From the outside looking in.

Louie and I were driving home from a basketball game and we drove through little towns that had tiny old houses with the lights on.  This brought back the memories of when I was a kid. I voiced out loud that I wonder what people in those houses were doing. Family time? Reading? Cleaning? Cooking? To my surprise my husband told me that when he was growing up he did the same thing. When he walked through the neighborhood he would see people at the kitchen table and imagine what they were doing. It was such a fun conversation since I never knew anyone did this but me. He told me by name who lived where and what he imagined they were doing. Knowing these people today made us both laugh since he was not too far off from his imagination.

Growing up in Germany and living in an Army housing area, you pretty much walked everywhere you went. I look back fondly on the walks I used to take with my mother and dog, Susie. We would walk all through the housing area and talk about things that happened during the day and just enjoy the evening. The buildings consisted of three stairwells with three apartments on each side of the stairwell with a connecting basement. There were 18 families per building and then there were maid quarters that were amazing (another blog! ) and families coming to and leaving Germany would stay in them when needed so these were referred to as temporary quarters. The large front window allowed you to see into the living room and the back window gave access to the dining room. In the evening when we walked every unit had lights on and you could see straight into the apartments and see what each family was doing. I loved this. I would imagine all these wonderful things going on in each family and often would be a bit jealous if they were playing family games or laughing and having a good time. Husbands and wives would be snuggled together  watching one of the 5 shows that we had access to.  I would imagine where the family came from and what their life was like. In the winter the windows would be a bit fogged and it painted a picture  that  Norman Rockwall could have done. Kids in pajamas sitting around the dining room table playing games and eating snacks. Their lives seemed so perfect. I often wondered why our life was not like that.

Later I realized, my life was exactly like that! What I did not see through those frosted windows was the stress of raising a family in a foreign country, the mounds of bills that needed to be paid, parents disciplining their children to raise caring and productive citizens, kids arguing over who had the last turn at the spinner on the board game, the tears from a broken hearted teenage girl whose boyfriend broke up with her, the aching heart of a teenage boy who wants to be in the U.S. with the friends he just left behind…….what I did not see was the burden of life. What I did see was the reward of getting through each day.  If someone would have looked into our window they would have seen a loving family living the military life and holding on to the wonderful moments of just being together; just like all the other families we shared our lives with.

I know now, no matter how grand or how dilapidated a home may be, when you get a glimpse of the family inside, what you see is a mere snapshot out of  an entire album of life.

The Sacrifice of Lent.

During the Lenten season, aside from the  “No meat on Ash Wednesday or every Friday until Easter” we each choose another vice to “give up” to prove that we are obedient and can make sacrifices. When I woke up this morning and realized it was Ash Wednesday I knew I had but a couple of hours to make my decision.

Let me start by saying I am the first to admit that I am not the most obedient Catholic. I believe in what the Catholic church stands for and I adore our Blessed Mary. I believe that the host and wine are the body and blood of Christ and I believe in the power and importance of Saints. There are some things that I do not agree with but I think I will keep those private since this blog is not about religion. I have never questioned why we do not eat meat on Fridays of Lent. I just don’t. I also never questioned why we gave up something for 40 days. I just do.

I have been thinking all morning of what would constitute a sacrifice on my part.

Chocolate or other desserts? I am already on a diet so this would only benefit me further.

Wine? Okay I can do that without much effort.

Coffee? Well, this would be a sacrifice that would put me in the hospital or nut ward so I do not think God wants me to do that! J

What is Lent really about? How does Lent affect ME? After much reflection I have come to the conclusion that Lent should be about giving up something that prevents you from giving to someone else; a sacrifice that benefits someone deserving.  In light of this revelation I need to GIVE of myself by taking away something that consumes my time.

Hmmm….what consumes me and takes up my time……FACEBOOK AND TWITTER! Egad! Can I do it? Can I cut myself off from my FB family? I made a half-hearted attempt last year so I need to prove to myself I can do it. Only one way to find out!

