13 Things to Never Say to an Older Woman with Curly Hair

 

A post inspired by one of my favorite bloggers, DudeMom, and her love for her Curls.

 1.  "Wow, with that hair, kinda sad that look is just for under 40, you know?"

2.  "I'd kill for your hair, if I were younger."

3.  "Sure you can pull it off. But, me? I think I would chop it off after 40."

4.  "Life is like that -- you have this great hair but I guess we're lucky we don't care what we look like anymore."

5.   "Too bad that pretty curly hair is wasted on us as we age."

6.  "This humid weather could make your curly hair look awesome, instead of just looking like Seth Rogen."

7.  "At least you don't have to worry about frizzing up. People don't really care what you look like so much."

8.  "You could put bobby pins in it, or hairspray it down, a big barrette, maybe?  -- when it gets hot and sticky like today."

9.  "Best to just wear it short, you know, nice and tight to the head when it starts to curl up around the forehead like that, don't you think?."

10.  "Someone screwed up when they handed out the curls without an expiration date!"

11.  "Wow. Your hair really curls up after exercise, doesn't it? Like a little half afro thingy." 

12.  "It's kind of like you almost could do it, I mean, you know, aging, but you gotta be avant garde for curly hair when you're older."

13.  "Only curls? Oh, well, at least when you want a hairstyle, you've got one right there. Of course, the idea of ringlets is out, because you know, age and all..."


You may wonder after this list, Well, what CAN I say to an older woman who has curls?
This works, "Your hair is beautiful."


Totally acceptable. Even if curl-envy (oh, it's a thing) whispers in your ear to say otherwise.

 

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When Your Heart Tells You To Stop

My youngest woke up hungry and asked for a chicken sandwich for breakfast this morning, so I preheated the oven because he likes his patties 20 minute oven crunchy and not 3 minute microwave soggy. While I took care of his breakfast, he dressed and washed up, packing his books for school. It wasn't until 7 minutes before we had to leave when he sat down to eat that I realized I had forgotten to put his sandwich in the oven.

The cashier at the QuikMart who rang me up today had to call out after me, "You forgot your salad!" At the end of the conveyor belt, I had left the only thing I had gone in for, a fast lunch -- distracted by the Wall Street Journal's front page and the picture there, of Boston yesterday.

This morning I had an appointment for our minivan that needed new brakepads, not an inexpensive way to spend an hour and a half. The service tech popped his head into the waiting room to tell me my car was ready and I could check out anytime. Thanking him quickly, I looked up briefly from the television and its scenes from Boston, then got up and walked through their garage, getting in my car. I barely drove out of their lot when I realized I had never paid for the work.

It was on twitter yesterday afternoon that I heard of the bombings in Boston. Clicking over to Facebook for news snippets, I saw that it was real. And worse than the tweet had shouted. Leaving to pick up my children from school and then drive them to all they needed to do, we came home and I slammed a dinner together of sauteed chicken breasts with rice made in 20 minutes. The pan that sits still dirty in the sink this morning shows that I couldn't do more than that.

I can't focus today.

I feel unsettled, without seeking out more news on twitter or Facebook, I am saddened, shocked, heart broken. My day needs me to keep doing, though it feels like moving through mud: cleaning, doing, driving, running. But everything I do since yesterday keeps coming out with a part missing, something forgotten, things left behind, just unable to do it right.

I can't pull it together. Tears are half a second away, the lump in my throat is almost to an ache.

Sometimes you have to stop moving and take the time to honor and bless, acknowledge and bow your head. Take yourself away from everything, and find that corner, that space, wherever it is, and let the silent tears slip and release the tug in your throat.

I made myself still today, each tear sending out love and fellow humanness for all of us on this planet together. Praying so hard for the pain of loss and the sting of shock and disbelief for so many. I paused and meditated with a heart pulsing with shared sorrow, because there is something inside that won't let me go on as if there wasn't a rip in so many lives yesterday. I think of what I saw and read about what happened in Boston and it's no wonder that I can't concentrate on anything else and that everything takes twice as long to figure out and do today, I mean, Look at our fellow man.

