Not just a job...but an adventure!

Babies are cute for a reason.

That's their hook. That's how they 'get' you. They use that cuteness to their advantage.

Babies are sneaky. You know why? Because they turn into teenagers...need I say more?

Yeah, okay. I'll say more. This past weekend, we just bought our daughter her first car. As we're signing the papers on it, I'm looking at her and thinking, "When did she get so old? Just yesterday, we were in KFC and she announced to the entire restaurant that she'd just 'gone potty like a big girl'. I wish I was Superman so I could turn back time because it's moving past me way too fast and...wait, how much did that salesman say registration costs? Wow! When did I get so old?"

As a mother of a driving teen, I am now aware of two things: 1) it won't be long before my daughter's out on her own. And b) she better be wearing clean underwear...in case she's in an accident.

Why can I say things like that? Because I'm the Mom...that's why!

Part of a Mom's job is to say things that seem to contradict themselves. Sit down! Sit up! Look at me when I'm talking to you! Don't look at me like that!

Motherhood is a continuous contradiction, isn't it? I can't tell you how many times I've tried to explain subtle differences to my children. Like how caterpillars and butterflies are the same but different and how sour cream and sour milk is different...but the same.

Motherhood is not an easy job. We have so much information to share and so little time to share it. Do my kids know that it's better to give than to receive? Do they know that a penny saved is a penny earned? Do they know who is in Grant's tomb and how to spell Mississippi the 'fun way'? Perhaps most importantly, do they know how to separate whites from colors in the laundry so that they don't end up with pink underwear?

I guess it doesn't really matter what color it is...so long as it's clean, right?

My friends, take a moment this week to thank your Mom for all of her hard work. And Moms, don't be too hard on yourselves. You've done the best you can with those cute babies.

Gratituesday...(or The Day I counted my threads!)

So this morning I woke up and considered my warm bed for a moment. Rubbed my feet together and found myself thinking about the way the sheets feel on them. 'Mmmm...that feels nice. I wonder what the thread count is on these sheets? Just what exactly is a 'thread count' anyways...I mean, who's got time to count threads? Apparently Egyptians do...because they're usually listed on the sheet tags. 'Sheet tags'...is that even a real phrase? Why am I even awake? Most importantly, why am I asking myself all these questions?'

That's when I decided to be quiet in my head for a moment and listen. I heard the dog snoring softly from the foot of the bed. I heard my daughter's music as she opened her bedroom door and went into the bathroom. I heard a mourning dove cooing. Trucks and cars going to work (or home) on the highway nearby.

What a lot of stuff to ponder upon in just 30 seconds or so...not big things, any of them...just small fragments...little details of my life.

Which got me to thinking about what I'm grateful for today.

Gratitude does not come easy for me. While my manners (I will thank you for giving me something!)have taught me to vocalize gratitude to people, I do not easily 'count my blessings'. So often I take things for granted, or wish for things I do not have. I think hard about my needs...my wants...others needs and their wants. I pray about these things, thinking that somehow maybe...that counts as gratitude.

But to be able to lay in my bed for half a minute and think about all the small things I would miss if they were not here...and thank God for them...was a really great (grateful!) way to start my day.

My friends, if you are having trouble finding things to be thankful for...start with something easy...something small. Something as simple as...oh...I don't know...toilet paper, maybe? I am SOOOOO thankful for toilet paper. And lilacs. And comfy beds...and thread counts.

Count your 'threads' today. :)

Strike a Pose

Once upon a time while channel surfing,
(Go on, admit it. All of the best stories begin with those words!)

Once upon a time, while I clicked my way around the television world, I came across a show I had never seen before. It was mesmerizing, full of color and exotic locations, and major fights.

No, it wasn't the UFC. Or Dora the Explorer.

It was America's Next Top Model. Three minutes in and I was hooked. You see, it's a reality show about super model wannabe's and their quest to become the Next Cover Girl Extraordinaire. Just the type of show a middle aged, rural gal like myself needs when she wants to 'get away from the mundane'.

Like most reality shows, there are challenges and eliminations. Sure, there's superficiality. And griping, whining, backstabbing and namecalling...but during the major photo shoot you get a chance to see who really takes modeling seriously.

