Throne of Glory

Have you ever been overcome with a sudden urge to break into song? Maybe you find yourself belting out your favorite show tune or Whitney while you are in the shower or at a stoplight? I personally give my best performances while driving by myself on the highway. Recently though, I happened upon a concert of unusual circumstances. I was attending a conference for Christian school teachers in Chicago. The week was full of inspirational singers, speakers, and classes meant to recharge us both mentally and spiritually for the upcoming school year. During a break between sessions I ran to the Ladies Room. I had no sooner closed the stall door when I realized that I was in the middle of someone’s personal inspirational concert. My acute sense of smell informed me that the singer had made herself quite at home in her sound studio and planned on being there awhile. To pass the time, she had decided to sing her favorite hymn to entertain both herself and those around her. She had chosen “We Would See Jesus” as her opening number. Suddenly I realized that I was in a situation in which I did not know proper protocol. Was it rude to attend to my own needs while she was singing? Should I join in on the third stanza? Should all flushes be held until between numbers? Could I request “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing?” I needed to give some serious thought to these questions, however, the three Diet Cokes I had consumed left me with little time to contemplate. As the faceless performer continued to fill the room with praise (among other things) I decided it was best to get out as quickly as possible as not to disrupt others who might be enjoying her experience.

I envy my mystery porcelain performer just a bit. She was so happy and filled with joy (and again…other things) that she could not keep it to herself. I just might have to plan a stall sing along of my own someday. If you happen to be a member of my audience, please feel free to join in or flush to the beat. Just please hold all applause until after you have washed your hands.

Good luck with that…..

     I am not good at remembering appointments. I try to write them down but just end up losing whatever I wrote it down on. I try to put it in my phone, but forget to set the reminders. Because of this, I am a huge fan of the reminder calls. One of my doctors has a rouge robocall that usually will call you 8-10 times reminding you to come in. I could not be happier about that. The other day however, I found my exception. I had gotten a call back from my mammogram saying they needed to do some further tests and I needed to return.  I was not in the least bit worried since this happens almost every year. I set up the appointment and promptly forgot when it was. A day or two before I was set to go in, a friendly young man called to remind me of my upcoming visit. I confirmed that I would be there. In his very nicest voice he says, “Good luck and I hope everything turns out okay.”  “How nice” you might be thinking. I was not thinking that at all!  What did he mean by good luck?  What needed to turn out okay?  What did he know that I didn’t? Suddenly my routine follow up was apperently something I needed luck for in order for it to turn out okay!  What should have been a friendly reminder was now a countdown to impending doom. Now instead of wanting to remember my appointment, I wanted nothing more than forget about it. 

     After the additional tests, I waited there in the exam room for the results. The nurse huddled in the corner ordering a cheese steak with no onions and fries from an unnamed restaurant on the other line. I felt like at some point she should have offered me either some luck or some fries. She did neither. 

     Twenty minutes slowly ticked by until the normal results came in.  Luck was not needed after all.  I think I will go buy myself a calendar and start writing my appointments down and let those friendly reminders go to voice mail from now on. 

Fashion Forward

It’s back to work for many Americans this week after a long vacation and I’m quite sure, like me, many of you stood in the doorway of your closet asking yourself the age old question, “What am I going to wear today?”  My closet is full to overflowing with clothes.  Some are too small,  some are too big, some are uncomfortable and not practical for work, and then there are the five outfits that I manage to wear every week.  I have decided that when designers get to work, they do not have the short, average, middle age, round, mom body in mind. That is why I am bound and determined to make 2017 the year granny fashion comes back in style for those of all ages. I’m not talking about these newfangled grandmas who dress better than I ever hope to. No, I’m talking about the good old fashion shampoo and set grandma. Just hear me out and I know that you will agree.

Shoes

Just look at these!  The SAS is the most sensible shoe ever made.  It’s three most popular colors-white, black, and classy nude- will have you ready to go no matter what you are wearing.  The sassy wedge in the back can take you from the office to the clubs with ease.  Soft, supportive in soles make you feel like you are walking on air.  Throw on a pair of knee high stockings and you are set no matter the occasion.  No more worrying about time consuming pedicures, your unpainted piggies will be safely hidden.

Pants

Never has there been such a practical invention as the no iron twill elastic pant.  They come in three great lengths-Long, capri, and resort. If you are headed into work, black, grey, and taupe are available. For weekends when you want to let lose, you may want to go with the soft denim, or the wide array of pastel colors available in all three lengths.  Think of all the time and money you will save not running to the dry cleaners.  Just wash them and hang them out back to dry and you’re set to go.  Eat too much over the weekend?  No worries, the sturdy elastic expands an extra four inches!  Another plus?  You don’t have to shave above your knees ever again.

