Heart Burn...

Another keepsake for all the world to see. Except this one isn't as nauseating as the gushing notes Tie and I wrote each other.

My mom gave me this card on February 22, 1995. I was 13 and I really liked a boy.

In discussing it with her, I must have made some reference to her probably thinking it was stupid that I might like someone a lot, being that I was only 13. Her words in the card indicated that she in fact didn't think it was stupid and that she was excited for me. I marvel at how she brought herself to write such words. Excited for me? I hope I have empathy for my kids like Mom did for me. Especially when they're 13. Or a girl. Or a 13 year old girl. Daunting task.

The message inside the card says "Follow Your Heart." Cliche maybe. But it doesn't have to be cliche. If your heart is commanded by Christ, it's never wrong. If He dwells there, your should always trust what it tells you. The it that you hear from your heart is Him. Things may get lost in translation. There may be a lot of background noise. Perhaps the signal won't be strong and there will be static. But when a sponge is saturated, some water will always come out. Saturate your heart with the Word, with worship, with the Kingdom, with His purpose for you. When the sponge is squeezed, the water that comes out will be Christ coming out of you.

Thanks Mom for the card. As you can see by the pinholes (hung on numerous bulletin boards for a while now), your words were special to me. Pretty cool that they're special in an entirely new way so many years later.

These are a few of my...

I've been storing mental post-its about things that really irritate me. I had planned to blog about such. I just can't bring myself to do it. I don't want to post a laundry-list of complaints to the world that could potentially be used against me one day when I'm being nominated for Secretary of Education. I mean, just imagine how these things could be "spun": when people claim to have 20 best friends, when people "complain" (read: boast) about how many weddings they have to go to, people who say they don't have time to watch TV. Can't you just hear the White House Press Corps: "It appears that you support isolation and negative interpersonal skills in children. How could you be Education Secretary with this perspective?" Or, "You obviously feel that consistent, prolonged exposure to television is positive for children. How do you reconcile that with overwhelming research to the contrary?" I'd be up a creek without a paddle. I'd have to withdraw my name for nomination for sure. I'd have to cite "personal reasons" or something lame. So...no complaining for me. I love everyone.

In fact, on that note, I'll just blog about things that I really love/like. Why not? After all, if I'm gonna be grilled about something one day, at least I can go down fighting for things I believe in! So...

1) The e-Trade baby commercials. The one with the group of babies laughing. The kid in the middle of the back row is trying to cry I think but it looks like laughing. I just know he is. I crack up every time.

2) Scout Watkins. Our dog. He rolled his eyes at me yesterday because I was hugging hi too much. I don't care. I love him. I forget his birthday every year and I feed him too many treats and he throws up but I still love him. I clean out his eye boogers everyday and I let him lick my ice cream bowl. He's my favorite.

3) Unconditional love. Great thing really. People love you no matter what you do, ever. No matter how snappy you are or how critical or how stubborn or how indecisive. No conditions. No limits to the love. Nothing will ever be too much for your love. The best.

4) Harper Jane. Best kid ever. God thinks that He pulled a fast one on me. Bringing she and her family into my life just when I was ready to write off the whole kid thing. Ha. I sniffed Him out. She's totally convinced me. Not because my kid will be just like her (the one I'll have later on, not anytime soon). Not because she'll have as cool of a name as Harper. Only because I will regret it forever if I didn't have my own Harper.

5) My family. Ok...I'm getting cheesy. I know. Again, don't care. My family isn't perfect but honestly, we try. And I don't mean we try in a cliche way. I mean, we all love each other more than we love the points we're trying to make or the grudges we hold or the mean words we've exchanged. To me, that's closer to perfect that peaceful family meals or non-competitive family games or relaxing and worry-free family vacations.

6) William Christie. Girl's name and all. Even though he just cut off all of his hair and I can no longer pull out the few grays he has (not when they're short, too painful for him). Too much to type about why. I'll save that for another day when I feel like complaining! :)

Cliff Notes...

I finally had to break down and clean out the guest room closet today. I was having a hard time keeping the door to it closed and I was pretty sure I had lost/casually tossed aside a magazine I wanted to look at. It's also my Spring Break and I have no excuse for not being at least moderately productive.

