I'm Not a Circus Performer, People

Lately I’ve felt like a tight rope walker.  

Teetering as I struggle to maintain a work-life balance. I understand that everyone struggles with this.  I watch Sloan struggle to make sure he works to support his family rather than have his family support his work.  I listen to friends who work outside the home struggle to make sure their children know they are important, maintain sanity, and run a household, all the while making sure they keep their bosses happy.  So you’d think someone who is a stay at home mom would have no trouble here.  But the struggle is, well, my work IS my life.  I can’t choose between my family and my work because they are interrelated.   I can’t just kick back and relax because there are loads of laundry to be folded, shopping lists to complete, forms to be copied in triplicate for the dossier, bills to be paid, frames to be painted, friends who need meals made for them, and with the nice weather we’ve been having, parks to visit, and sprinklers to run through, which of course, only increases the amount of laundry that will inevitably be folded.  Whoever started that whole sitting on the couch and eating bon-bons rumor needs to be shot. 

I repeat—there are no bon-bons.

Add to this that we are entering the seventh level of toddler hell, aka potty training, and I want to cry.

Add to THAT that we are stuck in Home Study Limbo and I am crying.  I can’t really talk about how mad and sad and frustrated we are with our current adoption situation without sinning.  

Moreover, I am falling off the tight rope as I attempt to have a good balance of serving others and being insular in my family’s life.  I want us to be others’ focused, but in doing so, I’ve dropped the ball entirely on serving my kids.  

And my mind is jumbled.  I think my constant multi-tasking between cooking and cleaning and email and home study and preschool and having to get all new siding on my house and consignment sales and trunk shows and Plum Panda business and my daughter’s obsession with stripping naked and washing her hands in the toilet has completely left me incapable of just doing one thing to completion. I'm so focused on all the balls I have up in the air that I'm completely running into the folks living with me.  And let's not talk about how I've completely failed at giving up soda for lent. 

#lentfail

So I’ve been attempting to reboot my brain because it just-won’t-stop-thinking or processing information in manic fashion.  The other night I was tossing and turning because I was fearful that in training Ugandan soldiers to stop Kony (a necessary thing) we were just arming a Ugandan government that is equally guilty of crimes against humanity and it just seemed an awful lot like arming the Taliban to defeat the Russians.  Seriously.  This is the kind of crazy I am dealing with.   

So I’m stepping off the rope.  I'm letting the balls fall.*

  

Everyone tells you that when you bring your adopted child home you need to circle the wagons and just be a family.  To drop out of all your activities and just focus on loving one another for about a year.  Oh, how I long for that year!  

  

So I’m circling early.  Because in the end, the WHAT I’m doing in my service is of little importance if I’m confused about the WHO.  When I am patient with my daughter as she hides under my pillow and BREAKS ALL OF MY MAKEUP all over my bedspread while I pack to go out of town, I am serving Jesus.  When I take the time to fix bacon and eggs for a little boy who loves them so much rather than just serving up a bowl of Cheerios so I can work on more Plum Panda stuff, I am cooking for Jesus.  When I put down my Ipad and my paintbrushes and snuggle up with Sloan on the couch to watch New Girl, I am sharing the love of Jesus.  

When I cease the striving, I can trust.  And receive much grace.  And I’m reminded, it is not the type of service but the One being served who matters.  And I am not the Savior of the world or my family.  Hallelujah! 

So if you hear crickets around here for awhile, it’s because I refuse to tightrope or juggle anymore. 

*That's what she said.

The Plum Panda

I promise that every upcoming post will not be about adoption fundraisers.  That said, I do plan to announce my new avenue to raise funds and to invite you to join in.  

I have created a facebook “shop” where folks can “buy” items by donating to our adoption fund at AdoptionJourney.Org.  I will be making picture frames, yarn wreaths (because I’m kinda addicted to felt flowers), and bows.  I’m sure there will be other crafts for sale as well as time goes.  As items are made, they will be posted on the site.  Items can also be commissioned for personalization. 

Folks have been sending me coupons to various craft stores and even donating items like paint, ribbon, and yarn to help the cause.  It’s been humbling to see how many folks are already loving our child.

Some folks have also generously offered their gifts, talents, and vacation properties to help the cause.  These items will be auctioned off after the New Year.  (Mainly so I’m not ignoring my kids during Christmas.)  Just to tease you, here are some items that have already been donated—some beautiful handmade pottery, some graphic art from an artist in Austin, TX (so you know it’s wicked cool), a photography session in Dallas with a professional photographer, and two one week stays at a Lake front beach condo in Litchfield By the Sea, SC.  So yeah, your family’s beach vacation could help bring an orphan into a forever family.  And that is just what people messaged me about in 15 minutes last night.

SO PLEASE OH PLEASE, LIKE “THE PLUM PANDA” ON FACEBOOK and invite your friends to as well.  Please share this post on facebook and twitter and click the “Like the Plum Panda” button in my sidebar.  

And oh yeah, why the Plum Panda?  Well, because we are adopting a special needs child from China.  And the Chinese are believed to be the first to cultivate plums and you’ve been living under a rock if the whole Pandas are from China is news to you.  Also, let’s be clear…how cute is a purple panda?  And my cute purple panda crafted by the generous Ali Fogarty?  A. Door.  A. Bull.