Okay now that I know what I am giving up, what will take its place? What can I “give” in those extra 5 minutes a day?  Wait! My inner voice is laughing hysterically. 5 minutes? How about 2 hours? No way! I am on FB and Twitter two hours a day?  Goodness, I am now excited. The possibilities are endless. Maybe this year I WILL make a difference in someone’s life!

As you approach Lent, think about giving instead of sacrificing. Just think about how much you have to offer and how wonderful it will be to share yourself with those that need you!  

Now go get your ashes on!

Southern hospitality.

Europeans and Southerners have a lot in common, most noticeably their hospitality.

When you visit a friend or relative in Germany, it immediately becomes Kaffe Stund which means a fresh pot of coffee is brewing and it is time for open faced sandwiches or cake. Everyone gathers in the living room where the coffee table is actually utilized for serving coffee. The coffee table is much taller in Germany and has a marble top or is covered in the finest linen tablecloth so that you can comfortably eat and drink on it when seated on the sofa or chair.

When visiting a true Southerner, a drink of some sort is immediately thrust in your hand and you can hear the drawl of "Bless your heart, come have something to eat!" and in the blink of an eye there are chips, dips, sausage, bread, cheese and homemade pickles on the table in the kitchen so that everyone can gather around and catch up on life’s events while drinking and eating.

I love family gatherings........except when I am on a diet.

I believe just saying aloud the word "diet" causes heads to turn, eyes to widen, eyebrows to raise and your host to become a drug pusher.  Practice has enabled your host to say "Just one bite! Stop being so silly! You can get back on track tomorrow! One more glass of wine! What is wrong with you? You are being rude!" all in one breath while pouring wine between your fingers that are covering your glass. It is a skill that one learns from watching grandmothers, mothers and aunts throughout the years. A southerner's determination to get you to eat and drink has no match. Protesting politely falls on deaf ears. Getting loud sets off the overdrive button and the pursuit to be a great hostess becomes magnified by 10. Eventually you just sit there and say nothing and do as you are told.

Last Friday I was determined to say "no". Upon entry into the kitchen I was handed a full glass of wine. We were all going out to eat so not eating snacks could be excused due to not wanting to spoil my appetite. I took a couple of sips from the wine and it was like the magical wine bottle in "The Bishop's Wife" that kept refilling itself. In my head I was counting Weight Watcher points. For every ounce I sipped I had to count one point. I had made up my mind that I was not going to use up all my points just trying to be polite. The louder I said the words NO THANK YOU, the more determined my uncle became. He stood beside me and looked into my eyes and did a stare down until I held out my still full glass so that he could "top it off”. I just sighed as I weakened and took another tiny sip. My daughter got my attention and mouthed the words "Don't drink it!" from across the room. Now I felt strong again......and I left it on the table when we went out to eat.

Of course when we came back after dinner my uncle got  my unfinished wine and brought it to me. Instead of arguing this time, I politely took the glass and set it on the table beside me. As the evening went on all I could think about was how I was going to get out of drinking this wine. And then my beautiful cousin asked me to come to the kitchen to talk to her and I jumped up and smiled and yelled "Let me get my wine first!" and I grabbed the glass and headed to the kitchen where I promptly poured 8 WW points down the drain. As all of you Southerners and Europeans know, we do not waste food...ever!.....so this was very hard for me, but I had no choice.

Of course I learned a lesson. Even though I love to offer my guests food and drink and I have often been pushy and said the same things that my uncle said to me Friday night, from now on I will offer but I will not force you to accept my hospitality. What I thought was being a great hostess was exactly the opposite. As of today I will listen to my guests and even though I will hound you by asking again and again until you at least take a glass of water with a lemon wedge, I will try to be understanding when you say, very loudly and forcefully, "NO!!".  This is not going to be easy........for either of us!

The perfect shade.

Everyone has something that they just cannot collect enough of. My "treasure" is lipstick. This is quite humorous because I rarely wear any. I have about 30 different kinds in all colors and all forms. There is glossy, glittery, satin finish, semi permanent, bold, barely there and lip plumping gloss. I am addicted.

This morning I actually wanted to put on lipstick and when it took me 8 minutes to choose a color I realized that I had a problem. Why do I have so many? I pondered.....

