When Life Kicks You in the Butt- Run and Hide

4 Tips to A Better State of Gratitude - 

What? Me? Give Tips? Ha! You're on the Wrong Blog :-)

Baby Blueberry and Oscar

Meet Oscar. He's a friendship turtle. Actually, I think he's a Western painted turtle. Here is a photo of his colorful underside. Tattoo lovers be like jelly- this guy is born with ink. 

He came to us from some very dear friends that were moving overseas and couldn't take him. So one crisp autumn night, they bring him over, along with his tank, and some containers full of misc. turtle requirements. I did not know one small reptile needed so much stuff. How would I ever remember the instructions on how to care for him?

But for being simply a turtle- ha, he's more than a turtle, this guy has personality, as my friend says, "like a t-rex with a shell"- he has his way of communicating. Like when he's hungry- he does this when I get close to his tank.

Back and forth he swims in his tank until we pay attention to him. My friend fed him in a dog dish, so his tank would stay cleaner - longer, and so since I'm all for time-saving cleaning ideas- I kept up with the idea. We put him in a dog dish- ahh, a turtle feeding dish- and give him shrimp. We also bought night crawlers for him, which he thinks are the tastiest critters to feast on. The worms disagree with his opinion. Greatly disagree and it's difficult for this soft-hearted gal to feed him living worms.

 Later this week I will write a blog about how the cute and ahh- not cuddly- but friendly Oscar  turns into a cold-blooded killer turtle when fed a worm. 

But for right now, I did promise 4 tips, so I've better write some sappy stuff this morning. 

1. God has a tendency to speak to us, even if it's not through a burning bush. Although, a talking, burning bush would be cool- I would probably grab the hose and dose the flames before listening to any message. It's a safety thing. But here's the story...next month I lose disability, which cuts our income by quite a bit. Perhaps our house payment. Ouch. I was feeling a bit upset by this and worried and generally just stressed beyond belief. When Hero Hottie reminded me I should be feeling grateful.

       "Uhh, how much wine have you been drinking, honey?" I was getting ready to take Bean to her early morning dance class, so of course Hero Hottie had not been drinking but still I had to wonder.

       "None. No, we should feel grateful." He looked dead serious. My honey, who is more cynic than positive, more bitter than sweet, more doubting than faithful- was telling me to be grateful over a significant lost of income. 

       "Okay, I give up. Please explain." Where was that wine? 

        "We found out before I get my yearly bonus. Now we have a plan. We use the yearly bonus to pay most of the house payment for the year. If we had found out after my bonus, we probably would have spent it and then we wouldn't have that money for the house payment. God let us know in perfect timing to save our asses." 

       Simple. (And also, this plan allows the girls to keep their dance classes, which is so important to them.)

       I know we would have spent it. I had plans to find myself a beach and camp out for two weeks. Without moving. Except maybe my toes in the sand. 

Alright, I probably wouldn't even had done that- I would have paid off Abu's braces. But still, we would have spent it.

    

        Instead we had money for our house payment without me having to rush out and trying to work full-time, even though my Crohn's is seriously screwed up right now. 

     But just to drive the point home, when I stopped at the store after dropping Bean after and my mind was still trying to wrap itself around the concept of gratitude, the car in front of me had a speciality license plate- and it read 'gratful'   Good one, God. - good one.

    

2. I just found out my Grandma's cancer has spread and she has limited time. Months. And there is unfairness to that. I can't be grateful for such limited time left, because it's not enough time. - I will never feel like it's enough time. -  But knowing time is precious, that can be viewed as a gift and one I don't plan on wasting. Other things will wait, time with Grandma won't.

3. So the basement is desperately trying to kick Hero Hottie and me in the ass. Seriously. If you knew us and our record for completing house repair projects. Well, lets say we're really good at having BIG IDEAS and DREAMS and not so good at knowing how to implement the plan. The beginning is easy- the end will look great and somehow we don't know how to travel the journey. So when the basement was destroyed and Hero Hottie decided to take on most of the work himself, I was filled with misgivings. Serious misgivings. But being the supportive wife that I am, and knowing it would look AWESOME if we finished, I jumped in. (That and I have a tendency to dream big too, it's why Hero Hottie and I get along so well.) Plus, we eventually finished our kitchen (over a year) and it was AWESOME. 

     "Honey, we need to think like our old neighbor, "Finish it like P." I said, referring to an old neighbor that seem to finish projects like magic. That guy knew what he was doing and accomplished it, in half the time a normal human being would take. I admired him greatly. 

     He laughed, as he measured the torn apart bathroom. "Okay." 

     Hero Hottie had taken a week off to get ahead of the projects looming downstairs and it was day one.

   And we accomplished...nearly nothing. 

   Why couldn't we be like P? We had gone downstairs with a lot of energy, plans and a gung-ho attitude and every time we turned around something wasn't measuring right, or we didn't have the correct tool, or we didn't know what the next step should be. 

   We should have just hired someone. 

   The next day, I told Hero Hottie again. "We need to approach this like P. If we do that we'll be done by the end of the week." 

   He frowned at me. Yesterday had not gone well and I don't think my cheerleading comments were helping. 