And why not just ask for donations?  Well, for one there is the whole people judging us thing.  And making things is a way for me to relax and be productive while patiently waiting on the Lord to do His thing to bring our child home.  But even more than that, I believe that it takes a village.  And that my family is part of the larger family of God.  And so this holy village will do great things in His name and for our child.  So it is an invitation to be a part of what God is doing.  Perhaps you have a talent we could auction off?  Perhaps you have a small business you’d like to promote?  Or perhaps you’d like to get a custom handcrafted item for a wedding present or baby shower?  Or perhaps you don't have money, but you'd sure love to help and you also like to cook.  Well, I can tell you people would probably be willing to donate $15-20 for you to deliver them a homecooked meal one night.  Everyone is gifted by God with something.  I'm simply asking you to honor Him and bless an orphan with the gifts you've been given.  (Forgive me if that sounded a little too Jim Baker/PTL for you.  It did for me.)

From time to time, I will feature some items on this blog in a feature called “Fundraising Friday”.  And there will always be a link to the Facebook page on this blog.  And, when I get the time, I’ll have another page on this blog or perhaps another blog devoted to it.  

Won’t you join us in seeing God at work? 

Current Events

A friend of mine posted on my Facebook wall that she was hoping I would post some witty comment regarding the whole injustice surrounding the Casey Anthony trial.  Well, before I say a couple of things about it, I have to make a disclaimer.
I really have no idea about any of the details.  I didn't watch one single minute of the trial.  I vaguely remember something being said about a smelly car a long time ago.  I think I'm maybe one of three people on the planet who can say this.  What I do know I've learned from other people's Facebook status updates and my friend Abbe who caught me up on some of the details the other day while we were at the pool.
For starters, I'd like to say that this is not because I'm better than you people who watch a lot of Court TV or whatever station it was running on.  I'm not.  I just don't watch a lot of TV.
No.  That's a lie.  I watch a lot of Disney Junior.  And typically, they don't run things about kid murders on the Disney Channel.  (Though I could be wrong, I really only DVR Handy Manny and Little Einsteins.)  I also tend to simply watch whatever is On Demand.  And lately that's been old episodes of Toddlers and Tiaras.  So clearly, my ignorance is not because watching parenting train wrecks is beneath me. 
BUT.... here are my two cents about the whole scenario...

It just plain sucks.
I put on FB that I didn't believe in Karma.  Because I don't.  Grace and Karma are complete opposites--they can't even operate side by side.  If I want grace, I have to be willing to see it given to others.  That may be offensive to you.  Heck, it's offensive to me.  But that's why the Gospel is Good News.  It ain't fair and that's just the way I like it.  And if you're honest, you're probably glad you don't get everything you deserve either.
That said, I also believe in a Sovereign God.  Who, in His time, will bring kid killers to justice.  It may just be that at some point she'll repent, and then, here's the real offensive part, I'll have to agree with God that the cross of Christ is big enough for her sins as well.  Because people, if Jesus' death and Resurrection isn't enough for a murderer's sins then we're all mother-effing doomed. 
I believe that little Caylee's death is so tragic that no verdict rendered would be enough to serve justice.  Even if they'd imposed the death penalty.  I think the only thing large enough to cover the murder of a kid is the Cross.  That's how broken I think this is.  So broken that only God can fix it.
I also kind of wish that instead of being glued to the TV, people had spent more time taking care of the children who are still in homes with abusive parents.  That perhaps we'd budget for more DSS case workers.  And more people would become child advocates.  That more folks would offer free parenting classes and that people would actually take them.  That Bethany Christian Services would be able to fund their SafeFamilies program in more cities. That hearts would change regarding adoption so that it wouldn't be seen as "giving up" but "providing for".  The ability to procreate, obviously, does not qualify one to become a parent. 
I also put on FB that I don't think Caylee cares about today's verdict.  If you do, then I'd ask you to reconsider your views on Heaven.  You think you're going to be in Heaven, with Jesus, in your mansion, with your big, big yard where you can play football (Touchdown!) and you're going to care what's happening on earth?  I think Caylee is finally being loved fully and perfectly by her Heavenly Father and I'm confident that that's enough to wipe away every tear.

When God has Bigger plans…

On Monday, sweet little T went to live with her forever family.  Though Henry will miss her and asked about her yesterday when she could not be there for our usual Tuesday lunch date to the Chick-Fil-A and mall playground, I cannot tell you what joy this brings me.  And many others.   Her foster Mom, my darling friend Tracy, in an effort to send T off to her new family with something that could help them bond as a family, solicited friends to raise money to purchase the family season passes to an amusement park near T’s new hometown.  On facebook, she briefly explained that to give T’s new family passes that included T’s new siblings, parents, and parking would cost $320.  She asked friends to donate whatever they could to raise the money.  The posting was on FB for less than two hours. 

Within minutes of posting the request, comments promising donations began rolling in.  She was hoping to raise $320.  She raised around $1600.  What an awesome picture of God’s people acting in accordance to what we are:  FAMILY.

Yesterday, I received the following in my Facebook inbox…

I'm writing each of you because you gave financially to make last night an incredible night for not only T and the kids, but her parents as well, and in turn, for us. I gave them a box and called it "layers of blessings". Every time they pulled back the tissue paper, there was another gift. First a $100 chickfila gift card (for a family of 7, that's probs only 4 dinners or so!), and then a $100 Target gift card, and then a photo book that I made of T's time with us (including some pictures of them meeting her for the first time. I know they treasure that book). Next, the amusement park passes. They were absolutely speechless. And then I told them that there was one more layer...that was an envelope full of bills. A lot of bills. I'm tearing up as I recall the looks on their faces. He was just smiling HUGE, but she was crying. So overwhelmed that strangers did this for them.