And who's just another pretty, pretending face.

There is a part of me that has secretly wanted to be a model. And on a hot summer day when I was about seventeen, I got a taste of what that life might be like.

My youth group went to Great America near Chicago for rollercoaster fun filled with long lines and sunburned faces. Boy, it was HOT that day! At one point, just to get into some air conditioning, I ventured into a photo booth where for a sum equivalent to a college education you could have your picture put on the cover of a 'real' magazine.

I was the queen of the magazine realm at that age. I read Teen Beat and Tiger Beat and Seventeen and 16 Magazine...just to name a few. Why, I'd even peruse some of my mother's mags, even if I didn't care about recipes or the color of my current window treatments.

So I decided to have my image pasted onto the cover of Teen Beat. "COVER STAR LOOKING FOR LOVE!" read the headline. "COULD YOU BE THE ONE?"

The photographer had me do this ridiculous pose where one arm was up over my head and the other was beckoning. After what felt like several months of turning and gazing and standing still and moving quickly the final picture was taken. However, while I felt like I was trying to direct traffic rather than attempting to seek out that 'special guy', the picture turned out pretty good.

And I learned something valuable from that photo session. America's Next Top Model, while it may have some serious flaws as a form of entertainment, does get one thing right.

Modeling is HARD WORK! And actions very often speak louder than words...

Take my job as a parent. Or a daughter. Or a wife. PLEASE! (nyuk, nyuk, nyuk)

All kidding aside here, the times I've been beautifully successful in those jobs (or when I've extremely failed at them) were NOT the times that I simply talked or yelled or instructed. They were the times I MODELED good or bad behavior. The times that showed others how to do the right or wrong thing.

If my children hear me say that they should be giving and generous, but never see me actually do that for someone-it's less effective. And if I tell my husband to respect me, but don't show him what respect can look like-I'm not helpful. You see, we are the ones in front of a camera, my friends. We are the ones who wake up each day for a full photo shoot.

We are America's Next Top Model.

We just don't call ourselves that name, do we? I mean, let's face it. That's a huge responsibility. Bigger even than working for Maybelline or Gucci.

This week I encourage you to consider treating people the way that you would like to be treated. Not just thinking about doing something, or considering the consequences involved if something doesn't happen...but ACTION. Your children watch you, your employees watch you, the public watches you. Whether you believe it or not, someone is channel surfing your life every day...make sure that what they're seeing is worth a second look.

Like daughter, like mother?

My daughter has recently begun to mock my vocabulary.

A friend of mine tells me, "We mock what we do not understand."

Hm. I thought that my daughter understood me, for the most part. Perhaps the problem is that she just doesn't understand why I like using big words. Or different words. Or something besides, "IDK, wut r u doin' 2day? Txt me! C u l8r!"

Sometimes I don't understand her, but I should get an "A" for trying! I've read Japanese manga books from back cover to front cover. I've tolerated Lady GaGa blaring from the tiny, tinny speakers of her iPod earbuds. I hit 384 garage sales the summer between her first and second grade, just because she had decided that all she was going to wear was dresses. And I've made myself a willing listener to her recount Who Knows How Many dramatic moments of her life. (That, my friends, is not easy to do. Let's face it, the girl can talk so quickly and so loudly that, at some point in the conversation, only dogs can hear her.)

Me? I normally just nod my head and smile wanly.

("wanly" is exactly the kind of word I use that H. would mock!)

It's not fair. I worked so hard in those early years of her life to teach her to speak. So that we could have mind-blowing discussions and giggle over 'girl stuff'. I know I'm good at teaching speech because The Family Dog and I can have a great, earnest conversation about things like our yard's rabbit population or the current state of world economics.

But talking to my teen-aged daughter?

Rut roh, Raggy.

I can't win. Oh, I've tried to speak 'at her level'. "Waz up, G? Are you chillin' with your gnomies?"

All that got me was a withering look and a huffy sigh.

Still, you can't blame a gal for trying!

I needed some help. So I went to my own mother for advice. Unfortunately, that turned into a rousing debate of Medicare Part Z and a heated discussion over the values of fresh, frozen or canned peas.

