CLOUDY

The weather around here lately has been a bit dreary.  Rain, wind, more rain, more wind.  Clouds galore.

I know people always talk about their being a "silver lining"....but who says you need that?

I say look at the beauty in the clouds.

You don't always need a ray of sunshine in your day to see something pretty.  You only have to be looking for something pretty.

As a storm builds, and rages, and then moves on, there is quite a story in the process.  It appeals to each of our senses.  Have you ever noticed how different the air smells after a significant rain?  Have you ever been startled awake by a loud boom of thunder or a very bright clap of a lightning strike?  The wind blows so much at you that you can taste the weather, whether you'd like to or not.  And you feel it, wet, blustery, and intense.

And then sometimes after a storm you see a rainbow.

And sometimes you don't.  You just see dark gray clouds that are illuminated by either the sun's triumphant return, or the determined lightning off in the distance.

If you have the ability, the sense of appreciation for nature and the realization that beauty comes in all forms, you can enjoy either the rainbow or the clouds.

Here in Michigan there is a saying: "If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes - it will change."  I've always said Michigan is the only place where you can be sun burnt and frostbitten in the same week.  Maybe that is why it is so difficult for us when the clouds take up a week long residence.  We just aren't really used to them staying so long. 

There is much about clouds to be grateful for.  Precipitation, namely, which nourishes the Earth, but then in a stunning horrid twist of fate can also crumble homes and businesses when Mother Nature unleashes herself. 

How awesome clouds become when they begin that scary swirling and then cooperate into one of the most terrifying forces known to man: the tornado.  And we've all heard how our neighbors down south have been affected by the destruction of a tornado this week.  So yes, I'm grateful for just the clouds.  I find them beautiful in their dreary, lingering, more peaceful state. 

And best of all, I only had to look out my front door to see them.

UNRULY, MISCHIEVOUS, DISOBEDIENT, &&& UNKEMPT

Long time, no see writing!  Have you ever had a moment, an hour, a day, or maybe a half a week just sort of disappear?

This is exactly what I experienced as Easter Sunday suddenly became something that happened almost a week ago and I lost all sense of time and space and calories consumed.

Those Reese's eggs will be the death of me.

I would sum up the past four days with four words: UNRULY, MISCHIEVOUS, DISOBEDIENT, and UNKEMPT.

It has also been possibly the best four days, ever.  Despite a massive headache.  Despite an overload of things to do and bills to pay.  The past four days have revealed to me a whole new world of motherhood. 

Hanson is becoming increasingly mobile and independent, which simply delights his older brother.  They have become partners in crime and the past four days have seen brotherly love in abundance in the Layer household. 

They are unruly.  They leave a path of destruction from one end of the house to the other.  Even my bathtub has evidence of their craziness.

They are mischievous.  What one doesn't think of, the other one does.  I have no idea what language they speak but they are perfectly fluent for each other and somehow despite my many parenting books and television shows they still seem to easily outsmart me.

The are disobedient.  So much so that they even make me regret trying to force them to obey.  You can't keep two boys from being what nature intended: wild, free, and airborne.  I've decided that cushions are more effective than rules.  I give up.

They are unkempt.  Their spirits are both unique and similar, made for each other and yet somehow still special and capable of standing alone.  They do not belong to me.  I am simply blessed to love them and care for them while I have the chance, but I know that one day they will spread their wings and fly, and while I have to make sure they are prepared, who will prepare me for that day?

Like Hanson's hair, these two little lives have taken on a force of their own, which teamed up together are both a chore to deal with and a joy to endure and behold.  They are wild, ferocious curls just bouncing through my day, and no matter how much hairspray I apply they simply will not lay down.  A comb is futile. 

I'm better off to simply embrace the fuzzy mop and join the unruly, mischievous, disobedient, unkempt party that my two boys call life.

CRACKED/COLORFUL/UNIQUE

So, all this Easter business really got me thinking how we went from a crucifixion to eggs.  Bear with me here, because my logic isn't necessarily accurate with the actual leap that was made, but in my own little world, it makes sense to me.  And please don't think I'm preaching....I am just applying my beliefs to my own life...in NO WAY am I judging the beliefs of others.

CRACKED. My son kept dropping his eggs while coloring them and they would obviously crack.  Did you know that on Good Friday, when Jesus died, the veil at the Temple was torn in two?  What does that mean, you ask?  Well, it symbolized the fact that the death of Jesus was significant enough to save us, and there no longer needed to be a veil between sinners and God; meaning they could find salvation directly through him.  The next time you crack an egg, remember that something much larger and more profound broke into two.

Saturday morning came, we had colored the eggs the night before.  We had a birthday party for twins at the Potawatomi Zoo, and we had a blast.  We were preparing more for Easter, and I was still thinking about this whole egg coloring process and the crucifixion.

COLORFUL. The story of a man rising from the dead is indeed quite a tale.  I mean, if you told me you knew someone who simply opened their coffin and walked out, I would most likely not believe you.  A colorful story is one so complex, so fantastic and unimaginable that it is hard to accept when compared with logic.  Science tells us that is just isn't possible for a person to die and then be resurrected.  God tells us otherwise.  When I see all these different colors for dipping the eggs, I almost don't believe we need that many or that there could be a purpose for them.  There is a purpose, a need, for Jesus in my life, no matter how colorful his story is.

Saturday evening I went to bed knowing that Sunday was a holiday representing salvation and a new life.  How wonderful that any person can choose this path for themselves.

UNIQUE. When I looked at all of the eggs we'd colored before making the deviled eggs for dinner, I realized that even though some of them had been dipped in the very same water/color/vinegar mixture, none of them were exactly like another.  God makes us all different, and baptism does not make us any less unique...it possibly makes us even more unique.  I chose this path for myself...but if I am comparing my religion to eggs, I am only one in a world of many many many more.  Some eggs don't have the same beliefs, lifestyle, as I do, and some of them haven't even been dunked in the color!  But I'm okay with that, and I can still be friends with and co-habitate with them, because it isn't for me to decide what is right and wrong.  And how funny that when you take these eggs and strip off their shells, mix them in a bowl with a mess of condiments and seasonings, they do become so similar and not really unique at all, and that we call these DEVILed eggs?  Hmmmmm.  Okay so I know this is a stretch but this really is the crazy way my brain works!

