I am...

Dear parent,

I am a therapist.

I am not a fairy godmother. I cannot wave my magic wand and fix your child or your problems. I have no fairy dust to blow in your child's face that will change their behavior, though I have some glitter in my purse if you want to give it a shot.

I am a therapist.

I am not a genie. If you have wishes, I am glad to hear them, but I work in reality. I may cross my arms and blink, but only to make your child giggle. Real change takes hard work. And you need to be a part of that change. This is not a drive-through office. You sit, you stay, you talk. Good dog parent.

I am a therapist.

I am not God. I'm glad you give you some ideas to improve your circumstances, but I cannot change them. I cannot change who you are or who your child is. I cannot give you money or a job or motivation.

I am a therapist.

I am not the parent to your child. I cannot be the only adult in this relationship. Fighting with your child like a five year old will not improve things. Giving them whatever they want will not work either. Complaining to me won't change anything, but if it keeps you from saying nasty things to your child, by all means, go for it. It won't fix things, however. It takes hard work, from the entire family. Communication. Participation. Perseverance. Maturity. Patience. Love.

I am a therapist.

I am not perfect. I will make mistakes. I will not always have the answers. I am not an expert on your family. That's why we must work together. Sure, the world might be perfect if everyone would just do exactly as I say, but, as we've already discussed, I am not God, or magical in any way.

So please. Stop blaming me for your problems. I refuse to take credit for your failures, just as I refuse to take credit for your triumphs. That's all you. Your choices. Your responsibility. I gift it to you.

You're welcome.

Laughing through it

When I switched over to this blog from my old one, it was with the idea that I didn't want to focus on the negative things in life. I wanted to be able to find those happy things, those sweet gems of joy, that many of us pass over or take for granted. After all, most people who can read this have numerous blessings in their lives. I think we all just have a hard time seeing those blessings at times. It's not just that we can't see through the storm to the sunshine ahead, but we can't see the ways we're protected through the storm, with our shiny rain slicker and stylish galoshes. All we see is the rain.

There are times when it's hard to laugh. Really, really hard. This has been a rough week in my world. Last Sunday, the pastor at my church announced that our season of being an organized church had passed, and this Sunday will be our final service together. As some of you can imagine, this was met by a collective gasp throughout the congregation, and plenty of tears. After the service, we practiced the art of the "long hug," clinging to each other and whispering words of comfort. To an outsider, this may have seemed odd. To those who have few connections at their church, it may seem like not a very big deal. Find a new church. They're pretty much all the same, right? Yay, Jesus!

Let me tell you a little about my church.

I wasn't always so connected with my church. I started attending about four years ago. At that time we were meeting at the Historical Building in downtown Des Moines. I liked the music, I liked the teaching, but I could not seem to really make connections. Thank God (literally) for my pastor and his wife. They made me feel welcome, would seek me out to check in, would call if I had been absent for a few weeks. Though few others made the effort, the love and kindness that I was shown by those two was enough to keep me coming (semi)regularly for three and a half years. Now, in that time I also attempted to join groups that were available, attended retreats, even inquired about singing on the praise band, but they were always dead ends. For some reason, at that time, I was not encountering people craving connection as I was. During my first three years, I was probably a bit depressed in general, so that didn't help my view of the world or my efforts at becoming an integrated part of the church.

A year ago, I was approached by a woman who I had heard sing in our church several times. She had a beautifully soulful voice, and I always looked forward to hearing her. She had been sitting behind me in church, walked up to me after church, and quite bluntly asked, "Do you sing?" Later, she told me that she was so embarrassed to ask a question like that, but had felt like she needed to. Somehow, sitting behind me, she had heard me singing during worship. I confirmed that, yes, I do sing, usually in the shower, but sometimes in public. She asked if I would sing with her sometime, I said yes, and that was the end of it.

Fast forward a couple months, and the pastor's wife is talking about doing a retreat for the teen girls in the church. She asked if I would be interested in helping, and suggested that I talk to the singing lady about helping with leading some songs. So I did. And we did. And it was amazing. And that's where it began. Soon after, I was contacted by the worship leader and began singing a couple times a month with the praise band. My confidence grew. I continued working with the teen girls, and met several more people. I started approaching people at church, instead of waiting for them to approach me. It helped that people started to recognize me, something that really hadn't happened in the three previous years (it's a little sad when you have been attending somewhere for a long time and people ask if it's your first Sunday).

Suddenly I was talking with the pastor's wife about reviving the women's ministry and co-leading the group. I was building connections left and right, and I realized that this church, these people, were my family. They were more supportive than some of my family, for sure (except my parents, who are A+MAZING). This was a group I could count on to check in on me, to really care about what was going on in my life, and how I was doing with it. People who raised me up and affirmed me and helped me to really see what a glorious creation of God that I am. (Did I mention the boost in confidence?)

Then came the switch. Last November, it all seemed to be crumbling. We were talking about closing. Attendance was down, participation was downer (yes, I'm using that right), and we couldn't sustain at the rate we were going. After meetings and talking and lots and lots of praying, the decision was made to stay open and work on growing our church. After all, as the best church in Des Moines, we should have been bursting at the seams. We hired a consultant, who gave us specific areas to work on. We moved locations, since rent was a major barrier in the financial health of the church. All seemed to be going well, which brings us to last Sunday.

I don't pretend to know what happened, to really understand all the nuances behind such a tremendously huge decision. I have talked to a few people, and in some ways I get why. The goal of the church was never to continue to exist as an organization at any cost. Growing up in a pastor's family, I understand the stress and tension placed on that position, and that trying to hold on to something that keeps trying to slip away, while also juggling everyone else's problems and ideas, is incredibly exhausting.

So we're closing. And I'm devastated. Heart-broken. Confused. Angry. Hopeful.

Wait. What?

Hopeful.

