I did my best to walk with God.
He told me to just shut up and listen.
I have lots of questions and one of the questions was
“How do I know it’s really you, I mean really you and not my conscience talking?”
He told me to shut up and listen.
I didn’t shut up.
I asked, “It’s true that you’re really everywhere, huh?”
He said, “Yes, it’s true.”
“Even in an ordinary fortune cookie?”
I shut up and walked.
He walked with me.
Then he answered, “Even in an ordinary fortune cookie.”
SOLSC Day 6
Are you there Judy? It’s me, Ally. And I read your popular book about the girl who talked to God. It helped me because my mom wasn’t the type who talked about what to expect in my changing body. Nana certainly didn’t help either. I got bad information from friends and embarrassing information from films at school. How I imagined a perfect puberty through your book didn’t quite happen the way you described. Hell, even Meggie from The Thorn Birds (Mom’s favorite mini-series) got advice from Father de Bricassart.
Me? Nothing. No one helped me. I had to figure stuff out on my own and this one, one of the most concrete and visible manifestations of puberty was all mine to figure out. As I muddled my way through, learning the ins and outs, I helped my two younger sisters. They didn’t read your book, but they had me to help as much as an older sister would help.
It hit again, on a much larger scale. This, with the advent of technology where information was at my fingertips, but way before the blogosphere was a thing, I became a mother. Round two, here we go again. There were books I didn’t have time to read, A Baby Story on TLC (or was it Discovery?) was the closest thing I had to pregnancy, childbirth, and the fourth trimester. My lamaze class helped a little, but it was NOTHING like going through it.
No one warned me my pre-pregnancy clothes would. Not. Fit. At. All. No one said I’d rip, or there would be stitches. Or adult diapers. No one mentioned having to take a squirt bottle full of warm water to every bathroom visit only to wish U.S. toilets were equipped with bidets. No one mentioned nursing was a whole new level of hell (shoutout to the mammas that make it work), how my body felt like mush, and how I felt that I floated outside of my body in a zombified daze for three weeks.
There were no mommy IRL Instagram accounts, no FB support groups, and my mom wasn’t up to speed on new child rearing trends like nursing in public, co-sleeping, and putting babies to sleep on their backs only because they can freakin’ die if they sleep on their stomachs. Which is exactly the only way my son would sleep. Period. Because he came out hollering at me and he rarely slept. When he did sleep, I panicked because I thought he was dead. “Sleep when the baby sleeps” was the stupidest first time mom advice I ever received.
After my daughter was born, it was a little easier because I knew what to expect and immediately decided nursing wasn’t a good fit for my personality. Dehydrated DH3 enriched powdered cow’s milk all the way, baby! This kid slept. On her stomach, because to hell with those motherhood trends. Do what works.
We parent our kids the best we can. There are milestones, family trips, and birthdays.
The birthday.
The 40th one.
Hey, Judy, I’m in ‘tweenhood again. How did Margaret handle puberty 2.0, the sequel, the second part? I know about menopause, but there’s this ‘tween stage to prep the body for it and it’s called perimenopause. God forbid women be strong enough to hit it head-on. Weight gain that does. Not. Come. Off. No matter how little you eat or how hard you exercise, it won’t budge. The kids sleep now, too much, but insomnia is the wicked little step-sibling that likes to wail at 3:00 a.m. Smothering it with a pillow doesn’t work. After those films in middle school, the teachers nonchalantly told us we’d outgrow the acne. They lied. Popping a puberty zit isn’t the same as trying to deal with that nasty hormonal stress acne that likes to hang out on my jawline.
Judy, you didn’t warn me about this one. Did Margaret stop talking to God?
SOLSC Day 5
Yesterday was hard. Not the writing kind of hard, but the I can’t stop reading all of the good posts sort of hard. The I have to go to bed now because there’s work tomorrow morning sort of hard. People keep saying such inspiring words my brain is about to pop hard. I have to come up for air. So many ideas. So many resources. So many talented and hard working (because it isn’t only talent) writers out there. Whew! I’m up for physical challenges-within reason. I’ve done some. I’ve gone through momming while teaching and managing grad school kind of challenge. But this? What is this? This is challenging too, but I have no words to name it. I’ll just ride the wave. Dang!
SOLSC Day 4
“…the people who give you their food, give you their heart.”
