Busy Signal

So...

I haven't blogged in awhile.  A long while.

I took the summer off.

Had good intentions, but summer got in the way.

Well...vacations, driving children, camps, pool time etc.

And then came August. And September.

And...what the hell!!

One kid in high school, one in middle school,

one "part time" gig that kind of took over,

a husband running for county office,

a house on the market

and...

I am being punished for my summer of fun.

SO here I sit with nothing of importance on my mind

except that I am tired.

And sniffly (allergies...baaaad allergies)

I am not trying to wear my worn out like a badge of honor,

because, frankly, we are all that way.

We are all tired,

We are all a little bit sick, or stuffy.

We are all frazzled and wondering why we do this to ourselves

yet have no idea how to stop.

It is the norm.

And I don't think it it going to get better in our lifetime.

Our kids don't know any different, so maybe we are just that 

in between generation.

The generation who is still looking around ourselves like

"what happened?"

The generation who grew up without cell phones, computers and

call waiting and answering machines.

If you called and got a busy signal, you had to waaaaaiiiitttt

to call back and hope they were still home when you did.

Remember that feeling when you kept dialing and getting that annoying busy tone? Agonizing!

We are the confused and teensy bit resentful crew.

The ones who love the convenience of our "time saving" devices,

but who can't understand why our children have no patience or ability to plan and think ahead more than 15 minutes.

When have they ever had to? 

When has everything not been right at their little fingertips and happening in real time?

In high school, we actually had to make a plan at the school for weekend activities...when we actually saw our friends face to face because we would have to call their house after school, and unless they had a teen line, chances were that we weren't getting through.

Or we drove around on the weekend until we found someone out doing the same thing we were...sometimes that took hours. 

But we were perfectly content to hang in there and wait in case

something came up.

 So do we give it up and quit complaining about this frenzied

life pace. Keep up the race pace and just hope we don't puke right before the finish line,

or do we try to buck the trend and slow it way down.

There just are not enough hours in the day to do everything we have to do, let alone everything we want to do,

so why try?

Just do what we can and the rest be damned.

Yep...I feel like doing that every day.

Will it ever happen?

Not a chance.

It's Complicated

It's messy.

People get sick, people hurt each other.

We fail ourselves, we fail classes and jobs.

We assume motives and create stories

that might not be real.

We become addicted to things...

alcohol, people, technology, 

drama.

We blame, we envy, we pretend.

We all do it, and we all have it.

The complicated stuff of life.

Yet we insist on assuming that other people's lives

are so much easier than ours.

We look at them with longing for how joyful and simple 

their existence must be, when we really should remember

that everybody is struggling with something.

How much happier would we be

if we all could find a way

to uncomplicate

the complicated.

To assume no motive.

Instead forgive the inner struggle.

To give up envy

and water our own gardens so we can

have gratitude for

what is beautiful about our own life.

To love ourselves enough

that we don't have to try to

find it in a bottle, a bag or a bum

 because we

are always going to 

come up empty.

To be brave enough to be real.

Even though real

isn't always pretty.

And to remember

that we are all just trying to

find a dream.

We all have been put here

with lessons to learn.

Our job of life is to learn them.

Not blame others for them.

Not cry and whine because it isn't easy.

Learn them and move on.

Learn them and live.

Learn them and 

thank your lucky stars.

As unfair as it is,

I think those who are dying

are some of the most blessed.

Faced with death, 

life becomes amazingly simple.

Love is all there is.

The rest is just....

complicated.

Same Story, Different House

I...am tired.

Like, really, really tired.

What happened to the lazy, hazy days of summer?

It may be hazy, but there ain't no lazy happening here.

I blogged about the absolute tornado that May was,

but I was anticipating things would slow  up a bit in June.

Not so much.

This week it has been one thing, after another thing, after another.

Meaning, I am running to and fro,

my kids are hither and yon and my husband is just confused.

We pass each other in the hallways

and give a little nod of recognition.

Like..."Hey, you look familiar. We're in the same family, right?"

Not that I have any room to complain,

because it seems like everyone I talk to  is in the same boat.

We keep paddling away.

Hoping to reach the shore for a little respite,

but the more we paddle, the further the land is from view.

We just row harder and harder and harder.

Pack more things into the boat and pray it doesn't sink before we hit land.

It is June 16th, and I don't think I have cooked 

a meal where we all sat down together and ate since 

before the end of May.

That's sad.

I know there are some people who thrive on this kind of overdrive.

Who seem to have an unending source of energy, who have every minute

of their day planned.

