10 Ways NOT to Celebrate Valentine's Day

1. Buy raw shrimp that STILL HAVE LEGS ON THEM and then decide to prepare them for supper at 6:30 am.
2. Think for sure you'll remember the chocolate that's melting on the stove while you get some things done... who needs a timer, right?
3. Decide that it's fine for the baby to eat off her tray full of rice and lentils without securing it down... I mean, really, how far could that stuff really fly?
4. Say, over and over again, "Did you ASK to use the iPod? Who told you that was okay?" and get blank stares for replies. Start the day off right by putting said child on "final warning".
5. Make 50 miniature jelly heart sandwiches directly on the counter... I mean, how messy could it be, right?
6. Forget- again- to take the one year old's shoes off before letting her play with play dough. Nothing more fun than scraping green stuff out of tread with an old mascara brush...
7. Wake the baby early from her nap to make it to a preschool party that you organized. This will definitely bode well for later...
8. Give your six year old son a new shirt for Valentine's Day. Nothing ensures a more enthusiastic response than a new green t-shirt he can't wear for a couple months!
9. Eat some leftover spinach soup for lunch, as a nod to health, but skip covering it in the microwave. I mean, you're so good at keeping an eye on things, right? (See numbers 2 &3...)
10. Decide that you'll treat yourself since it's Valentine's Day and have a glass of Diet Coke. Leave said glass too close to laptop. Watch, in slow-mo horror, as the baby knocks it over. Realize that you no longer have working T, G, B, or 5 keys.
    

Sigh. So that's how it goes, folks. I actually had a lovely day, all told, but it was not without its moments! If you don't see me tweeting, emailing, commenting, or blogging super regularly, it's because- to do so- I have to wander down to the Tundra where the temperature is approximately 20 below. (Okay, to be fair, it's more like 45 down here, but STILL...)

Oh, and do you have any tips for fixing a laptop keyboard after a spill?

This post is linked to Top Ten {Tuesday}.

Disney's Desperate Housewives

My sister-in-law emailed this to me.

It's funny. It really is.

It's also a sad commentary on wives, in my opinion...

Because, while this tongue in cheek cartoon pokes fun at the plights of the princesses, it's also a pretty accurate reflection of conversations happening among women all over the country right now.

Griping. Whining. Fussing. Complaining.

• "Our car isn't nice enough..."
• "My husband wants sex ALL THE TIME..."
• "No way will I put out the effort for that..."
• "He actually wants me to look sexy for him!"
• "I'm expected to take care of these little ones all by myself all day long..."

All followed by huge, exasperated sighs.

Listen. I'm not saying it's a bad thing to vent occasionally. Or to have good friends with whom you can compare sagas. But don't we owe our husbands a bit more respect than that? And, really, if you actually think about it, are any of those things really so bad or so much to ask?

I, for one, would like to work really hard on changing both what rolls through my head and what comes out of my mouth to sound more like:

• "We are so blessed to have two vehicles..."
• "I'm so lucky my husband wants to be with ME all the time!"
• "The man I married deserves my time and energy."
• "Isn't it amazing that he finds my post-baby bod sexy?"
• "I am so grateful we're on the same page about me staying home with the children."

I am not even close to perfect. I roll my eyes sometimes. I stomp and fuss and feel put out.

But I really want to work on it. I don't want to read a cartoon like that and think, "Amen, Sister!" Rather, I want to think about MY prince and what he sees in me and hears from me. I am in no way desperate and I want that to come across loud and clear.

Now excuse me while I go don some fishnets. ;)

More Than Enough

Yes, I know it's February.

I was sorting through some pictures and I stumbled upon this one, taken just before we turned in for the night on Christmas Eve.

And I was staggered.

We live on a very tight budget.

We plan and plan and plan so that we aren't crippled by unexpected (or just unplanned for!) expenses.

We did not go into debt or spend hundreds of dollars on Christmas presents.

Even so.

We live in such overwhelming abundance.

I'm not ashamed of how we did Christmas, nor do I feel like the true message was lost on my children.

But I'm putting this picture here- publishing and preserving it- so that I can glance back at it any time that sly little voice whispers in my ear, "Wouldn't it be so nice if you had..."

We have enough. More than enough.

We live in abundance.

