Here.

I grew up in a small, Midwest town. Summer was for swimming, riding our bikes ev-er-y-where, cookouts, lightning bugs, and corn on the cob. Fall was for cool weather, vibrant leaves, football, bonfires. Winter was for snow days, sledding, and reading on the furnace until your backside felt like it might catch fire. Spring was for lilacs, open windows, the smell of new, wet dirt, and gardens awakening. New life. My parents never had to say “You are safe from people who hate us. You are safe from terrorists. You are safe from bullets.” We knew we were safe. We didn’t question it. “Mass shootings” and “terrorism” meant next to nothing to us. My school never had to send out an email notifying them that counselors were made available to talk about violent tragedies, like the one I got yesterday morning from my son’s school. Not everyone grew up with that same fortune in bigger cities, or certainly around the world, but I did. I was, and remain fortunate. 

When something like this happens less than a mile from your doorstep, you find yourself asking, ‘Why do we live here??’ This is exactly what my husband and I did in the wake of the horror in our Orlando neighborhood that we call home. We looked at each other and wondered it, aloud. Why are we HERE? In this country. In this state. In this city. Are we making the right choices for our children? Maybe we should be in a smaller town. More isolated. More sheltered. "Safer." Why are we here?

Why are we here.... Because here…here IS safe. It IS loving. It is, and I believe will always be a good place to raise a family. A great place! It’s diverse, inclusive, welcoming, fun, hot as volcanic steam outside 4 months out of the year. Home to a booming tourism industry, an emerging arts scene, a foodie's paradise, competitive sporting events, a behemoth university (Go Knights!), award winning hospitals, fantastic schools (Go Bulldogs! Go Panthers!), an up and coming market for technology and innovation. It's home to rocket ships! 

But--forget ALL that. It’s home to good people. Really good, imperfect, different-from-each-other-people. And we all live here. Peacefully, generally. We ‘coexist’ even when we disagree. We pitch in, even when we don’t know each other, or maybe don’t even like each other. We watch our kids play little league together, we take our dogs to dog parks together, we worship together, work together, volunteer together, celebrate together, create together. We sweat together. 

And now, we bleed together. Some of us from violent, gaping holes, and many of us from pinpricks so as to pour out our blood for those 'some' whose wounds we can’t even begin to imagine, understand, or entirely see. And on behalf of those 49 souls whose hearts will never beat again, and for whom we can change nothing. And that breaks us to our very core.

I’ve spent most of the hours and minutes since Sunday morning with my children and husband. I’ve digested much interaction on social media and news outlets and I’ve read the obituaries for 49 people who I’ve never met. I’ve watched my neighborhood and its businesses come to a screeching halt, only to fire up their engines, grills, hands, whatever they have to offer to sustain the efforts and the individuals in both law enforcement and our hospital who are on the front lines sorting out the reality of this. I’ve watched communities of faith, people of good will, corporations, businesses and more open their arms and wallets. Regardless of their creed, orientation, or politics. My own pastor from my parish of St. James Cathedral, along with other clergy, and religious and community leaders spent hours in the hospital with victims and their families. Offering comfort, love. I have listened to people I know and love on “the left” cry out for gun control, dismiss prayer as hypocritical, demand that policy change must happen now. I’ve listened to people I know and love on “the right” rebuke the notion that guns are to blame, repeat the call for a halt to immigration, and demand military action against terrorists. I’ve listened to both presidential candidates throw accusations, call names, and keep their peripherals on the polls, always cognizant that an election is around the corner and voters are in tune. I’ve listened to celebrities, public figures, and journalists speak their piece, some of them fraught with raw emotion, anger, contempt. I’ve listened to a lot of people who have probably never stepped foot in downtown Orlando, the real Orlando, and yet who've built a stage over it on which they now stand with a megaphone. 

I’ve witnessed the pain pouring out of LGBT family and friends, near and far. And I’ve cried. A lot.