I have come to the realization that my lipstick purchases are like my life. I am searching for the perfect shade. Out of all the colors I have there is not one single color that screams "perfect". They are too orange or too dark or too red and it goes on and on. In all of my collection there is not a single one that is "the" one. Every time I see a new shade I snatch it up and take it home and try it with hopes that this will be "it" only to suffer through another disappointment. Perhaps I am searching for something I already have? Perhaps if I took a couple and mixed them together they would be the perfect shade?

Such is my life. There is not one thing that is perfect. When I focus on the negative of each part it leaves me searching for more. Even though there are many bits and pieces that are not quite right, if I took the best part of each one and combined them perhaps it would be "just right".

My lipstick cannot be one shade that goes with everything, but a combination of shades that change with time.....just like the color of my life.

I just glanced in the mirror and I kind of like this shade after all! :)

I am proud of you!

As a child I remember being deliriously happy when my father was proud of something I had done. These moments were rare and far between for two reasons; my father was a strict military man who did not show emotion very often and it was "expected" that we do our best. The equally rare times when I disappointed him hurt me far more than it did him. It was the worst feeling in the world to have my daddy disapprove.

Looking back this did not change as I grew older. I was always my parent's daughter and even though I made my own decisions and suffered the consequences or celebrated successes, when my parents approved it was all that much more meaningful.

As a parent I am a lot like my father was. I expect no less than the best from my children. Even though I tell them often how proud I am of them I assume they know what is expected. When my youngest falls short of doing her best, I am the first to bring it to her attention. I am not nice about it either. I "expect" her to work hard. I "expect" her to get it all done. I "expect" her to want my approval.  Shakespeare said “Expectation is the root of all heartache.”   I say, "To live without expectation is to live without motivation". Can we both be right? Being a good parent means not being your child's best friend. We have to make unpopular decisions knowing that our children will "hate" us for it. I never expected my children to like me or approve of my decisions. I did however expect them to respect me. And they do.

Since my father has passed I have not sought the approval of anyone. I am now a grown-up. I no longer need to hear the words "I am proud of you!".......or so I thought.

Yesterday I realized I was wrong.  My son told me he liked something that I was doing. He actually approved! I can not tell you how that made me feel. My eyes began to water and my heart swelled with pride.....in myself!! I never knew I needed my kids' approval. I never knew I needed to hear the words "I am proud of you!" from my own children. I never knew how much it means to me for my son to notice my efforts. I know now that we never truly outgrow our desire to make those we love proud including our own children. 

This new revelation has me thinking.......I wonder if my kids actually "like" me? Let me enjoy this moment a little while longer before I ask...I am afraid of the answer!

A simple piece of jewelry.......

As we get older and "lose" ourselves to our family, careers and everything else that gets in the way of being "you" we tend to get lax in appearance. This is how we go from a size 10 to a size 28. This is how we go from wearing designer clothes with all the matching shoes, purses and jewelry to just throwing on what fits and makes you feel comfortable. This is what happened to me.

Whenever I left the house I was always chic from head to toe. I was raised in Europe and outward appearance had more value placed on it than it should have. Whenever the latest boots hit the stores, I had them. When a designer coat came out on the runway, I had it. It was not because we tried to be someone that we were not. It was just because that is how things were. It was the norm.

I  moved back to the USA when I was a junior in HS. I arrived with silk pants, satin shirts and high heeled boots with spurs well before they ever became popular here in the states. All of my clothes were from Europe and you could tell just from looking at them. I turned heads wherever I went. My clothes and jewelry and just the way I carried myself seemed to cause a spectacle in the Texas town we lived in. I never even thought of changing to conform to the masses. I was me. This was how I dressed. I liked it and did not care one tiny bit what others thought about it.

I am still the same in many ways today. I do not care what others think of the way I dress. I dress for me and only me. But now comes the sad part....I had gotten to the point where I did not care how I looked anymore. I wear minimal make-up, hair in a pony tail most of the time, jeans and Doc Martin’s. When I have to dress up I get irritated since I do not want to wear heels, hose or fix my hair. What has happened to the girl who took pride in the way she looked and took the extra time to add that special touch to any outfit?

