Family

Not everything has to be perfect

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Not everything in life has to be perfect. Yes, I just said that. Some of you that know me might think of me more on the side of wanting things a certain way, and I do but not everything. There are some things that matter more than others. I can name a list of things that I could care less about, such as: which way the toilet paper goes (I am careful about it for Chris’ sake) or ironing clothes (I just choose never to iron anything). I could go on.

This past long, holiday weekend was relaxing. Sure we did a ton of stuff around the house, and mostly in the front and back yard, but all in the vein of taking care of our house. We noticed a shrub was looking shabby and almost 99% decided that we would take it out and plant peonies in its place. As we started to look at the shrub we realized that actually it just needed some TLC. We started to cut it back and found that much of the underside was dead or had dead limbs. We cut it back, and it is now starting to have a life of its own. We still do not know what kind of bush it is, but at the moment we are keeping it and seeing what a little love can do for it. The peonies have already been purchased, so they will go in front of the shrub or a new spot in the yard.

The To-Do list is a lot smaller, a lot has been accomplished, and well my muscles are sore from all the pruning, weeding, and cleaning of the yard. It is not perfect, but I feel like we have done our due diligence to take care of our home inside and out. Do I wish we slept in a bit longer? Sure. Do I wish we watched more movies? Of course. At the end of the day, it feels nice to have worked hard, and taken care of the home (inside and outside) that I see, but also for those that walk by our yard each day, or come to visit us.

It does not have to be perfect. What matters most is that we care. We love our home, we care that it looks kept up for those walking down the street. Whether we can keep up with all the mole holes is an entirely different blog post, but to be able to share the beauty of a yard, and know that you took good care of it, means so much more to me. I know sappy, but it is true. A yard can be a work of art, or it can be a landfill. It is all in how we take care of it.

Let it Go

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I have not jumped on the “Frozen” bandwagon. Apologies if that means you no longer want to read this blog post today. I cannot even remember the last movie I saw in the movie theater. I am partially ashamed to say that I think it was Flight. Sad, but true. The movie actually sucked, so maybe that is why I have not been back to have my feet stuck to the floor, and be absolutely annoyed because even though they play a commercial about turning your cell phone off at least 5 times, it is always the guy directly behind you that decides he is going to answer his phone during the movie.

I am more of the wait until it is on Netflix or Redbox type. You know, watch it on your couch in comfy clothes, with a snack, and the ability to comfortably snuggle with your husband. Ah, yes that is the best theater experience for me. Having said all that I am still extremely behind on my movie watching list, but hey Memorial Day weekend is upon us, so catching up on movies is on our list. That and summer is a great time for a few movies here and there, since primetime programming is on hiatus. Although my backyard beckons me much stronger than the boob tube.

I digress. I started telling you about “Frozen.” A friend posted this mother remake of the Frozen song and while I have heard the original version a zillion times on the radio, and while I am not a mom yet, the words to this rendition made me laugh. It would only be that much better if they did it in an actual house (instead of on a stage) then you could get the real feel of a mom, picking up toys, folding laundry, or cleaning up a mess of dishes. If you have not seen it, you might find you will sing these lyrics (instead of the original) while driving. Especially since the song comes on the radio every hour. Enjoy.

Directness and Transparency

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I am not sure why I feel inspiration about this topic at the moment, but for some reason I have been thinking about directness and transparency. There was a time in my life where I would have hidden from you. You know when you see the child hide behind their parent’s leg, only peeking out to see if it was safe? That was me. My father used to scare me, and often I just was the quiet soul. Yes, you could bring me out of my quietness, you could get me comfortable and make me laugh, but if I thought there was a place of fear or conflict I would usually retreat back into myself. However, the old ladies at church did not scare me and I usually put on the charm for them.

Something happened as I continued to evolve into myself. Maybe it was losing my parents at a young age. Maybe it was seeing so many people hide their feelings and not be honest with themselves or those around them. Somehow I started talking and well I guess I have not stopped. If you interact with me on a daily basis you know you will hear exactly what is on my mind. You will know when I am happy, or sad, or frustrated. You will be able to see it on my face or you will know by how I respond. How exuberant I am to help and support you, or how short I am with a response. You will learn that I love deeply. You will learn to never mess with someone I love.

All of that comes out with my directness and transparency. There are times where I could probably be more careful with my delivery. I am aware of that and I try to be careful with the audience I am around. However, if I am comfortable with you, and we share our day-to-day life, I will probably tell you when my basement floods or when I have just received the perfect POTD (Picture of the Day) of my niece. You know the days when you are so utterly frustrated and you see the look on their precious little face and you are transported to a different world and you inhale and remember none of this really matters except the irresistible snuggles and coos of a little one? I have a video on my phone of my niece, Charlie, that I have been playing on repeat over the past week or so. She is cooing at herself in the mirror and I just want to eat her up.