I’ve asked myself, again, why are we here? Why are WE here. As a person of faith, I don’t believe that it is without purpose that my husband, myself, our three children, their friends, our friends, our neighbors, our local business-owners... it is not without purpose that we are all the ones who live right here, right now. There are so, so many questions and responses and emotions that this tragedy, and every one like it brings to a head. I don’t have all those answers. I don’t even have a few of them. But here’s what little I do have, so far. WE are HERE because we have a lot of love to give. A LOT. We are here because when your community is cast onto the world stage by something so heinous and awful, and the audience is screaming at each other while it plays out in front of a clamoring media, the only thing that might quiet them all enough to really pay attention is refusing to be part of that fray. To be different. To be TOGETHER. Not to be partisan. And, frankly, not to be bipartisan, either. We aren’t a country made up of just two kinds of people ‘joining hands’ across an over-glorified aisle. We are a country of people who identify with a multitude of labels, ideas, ways of life. To dismiss each other because we disagree on any of it, means we miss the opportunity to learn all of it. The big picture with ALL the ingrained details. Sometimes parts of our identity are challenged. We are here because WE ARE THE CHALLENGED. Our churches, our families, our politics, our very hearts are being faced with the trial of understanding instead of being understood. We can never, ever, ever, ever understand each other if we don’t listen to each other. We can never listen to each other if we don’t know each other. And we can't know each other, if we don't reach out to one another. You don't have to live in a small town to do that. 

Small towns exist all around us. Your street is a small town. Your office. Your church. Your grocery store. Your apartment building. Your very home, and those in it, make up a small town. Get to really know the people in them. Look after them. Knock on your neighbor’s door just to say "Hi. How ya doin?" Invite them over for dinner. Ask someone from work you don't know well to go for coffee or lunch. Seek out those who live in the margins, on the fringe. Make new friends. Check in with old ones. KNOW YOUR CHILDREN AND KNOW THEIR FRIENDS. Pay attention to what they are paying attention to. Love your brothers and your sisters. Let go of anger, and old grudges. Forgive hurts, even when your forgiveness isn’t asked. Act and speak with empathy. Volunteer in your community. Get involved. Gather together and celebrate in your neighborhoods, and do it regularly. Ask yourself, ‘what are my gifts?’ And then share those gifts. Give them away and don’t attach strings. Ask for help when you need it. These things make us better. Not the impassioned speeches on late night TV. Not an address from a politician, elected or otherwise. Not dismissing the faithful, the prayerful. Not locking the doors, and putting down the shades to our country. We make ourselves better. My church, my beloved church who does Christ's work throughout the world with the poor, the sick, the vulnerable, and the dying, has great distances to cover in ministering to our LGBT brothers and sisters. But the church is a living body of sinners and saints, and we are ALL the former and CAN BE THE LATTER! It's not an abstract philosophy, or an ancient tradition, or a building made of stone and mortar. I am my church. It starts with me. It starts here. Too often I've taken for granted what "Love thy Neighbor" really means. We've assigned a metaphorical value to a concrete, and clear commandment. I've thought, 'I do that. I love my neighbor.' I mean I would never, ever wish harm upon them. That's loving them, right? Love is a verb, brothers and sisters. It is the act of dying to our own pride and self-service so that we can serve and understand those around us. Those who are hurting. Those in need. They need US. We need each other.

I write not with an attitude of self-righteousness.  I am guilty on a daily basis of avoiding eye contact with strangers so that I can hurry on my way, mind my own business. So that I don’t have to dig deeper, or try harder, or care more.  So that I don’t have to be challenged. But my neat existence was shattered in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Life is fragile and precious. This is not new. It has always been fragile. And when the fragility and pain touches those around us, it should touch us, too. It is by the grace of God that I am here. Alive, thriving, loving, and SAFELY ME; that is the ultimate gift. Everyone deserves that. Why are we here?? To give each other THAT gift. To be ourselves, and to love each other through it. No. Matter. What.

Love. Hope. Peace. They ARE HERE. They are ours to give.
Pulse is my neighbor. And I love my neighbor. 