Every minute, every hour, every week.

Somehow I missed getting that gene.

Which is kind of a rip off, because my mother is one of those busy's.

The ones who are thriving.

Basking in the chaos.

Taunting me with their status updates.

Bastards.

No...

I missed out big time.

I am the girl lying on the scorched pavement behind them.

Gasping for air and tattooed by the tire marks

they left as they drove over me,

Cooking Light casserole in one hand and scrapbook in another.

Were I not maimed by the hit and run, I would have time to notice 

that I forgot to feed my family, yet again.

That I left the vacuum sitting in the middle of the living room floor 4 days ago, and there are 3 newspapers sitting on my front porch.

That we can't close the hamper because it is so full,

and that I can't recall the last time it was actually not that way.

This is nuts.

This frenzied life we lead is a little nuts.

Burnout for me is certain at this continued pace.

This poor little introvert, who needs her downtime to function properly

(don't judge)

Is going to come off her hinges soon and it's not going

to be pretty.

I'm just warning you.

So...if you don't hear from me for a few days,

 send in help.

Preferably a housekeeper, a chef,

a secretary and a chauffer,

if I can be a teensy bit choosy.

Oh yes...a sommalier would be nice too.

Because it is going to take a village, people.

My husband would be so appreciative.

He's really getting tired of wearing my underwear out of necessity, 

and not fun :)

(I'm totally kidding! Oh boy...can't wait for the comments on this one!)


It's time the pendulum started swinging the other way.
They say everything is cyclical, and I am 
advocating for the cycle of slower, simpler times to come on back around.
I don't even need a whole lazy summer. A lazy hour would be blissful!


Who's with me?
Shall we stage a revolt?
Organize a movement to bust the busy-ness?
Hell no...
that's just one more thing to do.

An Iowa Rant (Or Rave...You Decide)

I spend a lot of time thinking about why we get such a bad wrap for living in Iowa.

No respect from the rest of the country, I  tell ya!

Don't ask me why. There are plenty of more relevant things that could occupy my brain,

but it has a mind of its own sometimes :), and this is where it goes.

Were it still 1977, I could see how us midwesterners could be 

viewed as backwards, behind the times and just plain, not cool.

Or, not as cool as those right and left coasters.

But this is 2012.

We do have the internet, and even TV (gasp!)

in little ole' Iowa.

An airport that allows us to travel to other places to discover...oh my goodness...that the

more different we are, the more we are the same.

So let me set the record straight...

Yes, there are farms, and pigs, and cows.

Okay, a lot of them.

No, we don't all live on one...a farm I mean. Not a pig.

We have small cities and large towns.

Suburbs even.

No, we don't drive tractors to school or work.

We don't all wear overalls, we don't all rope steer.

We don't tip cows for entertainment,

and every road is not gravel, 

despite how movies like to portray it.

What do we have?

Bear with me...I am a girl who loves fashion and style, so this is where this is going.

Sephora, large department stores (okay, no Nordstrom yet), Whole Foods,

nearly every chain clothing store you can think of and nearly every chain restaurant too.

Strip malls and soccer fields.

Starbucks and super stores.

Large universities and small private colleges, respected around the world.

Does that make Iowa special? Nope!

It makes it just like every place else.

What makes it special is the people

 (laid back, friendly, unpretentious)

Farmers, yes. But also entrepreneurs, yogis,

industry leaders, small business owners, writers, singers, artists and more.

Wide open spaces.

Big yards, grass, trees, green space, fertile fields and clean lakes.

Incredible schools with high functioning students who are attractive to colleges all over the 

country because of their midwest work ethic.

Wonderful local restaurants from small town diners

 (my personal fave, I'll be honest!)

to 5-Star fine dining.

Eclectic boutiques and galleries, quaint farmers markets and festivals.

Not too different from where you live, I presume.

Unless, of course, you dwell in the middle of a city.

Even then.

Today, one town is every town.

Parts of the country have their own feel, but people are people

no matter where you put them.

So please stop asking me if I have electricity.

Don't ask if this is the state that has the potatoes (that's I-da-ho, not I-o-wa)

Don't call it the fly-over state.

Don't call me a hick or think because I live in a small town that I am small minded.

Stop in.

You might be surprised.

Best do it in the summer, though. Only the strong can take the winters.

My Iowa peeps...I hope this helps.

But I imagine you get the same thing if you are from Nebraska, Minnesota, Missouri,

North or South Dakota, Wisconsin, Kansas, Oklahoma and any other midwest state.

So consider this one for you too.

