My Giving Challenge: The End

Day 28: Hello Neighbor and That Body

We dragged the kids out of the house this evening and went for a family bike ride/walk. There are many neighbors on our street who we know, wave to and borrow sugar from and quite a few I have never even seen. As we made our way down the sidewalk, I noticed one of the people I have never met standing on her porch, watering a pot filled with lush, bright colored flowers.
"Your yard looks beautiful. How are you today?" I smiled and slowed my pace.
I'm pretty sure I startled her. She looked at me curiously and finally replied.
"I'm great, thanks."
That was it. My gift was connecting and sharing a smile with someone who is no longer a stranger.

I also began going through my closet to create a bag of donations for homeless women in Salt Lake. I have a sickening amount of clothes that don't fit me anymore and I was finally ready to purge. There is a huge part of me that wants to fit into the size 2 jeans I bought last fall and the low cut denim capris I was going to fit into when I dropped that last 5 pounds. It's an obsession that I am done with. I work out three times a week, eat what I like, drink beer, and I want to have clothes that I can wear comfortably right now. I've spent the summer being angry at my body and not getting dolled up because my shorts didn't fit or the tank top I put on showed my tummy bulge. It's insanity. I have spent so much of my life hating my body and I turn 35 this year. There is no part of my psyche that benefits from my obsession with size or the number on a scale. I'm ready to be happy about my muscular thighs, the belly roll that reminds me I have two great kids and a rear end my husband can't keep his hands off of. I'm ready to love my body.

I sorted out an entire garbage bag full of clothing to donate and I will be delivering it this week. When I set out to purge it was focused on giving some of my stuff away to those who need it, it turned out to be an inspiring moment about loving my body. Loving it the way it looks right now.

Day 29: The Boots

There are very few times in my life where I have spent more than $75 on a pair of shoes, an item of clothing or a purse. Clearance racks and thrift stores are my go-to choices for shopping. Here are the times I have allowed myself to let the dollar bills fly:  I owned a pair of black leather, knee high combat boots in high school that I spend $120 on, I bought a dress on clearance at some fancy boutique two summers ago for $100, last winter I bought my first pair of Frye boots and a few years ago I spent way to much on a pair of knee high Timberland boots that I liked, but never really loved. Other people loved them and the few times I wore them out, they garnered many compliments, but they just never felt like me.

My sister, on the other hand,  loved those boots and put in a request the first time I wore them that if I ever wanted to get rid of them, she would take them off my hands. As I went through my closet this weekend, I found those Timberland boots. I hadn't worn them at all in the last year and there was dust and a wad of cat hair that had made my expensive boots their home. What to do? I could resale them and have a few bucks for myself. I could keep them, which is what I should do considering how much I spent on them. I could give them to my sister. That's what I wanted to do. That would be my gift for the day.

It was harder than I thought to hand them over, to watch her put them on and start planning all the adventures that she and my boots were going to have. But then it was over. My life was just as wonderful as when they were in my closet and yet it had made my sister giddy to get her hands on those boots. That is what this life is about. Giving, sharing, donating, and doing for others. It's been my lesson throughout this entire challenge, I have enough to share with others. Whether it is my time, money, a kind word, a smile or a pair of boots. There is enough for all of us.

My Giving Challenge: Small Tokens And My Writing Journey

Day 26 & 27: Small Tokens

Giving has been hard for me the last two days,all I want to do is crawl under my comforter and wait for this black cloud to lift. I am not at the top of my game this week. I've spent the better part of every day wallowing in what I perceive as my greatest defeat, losing one writing competition. I am slowly realizing how insignificant it is and that I had better learn to take defeats in stride if I want to keep writing. I know it won't be the last. I strive to be the best at everything I do and when I don't succeed in that unrealistic venture, I want to give up and let myself sit in my shit. I'm a monkey with rotten peanuts that I just won't let go of. (It's a training reference that usually makes me want to slap the person who mentions it, so slap away.) That has been my week in a nutshell. (Ha, I've still got it.)

On Day 26, my gift was playing with my son. I'm terrible at video games and he rarely asks me to play, but today he did and it was one of the few moments I have felt happy this week. My mind wasn't swirling about writing or making an income or being enough, I was just playing and it was wonderful. He had to remind me numerous times which buttons to push and how to jump over the bad guys. Laughing and playing felt so good....I hate that I forget that sometimes.

