Working the Plan

This massive group effort by people all over the world to take up the 21 Challenge makes it so much easier to fulfill my end of the deal. I don't wan to disappoint my fellow challengers (just like a woman, eh?). I've been able to start checking out some of the blogs and 'inspired' doesn't quite describe the feeling I come away with. I think if we give ourselves a moment, we can grasp a sense of joining in the extraordinary. Not that anything we're doing is, in itself, extraordinary, but that our collective purpose elevates what would be an individual struggle to a larger march to a greater good.

And no, we're not talking about life coaching which incidentally, is what women have already been doing since children were born into this world. We're talking about cheering each other on and even more importantly cheering ourselves on. All too often, I lean into the habit of beating myself up over some failure, shortcoming or perceived slight. It's sad that at moments, I have difficulty putting the pen to paper to pat myself on the back for a job well done.

One of my added hopes over this 21 days is that the thoughts will flow easier and more gently into the journal, without hesitation and with great self-acceptance. After all, who wouldn't like a little cheerleader shouting "Yeah Me!" in their corner?

P.S. Happy Birthday to two very special new babies in this world Samantha and Mikayla! Girls, you are going to be so entirely loved and spoiled by an incredible family.

Yeah Baby!

Had a seriously rocking time at Creative Escape. I cannot tell you the creative high I am still flying upon. Just in time too. I was beginning to think the mojo had left the building for good. Instead, I really feel that the sporadic time spent in my studio just didn't put enough creative kindling into the artistic fire. In order to fuel it, it must be stoked regularly.

This is why I'm happy dancing over the opportunity to bring one of my CE classes home and translate it into an ongoing art project that ties into my continuing efforts to lose weight. Rhonna Farrer taught a class called the 21 Challenge where we began working on an art journal to record our efforts to make/break a habit in 21 Days. What could be more perfect than a combo project that ties my love of artsy fartsy with my angst of losing weight? (duh, nothing!)

The bulk of the journal was finished at home after the Pony Express, er, Fed Ex delivered all my fun Creative Escape goodness. I followed the basic Rhonna formula to lay down the basic and can't wait to play it up over the course of these next 3 weeks.

My personal challenge? To get at least 10,000 steps in a day in addition to working out 4 days a week. In short, to get off my tush and MOVE. So far, so good. I have come to realize that if it weren't for my Weight Watcher pedometer, I'd be seriously overshooting my step count. It's a long walk to 10,000 steps! Fortunately today was official shopping day which has brought my step count to over 18,000 for the day.

Another bonus to working on the journal every day is that I'm already in the studio which makes staying there easier. More creating possibilities abound! Thus, I finished a couple of Bingo Beauties. They may end up on Etsy. Maybe not. I enjoy looking at them. For some odd reason, they tickle and delight me and my dh keeps trying to cover their bosoms up which makes me smile even more.

Sorry for the poor quality on the journal pics. I need to get into another habit of taking these photos during the magic daylight hour instead of evening.

BTW, weigh in was today and surprisingly, I posted a loss. I thought the Creative Escape 'diet' was going to do me in for at least a couple of weeks!

Who are these women?

You know the ones. They always have their act together. Perfectly coiffed, accessorized, Starbucks in one hand, double stroller in the other. Just get off work and after taking a mini version of themselves, only with bows, to the lesson for the day, they run home to whip up a souffle before reading Pilgrim's Progress to the baby at 8p.m. just in time to get a foot massage from their metrosexual, stunningly hot GQ mate. Can't forget that this uber-woman also has a teenager who gets straight A's, never talks back, has talent scouts knocking at their door for elite universities AND manages to volunteer at all the right charities. Whew, I'm wiped out just thinking about it.

I'll tell ya where all these women are. They've been at the Back to School nights this week making me feel like I'd just stepped out of the pages of the Mosted Wanted fliers at the Post Office! Me? Black t-shirt decorated with white cat hair and guacamole. Hair in two ponytails that had long past their 'cute' moment somewhere around 9:30a.m. when I slammed on the brakes for someone who obviously felt that turning should be accompanied by a full stop with time to consult a map. In the middle of a highway! No make-up at all. Lost that coming home from a friend's house because my air in the car putzed out on me. Well, maybe a teensie bit of make-up. Mascara, making me look like a flesh eating zombie in a B-horror movie.

Not only do I look a fright. I manage to completely mortify my daughter by suggesting we ride our bicycles to the school rather than dealing with the parking. Smooth move I thought, as I licked my fingers and slathered my cowlick back into submission. We're coasting down the sidewalks, narrowly missing recycling bins and elderly women helping their even more elderly mothers out of the car, no problem right?