Think on him.

Thinking on you today, Boston, with a full, still heart.

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Just This.

You Don't Have To BlackFriday It, Did You Know That?

Due to financial instabilities of the economy within the world of this household, we are not going to be a part of the Black Friday money-saving madness today. People spend to save, but it's still spending.

Black Friday makes people lose their minds. McDonald's opens at 2:30 a.m., stores open at 4 a.m. with "Door Buster" savings where they only stock five or six of that bustin' item advertised to get you to show up and bust their doors down. They have no fear of you turning around and leaving when you find out the $89 flat screen TV you wanted is sold out; "well, as long as I'm here, I'll buy something else."

I'm sleeping in the day after Thanksgiving. I'll get up and walk around in my well worn mismatched pajamas, sipping on my newly habited Decaf, and make cinnamon rolls for my children. I know what I'll be missing, HUGE deals, 40 percent off and more! sales.

I'll especially miss out on things like this:

-Getting my face pepper sprayed when going for the last coveted door buster Xbox.

-Being trampled while already lined-up customers duck underneath a lifting store gate.

-Getting carried away in a sea of humanity over $2 waffle irons.

-Climbing across and into vats of sweet potatoes to get to a video game.

-And if you smugly think this wouldn't happen to you because you never go to the likes of Walmart or Best Buy, here's a scene of a hipster crowd at Urban Outfitters, showing the theft detector devices that were stomped down in an insane gates-opening dash.

There's a lot to miss.

This holiday, let's re-think the old habit of imitating what the mainstream does. Consider rejecting the spirit of greed and consumerism: not just because of the b.s listed above, but so that your family watches and learns from you. Do it for them. Let them see that the holidays are about sharing all we've been blessed with, with those that are struggling.

A holiday season without any thought for those without, or at a loss, is an impoverished holiday. 

Think about this: 1 in 4 children in America goes to bed hungry because of unemployment, neediness, the mental and physical health of their caretakers. You know how hard it is to fall asleep hungry? These children do, every night.

If you venture out today, let it be to a grocery store. Take your kids with you and let them fill a whole shopping cart with food for others. See those big food donation barrels placed at almost every grocery store door starting this week? Fill them. The best items to donate are baby cereal, dry cereals, delicious flavored instant oatmeals that only need water to prepare, packs of tuna, instant add water only pancake mix, canned soup or ravioli or beefy mac, jars of peanut butter, the mac & cheese that comes with the prepared sauce and doesn't need butter or milk.(see the pattern? Get the Add Water Only--we take much for granted, including that ALL households have milk, eggs, butter ... they don't.)

Go crazy that way. Lose your mind and buy every single box of ready-made Kraft there is and climb over each other to get them in the Food for Families food barrels.

Wouldn't that be a wonderful thing to see on the news tonight? People knocking each other over to fill those donation receptacles? Maybe someday, we'll get it right.

Peace Out.

xo

No, It Is Not Hot Enough For Me

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed, citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
 --Margaret Mead


Summer, with its beauty, is not without its thorns. Every 15 seconds during this long awaited favorite season of the year, when hit by hot, very hot weather, we are subjected to one of the most rhetorical, purposeless phrases of our language. As if the sting of salty sweat dripping from our brow into our eyes wasn't enough, we must also be asked "Hot enough for ya?"

Wiping at the shimmering drops on our foreheads with the front of our hands, for the 20th time in a day upon hearing this phrase that means "hot," we once again pull our lips into a Jim Halpert in the confessional forced smile and reply, "sure is." What else can we say?

Not wanting to be labeled the neighborhood nut, we can't answer sarcastically, "If you're asking me, I like it about 40 degrees warmer," nor give them an Angela-esque, "No, as a matter of fact, it is not hot enough for me. Is it hot enough for you?"  But how else do we answer? Rolling our eyes and smacking their question back to them with, "Really?* Hot enough for ya?* Is that the best you got?" isn't going to work. [at least I can't - I live in a small town and news of who's the latest crazy travels fast #Lessons Learned File No. 47]

How much less annoying these fry an egg on the sidewalk days would be if we didn't play the you don't like saying it and I don't like hearing it game of "Hot Enough For Ya?"

