Make the Bad Man Stop Rhyming

A month or so ago, BG started wanting to rhyme words. I'm not entirely sure where the desire came from, but I'd like to have a sit down with who or whatever planted the idea. And when we sit down, I have a bill for half of my recent therapy session BECAUSE IT'S DRIVING ME LOONEY! Here's how the conversation goes:

BG: Mom! TREE and TURTLE....rhyyyyyme!

Pause - The emphasis and pauses are important. Don't read it wrong or you won't get the full effect. And by effect, I mean headache.

Me: No, tree and turtle begin with the same letter. Rhyming words END with the same sound. Tree and SEE rhyme!

BG: Mom! Tree.....and seeK...rhyyyyme!

Me: That's closer, but the ending sound isn't quite the same. Great try!

BG: Mom!

Pause - Always with the "MOM!" 1) I'm right here. Haven't moved. No need to shout. 2) Still my name. We don't have to introduce ourselves each time. 3) I'M THE ONLY ONE IN THE CAR!

BG: Mom! Tree and tree....rhyyyyyme!

Me: That's the same sound, very good. But it's same word. Let's play a different game. How about "I Spy?"

Pause - I Spy is one of my least favorite things in the world, but you have to pick your battles. Right now, I pick anything but rhyming.

BG: Mom! BUMP...and BOP...rhyyyyme!

Me: Another great try! Let's sing a song!

BG: Great idea! You are my sunshine, my only sunshine... Mom! Sunshine and....Lunshine....rhyyyyme!

Pause - This is the point at which David suggests I stop responding, correcting or acknowledging. He, however, is not named "Mom" and doesn't know that the sound of "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom..." can not only go on for hours but is the #1 cause of drinking in this country. (Ok, maybe not, but it COULD be!)

ME: (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10...)

BG: Mom! Mom! Mama! Mama...

Me: Brynna...

BG: Mom! Sunshine and....Lunshine....rhyyyyme!

Me: Baby, Lunshine is not a word.

BG: Mom! Baby...and BARbies...rhyyyyme!

Close enough...


PS - I must acknowledge that she's almost mastered it at this point. I have no hair left and a twitch in my left eye, but by golly WE CAN RHYME!

The Simple Life

I've lived an amazing contrast the last few months. I went from the zealous pace of Washington, DC to the steady gait of Houston, TX. Houston is not a small place. It's the 8th largest city in the world by land area and the 4th largest US city by population - both of which are glaringly obvious around 5:30pm on any given highway. It's a not a slow place. Based on population and jobs, it's the 2nd fastest growing city in America. It is, however, a more simple place.

That word has such a negative connotation. To call something simple is to suggest that it's easy. There's an assumption that simple things are lesser, somehow. And I will be the first to admit that, like so many of us, I'm guilty of believing that. But having lived on both sides of the fence, I can say with conviction that CHOOSING to be simple in a world intent on making everything complicated is a hard decision to make. And it's just that. It's a decision.

It's a decision to slow down. We rush everything. We rush everyone. We rush everywhere. Why are we hurrying?! If you are really, really honest, is there anything you rushed to do yesterday that would have turned out drastically different if you had done it 10 minutes later? I'm not talking about emergencies or hard deadlines. I'm talking about traffic. I'm talking about the line at Starbucks or the grocery. I'm talking about the conversation you cut short or the art project you breezed past while unloading a backpack. (That was for me.) Slowing down means seeing what you normally miss - sunsets, smiles, sadness... It's easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle. It's a decision to go against the flow (pun intended) to choose a more simple life.

It's a decision to unplug. So I don't know where my high school "friend" who I compared myself to then in the hall and now on Facebook went for vacation. So I'm not the first to comment. So the world doesn't know what I had for lunch. We are a generation obsessed with KNOWING but not DOING. We want to know everything about everyone. We want their opinion before we cast our own. We wait for validation from a world of people we don't know, ignoring those standing next to us. Yet with all that knowing, we rarely DO. We are too busy reading and commenting about it to get involved. When was the last time you had a conversation in a waiting room? I've made a vow not to look at my phone while waiting. It's HARD. No one wants to talk to you because they are all staring at a screens that don't talk back. Choosing to unplug is choosing to be different. It's choosing to be uncomfortable and that takes guts.