Only I'm not the greatest at riding a bike. It requires physical movement and my big behind on a seat that really is a joke. Who thought a little black triangle with no padding was a good idea anyway? Maybe Lance Armstrong with his biking buns of steel.

There's a speed bump on the little road leading up the back way to school and when my daughter zooms over it, I fly behind her, hit that bump and feel the ghosts of pregnancy hemmorhoids past threatening to make a comeback. My butt burns, my lungs burn, my cowlick is doing a good impression of There's Something About Mary, but at last, we get there.

I march my huffing, puffing self in to the cafeteria and my daughter take a look at me, sizing up my obviously lacking appearance. I'm sure I didn't imagine her taking a small sniff near my armpit region and she takes a few slow steps away. Towards a pretty, perfect Mommy figure. When I scoot over towards her, she hisses at me that she's dying of hunger because I didn't exactly get around to putting a nutritious dinner on the table beforehand and the high fructose corn syrup laden excuse for a granola bar I had handed her a 1/2 hour earlier had long since passed the sugar crash stage leaving me with a pre-teen attitude machine.

All eyes are upon us and I just have to wonder how do they do it all? They just look, well, just so. Ya know? Administration is not my gift. Chaos seems to be my natural bent and while I know routine is good for me and my children (as my beleaguered hubby often throws up his hands at our impromptu picnics around the coffee table with card games), but darn it, I'm just not wired to have all my ducks in a row at one time.

I was relieved to find out that most of the teachers seem not only competent, but normal looking with the odd wrinkle on a dress shirt, tousled hair, wonky lip liner or bless their heart, one of them even looked to have a ketchup stain.

I felt better riding my torture device, um, bike back home to my imperfect house with my imperfect yard and finding my hot, but most definitely imperfect husband unloading the groceries I was too lazy to get out of my car earlier. Sure, my teenager talked back and did NOT volunteer to do the dishes. She got drafted to do them. My pre-teen balked at being offered real food (tacos are real, aren't they?) instead of a tattoo-tongue dying fruit roll, but she ate it.

Going to bed, I paused by my son's now empty room. Wishing for a chance to yell at him to turn his stereo down, but knowing that he was probably at school playing video games with his roomies when he should be doing his freshman seminar homework. At least he calls when he needs something. And that's something.

I am still NOT packed to go the Creative Escape, but I'm darn sure READY to go to Creative Escape. They sent us chipboard travel journals. After a summer of barely a moment spent in the studio space, I finally hauled myself down there to do a little decorating on mine. Imperfect, sure, but it's something. And I like that something.

Summer Lovin'

Where has the summer gone?
I can't deny I'm ready for Autumn, but I'm incredibly sad to see what used to be the lazy daze of Summer about to wave good-bye.
I've had such good intentions of posting regularly, reading regularly. I even had scads and scads of witty repartee to impart. But, alas, intentions are only intentions without action, aren't they?

This has been a Summer of....
first serious(kinda) relationships for my two oldest children, real heartache among their friends, health scares for some of my friends (a reminder that my daily pitiful complaints are oh, so petty), an amazing Creation Festival with an outstanding group of teenagers (not to mention that the adults became wayyy too comfortable laughing until we cried over bodily functions, porta-potties and do girls really fart, ahem, they do), the annual battle of Japanese Beetle vs. hapless hubby, a boy calling my youngest daughter (!!!!), regular trips to Chubby's BBQ for a Southern food fix, poring over a ginormous stack of must-do's for my oldest to go to college, a lengthy trip to Alaska where my crew was loved on by a wonderful Evangelical Baptist church filled with spunky elderly women who fed us until we nearly burst( sang to us, prayed over us, while we shimmied up to give them a new roof), hey~I roofed, I got up there and pounded it (go me!), worked with a great group of young people and adults from Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, Michigan, Virginia, New Mexico, Maryland and Massachusetts, got a rare glimpse of Mt. McKinley's summit, saw glaciers which are an amazing blue hue, sent mail back home from North Pole, AK, started Weight Watchers which is by, turns, either wonderful or spiteful depending upon whether I'm retaining water or the scale is being hateful or I've had a crazy wild drop on weight, got into business with a dear friend of mine (we share a birthday, holla Susan!) and am tentatively feeling my way through it all, picked out paint for the stairway and entryway which I'm hoping to tackle once school starts, AM DROPPING MY OLDEST AT COLLEGE ON SUNDAY (dayum I'm old), celebrating my birthday on Monday, my daughter's on Tuesday and my husband's a week after that, soccer practice is underway and I'm getting entirely too girly, giggly excited about my upcoming trip to Phoenix for Creative Escape (really, we're going to have such a good time, it should be illegal. In fact, I'm certain that in the town I went to HS in, it probably is).