All it takes is one person to take up the fight and say Enough! One person, one thought, one cry of No More!

Let's take "Hot Enough For Ya" and make it history.

Let's educate, raise awareness, and the best action plan of all: Offer Alternatives.

 Other Things You Can Say Besides Hot Enough For Ya

-It's 50 shades of red out here!

-It's hotter than that metal slide at the park they put in during FDR's New Deal Act of 1939. Burns my kids' thighs off every year but no one in this town seems to want to get rid of it. (might as well make it serve your personal agenda)

-How about plain and simple: "Dang hot out today, isn't it?"

-You know that 100 degree heat index they're talking about? They're talking about in the shade. Stand in the sun and you'd better have that Dr. on speed dial because you've got guaranteed heat stroke, my friend. Guaranteed.

-It's so hot I'd even pay Starbucks the 5 bucks they want for one of their frappe mocha chino latte ice chiller frosties.

-It's so hot Chuck Norris is starting to sweat.

-Me? Hot? Not anymore since I started talking Celsius. 95 degrees F = 35 degrees C ahhhhh...
 
-I'm about to sleep naked! Right here!

-It's so hot it's affecting my thinking. Tom Cruise seems sane.

-Looks like it's another one of those days! Where everybody takes a picture of their dashboard thermometer and puts it on facebook!

-If it weren't for the way this weather makes me look like I need hormone replacement therapy, I'd love it. 

-The temperature today could shatter a thermometer. And that scares me. Do they still use mercury? (worth a shot at the possibility of conversation and maybe making a new friend. Delirium does funny things and people let their guard down)

-Had a dream last night that I was the sun.

-Decide that an Excessive Heat Advisory gives you the license to lose it and say this, ALL of this: "Hot summer streets and the pavement is burning, trying to smile but the air is heavy and dry. Too close for comfort and this heat has got right out of control. It's a cruel ... cruel ... cruel summer." 

-It's so hot I saw two trees fighting over a dog. (not really, but could get you a chuckle)

-Whew. Don't know about you but something about wearing white underwear just makes me feel cooler.


A fire starts with a single flare. The single flare of taking a match to the Hot Enough For Ya automatic phrase of summer. I believe none of us really ever wants to say it in the first place, and now we can say what we really mean instead. Which is, I'd get in line for a water baptism today.

 Image

*Happy Fourth to all of you!

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**I'm thrilled that a post I submitted to mamapedia is up today: "How To Be An Embarrassment To Your Teen." Come. Read. Join me, in the very special club of causing embarrassment to your offspring by the mere act of breathing.

Because The Moth Wanted To Know

I was with some big city folk last week, who were here in Milwaukee for TheMoth On The Road, a national live story telling series based out of NYC. As we sat passing the time before the show, conversation turned to asking what my plans would be for the coming weekend.

I let them know, "same as any other person's in Wisconsin."

City Mice:  "So, what will you do then?"

Country Mouse:  *repeating question back, in true Wisconsin style* "Me? What will I do this weekend? I'll be doing what everyone else in Wisconsin will be doing on a late May weekend: restocking the fridge with cheddar and having my rummage sale."

City Mice:  "Is that like a yard sale?"

Is it like a yard sale -- how do I even be-GIN to answer that. It is so much more than like a yard sale, garage sale, tag sale, odd-n-ends sale, estate sale, flea market, swap meet.

A rummage sale is, in its most beautiful form: sociological entertainment. Call your bestie, pour the coffee, pull up two lawn chairs, and have at it with the people-watching and whispering as you identify the rummage sale types.

City Mice:  "So, do you make any money?"

Country Mouse:  "Do I make any money? I just shove it in an envelope. With three kids, I just want to clear my house out and once it's out of the house it's not going back in -- what I don't sell, I pack up and drive to a Goodwill donation center. No, the money is just a fringe benefit. I do it for the people that come."

