IMG!

Dear Diary,

I know it's been awhile since I've written, but that "IMG" is not a typo. 

Sure, we are all familiar with the texting shortcut OMG, which I only use as a form of "OMGosh" due to its breaking the third commandment, and by the time I write that all out it's really not making anything short for me anyway.... 

OK, back to topic:
IMG is my new slang acronym meaning Inward Mental Groan.

IMG describes those times you internally exclaim your displeasure at a situation without letting anyone around you in on your secret.  Perhaps you even have a smile on your face during an IMG (otherwise known as IMGWS - inward mental groan with a smile).  Here are some examples of times an IMG may pop up.

• Driving my car in slow traffic-- lets say, approaching a stoplight during rush hour.  Then ending up stopped in the path of an exit, perhaps a gas station, with three cars waiting to get out into the lane I am occupying.  IMG!  (Well, if it's me you are trying to get in front of, people, maybe I'll smilingly let one car out! IMGWS!)
• Discovering I am missing an ingredient in a recipe after I started making it.  IMG! No, wait, I actually whine and complain noisily on that one!
• Watching a friend's toddler walk through (literally) my screen door that was just re-screened....not that that really happened. At least not recently.  IMGWS!
• Waiting until payday to buy those cute shoes only to find out they are now at regular price and no longer at last week's bargain price. (Or leaving all my shopping coupons at home on the counter.) IMG!
• Reading a great book only to find a cliffhanger at the end. IMG!  And then having to go on a waiting list to get the next in the series.  Double IMG!
• Repeating a song ending fourteen times during church.  IMGWS!  (For the record, that would never happen at my church!)
• Suck ups.  IMG!

I think that conveys the idea.  I know there are more.  Anyone want to share their IMG moments?

Happy to be writing again!
LJ

Post Mother's Day Post

Dear Diary,

It is the Monday after Mother's Day.

The day when -- after a blessed day off -- mothers everywhere get back to
loading dishwashers,
making dinner,
changing diapers,
folding laundry,
and eating breakfast at the kitchen counter (or over the sink) instead of in bed.

In church yesterday (btw, I like having Mother's Day on Sunday.  Church is a good place to be on this day.) I confirmed something that I had only suspected was true.  I just needed to know I wasn't the only one who does this.  Now I know.

The two pews in front of me were occupied by mostly women of childbearing age and beyond, along with a baby or two thrown in.  A generous new mommy was "baby sharing" and allowing her little one to be passed into the eager hands of the women around her.
And then, half-way through the service, I saw it. 
One woman in the bunch, who wasn't holding a baby at the time, was doing something she didn't even know she was doing. 

The phantom baby sway.

That natural movement females adapt when within the vicinity of a child under two years of age.  Not actually holding a child, mind you.  Just standing alone, swaying those hips as if to lull the phantom child on them to complacency.
I think it is a pheromone thing. I don't know.

I have caught myself doing it. 
In the middle of a prayer I suddenly become self aware. Why am I swaying?  I peek through my reverently closed lids.  Oh, there is an infant two pews up that has been detected by my mommy radar.  Say no more.

(OK, stop judging me for thinking this during prayer time.  It happens.)

At the time I didn't know if this baby swaying behavior with no baby on board was normal behavior.  I sure stopped as soon as I caught myself.  Am I the only one who does this? I must look silly!

So I felt validated yesterday, when I spotted this woman doing the baby sway with no baby at hand.  Aha!  I am not the only one!   It's natural!  God must have just built that little quirk into our extremely complicated female physiology.

I am not advocating peeking around church during prayer or confession time.  But the next time I see a woman doing the phantom baby sway, I will thank God for giving us people who have a knack for mothering.

And for goodness sake, I will tell her to stop swaying.  She looks silly.

Happy belated Mother's Day!
LJ

1-2-3's of Parenting; A Lesson in Bravery

Dear Diary,
I recently read a post, written by a wonderful friend, on the topic of Bravery.  Her topic got me thinking about how brave acts aren't just those extreme antics in which I rarely participate (does my Extreme Vacation count?), but they can also be found in daily occurrences.

Scheduling the dreaded mammogram,  talking with your child's teacher about problems at school, sticking up for a friend or coworker, sending out job applications, riding in the car with a 15-year-old at the wheel, and disciplining your children, are just a few of these daily acts of bravery. 

Over the years I have been asked about (and/or complimented on) my childrens' behavior.  Educators, family and friends, church acquaintances, and even strangers at restaurants would say, "My, your girls are well behaved.  My kids would be all over the place."