I digress. You just witnessed a bit of my transparency and brain-barf of what is on my mind (I just paused to watch the video of Charlie again). I hope you live your days and moments in full transparency, without fear of what people think. Be direct. Say what you think.

#lifeistooshort

Loyal, rotten food, and finding your way home

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Loyal. Yes, I am loyal when it comes to good authors. If I really love a book, I usually try to read everything else they have written. Ruth Reichl is one of those authors. Tender at the Bone, being one of my favorites. Quote: “food could be a way of making sense of the world. . . . If you watched people as they ate, you could find out who they were.” This is a perfect summary of Tender at the Bone, where she grows up watching food and people, particularly her strange mother, and the often rotting food she serves to her guests.

I relate to Riechl, not so much that my mom served rotten food, but that I feel I am a starer. I love watching people, learning about them and what makes them tick. Growing up in the midwest, I was a product of the 80’s. Yes, jello mixed with whipped cream, or pears molded into jello. I could go on, but what I’ll say is that I agree with Riechl, you can definitely learn about people by watching what they eat.

I just finished Riechl’s newest book and I could not put it down. Sunday morning I woke up early and decided to snuggle up against Chris and read as much as I could before my stomach made such loud growling sounds that I would wake Chris up. 100 pages later and I still another 100 pages to go (380 pages in total), we decided to finally roll out of bed. I silently geared up for my run later in the day where I could finish the book. The book? Delicious by Ruth Reichl. This quote stood out to me the most from her book, especially the part about food and finding their way home.

“A great meal is an experience that nourishes more than the body. The feeling stayed with me. The next morning, when Mother, Mr. Jones, and I were walking through those strange, crowded downtown streets, where people were sticking their hands into pickle barrels, pointing to smoked fish, and eating sliced herring, I saw the scene in a whole new way. They weren’t buying food: They were finding their way home.” page 277

Delicious is about a girl who ventures to New York City to work for a food publication. She learns a lot about family, sisterhood, love, and so much more. Riechl has a way of weaving multiple stories into one. She shares a story between two sisters, a father and daughter, an employee and employer, and multiple co-workers, oh and somehow brings James Beard into it all. Weaved in with food, food history, and World War II. It is a definitely a book to read, and you will want to postpone your to-do list to finish it. Warning: If you liked her die-hard foodie books, this has a much softer side.

Oh, by the way, I finished Delicious on my run, and now I only wish there was a sequel. Ruth Reichl, you may have only been a non-fiction writer, but I think you just opened a world for yourself in the land of non-fiction.

#readyforyournextbook

Stories, reading, and my mom.

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I never remember my mom reading books, and yet I think she would if she had the time. Often she worked all day, had a second job, helped us with our homework, made our meals, cleaned the house. As many moms out there know, it is a thankless job, and yet I never remember my mom complaining. She stayed up all hours of the night for months to make our Christmas presents so that we would have something to unwrap under the tree. I did not know that at the time, and yet thinking back on the gifts she made for us I know the countless hours it took for her to pull it all off. If she was purchasing the gift she would put it on layaway months and months in advance and diligently go and pay a little more each week until it was finally paid off. This was before she had a credit card so it was the only way she was ever able to get gifts under the tree.

She was the epitome of stretching things to make ends meet. While I never saw her reading books, I always saw her studying the Bible, our church books, and praying. She read those periodicals voraciously. She was adamant that we all read well and, while I do not remember when I started to read, I rarely got in trouble for staying up to read with the flashlight. She must have known that one day I would figure out that I could either get sleep and feel rested or not and pay for it the next day.

While I do not remember my mom pushing me to read, I think she gently encouraged reading and knew I escaped into a book often as a kid. My home life was not the greatest place, and somehow I would jump into the plot of a book, and I could transport myself into a whole different realm. We were her guinea pigs while she was getting her Masters degree in Education. We would read excerpts and have to answer questions and I absolutely HATED the reading comprehension tests she made us take for her classwork. I hated it just as much on the SATs. I like reading, but I hated regurgitating it later with a list of questions.

As I think about storytelling, reading, and the passion I have for stories, I have a smile on my face. My brother-in-law makes up stories for my 2 month old niece and I know that she will have the adventure of story in her life. While I will not make her take practice reading comprehension tests, I know she will carry on the tradition of voraciously reading, like her mom and my mom. Stories let us live an entirely different life, if even for just a few moments.

My mom was a badass. I only wish she knew it. Maybe she did, I will never know.