I'll keep my shell, which has been dipped.  I have my very own unique color and I like it that way. 
I didn't make it to church Easter morning.  But I sure have not forgotten the difference Easter makes in my life.

BOIL

A watched pot will not boil.

I used to wonder what this meant. 

At some point, I had decided that this phrase was the explanation to a recurring situation in my life, where I'm starving, temporarily insane from Kraft Mac n Cheese withdrawals, and the closer I look and wait for the water to boil, the more it actively resists and taunts me.

Which then made me boil.

We've all heard of somebody or so-and-so having been "boiling mad" at a person or event.  Does this happen in the same manner that water begins to boil?

Let me get very scientific and highly specific for a minute: the molecules in the water begin to expand and bounce around until at some point the have to separate and eventually jump into the air in the form of a gas.  (For you Newton wannabes out there...don't bother trying to fully explain this to me.  Not only will I not grasp the concept, I won't care.  Science is NOT my strong suit for a reason: we mix like oil and vinegar, haha.)

Anyhoo....is that what happens when a person gets boiling mad?  Their cells start to heat up and shake around until the poor soul has cells evacuating by the minute, unable to accommodate their own body because of the sheer volume of expanding cells? 

And, if this is true, can you avoid boiling by watching your pot?

Hmmmm.  Interesting concept.  If I go through life "watching my pot" or expecting that not everything will make me happy, I have a much greater chance of avoiding the dreaded vaporous state of extreme anger. 

Is this possible?

I don't know.  But I do know that I can watch my pot and see what happens. 

I walked away from my Pasta Roni for a couple seconds and returned to find a full on turbulent roar of bubbly Butter and Herb Italiano. 

I was so looking forward to it, but upon first bite was forlorn to discover that what I had really wanted in the first place was just a bowl of some damn Kraft Mac n Cheese. 

This could normally be the potential for anger and frustration on my part.

But I'm already watching my pot.

GRASP

"I can explain it for you, but I can't understand it for you."

When a baby is learning to self-feed, pediatricians (read, my pediatrician) frequently asks how they are progressing with their "pincer grasp".  This is loosely defined as the child's ability to pick something up with between their thumb and first finger and maneuver it (usually into their mouth).

Which is why it is perfect that "grasp" can also mean "to understand"....because some people just can't pick up and idea and maneuver it within their mind.

For example:
I called a local restaurant requesting to reserve their large back room because a bunch of my coworkers and I had plans for someone for their birthday lunch.  I explained to the person answering the phone that I would like to reserve the back room if available for that afternoon.

Restaurant: "We can't do that...you have to request the room a day in advance."

Me: "Oh, darn, someone already has it reserved?"

Restaurant: "No, but I can't reserve it for you because you didn't call yesterday."

At this point I became both thoroughly confused and irritated at this notion.

Me: "I don't understand.  If nobody has the room reserved why can't I request it now?"

Restaurant: "Because it has to be requested at least a day in advance."

Me: "So you won't be able to accommodate us?"

Restaurant: "Yes, probably because no one has the room reserved."

At this point I debated between screaming and hanging up, but the calmer more polite me took over.

Me: "Would you like us to spend money there or not?"

Restaurant: "Of course, our customers are valuable to us!"

Me: "But I can't reserve a room that is available because I'm calling too late....which means you could give the room to someone else, so why should we come there if we aren't sure there will be space?"

Restaurant: "Ummmm......"

Me: "We'll be seeing you at one, and if the back room is available we'd like to sit there."

Restaurant: "Thank you."

At this point the conversation ended, neither of us fully understanding what the other person was trying to get across.  I wondered if this person ever fully developed their pincer grasp.

But, about four hours later, there we were, in the back room, using our thumbs and forefingers to shovel pizza and appetizers into our mouths.  And I still don't grasp what took place in that conversation.

TREAT

Let me just start by saying that my word today would not be possible if I had never received a much needed book of inspirational and humorous life rules, entitled You Cannot Be Serious by none other than Elizabeth Lyons. I declare her a genius and frequently stalk her Facebook page, but enough about my crazy obsessions.  (Much thanks to my pal Sarah, one of my sprinkles, for sending me said book.)
Today is all about Elizabeth's "Rule 6-Have a Designated Treat of the Moment."
For Moms everywhere, this is possibly the single best idea I've ever heard.
When I need to make an important phone call, and my two year old son is sounding the alarms of oncoming tantrum louder than tsunami sirens, I pull a treat out which affords me the time I need to take care of business.  Yes, I do realize that there is not much value in a Twinkie if you're talking vitamins and minerals, however, once in a while they can prove priceless.
It would seem this is the same concept for my very own "Mommy freak out" moments.  When I am at my very last nerve attempting to deal with the situation of the hour, I seek out a treat.  This isn't always a food treat....sometimes a simple shower with the door closed and no interruptions can suffice or a Days of Our Lives DVR marathon.  However, today, it is all about a glass of vanilla ice cream scoops with Faygo red pop poured generously over it.

Now, you wouldn't normally consider ice cream and soda a sanity mixture.  However, on a day like today, it literally helps me keep it all together....probably because I can lose myself in the utter craziness of what I'm consuming.  I know it seems like an absurd choice for a snack, but that's why I refer to it as a treat.
It isn't healthy or normal or even the best choice.
But it provides me with a service I can't get in yogurt or cheese or crackers.
I love the way the fizz almost freezes on the ice cream.
I love the color that is created by the mixture of the two.
I love the way it tastes.
I love the way it makes me feel: I'm an adult now and even though my mother would soooo not approve I am eating ice cream and soda combined.
It makes me feel a little more capable of telling my son he cannot have eighteen strawberries for dinner.
(Okay sometimes I do allow that but I try to balance it out.  Pick your battles people.)
So I would like to thank you, Ms. Lyons, for encouraging my sick devotion to all things absurd yet totally cravable (I made up that word) and delicious.  I'd like to add that I've gotten into a "Treat of the Moment" groove of sorts, finding them more with ease than ever before.
If you're in need of a Treat of the Moment, please head to http://www.elizabethlyons.com/ and see her Treat of the Moment section for inspiration.