My gift on Day 27 was taking my kids and their friend to the pool for a much needed outing. While it wasn't in the budget, we all needed some Vitamin D and a couple hours away from the house. I also connected with my step-mom who has been one of my staunchest supporters when it comes to my writing career. After she updated me on her new job she asked "How's the famous writer doing?" I was honest. I was shitty, but I knew it would pass. "Give yourself a break." she said. I am still learning how to do that.


I am working on my last two days of giving and I want to go out with a bang. One of the stretches that was shared in the book was to give something away that you never thought you could part with. While I don't have many possessions that I feel overly attached to, minus my wedding ring and family photos, I am going to let that be my guide during these last two days of giving.

Thank you for all the support and shares this week!!! My blog has doubled the number of hits it receives on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and that is a big deal. Also, I was pursued by a company to put ads on my blog this week and while it wasn't clear as to whether I would be paid or not, my instinct was to turn them down. When I asked if it was a free or compensated advertisement, they never got back to me. I'm actually really glad. The intention of this blog is to hone my writing skills, find readers who enjoy my writing style, touch people who love to share my stories and eventually have a group of people who would be interested in buying and reading a book authored by me. I am not in the advertising business and I want you, the reader, to know that until further notice, this is an ad free blog. I am a writer, not a marketer or an advertiser. Thank you for supporting my writing journey.    

My Giving Challenge: Dinner, Painting and Gratitude For My Kids

When I started this challenge, I thought that this month would take forever. While I was excited, it felt like an enormous task that I didn't have time to take on. The last thing I needed was one more thing to add to my daily to-do list. I also wasn't sure that I could finish it the way I wanted to.

As I prepare for my final week, I am sad and also inspired to continue giving. I don't want it to end. I have been challenging myself now for three weeks, day in and day out to stretch, to give, to forgo my judgments, to thank, to love, and to share myself. I want to keep it going. It has made me happy, pushed me to meet new people and enhanced my life in a way I never expected. There were days it was a challenge to find a gift, days I wanted to say "Fuck it, no one will know" but I persevered. I am so glad I did.

What if this could be a life commitment? What if we all made this a life commitment? A gift every single day of your life. I like to imagine what our community, our state, our nation and our world would look like if we made commitments based on giving instead of hurting, stealing, judging, or fighting.

Day 21: Dinner and Drinks
Today I wanted my gift to be taking my best friend out for a birthday dinner and drinks. She is a stay at home mom and spends 24/7 running her butt off and rarely gets an extended break from her kiddos. We made plans to go out for Thai food and a couple beers. As we shared a meal and caught up on husband shenanigans, our kid's summer boredom, and where we would run away to for a week, the check came. Even though I had told her I was taking her out, she went for her purse.
"I am taking you out for your birthday. Put your wallet back."
She begrudgingly did, but attempted to pay for beer at our next stop. The gentleman getting our beer order overheard me telling her (again!!!) that because it was her birthday, I was picking up the tab. My friend is very private, a bit shy and doesn't like to be the center of attention. Unfortunately for her, this guy started singing Happy Birthday in her honor. It was awesome. We were all singing, laughing and celebrating a woman who deserves nothing less.

This gift was one of the hardest to give because the recipient was so resistant to receiving. While I know she was grateful, she didn't feel deserving. It is a beautiful lesson for me, because I know I have been resistant when people offered me gifts in the past. That is going to change. I have also learned that being a gracious recipient is a gift to the giver. When a gift is offered, know in your heart that you deserve it and accept with an open heart.

Day 22: Painting
The Universe provided a path for me to spend Saturday on an outdoor project, which is exactly what I wanted to do with my day. It almost didn't happen, because I slept through my damn alarm and was running 30 minutes behind. Thankfully, my husband woke me up in enough time for me to throw some clothes on, grab a coffee and get my early bird face on. I checked my phone as I was getting my gear together and my mom had called and left a message at 6:35 am. It was odd because she is not a morning person either; you are more likely to find us finishing a novel at 2 am than out running a 5K at 6 am. I thought it might be an emergency, so I immediately called her back.

"Have you left your house yet?" she asked.
"No. What's up? Are you okay?" I asked
"Yeah. I'm almost to your house. I want to come volunteer with you today."
Had I woke up on time, she would have missed me. It all happens for a reason.

