Things That Make My Blood Boil

This. This right here.

My husband says I get angrier when people cut me off in traffic than when someone insults me to my face. Or when my kids don't do what I ask and get away with it (that last irritates the life out of him).  But what really chaps my hide?

People who double park. People who double park in handicapped spots.

People who cut me off in traffic.

People who drive below the speed limit in the left lane.

So. What do I do with all that pent up rage? Wander into my yard. Breathe with me.

Hunny ripped out the ugly evergreen bushes by the front door. There are little seeds in that soil ready to burst through to the surface and TAKE OVER THE WORLD!!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

There. I feel a little better. Then there are these:

The plain yellow daffodilies may be spent, but these whites are TAKING OVER THE BULB BED!!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

*phew* Don't you feel better too?

Now excuse me while I email the first photo to the local police.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Uncool. Mom. Uncool.

I. AM. OLD.

I knew this. I knew that for 43 I'm an old fuddy-duddy. But I didn't know to what extent I am ...

UNHIP

UNCOOL

ANCIENT

NERDY

OLD

I love Pandora Radio. Don't you? I have all kinds of fun channels on the Pandora app on my phone. Journey. Steven Curtis Chapman. Christmas. Newsboys. Bluegrass. Weird Al.

Y'all know I adore Weird Al. It's really the only Pandora station I listen to. I was listening to it yesterday and it struck me that if the songs weren't Weird Al's, or some other strange humor, they were all '80's music.

ALL. EIGHTIES. MUSIC.

And I really only love Weird Al anymore when it comes to music. I think it's fun. And hip. And cool.

It's not. It's old. Nerdy. Ancient. Unhip. Uncool.

And I'm very sad now.

Go away.

Let me be old and weird and nerdy in peace. While I watch my favorite video:



Is it better or worse that I like the green screen version best?

Until I write again ...

Flea

The Problem with Pain

I'm awake. It's one-thirty in the morning and I'm awake. In pain, but only the average garden variety. Hormonal headache. I almost view it in a friendly light when it keeps me up like this. Lots of good thinking and praying happens in the quiet and dark.

Of course, I could do without the pain.

Or could I?

My writing group has been talking a lot about pain the past few weeks. Not many of us care for it. But pain is good. Right? It really is. It tells us something is wrong, that we need to pay attention to something. Sometimes pain can be managed, but can't be fixed. Sometimes it can barely be managed. But most of the time the pain points to something that can and should be dealt with. And not always by us directly. Sometimes a professional needs to pinpoint and fix the source of pain.

My daily headaches, for instance, were tension headaches. They were trying to tell me that my life is stressful and that I was holding the stress inside too much. That my posture wasn't necessarily good. That I needed to cry and laugh and emote more in general. Sometimes specifically. Then a chiropractor came along and helped fix it. Yay! (That doesn't mean that I no longer need to emote - only that I'm now working from a place where I'm not fighting uphill to do so)

So I've been thinking about pain, not just in myself, but in others.

I think maybe I attract people in pain. Emotional pain. They can sense it in me, maybe. Yet another purpose my headaches serve? Heh. Once upon a time I did one of two things - I either pushed these people away, or I allowed them to dump all over me. I took on their pain for a bit, then pushed them away anyway. Both bad reactions.

I'm learning to respond rather than react. Now I tend to hold a severely hurting person at a slight distance, yet still be inclusive, friendly. I try not to shut people out or draw too close immediately. What I've found is that people in emotional distress have trouble trusting. So if I push them away, they are validated in not trusting others. And if I let them dump, THEN push them away, it's a far worse validation.

I love hurting people. I know what hurt feels like. Very much. I also know I can't fix anyone. And I can't be everyone's best friend.

So I wait and watch and listen. And stay nearby the whole while. Little bits of the trauma spill out. Eventually trust is built, given. Eventually the whole story can come out. And I don't run away or push away.

The other thing about people who are needing emotional CPR? They can be scary, off-putting. It frightens the people who may be able to help them. But see, the scary people, the ones who are protecting themselves, are sending off the same kind of signals that my body gives off when something hurts. OW OW OW OW OW. It's obvious.

I'm not a doctor. Of any kind. Just a mom. So I do the mom thing. I stay nearby. I hold their hand. When they settle down enough to let me get close, I look at the boo boo. I listen to them cry. I might kiss it and make it better, which is nothing magical. Or I might recommend a real doctor.

