Stay. Curious.

Yesterday, I had the absolute privilege to get a call from a close friend that does not live close to me at all.  And you should read that with all of the bitterness that I can muster in those words because I am really quite insulted that she is not my next door neighbor, but instead, lives 7 hours away from me. Rude.

We chatted about the wonderful and heart wrenching, rewarding and worrisome,  blessed and overwhelming, gig that is being a Mom. She once told me that Moms are only as happy as their unhappiest child. That is God’s Honest Truth. This Motherhood job is the Jerry McGuire version of “up at dawn, pride-swallowing siege that I will never fully tell you about, ok?!” And still, we carry on. 

This morning, I received a text from this same sweet friend that said, “I also want to say that I really just wanted you to know what is going on in my life. Yes, give me all the advice and wisdom, but also, I’m just grateful for you to be a part of my life.” Swoon. 

You should know that this friend of mine is special and I won’t ever ever give her up. We met in the 2nd grade and became instant friends when we discovered that we lived in the same neighborhood. Ahem. Mrs. Dixon was calling out our names and checking our addresses and the criteria for becoming best friends at the time could be a very short list, like just living within bike riding distance.  (hint hint)  Of course, I was not allowed to ride my bike past the stop sign at the time and she lived on just one more block and one left turn, so it took some Moms interventions to make this friendship happen. And, 40 plus years later, it seemed to work. 

All that to say, this girl gets me and we will go too long between talking and connecting because see above and life. Still she can channel her inner C+C Music Factory from Myrtle Beach Senior Week circa 1990 and can say things that make me go, hmmmm….

“I just want you to know what is going on in my life.” What a powerful thing to be a part of another person’s life. To make sure that the people you love and know you know you, actually know what is happening. We are busy. Plates are overflowing-ly full. And even though we have access to all of this social media and technology designed to help us connect with near and far, really getting to really know what is really happening with each other, is hard.  

Note: I am not ready for this to turn into some kind of condemnation of social media and technology because heaven knows, my weekly screen time report is nothing to be proud of and I don’t use any of it well. I’m good at other things. Thanks for teaching me that, Jen Hatmaker. . 

But I do feel less and less of a connection to some people because I don’t know what is happening in their lives. And they don’t know what is happening in mine. And part of that is the fact that what is shared a lot of the time, is heavily curated good news on facebook or pretty sunset pics and clever captions on Insta. For the record, I enjoy these two things. I like sharing good news and celebrations. I want to share how pretty the lake is. 

But that brag about my kiddo’s sports team accomplishments and that lake picture does not tell you anything about what is happening in my life. All it does is tell you where I am sitting a few hours out of the day. Either in bleachers. Or on the dock. And explains why I have a pretty decent tan still. 

But that does not tell anyone that I’m really feeling every bit of 50 these days and that I’m struggling with changes that need to happen. Those pictures don’t share that I’m excited for the next steps that my kids are getting ready to take, but I can’t actually believe that one is in college. There’s no way anyone would know that I really want to feel like I am having a positive impact in my work and also think I might like to start a flower cart and make corsages and boutineres for high school dances for fun. 

Here’s the thing: we all deserve to have friends like mine and I’m so thankful that she wants to make sure I know what is happening in her life. Like I want her to know what is happening in mine. And I guess I want us all to have a friend like that. I want us all to remember that the posts, and pictures, and things we think we know about one another, are likely full of gaps. I hope we all find those people, the ones who don’t let us fill in the blanks by ourselves, the ones who take the time and make the effort to connect and share, and the ones who remind us, like Ted Lasso, to stay a little more open and curious, and a little less judgmental. 

Come on, y’all. Let’s win! Go, make good things happen. 

Accept. — What Lands Through Doors and Windows.

Sometimes, things happen. Good things happen with bad things.  Tragic things happen alongside miracles.

Doors Close. Windows Open.

There are red lights followed by green lights. There are complaints followed by compliments.  There is hard. There is easy.  There are family game nights and seven year old meltdowns. There is the perfect meal and then the sunken homemade birthday cake.

Sometimes the stress of a situation can take your breath away. Then a random text from a friend can relieve the anxiety. Just a little bit.

You find the parking space. You run out of gas. You are first in line. The machine breaks. This is starting to sound a little bit like an Alanis Morissette song.

Whatever IT is—it is true that you have to accept the situation. We accept that things happen. We accept complications.  We even accept credit.

I recently heard the phrase, “Accept what lands.” I find this so interesting.  Be accepting of what comes our way, both good and bad and accept it for what it is. The traffic jam. The three hour wait in line. The lost contact lens.  The sweet message from a friend. The unexpected check in the mail. The favorite movie randomly on T.V.