It's a decision to show love. Love is simple; we make it complicated. I'm not talking about preaching religion. You don't have to change to be loved nor is it our job to change anyone. Love meets you where you are. I'm not talking about tolerance. Love has boundaries because if it didn't, it wouldn't be strong enough to trust. I'm talking about a decision to simply show love. No matter what you think of someone, regardless if you agree. Whether you get something in return or not. I'm talking about showing love to people you like and those you don't even know. I'm talking about showing love when it's convenient and when you don't want to. I'm talking about showing love. Period. The end. It's that simple. But it's not easy to make that simple choice.

I'm not suggesting that all of Houston or Texas or the region live a simple life. I'm not suggesting any of us do. But I want to start choosing what's simple over what's easy.

The Beginning I Hope She Remembers

They say what kids grasp in the beginning is what they will remember later.

They say what she believes about herself in the beginning is what will shape her decisions.

They say that what you put in in the beginning is what will come out in the end.

I hope this Beginning is what she grasps and where her decisions are rooted.

I pray this Beginning is what comes out in the end.

to answer your question...no, can't stand still to save her life! :o)

Curly Qs and Crazy Hair

I feel like my life is a curly Q. I see some people's lives and get so jealous. While they went from A to B to C to D, I went from B back to A to D back to C... I am slightly obsessive compulsive, so I want my life line to be neat and orderly rather than an endless spiral. Don't get me wrong. I'm moving in the right direction. I'm just apparently as fond of loop-de-loops in life as I am on roller coasters. One of my loops was documented a few weeks ago when I talked about my hair. Tempted for most of my life to cut or style my hair based on what I thought I was supposed to do, there's a new freedom in having hair that I love regardless of what anyone else thinks about it. Took a lot of years and a very drastic faux hawk, but I made it! And this week God gave me a new perspective on all those curly Qs of life.

Yesterday was Crazy Hair Day at Brynna's school. I know this now. I did not know this Monday morning as I meticulously braided BG's hair. My first clue was the little girl we walked in behind whose entire head was painted pink. My next 3 clues were teachers with spiked pig tails, messy heads and long, orange extensions. (I know. I'm quick on the uptake.) I looked around and felt that drop in the stomach. I thought of all the times I felt left out as a kid - all the times I wanted to be like everyone else. My mistake was going to result in BG feeling sad and that's enough to hurt any mom's heart.

I looked at the mom next to me and said "So I missed that it's Crazy Hair Day?" She confirmed and then quickly came to the rescue. She said she had extra in the car and asked if Brynna wanted to put green glitter spray in her hair like Andrew. Oh my gosh, relief! I wanted to kiss her. Right there in the Methodist Church lobby. But then came another kind of relief. Brynna looked up at me like I wasn't quite getting it. (And really? Can we blame her?) She said, "No thank you. I like my hair just like it is." I explained that she may be the only one without funny hair, expecting her to respond with the desire to fit in. Instead, she said again, "No. My hair looks good like this."

Something it took me years to learn, she has mastered before Kindergarten. And today as I thought about it again, I realized that all my curly Qs are worth it if her path is straighter. If my fumbling results in her having a more level road to travel, it makes it feel a little more ok.

A little. I'm still a recovering perfectionist.
And we are right on top of Hat Day tomorrow, make no mistake about that!

On the way into preschool...

Miles held his head out the window the entire ride and as I have so many times before, I thought, "I wonder if it would make me just as happy to close my eyes, stick my head out and just let my tongue flap in the wind." I think it might. Who wants to drive?

I want a stop sign. As you enter Brynna's school, there's a lobby area and then it branches off to two hallways. If you arrive before 9:30, there's a stop sign standing in the hall to block anyone but staff from going to the classrooms. According to the parent handbook, "This allows the teachers time to prepare the room and be ready for a day of fun with their little ones." Can you imagine?! I'm getting one for the door to my office. And my bedroom. And my bathroom. I bet there are stop signs in Heaven. It sounds heavenly.

