Have you ever tried really hard to stay up late? Not like in our younger days when we didn't have children and you could take a nap around 6 p.m., wake up and get ready to go out. I mean, now, as parents, as working people.
I want to stay up late tonight because I want to watch Saturday Night Live with Melissa McCarthy as host. I want to watch and hear the cold open and her monologue. I want to laugh. Laugh hard.
This week has been a strange one for me. At work, some things happened that just weren't normal. Some things that just weren't right. In our country, some things have happened as they have for the last 110 days or so that just weren't normal. Some things that just weren't right.
I listen to the Pod Save America podcast and those guys are spot on in their analysis and reaction to the politics and happenings in D.C. They are funny and make me laugh. It's nice to laugh when you really want to cry.
I walked into work one day this week talking about The Great British Baking Show. It's a PBS show, but I'm binge watching it on Netflix. It's good, y'all. Everyone is so polite, so civil, so kind. The finale of season one included a garden party where friends and family gathered to watch the winner receive a cake stand and a bouquet of flowers. I cried. It moved me. People were nice.
I marched in the Women's Day March the day after inauguration. And, because I marched Penzy Spices sent me a nice enamel lapel pin in the shape of a heart with the words 'Be Kind' on it. I've worn it once. I should have worn it this week to work. I should be wearing it everyday.
I also have the chance to receive an award because I marched. PEN America honored all marchers with the Free Expression Courage Award. I can order a poster, a paperweight or a stand-up engraved award. I like free expression. I really like the First Amendment. I don't know that I have much courage most days.
You see at work, I had to be calm in a couple of situations that were anything but serene. I had to keep my mouth shut. And, boy, did I want to open my mouth and let a lot of words that wholeheartedly represent free expression come out. And, the words would not have been kind.
My reward in keeping my mouth shut, I had an upset stomach and didn't sleep too well this week. I guess my other reward was adhering to the age-old adage 'if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything.'
So why is it hard to be kind? Why is it hard to have courage? In the big things, we seem capable of being kind and courageous. It seems the day-to-day things are where kindness and courage are harder to come by.
This week is why I want to laugh while watching Saturday Night Live, but I'm a wee bit tired. It could be because we stayed up late last night eating at a hole-in-the-whole on the other side of town. And, I ate a lot of hand-pulled noodles in an amazing broth. A full stomach does not equal good sleep for me.
I'm also a bit sleepy because we spent the morning and then some time into the afternoon at one of my favorite places, our local farmer's market. It was a beautiful, no humidity, blue-sky, Chamber of Commerce day. We picked up some vegetables and two little succulent plants. The girls and I have wanted to pot some succulents and since I had $10 cash, I was able to buy two for $3 each -- the other $4 went to tomatoes I'm using in tomorrow's quiche (or frittata). (I'm making lunch for my mom -- we aren't going out to eat on a big event day anytime soon -- remember Easter?!)
The farmer's market also had several booths for the pottery market. I think that was a one-time thing and let me tell you the artisans came out and had some beautiful items. We found a pale green bowl that will now house our two succulents.
G, the girls and I also had brunch. It was good. We ate well. The restaurant where we ate serves amazing cured meats and has a wide selection for a charcuterie tray. We had duck ham, sausage, beet mustard, pickles, flat bread and some tomato jam that was, yeah, the jam. Then, the real breakfast came -- a big tray of bacon, fried green tomatoes, crab meat, fried eggs, biscuits, boudin sausage and a michelada. Never mind that I had ordered this carrot juice mule cocktail.
So, two drinks down and I was sleepy. I perked right up because I had the chance to sit and chat and laugh and chat and sit and laugh some more with one of my dearest friends. Her daughter (who lives in NYC) saw my posts on Instagram and told them I was there. Thank goodness for technology!
My Mother's Day Saturday was exactly what I wanted. I had a delicious brunch, caught up with my friend, picked plants with my girls and bought our favorite macaroons.
It wasn't as complete as it could have been because Chris isn't home yet. We did Facetime with him, but it just wasn't the same.
But the drinks and the food weren't all that made me tired. After coming home, we headed to the pool for a bit. After an hour or so, I had to head off to an appointment and then went to HEB to get the makings for tomorrow's lunch. As I loaded up the car with the three bags of goods, I knew I was sleepy.
I had to persevere though because I had to make the cake for tomorrow's lunch. I tried my Great British Baking Show best, but the cakes stuck to the pans. Ugh. I managed to get them out in one piece with just a few craters on the bottom. No one will see that -- good buttercream covers that up. Plus, it's my family. They will be kind about the food I make.
So, now I'm sitting. I'm writing. I'm trying to stay awake. I've only a few minutes more before Saturday Night Live starts. I think I can make it.
Even if I don't stay awake for the entire show, I'll get in some laughs. Plus, I got to laugh today with my friend.
Looking back, it was an all-day fourth part. Wow. Talk about self-kindness.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Cast Iron Skillets and Flip Flops
My husband loves to fish. Really loves to fish. Many of you have heard him say, heard me say it or read my writing on when the season is over, 'I'm going fishing.'
And, he does. Most every weekend. He leaves on Fridays after school and then comes home late Saturday.
This weekend was no exception. He got home around 11:30 p.m. after getting off the water around 8 p.m. He picked up Whataburger for the drive home (I mean, what else do you get when leaving Port Aransas and coming through Corpus?). I, on the other hand, ate beef fajitas and amazing guacamole at a friend's house.
Recently, I counted 14 fishing poles in the garage. Wait, excuse me, fishing rods. Don't get me started on those little plastic drawers full of bait and hooks and line and other fishing necessities. There's waders and boots and things that hold rods that go around your waist and gloves and special scissors. My hobby of taking care of my skin through all sorts of creams and treatments costs significantly less than this fishing thing. (Insert G commenting, he brings home food for his family.)
Maybe all marriages don't have the spouses 'count' items and believe me, I don't do it out of spite (there were those days of where there might have been a bit of anger keeping track of athletic shoes, belts and socks and khaki pants and coats and ties), but sometimes I can't help myself. I usually count when I'm frustrated about our overall money situation or when I know some big expenses are coming up. Or, I count when I drive home from work one day and see a new fence being put up at my house and I have been wanting butcher block counter tops in the kitchen and there isn't the dollars. Well, there you go. 20 years of marriage and 21 years is only weeks away.
Why am I suddenly compelled to count? An expense we have coming up is the girls' 8th birthday party. Initially, the plan was a glow-in-the-dark bowling party and then, I discovered that is around $20 a kid and you get a slice of pizza from the bowling alley kitchen, a couple of hours of bowling and some Sprite. With plans of around 10 girls joining my girls for the party, I'm counting that $200 plus is not money well spent. Oh, you also get one bowling pin for friends to sign. A second one costs around $20 more. Yeah, we can't share that pin.
Instead, we decided on the ever-familiar, what we always do, party at home. And, we are getting our glow on. I didn't come up with that -- the wonderful invitation creator at Etsy did. For only $1 a printed invitation -- because, really, I'm going to print off on card stock -- we are rolling. I'm looking for the cake maker -- a glow-in-the-dark looking cake is not on the shelves at HEB nor is it in my baking wheelhouse. A dear friend is lending me black lights she already owns (most of you can guess who this friend is) and I've put in an order with Amazon Prime for some lipgloss that glows (hopefully, there are no cancer-causing toxins in there) and black headbands that we are going to paint and have glow.
We also made a trip to Wal-Mart. And, by we, I mean, Camille and I. The other Adams' weren't having it and really, can you blame them? Our intent was to find nail polish and hair gel that glows in the dark.
(If this were a drinking game, all forms of 'glows in the dark' would have you a bit tipsy now. Probably drunk by the end of reading this.)