Accept what lands implies that we welcome our destiny. We accept the events that happen to us.  But…NOT in a passive way.  We are not victims, helpless to react to what is landing in our lives.  No. Accept implies action. Actively accept what lands, catch it and then do something with it.

But what will you do with it? How will your acceptance of what lands in your life motivate you? To be still or move forward? To Stay home or work elsewhere? To Cry or laugh?  To Begrudge or forgive? To Choose sad or choose happy?  To Wallow or Appreciate?

We accept situations, just like we should accept the people in our worlds. I accept my best friend/partner/hubby for who he is and what he brings to my world.  I accept Y for her firecracker ways, for her sweet, sincere spirit, for her over extremes. I accept X for his red-headed monkey loudness, his interrupting manners, and his incessant talking at times.  I try not to make excuses for them. I accept them and their behavior and their gifts and their mess ups. Just as they are.

Accept what lands means that I have to accept me, too. For what I am and who I become. For what I see in the mirror and the number on the scale. For my triumphs and overcomings and my foul-ups and shortcomings. For when I have it all together and for when I just… don’t.

The good, the bad, the beautiful. I have to accept it all.

Accept what lands.

Let’s All, Go. Do that.

Today’s challenge: Free write about acceptance. Set a timer for 5 minutes and just write. Don’t edit. Just write.

What does acceptance mean? What does it look like? When have you found it? When have you given it?

When have you not felt accepted? When have you made others feel this way?

What good has come from bad? What miracle have you found in tragedy?

Name. — Remember it. Don’t be lame.

I have recently decided that I think it is pretty lame to say, “I’m terrible with names.”

I get it. We meet a lot of people over the course of our lives. Some we get to know better than others. Some we spend a lot of time with. Some are just passing through. Some we may never, ever see again.

But we all have this in common: We all love to hear our names. Hearing our names makes us feel important. Valued.

Whenever I have the opportunity to teach a class, I start with a greeting. When I am teaching young students, I remind them how to greet someone. We make eye contact. We give them our attention. We smile. We say their name. We shake their hand and give them a high five or fist bump. And we listen to hear our name.

And I also teach them what to do if they don’t know this person’s name. We still make eye contact. We still give them our attention. We still smile. And then we simply say, “Can you please tell me your name again?” Then we say their name, shake their hand and listen to hear our name.

This really isn’t just for young students. I know many adults who could use some practice with this, too. And I am including myself in that one.

Whether it is your child, your student, your best friend, a colleague or the young man that is taking your order at Panera.

We all love to hear our names.

And all we have to do is actively listen and put their name to memory.

Or at least try. Really try to connect with that person and remember their name.

Because when we don’t even try. When we use the lame excuse, “I’m terrible with names.” We may imply that this person is not important enough for me to know. Not important enough for me to try to put some effort into the remembering.

And I’m sure that is not the message we want to send.

No. We want to send the message of “You are important. I want to get to know you as a person.”

There is a teacher that attends some meetings that I facilitate. Every time I see him, he is wearing a “Hello. My name is ____” sticker on his shirt with his name written on it. I love this. And by love, I mean I want to do this. And sometimes, wish that everyone would. I have never asked him why he does this or how long he has been doing this. I imagine that he has a little box of stickers in his car with a Sharpie marker for just these occasions. But I know his name. I will always know his name. I learned his name faster than anyone else’s. And by knowing his name, I have learned other things about him and his life. His name was just the beginning of getting to know him as a person and being able to really value his contributions and talents.

I am going out to day to buy a little box of stickers and a Sharpie marker.

Each fall, I teach a class on Tuesday nights with 18 graduate students. I only see them for less than 3 hours a week. And I really, really struggle to learn their names and keep them straight from week to week.

It makes me crazy.

Absolutely crazy. I try so many things. I quiz myself as they come into the room. I make us all play silly greeting games, under the guise that these are good teaching practices, which they are. But mostly it is so I can practice their names. 🙂 Some of them I learn quickly, others take me weeks to match faces with names. I am close to making them wear nametags sometimes. I have even thought about taking their pictures, holding their nametags, so I can study names/faces before class. I haven’t yet. But I still might.

I hate when I feel like I have to avoid calling someone by name so I don’t get it wrong.

I never want to send the message that they are not important enough for me to know.  So I work on it. Every week, I keep working on putting their names and faces to memory.

Because it is lame to say, “I’m terrible with names.” I don’t want to be lame.

Sometimes I do get a name wrong. But usually only once. Brain-based research and learning principles suggest that we learn more, learn better from our mistakes. When we get it wrong, and then work to correct it, we build better, strong memory pathways.  It is kind of like going over a pencil line a few times to make it darker on a paper.