Despite this current darkness, the future is bright. God's got us covered. The lessons we learned, the philosophy of grace and love no matter what, can now be spread out wherever we go. Ripples in a pond. We won't all end up in the same place. And that's a good thing. Really, it is. There are so many churches in the area with plenty of money and not even close to the passion of my church. We now have the opportunity to infuse some of that passion into those churches. We have the opportunity to share the gifts we honed. And family doesn't go away. Though we're not connected by blood, my church family will find ways to stay connected. Because it's important. We will continue to support each other, to learn from each other, to affirm each other. We will always be a church, but in a different way. The name of my church is re-church...I like to think of this next stage as another way of radically REthinking church.

I don't pretend to understand what everyone is going through. We each have our own ways of reacting to tragedy. Though it may seem small to some, this is my current tragedy. But it is also an opportunity to choose happiness. To choose hope. To see beyond the storm and the rain in my eyes, and realize that the sun is coming, and, if I'm lucky, a beautiful rainbow right along with it. Above all, as ever, this is my opportunity to...

Laugh on.

Escape

I've done it again. I have packed my life to bursting with things to do, people to see, jobs to accomplish. It seems like everything always seems to line up to happen at the same time. My busiest times at my day job line up with the time I have agreed to teach a class, those people I haven't spoken to in months come out of the woodwork and want to get together, another women's Bible/book study at church starts up... So I end up behind at work, procrastinating working on my class nonstop the rest of the time, sneaking in socializing when I should be working, and neglecting my women's group duties. (Thankfully I have an understanding partner in the women's group leading!) As the paperwork piles up, the extra meetings and letters and phone calls suck up my time, the weeks of class keep coming...it starts to get a bit overwhelming...

A couple of weeks ago, I had had enough. I was on the edge of a mental breakdown. So Tuesday after work I drove to the movie theater for their super bargain matinees. Cheap movie, cheap popcorn and pop.

And it was the best decision I could have made for myself.

I wrestled with myself over it, knowing that I should be going home and grading papers or staying late at work to catch up on paperwork, but I can't even describe how many millions of times better I felt after allowing myself to escape for a couple of hours. Yes, I had to return to reality, but it was with a lighter heart and more energy than I had before the break.

Thus, Cinema Tuesdays were born. It's only been a few weeks, but I love it. It doesn't matter what I see. Allowing myself those couple of hours in a dark theater has helped me to calm my anxieties, and sometimes get out those emotions I don't have time to deal with. (The first week, I bawled during one of the scenes...it was very cathartic!)

My apartment is still a pit. My car looks like a hobo lives in it. I eat out way more than I should. But I only have one week of class left. Then I can shovel out my apartment, declutter my living space and my car, go to the store and actually start cooking again, and, best of all, start writing again! I have a lot of catching up at work to do as well. But I'll get there. I found my escape. Have you found yours?

Laugh on :)

Unprepared

I know I should have been prepared. It happens every time. But I just pretend it's not going to happen. I pretend that it won't hurt as bad. I pretend that it's no big deal.

It is a big deal.

As I was sitting there, I was thinking about what I could have done to prevent the pain. Then I moved to thinking about what I could do to stop the pain. Violence was considered. A sound punch to the jaw might have done the trick. My hands clenched as the violent compulsion rushed through me.

Just a little longer, I told myself. It'll be over soon. I could taste the blood.

When I thought I couldn't take it any longer, the dental hygienist finally leaned back and flipped off the glaring spotlight.

"See you in three months for your next cleaning!"

Can't wait.

Choices

As I wrote my entry yesterday, I was clearly frustrated and feeling slightly overwhelmed. I think that's why I forgot something that I had meant to share. Something that I found fairly significant, at least for me.

At the school I have the privilege to work in, I see daily examples of people doing things that I consider "above and beyond." When I mentioned this to the principal, she just replied, humbly, "I don't consider it going above and beyond. I consider it doing my job. I don't want any obstacles to get in the way of these families getting the chance they need." Inspirational in and of itself.

Taking this philosophy to heart, I offered to accompany the principal to the hospital to meet with a parent to sign intake paperwork. The parent is quite ill, and the kid is having a rough go of it and needs help. As we boarded the elevator, a tall man, just a bit older than myself, joined us. He grinned and said, "How are you all doing today?" We murmured that we were doing well, then the principal politely returned the question. Without hesitation, this cheerful man said, "I'm really good. In fact, I'm great every day. Life is a choice!" With that, we were at our stop, and parted ways.

As I donned my surgical mask to enter the parent's room, it stuck in my mind. Life IS a choice. We will all have struggles. Things will not always go our way. But in the midst of all that, we can CHOOSE to find joy and laughter. We can CHOOSE to focus on the positive things.

The parent I was meeting with to sign paperwork had just had a treatment. She was clearly in pain and exhausted, but insisted on doing every bit of the intake, including the long comprehensive interview/history, even when I offered to complete it with another family member instead. She CHOSE to work through the pain and exhaustion for the love of her child, and the hope that her child would get the needed help.

Some days, I know I don't choose to be happy. Some days, I choose to wallow in my own self pity, thinking of the things I don't have, drowning in unfulfilled wishes and impossible dreams. But I am determined now to find things every day to be thankful for, to be happy about, to laugh at. Because without laughter and joy, life is empty. And I choose a full life.

Laugh on.

Laugh or cry

Ugh.

That's all I have to say about this day and this week. Let's recap, shall we?

. My computer won't charge anymore. It's been sent to the computer doc at a total cost of probably my firstborn child.

.My car sometimes decides not to start, it squeaks, and at times I'm sure the engine is going to fail. I can't really afford to even get it checked out.

.I have been working extra hours to try to keep afloat at work, and dealing with suicidal kids and uncooperative adults is no cup of tea.

.I got a call from my apartment management saying there is a leak right below my apartment. Everything was fine when I left this morning, but I am dreading hearing what happened. Plus, my apartment is a pit, so I am mortified that someone will be in there. I just hope I didn't leave any unmentionables hanging around. I am sitting here stewing because I don't have time to run home and check on things.