We didn't find those items. We did find glow-in-the-dark fabric paint, glow-in-the-dark rings, and glow-in-the-dark sticks (same friend who has the black lights suggested renting a cotton candy machine and making glow-cones. We won't be renting the cotton candy machine. You can buy that stuff bagged up. But we have the sticks!) We also bought black plastic tablecloths because according to Pinterest, you can flick and fling glow-in-the-dark paint on them and hang 'em up for a true glow-in-the-dark party experience.
The big find? 10 pair of neon-colored 98 cents flip flops. Come on, people. Can you see the craft? Can you feel the excitement? Can you understand the usefulness of flip flops? Can you acknowledge this is a much better go-home goody bag gift that can be used by the recipients? Can you hear the parents thanking me for another cheap pair of flip flops that will break in about, hmmm, 15 minutes of wear?
And, can you think of anything better representative of this time of year than flip flops? We all have too many pairs, but never enough. We've them in all colors and styles. Some have height in the heel. (OK, I don't. I don't get the platform or wedge or heeled flip flop. I also don't have sparkly ones.) Some are leather. Some are brand-name (my girl Tory makes a solid pair and they go on deep discount sale at the outlet mall every once in a while). Some are more athletic-y than others.
But they are all flip flops. I wear flip flops to the pool and beach. Rarely, and I mean, rarely, will you catch me wearing them outside of those two places. My fancier flip flops (because that's an oxymoron), I do wear around a few more places, but I always do feel like my feet are touching the dirty ground. Hey, it's summer. I do walk around barefoot -- including down the street to my sister's house. OK, judge me.
Camille and I went to Wal-Mart after we spent about three hours at our community pool. It's a great pool. It is rarely crowded. Sometimes, we even have it to ourselves. Yesterday, we went (remember, G was fishing) and there was just one other family. Today, there was a group of teenagers (the mom of two of them -- twins -- came by later so I got to chat with her. She's a Baylor grad. Loads to discuss.) and then, later another family we know came to swim.
Hanging at the pool (I didn't have on a bathing suit. I'm not that ready for summer) is nice. It's easy. You bring snacks. You fill a Yeti with rose. You read. You get a little color.
I didn't realize we had been there so long until G called to let me know he was home from HEB (bless him) and was making fish for dinner. Yes, he caught some this weekend. The cost of rods, equipment, gas, Whataburger, etc. was worth it because I didn't have to make dinner. Talk about a fourth part gift.
Now, when G makes dinner, he makes dinner. And, uses multiple knives, plates, skillets and pots. Spices, oils and vinegars are also in heavy rotation. Tonight, we had the fish, zucchini and tomatoes, brown rice and arugula salad. If you are keeping track, or counting, that should be two skillets and a pot. Nah, he used three skillets, two pots and three cutting boards. Two large knives, several forks and spatulas rounded out the utensils. Bowls for breading the fish. Yes, plural.
Counters were covered.
But you know what else? The table was set. Food placed out. Dinner served. Nice.
Obviously, I cleaned up the kitchen. He took the girls outside and I loaded up the dishwasher. I hand-washed some dishes that didn't fit in the dishwasher. (The pots and skillets and cutting boards take up a lot of room in the dishwasher. I know they don't belong there, Martha, but I'm a working mom, alright.)
I also scrubbed out the cast iron skillet. It was the skillet used to pan fry the fish. Olive oil and butter, plus the flour mixture he used to bread the fish clung to that skillet bottom. Nothing that a hot water bath and good scrub can't remedy.
Yeah, I counted the pots and pans.
I also counted the dinner served. I counted the four people around the table (Chris gets home in about a week).
As corny as this will read, I can't be more truthful. I also counted my blessings.
And, he does. Most every weekend. He leaves on Fridays after school and then comes home late Saturday.
This weekend was no exception. He got home around 11:30 p.m. after getting off the water around 8 p.m. He picked up Whataburger for the drive home (I mean, what else do you get when leaving Port Aransas and coming through Corpus?). I, on the other hand, ate beef fajitas and amazing guacamole at a friend's house.
Recently, I counted 14 fishing poles in the garage. Wait, excuse me, fishing rods. Don't get me started on those little plastic drawers full of bait and hooks and line and other fishing necessities. There's waders and boots and things that hold rods that go around your waist and gloves and special scissors. My hobby of taking care of my skin through all sorts of creams and treatments costs significantly less than this fishing thing. (Insert G commenting, he brings home food for his family.)
Maybe all marriages don't have the spouses 'count' items and believe me, I don't do it out of spite (there were those days of where there might have been a bit of anger keeping track of athletic shoes, belts and socks and khaki pants and coats and ties), but sometimes I can't help myself. I usually count when I'm frustrated about our overall money situation or when I know some big expenses are coming up. Or, I count when I drive home from work one day and see a new fence being put up at my house and I have been wanting butcher block counter tops in the kitchen and there isn't the dollars. Well, there you go. 20 years of marriage and 21 years is only weeks away.
Why am I suddenly compelled to count? An expense we have coming up is the girls' 8th birthday party. Initially, the plan was a glow-in-the-dark bowling party and then, I discovered that is around $20 a kid and you get a slice of pizza from the bowling alley kitchen, a couple of hours of bowling and some Sprite. With plans of around 10 girls joining my girls for the party, I'm counting that $200 plus is not money well spent. Oh, you also get one bowling pin for friends to sign. A second one costs around $20 more. Yeah, we can't share that pin.
Instead, we decided on the ever-familiar, what we always do, party at home. And, we are getting our glow on. I didn't come up with that -- the wonderful invitation creator at Etsy did. For only $1 a printed invitation -- because, really, I'm going to print off on card stock -- we are rolling. I'm looking for the cake maker -- a glow-in-the-dark looking cake is not on the shelves at HEB nor is it in my baking wheelhouse. A dear friend is lending me black lights she already owns (most of you can guess who this friend is) and I've put in an order with Amazon Prime for some lipgloss that glows (hopefully, there are no cancer-causing toxins in there) and black headbands that we are going to paint and have glow.
We also made a trip to Wal-Mart. And, by we, I mean, Camille and I. The other Adams' weren't having it and really, can you blame them? Our intent was to find nail polish and hair gel that glows in the dark.
(If this were a drinking game, all forms of 'glows in the dark' would have you a bit tipsy now. Probably drunk by the end of reading this.)
We didn't find those items. We did find glow-in-the-dark fabric paint, glow-in-the-dark rings, and glow-in-the-dark sticks (same friend who has the black lights suggested renting a cotton candy machine and making glow-cones. We won't be renting the cotton candy machine. You can buy that stuff bagged up. But we have the sticks!) We also bought black plastic tablecloths because according to Pinterest, you can flick and fling glow-in-the-dark paint on them and hang 'em up for a true glow-in-the-dark party experience.
The big find? 10 pair of neon-colored 98 cents flip flops. Come on, people. Can you see the craft? Can you feel the excitement? Can you understand the usefulness of flip flops? Can you acknowledge this is a much better go-home goody bag gift that can be used by the recipients? Can you hear the parents thanking me for another cheap pair of flip flops that will break in about, hmmm, 15 minutes of wear?
And, can you think of anything better representative of this time of year than flip flops? We all have too many pairs, but never enough. We've them in all colors and styles. Some have height in the heel. (OK, I don't. I don't get the platform or wedge or heeled flip flop. I also don't have sparkly ones.) Some are leather. Some are brand-name (my girl Tory makes a solid pair and they go on deep discount sale at the outlet mall every once in a while). Some are more athletic-y than others.