Listen to your pain. Take time to listen to other people's pain. Really listen, not fix. It's almost always instructive. Builds character. Might even change someone's life. Might change your own life.

I know it changes mine.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Logic

Last night my daughter, Maybelline, asked for Logic for her eighteenth birthday (in May).

How do I argue with that? How the heck do I respond to that? WHERE DO I BUY LOGIC FOR AN EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL?!?

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday Review, Same Kind of Different as Me

A good friend of mine loaned me a couple of books and said I needed to read them. I usually ask people if I can borrow books, not the other way around, so this took me by surprise. Pleasant surprise. It's a beautiful thing to be known as a reader.

Same Kind of Different as Me, by Ron Hall and Denver Moore, is a great read. The first 40 or so pages are decent, but don't necessarily hold you. Once past that, OMG. There's no turning back.

ALERT!!! If you read this book, DO NOT look at the photos in the center of the book until you're done reading it! They spoil the second half of the book!

Yes, photos. Meaning this is a true story. And the beauty of Same Kind of Different as Me? It does not in any way read like a biography. It reads like a novel.

There are two voices, both men from the south, raised in vastly different environments. The book flashes back and forth between it's main story line and their growing up experiences. Dallas is probably my favorite of the two men, since I grew up near his home in central Louisiana. Had absolutely no understanding of his upbringing as a sharecropper's son/grandson.nephew, but he unfolds it well.

It's difficult not to give anything away. One man is wealthy, the other homeless. This book is the connecting point between the two. And I cried through most of the second half of the book. Getting through it was tough. And worth it.

Five stars - I highly recommend this book. Know that the authors are Christians, so their views come through. It's well done. I hope you have the opportunity to try this one on for size.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Wee Clown's Return

Goof Ball has gotten in on the clown act. Initially my most tender hearted teen took pity on his dad and attempted to thwart my every effort to traumatize my husband with clowns. Eventually I got the boy to see that the clown hidings were all in good clean fun.

He's joined in with a vengeance.

Wee clown - my Hunny hid Wee clown in a vase. A waist high vase that's tucked behind his favorite chair. A small child visitor found wee clown. I set him on a bookshelf and forgot about the clown.

Goof Ball found him. And hid him. In plain view. This is in my bedroom:

Less than a week later, we're visiting a friend, Goof Ball and I. There, on the friend's kitchen wall, sitting on a wall ornament, is another little clown. Her husband moves it around the house to scare her. Goof Ball asked to borrow the clown and of COURSE my friend said yes. Two days later, look where we found the new clown:

I love my life. I love my children. It really doesn't get any better than this. Especially knowing I have a drawer full of clowns tucked away for later. Mwahahahahaha!

Until I write again ...



Flea

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Are you wearing your green? Because I'll track you down and pinch you if you're not.

The fam and I got together and did a special little number just for YOU. Enjoy! And don't have too much green beer!

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Credit and Drugs

How many of you have credit cards? Raise your hand.

Mine is up, very reluctantly. We were credit card free for several years and SOMEONE got a card last year without consulting me. That same someone is responsible for paying it off. Grr. I hate credit cards.

My oldest children, Maybelline and Oatmeal Head, are about to turn 18 and 17. Maybelline will be a senior this coming year and Oatmeal Head a Junior. They're learning to drive (doing pretty well) and have their own jobs and bank accounts. It's all good. So far.

I've been thinking a lot about how to counsel them concerning money. We don't do too well with it ourselves. But I want better for my kids, y'know? And an analogy struck me. Probably one you've heard, but it was new to me. Credit cards are like drugs. So here's what I plan to talk to my kids about. We've already told them that credit cards are the spawn of Satan, but kids don't really listen, so I want to drive the point home in a way that makes sense. Since numbers don't make sense to any of us (interest, blah blah blah).

Drugs. Why does a person do drugs? Initially another person will push the drug on you, right? Say all kinds of seemingly harmless things about it. Whatever. Everybody's doing it. And the drug makes you euphoric, or calms you down, or whatever it is you need to feel. It masks the real issue you're having, rather than forcing you to face into your problems and deal with them.

Next time you're depressed, or needing a lift, it's so much easier to reach for a drug than to look yourself in the eye and ask the tough questions, or to wade through to the other side of the feeling. It becomes a very bad, destructive habit.

Oh, but I can quit anytime I want. Yeah. Right.

VISA sends out letters offering credit cards to college students. Everybody's doing it. Saying all kinds of seemingly harmless things about getting a card. And using the card the first time brings a sense of euphoria or calm or whatever you need to feel. Buy a new iPad and not have to pay for it right away? ROCK ON.

Rather than learn to budget or tighten the belt, the credit card makes it easy to buy impulsively and not face into the real issues. Why do you NEED that right now? What are you masking by using that card? What hole are you filling with an impulse buy?

Then you run out of money at the end of the month. And you need food. Well, there's ramen and beans in the cupboard, but it's not burgers. So you use what little is left on that card to buy consumables. That you'll pay interest on.

Oh, but you can quit any time you want. Yeah. Right.

Maybe this is how I can talk to my kids about credit cards. I don't want anyone to own them. They don't understand, because they haven't lived enough, and because we haven't been the best examples, what debt and financial oppression look like. I'm not necessarily afraid for them, but I'd like it if they left my house doing life well. At least halfway well.

*sigh* We'll see.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Photo Fill-In

It's been a long, rough couple of weeks, but I've been conscious for nearly all of it, so HOORAY! I've also been taking photos along the way. Some I thought might interest you all.

Remember my attempt at making soap? I made soap again today, using up the rest of the glycerin chunks and some more aloe. I hate that stuff. Stupid whale snot. Here's what it looks like when you scrape the mucilaginous gross stuff out of the leaves:

And this:

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In other news, my two favorite kiddos were at my house Friday. I think you'll remember this one from previous posts:

Ain't he a doll? His sister is just as darling. Especially in our geek glasses.

_________________________________________

The kids are on spring break this week. I'm working three days and taking Goof Ball with me. Maybelline was accepted to the local technical school and will be spending her afternoons in their sound and broadcast program her senior year. Oatmeal Head was accepted into the pre-engineering program at tech. So. And dad will be home some this week, probably giving more driving lessons.

That's about all the fill-in I've got for now. Oh! Going to the Blue Ridge Christian Writer's Conference in May, with friend Heather. I plan on catching up with some of my author friends there and learning as much as my pea-brain can soak up.

NOW I'm done. Y'all have a good one!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Tuesday Review, Driven to Distraction

Is it still? Tuesday? It is? *phew* Happy Fat Tuesday, y'all! All my buds back home are partying hard. Tomorrow they'll wake with hangovers and spend a solemn Ash Wednesday alternating between regret and trying really hard to remember who they are.

Today's review is a book I haven't actually finished, but one I've been going over the parts I have read numerous times. It's non-fiction, so if that's not your thing, I understand you popping off somewhere else. Ta-ta! It's also all about A.D.D., particularly adult A.D.D.

Over the last five years, since my diagnosis, I've read numerous books about A.D.D., many of them not worth the paper they're printed on. At least, not for someone who's actually A.D.D. The last thing I need is an author telling me how to be organized. Puh-lease! Driven to Distraction, by Drs. Ratey and Hallowell, is probably the very best book on the subject I've read to date.

Dr. Hallowell is an A.D.D. adult, so the book, though well structured, tends to rabbit trail a bit. Rather, he breaks into the middle of a point with seemingly random anecdotes. I love it. It reads like I think.

If you've ever wondered seriously if you might be A.D.D., I highly recommend picking up a copy of Driven to Distraction. There are check lists, there are descriptions of the subcategories of A.D.D. (such as anxiety or depression in addition). There are numerous case studies - I found myself and each of my kids in different case studies. There are sections on what being an A.D.D. adult does to a relationship, what it does at work, etc. Enlightening.

One of his theories, which I found interesting, is that America, having much higher A.D.D. rates than other countries, was perhaps founded by A.D.D. individuals. It's very much an inherited trait. And our founding fathers weren't the types who fit into someone's system and sat still for anyone. Makes sense to me.

My particular A.D.D. is the daydreamer type, though I'm not necessarily prone to daydreaming. I'm just not hyper. I like to think of it more as an absent-minded professor type. Yeah.

Seriously - if you're thinking maybe you're a daydreamer, a hyper adult who can't sit still, easily distracted, your mind races for hours before letting you sleep, you never finish what you start, you jump into or out of conversations with wild abandon - maybe you should pick up a copy of this book. Just sayin'.

Until I write again ...

Flea

Impossible Prison

Did y'all know that I lead a writing group? Did I not tell you? And I use the word "lead" loosely. Truly. I show up every week and ask a few questions, maintain order amongst the ADD individuals who throw things at each other, pass out the PlayDoh and laugh myself silly, along with everyone else in the group.

Actually, my friend Heather runs the group. She just doesn't know it. Shh! Don't tell. I'm happy to let her be the grown up for as long as she will.

This semester our group is going through the book To Be Told, by Dan Allender. I squishy heart this book something fierce. It's all about your story - yours, mine - and how it's been written so far, as well as the future telling of it. We asked the question last week in class, "Looking down the road to the end of your life, what will people say about you? What do you want them to say? What does your life look like at the end and what do you want it to look like?" It's a great way to prompt conversation.

This week we celebrated birthdays in our group. The question was also asked last week, "How do you celebrate the end of a story? How do you celebrate anything?" Lo and behold, three people had birthdays back-to-back! So we decided to celebrate!

Why do I tell you all this? One of our members brought the coolest cake! The one shown above? See the book?

And the words Impossible Prison? Inside joke.

My life right now has me running ragged, asking all kinds of why questions, begging for sleep, researching things I really didn't want to research. In the middle of it all, I'm grateful for my writing friends and the laughter that happens on Thursday nights. A little touch of sanity goes a long way.

And if you're in the Tulsa area, I highly recommend Simply Sweet cakes by Carlene if you're celebrating. Not only was the cake adorable, it was moist and delicious. I'm not a cake person, see. Me and cake, we don't get along so well. But this one was wonderful. You can find Carlene on FaceCrack, or leave me a comment asking for her email or phone number. Yum!

Until I write again ...

Flea

Humor Me

My apologies for not having a review ready today. The weekend was quite brutal. Maybe one day I'll bring myself to talk about it.

Because I need a good laugh, I went in search of humor. Here's what I found. I hope you enjoy it with me.

Baked Beans

Once upon a time there lived a woman who had a maddening passion for baked beans. She loved them but unfortunately they had always had a very embarrassing and somewhat lively reaction for her. Then one day she met a guy and fell in love. When it became apparent that they would marry she thoughtto herself, " He is such a sweet gentleman, he would never go for this carrying on." So she made the supreme sacrifice and gave up beans.

Some months later her car broke down on the way home from work. Since she lived in the country she called her husband and told him that she would be late because she had to walk home. On her way she passed a small diner and the odor of the baked beans was more than she could stand. Since she still had miles to walk, she figured that she would walk off any ill effects by the time she reached home. So, she stopped at the diner and before she knew it, she had consumed three large orders of baked beans.

All the way home she putt-putted. And upon arriving home she felt reasonably sure she could control it. Her husband seemed excited to see her and exclaimed delightedly, "Darling, I have a surprise for dinner tonight." He then blindfolded her and led her to her chair at the table. She seated herself and just as he was about to remove the blindfold from his wife,the telephone rang. He made her promise not to touch the blindfold until he returned. He then went to answer the phone.

The baked beans she had consumed were still affecting her and the pressure was becoming almost unbearable, so while her husband was out of the room she seized the opportunity, shifted her weight to one leg and let it go. It was not only loud, but it smelled like a fertilizer truck running over a skunk in front of pulpwood mill. She took her napkin and fanned the air around her vigorously. Then, she shifted to the other cheek and ripped three more, which reminded her of cooked cabbage. Keeping her ears tuned to the conversation in the other room, she went on like this for another ten minutes.

When the phone farewells signaled the end of her freedom, she fanned the air a few more times with her napkin, placed it on her lap and folded her hands upon it, smiling contentedly to herself. She was the picture of innocence when her husband returned, apologizing for taking so long, he asked her if she peeked, and she assured him that she had not.

At this point, he removed the blindfold, and she was surprised!! There were twelve dinner guests seated around the table to wish her a "Happy Birthday"!!!

Blonde Jokes

Question: If a blonde and a brunette fell off a building, who would hit the ground first?
Answer: The brunette - the blonde would have to stop for directions!

A blonde was walking down the road with a healthy looking pig under her arm as she passed A bus someone asked where did you get that?

The pig replied, "I won her in a raffle!"


A person went into the office kitchen one morning and found a new blonde girl painting the walls. She was wearing a new fur coat and a nice denim jacket. Thinking this was a little strange, he asked her why she was wearing them rather than old clothes or an overall. She showed him the instructions on the tin, "For best results, put on two coats".

A blonde asked someone what time it was, and they told her it was 4:45. The blonde, with a puzzled look on her face replied,

"You know, it's the weirdest thing, I have been asking that question all day, and each time I get a different answer."

Until I write again ...

Flea