This also explains why I will never, ever misspell the word: Conscience. This is the word that kicked me out of the county-wide spelling bee in the 4th grade. And when my Dad heard the word that I missed, he said, “Sharon, how did you miss that one…it is just Con. Science.”

Crap. Why didn’t I see that before? Con. Science. Yep. I won’t get that one wrong again.

The point is: Make mistakes. Try again. But make it a priority to learn people’s names.

Be intentional about calling them by their name.

Quit using the lame excuse, “I’m terrible with names.”

It is lame. Don’t be lame. Don’t be that person.

Whether it is your child, your student, your best friend, a colleague or the young lady taking your order at Panera. (I may or may not have been to Panera a lot recently.)

Make people feel important. Because they are.

Let’s all, Go. Do that.

Today’s Challenge: All about names.

What do you love about your name? Is there anything you don’t like about it?

What is the story of your name?

How did you (or will you) choose your children’s names?

What about your pets’ names? How did you pick those?

Where would you like to see your name someday? In lights? On a screen? On the cover of a book? On a diploma?

Name it.

Own it and be known for it.

Audition. — Keeping it real because it has to be better than that time in 9th grade…

In the spring of my freshman year in high school, I auditioned for the school Talent Show.

With a little help from my friends, we built a huge cardboard Yellow Submarine. We painted it. We decorated it. We cut out the porthole windows so that they could open and shut.

Why there are no existing pictures of this masterpiece, I will never understand.

It was…brilliant.

And we all crouched down behind the yellow cardboard submarine, waited for the Ringo classic to blast through the old auditorium and then we auditioned. We lip-synched our hearts out all the while performing stellar choreography that included synchronous opening and shutting of the little cardboard porthole windows that we could stick our heads through. I think we were just about to stand up and do a dance while pretending to be ‘swabbing the deck’ … ahem, yes, of the submarine. (I know, I’m shaking my head right now, too)… when we heard it.

The gong.

Yes, we were “gonged” off of the stage during the live audition. I think I even heard the announcer say something clever like, “They’re going down…..”

Yeah. Clever.

So, when I decided about 20 minutes ago to audition for something else…I can only hope this goes better than that.

I’m auditioning to be on Blogger Idol 2013!  Because #writersarethenewrockstars! (Do hashtags work on blogs?! I don’t care, I’m doing it anyway because I play fast and loose with punctuation AND symbols.)

And because MommyVerbs is all about:

Doing my own therapy on the cheap, as a working Momma, a newly tattooed and just turned 40 year old who enjoys writing about life with X and Y while playing fast and loose with punctuation…engaging each day…one action word at a time.

I gotta tell ya, that I’m going to audition and keep it real at the same time.

Yes, I’m a blogger. But I’m a blogger in real time, in real life, in the real world.

I don’t have a fancy computer and a fancy office with a fancy, comfy chair in a secluded quiet part of my house where I can steal away and have focused time to write.

Nope. As we speak, I’m leaning on the kitchen counter where the computer lives, looking at the clock, knowing that I have about 10 minutes to get this done. I’ve just come from the bathroom where the five year old boy child ‘needed my help’…don’t ask, really, don’t ask…and I’ve now reminded the girl-child for the 4th time that she needs to go hop in the shower and wash that bird nest that is currently sitting on the top of her head because she has Girl Scouts in about 45 minutes. No one has eaten breakfast and the sink is full of dishes from last night. I’m still in my pjs and robe and I’ve got a list a mile long of things that we need to accomplish today.

So, sure, this seems like a fabulous time to stop everything and blog about my audition to be in the Top 12 of Blogger Idol 2013. Right?!

But if you want to know what MommyVerbs is all about….this is it. Mommy Blogging in real time. In real life. In the real world.

One action word at a time.

This morning…it just happens to be … Audition.

Blogger Idol 2013. It is bound to be epic. And if by some crazy yellow submarine inspired miracle, I actually make it into the Top 12…be prepared to hear a lot about it. I’ll be begging asking for your votes… did I mention, a lot?!

So, while I’m tagging and linking and tripping over the million trucks that the boy-child just lined up in my kitchen around my feet, I challenge you to do something spontaneous today. Something silly. Something on the fly.

Take a chance. Build a yellow submarine with a little help from your friends.

Play more.

Let’s all, Go. Do that.

Me? I’m auditioning for the Top 12 of Blogger Idol 2013!

Because I do believe…Writers ARE the new Rock Stars!