How does someone explain that it's the past time of sitting in your driveway and being an expert in the art of rummageology that you look forward to.

To sit and identify the Early Bird, the Cut Throat, the Price Tag Switcher, the Hoarder, the Snubber, the Yard Sale Addict, the Cheap Mom, the Yapper, the ReSeller, the Swap Meet of His Own Coming Up, the Professional, the Casual, the Haggler, the Negotiator, the Distracter, the Nosy Neighbor, the Lean Out The Car Window Scoper, the Scout, the Nothing Smaller Than a Hundred, the Appraiser, the Trained Eye, the Five Finger Discounter, the Antiques Roadshow Hopeful; that's where the fun is.

It's all of that. And at the end of the day, being able to take everyone out for pizza with the dollars you've made after your closets have been filtered down, to talk about the woman in the black wool coat and even blacker head scarf on a 90 degree day who went crazy over your gallon size plastic bag full of baby socks, $5 for the whole bunch: priceless.

And that's how we do it, in Wisconsin. Pass the cheddar and don't look now but I think I see a Yapper coming.

"Yah, hey...I said 25 cents EACH not 25 cents ALL...cripes."

Flickr cc
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**To learn more about the amazing interesting live story telling of The Moth, click here.

Deemed Unsafe

When we were homeschooling a few years ago, my short husband, a/k/a youngest son, and I were on a group field trip to a huge pizza-making factory. I, and the other parents on the trip, were assigned our own child plus five to watch. I've always been lucky enough that my boy is crazy about me and sticks to me like glue, so I had no worries about whether or not he wanted to be with me. I also had absolute confidence in my abilities and zero concerns about losing any child in my care -- I've always been very responsible. However, based on who knows what criteria, there was something about me that pushed a fellow chaperoning parent to the point of her having to ask me every 20 minutes during the two and a half hour tour, So, all your kids with you?

Yesss. All six.

20 minutes later, same question, So, how many kids with you now? 

Still. Six.

I think I know what it was that weighed on her and made her twitchy: my group was having fun, lots of it; the usual faces back and forth and imitations of tossing pizza dough up in the air and missing it. I behaved on this trip and promised myself that I wouldn't get defensive with this woman, no snarky words would slip out.

You know Gloria on Modern Family? Not a Colombian exaggeration. Push us enough and you'll hear about it. But I bit my lip and kept it all inside because my son had asked me to, as all three of  my three children usually do when they set out the Rules We Must Follow On Field Trips This Means You, Mom speech given to me pre-public appearances.

This mom had her own child with her in her group, so the issue couldn't be fear of losing him via me. My son also noticed her apparition-like appearances, the Ghost of Nosiness Present. His heavy sighs were timed at the exact moments as mine in response to her questions. I saw him roll his eyes as we'd sense her approach. I saw him with the identical fake tight lipped smile skill I have come to perfect. As soon as the six in my group and I would begin with the enjoyment of an afternoon together, she'd be over in two seconds like she had heelies on.

By the end of the trip, she had me chomping my gum like a 1930's mobster to keep my mouth quiet. More than anything, I wanted to say What the heck already, lady … enough with the Amber Alert with my group. Does it bother you that much that we enjoy a few snorts and chortles here? When it came time to board the bus back home, she floated to the front of the line where we were like Casper the meddling ghost.

All your kids here before we head home? She queried.

Yup. All six. Still.

When my son and I found our seats in the middle of the bus and sat down, I looked at him and made cross eyes, slumped my shoulders, shook my head, and maturely stuck my tongue out. He covered his mouth and giggled. I know, he then whispered seriously, shaking his head and crossing his own eyes in a perfect unintentional imitation of me. I. Know, he continued, What the heck, right? Instead of keeping on asking you if you lost any kids, why didn't that lady just say I'm worried about you losing kids because you don't behave like a normal mom.