As we waited in the lobby, another mom and I exchanged small talk while BG and Andrew, who know each other well, hid behind our legs like the other had the plague. Catherine looked down and said, "I don't intend to be mean, but sometimes I just have to require that my husband sit on another couch." She continued to explain that she feels like someone is touching her all day long. She said "After all day of climbing, hanging, holding, pulling, pushing...I just don't want anyone to touch me. Literally. For any reason." I'm not mad at her.

Don't. Drink. The. Water. Don't loiter too long. Don't breathe too heavily. There is something going on and I don't intend to find out what. The number of pregnant bellies per capita is WAY higher than I prefer.

Everyone doesn't kiss. I've noticed that everyone doesn't even say "I love you" before saying goodbye. Tell them you love them, please. They need to know that way more than they need to learn the letter "L". On the same note, BG is not one of those people. She is so pro-kissing that we have to hold seminars on who it's appropriate to kiss. She will hold up the whole preschool machine, standing in the middle of the hall with her lips puckered until I bend down to kiss her goodbye. And I don't mind at all.

...and neither does her Aunt Vikki  :)

Because It Matters So Much

I don't remember what struggle was plaguing me at the time.  I don't remember what area of my life was out of balance or in need.  It was years ago but I remember it was pretty outside so we ate on the patio at Chuy's (for my friends outside of Texas, that's Spanish for "yum.").  I remember her words like it was yesterday.  I have heard them over and again in my mind so many times since.  Janay said, "I think you need to prepare yourself.  You have shown God that you will use the struggles you face to bring Him glory.  You will tell people your stories, so be ready to face more tough times.  There are girls who need to hear how you overcame them."

It was asked of me yesterday why I need to blog or tweet when I have a bad day. It was suggested that it would be better to vent my feelings quietly and only say publicly what's light-hearted and fun or when showing gratitude. Now, let me be clear. I don't say everything I think on the internet. I also don't say everything out loud. Neither are appropriate, safe or necessary. (This is a lesson BG and I are still working on, which you know if you've ever had the displeasure of being next to us in a bathroom stall.)

While I don't say everything, I do say some things. I say when it hurts because some days it does. I say when it's ugly and it stinks because life with kids is messy and dirty and...well, let's be honest...they smell. I say those things and I think often of that day at Chuy's. I want you to know that when you think you've reached the point of exhaustion and you're a bad mom because you put your kid in her room or in front of the TV because you need a few minutes to find your sanity (literally FIND it - because it's lost under a pile of legos), you are not alone. Your feelings don't make you crazy. You are absolutely not a bad mom. You're a mom. And that's no easy task.

I've had some abnormally bad days, and each time I get to the other side, I know this - there's a bigger reason for the struggle.  I've also had some great days, and I promise to shout it from the rooftops even louder on those days. If you get a little better picture of who God is, I will keep telling you my stories both when they are funny and when they aren't

I listened to a pastor last night explain why he teaches. He said "I don't want people to listen to me because of my ego. I want them to listen because what I have to say matters so much." God loves you, sister. He loves you on the good days and the bad days. He loves you when you feel alone. He loves you when you think no one else has ever felt the way you do. He loves you more than you love your kids - and that's a love bigger than a mom can understand. I don't want you to listen to my stories because of my ego. I want you listen because knowing that matters so much.

Just Call Me Yogi

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm the most inflexible human on earth. You're thinking I breathe heavy going up the stairs so this is probably not going to end well. You're probably thinking my competitive streak is not going to bode well in this environment. You would be right on all accounts.

First, let me just say that I totally look the part. Yoga capri pants, check. Flavour "Keep Calm" tank, check. I even washed my face (what's that you say?!?!) and reapplied mascara. Step 1: Look like you know what you're doing. Done.

Step 2: Actually know what's happening. Not so much.

I went to yoga once with a friend years ago. Keyword - ONCE. I can do about anything for 60 minutes. I even did a headstand. For non-yoga speakers, that's impressive. The teacher said so. And, of course, I said so every time I told the story. What I didn't know is that you can't actually force your way through yoga or you end up with severe pain the next day because you put pressure on your neck (wrong) instead of your arms. Needless to say, I was slightly terrified to try again. The thing is, I have to. It's stretch and strengthen my neck and spine with yoga or go to the chiropractor 3+ times a week just to function without headaches. Yoga, here I come. I can do anything for 60 minutes, right?