April Showers Bring May Flowers

**When I wrote this, it was for an essay contest.  The prompt was: when did you first understand the true meaning of 'love'?  I sat down to answer the question, sure it was when I saw the face of my child for the first time.  But as I wrote, an entirely different understanding took shape.  One that I experienced months before my son was born.  The following essay is what resulted.  My Mother has taught me many, many things in my life, and I suspect she'll teach me more, yet.  But of all the lessons I've learned from her; LOVE is the root, the pulse, the heart of every one.  How blessed I am in love, AS a Mother, and IN my Mother.  I didn't win the essay contest.  But when it comes to my Mom?  I win every time :)  And so.....this is for my Mother; my teacher.**

April Showers Bring May Flowers

My Mother is quite the fabulous gardener. It's fitting her parents named her April, with her love of spring and all its blossoms. As a child growing up in Illinois, I can remember countless summer nights trailing behind her in my bare feet as she watered the Geraniums which lined our driveway. I recall how she would plant tulip bulbs in the fall and how, like magic almost, they would somehow know to bloom in the spring, with their bright and cheerful dispositions, after the ground had thawed and winter had passed. Wearing her wide brimmed straw hat and her jean overalls, she would methodically replace dirt, pull weeds, and carefully tend to each plant. In hindsight, I imagine that she cherished those peaceful, quiet moments with the earth. They were a stark contrast (a welcome reprieve!) from the animated chaos generated by my two brothers, my sister, and myself; and any other children who might find their way into our backyard. However, and to her credit, she never shooed us away when we frequently interrupted. She would affectionately attend to wrongdoings, hurts, hungry bellies, and curious minds, all the while planting, patting, watering, and grooming her garden. Among her Impatiens, my Mom was the most patient and loving soul a little girl could have asked for.

In early 2004, those sun-soaked days of my childhood could have happened 100 years ago for all I knew. A university sophomore at 20 years old, I had the important college staples; a Dave Matthews poster, a boyfriend, and a roommate with a car. Throw in mediocre grades and a part-time job, and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Midterms came and went…spring break came and went…my period never showed up. Two pink lines later, my boyfriend and I were ‘discussing our options.’ . I was humiliated and frightened, as well as heartbroken. I didn’t want to quit school, or be a single Mom, or sacrifice my future. Yes, I was 20, not 16, but I wasn’t married and I hadn’t completed my education. I didn’t want to miss studying abroad, and parties, and tailgating in the fall because I was busy with midnight feedings! After lots of tears and contentious debates, we decided our only alternative was going to be adoption. Though still confused, and heartbroken, I comforted myself with the notion that I would be making someone else’s life better, rather than making mine what I was convinced would be worse.

It was with this decision in hand, if not in heart, that I set out to tell my parents. I was sure they would be disappointed in me, but I was also certain they would support my choice. Boy, did I miscalculate. Almost instantly, they expressed disappointment and hurt, particularly my Mother. I became immediately defensive, and we engaged in a heated discussion, resulting in the inevitable sequence of ‘words I wish I could take back.’ At one point, she left the room in tears. It was a surreal departure from our day to day relationship.

Looking to my Dad for answers, I began to cry in earnest. ‘Why was she acting like this? Couldn’t she see how much I needed her support? I thought she would be proud of me for doing something so selfless?’ I’ll never forget how old my Dad looked that day, rubbing his bearded face with both hands, leaning forward on the couch where my Mom and I had watched a hundred movies together; had a thousand conversations. He asked me why I hadn’t come to them sooner; reminding me how fortunate I am to have a family willing and able to help. He pointed out that I hadn’t stopped to consider their feelings, or even asked their opinion in making, what he estimated to be, the biggest decision of my life. In 60 seconds or less, I had revealed I was pregnant, AND I was choosing adoption. They didn’t know what to react to first! Of course she was bewildered. I tried not to let on that I was finding myself ‘bewildered’, too.