 I told them that I had this plan to get the passes, and was just hoping we could raise enough. Well, apparently, God thought I was thinking too small. Money came in from 31 different people and 6 different states. I was and still am blown away by the generosity of so many. You loved us so well, by loving T and loving this incredible family. What a picture of sacrificial love- on their part and on yours, too!

So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I know they will share their story of how people they don't even know were so touched by their daughter that they gave to make this an incredible summer for them. To give gifts to their biological children, as well as to T. I wish all of you could have been there to share in that time, but hopefully my description helps. I truly, thank you.

Today, we all received a thank you message from T’s adoptive Daddy.  He wrote about how we blessed their family, but in truth, each of us was touched by watching T evolve from a shy, scared girl to a daughter who always wore pink pearls and a tiara, singing along to the music from Tangled. Simply put, we were seeing the Easter story unfold before our very eyes:  God was making all things new in T.  He was and is making everything sad in her life untrue! 

It is true that there is brokenness at every turn—in our world, our politics, our neighborhoods, our families, and our marriages.  To quote one of my favorite prayers from the Book of Common Prayer--“we have left undone those things which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have done. There is no health in us.”  But what is also true, in fact, what is MORE true, is that this is not as good as it gets.  Our stories are not yet finished.  The Author of Life is still bringing forth his image in us, not content until at last, we all settle into His forever family. 

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.*

-CS Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

*And I think it's safe to assume that Spring in heaven will be pollen free.

No. I'm not dead. I'm intentionally not calling you back...

You may have noticed I’ve been blogging less. I’d like to say it is because I’m on vacation. Or that I’m busy living life. Or that I’m too busy writing the next great American novel. But that’s just not the case. There are some logistical reasons why this is happening and also some intentional ones as well.
Logically speaking, Henry gave up his naps in the fall. This was like a death to me. I no longer had three hours in the afternoon to blog, facebook, eat bon-bons, and ignore housework. I tried making Henry have quiet time, but this always resulted in a backslide of the potty training and let’s face it—pee pee pants and pee pee carpets add work. And I’m the poster girl for working smarter, not harder. So we read books, play with little Legos and tinker toys, and other things that prove difficult when Gracie is awake.

Gracie has begun to give up morning naps as well, so this has robbed me of the time to myself while Henry is in preschool. When this began happening, I resolved to use that time to go to the gym. Thankfully, she has been sick several times during the winter, so I’ve been unable to put her in gym childcare, thereby giving me a “Get out of going to the gym without guilt” card. At present, she is back to 2 naps a day, but that is because she has RSV.

We’ve also had a sicky winter. Puking. Coughing. Nebulizing and the like.

And Sloan got a promotion, which means he is travelling less and I’m getting to spend time with him at night more. I used to use the nights when he was out of town to catch up on blogging and reading, but now he is only gone two nights a week. And I like the fact that I like being with my husband more than I like typing on the computer.

However, I’ve also realized that with my getting a laptop and an Ipad, I’ve become attached (maybe addicted?) to technology. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing; it is not the technology’s fault. It is not facebook’s fault I now think in 140 character bylines. But it is MY fault if my children’s memories of childhood are ones of them playing by themselves while Mommy is on her laptop. Sure, I’m in the same room with them, but I am not with them. So I try to limit the amount my attention is divided.

I’ve also been getting more involved with Bethany Christian Services. I’m editing their monthly E-newsletter and writing articles for it. Some months it takes more time than others, but as I type this, I realize that I need to go ahead and write my “Letter from the Editor” blurb so we can email that puppy out. Nerts…But that busyness has confirmed to me that I’m using my talents for something that I’m passionate about. And more importantly, something I’m certain God is passionate about and so it is not a busyness that makes me weary.

I’ve also been taking this year to access and realign my priorities. My buddy Law-Momma often writes about the juggling act of being a working mother. But the juggling act, I suspect, is part of being human and not unique to working moms. We all juggle different roles, different dreams, different responsibilities and relationships. And the truth of it is, we can’t have it all. I don’t even believe we are supposed to have it all. We may want it all, but I’ve found that as I’ve stepped back from a few things (leadership in my women’s bible study, blogging less, saying No to some ministry opportunities I would’ve normally saddled myself up to out of duty, my goal of reading 52 books in a year), the experiences and relationships I am tending have grown deeper. Have been richer. I’ve become more intentional. And this, perhaps, is the point.

I want to not only accept the place God has me for now, but to cherish it. To stop looking across the way at the greener grass. To see that the grass is green where it is tended.

I don’t want to be known for being a great blogger. I don’t even want to be known for being a great writer. (Okay, I don’t HAVE to be known for that. But I won’t lie; it’d be nice if a couple people other than the folks related to me thought that.) I have the ear of the Creator of the world, the heart of the best man on the planet, and the teeny tiny hands of the best kids around. Do I really need any more adulation? Really?

My greatest desire is for my kids to know they are loved. By me and by God. Period. I believe that our self esteem can be traced back to the one who matters the most to us. For me, that’s God. And God thinks I’m worth moving heaving and earth for. He thinks I’m worth bleeding for. So I want that for my kids. And right now, I’m who is most important to them. So that’s what I want to be known for—loving my kids.