Today was my second class. Last week went fairly well. I learned that it matters when and how you breathe. I also learned that yes, I am in fact, the most inflexible human on earth. Today, I learned that in addition to being inflexible I get dizzy at the mere mention of putting my head between my legs. Awesome. We are off to a great start. But I kept going. I was determined to go as slow as need be and actually hold the poses correctly instead of taking my normal "bull in a china shop" approach. Plus, the guy next to me was breathing WAY worse than me and he had to use a block when I could touch my knee. And we all know...if I'm better than 1) the person next to me and 2) a boy...I'm golden!

So the trouble came about halfway through. The sweet instructor's name is Grace. Isn't that nice? Sweet Grace, however, talks some nonsense. We start with breathing and some slower stretches. Then my hamstrings start audibly screaming at me. Then my hips join in the fun and pretty soon I think the lower half of my body might abandon ship. Then Grace says "THAT WAS THE WARMUP." She starts talking about how we've warmed the body and increased blood flow and all I hear is "blah, blah, blahdy blah."

If only I'd quit while I wasn't ahead.

We then move into poses that we hold longer. What I felt was scorching pain. What I heard was something about dogs being up and down, lizard poses, chaturanga (seriously. that's a thing) and something about warriors. Just as I thought I might actually pass out, I felt something tickle my chest. I brush a hand across my chest only to realize that sweat is LITERALLY pouring off of me. Apparently being so aware of your breathing translates to not realizing your head is WET! Some people sweat easily. Some of us both don't sweat easily and don't engage in activities that would result in sweating. So imagine my surprise when the next chaturanga my hand slips because...oh, you guessed it...the mat is wet, too! Yes, kids, that's right. I almost fell on my face because the profuse sweat from my beet red head and face had puddled beneath me.

Two lessons were learned here today:
1. Yoga is not for punks
2. That instruction to bring a towel was serious

Just. Stop.

Have you ever reached that point in the day when you just want it to stop? Just. Stop. The whining, the crying, the overdramatic reactions. Some days I do better than others. Today, I just want quiet. Do I want to fry my kid's brain with television? No. But if it's the alternative, do I want to fry my kid because I've gone OUTSIDE OF MY HEAD? Also probably a no.

But Regina, you say, it's a school day. Didn't you get a few hours to yourself to recharge? It shouldn't be that bad. Here's the thing. 1) Coulda Shoulda Whateva. 2) No, I didn't get a few hours to recharge. I got a few hours to do laundry and meet with my therapist. (If a question still arises as to why that's necessary, you may want to work on reading comprehension.) 3) I think it's harder the days she goes to school. The days she's home all day, I'm in game mode. I'm focused. We WILL survive this day or I'll die trying. The days my brain gets a break, I don't pick her up thinking "It's a beautiful day and I missed you so much that everything you do is cute." I pick her up thinking "Who turned the clock forward? Why is the break over? AND WHY, FOR THE LOVE, ARE YOU SCREAMING?"

She's currently laying across my feet writing on each page of an entire stack of post-its. Normally, this would be cause for a lesson on not wasting. At the moment, it's an exercise in how long I can sit in the same position without moving a single muscle. I don't care that there's a fort in my living room and a sink full of dishes that will all have to be picked up. I care that no one move or make a sound.

The Best Mom You Are

I passed a mom today leaving Brynna's school and she told me that she always feels underdressed when she sees me. She said she wished she could put on real clothes and makeup but never seems to have the time. The funny thing is, I always feel so ill-prepared when I'm around her. I forgot to send a baby picture with the "All About Me" bag yet her kid had a fully decorated bag complete with stickers and glitter. (I bet she got the idea on Pinterest.)

I don't pin. The most I've seen of pinterest is when Hope sends me funny sayings or people post never-ending recipes and craft ideas on facebook.