My head was spinning and as I got ready to leave, Mom asked, "Waz up, G? Are you chillin' with your gnomies?"

I felt oddly reassured. And reminded myself of how much I love both of those amazing women in my life.

My friends, sometimes the very people we share a home with are the hardest to get to know. I encourage you to take some time today and sit down with them and listen even if you only end up smiling wanly. It'll be worth it, I promise!

Thanks for reading!

Of stolen purses and mix tapes...

To this day, I will fight against it.

I mean, it's a little easier, since I'm a mom myself...but I really have to work past something to do it.

I would rather hand my mother her purse. Just let her get whatever it is she needs out of it.

You don't go rooting around in a woman's purse. At least, that's the lesson I learned as a child.

There's a 'purse sacredness' or something. I'm now a member of that club. My kids do not go looking through my purse. They simply hand it to me.

If you are a woman like me, you probably have a similar rule at your place. As mothers, we have few 'private moments'...so I think we use our purses. Not that we're carrying anything we don't WANT you to see or anything. It's more a respect of space, I think.
I'm not sure what would happen to me if I did go looking through someone's purse, but I am sure that it would not be pleasant.

When I was about 22 years old, my purse was stolen from my car. I wasn't a mom at that time, so I didn't have EVERYTHING in it. I did however, have a few things that meant something to me stored in there. And I lost more than just those items.

I was only gone for a second. I mean, literally...one second. Okay, so it was really more like 62 seconds, but still, for some dumb reason, I thought my purse would be safe in my unlocked car. Not true that fateful day. Someone came by and simply removed the entire purse from the car. Just took the whole thing.

As I mentioned, I was 22 at the time. Which means I didn't have any real money in there. I had one credit card and a checkbook. Both of those things had to be reported and replaced. No big deal. Took a little time, that's all. And I had to replace my driver's license. That was another time annoyance. Had some lipstick and make up in there. Had to replace that as well.

It was a few days though, before I realized that the mix tape was gone. And then I got really upset.

You young people may not know what a 'mix tape' is, so I'll explain quickly. Back in the 'old days', we had Walkmans instead of ipods. And you had to insert a cassette tape into one in order for music to come out of it. A 'dinosaur' of equipment, I know.

Anyway, a friend had made me a cassette tape of music. I'd been listening to it in my car's cassette deck, and had stuck it in my purse to take it into the house to listen to later...when the purse was stolen.

So the tape was gone.

And now, twenty years later...I still miss that tape. More than the few bucks I had. More than the Cover Girl mascara. More than my checkbook.

I miss that tape.

Has someone stolen something from you? Maybe it wasn't a mix tape or a purse. Maybe it was your trust. If you've never had anything stolen, you don't understand the feeling of vulnerability. Suddenly, my new purse became an obsessive thing. I double-checked to make sure I had it with me...clutched it to my chest at times. Kept it close. Because no one was going to steal my purse again!

And what's worse, I looked at the world differently. Now that sweet little girl over there? Who's no more than four years old? She could be a purse stealer! Or that guy there...maybe he steals purses?

Losing trust is worse than losing a purse. It takes a long time to get that back. You really have to work at it, my friends. And there will be wounds that may not go away for twenty years, but keep at it. Because the tape isn't really that important. I mean, c'mon! I don't have a Walkman anymore to listen to and I've got most of the songs downloaded to my mp3 player now.

It's not the same, I agree. But it's better than it was a few years ago. People make mistakes, people get hurt, people need forgiveness. All painful...and all worth it.

Now, where is that mp3 player? Oh, in my purse. Could you hand that to me? Thanks!

Seeing red about Pinky

As a kid growing up in rural Illinois in the 70's, only three things made me really angry.

1) My sister picking out all the 'good' Barbie fashions we had available.

2) My Mom asking me to clean my room.

And the biggie. The worst thing ever. Three little words.

To Be Continued.

I remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, laying on the living room floor in front of our color console television, watching Happy Days one fine September evening in 1976. Fonzie was in a demolition derby...(how awesome was that?) and he had a girlfriend named Pinky (who was so cool! Like, everything about her was PINK!)

And just when it was getting good...at the most important part of the show...three words came on the screen...

TO BE CONTINUED.

