dar liomsa (in my opinion)

I try not to be too envious of other people.

I do my best not to compare myself to others.

I do, however, wish I were more like some of my friends.

My friends who, are told only a sentence or two of a juicy story and don't beg for more.

Friends who listen, but don't pry.

I, on the other hand, listen to every story told with a shovel.

I dig and dig and unearth more than the storyteller ever wanted to tell.

Totally because I am a writer, of course.

 

Baseball Season is (almost) here!

I am thrilled about the start of the little league season.

I'm not sure what excites me more.

The trip to the overpriced sporting goods store to fit three growing children for new cleats.

Or maybe the cost of bats, gloves, and sliders that have mysteriously disappeared since last spring.

Maybe it's the endless supply of sports drinks that my children plan to consume.

Or the chilly evenings in March we will spend on the practice field.

Nope, its none of those.

I know why I'm so excited about the start of the season.

It's the overheard conversations in the bleachers that will become tomorrow's blog posts!

Play ball!

 

When life is predictable and safe, you wake each morning knowing exactly where you are going and what you are doing.

Occasionally, the brakes are hit and normal stops.

Normal changes.

You suddenly find yourself heading in another direction, confused by the ramblings of your GPS.

It is in these times, that you are truly living.

It is in these moments, that you hear yourself breathing as if for the first time.

You hear your heart race, feel the wind in your hair, and possibly sweat on your brow.

What appears in the moment to be fear and panic, are not.

You are experiencing life, in the raw.

Embrace it!

 

Life can be measured in years.

Life can be measured in accomplishments, awards, and trophies.

When you're a mom, life is measured by exactly how many of your children will need to bring treats to school for Valentine's Day. The older ones falling off the list. This year, in our house, only one remains.

Only one child will bring a treat or folded up heart to each classmate.

Only one child remains young enough to celebrate.

Sad, really.

Because I truly believe one can never be too old for hearts and chocolates.

 

In my pursuit to have this blog become a syndicated column, I have realized many things.

One being, I will be forced to abandon this crazy style in which I have been writing.

My total disregard for paragraphs will not be tolerated in the publishing world.

Also, I may have to abandon writing about every person I meet in my travels for fear of offending (well no not really, I'll probably continue with that).

My columns will definitely need to grow in length and content if I ever expect to be published and read in places other than this blog.

Simple sacrifices I am willing to make for a paycheck.

Because everyone knows you're not a writer until someone actually pays you to write. Right?

 

I have yet to dive into a really good book this winter.

I totally blame the weather.

In winters past, my favorite place to be was under  a blanket, next to the fire, devouring a good read.

Or wrapped up in a puffy jacket, behind the wheel of mini van, reading while supervising the kids at the sledding hill.

Snow days meant days off from school and piling into my bed with the kids each of us reading, cozy and warm.

This spring- like winter we've been expereincing has instead inspired me to clean, de-clutter, and re organize more than I normally would in Januarya nd February.

I am way ahead of scheduled in spring cleaning department and very far behind on the good juicy read department.

I am starting my stockpile of summer reads now.

 

Dinner is a big deal around our house.

'What's for dinner', 'did you take anything out for dinner?', 'when are we going to eat dinner?'

Quite often, we begin planning the next night's dinner, in the midst of dinner.

Halfway through chicken , corn and mashed potatoes, I am already thinking about what we will  eat tomorrow night.

A lot of planning and conversation are involved in this end of the day meal.

Sometimes I think too much energy is focused on dinner.

A meal that is thought about, planned, prepared, and served.

And on cue, two minutes into the meal, cries begin.

Can I be done?  I am so full."

Stomach clutching, waterworks, etc.

The same antics that were used in anticipation of the meal as they cried, 'when are we going to eat, I am staaaarving!"

Some nights I think about not cooking dinner at all, just to see if anyone will notice. 

 

Remind me not to get famous.

Like so famous that, if I'm a  chef who loves to load my dishes with butter, and then one day I announce to the world I have diabetes and I will now be selling a drug to help fight it.

You know, that kind of famous.

Because when you are that famous, it is then okay for photographers to post scandalous photographs of you all over the internet.

Oh yes.

Photos where you are mid-bite in a greasy cheeseburger.

My worst nightmare.

Someone photographing me while I eat.

I'd be devastated.

It's  not that I don't like people to see me eat.

I avoid situations where food might get messy.

I pass on jelly, powdered donuts, saucy buffalo wings, and especially baby back ribs.

Don't get me wrong, these are great tasting foods.

I just don't like to eat them in public.

Where people can see me getting messy.

If I'm famous, I'd have to worry even more.

Remind me to never get famous.

Do Me a Favor?....

It's  really not  a favor when someone holds a  door for someone else who is  nowhere near it.

You know what I mean, that man or  woman many steps ahead of you, who holds the door as if they are doing you a favor.

It is a very polite gesture for someone who is actually on your heels, extending your arm and holding the door. But when someone is too many feet, or yards away it's no longer a favor.

It's an obligation.

Better yet, you might as well be standing there yelling,' RUN!'

When I see someone far ahead of me holding a door, I feel obliged to get there quicker.

Do me a favor? Don't hold the door for me.

I can handle it, and I would rather  arrive there at my own pace.

I don't run, so now I have to do the slow jog to make the appearance that I want to get somewhere fast. For what? For a hand in opening a door/

Do me a favor?

Don't.

"I'm not really a 'let it soak' kind of girl",  I said, as I continued to scrub the blackened soup remains from the bottom of the pot.

In an effort to have a simple dinner,  my only task was to reheat the vat of soup from my husband's weekend of cooking. Somehow, I managed to screw it up by leaving  the soup unattended for too long.

More than likely I was busy folding wash, or tending to the needs of a child when this occurred.

The result was a blackened pot.

My husband suggested I let it soak over night.

Sure, and by morning I would find a pot filled with not only soapy water, but everyone's dessert bowls from the night before as well.

No thanks, I will scrub it now.

That is my philosophy, handle the mess now. Lord knows, we are always guaranteed another mess tomorrow.

Each day offering more fun than the one before.