I'll tell you what happened! She got old, fat and too darn tired to care. She was so busy taking extra care that her family left the house looking like a million bucks. Everything is clean, ironed and stylish. They look wonderful and I stand beside them looking like a blob. The worst part is that I accepted this role without a fight.

One may ask what made me blog about this today. It is rather simple, really. I got up this morning and opened a drawer and saw this gorgeous turquoise and brown necklace. I put it on and looked at myself. I smiled. I then put on clothes to match that I have not worn in years. I then looked for shoes I had not yet worn this year to complete the outfit.  I even put on lip gloss before leaving the house. The one gesture of putting on this necklace is a significant step to finding my way back to "me". It is a turning point.

Whenever you see me about town and I have a pony tail and jeans and Doc Martin's, please forgive me. But I am hoping the next time you see me you will notice that I have a style again. You may not like my new style or you may think that I still have a lot of work to do but I say to you "I do not care if you like it and thanks for noticing!"

Now go put on a necklace that you have not worn in years and smile!

The day you realize you've grown up.

There comes a time when you know you are a grown-up.  One never knows where or when that will be or what crazy thing will trigger this revelation but when it happens, it  is bittersweet. 

My best friend’s daughter was being inducted into the NHS and of course I wanted to witness this ceremony. My daughter and I went and we sat with my BFFFLE (An acronym the girls made up “Best Freaking Friend Forever Life and Eternity!) and her younger daughter. Her husband sat behind us. The ceremony was touching as teachers, coaches, and school administrators had selected students to talk about. They recalled meeting the student, what the student’s beliefs are and touched on the ways that each student met the strenuous criteria for being honored with this award. It was a lovely evening…….and then it happened.

A woman who I did not know and do not recall noticing before this evening, came to stand in front of me and asked me what my f***ing problem was. I was still sitting and asked her “Who the heck are you?” and she continued with her tirade and said I needed to stop talking about her daughter.  I was appalled. Here we were in the middle of this prestigious event and a mother of one of the inductees went on the attack. She even got physical. And then she made her gravest mistake……she called my daughter a b****. I do believe that is when I attacked back. No foul words. No yelling. Just a firm tug and the comment “Don’t you ever speak to me or my daughter like that again!”. But she kept on. Her last remark before trying to leave was “F*** you, you fat a**** b****!”  Now as most of you know, I am on a diet. so aside from her stating the obvious, her comment took her to the lowest level I have ever witnessed a human being going at a public event and I am an Army Brat who has traveled the world. My daughter was in tears. My best friend tried to find a way to help. Others around are now fully aware of this altercation and I am torn between my youth and my adulthood. As she leaves I grab the principal and tell him that he needs to intervene because at this point I am not quite sure which way I was going with this. She continued her tirade in front of the principal and all the while I am asking her “What are you talking about?” And she just kept with the expletives. She was a lovely example for her newly inducted daughter….and I told her this. As she was being told to leave she tried one last attempt to get me to hit her. Yes, you read that right. She kept saying hit me, “Hit me, go ahead and touch me!” the entire time. Then she called me another name and that is when my youth could not be contained any longer and I started to go after her and told her that this was now enough and I was just going to have to kick her…well, you know.  Then she said that was a threat and she was getting the police. I told her it was a good thing since she was going to need them. 

The entire evening had been ruined. I did not get to take pictures of my lovely daughter #2. People were all talking about it and I am mortified that my daughter and I are associated with this altercation. For those that did not see the entire course of events, it may appear that I was equally involved and for that I am sorry. It was a sad, sad night. Aside from the fact that we now know the ghetto has invaded our home town, I realized I have lost my youth. In this case, that was a good thing. Had this happened 10 years earlier, I would be writing this blog from a jail cell. The adult in me allowed this woman to make a complete fool of herself and of her poor daughter.  I am sorry it happened and that I was involved and even though I wish I would have just let her go on and on and done nothing, I know that I would not have been able to live with myself.  It is not who I am. I am a “mom” and I protect my family and friends at all costs.