But they are all flip flops. I wear flip flops to the pool and beach. Rarely, and I mean, rarely, will you catch me wearing them outside of those two places. My fancier flip flops (because that's an oxymoron), I do wear around a few more places, but I always do feel like my feet are touching the dirty ground. Hey, it's summer. I do walk around barefoot -- including down the street to my sister's house. OK, judge me.
Camille and I went to Wal-Mart after we spent about three hours at our community pool. It's a great pool. It is rarely crowded. Sometimes, we even have it to ourselves. Yesterday, we went (remember, G was fishing) and there was just one other family. Today, there was a group of teenagers (the mom of two of them -- twins -- came by later so I got to chat with her. She's a Baylor grad. Loads to discuss.) and then, later another family we know came to swim.
Hanging at the pool (I didn't have on a bathing suit. I'm not that ready for summer) is nice. It's easy. You bring snacks. You fill a Yeti with rose. You read. You get a little color.
I didn't realize we had been there so long until G called to let me know he was home from HEB (bless him) and was making fish for dinner. Yes, he caught some this weekend. The cost of rods, equipment, gas, Whataburger, etc. was worth it because I didn't have to make dinner. Talk about a fourth part gift.
Now, when G makes dinner, he makes dinner. And, uses multiple knives, plates, skillets and pots. Spices, oils and vinegars are also in heavy rotation. Tonight, we had the fish, zucchini and tomatoes, brown rice and arugula salad. If you are keeping track, or counting, that should be two skillets and a pot. Nah, he used three skillets, two pots and three cutting boards. Two large knives, several forks and spatulas rounded out the utensils. Bowls for breading the fish. Yes, plural.
Counters were covered.
But you know what else? The table was set. Food placed out. Dinner served. Nice.
Obviously, I cleaned up the kitchen. He took the girls outside and I loaded up the dishwasher. I hand-washed some dishes that didn't fit in the dishwasher. (The pots and skillets and cutting boards take up a lot of room in the dishwasher. I know they don't belong there, Martha, but I'm a working mom, alright.)
I also scrubbed out the cast iron skillet. It was the skillet used to pan fry the fish. Olive oil and butter, plus the flour mixture he used to bread the fish clung to that skillet bottom. Nothing that a hot water bath and good scrub can't remedy.
Yeah, I counted the pots and pans.
I also counted the dinner served. I counted the four people around the table (Chris gets home in about a week).
As corny as this will read, I can't be more truthful. I also counted my blessings.
Thursday, May 4, 2017
Coffee Creamer and Feeling Invisible
Day two of fever. Not spring. Not sports related. Just a plain 'ol 'where did it come from because there were no symptoms' low-grade fever.
I received a call right around lunch time yesterday that my sweet Caroline (cue the song) had a 100.4 degree fever. She bought her hot lunch -- they get one a month and she had picked a Wednesday, which around here means one thing: Mexican food -- decided she didn't feel like eating and walked over to the nurse's office. Temperature taken, call made and I'm on my way.
(I did have to make a quick stop to pick up some darling teacher appreciation gifts -- handmade cake balls shaped like little popped popcorn kernels packaged in a plastic popcorn container.)
(Remind you of Elaine and the Jujyfruits?)
(This week's teacher appreciation theme is 'in the movies.' What? No flower to bring or favorite soda? Thankfully, Walgreens stocks Fandango gift cards and it is a store open late on Sunday nights. Double thankfully, I'm in a Facebook group where people sell things like popcorn cake balls and, yes, I bought two.)
After bringing Caroline home and giving her some Motrin, she slept. I mean, slept. I got some work done. The babysitter scooped up Camille and ran her over to the Simon Biles program we are on for gymnastics.
This little girl had been off the last couple of days, which I'm now piecing together as she wasn't feeling good. At the Fairy Tale Rodeo Tuesday, Caroline's team lost. But, it wasn't the loss that clued me in, it was her reaction to my being there. She was just mopey and kind of well, off. Then, she called me from school crying because she didn't say good-bye to me. I reminded her we did say good-bye and then thought to myself, it's because she was not in a good mood and didn't remember. At horse riding that night, her instructor said Caroline seemed uninterested and not wanting to do the normal things she does -- such as saddle the horse.
On the car ride home, I talked to the girls and Caroline cried. (OK, maybe I was a little upset. It's my control thing and wanting everything to go according to my plan and the moping and the spending money for her to ride horses and not being interested and I think you get the idea of how it could snowball, right?)
The car ride home also presented a conversation about a new girl coming to her class and she was excited because her teacher picked her to be the new student's buddy.
Fast forward to the fever, coming home and feeling a bit better last night.
'I feel invisible.'
'Everyone wanted to play with her and not me.'
'When I tried to be her buddy, she didn't need me.'
'I had to read the poem that was eight lines because she said the teacher already knew she could read.' (I'm still not sure what that really means, but it came pouring out as if it was the fact that explained feeling invisible.)
Oh my.
Those conversations are hard. I encouraged her. I talked to her about being new and maybe the little girls was just nervous. I shared that everyone was probably excited to make a new friend.
My Caroline has always been my sensitive one -- from her stomach to her feelings. She doesn't have the confidence Camille has (even though Camille is very tender-hearted) and can't just blow off what people are doing or thinking or saying. Caroline takes it all in. And, she waits until she just can't take anymore and then cries and cries and cries.
She is a people pleaser, too. She wants everyone to get along and I mean, everyone. She wants everyone to play together. She wants to have one special friend, but still all play together. She tries to make new friends, but struggles with being forward. She always says yes and let's others choose. She believes that is how you make friends.
The balance we have to strike usually involves encouraging and nurturing along with 'move on.' And, when you are seven-years-old, you really don't want to hear about 'move on' and 'let it go.'
I get feeling invisible. I've been in that place before. Even as an adult, I sometimes feel not a part of something. And, I'm a pretty confident person who more often than not, chooses to be by myself. I have a small group of very close friends.
I, though, am an adult. I know how to process through those things and have a husband and family I can always count on to see me.
You know who else I know sees me? God. And, I have been through things where I know He's seen me. He keeps His eyes on me and I feel it.
When you are seven, that's a bit harder to get, right?
This morning, since I stayed home with Caroline, we read my Jesus Calling devotion together. It was on giving yourself to God to be filled with His inexpressible, heavenly joy. In the reading, there was a reference to the word divine. Caroline asked what that meant because she knows it to be a city where Gigi and Pop lived and where Granddad grew up.
I tried to explain that it had to do with God's power and spirit and then, kind of stumbled through some other words. Then, I looked up the true definitions.
'From or like God'
'Extremely good or unusually lovely'
So when you run out of your coffee creamer a week or so ago and have been subbing it with plain almond milk and then that runs out so you get on-the-border, maybe expired 2 percent milk as a replacement, you think this is not so extremely good or unusually lovely.
Where's the joy in that?
Here's where.
It's having that time to drink coffee at home while working from home.
It's recognizing that even with the work requirements today -- and there are quite a few -- it is feeling more like a very long fourth part and you can find time to order coffee creamer and milk from HEB for pick up.
It's getting to share a 'grown-up devotion' (what Caroline called it) with your sweet one not feeling 100 percent.
It's watching her Bible journal because the verse referenced in the devotion was on a page where she could color in a word.
It's not watching the news and, instead, finding a cartoon favorite.
It's taking that invisible feeling and turning it around to feeling filled with something inexpressible.
Joy. Heavenly joy. Something divine.
I received a call right around lunch time yesterday that my sweet Caroline (cue the song) had a 100.4 degree fever. She bought her hot lunch -- they get one a month and she had picked a Wednesday, which around here means one thing: Mexican food -- decided she didn't feel like eating and walked over to the nurse's office. Temperature taken, call made and I'm on my way.