Before leaving, I appealed to my Mom one last time to try and understand where I was coming from. And with a matched amount of pain and worry, she begged me to reconsider. She stood at the door with a look of desperation in her eyes, imploring me to let her help. But I was both ashamed and full of youthful pride. Mostly, I was scared. I left that night with a lump in my throat bigger than the bump in my belly. For the next two months we hardly spoke, apart from the occasional phone call or email. I would act like things were normal, and she would always ask the same questions; ‘Can we please talk about this? Can’t I change your mind?’ The truth was, I had never fully made up my mind to begin with, but saying this out loud would mean I would finally have to. Eventually, we stopped speaking completely.

When May rolled around, I finally broke down and went home for Mother’s Day, an event I was dreading. I was sure my Mom would use it as another excuse to push what I was now privately calling the ‘grandparent agenda’. Sure enough, I found a card and a wrapped gift waiting for me on my old bed. The card read; ‘For a Mommy-to-be. Hoping your Mother’s Day is filled with joy and love, today and always.’ It was like taking a bullet. I gingerly opened the package, terrified I would find a baby book, or little booties, or any other item which might finally induce the rapidly approaching nervous breakdown. However, mercifully, she had only wrapped a few maternity tank tops in preparation for the coming summer months. My eyes filled as I desperately wished I could go back in time. Why couldn’t life just make sense? Why did each choice have to be so insurmountable? Why did it have to hurt so much, require so much sacrifice?

I stayed in my old room until the sun had gone down that day. I thought about my childhood, and my Mom, and how wonderful it all was. I lamented how, in my pregnant state, I felt closer to her now than ever, but how far away she seemed. I really thought for the first time about the person growing inside me, about how fearful I was for his or her uncertain future. I was 20! I had no income. No degree. I was in a young, unstable relationship. How could I possibly give this child a good life!?

The only answers I got were loud grumbles from my empty stomach. Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I found my Mother sitting, quietly reading a book. She looked up and took off her glasses, patting the seat next to her. With some trepidation, I sat down. In a small, tearful voice I asked her if she hated me. Equally tearful, she took my face in her hands. ‘My girl,’ she said. ‘I don’t hate you. I will never, ever hate you. But I won’t pretend to understand you.’ She went on to share with me her belief that of all her children, I had always been the most demonstrative toward others. She explained that because of the person she knew me to be, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the notion that I wasn’t even considering being a Mother to this child. With such tender love, she described her feeling of loss on my behalf. She was frantic to spare me from the possibility of forever looking back with regret.

I looked at my Mom, looking at me, and it suddenly occurred to me: she wasn’t trying to protect herself from disappointment; she was trying to protect me. She was trying to believe in me enough for both of us, love me enough for both of us. It seemed like the profound depth of her love was spread out right there before me on the kitchen counter, and I was overwhelmed with the magnitude of its capacity. I told her that I was unsure of myself, and I was so very afraid of doing the wrong thing. She wrapped her arms around me and said nothing else, just letting me cry.

When I woke up the next morning, Mother’s Day, I peeked out my window to find my Mom in a familiar place; her garden. She was wearing her big hat and overalls, and she was pruning away at some shrub or another. I sat back against my pillows and smiled a little, resting my hands on my growing abdomen. I had no idea what the day would bring, but I was sure that I had enough love to get through it. More importantly, I knew that I likewise had enough love to give in return. I knew that I could feel that same love which had engulfed me the night before, growing inside me now. I peeked through the blinds one more time watching my Mother quietly cultivate the earth, just as she’d nurtured her children years before. It was spring…and the flowers were in full bloom.

Listless

With the wedding a mere 2 months (less than!) away, I am finding it hard to get anything done.  Between keeping up with my 1st-almost-2nd grader's energy and schedule, preparing for some changes on the work front, and the rest of life/family/friendships which roll along, my wedding task agenda has been seriously neglected.  And my 'things needing done' list is long; trust me.  But a 16 month engagement makes for a long haul when it comes to wedding planning.  I think my bride-ological clock has run out and desperately needs to be rewound.  Or something like that.

So, in my languished state of mind, I've been doing what I used to do best at work: working (ahem), facebooking, browsing music, reading my favorite blogs, and finding new ones.  It's been a pinteresting month.  Er--interesting month.  Anyway.