Shirts

 Let your true fashion sense show by mixing and matching floral blouses.  Button that baby up, or let it all hang lose by layering over a white t-shirt.  The sturdy cotton blend never needs ironing.  Just think of all the combinations you can make by investing in several of these beauties.  Take the blouse in the picture for example.  You could pair it with white capris one day and then totally fool those at work by wearing with lovely khaki full length pants the following day!  No one will know!  These also fall into the wash and go category so once again, you are saving time and money.

This to me is a no-brainer!  Affordable and comfortable should be the new stilettos and camis.  Who cares if you look 20 years older or are repeatedly mistaken for Ethyl down in payroll.  Never again will you have to squeeze into those skinny jeans or worry about working out those triceps.  So who is with me?  All those in favor, meet me at Sears on Thursday.  I hear they will take off an extra 20% for early birds.  Maybe then we can go grab a bite at the picadilly cafeteria.

Do you have an appointment?

As a TBk (teacher before kids) I use to roll my eyes at parents who had every second of their kid’s day scheduled. I would get so frustrated when kids would come in tired and without their homework because they had played a late baseball game. Kids should just feel free to relax and be kids right? You would never see me putting my kids in any after school organizations and become an over scheduled mini-van driving soccer mom.

I am now a mother. I drive a mini-van and I haven’t been home except to sleep in over a week. How did this happen?

It all started with a baby violin. It was so cute and tiny. He could take lessons right there at his school during the school day.  Perfect!  The only thing I had to do was sit through twenty minutes a day of what sounded like a cat dying a slow and painful death squealing something about a hot dog from Mississippi. (The first song any tiny violin plays is called Mississippi Hot Dog.) The violin is now almost full size, the songs are by actual composers, and instead of a dying cat most days it sounds more like a cat with a mild immune disorder.

A year after beginning tiny violin lessons we learned that one of our good friends was going to coach little league. Being a baseball fan myself I got super excited about seeing my tiny boy in a tiny baseball uniform. I had no idea that I was committing to at least three days a week of practices and games but to see him play out there was worth every second. That was four years ago. Now I have two boys in little league and it is a five day a week commitment. Last season the big one began kid pitch. He had always been a natural but suddenly nine year olds with full beards were whipping wild balls at him at warped speed. He was slowly watching each of his team mates being battered and bruised and decided he was having none of it. I tried everything I could think of. I actually bought him a padded undershirt that made him look like a mini Arnold Schwarzenegger. Nothing seemed to help. He hit a batting slump that would last all season. We are now in pre season and I have him in private batting lessons. I didn’t know there was such a thing, but apparently you can pay a guy over $1 a minute (a good deal I’m told) to teach a kid to bat. I’m not doing it for him necessarily. I don’t care if he hits a ball or not, but if I had to hear one more obnoxious parent make a comment about an easy out, someone was going to be drinking their peanuts and cracker jacks through a straw.

Two weeks ago the big one made the robotics team. I sat through a two hour parent meeting explaining how this could lead my child to be a genius millionaire. I didn’t understand the majority of what they would be doing in this club. The programming and engineering skills they say he will use are so far out of my league. This club will apparently require weekend and holiday commitments but how could I possibly deny him the chance at becoming a genius millionaire?

So there they go. Afternoons taken up by music practice and batting lessons. Evenings at the ball field and weekends and holidays building robots. Homework and studying have become a thing we do in the car on the way to school in the morning. The kids are over tired and over scheduled and so is their mama. But they are happy so I will keep practicing, keep driving, and keep cheering, allowing them to give whatever they want to a try. Because that’s what we do. We let them dream of being in the Boston pops, the World Series, and any other dream they may have.

Back to School

One of the many things I love about being a teacher is having the summers off.  Lounging by the pool while my boys wear themselves out swimming or catching up on my HGTV while they play outside with their friends is a wonderful break from our busy and chaotic school year.

Today that all changed as I packed up and headed back to school for teacher preparation.  Sitting in meetings and diving into a sea of yearly, monthly, and daily lesson plans can quickly become all consuming.  We are busy arranging our classrooms, searching for new ways to teach the same skills, and preparing supplies for the 22 darlings that will show up next Tuesday.

Tonight I  brought work home with me, hoping to get a little ahead of the game while my two boys entertained themselves.  This seemed to be working just fine as they chose to use this time to invent a new game called “Couch Olympics”.  This game began with each “athlete” running across the living room and leaping over a laundry basket on to the not yet completely paid for couch.  Gradually. the laundry basket was pulled further and further away from the couch to make the flying leap more challenging.  A player won when the other participant either touched the laundry basket, hit the floor, or cried.  This was working for quite a few rounds until the little one decided he was being weighted down by his clothes.  Thus, the games were renamed the “Summer Couch Olympics” which allowed the athletes to compete in their underwear.  It appeared to be a close race until the final round ended with one bumping their head and one banging their elbow.  There may be no crying in baseball but apparently Couch Olympics is fair game.