BLEND

In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different.
Coco Chanel

I bet Coco Chanel knows a thing or two about blending things (color, scent, accessories) together into some genius creation that can never be repeated. 
I've never bought Chanel No. 5, but after my son's adventures in finger painting the other day, I'm considering the investment, solely for the example of how being different can be amazing wonderful and legendary.
Landon has painted before, but not ever with as much knowledge of colors as he now has.
He was much more interested on what was occuring on his paper plate as he dipped his hand into the different colors than anything he was creating on his paper.
"Mommy, what color is that?"
I had literally no answer.  The red was still red, the yellow still yellow, and the blue still blue, but the result of the blend was some sort of weird reddish brown I was sure had never been seen before, let alone given the dubious distinction of being named.
"Well, that's a color you just made up, so you get to name it."
He didn't care to name it.  Instead it was sufficient to being painting his abdomen in this color, giving my dining room the appearance of a crime scene and prompting a mid-morning bath just so I could verify that he had not actually been bleeding at any point.
But I realized in this process (here I go learning from my kids again...) that most fantastic useful discoveries of this world have come to be by blending other things together.
Examples:
Chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream
Dr. Pepper (what is all that stuff in there any way?)
Beer and hockey (if you ask my husband...thank you dear.)
Elastic and denim (every pregnant woman's dream.)

Or, like Chanel No.5, which still has the status of unmatched originality in the fragrance world.

Maybe that's lame, who knows...but here's what I can tell you about my own unique blend.  When I was like fifteen(ish) I was running low on finger nail polish, so I took three bottles and mixed them together into the ultimate fusion of red, orange, and pink, and it was the craziest, girliest, most beautiful orange finger nail polish ever, and I've never quite been able to replicate it.  It didn't last long but one thing is for sure, it was unlike any other color I've ever worn on my nails, and it was the perfect blend....because you can't walk into any store and buy that.  You can't find it online and you can't go to a salon and request it.
So that's the type of person I strive to be....the kind you don't meet every day.
The kind who wears orange mixed up polish, and who isn't afraid to let another good thing blend into what I'm already creating of myself.

LISTEN

You can tell what is going on in this house at any given time by exactly how much noise you hear.

You can tell by the type of noise, you can tell by the volume.

Sometimes there are two little voices, screeching in harmony, at whatever game they are playing together.

Sometimes, there is the carefree loud rambling song of a two year old joining in with the television.

Sometimes, it's a teething nine month old, desperate for relief.

And at the best moments, it's a raucous crazy symphony of things banging and crashing and music being made.

The first time my house was ever this noisy, I thought I might very well lose my mind.  But then I stopped to listen.  When you give something your full attention, it becomes less "noise" and more beautiful.  I probably couldn't always carry on a conversation during one of these sporadic jam sessions, however, I sometimes find myself singing along.
Of course, there are times when I need a moment alone with my ears.  I need to quiet my mind. 
But I'm starting to notice that when I'm somewhere that is very quiet, it seems sort of, well, empty.
There is life in this noise, and I'm so blessed to claim it as my very own song.
I'm finding that this noise brings so much with it!  Noise seems to be the language of love for these children of mine.  Nothing is more beautiful a song to me than their laughter, no sadder than their cry.
What makes it all even better is that they don't expect me to know what song they are playing, or what word they just said, or even to enjoy their rock star status.  They only expect me to listen, and I'll gladly give them that.

READY

Landon taught me something this morning. 
Really, it should have been obvious to me, so I don't know why I've never thought of things this way before.
When I look at the basic pieces of my life, like being able to feed myself and use the ladies' room without incident and reading and dressing myself (scratch that....dressing myself is still a disaster), I realize that I can't recall making a concious decision to learn how to do these things. 
My only assumption is that someone, somewhere, taught me.
Most likely it was my parents (thanks Mom and Dad) but really at what point did all of this occur?
Who decided I was ready?
Was it them?
Or was it me?
Landon has been using sippy cups like a pro since he was just over eleven months old.  He didn't even have bottles, it was like he saw the curve, took it, and sped right on down the road.  Made it very easy for us as parents to know he was ready.
Now, it seems like he is constantly out of milk in his sippy cup, so I was looking around for a cup that would contain more (meaning I'd spend less time filling it) but that was still, for the most part, spill-proof.
I found these Tupperware tumblers with lids, and with a straw, so far they are working wonders for him.

After handing him this cup, and watching him drink his milk this way, looking like a fully grown man, I could have had a panic attack.  My mind flew: the first day of kindergarten, his first hockey game, his first fight, his first crush and subsequent broken heart, and graduation.
I realize that watching a child use a cup without a lid is very far from watching them accept a diploma.
But I'm still not sure I'm ready for it.
For one thing, he's still a little clumsy and I really don't have hours of extra time to clean up spilled milk all the live long day.
But also, if he is capable of using a cup without a lid, then what's next?  He pours his own milk?  And needs me a little bit less.  This wouldn't necessarily be horrible...for him.  But for me, it is bittersweet.  Both relieving and depressing.
So for now, I think I'll just keep on giving him the "spill-proof" option, and wait before helping him learn the "big boy" ways of life. 
Because I realize from my own life that these things just sort of happen, and we don't even realize it and one day he'll drive off to McDonald's where he will undoubtedly order fifty chicken nuggets and a very large drink, but at least that cup will have a lid, and a straw, and maybe at that point I'll finally be ready.

PERSPECTIVE

A penny will hide the biggest star in the Universe if you hold it close enough to your eye.  ~Samuel Grafton

My husband and I enjoy going to Red Wings games.  We usually get the cheap seats, which are still at least $50 each if there is no deal going on.  But it takes us two and a half hours to drive there, and then paying for food, drinks, and gas, well, we can enjoy a game from up high just as much as we can from any other seat in the building.  It just seems like paying extra for better seats can be wasteful when there is much more you can do with the money.

There are many things that can affect your view of the game.

If someone stands in front of you, it is safe to say you're not seeing much, even though they are.

What if you forget your glasses or contacts?  Things might look a bit blurry to you, but not to everyone else.

If you are on one end, you might not get a good look at a goal scored on the opposite end of the ice, but the people on that end will see it just fine.

If you stay home and watch it on tv, you'll see things okay, as long as your reception is clear and you're not in the kitchen getting your two year old a snack.  But then you can DVR it and watch what you missed.  (Wouldn't it be nice if life had a DVR?)