The kid in me wanted to teach this crazy woman a lesson in proper etiquette. The adult in me knew that there is no hope for her. For some reason my daughter and I are a threat to her and she needed to lash out.  Her vulgar display will be remembered by those that saw it for years to come. To quote my daughter “I have never, ever, ever, ever seen anything this bad in my life and I played basketball for Storm and I live with you, mom!” …..I guess Raychel has heard stories about my youth! J

Love is in the air...or is it?

February brings with it the smell of roses and chocolate.  Everything is pink, white and red and decorations of hearts and “I Love You” banners adorn every entryway of every store you dare to enter. Cupid cutouts eye you eerily as you pass by like one of those old paintings where the eyes follow you all around the room.  Isn’t it romantic?  Well…..not for all of us.

Valentine’s day can make a normally happy and confident girl feel like a neurotic, depressed “Ugly Betty”.  Believe me, I know. When I was in school some silly group of boosters would sell roses as a fundraiser. You could buy a rose, add a note and they would hand deliver it during class near Valentine’s day. The popular girls walked around with their dozen roses from just as many boys and then the other 95 percent of us would walk the halls empty handed and try desperately not to make eye contact with anyone for fear the tell tale signs of tears would be visible. The worst part was the interruption of the class by a knock on the door and everyone’s heart would skip a beat in anticipation of being one of the “chosen” ones. Then there would be screeching and giggles and  lots of  hugging and jumping up and down while the same girls got yet another rose. It was sheer torture. I hated Valentine’s day.

And then I fell in love with a boy.

I remember our first Valentine’s day together. There was hints all week of what was to come. Every time I thought of it my heart would pound. Thoughts of what I could do to make this day special would consume my every thought. I wanted to show him how much I cared. I wanted others to see how much he is loved.  I wanted to make him feel like the hottest, smartest and most wanted boy to ever grace the halls of our school. I also wanted others to know he chose ME! I could not wait for the knock on the door and the delivery of a single red rose that signified his love for me. At the end of that day, with rose in hand, we went to dinner and he gave me a stuffed animal and a balloon. It was one of the best days of my life.  A few weeks later…….we broke up.

And then I fell in love with a man.

Our first Valentine’s day together was the month before we were to be wed. I wanted this day to be a true reflection of what was to come in our years together as man and wife. I wanted him to know how much I loved him and I hoped he surprised me with a gift to show how much he loved me.  We planned a night out and exchanged cards that held words of lasting love. He gave me perfume and a bracelet and I gave him cologne and a framed picture of the two of us together.  It was so romantic and was one of the best days of my life.  A month later……we got married.

And this will be our 30^th Valentine’s day together.

I have anticipated this day for weeks and I have been searching for the perfect gifts since January…..for our kids.  Raychel’s Valentine’s gift is wrapped and ready. Nathan and Jodi received theirs in the mail last week.  After 29 years of cards and flowers and perfume and chocolates, Louie and I have come to the realization that this one day a year is for the amateurs; people who want to prove to themselves they are in love or are loved.  For those of us who have put up with dirty underwear, toothpaste in the sink, snoring during a romantic comedy and all the other lovely things that come with marriage, chocolate and flowers just doesn’t seem adequate. The fact that we can sit in the living room  on this special day wearing sweats and talking about work, kids and bills is enough proof we love each other. While the rest of the world is either gloriously happy or extremely depressed, we will be in our beds fast asleep…..snoring and looking like “Ugly Betty”.

So for all you teenagers who think that the mere act of getting or giving a Valentine defines who you are, please remember that one day you too will love and be loved by someone so special that there is no card or Valentine’s gift that seems appropriate. Until that day, treat YOURSELF to a box of chocolates and smile. At least you will not have to do the laundry, pay bills or listen to your other half snore on this “special” day.

How can this be God's plan?

Even when my heart was broken in a thousand pieces, I held firm to my belief that God has a plan. I may not agree with it and I have questioned it so many times I should be ashamed but in the end I come to the same conclusion. He is in control. He knows what we do not. He loves us and would never want to harm us.