I don't like to preach, but today I am stepping out in bravery to do so.  (Or perhaps this could be viewed as a little motherly advice, which so often unwittingly sounds like preaching, doesn't it?) 

My kids are older now, with my youngest at age 10.  These things were more relevant in my household when they were little: toddler through early primary grades, the "formative years." 

So if you are in a place where you could use my parenting advice, be brave and continue reading. Otherwise, skip to the Wrap Up!

There are two things that were key to my well-behaved children.

First, when a child was exhibiting inappropriate behavior, I expected them to respond to my command the first time I asked. 

"Daughter, stop jumping on the couch." 

If the child continued, I might ask a second time (with a middle name thrown in for emphasis), but no more. 

I set high expectations for my girls:  good grades, respect for others, obedience.  It takes a special kid to be motivated to behave above and beyond any low expectations that was set for him/her.  That's why my expectations are high.

I have a little confession.  The use of what I call the "1-2-3 Method" drives me a teensy bit crazy.  You know what I mean by the 1-2-3 Method -- where an adult gives a child time to decide whether or not to obey by counting to three (or five or ten).

If a parent resorts to cajoling a disobedient child, and then ends up using the 1-2-3 Method, who is really in control? I am no Lehman or Freud, but it doesn't take an appearance on Dr. Oz to figure out the answer.

I have two premises to this advice.  I assume the child can 1) hear me and 2) understand the language I am speaking. 

Repeating oneself, coaxing, and giving them time, is well, giving the child control.  I have even worked with hard of hearing children and even they can understand a command (in their language) the first time! 

It takes bravery to follow through on the consequences when a child doesn't listen the first time.  I will leave that aspect up to you. But as was the case in our home, it has payoff.  Big time.  To the point where even strangers notice.

There may be parents who say, well that may have worked for you but that won't work for us. To them I say, feel free to share what is working for you!  I'm sure there are parents out there who find the 1-2-3 Method "works" for them. I am not writing to change your ways.  Just stating what worked for me.

The second key is an easier one.
Transitions can be hard for kids.  To go from one activity to the next with no warning might make a child rebel (tantrum, whine, argue).  Many parents transition their kids, and I am all about that.  Give a child a warning that in  ___  minutes we will (be going to the store, finishing with TV, going to bed) or whatever.  Then stick to it and don't let them sucker you into "just a few more minutes," at least not regularly!

Wrap Up
It takes bravery to be a good parent.

But brave acts of any kind can result in appreciating life on a whole new level.

What are your everyday acts of bravery?

Courageously yours,
LJ

The Thing's the Thing

Dear Diary,
I am wondering what is happening to the brain cells of my family members.  Are they vanishing because we are nearing the end of the school year, the finish line looming before us, waiting to be crossed at break-neck speed -- except we checked our brains out at the last mile marker?

For example, I recently overheard a statement from daughter #2 the other day that went something like this:  "You need to get the thingy-thing and put it over there on the thing."  (To which daughter #3 would say, "I know, right?")

OK, that's cute the first time.
But saying "the thingy" or "the thingy-thing" is becoming the thing in her normal conversation.

A couple of asides:
1.  I actually understand what she means most of the time, and
2.  Hearing it several times a week has inspired me to change my "What?" to "Whaty-what?"  At least that's what the voice in my head wants to say.

I will use the phrase "totes adorbs" just to give my girls a reason to roll their eyes at me, but otherwise I try to use my middle-age brain cells to form a cohesive sentence most of the time.

However, some of the phonetic faux pas stories I have told my daughters over the years are coming back to bite me.  Recently, when sitting down to dinner, daughter #1 reminded me of one such story from when I was her age.  Her three-word statement was a dig at my story of mistaking the word ravishing for ravenous, which, at the time, made for quite the brouhaha when I announced exuberantly to the family at the dinner table, "I'm sooo ravishing!"

These are the things our families don't let us live down.  Even, apparently, after you have started your own.

OK, so I've migrated a little off topic, but just know that as the days get warmer and the count to the final day of school gets smaller, the brain cells in our household become neglected, which, I guess, is our way of preparing our minds and bodies for the lazy days of summer.

When all nouns get replaced by a creative form of the word "thing."

Linguistically yours,
LJ

Pie Charts and Tally Marks

Dear Diary,

It's all I can do to not raise my hand.