And yeah, I can do that through blogging. And working on my novel. And by diligently serving orphans to say, “See Henry and Gracie, you know how much I love you? That’s nothing in comparison to how Jesus loves you. And loves these kids. And loves me. So we have to let them know. We have to stand for them.” Because pointing my kids to what is right and good and true is loving them as well.

But I do have some posts in the works. I think about it a lot. For example, I’ve been thinking about and may just blog about the following in the near (or distant) future—

*How my son has “decided to be fwiends with” a kid in his class who “doesn’t talk good and doesn’t have any fwiends.” His teacher even told me about how she has seen Henry be intentional to befriend the Chinese boy for whom English is a second language. He does this by holding his hand on the playground and always picking him to be the goose to his Duck, Duck.

*The bonus of sick kids when it means lots of cuddles and Pixar.

*How my facebook newsfeed looks like a Planned Parenthood rally alternatively being protested by flash mobbing pro-lifers. And how I’ve never known anybody whose heart has been changed by being shouted at. And that what I really wish is that our culture would change its view on adoption, thereby making the issue null and void. That in the US alone, there are 140,000 orphans and perhaps we should stand with them. And shout for them. Or, here’s an idea, shut up and adopt them. (And, oh yeah, you buy a pet. Could you please stop comparing how you got your dog to how we received Grace into our family?)

*My continuing relationship with Gracie’s hair. Current RSV afro notwithstanding, I have begun to style it. This amounts to wonky parts, alien looking box braids, messed up coils, all ending up with me just saying FINE and putting it in toddler puffs because she won't sit still no matter how many goldfish I throw at her. She has more hair lotions and potions than I do. She sleeps on satin crib sheets. I keep all of her hair goodies in a purple and green tackle box. And, according to Sloan, there are anglers with their own ESPN shows whose tackle boxes pale in comparison to Gracie’s three foot tall behemoth.

So if you’re bummed that I’m blogging less, sorry. I’m going to try for twice a week, but just know that schedules and deadlines and self-imposed goals and the like make me itchy.  Any routines I adhere to are solely to keep my children happy and pliable to my every whim. (HA!)

It's A Bird. It's A Plane. No---It's Super Moms!

Coming soon to the WB.

An all new series. It’s dark. It’s sexy. It’s real. It’s called “Super Moms”. 5 women who fight germs in their everyday lives, but also, secretly, fight crime with their Super Mommy Super powers.

It’s one part Charlie’s Angels, one part Superbad, one part The Incredibles, one part Wonder Woman, one part Heroes, and 100% awesome. (Sloan thinks it is three parts crazy.)

The stars? Me. (Duh.) The Donovan sisters of Austin, TX—Mollie and Erin. Angie of On the Rocks and Straight Up. And Law Momma of Spilled Milk and Other Atrocities. It’s a stellar ensemble cast, but let’s be clear…I’m the headliner. Sure, they’ll all become household names, but I’m the Courtney Cox to this cast of Friends.

Why these women? Because these women remind me that I am already a Super Mom. That even without a cape, I’m doing alright. They do this by being real. And being funny. By teaching their children right from wrong. By not apologizing for letting their kids watch a little too much Dora, or for not negotiating with terrorists, er, I mean three year olds. By valuing their health and fitness, but not at the cost of their sanity. So while we will certainly be clad in Lycra and Spandex and have rock hard abs and beautiful hair, don’t think Cameron Diez or Jennifer Garner. Think Kate Winslet. Beyonce. Jennifer Lopez. Because let’s face it, waifs can’t pack kicks to the head like real women can.

To clarify, this idea sprung up last week. I was ticked about something and had an Allie McBeal/John Dorian fantasy in which I was a Superhero. I was in thigh high stiletto boots, a dark purple (so dark it looked black) patent leather unitard, a flowing black cape with a high collar, elbow length gloves, had purple hair and I was kicking ass.

Then, between poopy diapers, I revisited the fantasy. This time, there were 5 of us. And we were strutting towards the camera in a V, long locks flowing, a la Reservoir Dogs or the Right Stuff, with the song "Sexy Chick" by David Guetta and Akon rocking in the background. Folks-- We. Were. Bad. Ass. There really is no other way to describe it.

It was right then and there that any and all previous aspirations to be a princess became anathema. I want to be a Superhero.

It was also at this point that my facebook status became: Has found herself fantasizing about being a super hero a la "Hit girl" with sidekicks: the Donovan women of TX, Angie K of NC, and Law Momma of GA. And we all have rock hard abs, long flowy hair, and a soundtrack featuring the Black Eyed Peas and David Guetta. It goes without saying that we are a force to be reckoned with...

27 facebook comments later…I think we may be on to something.

But for brevity’s sake (like that’s ever mattered here!) here is a rundown of the Supers. Also, since we’re all Mom’s in our “normal” lives, it goes without saying we all have eyes in the backs of our heads. Duh. And we can conquer whining with the blink of an eye. And each of our powers is derived from our strengths in real life as well. Once again, duh.