I also don't craft. There was a time that I thought I was crafty, but then I met actual crafty people. I can handle a paintbrush but I don't enjoy it. And it's messy. Artistic people have an ability to let themselves go that I just don't possess.  All I can think is "who's going to clean this up?" And of course, the answer is me, so I opt for the Target version of whatever crafty item I was going to attempt to make.

In addition, I don't do loud. I was a loud person when I was younger, and I enjoy blasting a song in the car like any self-respecting girl. But I can't handle "kid loud." My sister's family stayed at our house a few weeks ago, and as always when we are together, I was overtly aware of our differences. Vikki has the uncanny ability to tune out the piercing screeches of small children - probably because she's usually the one tickling or chasing them into hysteria. I do not possess this ability. In fact, I think I hear them even louder than they actually are. My head feels like there's a fire engine parked in the middle of the living room with lights and siren blaring. How do you not hear that?!

I don't do play dates. I love to get Brynna together with other kids to play. Lord knows I love them for expelling some of that energy. But I don't do the rest of it. It doesn't cross my mind to provide kid-friendly snacks and have a game ready for them to play.

Let's don't even mention homeschool. I break out in hives at the thought.

We spend so much time thinking about the things another mom can do that we can't (or choose not to). But here's the thing: Brynna doesn't know what pinterest is. She doesn't need me to be crafty. She needs me to hold her when she's scared and teach her that she's loved no matter what. And no one can do that better than me because no one but Jesus loves her more than me.

The best mom you can be is the mom you are. If you craft, make that baby the best wall-hanging a nursery has ever seen. But if that's not you, don't stress. Go to Target. If you are like my sister and could manufacture a play date out of thin air in the middle of a crowded mall, then please do. And invite us. If you come to my house we'll all just be disappointed.

Shock and Awe

Monday morning I was standing in my bathroom when Brynna came running in from the living room yelling "potty! potty!" I still don't understand why we have to announce it to the world or wait until it's such an emergency it must be announced to the world. Either way, I pointed to the toilet and turned back to what I was doing. A few seconds later, BG asked (while still sitting on the toilet), "Mom, where are my sparkles?" I turned to find her flicking her wrist, palm up at the wall. With a 4-year-old, you just never know what you're walking into, so I cautiously asked "What sparkles?" Continuing to flick her right arm and adding her left, she said, "My super powers. I do this (another flick) and when the magic comes out, it sparkles. Why isn't it sparkling?" I explained that I think she had a dream about super powers and she will have to wait until she sleeps again for her imagination to make the powers. She gave her wrist one last flick before she got off the toilet and left the bathroom with a thoughtful look on her face as if she were trying to determine if I knew what I was talking about.

Tuesday morning while eating breakfast, Brynna said quietly, "Mom, my powers didn't come back when I was sleeping." I told her that sometimes we don't have the same dream again but one night when she's sleeping peacefully, she will have another fun adventure in her dreams.

Today (Wednesday) is a day not so hopeful for those of us over the age of 12. We remember where we were and what we were doing the day the buildings crashed down. I remember sitting on the floor of our first apartment and watching helplessly as the second plane flew into the south tower. I remember seeing what at first we thought was debris falling from the buildings only to learn it was people. I flicked my wrist and thought surely it wasn't as bad as it seemed. I flicked the other arm confident that the sparkles would return. They were there a moment ago. That day 12 years ago defines a change in the lives of so many and of our nation. We woke up to a reality we didn't want to accept.

I don't have a curt platitude that will erase the memories or pain of that day. No one does. But I know that today, 2 days (which in kid time feels like 6 years) after BG's dream about super powers she came downstairs and stood by my bed. She thought for a moment and then said, "Mom, my super powers didn't come back again last night." Then her face lit up and she said, "But maybe tonight I'll have sparkles." At 4 you have an ability to bounce back that we lose as adults. But I wonder if we could take a lesson from them. I wonder if we could let ourselves be in such awe that we hope for a tomorrow that has magic sparkles and super powers even when we can't see them in front of us.

To REMEMBER is not to relive the pain but to let the memory help us LIVE.

So today I hope you REMEMBER to honor the past. I hope you LIVE in the present. And I hope you DREAM for the future.