.When I finally made it to the bathroom after a morning of rushing around, I discovered that my eyeliner had been masquerading as eye shadow (all over my eyelid) for who knows how long, and I was developing a lovely stress zit on my chin. Wonder why.

But...

At least I have access to a computer and therefore access to communication and the world. I have a computer at work and a phone with internet access, so I'm not cut off. And while I will have to put the repair on my credit card, I have a stable job that allows me to pay a little at a time.

At least I have a car, a mode of transportation. I use it to get to the above-mentioned stable job and all over to see friends and do the essential errands of everyday life. Eventually I will be able to bring it to be checked out, and when I do, I will figure out a way to pay for that little by little as well.

At least my job is busy enough that I am not in any danger of being fired or moved elsewhere. I have a good relationship with the people I work with, and my clients trust me to bring up really difficult stuff to talk through in therapy. I am making a difference.

At least my apartment management is on top of maintenance problems. I'm sure they've seen much worse messes than what is left in my apartment. If there is a major problem, they will fix it at no cost to me. There aren't many perks to living in an apartment, but that is definitely one of them.

At least I have a fabulous support system, friends and family who are there to listen to me moan about my first world problems, or to step in and help me out when the situation calls for it.

At least I am healthy. I did an intake in the hospital this morning with a parent who is very very sick. My family and friends are relatively healthy as well. Many families cannot say the same.

At least I have clean drinking water and clothes, a place to call my home and plenty of extra conveniences that I often take for granted.

At least I know that I will have a warm and comfy place to sleep tonight, and people to take me in if anything happens to the shelter I am able to provide myself.

At least I was able to eat lunch, even a quick cheeseburger in the car between running paperwork downtown and coming back to my busy afternoon.

At least I have my faith. I know that God will be with me no matter what. To some this may seem like a crutch, but for me, it is an opportunity to admit my weakness and find true strength.

Even when things seem to pile up, at least I know they will get better. And I will always find a reason to laugh.

Laugh on.

Let's go to the movies

Several times over the past few weeks it has come up in conversation that one of my favorite things to do is go to the movies by myself. The typical reaction I get when I announce this is one of disbelief. "You go to the movies alone??" people gasp, hands on their hearts as if I've told them I like to watch babies sumo wrestle. What baffles them even more is that I enjoy doing so.

In reality, going to the movies is one of the best solo activities I can think of. It's not like you can do a lot of socializing in a darkened theater anyway. When I go, I can see whatever I want, be as early or as late as I choose, and get that extra butter on the popcorn without judgment from anyone but the girl behind the candy counter.

When I went to college, I was unable to do anything by myself. If I had to run to the store, I would wander up and down the dorm halls, asking if anyone wanted to come with me. I needed someone to come and eat with me at the cafeteria, and forget about attending any sort of social event alone. I needed other people to be my crutches, to help me avoid being painfully awkward in public places.

As I got older and went to grad school, I was forced into doing more and more things alone. To my surprise, I realized that I actually really liked doing things solo. When I worked in other towns doing home-based therapy, I had to go to restaurants and eat by myself, or sit in my car and do so. I much preferred being a warm restaurant in the middle of winter to sitting in my car wasting gas and risking a major spill. Going to the store is much more convenient when I only have to worry about my own purchases. I can get in and out quickly. And finally, I have found that doing recreational activities by myself can be as enjoyable as doing them in a group.

Don't get me wrong, I love my friends, and I love being social. However, I think that my ability to do things on my own has helped me to be a better friend and more confident in social situations. I no long lean on my friends, but stand strong on my own. I don't depend on others to keep me from being awkward, but accept that my awkwardness is part of me, and can even be somewhat charming and endearing to others. I think I fall firmly in the middle of the introvert/extrovert continuum, gaining energy from both group and solo activities.

I'm an independent woman. And proud of it. And if you don't do things on your own...give it a shot! You might like it :)

Laugh on!

Who wins?

I have this friend, and she was asking my advice about a troubling situation in her workplace. The boss is quitting, and there are two internal applicants for the position. HR wants the input of employees as to who they should hire, to make sure that the new boss with match with the majority of workers. The two candidates have very different agendas. It doesn't matter what the agendas are, but just know that they are pretty much polar opposite. About the only thing they have in common is that they want to be in charge, and they want the company to be powerful and prosperous.

In an effort to swing employees, each candidate for the position has been going from office to office, cube to cube, talking to people to get a feel for what they want in a boss. What my friend has noticed, however, is that the candidate's position changes with each person they speak with. They seem to emphasize whatever the person is looking for. The most troubling part, however, is that the majority of their talks with the employees seems to center around bashing the other candidate. They point out mistakes that the other person has made in the job, times when their projects didn't turn out exactly right. In fact, both candidates are focusing their own campaigns for the job on what the other person is doing, or has done, wrong. They send out emails with pictures of the other in compromising positions, and spread rumors and gossip like wildfire.

Does this seem unethical to anyone else? I'm not sure someone who uses those sorts of tactics even deserves to be in a position of leadership.



Okay, you got me. I totally made that up. But I have to wonder...if the tactics used in the Presidential campaign were used in a business so overtly, what kind of environment would that be to work in? And, even scarier, how often are those tactics actually used on the sly? It's a weird world we live in. Which is why, despite the rampantly negative political campaigns going on right now (thank goodness for the mute button), I still choose to...

Laugh on :)

Crashing to earth

Wow, what a depressing title! What emo kid came up with that one? Yeesh...

So it's been almost a week since I finished my novel and blogged triumphantly about its completion. Songs were sung, feasts were had, accolades were proclaimed (by me, for me). I even kept the momentum going by immediately beginning my next project. I am already 27 Word pages into a brand new story. I sent my first novel off to a batch of amazing friends who agreed to test read for me and give suggestions. Now I just sit back and wait for revisions, right?

But then what?