Me—The Hammer. I’ve blatantly stolen this name from my brother. It’s what his kids jokingly call him. As in, “Hey, little sister, you better give me back my toy or I’m gonna go tell the Hammer.” So emblazoned across my cape and belt buckle is a silver hammer. My power? Superhuman strength. (It occurs to me as I type this; I am not unlike the Hulk. I’m pretty sure Sloan would agree with this.) My signature move (for the video game) is a swift roundhouse kick followed by my right fist slamming down like a hammer. Most likely causing sidewalks to ripple. I also carry with me my mighty pen. Which is really like Harold’s purple crayon. Should the Supermoms need a flying car, I simply draw us one.

Mollie—Freeze Frame. Mollie, whom I first met at camp a billion years ago and has ever since been one of my nearest and dearest friends, is a mom to three beautiful girls and also is a professional photographer. Her costume is orange, red, and hot pink. Orange because she loves it, and the other colors because I don’t want her looking like a Halloween character or a Virginia Tech fan. But her suit is orange, her boots and cape pink, her mask, belt, and weaponry red. Her power? With her camera, she can stop time. This also means she can teleport. Pretty. Wicked. Awesome. On facebook, Mollie commented, “In one episode I'd like to finish our work by 5 and stand stirring hot dinner at the stove when my husband arrives home, starts to complain about his 'hard day' then I can turn and give the camera a knowing wink and slight eye roll.” This is what I’m talking about, people.

Erin—simply E. (Like Ian Fleming’s M.) Erin is Mollie’s big sister. She is mother to two beautiful twin girls and can craft and sew like nobody’s business. Therefore, obviously, E’s superpower is her gadgetry. She has armbands, which to the unsuspecting eye, simply look like those pin cushions seamstresses wear on their wrists. But be warned, they shoot missiles. And she can throw her sewing needles with deadly accuracy and can even wrap up villains with her needles and thread. Her suit is Baylor Green, her boots, belt, and cape—Baylor Gold (obviously). Randomly, E also is an excellent archer.

Angie—Lady America. Angie and I went to high school together. And Carolina, where we both were in the Honors Creative Writing program. She is a recovering attorney and mom to 4 year old boy and girl twins. Angie told us on facebook that she has a penetrating stank-eye that can subdue any toddler. Or super villain. She also wrote that she “will be brandishing a magic whip, that, when cracked, snaps all clutter and errant toys back to their proper places and simultaneously de-germs whole houses.” This magic whip also de-arms super villains, allows her to swing from high places, and just looks super awesome strapped to her Wonder Woman-esque costume. She even has a golden tiara and a star and sequin studded bustier, which complement her golden hot pants nicely.

Law Momma—Justice. Law Momma and I grew up and also were Debutantes together. If you know Law Momma and me, the fact that we were Debutantes should make you laugh. But let it be known, we laughed and got in trouble. A lot. And made the wrong people pissed at all the right times. Law Momma is also an attorney and mom to a toddler boy. Law Momma would prefer to not have a cape. She writes, “No capes! Do you remember Thunderhead??! NOVEMBER 15th of 58!” No worries. Justice’s costume is modeled after the Grecian statue of justice. With a dash of Lady Liberty thrown in. She has a pointed crown made of pure platinum which she can hurl with deadly accuracy. Her spandex minidress is sage green with silver and white accents. She has thigh high white boots. What at first may appear to be the scales of justice is really a giant Ninja sword. And she’s been trained in Krav Maga by Mossad. And the scariest part? She doesn’t have a mask. She has a blindfold. As in, she kicks butt blindfolded. (But in a way that is much scarier than that lamo Ben Affleck movie). On facebook, she asked, “Can I end all our episodes by banging a gavel on the head of whoever we beat down and say "Justice served YOU, bitch!" Perhaps not every episode, but definitely several.

Angie pointed out that we may need Superhero daycare. At first, I suggested that we all have pool boys who double as mannies. But I really want us to be Super Moms, not Super sluts. (Thigh boots notwithstanding.) That is why I have added an additional character. We have a boss. Really more of a mentor and coach, who sends us on missions and watches our children for us. Who is this Charlie-esque boss? None other than the original Super Mom: Phylicia Rashad. That’s right—Claire Huxtable is our wrangler.

It should be noted that Sloan is a little frightened by how much thought I’ve given this. And I will confess that it has not slipped my mind that a vast majority of this planning was done while I was still hepped up on painkillers from the great fall of 2011. But seriously, when your facebook status warrants 27 comments, how can I not blog about it?

Tags

I'm pretty stoked that Courtney at The World According to Mommy tagged me for her "7 things you don't know about me" thingy. I feel a bit like her tagging me is a way of her saying, "Hey, I like you. Let's be friends."

You should know that I've never met Courtney. She lives in Austin, TX. We have become friends because of our blogs. Friendship is a weird thing in the 21st century. They say women count friendships based upon shared intimacy, men based upon shared activity. This is why 2 men can watch game after game with their best friend and yet still manage to not know the names of each other's kids. But this also explains why through the internet, I have managed to reconnect with my bestest ever camp friend, befriend someone that camp friend took pics of (the aforementioned Courtney), keep tabs with a woman who was in my bible study and helped pray Henry into being before she moved off to Alabama, and oh yeah, my favorite--the internet has helped me become friends with a girl Sloan dated in high school.

Despite their public forum, blogs have a way of bringing to light our hearts. This is why blogs are popular. Much of our culture shies away from honesty and vulnerability, and yet, without vulnerability--friendship, love, and community are impossible. And I'm grateful that the despite its new-fangled media outlet, blogs shows us that words still matter. Books matter. The pen is ever so much mightier than the sword. Hoorah!