You're welcome :)

Mother's Day?

My friends...

I will not be winning any mothering awards this year.

Let's be honest...I was never even in the running.

My children have been annoyed by me, upset with me, and, on more than a few occasions,

have probably hated me.

I have yelled at them. I have cursed behind their backs at them.

(I whisper it to myself so they can't hear, but it's not very nice...half credit?)

I have pretended not to hear them when they call me to get them something.

I have forgotten to make them lunches.

I have opted out of chaperoning field trips, and complained that they are 

ungrateful to my friends.

Nope. No awards for me this year.

But...

I have ached for them when they are hurting.

Sat in rain and spitting snow under fleece and plastic

(not a good look for me) to watch them play sports,

rubbed their backs late at night, and spent more hours waiting in a car for them that I think I spent in college.

I have hugged them when they cried, told them I loved them over and over,

and prayed for them every day.

Not even that is going to get me that award.

That...that is the easy stuff.

What, then, is the hard stuff?

The hard stuff 

is the hundreds of millions of times I have agonized over decisions I was making for them.

Is it right or is it wrong?

Is it selfish or selfless? Character building or character damaging?

Will they thank me someday or thank their therapist?

Every day I have these decisions.

Help them through their frustrating math problem or let them work through it on their own?

Rescue them or let them learn the lesson that comes from consequences?

Love them and reassure them or love them and let them go?

When to hover and when to hold back.

When to be the crutch and when to kick it out from underneath them and let them stumble but eventually walk on their own two feet?

And then...as if that isn't insanity-making enough,

add in worrying about what all the other mothers think about what you are doing.

Or worse, the one's who tell you what you are doing wrong or right.

 That my friends, is the real stuff of parenting.

The stuff that keeps you up at night.

The stuff we've got to ease up a bit on ourselves about.

One of my favorite sayings of late comes from those funny cartoons that are all over Facebook and Pinterest

(yes, my children have also been on my case about my social media addiction FYI)

It says something like,

"I will love you and nurture you, and give you just enough dysfunction to make you funny"

What does it say that both my children have a rather wicked sense of humor?

On this Mother's Day, I will be sitting at a weekend-long soccer tournament

(that I just found out about at 11pm last night...missed an email somewhere.)

I will get no glory.

I will get no thank you's from the coaches for sacrificing the one day a year that is supposed to be all about me.

There will be no tiaras and no band. 

No, I will be sitting on the sidelines of yet another game, watching my son play.

I may have a teensy moment of annoyance because I would rather be planting flowers and reading on the deck.

But then I will get a giant dose of perspective.

This is all a privilege.

All of it, and it is fleeting.

Just sit back and enjoy the game sister.

Let's go easy on ourselves girls...the kids will be okay.

Heck, they will probably be better for it.

Happy Mother's Day

Tornado Warning

Every year I know May is going to 

be a tornado.

I love everything about this month except that part.

I love that school is almost over,

 that feeling of summer anticipation in the air,

going to the little white greenhouse tents to pick out potting flowers, graduation parties and the like.

What I don't love is that it always feels so frenzied.

And for some reason, this year, in the Midwest,

it has been going on since the end of March.

Maybe because of our early spring we all got ahead of ourselves

and instituted the frantic pace unconsciously.

It is about this time that I am longing for sleepy, lazy, summer mornings and relaxed evenings on the deck.

When getting dinner on the table sometime between 6pm and midnight is a perfectly acceptable goal,

and everyone falls into bed at the end of the daywhen they get around to it.

poolside reading, vacation, whatever.

I love those days...

 I wish May came with a watch and warning system

like real tornadoes do.

"It is May 1st. Possibilities of  over-booking, social overload, inability to say no and over-extension for the general population. Stay tuned for warnings and seek shelter in a bathroom or interior room or closet  where no one can find you, should severe activity overload occur...take wine"

With this constant buzz of activity,

I seem to invite an unfriendly visitor...anxiety.

Not sure why. 

Maybe it is that I am always certain I am forgetting something

because there is a LOT to forget this month.

Maybe it is that I know that I am going to have to figure out what to do with my children all summer.

(don't get me wrong...I love having summers with them!)

And I know it will fly by too fast, 

but in the middle of it I won't be able to wait for it to end

and for these kids to have some routine again!

I practice yoga (often), and I meditate (not often enough)

and it helps. It helps a lot.

However, even implementing these wonderful de-stressors

into my routine can cause me a little angst.

I feel guilty for taking the time I could be doing something else.

Even when I try to quiet my mind, tasks pop into my brain 

in rapid succession. 