Today I was supposed to be cleaning cleaning cleaning. My cousin is coming to stay for a week, and she would probably appreciate a spot to sleep and a clean bathroom. Instead, I found myself exploring the world of finding a literary agent. I have been told again and again how hard it is to become published. That I should consider self-publishing as an ebook, which is not out of the question. But I really want to try the old-fashioned route first. I have tried to remain optimistic, saying that if I don't try, then I definitely won't be published! Which is true. But...

This is freaking scary! Everything I read and research tells me over and over that getting published is a numbers game. Of course, if you do your research, find an agent that has worked in the genre, write a professional and clever query letter, your odds increase. But still, agents receive tens of thousands of query letters a year! How do I compete? And even if I get a partial manuscript request, there is no guarantee. And mostly it's a waiting game. Putting my dreams in someone else's hands. Giving them the ability to crush them.

Okay, getting dramatic here.

Here's the thing. I have been fairly successful in my life. I'm happy, in general, with how things have gone. I did well in school, got my master's degree. I'm working in a job I love (most days). I'm even trying my hand at teaching a college class starting in a month. I won't say any of those things came easily, because I have worked hard, but everything I've done up until this point was safe. Safe because I knew I could succeed. Safe because my ability to succeed was in my hands and no one else's. Safe because while I have enjoyed what I'm doing, nothing I've yet accomplished could necessarily be considered my "dream."

And now there's this writing thing. A dream I have held close to my heart for a long time. A dream that I procrastinated over and over for fear of failing. Writing, being published, being able to share my stories with scores of people, that is a Dream with a capital D. Something I have longed for since writing about Jenny the Tooth in third grade. The scariest part is that this Dream, this sacred thing that means the most, is the one thing that I am going to try that may realistically never come true.

Oh sure, I joke about being on the New York Times Bestseller list, and making my books into movies, but realistically things like that don't happen to just anybody. I'd like to think that my writing is good enough for that, but there are hundreds, probably thousands of others out there with just as much, or more, ability, all headed for the same goal.

I plan to continue to dream big. I hope that I can navigate these waters and deal with whatever rejection and difficulty comes my way. I know that I will be discouraged, and that's where you, my friends, come in. You don't need to tell me that I will definitely make it as a writer. I know that's not true, and unless you have developed phenomenal cosmic powers of future telling, you can't say that it's true either. All I need is support and encouragement. And maybe a friend to cry over ice cream with from time to time ;)

Laugh on, and keep dreaming!

What a novel idea

Three years ago, at 12 am, November 1, 2009, I wrote the first word of my novel. Tonight, at about 9:45 pm, July 24, 2012, I wrote the final word of the first draft. Yikes, that's a long process! I wrote 50,000 words in that first month as part of NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month. Aspiring writers from all over the country band together to make the 50,000 word goal, which is a short novel or a pretty good start on a longer one.

So it took me 30 days to write the first 50,000 words. And almost 3 years to write the last 31,000. I have issues.

Writing is an interesting thing for me. I love it. I really do. I love coming up with just the right word to convey an idea. I love painting a picture, setting a scene. But I'm also a procrastinator. I can sit and think about my novel for hours, but when it comes to actually getting the words down, I stink.

I have always been a writer. When I was in 3rd grade, I won a writing contest for the state of Iowa for my story about a wayward, cognizant tooth named Jenny. I wish I had kept all my writings, because I can think of many short stories I've written that I'd like to revisit. This novel that I just finished wasn't even my first start on a novel. I have several starts, one pretty decent one.

I don't know why I can't seem to get things down. All those stories running around in my head. And as I got closer to finishing, it got even harder. Plus, I would spend time psychoanalyzing why it was so hard for me to sit down and finish my novel. Because the hardest part is yet to come. Letting people read it, revising, rewriting, and (gulp!) possibly trying to get published! Preparing for criticism and rejection after baring a very private part of myself.

I guess this is what strippers feel like.

;)

Anyway, I am super excited about the prospect of being rejected by a bunch of publishers ;) Right now I have a good group of people test reading for me. Hopefully they'll be honest about whether it's even worthy of trying to be published. But no matter what happens, I'm pretty sure I can add "novelist" to my career list. As long as one person reads it, it counts.

Even if it's just my mom.

Laugh on :)

R-E-S-P-E-C-T: What it means to me

Now that the title of this blog has put some good background music in your head, let's talk a little bit (just a little bit, uh, just a little bit) about the lost art of showing respect.

I have one of those jobs where I go to work every day pretty much expecting to be disrespected. I mean, hello, I work with kids. Chances are, at some point throughout the day, they're going to be disrespectful. I accept it, because part of my job is teaching the kids how to be more respectful. I'm not even going to say it's all parents' fault that their kids don't know how to show respect either, because that would be generalizing, and kids learn a lot of it from their peers and society as well. Plus, they're kids. It's what they do. They're stubborn, obstinate, oppositional, and terrific.

What I can't get over sometimes is the parents that show little respect. Seriously. I shouldn't just expect that certain parents won't follow through. They should know better! Every day this summer I have wasted time sitting around in my office, waiting for people to show up for scheduled therapy sessions, twiddling my thumbs and wondering what I could have done differently to get people to come.Blaming myself for not being worthy of their respect. While I was on vacation, apparently one of my clients came in with their parent, not realizing that I wasn't there. The client had only shown up one time previously during the summer, and not for several weeks. Their comment? "She could have called to tell us she was going on vacation!"

Uh.

Perhaps if they'd come to sessions in the couple of weeks before my vacation, or even done me the courtesy of calling me, I might have thought to call and let them know, as I did with all my regular clients. It seems to be on everyone else's agenda with so many people, not just my clients. We are so ego-centric that we forget that other people are actually people, with their own lives, own thoughts, own agendas.

