Learning to say "yes!"

Ok, that's not really a big problem of mine, learning to say "yes!"

Last night I got off the phone with a session member (Presbyterian Church's local governing body) with a new monthly job: writing an article for the newsletter.

I had volunteered to do something else to help out but they were feeling the need to have more content in the newsletter and asked me to take it on instead.  And wasn't I just saying a couple of days ago that I wanted to become a better writer by writing more?  God is kind of funny sometimes.

So I got off the phone and my husband (who will henceforth be called "John"* to simplify things--hooray, I gave him a name!) said, "honey, you need to learn to say 'no'."

In a lot of ways I know he's right, I tend to be a good doobie and take on what people want me to take on.  Then (once I get off the phone, finish hitting send on the email, leave the meeting....you get the idea!) I start to think, "oh man, what did I say I'd do that for?"

So I got off the phone and John said, "honey, you need to learn to say 'no'."  And at roughly the same time I though to myself, "oh man, what did I say I'd do that for?"

But, you know what?  I actually believe that sometimes God puts opportunities in our paths and we can learn and grow if we just say, "yes!"

I know from repeated experience that lots and lots of things good in my life came about because of other far more random actions or events (both happy and sad) that were crucial to creating the situations where the good things happened.**

And I also believe that lives are supposed to be lived for other people and not for our own benefit alone.

Rationalize much?  Maybe--but then again, who knows what good may come of saying "Yes!" to the opportunities that arrive?




* I had a lot more trouble coming up with a blog name for my husband than I would have expected.  His suggestion was, "just call me 'John' and be done with it"--bingo!  done!

** During one of our recent and frequent snowstorms, John, Rose and I watched the movie Slumdog Millionaire--now that was a good movie!  I have a suspicion that finally watching it in 2011 makes us the only three people on the planet who hadn't seen the movie before 2011, but if I'm wrong and you haven't seen it  before 2011 either? highly recommended.

 So what exactly is the movie about? In short it's about this:

Jamal Malik is one question away from winning 20 million rupees, How did he do it? A) He cheated. B) He's lucky. C) He's a genius. D) It is written.

Answer:  D) It is written.

 And so, here I go, doing a bit of writing myself--lets see where (if anywhere) it takes me, shall we?

say AAARG! to the dress

My oldest stepson is 25 and getting married this March.  I adore that kid.  He lived with us during high school and for a few years after, and even with the teenaged him in our history together, I still love him.

Rose is going to be a bridesmaid--she has a lovely dress in a soft apple-red chiffon.

My husband is the father of the groom--he has a stunning tuxedo rented with apple-red vest and tie.

Me?  I'm the stepmom of the groom and I am left to fend for my fashion self while finding something attractive, appropriately festive, and flattering, that coordinates with apple-red but isn't red, black, or white, also which won't duplicate his or her mom's dress color or style (as of yet unselected), but will coordinate with his and her mom's dress color and style.  Also, it should fit me.

I thought I'd found a dress that fit the bill.  On sale.  From J. Crew.  But available only online.

To wit:

Lovely, no?

Unfortunately, it arrived Friday and (with great excitement) I opened the box.  Much like Schrodinger's Cat, the possibilities were endless until I opened up the darn thing.

Turns out the chiffon is sort of crinkle textured (read, looks more casual) and the size is smaller than expected (which is probably a nicer way of saying I'm bigger than I expected--I ordered the smaller of the 2 sizes in range since I'm working on losing a few pounds, but, well, there is a difference between "snug" and "honey, shouldn't that thing be able to zip?").

So, now I just need to decide what's worse.  Not eating for 6 weeks (cringe, plus just plain a bad idea) or (cue horror music) going back to shopping for a dress that works...

why i started this blog

Well, I didn't start it for fame or fortune (good thing!) and I didn't start it to embarrass Rose (please remind her of that when she's a teenager). 

My husband is beyond embarrassment because he doesn't actually care what anyone thinks of him.  Something I like about him and sometimes wish I was more like.

I mostly just wanted to write.  And hope to get better at writing by, you know, writing.

And I wanted to draw (well, ok, doodle).  And having my life in cartoons makes me smile. 

But, no fear, I do actually know my self doodles aren't art.  Or anything close.  They make me smile anyway.

And also, I just want to record things and have them down.

And, somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel like maybe I'm not the only one out there who feels like this sometimes and maybe sharing my story can be nice for mommas like me out there.

Plus, I get to play around with blog designs.

Rosie goes camping (or "eleven")

Today Rose* finished her schoolwork and went off to play.

Play is a funny thing these days.  Rose is 11 years old and things are changing around here for us.

Some days "off to play" really means just that: games with the set of dolls she's grown up with, or drawing pictures or making lists for pretend voyages or tasks (the kid loves lists, what can I say?).  Some days it means reading novels or writing stories--still play, but with a less whimsical turn that seems to be increasingly replacing the old "throw yourself into it" forms she used to favor.  Even the dolls have become a more solitary activity, my presence is not as sought after the way it used to be.

And very rare these days is the "I am the game" kind of play that used to be a staple of Rose-play.  Know what I mean but that?  The kind of play that involves costumes (pre-formed or cobbled together out of non-costume things) and acting out ideas, stories, themes.  The kind of "lets pretend" play that is a big part of the preschooler's playtime but tapers off as self consciousness grows and the focus shifts outward.

Today was a rare day indeed--11 year old Rose was going camping.  Astute readers will note that it's January.  And astute readers will notice that just yesterday we were shoveling snow with no place to put it.  Rose is no less astute.