I didn’t get much work done here at home.  I rarely do.  After all, after I dry these tears I have a gold and silver medal to award.

Welcome to Walmart

I’ve always said that if I don’t make it into the Kingdom of Heaven it will be because of Walmart.  I don’t know what it is, but nothing makes me lose my religion faster than walking through those electric doors and hearing the words “Welcome to Walmart”.  I avoid it as if my life depends on it.  I actually think my life may depend on it.  The last time I went to the store by my house was about four years ago. As I was waiting in the ridiculously long line at the deli counter for some smoked turkey, I heard a terrible raucous.  Listening closely I concurred that there seemed to be some kind of turf war going on behind the counter.  It seemed that the deli meat/cheese workers were in a raging battle with the rotisserie chicken workers.  There was a whole lot of hollering and cussing going on behind that counter and with all of the cutting utensils back there I was seriously afraid that someone was going to get hurt.  I did something that I had never done before.  I went and tracked down a manager and told them what was going on.  Later while I was thumping watermelons I noticed that the manager was marching the whole lot of them to the back of the store.  I may have imagined it, but I’m pretty sure everyone of them glared at me when they walked by as if to say “Lady you are going to be drinking your rotisserie chicken through a straw if you ever show your face around these parts again.”  I have taken their imaginary menacing looks to heart and have never returned.

Yesterday I found myself on the opposite side of town.  I needed to pick up some things and the only store around was a Walmart.  Hoping that my picture had not been posted on some employee revenge website, I decided to take my chances and run inside.  All was going surprisingly well.  I found what I was looking for and was almost through the self check out when I heard the strangest noise.  At first, I thought it was a baby screaming, yet a quick glance around told me that there were no babies.  I heard it a second time, only this time it was louder.  It was some sort of loud squeal or cry, yet again, I could not see an obvious source.  By the third time, I had narrowed it down to the lady walking in front of me.  She was an older lady, or at least she appeared to be older.   She had chosen a lovely shade of fire engine red to dye her hair and her pale skin showed that she kept herself out of the sun.  She was wearing lovely pair of daisy dukes and a tank top with an American flag on it.  As I continued to observe, I realized that the sound was not coming from her but from her buggy, however, the only thing in her buggy was a box.  Intrigued, I casually fell in line beside her, trying not to let her see me staring.  The squealing came again, louder this time and more desperate.  It was then that I noticed the box in the buggy shaking a bit.  As I nonchalantly gazed into her cart, I realized it was not a box, but an animal carrier and that a large extremely unhappy cat was along for the ride.  The cat seemed to be getting more and more anxious from the sound of the crying and the shaking of the box.  I was reminded of the scene from “Christmas Vacation” when Aunt Bethany wraps up her cat for a Christmas present and Rusty is holding a shaking squealing gift wrapped box.  The lady began talking to her poor kitty in soft soothing tones, but ole Fluffy was having none of it.  The more the lady talked to her precious cargo, the louder the cat squealed, making it obvious that he shared my feelings about the store.  As we walked out of the store together, I noted that the lady had not purchased a thing, leading me to wonder what exactly had prompted her and fluffy to head to Walmart on this ill fated adventure.  Did she always shop with her cat? Was she on a mission to find the perfect cat accessory and needed his opinion?   I would never know the answers to these questions but as we went our separate ways in the parking lot I caught the eye of the poor creature and we held our gaze for a brief second.  I could see his anger and his unhappiness.  I smiled and quietly muttered, “Welcome to Walmart, dear kitty, welcome to Walmart”.

Ten Phrases or Sentences I Never Used Before Having Boys

1.  “Stop answering all of your brother’s questions with ‘Your butt’!”

2.  Yes you have to take a shower even though you took one last night.

3.  Yes you will have to take one tomorrow too.

4.  Why is my car full of rocks?

5.  Is this game 6 or 7 of the Stanley Cup?

6.  Boys, I said “Nut Punch” is NOT a game!

7.  No you may not list all of the bad words that you know.

8.  No you may not list all of the names you know for your personal areas.

9.  Don’t make me stop this car.

10. Why are you wearing two pair of underwear?

Ready…Aim…..

Give a boy a ball and he will shoot it at a target all day long.  Some targets are quite large..like a soccer net, while others are ridiculously small….like in golf.  My two boys have been outside for hours today playing basketball, soccer, street hockey, and their own version of rugby.  Even when they aren’t playing, they are still looking for targets.  Have you ever known a little boy to simply throw something away?  Not usually.  Their trash becomes the final shot of a NBA final while the trash can is the impossible out of reach hoop.  In their best sports announcer voice, they make the perfect shot and the imaginary crowd goes wild.