    I started painting, trying to go as quick as I could, which resulted in a bunch of spilled paint- on the floor, on me- drips down the side of the wall. This was stressful trying to be like P. 

   I felt my jaw clenched, as I looked at the time every half an hour, trying to push myself. Spilling more paint.

   Finally, it hit me. 

   What was I doing? 

   I wasn't P. I was me. Which meant, I was not going to succeed at this basement if I kept trying to do things like someone else. And perhaps, Hero Hottie was seeing my comments, which were meant to be encouraging and 'you can do it' as a comparison. And he wasn't P either. 

   If we were going to finish this basement, we would have to do in our own way. Carefully. Perhaps slowly because we were learning as we went, but we could finish it and before our girls moved out. 

    We just had to be ourselves. Or at least better versions of ourselves. 

   The rest of the week went much better. We had the plumber in to fix the shower drain, something we couldn't do. Hero Hottie framed the new shower stall. And with help from my mother in law, we painted until our fingers were numb. 

     Not completed, but we accomplished a lot. So be grateful for yourself, it doesn't mean you can't improve yourself- be a better version of who you are- but don't try to be someone else. It just results in spilled paint and frowns from your honey. 

4. Friends. I can't say enough about great friends. And technology, because right now without technology my great and wonderful friends would seem so far away. But with the magic of floating, invisible bits of info, I can communicate with them in an instant. (Perhaps I'm crazy but has anyone sent a text message and then stared at the air, wondering how your thoughts looked when they were being sent to the next tower of communication? And how many thoughts do we walk through every day?)

How cool is that? Because I'm starting to realize that with faith we're suppose to depend on God, but I think he blessed us with friends to make that journey easier.

Gibson and Blueberry know the value of true friendship

Happy Tuesday to my readers. Now go out and find your gratitude. Because it's somewhere between lessons learned hard and our messy mistakes of human-ness. And it can usually be found hanging out with grace and forgiveness.

Running through a Rainbow

I would never eat something I wasn't supposed to.

      I ran my first race...a 5k through a rainbow. I'm pretty sure all 5k's after this will seem rather colorless and take more effort to complete. There is something exciting about having powered dye thrown at you while you run. Who would have known?
      (Alright, the Indians knew. Since these races, like the Run or Dye that I ran in, are inspired by Holi, an ancient Hindu religious festival celebrated in the spring and called a Festival of Colors, than being covered in color is not a new thing. Just new to Americans. But we're a bit crazy, because of instead of having a party with food and dancing, we like to add exercise to it.)
     I am not Hindu but I do like the thought of celebrating friendship, community, love, and the start of spring. (Even though, we're in the middle of summer. Since I live in a climate where every ounce of heat and sunshine is appreciated, I will take a Saturday morning to celebrate sunny weather.)
   
     My team decided to wear rainbow tutus for the event. You can see a bit of mine in the picture above. The night I finished mine, I quickly put it on when Hero Hottie got home from work and showed him. I'm pretty sure he almost started laughing but he turned away too fast.
      "What?" I demanded, standing there in a bright and poofy tutu, feeling much like an over sized ballerina but a part of me felt giddy and excited. It was like when I was little and dressing up in my Mommy's old clothes. Dressing like a princess. Or a princess explorer. I always tended to be a bit on the adventurous side with my imagination.
       But anyway, he finally turns around and gives me that look. That guy look that says- I'm not sure what to say because no matter what I'll be in trouble for it, but I'm going to open my mouth anyways and just get it over with-
       "You look silly." He pauses briefly and then rushes into more speech. "But that's what you want, right?"
        "Silly?" I fluff my skirt, liking the bright and bold colors. Red, yellow, green, purple. Bold colors that I don't usually wear because I'm not sure how to dress with lots of colors without looking like I stepped from the eighties. But this...this tutu...I can wear and enjoy and be silly.
       Because I can have fun and enjoy this community event that has brought a rainbow to our town.
    

     And because I have a team wearing tutus too...there will be no lone tutu wearing for me.

       He winces, waiting for me to be mad. But I just twirl, like the graceful ballerina I am, and tell him he should wear a tutu next year when he does the race with me.
     
        The look he gives me, says it all. There will be no tutu wearing for him next year. 

         I show up to the race, excited, and wearing my tutu, a white shirt and a white bandanna -a blank canvas.

        There is something joyous about throwing dye at each other before the race. It's fun and silly.
      
          At one point, when we're running through the green color station, a volunteer is holding out his hand, full of green dye, and yelling for a high five. I have to say I got caught up in the moment and smacked his hand hard, sending the dye flying everywhere.
         And I mean everywhere, because when I look behind me, my sister in law's face is covered in green dye.
        Whoops.

         My girls were waiting for me at the finish line and they were soon covered with the extra dye packets that I had saved in my pockets. Even Baby Blueberry soon had colorful hair,  but no smile as she wore her Daddy's expression of seriousness, trying to figure out why we were tossing colors at each other.