César Chávez
I looked at my sad little lunch today. I’m grateful to have something to eat, but it’s the time of the week where the fridge has been emptied of unsafe to eat leftovers. That, and I didn’t feel like eating chicken. Plus I was running late (again) this morning so it was one of those open the lunch bag in front of the fridge and sweep in whatever fits. I wound up with a single serve square of jalapeño jack cheese, a new package of roasted turkey breast that thankfully didn’t smell funny, a coleslaw mix with dressing, a tub of almond butter, and an apple that’s been in there for a week.
I miss lunches that aren’t spent solo in my office with a webinar running on my computer and I especially miss the lunches with my colleagues at my former campus. That’s where we collaborated, vent our frustrations, laughed until we needed antacid, burned popcorn, and pretty much had a buffet every day.
Some of us, moms with young children, wound up with a snack pack of Goldfish crackers, applesauce, a juice box, and a half empty pack of fruit snacks from a diaper bag or from underneath the seat of the car. Exhausted teacher moms, we often ran out of time to pack something decent for ourselves. Our lunch time became sacred because the teacher moms with older kids brought leftovers. Some were empty nesters who cooked too much, some had events over the weekend like engagement parties for an adult child or get togethers with their high school kids’ sports teams. It never failed, when we had our baby lunches, someone always came through with plenty of food.
Then there’s Liz, who introduced me to Asian fusion, the best steak, roasted Brussels sprouts, and countless other menu items from restaurants I’d never visit with two kids in tow. Every time I had a sad little lunch, Liz showed up with takeout bags and containers from fancy restaurants. Some days I cried happy tears because I was so hungry (sad little lunches usually accompany non-existent breakfasts) and we cheered as if we’d landed a rover on Mars.
Conversations centered around cupcakes, parenting, play-by-play Game of Thrones commentaries, good music, bad music, discussing an impromptu happy hour, a recap on emails we accidentally or purposely deleted, who was first to finish all of the STAAR training modules, vacation suggestions…
We ate until students started showing up, peeking in to see what they missed. “Is that burned popcorn? I smell burned popcorn! Do you smell burned popcorn?”
“Come on in, kiddo. How was that blue slushie you had with your lunch?”
I think we’re spending too many movie nights together. Over the years, I stopped watching TV in favor of trying to finish reading social media posts. That’s how I read them, as if I’ll get to the end. When I get tired of that, I read books, magazines, junk mail. A few years ago, after my oldest started watching Stranger Things, I started watching it with him. I promised the youngest could start watching it after turning eleven this past June.
Enter Disney Plus. We got a free trial, the Mandalorian sucked us in, and we’ve had it ever since. And then quarantine started. The kids suggested we have family movie nights every Friday night. Usually, I fall asleep halfway through any movie, so they wouldn’t invite me often. The kids wanted me to watch The Mandalorian with them from the beginning, but the way it was done “a long time ago” with one episode per week. I think they expected me to binge-watch. I reminded them I’m a product of the 80s, not only with the stamina to wait an entire week before the next show, but with the ability to watch commercials in between. So we got started, one show per week.
We finished the series. S. suggested we watch all of the Harry Potter movies since she was reading the books. The next eight weeks we lived and breathed Harry Potter. During the day, S. read aloud to me using her best British accent. Friday nights, they got junk food from the QT mart (without me rolling my eyes) and we watched the next movie in the queue.
The eleventh birthday arrived. That evening, even though it wasn’t a Friday, we started Stranger Things. We watched all three seasons and I enjoyed our weekly evening family flick dates. School started soon after so we chose a different movie every Friday after dinner. Without our “assigned” watching schedule, there was mutiny. Some movies we couldn’t watch because S. is eleven. I had to explain to the hubster, several times, why it wasn’t okay for her to watch Forrest Gump. “But it’s a great movie!” he exclaimed.
He started watched it on his own and realized it wasn’t appropriate. Eventually we argued about who should choose the movie. We argued about the bore factor, fun factor, lame factor, and sometimes the rating factor. By the time we settled on something, all the snacks were gone, everyone was exhausted, and yes, I fell asleep halfway through. Old times.
We agreed to each choose five family friendly movies and write them on slips of paper. One slip comes out every Friday night and no one can complain about it. The slips went into a jar. S cheated. All of her movie choices were folded in half. The others were not. The first movie selected was hers. Busted!