So why when it comes to the ultimate target….the toilet…does all skill and talent go out the window?  Surely if one can sink a golf ball into a six inch hole from 50 feet away, you can stand toe to porcelain and hit a 12 inch  oval staring you right in your face.  I naturally expected this problem during potty training time, however, at ages 10 and 7 I would have thought I could have a bathroom that did not smell like a 7-11.  I really question what they are doing in there.  Is it possible that they are doing their best “running man” dance or impersonating a sprinkler system instead of concentrating on their business at hand?

I believe I might try putting some sort of net over the toilet to see if it might increase their concentration.  I could make “Pottyball” a competitive sport.  Mom’s everywhere would thank me I’m sure.

Target and the Stay at Home Mom

As a working mom, I have reserved every Sunday afternoon to run my errands.  I leave the boys at home with my husband and do my best to get a whole week’s worth of shopping and running around done in two or three hours.  My favorite stop on my weekend marathon is Super Target.  I can truly get almost anything I need from groceries to new wardrobes.

Now if  you have never been to a Super Target on a Sunday afternoon, it is pure craziness.  (Not quite to Walmart Crazy, but pretty crazy!)  Other working moms are zooming up and down the aisles with me trying to get everything they need  before their husbands call them with a crisis from home.  You can here the dings of coupon apps ringing throughout the store and you  might strike up a conversation  with someone searching for the same product to scan for that Coach purse on shopkick.  At our Target, a local boarding school brings two busloads of high schoolers in every Sunday to do their weekly shopping so you can hardly get your buggy down the ramen noodle and Dr. Pepper aisles.  Tired employees work hard to keep the shelves stocked but can’t quite seem to keep up with the demand.

Several weeks ago, I found myself home alone on a weekday.  This is an extremely rare event and I headed out to Target to try and get ahead for once.  What I found was a completely different store than the one I frequented on the weekend!  The lights seemed brighter, the employees more relaxed, and the shelves were all stocked to capacity!  You could even here the soft music playing in the background.  I was immediately intrigued.  What had I been missing out on??  I decided to explore further.

As I wondered aimlessly around the store, I realized that the store seemed to be completely filled with stay at home moms or  sahm as mommy blogs everywhere have deemed them. Now my interest was completely piqued.  What would it be like as a stay at home mom to visit target during the week?  I decided I would investigate.  I found that the moms seemed to fit into one of three categories.

#1- The New Mom-  This mom enters the store with a baby in a stroller or in a bjorn.  There are circles under her eyes and a cheerio in her hair.  She is still wearing her maternity sweats because either she can’t quite fit into her old ones or has just decided these are the most comfortable things ever.  She really isn’t there to buy anything so you tend to find this mom wondering towards the front of the store. She just needed to get out of the house.  Her baby was up multiple times during the night and her toddler has been watching Dora the Explorer for five straight hours and she is starting to forget that boots use to be stylish things she wore when she went out on Friday nights rather than some stupid purple monkey from Brazil.  She is hoping that a trip to Target will wear everyone out so that she might possibly get a nap or a shower after lunch, something she hasn’t had time for in the last several days.  I want to go and give this mom a hug.  I was this mom when I stayed home with my boys for their first few months.  I wanted to tell her it would get easier and that one day she would sleep and shower on a regular basis.  (But the maternity sweats are still super comfy!)

#2- The Mercedes Mom –  Our Target boarders an extremely wealthy part of town.  These moms show up with their Bugaboo strollers in their extra small Lululemon’s.  Their hair is smoothly up in a high perfect pony and their makeup flawless as they casually sip their no fat skinny lattes.  You find these moms in the organic food section.  Later, after their kale salad, they will drop the baby off with the nanny and head to their Spinning/Pilates fusion workout with their personal trainer Ghi.  I sigh a bit at this mom.  I know money won’t buy me happiness but extra small Lulu’s might!

#3- The Soccer Mom-  This mom has made the big time!  She has put in her time at home and now that last little one has finally entered Kindergarten!  She is free!!  This mom is either dressed in sensible workout gear from her Yoga session at the Y, or nicely dressed because she in now free to meet friends for lunch at places that don’t serve chicken fingers.  I found a lot of these moms in the home decor section.  They finally have the time to scrape the dried yogurt off the couch and may as well spruce up the place while they are at it.  Her buggy is full of picture frames and throw pillows.  She is thoroughly enjoying her quiet morning before a crazy afternoon of ballet lessons and soccer games.

As I left that day with my $250 receipt (I swear I  just went to buy toilet paper!), I let out a long sigh.  I would return Sunday and fight another mom over the last lunchable like it was the last toy on Christmas Eve.  I would stand in long lines and read OK! magazine for the latest divorce and pregnancy rumors while I waited.  And as I walked to the car, I would glance back and whisper “Someday weekday Target, someday”.