The second grade teacher asks a question about the picture chart.  "How many more pepperoni pizzas were made than cheese?"  The kids aren't getting it.  They raise their hands to answer but just can't quite figure it out. 

Ooooh. Pick me! Pick me! I know the answer! I think to myself. 

I love this math. It is so much fun!  I would love to be able to show the class how smart I am.

But this is not a flashback to my childhood.
This is now.
I am an adult.
An aide, sitting in a second grade classroom, watching a lesson about charts and graphs unfold on the overhead screen in front of me and 25+ eight-year-olds. 

And I want to raise my hand.

Silly, I know.

Thanks to my employment, I now spend a lot of time in first and second grade.

We are
counting coins
charting and tallying
telling time
watching plants grow from seeds
spelling homonyms
reading stories
subtracting three digit numbers
learning not to cut in line. 

Through all this activity I am realizing:

All I ever really need to know I learned by second grade. 

Have I ever used sine and cosine in my "real" life?  Nope.  But three digit subtraction sure comes in handy with my checkbook (and so does counting coins).  And it is always good to know which witch to write, right?

So, just in case the teacher gets tired of hearing wrong answers, and one day I hear,
"Mrs. LJ, what is the noun in that sentence?"

I'll be ready.
'Cuz I've already been through second grade, and I'll know.

Precociously yours,
LJ

WWJLT? What Would Jesus Listen To?

Dear Diary,

As I was driving to work this morning, totally disappointed with the talk radio choices I had, I flipped to my preferred FM station; the one I turn to before choosing any other: K-LOVE.

As I started be-bopping to the tune -- an unfamiliar one -- I wondered....

Does God have a musical preference?

We earth-beings have made music since the drum was invented.  We earth-beings have MANY different musical tastes, each refined through our cultural and generational differences.

I think all Christian music is an offering to God, a form of worshipping The Creator.  With this in mind, I had to chuckle to myself in the car this morning.  I wondered what musical offering God likes the best.  What gets his toes tappin' and puts a smile on his face?

(Some would argue hymns sung in German and accompanied by an organ.)

Most would say the best music for God is whatever their own preference is.

So I chuckled in my car this morning 'cuz I imagined Jesus doin' the Saturday Night Live head-bob-thing to this song by Citizen Way.  Or sitting behind a drum kit, sticks poised, ready to tap out the beat.  I can only imagine he enjoys the songs K-LOVE has to offer just as much as he enjoys the Red Hymnal of a Lutheran church service.

He never tells us in any Gospel what music to listen to. (Blessed are the classical music makers?)
Nor is the Eleventh Commandment: Thou shalt listen to Elvis. To Elvis alone, thou shalt listen.

So he must not have a preference. 

As long as it is from my heart to his, I am assured "Nothing ever can separate us!" 
Not even my taste in music.

Always tasteful,
~LJ

Missing the Prize

Dear Diary,

Flashback to childhood in the '70s, where joys came from simple and next-to-free activities:

Coloring books
and
roller skates
and
macrame belts
and
listening to grooved, black, vinyl discs on a turntable while studying the album cover and reading every word on the jacket.

And ranking near the absolute joy of
                                Saturday morning cartoons
                                                     came

the prize in the cereal box. 

I was suddenly reminded of these trinkets this morning while eating my cereal.  The box I used had a picture of those rubber wrist bracelets -- the kind Armstrong made popular.  Except these said BREAKFAST ROCKS or something.

I thought, wow, it's been a long time since I've had to dig for a prize out of a cereal box.  On closer inspection I discovered these bracelets weren't in the box, they were a mail-in promotion:  collect a couple of labels with codes, go to the website and register, and then you are eligible to receive this latex-free bangle (probably after you send in your $4.99 for shipping and handling).

When did cereal prize retrieval get so complicated?
Why did it get so complicated?

I had only one sibling, and yet I gained some valuable life skills negotiating or sneaking my way to that one prize in the box!  And there was no post office nor allowance money involved.

The same goes for Cracker Jacks.  At least it still has a prize, even if it is just a joke about a banana or an elephant.  Or my favorite: a tattoo of a flower or some random object.

So, just as I mourn my kids' lack of Saturday morning Warner Bros. knowledge (and Schoolhouse Rock Jingles), I also silently bereave their lack of useless prizes from a box of Sugar Pops.

Perhaps I shouldn't get so upset. 
They are bagel eaters anyway.

Nostalgically yours,
LJ

Excuse Me, Do I Know You...?

Dear Diary,

It can be disappointing to have such a common face.