Since there is no documentation of the Yellow Submarine fiasco, here’s the next closest thing … our family Beatles walk. Yeah. That happened. But since I need a new computer and some shock-flash thing wasn’t working, I couldn’t do magic with this picture on PicMonkey. Did I mention I blog in real time? And now we are going to be real-time late for Girls Scouts…ack. Enjoy the day!

Fail. — Candy Crush Contemplations

1. You know how I feel about sugar. It is the devil. This game might be also.

2. It is addictive, like sugar, and will suck up your free time and your brain cells.

3. That being said, I’m on Level 28, trying to clear that stupid jelly.

4. What is that jelly stuff anyway? Seriously, candy in jelly? I don’t get it.

5. When I first saw the little girl in the pink dress, I thought she was a fish creature. Clearly, she is not. But still somewhat creepy.

6. I’m not sure why she is so upset when I don’t get rid of that jelly.  Why the tears? The drama? I want to tell her to get over it and stop making me feel bad for not getting her past the next level. I mean, really.

7. Is that tall CandyMan the one that says things like, “Sweet!” and “Tasty!” and “Delicious!”? Because I think his voice is creepy and suspicious.

8. The gameboard looks a lot like Candy Land. Is Hasbro paying attention?

9. Why is there a dragon in Lemonade Lake? Seems wrong.

10. Where did that genie in a bottle come from?

11. Why is there no end? I keep thinking that I have finished and magically new road appears with 30 new levels to get past. Even Y commented, “There’s no end to this game, Momma.” I know, honey. I know.

12.  I don’t like the red candies. They remind me of Mike n’ Ikes.  Which reminds me of licorice. I hate licorice. Hate.

13.  I really hope that no one out there uses real money to buy fake candy bombs. But I worry that people do.

14. It is nice that Candy Crush allows people to help each other out by sending out lives. It is nice to help people. We should all do that more in real life.

15. It is not nice to be told:

Over and over. And over.

Failed? Failed who? Failed the little girl in the pink dress? There’s a little broken heart there, too. Wow. That’s a lot of pressure. She shows up and looks at me with her sad eyes and hands by her side, pleading with me..why? Why didn’t you do better? Why have you failed me so?

Really. I wouldn’t call this a fail. I just didn’t get past this level.

But fail. Sure. I have failed a few times. Really failed.

Failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. Failed.

I’m sure I failed a few tests, but I can’t tell you which ones for what class.

I have failed to keep resolutions and I haven’t met every goal that I have ever set.

I have sometimes failed to get things accomplished or maybe I’ve failed to remember things as I should.

But the failures that I remember crystal clearly are the ones that involve the people I may have failed. Real people. Not fake little cartoon girls in pink dresses. I’m talking about failed relationships. Failed friendships.  I’m sure I’ve done it. I can name a few.

Failing people is tough. Being failed by people is equally as tough. I can name a few times when folks have failed me, too.

Sometimes what makes it so hard,  is that they may not even know.  Just like I may not know how I’ve failed others.

Because, unlike Candy Crush, we don’t throw up a huge sign and say, “You failed me.”

But maybe we should.

Maybe, with the people that we really care about, the real people in our lives, we should tell them.

Talk about it. Reflect. Vent. Communicate. Apologize. Hug. (I can’t help it, I’m a hugger!)

Make it right if you can.

And then move on to the next level.

Because even in Candy Crush, as it should be in life, no matter how many times you fail…

You always get the chance to:

“Ever tried?  Ever failed?  No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better. “

Samuel Beckett

Think. — A Lesson from a Walking Path

There is a little walking path in our neighborhood. It is a great path and it makes for easy family walks and great bike rides. It winds around houses and through an open field, passing a couple of gazebos on the way. It was one of the things that I loved about this house and neighborhood when we first moved in four years ago.

I’m a little embarrassed to say that it also can cause me some … shall we call it, angst? or maybe just some moments of … awareness … at times.

You see, this beautiful, simple little path goes right through our backyard. Well, it borders the property, follows the edge of our yard.  Lots of neighbors, and even other folks that are not our neighbors, walk along the path at the edge of our backyard.  I watch them walk by with their families, pushing strollers, dogs on leashes, talking with friends.

And as they walk, they look, they notice. And I can’t help but wonder if they are thinking things like:

“Wow, they need to cut their grass, or trim back their weeds.” Or. “Wow, Their kids can’t keep the toys and shovels in the sandbox, can they?!” Or. “Wow, Their deck could use some staining.”

When really, they are probably just going for a walk. Thinking about the nice weather or the blue skies or the cool mountain breezes. They probably only notice the state of our truly lovely backyard for a fleeting second, because most of us are walking around too busy thinking about our own stuff to really spend time noticing others.