Just after I stepped on a piece of glass (apparently I broke something before and left it...smart move), found a pack of completely unopened gum in an old purse (still chewable) and tried to lay down in the closet to measure how big it was (not big enough for me to lay down in, long ways or sideways), I found a cigar box that I recognized. See below, box on the right.



The contents of this box include numerous notes Tie and I exchanged during high school. We started dating October of 1999 (big sigh). It was my senior year and his junior year. Actually, all the notes in this box are ones that he wrote to me. I read a lot of them. I was laughing so hard that Scout actually pushed open the door to the closet to see what I thought was so funny. Man, I wish he could read!

Seriously, the notes are about the cheesiest thing you've ever seen in your life. Everyone of them. I love you blah blah blah. You're so great, blah blah blah. I'm your snuggle bug, blah blah blah. Tie was 17 when he wrote this stuff. How did he know I was great? He didn't, in fact (yet).

The box on the left above contains notes I wrote to him. After he got home, I asked him to get some stuff out of the hall closet for GoodWill. But first I had him read a couple of the notes I found. He was mortified. He said they were so douchey (I hesitate to type such crass language but, he was pretty insistent that this was the best way to describe his juvenile professions of love). Anyway, I was giving him grief and he disappeared upstairs for while and returned with the box above. These were notes that I wrote to him. There were 58. I counted. It's a wonder that I managed to graduate because most of the notes I wrote him were 2 pages long. My words were just as sappy and cheesy as his were to me, but I repeated them 2-3 times during one note. I should have tried to sell them to some country music wanna be hanging around downtown. Ick.

I don't know why Tie and I say ick/blah/douchey/sappy now when we revisit our notes. I think it's because we think about how little we knew, understood and even felt really then compared to now. We had no clue what we were doing or what we were talking about. We didn't love each other really. We were infatuated, sure. But not love. But, as I said to Tie, I wouldn't trade those notes (him to me or vice versa) for anything. Even though our feelings then were quite shallow compared to how they've grown, they were a start. We probably wouldn't love each other as deeply now if we hadn't gone through such a state of twitterpatedness (Bambi, remember?) Tie and I are much better at the making each other laugh, challenging each other, solving problems together, planning adventures together and just the living part of love. Good thing we got all that yucky stuff out of our systems!

Book Worm...

I LOVE to read. Love it. It's literally one of my very very favorite things to do. When I was little, I really loved the Critter book series. I could identify with the well-meaning yet oft-destructive escapades of the little Critter. He was also the oldest of the Critters and as such suffered arduous burdens of simultaneous blame and expectation. I felt vindicated and validated reading how Critter was able to overcome his trials...inspiring, truly.

After Critter and I parted ways, I moved on to Laura Ingles. That girl rocked. She was brave and curious, also well-meaning and yet she often found herself entangled in some kind of mess too! She was pretty good at getting out of her messes though. And learning some great lesson in the process. I also loved imagining the rugged landscape and terrain that the Wilder's had to conquer. Somehow it was infinitely more interesting that our backyard and sandbox.

I will also admit that I went through the Babysitter's Club phase. I hate to confess that I was part of a fad, but, alas, it's true. Really though, who can blame a girl? The clubbers were motivated, independent, spunky, responsible and fun. I mean, a girl could do worse. I did break the mold though by reading the books in a random pattern. Meaning, I didn't just follow the Claudia series or the Stacey series or the Dawn series. I mixed it up. I was a trendsetter. :) I lived for the Super Series editions. They involved some type of adventure outside of Stonybrook. My favorite was when the clubbers went on a school trip to a skiing lodge. There was a talent show, a ghost, cute French boy skiiers, etc. At this point, rather that judging me for my less than intellectually stimulating choices, you should realize that any reading was helpful at this stage in my development...

A seminal moment in my reading history was in eighth grade. We were required to read a book called Cold Sassy Tree. It's set in Cold Sassy, Georgia at the turn of the 20th century. Will Tweedy, a twelve year old boy, is the main character. And, as you may have guessed, Will often finds himself in a self-induced pickle. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a kindred spirit. Anyway, I've read this book about 14 times. It's my security blanket. If I'm in a funk, I read Cold Sassy and it sets me straight.