This has been a pattern throughout history, but it seems like it's gotten worse with technology and the internet. We no longer need to be face to face with someone to spew vitriol in their direction. We don't need to deal with the aftereffects of what we say, because we can simply turn off the computer after completely shattering the self-esteem of someone half a world away. We go through our lives "interacting," with people, but not really as people. We treat others as if they are simply vessels to help us get to the next thing on our agenda. The store clerk who has been having a rough day is moving too slowly for us, and needs to be put in her place. The person driving slowly on the interstate because of car trouble slows us down, earning honking and vulgar gestures. The person honking and waving their middle finger at us on the road because they are terribly unhappy in their own life is the focus of sulfuric thoughts and potentially dangerous impulses.

I am guilty of many of these things, and have lately been making a concerted effort to truly interact with people, and to brighten their day if possible. Can you think of a time when someone took a genuine interest in you? When a complete stranger sincerely wished you a good day? How did you feel? Lighter? More peaceful? I know that's how it affects me.

It is exhausting, sometimes, to be the light instead of spreading darkness. When people who have mistreated me turn it around and try to play the victim, it is difficult for me to hold back from trying to shoot laser beams from my eyes at them. But instead, I must take a deep breath and interact with them with love and respect, even if I don't receive either of those things in return. I know I will make no progress fighting disrespect by giving it back, but there is a chance that if I turn on the charm and sweetness, people will be surprised into returning the gestures, and hopefully with enough practice it will become habit for them as well. Cross your fingers for me, friends, because it's certainly a bumpy ride!

Laugh on.

Perspective

Last night I went on a road trip with my sister and brother in law to pick up my nieces from my brother's house. It was a spur of the moment decision to go and spend 3+ hours in the car just for the joy of spending an hour or two with my family. I hugged two month old, Brinn, spent most of the night with 4 year old Siri in my lap or my arms or hanging on me in some way, joked around with 6 (almost 7!) year old Lyle, and danced with 4 (almost 5!) year old Allie and 7 year old Maddy. Cutest kids in the world.

On the way home, my mind was occupied with little things. My nieces and nephew are always devising ways to marry me off, and talking about wanting more cousins. My brother in law had heard about this new dating site, Geek to Geek, and he and my sister were encouraging me to give it a shot, despite my less than stellar attitude towards online dating. So I went home, filled out the info, and looked through tons of profiles of guys that just weren't "quite right." I am extremely picky and unwilling to settle. Despairingly, I texted my sister that this was stupid and would never work, and she reminded me that I didn't have to find a bunch of guys, just one. I went to sleep praying for that one guy, or for continued peace in my single status.

I woke up to the horrific news of a shooting at a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises in Aurora, Colorado. A man dressed in riot gear came into the theater, threw tear gas, and started shooting about 30 minutes into the movie. At least 12-14 are reported dead already, and over 50 wounded, including a child as young as 6 years old. This is why I don't watch the news. Normally I can absorb terrible news like this, think about how sad it is, and move on with my day. Today I cannot. Waiting for a client this morning, I looked up some of the news stories, and I was actually grateful that the client did not show, since they would have found me in my office with tears streaming down my face. What kind of world do we live in where someone would even CONSIDER such an act of violence, let alone carry it out? This was clearly premediated, and took plenty of planning. At any point did this guy consider what this would mean for himself, his family, his victims, or the millions of others who are surely at the very least emotionally affected by this? And did he hope for that? Hope to go down in history as SOMETHING, even a villain?

I can't answer the why. I wish I could. I work with terrible situations daily, with people who make choices that don't seem to make sense. That won't turn out well for anyone involved. And I still have no answers. I have no insight. Just a sad, hollow pit in my stomach.

I keep thinking of the victims. Those who probably planned for months for this movie, who were SO EXCITED to finally be there. There is a unique atmosphere to midnight screenings of movies, almost addictive, a palpable excitement that stays with you. I'm sure there were also those who hadn't been sure of their decision, who were thinking of being so tired at work the next day, who came for their friends or simply for the experience, to say they had. So many different reasons to gather.

What now? Will those victims be able to attend a midnight showing again? Go to a movie theater at all? Watch that movie without reliving the horror? Some will, some will not. I wish I had the answers. I wish there was an easy answer to smooth things over, to take away the pain of such a senseless act.

Last night I was focused on two different things. One was family. I almost didn't go with to my brother's house. I almost decided that sitting at home in front of my computer, watching old episodes of Are You Afraid of the Dark? was more important than precious moments with my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephew. I think I made the right choice to go. I created special memories. But this also puts some things in perspective. Why waste so much time thinking about what I DON'T have? Why spend time worrying about what life will be like if I never get married? It will be as wonderful as it is now. I am so blessed. It could all end tomorrow.

What are you focused on? Is it adding to your life, or just contributing to your habit of existing?

Life is too short.

Weirdness Revolution

Every Wednesday after work, my friend Nicole and I go and walk a two mile loop at Gray's Lake in Des Moines. It's a pretty easy trail, and it makes us feel like we're doing some exercise, which is always good ;) It also gives us a chance to de-stress with all the craziness of our job.

Depending on the day, it can be very busy or fairly quiet at Gray's Lake. No matter how many people are around, it's always entertaining to people watch. From the hardcore runners who pass us 4 times on our loop to the elderly couples strolling hand in hand to the random flirty landscape worker, there is always someone to observe.

And there are always the people who don't fit into any "generic" mold. The ones who march to the beat of their own drummer. I'm not talking about the groups of goth kids playing hacky-sack by the path. I'm talking about the lady who had her iPod in and would stop every few feet to shake her booty. I mean, REALLY shake it! She was gettin' down on the path, not worried about who else was around, just into the music. I'm talking about the man who was running and singing quite loudly. He didn't care that his voice was breathy from exertion or off-key. He didn't care that everyone did a double take to see if that runner was actually the one singing. He just sang. I don't know the reason. Maybe exercise sucks so bad that he was desperate to take his mind off it. Maybe he was so joyful to be out in the fresh air that he just couldn't contain it.

Whatever the reason, people like that make me smile. They make me realize that everything doesn't have to be taken so seriously. Those people will probably never see me again, so who cares if they  make fools of themselves? And who is to say they're being foolish at all?