“7 Things You Don’t Know About Me” Meme Rules
1. Link to your original tagger(s) and list these rules in your post.
2. Share seven facts about yourself in the post.
3. Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and the links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged.

Here are my 7 Things:

1. I was on Student Television in college. I'm pretty sure I was the only girl in a sorority to work at Carolina's STV. I hosted a live call-in love program that aired at 11pm on Wednesdays. It was called...wait for it...Live at 11. Take a moment to imagine who watches student television. Now imagine the people who call into a student television love advice program. If you are imagining the zitty roommates of the STV workers and potty humor, you have correctly imagined my TV show.

2. I know how to square dance call and even have several square dancing records in my collection. This is a skill I picked up in seminary. (I also learned how to make puppets and about 100 different crafts to make out of scrap pantyhose in this class. It was called "Multi-generational Recreation." We square danced at a local nursing home. When I talk to my dad about the grad school he paid for, I usually do not mention this class.)

3. I sleep with a teddy bear. His name is Baby Pea.

4. I love going out to dinner. This is probably because I hate hate HATE cooking. I do, however, enjoy baking because it requires using my pink mixer.

5. As a kid, I used to compete in dance competitions. Think big hair, sequins, and Jeanne Bennet make-up. And oh yeah, I have about a three foot tall trophy that proudly displays that in 1988, I was 1st in the nation in the Jazz category.

6. I made dean's list all 8 semesters I was in college. In fact, I made either an A, A-, or B+ in every class but 2. And the 2 classes I made lower grades in were the classes that I took as filler. Seriously. Geology 101--aka "Rocks for Jocks". The problem with Geology 101 was it was at 8am and, oh yeah, a class about rocks. I also bombed some Psychology class I took my junior year that all the cool people took to get an easy A. I got a C. I think attendance was something like a third of your grade. Well, have you ever been in Chapel Hill in the Springtime? There were blue cups to be drunk and darts to be thrown. And from the few classes I did attend it was all hippy dippy junk about shockras, shamans, and vision quests. I happily earned that C.

7. I have no heroes. It's not that I don't look up to people, it is simply that most of the folks I know are brave and lovely in very un-extraordinary ways. And I believe it would be a great disservice to them to idolize them. It is their brokenness that makes their bravery all the more impressive. But, if I were hard pressed, I would have to say that there are two main voices in my head that urge me on--my older brother, Bill, and one of my dearest friends and Creative Writing Professors, Doris Betts. They are 2 of the greatest blessings God has ever used to help me grow up and get over myself.

the people I’m tagging:

Jayme

Jenny

Ali

Shannon

Janell

Kristen

Michelle

Me and Amy Winehouse ain't going to rehab

This post is an EJ & Henry first. As I type, we are driving down 360 en route from Richmond to Greensboro.

At first, I was driving as Sloan has already driven some 700 miles already with his job this week. But I had him working for me on the laptop. He changed my facebook status for me, and then proceeded to read out every body's status changes, complete with comments. I was about to have him go through my notes to see about other people's "25 random things" lists when I realized I have a problem. I was itching to be at the keyboard. Pointing to things on the screen for him to click on as I took us 65 mph down the road.

I think I'm addicted to the Internet. (And I'm pretty positive I'm a bad driver.)

I liken my driving next to Sloan while he facebooked to a recovering alcoholic walking into a bar. Needless to say, we had to pull over and switch places. I'm not quite ready to start working on my 12 steps.

Who you are

I've been thinking a lot about friends lately. Who mine are, how I found them, how I love them, etc. etc. Expect a post about this in the near future as I'm tossing a few ideas around. But connected to these ideas of how we make friends in the 21st century is this blog. And your part in it.

You see, I've got this little sitemeter on my blog that tells me when people are on the blog, where they are viewing the blog from, how they found the blog and the like. If this seems a little too big brother to you, recognize I'm only tracking my readers so that I can feel popular. Think of a hit as a signature in a high school year book. And well, it seems I'm getting more popular by the day. This week I've gotten 920 signatures. But I think a lot of the signatures are repeats.

I used to complain to Sloan that I had no friends. Well, I've got peeps now. I don't really know who they are--but they're there.

Or it could just be me, as I check my own blog often. (I liken this phenomena to a similar fete in the ridiculous--opening the refrigerator in hopes something new has arrived without our having shopped for it.) But using my signature metaphor, I kind of feel like a loser. Can you imagine signing your own year book over and over? Geesh.

So who are you? IF YOU COMMENTED MORE OFTEN I WOULD KNOW WHO YOU ARE. (HINT HINT!!!!) All I have to go on is your location, your referral page and/or your entry link .

I'm guessing here---- Huntsville, AL--My niece, J. Or is it you, K? I thought you were in Birmingham. Brooklyn--Hiya A. Hope the Big Apple is treating you and B. well. Huntersville, NC--hello JSC. Hopefully you won't find out about the gestation diabetes until after Halloween. Stuff your face with as much candy as you can get just in case. Greenville, SC--what up MD? Tell W that Henry says hello. We miss the double named duo. Denver--hello LK. So proud you are training for a marathon. I'm training for a 5K. (Yeah, I know--people don't really train for those things.) Delaware--hey J. SOOOOO looking forward to your wedding. Sydney, Australia--is that you, Mel? Mount Laurel, NJ--Do you work for AFR? Greensboro, NC--my hometown. Could it be my parents? Do they know how to work this interweb thing?