         Later that day, I come into the living room and Gibson is laying on my tutu, trying to eat it. I think he started with the yummy dye, and then in typical puppy fashion, decided that tutu material was an excellent source of entertainment. Luckily, he had only managed to munch one strand on purple before he was caught.
         I will simply add tutu to the casualty list, which is growing by the hour. Now it includes, 7 pairs of shoes, numerous baby toys, various bills and other mail (go for it Gibson), an X-Box controller (do you know how happy Hero Hottie was about that one?), a board game, the recliner chair, the corner of the piano bench, and now- a tutu.
     Oh, and lets not forget the pacifier, which for about ten minutes, I thought he had swallowed whole. And in my panic, I started wondering if we got on that show, My Dog Ate What?, would they pay for the vet bill, because I'm pretty sure I don't have the money for a pacifier extraction procedure. Then, we found it, behind the couch and I took a big sigh of relief. And oh, by the way, Baby Blueberry, you can't have that pacifier back, even if I boil it.


    So I ran through a rainbow. And while there was no pot of gold at the end of it...there was friends and family and celebration.
     And I got to look silly and had fun doing it!! 

     I even managed to save my tutu from busy puppy teeth, which Abu has claimed the rainbow for herself, once I fix it to her size. And I'm so glad she's still at an age where she wants to wear a tutu and feel silly.
     Even without teammates.

Letters Drawn in the Sand

   ONCE upon a time I didn't understand music. I heard it. The sounds would fill my ears and the beat would run through my veins. Clumsy and more prone to tripping over my feet than walking in grace, I would still dance.

Dance because angels sing. Because heaven rejoices with music.

We teach our BABIES simple songs because they delight in it. Our voices can be rough and scratchy and they will find grace. And dance. And delight. And smile.

Hero Hottie taught me art. He taught me to LISTEN. To dissect the lyrics. He taught me to CHALLENGE the words that filled my ears and DECIPHER their meanings.

Because how can you say what you STAND FOR if you haven't LISTENED to the WORDS?

All words have MEANINGS. Some more than one. Some words are like double edged swords, the wound goes deep.

Some words come with a smile. With a dance. With GRACE.

With TRUTH.

And some words linger in your babies' hearts, darkening the edges, destroying their sense of grace. Silencing their dance.

Abu has had to deal with words of that nature this year. Words that made fun of her brand new baby sister, words that made her doubt her sense of style, words that made her doubt her importance in the world. I have spent months BUILDING back up her confidence.

Bean has had to deal with words that she shouldn't had shared, because sometimes words are to be kept like TREASURES.  Words shared between friends where they are supposed to be kept safe and secure and nourished. She will be more careful in the future when given such PRECIOUS items.
She has had also had to deal with words that made her feel not good enough...no matter what she did. These words have caused her to be angry and now I have to find the words to help her deal with that pain without allowing the ANGRY words to eat her soul.



Words can FEED the soul. Nourish the SPIRIT.  I have discovered that this year by developing some AWESOME friendships.

They have shown me how words between friends can BLOSSOM in the soul like a flower bed gone wild with blooms and butterflies and JOY.
Now I can't imagine a world without the WORDS from my friends. 


If only we had a filter over our ears, so that we only heard the good stuff.  So that we never bring into our adulthood ideas caused by constant HATEFUL words. How my heart cries for a small child who feels like they are a horrible person because they weren't fed NOURISHING words.


So if I PRAY often for the RIGHT words, it's because I know what the wrong word will do. And since I never know for sure if I'm saying the right word to my children, to my spouse, to my family, it's a familiar prayer.

I pray because I understand the power of a NOURISHING word...

JOY. FAITH. GRACE. HOPE. LOVE.

To all my readers: I hope you hear the nourishing words you need today to feed your soul. And I hope you find the same treasured words to pass on...with joy, hope, and grace.

And maybe a good song with the right kind of words to sing along to.

Under House Arrest

    So the universe always seems to function with a ironic sense of humor. Case in point: Hero Hottie takes more hours at work to earn some extra money since Baby Blueberry is on the way. He's not at home as much. The month of May is the busiest month out of my entire year. Bean and Abu have a dance recital every year and it's two week of living at the dance studio- or it almost feels like it.
     The end of the school year happens in the month of May around here- field trips, events at school and special treats that need bought. On top of that we have birthdays to celebrate.
     The yard and garden are begging for attention after being ignored for six long months of cold weather. 
     This month is even busier than Christmas time. It's a whirlwind of fun and very little down time.

     And then I find out that my week long modified bed rest is going to last right into June. Perhaps July. Oh, boy. So it couldn't have happened during a quiet month. Or a month that Hero Hottie might be home. No. It has to be right smack during the busiest time of the year.
      The month of May.