I doubt I will ever have the audacity to be so "out there" in public. I don't like to be noticed. Sure, I'm a little weird around friends, but it's a whole different ballgame to be weird in public. I aspire to public weirdness. To show the world that I don't have to conform to be happy. To sing and dance down a walking path, no matter who may see me. Who knows? Maybe others will join in ;)

This is a video that was shown in a training last week. It shows someone who definitely marches to the beat of his own drummer. Yes, he's weird. But weirdness can start a movement...




Laugh on, friends!

Hello Russia!

Blogger surprised me this morning when I went in for my daily peek at my blog list. Brand spankin new look. It's so fancy! What's really fun though, is the features that let you see not only how many page views you've had, but also where your page views are coming from. Not surprisingly, many of my page views come from the US. Even Alaska. But what's really awesome is that, for some reason, there are twice as many page views from someplace else...

Russia.

What???

I know. So random, but cool.

Now, I know that I haven't been making regular postings here. I don't know why. It's not that I don't have lots to laugh about. I work with kids every day for goodness sakes.

I think I lack motivation. I am easily distracted, and sitting down to write one coherent post seems like a lot of work when I could be doing something like playing Mahjong. Or reading one of the hundreds of books on my Kindle. Or, you know, sleeping. I am a woman of many interests. It's okay to be jealous.

So here I am. Trying again. I am going to make a concerted effort to keep my blog at least decently updated. I won't promise all my entries will be rolling-on-the-floor-laughing-until-your-head-explodes funny, but I promise they will be here. For a while. And if (when) I disappear again, know that I always come back.

Probably.

Nostalgic musing

It's Christmas Eve, and inevitably, as family gathers and conversation flows, memories float to the surface and bubble out in stories. They are the same stories we tell every year. Some details change from year to year, or depending on the person telling the story, but the spirit of the stories is the same. It's all about reliving those years gone by, which seem even better the further past them we get.

I know I have shared my favorite childhood Christmas tradition before, but this year it seems especially dear to me as I hear from friend after friend that they are considering doing away with Santa for their children. It's deceitful, they say, and I don't want some strange fat man to get the credit for the presents I bought for my kids. And to that I say...seriously? I don't remember really ever believing in Santa, so maybe I don't have a fair perspective. My sister told me when I was very young that Santa was not real, but I don't remember being all that upset.

Not believing didn't stop my siblings and I from having what we term "Santa drills." We all remember things slightly differently, but this is what I remember. Starting probably in early December, my brother, Ben, would begin calling "meetings." My sister, Emily, was to take notes on the meetings, so we wouldn't forget what we discussed, of course. After these meetings, we progressed to the actual drills. Now, the rule at my house was that we were not allowed to check our stockings until after 1am. So the main purpose of our drills was to make sure that we could find the quietest route downstairs so we didn't wake our parents with our mid-night wanderings. Emily and I would go to our room and feign sleep, and my brother would creep in and "wake" us. We would find the least creaky floorboards and only place our feet on the outside of the stairs, where they made little noise. We would do this time and again until it was perfect, at least according to Ben's standards. When the big event came, we were a well-oiled machine, and we would sneak stealthily (in my eyes) down and silently exclaim over the treasures left in our stockings. Our excitement temporarily satisfied, we would go back to bed and sleep until we were allowed to wake our parents at 6am. It wasn't until years later that Ben confessed to Emily and me and he used to sneak down before waking us and go through all our stockings to see what we got. Big brothers...

Tonight, as we were were talking over a delicious feast of lasagna, I made some confessions of my own. You see, my own personal Christmas tradition was to always find the stash of Christmas presents. Even back then I was employing my ninja skills, as I would usually need to sneak into my parents' bedroom to do my searching. The presents were usually in the closet, and I would climb back as far as I could go and search through the pile in the dark. One year my sister got a "teacher stool," and I would go sit on it in the dark regularly in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Tonight I recalled one time when I was in the midst of searching when my parents came into their room. I was so deep in the closet, they had no idea I was there, and I froze like a frightened bunny. My dad reached into the closet to change clothes, and still I remained invisible to them. I stayed that way for several minutes after they vacated the room, just in case. Tonight they learned for the first time that I was there, when I stopped giggling long enough to tell them. Of course, there was always the old-fashioned ways of finding out the gifts too...shaking the presents, or peeking through the keyhole when my mom shut herself in her room to wrap the presents.

It has been fun watching my nieces and nephew create their own Christmas memories, their own stories that, twenty years from now, they will be laughing about with their families over Christmas Eve dinner. As much as things change, they still seem to stay the same.

Merry Christmas to all of you, and may your holidays be blessed and full of love.

Laugh on, friends :)

Texting with Daddykins

Today I was texting with my friend Nik, and she was having some difficulties with pain in her back and hips. I, being the generous soul I am, offered many suggestions, such as acupuncture or a faith healing by the Pope. Nik told me that the Pope was creepy, and I realized he is probably pretty busy around this time of year, so I offered my dad's services instead. After all, he is an ordained minister, which is almost like being the Pope. Plus, I decided a few months ago that any water taken from a pastor's house is holy water, so it would be readily available to Dad/Pope. That's how the following conversation started. Now, my family knows me pretty well, so it only fazes them a little when they get texts like this from me. But seeing my dad's responses, you can understand where I get my sense of humor...

ME: On your way out of town, could you stop and sprinkle Nik with some holy water from your house? And wear your beekeeper suit so you look kinda like the Pope?

DAD: What??????????

ME: Well, her back and hips really hurt, and she needs healing, but she thinks the real Pope is creepy, and he's probably pretty busy around this time of year anyway, so we thought you could stand in.

DAD: Can I drive the Pope mobile? BTW can I wear jeans to worship at your church? (he is easily distracted just like me!)

ME: No jeans. We are a kilt church. Or you can wear your Pope suit. But I'm not sure I can get the Pope mobile for you.