But the following locations baffle me--Winston-Salem, NC, Macon, GA, the ATL, St. Paul, MN, Minneapolis, Topeka, Kissimee,FL, Rock Hill, SC, Dallas, Brookings, SD, St. Petersburg, FL, Bessemer, AL, Sierra Vista, AZ, Ada, OH, Durham, NC, Indianapolis, Wichita, Summerville, SC, St Albans, WV, Stuart, FL, Salt Lake City, and Dunlap, TN. My favorite was Harvest, AL. And did you know there was a Liverpool, NY?

And I'm international. I've got regular readers in Canada, Lebanon, Germany, the UK, Ireland, Spain, and India. WHAT?!

And because sitemeter also tells me how you got to my page....A huge shout out to the best Kickapoo Princess ever for my Texas contingency. You are so getting a margarita from me the next time I'm in Austin. (And by next time, I mean the first time.) And shout out to the Lillster's buddy Nate who has posted a link to me as well.

And the google look-ups are hilarious--people meandered over here by typing in the following--"pastel de carne", "batman pumpkin pattern", "How much did Jesus weigh at birth?" (how that gets you to me, I have no idea), "blisters on my fingers", and my favorite, "do not tell my husband".

And seriously, could the person who keeps looking up the photo of my son on my Crappy Day post please stop? You are ruining the blogging experience from everyone and making me think that maybe I should stop doing this.

And some of you found me from my Facebook page. I hit 300 friends yesterday. I'm feeling pretty good about myself. But really, if you aren't my FB friend yet, you should be. FB doesn't allow me to befriend myself the way sitemeter does. So I feel that facebook is a more accurate measure of my worth.

I mean-- I AM kind of a big deal. People know me.

We're still alive

If you are my facebook friend, then you know that Sloan and I kept my sister's kids whilst she and Biff went to the Homestead for their 20th anniversary. (If you are not my facebook friend, you should be.) You are thinking, wow, what a great sister. What you should be thinking is--SLOAN AND ELIZABETH ARE SAINTS AND THE BEST SIBLINGS EVER! Why?

My sister has 7 kids.

And they just moved so their house is, well, not the neatest. That is being kind. Sloan likes to say it is the house that crap built. That is not being fair to the house, because as I've written before--the house is absolutely gorgeous. It is that it has all of their stuff in it. It made me kind of itchy. Nine people's things. School books for 6 home schooled kids. 2 drum sets. 1 electric guitar, 2 acoustic. 1 piano. 7 bikes. 3 big wheels. 1 go-cart. 2 kettcars. The world's largest swing set, aptly named the big enchilada. About 18 boxes of legos. 1 rabbit. 3 large boxes of Popsicle sticks that seem to have simultaneously exploded and multiplied. Each meal's dishes filled the dishwasher. We went through 4 gallons of milk over the weekend.

Here is the rundown of kids--
Anderson, 15. Like most teenagers, he is certain that his parents are plotting against him. He also wears cologne. All the time. To the pool.
Caleb, 13. Even more so than his brother, he is sure the world is against him. According to him, he has to do all of the chores around the house while his sisters get to watch "Suite life with Zach and Cody" all day long. I told him that if that we're true, he was doing a horrible job as the house is a mess.
Rachel, 11 going on 21. We couldn't have made it through the weekend without her. She cooks, cleans, and even does diapers. All while talking non-stop.
Rebekah, 9. The perfect little babysitter for Isabel and Henry. So long as she doesn't have to brush her hair or change a diaper.
Joshua, 7 going on 72. He was up, dressed, with socks and shoes on and with brushed hair by 7 each morning.
Jonathan, 5. He is the Master of Disaster, He is on his second broken arm of the summer.
Isabel, 23 months. She is the loudest screamer I've ever heard. In the morning or when you put her down for a nap it sounds as like you are hacking her arm off with a machete.

We're saints. Or crazy. But we learned a lot.

Lesson One. Teenagers are the devil.
It is not that my sister has 7 kids that made the weekend exhausting. (The fact that her bed was uncomfortable and we ended up sleeping with our feet at the headboard didn't help.) No. It is the fact that she has 2 teenagers. Anderson and Caleb rode their bikes to the gas station down the street and managed to break a tail light out of a parked car. Anderson learned to never use the excuse "I got distracted by Caleb" while operating any mode of transportation. He also learned that when calling home to report an accident, the first words out of your mouth should be. "No one is hurt."

Lesson Two. Poopy diapers are effective disciplining tools.
Tired of hearing the older kids call each other stupid and retarded, I put into effect the poopy mouth rule--every time bile comes out of your mouth, you have to change a dirty diaper. I'm not so sure it reduced the mean talk, but I didn't have to change many of Isabel and Henry's diapers.

Lesson Three. Never underestimate a teen's ability to find a loophole.
We were at lunch on Sunday and I was sitting with Anderson and Caleb. They were making fun of one another and I reprimanded them saying, "You two are brothers. You should be blessing one another and building one another up." Their response?

Anderson: Caleb, you're not always annoying.
Caleb: Why thank you, brother. You know, sometimes you don't act like a girl.

Lesson Four. Bill Cosby is right--Kids do say the darnedest things.

Jonathan, on why he doesn't like his new house as much as his old house--"When I jump off the top bunk, I hit my head on the top of the room."