In the grocery checkout line I hear, "Excuse me, but you look familiar to me. Is your name Angel?"

or at the library, "Do I know you from somewhere?"

or even at church, "Hey, how is the realty business these days?" 
("Uh, nope. That's not me, that's so-and-so.")

I feel like I get this more than the average person.  I look like this person's sister or a PTL member from some other kid's grade school.  I even had a look-alike back in college.  And though I would never have thought I could be confused with someone named Angel, it's cool that someone else actually did!

At least the strangers who approach with the "haven't we met before?" query are mostly women, much to my husband's relief.

At this stage of life, I am fine with my face.  (In other words, I have finally come to accept it!) And I guess I should take comfort knowing that I'm not alone -- that there are others out there endowed with a similar visage.

So why am I feeling disappointed by the constant countenance confusion?
Perhaps because it creates a mini identity crisis every time it happens.  It gives me the impression that I am not as unique as I was brought up to believe.  I mean, didn't God break the mold after he created me?  That's a rhetorical question.

Or perhaps it's because I never run into anyone from my past who actually is from my past! 

I never run into the "Hey, weren't our girls in ballet class together ten years ago?" person. 
Or the "didn't we live on the same block in grade school?" childhood playmate. 

Oh well.
Contrary to what my older brother has always told me,

I always knew it wasn't easy being me. 

Uniquely yours,
LJ

Bring It On!

Dear Diary,

This time of Holy Week has got me thinking.  Christians have two celebrations that are biggies: 

Christmas

and

Easter.

In my own little warped way, similar to a Would You Rather game, I asked myself if I had to choose between the two, which celebration could I not live without? (If you have trouble with double negatives like I do, I am asking, essentially, which do I like the best?)

Of course I am glad I can celebrate BOTH!  But for me and many others, Easter is the grand
poohbah of Christian celebrations.  The creme de la creme.  The piece de resistance.  The observance to end all other observances.

I don't think I am going out on a limb to say that the world probably would choose the other.  I'm thinking the jolly, round man wins the popularity contest over the hairy rodent, cute as he is.

("Tommy, the Easter Bunny is watching you!" doesn't have the same ring to it.  And "Egg on a Shelf" would just roll off and make a mess.)

True, Christmas is a wonderfully happy time.  It is full of awe factor and awww factor (as in "awww, what a cute baby!").

But Easter doesn't just make me happy.  In fact, in the days preceding it I can -- and should -- feel sad.  But that is what makes the joy so much sweeter! 

My joy at Easter is deeper than Christmas joy.  It is spiritual. It is physical.  I can feel it fluttering inside my chest, quickening my heart rate, bringing tears to my eyes, simultaneously lifting my spirit and the corners of my mouth.

I can feel the perfect LOVE of God, demonstrated on the cross by a Savior who is Resurrected! 
My mourning turns to dancing on Easter!

So while I enjoyed Christmas, bring on Easter!
Bring on the JOY!

He is Risen, He is Risen indeed!

Joyfully,
LJ

Apparently I Have a Problem

Dear Diary,

I'm feeling a little like a guilty youngster right now. 

I had a recent routine physical, and had to fill out that wonderful form prior to seeing the doctor.  You know the one.  It has multiple columns describing multiple symptoms from multiple areas of the body.  Aside from the fact that I felt fine when I walked into the doctors office but now, suddenly, am overwhelmed with an onslaught of symptoms that any hypochondriac would rival, I now also need to reveal: 
a) if I am a smoker (no)
b) do I drink alcohol (yes)
and c) if yes, how much?  (1x week).

One time a week.  That was my most truthful, ballpark guess-timate.  Who is really counting, right?  Well, the doctor, I guess.  She actually called me on it:  "Oh, you have a drink once a week?  Wine?" 

"Uhhhh, yeah.  Or a beer if I'm hankerin' for it.  But mostly it's wine, I guess."

This conversation was on Monday, the morning after having been entertained with dinner and wine at a friend's home.  Weekly wine allotment: check.

Back at the doctor, I am told I will have a fasting blood draw in two days.  Fine.  It's an easy 10-hour fast the night prior.

Except that was the night I decided to have a GNO with a coupl'a margaritas, Downton Abbey on Netflix, and a soul sister.  All well-before the fast began, but, still, wondering if the alcohol and the guacamole were going to affect my cholesterol levels the next morning (and the doctor would somehow "see" I was drinking neither wine nor beer on a Tuesday night!!).  Mucho agua went through this body before la sangre went out.