(I did have to make a quick stop to pick up some darling teacher appreciation gifts -- handmade cake balls shaped like little popped popcorn kernels packaged in a plastic popcorn container.)
(Remind you of Elaine and the Jujyfruits?)
(This week's teacher appreciation theme is 'in the movies.' What? No flower to bring or favorite soda? Thankfully, Walgreens stocks Fandango gift cards and it is a store open late on Sunday nights. Double thankfully, I'm in a Facebook group where people sell things like popcorn cake balls and, yes, I bought two.)
After bringing Caroline home and giving her some Motrin, she slept. I mean, slept. I got some work done. The babysitter scooped up Camille and ran her over to the Simon Biles program we are on for gymnastics.
This little girl had been off the last couple of days, which I'm now piecing together as she wasn't feeling good. At the Fairy Tale Rodeo Tuesday, Caroline's team lost. But, it wasn't the loss that clued me in, it was her reaction to my being there. She was just mopey and kind of well, off. Then, she called me from school crying because she didn't say good-bye to me. I reminded her we did say good-bye and then thought to myself, it's because she was not in a good mood and didn't remember. At horse riding that night, her instructor said Caroline seemed uninterested and not wanting to do the normal things she does -- such as saddle the horse.
On the car ride home, I talked to the girls and Caroline cried. (OK, maybe I was a little upset. It's my control thing and wanting everything to go according to my plan and the moping and the spending money for her to ride horses and not being interested and I think you get the idea of how it could snowball, right?)
The car ride home also presented a conversation about a new girl coming to her class and she was excited because her teacher picked her to be the new student's buddy.
Fast forward to the fever, coming home and feeling a bit better last night.
'I feel invisible.'
'Everyone wanted to play with her and not me.'
'When I tried to be her buddy, she didn't need me.'
'I had to read the poem that was eight lines because she said the teacher already knew she could read.' (I'm still not sure what that really means, but it came pouring out as if it was the fact that explained feeling invisible.)
Oh my.
Those conversations are hard. I encouraged her. I talked to her about being new and maybe the little girls was just nervous. I shared that everyone was probably excited to make a new friend.
My Caroline has always been my sensitive one -- from her stomach to her feelings. She doesn't have the confidence Camille has (even though Camille is very tender-hearted) and can't just blow off what people are doing or thinking or saying. Caroline takes it all in. And, she waits until she just can't take anymore and then cries and cries and cries.
She is a people pleaser, too. She wants everyone to get along and I mean, everyone. She wants everyone to play together. She wants to have one special friend, but still all play together. She tries to make new friends, but struggles with being forward. She always says yes and let's others choose. She believes that is how you make friends.
The balance we have to strike usually involves encouraging and nurturing along with 'move on.' And, when you are seven-years-old, you really don't want to hear about 'move on' and 'let it go.'
I get feeling invisible. I've been in that place before. Even as an adult, I sometimes feel not a part of something. And, I'm a pretty confident person who more often than not, chooses to be by myself. I have a small group of very close friends.
I, though, am an adult. I know how to process through those things and have a husband and family I can always count on to see me.
You know who else I know sees me? God. And, I have been through things where I know He's seen me. He keeps His eyes on me and I feel it.
When you are seven, that's a bit harder to get, right?
This morning, since I stayed home with Caroline, we read my Jesus Calling devotion together. It was on giving yourself to God to be filled with His inexpressible, heavenly joy. In the reading, there was a reference to the word divine. Caroline asked what that meant because she knows it to be a city where Gigi and Pop lived and where Granddad grew up.
I tried to explain that it had to do with God's power and spirit and then, kind of stumbled through some other words. Then, I looked up the true definitions.
'From or like God'
'Extremely good or unusually lovely'
So when you run out of your coffee creamer a week or so ago and have been subbing it with plain almond milk and then that runs out so you get on-the-border, maybe expired 2 percent milk as a replacement, you think this is not so extremely good or unusually lovely.
Where's the joy in that?
Here's where.
It's having that time to drink coffee at home while working from home.
It's recognizing that even with the work requirements today -- and there are quite a few -- it is feeling more like a very long fourth part and you can find time to order coffee creamer and milk from HEB for pick up.
It's getting to share a 'grown-up devotion' (what Caroline called it) with your sweet one not feeling 100 percent.
It's watching her Bible journal because the verse referenced in the devotion was on a page where she could color in a word.
It's not watching the news and, instead, finding a cartoon favorite.
It's taking that invisible feeling and turning it around to feeling filled with something inexpressible.
Joy. Heavenly joy. Something divine.
Sunday, April 30, 2017
Vintage Tablecloths and Charcoal Face Masks
Viva.
Various translations . . . I'm tired. I'm bloated. I'm moving slow. I'm splotchy.
Time to spring clean this body, skin and mind.
First stop on this cleansing train is not a sugar detox, but it will be something closely resembling that effort. I'm on Weight Watchers online. My goal is to lose 12 pounds. Easy. No sweat. I may look to actually lose 15 so I can have those random three pounds up and down from month to month. Weight Watchers is super doable.
Weight Watchers helps me track my eating. I actually enjoy the process of logging what I eat and watching the points. I've learned to eat my points earlier in the day, alcohol does not help me lose weight and drinking loads of water is a sound approach.
It too me $30 for a three-month online subscription to learn that? How about reading each and every article on healthy weight loss? Or, listening to the countless friends, trainers and coaches I've encountered over the years?
Don't judge.
So, Weight Watchers helps me. I learned that NIOSA, Fiesta Arts Fair and the 16th Annual Fiesta Friday are events that do not help me in this weight loss journey.
Remember those three random pounds that come on and off easily?
Spring cleaning is in full effect.
I woke up this morning to a beautiful day. No humidity (thanks storm that woke up my girls and had them trying to sleep in our bed with us for a few hours and really, I had no sleep from about 1 a.m. until I don't know, daybreak!?) and a gentle breeze. It's exactly what a spring day should be. It's a perfect April 30 in San Antonio.
With the beautiful morning, I skipped into the bathroom to weigh myself (ugh three pounds on) and then found a charcoal mask I bought a few weeks back. Yes! (That's the brand as well as my exuberance.)
(I only wish it was one of those pull it off your face masks and every bit of gunk in each and every pore comes out. I could use that sweet pain right now because I've got some pores full of Fiesta.)
10 minutes later, I've a bright and shining face ready to take on this bright and shining day.
Even egg whites and spinach cooked in a coconut oil with a side of coffee and almond milk as my creamer couldn't damper my brightness. Two points.
Along with the cleansing of my face and body, we are cleaning up the house and yard after the very successful and yes, very fun Fiesta Friday party. We had close to 60 people at one time (which included about 15 kids). The kids alone results in lots of empty chip bags, half-used bubble bottles and cascarone pieces everywhere. Caroline had Cheetos in her bed.
Our house always feels really clean after the Fiesta Friday party. Our counter tops are empty and all the paper that stacks up is put away. The backyard is picked up and nothing in this house is out of place. G washes down the fish fryers (yes, plural) and all of my Fiesta dishes are sparkling, put away to be used next year.
And, there's the table linens. Each Fiesta Friday, I pull out vintage 1905s (I think) tablecloths and napkins from my grandmother and great-grandmother. They have these prints on them that are perfect for Fiesta. I lay them out and tell the girls about their Gigi and Grannie Mug. They listen sweetly for a hot minute and then run off to ready for the party. Prep as a seven-year-old takes time.
The tablecloths are the first things washed after the party. I air dry them because, well, vintage. I'll iron and neatly fold them, putting them away in the table linens drawer (a drawer for linens . . . this is one of the things that makes G crazy about all the items I have from Nettie and Marguerite) for next year.