Yes, it happened so fast.

Lifestyles are closer than they appear in the rearview mirror

My husband and I had a wonderful evening last night with some friends, but as we left I was taken back by a comment. My dear friend who I've known for almost 10 years said how it's refreshing to spend an evening with friends without spending $80 on dinner, but then, we probably can't afford that anyway.
Hmmm, I wasn't insulted, but I was surprised. What gave that impression? It made me wonder about the impression my husband and I project to the world at large. Many of our favorite things are definitely counter-culture. We adore auctions not because we can't afford to shop at Pottery Barn or Crate and Barrel, but because we love the thrill of the game, the adrenaline rush of a fabulous bargain on a 50's diner table or a box lot of vintage tablecloths with brilliant color, the people watching~it's a fabulous date time. I love putting $20 in my pocket once a year and hitting the streets of my small town when they have their annual "Walkerville Day". Walkersville is small, but the houses hold some fabulous trash that becomes my treasure. This year's haul: 2 Depression glass refrigerator dishes, several old patterns (perfect for altered art), 2 vintage prints, a mason jar full of buttons (some Bakelite & lucite), a handful of costume jewelry full of funky rhinestones, a bag of old doilies and table runners and my favorite discovery, 2 1936 porcelain crisper drawers that now sit on top of my fridge holding all the stuff that otherwise would just be piled on top in an unceremonious heap.
For reasons unbeknownst to me, my hubby is frugal to the core. He will never be one to buy a new car, but will always maintain an unreasonable devotion for VWs, most especially because several years ago we sourced out a quirky, but fastidiously honest car repairman with a wicked sense of humor. VW owners are an unusual lot, but getting an oil change without an ominous list for $1000's of repairs or else would tend to inspire loyalty wouldn't it?
He also scours website for hotel and airfare deals which has resulted in some of the most fabulous stays in amazing places and made for unmatched memories. But, because when you get a good deal, you want to share, maybe people think that otherwise we wouldn't travel at all.
One time he and my Papa had an animated discussion on ways to save money. You'd have thought he lived through the Depression as well. It is just the way my hubby is hardwired.
On the flip side, this is the same guy who unfailingly tithes without question in addition to supporting several causes he's passionate about such as building marriages though FamilyLife, building teens though WorldChangers and YFC, turning males into men through networking and giving up hours, days and weeks through serving at soup kitchen, on big youth projects or sacrificing vacation time to roof a stranger's home in another state through heat, sleep deprivation and keeping 20 teens in line.
We cook at home and think that home cooked meals can be sexy. Eating out has variables that can't always be controlled. If I go out after 8p.m. to a nice place, I get frustrated to see a cranky toddler who clearly should be in bed instead of running loose around waiters serving flaming desserts. How do I know this? I lived through 3 cranky toddlers at various points in time. But at home? At home, we can decide what to eat, shop for the best ingredients, set a romantic table, dim the lights, put on our choice of music and really enjoy ourselves. Do we always do that? No, but because we don't eat out 3-5 times a week, is that a sign of monetary strain? Some might argue that eating out that much is a sign of poor planning.
I have a dream car and until I actually get it, my plan is to drive my present vehicle until I'm stranded on the side of a highway with a trunk full of melting ice cream. Until I get my 1967 Mustang convertible, why bother on a car that will not satisfy my need for retro wheels? A car is a car otherwise and only a means of transportation; not a status symbol.
I think Goodwill is not only a great place to unload my household overflow, but a great place for cashmere sweaters, designer jeans and vintage handbags not to mention the cheap furniture that would be perfect with a coat of fresh paint.
I chose to live in a ramshackle old home because my dream since being a very young girl was to live in an old home. I've been a tree hugger for as long as I can remember and what better thing to recycle than a home? It carries with it character and history and a charm that I love. Many people were aghast when we moved from a perfectly nice townhouse to living in a borrowed camper for weeks in the backyard of our 'new' old home as we replaced plumbing, updated electric, stripped upteen layers of wallpaper, repaired plaster, installed new bathroom fixtures, put in a kitchen and went to friends homes to shower. I traded in my HOA for a cranky town official who lives around the corner, but I'll take him and his quirks over that old address any day.
I shop with coupons using a site called TheGroceryGame.com not because we need to, but because I think paying $4 for a gallon of milk is almost as crazy as Tom Cruise. I love the thrill of the game to get something for nearly nothing. Occasionally I'll get someone in line behind me who fusses when they see me pull out my stack of coupons who mutters something about people like me, but hey, those coupons came out of my designer purse (no need to tell her I scored it for $5 at the annual Red Cross garage sale).