Gary

Once again this week, I'm participating in the Gypsy Mama's five minute Friday writing challenge this week, so this is a departure from what I usually post on here. It's been really good for me, though, and has helped remind me of how I used to write way back when I was 13 and the poetry seemed to pour out of me. (What happened to that me?)

In case you don't feel like clicking through that link (though, really, you should because Lisa-Jo's writing is completely mesmerizing), the gist is that I set a timer for five minutes and just free-wrote. I did NO editing or revamping after that time.

The suggested prompt this week is: "Think of the most unique person you encountered while you were out and about this week, and write them into life for us."

Start:

It's ridiculous, really, the amount of snow that's piled up out there. Storm after storm- blizzard, Nor' Easter, you name it- has dropped tons of the white stuff, plus ice, on our little corner of the world. The blinding whiteness forms massive humps and hills up by the roadside and, no matter how many times we dig our mailbox out, the plows just continue to form new heaps in front of it.

Gary doesn't seem to mind.

He whistles as he drives, two tires tipped up over that mini-mountain, and, when he still can't reach, he happily scales the slick mass on foot to ensure his delivery gets where it needs to be. I wave from the porch, making my way to meet the kids' bus, and he tips his hat.

Gary is not old.

But it is so sweetly old-fashioned, this way in which he always greets me. That hat-tip. His willingness to wait patiently at my door when he has a package. He knows it takes me a bit sometimes to juggle the kids around.

Down, down, down he slides from what would probably make an awesome snow fort. With a wave he is off... to repeat the process again and again for the neighbors.

A ray of sunshine on a snowy day.

Stop.

Resolved: To Be Happy With My Limitations

I cannot be everything to everybody all the time. I just cannot. There is no possible way that every single person in my life can have "all of me".

And I am okay with that.

If I'm not one of the "popular mommies" who gets asked to coffee every other day, that's fine.

If I'm not receiving awards for doing the very most community service work in my town, that's okay.

If I'm not available to attend every function that family or friends invite us to, that'll have to do.

If I don't post every day or I don't update my blog enough or I never join Facebook (which, I hope you realize, is a very real possibility), that's not an issue to me.

There are things I just can't do... like grow three inches or buy a winter home in Curacao. Those limitations are simple to deal with. When there is seemingly no possible way you could do something, it's not that tough to shrug it off.

But when you feel like maybe you could... or you hear a nagging voice say that you should...

Well, that's when it's tougher.

Because, really, I could socialize more with the other mommies. I could spend more time volunteering and donating. I could spend hours and hours on my blog and make the effort to learn how to do more and better things with it.

But, while there are limitations that life and circumstance place upon us, there are also those limitations that we choose to place on ourselves. And I think those are probably more significant.

I choose to limit the time and energy I devote to those above things so that I can spend more time on the things that matter most to me. It is more important to me that my husband feel that he couldn't be any more loved by his wife than it is for me to feel loved by peers I don't necessarily even like. It is more important to me that my children get to witness me giving of my time and resources than it is for me to squeeze in oodles of volunteering without them. It is more important to me that you all know that, while I value you all enough to work hard to write honestly and from the heart for you, I simply am not in a season where I feel I can devote the time to make this blog all polished up and impressive. Part of me is very sorry for that. But that is one of those hard choices I make... you have to make lots of them too, I'm sure.

Being happy with my limitations means being content with where my priorities lie. When I start feeling like I'm limiting the time and love I can devote to my faith and family, THAT'S when my limitations become a problem.

Not being the most popular girl on the block?

That's a limitation I can be happy about.

Resolved: To Be Happy With My Family and Friends

My family is not perfect.

Does that shock anyone? Probably not. That's actually easy to say. But try this on for size...

My family is deeply flawed.

Ouch. That one hurts a little more. And probably is a bit more uncomfortable to read, too.

But it's true. That's the pure truth, ripped free, and thrust out into the light.

My family is deeply flawed.

This should come as no surprise since I, myself, am littered with flaws and dark spots, with failures and shortcomings. I fall, over and over again, and stumble blindly at times as I traipse through the muck of my own humanity.

There are topics that cause great debate between my husband and myself- issues that are hard to talk about and can result in icy silence (him) and slamming cabinets (me).

There have been times when I have gone far too long without speaking to family members over issues that- while seemingly insurmountable at the time- ultimately turned out to be insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

There are things out there- in our past, our present, and likely our future- that I'm not totally proud of.