Because, there is always a next year for Fiesta. And, while the number of official-sanctioned Fiesta events we attend each year varies, Fiesta Friday is an event always on the calendar. (Except for those years we had basketball tournaments. Those were just as fun. Except if we lost and there were long-stretches of silence.)
And, each year, I gear up losing a few pounds, finding the Mexican shirts in my closet to wear and making prep lists.
And, each year, I forget to take pictures at the party because I'm too busy catching up with friends, laughing and re-telling stories.
And, each year, G and I high five each other at the end of the night with a 'good party' said.
And, then, we cleanse.
Friday, April 21, 2017
Bad Dreams and Sugar Detox
Fiesta is here in San Antonio. It's around a 10-day celebration in the city where there are more cascarones, meats on sticks and embroidered shirts than you can count. It celebrates Texas, San Antonio, the Alamo and all that is fun. For years, I had between six and seven events to attend. I would plan and shop for outfits. I would have my hair done. I would take vacation days from work.
And, this wasn't something that began as an adult. As a child, we attended the parades and as a teen-aged, I met NIOSA. In college, I continued on my NIOSA journey making it in from Waco to enjoy the party. I've even introduced Chris to NIOSA. He wasn't a fan at the time.
NIOSA stands for Night In Old San Antonio. The downtown area of San Antonio known as La Villita is lined with food booths celebrating the Texas culture. There are also lots of bands and beer. You walk. Just walk. Around and around. You bump into friends who you haven't seen in years and those you see frequently. You stack up your beer cups and laugh off the splashes of beer that spill from those cup towers on to your feet. Sandals are a must (or cute sneakers you can wash).
Nowadays, I'm not as active in Fiesta, but I still try and make it to a couple of events. We attend the family-friendly Fiesta Arts Fair where the girls (and Chris before them) can make crafts and I can eat (and maybe have a drink). The artists sell their paintings, jewelry, sculptures and drawings. It's beautiful and early in the day (not hot, yet).
We also try to go to NIOSA, but now we are those old people who go to the kick-off event on the first night and leave before the crowds get too big. Yes, we go at 5 p.m. and leave by about 9 p.m. I still eat my shypoke eggs and enjoy the scenes. I'm looking very much forward to a lot of cold shoulder and off-the-shoulder tops on all types. And, the shorts, the skirts, the hair. It is a people-watching paradise.
We also have a Fiesta Friday party each year. It's the last Friday of Fiesta where the schools and most businesses are closed. We serve the same food -- ribs, baked beans, Texas caviar, spaghetti salad, Texas sheet cake and G's fried fish. We make the same drinks -- margaritas. It starts around 5 p.m. and goes well into the night. We rent tables and chairs. We buy festive-colored plates, tablecloths and decorations. I start cooking Thursday and am done by mid-day Friday. G starts frying fish right around game time and it goes fast.
I think this is our 16th year to have it. Last year, was the first one in about four years because we were deeply involved in Chris' AAU basketball and always had a tournament that day. I'm glad it's back. It's fun. It's with friends. It's Fiesta.
It's one long fourth part.
It requires a lot of planning. You would think with the same meal year after year, I'd have it down. I wouldn't have to write out a grocery list or build out my run-of-show timeline, but I do. I'm super pleasant morning of and the members of my household are happy to comply with picking up the rented tables and chairs so they can be out of the house.
(By the way, I just rented the tables and chairs today. One week from the party. Every year I do this. I scramble to find them. And, delivery is not available -- or for $100. G Adams isn't paying $100 for table delivery.)
I'll buy the food this weekend -- yes, I will set foot into a grocery store rather than curbside pick up because, well, it's what I do. I'll buy the decorations at a Fiesta store this weekend, too.
There won't be too many fourth parts this upcoming week because I'll be readying for the party. I guess in a way, there will be fourth parts though because I'll be doing something I want to do and like to do. Maybe a fourth part combo meal?
Speaking of meals.
I am on the last day of a five-day sugar detox. Praise. God. Praise. God. Almighty.
Here's the deal. I don't eat a lot of processed sugar. Yes, I enjoy a glass of wine or a cocktail. I also like a bit of ice cream or something sweet -- I've got this great trail mix with dark chocolate chunks in the pantry screaming 'I'm healthy.'
And, I like Easter candy.
But, man, day three was kind of a malaise-y like day. Thursday was even more of a hangover kind of feeling. And, today. It hit me. A dull headache all day. A fog about me, too.
The woman leading the detox is precious. She actually lives in France and I've been following her for awhile. We have a call everyday and a required check-in post every night. Did you work out? Did you follow the meal plan? Did you drink water? Did you post something positive on social media?
If you answer yes to all four, you are entered into a drawing for a prize. I won today. I don't think it is delicious French pastry or wine. It's probably almonds.
The information she provides is on point and there is the thought this is something to maintain. Put these habits into practice. I already work out. I already drink a ton of water. I'm always positive on social media (don't look back to November -- dark time). But. . .
We have two baskets of Easter candy sitting on the counter.
And, I've a bottle of great rose. Chilling.
I've only a few hours left and it has been tough. Because I can't have it? Or because my body is really detoxing? Not sure. I'm ready to have some of those pale blue and pink covered chocolate eggs tomorrow. It's an egg, it's breakfast.
Hard-boiled egg availability has helped this week except yeah, I really don't want one a day.
Going to bed last night, I knew I was off. And, then, my sleep really was, too.
I mean, I slept -- thank you Unisom -- but I had one long, bad dream. When the alarm clock sounded this morning, I was still very much in this dream. It was terrible. No one was killed and I wasn't chased, but it was a storyline that was so true to life. It took one of my greatest fears (not rushing water) and built something around it that hurt and was sad and felt awful. This is a dream. Not real life.
That's what no sugar for four days can do to you. Make something good seem so sad and dark.
The good news is I timed the detox well. See the other thing I do in preparation for Fiesta is try to drop pounds so I don't worry about what I eat or drink during the week. Not healthy at all, but hey, I've been doing this for a while. One of my dearest friends, Rach, and I even talked this week about our annual plan. Somehow we always wait until the week before, like I do with renting tables and chairs.
Not very fourth part-like I know, but hey, I've been on a sugar detox. My brain isn't functioning up to par.
Now, I've got outfits to plan, places to go, cascarones to crack and medals to wear.
Bring on the sugar.
Viva.
And, this wasn't something that began as an adult. As a child, we attended the parades and as a teen-aged, I met NIOSA. In college, I continued on my NIOSA journey making it in from Waco to enjoy the party. I've even introduced Chris to NIOSA. He wasn't a fan at the time.
NIOSA stands for Night In Old San Antonio. The downtown area of San Antonio known as La Villita is lined with food booths celebrating the Texas culture. There are also lots of bands and beer. You walk. Just walk. Around and around. You bump into friends who you haven't seen in years and those you see frequently. You stack up your beer cups and laugh off the splashes of beer that spill from those cup towers on to your feet. Sandals are a must (or cute sneakers you can wash).
Nowadays, I'm not as active in Fiesta, but I still try and make it to a couple of events. We attend the family-friendly Fiesta Arts Fair where the girls (and Chris before them) can make crafts and I can eat (and maybe have a drink). The artists sell their paintings, jewelry, sculptures and drawings. It's beautiful and early in the day (not hot, yet).
We also try to go to NIOSA, but now we are those old people who go to the kick-off event on the first night and leave before the crowds get too big. Yes, we go at 5 p.m. and leave by about 9 p.m. I still eat my shypoke eggs and enjoy the scenes. I'm looking very much forward to a lot of cold shoulder and off-the-shoulder tops on all types. And, the shorts, the skirts, the hair. It is a people-watching paradise.