We headed out on our adventure. Once we arrived, we signed in, received a free t shirt, grabbed a quick bite and chose our jobs. Mom didn't care which area we worked, so I signed us up for painting. Our group was a fantastic mishmash of teens, middle aged men, gals in their 20's and even a few kids. We were all working toward the same goal, painting the exterior of a home in four hours. There were three colors, intricate detail work, eaves that would require a 30 foot ladder and a shed to build. Seem impossible?

They asked for volunteers who weren't afraid of heights to do the painting work on the highest part of the eaves and I raised my hand. I made my way up a wobbly ladder, leaning precariously against the house and started working. As I began to grasp how massive our project was, it reminded me of a poem by Shel Silverstein where a girl says she is going to eat a whale and so she starts taking small bites and after 96 years she eats that whale.....because she said she would. We didn't have 96 years but I knew if we kept taking one bite at a time, it would come together. The neighbors were wandering around, checking out our progress and giving unwarranted advice about what we were doing wrong. There was one woman who was sipping on her mug of coffee and chatting with the volunteers. At one point, I noticed she had brought a cup of coffee out to share with my mom. It was heartwarming. My mom had stepped outside of her comfort zone to come volunteer with me and the universe was thanking her. It may seem small, but no act of kindness can go unnoticed.

After four hours of hard work, paint in my eye, a gallon of paint dropped from a ledge, a color change and lots of laughing we were done. We had created something in half of a day that would have taken one person an entire week, because we had worked together. Our shirts said it all 'We Are Better Together'.
We certainly are.

Day 23: Gratitude For My Kids
I tell other people all the time how wonderful I think my kids are. They amaze me with their humor, love for people and ability to move through life effortlessly. They don't wonder if they are capable or good enough because they live in a truth that we lose as adults, that we are all capable and enough. I strive to tell them daily how much I love them, but I feel that I don't tell them enough why they are so wonderful in my life. We all need to hear that sometimes. Today I sat down and wrote them each a personal thank you card with a long list of reasons that they are important to the world, their unique talents and a reminder from me that no matter where they go on their journey of life, I will love them more than the sun and the moon forever and ever. It's a gift we all deserve to give and receive numerous times in our life.

My Giving Challenge: PDA, A Pedicure and The Universe (Again!!)

Day 19: Public Display of Affection

I am sure I have covered this issue inside and out, but here is a refresher....I hate big, public activities. While most people are wetting their pants to get to the outdoor free concert series, I am grateful to be living in the suburbs with an elderly dog that needs me to let him outside every hour. I couldn't possibly make it. Between the the traffic, the lack of parking, waiting in lines, and standing shoulder to shoulder with drunk assholes I just can't get excited about any of it. I avoid concerts, fireworks shows, festivals and farmer's markets. It's not that I hate people, I just hate being around them.

This year there is a ban on outdoor fireworks where we live, so short of driving past the rule breakers on our way home from the grocery store, we haven't seen any lights in the sky. I could survive the entire summer without a fireworks show, but our kids have only one childhood and they deserve every experience we can pack into the 18 years we have them around. I know the day is not too far off when no one will be asking to go to the park or wanting to see a drive in movie with their old, gross parents.

My husband thought it would be "fun" to take the kids to the largest July 24th fireworks display. He offered to take them alone because he is well aware that I would rather eat my weight in pickled beets than go to a park to see fireworks. Initially I took him up on the offer. I could sit at home reading a book or visit my sister and have a few beers with her on the patio. Both options sounded like heaven. The closer we got the more I realized that I didn't want to stay home, I didn't want to miss seeing my son's face when the sky lit up or miss my daughter laughing at her dad's jokes. I also wanted to give them the gift of my time and get out of my comfort zone to do it.

We packed the car with blankets and I committed to having a positive attitude the entire night, no traffic irritation, no swearing at strangers under my breath, no losing my patience over parking or flipping off pedestrians. It was quite a commitment and we had a wonderful time. We walked five blocks from our parking spot, initially sat in an area where we couldn't see the fireworks and sat in traffic for an hour to get back home, all for 25 minutes of lights in the sky.
"Thanks Mom and Dad for taking us to see the fireworks. That was so much fun."
That's all it took. My gift was my time and getting out of my comfort zone in order to give my kids an experience and I received so much more in return. It's becoming the theme of this giving month.