I sputtered out laughing. If the adorableness next to me at that moment was the end product of being raised by a socially suspect woman, then I don't think I have ever felt prouder of being deemed unsafe in my life. 

Hmmmm... now who'd Baby E learn that face from?

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**Twilight without Edward Cullen? Please let it not be true....details on my post today at Sprocket Ink.

Yeah. It Hurt A Little.

Months ago, as I sat staring at the dream like photography and honey sweet posts on a blog of a young mom's rural life that I had stumbled onto, I decided to finally send this writer an email, and tell her how much I enjoyed the peek into her simple, self sustaining farm life. Many times, I would be the only commenter on her site, other times I would be one of two or three others.

I didn't say too much, I only mentioned how much I appreciated the beauty and skill of her photography along with the quaint narration of their daily life. I loved the pictures of the rusty red pick up truck they had taken to the farmer's market and brought home sunflowers that she arranged in an old milk pitcher on their vintage barnwood table.

It was all so pretty, gauze-like, and so much more delicate than my own life.

I thanked her for the simplicity of her posts, and told her I admired the peaceful and non material way she and her husband  had chosen to raise their children.

Sometimes I hear back after I send an email like this, sometimes.

Some will respond with a brief, "Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it!" and sometimes the responses back have grown into wonderful ongoing friendships.

But what I received in return to my email this time flattened me.

Stumped me about the human condition. Made me ask what has happened in someone's world that a sincere expression of gratitude for their writing and their blog, results in a reply back like this:

hey alexandra.

so can i tell you that i really don't know how to respond to this?

i started to write a long note about all my struggles as a mom and that i can totally relate to what you wrote and that i have felt the same thing when reading other mom's blogs.

then my husband came by. read over my shoulder and said your e-mail was clearly a joke. or that you mistook me for another blogger because no one reads my blog and if they did, how could they possibly feel that i'm doing everything right. (oh yeah...that's my guy! ;-)

so now i'm kind of confused. and really tired after a long, frustrating day. and i need to go grocery shopping. so i just thought i'd write back and say hi. thanks for your note. i really hope i don't make you depressed. really.

and if my husband is right and your e-mail was a joke...oh well. joke's on me. not the first time and certainly not the last i'm sure.

either way.  hope you had your fun. i'm wishing you all the best...

Socks the breath out of you, doesn't it?

I sent a reply back, apologizing, and assuring her that my admiration was authentic.

I never heard back.

I remember reading a tweet, "if you have a thin skin, 'tis best you steer clear of the internet."

'Tis best to toughen up, too, because this one...yeah, it hurt a little.
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 Photo Source

Holiday Letter Discussion

Did you just run screaming to the other room as soon as you saw this?

It's the Annual Christmas Letter. Also not so fondly called, The ALCL (Annual Lying Christmas Letter), The ATSL (Annual Truth Stretching Letter),  The ABCL (Annual Bragging Christmas Letter.)

People love to write these. People say they hate to get these, but secretly, like a train wreck, we can't help but look. Some of us make an evening out of it; gathering up friends, lighting a fire, pouring the Pinot Grigio, and start ripping open the fat envelopes.

We write these, we receive them, but no one talks about them. You know, truth talks about them. Like, how they are *gulp* ridiculed. Yup. Made fun of. Passed around and taken to coffee klatches as a source of mirth and entertainment.

Is there no one to tell the writers of these letters that the chance exists, if they're not aware of it, of becoming the subject of tonight's mom's wine night out?

I will do it.

I'm at the halfway point in my life where I have to start knocking things off my bucket list. Holiday Letter Discussion is number 5 on that list.

Let's begin with assuming that everyone's got a good heart. I know I know, but let's just assume. You don't want to be boastful, right? You don't want to make everyone feel like they're the most underachieving family on the planet, do you? You want us, the ones on the other end, to know you wish us well and are thinking of us this holiday season. If we start at that point, then the rest will be a walk in the park.