There are so many different things that can affect the way you see something.  If your proximity is wrong or your angle is bad or you look at something as though it is beneath you, it's safe to say your perspective is skewed.

You might miss a great play or be asking your neighbor who scored that last goal.

But what might look like a hook on your end, might look completely different to someone at the other end. 

That doesn't make them wrong.  It simply means their perspective is different than yours.

A couple years ago we splurged and bought seats in the second row behind the glass.  I won't even say how much we paid for them, but it was a whole different atmosphere.  You don't realize how large NHL players are until you are mere feet away from them.  Things look faster, hits look harder, goals are even more exciting.  There isn't anyone to stand in front of you really, and the intensity in the game is tangible. 

It is funny how sitting in another person's seat gives you a different perspective.  I was reminded that just because I choose to spend my money on other things doesn't mean that those who do sit there are not frivolous or stupid.  We just see things differently, and that's what perspective is all about. 

I'm going to have to sit in different seats more often, just to keep my perspective.

PROXIMITY

Every thought is a seed. If you plant crab apples, don't count on harvesting Golden Delicious. ~Bill Meyer

The past two days have been weird pictures....so maybe the third time is a charm.  I promise that there is a point to all of this.  Don't you ever feel like you are just way too close to something to make out what you're seeing? 
Would you tell your boss they aren't qualified for their job?
Would you say to someone in front of you in a line, "Hurry the Hell up"?
Would you tell a co-worker that a shirt makes them look fat?
No...probably not.  We don't know these people well enough to assume we can take these liberties with them.
So why in the world do we talk to our family and friends this way?
I've said this before and now I'm saying it again: there is a fine line between an opinion and an insult.
I mean, by all accounts we should be able to be completely honest with people we love.  But being close to someone doesn't give us the right to be mean.  If you don't think verbal abuse is real, Google it.
But what really happens that makes us talk this way to people?
We have the urge to make ourselves feel bigger/smarter/cooler or empowered over the person we are speaking to.  Maybe we feel out of control with our own life, so by speaking this way to someone we share a close proximity with, we make ourselves feel better?
Maybe we are jealous of something they have or are doing.
Maybe we think we have some "right" to judge them, based on experiences in our own lives that give us a different angle on things.
Who knows, really, but I see this all the time.
I was at McDonald's not to long ago, and I watched a woman with two sons that I would guess were ages six and eight.
The younger boy was not succeeding at waiting very patiently, and the mother kept reminding him, "We have to wait our turn, be polite."
They ate their food and played for a little while.  And then it was time to go. 
The mother called for them and the older one came and put his shoes on. 
The younger boy lingered a bit more, and the mother became visibly irritated.
Within seconds, despite the fact that she was standing two feet from her child, she screamed, "HURRY UP NOW, WE DON'T HAVE ALL DAY TO WAIT AROUND FOR YOUR DAWDLING."
How ironic!  This woman could have learned a thing or two from this boy about patience and politeness.
I know what it's like to have to prompt your child again and again and again to do something.
But when you're talking to someone you love, who also happens to be standing right next to you, it might be more effective to speak with a little love and kindness. 
I mean, it's just my opinion but I'd be a lot more excited to leave with her if I didn't feel like she was going to scream at me all day.
We get so very close to people in our lives that it's hard to see exactly what we do to them.  Don't take anybody for granted.  Tomorrow is not promised to anyone.
If you feel like you may be suffering from "proximity confusion" in regards to the way you treat your family and friends, then it's time.

Get some perspective.



BENEATH

Success:

To laugh often and much,

to win the respect of intelligent people

and the affection of children,

to earn the appreciation of honest critics

and endure the betrayal of false friends,

to appreciate beauty,

to find the best in others,

to leave the world a bit better,

whether by a healthy child,

a garden patch,

or a redeemed social condition;

to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded! ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Once again, I do not expect anyone to know what they are looking at here.  If it helps at all, we are looking up at something.  You could say we are "beneath" it.

It seems to me that there is a "socially acceptable norm" when it comes to the proper order of the events one partakes in throughout life, and what deems a person "successful" and it goes roughly like this:

• Attend school and graduate without getting arrested or pregnant, preferably with high grades.
• Attend college and graduate without getting arrested or pregnant, preferably with high grades.
• Find a job requiring the degree you now have that is full time and gives benefits, unless you are in Michigan and then you just take any job you find.
• Work way to hard for way too long, and realize you don't know everything.
• Find a person to partner with whom is deemed acceptable by your family and friends and who also does not pick their nose or leave the toilet seat up or have unusual hair in weird places.
• Marry said person in a ceremony approved of and paid for by both parties' parents.
• Buy a home you can('t) afford.
• Feed the dog, mow the lawn, do the dishes.
• Have a baby and learn that your life is now happening according to a schedule acceptable to this child, but loving every minute of it.
• Raise your child(ren) to do all of these exact same things.

There is not a damn thing wrong at all with following this order of events. 
But not everyone does, and it does not make the people who do any better than those who don't.
My life has gone much the same way.  I don't have a degree, but I do have more credits than some people who do.  You see, I started college thinking I wanted to do a certain thing for the rest of my life, and quickly learned through a series of events called "life" (death of my Grandmother and a close friend, dating my future husband, and moving out of my parents' house, to name a few) that I was headed in a great direction, but not the right direction for me.  And that whole job thing?  Well, I had a great paying full time job with benefits at a great company.  And I walked away because the most important job in my life became raising my children.  I work part time and that works for me.
I still would like to finish my degree, and it is just a little out of reach for me right now, but that doesn't mean that I'm beneath those that are there.
Eventually I'd love to go back to work full time, and I can't reach that yet either, but people who do work full time are no better than me.
And I look at my husband, who has never attended college, yet makes more money than many people who have degrees.  He just simply doesn't know what he'd want to study, and since we don't have a plethora of extra time and money, he isn't going right now.  He still provides for his family, and I appreciate him for it.  But the most important thing he gives us is love.
Some people have said we aren't as "successful" as we should be.  They say we struggle more than we would if we were finished with college before we had kids and maybe on certain days that's true.  But I've never met anyone who doesn't have bad times once in a while, whether or not the have a degree, whether or not they have a great job, whether or not they have children, and despite the order they do it all in.
Success is measured in many different ways.  But weighing our own personal success against those of others doesn't make us beneath them, at least not in my book.  And if they disagree, I've only got one thing to say:

Get some perspective.