Day 20: Pedicure for Mom

We had this great little pedicure place where Mom and I would get pampered, it was inexpensive and they were fantastic. It's gotten complicated over there and the last time Mom went in, she spent a very long time getting her toes painted and most of the time being someone's shoulder to cry on. Needless to say, we both have really ugly feet right now, my toenails are so long that I can't wear half the shoes in my closet and Mom has been needing to borrow some polish from us to fix up her own toe issues.

Yesterday, while contemplating my gift for the day, I thought about Mom's feet. That sounds weird, but I wanted to share a talent with someone I love. What talent do I have? I am great at massaging people's feet, scrubbing callouses and painting toes. And I actually like it. It's a weird talent, but we all have the make the best with what we are given. While a lot of people are grossed out by feet and toes, I don't mind scrubbing, rubbing and smelling people's feet. Chalk it up to being an oddball.

Our bathroom cabinet is chocked full of nail polish, a pedicure set and a massaging foot bath. I threw them all in my trunk, dropped the kids off at the movies theater and headed over to tackle mom's feet. Mom and I laughed and chatted as I massaged her tootsies and painted her toes. A gift for the person who has loved me from the minute I was born. It's the very least I could do.

Interesting Turn of Events

I am not going to preach to anyone about what to believe or what not to believe, that's not my business. I believe that there is a higher power guiding my life and that when I ask the Universe for something, it is provided. That works for me. Here is how it worked for me 5 minutes ago: I wanted to do an outdoor service project tomorrow, it has been on my mind since Monday. I had every intention of calling my neighbor to see if she knew of anyone who needed yard work, clean up or moving done. I was tempted to ask on FB as well, but I hadn't gotten around to it yet. While I was writing this blog, I got an invitation from a FB group, Love Does Stuff (lovedoesstuff.org)  for a service project tomorrow morning doing clean up and landscaping. Coincidence? Not in my mind. The Universe gave me exactly what I wanted. Thanks for that, Universe.

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: Parting With Money And Food

Quote courtesy of cloverquotes.com


Day 12: Parting With Money

There are times in my life where I needed help. I was 19 years old when I started school and decided that having roommates while I attempted to work full time, attend classes at night and try to sleep, just wasn't going to work out. I found an awesome deal on my first place sans roommates and carted over the four pieces of furniture I owned. The joy quickly wore off as I realized that I only made enough money to pay rent, utilities, a small car payment and gas to get around. I was broke. My fridge was bare and my weekends consisted of laundry and feeding my face at my parent's house in hopes that I could consume enough food to last through the winter. Or at least until next weekend. My best friend was living at home at the time and he spent many evenings picking me up from school and taking me out for fast food, on his dime. My mom would show up to my apartment with Tupperware bowls filled to the brim with macaroni salad and a grocery bag full of snacks that would get me through until my next payday. It saved my life.

I have a family member who is in need of assistance in his life right now, and while I am not financially rich by any means, I am blessed to have the basics and more in my life covered. My gift today was a card, filled with blessings and good luck, a book that inspired me, and a check. When my husband asked me what the check was for I said "It's a gift. It's for whatever he chooses it to be for." I was blessed to have people feed me when times were tough and I am grateful to have the opportunity to share that with someone I love. The quote above is true....the more I give, the richer I feel.

Day 13: Food

It's interesting how many times this has shown up for me during this challenge, giving food to others. Growing up, my friends thought we had the cool house. We had a pantry full of snacks, soda pop, sugar cereals and chips in dozens of flavors. They were for everyone. Food was something that you shared, enjoyed with others and didn't hoard for only yourself. As a child, my dad went hungry more than I care to think about and he made it his life mission to ensure his children never knew what it was like to go to bed without a meal. We spent more on our grocery bill than we ever did on clothing or electronics. Food was love. Food was shared. While I did struggle with weight issues, I am forever grateful for what my parents taught me about sharing food. My mom was always making cookies for neighbors and casseroles for families who had a new baby. We ate meals together and celebrated holidays with a bounty that filled our house with the endearing smell of baked bread and succulent turkey. We shared love and we shared food.