It seems the only time I seem to "remember" everything I am supposed to be doing, is when I am attempting to empty my mind of all thought.

A frustrating paradox.

And so, a decent blogger would have great words of life-changing wisdom to expel, and after reading this, 

you would undoubtedly feel gratifyingly peaceful and serene.

The rest of this month, and every May hereafter, you would 

float through with detached ease.

Unfortunately for you, you have read the wrong blog.

I'm still looking for the magic.

Until I find it, I will keep on keeping on

with the rest of you.

By the end of the month we all have the same dazed and confused look on our faces,

only to be wiped clean by the look of sheer annoyance

that will appear as soon as these darling  children are out of school for half a day and start whining

that there is nothing to do.

Enjoy!

On a Wing and a Dime

Many of you know of our dear friend Barb,

who died from pancreatic cancer in September 2010.

She was larger than life, in life.

She commanded a room at a party.  Talked and had more energy

than a bus full of five-year-olds on a field trip.
Seriously, she could have put them to shame.

Still,  19 months after her death, I still find it hard to believe she is gone.

She fought her cancer valiantly.

She never gave up her will to live.

So, it is no surprise to me that she would remain as vibrant in her after life as she did in her human life.

Barb believed in signs.

Especially in coins.

After her first husband died, she often found coins in her path and took it as Kevin's signs that he was still with her.
Just from another place.

She told all of us these stories so many times.

With Barb, if you heard it once, you heard it ten times.

And that is exactly what was so endearing about her.

My first "sign" from Barb came the day after she passed away.

The song from her wedding came on the radio in the afternoon.

The song I always identified as "Barb's song"..."I Hope You Dance"

played just as I was alone in the store I used to run.

The scary thing...I expected it.

But her best sign of all came the night of her funeral.

The night the sunset glowed a deep shade of purple..

Barb's color...the color of pancreatic cancer.
A color she wore every day since she discovered her cancer.
I cannot look at purple still to this day without thinking of her.
That is how much she embraced it.

I put my suitcase on my bed to pack it.

I was flying out to Phoenix the next day to meet up with Ty and the kids and visit

his mother, who was in the hospital fighting her own pancreatic cancer battle.

As I opened the suitcase on my bed, I saw, smack-dab in the middle of it,

a  heads-up dime.

A dime. A shiny, thin, pretty 10-cent dime.

I knew instantly it was Barb.

What other coin would she leave?

Of all coins, the dime was most like her.

And it was worth 10 cents. Her birthday was on the 10th of September.

Since that time I have found no less than 20 dimes.

All at times or on days when I could really use a little love and support.

All in unexpected places...like in the far back of and under sink cupboard I was cleaning out

so workmen could re-model the bathroom.
Or under the microwave when I pulled it out to clean the counter.

I am far from the only who who finds dimes from Barb.

She is notorious.

A few weeks ago I opened the dryer to take out towels. 

On the tiny ledge, next to the lint trap, was a perfect, heads-up dime.

No sooner had I found it, my phone rang.

It was her husband calling to ask me a question.

Coincidence? I know that it wasn't.

Soon after I found my first dime, her mother told me the entire family
had been finding dimes.
So many of our mutual friends find dimes...only dimes,
and we all know who is leaving her calling card.
Even people she didn't know, or didn't know well,
have told me a dime story.

The other morning Ty woke up with a purple golf ball clutched in his hand.
I have never seen it before, and he didn't remember it being in our room, let alone anywhere near the bed.
But nonetheless, he was clutching a purple golf ball.
I told him Barb was speaking to him in his language...golf.
We aren't sure what the message is, but he got one!

I keep all of Barb's dimes in a special jar.

Proof (as if I needed it) that our lives never really end.

They just take on different forms.

Some days I feel closer to Barb now than when she was alive.

I know she is doing magnificent work in heaven.

And just as she did on this earthly plane,

she is making her presence known.

Each dime I find is a precious gift, a hug from beyond,

and comfort in a sometimes confusing world.
 A world where good people get cancer and  die before we think they should.

I have learned to be open and to notice the signs.

I believe because of it, I am sent more and more.

 I gasped when I opened the dryer door.

Then I got a little teary.

But I always say thank you.

Thank you Barb, for reminding me about the preciousness of life.

Both the sorrow and the sweetness of death,

and the fact (and in my world, this is fact)

that we never really end.

Our souls and spirits live forever.


But most of all...that

love never dies.

P.S. What's your "dime story"? I'd love to hear it. Even if it isn't a dime. Any "sign" will do :)