We also have a Fiesta Friday party each year. It's the last Friday of Fiesta where the schools and most businesses are closed. We serve the same food -- ribs, baked beans, Texas caviar, spaghetti salad, Texas sheet cake and G's fried fish. We make the same drinks -- margaritas. It starts around 5 p.m. and goes well into the night. We rent tables and chairs. We buy festive-colored plates, tablecloths and decorations. I start cooking Thursday and am done by mid-day Friday. G starts frying fish right around game time and it goes fast.
I think this is our 16th year to have it. Last year, was the first one in about four years because we were deeply involved in Chris' AAU basketball and always had a tournament that day. I'm glad it's back. It's fun. It's with friends. It's Fiesta.
It's one long fourth part.
It requires a lot of planning. You would think with the same meal year after year, I'd have it down. I wouldn't have to write out a grocery list or build out my run-of-show timeline, but I do. I'm super pleasant morning of and the members of my household are happy to comply with picking up the rented tables and chairs so they can be out of the house.
(By the way, I just rented the tables and chairs today. One week from the party. Every year I do this. I scramble to find them. And, delivery is not available -- or for $100. G Adams isn't paying $100 for table delivery.)
I'll buy the food this weekend -- yes, I will set foot into a grocery store rather than curbside pick up because, well, it's what I do. I'll buy the decorations at a Fiesta store this weekend, too.
There won't be too many fourth parts this upcoming week because I'll be readying for the party. I guess in a way, there will be fourth parts though because I'll be doing something I want to do and like to do. Maybe a fourth part combo meal?
Speaking of meals.
I am on the last day of a five-day sugar detox. Praise. God. Praise. God. Almighty.
Here's the deal. I don't eat a lot of processed sugar. Yes, I enjoy a glass of wine or a cocktail. I also like a bit of ice cream or something sweet -- I've got this great trail mix with dark chocolate chunks in the pantry screaming 'I'm healthy.'
And, I like Easter candy.
But, man, day three was kind of a malaise-y like day. Thursday was even more of a hangover kind of feeling. And, today. It hit me. A dull headache all day. A fog about me, too.
The woman leading the detox is precious. She actually lives in France and I've been following her for awhile. We have a call everyday and a required check-in post every night. Did you work out? Did you follow the meal plan? Did you drink water? Did you post something positive on social media?
If you answer yes to all four, you are entered into a drawing for a prize. I won today. I don't think it is delicious French pastry or wine. It's probably almonds.
The information she provides is on point and there is the thought this is something to maintain. Put these habits into practice. I already work out. I already drink a ton of water. I'm always positive on social media (don't look back to November -- dark time). But. . .
We have two baskets of Easter candy sitting on the counter.
And, I've a bottle of great rose. Chilling.
I've only a few hours left and it has been tough. Because I can't have it? Or because my body is really detoxing? Not sure. I'm ready to have some of those pale blue and pink covered chocolate eggs tomorrow. It's an egg, it's breakfast.
Hard-boiled egg availability has helped this week except yeah, I really don't want one a day.
Going to bed last night, I knew I was off. And, then, my sleep really was, too.
I mean, I slept -- thank you Unisom -- but I had one long, bad dream. When the alarm clock sounded this morning, I was still very much in this dream. It was terrible. No one was killed and I wasn't chased, but it was a storyline that was so true to life. It took one of my greatest fears (not rushing water) and built something around it that hurt and was sad and felt awful. This is a dream. Not real life.
That's what no sugar for four days can do to you. Make something good seem so sad and dark.
The good news is I timed the detox well. See the other thing I do in preparation for Fiesta is try to drop pounds so I don't worry about what I eat or drink during the week. Not healthy at all, but hey, I've been doing this for a while. One of my dearest friends, Rach, and I even talked this week about our annual plan. Somehow we always wait until the week before, like I do with renting tables and chairs.
Not very fourth part-like I know, but hey, I've been on a sugar detox. My brain isn't functioning up to par.
Now, I've got outfits to plan, places to go, cascarones to crack and medals to wear.
Bring on the sugar.
Viva.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Gnocchi and PVC Pipe
He is risen. Yes, He is. Praise God because this is where our hope is found, right? And, the songs are really good on Easter Sunday. We walked out to 'Nothing But the Blood of Jesus' and I chose to sing the Amy Grant version which some of my family pointed out didn't match the choir.
Some of us do have the Amy Grant library on speed dial in our memory, so those who don't . . .sorry. I'm here whenever you need me. 'Everywhere I go, I hear your voice clear and loud.' I think that refers to God's voice to Amy, but you can hear my voice quite clear and quite loud if you would like.
Getting ready for Easter Sunday is involved. There are the clothes. The hair cuts. Making sure the shoes fit because you really don't want to have to buy new ones unless you really need to. The basket goodies. The egg hunt planning. The cleaning. The setting up of the table with your grandmother's china. The cooking.
Oh, wait. I opted out of that this year. I made the big statement of 'I'm not cooking this year because I just don't want to and so let's go out to eat.'
Talk about fourth parts popping up all over. No need to shop for Easter food or plan dishes! No gently asking my family to clean the bathrooms and vacuum the floors! No hand washing dishes! No ironing tablecloths and napkins!
I did have to find a restaurant that had food 11 of us would eat. We range from my parents to my seven-year-old girls. We have likes and dislikes galore. I just wanted to make sure there were mimosas with cava or prosecco or champagne . . .anything bubbly.
After a few Open Table searches, Googling and frantic phone calls, we found a familiar spot close to church. Easy. Walk out of church (singing Amy Grant versions of songs), hop in the car and drive a few miles to a restaurant we have enjoyed several times. And, the menu. Sweet Jesus who is risen, there was a nutella dessert, mimosas and cheese pizza. Oh, and salmon with gnocchi, some goat cheese and pasta. Fixed price, four courses and they would take us. Yes, all 11. At a normal lunch hour time.
With a skip in our step, we made it to the restaurant and began our journey that ended three hours after it started and didn't include free mimosas or gnocchi or ricotta cake. We could get a mimosa for $5 (wasn't on the pdf menu we received). We could substitute pasta for the gnocchi. Not really the same, you know. And, since the ricotta cake ran out and it was going to take a while to make a new one, how about a tiramisu parfait with biscotti croutons and a heavy splash of coffee. Or mixed berries in a spoonful of mascarpone. Ugh. If only the mimosas weren't $5, I would have ordered and downed a few more.
Yes, we still enjoyed being there -- no dishes to wash or bathrooms to clean -- but the slow service with the 20 percent gratuity included made me think it's 'Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus' who will help us pay for this bill (Amy has a version by the way. Again, I can sing it for you.). Also, having iPhones to laugh at memes and watch videos helped. We didn't search for Amy songs, but we did find my brother-in-law's how to fix a stackable washer rotation thing-a-ma-bob. (He has 10,000 views. Come on.)
We did laugh a lot, told a few stories, included Seinfeld references as always and I even learned about baseball. It was a good family gathering. It wasn't as good as hearing an angel tell you Jesus isn't here, He is risen, but it was good. Plus, I don't know that Jesus would have sat around for three hours to eventually munch on some crunchy biscotti that should have been lady fingers when he was really hoping for a lemon ricotta cake.
(The reason there was no more cake or gnocchi? The walk ins ate it all up. Huh? What? I had a reservation. They ate my food? We paid the same price? Anyone can take a reservation. But can you hold a reservation? Seinfeld every time.)
Yes, this is definitely a first world Easter brunch problem and on the actual Easter Sunday there were some bigger issues. I mean, the Marys and Salome and some other women woke up early to hit the market, scoop up some of those spices needed to preserve the body of Jesus and got there to see He was gone. They could have thrown down those spices and wondered why did they prepare? "I could have ordered something up on Amazon Prime and had it delivered in two days." Instead, they had an encounter like none other. I mean, an angel. And, Jesus. And, they got to tell the story to the disciples. They were the messengers. Nice. Powerful. Awesome.