When I was younger, my maternal grandma lived on a farm where we would spend our Sundays playing board games, investigating the attic and eating grandma's rolls. The rolls I spoke of in the last post. I wish grandma was here to make them, because yeast and I are mortal enemies. I have never attempted to make her rolls or any others after an incident that resulted in hockey puck style white bread. However, after sharing that recipe with family and friends, I was craving those rolls along with some yummy soup. I was also missing my grandma like crazy. So, without the assistance of anyone else, I took a deep breath and pulled the yeast out of my fridge. After mixing and covering my bowl, I checked back to see if I needed to punch yeast in the face. The dough had doubled in size. I had done it!!!! I made those rolls my bitch and we ate one of the best meals I have had in weeks. The recipe  makes over two dozen rolls so I bagged up a dozen for my next door neighbor. I can't tell you how many times she has saved my bacon when I ran out of eggs in the middle of breakfast, forgot to buy more baking powder or recently didn't have toilet paper in my front bathroom. I wanted to say thank you. She sent me a text after her roll delivery and here is what it said:

"Thank SO much!!! I've had a rough morning. A homemade roll smothered  in butter and honey sounds perfect to turn my day around."

Grandma would have wanted it that way.

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

My Giving Challenge: Food, A Bag and Thanks

Day 5: Dish Bitch

I have never struggled with food insecurity. I have never gone hungry lest by my own choice. I have never stood in a food line or looked into a bare pantry. I have also never volunteered my time to serve those who know what it feels like to desperately need a hot meal. There have been many times when I have donated to food banks, given cans of food to the Boy Scouts and added a buck at the grocery store register for a local soup kitchen. Those things are well within my comfort zone. Seeing it firsthand...not so much.

I had the opportunity to volunteer my time this week to serve at a soup kitchen and I signed up without really thinking it through. That's the only way that I knew I wouldn't be able to flake out. When the time came to leave work and make the thirty minute drive, I was moody and  I didn't want to go. I only knew one person there, I wouldn't know what I was doing, there would be no parking, they wouldn't need me and on and on the story went. There were few times during my drive that I contemplated turning around, going shopping, stopping at a coffee shop or faking an illness to get out of my commitment. This was way out of my comfort zone, which is exactly why I showed up.

When I arrived, I was greeted by Russ, the person I knew, and immediately introduced to everyone else. There was a large LDS youth group, a few regulars, some employees and a man with blue bandanna and a Jersey accent, John. He was harassing Russ and when it was time to get started, he began recruiting for dish duty. Russ had wanted me to be on the line filling up trays, but the larger volunteer group had that area covered, so I raised my hand.
"I'll be on dishes with you guys."
John didn't look too thrilled to have me on the team and when I volunteered for pots and pans, I thought he was going to have a coronary.
"I don't let ladies in my dish pit, I just want you to know. It can get real crazy back here."
He was tough on the outside, loud as a motherfucker and pretty good at intimidating people. It would have worked on me, except my dad could be his evil twin. I grew up with that shit, so I let him know what was up.
"I've been doing dishes since I could walk and you don't scare me."
The other two guys in the dish pit laughed.

The first group let in to eat are the families and the disabled. As I watched a young woman strap her baby in a highchair and get her three other children trays of food, I imagined her standing outside in the sweltering heat waiting for a chance to feed her kids. I can't imagine what that is like. There were older men in wheelchairs and young men with mental illnesses, there were women with all their belongings in a backpack and teens who looked too young to be away from home. To say it was humbling would be an understatement. Then there were the amazing people who work at this soup kitchen and start their day at 6 am, while I am still sleeping. They begin prepping for the meals that they will serve before most of us are getting up for work and the majority of them are volunteers. They show up every single day to serve this community.

Back on dish duty, I was scrubbing the shit out of the pots and pans, throwing them in the sanitizer and cleaning my area as I went along.
"She's pretty good, huh?" Russ nudged John. "You ever have someone detail your sink in the middle of a rush?"
John came over to check out my work and to remind me, once again, that he doesn't let ladies in his dish pit.
"Only my wife's been back here, but you come back whenever you like."
He thanked me numerous times and patted me on the back. We posed for a cheesy photo, covered in soapy water and dinner leftovers, all of us grinning from ear to ear. As we were leaving, John reached over and gave me the biggest bear hug I have ever lived through.
"I best be seeing you back here in my dish pit, you got it?"

Oh, you can bet your sweet ass I'm coming back, someone's gotta scrub those pans.

Day 6: A Bag and A Card

We went grocery shopping yesterday and as we were grabbing veggies, I spotted a lady in a wheelchair heading straight for us. I was pushing one of those fucking carts that moonlights as a race car with my 50 pound kid twisting and turning the fake steering wheel. These things are harder to maneuver than a semi truck on a sheet of ice. I stayed put, as to not injure her any further, while she reached for a bunch of broccoli from behind me, barely able to pull it off the shelf.