And then there was Feryn and Hailey.

Feryn is a beautiful, bright, wide eyed little girl who has been diagnosed with Stage 4 Gangiloneuroblastoma. Her life has been turned upside down. She is strong, courageous and determined to fight this evil that wants to take over her little body. Hundreds of people pray for her daily. We have become prayer warriors and keep believing God is good and kind and has this under control. We are afraid to ask why for fear he will not intervene. We blindly trust that His plan will be what is best for all of us. While she is fighting there is hope, right? This can all be okay! Pray, pray, pray and pray some more. And we will continue to pray as she takes this difficult journey.

Hailey is a gorgeous teenager who went to school with Raychel. I do not have all the facts and dates and details but this young lady was diagnosed with a brain tumor about three years ago. She has been fighting for her life ever since. Again, hundreds prayed daily for her cure. We knew God had this under control. We knew that He had a plan. This brave and courageous soul fought with everything that she had and today......................God took her anyway.

And today, I questioned his plan. I felt that maybe he is not in control. How can he love us? How can he be our Father of the most high and let us feel so much pain? How can he leave a mother without her child? How can he allow a child to suffer every single day fighting to keep the one gift He gave them; Life? I wanted Him to explain. I wanted Him to tell me NOW how he could let this happen!

And then it hit me. Hailey was not ours to keep. She is His child first. He sent her here and trusted in her spirit to teach this small town compassion. He knew that in her short life she would teach many how to be brave and caring and kind to one another. She would bring a cause for all of us to come together and put aside our differences and pray for the well being of one family. She would leave a mark on this town that will stay with us forever. He let us borrow her for awhile and then needed her back home.

While my heart aches for her family I fall to my knees and thank them for sharing Hailey with us. I pray that God hold them tightly to his chest and tells them thank you for taking such good care of his child. I pray that the knowledge that God will take care of her until they meet again will bring them a small bit of comfort. And while there are no words that I can ever type that will take away their pain, I hope that they know that we all share that pain with them today.

Let the "Ray" of Sunshine in!

Louie and I had accepted the fact that we would have an only child. Our life was in order and everything was as it should be. Our focus was on  Nathan and all his endeavors. Basketball, Baseball, Band and anything else he wanted to pursue. Life was calm, organized and "perfect" Just like I had always wanted it to be. Again, God had other plans.

My father (this will be another story) had suffered a stroke. Being a proud man who always took care of us, he had a hard time adjusting to being the one who needed care. As some of you know, it is hard to watch your parents go through the cycle of recovery. At this point in my story, Daddy was still trying to find a will to live his new life.

On March 13, 1996, Nathan's 13 birthday, I was told by my doctor that I was expecting a baby. After I grabbed him by his shirt and shook him begging him to tell me that it was not true, I cried. I do not know if it was because I knew my world would be turned upside down or that I was finally going to have another chance at having a baby girl. Either way, I just cried. When we wished Nathan a happy birthday and told him he would soon have a brother or sister.....he cried too. If I remember correctly his exact words were, "Couldn't you have just bought me a gift?!"

On the morning of November 1, 1996 Raychel came into this world and would change it forever. From the moment my dad held her, his will to live took him by force.  We were older, wiser and better parents than we were when Nathan was born but that did not phase Raych. My organized and "perfect" life was no more. Louie and I had no idea what this little life would bring us but we knew she was a gift to our family directly from God. Raychel is blessed with more talent, faith and compassion than anyone I have ever known. It is as if God took the best parts of every family member and rolled them into one. When she walks into a room you know she is there because a light follows her wherever she goes.

My father loved her so much that is was almost painful to watch. They had this connection that left no room for anyone else. He made it a point to see her every day. Although I am so thankful for those two years that he had with her I am sad for her because other than God, she will never again have someone love her the way that he did. It is not possible. He told me the day she was born was the day the sun started shining again. People often ask me why we spell Raychel the way we do and my answer is always the same: "When there was darkness in our life God sent a magnificent "ray" of sun to shine and she was named "Ray"chel. I, however, call her Sunshine."