Well, I threw a hissy fit. How dare ABC do this to me?! I have to know what happens to the Fonz! C'mon!! (My blood pressure is rising just recalling this memory.) Stupid Mallachi brothers! I could just strangle them!! How dare they!?

Now, maybe you think that's silly. Maybe you could care less about Fonzie. I don't care. The fact is: we all get angry, don't we? And...more often than we'd care to admit...we get angry about things that, in the long run, really don't matter.

Think about your anger for a second. Who does it hurt? I know that for me...my anger at a television show caused me to mouth off to my Mom (resulting in a spanking) and hide the best Barbie dresses from my sister (resulting in an unfortunate pencil poke in the leg). If I had known the address, I'd have written a letter to the producers of the show (after some kind, knowledgeable person had explained to me what exactly a 'producer' was..!).

Still, I was hurt (and not just from the spanking and the pencil poke!). It wasn't fair! What had I done to Happy Days? I'd been nothing but supportive of the show. How dare they make me wait a week? A whole...lousy...week! When you really thought about it, I was entitled to find out if Pinky was going to be okay.

Do you get angry? Do you know why? I know that for me, my inability to control things (like television networks) and my self-centered focus can feed the anger monster inside. The monster that can take a minor irritation and turn it into a big deal.

My friends, one of the best things to do when angry is check your perspective. Is this thing that you're angry about really a big deal? Or a minor irritation? Before you react, decide if "To Be Continued" is really something that requires all that energy. I mean, thanks to YouTube, I can now watch Fonzie and Pinky for hours. And never see those three little words.

Now if I could just remember where I hid those Barbie clothes!! My sister's still mad as a hornet about that! And I've got the scar to prove it!

It's a Bird...it's a what?!

In the car the other day, my son asked which super power I'd like.

I thought about that for a moment.

I don't think I'd like to fly as I'm afraid of heights.

I don't think I'd want to be super-strong. My phone would be ringing off the hook with 'friends' who would want me to move their pianos and sofabeds.

On the other hand, super-flexibility would be neat. I'd be very impressive in a Yoga class. And scratching that hard-to-reach spot between my shoulder blades would no longer be a problem!

But that's not the power I'd like.

I would like to read minds.

"Are you sure?" my husband asked, "Do you really want to know what people are thinking?"

"Oh, I'm pretty confident that I already know what most people are thinking," I replied. "I don't think I'd be surprised."

"Do you know who I'd be?" my daughter asked.

"Batman." I responded.

"That's right!" she sounded surprised. "How'd you know?"

I'd know that little piece of information because we had just searched all over the Mall for Batman pajamas. Found some super hero ones, but no Batman.

"Guess what I'm thinking now?" my son said.

"You're hungry. You want something to drink...not water. Soda. And you want to play video games when we get home. But not just any video games. The ones that you got from Jay on Sunday."

His jaw dropped. He whistled lowly.

"How did - wow Mom. Are you sure you're not a super hero?"

Don't be deceived though. Although I'm pretty pleased with my powers of observation and listening...I'm not always that good.

The other night I was working on about fourteen thousand different projects at once. Didn't even notice if my family was at home or not. In fact, if you'd asked me then what they were thinking...well, my mind was elsewhere. I was too wrapped up in my own stuff to pay attention.

Sadly, sometimes that kind of night can turn into a week...or longer. We can get so disconnected from each other that we almost have to start over and introduce ourselves.

"Hi. I'm Carrie. I'm the Mom and wife."

"Oh...yeah. I thought you looked familiar." my husband nodded. "I'm Steve. Husband and father." We shook hands. "Nice home we have here." I said, awkwardly trying to start a conversation.

"Have you met our dog?"

"We have a dog? When did that happen?"

Okay, so that might be a slight exaggeration, but I think you get the point.

My daughter just got her drivers permit. I think to myself, "When did she get to be this age?" Time is moving so fast! Before long she'll be on her own and everything!

Enjoy your time with your family. I realize that they can be some of the most difficult folks to deal with...on the other hand, they won't be around forever. Make the most of your moments together and listen to each other. Maybe you'll become a mind reader.

As for me, I'm now seriously considering time travel as a super power.