And all of that- the whole kit and kaboodle- ALL OF IT is okay.

I'm not going to rip open my whole life and pour all the gory details out there. That wouldn't be helpful to you or me.

What I want you to know is this:

Do not feel like you should ever be comparing your reality to the shiny bits and pieces of mine that you find here. And I will not compare mine to yours.

Don't get me wrong- those shiny bits? All true. I have a good life- a great family- and lots and lots of happy times. The bright moments are big and bold enough to, if not eliminate, at least distract from the dark spots and dim corners.

But they are there. And so... if you have a couple dark spots here and there... if tears sometimes take the place of laughter and your lips tremble rather than grin...

Know that you're still healthy. You're just human. And it doesn't mean you're not happy.

I am resolved... to be content with all the many dimensions of my relationships with family and friends.

And to dance in the light while accepting the shadows.

Resolved: To Be Happy With My Appearance

Here I am:
In all my makeup-less glory.

And, goodness, but I sure am pale, am I not?

And, if you could see the very tippy top of my head, you would see where the stubborn greys like to pop up. I never noticed any grey in my hair until my daughter arrived nearly four months early when I was 29 and, well, that experience would give anyone grey hairs, wouldn't it?

My nose isn't big, but it isn't pert either. And, from the side, there's a bump on the bridge. I notice it. A lot.

And there I am again- full-length, from the side (in the turquoise and black). There aren't many pictures of me floating around, so I had to do the best I could here for you, people. You'll get the idea anyhow.

I'm five foot seven. I wear a size 8 or sometimes a 10, depending on the day and the cut of the pants. Since I prefer to hang out on the 6 side of an 8, I feel thick and out of shape at this size but, alas, it is what it is. And I'd be a fool to try to wear a 6 right now.

I am almost all leg. My body and arms are short. My legs are long. My feet are fairly small.

I am that woman who never looks tiny and also never looks big. I almost always wear a "medium" and that's a pretty fair description of me.

I carry what weight I do in my hips and upper thighs. At my skinniest, my thighs are not skinny. At my heaviest, my waist remains pretty small. A pear, I believe they call that? Ah, well.

Here's what I know, beyond all the above:

• This face holds the blue-green eyes that first caught the attention of the man who became my husband.
• This mouth laughs at the antics of my children every day and, when that laugh is for my husband, it makes his day.
• This body has held and nourished and sustained three precious little lives.
• These arms have held and cherished until they ached.
• These legs get me anywhere I need to go.
• Those pesky grey hairs? A sign that I've survived many a year. And they are dealt with easily enough.

It is easy for me to focus on that not-so-taught skin under my chin. Or on my too-soft, not-thin-enough mid-section. Or on my upper legs that have made me want to stomp and cry since I was about twelve years old.

But not only is that not productive and utterly shallow, it's also not the whole truth.

The truth is that I know I've been blessed with good genes that pretty much allow me to eat anything and not exercise and still never climb above a "healthy weight." The truth is that I like the color of my eyes and the length of my lashes. I like my thick hair and having really long legs.

And you know what? It's not arrogant to like a few things about yourself. In fact, I'd say it's healthy. And I would also go so far as to say that having a little confidence in yourself will be more attractive to others than constantly being self-deprecating.

Sooo...

I'm going to celebrate having teal eyes and pretty hands and call it a day. I'm resolved to be happy with what God gave me!

How about you? What makes you happy about your appearance? I'd LOVE to hear about it!

Resolved: To Be Happy With My Job

I love what I do.

How blessed am I to be able to say that?

My job is awesome. I am Mommy. Mama. The one who is always there. The one whose arms are completely unequaled in their ability to comfort.

I can honestly, and confidently, say that there is nothing I would rather be doing. I even feel safe saying that I truly believe this is my calling, and I am incredibly fortunate to have a husband with whom I see eye-to-eye on this issue. For our family, this is exactly as it should be.

I love what I do.

I am proud of what I do.

Until...

I was at my husband's Christmas party. Just us- hubby and me. Our three kids were happily at home with my sister watching them and cousins to play with. This is a very, very rare occurrence. We just aren't the "going out" types, ordinarily.