I dumped out all the slips, turned my computer on, and pulled up the handy dandy Wheel of Names. I entered all of the movies and took it for a spin. Done and done. No complaining. No cheating. The wheel chooses for us. I should’ve done my homework on my list. The Social Network isn’t appropriate for an eleven year old. And then we had to figure out what to do in case of a dud.
Sigh…it would be nice to argue over a family friendly movie to watch at a real movie theater.
who invites you somewhere new, adventurous? you think about going and you check it out a few times You think, yes, maybe this will work Introductions are made smiles exchanged still wary but you feel content like the essence of who you are is understood You keep going on your own here and there testing it out meeting other people awakening out of your otherness You start chatting and discover some have real friend potential, outside of this space I'd love to hang out in person sort of potential, the oh my goodness, THANK YOU SO MUCH potential It's one thing to fit in, It's a whole other level of living to belong
And joined another challenge. I know, I know, I wrote about how I would join my own no challenge challenge, yet here I am. This one isn’t yoga, although I did print out a March calendar from Yoga with Adriene. It isn’t a happiness challenge. I didn’t sign up for a half marathon this year, but it might be similar in (intellectual) intensity. It’s not a Whole 30/paleo/vegan/vegetarian deprive yourself of something good challenge, and just so you know, that has never been on my radar. It’s not a drink eight glasses of water every day challenge, or no spend, or meatless Monday or exercise every day either.
This one is doing something I like. It’s a write a slice of my life sort of story. A glimmer of my day zoomed in type of story. It can be a paragraph, a poem, a sentence. Or two. Every day for the month of March. Ironically, and without knowing, I posted about not joining or agreeing to more challenges a few weeks back. On the exact day the SOLSC information was posted (insert face plant emoji here). If you want to check that one out, it’s from a few weeks back: No More Challenges Challenge.
Isn’t it funny how God, the Universe, synchronicity, Creativity-call it what you want-toys with you? I laughed! And I almost didn’t post that day for fear coming across as negative. AND, I’m a late night poster, so there was that, thankfully. I didn’t want it taken down, but after having dipped my toe in this community, I don’t think that would’ve happened anyway.
Here I am, joining another challenge. What’s different this time? I did’t jump in right away. I seriously thought about it. I read all of the information countless times. Watched the video for first timers. Considered the time commitment. However, I’m already writing three pages in my journal every morning. I’m on year two, week twenty one (cheers!) I started while working through Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, one of THE books on unblocking creativity. Of course, there were days I skipped or days where I wrote in the afternoon or at night. Some days it was less than three pages, but I figure if I can write three pages every morning, then I can do this.
My challenge will be looking for a glimmer of a story to play with, which shouldn’t be too hard, I mean look at the snippets I post on social media. Instead of posting on Instagram or Facebook, I can take that potential post and use that for my topic, my story. And I get to flesh it out. If I’ve been using social media, this is do-able. Until I get stuck, and I know I will, so I’m prepping for it. I know it won’t be easy.
Here I am, Creativity. I’m ready for a month long play date.
The sun came out to see what it missed Plunking water from a detached rain gutter Plunk, plunk-plunk, plunk, plunk-plunk Kids back at the park laugh and carry on as if the freeze was only a dream A Mini Cooper Car club member back at work on a rebuild in the garage, a can of Bud Light sits on its primed hood it too, awaits a coat of paint Two chihuahuas yip against me from across the street their owner grumbles at them to quiet down Normalcy hums, whatever that means, zipping through neighborhood streets. No rush hour zoom, but slow casual zips scope out damage you can't see on neighborhood streets except for tree limbs piled curbside. Damage runs deep in burst pipes empty grocery store shelves people boiling water to drink. Shovels scrape, scrape, scraaape against concrete driveways saws groan at broken tree limbs trying to hang on. The last of the slush sloshes underneath my stride evidence of snow and ice evaporates One side of the sidewalk looks more like a post springtime rain shower, the opposite proves otherwise. Back outside after a week, grateful it wasn't worse when it was for so many others. A dry leaf gently cartwheels in front of me as if saying "I've come back out to play!" Along with the rest of us, picking up where we left off.
It’s so cold…
I moved here to get away from the cold. I grew up in the Texas Panhandle. Plain. Windy, oh so windy. Tornado season turned my stomach in knots. A clear, spring morning turned into a dusty gale by noon where I’d spit dirt out of my teeth on the walk home from school. It wasn’t a two mile walk, but it could’ve been in that wind. Summers were hot and dry and winters were so cold. It never failed that I’d slip on the ice as I stepped out of Papa’s pickup holding onto the handle for dear life while my feet slipped out from under me. I’d gingerly step to the curb, get to the cleared off, salted sidewalk, and make it in to school, finding that one last patch of ice that curled its mean fingers under my heel to tease me.