All of these books are responsible for my present reading quirks. I ONLY read books (for pleasure) of the historical fiction genre. And by historical, I mean if it has so much as a telephone in it (switchboards count), I'm not picking it up. No Chic Lit for me. I read books to escape, not to remind myself of how ridiculously materialistic and fake my life is. Sigh. Anyway, I received several cool books for Christmas that I haven't had a chance to read yet. Now that my 2 week break from school has started, I promptly started reading the most interesting looking one Friday. It was 696 pages long. I finished last night at about 2am. The book was set in London in the 1850s. There was murder, betrayal, mystery, vendetta, etc. The last hundred pages were really intense. A couple of murders. Each involving a long butcher knife.

So...of course, Tie and I have to be at church early this morning to drive the bus to pick up some kiddos. I have to get up at 5:45 to get a shower. My hair badly needs washing. Not because it's dirty but because there are massive knots in it (I have curly hair; Mom refers to the knots as "rats' nests") I set 2 alarms. I wake up at 6:34. WHAT! We have to leave in 26 minutes. No time to shower. Hair is ridiculous. But...I know why I overslept. I was dreaming about playing a live version of the Clue game. In my dream, everyone that was playing had to actually act out a scenario they had randomly drawn: Miss Scarlett in the Kitchen with the Revolver. Yes, act it out, like shoot the other people playing the game. And, you played the game in the dark. So, at this point in the dream, I was protesting heavily. I was Colonel Mustard, in the Dining Room with the knife (but, it was a butcher knife like the one I had just been reading about). I really didn't think i could stab someone in the dark. I was overruled, the lights were turned out and the game began. I immediately ran into a chair around the dining room table and stabbed myself. And then I woke up. Great dream. Brought on of course by my reading obsession. Well worth it though!

London Calling...

Yesterday afternoon, I took Scout on a walk through the park across from our house.


I had the iPod on and my favorite mellow mix lulling in my ears. We'd been walking for about 10 minutes and about that time, the views in the park, the smells of outside and the weather all conjured up strong memories of my favorite park in London...Hampstead Heath.

I did a semester abroad in London in the Spring of 2003. It was amazing. Even though my snot was black from all the pollution and my feet were swollen to abnormal proportions from all the walking and the exchange rate was terrible, I still loved it. Even though the kitchen in our flat wasn't big enough to sit down in Indian-style and be able to stand up quickly, I loved it. Even though Tube rides were constantly interrupted by ridiculous strikes and it was instantly dark and terrifying on a train with 300 strangers, I still loved it.

I loved it because of the readily available Cadbury Carmel bars (a true delicacy). I loved it because there was ALWAYS something to see/do/smell/touch. I loved it because I had to figure out everything on my own (a close second for favorite thing about the trip) but most of all, I loved it for the parks. There are parks everywhere. Big and small. Dirty and clean. Trendy and urbane. Right next to our flat, there was a tiny park with statues of Ghandi. It was called Peace Park. There was a dirt path around the perimeter of the park. If you walked the path 10 times, it was a mile (VERY SMALL park). But, between the path and the fence for the park, there were tons of wild lilac bushes. Every week I would walk down there with scissors and bring back fresh lilac for our flat. Every time I smell it, my sensory time travel machine teleports me back.

But, my favourite park of all was Hampstead Heath. I had to ride the double decker to get there. I think it was because the bus stop was at the end of the road the park was on and that was closer than the closest Tube stop. Anyway, the park is huge. Several large ponds. Several big hills, one of which looks over the actual city. The first time I went, it was leisurely. The second time and every time thereafter, I had school work to do. So, I packed my huge camping/hiking pack to the gills with blanket, pillow, snacks, music, water, snacks, school stuff, maps, hand sanitizer, journal, snacks and a pen. Literally. The pack probably weighed 50 pounds. Despite the multitude of snacks, I would stop on the way into the park at the Starbucks on the road. So then I had pack and Starbucks.

When I got to the park, I would unload everything and get it all sat out around me and then promptly being studying. RIIIIGHHT. I NEVER got one iota of work done when I went. I would always people watch for literally 4-5 hours. It was ridiculous. You think I would've stopped taking the ginormous bag with me but, it helped me justify the excursion. If I had work with me, then I might do it. Thus, 4-5 hours at a park was a legitimate use of my time.