     Yesterday I went to my ultrasound appointment to check on my placenta. Everything looks great. It appears to be healing, it is slowly, very slowly moving away from my cervix, and Baby Blueberry was in there kicking the entire time I was having the ultrasound. It's quite a- this momma wants to cry- moment to watch her little, tiny miraculous feet kick at the same time I'm feeling it. The nurse measured my uterus and it's growth is right where it's supposed to be- big and getting bigger. I'm definitely going to feel like a wobbly whale on feet by the end of summer.
      And I had the chance to listen to the heartbeat. Which the tech had measured the heartbeat on the ultrasound but the nurse still took out the fetal doppler and let me listen to that wonderful sound. It's such a reassuring rhythm.
      Then Dr. S came in to discuss the results of the ultrasound. I would have asked the tech, because she would know but they hate it when you put them on the spot for info that supposed to come from the doctor, so I patiently waited for my doctor to tell me.
     "Things are great but the next four weeks are critical. I can't save your baby at this point should it decide to rip more and you go into labor. So it's modified bed rest for the next month, maybe two. No lifting, no housecleaning, no picking up small children, and limited driving and shopping. I want you taking it easy and resting."
        I'm sitting on the edge of the exam table and she has taken a seat on her twirly chair in front of me, and she is actually looking up at me while she speaks. She's a bundle of energy in a tiny frame, and a reassuring smile never leaves her face as she tells me I have to rearrange my entire life for the next few months to protect my baby. She places her hands on my knees, a gesture I can tell she has purposely taken to doing to connect to her patients but one that doesn't seem too intrusive. I take a deep breath and ask her all the technical questions because that is the way my mind works. I want details. Logical, matter of fact details. And she tells them to me.
    Okay, I can handle this. The outcome is looking great; I just have to rest. The doctor stands up to take one last look at my chart. When she turns her back, I suddenly feel overwhelmed and lost. Without the reassuring smile that speaks of hope; the tears start.
    Needless to say, when she turns back around she is shocked to see my silent sobs and the tears pouring down my face. She rushes over to me, then abruptly turns around and grabs a handful of tissue. She shoves them into my hand, squeezing my hands in reassurance as she does. I wipe my eyes and wonder why I put mascara on, because it has now smeared.
    "It's right under your eye." Dr. S says gently, like a Mom would, pointing to the area on her face. I wipe it clean, giving a small laugh as she has to point out another two areas with smeared mascara. Finally, I stop my tears and she looks me straight in the eyes and tells me it's going to be okay.
     Deep breath. Breathe. Have faith. What a difficult concept right now.

     I take measured steps to the car, now mindfully aware of taking my time to walk, to move my body, to protect my baby. I have to consciously slow down my usual, in a hurry self and feel my movements. It's not completely unwelcomed. I forgot how nice it is to just walk and take one's time to enjoy the process, rather than rushing, rushing, rushing.
    I should probably enjoy it now, since when Baby Blueberry arrives I will unfortunately be back to a hectic mode of living. But it would be nice to slow that down too, especially since I didn't expect this baby and I would love to enjoy each stage, knowing just how fleeting and brief they are.
   Because it won't be long and she will be trying to keep up with her older sisters and nieces. Perhaps she needs to savor her quiet time too, since she'll be busy as soon as she's born.

Baby Blueberry and Torn Placentas

     It had been a normal day. -Right there that statement implies that my usual, normal Tuesday afternoon changed into something not so typical.-

      I took CT to preschool and picked her up when it was over, spent the rest of the day taking care of Bug, kept the house tidy...

    which how can a four year old and a one year old get out every single toy they have in only ten seconds...

    and working on my current romantic short story.

    Later that evening, when the little girls had went home, I took Bean to dance class. This gave Abu and I some much needed Mommy time together. We were going to stop by the library and then color in her dragon coloring book before we had to pick up Bean.
    In one second- life was normal. Busy and unexpected. After all, in four and a half months we are going to have another baby, who has been given the nickname Blueberry until we know if they're a boy or girl. The name was given by the girls because when I found out I was pregnant the baby was just the tiny size of a blueberry. So tiny and precious and amazing. So hence the nickname- Blueberry.
    I held open the library door for Abu, smiling as she skipped through the entrance, happy to have ALONE time with me.
    I took another step following her and then felt like my period had started. -That was the next second in my life and it changed everything.-
    I instantly told myself that wasn't the case and decided I just needed to use the bathroom. Baby must have jumped on my bladder. They had a funny way of doing that as they get bigger and their kicks get more powerful.
    In the bathroom though, I quickly realized it was blood. Bright red and not supposed to be there.
   
    I started cussing. Harsh words of anger and pleading. I didn't want to lose this baby. Not when they had started to warm my heart with their movements. Their presence.

    Kicking and twirling inside me like a acrobat or a karate expert. This was a busy baby who we had started to play music for and they enjoyed it.
  
    "Mom, what's wrong?" Abu asks from the next stall.
    I heard her ask the question but I didn't answer right away. What was I supposed to say? That something bad and horrible might be happening. That the baby at only nineteen weeks was too young to survive if they were to be born. That this little life that we had all grown to love might...
    "Mom?" She was quite worried.
    I swallowed. "We have to go home. We have to go now."
   I rush her out of the bathroom, trying not to cry. Trying not to lose it. Usually I take things so calmly, so matter of fact but this struck panic and fear right to the core of me and I just wanted to get home so I could call my doctor and figure out what to do.
    "Mom, are you going to die?" Abu finally asks, since my answers were not clear. I was not focused, not explaining things to her the way I should have. My own fear was too strong.
    But that question stopped me cold. She's only eight and so young and she only knows part of the details and doesn't know what's happening, except that her Mom is scared out of her wits.
    I explain to her that I was bleeding and needed to get to the hospital but I was going to drop her off at home with Grandma first.
    "Mom, just take me with you to the hospital. I don't have to go home." She pleads with me, worried about Blueberry. Worried about her Mommy.
    I shook my head, giving her a quick glance in the rear view mirror while I drove home. The library was three minutes away from our house and the hospital only another four minutes. I wasn't having pain or cramping and the bleeding wasn't excessive just bright and intrusive.
     I wanted to call my doctor, leave Abu with her Grandma and call Hero Hottie from work to take me to the hospital. I was too scared to go by myself.
     The doctor told me to go to the hospital and Hero Hottie rushed home to take me as soon as I called him. Of course, it didn't help his panic level that I was crying when he got on the line.