I was dressed in a long, fancy black dress shot with blue sparkly threads. My hair was curled and pinned up. My polished toes peeped out of high-heeled shoes. I sipped a tiny glass of Irish cream on the rocks and waited for my filet mignon to arrive. Goodness! This wasn't anything like my ordinary life, but it sure was fun!

I made intelligent conversation with the "big-wigs" of the company who, for some unknown reason, all chose to sit at our table. I smiled as they all seemed to indicate I had such a huge family, what-with having three children and all.

And then... the inevitable question.

"So, do you work?"

*Gulp.*

I think most stay-at-home moms are with me on this one-- the knee-jerk response is to want to shout from the roof-tops, "Yes, darn-it-all, I work... I work HARD! I work, day in and day out, with no breaks! No lunch break! No bathroom time by myself! I W-O-R-K work!!!"

But, of course, that is not what was meant by the question.

The question (not surprisingly asked by another mother because, I'll be frank, men hardly ever ask me that) referred to whether I held a career outside the home. You know, a real job.

In that brief, brief moment, all eyes upon me, waiting for my reply, I felt inadequate. I felt like, unlike all the women at my table with gainful employment, I didn't do anything that qualified as, well, work.

And I answered quietly, "No, I stay home with my children."

The woman who asked the question is the only one who looked down her nose a bit at me. Just a bit. The rest, including her own husband, were very kind, receptive, and- blessedly- just moved on with new conversation.

But I was shaken.

Not so much because I had been asked the question or because of her response. Rather, I was shaken because I didn't have enough faith in myself. In what I do.

I love what I do. (Have I said that enough yet?) And it IS my job. It is my life's work.

I'm already happy about it. I need to learn to be completely proud of it too.

How about you? Do you love your job, whatever it might be?

Resolved: To Be Happy With My Home

My house was built in 1969.

It's not even close to new. It's also not so old that it has really cool details and workmanship.

It is in no way large, though not tiny either and, in reality, aside from doing laundry down there, we hardly even use the bottom half of our split-level ranch in the winter.

There is wallpaper in here. Lots of wallpaper. Lots of wallpaper circa 1970. Some, we've been able to strip.

Some seems to be permanently affixed to the wall with a substance whose holding power defies all solvents we've been able to get our hands on. (Any suggestions??)

My house sits on about an acre and the view is stunning.

My neighborhood is quiet and friendly and the speed limit is 20 mph... and almost everyone obeys that.

That's the story about my house.

Is it perfect? Not even close. Is it impressive? I don't really think so. It's definitely not impressive compared to the 4,000 square foot near-mansions just down the road from us. Is it my dream house? Nope. (My dream house wouldn't be massive or fancy... but it would have a big old front porch and eastern exposure for the master bedroom. I adore early morning sunlight on my face.)

But it is my home. And the out-dated things about it that make me roll my eyes? They're there because, before it was ours, it was someone else's home. An old man, made a widower when his children were still young, who raised one boy and two girls in this house. Those children are now grown and they are older than me. The old man passed away in the Spring of '09 and the children, who had moved on, had to sell the home.

They chose to sell it to us.

To a young family setting out to raise one boy and two girls in a loving home.

And so, when I feel myself start to cringe when guests come into our home and see dark panelling and flowered wallpaper in my kitchen, I just take a deep breath.

I am raising generations here, just like those who trod here before me.

I am filling these walls with more smiles and laughter to ring out with that which echos through the narrow corridors.

I am finding joy in a place that has known joy before.

My house is nothing special.

My home is a thing of beauty.

How about you? Are you happy with your home? Are you able to see beyond the bricks and mortar? I'm learning.

Resolve To Be Happy In 2011

Are you making any resolutions for the New Year?

How about resolving to be happy? To celebrate contentment?

My "Resolved: To Be Happy..." series will kick off on Monday, January 3, 2011. For five days, I will be covering various aspects of my life and how I'm resolving to adjust my thoughts, feelings, dreams, or perspective and to be happy. Care to join me in the journey?

Come link up! You can join in for one day, five days, or any number in between. Here are the topics I'll be addressing, by day:

• Monday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Home
• Tuesday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Job
• Wednesday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Appearance
• Thursday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Friends and Family
• Friday- Resolved: To Be Happy With My Limitations

(Huge thanks to Sidnie, my dear friend who blogs at Green Enough For Me. She pulled that button together for me lickety-split- so talented! Feel free to grab it if you're going to be participating!)