How To Send Holiday Letters Out That Won't Make People Follow Up With a Request To Be Removed From Your Mailing List:

oAsk yourself, who are you writing this letter for? Really ask it.

oDo not write longer than one page. No buts. One page. End of it.

oNo $8.00 words, no matter how recently you learned egregious. Thank you.

oIf you've had the best year ev-er, if your husband is making money hand over fist, if your golden child finished up his third PhD in 18 months, we'd rather not hear about it.  Plain old happy news, like a new baby, new job, your first home, a first lost tooth on your kindergartner, your teen making the football team, your first writing gig; all good stuff we'd love to share your happiness over. But if you've had a bang up year and your home has increased in value over $100,000 again! Some things are best kept within the family.

oIt's easier for some of us to share happiness than others. For me, happiness and good things often feel foreign and like I stepped into that weird scene with the Gwyneth in Sliding Doors: Ooops! Wrong life! So, your effusiveness (that's only a 4 dollar word, not 8...) may sit with me as bragging. Bragging. Not catching up, but bragging. Bragging.

oThis suggestion is serious: be sensitive to your audience. Really. If you know of someone who has been trying to find work for most of the year, please don't send out a letter telling them how many times you've been promoted in your own job, or how may headhunters are after your awesomeness. Not nice. Same for a couple struggling with infertility; don't type up sentence after sentence on how everyone in your family is a fertile myrtle and gets pregnant just from the wink of an eye...Must be the water! LOL! This will only be LOL to you.

oWe know you want to make it fun, but Changing fonts and Shifting color changes leave me feeling like I've got an undiagnosed brain tumor. It does. And then I'll be too worried about getting an appointment with the neurologist before the New Year to pay any attention about your trip to Graceland.

oSelf deprecation is a great tool. Somehow, I'll listen about little third grade Tommy's history making ACT scores if you tell me how both you and your husband swear he's not from your litter and was dropped off by aliens.

oCount your adjectives:  if you've used wonderful or great more than 3 times in one page, time to stop.

oBottom line: you can't disguise bragging. We know.

I promise you that if you follow these suggestions, your Holiday Letter won't be turned into party fodder. Stick to these points, and no one will guess that you're telling us just what a GD good year you had. Even if you sign it, Here's to 2012! Though we can't imagine a better year than 2011 was!

Happy Holidays!

How To Make Friends and Have People Like You

If the title of this post made your heart race a little, then it's safe to say that you want to know how to get people to like you.

I can't help you with that.
I had to turn to the internet for friends.

But I have an idea.

If you do the opposite of what I do in my real life, then I think you stand a good chance of getting to know some real flesh and blood folks. The kind that maybe will like you back.

Just follow these pointers to a social life that consists of more than one person:

Begin your day with a solid breakfast. Heading out the door after four cups of coffee and nil in the stomach makes for a very shaky school drop off (pun intended.) You don't want to be the mom in the car line laying on the horn to the van full of preschoolers being dropped off in front of you, shouting, "you droppin' off gramma or what?!"

Dress in a manner that invites a good first impression. We all want to keep it real, but if your daily life involves yoga pants with holes in them, then it's time to change it up a little. Also? Use a real ponytail ponytail holder in your hair, and not the inked up red rubber band from that morning's newspaper. Trust me, the inked up rubber band's a deal breaker.

Shoes. Shoes are nice -- throw some on, no matter how late you are. Your teen son's size eleven Converses tossed on your size seven feet, sans socks, do not count as shoes. People hand out extra potential friend points when the ones you wear are your own.

Call attention to your mistakes indirectly. A soft "Oh, heavens, I can't believe Johny forgot his lunch" falls much better on the ears than "sonuvabeehive that kid of mine would forgot his head if it wasn't screwed on. I've half a mind to just let him go without and then we'll see how quickly he forgets his lunch again with the memory of gnawing hunger..."

Be cheerful, even when you don't feel like it. Do not walk around with the biggest, blackest, most face esconcing made in Italy sunglasses that money can buy just because you don't feel like eye contact that day. Just.don't. Especially when it's cloudy out.