I did come home and write up some Easter Sunday friendly reviews in Open Table, tweeted the chef and wrote an email. G left a voice mail and I think my sister will be doing the same. We had our own message to deliver and I believe it will be heard. Will it be written up in a book that is read for 1000s of years, probably not, but it's a message.
And, then the panic set in. Would I have a fourth part on this Sunday? Without china to wash and linens to pack away, I was supposed to have time. Time with my son home from college -- who went straight to a nap. Time with my girls -- who really wanted to play with their cousin and ride their bikes. All this was quickly fading from my dreams when I remembered, I could take a break. I could put down things and papers and documents and reminders and plans to be with my girls. I sat outside and watched them ride their bikes. I read a book in a chair on my front lawn with a lovely breeze on a great spring day.
Did the Marys, Salome and the other women get to sit once the news was delivered? Did they get to be with their family . . . I mean be with them? They had experienced some crazy, busy, supernatural times in the days leading up to the 'He is not here' message. Did they get a fourth part? What did they do with the spices? Did they meal prep for the week? Did they pull out a good book. Did they laugh?
I imagine they smiled even though they were pretty scared and overwhelmed. Isn't that how real joy hits you -- overwhelming excitement that can't be contained and comes out a little loud and a bit unabashed.
Kind of like the water that rushed forth when G tested the sprinkler. Uh oh. As I sat on my front lawn, planning how to re-plant and even buy some cool vintage chairs for the front beds, the gushing water out of a broken PVC pipe reminded me I had split it in half with some aggressive dead plant removal a few weeks prior. G was pretty calm about the whole thing and just turned off the water and walked off. I suggested duct tape. He just kind of looked at me and shook his head. He went to the back yard to hand water some plants.
Do you think that was a look the women received from some? We know how the disciples reacted. But what about others who heard through the grapevine. I know Jesus was pretty explicit in how Mary Magdalene was to deliver the messages, but how could she run back to those disciples dropping spices all around and people not talk? Did they go about their business after a weekend of activity that included a couple of earthquakes and some darkness in the middle of the day? Did they think, 'well, it's another day with these Marys.' Or did they wonder, what is going to happen now? What should I be doing?
Thankfully, G will fix the pipe and we will be sprinkler ready come this summer when the burning fire hot heat of the sun wants to fry all that is green. And, we'll be able to sit outside some of the evenings enjoying our family.
But, not at a restaurant down the street from church. We'll be having cocktails that aren't $5 and desserts that come with potential of yummy stickiness dripping off a cone. No need to substitute anything. No need to pay gratuity to someone.
We'll 'Stay for Awhile' and consider ourselves 'The Lucky One(s)'.
Some of us do have the Amy Grant library on speed dial in our memory, so those who don't . . .sorry. I'm here whenever you need me. 'Everywhere I go, I hear your voice clear and loud.' I think that refers to God's voice to Amy, but you can hear my voice quite clear and quite loud if you would like.
Getting ready for Easter Sunday is involved. There are the clothes. The hair cuts. Making sure the shoes fit because you really don't want to have to buy new ones unless you really need to. The basket goodies. The egg hunt planning. The cleaning. The setting up of the table with your grandmother's china. The cooking.
Oh, wait. I opted out of that this year. I made the big statement of 'I'm not cooking this year because I just don't want to and so let's go out to eat.'
Talk about fourth parts popping up all over. No need to shop for Easter food or plan dishes! No gently asking my family to clean the bathrooms and vacuum the floors! No hand washing dishes! No ironing tablecloths and napkins!
I did have to find a restaurant that had food 11 of us would eat. We range from my parents to my seven-year-old girls. We have likes and dislikes galore. I just wanted to make sure there were mimosas with cava or prosecco or champagne . . .anything bubbly.
After a few Open Table searches, Googling and frantic phone calls, we found a familiar spot close to church. Easy. Walk out of church (singing Amy Grant versions of songs), hop in the car and drive a few miles to a restaurant we have enjoyed several times. And, the menu. Sweet Jesus who is risen, there was a nutella dessert, mimosas and cheese pizza. Oh, and salmon with gnocchi, some goat cheese and pasta. Fixed price, four courses and they would take us. Yes, all 11. At a normal lunch hour time.
With a skip in our step, we made it to the restaurant and began our journey that ended three hours after it started and didn't include free mimosas or gnocchi or ricotta cake. We could get a mimosa for $5 (wasn't on the pdf menu we received). We could substitute pasta for the gnocchi. Not really the same, you know. And, since the ricotta cake ran out and it was going to take a while to make a new one, how about a tiramisu parfait with biscotti croutons and a heavy splash of coffee. Or mixed berries in a spoonful of mascarpone. Ugh. If only the mimosas weren't $5, I would have ordered and downed a few more.
Yes, we still enjoyed being there -- no dishes to wash or bathrooms to clean -- but the slow service with the 20 percent gratuity included made me think it's 'Tis so Sweet to Trust in Jesus' who will help us pay for this bill (Amy has a version by the way. Again, I can sing it for you.). Also, having iPhones to laugh at memes and watch videos helped. We didn't search for Amy songs, but we did find my brother-in-law's how to fix a stackable washer rotation thing-a-ma-bob. (He has 10,000 views. Come on.)
We did laugh a lot, told a few stories, included Seinfeld references as always and I even learned about baseball. It was a good family gathering. It wasn't as good as hearing an angel tell you Jesus isn't here, He is risen, but it was good. Plus, I don't know that Jesus would have sat around for three hours to eventually munch on some crunchy biscotti that should have been lady fingers when he was really hoping for a lemon ricotta cake.
(The reason there was no more cake or gnocchi? The walk ins ate it all up. Huh? What? I had a reservation. They ate my food? We paid the same price? Anyone can take a reservation. But can you hold a reservation? Seinfeld every time.)
Yes, this is definitely a first world Easter brunch problem and on the actual Easter Sunday there were some bigger issues. I mean, the Marys and Salome and some other women woke up early to hit the market, scoop up some of those spices needed to preserve the body of Jesus and got there to see He was gone. They could have thrown down those spices and wondered why did they prepare? "I could have ordered something up on Amazon Prime and had it delivered in two days." Instead, they had an encounter like none other. I mean, an angel. And, Jesus. And, they got to tell the story to the disciples. They were the messengers. Nice. Powerful. Awesome.
I did come home and write up some Easter Sunday friendly reviews in Open Table, tweeted the chef and wrote an email. G left a voice mail and I think my sister will be doing the same. We had our own message to deliver and I believe it will be heard. Will it be written up in a book that is read for 1000s of years, probably not, but it's a message.
And, then the panic set in. Would I have a fourth part on this Sunday? Without china to wash and linens to pack away, I was supposed to have time. Time with my son home from college -- who went straight to a nap. Time with my girls -- who really wanted to play with their cousin and ride their bikes. All this was quickly fading from my dreams when I remembered, I could take a break. I could put down things and papers and documents and reminders and plans to be with my girls. I sat outside and watched them ride their bikes. I read a book in a chair on my front lawn with a lovely breeze on a great spring day.
Did the Marys, Salome and the other women get to sit once the news was delivered? Did they get to be with their family . . . I mean be with them? They had experienced some crazy, busy, supernatural times in the days leading up to the 'He is not here' message. Did they get a fourth part? What did they do with the spices? Did they meal prep for the week? Did they pull out a good book. Did they laugh?
I imagine they smiled even though they were pretty scared and overwhelmed. Isn't that how real joy hits you -- overwhelming excitement that can't be contained and comes out a little loud and a bit unabashed.
