Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from September, 2011

Becomes sometimes words aren't enough

I usually do the birthday post thing.
And I have plenty to say...
but I think these pictures and songs say it better than I could.



*and because I don't think I gave credit w/ my shoddy video attempt...the tunes are Sleeping at Last: Umbrellas and Needle and Thread.

last year's post: http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2010/09/tess-is-two.html
year before that: http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2009/09/birthday-blog.html

seasons

Summer has long been over. However, officially, today is the first day of fall. And I won’t be pulling out the earth tones or picking apples, because our local 4 day forecast has it in the 90s all week. Our swimsuits don’t need to go anywhere just yet. But if I go to the store all I see are pumpkins and long sleeves. Starbucks brought out the pumpkin spice latte weeks ago. Next week is the last week of the first six weeks of the current school year. I’ve even seen a few Christmas decorations.

And I do really like earth tones. And those little orange mellowcreme pumpkins and not shaving my legs. In Texas, the weather kind of skips fall. We go from hot to cold and the right back to hot again. There aren’t the amazing foliage changes that you get up North. And to be honest a month straight of 100+ heat killed most things green already anyways.

In other words, nothing makes today any different a season than yesterday. Except that the calendar says so.

I use the word season a lot to talk a…

getting it back

Yesterday I was waiting on a friend outside of Starbucks, and a favorite name showed up on my phone. One from out of state. That I rarely get to talk to.

For lots of reasons like…we are both working moms w/ 2 little kids....which doesn't leave a lot of overlapping phone time. A slight time difference.  Her cell service stinks. But also because if I am going to talk to her. I am really going to talk. Like real stuff. And we will laugh. But the big stuff will come bubbling up. Because there is no pretending with this friend.

So. I answered even though I only had minutes. And I don’t think she knew what hit her. I unloaded. All kinds of stuff that I had been keeping inside. Some of it I wasn’t  sure of until I heard myself say it outloud. And even though I totally dominated the conversation with my ranting, She didn’t complain. Even though she has her own stuff. She made the right funny comments and didn’t make me feel bad. And by the time I was done there was only a sliver of time…

fed

I’ve always liked the fact that Jesus’s first miracle is at a wedding. The whole water into wine thing. First of all. I like wine. I like weddings. And that is the last place you’d expect the son of God to show his divinity….making sure the wedding party didn’t run out of good wine. And he was a little reluctant of course, but he did keep the party going.

I just googled Jesus’s miracles because when I thought about it, I could think of any that didn’t involve feeding or healing people. The site I landed on listed 34. And there were a few that I had forgotten which didn’t exactly heal or feed. He calmed the seas. He walked on water. He pulled a coin out of a fish. But the other 31. Those were all feeding and healing. (and I could even make the case that the other 3 were still about relationships)…

Also I thought it was interesting that when he healed. He just touched them or pronounced it. Or told them to stand. The most complicated it got was making a paste for the blind man’s eyes. B…

asking

Lately I have felt like I couldn’t get it together. And I don’t mean the clean house, homemade cookies, PTA mom kind of together. I’ve never been that kind of together. I mean the cry in the car kind. It was like some kind of bad domino set up. One thing went down and then everything else seemed to fall as well. I felt like I was failing, in every area of my life. My family, my friendships, with old habits and even at work. And we have all been here. This wasn’t my first negative train ride. But, I don’t do sad well or for very long. I know what fixes me and can snap out of it fast enough. I usually need some alone time to think and pray and sort and then I need the opposite. I need friends and dates and lots of coffee and long conversations, long runs, to play outside with my kids, anything with frosting and a new hair color.

This time, I got stuck on the alone part. I spent a lot of time on my couch. I turned the ringer on my phone off. I didn’t ask people to do things. I tried to r…

new scars.

I went to the dermatologist yesterday. I had a spot on my face I wanted her to look at. Apparently, the rule at the dermatologist is that they want to look at everything.
EVERYTHING.
And trust me, if I’d known I was going to strip down and wear an extra large paper towel for an hour of my afternoon I might have shaved my legs and worn cuter panties.
Instead I found myself standing there in not my favorite underwear and a paper towel while she measured moles on my thighs and back and everywhere else.
She kept asking me if certain spots had always been there. If they’d always looked like that. Been that dark or that big or shaped like the state of Connecticut.
A few were familiar, but most of the time I had no idea. Some spots she pointed out I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen before. Much less noticed their diameter, shade edges, or spotting. I have lots of moles and freckles. They just showed up.  I don't keep track. You can’t expect me to name them or remember them.

However, if she had …

naked.

So. I have this blog. Maybe you've noticed. I’ve had it for a while. This is my 601st post. I even look at my stats a few times a week. They aren’t great, but lets just say that more people read it that I don’t know than I do. When I played the game I got more traffic and weekly emails from people asking me pimp their products. A publisher on occasion getting my hopes up. Sometimes I even got really nice emails. And occasionally I even got some mean ones. And they got to me every time.

But my closest friends know that I have an unwritten rule. Don’t talk about my blog.
Well, at least not in large groups. And never with people I don’t know.
Even my husband knows not to read it in front of me.
Or if you do (and yes it is ok, I'm a fan of breaking rules), be warned that I might get kind of weird on you.
Even if I am the one to bring it up.
Don’t get me wrong. I totally dig the compliments.
I even secretly crave them.
Just expect me to get all red in the face and stare at the gro…

finishing strong

A year or so ago I read Born to Run.
I didn’t go out and start running barefoot, or even buy those weird looking Vibrams (although I seriously considered it).
I didn’t sign up for a marathon or even a half. But I probably have run more since I read it. It was mostly stories about ultramarathoners and was really interesting and easy to read. Even if you aren’t a runner and just like a good story. The most intriguing thing I read in the book wasn’t that we are wasting all our money on expensive shoes, or that I should run on the pads of my feet or eat salad for breakfast. But that these runners going 100 or more miles often have pace runners. Friends or volunteers that are allowed to run the last 30-50 more miles with them. To keep them going. To encourage them. And because it is always easier to run with a friend. (Well, unless you are sometimes like me and talk so much you use up all your oxygen!). But these “volunteers” often run in the middle of the night for long stretches for noth…

punky power

One of my favorite TV shows growing up was Punky Brewster. It was on everyday after school and I wanted to be her bad. I already had the freckles and bad fashion sense. I wanted to name my dog Brandon. Paint clouds on my ceiling. Wear two different color converse and tie a bandana around my knee. One of my real life best friends actually did and I was terribly jealous. My parents wouldn’t buy me one pair of converse much less two, and my hair was too short for pigtails. I thought I could have been a better best friend to Punky than Cherie and thought that Henry was a little mean for a foster dad (although his appearances in Police Academy did help give him some street cred) and that her and her golden retriever Brandon should just move in with me. We could paint the ceiling and put each other’s hair in pig tails.

I still enjoy pig tails, converse (matching or not), anything painted on the ceiling, and have a big heart for homeless people. Maybe it started with Punky.

Much to my chagr…