Learn to make a great pot luck church supper. Deli pick up and dumps will never make it past the mummy crew radar. If  you don't take my word for it, and still decide to go and hit the deli anyway, be sure you don't show up with that day's advertised 99 cents a pound macaroni salad special that's splayed across every flyer in town.

Remember the two most offensive words in the English language. No offense. "Gee, I wish I could be more like you and just let my kids screw up on their own, no offense." Yeah.

Be alert for opportunities to show praise. Words of praise and flattery, like sap flowing out of a tree, go a lot further in hoped for friendships than becoming the green eyed monster seething in covetousness. Who doesn't love to hear, "Oh, girl, I am digging your chunky zebra bangle right now." Works wonders to melt even the coldest hearts. They'll like you, even if they don't want to.

Be open and accessible. Do not tally up transgressions, snubbings, blatant cold shoulders. Don't be hatin' back -- rise above, continue to be kind, kind, and kind.  We can't control how others treat us, nor whether they accept us, but we can be the nicest version of who we are.

So, let's raise a cup of coffee in hopes that you may get lucky one of these times, and the next person you meet could become a friend.

And keep your eye open for a morning newspaper rubber band in their hair. I've heard those peeps make the best BFF's.
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Without Much Thought Needed, My List of All I Am Truly Thankful For

It's good to close our eyes and ears to all that roars around us so that we can feel gratitude for that which is well and good in our lives. We hear and read about things happening in the world that give us pause, and nudge us to not take our blessings as a given. Throughout my day I'll have flashes of wanting to be still, and be thankful for all that my family and I have. Today, it felt good to stop the chatter in my brain and write what I am grateful for, here, in public display of deep appreciation.  Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

1.    I am grateful for my children, the greatest and most important things in my life.

2.    I am grateful for my husband; who is a good, honest man who loves his family.

3.   I am grateful for my health, my husband's, and my children's good health.

4.   I am grateful that we never have to worry about having a meal to eat.

5.   I am grateful that my husband and I both have jobs.

6.   I am grateful that we have two working cars in this family.

7.  I am grateful that if my children need boots or a coat, I am able to get them.

8.  I am grateful for the safe, clean neighborhood we live in.

9.  I am grateful for the excellent medical and dental care that we have.

10. I am grateful that I have a body that is able to do anything I need it to do.

11. I am grateful that I have children who love to hug and kiss me.

12. I am grateful for the mundaneness of my life, with nothing extraordinary happening.

13. I am grateful that this new family of mine has been spared any tragedy.

14. I am grateful for my niece, who has been my best friend since the beginning of time.

15.  I am grateful that have a close friend in my life who always acts as if seeing me is the best thing in her day.

16. I am grateful for my sisters and my brother; these are the people that make me laugh as hard as my children do.

17. I am grateful that I began this blog and for all the amazing people I've met through blogging.

18. I am grateful for the unimaginable opportunities that blogging has put in my life.

19. I am grateful for the people in my online life that keep me smiling and feeling that I am part of a community.

20. I am grateful that I am able to write in a way that makes people feel more understood and less alone in this world.
 
21. I am grateful that I survived PPD, and that my life online has helped me reach others who are in the midst of their battle.

22. I am grateful that I have a fighter spirit that will not let me be swallowed up by the daily knocking on my own door by depression.

23. I am grateful that because of this blog, my life has been saved on a daily basis by those I've come to love and come to count on, as part of my life on this earth.

24. I am grateful for the readers that come here and remain faithful to me. To these people, I love you, and thank you.

25. I am grateful that I still have a little boy who whispers to me at night as he falls asleep, "Hold my hand, mommy, I want you to come with me to my dreams."

Happy Thanksgiving to my dear, dear friends in the blogosphere. Thank you for your visits, your comments, your tweets, your DMs, your emails, your encouragement, your support, your beautiful posts.

I love you more than you can understand. xo

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Sometimes, I Get It Right

My coupons were clipped, and I was at the grocery store before nine o'clock on Sunday morning. My plans were to be in and out of our MegaMart and back home before eleven; where my three children would be waiting for me, hungry, knowing that Sunday morning meant my cinnamon rolls.