     The ER was the ER. I was so glad to see one of my friends there that works as a ER nurse. She kept checking on me and chatting with me as she had a moment. It helped keep me from totally losing it.
     They checked for signs of a miscarriage. Completely negative. - Thank God.
     The first nurse came in to check for the baby's heartbeat and even though I had just felt them move a few minutes before, I had to hear that rhythm. Had to have that reassurance that they were strong and alive.
     She couldn't find it. I kept the panic down, simply because I had just felt them move and she was obviously not especially skilled at it.
    My friend poked her head in to check on me and was instantly wrangled into trying to find the heartbeat. In one try she had the reassuring sound filling the room. It was steady and sturdy.
    I almost starting crying with relief.
    Then I had blood work drawn. I hate needles. Especially when the first vein fails and they have to give the other arm a matching poke. Ouch.
    Urine samples- Do you know how hard it is to pee into a cup when you're trying to hold up a loose, way too large gown with the other hand? Can't they make hospital gowns in a few different sizes? One size does not fit all. And why do I always end up with the gowns with broken snaps and broken strings? I would like to have my bum covered as I walk down the busy hospital corridor to the bathroom please.
    The pelvic exam was the worse one I had ever experienced. The room I was put in did not have stirrups. So what they offered me was a pelvic wedge. It looks like a wedge of cheese and is the size of a pillow. I had to balance my bum onto the top edge of it, while still sitting up, using my arms behind me to keep from falling off it.
     The nurses explained that the wedge was much better than what they used to do.
     Bedpans. They use to have female patients balance and perch so they could expose themselves for a pelvic exam for some strange doctor on the edge of a bedpan.
      I suppose I will take the pelvic wedge.

     The ER doctor did an ultrasound and the baby's heart was nice and strong.

     They sent me home to rest, to come back if I started to have pain and told me to call my doctor in the morning.
     I hate hospitals. Probably because six years ago I entered one, not sure if I was coming out alive. Now I was leaving one, and I wasn't sure the outcome.

     I spent the next two days visiting my doctor and having two different ultrasounds. The diagnosis...a slightly torn placenta and some blood in the uterus.
   Ouch. I still wasn't having any signs of a impending miscarriage but I did have problems with my placenta. I was still scared like crazy.
    She put me on bed rest for the next week. No lifting, no traveling, no -and she looked at Hero Hottie while she says this- sex. He asked me later why she looked at him when she said this. Because you're a guy. I managed to not roll my eyes.

    She has hopes that it will heal and every thing will be fine. In the next week or two we will know. In the mean time, I'm stuck on the couch, trying to keep myself from worrying. Or reading too many Google entries about placenta abruption.
     I think I would have been better not looking up those words. A full placenta abruption is horrible and devastating. And heartbreaking.
 
     A slightly torn one has a much better chance of healing and finishing out the pregnancy. At least that's what I have been able to find online. So right now baby Blueberry and I are doing fine. Bleeding has stopped and I still don't have any pain or cramping. It took a few days to write this blog, I was so afraid of jinxing myself if I wrote that we were doing okay.

    I think the rest of this pregnancy might be a one day at a time kind of pregnancy. She's kicking wildly while I write and that makes me smile. I pray and then pray a whole lot more.
    I have a wonderful family to help me. Bean and Abu actually spent the weekend doing chores I could never get them to do before without listening to minutes of complaining.
    I have amazing friends...women that have offered to help with my chores, to let my children play across the street when they're out and playing, to make me meals, that have loaned me videos and books to keep from going insane.
    Who have understood as mothers how scary and frightening this is and have been there for me. I am truly blessed by the people in my life. Blueberry is blessed already by the people who love her and we haven't even met her.
     I will keep everyone posted as hopefully things move along without anymore scares. Plus I will have time to write as I have a feeling my days are going to be a lot quieter. And writing is a whole lot better than watching daytime television. :)

    Oh, and in the meantime one of those ultrasounds I had told us what Baby Blueberry is...drum roll please....
     she's a GIRL.

    I think Hero Hottie is getting a Man Cave.

Day Twenty One- Friends

   I was moving soon with my entire family across country. And my seventeen year self was extremely excited. This was an adventure and since I had happily graduated early from high school over a year ago- it was time for something different.
   I had quit my job, helped pack up the house and visited all my favorite places and people one last time. I was nearly ready.
   Except for saying goodbye to my friends. That was the only painful part of my decision to move to a new life.


   My best friends at that time were Sarah and Gwen. They were a year younger than me but we hung out all the time. We did all the typical teenage things; movies, shopping, talking and drooling over boys. We also liked other things that weren't popular with the other teenage girls in our town, such as antique shopping; which Oregon has a ton of different shops to explore; and hanging out in the local college town coffee shop. But perhaps, we weren't as lame as the popular girls thought we were for hanging out at a coffee shop.
   Because it was a coffee shop catering to the local college students. And there was a lot of cute musician college boys that would play their guitars at night for the coffee drinkers. Not only did they have perfectly made coffee, delicious pastries but they had college guys.
   Of course, we were way too shy to talk to any of them. But we certainty liked to giggle over them.

   One day, just a week or so before I was moving, my friends show up in Gwen's clunker of a car. I'm not sure which junk yard she dragged it out of but if she jostled the gear shift rough enough it would eventually pop into drive and it would actually get you to where you were going. The car was a two door, blue and rust color vehicle with more noise than a locomotive.
   It was a sunny summer afternoon when they unexpectedly pull into the driveway.
  "Hey, what are you guys doing?" I asked.
  Sarah grinned smugly. "We have a surprise for you. Your Mom knows about it, so don't worry."
  My friend could be a bit wild so it was natural to wonder if her surprise was Mom approved. Turns out it was, so I got ready and we hurried out to the car.
  "You're sitting in the back." Gwen said, pointing to the small backseat. I hated sitting in the back, it was cramped and had no leg room.
   I frowned and rolled my eyes. "Fine."
   Sarah grinned again. "And we're going to blind fold you."
  "What?" I screeched.
  They were both grinning as Sarah waved the bandanna in the air. "It's a surprise, remember?"
  I shook my head and it took them a few minutes of earnest pleading on their parts to convince me to don the blindfold and then sit in the back of the car. So not only was I stuck in the back, I couldn't see anything. What was I thinking?
   What was my Mom thinking?
  I had great fun with my friends but this was like giving them permission to be as wild and crazy as they wanted. I couldn't believe I had agreed to this.
  The first few minutes were okay. I noticed just how loud the car protested being driven, now that my sense of sight was behind a stupid blindfold. My friends just giggled smugly as we drove. They were enjoying this surprise way too much. Probably because I was always the sane one. The one who didn't want to get into trouble doing something. Maybe not a daredevil, but still they enjoyed my company.
   Now I was trapped helplessly in their hands. Of course, I could have just taken the blindfold off but they kept warning me to keep it on. They had a great surprise for me and they didn't want me to ruin it. Sure, use guilt and my own nature against me. I didn't want to hurt their feelings so I kept the blindfold on.
   Suddenly, the car is spinning round and down a steep hill, making me dizzy and sick. I don't even have time to rip the blindfold off, I'm just holding onto the seat, wondering if I was going to be alive in the next few minutes.
   Sarah is screaming at Gwen to slow down but the car still turns precariously and frantically. I close my eyes under the blindfold, holding my breath.
   "Shut up, Sarah." Gwen screams back. The car does a 180 turn and comes to an abrupt and noisy stop. We are alive. I let go of the seat and reach up to take off the blindfold.
   My friends grab my hands. "You can't do that." Sarah says. "We aren't there yet."
  "You almost killed us."
   They start laughing hysterically. "No, we're fine. Gwen just took the hill a little fast. Keep it on, please."
Sarah doesn't let go my hands until I nod. This surprise had better be good. Since they almost got me killed. I fold my arms and glare at them through the bandanna.
   "Don't be mad at us. You're going to like this." Gwen says softly.
   "I better." I muttered.
 
  A few minutes later, we finally arrive. Where. I'm not sure. I have to climb out of the car with the blindfold on, each friend flanking my side and guiding me. The happy noises of other teenagers fill the open air and we walk across the grass until Sarah whips the bandanna off my eyes with a dramatic flourish and a wide gesture of her arms, encompassing the surprise.
   We're in some one's yard which happens to belong to a nice and fancy house up in the hills surrounding our town. Huge trees adorned the property and a small gully runs across the backyard. It's probably twelve to twenty feet deep and only ten to fifteen feet wide.
  And kids are swinging across it on a rope and plank hung from a beautiful hardwood tree.
  "Surprise." Sarah says. "This is my friend's house." She points to the blond teenager next to us. I smile at her. "And she said I could bring you here to enjoy her backyard as a going away gift."
   Gwen is silently grinning from ear to ear.
   I gulped. The kids were laughing and enjoying themselves but even though the gully wasn't that big it was still big enough to hurt if the rope broke, or went the wrong way or...I was worrying about all the 'what ifs'.
   "Come on." Sarah grabs it when the last kid is finished and holds it while I nervously climb onto the plank of wood. Will it hold?
   I grip the rough, scratchy rope and then she lets go.
   I fly through the air with dizzily speeds, crossing the gap a few times before I slow down enough for someone to grab the rope.
   It was awesome!!!
  We spent the rest of the afternoon taking turns on the rope swing, resting on the grass and talking while we waited. The conversation isn't anything I remember in detail. We spoke of the college plans we had, the boys taking their turns on the rope who were cute, and what things I would miss the most when I moved.
   My friends. Definitely my friends. I said. That part I remember.
   I also remember the fun we had that afternoon, swinging and laughing and talking. It was one of those 'perfect moments.' The ones we don't forget. The moments we carry with us like little treasures because they warm our hearts when we need some warmth from the harshness of life.