And if they do notice, the truth is…that is what we all do. I think those same things when I walk by their houses. I notice their imperfections, too. But only for that same fleeting second and then I’m on to the next thoughts.

So yesterday, while I was outside cleaning up this same lovely backyard a little…the good intentioned, but neglected garden, the sandbox, pulling some weeds…I mentioned this random thought to Felix.

And then he did that thing he does with a simple question: “Why do you care what they think?”

Ugh.

Good question. Valid question. Thought-provoking question. (I hate that.)

Because I do. Because we all do. In one way or another. We all care about what other’s think. We just do. Even those that say they don’t, really do.

I have always cared what other people think. But…Pay attention here … This is important. It is not about any insecurities or low self esteem. It is not because of some ‘thin skin’ or misplaced value in other’s thoughts over my own. It is not just about what other people think about me or mine.

No. I genuinely care about what other people think. I’m curious about points of view. I try to understand people, what makes them tick, why they respond the way they do. I’m not empathic or anything, at least not officially. But I’m a good reader of people. I’m gifted at reading faces, body language, tone of voice. I pay attention to others. Maybe to a fault. Sometimes I can get so focused on managing the emotions of a room, that I can miss the moment.

I’ve always done this. Forever. Since I was a kid. I think I may have even done this when I was in the womb. I must have thought about this for the entire nine months because I was born with this little wrinkle above my nose. (A little wrinkle that says, “I’m a noticer. I’m a little bit of a fretter at times. I pay attention.”)  As a matter of fact, that’s how my Mom identified me in the hospital nursery. “Um…I’ll take the baby with the wrinkle above her nose.”

Caring about and noticing what other people think is both a blessing and a curse. I think it is part of what makes me a good friend. It helps make me an efficient professional development facilitator, which is part of my job. It is what makes me a good health coach. But it can also leave me with a little worry, a little fretting about other people’s thoughts and feelings.  It can lead to some over-thinking and hyper-awareness, which can be distracting and exhausting at times.

So, I’m letting this little walking path be yet another lesson in this life. As we pass by, let’s notice, but not judge. Let’s notice the good, not the bad. Let’s see the mess on the table as a sign of a good family meal instead of garbage left behind for a moment. Let’s see the toys underneath the swingset as a sign of neighborhood kids who know how to play outside and have a good time in the sandbox, instead of irresponsibility. Let’s see the too-high grass and weeds in the flowerbed as a sign of a family who is busy, probably with equal parts working and playing, instead of a sign of neglect.

In other words, …

Stuff. — Lessons Learned from a Failed Yard Sale.

I’m not really a good yard sale person. I like the yard sale. There are some great finds and good deals.  I think I like the idea of being a yard sale person. But I’m probably really more of a poser when it comes to the sales that take place in the yards.

I do get up early on Saturdays, so it is not about the sleeping-in-late thing. No, truth is: I just don’t feel a lot of motivation, nor do I have the time,  to get up and into my car and drive around to look at other folk’s … stuff.

Because. I have enough … stuff … of my own.

Even too much …  stuff.

Which is why we decided to have a, very uncharacteristic, yard sale of our own.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t do too much to prepare for this event. I went through closets and drawers and pulled out things that haven’t been worn or used in the past two years, or maybe four years. Alright, some things might have been more like 8 years.

It didn’t turn out the way we planned or expected. Good thing it turned out to be ok in the end.

We put up a couple of signs. And carried the goods down to our living room the night before.

And then.

It rained. I mean, poured rained. Thunder and lightning rained.

And my living room was full of … stuff.  And this … stuff  … stayed in my living room for a whole week. A Week. Seven days.

You know how I feel about clutter. And if you don’t, you should catch up and read that blog link there. Catch up.

To summarize: clutter makes me a little crazy.

But, I survived.

And the next week, we moved the … stuff… out to the driveway early on Saturday morning.

We had exactly six people stop by our yard sale. Six.

But I learned a few things along the way that I thought I might share with you.

Because that’s what I do here on MommyVerbs. I share. You are welcome.

So…here we go…Lessons Learned from a Failed Yard Sale.

1. Check the weather before you decide to hold a yard sale. Or. Check the weather before you drag a ton of … stuff… down to clutter up your living room for a whole week.

The stuff. The stuff that lived in my living room. For a week.

2. When carrying boxes out to the driveway, check to be sure there are not heavy objects piled between the piles of sheets. Things might slide out and land on your little toe. Heavy things. Heavy things that you are pretty sure break little toe bones.

This happened.