ANGLE

When nobody around you seems to measure up, it's time to check your yardstick. ~Bill Lemley

I don't expect you to know what this is.  I probably wouldn't.  But that's kind of my point today.  We don't always see exactly what someone else is looking at, because we all see things from a different angle. 
I could probably leave that and it would be sufficient to sum up how I feel about the word angle. 
But that's just simply stating the obvious, isn't it?
It sure is easy to say how ugly/stupid/pointless something is when you're looking down on it.
What a shitty angle to have!
If you go through life looking down on everything, always judging what you don't see based on what you think you "know", of course you are only going to see what you are looking for: something you can tear down.
I prefer to seek out the good, and if something bad happens to get in the way, then I change my angle until it is good again.  Maybe that makes me naive or overly cheery and optimistic, but in my opinion that sure does beat cynicism and negativity.
I don't need to look down on someone to make myself feel tall.
(I am only 5'2", but I can climb.  That's why God gave me arms, legs, and ladders.)
Even my two year old can cast a pretty big shadow when he is looking at the sun.
If all you see in life is everything bad about everyone, then you probably need a protractor because you need a new angle.

Get some perspective.

RELIANT

I can hardly make it through my day without coffee.  I just don't even like to try.  I mean it makes me moody and sluggish to give it up.  I'm not even sure if it is simply the caffeine that affects me or if it is more out of habit.  I sure do depend on that cup every morning to start my day off right.
So, this begs the question: Who the Hell do I think I am to take Hanson's pacifier away?
It has the same effect on him.  Hmmmm.  I can't exactly replace the pacifier with coffee.  And the bottle might help once in a while for now...but he's only got a couple more months left to enjoy that.
And yet, both of this pacifiers sit on my counter, unused since Sunday morning.

I really expected more of a fight from this kid.  We kept him busy all day, and he was so worn out he fell asleep in the car at nap time so he didn't notice not having it.  Then he did fuss a little in the evening, but a little extra attention was all he needed, and when I laid him in his crib I handed him a frog that has chimes inside and turned off the light and closed the door after kissing him.  Not a peep until six o'clock this morning.
Yet, if my Folger's container is running dangerously low I'm in panic mode....plotting out a trip to Harding's at the next available opportunity and even fantasizing about the creamer possibilities in the dairy section.
To say I'm reliant on it would be the understatement of my adult life.
To give it up would be torture.
And yet I expect my nine month old son to accomplish this very same thing: to become no longer reliant on something. 
I'm not really sure what the point would be for me to totally stop drinking coffee.  I really don't have anything to prove to anyone...I'm freely admitting it's an obsession of mine.  I once declared via Facebook status that my blood type is Starbucks.
But, it might not be a bad thing, if like Hanson, I didn't rely on it throughout the day. 
There really is no reason I can't try. 
He's been without his object of obsession for a little over twenty-four hours now, and he's just fine.
I'm thinking I could be too.
I mean, there is no reason I can't make it at least twenty-five hours until my next cup of coffee.
And until then, I better find something else to keep me from screaming my head off prompting my husband to grab one of those pacifiers and shove it in my mouth.

EXPLORE

Today, it was unseasonably warm.  We took our two sons to nearby Hagar Beach on the shore of Lake Michigan.  We've been many times ourselves, but for them, it was uncharted territory.
Landon, who is almost three, announced to us that he could see the ocean.
I explained that what he was looking at was Lake Michigan, and that it was not only not an ocean, we are very very far from the ocean.
He was perplexed.  There is a shoreline with beautiful sand and water as far as the eye can see.  No end in sight.  It was sunny and beautiful and looking at that water still makes me feel so small, so to him, it must seem enormous. 
Landon has actually been to the ocean before.  Last year in March we spent a week in Florida on the Gulf of Mexico.  He loved it.
So, really, other than the salinity of the water, to him there is no difference.  He still loved it.
Hanson was only concerned with eating unhealthy amounts of sand.  After he realized that it is not the most tasteful of snacks he began to squeeze it in his hand, picking it up and letting it run through his fingers.  I could see the wheels turning in his head at the amazement he was feeling in his palm.

Today my little men were explorers.  The could give Christopher Columbus a run for his Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria.  They soaked in every aspect of that beach as if it were the most exotic of locations. 
And they taught me something.
I've lived here for the majority of my life.  I've been to that very beach so many times I can't count.  Yet I've still never enjoyed it the way I did today.  I didn't go to swim or build sand castles or even to tan.  I went to share the beauty of nature with them, but somehow, they are the ones who shared it with me.  I could have gone there by myself, with every intention of exploring that beach, and I'd have focused more on how windy it was and that I had chosen the wrong shoes to wear. 
But with them, I felt the sand in my toes.  I smelled the Lake Michigan air, which is like nothing else on earth.  I heard the waves and the seagulls.  I saw them play with my husband, the water crashing on shore just feet behind them, and the most beautiful thing about that sight was not the lake, but the three of them together. 
I slowed down and enjoyed a piece of my world that I've never really stopped to notice. 
I don't need the Gulf of Mexico when I've got Hagar Beach within twenty minutes of my house.
Exploration is not about how far you travel.  It is about how much you discover.
I have a new goal for this year.  I'm remixing my New Year's Resolution, which was to play outside more.  I don't just want to play outside.  I want to explore my world, with them as my guides.