   We need friends. And I have some absolutely great friends right now. People that encourage me to be creative with my writing. Thanks neighbor!! And friends that remind me that with even being a busy mom that there is still time for fun.- Grown up and still talking about cute guys fun.- (Sorry hero hottie, but I know what guys talk about so I think us women can discuss sexy movie stars. It's only fair. :)

    Friends are like icing on the cake. And I'm so grateful to have mine.

Retreat into the Familiar

      My oldest daughter, her nickname is Bean, turned ten years old at the beginning of summer and has entered the last year of elementary school this fall. Change has been like a roller coaster ride for her and yesterday I think she almost fell off. Retreated back into the safe and warm folds of childhood.
    
       Already she has started to give up toys, now her dolls wait in carefully placed poses on her nightstand or in the dollhouse, rarely played with but still enjoyed nevertheless. Her preparations for school take a whole lot more time, with the shoes absolutely having to match the outfit, the hair style matching the shirt and the backpack an accessory that just happens to carry her homework. Nails are painted every weekend and this summer she got her ears pierced. Whew, I can't keep up, I'm not sure how she does it. Maybe that's why she gets a bit crabby sometimes, torn between still wanting to be cuddled and treated like a child and wanting to find the path that will lead to her adulthood. I didn't realize it started quite so young but all journeys do have a beginning and watching her fumble towards the right path makes me proud of her for the wonderful job she's doing and the intense need to cry because she'll never be my small child again.
       I didn't remember how much change I went through in fifth grade until Bean came home yesterday completely upset and in a temper. That girl is tough, and a lot like Wolverine. The temper flares when pain is experienced. Tears are rarely seen, which is not like me at all. So she comes home quite mad at this girl at school.
      "We were having lunch together and talking just like every day since school started. Oh, she's such..." She breaks off, controlling her temper, especially since name calling isn't allowed in our household.
        "What happened?" I asked, quite concerned because she seemed so vulnerable and not like the sassy fifth grader I have been sending to school the last two weeks, all confident and sure of herself.
        "We were talking and then suddenly, just suddenly Mom. She asks me 'why do you sit with us?" She frowns and obviously this question has confused her for the abruptness of how it had been asked. "I said it was because I liked to." She takes a deep breath, her fists clenched, her face lined with anger but it's the hurt in her green gold eyes that has me wanting to take her in a big hug.
        "Then what happened?" I asked quietly.
         "She said I was annoying. That everything I said was annoying. That I was just annoying and I wasn't welcomed to sit with them anymore. And she was so rude about it. Just snotty and rude. I wanted to punch her."  Angry. Hurt. And totally confused how one second they could be getting along and then suddenly thrown into the lion's den.
         I asked her what happened then. Apparently the conversation had been interrupted before Bean had a chance to respond. The lunch room was put into quiet mode and under the threat of losing recess they dared not speak. But later at recess the girl was not nice to Bean either and I must have taught my daughter something because she responded firmly but didn't resort to name calling or rudeness. And I know she would have been angry and hurt.
        I went through the usual cliches of how some people just aren't nice, there might be reasons, such as a terrible home life, or they're having a bad day but we still didn't have to spend time with them and the best thing to do was avoid rude people like that. Don't let her be a bully but we don't have to allow them a chance to ruin our day. I reassured her that she had plenty of other friends, ones that weren't suddenly rude and hurtful and she shouldn't let this girl bother her.
       But I know it hurts. I remember fifth grade and the day my best friend from fourth grade stood up and told everyone it was her last day because her parents were getting a divorce and she was moving. I was shocked because she hadn't told me. The summer before she had decided to play with someone else and had told me we weren't best friends anymore. I had been horribly hurt and had hoped that once the school year started we would be friends again. Apparently not.
      So I knew Bean was hurting, it's hard to learn lessons on how to deal with people. How to deal with ourselves. So I did the only other thing I knew how to do to make it better. I gathered her into a huge bear hug and held her close for a minute, telling her that no matter what she was My Bean and would always have a family that loved her.
      I don't know how much it helped except she wasn't as angry but for the rest of the afternoon she pulled out my childhood collection of My Little Ponies and started playing with her sister and her nieces. And then she picked a few of her favorites and took them to the corner of the room and played by herself. Making them talk and play. The sounds of pretend were warmly familiar but just a bit solemn because I knew she was finding comfort with a tactical retreat back into childhood.
     And sometimes don't we all have to make tactical retreats from life and the world?