Rose pretending to go camping

Today Rose decided to pretend to go camping.  Outfitted in a bandanna and denim shirt, she packed a backpack and canteen, gathered survival tools, flashlights, blankets, maps, and a guidebook.  She threw herself into it in a way we really haven't seen around here in a long time.

It's both a joy and a sorrow for me as a mother to see her change.  I'm proud of her and I adore who she is now.  But I also miss the little person I used to mother and also adored.  I miss the epic Fisher-Price Little People games, the never ending Cinderella pretend (she would "lose" her plastic slipper and then run off sobbing into the garden where the fairy godmother would need to find her and send her to the ball, where she would dance until midnight, lose her plastic slipper and then run off sobbing into the garden where....see how this goes?).  I miss the tiny little cuddly baby who fit in my arms.  And I'm sure that in a couple more years I'll miss the 11 year old who I love now.

"You've got to let them grow up, you know"  "They're only on loan from God"  "Your job is to work yourself out of a job"...yeah, yeah, yeah.  Love the platitudes (ok, that was a lie--hate them, actually).

I do let her grow up, I encourage her and support her and I'm proud of her.

But when she wants to (she wants to, for her not me), it's very sweet for my mommy heart to watch her lose herself in some of the old Rose for a little while again. <3




*Note:  just like I'm not really Daphne, my daughter isn't really Rose, either.  It's a name I'm using to protect her privacy and mine and call her something besides "my dearest darling angel."  Funny, I haven't quite gotten that far with my husband, who thus far seems to have been named "my husband" only.  Then again, I love having him as my husband, so maybe that works.  Of course I love having Rose as my daughter, so that doesn't help much...

baked goods

I like to bake.  And I like to eat baked goods.  a lot.

Which probably actually explains a lot about me.



A lot of the time I feel like a sunny little 1950's housewife in the kitchen.  I've been at it for many years now and I've long since gotten over any lingering "a woman's place is where?" kind of feelings I might have had (not that I even remember feeling that way if I did, just saying).  Whatever options and choices are and should be available to women in this day and age, one of the options and choices I choose are to put together food that is as delicious as possible and feed it to my family.

(note to the curious: they're not overweight, "as delicious as possible and feed it to my family" isn't referring to any health compromising behaviors here)

This also something my family appreciates about me.  And I appreciate about them.

I've never read the various "Love Languages" books but I've heard enough about them to understand that my husband and my little Rose know love through baked goods.  And I love them.  Plus, as I mentioned, I love baking and baked goods.  Guess God knew what he was doing when he threw the three of us together.

Rose and I trying to shovel the snow

So yesterday, we got clobbered by another foot of snow.  Which wouldn't be so bad except that we are running out of places to put it.  Plus, I'm short and the banks on either side of the driveway are taller then me and taller than Rose who is taller than me.  Serious catapult with the snow-shovel action required.

My husband did most of the shoveling this time, but there was a lot of snow and his health isn't as good as it should be, so we did it in stages and Rose and I got several chances to perfect our catapult-snow-shovel form (fine form, believe me!).

And, in and out of all of this I baked.  Apple pie and baguettes to go with spaghetti and meatballs (yeah, I know baguettes are French and spaghetti isn't.  judge if you like but we were still happy).

Something magical (to me) about throwing on an apron and putting together warm and tasty food.  Feels vaguely goddess like, which I enjoy a lot, kind of a power trip, I guess.

Plus, after shoveling tons and tons and TONS of snow, the family was not disappointed to have the smells, feels and tastes of fresh baked goods to warm up the evening.

Mmmmmm.  Baked goods.

these boots

<----these are my boots.

Weird to me how you can think something fairly simple like, for instance, "black dress boots" and then get to a store with tons of choices all of which fit the description and somehow none of them are really what you want.

Fortunately, then I found these, which are exactly what I had in mind.

Tall, kind of sexy, heels but not too spikey, not so wide at the top that they gap open (a more common problem for me than you'd think, especially given I'm 10-20 pounds overweight, not underweight...), no studs, buckles, or other gee-gaws.  Ah! These are just what I wanted.

We watch our money in our house so I can't just run out and get whatever fashionable thing strikes my fancy.

And, to be honest, over the past 11 years that I've been a mom, my sense of self as a fashionable, put-together person has faded out a whole heck of a lot.

And, still being honest, lately I've been really yearning to get that part of myself back.

This year, for my birthday, that same 11 year old and my dear husband got me these boots.  I picked them out.

Ah! That felt really good!

my husband

I love this guy (my real husband, not the stick figure guy!).  Really do.  He's not always perfect (yeah, but I am, right?) but he has a good heart and he's kind to me and others.  Also he's crazy about me and not others (in that way, anyway).  Also I'm good to him (and why shouldn't I be--I love him and I'm crazy about him).  So there you have it.

I keep telling my daughter that a happy partnership isn't about finding the perfect person but about finding someone who can make what's important to you important to him and who's flaws are things you can see beyond.  I tell that to her because I believe it and I want her to understand it because I think it's important.

He's years older than I am which makes him like music that I don't actually care for. at all.  And it also makes him not realize the greatness that is my favorite music.  But we have the same goofy sense of humor and the same outlook on life.  Also lots of the things I don't like to do he's good at.  And he does them--sometimes because he's good at them and sometimes because I don't like to do them.  And I do the same for him even on days when it may not be and even match, because I do them because I love him.