I'm trying to get back into wedding mode (desperately), so I've been digging for some inspiration (not pinspiration).  All I can think about, though, is getting married, not getting wedding-ed!  Does that make sense?  And, GEESH, am I excited to get married to Jim :-)  Since I can't think of anything else; let me count the ways I'm excited to marry my fiance.  Here's way number 33:

Recently, Jim and I were eating breakfast, and I said something passive about something-or-other-small-matter, and he laughed and rolled his eyes at me.  Laughing back, I protested, 'what!?  I'm just ASKING.'  Jim smiled and gave me a knowing look, stating that he loved when I "asked" about something that I definitely already knew the answer to (like: Jim, did you make the appointment to have the oil changed yet?), as a sneaky way to remind him, even though he had assured me said task/request would be accomplished.  Thus began a tongue in cheek ping pong match of, 'well you're really awesome at being a side seat driver' and 'impulsive projects are your favorite thing EVER', or 'must every last dish be done every time we leave the house?'  The list playfully went on.  Until; Jim turned those green eyes in my direction and said with a sparkle and a smile, 'you're really good at making me feel better when I have a total crap day at work.'  Taking my cue, I smiled right back and returned, 'And you would drop everything in a heartbeat to satisfy my any whim.'  'You always itch my back when I ask you to, and don't even stop when you know you've gotten it.'  'You can remind me how full of worth I am as a Mother on days that are hard, or that Michael is gone.' 

A moment of silence so filled with love and affection passed between us that I forgot for a moment the bustling diner and its patrons around us.  I had a man across from me willing to list every good quality he saw in me, on the heels of those irking flaws.  I had a man who purely loved impure me.   Who was willing to see through my imperfections to the better side of me.  A man like that? 

He's worth a forever.  or two. 

I think I'll get back to that list :-) 
xx

Blogging for Gold

Have you missed me??  I didn't mean to just disappear without calling.  I could say that I lost my password....had a family emergency.....felt like we were just moving too fast....but none of those things are true.  Really, I've just been dried out.  Feeling like I need to refocus my...focus.  I love writing, and I will never stop!  But I'm participating in Lent....so I've been trying to spend less time on the computer (a task made difficult by my profession!).  I've been trying to write in my private journal more, public one less.  Pray more.  Eat less.  Love more.  Judge less.  Listen more.  Talk less.  It's been a challenging road, so far, but I have no doubt that when Easter weekend gets here, I'll feel fabulous.  I always do ;-) 

That said, I'm blogging today about something that I think every person should be aware of.

I live in a small niche of Orlando called Delaney Park.  It is a sweet, quiet (for the most part), safe spot nestled between the bustling traffic of 408, the handful of skyscrapers downtown, the revolving door of Orlando Regional Medical Center, and the I-4 overpass; a place which has become a home for a number of displaced and homeless individuals in Orlando.  What a world of difference that exists between my cozy little 'hood, and that overpass... 

During college, the only time I ever spent downtown was at night.  And there were always people begging for money, food, cigarettes...alcohol.  My compassion for them was limited because I couldn't get past my fear of them, and because I was distracted by my own glittery, shallow existence.  6 years later, when I started working downtown, I was forced to confront this population in a different light; literally.  There was a couple living on some park benches that stood between my parking garage, and my office building.  There were others scattered at bus stops, on the steps of the courthouse, huddled in the doorways of abandoned buildings.  There was no way to avoid their desperate looks, requests, and sometimes even emotionally unstable outbursts (if I thought I was scared before...).  Even where they weren't, they were; the stairwells all smelled like urine (although, that could have just been the frat boys from last Friday), a stray blanket would be strewn across an empty tree.  An abandoned suitcase would be tucked behind a dumpster.  A grocery cart full of someone's sole possessions would be covered with a tarp, in case of a Florida storm. 