Decades later, I’m praying our power doesn’t go out, thankful for the heat and legitimate snow days. Central Texas doesn’t get much snow. We had a snow day last month, one of those dustings of snow that resemble a poweered sugar coating. We can’t drive in icy weather around here, so I relished the day off. None of this virtual stuff either. The kids went out and played. I went out for a bit, but I’m so over the snow. I’m glad I didn’t have to go anywhere. My family laughs at our snow days. They keep on with business as usual, unlike those of us down here. But hey, a snow day is a snow day.
We get a few days of cold weather where we have to wear a heavy coat in the morning and at the end of the day. Last Thursday was one of those days. Except that the rain started turning into ice late that afternoon. Broken tree limbs blocked some lanes in the neighborhoods I drove through to get home. Two chunks from two different trees came down in the backyard with two coming down from trees in the front. Along our street, tree limbs hung over the curb as if someone had gone on a tree pruning spree, icicles still coating the leaves. I had a massage scheduled for Saturday and thankfully, it was only cold and the roads were clear. Until Sunday. Temperatures were down, the lowest I’ve experienced them here. Yesterday, there was snow. And power has been out all over the state.
Snow is nice to look at, but I never liked the cold weather. Didn’t ever like sliding on the ice underfoot. Snow sneaking into my gloves or coat sleeves annoyed me. Stepping on melted snow in my socks still makes me cringe. It’s pretty, but not fun. I have no desire to try snow skiing. Maybe it’s because I was born in summer. Maybe it’s because I don’t like messing with layers of clothes. Maybe it’s just uncomfortable. Snow is not my favorite thing. But a snow day or two? That’s a whole different story.
It’s so easy to click a button, enter my email address and sign up for another challenge. Then they pile up on me. Something sabotages any progress I make (ahem, me!) and then my plans get derailed and it’s hard to jump back in. Because I have too many train tracks in front of me. I don’t know which one is the right track, off track, on or off a beaten path, or flat out hitting a dead end.
Planner challenge. Yoga challenge. Scripture reading. Prayer pledge. Drink half your weight in ounces-of water-per day. Run the year in miles. Exercise every day. No spending for a week. Read a (picture) book a day. Read a book a week. Sugar. No sugar. Fasting-but did I sign up for the 12, 14, or 16 hours? What the heck, put some cream in that coffee and just give me a cinnamon roll already! Oh, but didn’t I sign up for the no-carbs challenge or was that last month because it’s already February and I might have put that one on my list, but I messed up two days in when El Panadero, pulled out a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies and the kids insisted on homemade pizza for dinner. On the same day. And I didn’t eat a salad.
Walk every day challenge. Then we get the random once every 12 years legit snow day and I’m a cold weather wimp, so I don’t think I walked farther than the length of the couch that day. Dry January. But there was that snow day and I added a little brandy to my Mexican hot chocolate. And the one day I bought the cute little “single” serve bottles of Prosecco.
Well, at least I’m doing well with my planner. Until the third week of the month when I had a wacky week that was busier than the whole month put together and I just left a bunch of blank calendar squares. Do I go back and fill them in? But WHY? Seriously!
Okay, well, there’s the Morning Pages. And those were going really well until, surprisingly, AFTER we had to start working on campus again. My usual commute became my time to get some writing in before logging in to work from home. I have, for the most part, kept those up. Three pages of random nonsense to help me make sense of things first thing in the morning. I’m on year 2, week 17. Sure, I’ve skipped some days here and there, but out of all of the challenges so far, this one I’ve managed to tame.
What else did I sign up for? Something on Shut Up and Write! I missed, already, the prompt for the day and the first day isn’t quite over yet. But it’s also day 1 of the February Yoga with Adriene calendar. I completed up to day 22 or so of the January “challenge” until, once again, life just caught up to me. Which is a good thing. I’m getting better about letting things go and a teensy bit better about thinking twice before I sign up for something else. That’s the easy part. Showing up is the hardest. Unless you count the mindless trigger fingers entering my email address. Anyone want to join a “No Challenge Challenge?”
Nerds Beget Nerds 