Wake Up

It doesn't happen often, but it does happen. I wake from sleep with a thought so prevalently on my heart that I know God woke me up to pray. Today I didn't just wake with a thought; I woke with a sadness. An almost broken-heartedness. Forgive me for veering from my regularly scheduled programming of humorous and airy stories, Mama, but I have to ask you to join me. I need you (all of us) to wake up. More importantly, our kids do.

I have read twice in a week now the same general sentiment. One was in a newsletter sent home by Brynna's school. It said A person's moral foundation is generally in place b age 9. Fundamental perspectives on truth, integrity, meaning, justice, morality and ethics are formed quite early in life. After age 9, most people simply refine their view as they age without a wholesale change in those learnings. It went on to add that researchers have noted that generally speaking, what you believe by the time you are 13 is what you will die believing. The other instance was in a completely unrelated source. I'm reading a fiction book that has nothing to do with belief necessarily. One line has played over in my mind for days. One of the things I have come to know most surely...is that the belief system acquired in childhood is never fully escaped; it may submerge itself for a while, but it always returns in times of need to lay claim to the soul it shaped. 

I am the first person to admit that the work of a mom is hard. It's exhausting. It seems that whether you stay at home, work full-time or something in the middle, you spend more time wishing for a break than any other time in life. As moms we always feel we are dropping the ball somewhere. Something isn't getting the attention it needs. 

I'm asking you. I'm begging all of us to Wake Up. Don't let the thing that falls through the cracks be the beliefs of your babies. That's what they are. They're babies. Regardless of their age, they need you to show them how to view the world, other people and themselves. I know it's easy to say "this is only a season" and "I'll pay more attention when I get through _____." It's tempting to put off until tomorrow the discipline she needs because you worked all day and you don't want to feel like the bad guy. It's sometimes easier to ignore than address. It feels like it's better to "keep the peace" than push the issue. 

Wake Up, Mama! That's not peace; it's a ticking time bomb. It may be easier for you today but it's ensuring it will be harder for them tomorrow. I know it feels overwhelming, but every decision you make today affects who they are tomorrow. Every time you put aside their needs, you are teaching them something about their value. Every time you raise your voice, they are learning how to respond in hard situations. Every time you ignore, they learn to do the same. They are watching and listening and taking notes ALL THE TIME. And each time it's shaping a little bit about what they believe.

I walk in the same trenches of motherhood you do. I would never presume to know your kids more than you or suggest you aren't good enough. You are exactly the mom your kids need. God entrusted them to you. Your hugs will always wrap around their hurt better than anyone else in the world. Your kisses are what their boo-boos long for. That's why I say it. Wake Up, Mama. It's not an excuse to feel like you aren't doing enough. It's not a put down or suggestion that you should be perfect at all times. It's a plea to do the most important thing first. If her hair isn't combed or you get to work with mismatched shoes, you'll live. Been there. Done that. No one died. But if you overlook how scared she is or don't take the time to listen to how she feels, you missed it! She doesn't understand deadlines, history, or politics. But she hears how you speak. She sees when you say you believe one thing but act differently. She's in the car to hear your music and at home to see your behavior that's hidden from everyone else. Kids are the clearest mirrors to a mother's soul. What's reflecting back, mama? 

You aren't perfect. Your kids aren't perfect. Help them understand that they are not the sum of their situation. Jesus died so they aren't bound by their mistakes. He did exactly the same for you. If they don't believe there is a God and He's bigger than what they face, what do they believe? If they don't know that life goes beyond our short years on earth, what do they think happens when they die? If you don't teach them, who will? And what will they learn? 

Wake Up, Mama. There is more to this day than the things on your to do list. The choices you make today will outlive you. Your kids and their kids and their kids will carry their effects long after you're gone. 

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If you don't know what you believe, send me a message. Or grab a cup of coffee (or Dr. Pepper) and watch this.

Simmer Down

When you stay at home, there is one day that stands out above all the other days. It's The Day. The day you dreamed about all summer. They day you pictured in your mind. They day you put off all the stuff you need to get done because it can get done after That Day. The first day of school is like Christmas come early!