Ok. I’m not sure it was really broken, but it was bleeding. It did hurt so bad that I thought I might throw up and I’m not sissy like that. On the plus side, I got out of carrying the rest of the…stuff…outside.

3. When your kids decide to ‘build’ a lemonade stand, the neighborhood kids will come. And when the neighborhood kids come over, you may very well be kidsitting all of the neighborhood kids for free for many, many hours. (Good thing I really like these neighborhood kids. Good thing they are good kids, too.)

I really do love these neighborhood kids. They are good kids. But I’m watching them. Like Roz on Monsters, Inc. Always watching. Because one day, they are all going to be 15 and trouble. Together.

4. When your kids decide to ‘build’ a lemonade stand, they may make more money than the whole yard sale. Because they are cute. Yes, but that’s not why. It’s because they are ruthless, ruthless salespeople who nag and cajole and guilt people brilliantly into giving them money for lousy, sour lemonade that has been sitting out for too long. Brilliant.

They made over $30 bucks at this little lemonade stand. Afterwards, I had to sit X and Y down and talk the biz with them. They had high labor costs due to the before mentioned multitude of neighborhood kids. They’ll need to work on that for next time.

5. Have alternate activities available for the times when no one is coming to your fail of a yard sale, to keep the multitude of neighborhood, profit-drinking kids occupied appropriately.

I’m serious. How can I make some money off of this Connect Four Savant of a kid?! Hit me up with your ideas!

6. Most important lesson…We did sell a few things. But not really from the sale happening in the yard. Nope, we started taking pictures of some of the big ticket items and posted these on facebook. Then people called or texted or messaged and bought those items that were for sale. If only there were a market like that…some place where you could take a picture of an item, write up a little description of it, then post it online with a price for others to view and buy.  Hmmmm…I may be on to something here. Maybe I’ll ditch this whole full-time working Momma and part-time health coach and blogger gig and start up something that can help other failed, poser yard sellers.  Hmmm….maybe I’ll call it something like … Mommy’sList. What do you think? Kinda catchy, huh?! Stay tuned on this one…

And one final lesson learned this day:

Don’t schedule your annual family portraits on the same day as your yard sale. You and your kids will be tired. They might be pills. Cute ones, with cute smiles, but still pillish.

The Mighty Z-Fam, wilting a little on the photo shoot walk. Picture courtesy of FiftyCentLove Photography-who is awesome and pretends…and somehow makes us believe that we are not only superheroes…but also supermodels. 🙂 

Satisfy. — The Rolling Stones Had It Right.

You can’t always get what you want.

But if you try sometimes,

Well, you just might find.

You get what you need.

Which then begs the question(s):

Why isn’t that enough for most folks? To get what we need?

Why do we want more?

Why do  we always think we need more?

Why can’t we sit and be still?

Why can’t we enjoy the moment we are in?

Why can’t we stop waiting for the next moment to begin?

Why can’t we be … satisfied?

…Which is probably why The Stones followed up with these prolific words:

Hey hey hey, that’s what I say
I can’t get no satisfaction

And if we are walking around, feeling satisfied, is that a bad thing?

Does that mean we are being complacent?

Does that mean we are not pursuing more, doing more, achieving more?

So many are blessed beyond imagination.

And yet, many are still not… satisfied.

Many look around and see plenty who have things that they think they want.

Different jobs. Bigger houses. More opportunities.

And each one of those things come with other…things.

Different responsibilities. Bigger payments. More risks.

Instead, maybe we should all seek to have our souls satisfied.

We should pursue a dream.

We should spend time in prayer and meditation.

We should love and hug and hold those dear to us.

We should laugh and surround ourselves with people who make us laugh, often.

We should ask and really listen to the answers.

We should eat well and play more and choose happy.

We should rest and reflect and notice more.

We should actively care for others and ourselves.

We should forgive and welcome and invite.

We should find time, make time and take time.

We should … be.

And maybe we will all find that…

we do indeed, get what we need.

Satisfaction. Guaranteed.

Swim. Snack. S’more. Sleep?! Why can’t I be the cool Slumber Party Mom?

All in, last night, I’m pretty sure I got less than 2 hours of sleep.

And those were not consecutive minutes … no, … just minutes added up together to make that  grand total.

You see, it was the girl-child’s slumber party last night. The one to mark her birthday.

It started at the pool, included a pizza dinner, continued at home with cake and ice cream, later outside with a campfire and s’mores and then finally into sleeping bags in a tent outside in the backyard.

The party was very MommyVerbs appropriate:

Swim. Snack. S’more. Sleep?! (Yes, I made S’more a verb. It really should be.)

I will be honest, I knew going in that the sleep part was questionable at best.