Now it's over. 
The blood has been drawn. 
I've had wine and margaritas....
 
Tonight was taco night. 
My generous husband offered me a beer. 
Why sure, I respond.  What a nice compliment to my taco! 

Whoa!  Three drinks and the week is barely half-finished? 
I would not be keeping a mental tally had it not been for that moment with the doctor.

Now you know why I am feeling like a guilty youngster. 
Not because of the three drinks so far this week.

Because I don't know how to count.

Cheers!
LJ

My Top Five

Dear Diary,
Recently I came across this saying, which expresses my feelings rather well -- especially in light of the prolonged winter weather we, in the Midwest, are currently experiencing.

I do try to look at the world with rose colored glasses. So rather than pining about my current inability to live in warmer climes, I have decided to try to find five reasons to be glad I live here, in the Midwest.  Here goes:

5

Perhaps Baby Jesus didn't have a snow-covered manger (and the neon-lit palm tree probably captures the aura of his birthplace better than a tinseled evergreen), but I just think Christmas yard decor looks better with a layer of snow under it.

4

Easter eggs are less prone to spoiling in a 30-degree-wind-chill egg hunt.

3

I only have to hear people complain about the heat/humidity two months out of the year.

2

I am boosting the economy in my quest for the most healing lotions, moisturizers, saline sprays and drops.

And the #1 reason I am glad I live in the Midwest: 

Hurricane season is not one of our four.

Feelin' rosy,
LJ

Strive to Thrive

Dear Diary,
Today I thought I'd share a little of what I have been learning about myself over the last few weeks since the start of my new job.

I'm calling it

LJ's Strive to Thrive and Not Just Survive Guide

When in the tunnel moments of life, here are a few handy tips to help me stay focused on the light in the distance.

• Enlighten myself about others who are in worse situations than I.  Seriously!  The I'm so glad I'm not THAT person mentality can be therapeutic.  This may sound callous but, truly, I do not mean it to be.  A sure way to be thankful and count my blessings is by getting tangibly or spiritually involved in the lives of others who are in troubled times.  [www.persecution.com is a great place to get started.]
• Remind myself that my situation is only for a season.  Granted, some seasons (like winter, for instance) seem longer than others, but there will be an end -- or at least a change.
• Smile!  Plaster it on!  Try not to burden others (other than very close friends) with sudden outbursts or rants of self-pity.  Really.  It may feel good to unload one's burden at the time, but it is not pretty to those unsuspecting acquaintances caught off guard after routinely asking, "How are you?"
• Call mom.  She is the only person God made who is obligated to listen to her offspring's pity parties without repercussions or bias and with complete sympathy.  But understand:  Once dumped on, she is also just as obligated to offer her advice.  As a mom myself, I understand this balance.  When mom is not home, dad can serve as stand-in.
• Keep a couple of prayer warrior friends up to date.  Again, try not to wallow too much.  We want to keep our friends.  Debbie Downer is not invited to every party.
• Here's the last important tip:  Find the nearest Trader Joe's.  Purchase a couple of boxes of Dark Chocolate Almonds.  Label byline: Roasted almonds drenched in dark chocolate and sprinkled with sea salt and turbinado sugar.  I don't know what turbinado sugar is, and, frankly, I don't care.  If you are a sweet-and-salt nut like I am, this is the comfort snack to beat all.  [It also makes a great gift, hostess or otherwise, hence the need to buy more than one box.  Coincidentally, my birthday is next month.]

If anyone has their own handy tips to add, please comment!

Striving to Thrive,
LJ

Finding My Groove

Dear Diary,
I can't find an hour to myself these days. 

It is hard getting used to working again.  At home I am always feeling rushed to get things done -- and this is only the priority items (like fashioning dinner out of a frozen block of chicken breasts in less than 30 minutes); the toilet scrubbing just has to wait.  In time I will relearn to budget my time.  I have done it before.  After much hub-bub and drama -- literally-- my kids' extra-curricular schedules are winding down to a slower pace. 

Tonight I got a reminder call from a charity to which I donate household items.  I have no idea what happened to my "reminder postcard," so I never got the pickup date marked on the calendar.  Read between the lines:  I never collected any gently used items for tomorrow's pickup. 

For once, I was happy to have answered the reminder phone call.  And how fortunate that I cleaned out some cabinets a few weeks ago.  I didn't know then that I would be scrambling tonight to gather some bags full of stuff.  A quick scan of my closet and out go a few blouses and sweaters I haven't worn in a long while, or just don't fit like they used to. (ahem.)