Of course, as usual, I packed way more plans into my glorious day than could ever be accomplished in a week, let alone the length of a PreK school day. But I'm always up for a challenge, so after taking the necessary first day pics, playing Emergency Dr. Mom to a water bottle and dropping BG at school, I was off. I was early for my dentist appointment and right on time for my lunch meeting. As Jana and I stood in line at La Madeline, we soon realized that we weren't moving as quickly as the line usually progresses. In fact, we weren't moving at all. Jana had another meeting after ours, and I'm married to David Johnston, so paying for extra minutes at school because I didn't get there on time is a NO GO. We made a glance across the parking lot to see if another restaurant might be an option, but decided against it. I then did a scan of the La Madeline staff and just as I was about to comment on the inefficiency, a man walked down the line to apologize, explaining that their computer system was down. We chatted a bit more and finally made it to the end of the line where we saw the two people behind the register manually figuring the cost of each item. They did the same when a customer paid cash and wrote down a credit card number for others. My point: it was a SLOOOOOW process. As they calculated the amount and change due to the man in front of me, he commented that he knows all-to-well what the staff was feeling. He manages servers for a major back and when there is a glitch in their system, it means people don't have access to their money. He didn't even need to explain the stress that induces. I could only imagine. As they handed him change and asked for my payment, he said "At the end of the day, we waited what? 5 or 10 extra minutes? and you'd think it was days. We are so used to hurrying we have to be forced to slow down."

My composure changed completely. He was right. I spend all day racing around, chasing a tiny person with more energy than she knows what to do with. I wish (sometimes beg) for time to sit still or at least slow down. I have looked forward to the peace of This Day. But the moment I had just that, I was tapping my foot with the rest of them. How many things do we get worked up about that need some perspective? So we waited an extra 10 minutes. The worst that happened is I had a pleasant conversation with a man who I otherwise would never have noticed because we were all moving so fast. So her hair is a mess - we ran late because she practiced tying her shoes. So she broke the soap dish; it's replaceable. So the laundry didn't get done but she will know that I took the time to play dominoes with her.

Sometimes we just need to be reminded to simmer down. Take a breath. Get some perspective.

In the end, it was a great day. I finished my meeting with just enough time to walk in to school at exactly 1:55 (5 minutes early, thank you very much!). So I didn't finish all 87 things, but I did get a break and even had an adult conversation. And I got to hear about singing the fireman song and running in the gym and where you put your paintings when you finish. And those are minutes I wouldn't trade for all the efficiency in the world.

Vacation

I used to think we went on vacation when I was young. I remember camping trips in the summer and lazy days at the lake. I've since learned that we didn't actually go on vacation. We went on family outings. And as my pastor once explained, they are NOT THE SAME THING. Let me clarify:

Vacation:
I have a book that I may or may not read depending entirely on the fact that I may or may not nap.
Family Outing:
I have a book that I can't find and will need to begin again because at this point I've been interrupted so many times I don't remember what was happening in the story.

Vacation:
I wake up, go back to sleep, wake up again and then slowly walk to the pool where someone brings me a drink (preferably containing un umbrella, which is perfectly acceptable since it's likely after noon).
Family Outing:
I'm woken by a 30 lb. spider monkey jumping on my chest and  then make chocolate milk for someone else at 7am.

Vacation:
I eat lunch by the pool and dinner at the restaurant of choice, where I enjoy warm food at whatever pace fits the mood.
Family Outing:
I eat sandwiches for lunch because it's easier and dinner at a restaurant where they serve grilled cheese and you can order at the counter (because when we're done, we need to just be done and not have to wait to pay the check).

Vacation:
I pack cute clothes, matching shoes and determine that if I forgot it, I'll buy one when I get there.
Family Outing:
I pack a cooler because we have to have lactose-free milk, nothing that I don't want to get dirty and determine that the only thing I forgot was my deodorant but we have all 17 princesses and an iPad for the car so it'll just have to be fine.

David and I have been good about taking vacations, and in this season where most of our outings are of "the other" variety, I am grateful for the memories of both. But today...I need a vacation from the family outings.

ps...I'm guessing those camping trips and days at the lake weren't so "lazy" for everyone involved. I've prayed for my parents 12 times today.