(A little side note before we go any further, I don't offer help to strangers. I am afraid that they will be angry and yell at me, or that they are ax murderers who want to kill me, or that I will have to make small talk about weather and cute kids during the transaction. It makes me uncomfortable.) 

Against my better judgement, I asked her if I could grab a bag for her broccoli, since the store designers seem to think that only people who stand at 5'9 or above deserve the luxury of a plastic bag.
"That would be great, thank you."

As I was walking away with my bag of broccoli, she began talking to me again. Initially, I was concerned as per my side note above.
"They have a deal right now where if you get one of these white bags, you can fill it with all the produce it can hold for just $10."
I feigned interest initially because I thought she blowing smoke up my ass and then I noticed a sign giving me the exact information she had just offered.
"Thank you so much." I smiled as I grabbed my white bag and began a competition in my own mind for who could fit more shit inside of it.
(Another side note, I fit fifteen pounds of produce in that bag at a total cost of ten dollars and the checkout lady seemed as impressed as I was. Winning. I'm the winner of that fake contest.)

I also wrote a card to someone in my life whom I love very much and haven't had much contact with recently. This will be a reoccurring theme during my giving challenge, because I want to train myself to send love and gratitude via snail mail on a more regular basis. There is nothing sweeter than finding a brightly colored envelope addressed to you, stuck between that bullshit magazine you never read and the water bill you want to hide in a vat of coleslaw. Handwritten cards are where it's at, bitches. Tell a friend.

In the book, The 29 Gifts, the author talks about how when you begin to give consciously, you will begin to receive. You can call it what you want...karma, good juju, or just chance, but it happens.

Here is a list of what I have received this week.

-Cookies and a card from my neighbor who I rarely talk to. (In the card, she refers to herself as "weird and anti-social". Just my kind of peeps.)
-Two meals paid for by my dad. (Who hides money under his mattress and claims to be broke all the time.)
-Eight dollars off my grocery bill.
-Five days of feeling grateful, happy and stress free. I haven't done laundry and my sink is full of dirty dishes, but I am so fulfilled.

It's fucking weird.


If you haven't checked it out already, here is a link to my article on mariashriver.com.
http://mariashriver.com/blog/2013/07/what-i-learned-from-the-end-of-my-parents-29-year-marriage-mandy-brasher

I Ask, The Universe Delivers:Two More Days of Giving.

Image property of buzzle.com

Monday July 7, 2013 Day 3: Scary Hair

I don't do hair. That's why I decided to cut mine super short last year and I only attempt to grow it out for about 30 days until I have a mullet and realize that I look like I have given up on life, at which point I cut it again. My extremely small list of hairstyle abilities includes pony tails, side pony tails and regular braids. The end. My daughter has beautiful long hair and access to internet videos that instruct you on thousands of hairstyles that look more intricate than than a boondoggle bracelet. Unfortunately, she has grown up having mediocre hairstyles or bob cuts, which I always suggested for my convenience. If shaving girls' heads for summer was a thing, she would be in trouble.

She had been asking me to watch this video for a few days and I felt that I would rather eat pickled beets while doing back bends than play beauty shop. It was an updo with an upside down french braid and messy bun at the top.
"I don't know how to french braid, kid. You need to talk to Grandma if you want fancy hair like that." (I'm known to pass off that shit to my mom because she is good at everything. Everything.)
"Mom, it shows you how to do it step by step. Please. Just watch it and see if we can try it on my hair."
After a a challenging day with my son he was finally crying for dad in the other room, so I sat with her on the couch and watched the video. This would be my gift to her.

We watched and researched and I wasn't sure I was up to the hair challenge. Then we spent an hour in my bathroom trying two different hairstyles, talking about girl stuff and laughing. I tried french braiding for the first time in a decade and when I showed her my failed attempt, she melted my heart.
"It's beautiful, Mom. I love it."
I'm pretty sure she gave me a gift far beyond the hour I spent fixing her hair. Far beyond.

Tuesday July 8, 2013 Day 4: Ask And You Shall Receive. For Real.

I was planning to make zucchini bread for my next door neighbor who keeps her yard beautiful year round and who is a very private person. I'm not sure we have spoken more than a few words in the two years since we moved in. While I would still give that gift, it would become clear that I was meant to give two gifts today.

