regularly scheduled maintenance

I took my car in today for it's "regulary scheduled maintenance”. 30,000 miles. 347$ later I have a car with new fluids, sparkplugs, rotated tires and probably some other things. Paying that much money for something that was working just fine was painful, but I suggested it. We want to keep this car running in good condition as long as possible and I understand that it will take some time and money for upkeep.

Plenty of things around the house get their regularly scheduled maintenance. Owen never misses a doctor’s appointment. Heck even the pets usually get their shots on time.

I on the other hand am lacking on the maintenance end. Superficially, I haven’t had a haircut since February. I haven’t had a pedicure since at least last summer. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in what feels like years. Physically, I am about 6 months overdue on my dental appointments. I am down to my last pair of contacts, and have avoided calling for more because I am afraid they will make me come in. I don’t think I have ever gone to the dr. healthy. Spiritually, I am long overdue for a checkup. Sure I read a lot of books, pray throughout the day and download my thoughts in lots of blogs, but I know that I am lacking. On the outside I seem to be “running” just fine, but I think my tires are wearing a little thin.
Most of us take care of our kids, our cars, and even our teeth ( I said most of us)…….but not so much on ourselves. We are lacking in at least one of those three areas, if not all three. We wait around for something to break, and then assess the damage. I wish I came with one of those mileage stickers that tell you when to get an oil change. Sure I ignore it for the first 1000 miles or two, but eventually I take care of it………which is more than I can say for myself.

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pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...

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