And every night at dinner I'd pose questions. Here they are.

Q1. If you could meet anyone dead or alive, who would it be? And you can't say Jesus.
Anderson: Adam. I'd tell him not to listen to Eve.
Caleb: Jessica Alba.
Rachel: Joe Jonas.
Rebekah: Cole and Dylan Sprouse. (The kids from "Suite life." They are not cute.)
Joshua: Toby Mac.
Jonathan: Tony Hawk.
Sloan: Tom and Jerry.
Elizabeth: Johnny Cash.

Q2. If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Anderson: Protein cubes
Caleb: Airheads
Rachel: Sushi
Rebekah: Seafood
Joshua: Chocolate Fountain (This is my favorite answer.)
Jonathan: Bubble gum
Sloan: Lollipop Paint Shop
Elizabeth: Homemade Macaroni and Cheese

Q3. If you could give one gift to the world, what would it be? You can't say world peace.
Anderson: Inexpensive food and clean water.
Caleb: Plasma bombs (Cause this is just what the world needs.)
Rachel: A cure for cancer.
Rebekah: Puppies. Or rabbits.
Joshua: Cookies.
Jonathan: Cool stuff for their room.
Sloan: Roads.
Elizabeth: Cold fusion.

Q4. What do you want to be when you grow up?
Anderson: Professional soccer player or the first man on the women's gymnastic team. (He has a bit of a crush on Nastia)
Caleb: Venom from Spiderman.
Rachel: An actress and a singer.
Rebekah: Veterinarian
Joshua: Ironman
Jonathan: Batman
Sloan: Nightcrawler (one of the Xmen)
Elizabeth: A famous author

Ode to Facebook, Part 2

Facebook is an odd thing. A bit lit a cyber-cocktail party where you mingle, catch up with old high school buddies, stalk ex-boyfriends, and you can do all this from your house without having to suck in or put on a party dress. It really is quite fabulous.

I'm learning there are all sorts of facebook friends. Family members, actual friends, those friends that you wish you kept in better touch with, that guy you sat next to in Poli 41. Some facebookers are devoted--they send you flair, play Text Twirl with you, and send you plants to put in your garden (please stop doing this people! There's no way you can convince me that planting cyber plants is going to save the world.) There are even those facebookers who are only on facebook because their wives made them do it. And so you accept their friendship request knowing that you can use them on all your Oregon Trail wagons and they won't care because they never check the thing anyway.

I've gotten some friendship requests from people I don't know. These unknowns fall into two categories--spammers, and people that maybe I "oughtta know" but I can't tell because the darned program won't let me make their picture any bigger. So I refuse the spammers (I don't know ANYONE that lives in India, do I?), and accept the "oughtta knows" and cross my fingers. And having friends in common is a good sign that you've at least met the person, but it's a crap shoot, people.

I also love how FB suggests friends for you. A lot of time I do know their suggestions but turn them down out of fear of being an "oughtta know" or worse, a "wish I didn't know". There are also some people on there that I'm certain I was pretty rude to or ignored, so I pass them over (further ignoring them!) in the fear that they'll write on my wall--"So I'm good enough to be your facebook friend, eh? Where were you in high school?"

But them sometimes Facebook sends you joy. Like getting one more beer out of a floating keg--you get something unexpected--a friendship request from someone you've been cyberstalking for years. This happened to me yesterday, with my dance teacher, and I'm still smiling.

I checked my email to see that I'd received a friendship request from CP. CP? Really? Could it be? I sat frozen staring at the little link wondering if it could be true. Does she really want to be my friend? Is this a mistake? Maybe it's not her. I can't remember if she's gone back to her maiden name. Every time I've googled her, under all the various names I could think of, I've only gotten high school track stars. And suddenly I was flooded with all of my memories of growing up in dance class and how I really wanted to be her. She was kind, the most beautiful regular person I've ever seen, had the best bangs in the whole wide world (it was the early 90s), and more than anyone else could--she made me feel like a million bucks. I was always the biggest girl in the class, but she never made me feel anything other than beautiful. And when, in my junior year of high school, I chose cheerleading, soccer, and drama over dance, it broke my heart.

At some point I realized I needed to take a chance, press the link, and see. And there it was. CP. And she is even prettier than I remembered. And just thinking about her is making me stand straighter, tuck my hips in, and pull in my stomach.

I think I'm going to have to send her some flair.

What Henry does while I'm Blogging and Facebooking...

At least his hands will be clean.

Just a Few Questions...

How does Henry manage to get uneaten peas and bits of salami in his diaper when he is wearing a onesie?

Why does Henry act like Tom Cruise in "Mission Impossible" in his Johnny Jump Up rather than bouncing around?

How does Henry know the days that Daddy is doing morning duty and then choose to sleep in?

How come Daddy has never gotten peed on? Has he threatened to pee on Henry?

Is it a bad thing if I feed Henry Cheerios at every meal? Does it help if they're organic?

Is it necessary for Henry to mash his food in his hair? Is this some sort of product he is using to hide his curls? Has Daddy saying he has a mullet hurt his feelings? (IT IS NOT A MULLET!)

Is it really bad if cyberstalking friends on Facebook has made me long for Little Frat Court, Doug Clark and the Hot Nuts, my family tree from ZTA, the boys from KA, and a 5th of Southern Comfort? Does this make me a bad mom? What if I get a babysitter?