SPRINKLE

Let me start by saying that there is nothing on this planet that I hate more than onions.  Literally...nothing.  (Yes, I realize my picture is a cupcake.  There is a method to my madness.)
When we eat out, I can't even eat my food if an onion has been accidentally put on or near my plate.  The after taste is so vile I can't describe it.  I find them slimy, with a disturbing texture, and they smell horrid.
If my life is a cupcake, the last thing I would top it off with is an onion.
Probably the most common thing people top their cupcakes with is frosting.
I would equate this to things like a spouse/partner, a family of assorted children or pets or even plants, as long as it is something you can love and nourish, and then basic things like a home, and a job or hobby.  This is why frosting comes in all flavors and varieties, because not everyone needs the same type of frosting for their cupcake, because, just like no two lives are identical, the same can be said for favorite cupcake/frosting combinations.
And then, there are the sprinkles.
Do you know how many different types of sprinkles there are?  You can get them in all shapes, sizes, colors, and even in assorted themes according to cartoons or sports or pretty much whatever you need.
The sprinkles are the thing that isn't really necessary to have a good cupcake, but they take it up a notch, even if only adding a touch of extremely awesome cuteness and personality.
When I think about the sprinkles on my "life" cupcake, I think about people.  I think about my friend Sarah (amongst MANY others) or my little cousin Paige.  They are people who add that extreme cuteness and personality that make life more appealing.  I like stuff that makes other stuff better....so, if sprinkles kick the cupcake up a notch, these people do the same thing for life.
Now back to the onions.  Those would be the people who just ruin the cupcake.  These people who leave a bad taste in your mouth and maybe even give you an upset stomach.  They don't make anything better...and they maybe even make it worse.
Now I'm not saying we always have a choice in who we have in our lives.  Some people, like family or co-workers are not selected by us.  But if they are onions, we still don't have to put them on the top of our cupcake.  We can pass them by choosing not to partake in their foul aroma and grimy-ness, hoping eventually they will turn into sprinkles.
And, if they are sprinkles, then go to town!  Put them everywhere you can!  After all, whether your cupcake is chocolate with chocolate frosting or yellow cake with white frosting, I don't know of anyone who doesn't like sprinkles on their cupcake.

MAKE

The challenge is to be yourself in a world that's trying to make you like everyone else.

I'm sure Woody from Toy Story would totally disagree with me.  He might even push me out a window for saying so, but, wearing a cowboy hat doesn't make you a cowboy. 
What makes somebody something?
Hmmmm.
I have no clue.  But I know what doesn't make you something.
Calling someone a loser doesn't make you a winner.
Calling someone ugly doesn't make you beautiful.
Calling someone stupid doesn't make you smart.
Saying someone sucks doesn't make you better than them.
Sticking feathers up your ass doesn't make you a chicken.
Sorry.  Had to go there.
Because I find it frustrating when someone tells me that I'm not a writer/photographer/chef/hair stylist/fashionista/fillinthedamnblank because I don't have a degree.
That piece of paper won't MAKE you anything. 
It's not a pen/keyboard that makes me a writer: it's the words I type, and I have my own stories and my own way of sharing them.  I don't expect everyone to like them, but I do expect people to be respectful of my opinions just as I am of theirs.
It's not my camera that makes me a photographer: it's the pictures I take, and I have my own style of taking them that probably isn't for everyone and not always traditional, but then when talking about "art", it's all subjective and everyone is going to have an opinion, which means no one is right.
You get the picture?
I don't need someone to validate my chosen activity of the moment by deeming me capable because I took a certain number of appropriate classes. 
I'd just like to say that I can do what I want because I want to, not because someone else says I can.
I might sound like a broken record here, but no matter how many classes you take, you aren't going to go very far if you spend all your energy being nasty to others.
So, calling someone a name or giving them a label doesn't really make them anything.  It does make you something though-mean and immature.
You can put on a cowboy hat and walk around talking about spurs and pardners and saloons.  You can take cowboy classes and someone can certify you as ranch-ready.  But when it comes down to it, that doesn't guarantee you can rope a steer or break a stallion.
It is what we do that defines us.  And if actions speak louder than words and all you do is talk, you're not saying anything I haven't heard already, so go do what it is you want to do and leave me alone. 
I'm going to make myself what I want to be, despite whether or not you think I can.

LEARN

Our children watch us everyday.  Who we are shouts louder than anything we say.

I had a conversation the other day with a good "mom-friend" about how competitive some other moms can be.  If they know other kids the same age as their kid enrolled in a class, they sign them up.  If so-and-so is potty trained, well, then their kid has to learn too.  That kid knows his ABC's?  Well, their kid knows how to spell "cat" and their own name.

We decided that neither of us care much about how our kids stack up against others, as long as they seem to be developing according to their own natural abilities. 

Sure, I want my kids to be good at things like reading and writing, and I don't want them to struggle with algebra or chemistry.  I want to give them every tool I can to excel at these things.

We read together every night.  We have flashcards.  We practice colors and everything is identified according to the shape it is, the quantity of the item, and the first letter of the word.

When I was little, my mom, who dropped out of high school, by the way, had me reading and writing my own name and some other words before I started kindergarten at age four.  I had wonderful teachers who saw that I needed a little extra challenge.  In first grade I was allowed to go read in the library when all of my other work was finished.  I've always been a bookworm, and this love of reading helped me have an easier time later in school.  In high school I think maybe at times they expected a little more from me, but they knew I could handle it and I'm glad I didn't get to float through doing the bare minimum.

I learned a lot from books and teachers and classrooms and chalkboards.

But that is not the most important thing that I have ever learned.

I watched my parents help people when they could.  People they didn't even know.  I remember a time when we were getting off the highway in a very bad snowstorm and my Dad stopped to help an older woman get unstuck.

I saw certain teachers treat even their "worst" students as though they were worth teaching.

I learned that if you are not kind and considerate to other people, whether you know them or not, whether you agree with their lifestyle or not, then knowledge from a book or formal instruction will not get you very far at all.

So, when I consider what I want my children to be the best at, well that's easy.

I doesn't matter if Hanson crawls before other babies his age.

If Landon still needs help going to the potty, big deal.

I could care less if they can read the longest book.

I don't give a crap if they are the fastest skater on the ice.

I really won't be bothered if they say the word "crap".

I really won't put much thought into them being able to burp the loudest.

If someone tells me that my kid is nicer than any other kid they know, then I have done my job.

STAND

I don't know of anyone who was born and then just stood up and walked around.  Horses do that, I think.  But not people.  We have to work at it.  We roll and push and pull and cry.  And one day, just like my younger son did a couple weeks ago....you pull yourself up.
I think there is a reason for this with people.  There is a reason you learn to stand by helping yourself get up. 
After all, how many times in life do we fall?
We stumble, we trip, or someone comes along and gives us a hefty shove into the sand.
If we're lucky, we have a friend or loved one there to give us a hand and help us get back up.
If we are luckier, we have learned to get up on our own, just in case we are alone.
I know that Hanson might fall on his journey to crawling, but I also know he'll be able to get himself back upright.
It might take him a few tries at it, but he'll get it because he knows now that he can, and he prefers standing on his own to feet that being on the ground.
Which makes me think about people in life that just lay there and cry when a rock gets in their path or somebody trips them.  Why would anyone want to just accept that?  I mean, sure, if it hurts, cry for a minute or two, scream, yell, throw a rock, whatever, but then get back up.
Don't just sit there, waiting for someone to come along and rescue you.
You can blame nature for tripping you up or someone for pushing you down, but you have no one to blame but yourself for staying down.
You won't get very far by sitting there on your butt complaining about the fall.
Get up, get moving, and continue on your path.  And, if along the way you see someone else that has taken a tumble, give them a hand.