Kind of like the water that rushed forth when G tested the sprinkler. Uh oh. As I sat on my front lawn, planning how to re-plant and even buy some cool vintage chairs for the front beds, the gushing water out of a broken PVC pipe reminded me I had split it in half with some aggressive dead plant removal a few weeks prior. G was pretty calm about the whole thing and just turned off the water and walked off. I suggested duct tape. He just kind of looked at me and shook his head. He went to the back yard to hand water some plants.
Do you think that was a look the women received from some? We know how the disciples reacted. But what about others who heard through the grapevine. I know Jesus was pretty explicit in how Mary Magdalene was to deliver the messages, but how could she run back to those disciples dropping spices all around and people not talk? Did they go about their business after a weekend of activity that included a couple of earthquakes and some darkness in the middle of the day? Did they think, 'well, it's another day with these Marys.' Or did they wonder, what is going to happen now? What should I be doing?
Thankfully, G will fix the pipe and we will be sprinkler ready come this summer when the burning fire hot heat of the sun wants to fry all that is green. And, we'll be able to sit outside some of the evenings enjoying our family.
But, not at a restaurant down the street from church. We'll be having cocktails that aren't $5 and desserts that come with potential of yummy stickiness dripping off a cone. No need to substitute anything. No need to pay gratuity to someone.
We'll 'Stay for Awhile' and consider ourselves 'The Lucky One(s)'.
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Shoe Taps and Handstand Walks
My devotions of late have been about trusting God can meet all my needs. My job of late has been about extending trust to others and building trust. My life of late has been about trusting myself to focus on that which is most important.
Theme much?
Trust. There are countless definitions of trust but the one that rings most true for me is the noun -- 'a firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability or strength of someone or something.'
It's easy to trust God, right? I mean, He is the definition of reliability, truth, ability and strength. Yet, I continue to try and handle things on my own. Remember, our family word for 2017 was 'fix.' Because, yeah, we know best.
So, everyday I try to trust God for all things. It's a work in progress, but it is work. Is that the cross we pick up everyday? Is that the commitment we made to Him as I am on a salvation journey. I'm saved, but I'm on a journey to learn more, be more, act more . . . like a Christian.
And, speaking of journeys. I'm on one at work. And, it's all about trust. I have the trust of many . . . my role relies on individuals trusting confidences with me and that I have their best interests at heart. Yet, I continue to work at building trust with people. One of whom is now my boss. He's never seen me in my role and doesn't quite know how I do what I do.
So, everyday I work at it. It's a work in progress, but it is work. It is a commitment I've made. It's a journey to figure out how to best work with people.
Then, there's my life. The first, third and fourth parts. Learning to trust myself as a mother of a college student and twin young girls is a challenge. I've not done this before. How can I trust myself with decisions and actions?
So, everyday I work at it. It's a work in progress, but it is work. It is a commitment I've made. It's a journey to become a mom that helps and promotes and guides this gifts I've been given.
Trusting that everyone in my family is in on this journey together is somewhere I've landed and in which I've found comfort. These fourth parts are so critical to me, but I'm not the only one aiming to get them. I've got a houseful of people who want fourth parts so we all work toward that goal. Together. When the to-do list of second and third parts gets long and looks too overwhelming, I trust that we can work on a plan to get it done. Now, not everyone can get the items done -- the girls cannot drive to the tax assessor office and get G's tags -- but we can all help.
Like the time I needed new shoe taps on a pair of shoes -- remember the 'fix' word -- I looked up and realized I needed the shoes fixed by a specific day this week. This week. For an outfit I wanted to wear to a kind of important work meeting. It meant, all hands in on getting the girls ready and out the door so that I could get to the shoe repair spot in time before I needed to be at work.
Yes, for a second, I considered walking in shoes with a tap missing on the left shoe, but then thought . . .I can't trust myself to walk in a wonky shoe. Guess what -- they will be ready just in time, but it's another time where we need to all work together to help me get to the shop before getting to work.
Trust the process, trust the family.
So when it's time for a track meet and G has to work said meet, and the plans for dinner include ordering and picking up pizza, and baths are needing to happen, and my hair needs to get washed, and I scheduled writing time, and it is a beautiful evening . . . the girls can go outside. They can go outside and play. Play while I ready for the parts tomorrow. Play while I clean up the dinner table. Not only play, but practice handstand walks. Well, Camille practiced her handstand walks and 'taught' Caroline how to do a handstand walk. Caroline even said, "I trust you, Camille."
Wow. Trust the process, trust the family.
I won't be walking on my hands anytime soon, but I am committed to using my hands to write, help others and open my Bible.
I trust I can do that.
Theme much?
Trust. There are countless definitions of trust but the one that rings most true for me is the noun -- 'a firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability or strength of someone or something.'
It's easy to trust God, right? I mean, He is the definition of reliability, truth, ability and strength. Yet, I continue to try and handle things on my own. Remember, our family word for 2017 was 'fix.' Because, yeah, we know best.
So, everyday I try to trust God for all things. It's a work in progress, but it is work. Is that the cross we pick up everyday? Is that the commitment we made to Him as I am on a salvation journey. I'm saved, but I'm on a journey to learn more, be more, act more . . . like a Christian.
And, speaking of journeys. I'm on one at work. And, it's all about trust. I have the trust of many . . . my role relies on individuals trusting confidences with me and that I have their best interests at heart. Yet, I continue to work at building trust with people. One of whom is now my boss. He's never seen me in my role and doesn't quite know how I do what I do.
So, everyday I work at it. It's a work in progress, but it is work. It is a commitment I've made. It's a journey to figure out how to best work with people.
Then, there's my life. The first, third and fourth parts. Learning to trust myself as a mother of a college student and twin young girls is a challenge. I've not done this before. How can I trust myself with decisions and actions?
So, everyday I work at it. It's a work in progress, but it is work. It is a commitment I've made. It's a journey to become a mom that helps and promotes and guides this gifts I've been given.
Trusting that everyone in my family is in on this journey together is somewhere I've landed and in which I've found comfort. These fourth parts are so critical to me, but I'm not the only one aiming to get them. I've got a houseful of people who want fourth parts so we all work toward that goal. Together. When the to-do list of second and third parts gets long and looks too overwhelming, I trust that we can work on a plan to get it done. Now, not everyone can get the items done -- the girls cannot drive to the tax assessor office and get G's tags -- but we can all help.
Like the time I needed new shoe taps on a pair of shoes -- remember the 'fix' word -- I looked up and realized I needed the shoes fixed by a specific day this week. This week. For an outfit I wanted to wear to a kind of important work meeting. It meant, all hands in on getting the girls ready and out the door so that I could get to the shoe repair spot in time before I needed to be at work.
Yes, for a second, I considered walking in shoes with a tap missing on the left shoe, but then thought . . .I can't trust myself to walk in a wonky shoe. Guess what -- they will be ready just in time, but it's another time where we need to all work together to help me get to the shop before getting to work.
Trust the process, trust the family.
So when it's time for a track meet and G has to work said meet, and the plans for dinner include ordering and picking up pizza, and baths are needing to happen, and my hair needs to get washed, and I scheduled writing time, and it is a beautiful evening . . . the girls can go outside. They can go outside and play. Play while I ready for the parts tomorrow. Play while I clean up the dinner table. Not only play, but practice handstand walks. Well, Camille practiced her handstand walks and 'taught' Caroline how to do a handstand walk. Caroline even said, "I trust you, Camille."
Wow. Trust the process, trust the family.
I won't be walking on my hands anytime soon, but I am committed to using my hands to write, help others and open my Bible.
I trust I can do that.
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