Maybe that's the best way for me to clean out:  go into the closet with an empty bag and desperate intentions.  It makes for a quick separation of what would otherwise be a lengthy, emotional disposal process.

Back to the prioritizing....

So, we've run out of shampoo and are using our travel bottles until I find time to get more.
And, yeah, the school notes are piling up and I'm sure I owe some money to someone for some collection or field trip of some sort. (Don't get me started on the library fines.)
And, yes, I miss my carefree writing time here in my diary.

But I will find my groove. 
Some days, like today, will have a happy ending. 

And someone who needs it more than I will be getting a gently used blouse out of the deal.
That's a good day.

Gettin' my groove on,
LJ

More Than Meets the Eye

Dear Diary,

I'm feeling old.  Well, maybe more like "out of sorts."

When one hits the mid 40s, one becomes used to the term ma'am instead of miss.  I was first called ma'am when I was in my late 20s, by a dental assistant who wasn't much younger than me.  Boy, did my day go down hill from there.  How many people can say they remember the moment that moniker was applied to them?  Yes, traumatic.

But at this point -- at 44 -- I am impervious to the ma'am label.  There are other reasons I am feeling out of sorts these days.

I am in a new work environment.  After being a work-at-home mom for almost a year, the mental transition hasn't been easy.  The well-spring of emotions that this job has elicited will be expounded upon another day, perhaps. 

Picture an elementary school setting.  Not only am I surrounded by young children, but by fertile young teachers with the makeup and hair and clothes to go with.  A silly statement, but I bet most readers get what I mean.

There are a few of us seasoned folk sprinkled into the mix.  The days of pregnancies, potty training struggles, and preschool programs are long gone for me.  Since I no longer fall into the Young Marrieds category, I feel like a middle-aged alien wandering the halls of the school.  OK, I exaggerate a bit, but still, the thoughts of "I don't fit in" pop into my head at least once a day.

When I look at this honestly, I know I am feeling this way because I am comparing myself to these women.  Women who on the outside appear to be put together, golden highlights, baby bumps and all.  Lunchroom talk about ultrasounds, overseas adoptions and sick toddlers have me nodding and smiling either in sympathy or in polite agreement.  (I am the newbie so these people are still perfect strangers to me. I can't offer up much more than this at this stage anyway.) 

I miss the Young Married stage and the energy, exuberance and honeymoon attitude that goes with it. Although, I feel equiped to handle it so much better now that I am in my 5th decade!  I can see why grandparenting is the best!

I think I am mourning what I had, and which I now have to greet in the faces of these women on a daily basis. 

Make no mistake.  I love, love, love the life I am leading now.  I am blessed despite life's hardballs. 

In time I will get to know these women who, right now, are only two-dimensional figures of youth and happiness. 

There is more than meets the eye.  And in time, I pray they will find this true of me too.

LJ

My Tunnel Moments

Dear Diary,

On the verge again.

Moments away from the worst winter storm of the season. 
Goody for afternoon rush hour!

A phone call away from knowing if my first day of work is tomorrow or the next day.  Yes, I am newly employed until June. 

Meanwhile.....

I read Tessa Hardiman's blog today and I loved her analogy of Tunnel Moments, referring to the state of mind of an athlete prior to entering the arena (via the tunnel). As a stage performer, I could appreciate her definition of tunnel moments, which has given me some food for thought.

But my tunnel moments evoke a different image.

When I first read her title I was thinking about tunnels, as in driving-out-west-through-the-mountains kind of tunnels.  As a kid from the Midwest, where tunnels were something I dug every winter in the drifts of snow piled against the house, I loved going through mountain tunnels on vacations, and couldn't wait until the next one came along.

Am I the only one who feels this way?  (Yes, present tense, feels.  I am still a kid a heart!)
Driving along in the bright sunshine only to be suddenly engulfed in darkness, sunglasses removed and headlights switched on; and sometimes Dad would comply with my deep desire to hear the car horn reverberate through the cavern before rolling out into the open road and sunshine again.

Why the thrill?  I can only guess it is the change of scenery, if only for a moment.
It is knowing that, once entombed, there is sunshine at the other end, and that the darkness is only a temporary blindness for which we have tools to overcome, and from which there is recovery. 

Tunnel moments.
Temporary darkness for which we have the tools to overcome,
with anticipation of the light we know is there,
and are in constant motion to attain.