I can't wait to get back to London. I know Tie and I will be there eventually. I don't know in what capacity. But, item #1 on the agenda (after we unpack and get a Cadbury Carmel bar) will be a trip to the Heath. You must go if you're there. My words don't do it justice.

Ode to Shawn...

I just had a gut check. It wasn't pleasant but I definitely needed it.

I have had a long day, I feel terrible and I still have a lot of work to do tonight. Sigh. Feeling completely sorry for myself, I detoured on the way home to Kroger to get some soup for dinner. Of course, at 5:45, the parking lot is packed, as is the store.

I head in. I'm going through the produce aisle and I'm blocked in every direction either by some old person or someone with 16 kids running around their legs. I engage in an epic eye roll, an audible sigh and then proceed to act like I'm moving a boulder in trying to find a path around all of the obstacles.

I finally get the soup and I'm trying to make my way up to checkout when I spot Shawn. He's worked at our Kroger for a couple of years I think. He has some sort of mental disability and some visible physical abnormalities as well. He was trying to get the door to a freezer case to stay closed (somehow I found myself in the ice cream aisle...). Anyway, I watched him and he got it shut. He then turned around and flashed a big smile to no one in particular and went on his way.

My eyes instantly filled up with tears. I am looking up at the ceiling and now making a beeline for the checkout (hard to walk fast and look at the ceiling at the same time). I find the shortest line and take a deep breath so I can stop tunneling the tears to my side eyeballs (whatever the scientific name for that area is). The tears slow down and I can look straight ahead now. So...directly in front of me in line is a lady using food stamps to purchase her groceries. I watch her as she carefully checks what she's chosen against whatever the papers tell her she can buy. She tries to do this discretely but it's obviously somewhat difficult to do so.

Signal more tears. Looking up at the ceiling again. Pay for the groceries. Of course, Shawn in now bagging my stuff. Go figure. After I pay I practically run to my car and then as soon as the door is closed, I promptly lose it.

I was so mad at myself for feeling sorry for myself for not feeling good and having a long day. Look at Shawn. He lives in a world that isn't made for him to succeed. He gets made fun of (I've seen this happen at the store before). I wonder if someone loves him, if someone encourages him. I wonder if the woman with the food stamps has family that she can count on to help her or if she struggles alone. I have all of these things and so much more and I'm sad because I might have a fever. I'm sad because I have a couple of hours of work to do.

Hence the gut check. I have so many things to be thankful for. Really, every time I think of something that bugs me, I could probably think of 10 blessings to cancel that one irritation out. I hope each of you feel blessed. I really think everyone is blessed, at least to someone less fortunate than you are. Next time I feel like my life stinks for some stupid trivial reason, I hope I think of Shawn. Of how hard he works bagging my groceries. Of how much he probably needs encouragement and love on many hard days. Love and encouragement that I have in abundance. I'm so thankful for these things. I'll always have them, no matter how crummy I feel or how much work I have to do. :)

What's in a Laugh?

For a long time, Tie and I were completely opposite in every way you can imagine.The more time that goes by, the more we kinda meet in the middle. I'm calmer, saner and more redneck now (thanks to his penchant for Alabama football). He's crazier, louder and cooler now. It works nicely for the both of us.

The one area where we still find little common ground is humor. He thinks I'm funny (of course, why wouldn't he) and I think he's funny (obligatory). But, as for what we think is funny from outside sources, well, that's where it gets dicey. Right this very minute, he's reading someone else's blog about dog poop. That's right, he's blog cheating on me. I hear his ridiculously unique laugh...imagine holding your breath and then quick, sudden bursts escaping either in freakishly girly sounding mini-hoots or low rumbling growls to offset the girly hoots. Yes, thus are the magically humorous side-effects of dog poop.

I think animals are funny. He thinks animals on fire are funny (not intentionally set ablaze, only accidentally). I think kids saying dumb things are funny. He thinks kids screaming expletives are funny (think Pearl...the landlord). I think British humor is funny. He thinks Sasha Baren Cohen is British humor. He thinks Jim Carey is funny (sooooo 90s). He thinks farts are funny. Especially if they result in poop (accidental or intentional). Sigh...

And since his ridiculous competitiveness has rubbed off on me, apparently we need to determine who likes the "right" funny stuff. So, here's a sampling of his and my humor. Which do you think is funnier?

Tie's humor:




My humor: