28 Days of... Blerbing!

Trust yourself. Create the kind of self that you will be happy to live with all your life. Make the most of yourself by fanning the tiny, inner sparks of possiblity into flames of achievement. - Golda Meir

 

February!  New year... new month... new me?  Maybe. 

As I do each year leading up to my birthday, I get a little retrospective, a little introspective trying to get perspective (See what I did there?) about... me.  I reflect on where the year has taken me, how I reacted to it and what, if anything, I could have done to make it different for the better or even the worse.  Some situations and circumstances I remember were unavoidable and my attitude towards them was understandable and acceptable but really, when I reflect on the whole... the person I am, I almost always find myself lacking.  It isn't that I go looking for the negative per se, but there is plenty in my life that could be tweaked, improved upon, toned up and sometimes I can get really bogged down with it.  I know I have a great life.  I have this amazing, little family that brings me such pride and joy.  I am blessed beyond anything I really deserve but sometimes I lose where I (that "me, myself and" character) fit into it.  I'm someone's daughter, sister, friend, wife, and mother but who am I?  What parts of me have stayed consistent throughout my childhood, adolescence, and adult years?  How has me being me helped piece together this puzzle called my life?  Given a moment of clarity, I recognize that I'm not exactly repulsive and it's alright for me to acknowledge my good qualities, my talents, my (Ahem!) shortcomings, my contributions and to give credit where credit is due, so to speak.  I don't often do that.  Not to myself, anyway.  So... (Here it comes.) with that in mind and the ol' calendar pointing the way to February 19th, the day that will forever live in "infancy", namely mine, (Heh, Heh!) I have decided to take the 28 days of this month to focus on the renewing, refreshing, and appreciation of yours truly.  Instead of making lists of things that I have to change about myself which I have done many, MANY times, I will embrace the good, bad, ugly (Shudder) that is CHER... me, not Sonny's. (The jokes... oh my sides!) 

February! New year... new month... new me? Maybe. Hopefully.

I shall document this time through this blog.  However, just saying that feels so forced.  I am not a blogger.  (Just see how inconsistently I have kept this space up. Ugh!) I feel stress just thinking about being a blogger.  Bloggers are writers.  Bloggers feel deeply for writing.  I don't.  I'm a much better... "blerber".  (Not to be confused with Bieber.)  So... to take the pressure off, it shall be documented here on this "blerb".  (I feel better already.)  It shall be documented because, well, it will help with that pesky "spective" thing I do each year and who knows, it may be interesting to someone out there in "Blog Blerb World" (Besides, my mother will love it.  Hi, Ma!)  Through this month (Thank God, it is the shortest one!) I will daily comment on something that is about me.  Vain?  Perhaps... but what I hope I gain from all of this is a truer understanding and appreciation of myself and in doing that, I will love deeper, listen better, and actually BE the person I am supposed to be.  I am sure I will still want to change things. That's not a bad thing.  However, in facing those I don't want to turn a blind eye to the attributes that make me uniquely me.  Me.  Hmmm...

February! New year... new month... new me? Maybe. Hopefully. YES!

Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things. - Phillippians 4:8






    

Gonna Have One Hot Time In The City Tonight

Yikes! Talk about global warming.

Boy, my sunscreen must be amazing!

Photo: Athens, GA (Lexington Road)

"The key to a good breakfast"

This must be an amazing trick! Wonder what else they can make keys into? Wow! Those Crawford, GA folks are incredible!

Age Is Just A Number

Charlie has been quite interested in numbers lately.

As a kindergartner, he is learning something new each day and with that comes beginning the basics of mathematics; 1+1, 2+2, etc. He likes to count how many cars he has or how many times he has watched Spiderman (which is always never enough with him) and how many times he has had to stop Lewie from getting into his Legos. "No, Lewie, I have told you a majillion times to get out of my blocks!" He is also very aware that the days are growing closer to the 100th day of school in which special things will happen in his class in celebration of it. He counts them down to me every morning. "Mom, didcha know dis is the ninety-furd day?" (I don't have the heart to tell him yet that there will be 80 more days after that one and that his mornings of getting up early for school will not be over on day 101.)

In his enthusiasm over numbers, he has also expressed interest in ages. Ages like: how old will he be when he will go to high school, or be able to watch "The Dark Knight" or not have to do his chores or not have to live in my house. (Poor miserable kid!) He's asked me how old he was when Ross was born ("You weren't born yet, Charlie. You were still in heaven.") and how old he was when Lewie was born ("Four."). "How old is Daddy, Mom?" "47." "And how old are you?" "37." "So, you are older than Dad?" "No, Charlie. I just look it." (groan)

So, last night we are eating dinner at the table, chewing and talking as we usually do during this "quality family time" and I remembered that this is my month to plan mine and Eric's date night. Now, just for the record, I gotta say here that this is really a new thing; the monthly trade off of planning, I mean. For years we have put aside a little money each month for the two of us to go out and kinda get reacquainted with each other; the "Eric and Cher" before the details of almost 19 years of wedded home ownership and the busy schedules of four kids took over our youthful impulses. It just seemed though that despite the allowance toward a nice evening away from the kiddos, at the end of each month we would realize that we did not take that time for ourselves. So, trying to remedy that, Eric and I decided to take turns planning the dates through 2009 in hopes that neither one of us will fail to make it happen. So...

We are at the table and I say "Hey, Schmitty, you wanna go out with me this weekend?" As soon as I said it, I noticed Charlie out of the corner of my eye. In mid bite he kinda gets this little half smile on his face. Eric's positive answer leads Charlie to coyly ask him, "Are you goin' out like on a... date?" Grinning, Eric says, "Yep!" "You're too old", Charlie says "Old people don't go out, not like that." "What? Charlie, they are not old", Erica interjects. (Interesting, coming from the all knowing 14 year old who usually thinks every word from her father's mouth was originally found written on cave walls.) "Well, I mean, they are kinda old. I'm very new and they are very not." Charlie explains. "Well, if you are very new then what is Lewie?", Erica snaps. "He's very, very new and he is more fragile den me". "But I'm more fragile den you". Charlie says.

After a chuckle, we all go on about our business eating and talking. Later, Charlie says to me, "Can I come on your date with Dad?" "No Buddy, this is a grown-up thing that just moms and dads do." Frowning a bit, Charlie says "Well, when I'm a grown-up, I'll take my kids on my date 'cause they will be sad if they aren't having fun with me." "That's very nice, Charlie, but sometimes we just need to do some things without our kids with us." "OK", Charlie shrugged. "I just hope you and Dad can find some fun without me there."

As he walked out of the room, I smiled to myself and thought about how much fun I do have with that little man and with all my kids. We are truly blessed to have such a house full of love and happy times. Thinking ahead to those kids of Charlie's, well all I can say about that is, my grandchildren are going to be loved immensely and are destined to have the most interesting and fun life with him as their dad. That is something I can definitely count on.

Licking Christmas

We are Santa people.

Now certainly and absolutely without question, the glorious birth of Jesus Christ and what that one event in history ultimately led to for all mankind is the real "reason for the season" and we acknowledge that and hold that sacred in our home and hearts; but we really enjoy partaking in some of the fun of imagining a big, kindly old guy bringing gifts for good little boys and girls. We love this time of year: Christmas songs and movies, holiday baking and decorating with an array of Christmas do-dads, everything from traditional nativities to colored lights to snowmen to Santa, himself. (Quite honestly, Christmas looks like it sorta threw up in our house. It's everywhere and in every room but we wouldn't have it any other way.)

Through the years, as our family has grown, Eric and I have developed little traditions that help make the season even more festive. We all sing together whatever song is played as we reveal another day closer to Christmas on our carols advent calendar. The kids get a special "holiday date" with us when we take them to dinner downtown and listen to beautiful music at the Athens Symphony's seasonal concert. On Christmas Eve, we like riding around looking for fun light displays and then coming home to let the kids open their gifts to each other. For fun, we also leave cookies and milk with a note for Santa before bed that night.

Since we are "Santa people" and we always encouraged that youthful belief in our kids, when Ross and Erica were really little we also had the tradition of taking them to see him . They would get so excited anticipating their time upon Santa's knee. However, as they began to age, sitting on some hairy guy's lap wasn't as thrilling for them. By about 10 years old, they also realized it wasn't very profitable either since somehow they had figured out Mom and Dad were the ones who really got the gifts. (At times, I think they would've sat on our laps if they thought it would get them what they wanted.)

Anyway, recently I was thinking about all of that and it dawned on me that since Ross and Erica were older when we had Charlie we had never really continued that tradition with him. Maybe once when he was a baby, we had propped him up in his lap for a photo op while visiting the mall, but not since the boy has been talking and developing his own opinions and thoughts (and whew, does he have them!) have we taken him to meet and visit with the "big guy". So...

Monday night was the annual "Christmas in Oglethorpe" event. This is the night when they light the big tree in front of the courthouse in Lexington and local talent warbles over the mic while people visit vendors selling coffee and funnel cakes, books, jewelry and other holiday paraphernalia. Santa and Mrs. Claus come riding through downtown on a float escorted by ridiculously loud siren shrills from firetrucks and police cars and are then seated in comfy chairs for the lines of children that want to share their Christmas lists with ol' Kris Kringle. After I'd walked the circle of vendors and pretty much had the"been there, done that" attitude but Ross was still playing with the jazz band (which of course, is the best thing about the whole event) and we couldn't leave yet, I decided to let Charlie experience the wonder of meeting Santa. I just knew this would be exciting for him, a real memory maker!

As I took his hand in mine he looked up and asked where we were going. I said, "Hey, don't you want to go see Santa?" With the twinkle of innocence in his big blue eyes, he answered "Sure, okay, yeah!" We found our place in line with other excited children. After a few minutes of waiting, Charlie turned to me and said, "Why do I need to see Santa Claus? He already knows what I want. If he knows if I've been good or bad then he definitely knows what I want for Christmas." "Well yeah, but wouldn't it be fun to see him and be able to talk to him yourself?", I encouraged. Saying nothing more, Charlie and I waited a few minutes more. With kids milling everywhere and parents scoping out the best place to take their precious "Santa with child" photo, we finally inched close enough to the action that Charlie could actually see Santa and his wife seated in front of us. This is when he turned to me with a very serious tone and said, "Mom, this is not Santa Claus." "What? Sure it is. What makes you say that?" Now, granted even I was wondering why it was that this guy's red suit looked like it had come off the salvation army's backroom floor and why, oh why, did his beard and hair have to look so horrifically fake, but alas perhaps Charlie would look beyond all that and chalk it up to how hurried and busy Santa was this time of year. Well...NOT!

Charlie again declared to me (in a not so quiet voice) "Mom, this is really not Santa. That man has glasses and his hair is so crazy and I don't think he is even going to know my name." Not sure what to say, I gently patted his back and tried feebly to assure him that if he isn't Santa then he must be one of his elves. Looking up at me like I had a booger on the end of my nose, Charlie shook his head. With only one more child ahead of us, Charlie, who had really been studying the scene with a great deal of interest, sighed and decided out loud that he was not going to talk to this strange man in a bad costume and that he was only going up there because I wanted to take his picture. I pleaded with him to be nice and to not act shy. Then I noticed that as each child slid off Santa's lap they got a little bag of candy. I pointed this out to Charlie and he replied with "What if I don't like the candy in the bag?" "Well, then you say thank you anyway.", I said. "Thanks but no thanks?" Charlie asked. "No, just say thanks and take the bag offered to you.", I corrected. "But what if it has crap in it I don't want." "Charlie, don't say crap! Look, just take the bag of candy and say thank you, ok?", I snapped. Growling a little, Charlie kicked the dirt. About that time, a lady walked over and told Charlie that he could now go visit with Mrs. Claus while he waited for the little girl in front of him to finish talking to Santa. Charlie turned to me and said, "I don't want to see her." Smiling nervously at the lady who was trying to move us on, I pushed Charlie forward and I took my place over to the side. With head down and moving as though he really had all year to get there, Charlie climbed the stairs and walked up to Mrs. Claus (who incidentally, had a better costume than her husband). As she smiled and extended her arms to welcome him to her lap, he looked back at me then reached past her for a bag of candy and trudged forward with not so much as a word to Santa's better half. Embarrassed, I said "Hey, Charlie come talk to Mrs. Claus." It is at this point that Charlie suddenly lost his ability to hear my voice. He started looking around as though he was searching for something important in the air.

Finally, the girl was done regaling her many High School Musical and Hannah Montana needs to jolly ol' St. Nick and he laughed a hearty "Ho, Ho, Ho" as Charlie literally leaned up against him. Pulling Charlie up onto his lap, I roll my eyes as he completely ignored all questions from Santa about his name and age. Feeling like eternity was passing during the awkward silence, Charlie finally looked at this so-called "Santa" character and said, "I want drums. Drums. Okay?" "Ho, Ho, Ho, well, should I bring your mom there some earplugs too then? Ho, Ho, Ho!", Santa quipped. I smile but Charlie, not amused and now completely "over it", began to get off his lap as I tried to quickly snap a photo. Practically running to get away from the madness, Charlie headed back over to me and proclaimed, "OK, I did it. Can you open my candy bag?" "Yep, you did it, alright." I said, laughing at the whole crazy thing. When Eric asked later what Charlie thought about meeting Santa, all he could say was he "got a sucker and it was cherry flavored." Wow, what a memory maker!

I heard the Santa at the mall is a very good one with a real beard and nice suit and I've thought about taking Charlie to see him but what is really nice to know is that, he doesn't have to talk to him in person to feel confident that there is a Santa. He's got his own definite ideas about him. He likes speculating about how Santa is going to get into our house since we removed the chimneys last summer and he loves leaving those cookies for him and seeing the crumbs left behind on the plate the next morning. And it has really become a fun tradition in its own rite for Ross and Erica to help me and Eric perpetuate the belief for Charlie (and soon Lewie).

So, thinking about all of it again today, I say this... Christmas is wonderful, family traditions are terrific, children are hilarious and make-shift Santa wannabes are only good if they offer cherry flavored suckers.

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

The First Thanksgiving by Charlie, Age 5

In an attempt to be accurate to the telling of this remarkably historic tale, I have written it exactly as it was said to me at the dinner table the other night. As with most stories told by 5 year olds, this is indeed the very essence of "stream of consciousness". Enjoy!

"Um, the pilgrims had a boat called the Mayflower and they travelled to some udder country, I don't know which one. Anyway, they had to build dare own houses 'cause dare weren't any when they got dare. And they met some Indians and they taught the Pilgrims how to grow food. like Indian corn. And they were friends, yeah, they were always friends. Den they ate a feast and the Indians ate the Pilgrims' food and the Pilgrims ate the Indians' food, like Indian corn, you know? They also ate beans, deer, potatoes, gravy, pumpkin pie and some turkey. Oh yeah, they also said a prayer, you know... Thanksgiving, uh yeah. Den they all went to d' houses and turned on some music. Oh yeah, they had to build dare own radios when they built d' houses. And Pilgrims' had long hair 'cause dare was no one to cut it! But den d' Indians told 'em how to so den d' gil Pilgrims cut d' boys' hair and den d' boy Pilgrims cut d' gil's hair. Den they all had a big dance on the grass, d' Indians told d' Pilgrims how to grow grass, too. Den after they danced and sang, they went to the woods, on a walk. And they went to a wishing well where they got living water. Living water is when you drink it, you never first again. So, they got some den they went back to d' houses and just...lived dare. Oh, and you know, they did not have any stores so they had to build dem, too. That's it!"

Betcha didn't know it really happened like dat (uh, I mean that), did you? Learn something new everyday, eh?

Hope your Thanksgiving is as momentous and joyful as that very first one. May God bless you and yours!

I Need New Place Cards

So, that's been my problem, huh? I just need to move Satan somewhere else. Hmmm. Interesting. Evidently, the good people of Crawford, GA know how to do it. They even gave this handy advice on both sides of their sign. Nice!