Dr. Phil, eat your heart out.

Now that I am at the end of this post, the snow has arrived (with gusto), and I got the phone call. (I start tomorrow.)

I know of people going through their own tunnels right now.  I pray they find the tools to get through it, knowing there is a light at the end!

LJ

The Lord is God, and he has made his light shine on us. Ps 118:37

Snow Day!

Dear Diary,

The kids got their wish.
The teachers got their wish.

They didn't even have to wear their pajamas inside out and backwards.
They didn't have to put a spoon under their pillow.
And they didn't have to put an ice cube in their toilet.

Somewhere, some kid did a snow dance for God.

And *poof* the superintendent of schools robocalls a few thousand households last evening to tell us school is cancelled today.  Due to the snow that was predicted, but didn't really come.

Admittedly, some of the Midwest are on their second snow day.  So there was some precedent in this system. But we didn't deserve even one day. 

So, we got three inches.  Big deal.  The roads are fine, there is no ice or high winds.
We got a gift.  We've been waiting all winter for this gift. 

Not to work on projects. 
Not to work on speeches or worksheets.
Not to attend practices.

Just to be.

I understand, some working families are put out by snow days, especially ones that, perhaps, were called prematurely.  But as for me, I say

Thank you, Mr. Superintendent.
And thank you, God!

LJ

A Beauty-filled Season

Dear Diary,
I have a round magnifying mirror suctioned to my vanity mirror in the master bath.  Because of my membership in the aforementioned blurry vision club, I need it to see where I am putting my eyeliner. Hopefully on my eyes.

It is not pleasant to look into my unnaturally magnified reflection. 
What is the tendency? 
To look at all my beautiful attributes?  No. 
To observe all of my flaws and imperfections.

Yet if I refuse to look into the mirror, if I choose to remain blurry eyed to the flaws, my beautiful attributes will eventually become marred with the grotesque, like weeds choking a garden.

But if I take the time (and steel myself) to confront the offending defects, I can choose to do something about them. (Could someone hand me my tweezers?) 

This is how I observe Lent. 
For me it's an examination of self. 
A close and up-personal exam. 
An honest, ugly, bare-all one. 
A repentant and remorseful one.

Because only by weeding out the uglies can my best self be revealed.
My best actions, words, and thoughts can come forth.
My Christian life and light can shine brighter.

Have a beauty-filled season,
LJ

A Whole Lotta Nuthin'

Dear Diary,

I am breaking away from my Downton Abbey Season 2 marathon to write.  (Mary: just tell him you love him; and Mrs. Bates: you are a nasty, nasty woman!)  Thanks to Hulu for making my viewing much easier since the library only gave me three days.

It’s fun to despise the despicable chaps and become endeared to the misguided but lovable ones.  And boy, there is not a dull moment in Downton!  I usually want to speak in my refined British accent after watching, too.  Oh, and I l-o-v-e Maggie Smith’s character! 

OK, now I am gushing.  On to other things.

I enjoy this time of writing.  It is a great outlet for me.  My initial intention with this blog was to write my life comments for my family-- my girls and hubby, mainly.  But as my posts increased, my ears (and heart) would perk up when I would hear an occasional comment from my friends and extended family who are also reading what I write.  I have tried to tell myself it’s the act of writing that is satisfying me.  But that is a lie.  It’s knowing there are others who are reading the words that truly satisfies me. 

What good is putting a note in a bottle if no one ever reads it? Or paint on canvas?  Or musical notes onto a staff?

Not all of my writing is meant to be shared.  I have diaries from my growing years that I am happy no one else will read, at least while I am alive.  I believe I practiced scrawling my anticipated married name on a few pages even before there was a proposal!

Even though I have yearnings to sit and write, I don’t always know what to say.  I have a few thoughts on topics scribbled on paper but they don’t always "take off" the moment I have time to expound. 

Such is today.  Since my last post I have been swamped with time consuming activities, Downton being one of them.  Housework, not so much.

In the midst of the chaos, I have been longing to sit and do this.  To write.  But I don’t have anything in particular to say today. 
So I guess I’m done. 
And I thank you for reading this anyway.
And I'm sorry I made you read to the end before you knew I wasn't writing anything.  That's a couple of minutes you could have spent on Facebook. 

Better luck next time,

LJ

One of THOSE Parents

Dear Diary,
I'm actually surprised this scenario hasn't happened sooner.  At least to my knowledge.