Seeing the underbelly of our city in the glare of daytime day after day after day, prompted me to action.  I couldn't just keep walking by, speeding up, playing deaf, and crossing the street to avoid the harsh reality that: Orlando has a problem.  (That article was posted a mere 5 days before I would start working at my new job for the Orange County Courthouse, located in downtown Orlando).  I wanted to do something, I wanted to help.  I didn't have any delusions that I would be able to solve this problem overnight, or that I would singlehandedly be the savior for the homeless in Central Florida.  I just knew that I was 25 years old, blessed beyond words, and capable of giving back.  But the first thing that had to go?  My attitude.  Thinking of the homeless population as only those whom I saw wandering the streets of downtown, begging for money.  Assuming that they're there because they are either an addict, mentally ill, or lazy.  Refusing to see them as people, individuals with thoughts and feelings, just like me.  Or my brother, sister, friend...SON.  These are people...someone's daughter, someone's son.  Once I was able to swivel my head, finding an outlet became easy.  I quickly was guided toward the Coalition for the Homeless of Central Florida, an organization which has provided housing, meals, financial and health services, both mental and physical, among a myriad of other outreach programs since 1987.  (Learn more about what they offer here.)  Upon attending an orientation for volunteers, I learned that I had LOTS of misconceptions about who comprises the homeless population in my city, and around the country.  I heard some amazing testimonies from men and women who benefited from the Coalition, and were able to find jobs and sustain a home for themselves and their family.  I witnessed the heartbreaking number of children, newborns through high school, living at their various campuses, trying to escape homelessness with their parents.  It didn't take long for me to fall in love with this place, and the work that it was doing; especially in a city where so many, including myself, are guilty of looking the other way.  I soon after began volunteering on an as needed basis at the women's center as a babysitter, so mothers could attend workshops and classes which would help pave the way toward their independence and their FREEDOM from HOMELESSNESS!  Talk about a humbling experience. 

This month, the coalition is hosting one of its main fundraisers for services.  It directly benefits all the services I listed above, and more, helping the coalition to continue to do the amazing, noble, and selfless work that so desperately needs doing in our 'City Beautiful'. 

Maybe you like these guys?  Then I HIGHLY recommend you see them in concert at the 19th Annual Hearts for Gold concert on March 24th, 2012!!!  You won't just be seeing a concert, you'll be helping to change lives!!! 

I won't be at the show (nothing against Little Big Town, but I already had a date with my little big guy)....but you can bet what I can't spend in tickets, I will be spending in supplies for the women's center.  I hope you can make some room on your calender, and in your budget!!!!

Thanks, y'all :)  See you after Lent. 

Ode to the Working Mother

(to the tune of We Found Love)

"purple bags under your eyes
Monday-Friday 8 to 5
toothpaste stains on all your clothes
forget to check if your bra strap shows

as you kiss your kids, you may just start to cry
(just make sure that they won't know)

and like a scene from office space
a total meltdown's taking place
you left the house without your phone
you sort of feel like your brain's on loan

(cue the breakdown beat)

You barely make it on a prayer.
How'd that play dough get in there?
Once again, you've shown up late
can't keep time, let alone the date.

Just another Mom who works from 8 to 5
..........Will you ever just stay home????"

The Grammy's were yesterday (if you didn't know that, I'm assuming you work in a mine.  Or you're my Mother.)  I thought it only appropriate to kick things off with a song!  I would have picked Adele, but Rihanna was stuck in my head.  And--I'm a working Mom!!!  So I have to roll with the punches.....not the deep (no pun intended, Chris Brown.  You belong in jail).  Perhaps  The Civil Wars would have been the most appropriate choice.  The name in and of itself is so akin to the feelings I, as a working Mom, experience.  It's a constant battle, fighting the redundancy of this title.  Being a Mom is already a huge, and a hugely important job.  Tack on 40, and for some women, more, hours a week in an office, or elsewhere, and suddenly this monumental job has to be done with limited time and sleep.  And let me be clear--I have it easy!  I don't have a job where I have to bring work home, unlike so many others.  I'm not on my feet all day...I don't deal with a lot of disgruntled people.  I'm not up against multiple deadlines.  I can't even imagine how some women do this, given the careers they've chosen; or that have chosen them.  I also have the support and assistance of a wonderful husband-to-be.  And (it must be said) I have a pretty amazing kid, who makes my job easy. 