DAD: Black pulpit robe?

ME: Yes, I think that would be lovely. And your beekeeper hat.

DAD: And my knee high rubber beekeeper's boots?

ME: That would be awesome. But be careful...you don't want to steal ALL the attention with your snazzy outfit.


And that's where I get my sense of humor. And my fashion sense.

Laugh on!

Thank you, autocorrect.

Even though today is Friday, I was having an absolutely awful morning. Usually I love my job, but lately there has been one thing after another. I try to have a tough shell, not let things get to me, because I wouldn't be effective if I did. However, this morning I hit my max point, and felt like curling up under my desk in the fetal position and rocking gently for a few hours.

ANYWAY. This is not about my bad day. This is about how it was saved. Well, at least made a little brighter. I had been texting Nik, asking her stupid questions about sympathy pains, when I disappeared from the conversation for a while. When I came back, I did what all good friends do and unloaded all the crap that I was dealing with. Her response...well...it made me reevaluate my own troubles in view of her son Spencer's plight:

Photo by Nik, since my picture quality sucked.

Now, I had to read this once or twice. Bloodthirsty poo? Like a vampire? Or was this a hip new term for explosive diarrhea? When I figured out what happened, I couldn't stop giggling. Which was surprising, given the quality of my day. I seriously went back and read it about five times during the rest of the day. Oh autocorrect, you slay me.

Laugh on.

Like cheap origami

I saw this picture on Facebook tonight, and it immediately sent me back in time, specifically to my freshman year of high school. Do kids even do this anymore? I would spend my study halls, not working on homework, but writing detailed notes, sharing what happened in each class, with my closest friends in the form of a note. Of course, it wasn't enough just to write the note, you had to fold them fancy. There was always some new way to try to fold them, and that was half the fun.

Of course, my friends and I couldn't just do notes. Of course not. We actually evolved to a NOTEbook, in which we could write and pass to the next person to read. The notebook caused less drama, because you didn't dare put anything negative about a friend who was involved in the exchange, which was pretty much everybody in our little clique.

One of my favorite and most cringe-worthy memories of high school involves the notebook. I was ready to die of embarrassment at the time, but now I still giggle when I think about it. You see, our lockers were very close together, in rows, so there wasn't much room to maneuver as people jostled to get their things and make it into class before the bell. The notebook was in my possession, and it was one of the cheapo types, with the wire hanging off the end, not neatly bent over like those fancy Five-star notebooks. I stacked my books on top of my locker, shut the door, retrieved my books, and turned to leave. As I turned, the wire on the notebook, which was on top of the stack, got snagged on the jersey of the football player whose locker was next to mine. Mind you, this was a guy on whom my group and I had all had on and off crushes, and whose name appeared numerous times in the notebook that was now dangling from his sleeve. I tugged, and nothing. He just looked at me, but I couldn't meet his eyes, as I was busy turning red from the roots of my hair to my toes. "I...it's st-stuck," I stammered, in case he hadn't noticed, still tugging. I'm not sure how I managed to extricate the wire from those tiny jersey holes, all while balancing the rest of my books in one arm, but eventually I succeeded, turned, and dove into the suffocating crowd of people jammed into the locker area. I think he may have tried to say something, but the ringing in my ears would not allow for hearing, and my fight or flight response was fully in action. My friends awaited me outside the crowd, and I immediately collapsed into a fit of nervous giggles. It took me several minutes into study hall to tell them what happened.

I wish I could say that the next time I saw the football player, I had something cool and sophisticated to say, some snarky comment or joke, and that we became good friends who could laugh about the incident, but in reality, I just avoided eye contact for a week or a month or so. I was a wee bit shy.*

Isn't it funny how a picture of notes can bring back all sorts of memories, both good and bad? And some in between. That was the first of many incidents that occurred in that locker area...most of us had no padlocks on our lockers (they cost $5 to rent), so it wasn't unusual to find a random note or a nude picture taped to the inside or stuffed in a book. Or to find a padlock on your locker that you didn't pay for and which blocked your way into your locker.

Did you ever pass notes in high school or middle school? Were they fancy folded? What was the strangest thing you ever found in your locker? (Mine was either a gummy octopus or a picture of a naked man.) Oh youth...

Laugh on :)

*Understatement of the year

She handed me what?

Today I got the opportunity to spend some time with a dear friend from grad school, Kelly. I've known Kelly for...a little over four years, as she started her program a year after I started mine. We suffered through the anguish of papers and endless pages of reading, and I had the honor of standing as a bridesmaid in her wedding wearing a pretty dress. We don't get to see each other nearly enough, so when she was going to be in the area, I jumped at the chance to see her.

We are too cute!

Can you spot me?

Initially, our plan was to hang out at my place. However, the cleaning fairies are on strike, and wanting to feed Kelly's illusions of my perfection, I suggested that we meet at Panera instead. Good food, nice ambiance...seemed like the perfect plan!

I was running late as usual, but found Kelly and greeted her as I peeled off layers outer clothing meant to protect me from the harsh elements (but which really just make me bulkier than I already am). I hadn't even sat down when a lady toddled up to us and handed us each two business cards and a foil pouch containing something juicy. "Here you go, ladies," she said, as if we had been expecting her. "Errrm, thanks!" was our reply. I saw pink and flowers and was like, "Oh cute!" I figured it was Mary Kay and she had given us moisturizer or something.

Actually...no...

Pure Romance? Was she hitting on us? And...oh my...that foil packet definitely DID NOT contain moisturizer. "Arousal cream." I read aloud. "Is that for waking up in the morning?"

....Not quite...

I immediately took to Facebook to brag about my latest acquisition. I mean, really, how many people can say they have been gifted arousal cream in Panera? Only two that I know of.

It was clearly my lucky day, as an hour or so into our visit, the fire alarm and lights started going off, a piercing sound that tried to incapacitate my ear drums. The staff simply turned up the music and kept taking orders. Ten minutes later, the fire department showed up.