As I am driving my daughter to her acting class I have a strange thought "If there were a panhandler on my trip today, I would give them money." There aren't panhandlers where I live. We live in a small golf community connected to two small town and while I'm sure there is a homeless population, we don't see it. There are no cardboard signs or people on the street corner with guitars and change jars. In the twelve years since I moved back here, I have never seen a panhandler. I have seen people selling puppies and tamales at WalMart and people hitchhiking on the main road, but never a panhandler. My thought seemed silly and fruitless. I would be baking when I got home and gifting my neighbor.

As I drove back through town to pick my daughter up a couple hours later, I saw a young woman on the corner of the main road. With a cardboard sign. "Struggling and disabled. Anything will help."
Wait....what????? There is no possible way I created that. Is there? I keep driving and commit to stop on my way back so I won't be late picking up my daughter. I had planned on giving this woman the two dollars I keep in my change holder for car washes and drink stops, but as I get closer I know I need to pull a $20 bill out of my wallet. That is 1/4 of my spending money for this pay period. Any Starbucks coffee, racer back tank, movie ticket or meal out with friends comes out of this money and I spend it wisely. It has to last. It was weird, but I didn't worry about what I couldn't buy this week. I have all I need...a nice home, my health, food in my fridge and more clothes than I could wear in a month.

Here is my other hang up. Is she really disabled? What will she do with the money? This is always where I go when I give money, but part of the challenge is to give with your whole heart. I began to say an affirmation in my mind in order to move past my questions.  "Today I give without judgement". And I did.

I parked the car, got out and asked this young woman how she was doing.
"I've been better."
"Well, this is for you. I hope it helps." I said.
"Thank you and God bless."

He already has.

Check out my new post on mythirtyspot. Success and marriage. What it means when one person is making it  out in the world while the other one is at home.
http://www.mythirtyspot.com/2013/07/his-mine-and-ours-when-your-spouse-is.html

Flushing My Self Respect

There was always that nagging question in my head "Who goes to Walmart in an outfit worthy of being posted on a website dedicated to booty short wearing trannys with their balls hanging out?" The answer was revealed to me last night. I have become one of those people who will, cross your fingers, be immortalized on the Internet for years to come.

It began with guilt, as most disturbing choices in my life do. The last day of school and my kids had no teacher gifts. Now, keep in mind, I live on Pinterest Princess Circle and every mom, with the exception of yours truly,  has been working on their teacher gifts for months now. The handmade rug from a loom that their husband built from recycled lumber, an exotic flower in a pot that was created on their potter's wheel in the basement, and a full herb garden encased in a hand blown glass terrarium. I am constantly out of my league. It was also retirement day for their principal who should be named a saint for what she deals with on a daily basis. I received an urgent email from a PTA someone or another suggesting, at 9pm the evening before, that we should all shower her with gifts and appreciation. I had the appreciation thing handled but the gift thing was tricky. I don't buy extra gifts and discreetly keep them in my front closet labeled " GIFTS/GIFT BAGS/CURLY RIBBON". My gift bags are plastic bags from my pantry and curly ribbon is for Christmas. Only Santa deals with that shit. I am screwed. I text my crafty mom with the full intention of driving to her house, stealing an adorable craft she made, sticking in an old grocery bag and taking credit for the whole thing. She knows I'm a dick. When I got to her house, my life went from annoying to exhausting when I saw that she had figured out how to use her computer. She was on Pinterest scrolling through craft projects for teacher appreciation. Apparently, I am the only asshole who doesn't plan this shit out. I am sure you can imagine all the sickeningly adorable sayings, candy cards and shit filled baskets that were available for our amusement. It's now 11:35 pm. The clock is ticking and I am not making a fucking craft.

So I am making a craft and it needed color coded goodies, so my next stop was Walmart. I had gone to my moms with the intention of not getting in an accident (I'm not wearing underwear), not getting pulled over (I am wearing booty shorts) and taking a total of 12 steps outside (I am wearing slippers). I was headed into the thunder dome. I sat in the parking lot waiting for a group of teenagers to drive away and to see if I could run special ops on the employee pushing carts in.  I then proceeded to lie to myself by saying that I didn't look that bad and I didn't care what people thought. While I was walking through the parking lot, the wind whipped through my hair. The hair on my legs. It is currently long enough to braid and visible from space. While I am usually a fast walker, I amazed even myself with the sprint I made from one aisle to the next. Eventually I made it to the single checkout line that was wrapped around two freestanding displays full of s'more ingredients. Could I cover my legs in marshmallows? Are graham cracker pants a thing? I waited impatiently and rubbed my furry calves together like a grasshopper. I was disgusted with myself and my Pinterest inspired teacher gift wasn't making me feel any better.