But---I still often miss things, important staples of childhood, that can't be helped, simply because I am at work.  Classroom parties, field trips, afternoon snacks...when my child has a school holiday, I have to find child care, or send him off to Grandma and Grandpa's for sometimes an entire week (or two in the summer.  I can't go into it.  It makes me totally verklempt.)  And I don't mean to diminish the life of a stay at home Mom, or imply that they sit around and play all day.  I had a stay at home Mom....so I know first hand that, more often than not, it can be even more challenging then getting up and going to an office all day.  However; I'm not one.  So my point of reference, right now, is as a working Mom.  And I've been thinking a lot about that, lately.  Well, truthfully, I've thought about it since the day I first sent my child to daycare (also my first day of teaching high school.  I like to call it 'the worst day ever').  I am not ashamed that I have a career.  I'm not ashamed that I leave my child in the abled hands of someone else after school.  I applaud women who make this choice every day.  Thank God we DON'T live in a society where only the men work in banks, schools, law firms, hospitals, and...everywhere!  We are no longer, as women, bound to our stoves and ironing boards.  There are so many options...at home and out in the world!  We can have our children, and our jobs.  We are able to contribute to the world in so many different ways.   

But even as I sing the anthem and the praises of the working Mom, I'm reduced to guilt.  There never seems to be enough--of me.  I sometimes feel I only give of myself in fractured pieces, whether it's at work, or at home, or in my relationships.  And these are the grounds where that internal battle continues to take place.  Do I stay or do I go [home]?  In the past, the choice, for me, was removed.  I had to work.  I provided the sole financial support and insurance coverage for myself and my son.  So, want to or not, I was a workin' girl!  Er---you know what I mean. 

Now, however.....my world has changed.  And how blessed I am for that!  Even in a two parent home, the majority of households in our country rely on both parents to provide an income which is substantial enough to live.  For the first time ever I am fortunate, with Jim in our lives, and with the proper budgeting and timing, to be able to consider staying at home full time....or working part time.  For years, I've told myself I would jump at that opportunity!!   And now that I have it...I'm definitely taking a long look before I leap.  Part of me is still a little nervous.  Even after the last two years and how wonderful they've been, I hesitate to risk not being self-reliant, or having a back up plan.  I wax eternal optimist, but don't let me fool you.  It took a long time (and a lot of therapy) for me to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop; the rug to be pulled out from under my feet.  It's scary putting all your faith in another person!  And I guess, I still hold on to some of that fear.  I'm also not sure if I want to sacrifice the almost 6 years I've spent working for the state.  Am I ready to give up my job?  Do I take the time I need and want to devote myself to raising my child, and any possible future children, knowing that I may never reach that 'dream job' (I won't keep you in suspense; it's not a court reporter!! )?  Do I try to do both with these blessings of time and support I've been granted? 

It's a little overwhelming.  I really am verklempt.  Talk amongst yourselves.





Lots to mull over, I have.  Regardless of my future, the winds of change are moving in.  For now...I'll just drink them in...and breathe. 

Hair Today...

Won't be gone tomorrow.  Not yet, anyway.  However, I am headed to Parlour Salon and Spa right after work to see Ronda!!!  Ronda has been cutting my hair since I was 19....you can only imagine what she's seen my hair through.  So; as it's my birthday on Sunday...oh, you didn't know??  I haven't mentioned it?  Maybe in passing?  Well anyway...as it's my birthday....Sunday, February 5th....this Sunday....2 days from today....ahem...I was just thinking to myself..."hmm...self?  It's a good time to get a haircut!"  Unfortunately for my self...and my self's hair....I am maintaining my mane for a pressing engagement in June.  Sigh.  It's been a tortuous year (that's how long it's been since I gave it a good, solid chop).  I've seen her a few times for a nice trim, and a style....but not doing something different, or funky with it is weighing on me.  (Seriously; it's HEAVY carrying around all this hair!!!)  I'm a lady who loves her haircuts.  I can chronicle pretty much every major event in my life by what I did with my hair. 