DISTANCE

Ok, so we all know how I feel about the ways in which we measure things. 
I learned today how far away Thursday can seem from Tuesday.  Not just forty-eight hours.  Not 2,880 minutes or 172,800 seconds.  (I hope my math is correct there...even a calculator can't help me some days.)
The space between today and two days from now, for at least one person I know, is the difference between everything is going to be alright or things are not as great as we thought.
The space between last Friday and a phone call that may never come seems more like eternity than something that can be ticked and tocked away.
I was trying to figure out how to help these people not stress between now and then.
Yeah, right.
Who the hell am I kidding?
If I were in either position I'd be a walking anxious zombie. 
I wonder how far something can go before it is just too great a distance to be bearable. 

I have no idea what kind of rock this is.  I've actually Googled extensively (for about twenty minutes) trying to figure it out....to no avail.  I brought it home from the beach near Punta Gorda, Florida on the Gulf of Mexico.  It has travelled a great distance, and it has a surface full of holes, but it remains in one piece.

There are things in this life that make no sense and even things that are so bewildering that only God will ever know the reason for.

I'm sure both of the people I was referring to probably feel like they are on a plane/train/boat headed to Timbuktu and they have no idea how long they will be on this trip or when they'll get back, if ever.  They probably didn't pack for such a journey, and I doubt either of them thought they'd encounter the stormy weather that they've seen this week.  You might compare it to being sent on a vacation where you make no choices at all, other than how you spend your time between Point A and Point B.

If I were either of them, I'd start out screaming, then continue on into cursing, maybe kick my car tire, and end up in tears.

I would not be able to bear it....without having someone along the journey with me.
I don't know if they would say that I've been really "there" for either of them this week.  I'm trying to help in the only ways I know, just by listening and spending time with them.  I don't honestly know what either of them needs to get through their individual ordeals.
But I do know I can make it a point to be WITH them, from "here" to "there".
I can help get them from Point A to Point B in one piece, caring for them gently like I did this stone I found on the beach, keeping them safe from the hardships of the journey.
I can remind them that God is on the plane/train/boat too.....maybe that's why they call him our Rock.
He doesn't promise you'll get there on time, or that you will even arrive at your desired destination.
But, no matter the distance, I bet He'll get you there in one piece.

CONTAIN

In life, pain, suffering, and laundry are inevitable; however, being miserable is an option.

Mountains....boulders.....stinky.....unending.....chaos....words used to describe the full-on-madness of the dirty laundry situation at mi casa.  I go to bed with the dryer humming and wake up with the washer filling.  And it's still never enough.  But, dirty clothing is used clothing, and clothing well lived-in is better than clothing collecting dust at the back of some closet.
The thing is, I used to fight my laundry.  And my laundry fought me.
I'd simply proclaim I wasn't going to do it today.  I'd get to it tomorrow, and then tomorrow would come, and I'd tell myself I have a million other clean shirts, I really don't have to worry about that one basket of laundry that is not clean.  And one basket turns into seven or eight very sneakily in a house with a working husband and children.  It overflowed the baskets even and overtook my bedroom.  I still fought with bitter resistance against this hated duty of mine.  I'd grumble and complain and become irritated, did you know that there literally are NO weapons in the war on laundry? 
I am finally at peace with my laundry.  If I can get to it today, I do it, without complaining, because I've learned that ignoring it completely does not mean it disappears.  If my day is too busy for sorting and folding I am content with letting it wait until I have the availability. 
There is enough room in this house for all of our laundry.  There is not enough room for me to be miserable about it.  Our four walls can contain a lot of junk, whether it is in it's designated area or littering the hallway as Landon's flashcards do at this very minute.  But I don't have the extra space for negativity towards something that is not going to stop whether I want it to or not.
It's not like I enjoy doing laundry now.  But I do it with a smile on my face. 
I didn't give up on my war, I just realized I could not win, but that didn't mean I had to let it beat me.
I only have so much room in my life for anger, intolerance, and frustration.
Why not save it for something much larger than a simple white basket with holes on the sides which may or may not be full today?

Since I cannot control the laundry in any way, I may as well make room for it without filling the space in between with misery.  There is only so much laundry this basket can contain.  There is only so much emotion that my day has capacity for.  I'd like to make them happy ones, whether the basket is empty, or spilling out and overtaking my bedroom once again.