Rude People and the Painful Process of Forgiveness

       The other day I was at the grocery store with the children shopping for food when I had to deal with a very rude person. I was picking out my chicken and apparently taking too long because this woman storms over to where I'm standing, grabs my cart handle, which is touching my waist and gives it a shove away from me. She then steps next to me, definitely in my personal space but not touching me. I was quite shocked, having been busy trying to find a package that looked edible, and could only stare at her profile as she proceeded to find her piece of chicken, all the while making loud huffing noises at me.
      She angrily grabs her chicken and walks heavily away from me, never saying anything and leaving my poor cart where she had shoved it out of her way. I was mad and quite astounded at her poor manners.
      A simple and polite 'excuse me' would have worked wonders for her if she couldn't wait one or two minutes for her turn. I guess she missed those lessons in kindergarten.
     Or perhaps she's royalty and I didn't notice the crown. In that case I should have offered to push her cart through the entire store for her. Or, even though she looked well dressed, elegant and stylish, maybe that was a disguise and she was actually an escapee from Miss Manner's Academy for Rude Adults.
      I'm not sure what her reasons were for being rude and I doubt she has a good enough excuse to justify just how improper she was behaving. I do know from the way she was acting that she thought I was the one in the wrong, which is ridiculous since I was shopping and not talking on my cell phone or texting while blocking the groceries.
     But with all that being said, what is really bothering my state of mind about the entire situation is me. Yes, I didn't do anything wrong. I know there are extremely rude people in the world. And even if she was having a bad day, it's no excuse for treating someone else so rudely. Life is hard enough, we all need manners to remember our humanity. But over a week later I'm still letting it bother me. I can feel my body tense up when I think about it. I laugh when I tell the story to friends but on the inside I'm still upset over the thirty second incident.
     I'm not sure why. Perhaps, because I didn't say anything to her in response to her actions and so feel trampled on. There is a certain amount of resentment that builds up when injustice is quietly taken, even for such, small insignificant conflicts with rude people.
    No matter the reason, I need to forgive. Not condone. Somehow it is possible to forgive without condoning the action but it's not always easy to offer forgiveness.
     The nice thing about being a writer that it always helps to write something down, because then I can let it go. Seeing the words is a release. Like water on the back of a duck. I can take a deep breath and it isn't thick and tight with resentment.
    Forgiveness helps protects our health. It clears our mind, sweeps out the debris of our anger.
     And it can be amazing. A few years ago I almost died. In fact, I spent two years almost dying. It was a difficult and lonely time. When I started healing I became friends with a coworker of hero hottie and it was so nice to enjoy life again.
     But then she moved away and our chats and visits were fewer and fewer but we were still friends, until one visit when she never talked to me again. We had a wonderful time and then she avoided all my emails and phone calls. I didn't understand and I was greatly hurt. After going through such a difficult period in my life and then to find a friend, only to be completely torn apart, I was devastated. I didn't even know what I had  done wrong. I spent weeks trying to figure out why she had so suddenly stopped being my friend. I already was experiencing a fear of embracing life because of how close I had come to exiting and it certainty didn't help to feel rejected.
     I also kept the hurt of what happened in my heart and over the years it grew darker and more bitter. Instead of just pain it was now anger swirling in my gut every time I thought of her. It also made me nervous of making new friends. Why risk friendship when it could end so painfully?
    And then a few weeks ago I had a dream. In this dream I forgave her and when I woke the bitterness was missing. The old anger was gone and I instantly realized that I should have forgiven her so long ago. Forgiveness wasn't condoning the pain she had caused me, but it was allowing me to let go of the anger. So then, I decided to actually ask her why she had treated me in such a way.
      "I want to know why you stopped being my friend?" I asked her, quite matter of factly, but shaking from nerves on the inside.
      She was quite surprised to see me and a bit puzzled over my question. And then she answered and shocked me. "I didn't. You did. Your child said you weren't sure if we were friends."
      "What? You stopped talking to me." I said.
      "Because I thought you didn't want to be friends." She looked as confused as I felt. "She said you were talking to your mom and said we weren't friends."
       "You stopped talking to me because my small child said something from a conversation she didn't fully understand and you took it at face value without talking to me?"
        She shrugged, clearly starting to wonder if she should have just believed a small child without verifying facts.
       I almost laughed. "I was worried about our friendship, since you moved. She didn't understand the entire conversation." (Note to self, don't repeat anything in front of ornery child who thinks she understands adult conversations and knows she can improve on them.)
       I spent a few years being angry and without dreaming about forgiveness would never have talked to her. And nothing would have been straightened out.
       Which brings me to other side of forgiveness, the part where sometimes we have to ask for it. Last week I said something about a loved one, completely joking but easily misconstrued as hurtful, which I didn't mean at all. Unfortunately, I said this joke in front of my ornery child and she decided to repeat it to the one person I didn't want to hear what I had said. And now I feel bad for my big mouth.
      I tried to apologized but I don't think it was well received. Hopefully, my sibling realizes I wasn't trying to be hurtful and I always hate using words improperly. Me and my big mouth.
      But it is a good reminder why forgiving is important. Because no matter how hard we try, at some point (and sometimes a few times a week), we're on the side of needing forgiveness for our actions. I guess we're just human. Imperfect, sometimes grouchy and really good at not communicating well. Ask anyone who has been married for years, the ability to forgive is important.
      I tell you what though, forgiving and waiting to be forgiven, is not easy. But it's worth it because I was tired of being mad at the rude grocery lady. I can even hope she enjoyed her chicken.