*Insert inappropriate joke regarding the firemen and my earlier gift*

The alarm ceased...for about 10 seconds. It went for another five minutes or so, and then quit again. This time for maybe a minute. Once again, the alarm screamed for five minutes, before finally being silenced for good.

Or so we thought.

Kelly and I had some good old fashioned PTSD, and kept looking at the alarms to make sure they weren't going to start blaring again. Just as we finally relaxed...ahhhh, there they were again! At this point I couldn't stop laughing. I told Kelly that the normal thing to do would be to leave...but that at this point I really just wanted to stay and see how it all turned out.

Thankfully, it was a happy ending, except the part where the firefighters left. I didn't even get to show them my arousal cream. My ears were ringing like they only can after a really good concert. All in all, a very good visit. Except...have you ever had to try and have a conversation with someone who is doing this?

Love you, Kelsers!

Laugh on!

Easy money

I went to spend the weekend with my parents a couple of weeks ago, and we went out for dinner for my mom's birthday. (She's 29, just ask her!) We had finished eating, and I was sucking up my second glass of Mountain Dew (sweet deliciousness). My dad started giving me a hard time about my "addiction" to pop, and talking about how much money and how many calories I could save if I gave it up. Meanwhile, he was enthusiastically downing a cup of after dinner coffee (...not to be confused with his before dinner coffee...or his midafternoon coffee...or his after lunch coffee...or his midmorning coffee...or his coffee with breakfast...). So I offered him a deal. I would quit drinking pop, cold turkey, if he would do the same for coffee. He had to think about it over night, but in the end, he said yes, and then raised the deal. He said he would give up BOTH coffee AND pop. I told him I would gladly give up coffee too, just so we were even. (Coffee tastes like a skunk's rear end.) The entire weekend he made a big deal about it, telling his house church as he wept over one of his "last cups" of coffee, and making sure my grandparents knew when we went for lunch that he was making the ultimate sacrifice. (And you wonder where I learned to be so dramatic.)

Skip ahead a week. No, not even a week. Like 4 days. I'm doing alright, actually didn't even really have headaches, just a little more tired than usual. MEANWHILE, I am getting reports of CHEATING on my dad's end! When I called him on it, he admitted to it, and then confessed that he was PLANNING to cheat again over the weekend! I KNOW! My dad then had the audacity to suggest that we actually include one day per weekend that we could have the "illegal" substance of our choice, to make the rest of the week easier. (By the way, did I mention that it was also his idea to cut out candy, along with pop and coffee?? He dreams big, I'll give him that...) So, that's all the background info. This is what transpired on Facebook over the next few days. (I'm only including comments pertinent to the discussion, although there were other comments as well.)

ME:
Dear Mr. Olsen,
Your request for a change in terms of your verbal agreement (i.e. promise) with your daughter has been received and reviewed. Unfortunately, it is the decision of this committee that under the terms of the original agreement (i.e. promise), the term review was already scheduled for Christmas, December 25, 2011. It is impossible at this time to move up a renegotiation of terms. Therefore, any consumption of coffee and/or other caffeinated coffee-like beverage will be regarded as cheating, and you will be ridiculed and/or shamed accordingly, until such time as the terms of the original agreement (i.e. promise) are up for renegotiation, on or following December 25, 2011. Thank you for your feedback, and we look forward to your continued input and participation.
Best regards,
The Committee for Renegotiation of Agreements and Promises (CRAP)

DAD:
As founder and supreme high mug holder of CLUCK ...Caffeine Lovers Underground Coffee Klatsch... I will need to consult with CLUCK lawyer I.M. Buzzed about my absolute parental rights to renegotiate all terms and promises.

ME:
Mr. Olsen,
It is incumbent upon me to inform you that as you and Miss Olsen were both adults at the time of the verbal agreement (i.e. promise), the parental role can not and will not be taken into account. We cannot, of course, make your decision for you, but please be advised that breach of this contract will be considered in an future agreements. Please consider your options carefully before bringing Mr. Buzzed into the picture.
Regards,
CRAP

OBSERVER: (woman my dad works with, also one of the whistle blowers to his cheating)
...As communications specialist and current student of ethics, I believe a revisit to the original document is necessary. If, indeed, the focus was to eliminate caffeine, then Rev Cluck was in violation. If the goal was to eliminate those items that are unnecessary for human function, then he was not in violation. One does have to be aware of the adverse effects of eliminating multiple agents at once. While it was a valiant effort to eliminate half of his daily intake of food and caloric count, it might have been more than he anticipated. Recognize too, that with increased age comes and increased chance of dementia and alzheimer's, which clouds judgment.

To summarize, both parties may need to reach a clarifying standpoint to assure that all are on the same page. If the situation continues to escalate, a third party mediator may be necessary to speak to the dispute. Until then, may this serve as notice that others are watching and taking note. Best regards in your future endeavor.

MOM:
The following is a message from the JUDGE!. After careful study of the information provided to me in the case of CRAP vs CLUCK, the following facts have been gathered: Whereas the Plaintiff, Rena Olsen (represented by CRAP) states that the original agreement was set to be renegotiated on December 25th; Whereas Rena Olsen has abided by the terms of said agreement; Whereas the Defendent, Tim Olsen (represented by CLUCK) states that he was not aware that Chai tea had caffeine in it; Whereas Tim Olsen freely admitted to the JUDGE that he did, however, willfully drink 2 caffeinated carbonated beverages and 3 cups of coffee;

The following judgement is rendered: As to the count of drinking Chai tea, the defendent is found NOT GUILTY. As to the 2 counts of drinking carbonated caffeinated beverages, the defendent is found GUILTY. As to the 3 counts of drinking coffee, the defendent is found GUILTY. It is the judgment of this court that the defendent shall pay the plaintiff $5 per incident, for a total judgment of $25 that the defendent owes the plaintiff.

...

And that's how I made $25.