Start college?  How about a perm!?

that was a decade ago.  AN ENTIRE DECADE!



Had a baby?  Mom haircut it is

At least it's not the mushroom cut of 1988.  A year that will live in infamy.

Start a new job?  Get some bangs.

I have nothing good to say, so I will say nothing.  My Mom looks good, though, right!?

Have a change of heart?  Swipe 'em!


I guess I swiped a tan, too.

 Bad breakup got you down?  Try out those bangs again


I--er...I can't explain.  Sorry.

 I could do this all day.  Safe to say...since that last foray into the world of eyebrow grazers, I've kept it pretty neutral.  But I'm going hair crazy!  I need to stir things up a bit!!  Which is why I will be making two appointments tonight post-trim.  One; to get a fancy 'do' in June!  And TWO: to Quentin Tarantino my hair exactly 6 days later.  Who knows what will go down.  I may just go all 'Michelle Williams' on you guys. 

If you haven't heard of Parlour before, and you live in Orlando, consider it!!!  Read the reviews on Yelp!!  It's a tall glass of stylish delicious. 

As for the REST OF MY BIRTHDAY WEEKEND!!!!  (I think it may have slipped out that it's on SUNDAY)....  It is looking UP!  And by up, I mean back....to the future!  An 80's themed shindig, preceded by a day of shopping, preceded by getting my nails done, preceded by a night of surprises with the Jim-dear, all to be finished off with a day at Disney with Michael Dane and mi amore, which will be preceded by church and breakfast!!!!!  There's more than one way to Quentin Tarantino a reader.  If you didn't follow: it's OK.  All's well that begins well.  And so far....28 is looking just fabulous! 
xo!!  Enjoy your SuperBirthday Sunday!  Go BEARS!!!!  ;)

Appearing Thoughts

My brain is clogged.  I just need to pull the drain and regroup, ifyouplease.  Happy Friday!

If my siblings and I were a techno band our names would be: Mike-Noe, Meg-Koe, Mo-Moe, Jim-Toe.  We would be called the Lau-Loes. 

I lead two lives.  Not like duplicity, but more like....felicity.  I have to do it to survive.  (if you 'time share' you may understand.)

Why do people "like" politics?  Seriously?  What is the appeal there??  I am a conscientious citizen, and lively debate is certainly needed...but the overwhelming and numerous facebook rants make me crazy. 

This freaks me out.  Saw this guy's work for the first time in Chicago at the Museum of Science and Industry.  Fascinating, but certainly probes my 'ethical lobe'. 

One of Michael's friends is regularly using the word 'hot' to describe little girls (and not so little girls).  My first reaction was to get angry...my second was to feel flooding relief that Michael knew and acknowledged right away that this was an 'inappropriate word' for a 7 year old to use.  In context, this word can be funny/complimentary.  I tell my friends they look 'hot' all the time.  Jim and I may tease each other with its use (in private).  More often than not, though, I prefer to know Jim finds me beautiful, rather than just HOT.  I can't shelter Michael from the world, and this I know...but I can at least equip him for it, guide him on how to be kind, respectful, and a GENTLEMAN! 

I miss my sister.  it really bites that she lives so far away.  that guy Liam, too. 

I think Jimmy's so funny.  I love it when he makes other people laugh.  I get very smug.  I really hope it's not obvious. 

I miss Regina!  I hope she's somewhere in the world (probably Boston) patiently listening to a lost soul....and I hope hers is whole and in tact. 

I think people give Mormons a bad rap.  It's undeserved.  Live and let live. 

I love me some FRO YO, YO!! 

and some Frodo, yo. 

I turn 28 in one week and two days.  Aging doesn't scare me....ending does. 

But...life is life.  On that note, I'll wrap it up with Noah and the Whale.


Happy Friday, my friends...even you, Friend-foe.