It's anyone's guess as to whether or not there was a iPhone snapping shots behind my back, I only noticed the creep with a Lean Cuisine and a 2 liter of soda who was standing inside my "GET THE FUCK OUT" bubble. As he eyed my wallet, I had a strange feeling that wearing slippers to the store wasn't going to be the biggest problem I had that evening/morning. The moral of this story? I am still going to judge people who have their ass crack showing and white Lycra on anyone never ceases to amuse. However, I now know that I can never leave my house without proper attire: yoga pants, a tank and flip flops. Lesson learned.

                                                      Call in the troops...I made this shit.

I'm Short So F*&% Off

I bought myself a bike for Mother's Day. My husband had attempted a shopping trip on my behalf and it gave me diarrhea just imagining what horrors he would purchase without my detailed list. I have in recent history, received Tweety Bird pajama pants, earrings that double as fishing lures and blue suede ankle boots. He's sweet and not a shopper.  Luckily, he came home empty handed and finally inquired about what I would want. Initially, my thoughts were geared toward relaxation and vanity...a spa day, new clothes, diamond earrings or yoga pants. The latter may seem to be a workout request but it is not, since I wear yoga pants daily regardless of how much yoga really happens. Just thinking about yoga pants makes me comfortable. The bike idea blossomed from a conversation with my kids who were making all sorts of plans for summer riding adventures. They wanted to ride to the pool, to the grocery store for snacks and while they are getting to the age of self-reliance, I couldn't shake the feeling that letting them ride solo all summer would make me eligible for "Worst Summer Parent" award. Our bike options were few, a couple thrift store mountain bikes and metal scooters. As I checked out the adult selection, the Bitch Angel on my shoulder was reminding me of all the times I rode a bike that was too big for me.
"Sore pussy for a week if you try that."
"You can't even get on it without a step stool. Really?"
"That Buzz Lightyear training bike is closer to a yes than any adult bike in here. Try that one, short stack"
I needed a bike.

My sister took me shopping for bicycles because she is bike enthusiast. She drives a Subaru, lives in Sugarhouse and has a chicken coop. Enough said. I, on the other hand, buy bikes at big box stores when they go on sale and realize way too late in the game that I will never ride them. The first stop was a classified ad from an old hippie who had built a business on picking up bikes from the dump and turning a hefty profit on each one. He was asking a whopping $150 for a cruiser that looked as if it had been collecting dust since 1972. My sister saw it and immediately had hesitations about it's size.
"That's too big for you." she chided. "I don't think you'll be comfortable riding it."
I had to prove her wrong by taking it for a spin up and down the residential road. It felt pretty well and I didn't want to admit that the handle bars were a stretch for my T-Rex arms. I could make it work. My sister told him we were looking elsewhere.

After a chat with The Bike Man (his sign said it all) who gave us plenty of info but had no bikes on hand, we were off again to a bicycle store that had a cruiser listed for around $200. When we passed by the front, sister saw aforementioned bike and commented on it's cuteness. Should I have been concerned? Probably. We had an employee unlock that little beauty and I took it for a spin. It fit me perfectly. No arm stretches, no crotch bruising, just a comfy little ride with easy breaking and no extra gears. We asked for a basket and I pulled out my credit card. At this point, my sister is researching the bike for me online. She gets a grin on her face and says "This is a girl's bike, but that's good for you because you're small." Yep, I bought a kid's bike.

My first trip around the block elicited a giggle from one neighbor and an uncomfortable stare from another. I'm not sure if it was my over sized basket, daisy detailing or the sight of a grown woman on a itty bitty cruiser that really got them. I imagine it would be the way I feel seeing a grown man get out of a Volkswagen Bug or the humor I find in clown cars that house fifteen humans. It's unusual and demands attention. While my first instinct was to flip them the bird, I instead kept right on pedalling with a smile on my face.I found comfort in the knowledge that while I may look like an idiot, I'm an idiot who is burning calories and getting nominated to "Funnest Summer Mom Of Life".  So suck on that, ladies.