We won't go into debt. Been there, done that. It's a grueling cycle. If we can't just pay for it, we don't buy it.

If all of these habits, hobbies and tendencies give the appearance that we 'can't afford' certain things, I think I'll wear it as a badge of honor. Appearances can be deceiving. The neighbor to our right may have an enormous house, drive 3 flashy cars and have a speed boat parked in their driveway, but they may also be less than one paycheck away from being homeless. The neighbor to our left, my have a bad porch step, drive a beater and arrive home each night in a plumber's van, but they may also own their own plumbing company with 80 employees who offers a killer benefits plan and be a millionaire unbeknownst to you. I'll sit comfortably somewhere in the middle sipping my tea from a chippy Limoges cup, my vehicle with a bad muffler in the driveway, but wearing a killer pair of designer shades (consignment store of course) as I sit on my porch swing watching the world go by.

I'm working on

the music album again. I have quite a few photos to scrap, but not feeling led to work with them yet and I'm okay with that. The past year of scrapping hasn't been chronological which confuses others, but makes for very happy creating when I'm in the moment.

Here's the song I'm working on now and I'm curious as to how it will work out. Generally my music layouts are more "Me" because they aren't put into the family albums for the general public, but my own personal lyrical diary. If you've had any music layouts or work recently, I'd love to see them!

Contrary to reports

I'm not dead. Nope. For a while, I was busier than a one-armed paper hanger.
Now that it's summer, I'm still busier than a one-armed paper hanger. Go figure, huh? But that's life and coming to the realization that this is the status quo can turn stress into good stress into good times. Happiness is often a decision and that is what I've decided to be.
Thus far, my son has graduated. Proud mom am I. College Freshmen orientation is already past. My 2 daughters had numerous end of the school year commitments, parties, banquests, etc. We had a house packed with company; fun games, good fellowship, outstanding BBQ & donuts (not at the same time).
In a couple of weeks, I leave for Alaska with the next generation of our church. I want to be excited. Really, I do. I love them so much it hurts. I want them to bypass all the mistakes that I made and my hubby made; long to keep them safe from angst, pain, tiffs and break-ups. Why do I stress before it's even arrived?
This past week, I was at Creation with a lot of them. We endured rainstorms. Bodily functions became topic for open conversation and humor. They sang and danced and sat around campfired swapping stories and playing pranks. I thoroughly enjoyed the impromptu hugs from them, the moments of insight and sharing. I died inside at their teen angst though. Not for all the Cadbury mini eggs, Long Island Iced Teas, tiramisus, creme brulees, unlimited shopping passes to my fave stores or websites without bodily or financial ramifications would I want to be a teenager again. What a wonderfully painful, messy time of life. Oh how every emotion is magnified, every action minutely and painstakingly broken down into segments and analyzed for motivation, every perceived slight becomes disproportionally an enormous blow-up.
No, not for all the world would I want to be a teen again. In most cases, the emotional maturity has not yet caught up with the physical maturity. These hormones on feet are running into walls without understanding why.
My daughter asks me what she should look for in a guy. At a loss, I bypassed the teen relationship books, the psychology classes, the pop culture answers and pointed to Ephesians where husbands are encouraged to love their wives as Christ love the church and gave himself up for her. To break that down, what it is basically saying is "Guys, love the one God created for you, put her needs before yours. If it comes down to it, throw yourself in front of a bus to protect her. Love and serve sacrificially." If she can find a guy who respects her, doesn't tear her down with words, barbs or cutting remarks, who shows that kind of sacrificial love to her then he's a candidate. If not, good riddance to bad rubbish.
I know I'm using too many words to oversimplify what is already perfectly written in the Big Instruction Manual.
As these teens experience this confusion and foibles of the heart, my heart aches for them and all I can do is pray (I know, it's the best thing to do) for their growing wisdom, discernment and emotionally security. That their hearts will be whole for the right guy or gal that God places in their life when the time is right. I've been praying for my children's spouses for years. Maybe I already know that young woman or those young men they will ultimately choose to love. Maybe I don't. My fervent desire is that though their relationship will endure it's fair share of peaks & valleys, that they are already praying for each other; that future love~whether that love is beginning now or in the distant future.