Enjoy

This picture is one of my pals and her cute sparkly gloves with pink gloves over them, holding a Long Island at a hockey game.  Let me tell you, she had a blast that night at the game.  I'm not sure how much fun she had the next morning, but she was definitely enjoying every sip of that drink and every minute of that game.  Her kids were no where in sight, and she wasn't Mom.  She was just her.
Obviously, I'm in no condition for a stiff drink.
However, if I were, I might have needed one the other day based solely on the horrible day another friend of mine had dealt with, because I found myself stuck in Mommy mode, and not in "Anna as the friend" mode.
I'm neither encouraging or discouraging the act of consuming alcohol here.  And, every person I may describe as someone who has done so, was definitely of the legal age to do so.
What I'm suggesting is that there is no harm in it, if you are doing it for the right reasons.
When I have a beer, or a drink, it is because I actually enjoy those drinks.  I love the taste of beer.  I'm not trying to escape a reality, or to turn into some crazed angry version of myself.  I don't want to be wasted beyond recognition.  What I'm looking for is more like the feeling of a kid who has eaten too much candy.
I definitely don't drink often.  I'd say I only drink socially a couple of times a month.  And for now, I can expect to enjoy my next alcoholic beverage maybe this New Year's Eve.  That's fine with me and definitely worth it.  I can find new drinks to enjoy, such as the delicious Caramel Apple Spice concoction I discovered Friday night at Starbucks which is pseudo-healthy (hello, apple cider?) AND caffeine free. 
The point of the drink isn't the alcohol.
The point of the drink is that it is something out of the ordinary, that makes me feel a little less "Mommy" and a lot more "Me".  It needs to be three things: tasty, prepared for me, and it has to have a cool name like "Pomegranate Blueberry" or "White Raspberry Chocolate Mocha".  It helps me enjoy myself, as the "me version" I know who doesn't have a Cheerio stuck in her hair and Toy Story Underoos on her sofa.
Quick side note: I know there are people out there who don't want children and view them as an inconvenience and interruption to what they deem an enjoyable life full of adventure, travel, and free time.  I'm not saying that they are right...I don't need to travel a long distance to see the beauty of this world.  I find that in watching my older son "pow" my younger son in the head with a diaper and listening to them giggle profusely.  Adventure?  Well what could be more adventurous than leaving my house with two boys under two fully knowing that nothing will go according to plan?  And free time, well, I'll take my life of laundry and bed time stories any day, because time is never free.  Every moment is a choice and there is no point in doing nothing when I can spend it with people I love.  Life with kids may be demanding, but there is nothing more spontaneous and enjoyable to me than being a parent.
However, the part of me that enjoys a drink now and then is still an important person to her friends and family that knew her before she was a Mommy.  I don't want to let them down and if having a beer or overpriced coffee helps me get back to being her, well, then I'll do it.  It is what works for me.
I know there are people in this world who don't believe in drinking, and maybe even think it makes me a bad person.  I respect your opinion, but I'm still looking forward to a toast at midnight this coming New Year's Eve.
For now, I'm planning my next trip to Starbucks for that amazing Caramel Apple Spice, and thankful that baby Turkey enjoys it too.

ODD

"Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of someone else."

-Judy Garland

My son Landon eats his strawberries a little differently than most people. 
He takes one bite from each berry, and then starts over with the first one. 
Earlier today I needed him to occupy himself for fifteen to twenty minutes.  Most parents would turn on the TV (and sometimes, that works for him) but instead, I handed him a University of Chicago Spanish/English dictionary and he sat on the floor and looked through it until he found and identified each letter.
He is just like most kids.  He loves M&M's, and Lightning McQueen, avoiding bed time, and getting his way.
But there are certain things about him that identify him which most people would say are odd, and I guess maybe that's accurate based on the definition of odd, but I find his oddness refreshing and wonderful.
How many two year olds refer to their baby brother as "Babaganush?"
Most likely, there are things about all of us that would appear odd to an outsider.  I typically don't advertise the fact that I tuck my pajama pants into my socks sometimes so they don't ride up my leg when I toss and turn.  Many people also don't know that I really don't like my foods to touch each other on the plate....it kind of ruins my appetite.
These are the things about us as individuals that either attract or repel other people.  I once found it hard to befriend a co-worker who did this annoying thing with her hair.  She was nice, but I just couldn't get past it.  I wasn't rude to her obviously, but I simply did not invest any time in getting to know her because of a stupid quirk. 
I guess I've realized at some point between then (I was sixteen) and now that you can't always judge people based on their little quirks. 
But thanks to Landon I'm seeing it in a new way.
What if some kid in preschool won't talk to my son because of how he eats his strawberries? 
What if he's labeled as weird or odd?
What if it hurts his feelings that someone doesn't like him because of a part of who he is?
That would break my heart, probably more than it would hurt him.  Because I know how truly awesome he is and that anyone will be lucky to call him a friend.  (Unless he's in need of a nap, in which case he still has to work on his sharing skills, but he'll get there.)
I'm not living in a dream world.  I know that someday someone is going to be mean to him, and judge him because he's a little odd, and probably even miss out on becoming his friend.
But if I'm a good mom at all, I'll teach him not to do what I did.
When I was in first grade, there was this boy in my class that ate all the elements of his sandwich individually.  Sometimes in the same order, sometimes not, but he would eat the meat rolled up, and then the cheese, kind of folded, and then ball up the bread and eat that.
I did become his friend...I found it awesome that he had his own genius way of doing things.  Hard to believe just ten years later at my first job I'd feel so differently about somebody being a little different.
I want my kids to always judge people from that six year old point of view.  I want them to be open to people's differences, even if they are judged by others for it.
I hope I give them the tools to deal with that if it happens.
I want them to feel comfortable enough in their own skin to accept other people as they are.
I want them to seek out their own path and follow it, and to recognize that sometimes being just like everyone else doesn't mean you're being the best you, even if doing that makes them a little odd.

NEED

God's light shines for everybody, so get outta' His way,
 'cause nothing grows in the shadows.

-Jake Owen song

March is FINALLY over.

Remember those daffodils I talked about way back in SIGN?

Well, look at them now:

They are huge!  And soon I'll have pretty flowers on my counter.

They aren't quite ready yet....they look to me like they'd be at about fifth grade in the span of their life.

In a way, they take me right back to fifth grade too.

You see, in this little town of Hartford, there are two elementary schools.

One of them is called "Woodside Elementary,"

because it sits beside a span of woods. 

Genius.

Every April the teachers would take us on little walking adventures through the woods, where we would also get the chance to pick a handful of daffodils to take home to mom or grandma.

Sometimes I gave mine to a teacher.

I particularly remember in fifth grade we would each be assigned a kindergartner, and we were to be a role model to them and help them.  They went on the walk with us.

My kindergartner is welcoming her first child very soon, just in time for daffodils to bloom.

But life is so hard in fifth grade! 

You are so close to adolescence and yet so far away.

You pray to be treated as an adult, and then when you are,

you don't want it yet.

What you need is the perfect balance, just like these daffodils have needed the perfect balance of sunlight all through the dreary freezing flooded month of March.  Amazing, really, that anything known to man could actually grow in the month of March. 

But they do.

And so do we.  We just somehow find the sunlight we need. 

We seek it out and turn our faces towards it.

And just like a daffodil, I don't need full sunshine all day long every day.  I can get by on the glimmers that peek through the clouds just before a spring snow shower.  I can deal with the glimpse of light before the clouds roll in on an overcast day.  Because I have light from a greater source.

And I have a feeling, that for whatever reason, He made us just like he made the daffodils, hardy and strong enough to grow, even in the month of March.