quantities that could feed an army.  I was kind of an idiot.

My sister, who was clearly smarter than me, had obtained our grandma's roll recipe before she passed away and I found it in my cookbook over the weekend. There were few real measurements, a glob of this and a few of these and no details about when to add the yeast or how long to let the rolls rise before putting them in the oven. Grandma never used a recipe, she had been making bread her whole life so there was no need to wonder if you had to add the oil now or if the water was warm enough for the yeast to work. She just knew and I miss that.

I shared my grandmother's recipe online as my gift for the day. Family members and friends alike were interested and excited to have access to those rolls and a piece of our history. Grandma would have wanted it that way.

If you missed my article on mythirtyspot last week, here is a link. It's all about work, marriage and what it means to take a backseat to your spouse's success.
http://www.mythirtyspot.com/2013/07/his-mine-and-ours-when-your-spouse-is.html

Brotherly Love

I'm back!!! Thanks to all of you peeps who came by for a visit from my post on mythirtyspot, I was out of town and without decent Internet so my regular posts took a vacation, too. Here is a link to my article if you missed it and don't forget to enter the giveaway and read some of the other great content on her page.
http://www.mythirtyspot.com/2013/05/why-some-relationships-need-to-end.html

Growing up, my mom would always tell us that one day we would be glad we had siblings. I didn't believe a word of that nonsense. My brother annoyed me and my sister was a shadow I constantly wanted to hide from. We fought and cried and thought it would never end. That's the thing about my mom, she always knows what she's talking about, even when I don't want to hear it.

When my brother was born, I was three years old and I had been promised a baby brother by my dad, so thankfully that worked out for every one. As you can see, he was adorable. We got along just fine before he could talk, which took awhile because I made it my personal quest to talk for him. "Chad needs that." Being the head strong person I am, it pissed me off when our mom wanted him to talk for himself. Clearly, I had it handled. I have been the proverbial bossy big sister ever since.

My brother is one of the smartest people I know and he never belonged in public school, he was too smart for that shit. When he got a new bike for Christmas, he would proceed to take it apart piece by piece and rebuild it just so he knew how it worked. The school kept telling my mom he needed resource classes and when he ended up there, he never fit in because he was 'too well behaved'. His brain was never built for book work and thank god for that. I know too many dip shits who can list off all the great American authors, foreign film directors and the periodical table, and they are the same people who burn up their engine because they never get an oil change. I tend to appreciate real over pretentious, every day of the week.

Growing up, we fought like crazy. Our cousin recently reminded me of one summer afternoon where he witnessed me beat my brother with part of our canister vacuum. I don't remember that particular incident, but it's not of the realm of possibilities. I used to lick the palm of my hand, pull his shirt up and slap his back as hard as humanly possible. He liked to mouth off and I liked to beat the crap out of him. Indian burns, fingernails embedded in his arm and dragging him by his shirt as he tried to flee the scene. To any of you with kids who wonder if they will ever love each other after the shenanigans they pull growing up, I promise they will.

The only time I was farther than 30 miles away from my brother, was when I moved to Vegas for a year. He was 16 at the time and we didn't have a lot in common. I came home to a baby brother who towered over me at 6'5 and made more money in a year than our parents did. I have taken for granted that he would always be close enough to meet for lunch or listen to the weird banging sound my car is making. Every holiday is a house full of laughter and every Sunday we all catch up over brunch. My brother has hilarious derby car stories and he is great at harassing us about car repairs we owe him for. He wouldn't take our money if his life depended on it. He stays late at work to help a buddy fix his brakes and drops his weekend plans to help our dad move. If you wonder what humble looks like, this is it. A man who gives of his time willingly, works hard, loves his family and thinks that it's nothing special. I'm overly protective and I don't have to justify it. It doesn't matter. I'm the oldest and he's my baby brother and no one understands how great he is except me. The end.

This week my brother will be making some big changes in his life and moving across the country to be with his fiance. Sunday brunch won't be the same, my car will have unending rattles and a piece of my heart will be thousands of miles away. I am so happy for him and so sad for me. All those years that I couldn't wait to get rid of my annoying little brother and now I don't know what I'll do without one of the most important people in my life. Mom was right, I am sure glad I have siblings.

Gratititude

Why gratitude? There are thousands of thoughts, ideas and hilarious quips I could share with you today but I feel gratitude deserves a little time in the spotlight. It may seem insignificant to say out loud what you are grateful for and sometimes it is even easier to berate yourself and others. We spend so much time talking about what is wrong in our lives, what we wish would change, or what others have done to fuck it all up for us. The truth is easy to profess and hard to hear. When you are grateful, the universe provides exactly what you need.
When I started my GratiTuesday lists, it was challenging to find more that a couple things I was grateful for. I felt irritated about what I didn't have, who didn't love me and where my life wasn't going. I would angrily post a couple things and then backspace through all of it. Why should I be grateful? Bad things had happened, people left and I didn't have room on my credit card for those yoga pants I really wanted. Petty? Yes. But that was my truth. As the weeks went on, I had more and more to be grateful for even when life was hard. I was more willing to empathize and I suddenly needed less in my life to feel grateful.
We all have something to be grateful for. Start with being on this planet as a one of a kind human being. No one else looks, laughs, hugs, sings, farts or breathes exactly like you. That is pretty amazing! Begin with that and keep going. There are Tuesdays I am grateful for people I love and blessings I have in my life while other weeks find me grateful for sleep and a good, stiff drink. Let it take you where it will.
We are also working to instill this beautiful ideal into our children. Once a month, sometimes more and sometimes less, we go around the dinner table and share what we are grateful for. You will be amazed at what you hear. My kids, who like normal offspring, beg for video games and throw fits about not seeing their friends, are the most grateful people I know. They talk about their gratitude for our president, for having two happy parents, and for yummy food that mommy is home to make for them. I cry at these dinners, usually more than once. Try a gratitude dinner at your house tonight. It's a looking glass into the hearts of the people who love you the most.

GratiTuesday: My husband; who works extremely hard to provide for our family, free time, coffee, Costco tortillas, people who read my blog (YES, YOU!!), great books, laughing fits, and dying Easter eggs.

My heart is full and I know the Universe has wonderful things in store for me. They may not all be pleasurable but I am grateful to be here to experience them. What are you grateful for today?