And yet, I still have this idealized version of the ultimate slumber party vision in my head.

The girls have a fabulous evening. I get them settled in and I head inside to sleep on the couch with the sliding glass door open, so I can make sure all is well. I listen to them talk and giggle and let them stay up to a respectable slumber party hour for 8 year olds, like even 2 hours past typical bedtimes. Then they each say their good nights and drift off to sleep, telling Y what a cool, hip Mom she has.  🙂

But…

That is not how it EVER turns out.

I have come to learn that my Y has Slumber Party SuperPowers .  She can stay up all night long and be the loudest and funniest kid until 6 a.m.  But we are all going to pay for her tiredness the next day. So, I try to balance it all.

So, at midnight, yes, MIDNIGHT…I head outside to tell the girls in my coolest, hippest Mom voice: “Really, no really, it is time to settle down and start that drifting off to sleep. Everyone is tired and it is time. I assured them we could play more in the morning. Good Night. Sweet Dreams. I love you all.”

Then at 12:30 a.m. I do the same thing. This time, I sit outside for 10 minutes and shush and ‘Shuusssh’ when they start talking again.

At 1:00 a.m. I add language like, “Girls. I’m done. It is time. Stop talking. Be still. Go to sleep.”

At 1:30 a.m., they all come running into the house because they think it has started to rain. I check. It hasn’t. Then I spend 1o minutes shushing them, reminding them not to wake the boys upstairs, as they all go to the bathroom … again.

At 2:00 a.m., I didn’t even go outside. I stood at the window and said, “Girls. Enough. E-N-O-U-G-H. It is time. No more talking. Go. To. Sleep.”

At 2:30 a.m., I still hear a few whispers and giggles and force myself to stay put and just let them get it out of their systems.

Then at 3:00 a.m….all is quiet in the tent…and so the dog that I have left outside to be with them, just in case of any critter mischief afoot…yep, starts to bark. Like mean, protective, something is in the dark, bark.

So, now I have to go outside and check on them, as they are all quiet and asleep. Before, I was begging them for quiet,  now the silence is just suspicious. Of course, I can’t get the dog to be quiet either and I can’t believe that they are now sleeping through the noisiest dog in the world.

I bring the dog inside to keep him from waking the girls and the dog now believes it must be playtime, so I fuss at him to lay still and be quiet, too.

I slept on the couch, with one ear open for whatever made the dog bark and caught a few cat naps in the meantime.

So now I’m up early, because it is almost easier to get less sleep at this point, and now I just feel bad. Because they weren’t doing anything. They weren’t egging houses or toilet papering trees. At least I don’t think they were…I mean, I haven’t been outside yet. But they are eight. And they are really good girls.

At most, they were laughing and talking and giggling, I think there was talk of their ‘crushes’ and maybe some innocent version of a Truth or Dare game might have been played.

I have some of my own classic slumber party memories. The ones where we stayed up all night. Talked about boys and bras and Judy Blume books. I don’t remember the Moms coming in and shuushing us, but then, I have to believe that they did. Of course, they did, right?!

And the fact that I don’t remember the Moms’ role in this, gives me hope that when these crazy kids wake up here in a little bit, with the sun and the birds chirping and their little brothers who slept upstairs in beds and who now want their turn in the tent … maybe, just maybe, while I’m making them the requested smoothies and strawberries with whip cream and pancakes…maybe, …

they will still think I am a cool, hip Mom. And they will remember their giggles and adventures, more than my shusshing.

But just in case, I may help them make those those letter bead bracelet crafts, I got for them, … just to raise my hip factor a little bit more.

🙂 Happy Birthday, Y! You have some super awesome friends! 🙂

Let’s hope they will come back again next time! Ha!

****************************************************************************************************

I’m curious…what kind of Slumber Party Parent are YOU?! Do you just go to bed and let what will be, be? Or do you still try to provide some guidance, i.e. when to go to sleep?!

Attack. — Un Signo de Dio on the Softball Field.

I believe in signs. Just like one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite movies: “Under the Tuscan Sun.”

 I have started to pay closer attention to synchronicities in my everyday world. Little signs, little signals that I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to be doing, talking with people I’m supposed to share with. 

 

These signs, they are everywhere. I can’t say for certain that these are signs from God–that might border on presumptuous. But maybe they are. And if they are, then I feel obligated to not only pay closer attention, but take action on any of these signs that come my way. 

 

And this one, … was such a bizarre one, … that I feel there must be a reason to write it down and share this story. 

 

Here goes. 

 

A funny thing happened on the way to the … softball field.

The phone rang.