I guess the delay stems from my deep desire to not bring attention to myself.  (Actually, I secretly like attention, but only if it's positive. You know, the isn't she cute/smart/funny, or boy I wish I could be more like her, kind of attention.  It's the negative, brow furrowing attention I shun.)

I am talking about embarrassing my kids.  I'm not one of those parents who deliberately embarrasses their kids in front of their friends.  I am too genteel for that.  Especially if they are new friends.  However, I have no problem singing to the radio while driving carpool if they are old friends.

But I won't go around talking about my kids' skin problems or do my Super Grover impersonation in front of their friends just for kicks.  Some parents might do that.  My brother for instance.  But not I.

So the other day I was informed by my freshman daughter I was needed to drive home not one, but four additional friends from school.   Upper classman.   And three of the four were boys.
Hmmmm.  Interesting. 

If I were one of those parents, I could have used that pent up time in the car to really make my daughter (and her friends) uncomfortable. 

I imagine some mortifying conversation starters like this: 
* So, you guys got girlfriends? 
* Do any of you go to church? 
* Don't you think my daughter is talented/smart/cute? 
* You wanna be my friend on Facebook? 
* Are you looking to make an extra buck? 'Cuz I could use some help shoveling my driveway.

That's just the tip of the iceberg.

But that is not me. 
I want to be a cool mom.  Or at least a nice mom. 
Outgoing, without being in-your-face. 
Showing interest, without the inquisition.
Pleasant.

With all the friends deposited safely-- and seemingly without embarrassment-- at their destination, my daughter admitted she had "warned" at least one of the boys ahead of time about me and what I "might say."

WHAT? 

Innocent, little me?  Tame, conscientious, ever-mindful me? 

I was surprised. Though I always knew it, up till now, my kids had never admitted to my face that I had the potential for embarrassment.

Yet, perhaps even more surprising was that I felt somewhat flattered.  I felt validated as a mom of teenagers.  So I do have a little edge.  Just enough to make my offspring a little paranoid.

I admit that feels kind of good. 
And I've only just started.

Rockin' the boat,
LJ

Fab Finishes

Dear Diary,

I mentioned to my oldest daughter the subject of my Fun Firsts post of yesterday.  Being the sensible one, she asked, "Why are you writing about that?"  I told her that's what I mostly write about:  useless, random stuff.  

She then reminded me of an incident she still remembers. 
"See that pen over there?" She points across the room to her bookcase. 
I didn't really see it (probably because of my hyperopia status; see It's a *Small* Problem), but to amuse her I said "sure."  She said, "That is the first pen I've ever used that has completely run out of ink.  I was saving it but you threw it away.  I had to fish it out of the garbage can!"

Wow.  She got such satisfaction out of finishing the use of that pen.  I knew then that I had to follow up Fun Firsts with this post, Fab Finishes!

So here are some items in which I relish the finish, perhaps because it is such a rare occurrence, or because I can't stand the sight of it any longer and am glad to get rid of it.

The latter thought, for me, is the half-eaten boxes of cereal in the pantry.  They have been sitting around because, well, no one really likes them.  Usually it is a new flavor of an old standby, which everyone has tried but no one cares for. They prefer the original.  (Like a Part IV of any movie series.  Never as good as the first three.)  So, only out of obligation, M-O-M eats those cereals (since I paid good money for it, dag nab it)!  And it is a relief to finally throw away the empty boxes of Honey Kix and Vanilla Cookie Crisp and get back to my Multi-Bran Chex.

Besides pens and stale cereal, what are some other triumphant finishes?

That 10-year-old tub of petroleum jelly.  Come on.  Admit you have one somewhere in your linen closet or medicine cabinet!  Takes a long time for those to go bad.  I don't think I've ever seen the bottom of one of those plastic tubs.

Lip balm.  My daughter claims she can never finish one before she loses it or it gets old and gross.  I, however, don't have that problem.  But it is momentous -- on a small scale -- to finally reach the end of that tube. (And you get the fun first of starting a new one!)

Economy sized mouth wash.  Especially when I don't like the flavor. Well, why do they make it purple if it isn't going to taste like grape soda?

Jigsaw puzzles.  That last piece.  The silent kudos to self when it snaps into place.  Satisfied sigh.

I could start a discussion on those things I dread to finish, like the toilet paper roll ('cuz now I gotta replace it) or the milk ('cuz now I gotta go all the way down to the fridge in the basement to replenish it).  But I'll save that discussion for another time.

What are some more fab finishes?

LJ