I grabbed the first cart at the front of the store and headed toward produce. Apples, grapes, bananas, oranges; we were out of everything and the grocery list I held proved it. I pulled off a plastic bag from the roll available and began filling it with the pears that were on special. Toss, toss, toss, three, four, five; I counted the amount I needed for the coming week's lunches. I looked around for the next item on the list.

Shoot. The grapes, I reminded myself, I can't forget the grapes. If this was the way things were going to go this morning, I'd be here forever. I made a U-turn mid-aisle to get back to the grapes I remember passing at the store's entrance. As I stood near the automatic doors loading up on the fruit I needed, I could see a tall man staring at me. I looked up, and recognized him from a church we had attended years ago.

I remembered that he had lost his wife suddenly while she was away on a business trip. She was only 39 years old.  At the time, they had a nine year old son, a twelve year old daughter, and another son who was fourteen.

"Hi," I said, surprised to see him after so many years. "Hi." He didn't answer back. "How are you doing?" I said his name twice.

He looked at me, not so much surprised as caught deep in thought. I saw that he was blinking away tears. "It's been eight years, you know."

"Yes, yes, I know. I am so very sorry."

I looked at his face. I put my bag of grapes into the shopping cart. I pulled my cart out of the way of the other early morning shoppers. He kept looking at me, not saying a word, and not moving. "Are you doing okay?" I asked, now feeling concerned for how disoriented he seemed. 

"You know, people are afraid to ask me about her. They're afraid it'll make me think of her. I think of her, even if no one asks me about her."

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't know why people do that." I offered up an explanation, "maybe they're worried they'll make you sad."

He looked hard at my face for an awkward amount of time. His eyes beginning at my forehead, then jumping to each side of my cheeks. His pointed his chin down, and centered his gaze on my feet. He kept his head lowered. He began to speak, his eyes still set on my black clogs. "I knew something was wrong when they called me and told me she hadn't come to work....she never missed work. That wasn't like her..."

I felt the thickness of the shopping list I held in my right hand. I could see the hand on the clock in my head pointing to nine o'clock. I noticed how red the rims around his blue eyes were.

"You know, if we move toward the store's bank over here, we'll be out of the way," I hoped my suggestion wouldn't embarrass him. "They're closed Sundays." I didn't take my eyes off of his face.

He didn't answer back. I decided to lead the way with my cart. He didn't walk after me right away, but after a few seconds, he followed not even five feet behind.

It was quiet, empty, out of the way, where we stood. "Please," I asked him, "tell me about that morning. I've never heard you tell the story about how you found out about your wife."

He looked at me, quiet, his two lips trembling. His eyes made even more blue by the contrast of the redness surrounding them.

Without a crack in his voice, he began, "I knew something was wrong when the hotel called. She was always on time. Never missed work. That day, she was going to do a presentation for a group of engineers...." The words fell out of his mouth, so many of them, fighting to get out first, as if they hadn't seen sunlight in a lifetime.

I nodded, watching him talk. I let him tell me the story of that morning eight years ago. I let him tell me how he decided to let his three children finish out the full day in school rather than picking them up early to tell them that their mother was gone. I listened to him as he told me how the youngest didn't believe him and insisted on proof that he wouldn't see his mother again.

I listened to it all until he stopped. Then he said no more, and took a deep breath.

And then he walked away. Saying nothing.

I stood and watched the back of his blue jacket head to the store's entrance. I don't know if he went back to finish his shopping or not. I hoped for a minute that I might run into him again while we were in the store because I didn't have the chance to tell him I was sorry. I didn't have the time to ask him how I could help.

I don't know how long we had been together, and I thought of how I hadn't even started on the grocery list I came in with. I knew I'd be getting back home late. It would be time for lunch and too late for cinnamon rolls. There'd be no time for me to use the money saving coupons I had been stockpiling for this morning's trip. 

I hadn't done anything I set out to do that Sunday morning.

But, somehow, I got it right.