It was a friend. But a busy, on the go friend, who is usually more likely to go for the quick text than an actual ‘stop and have a conversation’ phone call. Weird. But the conversation that came after my answering with a casual “Hey there” was even weirder.

First of all, there was a very unfamiliar panicked concern in her voice. It wasn’t right at all.

“Are you ok?” She asked me.

Yeah.

“Are you ok, really?!”  She almost…almost sounded like she was ready to cry, which started to concern me.

I responded with a  suspicious tone… Yeah. I have a little cold, but…

“Did anything bad happen today?!” I thought, well, clearly something bad has happened or you wouldn’t be calling me and asking me questions like this!

Ok, now you’re freaking me out.

“Oh my God. Ok. I’m calming down. Oh my God. Letting the cortisol come down a little….”

What in the world!? What is going on?!

“I just heard that you had had a heart attack on the soft ball field today!”

WHAT?! WHAT?!  (I’m betting that I started to sound like that Mom over the phone on “A Christmas Story” … )

The conversation continued and I reassured her again and again that I was fine. Just sitting here, relaxing on the couch. No signs of a heart attack. I haven’t been to the softball fields today. I’m not sure where this is coming from. This is crazy, but I’m fine.

Fine. But now a little freaked out at just the thought that someone out there thinks I had a heart attack. That is crazy. Right?

Y was sitting right beside me and I was too shocked to keep the conversation from her as I probably should have done. So, I used this as an opportunity to talk about rumors and how rumors get started and how rumors can unintentionally hurt or scare people…yada yada yada, …. insert brilliant parenting moment here.

But in my head, I kept thinking…Heart Attack? Me? Who would think that I could have a heart attack? How many people out there think that I have had a heart attack? Am I going to have people showing up with flowers and offers of dinner? Do I need to post something to let everyone know I’m ok?

And then it moved on to things like: I can’t have a heart attack! I’m just 40! I’m a health coach! I eat well and play more and choose happy and all that jazz! Sure, I haven’t been to the gym everyday for a while, but life’s been busy and there’s been traveling and people have had colds and fevers and such…yada yada yada, insert other plausible excuses here.

A heart attack? Me?

It took all evening and three different phone calls from three different concerned, loving friends to finally track down the origin of this story. As it turns out, a good Momma was trying to let her husband know about A’s Mom, (who is 80+ years old and might have had a heart attack). But on a noisy softball field, he misunderstood and heard “Y’s Mom” and thought … well, Me. He was shocked and shared the news out of concern to the hubs of one of my good friends who in turn, called his wife and shared the news out of shock and concern. She called a friend to see what was happening, and that is when my phone rang and this whole crazy story began.

Of course, we were all concerned about A’s Mom and keeping her close in our prayers. But we were all relieved that I was fine and this was just a misunderstanding.

And while we laughed off the whole misunderstanding of it all, I think it messed with us all just a bit. And that is when I started noticing the signs. I swear, all evening long, even while the girl child was watching the Disney channel, every other commercial on TV was something related to heart attacks or heart disease. I’m not kidding.  Then I started thinking about walking through the airport at O’Hare last week. There was a poster on the wall, that randomly caught my eye and made me stop to comment about how the ad was targeted to women.

Finally, this morning, I woke up and was having a little trouble going back to sleep. So, I checked my phone and found another sign: An advertisement about women and heart attacks.

Yeah, I think I’m supposed to share this story. Just in case. Just in case it helps one person.

More than 250,000 women in the U.S. die of a heart attack each year. Many don’t know the symptoms of a heart attack, which are often different for women compared to men, or how to prepare for them.

Warning Signs of a Suspected Heart Attack

• Chest pressure, tightness and heaviness
• Pain in shoulders, neck, jaw* or arms*
• Lightheadedness
• Paleness
• Faintness
• Sweating
• Nausea*
• Shortness of breath with or without chest pain*
• Extreme fatigue*

*More common in women

If you suspect you’re having a heart attack call 911 and crush or chew aspirin as directed by a doctor. Aspirin, when taken as directed by a doctor during a suspected heart attack and for 30 days thereafter, can reduce damage to the heart and reduce the risk of death by 23 percent.

 

Later, a friend shared that the she thought, “Crap. If Z has a heart attack, we are all screwed.” Which is funny, … but we know it happens. It has happened. So, take care of yourselves, people. Eat Well. Play More. Choose Happy.

Know the signs. And … Pay attention to the signs.

Elizabeth Banks teamed up with Go Red For Women in this short film on women, motherhood and recognizing the signs of a heart attack.  Just. In. Case. We’ve all had mornings like this… Know the signs.

For More Information:    www.heart.org or IamProHeart